#she must feel better since we got all those rotten teeth taken out and actually feed her well and cuddle her and take care of her

[jessiesjaded]

Shes playing for the first time ever since she first moved in 😭🥹

[from-ib-to-asshai]

WIP WEDNESDAY- I see you down on your knees

Arya should like to imagine that Frey blood is different then other blood. Maybe that the smell is more putrid, or that the liquid more viscous. Perhaps even a different color; more brown. Dirty blood would be fitting for such a dirty, rotten family.

But this isn’t the case. Despite all odds, the blood of the Frey men is almost lovely; she doesn’t clean the blood out from under her fingernails for weeks in a futile hope to keep it there forever. It’s color seemed so bright in the candlelight of the Twins’ kitchen, runny and red like the wine she’d serve to the other family members later on. It was almost indescribable how it felt to watch it.

It was meant for her, she realized. Arya was meant to bleed men like them just like the sun was meant to rise in the east. It was destiny.

At night sometimes, Arya would shake with anticipation at the thought of Cersei Lannister’s blood. Would it be just as wonderful? Even more so? The expression on Cersei’s face would be of no matter to her because all that matters was her blood, because blood was her life force and Arya would weep with joy to have the chance to rip her life out of her, Needle forgotten at her side as she would instead dig it all out with her bare hands, the squelching sounds of flesh and muscle and blood combined with the cracking of bones would-

Oh. She’s getting ahead of herself again, isn’t she. 

Sansa stares at her from across the table, obviously still waiting for an answer.

“I’ve been around,” she said, “Surviving. Training. Hiding.” She shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning.” If Arya hadn’t been trained so well, she would've missed the almost imperceptible narrowing of her sisters eyes.

“I see.”

A pause.

“What about you?”

There was another pause, and Arya saw something in Sansa’s demeanor change - not for the better. On guard. Jaqen would have hit her for her mistake; Now Sansa either thought she was mocking her, since wherever she had been was obviously public knowledge, or her sister now knows that she’d spent the last years out of Westeros.

Jaqen would have hit her for it, the Waif would have beat her for it, Sansa now distrusts her for it. Arya just cursed herself for it instead.

“Lord Baelish got me out of King’s Landing,” the redhead began smoothly, ringing her hands together on her lap, “I was hidden in the Vale for a while(...)”

The silence between them was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but simply a reminder that they were essentially strangers, weren’t they, after so many years apart. Sansa was beautiful, sitting on the simple wooden chair as if it were a throne, back straight, hands folded and head held evenly as not to disturb the non-existent crown that rested upon it. Her red hair neatly braided and her face illuminated by the low fire, her displeased expression was identical to the one she’d given Arya almost every day growing up. This realization stopped her in her tracks. 

She tilted her head. No, it couldn´t be. Couldn´t it? They wouldn't have sent someone to Winterfell this fast, they couldn't have. Oh, but they could have. They could have gotten to Winterfell in the time she was in The Twins, they could have taken it over, they could have taken her sister's face. 

They had reasons too.

The House had reasons to be angry with Arya Stark, and they had the resources to tear her down, to kill her. All the shattered promises, all the ignored oaths, all the broken rules. But why? Revenge? That wasn’t their style, really; hadn’t that been the whole point? The lesson that Jaqen H’Ghar had tried to teach her, that The Waif had tried to beat into her?

We never give the gift to please ourselves. Nor do we choose the ones we kill. We are but servants of the God of Many Faces…

A lesson. That would be a motive. That would be a reason to kill and impersonate Sansa Stark. Maybe they needed more servants for the god then she’d thought. Maybe they wanted her back. Maybe-

The door creaks open. 

She flinches, instinctively tracing the outline of the hidden knife beneath the sleeve of her tunic with her hand. The door opens too slow for it to be an attacker, the footsteps too loud for an assassin, she knows -- but flinches anyway.

Petyr Baelish looks different then from when she last saw him. Perhaps older, perhaps more weary.The last time she had seen him had been years ago after all,  No, thats not it; he looks smaller, almost like a small child dwarfed by the thick winter furs he has to wear to stay warm.

