#shapeshifter!Myka !!!

[purlturtle]

Untitled Post-Apocalyptic Fic, part 5

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

“Ingenious,” Helena commented, doing her best not to flinch at every flash of lightning, every crackle of thunder. She nodded towards the water bag in Myka’s hands that was filling rapidly with the rain water pouring down the tarpaulin.

“Thanks,” Myka said dryly. “Can you twist the nozzle open on the filter? The bag should be full enough by now; the pressure will push the water through and into the bag.” She, in turn, nudged her knee against the water bag attached underneath the filter.

Helena complied, and indeed water began to trickle, then stream, into the bag. “Safe water, in the middle of the Badlands, miles from any well,” she marveled.

“Yup.” Myka shifted her weight, grabbed the bag more securely.

There was another bolt of lightning chased by thunder. Helena gritted her teeth. “It’s right above us,” she remarked. “Any chance that it’ll blow over soon?”

Myka weighed her head. “We haven’t had a storm in a while. Could be it’ll be quick, could be it’s picked up a lot of momentum on the prairies. Hard to tell.” She cast Helena a sidelong glance. “We’re safe here.”

Helena bit her lips together so as not to mutter, “Says you.”

They were in a U-shaped cove up in the hills, miles from the road. Probably used to be a whirlpool on the side of a stream, millennia ago, Helena reckoned – now it was half-covered by the angled tarpaulin, which Myka had not tightened all the way at the lower end, so that water was pooling in the slack – and pouring into the filter’s bag.

Helena had to admit that it was reasonably dry underneath the tarpaulin, but she would most certainly have preferred a stout roof over their heads, for a storm as violent as this. The tarpaulin was the flimsiest she’d ever seen in her life.

“Second bag,” Myka said with a curt gesture.

Helena held it out and, at Myka’s nod, switched the now-full bag of filtered water against this empty counterpart. Soon they’d have two gallons of filtered water and another half-gallon of unfiltered. Thirsty as she’d been all day, that fact should be cheerful – but it was hard to feel cheer when thunder rattled one’s brain.

“When did you learn that your shifting included any item attached to that animal’s body?” she asked Myka, if only to distract herself. That was how they had acquired the tarpaulin, and the tent, and the bedrolls – Myka had shifted into what had clearly been a pack horse, after instructing Helena to take everything off of her once she did.

“Happenstance,” Myka replied, “and then trial and error.” She glanced at Helena and shrugged. “I hope you like club sandwiches. They’ve been eighty, ninety percent of my nutrition as of late.”

Helena, who had heard the term but didn’t remember what specific kind of sandwich it signified, simply nodded, in the assumption that Myka had a shifting-related source of said sandwiches. “Yes, of course.” When Christina had been an infant, before Charles had found it within himself to take his sister and her bastard in, Helena had subsisted on the scraps of eel pie shops. Anything with the word “club” in its name could not be bad.

Another crack of thunder sounded, loud and sharp and right overhead. Helena looked out into the darkness beyond their little haven, and saw nothing but night; she was glad that the pack horse’s panniers had also held some fire wood. When she turned back to the flickering fire, Myka had shifted into a dog – lying on its side next to the fire, tail wagging, a small square pack of plastic on its multi-colored rump. Helena dutifully picked it up and looked aside as the dog began to blur again. Not just attached, then, she mused, but simply on the animal. She knew these packs; Artie had eaten (and offered her) sandwiches out of these often.

A small woof made her turn around again; Myka was still – no, again – in dog shape, this time with an apple and two small plastic bottles of water on its side. Again the tail wagged; again Helena picked up the bounty. Again the blur; this time Helena simply closed her eyes, until she heard another woof: another box of sandwiches, for which she was glad: her stomach was growling, and the idea of sharing that one pack had not appealed.

[da-ill-spot]

New Music: AWOL One & Kool Keith - Aponia LP

Ch-check it! The new collab LP by the legendary artists AWOL One and Kool Keith has arrived! Aponia is 9 tracks long, all produced by Kool Keith.

