#owen chaudhry
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
spinner-moko · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
25 notes · View notes
companion-showdown · 1 year ago
Text
Who do you most wish had become a companion?
Tumblr media
TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST
37 notes · View notes
smqazi · 6 months ago
Text
Pakistani MQM linked to 'dozens of UK bank accounts'
By Owen Bennett-Jones
BBC News
49 minutes ago
 From the section Asia
Share
 Supporters of Pakistan"s Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM) party hold photographs of party leader Altaf Hussain as they stage a sit-in calling for his release in Karachi on June 3, 2014.Image copyrightGETTY IMAGES
Image caption
Altaf Hussain has run his Pakistani political operation from his base in London for years
UK police documents obtained by the BBC list more than 70 London bank accounts related to a Pakistani party being investigated for money-laundering.
Twenty-six are in the name of MQM leader Altaf Hussain. UK-based party officials are waiting to hear if they will face money-laundering charges.
Six British detectives were recently in Pakistan seeking co-operation in the alleged money-laundering case.
The MQM has said Scotland Yard's claims about the bank accounts are baseless.
British police have been investigating the MQM, one of Pakistan's main political parties, for several years but the pace of their investigations has picked up markedly since a meeting in London in April between Pakistan's Interior Minister, Chaudhry Nisar Ali Khan, and Home Secretary Theresa May.
The Scotland Yard documents, which include details of both open and closed bank accounts, were submitted to Pakistan's Federal Investigations Agency (FIA) as part of a British request for assistance.
Scotland Yard has declined to comment on the documents.
A police officer carries a ladder into the house of Altaf Hussain in London (3 June 2014)Image copyrightAFP
Image caption
Police in London arrested Mr Hussain on suspicion of money-laundering in 2014
The UK's Crown Prosecution Service is already considering whether leading MQM officials should be charged with money-laundering offences but police say that does not stop them making further inquiries.
"The investigation continues and any further relevant information would be discussed with the CPS," said a spokesperson at Scotland Yard.
Who is Altaf Hussain?
Born in Karachi in 1953 to a middle-class family; studied pharmacy at university
Formed MQM party in 1984 to represent Mohajirs - descendants of Urdu-speaking Muslims who migrated from India to Pakistan at the time of partition
Requested political asylum in Britain in 1992, later gaining British citizenship; continues to run MQM from London
Pakistan's powerful but absent politician
Weapons list
Altaf Hussain has lived in self-imposed exile in London for more than 20 years.
With 24 members in the National Assembly, the MQM is a dominant force in the politics of Pakistan's largest city, Karachi.
Jump media playerMedia player helpOut of media player. Press enter to return or tab to continue.
Media captionAltaf Hussain's MQM party have been accused of following militant tactics as Shahzeb Jillani reports
The British police team in Pakistan was also seeking to advance a separate investigation into the 2010 murder in north London of a senior MQM leader, Imran Farooq.
Three suspects in the case are being held in Pakistan. The UK police want to extradite one of the three - Mohsin Ali Syed - who they claim was present at the scene of the killing.
Pakistan is insisting that either all three should be extradited - or none at all.
The MQM denies any wrongdoing and insists that all the allegations made against it are false.
The British judiciary has been highly critical of the MQM. Back in 2011 a British judge adjudicating an asylum appeal case found that "the MQM has killed over 200 police officers who have stood up against them in Karachi".
MQM activists gather at a rally in February 2014Image copyrightGETTY IMAGES
Image caption
The MQM has the ability to put thousands of protesters on the streets of Karachi
During their investigation into the murder of Mr Farooq the police found £167,525.92 (about $235,000) in the MQM's offices in London and a further £289,785.32 in Mr Hussain's home in Edgware, north London.
Previous investigations in London uncovered a list in Mr Hussain's home itemising weapons, including mortars, grenades and bomb-making equipment. The list included prices for the weapons.
The Scotland Yard documents include a number of other British requests for assistance from their Pakistani counterparts.
The British asked for information about cash and weapons found at the MQM's Karachi headquarters. They also asked for official confirmation of Pakistani media reports that the MQM was involved in extortion in Karachi.
