#shes just a girl who lost her father and likes capitalism not the devil!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

riverdale-retread · 3 years ago

Text

Riverdale S5 E12 (Jaime/Hiram) - 5 Things I loved/ 3 Things to consider

5 Things I loved

1. The music selections for the Jaime to Hiram transitions were delirious and filled me with joy. I admit up front I’ve never heard any of these songs before, so if they turn out to be a horrible kind of misappropriation or desecration or something I will feel bad. In any case - Riverdale commits to giving you a dose of the surreal every episode. The difficulty with doing that in this episode is that the stories being told in it are unusually straightforward, even staid, for Riverdale. So they went to town with the sound track.

There’s a song (Demolicion by the band Narco) that sounds like it’s being sung by the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Toons on a bender - it’s just rawararwrarawrar. All these songs about Hiram ‘being bad’ and mentioning the ‘devil’ are so on the nose that the nose gets broken and pushed right into the skull (the title of the song is literally Devil Devil).

2. I love that Hermione Gomez wears huge 80s glasses that completely overwhelm her little face and yet Jaime hits on her and thinks the world of her. It helps to have that face, I grant you, but as someone who took the Dorothy Parker quote, Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses, very very personally back in the day, I LOVE that Jaime/Hiram has no such qualms. Did everyone notice the bust of Nefertiti that’s positioned right behind Hermione the whole time Hiram is successfully asking her out? I did and it cracked me up.

3. I loved that nothing in this story about Jaime Luna makes Hiram Lodge even a little bit sympathetic to me. Hiram is an out and out villain, and I love that. I’ve been sick of villain backstory narratives that are like, Bad Things Happened To This Man So We Must Identify With His Homicidal Impulses that keep coming out, but this episode didn’t do that.

a) Hiram is in so many ways a textbook abusive husband, and the only thing that distinguishes him from the more stereotypical abuser is that he doesn’t actually punch his victim (he just shoots at her using other people’s guns). Abusers blame their victims for ‘causing’ them to commit abuse. The same is true here. The story that Hiram tells Reggie about his life pretends to be about his father, but is actually all about the fact that it’s Hermione’s fault that he’s a gangster. She’s the one who likes the fancy clothes and the fancy car, the one who names him Hiram Lodge, the one who is turned on by Hiram working for gangsters, the one that goes to the gangsters (rather than his father or her mother or any other adult) to get Hiram out of jail. It’s all her fault and she owes him. This is in addition to his usual, You’re my wife and I own you.

I am right back to being very worried about Hermione.

b) Hiram pretends to be giving ‘life advice’ about fathers and sons to Reggie. Hiram has direct knowledge that Marty Mantle is a piece of shit, and that Reggie has a very trouble relationship with him, and that Marty absolutely does not respect Reggie at all whatsoever (“Reggie is a fool.”) Hiram uses Reggie and then ditches him when he’s done. Hiram makes Reggie an accessory to murder, which nets nobody anything at this point other than Hiram’s own blood lust - and possibly tying up loose ends because Vito is someone who can correct this yarn that Hiram is spinning about his origin - then breaks his heart. Marty Mantle is not only a dad who beat his son - he’s a dad that does not ask his son “Where did you get the money” when the son pays off a huge debt to a known criminal, and is only relieved that he’s no longer on the hook. He also tellingly asks Reggie, “That’s what you got from my story?” indicating that this is a story rather than a testimony.

4. I loved the very anti-straight men commentary the show keeps sneaking in. Like, straight marriage is the worst, especially the ones that produce biological offspring, according to Riverdale. Marty Mantle absolutely despises sex. He’s a guy who sells sexy cars to other guys for a living, and yet he hates talking about getting laid in one. He hates his beautiful sensual son, too, for being sexually successful and comfortable in his body. Both Reggie (described by the gay-bi Fangs as “very straight” even after kissing him) and Hiram (who is basically a Hermione-sexual at this point) have comically fetishistic relationships with cars and shoes, lovingly wiping down these objects at the start of each day. All the straight men say the word “shame” several times -I’m ashamed of you/ I feel shame/ so ashamed/ shame.

5. I continue to adore “I am not in high school any more” Reggie Mantle. Growing up to be a slightly sleazy car salesman is the one of the few character developments for Grown Riverdale that both makes sense and isn’t depressing. Core Four, Cheryl and Polly are all extremely depressing and supportable with logic. Toni and Fangs make out OK but they were also underdeveloped in the first four seasons. (I am too upset to talk about Sweet Pea). I was moved by his tearing up while very quietly confronting his father, and I was moved by his boyish attempt at trying to show his new boss that he’s not just the muscle. Oh and he’s so beautiful, did I say that already? There’s so much face in Reggie’s face - strong brows, deep set eyes, those cheekbones, that jawline, that MOUTH.

Three Things to Think About

a. Why is Jughead narrating this? Jughead is unusually wrong about a lot of things in his opening narration, and I assume this is intentional. Jughead seems to use the words hero and protagonist interchangeably, and also I guess hasn’t seen Joker because most villains and antiheros also always get their origin stories too. (There’s a theory that what we’re watching is the Betty Cooper serial killer origin story, for example). Has Jughead not watched “Citizen Kane” because he asks “What is his rosebud?” about Hiram, BUT WE ARE NOT TOLD. Jughead sounds jealous of Reggie, frankly, and he’s wrong when he says Hiram collects lost souls. What OTHER lost souls does Hiram have near him? And who the heck is S5 Jughead Jones calling LOST?

b. What Reggie really wants to do - and possibly also Hiram - is to wear a suit and carry a briefcase. It’s just very White Collar Aspirant that isn’t fully explored. Like, how the 50 shades of grey movie was really about sitting in a board room negotiating a contract and having pretty women in suits bring you tea - that was the erotic highlight of that movie. We live in capitalism, so getting to use the accoutrement of the Wall St capitalist is the true fantasy.

c. The point of this episode that the show is making to the viewer is this: A straightforward narrative, where gangsters act like gangsters, and fathers and sons have realistic misunderstandings and conflicts, is something we’re capable of doing. We just don’t want to.

#riverdale s5 #riverdale positivity #riverdale review #i did very much like the stuntcasting of making the Hiram actor's son play the young Hiram #i guess they had to do it but using hermione's original actress to play her mom does NOT work #that lady looks 100% front desk and not even a little bit housekeeping #this was a brazen fail of bechdel test for riverdale which doesn't do that great to begin with #ready for some high octane creativity and craziness from riverdale soon #SPOILERS #Hiram lodge #reggie Mantle #marty Mantle #hermione lodge

21 notes · View notes

limbo-limbo-limbo · 4 years ago

Text

A Superstar Is What You Are

A/N: I decided to base this on the movie “Funny Girl” with Barbra Streisand just a little. Hope you enjoy! Songs used: Body & Soul by Tony Bennett, Amy Winehouse + I’m a fool to want you by Billie Holiday

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ: @youbloodymadgenius

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Ivar x Black!OC

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs: 20. Wait a minute, wait a minute. You ain't heard nothing yet! (The Jazz Singer) & 32. You have bewitched me.body and soul. (Pride and Prejudice)

“Come on, just walk through that door and get this over with.” Standing in front of the door, Hattie tried giving herself a pep talk, she’s been jittery since last night, where she contemplated going through with this plan.

Standing yet not moving an inch from her position she began reading the elegant yet alluring print of the words that read “The Tinted”. She remembered the first time they came into town creating a lot of buzz for themselves in just a short couple of weeks they became the best performance theater to grace the deep south.

Turning the golden knob of the door, she stepped in guiding herself to the main theater where she knew the gentlemen would be waiting for her.

She spotted three men seated at a table, in the far right corner of the room. All three men were vastly different in appearances yet somehow you could tell wealth and respect followed them. The man in the middle was dressed casually for a middle class man, he had to be about in his late 40s as the wrinkles showed age was not too kind to him. The man on the far left had to be around the same age as well, but if he wanted to easily lie and say he was younger, he dressed far more fashionable, decorated in rings and a gold chain which must have cost him too much money. The last man in the room was around her age. Hattie presumed he must be one of the older gentlemen's sons or just worked there, he dressed the same as her, mediocre yet the wealth laid behind his eyes.

"Sirs? My name Hattie and I'm here to audition to be a part of your show, that you have round here." Hattie smiled. Hoping her confidence would ease their suspicion of her. The man on the left looked at her, grinning at her, yet it didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but we can't allow you to audition." The man in the middle said. He smoked his cigarette, letting the smell in gulf her nostrils, grimacing at the smell.

"And why not good sir, I have just as much talent as the girls you usually allow to be up on that stage." Hattie was annoyed, she knew coming there was a bargain because of her appearance, but talent was talent and she had it.

"You're pretty, but you're not like the other girls they're-"

"White? Is that what you were going to say, I know who I am and I'm proud of it, sir I'm a star and if you give me a chance I'll have you swimming in bucks of cash, what do you say?" Giving him a look of reassurance, she hoped he would take the proposition. Not many white men in town gave black people a chance leaving most of her friends and family doing all sorts of odd jobs, but she wouldn't, she couldn't be one of those people.

"I'm sorry miss, but we ain't giving you this job, we'll have a mob outside our doors every night and I'm not risking my business because of that." The three men quickly began packing up their items as it seemed no one else was approaching, as they started to leave Hattie was panicking. Her dream was slipping through her grasps and she didn't know how to catch it.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. You ain't heard nothing yet!" Blocking their path leaving no room to escape, she tried reasoning with them hoping they heard her pleas yet they edged her out the way going out the door leaving her in the empty theater.

Hattie was embarrassed, she wondered what went through her mind that made her think this would work?

Her mother told her repeatedly to just go ahead and work at the sewing factory with her and the aunties. What type of life was that though? She thought.

Finally snapping out of her thoughts she decided to examine the room she was in, hoping to imagine what could have been.

Taking the steps to the backstage, she gained access to the main stage. She couldn't comprehend how anyone would get tired of the view in front of her. She began to imagine an audience awaiting her performance. Waving gracefully as if greeting her fans, she took her place in the center of the stage.

Closing her eyes, she went to her safe place, the inviting smell of grits and bacon overtook her nostrils, Hattie could see visibly her mother at the stove. Looking at her surroundings she realized how broken her home was, the house has been disheveled with the wood chipping away because of termites, the old furniture that reek of something salvage from the trash and sat in the sun for awhile, yet she wouldn’t trade it for anything for that was her home and she was protected.

The vocals of Billie Holiday played through the radio the beautiful song only played on Saturdays, making this her mother's guilty pleasure once a week to enjoy the sweet sounding of the blues. The house was either filled with church music or silence.

I'm a fool to want you I'm a fool to want you To want that can't be true A love that's there others too I'm a fool to hold you Such a fool to hold you To seek a kiss not mine alone To share a kiss the devil has known

She could feel the longing and pain in the words as she sang, she never knew love, Hattie didn't even think love was possible for her, generations upon generations the family always picked your husband, it didn't matter if you knew each other or not, the fate of her love life was decided and she had no say in it.

Feeling tears well up in her eyes, she could feel her breathing become unsteady from the sheer realization that she couldn't take charge of anything in her life. She thought this would better her life and then maybe she wouldn't need to get married to some man for financial stability, yet the truth of reality hit her, she knew nothing really happened the way you wish it to be.

Clapping began to grace her ears, alarming her. She quickly opened her eyes to where the sound was coming from spotting the young man from earlier, who didn't say a word, watching her with admiration in his irises.

"You! Where did you learn to sing like that?" Hattie smiled.

“I-I don’t know, being in the church everyone got to sing whether you want to or not.” Staring at the man, you heard a sigh of disbelief come from his mouth. Never had he heard the sweet vocals carry that much emotion, the sound of her voice put him in a daze as he envisioned memories of a love lost.

"I should leave, Thank you for the compliment, but I wasted my time coming down here." Stepping off the stage, she wished she could stay on it forever, a part of her heart yearned to stay there longer however it wasn’t her time to.

“You’re in.” she stopped, shocked at what the young man said.

“You can’t be serious with me, those two older gentlemen said and I quote that I couldn’t do it, hell they didn’t even let me sing for them, so tell me…”

“Sigurd, my name’s Sigurd.”

“So tell me Sigurd, how am I in the show?” Hattie said. Giving Sigurd a look of curiosity as to what he will say.

“Because You’re worth the risk, Our girls here are nowhere near as good as you hell I don’t even think they can do what you just did. I want to bring real music back into this place, when my father Ragnar and uncle Rollo started this place they hoped to establish music, real music back into the people’s heart, but they have been blinded by capitalism and can’t see reason, you can make them see.” Hattie could see the look of sadness in his eyes as he thought about his time here, Sigurd was a lover of music and could play any instrument that his fingers graced, but his father and uncle had pushed him to the back and he wanted out.

“I have a song I want you to sing that I made and I need you...Sunday night we’re having a big concert for my brothers who are returning from war and let’s give them something they won’t forget.” Hattie couldn’t help but smile at the mischievous idea Sigurd conjured up. She started thinking heavily about the pros and cons that could happen but all her heart was telling her to do was agree. Agree to the adventure, what did you have to lose?

“You have yourself a deal Sigurd. Gosh I can’t believe it’s coming true.” Kissing Sigurd on the cheek, Hattie leaped into his arms thanking him for this opportunity, bidding him goodbye she ran home to prepare herself an outfit, hoping to not disturb her mother who was sleeping on the couch, she tiptoed to her room and once inside got to work on her outfit.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

As the days got shorter to the final day, Hattie privately met with Sigurd to practice with him when Ragnar and Rollo were nowhere in sight. She found a friend in Sigurd and he greatly in her, He told Hattie how hard it was for him to make his family proud of him, constantly compared to his brothers. Hattie could understand being reminded of others' accomplishments leaves you feeling agitated.

It was late into the night, she waited. Her mother usually went to sleep at this hour, but tonight was the night she decided to stay up longer. Hattie sighed as she waited near her mother’s bedroom door praying the lights would turn off, she knew she only had a few hours to get to the theater before the show began.

The shuffling of footsteps alerted her, she held her breath not wanting to draw attention to herself. The sound of the light switch being turned off, quickly her feet threw her towards the front door and to the bus station.

Arriving at the back door, Hattie banged desperately onto the door hoping Sigurd would hear her. Sigurd didn’t tell a lie when he spoke of this being a big event, Hattie spotted a multitude of cars parked miles and miles when dropped off at the bus station. Photographers lined up at the entrance snapping photos of anyone who was deemed important, she didn’t recognize anyone that could be celebrity status, but how would she know if they were famous, the only thing she knew of famous people were the voices she heard from the radio, never getting a visual of who they truly look like.

Finally the door opened, revealing Sigurd. He was dressed very handsomely wearing aa black suit with a dark green tie that highlighted his eyes and his hair was slicked back into a ponytail, yet he still had his fluffy bangs you liked about him.

“Boy am I glad to see you, something told me you would not come.”

“Of course I would come, Sigurd, why would I miss upsetting your father and uncle.” Laughing at Hattie remarks, he stepped aside to let her in. He thought she looked cute in her outfit, he could easily tell it was handmade, but it worked for her.

“So have I missed anything?” Hattie said.

“Some of the girls are doing a number right now, but when you hear singing in the rain, I want you to stand behind the curtain and wait till you hear me playing our song.” Hattie nodded, she could feel her heart beating rapidly as the time tick. She had to greatly thank Sigurd for taking a chance with her, he was putting everything on the line just for her to perform. But he said she was worth the risk and she was starting to believe it.

Sigurd hid her backstage, telling her that his father and uncle were in the audience, asskissing his brothers probably so Hattie didn’t need to worry about any mishaps for now. The chords of Singing in the Rain began to play and her heart stopped. Let the show begin. She thought.

Standing behind the curtain, she could see Sigurd on the piano, and the other band members. They looked at her suspicious till they realized it was you, the mystery girl. Sigurd didn’t let you meet the others but boasted about you and your vocals, they thought it was weird, but they were just there to play, not ask questions.

“Hattie, remember to just feel the music, don’t think about my father or your mother, in this moment they don’t matter. This is your moment, take it.” Tears welled up in her eyes, Sigurd always had a way with words and today was no different, she was glad she made a friend like him in this harsh world.

“Same to you Sigurd, you’re an amazing composer and if your father and anyone else can’t see it, to hell with them. I’m proud of you Sigurd, you’re a good man.” Wrapping his arms around her, they stayed in each other's embrace. They knew the hardships both carried and thats all they both wanted. Someone to understand.

Letting out of her embrace, Sigurd handed her the microphone and proceeded to the piano. She breathed heavily as she tried to shut out the negativity. She could hear words from her mother, Ragnar, Rollo, Her aunties, and even herself. Tonight was her time and nothing was going to ruin it.

Looking at Sigurd, He gave her the nod signaling he was going to change the song. The mysterious yet alluring chords played, everyone in the audience had confusing expressions as the dancers and singers stopped shocked at what was transpiring. Soon enough the curtain came up and she could almost cry the sight of everyone. They all looked beautiful to her dressed in the finest garments. In reality she was the sight to see, many people gave questionable looks as to what was going on, while others looked at her with disgust. Hattie didn’t care though.

Spotting Ragnar and Rollo looking quite pissed at the sight of her she turned to Sigurd to quickly sing the song.

[Sigurd] My heart is sad and lonely For you, I sigh For you, dear, only Why haven't you seen it? I'm all for you, body and soul

[Hattie] I spend my days in longing Wondering why it's me that you're wronging I tell, you I mean it, I'm all for you Body and soul

[Sigurd] I can't believe it, it's hard to conceive it That you'd turn away romance, oh [Sigurd & Hattie] My life, a wreck, you're making You know I'm yours for just the taking I'd gladly surrender myself to you, body and soul

Opening her eyes she was greeted with looks of astonishment, Silence filled the theater as everyone stared at her. Hattie felt like an insect being inspected right about now, but she couldn’t lie and say she didn’t feel alive while up there.

Finally the silence was disrupted by a male seated next to Ragnar, clapping as he stared deeply into her eyes. He had the brightest blue eyes and he had to be about her age as well. He was gorgeous.

Soon after applause and cheers was all around as they stood up. For me? She thought. She honestly couldn’t believe the sight in front of her, she looked to where Sigurd was and saw him smiling happily as he stared out into the crowd as well. Finally looking at Hattie, she mouthed genius to him and he could only bow at her compliment.

“One More song girl!”

“Oh yes please another one.”

“Sing some more!” Smiling from ear to ear, Hattie looked to Sigurd for advice and he did the only thing he could do. Play another song.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“That was amazing Sigurd, did you see how those people acted once we started singing?”

“No, It was how you sang, I told you that you were a star Hattie.”

“It’s only because I had the best Musician and composer in my corner.” After singing for hours, they were in the dressing rooms for a much needed break. Chatting up about their little plan. A door knock cut their conversation short.

“Sigurd, can I have the room real quick?” Looking at the man who spoke, there he was. The gorgeous man from earlier. You looked at Sigurd telling to get out.

“I’ll be right back Hattie...be careful with him okay?” Nodding your head, you bided Sigurd a bye and watched the other man in front of you.

“Why did you send Sigurd out the room, what could he possibly do?”

“My brother Sigurd has a knack for sticking his mouth into conversations that don’t pertain to him, so the best case is to send him away.” Giving the man an annoyed look, Hattie scoffed, hating what he insinuated about Sigurd.

“Well I don’t appreciate you speaking ill about my friend even if he is your brother…” She trailed off her sentence, hoping the man would say his name.

“Ivar and your name is Beautiful?”

“Hattie. Thank you for clapping for me when one one else didn’t, I can understand how difficult that might have been to just do.”

“When I hear something beautiful or see someone beautiful...I must appreciate it, don’t you believe so?”

“I suppose so, I never saw that many pretty things in my life.” staring down at her hands, Hattie tried thinking of anything that completely blew her mind of its beauty. All her mind could conjure up was music.

“Well we must do something about that.”

“And what you are gonna do Ivar? Things like getting diamonds, or traveling to foreign places don’t exist for someone like me, I’m not those women you usually date where you can take them anywhere in the world and show them off...” Stopping herself from rambling on further Hattie got up from the comfy couch, Hattie made way to the door, walking home since the bus station was probably closed this late into the night.

“Hattie! Hattie! I’m sorry.” Catching up to her, she could hear the desperation as he shouted after her. Ivar knew he hit a nerve and couldn’t let her leave with a bad impression of him. her opinion mattered.

“Leave me alone Ivar. Shouldn’t you be chasing them white girls from the show?” Finally turning around to face him, since he remained persistent in following her. She didn’t realize how close he was to her, his chest was so close to hers there breathing become in sync, became one.

“I'd much rather chase behind you…"Hattie stared at him shocked. She never had anyone flirt with her so openly, much less a white man. Ivar continued to stare at her with those blue eyes that seemed to beckon her to give in to this desire he knew she felt.

"Ivar...you know there can't be anything between you and me, I'm a black girl and-"

"You have bewitched me, Body and soul. When I saw you standing there on that stage my eyes could only stay at you, only you. You’re beautiful not because of your looks, but because you’re not afraid to defy society rules and go after what you want. As you know I’ve traveled far and wide because of war and no woman holds a candle to the courage I saw you do today and I want to stand with you in that courage.”

Hattie zoned out as she glanced at Ivar, her body shot sparks of arousal running deep into her core as she pondered hard about what he said. About her. Any doubt about him that she suspected of him vanished, She knew she shouldn’t give in to him, yet she felt she could be happy with him even if she knew the outcome would be tragic once someone found out.

“Sweet talker…”Hattie kissed Ivar on the cheek, laughing as a smile appeared on his face. “We can see where this goes, but you must promise me to only tell me the truth...if you grow tired of me let me know I won’t hate you if you are honest.”

“I’ll never grow tired of this, of you. My elskede (Beloved).”

#ivar the boneless imagine #ivar x black reader #ivar x reader #ivar x oc #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless imagines

34 notes · View notes

erraticrandomficwriter · 4 years ago

Photo

A Lost Boys Plot Bunny:

The Night Stalker’s Moon - Part 1

A Werewolf hadn’t crossed the town line into Santa Carla ever since the agreement between the Werewolves and Vampires was put in place to outline their territories. This agreement – this treaty, so to speak – was put in place for more reasons than one. It was put in place to not only keep the peace between the species, but to keep certain members of their species apart.

There hadn’t been a transgression since the treaty’s creation until the unthinkable happened – history repeated. A history that the treaty was supposed to prevent from happening – A small group of Vampires turned a young runaway from Luna Bay – the Werewolves’ territory. Now while the Vampires did not technically break the treaty, the Werewolves took it as an act of aggression towards it and they would not stand for that.

This is where Lycandra – known as Andie to the humans – comes into play. She is a Luna Bay Werewolf and a Santa Carla native. Andie was the first to volunteer but given her history with Santa Carla the elder Wolves were reluctant to let her go, but in the end, they determined that perhaps sending her would be the best. After all, it was history that had repeated, and she had learned from her own.

Lycandra’s orders were simple; find the young boy Laddie, determine if he is savable or not and act accordingly. She convinced the elder Wolves to let her go alone because a lone Wolf would be harder for the Vampires to sense than a Pack.

