#phillips auction house

[findac]

This piece is being auctioned by Phillips Auction House on 5th Dec as part of their ‘New Now’ auction. Painted back in 2020 for one of my biggest clients in Asia, it’s reluctantly being sold.

Visit the link for details:

[welcome2thetop]

With Japanese artist Yukimasa Ida at the Phillips Auction House in New York City, 2022

[watchilove]

Phillips to Unveil Patek Philippe Wristwatch and Historically Important Artefacts Once Belonging to Aisin-Gioro Puyi, the Last Emperor of the Qing Dynasty

A Patek Philippe Reference 96 Quantieme Lune formerly from the collection of Aisin-Giro Puyi and a Paper Fan featuring a poem personally inscribed by the Emperor himself HONG KONG – 16 MARCH 2023 – Phillips in Association with Bacs & Russo is honoured to announce the unveiling of several artefacts once belonging to Aisin-Giro Puyi, the last Emperor of the Qing dynasty, at the opening of…

[no-144444]

Admin looking for love! - c.sainz

Day 17 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Why did Alex Albon feel the need to post you on his story as a ‘lonely woman looking for love’? And why did Carlos Sainz dm you after it? 

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alexalbon

liked by carlossainz, williamsracing, reallyy/n, and 2,398,234 others

alexalbon: Are you a Monaco man looking for love? Look no further! Presenting Y/n Y/l/n, a lonely woman looking for love! She's a williams marketing manager (and also my assistant sometimes!), she drives a motorbike, and she's super mean but sometimes really nice! (Real enquiries only, don't be a creep please :) @/really/n

user63: I know Y/n is LIVID rn.

reallyy/n: alex albon, I will kill you with my bare hands don't pull this shit with me right now.

lilymhe: DOG HOUSE -> alexablon: COME ON I'M TRYING TO HELP HER -> reallyy/n: Alex start running. -> alexalbon: you're literally in england right now -> reallyy/n: boarding my plane to monaco. -> alexalbon: FUCK.

oscarpiastri: when do we get you back to the psych ward @/alexalbon ? -> landonorris: Don't make fun of your elders, at least let him leave instagram with a little bit of dignity.

georgerussell: Mate, take it down already she's going to hurt you -> alexalbon: I don't know how, she usually does my social media :(

zhouguanyo: awful choice, I posted her once and she took away all internet devices and made me think about what I'd done for 4 hours (aka staring at a wall for 4 hours). -> alexalbon: YIKES Y/N I'M SORRY PLZ

user46: she's so pretty

user97: QUEEN Y/N

user56: thank you alex for these CRUMBS of y/n please make her get on the podium if williams stops fucking around

user267: SHE'S GORGEOUS WTF liked by carlos sainz

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f1gossip

liked by pierregasly, and 567,038 others

f1gossip: Williams CMO (chief marketing officer) Y/n Y/l/n was auctioned off today by none other than Alex Albon. In an instagram post he said: Are you a Monaco man looking for love? Look no further! Presenting Y/n Y/l/n, a lonely woman looking for love! She's a williams marketing manager, she drives a motorbike, and she's super mean but sometimes really nice! (Real enquiries only, don't be a creep please :)

user47: why is she so gorgeous she looks like a fucking WAG liked by carlossainz

user88: Is that not alex's WAG? ->user67: no she just works for williams and they're close.

user99: HOW IS SHE SO PRETTY WHAT

user75: she's such a queen

user33: If i had a face like that I'd be a model! -> user22: RIGHT? LIKE SHE'S SOOOO GORG

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You knocked on Alex's door with as much force as you could. Why the fuck would he post that? It was all over the internet- you were all over the internet. Every F1 gossip page was shipping you with some random driver, or some random f1-adjacent celebrity. You were livid, and rightfully so. He had no reason to do anything like this, to pull a stunt like that. Honestly, you could just kill him-

"Hello?" Alex grimaced as he stared at you. He knew all hell was about to break loose.

"Alexander Phillipe Albon Ansusinha," you spoke calmly, too calmly. His stomach turned. "Give me your phone."

he handed it over, no question, no hassle.

You quickly deleted the post, deleted instagram, then turned his phone off completely. From inside your bag, you handed him a nokia flip phone. "It already has everyones numbers on it. Don't fucking try to buy a new one, or else I'll freeze all of your cards. Understand?"

He nodded, accepting his fate. "Understand."

"Don't ever pull some shit like that again, alright?" you scolded.

He nodded, his head down. "I got some responses..." he mumbled after a few seconds of silence.

"Alex-!" you were completely prepared to fully scream at him, but suddenly the door behind you swung open and revealed Carlos Sainz. He looked dumbfounded by the two of you and went red. "I'm sending you for 4 weeks worth of mandatory PR training," you turned back to Alex. "I'm so sick of your shit. Between this and Franco's inability to keep it in his pants, I'll be backlogged till Christmas. Just stop causing trouble, ok?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Ok."

You turned back to Carlos. "Sorry about the noise."

He shook his head. "No, that's alright."

"Did you need something?" Alex asked.

Carlos shook his head, his eyes trained on you.

You. He'd seen you around the paddock for years. He'd watched you from afar, unaware of his growing feelings for you until they sucker-punched him in the face about 4 months ago when he was visiting the williams HQ to finish up the contract signing, and there you were in that gorgeous black dress. He couldn't even talk to you. It was embarrassing.

"Alright, well, goodbye Alex, bye Carlos," you smiled at the both of them (the smile Alex got was a bit more disingenuous than the one you gave Carlos) and off you went.

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He knew he had to do something before someone else swooped in. He knocked on Alex's door, more nervous than he thought he'd be.

"Hey Carlos-" Alex smiled.

"Is Y/n single?"

Alex smirked. "She is, yeah."

"May I have her number?"

"Yes Carlos," Alex has the smuggest smirk he'd ever seen. "Yes you may."

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It had been quite the day. You'd been catching up with friends when Carlos fucking Sainz texted you, and then you were on your way to a date with him.

What a fucking day.

You finished up you makeup just as the doorbell rang, and you smiled when you opened it. There he was, standing there with a big bunch of flowers and a goofy smile.

"Hi," you smiled. "Come in."

"Hi," he smiled back. "I got these for you."

He handed over the flowers and you grinned at him. "Thank you, that was very thoughtful."

"Pretty girls deserve pretty flowers," he shrugged.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach go crazy, and you absented yourself to put the flowers in water.

"So, what do you like to do?" He asked, coming up behind you.

"I like films, I like to ride my bike, I like reading, I like motorsport, I like a lot of things. You?"

"Well, I love motorsports, obviously, and I love golf as well," he smirked at the way you grimaced. "Not a golf fan?"

"It's just a little bit boring for me," you admitted. "I do play tennis and padel though. And I played volleyball back when I was in college."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to make you like golf," he smirked.

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reallyy/n

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz, alexalbon and 798,374 others

reallyy/n: alex albon-> part time f1 driver, full time matchmaker apparently. happy 6 months @/carlossainz (still hate golf btw)

limited comments.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 1

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Drabble / Masterlist

Preface

Females have begun to decline as swiftly as time has, and that was when males of all races, began to become desperate. This led to women being collected at birth and sold at auction, and they gradually became one of the most coveted items.

Despairing to keep what have to become sacred treasures across the land hidden, parents started to hide their daughters.

You are one of them.

Until, what you had always thought your last hope, the Government issued a large-scale raid for women, and forced you out of hiding, thrown into the house of four powerful monsters.

Context Warning: NSFW! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dub-con/ Non-con, Fingering, Murder, Author's Poor Attempt in Dark Fic, Monsterfucking, Mentions of Slavery

Disgusting, filthy, bottom crawlers.

That was the first thought that came to your mind as the Shadow Company of the Government raided your once safe haven. Your body trembled before them as though you were heaved into a freezing lake, left to die. Your breathing was heavy as though you went for a track. Your sweat coated every inch of your skin.

But the cleaver knife and gun in your hand said otherwise.

Heads and hearts exploded each time a deafening noise echoed in everyone's ears, blocking all sounds, but not yours. All you could hear was the beat of your heart, telling you never to stop.

Each second was enough time to burn down another one's story. However, this was the beginning of your tale.

When all you could see was crimson, when all you could hear was the echo of your heart and the clinking of bullet shells, light shone from behind. And you staggered forward, feeling a scorching heat from your stomach and chest, where blood oozed out which never seemed to come to an end—the sign of your freedom already stolen.

In a blink, gone.

After all, a story never begins with one who already has everything.

It was impossible to block out the stifled sobs of all the women around you, even if you had tried cupping your hands over your ears and closing your eyes.

Just like you, who had fought for your freedom, but to no avail, they were captured a week before. However, you couldn't bring yourself to cry. More than anything, you were tired . . . and mad.

You had been shot twice before your capture, and the bullets the Shadows used were laced with poison. Normally, that would only be used to neutralize monsters, but seeing how you murdered people just to escape, the leader must have realized you were more than what you appeared to be.

That, and the fact that only women can bring life to this godforsaken land, were the reason why men and monsters decided to make them their toys. But these women had long lost their will to live their life the way they wanted. The sparks in their eyes that were said to be the undisputed magic which always brings men to their knees, were now gone.

You couldn't exactly pity them when you were about to experience the same. In fact, you were already in the same state as they were: stripped naked for every goddamned eye to see.

Your name echoed in the corridor,  and one of the men, standing guard, dressed in all black, grabbed your arm. He pulled you up to your feet and whispered to your ears, “You better behave out there,” he tightened his grip as he dragged you. “Graves won't hesitate to put another bullet on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “We all know I will fetch a great price. You wouldn't want to lose a large sum of money, don't you?”

“Threatening my Shadows again?” A silvery voice emerged from the darkness, taking the form of a man with slicked-back, blond hair, dressed in the finest suit you had ever put an eye on.

Phillip Graves was a monster—a bloodsucking leech in human clothing, leader of the monsters you had blasted a hole in when they rampaged your home, and the very one to make it even by shooting you and capturing you.

He flashed a small smile at you, condescending enough to make your blood boil. He took you from his subordinate, arm snaking around your waist, and pulling you close to him.

Your breasts planted on his chest, making it appear more ample, and on your stomach, you could feel something hard. A grimace appeared on your face and a shiver ran down your spine as his hands traveled from your waist down to your ass. His fingers slowly went south through the gap of your thighs. You loathed this feeling, the cold touch of his calloused fingers, his hard grip, and the strong scent of his cologne mixed with rust—with blood. But if you retaliated, he would break your bones, over and over again, knowing that you could heal faster than most.

And this sadist wouldn't hesitate to take your virginity himself before selling you to others, like a toy that he had already gotten tired of.

