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thebraingremlinsaremad · 3 years ago

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Daily Blog #15: August 22, 2021

Dollar Tree is honestly pretty fucking awesome 👌👌👌

I set my alarm for like 6:25 this morning, but it took 6 minutes for the "Horsin' Around" theme song instrumental to wake me up. I was pretty tired lol. I just dismissed it and went back to sleep.

I only went back to sleep because I knew I had another alarm set for 7:00. That got me up.

I should mention that this was still in the RV over an hour away from the house.

After I got up, I went to go get a shower, and did so successfully.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten my brush this time and had to do it afterwards after my hair had a bit of time to dry, which did make it a little more difficult lol.

I got dressed and grabbed my stuff, putting it into my car.

I made it a point to see and say "see you later" to my grandparents before I left for the flea market.

My dad insisted that I stayed to say goodbye to my mom, so I left.

I did NOT have cell service up there, as was mentioned in my previous 2 blogs of which I could only post today, so finding my way was a tiny bit difficult until I got some service to ask Google to take me to "...".

It worked and I got there.

On my drive, I listened to 1 by Simple Kid, a CD I had previously purchased at a Dollar Tree location.

I got a call from the guy at the flea market saying that I had some people there waiting for me. He asked how far away I was, to which I said "about 10 minutes." Ironically, that call made me miss my exit, as Google couldn't talk during the call, and added about 3 minutes to my arrival time lmao.

I did sell the Xbox that he said someone was interested in. I got $40 for it. I spent 27¢ on it. Pretty good return if you ask me.

I couldn't sell it with anything other than a power cord because the controller and AV cables I had been using to play it there were for my personal console. I'm just glad I can actually hook my Xbox up and stop having to drag them to the flea market along with a small library of games.

Not too long after I sold the Xbox, someone came in and asked if I wanted to see some electronics he had in his car. I went out with him. It was a pair of 3ft speakers and a Pioneer audio system with dual cassette decks (although neither of them works) and a 25 Disc CD-changer, as well as the standard AM/FM tuner. Additionally, there was a Fisher amplifier and AM/FM tuner as well as a Fisher Direct Drive turntable. He said he wanted $60 for em, but before that he casually, and probably accidentally, dropped that he was just gonna take em to the thrift store.

Big mistake.

I got em for $35 lmao. THERE GOES MOST OF MY PROFIT.

Oh well.

I tested everything. As I mentioned, the cassette decks don't work, but everything else does apart from the turntable needing a new stylus.

I posted some new photos of the shop to Facebook, and someone soon DMed me about a stereo system.

I priced everything, and it turns out I have about $300 worth of equipment from that deal, the Fisher amp and tuner being worth about $150.

The buyer will hopefully show up next weekend, for he wants to buy the Fisher stuff ($185 with the turntable), the 3ft speakers, an 8-track deck, and a Kenwood deck we've had for a week or two.

The speakers are listed for $50 (and are worth around $100-150), the Kenwood Deck for $50 as well, and the 8-track for $35. That makes it about $320 in equipment. Since he's buying so much, I'll knock it down to $270 and essentially give him the speakers or cassette deck for free lol.

Apart from that stuff, not much happened at the flea market. I sold some records, cassettes, CDs and I think 2 DVDs. One person bought a VHS tape? That money was the other guy's though. Oh well xD.

I can't say that I didn't miss my wonderful partner while on the trip. I actually brought along the stuffed animal they gave me (who's name is Greg) and snuggled with him both nights.

I was very happy to hear from them UwU.

They let me rant and I let them rant.

I honestly give them too much responsibility over me xD. I'm like, "Okay, I'm gonna do this. HOLD ME TO IT."

I know I can't hold myself to anything I personally say (this blog being the only exception apparently), but I listen to them pretty well I think 🤔. If they tell me, "No, you don't need that VCR," so long as it's not some weird specialty thing, like a worldwide VCR 🥵, I'll be like "Yeah, you rite bro."

I love you man xD. You control my craziness pretty well. I'm so thankful for you UwU.

#relationshipgoals

So part way through the flea market day, I went over to Dollar Tree to buy some snack, but ended up looking through the CDs to see if there was anything good. I took photos of about 18 CDs and flipped through them online for the remainder of the flea market day.

I deleted the photos of the ones I didn't want and kept those that I liked. Surprisingly, I ended up buying 13 CDs there, but not before dropping them on the floor like the dumbass I am.

Also, sorry for all the nerd shit I spilled on your lap earlier. No one cares about amps and tuners xD.

I'M LISTENING TO ONE OF THE DOLLAR TREE CDS RIGHT NOW THO.

I already transferred over to my online library on iBroadcast and put the disc into my CD changer, which is now holding 164 CDs.

Its max capacity is 300 discs 🥵

WHY AM I NERD

Oh well

I like being a nerd gurl

Also maybe a technosexual 👀

I get really excited over some electronics. Like. REALLY excited.

Some editing VCRs are like "Holy shit that is SEXY. Look at those goddamn VU meters 🥵. And hhhh there are like 7 inputs on this thing and individual controls for left and right audio gain, not to mention Hi-Fi S-VHS recording. Hhhhhhhhhhh please gimme 😭. Why are you so expensive?"

I uh, mean, uh, *cough* look, pretty lights.

Oh yeah, I was gonna say the album I was listening to xD. MAN I GOT SIDETRACKED.

It's 37 Everywhere by Punchline. Def give it a listen; it's pretty heccin good.

Another notable album I picked up was Page One by Steven Page. I very much like the first track, "A New Shore." It's quite catchy and he has a great voice imo.

Also at dollar tree, I bought a regular bag of Fieras and 2 bags of Fieras Sticks, which were marked down to 75¢/bag because they're expiring soon.

I honestly like the generic Dollar Tree version of Takis more than actual Takis. They're a lot more flavorful when it comes to the lime, but also hotter at the same time.

Don't get the hot nacho ones tho. Hot nacho? More like hot pile of shit.

HAH

Goteem.

They're not that good xD.

THE REGULAR ONES ARE FIRE THO

"How do you do fellow kids?"

I got home and started working on putting the CDs onto my computer, and then onto iBroadcast, but not without first adding The Music Man to my digital library, something I had neglected for a month or two. The CD had just been sitting there lol.

I also switched my digital file for "The Black Parade" to that of the uncensored CD, which I had purchased before I event started working over 2 months ago.

MAN I'M LAZY

I eventually get around to shit tho lol. I guess it's just a matter of priority.

What usually takes priority is digging through everything to find something that I forgot about but then remembered, making a mess in the process that I would then have to clean up, at least partially.

I think the album just ended. I've been writing for a while xD. I'ma start "I Made You Something" by The Island of the Misfit Toys.

I'll tell you where that album came from in a minute.

In the meantime, where was I?

I kinda lost my train of thought despite reading up to see where I was. Oh well. On I go.

I ate dinner and kept working on those CDs, eventually putting my clothes from the week into the washer.

I FORGOT TO PUT MY SHAPING UNDERWEAR IN. FUCKING HELL MAN.

I wanted to wash em for this week 😭

No tight pants for Leonna I guess qwq.

Meanwhile, the box of my CD album cases is overflowing. I need another box.

I keep all of the album artworks in a big CD folder. That's almost full.

I wanna fill my entire CD changer. That's one of my big goals in life. Idk why, but I just wanna legitimately fill the entire thing.

My clothes are in the dryer now. I don't think I have the time (or energy) to fold them tonight. I'll leave that for tomorrow morning before work.

And God. Fucking. Damnit. I start school again on Wednesday. NOT looking forward to that, and neither are my 2 coworkers. We already have low enough staff, but only the two of them working is gonna be a pain in the ass.

I'll still work Saturdays.

I need to contact my guidance counselor to get out of the gym class I signed up for. I scheduled this shit before I found out I was trans, and I don't wanna deal with the fucking locker room situation 🙄 I have far more important matters.

Okay so anyway, the album I'm listening to came from a cassette. I bought this cassette a few months ago at the flea market along with a few others. The reason I bought them? They were all newer cassette releases from the 2010's, and they're all actually pretty good music from very indie bands.

Currently getting mad at iBroadcast's compression algorithm. It's unnaturally fucking anything over -10db up. Oh well, there's not really anything I can do about it.

I have like 13GB of music on my phone btw. That's about 3.5k songs on 268 albums.

I'm kind of an audiophile, but I'm too cheap to pay for a lossless service. Oh well.

They do actually have a lossless service on iBroadcast, but once again, too cheap.

Someone just sent me a friend request who legitimately posted that BLM and the democratic party are hate groups.

BLOCK.

Goodbye ho.

I don't get that. They call the democratic party a hate group when they hate people like me, and I, being more of a democrat although not fully because the 2-party system is fucked, think nothing more of them than they're very wrong about certain things, especially, as shown, that black people, as well as asian, Indian, native, and people of all ethnicities and backgrounds, are not equal to white people.

Yeh.

Totally.

You go buddy.

Anyway, yeah, I can, and do, convert music and video from analog formats to digital files in order for me to archive and listen to whenever and wherever I please. I've actually made a bit of a business out of it, but I don't get too much work from it. At least I'm not overloading myself xD.

I honestly have so much more to say, but I should probably go to sleep soon.

A few final shoutouts to the following people and companies:

-Dollar Tree

-Steven Page

-Broken World Media

-The Island of Misfit Toys

-Simple Kid

-Punchline

-My incredible partner QwQ I love you so much. Thanks for being the best all the time. I hope I can give you the best life ever.

Anyway I suppose this is goodnight. Lmk if you want a full list of the CDs I bought today! I'll link that song by Steven Page here.

And here's a good song from Simple Kid

I really like music lol. Enjoy these pieces.

Anyway, goodnight lol.

Lots of love,

-Leonna.

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paralleljulieverse · 4 years ago

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“We’ll be educating Archie, so we’ll be busy for a while...”

We are a little late with this commemorative post, but last month -- 6 June, to be precise -- marked the 70th anniversary of the debut of Educating Archie (1950-59), the legendary BBC radio series starring ventriloquist Peter Brough and his dummy, Archie Andrews. Fourteen-year-old Julie Andrews was part of the original line-up for the 1950 premiere season of Educating Archie and she would remain with the show for two full seasons till late-1951/early-1952.

It would be difficult to exaggerate the significance of Educating Archie during the ‘Golden Age' of BBC Radio in the 1950s. Across the ten years it was on the air, it grew from a popular series on the Light Programme into a “national institution” (Donovan, 74). At its peak, the series averaged a weekly audience of over 15 million Britons, almost a third of the national population (Elmes, 208). Even the Royals were apparently fans, with Brough and Archie invited to perform several times at Windsor Castle (Brough, 162ff). The show found equal success abroad, notably in Australia, where a special season of the series was recorded in 1957 (Foster and First, 133).

Audiences couldn’t get enough of the smooth-talking Brough and his smart-lipped wooden sidekick, and the show soon spawned a flood of cross-promotional spin-offs and marketing ventures. There were Educating Archie books, comics, records, toys, games, and clothing. An Archie Andrews keyring sold half a million units in six months and the Archie Andrews iced lolly was one of the biggest selling confectionary items of the decade (Dibbs 201). More than a mere radio programme, Educating Archie became a cultural phenomenon that “captured the heart and mood of a nation” (Merriman, 53).

On paper, the extraordinary success of Educating Archie can be hard to fathom. After all, what is the point of a ventriloquist act on the radio where you can’t see the artist’s mouth or, for that matter, the dummy? Ventriloquism is, however, more than just the simple party trick of “voice-throwing”. A good “vent” is at heart a skilled actor who can use his or her voice to turn a wooden doll into a believable character with a distinct personality and dynamic emotional life. It is why many ventriloquists have found equal success as voice actors in animation and advertising (Lawson and Persons, 2004).

Long before Educating Archie, several other ventriloquist acts showed it was possible to make a successful transition to the audio-only medium of radio. Most famous of these was the American Edgar Bergen who, with his dummy Charlie McCarthy, had a top-rating radio show which ran in the US for almost two decades from 1937-1956 (Dunning, 226). Other local British precedents were provided by vents such as Albert Saveen, Douglas Craggs and, a little later, Arthur Worsley, all of whom had been making regular appearances on radio variety programmes for some time (Catling, 81ff; Street, 245).

By his own admission, Peter Brough was not the most technically proficient of ventriloquists. A longstanding joke -- possibly apocryphal but now the stuff of showbiz lore -- runs that he once asked co-star Beryl Reid if she could ever see his lips move. “Only when Archie’s talking,” was her deadpan response (Barfe, 46). But Brough -- described by one critic as “debonair, fresh-faced and pleasantly toothy” (Wilson “Dummy”, 4) -- had an engaging performance style and he cultivated a “charismatic relationship with his doll as the enduring and seductive Archie Andrews” (Catling, 83). Touring the variety circuit throughout the war years, he worked hard to perfect his one-man comedy act with him as the sober straight man and Archie the wise-cracking cut-up.

Inspired by the success of the aforementioned Edgar Bergen -- whose NBC radio shows had been brought over to the UK to entertain US servicemen during the war -- Brough applied to audition his act for the BBC (Brough, 43ff). It clearly worked because the young vent soon found himself performing on several of the national broadcaster’s variety shows. His turn on one of these, Navy Mixture, proved so popular that he secured a regular weekly segment, “Archie Takes the Helm” which ran for forty-six weeks (ibid, 49). While appearing on Navy Mixture, Brough worked alongside a wide range of other variety artists, including, as it happens, a husband and wife performing team by the name of Ted and Barbara Andrews.

Fast forward several years to 1950 and, in response to his surging popularity, Brough was invited by the BBC to mount a fully-fledged radio series built around the mischievous Archie (Brough, 77ff). A semi-sitcom style narrative was devised -- written by Brough’s longtime writing partner, Sid Colin and talented newcomer, Eric Sykes -- in which Archie was cast as “a boy in his middle teens, naughty but lovable, rather too grown up for his years-- especially where the ladies are concerned -- and distinctly cheeky” (Broadcasters, 5). Brough was written in as Archie’s guardian who, sensing the impish lad needed to be “taken strictly in hand before he becomes a juvenile delinquent,” engages the services of a private tutor to “educate Archie” (ibid.). Filling out the weekly tales of comic misadventure was a roster of both regular and one-off characters. In the first season, the Australian comedian, Robert Moreton, was Archie's pompous but slightly bumbling tutor, Max Bygraves played a likeable odd-job man, and the multi-talented Hattie Jacques voiced the part of Agatha Dinglebody, a dotty neighbourhood matron who was keen on the tutor, along with several other comic characters (Brough, 78-81).

