#para: rotting in vain
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ammusplanet · 2 years ago
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IRON STILL FEARS THE ROT / O FERRO AINDA TEME A PODRIDÃO
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=================PORTUGUESE===============
Estou arruinado, estou farto, cansado, problemas de cada dia, desilusões, desgostos, tristezas, sofrimentos e tantos desgostos.
Estou cansado desse ciclo malebólico, se é isso que você quer, Demiurgo, arraste-me para o inferno sem demora, porque certamente sofrerei menos lá do que aqui.
Minha alma está cheia de vermes, pútrida. Qualquer esperança de salvação é vã. Meu corpo dói, minha mente está nublada. Eu me pergunto quanto tempo terei que suportar este inferno na terra.
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I'm ruined, I'm fed up, tired, every day problems, disappointments, dislikes, sadness, suffering and so many displeasures.
I'm tired of that malebolic cycle, if that's what you want, Demiurge, drag me down to hell without delay, because I'll certainly suffer less there than here.
My soul is full of worms, putrid. Any hope of salvation is in vain. My body aches, my mind is clouded. I wonder how long I will have to endure this hell on earth.
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theblogofruth · 4 months ago
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"The Vain Falcon." Conclusion to the Book of Ruth, 4: 18-22.
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The Book of Ruth concludes with a description of how to replace the husbands of the past with one that is brand new. King David and Prince Jonathan were the Romeo and Juliet of the ancient world. Their story began when a vision of a tradition called Ruth "friendliness" met with tragedy, the fall of the Kingdom of Israel. Only once in history do the books tell us the people were happy and it was while this man reigned over a doomed people. Here is how this happened.
A Genealogy in Judaism is not a way of seeing if the Mormons are related to Jesus Christ. They represent the stepwise progression of how pepople, their governments, and their ways of life are supposed to culminate in Shabbat. Following is what we shall call a Ruth Torah, instructions in the observation of Shabbat after widowhood:
The Genealogy of David
18 This, then, is the family line of Perez:
Perez was the father of Hezron,
19 Hezron the father of Ram,
Ram the father of Amminadab,
20 Amminadab the father of Nahshon,
Nahshon the father of Salmon,[d]
21 Salmon the father of Boaz,
Boaz the father of Obed,
22 Obed the father of Jesse,
and Jesse the father of David.
The proper definitions of the terms above are:
Perez= to make the breakthrough
Verb פרץ (paras) means to breach or break, whether through something, out of something or something into pieces. Noun פרץ (peres) means a breach or bursting forth.
Hezron=gather the people
The verb חצר (hasar) relates to the first visual manifestations of a gathering or emergence of some sort: to begin to cluster or gather or emerge.
The noun חציר (hasir) means grass, which is the first plant to sprout after, say, a fire. Noun חציר (hasir) means leek (a bigger version of grass) and חצצרה (hasosra) means trumpet, i.e. the perhaps leek-like instrument with which a gathering of humans is instigated.
The noun חצר (haser) denotes a hamlet or settlement or loose, rudimentary federation; the initial beginning of what some day might become a village or even a city. Noun חצר (haser) refers to an enclosure in the architectural sense, or even a court in the sense of it being a place where people loosely gather.
Ram= raise the social apex
The verb רום (rum) means to be high or high up in either a physical, social or even attitudinal sense, and may also refer to the apex in a natural process: the being ripe and ready-for-harvest of fruits. Subsequently, our verb may imply a state beyond ripe (higher than ripe, overripe), which thus refers to rotting and being maggot riddled. This means that to the ancients, higher did not simply mean better, and an arrogant political status that was higher than it should be equaled rot and worms (Acts 12:23).
Derived nouns, such as רום (rum) and related forms such as רמה (rama), describe height or pride. Noun רמות (ramut) describes some high thing. The noun ארמון ('armon) refers to a society's apex: a citadel or palace. The noun ראם (re'em) describes the wild ox, which was named possibly for the same reason why we moderns call a rising market a "bull" market. The similar verb ראם (ra'am) means to rise.
The important noun רמון (rimmon) means pomegranate and the pomegranate became the symbol for harvest-ready fruit (see our full dictionary article for more on this). Overripe items might suffer the noun רמה (rimma), worm or maggot, or the verb רמם (ramam), to be wormy.
Ammindab=treat everyone like a noble
The verb עמם ('mm) probably expressed to be inclusive or comprehensive. Its rare uses in the Bible relate to making secrets or making info available to an in-crowd. Preposition עם ('im) means 'with', מעם (me'im) means 'from', and עמה ('umma) means 'beside'. Noun עם ('am) means a people, ranging from all of mankind to the in-crowd of a small village. Noun עם ('am) refers to one's (paternal) kinsman.
The verb נדב (nadab) means to give, donate or volunteer, and by implication to be noble. From it derive the noun נדבה (nedaba), freewill offering, the noun and adjective נדיב (nadib), generous or noble, and the noun נדיבה (nediba), generous deed.
Nashon=employ the magic prayers, unleash the bronze serpent
The most fundamental meaning of the root נחש (nahash) is that of intuitive knowledge and near-accidental skill. It describes an ability to achieve a great technological feat — particularly smelting bronze — but crucially without truly understanding what makes the magic happen: the fire or the prayer, the air blasted into the furnace or the zealous faith of the technicians.
Dictionaries commonly spread the following words out over four separate roots, but to the ancients, these words all expressed the same core meaning:
The noun נחש (nahash) is the Bible's most common word for snake. Snakes in the Bible always represent some kind of mental process, usually intuitive and usually impure or otherwise detrimental.
The identical verb נחש (nahash) means to divine or soothsay. Its derived noun, again identical, נחש (nahash) means divination or enchantment.
Either this same verb נחש (nahash), or an identical other one, also appears to have described the production of bronze. It's not used as such in the Bible but the following derivations are: Noun נחשת (nehoshet) refers to copper or bronze, or items made from bronze. Adjective נחוש (nahush) means bronze. And noun נחושה (nehusha) or נחשה (nehusha) means copper or bronze.
Salman=prevent people from becoming your enemies
The general meaning of the graceful verb שלם (shalem) is that of wholeness, completeness or "unbrokenness" (and see for the opposite the verb רעע, ra'a). Our verb is used to characterize the uncut stones of the altar (Deuteronomy 27:6) and the temple (1 Kings 6:7). It tells of a "full" or perhaps "righteous" wage (Ruth 2:12), and the entirety of a population (Amos 1:6). It also tells of "full" and just weights, which are God's delight (Deuteronomy 25:15 and Proverbs 11:1), and of "whole" hearts devoted to the Lord (1 Kings 8:61). This verb may even denote the completeness of sin (Genesis 15:16), and in some rare cases it may denote friendship (Jeremiah 20:10, Psalm 41:10).
In the Hebrew language it's quite simple to indicate not only a condition (like shalem), but also the means to get there (to "shalemize"). The usage of this "shalemize" form in Scriptures is quite revealing. Wholeness is achieved or restored most often by some kind of restitutory payment or covenant: God pays a man according to his work (Job 34:11), but the wicked borrows and does not pay back (Psalm 37:21).
The owner of an accidentally killed ox is paid restitution (Exodus 21:36); oil is sold to pay off a debt (2 Kings 4:7); and the Gibeonites swindle Joshua into making a covenant with them (Joshua 10:1). Likewise, shalem is used when vows are to be paid to the Most High, or when days of mourning are to be completed (Isaiah 60:20), and ties in directly to the Messiah and his salvific work (Joel 2:25).
The derivatives of this verb are:
The famous masculine noun שלום (shalom), meaning peace (Isaiah 32:17). Peace in the Bible doesn't just indicate a warless state, but rather a state of completeness and harmony or rather un-dividedness. It also covers completeness (Jeremiah 13:19), prosperity (Genesis 43:27), health and safety (Psalm 38:4).
The masculine noun שלם (shelem) peace offering or a sacrifice for alliance or friendship (Amos 5:22, Exodus 24:5).
The denominative verb שלם (shalam), meaning to be in a covenant of peace (Job 22:21, Isaiah 42:19).
The adjective שלם (shalem), meaning perfect, whole, complete, safe (Genesis 15:16, 33:18, 34:21).
The masculine noun שלם (shillem), meaning recompense (occurs only in Deuteronomy 32:35).
The masculine noun שלמן (shalmon), meaning bribe or reward. This noun only occurs in plural and only in Isaiah 1:23.
The masculine noun שלום (shillum) also spelled שלם (shillum), meaning recompense or reward (Isaiah 34:8, Micah 7:3).
The feminine noun שלמה (shilluma), meaning reward (Psalm 91:8 only).
Peace and how to make it
Some of the nouns derived from this verb may be construed to literally mean "peace-maker," but that requires some additional considerations. Peace — defined as the absence of conflict or discord — may be achieved in several ways:
By suppressing certain elements of society, particularly those elements that cause trouble to the ruling elite. That's not what this root means.
By suppressing certain elements in people's personal mentality, convictions or behavior. That's also not what this root means.
By achieving such a level of understanding of irreconcilable elements that these can be understood and joined in, as well as given the opportunity to derive their identity from, a unified theory or system of definition. This process requires no censoring and demonstrates all elements to be most intimately related to the identity of the whole. The key-word of this process is relationship. That's what this root means.
In Hebrew, peace-making means whole-making, and not warm-fuzzy-deny-your-concerns-and-stop-being-difficult-making. Hebrew peace-making requires the effortful acquisition of intimate knowledge of one's opponent, and since in Hebrew love-making is pretty much the same as knowing someone (the verb ידע, yada', means both to know and to have sex; it's this verb that's used in Genesis 4:1 to explain how Adam and Eve came up with Cain), the command to "love your enemy" (Matthew 5:44) has not a lick to do with placidly suffering abuse and trying to conjure up lofty feelings for the brute who's mistreating you, and everything with studying your enemy until you know enough about him to either appreciate his motives (and behave in such a compatible way that he stops assaulting you) or else blow him out of the water by being superior.
When Jesus says, "blessed are the peace-makers" (Matthew 5:9), he does not refer to those people who insist we should all assume a state of blissful indifference, but rather those people who grab the bull by the horns and stare deep into his eyes and pick his brain with an axe.
Making peace starts with making a relationship with your enemy, and it results in getting to know your enemy (which in turn makes the chance excellent that at some point your enemy will stop being your enemy).
Boaz= by the means of strength of character, through right action
Prefix ב (be) means in, within or by means of.
The verb עזז ('azaz) means to be strong. Adjective עז ('az) means strong, mighty or fierce and adjective עזוז ('izzuz) means mighty or powerful. Nouns עז ('oz) and עזוז ('ezuz) mean strength, might or fierceness.
Noun עזניה ('ozniya) denotes some kind of bird of prey (this word may actually be a convenient import from another language) and noun עז ('ez) denotes a she-goat (this word may actually derive from a verb that means to be wayward or perhaps strong-headed).
Verb עוז ('uz) means to bring into refuge or to seek safety. Noun מעוז (ma'oz) describes a place or agent of safety.
Obed=hire experts
The verb עבד ('abad) means to work or serve, and the noun עבד ('ebed) denotes someone who works: from a slave to a hired expert. The Greek equivalent of this noun is δουλος (doulos).
Jesse=in the purifying light, men who are enlightened not weak
The verb אנש ('anash) appears to emphasize the weakness of the human individual and mankind's consequent tendency to clan up and have strength in numbers first and then in social stratification. It either means to be weak or even to be sick, or it swings the other way and means to be friendly and social. It yields the important noun אנוש ('enosh), man or human male individual who is weak yet social.
In the Bible, societies are feminine (and maternal) and although some scholars insist on a whole other but identical root, the noun אשה ('isha) means woman or wife. And again perhaps from a whole other root or perhaps the same one, the noun איש ('ish) means man, or rather man of; man in some specific function such as "man of war" or "man of the earth." It's also the common word for husband.
Since societies form around central fires (or the "purifying light" of wisdom, which is where the metaphor comes from), the noun אש ('esh), fire, may also derive from this verb.
David= and achieve unity with the love bringer. This is the way to the revelations.
The root ידד (yadad) has to do with love, and that mostly in the affectionate, physical sense. Adjective ידיד (yadid) means beloved or lovely. Noun ידידות (yedidot) means love, as in "a song of love" and noun ידידות (yedidut), meaning love in the sense of beloved one.
Curiously, an identical verb ידד (yadad II) means to cast a lot and instead of being kin to the previous, it appears to be related to the verb ידה (yada), which originally meant to cast but which evolved to mean to praise.
That our root has to do with physical fondling and love-making is demonstrated by the verb דדה (dada), which means to move slowly. Noun דד (dad) denotes a women's nipple or breast specifically as object of one's husband's interest.
Unused verb דוד (dwd) probably meant to gently swing, dandle, fondle. Noun דוד (dod) or דד (dod) means beloved or loved one, and may also describe one's uncle. The feminine version, דודה (doda), means aunt. Noun דודי (duday) literally means a "love-bringer" and describes a mandrake. Noun דוד (dud) refers to a kind of pot or jar (perhaps one that was rocked or stirred?).
It may or may not be that the noun יד (yad), meaning hand, also has something to do with this root.
The verb דוה (dawa) means to be ill. Noun דוי (deway) means illness. Adjectives דוה (daweh) and דוי (dawway) mean faint. Noun מדוה (madweh) means disease.