It includes features from Xzibit, Myka 9, Gel Roc, Pigeon John, Ceschi, Quangou, DJ Hoppa, and Nicnack.

The album is currently only available on Bandcamp and will release on all other platforms on February 14. Stream it now and support with a $10 purchase!

Act now to pre-order your copy of the limited edition picture disc vinyl!

[drewschermickblindone]

Drew Schermick Reviews:

Louis Gibbor & DJ JahBluez- The Supernatural Progression of the Boom Bap

  I have had the pleasure of being in the studio to witness the magic my two friends St.Louis Gibbor & DJ JahBluez can create.

After watching and listening to them do their thing, I can profess that they are indeed the real deal.  Gibbor is among not only one of Arizona's most passionate and creative MCs but a true force in all of underground West Coast hip-hop.

His lyrical style and song writing is, dare I say, avant garde in his delivery of raw and left field approach to rap.

Jah is one of the most seasoned and invested producers in all of hip-hop; his approach to beat making and song crafting is second to none.

His production keeps evolving and as I take notice of the vast list of artists he has collaborated with. His catalogue is intimidating.

When my friend asked me to have a listen and offer some critique of their new project, I was excited from the start.

So now we have for you:

The Supernatural Progression of the Boom Bap-

  Movement-

           The opening track Movement begins with some ethereal synths.

Gibbor enters the track with some smooth vocals speaking of and on the weight of the world and its effect on him and those closest to him.

The hook is Gibbor repeating "the movement" with a nice reverb/delay with Jah inserting a nice soulful sample that pairs with St. Louis's hook.

Jah's kick and snare plus hihats mingle well with his synth based melody, which complements gibbor and medusa's lyrics and vocals nicely.

Medusa, the undisputed goddess queen of underground hip-hop, is so elegant and her contribution to this track only strengthens its resolve of subject matter and musical vision.

Gibbor ends the track with some abstract poetry about WOMEN, race, melanin, sex, love, and man's conflict with female interactions.

Jah brings in an interesting distorted clapping type sample at the end that wraps up the track with some mesmerizing production.

A truly beautiful track and a perfect way to kick off the record.

 Homesick-

           Jah's whirly strings and heavy snare begin the track, with Gibbor coming to give the DJ his props before talking about going back home to his people back in Cali. Gibbor proceeds to flow faster and demonstrate his lyrical velocity by telling a road trip story which flows into the lovely chorus where he pays homage to Albert Hammond's It Never Rains...

           While Jah brings in a beautiful female vocal sample, Gibbor raises his singing range as Jah brings in some dope biggie scratches.

           818 213 indeed.

  Scorpions' Kiss-          The vinyl crackle at the beginning of this track shifts my attention from Cali to the Middle East. Jah's production here is fine art.

                       The clarinet (woodwinds), flute, and boom bap drums emulate a type of Egyptian Noir drama score where the gods Gibbor, OHM & Myka9 come with so much heat

                       I feel as if I am in the desert on a tour to solve an ancient mystery.  Gibbor and Myka's styles mesh so well and Ohm's verse at first feels out of place and replicable, but on a second listen, I feel as if his contribution balances out their more singsong approach with his AOTAesque hard raps that complement the scene and cinematic style.

           The takeaway message of this track seems to be about cherishing the moments in time that make up our narrative and legend, overcoming our fears, and enduring.

           This is like an extraordinary film in music/song form, an epic track that deserves much attention and acclaim.

 Darling Carla-

 The strings and synths make one feel as if something is lurking around the corner.

Gibbor comes in stripped down speaking poetically about a woman/wife.

Gibbor seems to get personal and to speak tragically and romantically about a magical love and time lost.  

           I can relate and sympathize with track on a personal level, as I have had similar failed relationships that I can attribute to my brokenness.

           Hurt people hurt people; this cliché explains the last verse of the track where he opens up with a vulnerability rarely seen/scene in hip-hop.

             I am captivated and deeply touched by this one.

  This That-

Jah's sped up cuts that open and come in and out of this track are dope and fun laying the foundation for this banger.

