#sorry i just have to organize and share all my thoughts or ill explode and die

[lapdogchase]

and as for 6.14 private lives. i think contextualizing it as being only a few episodes after cameron leaves is important. they haven't even signed the divorce papers yet, he's still very raw from it all and trying to figure out what he did wrong (eg., when he says "it's cameron's favorite book. i don't even know what it's about," and wilson replies, "don't do that to yourself") (or as he tells her in lockdown, "i spent months wondering how i made it go bad. if you never loved me, then i didn't do anything wrong")

after the speed-dating incident with house and wilson proves to him that he's pretty (and that women can be superficial) he's clearly ruminating on it. he so quickly is like man. this means that all women ever have only cared about me for my appearance. when he asks thirteen how good looking he is he clarifies that he's asking bc the speed definition "cost [him his] definition of [him]self. and women."-- what was he defining himself by before? what is he defining himself by now? considering how heavily he leans into the 'slut' role after this and thru s7- probably that, for a while. not in as many words, but he seems to do what's expected of him and fill any role that needs to be filled and right now that role is, again, slut.

he talks to thirteen again after he asks a nurse for her car keys and she gives them to him no questions asked- he says "i've been deluding myself that I'm actually connecting with people"- he's worried every connection he's ever made in his entire life is irrelevant because of the possibility that they only cared about him for his looks. and thirteen, who smoothly brushes over a very concerning age gap between her and her ex, tells him that he can live his life assuming people all have ulterior motives if they try to get close to him or he can accept that maybe people are just nice sometimes. it's good advice that he doesn't take. he keeps ripping himself up over this and brings it up to her again at the end of the episode, and she realizes he's so upset because he thinks cameron didn't actually love him. which she gently but firmly tells him is stupid.

he gets a few episodes of buffer time between this whole, "worrying every woman he's ever cared about only wanted to sleep with him and didn't actually care about him as a person," thing- time where he and cameron talk, and they sign the divorce papers- and when he starts sleeping around.

which, i thought started in 7.03 when he leaves after work to hook up with a woman he won't see again- but it was 7.01. when thirteen's leaving and he asks if she wants to have sex with him (because "the deadline's been moved up") and then "follows up" (his words) to "confirm" (his words) her disinterest because he would "be remiss" (his words) not to. (first of all, uncertain how he's gotten this many sexual partners when him propositioning someone sounds like he's sending an email. second of all-) i never really got the impression that chase was interested in thirteen that way at all, maybe i just missed it but i saw them as entirely platonic thru all their interactions. it seems to come out of the blue and i'm choosing to read it less as a "he's had feelings for her for a while and is just now choosing to act on them" situation and more as a "semi-desperate reach for a connection with someone," or a "this is what i'm supposed to do, this is how you connect with people"- either way, it's (understandably) denied

and it's after that when he really starts to go off the rails. which definitely isnt thirteen's fault (or cameron's fault for that matter), but after that is when we see him with a new woman every episode, his colleagues are teasing him about it, patients are noticing, it's impacting his work life, in 8.12 he finds out patients know about his chronic sleeping around because the nurses gossip about him- etc etc. it takes over his life in a way that continues well into s8

fascinated and distressed by chase's disordered relationship with sexuality + his emotions abt his own trauma & abuse

thru the beginning of the show he doesn't even realize he's hot despite being objectively attractive. when he finds out he's hot he then realizes people pretend to be interested in him as a person in order to have sex with him and gets super upset about it

he starts having a bunch of meaningless sex as a coping mechanism when cameron leaves him. and also a lot of other times. whenever something bad happens, basically, he starts going out with a bunch of women, just to feel something, presumably

^to the extent where hes known within the hospital as a slut. and has had sex with an insane amount of nurses. as well as presumably women who are not at his place of work.

he says doing this made him hate himself so he stopped. it's the b-plot for an episode and then he's back having meaningless sex again by the end of the episode

even his coworkers know this about him. and have called it out, masters even says she thinks he doesn't respect women bc, in her words, he's with a different one every few days or maybe he finds comfort in meaningless relationships

goes back to having meaningless sex within weeks of getting stabbed. which is really bad for wound healing reasons too. genuinely it seems like such compulsive behavior for him considering he keeps doing it even when its objectively not only a bad idea but actively dangerous

house even directly says he's "a serial slut" because he's "terrified of intimacy." incredibly accurate assessment

his relationship with his sexuality reads so heavily as someone who thinks they're not good for anything else

see also: dissociation & avoidance

we know he has a lot of trauma especially in childhood- he never really gets into it let alone into how he Feels about it but what we know is already bad & that's just the stuff he's okay with sharing with his coworkers or patients

in general he's very avoidant of his own trauma- when he gets stabbed he says he "can't change what happened, can only make better choices from here" as if it was his own fault, and refuses thru the whole episode to acknowledge that being traumatized by this would be a really normal reaction that he is definitely having. instead he just blames himself

also, he dissociates from traumatic things that happen to him - says "there was a stabbing" rather than "i was stabbed" for instance

when he's talking abt his childhood trauma he does it in a very similar way - he talks about it very bluntly and doesn't ever get into how he actually feels about it.

see also: dr. fawn response

general passive willingness to go along with anything- when cameron says they should have sex in s3 he's surprised and then he just kinda goes along with it. not bc he didn't want to bc he obviously did, but he's just generally very much someone who does whatever other people want him to do. i feel like he and cameron both tend to seek validation thru sex in an unhealthy way that i'm still gnawing on like a dog with a bone i have to go rewatch s3 to really articulate it though

he has a sort of desperation for praise and approval especially from anyone he views as an authority figure. he does whatever authority figures tell him out of this idea that it'll bring him approval and therefore safety

like no matter what house does or says to him he doesn't argue or retaliate or anything. even when house punches him he collapses on the ground in pain and then just keeps talking about the patient like nothing happened.

the scene in 3.10 after house punches him where he's in the ddx room and house walks in and throws the file at him and chase is startled and tries to pretend he's not. and he looks up with this huge fuck ass bruise on his jaw swallows heavily and pretends not to be upset. and house asks if he got that looked at as if he wasn't the one to give it to him and chase just swallows and says he's fine. dr fawn response :(

[riathedreamer]

Zero is Null

A discussion of Zero’s love-hate-relationship with RvB and struggling independence; including a hotdog too big for the bun, tragic backstories, a single bow-chicka-bow-wow, and a cookie at the very end.

Welcome to what will be a lot of text. Basically, it will explore why Zero fails as an RvB (with emphasis on RvB) season. I will not be the first one to bring forth some of the points, and I promise to be fair and civil and fun. This isn’t supposed to be a piece of hate – in fact, I’m writing this because I love Red vs. Blue.

Okay, first of all, to increase your fun – take a guess on just how much of Zero is spent on fight scenes. You see, I’ve calculated the exact amount, and I will reveal it later, but for now, take a guess and remember the number. Maybe you are the winner!

Alright, time to share my thoughts. Wait! Since I suffer from anxiety and have this one annoying voice pretending to be all those critical statements my opinion could be met with, let’s give it an actual voice and address the points throughout this review.

“Why would I care about your opinion, Ria?” – I don’t know, you’re the one who clicked Read More.

“Your opinion doesn’t matter!” – Of course, it doesn’t! Geez. Do you think your opinion matters, though? Listen, we’re on Tumblr, the actual equivalent of screaming into the void. And it’s fun, too!

“If you don’t like it, don’t watch!” - *activates Uno Reverse Card* “You can’t talk about something you haven’t watched!”

“You’re just a Hater” – Actually, this is a point I’ll come back to. Like a cliffhanger. Also, at the end of this, there’ll be a cookie. But this will also include me talking about the stuff I like, because, surprise, Zero is not without talent!

“You just don’t like it because the Reds and Blues aren’t in it!” – Actually, that’s a good point, so instead, this review will start with a sole focus on Zero and discuss the problem that lies within that story. Then we can address why the lack of OG cast is understandable and problematic and weird.

But first! Backstory.

When the first 5 second teaser dropped back in spring (you know, when we were young and innocent and the world didn’t feel like an apocalyptic movie yet), I held onto that one image of what I thought (hoped) to be Grif and Simmons in the sunset, hopefully addressing Grif’s hateglue arc, but boy was I wrong because a) that’s not Simmons, that’s Sarge, and b) the image was from a PSA since the Reds are not in Zero.

Actual face-reveal of me below:

Admittedly, when I heard that the Reds and Blues were not going to be the main characters (or even show up), it felt like a gut punch. However, I actually found myself getting excited due to the creators’ hype. I want to praise them for this. It’s been a while since an RvB season was talked so much ABOUT before its release; it had advertisements, it had creators and voice-actors talking about it. Please. More of that in the future. Their passion rubbed off on me, and that deserves recognition. So it pains me that this was clearly a passion-project, and then when I gave it a try, I didn’t want to touch it again for weeks.

Here’s the thing. I cannot whole-heartedly say that Zero is bad. It’s not gonna melt your eyes. It’s not even so-bad-it’s-good. For me, it’s meh. It’s a Saturday-morning-cartoon aimed for a younger audience with a rushed plot and clichéd characters. The problem is that it calls itself RvB, and with that title comes something to live up to – but more importantly, something to continue.

My main issue is that Zero forces its story into existence by ignoring established content rather than adjusting to it. Let’s call this for the hotdog-too-big-for-the-bun syndrome solely for the sake of the bow-chicka-bow-wow that’s coming now. Bow-chicka-bow-wow. Many of the separate issues I will dive into all add to this hotdog-issue, so I will scream “Hotdog!” whenever this is the case so we can all keep track of my argument.

You can continue the story of Red vs. Blue without the Reds and Blues. While that would personally crush my heart, it can be done. There’s a story of Red vs. Blue that can be continued. The world can be expanded, the previous actions of the Reds and Blues can be explored from another angle.

So.

How does Zero do this? It doesn’t.

I just want to make it clear that new elements can definitely be added when it comes to worldbuilding. That’s literally the point of sequels. But Zero’s settings are presented with so little grace and with no connection to previously established worldbuilding. We get Alliance of Defense and GLASS thrown in our face as very big important organizations – yet we’ve never heard of them before. A big central plot point of RvB is the UNSC and Project Freelancers, and those were introduced naturally with the plot. We already have big established intergalactic organizations. What is AOD’s connection with those? We aren’t told. We are just told they exist and expected to accept it, no questions asked. If this was a whole new world and story – fine. But when you need to build on an already established worldbuilding, you need more grace than this. Chorus was a whole new setting, but it was explained, and it was connected to the previous plot. Same with Iris. Same with Desert Gulch. In Zero, it feels lazy. It feels forced. These organizations are just there because the story is built around them (HOTDOG).

This vagueness when it comes to wordbuilding is also reflected in the settings - we have a desert, a training base, a lab, temples, Tucker’s workplace, and we do not know if all those are set place on the same planet. If that is the case, what is this planet’s relationship with Chorus? Is it Earth? And most importantly, what is the deal with the temples? Why are they connected to Tucker’s sword if it isn’t the same planet. Are they made by the same aliens? Are people okay with this? Why haven’t these temples been explored before? Chorus makes sure to establish this, while Zero doesn’t, adding to a growing amount of confusion.

Okay, so no connection with previous worldbuilding. What about characters? I mean, we got Wash and Carolina and Tucker! So we have RvB characters, it gotta be RvB! Technically – yeah. But it feels dirty. These three characters are not here to be characters. They are here to be props to the new cast. They are not given any development. Their presence isn’t even that important, and if this was a whole new show, they could easily have been replaced with an unknown face. Worst of all, they feel miswritten.

Carolina and Wash are working at a new military organization? Leaving the Reds and Blues behind? To help people? First of all, fucking bad idea, Carolina, the last time you left the Reds and Blues alone, they changed the timeline. But most importantly – Carolina and Wash just joined this new super elite military organization? After being mistreated and manipulated by such an organization in the past?

Carolina is there to introduce the characters. That’s it. We are force-fed their personality by having her literally read out loud their personality. There is no gentle introduction to the new cast. We are not allowed to get to know them naturally. Why show when you can tell, huh? That’s Carolina’s role. That’s why she is there. To introduce the cast and explain their story. That’s it. (HOTDOG).

How about Wash? He is there to get beat up and be a damsel in distress so that the new cast has a reason to explore the plot. Oh, and that brain damage that was the consequence of previous seasons – gone now. The guy who literally has trauma from having an AI explode inside his head is fine with having a computer inserted into it instead. Because that’s needed. To explore his brain damage wouldn’t work now when his role is to be a prop to lure the new cast for one episode and then be put onto the bench for the rest of the runtime (HOTDOG).

And Tucker – he is there to die for a second and have his sword taken from him. That’s literally it. And for the few moments he is there, he feels like old super flirty Tucker, which erases the character development he went through in previous seasons. Okay, so Tucker dies, and then not dies, and then he is put on the bench with Wash where they can sit and talk or whatever (‘cause holy shit, the new cast is not allowed to that), because he isn’t important. The sword is. Tucker is just a prop, even more than his sword is (HOTDOG).

Damn. Wash gets beat up. Tucker gets beat up. Dies. Gets his sword taken away. Almost seems like a Red’s wet dream. Sorry not sorry, Blues, you were done dirty.

So there are miswritten old characters. Even worse is the retconning. The plot needs a “normal” Wash, so, bam, magic computer solution. Never mind Wash’s trauma and character traits. Never mind the logic of the new worldbuilding which also includes a character suffering for years to heal an illness. But the brain damage that was such a big consequence that it became the main part of the plot of the last two seasons – gone. I mean, a gunshot to the head can be healed by CPR. That’s canon. But no one gave Wash CPR so it’s a big thing, okay. It was canonically a big thing, and Zero erased that. This is not me saying that a Cerebral Enhancer couldn’t work in the RvB universe. Imagine it being done right. Wash struggling with the choice of getting used to his disability or accepting the possibility of help - at the cost of reliving his trauma. The struggle between what to choose - what should he choose when he wants to help as many as possible, the sacrifices he thinks he has to make, the way it could have been used as a part of his character growth. But in Zero, the enhancer isn’t a part of Wash’s character. It’s there so the story can work without having to deal with the previous plot’s consequence (HOTDOG).

Same with the sword thing. They sorta explain it by having Tucker flatline, but it’s weak. Honestly, I find it sorta offensive. What about Locus’ sword as well? It’s twisting previous lore to make the new plot work (HOTDOG). (Also, are we not gonna talk about the ultimate power being Spencer Porkensenson’s helmet? Have the writers forgotten Spencer Porkensenson? Have we as a community forgotten Spencer Porkensenson?)

If you have Red vs. Blue in your title, you cannot ignore what you inherit from it. You need to respect the worldbuilding, the established characters, and the previous plot. Zero does not do this.

Let’s talk about the Triplets. No, really, let’s do it. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about them before, because season 14 was a mixed bag for me (that I have now learned to appreciate. Thank you, Zero.) because I have heart at the size of the Grinch and can only love a few characters at a time, and that did not include the Triplets. Can’t even remember their names. Well, I can, but I can’t for the love of me remember which state is which, and my tongue is twisted every time I try to say Ohio, Iowa, and Idaho, and I know it’s on purpose. I know it is. And it got me good. That being said, the fandom actually embraced them really, really well! Seriously, I’ve seen more content for the Triplets than for Zero as a whole.

Why talk about the Triplets? (Was Iowa the lesbian? Or was it Ohio? Fuck.) Because like Zero, they introduced new characters with a story of their own. The Reds and Blues didn’t play a role. But here’s what I feel like the Triplets got right. They didn’t change the settings to force their narrative. They used stuff already established (Project Freelancer), added their own story as a continuation of that. They even included old characters in the beginning (Wash and some other Freelancers) but it felt natural and it didn’t feel like it happened at the expense of the old characters. Wash’s writing felt natural, and his presence wasn’t needed to tell these new character’s stories. He wasn’t a prop to them. He was there to establish the setting and to establish the relationship with these new characters, and then he and the other familiar faces (helmets??) left, and we as the viewers were left with these new characters. And the new characters told their own story by themselves. It felt like, hey, here’s something you know – remember Mother of Invention, and remember Wash’ lower rank, but now, try to imagine being even lower rank than him, aren’t you curious about those fates? Now let’s hear their story! It was new, it was something else, but it didn’t wreck what came before it, and it stayed true to the classic vibes of RvB.

As I said before, the hotdog-issue is my biggest problem with Zero. It infuriates me. I will return to this. But there are more issues, even if we try to look past the title-related problems.

If we try to imagine Zero as its own story and universe (as it should be, in my opinion), it still earns the meh review from me.

These isolated issues include awkwardness, the writing, lack of self-awareness, and pacing. First of all, holy shit, this is a tell, don’t show. Nothing is subtle, nothing is allowed to develop. It’s like the show thinks you are six years old with an attention span of a goldfish. You are not just led by the hand – they have literally pulled off your arm by the end of the show. We are force-fed every bit of information, every bit of personality from these new characters.

The voice-acting is a mixed bag for me. Sometimes it’s pretty good, sometimes it’s not. Some of the problems can definitely be blamed on the dialogue that you can only do so much with. It’s not good. I can’t remember any good jokes (the one joke I really appreciate was the cast on armor, and that was freaking visual humor. That was so RvB. Kudos to that. It was fun. More of that, please.), and RvB is known for having memorably good lines. This is a show built on good, clever, funny dialogue. Zero does not deliver. You have to sit through clichéd lines – “You’re not my dad”, “I trusted you”, “Come with me”, “It can’t be!”, “She’s way too powerful”, and “We have to do this together” – performed unironically. I cringed more than I laughed. Worst thing is that Zero could be a good parody. Sometimes, it feels like it is. One-dimensional characters, a villain wanting ‘the ultimate power’, very overpowered characters, bad one-liners, etc. But Zero takes itself seriously, and I was one of the people rooting for Jax to show up at the end and yell “Cut”. That would have been a funny-as-fuck twist. A spin-off parody. If I can’t have “Sarge the Movie”, I would have taken that and loved it. I would have forgiven everything. “We put so much info into finding that power, but we had no idea what it was” is really a line in the finale, and I cannot believe this is real in a show that somehow still tries to present itself as serious. What a plot.