Little did any of them know Lycandra’s history would inevitably get in the way of their plans…

As the cab crossed the town line into Santa Carla, ‘The Murder Capital of the World’, Lycandra felt her hair stand on end. It was if half of every fiber of her being was telling her to head for the hills and the other half was pulling her further in. It had been so long since she’d been there but hadn’t forgotten a thing. Despite her recollections of the past, she pushed them from her mind. Lycandra was there for one thing and one thing only – repeating her part of the history was not part of it.

Lycandra watched the familiar scenery pass her by and how different it had all become. Not only had the buildings evolve and the storefronts change, but the residents as well. Of course, Lycandra was familiar with the culture of the time and knew what to expect, but seeing it in play within a town she hadn’t seen in so long was odd for her, and it wasn’t until the cab pulled up in front of a house that she removed her sunglasses and placed them on top of her blonde head.

Lycandra rolled down her window in the back of the cab and leaned out of it to take a look around. This place looked like a deserted flea market had exploded and was left to let nature take its course. “Oh, Emerson,” she said to herself, “trying to be the town crazy, are we?”

Lycandra turned her attention away from the scene around her when the cabbie spoke,

“This is it. You sure a young thing like you wants to get out in a town like this?”

Lycandra paid the fare with a, “Why wouldn’t I? This is the murder capital of the world, isn’t it? I’ll fit right in.” She smiled and flashed her yellow eyes that at him that returned to normal in a blink of an eye before getting out of the cab to get her bags from the trunk. It didn’t surprise her that the cabbie didn’t get out to help her and it amused her as he sped away the second after she closed the trunk.

With an amused expression upon her face, she went down the drive the rest of the way and paused when she found an unconscious appearing Emerson lying upon the porch. Lycandra dropped her bags with a bit of a huff and went over to him. She crossed her arms and waited for him to make a move, but when he didn’t, she greeted him with, “You’re not drunk or dead. I don’t smell any liquor or decomposition. A mere human would find your presentation of playing dead rather convincing, however.”

Emerson opened his eyes and sat up in disbelief because this was not the person he was expecting. “Lycandra? What in the devil’s name are you doing here?”

Lycandra sat on the porch step beside him. “A letter was sent, Emerson. It’s all in there.”

Emerson recalled receiving a letter with the Lunar Seal upon it, but he didn’t bother reading the contents. “I don’t look at anything with the Seal anymore. I haven’t for decades. So, I will ask again. What are you doing here, Lycandra? You’re not supposed to be here or have the terms changed?”

Lycandra took her sunglasses from upon her head and put them on with a sighed, “No, you’re right. I’m not supposed to be in Santa Carla, but the Vampires fired the first shot. They turned a runaway from Luna Bay, and we can’t stand for that. I’m here to rectify the situation – whatever that entails.”

Emerson muttered, “Damn Vampires,” before speaking clearly. “I don’t want no Wolf trouble, Lycandra. I got my daughter and grandsons coming and they know about none of this.”

“It’s Andie for the time being. Lycandra is far too obvious.” She made sure to address that first before getting to her other point “And you’re seriously letting them come here? That is a recipe for disaster, Emerson.”

He knew she was right about that, but an idea came to his mind in that moment. “Not if you keep an eye on them for me.” Before Lycandra could argue, he continued. “They don’t know nothing about what goes on around here or in Luna Bay.”

Lycandra had caught what he said before about his family, but it didn’t really sink in until he brought up Luna Bay. “Wait…wait. They don’t know anything about their bloodline – their goddamn birthright?”

“I am not arguing my decisions with you, Lycandra. If you want to stay under my roof, then you will obey my rules. You’re in my territory now.” Emerson knew he had her there.

Andie grumbled a bit but agreed. “Fine,” she seethed is frustration. “I will keep my mouth shut and keep an eye out, but my mission comes first. I will not stray from that.”

Emerson accepted the compromise. “Good. Now there are other rules while you are under my roof…”

Before he could state what they were, Lycandra said, “Don’t touch your root beer and stay out of your room?” She grinned at his scoffed chuckle. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Emerson. You may be an old man now, but I still know you.�� Despite the fact that Lycandra looked to be in her late teens, early twenties at the latest she was far older than she appeared.

Emerson didn’t agree to nor deny with that fact. Instead, he shooed her off into the house. “Take the downstairs guest room. Now shoo before my family arrives and you ruin my presentation.”

Lycandra got up with a slight shake to her head so she could get her bags from the ground. When she turned around to head into the house, Emerson was already back to playing dead, so she had to step over him. “Very convincing,” she stated flatly as she moved over him and went into the house.

Her eyes widened slightly as she returned her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Good lord, I stepped into a Texas Chainsaw Massacre movie.” To say the design was very…hunting lodge rustic would be an understatement. The sights were only overshadowed by the smells coming from the taxidermy room attached to the living room. She had no intention of investigating that, so she went straight to the guest room to drop off her bags.

What she did, though, was take her camera from her bag and head out the back door. Lycandra needed to document things around the house just in case she ever needed to put anything to use.

—————————————————————————–

Lycandra was out there for a bit and didn’t head back to the house until a Huskey dog ran over to her and started barking like man. She simply turned around and crouched down in front of the canine to flash her yellow eyes at them as she held out her hand to show she meant no harm. The dog then sniffed her hand before licking it then took off to chase after some horses further down in the field.

Lycandra made her way up the house and entered the back door just as she heard the voice of a teenage boy ask Emerson about living in the murder capital of the world. “I wouldn’t say it was the capital, but pretty close to it.” She introduced herself to the brothers before Emerson could. “I’m Andie, and you must be the grandsons I’ve heard about.”

Michael was the first to step forward to reply. “Hey, I’m Michael and this annoying fella is my little brother Sam.”

“Are you living here, too?” Sam asked since his grandfather hadn’t said anything about her.

Lucy, Emerson’s daughter, had a question about that as well. “You didn’t mention there was a young girl living here.” She turned to Andie, “Who are you again?”

“This is my house, and I can have whoever I want living here.” Emerson made that clear before addressing concerns about Lycandra – about Andie. “Now Andie is…the granddaughter of an old friend of mine. She needs a place to stay for some time so the downstairs bedroom is hers and that’s the last I will address of it.”

Emerson made his way to his taxidermy room while saying to his grandsons, “Andie will tell you the rest of the rules,” before he closed the double doors behind him.

Lucy wasn’t too keen on the idea of the young woman staying there but her father laid down the law, so she just smiled and said, “It’s lovely to meet you, Andie,” then brought some more boxes upstairs.

Andie didn’t get the chance to say anything else before Sam picked up the TV Guide from the table and asked her,

“Grandpa actually has a TV?”

“No,” she informed him based on past memory, “he just likes reading the guide.” Andie gestured to the taxidermy room. “Make sure to stay out of there, and if you’ll excuse me, I have some unpacking to do.”

“Need any help with that?” Michael offered, especially since it wasn’t every day he’d be living in the house with a woman who wasn’t his mother.

Andie was so not interested for more reasons than one, but played along by saying, “Now, Michael, you’re gonna have to work harder than that to get into my bedroom.” She placed her sunglasses back over her eyes and walked away, leaving a laughing Sam in her wake.

———————————————————————————–

End Part 1

#lycandra #andie #the nightstalker's moon #a lost boys plot bunny #work in progress

17 notes · View notes

myupostsheadcanons · 4 years ago

Text

Books “Read” in 2020

Previous entries: 2019, 2018, 2017

I don’t rank these based on actual literary quality, but by how much i enjoyed reading/listening to them. Hopefully with Audible’s new “Premium Included” feature it would cut down on so many Average/Below Average books next year, it’ll give me more of a choice on what kind of books/podcasts i want to listen to rather than given a handful to pick from a month.

The “Top 10″

Forging Hephaestus / Bones of the Past: Villains' Code Series - Drew Hayes has became one of my fav authors over the past couple years, from his Vampire Accountant series, 5-min Sherlock, and his Spells, Swords, and Stealth books. FH is one of the few times he wrote Adult Fiction. This is the second time Drew created a world of super heroes (the YA Superpowereds), thus previous experience in dealing with the nuisances and meta of super meta dynamics. I love the main character, Tori, and especially love many of the side characters (like Ivan) and the comedy is the right tone of dark and not-in-your-face (not quite as well -written as something like The Venture Bros or The Tick, but being adult fiction you can get away with having characters named Johnny Three-Dicks and Captain Bullshit)

Dreadnought / Sovereign - the second super hero series I’ve placed on my top list this year, this one is Young Adult. This one is far more serious and deals heavily in issues like trans and women’s rights, mental abuse, and social acceptance. The main character is full of angst, but that should be a given for a 15 yo with lots of mental baggage and new social pressures. The main character is the main draw, most of the side characters are a bit more one-dimensional.

The Trouble with Peace: Age of Madness, Book 2. It isn’t a “First Law” book if you don’t want to strangle half of the main characters. Many are stepping outside of the shadow of the previous generation and finding themselves falling flat on their faces. If they aren’t at each other’s throats, they would soon have to deal with rebellion in the streets and the constant looming presence of Bayaz, who waits to sweep the board clear and rearrange the pieces the way he sees fit.

Michael J. Sullivan’s: The Riyria and Legend of the First Empire Books.

Riyria Revelations: Theft of Swords / Rise of Empire / Heir of Novron

Riyria Chronicles: The Crown Tower / The Rose and Thorn / The Death of Dulgath

Age of Death / Age of Empyre, Pile of Bones

After finishing the Legend of the First Empire books that came out earlier this year, I went ahead and read the prior series that takes place in the same world. I would suggest reading the entire series by Publish order, but they can be read Chronologically. I read the Legends books first, and it helped me see where Sullivan was heading and when he started to plan out the Legends books in more detail. (The early cameo of the Main characters from Legends in a mural in Heir of Novron, and knowing who is behind the events in Dulgath)

The Dresden Files: Peace Talks / Battle Grounds - They really should be read as one book, because that was how they were written. It is a Feast of Crows / Dances with Dragons situation, where the book got too long and got split up. The fans are pretty divided by the book(s) ending and how some of the main characters are handled, but these are Jim Butcher’s characters not theirs and he can drop bridges on whom ever he wants.

What Lies Beyond: Cycle of Galand, Book 6 - This is a “mythology” book (like Sullivan’s Age of Death was) where it introduces most of the Pantheon of their religion and corrects much of the mythology that had been lost over the decades. They seek a weapon to vanquish the Litch and save their world and the afterlife from oblivion, but not all of their Gods are happy about it.

Will Destroy the Galaxy for Cash - Yahtzee (Zero Punctuation!) has to be one of my favorite internet personalities for the past 10+ years, and I eat up every book he puts out and because he wrote the books, and is an actor himself, he could deliver the lines as they are intended to be. The sequel to Will Save the Galaxy for Food does not disappoint and even ups the stakes from the previous book.

The Girl Who Drank the Moon - This has to be one of the most charming books I’ve read. It is magic and wonder at it’s finest, no need for long explanations on how the world works. If you like Ghibli movies, you’ll be interested in this book. It has its dark moments but isn’t outside of what you’ll find in something like Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, and Nausicca.

The Goblin Emperor - the youngest son of the Elf King finds himself emperor after the death of his father and brothers in an assassination. The only problem is, that he is only half-elf... his late mother was a Goblin, and he had been in exile as an embarrassment to the family for most of his life. He knows nothing of how the courts work and what’s left of his own family work against him just for being who he is.

Lost Gods: Brom - I liked this book more than I did American Gods (which I read a few years ago). It is darker and bleaker by the bucket loads. One of the few books with a downer ending that I actually liked. I would compare this book to books like All the Pretty Horses and No Country for Old Men-- but it is a Fantasy!

Above Average.

Siege Tactics (Spells, Swords, & Stealth. Book 4) - What happens to adventurers after they retire? A fun concept that is explored with our party of NPCs running across a town full of epic-level characters that no longer have a player.

The Arthurian Saga - The Crystal Cave / The Hollow Hills / The Last Enchantment / The Wicked Day - A more realistic version of the Arthurian tales, taking the POV of Merlin, bastard son of a princess, as he earns notoriety as a scholar and wizard. The Wicked Day takes the POV of Mordred, making him far more sympathetic than other iterations of his character.

Arc of a Scythe - Scythe / Thunderhead / The Toll - Science and Technology eliminates death and in order to prevent over population and complacency an order of grim reapers are chosen to randomly deal out quotas of permanent deaths. An example of what happens when every need and want is satisfied by a higher force and the apathy that causes rot in human society and the superiority complex of those in charge of life and death.

The Diviners / Lair of Dreams / Before the Devil Breaks You / The King of Crows - Horror during the Roaring 20′s. Tackles issues as Racism, Poverty, Government Secrecy, Christian-Evangelical Cults, Nationalism Cult Mentality, Communism, Labor Unions, Eugenics, Post-WW1 trauma... It could almost pass as an adult fiction book. I wouldn’t recommend giving it to someone under High school age.

Ancillary Justice / Ancillary Sword / Ancillary Mercy - Artificial Intelligence takes over human bodies as a form of capital punishment, controlling ships and space stations. The dominate human empire outgrew the need to label any gender, using “she” to refer to everyone rather than the vaguer “them/they” pronouns, and only outlying colonies stick to the binary ideals. Think of “The Left Hand of Darkness” but on a more broader scale and as the default majority/ruling empire. Toss in a solid military action novel on top and it isn’t nearly as boring as Left Hand.

Children of Time / Children of Ruin - War destroys the human population of Earth and those that remain are the ones that headed out to the stars on tera-forming missions. A virus created to advance life forms to prepare a world for human habitation runs amuck with out its overseers, creating intelligent arachnids, crustaceans, and squid.

The Licanius Trilogy - The Shadow of What Was Lost / An Echo of Things to Come / The Light of all that Falls - It is very heavy on info overload, there is a lot to keep track of, so much so there is a summary of book one and two at the start of the third. I like the twist at the end of the first book and that the villain is actually trying to help save the world, and you spend most of the second stuck between who thinks they are doing the right thing and who is actually doing the right thing - a lot to talk about doing the lesser of two evils.

Mythos - Steven Fry - A humorous retelling of Greek mythology. I read Mythology - by Edith Hamilton prior to this book, which is a more scholarly take on the myths, and helps if you are unfamiliar with classical mythology prior to reading Fry’s take on it.

Iron, Fire and Ice: The Real History That Inspired Game of Thrones - a nice history book about Iron Age royalty. It is actually refreshing to read after going through so much faux fiction that is in Philippa Gregory’s books.

Will My Cat Eat My Eyeballs? - Children ask questions to a Mortician about death and what happens to bodies after people die. I listened to her autobiography last year/year before and it is worth picking up this one along with it.

Average, but still good.

Jack Campbell’s Lost Fleet Universe: Triumphant (Genesis Fleet, Book 3) / Tarnished Knight: Lost Stars, book 1 - The realistic space battles just drag me back in each and every time.

The Case of the Damaged Detective: 5-Minute Sherlock - Drew Hayes can’t write a boring book. It isn’t quite on point as his other series, but still fun to read. Hayes is really good at making YA books with Adult Protagonists. It is a road-trip book, the main character is a washed-out operative that is getting his second chance playing bodyguard and future assistant to the 5-minute Sherlock.

Locked In / Head On - Do you remember “Surrogates”? that Bruce Willis movie where people walk around in robotic avatars, well... it’s almost the same thing. A virus kills millions, save for a select few that experience “lock in” syndrome and are able to connect to robots via their brains and the internet. The main character is gender neutral and you get a choice to listen to the book with a male or female reader.

Murder by Other Means: The Dispatcher Book 2 - more John Scalzi! The first book was in my top list a few years ago, and i enjoyed the sequel just as much. Between Scalzi’s The Dispatcher and Locked In series, i like the Dispatcher more.

The Shattered Sea Trilogy: Half a King / Half the World / Half a War - Joe Abercrombie’s attempt to make Young Adult books. It keeps all the grim dark, but lacks all the swearing and humor that made The First Law books more enjoyable. Many of Joe’s favorite character tropes are still present and is one of the better “Fall to Darkness” stories I’ve read. It also has different POV characters each book and is one of those “faux fantasy” settings.

Mage Errant: Books 1, 2 & A Traitor in Skyhold: Book 3 - If you are wanting to get away from Harry Potter, pick up this book series. It takes place in magic school, but it is its own world and setting and not just a hidden world within our own. The main group of kids are misfits among the school, unable to master their powers, that get taken up by the badass librarian to be trained in more unconventional ways.

Dawn of Wonder: The Wakening Book 1 - the main character has ptsd from growing up in an abusive household, and i thought it was handled rather well. He would be rather competent and cleaver most of the time until he gets triggered into an episode, he fights really hard to overcome this short-falling of his. Standard classic affair else wise, family leaves home because the local authority figure doesn’t want them around anymore, goes to big city, kid wants to do good and avenge the deaths he was accused of, joins the badass school of hard knocks... big powerful evil thing trying to consume the world.

The Rage of Dragons - It shares a lot of tropes and story points with Red Rising... just in a fantasy setting, not in space. If you are wanting fantasy with POC main characters and a non-European-centric culture, that doesn’t pull any punches, give it a shot.

Earthsea - Tehanu and Tales from Earthsea - I had read the first three books several years back, and i did re-read them in order to refresh myself prior to reading the final two.

The Secret Garden - I absolutely loved the movie from the 90′s as a kid, and finally got around to listening to the book.

Six of Crows - A heist book in fantasy world with the magic users being heavily “Jewish / Slavic” coded by how they are treated and persecuted. I might have thought more favorably about the book if i hadn’t read other books with “street rat slum” main characters. (Seriously, after spending six books with Royce in Riyria someone like Kas is just second bananas)

Unconventional Heroes / Two Necromancers - Comedic Fantasy, the humor’s not on par with say MogWorld, and has more jokes than Fred The Vampire Accountant. It is still a parody of villains and heroes in fantasy worlds. I would find it safe for a 12/13yo to read, cursing and all, though they might not be aware of many of the tropes that are being deconstructed. The reader of the book did better in this one then he did with Six of Crows and Beezer, still the audio needed some editing because it repeats itself a few times.

Once More Upon A Time (Free Audio Book) - I don’t always care to read romance stories. I like the idea behind it however, to trade their love for each other in order to save their partner’s life, then learn to re-love one another again.

Monster Hunter International - If you think Dresden is too liberal, this takes a hard turn to the right.. replace the magic with GUNS, lots and lots of GUNS. An organization that hates the government but hunts monsters for government bounties. The main cast is multi-ethnic and they do make fun of that at one point. There isn’t a lot of thought into the plot, because action is #1, but it is fun enough to ignore the politicking.

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Collection - i bitched about there not being an omnibus last year, and then Audible uploaded one. The ending is still one big clusterfuck.

Stephen King’s Insomnia - this book is the bridge between Steven King’s two universes. It is a sequel to IT and brings up the Darktower often. IT dealt mainly with childhood fears, Insomnia deals with Elderly and feminine fears.

D’Arc / Culdesac: War with No Name - I liked D’Arc more than i did Mort-e, and Culdesac is more on track with Mort-e. The virus that mutated the ants and animals reminded me of the virus from Children of Time/Ruin, even though i read Mort-e first, reading D’Arc after CoT let me notice it.

Michael McDowell’s: The Amulet / The Elementals / Gilded Needles / Blackwater - From the guy that wrote the screenplay of Beetlejuice, and the pioneer of the Southern Gothic Horror. Gilded Needles is a bit out of place, taking place in 1890′s, and is more of a social horror rather than a super natural horror the other books are.

Gardens of the Moon: The Malazan Book of the Fallen, Book 1 - high fantasy dark fiction. if you really want some CHONKY door stoppers, there’s over 10 of them in this series. Could’ve done less with the manipulative bastard mage that speaks in 3rd person. I had read The Willful Child, an attempted comedy science fiction novel by the same author, and it showed that the author was unfamiliar with that kind of genera and should stick to grim fantasy.

The Knife’s Edge / Citadel of Fire: The Ronin Saga - This is one of those series that I’m always going “oh, that reminds me of [insert another better series]” At times it reminded me of The Licanius Trilogy, Shades of Magic, Arc of Scythe, Riyria, Korra... It is just shy of being as good as them, and is rather firmly in that Sci-Fi Fantasy Ghetto and has a bit of “anime” feel to it with their magic users having ‘power levels’ and the power creep.

In Calabria - My only problem with the book is the massive age-gap between the Main character and his love interest. Outside of that, the whole Unicorns in the modern world concept is done very well.

Pout Neuf (Audible Free Book) - Journalism and romance during WW2. A quick read and the book really shows that research had been done about the setting and time period.

Nut Jobs: Cracking California's Strangest $10 Million Dollar Heist: An Audible Original - Not only does it talk about the heist, it actually touches on the subject of migrant farmers and slave labor, as well as the desertification of the California Valley.

The Science of Sci-Fi: From Warp Speed to Interstellar Travel (Free Audio Book) - a neat little informative podcast if you are looking for an introduction to some of the harder science fiction.

Mythology - by Edith Hamilton - Text book about Greek Mythology. Like “used in schools” text book. It is a good read if you don’t want to go through Ovid, Virgil, Homer, and all the other classical writers on your own.

The Space Race: An Audible Original - America didn’t win the Space Race. Russia did just about everything first. The only thing we did first was put people on the moon. It also goes into detail about how the inventor of the Nazi’s V2 rockets became employed with the US Space program. As well as the government’s announcement to let space travel become privatized.

Pale Blue Dot / Cosmos: A Personal Voyage - It’s Carl Sagan. Come on! Everyone should be reading them. Pale Blue Dot was being turned into an Audiobook in the 90′s but with Sagan’s death, only the first few chapters were read by him and his partner reads the rest of it (she does a decent job, and i understand why they wanted her to read it, it should’ve been done similarly to Cosmos, with guest readers doing each chapter)

Thicker Than Water (Free Audio Book) - start up pharmaceutical company scams people out of millions with promises of a miracle machine that was ahead of its time. Story told from the whistleblower himself as he recounts what his job was within the company and how he knew the owner/founder of the company and how coming out about what was going on ruined his relationship with his family and friends.

Don't Panic: Douglas Adams and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - biography on Douglas Adams and the history behind the creative process behind the Hitchhiker’s Guide series.

The Genius of Birds - It reminded me a lot of “The Soul of an Octopus” in quality. It is rather informative about birds, how they behave, and how we judge intelligence in non-human animals.

It’s “ok.”

Les Miserabes - I can see why people favor movies and theater versions because of how dense the book is, getting the cliff notes version of the book instead of reading several chapters about the Battle of Waterloo.

Viva Durant and the Secret of the Silver Buttons (Audible Free Book) - It’s cute, and I spent the next several weeks humming that freaking song.

Challenger Deep - A book about mental illness by the same person that brought us The Arc of a Scythe series. It isn’t a bad read, but if you are prone to get panic attacks and have mental illness yourself, you might get too into it and make you uneasy. It can help with neurotypical people with understanding how some illnesses work.

