#that penny outfit in the back is actually from concept art but i liked it soooo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamer213 · 3 years ago

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Broken Machines: Light The Dark

Chapter 19: Abstract Gala

There were only two weeks left be for the auction, but in that time, Penny learned a great deal. From different art types, concepts, and terminology, to more defensive and offensive techniques for combat elite mind games. Her dancing had even improved to the point she barely looked down anymore. By the day of the auction day, Penny was ready to take on her first solo trip into adult high society. As the Sunday of the auction finally comes, Penny heads to the Schnee manor much later than usual. She arrives and is immediately taken to a guest room to change. Though it’s only the third she’d been in this room and only the second time she’s been there for pre-event prepping, Penny feels much more natural and comfortable this time around. She immediately heads towards the bed and finds her clothes for the evening. The dress and shoes were sat neatly on the bed while the accessories, which included a small pale pink clutch purse, were in an enclosed box. Penny wastes no time putting her necessary items in the clutch, getting undressed, and putting on the ensemble. She puts on everything but the headband, speculating that Julia might have plans for it, taking it with her to the vanity instead. At the vanity, Penny puts the headband in her lap as she takes a seat in the chair, turns the chair towards the door, and waits for further assistance. As she waits, Penny starts to ponder about the evening ahead of her.

Penny: This will be my first time in a predominantly adult elite environment since the evening party. And given how that went, I’ll have to be much more vigilant and assertive this time. I should do a quick survey of the around for hostility or high negativity; then, I’ll converse with the more neutral elites. Though I might have to speak to more aggressive elites if the latter group doesn't provide any viable information within a sufficient time frame, maybe I should start with the aggressive to sort out those seeking conversation and those looking to torment someone. If I get into an altercation soon after arrival, I can use that moment to establish myself as friendly and nonthreatening but not defenseless immediately. But that could gain me unnecessary attention and reduce the time I’ll have to gather information if it’s prolonged. Maybe I can alternate between neutral and aggressive in intervals, but if so, then how often should I-

Penny’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door.

Julia: Penny? It’s Julia, are you decent?

Penny: Yes, I’m dressed.

Julia: Good, I’m coming in then.

Julia opens the door and walks in carrying her trust arsenal, a trunk full of beauty products. Julia smiles as she approaches Penny. Once she’s in front of her, Julia sets down the chest and opens it. She starts looking through it for her tools, speaking with Penny as she’s looking.

Julia: You look in that lovely, dear; the boho-chic style really suits you.

Penny: Thank you, I had a lot of fun getting it.

Julia: I know; Young Master seemed really happy when he returned that day. Did you two have a lot of fun shopping together?

Penny: Yes, he actually picked out several of the outfits, helped me pick out some of the others, and had lunch with me afterward!

Julia: How sweet, almost sounds like a date.

Penny blushes at Julia’s painful accurate assumption.

Penny: Not you too. It was not a date; it was a supply trip to get the clothes I needed for events.

Julia: Alright, if you say so.

Julia finally gathers all the necessary tools and places them neatly on the bed beside her, except for a small nail kit and her little work table. She keeps the nail kit and table in her hands as she stands back up and sets the table up in front of Penny. Once everything’s in order, Julia looks up at the petite redhead and lightly taps on the table.

Julia: Hands here, please.

Penny complies and puts her hands down on the table; Julia takes the right hand and inspects it carefully.

Julia: So clean, not even a tiny dot from the last coat. How long did my manicure last on you?

Penny looks down, avoiding her gaze as much as possible.

Penny: Five days.

Julia’s eyes go wide at the short time scale; her beautiful work that could last up to three weeks on a maid's hands had been destroyed in less than half that time on the hands of a teenage girl! What utter insanity could have happened that didn’t even leave a speck of polish in its wake! At the same time, Penny was also feeling a little melancholy. She finally had the pretty painted nails of her dreams, only for the paint to chip off bit by bit in a matter of days, with most of the reams being found in her gloves after she got home.

Julia: Only five days! How! What in God's name have you been doing with your hands?

Penny:…Arresting criminals and fighting Grimm.

Julia: Ah, right, I guess it can’t be helped then. Now let’s started.

With that, Julia picks up the primer and gets to work. Once the base layer is on and dries, it's time to add some color. She takes out two colors, Apple blossom pink and pearl white, and puts the white on the nail of each index finger and the pink on the rest. She lets them dry before taking out a bottle of gold polish and a detailing brush. Julia dips the brush into the gold the paints an ornate gold left on the white nails finishing the design. Once she’s done with that, she starts to put the nail tools away while Penny admires her new nails. It’s an effortless look, but it looks lovely and matches the tone of her outfit perfectly. As they’re waiting for Penny’s nails to fully dry, Julia looks down and notices that Penny’s wearing open-toed shoes; this stops in her tracks. Julia quickly takes the nail kit back out and grabs a pair of toe dividers. She drops down to her knees and starts reaching for Penny’s foot; Penny sees this and instinctively pulls her legs back before questioning the maid.

Penny: What are you doing?!

Julia doesn’t look up but answers her calmly.

Julia: I’m sorry, but it seemed that I’ve overlooked something.

Penny: Okay, what did you overlook?

Julia: I failed to notice that you’re wearing open-toed shoes and almost moved on without painting your toes nails.

Penny blinks, her face set in confusion as she tries to figure out what was so wrong with that.

Penny: It’s that important?

Julia: In the world of fashion, very much. A woman going out with a nice manicure in open-toed shoes with no pedicure is considered an absolute fashion sin. And in elite circles, the woman will use it as an opening to criticize; then, they’ll point out every physical imperfection they can think of until you cry.

Penny’s eyes widened at the absurdity of the chance at facing cruelty for such a minor thing.

Penny: Oh.

Julia: Indeed, so let’s remedy this situation first, then we’ll move on to your hair. Good? Great!

Without another word, Julia takes Penny's right foot and begins to inspect it, then the other. She’s surprised to find that her feet are just as pristine as her hands; she looks up at her in amazement.

Julia: Wow, who would’ve thought a soldier could have such pretty feet. You must take really good care of yourself.

Penny smiles and shrugs as she answers plainly.

Penny: I try to.

After that, Julia takes the divider and puts them between Penny’s toes. She takes the apple blossom polish and paints each nail. It doesn’t take long for her to finish; Julia puts away her nail tools as Penny gazes at her now pretty pink piggies. She wiggles her toes which Julia chastises before taking out her next set of tools, a spray bottle, a hairbrush, comb, ties, clips, pins, and the like. Julia tells Penny to turn around and gets started on her hair. After a bit of prep work, Julia takes a moment to think before deciding on a style; she then divides up two sections of hair right neat to curly portions of her bangs. She brushes together a bit, then swipes them to the right and secures them into a side ponytail with Penny’s signature curls at the end. From there, she gently braids the ponytail into a loose braid, then starts rolling it into a bun, pinning it in place as she goes. Once she’s done, the bun resembles a rose with the ends pined in such a way they like large framing petals. Julia then takes the headband from Penny, wraps it around the hair tie twice the, ties it into a butterfly bow.

Penny turns her head to look at the beautiful creation as Julia swaps out her last set of tools. She lightly touches the rose bun with the tips of her fingers, marveling at how something so simple as hair could be transformed into something so pretty and artistic. Julia notices and scolds her, pulling her hand away from her hair and wagging her finger in a “no no no” gesture. Once Penny’s hands are placed firmly on the vanity, Julia starts with the final step, makeup. Julia tells Penny to close her eyes, and once she does, Julia starts applying some tan, almost beige, eyeshadow to Penny’s eyelids as a base. Once the base is done, Julia adds some light bronze shadow across half of the lids and towards each tear duct. With the eyes done, next up is the lips. Julia asks Penny to pucker, then she takes a tube of fawn pink lipstick and applies it to her lips. With eyes and lips out of the way, it’s time for the finishing touch, some blush. Julia uses a light touch of blush the same color as Penny’s naturally rosy cheeks, making her cheeks more apparent and bright, and the look is done. Julia tells Penny to open her eyes, and once again, Penny is amazed at her transmission. This look was a bit more mature than the last two but still had a tent of innocent charm to match Penny’s own charm. As Julia starts to pack up, Penny gets up and grabs the clutch; she’s about to leave the room, but Julia stops her.

Julia: Wait, before you go, would you mind taking a picture first?

Penny: Okay, but why?

Julia: Oh, no reason, I just have a quirk of immortalizing my work. Especially when it’s on someone as cute as you.

Julia gives a cheeky wink which garners a laugh out of Penny, who, after hearing the reasoning, has pulled out her scroll. She opens the camera app, and Julia guides her into a pose, with her hand on her cheek and her head tilting gently to the size. Penny snaps a quick picture, thanks Julia for her hard work, and finally heads out of the guest room and starts making her way to the main entrance. Once she arrives at the main entrance, Penny is greeted by the sight of Whitley standing at the open front door, waiting for her. As she approaches, Whitley looks her over, taking in her refined appearance, and can’t help but gasp internally. The dress looked so cute on her as she fluttered around at the boutique, but now, with her hair and makeup styled to match, she looked genuinely gorgeous. Like a sweet flower unbothered by its surroundings and brightening up the room with its soft but colorful presence. It was a tranquil feeling, drinking in her beauty like this, but such feelings can become far too addictive if left unchecked. So, Whitley turns his gaze away from her form before anyone could notice his stare and pulls out a ticket from his pocket. He holds it out for Penny to take.

Whitley: Here.

Penny takes the ticket and looks it over; it’s covered art images of every medium with “ Speedwell’s Art Bestowal and Gal.” in big, bold black letters and “Hosted at The Grands Monet Art History Museum” in the smaller text directly underneath that. She looks up from it and back to Whitley.

Penny: My ticket for the auction?

Whitley: Yes, remember to show it to the doorman before you go in. Now, do you remember the schedule for tonight?

Penny: 8: 30 PM the doors are opened for guests, a cocktail hour will be held. 9:00 PM The auction hall doors are opened, all guests are invited to attend and bid on the pieces. 11:00 PM the auction closes, buyers and all other guests are welcomed to enjoy refreshments until 2:00 AM when the event finally concludes.

Whitley: Perfect. Now, the car will be back for you at 1 AM, so use your time wisely.

Penny: I will.

Whitley: Good, take care and remember no matter what they do or say, never show weakness.

Penny: I know, and I promise you…I wouldn't show any weakness to anyone.

Penny smiles at him as she spoke, but the smile isn’t quite the same as her usual, peppy smile. No, this one didn’t reach her eyes and held a sort of eerie tone to it. Whitley recognized that smile immediately; it was one of the defense tricks he taught her, the knowing smile. It’s meant to act as a passive-aggressive display of contempt and is mainly used when insulted or mocked. It conveyed a message, and that message was, “I know what you're trying to do, and it's pathetic that you think it would bother me in the slightest.” Whitley smirks, proud that she had taken to his teachings well enough to use them so effortlessly, and opens the door for her. He holds the door open with one arm and gestures towards the waiting car and driver with the other as she walks past. Penny walks down the stairs and towards the car; the driver opens the door for her as she approaches. Once she’s inside the car and buckled up, the driver gets behind the wheel, and they depart into the cool Atlas night.

After a long drive, the car stops in front of The Grand Monet Art Museum. Around them are a number of vehicles, including luxury cars and limousines, getting valet parking or dropping people off. The people exiting the vehicles seemed well dressed in expensive clothing, the light from the museum windows illuminating the jewels, shiny fabrics, and thread that decorate them as they walk towards the large building. Penny takes a deep breath; she studies her mind and heart for the battlefield ahead of her, then opens the door and walks onto the sidewalk. She looks around and walks towards the museum, the building itself seeming grander as she gets closer to it, and notices several things. First, there are many security guards standing guard up and down the drop-off area and around the front of the building. Second, despite the number of people arriving, there doesn't seem to be any press or paparazzi around. And third, the elites entering were already chatting away in low voices, and from what she could make out of the sounds, most weren't very positive or polite. All of these told her only one thing; this was a secure, familiar environment for these elites, enough so that they’ll feel comfortable enough to behave as they wish. That sensation only intensified as Penny entered the museum. After showing her tickets to the doorman and walking inside, Penny looks around at the interior and is amazed. The museum seems to be modeled after ruins of once found many years ago with its stone walls, large pillars, open area design. The electrical and thermal systems seem to be craved into the structure for modern amenities. Still, the marbling, stone working, and even the window paneling were all reminiscent of a time long past. As she’s marveling, Penny overhears a couple of elite woman talking. Both look young, no older than twenty-four; one’s wearing a dark green empire dress covered with gold embroidery, and the other is in a bright red cocktail dress with good platform heels and matching gold accessories. The lady in green is looking around displeased, almost sneering at the walls as she speaks.

Lady in green: Of all the places he could have held this, Speedwell chooses a dusty old museum that barely has heat!

Lady in red: I know, but what do you expect from a balding old man? Living fossils like him always cling to aging buildings like this since they're just as outdated and dilapidated as them!

The women share a quick giggle over their harsh statements while Penny quietly turns away. Their words were foolish and disrespectful of their host and the venue, but as elites, they could get away with it. And Penny knows that, she starts walking away from the entrance and deeper into the building. The tone of the night’s been set time to investigate. Penny takes a lap around the museum's first floor, looking to start a conversation to gather some intel. This proves to be more challenging than expected as most of the guests are either already absorbed in conversation with no room to jump in, drinking alcohol provided by serving staff and small bars peppered through the venue, or simply admiring the art displayed in the museum’s hall. The last was the most challenging hurdle as Penny had to stop herself from doing the same. The collection of works surrounding her were beautiful and thought-provoking, so much so that she could quickly get absorbed in them if she glanced at them for more than a moment. Which she had almost done early on when she passed a particular beautiful sculpture of a woman near the entrance, stopped to read the display information, then had to force herself to keep walking after she’d wasted five minutes on it.