We have to talk about pacing. God, first of all it should be stated that RvB is a mess when it comes to pacing. I honestly get what they were going for. Sometimes, RvB has come across as a bit boring when you get three episodes stretched over three weeks without much going on. I know season 11 did not have the warmest welcome because it was seen as boring until the finale. But when you see season 11 as a whole, as a movie, as a part of a trilogy, it works so well. Zero is more focused on being episodic. They want something to happen all the time so we will stay tuned. The thing that will happen – a fight. Oh god. The fight scenes.

I have done the math. I have run the numbers. I deserve a freaking cookie for this. Are you ready?

If you put all the episodes together, you have a runtime of 106 minutes. HOWEVER, with the introduction of credits in every episode, you gotta account for this. Removing the credits, this gives us 94 minutes of actual runtime. Out of that, 45 minutes are dedicated to fight scenes. That means 48% of the show is fight scenes.

If I wanted that many fight scenes, I’d watch Death Battle. Except the actual RvB Death Battle episode has a runtime of 20 minutes, and out of that, 5 minutes is dedicated to the actual battle. For the people who hate math – that’s 25% of the actual runtime.

RvB Zero has more fight scenes than a show called Death Battle. Take that in.

The pace suffers from this. Where’s the time to explore the characters? Where’s the time for good dialogue? All I can think of is this:

I get that RvB is a show that’s literally making fun of itself by acknowledging all their characters do is stand around and talk. I get that you want characters to do more than that. But for the love of Church, would it kill the new characters to stand around and talk? For just a minute? Stop fighting, I am begging you, stop fighting! Am I a pacifist now? Am I purple? Have I joined Doc’s team? What has Zero done to me?!

The good thing though is that fight scenes are very good. They’re entertaining. However, they seem to deconstruct themselves when we need to get a fight scene in every episode. Usually, the few fight scenes in an RvB season were in some of the most climatic episodes. In Zero, I can hardly keep up with the pace because they won’t stop moving. Fight scenes aren’t plot. They aren’t character development. You need more than just fight scenes. They entertain, but there’s a limit to that.

Noël Wiggins, the co-writer, stated the inspiration was a Saturday-morning cartoon. They nailed that vibe. If that was their goal, hurray, they have accomplished something! Because of the poor plot and constant fight scenes, it feels like you could just switch on the TV and drop in at any moment and let yourself be entertained by the cool and colorful soldiers punching and kicking each other. I will admit that the fight scenes entertained me. But they don’t make it a good season.

If I were the six-year-old with the attention span of a goldfish that the show believes I am, I honestly would enjoy it. The stiff dialogue and the constant tell-don’t-show makes you feel like an audience that’s not supposed to do anything else but admire the flashy fight scenes. I miss the cleverness of RvB. I miss the characters I get to connect with as I see them grow.

I miss the tone of RvB. Because this isn’t RvB to me.

It’s not that RvB hasn’t changed its tone before. Holy shit, I sorta do want to experience the absolute shock the RvB fandom went through when s6 aired and they were given new characters and serious plot. I would have loved to experience that, but I was too busy being ten years old. The Freelancers seasons also introduced a new tone and more fight scenes with very talented fighters compared to the Blood Gulch gang, but a balance was kept by having half of the season still revolving around the Reds and Blues. But Zero – Zero is so much change. And it’s on purpose. At least this has been made very clear from the beginning.

They constantly seem to appeal to new fans, rather than be directed towards older fans of the show. If you want an entirely new audience with a season with a new cast, new worldbuilding, and new tone, I’m confused as to why they don’t just make a new show. The hotdog-problem begs for this solution. This story and environment and characters feel so out of touch with the original RvB, that with a few rewrites and lack of Halo-armor, it could just be a new show. Problem solved.

If not this, then present it as a spin-off. In all ways, it feels like a spin-off (again, see everything marked HOTDOG). But the creators refuse to do this, and I don’t understand why. I could forgive many of these issues, had they officially separated themselves from canon.

Ah, what’s the idiom? You can’t both swallow and blow? (You can hear the Bow-chicka-bow-wow in the distance). Something about eating cake and having it. Forgive me, English isn’t my native language. POINT IS why are you calling yourself RvB while actively fighting against the core essence of RvB? In my humble opinion, you can’t be both. Marketing it as a spin-off would have granted it some defense when changing, well, literally everything, and I just, would someone please properly describe why it isn’t a spin-off? Isn’t this season marked by its association with the plot of RvB rather than a continuation of it? Zero presenting itself as not a spinoff feels like a toddler clinging to the hem of its mother’s dress while forcefully running away from her, ripping the dress in the process.

When they do connect with the original RvB, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. When they let Carolina, Wash, and Tucker appear for a moment, it feels like luring viewers in with the RvB title. Look at me. Look at me! I’m not saying this is the case. I say that it gives me the annoying vibes of being lured, rather than letting the characters be a part of the show for their own development, rather than having RvB in the title to continue its story. I should not be getting these vibes at all. But I am.

If you want to use RvB in the title, something from the core of RvB needs to be embraced. Things can be changed. They should. Something new should be brought in. But there’s a limit to how much you can change and replace and twist until it would have been better with an original show. As a season of RvB, it should tell the story of Red vs. Blue.

From my perspective, Zero fails to do so.

It pains me that the old cast has been replaced, but as stated earlier, a season could have worked without them. However, I do not like the take that one should be excited about all the new characters. That it isn’t a big thing that the OG cast got replaced. That we should just deal with it. Just, try to imagine another show suddenly replacing the main characters with characters we’ve never met before. Imagine RWBY suddenly only focusing on a new team of huntresses with the previous main characters reduced to an Easter Egg presence, or Camp Camp suddenly being about a new team of campers, no warning given. Can you imagine the outcry? So maybe let’s agree that a replacement of the main cast is a big thing and should be addressed and it’s valid to be upset about this change.

Could Zero have worked? It’s hard to answer this. How can I accept something as RvB if the season actively pushes away the core of RvB aside for an isolated story that could have been told in any other media? As a spinoff, I could have ignored it. To enjoy Zero, I have to fully separate it from RvB in my mind, and then it’s alright. S’not good. But it’s not bad. It’s entertaining enough. I really ended up liking Raymond and Tiny, and there were a few good jokes, and the fight scenes were admirable (but too much) and I love the creators’ passion. But it’s not RvB. I also wish that the new characters had been attached to previous worldbuilding, for example soldiers on Chorus or agents from Project Freelancer. That way we could build on familiar lore which would have decreased the confusion and added a much needed connection with the previous seasons of RvB.

God, the anxious voice is back (by the way, it sounds like Tutter from “Bear in the Blue House”).

“You’re racist” – I hope not. Literally, I do not want to be. Tell me if I’ve ever crossed some lines, because I swear, that is not my intention, I will apologize and most of all, change and do better. I included this because I’ve seen this take thrown around in the big ugly mess that is the fandom clashes regarding Zero. And racism is problem within RT community (this includes AH and RvB, sorry, I just use RT as an umbrella term for the latter), and I’m not saying it hasn’t been a problem with this season. Writers should never be harassed, and never-fucking-ever because of their skin color, and voice actors shouldn’t be treated like they are responsible for the choices of the show. But I was legit nervous to post this review, and I hope it’s been factual without feeling like personal attacks on the creators because that has never been my intention. I was delighted to hear about the diversity behind this project, and Torrian’s passion legit blew me away because it’s been a while since I’ve seen that for an RvB project. I’d hoped for it to be good, and when I feel disappointed, it’s for the reasons stated in this analysis. That said, Zero is made by a diverse cast and it’s made with love, and both of those things are so, so great, but it does not mean that Zero cannot be criticized. It can, and it should. It’s a product, just like all the other seasons, and fans are allowed to discuss it – both what they loved, and both what they found troublesome. And to repeat previous points, and be respectful, always, fuck racists, and never-fucking-ever harass the staff behind a season, what the fuck is wrong with you if you do this.

“Don’t you get it, it’s different because it’s trying something new!” – Hey, remember the philosophical question: if you replace all the parts of a ship one-by-one, is it still the same ship when you’re done? If it doesn’t include the Reds and Blues, if it ignores previous plot, if the old characters feel miswritten, if it values animation over dialogue, if it values fight scenes over comedy, if it wants to be Fast and Furious instead of Red vs. Blue – is it still Red vs. Blue? Because it doesn’t feel like it to me.

“It's been 17 seasons, it’s time to let the Reds and Blues go so someone else can shine!” – I simply do not understand us having been with the Reds and Blues for 17 seasons should be an argument to let them go, rather than be an argument as to why their absence hurt like hell.

“The Reds and Blues ran out of things to do!” – Did- did they, though? I mean, if we were discussing pretty much any other show, I’d probably agree that they were running out of content. But for the Reds and Blues… I think the PSAs nailed it this year! I’m not kidding, I had more fun watching the Reds and Blues discuss how to do laundry than watching Zero. You could literally give me an hour of the Reds and Blues trying to bake a cake or clear a gutter or simply settling down with an ordinary life, and I would trust them to make it worth the watch.

“The flaws were due to the fact it’s only 8 episodes long!” – Look, I can only judge a product the way it’s presented to me. I cannot come up with excuses for it. If they had 8 episodes to work with, they need to come up with a plot that works with this runtime. Seriously, this excuse cannot work when 48% of the season is spent on fight scenes. They could have used more runtime, sure, but the show needs to be able to pace itself and be planned accordingly.

“The OG cast couldn’t be a part of this year, hence Zero!” – That might be true. But. Would one year without RvB kill it? Is Zero necessary? Again, I just can’t judge excuses for the show. But trouble with the cast has been an issue before. Season 15 solves Geoff’s sabbatical by actually making Grif’s absence a part of the plot. Zero’s lack of Reds and Blues just feels like this excuse to tell a story that needn’t be a part of RvB.

Am I a hater? I guess? I greatly dislike Zero for the critique stated above. I do, however, not harass the creators and no one should ever do that. However, I have to admit that I feel there’s been this weird rejection of any critique of Zero where everything’s been brushed off as haters gonna hate, including the critique stated above. And I think that’s a problem because critique, as hard as it can be to hear (and I know this. I’m an author of original works. Weird flex, I know), is valid and necessary and shouldn’t just be shrugged away. As always, both sides of the fandom should always be respectful, but my own opinion is that addressing the flaws of Zero should not be controversial.

Does this super long rant/critique/whatever mean you cannot enjoy Zero? Gods no! I almost envy you if you enjoy this season, but holy shit, feel free to love it and tell the creators that you love it! Me pointing out the issues I have with the season shouldn’t be stopping you. I loved (and still love) s15 when it came out, and it was majorly rejected by the fandom. There were many, many critical posts, people were going on about how RvB should have ended with s13, and it evolved into the writer receiving death threats (me, once again: never ever harass the creators, assholes). But I didn’t tell people to stop being negative. I actually agreed with many of the flaws that were pointed out, and I enjoyed the season despite this, because that is possible. We, as RvB fans, should agree that RvB, is... I mean, it’s not the greatest, most flawless of shows, but we love it nonetheless. So go ahead and love Zero. This is not a stop sign. This is my opinion that you chose to read.

Wait, I promised you a cookie, didn’t I? Well, you’re not getting one. Why? Because I’m a Red and this is my chance to piss off a Blue. As Caboose wisely said: “Well, at least I don't go around... knocking on people's non-doors... and promising them cookies... and then NOT. GIVING. THEM. COOKIES!”

Blue Team sucks.

End speech.

[ingek73]

Juneteenth

STORY by Team at Archewell

Jun. 16, 2021

YOUNG POETS OF GET LIT SHARE POWERFUL WORDS TO COMMEMORATE THE DAY

In honor of Juneteenth, we, at Archewell, connected with our friends at Get Lit and asked them to share poetry to honor this important day. We hope their poignant words allow you to reflect on the significance of this newly declared federal holiday in the United States and its impact across this country and around the world.

AND HOLD, AND HOLD

CORTUNAY MINOR AND TAMIA JACKSON

WHY THEY WROTE THIS POEM:

“When I wrote this poem, just a few weeks before June 15th, Juneteenth wasn’t yet a federal or national holiday. It wasn’t something I’d given much thought to, but when I had recognized that fact, it wasn’t information, it was confirmation. At first, I was upset about it. My immediate thoughts were along the lines of, ‘Where are our fireworks? Where’s our three-day weekend?’ But in reflection, I realized that this was demonstrating continued deference to a supposedly superior entity. Juneteenth isn’t the ‘Black Independence Day,’ it’s the only Independence Day. To have that nationally recognized feels amazing. But whether or not the date is printed in every calendar does not validate this holiday. We do.”

WHY SHE ANIMATED THIS PIECE:

“This poem, especially for Juneteenth, really inspired me. The color palette expresses the somber yet hopeful emotions that happen when black freedom is discussed, and what it means to be a Black individual in America. This poem as well as the visuals really emphasizes the impact that Black people have by simply existing, and the importance of our breath. We know that as long as we’re still breathing there can and will be change, and ultimately full freedom.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cortunay Minor (she/they) is a performing artist who specializes in Stage Acting and Spoken Word Poetry. They are currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Theater from the UCLA School of Theater, Film, and Television. The theme and goal that Minor tries to hold in the heart of their artistry is liberation, be that emotional, intellectual, or otherwise. Expression and education are two of the most fruitful paths Minor has found that achieve that liberation, and she is immensely grateful to be able to participate in a craft that allows their simultaneous occurrence.

ABOUT THE ANIMATOR:

Tamia Jackson (animator) is a rising senior at the Rhode Island School of Design, receiving her BFA in Film/Animation/Video with a minor in Literary Arts and Studies. She has always been passionate in art, animation, and storytelling. She loves bringing stories of lesser voices, such as BIPOC, low income, female, etc., into a visual and cared-for light. Though not all of her stories or animations revolve around such identities, it is important that she shows diversity so that many people can relate and find comfort in the characters or art piece. Not only does Jackson enjoy spreading her own voice, but she also loves bringing others’ stories to life.

AND HOLD, AND HOLD

‘Holiday’ meaning ‘Holy Day’ meaning:

every second is sacred/every hour hibernates

within the spirit, huddled beneath the bosom.

To breathe is to commemorate:

inhale – exhale – cradle the thought – hold – and repeat.

When daybreak demotes breath to subconscious action,

the diaphragm still submits in reverence, still remembers that

This is Divine. This

is where jubilation begins:

in the suspension of

breathe in – breathe out – take maybe – and

forever hold the moment,

where the deferred dream stopped shriveling,

wavered in anticipation, remembered that expansion

can be soft,

recognized that it didn’t want soft

expansion.

Bodies were policied out of possession, but

the Black individual liberated their own being,

hollered themself out of state-sanctioned silence.

Words ignite, but presence sustains; this intake/expel maintains us

here

the dream explodes. The spirit absorbs the remnants and outpours,

‘holiday’ meaning ‘Holy Day’ meaning:

I hold this day as sovereign. Meaning:

I hope this day knows its home is in these lungs,

is in this breath, is in the repetition of:

inspire – expire – immortalize the memory – and hold – and hold – and release

POPLAR TREES

CYRUS ROBERTS

WHY HE WROTE AND DIRECTED THIS POEM:

“It’s easy to say “slavery was an atrocity and we need to do better” but it’s much more difficult to say “slave masters ripped babies from their mothers and used them as crocodile bait for sport.” In the average American lexicon, phrases like ‘Never Forget’ are commonplace but are rarely attributed to periods of fundamental, ongoing violence of a racial nature for the simple fact that our pain makes the people who benefitted from that pain uncomfortable. For me Juneteenth is a day of mourning; the Confederate holidays still celebrated today seem like a gruesome counterbalance. So this is my eulogy to both the country and my own being that could have been.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cyrus Roberts (he/him) writes, acts, and directs across poetry, theater, and film. While his work has been commissioned by organizations like Toms Shoes, Adidas, and March For Our Lives, he also enjoys working on cool independent projects, whether he’s self-publishing poetry compilations, creating movies with friends, or acting in his own plays. Roberts is currently a senior in UC Santa Barbara’s BFA Acting program. Look for him in the upcoming film Summertime, directed by Carlos Lopez Estrada. His assistant director on the project was Mattie Kranz.

POPLAR TREES

Before you there was me. But before me there was (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”). And that was the gentler time period. Everything base within you, reflected in your actions. Please don’t censor me when I mention how you wrangled our teeth from our mouths and used them to seduce your own illnesses into submission. Or how you took an interest in the skin that had a monopoly on sunlight and then took what you wanted underneath the moon. Or how you used our babies as crocodile bait and our skin as shoe leather. Look right into the eyes of our demise and try to say those times are past, that I’m being rash, that I’m being bad and so full of woe and I should be glad I’m writing this on my MacBook Pro. Yeah? Who am I to complain about slavery? Because it ended, right? On June 19, 1865, Union Army general Gordon Granger made his way to Texas and proclaimed slavery’s supposed fall and us colored folk supposed to have a ball? I mean it was two and a half years after Lincoln already announced it, but we needed a white man to tell other white men what another white man already said. I mean that is until that white man found himself dead and Reconstruction found itself at a head and chain gangs, sharecropping, Jim Crow, private prison options, perc popping, bodies dropping, cops still stopping, guns cocking to ensure that (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”). Every 19th of June we celebrate the end of chattel slavery and every 20th we’re back to fighting its descendants. Private prisons / a cop’s knee is a modern lynching / it ain’t my decision to get busy dyin’ or busy living / I paid attention, to all the digitized depictions / all the people packing up pensions while we’re backed up by the system. Put your back into the system, this is wack how mother’s missing their babies kisses and I’m supposed to be celebrating? I’m sorry. Will you forgive me, I’m jaded. My grandmother looks at me and says confidently that I made it. That she can’t possibly imagine the life that I’m living, I owe a debt to her generation, and I hope that I pay it. I just get so angry, hazy laughter at the thought of thoughts and prayers ending enslavement. So after you hear me, I’ll forgive you if you’re jaded. But you still need to know the history to have an appreciation. It’s no mystery why it’s a mystery present in our education, presently the gatekeepers keep us from it and it’s heinous. On Juneteenth, Americans across the nation eat red foods in honor of the blood spilled before and during emancipation, we celebrate the secondary, pushed-to-the-side independence day, but you don’t have to know our proclamations of jubilation for us to be heard. We will be heard in our voices screaming thanks that we are not treated as herd. We dance and we sing hymns of freedom. Freedom: absence of subjection to foreign domination or despotic government. Are my brothers and sisters in jail cells free? When there’s a glaring loophole in the 13th amendment smiling from cheek to cheek I’d imagine there’d be some incentive to ensure our purity is never free. And how can I be free when I can’t sleep because my dreams keep whispering I can’t breathe. Regardless of that fact, progress is still being made. But I fear progress is just an exchange of chains for other chains. Same way they changed our names for other names, I rest a bouquet on the graves of enslaved, singing regardless this day. In the hopes that I never again have to see (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”).