In keeping with the variety format popular at the time, it was decided the series would also feature weekly musical interludes. “Our first choice” in this regard, recalls Peter Brough (1955), “was little Julie Andrews”:

“A brief two years before [Julie] had begun her professional career as a frail, pig-tailed, eleven-year-old singing sensation, startling the critics in Vic Oliver’s ‘Starlight Roof’ at the London Hippodrome by her astonishingly mature coloratura voice. Many people of the theatrical world were ready to scoff, declaring the child’s voice was a freak, that it could not last or that such singing night after night would injure her throat. They did not reckon with Julie’s mother, Barbara, and father, Ted: nor with her singing teacher, Madame Stiles-Allen. In their care, the little girl, who had sung ‘for the fun of it’ since she was seven, continued a meteoric career that has few, if any rivals” (81).

As further context for Julie’s casting in Educating Archie, the fourteen-year-old prodigy had already appeared on several earlier BBC broadcasts and was thus well known to network management. In fact, Julie had already worked with the show’s producer, Roy Speers, on his BBC variety show, Starlight Hour in 1948 (Julie Andrews Radio Artists File I).

Julie’s role in Educating Archie was essentially that of the show’s resident singer who would come out and perform a different song each week. In the first volume of her memoirs, Julie recalls:

“If I was lucky, I got a few lines with the dummy; if not, I just sang. Working closely with Mum and [singing teacher] Madame [Stiles-Allen], I learned many new songs and arias, like ‘The Shadow Waltz’ from Dinorah; ‘The Wren’; the waltz songs from Romeo and Juliet and Tom Jones; ‘Invitation to the Dance’; ‘The Blue Danube’; ‘Caro Nome’ from Rigoletto; and ‘Lo, Hear the Gentle Lark’” (Andrews 2008, 126)

Other numbers performed by Julie during her appearances on Educating Archie include: “The Pipes of Pan”, “My Heart and I”, “Count Your Blessings”, “I Heard a Robin”, and “The Song of the Tritsch-Tratsch” (”Song Notes”, 11; Julie Andrews Radio Artists File I). Additional musical interludes were provided by other regulars on the show such as Max Bygraves, the Hedley Ward Trio and the Tanner Sisters.

Alongside her weekly showcase song, Julie’s role was progressively built into a character of sorts as the eponymously named ‘Julie’, a neighbourhood friend of Archie’s. In a later BBC retrospective, Brough recalled that it was actually Julie’s idea to flesh out her part:

“We were thinking of Educating Archie and dreaming up the idea...and we wanted something fresh in the musical spot. We had just heard Julie Andrews with Vic Oliver in Starlight Roof...and we thought, why not Julie with that lovely fresh voice, this youngster with a tremendous range? So we asked her to come and take part in the trial recording and she came up with her mother and her music teacher, Madame Stiles-Allen...and Julie was a tremendous hit, absolutely right from the start. She used to sing those lovely Strauss waltzes...and all those lovely songs and hit the high notes clear as a bell. And then she came to me and said, ‘Look...I’m just doing the song spot, do you think I could just do a line or two with Archie and develop a little talking, a little character work?’ So, I said, ‘I don’t see why not’, So we talked to Eric Sykes and Roy Speer and, suddenly, we started with Julie talking lines back-and-forth with Archie, and Eric developed the character for her of the girl-next-door for Archie, very sweet, quite different from the sophisticated young lady she is today, but a lovely sweet character” (cited in Benson 1985)

As intimated here, an initial trial recording of Educating Archie was commissioned by the BBC, ostensibly to gauge if the format would work or not. This recording was made with the full cast on 15 January 1950 and was sufficiently well received for the broadcaster to green-light a six-episode pilot series to start in June as a fill-in for the popular comedy programme, Take It From Here during that series’ summer hiatus (Pearce, 4). The first episode of Educating Archie was scheduled for Tuesday 6 June in the prime 8:00pm evening slot, with a repeat broadcast the following Sunday afternoon at 1:45pm (Brough, 88ff).

All of the shows for Educating Archie were pre-recorded at the BBC’s Paris Cinema in Lower Regent Street. Typically, each week’s episode would be rehearsed in the afternoon and then performed and recorded later that evening in front of a live audience. Julie’s fee for the show was set at fifteen guineas (£15.15s.0d) for the recording, with an additional seven-and-a-half guineas (£7.17s.6d) per UK broadcast, 3 guineas (£3.3s.0d) for the first five overseas broadcasts, and one-and-a-half guineas for all other broadcasts (£1.11s.6d) (Julie Andrews Radio Artists File I).

The initial six-episodes of Educating Archie proved so popular that the BBC quickly extended the series for another six episodes from 18 July to 22 August (“So Archie,” 5). Of these Julie appeared in four -- 25 July, 1, 8, 14 August -- missing the fist and last episode due to prior performance commitments with Harold Fielding. Subsequently, the show -- and, with it, Julie’s contract -- was extended for a further eight episodes (29 August-17 October), then again for another eight (23 October-18 December). These later extensions were accompanied by a scheduling shift from Tuesday to Monday evening, with the Sunday afternoon repeat broadcast remaining unchanged (Julie Andrews Radio Artists File I). All up, the first season of Educating Archie ran for thirty weeks, five times its original scheduled length. During that time, the show’s audience jumped from an initial 4 million listeners to over 12 million (Dibbs, 200-201). It was also voted the top Variety Show of the year in the annual National Radio and Television Awards, a mere four-and-a-half months after its debut (Brough, 98; Wilson “Archie”, 3).

Given the meteoric success of the show, the cast of Educating Archie found themselves in hot demand. Peter Brough (1955) relates that there was a growing clamour from theatre producers for stage presentations of Educating Archie, including an offer from Val Parnell for a full-scale show at the Prince of Wales in the heart of the West End (101). He demurred, feeling the timing wasn’t yet right and that it was too soon for the show “to sustain a box office attraction in London” -- though he left the door open for future stage shows (102).

One venture Brough did green-light was a novelty recording of Jack and the Beanstalk with select stars of Educating Archie, including Julie. Spread over two sides of a single 78rpm, the recording was a kind of abridged fantasy episode of the show cum potted pantomime with Brough/Archie as Jack, Hattie Jacques as Mother, and Peter Madden as the Giant. Julie comes in at the very end of the tale to close proceedings with a short coloratura showcase, “When We Grow Up” which was written specially for the recording by Gene Crowley. Released by HMV in December 1950, the recording was pitched to the profitable Christmas market and, backed by a substantial marketing campaign, it realised brisk sales (“Jack,” 12). It was also warmly reviewed in the press as “a very well presented and most enjoyable disc” (“Disc,” 3) and “something to which children will listen again and again” (Tredinnick, 628).

In light of its astonishing success, there was little question that Educating Archie would be renewed for another season in 1951. In fact, it occasioned something of a bidding war with Radio Luxembourg, a competitor commercial network, courting Brough with a lucrative deal to bring the show over to them (Brough, 103-4). Out of a sense of professional loyalty to the BBC -- and, no doubt, sweetened by a counter-offer described by the Daily Express as “one of the biggest single programme deals in the history of radio variety in Britain” (cited in Brough, 104) -- Brough re-signed with the national broadcaster for a further three year contract.

For their part, the BBC was keen to get the new season up on the air as early as possible with an April start-date mooted. Brough, however, wanted to give the production team an extended break and, more importantly, secure enough time to develop new material with his writing team. Rising star scriptwriter, Eric Sykes was already overstretched with a competing assignment for Frankie Howerd so a later start for August was eventually confirmed (Brough, 105ff). The Educating Archie crew did, however, re-form for a one-off early preview special in March, Archie Andrew’s Easter Party, which reunited much of the original cast, including Julie (Gander, 6).

The second 1951 season started in earnest in late-July with pre-recordings and rehearsals, followed by the first episode which was broadcast on 3 August. This time round, the programme would air on Friday evenings at 8:45pm with a repeat broadcast two days later on Sunday at 6:00pm. The cast remained more-or-less the same with the exception of Robert Moreton who had, in the interim, secured his own radio show. Replacing him as Archie’s tutor was another up-and-coming comedy talent by the name of Tony Hancock (Brough, 111). It was the start of what would prove a star-making cycle of substitute tutors over the years which would come to include Harry Secombe, Benny Hill, Bruce Forsyth, and Sid James (Gifford 1985, 76). A further cast change would occur midway through Season 2 with the departure of Max Bygraves who left in October to pursue a touring opportunity as support act for Judy Garland in the United States (Brough, 113-14).

The second season of Educating Archie ran for 26 weeks from 3 August 1951 till 25 January 1952. Of these, Julie performed in 18 weekly episodes. She missed two episodes in late September due to other commitments and was absent from later episodes after 14 December due to her starring role in the Christmas panto, Aladdin at the London Casino. She was originally scheduled to return to Educating Archie for the final remaining shows of the season in January and her name appears in newspaper listings for these episodes. However, correspondence on file at the BBC Archives suggests she had to pull out due to ongoing contractual obligations with Aladdin which had extended its run due to popular demand (Julie Andrews Radio Artists File I).

Season 2 would mark the end of Julie’s association with Educating Archie. When the show resumed for Season 3 in September 1952, there would be no resident singer. Instead, the producers adopted “a policy of inviting a different guest artiste each week” (Brough 118). They also pushed the show more fully into the realm of character-based comedy with the inclusion of Beryl Reid who played a more subversive form of juvenile girl with her character of Monica, the unruly schoolgirl (Reid, 60ff). Moreover, by late 1952, Julie was herself “sixteen going on seventeen” and fast moving beyond the sweet little girl-next-door kind of role she had played on the show.

Still, there can be no doubt that the two years Julie spent with Educating Archie provided a major boost to her young career. Broadcast weekly into millions of homes around the nation, the programme afforded Julie a massive regular audience beyond anything she had yet experienced and helped consolidate her growing celebrity as a “household name”. Because Archie��only recorded one day a week, Julie was still able to continue a fairly busy schedule of concerts and live performances, often travelling back to London for the broadcast before returning to various venues around the country (Andrews, 127). As a sign of her evolving star status, promotion for many of these appearances billed her as “Julie Andrews, 15 year old star of radio and television” (”Big Welcome,” 7) or even “Julie Andrews the outstanding radio and stage singing star from Educating Archie” (”Stage Attractions,” 4). In fact, Julie made at least two live appearances in this era alongside Brough and other members of the Educating Archie crew with a week at the Belfast Opera House in October 1951 and another week in November at the Gaumont Theatre Southampton (Programme, 1951).

Additionally, the fact that the episodes of Educating Archie were all pre-recorded means that the show provides a rare documentary record of Julie’s childhood performances. To date, several episodes with Julie have been publicly released. These include recordings of her singing “The Blue Danube” from 30 October 1950 and the popular Kathryn Grayson hit, “Love Is Where You Find It” from 19 October 1951. Given recordings of the series were issued to networks around Britain and even sent abroad suggests there must be others in existence and, so, we can only hope that more episodes with Julie will surface in time.

Reflecting on the cultural significance of Educating Archie, Barrie Took observes that, “Over the years [the] programme became a barometer of success; more than any other radio comedy it was the showcase of the emerging top-liner” (104). Indeed, the show’s alumni roll reads like a veritable “who’s who” of post-war British talent: Peter Brough, Eric Sykes, Hattie Jacques, Max Bygraves, Tony Hancock, Alfred Marks, Beryl Reid, Harry Secombe, Bruce Forsyth, Benny Hill, Warren Mitchell, Sid James, Marty Feldman, Dick Emery (Foster and Furst, 128-32). All big talents and even bigger names. However, it is perhaps fitting that, in a show built around a pint-sized dummy, the biggest name of all to come out of Educating Archie -- and, sadly, the only cast-member still with us today -- should be “little Julie Andrews”.

Sources:

Andrews, Julie. Home: A Memoir of My Early Years. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2008.

Baker, Richard A. Old Time Variety: An Illustrated History. Barnsley: Remember When, 2010.

Barfe, Louis. Turned Out Nice Again: The Story of British Light Entertainment. London: Atlantic Books, 2008.

Benson, John (Pres.). “Julie Andrews, A Celebration, Part 2.” Star Sound Special. Luke, Tony (Prod.), radio programme, BBC 2, 7 October 1985.

“Big Welcome for Julie Andrews.” Staines and Ashford News. 17 November 1950: 7.

Broadcasters, The. “Both Sides of the Microphone.” Radio Times. 4 June 1950: 5.

Brough, Peter. Educating Archie. London: Stanely Paul & Co., 1955.

Catling, Brian. “Arthur Worsley and the Uncanny Valley.” Articulate Objects: Voice, Sculpture and Performance. Satz, A. and Wood, J. eds. Bern: Peter Lang, 2009: 81-94.

Dibbs, Martin. Radio Fun and the BBC Variety Department, 1922—67. Chams: Palgrave MacMillan, 2018.

“Disc Dissertation.” Lincolnshire Echo. 11 December 1950: 3.

Donovan, Paul. “A Voice from the Past.” The Sunday Times. 17 December 1995: 74.

Dunning, John. On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998.

Elmes, Simon. Hello Again: Nine Decades of Radio Voices. London: Random House, 2012.

Fisher, John. Funny Way to Be a Hero. London: Frederick Muller, 1973.

Foster, Andy and Furst, Steve. Radio Comedy, 1938-1968: A Guide to 30 Years of Wonderful Wireless. London: Virgin Books, 1996.

Gander, L Marsland. “Radio Topics.” Daily Telegraph. 13 March 1951: 6.

Gifford, Denis. The Golden Age of Radio: An Illustrated Companion. London: Batsford, 1985.

____________. “Obituary: Peter Brough.” The Independent. 7 June 1999: 11.

“Jack and the Beanstalk.” His Masters Voice Record Review. Vol. 8, no. 4, December 1950: 12.

