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sneezypeasy · 2 years ago

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Original Script Analysis, Part 1: Kataang Is Better... And Also Worse.

I want to start this off by saying that when it comes to media analysis, I personally don’t tend to give authorial intent a significant amount of weight – at least, not by default. I understand why authorial intent is so often debated among media analysts, and why so many metas and critiques often hinge their arguments on paratextual information that serves to provide potential insight on what the authors were thinking or planning. But I myself tend to follow more of a “Death of the Author” framework. There are some exceptions, such as when I believe the author’s stated intent – or even details such as their background, life experiences, advocacy etc – has bled through their work so heavily that it becomes impossible to ignore its impact on the final product. (E.g., reading Fyodor Dostoyevsky compare murder to state-ordered execution, it is hard not to contextualise the passage with the knowledge that Dostoyevsky himself faced a firing squad and was given a pardon at the very last minute). Even then, I tend to treat paratextual information like – Understanding the context behind x scene or y narrative choice potentially adds a layer of meaning to it, particularly why some scenes may have been framed the way they were, or why the author chose to tell/expand/conclude the story like this instead of like that. I use paratextual information to deepen my understanding of the author’s reasonings behind their choices. I don’t use paratextual information to form my opinion on whether their choices were good.

(I prefer to form my own opinion on that, based on what I think of the text itself.)

That being said, like most of you readers I too had heard the many rumours surrounding the writing/production process behind ATLA, especially when it came to the ships. Which ship, if any, was planned for, when were the romance arcs finally decided, were there conflicts/disagreements between writers, were there script changes and animation edits to strengthen one pairing while weakening other, and so on and so on. I’d heard the rumour that The Southern Raiders went through multiple rewrites/changes, because it was originally “too shippy”. I’d heard the rumours that Aaron and Elizabeth were pro-Zutara, Bryan and Mike were pro-Kataang, and that their respective positions/opinions on these two pairings seep through their writing in an acutely perceptible way.

I’d also heard the counter-argument, the official narrative endorsed by the creators that any chemistry or subtext between Zuko and Katara was always intended to be platonic, and that readers who saw anything romantic between these two characters were simply setting themselves up for disappointment by projecting their own expectations or preferences onto the show, nothing more.

Over the past 15 years or so, these debates shaped much of the ATLA “shipping discourse”, sometimes even dominating discussion on the subject. I myself have gotten many a variant of “Zutara was never going to happen, get over it” – even when I’ve made a deliberate effort to omit any mention of authorial intent in my analyses, because, as I’ve said, I still don’t consider that kind of paratextual information relevant to my own opinions on why I think Zutara just works better. But given the intensity of the arguments surrounding behind-the-scenes shenanigans, their impact on the final product, and even their supposed significance in determining shipping validity, it was impossible not to wonder at the truth behind all these conflicting rumours.

So when I set foot in the WGF, it was admittedly difficult to contain my bubbling excitement and anticipation. Even still, I resolved to keep my expectations low. Rumours are rumours, after all. Secondary sources must always be taken with a healthy grain of salt, and some of the rumours weren’t even second-hand information at that. And I already knew that no matter what I found, my own opinion that Zutara is the best love story almost written, would not change.

All that said and done, let’s just say that I found the discovery... highly rewarding, and for those of you who have spent years refusing to accept that you were just “reading into things”, I hope my findings bring you some long-awaited vindication.

There are two other disclaimers I need to get through before we continue:

1) The Writers Guild Foundation is not a lending library. You may make an appointment to view the scripts in person, and you are allowed to take notes and manually copy as much as you like. But you will not find copies of their scripts online, and photos and screenshots are strictly prohibited. From what I understand it’s a copyright issue. Legally I’m fairly certain that embedding photos in this post and accompanying it with critique and analysis would/should count as “Fair Use”; however, I know that at some point I’d like to be able to return to the library, and I don’t want to risk being blacklisted for not following their rules.

As such, all the images embedded in this post are reproductions of snippets that I had to manually copy and type up, word for word. It was slow work, so as much as I’d love to be able to just plop the entire script of The Southern Raiders (or any ATLA episode) here for you to read, I had to narrow my focus a fair bit. I mainly noted down, in order of significance:

additions, omissions or changes in the original script compared to the show

bits where the writer’s notes/storyboard directions contained insights or descriptions that I found interesting, surprising, or just plain funny

scenes that weren’t really all that different or unexpected, but we love to see it in writing anyway (ahem Crossroads of Destiny *cough*)

I’m sure there’s a lot that I still managed to miss - even visiting over two days, I couldn’t read every episode. I highly encourage Zutarians living in or near LA to make an appointment and read the scripts for yourselves. You’ll be able to see more than what I’ve posted here, and you might even unearth some goodies that escaped my notice.

(Credit goes to @lady-of-bath for taking my boatload of notes and reformatting them to look like scripts again ❤)

(Also apologies that some passages are split across two images; that just means they were long enough that they spanned two pages and I couldn’t be bothered splicing them back together so I just embedded them here as separate image files. I promise I didn’t cut/remove anything; images not separated by a line of dashes should be read as one continuous snippet 😊).

2) The second thing I ought to clarify is that, from my understanding, the drafts I read were final drafts. These were scripts submitted to the guild just prior to storyboarding, voice acting, animating etc. As I read them, I noticed that the only changes to the script that I could tell were non-dialogue related - so things like, descriptions of the characters’ actions, movements, facial expressions/body language, what you can or can’t see in the shot, etc. Otherwise, voice lines have been essentially kept intact. This suggests to me that the changes made to the script after submission to the guild, were also made after lines had been recorded, possibly even after scenes had been storyboarded. It also suggests that the scripts the voice actors read were the same ones I read in that library. (There is one notable exception that I found, a very interesting exception in my opinion, which we’ll get to later.)

While I would have loved to have seen the earlier drafts, to be able to see how the script changed with each revision (including revisions made to the dialogue prior to voice recording), it’s my understanding that the guild rarely ever receives these scripts, and such was the case again this time. I did also have a look to see if they had the ATLA Series Bible, but unfortunately that hadn’t been submitted either. It is what it is. Still, I’m not mad about what I found. :)

And on that note - ONTO THE SCRIPTS!

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I’m going to start off by defending Kataang a bit here. (I know, I know. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the juicy Zutara stuff in due course.) In my 2 hour long video analysis I talked about lack of development being one of the biggest structural problems with Kataang as a ship. Specifically, I showed how you can take the scenes that we know to be “Kataang scenes”, jumble them up so that they appear in a different order than they do in the show, and the end result still makes just as much narrative sense - or maybe even more sense than they did in the show.

Interestingly, the original scripts for these scenes do not fail this test - at least, I don’t think they do. Let’s start at the very beginning:

It’s love at first sight for Aang, which we all knew already. For Katara, it’s less “love” and more “wonder”. But it’s a powerful meeting for both of them. Honestly, this isn’t all that different from how I perceived this scene on television when I watched it.

Let’s continue with the Fortuneteller:

Okay, so again, roughly what we see on television. Katara realizes Aang could be who Aunt Wu was referring to, and is unsure what to make of this. Fair.

Next, the Cave of Two Lovers:

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Unlike in the show, Katara doesn’t blush in this script (I also checked the ending of the script where I remember her blushing again in the show, but the script doesn’t mention any blush, anywhere). However, Katara seems to be taking the possibility of Aang as a love interest a little bit more seriously here. In the show version, they hug, Aang seems a little awkward and is clearly hoping for some closure/confirmation of where they now stand, but Katara doesn’t seem to spare it a second thought - she just yeets it out of there. The slow parting and the “awkward look” these kids share in the script suggests, at least to me, that script!Katara is placing more weight on what just happened than show!Katara does, and she at least seems aware, maybe even nervous, of the fact that sharing a maybe-kiss in a secret love cave might do something to their dynamic that she’s not sure how she feels about yet.

The divergences get more interesting now. Enter The Earth King scene, where Aang attempts to confess his feelings to Katara:

“They both know what he's about to say.”

WELL. Not only did they cut out the “he looks her directly in the eyes” part, but they completely took out any shot that might have indicated a mutual understanding between them, as was written in the script. Instead, we get a deer-in-the-headlights look from Katara, then her head cocks to the side “What is it, Aang?” and then… nothing. Everything about her body language on screen is written to suggest she either has no idea what’s coming, or is doing a great job of playing coy about it.

The cheek-kiss is intact in both versions, however. Let’s keep going.

I didn’t take notes on the Headband. I probably should have, but I didn’t bother because there weren’t really any notable differences between the script version and the show version. What you see is basically what you get - Aang dances with On Ji, Katara is agitated but acts aloof, Aang invites her to dance, she hesitantly accepts, they dance and it’s all very cute. She says “that was some dance party, Aang” and gives him another cheek-kiss at the end. If there were any differences from script to screen, I didn’t spot them.

But there was a pretty big difference for Day of Black Sun:

(By the way, this confirms an earlier version of the rumour that had been based on alleged edits made fairly late in the storyboarding process. Credit to @lady-of-bath for procuring this receipt).

So, what I’m basically getting here is that, in the original script, up until the midpoint of Season 3, the writing was originally heading towards a Kataang conclusion. And actually - you may disagree with me here but you know what? I actually don’t hate this version of Kataang. (So far, anyway).

There were two main issues I had with Kataang - the structure/pacing of it was all over the place, and on a deeper level I felt that the conflict they set up regarding Aang’s character arc and “letting Katara go” were not properly resolved in the show, leading to a lack of cohesion in the storytelling.

Combing through these passages, script!Katara reads way more natural and realistic, to me, than show!Katara. Let’s look at the progression here, from Katara’s side:

She meets an “adorable” boy and forms an instant attachment to him

She sees their dynamic as platonic until a comment from Sokka makes her question whether it will always be so in the future. She doesn’t quite know what to make of this at the time.

She shares a maybe-kiss with him in a secret love cave, and seems to be aware/nervous that their dynamic may change as a result.

Some time later, he works up the courage to confess his feelings with her, and the script makes it clear that she understands what he’s trying to say and may even have been anticipating it.

They go to a party where Katara is moody seeing Aang dance with someone else. Then Aang asks Katara onto the floor, and they dance, and Katara seems genuinely pleased/delighted.

Finally, just before the eclipse, he kisses her. She may not have been expecting it, but her reaction (smiling after him as he flies away) shows she didn’t see it as unwelcome.

If Kataang were actually written like this, I think that would solve the structural problems of the ship that really bothered me, and I probably wouldn’t have stopped shipping them. It’s very clear to me that taking any of these scenes, as written, and jumbling them out of order, would completely mess up the steady (if subtle) progression of Katara 1) seeing Aang as a potential love interest, 2) understanding he sees her as one, and finally 3) realising she does actually return his feelings.

It also makes Katara feel much more like a real person, and less of an objective for Aang to try to reach in a “two steps forward, one step back” sort of situation.

I think, even then, I still would have shipped Zutara as well, because I don’t think the symbolism and depth to Zutara can be beat. But I’m pretty sure I would have kept a soft spot for Kataang, for the fluff. At least, I wouldn’t be strongly opposed to it. My position would likely be “eh, there’s flaws, and it probably could have been written better, and I think writing Zutara instead would have been more compelling and thematically satisfying but you know what, this is cute. I get it.”

Of course, that’s before we get to the second half of Season 3, where Kataang goes from oscillating in place to taking a nose-dive out of ... nowhere.

And in a way that seems to seriously contrast with how the ship had been written from Cave of Two Lovers to Day of Black Sun, the downward spiral of Kataang coinciding with a deepening friendship/connection for Zutara - seems to be exacerbated in the original script.

Remember how uncomfortable it was to watch Ember Island Players in the show?

...

It’s quite a bit worse here.

Aang comes off significantly less sympathetic in this version of the episode. Here he is, looking at Katara “accusingly”, and even “glaring” at her, because the actress playing her on stage is flirting with actor!Zuko. Why is he so angry, and at her? And meanwhile, she “pretends not to notice”? Ick.

I’ll be honest, I never had a strong opinion of Aang being “possessive” in this scene. I understand why other people did, and I totally see where they’re coming from with that. Personally though, I kind of gave him the benefit of the doubt and just perceived him as immature, not really getting it, and I always perceived his jealousy to be more hapless than disturbing. This is just my personal opinion, but I felt that their clash in this episode was more indicative of a lack of compatibility and understanding between them than anything else, and obviously I think the non-con kiss was wrong, but generally I didn’t think the kid had bad intentions - I just saw him as... too young, to be honest. He did get pushy and demanding, and either way Katara deserved better, but with Aang, I kind of understood it to be stemming from hope/desperation rather than anger/entitlement.

The writing here, however, does not leave room for me to be charitable. Aang hearing Actor!Zuko suggest that Katara was supposed to be “the Avatar’s girl”, and glaring at Katara as if to say “Yeah!” - I don’t know how to read this as anything other than possessiveness. Yikes on a cracker.

ALSO, did you notice that Zuko and Katara don’t scoot away from each other in this version? Read it again; the absence of that bit escaped me on my first read-through. (Credit to @zutarawasrobbed for spotting that difference!) Zuko and Katara are still sitting next to each other here (the earlier “I wanted to sit here/Just sit next to me, what’s the big deal?” scene is still intact), and all it says about Katara is that she’s pretending not to notice Aang simmering at her from two seats away. Wow.

The non-con kiss is kept intact and most of it is just dialogue so there isn’t much deeper insight to gain from the script, though again, Aang comes off more explicitly volatile/angry at the end of it:

Later, Aang rejoins the group in the theater, and sees Actress!Katara reach a goofy platonic understanding with Actress!Aang, and reacts to this with chagrin and embarrassment. There is no reference to Katara averting her gaze from the screen in a sad or awkward manner, as how she does in the show.

Overall, I find that Kataang looks worse here, a lot worse than in the show. The omission of Zuko and Katara’s “awkward scoot” is intriguing as well. To be honest, I never perceived “the scoot” to be explicit confirmation or denial of any potential attraction between them (that clip can genuinely be read two ways depending on what trope you’re trying to invoke; neither are inherently invalid), however, the fact that it wasn’t originally written but was added in later... that’s interesting.

Some of you might be forming some opinions by this point. I have some of my own as well, though I want to hold off on them for now. Let’s have a bit of a palate-cleanser with the snippet of Zuko sharing some vulnerability with Katara before we move on:

❤

Now I am going a bit out of order here - I know that EIP actually happens after The Boiling Rock/The Southern Raiders, but as I was already on the topic of the Kataang arc, I decided to continue with that before I delved into the other episodes. So now we’re going back a little bit, chronologically.

(Also, you know me, gotta save the best for last 😉)

Ultimately I had a very brief look through The Boiling Rock, and nothing really jumped out at me - except for this bit:

I can’t be the only one tickled at the idea that Zuko just yeets himself out of that prison cell and doesn’t seem to spare Mai a second thought 😂 (if you’ll recall, the show has the two of them share a glance through the cell window after Mai yells “Get off of me!”; Zuko looks apparently apologetic/sad while Mai just glares at him). I know people have pointed out how amusing it is that Zuko seems to forget about Mai completely after TBR, right up until their last scene together, but the way this scene is scripted here just makes it even funnier to me.

But I know which episode it is that you guys all want to read.