UNTITLED

SIERRA LEONE ANDERSON

WHY SHE WROTE THIS POEM:

“When writing this poem, I really made an effort to think back to my ancestors. What was their impact? Who did they inspire? How did they carve the path for the road I now choose to take? This poem is about legacy. I am calling back to the ancestors before me to give me the strength and courage to be the ancestor I want to be to future generations.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Sierra Leone Anderson (poet) is a youth activist and professional spoken word artist from Los Angeles. Rooted in liberatory joy and armed with ancestral truth, Sierra Leone aims to bring light to the power of language, empowering Los Angeles youth of color to recognize the quantifiable influence of their voice. She has placed both second and first in Get Lit’s annual middle and high school Classic Slam respectively, co-wrote an article for the political column of USA Today, and has shared space with several influential changemakers including Dr. Melina Abdullah (co-founder of BLM-LA) and Cecily Myart-Cruz (president of UTLA). Her other organizing work includes collaborating with Students Deserve LA to make Black Lives Matter in and beyond schools. She is currently a ninth grade student at Girls Academic Leadership Academy and an avid lover of trashy teenage dramedies.

Her director and editor is Lukas Lane, an award-winning filmmaker and founding member of Literary Riot (started in his junior year of high school), and he is currently attending UC Berkeley.

UNTITLED

Every generation, the world gives birth to a new fleet of freedom fighters.

I am one of them.

I stand on the shoulders of tired women.

I dance in the footsteps of Pan-African poets, liberation fighters, and Black writers

who grew fires from a pit hungrier than a stomach. They call my name and I call theirs.

Malcolm X. Phyllis Wheatley. Maya Angelou. Sojourner Truth. Audre Lorde. Ida B. Wells.

Your resilience rivers through me. You are my founding fathers. The blueprint to a world we need to be brave enough to see, to seek.

Let us imagine a world in which we know each other’s palms

and never the fist. Not unless needed. Not unless united together.

Let us be the drum and not the war.

Let us know each other’s names and not the languages we cry in.

Let us be, let all us be more than a slave’s wildest dream

Let us beam past blueprints and what-ifs and start becoming the now we want to see, the now we want to be

Trees growing so far past the Earth, Allah would mistake our bodies for angels.

When I die, I want to ripple through lifetimes. I want my name to graffiti the mouths of the next 10 generations.

I don’t want to be forgotten. Or remembered for the way my feet wouldn’t stop running.

I wanna grow roots in this soil, in this American skin. Join the forest of my ancestors. Let my grandkids climb up my branches and tell stories of school.

And before the first pulse of morning, I want them to drip from their homes and gather at my roots.

I want to tell them my name before I forget it.

I want to tell them that morning is coming. And will always come. And will never wait for when you are ready.

I want to tell them that there is a point far beyond this tree, this forest, this temporary point in time, their bodies, their fears, their fathers, their memories. Where the sun is eternal and smiling. Where freedom rings and is never silent, never out of reach. It is called horizon. And it is right there.

[dreaming-in-alicante]

New chapter is up! Way longer than I planned it to be, lol. I mention Grace training with a bow and arrow in this chapter and now I'm just thinking about how awesome it would be for her to bond with Gabriel over archery.

Chapter 2: Taking stock

Grace jolted as a loud bang echoed through the basement. She was grateful that she had set down her glass beaker a moment before, else she surely would have dropped it. She whirled swiftly around, locating Christopher, and was relieved to find him startled but unharmed. Still, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said, inspecting his shirtsleeve where a hole had burned through. “My apologies. It turns out that combining a Swiftness rune with my current modified rune does not in fact make a message travel as desired, it just causes the message to explode,” he said, unfazed. He had been working on another long-time project, a way to send messages in an instant. “Perhaps I should take a break and return to this project later when Henry is around to consult with. He should be back from Idris next week.” Christopher bent to write something in his notebook, then made his way over to Grace’s station where she had a solution refluxing over a Bunsen burner. “How are you getting on with the synthesis?” he asked.

Grace had been working her way through some of Christopher’s old notebooks. The best way to gain scientific knowledge, it turned out, was to do the experiments yourself. She was attempting to replicate his results on past projects. In the process, she was learning basic techniques and becoming comfortable with the various instruments and chemicals in the laboratory.

“It seems to be going well,” shee told him, “although the solution is a darker yellow than you have described in your notes.” This began a very informative discussion about reaction conditions and the purity of compounds. By this point, it was starting to get dark outside, and so Grace finished her experiment and tidied up somewhat. “I’ll see you – not tomorrow, with the family day– Sunday then?” she asked.

“That’s right! I had nearly forgotten,” Christopher said, smiling. “My parents have – wait a moment. I thought we were inviting you and Jesse over! Oh heavens, I hope I wasn’t in charge of telling you,” he said worriedly.

“They did remember to invite us. Jesse will be there,” Grace assured him as she located her coat.

“And you won’t?” Christopher asked, head tilting in confusion.

“I thought it should stay strictly family. Jesse will always be my brother, but Tatiana was never truly family. And I share no blood with you all,” Grace explained. “It all worked out anyway because I… actually have family of my own that I’m meeting tomorrow. Cousins, or technically second cousins, around my age who are coming to London on some business this weekend.” She had sent a letter to her father’s cousin soon after everything had happened, and quickly gotten a response.

“I didn’t realize you had contact with the remaining Cartwrights! That’s wonderful then,” Christopher said jovially. “Have you met them before?” he asked.

Grace shook her head. “Perhaps as a young child, but not that I can remember,” she told him. “They were thrilled to hear from me though. Apparently, they sent letters infrequently over the years. Tatiana,” she said, fists clenching, “never let me know about them, and evidently sent short replies to tell them that I was well, but didn’t want to see them.” It was just one more cruelty Tatiana had inflicted.

Christopher frowned and said solemnly, “I’m very sorry Grace. That’s a terrible thing. I’m sorry that you had to suffer under her for so many years.”

“The important thing is that I’m free of her now,” Grace told him. She had to leave so that she could meet Jesse on time for training, so she quickly put on her coat and started out. “Until Sunday, then,” she said, bidding Christopher good evening before she left.

_________________________________________________________

Grace felt unusually light as she made her way home. It was incredible, she reflected, how so much had changed in just over two weeks. Spending her day in the laboratory was strangely peaceful, despite the occasional explosions. For so many years she had been defined by other people: she was Tatiana’s obedient girl, Jesse’s loving and determined sister, Tatiana’s weapon. In the lab, with Christopher… she was learning how to just be Grace.

Things had also improved outside the lab. Bolstered by a new confidence, Grace had finally accepted Jesse’s offer to join him in training. She was pleased to find that she remembered much of the training they had done together before he died. Over the years she had practiced when she could, but those times were rare with Tatiana prowling the house at odd hours. She was fast becoming skilled with a bow and arrows. She was also learning quickly with a Seraph blade, an entirely new weapon, although she doubted she was yet proficient enough to effectively wield them against a demon.

It was immensely satisfying to train and think how horrified Tatiana would have been. Grace wore dark gear rather than pale silk and lace dresses, hair kept in a simple braid instead of elaborate styles. She was gaining muscles and callouses, as well as covering herself in marks to increase agility, speed, accuracy, and so on. She was no longer Tatiana’s flawless porcelain doll. Even when not training, Grace now preferred simple dresses – necessary when she spent extensive time in a lab where spills and fires were always a risk.

Grace usually joined Jesse for training either quite early or quite late in the day, when fewer people were at the Institute. Jesse would share new techniques that he had learned and spar with her, as did Lucie on the days she joined them. Lucie had warmed again to Grace somewhat, although she still was a bit awkward whenever Cordelia or James came up in conversion. Another wonderful outcome of training was a tentative friendship with Ariadne that began when she encountered Grace and Jesse while training one evening. Ariadne confessed she had been unsettled by the revelations after Grace’s trial, but she bore Grace no ill will. They had started trading book recommendations.

Three friends made in three weeks, Grace thought, quite a change after a lifetime with none. Well, perhaps she had friends before her parents died, but if so, she did not remember them. Although it was difficult to tell whether she was truly friends with Lucie and Ariadne quite yet and not just familiar acquaintances. Grace didn’t entirely know how a friendship worked, how one should interact with friends. However, she was sure that Christopher could be counted as a genuine friend. They spent lots of time together and talked about numerous topics and weren’t those basic elements of a friendship?

_________________________________________________________

Sunday came quickly and Grace arrived in the lab early, eager to start a project she had considered for several days – organizing chemicals and other supplies in the lab. There was a system, vaguely, but she felt it could be much improved. She saw Christopher do a double-take when he arrived a half hour later and realized she was there.

“Grace! Good morning. You’re early. Or am I late?,” he asked, perplexed.

Grace felt a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Up to this point, she had always gotten to Grosvenor Square later in the morning. “I arrived early today,” she said, alleviating Christopher’s confusion. “I’ve been getting to work on organizing all the chemicals and other compounds. I am also creating a more thorough inventory.”

Christopher appeared pleasantly surprised. “Capital idea, Grace!” he said. He examined the inventory list she had started, and offered a few suggestions for the layout.

“Jesse said you all had a good time together yesterday,” she said, hoping to make conversation as she started rewriting labels that were stained or faded on various vials.

“We did! It was a fine time having the family all together and talking to Jesse,” Christopher said happily, “although there was a small mishap when I tried out another rune combination.” His smile turned sheepish as he added, “Unfortunate, but my mother said the important thing is that no one got hurt, and she believes the sofa can be salvaged.”

Grace smiled slightly at the story, comparing it to the version she had heard from her brother. Jesse’s description of the incident had included a fairly large blaze that nearly set Sophie and Gideon on fire, a good deal of shouting, and the confiscation of Christopher’s steles for the remainder of the evening. “Jesse did mention something about an accident,” she said mildly.

“How was your visit with your cousins?” Christopher asked.

“Splendid. They were both very kind, and easy to talk to. I’ll be keeping in contact with them now,” Grace replied. Truly, it had been a pleasant afternoon with her two cousins – Samuel, Grace’s age, and Sarah, three years older. They had exchanged telephone numbers, and the two had extended an invitation for Grace to spend a weekend with them in Idris at the end of the month, to meet their parents and other siblings.

_________________________________________________________

They were working in companionable silence that afternoon when a voice that Grace recognized as Thomas Lightwood’s called “Hello Kit!”

“Afternoon, Tom!” Christopher greeted him as Thomas stepped into the lab.

“Oh, and Grace. Good afternoon. Kit and Jesse mentioned you were helping out now,” Thomas said, looking a bit unsure.

“Hello, Thomas,” Grace said simply in reply. She turned back to the bench and busied herself inspecting a bottle, putting on a new label, and marking it in the growing inventory list. She had seen Thomas several times in passing, and he came up fairly frequently in conversations with her new mutual friends, but she had not spoken with him directly. She was grateful when Christopher began updating Thomas on his research, and Thomas’s scrutinizing gaze moved away from her. Evidently Thomas had stopped by early to catch up with Christopher before the Merry Thieves all went out that evening.

Grace did her best to avoid Thomas as she moved around the lab to get various chemicals or use different instruments like the microscope. She did have to interrupt their conversation at one point, calling Christopher over to inspect a vial, because did it actually contain demon poison? (It did – from a Raum demon to be precise) Several minutes later she searched for a bottle that she swore had been right in front of her. “Christopher, have you seen the hydrochloric acid?” she asked.

“Hm, I’m not sure that I have,” he said, searching around slightly, but keeping his attention largely focused on pipetting a solution.

Thomas sighed but smiled fondly as he plucked the bottle in question from among the glassware in from of Christopher. “It’s right here,” Thomas said, then walked over towards Grace. “There you are,” he said, handing her the bottle.

“Thank you,” Grace replied, taking the bottle from him somewhat clumsily. He started to turn, then halted.

“I know everything’s all still a bit awkward, but – especially after talking with Jesse yesterday– I just want you to know that I don’t hold anything against you, Grace,” Thomas told her earnestly. “Goodness knows I’ve made bad decisions myself. And when I imagine myself in your situation – if I’d had the opportunity to get my sister back,” he said, swallowing hard, “and only Aunt Tatiana for company, well… I’ll just say that I can understand your motivations. I hope that we can be on amiable terms.” He looked very sincere.

“I – er, thank you. I appreciate it,” Grace said, uncertain how to respond. That seemed enough to satisfy Thomas, however; he nodded at her and made his way back to Christopher’s work station.

The atmosphere was much less tense after that, but it did not last long. Christopher was somewhere upstairs, changing from his burned and stained lab clothing into something he was allowed out in for the evening, when she heard more than one person coming down the stairs. She looked up to see alarm rising in Thomas’s expression, and turned to see James and Matthew as they greeted Thomas.

“Ah,” James said, he and Matthew halting as they saw Grace. “Miss Blackthorn,” he greeted her coolly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His expression indicated that he would have much preferred not to see her ever again.

“It’s Cartwright again, actually,” Grace told him, fiddling with her pen, unsure what to do with her hands.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cartwright. What are you doing in my father’s lab? Are you planning to seduce Thomas or Kit now?” Matthew asked, voice bright with false cheerfulness.

Grace struggled to restrain her temper at the insult. “I am here to study science, and work on research with Christopher. I have been doing so for the last several weeks, in fact,” she said evenly.

“Science? You’re here to learn about science? With Christopher?” James asked, as he and Matthew stared at her incredulously.

“You expect use to believe that?” Matthew asked, eyebrows raised. “That you have suddenly been overcome with a burning interest in science, have come to the Consul’s house, and you don’t have some ulterior motive?”

Grace took a deep breath. “I am interested in science. I never had the freedom to pursue it before but I find it exceedingly fascinating. I am trying to find a place for myself, and a purpose. And Christopher,” she emphasized, “has no issue with my being here.” She stared them both down. “I know I did you terrible wrongs. I have apologized, to both of you, and many others. I don’t know what else you expect me to do,” she said in an icy tone. “And even if you doubt my sincerity, you must have by this point heard that my power was removed. Ask your mother the Consul,” she said, gesturing at Matthew, “or ask Jem Carstairs and the other Silent Brothers.”

It was at this tense moment that Christopher returned, changed into clothing that had not yet been stained or burned. “James, Matthew!” he greeted them happily, then seemed to finally register the fact that everyone’s expression looked strained. “Is something the matter?” he asked confusedly.

“Yes, somewhat,” James said. “You somehow forgot to mention that Miss Bla- sorry, Miss Cartwright has been helping you in the lab?” He stared hard at Christopher, face showing his disbelief.

“Yes, Grace has been helping. It’s been quite a good time so far,” Christopher said, still looking quite baffled. “Did you want to help too?” he asked, looking between both James and Matthew.

“We’re not upset because we want to help in the lab,” Matthew burst out, “we want to know why you not only invited our – our nemesisinto my family’s house, and neglected to even mention it!”

“Grace is our nemesis?” Christopher asked, looking even more bewildered.

“Kit, do you not remember the entire ordeal over the past few months? In which we discovered that for years Grace used a bracelet and demon powers to control my mind? Under the direction of your crazy aunt and my demon grandfather?” James asked with great exasperation.

“Oh that!” Christopher said, looking pleased that he had finally figured out what they were discussing. “Yes of course I remember that. Grace apologized! She feels very badly about all of it,” he stated, apparently expecting that to settle the matter.

“Kit, we are telling you that you can’t be sure of her intentions. She could still be up to something,” Matthew said.

“I am not-” Grace began to retort, but was cut off as Matthew continued, “It’s just that you have to see how it looks, you suddenly being all friendly with someone who is a known manipulator who, for very good reasons, does not get on with your friends?”

“Thomas has Alastair around all the time, and we never used to like him either,” Christopher said stubbornly. “I don’t understand why we can’t also be friends with Grace now too.” Thomas sputtered, clearly uncomfortable having his still-new boyfriend brought into the conversation. Up to this point he had been hovering nervously, eyes darting back and forth as his friends argued. “Grace has apologized,” Christopher continued “She’s here because she wants to pursue science, and seeing as neither of you spend much time down here, you wouldn’t see her much.”

Grace was astounded to see ever-cheerful Christopher looking slightly angry. His friends looked quite surprised as well.

“Also,” Christopher added, “isn’t it rude to be arguing about Grace while she’s still in the room?”

Clearly taken aback, James said, “I didn’t mean to…I – look, Kit, just…” His mouth tightened as he glanced at Grace, then back to Christopher. “Gwyliwch eich cefn. Mae hi'n aml yn dweud celwyddau,” he said in some odd language.

Christopher answered him in the same language, his tone still uncharacteristically sharp. “Hyderaf hi.”

The cousins stared each other down for another moment until an abashed-looking Matthew cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “We’ll go wait upstairs, I think,” he said, tugging James towards the stairs.

They left, and Christopher told Thomas that he’d be cleaned up in a minute if he’d like to head upstairs too. Thomas did so as Christopher capped his open test tubes and turned off the Bunsen burners, face still pensive.

Grace broke the uneasy silence. “I’m sorry to put you in a difficult spot with your friends, Christopher.”

Christopher looked appalled as he replied, “No, I’m sorry Grace. I suppose I never thought to mention that you were helping in the lab now. I didn’t think about how they would react if they just saw you down here.” He sighed. “I’m never sure what to tell which people, or predict how they will react,” he said sadly. “I think they’ll come around though,” he added, brightening. “I’ll talk to them tonight. Maybe if I just tell them about the experiments we’ve been working on, and your organizational system…”

Grace began cleaning her station as well, but she still had a remaining question. “What was it that you and James were speaking? Was it some demon language?” she inquired. She had not yet covered any demon tongues in her training.