“You sure you don't want me to take you?” Phillip leaned down, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your shoulder. “I can delay your show and we can have some time.”

“No,” you grunted, turning your head to the side, eyeing his servants who watched the movements of Phillip’s hands running over your body.

A chuckle escaped his lips, inhaling your scent as his nose trailed to your temple. “A shame,” he whispered, his sharp fangs grazing your skin, fingers caressing your folds, already slightly soaked.

You bit your lip to hold back the noise threatening to escape from your lips.

He stepped away from you and watched you immediately try to cover yourself with your arms. But oh, you foolish little bird, he could still see every inch of you.

He would take you, sure, if that was what you wanted. But good sex was nothing to a good sum of money. He can buy or rent any woman he pleases, with the price he could get from you. Besides, there were acquaintances of his who wouldn't want a woman who had already been touched.

Plus points, you were educated.

Cons: you fucking know how to kill.

Wherever the fuck you learned to do that.

He brought his fingers to his lips, licking away your fluids that grazed his fingers. “Well, let's get going.” He smiled and took your wrist, like a misbehaving dog on a walk park now being dragged home.

His hand swiped the curtain open and you squinted your eyes, blinded by the overhead lights, until you finally adjusted to the brightness, which followed you and Graves as you climbed up the stairs of a platform. Shame brought your body to flame as every gaze shifted on your naked flesh, chatters that sounded like static echoed endlessly in your ears.

From there, all you desired was for everything to burn.

John Mactavish leaned forward from his seat, bright blue eyes raking upon every inch of your body, but what caught his attention was the condescending look on your eyes, which declared every man in your sight lower than vermins walking on this land. Then, your eyes settled on Mactavish as Phillip Graves began your brief introduction to all the monsters inside the auction, and seemingly to judge his entire existence, he felt himself wanting more of your attention, of whatever you speak. He felt the desire in your gaze, the hunger for eradication.

Oh, you would look glorious sitting on his lap, bouncing up and down on his dick as you please, until you suck him dry. John felt his dick hardening, brushing against the fabric of his pants. He turned on his seat, facing Jonathan Price, whom they considered the leader of their hoard, but before he could utter a word the same man spoke.

“I like this one,” Price declared, making the other two on the same table as them, shift their gazes at him. Price took a long drag from his cigar before he continued. “She reminds me of the time when women stood proud and confident. We barely see that kind of spark in the eyes of females anymore, and I’d like to bring that spark into nothing but a speck of ash.”

“You’re a sadist, Price,” a man in a skull mask remarked, voice low and gruff, snapping his head back as the bidding started, each time a monster spoke, the price got higher.

Price turned his head to the man, his eyes glowing gold like a flame imprisoned within. “Nothing shall burn brighter than my fire, Simon.” He pulled a smirk on his lips, sharp fangs glinting, and motioned at the other one among them, raising his hand. “Kyle, would you please?”

However, before Kyle could raise their designated number, Graves raised a hand, bringing silence to the room, and he began, “Most of you might think that she is just a human, but let me show you something that would assure that she was the most valuable one we have ever had in a hundred years.”

You snapped your neck at Phillip, frowning at his face until his fingernails became dark and sharp like the claws of a wild beast. With a swift movement, his nails dragged on your arm, making you wince in pain, and blood began to run down. Each plop of blood on the floor made monsters gulp and each centimeter of the wound closed made monsters rise from their feet.

Even Phillip Graves had a hard time resisting the sight of blood and forcing himself on you for the sake of money.

Who wouldn’t want a woman who can take this much damage? Who wouldn’t want a woman who would ensure their offspring would come out stronger?

Then, a booming laughter echoed across the sea of yells, surfacing among others. Just as you turned to see where it came from, a flash of yellow came into your sight, and you leaned back, your heart leaping to your throat when a man towered over you.

Not a man. A monster.

Devil's incarnate.

Sharp horns sprouted from his forehead. On his back, a pair of leathery wings unrolled and a thick, scaly tail slapped Graves away from you before he could complain. And with a single sniff, a huff which brought the smell of smoke up your nostrils, Price’s eyes flashed gold.

“We’re bringing you home.” He pushed his lips onto yours, scaly hands wrapping around your waist, sharp claws scraping your skin. You tried to push him off, but one of his hands grabbed your hand so tight you thought your bones would break.

You whimpered against his mouth, making him chuckle and bite down on your lower lip, his fang piercing through the fragile skin. You tasted blood on your tongue and so did he as you were heaved up, forced to wrap your legs around his waist. Your cunt brushed onto the harsh fabric of his pants and the growing tent between them.

You bit back a moan and pulled away. “Stop—” But his hand pulled you back into his fervent, disgusting kiss. He left his marks on the expanse of your collarbone, then down to the valley of your breasts, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he reached on your head, pulling on your tresses.

It made you turn your head and you watched three other men get on the platform as well—one who appeared to be the most normal-looking among them, giving two cases of money to Graves, who didn’t seem much pleased after he was shoved off stage.

And before this very crowd, you were brought back the curtains and to God knows where.

May we all have seats reserved in hell already.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

Comment if you want to be on the taglist

[gemville]

Gold, Enamel and Diamond Dunhill Lighter, Circa 1920's

Photo Courtesy: Phillips Auction House

Source: jckonline.com

[scotianostra]

October 12th 1929 saw the birth of Magnus Magnusson, writer, broadcaster and quiznmaster in TV programme “Mastermind”.

Magnus was born in Reykjavík but grew up in Edinburgh, where his father, Sigursteinn Magnússon, was the Icelandic consul. Magnus’ Icelandic name at birth was Magnús Sigursteinsson, but in Scotland his family adopted British naming conventions and from childhood he used his father’s patronymic as a surname. Living in Joppa, he was educated at the Edinburgh Academy and was in the school’s marching brass band. So to those saying he’s not Scottish, he did live almost his entire life here.

After graduating from Jesus College, Oxford, Magnusson became a reporter with the Scottish Daily Express and The Scotsman. He went freelance in 1967, then joined the British Broadcasting Corporation, presenting programmes on history and archaeology as well as appearing in news programmes.

He retained his academic connections, however, and was Lord Rector of Edinburgh University from 1975 to 1978 from 2002 served as chancellor of Glasgow Caledonian University. The Magnus Magnusson Fellowship, an intellectual group based at the Glasgow Caledonian University, was named in his honour. Magnusson’s books included I’ve Started so I’ll Finish, a memoir of his years on Mastermind, and Scotland: The Story of a Nation.

Magnus of course is most famous for the quiz show, Mastermind, it was originally broadcast late on a Sunday night and was not expected to receive a huge audience. In 1973 it was moved to a prime-time slot as an emergency replacement for a Leslie Phillips sitcom, Casanova ‘73, which had been moved to a later time following complaints about its risqué content. The quiz subsequently became one of the most-watched shows on television. Magnusson was famous for his catchphrase “I’ve started so I’ll finish,” which was also the title of his history of the show. The original series was also noted for the variety of venues where filming took place—often including academic and ecclesiastical buildings. The last programme of the original series was filmed at St Magnus Cathedral in Orkney.

To further add to Magnus’s credentials for being a Scot he married Glasgow lass Mamie Ian Baird and they had 5 children together, including Reporting Scotland presenter Sally.

On 12th October 2006, his 77th birthday, Magnusson was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Magnusson mordantly noted that “This has to be one of my worst birthdays ever”. His condition forced him to cancel a string of public appearances. He died on 7 January 2007.The Aigas Field Centre a nature centre near Beauly has a building named in his honour.

In 2014 an auction sold off a lot of his belongings for the Scottish based Balmore Trust, a fair trade charity which sells fairly-traded goods in its shop The Coach House and supports projects in Africa, India and the west of Scotland.

Magnus Magnusson, Icelandic by birth Scottish through choice. Anyone still not convinced of his Scottish & Proud credentials, check out this quote from the man “I have got the best of both worlds; growing up in Edinburgh and now living outside Glasgow.”

Scotland is a welcoming country and have a rich culture which comes from all round the world, with his writing and knowledge Magnus brought so much to our country

Magnus Magnusson is buried in Baldernock Churchyard, East Dunbartonshire.

My favourite of the pics is the younger Magnus on Calton Hill, Edinburgh, the colour of The Hotel in the background, is how I remember it having been the window cleaner there before it had a full restoration in the late 80′s. The black and white pic is when he was installed as Rector of Edinburgh University, the pic with the ferry is on Orkney.

[alienelvisobsession]

The Jack White Connection

In January 2015, Elvis’ very first recording, an unassuming simple acetate dating back to 1953, was sold at an auction to an undisclosed buyer for $300,000. It featured two sentimental ballads sung by Elvis, then a shy 18-year-old kid with a ducktail haircut: on the A-side was “My Happiness”, a tune from the 1940s that would be later made famous by Connie Francis, and on the flip side “That’s When Your Heartaches Begin”, which Elvis would later re-record and release as a B-side to “All Shook Up”. Back in 1953, Elvis had paid $3.98 for this service offered by Sam Phillips at Memphis Recording Service, either to hear how he sounded on record, or as a present for his mum, as he would later claim in interviews. Some would go so far as to say that he hoped Sam would hear his voice and sign him up at Sun Studios. Whatever the reason, Elvis took the record to his high-school friend Ed Leek, who, in his recollection, had given him the money ($3.98 amount to about $45 adjusted for inflation) and owned a record player. Elvis played the songs there, and then for some reason left the record at his house. It’s funny how in later years some articles would claim that Gladys played the record over and over, while Elvis admitted in the Million Dollar Quartet recordings that he had lost it. In 1988 Ed Leek let RCA transfer the songs to digital to be released, but he kept the original acetate until his death in 2010.

In March 2015, a couple of months after the record was sold at an auction by Leek’s niece, it was disclosed that the buyer was a fellow rock ‘n roll musican, Jack White. The Detroit native planned to reissue the precious artifact on vinyl in a limited edition for Record Store Day. For this, he faithfully recreated the 10-inch, 78-rpm record in every detail, including the yellowish aging paper of the plain sleeve and the typewritten labels. Alan Stoker, the son of Gordon Stoker from the Jordanaires, the background singers in many of Elvis’ hits, did the transfer at the Country Music Hall of Fame. He ensured that the sound would be as clean as possible while maintaining the old haunting feeling of what many consider to be the Holy Grail of rock ‘n roll.