Into the Wilds (Warriors, Book 1) - Ah, the cat book. It is prob because there are soooo many books in this series that it over-saturates the kids impressionable minds.

House of Teeth (Audible Free Book) - I read this book prior to Monster Hunter International, and thinking back on this one, i am reminded about the other. Save for this one is PG. So... the kid friendly version.

The Martian Chronicles - Space Horror, on Mars. If you like old science fiction, like Classic Trek, Wells, or Forbidden Planet stuff. There is a lot of zerust.

Andrea Vernon and the Corporation for UltraHuman Protection - The third superhero series I’ve read this past year. It is not as ground breaking nor subversive as Villain’s Code or Dreadnought. The humor is a bit too forced and parts of it falls into “we can be more offensive because it is an adult book” category.

Interview with the Robot - Don’t really care for books or programs that are set up in the “interview” format where it is two people talking to one another. (I have no fucking idea how this book got top Kids book of the year on Audible, it is more of a YA book... it must been because it was Free and lots of people picked it because the rest of the choices that month were complete garbage)

Micromegas - perhaps one of the oldest examples of Speculative Science Fiction. Written by Voltaire, it is about a giant from another solar system that is so big that humans and life on Earth are microscopic. “what value are the lives of ants to a man?”

The Three Musketeers - i had forgotten how much espionage there was in this book. I would say this is a good companion book to Don Quixote, as it takes its fair share of inspiration from and even name-drops the character a couple times.

Charles Dickens: Oliver Twist / David Copperfield / A Tale of Two Cities - DC is the standout IMO among the three, it is Dickens’ Magnum Opus. Les Mis did a far better job with the Revolution than Tale did as well. I felt rather obligated to reading these books because of the subplot in the Age of Madness books being about Poverty during the Industrial Revolution and Workers Revolts against the Ruling Class.

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea - the version i listened too made most of the Americans sound like GWB... which is funny because one of them is Canadian, and the Comic Relief character about how boorish Americans are.

Stuck (Free Audio Book) - it is a neat idea, getting jarred free of time but everybody else isn’t and doesn’t remember. It gets a little heavy for a kids book near the end, edging into YA territory as the character gets older mentally and the people around him age physically.

Phreaks (Free Audio Book) - i knew a lot about Captain Crunch and other phone hackers of the 60′s. There is a subplot of the big radioactive corporation covering up causing cancer to their workers, and the father (voiced by Christian Slater) being in the closet but still homophobic about it.

Silverswift (Free Audio Book) - If you like fairy tales set in modern times, it is worth a look. It is similar to In Calabira in that way. The mom being the nonbeliever and thinking grandma is off her rocker, but the granddaughter knows it in her bones that grandma is telling the truth.

Sleeping Giants - alien mechs from the distant past, once mistaken as the titans and gods form mythology, now being studied and experimented on by the government. This is another “interview style” story telling.

Celtic Mythology: Tales of Gods, Goddesses, and Heroes - there is a lot of names and stories, it is worth prob getting a physical copy of the book to keep things straight and to use as a reference.

How to Defeat a Demon King in Ten Easy Steps - A love letter to The Legend of Zelda’s Ocarina of Time and other RPG games.

Casino Royal: James Bond - the movie was rather faithful, including the part of being tied to a chair. I do wish they kept more of the book’s ending where Bond was ready to retire prior to his secret-spy love interest gets killed.

Aliens: Bug Hunt - a compilation of Alien stores about people landing on various planets and encountering aliens, not always the Xenomorphs we know, but the term “Bug” came synonymous to any dangerous alien lifeforms encountered.

Macbeth: A Novel - retelling the story of Macbeth but in a novel form. If you can’t get past the language of the original play, this would help. It sets it more firmly in historical fiction.

Hannibal: A Novel - I went ahead and re watched the tv show after finishing the book. I’ve seen the movie a dozen times, and i understand why they changed the ending to the movie. The book is the main one that characterizes Hannibal and the show uses a lot of the plot. Hannibal Rising wasn’t really needed because Hannibal (in this book) does think/talk about what happened to his sister and home, and i can see why Harris didn’t want to write that book either. The audiobook is rather poor quality, they talked too fast in places and i don’t really care for their acting...

The Power of Six - I read I am Number 4 several years back and this one popped up on sale so i nabbed it. I like Neil Kaplan, and i think this one is better than the first one and actually gets into the meat of the story.

Cut and Run: A Light-Hearted Dark Comedy - body parts harvesting.... mmmm.

Calypso - non-Fiction, biography of the author. Talks about his family, his life with his partner, and what he does. Much of it is charming and it is read by the author. this was prior to him loosing his marbles about retail workers and becoming a karen.

Our Harlem: Seven Days of Cooking, Music and Soul at the Red Rooster - the history of Harlem and the Harlem Renaissance. I didn’t mind this podcast so much because i was reading The Diviners during the same time.

Malcolm and Me - another biographical book. one of the free books i got during Feb’ Black History Month.

History of Bourbon (Free Audio Book) - Informative about the liqueur industry in America.

Junkyard Cats: Shining Smith Book 1 - post apocalyptic action science fiction novel. the moment that guy showed up i was “that’s your bf.” and it was so... the plot wasn’t hard to figure out, it’s all about the action and setting.

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress - One of the better Heinlein books. The man can’t write romance and he is rather big on casual polygamy and open marriages. An anarchist-revolution book written by someone that is more on the Libertarian side of the aisle. Mycroft (the computer) comes off as rather antiquated, an AI that runs on a closed server, communicating through the telephone lines and printed paper, makes me wonder what Heinlein would’ve done if he was told about the internet and Deep Fake tech. (the book takes place in like 2075, but written in 1966)

Caffeine: How Caffeine Created the Modern World - the production of coffee and it’s prevalence around the world.

The Life and Times of Prince Albert - Exactly what it says on the can. *rimshot*

The Real Sherlock: An Audible Original - a biography of Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle.

The Design of Everyday Things - using psychology to improve the design of systems, products, and the modern business model. It gives proper terminology for several common design features and how to improve on existing structures.

Bottom of the Barrel.

The Pagan World: Ancient Religions before Christianity. I was hoping there would have been something in there about European Religions, there isn’t, and the book was mostly Greek and Roman life styles and how gods are worshiped. It let me know where the word “auger” came from and why it was used in the Licanius Trilogy.

Life Ever After - disjointed at best. a couple that aren’t good for each other spend the next several hundred years in a crappy relationship.

Beyond Strange Lands: An Audible Original - The audio was complete crap on half of the voices. Which is bad because this could’ve been better. It is a Pod Cast Show and the director couldn’t make sure everybody had decent recording equipment and the sound effects often drown out the actors.

Henrietta & Eleanor: A Retelling of Jekyll and Hyde: An Audible Original Drama - They were going for a modern telling, but the language used is archaic. They speak like Dickens characters even though they talk about cellphones and computers.

A Crazy Inheritance: The Ghostsitter book 1 - The concept is there, but it is too nerfed. It was made for the 8-12yo crowd in mind by people that don’t know how to write for children.

Tell Me Lies (Free Audio Book) - It really wants to be smart. Who’s playing who and who is the actual villain of this story? If you want a quick “who done it?” maybe look into it.

Evil Eye (Free on Audible Plus) - told through phone calls between a mother and daughter. The whole genera of evil boyfriends/husbands isn’t really my cup of tea, and the boyfriend’s actor was too fake and the set up to the meat of the story was annoying.

The Half-life of Marie Curie - I didn’t mind learning stuff about Marie Curie... falls squarely in “made for TV lifetime movie” quality though. You should not carry around a vile of uranium where ever you go.

Alone with the Stars - A girl in Florida hears the call for help from Amelia Earhart, but nobody listens to her. Part fiction, part biographical. It would’ve been better as a biography and talking about various conspiracy theories about what happened to her and finding the pieces of the airplane.

Beezer - The son of the Devil learning to become a good person with a found family... however, most of the characters are annoying.

The Year of Magical Thinking (Free Audio Book) - very heavy on the subjects about loss and death.

Complete Garbage.

The Getaway (Free Audio Book) - A man being a POS by stalking and abducting women. It broadcasts just about everything that is going to happen.

Agent 355 (Free Audio Book) - Do you like “American Mythology?” Like the whole “the founders are the greatest people in the world” kind of vibe? I don’t. I also hate the main character for being one of those “i’m smart, because i read books that women aren’t supposed to” girls when she doesn’t really think for herself at all.

#myu reads #books read in 2020 #audiobooks #booklr #Audible #long post

4 notes · View notes

sofia-gothicquirks · 5 years ago

Text

One Piece Wano Kuni analysis : How Oda brings small humanity touches in the plot of an epic/adventure story

So far the Wano arc has been truly fantastic. All the characters of this arc are deep and have wonderful backstories and personalities. Besides, the world building is amazing and I do feel like I am in the middle of a revolution. I am feeling oppressed by the political system of this country and I really do feel attached to all these innocent people who have to suffer because of Orochi's madness. Unlike most stories I do understand the reason why there's a revolution going on behind the scenes. Through these long chapters where you can see children being taught propaganda about how great the shogun is in the Flower Capital while people from Ebisu's town are forced to smile despite their hardships I slowly learned to care about an imaginary country that I didn't even know a year ago. That's one of Oda's strenghts. Contrary to some arcs this isn't just about "saving those who asked for help". All these characters have an actual true and personnal reason to fight linked to their backstories or personnalities : Luffy's promise to O-Tama the little girl his dead big brother swore to protect, Zoro's desire to avenge Tonoyasu, Hiyori's hate for the man who ruined her life twenty years ago .....

Actually for me this country and these characters have truly gained life. Discovering new things about the fascinating japanese culture through an arc from my favourite manga is a dream.

But Wano Kuni isn't just about worldbuiding. It's also about action. There's a revolution going on. There's this prophecy from Oden's mysterious wife. It's almost mythical. There are people who want to fight against this injustice. There are those who must keep living to give food to their starving kids but on the other side there are also people who didn't even know what the word "pain" is. In chapter 931 if I remember well Orochi said that the Wano country is like a paradise. There are all these geishas to bring happiness and music, banquets, cherryblossoms... But we, as readers, know what's going on. We know that this is just a bunch of lies. As Luffy stated in chapter 949 this country is a living hell. And if they don't fight, if they don't change the situation, these people are going to keep suffering. THAT'S WHY A REVOLUTION IS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. Otherwise nothing will change. The rich will become richer and the poor will become even more poor. Twenty fucking years of a dictatorship is like a lifetime for some people can you imagine that ?

So let's talk about this revolution. The epic perfect plan to overthrown the shogun (that Luffy kinda of fucked up no surprise there), the badass preparation for the final battle, Wano Kuni's background (the story of Hiyougoru, Tonoyasu's past...) and all this plot about keeping identities a secret or having a double identity (Komurasaki the courtesan as princess Hiyori, O-Toko as Ushimitsu (even if this last one is just a theory for now)...) is great. In fact these diversity of intrigues in just one arc is great. ( to name a few of them we have the Komurasaki-Kiyoshiro plot, Udon's prison plot, Zorro's lost sword plot....).

What I really enjoy about Oda's writing style is that he doesn't only shows the bright side of the revolution with all the epic battles and perfect strategy but also the darkest sides of being a renegade. There may be traitors among your allies, you may get captured and tortured, the ennemy is ready to do everything in order to get information from you and you may even die. There will be disagreements about what to do even inside the rebel alliance because not everyone will trust each other and every person is different : everyone has different beliefs and fears. Maybe the plan won't work and the revolution will fail (you can feel the characters insecurities in chapter 938 during the Law-Shinobu disagreement). Furthermore the revolution won't wok without some great sacrifices. Speaking about that...

Please can we take a moment to mourn Tonoyasu's death ? This man deserves some respect please pay tribute to him. He had a loving daughter and people he cared about and yet with just his life he changed everything. Without him the revolution would be truly doomed. At the moment when everything was going down for the rebel alliance he saved them. His public execution was the turning point and until now (we are in chapter 951) we didn't even know the full consequences of his death. This death really impacted me. How could a man sacrifice his own life to save a future he would never be able to see? Such a little yet great and bold move from Oda. ONE LIFE. ONE SACRIFICE. And yet it changed everything. The rebels have a new plan. A new hope. The revolution can keep going.

Respect Shimotsuki Yasuie.

>RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN THE CHARACTERS

And now dear friends we have reached the point where the title of my analysis finally makes some sense lol. Let's talk about human relationships inside this arc and name just a few of them.

-Tsuru and Kinemon, the lost lovers

-Luffy and O-Tama or how Ace lives in his little brother

-The nine red scabbards friendship

-The interactions between the members of the strawhat crew

-Hiyori and Zoro growing relationship (or should I call it "the new ship of the One Piece fandom"?). I hope they turn to lovers. They have a really good chemestry.♡

-Hyogoro and Luffy, the master and the student

-O-Tama and Momonosuke friendship

-Komurasaki and Kiyoshiro hidden secrets

-Killer and Eustass Kidd, the partners

-Luffy's and Kidd's rivality

-Kawamatsu and Hiyori story

So we have romantic, friendly, and familiar relationships inside just one arc. It's intense. This is going to be huge.

I could analyse all the relationships between the characters of this arc but I want to especially talk about the one who impacted me the most. It's going to surprise you.

I want to talk about Nico Robin and O-Toko. The pannel from chapter 951 hit my heart really hard :

You guys remember Robin's backstory right ? The daughter of a criminal who survive a genocide and was chased for years by the government because she was the "devil child". Robin lost her mother at an early age and I think that this is the reason that she kind of become a motherly figure. She has developed strong mother instincts.

Well when you think about it Toko's story is a little similar to Robin. She is chased by an entire country despite being a child mostly because her father was a criminal and she "disrespected" the shogun. But like Robin did in that fateful day in Ohara she laughed at it (well she is kind of obliged because of the SMILES fruit too...).

Robin loved the girl from the beginning: she saw her as a bright kid with a great sense of humor and she saved her during the Orochi banquet. So I think that when she saw that this little girl was being hunted down just like her years ago she swore to give her comfort and love. This hugging scene between O-Toko and Robin warmed my heart. They are just like a mother and a daughter and I think that the two of them really needed each other.

Do you see my point ? Even in a story full of action, with plans, battles and a revolution going on Oda manages to keep writing little heartfelt scenes like this one that allows the readers to not forget that more than just being fighters people must praise their humanity. These little touches of humanity add much more than you can even imagine in an action story like One Piece because they allow us to care about the persons for whom our protagonists are fighting.

What about you guys ? What are your thoughts about the Wano Kuni arc so far ? I would love to discuss with you about that !

213 notes · View notes

mvrcutios · 5 years ago

Text

— INTRODUCING:

➺ Alexandre Preston as M𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔬

Hi everyone! I’m Olivia, 24 from the pst timezone !! I love romantic foreign films and every incarnation of Skam ever created. Also, tik tok. Way way too much tik tok. This is my interpretation of Mercutio (loml tbh), Alexandre! A pretty boy with charm and brains and you bet your ass he knows it. Portrayed by the beaut that is Maxence Fauvel, i’m genuinely filled to the brim with muse for this boy so, without further ado, time for the main event! (as he prefers to be lbr )

name: alexandre henri preston

age: 21

birthday: July 28th, 1998

gender: male

pronouns: he/him

degree: double major of business & music composition (father currently aware of the 1st)

zodiac: leo.

languages: fluent in french & italian, attempting to swear in russian and japanese.

hobbies: piano, cello, running, sex, parties, reading

vices: whiskey, gin, socialites, card games, fast cars, midnight symphonies, menthol cigarettes

pinterest is here !!

the aesthetic: Dom Pérignon, lipstick stained shirt collars, blue eyes with darkened circles, menthol cigarettes, 2am melodies on a piano down the hall, bruised knuckles, hotel balconies, strobe lights and heavy bass, macarons flaked in gold, lips pressed to cheeks, 3am club invitations, lingering eyes, too bright smiles, bitten bruises soothed with a tongue,shattered mirrors, ripped fingernails, screaming into the silent night, laughter whispered into skin, pills pressed to tongues, platinum amex cards, chewed on pens, eyes growing distant, texts left on read, ink over his heart for his maman, naps under campus oak trees, flasks sipped in a lecture hall, hands on hips, backs, and his own throat.

➺ but what is in a name?

➺ { Alexandre } : The french translation of Alexander. Defender of Man. The irony of a name is not lost on him, nor the man who’d held it. He was named for his maternal grandfather, a man who had sold his soul (and his eldest daughter) for money, power, name, all under the guise of the importance of family. A name meaning man of honor. Certainly a strong name for a boy who’d been born to rule a soiled throne, but content to find ways to sneak sweets from the kitchen, trick a smile from his mother as she stared out the window yet again. But defenders are not born, no.They are made, and from the moment blue eyes opened for the first time he was destined to be just that. Made. Into his father’s visions, his mother’s dreams. And Xandre is no fool. All he wants — no, rather. All he desires from life is simple. Everything.

➺ { Henri } Ruler of households. Once again nothing but irony for a boy who grew up wanting for nothing in life, but knowing the expectations were to be just that. A leader. Who would be the one to tell him that the throne he was set to rest upon was built on the blood and bones of the lesser fortunate? More importantly, who would teach him to care?

➺ { Preston } Meaning priest, settlement, enclosures of God. Carried to England from Normandy after the great conquest. A name befitting to the family who in some circles considered themselves holier than most. Gods among men. Who turned whiskey to gold, words to bank notes, and blood into power. If you were a Preston, people knew it. And what could be better than that?

➺ for he is the devil in every detail

➺ ( + ) He was a boy of pressed shirts and dark windswept waves. Blue eyes that sparkled of mischief and peels of laughter that echoed down marbled halls. He was Alexandre Preston, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the world at his feet. Who when he smiled, his entire face lit from within and led to that hint of the devil sparkling just so from that gaze of his. Who smelled of citrus and whiskey and a bite of mint. Who adored beauty, in life and what it had to offer him. A man who’d grown into his looks and was taught by a wise mother just how to use them, a well placed kiss to a cheek or brush of skin, eyes meeting across a room enough to give them what they desired and more than ever, what he craved. He was tall, dark and oh so handsome, and knew how to get just what he wanted. Born with his father’s intellect and drive for more, padded by his mother’s beauty and ability to wield it for the weapon it could be. It made him anything but a bore, a useless first son too afraid to grasp what was before him. No, Xandre knew his fate. But in the meantime, he lived his life how he chose. If dearest dad was none the wiser, well. What’s the harm?

➺ ( + ) But let’s go back to the beginning, shall we? Born on a warm evening in late july, Alexandre Henri was destined to be the only child of Simon Preston and Violette Dupont. A product of two passionate individuals and a loveless marriage, Xandre’s mother was the eldest daughter to a man of debt. The Dupont family had in name what they lacked in capital and with a marriage between Violette and Simon, had everything to gain. Xandre’s birth was a bright burst of fleeting color for a mother who felt caged into the world she’d sold herself to, doting on the little boy and doing what she could to leave him with a part of her, a piece of her own waning soul. Where Simon was boastful, she was wicked, demure. Where he was aggression, she was soft sighs and whispered curses. Two sides of what lead to be a machiavellian son. Destined to rule with a gilded fist and fleeting, passionate heart.

➺ ( + ) He was put into lessons as a boy to dwindle that energy that thrummed with his every step, sports and arts and languages but they were fleeting moments of time, hobbies cast aside once the obsessive grip of his mind released them. But his mother’s love of piano rang true to his blood, picking up the instrument even with some difficulty. It bothered him so, to have something he couldn’t master with minimal effort. It required a honed drive, a passion and ethic to create something magnificent through nothing more than hard work. It fueled him, the boy almost manic with the late hours he spent alone in the sun room, fingers dancing along keys and cursing with every missed note. As he grew, so did the realization that it was not something you could master. The great composers themselves went mad with trying. It was a never ending race, and one he still holds steadfast this very day. It is as much a part of him as anything could be. Alexandre is meant to be a leader, Alexandre blows thousands on parties and card games, Alexandre needs music like air to rattling lungs. His current double major at Ashcroft is a direct result. If he’s to live out this new version of day to day, he’ll do as he pleases. As long as his father remains where he belongs, ignorant as the rest are.

➺ ( + ) if music was a stronghold, most everything else in his world was a passing fancy, aimless ways to spend time and money and have fun in this life he was so destined to lead. High school meant parties and fun, learning the intricacies of the body and passion as girls and boys alike came and went from white rumbled sheets. For his mother had taught him to wield beauty for what it was; a weapon. And oh, did he learn with the best. A university career begun at Oxford (if only to spite his father), where the real fun began, nights spent in club after club until the sun rose again, liquor fueled nights of passion and fun, barred from certain clubs and embraced at others, heavyweight card games and street races with a bottle of dom in hand. Started a gambling ring in his dorm hall until the RA caught wind a year later. (But he eventually joined, so no harm no foul) He was at an all time high, never fearing the inevitable crash to follow. He welcomed it like an old friend, navigated the highs and lows with a long learned finesse. Now in Edinburgh, he chases the residual high with his normal vigor, finding drinking buddies to waste an evening with, occasional bodies to slip into his too high thread count sheets.

➺ ( + ) The very definition of love ‘em and leave ‘em. Xandre doesn’t do true relationships, has never truly given his heart to someone in any form. He doesn’t believe in it, the type of love that makes people do such foolish things. He does foolish things just fine on his own, heart be damned. He can be passionate, charming, attentive lover at the best of times, possessive fool at the worst of times. He loves to feel desired, wanted, needed even. But never aims to be someone’s entire world. That type of need, that type of love does nothing but wound. And every wound he will ever have will be of his own creation. Has had more than a few flings, even reoccurring instances of women or men a few times in a row. But the connections are shallow, surface deep. You don’t need to witness his soul to get into his bed, afterall.

➺ ( + ) It was all a beautiful distraction from the blood that stained every letter of his name. His cousin was allowed to live in blessed ignorance of the family means, but Xandre, he was thrown headfirst into the lion’s den and came out grinning, the truth of it never leaving past blood stained lips. He isn’t resentful of that fact. A part of him feels it was always meant to be this way. If his cousins were the sun, he was the endless night, the whispers of shadows and secrets meant to withstand. For he could take it, surely. Right?

➺ ( + ) while his fate may be anything but up for debate, he is anything but a too willing participant. Being at Oxford meant enough distance to gain a bit of the freedom he craved. The night his father was arrested, Alexandre was doing what was normal, even on a tuesday evening. Partying at a local hotspot four bottles deep in champagne and whiskey, pills pressed to lips in between fevered kisses of a woman who’s name escaped him the next morning. Sweetened black coffee in hand as he watched his phone buzz over and over, the news blaring the headline of what he’d always known would come to fruition. But his father was still kicking, and so the heavy head who bears the crown was not yet his own. So he went about his day, his week, his months. Until, octavia.