Penny: I’m here for an investigation, not recreational fun; I can't lose focus. Even if I’m in a gorgeous place with many, many incredible things to see and explore. (Sigh) Maybe I could ask the General to let me come back when the investigation is over?

Penny ponders as she asks for the waiter holding a tray of drinks if they have anything without alcohol. The waiter nods and heads towards one of the bars to grab them, leaving Penny to look around as she waits for him to return. As she looks around, she accidentally makes eye contact with an older woman standing a few feet away. It doesn’t last long, but it's long enough that the woman notices her. She looks her up and down then starts walking towards her. She looks around forty years old and is adorned in a long jet black mermaid dress with a high neckline and a sliver scale pattern. She looks pretty tall as she walks in front of Penny, standing around head above the red-headed girl; she looms over her with a coy smile and greets her.

???: Why, hello there, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.

Penny: You mostly haven’t seen me before. This is my first time attending an auction or an event hosted by Speedwell.

???: I see; would you mind telling me your name then?

Penny takes her greeting stance and puts on a sweet smile.

Penny: My name is Penny Polendina; its lovely to meet you.

???: How polite, and here I thought kids these days had no manners. (chuckles) Nice to meet you, dear I’m Ottilie Onyx.

Ottilie holds her hand out to her for a handshake, and Penny gently accepts. As they shake hands, Ottilie continues talking; her pitch slightly higher than before.

Ottilie: You know, I was quite surprised when I saw you standing over here.

Penny: Really, why?

Ottilie: Oh, I just thought that someone as young as you wouldn’t be interested in something like this. All this culture and history tends to be a bit too complex for young minds to grasp. I mean, whenever I go to a museum, there’s always a group of kids just loitering about, blasting their God-awful music, disturbing everyone, and ruining the atmosphere. So, when I saw you, I hate to say that I got a little nervous that there might be an incident you were left unchecked.

Now, if Penny had been as naïve as was before the evening party, she would have taken that statement in a positive light and heard it as a kind reminder to behave. But she wasn’t; Penny had been educated on elite behavior patterns, and this was anything but goodwill. From what Whitley taught her, this was a case of an older elite questioning and testing a younger’s attitude. Ottilie started with a positive about Penny’s manners then connected it to her perspective of young people. Then use that to segue into questioning Penny’s presence and implying that she was trouble by virtue of being a teenager in a place for adults. This was supposed to make Penny nervous, but she was unfazed; instead, she let go of Ottilie’s hand and replies calmly.

Penny: Well, there’s nothing to be concerned about. I'm not the type of person who’d disturb such a delightful event, especially when I'm enjoying the venue so much.

Ottilie arches her eyebrow curiously.

Ottilie: You’ve been enjoying the art?

Penny: Yes! I actually had to stop looking at the exhibits, or I wouldn’t have gotten this far into the hall. The Ruin Classical sculpture “Lone Empress” was practically interesting to me as I’ve never seen a statue with clothing craved to look completely transparent in person before. It seemed so real that I couldn’t help but wonder what technique was used to create such a fascinating texture!

Ottilie stares at Penny, mouth agape and eyes wide, stocked by her insight and demeanor. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go; the fragile little thing was supposed to get upset, make a fuss and prove her right, not reassure her and give an elegant opinion on the art! And with a hint of smugness or malice, she couldn’t tell if the girl was obvious or sincere. Ottilie quickly recovers, clearing her throat and regaining composure; she puts on a kind smile and lowers her voice back to its natural range.

Ottilie: I see; well, I’m glad to see that there’s some youth with astute outlooks. Why don’t you come talk with my colleagues and me? I’m sure they’d love to hear some fresh insight from an intelligent young lady.

Ottilie wasn’t one to admit defeat so easily. If she wasn't enough to intimidate this girl, then she’d just bring in some backup. At that moment, the waiter returns with a glass of sparkling cider on a silver platter for Penny. Penny turns away from Ottilie, thanks the waiter for bringing her the drink then takes the glass from the platter with a smile. She takes a long sip of the cider; it's ice-cold, perfectly fizzy, and apple and peach flavor. It was like a fruit soda with less sugar and more natural flavors. Penny savors the drink but not just for the taste; the time she takes to grab her drink, thank the waiter, and for a sip is just enough to send a clear message to Ottilie. Her offer didn’t bother Penny in the slightest this was just a pleasant talk for her. These simple actions would confirm that she’s being non-combative, thus lowering Ottilie’s guard, making conversing further easier, another trick Whitley taught her. Once she’s swallowed the sip, Penny returns her attention to Ottilie.

Penny: Yes, I’d like to continue this conversation with you and your colleagues.

Ottilie: Splendid, follow me; I’ll introduce you to the group.

Ottilie gestures towards a group of older people admiring a painting and starts walking towards them, Penny following close behind. From there, Penny enters a conversation with the group of art connoisseurs. They spend the rest of the cocktail hour talking about art and gossip, periodically asking Penny for her insight. By nine, she's gotten no useful information but has endeared herself to the group pretty well. But at nine o’clock, an announcement is made, all guests are asked to move the auction room, the main event is about to begin. The hall starts to empty as most guests head towards the auction hall while others stay and continue drinking. Penny chooses to follow the crowd to the auction hall since those remaining in the main hall seem more interested in drinking and drunk words are always circumstantial evidence. So, she heads to the auction hall, hoping to overhear something during the bidding or take the time to strategize a plan for the rest of the night.

The group is led by one of the museum's staff, most likely an exhibit worker, to a long room with rows of chairs, a table full of numbered bid signs near the doors, and a large stage with security guards surrounding it. After bidders take a sign and everyone is seated, a large man steps up onto the stage. The man was tall, portly, and fair-skinned, dressed in a royal blue velvet suit and pair of designer loafers but lacked the many shine accessories and trinkets the elites in the audience wore. He’s also wearing a nicely cut hairpiece that moved slightly off-center as he walks to the middle of the stage. This man was Joseph Speedwell. Speedwell straightens his wig and tie and puts on a big smile as he takes the microphone off its stand; with a cheerful voice, he begins his speech.

Speedwell: Good evening, everyone! I’m happy to see so many familiar faces have come out to enjoy the evening with us! Now I know it’s been a trying time for all of us being stuck behind our borders and all. But that’s why I decided to host this fabulous auction, to remind you of all the beauty and wonder the great kingdom Atlas has to offer! Even if it means parting with my favorite pieces from my collection. So, have your paddles at the ready cause here comes our first item!

Speedwell gestures towards his right as two men carry a large painting onto the stage and directly behind him. It’s a beautiful landscape piece that seems fairly old but in excellent condition; the crow murmurs as it’s sat down for all to see.

Joseph: This is a genuine Claude Beaumont landscape in premium condition and comes with the original certificate of authenticity! Let’s start the bidding at 20,000,000 lian, do I hear 25,000,000!

With that said, the bidding begins with people all around the room holding up their signs and shouting their counteroffers, each one getting higher and higher. In between their shouts, those who weren’t bidding were whispering to each other. Penny tries to less but can only make some light insult towards Speedwell’s appearance and some idle chatter. After a few minutes, the shouting stops, and a final offer is accepted.

Speedwell: That’s sold for 65,000,000 lian to the man the checkered suit!

The crowd applause as the painting is carried away while the next item is brought out and the next round begins. Time seems to fly by as more and more brilliant art pieces are brought and auctioned off to the crowd. It's nearly eleven o'clock, as the last piece, a stunning marble bust of a woman made by Andrè Violette, is sold off.

Speed: Sold to the lovely lady in the large hat!

The woman, whose large fascinator makes her easy to spot, tips her hat as the item is taken away. After another round of applause, Speedwell makes another proclamation.

Speedwell: That's it! That’s our last item! This auction is good and done. But the party’s not over yet! We’ve got plenty of refreshments waiting in the main hall, help yourself to some good food and drinks!

With that, the room starts to empty into the main hall, where several round buffet tables with fondue fountains placed and small tables with plates and cutlery have been set up for guests to enjoy. Some head to the bars for more drinks, others go towards the food, and others just start conversing about the auction. Penny’s trying to decide where to go; she overhears a woman speaking surprisingly loud in a nearby crowd.

???: Can you believe the crap Speedwell was trying to pull with “the beauty and wonder of Atlas” spiel? Inviting us to a glorified rummage sale is bad enough but acting like your doing it for our benefit is just ludicrous! Just peddle your product and move on! Don’t waste our time with your pretentious nonsense!

The crowd seems to agree, and others start to share their criticism of the event and its host. There’s nothing concrete in their words, but it’s clear that they see the whole event as nothing but an attempted cash grab by Speedwell. That sentiment seems ever-present as Penny does a few rounds around the hall and hears more complaints from the other guests. After a while, she goes to grab some food at a buffet table. The buffet tables are set up in pairs, one stocked with small savory foods to dip in the cheese fondue fountain atop it and one with small sweets to dip into the chocolate fountain. Both were much smaller than the ones Penny saw at the Schnee manor, but that didn't make the offerings any less appealing. Penny decides to go for savory over sweet as she hadn’t had dinner yet. She takes a plate and a couple of skewers from a cutlery table and surveys the food on offer: some vegetables, small bread rolls, some sausages, and large pieces of popcorn chicken.

Penny, making sure to follow etiquette and not fill up her plate, takes a some vegetables, a bread roll, and a few pieces smaller of chicken. It’s her first time having fondue, so she takes a couple of seconds to watch others getting and dipping their food to see how to do it properly. After observing a few people, Penny skewers a piece of chicken the carefully dips half into the flowing hot cheese of the fountain. Once it’s got a good coat, she pulls it out and sets it back on her plate to cool. Once it’s cooled, Penny picks up the skewer and gingerly bites the cheese-coated chicken, and it's delicious. The chicken is nice and juicy; skin is crunch with the layer of cheese, adding a savory touch and a soft, melty texture. As she’s enjoying her food, some nearby guests look at the food and scoff. It’s a couple dressed in matching high fashion suits, the man in black with pink pinstripes and the woman in pink with black pinstripes. The man tips his large wide-framed glass as he takes a second look at the buffet.

Man in black and pink: I can’t believe we came all the way across town for this.

Women in pink and black: As if the venue wasn’t bad enough; now he has the gall to try and pass this low-grade feed off as quality food! Disgusting.

Man in black and pink: Well, the man has been known to have a rather unrefined pallet, but this is just pathetic.

The woman looks around and notices Penny eating; she tugs on her husband’s sleeve and points to Penny turning his gaze towards her.

Women in pink and black: Still, some people will eat any slop old you put in front of them if it’s free.

The two share a laugh which Penny notices and turns her to look at them. For a moment, her eyes and the woman’s met, and Penny gives her a knowing smile. It’s cold and feels like a taunt, as if she’s saying, the “Yes, I heard you talking over there. And, if you’re so confident, why don’t you speak up for everyone to hear? Let them know exactly what you think of them.” This causes the woman to turn away, point her husband in another direction, and change topics. Penny continues eating her food, the incident being a mild annoyance but slightly insightful as it cemented that this was not the high-class event the guests were hoping for. Following this lead, when she finishes her food Penny goes back into the fray and starts engaging in some conversations. She periodically asks if the event seemed less than standard and gets a plethora of info and rumors about Speedwell. From what she hears, this is far below the usual standard for a man of Joseph Speedwell’s caliber, especially since he’s known for hosting big lavish parties. And the rumors around this range from this business declining due to the embargo to a drug habit getting out of hand, causing him to need some quick cash to cover for it. Some of these theories are more feasible than others, but they all solidify that Speedwell isn’t doing well.

Penny is seeking out more people talking about the host when she stumbles upon a group of women in a seating area near one of the bars. Most are gathered around one of the museum’s benches, with some having pulled chairs from elsewhere and set them near it while others are just standing close by it while they gossip. On the bench is an older woman dressed in the same blue as Speedwell but in a very different design. She’s in a long mermaid dress with a cowl neckline cover in intricate gold and silver embroidery. A large white fur shawl rests on her shoulders. Long white silk gloves, a diamond necklace, earrings, and rings jewelry set complete her brilliant ensemble. Her lips are painted rogue to pair with her classic smokey eyes makeup look, making her appear more youthful and graceful. She sits across the bench with a glass of wine in hand, sipping at it occasionally while chatting with the women surrounding her. This woman was a force to be reckoned with; Penny could feel it, but the possibility of them having useful information was too high for her to get intimidated. She starts to approach one of the women on the sidelines, notices and gets in front of her when she gets close. Clad in a black skintight cocktail dress and silver platform heels, the woman looks down at Penny sternly.

Lady in Black: Pardon me, young lady, but are you lost? Do you need help finding your way?

Penny smiles, ignoring the lady’s hostile demeanor, and responds calmly.

Penny: No, I’m not lost.

Lady in Black: Really? Because you’re getting dangerously close to somewhere, you shouldn’t be.

Penny tilts her head innocently and puts on a confused face.

Penny: And why shouldn’t I be here?

Lady in Black: Because this area is Mrs. Speedwell’s area, and her space is for intelligent, beautiful, and strong women to have stimulating conversations with equally brilliant women.

The lady smirks, thinking her words would ward Penny off, but it doesn't. Instead, Penny straightens up her stance and replies happily.

Penny: I see, then may I please join you?

Lady in Black: What. No! Absolutely not!

Penny: But why?

Lady in Black: Because a little girl like you doesn’t belong anywhere near our group.

Penny: That seems counterproductive since I satisfy all the criteria you gave.

The lady folds her arms in contempt, her smugness turning to annoyance.

Lady in Black: Oh really, in what way?