This core meaning of this verb probably has to do with a flowing of fluids, and the observation that "someone was ill" literally conveyed that "someone had the flows." The noun דיו (deyo) means ink, which at first glance appears to be due to the fluidic nature of ink. But ink was hardly the only fluid, and this word appears to rather stem from the notion that a solitary human is woefully weak and man's strength lies in his network, which in turn is strengthened both by correspondence and by the preservation of man's collective wisdom in his library.
This curiously connects writing to menstruating (literally "the flow"), which in turn relates the need for written revelation to mankind's failure to conceive; two issues which will both be remedied when the Word is fully revealed within mankind.
Once again, the Torah is telling us to employ experts in government to ensure the Spirit of God has a proper place to roost.
The Values in Gematria are:
v. 18-19: The Number is 6272, ובז‎ב, "a vain falcon."
v. 20-21: The Number is 3701, גז‎אֶפֶסא, "snatched."
v. 22: The Number is 3142, גאדב‎ ‎, gadev, "by an instant of kindness from a dove."
Here ends the Blog of Ruth, the Assistant Vision, recited by the Seraphim, the Shoftim of the Jewish people for the purposes of inciting additional successes in the romance department.
ראו טף
Ru and Taf, "to see the future reborn."
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jeogiyo-noona-hokshi · 6 months ago
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Nature Myth
WC: 992
Have you ever wondered why things die? Why we decay and rot? Well, according to the ancestors of old there is an answer; but first I must ask you, do you believe in gods?
Long ago, nothing ever died or rotted, everything stayed in perfect health. Once something reaches its so-called “prime” it would stop aging and changing. Everything lived forever. But as you might imagine, nature kept reproducing. The gods tried to cut down life on Earth, with the meteor that ended the dinosaurs, but it was a futile effort.
One day, the gods gathered to talk about more ways to reduce life on Earth, all the beings that attended came up empty handed. The meetings went on for one hundred more years, thinking, brainstorming, failing. All the while Earth kept becoming more and more overpopulated.
On the one hundred and first annual meeting to discuss Earth, Para, the goddess of nature came up with the first idea that had a chance, “What if we create a new goddess? We created Bremship a century ago, why not another?” She proposed.
All the gods thought on this, then the shots began to be fired. Holes were punched into the plan of a new goddess being made.
Juma, the god of fire and king of gods, was quiet the entire meeting, ruminating on Para’s idea, “We will make a new goddess,” he declared. All the gods became quiet and looked to Juma in shock; the last time they made a god, he had become so corrupted they had to imprison him.
More yelling began, five different fights broke out by the end of the meeting. All the gods left angry with hatred brewing in them. The idea of a new goddess was benched until the next meeting. Little did they know that the new goddess was already being formed.
When the last gods left the room, a mushroom that was not eaten remained on the table. It had heard all the hatred spoken in the room and began to become corrupted. Weeks passed and the forgotten mushroom started to mold, decaying. Months went by and the mushroom started to grow into a woman, with hair as wild as mold, eyes as green as fungus, and skin as pale as a mushroom. The goddess named herself Neera. She deemed herself the sole person responsible for regulating Earth, and so she started to formulate her plan.
One day, Para was on Earth when she felt an unnatural presence. When she landed in the land that is now Russia, she saw the vegetation and animal life dead. Rot grows as they decay into the Earth.
Para immediately called an emergency council meeting. The gods were confused at what happened and what could've caused this. All their attempts at killing were in vain, what had changed?
“Nothing changed, until I came to life.” A voice sounded from a darkened corner of the room. There sat Neera, her eyes were crazy and a wide smile spread across her face as she looked at the speechless gods, “Do you remember your last meeting? You had mushrooms over here. I am one of the forgotten mushrooms.” She hissed at the gods as she stalked closer.
As she walked, there was no shadow, but all the living things she touched withered and died. “You are lucky that I enjoy seeing the green of Earth, otherwise it would be a wasteland.”
“Who are you?” Juma stood up, voice booming as he called fire to his hands.
“I have named myself Neera, I am the Goddess of Rot.”
After the presence of Neera had been made known, a war broke out among the gods. None of them agreed that she was a solution and that she was clearly already crazy, on the path of Bremship. The war had two sides, the ones that made efforts to know Neera and saw that she is logical, and the ones who feared her.
Para was on Neera’s side, seeing that she was the clear solution. Neera was thoughtful in how she did things, knowing things that were unknown to the gods because she was once a mushroom. She made sure that the things she killed would give back, making everything healthier, stronger.
As Para and Neera started to come up with ideas on how to progress life, Para figured out how to make things evolve and change, and Neera figured out how to give illnesses. They came up with humans as test subjects to their new form of living.
That is why things rot little ones. Remember that the gods are still fighting the war against Neera, which is why pandemics break out, why the state of the world is decaying. Neera possesses more power than Juma, which is why the ones that don’t know her fear her.
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waywardxson · 5 years ago
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Rotting in Vain
Who: Rory, Derek ( @derek-ghoulie ), Darius ( @sshardassanderson )
What: Rory fails a test, is punished, and gets help in an unexpected place
When: Nov 6, Evening
Where: At House of the Dead, Trailer Park, Dare’s place, Hospital
Notes: TW for a lot of violence, arson, fire, murder, kidnapping
Derek
Derek sent the message to Rory with a sharp snap of his burner and stuck it back into his pocket. He was going to put the ghoulie through the ringer tonight, and solely to see just how dedicated he was to the task. To being loyal. Derek had been doubting his loyalties from the beginning, only now he knew exactly where his daughter was, knew that he could easily gain access to her, and knew he’d have nowhere to turn to but Derek for mercy. He sat down with his dog and waited for the man to show up. If things went well then it was just icing on the cake.
Rory
Rory felt a growing sense of dread with every step he took. Hands dug deep in his pockets, he slouched all the way to his truck and took a cigarette out of his emergency pack. He didn't smoke around Grace but sometimes after a fight it helped calm him down on the ride home. Rory had been hesitant and worried about what Derek would do from the moment he'd showed up and sent everything in a whirlwind. Aaron was gone, and the girls fawned over their 'daddy' like he hadn't just leveled their normal with his new normal. Rory parked, his face a shaggy mess now that he didn't have his little girl yelling at him to trim his beard. Flicking away the cigarette, Rory walked in, doing his best not to look like he was terrified of what Derek was going to say. When he found the new boss, Rory simply nodded at him. "Hey, man. You wanted to see me?"
Derek
Staring down Rory as he entered as if he could smell the fear on him, Derek gave a curt nod and then scratched his Shepard’s head again before urging the dog to go. The dog sniffed Rory once before bounding out of the room. Derek stood up and moved into Rory’s personal space, leaving only a foot or so of distance between them. “Smoking’s gonna kill you.” He commented. “Tonight. You’re going to head over to Sunnyside trailer park. Two serpent twins are going to be coming home after a fun night, and they’re going to come to an even more fun conclusion. I want to send a very clear message to the Andersons. Go to the trailer. Seal it up with them inside, doors, windows, everything. Use this,” He kicked a canister at his side. “All around the trailer. And burn it down.”
Rory
Rory clenched his jaw, watching the dog as it moved past him. He had no doubt in his mind that it would probably attack him if Derek told it to. He had been against dogs for a reason - he hated them after he'd been attacked when he was a kid. Once it was gone, he looked up and found himself close enough to Derek to make him want to step away. Of course he couldn't. He wasn't supposed to show that kind of fear so he forced himself to stand still. "If life doesn't kill me first," he said simply. But then the instructions came and Rory looked down at the canister, knowing exactly what was in it. It played out in his head in an instant. Sealing the trailer. Setting it on fire. Hearing them scream. He couldn't do that-- he wouldn't do that. "You.. want me to set two people on fire?" He asked, perking an eyebrow. "Don't you think that's a little dramatic? I'm more of a fighter than an arsonist. I could just beat them up." It would be preferable.
Derek
For a moment, Derek leaned back, arms folded across his broad chest as he stared Rory down. It was all written across his body. Uncertainty. Fear. Resistance. It was why he targeted the daughter. She’d be safe, he wasn’t a complete monster. What he’d want in the end was Rory to suffer for what Derek was positive he’d fail at. The dog curled up into a corner, watching the scenario unfold with a protective, watchful eye. “It’s not up for you to decide if it’s dramatic or not. If I wanted them beat up, I’d send someone else. This is what I want you to do. Nobody else. And this is how I want it done.” He extended a folded up piece of paper. “I’ve marked the trailer for you. They’ll be home at 7:30 for family dinner. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the parents won’t be there too but...collateral damage happens sometimes. No survivors. No trace evidence. Am I clear?”
Rory
There wasn't much of Rory that trusted he could change Derek's mind but that didn't mean he couldn't try. However, he was quickly rebuffed and his throat went tight though he tried to train his expression not to give off the look of hopelessness. Looking down at the paper, he studiod the layout, the trailer, then he crinkled it in the palm of his hand. Holding it back out to Derek to take, he said, "No evidence." Both in agreement of his plan, and not to leave even the shred of paper behind. He looked down at the canister and tried to swallow the knot in his throat but it was a huge, arson-slash-murder sized knot. His phone buzzed and Rory took a quick glance at it. Seeing Riley's name, he declined the call. He couldn't talk right now. He needed to think. He needed to plan and process. When the call came from a second time, he switched his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. "Who are they?" he asked but immediately knew it wouldn't matter.
Derek
The paper returned to his hand and Derek nodded, tucking it away. He’d dispose of it later but he sincerely doubted this evening would play out with four dead bodies. Stone-faces, he handed the canister to Rory and watched as he switched his phone off, expectantly raising a brow as if Rory were going to explain who the hell was calling. But Derek knew. A little blonde girl was missing after all. Behind Derek was a large closet door where little Grace was napping quietly. “Serpents.” Derek answered flatly. “Why? Do you think if I said ones a pedophile you’ll have a guilt-free conscience? We all have to make bold moves in this war and that’s just what this is. Better to let that little teen bitch die than to birth another Snake-to-be.” He had no evidence that the serpent girl was pregnant but he laid on the implication thick. “No survivors. I’ll expect you back here when it’s done. Now go.”
Rory
Rory knew better than to question him. Derek wasn't the kind of man you could question. He told you what to do and you did it. That simple and that complicated. He knew when he was excused so Rory simply turned and walked outside. He held his composure climbing in the truck, kept a straight face as he started it and drove down the block, and fought back any signs of fear until he drove out of the neighborhood. Once he'd made it far enough away, he pulled over on the side of the road, balled his hands into fists, and punched the steering wheel over and over, almost wishing he could break it right off. But that wouldn't be enough of a reason to keep him from doing this, not to Derek. 
 He raked his hands through his hair and leaned forward, spying the canister in the floorboard. This was what he was afraid of. Aaron had never ordered him to kill someone in cold blood, and Rory was sure that he couldn't have done it even if the previous leader had. Rory knew that he was a general piece of shit human but he wasn't capable of murder. He didn't care if they were Serpents, or just Southsiders. Or Northsiders. Or anyone - he couldn't. 
 But what choice did he have?
Still trying to figure something out, Rory checked the time on the clock of his truck, not even venturing to turn his cell phone back on. He couldn't talk to Riley right now. What would he tell her? *Hey, sorry I missed your call but I was just given orders to filet some snakes. Catch you later?* - No. He needed to do something and he needed to do it fast. He checked traffic and pulled back onto the road, making his way to the trailer park. 
 Every second he came closer made the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach grow until it was an all-consuming ache that he couldn't breathe through. He couldn't kill anyone. He couldn't kill a pregnant girl. He couldn't kill. Period.  Rory parked at the end of the street and sat in the truck, waiting until the time turned, all the while playing out different scenarios in his head until it hit 7:30 and he didn't have a single one that worked. No matter what he did, he was fucked. That was the thought he carried as he grabbed the canister in the darkness and tossed his third cigarette out the window. If he'd had Weston money, Rory would have just paid the family to disappear. He'd burn the place down and act surprised that no one had been there - but he didn't have that kind of money. Even with his win from the last fight, Rory had dumped it all in paying for Grace's school and buy her new things. She’d loved her new backpack and pencil case. She never had new things and he’d been so proud to buy those folders with the glossy shine. After paying his rent for the month, he was broke again.
Gripping the canister, Rory looked up at the trailer that he was supposed to hit and even though he didn’t know what he was going to do, he had to start working. The longer it took, the longer it would be before he got back to the House of the Dead. The longer he took the get back, the less Derek would trust him and no matter what, he needed to keep that trust if he was going to survive this -- if the people he loved were going to survive it. Twisting off the top, Rory hated himself as he started to splash the gasoline around the bottom of the trailer. Night had fallen enough to keep his body in shadows, especially thanks to a streetlamp that was going out on the corner. He’d actually wished it hadn’t been going out. If he was in light, someone could call the cops. Maybe that was it. If he could make enough noise, someone would hear and call the police and then he could run off without doing any of this. That wouldn’t be his fault, right? Derek wouldn’t blame him for that. But that didn’t mean Derek wouldn’t make him try again. 
Still, Rory started making more noise as he walked around the house, boots crunching dead leaves as he splashed the gasoline with enough gusto that he hoped someone inside would notice. But as he made it to the back of the trailer where he’d started, it was all too obvious that no one had heard a single thing. He cursed under his breath, dropping the empty canister back on the ground at his feet. He needed to do something and he had to do it now, before it was too late. 