From this, you may have gathered that Jack White, who has won 13 Grammies in his career and is credited for writing the most distinctive guitar riff of the early 2000s with “Seven Nation Army”, is an Elvis fan. Not only did he embark in the project of bringing Elvis’ first record to the public with a precise replica, but he also played Elvis in a cameo for the comedy “Walk Hard: the Dewey Cox Story” (2007), which is a parody of music biopics. In the now iconic scene, Dewey, played by John C. Reilly, is terrified because he has to go on stage after Elvis, who’s hungry and wants to get out of there early. When Elvis approaches Dewey Cox, he speaks in an unintelligible Southern drawl, and anachronistically attempts a karate chop in the 1950s, before he even started to study it! This is a spoof of music biopics, after all, where these “artistic liberties” are plentiful (Baz Luhrmann’s movie has Elvis sing “Trouble” at Russwood Park, for instance). Then Jack White’s Elvis hilariously explains karate: “It’s called karate, man. Only two kinds of people know it, The Chinese and The King.” This unflattering and stereotyped portrayal of Elvis purposefully misses everything about Elvis’ personality, especially his humility and his Southern accent, focusing on some unimportant stereotypes instead: the sweating, the love of junk food, and the mumbling.

But, aside from playing him in a now famous gag, Jack White payed homage to Elvis as a musician as well. His 2014 Grammy-winning single “Lazaretto” features a cover of “Power of My Love” on the B side. The single holds the record of being the world’s fastest released record. It was recorded live in Nashville in front of an audience, pressed and released in under 4 hours. The B-side is according to The Tennessean “a thunderous version of Elvis Presley's ‘Power of My Love,’ — a faithful rendition, aside from cranking up the tempo and piling on the guitar overdrive.” In 2022, as we know, he had the honor of recording a duet of the same song alongside Elvis’ voice. The song is featured in the soundtrack of Baz Luhrmann’s movie.

And finally, Jack speaks about his love for Elvis Presley in a 2018 episode of the podcast “Revisionist History” by Malcolm Gladwell. In an episode called “Analysis, Parapraxis, Elvis”, the author tries to understand why Elvis never seemed to get a particular part of “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” quite right. Jack, accompanied by his guitar, sings the song in full, including the slightly corny spoken bridge where the singer feels vulnerable, deceived and rejected, which is the emotional part that Elvis couldn’t face to sing. He says there are a lot of minor chords in the song that can get you in that melancholy vibe. The singer is lonesome and he doesn’t really care if his ex lover is lonesome: “it’s a McGuffin to pretend he’s worried about her”, Jack explains.

I’m sure there will be more occasions to hear Jack White paying homage to his idol in the future. After all, he has an Elvis shrine at home, as Gladwell reveals!

This is part of a series of posts about Elvis’ influence on the artists who followed him. You can read the other Elvis connections I wrote about here. So far I’ve written about people as diverse as Jimi Hendrix, Quentin Tarantino and Andy Warhol.

[aimeedaisies]

✨ 15 days of Princess Anne ✨

August is Princess Anne’s birth month and her 73rd birthday is on the 15th so until then we will look at her fascinating life, one photo for every year!

The 2000s

2000 Princess Anne sat behind a stall at the Gatcombe Park Horse Trials on 6th August 2000.

2001 Princess Anne visiting the King's Royal Hussars of which she is Colonel in Chief on 21st June 2001.

2002 Princess Anne with her husband Commodore Tim Laurence at the Royal Albert Hall in London for the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance on 9th November 2002.

2003 Princess Anne, Tim Laurence and Peter Phillips celebrating Zara Phillips when she placed second at the Burghley Horse Trials in September 2003.

2004 Princess Anne and her husband Commodore Tim Laurence at Kiri Te Kanawa's 60th birthday reception at Marlborough House, on 31st March 2004.

2005 Princess Anne embracing her daughter Zara Phillips as Peter Phillips watches on after she won gold at the European Eventing Championships at Blenheim Palace on 11th September 2005.

2006 Princess Anne at The Festival of Trees auction party for Save The Children, at the Natural History Museum in London on 5th December 2006.

2007 1. Princess Anne and her husband Tim Laurence giving each other serious heart eyes at the Festival of British Eventing on 5th August 2007.

2. Princess Anne and her husband Tim Laurence dancing ever so close to each other at King Harald's 70th Birthday Gala Dinner at Royal Palace, Oslo on 24th February 2007.

3. Princess Anne and Tim Laurence walking arm in arm to the Christmas Day service at St. Mary Magdelene Church at Sandringham, on 25th December 2007.

2008 At the photoshoot at Windsor Castle after the wedding of Peter Phillips and Autumn Kelly, which was held at St George’s Chapel on 17th May 2008.

2009 Princess Anne with the Irish Guards at the St Patrick's Day Parade at Victoria Barracks, Windsor on 17th March 2009.

[gregdotorg]

Seeing another Rachel Harrison sculpture with a framed picture of a sketch of Al Pacino as Tony Montana on it (besides the one that got shot that time at the Wexner Center), I started noticing more examples of Harrison using a particular element or move: like putting a typewriter on top of a form with the typewriter case wedged underneath it.

images: Rachel Harrison's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (2011), at Phillips auction house 25 Sept 2024; and Structural Design (2010), at Regen Projects in 2010.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Marzipan

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett Rated: G Word count: 2.5k

Summary: Just a conversation between my favorite in-laws.

Everyone seemed to be speaking at once. Even though Sophie knew each of her relatives were waiting their turn to talk, they leapt so eagerly after each other that any pause was indiscernible. Everyone was so fervent in sharing their own news, it started to sound like a wall of noise. She and Anthony were the only two who remained silent. She watched her brother-in-law at the head of the dinner table patiently nodding at each speaker, but his jaw was flexing in that way that signaled his mounting stress.

First it was Kate, looking exhausted, bemoaning how little Charlotte kept falling into tantrums that would not relent. Then Colin, arrived without his wife, repeatedly explaining how the roof of his townhouse was in need of repairs and how costly it would be. The aim of his musings was not subtle. He was clearly hoping to gather family funds for the expense. Next Violet, reminding them all that Eloise and Phillip had invited them to Romney Hall for the twins’ birthday and that gifts would need to be purchased. Lastly Benedict, sitting dejectedly in the rare cloud of gloom that only overtook him before his work went on display somewhere. He had entered a landscape into a charitable auction at Somerset House which began the next day. Even though he was long past making a name for himself as a distinguished artist, any time he revealed a new piece and particularly when that piece’s worth would be judged, he became restless and withdrawn. As his mother asked him about his entry he stared at the table, rambling that it wasn’t to his satisfaction and no one was obligated to bid on it and he hoped its purchaser would ultimately burn it.

Sophie let him grumble on. She had tried to soothe his concerns in every manner she knew how, all to no avail. This was simply part of his process and she had lost the energy to contend with it. So she sat in silence, listening to the complaints and worries and to-do lists of the family. She had been looking forward to dinner at Bridgerton House but now felt guilty for adding more dour conversation to the evening. Watching Anthony’s face, she could see how each matter piled upon him. She was reminded of when Araminta would confront her with a list of chores, demanding more tasks than were humanly possible to complete in a day and stressing that each one must be given top priority. She saw the same slump in Anthony’s shoulders as she had felt then, the same tight-lipped assent, and her heart went out to him.

When the meal finally ended the Viscount mumbled something about business and disappeared into his study. The rest of them gathered in the smoking room, Colin and Benedict breaking into the brandy while Violet and Kate discussed the children. With the excuse of seeking out a book to read, Sophie ducked out of their company and retrieved her cloak, pulling out the small box she had brought with her. It was a gift for Anthony, or rather, for the both of them. An assortment of brightly colored marzipan fruits. They were the only two people in the entire Bridgerton clan who enjoyed them and they seized every opportunity to share. They often kept their indulgences secret so as to avoid the tired ridicule lobbed at them by their spouses. 

They had their reasons for loving the sweets which they had only seen fit to confide in each other. For Sophie, they were the only treat she had tasted for the first two decades of her life. Both her distant father and cruel stepfamily had despised the candy as much as the Bridgertons, but curiously always kept trays of it available for company. Being who she was, no one ever offered her sweets and she found that the marzipans were the one thing that would go unnoticed if nicked. So it was the only treat she allowed herself to avoid being rapped on the knuckles. The candies took part in Anthony’s early memories too. Afternoons spent with his father who used the small shapes to teach him the names of the fruits. When he had pronounced each one correctly, he earned the reward of eating it and had never lost his fondness for the flavor.

Package in hand, Sophie knocked on the study door and stepped in when Anthony replied. He was seated behind the massive desk, the picture of duty, intently scribbling between stacks of parchment. He blinked when he saw her.

“Sophie. What can I do for you?” His tone was polite but she knew him well enough to hear the undertone of vexation. He was begrudgingly ready to add her problems to his endless list of responsibilities.

Happily, she had none to give him. She smirked and held out the box. “Help me with these?”

After a moment’s confusion, his face lit up and he smiled back. She handed him the gift and he cut the ribbon off with a letter opener. 

“Ladies first,” he lilted, holding it out for her selection. She chose a lemon and took a bite, standing by the corner of the desk. He picked an apple and popped it whole into his mouth. They savored in silence for a moment, grinning at each other.

“I don’t want to distract you from pressing matters, but it seemed you could use a reprieve.” Sophie explained.

Anthony nodded, the crease returning to his brow as he began to shuffle through his papers. “I have been…tired of late. I thought it was difficult to manage everything when my siblings were children. But now with all of these marriages, nieces, nephews, my own children, the estate, it’s…” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Many calls on my funds.”

“And your patience?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

Unlike other members of his family who might have asked the question in judgment, he knew Sophie asked out of concern. He sank back in his chair and grimaced. “Did it show?”

She shrugged. “No more than usual.” The smirk she shot him was so reminiscent of his brother, he had to chuckle.

Then he went back to signing. He had inked his name on so many pages that week, it was starting to look like a foreign alphabet to him. “Well, everyone’s perception of me is the least of my concerns, as long as the coffers are filled.”

Sophie stepped forward. “Anthony, please tell me you do not mean that. You know your family sees you as more than a purse.”

He continued writing without looking up. “Mmm. I’m sure I’m a disappointment as a brother too.”

She frowned. “You are my brother now and I wouldn’t say that.”

“You were spared from growing up with me.” He huffed.

“Perhaps that gives me the clearest perspective.” Her tone was soft, but so insistent it forced him to look at her. She settled into the chair across from him. “I won’t deny you a moment of self pity. But I won’t tolerate your self doubt. It is evident to anyone with eyes how much you have done for this family and how wholly you have succeeded. Would your siblings even have their grand homes, their respectable marriages, their roofs that need repairing, if you had not managed your estate so well? Would they all gather together so frequently and with so much obvious joy if you had not kept them all from fracturing over hardships these many years?” 

