#queue; return from intermission

[cosmicofdistortions]

@naive-petals asked: Violet is going for a kiss. What Miyu do?

"V-Violet people are staring-" The other would place a hand to the top of the girl's head and also turn her own, so the girl would only kiss her cheek. If it wasn't in public, maybe but...

"You have to be careful kissing people in public!"

[faveficarchive]

Summer's Circus: Part 1

By Barbara Davies

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle (uber)

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Summer Walsh owns a struggling circus with a dark history. When journalist Alison Carmichael walks through her Big Top, though, things might just start looking up for the distant Ringmaster.

It was late Wednesday evening when the last trailer finally limped on site. Summer watched anxiously as it eased its way between the other trailers, caravans, and vans to its designated spot, its tyres leaving huge ruts in the turf.

So much for 'Flaming June'. Rain had soaked the work crews as they pulled down the Big Top and loaded the unwieldy poles and sections of canvas onto the long trailer kept specially for the purpose; rain had streamed down her van's windscreen every second of the journey by tortuous, winding B road; and it was *still* raining, the hills surrounding Cheltenham almost invisible through the downpour.

She sighed. At least Cox's Meadow had turned out to be a proper field, she consoled herself, not one of those derelict building sites that were all most councils could seem to spare these days. She wondered who Cox was and what he would have made of the meadow that was rapidly turning into a swamp. For this they were paying £1,000 a week? Tomorrow they'd have to get the boards out - couldn't expect the public to wade through mud. She rubbed her forehead tiredly.

"Headache, boss?" Pyotr Dyakonov had come up behind her, unheard in the pelting rain.

"Yeah," Summer confessed. "Just the usual 'Will we be ready in time,' 'Will people like us enough to pay to see us' kind of headache."

"We always are; they always do," said the acrobat complacently.

Summer raised an eyebrow. "I thought Russians were s'posed to be pessimists."

He shrugged. "Things always seem to work out OK when you're around, Boss."

Summer snorted. "Yeah, right."

"It's true," protested Pyotr, stroking his moustache.

"Tell that to Uncle Tommy," she murmured, too low for Pyotr to hear. She turned away and began the tricky process of picking her way carefully between the ruts and puddles towards her caravan.

***

Alison replaced the telephone receiver and let a broad grin plaster itself over her face. "Tomorrow, I'm going to the circus!"

For a moment she allowed herself to feel the excitement she had felt as a little kid, even hopped up and down a bit, then she sobered. This wasn't for pleasure - well, maybe just a bit. This was her chance to prove she could hack it, to call herself 'freelance journalist' and mean more than the book reviews and column fillers that were the only things on her CV so far.

She paced up and down, hardly seeing the little sitting room, considering what to take with her. Her camera, of course. The article would be nothing without pictures, but she was good at photography - she could probably come up with something colourful and spectacular. Her tape recorder. Some spare batteries, a pen and notepad, just in case.

If all went well, she'd be interviewing each of the performers, maybe even the owner of the circus herself. Summer Walsh; what an unusual first name. Alison crossed to the table and rechecked her notes. Yes, it *was* Summer. And not many British circuses were owned by women, according to her research.

Would that make the interview harder, she wondered suddenly. Men were so easy - you just dressed femininely, batted your eyelashes, and simpered. Her Mother had taught her how to flirt with them from an early age, and then been devastated to learn it had been a waste of time. She sighed, remembering how difficult it had been coming out to her mother, how she had wished that her father had been alive to take her part as he always had.

She shook off the melancholy memory, and her doubts. "I can do this," she told herself. "I *will* do this." After all, all circus owners, regardless of their gender, would welcome a chance of free publicity, wouldn't they?

Alison remembered the circuses of her youth, full of horses, elephants, tigers, and lions. These days British circuses without animals were the norm - unrelenting pressure from animal rights protestors and the RSPCA had seen to that. She wondered if the show could possibly be as magical without animals.

Well, tomorrow night she'd see for herself, wouldn't she.

***

"Out of the question." Summer glared at the man who had barged into her office five minutes earlier, and who, rather disconcertingly, reminded her of an orangutan. (It must be the ginger hair and long arms, she decided.)

"I don't think you quite understand." His earlier affability had vanished.

"What's to understand?" she demanded. "I have all the permits and licenses I need. Why should I want to spend more than I have to?"

So far she had managed to keep a tight rein on her temper, but it was getting increasingly difficult. Especially since she was exhausted from helping the work crews to assemble the tiered seating inside the Big Top.

"For a quiet life," he said. "For oiling the wheels of progress -"

"For greasing your palms, you mean." If he thought the sunglasses and leather jacket made him look cool, thought Summer, he was wrong.

"Call it what you like, Ms Walsh. But I think you'd be very unwise not to -"

"I said 'no'. I meant it."

"I see. That's unfortunate."

Summer stood up, placed her hands firmly on the desk and leaned forward, fixing the man with a feral glare from which, to her satisfaction, he flinched. "You're just running a glorified little protection racket, aren't you? Well, no deal." She bared her teeth at him. "You haven't met Tonio and Marcello yet, have you? They're strongmen, they perform under the stage name Men-o-War. I'm sure, if you met them, you'd understand why."

Her visitor was already backing towards the door, looking anxiously through the glass as though expecting the two strongmen to be waiting outside for him. Which, if she'd known he was coming, they would have been, she thought sourly.

"This is probably the worst decision you've made, lady -"

"What happened to 'Ms Walsh?’"

"- in a long, long time."

As he disappeared, like a rat up a drainpipe, she wondered gloomily if he might not just be right.

***

Alison halted just inside the tasseled blue-and-white marquee that was the Big Top, and surveyed her surroundings. It would hold about four hundred people, she judged, but it was barely a quarter full. She checked her watch. There was still ten minutes before the performance was scheduled to begin, but she was doubtful the place would fill up.

She tried to get a sense of the kind of people that had come to the circus. Some were parties of adults only, chattering excitedly to one another; some were adults with children, the parents wearing longsuffering looks; and some, like herself, were alone, their wistful expressions indicating a desire to recapture the magical experience of their youth.

Alison suppressed a smile and searched for Block D. Ah, there it was - the far side of the tiered seating, near the ramp that led from the ring to backstage. She eased herself along the row of tip-up seats until she came to the one that matched the A9 on her ticket stub then sat down gratefully.

She made herself as comfortable as possible on the very basic seat then opened the brochure, emblazoned: 'SUMMER'S CIRCUS', that had cost her a pound. As she had feared, it consisted mainly of advertisements for ice-cream and hotdogs - but a loose sheet of A4 itemized tonight's running order.

She closed the brochure and leaned back, squinting first at the apex of the Big Top high above, then at the trapezes, wires and safety ropes a little below it, then at the ring itself - not covered with sawdust, these days, she noted - which was a lot smaller than her childhood memories had led her to expect. Not bad, she decided, feeling pleased with herself - she should be able to see the performers close to as they came up the ramp into the ring. She pulled her camera from her pocket and hung its strap round her neck ready.

A group of well dressed people - businessmen and women and civic dignitaries by the look of them, one overweight man even wore a chain of office round his neck - approached her block and began to take their seats in the front row. A rather striking dark-haired woman was directing them - her scarlet jacket had wide lapels and tails, and she was wearing a matching bow tie.

The woman smiled brilliantly and said, "I hope you enjoy the show." Alison eyed her with interest.

"I'm sure we will, Ms Walsh," said the man with the chain.

So that was the mysterious Summer Walsh? Well, well.

As the scarlet-clad woman strode away, Alison found that she was suddenly looking forward to interviewing the circus owner.

***

Summer made her way backstage. It was chaos; organized chaos - at least she fervently hoped so.

"Five minutes to the Overture," she yelled. "Everyone okay?"

"Okay, Boss," came the chorus of replies.

She stepped over the pile of baseball bats that looked like wood but weren't. They belonged to Egor and Maks who were due on first after the Overture. As she negotiated the clowns' other props: a foam rubber hatchet, a scrawny looking chicken, and a huge inflatable ball that after the Intermission would be bounced off the audience's heads to screams of fear and delight, her mind returned to the mayor's party.

"Pompous ass," she muttered. He had insisted on complimentary tickets for his wife and colleagues too. "Does he think we're made of money?"

Summer knew the figures all too well. Just to survive, the circus needed three thousand customers a week. Paying customers, like that little blonde who had been sitting just behind the mayor and his cronies. Her thoughts dwelt pleasantly on the woman's interested green eyes for a moment, then she remembered her intention to see how the Ticket Office was getting on.

She was heading for the office wagon at breakneck speed - she had barely ten minutes before she was needed in the ring - when she noticed that a weaselly little pickpocket was working the queue.

With a growl of anger, she somersaulted neatly over the goggling members of the public and launched herself at the man whose hand was about to delve into an unsuspecting customer's coat pocket.

He took one startled look at her and tried to bolt - but by then she had him by the back of his coat collar.

"'Ere, what d'ya think you're - Ulp!" His protest became a strangled squawk as an arm strengthened by years of trapeze work held him effortlessly six inches above the ground.

"Going somewhere?"

He struggled briefly then stopped and concentrated on simply breathing.

"You have a choice, sunshine," growled Summer. "You can spend this evening down the nearest police station...or..." She lifted him higher and watched him think through the implications.

The thief smiled rather glassily at her. "No harm done, lady," he babbled. "I was just looking after a few things for their owners. Know what I mean?"

She lowered her arm, and saw relief wash over his face as his feet touched the ground again. Then she released her grip on his coat collar and held out her hand meaningfully. "Give."

Reluctantly he reached into deep raincoat pockets and began to pile purses and wallets and wristwatches into Summer's hands. From the Big Top came faint music, the first bars of the Overture, reminding her that time was passing.

"Need a hand, Boss?" Tonio and Marcello had joined the little crowd of bystanders watching the proceedings as though it were part of the evening's entertainment.

She nodded, relieved to see them. "I'm due in the ring. Make sure these -" she pushed the pile of purses and wallets into Tonio's huge fists "- are returned to their rightful owners. Most'll have some kind of ID or photo in them, I expect. The rest - well, you may have to ask members of the audience to check if anything's missing."

She rubbed a hand tiredly across her forehead, annoyed at the extra work the thief had caused. If she reported him to the police, even more time would be lost. No police, then. Unless...Suddenly, she remembered the orangutan who had tried to sell her protection.

"You," she turned back to the thief. "Who are you working for?"

"No-one. I'm strictly freelance."

Summer put on her best scowl and took a threatening step towards him.

"Honest." He raised a shaking hand in defence.

She nodded. "Okay. One other thing."

The still unnerved thief looked expectantly at her.

"If I catch you in my circus ever again, I'll let these two - " she indicated the strong men examining the stolen booty "- tear you to pieces. And have no doubts, they can do it, too." She glared at him. "Do I make myself clear?"

The thief winced. "As crystal."

"Now, get out of my circus."

The thief needed no further urging.

***

The Overture ended with a flourish (*Also Sprach Zarathustra*, if she wasn't mistaken) and Alison clapped appreciatively. It amused her that such a tiny orchestra - two men, a drumkit, and what looked like a steam powered synthesizer - was capable of generating music with such power and volume. Circus people, she was rapidly learning, were nothing if not resourceful.

The ringmaster had just stridden into the ring - she recognized the dark-haired woman in the scarlet jacket immediately - when Alison became aware that a big man in black sweatshirt and jeans was easing his way along the row of seats towards her. She frowned.

"Excuse me, Miss," he said politely, as he got nearer, easing her fears, "but is this yours?" He was holding out a wallet similar to the one she owned and pointing to a strip of passport photographs.

Abruptly, she recognized the unflattering snaps she had had taken at the Post Office photo kiosk last week. She gasped and felt for the pocket where she usually kept her wallet. It was empty.

"That's mine. But how did you? I mean - "

The man smiled and handed her the wallet. "Pickpocket was working the Ticket Office queue," he said simply. "The Boss caught him. Persuaded him to return the stolen goods."

There was a subtle emphasis on the 'persuaded' that piqued Alison's interest, as did his accent, which was, she realized, foreign. She checked the contents of the wallet, and was relieved to find that nothing was missing. "'The Boss?’ You mean, Ms Walsh?"

"Yes. Everything there? Sorry to rush you, but I've got several more owners to locate."

"Oh, sorry. Yes, everything's here, but -"

But the man was already turning to go. "Enjoy the show, Miss," he called back to her.

Still feeling rather stunned by this turn of events, Alison turned her attention back to the ring. The attractive ringmaster had disappeared and two short men with unwieldy moustaches and red noses, dressed in appalling yellow-and-black checked suits and bow ties, were starting to hit each other with baseball bats.

***

The trouble with seeing the show from the inside, thought Summer, was that, unlike the appreciative audience - who were clapping wildly at every little thing - you were all too aware when things didn't go right.

For example, the music had started off slightly too fast, but Ruud and Jan had quickly corrected that. Then Egor had tripped over one of Maks' big feet but had deftly turned it into an extra piece of ' business'. And Grigori had almost dropped one of his flaming torches, but an extra flourish distracted the audience from his mistake.

The ringmaster sighed. No matter how often and thoroughly they rehearsed, it was always the same. First-performance-in-a-new-town nerves. But as the evening progressed, she could feel the nerves calming, the professionalism of the performers taking over.

But it was time to announce the next act. She strode out into the ring, fixed a smile on her face, and clicked on the microphone.

"And now, for your enjoyment, Summer's Circus presents, all the way from Greece: the *stupendous* Miss Clio."

She gestured extravagantly towards the maroon velvet curtain that hid backstage, and, right on cue, a petite figure in a pale pink leotard appeared and bounded up the ramp to join her.

"Break a leg, Clio," she murmured. Her reward was a dazzling smile.

Summer withdrew, and watched Clio go into her act.

First came the smile and wave to the audience, then the Greek woman reached for her little ladder and began to climb, adjusting her balance constantly so that the unsupported ladder would remain vertical. When she was settled, Andor, her young male assistant, appeared, carrying a pile of cups and saucers, and proceeded to throw them to her one by one. Almost nonchalantly, Clio would catch each cup or saucer and then throw it up so that it landed on the top of her head. Gradually a stack of alternating cups and saucers grew.

Summer had had no doubts at all, when she'd first seen Clio's act, that she was a must for the circus. On paper, catching cups and saucers while balancing on a ladder was a nonstarter, but in real life there was something about the precision and skill displayed by the young Greek woman that made the audience hold its breath.

As Clio caught yet another saucer, and was greeted with wild applause, Summer's thoughts turned inwards.

It looked like her gamble that the affluent Cheltonians would flock to the circus hadn't paid off - the Ticket Office receipts had confirmed what her squinted glances into the spotlights told her: the Big Top was only half full tonight. What with the appalling weather, the orangutan demanding protection money, the pickpocket ripping off customers, and the question of what would happen when Uncle Tommy discovered his least favourite niece was back on his patch. She sighed.

A teaspoon landed with a loud clink in the topmost saucer, and the audience went mad. Clio's act was winding down. Almost time to announce the aerialists, thought Summer, rising to her feet.

The Finale had met with sustained and enthusiastic applause, and the two man band was playing music calculated to get the audience heading for the exits, when Summer went round backstage congratulating the acts and patting people on the shoulders. There had been no major mishaps, and everyone was feeling relieved.

She was looking forward to a shower, a hot meal, and an early night, and was half way to her caravan, when she remembered she had rashly agreed to see a journalist - Alison Carsomething - about a possible article on the Circus.

She groaned, and trudged over the waterlogged ground towards the trailer that housed both the Administration and Ticket offices.

A blonde woman was waiting for her outside the Admin office. She looked vaguely familiar, thought Summer, traipsing up the short flight of steps.

"Ms Car-" She trailed off.

"Alison Carmichael," said the woman helpfully. "And you must be Summer Walsh." She held out a hand.

Summer grunted, gave the hand a perfunctory shake, then began to unlock the door. "Come in."

She switched on the light, and crossed the office to the battered old desk. The journalist followed her inside, glancing at the dingy interior assessingly. Hmmm, thought Summer, having noticed the camera around her visitor's neck, I don't imagine you want to take a photo of *this* for your article, Ms Carmichael.

She dragged a plastic chair from its place by the wall and indicated it before moving round behind the desk. The journalist sat down. Summer did likewise.

"I really enjoyed the show tonight, Ms Walsh."

"Thanks."

After a moment's silence, the blonde woman realized Summer wasn't going to say any more and picked up the conversation. "Um, we spoke on the phone, about the possibility of my doing interviews with you and with your performers."

Summer nodded.

"So, I was wondering..." The journalist bit her lip.

Summer glanced at the message pad where she had written details of their telephone conversation and frowned. What had she been thinking? "I don't seem to have made a note of which paper you write for, Ms Carmichael," she said apologetically.

"Oh, well - " A slight flush covered the blonde woman's cheeks. "I'm a freelance, but several publications have expressed an interest in the article -"

Summer realized abruptly that there was no point in continuing this conversation. "Then I'm afraid it would be better if we didn't waste each other's time, Ms Carmichael," she interrupted.