Julie Andrews Radio Artists File I, 1945-61. Papers. BBC Written Archives Centre, Caversham.

Lawson, Tim and Persons, Alissa. The Magic Behind the Voices: A Who's Who of Cartoon Voice Actors. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi Press, 2004.

Merriman, Andy. Hattie: The Authorised Biography of Hattie Jacques. London: Aurum Press, 2008.

Pearce, Emery. “Dummy is Radio Star No. 1.” Daily Herald. 6 April 1950: 4.

Programme for Peter Brough and All-Star Variety at the Belfast Opera House, 22 October 1951, Belfast.

Programme for Peter Brough and All-Star Variety at the Gaumont Theatre Southampton, 12 November 1951, Southampton.

Reid, Beryl. So Much Love: An Autobiography. London: Hutchinson, 1984

“So Archie Stays on.” Daily Mail. 1 July 1950: 5.

“Song Notes.” The Stage. 28 September 1950: 11.

“Stage Attractions: Arcadia.” Lincolnshire Standard. 18 August 1951: 4

Street, Seán. The A to Z of British Radio. Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2009.

Took, Barry. Laughter in the Air: An Informal History of British Radio Comedy. London: Robson Books, 1976.

Tredinnick, Robert. “Gramophone Notes.” The Tatler and Bystander. 13 December 1950: 628.

Wilson, Cecil. “Dummy Steals the Spotlight.” Daily Mail. 27 May 1950: 4.

____________. “Archie, Petula Soar to the Top.” Daily Mail. 20 October 1950: 3.

#julie andrews #educating archie #peter brough #archie andrews #radio #bbc #british #1950s #ventriloquist #hattie jacques #max bygraves #tony hancock

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smileyoongle · 6 years ago

Text

Idol BTS! Reaction To You Having A Terminal Illness

This was requested by @lustaeous I'm sorry for updating your requests so late but I promise there will be regular updates from now! Let's Get It!

Kim Seokjin:

You sat on a bench by the river, crying your heart out as your trembling hands held on to the medical report. Life is unfair and unpredictable. It is never long enough for those who need it. Just like you needed more time with Jin, the love of your life. So when you found out that you have only about 6 months to do whatever you want before your lungs give up, you left the new year celebrations going on at your house. You didn't want Jin to start his new year with such a terrible news. In fact, you weren't sure if you ever wanted him to know. It was too less. The time you had wasn't enough, it was never going to be. You still had to build your life and settle down, but then again, life is unfair. Tears falling from your eyes didn't stop, no matter how much you wiped them off and controlled yourself. Letting out a scream of frustration, you gave up and sobbed louder. Your sorrow consumed you so much that you didn't notice a car coming to a halt and Jin coming to stand behind you. Your cries broke his heart. He was furious at whatever reason you were crying. Seeing the paper in your hand, he squinted to try and figure out what it was. On seeing the name of a hospital, he snatched the paper from your hand. You flinched and turned around, eyes widening on seeing Jin. You watched his breath hitch and expression still. Slowly he looked at you with an unreadable expression. "Tell me this is a joke, Y/N." He whispered, voice cracking, knowing very well what the answer was. You couldn't help but break down into sobs again. "I'm sorry." You managed to say before turning around and covering your face with your hands. After what felt like a long time, you felt him sit beside you and soon the air was filled with the cries of you two. To any stranger, it was probably a weird sight, two people sitting beside each other and crying. Jin cried like there was no tomorrow because he promised himself that he wasn't gonna waste the time he had with you in crying and being sad. He was gonna make the most of it. So he pulled you towards him and wrapped his arms around you. Eventually your tears stopped and you felt almost.... peaceful. "I love you, Y/N. Today, tomorrow and forever. No matter what happens." He mumbled, his chin resting on your head, cheeks stained with tears. You smiled slightly, feeling grateful that you would at least die loved. "I love you too, Jin. And wherever I go, I'll always do." You whispered, feeling him kiss your head.

Kim Namjoon:

Namjoon's voice blared through the speakers as he bobbed his head, trying to decide whether it was good enough. He had to make sure it was perfect. He always wanted to write a song for you, he just kept pushing around because you had forever, right? Wrong. The day he had got that call from your doctor regarding the heartbreaking news, he was completely shattered. The one person he cherished the most was going to leave him and he wasn't ready. He could never be ready. So a promise was made to love you as long as he could. And here he was, sighing in relief when he thought the song was good enough. "I'm home!" Your voice rung through the house, making Namjoon rush out of his studio room. You hung your coat on the rack when you felt two arms engulfing you from behind. You squealed when your boyfriend spun around with your feet off the ground. Giggles filled the room when he set you down and you turned to give him a hug. "I missed you." You heard him whisper, your heart aching slightly about how these words were gonna become a part of his life soon. "Come on, I need to show you something!" He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards his studio, like a kid telling his mom about a toy he wanted. Soon you found yourself sitting in his chair with headphones on, looking at him in confusion. He smiled and clicked play on the audio file. Your eyes slowly widening when you realized this is a new track. And when the lyrics hit you, your eyes teared up. At that moment, the pain of having to leave him became unbearable and you wailed just as the song ended. Taking off your headphones, Namjoon quickly took you in his arms. "I don't want to go, Joon. Please don't let me!" You cried, holding onto the sleeves of his shirt. He hushed you while trying not to cry either, he had to be strong for you. After some time, you had finally stopped, sniffling a little. It was inevitable. You had to go someday but it wasn't now. For now, it was just you and your love, holding each other tight. "I will never ever let you go, Y/N." He mumbled, sounding sure even if it wasn't true. Because, for now, you loved him and he loved you. And nothing was gonna change that.

Min Yoongi:

You wiped the tears away when you heard the doorbell ring. It had to be your boyfriend, Yoongi. Trying to fake a smile, you opened the door to see him with a bouquet of your favourite flowers and takeout from your favourite restaurant. Handing you the bouquet, he kissed your cheek. "Happy Anniversary, my love." He grinned before kissing your lips. You giggled and pulled him inside the house. It had been 5 years since you started dating him. Unfortunately, this anniversary was gonna be the last one and there was nothing you could do about it. You planned on telling him everything tonight because he deserved to know. Taking in a deep breath, you turned around to face him. A gasp left your mouth when you saw him kneeling down, a blue box showcasing a gorgeous ring sitting on his hand. "I was supposed to do this after dinner but I can't wait anymore." He smiled sheepishly. Your breathing started getting heavier and tears stung your eyes. You tried to interrupt him but he told you to let him finish the speech he prepared. "Y/N Y/L/N, five years ago, I met you when you accidentally poured your drink on my head because you thought I was your ex. I was mad, trust me, but after looking at your beautiful face I forgave you before you even apologized. Everyday with you has been memorable and I want to continue making these memories with you. There is no one in this world who knows Min Yoongi like you do. So please, marry me and let me love you until I can. Stand by my side as my wife, until life gets jealous of what we have and takes you away from me." He whispered the last line, audible enough for you to hear. At this point, there were tears down his face too. "What?" You mumbled, confused and surprised about what he had just said. He took in a shaky breath and stood up. "I knew your reports were coming out today. The doctor couldn't reach you so he called me first and emailed me the report incase you didn't make it to your appointment." He explained, all the while looking into your eyes. You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold back an ugly sob. "I know, Y/N. I know everything." He shut his eyes and confessed, making it hard for you to control yourself anymore. You covered your face and fell onto your knees, crying uncontrollably. You felt Yoongi's arms around you, his body shaking just like yours, his tears falling just like yours. "I don't want to die so soon, Yoongi." You cried, holding his shirt and burying your face in his neck. He didn't say anything, he just held you until you couldn't cry anymore. "Yes." You whispered, both of your sniffles still echoing through the room. You raised your head to look at his confused face. "Yes, I will marry you. If I am going to die then might as well do it right." You shrugged, making him smile widely. He grabbed the ring and slid it onto your finger. "Till death do us 'part." He mumbled, his forehead leaning against yours. You smiled slightly. "Till death do us 'part."

Jung Hoseok:

You sat patiently on the bed, awaiting hoseok's reaction. His hair was damp from the shower he had just taken and his eyes locked on the floor. Your heart was beating so fast and loud that you were sure Hoseok could hear it. You had just told him that you had leukaemia and you didn't have too long to live. It had to be done, if he wanted to leave you then you were more than happy about it. You didn't want him to see you take your last breath. "Okay... that's okay. I-we'll figure something out. You'll be fine, alright? Ju-just trust me." He said, lips quivering and eyes glossy. Quickly kissing your forehead, he rushed out of the bedroom. You called out to him but he wasn't listening. Reaching the living room, he tossed the pillows on the couch while muttering where his phone was. "Hoseok, listen-" you said, grabbing his hand and turning him around to face you. He finally looked at you, a tear slipping down his cheek. His eyes showed relief when he saw the coffee table behind you, where his phone lay. Getting out of your hold, he took his phone and wiped the tear. "I'll find a doctor who can help us. If needs be, I'll take you somewhere they can completely take care of you and then you'll be fine. Everything will be okay, I know it." He went on rambling. He was a mess and it was because of you. You started crying, seeing him try to be so hopeful. "Hoseok!" You yelled at him. He stopped whatever he was doing and turned to you. You took the phone from his hand and threw it on the couch. "Stop it! I can't be cured anymore. It's over, my life's over. And there's nobody in this entire world who can help me. You have to accept this, please." You said, moving closer to him. He immediately shook his head and moved back. "What do you mean I have to accept this? I don't have to accept- no I can't accept this. We are talking about you leaving me alone forever! How do you expect me to not do anything? I love you so much, Y/N. And I need you to be here with me. I can't live without you." He cried, falling to his knees, tugging on his hair. You placed a hand on your mouth to hold back a sob. Slowly, you took cautious steps towards him and wrapped your arms around his trembling form. "It may seem like you can't live without me but you will have to, Hoseok. You have to live for your family, your members, your fans and if not for yourself then for me." You mumbled, kissing his head. He slowly wrapped his arms around your waist and raised his hand. "So you'll be a real angel now, huh?" He asked through tears, smiling slightly. You let out a chuckle and nodded. "Watch over me, okay?" He frowned, pouting slightly. You wiped his tears and pecked his lips. "Always."

Park Jimin:

You rubbed your eyes as you continued writing the letter, pouring your heart out. Sleep tried to consume you but you didn't give in. You had to complete writing these letters to your loved ones. You wanted to get over with it and start living life for the remaining time you had. You let out a deep breath and clapped your hands. Just one more person left. Jimin was coming home from tour that night and you had completely forgotten about it. Not being able to stay awake anymore, you ended falling asleep on the dining table with the pen in your hand and your letters scattered across the wood. Jimin unlocked the door with the key he had and stepped inside, dragging his suitcase behind him. Without taking off his shoes, he made his way to the bedroom to see you, even though he knew you would scold him later for dirtying the whole house. He stopped in his tracks when he saw your figure hunched over the dining table. Moving closer, he smiled to see you sleeping there. He took the pen from your hand and carefully lifted you up, standing still when he heard you mumble something, trying not to wake you up. When you snuggled into him further, he made his way to the bedroom, laying you down and covering you with the blanket before placing a kiss on your forehead. When he went to grab his luggage, he remembered seeing the sheets of paper on the dining table so he changed his mind. He took a seat before reading what was written on one of the papers, not expecting what was to come. You woke up feeling the light streaming in through the curtains. Instantly you sat up, weren't you writing something last night? Why were you here? Cursing under your breath you ran downstairs only to find Jimin sitting on the couch, with his head in his hands and your letters sprawled out infront of him. Your heartbeat quickened and your throat ran dry. You were going to tell him but you didn't expect it so soon. "J-jimin." You called out making him turn to face you. Your heart broke on seeing his red eyes and tired state. "Is this true, Y/N?" He asked, pointing to the papers. You bit your bottom lip and nodded. He shut his eyes and clenched his jaw before calling you to him. He took a hold of your waist and made you sit on his lap, burying his face in your neck. "This isn't fair. We still have so much to do. I can't live without you. You know I can't." He whispered, voice breaking. You rubbed his back, soothing him. "It might seem hard for now but it will happen, Jimin. You'll learn to live without me. You know it would hurt me to see you stop your life for me, right? So promise me you'll go on." You said, pulling away from him to see his face. He seemed to be lost in thought for a minute before slowly nodding his head and breaking down into sobs. "I promise." He managed to say. You smiled and kissed his cheeks, holding him close as long as you could.

Kim Taehyung:

You smiled as you lay your head on your boyfriend's shoulder, letting the summer breeze fan your face. The sound of the waves crashing the shore gave you a sense of security. It felt like there was nothing that could go wrong in this moment. "Y/N, you said you had something important to tell me. I'm curious now. Will you please tell me?" Taehyung requested, stroking your shoulder with his long fingers. You sighed and shut your eyes. You had to tell him, that's for sure. But was it the right time? But then again, you didn't want to feel this way anymore, this feeling of dread kept consuming you and you hated it. "Tae, I want you to promise me that you'll complete our bucket list, no matter what happens." You said, looking up at him. He frowned and tilted his head. "Baby, we're going to do it together. It's 'our' bucket list, like you said." He replied, smiling warmly at you. You felt your throat tighten at how blissful he was. You didn't want to ruin this. "That's the thing, Tae. I don't think I'm going to be with you until we complete it." You mumbled, shifting your gaze to the sand. He lifted your chin with his fingers. You forced your eyes to look at his. "Why would you say that?" He asked, his expression full of hurt. You felt tears brimming your eyes. It was now or never. "I have sarcoma." You confessed, the words leaving a bitter taste. You saw him shut his eyes as if he knew this was coming. "So it's true then. I was really hoping this was a joke." He whispered, audible enough for you to hear. You frowned. He knew about it? Opening his eyes, he leaned his forehead on yours. "Jimin isn't very good at hiding things, you know." He said, narrowing his eyes but you could make out how hard he was trying not to cry. You sighed and shook your head. It wasn't like you had told him, he found out due to your carelessness. Taehyung caressed your cheek while staring into your eyes. "And you're not going anywhere. I looked up everything about it and even talked to a couple specialists, just in case. So let me tell you that there are more chances of you surviving than dying." He explained. Your eyes lit up with hope. "Really?" You asked, feeling a little positive about the situation. He nodded and smiled. "Princess, no-one can mess up what we have. I won't let that happen." He said, pulling you into a hug. You let a couple tears fall as Taehyung kissed your forehead. "Even if I don't make it, I wouldn't have any regrets about this life. Because you were a part of it." You smiled, listening to his heartbeat with your head on his chest. "Well, fortunately you are going to make it. You are my life and I wouldn't have it any other way." You raised your head to admire him, pressing a kiss on his lips immediately.