Tomeicko kicks off the first verse with some interesting cadence and delivery. Her content is a bit dry. Some battle /semi-conscious raps work for this more straightforward track.

Volume 10 second verse is what we all would expect, respect, and admire from the West Coast legend. Gibbor's final verse, in my humble opinion, eclipses the first two verses.

I am most enthralled and into the beat and production on this track. Jah creates something fresh yet oddly reminiscent of the 1990s; it works and this song acts as a nice reprieve after the serious and heartbreaking feel of Darling Carla, thus moving the album forward in a cohesive placement.

  Play times over-

Play times is a haunting tune where Gibbor explores some horrorcore and social-political type verses.  

Despite his dark delivery and subject, his vocal stylings are very polished and he is clearly preaching what he truly believes, questioning our exploitations and personal beliefs that shape our society.

He delves into some religious rhetoric and critique which may be triggering for some, or for those with open minds, a lot of content to digest and ask yourself about; your own values and idealizations come into question.

Overall, a very deep, debating, thought provoking, and brave track that is a possible nod to Revelations?

  PSA12-

 Named by JahBluez. Public Service Announcement 12. The 12 has multiple meanings to him but he is primarily speaking on the Technic 1200 turntable.

My roommates The Adepts shine on this dope cut.

Dapper Dan kicks things off rhyming about graff and the failings of society.

Midknight comes straight in after Dap with some more social commentary followed by a nice vocal sample that transitions the track to Gibbor's world, where he continues to touch on the state of the nation with a shout-out out to his higher power; his delivery here is exceptional.

OHM follows, dropping more knowledge followed by a sick turntable demonstration by Blesd1.

Ohm comes back in again giving props to the Shapeshifters and co.

Overall, it’s a decent track that keeps the album flowing, and hearing my close homies get some shine on such an exceptional record brings me a smile.

  Give it your all-

 Gibbor goes all in speaking his truth over a dope beat with a nice conga bleed into the programmed drums complimented by a slick sample give it your all.

This song is inspiring and begs the listener to give 100% to all their endeavors

 The perfect insurgents-

Another track with Dapper Dan & ohm illuminating conspiracies and finding our purpose in the madness.

The production is solid but feels less inspired than the other songs on this album.

OHM comes with more social-political hip-hop. Ohm’s delivery on this verse is ill and noteworthy.

Gibbor’s chorus is for real and epic. Dan spits some misogyny/spiritual bars, almost contracting himself, but reeling himself back with an enlightened style that is cool as ice.

Gibbor's last verse comes also with more worldview commentary but starts to feel redundant after the last two tracks.

I'm trying to find more connection to the title referencing the insurgency and becoming radicalized and forging alliances against the evils of the world, but I think I can hear it subtly in this one.

  The Fraternity-

 Jah lays down some military type production with the drumline type beat and the trumpet sample. Jah's cuts between verses are really dope and adds dimension.

Mista Crane, my friend NOK, Embrae, and Gibbor all hold their weight on this gargantuan track. Nod your head to this banger where these heavyweight MCs illuminate the hypocrisy and failed political system, the negative forces that threaten our vision and drive us as artists and men bringing the fire to this standout track.

Gibbor’s finishes off the track with one of his finest verses on the album touching on spiritual revolution and those who are asleep at the wheel.  This one bangs and commands RESPECT.

  The Ghost-

 We are now at the final closing track titled "The Ghost"

Piano and horns float as Gibbor's poetic stylings have me in a trance.

He delves into the existential, self, and ego. Then, out of nowhere, he comes in with this Myka9esque hook featuring soulful, wild, quick, and exhilarating singing that finishes off the album on a poignant note.

A gorgeous whirlwind of a song and a perfect ending with Jah bringing in the wind. I love it.

 8/10

()()()()4/5 mics

 Drew Schermick 2021

[flounderingdestinies]

Mun's taste in muses: 2, 5, 9

ask meme, accepting

2. are there any tropes that pull you in or that you realise are reoccuring in your muses?