➺ ( + ) his cousins were the siblings he’d never had, and for a man who doesn’t truly believe in intricacies of love he loves them with all he has in him. Wolfie the brother he’d craved, the two stirring trouble with every laugh as they raced down the cavernous halls of their homes. Days spent listening to his whispered dreams, his own a hollow echo in response to the passion that thrummed from his cousin’s. The lectures of his poor influence never bothered him, his role had always been rather set after all. The shadow to the sun. Was he ever to be a leader? Possibly. But he was never born of the responsibility and dreams that lingered over his cousin, never expected to amount to anything rather spectacular beyond the built business reputation and blood that soaked the name Preston. He was too impulsive, too passionate to have it beaten from his bones, just always a little too much.

➺ ( + ) And Octavia – she held a special place in his heart. Daddy’s little girl, it was easy to see how she could bat her lashes and smile her smile and let the world fall at her feet. He admired it, respected it even. Game always has to appreciate the game. She and her brother leaving for Ashcroft was a blow he hadn’t anticipated, for they’d always had one another, the two musketeers and the girl who fought to be anything but a shadow. It was an unfamiliar ache, missing them. And with Octavia now gone, that ache has grown tenfold. Morphed into anger for what he knew she was up to, for somehow somewhere, she’d pissed off the wrong people to where even the Preston name couldn’t quite save her soul. But her essence is everywhere, haunting the halls and whispering in ears. It’s all so very dramatic, so very her. He’d pour one out for her if he didn’t think she’d simper about his distaste for wasted wine. Her spirit was a mild comfort, a balm over a roughened wound. a bigger amusement than anything, a middle finger to those who’d ended her bright existence. A Preston knew how to fuck you over, that was made all the more clear with each report of her sightings. And god, did he love her for it.

➺ ( + ) and that at the very crux of it all, is what has brought him to ashcroft. A new scene for parties, new faces, and a remaining cousin who could use a shoulder to lean on. & those all look lovely on paper, but the fine print? Always read it carefully. For the smiles and charm are all Violette without a doubt. But the danger that lingers, the passion and fire that fuel his soul and border on the precipice of mania? Alexandre is Simon Preston’s son, that was never to be denied for long. And someone has wronged them all, taken things they had no right to take. Someone he considered to be a part of his heart. He doesn’t take kindly to such things, and so to Ashcroft he’s come. He is passion, recklessness, a hidden grief fueled by fleeting love wrapped in a shiny veneered package. He’s here to revel, to discover, to maybe even punish. If deemed necessary. Blood will always be blood, and for a man who’s always willing to go a little too far? It is all that remains.

➺ ( + ) as for what has qualified him for such a prestigious society upon his enrollment well, that is a mystery to some and a hard headline to others. His family’s connections? His relation to Wolfie? His letters of transfer from his classical composition professors back in London? As far as Xandre is concerned, it’s nothing more than a certain Oberon Ashcroft seeing he has a role to play, and one he plays rather well. Unassuming at first, a disarming charm soothing the blunt edges of his words. He says what he feels, and what he knows must be said. And due to that, he knows his worth, what he brings to the table. Knows how poorly it would look if he hadn’t been inducted. He brings a good time, a laugh, a chance to rebel against the societal norms and oppressions that leak from every pore of Ashcroft. But he also brings a weighted name, a wicked ability to decipher through the purple prose people can preach, to the truth at the core of it all. And he plays a mean Chopin, what can he say?

➺ ( + ) there is no way to wrap up all that he is, to summarize a man who is nothing short of a dichotomy, a symphony in fractured parts. Perhaps a jekyll and hyde of his own making, two heads of the same beast he wielded within his soul. for there was something to be said of being seen, eyes drawn to your every move, to feel the power of being adored, desired, craved. He is the devil on your shoulder, crooning saccharine words and screaming in triumph in a breadth. A gleam of mania tinging those baby blues when he pushes just so to get his way. He is that very symphony, a concerto who’s pace continues to drive faster and faster, upward and onward until its very PEAK, a cacophony of beauty and agony as notes ring out, clash, COLLIDE. and then, the briefest moment of silence. He has discovered the distractions his body can wield, but also the power to be found in stillness, in silence. At his lowest he craves it, aches to be surrounded by masses just once more to drown out the roaring in his mind, to draw it to ecstasy, to blissful silence. All leading up to the final, ringing note. Before the applause, of course. never deny yourself the applause. That had always been Lesson One.

➺ A LETTER TO OCTAVIA:

Tavia —

Where do I start? You always knew how to make an entrance, tav. should’ve figured your exit would be the same. But…why the fuck wouldn’t you call me? Why wouldn’t you tell me the extent of just how bad shit had gotten so quickly? You knew no matter what I said, or how I complained or warned you off to be careful I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. You didn’t have to do this alone. I should’ve seen that and come the first time you called. Don’t haunt me for that. And that police chief mentioned a baby, Tav. You never– me of all people would have understood. You were the only one I ever told about Clara, how my dad paid her off. You never judged me for him, you understood. Let me get wasted and cry it out in that shitty suite in London. We could have made a club of it, you and me. Poor little Rich kids with secret kids. Poetic, no? Poetic justice is bullshit in hindsight. And I just really, really miss you.

I’m sure everyone in these letters are telling you the reasons they adored you, how they’ll never forget you, the wild memories they’re sharing with you, that they say they’ll never forget. I don’t need to say all those things. You know I do, and you know I won’t forget. You’re a part of my heart, as battered and shriveled as we liked to joke it is. But apparently death makes us sentimental fools, so here’s this for you, because it’s 4am and the memory won’t leave my mind no matter how many times I close my eyes. That summer we spent, all of us, vacationing in that house on the riviera. Remember? I spent the day running around the grounds with Wolf and we’d laugh and tease like elder brothers do when you’d seek us out, pouting those lips and crocodile tears until we included you in our games. But when the sun set and dinner was long gone, you’d drag me into the tea room with that baby grand in the corner and demanded I play. You always were a determined thing, you brat. But you’d smile that smile and even I couldn’t fight the urge to sit and play your favorites.You sang along and danced and danced and danced until you were breathless with it. Only you could make dancing to britney fuckin’ spears look like an artform you know? You’d call me your co-star, and never let me hate myself for the mistakes, never laughed if I stumbled on a note. You were my biggest supporter that summer, but I was only one of your many adoring fans. That’s how it was supposed to be. That won’t change, I promise.

( A few tears stain the edges of that previous paragraph, angry, bitter droplets that he wipes away and slips the paper further to defend the onslaught of them. He sighs deeply, clears his throat. )

And look at you now, huh? Haunting your friends and your brother with the best of ‘em. Leave it to you to find a way to remain the star of the show even in death. I can see how it’s unravelling them. The ones who look too pale to be innocent, everyone here has a fucking secret. Thanks to you maybe we’ll see them all sooner than later. And what fun that’s gonna be. But do me a favor and haunt some hot freshman for me, will you? Whisper sweet nothings of my beauty in their ears, make it a good one. I’ll owe you one. You know I’m good for it.

I’ll watch over Wolfie. Of course I will. I’ll get him piss drunk at that club you mentioned last time we talked, bring a few lines and a bottle of dom all just for you, gorgeous. I’m here now for him, for you. I’m here for what I should have done from the beginning. If you had to leave him —had to leave us, it won’t be for nothing.

I miss you, cherie. Visit me tonight in my dreams, alright? You can dance for me, I’ll play you a song.

We’ll make it a happy one, for old times sake.

-Xandre

#spectreintro #𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔵𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔦 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫 ╱ 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 .#if you read this whole thing ur a god and i am sorry

11 notes · View notes

epicsii · 5 years ago

Text

NAOMI SCOTT, DEMIGIRL, SHE/THEY. — looks like MELINOE “LINA” CTHONIUS is attending AURORIA UNIVERSITY in auradon. they're the TWENTY year old child of HADES & PERSEPHONE, which means they're from THE ISLE OF THE LOST. heard they're INTUITIVE & CHARMING, but can also be RESENTFUL & JEALOUS ; we all have our bad days. people normally associate them with WILTING FLOWERS, INK-STAINED HANDS, & CHIPPED BLACK NAIL POLISH.

*finger guns* hello hi it’s seph back at it again w/ another character ! as usual, you can dm me whenever if you want to plot/rp, or you can contact me on my discord @ seph !#7477 ! ! anyways, let’s get this show on the road i guess !

i. climbed up the tree of life, kicked out of paradise. BASIC INFORMATION.

MELINOE SOTEIRA “LINA” CTHONIUS. daughter of hades & persephone.

╰ ˚ demi-girl. she/they pronouns.

╰ ˚ scorpio sun. scorpio rising. leo moon.

╰ ˚ spotify. pinterest.

╰ ˚ soteira is a greek epithet that means ‘ savior ’ was added to the names of gods such as demeter and persephone. meanwhile, cthonius is a greek epithet meaning ‘ of the ground / underground ’ and was usually used by hades.

ii. living good, doing evil is the toss of the dice. MORE INFORMATION.

╰ ˚ she was never like her mother, persephone soteira, who embraced both the darkness and the light, the cold of winter and the warm glow of spring as parts of her whole being.

╰ ˚ she was the daughter of the goddess of spring, she always thought how unfair it was that they were deprived of the luxuries of auradon, the ones the rest of her extended family enjoyed.

╰ ˚ her father, hades aidoneus, had technically been the only one that was forced to live in the isle, but persephone had other plans, campaigning for amnesty for her husband, and when that didn’t work, going with him willingly to the isle, which pissed off a lot of gods — it was both an act of rebellion and of love.

╰ ˚ entitled? maybe just a little bit. even in the isle her father had always pampered her, his little goddess of ghosts, and she spent most of her days in the isle living a pampered life.

╰ ˚ see, a little before melinoe and her sibling were born, hades had started up a business, of sorts, to hold on to that one last bit of power he so often craved. ( i have yet to figure out what exactly hades’ business is but lbr, he probably managed to monopolize a basic need in the isle, i.e. water or energy, and turned that to profit off of people / have people work for him. bc ## capitalism u know )

╰ ˚ so, yeah, lina’s life was much easier than those living in the rest of the isle. that doesn’t mean that her life didn’t suck, the isle was still a shitty place to live in, but with a relatively healthy relationship with both her parents and the fact that stealing wasn’t a necessity for her to do to survive every day, so her life was relatively easier.

╰ ˚ lina was, despite the environment she was raised in, well-mannered and charming, though there was always something behind her smile that caught people off guard — it was genuine of course, but it always seemed to unnerve people, as if she had darker motives and she did. she was too good at being, well, good, in the isle of the lost — there had to be some ulterior motive.

╰ ˚ and there were. beneath her charming smiles and well-mannered demeanor, lina had fantasies of enacting her revenge on the heroes who robbed her of a life she deserved.

╰ ˚ her fantasies usually go like this: for some unknown reason, the magical barrier preventing the villain kids from crossing the bridge would suddenly disappear, and the moment she steps out, she regains all her powers — which, for some reason, immediately come back to her with no training necessary — and she’d haunt the hell ( pun intended ) of auradon.

╰ ˚ except, now that she’s finally free from the isle, her powers haven’t exactly come back. of course this now brings up the topic of if she ever had powers, wonders if father’s nickname for her as his goddess of ghosts was just a nickname and not an actual godly title.

╰ ˚ so, yeah, while she’s charming the hero kids, she’s also desperately trying out any means possible to see if she could get her magic back.

╰ ˚ a tl;dr on her is that she’s just this big ball of anger with bottled up issues hidden behind this really well-mannered and charming facade, who’s ready to enact revenge on the people she thinks is responsible for her shitty life, only to have her powers not reveal themselves by the time she arrives in auradon.

iii. couple of wild eyes, cup full of of high life. WANTED CONNECTIONS.

╰ ˚ one. a sibling ! ! preferably zagreus or macaria ( a.k.a. the rest of underworld kids in myths ) , but really, i’m not picky ! their relationship will depend on how you sculpt their personality! suggested faceclaims are jesse roth, avan jogia, summer bishil, ashika pratt.

╰ ˚ two. a best friend from the isle. her partner in crime, probably the only one she tells about her fantasizing on wrecking havoc upon auradon.

╰ ˚ three. friends ! maybe other villain kids ?? or hero kids who surprisingly impress her enough that she decides to befriend them? she’s not a total villain who thinks that friendships are overrated; she values them, especially when they can benefit her in some way.

FOR MORE WANTED CONNECTIONS, CLICK HERE.

of course, if you don’t see your character in any of the wanted, connections above, then don’t hesitate to contact me here or on my discord seph !#7477

she’s an angel and a devil of her own device.

#usoahq:intro #( this is just lina with a more fleshed out backstory #thx )

4 notes · View notes

cottonwren · 6 years ago

Text

A Well Dressed Woman | Chapter 9

Summary: some things can’t be repaired, but Jamie is doing her best

A/N: Sorry for the delay! <3

“How’s your hip?” Tommy asked as he kept his eyes on the road, worried about the effect the cobbled streets would be having on her still bleeding hip. He’d have to make sure she had dressing and appropriate equipment for treating it, and he’d have to ask her sister if she knew how to do it. If he lost his only business competitor to an infected gunshot wound he’d be pissed. Pissed and heartbroken.

“Only feels like I’ve been shot” Jamie replied with a cocky smirk, her hand clasping her hip anyway, aware of the speed that blood could stain through bandaging. This was a good suit that she didn’t need to ruin.

“Do you need me to go slower?” He looked over at her and spotted the way she was holding her left hip. Bloody cobbles. Tommy wanted to take her to London, to Birmingham, anywhere that the ride would be a lot smoother than that of the one they were on.

“No, just don’t drive over a dead body and I’ll be fine” She teased, sensing his anxiety. Jamie herself was worried, but not for herself or the state of her hip. No, for her sister and the business, for Samson’s family, for everything she had worked for.

“It is your town that we’re going in to, the kids throw themselves under your cars here” Tommy reminded her, starting to drive through the little town. The last time he had visited, he had nearly ran over a cocky eight year old who was playing chicken in the street.

“If they live, you give them money to be quiet, if they die, they have no need money. Smart business module, in all honesty” Jamie explained, her hands moving as she explained - she herself had done it in dire times.

“Knew you were fucking insane” He jibed, giving her a grin to assure her he really was joking - Tommy admired the girl’s brains, but sometimes…

“And here I was thinking that your common sense had left your head” She sighed softly, a smirk playing on her face as she admired his face. God, how was he so pretty? Jamie was ready to self destruct - he was funny, fucking gorgeous, and he had a beautiful baby boy. The only downside was the murder, capitalism and general violence. Then again, who was she to talk? She had more guns than she had friends - the bar was set pretty low to be honest.

“Says the woman running a business to rival mine out of this hell hole” Tommy snarked, looking across the scene set out before him - kids by the ragged school, smoke from the foundries. It was no place to run England’s cocaine supply from.

“But what a beautiful hell hole it is. This whole town knows me, Tommy.” Looking across the same scene, Jamie saw an entirely different situation. She saw lives, she saw a community that worked hard to get what it got and didn’t ask for more, a community that had done its best for her and her sister.

“Everyone knows me in England - your point?” Tommy asked, not understanding how or why she looked out upon the street with as much love and adoration that he would a horse.

“You wouldn’t get it. They look after me, Tommy, because I look after them.” Jamie reminded him - even though her business was on an international scale, she was very much still a small town girl.

“Aight bab? There’s a royce outside your house, you in trouble again? The kids ‘aven’t broken into it, but it’s only a matter a time” Came a voice, loud and burly from the doorstep of one of the back to backs. Jamie recognised it instantly and gave Tommy a look to tell him not to pull away and throw money at her out of fear.

“I’m alright, I’ll get them to move it, thank you. Tell Molly I said ‘Good luck with the baby’” She smiled, running a hand through her hair and nodding at the neighbour. Being polite to the woman was essential - her four kids were rampant and eager for work, and she ran the gossip of Cradley. Least she needed was rumors about her or Linn going around.

“Will do” She nodded with a yellowed smile and headed back into the house, slamming the door behind her and leaving Jamie and Tommy parked outside the house. Tommy started to drive again, probably fearing that if he was parked too long that the ragged children would come tear his car apart.

“Who was that?” He asked out of interest, recognising the type from around Small Heath when he was a lad.

“Maevis. So, your brothers have left a car unattended outside my offices. Have to ask - are they insane?” Jamie laughed, wincing and grasping her hip. She looked over at him with a hum, waiting for the answer.

“Your sister let them” He pointed out, thinking that he had trumped her statement about his brothers - alas, like most times in his life, he was wrong.

“My sister is a sly devil when she wants to be. That’s her idea of a joke” Jamie told him, sighing softly as they drove towards the row of back to backs. It wasn’t on fire.

“Would have thought that was more your type of joke” He told her, driving through the tiny alleyway that she had instructed him to.

“Nah” Jamie shook her head, opening the car door as Tommy got out himself, gently grasping her hip as she tried to step out.

“Come on” Tommy hummed, offering a hand. He knew she’d struggle, and if she just accepted his help it would make the whole process go so much faster.

“I can get out on my own, Tommy, I’ve got a bad hip - I’m not senile!” Jamie told him, batting at his hand and then trying to get down again to no avail.

“Mhm, come on.” That fucking smirk.

“Fine.” Jamie took his hand begrudgingly, letting him gently lift her down with an arm around her waist and one holding her hand. She dropped his hand to close the car door and subtly turned out of his hold.

“If your brothers have turned my offices into a brummy shit tip already I’ll wring your neck, Thomas” Jamie told him sternly, walking around the back of the offices with him, taking his wrist gently to stop him from wandering.

“Pity, I’m not adverse to choking” Tommy sighed dramatically, adjusting her hold so that they were holding hands. God, he was so desperate for human touch.

“You, Thomas Shelby, are a mess. Can’t believe I’m going to knock on the door of my own fucking offices” She rolled her eyes, linking her fingers with his and knocking on the smal, concealed door. His hands were warm, and Cradley Heath was definitely not.

“When you were dying, it wasn’t a priority to get your keys and your handbag” He snarked, waiting with her happily - Jamie Leanne Pine was willingly holding his hand.

“I don’t have a handbag” Jamie told him with a hiss, the anxiety building up in her. Why wasn’t the fucking door opening?

“Jamie!” The door swung open to reveal the redhead in one of her favourite baby blue dresses, instantly throwing herself at her sister. Linn’s arms wrapped around her neck, holding her close.

“Oh, fucks sake, Linn. You’re alive” Jamie gasped, wrapping her arms around Linn’s waist, holding her close. The scent of her perfume brought her back into herself, making her stand back with a grin and walk in.

“Of course I am - come in, come in. Welcome again Thomas.” Linn smiled, noticing the change in her sister’s persona. Her mum, no, sister was well and truly back.

“You alright Linn?” Finn asked from the backroom, walking through, his cap on the hook in the cloakroom. He would be lying if he said working with Linn wasn’t the easiest thing in the world - she had been his best friend, sympathetic of his illiticism, and one of the smartest in their year.

“All good. Come meet my sister, Jamie” Linn called, turning into the hallway to call Finn through, giving Jamie and Tommy some space to breathe for a second. She heard Jamie close the door, and smiled as Finn stood by her side, instantly confronted by Jamie. Oh, no.

“Nice to meet you - surely Linn has warned you against even thinking about doing anything with the stock?” Jamie asked, shaking his hand with a nod. She had put on her big scary face for the new boy, and it seemed to have worked. She could practically see the piss running down his leg.

“Jamie, I have, so don’t threaten them. They’re okay.” Linn warned her quietly, silently begging Jamie not to do anything drastic.

“Yeah, Jamie, we’re okay” Tommy whispered in her ear with a smirk, having taken the opportunity when it arose.

“You’re on thin fucking ice, Thomas” Jamie told him, turning to him, her face only inches from his, staring him down.

“And she’s back” Linn commented, drawing them out of the situation and draining the uncomfortable levels of sexual tension.

After Jamie had settled back in and Tommy had left - not before he made sure that both Linn and Jamie could sufficiently dress wounds - the two sisters knew that there was something they would have to do. Which is how they ended up knocking on Samson’s door, ready for the ground to swallow them whole.

“Auntie Jamie! Auntie Linnie!” Anna’s voice called, hugging Jamie’s legs and then Linn’s. Linn hoisted her up onto her hip, saving Jamie explaining the wound - this wasn’t about their damages.

“Hello bab. Where’s your mum, eh?”

“In the kitchen! She’s making shepherds pie.” Anna pulled a sour face, resting her head on Linn’s shoulder, her blonde hair clashing against the fiery red that Linn wore so incredibly proudly.

“Alright. Are we allowed in?” Jamie asked softly, running a hand through her hair nervously. It wasn’t often that she was nervous, but Samson and his beautiful family? Yes. She would make sure that the children were looked after sufficiently.

“Yeah! Come on! Linnie, I wanna show you my dolls! One has red hair like you!” Anna beamed, letting Linn carry her through, Jamie walking behind them and closing the door.

“Aaliyah?” Jamie called softly, Linn and Anna going into the living room to play with the dolls so that the child was sufficiently distracted, enough not to hear Jamie and her mum talking about her father.

“Jamie, it’s nice of you to drop by, did I hear Linn as well?” Aaliyah appeared from the kitchen, daffodil print apron tied around her waist in a big bow. Light streamed through the doorway from the kitchen window, making her look ethereal. “I guess we need to talk, don’t we? Mr Shelby, he came to my doorstep, told me he was close to you and was holding my husband’s body in an appropriate funeral home until I decided what I wanted to happen with him. Your business is your business, Jamie, and don’t think I don’t’ respect you, because I do - but please be careful around such a charming man,”

“Mr Shelby hasn’t made me aware that he did that, though he has done everything in his power to help me in my time of vulnerability. I’ll be careful, thank you, Liyah. I know Samson is your only source of income at the minute, and so I’d like to continue that. We will continue to pay his wage in your name so that Anna and yourself can live as you would. I have already taken him from you, to take anything more would be… well, you understand. I hope there’s no bad blood between us?” Jamie asked, sitting at the kitchen table with Aaliyah.

“You have already done more than enough. You warned him this may happen, and God does work in mysterious ways, though this has left me wondering who God favours… to take such a wonderful man away at the hand of merciless killers…” Aaliyah trailed off, looking at the vase on the windowsill, the sunflowers not wilted yet.

“You know my perspective on it all, so I won’t unload it on you. What I will say is that you are still here, and Anna, she is still here. Look after eachother - obviously it will be a little one sided, because Anna is still just a starry eyed babe, but she will return it” Jamie told her “When I was a little younger than Linn, I took her as my own, and although it’s been hard, I do not regret a crust of bread that she had instead of I. You have us, you won’t ever have to worry about putting a roof over her head or food on the table. Let me know when you’ve decided what you want to do with Samson’s body, and we will fulfill it.”

“Of course I will look after her, she is my daughter - you know the feeling. If that’s all…” Aaliyah hummed, eyes watery. Her voice was wavering and Jamie knew when her leave was appreciated.

“It is. You know where we are if you should ever need or want anything. I have a feeling that Anna will have roped Linn into a complex game about killing the monarchy again,” Jamie laughed softly, lightening the mood with Anna’s tendency to fantasize about manslaughter.