*record scratch*

Oh ho HO, what have we here Elizabeth Ehasz 😉

Next up - Part 2: The Southern Raiders, The Finale, and What I Think About it All

#atla #atla original scripts #zutara #kataang critical #writers guild foundation #part 1 of probably 3 parts #will try to get out part 2 asap #thank you so much for your wonderful patience #stay tuned!#text post #long post

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mirai-studies-languages · 3 years ago

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Analysis of ‘No Body No Crime’ by Taylor Swift, Part 1

Hi! As a Swiftie and a fan of literature, I absolutely love analysing Taylor Swift’s lyrics because they are absolutely phenomenal. In this post I’ll analyse some of the lyrics of Taylor Swift’s song “No body, no crime” from her album Evermore. I’ll do a line-by-line analysis, and I will elaborate more on the themes of the song, along with some further deeper analysis of the characters and semantics of the song over the next few posts. I’ll refer to ideas from other websites and sources to deepen my analysis. I can’t really provide much analysis of the actual music, since my strengths lie in language analysis. Let’s get started!

No body no crime

Straight away, our title introduces us to one of the central themes of the song: Justice. People say “no body, no crime” to suggest that as long as there is no particularly incriminating evidence, then the person being accused of the crime must be innocent. This is, of course, a rather frustrating idea, since we all know that bodies can be disposed of. The song plays with this frustration and returns to this idea as the song progresses.

Every time we hear this chorus, it is with a new layer of meaning added to it, causing us to examine the idea of evidence, or lack thereof, playing in someone’s favour, from different perspectives.

There is a sense of finality and firmness that accompanies this saying. It is the kind of thing someone might say to dismiss a person’s concerns. In the context of this song, this possibly represents how people will staunchly adhere to arbitrary beliefs, despite how this negatively impacts humanity’s ability to have a truly just justice system. This lends itself to the ever-present frustration of this song.

It is also quite a short and empty phrase, in terms of emotional depth, which is perhaps what makes it so versatile in this song. It can mean many things, or rather be seen in different lights, depending on the context of the story it is presented in.

This title can also be used to generally describe how a lack of evidence can lead the perpetrator of any crime or misdeed to walk free.

He did it He did it

The song starts with this foreboding chant, immediately leading us to ask questions. Who is “he”? What did he do?

As a listener, we already understand the cultural connotations of what is being said. When we say someone did “it”, we are usually referring to a crime, which links in nicely with the main title.

To me at least, there is a sense of anger mingled with determination in these two short sentences. They are complete short sentences that pack a lot of emotional impact with them, which emphasises our narrator’s certainty about this belief. The repetition also reinforces this. This accompanies a sense of danger and anticipation: we know he did it...now what?

Este’s a friend of mine We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine

Our story begins with the introduction of the person who is arguably our plot's catalyst: Este. The way she is introduced is through the lens of our narrator, who interestingly introduces Este through the way she relates to the narrator (“a friend of mine”). It is like we are being told a story, or perhaps a confession, by an old friend because we need the narrator’s guidance on her and her character, which is strange considering we know almost nothing about our narrator.

The introduction is quite innocent, which leaves us with a sense of unease considering our morbid title and first lines. It feels like the calm before the storm, since what is being described is so normal. This initial setting adds a sense of warmth to the story. It evokes images of giggling confessions and glowing candles on a small cosy table for two. Do you know how a lot of horror films start their main story in quite a nice setting to lull the viewers into a false sense of security but also anxiety? This has that kind of energy.

We are also introduced to one of the central relationships in this story; the relationship between Este and the narrator. Our narrator (I am going to assume they are a woman) seems to have quite a friendly relationship with Este, since they are doing the activity of having dinner together. I assume that they are both women almost instantly, since friends having a get together with some wine is something I associate more with women than men.

I would also say that this also introduces a key facet of Este’s character: reliability. She makes good on her commitments, which will be more relevant later. This will give her a more likeable image.

Este’s been losing sleep

This quite swiftly moves the plot into more unfriendly territory, as we instantly wonder why on earth she is so worried. This instantly draws our sympathy, since worry is a very relatable feeling, causing us to identify with her.

Not sleeping has obviously detrimental physical effects, so whatever bad situation she is in is literally causing her to “lose” her health, which could foreshadow her death.

The fact that our narrator is being confided in by Este, this is further proof of their close relationship.

Our story so far has operated on the belief that we know who the narrator is, since it is the recounting of a story that focuses on other people (namely Este and her husband), which is strange since a single perspective is usually quite biased. The outsider’s perspective provides a sense of detachment that lends itself to the illusion of a cool unbiased narrator (which is probably not the case here). To me, it could also be indirect characterisation, and implies that the character of the narrator is not a particularly self-obsessed person, and is perhaps used to being more of a background observer. Hell, that might just be the way they are presenting themselves, in order to further justify their actions. After all, how can you fairly judge someone you don’t really know? Or the song is just quite short so you cannot really elaborate much on all the characters. There is a lot you could say about this.

Her husband’s acting different and it smells like infidelity

This, of course, instantly causes us to sympathise with Este. This misleading beginning causes us to believe that the crime in question is simply infidelity. It does not seem sinister though, since infidelity is common.

This line immediately brings up feelings of anger in the listener for obvious reasons, and anger is a pretty good motivator to keep on listening.

In saying that “it smells like infidelity” suggests that Este is something of an investigator, and is sniffing out the culprit of crimes done against her. It could also simply be a reference to smelling his bullshit (a.k.a his lies).

Also (stay with me here), maybe the use of the verb “acting” could imply that Este and her husband’s relationship has become a performance of sorts, since he is unwilling to admit that there are some obvious issues in their marriage.

This is the first post, I’ll continue my analysis in another post. I hope you enjoyed this analysis!

#taylor swift #swiftie #no body no crime #lyric analysis #taylor swift lyrics #evermore

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its-flicked-switch · 6 years ago

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It Can Be

Teen and Up | 2.8k

While on a stakeout, a burning question is asked leading to unexpected revelations and a conversation that is long overdue. Set mid to late S6.

This story was written for the X-Files Secret Summer Fanfic Exchange (2019) created and orchestrated by OnlyTheInevitable\\ @gaycrouton.

Prompt: "I'm ok with twists or turns, fluff or angst, but true to characters."

A gift to Pstafford3 (Twitter)

Beta by: @kikocrystalball and @admiralty-xfd

"Well, you need a father, of course. I can get you genetic counseling on finding an anonymous donor if that's what you want... unless you already have someone in mind."

"Yeah... I, uh... I just have to figure out how to ask him."

Flashback in 8x13 — Per Manum

|| 2 days later ||

"If Emily had lived … do you think I could have done it? Been a single mother?"

They've been sitting in a car outside of an abandoned warehouse for nearly an hour indulging one of his hunches. Mulder had anticipated catching the third degree for calling her at 2 A.M. on a Saturday morning, but this is not the degree he expected, so he proceeds with caution.

"That's a rather loaded question."

He doesn't say it to be abrasive or to deflect away from the seriousness and vulnerability he hears in her voice. He says it because he's not sure what else to say.

Their interactions following the revelation of her stolen ova have been strained. While Scully hasn't outright ignored him or overtly lashed out at him, she's certainly maintained a respectable distance, keeping her fury and frustration hidden beneath layers of masked professionalism. After their discussion in the elevator, Mulder had braced himself for fire and brimstone, but so far, all he has been afforded is silence, which is far worse.

Two weeks have passed, but the tension is still unbearably high, leading him to believe that she has conferred with several specialists of her own choosing and has now reached the same conclusion he arrived at little over a year ago — the ova are not viable. While he can appreciate her anger, he doubts that she fully grasps his intent in keeping it from her or the depth at which it has eaten away at him.

When he discovered her stolen ova back in 1997, he immediately took them to a specialist to be assessed, and when he hadn't gotten the answer he wanted to hear, he had them sent them to another one. That pattern held for well over six months before he finally relented.

Keeping it from her had been an easy decision to make in the beginning given how gravely ill she was, but as her health returned, his justification in continuing to do so had been more complicated. Ultimately, he had kept it from her out of pure, unadulterated hope. Hope that there was an answer — a different path that he could take that would lead him to something other than the devastating news he currently had: the ova are not viable.

How in the fuck was he supposed to tell her that? On top of everything else, how could he possibly tell her that he had found her ova, but that there was nothing to be done with them? That they were useless? He couldn't even say it to himself in the mirror without becoming physically ill.

If the syndicate possessed the power to cure her cancer, then was it not reasonable to assume that they also possessed the ability to reverse her infertility? Somehow turning unviable ova into something viable? It didn't seem any less likely than curing incurable cancer.

Scully was the scientist, not him. Yet, the leading experts in the field had already told him that he was wasting his time and money looking for alternatives and storing ova that were not viable. Within a year, he was convinced that there was nothing conventional that could be done and was unable to stomach telling Scully that the fate of her ability to conceive a child of her own making would rest in the hands of the same monsters who had taken that right from her to begin with.

He valued his partnership with Scully more than anything, and he would move mountains or die trying before he would ever hurt her. And this news — this secret, would undoubtedly hurt her, so instead of telling her the truth, he had kept it from her and continued to search for solutions on his own with the hope that when the time came, he would have an answer. But in the blink of an eye, weeks turned into months and months into years, and still, there had been no resolution, conventional or otherwise.

And then came Emily.

Emily's sudden appearance changed everything. She was living proof that Scully's ova had been viable at one point, or that perhaps, out of all those extracted, he had just been unlucky enough to grab the one vial that was useless.

That was the other issue. Telling Scully the truth would require another harmful and devastating admission. There were more out there, and they were currently unaccounted for. When he returned to the research facility to retrieve the other vials, they were gone, either removed or destroyed, and there was no way to determine which since the facility had been burned to the ground.

The matter was further complicated by his degree of uncertainty with regards to her current medical status and the nature and permanency of the effects of the experimentation that was performed. While it was clear that they had taken a substantial amount of Scully's reproductive material, it was unclear if they had taken everything. Had what was in that drawer been a representation of everything they had taken? Or had there been more stored elsewhere? Had the extraction left her completely barren? Or had it merely ensured that it would be difficult for her to conceive naturally? If so, did she know?

Seeing her with Emily had only deepened his despair. He should have told her about the ova then. Hell, he should have told her as soon as she returned to work, months before Emily ever came into the picture, but he continued to hold back, having convinced himself that all he needed was more time. But all of that changed two weeks ago when he found Scully standing in a daze on the elevator. In that moment, every argument and justification he had ever made crumbled.

He couldn't keep it from her any longer. Not when she had brought it to him directly. She deserved to know the truth, and he had already kept it from her for far longer than he should have.

This is how Mulder came to be the asshole who told his partner about her stolen ova on an elevator.

"So you don't," Scully says, breaking their silence. "You don't think I could have done it."

There's an edge to her voice that makes him inwardly cringe. It comes out matter-of-fact, but Mulder knows better.

"I didn't say that. I just said it was a loaded question," he replies, doing his best to choose his words carefully.

"You either do or don't. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

The bite in her voice is unmistakable. Scully is pissed, and frankly, she has a right to be. He just wishes that he could find a way to articulate his intentions to her. While he's well aware of the fact that he can be a certified asshole, he would never do anything to intentionally harm her, and he knows that underneath all of the anger and hurt, she knows that.

Everything he has done, he has done to protect her.

"Scully—"

"I asked you to back me up … to testify on my behalf and you did, but there was … hesitancy there. From both you and my family."

"I can't speak for your family, Scully. I can only speak for myself, but you're right, I did have reservations … but none of them had anything to do with you or your ability to parent or raise a child."

"Then—"

"Three years after your abduction, a child shows up with your DNA. I was questioning the validity of it and what it could mean, especially in light of what I knew they had taken from you. Had the circumstances been different, I would have been happy for you … elated even, but instead I was terrified … for you and for her … and at the same time I was furious."

"Furious?"

"They took something from you that they had no right to take … something that was yours to give to a person of your choosing. And Emily? She didn't deserve … no child deserves to be a pawn in someone else's game. I know that better than most."

The silence that ensues is thick, but instead of letting it hang, Mulder presses forward.

"I just had a feeling … a feeling that it wasn't real."

"She was real, Mulder, and she was mine."

"Yet she wasn't. She bled green."

She doesn't argue with him on this point because she can't, but she's clearly not pleased with him for making it to begin with.

"I shouldn't have kept this from you, Scully. I know that, and I'm sorry."

"Yet you did it anyway. For almost two years."

"You've never asked me why."

"Because it doesn't matter. You had no right."

"It does matter. It matters a lot."

"Okay. I'll bite. Why, Mulder? Why did you think that keeping me in the dark about MY OWN genetic material was a good call for YOU to make? Were you afraid that I would break down and check myself into a psychiatric ward? Or was keeping it from me more about your impending fear of me leaving you alone to chase monsters in the dark?"

The heat radiating off of her body and venom in her voice startles him into silence.

This is the reaction he anticipated two weeks ago, but the anticipation hasn't diminished its impact. It would be easy in this moment to give it right back to her and let his rising pulse predominate, giving her the fight she's clearly looking for, but he won't. If she wants to be angry, that is certainly her right, but she is at least going to have all of the facts straight first.

"Do you honestly believe, after everything that we've been through, that I would ever do anything to intentionally hurt you, Dana?"

The use of her given name is intentional. It's a quiet, subtle ceasefire, and the effect it has is immediate. As soon as it rolls off of his tongue, she stills, the fire in her eyes dissipating as her attention shifts. Holding her gaze, he lets the silence that follows hang, cooling the air around them before he continues.

"The look of devastation that crossed your face … I would have done anything in the world to keep that look off of your face, so yes, I kept it from you. I consulted every credentialed doctor and accredited research facility in the country and refused to let them destroy them despite being told repeatedly that they weren't viable. I wanted to find a solution, even if it wasn't a conventional one … so that one day, when I did tell you, it wouldn't be the news I have now. Keeping this from you was wrong, and you have every right to be angry but don't think for a single second that it didn't weigh on me, because it did. It still does."

The silence that follows is heavy, the intensity of the moment driving Scully to avert her eyes. The fire that filled them earlier has fled, making way for the emotions brewing underneath. She's hurt, devastated even, and now, she's trying desperately not to cry.

Pulling his handkerchief out his pocket, he hands it to her and waits, unsure of what to say or if he should say anything else at all.

At this point, it's clear that this stakeout is a bust, but he doesn't want to make it more awkward or break the moment by starting the car and pulling away. Instead, he fixes his eyes ahead, giving her a bit of privacy as the light of dawn begins to creep up over the horizon.

"You still haven't answered my question," she says after a few moments have passed.

Her voice is low, but the tone she sets requires no translation. Scully is a woman of action, so the fact that she has returned to her original question is her concession. While she may not like or agree with what he has kept from her, she has forgiven him.

"If you're asking me if I think that you would be a good mother, then the answer is yes," Mulder replies.

The lack of hesitancy in his response appears to surprise her, shifting her gaze back to his.

"Then why the—"

"You asked specifically about being a single mother," he replies evenly.

"Yes, and?"

Sighing, Mulder shifts uncomfortably, unsure of how much more he should say if anything at all.

"Well, I just don't see that as being an issue, and I'm not saying that because I think you are incapable of doing it alone."

"They why are you saying it?"

"Scully … look … I …," he says, taking a deep breath. "I already feel like I'm six feet under, I don't want to say anything to make it worse."

"That ship has already sailed, so you might as well just say it."

Sighing and regarding her cautiously, he relents and says what's on his mind. If she wants an honest answer, he will give her one. Given all he has kept from her over the past two years, he owes her that much.

"It's just … you have too much to offer someone else to be forced down that road alone."