Penny: Firstly, I’m female, something you acknowledged when you first addressed me. Secondly, I have a vast knowledge on many topics and concepts and can converse about most of them in-depth. Thirdly, while beauty is subjective, my appearance does fit within the current beauty standard both for body type and facial features. And finally, I work a very demanding job that requires a lot of patience, high morality, and physical mental strength to do well in, and among my peers, I'm fairly high ranking. In short, I am an intelligent, beautiful, strong woman, the type of woman that belongs in this area.

The lady’s mouth hangs open as she tries to think of a comeback but can’t. Unwilling to accept that she’s had her own words thrown back in her face. She looks Penny over, trying to find anything to use for ammunition. A wicked grin spreads across her face as she comes up with something.

Lady in Black: Well, it's hard to call someone like you a beauty with how you’ve dressed yourself. With such cheap clothing and childish colors, you look even worst than the help.

The lady chuckles and a few of the women laugh with her from a distance. Meanwhile, Penny's face remains unchanged, but inside, she is a little upset at her clothes and kind people serving them being insulted like this, but she won’t let it show. She’s heard far worse, and right now, she had every right to fight back. She thinks about where she got the dress she’s wearing, then looks around at the women in the group and nearby, takes a deep breath then strikes!

Penny: Well, I won’t consider anything bought from Stellar to be cheap.

Lady in Black: Stellar!

Penny: Yes, my dress, shoes, and accessories were all purchased at the Stellar boutique; a woman named Solis picked it out and said it would fit perfectly at this kind of event. As for the colors, I've several women dressed in similar colors around the museum, one of which is in your group.

Lady in Black: What! Who-

Penny: The woman that was standing next to you before you approached me, she’s wearing the same shade of pink.

Penny points towards the woman, and all eyes fall on her; the woman, clearly clothed in a pink dress, shrinks away from their gazes and looks at the ground. With her point proven, Penny continues.

Penny: So, if you’re disregarding me solely based on my outfit, then you’ll have to reassess your whole group to make sure no one else falls under the same criteria.

The lady’s face turns a vivid red as she howls in fury! She’s had enough. How dare this girl, this little nobody, talk down to her and humiliate her in front of her associates like this! She raises up her hand, eyes full of rage!

Lady in Black: YOU MOUTHY LITTLE UPSTART BITCH!

She brings it down hard, hoping to slam it into her cheek and knock Penny to the ground but instead, Penny’s palm blocks her slap. The lady freezes, eyes wide in shock as they stare directly into Penny’s unchanged expression. Unchanged saved for her now burning gaze, the disgust and discontent seeping out from the depth of her soul. As the lady tries to process what just happened, Penny bats her hand away effortlessly. Causing the lady to reel back as anger overpowers her shock, and she starts screaming again.

Lady in Black: YOU VILE LITTLE WH-

Mrs. Speedwell: That’s enough, Cassandra!

The lady, now known as Cassandra, and Penny turn their eyes on Mrs. Speedwell. The woman has put down her drink and looks somewhat annoyed by the scene in front of her. She glares at Cassandra, disappointed by the girl’s actions. Acting on her own and speaking for her group was bad but then being bested by then threw into a rage-fueled tantrum by the mere child was pathetic. She thought the girl had learned to continue her temper by now, but no, she was just the same. Writing checks with her mouth, she can't cash then acting like a toddler when someone calls her on it. How worthless. As for the red-headed girl she was battling with, Mrs. Speedwell was quite surprised that the little thing kept her composure and refuted Cassandra like that. Most of the time, Cassandra’s victims would get caught up in her emotional torment, but this one stayed calm, took Cassandra at her word, then broke her down with logic. It was interesting, seeing such a cheery little kitten smile in the face of a roaring lion and dodging so quickly when the loan bore its claws. It was a good show, but it was getting too close to turning into a slap fight, and she very well couldn’t have that kind of conduct at one of her events. Mrs. Speedwell sits up, and speaks to Cassandra, her voice low and cold.

Mrs. Speedwell: Have some dignity and calm down; throwing a fit like a child will get you nowhere!

Cassandra: B-but that girl! She-

Mrs. Speedwell: That girl was having a calm decision, Something you don’t seem capable of. Now go clean yourself up; all that fusing’s ruined your makeup.

Cassandra’s anger melts to sadness as she throws her hands in her face and runs off. As the group watches her flee, Mrs. Speedwell turns her attention to Penny.

Mrs. Speedwell: And you, who are you?

Penny turns to her and goes into her greeting pose before answering.

Penny: Salutations, my name is Penny Polen-

Octavia: PENNY!

Suddenly, Penny’s name is shouted an approaching voice, and when she turns to face it, a figure tackle hugs her out of nowhere. Penny looks down at the figure and realizes it’s Octavia! The auburn-haired girl had jumped at her and now squeezing her with all her might! Penny laughs; the tension from the battle before washes away as she wraps her arms around Octavia and hugs her back. She can’t help but smile and giggle as she’s rarely on the receiving end of such enthusiastic hugs. As the girls hug, a woman approaches.

Octavia: I can’t believe you really here! I’ve looking for you all night! Mama, look, I finally found her!

???: Ah, so this is the friend you were talking about? She’s just as adorable as you said.

Octavia lets go of Penny, runs towards the woman, now revealed to be her mother, and pulls her towards the group. The resemblance between the two is obvious as the woman looks like an older version of the girl with brighter hair and darker eyes. This is even more apparent as mother and daughter wear matching abstract art-themed outfits, matching makeup, and even matching buns in their hair. The mother smiles at Penny warmly and goes to speak with her, but Mrs. Speedwell calls out to her first, and the women engage in their own discussion.

Mrs. Speedwell: Why hello there, Carman! Glad to see you could make it!

Carmen: It’s nice to see you too, Juliette. Though I must say, I’m surprised that you, of all people, would host something like this.

Juliette: It’s not that shocking; you know how much I love the arts.

Carmen: Yes, that’s precisely why it’s so shocking. No one in this kingdom loves their collection more than you. I could’ve never imagined you parting with any of your pieces, especially not your Andrè bust.

Juliette: That was my stupid husband’s idea, not mine. He said he wanted to sell the older pieces so we’d have space for new things when borders open back up. But I think he’s got other reasons to be selling off my things.

Carmen: Is that so? What’s your theory on it, then?

Juliette: Well, you know that man is utterly illiterate when it comes to anything stronger than a calculator. So, ask me to fix his scroll because he messed with something, and now the sounds on it are missing. I do, and when I go to contacts to try and test it, I see this new one under a number I don’t know. I call it, and a woman, a young woman, answers and hangs up the second she hears my voice. I look at the call log, and he’s been calling her up at all hours of the night while I’m asleep next to him!

Everyone gasps, two of the women from the group get up and comfort her while another goes to get her a drink. Juliette sighs, and a look of dissatisfaction falls on her face. Carmen is the first to collect herself and inquires about the issue further.

Carmen: My god, Juliette, are you sure?

Juliette: Yes, I’m sure. I’ve stayed up a few times and watched him get up and call her in our bathroom. I thought, getting up with him and giving him hell for what he’s doing to me! But that’ll just give him a chance to lie his way out of it. So, I'm letting him be and collecting evidence in the meantime, so when I do spring it on him, he’ll have no way to run.

Juliette pulls out her scroll from underneath her shawl, where her purse lay hidden. She unlocks it and opens up her photo; she scrolls through them, searching for something specific as she continues.

Juliette: I doubt he’ll have anything to say when he sees this.

She turns her scroll to show a picture of the call logs. Penny’s and Octavia’s eyes go wide; they recognize the number. It’s the same one Sylas Foxglove, Octavia’s father, had been calling. Penny looks at the photo and takes note of the timestamps. It seems Speedwell’s calls were happening right after Foxglove’s calls. As Penny’s absorbing the new information, Octavia’s face has gone white, and she looks ready to throw up. No one notices their change in demeanor as they’re completely engrossed in Juliette’s issues.

Juliette: It’s a good starting point, but I’ll need more if I want to keep the estate. I’ll be hiring a private investigator to get me something more illicit for the lawyers, so if any of you have a recommendation, I—

Juliette pauses mid-sentence as she catches sight of something out the corner of her eye. Her air of smug intimidation is replaced with one of confusion as she puts her hand over her mouth and addresses the oddity.

Juliette: Octavia, are you feeling alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

Everyone's attention turns to Octavia; she looks absolutely terrified and is taking sharp rapid breaths. Carmen places a hand on her daughter's shoulder and looks at her with concern.

Carmen: What’s wrong, Tavi? You look like you’re going to be sick.

Octavia: I…I…I NEED TO LEAVE!

Octavia takes off running, Carmen and Penny following close behind her as she leaves in tears. They chase after her until she dashes into the women’s bathroom and barricades herself inside one of the stalls. Carmen bangs on the stall door, pleading with her daughter to come out to no avail.

Carmen: Please tell just me what’s wrong; Mama’s worry for you, Tavi!

Octavia: I CAN’T! Please just go!

Carmen: Not until you talk to me, Mommy’s not leaving you alone like this.

Octavia: (weeping) I can’t; I just can’t.

Carmen: Tavia.

Carmen keeps banging on the boor, desperately to get her open up, but she doesn’t budge. After a bit, her arms tire, and Penny takes this moment to try and calm the troubled teen. She knocks on the door gently and waits for a reply. When she doesn’t get one, she just starts talking.

Penny: Octavia, are you okay?

Octavia: No! I’m not okay! Nothing about this is OK!

Penny: Alright, then why don’t you talk to us so that we can help you.

Octavia: NO! I can’t! Not to Mama!

Penny: And what about me? Can you talk to me?

There’s a pause; silence fills the room as Octavia thinks about the question. But eventually, Octavia answers her.

Octavia: Y-yes. But only if Mama leaves first.

Penny looks at Carmen, but before she can even ask, Carmen nods her head and vacates the restroom leaving Octavia and Penny alone.

Penny: Your mother’s left the room; it’s just you and me now. So can you please open the door for me?

There’s more silence than the sound of footsteps as Octavia walks towards the door. She unlocks the stall door then steps out; her makeup is a mess as mascara drips down her cheeks with her tears, her eyes beat red, and her nose is running. Penny doesn’t say anything; instead, she wraps her in an embrace, letting her head rest on her shoulder as the tears keep flowing. They stand there motionless until Octavia finds the strength to speak.

Octavia:.…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think anymore!

Penny: I understand; this is a…very complicated situation.

Octavia: I mean, should I tell them? If Mr. Speedwell is really cheating with that woman then-then-

Octavia breaks out in tears again; the thought of her father doing such a thing is too much for her to bear. While she cries, Penny does her best to reassure her.

Penny: But you don’t know if that’s true; all you know is that your dad and Mr. Speedwell have been calling the same number.

Octavia: But what else could it be? No one takes calls that late and hides them from their families if it’s not something that!

Penny thinks for a moment; she knows answering her questions could lead to information about the thefts leaking, but she says nothing, then she’ll just continue spiraling under she cracks. She has to pull the conversation in another direction. She thinks back on everything she knows about the two families, the case, and the situation at large, and, after a while, she comes up with something.

Penny: Octavia, do you think your dad and Mr. Speedwell are alike in many ways?

Octavia pulls away from her, stunned by what Penny’s implying.

Octavia: What! No, my daddy and Mr. Speedwell are nothing alike!

Penny: Then do you think they have similar preferences for romantic partners? Enough that they might pick the same person.

Octavia: No, there’s not a chance in Remnant that Daddy’d ever pick the same girl as Mr. Speedwell!

Penny: Then it's very unlikely they’d have an affair with the same woman, right?

Octavia's crying slows as she thinks about the situation further. There was no way her daddy would ever want to be with the type of woman Mr. Speedwell would like and no way that he’d ever cheat on Mama. Moreover, what he said to the woman when she overheard them talking wasn't something you’d say to your lover. But that fact still left unanswered questions.

Octavia: Yeah, I guess your right. But if he’s not cheating with her, what is he doing? And what does Mr. Speedwell have to do with it?

Penny: I’m not completely certain of what’s exactly going on with them and that person, but I do know you shouldn’t involve yourself in this any further.

Octavia: But what if it’s something bad? Like drugs or weapons or something worse!

Penny: That’s even more reason for you not to get involved. Your dad’s actions are his own, Octavia, and you involving yourself in them will only make things complicated.

Octavia: But-

Penny: Besides, I'm sure your dad wouldn’t want you to get involved with anything bad, even if he was involved in it.

Octavia: No, he’s too protective. He never even lets me go shopping on my own, cause he thinks I’ll get kidnapped.

Penny: And why does he think that?

Octavia: He says that because I’m so cute and sweet that someone’s bound to try and steal me if I’m left alone for too long.

Penny: Yeah, that sounds like something a dad would say.

The girls laugh, the light-hearted memory lifting their spirits. Octavia wipes away her tears as she finally calms down.

Octavia: You’re right; I don't know what going on, but I know Daddy would never do something that could hurt us.

Penny: Okay, I’ll go get your mother, then we’ll-

Penny turns to leave, but Octavia grabs her shoulder, stopping her.

Octavia: But just in case it is something serious, I need to ask you something.

Penny turns back around to face her, skepticism and hesitation rising in her.

Penny: What do you need from me?

Octavia: Well, you’re a soldier, right? You work with the huntsmen and police.

Penny: Yes.

Octavia: So I just wanted to ask if something happens, can you please say something?

Penny: What do you mean by something?

Octavia: Just ask them to be a little lenient with him, please.

Penny:…I’m not… I’m not sure if that would help your dad if he did do something illegal.

Octavia: Please, just tell me you’ll try; I need to know you’ll at least try if it comes down to it.

Penny hesitates; this is a lot to ask of her. Despite her rank and connections, she was still the property of the Atlas military, and she wasn’t sure how much weight her word would have if it did turn out that Sylas was involved with the thefts. But on the other hand, ironwood did trust her, and he was a surprisingly compassionate person, so he might listen to her if she asked. After a lot of thinking, Penny takes a deep breath and decides.