0 notes
dhabestestate · 4 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
150 Ft Road Modern Brand New 1 Kanal Bungalow For Sale In DHA Phase 7 Lahore.ID # 786 Contact : +92-312 8477777 (Ijaz Amin Chaudhry) [email protected] 15 CCA, First Floor, Phase 6 DHA Lahore.5 Bed with attach bathroom. 1 Powder Room. 2 Proper Kitchen. 1 Dirty Kitchen. 2 Huge TV Lounge. 1 Drawing Room. 1 Dinning Room. Double Height Lobby. Huge Lush Green Lawn. 4 Executive Car Parking. Green Belt Outside the Bungalow. 2 Open Terrance with BBQ Area. 2 Jacuzzi in Master Bedroom. Important Fittings. Installed AC, Fridge and Owen. King Cabinet in All Rooms and Kitchen. Contact Us For Further Details:
Fb: https://www.facebook.com/BestEstateDHA
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dhabestestate/
Twiter: https://twitter.com/dhaBestEstate
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/.../best-estate-and-builders.../
Google: https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk03bRbhsYMPO_I3twYl0l3gGz1m-ew:1610190808865&ei=2I_5X_-6NIPBgQaQ-J_ADQ&q=bestrealestate&oq=bestrealestate&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQAzIHCCMQsQIQJzIHCCMQsQIQJzIHCAAQyQMQQzIECAAQQzIECAAQQzIECAAQCjIECAAQCjIECAAQCjIECAAQCjIECAAQCjoECAAQRzoECCMQJzoCCAA6BQgAEJECOgUIABCxAzoECC4QQzoQCC4QsQMQgwEQxwEQowIQQzoFCAAQyQM6AgguOggILhDHARCvAToHCAAQyQMQCjoGCAAQChAeOgQIABAeUKgxWM5cYP9eaAFwA3gBgAHWA4gBkySSAQgyLTE4LjAuMZgBAKABAaoBB2d3cy13aXrIAQjAAQE&sclient=psy-ab&ved=0ahUKEwj_hruZ3I7uAhWDYMAKHRD8B9gQ4dUDCA0&uact=5
1 note · View note
beatricethecat2 · 5 years ago
Text
if/then (2.0) - 22
I seem incapable of accomplishing anything else over this holiday break until I post this chapter, so I’m releasing it into the wild. What I will say is it’s really nice to have Helena and Christina’s voices back in full force. I hope you enjoy them too! I watched several TV shows and youtube videos to try to get a better sense of the cadence of the Welsh dialect, I hope a did a decent job (the Michael Sheen/Jon Hamm video is priceless, btw). Edited 3/19/20. Links in the comments for previous chapters.
///////////////////////
"What's all this?"
Myka swings her head to the left, where a woman's appeared out of nowhere, her yellow raincoat glowing neon against the muted, damp backdrop.
"A bit of help here," Helena pleads, waving the woman closer. "Take Sondra's hand," she says to Myka.
Myka releases her hold but quickly grabs the car again, her footing too tenuous to reach confidently for Sondra's hand. Helena tightens her grip around Myka’s waist, and Myka tries again.
Sondra grabs Myka's forearm and throws all of her weight in, which can't be much, and pulls. Soon, one shoe emerges from the muck, then the other rises victoriously. Once Myka's on solid ground again, Helena levers herself back onto the crate.
“Ych a fi, Harry, you're filthy!" Sondra snips, as Helena turns to face her. "And your bloody head's bleeding. Here..." She fishes a tissue out of a jacket pocket and dabs it on the wound.
"It was an accident," Myka says, catching Sondra side-eyeing her.
"A minor topple," Helena adds, lifting a hand to hold the tissue. "What time is it?"
"We're late. But Owen'll manage," Sondra says, removing the blood-soaked tissue and replacing it with a fresh one. She fusses for a moment, but Helena shoos her away, grimacing as a child might over a mother's doting.
The intimacy in the exchange sends a bristle down Myka's spine. Who is this woman, and how closets she , exactly, to Helena?
"Burberry, isn't it? Such a shame." Sondra shakes her head, taking in Myka's rumpled state.
"Oh, crap," Myka says, looking down at her trench coat. She brushes at the greasy line around her waist, but instead it of coming off, the grease smears and stains her hands.
"Now those shoes, they might have a prayer—"
“Sondra, call Owen. Tell him we're running late!"
"I'll do it now, in a minute," Sondra says, waving a dismissive hand. She looks beyond Myka towards a workbench, then moves to snag a roll of paper towels. "That muck's not getting in my car."
"Call now, clean later."
“Aye, coach.” Sondra lobs the towels at Helena, seemingly aiming for her head.
Helena steps back to avoid being smacked in the face, but her boots slip and her arms flap like wings to retain her balance. The towels bump her chest and fall to the ground.
"Tidy that!" Sondra quips, her smirk fading as she pats down her jacket pockets. "Bugger me. Left my mobile in the car." She tromps towards the shed then disappears through the back door.
Myka stares at Helena bending down to pick up the paper towels. Her transformation's uncanny; she'd have barely recognized from a distance. Her coveralls swallow her entire frame, her hat hiding every hint of thick mane. Her grease-covered hands and reddened cheeks give the impression she's a teenage boy, not someone's mother. Had those dark eyes and rosy lips had not been burned into her memory, she might have questioned whether this figure was Helena at all.
"Your magnificent curls, where have they gone?" Helena says, rising, meeting Myka's gaze.
"That's the first thing you ask me? "
"It's a legitimate concern."
"What's under your hat?"
"I had reason for such butchery."
"Do you really hate it?" Myka draws out a strand and examines its straightened state.
"It's not that. It's merely not how I picture you."
"You either." Myka gestures at Helena's coveralls.
Helena glances down at her form. "This is standard attire for Harry Llewellyn."
“Well, I just met Harry Llewellyn, so how would I know?"
"Have you?"
"Have I what?"
"Only just met her."
"Yes!" Myka throws up her hands.
Helena's modest smirk hints at teasing, but the sentiment doesn't reach her eyes.
"Explain what you mean."
"Have you come here for her or for me?"
"For her, but I'm not sure why she's you." Then it dawns on Myka; Helena’s wary, she doesn’t know why she's here. "I have a..." She finds her bag, mercifully dumped on the concrete, not in the mud. She grabs the envelope and hands it to Helena. "I was in Cardiff for work when I got this."