Nervous tick alone had him playing with the lighter, flashing it for a moment before extinguishing it, and then again, over and over.
“Knew you couldn’t do it,” a voice said, stealing Rory’s attention and making him jump. He felt stupid that he’d been that distracted he hadn’t heard someone come up behind him. Or had he always been there? 
Rory recognized the Ghoulie that stood there, a look in his eyes that was pure apathy. It wasn’t hate. It wasn’t happiness. He just existed and Rory knew instantly that someone like Junk wouldn’t have had a single hesitation setting the trailer on fire. 
 “What are you talking about?” He asked Junk, trying to act like he hadn’t been hesitating. Rory turned to face him but all his eyes could focus on was the zippo in his hand, the flame at the end. Then it all happened like it was slow motion. 
The lighter was tossed, he watched it curl through the air. He hand shot out like he could stop it but it slipped by, igniting the gasoline the moment it bounced against the side of the trailer. The siding caught instantly and Rory jumped back, shielding his eyes from the heat while Junk stood admiring the chaos as the trailer went up in flames. Rory didn’t think. He charged the man and took him to the ground, punching him in the face. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth, a cut pierced over his eye. He would have kept punching if he didn’t hear screaming from inside the trailer. The first scream erupted and drew his attention. Just as he’d attacked Junk, Rory threw himself on his feet. He couldn’t let people die..
Grabbing a trashcan, he threw it through the window and then climbed in, glass piercing his arms and legs as he did. The smoke had erupted inside, billowing along the ceiling but he didn’t think. He followed the sounds of screaming and was shocked to see the younger woman standing there, cowering with.. two children. Young. Frightened. 
 Fuck. You. Derek. 
 “Come on,” Rory growled, grabbing her arm. She held the two year old that was clinging towards him and Rory scooped up the baby from the crib, hiding her inside his jacket. Covering his mouth with the other hand, Rory asked her where everyone else was when they made it to the window. She pointed down the hall and he quickly helped her out, carefully but swiftly giving her the baby that was now screaming at the top of her lungs.The heat was intense, flames catching on the couch, the walls, pictures and toys. Rory ran through it, kicked open the door and yelled at the two others that were cowering by the bed. When they didn’t move, he grabbed them, yanking roughly and shoving them towards the hallway.
“The living room,” he yelled, coughing through the smoke, pointing. One of them shook her head and ran back to him, throwing her arms around his waist, and Rory tried to push her off. There was a cracking sound and the ceiling in the hallway collapsed, blocking their exit. She screamed and Rory cursed. 
 Bringing his shirt up to cover his mouth, Rory tried to breathe but the smoke was making it exceedingly difficult. There was a small window near the ceiling but he doubted they could get out it without burning so he only had one choice. He had to force his way through the hallway. Grabbing a blanket from the bed, he threw it over the woman’s head and pointed. 
“Count of three.” She shook her head rapidly but Rory had no patience for it. He counted down quickly and then yanked her, forcing her to go with it. The broken wood and flames cut into his legs, knocking him to the ground with her but he didn’t stop.
Shoving her to her feet, Rory practically pushed her out the window. Then he jumped out himself, finding the little group of people and children rushing to their friend. Rory coughed, face down in the grass as he shoved his hands into the ground, already knowing that he was absolutely, and completely fucked. Looking up, he asked if that was everyone, trying to make sure they were all safe. He didn’t even breathe a sigh of relief until they assured him that was everyone. Even as they thanked him and hugged him, Rory felt like a piece of shit. One of the ladies called the fire department and Rory took that as his leave. He’d even forgotten about Junk until he walked around the back of the house to grab the canister and found the grass empty. 
 “Fuck...” 
He needed to get back to the House of the Dead before Junk did. Jumping into his truck, he backed out as fast as he could and slammed his foot on the gas, not sure what excuse he would use but certain he needed to talk to Derek first.
Derek
By the time the report came in that Rory had rescued the family, Derek had already moved Grace to a different location. She’d be safe, provided that Rory was able to follow through on one last simple task since it was quite clear that he couldn’t listen. He excused the ghoulie who was only known as Junk and focused his attention on the arrival of his soon to be former ghoulie friend. It wasn’t that he’d rescued the family. His intention was never for the fire to even happen. But Rory didn’t listen, didn’t intend to listen. And that’s where Derek had to draw a line. He was lovingly stroking Pamela’s head when the door opened and Rory entered the room. He lifted a brow and stroked the dog’s head one last time before standing up. “So. It seems that you really can’t follow instruction.”
Rory
How long had it been since Junk took off? Was Rory too late? The other guy didn't have a car that he knew of so maybe Rory got the jump on him. What would he say? Piecing together a quick story about--what? He could say that he fought Junk because he was trying to take his job from him. It would mean Derek would give him another task, maybe another fire, but he could deal with that then. Right now, all he could think about was fucking up too much that the man went after one of the people that Rory cared so deeply for. He didn't turn off the truck when he parked in front of the House of the Dead, running inside as he called out after Derek. But it seemed he was already waiting for him. Rory looked around quickly and at first glance, he didn't see Junk. Maybe he did make it here first. But Derek's words told him he didn't. "Dude, there were kids in there, a baby. I have a kid myself."
Derek
“I’m aware.” Derek replied coldly, approaching Rory from his spot across the room and getting into Rory’s face again. “But you see I wasn’t asking you to think about it. I wasn’t even asking you to come back here and justify your heroics. I asked you to burn the trailer down with everyone inside. And you disobeyed me.” He got closer, the front of his shoes lightly scuffing they top of Rory‘s. “I’m well aware of your daughter. In fact, I knew that you’d never follow through. Had you just admitted that from the get go, this might’ve turned out differently.” He grabbed the front of Rory’s shirt and violently headbutted him, with enough force to make the ghoulies nose spurt with blood as it collided sharply with Derek’s forehead. 
He seized him again and threw him violently to the floor, kicking him in the head, then between the ribs, and then again. “Now, you get to play for your daughter’s life.” Derek crouched down by Rory on the floor and held him upright by the front of his shirt. “I had a friend grab little Grace when this all started. And now you have to earn her back. If you succeed, you’ll get grace back, and you will never return to the Ghoulies again.” He slammed Rory to the floor, then punched him hard across the face. “Fail me, and you will never see her again.” He stood, dragging Rory up with him by his neck. “Bring me Darius Anderson. Do that, and you and your daughter can walk away.”
Rory
Rory wanted to slink away but he stood his ground, almost hoping the little show of strength would earn him some points. He looked down at their shoes and then back at Derek, clenching his hand into a fist at his side. "You want me to fight, I can fight but you--" Then the blow came and Rory's vision went white for a minute. He'd been in enough fights to know that it would fade but the world was upending when he was tossed to the ground, hitting his head on the hard floor. "De--" His hand went up to his nose, capturing blood in the palm of his hand as his eyes started to adjust. All they saw was Derek's food, the momentum of his kick rolling him onto his back before the next kick came, and another. It wasn't the smart decision when he heard Grace's name. 
Rory let out a grunt and threw his arm out to get a quick jab against Derek's jaw. The next punch made him dizzy. Rory had fought plenty of times in his life, usually for money, and he'd fought some real sons of bitches but Derek was different. Worse. More wild. And he groaned in back, spitting blood as he was dragged to his feet, head floating and face pounding with pain. "Where the hell is my daughter?" He spewed, suddenly remembering the calls he'd ignored from Riley. Now he knew why she must have been calling. "You son of a bitch, where is she?" he choked out.
Derek
Derek was acutely aware that Rory had some skill as a fighter, which is why it’d been critical to incapacitate him as quickly as possible. Blows to the head to disorient, to the sides to injure. He wasn’t about the petty little hand to hand sparring, and he needed to make himself very clear. The resonating blow to his face stung, and he knew beyond a doubt his jaw would be sporting a nice bruise for a few days. Rory would have to pay for that one too. With his neck tightly seized in a tight fist, he clenched hard, enough to certainly make catching a shallow breath a challenge. 
“I don’t think you heard me,” Derek practically growled, clenching Rory’s throat tighter. “You’re done asking questions. You’re done as a Ghoulie. The only shred of hope you have at finding your precious daughter is to get me what I asked for. I’ll forgive you for not hearing me clearly the first time since your ears must be ringing.” He wrapped a second hand around Rory’s neck, the pressure of both his thumbs against his trachea with enough force to nearly crush it. 
 “If you’re fortunate enough to regain consciousness after this,” He slammed them both back down onto the floor again, putting all of his body mass on top of Rory as he continued to choke the life out of him. “You’ll bring me Anderson within 24hrs. Do that, and Grace will be returned. And if you don’t...” He finally released Rory, standing upright and this time stomping with the entire force of his leg down onto Rory‘s rib cage. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Rory
Rory knew he could fight. At least, he thought he knew he could fight. But this was different because he'd never once had the intention of killing someone. There was a cold, dark place inside of him that knew that wasn't true of Derek. His hands gripped, trying to release the hold on his throat but growing both increasingly weaker and more frantic the longer he went without a breath. Stars flashed in front of his eyes when he hit the ground, the loud rushing sound of blood in his ears as he fought with the only strength he had left. But it wasn't enough. He should have known, it would never be enough. 
Then suddenly his throat was free and he could gasp in a breath that made the whole world spin on its side, but the stomp to his chest sent a sharp pain that stole the only breath he'd gotten, and like a lamp, everything went dark. His whole body was in pain, worse than any fight he'd been in because at least in those fights he'd been able to fight back. When he had adrenaline bursting through his veins, it was hard to feel the extent of your damage. 
Grace.. he thought. He needed to get up. He needed to find Grace. Derek had her and if anything happened to her..
A low groan came from a busted lip and while he tried to open his eyes, one of them was swollen shut. Dried blood clung to his face and every time he tried to take a breath, a sharp explosion erupted in his chest. He wasn't sure what the fuck happened in his chest but now wasn't the time to figure it out. "Grace," he mumbled, voice cracking from the pressure that had been on his throat. It barely came out a whisper. Get up, he thought. Get Grace. He put his hands on the floor and tried to push himself up but the pain turned him into a shaking ball of blood and broken bones. 
Fighting through the pain, he called his daughter's name again and when he finally got up, he expected to be in the House of the Dead but he wasn't. He was in the back of his shitty pick up out in a field in the middle of nowhere. Rory didn't remember passing out, or being moved, but none of that mattered right now. The man jumped out of the trunk, landed on his feet - and realized what an awful mistake he'd made as the pain shot through his chest. Wrapping his arm around himself, Rory was thankful the keys were still in his jeans pocket. Maybe Derek hadn't realized they were there. Rory doubted the man wouldn't make him go on foot if he'd known.
The last place the man wanted to end up was back in the trailer park but he drove like his life depended on it. No. Like his daughter's life did. Finding the correct trailer, Rory climbed out and had to steady himself on the back end of the truck to cough and spit a mouthful of blood. He made it to the door, slammed an open hand against it constantly until it finally opened. Without shame or hesitation, he said, "I need help."
Darius
It’d gotten to the point that Bruce was no longer coming home, and Dare figured if he’d found a ditch to sleep in, he might as well change the locks and keep him out for good. As much as he wanted to live with Charlie, he had responsibilities to take care of on the Serpent side of things. He needed to be close by and give instruction while Bruce continued to drink himself into oblivion. All the while, fucking Derek Gilbert had functionally declared war after his bullshit stunt that night that left a Serpent family homeless. Dare helped them find a place to stay for the night with a promise he’d give them a hand in the morning. It felt like his head had only just hit his pillow when there was loud pounding on his door. “Go away.” He pleaded under his breath, glancing at his phone. 9:14pm. He groaned and tried to ignore it, but whoever was at the door was hitting it like his life depended on it. 
Dare finally got up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt and finally headed to the door. It swung open inward and the man in the doorway was nearly unrecognizable. Had he not just recently met him in person, Dare wouldn’t have even known who he was. He sighed. “Listen dude, whatever shit Derek wants to fight about now can wait until tomorrow. You look like shit. Go home.”
Rory
Rory's heart was thrumming and he felt too much; too much pain, too much fear. His mind was a cruel bitch playing images of his daughter, scared and alone, with people she didn't know - people he didn't trust to hurt her. In his head, he imagined her screaming for him to save her and all he wanted to do was go to her. He had no idea where Derek could have taken her, where she was hidden, and he knew going to the cops wouldn't do shit. This was his only option.
Clutching his arm around his ribs, Rory felt thankful that Dare was even there but now what? He didn't expect the Serpent to just walk freely into Ghoulie territory to offer himself up. And Rory knew he was in no position to fight Dare in the hopes that he could knock him out and drag him there. This was his only play. "He has my daughter," Rory hissed. "He wanted me to kill that family where the fire was and I couldn't. I didn't set the fire but he wanted me to. I got them out," he said, hoping it would earn him.. something. "He's punishing me so he.. took her." But Rory didn't come here to tell Dare a sob story so he cut to it. "He wants you. He-- gave me 24 hours but.. He has her."