Jeon Jungkook:

As soon as the harsh reality left the doctor's mouth, Jungkook felt his world crumbling down. He never expected something like this to happen when your relationship was so perfect, almost like something out of a fairytale. "It would be a miracle if she happens to survive an entire year." The doctor stated, his eyes holding guilt showing another battle he couldn't help win. Slowly standing up, Jungkook walked out of the doctor's cabin and made his way to where you were admitted. Upon reaching your room, he stood beside the door and shut his eyes. The image of you fainting in front of his eyes while he sang on stage was vivid. He wanted to run to you and take care of you but when he saw some of the crew who knew you, take you backstage, he forced himself to stay calm and finish up the concert. This had to be the 4th time you had fainted in a span of three weeks. He should have taken you to the doctor when he noticed changes in your appearance. Jungkook covered his face with his hands and let the tears fall. Why did this have to happen? How was he gonna live without you? These were questions that were never gonna be answered. Quickly wiping his tears, he pushed open the door to reveal your form, lying on the bed with your face turned away from him. "Y/N, how do you feel?" He forced himself to smile and took a seat beside the bed. Judging from your expression, it was clear that you knew. "Let's break up, Jungkook." The words fell from your lips as if they meant nothing, but it was killing you on the inside. Jungkook's heart hammered in his chest as his breath hitched. Why would you say that? As if knowing what he was thinking, you answered his unasked question. "Can't you see how I am? Useless with a little time to spare. There's nothing I can give you any more. So do yourself a favour and leave. Go and find someone who isn't as pathetic to look at as me. Moreover, find someone who is going to live up to all the promises because clearly, I can't." You said, tears staining your cheeks as you turned your gaze away from him. For a couple of minutes, it was quiet. You thought he was considering your words, making you feel happy for him. "I will never leave you, no matter what you say. You, Y/N Y/L/N, are the most magnificent being I've ever met. And I will forever love you even though we have limited time. So don't you dare tell me to find someone else. Because I need you, I always have and I always will. There's no one in this world who can take your place." He replied, holding your hand while you still refused to meet his eyes. You closed your eyes when you felt his fingers grazing your chin and turning your face in his direction. "Oh baby, you have never known how much I really love you. We are going to get through this together. Let me be here for you, Y/N, please." You heard his voice cracking, making you open your eyes. All your efforts to try and not cry were wasted. You ended up throwing your arms around your boyfriend and telling him how much you loved him too. You could continue worrying about your existence another time because right now you felt safe. And Jungkook felt loved, this was what mattered for now.

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throwaway-sinfulwriter · 5 years ago

Text

The Same - Chapter 7 - 6/6

Doctor Martin Whitly had just finished his breakfast of oatmeal and toast when the door to his room opened, and the towering physique of Andan Roberts entered.

The doctor smiled, pushing his empty bowl to the side and turning his chair towards the man fully.

"Hello, Andan. Wonderful to see you. I'd like my report. From the top, please." His operative shifted on his feet, going over to the incarcerated man's desk and standing in front of him.

Reaching into his dark coat, Andan pulls a medium sized, shallow box out and sets it in front of his employer.

Along with the box is a thin file, and the agent clears his throat and opens it, scanning and beginning to relay Malcolm's day to his father.

Martin's jaw is tight as Andan describes Malcolm throwing himself through his window, and he only becomes more tense when his son's carelessness for his own health became more apparent.

He calms as he is handed several glossy photos throughout the report, all coded and dated. He expected nothing less from Andan. Doctor Whitly traces a finger over the shape of Malcolm's face in a photo taken at the crime scene. His son looked so professional, put together with his formal attire and gelled hair.

Martin wanted to ruin him. Show all of his little, insignificant police friends just how depraved his precious boy could be.

Seeing the possessive behavior and the glint in the Doctor's eyes, Andan swallows his disgust for the man in front of him. He had a job to do. He was going to give his report mechanically as possible, but with the material it would always sound incredibly wrong and revolting.

"After returning from the crime scene at approximately 2:40 AM, MB showered and exited at 3:20.… MB masturbated for roughly 15 minutes before finishing and getting dressed. MB seemed to wet his pillow with chloroform, before restraining himself and going to sleep."

Andan clears his throat uncomfortably, closing the file and looking at the box.

"Photos and audio tapes of the incident have been provided, Doctor Whitly."

The doctor's cheeks were slightly flushed pink, and he nodded, toying with the taped top of the box.

"Thank you, Andan. Please keep an eye on Malcolm's little... friends.. at the NYPD. We don't want him getting too comfortable with them. He'll need to learn to be apart from them soon enough. If you must, call in back up to control the situation."

The operative nods, thinking of the other "agents" that worked with Martin when he was on the outside. Andan had mostly been in charge of clean up and concealing the victim's identities. Though he did pick up a reasonable amount of security in '98.

"And JW?" Andan asks. The woman had been fairly unconcerned with Malcolm's wellbeing. He didn't quite trust her, before or after the arrest.

"Leave her to me. She won't be bothering Malcolm for much longer. Jessica always had a way of getting in between us.." Martin hums, hand underneath his chin.

"The boy's memories are coming back. Soon enough, their relationship will be even more fractured than it already is. He will come to me, then."

"You have done a remarkable job so far, Andan. Compensation will be in your account by the end of today."

Andan nods. The man may be diabolical and morally corrupt, but damn if he didn't pay good.

"I will see you tomorrow. Ta." Martin lifts his hand up in a lazy wave, eyes focused on the box.

The operative leaves, the guards opening the doors for him. Martin peels the tape off of the box once he's gone, opening the package and staring at it's contents.

Inhaling deeply, Martin holds up a photo. His fingers trembling at the sight of his nude son climbing into his shower. The boy was lanky, but had enough definition that if Martin were to tie him, his muscles would strain nicely.

Hmm. Tying Malcolm up.. it would be the easiest way to get his love to push past his denial. Forcing him to feel every touch, every kiss.

Martin is getting carried away. He takes out all the photos, hitting them against the desk so they laid in a straight pile and setting them aside. A tape player sits innocently at the bottom of the box, a tape already loaded into it. All that's written on it is the previous day's date.

The doctor presses play for a moment, absolutely beaming as a clear recording of his son whimpering and babbling in pleasure. He turns it off, looking over at the door. Martin would listen to the tape in depth later on, after lights off.

For now, though.. The photos.

He needs to memorize every inch of his boy.

-----

Malcolm Whitly jerks awake. He hadn't put in his mouth guard. Thankfully, it didn't seem like he had grit his teeth in his sleep. He also doesn't wake up screaming.

However, the sense of unease washes over him. He felt rested for once, but the memories plagued him. Making him feel completely drained.

Looking up at the ceiling, he blinks the thin film of sleep away.

"Mother.." Malcolm says to the ceiling. "What did you do?"

#my fic #my writing #the same #prxdigal sxn #don't read this #dead dove do not eat #malcolm bright #malcolm whitly #malcolm/martin

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waypathfinder · 6 years ago

Photo

Crimson Lane - Chapter 11 - The Traitor

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot

Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

Links

Tumblr Master Post

Archive of our Own (from the start)

Archive of our Own (chapter)

Fanfiction.net

Chapter Text

Morning in the city was a deranged cocktail of senses to Kylo: jackhammers pounding, sirens screaming, crying babies, all of it stewing in a pot of pollution and garbage.

He stalked forward, head down with his hands stuffed into his pockets, his path direct; determined. People passed him, bumping against his body while fiddling on their phones, careless and self-absorbed, ignorant of how every touch made him stiffen; hyper-aware.

The product of someone who’d always had to watch their back.

And never more so than right now.

Normally, if he had to walk down the street, he did so with a pair of earphones in, tuning out the world around him.

But today, there was no music. He needed to be aware.

The noise of the city dulled into the background, the jolting disarray of sound overwhelmed by a subtle roar, breathless and quiet. Like the wind before a train cuts through a subway tunnel.

Everything fell silent but the roar of his inner monologue: You were the one who chose this path, you, a grovelling, terrified teenager.

And now his road cut deep, a chasm with no escape. He’d tried to claw his way out of it many times, but Snoke had always been one step ahead of the game.

Not any more.

Two weeks ago, Kylo Ren waited in Snoke’s office, eyes downcast, hands in pocket, toying nervously with a sleek black cylindrical shaped UBS Drive in his pocket.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Be patient!” Snoke scolded him, hungrily clicking on his mouse, the pink flesh of his tongue coasting across his lips.

“You said it was urgent.”

Snoke glared at him, lips moving, silent and angry.

“Were you on my computer before?”

“No,” Kylo said flatly.

“My settings have changed.” He clicked his mouse in loud tapping motions, annoyed. “That bastard San Tekka has been leaking info to the press again. I thought you were taking care of it.”

“I am. Hux and I have almost tracked him down. We’re close.”

“So you keep saying.”

Snoke clicked on the mouse a few more times, fascinated with whatever was on his screen. “For ex-security, he seems to know a lot about our operation.”

The hairs on the back of Kylo’s neck prickled unsettlingly. “Lor San Tekka may have just been a security guard, but he had the means to access a lot of information.”

Snoke was silent.

Watchful.

Kylo pulled at the collar of his shirt, feeling as if he were being choked.

“Do you think he’s getting his info from someone else?” Kylo asked.

“Possibly.” Snoke shrugged. “What do you think?”

“Unlikely—” he began, then smirked, thinking of a better response, “How much do you trust Hux?”

Snoke’s shoulders moved, a laugh. Kylo was almost ready to breathe a sigh of relief when his boss’s eyes narrowed at him as they flicked between the monitor and him.

“You little fucker!”

Kylo paled, throat closing.

“Did you think I wouldn’t see this?”

Snoke spun his laptop around. The footage was dark and the sound unclear, but there was a clear outline of men wearing black balaclavas. In the middle of the room was an elderly man, blabbering incoherently.

The tallest of the masked assailants took a step towards him and, with lightning speed, kicked him in the loin. The audio bled into weeping screams and Kylo stepped back, turning away. It always made him sick to watch himself work.

“Did I tell you to look away?”

Kylo straightened, his pulse pounding at the base of his neck. “I don’t see what the problem is. You got your money.“

“You call that a Mawashi Geri? You are off-balance. What am I paying you for if you can’t even deliver a simple roundhouse kick?”

“We got the money,” Kylo stressed the point through gritted teeth, balling his fists behind his back.

Snoke rolled his eyes as his lips curled into a sneer.

“It’s not just about the money, son. These vipers need to learn that the First Order owns them. Did he need to go to a hospital?”

No, they had left him bleeding and screaming on the floor. In pain, but not seriously injured.

A failure, in Snoke’s eyes.

“Just what I thought. I have no use for spineless worms who can’t follow orders.”

Kylo nodded, eyes downcast. “Is that all?”

“No.” Snoke stood, his golden robe sweeping around his body in a gesture of grandeur. He glided towards Kylo, slow and smooth as a snake slithers through the grass.

“I have a question for you,” he whispered. “Blonde or brunette?”

“Huh?” Kylo asked, taken aback at the change in conversation.

“What do you like to fuck, blondes or brunettes?”

“I…” he stammered. Some part of him still felt ashamed that he used the girls here. It was— It was not the way he saw his future playing out.

“Which one—” Snoke’s voice rose.

“Brunette.”

“Ha!” Snoke purred. “Interesting. You know, I found a pretty little piece of flesh the other day. Phasma’s going to bring her in. She has no family, is desperate for cash, young. You will like her. Brunette. ”

“They all do the same job once the lights are off,” Kylo said dryly.

Snoke chuckled to himself, his bony fingers reaching out and squeezing Kylo’s shoulder. “Well, that’s true. I’ll book her in for you. Monday, July 2. Kanjiklub are late with their payment again. I need you to show Tasu Leech we mean business. Smash his kneecap, I don’t care which one. You can have this girl when you’re finished… to unwind.”

“Fine,” Kylo grumbled. “Bring her in.”

“Oh, I will,” he hissed, those icy eyes filling Kylo with a chill that ran straight to his core.

***

Bring her in.

Those three fateful words. Kylo had said them just to shut Snoke up. But his boss had planned this from the beginning, setting the trap, using Rey as the bait. The question was why, now, after all this time, was Snoke so focused on him? Was it a power play, a lesson to bring him into line, or something bigger and far more dangerous?

And Rey.

Snoke had dragged her into this shit-show. Manipulated and lured her into thinking she could pay off her debt—the one he had forced on her.

Kylo stormed past a metal bin anchored to a pole, battered and dented from years of misuse.

Rey.

He kicked it as hard as he could. The metal crash rang out, scattering loose pieces of rubbish on the ground.

He had to keep Snoke away from her, and time was running out.

Kylo kicked the bin again, this time it dislodged from its anchor, and crashed onto the sidewalk, almost taking out a middle-aged couple in the process. They exchanged knowing looks at each other and mouthed the word ‘drugs’.

If only it was drugs. Then he would have an excuse for being the way he was. Violent. Unbalanced.

He charged down the street, fixated on the passing pavement beneath his feet until he was standing in front of a faded red door.

Kylo hammered on it.

No answer.

Again.

He stopped, knuckles stinging, from the other side there was the sound of rattling keys and... one, two, three: the locks snapped open. The handle turned and the door creaked open, just enough.

A gaunt man with short-cropped white hair, a neat beard and pale blue eyes peered out.

Kylo pushed the door open with his boot and Lor San Tekka took an unsteady step back.

“Look how old you’ve become.”

”Something far worse has happened to you,” Lor replied.

Kylo straightened his spine, glowering. “You know why I’m here.”

“Take a seat.”

Rey crossed her arms, gnawing at the inside of her mouth like she was chewing on a bone.