Anthony swallowed hard, something stirring in his chest. A part of him knew she spoke the truth, but it was muffled beneath the well-practiced voice that had denied it for his entire adult life. Then Sophie fixed her eyes on his.

“Would I be here?” She asked softly. “Or would your brother have fled the country to scandalously marry a maid, never to be seen again? Other gentlemen in your position would have cast me out. Other gentleman in your position did cast me out.” She paused, remembering her absent father, her cruel employers, and how Anthony was the one head of household who had ever treated her with kindness. “But you embraced me. For the love of your brother and your dedication to your family. I’m sure it feels as if your days are nothing but shuffling coins and signing contracts but what you are doing is protecting us. Saving us. And we love you for it.” She gave him a small smile, eyes welling with the gratitude she hoped to express.

He stared back at her, blinking back his own tears. When he had first met Sophie, he couldn’t imagine anyone with whom he had less in common. Then over the years as his sister-in-law, she had proven him wrong again and again to the point that she became a trusted confidante, a dear friend, and the only person who would speak to him with such raw, uncomplicated honesty. Simon would keep him in check, but they both carried the bravado of their titles into their conversations. Kate of course knew the furthest depths of his soul, but matters of the heart and mind often became entangled with each other and the myriad sacrifices and obligations of marriage. With Sophie, there was no pretense. She had nothing to lord over him and he could let the trappings of his position fall away around her. She was the one person in his family to whom they meant nothing and he cherished her for that. He had worried he would rue the day when he finally relented and gave his blessing to her marriage with Benedict. Now, he knew it was one of the days that had permanently altered his life for the better.

He returned her smile, his voice cracking. “Have I told you how grateful I am for you?”

Sophie sniffed, her heart warmed through. “Not lately, but I forgive you.” They laughed, blinking away their tears as the mood lightened. “I do wish there was more I could do to help.”

Anthony sighed, shifting papers once again. “I know you have a head for figures, but all these expenses require my signature, I’m afraid.” 

“What about the children? Alex misbehaved in precisely the same way as Charlotte when he was her age. I could share my tricks with Kate.”

He smiled. “That would be very appreciated.” 

Sophie nodded and leaned forward to pluck another candy from the box. She stood and paced slowly before the fireplace as she chewed.

Anthony took a second treat for himself. “How long are you staying in the city?” He asked, mouth full.

She shrugged. “However long it takes for Benedict to work through his anxieties about the gallery auction. He’ll be buzzing around trying to overhear how his work is being received.”

The endeared annoyance in her tone was obvious. Anthony licked the sugary paste off his teeth and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. “You know, one of the Somerset directors is an acquaintance of mine.”

Sophie whipped around with a scowl. “Anthony, don’t. You must let him do this on his own. Even if that means letting him fail.”

“I only wish to help.”

“I know that.” Her voice softened and she walked back to him. “Help him by attending the showing. Tell him what you think of his work.”

He nodded, contemplating. “I admit that is something I’ve often failed to do.”

“You are busy, he knows that.”

“I’m not sure he’s ever forgiven me for the fiasco with the Academy.” He mumbled.

“He has.” Sophie reassured him, having had this conversation with Benedict many times as she helped him forge more confidence in his work. “He knew your heart was in the right place. He can be distant because he’s trying so desperately to prove his worth on his own merits.” She began to pace again, a degree of exasperation rising to the surface as she rambled, half to herself.  “He wants to feel that he has truly earned everything and isn’t just praised for his name. But even when I show him all the evidence that he has earned it, he can be so insecure that he refuses to accept it. Sometimes I simply…” She cut herself off, turning back to Anthony, embarrassed and guilty. “I’m sorry. This is not your concern. This is the last thing you need.”

Anthony got to his feet and carried the box to where she stood. “My brother’s happiness is my concern. As is yours.” He held out the marzipan and they each took one more. “I know how he can be. You can always come to me if you need a sympathetic ear.”

Sophie smiled gratefully as she chewed. Her eyes roved, assessing his face as she shook her head. “The two of you.” She murmured.

“What about us?” He grinned. “Miserable louts through and through?”

She laughed. “Of your own making, you can be. You who care too little about how your work is perceived, and him who cares too much. But in one way you are the same.”

He cocked his head. “And what way is that?”

“That you care for each other.” She smiled. “You want to see each other happy despite how you struggle to communicate it. You Bridgertons may share one brain cell between you but the loyalty and kindness of your hearts is unquestionable.”

Anthony glared at her with mock warning. “Careful with your derision. I’ll remind you that you are a Bridgerton too. As are my wife and all of our children.”

“Yes, and I dare say we have multiplied the smarts in this family by joining it.” With a devilish smirk she moved away, scanning the nearby bookshelves for something to bring back to the smoking room. 

Anthony snorted, crossing his arms. “Do you speak to your husband with such boldness?”

Sophie shrugged, examining a volume. “He can hold his own. But I save my choicest barbs for my worthiest adversary.” She flashed her eyes back to him and they both grinned.

Anthony walked to his desk, energized. “I will go to Somerset House for the auction tomorrow. If you might spend the day with Kate and the children, I will use the peace to finish all of this,” he waved at his papers. “Then I’ll join you in the evening.”

“Excellent.” Sophie beamed, grateful to see the resolve back in his posture and to know they had formed a plan that would hopefully address everyone’s needs. She always left her conversations with Anthony feeling better. He lent her strength and she hoped that she lent him some clarity and assurance in turn. She stood at the door. “I shall need an escort while my husband is showcasing his talent. I’m sure if a Viscount were to criticize some of the competing pieces the other patrons would think more carefully about their bids, yes?”

He met her conspiratorial eyebrow with a broad smile. “Indeed. Goodnight, sister.”

With a small nod she moved to slip out but he paused her with his final words, uttered softly. “Thank you.” She turned back, heart filled by the emotion that shone out of his eyes. “Thank you, brother.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @faye-tale

[whileiamdying]

The Strange Journey of John Lennon’s Stolen Patek Philippe Watch

For decades, Yoko Ono thought that the birthday gift was in her Dakota apartment. But it had been removed and sold—and now awaits a court ruling in Geneva.

By Jay Fielden June 17, 2024

The missing watch, now valued at between ten and forty million dollars, was a fortieth-birthday gift from Yoko Ono, along with a tie she knit herself.Photograph by Bob Gruen

For years, John Lennon’s Patek Philippe 2499 has been the El Dorado of lost watches. Lennon was known for collecting expensive things: apartments in the Dakota (five); guitars (one apartment was mainly for musical equipment); country estates; jukeboxes (three); and Egyptian artifacts, including a gold-leafed sarcophagus containing a mummified princess, who Yoko Ono believed was a former self. But the Patek appears to have been his one and only wristwatch.

A gift from Ono, the watch is more than anyone would ever need to tell the time. A perpetual-calendar chronograph, it is, as Paul Boutros, the head of watches at the American arm of Phillips auction house, says, a “mechanical microcomputer, the most sought after of all Pateks.” Between 1952 and around 1985, Patek produced just three hundred and forty-nine of them. The watch, which Ono bought at Tiffany on Fifth Avenue, records time in eight different ways; the dial houses three apertures (day, month, moon phase) and three subdials (seconds, elapsed minutes, date). If you never memorized the mnemonic “thirty days hath September,” no worries—the 2499 Patek hath. Its miraculous ganglia of tiny wheels and levers will adjust its readings to the quirky imperfections of the Gregorian calendar, including leap years. No other watchmaker was able to produce a perpetual-calendar-chronograph movement small enough to fit into a wristwatch until 1985.

What makes this 2499 even rarer—and perhaps the most valuable wristwatch in existence—is how little we know about it. Ono gave it to her husband for his fortieth birthday, on October 9, 1980, two months before he was fatally shot by a deranged man outside the Dakota. For the next three decades, the existence of the watch remained unknown except to a handful of family and close friends.

But, sometime around 2007, in the early days of social media, a new kind of watch obsessive materialized, equipped with native computer skills and an appreciation for the places where pop culture and the luxury market intersect. In those pre-Instagram years, fanboy wonks traded watch esoterica online: an image of Picasso wearing a lost Jaeger-LeCoultre; Castro with two trendy Rolexes strapped to one arm; Brando, on the set of “Apocalypse Now,” “flexing,” as watch geeks say, a Rolex GMT-Master without its timing bezel, a modification he made to better inhabit the role of Kurtz; and—the Google image-search find of them all—two frames of an uncredited snapshot of Lennon and his Patek.

“I’m not a watch guy,” Sean Lennon said. “I’d be terrified to wear anything of my dad’s. I never even played one of his guitars.”Photograph by Bob Gruen

Since its discovery, around 2011, the image has appeared online again and again, fuelling a speculative frenzy about what the watch—which cost around twenty-five thousand dollars at Tiffany in 1980—might bring at auction today, with estimates ranging from ten million to forty million dollars. (Bloomberg’s Subdial Watch Index tracks the value of a bundle of watches produced by Rolex, Patek, and Audemars Piguet, like an E.T.F.; the Boston Consulting Group reported that, between 2018 and 2023, a similar selection outperformed the S. & P. 500 by twelve per cent. In 2017, Paul Newman’s Rolex Daytona broke records by selling at auction for $17.8 million.) But all the clickbait posts about the Lennon Patek, as it had come to be known, were regurgitations that contained few facts. There was never a mention of who took the photo, where it was taken, or even where the watch might be.

During the long, dull days of the pandemic, I decided to see what I could find out. Several years went by, as I traced the journey of the watch from where it was stowed after Lennon’s death—a locked room in his Dakota apartment—to when it was stolen, apparently in 2005. From there, it moved around Europe and the watch departments of two auction houses, before becoming the subject of an ongoing lawsuit, in Switzerland, to determine whether the watch’s rightful owner is Ono or an unnamed man a Swiss court judgment refers to as Mr. A, who claims to have bought the watch legally in 2014.

Having reached its final appeal—Ono has so far prevailed—the case is now in the hands of the Tribunal Fédéral, Switzerland’s Supreme Court, which is expected to render a verdict later this year. Meanwhile, the watch continues to sit in an undisclosed location in Geneva, a city that specializes in the safe, secret storage of lost treasures.

Lennon holding up his birthday Patek in the fall of 1980 is one of the happiest moments captured on film in the final years of his life. That summer, he’d begun making music again, during a trip to Bermuda which he’d hoped would help repair the well-publicized strain in his marriage to Ono. Lennon’s “lost weekend”—more than a year spent living in Los Angeles with May Pang, a former assistant who became his lover—was not that far in the past, and Ono had fallen into an infatuation with an art-world socialite named Sam Green. (It was in Bermuda that Lennon wrote “I’m Losing You.”)