Helena reads over the pages, her face a blank slate, but her shoulders drop ever so slightly.
"Does it make any sense?" Myka asks.
"Yes. The wheels are in motion."
"What wheels?"
"Not what, whose." Helena looks to the left and then the right as if someone might be lurking in the shadows. "Your being here means others will come. You're certain these are from work?"
“I-I just assumed. I've been redirected before—"
"Everything's under control!" Sondra booms as she reenters the yard. "The girls are running laps and the like until we arrive."
"Follow my lead," Helena whispers, stuffing the papers into her pocket.
"Excellent!" she proclaims in Sondra's direction. She passes Myka the paper towels and walks over to the shed, where she empties a bucket and unravels a coiled hose.
"I suggest removing your shoes and dunking them in here," Helena says, pointing to the bucket she's filling with water.
"What about yours?" Sondra adds, nodding at Helena's mud-caked boots.
"Hose them off." Helena releases the trigger and hands the hose to Sondra. "But at a safe distance.” She smiles humbly at Myka.
"Over by there," Sondra says, ticking her head towards the Rover.
Helena stops and stands by where she emerged from the mud. "Fire away."
"Twirl for me, love." Sondra steps back as mud flies everywhere. "Who's the bird?" she croaks, loudly, over the din of the streaming water.
"An old friend come to pay a visit," Helena answers.
"You haven't got any friends."
“I may have exaggerated that point.”
“Then you may have said she was coming.”
"It was a surprise," Myka interjects, flashing a half-smile at Sondra, who is looking at her judgmentally over her shoulder.
"Harry doesn't like surprises—"
"Oi, watch it!" Helena snaps, the hose wandering, splashing at her knees.
"You got a hire car then?" Sondra asks, ending the stream, turning to face Myka fully.
"I took the train."
"You need a lift?"
"I..." Myka looks toward Helena.
Helena nods.
"…do."
"Then let's be off. My trainers are in the car." Helena moves toward the back exit, but Sondra snags her coveralls, effectively stopping her in her tracks. "Those filthy dungarees are coming off, now."
"These filthy dungarees shall be shed by the car."
"She always been this stubborn, alleged old friend of Harry's?" Sondra asks Myka.
"Pretty much."
"Sondra, we're late," Helena whines, shaking free of Sondra's grip. She walks over to the workbench and reaches underneath, producing a roll of black plastic. "Bin bags, all right? I'll throw the grimy lot in the boot."
"Now, you're talking."
"Follow me," Helena says to Myka, pointing the roll towards the door and marching to the back of the lot.
------------------
"So who are you then?" Sondra asks as she turns on to a wider street.
"Bin bag, please," Helena quips, wrestling with her coveralls in the back seat.
Myka tears a bag off and hands it to Helena, still unsure how she convinced Sondra to let her change in the car. As she catches Helena's eye, Helena nods, which she interprets as "answer truthfully."
"I'm Myka. Myka Bering." Myka extends a hand in Sondra's direction.
"Sondra Chaudhry." Sondra reaches across the steering wheel and shakes Myka's hand.
"How do you know each other?" Myka asks before Sondra does the same. Better to be on the defensive until Helena's ready to intervene.
“The footy," Sondra answers, distracted as her phone dings in the cupholder, groaning defeatedly as she reads over a message. She taps the screen, then hands the device to Myka. "My daughter, Bethan, and Harry's Charlotte."
Myka looks at the photo on the lock screen. Two tweens pose in yellow and blue uniforms with smiles full of teeth, one of which she easily recognizes as Christina.
"Same to you, Myka Bering, how do you know our Harry—"
"All done!" Helena blurts, holding up the bag of soiled items and tossing it into the SUV's rear hold. "Charlotte will be thrilled to see you, Myka." Helena leans between the seats and gives Myka a "you know who I mean" look.
"Isn't it Charlie now?" Sondra quips.
"Charlie and Harry. That's kind of cute," Myka says.
“Do not encourage her,” Helena says, rolling her eyes.
"I won't if I see her."
"When you see her," Sondra says.
"Are we picking her up from school?" Myka asks.
"Football practice. Harry's the coach, don't you know?"
“Oh! That's why you called her ‘coach.'. I see…." Myka raises a brow in Helena's direction and Helena smirks knowingly.
"Don't know much about our Harry, do you?" Sondra questions.
"It's been quite some time since we've spoken," Helena answers.
"Yet here she is, at your doorstep. Funny that." Sondra pulls into a small parking lot and puts the car in park. She turns to Myka. "I'm off to run errands before the shops close. But I can drop you off on the way."
"I…um—"
"Come along and see Charlotte," Helena says.
"I'd love to," Myka says to Helena. "But, thanks for the offer," she says to Sondra. Stepping swiftly out of the car and out of Sondra's scrutiny, she scans the girls running in the distance, hoping to spot Christina.
"Thank god you're here," a man sputters, scuttling up to Helena. "The girls were mad worried."
"We've a tournament tomorrow, and our last practice was canceled due to rain," Helena explains, turning to wave goodbye as Sondra pulls away.