This was a bad idea.

A very bad Idea.

“Come on, Rey. I don’t bite,” Poe said, flashing his dazzling white teeth at her.

She studied him warily, noting the way he stood between her and the exit; one hand clutching his briefcase, the other inviting her to sit. Ridiculous smile, glued in place. No doubt he tried to look welcoming, but it was too eager, like she was being lured into a trap.

You could still leave. She tried to stay calm. Just turn around and disappear forever.

Poe must have sensed her hesitation, because he sat down with a lazy thump, kicking his feet up on the chair opposite, and casually began reading the menu with a bored expression.

Eventually, Rey took a measured breath and lowered her body slowly into the booth as Poe watched her subtly, peering out beneath his thick brows. At the far end of the room, a tray crashed to the floor and the sound of breaking glass shattered around her. She jumped, skittery as a wild deer. Heart pounding.

“Here.” Poe pushed the menu towards her, his voice placating. “Order whatever you want. My work’s paying.”

She supposed she could stay for a bite to eat if he was paying. After all, Rey looked around at the plush velvet seats, vase centrepieces with explosions of colour… and then there were those rich aromas wafting from the kitchen. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

A restaurant meal. When would she be lucky enough to score one of those again?

“Okay,” she sighed and opened the menu, running her finger down the line of prices.

$29, $35, $32…

Ah. There it was.

“I’ll have that one.” She tapped her finger against the menu.

“The lobster?” Poe squinted at his own menu, jaw dropping. “It’s sixty-five dollars!”

“Yes, that’s the one.” She nodded decisively. “I’ve not tried it before.”

He took her menu back and groaned. “Really? You’ve ordered the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“Did I ?” Rey teased, a picture of innocence.

Poe shook his head, mumbling something about a thirty-dollar limit. It was a small victory, but it was sweet enough.

Once the orders were taken, Poe pulled out a dog-eared file and whacked it on the table.

“Don’t you use computers at the Hosnian Herald?” she asked.

“Cute. You want to be a reporter sweetheart? You watch and learn.”

Rey rolled her eyes, but watched anyway, because hell yes, she wanted to be a reporter.

Poe placed a notepad filled with messy shorthand strokes on the table, followed by a dictaphone.

“I thought you said you left that back at the office?”

“Did I ?”

Rey scowled at him, but that may have been because otherwise she might have smiled. Bloody reporters!

“Right, let’s get started.“ Poe bypassed the notepad and pressed ‘record’ on the dictaphone.

“So, Rey,” he said, locking his black coffee-coloured eyes on her. “How’s life in the sex industry?”

Shit! She shot her hand to turn off the recording device.

“You can’t record that!”

“For a girl who’s trying to protect her secrets, you’re not very obliging.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to hide anything?”

“Oh, in that case, I’ll call Finn back and he can take notes. Sorry, my bad.”

Rey’s mouth turned to ash, fingernails pushing into her forearms, leaving half-moon pressure marks on her skin. She was stuffed, and could only watch in horror as Poe unlocked his phone, flicking through his contact list.

“Wait!”

Breathe, Rey! The words were her own, but they had mixed with the gravelly undercurrent of her former Sensei, Master Skywalker. The memory swept her away to a quiet hall with bright, sunlit windows and polished wooden floors.

“ What do you see?” Master Skywalker asked, his voice filtering through her meditation, guiding her.

“The man in black,” she whispered. Those quiet moments of self-reflection always wrenched her back to that cesspit of a home, to the night she was attacked. She could never stop seeing him.

“You see your enemy?” his voice was calm, a safe harbour in stormy seas.

“Yes.”

“Never show weakness before your enemy. Stand strong.”

And like that, she was back, faced with this smiling, ambitious reporter who thought he could bully her into exposing her story.

She stiffened, lifting her eyebrows and meeting his eyes with a level-headed coldness.

“Are you blackmailing me, Poe Dameron?”

“Blackmail?” Poe looked affronted. “What!? No!”

“So, what if I refuse to tell you anything?”

“Then you refuse. There’s not much I can do about it.”

“You won’t tell Finn what I’m doing?”

Poe sighed. “Look, I don’t want your story, Rey. I have no wish to expose you or call you out. I just want you to tell me everything you know about Snoke.

Alexander Snoke. Rey shivered. Even the thought of that deceptively frail, hulking creep made her want to disappear forever. “I don’t know anything about Snoke.”

Poe nodded, as though he expected as much. Untying the document wallet before of him, he opened the flap and pulled out a stack of newspaper clippings.

“Let me enlighten you then.”

Terror bombing kills 120

First Order scores multi-million dollar government security contract

Palpatine’s popularity soars amidst vote of no confidence

Resistance battered into submission, Organa-Solo resigns

“And my personal favourite.”

Reporter targeted in Yavin car bomb

“Your boss, Alexander Snoke, is behind every single one of these stories.”

Rey sifted through the articles as Poe continued to bring more out, scattering them on the table in a messy collage: reports of beatings, stabbings, robbery, blackmail… the list seemed endless.

“To the public, he is the revered CEO of the First Order. Fortune magnet. But behind the scenes, he is manipulating the government and crushing anyone who gets in his way.”

“What’s his endgame then?” Rey flicked through the pages, amazed at how much Poe had actually pegged against him.

“Power.” Poe twisted his cup of water on the table, watching the way the water stayed still regardless. “By bombing the Resistance, he created a sense of panic. Meanwhile, he has a few quiet words to his mate Palpatine, and what do you know? The First Order scores a huge government contract, providing security and weapons to the police force. Suddenly the Imperial government’s rigid military rule starts to look like a pretty good idea, and since Palpatine owes him a couple favours he can start to cash in and make things go the way he wants on a larger scale.”

“That seems like a bit of a far stretch for a guy who runs a brothel.”

“A brothel and a multi-billion-dollar company. Anyway, the brothel is just a front, essentially; plus, he likes it. The guy’s a complete sexual deviant.”

Rey thought back to his special cupboard, the way he had filmed her. Poe sure as hell wasn’t wrong about that.

“From Crimson Lane he does all the illegal stuff because he wouldn’t be caught dead doing that at the First Order; it’s under a lot more scrutiny. Also, he can’t fund any underhanded deals through First Order books, so that’s where the loans and drugs come into play. He preys on junkies and anyone else in desperate positions. He finds their weak spot and breaks them through blackmail, loans, threats, addiction, whatever he can to fund his operation.”

Rey searched through the clippings, her expression hollow. It was so much bigger than she ever thought.

And was this what Kylo Ren was part of? She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t.

But…

And there was a but. A brutal threatening fact that lurked in the shadow of her mind.

Her hand strayed across the Resistance bombing articles, Senator Leia Organa-Solo had stepped down after they had lost so many lives, feeling somehow responsible.

She picked up the largest article on the Resistance attack:

Terror bomb devastates. Beneath the headline was a photograph of broken bodies beneath white sheets that were smeared with blood. From beneath one of them was a child’s hand outstretched, charred and bloody. Lifeless. She had seen images of that hand on the television news that day. It had stayed with her long after.

She read beneath the image.

There are fears up to 120 are dead today after a mysterious bomb blast crushed Resistance headquarters in the early hours of the morning.

A spokesperson for the Police first response team said the perpetrators designed the bomb to cause maximum damage.

The Imperial government has denied any involvement and has condemned the attack as “despicable”.

It looks to be the end of an already embattled Resistance party, after they suffered a landslide defeat in the last election.

Rey glued her eyes to the story, hand trembling.

Did Rose know she was working for the man responsible for her sister’s death? Did any of them?

“How can you be sure that Snoke is behind all of this?”

Poe lowered his head and whispered, “I have a source.”

Rey nodded, furrowing her brow. There was a rising feeling of anxiety from deep within. Poe pressed on, leaning forward.

“I promise you, once we’re finished with this story, Snoke will be done. We’ll have him on the Resistance bombing and so much more. Rey—”

He said her name with a breath of desperation, as though he had come to the point where he would plead his case, but he held back.

Rey gnawed at her fingernails, mind racing. If Snoke was behind all this, then did it mean Kylo was the one inflicting the damage?

“We need to get him, Rey. This bastard never gets his own hands dirty. He gets his army of trained mercenaries to do it for him — he calls them his Knights.”

She nodded, face ashen, the newspaper report on the Resistance bombing trembling in her shaking hands. Her eyes, glued on the pictures of covered bodies. The sound of that explosion, rippling through her brain. The stench, smouldering rubble, singed flesh, sirens, screams, despair. She hadn’t even there, walking two blocks away, but it was close enough.

“What do you know about the Knights?” she asked.

“There are nine of them, headed up by the guy only known as Kylo Ren.” Poe pried the article from her fingers and slipped it back inside his folder. “No one knows who he is or what he looks like, but from what I understand, he comes around the brothel from time to time—”

Her lungs were burning. Why couldn’t she breathe?

Poe paused, eyes narrowing in on her. “Rey, do you know who he is?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again and looked away.

“This is important Rey. If you can identify him—”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “I don’t know who it is. I’ve just heard his name mentioned, that’s all.”

Poe exhaled, his demeanour slumping into the chair. “That’s a shame. Well, anyway, if you come across that guy, Rey, you run and don’t look back.”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured and meant it. Sorry that she had lied. That even while she understood Kylo was one of the “bad” guys, deep down she wasn’t ready to believe the worst of him. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was stuck, like she was.

But if Kylo was involved in that bombing, she couldn’t…

She swallowed. Her body was prickling with feverous heat, like the temperature rise before throwing up.

“Do you think he…” She took a drink of water, trying to hide the way she couldn’t stop shaking. “Do you think Kylo Ren was behind the bombing?”

Poe stared at her for a beat.

Too long.

“No. Anything with pyrotechnics is Armitage’s work. Red-headed English guy. A snivelling rat. You’ll know him when you see him. Total psycho. Loves his work.”

Rey startled as the waiter slid their meals in front of them without a word. Rey ignored it, even though her stomach was rumbling and the rich smell of the lobster with white sauce was wafting before her.

“If you’ve got a source, why do you need me?”

“Because I don’t know how much longer I will have him.”

Poe cut into the tender flesh of his steak. The juices bled onto the plate, drowning the rest of his food in red.

“A guy named Lor San Tekka got in touch with me a month ago. He’s been feeding me information on Snoke. He used to work for him until last year as a security guard. He quit after the attack. His wife, Marianne, worked for Senator Organa. She was one of the first ones found in the wreckage that day, or at least, they found parts of her.”

Rey shivered, nausea growing in her gut.

“Why on earth would you tell me who your source is?” Rey asked, horrified. She had learnt that much in the university; never, ever reveal your sources.

“I’m telling you because I need you to listen out for me. If you hear anything that sounds like they will make a move on San Tekka, I need you to tell me,” Poe said in a hushed voice. “The guy has a USB drive with enough dirt to take down Snoke and the First Order once and for all. But I don’t know…” He dragged a hand down his face, all of his suave arrogance disappearing in the movement.

“I have a bad feeling about it, Rey. Like it’s all too easy. This San Tekka guy’s got a target on his back. He’s the only one with the motive to take down Snoke. It won’t take them long to figure out he’s the leak... if they haven’t already.”

Rey thought about it. Something wasn’t right here, and she had good instincts about these things.

“So, you have him on the Resistance bombing?” she asked.

“That and so much more, I mean, this last Monday, Tasu Leech, who heads up the Kanjiklub crime family, was left beaten within an inch of his life. That was Kylo Ren’s work apparently, according to my source.”

Monday. Rey felt the blood rushing from her face. Their first night together.

“What else do you have on Kylo Ren?” God, she wished her voice would stop shaking.

“We have everything, Rey. Everything he’s been involved in over the last ten years up until last week. Well, everything except his true identity.”

Rey played with her food, quiet and thoughtful. There were so many mixed emotions fighting within her. And then a thought struck her.

“If San Tekka was just a security guard who quit his job over a year ago, how does he have access to all of this? I mean, these are some of Snoke’s biggest secrets. That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, wouldn’t it indicate there was another source? One that still works for Snoke really closely. Perhaps Lor isn’t your primary source. You said his wife was murdered in the attack, but what if he was just a front-man, who was being fed information from the real source, so he or she can stay in a position of trust.”

Poe gawked and then smiled appreciatively. “Well, I’ll be damned, Rey. Finn said you were brilliant.”

“I’m far from brilliant—” Blighted, more like.

But Poe ignored her. “Tell you what. You help me crack this case and there will be a job for you at the end of all this.”

“What, as your coffee assistant?” she scoffed.

“As a reporter, if that’s what you want? You ask the right questions, Rey, and you can obviously write, since Finn said your first year was on a scholarship. And you’ve got sass. I like that.”

Rey considered his offer. What if, after all of this, she could still have a future… How dangerous could it be?

“You’re thinking about it.” Poe leaned in with a hungry smile. “Maybe once this story is done, I could even give you a joint byline with Finn.”

A byline. Her jaw dropped, eyes smiling. Could it happen? She almost felt like crying at the possibility.

“Poe, I—”

“Don’t thank me yet. Because there’s one more thing I need from you.”

Kylo Ren squeezed into the ornate dining chair, covered in floral upholstery. The cushion of the seat was stained yellow and every time he moved it creaked, threatening imminent collapse.

Lor San Tekka’s late sister’s townhouse was a time capsule of 1970s decor, vomited up into the modern day. Vintage brown paper lined the walls and floral drapes with dusty sheer curtains clothed the windows. There were layers of dust upon every surface and it stunk of potpourri.

Next to the front door, a stoic grandfather clock stood guard, passing time with resonant beats. It was near midday. Six hours before he would be with Rey. The thought of it made his throat dry, senses alert.

She had left things … hopeful.

But he couldn’t think of her now.

Kylo sat alone at a compact dining table with two regency chairs.

The silence of the lounge room forced Kylo to listen to the old man groaning with pain, accompanied by the sound of an erratic flow of urine splashing into the basin with moans of relief.

Fuck old age. He never wanted to be old and weak. Luckily, he figured his time would come sooner rather than later—

The toilet flushed and Lor battled to return down the hall, face wincing with every step he took towards the small dining area.