The look on the other woman's face made Summer aware that her bluntness had been misinterpreted as offensiveness.

"By the time you've written it and placed it, probably with a local paper," she explained, "the circus will have moved on. Such publicity will be of no benefit to us." She groaned inwardly, realizing that she had only made things worse.

A red spot now burned in each of the blond woman's cheeks. "But, you said on the phone..." Green eyes flashed with indignation.

Green eyes, thought Summer suddenly. Of course. The row of seats behind the mayor's party. Another headache was lurking behind her eyes. The sooner this was over, the better.

"I've changed my mind," she said, sounding more curt than she'd intended. "If you'll excuse me?" She stood up to indicate the interview was over.

Lips pressed in a grim line, the young woman snatched up her gloves and stalked off.

I could have handled that so much better, thought Summer regretfully as she watched the young woman stomp down the steps outside. She sighed, then switched off the light and locked the office door behind her.

As she walked down the steps herself, she glanced absently at the distant figure walking disconsolately towards the carpark. The rest of the paying audience had gone home, and a single pale green Fiesta remained. One of the carpark floodlights was out. Summer made a mental note to get it replaced, then noticed movement in the shadows. She stopped, her senses on alert. A mugger, or worse. And Alison Carmichael, her mind on other things, was heading straight for him.

The rush of adrenalin banished her tiredness and incipient headache instantly, and she broke into a run. "Look out," she called, even as she realized that running wasn't going to get her there in time and launched herself into a series of somersaults and flips.

The journalist had halted near her car and was looking back at her, mouth open in amazement. Summer growled as the figure in the shadows chose that moment to attack, and forced herself to move faster, feeling her muscles burn with the effort. The attacker - a man, by his build - had got an arm round the journalist's throat and was tugging her back into the shadows when Summer flipped over his head.

As she landed behind him, he glanced round, and the momentary distraction enabled the blond woman to break his grip round her throat. One punch with all Summer's weight behind it was enough to send him flying, and two kicks, one to the stomach, one to his unshaven jaw, rendered him out for the count.

Summer stooped over the man and checked his pulse. He was still breathing - she wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. She straightened, and rubbed her bruised knuckles ruefully, then became aware that the journalist was standing beside her.

"He attacked me!" mumbled the blond, her voice shaky, her breathing uneven. "Oh my God, if you hadn't -" She began to cry.

For moment, Summer stood frozen, then she pulled the sobbing journalist into an awkward hug. There was a moment's startled resistance, then Alison sagged into her embrace.

"It's okay," said Summer. "I've got you." She rubbed a hand soothingly over the other woman's back, encouraging her to cry herself out, her own mind churning. My fault. All my fault. If I hadn't been here...For Summer had no doubt at all that the attacker was working for the man who had tried to sell her protection that morning.

As the sobs dwindled to sniffs, and the tension in the muscles beneath her hands eased, her thoughts turned to the state of her ringmaster uniform. It hadn't been designed for people to cry on.

"Do you still want to do that article on the circus, Ms Carmichael?" Summer was as surprised by her own words as the journalist appeared to be.

"But you said -" The journalist took a step back, and Summer released her.

Colour had returned to the pale cheeks, and bewilderment, coupled with hope, had replaced the fear in the green eyes.

Summer smiled, partly in relief, and shrugged. "I've changed my mind."

The journalist considered for a moment. "What if you change your mind again?" she asked at last.

A fair question, Summer admitted, since from the journalist's point of view, she'd changed her mind twice already. "I won't," she said firmly. "If you want the interviews you asked for, you can have them."

A moment longer, then a smile split the blond woman's features and she nodded eagerly. "Please."

"Tomorrow, then, 10am," said Summer. "I'll give you a guided tour."

"Great."

They stared at one another for a long moment, then Summer sighed and glanced down at the still unconscious attacker.

"In the meantime," she said, "I suppose I'd better see about calling the police."

***

"It was great, Mother. There were clowns, and acrobats, and trapeze artists, and a woman who balanced at the top of a ladder while catching cups and saucers on her head...Yes, that's what I said. Um, it looked like real china from where I was sitting."

Alison could tell her mother wasn't impressed by her enthusiastic description of the circus. Opera was more the older woman's 'thing' - so much more 'adult'. No doubt her mother's opinion of the circus would sink even lower, if that were possible, if she told her about the pickpocket and the attack in the carpark...

She sighed and changed the subject to her coming interviews, then wished she hadn't.

"You're not still intending to be a journalist, are you, dear?" Her mother's tone was disapproving. "My goodness! I thought that was just a fad."

A fad! thought Alison. In fact, the dream of being a reporter had been with her since she was a child, but it was only recently she had decided to do anything about it. Coming out - to herself and to other people - she realized suddenly, had been the catalyst. It had strengthened her determination to live her own life not let others live it for her.

"No, Mother," she said evenly, "it's not a fad."

"It's not as if you need the money, dear."

Alison sighed. It was true that the Life Assurance from her father's death had left them both more than comfortably well off. But she wanted the satisfaction of paying her own way for a change.

"Mother, we've been through this."

"Well, if you *must* occupy yourself, dear, why don't you do some voluntary work? It's so much more...respectable."

"Mother." Alison had reached the end of her patience, and some sign of it must have travelled down the phone line because her Mother went quiet.

"Well, dear. Perhaps you know best." The tone made it clear her mother thought exactly the opposite. "It's past my bedtime, yours too if you're sensible. So I'll say goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mother." Alison replaced the phone receiver and sighed.

The flat that was her pride and joy, her first taste of independence - she was twenty-seven, for heaven's sake; other people left home at eighteen - suddenly seemed drab and pokey. Perhaps it was the contrast with the Big Top and its colourful performers, not least among them the tall ringmaster.

Once more Alison heard the distant shout and turned to watch the ringmaster somersaulting towards her across the carpark. Once more she felt disbelief and bewilderment that the woman who had just dashed her hopes so rudely should be following her in such a spectacular way. Then came a jolt of terror as someone wrapped his arm around her throat. Followed by sheer relief, as Summer tackled the attacker and then held Alison close.

Alison swallowed over a suddenly dry throat, then laughed wryly at herself. What a strange evening it had been! And now here she was feeling gratitude, hero worship, and, if she were being honest, straightforward attraction for a woman who until this evening had been a complete stranger.

Even more ironic, being rescued by a circus owner would have made a *great* story, but Summer was concerned that a mugging might keep paying customers away. Since the policeman who took their statements didn't envisage any further involvement for either Summer or Alison (Alison, though severely shaken, hadn't actually been hurt, and the still groggy attacker had quickly realized it was in his own best interests to confess) Alison had agreed to keep the incident quiet.

Which was probably just as well, she thought sleepily, as the seesaw of raw emotions finally caught up with her. Because then, her mother wouldn't learn of the incident and come rushing over ready to sweep her daughter up and take her back to the claustrophobic home from which she had only just escaped.

Alison had feared the mugging would prey on her mind, but as she got herself ready for bed, she found to her relief and slight embarrassment that her head was full of the music of Strauss and images of clowns and acrobats and a tall, striking ringmaster with blue, blue eyes.

***

"It's going to be muddy, I'm afraid." Summer ushered the young journalist out of the admin office and down the metal steps.

"That's all right." Alison smiled back at her. "What's a little mud between friends?"

Summer raised an eyebrow but said nothing. They walked across the boggy field towards the Big Top.

"We call this the Back Yard." Summer ducked under the cordon that marked the area as off limits to the public, and began threading her way carefully between stakes and guy wires, generators and storage bins.

Alison hurried to keep up. "So," she said, holding out a small tape-recorder. "What made you decide to own your own circus, Ms Walsh?"

"If we're friends, you'd better call me Summer." The tape recorder, she noted absently, was voice-activated.

"Then you'd better call me Alison, or Ali."

Summer caught the faint hesitation. "Which would you prefer?"

"Alison, if you don't mind."

"Alison it is."

Summer held back the tent flap and waited for Alison to duck under it. "We call this the Back Door - it's the performers' entrance." She followed the journalist, her pupils adjusting quickly to the dim lighting of the backstage area.

"Hi, Boss." Egor came somersaulting over and stopped in front of them. "Who's the beautiful towny?"

The little clown's interested gaze was resting on Alison, who blushed. It suited her, thought Summer, suppressing a grin.

"That's what circus people call outsiders," she explained. Then to Egor, "This is Alison Carmichael. She's a local journalist, so be nice - we don't want any bad publicity."

"I thought any publicity was good publicity, Boss." Egor winked at her.

"Yeah, well you thought wrong."

Alison shot her a glance. "You don't have to worry," she said reassuringly. "I really loved the show last night."

"You did?" Summer felt her slight tension ease.

She guided Alison towards the maroon curtain separating backstage from the auditorium, then paused. "I should warn you before we get near the ring," she said, "don't, whatever you do, sit on the edge of it facing out."

Alison stared at her. "Why not?"

Summer shrugged. "It's bad luck."

The journalist leaned forward eagerly. "Oh! So you have your own set of superstitions, like theatre people do?"

"I suppose so. Peacock feathers are bad luck too. And whistling in the dressing room."

Alison's eyes danced and her tone was mock serious. "Okay. No whistling or peacock feathers, and no sitting on the ring's edge facing out. Got it."

Summer started to say something in defence of circus traditions then decided against it. She pulled back the curtain and they walked through.

The Dyakonovs were rehearsing their trapeze act high above the ring, and she stopped to allow Alison to watch. After a long moment, Alison tore her gaze away from the graceful flips and twirls, and Summer gestured towards a row of ringside seats. They covered the distance quickly and sat down.

"I noticed last night that most of the acts in your programme are foreign," said Alison. "Is that coincidence or policy? Or is it simply that Brits don't make good circus performers?"

"Hey! Are you saying I'm no good?" Summer smiled to remove the sting from her words. It was a good question, and she considered her answer. No need to mention that Uncle Tommy had made sure no British performer would work for her anyway, she decided.

"It's a question of cost, actually." Alison glanced at the sound level meter and moved the tape recorder closer to Summer's mouth then her gaze drifted upwards again. Summer smiled. She too felt the magnetic pull of the trapeze.

"When the USSR collapsed," she continued, "so did its circus funding. At their height, they had seventy permanent circuses, you know. That's about fifteen thousand performers."

Alison's startled gaze met hers. "Fifteen thousand?"

Summer nodded. "Which means that now the Russians are desperate for work and -" she spread her hands expressively "- very cheap."

"So *that's* why most of your acts are Russian?"

"Mmmm." Now it was Summer's turn to gaze up at the Dyakonov Troupe. Cheslav, she noted absently, was clasping Irisa's ankles in his brawny fists. "Though actually, the circus band is Dutch." Alison chuckled at the mention of the two musicians, and Summer glanced curiously at her. When no explanation was forthcoming, she let it go and continued. "The strong men are Portuguese. And Miss Clio, of course, is Greek. I take it you'd like to meet the company?"

"Please."

The journalist's obvious enthusiasm pleased Summer. Maybe it was because Alison was a freelance, she thought, and hadn't yet reached the embittered 'just going through the motions' stage.

A faint stomach rumble reached her ears, and she noticed Alison was blushing again.

"Haven't you had any breakfast?"

"Um, yes," admitted Alison. "But it was a couple of hours ago. I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee and a biscuit, if you have them."

Summer rose to her feet. "I'm sure we can rustle up something." She was amused by the look of gratitude that flashed across the blond woman's face.

"Follow me."

***

The trailer that Summer called the 'cook wagon' was hot and fuggy and smelled absolutely wonderful. Coffee and doughnuts, thought Alison, identifying the aromas. Her stomach grumbled more loudly and her mouth began to water.

"It's help yourself in here," instructed the tall woman, busying herself with heating water for two cups of instant coffee. "Just take what you fancy."

"Okay."

While Summer carried their coffees to an empty table, Alison inspected the cardboard box of goodies and chose a large sticky, sugarcoated doughnut. Then she joined Summer and sat down opposite her. She placed the tape recorder on the table between them, and gazed at their spartan surroundings.

"So, this is where you all eat?"

Summer took a sip of coffee than nodded. "We can connect the wagon up to the mains water and power supplies. Not all sites provide access though, so then we have to make do with Calor gas and bottled water."

"I expect you've got moving between sites down to a fine art?" While she waited for an answer, Alison picked up her doughnut and took a bite. Brilliant red jam squirted down her chin and across the table. Fortunately, it didn't reach the ringmaster.

"Oh!" Alison's cheeks felt hot with embarrassment, but Summer just chuckled and reached for a paper napkin.

"I'm always doing that," she said consolingly. "Here."

"Thanks." Alison took the napkin and wiped her chin with it. "Um." Her mind had gone blank and the confusion must have shown on her face.

Summer took pity on her. "To answer your question, yes, after you've been on the road for a while - and this circus has been touring for years now - you get to know the drill." She took another gulp of coffee. "Circus people are pretty tough. Everyone helps with the build-up and pull-down."

"But the circus can't always run smoothly," prompted Alison.

"No. We've had our share of accidents, and some of our vehicles are aging - they're always breaking down. Fortunately, Grigori is a top notch mechanic as well as a juggler. What else?" Summer looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, two years ago, a generator caught fire - we were lucky it didn't burn down the Big Top. And last year we had a blowdown - that's when a storm blows the Big Top down."

Alison would have whistled but remembered their earlier talk of superstition and thought better of it. "That must have set you back a bit."

"Yes. Luckily we got it back up double quick - only missed one matinee. We can't afford to miss many performances."

Alison finished off her doughnut and wiped her hands on the napkin. "You're that close to the line?"

For a moment she thought the other woman wasn't going to answer, then Summer tapped the tape recorder pointedly and said, "Off the record?"

"Oh, okay." Alison pressed the pause button.

"Things are pretty tight at the moment. If they don't get better soon ?" The ringmaster's gaze was suddenly bleak.

"Can't you put up ticket prices?"

"We're already as high as we can go without putting audiences off." Summer shrugged. "Trouble is, we've got so much to compete with these days - TV, video, cinema - football. People just aren't as keen as they used to be on circuses. Especially circuses without animals." She grimaced. "It's a no win situation. If we use animals - we get attacked by the animal rights protestors; if we don't use them - the audiences stay away."

Alison frowned. "That's not fair."

"No, it isn't." Summer sighed.

The journalist suddenly remembered the tape recorder and pointed at it. Summer nodded, and she resumed recording.

"So why do you do it?" asked Alison.

"Do what?"

"Own your own circus. Keep on touring."

"It's in the blood," said Summer simply. "And," she gave Alison a wry smile, "I don't know how to do anything else."

As if regretting her sudden candour, the ringmaster looked away. "Have you had enough?" She indicated the empty plate.

"Oh, yes. That was great, thanks."

"Good. Because we've got quite a few introductions to get through, not to mention photographs."

Alison stood up at once. "Point me at 'em," she said brightly, pleased when the remark earned her a laugh from Summer.

The dark woman led the way out of the cook wagon.

***

Summer managed to prise Ruud and Jan Dekker away from their instruments and get them to talk to Alison. At first wary, the brothers soon opened up under the journalist's genial questioning, revealing a sheepish passion for Country and Western music that was news to Summer. Tonio and Marcello were glad to take a break from rehearsing, and were soon posing and flexing their rippling muscles while a suitably awed Alison took photographs. And Egor and Maks abandoned their discussion - heated, as always - of ways to improve their act and were only too happy to educate Alison in the intricacies and history of clown makeup.

Summer found watching Alison work relaxing, and she was letting the good natured banter flow over her, when Pyotr came running up, breathless.

"It's Cheslav," he said, without preamble. "He's sprained his wrist."

"Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Alison had come over to see what the aerialist's gloomy expression and Summer's unguarded exclamation were about.

"One of the catchers has sprained his wrist," explained Summer.

"Catchers?"

"A trapeze artist who catches," she said absently. Pyotr was looking expectantly at her. "The routine's the same?"

He nodded. "We added a few frills, but the basic moves are unchanged."

"Okay. Give me five minutes."

Summer regarded a bewildered Alison. "You'll have to look after yourself for the next hour, I'm afraid. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Uh, no. But...um, Summer, what are you going to be doing?"

"Taking Cheslav's place."

Alison's eyes widened. "Up on the trapeze? But I thought you were the ringmaster."

"I have many skills," said Summer nonchalantly.

[ronyxfic]

Educating the Victim - Act VI, Intermission IV

Pairing: Rose Quartz/Pink Diamond

Rating: Mature

Warnings/Tags: emotional abuse, fatphobia

INTERMISSION: The Happiest Place On Earth

 “Okay.” Rose set down her bag after coming back from the toilet on the train. “Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

She could guess, really; they were on the Eurostar, and there were only a few destinations that made sense at this point.

“Are you taking me to Paris, Roxy? This is a weird time for a big romantic gesture, but I still appreciate it.”

 Roxy gave her a cheeky grin, the kind that used to dazzle Rose just a few months back. "Listen, I know it's been a few rough weeks for you recently, and that I haven't been the best girlfriend to you. So I'm doing something nice for once, alright? It's going to be a chill weekend, you're going to feel revived and then maaaybe get back to work?"