Myka turns and waves as well. Best to not offend anyone until she and Helena can talk.
"Nerves are on high, you see. Aren't they Owen?" Helena pats Owen on the back.
"I can hardly keep them in line, Harry." Owen hangs his head as the trio walk toward the field.
"Then allow me. Girls, get in formation!" Helena calls out as she jogs toward the pitch.
The girls scatter then snap into lines.
"Hi, I'm Myka," Myka says, extending a hand to Owen, obviously on her own with introductions in this alternate reality.
"Owen Williams, assistant coach," Owen says, straightening his slouch as he shakes Myka's hand.
"And He-Harry's head coach?"
"Brilliant, she is. First year we've been winning the locals. What it is, is, like, she's such an inspiration to those girls."
Willowy thin, no older than twenty, Owen's most likely a local lad. If Myka hadn't had a warm-up to the Welsh accent in Cardiff, she'd never have deciphered his rushed words.
Out of the corner of her eye, a figure rushes towards them, running so fast it nearly trips onto the pavement. Black curls bounce heavenward through a restrained ponytail as gangly limbs struggle to stay in sync. But the closer the figure gets, the more their identity is clear. The grin that spreads across Myka's face cannot be contained.
"Myka!" Christina yelps, extending her arms as she approaches.
"Hey, kiddo!" Myka crouches down and opens her arms wide. Christina slams into her, hard, and Myka takes a small step back. They sink into each other, pushing back slightly until each finds an equilibrium. The last time Myka saw Christina, they parted on bad terms. The warm greeting she's receiving is heavenly.
"I've missed you!" Christina says.
"I've missed you, too! Let me look at you." Myka holds Christina at arm's length; she's shot up in height, and her limbs have stretched out quite a bit. It's hardly possible, but she looks even more like a clone of Helena. "You're getting so big, I hardly recognized you." She pulls her back into a hug.
"I grew three inches!"
"I can tell! You're going to be taller than me someday."
"That's taller than mom!"
Myka stands, and Christina jumps up several times, previewing her future height. "You're staying to watch?"
"Yep! But is there somewhere to sit? Somewhere dry?"
"Maybe near the tennis courts?"
Christina grabs Myka's hand and weaves through parents camped out in folding chairs. Several nod hellos as she and Christina pass by.
"What happened to your hair?"
"It looks weird, huh?" Myka takes note: both Wells women have issues with her straightened hair.
"It looks pretty, but I liked it when it was curly, like mine."
"I like curly, too. But this is easier when I travel." Which is only half-true. She straightened it after the Luiza debacle when Abigail suggested she needed a change. She stuck with it because, truthfully, it felt like a disguise, one she needed to play her part. And while she could have changed it back after New Years, it was more comfortable to stay in character than face her real self.
"It's a little wet," Christina says, wiping the moisture off a bench with her forearm.
"That's good enough," Myka says. Her jacket's ruined anyway, so what's a little water?
"Mom said to tell you some things," Christina says, plopping down next to Myka. "We're from Canada. Toronto. Mom fixes cars. Fancy ones. Or she used to. Something bad happened with her boss, so we left reeeally fast."
"I see." A harrowing cover story for their actual, harrowing story. Quite clever. "How do I fit in?"
"You don't. Or didn't. Until now."
"Oh." Myka's heart sinks at having been left out, but then again, why would she have been included? What that means, though, is someone's purposefully tripping up their alibi, and they'll need to integrate her, fast. "So your mom told Sondra she and I were old friends. Did she say how we met?"
"Uh-uh."
"What do you think?"
Christina mulls this over. "A dating app?"
"I met your mom online?"
"Why not? People do all the time!"
"How would you know?"
"Myka, I'm ten now, and I live in the middle of nowhere. I’d die without the internet.”
"Oh, I think you'd survive." Myka shoulder-bumps Christina.
Christina giggles and bumps back.
"So if your mom and I used to date, wouldn't that complicate your cover story?"
"You wouldn't date mom if we lived in Toronto?" Christina's brow furrows.
"I'd date your mom anywhere, that's not the issue."
"You'd love us, no matter where we are, wouldn't you?" Fiction shifts into reality; the playfulness of a moment ago turning on a dime.
"Of course, I would." Myka throws an arm around Christina and hugs her close.
Christina wraps her arms around Myka and lays her head on her chest.
"Let's talk this through," Myka says, blinking back watery eyes. "You know more about what's going on than I do. Did I live in Toronto, too? What's the best plan?"
"You should be you, so you don't have to remember all the stuff I do."
"Is it hard, remembering everything?" Myka sweeps an errant curl from Christina's cheek.
"Sometimes."
"Then let's make this easy. When you lived in Toronto, I lived in New York. And now I live in LA."
"You do?" Christina's head pops up. "Do you like it?"
"I miss New York."
“Me too! And Aunt Claudia. And Dewy! Have you seen them?" Christina asks.
"She misses you like crazy. And Dewy's as cuddly as ever—"
"Charlotte, we're starting! Take to the field," Helena shouts, waving.
"I gotta go. How long are you here for?"
"A few days."
"Are you staying with us?"
"No. At an inn."
"Charlotte!"
"You should stay with us. You have to meet Mr. Bubbles.”
"Who?"