Of all the things she expected to come out of his mouth, this was clearly not one of them. The blush rising in her cheeks does little to hide her surprise at his admission. He would feel more guilty for making her uncomfortable if she didn't look so radiant. Even with minimal sleep and tear stained eyes, she's still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. That much hasn't changed in the six years he's known her.

"Look," he says, returning his focus back to the warehouse. "All I'm saying is that if raising a child is something you want to do, then there is absolutely no reason for you do it alone unless you just want to."

"Mulder, I haven't been asked out on a date in years."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well, it's true."

"Men can be idiots."

To this, he receives no argument, only a ghost of a snort as Scully relaxes more deeply into her seat.

"Well, then, I guess all the men currently in my life are idiots."

"Guilty as charged," he says, raising his hands into the air.

Their soft laughter echoes in the car briefly before again returning them into silence, but unlike the silences that preceded them, this one is comfortable. Mulder knows he should quit while he is ahead, but he can't.

"You're a lethal combination, Scully. Not all men can handle that."

"Lethal combination?"

"Stunning and intelligent. Typically, you get one or the other … both are… well, a bit rare and can be a bit intimidating."

Scully doesn't say anything in response, but the pink hue rising up through her neck and into her cheeks warns him that he's teetering dangerously close to the edge. He doesn't want to embarrass her or make her uncomfortable, but he also wants her to know that he does see her, not just as a partner but as a woman. A woman who has a tremendous amount to offer, little of which has anything to do with her reproductive status.

When she doesn't speak, he begins to backpedal a bit, not wanting to end on a note that is upsetting or uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Look, I think you will be an excellent mother with or without a partner, so if that's what you're asking, then that's my answer. Forget the rest."

"You didn't make me uncomfortable Mulder," she says quietly, avoiding his eyes. "It's just … not something I'm used to hearing."

"Hmmm … sounds to me like you need better friends, or maybe just a better partner. One who actually encourages you to get out of the car."

"Mmmm … my partner can certainly be an ass, but he's grown on me. And most of the time, I don't actually mind being in the car."

"And the other times?"

To this, she only smirks, nodding her head in a manner of dismissal and averting her gaze back to the warehouse. When it's clear she's going to let the question hang without answering it, Mulder changes the subject.

"Why … why bring this up?"

He asks the question half expecting her to skirt around it without directly answering it, but she doesn't.

"Because I'm almost 35. There are options out there … I just have to decide whether or not I'm going to take them."

"Well, whatever you decide, you'll have my full support, Scully."

The silence that follows surprises him, causing him to shift his focus back to her and study her expression. What he finds is as intriguing as it is troubling. There's clearly something weighing on her mind. Something she isn't sharing.

"I wish it were that simple."

Reaching out, he takes her hand in his and gives it a squeeze.

"It can be."

#the x files #msr fanfic #msr #conversation in the car #mulder and scully #angst #X FILE SUMMER FANFIC GIFT EXCHANGE 2019

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infinitehours · 5 years ago

Text

From Dusk to Dawn, an Elder Scrolls Online short fic

Rivenspire spoilers and Daggerfall Covenant questline spoilers (specifically Stormhaven and main quest). I did like the ideas behind the Rivenspire storyline, even if I did not always like the execution. Author notes are first, then the story. Leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed!

Author notes before the story: I’m actually not done with this story. It’s still got another part to it that I just haven’t had the inspiration to write yet.

This is my character Elyssa. She's the youngest of my line-up *(only 18), and that distinction is important. Naive and more than a little too trusting. She's also probably the only one who would purposely go out of her way just to coax a bunch of vampires into letting her stay the night, if only for the "coolness" factor of getting to stay the night at a vampire castle.

Once upon a time, I had plot bunny idea of a conversation concerning my traumatized Vestige about Molag Bal. I say traumatized because...let's be honest here. The amount of stuff the Vestige goes through is alarmingly dark at times. It wasn't until I got to Rivenspire that I recognized the perfect situation this conversation could take place, and that the Count's status as a vampire who received his vampirism directly from Molag Bal (only to turn around and embrace morality) added an extra layer of meaning here. I hope that explains why I did this in the specific way that I did. That vampires, and their abilities, are they themselves almost representations of Molag Bal's whole concept of domination and submission. I like that bit of symbolism. I don't think this particular story would have had as much of an impact otherwise.

It's canon that there are different strains of vampires and that they can do different things depending on the strain. What's not entirely clear to me is how those mechanics always work (because we don't always see them in game), so forgive me for making a few things up. Additionally, ZOS confirmed they were changing how the feeding animation looks to something "more traditional" so I'm assuming we're going to get people biting necks in the update. Which is a lot better than the weird ridiculous looking funnel of blood, if I’m being honest here.

(one of the other reasons I wanted to write this was to come up with an explanation for why the Count is kind of...irritated all the time, lol)

Content warnings: A little bit of Molag Bal torture going on here. Vampire biting. Otherwise I can’t think of anything.