Lennon had spent the previous five years holed up in the Dakota as a self-proclaimed “househusband,” raising his son Sean so that Ono, whom Lennon called Mother, could take her turn at being the decision-maker of the music-business enterprise they’d named Lennono. While Ono dealt with Beatles headaches, controlled the purse strings, and invested in real estate, Lennon occupied himself by watching soap operas, eating bran biscuits and rice, smoking Gitanes, and listening to either classical music or Muzak. “If I heard anything bad,” he later explained, “I’d want to fix it, and if I heard anything good, I’d wonder why I hadn’t thought of it.”

In the photograph, Lennon, trim and fit from a macrobiotic diet, wears jeans and a loosely knotted striped knit tie adorned with a jewel-encrusted American-flag pin. The picture was taken in the Hit Factory, where he and Ono had been recording “Double Fantasy,” his first album in five years. The room is dim, but he has on sunglasses, celluloid horn-rims recently bought in Japan. Buckled on his left wrist is the Patek 2499.

In order to find out more about the photograph, I tracked down Jack Douglas, the noted record producer who oversaw “Double Fantasy,” and sent him the picture by e-mail. He replied right away. “Bob Gruen took the photo,” he wrote, referring to the well-known documenter of the seventies and eighties rock scene.

When I contacted Gruen, who is now seventy-eight and lives in New York City, he had no idea that his photograph had become the talk of the horological world or why he’d never been given credit for it; he’d published the image in a book, titled “John Lennon: The New York Years,” in 2005. But he remembered the night he took the photo—Lennon’s fortieth birthday. Since late that summer, Lennon and Ono had been spending a lot of time in a multiroom studio on the sixth floor of the Hit Factory building, then on West Forty-eighth Street. “I was one of the few people who had an open invitation,” Gruen told me. “They liked to work late.” Gruen, who said he was living on a “steak-and-Cognac diet” in those days, showed up after midnight, having attended the thirty-sixth-birthday party of the singer Nona Hendryx. “I thought I’d bring John a piece of her birthday cake,” he said.

When Gruen arrived, Lennon was enjoying his presents: the knit tie, which Ono had made herself (a copy of the one he wore at school in Liverpool); the flag pin; and the Patek, in yellow gold, which had a rare and highly coveted double-stamped dial, meaning that both the watchmaker’s and Tiffany’s logos were printed on it. Gruen remembered Lennon being abuzz over the tie and the pin, a nod to Lennon’s fourth anniversary as a green-card holder. He doesn’t recall talking about the watch. But Lennon nonetheless strapped the black lizard band onto his wrist when Gruen reached for his Olympus OM4.

A few other photographs that Gruen took that week have never been seen by the public. One shows Lennon at a mixing board with Douglas, who is wearing a recognizable watch himself, a Porsche Design Chronograph I—stainless steel and coated in black—which Porsche had presented to him and to the members of Aerosmith in 1976, after the band’s German tour for its album “Rocks.” Douglas told me that he and Lennon later wrist-checked each other. “Although I thought his watch was beautiful,” he wrote in an e-mail to me, “I told John it didn’t have the pizzazz of my black beauty, and we had a good laugh.

After Lennon’s death, Ono had a full inventory taken of her husband’s possessions, a document that amounted to nearly a thousand pages. She then put the Patek in a locked room of her apartment. And there the watch remained for more than twenty years.

I found a clue as to what happened next by putting together shards of information from various members of the watch intelligentsia who had all “heard” that the Patek had been stolen. “I think the guy was Turkish,” one said. Another remembered “something about a chauffeur.” This led me to a 2006 article in the Times about a man named Koral Karsan (Turkish: check), who had served as Ono’s chauffeur (check two) for the previous ten years. Karsan, a veteran member of Ono’s oft-shuffled staff—trusted enough that he had full access to her apartment—had simply gone berserk in December of that year, threatening to release embarrassing photos and private conversations he’d been recording unless Ono paid him two million dollars; he allegedly said that if she refused he would have her and Sean killed.

A tall, square-jawed man with a thick burr of white hair, Karsan, then fifty, was arrested. In a series of preliminary hearings in a Manhattan courtroom, he defended himself against charges of extortion and attempted grand larceny by claiming, as the Times reported, that Ono had “humiliated and degraded him, wrecking his marriage and making him so nervous that he ground eight of his teeth to the bone.” A letter he’d written to Ono describing himself as her “driver, bodyguard, assistant, butler, nurse, handyman and more so your lover and confidant” was also entered into the record. Ono disputed Karsan’s claims about a romance, but the prosecution allowed him to plead guilty to a lesser charge, and he was ordered to return to his native Turkey.

According to a story that Karsan would later tell, Ono—who was known to consult psychics—became worried one day in 2006 that a forecasted heavy-weather event might endanger some meaningful Lennon items, including two pairs of Lennon’s eyeglasses and several New Yorker desk diaries (which he used as journals during the last five years of his life); she asked Karsan to find a safer place to keep them. Unbeknownst to Ono, when Karsan was subsequently deported, these items, along with the Patek, followed him.

Ono, who is ninety-one and lives in seclusion in upstate New York, declined to comment. Of Karsan, Sean Lennon told me, “He took advantage of a widow at a vulnerable time. Of all the incidents of people stealing things from my parents, this one is the most painful.”

Karsan, back in Turkey, was in the market for a house. Around 2009, he showed Lennon’s watch to a Turkish friend visiting from Berlin named Erhan G (as he came to be known owing to German privacy laws). Karsan let Erhan G flip through the diaries, including one marked 1980, which includes Lennon’s final entry. Karsan threw out an idea: he’d give the Lennon Patek to Erhan G as collateral for a loan. Erhan G agreed.

One evening in 2013, in Berlin, Erhan G met an executive who worked for a new, much hyped digital auction platform called Auctionata. He couldn’t resist boasting about the Patek 2499 and the rest of the Lennon trove—some eighty items. In short order, a dinner was arranged with Oliver Hoffmann, Auctionata’s twenty-eight-year-old director of watches. “He told me the story of how he’d gotten the watch,” Hoffmann recalled, of his meeting with Erhan G. “It was strange, but it felt whole and true. It was credible because of the many details.” Erhan G, who said that he was the watch’s rightful owner, per an agreement with Karsan, didn’t strike Hoffmann as a man desperate for money. “He owned a successful business and lived in a large apartment in a building close to Potsdamer Platz,” Hoffman said. (Erhan G could not be reached for comment.)

Auctionata, which live-streamed its auctions, was one of Germany’s dot-com darlings, lauded in the press for disrupting the old auction-house model, dominated by Christie’s and Sotheby’s, which had yet to develop a digital-first business. Investors including Groupe Arnault, Holtzbrinck Ventures, and Hearst Ventures had put up more than a hundred million dollars of venture capital for the company. Hoffmann says that the C.E.O., Alexander Zacke, recognized what a publicity boon selling John Lennon’s lost watch would be and pushed for a way to do it with or without notifying Ono. (Zacke did not respond to a request for comment.) Teams of lawyers studied the watch’s provenance and puzzled over how to offer it for sale without raising eyebrows. A document called an extract was obtained from Patek Philippe, which meant that the watch had not been registered as stolen, and Karsan himself travelled to Berlin, where he signed a document in front of a notary testifying that Ono had given him her husband’s Patek as a gift in 2005. As for the authenticity of the watch, there was no doubt: on the case back is an identifying inscription that has never been made public outside Germany.

In late 2013, in preparation for an auction, Auctionata had the watch professionally photographed. (In the photo, the watch floats in a vacuum, a carefully lit token of commerce, divorced from all human and emotional context.) But Erhan G got cold feet. Some years earlier, Ono had sued a former employee who had slipped out of the Dakota with Lennon memorabilia; Frederic Seaman, Lennon’s last personal assistant, confessed to having stolen diaries similar, if not identical, to those which Karsan and Erhan G had stashed away. (He later returned them.) Searching for a private buyer, Hoffmann approached Mr. A, a man he knew from the rare-watch circuit. A deal by “private treaty”—a sale undisclosed to the public—was reached, and in March, 2014, Mr. A agreed that he would consign a selection of Rolex and Patek watches from his own collection, whose sale proceeds would go toward payment for the Lennon 2499, which was priced at six hundred thousand euros (about eight hundred thousand dollars). “This, in some ways, was more helpful than auctioning the watch,” Hoffmann told me, explaining that Auctionata’s watch department needed the inventory. The vintage watches Mr. A consigned, most of which Hoffmann valued at between twenty thousand and forty thousand euros apiece, were in total likely worth more than the 2499.

Mr. A told Hoffmann that he planned to keep Lennon’s watch in his collection, which has included pieces owned by Eric Clapton. But, within months, he took the Lennon Patek to the Geneva office of Christie’s. As part of the auction house’s appraisal process, a Christie’s representative reached out to Ono’s lawyer, who promptly notified his client. Ono rushed to check the locked room, only to discover that the Patek wasn’t there. She had no idea how long it had been gone.

In August of 2023, a reporter named Coline Emmel, who works for a small but enterprising Web site in Switzerland called Gotham City, found something interesting in a backlog of documents filed that summer by the Chambre Civile in the canton of Geneva—an appellate judgment in a civil case that had been going on for five years. European privacy laws, especially those in Switzerland, make legal documents unusually hard to decipher. The Swiss judiciary uses a system of letters and numbers to create pseudonyms for appellants, respondents, and anyone else involved, turning a case file into a cryptogram. Emmel knew enough about Beatles history to recognize that “C_____, widow of late F_____, of Japanese nationality and domiciled in [New York City]” was, in fact, Yoko Ono. Although the appeals court affirmed the lower court’s decision that Ono was the “sole legitimate owner of the watch,” Mr. A—“a watch collector and longtime professional in the sector, of Italian nationality”—was launching another appeal. Emmel posted a brief synopsis on Gotham City, along with the news that a final judgment was now being awaited from the Swiss Supreme Court.

“Mystery solved!” was the gist of the message that ricocheted around the watch world. But, to me, the mystery had only deepened. The basic itinerary of the Patek’s odyssey and its current location had been discovered, but the human detail of how it had passed from wrist to wrist, hiding place to hiding place, still hadn’t been reported. What’s more, where had Ono ever got the idea of giving a guy like John Lennon—eater of carob-coated peanuts, singer of a song about imagining no possessions, peacenik—a watch that was a status symbol of lockjawed good taste? And what was its famously secret inscription?