"My rabbit!"
A whistle blows and girls start running around the field.
"I gotta go," Christina says, hugging Myka again and running off toward the field.
Myka half-watches as the mock game unfolds, her head filled to the brim with questions. But a silly grin remains on her face stays for quite some time. Though circumstances are ridiculous, she’s overjoyed to be reunited with her two favorite people again.
-----------------------
Smushed in Sondra's back seat with two hyperactive ten-year-olds, Myka's surprised when their drive ends at her inn. The entire team seems to have followed to patronize the pub—one of two in the village—the font-of-knowledge that is Sondra proclaims. The sheer volume of parked cars nearly blocks the adjacent roadway. Parents and children settle into seats and booths, drinking pints and sodas, or "pop" as it's called here. Fish and chips are the meal of choice, with malt vinegar and salt replacing ketchup.
Christina wedges herself between Helena and Myka while Sondra and Bethan sit across from them on a picnic bench. A rotating cast others join in, asking questions about tomorrow's tournament or gossiping with Sondra. Myka's learns the town's abuzz as Christina's team qualified, for the first time ever, to play with other regional teams in Abergavenny. Helena further explains that six teams will play each other over the course of two Saturdays, and the two highest winning teams will play each other in the finals.
Surface-level conversation flows freely as the pints pile up, and Myka, thankfully, finds herself not talking much. But when Christina and Bethan scurry off to join their friends, the table quiets. Just then, Helena's phone rings.
"Sondra," Helena says, glancing down at her screen, "tell Myka how you came to live in this town while I take this." She taps to accept the call.
"There's not much to tell," Sondra says, swirling her beer.
"Oh, there's plenty," Helena prods, covering the mouthpiece momentarily.
"I'd love to hear it," Myka adds, as enthusiastically as possible, understanding Helena's prompt: keep Sondra talking while she's away.
Helena walks toward the road as Sondra launches into her backstory. She starts, unexpectedly, with her grandfather's arrival from India, and adds a brief monologue on India's independence from Britain. Next up: how her parents met and growing up in Cardiff, with each of her siblings making a cameo. How she met her husband takes considerable time unpack, as it's intertwined with affiliations from the Cardiff indie music scene.
Right around there, Myka's attention falters, as the names Sondra's dropping are unfamiliar to her. Plus, she has a husband, one she’s speaking about with affection, proof that she and Helena are only friends. She glances at Helena, who is frowning, heartily; the eminent news must be unfavorable.
"So your husband's a musician," Myka says, feigning interest in the conversation.
"That he is. Mostly a session musician now, off for weeks at the studio. Moved here three years ago, we did, so his mum could help with Bethan."
"Only three years? You seem to know everyone."
"David's mum's the Councilwoman. Everyone here knows her, and us, them. Like Rhys, over there, he's..."
As Sondra points out several adults and the roles they play in the town, Myka takes in the families around her, many beginning to leave as the light fades. It then occurs to her; Helena's very visible for someone meant to be in hiding. But working her way into the community, instead of shunning it, is a smart move. That way, if she gets hassled, someone will notice and step in. And someone will care for Christina on the fly.
"Alright?" Sondra asks as Helena returns to the table.
"All right. But I must spirit Myka away, just for a moment."
"I'll be here." Sondra's pint sloshes as she raises it, still half-full.
Myka follows Helena towards the inn.
"Room number?" Helena asks.
Myka slips the key out of her pocket. "Um, 'The Lion's Den?'"
"I'll inform Christina and meet you there."
Myka walks into the pub and weaves through tables toward the bar. As she ascends the stairs, she hears Helena not far behind, caught by a parent with a question. Helena answers quickly, then politely excuses herself, catching up with Myka as she slots the key in the lock. As the door opens, Helena hurries in.
Myka closes the door and swings around. Helena stands a pace away, staring.
"I can hardly believe you're here," Helena says in a hushed tone.
"Tell me what's going on," Myka says, stepping forward and taking hold of Helena's hands.
Helena looks down at their hands but doesn't offer an answer.
"Helena, talk." Myka laces their fingers together and tugs Helena closer.
"Say that again," Helena says. "Say my name."
"Helena." Myka leans far enough forward that her lips nearly touch Helena's ear. "Helena.” Released as an exultation, without a trace of false bitterness, repressed desires bubble up under her skin.
Helena's sharp intake of breath prompts a light kiss to her cheek, then another near the corner of her mouth. Helena turns to intercept, hands flying up to cup Myka's jaw, sliding back and tangling in Myka's hair. Myka's arms slip around Helena's waist, and her hands snake up, under Helena's jacket. Helena presses into Myka, and Myka reciprocates eagerly.
Helena guides Myka backwards as heated kisses build, until she's pinned to the door with a thunk. Her hands skim reverently over Myka shoulders and down the sides of her arms, slipping snugly, familiarly, around her hips. Helena groans as Myka's fingers rake up the length of her back then tuck under the cuff of her hat.
Desperate to comb through Helena's thick locks, Myka yanks the hat off, but instead of cascading dark silk, she's met with soft bristles. A quick brush upwards reveals thicker strands, but nowhere near as long as they should be. She breaks the kiss to see what's going on.
"Oh my god!"