Darius
There was hardly a thing that Rory was going to be able to say that would make Dare continue this conversation. But the second he mentioned a kid was involved, Dare stopped and the frustration visibly drained from him. Of course Derek would leverage with a kid. He couldn’t be surprised and yet he was. He sighed and stepped out of the doorway, leaving enough space for Rory to come inside and shutting the door firmly behind him. He locked the bolt and gestured for Rory to take a seat on the couch. “I should kill you for what you did to the Hendrickson’s.” He muttered as he went around the house and finally found his cigarettes, lighting one up quickly and taking a long drag as he rubbed his forehead. “When did he grab your kid?”
Rory
Honestly, Rory would have understood if Dare attacked him for what he'd done. If he hadn't spilled the gasoline, it wouldn't have gone up the way it did but he wasn't going to fight semantics. Either way, he'd done it. He didn't refuse Derek. Maybe the fact he'd gone in the house and got them out would earn him some pity points. He walked into Dare's place and was thankful to take a seat, until he actually did. His chest hurt and he slouched to hold pressure. "You can. I don't care. I just need to make sure she's safe," he said, looking up and watching Dare as he moved around. "Some time after the fire. Or probably before knowing him. Riley-" He hesitated and knew he would need to call her. She was probably freaking out but he couldn't think about her right now. Rory rubbed his face. "Look, she's seven.. I-- I don't know.. I didn't know what to do."
Darius
Rarely was he ever in a position of such immense power. Darius was holding all the cards. He could kill Rory, he could demand his unyielding loyalty, he could demand that the ghoulie banish from the town and never return. But...he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that his time with Charlie and the ordeal with Aidan and the kids hadn’t softened him. Made him take a good, hard look at the kind of man he was capable of being. Like Derek. He didn’t want to go down that route. He looked over Rory and his injuries. He’d never convince him to go to the hospital while his daughter was missing. 
Pulling out his phone, Darius sent out a mass text. Kid missing, seven years old, blonde. She’s being held captive someone secure and possibly ghoulie guarded. I want this kid found ASAP. Bring her back to the Wyrm. You have two hours. Confirm back to me once she’s safe. He put his phone back in his pocket and straightened up, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Alright. I’ve got everyone and their mother looking for your kid. We’ll find her. In the meantime, we need to keep Derek distracted. He wants me? You’re gonna bring me to him.” He approached the couch and carefully helped Rory onto his feet. Squaring his shoulders, he put his hands down at his sides. “Hit me.”
Rory
Rory expected Dare to turn him away. He'd never been particularly nice to the guy, even letting his own prejudices rule his emotions when Sammy had wandered off after Derek scared her. He'd stood by Dare at Pop's, eyeing him the whole time, ready to attack if he'd done anything. But he'd been decent about the whole situation, and now he hadn't just turned his back on this beaten and bloodied guy he had no allegiance to be good to. Rory hung his head in relief when Dare said he'd sent out a text. There were so many Serpents, and they were looking for his little girl. He didn't know how to take that. 
He mumbled a thank you and would have probably said it a million more times if it wasn't for Dare's next comment. Rory's head snapped up and it made the pain in his head wash over him. He fought through it, confusion on his face as Dare helped him up. "Wait-- what? You.." His brows pressed together. Was this a trick? "What?"
Darius
Charlie was most definitely going to have his ass when she found out about this, but if Rory wanted his help, Dare had to go on faith that he’d help him get out of the situation too. It’s not like he’d have Rory’s daughter at the ready, and by the time they got there, she’d hopefully be found. They didn’t Derek to know they were looking. And what better way to hold his attention than to bring him what he wanted? 
“If you’re going to bring me to him, he’s can’t find out I went willingly. So you need to make it look like I put up a fight. I’m still pretty banged up inside from...something else. It wouldn’t take you much. And Derek can’t know we’re looking for your kid. So...” He once again straightened his composure. “I want you to hit me. Then you’re gonna tie up my hands, and take me to him. He’s not gonna give you your kid back until then, but we should have her safe before he knows she’s gone. And hopefully...before he kills me.” He gave Rory a pointed look. “I’m hoping you’ll help me get out of there but...if not, I get it. So come on. Hit me.”
Rory
Rory shoved his fist against his side, already knowing that his body was going to hate him for throwing any kind of punches. He'd barely managed to get one off on Derek but.. maybe if Derek though he'd caught Dare off guard? Like he said, he was still healing. Rory knew all about that. He listened to Dare and in that moment, he realized that he picked the wrong gang to join a long time ago. Maybe he didn't know Dare that well, but he wasn't a raging psychopath like Derek. He nodded, realizing that everything Dare said was right. He just couldn't believe the other male was wiling to help him after everything. Rory let his hands fall to the sides, needing to shake out the feeling in them from his rigid position.
"I'll help you," he said suddenly, sure that he could have said nothing. But Dare could have done nothing too, and now he was willing to walk into the flames for Rory's daughter. That meant more than he'd know. "I swear." Maybe Dare believed him, maybe he didn't, but whatever happened, he would do everything he could. He owed him that much. Making a fist a few times, Rory squared up and for the first time, he didn't enjoy throwing a punch. His chest exploded in pain after he made contact, and he smacked his hand on Dare's back. "Sorry.." he offered.
Darius
Though he’d anticipated it to hurt, Dare wasn’t expecting to see stars when Rory’s fist collided with his face. Even injured he packed a wallop, and Dare muttered a stream of profanities under his breath as he waved Rory’s apology off. “Damn. Wish I had you on my team back when. Fuck me that hurt. Okay.” 
He huffed miserably and straightened up, picking up his fallen cigarette to keep smoking as he brought Rory some thin extension cords from another room. He removed his burner from his pocket and handed it over. “You’ll get the text when Grace is safe. Tap me on the shoulder or pinch me or something to let me know. Then we can try and get the hell out of there alive. But for now, we gotta keep up appearances. So don’t go dying on me until we get your kid safe.” He turned around and put his wrists behind his back. “Go ahead and make it tight.”
Rory
Rory shook his hand, the feeling throbbing through his knuckles. He hadn't wanted to hurt Dare, especially after he was helping him find his daughter, but he did have to make this look legitimate. "Can I get one of those?" he asked, eyeing the cigarette for the tenth time. He needed to keep up the facade that he'd done this, attacked Dare, brought him.. but his nerves were still shot. He nodded, shoving the phone into his pocket. He wasn't exactly sure how they were going to make it out of there alive but after all this, he'd do anything as long as his little girl was safe. "I'll do my best," Rory said, grabbing the cords and pulling them around Dare's wrists. 
Although it may have occurred to any other Ghoulie that he could just hand over Dare and be done with it - that would certainly earn major points with Derek - he had no intention of doing that. He wouldn't support the guy that kidnapped his daughter. All Rory ever wanted to do was keep her safe and this wasn't this. Looking at the ties, he considered them and then tightened them more. Appearances. "My truck's out front."
Darius
Dare offered the pack of cigarettes along with his lighter, biting down a remark about Rory being a firefly tonight as he still needed the man’s help getting out of the situation he was willingly putting himself into. He’d of done the same for anyone’s kids, especially Charlie’s, and although he had no reason to believe Rory would help him escape, he had to believe it. If nothing else, he wanted to be certain there was good in people and the folks with kids seemed to be the most apt for it. With his arms secured tight behind his back, Dare nodded. “I’m ready.” 
He let Rory lead the way out and had to get into the truck with the assistance. Sitting back, he tried to stomach down his nerves. He wasn’t sure what was worse, whatever Derek might to do him before they found the kid, or what Charlie was going to do to him when he came back with injuries again. But it didn’t matter. Rory looked to be at about death’s door and Darius needed to focus. “Let’s go.”
Rory
Rory never expected to be driving back like this, Dare coming willingly, the Serpents looking for the daughter of a no good Ghoulie like him. But whatever happened, he had a new respect for the people he'd thought he hated. They drove in silence, Rory smoking down the cigarette, every minute bringing them closer. Until finally, they stopped. Deciding to leave the keys in the truck - easier for a quick escape - Rory climbed out, groaning as he looked out his one good eye. 
Normally he would have planned on picking Dare up, carrying him around like a sack of potatoes but he knew his body wouldn't get him more than two feet if he tried. Hooking his arm through Dare's, Rory tugged the man, trying to make it look like he didn't give a shit about the person he was pulling into the devil's den. "Derek," Rory called out when they made it inside, doing his best to hold on for Dare to struggle. When he saw the shadow move in the corner of the room, Rory did his best to toss Dare onto the ground, grunting in pain as he did, panting through the aching in his chest. "You wanted him, you fucking got him," he hissed.
Derek/Darius
The minute they were ready to go in, Dare smashed down the remainder of his nerves and steeled himself for what was to come. He tried to keep his weight off Rory as he squirmed and twisted against his hold, cursing him out, dragging a foot without actually throwing weight onto it, and he collapsed on the floor of the House of the Dead with an angry shout as he hit his healing sides. “Fuck you, fucking ghoulie scumbag. Fucking attacking me in my own house. You are DEAD! You think you’re gonna be able to even step outside again after this??” He turned his attention to a bemused looking Derek. 
Derek stood up from his seat and set aside his book, approaching Darius hunched on the ground, visibly favoring one of his sides and a massive bruise forming on the side of his head. Derek quirked a brow at Rory. “I’m gonna be honest. This is not exactly what I was expecting. Especially in your...condition.” 
He kicked Dare over onto his side with his shoe and then approached Rory. “I’m impressed. You actually can follow instruction with the right motivation. Your daughter will be returned to you in the morning. Provided...you do one other thing for me.” Derek’s attention turned back to Dare and he dragged him up off the floor, holding him by his neck in the same way he’d held Rory earlier. “I’ve waited so long for this, Anderson. But your old man needs to be here to see this.” 
“Fat chance.” Dare snarled between gasping breaths. “Fuck you.” Inside Rory’s pocket, Darius’ burner buzzed.
Rory
"One other thing?" Rory growled almost like he knew Derek's dog did on his command. "You said I bring him and I get my kid." Except this time he struggled to hide the disdain in his eyes. "He's fucked up. Didn't take much to knock his ass down. Look at him." He threw a look over at Dare and tried to pretend that hated on his face was for him and not Derek. Watching the man walk over to Darius and lift him up, Rory had to fight not to step in. He'd clearly said that he wanted Dare's father to be there so he wouldn't kill him yet. At least that's what Rory was betting on. 
Feeling the buzzing in his pocket, Rory tried to be slick as he pulled the phone out and looked at the message. Got her. Headed to the Wyrm. It took all of Rory's strength to hold it together. He shoved the phone back down and looked around the floor. They needed to get out of here and Rory knew from experience it wouldn't be easy. Finding a broken beer bottle on the ground, he picked up the piece and shoved it in his sleeve. Dare would have an easier time getting away if he wasn't tied up. 
"What other thing do you want?" He asked Derek, hoping to drag his attention away.
Darius/Derek
Derek and Dare glared at each other, Derek moving across the room and throwing Dare to the floor like he weighed nothing. Darius shifted uncomfortably, lifting up his head and feigning a look of defeat. Derek, blinded by his need for revenge so damn close he could practically feel the rage tingling in his fingertips, went to one of the shelves in his room and grabbed a large meat cleaver. Pamela the Shepard looked up from her spot on the floor and whined, but Derek shushed the dog gently. It was a tone he rarely used but his dog was of great importance to him. 
“If the son was no problem for you, should be just as easy for you to get your hands on the drunk too. I’m sure you can find him stumbling around town somewhere.” Derek muttered, eyes appearing wild, unfocused as he started across the room and pressed a foot against Darius’ chest, waving the cleaver in front of his face. “I’ve waited twenty god damn years to get to this point.” He growled in Darius’ face. “Do you have any idea how your father ruined my life?” 
“Get in line, he ruined a lot of people’s lives.” Dare snapped back. “What the fuck does that have to do with—“ A blow landed to his face with enough force to nearly knock him unconscious. Dare dizzingly stilled for the moment as Derek approached Rory again. 
“Tie him to the pole. I’ll be right back.” And Derek exited the room.
Rory
Rory knew what Derek was going for the moment he opened his mouth. He wasn't going anywhere. Right now he didn't give a fuck about Dare's father but they were getting the hell out of here. Now. Gripping the piece of bottle, the glass cutting into his skin, Rory was about to swipe it out at Derek. He only stilled himself when Derek gave an order and then left the room. This was their chance. 
Falling to Dare's side, he pulled the man up to a sitting position, looking back to make sure Derek hadn't come back around the corner yet. "They got her," he said under his breath, using the glass to sheer across the ties at his wrist. At the moment, Rory mostly distrusted everyone and all he was sure of was that Grace wasn't with Derek's people anymore. That's all that mattered. "He'll be back any second." Tugging Dare up to his feet, he pulled him towards the hallway that led to the exit. "Come on. We have to go now."
Darius/Derek
One minute he was seeing stars and the next his wrists were free and he was being hauled up onto his feet. His old man had hit him into unconsciousness before and yet this still was worse. It was like Derek only  punched him at a fifth of what he was actually capable of. Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Dare focused his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Yep. Okay. We’re going.” Was a double concussion possible? A super concussion? 
His head felt like it had a million gumballs inside of it and had been violently rattled around. But he moved, knowing Rory would need probably most of his help. Just as they cleared the doorway and entered one of the halls, Derek came flying out of nowhere, slamming Darius up against a wall with enough force to rattle the foundation. 