Christopher gave a small, surprised laugh. “Not a demon tongue actually – Welsh. Although my father does like to say it’s quite unnatural,” he said, amused.

Grace hadn’t connected the pieces. She had known that James spoke Welsh. It would make sense that his cousins would speak the language as well. “What were you two saying?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

Christopher looked somewhat uncomfortable, avoiding her gaze, instead focusing on his notebook. “James warned me to watch my back because you’ve been known to lie,” he said finally. He looked up, now meeting her eyes, and said sincerely, “But I told him that I trust you.”

Grace looked back at him, overwhelmed by his earnestness. “Thank you, Christopher. You don’t know how much that means to me,” she said softly, and her cheeks suddenly felt a bit warm.

“Of course!” Christopher said. “You’re a wonderful lab partner. As good as Henry.”

Coming from Christopher, who greatly admired Henry, Grace recognized that this was indeed high praise.

“I should be leaving now,” he said, grabbing his hat. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Have a good time tonight.”

Christopher smiled at her as he left. Grace wondered what it meant that she felt an odd fluttering in her stomach at that. And as she made her way home, she kept replaying the moment in her mind where Christopher looked earnestly at her with bright violet eyes and told her that he trusted her.

[snizabelle]

Alright, finally got to a point where I’m happy enough with this fic to actually post it. I’ll probably be putting any further chapters on AO3, enjoy.

------

It took exactly 148 steps from the sandy base of the ruins to get to its former grand lobby, Castis had counted every one meticulously. Barely anything stood of the ancient skyscraper but its pillars. The roof had long been destroyed, or caved in with time, allowing the light and sweltering heat of the desert sun to cover most of the floor. Crouched in the shadows by the weathered railing was a figure, aiming a rifle into the sandy valley below.

Cas aimed his pistol. “Freeze!!" 

It wasn't an unusual sight, the ruins were usually crawling with bounty hunters, vagrants, and thieves.

The suspect remained still, as they hadn't been moving in the first place. I told an unmoving person to 'freeze', he thought. Spirits, I am a fool. He tried again. "Stay where you are!" That's even worse. I wish I was dead.

This was hardly his first arrest, but he was still rattled by confrontation. Everything was so much simpler on paper; doing the actual dirty work was too nerve-wracking. He had already spent 6 months on this crappy planet and dealt with his fair share of riffraff. Nolvion may have been a dwarf planet in the back end of the terminus systems but you wouldn't think it with the amount of scum it collected. The small security outpost he was a part of was the only thing driving it back, though the real objective was considered classified. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as his thoughts continued to scream through his head. "Look, just get up-no stay where you, uh, raise your-" (aaaAAAAUUUGH!!) Finally, the suspect stirred. They were wearing thick, but shoddy, ill-fitting armor, head obscured by a large standard-issue helmet. Without turning, they raised a single finger, indicating whatever Castis was spouting could wait. Wait....what? "I - excuse me!!", he sputtered, "I am an officer of Fort Audax!" There was a brief pause. Then, the suspect stood, and slumped forward with an exaggerated sigh. This intrusion seemed to leave them put out. 

Castis was getting impatient. "I demand you turn around slowly with your hands in the air now!!"

After what seemed like an eternity, the suspect turned and- There was a deafening sound and the floor flew up to meet Castis' head. His jaw cracked on the ground and tasted blood in his mouth. He could feel a bruise forming where the kick had landed on his mandible. Enraged, he scrambled to his feet, head pounding. The culprit stood there, seemingly baffled. "Did you just ..." Castis felt only anger now. "...assault me?!” He heard something that sounded like an 'uh oh' noise muffled in the helmet. Castis barred his teeth. You're goddamn right 'uh oh'. He may have been a terrible negotiator but he was pretty damn good at hand-to-hand combat. Before the offender had a chance to do anything else, Castis had lunged forward and grabbed their wrist, twisting it, forcing their knees to buckle. Before they could react, he headbutted them on the bridge of their helmet, causing the cheap material to crack. As the assailant fell backward, Cas swept their right leg, hearing a distinct crack as they fell backward, helmeted head thudding on the ground. Panting, Castis steadied himself and surveyed the assailant. There was no movement. He walked carefully around the body and pushed their discarded rifle away with his foot. "Vakarian! Come in Vakarian!" A voice crackled onto the communicator on his omni-tool. Cas answered the comm, still trying to catch his breath. "This is Vakarian." "Status report." "Sir,” he panted "Suspect attacked me, but I have rendered them unconscious. Sustained minor injuries. Suspect is unarmed and incapacitated."

There was a pause. The voice cracked again. "Just shoot them."

Cas clenched his jaw. "I repeat: the suspect is unarmed and incapaci-" "I heard what you said." There was a shuffling sound as though the person speaking was shifting, agitated. "Do it." Cas swallowed hard, fingers clenching and unclenching. He chose his next words carefully. "Sir...It would be more...prudent... to bring in the suspect for questioning and proces-”

"Damn you Vakarian!!" Cas jerked his head back so violently it smacked the stone wall lightly behind him, "Do we have to go through this every time?! Do we have to spend hours of paperwork for every infraction!? Just shoot the f -"

He disconnected without thinking.

Damn. Gonna pay for that later.

He glanced over at the motionless figure. ‘Just shoot them.’

***

Well, crap. Marcella was in incredible pain. Hopefully, her leg wasn't broken but it certainly felt like it was. Damn it all. Usually, one kick to the face made rent-a-cops drop like drunk elcor. Should've sized this one up better. You're getting sloppy. The crackle of the cop’s comm echoed over to her. "Just shoot them." Spirits..... If I had known it was my last day alive I would've....would've... She struggled to think of something meaningful one could do in their last hours while the comm screeched. There was abrupt silence and she heard the scraping of boots as the officer turned around. 

Shit. Shit! Not like this! 

More silence. From inside the helmet, she peeked open her eyes for a second to see what he was doing. He was leaning in close. Inspecting her? There was a hunting knife on her hip. Maybe if he leaned in close enough she could get him in the neck. It was her only shot. She felt her helmet jostle and snapped her eyes shut again. Hot air rushed her face as her helmet was removed. Just play dead. Don't move...! She heard a thunk as her helmet was tossed aside. Her hand was laying under her back by her left side. She could feel the shape of the knife pressing against the back of her thigh. He had straightened up again. Her fingers inched toward the knife, touching the hilt. I could just go for it... maybe he'll be so surprised he won't react? Or I'll just get shot in the face. Well, I'm dead either way. There was another loud crackle as his comm buzzed. and almost made her jerk. "Female. No facial markings." She heard the cop say. "Taking into custody. Will report at 0500." What..? She relaxed her fingers, retreating them from the hilt. Interesting.

***

Faldos can flay me for all I care. Castis holstered his gun and submitted his report verbally in his comm. "Female. No facial markings." Do things right or not at all. He walked over to his bag, laying where he had set it by an old pillar. He shuffled through it for a bit, though as usual, it was perfectly organized. He retrieved his handcuffs and turned. The suspect already had one leg up on the ledge and was in the process of climbing over. "Hey-! You- F-FREEZE!!" He dropped the cuffs, awkwardly grabbed for his holstered gun, and pointed it at her back. She froze accordingly. "Ugh, come on!" Slowly, she turned, hands begrudgingly in the air. She starred at him, seizing him up.

The first thing Cas noticed was her eyes. They were a piercing blue. He felt a strange pulling in his chest. She had no clan markings but had slight scarring on her left mandible. The way it traced up the side of her face was almost memorizing. She was tall, even for a turian, and her waist was - “Well?” she said suddenly, shaking him out of his thoughts  She sounded slightly amused.

Cas blinked and shook his head. What the hell was that!?  

"S...state your name!" He could feel his face grow hot in embarrassment.

She smirked and said nothing.

Castis blinked nervously but didn't relent. “You are trespassing. You are not authorized to be here. Show me identification now or I will take you into custody."

She shrugged her shoulders, the universal sign of indifference.

"Are you aware you attacked an officer of Fort Audax?" Cas said.

"Well yeah,' She shrugged again. 'I figured the uniform wasn't for show.”

Castis felt himself burn, "Excuse me?!"

She smirked again, seemingly excited she was able to get under his skin. He exploded, "Get on the ground now!!" Her smile faded. 'Well, I'll try." She visibly struggled to kneel on her left leg, glaring at him all the while. Castis felt a brief bout of shame wash over him. "Hey, uh...I'm sorry if I was too rough. it's okay, I have medi-gel if you need it.” She continued to glare "I’m fine." She tried to lean on one leg and winced.

"No, you're not. You're hurt." Castis stepped forward.

'Really? You kick my ass then offer to clean me up?" The suspect's eyes flashed. "Go ahead and give me two pops in the back of my head when I kneel, make it quick okay?"

Castis slowly lowered his gun to the ground. He took a few more steps forward and raised his hands. "I promise I'm not gonna hurt you."

The perp raised her eyebrow plates but said nothing.

"Do you...would you mind if I...?" Cas took a few more cautious steps forward. She paused for a second then extended her leg almost dramatically. 'By all means, admire your handiwork." He shuffled close to her and knelt by her outstretched leg. Dispensing some medi-gel, he began to apply a numbing agent to her upper thigh. He was uncomfortably close. Look forward, look forward look forward, don't be weird don't be weird - "Enjoying yourself?" His head snapped up to meet her gaze. "NO!" She was smirking again. His face burned as he hastily rubbed the rest of the medi-gel on her thigh as quickly as possible. He staggered to his feet rubbing the excess off his hands. "Alright, how does it feel now?" The suspect leaned on her leg gently, then gave a few light stomps. "Hrm, not bad." She took a few light steps toward him. "Do you make a habit of sensually patching up every girl you brutalize?"

Castis felt his face burn even hotter. "Y-you attacked me first!"

She shrugged, "Eh details...' Details?! "Either way, since you refuse to provide any form of identification - and you attacked me -” Castis glared, “ - I'm going to have to take you in." There was a long pause. She sighed then extended her wrists. Castis blinked. "Really?" "It's only fair, you patched me up." She looked off in the distance as though not wishing to engage in the situation. "Well....good!” Cas huffed a small sigh of relief. Finally, things are gonna stop being needlessly difficult. He approached her warily. "Now please extend your-" She's already doing that you WORTHLESS- "YEP just like that, uh, let me just-" He lifted his noticibly empty hands. Cuffs. YOU NEED CUFFS AAAAA- "Just.....one...second," Cas mumbled awkwardly. The suspect blinked lazily at him, seemingly bored. Castis ran awkwardly back to the pillar where the cuffs lay. He grabbed them and whirled around. "Okay! Now let me just-" She was gone. "HEY!!"

[voidselfshipp]

Highschool au! Pt2

Part one

Jerico taps her nails against the desk, hearing the teacher talk.

Someone sits besides her, she looks at the person.

-Octavio!, what are you doing here-

-o oh nothing!, just uh didnt want to sit alone?-

-Octavio Silva!, to your place!-

Jeri giggles and grabs Octavio's hand, he blushes and bolts back his place.

The boy looks at the New girl, he has his eyes half-lided , smiling like an idiot.

'Es tan hermosa...' he thinks as his hand mindlessly copies whats on the board,sobieski's hand slaps him out of his trance.

Break time is here , and every kid rans to the patio , except for jhon and Octavio, they help jerico organize her stuff and Grab her food.

-You can hang out with my Friends if youd like to!-tavi ( octavio) says with enthusiasm trying to hide the blush on his cheeks.

The patio is almost divided by Groups, but both boys friendgroups arent around...instead they are...hanging out with the weird kids?..

-rev! Wait!- jerico says grabbing Isaac's hand-what happened?-Revenant says nothing and looks down, jeri's chest burns with anger, and looks at the 'sport team Group'-listen here , whatever the fuck y'all said to him was wrong, you wonder why the hell your school is so divided , well look at this shit!-

All the boys around her stay astounded and they try to muster excuses.

A clanking of shoes echo around the now silent patio, its cereza.

-thank you honey for standing up for my friend Isaac, now you - cereza turns her head to the sport team-something to say ?-

Sobieski and decker look at eachother.

-I do have an idea-jerico says, looking at cere with a smug grin- why dont we all hang out, to get to know all of us better?-

Both Groups nodd, cereza Is intimidating,and so is jerico.

-You have such passion- blitzwing says-I im blitz by the vay, its nice to meet you-as he says that the Tones and ways to speak change- I im sorry I just so happen zo have zhree personalities inside me!- he cackles.

At first jeri is reluctant to say something, but her gaze softens and scoots closer to him.

-Nice to meet you blitz, I think the three of hou are quite nice,it must be wild right?-

Blitz nodds but smiles.

-i have it under control but sometimes I cant help it!-

-Its okay, I wont judge you -

The two Groups talk and even laugh togheter, there seems like they share a lot more than they thought.

-Did you know that the taipan snake is one of the most venomous of its race?, I can tell you a lot of stuff about it-alexander says with a poker face as revenant nodds excitedly

-Well,breaktime Is over, ill see you all later!-jerico says.

-Well, ryad, me, Eliott and cereza have chemistry now-Alex says- let me guide you- chemistry is one of my favourite subjects, all the possibilities, and all the reactions I hope to be a chemist one day-

-Im sure youll accomplish It Alex, ive heard you are very Smart- jeri exclaims as they walk.

-Oh something I forgot to tell you honey, we have a Group asigment now, the five of us are in it-

-Hell yeah!-eliott chimes in- as long as it doesnt explode like the last time!, that would be rid ridic...dumb-

-ridiculous?- jerico asks.

-Yeah...sorry im dumb...-

-Dont say that!- the girl grabs Eliotts hand and looks at him in the eye-my main language isnt english and I dont know some words either!, you are not dumb for not know them!-

The boys eye water and hug her tightly, he starts to giggle as they enter the classroom.

-That why I like you jeri!-he kisses her cheek and the five of them go to their desk full of chemicals.

《♡》

-Hey ryad?, where are you going?- jerico asks, you'd say nobody was going to be at your home until late midnight-

-Yeah...sorry I just , I have nowhere to go-ryad says.

-Well all of us are going to jeri's house, she says there is this big attic that we can hang out in!-octane says.

-Yeah come on buddy, what do you have to lose?- sobieski says, with an arm around decker, and the otherone around blitz.

All of them start to chant for him to come with them,he eventually caves in and nodds, they talk and tell jokes.

All of them share feeling towards her.

Little do they know...she feels the same.

《♡》

[singminibang]

Blind Date

Author: Bitsy83 (tumblr: @bitsy83)

Artist: stevetwisp (tumblr: @stevetwisp)

Summary: Ash has been set up on a blind date that is quickly going wrong. Can the night be salvaged by the unexpected help of a good friend?

There were a lot of things Ash had put up with over the years.  She’d put up with rude subway passengers complaining about her quills.  She had dealt with hecklers at her shows.  And Lance had supplied her with more than enough headaches that she could care to remember.  She even had been promised the chance of winning 100,000 dollars only to find out it was a scam, followed by a near death experience with almost drowning inside of the Moon theater.  

All of that was nothing compared to what she was going through tonight.

Ever since Mr. Moon announced to the audience that she had been dumped by her boyfriend, her Aunt Ruth - a loving, but rather nosy porcupine who lived in the suburbs - made it her sole mission to get her niece back into the dating game by finding her a proper boyfriend.  Ruth was part of a large knitting group that met every week.  During one meeting, she had shared with her fellow knitters that her poor niece was nursing a broken heart and needed to find a knight in shinning armor to help her recover from her recent bout with depression.  Ruth’s friends were more than happy to ask their many nephews, neighbors, and whomever they felt eligible to court the lovely porcupine…despite Ash’s numerous attempts to tell them it wasn’t necessary and she’d rather not get back into the dating game at this point.

Ash knew from the start this date was going to be a disaster.  First off, the mother of Ash’s “date” had already gone ahead and made the reservations for a Tex-Mex restaurant and she hated Tex-Mex.  She loved spicy food, but for some reason anything south of the border (or close to it) always left her feeling nauseated and would haunt her for the remainder of the evening. Second, her date’s name was Stewart and was not the most charming porcupine on the planet. In fact, she swore he was some sort of beaver with really strong hair gel.  He dressed a bit like a stereotypical hipster, complete with black-rimmed glasses, flannel shirt covering a tee that had a T-rex playing guitar, and a stocking cap that fit surprisingly well over his quilled head.  This was due to the fact that he suffered from chronic quill loss and every now and then, a few would quills would pop out and fall to the floor.  But the absolute worse thing about this date is that Stewart hated anything mainstream, confirming Ash’s suspicious of his hipster appearance.  Ash appreciated indie rock and even went to some underground bands while she was dating Lance, but she still liked current bands and singers.  While trying to break the ice with Stewart, she had let it slip that Fur-Out Boy was one of her favorite bands, which sent him on a rant for ten minutes of how they became the biggest sellouts in all music history.

She was ready to bail before they had even ordered their food.  

Ash just gripped her menu, pretending to look at the entrees when really she was trying to figure out what to do to get out of this.  She was hating every second and knew it was only going to get worse the longer she stayed there.  She tried to be friendly with Stewart for her aunt’s sake, but he was making it impossible.  She silently scolded herself for not telling Meena or Rosita she had a date that night and to plan an emergency text or phone call to give her an excuse to leave.  She thought of faking an illness, but she had a feeling that Stewart would see right though that.  Still, looking at the entrees the menu had to offer, she probably didn’t have to do much faking.  

“Ash?  Ash!”

“What?”  She quickly put down the menu to see that Stewart had been addressing her.  

“I asked if you found anything good,” he said, pulling a few stray quill from under his cap and letting them drop on the floor.  

“Oh, um, I was thinking of going light tonight.  You know, just a salad or something.”

Stewart scoffed and rolled his eyes.  “Typical girl.  Always worried about your figure; too afraid to try anything bold or exciting.”

“What’s wrong with salads?”

“I’m just saying you girls are always freaking out if you eat a sugar cube or something and think you’ll explode into some blimp.  Hate to break this to you, but if you thinking eating ‘low fat’ foods is saving you calories, they stuff those things with sugar to make up for the fat loss, so you’ve probably already been suckered.”

Ironically, Ash already knew about the controversy with “low-fat” foods and was well aware of this.  “I don’t actually…” she started to say, but Stewart wasn’t done.  