I had already been in contact with Mr. A; three days before Emmel posted her scoop, he’d cancelled a planned meeting with me in Italy. Instead, we arranged to speak over Zoom. Seated in a panelled room, he told me that, when Ono had found the watch missing, her counsel demanded its return. It was a tricky legal situation, because Ono, having never realized that the watch was gone, hadn’t reported it stolen, and because the case spans several national jurisdictions. Mr. A explained that he didn’t return the watch because he didn’t believe it to be stolen property. He mentioned the inventory that had been taken of Lennon’s possessions after his death, which was referred to in the judgment; he claimed that only two watches were listed—a gold watch (presumably the Patek) and another that Mr. A said was a pocket watch Ono had auctioned through Sotheby’s in 1984, two decades before Karsan swore she gave him the Patek.

Mr. A pointed to Ono’s own version of the story. “Following the death of the late [John Lennon],” the Swiss court’s judgment reads, in a summary of a deposition that Ono gave to investigators from Berlin at the German consulate in New York City, “[Ono] wanted to give something belonging to her to those who had worked very faithfully for her. So, she told [Karsan] to take a watch.” Ono, however, added that she in no way meant the “watch she’d given the late [John Lennon].” What watch did she mean? Mr. A asked rhetorically. “There was only the Patek.”

Christie’s, informed that the watch had been stolen, kept the 2499 secured in its Geneva vault, where it sat for several years. The judgment states, “On December 17, 2015, the parties and [Christie’s] SA entered into a consignment-escrow agreement under which the Watch would be consigned to [Mr. A’s lawyer], until agreement or right is adjudicated on the property.” (Christie’s did not respond to a request for comment.) Mr. A told me that he eventually decided to go on the offensive. In 2018, he initiated a civil lawsuit against Ono to prove that he was the Patek’s rightful owner.

What Mr. A never expected was that his fate would become intertwined with that of Auctionata, which went bankrupt in early 2017. A German court brought in a bankruptcy expert and lawyer named Christian Graf Brockdorff, who, in a review of the company’s inventory, stumbled on the eighty-odd other Lennon items that Erhan G had consigned for a high-six-figure sum. “I doubted that everything that had happened in the past was legally correct,” Brockdorff told me in an e-mail. He contacted the police; a criminal case was opened, and Erhan G was found guilty of knowingly dealing in stolen goods. He served a one-year suspended sentence, having admitted that the story that Karsan had told of how he got the Lennon items “did not correspond to reality.” (A Europol warrant was issued for Karsan, whose whereabouts are unknown; he could not be reached for comment.) That the case itself ever came to be is curious, but its verdict set a legal foundation that the Swiss judgment cited in declaring that Mr. A is not the watch’s rightful owner. According to Guido Urbach, a knowledgeable Swiss attorney, it is unlikely that the Supreme Court will decide any differently.

The secret dedication that Ono had inscribed on the back of the Patek Philippe 2499: “(JUST LIKE) / STARTING OVER / LOVE YOKO / 10 • 9 • 1980 / N. Y. C.”

In a series of follow-up e-mails, I asked Mr. A about what John Lennon’s Patek meant to him. “I’m more of a Rolling Stones man,” he replied, mentioning that he has played bass in a local band for years. Still, “to own the JL watch is really a double good feeling,” he said, adding that he remained hopeful that he could “wear it as soon as possible.”

But, if the Supreme Court confirms the appellate court’s ruling, the watch will likely return to New York. “It’s important that we get it back because of all we’ve gone through over it,” Sean Lennon told me. He added, “I’m not a watch guy. I’d be terrified to wear anything of my dad’s. I never even played one of his guitars.” He paused. “To me, if anything, the watch is just a symbol of how dangerous it is to trust.”

The watch never seems to have given anyone peace and happiness for long. When Lennon was in Bermuda, writing what he described as the best kind of songs—“the ones that come to you in the middle of the night”—Ono was spending time with Sam Green, whom the Times once described as “an unabashed poseur blessed with good looks.” Green had a way with rich and eccentric women. He’d had an affair with the Bakelite heiress, Barbara Baekeland, and by 1980 he was spending his time juggling Greta Garbo, Diana Vreeland, and Ono.

Looking through Green’s papers, which are at Yale’s Beinecke Library, I got an eerie feeling. I found a number of diary entries that corroborated his close relationship with Ono (“Yoko all day and night,” numerous notations read), and a handwritten tally for more than twenty-five thousand dollars—the cost of furniture that Green had sourced to appoint the Hit Factory studio. Whether Green was the one who suggested the Patek as a birthday present for Lennon is hard to confirm, but the cursed history of the watch invites speculation.

The secret engraving, which I found in the never-published Auctionata photo of the watch, is haunting in another way:

Was there a new start? By the time “Double Fantasy” was finished, Ono had lost interest in Green, and Lennon, who had just written and recorded no fewer than four love songs about her, appeared to be a happy man. The weeks they spent together at the Hit Factory that year had been charmed, which means that the Lennon Patek captures a measure of time that no other watch ever will—the little they had left together. ♦

Published in the print edition of the June 24, 2024, issue, with the headline “In Search of Lost Time.”

[major-knighton]

HALLOW-LEE-N movie review Oct 29th : The Skull (1965)

Alright, let's get back in the saddle. This one was kinda relevant to some interests of mine, notably the 18th century. It was also more special effects heavy than most films watched here, but I liked that. It reminded me of the original Star Trek series in its kitschy enterprising.

The intro shows us a guy digging up someone to steal their skull, unfortunately the guy dies a horrible and mysterious death in a cloud of mist while cleaning the skull. Later, the guy's lawyer stabs a woman under the influence of... ✨THE SKULL✨

Jump to present day. During an auction presided by our thrice-returning Michael Gough, our man Maitland (Peter Cushing) and his friend Phillips (Lee) compete for a set of devil statues. Phillips wins, but he can't explain why he wants the statues so badly he's willing to pay much more than they're worth.

At home, Maitland buys a book from his usual contact, Marco. Today Marco brings him a book about the Marquis de Sade, overall terrible human being and shitstain of a century that counted many a terrible people. This book is also bound in human skin, so that's cool.

The next day, Marco comes back with a skull, claiming it's the Marquis's skull and also it's cursed by the same evil spirit that possessed de Sade. Personally I think demons have nothing to do with it and Sade was just a rancid noble who simply was never told it no enough. Anyway.

Maitland isn't sure about buying the skull, because he can't tell if it's genuine. He confides in his buddy Phillips over a game of billiard.

Phillips confirms the skull is real, because it used to belong to him and was stolen. He doesn't want it back though, he says the skill is evil and kept calling to him and even made him buy the devil statues. Maitland decides this is all a bunch of rubbish.

That night, Maitland dreams he's been kidnapped and forced to play Russian roulette. He wakes up in Marco's apartment, and goes him. This does not deter him in the slightest, and he goes back in the morning to buy the skull.

He founds Marco very dead, and makes sure to hide the skull before he calls the cops. The next day, Maitland comes back for the skull. Upon being confronted by the caretaker, he simply pushes him down the stairs to kill him.

At home, Maitland puts the skull up in a glass display case and is happy with himself. Not for long.

The skull compels him to break into Phillips' house to steal the devil statues. Phillips finds him in flagrante delicto, and tells him to just get rid of the damn thing, to which Maitland responds by violently bonking him on the head with the statue.

When Maitland puts the devil statue on his little table, the skull zooms out of its case and comes to rest on the table with the human skin book. Oh yeah, that skull is straight up floating around now.

The skull tries to get Maitland to stab his own wife, but she's wearing a crucifix and therefore he can't. The mirrors in the house are cracking, the paintings are swinging, it's a demon party in there. Maitland ends up locked in his own bedroom, howling for help, while the skull floats towards him until it bites him in the neck strong enough to kill him.

I enjoyed the cinematography of this film, especially the shots from behind the skull's eyesockets. That was creative.

Due to being a direct descendant of the same French peasant girls that the Marquis made his regular victims though, I spent most of the movie less frightened of the sentient skull and more wishing I could trample it under my feet. Ah well.

A creative, visually fun movie even if it verses a bit into cliché. 7/10.

[typingtess]

NCIS: Los Angeles Season 14 Rewatch:  “Blood Bank”

The basics:  A shootout on a yacht owned by Arkady Kolcheck gets NCIS’s attention.

Written by:  Samantha Chasse co-wrote "Kill Beale Vol. 1" and wrote "Impostor Syndrome" and “Murmuration”.

Directed by:  Benny Boom directed "Ghost Gun", "767", "Fool Me Twice", "Pro Se", "Hail Mary", “Groundwork” and “Perception”.   

Guest stars of note:  Duncan Campbell returns as NCIS Special Agent Castor from “Let It Burn”, Vyto Ruginis joins season 14 as Arkady Kolcheck.  Matty Cardarople returns as Danny, who sold pastries in season 10’s “Into the Breach” and computer supplies in “Imposter Syndrome” in season 12,.  Kathleen Garrett as Miraslava Borisova, Dalia Rooni as Riffat Murad, Nikolay Moss as Kostas Orlov, Jonathan Kells Phillips as Rupert Richardson and Emily Morales-Cabrera as Assistant

Our heroes:   Deal with more Russian nonsense.

What important things did we learn about: Callen:  Giving a deposition. Sam:   Running a taskforce. Kensi:  Nancy Drew on the boat. Deeks:  Swedish nobility. Fatima:   Late. Rountree:   Bodyguard. Kilbride:  Appalled by Arkady’s safe house.

What not so important things did we learn about: Callen:  Now working on Sam’s taskforce. Sam:   Absent. Kensi:   Wields a mean serving tray. Deeks:   Wields a mean sword. Fatima:  Coffee fan. Rountree:   Lost the excuse book. Kilbride:  Found the excuse book.

Where in the world is Henrietta Lange?  Not a mention, though I bet she knew Mira Borisova.

Who's down with OTP:  Kensi dropped her “Mom Tone” when she had to separate Arkady and Mira Borisova.  Kensi and Deeks were fine.

Who's down with BrOTP:   Fatima and Rountree have plans for covering for each other.  Fatima made a friend waiting for coffee.

Fashion review:    Callen wears a dark blue, long-sleeve tee.  Kensi has on an oatmeal pullover sweater that probably looked better in person than on the TV.  Deeks started the episode in a pale pink tee before wearing his Swedish Nobleman blue suit.  A red quarter-zip for Fatima.  Rountree started the episode with a black tee and what looked like a blue lightweight rain jacket before wearing his all black bodyguard gear.  Tell me if you’ve heard this before – blue suit, pale blue dress shirt, medium blue tie for the Admiral.  He also wears a trench coat and looks fantastic. 