Penny: If your dad does get in trouble or arrested, I’ll try and ask for leniency.

Octavia lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and gives Penny a big hug. She holds her there for a bit before letting go, the life finally returning to her face.

Octavia: Thank you, Penny.

With that, leave the bathroom and go to Carmen, who quickly hugs her daughter and fixes her make-up. When Octavia is all cleaned up, the three return to the party and stick together until Penny's ride comes to get her. The pair see Penny off as she gets in the car and is brought back to the manor. Back at the manor, Penny immediately heads for the guest room, locks the door behind her, then makes the call to Ironwood.

Ironwood: Good evening Penny; how was tonight's operation? What do you have to report?

Penny: General, I encountered some new information and possibly evidence of Joseph Speedwell's involvement in the material thefts.

Ironwood: Intel and evidence, huh? Continue.

Penny: According to the guests at the auction, the event was far below the standard of an average high society event, and it seems the artwork he was selling originally belonged to his wife, Juliette, who seemed very unhappy with the event and her husband. At one point in the night, she told a group of her associates that she thought he was cheating and showed them a call log. The call log showed several calls to the same classified number Sylis Foxglove has been contacting.

Ironwood: So they’ve both been in contact with our possible thief, that certainly complicates things. Anything else?

Penny: Juliette Speedwell is planning to hire a private detective to gather evidence of her husband’s infidelity, and Octavia Foxglove was suspicious about her dad’s involvement, but I was able to convince her not to look into it any further.

Ironwood: I see; I’ll have to start looking into the Speedwells and keep a close eye on Foxglove. As for the number, it seems the anti-tracking software is still active on the scroll, so we’re having difficulty finding it. Thank you for all your hard work; I know getting this intel could have been easy.

Penny: Yeah, it was very…emotionally draining.

Ironwood: Regardless, you made it back and brought some good information with you. And that's all that matters. Now head home; it's way past your bedtime, and you need your rest

Penny: I will; good night General.

Ironwood hangs up, and Penny gets ready to leave. She changes her clothes, washes away her makeup, and puts her things back in her bag before leaving the guest room. As she’s heading towards the front door, she spots Whitley standing by the open door, sipping on a mug of coffee as he waits for her. Penny rushes up to him, surprised that he’s still awake.

Penny: You’re still awake.

Whitley: I have some work that still needs to be done. One of which was making sure your taxi got here on time.

Penny: Taxi?

At that moment, a flying taxi drives into the manor driveway. Penny peeks out the door to see it coming to a stop in front of the manor.

Whitley: It will take you directly to the low train station, and you can get home from there. But if you’d prefer, I can call a second taxi to get you from the station and take the rest of the way.

Penny: I don’t understand why you called them; I can just take the train and walk home like I normally do.

Whitley: Well, I just thought it would be safer than letting you get on the train at this time of night.

Penny: You thought I would be in danger?

Whitley: Of course, I did. How could I not when you’re so-

Whitley stops and takes a long drink from his mug, cutting off his words before they escape his lips. Penny looks at him eagerly; she knows he was going to say something, and this reaction usually happens when he accidentally says something that could be considered romantic towards her, so she needed to hear it! Whitley’s face reddens under Penny's gaze as he starts to rethink his words. Once he’s reworked the statement in his head, he pulls the cup from his lips and continues.

Whitley: How could I not when you’re a conventionally attractive young woman going out alone in the middle of the night.

Penny grins but doesn’t push the subject. This flusters Whitley even more as his thinly veiled defection fails.

Whitley: We’ll talk about the auction later; just go home and go to bed.

Penny: Okay, good night, Whitley.

With that, Penny leaves the manor and heads towards the taxi. Once she got in and buckled up, the driver takes off into the Atlas night. During the drive, Penny stares out the window and reflects on the night's incidents. The investigation has taken another step forward, but so has her entanglement with the world high society, and she doesn’t know deep this all might go.

#penny polendina #whitley schnee #james ironwood #rwby fanfiction #fanfic #beta testers

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glitterfilledtrashcan · 4 years ago

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I’m having some not-so-minor art block for some more drawings, so i decided to just mess around and try to draw some back of my head next gen ocs for the hell of it. Hopefully i have inspo soon for actual characters soon lol, maybe them interacting with these two if i’m desperate.

As usual, i currently don’t have names for these two yet. I’ve been mentally calling the one on the left Penny, just cause they for sure eat random pennies off the sidewalk.

Some bits about them, i suppose

“Penny”

-A guntatious fankid (Not super positive i like the clothes i gave them, meant to be a simple home-sewed outfit, probably out of a curtain)

-Will bite everything and anyone. Are they a small dog or a troll? Who even knows, get your rabies shot tho

-The bells stay on everywhere for Dic’s sake. Can’t see them when they’re wreaking havok, but at least he can hear them

-Unknowingly conceived in darklands, but earth born and raised. Has no idea who father is yet, can’t imagine anyone is too excited to have that conversation with them. Especially Dic after the whole almost getting killed thing from Gunmar himself

Not for the baby

-Blaaarrrggghh fankid(Yes, i did give up drawing a body and wrapped her in a blanket, glad you asked sadfg)

-Dead set on her eating license plates a lot just cause of concept art Blinky’s outfit made out of them

-Hc of trolls, at least some species, being born blind and clinging onto the fur of their parents for a while. They’ll begin to have eyesight at around a year or two, but will continue clinging even past 20, depending on species again

-Due to Arrrggghh’s traumatizing experience of being kidnapped by Gumm-Gumms and literally/basically tortured, they decided to put having whelps on hold until the fall of Gunmar, even if that meant never having children. Just for mental health’s sake.(Arrrgghh still has anxiety despite his fall and is very overprotective of the young whelp. Living example of a helicopter parent) They waited even longer than that due to all of the events that happened after, and it taking a bit to settle down in New Jersey.

-Will have more of Arrrgghh’s body build when older

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destinywillowleaf · 5 years ago

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Apollo Justice, prosecutor of Khura'in in @greentrickster's AU is done! Split the sheet because I couldn't get it all visible in one shot.

This was probably the hardest of he sheets to fill out completely. If it wasn't obvious, I took the more Khurainese/concept-based designs from Nahyuta's pages and used them here, with the character actually living in Khura'in.

One of he hardest parts - as you could probably tell between the back and forth of it - was figuring out what to do with Apollo's hair. Would it look better in the front, like his father, or would it look better spread out? I'm still not sure which I like better. There's also one with somewhat of a rat tail ponytail but that was just for dramatics. The surprised Apollo at the top is a similar joke, because seriously what if his surprise animation were the spikes standing up like they usually do.

This got longer than expected so details under the break, as well as some AA6 spoilers if anyone still cares about those.

The first sketch was the upper left one, pulled from one of the final drawings in Nahyuta's concept art. A lot of these are just concept art on Apollo really but with a twist: the bell sleeves to cover his bracelet. When he bends his elbows too much and poses like the one to the left of the start, though, his bracelet can be seen.

Brought back the outfit from 3rd sketch page, no. 4, again with the extended sleeves. Final of that probably would have some sort of cuff on the end for extra style points.

Bby Apollo is actually like 10-11 there and look I just really like the outfit I will find a use for it and no one can stop me.

Last one in the first image is just trying posing, obviously distressed over something... But what is it?

Second image!

Starting at the top, Rebel Apollo. I have a feeling that he worked with the Defiant Dragons for a while in the field, acting as a lookout with his insane eyesight and loud voice. He's got a bandana a la Bowser Jr., with the mouth of a dragon painted onto it(though in the sketch I was pulling more inspiration from the Chinese Guardian Lions and the komainu). People knew of the "Dragon's Dog" but not of who they were. This does sometimes get used in the Plumbed Punisher when Dhurke is saved by a mysterious shadow.

Going across now to the short cloak, pulled from one of Nahyuta's earlier concepts. The Khurainese Prosecutor's badge is on either side(left and right), and he's wearing an outfit like Dhurke's underneath.

The small doodle to the right of it was my attempt at making a bit more of an action-y pose because he's a monk and more willing to fight than expected. Also, the ponytail. That's here.

Serious mode, with another concept sketch. This one was pulled from the teal outfit with the red shoulder scarf thing but obviously here t would be a different color. I have no idea how the buttons work either, I was just trying to replicate what was in the picture.

... and immediately next to it he reason I made my earlier post about overthrowing he government and getting a lousy t-shirt. He's very displeased. Nahyuta has a matching one. It was worth every penny. Give me the little things.

Apollo and Ema are most definitely salt friends. He's the Prosecutor's Office for less than a day, set up right next to Klavier, and he has to listen to guitr all day. Klavier isn't a rock star anymore why is he still doing this. He brings it up with Ema once and she is more than willing to talk and gripe about him. Often over Snackoos.

And finally, the one that's a combination of a number of different designs. The cloth from the late stage concept just as a belt, the canon Nahyuta shirt thing but way shorter(so like the one with the scarf), and something like Dhurke's jacket over it.

No, I still don't know how to draw shoes. For either of them. But I do know one thing: this Nahyuta is really, really fun to write. He's got the same tiredness of Apollo but with more internal anxiety over his appearance. I've got a few little ideas that I want to write up when I get time(something I don't really have right now, to be honest /_\")

Honestly one of the best things about this AU is exploring how events could have gone down. Nahyuta's lack of Gramarye sight means he can't detect lies and he has to take more roundabout methods to finding the truth when Trucy can't help. Apollo being in Khura'in means he's closer with his father but still knows nothing about who he is or who his parents were. Even though he didn't know Lamiroir was his mother, Phoenix could still figure out the identity of Thalassa's firstborn. Reasoning changes for why characters do certain things, and the final showdown of AA6 is even more emotionally taxing for the main character.

I really hope there aren't any typos in here...

#auta sahdmadhi #apollo justice #ema skye #greentrickster #i'm tagging you in this too this was your plan and i still love itttt #if some of the ideas I brought up don't fit with the rest of the AU it's not that hard to just et rid of them #aa6 spoilers #willowarts

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starlingari-a · 5 years ago

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MOTHER, MAY I ???

[ open starters! / memes! / calls! ] low activity | starlet-hopeful oc | multi-verse {default: 60s/70s} | multi-most

MARIONETTE mar·i·on·ette || noun, thing a puppet worked from above by strings attached to its limbs. see also: DOLL, DUMMY, FIGURINE, MANIKIN, MOPPET

ARIENETTE ar·i·en·ette || noun, thing person! page 22, your favorite cult film starlet, a music video extra 45 seconds in. see also: ARI STARLING, JUST TRYING, MOTHER’S DARLING

! i can be anything you like !

NAME: Arienette Marie Jones // ARI STARLING ! AGE: twenty-two HEIGHT: 5'5" MOTIVE: ubiquity. attention. approval. INTERESTS: the next big thing. piano. theater. celebrities. fame. getting gigs…. OCCUPATION: film extra, pianist, back-up, dancer, model, a pretty face in print. STATUS: trying; too scared busy to mingle, probably…

BETTER AS A CONCEPT : MOTHER DEAREST : IDENTITY CRISIS : AWKWARD WHEN NOT TOLD HOW TO DO OR BE : CAN NEVER AFFORD THE LUXURY OF SOLITUDE OR SELF-REFLECTION : AN UNINTENTIONALLY CONVENIENT SOCIAL CHAMELEON : EAGER TO PLEASE, BECAUSE WHAT ELSE IS THERE REALLY : EXISTENTIALLY INEPT : PERPETUALLY BUSINESS-MINDED : BIG BREAK OR BUST : NOTHING TOO SMALL

OH WHAT A BEAUTIFUL BABY !! indeed.

Her overture came just opposite as faeries do- on the dwindling notes of an infant’s first cry. Ari’s first gig happened as she’d assumed everyone’s would- Mother imprinted the green ghosts of a camera flash into her retina and called her Darling while toting her from Agent to Agent.

Somehow, between babbles and being handed sparkly baubles, the darling landed her part as a precious, chubby-cheeked sweetheart rolling about in diapers, pasted on every cardboard box at any Baby Shower you’d ever go to :: LOOK AT HER! A NATURAL! apparently…

The ARIENETTE SHOW continued on– as Mother knew it would. Chain store baby clothes advertisements, local magazines, a couple spots as a teensy sweetheart in commercials, many crowns ( & cash prizes ) from tiny tot beauty pageants– and Mother decided; nobody would stand in their way.

Especially not Arienette’s father, who dared to protest with all his crazy ideas of children being allowed to play in the dirt and act like children: only took divorce papers and three hours in the car to get rid of that negativity.

The credit companies- who INVESTED in dear Ari whether they wanted to or not- wouldn’t be able to dissuade them either: despite the many times they’d called or sent strongly-worded letters...

Her darling Arienette ARI! was going to be a STAR, she just KNEW IT, just a DARLING STAR !

ARI HAD TO BE A STARLING!

OR ELSE THIS ALL WAS A WASTE!

EXTRA! EXTRA!

PRETTY GIRL WITH A MOTHER HAPPY TO SIGN THE DOTTED LINE!

CUE, STAGE LEFT– the barrage of childhood lessons: tap, ballet, singing, piano (probably the only thing she truly enjoyed out of the whole mix), jazz, guitar, poetry: just enough of each that made it so she could manage, hold her own– but there had never really been any chance for one or the other to last long enough to become a honed skill…SAVE FOR HER TIME AT THE KEYS, Arienette absolutely loves playing piano… at least something good came from it all…

NEXT TRICK: On to classes: etiquette, niceties, literature, the art of conversation: Mother “home schooled” her to keep that impressionable brain free from those vile teachers, who think they know so much!

really, it was just strategically simpler to keep up with possible gigs, travel, and to focus those lessons onto relevant topics… important topics… off the record, don’t mind a thing…

all extracurriculars and lessons would be considering Mother’s discretion, of course.