“Who cares what diet snobs and conglomerate organizations think of your food choices?” he continued, closing his menu.  “Just eat what you want.”

“Ok…I want to eat a salad.”  

Stewart looked at Ash as if she had grown an extra head.  “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Really wish I didn’t,” Ash muttered, putting her face behind the menu again.

Stewart then reached over and lowered the menu.  “Hey, maybe you should let me order for you, huh?  You seem a bit confused on what you want.”  

“I already told you want I wanted,” she said, trying to hide her annoyance.  

“Like I said: confused.  But, hey, you want a salad, go ahead and get a salad.  You probably don’t want to to be too bloated for later anyway.”

Ash looked up, cocking an eyebrow.  “What’s going on later?  You wanted to go see a movie or something?”  Ash almost hoped that’s what he meant.  Seeing a movie would mean they wouldn’t have to talk to each other, unless he liked to nitpick every mistake on the screen.  She could tell this was the type of guy who’d watch a trailer halfway through, then flood the comment section with critiques complete with bad spelling.  

Stewart leaned forward and wiggled his eyebrows.  “I was thinking something more…private.”

Ash leaned back, trying to create as much space between them sitting down.  She really did not like where this was going.  “How private are we talking here?”

“Maybe your place?  I’d suggest mine, but the walls are pretty thin in my parent’s basement and…”

“Ok, stop!”  Ash snapped, throwing up her paws to silence the forward porcupine.  “Dude, are you serious?  We just met!  I barely remember your last name.”

“So?  Why should we let society tell when we can or can’t?  We’re animals, remember?  We gotta do as nature commands.  Besides, I thought you rocker chicks were kinda, ya know, ready and willing?”

Ash felt her face go red.  Not even Lance went this far, this fast on their first date.  She wanted to strangle this weirdo, but there were security cameras around and she was pretty sure there was a cop in the booth next to them.  The last thing she needed was to be tried with murder in the first degree.  Still, what could she do?  If she stormed out, then someone was bound to record it and she’d be on every social media page on the Internet.  Then people would be stretching the truth and Stewart would probably twist the situation around.  And what would her aunt Ruth say?  Obviously, staying there wasn’t an option.  She could try to get out through the fire exit near the bathroom, but what if it was alarmed?  She needed some way to escape before…

“Ash?”

The familiar voice snapped Ash out of her panic attack.  She looked up to see the most beautiful sight she had ever laid eyes on: Johnny.  He was approaching their table, carrying a plastic bag filled with various items she couldn’t identify.  

“Johnny!” she proclaimed, grateful for the distraction.  “What are you doing here?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said.  “Why aren’t you at the theater?  Mr. Moon wanted us there at six for warm-ups.”

“Uh, excuse me,” Stewart said, clearly upset at being interrupted.  “Ash, who is this guy?”

Before Ash could answer, Johnny was already extending his hand.  “Oh, sorry mate.  Name’s Johnny; I’m a friend of Ash here.  We both work at the Moon Theater.”

Stewart reluctantly shook Johnny’s hand, which practically covered half his arm, then looked back at Ash.  “Oh, I see.  This is a, uh, ‘buddy’ of yours, Ashy?”  Even without the air quotes, Ash knew what Stewart meant and was about to grab the knife in front of her when she felt Johnny’s hand on her shoulder, calming her instantly.  

“So, yeah, Mr. Moon sent out a group text to everyone this morning about tomorrow’s rehearsal being changed to tonight.  Something about last minute plans or whatever.  Anyway, I was just getting some tucker for later and I just happened to see you from the street.  I figured you probably didn’t get the memo.”

Ash just stared at Johnny.  She knew he was lying since Mr. Moon rarely texted anyone.  He was an old-fashioned phone call kind of marsupial.  Besides, he just recently got a flip phone that made texting close to impossible.

Then Johnny sent a subtle hint by darting his eyes to the door, then back to her.  Catching on, she played along.  

“Oh, right!” Ash said, giving her forehead a light smack.  “I totally blanked on that.  I’m sorry, Stewart, but I’m gonna have to bail - I mean, go.  Come on, Johnny!  Let’s hurry before you get a ticket for being double-parked. Bye!”

“Cheers, mate,” said Johnny, following Ash.  

“W-wait a second!” exclaimed Stewart.  “Who’s gonna pay for dinner?”  

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Ash called back.  

Before Stewart could try anything else, Johnny and Ash were already clear out of the restaurant.  Ash wasted no time in searching for Johnny’s truck.  “Where are you parked?” she asked.

“’Round the corner.  This way,” he said, leading her down the street.

Once they found the truck and were both securely inside, they took a minute to breathe, then busted out laughing.  “Oh man, that was close!” said Ash.  

“Yeah,” said Johnny putting the bag on the seat between them.  “So, what was that?  A bad blind date or something?”

“Bad is putting it lightly,” said Ash.  “My aunt set me up with him. She figured I needed help moving on from Lance.  I swear, if you hadn’t come in…hey, why are you here, anyway?”

Johnny blushed slightly and scratched the back of his neck.  “Yeah, well, I was actually just stopping off at the store to get some groceries and I happened to see you from the sidewalk.  From the look on your face, you needed some backup.  Hope I wasn’t intruding.  I mean, I know how independent you are and…”

Ash raised her paws, hushing Johnny.  “No, no!  You were great.  I knew this date was going to bomb from the first second I laid eyes on that loser.  So…yeah, you were awesome.  Thank you.”  Ash reached over and gave Johnny’s arm a gentle squeeze.  She felt his muscles tighten up a bit, possibly due to nerves.  Sensing the awkwardness, she quickly removed her paw.  “Sorry…” she muttered.  

“It’s alright…” he muttered back.  For awhile, they just sat there, trying figure out what to do next.    

“So…” Johnny said, finally breaking the tension.  “You planning anything else tonight?  It’s still pretty early.”

Ash shrugged.  “Go home, I guess.  I think I still got some leftover mac and cheese in the fridge I could heat up.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

“Nah.  Apparently, ordering salads is frowned upon from whatever planet that jerk was from.  That, and I can’t stand Tex-Mex so I doubt I would’ve found anything edible.”

“Well…what’re your thoughts on Asian?”

Ash cocked an eyebrow as she looked up at the gorilla.  “I’m rather partial to it.  What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was heading for this place that has really good Dim-Sum.  If you want, we could get a table and just…you know, hang.  Would…you like to get some Dim-Sum?”

It was obvious Johnny was trying to make a little rhyme joke.  Normally, Ash would roll her eyes at what she would consider a “dad joke,” but she smiled.  This was Johnny; he was too adorable to chastise.  

“I’d love some,” she said, trying to continue the pun.

Johnny immediately brightened. “Great!  Then let’s go get some.”

“Johnny…”

“Right. Last one.  Promise.”  

Johnny was not kidding about the restaurant.  It was called The Lotus Garden and was located next to the boardwalk.  It had a lovely interior with paintings of ancient China and even paper lanterns hanging over the tables.  The waitress - a slender grey cat - seemed to recognize Johnny and when he introduced Ash to her, she couldn’t help but giggle with a broad grin on her face.  Clearly, she didn’t know this was just an impromptu dinner with a friend.  Johnny took the liberty of ordering, since Ash had never been there before.  Normally, whenever she got Chinese, it was always lo mein or some kind of wanton soup.  He had ordered a couple of lettuce wraps with a rice-and-vegetable filling, followed by some soup steamed buns.  They were the most delicious thing Ash had ever tasted.  The moist buns were filled with a steamy savory broth that melted in her mouth.  It was flavorful without being overwhelming.  The lettuce wraps gave her a bit of trouble since she wasn’t sure what to do with them.  Thanks to Johnny’s guidance, using lettuce leaves as a makeshift burrito made the meal strangely enjoyable.    

“Got to hand it to you, Johnny,” said Ash as she was finishing the last bun.  “That really hit the spot.”  

Johnny chuckled, using the napkin to wipe the corners of his mouth.  “Figured you’d like it.”  

“Pouchong?”

Ash looked up to see the waitress had returned and was carrying an iron tea pot with two small cups without handles.  

“Oh yes, please,” said Johnny, clearing a space for the platter.  The waitress nodded and set the tea set in front of them, then collected their dishes.  She gave them a small nod and took the plates back to the kitchen.  

“What exactly is this?” Ash asked.  

“Pouchong,” said Johnny, pouring the steaming liquid into the cups.  “It’s a type of oolong tea.  I normally get a cup after dinner; helps with digestion, you know?  Here.”  Johnny delicately picked up the cup and handed it to Ash.  Taking it with both paws, she sniffed it before taking a small sip.  It had a sweet, flowery taste.  Ash was never one for tea since coffee was her drink of choice, but she found herself enjoying it.    

“This is pretty good,” said Ash, taking another sip.  

“They sell it at the front counter, if you want to take some home,” Johnny suggested.

“Yeah, don’t really own any teapots, but thanks.”  It didn’t take long for Ash to finish her first cup and motioned for Johnny to pour her some more.  “I take it you’re a regular here?”

Johnny shrugged while setting the pot down.  “Yeah.  Dad and I found it after we moved here.  We always just ordered from the takeout menu.  He never liked eating in the restaurant because…well, he didn’t want people spotting him.”  And then Johnny’s face fell and went silent.  

Ash knew why.  It was hard for Johnny to bring up his dad.  When she first found out that Marcus “Big Daddy” Greystone was Johnny’s father, she had a hard time making connection.  Sure they were both gorillas who happened to be from England, but she couldn’t imagine a sweet guy like Johnny being the son of a gang leader.  Proof that fruit can fall far from the tree, she suspected.  It wasn’t long before the rest of the theater family found out, but they still loved Johnny and treated him with the same dignity and respect they always had.

“Are…are you ok?”  she asked, reaching over and squeezing his hand.  “I didn’t mean to…”

“No no, it’s fine.  Really,” said Johnny, patting her hand.  “I mean, it’s not like it’s a big secret.  But, yeah, I started actually having dinners here after my dad went to…well, went away.  Beats going back to an empty garage, doesn’t it?”

Ash nodded, knowing all too well.  Going back to an empty apartment that still had memories of Lance wasn’t easy after the breakup.  Still, the apartment had to be a much cozier home than a big empty garage and she always had the option to get a new roommate.  Johnny couldn’t get another father…

“But it’s not so bad,” said Johnny, suddenly perking up a bit.  “I visit him every other day and we’re really starting to work things out.  He’s agreed to finish his sentence, he’s actually getting along well with the other inmates.  He’s even participating in one of those “ “scared straight” programs for teens to stay on the right track.  Trust me, he’s perfect for that.  When my dad talks, you listen.  No exceptions.”

“Any word of when his parole is?”  

Johnny did a rough calculation in his head before answering.  “I think the last I heard was about eight months from now?  So by September, maybe?”  

Ash nodded, then lifted her cup.  “Then, best luck to your dad and here’s hoping for an early parole.”

Johnny smiled and lightly clinked his tea cup with hers.  “Cheers.”

“Well, I had a wonderful time tonight,” said Ash, finishing her tea.  “Thanks again for…you know, everything.”  

“My pleasure.”

It was a strange moment.  They both sat there, staring into each others eyes, all the while Ash trying to make sense of what was happening.  She knew it wasn’t a date.  At least, not an official one.  Then why did she want it to be?  They were just friends.  Weren’t they?  She was about to say something when the waitress returned with a couple of fortune cookies.  Johnny was expecting the receipt when cat just shook her head.  “On top of house,” she said with her heavy Chinese accent.  

“Oh no, please,” said Johnny pulling out wallet.  “I can pay.”

But the cat shook her head.  “On house.  Photo?”

Johnny glanced over at Ash and chuckled nervously.  “I, uh, think she wants to know if we want our picture taken.  You know, to…”

“Commemorate the moment?” Ash asked with a grin.  She then pulled out her phone.  “Sure, why not?  Kinda want a memento, anyway.”      

After setting the phone to camera mode and handing it to the waitress, Ash brought her chair closer to Johnny and they leaned in to pose.  Ash had to stand on the chair to be the same height as Johnny and placed her arm on his shoulder.  After the picture was taken, Ash took the phone back to see the results.  It looked pretty good: Johnny wore a handsome smile and Ash, much to her surprise, looked pretty happy too.  Normally, she had to force her smile since she hated having her picture taken.  Here, it looked natural.  Probably because it was.  

After the cat left, Johnny decided to break open his fortune cookie.  “Let’s see. Today is the day to show someone you care.”

“Well, I guess that one already came true,” said Ash, breaking open her cookie.  “Don’t let past mistakes keep you from making future discoveries.”  Ash thought about that for a moment.  She had made a lot of mistakes, especially in regards to Lance.  Obviously, the breakup gave her the freedom to write her own song and go solo.  But what if it also meant…

“So, you ready to go?”  Johnny was standing next to her, offering his hand.  

She quickly shook away the thought and took his hand.  “Yeah, sure.”  

Once they got out of the restaurant, Johnny and  Ash headed to the train station which was just around the corner.  He offered to drive her home, but since she had a yearly train pass and lived on the other side of town, she was ok with going by her usual route.  As they walked to the station, Ash looked up at the night sky.  The moon was full and stars twinkled like diamonds, signifying a beautiful evening.

They sat together on the bench, awaiting the next train, which would be by in a few minutes.  “This night certainly turned out better  than I expected,” she said, swinging her feet back and forth.  

“Glad to hear that,” said Johnny.  “You know, if you’re aunt decides to play matchmaker again, you can put me down as an emergency contact.  I don’t mind.”

Ash laughed.  “Nah, I think I’m good with just one blind date; I’ll just have to be straight when I tell that to Ruth.”

“Do you…do you want to start dating again?”  

Ash fiddled with her purse strap.  “Honestly, I don’t think my heart’s made a full recovery yet, you know?  I only did this so my aunt would get off my back.  Right now, I’d rather just focus on my music; maybe even start a band.  I already know a bassist and a drummer wouldn’t be too hard to find.”  

Johnny nodded, kicking a small pebble onto the tracks.  “Well, whatever you decide, I hope it works out for you.  I really do.”

“Appreciate that.  You know, if you want, I could come by the garage some time and keep you company.  I’ll bring my guitar and we could jam out or whatever.”  

Johnny’s face instantly lit up.  Apparently, he liked the idea of having any kind of company on days he wasn’t needed at the theater.  “I’d love that, actually.  It’s got plenty of space, so the acoustics would sound amazing.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.  So, would Wednesday be ok?”

“Sure!  Uh, maybe after one?  I tend to hit the gym in the morning.”

Ash smiled.  “It’s a date.”  

She then stood upon the bench and, once she was eye level with Johnny, put her arms around his neck and hugged him.  His neck was so thick, she could barely make her fingers touch.  She felt him return the hug, making sure to be careful of her quills.  Ash never felt so secure in someone’s arms before.  Lance was always so half-hearted with his hugs, being that he hated public displays of affection.  Even when they were alone, he thought cuddling was stupid.  Then again, Johnny wasn’t Lance, so of course it was better.  Much better.  

She pulled away took to look into his eyes.  They were such a warm, chestnut brown and Johnny was so handsome.  Why hadn’t she noticed it before?  Without stopping to think, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, causing Johnny to let out a small gasp.  His cheeks turned a subtle red before he looked down at his shoes, a small grin spreading on his face.   

 Just then, a loud whistle broke the silence as the train pulled into the station.

Ash once again smiled at Johnny and patted his shoulder.  “Night, Johnny,” she said and hopped off the bench.  

“Y-yeah, night.”  

When she boarded the train, she took one last look at Johnny as he gave her a small wave goodbye.  The image was ruined as the doors closed, blocking him from view.  The train took a sudden lurch and started moving again.  It wasn’t hard finding a place to sit since there were barely any passengers riding the train at that hour.  Once she was comfortable, she thought about what she had gone through tonight.  

There was no doubt that the night started horribly.  She knew it would, even before she met Stewart.  And yet, had it not been for that nightmarish blind date, she’d had never had met up with Johnny.  She would never have discovered how much she loved his company.  

Discovery. She pulled out her phone and called up the photo from the Lotus Garden.  The porcupine and the gorilla in the picture certainly looked happy together. Then she thought about her fortune: Don’t let past mistakes stop you from making future discoveries.  

Ash didn’t want to think too much about the future or look too far in the past.  She was perfectly fine in the present.  As she listened to the hum of the train taking her home, she closed her eyes and sighed happily, inadvertently pressing her phone against her heart.  

[vikireedphotography]

Payload

You’re moving to the moon? Does it come with a swimming pool? 

History prepared us for the failure of computer AI to estimate mankind’s tendency to obliterate every extra inch afforded them.  Earth was rapidly collapsing from the weight of climate change, and the imminent move to our final home, Ganymede (Saturn’s 7th satellite) was forced.  

Yale Sevarin was a witness to the last straw.

Russia dropped a RS-28 Sarmat thermonuclear bomb atop US NAMRU-3; a Naval Medical Research Facility loaded with pathogens, viruses.  Just to help you sleep at night, NAMRU-3 was a Level-3 containment facility. Think lethal airborne infections.  It was the Commander’s last near a time in a combat zone.  

Two-years later the International Federation of Earth, (aka Saturn One Mission) became the most important thing in the world, literally.  Losing Naples to rising sea-levels, along with the priciest real estate in America, wasn’t enough to engage-funded action.  Even after The Bomb the thought of it being too late was impossible to communicate to a population swooned by Energy Czars and members of a solid minority of political fanatics lived to neutralize the science-laden doomsday warnings. What turned the world’s powers into a hive of information sharing and cooperative engineering and merging space program research and tech?  

 The Seats of Power were held at gunpoint by folks who understood that Cowboy Moosaholic demonstrating defecating in an outhouses was meant for them.  Mothers exploded in panic when Puppy Patches sang to children about the use iodine pills to interrupt absorption of radioactive iodine in their thyroid glands. The idea of purifying everything that passed the lips was discommoding for a drive-thru culture.  The line may have been crossed when Daniel Tiger told kids about the inevitable slaughtering of pets and livestock to save resources for themselves and to reduce methane in our atmosphere.  It was too late but it got everyone’s attention.  

Commander Sevarin became synonymous with heroism.  After a decade in the Air Force, applying his particular skill in managing payload and all integrated systems was the sole factor in the last plane out of Qatar to carry more troops to safety on a Hercules C-130 than engineers would ever certify as possible.  