Lor smiled weakly. He‘d withered into a shell of a man, with dark circles beneath his eyes, bones protruding against stretched white skin, his hair missing in clumps. And then there was that smell, hidden beneath the layers of potpourri, a stench that hovered like a low cloud blotting out the sun. It was the smell old age, like candle wax and old newspapers; the promise of death. He knew Lor was sick, but he hadn’t realised how close he was to the end.

“How have you been?” Kylo asked, ignoring the expressions of pain that fleeted across Lor’s face as he sat.

“The doctors say there’s not much time left. The cancer has spread too far. Inoperable, apparently. Let this be a warning, young Solo, to get your prostate checked regularly.”

Kylo looked out the window, past dust floating in roads of sunlight. He had known Lor his entire life; the guy was his goddamn Godfather. But even in his old age, Lor had been a beacon of strength, both physical and mental.

That had changed after the bomb. After Marianne had died…

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kylo said, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be.” Lor poured a cup of tea for them both.

“Is there nothing they can do?”

“Why should they do anything?” Lor stirred his tea, spooning out stray tea leaves. “I have been hanging on here by a thread, Ben. I want to go home, I want to be with my wife.”

“Let’s get on with this—” Kylo snapped, pulling a USB stick out of his pocket.

Lor smiled, eyes distant. “You know, I still remember the day I met her. Marianne was an intern for the Resistance, and I was First Order security.” He laughed. “If looks could kill! Well, let’s say I wouldn’t be around to talk to you.”

Kylo flicked him a fake smile, more focussed on the small cylinder of information that could potentially destroy him and everyone else that worked for Snoke, than Lor’s musings of yesteryear.

“She was sharp as a tack, outspoken with a fiery temper. You can only imagine how much grief she gave me.”

Kylo nodded, a half smile. He could imagine Marianne putting San Tekka in his place, almost like… he saw her in his mind’s eye; hazel eyes, sun-kissed cheeks, dotted with a galaxy of stars…

Lor was still talking, but he had stopped listening, although now the old man’s tears fell, simply, without fanfare.: Chronic sadness.

He couldn’t imagine that pain. He wouldn’t let that happen to him, to Rey. Not that he loved Rey, or even…

He didn’t know. But he sure as hell wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“What’s on your mind, Ben?”

Kylo straightened his back against the chair, hesitant to ask, but he had to know.

“How did you change her mind about you?”

“I didn’t. She fell in love with me despite what I did or the fact I worked for the ‘enemy’. She made me a better man.”

“You sold out then.” Kylo took a sip of his tea, dark eyes flashing up at Lor to check his reaction and was not disappointed,

Lor glowered, cheeks red, the first glimpse of colour on his grey face.

“No, you idiot. She made me want to be better.”

“How sweet.” Kylo gave him a wry smile.

“Mock all you like. But I know where you came from, before you called yourself Kylo Ren. I know what lies beneath the darkness.”

“Anyway.” Kylo rolled his eyes, weaving the small cylindrical shaped USB drive between his fingers. “This has all Snoke’s correspondence leading up to the Resistance bombing, and plenty of dirt afterwards. You need to get this to Poe tonight. I won’t be able to get you another copy, I risked everything just getting this one.”

Lor took it from him, appearing to marvel at the size of something so powerful.

“This is it, Lor, this drive has everything we need to take Snoke down.”

“Everything?”

“Video footage, photos, emails, for the last five years, the lot. It will ruin him.”

“And what about Kylo Ren? Where does he fit in all of this?”

Kylo got up, hands restless as he paced about the room. “I told you, I wasn’t involved in the Resistance bombing—but my hands aren’t clean.” He stopped, meeting Lor’s gaze. “I’m not hiding anything. If the First Order is to burn, Kylo Ren will burn with it.”

“Ben—” Lor leaned in, as though he would stand, but that bolt of pain showed in his face again and he clearly thought better of it. “You can still…“

“No.”

Kylo looked out into the street beyond, face resolute.

“It’s time to let the past die. I’m done with all of it. Snoke, the First Order, the Resistance. Everything.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re rushing this through now,” Lor said “It was safe when we were just trickling information to the press, pulling back when Snoke got suspicious. If this doesn’t go to plan, we’re both dead men.”

Kylo gazed out the window as cars streamed past, colours muted by the lace curtains. On the footpath, children rode their bikes. People. Peace. Life. It went on, regardless of what happened to him, or Lor.

“It’s not negotiable. I need to bring him down by Friday.”

“But why—”

“Because!” Kylo snapped. Because if he didn’t, how could he keep protecting her from Snoke? No. From Friday, that bastard had cleared her bookings for the rest of the week; apart from the odd session with Hux, the rest he had pencilled in for himself.

Not a fucking chance.

It was the least Kylo could do to make it up to her. For being the one that haunted her nightmares, and terrorised her daydreams. If he couldn’t tell her the truth about that night in Jakku, he would at least do this. To free her. To free them both.

“Very well,” Lor conceded. “I will get this to Poe tonight. It’s time we brought this bastard down once and for all.”

Kylo gave him a solemn nod and turned, throat dry, blinking. He worked to clear it, trying to hold back the unsettled feeling bubbling in his gut.

“There’s one more thing—” Kylo paused as he took a deep breath, forcing himself to look the old man in the eye. “After tonight, you need to leave. Snoke has a hit on you.”

“That old bastard’s had a hit on me since I left the First Order.”

“But this time—” Kylo clamped his jaw, rolling his lips together. Time was running out for Lor.

“Snoke will send you after me.” Lor guessed what he would say. “And Kylo Ren never misses.”

Kylo was silent, but his face gave away the truth, it always did.

“Maybe it’s time I started missing,” said Kylo.

“No.” Lor shook his head. “Not this time. If Snoke discovers you’re the leak, then any chance we had of taking the First Order down is over. You need to protect your position, play the game. It isn’t worth risking everything for—”

“I won’t let him find you.”

“And if he does? What will you do?”

Kylo stared at him, silent.

“You will need to do it, Ben.”

Kylo looked away, eye’s glassy.

“You will do it, won‘t you Ben?”

Lor reached forward, grasping his hand around Kylo’s wrist. His grip was firm, even though his end was coming.

“We have to see this through, Kylo. Who will be next, your father? Your mother? This girl Snoke’s toying with in front of you? The bastard will never stop until he’s removed everyone you’ve ever cared about.”

Kylo pinched the space between his eyes at the sharp pain that was building there, increasing every day.

“He wants you Kylo. You’ve always been a prize to him, something he can covet and keep and control. If he can’t have you, he will destroy you.”

Kylo fingered the keys in his pocket as he nodded a quiet goodbye.

“It’s all right, Ben.” Lor eventually stood again, grasping his shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie. “Whatever happens tonight, it will be all right.”

Kylo moved towards the door, silent and dark, a black shadow disappearing into nothingness. He gripped the front door handle, eyeing the moving hands of the grandfather clock. The noon chimes would sound within the minute. But he had an overwhelming urge to leave before the hour struck. He pulled the door open, just as the sound of the low, ominous toll of the clock chimes followed him out. They were like the strike of a death knell, forcing him to a fate he couldn’t escape.

The door closed behind him and the cries of the clock chased him into the daylight again. He keeled over, pushing his hands against his knees, trying to breathe, trying to think.

But all he could hear was the roar, loud and consuming, tearing at him now.

It was a feeling, a warning, that this plan of theirs was all going to hell.

Poe hesitated, scanning the room before continuing, “If things fall through with Lor—”

She buried her forehead in her hands, dreading what was coming next.

“Rey, this is important. If things fall through with Lor, I need another backup. Someone on the inside who can get close to Snoke and Kylo. Someone who can feed information to us without suspicion.”

Rey groaned and pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. “I knew you would ask me this.”

“People’s lives are on the line.”

She raised her voice. “ My life is on the line!”

Restaurant patrons froze, forks hovering mid-air to their mouths, looking at her, silent. She slid deeper into her chair, lowering her chin and rubbing her forehead as though she were pushing away a headache.

Poe smirked. “Are you trying to draw attention to us?”

“No,” she sulked, poking at the remains on her dinner plate like it were a dead carcass.

After a time, the diners resumed their chatter and returned to their lunch. Rey breathed a sigh of relief, careful not to draw more attention to them. There was no guarantee that there wasn’t a spy or friend of Snoke’s lurking around, listening.

“Poe, look, you seem like a nice guy. Fighting the good fight and all, but I need this job. If I lose it—”

She met his gaze, unflinching and thoughtful. Should she tell him everything? He might know who was holding her ransom with this crippling debt.

The scraping of plates, murmuring patrons and gentle jazz faded away, leaving a heavy silence between them.

“I owe some money, and someone’s after me to get it back,�� she whispered.

Poe leaned in; that reporter’s spark shining in his dark, hungry eyes. “Who’s after you?”

“I don’t know his name or anything about him. He wore a black mask and black clothes.”

“Right,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. Thinking. “A man in black. Like in The Princess Bride ?”

“What?!” she shrieked. “Nothing like the Princess Bride. Have you even watched that movie?”

“Hey, I saw the trailer. Twice.”

“Well if you’d watched it you’d know he was trying to rescue her the entire time. He was the love interest. Forget it!” she snapped and grabbed her bag, pushing an uneaten dinner roll into the front pocket.

“Hold on, hold on! I’m sorry, Rey,” Poe pleaded, hand outstretched, patting the table before her. “Don’t go!”

She paused, still clutching her bag, itching to leave.

“Please, Rey,” Poe continued, his voice gentle, disarming. “I want to help you.”

“You can’t,” she breathed.

He took her hand in his own. It felt warm and rough, thick and gentle. “Try me, sunshine.”

Rey sighed.

“Okay… six years ago.” Her stomach churned at the memory of that time. “I went back to my home in Jakku…”

***

There she was again. Transported to the deserted apartment building, forgotten by everyone except the resident cockroaches moving in scattered swarms across the kitchen floor.

Rey had hauled her dog bed up from the street below, opened the windows, and cleared the cigarettes and beer bongs. Within a week, the chemical haze had disintegrated, and now she almost felt comfortable.

Her late parent’s apartment was scorching in summer. Heat rose through every storey, making her little spot like an oven during the night and even more unbearable in the day. The cockroaches dwindled in number but no matter what she did, there were always flies; buzzing and bouncing around the rooms clumsily.

But, it was home.

The days were easy, filled with scavenging and hunting for treasures she could swap for food. But the nights were something else. The abandoned building had become a hive for squatters; she could hear them through the walls, shouting, fighting, humping. Sometimes, they tried to ransack her room. Banging at the door with broken bottles, asking her to come out. She had bolted the door and hammered planks across the doorframe, barriers to stop them getting in. But there was always the fear it wouldn’t be enough to hold them back.

And it wasn’t.

***

“The chair!” a voice hissed. “Tie her to the chair.”

She scrambled, arms and legs flailing. She lashed out with her nails, kicking at whatever flesh she could find, even biting when she had the chance. The fight was short-lived and pathetic; in under a minute, the cold steel of the chair was hard against her back.

“Stop!” she cried. “I‘m just a scavenger. Can‘t you see I don‘t have anything?”

A man in black towered over her. He was over six feet tall with broad shoulders, and while a balaclava hid his face, she could clearly see his eyes like pieces of coal. Cold and empty.

“Quiet,” he hissed, pinning her hands down with his forearms while he tightened cable ties around her wrists.

“Last month you came into a sum of money…”

“No,” she whimpered. The money she had gotten for selling her body. The money that Unkar Plutt had stolen from her the same day. “I don’t have it!”

He came closer, voice calm and deadly. She felt his gaze all over, studying her from top to bottom, assessing her. A wooden club tapped against his leather palm in a slow staccato rhythm.

“She’s lying.” Another man stepped out of the shadows, also masked, but with fire-red tendrils of hair poking out from beneath his balaclava. “I just got off the phone with him. She has the money to cover the parent’s debt.”

Her assailant stepped forward again, squatting before her, resting his heavy elbows upon her knees. He raised her chin with his club, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze.

“I know you have the money.”

She shook her head again, but he pressed the club hard against her.

“And now you‘re going to give it to me.“

She kicked her legs at him, aiming for his groin, but missed, hitting his shin instead. His eyes twitched with pain, and he wrenched her hands forward, almost ripping her from the chair.

To fight or take flight? There was no longer a question.

She riled. An inferno of heat exploded in Rey’s body. She’d had enough. So far she had been abandoned, abused, taken advantage of and now assaulted. Enough!

She drew the saliva from her mouth and spat at him with as much force as she could muster, her spittle landing in his eye.

He wiped it away, and she smirked.

“I’m not giving you anything!”

“We’ll see.” He stood, turning away from her as he tapped a number into his phone, bringing it to his ear.

The room fell into silence, the subdued ringer, the only noise in this vacuum of sound. The red-haired man paced in front of her, while the other men anchored around the perimeter fixed their eyes on her like hungry dogs waiting for the kill.

“You were right. The parents died of a drug overdose a year ago,” the man in black spoke quietly into the phone. “The girl’s here like you expected. What do you want me to do with her?”

Silence.

He nodded, covering the mouthpiece to speak to her.

“Is your name Kira?”

“Piss off,” she hissed.

The man gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, it’s Kira.”

He walked around the room, murmuring into the phone inaudibly. At one point, he walked straight over her bed on the floor, tripping on it. He kicked it out of his path, and then paused, looking back at her.

“You got a dog?”

Rey shook her head, brows knitting in confusion until she realised what he was talking about. Her cheeks burned as she looked at the dog bed, her bed.

He stared at her, almost like he knew. She didn‘t know where to look, because now he studied her with a gravity that made her even more unsettled than the cold darkness in his eyes.

“Right.” He held the phone out to his partner. “He wants to speak with you.”

The red-haired man snatched the phone. “Yes, I’m here,” he said with a pompous voice, too grandiose and out-of-place for a common thug. He walked out with the phone, leaving Rey alone with her assailant and his silent disciples.

She tried to quiet the threatening thoughts in her mind, her imagination running wild, picturing what a gang of criminals might do to her alone, in her apartment, with no one to help her. She closed her eyes, praying to whatever God was listening to her, to get her out of this alive.

When she opened them again, the man in black was right there in front of her, squatting, in her space. She could smell the spicy aroma of his aftershave and see the bags under his eyes.