***************

~~~~~~~~~~

“Difficulty sleeping?”

Those were the first words out of his mouth the moment she stepped lightly into the study. Even without turning around, even without her making a sound, he seemed to be keenly aware she was there. It might have been unnerving if she didn’t know anything about him.

“Nightmares,” was her reply, the shadow of a sad smile coming and going on her lips.

He nodded silent acknowledgement as she took one of the carved wooden seats available. For a moment, she watched him as he stood with his back to her; he was stock still, almost statue-like, save for the occasional instance in which he turned the page. He wore a different set of mage’s robes than he did earlier. It was similarly a deep, dark grey, but this one had a few threads of red woven in a delicate pattern across the length of it.

“I suppose it quite normal for a mortal to have those when staying in a place like this.”

He said it flatly, and it was difficult for her to work out whether he was irritated at the idea or resigned to it.

“I assure you, my lord Count,” she responded carefully in turn. “I’ve been having nightmares long before I accepted your very generous offer to spend the night.”

Platitudes. That was surely the best way to handle a noble, undead or not, right?

“But if it is at all upsetting to you that I’m here,” she continued, hastily, “It would be a simple thing to pack my affects and travel to Shornhelm.”

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I am not bothered. And it is likewise too dangerous to travel the roads at this time at night.”

His eyes still never seemed to pry themselves away from his research as he propped open another tome on top of a large pile of books that conveniently reached his height.

“Vampires hunt best at this time, I’m sure.” she said, off-handedly, her fingers dancing through the length of her reddish brown hair that was now free of her usual, careful braid.

“There’s no sun to burn our skin, and our eyes are much better attuned to the dark than a mortal’s. The bloodfiends, who are nothing more than feral members of our kind, operate much the same. So long as the people stay indoors and within the city walls, they should be safe. But a lone traveler, even on horseback, may offer up a too tempting target for them to resist. You’d be snatched in the gloom and none would hear of it until the morning.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, though in her mind’s eye she played out a scene with her own mangled corpse lying by the side of the road. Pale, glassy-eyed, bite-ridden and completely drained of blood. She scowled at the thought, and shifted in her chair.

“It may not come down to that,” She said, her voice lacking the confidence she’d hoped for, “I’d say I’m pretty good at fighting bloodfiends; and, in fact, I’ve already fought some of them at night...”

“I don’t doubt that, Elyssa. But is there any real reason to risk yourself unnecessarily? Stay here for the night, and I promise you can leave in the morning. As early as it takes the sun to rise to the sky and offer you its protection.”

Her scowl deepened. Did he think she was scared to spend the night at his home-castle-place-thing? She knew that he was probably used to being a little bit defensive when it came to dealing with others (and that it was kind of her fault for somewhat insisting on staying to begin with), but he can’t honestly think she’d lost her nerve, could he?

“Count Verandis. I seem to have accidentally given you the impression that I’m uncomfortable here or that I desperately wish to leave if only you’d allow me. Trust me when I say, if I was that desperate or felt like I was in that much danger, I would have already broken one of your pretty stained glass windows and JUMPED myself to freedom.”

She gestured towards the entryway. “Although I’d probably just try the front door first. Something tells me you wouldn’t stop me, even if you do think it’s foolhardy for a mortal to be prancing about in the dead of night.”

He still didn’t turn away from his books, but from the angle of where she sat she could see the edge of his mouth twitching into, what she’d hope, was something akin towards a smile. Or maybe that was just a trick of the light.

“I appreciate your consideration for my family home. Stained glass is difficult to procure these days.”

She smiled at that (he HAD made a joke, right? That was meant as a joke, wasn’t it?), and adjusted herself so that she was lounging a bit in the chair. Difficult to do, since the wood wasn’t exactly comfortable. Her plain beige dress, what she usually wore to sleep, wasn’t padded enough to act as a cushion either. She frowned for the third time that night, and straightened back up.

“Do you want me to leave you to your studies?” She asked politely, just as the thought occurred to her. It would act as an excuse to go back to the upstairs bedroom; one of the few rooms that actually had a bed in the entire castle.

“It’s not necessary.” He stated.

She waited a moment.

“…May I ask a question?”

“If you insist.” Again, in that flat, dull tone of his that never seemed to hold much emotion.

“Are you always thirsty?”

This gave him pause, and she could see a few of his fingers ghosting over the latest text he held open before committing to turning another page.

“At some level, yes. But if you’ve practiced for as long as I have and feed regularly, it’s barely noticeable.”

“So me being in this room for you is, thankfully, not distracting?”

“Your presence isn’t, no.”

Her eyes narrowed in on the back of his head. He was possibly, in a roundabout way, implying that her comments were distracting. It was another one of those statements that made it hard for her to figure out whether he was pissed off, slightly annoyed, or just bored.

“Would you like a bite?” She suddenly asked.

“What?” This time, he DID look up. Even more, he turned to stare at her with something akin to surprise.

She sat to attention with a triumphant smirk. “Finally, a normal emotional reaction!”

And with that proclamation, his expression hardened and he returned to his books.

“I do not have time for childish endeavors, Elyssa.” He said sourly.

“You just seem so….I don’t know. Detached. Either that, or irritated at everyone all the time. It’s hard to tell with you. I think that may be the bulk of the reason why a lot of people may be uncomfortable around you. It’s rather nice to see you actually have some…well…life left in you.”

“When you’ve lived as many years as I have, my child, and watched just as many of your friends age and die…short-lived humans, no less…people you’ve formed attachments to and cared for, again and again…You find ways of…removing yourself from all of it. If only to ensure that it need not affect you as hard each time.”

Elyssa considered this. “So…when you say you ‘care’ about the people of Rivenspire—“

“I do care,” He snapped his latest book shut and spun to face her. “I may not be able to feel as deeply as a mother who lost her first child, but I do care about what happens to the people of Rivenspire. I still remember what it was like to lose family, to lose loved ones, the depths of that pain. Even if I cannot experience it fully for myself anymore, I remember enough to never wish it upon anyone else. This is why I detest the idea of ever sharing this gift of mine; inflicting it upon others so that they would have to spend decades just learn how to control their despair enough to function. Can you fathom, can you even imagine, the maddening realization that most everyone you love will soon wither and fade except yourself?”

He approached her at her chair, and though his voice still held that air of mild detachment, his glowing red eyes seemed to burn all the brighter with an inner light.

“You’re correct in the sense that I do have difficulties expressing this. That I no longer have the capabilities to show others, in any genuine way, the measure of my desire to help. Mortals rely so much on interpreting emotions through body language and tone of voice, and I am far beyond the point where I can easily weep in the presence of those who are weeping…or even do a decent attempt at trying.”

As he came to stop in front of her, he actually knelt to the ground. To her level. Eye to eye.

“There’s a reason, in my belief, why the divines would dictate life to be so short and sweet. Those of us who are cursed to live longer than normal risk…losing things in the process. I often find myself wanting to socialize with mortals just to get some of that back. A sense of personhood and direction. Passions and strivings. It’s truly remarkable to see reminders of how easy it comes to you.”

He carefully reached out his hand towards her cheek, as though she represented this. As though she were a symbol of this very discussion. Just as the tips of cold fingers brushed against her skin, she turned her head just a tad in an attempt to see it in her peripheral. It was difficult to say whether he interpreted that as a flinch or he suddenly remembered himself, but he withdrew his hand again.

“I apologize.” He said, getting up and returning once more to the bookshelves. “I did not mean to touch you without permission.”

“What? My cheek? That’s not a crime.” Elyssa replied, still trying to absorb everything he just told her.

“Countess Tamrith would likely disagree with that assessment.”

“Countess Tamrith isn’t here. And before you go back to your no-doubt riveting literature, I should tell you that I was genuine in offering my blood to you.”

He turned once more to her, an eyebrow delicately raised in questioning.

“Is that so? I believe the good Countess would now consider you to have committed a sin.” He asked, and his eyes stared straight at hers for a good measure.

For her part, believing that he was testing her resolve, she sat up straighter and met his gaze head on.

The room was silent for a moment.

He took a tentative step towards her, and she was a little ashamed that the unexpected movement caused her to flinch. He stopped at the sight.

“We do not usually find people who willingly volunteer so soon after finding out about our condition. Are you sure?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You certainly do not sound it.”

Elyssa huffed out the breath she’d been accidentally holding. “Well…it isn’t as though I get bitten by a vampire every other day. I’m not sure what to expect. Does it hurt?”

“It’s a bite, Elyssa,” And this time, she was sure those glowing eyes of his were laughing at her even if his mouth didn’t show it. “Pain is usually involved in those. I can, however, promise that it is certainly not excruciating.”

“Well that’s a relief…I think.”

He carefully stepped towards her while she sat stock still and staring straight ahead. For every moment that he moved closer, she grew more and more uneasy.

“Should I stand up, then?” She said, trying to distract herself from imagining the pain too much; she’d a bad habit of blowing things out of proportion.

“It would be much preferable if you remained seated...Else the dizziness may cause you to fall. It may even be better if you were to lie down…”

“Sorry, but there’s no way you’re going to get me onto your dining room table. That would just be too…” She recalled to mind an earlier scene of stumbling upon them whilst they sat around a half-naked Dark Elf “….awkward. Awkward and probably uncomfortable. For me, that is. No idea if you feel a hundred percent comfortable with people just casually laying on-”

Her spiraling commentary came to a screeching halt when she felt his hand rest lightly on her shoulder. The very same shoulder twitched, of its own accord, and he removed his hand shortly after.

“That’s the third time you’ve flinched,” he accused.

“No it’s not!” She blurted out. “That’s barely the first!”

“Elyssa…”

“I can do this! I’m not a coward!” She insisted, finally turning to face him as he stood right next to her.

“Nobody is calling you as such. But this is also not necessary, and I believe I made it quite clear that my household only feeds on the willing.”

“I am willing! I just….I…” Her resolve withered a bit in the midst of staring him down.

His eyes glowing red and unnatural. A sign, perhaps from the Divines, as to dangers that could lurk behind them. The same kind of red eyes on the bloodfiends she’d been fighting ever since she came to Rivenspire.

“…I…I just need a moment,” she finished, knowing full well that it was an admission of defeat.

He sighed and walked back to his books. “Go back to bed, Elyssa. I need to focus on figuring out what Montclair’s next movements may be.”

She sat there for a few moments longer, but he was firmly encased back in his notes and didn’t turn around again to acknowledge her again. The obvious signs that the conversation was over.

He thought she was just being childish.

It stung a little, the obvious disregard. Ignored and brushed aside so casually. It almost felt a lot like the time her papa had caught her ruining one of his prized books even after she promised she wouldn’t touch it. Except this was pretty much a stranger, and she couldn’t discern whether that made it somehow worse.

The feeling, the blatant disregard, threatened to stifle the little study they were in, and it became too much for her to bear that she did decide to leave.

Slowly taking the steps back upstairs to the bedroom.

She passed a dead mouse and thought idly about it; one of the things that Adusa had done to help the servants prepare the room for her was to take out a couple of live mice. They didn’t get many guests, or so Adusa said.

But she wondered if the mice weren’t just the natural result of vacancy; the bite mark on this one suggested they were also kept around as a midnight snack.

She chuckled a bit at that as she crept onto the double bed. The fresh sheets had been thoroughly washed with soap, she had been told, and seemed so very new that they did not even have the usual frayed threads at the end or faded patterns. And they were just a little bit stiff.

The mortal servants didn’t stay here; there were additional rooms downstairs beyond the storage alcove. This was purely a guest room. ….And it almost felt fake. Like the immortal Count of the castle had attempted to make something seem homely, only for it to just perceptively feel off.

Perhaps the room had seen such rare usage that it failed to ever take on the personalities of those who had used it.

It might have even just been the fact that there were three very obvious coffins resting in the main hall, visible from the guest suite balcony.

It wasn’t bad...it was just…

“Comfy yet, little sweetthing?” The Dremora playfully poked her with the end of a very sharp and very pointy rod.

Elyssa struggled yet again, but the bars of the humanoid shaped cage held fast.

Cadwell…

Lyris…

The Prophet…

The only three kind voices in that entire prison, and they were screaming in agony right behind her.

“What are you doing to them?! Stop it!” She cried out, trying, in vain, to turn her head to look at them.

“Now now. We assure you, they’re being WELL taken care of.” The Dremora poked her again right at her collarbone. “Just as you will be!”

The screaming behind her increased, as if to prove a point.

“But ooh. Oooh. It seems you have a guest, sweetling. Someone is here. Just. To see. You.”

More Dremora came, dragging a human alongside them. The woman was pushed in front of Elyssa’s cage.

“….I asked you for help…” The woman said, tears falling freely as she looked up.

A shiver went down Elyssa’s spine as soon as she realized she was staring at the face of Duchess Lakana.

“Y-your Grace…”

“I asked you for help…and what did you do?” The Duchess pointed an accusing finger. “You left me! You left me alone with that man, that murderer!”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to….I didn’t mean to, I swear. I didn’t know it was him…” Her eyes began to water up, a mirror of the Duchess’ own face.

“How could you? You said you would help me! Why didn’t you do everything you could? Why didn’t you stay with me?”

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry!”

“And you spared him! You spared that monster! How could you do that after he killed me?!”

“That’s enough of that!” The Dremora interrupted, prodding the Duchess to move along. “Put her Gracious Grace alongside the rest of them! You’re starting a nice collection here, my little sweetling.”

And as soon as the Duchess was dragged out of sight, Elyssa could hear her start to scream as well.

“Stop it!! Let them go!!” She rattled the cage as hard as she could.

“Ooooh. Making demands, are we? Do you truly think you’re in any position to save them? Look at you. You couldn’t save the Duchess. You couldn’t save that family of that poor werewolf Duke. You couldn’t save your darling dearest father…”

The Daedra leaned right into her face, its teeth pearly white and crooked. And the smell coming from its breath was positively putrid in an indescribable way that had no easy comparisons anywhere on Tamriel.

“…In fact, you can’t even save yourself.”

And with that, the Dremora rammed the rod straight into her shoulder, causing her to jerk back and scream.

Scream.

And Scream. And fall back onto the…

….

…sheet covers…

Elyssa was shaking. Her eyes darted back and forth as she ascertained that yes, those were indeed sheet covers. She was in a room with a bed and nice looking wooden furniture.

In a room made out of stone.

A house.

No, a castle.

That’s right. Ravenwatch Castle.

There were no Dremora in sight. No screaming. No water tainted blue with an eerie light.

No crags filled with bleakest rocks that spread out like daggers.

No distant tundras with nothing but dead plants the eyes could see.

No cages….

Elyssa took one, long, swipe of her hand against her brow, pulling away the sweat that had collected there. She must have dozed off just then, only to be faced with yet another nightmare.

She tried to push it straight out of her mind and attempt to go back to sleep, but her legs demanded to wander. That, and she was sure that if she closed her eyes again, the Daedra would return to haunt her.

Her feet took her back downstairs. The shaking ever present in each and every one of her steps. Soon enough, she found herself back at the study. The doorway leading outside, the dining table, the whispering quiet of the night; it all gave the comforting confirmation that the horrors she’d just seen really were just dreams.

Adusa was out scouting the nearby towns and municipal villages. Melina was out gathering supplies. The mortal servants were likely fast asleep in their own quarters. Gwendis was….well, Akatosh only knows where Gwendis went off to. But sure and steady, Count Ravenwatch was still working in his study. And the nightmare was fresh enough that she felt drawn to sticking around with the only conscious person she had easy access to.

The scratch of a feather quill paused only briefly as she stood at the threshold.

“Contrary to whatever you may believe, Elyssa,” The Count stated, never looking up. “The sun does not, in fact, rise every twenty minutes like you seem to do.”

Her shaking died down just enough to allow her the dignity of a glare in his direction. Now she was convinced: the real reason people were uncomfortable around him had absolutely nothing to do with his status as a vampire.

“Bite me,” She seethed back at him.

She’d meant it as an insult. A come back. But she realized her mistake when he stopped writing to give her back one, long, unamused look. Complete with an eyebrow raised.

“Did we not just have this conversation?” He said, turning to another page.

“I don’t care. I’d rather have conversations all night long if it means I don’t have to go back to sleep.”

She started pacing a bit around the study’s doorway, if only to give her mind something to focus on and her legs something to do.

But as she made a few passes, she noticed he had stopped working and was watching her. This time with a far more unreadable expression than the blatant apathy.

“What are your dreams about that has you so terrified?”

“Coldharbour,” She whispered, just barely under her breath. It must have been loud enough for him to hear her, because his eyes grew a little wider.

“You’ve…actually been there?”

The moment she stopped her pacing was the moment her shaking started up again. She looked him in the eyes, but found she couldn’t stand to do that for long and had to look towards the floor.

She could hear him whisper something unintelligible; cursing, perhaps, under his breath in Aldmeris.

“You carry a much heavier burden than I initially thought.” He said, “You’re far, far too young for all of this…”

“I can help! I know I can!” Elyssa insisted, “I’m not afraid of Coldharbour! I’m not afraid of the bloodfiends! I’m not afraid to get bitten! I can prove it! You can have my blood; take it!”

It was supposed to be a reaffirming statement, but her protestations almost made her sound even more childish.

“Elyssa…” he spoke calmly. Carefully. “Why is it so important to you that you give me your blood?”

“Because you need it, don’t you?” She said, frustrated. She began her pacing again.

“That’s not the reason.”

“Because I want to be helpful!”

“That’s also not the reason.”

This time, she stopped pacing and got angry.

“Because if I don’t give everything I can, and something happened to you, or the High King, or the people of Rivenspire, it will be all my fault again!!”

She yelled it out, and her body feeling a little lighter as she did. Even as her eyes had begun to water just a bit.

“There it is…” Verandis said softly.

And he left her a moment to go over to the cabinet by the door.