The carrier held 45,000 pounds of cargo, 64 fully prepared paratroopers at 160 pounds, 92 ground-troops of varied weight loaded with 27 pounds of protective gear for starters. There were 11,000 souls and dogs at Al Udeid’s Airbase.  There were other Hercules there, but not enough room for all based on standard weights and measures.  Yale tried to implement a thorough and detailed passenger arrangement, but the scene mirrored the evacuation of the Titanic.  By falling into training, but having so many extra bodies; they’d done the equivalent of having a lifeboat with two rich ladies and a fur coat.   By the time the last plane was being swarmed by stragglers, if you can call so many dead men and women that; they had no choice but to listen to Pilot Commander Sevarin.

He knew at worst he’d only had about ten or fifteen percent of the population to worry about. The physics would be daunting but he felt calculable.  He began dumping chutes, oxygen, fuel beyond the amount needed to get to Point Z.  The dedicated military personnel knew, as they watched their first mushroom cloud from a technically safe position; that they needed to go-now and they didn’t question Sevarin’s order to remove seats, water, ammo, weapons, packs, palettes, phones, vehicles, weapons, ammo,  boots, and all but skivvies.  The Commander kept to himself that he fully expected to throw a few men into the ocean if his calculations proved flawed.  

Staff Sergeant Louis Felly was liked, as a budgeting officer he interacted with every aspect of base life. But his desk job had helped him gain a lot of weight in recent years. At 280 pounds, he was afraid to leave his office, had no weapon, and one could imagine his heart and lungs were well represented by his purple face, and sweat-soaked body.  He was the last one to make it to the Hercules, when Sevarin’s precise reorganization of bodies had been completed.  Felly looked like he might arrest on the tarmac.  The Commander knew even one more thing would cause him to spend precious time, as much as 45 minutes to figure out a way to fit Felly.   The fastest way was to remove two existing passengers, which he couldn’t stomach.  

Yale descended the rear-ramp and stopped the heaving, sobbing mess of a man.  

Having to yell his message made it physically painful to doom the fellow.

“I’m at max capacity! You don’t have a choice, I don’t! Others will come.  I’ll radio for rescue!”

Felly looked behind him at the hangers and abandoned buildings.  Even the dogs had gotten on board the other planes that were or had taken-flight.  This whole base would soon be a target, like other Allied bases in the region.  

Felly grabbed his ankles sobbing, with half-naked, mostly young folks laying, leaning, stacked, hyperventilating and not talking on board behind Sevarin, who was six-foot-two compared to Felly’s panting, slobbering oven-mit of a body.  

“I’m sorry, sir. Wait for rescue, we have to leave as is!”  

Felly screamed some of his last words. Sevarin gave him that.

“Just give my wife a message:  tell my wife that our son’s only job in his life will be to kill you.”

Felly then rolled down the end of the ramp and away, the exit-ramp lifted and no one had to be thrown into the ocean on the way home.

A decade later, the moon’s Dark Side compound was completed, the other two domes-MoonLife itself- would reside. All twelve American Flags and the four Japanese remained where astronauts originally planted them, the domes were built on either side as a memorial. The flags of China, Russia, and India were retired without publicity.  Life on earth was hot enough.

It took five years to ready the moon for it’s first residents once the Dark Side dome was completed.  A fine first run, implementing the solution to construction materials:  moondust and cyanobacteria.   By combining the baccili with moondust and some water and gelatin, the bacteria is activated.  Going into a feeding frenzy and replicating it bonds to the minerals and keeps going until it hits the walls of whatever mold you put it in.  When it has nowhere to go, the composite stops growing and dies; hardening into a green-tinted concrete or a clear media that would become the dome.  To NASA and the newly founded International Space Federation, the green-tint disappeared two-months before the first citizens arrived via the space elevators stationed around allied nations, and from the International Space Station, they would take another space elevator to the moon.  

Once arriving, there was no major physical acclimation because of the atmospheric and habitability management.  Earthlings would arrive on the moon in less than a week and disembark to find themselves in a Disneyland-like Utopia organized around a simulated beach, a town green with a faux wooden gazebo, moving sidewalks, trams encircled each dome with air-locked stops named after peace-loving leaders.  Hydroponic gardens, simulated parks with actual seeded trees from earth, a public pool, recreation center and a mix of three story apartments, efficiency pods and more stately single-family homes in each of the two domes.  The colony was called Saturn-1.  

On Ganymede, now only a three-year flight due to Japan’s innovation in comburent recycled propulsion, as it was named.   Having reformulated the cyanobacteria concept for Ganymede’s composition, the first and much larger Ganymede dome was finished a mere fifteen years after the Dark Side dome became actively inhabited by engineers and their families. Saturn 2 Colony was a bigger and better Disneyland.  It had to be, because the planet we knew was rapidly becoming a large scale Pripyat amusement park.  

Among the hundreds of specialists who created these worlds, was Pilot Commander Yale Sevarin. He had the ability to make a quick-lunch out of AI simulations.  How could a computer value the agony of reminiscing about the smell of warm, freshly plucked strawberries or processing the agony of Felly’s fate?  He was among the first to arrive on Saturn 1.  Because of his mental steel, he was consulted as to who could not come to the moon or salvation on Ganymede.  The incredibly ill or infirm, the mentally-ill, murderers, rapists, pedophiles, finally all livestock and pets (although DNA from all species of living things not human as possible were amply collected).  It wasn’t a moral judgement.  There was simply no way to accommodate their special needs and potential disastrous impact.  There were no police or prisons off-earth.  Hopefully forever.

When Yale turned 63, he was offered retirement.  The world sighed as the first outpost of hope was now a functioning community and the first dome on Ganymede was ready for the residents that had made MoonLife home and homey.   It was not his plan to go there.

He was exhausted from digesting problems that involved casualties, human traits, and payloads. The Federation didn’t ask him to continue in his role as the flights to build Saturn 2.  They could see he was fully shell-shocked.  Sevarin’s ears rang with the vibrations of every machine on the moon, even when no one else claimed to hear it.  Living inside a dome was depressing enough for a pilot.

Being confined for so many years and immersed in unpleasant noises, and daily doses of ‘live or die’, MoonLife outdoors was his reward.  No one but he could sleep in the parks, by the beach or treat the town green’s gazebo as his mailing address.  

His homeless apparition was popular on MoonLife, much like the first children born on Saturn 1 (Heidi and Kevin were blogged and vlogged about endlessly in the effort to promote normalcy on the moon.  They were more popular than any Royal Baby on earth.)  Commander Sevarin was a war hero; he’d been given a commendation by the President, his arrangement of the survivors on the plane generated movies, news stories and tall tales alike.  

Such was his fame that Administrators at The Control Tower installed a sealed box for fans to drop donations, love letters, banana powder, offers to live in their homes and requests for interviews.  His rejection of these offerings and his refusal to be that guy anymore made further appealing.  Yale hoped to live long enough to see something like woods here so he could live in a tent and enjoy the simulated weather as if he were still in Connecticut, before he joined the Air Force and was enlisted by NASA.  

It was PTSD, but everyone had post-traumatic-stress-disorder in a Post Cairo world with endless angst over the Pre Cairo world.  The Federation officials had no problem granting him some freedoms given how he earned his place.  Saturn 1 was his oyster and he kept his security-clearance in exchange for attending regular status quorums at The Federation Control Tower.  For a few hours a month he got to sleep on the simulated beach.  

Besides, there were no insane people on the moon.  He was just special.

Eyes closed, warmish air, the itch of silica in his thinning hair.  He looked up at the rise of the Dome, able to see real stars and a crescent Earth, not man-made clouded blue skies.  The wave machine generated slow, slurping, laps against the bottom of his bare feet.  So glad he insisted on the addition of layered audio enhancement.  It created the illusion of a vast ocean like The Atlantic or Pacific-which would surely dwarfed by the thawing waterways on Saturn 2. Yale could imagine visiting that; but he wouldn’t want to live there.

Sevarin opened his eyes feeling sociable, deciding to visit his donation box at the gazebo.  Deep sleep happened.  So often he lacked adequate recharge because the terrified quaking Felly would stare him down from inside, or the nightmare where the space elevator would stop forever with him in it.  

He opened the donation box, its treasures tumbling through his hands like spigot-water.  Food, fan mail, art- red letter?  He opened it gamely.  

In the middle of the paper was written in generic block letters:

‘GANYMEDE IS AN EXPENSIVE ACT OF FUTILITY FOR YOU.”

Sunday wrecked by paranoid flashes, in this case, warranted.  Now he knew he was not the only lunatic on Saturn 1.

He was loathe to report the disturbing note, as it surely would trigger a psych house-call. In this case, gazebo-call.   Ever since he abandoned his place on the fancier array of homes laid before the town green, the psychological component of the MoonLife team had ordered regular visits.  PTSD was a known factor in violence, anti-government ideology, addiction problems, etc.  

Yale didn’t aid his cause by growing his beard and hair and often going barefoot always sporting rumpled and mismatched clothing. No, they might take away his freedom to stay outdoors.  

Sevarin was out of retirement with his new role:  Secret Police.    

His first day was spent at Tower Control, where Yale was known to appear with coffee for his former colleagues then work the terminals, reviewing data. Occasionally he’d find something they’d missed.  The red letter’s author had to be caught on video.  CCTV footage would end the mystery.   He found instead a three-hour loop of nothing happening at the gazebo repeated the entire night.  Clearly, only someone in the Tower had access to that kind of alteration.

All but one-person was busy preparing for the first Saturn 2 transport in two weeks.  The trend continued as he returned to the Gazebo. On a berm intended to be a gathering place for Saturn 1, claimed a generous view left to right of the finest homes-part of the Tower Control High Priority perks.  He went directly to his donation box.  A basket of potatoes and another red letter.  He looked at the outside this time:

 “TO:  COMMANDER YALE SEVARIN”.   No ‘from’. The message inside:

“YOU WILL KNOW ME SOON ENOUGH”.

 He wished he could burn-it and piss on it.  He jammed it in a pocket in his wrinkled, not so clean trousers.  This, like the potatoes would find a home in the air-lock by the Dark Side Dome later.

Liri Wilson’s morning was routine enough.  Aneeka, her live-in au-pair and housekeeper made coffee.  NASA had created a space-substitute and a prelim bean but it lacked earth-warmed inspiration.  It was the only imported earth product aside from rare quantities of aged booze.

Her class of residence had three-stories and walls that reached the top of the dome.  Just a foot of bacilli plexi between her swanky party and certain death.  

The automatic blinds which retracted almost unnoticed on a schedule, featured a large dark splotch of a shadow amidst the horizontal ones created by the slats.  

When Aneeka appeared with three-year-old Jeson in her arms and rubbing his eyes; Liri enjoined her.

“What do you think that is?”  Aneeka was only twenty-two, having been born to some of the original workers in the Dark Side Dome.  First she looked at the shadow Missus was pointing at, then up at the dome’s ceiling.

“Maybe a shirt? A moon rock?”  

“How’d I miss that? How did maintenance miss that!?”

“Show Mister?” Aneeka added.

“Right I will. Anyhoo, let’s get that boy fed, we’ll go to the beach maybe?”  With the kiss from a baby she moved on.  Yale hadn’t noticed the peculiarity, too busy spying on Milo leaving that morning.

Nothing unusual. Milo heads Environment and Habitability. Down the line, a non-descript parade of civil servants looking bored being on the moon.  He had to assume the red-letter writer knew to lay-low.  Once a soldier and pilot; being homeless means anywhere is your home and you don’t really register with people.

Yale sat on the floor of the gazebo, eating a cake left in the box.  No further red letters.  As light dimmed, he sucked down substitute chocolate milk.  

Twenty minutes later he observed the Wilson House alight with a party-full of his targets.

The blinds were up because it was virtual night.  All of the familiar bosses glided down the moving sidewalk and hopped off at the front door.  It was a normal party until Milo activated the opalescent privacy screen in his living room.  The only way to ensure no eavesdropping, filming, recording of any kind. Nicknamed the “Cone of Silence” after a television antiquity from earth.   Interesting.  Who were the high rollers playing blackout with?  Suddenly, Liri reappeared with empty glasses, fixing to refill them in the kitchen.  She saw the “Cone of Silence” Paused then quickly but delicately grabbed the comm handset on the kitchen wall and listened.  You couldn’t block a hard wired comm, but they had no reason to worry about a wife.  

She appeared spooked and spastically replaced the handset, scurrying out of site with her fresh cocktails.

When the party concluded, Yale perked-up.  Spilling out of the front door, all said ta-rah, nite-nite, etc., recoupled and let the sidewalk coast them home-except for a Science Officer, Rami Mandoon-he waved his wife ahead. His head scanned ceiling to house and back.  

The Lewis house lowered its blinds and Yale dragged his finger from Rami’s head to the vantage point which held Mandoon’s focus: the ceiling of the dome. A dark patch that looked like a misshapen flower broke-up the illusion of stars in the simulated night sky.  

The next morning, Milo called after having made an early silent exit; skipping breakfast with the baby.  

“Liri:  listen to me.  Don’t interrupt.  Call Akeena’s parents and have them meet you at the platform for Shuttle 2.   Be there before three p.m. You cannot be late. You must not take a later shuttle to the elevator.  This is serious.  I cannot tell you why and I have to get off comm now.  Are you clear?  Say NOTHING to anyone. Tell me you heard me.”

“Darling there’s a sort of greenish ice on the celing…”

“Shuttle 2, three p.m. I love you.”  Comm broken.

She tried connecting over and over but his comm was shut-down.  

As this conversation ended, Yale was in Tower Control, reviewing system status for everything from environment, to transport.   He’d seen the ice.  Fight or flight would be the administrative response to something that clearly would have appeared in A.I. data if nothing else.  He’d seen no technicians milling around Wilson’s home or anywhere out of the norm.

It failed to show anything but the routine.  He would be panicked if he had a wife and child, like Milo does.  He focused on him as he delivered coffees and scratched his beard exaggerating his loopy retired boredom.  Lewis’s cup remained untouched on his office desk.  

It occurred to him, that the Dark Side dome might yield data.  Integrity loss could be overlooked because it was hidden from view, it’s the oldest structure on MoonLife.  It took fewer than ten minutes to see no one was living there, maintenance was offline.  True, the technicians had largely left for Saturn 2.  They’d left last year, to make schedule on construction with the planned evacuation happening and needing to be ready for inhabitants in six years when they would arrive.  But no one left?

As furiously as he could, Yale requisitioned an engineering drone, taking it offline first and cloaking it.  They were the longest 25 minutes of his life.  He hummed to look casual and laughed at nothing to avoid the appearance of actually doing something very important.

He turned the cameras on.  Even with night-vision employed it was shockingly obvious that the dome was not smooth, clear plexi anymore, but a lumpy curved rock.  The synechococcus bacillus hadn’t died once the forms were filled, but they had merely gone dormant.  The air-lock between Dome 2 and this first one, was not only shut down but devoured by what reminded him of sparkling, dripping candle wax, blobbing over each new layer.  This had not happened in the year since the construction teams had left for Saturn 2. This was why the first import of fresh Terra people was hard scheduled in two weeks.  Sevarin tingled recalling The Federation treating his retirement three years previous as an honor for his life’s dedication to humanity.  He thought himself a special case and was desperate to stop worrying about other people’s lives so he embraced what he now saw as a con.   How could the bacilli remain dormant when we had artificial rain, a beach, pools and lakes? They only needed water and without the gelatin engineered, the reincarnated bacteria would grow into a concrete, splitting the protective domes.  

Death to all here with certainty.  

Yale then disguised a system query as a signal and repeat ping but what he really was doing was retrieving Milo’s comm activity, starting with this morning.  

CLASSIFIED:

DATE:                        06/14/52

MEMO FROM ISF COMMAND, EARTH, KSC-0917 a.m.

SUBJECT: ML/SAT. 1 /M.LEWIS COMM-ALERT (RED/1A)

Capt.M.Lewis of IFS Team on Saturn 1/MoonLife comm’d spouse at 08:41.  Alerted her to board Shuttle 2, destination Space Elevator Station at 1500 p.m.  Capt. Lewis immediately closed comm after aforementioned conversation with spouse. Unreachable directly.  Appears to have removed internal GPS tracking.  No change in Operation VACATION.  Tracking Capt.Lewis on CCTV.  Will update as needed.  Referring to Capt.Lewis as Fox1, his spouse as Fox2 going forward.  Fox2 is currently at Tower Control activating Operation VACATION as previously commanded.

Additional: Comm.Pilot, (ret) Savarin (now referred to as LOGO1) is unscheduled but also inside Tower Control.  Alert Watch ACTIVE. Subject is known to visit Tower Control since retirement, documented loss of faculties, living outdoors since retirement of commission.  Likely a social visit.  Internal GPS tracking active.  Updates to follow.

CLASSIFIED:

DATE:                        06/14/52

MEMO FROM ISF COMMAND, EARTH, KSC-1545 p.m.

SUBJECT:  FOX2, STATUS UPDATE

CCTV tracks FOX2, in the company of Jeson Lewis (age 3) and Aneeka, Bindi and Daku Smithson (DOMESTICS employed by FOX1) to Shuttle 2.

FOX2 appears to be alerted by Shirley Mews (Spouse of Director Alton Mews, 2nd In Command, Saturn 1) who is safely on Shuttle 3, departing at 1500 p.m.  FOX2 leaves platform for Shuttle 2 and breaches safety fence to communicate with Mrs. Mews, who expresses visible panic and gestures indicate she has invited FOX2 on board.  At this point FOX2 climbs between cars, boarding Shuttle 3.

Simultaneous to this incident, The Smithson Family and Jeson Lewis choose to board Shuttle 2 when it arrives.  Akeena Smithson is seen and heard to be screaming for FOX2, who cannot hear her from inside of Shuttle 3.   Presumably informed by FOX2, who was directed by FOX1; the Smithsons and minor Jeson board and the doors close on all departing shuttles.  

Some alarm appears to spread among those who are waiting for Shuttles 1, 4, 5 and 6, operating normally with local stops between Main Shuttle Station and Space Elevator Docking.  