He turned on Rory, grabbing him at his neck before the man could even put up an arm and gripping on with both hands. “I warned you not to fuck with me,” Derek snarled, crushing the life out of him. “I want to see the life leave your fucking eyes! I want you to know that your little girl is going to be my little servant for the rest of her fucking days! You’ve betrayed me for the last god damn time! SUFFOCATE, FUCKER!”
Rory
If Derek came back before they got out of here, it was going to be bad. Very bad. Rory fought through the pain in his chest as he pushed Dare towards the exit. The whole place could be crawling in seconds so there was no time to waste. They barely made it into a hall when a blur of motion hit the man in front of him like a train. "H--" Just as he tried to yell or throw himself at Derek, the man whirled and was on him. He'd thought the first time he had Derek's hands on his neck was bad but there was no warning for this, no attempt to take a breath, nothing but intense pressure that left him gagging, trying to force air through the neck that was being compressed. 
Rory threw his hands out, trying to push Derek away, hit his face, neck, eyes, anything he could try but panic quickly set in as he felt pin pricks of pain along his face. His vision was quickly blacking out. It wasn't like passing out where it started outlining your vision. This came in thick blocks and all he could hear was Derek threatening his daughter. 
The more he struggled, the quickly he lost energy and soon his knees gave out. But even as he fell, the hands weren't letting him go. He was going to die. It was the first time he ever thought and really believed it. Derek was killing him.
Darius/Derek
Dare was seeing stars again, the force of Derek hitting him against the wall left him dazed. The mass on the man was like being hit with a two ton bolder, all of the force going into his torso and knocking the breath from his lungs. Coughing and wheezing, he could hear the scuffle going on around him and tried his damndest to focus. Up, get UP! 
He finally managed to clear his vision in time to see Rory going down, his motions becoming so much less calculated and more flaccid. It was then he realized what was happening, and pushed up off the ground. 
“That’s it...” Derek crooned as Rory started to give out beneath him, the fire in his eyes dimming into a dull, glazed over appearance. “That’s the last fucking time you’ll ever—FUCK!” 
With that same shard of glass Rory had used to free him, Darius stabbed Derek in the shoulder, causing the ghoulie to release his titan grip on Rory’s neck. He grabbed onto his back and iron-barred his forearm around Derek’s neck, hauling him with all his might back off of Rory and struggling to hold on. 
Derek grunted, panted, threw his back into walls to try and force the Snake to let him go, his brain screaming out a mantra of NO NO NO! as pinpricks of darkness sparked in his eyes. He couldn’t breathe, ironically, collapsing on his knees beside Rory as the Snake continued to press his forearm against his trachea. Derek’s arms flew up, clawing at Darius, and finally collapsing into darkness on the floor. 
Straightening up, panting, and sick to his stomach, Dare released Derek before he accidentally killed him, looking at the door, then down at Rory. He cursed under his breath and grabbed him by his underarms, hauling with all his reserve strength and slinging Rory’s arm around his neck. “What did I say? Don’t go dying on me.”
Rory
Rory always thought he would fight harder when it came to this. In his underground fights, he didn't stop until the bell rang. But there was no bell here, and Derek wasn't going to stop. He felt all the strength leaving his body and the only thing that hurt worse was the sudden and complete inhale of breath he took when the hands were no longer on his neck. 
His lungs expanded and the ache in his ribs took over, blinding him for anything else. He didn't even know what was going on or who was picking him up until he was moving. Not sure how his feet shuffled along the floor, Rory's eyes were focused on the ground. He saw it. Then it was in front of him. He hadn't remembered falling, or the pain from hitting the floor. Or how he got back up. All he knew was he was suddenly in the truck and he collapsed against the side door. 
"Ple-- ge her.." The words were raw in his throat and it still felt like he couldn't breathe, like his heart was pounding like a desperate thing looking for air. He still felt the hands around his throat, squeezing, killing. All he could think. Please get her.
Darius/Derek
Getting the fuck out of the house of the dead without being detected was nothing shy of a miracle, and Rory was absolutely dead weight he owed very little to given the circumstances. But he brought the ghoulie down the road and to his truck, carefully getting him into the front passenger seat and resting his head back. He slammed the door shut and climbed in the drivers, using the keys to get the ignition going and peeling away from the house like a bat out of hell. “She’s fine.” Dare reassured as he fished his burner out of Rory’s pocket and called one of his connections. 
“Vic? It’s D. I’ve got one coming in and I need him treated on the DL, you got me?” He glanced over at Rory and snapped his fingers in his face. “Hey. Focus. We’re almost to the hospital.” They still had a bit to go, but he needed Rory as conscious as possible as he made the call to the serpent that’d found Grace. “Put her on. Yeah.” He passed the burner over and stuck it between Rory’s shoulder and head. “It’s your kid.”
Rory
It didn't cross Rory's mind until they were barreling down the road that Dare had every chance to leave without him. He didn't have to help him get out. He didn't have to help him find Grace. He didn't have to do anything but he did, and that was a debt he knew he'd never be able to pay. If he could have said anything without falling into the unconsciousness that wanted to pull him down, he would have told Dare no hospitals. He couldn't afford that and he didn't need it. He just had to rest. Rest and take aspirin, and see his little girl. But even trying to talk was stealing away any breath he had in him. 
Leaning his forehead on the window, Rory felt himself slipping into a sleep, brought back only when he heard that sweet voice say "Daddy?" Rory pushed himself up, tried to say her name but no sound came out. He tried a second time and his voice broke. "Grace.. Yeah, it's me. You okay?" 
She started going on about her adventure but all he heard was that she was alive. She didn't sound hurt or scared. She was safe. The relief that tore through him gave into the pain and while she spoke, Rory slouched forward and allowed himself to let go.
Darius/Derek
Dare focused on the road and knew that they were running out of time. Rory revived himself long enough to talk to Grace for just a moment before he was slumped forward against the dash. At an intersection he stopped to lean him back and grabbed the phone. 
“Hey...Grace. This is Darius. I’m a friend of your dad’s. My friend is gonna keep an eye on you. She’s very nice. And then I’ll bring you to your dad. Talk soon.” And hung up. 
Within ten minutes he pulled up to the side of the hospital where the ambulances unloaded people, where Victor was waiting with a stretcher. He helped unload Rory onto it and paused. “Isn’t this guy a Ghoulie?” 
“Not anymore.” Dare clarified with a glare. “He’s just a guy now. And you’re gonna treat him like he’s one of us.” 
“D, this—“ 
“Derek almost killed him saving me. So do as I ask. You got the papers?” Victor sighed but nodded, holding up a forged chart. 
“Name’s Fred Petersburg. He’s a 24 year old male from the south side. What the fuck happened to him?” 
“He came to me looking like shit but Derek about strangled him to death. Go.” Without another word, Rory was rushed into the hospital and Dare stood outside, cursing the shitty evening.
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Espejismo.  La noche, brillante y silente, se estremeció de pronto con los pasos lejanos, casi leves, que se sentían en aquella cortina de oscuridad brillante. Cada paso, hacía que las estrellas distantes brillarán con fuerza, como diamantes en bruto o el fulgor de la esperanza en el corazón de un niño asustado por la guerra. Y es que allí, en plena noche, en pleno desierto, en medio de la nada, ella, el, eso, caminaba en silencio o se arrastraba o tal vez brincaba, pero se movía, se movía tan lento pero a la vez tan rápido que el segundero de un reloj no alcanzaba a la figura, pero la aguja que marca la hora la acompañaba en su deambular. Entonces de pronto, eso se detuvo, mirando a la distancia o pareciendo que lo hacía, a un grupo de personas que caminaba en el desierto, en medio de la profunda noche, buscando algo que comer. En eso, la curiosidad, sentir de toda cosa viva o con algo de razón, hizo que se acercara al grupo de personas. Ellos por su parte, estaban detenidos, mirando fijamente al vacío, a la nada profunda y oscura del desierto, porque a pesar de no haber nada, algo ocurría en aquella distancia. Era como si de pronto, el suelo se levantaba y los árboles se torcieron hacia dentro de sí mismos. Las proporciones lógicas se doblaban y allí, por dónde esa anomalía pasaba, el suelo se pudría, los animales morían y se descomponen y se volvían flores extrañas y hongos abisales que brillaban y expedían un olor indescriptible. Pero también, de la nada, los animales nacían y corrían de allí en cámara lenta. Sus pasos cambiaban también la temperatura, haciendo que la arena que pisaba se fundiese en un vidrio espeso, que reflejaba los brillos estelares. Entonces de pronto el vacío comenzó a brillar con un fulgor inenarrable y sagrado, una Luz comenzaba a brillar de forma tal, que la noche se volvió día y que las estrellas se volvieron una con el sol, con la luna, con luz misma y colores desconocidos brillaban por el cielo. Entonces ellos, pasmados pensaban que estaban frente a un espejismo. Pero aún así, vieron como el ente curioso, que se dirigía a ellos, se dibujaba como algo indescriptible. Ruedas de metal y oro rodaban rápidamente alrededor de un orbe de color azul cristalino, que tenía en interior una serie de hileras de ojos y bocas que cantaban alabanzas a Dioses desconocidos o tal vez al Dios cristiano. También habían lazos de los que se desprendían de las ruedas y alas, alas blancas, azules, rojas, verdes, amarillas y de todos los colores circundan cada rueda y cada parte de dicho ser. ¿Era aquello un ángel? -Pensaba uno de los hombres- ¡Es un demonio que viene a devorarnos! -grito despavorido otro y comenzó a correr- pero entonces este ser tras un flash de incandescente apareció frente a este, y con una mano brillante que parecía el universo mismo lo tomo, lo cargó como si fuese una madre amorosa y le cantó con sonidos indistinguibles para cualquier ser vivo, pero que a la vez, se escuchaba como una nana dulce y llena de amor de madre. El hombre cayó dormido, y el ente, lo abrazó contra su esfera haciendo que el hombre desapareciera entre su gelatinosa superficie. Los demás hombres corrieron entonces asustados en todas las direcciones posibles, en aquella realidad distorsionada que se asemejaba a un espejo roto que reflejaba a otro espejo roto, pero aquello fue en vano porque todos fueron capturados por aquel ser adimensional. Solo uno estaba allí, de rodillas, con lágrimas en la cara y los en blanco, ciego por las auroras boreales que se veían tan cerca, que podía casi tocarlas. Entonces el ente se acercó a él y lo miró, con sus mil ojos y le susurró al oído -no temas- y el hombre lo escuchó como si fuese la voz de su hija, de su madre fallecida, de su padre, de su esposa, de sus compañeros, de sí mismo. Hasta que en la distancia aquel sonido fue apagado por una estruendosa explosión y la luz fue cada vez más fuerte. El ente entonces tomó al hombre y lo abrazó mientras el estruendo los dejaba casi sordos, hasta que el hombre perdió el conocimiento. La mañana llegó. El hombre despertó solo en el desierto, chamuscado,hecho un cráter y en silencio. Una bomba había caído ¿O tal vez había sido el espejismo? ----------------------------------------------- Mirage. The night, bright and silent, suddenly shuddered with the distant, almost faint footsteps felt in that curtain of shimmering darkness. Each step made the distant stars shine brightly, like diamonds in the rough or the gleam of hope in the heart of a war-scarred child. And there, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere, she, he, it, walked silently or crawled or maybe jumped, but it moved, it moved so slowly but at the same time so fast that the second hand of a clock could not reach the figure, but the needle that marks the time accompanied her in her wandering. Then suddenly, it stopped, looking off into the distance, or seeming to do so, at a group of people walking in the desert, in the middle of the deep night, looking for something to eat. In that, the curiosity, feeling of every living thing or with some reason, made him approach the group of people. They, for their part, were standing still, staring into the void, into the deep, dark nothingness of the desert, because even though there was nothing, something was happening in the distance. It was as if suddenly the ground rose up and the trees twisted inward. The logical proportions were bent and there, where that anomaly passed, the soil rotted, the animals died and decomposed and became strange flowers and abyssal fungi that shone and emitted an indescribable odor. But also, out of nowhere, animals were born and ran from there in slow motion. Their footsteps also changed the temperature, making the sand I stepped on melt into a thick glass, which reflected the stellar glows. Then suddenly the void began to shine with an unspeakable and sacred glow, a light began to shine in such a way that the night became day and the stars became one with the sun, with the moon, with light itself and unknown colors shone in the sky. Then they, stunned, thought they were in front of a mirage. But even so, they saw how the curious entity, which was heading towards them, was drawn as something indescribable. Wheels of metal and gold rolled rapidly around an orb of crystalline blue, which had inside a series of rows of eyes and mouths that sang praises to unknown Gods or perhaps to the Christian God. There were also ribbons coming from the wheels and wings, white, blue, red, green, yellow, green, and all colors of wings surrounding each wheel and each part of the being. Was that an angel? -thought one of the men. "It is a demon that is coming to devour us! -But then this being, after a flash of incandescence, appeared in front of him, and with a shining hand that seemed like the universe itself, took him, carried him as if he were a loving mother and sang to him with sounds indistinguishable to any living being, but that at the same time, sounded like a sweet lullaby full of motherly love. The man fell asleep, and the entity embraced him against its sphere, making the man disappear into its gelatinous surface. The other men then ran scared in all possible directions, in that distorted reality that resembled a broken mirror reflecting another broken mirror, but that was in vain because they were all captured by that dimensionless being. Only one was there, on his knees, with tears on his face and blank eyes, blinded by the aurora borealis that could be seen so close that he could almost touch them. Then the entity approached him and looked at him, with its thousand eyes and whispered in his ear - do not be afraid - and the man listened to it as if it were the voice of his daughter, of his deceased mother, of his father, of his wife, of his companions, of himself. Until in the distance that sound was muffled by a thunderous explosion and the light grew louder and louder. The entity then grabbed the man and embraced him while the roar left them almost deaf, until the man lost consciousness. Morning came. The man awoke alone in the desert, scorched, cratered and silent. A bomb had fallen, or perhaps it had been a mirage?