“One of the greatest strengths…” he said, and she could hear him fiddling with something. “…Of the Daedric Prince of Domination is not just in his talent to forcefully suppress a person’s free will or inflicting their greatest fears, but in his capacity for making them feel guilt.”

He returned with a glass of a deep red liquid. “Physical pain may fade with time, but guilt has a habit of remaining. What’s worse, it’s often the sufferer that fosters and grows it. Is there any torture more perfect than that which the victim inflicts upon themselves? Sit down, Elyssa.”

“What…?” She glanced from him to the glass as he sat it down at the table between the two chairs in the study.

“If you still insist that I taste your blood, then I must insist that you sit down first.”

Her eyes grew wide a moment, but she clenched her fists out of resolve and held fast as she cautiously took the seat to the right. He maneuvered the chair opposite to rest closer to her, taking a seat himself.

Her fingers were still trembling as she reached up and undid the top button at the back of her dress, but she hadn’t a clue whether they were trembling because of this or if they were simply leftovers from her fitful sleep. It may have been both.

“I don’t...need to take off my clothes completely, do I?” She frowned in disgust at the thought. She hadn’t considered that part, but the Dunmer from before had been…well…half-naked.

“No,” He said, firmly. “A shoulder is all that’s required. Are you ready?”

She glanced at the filled glass.

“Do you always take a shot after you’ve already had a drink?” She joked weakly.

“The wine is for you, Elyssa. I think you should drink at least a little of it when I’m done. Now, are you prepared?”

Her hand reached up to pull down one of the shoulders of her dress, just enough so that her collarbone showed. Her fists clenched and unclenched themselves as she rigidly held them in her lap. If she were ever bitten by a vampire, this is what it would feel like….

Finally, she nodded.

A touch at her shoulder caused her to flinch again, but they were only fingers. He was gently moving a strand of hair out of the way.

“Tell me. I saw you speaking to Melina earlier and it caught my attention. Did she find a particularly interesting rune?”

She brightened up a little at that.

“Oh! Well not exactly; we were just talking about this one-ow.”

She was simultaneously a little irritated and a little grateful. The skeever only asked her that as a distraction… and she actually fell for it.

Vampire fangs were apparently large enough that it felt a little like someone had just happily jabbed a pair of sewing needles into the tender part of her shoulder. She’d had worse injuries before, but it wasn’t very pleasant either.

…And it was just a tad bit awkward. For obvious reasons.

Did the servants really do this on a regular basis?

Just as she considered the pain, a wave of a new sensation came with it. He was right; it did have the effect of making a person dizzy. Dizzy and…a little hazy. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that she’d self-induced upon herself for the past couple of days, but she was actually starting to feel…calmer.

Numb.

After a few seconds had passed, it no longer hurt. And she was no longer sitting up straight in the chair, but rather lounging. The hard wood had suddenly felt a lot more comfy.

She could still feel him there. It was hard to ignore his mouth (although she valiantly tried anyways, if only to make it a little less awkward), but she couldn’t really feel any blood actually going out of her (probably a blessing). One of his hands helped to hold up her neck, and the other right at her upper arm to hold her steady. It was just as well; the numbness had the effect of making her feel like a puddle of water.

She could also feel him pull away. Replaced with the feeling of cloth at her shoulder. Elyssa turned to look and found him softly pressing either a handkerchief or a napkin to the wound (for her sanity’s sake, she decided it was the former rather than the latter).

“That didn’t seem like much,” Her speech was a little slurred.

“Do you still wish to fight the bloodfiends while conscious? If so, then this is all you can afford to lose. You already run the risk of injury on the battlefield.”

He motioned for her to hold the handkerchief there. “It will stop bleeding in a moment. How do you feel?”

“Rather nice…” She said with a slightly loopy smile. But then she frowned. “Am I supposed to find it nice?”

“All vampires have some level of hypnotic ability. Some use it to effect of creating slavish thralls. Mostly, I suspect it’s there to ensure that any prey doesn’t try to escape our grasp. For this reason, I think it tends to show up often in mortals who have been recently fed upon.”

Elyssa thought about Kallin and the almost eager way he introduced himself to her so soon after the Ravenwatch vampires had dined upon him.

“So…do you influence your servants to give you their blood?”

“I do not always willingly inflict this effect, Elyssa. Think of it more as a side effect than something I always have a conscious command of. Anyone I feed on could potentially feel like this.”

“But you have some control of your hypnotic ability, don’t you…?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking of me. Here.” He gestured for the handkerchief back and for her to fix her outfit.

“If you’re implying that I somehow force or coerce my servants to give me their blood, the answer is ‘no’. I made no such demands of them, nor would I need to. There are plenty of people in Rivenspire of the unsavory variety; bandits, cutthroats, and the like for whom death would be deserving. So it would be no trouble to us if Kallin should ever wish to seek employment elsewhere. I would not stop him. Only ask that he keep the secret of our gifts to himself. Not everyone in Rivenspire knows of our nature.”

She adjusted her dress back to normal after looking at the mark. The wound had stopped bleeding; only two pinpricks of red against her skin to mark that anything had actually happened.

“I don’t oversee a prison here in my home.” He said.

With it being so fresh in her mind, it was difficult to keep her thoughts away from her dream; the bleakness of Molag Bal’s domain and how it contrasted with the Count’s own castle. In spite of the coffins (and questionable décor)….this was practically paradise compared to Coldharbour.

Then again…wasn’t anything paradise compared to that place?

“You should have a few sips of wine.” He said, interrupting her reverie.

She nodded and took the glass, letting the liquid swirl within before bringing it to her lips. It was a tad sweet, and something she must have needed because she took in a large gulp of it.

“The numbness is wearing off…” She said, contemplating the glass in her hand. “…And I have to face my dreams once more…I don’t want to go back to sleep and see Duchess Lakana again…”

“The Duchess of Alcaire…I understand that it was you who thwarted the Daedric plot behind her murder.”

“But I couldn’t save her! She was so….she was so scared. And she said she was all alone there. The soldiers wouldn’t even allow her to see most of the entourage that came for her from her father. I said I would help her and then…then…”

She tried not to get too emotional by taking another large gulp of wine “…I should have stayed right next to her instead of running around…”

“We are all bound by our limitations, my child. In your case, you cannot possibly be everywhere and save everyone all at once…”

“No. But I could have made sure I brought her murderer to justice…”

She finished the glass and set it back on the table, balling her hands into fists again.

“…I let him go. He looked so guilty…and his mind had been manipulated by Vaermina…I thought it was the right thing to do. At least, that’s what I told myself at the time.”

Elyssa looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching them, staring at them as though she’d hoped they would somehow provide a better thought process.

“Now I’m wondering if I was really right. The Duke seemed a little bit angry at my decision…”

“He was likely grieving.”

“And the knight in question - the one who killed her? – he himself said that he felt guilty and deserved to die.”

“Those who feel guilt are not always guilty of anything. And he, as a knight, was likely considering the strained political relations going on within the Covenant. His duty to preserve the alliance may have weighed heavily on him to the point where he thought sacrificing his life should be a consideration.”

“But he seemed so…I don’t know. He was acting so normal when I met him; when he supposedly was under Vaermina’s sway. I have to wonder if he didn’t secretly want the Duchess to die after all…”

“Now you’re being a bit unfair.”

“But…He could have resisted.” She said, finally. “He must have been able to resist. He should have tried. He was acting so normal most of the time that he had to have some control of his senses. If he had put a little effort into fighting back, maybe she wouldn’t be dead. Maybe I would have been able to stop him. Or maybe I wouldn’t have even had to stop him. If only he’d considered alternatives…He could have just kidnapped her instead, but no. She just had to die! He should have been punished for that...He should have died, and I should ha—“

His hand was at her shoulder again, and that numb feeling came back with such a vengeance that she had instantly slumped back into the chair. Her anxiety laced rambling put to a halt with a slack jaw.

Her breathing steadied. Her eyelids drooped. Every muscle in her body had completely and utterly given in to a state of soothing relaxation.

“Stand up, Elyssa,” he commanded.

A floating, freeing feeling washed over her as she did as she was told. The room had gotten brighter, the hallway lighting almost dancing in front of her eyes.

“Come with me upstairs,” he commanded again.

And she felt compelled….no, she felt like it was wonderful to move forward. He followed behind and caught her by her arms to direct her around the dining room table.

They walked, slow and steady. Elyssa was sure that if she hadn’t been held by the mer behind her that she’d fall flat on her face. The numbness took all anxiety away….to be replaced completely with contentment and a calm sort of happiness…It was the most relieving feeling in the world.

“Molag Bal,” He said, “Would certainly love to have you convinced that weakness is a sin. That people with weaker wills, much like the knight you speak of, deserve to be punished and tortured.”

They began to ascend the stairs, and Elyssa swayed a bit. She had been trying her best to focus on walking, but the comforting numbness was making her a bit sleepy. Besides, her feet and legs appeared to find themselves all on their own, without any effort on her part.

In the back of her mind, there was some measure of concern that something was wrong here. But any attempt at trying to grasp what exactly was amiss slipped right out of her thoughts.

“But we all have our weaknesses, Elyssa,” Count Verandis continued. “There is not a person in all of Tamriel who is devoid of them. For me, it is the sun. For you? Right now, it is your generous acceptance of others who are different than you; the trust that you easily form with strangers in spite of how unusual they may be or, in this case, whether or not they are a vampire. Acceptance and compassion are very much virtues to be exalted, but in the hands of the wrong people they can become weaknesses to be utilized against you.”

They reached the top of the stairs and made their way into the guest parlor. Each step forwards made her feel like a leaf on the wind; dancing across the floor as though her body was lighter than air. The furniture danced alongside her, swimming in her vision. She heard every word that he said (in fact, it held the bulk of her attention, as if she couldn’t ignore him even if she tried), but finding a response was difficult as she couldn’t formulate the thoughts to say anything.

“I am grateful for your trust, Elyssa. Far too many have unfairly scorned or judged us for our condition without ever trying to become acquainted with who we are as people.”

He stopped her just as they reached the table. She frowned with disappointment; she wanted to keep moving around. It felt nice.

“However, imagine for a moment,” He whispered lower, closer to her ear. “How disastrous this would be if I had a more destructive desire. What would happen if we had met on a dark, lonely night and I had no code of conduct to dictate my thirst? I would beckon you, entrap you just like this. How easily you would come to me, following me out of sight of any living person who might help you. Can you imagine what I would do then with such a feast all to myself? This feeling, this enthrallment, would be the last sensation you ever felt; helpless to do anything as I gorged myself on your life’s blood.”

Fingers appeared at her throat, ever so gently pressed against her skin, against the pulse beating there. And almost automatically, she found she had lifted her chin even more to better allow them. She felt a tinge of fear break through the numbness; fear of the mer at her back, at the way her own body rebelled against her wishes to expose her own throat… and a growing, frightening consideration at the back of her mind that he might, just might, take the offer. In spite of whatever he may have said about their feeding habits before.

“Tell me,” He said, “Many members of my kind would insist that they have the right to feast on mortals because their prey is weaker than them. Would it be just and proper for me to rip your throat out all because you are powerless right now? Do I have the right to murder you just because I can? Because I’m stronger?”

A small bubble of panic managed to sober her up enough to try and wiggle free. But the movement was half-hearted; she still did not feel like she had complete command of her body. Even though he did not hold her very firmly, her little movements seemed insufficient to loosen his grasp. Attempting to maneuver limbs felt like trying to wade through dense tar. And as the words died in her throat before they had the chance to pass her lips, she was met with the horrific realization that she was trapped at his whim without so much as the ability to scream.

She had never been so terrified of him before that moment.

He removed his hand from her throat to grasp both arms in an attempt to hold her steady; her struggling had given her an awfully dangerous sway that threatened to cause her to hit the table. Or the floor. Whichever unfortunate hard surface she reached first.

“It’s all right, Elyssa.” He said, his voice kinder. “I give you my word; your life is safe within my home and among myself and my household. I’ll release you very soon, I promise. Relax now, or you’ll hurt yourself.”

As if that was also command, a new, fresh wave of numbness and calm settled in, and she felt too exhausted from her last struggle to resist it. It took over once again, and the world went fuzzy.

“Sit down,” he commanded, releasing his grip on her arms to pull out a chair. And she obeyed, taking the offered seat.

He went to stand before her with crossed arms. They remained like that for several minutes before she began to notice that she had feeling back in her legs. The calm was dying down. Her fingers could twitch at her will. Her arms now moved unimpeded. And with her newly re-acquired control of herself, she immediately proceeded to do the thing she wanted to do the most:

Look up and glare at him.

(Punching him was actually the first option, but she was tired and felt that it required more effort than she thought he deserved)

“How are you feeling?” He asked, unphased by her expression.

“Pretty pissed.”

“As well you should be. But recognize that it is my fault for exerting my power over you. It is not your fault that you hadn’t the strength to resist back. You can’t hold yourself responsible for my actions or the actions of any others…Just as you should not hold other people responsible for the actions of Vaermina.”

Her glare lessened as she contemplated this. “Do you…suppose that was a taste of what Sir Hughes felt? The same sort of influence he may have been under?”

“I cannot guess what sort of Daedric magic Vaermina used, but I can almost surely guarantee it was potent.”

She was silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. So she looked down to fiddle with her fingers.

His demonstration made an impression.

“Never doubt that you made the right choice to spare that knight’s life,” He said, softly. “He was not a cultist, nor did he willingly implore Vaermina for any of this; she forced her influence upon him by taking advantage of the little bits of doubt that we all experience when it comes to change in our lives. No mortal deserves death all because they were weaker than a Daedric Prince. If we should go by this logic, then all but a potential handful should be summarily executed right here and now.”

“…Yeah.” Elyssa sighed, avoiding his gaze. “I think a part of me realizes that. That I don’t actually blame Sir Hughes, I just…”

“…You still feel a little guilty because you happened to be there. And you’re desperately trying to look for an excuse to assuage that guilt.”

“Yeah,” She winced to hear it aloud, but he had put it very succinctly.

“Her death wasn’t your fault, Elyssa. You cannot hope to control what a Daedric Prince decides to do; you can only hope to try and stop them. Even then, such foes are so formidable that it isn’t a guarantee that you will be successful.”

He leaned against the table. “I would consider it impressive that you were even able to save the poor soul manipulated by Vaermina. He may be punished in exile, but that is a far better, far more appropriate fate than what the Daedric Prince of Nightmares had in store for him, I can promise you that. I don’t think I need to remind you that Daedra often treat mortals as toys, and are known to mercilessly toss aside those that have passed their usefulness.”

“I guess…” She sighed again, gaze transfixed to the floor in front of him. But then she remembered what had just happened, and she snapped her head back up to glare at him. “I’m still angry at you, though.”

“And I apologize that I frightened you. I do regret that. Make no mistake, it is wrong to affect people’s minds in such a way, and I apologize for that as well. But I thought it would give you some perspective as to what it feels like to be influenced in such a manner. At the very least, I would hope that it proved to you how difficult it is to escape.”

“How do you escape?” She had a terrible thought pass through her head about having to face a much more sinister vampire who would use this technique.

“Different strains of vampirism, different capabilities. But in this particular case, there were several factors working against you.”

He gestured to her.

“First, you had allowed me to feed off of you, which, I believe, actually helps with this. Second, you trusted me. At least, enough to stay the night without any discernible fear for your own safety. I was able to take advantage of that to exert a much more potent sway. If you recall, you had regained some ability to fight back the moment I lost that trust and started to frighten you. Unfortunately, you had, by that point, been under my control for a bit too long that it was difficult to break through.”

“So…Feeding, length of time, and trust. Did I get that correct?”

“For my particular type of vampirism, yes. You’ll likely meet many others whose abilities operate under a different set of rules. It does, however, take no small amount of effort to inflict such hypnotic influence, so it is doubtful that you’ll meet very many opponents who would consider using it against you in the heat of battle.”

She nodded. “That’s comforting a bit…I think.”

Silence settled over them.

This time, it was Verandis who sighed.

“I cannot speak for the Duchess,” he said, “But I am quite familiar with both the High King and his brother, the Duke of Alcaire. And I can assure you that neither of them would want you to be this distraught over Duchess Lakana’s death. Especially not to the point where it is affecting your sleep.”

“Yeah, about that. I still really don’t want to close my eyes. So do you have anything you need that I can help with?”

“Blood loss and exhaustion doesn’t strike me as a particularly brilliant plan for fighting off blood fiends.”

“I can’t.” Elyssa stared him straight in the eye, trying to keep the twitching of her mouth from grimacing too much, “I really, really can’t do this. I can’t go back to sleep right now; it’s just going to be the same nightmare again. Like it was yesterday. And the night before that.”

He stared back at her without comment at first, but eventually uncrossed his arms to head towards his alchemical table in the corner.

“How about,” He said, “I brew you a sleeping draught.”

“But—“

“You needn’t drink it if you don’t want to. But I’ll leave it here with you, just in case.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Is this going to be like the last potion you made for me, where I wandered about in your memories?”

“No memories. Just a typical sleeping potion.”

Her nose rankled at the undesirable scents and burning smells that were already coming from the station as he worked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I didn’t really mind stepping into your past. It was kind of fun being someone else, actually. Just not sure I’d want to do it on a regular basis, because it was also kind of disorienting.”

“Considering everything you’ve told me, I believe we shouldn’t have a repeat of that. I’m already beginning to regret what little I’ve shown you; I think you have enough worries without me adding more of my own to your pile.”