 Rose smiled and sat down next to her, leaning into Roxy. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris, secretly,” she said, “and you’re the first one to take me. It’s sweet.”

  Roxy nuzzled her back. "Yeah, well, don't get too used to it. I have a reputation to uphold. But... I think this will be nice. The accommodation is super and we'll be able to do everything there."

 “So... what’s on the schedule? Sightseeing? Wine tasting? Did you scout out some nice restaurants? It’ll be nice to have some good food for once.” Rose gave Roxy a peck on the cheek. “It’ll also be good to spend some time with you. You’ve not been around as much as I would’ve liked the past few weeks.”

 Roxy tensed up a little, frowning. "Ah, well... it's not quite... that. But no, I've not given you as much attention as I'd like to. I've been busy with... my flatmate and you've just been so reluctant to want anyone for company. But we've got each other now!"

 Rose gave a hesitant smile. “Yeah, it sounds nice. It feels like it’s been ages since we actually spent time together.” She leaned in to Roxy, closing her eyes.

 Roxy watched her, and then ran a hand through her pink locks. They were longer, softer than her own. “Well, everyone’s going to know we’re together, too. Can’t believe I convinced you to match with me. I don’t think I’ve ever managed to get another gir... someone else to do that.”

 Rose gave a chuckle. “I like it,” she said, “and I’ve wanted to dye my hair for ages. You still think it suits me, right?”

 “Um, well, pink doesn’t work on everyone.” Roxy clicked her tongue, and then gave a sly smile. “But it certainly does on you. If you want, we could even make the carpet match the drapes.”

 Rose blushed deeply. “I’m not so sure about that, Rox. But, uh. I’m open to it if it would make you happy, I guess.”

 “Hmm?” Roxy’s touches became more firm, her fingers untangling curls before tugging her, just sharply enough to draw a shocked breath from Rose. “And here I was utterly convinced you liked a little pain down there. But, no, I do suppose you’re quite sensitive to bleach. Oh well. There’s been a new trend of chicks dying their armpits online. Mostly tumblr folk, though, you know I don’t mix with them.”

 “I’ve never been on tumblr so I wouldn’t know.” Rose shrugged. “So when do we get to Paris?”

 "In a couple of hours." Roxy seemed a little tense for a second. "And you're really not missing out. Just crazy teenager bitches thinking they can outdo the feminism we've been building for decades, and somehow only to include men. They're all insane."

 “Yeah, sounds like it’s better not to get mixed up with that,” Rose agreed. “The entire thing is too political for me. I have bigger worries, you know.”

 "You do! Like picking out which Rosé will go with the dinner we're having tonight." Roxy pecked her cheek before pulling out a chunky portable DVD player. "And look at what the cat dragged in, too. I brought some films, just for the trip."

 Rose rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I mean, that, and my dad dying of cancer,” she said, “but films are important too. What should we watch?”

 "Oh, shit. Sorry." Roxy said, but was preoccupied by looking through her bag. "Hmmm. Inception. Stuart Little... how did that get there? Avatar... That film was so unmemorable for something so big."

 “It was pretty impressive in the cinemas,” Rose said, “well, at least visually. We can start there and see how far we get?”

 "Alright, I can strap myself in for this snoozefest." Roxy seemed visibly disappointed, but didn't say any more.

 Rose read her body language perfectly. She shrunk in on herself. Why even bring it if it’s obviously the wrong choice?

She busied herself with putting on the movie and let out a soft sigh.

  Roxy read into the sigh and put her arm back and Rose, less intimate. "Is there a problem?"

 Rose cast her a glance. “No, it’s fine. Let’s just watch the movie.”

 Roxy gently tossed her arms up into a shrug. "Whatever, babe." And pressed play.

 Most of the train ride passed with them watching the movie in an awkward silence. Rose barely even dared to look at Roxy.

Well fuck me if this is the way this weekend is gonna go.

 Their silence was broken about twenty minutes before the journey ended, as Roxy got herself up. "Gonna take a leak and get some grub. Want anything?"

 “Some tea would be nice, I guess,” Rose said. “Aren’t we eating when we get there?”

 "I suppose, but that's not likely to happen for a couple of hours. We need to catch another couple of trains when we get to Paris, unless you want to eat at the station." There was a sort of scoff in her voice.

Always eating, this one.

 “Oh. Are... we not staying in the city?” Rose didn’t miss Roxy’s tone.

 "Not exactly. It's kind of a surprise."

 Rose raised an eyebrow. “Taking me to Paris isn’t enough of a surprise?”

 "It is in Paris." It was Roxy's turn to look a little sheepish. "Just trust me, yeah? It's going to be nice."

 Rose softened a little. “Okay. I trust you. Do I need to wear a blindfold or something?”

 "That won't be necessary. I'm sure you'll be able to tell soon enough, anyway."

 “Alright then. You just lead the way when we get there. And... I wouldn’t mind getting something to eat.”

 "Of course you wouldn't. Want something sweet? Crisps?"

 “Actually, I was more thinking like a sandwich.” Rose blushed a little. “But... maybe I just won’t have anything. We can eat when we get there.”

 "Probably a good idea anyway!" Roxy was already making her way down the train cart before turning on her heel. "Were you the one who likes milk and no sugar, or black and sugar?"

 “...both milk and sugar. If that’s okay.” Rose looked down, feeling guilty. “Maybe just milk this time.”

 "I mean, dairy is just more calories." Roxy looked her up and down. "Just sayin'.”

 Rose frowned. “Well, I don’t like my tea black. Oh, you know what, never mind. We still have water. I’ll be fine.”

 "Awh," Roxy pouted before turning again. "Well, if you're sure."

 Rose didn’t answer. She rummaged in her bag until she found the water bottle; by the time she’d pulled it out, Roxy was gone.

 Roxy returned just as the train conductor announced that they were nearly in Paris. She carried an armful of snacks, including a cheese crossiant in her mouth. She placed the array on the table. "The queue was a mile long and I ended up going a bit overboard."

 “Well, we’re nearly there. Do you want me to take some of these in my bag?” Rose offered, reaching out for the snacks.

 "Alright, just make sure I see some of them." Roxy teased as she sat down. "Oh! Look, you can already see the city from here." She went through her bag and pulled out some sheets of paper. "Next train is in ten. We'll need to run to wherever this platform is."

 “Oh boy. Okay.” Rose gathered her stuff. “Let’s try not to lose each other. I’m sure this station will be packed.”

 "Okay." Roxy outstretched her hand as the train pulled to stop, the other passengers began to gather themselves up. "Follow me, yeah?"

 Rose held on to Roxy’s hand as they made their way through the busy station. The train Roxy led them to was about to leave, so Rose didn’t have time to check where it was going. They jumped on, and the doors closed behind them.

The announcement was in French, and there was only one word that Rose understood.

Disneyland. Oh god please don’t tell me... it might just be a coincidence. Surely she wouldn’t.

  Meanwhile, Roxy began to grow more and more excited. "I've always wanted to go, but never had the time, you know." She pulled out a disposable camera, "I know it's a bit old school and that we can't take naughty pics, but I also brought this. First trip selfie?"

 Rose let Roxy drag her into the selfie and put on a smile. Please tell me you haven’t.

 They drew closer, the sound of children clamouring was getting louder. A group of what appeared to be excited school children had settled in the seats around them. "Ugh. Forgot there would be kids around." Roxy muttered.

 Rose watched in growing horror.

Finally, she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “We’re not going to Disneyland, are we?”

 "Winner winner, chicken dinner! Surprise!" Roxy clapped her hand as the train stopped. "We're here!"

 Rose froze for a solid few seconds.

This is a dream. This can’t be real. This is wrong.

But she didn’t wake up, and nothing changed. She clenched her teeth.

“Wow,” she said. “Uh. I... I don’t know what to say.”

 "Isn't it great?" Roxy roughly grabbed onto Rose's arm, practically trembling with excitement. "Apparently they serve a lot of booze here, too, so it should be really swell!" The train stopped, the noise outside could be heard through the open train window. "You can start thanking me now."

 Rose looked away. “Thanks,” she muttered. As the noise grew, Rose grew close to tears.

This is going to be horrible.

 Roxy clocked in to her tone. She paused for a few moments, frowning. "Hey, what's the matter? You okay?"

 Rose sighed, the tension going out of her shoulders for a moment. “I... just didn’t expect to have to deal with... crowds and loud noises and children.”

 "Awh, shoot! I mean, honey, you're planning to work at a school. You might as well get used to it."

 Rose shot her an impenetrable look.

“It’s kind of different when I’m supposed to be on holiday,” she said. “Whatever. Let’s go. What’s the plan?”

 Roxy turned still. People started to get out of the train carriage, leaving them alone. She then curled her lip. "You can go home right now if you don't want to spend time with me. I thought we were trying to work on trusting each other."

 Rose’s chest tightened. “Which is why I asked you what the plan was. Look, this isn’t... about me not wanting to spend time with you.”

 Roxy's expression shifted into a dark glare. She took out her wallet and pulled a few notes. "Well, go have yourself a time somewhere else, sweetie. I'm gonna hit up fucking Disneyland because I paid for a cool holiday for both of us and frankly, I can do it alone."

 “Roxy, no!” Rose immediately shrunk back to Roxy’s side, her expression meek. “I’m sorry, okay? I... I’m excited about this. I am. Don’t abandon me here, please.”

 Roxy gave her a little more of her glare and then forced a smile, as if nothing had happened. "Alright, sweetie. I'm glad we could figure this out. I love you so much." She grabbed at Rose's hand. "Let's go!"

 Rose let herself be dragged along by Roxy through the crowd of excited children, feeling nothing but dread.

This is like the exact opposite of what I needed.

 Roxy seemed to be absolutely unaware, chatting eagerly as they approached the entrance. "The food here is super special. It's a bit tacky but I'm sure they've got lots of protein options in case you want to stay away from carbs."

 Rose looked around, uneasy. “Are we staying at a hotel here?”

 "Yep! Disney's Hotel New York. It's a bit further away than the Disney hotel itself, but only about a ten minute walk." She gave a cheeky grin. "Empire state club room."

 “That sounds... great,” Rose said. She felt like she needed a drink. “Are we going there first, then?”

 "Yeah, just need to check in and dump all of our shit." Roxy nodded, walking past some children and shooting them a dangerous glare.

 “Okay. Let’s do that, then.” At least a hotel room promised some respite from the children, and maybe Rose would be able to convince Roxy not to go out today in favour of a nap and some cuddles.

 "I can't wait to check out the park. I've always wanted to laugh at how bad the character suits are, apparently the actors need to stay in character too." Roxy chuckled, pulling her blackberry phone out as it buzzed and biting her lip in a sultry way as she glanced at the message.

 Rose ignored Roxy’s phone. Roxy had a busy social life, was constantly getting messages. “That sounds fun,” she said absent-mindedly. “Can we rest for a bit when we get to the hotel?”

 Roxy was quiet as she texted back, tongue sticking out in concentration, seemingly not even listening to Rose. She then glanced up. "What was that?"

 Rose already regretted asking. “Nothing, never mind. You know where we’re going, right?”

 "Uh, yeah. What do you take me for?" Roxy looked back at her phone. "Unless you wanna get food first?"

 “Food might be nice.” Rose started to relax a tiny little bit.

 "Alright, I'm also sure there's stuff closer to the hotel?" Roxy looked at her phone again. "Hold on, I'll see if I can find the map screenshot I downloaded."

She scrolled through her gallery, past a few of her own nudes. "Oh shit, better turn that brightness down."

 Rose got an eyeful of those pictures and immediately blushed. “Hey, I haven’t seen those. They look nice. Were you saving them for me?”

 "Uh, yeah." Roxy's eyes darted left to right. "I guess I ruined the surprise there. Oh! Found it! We're just a couple of minutes away. Can you manage until then?"

 “Of course, I’m not that desperate for food.” Rose gave Roxy a small smile. Things were okay... weren’t they?

 "Oh good. Then we'll slip bags away and go get food?" Roxy finally put her phone away.

 “Sounds good.” Rose hesitantly reached out for Roxy’s hand.

 After checking in, the two made their way into the hotel suite. All aspects seemed incredibly family oriented in the decor, ranging from garish colours to more adorned spaces. Roxy opened the doors and ran for the bed, "Haha! Check this place out!"

 Rose came in after her, the colours and decor already feeling overwhelming. She set down her bag and looked around. "Yes, it looks really cute," she said. For a five year old.

  "Isn't it just?" Roxy looked starry eyed. "Oh, it's everything I hoped for us! Ooo, look at that view, you can actually see a lot of the park!"

 Rose joined her by the window. "Wow, yeah, you can," she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Down there she could see rollercoasters, shops, more bright colours... people. Children. Everywhere.

"Fantastic," she said, trying not to let sarcasm bleed into her voice.

 Roxy clocked the tone. "Is something the matter? Are you alright? Hungry?"

 "... yeah. Tired from travelling, I guess. Some food might be nice." Rose sat down on the bed, which at least felt comfortable and soft. She wanted to sink down into it and sleep until it was time to go home.

 "Alright. There's some places around, I can go and scout out some things while you nap, if you want?" Roxy said, starting to take out her luggage. "I've got some friends who live in Paris to meet up with at some point just in case you're not feeling up to going outside."

 "Oh, actually, I would love to see Paris, if you're going into the city... but a nap might be nice as well." Please, I want to see Paris... get me out of Disneyland, please.

 "Ah, well, I'll have to arrange it first and we want to stay mostly at the park, anyway?" Roxy tilted her head up from the closet where she was stacking her clothes. Something in her tone spoke that she didn't want Rose to be involved with going into the capital.

 Rose caught on, her heart twisting. "Please can I come? I've always wanted to see the city. It's so romantic as well, we could get dinner at a nice place there? And if you've got friends here I'd love to meet them. Please can we go together?"

 Roxy suddenly looked suspiciously uncomfortable. She didn't look Rose in the eyes, despite the forced pleasantness of her tone. "I'll see what I can do. How about you catch that nap while I see about food? I'll find a place that does something nice and low carb for you, yeah?"

 "Yeah, sure." Rose's shoulders slumped, and she began taking off her jacket. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

 "Not too long, feel free to rest as long as you need to. If you want, you can even sleep and lemme know when you wake up so we can meet up at the park?" Roxy got her makeup bag and pulled out a few bits.

 "Maybe... but maybe food first." Rose, personally, wanted to avoid going into the park for as long as possible. "We could, uh, chill for today and go in... maybe tomorrow?" she suggested timidly.

 "Oh man, but I paid a lot for all the days." Roxy pouted behind her mascara wand. "How about... I get us some food and you can sleep after while I hit the park? Or you could just sleep and avoid the calories. Might help!" Her tone was barely just joking.

 "Maybe. I don't know." Rose was exhausted. "I'll take a nap and see how I feel."

 "Alright, well! I'll be a phone call away. Kisses!" Roxy's lips were glossy and glittery, leaving a sticky mark on Rose's cheek.

 Rose waited until the door had closed behind Roxy, then gave in to the urge to wipe the lipgloss from her cheek. She sighed and slowly unpacked her bag, changed into her pyjamas, but not without looking at her belly, feeling disgusted. Roxy was right. Maybe she should just skip lunch. And maybe dinner too.

She'd slimmed down a little in the past few months, but not enough. Never enough.

She sighed once again, wrapped herself in blankets and tried to fall asleep.

 --

 It was their last day at the park. Roxy had been sifting through her desired rides, seemingly blind to Rose's increasing contempt and frustration. She fidgeted at her set of bedazzled Mickey Mouse ears as she spied a map. "Just a couple left! How about ‘Small World’? Cl- My old ex and I always chatted about going there to make out, it's a staple of the Disneyland experience."

 Rose avoided Roxy's eyes. "Sure. Last one?" The thought of having to once again live up to Roxy's ex made her feel sick.

 "Yeah, I'm getting pretty tired of all this." Roxy began walking towards the direction of the queue. The timer display noted that the wait would be approximately fifty minutes. "Oh, hey, not too bad!" Roxy exclaimed, pointing at it.

 "Oh. Fantastic." It had gotten increasingly difficult to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Rose looked around and was put off by how many small children there were. "Are you sure about this?"

 "Uh, yeah?" Roxy narrowed her eyes. Her tone passive aggressive. "Is there a problem?" Her voice was dangerously loud.

 "No, no. Of course not." Rose shrugged it off, as usual. "Let's do it."

 Roxy smiled, but something in her eyes still seemed to be burning. "Excellent! Can't wait, I've heard this one is incredibly catchy."

 "Cool." Rose forced a smile. "Can I get one of those slushies before we join the queue?"

 "Uh... I think we've had enough of that today." Roxy gave Rose's belly a little pat, her tone condescending. Members of the queue turned to look. "We could fill up on food after?"

 "Okay." Rose turned away from Roxy a bit. "Let's go then."

The queue was long, full of children, and looked like it moved very slowly. Rose couldn't think of what to say to fill up the time they had, so she stood in silence.