Littlefinger isn’t made for winter, she realizes. A small grin briefly twists itself over her face. His beady little eyes fixed onto her and he smiled tightly, bowing deeply in their direction. 

“My Lady Arya. It truly is wonderful to see you,” he said, taking a seat by Sansa, “When was the last time I saw you -- four, five years ago?” He says it like he doesn’t exactly know how long, which of course is a lie, seeing what kind of person Petyr Baelish is. “You were naught but a child then. I am delighted to see you have grown into a beautiful young lady, and are safely back in Winterfell.”

Are you? She thinks to herself. Outloud she says, “Yes.” 

The simple reply throws Baelish off, and he awkwardly readjusts himself in his seat. 

“You simply must tell me about what you’ve been doing all these years. No one has heard from you in years.” He trying to play with her, she knows, but she is not interested in playing his game. He is far more interested in him playing hers. The smile she wears in small and light, weightless and nonchalant. She needs to make Baelish believe she thinks she’s smarter than she is. Not to trick him later; no, like she says, she has little interest in the game of thrones. No, she needs both him and Sansa to believe she had no capabilities to kill him, that she was too dumb to try. 

She shrugs. “Same could be said for you My Lord. I hear one moment you’re working for the Lannisters, next you’re marrying into House Arryn, only to move on to the Boltons. All quite conflicting reports, really.” Her voice is soft and dispassionate. “I was hoping, that as I tell you of my travels, I’d be able to hear about yours more. Oh, you know how the smallfolk speak -- all rumors and claims -- one can never really know the truth.”

“No,” Littlefinger replied, “One truly can’t. I-”

“So I must wonder, Lord Baelish, where your loyalties really lay.”

“My loyalties are solely with your sister and House Stark, my Lady,” he said smoothly, “Any mishaps or conflicts in my actions were purely to survive and to get your family back home.” Sansa stiffened slightly beside him but said nothing.

“As Lady Sansa can surely attest to, the Vale’s armies played an important part in defeating the Boltons and securing Winterfell. The Vale has sacrificed many a moon and many a man to get us where we are today. So if my word itself isn’t enough to make you not distrust me My Lady, then at least trust my actions.” He bowed his head to her with a smile, his hand on his chest.

It took her a moment to riffle through his words to actually gain some meaning from them; Littlefinger spoke fast and spoke many words whilst saying little. But aside from the acknowledgement that his loyalties to Sansa meant more to him then any other, and the mention of how indebted the North was to the Arryns, there wasn’t much behind his words.

She’d expected more from Lord Baelish after all she’d heard. Or maybe it was on purpose - perhaps he didn’t think she-

“Of course, you should know best that I can be trusted -- After all, I never revealed your secret to anyone, all those years ago.”

Ah. There it is.

Sansa’s sharp, icy gaze pierced through her. She didn’t even have to look over to see the question burning in those pale eyes. Baelish grinned wider.

“Harrenhal was such a terrible place, wasn’t it. I can’t imagine what it must have been there -- especially under Tywin Lannister.” Arya felt herself grinding her teeth together. “I just hope you managed to get out of there before before the Mountain took over,” he continued, “But it surely would have been hard to escape unnoticed -- especially being Tywin’s personal cupbearer.”

And there it was. The kick she’d been expecting. 

Thick tension filled the room as silence took over. Baelish’s smile waned slightly, unnerved by the quiet. He’d surely been expecting some sort of revoke from her, a hurried defense, a glim of anger; even just a startled look. 

But Arya Stark did not bend to the whims of men.

Sansa's dry voice broke the moment.

“Lord Baelish, you must excuse us. It seems my sister and I have much to discuss.”

The man stood and bowed, obviously pleased with his work, and left, footsteps loud and they echoey as he descended down the hall.

“You haven’t even been here half a day and he’s already trying to cause distrust between us.” Arya looked over, surprised. Now this she hadn’t been expecting. Sansa leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples and sighing. She caught her younger sisters inquisitive gaze and smiled faintly.

“He loves doing things like this,” the redhead murmured, tracing her finger along the wood of the table, “Trying to tear families apart, causing chaos wherever he steps foot,” she huffs. “I do understand why, I am easier to manipulate when alone. That doesn’t mean he’s any less despicable.”