When he kneeled this close to her, the cruellest thing was that those eyes were not un kind—in fact, they were almost sensitive.

But there was the lie. For this person was dangerous, a harbinger of all her worst nightmares.

“How old are you?” he asked, voice quiet. She would almost have thought him gentle, had he not been holding a weapon at his side.

She gathered herself, pushing back the tide of terror threatening to overwhelm her.

“I’m s—sixteen.”

He turned away, mouth furrowed.

He went to speak, but just then the door thumped open and the redhead stormed in with a satiated grin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the man in black shouted, as his companion held out his phone and hit record.

“The boss wants to watch you work.”

“Turn it off,” he growled.

“No can do. He wants you to break her arms, just to see if it will loosen her tongue.”

Rey’s blood ran cold, and the world slowed into some terrible horror film. The man in black marched to her, gripping her left arm between the fingers of his black gloves.

“Speak,” he ordered, squeezing.

Tears welled, burning her eyes, she couldn’t hold them back. It was too much, the fear, the pain…

“I can’t—- I don’t…” she stammered.

“Tell us where the money is!” The grip on her arm grew tighter, bruising her flesh.

Her tears came faster now, hot torrents streaming down her cheeks.

It was too much.

She could barely see, vision blurred by those hot salty tears, but she could still make out the baton held back and ready to swing against her arm. And then he crushed his fingers around her tighter, so hard she thought her bones would break.

“Stop!” she screamed. “Stop, it hurts too much.”

He faltered, letting her go. She crouched over as much as her bindings allowed, heaving sobs rushing from her chest, as the men who had watched silently from the edges sniggered.

“Please,” she whimpered. “I don’t have the money. I never had it.”

The heaving breaths would not subside and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the crack that would splinter her bones.

A beat of wind rushed past her and every muscle in her body clenched as she waited for impact. There was a loud crash, followed by a ruckus of yelling and swearing. A wall mirror shattered, shards of it cascading around her.

Rey lifted her head, confused. He hadn’t hit her.

Another smash, but this time she had seen the moment the man in black had raised a chair above his head, throwing it across the room and smashing a coffee table, destroying a thousand-piece puzzle she had been constructing.

“Speak, or it will be your head next!” he roared, with a voice as wild and untamed as a feral beast.

“I don’t—” she sobbed, her voice coming in waves of sound and silence. He was going to kill her. This monster would be the last person she would ever see. Even as her tears came, he smashed his club around the room, forcing holes within the wall, destroying pictures, every last thing she had ever owned.

Rey watched them all fall in pieces at her feet.

“Are you quite finished?” the red-headed man sneered at him, holding the phone up to get a better angle of her attacker.

“I’ll make her talk,” the man in black growled.

“I knew you wouldn’t be man enough to follow through. Do it.” He turned his rat-shaped eyes intently toward Rey. “If that doesn’t loosen her tongue then she can pay off her debt in the brothel. We can all help her, lads, can’t we?”

The men cheered. Rey tried to swallow, but her mouth felt like flint. The only one who hadn’t cajoled was the man in black. But his expression was different, fiercely intent and no less terrifying.

Rey’s heart dropped. Was this what her life would be reduced to? To spend her life as a whore, without love, without a home, a slave—

She was jolted out of her thoughts as the chair she was tied to was dragged backwards, the sound of metal screeching across the tile floor. All she could do was look back at the surprised eyes of the men who watched her being dragged away.

Alone, with this psycho.

She squeezed her eyelids shut. Preparing herself for whatever was coming next.

“Open your eyes.” His voice was like steel, firm and low, cutting sharp in the scorched air.

She did. They were alone in the kitchen.

And he had her knives.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

A blast of hot wind blew in from the open window as he unrolled a small bundle of Brazilian knives. She had kept those on the bench for cooking. Meticulously, he slid one out, flicking the blade, testing the sharpness by pressing the point through the finger of his glove, making it bleed.

He came to her with silent footsteps, sucking the blood from his finger. He pulled her chair in front of the window with a rough jolt.

From here she could see the street, five storeys below, empty and black. She thought about screaming.

He placed a hand on either side of the armrest, and he peered at her again, biting his lip.

“You know I can take whatever I want.”

Rey swallowed. Her tears were dry now, courage resurfacing. “That’s no less than I would expect from a monster in a mask.”

“A monster?” He stepped back.

He lifted his hands, the black leather gloves pulling up the base of his balaclava. Rey’s panic increased tenfold; everyone knew an attacker who was willing to betray their own identity was going to go the whole way.

He pulled it up over his chin, revealing a narrow jaw and then…

He stopped, before she had seen anything, as if suddenly changing his mind.

An ambiguous looked passed between them before he went back to the knives, placing one in each hand.

“I never miss,” he said calmly, lifting a filleting knife up for her to see.

He flung it at her and it speared past her head, smashing through the windows and clattering onto the dilapidated fire escape outside.

Rey shrieked, and he threw another, cutting through the wind beside her ear on the other side. More glass.

She had no more words; they were drowned by her sobs. She wanted her mother. Her drugged-up, absent mother. Anyone—anyone else in the world other than him!

“You need to learn how to fight,” he said surely.

The words surprised her, but only for a moment because then he slammed the wooden baton against one leg of her chair, the force of it flipping her face down against the tiles.

She lifted her body, just enough as to splay her hands against the cutting board on the floor. He grabbed her fingers, forcing them flat on the board. She fought against him, trying to clench her fist shut.

“Spread them.”

She shook her head, tears spilling on the white tiles.

“I said spread your fucking fingers!”

She obeyed, waiting for the pain of losing them.

“Bring her back in here,” the redhead’s voice came from the other room. “Or do I need to come into that fucking roach-infested kitchen?”

“Keep still,” the man in black whispered, eyes narrowed, knife poised.

“Please!” she cried once more.

“Still!” he roared, and she closed her eyes, keeping her fingers as steady as she could.

There was the clean-cut sound of a knife slicing downwards and Rey jumped as it landed with a thud.

She opened her eyes to see a silver blade wavering between her index and middle finger. And then his feet, perched either side of her, crouched down, breath pressing against her ear, dark wet hair falling onto her cheek.

“I suggest you think very hard about what you will do next. You have two minutes.”

***

“Rey, I—” Poe stammered, his face the colour of curdled milk. “What happened next?”

“He left me there,” she said, taking a shaking breath. “As soon as he was gone, I used the knife to cut the ties on my wrists and then my feet. I jumped out to the fire escape before he came back. The bloody thing almost collapsed. I ran and ran. I don’t know if he saw me go. I didn’t look back.”

Poe bit his lip, eyebrows knitted, like a thought was building that he wasn’t ready to speak yet.

“And then what?”

Rey smiled, face wistful, as she remembered the moment Maz had found her curled up behind a dumpster. The barely-there woman with dark skin and large thick glasses crawled down on her hands and knees to get her. She never did ask Maz how she managed to find her there.

“A woman named Maz Kanata found me, she has a home…"

“…for disadvantaged kids,” Poe finished the sentence, face brightening as he spoke. “Yeah, I know Maz. We go way back.”

Rey took a napkin and dabbed at her eyes. Retelling the full story for the first time had felt cathartic. But she was surprised to find her eyes were still wet with tears.

“How do you know her?”

“I used to work as press secretary with a close friend of hers, Senator Leia Organa-Solo.”

“Senator Organa? That’s big time, Poe,” Rey gushed, before blushing at how pathetic it sounded. “She’s practically a hero.”

“She’s a good woman. Our families have been friends for years,” he said. “Small world, hey?”

Rey nodded, a little more impressed by him.

“I thought Maz only took on younger kids though?” Poe asked.

“Normally she does,” Rey said. “But I think I looked too pathetic. She was amazing, she put me through school during the day and tutored me at night. On the weekend she arranged private self-defence lessons at Skywalker Academy—”

She was rambling, relishing the happy memories that followed. She hadn’t even noticed the way Poe scrunched his face in thought and worry.

“Rey, who is your debt to?”

She shifted. “I—I don’t know.”

“Have you got anything, a business name, email, phone number, anything?” His voice was urgent, pressed.

She shook her head, but then remembered. Fishing around in her bag, she grabbed her wallet and pulled out a crumpled-up note

“All I have is an account number.” She pushed it across the table. “Do you think you can find out who owns it?”

“It’s not much to go on, but maybe.” He pocketed the piece of paper, looking over to the door and eventually behind Rey with a half-smile.

Rey started, feeling two warm hands on her shoulders.

Finn!

She jumped up and gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around him and hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Finn laughed, his broad lips and wide smile settling the fear and worry in her heart.

“I missed you too, peanut!” he joked. “Poe, I have no idea where you’ve put your dictaphone, mate.”

“Oh.” Poe smiled guiltily and exchanged glances with Rey. He stood, leaving a wad of cash on the table. “Not to worry, I’ll find it somewhere. By the way, your girl’s going to work with us on the Snoke story.”

“No, I didn’t say…”

Poe stood suddenly, eyes fixed on some point outside.

“Poe?” Rey asked, but he was transfixed.

“I’ll be goddamned,” Poe said to himself. “It’s Ben.”

“Who—”

Poe dashed out of the cafe without a word.

“Well, that wasn’t weird,” Finn said, grabbing the files and papers Poe had left sprawled all over the table.

Rey smiled. “Is he always like that?”

“Pretty much.”

Finn pulled her close, beaming with excitement.

“Oh my God, peanut! I’m so excited you’re going to work with us.” They walked towards the door, Finn’s arm resting on her shoulders. “I told him you were bloody brilliant. You won’t regret this.”

Rey blushed, punching him gently to stop. Up ahead Poe was waving his hands wildly. Then his booming voice made almost every passerby stop and gawk at him as he bellowed, “Ben Solo, over here!”

In the distance, a tall, dark-haired man, in a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, froze on the footpath.

He had his back to her, and even though he looked different, polished and pristine, Rey knew at once.

It was him.

And that meant she held the most dangerous secret of all.

The real identity of Kylo Ren.

#reylo #reylo fan fic #modern reylo au #protective kylo ren #kylo ren x rey #reylo fan fic rec

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waftr · 6 years ago

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Being in financial crunch situations is not new to many. If you too are one who gets into financial complications in life, I recommend you to give a try on these websites to make money online. There are numerous ways with the help of websites to make money online. If you are looking for a constant stream of additional income into your life, you must check out the 10 options that I have listed down.

Here is the list of top 10 websites to make money online.

1. Fiverr

Fiverr is a platform where anyone and everyone with skills can do freelancing work. As the name suggests that every task gets paid $5, it is not the same anymore. A freelancer now can charge up to $750 for a task done on the website. All you have to do is create your FREE account, create a gig that pertains to how you can help others. No matter what your skills are – whether it is in writing, digital marketing, graphics design, website development or anything else, all you need to do is list yourself. Since, millions of individuals and companies who seek some or the other job to be done, you are almost assured of getting projects on a daily basis. The best part is you can have as many gigs as you want based on how many skills you possess. Fiverr is definitely my top website to make money online.

2. Freelancer

Freelancer.com is a marketplace filled with individuals and companies who like to work on client’s requirements. Although it is same as Fiverr, it is different in the way you get your project based on your skills – In Freelancer, a client posts his job on a feed along with all information related to the project, including the budget he has for the project. Freelancers who are interested in taking up the listed project must bid on it. The client will individually connect with ones who he feels the best and allocates the project to him. In my experience, Freelancer can be too taxing for beginners, however, if you are ready to bid at lower compared to others, higher are the changes you will make some really good money from Freelancer.

3. Etsy

Are you a good craftsman? Do you have a special talent in craft forms that you can showcase to your prospective customers? If yes, Etsy is the place where you can sell your stuff online. From handmade jewelry, shoes, paintings, toys, collectibles, carpentry work, wall decors, clothing etc you can sell everything here on Etsy. For artistic folks, Etsy is the website to make money online over the internet.

4. ShareASale

ShareASale was founded back in the year 2000 and it is one of the most trusted and reputed affiliate marketing network available out there.With 17 years of experience, they have been trusted by over 4200 merchants to sell their products on affiliate marketing basis including well-known, medium and small merchants. Register with ShareASale, get access to thousands of products that they have listed for marketers just like you. Put up a website and start writing about these products with affiliate links embedded contextually. When someone clicks on the link and makes a purchase you get a commission. Some commissions can be as high as $200 per sale made from your link. If you are good at blogging ShareASale is the place you want to register with.

5. Mturk

So, what is MTurk all about? MTurk is the short form for Amazon Mechanical Turk. MTurk platform lists various Human Intelligence Tasks or HITs in short, which can be picked by workers to choose micro-level jobs, complete them and submit. For each submission, workers are paid.

“Amazon Mechanical Turk was conceptualized based on the premise that there are a variety of tasks that machine intelligence cannot perform and human interference is required to perform them efficiently. Tasks such as secondary research data mining, identifying objects in an image, transcribing video and audio files etc require human intrusion.

The best part is to complete these micro-level jobs one need not possess special skills and anyone who is computer literate can accomplish these jobs. If you looking for part-time job opportunities to make some dough on your side, register with MTurk today.

Each of these micro-level tasks varies in the amount of time required to finish and submit and so does the payment for each.

6. TaskRabbit

TaskRabbit is primarily very local in nature. This means to say that you select locally available freelancing jobs in your neighborhood. Some of the categories of jobs that you can get on TaskRabbit include – Moving and Packing, Furniture assembly, Gardening, Home Improvement, Installations and Mounting work, electrical works, plumbing works etc. All you have to do on the website is a search for the jobs near you. If you think you can take jobs listed for you, approach them to start working. If you really have a lot of spare time, especially during the day, earning up to $2,500 per month is very much within reach.

7. CafePress

Are you good at designing? Do you have good hands-on knowledge of image editors? Here is an opportunity to make some extra buck on your side.

CafePress is that opportunity, where you can submit logos and designs that can be printed on CafePress’ products. CafePress basically is an eCommerce platform that specializes in selling mugs, t-shirts, wall arts, stationeries, bags, clothing etc.

If your designs are accepted to be placed on CafePress’ products, you become eligible for royalties against each product sold.