Well I definitely trend towards some of the darker stuff plot-wise on occasion, I also tend to be drawn towards female characters who had struggled with themselves and rough pasts.  Starting with Faith of course but going through Catra, Claudia, Cassandra, and even my OCs like Anaya and Avery.  I also tend to like shapeshifters, wolves and other canines especially.

 5. who is / was your favourite muse of all time to play?

Oh man, I don’t know about a favorite.  I’m very excited about my newest characters right now, but I have a few that I’ve been writing for years who always hold a special place in my heart.  Namely Faith and Myka on this blog and Jacen Solo over on his own.

9. have the types of characters you play changed over the years?

They have and they haven’t?  I feel that my characters have grown as I have, aged and matured with me.  But I think I’m still drawn to the same basic archetypes.  Broken girls and gentle boys specifically.

[chrismanlo-blog]

@2mexomd Presenting @poetryof2mex of @thevisionaries With @stereo_thirteen Also Of @theshapeshifters at @kgbstudios in LA Back in 2016. Blaq Tongue Society Opened the Show and Myka Nyne Followed to Close a Very Eventful Show Please Keep Alex the Audible Angel in Your Positive Thoughts and Prayers. He’s Been Dealing With Serious Health Issues and Here’s to His Recovery 🙏 #2mex #LA #OMD #ofmexicandescent #shapeshifters # https://www.instagram.com/p/B_Js2gKAWAa/?igshid=1e51znodp8gnd

[purlturtle]

Untitled Post-Apocalyptic Fic, part 6

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

“So,” Myka said in between bites, from across the campfire. “How does an Englishwoman come out of the Warehouse in the middle of nowhere, South Dakota?” The look she cast Helena’s way was oblique but no less sharp. She had clearly chosen the timing of this questioning deliberately – had clearly noticed Helena’s unease about the storm, and had waited until they’d halfway settled for dinner until she’d opened interrogation.

Helena didn’t contest the Englishwoman – it was obvious from the way she talked, of course. At least it would seem that Myka hadn’t picked up on Helena being out of her time – or if she had, she was holding that morsel back for later. “I was called upon to help,” she said simply.

Myka nodded slowly as she chewed and swallowed. “All the way from England. At a time where, to my knowledge, barely a dozen sail ships still exist that can make the journey across the Atlantic, at prohibitive cost.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Something special about you, to go to that trouble?”

Helena swallowed a scoff. Once upon a time, she’d have challenged anyone doubting her talents, but here and now, with the circumstances under which she had arrived here…? “No. Certainly not.”

“Then how? Did Artie finally get a transporter to work?” Then Myka frowned, and opened her mouth as if to add something – but shook her head. “Well, did he?”

“Transporter?” Helena asked. “A device to transport – people, I assume? No. If anything, a time machine,” she couldn’t stop herself from adding, and then bit her lips together.

Myka’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me,” she dead-panned. “You’re an agent from the future, gone back in time to ‘when it all went wrong’,” she finished in a tired sing-song voice. “Came too late, though, didn’t you.”

Again, Helena could sense a great deal of anguish behind the woman’s bite. Before she could say anything, though, Myka went on.

“Or is something else going to go wrong? Are things going to get any more fucked up?” And then, more to herself than to Helena, “Is that even possible?”

“Nothing of the kind,” Helena said. “I’m afraid I know nothing of your future.”

She’d dreamed of ice, and snow. Great sheets of ice and snow, glaciers under bright blue skies, a world frosted and asleep. Instead she was ducked out of a storm under a tarpaulin, and the world had gone to the knackers even without her Trident.

She took a bite from her sandwich.

The world made no sense, none of what she had planned for had any meaning anymore, but her body still craved food.

It tasted incongruously good, even. Where every story would have food “taste like ashes”, she found that her palate quite enjoyed the flavors that the sandwich offered.

She had no idea what to make of that.

“So, what’s your plan, then?” Myka asked, wiping her hands on a small paper napkin. It had laid on top of the sandwiches on the dog, a very thoughtful detail. Presently, it landed in the fire.

“Get to where Artie sent me,” Helena hedged.

“Delivering something?”