"Quite a shock, I know." Helena runs a hand through her hair, a familiar gesture cut short by its truncated length.
"I, um…wow."
"Are you appalled?"
“No. No. It's fine. It's just…" Myka combs through Helena's near platinum locks; they're coarser than before but just as soft. "It's just not how I picture you."
"Touché," Helena replies. "Harry Lewellyn has quite the penchant for 90's fashion. Hence the tracksuit chic." She gestures down at her outfit.
"I thought it was for practice."
"Not strictly."
"I don't mind," Myka says, pulling Helena towards her, their lips fitting together as if carved for only that purpose. Myka moans as Helena gently presses her leg between Myka's thighs, a year's worth of yearning breaking free. This is what was meant to happen the minute they walked in this room, after all those stolen glances at the table—
Knock, knock.
Both women scramble away from the door.
"Who's there?" Helena says, holding fast to Myka's hand.
"Mom?" Christina's answers, in a tiny, hesitant voice.
“Darling." Helena rushes over, opening the door and guiding Christina in, one hand on her back.
"Sondra says we need to go soon," Christina explains.
Helena looks at Myka, eyes full of apology. Myka smiles, crookedly but warmly, conveying both understanding and a desire to continue, soon.
"We must talk. Sit, both of you." Helena gestures towards the bed.
Christina hops up, and Myka settles next to her.
"I may be paid a visit this evening by someone who's followed Myka here. Therefore, Christina will be staying at Bethan's and Myka, you must stay here at the inn."
"You shouldn't be alone, no matter what someone on the phone said," Myka says.
"Mom, that's dumb. Let Myka help," Christina adds.
"We're safer divided, where there are witnesses."
"But none for you?"
"There are cameras all over the house. Christina can access them."
"But, I can't."
"It's best you're not involved as of yet."
“But I am involved. I’m here!”
"Only to meet Angharad Lewellyn. That pretense stands until further notice."
"But you’re Angharad Lewellyn!"
"That's inconsequential."
"Ugh!" Myka throws up her hands.
"Mom, you're doing it again," Christina says.
"Doing what?"
"Saying things but not really saying them."
"Am I?"
"Yes," Myka grunts.
"My apologies." Helena sits, nestling herself between the headboard and Christina. "Do you recall what's in Leeds that's special?" she asks Christina.
"I do!" Christina bounces in her seat. "Can I tell Myka?"
"Yes, you may."
"Mom stole a painting and hid it," Christina says, with a hint of pride.
"Should she know that?" Myka asks.
"Christina and I harbor no secrets," Helena says, smiling as she brushes a strand of hair behind Christina's ear. Christina smiles back, beaming with love and trust.
"That's good, I guess?” While their reverence for each other is genuinely heartwarming, it's disconcerting being of the loop, though Myka knows her frustration is petty. "What's so important about this painting?
"L3057249 never made it to Germany," Helena explains.
"But you had it in the surveillance footage."
"That one was fake. Morgana and I were forced to smuggle the original elsewhere by Mrs. Frederic."
"Why?"
"Her own stab at drawing McPherson's misdemeanors out into the open. Interpol believes she's gone entirely rogue—"
Helena's phone dings.
"That'll be Sondra."
"I should go with you," Myka says as Helena rises from the bed.
"Tonight it's best if we're separated," Helena says, taking hold of Myka hands. "I ask that you please trust me."
"But what if they take you to find the painting tonight?"
"Morgana must be present as well. I won't go anywhere until they have her on hand."
"I still don't like it."
Helena leans forward and whispers into Myka's ear. “If we’re together, we will be distracted.“
Myka's stomach swoops at the prospect of being alone. "Ok. But only for tonight."
"I want to stay with Myka," Christina blurts.
"You're safer with Sondra."
"But, Mom…"
"We're both desperate to spend time with Myka, but we must maintain appearances. Were I to leave you with a stranger, it would look odd to our friends."
Christina thrusts out her bottom lip, her pout brandishing new levels of persuasion.
"And, I must finish repairing the Rover, as you very well know. That's reason enough for a sleepover."
“But, Mom...”
Helena glances at Myka. "A little help, please?"
Myka crouches down to Christina's level. "I think your mom's right."
"You're on her side now?"
"No. But your mom knows more than we do. And I trust her." Myka stands and takes hold of Helena's hand.
Helena squeezes it as Christina's features downturn.
"We'll spend tomorrow together, ok?" Myka says.
"You're coming with us?" Christina's eyes light up.
"I thought I was?"
"You are," Helena says. "Nine AM sharp, outside the inn. But be warned, scores pre-teens on a mini-bus, not the most pleasant transport."
"I'll be ready." Myka smiles at an appeased-for-now looking Christina.
"Until tomorrow," Helena says, kissing Myka on the cheek. And, for a split second, it's as if Helena's off to work, like a normal day in their old life.
Helena swipes her hat off the floor and slips it over her shorter, lighter hair. She then positions herself across from Myka, next to Christina.
"Be careful," Myka says.
"I shall."
"You know where I am if you need me. Both of you. Do you have my number?"
"We do," Helena says. She lays a hand on Christina's shoulder. "We should get going."
"You probably should."
But instead of parting, they stand staring, as if a spell's rendered them immovable.