Arya blinked. Sansa leaned over to her, laying her hand close to hers, close enough to feel the warmth without direct touch. She appreciated that, in a strange way.

“Why don’t you just...send him away?” Sansa smiles again, and Arya thinks it’s somewhere between patronizing and affectionate. Her younger self would have gotten at the gesture, but the last time anyone had looked at her with any kind of real affection had been years ago, so she didn’t even mind getting talked down too -- For all she’d been taught in Bravos, the House had not cared to teach her about Westerosi politics. 

“Because we need the Vale’s army. We can’t afford to lose their alliance because, while Lord Royce cares little for him, if our dearest cousin hears that his lord regent and surrogate father is killed on flimsy claims of conspiracy and treason ...” Sansa paused, looking out the window. The bright grey light reflected on her blue eyes. Arya realizes, then, that she hadn’t suggested to murder him, only to remove him from Winterfell. 

No, she realizes then. This was not a faceless man trying to trick by using the face of her sister.  The amount of fury in her face, etched into the curve of her gentle smile, sparkling in her kind eyes, evident in every small nod and calm word - this is not the way of a faceless man. The subtlety of the anger, no - they would try to  be much more obvious.They would not try to conceal their resentment as effectively as Sansa did.

Arya felt a twinge of pride at that, unable to imagine how the elder Stark had become this good of a liar -- what had caused it.

Satisfied with her discoveries, she excused herself, venturing out into the old, dusty, grey halls that she had once called her home. The dark stains, the crumbling corners, the burn marks on the tapestries and the nervous maids that have quick, hurried direwolves stitched into their overcoats to distract from the pinks and reds of their skirts that they are too poor to replace.

[slverjohn]

19 and s2 flinthamilton :)

EDIT: it’s been pointed out to me that this was meant to be flintham but i misread the ask and it ended up as silverflint??? i’m so sorry?? this is why i shouldn’t do things while i’m sick it’s like my brain only half works

oh my god this was a hard one…i changed the dialogue slightly but the sentiment is the same sdkljghasdkgj

inspired by that one description of flint’s cabin in some early script that mentioned a half painted landscape 

19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

It’s dark and dusty in the hold, and beyond that absolutely stifling. Silver’s sweating through his shirt after spending two minutes in the cramped room. Why he’s been asked to look through the stores on the Warship is something of a mystery: Flint had asked for him within minutes of returning with the Ashe girl, and instead of asking him to corral the men or take a headcount, like Silver had expected, he’d sent him below deck without a moment’s hesitation. 

Silver suspects that Flint wants his prying eyes and inquisitive mind away from the Barlow woman for as long as possible. He can’t blame the Captain, really: he’d do the same, if he were trying to maintain some mystery. 

He can’t say he particularly minds, despite the physical discomfort; better here than in the galley with Randall.  Even further, Silver would rather not spend too much time with Flint at the moment. Despite the many years of practice he’s had of self-serving double crossing, standing in Flint’s presence so soon after he’d betrayed him had made Silver uneasy. Something almost like guilt had begun to settle in his belly.

Perish the thought. 

Billy comes down just as he’s finishing his task, only one crate left to sort through. 

“What’s in that, then?” Billy asks, peering over the siding.

“A few jars of paint, I think,” Silver says, double checking the checklist hanging on the wall. 

“You should bring that to the Captain’s cabin. Call it a peace offering. Can’t have you glaring at Flint all the time, after all.”

Silver stares at Billy as if he’s grown two extra heads. “I’m sorry, you want me to put the paint where?”

“Look, Flint’s a bastard. I’m sure whatever he said to make you so cross with him was fucked up. But if the rest of the crew realizes how angry you are with him, it’s going to make our lives a lot more difficult.”

Silver doesn’t think the crew cares quite that much what he thinks of Flint, but he’s still stuck on the paint. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand what paint has to do with any of this.”

“Flint’s a painter. Back on the Walrus, if you’d bothered to pay attention, you’d have seen all those half-finished canvases scattered around.”

Silver had seen the canvases, but for whatever reason he’d never quite made the connection between the artwork itself and Flint as an artist.