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ruleandruinrpg · 7 years ago
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CONGRATULATIONS, SIDNEY!
You have been accepted for the role of RITA JAKOV. Admin Bree: The competition for Rita was tough, and our attention-loving tailor would smile to know it. But not as much as I smiled while reading your application, Sidney—really, it only got better with every word you wrote. It was your para samples that really sold me above all else, though, the way you portrayed her insecurities, vanity, and constant pursuit of perfection, ever-elusive. It was so intriguing to look inside her pretty little head and see what goes through it every time she looks in the mirror, and where it all began. This application was beautiful, so genuine I felt as though my Rita might jump off the page. Congratulations! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!
OUT OF CHARACTER ALIAS: Sidney! PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her. AGE: Twenty. TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m in EST for the summer! I’ll have a lot of free time this summer since I’m home. I do have a part time job this season, but it is just that: part time! So it really shouldn’t interfere and I’ll certainly be able to check in daily and I’m usually always around to plot. As for when the fall semester starts, I go full time and work part time, but I’m usually pretty good at keeping up with things. I can usually respond to threads within 1-2 days and am usually always lurking lol. On a numerical scale, I’d say 7-9/10 in the summer and 6-8/10 during school semesters!
 IN CHARACTER DESIRED CHARACTER: Rita Jakov. Rita - Short form of Margherita. In many languages, it translates literally to pearl, but most notably black pearl in Persian. Antonia - A name of Roman origin given to the women of the Antonius family. Literally translated, it means priceless, praiseworthy and beautiful. Jakov - A family name of many different origins, but most commonly referred to the Hebrew origins supplanter, or “to trip up or overthrow.”
 WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? To be perfectly honest, Rita stole my heart from the moment I read her teaser. But I will admit, I was hesitant back then because there were so many lovely teasers being released and once bios dropped, I was swept away by so many different characters! But I’ve come to the conclusion that I was wrong to be apprehensive! She’s everything I could have wanted in a Grisha character. And there’s already so much development in her past that I’m really excited where the current events in the plot will take her! What stood out for me most was this quote: “—the type of woman who was loved by all who knew her but understood by none.” I’m not sure if I see a little of myself within Rita or if I’m simply one of the many who love her, but I want to explore her nonetheless. She’s soft and kind and gentle underneath it all—which is deeply rooted in her home life and the way she was raised—but her time at the Little Palace and around fellow Grisha has really shaped and molded the tough exterior she now sports. 
A walking puzzle, doe-eyed and hopeful, she entered the Small Science late to the game, picked from the bunch last and she’d been treated as such. But it didn’t take her long to find her footing, to live greedily, to choose beauty above all else. And I think that’s what I find so interesting about her! Most characters who want to paint the world in watercolors, who want to remove all of the Earth’s blemishes, have a selfless ambition. They have a mission and it is to make the world a better place for everyone, but that simply is not Rita. She’s been spoiled rotten by her own abilities and so have those who dare to cover up their indiscretions with the flick of her wrist or the tug of her finger. And though some may call her obsessive, or shallow, or downright empty and see those qualities as a sign of weakness, I see it all as unprecedented and true strength. Even after years of trying desperately to offset and ultimately fix such savagery, with her delicate hands capable of contorting even the ugliest of beasts into magnificent beings (in other words, putting a mere bandaid onto a gunshot wound), the world has revealed itself for what it really is, ugly and wrought with pain. But if her time at the Little Palace has taught her anything, it is that the beauty she so wishes could cure disease and heal the wounded can corrupt just as wholly as darkness can.
There’s something so appealing to me about her. She’s a gentle soul with an affinity for the finer things in life, from what she reads to what she wears, and most importantly, how she looks. But waging a war against all things odious and vile and egregious, and claiming her cause as righteous one has left her disappointed, hollow, rotten. Perhaps it is time for her to embrace these monsters and this darkness; time for her to find the beauty in the pain and the elegance in destruction.
 WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND? ONE: Nothing gold can stay. It has taken Rita years to understand that beauty is temporary. It is a quick fix, a vain indulgence to cover up what truly lies beneath: rot. She was not raised to believe this; in fact, she was raised to be that quick fix, that vain indulgence. She was meant to be admired, but never really touched for all things lovely and charming seem to be the most vulnerable; they seem to bruise as easily as does a peach. And so she remained unattainable, just out of reach. Not out of fear, but necessity. Beauty is temporary, this she’s learned. But to those around her, it is demanded. I really love this quote from her bio: “monsters so love to be made to look as though they’re anything but.” It really resonates with me and gives me lots of thoughts on Rita as a person. I don’t want to change her; I love her the way she is: magnificent and dangerous with beauty literally resting at her fingertips, ready to be put to use, but she’s grown so much and not all for the better. In a way, I think she attributes a lot of the cruelty and pain she’s come to witness as her fault because what she offers does not last. It is almost as if she herself has become a drug, one she is not only addicted to (of which she will most likely never recover), but especially to those she’s tweaked and toned and tailored. And it is that very reason that I believe she’ll struggle with continuing on as this so-called magic wand of Ravka. They demand she erase their deformities away, but monstrousness always has a way of creeping back in even bigger and badder than before. So I’d love to explore the inner turmoil she will inevitably have. Simply put, all she’s ever wanted was to beautify all the ugliness she’s seen, only to discover beauty, something she can control, offer, and give willingly, can corrupt even the purest of things. And perhaps, it is time she take a good look in the mirror. Does she still see the same little girl who turned a village into a kingdom? Can she even recognize the face staring back at her? And more importantly, I want to find out what it means if the answers are no. 
TWO: Superficial, at best. Shallow, vapid, vain—she has been called it all, and much, much worse. Hatred follows around the conventionally beautiful like a lion stalks a gazelle, strategically and thirsty for blood. Rita has always prided herself on her looks, that much is clear. Even before she left her home to join the Second Army, she saw beauty wherever she went. Whether it was pure imagination or wishful thinking, it did not stop her from charming elegance out of everyone and everything around her. Don’t you want to be beautiful? A young Rita would ask and the adults would laugh, tossing their heads back in admiration for the wildly imaginative Jakov girl, with long golden hair and perfectly sun-kissed cheeks. I would love to explore what lies underneath. There are so many layers to a girl like her, each one more complex than the rest, but she’s changed herself so much over the years, claiming each adjustment—each nip here, each tuck there—was done in the name is seeking absolute perfection. And she found it for a time. She became so achingly attractive, so superbly beautiful people almost feared her. They gazed at her from afar with a look one can only describe as wonder. And maybe that’s why she turned her efforts outward instead of in, choosing to perfect those around her as best she could. She’ll claim it was selfless, but a part of me wonders if she only did that so she’d be surrounded by beauty as well. But what are her true motivations? Does she even have any? Or are all her desires, her wants, her needs really that hollow? Some say beauty is skin deep and what matters is on the inside, but Rita has tweaked and remade and even created her skin more times than she can count, over and over, and each time is somehow more beautiful than the last. But what if that’s all she is? What if that is all she’s good for? As her bio states, she’s never fought in a real fight, never wielded a real weapon. I want to see her amount to more than just outer appearances. I want to know what’s underneath it all because, if one day, she is called to fight and she isn’t prepared, her treasured beauty will be the first thing to suffer. So I’d love to explore her maybe getting more physically strong, and learning a little about beauty as a strength within. 
THREE: A lonely person. I hate to be that person who keeps going back and quoting the bio, but I can’t resist! “She became so beautiful it hurt.” This sentence alone, if it were all I had to describe Rita, I think it does it perfectly. If you throw away all the cliches—most notably: beauty is pain—and you focus on the meaning behind it, I think you’ll find Rita Jakov. I see her as a strike of lightning, wondrous and loud and capable of decimation. People look to her and gape; they stare; they lust after her; they long to have her, to own her, to be her. But for all the effort she puts into making other people happier with themselves, she cannot find happiness within. It is a lonely road, this one she’s walking down. It may be beautiful and pristine and lathered in honey and sweet-little-nothings from passersby, but at the end of the day, she is still alone. The moments she relishes, the ones she wishes would last an eternity are inevitably fleeting. So I would love to explore her desire for friendship, love, etc., wherever it may be found. And furthermore, I think her desire to find love, to be loved could be preyed upon, if you think about it. Rita has never been desperate; everything has come easily to her simply because of the advantages the conventionally attractive receive, but I believe she is the perfect candidate for some hardcore manipulation. She could easily get swept away in the affection from a person, believing it to be true. Deep down, I think she hopes for all the glances and stares to mean that people truly love her, but there’s such a monumental difference between love and adoration. The latter has kept her fed for so long now; for years she took praise and pocketed it. She held it close and revisited it any time the decay began to creep in. Perhaps it kept her sane, perhaps it is what drove her mad. But either way, it is all she can see now—in everywhere she looks, in everyone she sees. I would love to see and explore her lack of ability to relate to those around her. It is almost as if she has been wearing goggles since the day she was born. And for a while, all they showed her was the magnificence and grandeur she was capable of. But her vision has changed. Or more importantly, the world has demanded she see its truth. Her goggles have been forcibly cracked and putrefaction has settled in; and it is ravenous, this decay. It isolates her; makes her second guess herself; steals her confidence like a thief in the night. People: they have always been what she has loved most, but now they seem to only cause her pain and heartache. But I believe that longing companionship will remain. In fact, I think it is what will keep her grounded in these new uncharted waters of despair. As of right now, she seems to be trapped in a cage of destruction, alone and incapable of connecting with anyone, provided with only one weapon to defend herself: beauty. And so many others demand she use it constantly, and with reckless abandon. And they will take until nothing of her is left.
 WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: Yes. It would probably depend on muse mostly, if I’ve lost it or something. And if it would help further along the plot!
 IN DEPTH IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S): She watches her closely, taking note of her every move: the way her hand sits perfectly still as her fingers do all the magic; the way her mouth points downward, slightly agape whenever she touches up her eyes; the way each and every little thing she does makes her more perfect than the moment before. Rita has always thought her mother was beautiful, with hair as silky smooth as honey and perfect, unblemished olive skin. She has always been a sight for sore eyes, turning head wherever she goes—men, women, it made no difference. All eyes were on her. 
“You’re beautiful, Mama,” a tiny little Rita gushes atop her mother’s lap, elbows resting atop the counter, eyes trained onto her face through the mirror. Her hands gently cupped at her tiny chin and she watched her mother, absolutely mesmerized. 
“Thank you, baby,” she smiles, eyes never leaving her own reflection. She has a tiny jar resting between the index finger and the thumb of her left hand, and she dabs her middle finger into the maroon concoction. It stains her fingertip and Rita’s brows furrow with confusion. 
“What’s that?” Disbelief is apparent in her tone, but it only elicits a light-hearted chuckle from her mother and a small shake of her head.  
“Shadow. For the eyes,” she raises her arm and sweeps the tip of her finger gently along one of her eyelids, then does the same to the other. The color is now smeared along her skin and she pauses for a moment, only to wipe away the remaining color from her fingers. And then she returns to her lids, spreading the shadow smoothly, evenly until all that remains is a soft glow of red. Her green eyes pop against the contrast of the colors and Rita gasps. 
“How did you do that?!” She whips her head around and gazes up with absolute wonder at her mother and her appearance, jealous of her beauty and wishing she could take it from her. Turning back, she faces the mirror and leans in, observing her own face and takes note of at least three shortcomings—something no nine year old girl should ever do. 
“Here,” her mother interrupts her thoughts, gesturing for her to hop up onto the table. Rita does as is suggested and her mother leans to her left and rummages through her trunk. It’s filled with at least thirty jars of all different small shapes and sizes, each one a different color and texture, but all are complementary to her mother’s skin tone, of course.  
“Let’s try…” she trails off as she searches, clinking and clanking within the box until she clicks her tongue and looks back to Rita, “this one.” It’s magenta, but more purple than pink and it’s reminiscent of Rita’s favorite dress in the way it shines when it hits the light. 
Slowly and carefully, her mother executes the same routine she had done on herself, dipping her finger into the now uncorked jar and then sweeping it gently along Rita’s eyelids. She wipes away the remaining shade, but quickly returns to spread it out evenly. Rita sits as patiently as any child can when far too excited and her mother has to scold her at least three times before she finally does sit still. 
They follow the same routine. First, her mother applies on herself, then chooses the perfect color for Rita. It is never a match, never the same colors. “Each woman has a different palette,” her mother grasps her wrist lightly and holds her arm up side-by-side to her own. “Your skin is much lighter than mine,” this time her tone hurts; it’s edgy and clipped and filled with a hint of jealousy. But Rita quickly excuses it away. Perhaps all women are jealous of one another, she thinks. Just as I was jealous of her moments earlier. 