"Myka should come down with us," Christina says.
"And say goodbye to Sondra, yes," Helena adds.
"Excellent idea," Myka says, grabbing her keys, pulling the door shut behind them.
-TBC-
9 notes · View notes
universitychallenged · 8 years ago
Text
University Challenge Episode 35: Review
Score: Emmanuel, Cambridge 140 / Wolfson, Cambridge 170
Match of the century, Godzilla vs King Kong, internet meltdown, ya da ya da ya da. Seagull vs Monkman has sent Twitter wild (and let’s be frank, this does mean 5,000 people and not 5 million), whipped up even more by Bobby and Eric’s rather too media-canny tweets. I preferred Monkman when he was awkwardly thanking us for the support with no hashtags - you know, retaining some mystique. Now he’s putting up videos of himself with seagull noises overdubbed and feigning fisticuffs with El Bobby. HMM. You wouldn’t have got Hannah Rose Woods doing any of that nonsense.
Tumblr media
Despite my undying love of Eric ‘Sword’ Monkman, I wanted #TeamEmma to win. Then Edinburgh could slam-dunk next week’s semi and we’d have a match between two teams with relatively even personalities in there, and ones with a couple of girls, because I like girls, because I am one *sobs*
(Jez said a couple of years ago that he thinks institutions should put forward evenly-gendered teams. I say the Beeb should impose it, apart from on Newnham College, though two of them could wear beards as in The Life of Brian. Just imagine my STYLE NEWS! *sobs more*)
So, another DEATH-MATCH, like Hunger Games except with questions about stained glass in north-west England instead of arrows through your face. 
Team Vibe: Emmanuel: Four labrador puppies looking like they’d just been woken up from a long sleep filled with dreams about Care Bears and candy floss. They’re just so sweet.
Tumblr media
Wolfson: T-shirt and cardigan, shirt and jumper, shirt and jumper, shirt. (Boys.)
Grandad Count: I was going to exile this category but this week I found out that BOBBY SEAGULL IS THIRTY-TWO. I mean, seriously. The whole point of this programme is that it celebrates youthful vitality! Callow joie de vivre! The bafflingly profuse wealth of knowledge in the under-20s! FFS. (Please note that I am thirty-eight).
Girl Count: Following this result, there is now literally one female left in this stupid goddamned show. 
Tumblr media
STYLE NEWS: Chaudhri took a leaf out of Monkman’s books and repeated last time’s jumper. Guys, it’s starting to look a bit weird. Over on the Emmanuel table, Barton-Singer was so mussed-up that he couldn’t even pull his hoodie over his shoulder. Thank the Lord for Bobby, going for bold in a checked shirt, pale blazer and tie the colour of wine gums. Savage, mate.
Tumblr media
Cult Hero of the Episode: Small shout-out to Barton-Singer for looking heroically chill throughout. ‘Pangea,’ he muttered, doing all but yawning. ‘Blake.’
However, it’s still about these two main men. I have a SECRET INDEPENDENTLY VERIFIED SOURCE who tells me that this was the first match in which Bobby was genuinely apprehensive. STILL! He didn’t show it, his usual mix of galvanising his lovely team-mates with little sherbet-bursts of deduction. He teaches bloody maths to flippin’ kids whilst he does this part-time Masters. He ditched a job in the City! Ugh.
Monkman assumes a permanent mien of genuine apprehension, so it was hard to tell how he was feeling. But the man hit it out of the park, if by ‘it’ I mean questions about French physicists and historical assassination attempts, and by ‘park’ I mean straight at Jezza’s fizzog. He delivered the final samurai sword-blow very near the end, by answering ‘Rashomon’ to give #TeamEmma no chance of coming back. You have to hand it to someone who knows as much about Kurosawa films and gonzo journalism as the North Korean border and National Parks.
OHHH. I’m over Monkman now. SAINT BOBBY WINS.
Tumblr media
Handsome Person of the Episode: I’m giving it Tom Hill, even though it was sometimes hard to see his face because he largely had his nose to the desk. But his happy-go-lucky beam after spelling ‘Dakar’ and ‘Dhaka’ won the day.
Jezza Watch: He said ‘Don Joo-in’ AGAIN, in utter defiance of the entire world. Just say it like a normal person, Jez. 
Tumblr media
Dream Bonus Question Round: Hmm. The Britten round, in that I guessed Britten and got the Wilfrid Owen. I pitied Emmanuel adorably trying their damnedest to actually HEAR the words (surely they would have got it if so); sadly, homies, that is classical singing for you.
Glaze-over Round: Metres, constants, kelvins, something about joules and planks, all of which sounds like a complicated physical training exercise to me. Not for Wolfson’s Cosgrove, who I’ve always thought a bit quiet, and who shot those bad boys down one by one.
Tumblr media
Kerry and Andy’s score: 10. The questions were too biased towards maths and I was too busy shouting ‘COME ON EMMANUEL!’ at the screen. That’s my excuse, anyway.
Brain Food: Cold smoked trout, polenta, roasted aubergine and tender stem broccoli.