She could hear sounds of him pouring liquid into a container, and soon enough he approached her with a bottle of something blood red.

He held it out for her and she reached for it, but his grip held fast.

“Please look at me, Elyssa.”

Her blue eyes looked up to find contemplative red.

“Never let Molag Bal win by accepting his ideology,” He said, resolve in his expression. “Believe me when I say, he would cherish such a submission from you. Weakness is not a sin…and the powerful should always strive to protect, not abuse. Remember that.”

She nodded slowly in response to the seriousness in his words, and he released the bottle to her grasp.

“….Vampires fall under the realm of Molag Bal, don’t they?” She asked, holding tight to the vial, “To the point where I even heard that Coldharbour is where their souls go when they die. Is that one of the many reasons why you have an honor code? Not just to be a good person, but to fight back against him, even if a little bit?”

The flickers of a very sad smile tugged at the edges of his lips.

“…Have a good night, Elyssa. May your dreams bring you a much-needed and well-deserved rest.”

And with that, he left her to go back downstairs.

She stared at him as he went. And stared at the potion he left her when he was gone.

After crawling back to the bed, she pulled out the stopper to take a little sniff of the concoction. It smelled awful, like most potions do. And she winced as she pulled back to take a tiny taste of it.

Fortunately, the taste wasn’t half as bad as some of the magicka brews she’d had before; this one only had a faint note of rotting eggs and cabbage, instead of an overt one. That was an improvement.

After much staring and much consideration, she held her nose and downed the rest of it in one swallow, smacking her lips with a sour expression as she finished.

But the taste lingered, and soon enough she crept out of bed to go back to the parlor. Rustling through the pantry next to the alchemical vials was a bottle of unopened wine. She silently gave a prayer of thanks to the Divines that bottles of wine were so readily available in a house full of vampires just as she popped out the cork and took a long swing of it to try to drown out the disgusting rotten eggs.

With the taste gone and her thirst satiated, she made her way back to the bedroom. A wave of dizziness and exhaustion had quickly crept up on her, and she mumbled her discontent under her breath; apparently it was a very, very potent sleeping potion.

Just before she came upon the bed, all the furniture in the room performed perfect backflips.

Her whole world spun around…

…And faded to black.

#from dusk to dawn

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less-than-hash · 6 years ago

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Holes in the Firmament

Every dev I know has at least one dream game - stuff that they'd love to be able to make some day. The more ambitious these get - the more complex or long - the less likely they are to get made. And in a collaborative medium like games, the more people (and the more money!) involved in a project, the less control any given individual has over it.

This isn't intrinsically bad. (It can also be wildly valuable to a project and rewarding personally.)

But we devs still dream of those games we'd make if we had, say, the resources of a two hundred person studio, the backing of a major publisher, and absolute freedom.

Three of mine are behind the cut.

As a note, none of these reflect upcoming Obsidian projects. Nor are they projects Obsidian would likely ever make. They don't fit the studio's brand. Which is why I'm dreaming about them here, and not pitching them internally.

So, first up!

A Squad-Based 1st-Person Firefighting Game with a Robust Relationship System and a Branching Narrative

I don't understand why there aren't more games about firefighting - though if I had to guess it's largely because making fire look good in-game is extraordinarily difficult. As is making an environment decay over time (though I suspect there are probably some pretty good, easy solutions for this using dev sleight-of-hand).

There are actually a Iot of interactive sim games about firefighting for training purposes. Much like war and flight, firefighting is something best trained without risking real life and limb.

Firefighting appeals to me as a gameplay space because it's actively protective - it's about limiting destruction and saving lives. But it can very easily be modeled with similar gameplay loops to shooters - ultimately both are about emptying rooms of danger - here it's just with water instead of bullets.

I could be water!

In short, firefighters engage in almost unequivocal good. They're heroic. They’re human. They’re flawed. And they brave dangers every day. But our industry basically ignores them.

Firefighting would give us the opportunity to set games in the modern world with people who, during their off hours, experience much more relatable struggles than your average freedom fighter, super spy, or elite soldier - relationship difficulties, debt, children, and the like.

So what would this game actually look and play like? It would likely be mission-based (calls come in of their own accord, after all), make use of movement and environmental hazards (not unlike a cover-based shooter), and have simple companion-direction mechanics similar to the Mass Effect trilogy or Spec Ops: The Line.

(Alternatively, the action could be dialed down a bit to focus on positioning a la Valkyria Chronicles.)

The gameplay would be focused on keeping your squad alive while saving as many people as possible.

Between missions you hang out at the station, or the bar, or at home - or try to balance all three, a la Catherine. You build relationships, helping your squad perform better together. You never recruit anyone, but your companions, your fellow firefighters, can die in missions, altering the narrative in both tone and content.

tl;dr: Mass Effect 2 meets Rescue Me with some dashes of Catherine

Next!

Narrative-Focused Urban Fantasy RPG/Immersive Sim

How does this not exist yet? Where's our Dresden Files or Hellblazer inspired RPGs? Or even The Magicians or Harry Potter, for that matter?

Where my Chilling Adventures of Sabrina RPG?

There's Vampire: The Masquerade: Bloodlines, which, while fantastic, is 13 years old.

While I'm looking forward to Necrobarista, that seems like a pretty tight, focused experience.

We've plenty of games with magicians in fantasy realms or in space - AKA BioWare's entire oeuvre - but few in the AAA space set in the modern world.

Unless you count superhero magicians.

Wait. Did Dr. Strange even get a game? Google suggests no. What’s going on here, videogame industry? Why won’t you suffer a witch to live?!

Honestly, I get to an extent why this is. There's a reason there've been Vampire: The Masquerade and Werewolf: The Apocalypse games, but no Mage games, either for Ascension or Awakening. Magic is broad, and often (especially in games) wildly destructive, which can be at odds with a modern setting (or rather what makes a modern setting interesting).

Art by Jason Chan, from Reign of the Exarchs by White Wolf.

But it doesn't have to be.

The flexibility of magic actually allows for a lot of different gameplay styles. You can do straight up first-person action like The Darkness or stealth survival like Last of Us. If I were to adapt Phonogram, a comic I love deeply, you can bet your ass there'd be beatmatch spellcasting.

A lot of gameplay mechanics we take for granted are actually damned-near magical.

Maps that point you where to go and tell you where your enemies are?

Dropping from a second story window without difficulty?

Regenerating health?

Items that make you smarter, stronger, or more likable?

Bullet time?

Rewinding to an earlier point in time to avoid death or a bad decision?

So that's another question a developer has to answer: if magic comes in so many shades, what color is yours? What are you hoping to accomplish?

For me, the presence of magic in the modern world demands a layer of secrecy that implies other layers of secrets. A modern world in which magic functions immediately deepens. What else lurks out there? Where are the other magicians? How are they using their abilities?

Additionally, magic is surreal. Bend and twist reality, and you're forced to look at it from new angles. If you can tweak people's emotional responses to you, how do you know the relationships around you are real?

And that's before you realize your dreams literally might come true - especially the nightmares. Is the face in the mirror a reflection, or something sinister and jealous? Is the ghost haunting you your literal past reaching out to reclaim you?

My dream modern magician game is an open-world immersive sim in an urban setting. Drop Prey, Dishonored, or BioShock style gameplay into a sprawling city filled with physics objects ripe for transmutation and NPCs waiting to be enchanted. Add an otherworld accessed by stepping through mirrors (the entire map within is reversed).

It's about what power can accomplish, what justifies its use, and what its limits are.

Populate the world with a few powerful magician NPCs with their own agendas; dozens of NPCs to chat up, learn more about, seduce, and manipulate; and a threat that could consume reality's very soul if someone doesn't step up to deal with it. Shake. Serve.

tl;dr: Dishonored meets Vampyr by way of Hellblazer and Hellboy

And finally!

Friendship Simulator 2019

My favorite parts of the Persona games and Catherine are the things outside of the core gameplay loops. The bits where you're hanging out with your friends, chatting with them, finding out more about them, and guiding and supporting them (or tearing them down).

Or hiding in the toilet to text your significant other.

One of the things I love about Persona 5: Dancing Star Night in Starlight is that the narrative is almost solely in this mode. It's entirely about learning more about your fellow Phantom Thieves.

Lest you think I uncritically and unabashedly love it, P5D has some major narrative problems - it entirely fails to pay off its initial premise, for example, and there's no persistence to the player choices or (player-driven) reactivity within the narrative.

Nor does the way the player "progresses" the narrative make a tremendous amount of sense within the fiction of the world.

Sorry I got distracted.

Point is, from a narrative perspective it's a game about getting to know people better - literally exploring their lives - and then supporting (or undermining, if you're terrible) them.

Similarly, nothing the player says in Persona (or, for the most part, Catherine) has any impact on the game. The player might progress a Social Link more slowly by being an ass to the protagonists' friends, but they'll still increase that Link over time, provided they put time into it.

And I don't want to be dismissive here. Time management is one of the major ways in which the player engages with the Persona games. Outside of combat and maybe monster-training, it's probably the most important mechanic at play. Taking longer to max out a Social Link means you're missing other content and missing opportunities to increase your stats. Or maybe the Social Link doesn't get completed at all. (Sorry, Haru.) Or maybe you’re not powerful enough to overcome the next Shadow in time and your game ends. Those are non-trivial consequences.

But the story of the Social Link, or the story of the game, will never change based on (the vast majority of) the player's interactions with their buddies.

Despite that, the games give the player a lot of freedom as to when (or whether!) they approach those relationships.

On the other end of the spectrum, Life is Strange (and Before the Storm) does a fantastic job of letting the player get to know the characters around Max (and Chloe) and responding logically to the player's choices.

The kid who has a crush on Max (Warren, I think?) remembers what the player promises him and then responds to whether or not the player follows through on it.

If Chloe plays A Game That Absolutely Involves Neither Dungeons Nor Dragons with her friends, they'll refer to it excitedly later and ask her to join in another round.

The TellTale games are also pretty good at this, especially Wolf Among Us, but that'll take me a bit far afield.

What Life is Strange does not provide the player is any control at all over the flow of the narrative. When the player completes a narrative beat within a scene, they're rushed along to the next scene, which is never one of their choosing. There's plenty of flexibility within the relationships (and within many of the smaller subplots), but little within the game's larger structure.

Ultimately, Persona provides little variability, while Life is Strange provides little narrative control.

I want to make a game that grabs the strong aspects of both of these while jettisoning their weaknesses.

(Far, far easier written than done!)

Basically, I want to make a game focused on the exploration of relationships. Where the personalities are the mysteries to unravel, and the interpersonal relationships between characters the dungeons to be navigated. Where the inner demons are the beasts in need of slaying - not through mystically entering the subconscious and doing battle with the Shadow, but through conversation.

I want a game about building a community, a family, and helping it come to support itself.

I think that one essential change that would make this significantly more doable is discarding the larger threats to the characters, especially those supernatural in nature. The relationships among the cast of Persona 4 are propping for the story of the Midnight Channel Murders. Arcadia Bay's pending apocalypse distracts from the relationships that seem to be the actual core story of Life is Strange.

(I find Before the Storm a stronger narrative than the original Life is Strange in large part because it's not being torn in multiple directions.)

Which isn't to say that there can't be threats, obstacles, and dangers. The world presents all manner of difficulties. Most of them requiring far more challenging and interesting solutions than "stick a sword in it."

That's a lot of abstraction, so what would this game actually look and play like?

Well, as I mentioned above, I think the Persona games, esp. Persona 4 Golden and Persona 5 already do a fantastic job of providing the player the framework for exploring a space and approaching relationships at their own pace.

Add into this characters that the player can engage with in order to learn more about them (not unlike Vampyr), help with their problems, and build (or break!) relationships with them or others, and you have something of an open-world interpersonal relationship game.

The narrative of these relationships would change based on the player's actions (both in regard to how they interact with the character and how they deal with (or fail to deal with) the character's problems). So would the player's reputation, which impacts their interactions with other characters.

(The reputation system is actually one of my favorite ideas in Pillars, but I think we sometimes fail to use it to its full potential. I certainly know I do.)

Side note: in this dream game, the relationships I'm describing are not expressed in a systemic way. They're not ranked like Social Links, and they don't have reputation bars like in Dragon Age or Tyranny. It's much more akin to Life is Strange here, with each character containing their own narrative(s) to be navigated.

Over time, you bring some of these characters closer to your protagonist, recruiting a tight-knit circle that helps you face the game's primary conflict. These relationships bounce off of one another. You can never make everyone happy, after all, and some people will never get along. Late game play requires that the player balance these relationships and help forge friendships or avoid catastrophic fallings out.

Yeah, but what is that primary conflict?

Potentially anything the world could throw at a person. A lot of television shows have provided us a framework we can borrow from. Veronica Mars comes immediately to mind. (Or one of my favorite films, Brick.) Then there's Lost, which is overtly about building communities and relationships in order to survive. The Wire is another possibility. (Imagine playing as a Stringer Bell type trying to build a crew while maintaining relationships with rival crews.)

My point being that we already know what these kinds of stories look like. We just have to be brave enough to make a game that's focused around understanding other people rather than shooting them.

tl;dr: Life is Strange meets Persona, minus the strange and the personas

And that’s three glimpses into my brain. Into my dreams.

You may have noticed a few through lines. I'm pretty clearly interested in making games:

Set in the modern day

That tackle modern, realistic (and I use that term extremely loosely) concerns

That are largely non-violent

With non-linear narratives

That involve exploring the lives and feelings of non-player characters

And give those interpersonal relationships systemic narrative bite

Obviously, the projects I've been involved in recently don't check off every one of those boxes on my wishlist. That's generally how it is, if you're making games with other people.

But if you're very, very lucky, you get the opportunity to work on projects that scratch at least one or two of those itches.

I've been very, very lucky.

Cheers, <3 <3 <#

#gamedev #game design #narrative #relationships #persona #catherine #mass effect #life is strange #prey #dishonored #vampyr #necrobarista

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yagumokyoji · 6 years ago

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fic: 50 percent

ao3 link

Zero was in bad shape.

One arm torn clean off—although “clean” wasn’t quite the right word, given the jagged edges of metal and synthskin, the frayed internal cables poking through. Deep gashes in his torso, the side with the missing arm almost laid bare and one laceration extending to his face. Mechanisms and circuits in plain sight, sparking and snapping; a couple motor cables poking out of his cheek and the surface of one eye torn away to reveal the blank blue lightbulb underneath. He'd looked better.

Mechaniloids with steel-trap jaws tended to do that.

The 0th Unit had laid him out in a rock crevice away in safety; the battle was finished but they weren't going to take chances. The field medic had pronounced him, well, not currently dying, at least, but added nervously that that might change if he didn't get emergency attention. HQ had been alerted, and emergency services were on their way.

There was nothing to do now but wait. At least Zero wasn't screaming, the way any lesser reploid might—but his harsh saw-edged breathing, the contorted grimace on his face, the writhing and the teeth clenched tight to hold in the whimpers were a harrowing sight all the same. No one needed a medic to tell them that Zero was in incalculable pain.

There was a commotion at the edge of the group, and absolutely no one was surprised to see X pushing his way through. “Zero?” he inquired, voice taut with tension, and then hurried over to where Zero lay. “Zero—!”

Zero’s one good eye focused dully on him. “You’re—” he tried, and then choked off through another spasm of pain. “You’re—supposed to—be—” It seemed to be taking him a great deal of effort just to form words.

“I’ve left them in capable hands,” said X. “And most of the fighting is over. They can afford to have me come over here for a bit.” He bit his lip and stared down at Zero, at Zero’s mangled severed arm that someone had propped up next to him, then spun around and addressed the rest of the reploids. “You called medical?”

A general response of “Yes, sir.”

“How long?”

The murmured consensus was at least two hours.

“Shit,” hissed X. He contemplated Zero’s shuddering form a moment more, then dropped quietly to his knees beside him. “Zero…” It came out as a murmur, seemingly half-conscious; one hand ran over Zero’s chest, gently, skirting the damaged areas with great care, before coming up to cup the side of his face.

And then X had Zero’s face in both his hands and was leaning in and there wasn’t a single reploid present who didn’t think he was about to kiss him, except that Zero’s remaining hand came up and clumsily covered X’s face, pushing him back, and Zero said, “No.” It came with great difficulty.

“Please,” said X. “Let me do this for you—”

“I can’t…” Harsh, heavy breathing. “...let you.”

“I know my limits,” said X steadily. “And I’ll only take fifty percent. Please, let me—” His voice cracked. “I don't want to see you like this.”

Approximately thirty pairs of eyes were on the two of them, in fascinated bewilderment.

Slowly, Zero removed his hand from X’s face, and brought it around his neck instead, pulling him close.

The gesture was slow and intimate and X’s eyes slid shut as he moved in—but they didn’t kiss, and the confusion in the rocky corner of the dead battlefield only grew as X pressed the crystal on his forehead to Zero’s. A mental link? At a time like this? What crucial information needed to be delivered in such high security at this moment, and what was that they were talking about just—

The two crystals began to give a gentle pulsing glow, in unison, and X’s fingers began to tighten on Zero’s face.