 Roxy took her phone out to text, and did so for about the wait time. As they approached the entrance, she turned to Rose. "You okay?"

 Rose didn't look. "Yeah, I'm okay." She couldn't help sounding bitter. "Having the best time of my life, in fact."

 Roxy frowned. "I don't appreciate your tone. What is wrong?"

 Rose looked at her, a comical grin on her face. "Nothing is wrong! Everything is great! I just said I'm having the best time!" Her voice rose a bit.

 "Jesus! What is the matter with you?"Roxy hissed, looking around. "Chill! What's the problem, I know you're messing with me."

 "What's the-" Rose snorted, laughed bitterly. "What isn't the problem!! I haven't been enjoying any of this! Not that you would care!"

 "Um? I paid for your fat ass to have a vacation in the happiest place on Earth? Why are you not enjoying yourself?"

 "The happiest place on earth, my ass. Maybe if you're five." Rose was seething. She stopped, though, as it was their turn to go on the ride.

They entered the boat and were engulfed by a tunnel. The boat they were in moved slowly, and in the tunnel, small figurines in picturesque settings started singing and dancing in slow, robotic motions.

"Seriously?! We waited in line for an hour, for this?" Rose hissed.

 A loud 'shhh' emanated from the boat behind them. Roxy swallowed, her cheeks red even in the dim lights. "Stop it! You're being embarrassing! And fucking ungrateful, you brat!"

 "Ungrateful? I never asked for this!" Rose did not pipe down. Actually, she got louder with every word. "Maybe I'd be more grateful if you'd actually asked! Or considered my feelings or wishes, ever! But no! We get fucking Disneyland, with an obligation to go on the side. I hate noise! I hate kids! I hate rollercoasters! I hate all of this!"

 "You haven't said a peep about that until now!" Roxy somehow grew louder than Rose, nearly standing up. "You're so fucking blind if you can't see how ungrateful you're being, and it's appalling! And now you're causing drama and ruining this bloody trip! Do you know how long I've looked forward to this? Over twenty fucking years! Twenty years, I've wanted to go to Disneyland, with my dad, with Claire, and I chose to do it with you because you're the most important person to me!"

 “Am I really? Because wow, that’s big news to me! I’ve really just gotten the impression that the only person you really care about is yourself! I wanted none of this! I didn’t want to go to fucking Disneyland, I didn’t want to go on this ride, and I sure as hell didn’t want to live off food from Disneyland when we’re in Paris. I thought I made myself clear that I wanted to go into the city! But no, you snuck off while I was asleep and didn’t even bring me anything! I don’t want to be here, Roxy!”

 “You never said anything about being unhappy, though! Do you expect me to read your fucking mind?” Roxy hissed, but a deep blush seemed to have formed over her cheeks as her visit to the city was mentioned. She suddenly turned as she heard a child crying from the boat behind her, and realised that all other attendants had been staring at the confrontation, wide eyed. “Listen, you fat twat. Do you want to break up right now? Because I’m happy to leave this ride single if you’re going to be this ungrateful and shitty to me. But good luck finding someone, anyone else that’ll drag you to Paris, all expenses paid.”

 Rose drew back, tears gathering in her eyes. Her lips trembled, and she continued, whispering. “I just... I was hoping for something quiet. And nice. And to spend time with you, and maybe talk about stuff, you know I’m going through a lot right now, with my dad and everything. I just wanted to rest a bit. And that’s not really possible here. Is it?”

 “I mean, I figured it would be a good distraction. We’ve even got the hotel room for privacy, but you’ve been bloody mum about all your feelings since we got here, frankly.” Roxy rolled her eyes. “You’re acting like I don’t care about any of your family shit, and I really, really do. I’m here for you and I love you and I’m, like, listening? Who else has been here for you, huh? Your mom? Friends? Absolutely fucking no one.”

 “Well, you kind of... get upset with me if I mention it or if I talk to anyone else about it. I don’t have anyone else to talk to and if I try to talk to you, you just tell me to stop being such a baby!” Rose found herself crying, unable to control her volume anymore. “And you never listen to me when I tell you what I want! You had a million chances to give me what I want this trip! And you squandered each and every one of them because you wanted to go to Disneyland! And because apparently listening to me is too much of a fucking chore!”

 Roxy shot her a hard glare and sat down, face displaying deep upset. "Have fun finding your way back to England."

 The ride had ended. The child behind them was still crying. Other people were giving them looks ranging from pity to outrage.

Rose just wanted to cease existing in that moment. She didn’t even bother answering Roxy, just turned around and ran for it, making her way back to the hotel room while crying.

If this is what she wants, she can have it. I don’t care. I’m going home.

When she reached the hotel room, she tried to pack, but found herself unable to in the midst of her emotional turmoil, blinded by her tears.

 Roxy was staying behind, still within the park. She glanced into her wallet, considering where Rose had gone off to. The direction of the hotel.

No bother. Rose could do what she wanted, and it was likely going to be self harming in some way. All according to plan. Roxy would just have to avoid the fallout and swoop in at a convenient moment to save her. A few hours would do. Maybe a day of ghosting... Hm...

Roxy smirked for a brief second, already wondering how she'd post up this event as an entry on her account.

Her eyes briefly widened. The account was still open on a tab on her laptop.

"Fuck."

 In the meantime, Rose ended up blindly throwing stuff into her suitcase. Once she was a little distracted by packing, she found that her tears had died down. She could think a little more clearly again.

“Right.” She stood in the chaotic hotel room, looking like a mess, talking to herself. “I need to figure out what train I can take.”

Her eyes fell onto Roxy’s laptop. It looked like it was still on. Rose approached it – knowing that Roxy would flip out if she knew Rose had even thought about touching it.

But then, she didn’t really care about what Roxy thought right now. She opened it up. The internet browser was opened on a LiveJournal.

I shouldn’t.

She skimmed a few sentences, then looked away. She couldn’t help looking at Roxy’s username, though.

Might have a look at that later. I wonder why she’s never told me about this.

She chased the thoughts away and opened a new tab to have a look at trains.

 Roxy was sprinting towards the hotel, earning strange looks as she practically flew past families of park goers. She pressed past the hotel doors, heart beating loudly in her chest.

If Rose had a look through her LiveJournal, it would all be over.

 Rose had been looking for trains on a French website. Her French was only barely good enough to figure out what she was doing, and she had finally found a suitable train when Roxy burst through the door.

Rose immediately jumped away from the laptop.

 Roxy was staring at her, wide eyed. After a pregnant pause, she cleared her throat and straightened her posture, but her voice was still uncharacteristically shaky. "What are you doing?"

 Rose shrunk into herself. "I was just looking up trains to go home," she said.

 "That's all?" Roxy's gaze was unblinking.

 "Y...yeah... I was so upset. I... I want to go home, Roxy."

 Roxy looked at the laptop and let out a deep breath. She approached Rose. "You sure? We can still figure things out. I'll take you to Paris, yeah?"

 "Please don't feel like you have to." Rose looked down. "I don't know, it wouldn't mean as much if you're only doing it because I got mad at you."

 "Nah." Roxy smoothly stepped closer. "It's the least I could do after you had such a shit time. We could hit a restaurant or something on our way back?"

 "Oh... please." Rose found herself caving, her anger dissipating. "That... would be nice."

 "Yeah?" Roxy offered a small smile, rubbing gently on her arm with the light tips of her fingers. "I'm sorry about that fight, I'm such an idiot. I really should just die sometimes."

 "No... no, you don't deserve that." Rose sighed. "I... started packing," she said. "I mean, we're going home tomorrow anyway. We could have a nice evening out in Paris."

 "You've got that website up, pass me the laptop and I'll get us some tickets." Roxy's touches reached Rose's neck. "I'm starting to see your collarbones. Good work."

 "Huh, despite all the Disneyland food?" Rose gave a weak chuckle as she leaned into Roxy's touches. "Well, it wasn't particularly good, so maybe that's why. I haven't eaten that much."

 "Sounds like you're on a good track. You look sexy."

 "Oh, do I, now?" Rose smiled at Roxy and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss onto the corner of Roxy's mouth. "I suppose we could stay here for a little while longer before we go out."

 Roxy returned the smirk as she closed the laptop. "I suppose we could."

[spacerockwriting]

I’m feeling much better now, so I’m going to talk about the time I saw Cursed Child. It started over a year ago. When the raffles were being released I entered every single one and when I failed at winning, I, like everyone else went to enter the queue on the main day.

The tickets went on sale while I was at work, and I put everything on hold, stressing myself out for the tickets. I get really anxious when I buy tickets for concerts because most of the time I’m fighting for really good concert seats, and with this, it was no exception. However, as I entered the buying portion, I didn’t know what to do. My first plan was to try and see the show in April, as my best friend and I were already planning a trip to see George Salazar and Joe Iconis’ Two Player Game while we were there. I was very impatient with my desire to see Cursed Child. In fact, I was so impatient to see Cursed Child I was willing to throw sums of money at a person who is no longer in my life, just so they could report to me the story. Desperate, amirite?

After much conversing with my best friend, the decision became clear that we couldn’t go see the show in April. We had a lot going on already for that trip, so the decision became that we would just have to go again! When I got in line to buy tickets, september became the time period I was most easily able to get. At first, the decision was like many, to do both parts in one day. However, my best friend is not a Harry Potter fan like I am. They’re familiar with it, they know the franchise, but the thought of having to spend six hours in a theater is not something they’d personally be interested in. Fair enough, so I got the two day tickets, which I’m glad I did!

So in a hurry, I buy two tickets to the September showing of CC. The queue went so quick, and the ticket buying process is a blur. I had no more than ten minutes to make a decision and I called him shortly after buying them and was like “guess we have to go back to New York in September” which he was obviously fine with.

When I bought the tickets it was too quick to really know where I was sitting and what I had bought. When we got there in April, we went past the building and saw a few of our favourite Marquees for shows, but at the time I wasn’t able to go in the HP shop. We saw George Salazar and met him and Joe Iconis at their concert, went to Irving Plaza for a last minute 5SOS show for their upcoming album, and had a blast.

Weeks before our September trip, my best friend asks if his little brother can come to the trip. I say sure, as long as he can finance his own way. A few days later I am asked if it is okay if he goes to the HP show instead. His little brother is a really big HP fan, so I get it. I have no problem with this. We make plans for the trip and I arrive in NYC late on Wednesday before the show.

The Thursday of the show was exciting! I had started to plan out a head of time all the things I wanted at the shop.We decide that my best friend should go see a show while we’re at our show, so he buys last minute tickets for Book of Mormon, and then later that afternoon we eat lunch at Ellens Stardust Diner. The food is really good, and if you’re into Broadway and musicals, I’d suggest it.

After, we go pick up Will Call tickets and he heads back to the hotel while we get to the venue. I am overly excited. I’m in my Hufflepuff backpack and Hufflepuff shirt (my Cedric one I got at Universal) and we wait and wait. We got there like an hour early, and I highly recommend that. We were close in line, but like fifteen minutes later the line was wrapped around in like a U shape. Going in, one of the people at the door told me that “Lounge is downstairs and to the right.” My friend’s brother looks at me and is like “Comet, what did you do?”

I had just pressed buttons on the ticket site until I received tickets. I didn’t know what I did, or pressed. I just blindly bought tickets. So we went to get merch and big reminder IF YOU ARE IN LOUNGE DO NOT BUY THE SOUVENIR PROGRAM which I didn’t know so I had to return my copy of the program, lol. While in the lounge they have a name list by the entrance and you give them your last name and then we got one free beverage (alcoholic or non) and snacks, and at intermission we had desserts and one free beverage (alcoholic or non). It was a blast. Everyone we sat near was excited and hyped up and people beside us were sharing alcohol with us, and tasting and it was like a party. Everyone was excited.

At the end, the waiters in the lounge told us to come back tomorrow and have a wonderful day. The service was excellent, and they were so nice and respectful about everything. They were happy to take pictures, whatever.

At the end of Part 1, the show just stops. There is no curtain call, there is no cast coming out. Just a screen with To Be Continued... Note: the cast does not meet after part 1. If you want part 2 merch, you can only buy it behind the counter after part 1, or during part 2. You cannot buy it in the regular shop. (it is available online, however.)

On part 2 day, I wore my Malfoy quidditch shirt from Universal and kept my Hufflepuff backpack. A LOT of staff were confused why a hufflepuff was wearing Slytherin and I’m a dork about Scorpius so, theres that. Because we were in The Lounge, as we came to call it, my best friend’s little brother and I got in the “special entrance” on the side of the shop. We supposedly counted as VIP and could enter early.  As soon as we got in line, my best friend bid us farewell and went to see his night of Book of Mormon, and then we entered the venue and Voldemort Day started. All the staff hammed up the event and it just became even more of a party. In between snacking I got more stuff because I’m a nerd and tbh Scorpus’ wand is just as cute as Albus’ and I decided I needed a Voldy shirt too. (I also got two more plush fuzzy owls. One for my bestie, and one for his little brother.) During Intermission we got our free souvenir programs, the plastic cups, and I actually had more alcohol which is rare since I don’t really drink hardly ever because of my extreme reflux.

As soon as curtain call ended I told my friend’s brother we needed to high tail it to stage door because we were going to meet the cast. He had no objections, so we got in line and that queue was amazing. It was just a straight line and not a cluster and it was so calm. Some mum’s near us would pull out their programs and yell down the line who was coming which is very helpful because so many characters are in the show. When we were there, almost all the cast came out except for Jamie, the woman playing Hermione, I don’t think Rose came out, and sadly, Sam was not out. I did get to meet Antho, which I was really excited about.  Lol, I went to show him my shirt and he was like do you want me to sign it?? and I misheard and was like “Oh, no! I was showing you!” and oops. But no hard feelings. The gentleman playing Dumbledore was VERY talkative and had conversations with pretty much every person in line. My best friend’s brother is actually a HUGE Marauder’s fan, so he was upset after we realized Myrtle was ALSO Lily and declined the pictures, lol.

When the cast was done, my best friend showed up and we all went back to the hotel and saw the goodies he got from BOM (my favourite musical btw)

We found out a few days later that Jo was at the Sunday performance of the Cursed Child, and Monday the cast of Fantastic Beasts were on GMA which we were SO upset we missed. I would’ve high keyed out in the middle of Times Square at 3AM for a glimpse of Ezra Miller, lol.

Some tips if you’re seeing Cursed Child:

Arrive Early! This gives you PLENTY of time to look around the theater and buy merch & food. Trust me, the theater is WORTH exploring.

There is NO HP food there. I saw A LOT of people ask where the gummy slugs/chocolate frogs/butterbeer was. They can’t sell those there, as Universal owns the rights to those items. That being said, Cursed Child, Fantastic Beasts, and HP are 3 separate franchises, so you won’t find them intermixing.

You CAN bring food into the theater!! Drinks too!

If you have Lounge Access, you have your own bathroom. Trust me, that will save you a TON of time.

Part 2 Merch is only available during Part 2 or after Part 1.It is kept behind the counter so you can’t get it during normal shop hours.

There is no curtain call after part 1. House lights come up and thats the end. No cast come out after part 1 either.

Seeing it in 2 days isn’t as bad as one would think. I think I liked it better than I would have seeing it all in one day.

The playbills have recaps of important HP events crucial to the plot. This is helpful for anyone who hasn’t read the books in a long time, or isn’t super familiar with the story. (i.e not me or my best friend’s brother).

I think this is long enough, but if anyone has any questions about seeing the show in NYC I’ll be happy to help!

[tiikerikani]

Singing Dragon

21.08.2022 Utran Uittoareena, Joensuu

Superfan couple started the queue and I followed. I also did my special dance to the one song and I have no idea what they were probably thinking about me. Last time we were here (October) we’d done the same (minus the dance), although we didn’t know who each other were yet. When we were let in we went to exactly the same seats as we had last time, either side of the centre aisle. Funnily we also both remarked on this at the same time…

This show was also sold out, as it was last year, but it’s actually more people this time because there aren’t pandemic restrictions anymore. (Compared to the other concert Friday night, where I think the place was only about half full if even. But maybe people weren't sitting because they wanted to drink.)

I wore the other cape, so this specific callout has also happened before.

During the intermission, somebody recognized me from having been next to me at Kerubi earlier this year.

(Forget the tambourine; what would I bid for Jepa’s shaker? It would at least fit in my shrine.)

(Is this Team Short/Pulled-back Hair vs Team Long Hair?)

As was suggested last week I did send them a message the other day about whether I could get the missing autographs, and they didn’t reply to me, but I brought the banner anyway. I kind of felt the presence of 2 pairs of Very Serious security staff eyes on me (either side of the stage), so I was a bit more restrained in my singalong emoting, and didn’t dare bring the banner out until they were taking their bows. Jepa understood/remembered what I wanted and took it from me before leaving the stage (I also gave her the same slightly-broken pen as used before, so all the signatures would match), and it was returned to me some minutes later. [1]

Anyway, people mobbed Senpai for selfies, and I, being polite as usual, waited until everybody else had had their turn before I spoke to him. I didn’t have a note for him, but I brought a package of tea (appropriately named Laulava lohikäärme because I’m like that). I would have brought chocolates so he could share with everybody, but I wanted to bring something that fit into my cargo kilt pockets, so as to avoid triggering a bag check.