Billy moves on, asking about Logan, about how Muldoon is taking his friend’s sudden departure, but Silver’s participation in the conversation is half-assed, at best. 

He remembers seeing the paintings, he remembers thinking they were slightly out of place in a pirate captain’s cabin, but he cannot for the life of him remember what was on the canvases. Were they landscapes or portraits? Romantic or realist? Good or bad?

He has no idea, and he’s burning with curiosity. 

It is this curiosity more than anything else that leads him to Flint’s cabin after dinner, the paints in one hand and the other hovering just over the closed door. 

“You could just knock, you know,” an amused voice comes from behind him, and he whirls around to see Mrs. Barlow watching him with a smirk. 

“I was going to,” he insists, though he feels himself color slightly at her raised brow.

“Well, no need to knock now,” she replies, and with that she simply walks in, holding the door open behind her. “Come along, Mr. Silver.”

Silver’s surprised that she knows who he is, but he’s distracted almost immediately as Flint stands abruptly at the sight of him, the heavy desk chair scraping loudly along the wood.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Flint demands, and (though he doesn’t break eye contact with Flint) he could swear he hears Barlow let out a put-upon sigh. 

Silver thrusts the box of paint out in front of him as if it could shield him from Flint’s irritation. “I brought you these.”

And Flint - Flint actually looks surprised at that, like the last thing he’d ever expected from Silver was a gift. Silver doesn’t want Flint to think he likes him or anything, though, so he’s quick to elaborate.

“I found them in the hold, and Billy mentioned that you like to paint. I figured they’d be better off here in your possession than gathering dust in hold.”

“Oh, how thoughtful, Mr. Silver. James so rarely paints, now, hardly ever has the patience for it. When was the last time you did something other than just a charcoal sketch?” The longer Barlow speaks, the more Flint’s eye twitches. It’s truly a fascinating cause-and-effect relationship.

“I must say, Captain, I never took you for such an artistic soul. I’d love to see your work, sometime,” Silver says, like the shit he is, because he wants to see if he can make that vein on Flint’s forehead start to pulse.

He can.

“Fuck off, Silver,” Flint says, but when Barlow clears her throat pointedly, He sighs, then continues. “Thank you, Mr. Silver. Now, please fuck off.”

Silver laughs, then walks forward to place the paints on the desk. Before he can turn to leave, though, Mrs. Barlow starts to talk again.

“James, why don’t we go for a walk on the upper decks? It’s a lovely night, and it’s been ever so long since I’ve been able to look upon the sea in such a manner,” she offers Flint her arm, and the look her companion gives her seems to be a strange mix of guilty, fond, and exasperated. It’s amazing, how expressive Flint is when he’s around her. 

“Fine. Silver, put that box in the empty space on that bottom shelf, will you?” Flint points to the bookcase in the corner, then loops his arm through hers. Before they leave though, Barlow catches Silver’s eye, looking between him and a leather-bound book on the far table pointedly.  Silver nods his understanding, brow furrowed slightly; why would Barlow purposefully point him toward something Flint clearly does not wish to share?

Still, Silver’s always been a nosy son-of-a-bitch, and so as soon as they’re gone he all but shoves the paints away and picks up what he assumes is Flint’s sketchbook.

It’s clear that he’s only just started using it, probably having found it after taking the Warship. The first three or four pages are detailed seascapes, vibrant and lively even in black charcoal. Flint’s gifted. Out of practice, Silver can tell, but good.

Interspersed between the landscapes are little portraits, some barely more than the bare-bones of a person’s face, and some intricate and life-like. At first, it’s mostly Mrs. Barlow, in various states of repose. There’s one of her naked, and Silver nearly tears the page in his haste to turn it, cheeks aflame. 

Then there’s a neat little sketch of Eleanor Guthrie, a scribbled out Gates, a kind-looking man Silver doesn’t recognize, and then -

Him.

Silver feels his brows raise, taken aback. 

It was clearly drawn after one of his earliest addresses: the Silver on the page has a bloody nose, and his teeth, bared in a mean grin, are stained dark as well. It really does look just like him, Silver thinks, and he notices absently that Flint seems to have put the most effort into getting his hair just right.

Maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised: they’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets these past few weeks, and it makes sense that Flint would simply sketch what he’s been exposed to.