Rapt attention from the surrounding audience as the link continued. X removed one hand from Zero’s face, braced it on the ground, and his fingers scraped against the rock; a grimace crept over his face and his spine curled inward, tense and shivering. Zero’s spasming subsided, his breath coming a little less harsh, his mouth relaxing from where he’d been biting down on his bottom lip in agony. A choking sound came from X’s throat, a jerky string of noises of unmistakeable pain—

Pain?

X’s eyes opened and he pulled away, his movements stiff and labored. The crystal on his forehead continued pulsing in gentle unison with Zero’s. “How…” he began, broke off, took a shaky breath, and tried again. “How is it now?”

“Bit better,” croaked Zero. He shifted, as though testing his injuries, and winced; X winced in unison, and Zero managed to give a shaky grin even with half his cheek torn away. “You're... too sentimental... you know that?”

He was clearly still in pain, but it didn't seem to be at all as bad as before; and X was slowly, painstakingly settling into a sitting position next to him with closed eyes and labored breathing. The collective bewilderment began cresting into disbelief.

—a mental link was one thing already, supremely vulnerable, kind of embarrassing really, used in official settings only for emergency transfers of information, but the kind of depth of interface needed to—to—to take someone’s pain off of them? No mere exchange of memory, but reaching deep into someone’s core, into the deepest and most primal parts of them, and willingly taking that kind of a burden off their hands? With an ease and fluidity implying they’d connected on that close and entwined a level before? That was—that was—

—intimate. A few of the reploids present began coughing, averting their gazes, awkwardly shuffling their feet, with the growing feeling that they were witnessing something deeply private; something they weren’t supposed to be seeing.

When medical arrived there was a general rearranging of the crowd to let them through. Lifesaver gazed for a moment at both Zero and X wracked with pain, and whipped around to stare at the nearest 0th Unit member. “I thought you said only Zero was hurt.”

“He was—” In bits and pieces from the surrounding crowd, the story was relayed.

Lifesaver pinched his nose and stared down at the two prone figures. “That was very stupid of you.”

“See?” gasped Zero, turning to X, and X offered up a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“All right, all right, we'll save that for later. Can you stand?“

X climbed to his feet, slowly, painstakingly. Zero followed, or tried to; with only one arm to prop himself up, he fell over again, and X’s whole body shuddered from the echo of the impact.

Lifesaver’s frown deepened. “X, cut the connection.”

X shook his head.

“X. You've done enough.”

“I'm not cutting it as long as he's conscious,” gritted out X.

Lifesaver turned in exasperation to the medical team, who provided an assortment of shrugs. Two of them stepped forward and hauled Zero up by his remaining arm—he and X cried out in unison. Zero was maneuvered into the stretcher with hisses of pain as X's teeth gritted and his fists clenched. Someone picked up Zero's other arm, lying a few feet away, and laid it down on the stretcher next to him like an oversized chew toy.

“Roll him over,” instructed Lifesaver. “Find the emergency switch. We're not going to be able to form the proper procedures on him if he's still conscious.” He glared at X. “After this the link will be severed, yes?”

X could only offer up a weak nod.

“Good.” The emergency hatch on Zero’s back was popped open. A tiny numbers pad, the override code keyed in with hurried precision, and then Lifesaver pressed the off button.

There was a click. X gasped at the sudden lack of connection, swaying like a puppet with cut strings even as Zero went limp and his machinery powered down with a soft whine. Two of the squad rushed forward to help him, but he steadied himself and held out a hand to stay them.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Absently, he touched his cheek, as though wondering to find it intact. “Lifesaver, will he be all right?”

The harshness and labor of pain were gone from his voice, and he was standing up straight again. Everyone was watching with a certain degree of awe, gazes flitting to Zero on the stretcher.

“He should be all right,” said Lifesaver grimly. “But it’ll be long and complicated getting him back to normal. Several hours of surgery before we can even get started on the external repairs.” Grudgingly he added, after a moment, “You probably saved him a world of hurt.”

“I did what I could.”

“For Zero, certainly.” X grimaced at that. One didn’t get to be a high-profile Hunter in an ambiguous relationship with another high-profile Hunter without enduring certain rebukes on unprofessional favoritism. “We’re going back to base. Are there any more seriously wounded?”

X turned around, taking in the assembled reploids and apparently performing a quick head count. “Most of them were able to teleport back on their own… There are a couple over in the 17th Unit who were having difficulty, though. I’ll show you to them...”

“Please do.”

With one last glance at Zero, now being loaded into the emergency vehicle, X left; Lifesaver followed. The 0th Unit was left to stare—at each other, at the splashes of motor oil on the bare rock where Zero’s wounded form had been.

When an intact and repaired Zero was wheeled out of the repair bay many exhausted hours later, a new layer of solder scars the only indication of what he'd been through, X was waiting for him, hurrying over to the gurney and bracing his hands besides Zero’s prone form. Zero came back online, blue eyes opening slowly, and as he began to sit up X’s arms went around him; they held each other tightly for a very long time.

By wordless agreement, everyone gave them their space.

reblogs, comments, feedback highly appreciated as always!

#megaman #megaman x #zerox #xzero #writing.#robot gore //

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theflutterbyliterature-blog · 6 years ago

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The Black Cat and The Faerie Queen

“I say, I’ve got a story to tell you. So, come round all you little boys and girls for I have a marvelous story to tell.”

Of course, once the magical cat started to speak, it caught the attention of all those who dared listen to his wispy little voice. As the crowd assembled into an audience, the cat smiled a wide sort of smile that stretched all the way to the tips of his ears.

A gasp sounded all around as the feline lifted his paws toward the sky. The clouds responded with flurries of snow but these snowflakes soon got bigger and bigger. Now, this was quite usual given that it was the peak of the summer season. Some muttered with worry that the frost would harm their crops. The narrator of this tale did not concern himself with such things for he was just a cat.

“Do not worry! Do not worry!” He called out to the crowd. “I did not gather you all here today to gawk at my dominion over the weather although I do concede that it is quite a feat for a feline such as myself. Many a great wizard have failed to do as I have just done with the greatest of ease.”

A few listeners shivered but despite the cold, they stayed to listen to their four-legged soothsayer.

“Now, this story begins in the dead of winter – in a blizzard no less…!” The cat clapped his paws together and a howling gust of wind tore through the plaza making visibility impossible. But while they could not see the teller of this tale, they could most certainly hear his voice carried upon the wind.

And so, we begin…

***

Once upon a time, there was a black cat – me – trudging through a valley of snow. It was so frigid that I was frozen through and through. Still, I marched on like a good little soldier going to war.

I do not know what I hoped to find but clearly, I was on the search for something. And, at last, I found it in the form of a castle. Shelter! Shelter! A refuge from these blasted winds hellbent on striking me dead with a spear made of frost.

To my dismay, the bridge was drawn. At the time, human language was not yet in my arsenal of skills so all I could do was meow a feeble meow that was snuffed by the wind’s howl.

Of course, it came to no surprise when my cries fell on deaf ears. Would no one rescue this poor cat’s life? The answer was ‘no’ as everyone was much more concerned with remaining warm by the hearthside. No one dared to venture into a cold winter’s night – or so I thought

My eyes flashed with a silvery light like two miniature moons cast upon either side of my nose. Through them, I perceived the frozen moat below but not its thickness. Could it support my weight or would one step send me plunging into icy depths?

With my body turning into an icicle, time was certainly not on my side. To stop and contemplate my situation would result in certain death. So, I threw caution to the wind and slid down the slippery slope made even slicker by the layer of snow. Halfway down my decent, I lost my footing and tumbled the rest of the way.

The ice cracked on impact but it did not splinter apart. Slowly, I rose to my feet and skidded to the other side. There, I craned my neck, preparing myself for the climb to come. I had little energy left but I had to make it last or I could mark my grave at the bottom of this unknown moat.

My hind legs protested but still, they propelled me from ledge to ledge until I reached the very top. And that is where my strength finally failed me. All I could manage was to drag my claws along the wooden drawbridge. The sound was less than that of a mouse. I had no faith that anyone would hear me.

That is, until the prince – yes, the royal prince – stuck out his head and saw me there half buried in a blanket of white.

“What might this be?” He exclaimed. The prince did not wear much in terms of clothing but this was of his usual fashion. For you see, dear listener, this boy was born on the first day of winter – or Yuletide as some might say – but I know nothing of this Yule and his tidings. “A playmate to be sure – one of the four-legged kind – but I hardly mind.” At once, I noticed his strange way of speaking like each sentence was secretly a song.

I did not have long to consider his speech before he scooped me up in his arms and cradled me against his chest.

“I will warm you right up, oh yes, I will.” He ran through the maze of corridors that constituted his castle. His footsteps echoed through the silence. Where was the life of this place? The knights? The jesters? Even the ladies-in-waiting were nowhere to be seen and anyone who has been to high court would know that they travel in a pack, petticoats ready to be brandished as weapons. I dare ye if you call yourself brave to stand in front of a group of women looking to be betrothed.

But I digress from the tale because I still cringe in memory. That night, the prince held me so close to the flames that he singed off most of my fur. I was warm alright but I was hideous for weeks to come. To my luck, it did not matter for we never left the castle and so I never found a mate worthy of impressing.

The years ticked by and our little prince wanting to become a powerful sorcerer one day spent his time mulling over spells that never obeyed him. Instead, all his would-be magic funneled into my body where it manifested into special abilities. First, the ability to talk which pleased the prince very much because it finally afforded him the opportunity to have a conversation with someone – or more specifically, somecat. And it pleased me very much because I’m rather fond of the sound of my own voice as you can probably tell.

Then came the ability to make flowers bloom. It’s a rather useless ability but at least I can make any room colorful and if I had a lass to impress, she’d never be wanting for a pretty rose.

Like those who have had contact with the sorcerer’s stone, I can turn semi-precious metal into pure gold. It doesn’t do me – a cat – much good but I suppose it’s a nifty little trick to have especially if I’m ever required to buy my own freedom. Not even a feline is safe from the gallows.

And, of course, I can control the weather as you have all witnessed this morning.

But what does all this have to do with my tale, you might ask.

Well, good listeners, every great adventure starts with some magic…

***

When the prince was 18 years of age, I finally asked him the question I had been wondering from the very start.

“Why do you dwell here alone, dear prince? Ten years have come and gone but I have never seen a single soul stir within these walls.”

“The Faerie Queen has taken them all.”

“The Faerie Queen?” I cocked my head to the side. “Tell me more.”

“She is a beautiful creature, more beautiful than you could ever imagine with porcelain skin and hair the color of roasted chestnuts. I have only seen her drawing in books but even there, her eyes sparkle with the deepest shade of azure. Nothing in this world can compare and so, I have made up my mind. She is to be my wife!”

“But where is this Queen and does she not have a King to call her own?”

The prince did not answer the question outright. Instead, he started for the east wing, a part of the castle that had remained untouched during my stay. I followed at his heels as he swatted away cobwebs that hung high overhead. A few times, mice dashed from one room to the other. I had half a mind to catch them by the tail and have some fun with them. Perhaps I could use my magic to turn them into golden statues, now isn’t that a thought?

Daydreaming as I was, I did not notice the prince turn into a room.

I looked up and he was gone. Perhaps he had finally succeeded in a magic spell of his own. That theory was dashed as soon as I backtracked and saw him standing inside a room, back to the door, face to the window. He squinted against something round held between his thumb and pointer finger. Upon closer inspection, it became obvious that it was nothing more than a ring.

It was simple and silver. Nothing about it was particularly eye-catching or extravagant. As I said, it was just a ring – one you might give to your wife one day – or perhaps you have already given her a similar ring which she wears every day to show her faithfulness. Whatever the case, trust me when I say that it was a bore to look at.

“When my brother received an invitation to attend her Winter Ball, this ring was included. It shows the way to her kingdom. The journey is treacherous, they say, but I am determined.”

“Why then is the ring here? Did your brother not go to the Winter Ball?”

“His heart belonged to another and he could not betray her in favor of the Faerie Queen as fair as she might be. The Queen took great offense to his decision and dropped an evil curse on this land. I am the only one spared and I take it as a sign that she wants me to journey there one day and take her as my wife. Will you not come with me, my feline companion?”

“My debt to you is long overdue. So, I will journey with you to these unknown lands and lend a paw when the opportunity arises.”

He smiled then and it was the first time I had seen his lips curve in such a way. Typically, he wore a mask of concentration as he poured over his countless spells and incantations. During all other occasions, his expression was somber, muted by the silence of his castle.

Suddenly, as he slipped the ring onto his finger, there came a flash of light. This light manifested itself in the shape of a sword. Its edge was impossibly sharp, capable of splitting a page in two. The handle was wrapped in cords of leather making it a comfortable thing to hold.

His grin deepened as he swung the weapon, twisting his body into the motion. The sword collided with a nearby vase. The glass shattered on impact and if not for my cat-like reflexes, I would have been bathed in a shower of shards.

“Come. With this, no foe can stand in my way. I will accomplish what my brother was too cowardly to do himself and I will restore this kingdom to its former glory, mark my words!”

***

And so, we set off into the dead of winter. I kept the snow at bay but it blasted around the bubble I had cast. Beyond it, we could see nothing but the ring guided us in the right direction like a compass pointing north.

“How much farther, you figure?” The prince asked.

“I do not know.”

We continued on and on and on.

There was no end in sight but still, we carried on.

Finally, we arrived at a small cave. “We should rest here. We do not know what to expect and so, we should gather our strength as best we can.”

“I have a feeling that the castle lies just up ahead.”

“Do not assume. It is better to be safe than sorry. I have been caught in a winter storm before and I have no intention of doing so again. If my magic fails us, we will be frozen within the hour. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

“Yes.”

He plopped me onto his shoulder and off we went. He marched for hours upon hours. Each footstep sunk deeper and deeper into the snow. He had started to shiver.

Fatigued, I could no longer stave off the snow in such a manner. It trickled in where my spell had weakened. That snow swirled around us and chilled us down to the core.

“We should return to the cave!” I advised although I had no idea where it was. The world was nothing but a directionless vortex of white.

“We are almost there…” The prince could barely see the ring on his finger and yet, he followed it.

To my disbelief, a giant castle loomed in our wake. I was starting to think that the whole thing was nothing more than a tall tale.

The drawbridge had been lowered, acting as an invitation for us to step inside. As soon as we did, the prince collapsed. His forehead was burning up with a fever. I looked around but there was no one to call on for help. I tried to speak but all that escaped my lips was a soft ‘meow’ that I hadn’t heard in a decade’s time. It seemed my magic was connected to my master’s vitality. Without him, I was nothing more than a house cat doomed to hunt mice for the rest of his life.

“Meow!” I scratched at his face but there was no response. He didn’t even flinch.

Just then, a beautiful woman dressed all in white emerged from the woodwork. She had a soothing smile on her face that calmed my nerves. Without thinking, I rubbed against her legs and purred. I tried to stop but it was like a spell had been wrapped around my fur, making me a prisoner inside my own body. She reached down and scratched just behind my ear. It was enough to put me into a deep slumber.

***

When I next awoke, I was alone. It was the peak of the summer season and after a day’s travel, I ended up here. So, dear listeners, what is the moral to my story? Why tell it at all? Well, that’s for you to decide because my lonely assistant has just absconded with all your coin! Oh, the folly of lending someone your ear!

Again, a collective gasp emerged from the audience as they turned and spotted a white feline with chestnut colored ears holding a pouch of cash between her sharp set of teeth. She seemed to wink before disappearing into the night.

And so, our devious narrator ran away with the mate he never claimed to have.

***

If you liked reading this fairy tale consider jumping over to FairyTalez.com to give it a like. I need 5 to be eligible for the competition. Your support is much appreciated! https://fairytalez.com/user-tales/the-black-cat-and-the-faerie-queen/

#fairytale #winter #magic #snow #fairy #travel #fantasy #nature #christmas #magical

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themovieblogonline · 2 months ago