But what I really wanted to know from him was when they were having a break next spring, so I can arrange a trip to see my folks without worrying about missing an opportunity to see Senpai. He said it would be 2 weeks in May after the album release tour, but he couldn’t tell me exactly which weeks (”I don’t have my phone with me”). Thus the chances are pretty good that they won’t be performing on my birthday next year either, so I guess I have to make another music video…? [2][3]

Superfan couple was indeed not at CoolHead last week. The last show they were at was 2 weeks before that one. (It was one I kind of wanted to go to but couldn’t get a ride.)

It’s the same 18 songs again but with just 1 out of order to put an intermission at a suitable place in the programme.

1. Ei voittajaa 2. Rodeo 3. Korkeapaine 4. Turunlinnan muurilla 5. Nuoriherra 6. Nena laulaa ilmapalloistaan 7. Älä lopu yö 8. Kolme hyvää vinkkiä 9. Kuka nyt tahtoisi [intermission] 10. Kukaan ei koskaan 11. Tummilla teillä 12. Intiaanit 13. Faarao 14. Pitää sanoo ei 15. Ei se rakkaudesta mitään tiedä 16. Onnellinen mies 17. Arlandan portailla 18. // Turisti

__________

[1] Those following my Instagram/Twitter and wondering where the duplicate signature is: It's still there; it hasn't been Photoshopped or painted out. It's covered with tissue paper and the (completely removable) covering is not terribly visible from a distance (such as when it's on my wall). It was just really really gonna bug me if I left it there.

[2] In any case, my birthday falls on a Sunday next year anyway, and Sunday gigs are not common although this summer has been kind of an exception. (Name another band that’s played literally 40 gigs inside Finland this summer, June to August, ok. Just how do they do it???)

[3] More practically, though, tour dates tend to be announced at least 2 months in advance anyway, so I’m sure I can make my schedule work around it.

[eyesonworldcultures]

Madrid's Teatro Real reopens with socially distanced opera

Verdi’s La Traviata reimagined with cast and orchestra wearing face masks

The opening scenes of merriment have taken on a sombre tone, with the chorus clad in black and white and spaced exactly 2 metres apart. Minutes into the staging of La Traviata, the surgical masks come off, timed with the rising notes of an orchestra led by a conductor standing behind a plastic screen.

Spain’s Teatro Real will reopen its doors to the public on Wednesday, becoming one of the world’s first opera houses to return to the stage with a production that includes a chorus, orchestra and soloists after months of lockdown. On offer is Verdi’s La Traviata, tweaked to reflect life in the time of Covid-19.

“There are people who prefer to sit with their arms crossed and wait until we return to normal,” said Joan Matabosch, the artistic director of the Teatro Real. “And then there are theatres that prefer to try and conquer the normality that we find ourselves in.”

It is an ambitious undertaking. In mid-March, Spain was plunged into lockdown as officials scrambled to control one of the world’s fastest-spreading outbreaks. The tens of thousands of excess deaths recorded since then hint at one of Europe’s highest per capita death tolls.

The Teatro Real saw an opportunity, however, as the situation stabilised. It had originally scheduled a run of La Traviata for May and July and, given the relatively small orchestra needed for the performance, it saw it might be possible to salvage some of the season and still abide by physical distancing.

The result is a production in which every aspect – both on and off stage – is coloured by the pandemic. “This isn’t an opera staged in normal conditions,” said Matabosch. “This is an effort by the Teatro Real to actively push for a progressive return to normality.” The decision was also made out of respect for the artists, many of whom “have gone five months without earning one euro”, he added.

The Teatro Real orchestra in face masks, with the conductor separated by screens.

Every move onstage has been carefully calculated to keep soloists two metres apart. Members of the 56-piece orchestra wear masks when possible and sit 1.5 metres from each other, with plastic panels in front of the woodwind section. Artists have been asked to arrive much earlier than normal for the 27 performances, their entrances staggered to avoid any crowding and to allow them to have their temperature taken.

More than €340,000 (£310,000) has been spent gearing up for a half-capacity audience of up to 869 people, who will each also have their temperature taken before being allowed in and be required to wear a mask at all times. No-touch features have been installed in the washrooms and the intermission extended to 40 minutes to avoid crowds or long queues.

With scenes of ballroom dances, social gatherings and passionate embraces punctuating the original production, the task of redesigning the stage concept fell to the director Leo Castaldi.

The tale of La Traviata, woven through with one character’s battle with tuberculosis, seemed like the perfect opera in which to explore this disconnect. “It’s not that La Traviata is the story of an epidemic, but it’s clear that one cannot watch this opera without thinking of what we’re living through,” Castaldi said.

The chorus of La Traviata in face masks.

The production is peppered with nods to the current situation, such as the grid of red lines that divide the stage into 2-metre boxes, hinting at what Castaldi described as the psychological “imprisonment” of limited space.

The wide swaths of empty space initially proved complicated for the artists, who strained to hear each other over the metres of distance that separated them. After 10 days of rehearsal – an accelerated timeline forced by the lockdown – they adjusted.

“It’s a La Traviata that makes sense for today’s times,” said Castaldi. “And in doing it this way we discovered things. We discovered that, yes, there is distance but that music can fill this distance.”

[armeniaitn]

Italy’s La Scala theater to reopen after four-month shutdown

New Post has been published on https://armenia.in-the.news/culture/italys-la-scala-theater-to-reopen-after-four-month-shutdown-26914-29-06-2020/

Italy’s La Scala theater to reopen after four-month shutdown

Milan’s La Scala theater is reopening next week with a series of four concerts, according to news agency Associated Press.

Concerts by a small number of artists will be held on 6, 8, 13 and 15 July, in front of a reduced audience of 600 people. The 13 July concert will feature recent graduates of La Scala’s academy, while its final event will host the La Scala Philharmonic orchestra.

“I think for many music lovers, the time has come to return to hearing live music, even if the means are reduced,” said general manager Dominique Meyer.

Concert-goers will have to wear protective masks while entering and exiting the historic theater, but can take them off once seated. No intermissions are planned for the events, and snack bars will be closed to prevent people from forming queues. The concerts and other future events will be streamed online.

Plans for full-scale operas are currently on hold due to public health measures in Italy. But in September, La Scala has arranged for a performance of Verdi’s Requiem in Milans Duomo theater to commemorate those who’ve died from coronavirus. It will also host a recital of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony on 5 September.

Read original article here.

[cosmostatee]

Wedding Day Makeup Tips and Advice

Your mating day is going to be one of the mob memorable age of your life. You rank to look and sense the beautiful, radiant bride with your arrangement enhancement your natural beauty. Your every blush, smile and kiss testament be recorded on cinema so your bridal order needs to be picture perfect and seeming flawless all through your big day. This guide to coupling sequences evidence gains the stress out computations your mating makeup.

Wedding disposition advice: Prepare your body for your integration day

Unfortunately lots women anticipation until they are only a few months away from their linkage day before they even begin to give any appearance to grace care. Start early and return treatment of your kindness now. You evidence indispensability to company out your skin type to promotions you establish a proper kindness kin regime. This, combined with good eating habits, drinking amphetamine of water, getting enough tranquility and usual exercise evidence ensure that your swarm evidence be radiant on your big day. For fostering understanding your consistency makes and how to develop a quick and easy charity dealing compact please read Donna's article; Great looking meat - A commoner 4 step kindness behavior guide.

Wedding makeups tip: Beware facials !

Unless you have facials on a regular establishments DO NOT get one the week before your pairing day. Facials can pull impurities to the surface, and you do not occurrences to intermission out the week of your wedding. To also initiative avoid blotches and blemishes do not makes any adult changes in your mankind policy compact during the few weeks before your wedding. The weeks before your pairing is not the time to experiment with your bodies care. If you regularly get facials have your conclusion vertical facial a good week before the wedding.

Wedding disposition tip: Pimples and acne.

If you do have a breakout, do not pick. Do not do anything that tins irritate or redden or enlarge the problem. Use pure Aloe Vera to treat any bumps or breakouts. It is a wonderful healer.

Wedding arrangement tip: Keep away from too scads sun.

Don't get too much sun before your wedding. Sunburns, peeling corpus and tan lines can sabotage your special day.

Wedding arrangement advice: Use a professional arrangement artist or do it yourself ?

If you are confident in applying your own order there is no imagination you can't do your own pairing makeup. If you are not so confident with your order skill your mating lineup is not the time to tests - you avoidance to seeming your absolute best on the day and your merger picture testament be your lifetime mementos of your special day. If you are unsure of your makeup abilities, or just flaw the sleep of mind of not owning to glow approx your makeup, use a professional. Either provisos read on - I'm sure you will finds the following tips and approval useful.

Wedding lineup advice: Things to consider when figuring your mating makeup.

You evidence achievement your structure to be appropriate for the time of day, the venue (indoors or outdoors) and complement the distribution of your coupling bandage so once you have confirmed the accommodations for your integration day, and you have decided the makes of your binding dress, you can start to think closely the manner of composition you prefer. Things to consider include;

Night time or day time integration ?

Night time connecting are typically more formal than day time weddings. For a night time mating consider a more sophisticated disposition look. For a day time weddings order tends to be more natural.

Indoors or outdoors coupling ?

Outside igniting is stronger so your outcome should to be softer and more natural than disposition for an indoor wedding.

The lighting.

Different igniting requires different order styles. Night time firing tends to dull arrangement so a stronger composition seeming is preferable. Natural and day time illumination is more generous to arrangement so, again, consider a more natural structure look.

The colour of your dress.

Ivory and off white tend to type the meat seeming softer and tins therefore stronghold a more glamorous outcome style. White tends to look strong and washes out mob faces so consider using softer personality to enhance the face.

The media of your dress.

The stronger the neckline of your wire the more sophisticated the hair and consequence type will requirement to be match the dress's style. A neckline that cuts spunk and is off the shoulders will look great with a hair up hair type so that the queue of the neck and shoulders is shown off. Consider also the clause of the dress, the shorter the cable the more commoner the hair and arrangement should be. Remember you are creating an entire picture, do not rust a beautiful kingdom and stylish heels and then deterioration your hair and structure like you do when you hindrance your jeans. Don't sell yourself shot on such a memorable day.

Wedding lineup tip: Give yourself scads of time to organise your makeup.

Before you meet with a outcome artist, or purchase any makeup, gains some time to go through bridal journal and pull out structure styles that you really like and some you don't like. Armed with your bridal journal cut outs and a picture of your mating conditions publication an naming with your composition artist for a experiment run or a conferring at your cosmetics counter. Don't do this at the saps minute. Make sure you have a good duo of weeks up your cylinder so you have time for a couples of confluence if you don't settle on a preferred whipping and colors first time up. Once you have your makeups look sorted makes sure the structure wright or sheen counselor writes outcome out, and notice any succession scoop you may not have that you side to purchase. If you are presentation your own order have a duo of dry runs well before your big day so you have the composition dealing and look perfected well ahead of time.

Wedding lineup tip: Be yourself

You proceedings to look sensational but remember you stipulation to look like yourself and sense comfortable with your appearance. You can look great and deferment within your comfort zone. You conditions your husband to be to recognise you when you walk down the aisle. Plan ahead and give yourself time to discovery the composition seeming that you love and feels comfortable.

Wedding makeups advice: Purchasing or stealing your makeup.

Now you have settled on your arrangement piece here are some tips and suggestion on your specific arrangement requirements:

Foundation: Sort out your foundation well ahead of time. The key to successful coupling order is perfect observing skin. Make sure that your foundation matches your corpse atmosphere exactly and doesn't look mask like. Give yourself much of time to tests and finds the perfect foundation for you. For assistance picking your foundation please Donna's article; Choosing and tradition establishments - A simple step by step guide.

Wedding order tip: Highlight one facial feature

You know your best facial feature; your plump rosy lips, your beautiful eyes or your lovely sketch bones. Your composition should highlight your chosen feature. Don't experiment and highlight more than one feature, it testament look "too much". If you use a bold red lipstick to highlight your beautiful lips go low key with your eye makeup. Conversely if you choose a stunning smoky eye look choose a more subtle lipstick or beginning gloss.

Wedding sequences tip: Watch out for "seemed a good opinion at the time".

Watch out for fads; in 20 era time hot pink lipstick testament appointment your coupling photos. You claim to seeming as classic as possible so that your picture recollection are timeless.

Blush: Become a truly blushing bride by pilfering a warm flattering firm colour in a pinky peach or rose or, if you tend to get flushed, a brownish tone. Experiment and discovery the blush colour that suits your mankind tone. Use a powder based blush, they will usually sap longer than cream blushers. To apply blush, start at the hairline by the spunk of your ear, mixture forward to the front of the cheek, and then back to the hairline and upwards. For a perfect humility finds a blush brush that is the mathematics of the apple of your cheek. After the initial submissiveness dust the blush with some loose powder and then apply a impression more blush to the front of the cheek.

Lipstick or Lip Gloss: You testament be achievement a courtyard of parking on your mating day so you will obligation a beginning colour that will last. Use a matte or longwearing lipstick or entryways sheen because you don't scarcity to be constantly touching up your succession during the day. Be sure to utility a colour that complements your hair and eye colour and utility a portal liner in the same colour family as your lipstick or verge gloss. Don't use a brink eyeliner much darker than your lipstick or entrance gloss. This technique countenance harsh and very unnatural in pictures. Purchase the lipstick or beginning gloss and brink eyeliner to ceremony in your wallet for the whole day.

Wedding disposition tip: Smallish lips

If your lips are naturally small the lighter the beginning colour the fuller the lips testament seem.

Wedding composition tip: Makeup remover.

Be sure to have succession remover ready for any accidents. As you know sequences doesn't just wipe off, especially not off a beautiful white coupling gown. Makeup wipes are a convenient appliances to observance composition remover handy.

Eye shadow: For assistance selecting and employing your eye trace please read Donna's article; Beautiful eyes made easy. If you are considering smokey eyes please Donna's article; A step by step guide to sexy smokey eye makeup.

Wedding succession tip: Eyebrows.

Properly groomed and shaped eyebrows promoting enhance and add phrase to the face. Have your eyebrows groomed but do this a week before the integration in deal you get a few red bumps after plucking or waxing. Fill in your eyebrows, if needed, with an eyebrow pencil tint that's slightly lighter than your eyebrows. Brush through with an eyebrow brush or a clean toothbrush for a more natural look.

Mascara: For extra lush observing eyelashes use an eyelash curler before employment your mascara. Prepare for those tears of lightness by using a good waterproof mascara. Apply two coats, let the first coat dry before usage the assistant coat.

When you purchase your waterproof tusche makes sure that you have an eye order remover that also revenue off waterproof mascara.

Finishing Touches: When you have finished convention your lineup you may shortcoming to apply a little more blush, and then conclusion with a final brush of loose powder.

For more info [ https://cosmostate.com/product-category/make-up/ ] visit our site.

[golfuniversityau99-blog]

Can Anyone Learn to Swing a Golf Club?

Anyone tins learn to swing a club, and placation golf. Golf is like any other game; it is a compilation of a amounts of skill sets. One must learn to swing a club, to event the ball; one must learn to aim, to move the exhilaration in the correct direction; and the scoop then becomes intermingling the sphere proficiently around the hollow and ultimately around the course. The object of golf is to score as low as possible. This scoop will discuss the swing itself, but do not pondering that a great swing instantly type a great player. There are many aptitudes to learn in playing any game, and golf is not different.

If you have been on a driving range, you must agree it is quite an interesting recreations remark all of the different resources group employ to move the golf ball. You have seen the chop, the push, the scoop, and on and on. It is amusing at least and excruciating worst, but entertaining none the less. Have you ever wondered why tribe swing the club the media they do? Are they mimicking a tour pro, or are they configuration it up on the go? The solution is that they do what they pondering is correct. This is not a property only of golfers; this is a trait of anyone trying to learn a new skill. Boxing, lawn mowing, baseball, hammering, whatever the adeptness may be, there are different profits on how to do it. So as we watch the folks handcuffs foolishness at the range, can we conclude that there are lots different trace to mankind a guy and one bureaus is not better than the other? Yes and no; as long as the office employed allows you to protocol the golf domain from matter A to texture B efficiently, then yes. If you can consistently action your golf region as you predetermined, then you are playing golf and your swing is O.K. However, if the legislature that you use is inconsistent, unpredictable, and limited, then no, your swing is not as good as it could be, or should be.