Thus came her second calling, her re-birth, name chosen by Mother as carefully as every other bit of her was: ARI! STARLING! and watch her Icarus her way right to burnout!

OH, THE TRAGEDY– but the years passed, as they do, and when you’ve grown from a darling blonde baby to just another pretty-enough girl in the midst of talented starlets and performers: all the fun goes from being a DREAM to a method of survival !!

But oh, she tried, and some would argue– at least for the few years that would be remembered as fifteen minutes– ARIENETTE MADE IT! Was even notable for a couple of those months- especially after she was just shy of a Scream Queen title in some low-budget cult horror flick, she got to have her name printed in the paper, Mother kept extra copies, and a couple big name ARTISTS actually ASKED for her! As could, and should, have been expected; those highlights turned dim after the time was up and another pretty girl fell into media favor. Once left in the wake of her own shadow, without the persistent approval of Mother or the calls from well known producers: she struggled.

Thus: when the days of being unable to will herself out of bed took over, the times when she couldn’t even pretend to smile, her SECOND ACT HAD COME AT LAST…

Until that 11′o’clock cue came as a fellow actress who suggested that Therapist. A DOC WHO UNDERSTOOD! IT’S HARD BEING A MOTH SUSTAINED BY SPOTLIGHT!

Who needs a bitch face when you can just give ‘em pure, prescribed, apathy!?

The paparazzi caught on, when they snapped photos including her pouting petulantly at the glare of a camera lens flash during brunch with a singer she’d be modeling with… they loved it: READ ALL ABOUT IT: DARLING ARI STARLING HOLDS MELANCHOLY WITH GRACE– and thank God for that caption, Mother hadn’t been talking to her since she’d gone and gotten pills… but now that even her Depression can be spun into Media Fodder, it’s all just fine!

HELLO! HELLO! IS THERE A GIRL IN THERE?!

She’s not ungrateful, truly. Or even notably unhappy! Easy to say: she’s quite blissfully content with where she is… always chasing after the next role.

Just dancing on the knife’s edge of knowing who she is and who she is to be. But does it matter? Can you have one without the other? Who cares? Where does Identity go when there’s so little of yourself you even truly know?

all she’s so sure about that ARIENETTE is that she loves her books, the theater, and her piano- but is that really enough to substantiate a someone…?

It’s a sweet surrender, but at least: it’s hers.

Thankfully: at 22, mother’s had to loosen her reigns! EVEN IF SHE STILL RIDES ON ARI’S COATTAILS AS A CAREER CHOICE! but her influence remains an omnipresence. Her social circle has expanded, through minor gigs covered in fake blood or sitting in the background as an extra, through miscellaneous commercial jobs and mostly modeling: COME TO FIND OUT, Ari’s pretty cute when she sits on a car while those fellows with more hair than metal traipse about strumming their guitars. Those wide-eyes also make her a devastating addition to those creepy-crawly movies: she’s become a cult film favorite just for being so awkwardly her and so darlingly easy to slaughter: a good lamb for those weird wolves, you know. Sometimes, someone will pay her a pretty penny for promotional gigs: she just has to bother strangers and convince them to do or buy something, easy enough– she’s even made it in some album art before, mostly just an additional face within the crowd. Once, they even let her play the piano, probably her very favorite shoot even though you can hardly see her…

The plentiful small gigs keeps her bill cheap, even lets her venture into the realm of what might vaguely be able to be considered Passion Projects… her very favorite are her stints playing piano, and any chance she can have on stage in theater: but Mother says that’s a waste...

There’s no job too big ; yet, there’s also no job too small ; a gig’s a gig.

she likes this easy stuff, with these funny people, all in their own shows… the perpetual EXTRA, she is !

AND FOR THE RESUME:

> Diaper Box Baby > Toddler Beauty Pageants > Kids Commercial Magazine modeling > The Soup Commercial — (she is very proud of this one- first job she really remembers getting any attention for) > Various TV (mostly various local stations) Commercials > The Puppet Show, for about 4 years, one of the recurring child roles > Background Dancing / Chorus Line Spots > Ambiance Piano; playing in the background at very fancy parties, in hotel lobbies, at casinos, etc. (this, she loved, dearly, because she adores piano and people watching) > Modeling, teen magazines etc. > Extra work in movies, which led to a couple very minor roles. > About now she was permitted to explore theater more — (Mother says it’s a waste of time and money) > Niche found in low-budget / campy / cult-y / independent Horror Movies > Promotional Work, general. > Modeling with / for other performers and musical groups; print, music videos, album art > Dancing, still (chorus line / ensemble; burlesque; showgirl) > Any piano or staged theater gig she can land (her f a v o r i t e s) > Absolutely anything you will pay her to do…

WHERE TO FIND AN ARIENETTE:

> Waiting in line for an audition. > An audition, in general. Always. > At a piano. > In a terrible outfit, peddling shots or cigarettes or windows (THAT WAS ONLY ONCE!) > On set, as an extra or background model. > Covered in fake blood, amidst some weird cult film or… something… > A chorus line / A temporary back-up dancer / A swing performer / Ensemble > Playing piano in a hotel lobby. > With Mother, or someone Mother’s appointed. > On her way to or from lessons of some sort, wishing she were elsewhere. > Networking. Or, trying to.

In general: Arienette’s quite accustomed to being used more as a prop than companion: to be there in hopes of making the main attraction appear ever more magnificent. To being posed, instructed, critiqued, told how to be or how to do. It’s her comfort zone, being theirs.

Considers herself the understudy of her own life– Ari Starling’s the STAR of this show, but sometimes Arienette does take the time to come out for a peek at existence, tends to require some coaxing before that facade breaks down, though: EVERY MISSED OPPORTUNITY IS ONE TOO MANY, AND ANYONE’S ONLY HERE FOR ARI! Doesn’t even take much offense, ever: completely accustomed to critique and criticism: which leads into how the treatment she would accept being steadied on a rather low bar. Hard to offend someone who’s been up for scrutiny since she could walk, even harder to cross boundaries she’d never had the power to set for herself…

that was Mother’s job…

Oh, and our Darling doesn’t mean to come off as pretentious, but she’s had pretention pearled into her bones so long- she can hardly tell where Arienette begins and Ari Starling ends…

can be snooty, life is only a job interview, honesty is the best policy, there’s no point in shinin’ up shit… doesn’t think things through all too much in conversation that’s not being recorded, perfectly content with saying what’s on her mind: tendency to share strange things, never bats an eye. Almost comatose when unsure of what’s expected of her, too quiet when off-script, constantly asking: what do you want me to do?

what do you want from me? how should i be? where do i stand?

Nearly always on the verge of giving a PERFORMANCE, since, as Mother always said:

“ WHO CARES WHO YOU ARE UNLESS YOU’RE EVERYTHING, DARLING!? “

But, the real HORROR SHOW: What About When Mother’s Gone?

what does she have left, but the connections that have been made and the reputation / identity that’s been crafted and constructed for her? Who is she supposed to be without the familiar puppeteer there to pull her strings?

WHO IS ARIENETTE JONES!?

Well… she’s still trying to figure that out for herself…

NEED A PRETTY FACE FOR JUST ABOUT ANYTHING? HAVE WE GOT THE GIRL FOR YOU!

#!! about #!! i'm'a pokin #!! arienette; about #!! arienette; thoughts

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bolddeducktionneverfails · 7 years ago

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Launchpad’s Association with Della Duck: A Secret Agenda?

When it comes to working for the McDuck family, I don’t think LP’s just along for the ride. He certainly can't be in it for the pay: in the old show, Scrooge pays him pennies an hour. If that's still true, why on earth would LP bother sticking around? That isn't enough money to sustain him. (But then again, Scrooge stated “Every dent is coming out of your salary!” which ultimately causes him to work for nothing...still though.) I’m sure he wanted to befriend Scrooge in the process since he wants to be friends with everyone and possibly because he wanted to take the opportunity to work for someone so important, but maybe he’s also hoping for an exchange of information. The main reason why he could be working for Scrooge might be to find out what happened to Della. If anyone has an idea, it’d be Scrooge.

When the reboot opens up, we find out that LP just started working for Scrooge. He was really eager to talk about the aviation aspect of his life. His mentions of being a pilot could have been him seeing if he could carefully segue into asking Scrooge about Della. (Because bad things do happen to those who speak of her.) He was low-key trying to motivate Scrooge to come out of retirement so he could go on an adventure with him. Maybe he’s hoping that one of Scrooge’s adventures could possibly lead him to her or he wants to stay close to the family in case anything important leaks out.

Launchpad could be playing dumb (to an extent) so no one will suspect anything and to remain on Scrooge’s good side.

Launchpad has access to the mansion and he’s just roaming around the place. Does he live there? He just so happens to be behind the door whenever the word “pilot” is mentioned. Was he eavesdropping?

In the pilot episode of Darkwing Duck, “Darkly Dawns the Duck”, LP mentions having a scrapbook of newspaper clippings. Frank Angones confirmed on his Tumblr that this will still be relevant in the reboot. When Scrooge goes to look at his diving outfit, he walks past an old ripped up newspaper with a headline that alluded to Della’s disappearance. It’s likely that LP could have his own copy of the same article in his scrapbook with who knows what else.

Della and Launchpad definitely could have known each other, they’re both from well-known families with aviation relations: LP from The Flying McQuack stunt pilots (assuming this will be carried on into the reboot) and Della piloting for The Richest Duck in The World. Della may have been his friend from flight school or their paths just so happen to cross one day and a friendship formed from that. Launchpad was probably a fan of hers; he was probably a fan of the McDuck’s in general with their globe-trotting and whatnot. Heck, Della could have been a fan of his family. For all we know, they may have inspired her to become a pilot️! The more active you are in your field, the more people you’ll meet within that field.

Why are Della and Launchpad matching? No, they’re not straight up matching but they're both pilots wearing brown and green.That doesn't automatically mean that they have a connection, but sometimes in art, it can signify importance. One could argue that they have these colors because they’re pilots, but judging by characters like Baloo, Ripcord, Loopy and Gadget, it doesn't seem to be a requirement to wear them.

Tᴏᴘ, Lᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ Rɪɢʜᴛ: Tʜᴇ TᴀʟᴇSᴘɪɴ ᴠᴇʀsɪᴏɴ ᴏғ Bᴀʟᴏᴏ ᴀɴᴅ Gᴀᴅɢᴇᴛ Hᴀᴄᴋᴡʀᴇɴᴄʜ ғʀᴏᴍ Cʜɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ Dᴀʟᴇ : Rᴇsᴄᴜᴇ Rᴀɴɢᴇʀs.

Bᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ, Lᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ Rɪɢʜᴛ: Lᴀᴜɴᴄʜᴘᴀᴅ’s ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ; Rɪᴘᴄᴏʀᴅ MᴄQᴜᴀᴄᴋ, LP ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, Bɪʀᴅɪᴇ MᴄQᴜᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ Lᴏᴏᴘʏ MᴄQᴜᴀᴄᴋ.

Only Baloo has been confirmed for the reboot (not explicitly, but c’mon, you can’t have Cape Suzette without Baloo), but I think it’s safe to say that whenever any of these characters will show up, they’re not going to lose their signature colors. That breaks the rules of the character designs they’re going for. This show likes to update old characters while still retaining key features. (Like Webby for example, she has an indigo vest and a purple skirt now, but she still has pink articles of clothing.) Brown is very common when it comes to what pilots wear, but those shades of green? Whenever green is incorporated in aviator outfits, they’re usually in much duller shades and sometimes boarder-lining brown.

At first, I thought their colors were some kinda indicator of the flight school they went to, but I later began to doubt that. Their outfits probably aren't something that a school would enforce anyway, they’re a little too casual; Della’s wearing shorts and LP’s even more so with his t-shirt and cap.

I also thought maybe what Della is wearing in the reboot was a reference to her pilot outfit in the “80 is prachtig”/”Family Ties” comic that the show-runners drew inspiration from for her character. I took another look at it and the design is completely different from what Reboot!Della wears. Green and brown are present, but overall, the design of it isn’t strong enough to make a good comparison.

In “Woo-oo!”, Della is depicted in an outfit closer to what LP used to wear in the old series, but in other depictions, her outfit falls more in line with what Reboot!LP wears when he's adventuring.

Nᴏᴛᴇ: Tʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴘ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜɪs ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ɪᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʀᴀɢᴇ. I ᴀʟᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴏғ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪɴ ɴᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ʟɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ.

Tʜᴇ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɪs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪᴄ “Oʟᴅ Mᴏɴᴛᴇᴘʟᴜᴍᴀɢᴇ Hᴀᴅ A Cʜɪᴄᴋᴇɴ!” ɪɴ Issᴜᴇ #2 ᴏғ IDW’s DᴜᴄᴋTᴀʟᴇs sᴇʀɪᴇs

Della’s scarf is often a shade of blue-green and LP’s hat falls in that spectrum. Blue-green is the dominant color in Della’s dedication room (and the dining room where she shoved Donald’s head into a cake, lol). LP was mainly wearing a shade this color and other various shades of green in “The Impossible Summit of Mt. Neverrest”.

Launchpad’s standard wardrobe has never had the color green or blue-green in it until the reboot. (As far as I know, anyway.) He had a light-green scarf in Fabian Mense’s concept art and now he wears two green articles of clothing. LP completely loses the color green when he’s a chauffeur. Based on the covers for the new DT comics and other early promotional material, it’s suggested that he was originally going to wear his chauffeur outfit consistently no matter what task he was doing. Somewhere later in production, it was decided for him to have two separate outfits.

Tᴏᴘ, Lᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ Rɪɢʜᴛ: Fʀᴏᴍ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ 2ᴠᴇɪɴᴛᴇ’s ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏs, ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ Cᴏᴠᴇʀ B ғᴏʀ Issᴜᴇ #4, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ Cᴏᴠᴇʀ B ғᴏʀ Issᴜᴇ #5.

Bᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ, Lᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ Rɪɢʜᴛ: A sᴄʀᴇᴇɴsʜᴏᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ Dᴜᴄᴋʙᴜʀɢ Qᴜᴇsᴛ ᴍᴏʙɪʟᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇ, ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀɴ ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏ ᴀʀᴛ.

Della and Launchpad’s outfits seem to suggest that they’re very in-tune with each other. This is looking a little too close to purely be a designing coincidence...

So...they’re both pilots, they have a good chance of knowing who the other is, it’s very likely they were friends and they’re sporting similar colors. With all these similarities, factors and connectedness going on, one can’t help but wonder…

Could Launchpad…

...actually be…

....the long-lost father of the triplets?!

(Yes, I'm going THERE! And yes, I know, but here me out.)

I mean, with all this talk of mom, it’s only a matter of time before there’s talk about dad, right? LP and Della are oddly connected from the get-go. In “Woo-oo!”, the pilot episode, Launchpad, a pilot, constantly states “I’m a pilot!I’m a pilot!I’m a pilot!” and what do we find out at the end of the two-parter? HDL’s mom is a pilot. Like...what’s with all this pilotception? I’m having a hard time believing that the show-runners would set something up like this for it to go nowhere️.

We still don’t know too much about Launchpad. He has this mysterious background that the characters aren't really paying attention to; especially Scrooge. He constantly ignores LP every time he tries to talk to him about his life.

It seems to be implied that he was a world traveler before he started working for Scrooge. He claims that the road is his office and he has the ability to speak other languages. (How well he’s able to speak them isn’t exactly certain. He suddenly spoke in Swedish when Webby was trying to lie to her grandmother and he probably knows Chinese as well.)

It’s been confirmed that the old episode, “Double O Duck” will be reworked into this show, and depending on how the crew plans on using its story elements, he could have been or could still be a spy! Back in the 90’s there was a Disneyland live show called “Plane Crazy” that involved Launchpad along with a few other Disney Afternoon characters being recruited by the FBI to retrieve a stole spy jet. There’s another secret agent connection right there! The show-runners aren't just pulling from the comics and the previous show, there’s a good possibility that they could use something like this as a source. (I mean, they made something as obscure as a Toontown Online reference! Almost anything is possible!)

No one expects much from Launchpad McQuack. People think he’s just this stupid comic relief guy who keeps crashing planes everywhere. The Macau trip proved that there’s more to him than what he seems. LP is an outsider with a ton of connections.This won’t be the first time he surprises us.

If he’s the father, why does he not remember his children? At first I was thinking that maybe some mind-wiping might have come into play. (How far is Scrooge willing to go to cover up Della’s existence? What the heck happened to the mailman?!) It would explain his odd behavior and why he’s so unfocused, but now I’m leaning more towards an event in the past that could have prevented him from returning to his family.

He could have gone missing himself, he probably didn't even know Della was pregnant during his absence. Maybe he had a severe injury that kept him sidelined. (No one has ever died during LP’s crashes, but has anyone ever gotten hurt?) LP is already a clumsy-accident prone character who always ends up getting in some sort of dangerous incident. In the episodes we've seen so far, something always ends up impairing him during the adventures.

Let’s check the hit counter:

Bitten up by snakes

Falling off a mountain

Freaking out about ice fever

Several arrows to the back

He had an eye-patch in that same episode, so he possibly sustained an eye injury

Crashing into a wall

Getting paranoid about mole monsters

He’s also apparently sunk a helicopter in a wave pool once

Tʜᴇ Iɴsᴛᴀɢʀᴀᴍ ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴏsᴛ. Iᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʀᴇғᴇʀʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍᴏᴜɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʟᴏᴏᴘ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ Lᴀᴜɴᴄʜᴘᴀᴅ ᴄᴏɴsᴛᴀɴᴛʟʏ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ, ʙᴜᴛ sᴛɪʟʟ.

In HDL’s original comic debut, their mom leaves Donald a letter, mentioning their father being hospitalized due to a firecracker exploding under his chair. Doesn't sound too far off from some kind of crazy thing that could have happen to Launchpad.

[Note: Della originally started out as Donald’s cousin.]

Sky Pirates exist in this universe due to Talespin, maybe they raided his plane and kidnapped him. If he’s a spy, he could have been called out on a long mission. Launchpad could have also been in the military. I've seen comments when some viewers were speculating that LP might be suffering from PTSD due to how badly he reacted in “Terror of the Terrifirmians!”. The oldest illustration of the triplets’ father (WHY did they give him human ears?! ARRHG!) depicts him having a buzz cut hairstyle. This could be suggesting he was a soldier. Launchpad did army crawl in “The Impossible Summit of Mt. Neverrest!”, and there was a scene where he was acting like a drill sergeant in “The Living Mummies of Toth-Ra!”. Heh, I guess that could be another explanation to why he’s wearing green. (LP just strikes me as a character who has had multiple occupations in the past.)

[Note: Della was previously called “Thelma” and “Dumbella” before her name was finalized.]

If he’s the father, how could Donald and Scrooge not know who he is️? I really don’t think they would know...Della probably didn't properly introduce them to him. This could have been due to his possible disappearance. He could have been really busy due to whatever job he had at the time or maybe she was afraid to tell them who he was because they could have thought poorly of him. (He probably was notorious for his constant crashing around.) I have a bit of a feeling that Della kept certain important things in secret; her love-life probably being one of those things (And the possibility that she was working with Magica). I’m sure Scrooge could care less about who Della’s dating, he just needs her to be available for adventures.

Now with Donald, I dunno. In the “80 is prachtig”/”Family Ties” comic, Della just randomly shows up at Donald’s door with the triplets. He had just returned from the navy and he didn't even know she had children. Why wouldn't she tell Donald? It feels so weird for someone as close as your twin sister to lose contact like that. (Really? No letters? No telegrams or whatever means of long-distance communication that existed in that time frame?)

D’oh geez...what if Donald knew or had a feeling but saw Launchpad unfit to take care of the boys? He already isn't very fond of LP for mishandling his damaged houseboat. I just wanna see Donald show a general annoyance towards Launchpad regardless of it having anything to do with Della. LP’s character was basically created to r̶e̶p̶l̶a̶c̶e̶ help fill the void Donald left behind in the old series after he went off to the navy. It would be entertaining to see something meta like that.

Towards the end of “Woo-oo!” where Scrooge instructs HDL not to tell their Uncle Donald about going to Atlantis, Launchpad says “Wait, who is that?” This could suggest that he doesn't know who Donald is, but it’s possible that it was the “Uncle” part that threw him off. Donald wasn't an uncle 10+ years ago, so maybe he thought Scrooge was referring to another relative. It’s also possible that LP wasn't paying attention during Scrooge and Donald’s exchange in the earlier part of the special. Depending on how far the spy element will be worked into his character, he could also be pretending he doesn't know who Donald is so his cover won’t be blown. (Would Della not tell Launchpad about her brother? If so... why?)

If the relationship Launchpad and Della have is a romantic one, I don’t think the show runners are going to be quick to confirm it. Frank Angones stated that this show isn't about romantic relationships. That doesn't mean that there won’t be any romance, but it’s main focus will be on the platonic relationships that go on in a family. Discovering who both of HDL’s parents are fits perfectly with the family theme of the show, but we probably won’t see this get addressed until maybe the third season or the end of the show in the fourth season. (Disney has a rule about how their shows can’t exceed four seasons.) The relationships of the main cast needs to be established first before a surprise element like this can be thrown into the mix.

While it may take a long time for their connection to be addressed, I believe there may already be hints to insure that this is happening. In my next post, I'll be discussing some other interesting things I've noticed and what they could mean.

Are you up for more reading? Continue here.

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term7itmedia · 5 years ago

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Reflection 24/03/2020: Middle Stages

So, here we are in the middle stages of the FMP, or as I call it, the TFMP. Here, I’m going to reflect on what I have done so far, and what I’m going to do in the next 6 weeks. While that may not be a lot of time, I’ll do my best to do as much as possible.

Week 1 - 03/02/2020 - Start

It all began with what everything starts out as... an idea. I started out doing some concept art, which is not one of my best features, but I gave it a shot anyway as I was going to have to make some at some point, because I wanted to.

Here is the concept art for my main character. The name in the top left “Darohn Terlex” is just a random name I came up with by combining multiple names together (Darren, John, Terry and Alex). I did this because I couldn’t think of a suitable name for my character who both has a male and female variant, as seen in the picture above.

But how about the actual design of it? Firstly, I chose to focus on an outfit style. I had ten in mind, five for both male and female individually. Each of them follow a different outfit (and hair style) that is worn by that, or both gender(s), excluding the headsets.

While the headset styles were wildly random ones I have thought of with no inspiration or facts, I chose to stick with the first one (Virtual Reality) as it is more realistic than the other ones. Like... have you ever seen anyone wear a headset that looks like a pair of bog-standard glasses? ...me neither.

As for colour schemes, I chose to stick with the grey, red and black one I mentioned in my Colour Schemes post. I have added those colours to the concept art, which is not a thing people normally do as concept art is mostly outlines and rough sketches. More on that in an upcoming post.

Week 2 - 10/02/2020 - Creating the character + base game logic

Creating the character in Adobe Photoshop proved to be tricky at times. Mostly because I didn’t know what outfit to pick. I chose to go with the Fashion style for the male character, and a mix of Summer and Fashion for the female. I have chosen to do this because I liked both designs, but didn’t feel comfortable with using just one. That, and I felt it was more appropriate.

As you can see, in the concept art, the character is wearing boots, while in the sprites, they’re barefoot. This is because I was originally going to give them jet-boots in the game, but decided to go with a more advanced approach instead, as I’m using this time to expand upon my skills. However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to keep them barefoot. I’ll probably give them basic shoes or something, but it all depends on if I feel like it or not.

After the characters were finished, I took to the game. This allowed me to experiment with animations and sound effects. During this time, I was using placeholder sound effects that were dumped from a video game called Undertale (more info on that in posts mentioning it), which I quickly removed shortly afterwards.

Unfortunately, I came down with an dizzy illness near the end of the week, causing me to feel dreadful throughout the majority of February half-term, unable to work on anything. I recovered just before the next week started, though.

Week 3 - 23/02/2020 - Enemy intelligence

What is a game without intelligence... ARTIFICIAL intelligence. Okay, granted, it is not programmed intelligence that lets a virtual being learn as things goes, it’s just hard-coded intelligence (meaning it cannot be edited without editing the source files).

During this time, I got to work on the first level of the game. While doing that, I also got to work on the parallax background (learn more about that in my 2.5D Platforming post).

You can also see that I have implemented a pie chart. But not just any pie chart... a life pie chart!

Basically, this pie chart is the artistic way of telling the player how many hits they can take before dying. More info on that in an upcoming post. Alongside the pie chart, there is a semi-transparent shape at the bottom of the screen with text on it. That is the game’s way of guiding you through what to do. It has been programmed to show for 6 seconds, after which it goes completely transparent, hidden from view.

You’re probably wondering how I keep track of every detail I have implemented... that is because I have been taking videos and screenshots of development! I won’t share any footage yet, but here is a picture of every video I have taken (as of 16/03/2020).

As you can see, I have captured over 13 hours of footage! I actually have over 17 hours now, as some of it has been recorded recently but isn’t shown in this image. I am not uploading these raw, but I will provide a link to an unlisted playlist on YouTube with these videos in, except for #5, which dragged on for too long. I’m putting all of these raw videos into an hour long time-lapse so you can see how this game was made from the ground up if these screenshots aren’t enough for you.

Week 4 was mostly bug fixes, I’ll post a video here when I have created it, and as such this section will be edited.

Week 5 to 6 - 09/03/2020 to 16/03/2020 - Sound design and playtesting

youtube

This video goes over what program I used to create the sounds. Adding them to the game wasn’t hard, as I knew exactly how to add sounds and trigger them to play on demand at random intervals.

The source code needed to play the sound isn’t hard to understand when looked at, but since I’m not posting source code online (apart from small extracts in images I’m posting here), I’m pointing out what does what, since you probably don’t understand source code anyway.

The Break... Out

As you’re probably already aware, the UK became part of a pandemic called the SARS-CoV-2 outbreak, which affected over 5,000 people in less than a month. To contain the spread of the virus, all schools, colleges and universities had to shut... including mine. I picked up everything digital and stored it online via Google Drive (except for the timelapse video, which I exported then uploaded it in private to YouTube for me to download it later on so I can still edit it), YouTube and GitHub (which is a development platform that I can upload and download my source code from), seeing as we may not be back in college until the summer holidays... which would be too late to do anything.

Now that I’m stuck in my house for goodness knows how long, I can still work on my project with ease seeing as I have a powerful computer to deal with the situation, as well as having all the software I use at college, which has been made free for students by the software developers so that we can temporarily work with them during this difficult time without having to pay a penny.

Soon, I will have my time-lapse video ready, as well as a full playthrough (and download link) of the game when it is finished. Keep an eye out as I will have more development posts coming soon.

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tenscupcake · 7 years ago

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the null hypothesis (2/?)

fitzsimmons. teen. ~3.7k this chap. summary: roughly one out of every six people can’t feel touch; that is, until their soulmate touches them. fitz and jemma are two indignant contributors to that statistic, content to devote their lives to science rather than searching for their supposed ‘other half.’ both too clever for high school, they head off to university at sixteen, completely unaware their fates are about to become intertwined. but in a world where soulmates don’t always match, it’s not always easy to confess to a stranger. a soulmate au with a twist. this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3

Fitz’s first day at university doesn’t bode well for the semester. Each class he attends on Monday – general chemistry I, economics, and art history – is so introductory-level and simple. Aside from the gaps in his schedule and the fact that attendance isn’t recorded, it feels rather like high school (and three years of that place was enough to drive him half mad).