GOODBYE EMMANUEL COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tweets of the Day:
Tumblr media
SEXISM NOTE:
PS A lot of crappy sexism this week online towards Corpus Christi’s Johnson. I would like to make it clear that I objectify all contestants equally, OR AT LEAST I WOULD IF THERE WERE MORE GIRLS ON IT. All objectification is in jest and with absolutely full respect for their indecently-large brains and brilliance. *whispers phone number in Tom Hill’s ear****
***JOKING
3 notes · View notes
ryanwoolfolk · 5 years ago
Video
vimeo
The Wind in the Willows - The Wildlife Trusts by Thomas Harnett O'Meara Director/producer/DOP: Matthew Day Director/producer: Thomas Harnett O'Meara Voice Cast: Narrator: David Attenborough Badger: Stephen Fry Ratty: Catherine Tate Toad: Asam Chaudhry Mole: Alison Steadman Agency: Don’t Panic Agency Creative: Rick Dodds Agency Producer: Huw Allen Account manager: Thea Deakin Production Assistance: Vassiliki Panagiotou Audio: String and Tins Original Music: Will Cohen Orchestra: Frames Project Lead Violin: Dorry Macaulay Music preparation: Simon Whiteside Additional music: ‘Speed Toad’ by Andy Stewart Sound design: Will Cohen Sound engineer: Lawrence Kendrick Audio post-production producer: Eimear Ní Ghuaire Re-recording mixer: Tim Cavagin Animation: Andy Biddle, Tobias Fouracre, Anthony Farquhar Smith, Max Martin Rigging: Robin Jackson 1st AC: Toby Goodyear Aditional motion control: Max Halstead Gaffer: Aldo Camilleri Head of Puppets: Ciara McClean Puppet department: Stefano Cordioli, Jade Gerrard, Patrycja Cichocka, Carlos Padilla, Saskia Martindale, Claire Waldron, Sofia Serrano Costume: Janet Knechtel Art Directors: Sarah Crombie, Yossel Simpson Little Modellers: Catherine Prowse, James Owens, Colin Armitage, Ben Cote Art Department: George Warren, Renata Corillo Martin, Colette Pidgeon, Nathan Ward, Jessica Vogt, Dewie Evans CNC and laser cutting: Jack Kirby, Almost Everything Painter: Richard Davidson Scenic Painter: Angela Pang Post Production: Alasdair Brotherston Graphics: Flaminia Rossi, Ellen Crowther, Ieuan Lewis Kingston University students: Lulu Senft, Saskia Tomlinson Norwich University students: Amara Norman, Emma Niemis, Michael Chapman, Cheznie Walters, Stasia Middleton Central St Martins University Students: Brad Gilbert Thanks to: Gordon Allen Shot at: Clapham Road Studios
0 notes
poettier · 6 years ago
Video
vimeo
The Wind in the Willows - The Wildlife Trusts from Thomas Harnett O'Meara on Vimeo.
Director/producer/DOP: Matthew Day Director/producer: Thomas Harnett O'Meara
Voice Cast: Narrator: David Attenborough Badger: Stephen Fry Ratty: Catherine Tate Toad: Asam Chaudhry Mole: Alison Steadman
Agency: Don’t Panic Agency Creative: Rick Dodds Agency Producer: Huw Allen Account manager: Thea Deakin
Production Assistance: Vassiliki Panagiotou
Audio: String and Tins Original Music: Will Cohen Orchestra: Frames Project Lead Violin: Dorry Macaulay Music preparation: Simon Whiteside Additional music: ‘Speed Toad’ by Andy Stewart
Sound design: Will Cohen Sound engineer: Lawrence Kendrick Audio post-production producer: Eimear Ní Ghuaire Re-recording mixer: Tim Cavagin
Animation: Andy Biddle, Tobias Fouracre, Anthony Farquhar Smith, Max Martin Rigging: Robin Jackson
1st AC: Toby Goodyear Aditional motion control: Max Halstead Gaffer: Aldo Camilleri
Head of Puppets: Ciara McClean Puppet department: Stefano Cordioli, Jade Gerrard, Patrycja Cichocka, Carlos Padilla, Saskia Martindale, Claire Waldron, Sofia Serrano Costume: Janet Knechtel
Art Directors: Sarah Crombie, Yossel Simpson Little Modellers: Catherine Prowse, James Owens, Colin Armitage, Ben Cote Art Department: George Warren, Renata Corillo Martin, Colette Pidgeon, Nathan Ward, Jessica Vogt, Dewie Evans CNC and laser cutting: Jack Kirby, Almost Everything Painter: Richard Davidson Scenic Painter: Angela Pang
Post Production: Alasdair Brotherston Graphics: Flaminia Rossi, Ellen Crowther, Ieuan Lewis
Kingston University students: Lulu Senft, Saskia Tomlinson Norwich University students: Amara Norman, Emma Niemis, Michael Chapman, Cheznie Walters, Stasia Middleton Central St Martins University Students: Brad Gilbert
Thanks to: Gordon Allen
Shot at: Clapham Road Studios
0 notes
spinner-moko · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
they’re stupid
8 notes · View notes
spinner-moko · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
the guys and their parents (owen has an older sister, and eric has a younger sister, i just wanted to focus on their parents.)
13 notes · View notes
spinner-moko · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
morveren concept art
11 notes · View notes