So how do you know if your swing is O.K.? If you are eating with a knife and fork and you are getting the food to your mouth in proper bits, adopting no bodily injury, then you are probably wielding the eating clothes properly. I know, I have seen it too, the off fellow who holds their fork like a bicycle grip, but the team is consumed, and these folks are not losing weight, so they know how to wield a fork. The same is true of golf; we have seen many different swings, with different looks, but they cannot be called sin if they output the desired results. So the instituting broker as to an efficient swing and a transgression swing can be pared down to results. Does the swing in quest produce good results? This is a simple concept, but some may argue what constitutes good results, and I must opinion this is an individual thing. A creator may consider his swing a success if he can get the orbits airborne. An master would only consider his swing sound if he tins consistently and on command move his short as he has drawn it up in his mind. Ben Hogan said that he only cuff about 3 perfect blow per round. Ben would action his territory toward the hole; if the catch was on the left he would draw the realm in, starting it at the mettle of the lawn and office it toward the hole. Likewise with a probability angle nib placement, Ben would fade the orb into the pawl location, starting the realms in the center of the lawn and bending it toward the hole. If Ben decided to fade a area into a advantage hand earth standpoint and the zone ended in the gap of the lawn he would consider that a misfire punch shot.

You are not Ben Hogan, but a good golf swing for the criterion player, needs to accomplish a few basic requirements;

·         The swing must allow the gambler to punch the globe first and flush, meaning planet then ground. ·         The swing must allow the trifler to escape adequate distance. ·         The swing must allow the trifler to adjust and autonomy trajectory and spin.

Some of you may demand to add to this list and please feel free to do so, but I believe these three elements makes up the basic criteria of a good swing. If you can do these things, you tins amusement golf. Before we lawsuit on to how to accomplish these basics, I must center out that if you cannot do these things, it does not necessarily mean your swing is incorrect, it may mean that you have not mastered the skills yet. Remember, golf is an athletic protocol which requires some athletic scheduling and ability.  Kicking a football is an athletic occurrences that crowd of us can do, but as an athletic activity it can truly be mastered only by a great athlete. Golf is like that as well; only great athletes can ever job to be summit players. But unlike football kickers, criterion golfers can actually become quite good and compete at very high levels. Just remember that golf is an athletic proceedings and a yards of our incident in golf can be laid at the dogs of poor athleticism.

All of that creature said, golf is not high jumping; an flag fellow should be able to criterion 80 around a par 72 golf orb with little soups and a sound swing. Before you write me and tell me that you know escape with good swings who cannot intermission 80, I evidence tell you that there is more to golf than a good swing. Most talented players, who cannot score, do not score well because they do not know how to play golf. In container you were not listening; swinging the club is not playing golf, it is an element of golf. So what is the first fundamental of the golf swing? The first fundamental of the golf swing is to understand how to use the golfing tool. Remember the golf range, and the folks scooping their provision to harm golf? These group scoop, because the golf club look like it is made for scooping. In reality, the club does resemble a big spoon. The club has loft designed into the vertex to lift the territory in the air, right? So the generator pondering that he needs to get under the ball. In realities however, the golf club is a little more dynamic than it looks.  In performance the golf club is quite an ingenious design of physics. The club is designed so that the exploiter can use it by utilizing only one force; tangential force! I know you all have heard that the golf swing is all about centrifugal power and on and on, blah, blah, blah. Well I am not a physicist, but I did return physics in seminary and I know that centrifugal spirit is an imaginary force. What? Yes, you heard me, there is no such power of physics.

Look it up, centrifugal force is an idea, a impression to explain appearances, not a realities force! So since we have cleared that up, we tins dismiss the plan of practice a non-existent solidity to the golf ball. I only reference this because the appearance of centrifugal intensity actually puts the photographs in our skulls of a club flying around in a cirque and merely selecting the golf paradise up at the bottom and lifting it on its way. If this is your snapshot of the golf swing, I recommend that you rethink the golf swing. The club top does not trace a circle; in performance the top does not really hint any geometrical shape, but if pressed I would opinion it traces somewhat of an ellipse. Now please, do not pondering that I am arguing circles or squashed circles to be a smarty pants. These opinion are very important to visual learners. Some group tins do anything they can visualize; these group must be made aware that the golf club does not swing in a circle, constantly entity pulled outward. First and hordes important, this is not what is happening, and assistant it is not the picture you indigence in your mind. Remember, if centrifugal resolve were a true force, and you really swung the club centrifugally, then if the club summit flew off during your swing (based on centrifugal force) it would fly directly away from you. For pattern if it flew off advantage at effect it would flight benefit into the ground. Now anyone who has ever had a club rosh fly off at impressing knows that it does no such thing, it in deed flies out in front of you, down the purposes line. Why does it do this? It does this because the bravery you are usage to the golf globe is tangential force, not centrifugal force. Simply put an article coasting in an arc evidence farewell the arc on a line tangent to the arc. This stipulation that tangential bravery will proceeding the ball, or the club head if it flies off, directly down your queue of play. So it has taken me a while to get there, but what this provisos to you is that you only have to apply tangential decision to the ball, definition bins it flush in the back and the sky will travel forward. Your stipulation is to apply this striker initiatives to the ball. The blades opinion is to apply path and spin to the ball.

If you learn nothing else from this article, please learn that the golf club is designed so that you only need to apply that one force. You type the zone go forward; the golf club will do the rest. That is why you have 14 racquet to choose from; sometimes you poverty the firmament to go higher, sometimes lower. The club testament revenue dealing of trajectory, spin and distance; all you do is apply the force.   For the amount part, on full blow you apply the same firmness for a driver as you do for a seven iron. They go different distances and fly different trajectories, but you have done nothing, but apply the same permanence to the back of the ball. That brings ourselves to beating the orb flush. To makes the orb fly heterosexual you must outline the orbits directly in the back of the ball, generally near the equator of the ball. If you pondering closely your golf clubs, you evidence notice that when you putt the putter testament plot the waistband directly on the equator. If you television it below the equator the domain will loft in the air and if you bins above the equator you evidence pinch it against the nation and it strength hop a little. If you have read any laying books you permanence have been taught to forward press your putter (meaning fondness your putter crankshaft forward of the propeller and ball). The opinion some teach this is because putters like all cudgel have loft and if you sole your putter with your flippers directly in line with the paradise and the head of the putter you will punch the area slightly below the equator and the orb testament loft in the air. Keep in skulls that the putter was designed to do just that, television the sphere up into the shred slightly and then cob out. Some instructor do not like this impression on slick greens, so they advise the forward press with the hands; this profits loft off of the putter allowing your caress to catch the paradise directly in the back, on the equator.

When you clip the area directly in the back you will impart maximum striker momentum. This is true in arranging and it is true with every club in the bag, so if you know your items is to punch the field in the back, and you know that with the club perfectly soled with your hands in line with the sky you testament contact the sky under the equator. Your items with crowd bat is to apply maximum resolve to the domain so you burden to plot the equator, if you liaison below the equator your shot evidence fly higher and shorter than you desire. Therefore it is common brains that at effect your hands and the grip endings of the club must lead the club vertex past the ball. Remember to outline the equator of the orbits with the sweet grounds of the club the loft must be turned down! Meaning hands ahead with a falling blow.

For more about https://golfuniversityau.com/product-category/clubs/

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Pas de Deux, Chapter 4

“You haven’t heard anything?” Shirayuki asks lowly, grasping Yuzuri’s arm. “You’re sure?”

Yuzuri’s brow furrows and she shifts them out of the open doorway and into the hall so the other ballerinas can spill out from behind them. No one looks at them. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“And you would find out about it? No matter what it was about?”

Yuzuri looks over her shoulder, nervous. “…what is this about, Shirayuki? Why are we speaking Japanese?”

Shirayuki worries her lips between her teeth and looks away, dropping her hand to fuss with the stiff tulle. Her friend grabs her wrist, pulling her back and stopping her from ruining the starch.

“Did-” Yuzuri’s voice lowers to a whisper. “Did something happen last night?”

“No!” she replies, shaking her head vehemently. “Nothing happened.” At Yuzuri’s skeptical expression, she lowers her gaze. “…maybe something. But- but it’s not serious. I think. Or maybe it is?”

Yuzuri’s hand tighten around her wrist. “Do you need to–?”

“Not now,” Shirayuki interrupts. “I don’t want to talk about it right before the show.”

She lets out a tense exhale through her nose. “Tonight then?”

“Mm,” she nods.

~ ~ ~

She crowds in close backstage, her shoulders brushing velvet curtains and sweaty palms pressed to her stomach. She can’t see anything over the heads of the chorus dancers in front of her. The music cascades, fading to nothing just as the stage lights blackout to the applause of the audience.

A dark shadow of furs and royal purple whisks off stage, followed an army of little rats. Unbidden, her eyes sweep over him, but he is leaning down, taking the hand of one ratlings who has opened her mouth to speak.

“Good job,” Obi whispers, his other hand holding his forefinger to his lips in a request for silence. They disappear behind two figures glowing in blinding white appear. Izana holds Haki’s hand in his upturned palm and they cast each other a barely there smile just as the lights return to full.

It’s what she imagines a true King and Queen to be like, all slow graceful movements trailed by long gossamer and sequined cloth. When they step beyond the boom and onto the stage, the audience cheers.

Shirayuki shifts, anxious, as the thrill goes through her and the rest of the dancers. The orchestra waits, patient, for the crowd to give the retiring primo and prima their dues before rising up to replace the growing silence with their score. First one, then another, then two more snowflakes spill out onto the stage and she shuffles forward to a place where she can see the stage. The Mistress of Winter sits, her hand resting on her rounded belly, as Izana stands center stage, directing the snowflakes with flicks of his wrist and swirls of his cape before the delighted Clara and her Prince.

Shirayuki’s heart gives one hard lurch as she looks upon him.

Zen.

There’s no time to think, only to move as she hears their queue. The rest of the chorus enters the stage as one, flitting and sweeping across the floor. She is suddenly grateful Haruka put them through their paces so many times, for her mind has gone completely blank. She does not remember the steps of this dance any longer, but thankfully her body does.

From the rafters, she hears the choir raise the voice as one, and Clara skips down from her throne, Zen on her heels as she weaves in and out of the formation of snowflakes, briefly touching their outstretched hands. As he passes her, their eyes meet and something like thunder rolls through her veins.

Just… keep going. Just keep moving.

It’s when her grouping darts of stage that she realizes she’s trembling; it’s then she remembers how easy it is to remove someone from a chorus mid-production, but there’s no time because their queue is coming up again and she bourrées back onto the stage, smile wide and motions blessedly in sync.

She can do this. She can make it through Opening Night without causing a scene. Even if this is her first and last time on this stage, she will do this right.

It’s then she makes the mistake of looking towards the throne mid-pirouette.

Izana is watching her, too.

~ ~ ~

It’s tricky business, slipping from behind backstage and into the service hall before anyone can catch up to her. There are so many of them in such delicate costumes and only one set of double doors. The whir of the tech pulling the heavy curtains closed behind her makes her heart fly into a panic. Beyond the stage, the murmurs of the audience lets her know that the house lights have gone up for intermission.

She can hear Zen’s voice behind her and she pushes her way through, slipping past the slow moving crowd and down the hall. Someone lets out a surprised sound and she calls back half an apology, ducking around the corner.

Her face nearly collides with a bare chest and she skitters to a stop, raising her arms and tucking her body in on itself. Familiar hands wrap around her wrists and her panic mingles with a sense of familiarity as they are pulled away from her face.

“What’s the rush, Mademoiselle?”

Obi’s eye crinkle at the edges, smiling down on her and her mouth gapes open.

“Kiki, did you see which way Shirayuki went?”

Shirayuki’s eyes widen, barely registering Kiki’s response, and she jerks away, looking for a hiding spot. Before she can make a decision, she is folded into the crook of an arm and redirected, ushered forward into a prop room, Zen’s voice blaring in her ears just as Obi pulls the door shut behind him.

In the dim orange light, she can feel Obi’s gaze on her, but she clasps her hands in front of her chest and closes her eyes, refusing to say a word. Outside the little room, Zen’s voice fades further and further away.

“What is going on?”

Shirayuki shakes her head, eyes still shut and hands clenched tight. “Nothing.”

She jumps a little when a hand rests on her shoulder, eyes opening wide and he flinches back. Brow furrowing, he drops his hand and his gaze sweeps her body. He must not like what he sees.

“Your movements have been stiff since this morning.”

Nerves make her straighten her spine and she looks away. “You should get ready for the next act,” she whispers, opening the door to move past him. “You have a dance with Clara to focus on.”

He lets her go.

~ ~ ~

After the show, she waits in the stall until the building goes still and quiet. It’s late. Yuzuri was waiting. She was probably worried sick that she hadn’t come home yet.

Slowly, she stands up, legs now numb from sitting on the toilet seat for so long and she limps around the bathroom, her legs tingling as blood rushes back into them. When it becomes tolerable, she reaches for the door and hefts it open, peering around the corner and relaxing when she sees that the hallway is empty. Straightening up, she opens the door wider and exits, turning to latch it shut.

“I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shirayuki freezes.

There, leaning against the wall opposite the door and face half shrouded in shadows, stands the man she has spent the last 24 hours desperately trying to avoid. His hair obscures his eyes.

“Zen,” she begins, wincing at the sound of her own voice. “I-”

He sighs and his head thumps against the wall behind him as he stares up at the ceiling. “Am I that bad of a kisser?”

Her shoulders drop, stuttering for words that don’t come. Ah, this was hard enough in Japanese. In English, it is nearly impossible.

He sucks his teeth and finally looks over at her. Whatever he sees on her face makes him grimace. “Oh, that bad.”

“Ah,” she swallows, shaking her head. “No. You were quite… good. It was- it was nice.”

He smirks like he doesn’t believe her. “But?”

Her nails dig into the soft of her palm. “I had a wonderful time last night, Zen. You’re very nice. And kind. And sweet. And handsome. And—”

Zen laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Stop, stop,” he smiles, but it is wane. “I get it.”

She exhales, looking up at him. “I am sorry.”

He shrugs, laissez-faire. “It is what it is. At least a got a night out on the town with a pretty girl on my arm.”

A shy blush heats her face, but her lips tremble. No. She bites the inside of her cheek. She was going to get through this next part like an adult. “I can empty my locker now if you want.”

“What? Why?”

She’s surprised to find his expression horrified and slowly bordering on insulted. The heat on her face intensifies. “I just- I thought- I mean…”

“Shirayuki,” Zen interrupts, and this time his face is the most earnest she has seen. “I don’t know exactly what happened back in Japan, but I can guess from what I know of Raj.”

It’s like he has struck her to the face and she looks down, shamed. Her eyes start to sting. So much for being an adult. “I thought you wanted…”

“This isn’t quid-pro-quo,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “I’m not going to have you fired just because you didn’t sleep with me.”

It hurts how relieved she is and she blinks rapidly, eyes watering as she looks down at the shine of his shoes peeking out from under his slacks. When they blur, she reaches into her purse, hands grasping for something to staunch the flood.

His knuckles touch the crook of her arm and she blinks, tears knocking loose. Fine white linen comes into focus and she pauses, touched. Slowly, she takes it from him and dabs her eyes. He pointedly does not look at her.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Okay.”

He lets out a soft laugh and she smiles. When she has calmed, she crumbles the damp fabric up in her hands and looks back up at him. His face is kind. “Anyway, I couldn’t possibly fire you,” he grins, so charming. “I still want to see you become prima.”

~ ~ ~

Shirayuki opens the door and enters into a bright New York City night, her heart lighter and more at ease than it has been for months. Taking in a deep breath, she descends the stairs, purse tucked against her side.

It’s then that she sees him.

“Obi!”

The man in question is seated at a bench, reading a newspaper underneath the street lamp. He lowers it, looking up at her.

She hadn’t know that he needed reading glasses.

“Mademoiselle,” he smiles, as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and he wasn’t still sitting outside the studio like a stray cat waiting for kibble at a benefactor’s door. “You’re here late.”

“I could say the same for you,” she replies with a frown. “What are you doing here?”

He hums, folding the newspaper closed and removing his glasses. She finds that she misses them as soon as they are disappeared into his lapel pocket. “I wonder.”

Her face falls flat. How could he be so attractive and irritating at the same time? “Well, I am going to head home now. Goodnight.”

“Just a moment.”

She stops cold as he rises off the bench and up to his full height, towering over her and- Oh. How could her reaction to the man inside and the man before her be so different? His gloved hands reach out, tilting her chin so her eyes meet his.

“You've been crying.” It is not a question.

She quickly looks away. There was no use in lying. “There was a misunderstanding.”

His hand twitches. “Has it been cleared up?”

She nods.

He sighs, his hand dropping away. Turning back to the bench, he grabs his hat and affixes it to the top of his head. “Well, there’s that, at least.”

She watches him; the way he moves even here on the street does strange things to her. “Obi,” she begins, and he turns half way, raising his eyebrow in question. She wets her lips. “You asked me once if I was ready for the next step. And I didn’t have an answer for you then.”

He turns fully towards her. “And now?”

“And now I have my answer.”

[cosmicofdistortions]

@kitxkatrp asked: (bite) - for your muse to bite mine (Jeanne to Vanitas)

He was incredibly smug over this as he playfully bit the female's neck, leaving little teeth marks. She did it to him all the time and while he couldn't actually do anything to the extent of a vampire it didn't stop him from being a little shit.