The next page is him, too: this time in profile, frowning slightly. The page after that is a full-body sketch from behind; he wouldn’t be sure it was him, if it weren’t for the hair and that old cropped jacket he’d left behind.

He flips through the next seven pages, until he reaches where Flint’s sketches end. Every sketch, loose or detailed, small or large, on the most recent ten pages, are of Silver: silver laughing; Silver dripping wet after swimming to the Warship; Silver pouting; Silver playing with his hair; Silver smirking; Silver climbing up the rigging…over and over again, Flint has spent his free time not only sketching him, but thinking of him.

Silver doesn’t know what to make of that. He closes the sketchbook, cheeks red and mind reeling, and only barely remembers to put the paints where he’d been asked to before slipping out of the cabin.

He doesn’t understand why Flint has fixated on him in his artistic pursuits, as he’s fairly certain the man can hardly stand him. Maybe, at most, he finds him aesthetically pleasing (something Silver would never have presumed before seeing that sketchbook), but that is a far cry from tolerating or even liking him.

Silver decides, for the time being, to put this aside. He’s got Vincent and Nicholas to deal with, and he can already tell that they’re going to be the cause of most of his troubles along this journey.

But when he spots Flint standing with Barlow and the Ashe girl on the upper deck, illuminated by the full moon, he can’t help but wish the captain had made a self-portrait. Silver can’t say he would have minded taking it; he has no artistic talent of his own, after all, and surely that would be the only way to find a likeness of Flint.

He thinks he can almost understand Flint’s urge to put pen to page, if only to preserve the memories of the ones who so define the world around him. There’s some small part of him that would have liked something by which to remember Flint, so that he might never forget that fierce look in his eyes, the sharpness of his brow, the jut of his cheekbones. He’s been nothing but vexing and confusing, yes, but James Flint is unlike anyone he’s ever known. 

Silver will think of him, and his violent, artist’s hands, long after he leaves this rotten Warship behind.

send me a number!

[the-master-cylinder]

When you were a child did you dream of becoming a model/ actress or was it just something that happened? Bobbie Bresee: Well, to make a long story short… (how far back do you want me to go)… My mom always wanted to be an actress (plays in college was the closest she came). I did a few plays and got the “bug���. Fresh out of college (bachelor of Science) at Auburn University – I headed for Hollywood and landed a Playboy Bunny job for 5 years. A rotten job, but somebody had to do it! TV roles of one word graduated to one line and so on… until all this “horror stuff” came about. I’m a real “horror fan” so it came quite easy. However, I’m the one who likes to do the scaring, not to be scared.

Tell us about your memories of being a Playboy Bunny. Bobbie Bresee: It was the most exciting time of my life. I spent five years there; most kids only spent a year or two. I ended up being a manager type at the gift shop. It was the best time I ever had. The original Bunnies were one of a kind. It was really kind of interesting, they were all in show business. The club I was involved with was on Sunset Strip, so everyone who came in was a celebrity.

Is there an encounter that stands out? Bobbie Bresee: I was the door Bunny, wearing the ears and tail, and during Christmas we had to wear rabbit tops — it was really darling. This one time a huge entourage pulled up, and I had to greet the people coming in. I said, “I’m sorry you can’t get in without a key.” And he said, “Oh yes I can.” And they just started bursting in and I ran over to the manager because I have no idea who these people were. And later I found out it was Hugh Hefner! I thought “Oh my god they’re going to fire me!” He was the kindest person. You wouldn’t think he would be, but he was the kindest, most down to earth, humble man. He loved all the girls and he took care of them. He was a mentor to us.

Do you still keep in touch with the other Bunnies? Bobbie Bresee: It’s been about 40 years since then. We still try to connect, we still call every once and a while. I had a reunion at my house a little while back and all the girls came over. My husband was like, “Where are the Bunnies?!” I was like, “Honey, we don’t look like that any more!” I think I’m one of the oldest; I’m 70. It’s been that long. It’s incredible. It’s more than just a college reunion. It is closer than that; we were like a sorority.