But it is a very dangerous thought, a dangerous way to excuse the bad behavior of a parent. No mother is ever supposed to resent their child, let alone scold their daughter for having fairer skin or being prettier. But Yekaterina Jakov was no ordinary mother, and she will do anything to make sure her daughter is no ordinary girl.  
“Now, Rita, you mustn’t let anyone see you without your face.” 
“Without my face?” The girl stares up at her mother, wide-eyed and quizzical. “But I always have my face.” 
“No, Rita. This is your face,” her mother holds up her arm, encompassing the girl’s face entirely with her hand as she speaks. “This is what you show people. Nothing less than perfection.” 
Rita turns back to look into the mirror, her eyes scanning every perfect corner of the visage staring back at her. She takes note in the purple on her eyelids, at the rose petal pink lacquered onto her plump lips, at the dark charcoal black outlining her azure hues. She didn’t look like herself; she was nearly unrecognizable, but at least she was beautiful. 
—————
She sits in front of a mirror, her mirror, the one she uses every single day. And today is a day like any other. She rises early despite her protests, bathes and begins her morning routine, though it seems more like a ritual—like she’s praying to a deity. The god of beauty, but Rita is painfully unaware of the sacrifice Aphrodite demands: nothing too extravagant, only your soul. And so it starts with a tug here, a lift of her brow to give her more of a perfect arch, and it ends with a face she barely recognizes. But it’s one they will demand to see. They’ll gawk and stare and whisper as she walks past, secrets of lust or promises of hatred, it makes no difference. At least they will be discussing her. They’ll be envious of her beauty, of her grace and everything in between.
Tentatively, she reaches into the familiar wooden chest. It was her mother’s; a gift for her eighteenth birthday. She’d spent a fortune to send it to Rita, even left it filled with supplies, and now it was her most prized possession—aside from its contents, of course. But the sentiment behind the gift was left unanswered. Her letter had been left unanswered as well. It wasn’t that Rita couldn’t find the words; she knew exactly what she wanted to say to her mother if she had the chance. She wanted to yell and cry and scream. She wanted to blame her mother for it all, to rest the weight of the world’s transgressions atop her shoulders so Rita would no longer have to bear it alone. But the solution lies at the surface, not within. Simply, Rita did not want to waste her time. There would be no use in writing a nasty letter to the woman who left her ill prepared to face life; her efforts could be put to far better use. Her time was precious, highly sought after and she needn’t waste it on those she no longer cares about. As far as she’s concerned, both her parents have died.  
Slowly, she twists the cap off of her new favorite shade: a subtle pink sherbet. But as she places the finishing touches atop her lids, a tiny thought pops into her head. This would look better if my eyes were green today. And it takes no more than that mere suggestion. She sets down the tiny jar, twists the cap back on and then focuses her fingertips attention toward her blue hues. But in time, and with a few blinks, the ocean calmly morphs into a beautiful pasture—subtle and serene and most importantly, green. That’s better, she thinks, a smile forming along her rosy lips. But there’s a tiny wrinkle in her nose whenever her reflection squints back at her. Quickly and with wild determination, she brushes away the small crease in her skin with the pad of her finger, a look in her eye as if she’s an artist laying magnificent waste to a fresh blank canvas. A few swipes of her paintbrush and the wrinkle vanishes completely.  
It’s an uphill battle, this war against imperfection, but it is one she’s spent what feels like a lifetime waging—and winning. But it is dangerous, this ability she possesses. The ability to erase, to change, to intensify. Beauty lies in wait atop her fingertips, never truly admitting the immense power that comes along with such a form of defense. And those around her, those who wish to erase, wish to change, wish to intensify; they submit willingly, and Rita obliges them with absolute delight.  
But what of herself? Who defends her against this beast she has created, this monster that lies within? No one ever warned her that the most dangerous enemy is yourself. It doesn’t show in the way she looks, the way she dresses, or even the way she carries herself. All they see is beauty, is perfection, is transcendence—so that is all she sees, too. She sits in front of this mirror, day-in and day-out. She adjusts, she tweaks, she changes completely. Each morning she rises, each day she is reborn anew. What remains? Nothing, she thinks. I am no one. 
She sucks in a sharp breath and closes the box in front of her, locking it tightly and setting it into the drawer on her left. But she isn’t finished. She realizes this when her eyes land back on her reflection. Her hair, it glistens in the morning light; it shines as the trees whip in the wind, blocking the sun every now and then. But it doesn’t look perfect. Not with these brand new green eyes. Brown looks best with green, she thinks. Maybe a light chestnut. Slowly she reached into the top drawer to her right and retrieved a small brush made of bone. With the other she pulled out a familiar tiny jar filled with crushed cinnamon. Bringing the jar up and over the crown of her head, she tapped the side of it lightly, letting the light brown flakes descend atop her blonde hair. She follows this by running the brush through her curls, and the color bleeds from the flakes. It blends and molds into her natural hair color, changing right before her eyes until every last strand has been made anew.  
Perfect, she thinks, but takes note of her brows once more, too light and mismatched to the color of her hair. A frustrated sigh escapes her slightly parted lips. And therein lies Rita’s biggest and longest lasting problem. Her work is never finished, and there always seems to be room for improvement. Perfection—which her mother always told her is of the utmost most importance—does not last. There will always be far more ugly than there is beauty. 
 CHARACTER HEADCANONS: 1. Rita is a Libra. Born September 27th on the precipice of fall. Strengths of Libras: cooperative, tactful, kind, giving and highly sociable. Weaknesses of Libras: Prone to self-pity, detest confrontations and/or fights, can carry a grudge and harbor unmentioned hatred quite easily. Being born under the air sign of Libra, it has bestowed upon Rita a great love of people, especially those who pique her interest. She loves when things go smoothly and appreciates the gentler things in life such as peace and harmony. She whole-heartedly detests violence and consequently injustice. Seeing those around her suffer has always brought her great pain and perhaps this is where her love of beautification and tailoring stems from.
2. Rita’s personality falls under that of the ENFP type, which makes her The Campaigner. “You can change the world with just an idea.” While this applies to many different people who fall under this same personality type, for Rita, it happens to be true. Her idea: douse the world in elegance and decadence. And for a while, she did just that. ENFPs are sociable creatures; they strive being the life of the party and the center of attention. Rita loves to be both. She must grab the attention of an entire room when she enters. And each person within that room must take an interest in her. Otherwise she has not succeeded. ENFPs struggle to connect with those around them, despite their craving for social interaction. This stems from their inability to see the world as anything but complex, like the hardest puzzle known to man, and Rita is determined to put it together—piece by disgusting piece. Rita also struggles with their emotions and compassion; deep down the two conflict immensely. But most importantly, ENFPs like Rita, spend so much time looking for a deeper meaning to life, to their existence, that they forget to enjoy what is happening around them. Though in Rita’s case, perhaps she’s spent too much time noticing, and therefore learned too much and lost a touch of her innocence—of her beauty—along the way.
3. Rita’s character alignment falls under that of neutral good. People that fall under such an alignment are people pleasers; they enjoy helping out those around them, from king’s to peasants, but remain indebted to none. Rita is exactly that. She has always believed, like most like-minded neutral good characters, that law & order are important just as chaos & order are too. And she believes one cannot exist without the other, but rather enjoys in indulging in any of  them. Whether it be following the rules, or bending them to her whims; succumbing to an irresistible desire or denying one’s urges for the greater good, Rita has done it all. And she will again. What she does value however, is freedom above all else. She is a bird, meant to fly and to soar and to roam the earth passionately. But being the true neutral that she is, she always seeks to find a balance. To work hard and play hard. 
4. A girl’s first true love is her father. Papa’s little angel, he would whisper softly. Even today, if Rita closes her eyes, relaxes her thoughts and takes a deep breath, she can almost feel his lips as they graze along her temple. She can feel his strong arms hook under her arms and lift her high above his head. If she concentrates hard enough, she can remember him. The way he smelled, like a gentle rain on a warm, sunny day. The way he felt, like a protector with arms made of steel. The way he loved, with his whole heart. But Rita can never remember his face; she can never see it when she closes her eyes. He is more of a blur rather than a memory, not a complete picture, but a perfect trope of a loving and caring father, if there ever truly was one. He died when she was very  young, around four or so. And I attribute most of her issues, even if she claims to be and seemingly looks perfect. They say a father’s love is like no other, especially when it comes to men loving their daughter’s. A girl needs her father; she needs one man in her life that she can trust. If not, pretty little angels with hair as bright and as yellow as the sun do not turn riper with age. They turn rotten. 
5. I am what you made me. Some say a girl’s best friend is her mother, and if Rita were asked, she would probably say just that. She’d claim she learned everything from her: how to dress, how to act, how to be. Her mother was her teacher, her guide post, and it was her responsibility to shape Rita into a fine young woman. And instead, she created a monster. A beast instilled with the belief that beauty is paramount and should be held in higher regard than anything else. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that she had to raise her all by herself, but something tells me Yekaterina Jakov couldn’t and wouldn’t have done any better. She sees Rita as the perfect girl; mysterious and beautiful: everything it took her far too long to figure out how to be. But everyone knew just how easily Yekaterina collected pretty things, hung them on a shelf and only admired them from afar. And after her father died, this left Rita with no other way to receive adoration or praise or love. One could single-handedly blame Rita for her vanity, her shallow heart, but they’d be remiss to overlook how big a hand her mother played in the woman she became. What sort of woman—what sort of person can you become when your mother treats you as if you are just another collectible? It has been years since she’s even seen her mother, not since she moved to the Little Palace, but still, she’s developed a strong hatred for her the more ugliness she sees, and distantly, if she spends too much time lingering on the fleeting thought of her mother, she wishes Yekaterina had better prepared her for the world instead of handling her with gloves meant to only hold delicate things; it didn’t prepare her for reality.
6. Likes: Rita loves the smell of fresh flowers, the taste of a sweet wine and the warmth of the afternoon sunlight on her face. She has an obsession with lace and silk, specifically the way the latter feels against her skin. Her favorite color is purple, especially when paired with greens and yellows. 
7. Dislikes: Rita detests waking up early, favoring as much beauty sleep as she can get. She hates the way it sounds when people chew with their mouth open, even more so if they begin to speak. Getting dirty, sweating and the stench that follows are just a few of her least favorite things, as well as any sort of physical training or activities. Not to say she’s lazy, but over exertion is not something she enjoys. And lastly, she cannot stand cheap fabric or bad fashion sense. 
8. Romance & sexuality: I know it has been explicitly stated that Rita is pansexual, and while I love that despite her vanity and obsession with how things look, she can look beyond a person’s looks and decidedly find someone attractive based on pure personality, I still think Rita’s sexuality and her experience regarding sex is something that should be explored. Has she ever had sex? I don’t think she has. She may have had encounters of sexual nature, but they have never reached their full potential, so to speak. Perhaps it is difficult for her to give herself wholly to someone the way one must while having sex, or maybe she’s saving herself, waiting for the right person to come along. And in reference to my last plot point, I think it’d be interesting if her first time was given to someone under the ruse of love. Yet another piece of her stolen and tarnished and given back mangled: her heart. And furthermore, Rita’s heart is severely entangled with her sexual desire, and quite possibly cannot engage in one without the other.
 EXTRAS: I didn’t have all the time in the world, but I’m just gonna put a few quotes and things here that remind me of Rita! I would have made a mockblog, but again, not enough time. :/
Quotes that inspired me for Rita: “Her eyes were pearls, which gave her great beauty, but meant she was blind. Her world was the colour of pearls: pale white and pink, and softly glowing.” - Neil Gaiman (x)
“Beauty is transformed over time and not without destruction.” - Terry Tempest Williams
“How soft and gentle her name sounds when I whisper it. It lingers on the tongue, insidious and slow, almost like poison, which is apt indeed. It passes from the tongue to the parched lips, and from the lips back to the heart.” - Daphne du Maurier (x)
“It’s hard to show people everything, you know? You never know what they’ll do with it once they have it.” - Nick Burd (x)
“They won’t tell you fairy tales of how girls can be dangerous and still win. They will only tell you stories where girls are sweet and kind and reject all sin. I guess to them it’s a terrifying thought, a red riding hood who knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in.” - Nikita Gill (x)
“I burn, I freeze; I am never warm. I am rigid; I forgot softness because it did not serve me.” - Catherine M. Valente (x)
Gifs and such that inspired me for Rita: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.
 ANYTHING ELSE? Thank y’all for even reading ANOTHER app from me tbh! Love + appreciate y’all so much and I’m just so happy I got to dive into Rita as well. Oh, also! My fave book is Catcher in the Rye.
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industria-trash · 8 years ago
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Llegada de Brian Philip Welch "Head" y Raymond Lee Luzier "Ray" al aeropuerto El Dorado por la puerta internacional para el concierto de Korn live, en vivo lunes 17 abril de 2017, 8:30 p. m. en el Chamorro Entertaiment City Hall, Bogotá Colombia. Novedad, Tye Trujillo en el Bajo. La industria trash registra movido en el aleteo. #nosotrosteamamos The Serenity of Suffering Tour Latinoamérica��. A live, en vivo Originals VideoTape never died. Featuring Tye Trujillo on Bass. Play list: Right Now, Here to Stay, Rotting in Vain, Somebody Simeone, Word Up!, Coming Undone, Insane, Y' all want a Single, Make Me Bad, Shoots and Ladders, Blind, Twist, Good God, Fallay Away from me, Freak on a leash. Junto a Jonathan Davis, James Snaffer "Munky".