General chemistry he can’t believe he has to take. He’s more than proficient in the concepts that will be taught. AP exams and community college courses bailed him out of a laundry list of the university’s general education requirements, but this is an unfortunate exception. The university just decided to change its curriculum the year after he’d taken it at his local community college and, subsequently, they refused to accept his transfer credits for that particular course.

He’s planning to skip the lectures and just show up for labs and exams, until he finds out there will be quizzes for participation points at the beginning of each period starting next week. What a bunch of rubbish. He hopes he can at least spend most of that lecture time on his laptop, modelling equations and running simulations for the drone he’s working on.

The rest of the week, at least, bodes a bit better. He actually finds himself paying attention and taking a bit of notes in a few courses. Biochemistry is one: relatively speaking, it’s always been an area he’s weaker in. But it’s not the most riveting subject matter. He’s always found biology far too unpredictable for his taste. His two engineering courses, though, he’s properly excited about. Mechatronics and Numerical Analysis. He’s hoping to get some additional resources from the professors of those two, and look into joining one of their laboratories.

If half his classes weren’t pathetically simple and he didn’t pick up new subjects so easily, he might be a bit overwhelmed after the first week. In his situation, a typical student would probably be quite overwhelmed. His plan to graduate in three years has his schedule jam-packed: on average, he’ll be taking twenty-two units per semester. Normally, they don’t even allow such a thing, but they’ve made an exception for Fitz.

But Fitz is no typical student, so it’s far from overwhelming. Underwhelming, if anything. He’s a bit worried his longstanding boredom from high school may continue here as well.

Part of it is that none of his labs meet the first week. He has to complete an embarrassingly intuitive laboratory safety training course online, but other than that, he gets those periods off. He reckons he’ll be less bored when his schedule fills out with an extra twelve hours a week of lab work. Hands-on investigation is inherently less boring than sitting in class.

But for this week, in the three hour blocks he’ll normally be in various labs throughout campus, he stays in his room instead, continuing to chip away at his drone prototype one piece of hardware and one line of code at a time.

And that’s exactly what he’s doing after lunch the following Tuesday. Not yet in the habit of trekking to lab, he loses track of time. By the time he glances at his phone, he finds it’s 2:00 on the dot.

He’s already late for his first lab of the week.

When he crashes through the door of the third-floor teaching laboratory in the Chem building, the room is completely full. The students are already outfitted in their gloves and coats, goggles at the ready, and only one voice sounds through the room: that of their lab’s TA. He can’t see whoever the bloke is through all the shelves and ventilation shafts above the benches, but whoever he is has stopped his monologue in the wake of Fitz’s entrance.

Oops.

Everyone in the aisle he’s entered into is already paired off. Trying to catch his breath as quietly as possible, he makes his way to the front so he can get a better view of the rest of the lab.

As soon as he’s within eyesight of the TA, he’s on the receiving end of a lecture.

“I just finished explaining to the rest of the class: being more than five minutes late to a lab means you can’t participate in that lab, and you’ll have to take a zero.” Fitz’s stomach drops. Did he just sprint all the way here for nothing? “You’re all right for today. But starting next week, be on time or don’t come at all.”

“Yes, sir,” he responds dully. As soon as he turns his head, he rolls his eyes.

A quick glance around makes it seem as though everyone in the room does already have a partner.

Well, that’s fine. He’d rather work alone anyway. He’ll probably get it done before anyone else even without a protocol, and any one of these sods would likely just be a constant irritation.

“Anyone missing a partner?” the TA calls out. Fitz whips his head back in his direction, staring at him in horror. This he did not expect.

He reluctantly scans around the room, hoping no one will respond.

Much to his dismay, there’s a girl sitting by herself to his far right, the last bench against the wall. Her hand is raised tentatively, and when Fitz meets her eyes, she narrows hers, like she’s upset at the prospect of being paired with him. She looks younger than most of the others, almost like she could be his age. But looks can be deceiving, he’s learned.

Taking a deep breath, Fitz hustles over to her station. The sooner he’s out of the spotlight, the better.

“Excellent,” the bloke’s voice sounds behind him. “The two young geniuses get to work together. This’ll be interesting.”

Fitz glances back at him, scowling in confusion. ‘Two young geniuses?’ Just what he needs. A smart arse. It doesn’t matter how clever she thinks she is; she’s still going to slow him down.

He slumps into the stool next to hers, resigned to his fate. The mystery girl is quiet while the TA finishes telling them what they’re going to do today. It’s painfully simple: dissolve a pre-1982 penny in nitric acid. Precipitate the copper with sodium hydroxide. Form a copper oxide by heating the solution. Add sulphuric acid to form copper sulphate. Add zinc to re-form copper metal precipitate.

Wow. Magic.

He hastily puts on his coat and gloves on while the bloke is rambling about safety so as not to waste any more time. Then he pulls out his notebook and starts scribbling out the date and experiment title as neatly as he can. He knows these lab reports will be graded partially on legibility. He almost manages to get the whole protocol down before the TA finishes his spiel.

He’s just finishing the last two steps when the bloke announces they’re free to start.

“I’m Jemma,” his unwitting partner says, turning to him without hesitation. “Simmons,” she adds.

He reluctantly pulls his attention from his notebook and looks up at her.

At first glance, when she was half-scowling at him, he had found her a bit intimidating, but now that he’s up close and getting a better look, she’s actually rather nonthreatening. A soft smile on her lips and bright brown eyes that actually seem excited for this drivel. Actually, she’s a bit... nice to look at. Which, he realizes, must be bad news. People with her level of attractiveness generally have proportionately low intelligence.

“Leo,” he replies. His attempt at a smile falling flat, he turns back to his notebook as quickly as he can to continue writing. “Fitz,” he adds in the same manner that she did.

He should at least give her a chance, really. Maybe she’ll prove him wrong.

What did he want a fresh start for, if he wasn’t going to use it to find some new mates?

“Right then, Leo, I’ll get the reagents. You can get the rest of the supplies.”

Oh. She’s not American. For some reason it took him several words to pick up on it, but she’s decidedly English.

His heart suddenly softens to her even more. He knows how wretched it is to start over in a new country. He briefly wonders when she moved to the States. Unable to help himself, he glances back up at her, but before he can even agree to her terms, she’s walking away.

Wait. Did she just delegate a task to him? Does she think this is how it’s going to work, then? His short-lived empathy for her starts to dissolve.

Still, to save them both time, he gets the glassware and materials they’ll need anyway, and is able to get it all situated in their fume hood before she returns with the reagents.

“Found everything all right, then?” she asks when she returns with what he hopes are the appropriate amounts of their acids and bases.

As if it’d be hard for him to locate a couple of beakers in a chemistry lab?

“Hard to misplace a hot plate,” he quips, trying not to let his irritation show too much.

Not only did Jemma acquire the correct concentrations and volumes of the necessary reagents, she is surprisingly clever. She proceeds to the first step of the experiment without being prompted, narrating aloud everything she does as she does it (which, strangely, he finds a bit endearing).

Watching and listening her do everything as accurately as he would have done, Fitz readies the second step to save them time. The pleasant surprise of her competence lifts his mood considerably. Perhaps she is a good candidate for a friend.

“Not from around here, I’m guessing?” she asks as she places their penny in a beaker.

“Glasgow,” he says, adding the appropriate reagent to it.

“Sheffield,” she counters. And after a moment, she adds: “What’s your opinion of America so far?”

He takes a moment of thought for that one, thinking back to high school and the things he regularly sees on TV shows and the news.

“Lives up to the stereotypes.”

His answer makes her chuckle, and he rather likes it, though he’s not sure why. He supposes it’s rare that someone ever holds a conversation with him long enough for him to manage a joke of any kind; even rarer for the other person to laugh at it. Most people don’t seem to get his sense of humour.

Or maybe it’s just the sound of her laugh.

There’s a few minutes of silence as they continue on to the next step, and curiosity starts to gnaw at him. Jemma is the first person he’s met on this campus so far that he hasn’t immediately wanted to terminate contact with. Contrary to his expectations, the experiment is not going terribly at all. Jemma is knowledgeable about every aspect of it. She works with a precision that has him convinced she’s worked in as many labs as he has prior to arriving here. Neither of them has to refer to the protocol, both having memorized it in the time they spent writing it down. That saves more time than anything, he thinks, judging by the way everyone else keeps poring over their lab manuals.

As soon as they have another few moments of down time while a reaction bubbles to completion, he musters the courage to prod a little more.

“When did you move here?” he asks.

“About three years ago, now.”

“Hmm. Me too.”

“Though we didn’t move here, specifically to New Jersey, I mean. My parents are in Los Angeles.”

“Ah,” Fitz nods. “Yeah, my p” – he catches himself – “my mum, she’s in New York.”

“How old are you?” she asks, looking at him like she’s suspicious of his answer.

“Sixteen,” he admits.

“Seriously?” she asks, grinning like she’s pleasantly surprised by his answer.

“Seriously.” He nods, and can’t help smiling back a bit.

“I am too,” she volunteers. “Couldn’t stand another day of high school,” she adds, turning back to their foaming beaker.

This time, it’s his turn to chuckle.

It’s odd, how effortless this conversation is. He supposes he’s just no longer accustomed to being around other Brits anymore. Constantly bombarded with a different vernacular, always feels like the odd one out in conversations. References and idioms fly over his head; new-fangled slang words stump him out of some conversations completely. The World loves to rib Londoners for Cockney slang, but some of the things young Americans say colloquially are just as confusing and nonsensical.

That must be all it is.

“What’s your major?” she asks after the fourth step.

“Engineering.”

“Biochem,” she counters, without prompting.

And that’s when his hopes for this relationship sink just a little. Biology is so not his field. Their similarities likely begin and end with being British and taking Gen-Chem. What good would a friendship do them? After their GEs are done, they'll likely have no other classes together, no curriculum in common.

To add to that, Jemma soon all but bombards him with trivial questions that sink his hopes even more.

“Do you know when Dr White’s office hours are? Have you done the textbook readings yet? Have you been to the library?”

Clearly, their priorities are not the same.

“The truth is,” he tries to shut down the string of inquiries. “I spend most of my free time working on projects of my own.”

“Really? Like what?” she asks. She seems a bit frustrated with him. Well, ditto.

Without thinking, he tells her about the drone project. Probably offering a bit too many details. Once he gets started talking about it, it’s hard to stop. There’s so rarely anyone willing to listen. He seems to lose her a bit when he delves into the finer details, but she at least pretends he hasn’t.

“Sounds fascinating,” she offers. “And you do that all on your own?”

“For the most part, yeah.”

If only to be polite, he asks what sorts of things she gets up to in her field.

She goes into detail about the pharmaceutical internship she did the summer before she arrived here, and he can’t help but be impressed. She’s not just clever; she must be brilliant. What sort of sixteen-year-old could score an internship at a pharmaceutical company?

But as intrigued as he is by her kindness and intelligence, it isn’t long before he’s reminded of their inherent incompatibility.

Their TA approaches, peering between them to get a look at their settling reaction.

“Where are you two at?” he asks.

“We’re just about to dry the sample –” Fitz begins.

“We’ve just finished precipitating the copper metal –” Jemma says at the same time.

They both shoot each other surprised frowns, but neither of them cuts their explanation short.

The TA walks away laughing at the incident, but Fitz doesn’t find it amusing.

The very next moment, they disagree how to properly collect the copper solids for weighing; mere minutes later, on how to most efficiently dispose of the corrosives. Neither of them ever backs down, and they end up having to flip a couple of (undissolved) coins to decide whose ideas to use.

He’s thankful the simplicity of this particular experiment left few opportunities for such disagreements. But it seems clear that them working together on more complicated projects outside the confines of this introductory laboratory would be a recipe for disaster.

By the time they’re collecting their copper pellets into a tared dish and getting ready to bring it to the scale, they’ve both stopped attempts at chatter. They take down the mass in their notebooks and finish recording some observations, hardly glancing at each other. Seems she’s starting to tire of being in such close quarters with him.

But when they’ve finally cleaned the last of their station, she speaks up one last time.

“I hope you don’t make a habit of being late. It’s not only your grade that’s dependent on your punctuality.”

His last lingering hope squelches out in an instant. Well, there goes that, then.

Blood boiling, he tries not to let it show she’s gotten under his skin.

“Couldn’t find the building, that’s all,” he lies, without making any assurances he’ll be on time in the future. Or even show up. He could probably take a zero on two or three labs and still pass the course. Getting an ‘A’ in everything is hardly necessary. He’ll save his best work for his engineering courses. With or without a stellar GPA, he knows he’ll get into a graduate program. Extracurricular projects alone. Not to mention the campus research he’s planning on pursuing.

Perhaps next week he won’t show at all. That’ll show her. Trying to boss him around like that.

He takes off his protective gear and shoves his things into his bag. Checking the clock up on the far wall, he sees they’ve finished with more than an hour to spare. The other students have barely begun to add their sodium hydroxide.

Well, at least she’s efficient. Intelligent, too, he supposes. More so than anyone else in the room. Probably even the undergraduate population as a whole, if he’s honest with himself. But he can’t shake the feeling this friendship simply won’t work.

The TA comes by before they can leave. Fitz still doesn’t know the bloke’s name.

“Looks like you guys make quite the team. I’ll have to come up with some extra experimentation for you two next week, since this was clearly too easy for you.”

Fitz can’t help but sigh as the TA walks away. Perhaps they should’ve dragged it out a bit more.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Fitz.” Jemma says before either of them can leave.

Taken aback by her casual use of his last name, it takes him a moment to respond.

“Yeah,” he says, slinging his backpack on. “You too.”

Before he can duck out the door, she holds out her hand.

“See you next week?” she says, gently smiling at him like she did when she introduced herself.