“God knows where she gets that from, eh? Wants to be just like her aunties.” Aaliyah groaned jovially, standing and walking through to the living room.

“Well, you remind her that her Aunties only drink on occasion and never do any narcotics.” Jamie chided, following her through the hallway.

“Somehow I doubt she’ll believe that.”

#peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagine #AWDW #old writing

20 notes · View notes

lostinfic · 6 years ago

Text

The Raven and the Goldfinch | 1

Part 1 of 3 | Ao3

Summary: In turn-of-the-century London, the famous illusionist, Peter Vincent, must use his skills to reclaim the love of his life, a woman he thought was lost to him. Now that he’s given a second chance, he won’t lose her again, not even when supernatural forces get in the way.

Genre: childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love, Victorian Era AU, movie AU (The Illusionist), supernatural elements

Rating: mature

Word count: 5k

Ship: Peter Vincent (Fright Night) x Jenny (Spirit Trap).

Why this pairing? Peter Vincent witnessed his parents get killed by a vampire, but lived in denial of this until reality caught up with him in the movie. Jenny’s mother was a medium, but Jenny refused to believe it (just like her father, who left because of it) until she experienced her own encounter with ghosts in the movie. I think this similarity between their personal stories is interesting and a good starting point for a ship. And that’s all you need to know about these characters.

A/N: @ktrosesworld prompted: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hrmm Vamp!Rose with a HEA ... umm umm ... is that a stake in your pants or are you just pleased to see me ;) ... or wherever you muse decides to take you with smutty Peter Vincent.

So many things about that prompt were out of my comfort zone, but I really wanted to write it for KT who is always so lovely and supportive. So, I stretched that prompt as far as it would go, but I promise there shall be smut, a HEA, and that quote, but I tried writing it with Rose, and it wasn’t working.

≒

The Sunday Herald, 31 October 1895

A NIGHT OF MYSTERY.

Some Curious Facts Concerning All Hallow Eve.

The Night When Maidens Try to Find Out Who Will Wed Them— A Curious Circumstance— Tricks Played.

From its first origination, Hallow eve has been invested with a peculiarly mystic character. It is an almost universal superstition that supernatural influences then have unusual power— that devils, witches and fairies are abroad, that all spirits are free to roam through space, and that the spiritual element in all living humanity can be detached from corporeal restraint and made to road its own future or to reveal to others what fate may have in store for them.

As there is nothing in the Church celebration of the ensuing day of All Saint's to justify these singular ideas and customs associated with Hallow eve, and none of them are of a religious character, we may justly regard them as relics of pagan times.

In all ages and countries, Hallow eve has been deemed, as it still is, the occasion par excellence for devilling the answer to that momentous question which absorbs so large a share of the thoughts of romantic young men and maidens, "who is to marry whom?" The means employed to gain this much desired information are as quaint and curious as they are numerous and varied.

Water, nuts and apples bear a prominent port in the spells and charms of Hallow eve. A quaint old book of charms, published in Edinburgh in 1070, entitled: "Old Father Time's Bundle of Faggots Newly Bound Up," declares that an infallible means of getting a view of your future husband or wife is to go to bed on Hallow eve with a glass of water, in which a small sliver of wood has been placed, standing on a table by your bedside. In the night you will dream of falling from a bridge into a river and of being rescued by your future wife or husband, whom you will see as distinctly as though viewed with waking eyes.

≑

Jennie hated All Hallow eve, but she loved a good party.

She crossed the reception room to refill her glass of wine. Her black silk cape, shaped like bat wings, floated behind her. She pulled the hood over her blond curls, hoping to escape Lady Rothermere’s attention. But no such luck.

“Iphigenia, dear, I believe it’s your turn to play.”

Thankfully, no one at this gathering, in London, knew of Jennie’s mother’s reputation or else they might have asked her to perform the same divination. Tonight, the guests’ interest in the permeability between worlds resided in predicting one’s luck in love rather than honoring Pagan gods of old.

Still Jennie could not entirely enjoy the festivities for it reminded her too much of her mother’s lunacy. A terrible illness of the mind had afflicted the poor baroness until her death, she would hear voices and see strange things to which she lent some mystic signification. The superstitions surrounding October 31st used to worsen her symptoms, and those who believed she had a supernatural power would flock to Featherstone Hall. They only increased her suffering, and caused Jennie to flee her own home for the night.

Jennie’s plan for Lady Rothermere’s party was simple: avoid anything to do with spirits except the alcoholic kind. But peer pressure threw a wrench in that plan.

Jennie’s friends thrust an apple and a knife in her hands with excited giggles. The game involved going alone in a dark room in which there was only a mirror and a candle, then trying to peel an apple all in one piece. If successful, one’s true love’s face would appear in the mirror.

“Why does she have to go? She’s already betrothed,” a girl pointed out, but the other ones were already pushing Jennie towards the door.

Her friends shut the door behind her. Despite the candle flame, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to darkness. She sat on the floor in front of the small mirror propped against the wall, and started peeling the apple. The peel curled around her hand like a scarlet ribbon. Although, she didn’t believe in these silly games, she still applied herself to the task.

It would be a relief to see Richard’s face in the mirror, so that, despite her doubts and reluctance, she would know accepting his proposal would end happily. He was a decent man, willing to overlook shameful things about her family to acquire her father’s lands. And his fortune wasn’t uninteresting.

But in her heart of heart, she knew whose face she wished to see, a face she had not gazed upon in twelve years.

Moving to the underside of the apple was the most treacherous part, especially in the dark. Almost there. She cut off the last inch of the peel with too much pressure, and the blade hit the pad of her thumb. It sliced through her skin. A crimson drop rose to the surface.

The mirror shimmered.

Jennie held her breath and looked closer. It was only fog on the glass. She wiped it with her sleeve, but it stayed there. The fog moved, like smoke from a pipe, it unfurled along the edges of the mirror in a rough oval shape. Then it started to clear from two points in the center, leaving two holes in the fog, like hollowed out eyes. Blood drained from her face as the smoke gathered in an increasingly precise shape. The shape of a skull.

≑

The master of ceremonies introduced Peter Vincent to the crowd gather in the Sofia Theater, in the Bulgarian capital. The illusionist waited for a few seconds, letting the anticipation rise in the public. Once the chatter died down, he walked swiftly through the curtains. Fog rolled under his leather frock coat as he crossed to the stage apron in long strides. He wore a pair of black gloves which he removed and tossed into the air above the spectators, where they turned into a pair of ravens.

He bowed dramatically to the applause, then addressed the crowd in Bulgarian (a local friend had translated his text, though Peter was familiar enough with Slavic languages to understand most of the words).

“I thought we might begin this evening with a discussion of the Great Beyond. All of the greatest religions speak of the soul's endurance beyond the end of life. So, what then does it mean... to die? Tonight is a special night. A night when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is lifted. Let us see, if we can cross this barrier between realms and call forth some spirits.”

An assistant rolled a small table onto the stage. A paisley cloth covered it, and a crystal ball sat upon it, larger than normal to allow the audience a better view.

Peter stretched his long hands above the sphere, with each flourish of fingers, mist rose inside the crystal. The spectators had yet to be impressed, most squinted at the ball and exchanged comments, but Peter’s focus didn’t waver. The mist inside became more opaque, then turned from white to gray, to lilac and deepened to purple. Suddenly, the crystal cracked, a sharp pop of glass followed by gasps. The glass was cleaved and the fissure grew in a fractal pattern with that slow, spine-chilling creak. Pressure grew inside the ball, the smoke pressed against the edges. Everyone held their breaths, bodies tense, anticipating the explosion. The crystal ball shattered, and all the fog rushed out of it taking on ghostly forms that grew high above the stage. Three pairs of red eyes appeared, and then Peter was knocked off the stage.

He fell.

And he fell.

A never-ending descent. He landed under a bed, years earlier, knees to his chest, hands clapped over his mouth to keep his breathing and sobs silent. He heard his parents’ screams and that horrible gurgling noise. Hot tears ran down his cheeks.

Then it stopped. They stopped kicking and screaming. His mother’s arm fell limply off the bed. The murderer stopped drinking and smacked his lips.

The boy cracked open an eye. Blood dripped along the bedframe, thick and scarlet. Drip. Drip. A drop morphed into a raven and it perched on the headboard. The black bird turned to the child and spoke in a young girl’s voice. “Make us disappear.”

Peter woke up with a gasp.

“Are you quite all right, old sport?” asked his manager, Ingwer, sat next to him.

“Yes. Of course,” Peter replied though his heart still hammered in his chest. “That lass after the show tired me out, that’s all.”

He winked at Ingwer, who didn’t seem convinced, he twirled the end of his sandy mustache, looking Peter over. Peter turned away from his manager and towards the train window. It was night so it only returned his own reflection, blurry and immaterial, gossamer.

It wasn’t uncommon for Peter to dream about a performance going wrong: a defective prop, a mocking audience or being stark naked on stage (though that often turned into a wonderful dream). But it had never morphed into a flashback to the night his parents died.

Peter reached inside his jacket for his good luck charm, a raven carved out of ebony, flat like a coin and not much thicker. Absentmindedly, he manipulated the object. He turned it between his knuckles, from thumb to pinkie and back, then made it disappear in one hand and reappear in the other. The wood was smooth from years of use, the varnish long gone. It soothed him.

Not long after his parents’ death, a travelling showman had stopped in his hometown in Northern England. He’d performed a few magic tricks in exchange for a hot meat and ale, and like any eight year-old boy, Peter had been fascinated. The old magician had pulled a wooden raven from behind Peter’s ears. He’d hidden it between his palms, said a phrase in latin then blown on his hands, and a bird had flown out.

“Nothing is what it seems,” he’d said.

And Peter had thought, if one’s senses can be deceived so easily, then perhaps he had not really seen a monster that night, in his parents’ bedroom.

Sensing the child’s sadness, the old magician had patiently taught him a few tricks. And Peter had never stopped after that.

“We’ll be crossing into Serbia soon,” Ingwer said.

“That’s two nights in Belgrade, then Sarajevo?”

“Yes. Then Sarajevo, Budapest, Vienna, Innsbruck, Venice, Berne and Paris.”

“I want to go to London.”

Though he’d uttered the words casually, like a mere technicality, his manager’s pale eyebrows rose.

“Erm, well, I have some contacts there, maybe we can arrange something for December or January…”

“No, I want to go now.”

“You haven’t set foot there in over ten years. Always refused offers. Why the sudden urge?”

“I’m homesick,” he lied.

≑

London Daily News, 20 November 1895

PETER VINCENT’S FRIGHTFUL ENTERTAINMENTS

Egyptian Hall, London.

Saturday and Monday evenings. Doors open at 7:30; commences at 8 o’clock. Carriages at 10.

For the first time in England: Peter Vincent in his Extraordinary Sorcelleries or Creatures of the Night.

Peter Vincent’s astounding feats in natural magic are based on principles not within the power of any other Artist in the World, and declared by the Press to be of so singular a nature as to be past all human conception, and that in an age and country less enlightened, they would inevitably have appeared supernatural. Mr. Vincent who, alone, unaided by confederates, and without all ordinary apparatus, deceives the eye, amazes, bewilders, and baffles the keenest observers, will display his truly miraculous acquirements in Prestidigitation, which surpass everything hitherto presented to the Public, in fact exhibiting powers that seem impossible to be achieved by human agency.

With regard to the moral bearing of the performance, it is only necessary to intimate that the Very Rev. Dean Stanley, in his sermon preached the act as it demonstrates the power of our Lord over Evil.

The Proprietor feels justified in calling attention to the fact that no expense has been spared in this production. Endorsed by the entire Press as being most mystical, mirthful and marvelous.

≑

“And for my last feat, I need a volunteer,” Peter declared.

Spectators avoided eye-contact with him and shook their heads until a young man raised his hand. He walked from his seat to the stage with a smirk. A little shit who thought it was all a trick; Peter loved to scare them.

The illusionist uncovered a tall mirror and placed the young man in front of it.

“What is your name, Sir?”

“Walter Gardiner.”

“Mr. Gardiner, if you would be so kind as to inspect this mirror and assure our dear spectators tonight that it is not tricked.”

Walter walked around the mirror, inspecting its gilded frame and knocking on the back.

“Now, do you see your reflection in this mirror, Mr. Gardiner?” Peter asked.

“Yes.” He waved at himself.

“And do you also see our esteemed audience behind you?”

“Yes.”

“And now you see me too in the mirror?” Peter placed himself behind the young man.

“Indeed, I do.”

With the help of an assistant, Peter turned the mirror around as well as Walter so that he had his back to the stage curtains, with the mirror between him and the crowd.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror, Mr. Gardiner, and let me know if anything in the reflection changes.”

“Righty-o.”

Peter pulled on heavy silken ropes, and the green velvet curtains behind Walter parted.

Loud gasps rippled through the theater. In the third row, a woman fainted.

Walter laughed uneasily. “I don’t see the curtains anymore,” he said.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Behind you!” shouted someone from the balcony.

On the stage, three young women, all dark hair and pale blue skin, wearing only nightgowns had been revealed. They snarled at Walter, displaying long canines. Their shackles clanked as they lunged forward.

Mr. Gardiner scurried off the stage, and nearly broke his neck in the stairs.

"Back, spawn of Satan!" Peter shouted, brandishing a crucifix.

The three vampires retreated with loud hisses.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my vampiresses!”

The audience applauded with some restraint.

“It is well-known by the Slavs that certain dead persons possess the power of returning by night to molest the living, to suck their blood, and by such refreshment to continue their own terrestrial existence, at the expense of their victims. These creatures do not have a reflection in a mirror.

But the worst part remains to be told: this faculty proves contagious; and those who have been sucked by a vampire, feel themselves condemned to become vampires, in their turn.

I saved these poor girls from the power of their sire in a remote corner of Transylvania. Animal blood furnishes them with the means of subsistence.”

Spectators flinched and covered their mouths.

“Thanks to my powers, and the power of the Christ, I can control these creatures of the night and make an example out of them. A cautionary tale. So you might recognize them and not fall prey yourselves.”

Peter stretched his arms and hands towards the three wild women, his face scrunched up with effort.

“Thou shall rise from the dead.”

A vein throbbed on his forehead. As he raised his arms, the three women slowly lifted off the floor and levitated high above the stage.

≑

As soon as he exited the stage, Peter collapsed. He didn’t even have the strength to remove the wig that scratched his scalp.

As usual, Ingwer ran up to him with a flask of whiskey and a cool, damp cloth.

In the theater, spectators were still applauding and talking loudly. Peter let their appreciation wash over him as he recovered from the exhausting performance.

The theater’s director came up to him and announced the Earl of Westmorland was here and wished to speak with him.

“Give me a minute,” Peter said.

“The Earl will not wait that long.”

With Ingwer’s help, Peter rose to his feet. They both knew the approval of the aristocracy could open many doors and make him a rich man.

A group of people awaited him in the salon, the Earl at the center. He held his head high perhaps to compensate for his small stature. Generous sideburns covered part of his cheeks down to his jaw.

“Your lordship, may I introduce Peter Vincent, the Illusionist?”

“Fascinating demonstration,” the Earl said.

“Thank you. It’s not easy keeping these lasses under control.”

The Earl chuckled, but it wasn’t genuine.

“It stimulated a great debate amongst us.” He gestured at his entourage. “Rainier here thinks you have supernatural powers? Do you claim supernatural powers?”

“Well, I can certainly do things on stage that mere mortals can’t.”

“Then you won’t mind a question or two. You needn’t divulge anything I cannot guess.”

“Shoot.”

“Mr. Gardiner was in league with you. Or there were lights in the mirror frame perhaps and angled mirrors.”

“I’m sure there are illusionists who would do it that way.”

“I think I understand it all. Except the gloves turning into ravens at the beginning. Where did they go?”

“Right here.” Peter pulled his gloves out of his pockets, much to the amusement of the Earl’s entourage. “Maybe you will understand it next time. Another viewing?”

“You must come to St. James’s Park. We'll gather our best minds next time. You'll really have a challenge then. What do you think, Iphigenia, dear?”

The Earl turned to a woman sitting a little farther in the room.

When he saw her, Peter forgot to breathe. Those plump, pink cheeks, and that gorgeous mouth, but her golden eyes had lost their mischievous glint.

Jennie.

Peter’s heart swelled with hope.

She was a woman now, and what a woman. The low neck and short sleeves of her elaborate green dress, showed off skin so creamy and fair he wanted to dip a spoon in it-- actually, to hell with a spoon, he would lick it.

He kissed the back of her gloved hand more slowly than decency allowed. He didn’t miss the way her chest rose with a sharp intake of breath.

She narrowed her gaze, and he realized she didn’t recognize him.

The Earl put a proprietary arm around her, and Jennie smiled sweetly at him. Peter’s heart plummeted.

“I shall like to see these creatures of the night for myself,” the Earl said.

“Another time, perhaps. If you will forgive, I must see to it that they cannot escape... And I need to go look for my birds.”

He held Jennie’s gaze for a moment, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but her face betrayed nothing. She averted her eyes and clasped her hands.

Peter returned to his hotel. He discarded his wig and fake beard and loosened his neck tie. Only one thing would do to deal with this: la fée verte. He poured an inch of absinthe into a crystal stemmed glass and placed a slotted spoon across the rim with a sugar cube over it. He liked the ritual— at least for the first glass or two, then it was straight from the bottle— like a magic trick, positioning precisely each piece, then as he trickled cold water over the sugar, the liquid turned cloudy unlike his mind. Absinthe produced such a sharp sort of drunkenness, and his memories became that much more vivid: the green, dry scent of sawdust in his father’s workshop, the ribbed smoothness of a grosgrain ribbon between his finger, her laughter in bursts of light.

≑

The first time they met, they were only children. Her straw bonnet hung crookedly over her messy blond curls, and blue ribbons floated beside her cheek. She introduced herself as Jennie, but he knew who she was: Iphigenia Goldfinch, daughter of the Baron. Her father owned most of the hamlet where they lived, a remote corner of Northumberland, between the Scottish border and the North sea. Peter worked for him. He was but a farm boy, having to earn his own living now that he was an orphan. Other children never spoke to him, they thought him a bit odd, and the circumstances of his parents’ death didn’t help.

“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him flip the wooden raven between his fingers.

“I’m looking for my bird,” he replied. “Do you think it’s in the bushes?”

Jennie followed him to the edge of the forest. Peter picked a small purple flower.

“Perhaps it made its nest amongst the petals.”

“What are you talking about?”

He struck a match and lit the flower. With a flourish of his hand, it vanished in a puff of smoke, and was replaced by a black feather. Her hand flew to her chest, followed by delighted laughter. He decided then and there to make her smile and laugh as much as possible.

They became inseparable. Jennie would bring him food and blankets, and whatever material he needed for his latest magic trick. She dreamt of becoming an actress, so they would put on elaborate performances. As they grew older, their act became more and more complex, lengthy skits with scenarios, costumes, decors and monologues heavily borrowed from Shakespeare. Sometimes for an audience, but more often for their own entertainment. She never asked for the secret behind his tricks, and sometimes he wouldn’t have known how to explain, cards floated in the air, handkerchiefs vanished and wilted flowers bloomed anew.

The other peasants warned him to stay away from her. “If the Baron finds out…” they said. But neither of Jennie’s parents seemed to care. Her father was never home, always in London, allegedly on business. The baroness preferred the company of ghosts. Even at a young age, Peter wondered which was worse: that one’s parents had died or that they didn’t care about their child. They were both orphans in their own way.

And so, Jennie and Peter sheltered each other from the harsh and confusing realities of adulthood. They surrounded themselves with magic and forgot all the rest.

As Peter grew older, he began to understand what he’d been warned against. What they said he would want but couldn’t have.

When she turned thirteen, her father hired a chaperone, and they had to find creative ways of meeting. An abandoned hut in the forest became their refuge after the chaperone had dozed off for the night.

For his fifteenth birthday, she gave him his first kiss, and he promised they would always be together.

For her fifteenth birthday, the baron came back to Featherstone Hall and announced his intention to take his daughter away to London. That night, Jennie ran to him with her jewels wrapped in a piece of cloth.

“We have to go!”

She was always more courageous than him. He hesitated for too long. Her father’s men came after them. They hid in their secret hut, huddled together in the cold night, as dogs sniffed and barked around.

“Make us disappear,” she begged. “Please, Peter, make us disappear.”

He tried.

He failed.

He waited for her.

But she never came back from London, and so, without an anchor, Peter drifted away.

≑

An insistent knock at his hotel door woke Peter up. His head hurt from too much absinthe. He’d slept the morning away. On the doorstep, he found a simple, handwritten note: “Meet me”.

He quickly washed the smudged eyeliner off his face and changed out of last night’s clothes before heading out where a coach awaited.

The cold november wind whipped the tail of his coat about and he held down his hat as he stepped inside the carriage. It was empty.

The carriage drove around for fifteen minutes, Peter rubbed up and down his arms, looking out the window for clues of his anonymous caller. He dearly hoped the message was from Jennie, but it wasn’t rare for some married women to seek him out after a show. His act thrilled them, reminded them that life was too short for a boring husband.

They reached a busy thoroughfare. Peter huffed impatiently at being stuck in traffic. Suddenly, the carriage door opened and someone slipped in directly from the coach beside his. A woman in a garnet-red dress, a veil concealed her face. Peter put a foot up on the bench, sprawling with a cocky smile, a reflex in female company.

When she lifted the veil, he recognized Jennie. Though the carriage was in motion, she had yet to sit. The feather on her hat wobbled and brushed against the ceiling.

“Are you Peter McHoolihee of Northumberland?”

“The one and only.”

She inspected him with narrowed eyes.

“It really is me, Jennie,” he assured her.

She sat on the bench opposite him.

“No one has called me that in ages,” she said.

She didn’t look as happy as he expected her to be. Staring down at her hands, she fidgeted with her wedding ring. The size of the gemstones was an unwelcome reminder of all the things Peter couldn’t buy her despite his fame.

“How long have you been back in England?” she asked.

“Three days.”

“Why did you come back?”

“I’d been gone long enough. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Although she’d learned to mask her emotions better, he recognized that slightly puckered forehead that belied her words.

“So, you’re Peter Vincent now.”

“And you’re a countess.”

“Only since last week.”

“I’m too late, then.”

“Twelve years too late. At least your magic tricks have improved.”

There was a bitterness to her tone he matched in his reply.

“So have your acting skills.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you must have done something to make an Earl want to marry below his station.”

“Must you be so unpleasant?”

“Must you be married?”

They outstared each other. The carriage creaked and horseshoes beat the gravel path, filling the silence. Jennie broke the staring first and looked out the window.

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked after a long moment. “I wrote to everyone in Featherstone for news of you, but you had left without a trace. I tried to find you.”

“So did I. I went to London.”

“You did?” Her face broke into a grin.

Since their first kiss, he’d learned how to seduce women, but now, one smile from her and he was a fumbling teenager again. His palms were clammy, and he couldn’t think of a single smart thing to say. Just like the courageous but naive seventeen year-old lad he had once been, the one who set out for London with only the clothes on his back and a literal ace up his sleeve.