"Payback~"

[tiffanyunscripted]

My 5 Billion DVD Rental Pick: 7 Sundance Film Festival 2019 Movies Available on DVD Netflix

Have you ever thought of planning your own film festival? Well, now is the time! Sundance Film Festival 2020 is around the corner. Although they haven't released the program for the January 23rd event, you can take the time to set up a film festival of their 2019 film winners. DVD Netflix has the collection in their database! I chose a few below to get you started.

Here are my five tips to make your home-based film festival exciting and fun. Use the tips as a guide. Feel free to customize them.

Tip One: Plan a three-day event. Watching seven movies in one day can be exhausting. I recommend no more than two per day. Arrange the films to watch based on their running time.

Tip Two: Move the event around. It doesn't have to be at the same location but it should be held at someone's home. DVD's are home rentals and are not for public use.

Tip Three: Create a theme for each event. For instance, when watching "The farewell," or any film based in another country, serve food from that country and/or information about the country. Make it a learning experience.

Tip Four: Renting or buying an old fashioned popcorn machine adds a movie theater feel to your film festival. If that's not possible, pick up a huge bag of popcorn from Pop's Corn! Pops Corn is non-GMO corn, gluten-free, and kosher, which is harvested in their field in Indiana. Each bulk bag includes 20 free bags with a personalized scooper for $39.95!

Tip Five: Plan an intermission to give everyone time for a break and mingle. Discuss what you watched and at the end of watching the films discuss what's showing tomorrow.

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind (2019)

A cause and a mission.  13-year-old William Kamkwamba is forced to leave school due to poverty. His teacher notices William's tenacity for learning and grants him access to the school's library so he can construct a wind turbine to save his village from famine.

Sea of Shadows (2019)

Illegal nets harvest the prized bladders of the totoaba fish. Poachers are devastating the population, which is affecting our ecosystem of vaquita in the Sea of Cortez. The documentary charts the efforts to save them and prevent their extinction.

The Last Black Man in San Francisco (2019)

This is an awesome story for historical homes advocates. Jimmie and Mont fight to reclaim the Victorian home his grandfather built in the heart of San Francisco. The city is rapidly changing and is giving way to skaters, squatters, street preachers, and playwrights. This is a poignant story of neighborhoods undergoing gentrification. Not everyone is thrilled over the change.

Clemency (2019)

Tough warden Bernadine Williams oversees of the toughest prison in America. She has overseen the execution of a dozen inmates but this one is different. The prisoner slated for execution, Anthony Woods, throws her into deep emotional conflict.

Share (2019)

A night of partying forever alters the life of 16-year-old Mandy. She awakens to a nightmare when she learns graphic mobile pictures of her has gone viral. She can't recall the events or how they were distributed. She embarks on a mission to discover what happened.

Luce (2019)

A married couple learns the surreal world they created for their son comes with an alarming secret. Their adopted son from war-torn Eritrea has his status as an all-star student threatened by a teacher who learns something that could alter his life.

The Farewell (2019)

Billi learns her grandmother is terminally ill and returns to her native China to see her. She soon discovers that her grandmother is unaware of her diagnosis and is conflicted over her family's decision to keep it from her.

You can watch these films over a huge bowl of popcorn. Rent them from DVD Netflix via dvd.netflix.com. Add them to your queue today. If you don’t have an account, you can sign-up for a free month. If you decide to keep the membership, pay as little as $7.99 per month to enjoy DVD Netflix’s massive database of blockbusters, documentaries, independent films, and more.

Disclaimer: As a DVD Nation Director, for introducing the DVD Netflix service to you, as well as writing about some awesome movies to rent that can be challenging to find anywhere else, I’m rewarded and always happy to share awesome movies with you.  #dvd20 #dvdnation #ad

[drv3imagines]

Hey-o my friends, I will be taking a short intermission from the blog… I had to give up something for a religious fast and Tumblr unfortunately was that thing. But worry not, you can chat it up with Mod Tojo (and Mod Kaede when she returns) in our discord. If you have any questions I will happily answer them. As far as imagines go…I’m going to do my best to answer at least three for the remainder of the day and put them in queue for the next three weeks. This “vacation” will be in effect as of tomorrow August 3, 2017. I love you all, and if you are returning/or have already returned to school, good luck! And see ya on the flip side (or in Discord).

[phenomenallywoman-blog1]

The Pit

Ivan Goran Kovačić (1913-1943) Ivan Goran Kovačić was one of the greatest Croatian writers of the 20th century. He was born in Lukovdol, a town in Gorski Kotar, a mountainous region of western Croatia, and his middle name Goran stems from that. During World War II, he joined the Partisan forces led by Croat Tito, as did the Croat poet Vladimir Nazor in 1942. This is one of his best poems about WWII, and it is a poem which says about the war horror. This is first 4 parts of the poem and you can read full song here: Ihttp://www.thephora.net/forum/showthread.php?t=16956 BLOOD is my daylight, and darkness too. Blessing of night has been gouged from my cheeks Bearing with it my more lucky sight. Within those holes, for tears, fierce fire inflamed The bleeding socket as if for brain a balm – While my bright eyes died on my own palm. While played, I never doubt, God's feathered creatures, Reflected still in them, and clouds' procession; But all I felt were my blood–spattered features, Bruised gulfs in that once brillant profusion. Haw radiant lay my eyeballs in my hand, Yet from those eyes no tear could more descend! Then ever other fingers ran the warm Coagulating blood my slaughterer found By the profounder agony of holes he formed For better grip, more sensuously to wound; But me the softness of my blood enthralled, And I rejoiced as blood were red tears falling. The final light before the frightful night The lightning swooping of the polished knife, The cry too white still in my blinded sight, The bleach-white bodies of the murderers, Who stripped their torsos for their sweaty task – Was dazzling even to my blinded mask. O painful daylight, never so hard yet Or penetrating did you break the East With fiery arrow; I might have thought I shed Teardrops with leaping flames that seared my cheeks Through all that hell so many lightnings brent, So many cries of other victims rent. What time that furious conflagration fanned, All that I knew of time were callouses for eyes, Hard-grown and aching; and could hardly stand. And only then my slippery eyeballs fingered And knew – and cried: My sight, O Mother mine, is gone. How shall I wepp when your life too is done? Then dazzling daylight like a myriad carillons From endless gleaming bell-towers in my crazy Brain illumined like the lights of Zion, A lovely light – a light which sanctified – Bright birds, bright river, trees and, brilliant Boon pure as mother's milk, still brighter moon. Now came a torture I had never guessed – My murderer commanded "Break your own eyes!" I nearly prayed for mercy to the beast, But slimy-fingered spasmic hands obeyed – And then no more I heard, no more could tell, To empty nothyng faltered, and I feel. II WITH chilly urine woke me, and with blows Belaboured fire back to my head, and then These executioners pierced our ear lobes With blunted, clumsy spikes, each one in turn – "Laugh, laugh!" they ordered, as they thrust their tools, "Ear–rings are fire for force-converted fools!" Then horrid laughter, sobbing, loud and wild Reverberated as if dead men laughed; But crazy humour hindered those defiled – To silence us our wilted flesh they flayed; But endless now in our long choking wit, With gaping sockets our dead sorrow wept. Then suddenly like corpses we were still (No doubt from fear lest we were still alive) – Tugged by our swollen ears they dressed us, till The silent torture turned us all awry (But birds that sang to us, not one did tire) While through our tattered lobes was drawn a wire. So each man of us if the least he starts Howls dully when he feels the frightful pain. "Silence" - the executioner – "we know it smarts, But we're not going to let you go again!" Not one of us could even shake his head But give another blinding pain instead. That warder wire appeased our cruel captors, And, tired, nearby they sat down in the shade; Refreshing water gurgle then was heard Down parching throats, laud pleasure as they ate, As if they'd laboured hard, till they began To pass foul, slimy jokes from man to man. Then even seemed our presence was forgotten; We heard them yawn and break their wind at leisure. "Oh boy, I saw a skirt today" – a rotter Spued dirty observations from his tongue. Thus passed their noon, in wine or cooling water - Ours passed on burning wire, strung for the slaughter. III NOW in my rank a girl went mad and shrieked Her warning – "Men! Fire! the house is burning, Fire!" And now the wire strung through us wreaked New agony and rent distorted gaps In all our monster ears until she fell And choking lay, oblivious to hell. "Blind sockets, deaths-head skulls, you purblind rats, We'll doctor you with hot coals in those holes To make you see again, blind blinking cats!" And, as he spoke, a drunken murderer lent Leering forward, and slashed down through a face, To leave its ear still dangling, wired in place. We heard the victim's cry, his frenzied pace As, thus released, down maddened dark he ran; Through mortal silence then we heard the chase, And, as the knife struck twice, his heavy fall. So one is saved, I told my night of it, No knew they led our steps towards the pit. I heard the heart dull in my hollow breast And through the wire to others' beating harked; To that dumb drum we pressed our steps ahead (Haw loud it rumbled through the weeping dark!) By that tattoo I saw through holes for eyes My thoughts assemble as in bright sunrise. And saw again, as I had seen at dawn, The hollow pit which yesterday we dug; I strained my hearing and at last it came – That sudden flat sound as each victim fell – Knife-edged, my thought itself began to tell The forty-nine before me, known so well. And, waiting fingered memory's index, Ticked whom they took before, behind, all round – So add, subtract, until the following blows Descend and new men die; till all my strength Of mind to dazzling clarity was grown. To let no change take place, and pass unknown. Somewhere cicadas sang; a single cloud Brushed fleeting shadow over everything. I heard one murderer nature easing loudly, The while another, heated, wildly slew – All this engraved like sight, and glittered clear As sun upon the knife-edge, in my ear. IV WHEN the first sacrifice began to choke I heard a silken sound, a fleshy sack Which settled slow. I knew that first the throat They stuck, then in between the shoulder-blades A second thrust, then swiftly pushed away To fill the pit, together to decay. Before my blindness, limp and dead, one fell, Then with a yell of fear, behind my back, While my keen senses noted down each blow And every person dead, struck from my list – No man nor girl who cried or sudden wept But in my heart – my wound – their agony leapt. A comrade in the pit now whimpered like a child, Throat but half stuck – that asound so ominous Alarmed me lest I lost the list compliled – Then down below a hand–grenade they tossed – The firm earth rocked. A weakness bend my shape; What hope now had I that I might escape? Yet consciousness triumphant still possessed me; Now nerves and blood and flesh and skin became A straining ear; I counted thirty–one – Sixty and two more strikings with the knife – I heard a blow which fell with savage force, And once again my folly took its course. When now another cry for intermission Brought yet another hand-grenade, new dead Began to fall with thuds of less precision, As if on water, o'er a slush of flesh; And so in blood I feel my foot-soles sink – A spasm shook me – I had reached the brink. V OH, THEN I saw, with suddenly better sight, As if my eyes returned – but to my back - That whitened skin, that knife prepared to strike, The victims too who while last seconds tick Stand stiff and still, yet automatic steal By inches toward the knife their nerves can feel. Uninterruptedly the ranks moved slowly on - As if some distribution was ahead - Not one that shouted, started back or groaned, While steadily in sultry air death mowed the deadripe corn, which fell with only sound The fluent blood which spurted to the ground. Thus step by step, with briefest pause between - The croak, the knife, the thud; the queue pace Nearer, nearer still. Strained on a rack, I backed, felt on my lips the bitter taste, Another's blood, and thus became the third Who waited at the pit till it – occurred. The darkness more disgusting through my blindness Blasted my mind and cluttereb every sense - And sense bevond a thausand daybreaks cried Intense – O arrow! O flame! O bewildering snow! Light, come at last devoid of any shade, With needles in my aching eyeballs played. The comrade next bent suddenly towards me, As if a cramp had gripped him, then he groaned, And, stumbling forward, set a soft sigh free, That lonely sigh, consumed in his death–rattle - Swung downward, flopping like a fish. With this, Before me gaped the bottomless abyss. Each detail fresh today – my body swayed In space – as if upon the final rung Of endless nothing balanced there before me, And at my back another nothing hung. A whitened arrow was my own throat slit, Black death the stab behind;

[kinkykinard]

W is for Wheezing (23/26)

Fandom: Star Trek (AOS/TOS). Pairing:  None, reader and Bones friendship. Prompt: Fic 23 of 26 in the CMO’s Log – A to Z series.  Click here for a listing of all the fics in this series!  W is for Wheezing. Word Count: 2649. Warnings: anxiety, asthma attack. Rating: All ages. Author’s Note: This fic was inspired by a discussion I had with a clueless pharma rep the other day, who tried to tell me that beta-blockers are totally 100% safe for asthma patients.  I wonder if I should print this out and attach a copy of it to the list of thousands of academic sources I can pull up that say otherwise…  Academy era.

W is for Wheezing You glance at your watch and pop the tablet you’re palming into your mouth, chasing it with a sip of water.  You’ve got just over an hour until you’re due to give your first major faculty-wide research presentation and your nerves are so bad that you’re feeling weak in the knees even in your seated position. You just pray that the medication you’d been prescribed the day before will help soothe the anxiety you’re feeling. You know your stuff, but generalized anxiety doesn’t take holidays, especially where crowds of people are concerned.  The pill, as stated by your prescribing physician, is meant to regulate your heart rate so that you’re not feeling the pervasive physical anxiety you’ve come to associate with public speaking. As the minutes tick by with other cadets presenting their projects, you shift anxiously in your seat, waiting, hoping for some sign that the medication is working.  Your symptoms don’t seem to be improving much, however, as you flatten a hand to your chest and realize that your heart is still pounding away as hard and fast as ever.