He’s probably being a prat. She’s been perfectly nice since he sat down next to her. She’s just… studious. Even if they won’t be best friends, he shouldn’t go mucking up their relationship. She is an excellent lab partner, the best he could’ve hoped for. A knack for chemistry, efficient, friendly. And he should really give her some more credit, going out on a limb to make amends. Doing his best to shrug off his pessimistic first impression, he reaches for her outstretched hand.

But the moment his hand makes contact with hers, the whole bloody world stops turning. The commotion of chatter, stools screeching against the floor, and glassware clicking fades into nothing as he stares down at their joined hands, dumbfounded. His vision tunnels until it’s is all he can see; his very existence becomes tethered to her hand. He should be gasping, or screaming, but his lungs aren’t working. They’re frozen along with all the muscles in his body, including his hand.

He’s neither squeezing nor shaking her hand, but nor is he pulling away, he’s just awkwardly holding it in mid-air.

Because he can feel it.

He. Can. Feel. It.

Her smaller, smoother hand wrapped around his, soft skin and the gentle contours of joints, warm and clammy from wearing gloves for two hours. Instantly, effortlessly activating a million dysfunctional nerve endings everywhere her skin touches. A fuzzy warmth kindles in his palm, sending phantom tingles that shouldn’t be possible halfway up his arm.

In an instant, he’s forgotten about their disagreements, his shallow irritation with her study habits and bossiness. Suddenly, all that matters is how perfectly this hand fits inside his. The fact that it’s attached to a brilliant and beautiful girl that he’s meant to spend the rest of his life with.

How much time has passed? A second? A minute?

He snaps his gaze back up to her face, trying to hold himself together.

Don’t panic, he tells himself. Stick to logic and observation. Gauge her reaction.

But all his overstimulated brain can manage to gather from her is an evident lack of reaction. She doesn’t gasp, or shout, or jump up and down, like he’s seen others do when this happens.

Ward’s taunt flashes in the front of his mind again, fresh as if he just said it.

You must be one of the mistakes.

He can’t let on what’s just happened, then. He can’t possibly tell her. A million scenarios race through his head of how that could go, the most prominent of which goes something like: oh, you’re one of those? And you think I’m yours??? Scoffing. Piteous laughter. Her running up to the TA asking to switch lab partners because hers is too weird.

Fearing the worst, instinct kicks in and he yanks his hand away as though he’s been shocked (something he actually knows intimately, working with electronics as often as he does).

She doesn’t look creeped out, at least, that he held or stared at her hand for so long. She looks mildly surprised, confused perhaps, as she lets her hand fall to her side again, but that’s all. As silent as he is, she just stares at him. It takes him far too long to realize she’s probably just waiting for him to say something in response to what she asked him.

Oh, bloody hell! He still hasn’t said anything.

What did she ask him?

His name? No. They did that already.

See you next week?

Right.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, his throat uncomfortably dry. “Yes,” he adds, unnecessarily.

Before he can say or do anything else stupid or revealing, he turns around and speeds for the door – as fast as he can without properly running, at any rate – and doesn’t look back. Only once he throws open the door and is clear of the frame does he break into a run. By the time he realizes the door had slammed into the door stop, he’s already halfway down the hallway.

#fsfic #fstag #fitzsimmons #excited to be posting this update too #2 fics updated in one weekend thats some kind of record for me #though it has involved me sitting in my recliner a large portion of the day #but i don't want to succumb to this cold or whatever so i'm letting myself off the hook #written by yours truly

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deborahcastellano · 8 years ago

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The Scene Is Never What It Used to Be: A Retrospect on Glamour and Steampunk

Can I make some old/femme/goth/steampunk/the-scene-is-never-what-it-used-to-be noises? Back in my day, a hundred years ago when I was the con head for SalonCon, Steampunk was still being defined. Like, to the point that I needed to make my assistant (The Baby) explain what exactly it was, many times. I was interested in Neo-Victoria for many reasons but I also became interested in The Past that Never Was (Steampunk) for many reasons coming from an intersectional feminist standpoint. Mostly, we became involved in Steampunk because The Baby was interested in it and we couldn't afford to pay her and it was a reasonably easy way to compensate her for all her time and energy. We wanted her to have a space to enjoy herself as a thank you for her hard work.

This was . . .ten years ago.

Penny Dreadful wouldn't be out for another seven years and cybergoth was most fashionable at the club, along with a modern high gothic aesthetic which had a lot of velvet but also a lot of straps and snaps and spikes. Chokers had been out of fashion for a while as we were in the late aughts so you couldn't just pop over to Forever 21/Hot Topic for one.

I'm not a costumer, I'm not a seamstress. I was also working a day job while running SalonCon. I trying to make a thing go that did not previously exist. I would try to explain to local shop owners and club owners (because flyering was still a thing) and even to various ellllll-jaaaaay groups but it was never what the Lolita Goths wanted and it was never kinky enough for the kinksters and it didn't have enough tweet-tweet-stomp-thump for the general goth person. I mean, it was hard to sell a concept then that was very, oh hai! You have to dress up in some fashion, manners matter here and you will be expected to use your brain! Everyone just wanted to drink and dance. Now everyone wants to think and not dance, but that's a story for another time. On my part, there was a lot of crying and vomiting because who knew where the money would come from to pay for everything to make SalonCon go? It was as mysterious as death.

So, I was flat broke and completely stressed out from all of this. I knew I wanted to get people to think and think hard about a lot of nebulous things - What does it mean to dress up glamorously without a dress code? (an issue that would cause many writer friends much angst for reading at SalonCon. Some, I simply lent clothes to, others I reassured) If this is a past that never was, where do people of color, the lbgt community, people with disabilities and other minority communities fit? Why would people want to learn ballroom dancing, sit at a formal tea, engage in theoretical debate together? Who even wanted to do this? It turns out, ten years later, a lot of people do! Year one, it was a very hard sell. A very, very hard sell. I was basically telling vendors, um, I can't promise very much but maybe eventually? You don't have much to lose! Tables aren't expensive! You can say you were here at the beginning! As someone who is also a merchant, I can tell you that I wouldn't have touched us with a ten foot pole. But there were a lot of brave and kind vendors who wanted to try something new and see what it looked like. This very foreign concept of having manners, acting/dressing glamorously and using one's brain in public.

I knew I couldn't get away with what my male con head/club event counterparts could get away with. They could wear jeans and a t shirt because they had to work very hard. I had to learn to run in a corset and heels because I was also the figurehead. If I was going to insist on art, beauty and truth at a hotel in New Jersey, I was going to need to look the part. I was broke, I was a minority as a femme con head and no one knew what Neo-Victoria was, let alone Steampunk which was somehow even harder to explain at the time because there were no visual cues yet. Now, it's a completely different story. My mom could probably take a stab at explaining Steampunk, having been to SalonCon and now having seen it in pop culture.

I needed to have A Girl to help me look somewhat respectable for this. But it was never A Girl, it was always many girls. April1's cousin who did my hair, Fae who did my make up, The Girl from Damaged Goods who lent me lingerie, The Girl from Art of Adornment who made a tiny hat and velvet choker for me (both of which I still have), The Girl from Retroscope who made me a taffeta high-low skirt which are now ubitiquous to Steampunk but then was a concept that required many prototypes and as much money as I could afford to spend at the time (roughly, $150 - if you know anything about concept fashion, you understand that she was doing me a giant favor, even ten years ago) and took several months to make (which I still have as well). It was a village of Girl(s) who would put me together enough to do this.

I realize now, this is what glamour magic looks like at its heart. This thing that isn't a thing yet. You are hesitantly explaining a concept to the people closest to you and then to acquaintances and then to people who run in adjunct circles and then strangers. You are waiting for them to smack you down really hard because this is something new. People either can immediately wrap their heads around this new concept you are trying to give birth to and it immediately blossoms into life with them or it's a seedling that shoots tentative roots as they think about it and become interested or it never comes out of its seed casing and it lies there, dormant and useless. You start there with glamour magic. You bring the concept into the universe and see what it looks like, if it starts to look like something else in other people. You see what common threads twine among them. You see if strangers tell other strangers about it. Is your mythos strong enough to stand on its wobbly colt feet? Then you start spinning, spinning, spinning. You are making offerings at midnight in the crossroads because you cannot sleep without bringing this Thing into being. You are obsessed. You beg and plead with your goddesses, your spirits, your ancestors. You sob, you bleed, you offer anything you have and then just a little bit more. You sell yourself by the inch. You realize you don't know how to get to this Thing but you will learn. You will do anything you have to do. And then you start meeting people who understand what you are trying to do and they will act as midwives because they are struck by this fever too. And they will offer help in whatever way they can - burlesque, Tesla coil experiments, their voices, their songs, their organization, their hands. And it's this beautiful process, your glamour made real through you, through loved ones, through strangers.

Glamour magic has been like that for me and I keep talking about it and I keep writing about it and I keep performing it. I'm in my "third trimester" before the book comes out. I'm talking about it on podcasts, I'm blogging about it, I'm setting up events, I'm finishing my final edits. I'm terrified about it, but it's coming and nothing can stop it. It's bringing me right back to the beginning, right back to Steampunk. That ex I can never quite fully quit, no matter how hard I try.

It's been a very long time and I've been away for a very long time for many many reasons. Imagine my surprise that now one can simply go to Amazon and get a bustle skirt made out of actual cotton fabric (a "real" fabric, per April2 which makes it v. precious) for $30, delivered to your doorstep via Prime in two days. Two. Days.

I will confess, at first I was completely indignant. A real bustle skirt in two days for $30. Velvet chokers at Forever 21 for $3. A $10 elaborate lace necklace. A $15 lace shrug. Arm warmers! Leg warmers! All for pennies. What about all the time, vomit and money I spent on all of my things?

The truth is, coming back to Steampunk many years later, I still feel a bit of an impostor. My palms are sweating as I wonder what to wear. Arm warmers? Cliche! Goggles? Double cliche!!!! I will never be Steampunk enough even if I was one of the midwives of Steampunk. Which is silly, isn't it? Like, how exciting is it that there are Steampunk cliches? I can go to Michaels and buy things to make my own Steampunk jewelry whether I was a sixteen year old girl or a forty year old dude. I can even use a coupon. And I find myself in love that everyone can have access to Steampunk now, whether it's from a one-woman-Etsy-sweatshop, whether you are sketching and designing your outfit yourself or pick up a gear at a retail chain, it's there for everyone to love.

Steampunk and Neo-Victoria were never about being completely "true" to a long gone time period (unless that was your thing, then rock out), it was never about looking like a cookie cutter to something we were making up as we were going along. It wasn't about bankrupting yourself to keep up with the Clockwork Joneses. It was about being as true to your vision as you could be. It was about what made you feel glamourous inside and out.

Find your compass rose no matter how many or few people are doing that outward glamour thing that you are doing.

If I'm being honest, the roots of my book* started here, ten years ago, in this very uncertain place. Feeling out of my depths with this enterprise I had taken on that I couldn't even market properly because it wasn't quite real yet. Feeling out of my depth in my outward glamour presentation in life but especially here in this place. I felt very judged as a women in a leadership role both in how I presented myself physically and how "good" my con was.

My friend Ri had to hold me that first year. I was too sick to even drink at the afterparty (me! too sick to drink at a party! 28 year old Deb!). I trembled v. ferociously in his arms, chanting "I can't do this, I will never do this again, I will never do this again, I will never do this again, it's too much, Ri, it's too much." and he would laaaaaaaaaaaaaugh v. merrily and say, "Of course you will! It's what we do, we Make things. You will keep doing this! You will keep Making things."

And he was right, I did it for as long as I could, until I knew it would break me. I rocked the mike on MTV, I was interviewed by The New York Times and I worked as hard as I could to bring as many people up in their respective areas of Steampunk expertise as I could along the way. I kept my moral compass no matter how hard it was at times and oh at times it was very hard. It was a whirlwind and I never knew who or what I was supposed to be. Was I Janet's assistant who proofed resumes for pharma marketing suits? Was I April1's friend being scolded because I didn't check in enough on my staff? Was I The Con Head of SalonCon, getting recognized in sweats on the streets of New Hope with a bagel hanging out of my mouth? Was I some kind of second rate proto-fashion icon who was also a bit on the fat side and not terribly good at doing her own hair? Was I Josh's soon-to-be-blushing-bride who was also his even-sooner-to-be-ex-wife? Was I my mother's daughter who did not sit up straight enough at tea at SalonCon?

And I find myself very unexpectedly back in that same place, ten years later. And I find myself asked to do things I swore I would never again do . . .and saying yes. Here I am, the derelict Steampunk daughter, back at the doorstep, suitcase in hand. And I feel that same hurricane inside me that I felt ten years ago again, relaunched by my sudden unexpected return to Steampunk but also with the impending launch of my book. It feels much the same, though perhaps I'm a little steadier now. People closest to me acting in ways I don't expect, sudden opportunities that require me to think quickly and act even faster, the uncertainty in not knowing if I will amount to anything, if my book will amount to anything in my publisher's eyes, if these glamour dreams I've been dreaming for so long will result in strangers recognizing me when I am out and telling me or even worse, saying nothing at all so I am spotted a la Gossip Girl and I'm not even aware of it, the constant hamster wheel in my head repeatedly asking what does it even mean to be famous and how do you even know if you are? I slammed the door on that hurricane ten years ago, just before Steampunk became mainstream only a few years later. Truth be told, I was relieved.

But here I am again, right back where I started, my life an uncertain swirl of glamour, writing and Steampunk. This time, I won't slam the door. This time I'll fling it open even wider, hollering, "Here I am! Come and get me, boys!"

* Glamour Magic: The Witchcraft Revolution to Get What You Want, Llewellyn. Available on Amazon for pre-sale!

#Llewellyn #glamour #glamour magic #wicca #wiccan #Occult #Occultist #witchcraft #witch #penny dreadful #steampunk #goth #high goth #corset #convention #saloncon #steampunk world's fair

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