Subjects directed to Shuttle 2 all appear to have boarded as directed securely on 06/13/52. No evidence of a security breach on their parts.  Included on Shuttle 2 are all executives and technical staff who were needed to implement OperationVACATION, but who are deemed as non-essential for activities on Saturn 2; and who’s presence on Saturn 2 may be disruptive upon completion of Operation VACATION.  

At 1509 p.m. FOX1 and Comm.Pilot Sevarin (ret.) arrive at Shuttle Platform 2 after being visualized on CCTV running from Control Tower at full speed.

FOX1 is observed collapsing, possibly crying. Vocal enough to draw the attention of residents arriving at Shuttle Station for local rides.  ISF COMMAND has grave concern about FOX1 and Comm.Pilot Sevarin alerting Saturn 1 remaining population.  

FOX1 is observed likely ingestion of cyanide capsule behind commission pin on uniform, made standard from the start of Operation MoonLand.  Appearing to have a seizure while still sitting on the ground, then fall to his right side and cease moving.  

Unaware residents attempt to call for help at Tower Control, which will result in no answer as the TC is empty on relevant Floors/Offices Three and Two.  

KSC has initiated 3 day simulated rainstorm ahead of schedule immediately to force residents indoors.  

The tactic appears to work everywhere except for The Shuttle Station, where residents are hovering around a deceased FOX1.  

CCTV also observes Comm.Pilot (ret.) Sevarin searching FOX1’s clothing and person.

Highlighted at minute-mark is a section of video running 19.2 seconds, attached with full CCTV report on the incident for review.  

Comm.Pilot Sevarin (ret.) retrieves a red piece of paper, unfolds it, reads it, then walks to CCTV Unit #986S1.  Subject climbs on a nearby bench and holds one side of the paper to unit’s lens. It reads (confirmed) in FOX1’s handwriting:

“TO:  COMMANDER PILOT YALE SEVARIN, ‘HERO’

FROM:  LOUIS FELLY, SON OF CAPTAIN FELLY, MURDERED.”

After holding this side of the paper to CCTV Unit #986S1 for approximately .09 seconds, flips the red paper over to reveal a second message, which Sevarin holds up to the same CCTV unit’s lens for remaining 10.07 seconds.  It reads (same handwriting):

“MY ONLY JOB IN THIS LIFE WAS TO KILL YOU.

I TOLD THEM YOU WOULD TRY TO STOP THEM.”

At 1539 p.m., the aforementioned red note disappears from view of CCTV Unit #986S1.

Updates to follow.

 Sevarin felt badly for Milo, even though he’d hatched a successful plan to follow him all the way from his childhood to the moon to finish his father’s business.  Certainly Milo didn’t plan on suicide but he’d missed his ride to Saturn 2.  

For the first time since he arrived at MoonLand, Sevarin felt alone because this was the first time his story was important.  If he told it, the people left behind under the cannibalistic Domes would react to their imminent demise with the same panic seen on The Titanic.   But all of the lifeboats were gone, our leadership having taken just two that appeared to be important, to a dirty escape.  Milo was right, I would’ve hampered the IFS and NASA; looking for a solution and trying to engage the hive up until the last minute.   They decided to save themselves.  

Sevarin walked down the still moving sidewalk to his gazebo to shelter from the pounding, but thankfully warm simulated summer rain.  Looking up at the simulated overcast daytime sky, hoping they’d let the program go and grant him sunset over his beloved beach.  He’d find an umbrella by then.  

Yale wanted to live. That’s human.  But this journey from Al Udeid to the moon had cracked him and soon the microbes would fill the void.  He grew bored and shuffled to Milo and Liri’s home, having removed his security key from his body.  The plan was to watch some movies and figure out what was going to happen when the rain stopped.  It really didn’t matter if it did.  But on route to his destination, he noticed in the windows of lesser residents, in ground floor apartments, and in storefronts laying inert on the floors of their sealed homes.  Some were still besotted with rain, having done exactly what it was meant to do. Made sense.  You can’t panic and alert family and friends on Earth if you’re dead.  

He wasn’t sure it was safe indoors at this point.  Thankfully the people who pitied him left some lovely food in his box, and he’d held onto a book they’d left there. He also had a comm device but it was predictably offline so he couldn’t find entertainment that way.  

The next day, he awoke on the gazebo which was showing signs of reproducing and becoming uncomfortable.  As were the sidewalks, which were now jammed up by the calcification gone wild.  He heard a sonic boom and looked up to see see what was probably one of the Shuttles feathering down in small luminescent shreds.  Two left for Ganymede and one, in a sense had come back.  

Yale spend a fair bit of time wondering what the plan on earth was.  We’d been telling the public for nearly thirty years “Stay here and die, come to Saturn 2 and live!”  Now there was no safe place to move the population in groups.  They might get a lot of people to the Space Station by elevator if they hurry, and we all know who those folks would be. And those left behind still had guns and bombs and trucks; once the infantry men and women realized they were being left to die, they might not protect those elevators very long.  

CLASSIFIED:

DATE:                        06/15/52

MEMO FROM ISF SPACE STATION-1800 p.m.

SUBJECT:  STATUS OF SATURN 2 TRANSPORT.

AUTHOR:  GENERAL MICHAEL THREFALL, ISF

This is to confirm SIMULTANEOUS ENGAGEMENTS OF TARGET, AKA, SHUTTLE 2.

NOTHING INTACT, SOME DEBRIS FALLING TO LUNAR ATMOSPHERE. NO WITNESSES PRESUMED ON MOONLIFE /JUPITER 1 BASE.  

SUCCESSFUL RECEPTION OF SHUTTLE 3; REQUEST INSTRUCTION AS TO HANDLING OF UNEXPECTED PX. (FOX2, SPOUSE OF FOX1, PRESUMED DECEASED BASED ON CLASSIFIED REPORT DATED 06/14/52).  

FOX2 EXTREMELY DISTRAUGHT AS HER CHILD WAS ON SHUTTLE 2.  

MEDICAL EXAMINATION PROVIDES INSIGHT THAT FOX2 IS HEALTHY AND PREGNANT, FIRST TRIMESTER.  

WISH TO CONFIRM EXISTENCE OF PILOT COMMANDER YALE SEVARIN IF POSS.

UPDATES TO FOLLOW.

 Being last man on pseudo-earth meant he was free to commit breaking and entering; in the hopes that whatever they pumped in the domiciles to kill potential chaos had dissipated.  

“EUREKA!” celebrated Yale, adorning a facemask made of his shirt.  Smashing the living windows at 12 Adams Street, where Milo lived. Gas and air hissed out.   He returned a few hours later, just as the scheduled rain program finally ended.   Hoping to have a luxe sleep before he drowned himself at the beach, he raided the Wilson’s pantry, closets and screening room.  

Mid-film he realized that Milo wasn’t included in the escape plan.  He’d serve a purpose, providing he got on Shuttle 2, since that’s the one he told Liri to board and the one that probably got blown-out of the sky.   When those on earth demanded to know why people on Ganymede weren’t answering hails?    The IFS on Saturn 2 would have a name.  God rest all of your souls, there is nothing more that we can do because of the incompetence and sedition of a man in disguise, Captain Lewis Felly Jr.   Yes, the son of that guy.  

It made Sevarin laugh as he stepped further into the fake surf than he ever had.  The wave machine had stopped generating but the audio enhancement thankfully was inconsequential to shutting down and killing everyone on MoonLife.   It made him laugh to think of poor, pathetic Felly.  

[stannamarsh]

Souvenirs From Hell

Souvenirs From Hell, by H.R Martin, (AKA YokoKoko on Tumblr, though this is the best edit.) I worked all day on this and forgot to eat. ----------------------------------------- Maya Angelou once commented that, "There's no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you." A certain person who will be mentioned later gave the opposite advice. Don't tell stories. Stories make one accountable. . Anyway, this story is unapologetic and it is all mine. What I learned recently has to do with the difference between life as a messed up 24 or 25 year old and one as a messed up 29 year old, aka me. It starts with knowing what you want and planning how to get it. Knowing that your fuck-ups are your responsibility. Knowing you're a mentally ill bitch who says harsh things, making the granary of truth in your words harder to hear. It's frustrating that you were attempting to communicate but somehow you got it all wrong. It's wanting desperately to be more thoughtful, helpful, intelligent, necessary and kind with your words. It's striving for the best in every action I choose to take. I want to be a decent human being. Due to my flaws, it's a struggle. Knowing isn't the issue. Doing right is the challenge. As for the five years growth between 24 and 29 I never believed it was that big of a difference until I lived it. That gap, in my experience is filled with codependency and attempts to train or fix someone. This is how we drive ourselves crazy. It's their journey. Not letting others walk their own journey or not being left alone to walk it is 90% of our therapists' jobs. We should work on ourselves. Because many, if not most partners that we try to prod and improve, and love into what we need them to be are stubborn idiots, and frankly so are we, for attempting to do this. I don't want to waste my fucking energy trying to train them to man/woman/non-binary up and be friggin grownups. Not my circus, not my monkeys, and most certainly, not my cage. Now that the intro is finished, the goals. I want: 1) A home that is mine. Not living in a hippie garbage can or benign drug house, albeit one with a chill vibe, in a nice neighborhood full of little-free-libraries, with nice people who are doing their best so you can't really blame them. But goddammit, I want different. It scared me that this was becoming my life. Is this my scene? What about my goals? I got negative and bitchy, and eventually exploded despite your stellar hospitality. I'm trying to work on these things at my own place, but humans are influenced by their friends. I need to distance myself until my living space at Hawk's Ridge is up to my standards, I need to work on that. Yours can be whatever you want it to be. And the hypothetical me with my shit together would give zero fucks about that, once I'm confident that I have my own standards in place. Otherwise, I get very anxious. 2) A solid community of friends and family who are "going places" in life, to the best of their individual ability (which does not mean under the constant influence of recreational yet legal prescriptions.) I'm not judging, given my penchant for these, and the fact that I'm starting NA tonight. Legal drugs that become a grey area between therapeutic and recreational are fun, but they won't help you achieve you goals. Anxiolytics are for anxiety, or the dentist. Vicodin is for pain and don't mix either with copious amounts of alcohol. That's why you spend too much time throwing up instead of doing fun things, like a cancer patient with much nicer hair. Also, drink water if you want to keep up with Mexicans, working in the hot sun without getting heat exhaustion. Common sense, people. I'm not saying your pain isn't real but some of it is your doing, just like some of mine is my doing. We have to hold ourselves accountable, better ourselves, drink and smoke weed socially and responsibly on VACATION (not stupidly or ever before getting behind the wheel.) Get with the program. People with more obstacles than solid doctors, helpful family, and a paid-off home do it every day. This was what I was keeping to myself until I said it in the wrong way while crying in your bathtub, "communicating" why I was harshing your buzz with my negativity. At the time, I had had a Klonopin, a Xanax, a Vicodin, another Xanax, another Xanax, and alcohol. I'm not a puker. I'm a cathartic, brutally honest crier, which is as bad a vomit in its own way. It smells better but takes longer to clean up. I'm sorry I hurt that sweet boy's feelings through the wall and seemed ungrateful for your hospitality. It's my fault for taking all those drugs, but I wasn't comfortable, something was wrong, I couldn't put my finger on it, and I repressed it with anything available to keep from being rude. It didn't work. There was truth in what I said, but the way I put it was mean, and unnecessary. Holding stuff in is bad for me. You said communicate. I said what I said and if I hadn't said it then, I would have done so eventually. Yes, I am grateful to people who open their homes to me, go on adventures with me, share their possessions with me. Catharsis can be cruel. I can't hang around you when I have 99 problems to solve already. Whether you would even want that is a mystery to me. I'll be busy but I still care. Though, I expect at this point, it's tl;dr for the both of you. That's another thing. Friends are people for whom tl;dr does not exist, unless they've had a stroke or something. 3) If there is a love mate out there for me, a soulmate if such a thing exists, I want to encounter this person on my adventures. I don't chase or look, because it depresses me and reduces love "such that it is" to consumption, or a meal ticket, a housing situation, a drug connection, a business deal, or a codependent puddle of mutual enabling. It's worse than any drug, save needles, meth, or crack, and all too often often, "love" drives otherwise healthy people down that road. 4. I want to go to Boulder, CO, my own personal Mecca. My condolences that police and a drugged hippie were mutually stupid and it resulted in tragedy. I mean the guy was strung out running naked in public. The worst child murder/ rape in recent memory went down there too, but people move on and this is where I want to live. This is my goal and I'm strong enough to not let news reports stop me from achieving what I want. 5. I want my MLIS and I will get it in December. When I get my debt and income under control, I want to participate in a BA to MD/PH.D program because once I'm stable, and clean, I know I can buckle down, tear through that MCAT and make it happen. See, when I was messed up, I at least knew enough not to hurt myself or spend the next day vomiting. Let's turn this sad, low-rent talent of mine into something that can help people. Want to be: medical librarian, doctor, medical PH.D (You heard me: MUD/FUDD), writer,Gonzo blogger, adventurer, world traveler, and at times, gainfully unemployed. These will all happen if I go to my meetings and follow Dr. Robert's advice: Get clean, hang out only with stable people who are tackling their goals, and achieve my scholarly potential, which truth be told, is at least a Masters' and an M.D/Ph.D. Not to brag, but that potential is somewhere between Lisa Simpson and Malcolm in the MIddle. (Meaning I'm probably a crazy genius, and if I'm retarded, John is a vegetable, organic I hope, so as compost he can me useful.) People say all the time that you're too old to start over. If someone can't do it they want to tell you that you can't either. Age is just a number. And truth be told, I'd rather die learning than being stuck in mediocrity. 6. I want happiness, stability, freedom from drama. attachment issues, an end to envy that a friend or acquaintance has someone, no matter how messed up the situation. I want independence, to control my compulsive, self destructive need to help others when there's shit I have to do for myself, just to prove my worth and keep them from leaving me. I end up burnt out and I become unnecessarily honest at people. I need to trust my vibes. If a situation feels icky or grasping or just plan dirty, I'm out. It's been real. Thanks for having me. Time to go slay the other goals. 7. MONEY...ENOUGH money that I have everything I want and need,within reason and accounting for storage space: a home, a housekeeper, or at least some kind of professional organizer to help me with cleaning and beautifying my abode, which is not my forte. My wonderful parents Susan Coleman and Donald Jeff Martin are helping me follow my bliss. They are the absolute best parents. I can never do enough to properly thank them for giving me life, taking a great risk to do so, for my dad taking the time to give private preschool quality education to me as a toddler so now math and languages are easy, for my mom who taught me about feminism, and whether she knew it or not, supercharged my innate qualities of forthrightness, justice, and the desire to fight for what's right. Thanks for teaching me right from wrong,and taking care of me. I had an enriched life, despite our initial lack of money. That is a miracle. My parents (and my pets, and my goals) are, together MY EVERYTHING. Gratitude. Balance. Best Life. That's what I'm after. Money is the tool to reach goals, not the goal itself. 8. Lastly, I want adventure....safe, but not so safe that it isn't fun. Exploring the world, writing, experiencing, living. This alone will keep me from getting sucked into any sexist bullshit or dysfunctional "love" vortex. When I achieve THAT, the desire to hurt myself, check out, or die will be OVER forever. I know this instinctively. That's the GP. Hell. I might become a GP. But, I'd prefer something more Housean, such as Pathology or Internal Medicine, I am the queen of my castle. But, to paraphrase Marley, that castle is in my MIND. To paraphrase Thoreau, my castles in the sky are the shit. Now they and I need a proper FOUNDATION. None of this is meant to be a mean dig at Jexi. I call you this because I know you as a unit. Who are each of you individually?(Also, I don't think either of you are notorious enough to be figured out by that alone, so I'm attempting discretion.) This is just my perspective. My truth. Thank you's to: Gino Dykstra, Amy, the therapist, Doctor Robert Wesner, Dr Widitz, Dr. Don St. John, and Linda the P.C, and all the people from Partial Hospitalization and STEPPS. If I forget someone, add yourself. Oh, Lori Parrish Niemi, Christina Morris Penn-Goetsch, William Niemi, Jexi, for helping me gain this insight, and Keith E Gatling. Weirdly, I am also grateful for that squirrelly, two-faced bastard, John Trachsel, who made himself useful for the first time ever, by convincing me to abandon my impulsive suicide gesture. He didn't know who he was talking to so he treated me like a person/ possible lay for a while and pretended to care, right up until the point where he learned he had called me. I could hear him backtracking because he doesn't want people to know he talks to me. When I called him out on this, he called me crazy, "retarded", and finally admitted that he didnt want people to know he talked to me. He, in a his glory thinks he's too good to talk to me? I have his mugshot on my hard drive, named "ThereISAGod.jpg." This is bullshit because most people have no problem acting like a god-damn human toward me. Anyway, this is proof that even a shmuck-a- fuck like him may sometimes do good things by accident. Of course, if he'd caught on quicker, I think that he would have hung up immediately. If he, for one second believed that I, Hanna Martin. was distraught, suicidal, and in need of help, hell, that was his goal anyway, right? But screw you, I didn't kill myself. My point is that even though you badly need therapy and other help, you are not completely useless. There may still be inpatient help for you and I no longer wish you dead. Thanks to all who have helped. One day at a time.

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Londerland Bloodlines -- On The Stage

You know what? Reblogging Kitty Briars’s reaction to getting dragged out onto the stage in the Nocturne Theater (just trying to figure out what happened to what should have been a simple honeypot con) has inspired me to share another snippet of “Londerland Bloodlines” with you all! Namely, what it was like for Alice when she woke up on the Nocturne’s stage! Unlike Kitty, she wasn’t unstaked until LaCroix started talking (as per the canonical cutscene), so we start with one very confused Alice trying to figure out how the hell she’s not dead. . .

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Good evening."

Alice blinked as, suddenly, the world came back into being around her. Twice in one night – who knew I could make a habit of dying? she thought, shaking her head slightly in an effort to clear it. Or, more accurately, who knew I could make a habit of coming back from the dead. Didn't he–

"He did," Cheshire confirmed, pressing a paw against her chest. Alice glanced down to see a large bloody hole in her chest, right above her heart. "You seem oddly immune to being slain in such a manner now, however. Perhaps Mr. Fish has given you a set of his own unique gills?"

Fish! Alice jerked her head around, gritting her teeth. That bastard! He'd gotten stabbed too, hadn't he? Had their mysterious assailants dragged him as well to the – the –

Dreary Lane Theater?