What were you doing prior to MAUSOLEUM? Bobble Bresee: Prior to MAUSOLEUM… I had received a Bachelor’s Degree in Music and taught for two years – went shopping in Hollywood one summer – had lunch at the Playboy Club and never left!! I was a bunny for five years – had a ball… met a lot of people in show-business and was hooked!!

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How did you get involved with MAUSOLEUM and horror films in general and have you always been a fan of the genre? Bobble Bresee: Horror was my favourite genre of films. I loved to be scared to death. Forrest J. Ackerman was the one who said to try out for MAUSOLEUM. They wanted a brunette and in my audition I put red contact lenses in my eyes and dug my nails into the person I was reading with – and growled.

Did you have any objections to wearing gruesome makeup for your first starring role? Bobble Bresee: I approached the make-up as an adventure. Never having experienced the whole process I was naive to all the consequences – Yikes! The funny side was no one would sit next to me at lunch and they covered the mirror so I wouldn’t get depressed! It’s amazing how much character you come up with after looking in a mirror.

I understand your transformation from beauty to beast was quite an ordeal. Bobbie Bresee: John Buechler created the MAUSOLEUM monster. His original concept of my transformation started with a cast-mold months before filming… so he could apply the prosthetics that would fit exactly. It was put on with spirit gum! How does one remove it all.. acetone (and oil). Unfortunately the fumes alone bumed all the capilaries in my eyes and off to hospital I did go Not a pretty sight. It took a month to heal… then we returned to finish the film.

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Did you play all the monster scenes or was there an occasional stand in for the full drag monster parts? Bobbie Bresee: Stunt girls were used toward the end of the film because couldn’t wear the large contact lenses in my eyes anymore! Also, B Vale was the final demon. A rough job to wear that garbin 110 degree hear. The head alone weighed 30 pounds.

The man eating breasts were quite original, how was this effect performed? Bobbie Bresee: He nicknamed her “munching tits and well deserved. They were connected to air-compression tubes worked by three guys standing behind herl Thore word tubes coming out of her head and body both. I wasn’t on the set when the man monster was used. I did phase 1 and 2. It wasn’t saw the finished version did I realize what she did with her breasts.

John Buechler talked somewhat bitterly about his experiences in MAUSOLEUM, stating – “I hate the movie, I hate the people with it with the exception of Bobbie Bresee – she’s wonderful. The people did not know how to make a movie…” Do you have any comments about his statements or some feelings of your own on the matter? Bobbie Bresee: Hell, I have my own theories on all this. It was the producers first film… it wasn’t organized, all the money wasn’t there, they wasted a lot of film (enough to make 2 more MAUSOLEUM’s), changed to a second crew and director mid-stream, even the leading actor, who was to be played by Burt Ward of Bat Man fame.

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Were the make-up effects as strenuous on you this time around? Bobbie Bresee: I didn’t have to wear prosthetic pieces – my “dummy double” did all the tongue work. Can’t say I’m too crazy about those bends of facials. Even the hair on your face is taken off (& MAUSOLEUM).

I know MPM seems to have distributed it in America on a region-by-region basis. Bobbie Bresee: That’s exactly right. As a matter of fact, I was told that the reason movies open up in the southern areas is that they’d like to get a response from somebody, and if it’s good, then they open it up in the big cities – New York and L.A. and what not. And I wasn’t aware that when they did a distribution thing they did it region by region, but that’s the big reason, and if it doesn’t do too well they’ll pull it and then not spend the money on the big opening. (Some more small talk and the conversation shifts back to the make-up effects in MAUSOLEUM). To finish that story, we had the eyes in, we had the teeth in, we had all the prosthetic pieces in – it was like three a.m. and we finally stopped shooting. Everybody went home and I was left there to have my make-up taken off. Well, you never heard such hollering, it hurt so bad. My skin was all peeling off and my eyes were dead red from wearing the lenses too long, and that was like three hours later – six o’clock, and I was an absolute mess.

What was your reaction when you first heard that your performance in MAUSOLEUM had won an award, Best Actress’at the Paris Film Festival Of Sci-Fi and Fantasy? Bobbie Bresee: Shock… fatal shock! I have since found a wonderful coach (John Lehne) who said, after seeing MAUSOLEUM, I hadn’t developed a three-dimensional character. My reply was “Are you kidding – I barely got the words outlet alone develop a character”.