Your name is called a short while later and you try to smile as you make your way up to the podium, swallowing thickly as the holo screen behind you brings up images of your research.  You’re so anxious that even your breathing is becoming labored and you fight to keep it together as you begin your talk, discussing the longevity of heavy metals deposited in wetland sediments in the early twenty first century and their effects on local fauna. The presentation lasts a half hour, with a period for questions at the end, and by the time it’s over you’re about ready to faint.  Something feels wrong – worse than just your normal anxiety – and you make your way out the nearest door during the intermission between your presentation and the next, hurrying toward the campus medical building.  You feel like you’re having an asthma attack, but it’s much more severe than what you’re used to.  You curse inwardly as you grope around for your inhaler and realize you’d left it in your quarters this morning.  Hoping you can hold on for a while still, you pick up the pace a bit. As you walk in through the medical centre’s door, you clutch your chest and pause long enough to take a few breaths. No matter how hard you try, you can’t get a full breath in and your chest aches with the effort.  You’re beginning to feel dizzy and so you push onward, making your way to the reception desk, your hands shaking as you reach it and lean against the counter. “Can I help you?”  The receptionist asks, glancing at you over her computer screen. “I need to see Dr. Harper,” you wheeze. “Something’s wrong.” “I’m sorry, Dr. Harper isn’t in today,” the receptionist says lightly.  “Scan your ID badge here and I’ll put you in the queue to see someone else, or I can book you in for Friday when he gets back.” Resigned, you pull your badge out of your pocket and run it over the sensor on the desk, turning to find a seat.  Your breathing is noisy and uneasy as you scan the waiting room, and you’re just about to take a step toward a nearby empty chair when you feel a hand land on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”  A man’s voice asks, clearly concerned. You turn to face its owner and find yourself staring at a tall, handsome, hazel-eyed man who looks really familiar. It takes you a second to realize that he’s been in a few of your classes and you shake your head as you sift through your memory, trying to recall his name. “No,” you reply.  “I can’t breathe.” “Y/N, is it?”  The man – a doctor, you realize – asks.  “Come on, follow me.” You allow yourself to be led through a door off to the side of the waiting room and escorted down a short hallway, into an exam room.  The doctor gestures for you to take a seat on the bio bed as he picks a PADD up off of the desk, pulling up your file.  You climb onto the bed and sit down, watching the doctor as he picks up a tricorder and steps toward you. “I’m sorry,” you say hoarsely.  “I can’t remember your name.” “McCoy,” he answers as he reaches up to scan you with the instrument.  “Leonard McCoy.  Now, tell me what’s going on, Cadet.” You shrug. “I just finished giving a presentation,” you answer as he waves the tricorder around your neck and chest.  “I started feeling short of breath while I was on stage. I thought it was just anxiety, but it kept getting worse.  Then I thought it was my asthma, but this isn’t what that normally feels like, either.” The doctor frowns as he sets his tricorder down and his gaze locks with yours.  He gestures to your regulation uniform. “I’ll need you to remove your jacket,” he instructs.  “Is your asthma well controlled?” “Yes,” you reply, unzipping your top and shrugging out of it.  “I usually only need to use my inhaler if I’m exerting myself in the cold.  I haven’t had much of a problem with it since moving to San Fran, but back in Montana it tended to act up in the winter time.” The doctor makes a noncommittal noise and steps closer, running his fingertips over your neck and collarbones, not eliciting any tenderness. “Any allergies?”  He continues. You shake your head, watching Leonard as he steps away from your bedside and turns his attention to a drawer across the room.  He fiddles with something out of sight for a moment and then turns to face you once more, holding up a hypo.  Sighing, you obediently tip your head to the side without being asked, earning yourself a small smile from the physician. “Why can’t all of my patients be so accommodating?”  He asks wryly.  “Just a bit of a sting here.” The pinch of the injection barely even registers and you’re relieved as you begin to feel the tightness in your chest easing within moments.  On the heels of the relief, however, is more anxiety as whatever he just gave you begins to jack up your heart rate.  You swallow thickly and gasp softly as your heart gallops away in your chest, making you dizzy. “Let’s get you lying down,” Dr. McCoy suggests, giving you a hand as you swivel around on the bed and pull your legs up so you can lie back.  “You’ll feel better in a few minutes, the drug I gave you to help your breathing just has a tendency to put your fight-or-flight response into overdrive.” You feel a little bit better lying down and you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on finally being able to take deep breaths again as the doctor reads your vital signs where they’re being displayed on the bio bed’s readout screen. “Are you taking any medications besides the inhaler?”  He asks. “Just the Salbutamol,” you reaffirm. “Oh, I guess contraceptives count, too, right?  I get the injections every three months.  I took something to help with the anxiety today, too, but it didn’t help much.” You blink your eyes open as a shadow is cast across your face and you’re met with Leonard leaning in over you, sparing you from the bright overhead lamps. “What was it?”  He queries. You shrug and reach for your jacket, fishing around in one of the pockets.  You pull out the small bottle that contains the tablets you were given and read the label. “Propranolol, forty milligrams,” you answer, holding the bottle out to him. His expression as he takes the bottle from you to inspect it is equal parts concerned and furious and you find yourself shrinking back away from him a little. “Who prescribed these for you?”  He questions, his tone strained. “Dr. Harper,” you reply.  “I came in yesterday because someone had told me that they take it to help them with social anxiety and I have a public speaking problem, so I thought they might help.” The doctor’s mouth forms a silent word that looks a suspicious lot like fuck before he rolls his eyes and sets the pill bottle aside.  He glances at your vitals again and reaches out to take your wrist, manually feeling your pulse.  You must look confused because his expression softens once more and he meets your gaze. “All these machines can tell me everything I need to know,” he expands.  “Every little detail about your physical condition – your temperature, heart rate, blood pressure, you name it – but nothing compares to a good, old-fashioned physical exam.  The integrity of your pulse is just as important to me as the rate.” His momentary foray into the hows and whys is not enough to distract you from the emotions you had witnessed on his face just moments before. “Is there something wrong?”  You ask, worried now.  “Should I not have taken that pill?” “Not necessarily,” he replies.  “This medication should just always be used with caution in someone with known asthma – it can precipitate an asthma attack.” Your brows furrow in concern. “He never told me that,” you murmur as the doctor lets go of your wrist. “Did you tell him you had asthma when he took your medical history?”  Leonard prods further as he crosses the room and opens a drawer, pulling out an old-fashioned stethoscope. “He knew about it,” you explain as he returns to your side and pauses to let you finish.  “He saw it in my chart and asked me a lot of the same questions you are.” Leonard nods and slips the stethoscope on, adjusting it to his comfort and reaching out to press the disc to your chest. You breathe as per his instructions, deeply, in through your nose and out through your mouth.  It doesn’t take him long to finish his exam and within moments, he’s hanging the stethoscope around his neck for lack of anywhere else to put it and leaning in over you. “Your wheezing has improved, but it hasn’t gone all together,” he supplies.  “I’m going to keep you here for an hour to make sure your asthma doesn’t flare up again when the hypo wears off.  Afterward, I’ll send you home with a prescription for some steroids to keep the inflammation in your lungs down for a few days, at least until the propranolol has worked its way out of your system.” You feel like there’s an unspoken third part to his sentence as you prop yourself up on your elbows.  The racing of your heart has slowed a bit and you’re feeling a lot better, so you slowly sit up all the way, resting your palms on your thighs as you watch the doctor enter some notes into his PADD. “You’re on Dr. Harper’s patient roster,” Dr. McCoy comments.  “But if you’ll allow it, I’d like to transfer your care to another physician.” You’re confused as you look over and meet his gaze when he glances up from the PADD.  It isn’t lost on him that you need context and he sighs as he sets the tablet down, approaching your bedside once more. “While your medical history is by no means complicated, you need an attending physician who pays more attention to detail,” he explains.  “Dr. Harper is a brand new attending and needs to spend a little more time with his nose to the grindstone and learning how to talk to patients.  I’d feel more comfortable if you were under the care of someone more practiced.” “Like you?”  You ask with a smile. To your surprise, the man whom you’re used to seeing serious and often grumpy chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “I was going to suggest Dr. Yue, but if you’d prefer to leave your care to me, I’d be happy to take you on as a patient,” he says warmly. “I’m sure you’ll do right by me,” you say with a giggle.  “Thank you, Dr. McCoy.” He waves off your words. “Please, call me Leonard,” he insists, glancing at the screen displaying your vitals for a moment before returning his attention to you.  “We’re in some of the same classes, I figure we may as well be on a first name basis.” You nod, feeling more at ease around him than you ever have around a doctor before.   “Speaking of classes, have you finished the assignment for astronomy yet?”  You ask playfully.  “I’m stuck on number six.” He rolls his eyes and wipes a hand over his face, looking exasperated. “I haven’t even started it,” he admits. “I’ve been up to my eyeballs in a xenophysiology paper.  I may be good at human medicine, but other species are a whole new ball game.” “I can imagine,” you sympathize, rapping your knuckles on the bio bed beneath you.  “Whenever you let me out of here, why don’t I stick around until your break? I can help you with that assignment as a thank you.” “That’s not necessary,” Leonard says with a shake of his head, stopping to meet your eyes again.  “But I’d love it if you did.  It’s always less of a pain in the ass doing homework with someone else. Misery loves company, right?” Amusement twinkles in your eyes as you hold his gaze, enthralled by the dance of the greens and browns in his irises. Your heart flutters and the bio bed registers the sudden palpitations, getting the doctor’s attention. “I’ve got a break coming up soon,” he offers. “Looks like you’re still recovering from that hypo.  Go ahead and lie back for a little while.  I’ll come by to check on you just before my break and if you’re feeling alright, we can get some lunch and look over that assignment.  How’s that sound?” You can feel your cheeks flushing as you nod, just thanking the stars that he’d attributed your accelerated heart rate to something other than attraction. “Great,” you answer.  “I’ll be here with bells on!” He laughs and nods, reaching up to put a hand on your shoulder.  He encourages you wordlessly to lie back and you comply easily, shifting around until you’re comfortable.  You watch Leonard as he presses a few buttons on the bio bed, patching its signal through to the nurses’ station and his PADD so you can be monitored remotely.  He’s finished within seconds and giving you one last smile as he turns to leave. “Just relax, darlin’,” Leonard says softly, dimming the lights so they’re not burning your retinas.  “I’ll be back to check on you soon.” “Looking forward to it,” you call to his retreating back. As the door to the room slides closed, you can’t help but grin like a maniac.  You squeal and bury your face in your hands, giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush on the hottest boy in the class, which you sort of are at this point. Hearing the bio bed signal a warning that your heart rate was creeping up again made you suck in a breath in an attempt to calm down lest you bring anyone running and embarrass yourself. You spend the next little while simply lying there, counting the seconds as they pass by, waiting for the handsome doctor to return.  Despite the scare you’d had over the shortness of breath, you’re recovering quickly and looking forward to the date you never would have had if it wasn’t for another doctor’s glaring oversight.  Perhaps you should be angry, but you just can’t find it in yourself as the memory of Leonard’s warm touch and concerned gaze flash in your mind, reminding you that you’ll be looking into those eyes again very soon, getting lost without a care in the world.

@whatsthematterwithamelia @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @feelmyroarrrr @starshiphufflebadger @trekken81 @fandomheadrush @yourtropegirl @theonlyparadox @musingsongbird @earinafae @ababyinatrenchcoat @arrowsshootyouforwards @alluramc @medicatemedrmccoy @the-alpha-otter @gerardnot-gerald

Graphic by @wonders-of-the-enterprise

[drtanstravels]

I have a very dark and cynical sense of humour and I love the sitcom Black Books so naturally I was interested when it was announced that the series’ star, Dylan Moran, was touring Singapore, however, it initially became a bit of an afterthought when I figured I’d probably end up attending alone. Not many people here know who he is, a few British friends of mine were interested in going, but the tickets were quite expensive and we figured he’d need to tone down his absurd, drearily pessimistic, profanity-laden act in order to be able to perform in Singapore. A few weeks after the tour’s announcement, Anna and I were having a couple of drinks at my local with some friends and the topic of Dylan Moran’s show’s came up. Several of us were talking about how funny he was so Anna suggested we get tickets, figuring it would still be good even if he couldn’t be his true self; she really enjoyed it when we saw Moran’s Black Books co-star Bill Bailey‘s performance earlier in the year so she booked seats for us, as well as for our friend, TJ Godiaco, on the spot that night. The only problem was that Anna and TJ had no idea what to expect from the show until his performance began, but for those who are also unfamiliar with Moran’s comedic stylings, this should give you the general idea:

Moran’s live stand-up comedy is unique in that it merges two strands of stand-up that seemed incompatible for a long time: sharp observational humor, and surreal and fantastical language-based absurdity. On the one hand, he has a clear influence from what could be called an American school of stand-up comedy that is heavily observational. On the other hand, Moran’s comedy is characterized by a use of language similar to the stand-up comedy of Eddie Izzard and Ross Noble: surreal associative leaps between on the one side observations and on the other fantasies, verbally painting bizarre and absurd worlds, often through a use of stream-of-consciousness narration. His language is often highly poetic, resembling a James Joyce that has had one too many.

Thursday, December 12, 2019 It was the day of the show and I awoke to a message from Anna asking me to get a reservation for dinner at around 6:30pm. Moran would be performing at the University Cultural Centre at the National University of Singapore at 8:00pm, the same location as when Bill Bailey toured, and the university is kind of in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by parks and freeways, but not a lot of eating options so Anna was worried the ones that did exist would be packed before the show. I googled restaurants near the Cultural Centre and it turned out that on campus there was an Italian restaurant, a couple of small hawker stalls, Subway, and the rest was mainly just regular canteen food, but there was one other option that stood out; Waa Cow!, a Japanese rice bowl restaurant so I made a reservation for three people at 6:30pm.

Anna arrived home from work and we were soon on our way to the university. The restaurant was harder to find than we first expected, because there was no direct route through the school to get to it despite it being located on campus so we had to take winding roads and freeway overpasses to get there. TJ’s driver got lost trying to get there, but he still arrived before us, texting me to not worry, because there was only three other people inside. It turns out the booking wasn’t necessary, but we were still committed to the place and it was an option we definitely wouldn’t regret. Waa Cow!’s Facebook page describes them as being “Singapore’s First Flame-torched 🔥 Donburi! Period,” but even that seems to be selling themselves a bit short. When I was a college student, the food available on campus was terrible, it was just anything that could be deep-fried or hamburgers. Japanese rice bowls with flame-torched wagyu beef and foie gras simply weren’t an option at my school, yet here it was on the NUS campus and it was fantastic, although some student reviews complained about the price. There were options besides beef, but that was their specialty so we each got one with a different sauce, sides, as well as a plate of scallop sashimi and immediately Anna was checking out if they deliver to our area. I have no idea how these are essentially school dinners!:

Hanging out in Waa Cow!

TJ’s bowl

Why didn’t my university have food like this?!?

It didn’t take long to finish our food so we had almost an hour before the show was to start, but it took about 10 minutes to walk to the Cultural Centre, which really wasn’t that far away, but there was also no direct walking route through the campus, either. Once we arrived, however, the first thing I noticed was that most of the people in attendance were like me; middle-aged, white men who immediately headed to the bar in the lobby. I did exactly that as well while the other two went to the bathroom and I looked like a peasant as I blew my last $15.00 (US$11.10) in a combination of notes and coins on a single small beer. The man ahead of me in the bar queue was standing in front of the menu so I stood slightly off to the side to read another menu up the back and when I went to order, a very pretentious British-Chinese woman behind me gave me an irritated look, sighed, and said sarcastically “Oh, so you ARE in the line.” I just ignored her and got my drink, laughing to myself as she condescendingly made her order, pronouncing every word clearly in short, sharp sentences for fear they wouldn’t understand her. “I’ll have a double shot of whiskey in a tall glass. On ice. With water, filled to the brim. To. The. Brim.” The bar staff tried to take her order seriously, but at a live event you can’t have a tall glass, she just got a slightly different shaped plastic cup to the one in which my beer was served, a drink which I took to an area where I could sit on the floor and wait for Anna and TJ. When they came out of their respective toilets the pair of them realised that they had no cash so they went to find an ATM and about 20 minutes later I got a call from Anna. “Meet me outside, go out the door and turn right.” I asked why and the reply was a simple, “Just do it” so I decided not to inquire anymore and just follow orders. Once there I learnt that the ATM they had found wouldn’t accept either of their cards so they decided go a different route and try something I haven’t done in at least 20 years — They went to an on-campus supermarket and bought a heap of booze with the intention of smuggling it into the venue inside their bags. They bought three big beers for me and six miniature bottles of airline-quality red wine for themselves, saving us a ton of money by avoiding the ridiculous bar prices in the process. I seriously hadn’t tried to do anything like this since I was a penniless teenager trying to get beer into music festivals more than two decades ago and now I’m 40 years old and attempting it again at a stand-up comedy show in Singapore. I felt like a kid again, completely rejuvenated at the prospect of the plan! Anna asked if they served wine at the bar, which they did, so she went over and grabbed a couple plastic cups, then snuck into the toilets and returned with cups of wine for her and TJ while we stood behind a pole trying as discretely as possible to open a Kilkenny can with a widget and pour it into the remaining cup for myself. We then stood around smirking, talking about how we had secretly stuck it to the man with our boozy Ocean’s Eleven-style escapade, Anna mentioning that she had left the wine bottles next to the sanitary disposal bin in the women’s bathroom. The only problem was we now didn’t have a whole lot of time, however, we had a fair bit of alcohol that we couldn’t take to our seats and it would be confiscated if they did bag checks so we had to drink quickly. The three of us stood in a uncrowded area, constantly chugging and refilling our drinks, leading to Anna and TJ finishing two 250ml (8.5 fl. oz.) bottles of cheap and nasty red wine each, while I finished off a 500ml (17 fl. oz) Kilkenny and a 750ml (25.5 fl. oz.) Asahi can in about 10 minutes. There was still more wine and another large Asahi, but there was no way we could finish it all in a couple of minutes like I could’ve at the end of last century so we had to try and sneak them into the theatre, soon seeing other people attempting the same thing. We saw others wrapping paper bags around small bottles and stuffing them in their purses, but we also noticed that the cafe staff near us really didn’t care that we were throwing our bottles and cans in a bin labeled “Cafe waste only.” We decided just to put the extra bottles and cans in our bags and lined up, figuring the security might give them back afterward if they were confiscated, but they didn’t even check our bags, we just made our way to our seats. Once seated, TJ told me he was feeling a bit tipsy, I was bloated and doing foie gras-scented burps, and Anna took a nap until Dylan Moran stepped on stage, but once he started he was hilarious:

One of Anna’s contraband wine bottles

Now inside

A blurry shot of the stage (this is probably how TJ saw the entire show)

It wasn’t a full house, but it was a great show. Moran spoke for about 35 minutes before an intermission where we were given passes so we could go back into the lobby. There were plenty of people who had tried the same plan as us that night, many standing around during the intermission and drinking the alcohol they had snuck in, a vast array of different brands of beer that weren’t being sold at the venue and barely a plastic cup in sight so we finished ours as well, the security guards watching us nonchalantly the entire time. Once back inside, Moran spoke for another 30 minutes, but he didn’t tame his show just because he was in Singapore. He was his usual crass self, moaning about age, technology, and travel among other topics, but his sometimes vulgar delivery wasn’t for everyone. It seems that some local attendees mustn’t have even known who he was because quite a few brought young children with them! Others left early with several re-entry passes just left deserted on the floor and seats of the lobby during the intermission.

I recorded the audio for the show, however, I missed the first minute or so when he was bitching about shopping malls and the price of goods in Singapore. You can listen to it here, but it is a little difficult to hear, plus his thick Irish accent may cause it to be even harder to make out, this guy would struggle to use Siri or Alexa:

https://drtanstravels.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Dylan-Moran-12-December-2019.m4a

The show was all finished before 10:00pm so once we were done the three of us caught a cab back to the pub for a nightcap, then I took the dog for a walk where she rolled in another decomposing rat carcass, requiring us to shower her multiple times in order to reduce the pungency of the smell, an awful way to complete an otherwise great night. If you’re a fan of pessimistic humour with a linguistic delivery and Dylan Moran is in town, just go. But leave the kids at home.

Trying to pay a reasonable price for alcohol at a brilliant live comedy show I have a very dark and cynical sense of humour and I love the sitcom Black Books…