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trastornadosrevista · 8 years ago
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Korn en el Malvinas Argentinas: Beating me down, into the ground
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El clima nunca suele ser un buen compañero de aventuras. Cuando es necesario que los cielos estén despejados y la temperatura sea cálida, siempre termina sucediendo lo contrario. Pero ni aunque el mundo se hubiese terminado el pasado martes los fanáticos de Korn se hubiesen quedado afuera de lo que sin dudas fue uno de los mejores shows del año. A pesar de la lluvia y el viento gélido, no hubo barrera que pudiese contener a la multitud que colmó el Estadio Malvinas Argentinas para delirar y agitar sus cabezas con los pioneros del Nü Metal.
Mientras todavía llovía sobre la Ciudad de Buenos Aires, aunque no con la misma intensidad que durante casi toda la jornada, las filas en los diversos ingresos al polideportivo cubierto Malvinas Argentinas se hacían cada vez más largas. En medio de algunas confusiones respecto a los ingresos, moneda corriente en este tipo de eventos, cerca de las ocho y cuarto de la noche A.N.I.M.A.L comenzó con su breve y poderoso recital.
Las leyendas del Heavy Metal nacional no decepcionaron a los más de 1.000 seguidores propios que se acercaron desde muy temprano al Malvinas para poder estar cerca de ellos y seguir toda la presentación. Como se puede apreciar desde su regreso en 2015 en los recitales de la banda conformada por Cristian Lapolla, Andrés Giménez y Marcelo Castro, las dos guitarras estuvieron prendidas fuego, el bajo sonó como pocos lo hacen en la escena nacional y los gritos del frontman machacaron las cabezas de los headbangers junto al golpeo salvaje de la batería.
Mientras las pantallas situadas en los ingresos veían aumentar el número de ingresos a cada segundo, el pogo delante del escenario comenzaba a hacerse tendencia a medida que la lista de A.N.I.M.A.L  avanzaba con temas como “Revolución”, “Loco Pro”, “Decididos A Crecer” (tema de su nuevo disco), “El Nuevo Camino del Hombre” y “Cop Killer” entre varios clásicos que sonaron a lo largo de 45 minutos sin pausa.
Tras una rápida despedida y el agradecimiento a sus anfitriones por la oportunidad, la ansiedad se empezó a sentir en un recinto prácticamente repleto donde no se podía siquiera caminar ya. Durante media hora, el público escuchó con paciencia una meticulosa prueba final de sonido: cada instrumento fue configurado en todos los tonos y efectos a utilizarse en el tiempo total de duración de uno de los shows más esperados de la primera mitad del año.
En una muestra de poder absoluto, de que eso que se dice acerca de sus excelentes performances en vivo no es mentira, Jonathan Davis, James “Munky” Shaffer, Brian “Head” Welch, Ray Luzier y el jovencísimo Tye Trujillo de 12 años – hijo de Robert Trujillo, bajista de Metallica y reemplazo de Fieldy durante el tramo sudamericano de la gira- hizo explotar todo con una afilada versión de “Right Now”.
La primera gran ovación fue para Tye, que respondió con una tímida sonrisa delatora de su corta edad, pero que en cada canción parecía haber estado tocando con Korn desde los inicios de la banda. A pura técnica, velocidad y un revoleo de su larga cabellera muy estético y metalero, el pequeño Trujillo hizo en muy poco tiempo, méritos para que el diminutivo desapareciese por completo.
El recorrido continuó con dos clásicos más como “Here To Stay” y “Rotting In Vain”, luciéndose la implacable voz de Davis y el doble bombo de Ray, condimentados por un juego de luces sensacional. Tye no tardó en volver a ser el centro de la escena en “Somebody Someone”, disparando fintas incesantemente mientras sus colegas agitaban sus cabezas.
La química entre la banda y su público se mostró inmejorable desde el primer segundo, en un ida y vuelta pleno que incluyó muchas risas y recuerdos de visitas recientes. El setlist mantuvo la intensidad con “Word Up” (cover de Cameo) donde el hip hop se adueñó del Malvinas , preludio ideal para el estallido que llegó de la mano de “Coming Undone”. 
La inclusión de “We Will Rock You” sobre los acordes finales de uno de sus más grandes clásicos enloqueció al público, ganándose una estruendosa ovación. Las luces violetas configuraron una atmósfera macabra de cara a “Insane”, el séptimo tema de la lista, con Trujillo ejecutando la base de forma notable y el riff escalando con paciencia hasta surgir por completo en el estribillo.
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Justamente aquí fue donde Davis hizo un freno para decirle al público que estaba maravillado porque cantaban mucho más que ellos. Con la sonrisa dibujada en la cara, no hubo tiempo para más bromas y llegaron “Y’All Want A Single” – con el bajo y las guitarras luchando por ver cual sonaba más alto y preciso en una estructura más industrial- y “Make Me Bad”, cortando el setlist a la mitad cuando apenas se había superado la media hora de recital. 
“Shoots And Ladders” encontró a Davis en un aullido desesperado, con una lírica igual de dolorosa, marca registrada de Korn y garantía de que todas las cabezas se agitarían. Todo finalizó con un segmento de “One” (Metallica), con el cantante a capella casi y sumidos todos en la tristeza. El buen solo de batería – aunque algo gastado ya como recurso- de Ray fue seguido por el ingreso triunfal del cantante con la gaita y los acordes iniciales de “Blind”, tema que mostró al baterista en todo su esplendor, manejando todos los ritmos y mezclando géneros a placer.
El elogio del líder para Tye Trujillo llegó en forma de “él es uno de los mejores músicos con los que tuve el honor y el placer de tocar”, previo a un breve y conciso solo del bajista, que dio tiempo para que todos tomasen un poco de aire. Las dos canciones elegidas para cerrar la primera parte del show fueron “Twist” y “Good God” quedando todos gritando por el pronto retorno de sus ídolos.
El “olé, olé, olé, olé” se empezó a reproducir en los parlantes y la banda salió a escena una vez más para despedirse con “Falling Away From Me” y “Freak On A Leash”, dos himnos que fueron cantados de principio a fin por una multitud que en muy pocos sectores quedó disconforme por la poca duración del recital. 
Con tan solo una hora, los padres del Nü Metal – con Tye Trujillo brillando a la hora de reemplazar a un miembro fundador- habían demostrado que hay pocas bandas en vivo que suenen tan fuerte y prolijo y que puedan ser tan fieles a su sonido original sin que se note siquiera un poco el paso del tiempo. Como empieza a ser sana costumbre, se espera que retornen en la brevedad para hacer rugir una vez más al público argentino, tal cual quedó registrado en el video realizado por la banda para agradecer tanta locura.
Crónica: Rodrigo López Vázquez
Fotografía: Brian Rappaport 
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colombodigital-blog · 8 years ago
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Notícias de Colombo - Jornal Colombo Digital
http://noticiasemcolombo.com.br/ultimas-noticias-de-colombo-pr/14/04/2017/korn-vem-a-curitiba/
Korn vem a Curitiba
By admin
Um dos principais nomes do new metal mundial, o Korn, que acaba de lançar o álbum The Serenity of Suffering, desembarca em poucos dias na América do Sul com sua turnê e passa também pelo Brasil. A turnê, que leva assinatura da Mercury Concerts, irá passar por seis cidades de quatro países e começa no dia 17 de abril em Bogotá, na Colômbia. Com realização da Hits Entretenimento e Like Entretenimento, a parada em Curitiba está marcada para o próximo dia 21 de abril, em show inédito na Live Curitiba (R: Itajubá, 143) às 22horas. Além da capital paranaense, a banda norte-americana passará também por São Paulo (19.04, Espaço das Américas) e Porto Alegre (23.04, Pepsi on Stage).
The Serenity of Suffering, décimo segundo álbum de estúdio do Korn, foi produzido por Nick Raskulinecz (Foo Fighters, Deftones, Mastadon) e lançado no último dia 21 de outubro. O trabalho conta a participação especial de Corey Taylor (Slipknot) e marca o retorno do Korn à gravadora Roadrunner Records.
Recentemente, a banda lançou o vídeo do single “Rotting in Vain” com participação de Tommy Flanaggan, da série Sons of Anarchy. O clipe já alcançou a marca de mais de 8 milhões de visualizações no canal oficial da banda no YouTube.
A formação atual Korn conta com o insubstituível Jonathan Davis (voz), além de James “Munky” Shaffer (guitarra), Reginald “Fieldy” Arvizu (baixo) e Ray Luzier (bateria).
Formada no início dos anos 90, a banda californiana alcançou um grande destaque ao apresentar uma inovadora e explosiva mistura de elementos do heavy metal e rap. Com um som agressivo e diferenciado, o Korn foi uma das principais bandas responsáveis para a consolidação do chamado new metal, sendo apontado como um verdadeiro ícone do gênero.
Mais sobre o Korn O Korn surgiu no início dos anos 90 em Bakersfield, Califórnia, e é um dos pioneiros do nu metal, gênero influenciado por bandas de rapcore.
Formado, atualmente, por Jonathan Davis (vocal), James “Munky” Shaffer (guitarra), Reginald “Fieldy” Arvizu (baixo), Brian “Head” Welch (guitarra) e Ray Luzier (bateria) e com doze álbuns de estúdio no currículo – o mais recente é The Serenity of Suffering, lançado no último dia 21 de outubro – a banda já vendeu mais de 50 milhões de discos em todo o mundo e se tornou umas das mais bem sucedidas bandas de metal nos últimos 20 anos.
O Korn coleciona vários álbuns de platina, além de dez estréias consecutivas no Top 10 do Billboard 200. A banda também recebeu várias indicações ao Grammy e ganhou em duas ocasiões.
Em sua quinta passagem pelo Brasil, o Korn divulga seu novo álbum –The Serenity of Suffering – produzido por Nick Raskulinecz (Foo Fighters, Deftones, Mastadon). O disco conta com a participação de Corey Taylor (Slipknot) em um das faixas.
Foto – Divulgação
Via:: Jornal de Colombo
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colombodigital-blog · 8 years ago
Text
Notícias de Colombo - Jornal Colombo Digital
http://noticiasemcolombo.com.br/ultimas-noticias-de-colombo-pr/14/04/2017/korn-vem-a-curitiba-2/
Korn vem a Curitiba
By admin
Um dos principais nomes do new metal mundial, o Korn, que acaba de lançar o álbum The Serenity of Suffering, desembarca em poucos dias na América do Sul com sua turnê e passa também pelo Brasil. A turnê, que leva assinatura da Mercury Concerts, irá passar por seis cidades de quatro países e começa no dia 17 de abril em Bogotá, na Colômbia. Com realização da Hits Entretenimento e Like Entretenimento, a parada em Curitiba está marcada para o próximo dia 21 de abril, em show inédito na Live Curitiba (R: Itajubá, 143) às 22horas. Além da capital paranaense, a banda norte-americana passará também por São Paulo (19.04, Espaço das Américas) e Porto Alegre (23.04, Pepsi on Stage).
The Serenity of Suffering, décimo segundo álbum de estúdio do Korn, foi produzido por Nick Raskulinecz (Foo Fighters, Deftones, Mastadon) e lançado no último dia 21 de outubro. O trabalho conta a participação especial de Corey Taylor (Slipknot) e marca o retorno do Korn à gravadora Roadrunner Records.
Recentemente, a banda lançou o vídeo do single “Rotting in Vain” com participação de Tommy Flanaggan, da série Sons of Anarchy. O clipe já alcançou a marca de mais de 8 milhões de visualizações no canal oficial da banda no YouTube.
A formação atual Korn conta com o insubstituível Jonathan Davis (voz), além de James “Munky” Shaffer (guitarra), Reginald “Fieldy” Arvizu (baixo) e Ray Luzier (bateria).
Formada no início dos anos 90, a banda californiana alcançou um grande destaque ao apresentar uma inovadora e explosiva mistura de elementos do heavy metal e rap. Com um som agressivo e diferenciado, o Korn foi uma das principais bandas responsáveis para a consolidação do chamado new metal, sendo apontado como um verdadeiro ícone do gênero.
Mais sobre o Korn O Korn surgiu no início dos anos 90 em Bakersfield, Califórnia, e é um dos pioneiros do nu metal, gênero influenciado por bandas de rapcore.
Formado, atualmente, por Jonathan Davis (vocal), James “Munky” Shaffer (guitarra), Reginald “Fieldy” Arvizu (baixo), Brian “Head” Welch (guitarra) e Ray Luzier (bateria) e com doze álbuns de estúdio no currículo – o mais recente é The Serenity of Suffering, lançado no último dia 21 de outubro – a banda já vendeu mais de 50 milhões de discos em todo o mundo e se tornou umas das mais bem sucedidas bandas de metal nos últimos 20 anos.
O Korn coleciona vários álbuns de platina, além de dez estréias consecutivas no Top 10 do Billboard 200. A banda também recebeu várias indicações ao Grammy e ganhou em duas ocasiões.
Em sua quinta passagem pelo Brasil, o Korn divulga seu novo álbum –The Serenity of Suffering – produzido por Nick Raskulinecz (Foo Fighters, Deftones, Mastadon). O disco conta com a participação de Corey Taylor (Slipknot) em um das faixas.
Foto – Divulgação
Via:: Jornal de Colombo
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