What was it like working on a Troma set and a film like the wonderfully titled SURF NAZIS MUST DIE? Bobbie Bresee: Peter George, producer and director of SURF NAZIS MUST DIE, was a USC film graduate – this was his first film, with his own money. If you know how difficult it is to get something like this accomplished (produce a film) then he gets four stars for this first attempt.

How did your part for GHOULIES come about? Bobbie Bresee: Buechler recommended me – I jokingly said it was because they already had a bust (cast mold) of me – anyone could have done the part. It’s very expensive to cast a bust (dental material!)

Besides playing in movies, you’ve played in television shows like Simon & Simon and the Fall Guy. After being on both sides of the fence, which do you like the best? Bobbie Bresee: Definitely horror. You have more freedom, and besides, the TV people only see me as a “dumb blonde” – I’d rather scare people to death!

You have worked with two generations of the Carradine family, John in METAMORPHOSIS and David in ARMED RESPONSE, how did they compare to each other and what were they like to work with? Bobbie Bresee: John Carradine was sexyl Can you imagine, during an interview I leaned in and he looked down my blouse and smiled. I looked at him quite differently after that. He was chain-smoking the whole time. I’m sure that probably added to his health problems. David on the other hand seems to be very low keyed – doesn’t smile much and loves his beer!

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I have heard that you had bad experiences working for Fred Olen Ray, was this the main reason that you formed your own production company with your husband?

Bobbie Bresee: Interesting that you picked up on that. Actually we were so disappointed in the way Fred Olen Ray put the video (METAMORPHOSIS/Evil Spawn) together – we had to go to court to get control so we could put out a better product. Fred cuts a lot of corners and it shows. The ‘ole saying “you get what you pay for also pertains in movie making. The version in the States is the one Fred put out – I’m still embarrassed about that. England got the revised edition.

I realize you have little free time but do you have any hobbies? Bobbie Bresee: I go to acting classes in my spare time. My drama coach, Rick Galters, is a certified genius and has coached a lot of the big stars today. I owe him a lot.

What’s the story behind your board-game business and how successful is it? Bobbie Bresee: “Pass Out” (an adult drinking game. Ed.) has been a successful board-game in the States for over twenty-five years. Frank (her husband) has fifteen board games on the market. As a matter of fact Games Trade Monthly’ of England reported that “Pass Out” was the #1 most popular board-game in all of the United Kingdom. It is currently sold in most big stores including the ‘adult games department’ of Harrods.

Do you have any goals… where will Bobbie Bresee be ten years from now? Bobbie Bresee: Well, like most actors, we hope to have continuous work (which is rare in this business). And dream of the “big break”. You really have to love acting to stay in it… the drop out rate is 97%. I’d like to make an Academy Award winning Horror film someday. Now, wouldn’t that be a first! Elsa Lancaster (BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN) once told me… “if you always play a monster, you can grow old and nobody will notice!” Sounds good to me!

From watching most of your films, It is plainly obvious that you are not a shy lady. Do you feel that all of your nude scenes are totally necessary for the plot or simply included to attract a young male audience? Bobbie Bresee: There are no two ways about it – nude scenes have nothing to do with the plot – it’s upsetting, exploitive and de-meaning. You have two choices – work or not!ll There are two-hundred girls waiting in the wings who are younger, better looking and willing to take over in a second. Since realising this inevitable dilemma I have found a coach, John Lehne from the Strasberg School in New York, to help me become a good actress. I had the “cart before the horse, I got work before I was ready. Luckily I’m working to repair that damage. I plan to stay a life-time in this business and there’s only one way to do it… study!

Even though you’ve only been in a couple of movies (that have been seen thus far you’ve obtained a army of fans practically overnight… how does that make you feel? Bobbie Bresee: And that’s the reason I don’t want to switch genre’s! I consider myself extremely lucky to have acquired them!

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY huffpost Fantasynopsis 4 (1991) Draculina Fearbook 1992

Bobbie Bresee “80’s Boob’s & Beasts” When you were a child did you dream of becoming a model/ actress or was it just something that happened?