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The War of the Rohirrim takes us back to Middle-earth, but this time, it’s animated. While this stylistic shift might initially feel jarring for fans of the live-action Lord of the Rings films, the movie carves out its own niche with epic battles, iconic locations, and a political intrigue that feels straight out of Game of Thrones. Let’s dive into what works, what doesn’t, and why Hera is a character worth remembering. https://youtu.be/gCUg6Td5fgQ Animated Middle-earth: A Bold New Look Adapting Middle-earth into animation is no small feat, and it took me a moment to adjust. My brain is so used to Peter Jackson’s sweeping live-action vistas that it felt strange to see the familiar world rendered in this new format. However, the film’s visual style grows on you, especially when you see beloved locations like Helm’s Deep and Isengard brought to life. The inclusion of these iconic settings helps anchor the story in Tolkien’s universe, and seeing oliphants in action is nothing short of thrilling. The film leans heavily on visual spectacle, delivering grand battles and awe-inspiring landscapes that pull you into the action. Meet Hera: Middle-earth’s Fiery Redhead At the heart of the story is Hera, a young princess with a rebellious streak that’s pure Éowyn energy. She wants to fight, but her father—a classic stubborn king—won’t let her. Hera’s determination and bravery make her an easy character to root for, and Gaia Wise brings depth and emotion to the role with a stellar voice performance. Hera’s relationship with Wulf, her childhood friend, adds an intriguing layer of complexity. Their dynamic is charged with both loyalty and underlying tension. One standout scene between them feels like a deliberate nod to Game of Thrones’s infamous Joffrey and Stark girls moment, setting the stage for political drama to unfold. Epic Battles and Emotional Stakes This is where the movie truly shines. The battles are intense, grand, and emotionally impactful. From lethal archers to menacing oliphants, the action sequences are gripping. I didn’t expect to feel so invested in the fates of animated characters, but the casualties hit hard. One of the most memorable moments comes when Hera’s horse—yes, even the horses get development—collapses from exhaustion at a critical moment. The stakes feel real, and the tension keeps you on edge. The king’s arc, though predictable, is executed brilliantly. He transforms into a one-man army in his final stand, a sequence that’s as tragic as it is awe-inspiring. His death, freezing in place like a statue of defiance, is unforgettable. Game of Thrones Vibes in Middle-earth While the movie is set in Middle-earth, the storytelling feels more akin to Game of Thrones. Political intrigue, character betrayals, and dark twists dominate the narrative. Even the camaraderie between Hera and Wulf carries shades of Westeros. This tonal overlap is both a strength and a drawback. On one hand, it adds a fresh dimension to Tolkien’s world. On the other, it can feel disconnected from the magic and lore that define The Lord of the Rings. Familiar Faces and Cameos The film makes a few attempts to tie itself to the larger Lord of the Rings saga. Saruman appears briefly with a one-liner, and the orcs are collecting rings for Mordor. These moments are fun but fleeting, feeling more like fan service than essential plot points. Miranda Otto’s voice as Éowyn and Christopher Lee’s archival lines as Saruman are nostalgic touches that longtime fans will appreciate. These cameos, while enjoyable, don’t do much to deepen the story’s ties to Middle-earth’s larger mythology. A Self-Contained Tale with Limited Impact One of the movie’s downsides is its self-contained nature. While it provides a gripping narrative and high stakes, it doesn’t expand Middle-earth lore in a meaningful way. There’s no mention of Sauron, and while the film teases connections to the main saga, they never fully materialize. This lack of broader impact might leave fans craving more. The backstory of Helm’s Deep is fascinating, but the movie doesn’t hint at any plans to explore this era further. Final Thoughts: Worth the Journey The War of the Rohirrim is a thrilling ride, packed with epic battles, emotional moments, and standout performances. While it feels more like Game of Thrones than traditional Lord of the Rings, it’s a worthy addition to Middle-earth’s cinematic legacy. The film’s biggest strength is its ability to create tension and stakes, even in an animated format. Its biggest weakness? It doesn’t feel like it leaves a lasting mark on the larger saga. That said, Hera is a character I’d gladly follow into another battle—animated or otherwise. Read the full article

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sinfulfolk · 7 years ago

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On Writing: Becoming a Deeper Reader

A reader on the crowd-sourcing platform Quora asked a question about how to deepen their reading practices and read beyond just mere plot. Here’s a post I made in reply that provided some hints and strategies for deepening one’s reading practice and becoming more profoundly engaged with the literary world. ((Quora is top-heavy with tech-focused people, so I oriented my thoughts around technology examples.)) Here are some strategies used by English majors, as well as active readers.

1. Journal

Write down ideas, and phrases that are meaningful to you, and try to describe how they impact your life. This will help you to understand yourself and literature on a deeper level. Writers and active readers often refer to this type of book as a “commonplace book” because it is a special name for a scrapbook or set of notations about your reading.

2. Read beyond plot.

There are many books out there that have a very thin plot, but instead focus on character development language and big ideas. Read some of these and you’ll begin to see the possibilities of literature beyond plot. Toni Morrison. Cormac McCarthy, Sylvia Plath, Ray Bradbury all use language and metaphor to make points that can’t really be represented in a straightforward plot. Read Borges. Read Kafka.

3. Re-read

Read again books that have been meaningful to you, and look for other meanings that you missed the first time around, or structural items that strike your fancy. If you are an astute reader, every time you re-read a book, you’ll notice new and different things. (For years, Hoffman would re-read Lord of the Rings for example. That book has metaphorical layers miles deep, and it’s not just a simple story about a hobbit.)

4. Read across genres.

Today, we compartmentalize books into “genre” categories: science-fiction, literary fiction, fantasy, romance, mystery and children’s books. These are publishing categories designed for effective marketing — they have nothing to do with the value or the meaning that is found between the covers. Would you let some junior marketing flunky tell you what to read? I didn’t think so. So don’t allow yourself to be constrained into one genre or type of reading. If you’re reading all science-fiction, read some romance. If you’re reading all literary fiction, read some fantasy. If you’re reading all fantasy, then go read some crime novels. If you only read romance, read a horror novel. It will be challenging to read outside your chosen genre, and you might not like it at first. That’s kind of the point. Find works that help you grow as a reader and expose you to new ways of storytelling. Again, these are arbitrary categories, and any great work will end up not categorized in the minds of readers like you.

5. Challenge yourself.

Read books that are classics, that do not fit into your typical modern marketing genres. Read a book by Dickens (I recommend A Tale of Two Cities). Read poetry by John Milton (Paradise Lost). Read Dante. Read some Chaucer. Read Rudyard Kipling (Kim is a great read). Read Plato (his work is surprisingly readable, even now!). Read Louisa May Alcott. Read George Eliot or Jane Austen. The reason to read these classic writers is that their vocabulary and perspective will open your eyes to new possibilities. Reading older works will also teach you that human beings speak to each other across centuries, and the same questions recur, time and again. I have a friend who was saved from suicide by reading a philosopher… who wrote in the 1500s. Writing always communicates, across time, across space, and across different experiences.

6. Keep challenging yourself.

Read writers that are not of your race or gender. Read Langston Hughes, Maxine Hong Kingston, Octavia Butler, and Salman Rushdie. Read Radclyffe Hall. Read Samuel R. Delaney. Read William Burroughs. Read Sandra Cisneros. Read Katie Kitamura. Read Justin Chin. Read Min Jin Lee. Read Christine Hyung-Oak Lee. Read Nicola Griffith. Read Junot Díaz. Reading these writers teaches you about the human experience, and that it might be broader, richer and deeper than your experience (or my shallow pool of recommendations). If you are in a reading rut, and are only recalling plot, you’re reading at a low level, and reading writers who challenge cultural and gender assumptions can break you out of that mindset.

7. Engage with other readers.

Find a book group or book discussion group at a bookstore or other local venue. Read a book together, and understand that other people have different perspectives on the same books that you’ve read. Their perspectives will enrich your reading.

8. Write

Try your hand at a short story or poem. Even if you’re terrible – especially if you are terrible –this activity will help you understand some of the decisions that go into crafting a piece of prose or poetry. You can begin to see the skeleton underneath the flesh of the words.

9. Read critics.

Read what other people have to say about contemporary writing. By doing this, you are entering a decades long (sometimes centuries long) conversation about a piece of writing, a book series, or the intentions of a writer.

10. Write your own thoughts down and share them.

If you are brave, you can even add your own voice to this critical conversation. Keep in mind that reading a book critic and engaging with them is to be one yourself, so your opinion should be factually supported, and should be substantive. Be willing to engage thoughtfully with people who disagree with you. Find a rationale for your ideas. Most online argumentation today is shallow raw opinion without deep thinking. Most people who write seriously about books do the opposite: they go deep and look for meaningful interactions with big ideas. Be worthy of this conversation.

A literary update from NedNote.com Readers can find my books at these bookstores:

On Writing: Becoming a Deeper Reader was originally published on Ned Hayes

#Book Club #Writing #sinfulfolk #books #writing #novels #book #bookshelf #sinful-folk #Sinful Folk #novel

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delhi-architect2 · 5 years ago

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Journal - One Photo Challenge 2020: Competition Winners Announced!

Architizer is excited to announce the winners of the 2020 One Photo Challenge! After evaluating an incredible shortlist of 100 architectural photographs and their stories, our stellar jurors have selected 2 top winners — one non-student and one student entry — along with 10 commended entries. We’re delighted to present each top winner with a grand prize of $2,500, along with professional photography gear from the likes of Peak Design, Formatt Hitech and Lenovo.

One Photo Challenge juror Ema Peter — an award-winning photographer herself — reflected on her winning selections: “Regardless of the profile of the project, [these photographs] manage to stop you, make you look twice, and feel. They are anything but typical architectural shots. They have so much soul, and richly embody how architecture impacts our life. Architecture in photography cannot stay impersonal; we cannot rely on the perfect light and perfect angle, we need to show the unexpected and tell a story.”

Fellow juror Aldo Amoretti selected his winners based on both visual impact and the photographs’ power to draw in the viewer: “A well-made photo should immediately intrigue you just by looking at it. Without knowing its history. Curiosity then leads you to deepen, to understand more about the content and the author. For me, when it happens, this is a great success.”

Without further ado, we present to you the winners of the 2020 One Photo Challenge, including both photographs and their accompanying stories…

Non-Student Winner: “Women Gather” by Bruce Engel (BE_Design)

“The women’s brick making cooperative in Kayonza, the Eastern Province of Rwanda, sit and take pride in their work. They hand made the bricks that give shape to this classroom space, and produced all of the approximately half a million bricks that comprise the “Women’s Opportunity Center” by Sharon Davis Design for the NGO Women for Women International.

Here, women in this rural and poor community can find training in women’s rights, literacy, health, and valuable vocational skills. At the core of the campus are 7 classrooms / training rooms, built in the round, reflecting the traditional architecture, and meant to achieve an intimate, secure, and feminine space where women can gather.”

Nick Hufton, cofounder of renowned photography studio Hufton + Crow, said of Women Gather: “I think this is a highly evocative image which has been thoughtfully considered and carefully composed. The image beautifully combines Line, Shape, Form, Texture, Pattern and Color, which naturally form to make the ‘6 elements of composition’. It also displays a warm human quality without looking staged. Excellent.

Student Winner: “Philadelphia Wasteland” by Chris Hytha (Drexel University)

“Philadelphia was once the industrial hub of the world, until its identity was shaken be deindustrialization and suburbanization. This legacy leaves deep scars in the fabric of North Philly, where decrepit industrial complexes stretch on for miles. In their abandoned state, these buildings take on new roles in the city. They become canvases for urban artwork and escapes from the noise and activity of the city center far from the regulations and restrictions of bureaucracy.

We are far too familiar with the restrictions in occupying a building. You can’t go on the roof, you can’t paint on the walls, you can’t break a window, you can’t enter utility tunnels or back of house space. Rich with layers of meaning infused by people engaging with their space, these buildings can become more captivating and engaging than intentionally designed architecture. This photo tells the story of freedom in the built environment.”

Commended Entry: “Yangtze River Winter Swimmer With Raffles City” by Su Zhewei (arch-exist)

“Across the river is the famous big new building: Raffles city in Chongqing designed by Safdie Architects. This is a huge and ambitious commercial building.and Chongqing is the most important city in the Yangtze River Basin and also the famous fog city. On a foggy morning, we took a scene on the reef beside the Yangtze River.

A group of winter swimmers broke into our camera. They told us that some of them had been swimming here for 20 winters, and there were not so many tall buildings on the other side of the river before. As an architectural photographer, we really obsessed with the picture full of regional characteristics and sense of life. Architecture is not the owner of the city. People and the Yangtze River witnessed the change of the city.”

Commended Entry: “View from Room 1604” by Tiffany Liem (Brookfield Properties)

“For 7 minutes, between 7:05am and 7:12am, the sun aligns with my next door neighbor. I watch from my hotel room, in downtown LA, as a select row of individuals receive their vitamin D. It’s a cold January day. I retreat back into my dark room.”

Commended Entry: “The Twist Museum, Kistefos Sculpture Park, Jevnaker, Norway by BIG” by Laurian Ghinitoiu (Laurian Ghinitoiu)

“It was challenging to combine in one single frame the main particularities of the project: its sculptural shape, the structure that expands over the river, as a bridge, and at the same time to imply that ‘the object’ is actually a functional building. The context, the design and its scale, the poetry of the sinuous lines that are melting with the surroundings in a surreal atmosphere, are the elements that are making the captured image to be abstract but descriptive at the same time.”

Commended Entry: “Talk to Nature” by Ning Wang (Beijing University of Technology)

“Architecture is a piece of space that humans steal from nature. As a shelter, it protects our bodies, and more importantly, it also adjusts the relationship between nature and human. Last May, my five months pregnant wife and I paid a visit to Teshima Art Museum (Ryue Nishizawa, 2010. 607 karato, Teshima, Kagawa, Japan). There was nothing inside at that moment but only another visitor stopped and stared at the slow-moving light on the ground. I took a photo of this silently with my iPhone.

Suddenly, I realized that it was not an empty space, on the contrary, everything I need has already there. Sunlight, water, wind, my love and an upcoming life. This is a story for everyone which is not legendary but admired. People and nature were invited into this building, talked to each other and shared their the truest stories. I just heard that and recorded this touching scene.”

Commended Entry: “Turner Contemporary” by James Newton (James Newton Photographs Ltd.)

“The Turner Contemporary Margate (David Chipperfield Architects) is located right on the sea front at Margate. The title commemorates the association of the town with noted landscape painter J. M. W. Turner, who went to school there, and visited throughout his life. The new two-storey building is designed to maximise both the dramatic setting between sea and land and the extraordinary light conditions unique to this area that inspired Turner well over a century ago.

I wanted to photograph the building in suitable light, something that made reference to Turner and the and his work. I went on a foggy day; as the sun began to burn through the fog the form of the building was fleetingly illuminated. At the same time three visitors emerged walking across the beach.”

Commended Entry: “Procuratie Vecchie Venezia” by Marco Petrini (Petrini Studio)

“The Procuratie Vecchie are part of three connected buildings along the perimeter of Piazza San Marco, Venice. They were built in the 16th century by the procurators who were managing the treasury of San Marco church. They housed apartments with stores at ground floor. Its doors have been long closed to but architect D. Chipperfield will renovate it and soon will be accessible to the public.

I took this photo during my last solo trip in 2019. This moment can be captured only in the very early morning, when the water comes up and gently flows the piazza for 30 minutes, before disappearing. The reflection is perfect because the enclosed piazza is well protected from winds so the water becomes almost a mirror. It’s a truly magical moment that disappears as soon as the city wakes up.There is no better moment to enjoy the magnificence of Piazza San Marco.”

Commended Entry: “Hygge House” by Paul Turang (Paul Turang Photography)

“Warming Huts is an open competition, melding design and art with Winnipeg’s famous winters. The jury selects designs that best “push the envelope of design, craft and art.” In January, winners travel to Winnipeg to begin construction on their hut. They are then brought out to the River Trail for visitors to skate to, interact with, and enjoy.

Hygge House, by Plain Projects, Pike Projects and Urbanink, is a simple wood-framed structure, symbolic of one of the most cherished symbols of Canadiana – the family cottage. Loosely translated, “Hygge” is a Danish word for cozy, an atmosphere of people and comfort, which can only be achieved when people come together. I was drawn to its quirky and fun appearance. It raises questions: “What is happening here?” “What is this little open building doing there?” It invites the audience to create their own narrative. And that color!”

Commended Entry: “Can’t Catch Me!” by Rodrigo Bonifaz (The J Associates)

“This photo was taken during a trip I took with my architecture class a few years back in Portugal. Our professor wanted to show us Alvaro Siza’s Portugal Pavilion and walk around the area to experience the space. We were met with an overwhelming structural towering over us yet the structure felt light like a fabric draping over posts to hide from the sun.

While we were admiring the architecture, this child was admiring the shadow. He kept crossing back and forth as if he was trying to run from it and playing a game. He was interacting with the shadow as if it was an extension of the structure itself. It gave me perspective on how different people experience space. The child didn’t know or probably care it that the building was designed by a famous architect. He just wanted to play with the shadow.”

Commended Entry: “Back of House: Front of House” by John Muggenborg (John Muggenborg Photography)

“To me, this photo from the Howard Gilman Opera House in Brooklyn acts a reminder that for all we see in life, there are many elements in the ‘Back of House’ that contribute to the performance that we experience around us. As an architectural photographer, I typically show only the ‘presentable’ side of a project.

When I scout out a site before I photograph it I’m often privileged to learn what goes on ‘behind the curtain’ at many businesses. For this shoot I finally had the opportunity to illustrate that what we see on stage from the comfort of our seats is only half of the whole picture.”

Commended Entry: “Kiosk Chameleon” by Lior Hobashi (The Oslo School of Architecture and Design)

“At first glance, one can see a small shack in the Daharavi slum, Mumbai. When looking closely one can discover a boy, lying on the counter of a kiosk, camouflaged between the candy packing, seeking refuge from the blazing Indian sun. The kiosk is his birthplace, his living space and his workplace.

The shack lines up perfectly with the trucks in the background, which are heading out of the slum, making it look like one of them. While the other trucks are on wheels, his is rooted to the ground, letting only his thoughts drift away. Perhaps he is not living in a shack, a kiosk or a truck. Perhaps it is his very own castle.”

As our two top winners, Bruce Engel and Chris Hytha will each receive:

$2,500 prize money

Carbon Fiber Travel Tripod

Long Exposure Filter Kit

20′ x 30′ MetalPrint

8″ Smart Display

Publication in the inaugural “One Photo” eBook

An exclusive interview discussing their photograph, published in Architizer Journal

Additionally, the 10 commended entries shown above will receive Peak Design’s camera backpack, as well as a featured entry in the upcoming One Photo eBook. The 100 finalists will also be published in the inaugural eBook, to be distributed to Architizer’s community including 100,000+ newsletter subscribers and 4+ million social media followers. Be on the lookout for this captivating publication, coming soon!

Thank you to all participants for sharing these amazing photographs and telling such fascinating stories about architecture. If you are interested in entering next year’s One Photo Challenge, be sure to sign up for updates by clicking the blue button below.

The post One Photo Challenge 2020: Competition Winners Announced! appeared first on Journal.

from Journal https://architizer.com/blog/competitions/one-photo-challenge-2020-competition-winners-announced/ Originally published on ARCHITIZER RSS Feed: https://architizer.com/blog

#Journal #architect #architecture #architects #architectural #design #designer #designers #building #buildings

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