Music:   "Makaha” by the Tikiyaki Orchestra is playing in the bar when the Admiral arrives to rescue Arkady.  Deeks and Arkady walk into the auction house with “Rasputin” by Boney M. playing.  A bit of the “Titanic” soundtrack pops up at the end.

Any notable cut scene:  Not today.

Quote: Arkady:  “Grisha?”

Kilbride:  “Guess again.  What sort of a moron decides to make a safe house from...whatever this place is?”

Arkady:  “Am I alive?”

Kilbride:  “Judging by the looks of this table, barely.”

Arkady:  “Listen, a Russian would not look for another Russian in a bar that serves rum-based drinks.  It is a brilliant and delicious plan.”

An Arkady-Kilbride spinoff would have worked.

Anything else:  On a yacht, a Russian woman is showing off the 43rd of the Czar’s Fabergé Eggs to buyers.  There are only 42 known eggs, she has the 43rd which “no longer exists, yet, there it is.”  She is looking for $7 million for the egg.

She wants to share champagne with her buyers but when she calls for one of her yacht staffers to bring a bottle, there is no answer.  The buyer and his bodyguard pull out guns and shoot the woman and her security staff.  They race off with the egg. 

The woman, however, is not dead.  The large necklace she wore acted as a bulletproof vest.

Walking into the office, Kensi and Deeks are debating Rosa watching a dating reality show.  Kensi assures Deeks that Rosa knows the show isn’t real.  This is news to Deeks, who thinks the program is real.  The two debate the contestants, including a “meatball specialist”.  A very amped up Rountree joins them, asking about going into the burn room.  Since it is 9AM on a Monday, neither Kensi or Deeks have a reason to do any early week burning.  Rountree tries to exit but is forced to explain the notebook he shares with Fatima.  It is a track of their excuses for when they are late.  “It’s the only way we can keep our stories straight!” 

Kensi mentions texting each other but Rountree thinks Kilbride would find a digital trail.  Fatima is late and he’s not sure what the excuse of the day will be.  And he needs that right now since Kilbride is looking for Fatima.  Rountree starts with a car appointment but that would mean Fatima scheduled it during work hours, angering Kilbride.  He changes to medical appointment but that worries Kilbride.  Suddenly Fatima has a dog – for an undercover operative, Rountree is bad at this.  And the dog was hit by a car.  Kensi and Deeks offer thoughts and prayers.

Fatima, however, is getting coffee.  Fatima chats with a woman waiting for coffee.  Riffat works for an agency finding housing for refugees from Afghanistan.  After trouble with the barista, Fatima is on her way.

Kilbride walks into an empty Ops, except for Rountree.  Based on the case that just arrived, Rountree wanted to do the debrief alone.  Two Russians were found dead on a yacht in Marina del Ray.  Demetri Fedrov and Simeon Babanin, former Russian military and now with the Wagner Group, are persons of interest in moving cultural and historical pieces of art.  The boat, the Diamond of the Ocean, belongs to Arkady Kolcheck.  “Why am I not surprised?”

Kensi and Deeks enter Ops with news that Arkady was attacked.  They know nothing about what happened on the boat the way Rountree and the Admiral know nothing about the attack on Arkady.  There is a “Who’s on First” vibe going on.  Arkady was attacked at his house that morning but was able to move to a safe house.  He contacted Callen, who wants Kensi and Deeks to ping Arkady’s burner phone.  Callen is giving a deposition so he’s unavailable. 

Deeks thought Arkady was out of the spy business but Kensi thinks it could be his past causing Arkady trouble.  The Admiral isn’t so sure that Arkady is out of the spy business.  Rountree offers to call Callen but the Admiral is going to find Arkady himself.

In a Tiki bar, a rather overserved Arkady is looking for “Grisha” but gets Kilbride instead.  Kilbride is wondering what kind of “moron” makes a Tiki bar a safehouse.  Arkady is wondering if he is alive.  Explaining himself, Arkady tells Kilbride that a Russian would not look for a Russian in a place that serves rum-based drinks.  “It is a brilliant and delicious plan.” 

Ignoring what has led the two of them to “this idiotic moment”, Kilbride wants to know what happened.  Leaving his house that morning, two men with guns came up to Arkady’s car.  He high-tailed it out of there, running over one of the gunmen’s feet.  Kilbride asks if that’s what caused the shooting on Arkady’s boat.  Arkady is confused, he hasn’t owned a boat for 40-years.  “Must be another Arkady Kolcheck.”   Saying he is just a typical ex-KGB Agent who defected to America, “who could want me dead?”

On the maybe not Arkady’s yacht, the original thought is murder-suicide.  Looking at the lack of blood spatter behind one body and the way the blood pooled, Kensi thinks this is a set-up.  The investigation says there was no video but that doesn’t make sense.  A boat this big and fancy would have security cameras, according to Kensi/Nancy Drew.  Deeks tries a mirror but it is one way, not two.  Kensi found a camera in the smoke detector – “Nancy Drew you did it again.”

In the boat shed, Arkady is finishing a call with Anna as Callen pours some coffee.  Arkady isn’t a fan of the boat shed because it smells like a crab shack.  His safe house has blended drinks.  On the plasma screen, Rountree and an arriving Fatima have the footage from the camera Kensi found.  Most of the footage is useless, it was over there table where the Russian woman was showing the egg.  The woman, however, drags herself into the camera’s range.  Fatima has facial rec but Arkady already knows – “Mira.”  And he claims to know her biblically. 

Mira is Miraslava Borisova, a Moscow museum curator turned black market antiquities dealer.  With Borisova’s access, Arkady was able to put her in contact with people interested in buying what she could provide.  But that was 40-years ago.  Callen wants Arkady to set up a meeting.

Outside of a fancy hotel in Beverly Hills, Callen is surprised Borisova would hide in such a public place.  Being a well dress, wealthy woman, Arkady thinks she’d fit right in.  He’s a bit nervous about reuniting with Borisova.  Callen offers some advice and help but Arkady remind him that he was doing this before Callen was born.  The roach coach is now a plumbing company van with Kensi and Deeks inside with a lot of surveillance equipment.  Callen tells them that Arkady dated Borisova before he met Anna’s mother. 

Rapping on the door, Arkady finds it opened.  He calls for Borisova as he walks inside.  She has a rather heavy coffee table book and starts beating him with it.  Callen asks Kensi and Deeks what’s going on and they’re not sure.  Back in the room, Borisova is furious that Arkady finally calls and it the day she was almost killed.  To get her attention, Arkady pops her with a couch decorative pillow.  She returns the favor. 

Kensi yells that “they’re fighting” – Borisova thinks Arkady set her up in Malta and set her up today – while Deeks is enjoying the “geriatric WWE”.  Kensi wonders if they should go in.  Callen isn’t sure.  Deeks brings up the time Arkady made them de-booby-trap his car because Arkady couldn’t remember how he booby-trapped it.  Kensi brings up a failed mission in Chechnya.  Callen talks about Arkady cursing his engagement to Anna.  They’re going to let Arkady and Borisova work things out for a while.

After Borisova picks up the luggage rack, getting NCIS’s attention, Arkady threatens to remove the tag from a rare Beanie Baby.  When he does, Borisova really starts knocking him around.  Callen, Kensi and Deeks walk into the hotel room just as Arkady goes flying.

Near Ops, Fatima runs into the Admiral while she tried to evade him.  She apologizes for her tardiness.  Fatima tells him her dog is doing well.  The Admiral, a dog lover, wants her to bring in the dog as he recovers.  In fact, he insists. 

In Ops, Rountree apologizes for freaking out and going with the dog.  Fatima is more concerned about finding a dog.  On the big screen, Kensi and Deeks are in the boat shed.  Rountree identified the missing object from the yacht – it is one of eight missing decorative eggs, made for the Russian royal family.  While killing Borisova to steal the egg makes sense, why go after Arkady?  Fatima sends a picture of the egg to Callen, who is interrogating Mira.  Arkady is on the back deck in a time out.

Callen shows Borisova the egg.  She plays dumb but knows she’s been caught.  Callen asks why was the boat registered to Arkady.  Again, Borisova plays dumb until Callen says he’s going to turn the yacht over to the DOJ.  They have a special taskforce that confiscates Russian belongings.  After explaining it is her boat, Borisova tells Callen that she has put Arkady’s name on everything she’s bought – from condos in Cape Town to safe deposit boxes.  For all the world knows, they’ve been partners in crime for 40-years.  It is the perfect revenge – “petty but effective.” 

Bringing up the attack on Arkady, Callen believes someone going after Borisova tried to kill Arkady as part of her fake partnership.  Since the men who robbed her thinks she dead, she’s not interested in talking.  Callen is – the men are still after Arkady and it is Borisova’s fault.  

The men on the yacht were new clients and vetted by an auction house.  Callen is surprised – why would an auction house be involved.  Antiquities have to be stored carefully not in a storage locker rented by the month.  The only people who knew about the sale were the auction house, buyers and the seller, Alexey Pasternik.  Pasternik was motivated – he wanted the sale.  Moving the item quicky meant selling at a discount.  And that means he’s the problem.

Alexey Pasternik died three-days earlier.  He “threw himself” from a 12-floor condo by going through the window.  A suspicious death.  Fatima has a map of billionaires like Pasternik who left Russia days before the Ukraine invasion.  More than half are dead. 

Callen tells Borisova about Pasternik’s untimely fall.  She tries to joke about the Russian national bird being a flightless bird because of all the falling Russians.  Callen wants to know what Pasternik was trying to get away from.  Borisova explains that the billionaires had their loyalty bought by the Russian government.  Lots of money was given to these people and now with the sanctions causing financial pain in Russia, the government wants the money back. 

The government was hiding their wealth with the billionaires – they are blood banks.  Since the government was not happy with the way Borisova was selling off the assets, they went after her and her partner, Arkady.

Doing a ton of exposition, Deeks explains that the money given to the billionaires to invest and spend was reclaimable.  Once the billionaire dies, the money goes back to Russia.  All the murders of the billionaires all over the world was to get back the money.  “This is so much bigger than we thought.”

In his office, Kilbride tells Kensi and Deeks on his smaller plasma screen that the DOJ will not be cooperating with NCIS.  With tactical nukes on the table, NCIS has to be involved in a discreet investigation.  An investigation without Callen, since he is joining Sam’s joint task force.  It is Kensi, Deeks, Fatima and Rountree on this one.

Since they don’t know the gunmen or how to smoke them out, Deeks thinks they should approach the auction house since the auction house still thinks Borisova and Arkady are in business together.  Arkady could approach the auction house to get an item and the insider in the auction house could tip off the gunmen.