Helena hesitated, wondering how much to say. Artie had told her not to trust anyone. Inhowfar that applied to his “best agent”, after months of her living in the wild, Helena had no idea.

“Look,” Myka went on, rolling her eyes. “What I need to know is, should you get killed, do I take your backpack somewhere, or is that game over? Are you some kind of genius who needs to get somewhere to work some kind of last-minute plan or build some fantastic gizmo that makes everything all right again? Or are you just a courier?”

Helena felt like she should take exception to that last question – but, oddly, her ire entirely failed to manifest. She truly was just a pawn – of Artie’s, of the Warehouse.

Or was she?

Myka narrowed her eyes again, as if she’d seen that last thought take form in Helena’s brain. “You are committed to whatever he told you to do. Are you?”

Was she?

What stopped her from heading in the opposite direction, and vanishing into this wasteland of a “future”? There were people out here scrounging a living; she doubtlessly could do the same.

If she even wanted.

Because what purpose did she have, here where the apocalypse she’d been planning to bring about had so clearly already happened?

She might as well do as asked, go where bidden. What else was there? Always the Warehouse, she thought bitterly. Always the Warehouse, asking the last of its agents.

“Well?” Myka asked, a bit sharper now.

“Yes,” Helena said – and then her eyes met Myka’s, and she realized that in the face of this harsh, wind-swept woman, she meant that “yes” much more than she’d meant her “yes” to Artie.

“Good,” Myka replied. She leaned back, and Helena could see tension leaving her posture – not all the way, but some of it. “Listen, I know Artie and his ‘trust no one’.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Just… tell me where we’re going, at least roughly. I won’t be much help if I don’t know anything.”

“Out of the Badlands,” Helena said; that was easy enough. She gestured southwards. “For now, out of the Badlands.”

Maybe it was just the flickering firelight on Myka’s stony expression, but Helena thought she could see some muscles twitch in her face. “Fine.”

[purlturtle]

Untitled Post-Apocalyptic Fic, part 4

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“There’s a storm coming,” Myka said, squinting at the eastern horizon. She frowned, thinking for a moment, then asked, “Artie give you a tent or something like it?”

Helena shook her head. “No space for it in the backpack. He said to find deserted houses or barns. And that there was a big supply store in one of the towns along the road—”

Myka gave a short, barking laugh, and shook her head. “Yeah, no. That’s been empty for months. Looted. Besides, we won’t make it there today.” She slowed, looking around the hills speculatively, then nodded to herself. “Can you ride a horse?”

The sun was well on its way towards the horizon when Myka slowed down, snorting and nodding her head. Helena took it as her signal to slide off of Myka’s back. She winced as her feet hit the ground – yes, she was able to ride a horse, but she hadn’t done so in well over a century, she had the wrong kind of trousers, and she definitely wasn’t used to the kind of saddle that this particular horse came with.

That had been a surprise. A handy one, to be sure, but something that Helena had not expected, for Myka’s shape to be anything but an animal – in this case, not just a horse, but a horse with tack.

Myka’s equine shape began to blur, and Helena hastily turned away – the process was uncanny, even though Myka gave no indication that it hurt. Helena looked towards the east instead, where dark clouds were now uncomfortably close. A gust of wind shook the bushes, and Helena wrapped her arms around herself.

“We go on foot from here on out,” she heard Myka announce.

She turned around to the woman. “Where are we headed?” They were deep in the Badlands now, far from any road or even path. Helena had wondered, as horse-shaped Myka had confidently made her way into the wilderness, what was waiting here for her, and if she’d ever come out again – Myka Bering wouldn’t be the first Warehouse agent to suffer a break from the stresses of the job, and who knew where she was taking Helena, and for what purpose? Then again, if she had nefarious plans for Helena, why save her from the scavengers on the road?

The look Myka gave her in return to her question said quite eloquently that Myka was well aware of Helena’s worry. Still, though, the only thing she said was, “You’ll see.”

[purlturtle]

Untitled Post-Apocalyptic Fic, part 3

(part 1) (part 2)

Helena looked at the person who had spoken, and gasped.