But the city was much larger than he’d anticipated, and the sight of rich gentlemen-- the kind she may be presented to-- discouraged him. He found work on a cargo ship sailing to Denmark; if he traveled the world, educated himself and became rich, then he might be worthy of her. He roamed the Continent, taking odd jobs and performing magic tricks. But as he journeyed East, he started hearing legends of blood-sucking creatures, and his purpose evolved.

In Poland, he met Emily de Laszowska Gerard, a writer and literary critique. Scottish by birth, she took a liking to Peter and his skills, and hired him to work in her home. Her library contained many a book about myths and legends that they read together. When her husband, a Polish chevalier, twenty years her senior, was stationed in Transylvania, Peter followed them. Still officially a member of staff, but in fact, he and Emily researched the local vampire lore. She even published a book about Transylvanian superstitions the next year. She was the first person, after Jennie, to whom Peter revealed what he had seen kill his parents. She was also the first person, after Jennie, to kiss him. She was older than him by six years and taught him how to give a woman pleasure. They enjoyed each other’s company, but he didn’t love Emily as he had Jennie. Eventually, her husband found out about the affair and kicked him out. Armed with a new confidence and knowledge on two equally mysterious creatures— vampires and women— he started his life as Peter Vincent.

He didn’t confess his insecurities and affairs to Jennie, only summed up that he hadn’t found her in London and then started travelling.

“No wonder you could not find me in London. Father hired this dreadful tutor, and locked me up for hours with her so she might teach me everything a lady should know.”

“So he might offer you to the highest bidder?”

She didn’t deny the allegation, but amended, “He wanted a better life for me, better than I had with Mother. But I did not want it.”

“I’m sure you managed to sneak out every once in a while.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and his stomach swooped. Even if she spoke like a proper lady, in his presence her northern accent and idioms resurfaced. And he laughed, still incredulous that the baron’s daughter was so bold, and that she even deigned talk to him. Him, a peasant boy. It felt like they had never been apart. As he spoke, he lost his cocky façade, and Jennie leaned towards him, elbows on knees.

“I never escaped very far. Not as far as you did.”

“I crossed the continent. I saw Russia and the Ottoman Empire. Always searching… I learned about myths and the origins of faith and fear in men.”

“And vampires?”

“I saw what looked like the victims of vampires: illnesses that medicine has yet to explain, and corpses that decomposed in odd ways, but no real vampire. I must have imagined it all. It became inspiration for my show.”

He switched seat to be next to her, his legs pressed against hers, but she didn’t move. Head cocked to one side, she openly studied him. He didn’t feel unrecognized by her anymore. Her honey-brown eyes warmed him more than the autumn sun shining on his stubbled cheek.

“All that wandering, did you ever find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“In some measure. But something was always missing.” He brought her hands to his lips, holding her gaze, and turned on the charm.

Jennie chuckled softly. “I see you learned about more than folklore.”

“Shall I demonstrate?”

He scooted closer to her, Jennie instinctively leaned forward, smiling conspiratorially.

“You may.”

He ran his hands up, from her wrists to her shoulders, and rested them on her neck. His thumb brushed her jaw, and her lips parted. He had dreamt of those lips. He kissed her as slowly as his weak restraints allowed. He needed her to think about this kiss for days and weeks to come. He needed her to blush every time she was with her husband, and take pleasure in tasting the memory on her lips. He kissed her deeply, adoringly, and feeling her melt against him was his reward.

Too soon, the carriage stopped.

“I have to go,” she said.

Peter caught her arm to stop her, though his grip was light, she winced as if he’d hurt her which alarmed him.

“Rough honeymoon?”

“My husband is… mercurial.”

“Run away with me. I’m rich now.”

“You think that ever mattered to me?” She swiped his fringe to the side and kissed his forehead, but the gesture was too forlorn for him to enjoy. “I wish I could-- there’s so much to explain... Richard would hunt us down.”

“Jennie…”

“Goodbye, Peter.”

“When can I see you again?” he pressed.

“I don’t know.”

And she vanished into the street crowd.

≑

Part 2

#Teninch Fic #ktrosesworld #Peter Vincent #peter vincent x jenny #I start feeling queasy when I don't post fic for a while #I hope you guys will like this despite the unusual pairing #Lostinfic writes stuff #autumn prompts #Raven & Goldfinch #the raven and the goldfinch

37 notes · View notes

chiseler · 6 years ago

Text

William Attaway’s Hobo Novel

“Day O! Day O! Daylight come and me wanna go home.” Most Americans would immediately recognize Harry Belafonte’s “Banana Boat Song,” with its rhyming, rhythmic language and the irresistible calypso beat. “Come Mr. Tally man tally me banana…” Yet the creative genius behind the popular Jamaican singer is little known beyond a small academic circle. A close friend of Belafonte, African American writer William Attaway wrote the lyrics to this classic and others, compiled in his Calypso Song Book of 1957. “Day O is based on the traditional work songs of the gangs who load the banana boats in the harbor at Trinidad,” Attaway explains in the liner notes of Belafonte’s 1956 album Calypso. “The men come to work with the evening star and continue through the night. They long for daybreak when they will be able to return to their homes. All their wishful thinking is expressed in the lead singer’s plaintive cry: ‘Day O, Day O…. The lonely men and the cry in the night spill overtones of symbolism which are universal.” Attaway spent a long and varied career giving voice, in a range of literary and popular genres, to “the lonely men” whose labor puts food on our tables and keeps our industries running. He is best known for his 1941 novel Blood on the Forge, which chronicles the African American Great Migration and labor strife in the Pennsylvania steel mills. But perhaps Attaway’s most powerful expression of the loneliness of the agricultural worker is his first novella—out of print and neglected by scholars—a hobo narrative called Let Me Breathe Thunder.

Attaway’s interest in the poor and outcast began not with his own experience of poverty, but with his youthful rejection of bourgeois values that prompted him to follow an unconventional path. Attaway was born in Greenville, Mississippi in 1911, and migrated as a child to Chicago. His father, a physician, and his mother, a teacher, desired better opportunities for their children outside of the Jim Crow South, and encouraged their son to pursue a career in medicine. While his older sister, Ruth, met their parents’ expectations by studying hard and becoming a successful Broadway actress, William bristled under the constraints of his middle-class upbringing. He frequently skipped classes during high school, and fared little better at the University of Illinois—except for his course in creative writing.

The genesis of Attaway’s hobo novella lies in his adventures on the road and rails during the Great Depression. After two years of college, Attaway dropped out and hopped a freight headed west with forty dollars in his pocket. This was the early 1930s, when desperate men, women, and children swelled the ranks of the itinerant labor force. Once he reached San Francisco, he realized he was too broke to follow his dream of traveling to the Far East, so he got a job as a stevedore. Lured once again by the romance of the road, he followed the crops up through the western states, stopping for a few months at a farm in Kansas and again with a Japanese family back in San Francisco. “I had a hard job making it,” Attaway reminisced to the Daily Worker in June 1939, “Going over the mountains in an empty [refrigerator car] I lost all sensation in my fingers for almost two years.” Riding the rails as an itinerant laborer radicalized Attaway, and he worked as a union organizer upon joining his sister Ruth in Harlem in 1933. After struggling to find a job in the depth of the Depression, Attaway hit the road again, this time as an actor in Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman’s play “You Can’t Take It With You.”

These experiences—as hobo, activist, and actor—provided rich material for Attaway’s literary imagination. He wrote Let Me Breathe Thunder while on tour with the play, and its theatrical qualities reflect the context of its creation. The story draws from Attaway’s hobo experience, yet its main characters, Step and Ed, are white. These hard-boiled hoboes ride the rails in search of a good time and an occasional job. On a lark, they take a runaway Mexican child named Hi Boy under their wings. While Attaway flirts with the devil-may-care freedom of the hobo life, he makes it clear that the road is not a fit environment for a child, and he exposes Step and Ed’s desperate loneliness beneath their raucous revelry. The threesome settles into a more domestic routine when they stop to work for a few months at an apple farm in Washington’s Yakima Valley, owned by a kindly, father figure named Sampson. When they tire of this wholesome, familial environment, Step and Ed visit a nearby roadhouse owned by the most fascinating characters in the novella, a black female entrepreneur, Mag, and her partner, Cooper. Ultimately, the womanizing, hedonist Step loses his chance at redemption when he brings Sampson’s teen-aged daughter to the roadhouse and seduces her, and they flee to the rails once more.

Published in 1939, Let Me Breathe Thunder received positive reviews in both the mainstream and radical press. As Milton Meltzer proclaimed in the Daily Worker: “When William Attaway’s first novel landed on the desks of the critics the other day they got excited. From left to right the reviews are alive with paragraphs punched out enthusiastically.” Attaway’s novel may have appealed to critics in and out of the literary Left because it embedded radical themes—anti-Capitalism, anti-lynching, and even interracial sex—within the framework of a more conventional masculine road narrative. As Stanley Young of the New York Times put it: “His tough and tender story of two young box-car wanderers and their love for a little Mexican waif who rides the reefers with them has some of the emotional quality and force of the familiar relationship of George and Lennie in ‘Of Mice and Men.’ We see two rootless men faced by hard reality yet still susceptible to dreams and affection.” Despite these favorable reviews, the novella did not sell well, and it has received little attention from scholars. This critical neglect is perhaps due to the nature of present-day critical categories, which implicitly define African American literature as literature by and about black people. What does one do with a book written by a black writer with white protagonists? A book that resembles Of Mice and Men more so than Native Son?

Stanley Young wasn’t the only critic to mention the resemblance between Attaway’s debut novella and Steinbeck’s best-seller. Other critics at the time noticed the parallel, as have a handful of scholars who make passing reference to Attaway’s first book in their surveys of African American literature. Yet no one has compared the two in depth, which is crucial to understanding Attaway’s take on the intersections of race and class, and his effort to bridge radical anti-racism and American populism. Attaway self-consciously revises Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men to complicate the image of the populist collective—in this case the hobo community—that was so appealing in the 1930s. Attaway suggests the radically egalitarian potential of the hobo subculture, yet also exposes its racist shadow side.

In both novellas, the outsider status of the white characters allows them to cross racial boundaries. In Of Mice and Men, Lennie and George expand their vision of the “dream farm” to include Candy, the aging and crippled “swamper,” and Crooks, the “Negro stable buck” with a disfigured back. Yet Crooks does not enter into the community as an equal, but rather offers to “work for nothing—just [my] keep.” Moreover, Steinbeck avoids the thorny issue of miscegenation by limiting his interracial community to men. When Curley’s wife enters the scene, she silences the newfound friends by threatening to accuse Crooks of rape. Her threat of lynching disempowers and marginalizes the interracial collective.

Attaway offers a more radical interracial vision by directly confronting the hot-button issue of miscegenation. Like Steinbeck, he depicts the hobo subculture as radically egalitarian due to the outsider status of poor, rootless whites. According to the black hobo that appears briefly in Attaway’s story, “Guys on the road ain’t got prejudice like other folks.” Yet this hobo is a far cry from the physically weak, guarded Crooks. Rather, he asserts his racial equality in sexual terms, bragging about his sexual encounter with a white woman: “‘there was a yeller-haired girl in the empty with a bunch of us. Some of them gave her money. She let me love her up all the way in to Chi for a piece of cake. […] Black or white, it’s all the same on the road.’” In the boxcar, the black hobo can break America’s most powerful racial taboo, its number one justification for lynching.

While this boxcar moment offers a vision of racial equality among the down-and-out, a subsequent lynching scene suggests that the egalitarian hobo collective is as transient as its members. While Step is unfazed by the anonymous black hobo’s story of his sexual encounter with a white prostitute, he reacts violently to the notion of Cooper, the black owner of the roadhouse, having sex with Sampson’s white daughter, and joins a lynch mob in pursuit of his old friend. What explains Step’s contradictory behavior? First, class status and sexuality mediate each woman’s claim to whiteness: perhaps the miscegenation taboo applies to the farmer’s daughter and not to the prostitute. More importantly, Attaway warns that without political consciousness, it is impossible for someone like Step to differentiate between radical and reactionary collectivism.

While Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men enjoys enduring popularity as novel, play, and film, Attaway’s novella has slipped into obscurity. It was reprinted several more times—in London in 1940; in Copenhagen (in Danish) in 1943; under the title Tough Kid in 1952 and ‘55, and a final version under the original title in 1969. In 1960, the New York Times reported that Herbert Kline was working on a film adaptation of Let Me Breathe Thunder in Mexico, but the film was never made. Recovering Attaway’s hobo narrative restores the radical edge to a popular Depression-era icon. His story draws parallels between the experiences of white hoboes and racial minorities, yet ultimately warns readers of the powerful allure of the Jim Crow lynch myth, its geographical reach, and its fundamental hypocrisy.

by Erin Royston Battat

4 notes · View notes

genomynt · 6 years ago

Text

Unexpected Facts

A mini-fanfic for SaboKoa week 2018! Day 4: UNDERCOVER

Author’s note: This is the prequel from the Day 2 drabble that I wrote for the SaboKoa week~ This may be a bit longer or if you guys want me to continue it with further chapters, I can do so! I used female pronouns to Ivankov and treat her as a transgender. Take note that the setting of the story is based on the behind-the-scenes of the Reverie. This is only a fanfiction, anything that happens here is not related to the canon story of One Piece. I also used Nantokantte’s first name, Sarie, instead cuz it’s too long -_- Also, English is not my first language, so please bear with me. XD Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: Drunk Koala, swearing, contains spoilers for those who are not manga-readers, hidden Vine joke ahead.

Wordcount: 5,045

Sabo sat restlessly in the underground heat with Lindbergh, Karasu, and Morley. He can’t stand the truth to accept that Kuma, their gentle Kuma is now a slave under the filthy hands of the Celestial Dragons. He just expressed his anger by telling them there are only two products of their mission: Death or Success. Which, he can’t let the first option to happen. His pace loops around the secluded space and Morley decided to cut the thick atmosphere, “S-Sabo-san, look, about what you have said, we need more men to infiltrate them and rescue Kuma.”

“I agree,” followed Lindbergh and Kuro came with a nod. “No, we can’t sacrifice any more men. We’ve lost enough soldiers from what happened in Baltigo and I mustn't increase their number again as the next leader for the next generation.” His stern voice made them swallow. “But, Sabo—” Lindbergh was cut by the ringing Den Den Mushi which he immediately answered. “Yes? Yes, sir. Sabo, Sir Dragon wants to talk to you.” Lindbergh hands the phone to him and Sabo take it with a sigh before he grips on it.

“Sir?”

“Sabo, so you’ve successfully hidden underground huh?”

“Yes, and I have a heartbreaking report sir,” he paused and swallowed a lump before he continued. “Kuma was captured and is in the hands of the Celestial Dragons as Slave.” Silence followed after, “In that case, I’ve sent some additional manpower to help you save Kuma and overthrow your brother—”

“He was never my brother,” Sabo interjects. “Stelly,” Dragon corrected, “And you don't have to send any additional people to sacrifice this mission." Sabo interjects again."Too late, boy, I've sent Ivankov, Betty, and Koala." Sabo heard the breathy grin Dragon made. "No, wait— you send girls?! That's—"

"My final decision. Meet them later at night at the dock; they will be arriving on the boat."

"Yes, sir," Sabo copied and ended the conversation.

————

Sabo with Karasu went to their rendezvous, "They're here." Sabo looked through the lens of his telescope and lowered them as their figure is drawing nearer to dock. Karasu offered his enormous arms to help the ladies disembark with their luggage.

"Vmy, it's been a while, Karasu-chan," Ivankov cooed, "How're your flying friends doing?" Karasu answered with a thumbs-up that made Ivankov frowned. "Still a man with a few words, ey? Some things never changed," Ivankov shifts her eyes to Sabo and smiled. "I'm glad you arrived safely, ladies."He smiled, "I've heard what happened to Kuma," Betty said with a cigarette between her teeth. "So have you decided to send to rescue him?" She blows a smoke, "Pardon me, Betty-san, I'm not fond of second-hand smoking." Koala coughed and swayed her hand into the smoke in the air. "Oh, sorry," Betty stomped on the cigarette. "Well, allow us to accompany you to our underground, it's not a long walk, Morley is waiting for us," Sabo said as they made their way through their hideout.

“Did Dragon-san tell you why we’re here?” Koala asked out of nowhere. Sabo let out a heavy sigh before he replied, “Yeah, just to bring more manpower he said, but he only mentioned that after I learned that it was you gals.” Koala raised a brow in his tone. “Anything wrong about that?” she clenched her teeth phrasing her sentence. “Oh, looks like Sabo-chan doesn’t want Koala-chan to babysit her…” Ivankov turned her enormous head to Sabo’s side but he just replied with a long hum. “Eh? The chief-of-staff is being babysat by the Fishman Karate teacher?” Betty grinned as she rests her sunglasses to her head. “It’s been a decade,” Koala sighs with that comment.

“Morley we're here!” Sabo waved at Morley as if he didn’t hear anything. Morley grinned stretches from ear to ear."Betty-saaan! Koala-saa—""Hush now, Morley, dear!"Ivankov warned, "They might hear us!" Morley dropped his head, "I'm sorry," he initially used his Devil fruit powers to made a path to the underground. Sabo leads the way by lighting his hand with his flame as their guide to the secluded hideout. Karasu puts down the luggage as they gather around the table. Sabo removed his white coat and hang it on the back of the chair and grips his hand on it, "Dragon-san didn't mention how do we infiltrate Stelly in his current residence, I suppose that we start a strategy?" He started. "A lot of guards is on its posts and it's hard to infiltrate them."

"I suggest we go in different posts," Lindbergh suggested. "Betty and I will go with the communications, Morley will hide in the underground until we gave the signal to make a riot to distract them to escape if something happens." He showed his sketch of the plan on the table. "And how will we able to do that?" Sabo asked. "And what will be the others' assignment?" Ivankov answered him by sliding him an envelope in front of Sabo. "Vi got it from a bar while Vi was disguised with my hormones, and he expects me to come with him," she shrugged her shoulders, "But Vi think that this invitation suits for you and Koala-chan." Sabo opens the envelope as he read the invitation for two: The Celestial Dragons has received the Elders' commands to invite: Mr. Edicius and Ms. Ivankov to the Astraea Grand Masquerade Ball. He raised an eyebrow to Ivankov.

"So do you guys dance?" Ivankov asked.

—————

Stelly savors his luscious meal on sitting on his cushioned, velvet seat. "Dear, the Reverie will be in a few days, aren't you excited? And a grand ball will be held before that!" Sarie Nantokanette joyously drank her wine with her pinky rose in the air. "Imagine what gown I will wear!" She lowers her glass and her eyes gleamed under the chandelier above them with greed, "Oh, I'd better get my dress sewn by the best seamstress in this damn place or I would like a filthy commoner!" She pulls her ruff with a frown. "Don't worry dear, we'll get it in no time," reassured Stelly as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. "Oh, and have you heard the news, dear?" Sarie guides a hand to her mouth as if she were shocked, "Celestial Dragons has been tracing fishmen as their top in-demand order if slaves!"

"Oh? I thought that they only prefer human slaves?" Stelly raised a brow, "I thought so too, but it seems time has changed."Sarie smiled at her wine glass." You know, I think I might get myself a slave too, "Stelly sliced the tender meat on his platter. "Father kept a log of slaves given to him by the Celestial Dragons as a token of appreciation for his nobility and partnership with him. They said it might be for his future use. What surprises me from what I've read from the log is that some slaves were reported to escape and when the escapees were been retrieved, it was recorded that one of them is missing, which its location is unknown yet." He paused and drank his last gulp of wine, "One of the slaves was tortured and was forced to tell where did the rascal go, and he said the slave fled with the fishmen, which sounds dubious, like who's a fool to come with those stinking fishmen?” Stelly let out a guffaw that fills the dining room.

—————

Koala received a newspaper from the News Coo on their alternative hideout in an old abandoned house just above their underground. She read the latest headlines which are written in bold and capital letters:

CELESTIAL DRAGONS OPEN FOR FISHMEN AS SLAVES

Saint Rossward says that a huge number of celestial dragons were demanding fishmen to be their slave for their rare physique and unimaginable strength. Various fishmen, pirate or not, had been captured and collared by some of the notable celestial dragons as their own. Other reports say that they are hunting down and tracing members of the famous disbanded Sun Pirates considering them as a slave as they—

"Koala," Sabo greeted from her back as he descended from the stairs. "Is that the daily newspaper?" He tilted his head on Koala's back where she suddenly hides the broadsheet. "Oh, oh yes," she hands him the newspaper to him and walks away. "My, this damn Celestial Dragons were out of their minds, huh? Getting fishmen in all ages as their slave..."Sabo's voice echoed softer as she headed to Betty and Lindbergh outside the house. "Betty-san, Lind-san, may I have some of your gin? Where do you have them?" Betty lowered her sunglasses as she puffed a smoke, "Wow, I didn't know that you drink Koala, anything wrong?" She asked.

"Nah,"

"Suit yourself, it's on the basement" Lindbergh took a huge gulp from his mug of beer. "I will not drink today, I'm just curious how did you manage to bring that amount of alcohol during this mission." She rests a hand on her waist. "I do my things my way, girl. Drinking for me eases the mind and think about what words should I say when cheering people up; you can say it as my meditation while drinking." She winked. "Okay, but don't abuse yourselves," she said with a fake smile that Betty noticed and headed to her room upstairs.

She sat on her spring bed, old, and tattered, which reminds her of her past, she removes her frilled blouse just down through her elbows and turned around the mirror to see her scar. "Ugh." was all that she said as wants to see the full view of it but it didn't. She looks at her lamp table and reread the invitation.

"So do you guys dance?"

"I don't dance, Iva-san," she sighed dressing up and landed her back on the bed, arms spread on her both sides, as she looked at the ceiling fan rotate. "I've never danced." She gripped on the sheet remembering what she had read on the newspaper; those words were nothing but horror to her pooling tears on her eyes. She considered the Sun as her family. She hasn’t told to anyone about her past, except to Ivankov and Inazuma. Ivankov used to bathe with her with her feminine physique when she was just fresh from the trauma and newly recruited in the army.

“Vhat’s this, my child?” Ivankov stopped undressing the young Koala, and she remained silent. “It’s okay, dear, you’re safe here,” Ivankov assured her with a smile on her face. as she helped her to step on the water-filled tub and joined her.

“What’s a revolutionary army?” Koala asked meekly playing the waters in the tub, “Well, we fight,” Ivankov wets hair and squeezes a handful of shampoo and lather it on her damped hair. "We fight what we think what is right, when people are blinded in these corrupted doings of the government, we have to change that and to make peace to the world. “If you want to promote peace, then why fight?” “Oh, dear, how can Vi explain to you, child? “Ivankov sighed. “You’ll know when you grow up.”

“Okay,”

She keeps on thinking nostalgic things that could ease the pain that she is feeling in her chest. What if someone noticed her on the day that she escaped? Do they know about her? Has her scar been revealed on her tattered clothes from her escape from her village? What if her mom didn’t tell the marines? Questions bothered her thoughts as she locked herself in the room in the meantime and she had an idea to practice her dance to ease herself. She found some dusty books inside an old shelf; blew the dust and wiped it off. The art of Music and Entertainment engraved on the spine, she opened the book turned the page to her desired chapter.