Borisova is willing to help but only if she’s running things.  The auction house will have rules for wealthy clients and a well-dressed Deeks – fancy suit, tie, and a medal of some sort around his neck – is just that client as Swedish nobility.  She reminds everyone that the auction house protects objects, not people.  The fire suppression system removes all the oxygen in a room to stop a fire.  If there is a person there, well, that’s a problem for the person.  For her cooperation, Borisova wants a second chance.

Dressing in the boat shed restroom, Borisova brings Arkady a special suit.  He apologizes for leaving her in Malta.  She sort of does the same with today’s assassination attempt.  “Let’s just call us even.” 

Walking into the auction house wearing a tan three-piece suit, a light blue dress shirt and a red paisley tie, Arkady introduces himself to the woman in the reception area.  He is followed by Deeks and Rountree, who is all in black, dressed as a bodyguard.  Asking for Rupert and giving his account number, provided by Borisova in the plumbing van with Castor, Arkady and Deeks welcomed in.  Rountree must wait in the reception area – company policy.

In a waiting area, Rupert is excited to greet Arkady after working with Borisova on his behalf for years.  Rupert starts speaking to Deeks in Swedish – that goes poorly.  Rupert is going to speak to Deeks while Arkady opens his locker.  Arkady is freaking out – he doesn’t have the key.  The earwigs are failing – the building is secure.  When Kensi asks about Borisova, Castor is shown out cold and Borisova is gone.

In the vault area, Arkady is met by an armed Borisova. 

With no response from Arkady or Castor, Kensi and Rountree are going to move into the auction house. 

Entering the locker behind Borisova is Arkasha, the man who shot her on the boat.  Arkasha thought he was going to have to kill Borisova twice that day but she cut a deal with Arkasha today.  She would kill Arkady, turn over her client list and she gets back the egg and her freedom.  Arkasha suggest she shoot Arkady in the head.  She doesn’t.  Instead, she knees Arkasha where it hurts, turns on the CO-2 suppression system and sets off all sorts of alarms.

Making his way through the building, Rountree gets to the vault but can’t open the door.  Rountree shoots open the vault door to find Arkady.

When the alarm goes off, so does Rupert.  He pulls a sword from the wall before Deeks can get his gun out. 

Rountree finds Arkasha and subdues him before they both suffocate.

Arkasaha’s men have Arkady and Borisova.  Kensi causes a distraction and takes one henchman out. 

Deeks finds his own wall sword and he and Rupert duel.  Deeks wins in a way too short scene.

Kensi is stuck between Arkasha’s two men.  Arkady tosses her a silver platter and a vase.  She takes them both out before Deeks arrives.  Promising to make a scene to distract Kensi and Deeks, Arkady wants Borisova to flee.  She’s not going anywhere.  Kensi puts her in cuffs.

Back in the office, Rountree asks Fatima for friends dinner - tacos or udon.  She has to pass -  she’s having a friends dinner with Riffat.  Rountree thinks that’s great.  He also found a shelter that lets people borrow pets – she could use that for the Admiral.  Fatima is just going to tell the truth.  That’s when the Admiral arrives with the excuses notebook.  He also noticed all the same frappuccino cups in Ops so Fatima needs to come on time.

On the back deck of the boat shed, Kensi asks Arkady if he is alright.  He has Anna, Grisha – his family.  He wouldn’t rewrite one minute of his life if it meant he wouldn’t have them.  Kensi asks about Borisova.  She will always be on his credit score with all the accounts she took out.  Besides, that means she is thinking of him.  He shows her the beanie baby.  Kensi tells him she knows it is worthless and so does he.  She says goodnight.

Arkady watches Kensi leave and pulls the beanie baby apart.  Inside is a very expensive necklace.  With the soundtrack from “Titanic” playing, he holds it over the water.  Then decides it was too expensive to drop into the water.  Instead, Arkady takes it with him as he leaves.  Anna calls.  Suddenly, he wants to talk about the open bar at the wedding.

What head canon can be formed from here:    There is a continuity issue because in “Answers”, Deeks joked about writing for a reality series.  Now he’s shocked to find out they are scripted.

My goodness this was a chatty episode.  TV should be show, don’t tell.  This was all tell, tell, tell.  And a generic tell, tell, tell.  This episode works completely in season three.  In season six.  In season nine – you get the point.  A mention of Callen’s wedding here and there but otherwise, Hetty could have picked Arkady at the bar, Sam or Callen could have been on bodyguard duty instead of Rountree. 

And I know the lack of Sam (all) and Callen (a lot) in this episode has to do with the upcoming crossover episodes but just have Sam up on the big screen in Ops telling Callen to drop everything, he’s needed. 

It wasn’t a bad episode – and anytime Arkady shows up, the fun level goes up, up, up – but it just wasn’t much of an episode.

Episode number:   This was episode nine of season 14 (though it was filmed after “A Long Time Coming”), episode 311 overall.

[terrence-silver]

How would Terry react to a Beloved that has the same love language as him? A Beloved that has the income to splash ridiculous amounts of money on gifts… A game of cat and mouse. Can they outdo one another? I think it would be very wholesome, Terry and Beloved happy and loving each other in their own way ❤️‍🔥

---

I think it is exceedingly rare for someone to be rich and generous enough to match Terry's propensity for richly generous behavior directed at select, important people, but when it does happen, I think he might be silently taken aback at first (hidden beneath layers and layers of nonchalance and charm), because it so seldom happens that anyone gives him anything, be they upper class, like himself, or not. People usually come to Terry Silver for favors, help, advice, loans, connections or because he invites them and has them coming to him for whatever he needs them for, having them gravitate him like so many satellites. They don't come to him bringing gifts just for its own sake, not unless they're out to suck up to the man who, materially speaking, already has pretty much everything by the tenfold, so his naturally calculative, business-oriented and even slightly dog-eat-dog outlook on life might have him questioning what his beloved's incentive and motive really is, giving him that Patek Phillipe watch or that 30. year old Macallan vintage bottle. The gift doesn't even need to be on the more pricy bracket. It can be anything, and that figurative exclamation mark still pops up in Terry's mind. Nothing is for free. An age old mantra he lives by. Surely, this all comes with some sort of price, no? Some sort of end goal? Agenda? Is he being buttered up and bought? Somehow manipulated? What's the angle here? Might be projection, because Terry himself is more likely than anyone else to try to coax people to his side with bribes, money, his fiscal weight and material possessions. So, there must be a price here, no? And no later than sooner will he find out what that price is. He is firm on that decision.

That is when his competitive nature kicks in.

It helps him cope and cover up how positively thrown he is at being presented with anything, and in not wanting it to show and expose what he perceives a weakness, uncertainty, doubt or to feel like he owes anyone anything that can be potentially be held over his head at a later date and used against him in the long run, he plays an elaborate game of upping the ante and making sure his tactical counter-gift (and his tactical counter-strike) is always more expensive than whatever beloved bought him previously. They got him a pair of diamond cufflinks, he'll get them even more expensive diamond embedded adornments that are double and even triple the cost, because why not? They rented out a VIP lounge to have dinner in and promptly the rest of the restaurant floor too, just for the two of them, Terry bought beloved a private island. He needs to win bigtime and be several steps ahead at least, no matter the cost, because his last line of defense hinges on winning. He needs to win exactly because he's been caught off guard by beloved lavishing him and sharing the same love language as him, and he cannot forgive himself for not counting on that and for never predicting that move, viewing everything through the dance of attack-defense and warfare lenses. Furthermore, Terry needs to win exactly because he enjoys them giving him things and he pathologically fears sinking into the sensation and compromising himself, losing control, and as such, he seeks to avoid that emotional trap by always seeking to outdo the bidder as much as he possibly can And he does. Each and every time.

It is safe to say the gift budget in this relationship alone could easily fund the economy of a smaller country. Or even a larger one.

Even safer to say that exclusive auction house bidding wars between Terry and beloved against each other serve as elaborate foreplay to be resumed elsewhere once the bid is done.

Just shades and shades of this manner of behavior:

[crayons-and-glitter-glue]

I have another AU idea...

I dont exactly know how it would be executed but like

Digital Circus!DCA AU. Combine the mystique of the Circus and the slight darkness of what lurks behind the curtain with...

THIS aesthetic and some cryptic, glitchy other worldly vibes with an old video game.

(PROBABLY will contain things like digital horror, digital body horror in particular, dark themes, themes of isolation, and lots of glitchy features, so please know that from here on out)

The website is supposed to be a place for kids online to learn stuff in a Cdi-Phillips/early 90's disk of edutainment games with a circus theme, but it was the first of its kind to implement multi-player play. For a while, it's revolutionary! Kids could communicate safely online for the first time without parents needing to monitor a chatroom to see if anyone skeevy was talking to their kid- all the kids could do ingame is use emoticons and motion to communicate. However...

It becomes discontinued because kids are falling ill at their desks and simply going into comas while the game continues to play itself. Even after a few of the children wake up... They're never the same. The game is taken off the shelves, but the data is never really... discarded.

The resurgence of the game comes back to life by one person who actually woke up from said coma, as a five year old. They claim that while they were out of it for a whole year, they had strange dreams about the game. Dreams that could have truly happened, that felt way more real.

A few brave souls find this game, including Y/N, and play around with it. Theu scour garage sales and auction houses and flea markets and old attics. And soon, the popularity of the game skyrockets. It can't be recreated because of such old tech, not entirely, but it's fun watching people play the original!

And then...

Audiences across the world watch these players disappear, falling into comas... with Y/N's livestream of the game constantly running as the players continue to play the game from the inside. They're trapped. No amount of stimulants or shaking or anything will wake those who have fallen ill, and people are warned that the game may have a photosensitive effect if viewed entirely raw.

But somehow a stream doesn't seem to affect people the same way. The world grows eager and nervous as they watch Y/N's livestream - their only connection into the strange world they're just now seeing into the bits of.

And the whole thing is orchestrated by three strange celestial looking beings, each with their own end to fill.

The yellow one with the sweet voice and the sad eyes, wanting players not to leave because he was programmed to be WITH people.

The blue one with the raspy snarl and the long hands, wanting players not to leave because they've broken the code, and must atone for their wrongdoings he swore he fixed so long ago.

And the orange one, the ringleader, puppetmaster of it all, wanting players not to leave because he's just about gone insane from the amount of bickering his two smaller counterparts have nearly every single day, and the silence.

The silence...

It is haunting.

These three were meant to teach and play and grow fond of the users- it was built into their very code. And all three of them are sick and tired of being alone with just the three of them. They don't actually hate each other, on the contrary. They love each other a whole lot.

But isolation does things to a person.

And as the pixelated tent flap is pulled back, for the world to see...

Their little performances are now broadcast to the world.

.... so anyways, yeah, Digital Circus Au-