Alice raised an eyebrow, examining her surroundings. The old hulls of ships creaked above her, barely visible in the starlight filtering down through a watery sky. Glowing seahorses clung to whatever splinters they could find, little sparkles of light against the dim. Beside her, the great red curtains were tied up, nibbled here and there by eyefish. Around her bound and kneeling form stretched the wide stage, populated by her redheaded captor, his blond friend, a similarly-trussed and bored-looking Mr. Fish (Alice couldn't stop a hiss escaping her), another blond fellow in a smarter-looking suit, and – ah. I – didn't realize they made people that big, Alice thought, looking up the humongous creature that stepped up beside her. He looks as if someone made a lion walk on two legs!

"I know the Lion, and that is not him," Hatter proclaimed, gazing suspiciously at the giant as it crossed the stage. "Though he's certainly a wild beast of some description."

"Never mind him – who is this interloper who has taken over my stage?!" Carpenter demanded, stalking up to the blond man in the good suit. "Do you have no shamosity, my good sir? Do you have no respect for the dramatical arts?!"

Obviously the man did not, continuing on with his speech while Carpenter blustered. "My fellow Kindred – my apologies for disrupting any business, or interfering with prior engagements you may have had this evening," he addressed his audience, looking through the fishy faces gaping up at him. "It is unfortunate that the affair that gathers us together tonight is a troubling one. We are here because the laws that bind our society – the laws that are the fabric of our existence – have been broken."

A fishwoman gasped, fanning herself rapidly with her fin. Beside her, a strange black man whispered in the ear of his Hispanic companion, who was regarding the stage with steely eyes. Alice scanned the crowd, curious. Most of its make was familiar – the usual couples who brought themselves to Carpenter's stage, content in the knowledge that his and Walrus's more murderous impulses had been curbed with the destruction of the Infernal Train. But speckled throughout, breathing the water like the cleanest air, were humans – or, at least, Alice assumed they were humans. They looked the part – a prim blonde businesswoman sitting with legs crossed in the front row, a lingerie-clad lady blowing a scarlet kiss to a bald black man in the balcony, a rough-looking biker type smoking a cigar by the door. But at the same time, there was something – off about them. Something – other. Something – Queenly?

"I am the only monarch here," the Queen of Hearts growled, a tentacle curling over her shoulder. "What lurks in them is far more – bestial. The Jabberwock to my crown, perhaps."

Lovely, just what I need – more people capable of setting me on fire from the air. Alice sighed, and winced as she heard the air whoosh through the hole in her chest. The hole that, by all rights, should have killed her. If it was even truly there, of course. Damn it, I wish I had a better handle on what was real and what wasn't right now. . .

"As prince, I am within my rights to grant or deny the Kindred of this city the privilege of siring," the smart-suited man went on, oblivious to the fact that he was baffling Alice more with each word. "Many of you have come to me seeking permission, and I have endorsed some of these requests." The prince paced the stage, regarding each attendee in turn. "However – the accused that sits before you tonight was not refused permission." His voice darkened. "Indeed – my permission was never sought at all."

"Oh, come off it, LaCroix," Fish drawled out, rolling his eyes. His guard gave him a look, but said nothing. "As if anyone takes you and your 'rule' seriously. I did what I knew was right, so can we finish up here and go?"

LaCroix shot Fish a glare. "As you wish," he replied, before turning back to the audience. "As you can see, he was caught shortly after the Embrace of this childe." He clasped his hands before him. "It pains me to announce the sentence, as up to tonight, I considered the accused a loyal and upstanding member of our organization."

There were a few snorts from the human-shaped members of the audience, and even the fishly attendees looked rather dubious. "'Loyal and upstanding member?' I'd trust a dodo over him!" Hatter declared, his hat bouncing. "And I do! Regularly!"

Fish, meanwhile, didn't seem to notice, too busy preening. "Finally, someone recognizes that I'm just doing my best for our world. Now, can we get rid of these ropes, or–"

"But as some of you know," LaCroix continued a little louder, doing his best to ignore Fish, "the penalty for this transgression – is death." He spread his arms wide, encompassing the mass of not-quite-humanity before him. "Know that I am no more a judicator than I am a servant to the law that governs us all. Let tonight's proceedings serve as a reminder to our community that we must adhere to the code that binds our society, lest we endanger all of our blood." He knelt, cupping Fish's chin with his hand, the falsest pity Alice had ever seen in his eyes. "Forgive me."

"Oh, for – you just have to drag it out, don't you?" Fish said, letting out a huff. "All right, all right, I'm sorry. I should have asked for your precious permission first."

A smile tugged at LaCroix's lips, vicious and cold. "Too late, I'm afraid." He stood up again, nodding to his lion. "Let the penalty commence."

The lion nodded back, then reached behind him and unsheathed the absolute biggest sword Alice had ever seen. Fish blinked as he raised it above his head. "Wait," he blurted, the first note of panic creeping into his voice. "You're not really – you're – you can't – I – wait! Wait wait wa–"

Sching! A good foot of metal broadways sliced through Fish's neck like it was air. Fish's head fell to the stage, splattering blood everywhere (Alice's stomach – growled?) – then, abruptly, dissolved into a pile of orangey ash. The rest of him soon followed, leaving nothing behind but a dirty coat, hat, and glasses. Alice and the Wonderlanders gaped at the scene. What – did he – did that actually – happen?

"Alice – I sincerely wish I could tell you otherwise," Cheshire replied, ears flat against his head and back arched.

LaCroix nodded, satisfied in a job well done – then his gaze slid to Alice. Alice stared back. Was he – she didn't even know what was happening, how could he – "Which leads to the fate of the ill-begotten progeny," he said at last, turning back to the watchers.

"Sir! Sirrah! Have I told you that you shine most utmostomously on this stage?!" Carpenter cried, darting in front of LaCroix with a wide, terrified smile. "Why, we should have you on every night!"

"Without a sire, most childer are doomed to walk the earth never knowing their place, their responsibility, and – most importantly – the laws they must obey."

"All the tea you could ever drink!" Hatter shouted, leaping up and down and making his leg springs squeal. "Sugar! Milk! Everything! All provided if you just let us go!"

"They are potentially dangerous – and a definite liability. Therefore, I have decided–"

"You can't behead her! That's my royal right!" the Queen screamed, pounding a tentacle against the stage. "This is madness! This is treason! This is–"

"This is bullshit!"

All heads, including Alice's and LaCroix's, jerked to the source of the interruption. The Hispanic man from earlier had more or less exploded out of his seat, and looked ready to storm the stage. His friends – the black man from before, and a young redheaded woman in a beret sitting in front of him – leapt up to restrain him. Around them, the other human members of the audience stirred, whispering and muttering amongst themselves. "Oh, I'm glad we left Nemo at home," a fishwife said to her fish husband. "This is far too much excitement for his blood!"

I wish it was too much for mine, Alice thought, looking between LaCroix and his protester. The way they were glaring at each other – oh, there was history there. And she was right in the middle of it. Please, please. . .

The tension stretched itself thin – then snapped, as LaCroix seemed to come to a decision. "If Mr. Rodriguez would let me finish," he continued coldly, folding his arms. He glanced back at Alice, lip curled, then schooled his features into calm once more. "I have decided to let this Kindred – live."

The whispering grew louder, crackling with intrigue. Hatter and Carpenter fell on each other in relief, while Cheshire rubbed up against her. "Seems you are worth more to this LaCroix alive." He eyed the hole. "So to speak."

Seems I am. Alice thought about jazz music, and a brief, dim glimpse of a pub. I'm – not sure if I'm relieved or not.

"If we're relieved, you're relieved," the Queen lectured, settling back on her tentacles. "Simpleton."

Hey, I've had a bad night.

Her redheaded captor shot his blond friend a look of intense surprise. "Seriously?" he murmured. "Fish's childe?"

"I guess she technically hasn't done anything wrong," the blond admitted, squinting at Alice. "Still – that's practically bowing his head to the Anarchs. How's the Camarilla supposed to keep power if he's giving up so much ground?"

"I know, I know – but as Mr. Rodriguez would like us to be aware, a sireless childe need not be a drain on us all," LaCroix said, raising his voice above the rabble. "We will give our new member a chance to prove herself. She shall be instructed in the ways of our kind and granted the same rights." He shot Rodriguez a look. "Let no one say that I am not sympathetic to the plights and causes of this community."

Rodriguez looked very much like he wanted to say just that. He settled for a glare and a nod before turning and stalking toward the nearest exit, his two friends trailing behind. LaCroix huffed, then turned to his remaining audience. "I thank you all for attending these proceedings." He hit them all with a hairy eyeball. "And I hope their significance is not lost." He waved a hand. "Good evening."

Recognizing the entertainment of the night was over, everyone promptly got to feet or fins and started filing out. The lingerie-clad woman caught Alice's eye as she passed the stage and gave her a wave, mouthing "Good luck!" before continuing onward. "Making friends already – fortunate," Cheshire commented, tail swishing.

Not the word I'd use, Alice thought, tugging at her wrists. At least not in my current position.

[snizabelle]

Okay. So. 

I’ve been working on this fic about how Garrus’ parents first met and I’ve been poking away at it F O R E V E R and I’m REALLY trying to finally pull the trigger and finish it to the point where i can actually post it so I’m like....actively forcing myself to post a WIP. it’s still in super early stages so just...tell me what you think or don’t like oh my god just take it i don’t care anymore holy shit.

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"Freeze!"

He pointed his gun at the figure crouched by the ledge in the ruins, overlooking the sandy valley below. It was a usual sight, the ancient ruins were large, old, and crawling with bounty hunters, vagrants, and thieves.

The suspect remained still, as they hadn't been moving in the first place.

I told an unmoving person to 'freeze', he thought. Spirits, I am a fool.

He tried again. "Stay where you are!"

That's even worse. I wish I was dead.

It wasn't even his first day on the job. He had already spent 6 months on this crappy planet and dealt with his fair share of riffraff. Nolvion may have been a dwarf planet in the back end of the terminus systems but you wouldn't think it with the amount of scum it collected. The small security outpost he was a part of was the only thing driving it back, though the real objective was considered classified.

He tried to keep his hands from shaking as his thoughts continued to scream through his head. "Look just get up-no stay where you, uh, raise your- (aaaAAAAUUUGH!!)

After what seemed like an eternity the suspect stirred. They were wearing thick, but shoddy, ill-fitting armor, head obscured by a large standard-issue helmet.  Without turning, they raised a single finger, indicating whatever Castis was spouting could wait.

Wait....what?

"I - excuse me!! I am an OFFICER of Fort Audax! I DEMAND you turn around slowly with your hands in the air!!" he sputtered.

There was a brief pause. The suspect then stood a little straighter and sighed as if this whole thing was leaving them incredibly put out. Then they turned and-

There was a deafening sound and the floor flew up to meet Castis' head. He felt his jaw crack on the ground and tasted blood in his mouth. He could feel a bruise forming where the kick had landed on his mandible.

He scrambled to his feet, head pounding. The culprit stood there, seemingly baffled.

"Did you just ...!" Castis felt only anger now. "...assault me?!”

He heard a noise that sounded like an 'uh oh' noise muffled in the helmet.

Castis barred his teeth. You're goddamn right 'uh oh'. He may have been a terrible negotiator but he was pretty damn good at hand-to hand-combat.

Before the offender had a chance to do anything else, Castis had lunged forward and grabbed their wrist, twisting it, forcing their knees to buckle. Before they could react, he headbutted them on the bridge of their helmet, causing the cheap material to crack. As the assailant fell backward, Cas swept their right leg, hearing a distinct crack as they fell backwards, helmeted head thudding on the ground.

Panting, Castis steadied himself and surveyed the assailant. There was no movement. He walked carefully around the body and pushed their discarded rifle away with his foot.

"Vakarian! Come in Vakarian!"

A voice crackled onto the communicator on his omni-tool.

Cas answered the comm, still trying to catch his breath. "This is Vakarian."

"Status report."

"Sir,” he panted "Suspect attacked me, but I have rendered them unconscious. Sustained minor injuries. Suspect is unarmed and incapacitated."

There was a pause. The voice cracked again "Just shoot them."

Cas clenched his jaw. "I repeat: the suspect is unarmed and incapaci-"

"I heard what you said." There was a shuffling sound as though the person speaking was shifting, agitated. "Do it."

Cas swallowed hard, fingers clenching and unclenching. He chose his next words carefully. "Sir....It would be more...prudent... to bring in the suspect for questioning and proces-”

"DAMN YOU VAKARIAN!!" Cas jerked his head back so violently it smacked the stone wall lightly behind him, "DO WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS EVERY TIME?! DO WE HAVE TO SPEND HOURS WRITING PAPERWORK FOR EVERY TINY INFRACTION JUST SHOOT THE STUPID -"

He hung up without thinking. Damn. Gonna pay for that later.

He glanced over at the motionless figure.

Just shoot them.

***

Well, that didn't go well.

Marcella was in incredible pain. Hopefully, her leg wasn't broken but it certainly felt like it was. 

Damn it all. Usually, one kick to the face made rent-a-cops drop like drunk elcor. Should've sized this one up better. You're getting real sloppy.

The crackle of the cop’s comm echoed over to her.

"Just shoot them."

Spirits..... If I had known it was my last day alive I would've....would've...

She struggled to think of something meaningful one could do in their last hours while the comm screeched. There was abrupt silence and she heard the scraping of boots as the officer turned around.

Shit. Shit! Not like this!

More silence. From inside the helmet, she peeked open her eyes for a second to see what he was doing. He was leaning in close. Inspecting her? There was a hunting knife on her hip. Maybe if he leaned in close enough she could get him in the neck. It was her only shot. She felt her helmet jostle and snapped her eyes shut again. Hot air rushed her face as her helmet was removed.

Just play dead. Don't move...!

She heard a thunk as her helmet was tossed aside. Her hand was laying under her back by her left side. She could feel the shape of the knife pressing against the back of her thigh. He had straightened up again. Her fingers inched toward the knife, touching the hilt.

I could just go for it... maybe he'll be so surprised he won't react? Or I'll just get shot in the face. Well, I'm dead either way.

There was another loud crackle as his comm buzzed. and almost made her jerk.

"Female. No markings." She heard the cop say. "Taking into custody. Will report in 0500."

What...?

She relaxed her fingers, retreating from the hilt.

Interesting.

***

Faldos can flay me for all I care.

Castis holstered his gun and submitted his report verbally in his comm. "Female. No Markings-"

Do things right or not at all.

He walked over to his bag, still laying where he set it by an old pillar. He shuffled through it for a bit, though as usual, it was perfectly organized. He retrieved his handcuffs and turned.

The suspect already had one leg up on the ledge and was in the process of climbing over.

"Hey-! You- F-FREEZE!!" He drooped the cuffs, awkwardly grabbed for his holstered gun and pointed it at her back.

She froze accordingly. "Uggggh come ON!"

Slowly, she turned, hands begrudgingly in the air. Her eyes were a piercing blue. She had no clan markings but had a slight scarring on her left mandible. She blinked at him, seizing him up. He felt a strange pulling in his chest.

“Well?” she said expectantly. She sounded slightly amused.

"S...state your name!" He could feel his face grow hot in embarrassment.

She smirked and said nothing.

Castis blinked nervously but didn't relent. 'You are trespassing. You are not authorized to be here. Show me identification now or I will take you into custody."

She shrugged her shoulders, the universal sign of indifference.

'Are you aware you attacked an officer of Fort Audax?

"Well yeah,' She shrugged again. 'I figured the uniform wasn't for show.”

Castis felt himself burn, "Excuse me?!"

She smirked again, seemingly excited she was able to get under his skin.

He exploded, "GET ON THE GROUND NOW!!"

Her smile faded. 'Well,... I'll try." She visibly struggled to kneel on her left leg, glaring at him all the while.

Castis felt a brief bout of shame wash over him.

"Hey, uh...I'm sorry if I was too rough. it's okay I have medi-gel if you need it.”

She continued to glare "I’m fine."

She tried to lean on one leg and winced.

"No, you're not. You're hurt."

Castis stepped forward.

'Really? You kick my ass then offer to clean me up?" The suspect's eyes flashed. "Go ahead and give me two pops in the back of my head when i kneel down, make it quick okay?"

Castis slowly lowered his gun to the ground. He took a few more steps forward and raised his hands. "I promise I'm not gonna hurt you."

The perp raised her eyebrow plates but said nothing.

"Do you...would you mind if I...?" Cas took a few more cautious steps forward.

She paused for a second then extended her leg almost dramatically.

'By all means, admire your handiwork."

He shuffled close to her and knelt by her outstretched leg. Dispensing some medi-gel, he began to apply a numbing agent to her upper thigh. He was uncomfortably close.

Look forward, look forward look forward, don't be weird don't be weird -

"Enjoying yourself?"

His head snapped up to meet her gaze.

"NO!"

She was smirking again.

His face burned as he hastily rubbed the rest of the medi-gel on her thigh as quickly as possible. He staggered to his feet rubbing the excess off his hands.

"Alright, how does it feel now?"

The suspect leaned on her leg gently, then gave a few light stomps.

"Hrm, not bad." She took a few light steps toward him.

"Do you make a habit of sensually patching up every girl you brutalize?"

Castis felt his face burn even hotter. "Y-you..attacked me first!"

She shrugged, "Eh details...'

Details?!

"Either way, since you refuse to provide any form of identification - and you ATTACKED me,” Castis glared, “ - I'm going to have to take you in."

There was a long pause.

She sighed then extended her wrists.

Castis blinked. "Really?"

"It's only fair, you patched me up." She looked off in the distance as though not wishing to engage in the situation.

"Well....good!” Cas huffed a small sigh of relief, finally things are gonna stop being needlessly difficult.  He approached her warily.

"Now please extend your-"

She's already doing that you WORTHLESS-

"YEP just like that, uh, lemmie just-"

He lifted his notably empty hands.

Cuffs. YOU NEED CUFFS AAAAA-

"Just.....one...second." Cas mumbled awkwardly

The suspect blinked lazily at him, seemingly bored.

Castic did an awkward run by the pillar where the cuffs lay absentmindedly. He grabbed them and whirled around.

"Okay! Now let me just-"

She was gone.

"HEY!!"