Illustrations of dance steps printed on the pages, she tried to mimic each step but the room doesn’t have enough space for her to move, “How embarrassing,” she murmured.

—————

The day will be tomorrow night. Sabo studied the map of Stelly’s current residence, which is a mansion, and the chosen venue of the ball, “It’s been a while to attend such gathering.” Sabo runs his fingers on the huge map rolled on the table. “Don’t you think it would be fun?” Betty said, “We’re not there to have fun, we’re in a middle of a mission,” his voice is stern.

“Dancing?” Betty snorted,

“Not just it. There’s this guy and that one, we need to take down,” Sabo hands pictures to her, “The first guy is this Edicius which I would go by a name to, and the other guy, is one of the main guards in Stelly’s document room,” he added.

“What’s inside the room?”

“Boxes and shelves of files and important records are stored in there,” he added. The agenda is we have to find the slave logbook where Kuma is recorded,” he said. “Then we will head to where he is being kept. He points a pin on the map while drumming his fingers on the table. “Fine, then we will stay here to connect you with you guys,” Lindbergh polished his new invention with his hands carefully. “By the way, does Ivankov be staying here?” Betty asked. “She volunteered to come with us, but she will not go to the ball, maybe she will be staying at the carriage.” Sabo added, “Any dashing outfit for the gentleman?” Betty grinned with her lighted cigarette. “I do have some spare clothes for the night,” he said.

—————

Bartholomew Kuma sits on the cold floor tainted with dried blood from the previous slaves that have probably died and tortured in place, his dried blood mapping his white clothes, his open wounds gave tingles in the cold wind, his stomach rumbles for days, but he never showed expressions in years. He reads his worn-out Bible under the only small thin light provided by the moonlight. “How’s my favorite pet?” chains echoed in the prison halls, “Smells like shit in here,” Rossward spat on his jail bars. “Hey, what’s that?” he received a no reply. he opened his prison cell and hit Kuma with a baton and a stream of blood trickled down his face. “Still not saying anything, eh?” he grinned. “I like that.” Rossward made his way out from the cell.

—————

It’s almost two in the morning and Sabo is arranging papers in the living room, in the house. Sounds of crickets and barks of dogs can be heard from outside. Sabo sighed and open the fridge what’s left to eat, he had skipped dinner while he was busy planning for tomorrow's event. A faint laugh was heard from the basement when he was just about to eat his sandwich; he didn’t flinch and silently moved his chair aside. He walks into the basement, his fingers were aflame as he slowly opens the door, “Who’s there?” he illuminates the room and saw the chuckling suspect...

“Sa-bo-kun!” Koala answered with an open grin, with a drool hanging on her face, her head rests on her right arm laid on the table as she was holding a mug of alcohol. “K-Koala?!” Sabo stuttered and looks at her with confusion.

“I’m fi—” a pool of vomit didn’t finish her answer. “See? Hehe,” she smiled with her hooded eyes. “Oh geez!” Sabo reached to her to help, “Look at you, you even vomited on your clothes!” a look of grimace is evident on his face, he looks on a patch of vomit seeping from her chest downwards. “C’mon, let’s get you a bath and change,” Sabo helped Koala helped her on her weak knees, as he was figuring out how to carry her through her room. “Up we go,” he put her arm around her shoulder and lift up her knees; like a bride. “What’s with you? This is the first time I saw you drinking this much?” he asked not looking at her.

“You know nothing, Sabo-kun,” she murmured, and he turned his head to her with confusion, “YOU KNOW NOTHING SABO KUUUUUN~!” Koala threw her arms in the air and straightened her back on his arms. “Hey! Hush! You’ll wake the others! And stop moving so much, I might drop you!” he said and opened the doorknob to her room; he placed her on her bed gently. He looked around the closet to find some spare clothes for her to change and just randomly picks them. “You can handle yourself in taking a bath, right?” he asked. “Uh-huh!” she answered in a cheerful tone. “Right...” he turned to the closet again, “I’ll leave you your towel and robe on this chair”, he placed her bathing needs on the chair, he also prepared her bath and helped Koala stepped into the tub. “Just tell me when you’re done and I’ll hand it over to you.” he closed the door and sat on her bed. “Okie~” she cooed back. Sabo sighed heavily and roams his eyes around the room. It was dusty, but Koala did have some time to rearrange the furniture and obscene books on the small shelf he thought how Koala loves to get things organized, which he remembers how she was nagging him when he would misplace important folders to another stack of papers, or that he would just leave his coffee-stained papers on his desk, sleeping; and the day he would wake up, a sparkling clean desk surprised him with a note on the desk, “Good work today, Mr. chief-of-staff! –K.”; in where he would just smile and— his senses came back when Koala called, “Sabo-kun! I don’t have shampoo here!” Sabo hesitantly enter the bathroom, good thing it has an opaque shower curtain.

“E-excuse me,” his voiced is shaking and suddenly remembered what did he came into, “Where are they placed?” he straightly said. “At the small closet right there on the wall.” Sabo took the shampoo and other hygienic needs and handed it to her through the shower curtain. “P-pardon my intrusion,” he keeps gaze on the floor just when he heard a huge distance of sliding of the curtain in front of him.

“Wha—”

“Oh, come on, I’m not even naked,” Sabo slowly raised his head to the soaking wet Koala. “What the hell did you do?!” he even slides the curtain more, “I’m washing me in my clothes!” she said with a thumbs-up. “Just how much alcohol did you drink, woman?!” he could not help but stare at the outline of her brassiere from her wet blouse. “Sabo, you pervert~” she teased but he did not answer, he just thought that Ivankov is awake to help him. “Just,” he immediately slid the curtain close, “hurry up and bathe yourself, and I already leave you a towel and clothes here hanging so you’ll not call me anymore,” he said closing the door behind him. He propped himself on the bed and exhaled deeply and slowly. He knows Koala drinks alcohol but he sure knows that she is aware of her limits, and what triggered him more is that when she said that she knows nothing. Something’s going on with her.

Koala step out from the door and Sabo went to her to assist her from her tipsy situation and headed to her bed and the both sat facing each other. Her eyes were half-lidded and facing down, and hair was still soaking wet and he just smiled and shook his head to her. “You know, I think I will say everything while you’re drunk,” he continued to dry her hair and koala replied with a faint, “Mhmm,” “Look, first of all, you don’t need to drown yourself with alcohol when you’re down, you can tell me everything so that I would know what that ‘nothing’ means that you said earlier,” he paused and he runs his hand slower this time. “I know that I’m reckless and you always babysit me, annoyed when you’re nagging me when you told me I’m always loquacious about my little brother,” he snickered. “And, at least I’m glad that I’m making up to you now from all the bother I’ve caused you, right, Koala?” He stopped his hands as he waited for her response, but he saw that she was already asleep; Sabo chortled and gently lay her down and tucked her in the blanket, “Good night, Koala.” He poked her cheek with his finger and leaves her room.

—————

Koala drowsily rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms. “Eh?” she was surprised that her clothes were different from the last night. She checked her clock and displayed: 10:30. “Damn it, I overslept!” she hurriedly wears her morning slippers and runs into the kitchen to get breakfast. “’Morning Koala, dear~” Ivankov greeted, and now in her feminine physique. “You seemed had a hangover last night…” Ivankov placed a buttered toast on the table. Oh shit. “I’m sorry that you went all the trouble to dress me,” she said and sat on the table, and everyone is present; Betty reading the newspaper, Lindbergh, was in the living room, arranging his weapons, Karasu is just staring outside at the birds perching at a tree, Morley enjoys his towering pancakes pooling with maple syrup. “Oh, don’t mention it, dearie, just don’t abuse your body that much.”Ivankov turned to her with a smile, “Where’s Sabo?” Ivankov looked away, “He’s still sleeping. He’s a busy man, you know.” She added, and an “Oh,” was all Koala said. “Ah, Sabo,” Betty suddenly said and everyone turned their heads to their drowsy chief-of-staff.

“I owe you one, Iva-san,” Sabo whispered when he walked through Ivankov in the kitchen and she replied with a wink, “Have a coffee,” she gave him a mug of his favorite black coffee as he sat on the table and rests her his chin on his hand on the table. “Had a load of work for tonight, Mr. Chief-of-staff?” Koala asked. “Lemme guess, you had a good-night sleep?” he smiled on his mug and raised a brow. “I overslept…” she frowned. “Oh? I take it’s a good night sleep then,” he lowered his mug down. Koala shook her head from the comment and went back upstairs. She took her guidebook and before she proceed to go outside, she made sure that everyone is busy, and sneaked out of the house and went to a secluded place; she hid from a worn-out barn that is not far from them. She opened the book and started taking a few small steps and movement of her body, following instructions guided with the illustrations it presented while looking at her feet at the same time. She sighed stared at the webbed ceiling then closed her eyes and exhaled.

“Practicing?” the sound of the voice made her jolt and threw the book behind her, “S-Sabo-kun… What are you doing here?” she straightly said breathlessly. “You could just say no to the mission if you don’t know how to dance,” he chuckled and walked towards her and offer a hand. “Here,” she stared on his hand then back to his eyes. “Y-you dance?” she sheepishly asked. “Well,” he rolled his eyes and the corner of his mouth smiled, “I guess you can say that I learned something useful from those guys when I was a kid,” Koala could tell he’s talking about his parents. “As expected from someone who is a former noble,” she teasingly accepted his hand and he guides her other hand to his back. “Try me,” he snaked his hand on her back, “Look, your muscles are tensed, relax,” he gave a light nudge on her shoulder, “and remember to let the gentleman lead the dance,” he added. “Just don’t do anything reckless,” she chortled, “I won’t and I’m not reckless when it comes to dancing.” His octave went lower that made her legs jelly.

“Okay, let’s start— And, one, two, three, and one, two thr—Ow!” Sabo parted from his stomped foot. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” she wailed looking at Sabo fixing his shoe, “I-I’m fine, and don’t look too much on your feet. Just trust me,” his hands went back where it settled. Koala felt unease in the awkward silence while dancing, she hummed a tune to break the silence. “That’s nice, it is not a dance without music,” as he commented and guides her and turned them around by the corner of the barn, “Oh, that was my mom’s lullaby for me,” she turned her head away from him, smiling, “It’s lovely,” he smiled, “Okay dipping…” he suddenly bends her body without her consent.

“Whoa! Wha—” Koala’s eyes widened, “That’s one of the steps they do when dancing,” she grinned at her, “At least, warn me before doing it so!” she slapped his shoulder, laughing.

—————

“WHERE IS MY SEAMSTRESS?!” Sarie’s voice roared from her room that was heard in the hall. “C-coming, your highness!” a running woman with her sewing kit, panting. “Just what is this design that you made? It doesn’t show my curves this way!” she pulled the hair of the woman straight to her gown that she is holding. “F-forgive me, your highness, I’ll alter it in no time!” the woman pleaded. “Hurry up, you slow-ass bitch! Ugh, all of this stress would make my face haggard for tonight’s ball!” she sat on her velvet chair in front of the mirror. “You still don’t have your dress yet?” Stelly said leaning on the door and walked towards her. “Oh, love, that old hag just designed me an awful dress that she made,” she pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh, “Shall we fire her?” he asked. “Yes, please.” She puffed her face with powder, “I guess I choose on one of my dresses again…’” Sarie sighed.

“Does having a fishman slave ever considered your mind?” he asked breathlessly. “I would love to, honey~” she cooed, “A fishman slave it is then,” Stelly confirmed with a fill-out document on his hand.

“Speak of the devil,” I heard that the runaway slave is still alive and well,” he paused as Sarie turns her head, eyes widen in shock. “Really?” she exclaimed. “Yeah, and what some of my advisors said that she joined the Revolutionary Army.” Stelly walked through her and showed her a picture inserted from the old logbook, “A girl? What a fool.” Sarie commented. “Yeah she is, I better prepare myself for tonight and check the hallway for our guests later, dear,” he walked out from her room and he passes by his servants busy in putting up decorations and cleaning the mansion. He went back to the document room to return the document. “A pleasure afternoon, sir,” the main guard greeted, “Return this back where it came from,” he hands him the old logbook. “Yes, sir,” the guard obeyed and entered the room. A small picture is slightly revealed that was inside the book and he curiously viewed the picture of the grown-up picture of the girl from the logbook.

—————

A knock was heard from her door and came in an enormous head. "Ko-a-la-chan!" Ivankov wink from the ajar door, "I bought you guys an outfit for tomorrow night!" Ivankov revealed a pale rose-colored gown, with thin, translucent linen that covers the embroidered flowers in different pale colors on the skirt. The neckline would reveal her bare shoulders but her sleeves were sewn through the wrist cuffs; it comes a silver belt shaped like a two stem entwined with a pink stone shaped like rose attached. A zipper is sewn at the back. "Try it!" Ivankov handed the gown, "Oh, Iva-san, where did you get this? It's so beautiful." Koala caresses the fabric with a smile. "Oh, Betty and I went to a shop for a while and got you a gown. Betty doesn't have any knowledge in the fashion that she chose a back one with a slit on the leg, and my, oh my, the neckline goes down through your waists, “Hmp!" She huffed. "Now, try it on, dear!" Ivankov gave light pats on her shoulder to try it. At first, Koala hesitated to try it on. She donned the gown and stepped out with her head looking at the floor in front of the mirror.

"Iva-san I—"

"Ravishing," Ivankov lifted her chin from behind and lightly massages her shoulders, "Uh, I think my back is a bit revealed..." Koala turned her back to the mirror. "Nah, the scar it's not that obvious...” Ivankov checked her back and adjusted the zipper. “I also got you your mask”, she revealed a lavender butterfly-shaped mask, made of real lavender lace embedded into a translucent base. Eyeholes were edged with gold on the lower eyelids and the whole mask is edged in a sequin braid. “Also this, for your hair,” she placed a headband with small flowers that perched on silver. “Iva-san, this is too much,” she let out a sigh hiding her face. “Oh, you look gorgeous!” Ivankov puts her hands on Koalas cheeks and pressed them lightly and noticed the said in her eyes. “What is it now, dearie? Anything that I could do for you?” she asked, “Have you read the newspapers yesterday?” Koala asked, Ivankov knew what she meant; the celestial dragons might hunt her down, “Don’t you worry, honey, everything will be all right,” she assured her, “Now, here’s your purse; everything you need is in there and let’s get going now, Sabo’s waiting downstairs!” Ivankov gave her a little push outside the door and went downstairs.

Sabo is there standing, donned with his formal night attire, a white polo shirt, layered by a black vest and finally a navy blue tailcoat patterned in toile of navy blue and silver, his black cravat is fixed with a dragon-shaped like a ring, surrounding the silk with its whole body. The two stared with each other for a moment until Koala asked, “Where are the others?” she walked towards him and headed outside, “They went off already in their positions.” He said and helped her on the carriage. Ivankov lowered the hood of their cloak and made their way to the ball.

To be continued soon at AO3…

(Cuz I’m tired in my internship and slept at 3 am)

#one piece #sabo #koala #sabokoa2018 #sabokoaweek2018 #saboala #sabokoa #day 4 #jazz writes

26 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 4 years ago

Text

How BioShock Infinite Influenced Brittany Cavallaro’s Muse

https://ift.tt/2YKNw45

This is a guest post from Brittany Cavallaro, author of the Charlotte Holmes series and the just-released Muse, the first book in a YA duology set in an alternate history American monarchy.

The first time I played BioShock Infinite was the June when we were so broke that my then-husband started selling his plasma for money. When he wasn’t doing that, he was working as a roofer around Milwaukee while I twiddled my thumbs. I had a job lined up teaching writing that wouldn’t start for another three weeks. No temp agencies would have me. What had begun as a summer of infinite possibilities boiled down to just one: misery. In later years, we called it the Bad Summer, the capital letters always implied.

2013 was a PBR summer, a lay-flat-on-the-cold-hardwood-floor-at-noon summer while I tried to escape the wretched heat; it was the summer that the bed I’d had since childhood splintered and broke, and so we flung the mattress onto the floor. It was a summer when making things, writing things, was impossible. When you’re lost in a fog of worry, the words don’t come easy, if at all. I was a beginner back then. I didn’t know that beating yourself up over it just made it worse.

I didn’t know then that the only possible escape was escape.

It was, to be sure, a summer I didn’t buy anything new, but I had a shrink-wrapped copy of Bioshock Infinite that I’d preordered back in a less precarious time. I’d waited for the end of my semester to open it, thinking I’d have more time to immerse myself in the game. I hadn’t read much about it; I’d played the first two Bioshock games and loved them. I knew this one was a significant departure, that it took place in an America gone terribly wrong.

I won’t give too many spoilers, here. BioShock Infinite might be eight years old, but it’s a game worth approaching on its own merits. Suffice it to say that in Infinite, it’s 1912, and you’re a Pinkerton with a gun on a floating city in the sky, and that city is both terrible and beautiful, a kind of Epcot Americana for the Damned. There’s a rot in this America that dates back to its Founders. As you discover it (and the resistance against it), you find mad prophets, giant animatronic birds, snake oil potions that make you magical. You meet up with a girl named Elizabeth who has the power to tears holes in space and time. It’s one of those games that defies categorization: describing it here, it feels like the designers threw in the whole kitchen sink. Multiple realities? Sure! A pair of possibly evil, soothsaying twins, one of whom is voiced by Jennifer Hale? You got it. A hero to root for? Absolutely.

Games

Bioshock Infinite, Review

By Joe Matar

Games

Forgotten Films: The Lost BioShock Adaptation

By John Saavedra

When I started playing Infinite, I wasn’t a novelist yet. I wrote stories that were, at best, eight pages long. But when I found a story I liked, I wanted to live in it. As a kid, I read massive fantasy series—my favorite were the forty-plus books that made up Mercedes Lackey’s Valdemar—and as a teenager, I only wanted TV shows that ran to seven or eight seasons. The narrative itself didn’t have to be epic, though that helped. I wanted room for the characters to grow and change. I wanted a world so real that I could tear a hole in my afternoon and climb inside of it.

And every day that June, I did. I wanted to linger in every set piece: the Hall of Heroes, Elizabeth’s beautiful prison. But the game was a first-person shooter, and while I love an FPS (and am a pretty crack shot), I found myself racing through each dazzlingly-designed backdrop, killing what felt like an endless parade of soldiers.

When I finished the game, I played it again, determined this time to smell the roses. But the game doesn’t let you do that. I dreamed about it, though. I showed my novelist friend, who didn’t play video games, cutscenes on YouTube. We watched it like a movie. I dreamt sometimes that I was in Columbia, the city above the sky.

That fall, I wrote a novel, and it had nothing to do with BioShock Infinite. It drew inspiration from another great love of mine, Sherlock Holmes—when I love something that much, I want to make art about it. I want to tinker with it, correct it. Make it into the story in my head, the one I’ve half-invented on top of the one that’s in front of me.

It took five years for me to get there. But in those years, Infinite attracted like a magnet other obsessions of mine—the 1893 World’s Fair and Erik Larson’s Devil in the White City; my teenage years roaming Chicago’s Museum Campus with no money and no plan; Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison’s current wars; my love for nineteenth century magicians (the year that both The Prestige and The Illusionist came out was like, the best year of my life). My daily thank-you to the universe that I was born in 1986 and not 1886, because I didn’t have to sit around in a crinoline praying for someone to take me seriously—and still as a white woman I would have been more privileged than most.

All writers do this, I think. We magpie. But there’s something about the complete immersion of a good video game—the BioShocks and Bioware games of this world—that makes you want to live in it. Maybe it’s because you actually are: the hands you see in front of you are your hands. The footsteps you hear are your footsteps. The decisions you make have consequences that will forever change the ending, unless you want to start all over.

I like to joke that when I game, I’m a serial monogamist. (I mean, I generally only play 80-hour RPGs! Some commitment is clearly required.) But reading is like that for me, too: when I start a book, pretty much only alien invasion will keep me from finishing it in the same sitting. I want to go in and throw away the key. I love characters I can follow down the rabbit hole, intricately embroidered settings, stories where I feel so invested it’s almost like the protagonist’s hands are my own.

In Muse, my new novel, we follow Claire, a girl in an alternate history America, one with a king and five provinces and a civil war on the horizon. It’s 1893. Her best friend Beatrix is racing the Wright Sisters to invent the first airplane. Her father Jeremiah is preparing an arms exhibition for the Fair, a spectacle he’s determined will make his name. He’s determined too that his daughter is the key to success: after his wife’s death, he’s begun to lose his mind, and he’s convinced that Claire’s touch has the power to grant his wishes—and maybe she does. There are bar fights and kidnappings and Nikola Tesla’s death ray (no, really); there’s a boy-king who thinks Claire can win him a kingdom.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

And there’s a lot of love for BioShock Infinite, a world that I could slip into when mine felt like it was falling apart.

Muse is now available to buy wherever books are sold. You can find out more about Muse here. And you can find out more about Bioshock Infinite here.