The woman was more weather-worn than in the photo Artie had shown her; skin tanned and lips chapped, wrinkles around the eyes from squinting against the sun, hair lighter than it had been in the picture – but it was her, it was the woman Artie had talked about. “If you run into her, see if you can persuade her to come along,” he’d said, and then, “She was…” He’d broken off then, stared into thin air for a bit, muttered something under his breath, sniffed sharply. Then he’d just said, “She’ll be an asset.” Helena hadn’t gotten much more out of him.

The woman’s clothing was nondescript and serviceable, and her boots red from the dust that permeated everything around here – again nothing like the picture, but certainly more fitting to being out in the open like this, right down to the wide-brimmed cowboy hat she held in her hand, leather almost bleached white from the sun. None of the woman’s appearance, not even its suddenness, was quite as odd, though, as the sensation Helena had when she looked into the woman’s eyes – which was that she knew this woman, that she’d looked into these eyes before. Which was ridiculous, of course; she would have remembered. This woman was striking, truly unforgettable; besides the fact that the only human being Helena had encountered since being unbronzed had been Artie, Helena was not so befuddled as to forget someone as memorable as this.

“Been following you since you came out of the Warehouse,” the woman said, pinning Helena with a piercing gaze. “Never saw you go in there, though. Who are you?”

“Lake,” croaked Helena, giving the name of the fake identity Artie had presented her. “My name is Lake.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at her and regarded her for a long moment; Helena resisted the urge to fidget. “Right,” the woman said, at long last, her disbelief clear.

“Artie sent me,” Helena added quickly, and now the woman’s eyebrows twitched. They didn’t rise, she had that much control over them, but they definitely twitched.

“Did he now.”

Helena nodded. “He did say that I might run into you,” she added.

The woman clicked her tongue and looked away. “Hasn’t given up, has he. So, what’s your message, then? ‘Tell her to come back’?” she went on, imitating Artie’s inflection so accurately that Helena blinked in surprise. “‘Tell her I’m not mad at her; tell her no one’s accusing her of anything. She’s welcome back, any time she wants.’ Something like that?” When the woman looked back at Helena, her expression was unreadable.

“No, actually,” Helena said quietly. “He just said you were the best agent he ever had.” She had always had good hearing, and the ability to remember, re-hear, and parse mumbled words.

The woman scoffed, and through the affectation of it, Helena could sense a deep, lasting wound. “Right.”

Helena decided to risk it. “He said if you were to accompany me, my mission would go more quickly and be safer.” It wasn’t exactly what Artie had said, but it could be interpreted this way, and something told Helena that “mission” and “quick” and “safe” might still pull some weight with a former agent, even one as hurt and disillusioned as this one seemed to be.

And while the woman scoffed again, it wasn’t quite as acerbic as the first one. “Right,” was all she said once more.

“You did safe my life, just now,” Helena said, and then wondered why she’d said that – the horse had, not this wo—

Her thoughts froze.

The woman pursed her lips bitterly, then snorted softly through her nose. “Perceptive,” she said. “Yeah, that was me. Got hit with something, right before the Warehouse exploded. Don’t even know what artifact it was, because everything went to shit right after. But there were a couple ferrets there, running to get away, and one of them scampered over my foot, and bam, I was a ferret too, running after them because it seemed like a good idea and I wasn’t thinking too clearly because, you know, I had just been turned into a ferret.” She inhaled sharply and looked away, eyes fixing on the horizon. She was quiet for a long time, and Helena didn’t interrupt – she could sense that the woman wasn’t done talking yet. “Anyway,” the woman sighed after a while, and looked at Helena again with those piercing hazel eyes. “Ferret, horse, dog, cat – if it’s mammalian and I’ve touched it, I can turn into it. At will by now,” she added, with a wry roll of her eyes. “And thank god my clothes stay with me when I do.” She nodded her chin at Helena. “Name’s Myka. But you probably know that already. Care to tell me yours? Your actual name this time?”

Best agent I ever had. Helena nodded, decision made. “Helena.”