The post How BioShock Infinite Influenced Brittany Cavallaro’s Muse appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3oQtVKk

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

0 notes

yeaahishowedupatyourparty · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter Four: Mai Hamasaki

“Mai, Mai, wake up.” A bitter chill swept over Mai’s shoulders as she sat up in a groggy haze. It didn’t take long for her to become familiar with her surroundings. The glare of the television casted a flickering sheet of light into the darkness of the living room, reflecting the serious expression of a reporter on to the glass of the fish tank sat at the far side of the room. Mai rubbed her eyes, “I fell asleep.” She untangled her feet from the flimsy skirt of her gown that was spilling over the armchair and sat upright. Occupying her father’s seat had become something of a habit lately. “What time is it?” The ticking of the old grandfather clock was constant, but it was impossible to decipher its roman numerals in the dark. “A little way past 2 a.m.,” her mother, Takara, said. She was still in her teal Independence Day gown but had taken off her heels, which brought her back down to size. “Mai, there’s a lot we need to discuss and if it could wait until morning, I wouldn’t have woken you.” Mai focused her eyes on a red banner that ran along the bottom of the television’s news channel. Takara’s voice intertwined with the sombre voice of the news reader until they both cancelled each other out. Scrolling from left to right, the words inside the banner appeared and then disappeared several times before Mai actually digested them. And then she went cold. They were merciless; appearing, and then disappearing, appearing, and then disappearing, taunting her in her shock. BREAKING NEWS: HRH King Gabriel de Beaumont injured during Amethyst Theatre shooting. Palace officials say ‘he remains in a critical condition.’ Air suddenly rejected her lungs, residing in her chest and forcing her into shallow breaths. Tears burned at the ducts of her eyes, blurring her vision and preventing her from reading the headline again. “How?” Mai managed, still unable to draw her eyes away from the television screen. “A shooting, as we gathered.” Takara had always been a serious woman but it was the most monotonous her mother had ever sounded. “That’s all anybody knows.” She perched on the arm of Mai’s chair and the two of them watched chaos rain down on to their country. Drone footage of the Capital revealed party-goers wandering the streets in dazed panic. The footage cut to show the Amethyst Palace. Its flags flapped gravely in the breeze and the outdoor lights were switched off. Horseless carts sat abandoned in the front courtyard. Everything was still. Mai chewed the skin around her thumb. How could it be? The King was supposed to be the most protected person in the kingdom. If he wasn’t safe, then who was? The screen cut again to pre-recorded footage of St Taylor’s Hospital where a crowd of reporters had already gathered at the bottom of the stone steps. “His Majesty still remains in a critical condition.” Raymond looked frail and disorientated. The HD television showed him no mercy when highlighting every crease on his uncharacteristically washed-out skin. Face to face, his juvenile attitude masked the fact that he was a man fast approaching sixty. There on the steps of the hospital, that simply wasn’t the case. Nervously and completely out of character, he peered across the ring of journalists and pressed his lips into a tight, straight line. “Poor man,” Takara muttered. “The palace asks for your patience and respect at this time.” His voice quivered. “The excellent professionals here at St Taylor’s Hospital are working tirelessly to heal His Royal Highness back to health.” “Do we have a suspect at this time, sir?!” Raymond's sentence fell flat on its face as reporters stampeded over the sentiment with desperate and invasive questions. And then the screen went black. “Twelve people have already lost their lives, Mai.” In the time it took Mai to realise the television had been switched off and not lost signal, Takara had lit the chandelier that dangled elegantly above their heads. “We’re looking at a national tragedy.” “What do I need to do?” Mai asked. She’d been thrown into auto-pilot, listening to her mother’s words but not actually digesting them. People had died? Ok. They suspected the shooting may have been intentional? Fine. Akira had employed more members of security to patrol their estate in the following weeks? So be it. He has to be okay, Mai thought. She couldn’t shake the image of Gabriel lying motionless on a hospital bed with wires and tubes bursting from his chest; a machine counting the beats of his heart. Not when a few nights ago it had been the job of her ear, listening to the strong and rhythmic pattern as they laid tangled in sheets of Egyptian cotton. The thought of the nation’s king reduced to a pale silhouette in a room of bodies who were only interested in his title somehow made her feel more hopeless than he was. “Do you think he’ll be ok?” Takara cleared her throat, “King Gabriel will be fine. His kind always are,” “Mother!” “It’s true.” Her mother’s words were cold and even though Mai was ready to argue, she thought better of it. The older woman rose to her feet and stared down at Mai. Her soft, regal features were twisted into a knot of sad vexation. “That man will have the entire nation helping to get him back on his feet. And the families who’ve lost people tonight? Nothing. That’s privilege for you...” “Don’t you think we’re privileged?” Mai hadn’t meant to play devil’s advocate. Or, perhaps she had. But she couldn’t let her mother’s comment slide while sitting in the antique-furnished lounge of their stately home. Takara hadn’t been born into nobility like Mai’s father, but she definitely knew how to spend like she was. “It’s different.” No explanation followed. “If you want somebody to pity, think of your poor father. Who will pay any mind to his case now? Yet another unjust setback...” Takara’s eyes began to tear-up and Mai took that as her cue to leave. As her mother wandered into the kitchen with her face buried in her hands, she headed upstairs. Hearing the delicate sobs and sniffing would have made her feel bad if she hadn’t known that she wanted to be alone. Mai had never seen her cry. Even at the funeral of Mai’s grandfather, Takara fashioned oversized, tinted sunglasses and a stone expression. As far as anybody knew, she never shed a tear. When the main staircase split into two separate pathways, Mai took a left. She could already hear muffled music and the furious tapping of laptop keys from the end of the hall. Perhaps Yuna was just as traumatised as she was by what had happened at the theatre, and had turned to the wonders of the internet to distract herself. Or, she was always up at this hour and nobody had ever realised before. Mai slowly pushed the door open, “Yuna?” Yuna looked up from her sprawled position on the bed with bright and alert eyes. Along with half of her wardrobe, her sequined pink Independence gown had already been abandoned on the floor. Their mother had picked it out and she had complained about how she felt like a disco ball all night. “What’s up Mai?” she said, her eyes already back on the screen in front of her. “Have you been watching the live coverage of the after-math? Crazy stuff.” Yuna was freshly seventeen years old and until her birthday had come around, Mai had never realised how significant the three years between them were. Mai might have been one of the youngest founding daughters, but in the presence of Yuna she felt ancient. Her younger sister was one hundred miles per hour at all times in everything she did, and seemed to grasp at every possibility that came her way. She still had the delusion of immortality that quickly fades with age. Mai was just lucky if she made it to mid-day without wanting a nap or crying. “Yuna, it’s not a reality show,” Mai scorned, carefully avoiding the scattering of stationary that sat in a mountain by Yuna’s desk. It was surprisingly cluttered for somebody who hadn’t studied a day in her life. Yuna’s eyes remained on her screen. “I know. How are you feeling about it all?” “Sick.” “You don’t seem as shaken up as I thought,” Yuna pointed out. The same news reporter that had been on the television downstairs reflected in her eyes. “I was expecting you to be all shaky and hysterical.” She proceeded to do her best deer-caught-in-headlights impression, widening her eyes and trembling dramatically. Mai perched on the end of her bed, abruptly pushing down the top of Yuna’s laptop. “Please, Yuna...” A deflated sigh left her sister’s heart-shaped lips. Anytime Yuna annoyed Mai, it was always made worse by the fact that she was undeniably the prettier sister. She had the thick, long hair that had the natural shine Mai could barely achieve with all of the products her salon had to offer. She was short and had curves in all of the right places. Yuna had “blossomed early” as Takara had insisted on telling her daughters during a fitting a few years ago, causing both girls to cringe at the time. Mai now recognised it as the day she realised her flat-chest was unattractive, as was having a less defined jaw, wide-set eyes, a less sculpted nose and no curvature to her hips. “You weren’t that into him, were you?” Mai flinched at her sister’s complacency. “Gosh Yuna, that’s a little beside the point, isn’t it?” Yuna held her chipped manicured hands up in surrender and raised her brows, “I’m just saying! Maybe you’re so upset about this because it was something more than you thought.” “Maybe I’m so upset about this because people were shot, Yuna, on purpose!” Yuna was just being her cold-fronted, ridiculous self but Mai couldn’t brush it off the way she usually did. “Including your royal kind-of-but-not-really boyfriend.” Mai scratched at the fabric of her skirt. Apart from her mother who had orchestrated the whole thing, Yuna was the only one who knew that Mai had been frequently travelling to the mainland to meet up with King Gabriel. It was something she purposely kept private from the other girls. Partially to avoid too many questions and the wrath of Blythe Radcliffe, but mainly because there was more to the story. “So, was it?” “Was it what?” Mai replied. “Was it more than what you’d set out for it to be?” Mai hesitated as she watched her sister’s fingers navigate the laptop’s keyboard with familiarity. Of course, it was more than she’d set out for it to be, or rather, more than what her mother had pitched it to her as. The last thing this was ever supposed to be about was romance. Yet, here she was with their every stolen moment playing in the back of her mind like a silent movie. The smell of his room, or the way his face looked while sleeping in the light of a sunrise. The feeling she’d get in her stomach whenever his eyes found hers as he addressed a large crowd. Or, a few weeks ago when he’d dared to hold her hand under the table at his twenty-fourth birthday celebration. But then she’d remember coming home to the sound of a newspaper flicking page by leisurely page along with the popping and crackling of their fireplace in the winter. The lustful hands that caressed her sides in moments of silence were no match for the strong ones that lifted her back on to her feet after she’d taken yet another fall from her bike. A stolen glance crumbled against the proud gaze of wise, hooded eyes that peered over the top of delicate reading glasses. The look that was always paired with a faint and nostalgic smile as Mai and Yuna burst into her father’s office, too excited to perform yet another awful song they’d written in their bedroom. Yet, he’d raise to his feet and break into the sincerest applause every single time. No. Until things were put right, there’d only be room for one man in Mai’s life and if her heart refused to remember that, she'd happily let her head take the reins. “It doesn’t matter,” Mai managed to say before Yuna’s door opened. Both girls turned to look up at their mother, who was showing no tell-tale signs that she’d been crying. “Girls, get yourselves changed. We’re going to gather at the Kioni’s residence.” Mai had always liked the Kioni’s home. It was a sleek arrangement of cylinders and cubes merged together to form a mini-palace hidden behind tropical plants imported from far off lands. Every time she walked up the garden path, she reminisced how she and the girls would waste hours sitting around the pond, putting off homework, fittings, etiquette classes and anything else the real world was demanding from them. “Takara.” The silhouette of Marie Kioni, Adrienne’s mother, appeared in the warmly lit doorway. And, it wasn’t long before her outline adopted a gracious smile with tired but tender eyes. “How are you?” She stepped out to embrace Takara, peering over her shoulder at Mai and Yuna.“The others are in Adrienne’s room.” Mai nodded, taking Yuna by the wrist and moving into the house, passing unseen by the adults who loitered in the lounge area. “It’s devastating. Lady Nilson’s eldest was one of the victims,” Anthea Radcliffe’s voice announced over the mingling without an ounce of devastation. “That sounded sincere,” Yuna said, not bothering to even attempt whispering. Mai gripped her sister’s wrist tighter as a few people turned to acknowledged their presence, marching her up the spiralling staircase and towards the west wing; or Adrienne’s Wing, as it was better known amongst their group. “Two thirty in the morning has never looked so lively,” Adrienne grinned as the Hamasaki sisters entered her bedroom. She was sat crossed-legged on her bed and dressed down in a pair of black tracksuit bottoms, her head leant carefully on Troy’s shoulder. Everybody else was already there. Katherine and Rina were with Troy and Adrienne on the bed, exchanging unheard conversation as they both stared at the laptop screen in front of them. Selena sat between Lorenzo’s legs on the cornflower blue chaise lounge and Carmella had somehow managed to perch herself with expertise on the end. The rest of the girls were sat in a circle on the carpet; all of them fashioning similar leisure wear besides Blythe, who was still in her Independence gown and a full face of make-up. She looked distant and disconnected from whatever story Emilia was telling with wild hand gestures. To the eye that didn’t know any better, it would have been impossible to guess that between them, they were the girls at the top of the kingdom's totem pole. Mai stepped over Dominique’s sprawling legs, sitting on the end of the bed beside Rina and Katherine. She only half noticed Yuna abandon her for Layla Lahou, the younger sister of Yasmine of the Moroccan settlement. “Where’s Gabrielle?” “In the lounge,” Adrienne replied, cutting Mai’s scan of the room short. “She’s not holding up well.” Mai glanced down at nothing in particular. She felt bad for forgetting that Gabriel wasn’t just the King, but also Gabrielle’s cousin. Talia covered her mouth as she spoke through a mouthful of crisps. “Rina put her foot in it,” “I did not!” Rina protested. Her lengthy, black ponytail whipped the laptop and then Katherine as she spun around in defensiveness. Katherine flinched before giving it a playful tug. “I just said it’d be a miracle if he came out of this completely unharmed!” Silent glances were exchanged. “It would!” she protested, naturally turning to Katherine to back her up. “You have a such a way with words, Rina,” Selena giggled from across the room, her fingers lacing in and out of Lorenzo’s hair. “I didn’t mean to be offensive, honestly!” "I get what you were trying to say.” Troy always found a way to be the diplomat, but never in a condescending way. “You were saying it’d only make him a stronger leader for us, in your eyes.” Rina clapped her hands together, “Yes! Exactly that. I knew I liked him, Adrienne, definitely a keeper.” Amusement flittered through the room before everybody broke off into their own conversations again, bringing a sprinkling of normality to a situation that anything but that. The mattress tipped as Talia attempted to sit face-to-face with Mai without ending up in Troy’s lap. “How’re you holding up?” Mai always assumed she and Talia were close because they were the two youngest of the group. Talia was a very mature eighteen-year-old and Mai often felt like the world’s most underdeveloped twenty-year-old, so it balanced out nicely. But, over the years their friendship had also woven itself into Mai’s social safety net. She knew she’d never have to awkwardly third-wheel conversations or pretend to scroll through her phone for too long if Talia was around. “It’s a lot,” Mai admitted, pressing her nails into the palm of her hand; nervous habit. “You can say that again.” Talia brought her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. She seemed even younger dressed down and without make-up. With her tanned dewy skin and rounded cheeks, it was impossible to not feel protective over her. “I just can’t help wondering what went wrong.” “What do you mean?” “Well somebody must have seen something. How does one smuggle a gun into the Amethyst theatre?” “Where does somebody even get a gun on these islands?” Lorenzo added. He’d left Selena on the chaise lounge with his sister and was now leant against the doors that led on to Adrienne’s balcony. His left hand was tactfully on the other side of the glass, sending a swirl of cigarette smoke out into the night air. Mai always found that weird. Smoking aside, Lorenzo had always been health conscious, perhaps even health-obsessed. “We haven’t sold them to the public for years, not since hunting was banned.” “We’re talking at least fifty years ago,” Troy added. “So how did this happen?” Mai asked. Lorenzo shrugged, turning his back on the room to look out at the shadowy view of the Kenyan Settlement. Mai let herself follow his gaze. And then mentally began taking the journey across the Amethyst Ocean and down the deserted streets of the Capital until she reached St Taylor’s Hospital. For what felt like the thousandth time that night, she pictured Gabriel laying there, motionless and cold. If she were there, would she dare to hold his hand? Brush his hair from his face and kiss his ghostly forehead? Apologise for being insincere from the moment she made herself known to him? “Katherine.” The urgency in Carmella’s voice caught the attention of the American Settlement’s daughter as well as everybody else. Carmella rose from the chaise lounge with her phone clutched in both hands. Selena followed close behind. The three of them huddled around with hushed voices before turning to Rina whose chocolate eyes went wide. She immediately turned back to the laptop between her and Katherine, tapping furiously at its keys. “What is it?” Lorenzo asked on behalf of everybody else. He disposed of his cigarette prematurely and shut the balcony doors behind him. By this point, everybody including Mai had gathered around the bed and was doing their best to see over Rina’s shoulder. “Carmella just got sent something weird,” Selena said. Lorenzo rolled his eyes, clearly not satisfied with her lack of detail. Mai watched as Rina carefully copied whatever Carmella was showing on the tiny screen of her phone into the address bar and then hit enter. “What the hell is this?” Katherine laughed. The screen took it’s time in loading a webpage with an animated background. Light clouds moved slowly across the screen as they floated through a sky that melted from one pastel hue to another. “It’s pretty,” Selena said to no response. The page flickered before a pair of cartoonish yet familiar gates popped up in its centre. “Those look like the palace gates,” Mai muttered to Talia, who was standing to her right with a gentle hand resting on her shoulder. “Who sent you this website?” Lorenzo asked. There wasn’t an ounce of awe in his voice, if anything he sounded disturbed. Mai couldn’t say she blamed him. “It’s an unknown number,” Carmella told her brother. She swivelled on the spot so that he could see her phone for himself. Rina moved the wand-shaped cursor around the screen, nothing changed. The recreation of the gates continued to levitate against the faded sky. She clicked on the gates and then suddenly they faded away and a plain white box took its place. Swirling, entangled letters began to appear one by one, as if somebody were typing there and then. Yet, nobody was touching the keyboard. “The princess...” Mai, along with three of four other voices, read in fragmented unison. “...never, saves..the day on...her..ow-n.” “The princess never saves the day on her own.” Mai’s voice was barely a whisper but there was no time to question it before more words began appearing in the box:

Who does she call in times of need, such as these? The all-knowing fairy godmother, of course. With my guidance and your cooperation, the truth will prevail in due time. King Gabriel sees you all as equals when looking at you through the eyes of the court. However, which of you manages to keep his attention when looking at you through his own eyes?

An eery grey box waited underneath the message, containing nothing but a thin black line that flashed expectantly at them. “Are we supposed to answer that?” Carmella frowned. Mai could hear tints of her parent's Italian accents surface in her voice as it always did when she was feeling a particular emotion too intensely. She was definitely more sensitive than her brother. Otherwise, most young people on the islands had fairly neutralised tones; neither one accent or the other. “No,” Lorenzo protested. “You don’t know who’s made it.” “But clearly, whoever did wants us to,” Blythe quickly interjected. It was the first Mai had heard her speak all night, which up until five minutes ago seemed unusual. “Anyway, we know the answer.” “Do we?” Yuna asked. “The question isn’t exactly clear.” Mai cleared her throat and glanced at her sister, who had wedged herself between Katherine and Rina to get a full-view of the screen. “Did anybody else have his attention?” Blythe’s voice was challenging. She placed her hands on her hips, leaning forwards to look at the other girls. Mai did her best to avoid her gaze and keep her eyes on the screen, watching the blinking line in the answer box. “Lorenzo’s right. This could be a security threat.” “It could be anything,” Katherine pointed out. And then the room fell flat, a thousand questions swam silently in the air yet nobody could find the clarity to vocalise any of them. “Oh, pass it here.” Blythe abruptly leant over Yuna’s head and snatched the laptop from the bed. She rested it on her arm and began gracefully tapping at the keys. “Blythe, don’t,” Adrienne warned, her voice somehow remaining calm. “Relax,” Blythe said, placing the laptop back on the bed as she finished typing her name into the box.

INCORRECT

“Incorrect,” Carmella stated. Rina swivelled the laptop back to face the rest of the group. “How is it incorrect?” Blythe snapped. “Maybe because this whole thing is a scam.” Lorenzo’s voice was still sharp with irritation. Mai’s eyes wandered everywhere, desperately rejecting any opportunities to meet somebody else’s. Surely nobody else knew about her and Gabriel. They’d always been careful. So careful, in fact, that she’d taken her father’s old fishing boat over to the mainland and docked on a hidden strand of beach just south of the palace to be sure that nobody would see her visit. She’d travel at the darkest and earliest hours, only entering through the servant's wing. Had he told anybody? “The answer is one of the settlement daughters, right?” Adrienne’s voice was as certain as ever. She reached for the laptop and spun it to face her, sitting on the opposite end of the bed from where everybody else was gathered. Troy shuffled in closer to her. “The opening line was ‘a princess never saves the day on her own’, and we’re the closest things to princesses. That would make sense,” Mai said. Adrienne always gave her the courage to speak up in group conversations. She was the friend who’d listen to your dull stories until the very end, even when everybody else had given up and started talking over you. “So, if we type in our names one by one, we’ll eventually get a match, won’t we?” “That’s if this thing isn’t some kind of prank,” Lorenzo was quick to remind them. “Exactly,” Blythe said. “But we may as well try the rest of your names since I’m apparently not the answer.” If bitterness had a face, it’d look like Blythe Radcliffe in that moment. “Maybe it glitched. We should try my name again.” “Or maybe, you’re just not the answer.” Yuna’s voice unleashed an uneasy silence into the room. Mai refused to look anywhere but at the laptop, but she was sure she could hear the disgruntled gurgles and churning of Blythe digesting Yuna’s words. “Maybe he was interested in someone else.” “Like who?” Blythe snapped. Now it was impossible not to look at her; she was tight-lipped and scowling. Her grey eyes looked as though they were trying to shoot bullets at a target stapled to Yuna’s head. Yuna, as nonchalant and doe-eyed as ever, gave Mai a fleeting glance which was met with the subtlest of headshakes. "How about Mai? He always liked you, didn’t he?” Apparently, it wasn’t acknowledged. Mai suddenly felt the room fold in on her. Every pair of eyes was a spotlight turned to maximum intensity, burning into the surface of her skin with relentless curiosity. “Mai?” Adrienne asked with raised brows. Even with all of her softness and maturity, it was easy to see she was just as intrigued– and definitely as surprised – as the others. “We were, I....We’re all good friends with him.” Mai’s tongue felt awkward in her mouth and refused to let her words roll out the way they were supposed to. “Well, either way, we have to start with somebody if we’re going to answer this question.” Rina decisively tapped at the keys which seemed to send bellowing echoes around the quiet of the bedroom: M-A

Mai bit her lip, fiddling with her fingers. Why couldn’t Yuna have kept her mouth shut instead of using her to get one up on Blythe?

-I-H-A-M-A-S Perhaps Mai wasn’t the answer either. Who was to say that King Gabriel wasn’t quietly cosy with one, two or three of the other girls standing in the room? Until five minutes ago, Blythe was convinced she was the only one...

-A-K-I Not even seconds after Rina’s finger hit the ‘Enter’ key, the gates opened and revealed a whole collage of images that filled the screen. Most of them were grainy and taken from strange angles at night, but the common denominators in each were easily distinguishable. Mai felt her cheeks burn as images of herself and Gabriel scrolled across the screen. Two shadowy ghosts moving in a moment that they thought was entirely theirs. None of the pictures were particularly telling or provocative; they’d been caught in a rushed embrace or loosely holding hands at most. But, from the way she was being stared at, Mai knew her face filled in the blanks. “So, what, you were his late-night distraction?” Blythe scoffed with her arms folded. “What are these?” Mai opened her mouth to say something but Yuna beat her to it. “Shut up, Blythe. At least she wasn’t desperately chasing him around every event in hopes of a marriage proposal.” “Yuna!” Mai protested. Lorenzo and Troy exchanged amused scoffs and wheezy laughs. Everybody else looked uncomfortable. Blythe narrowed her eyes, “It was more than that. King Gabriel would’ve never...” “Blythe, no,” Adrienne warned, already anticipating what she was going to say. Too little too late. “...have any interest in the daughter of a traitor; a criminal.” She spat the words out like they were venom and aimed every last drop on Mai’s skin, rubbing it into her pours and poisoning her bloodstream. Yuna had retaliated with something just as sharp, but Mai could only focus on the ringing in her ears. She exhaled slowly, as if the shaky breath would carry Blythe’s words away with it. But they had already buried themselves in her chest, and had taken a swim in the pools of her ears, and were plucking at the strings of her heart. She turned on her heel and made a hasty beeline for the door, blocking out anybody’s attempts at calling her back. A sharp stinging sensation burnt the inner corners of her eyes and then trickled down her cheeks. “My Dad isn’t a criminal!” she heard Yuna bark as Adrienne’s bedroom door slammed behind her, muffling the chaos that erupted after her exit. Mai paced down the west wing and back towards the main landing. Her legs moved faster than her mind and she had no idea where she was going until her body collided with the glass doors of a balcony that overlooked the garden. Even then, her legs kept running until the concrete railing punched her stomach, releasing a scream that painted the night a violent red. Through her tears, she looked past the sleeping Kenyan Settlement and out across the horizon where a blurred shadow of the Amethyst Mainland sat. Turrets from the royal palace sat proud, teasing the dark clouds and smouldering stars above. Mai imagined her father isolated deep within its regal walls; fragile, broken and hopeless; watching as one day blended into another. The wind’s whispers echoed her mother’s words, “If you want somebody to pity, think of your poor father. Who will pay any mind to him now after this?” “This won’t stop me, Dad,” Mai said, unsure if she was talking aloud. “I’m still here for you.”

#janeysprojects

0 notes