So, how to join CafePress? There are no registration fees to join CafePress. All you need do on the platform is to register, create your own store and portray your designs. Pick from the array of product lines that you want your logos or designs to be placed.

If the combination of the products and your design gets sold, you earn a percentage of the selling price as a royalty. Fair enough?

8. ThredUp

ThredUp is an online Thrift and Consignment store where you can sell your old clothes. Based on how good they are, you can earn equivalent money on your side. Next time before you opt for a yard sale, hold on! Reach out to ThredUp before you do anything that might fetch you less money.

9. UserTesting

To start working on User testing, all you need is an internet connection and a microphone. On this platform, all you have to do is test websites and applications. Voice record each testing scenario along with the video played on your computer and earn. One can expect to be paid up to $10-$20 for a single testing activity for up to 20 minutes. Whenever there are testing jobs available you are notified by UserTesting.

10. Gazelle

If you are in need of money urgently, Gazelle is the platform you should log into. Here on this website, you can make money by selling your old mobile phones and other gadgets. Once you have uploaded all required information about the mobile phone, you will be offered a value to the device. Once you accept the offer, you will be sent with packaging materials for you to ship Gazelle the cellphone. Not to worry, Gazelle covers the shipping costs. Once they have received the gadget you can opt for the payment mode to receive the payment. Yes, this is not an income stream that can fetch you money week on week, but surely is a way to pay your rental bills for the month.

Life can sometimes get itchy financially. Since there are no legal shortcuts to make money, it is best to be focussed and work harder. An additional stream of money can work wonders in your life. For this exact reason, we have compiled the list of websites to make money online, just for you.

The post Money Making Websites | 10 Websites to make money online appeared first on Waftr.com.

#Websites #Make money online

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optimusphillip · 3 years ago

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OptimusPhillip Reviews 28: Transformers Generations Rewind (Titans Return)

Happy Pride Month to all my LGBTQ+ followers. While I myself am cishet, I firmly support the rights of people to love whoever they want or to identify however they feel most comfortable. And in honor of Pride Month, I have decided to do something of a double feature this weekend to cover my favorite gay couple in Transformers. Today, I will be reviewing Titans Return Rewind, and tomorrow it will be Titans Return Chromedome.

Tank Mode

Starting with the mode that appears on the front of the package, Rewind transforms into what I can only describe as a super space tank. And as far as Titans Return versions of the G1 cassettes go, he comes out as a pretty solid little tank. The main body is cast in black, as one would expect from a Rewind, with the turret molded in gray to set it apart. The treads are fully molded on both the sides and the bottom, and they even molded a slight taper into the front of the tank, to give the illusion that it could get over terrain, though this effect is kind of ruined by the ridge across the bottom. Also, the front end itself is hollowed out for transformation, which is understandable, but at the same time I feel like it could’ve been done better.

In terms of deco, the wheels in the treads are picked out in a nice bright silver, which also appears on the corners of the tank’s “hood”. There’s also a red paint app picking out what I assume is the tank’s hatch, and the same red appears on the rear side panels, rounding out the visible paint apps on this mode. It’s not a lot of paint, but with how small the figure is and how well the colors play together, I think it works.

In terms of function, the tank mode is rather limited. He rolls around on three small wheels, and the main cannon can pivot up and down, but the turret itself can’t rotate due to how the figure converts. Again, however, I can forgive some shortcomings due to the small size. And of course, being a Titans Return figure means he can interact with Titan Masters. He has two pairs of pegs on his turret, so you can mount at least two Titan Masters, and up to four if you stand them just right. It’s a nice feature, though plastic tolerances may prevent some figures from mounting securely. In my case, Firedrive has no friction holding him in place, so he’s only really held on by gravity.

Overall, for a Legends Class toy, the tank mode is pretty decent. Nothing to write home about, but it's fairly robust and it looks alright. That said, I don’t see this as the figure’s main mode, so let’s move on.

Spy Tablet Mode

Removing the main cannon, rotating the turret halves to the side and then unfolding them gives what I consider this toy’s main alternate mode, the spy tablet. While less than half the size of a typical smartphone, he manages to look the part surprisingly well. The tank mode hatch now becomes the home button, and there’s an additional red paint app on the top, but most of the detail comes from the tablet screen itself. The wallpaper is obviously based on his G1 microcassette mode, but with a bit more techy detail and of course some phone icons overlaid. Across the top, he has four bars of cell service and Wi-Fi connectivity, 50-75% battery power remaining, and a running microphone. And across the bottom, he has a text editor, file manager, instant messenger, and e-mail app installed. Also, strangely enough, he has three Autobot symbols: one on top of the tablet, and two on the screen itself.

While the detailing on the screen is nice, it’s all done as sticker detailing, which does come with its fair share of problems. In addition to the problem of lifting off the plastic, the stickers may not be cut and aligned correctly. In my case, the right-hand tape reel is not a perfect circle, and the tape window is a little wider. This also means that the bottom of the cassette doesn’t line up. Also, the printing on the stickers may fade overtime with wear and tear. So while I’m glad that there’s so much detail going on, the stickers could’ve been a lot better.

It’s still a nice mode overall, however. There’s storage for his main cannon on the side, where you’ll also find a molded power button. You can even pretend that the gun is a stylus, though I doubt this is intentional. But my favorite feature in this mode is that, on the bottom left-hand side, there is a 3.5 mm hole which can accept an aux audio cable. So you can plug in a set of headphones and roleplay this as a real smart device, though it doesn’t connect as securely as the real thing. Mileage may vary on that front, however.

And of course, the big feature of this figure is that it can store in the chest of the Leader Class Blaster/Soundwave mold... which I do not own, so I cannot comment on the effectiveness of this feature. If I ever do obtain that figure, however, I will do a review of it where I follow up on this.

Conversion

Remember to remove the gun from the side of the tablet before turning into robot or tank modes! Otherwise you will bend or even break the barrel. With that little PSA out of the way, going to robot mode is more complex than going from tank to tablet, but that isn’t saying much. Simply unpeg the side panels and fold them back up like in tank mode. This will be very difficult out of the box, and comes with a real risk of breakage. This can be mitigated by filing down the corners, however. Next, split the front of the tank and unfold it to become the legs. Flip the rear wheels up to form the feet, then split the top of the tablet to form the shoulders. Rotate the biceps, then open the chest and flip out the head to complete the robot mode.

Robot Mode

Rewind’s robot mode is definitely based on his IDW appearance, with the red paint apps on his shoulders, and of course the head sculpt, complete with visor and camera unit. Some sacrifices are made for the sake of his alternate modes, but it’s very clear where the inspiration came from.

Very few new details are exposed here. The only new paint apps are the tampographs on his chest to give him his gold pecs as well as the Autobot symbol. Aside from the head sculpt, most of the new detail comes from the arms, which are actually molded somewhat asymmetrically. While his right arm looks normal, his left arm is hollowed out and has an additional piston molded in. While not a bad look once you get used to it, it’s definitely a bit weird, and seems to be purely due to plastic content restrictions, which is a bit unfortunate.

Articulation-wise, Rewind has full neck rotation, ball-jointed shoulders, bicep swivels and 90 degree elbows. No waist joint, but he does have ball-jointed hips and knees which give him a nice range of motion. Overall, the figure is very posable, though the bulky arms can clash in some poses.

For weapons, Rewind gets the main cannon from tank mode as his rifle. It has a standard 5mm handle, so he can hold it in either hand, or swap it for any other standard weapon, presumably even his G1 weapons. He also has a port on the side of his right arm. While this seems to just be an artifact of how he stores it in tablet mode, this does allow him to mount his rifle on his forearm, much like the G1 toy did. You can also partially unfold the arm and thread the gun through the same slot it stored in earlier, giving him something of an underslung cannon. Personally, however, I prefer the side mounted style.

Rewind stands about waist-high with Titans Return Deluxe Autobot cars. This does put him in comic accurate scale, which means that he will look nice alongside your other IDW figures, including, of course, Chromedome.

Final Thoughts

Titans Return Rewind is an alright figure. Nothing stellar, but very decent overall. His tank mode is surprisingly effective, his spy tablet mode is a lot of fun to just play around with, and weird arms aside, his robot mode looks and poses really well, If you can find him for around his original retail price of around US$10, I’d say you should pick him up, especially if you’re a fan of his IDW portrayal, and can also get your hands on the subject of tomorrow’s review.

#transformers #idw #rewind #pride #lgbt #chromedome x rewind

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allenmendezsr · 4 years ago

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omnical · 7 years ago

Text

I Sing the Body Electric... (3/?)

( Previous - Next )

Summary: We find out a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari. (Previously titled Dead Bodies)

Genre: AU (Supernatural, Cyerpunk-ish elements).

Characters/Pairings: Fareeha, Pharmercy; minor: Angela, Lucio, Hanzo

Rating: T, mentions of third party violence and rock music

Links: AO3

Detective Fareeha Amari dug for her coat’s collar underneath the scarf wrapped around her neck, taking care not to jostle her injured arm.

Looking out into the pouring rain, she stepped through the medical examiner’s office entrance, its sliding doors closing behind her with a hiss of cold air. Fareeha carefully fumbled down the marble steps which lead to the sloping sidewalk, her shoes getting drenched from the wet pavement once more. She contemplated what to do next.

The roads outside were sleek; watery reflections of white streetlights and holographic shop signs dancing and glistening on uneven asphalt and dark bricks. The pavement was lined with a layer of fog, not quite thick enough to hide the gleam of her shoes. It rolled across sidewalk cracks, curling between lampposts like smoke from a cigarette. Under the cover of rain, the streets felt like a liminal space; the urban sprawl quieting down to a whisper. It almost felt like she was walking in an old 1980s music video. Fareeha bunched her shoulders up, rain falling on her like big fat pellets, plunging her in a world of filtered gray and blue. She pulled her collar further up her face with a careful tug, hoping to warm her cheeks.

But this is real, she thought, slowing her brisk march when she reached a flickering streetlight.

She looked up at the dented torch, squinting from the rain falling on her face. Fareeha leaned her shoulder against the post, and tapped a knuckle against its metal surface twice. Light shortly surrounded her like a hundred watt spotlight. Fareeha wrapped her arm around herself, and waited.

The commercial district in Bishop Street usually bustled on a normal weekday, full of grim-faced crowds too busy and harried to slow down. Today, however, Fareeha only saw a handful of strangers huddled in their own coats; different colored umbrellas casting shadows over their heads, trying to keep themselves away from the worst of the weather. Along the roads were several lined coffee shops and quiet novelty stores. Closer to the horizon, a sky bridge hovered a few blocks away near a car dealership and a vehicle maintenance office, where she could see faraway headlights gliding across the bridge.

Fareeha inhaled, filling her lungs with the city. The smog, the food wafting from diners and eateries nearby, the hot biofuel from passing cars. With her eyes closed, she imagined the good Dr. Ziegler waiting under the bus stop after a work shift, sitting on a greasy wooden bench, protected from the elements by a layer of dirty glass and metal bars…

Fareeha hated the rain. Not for the first time, she questioned her year-old decision of moving to a place which had an overabundance of it.

Rain felt oppressive, heavy and menacing; hiding the gloom, with time frozen at the tip of a decimal point. Cairo’s streets never had the problem of crime persisting under unrelenting weather, but here in King’s Row, criminals would come out like earthworms crawling out of the mud, rising as if exposed to an electrical current; ready to take advantage of lone wanderers, darker alleyways, and abandoned vehicles. While her old security job in Cairo kept her busy, criminal statistics here in King’s Row was another level altogether. It found Fareeha sleeping in her car’s backseat most nights, too exhausted and emotionally drained to drag herself back to her flat. She spent most of her wages buying fuel, and eating street-food out among her miserable fellow city dredges.

But now, as an endless row of dark and heavy clouds rolled across the sky, Fareeha found there was another malevolent side to the city. People often said that fear came from the unknown. Fareeha argued that knowing, sometimes, is worse than not knowing.

As if possessed by a desire to do something with her hands, Fareeha turned her wrist and read the time on her wristwatch. Her hand was shaking, but it was not from the cold. Two thirty-five P.M.

A red double-decker bus swept past Fareeha, its sides covered in blinking neon advertisements of current web celebrities, dwarfing her easily as it turned left. She watched it go, warmed by its hot engine as it passed.

A number of cars followed after, heading for busier highways. Their windows were black, leaving behind the sounds of humming engines and the break of wind speed as they glided towards their destinations. Her eyes idly watched as they all disappeared around the next turning signal.

Fareeha perked up when a familiar shape of another vehicle soon came into view. She stepped closer to the edge of the street to meet it.

Her car’s headlights appeared like two bright eyes in the dark as it approached its owner, the Raptora’s bulky form cutting through the curtain of rain. Its engines roared, then slowed to a stop in front of her. She gave its hood a fond pat.

“You’re late.”

Fareeha opened the car door and quickly gathered herself in the driver’s seat, the ends of her coat bundling up over her lap. Her hands already felt numb from the cold, and water from her hair trickled down to her back. Fareeha shivered. It wasn’t the best weather for a visit to Dr. Ziegler, but she had come anyway. It was sensible, even necessary, to keep everyone informed, was it not? Of course, most of their communications were through screens and encoded channels. Meeting a few times a day in her office, fascinated by the way the doctor’s mind processed information. Dr. Ziegler was… different. Good different.

What an odd woman.

She gripped the wheel and felt around its ridges for the fingerprint scanner hidden behind it. After finding the smooth glass panels, she allowed the module to scan her prints.

The vehicle’s inner-systems hummed to life, its dashboard lights, overhead LED’s, and the windshield display blinking like the eyes of a creature forced into wakefulness.

Vehicle status…

GPS…

Radio box…

She waited a moment, allowing Raptora to scan their external surroundings.

'Welcome back, Detective Amari.'

“Thank you, Raptora.”

‘There is currently nothing urgent pending, and there are no alerts from nearby city districts.'

“Good to know.” Fareeha said with a grunt, struggling to pull the seatbelt over herself with one hand, jamming it in her haste.

‘You are scheduled for an interrogation with Mrs. Eileen Finnegan at 1600 hours. No new reports for Case File: 712, 649, 447, 328…’

“Not so good to know.” She grumbled, clicking her seat belt into place after much difficulty.

With a sigh, Fareeha relaxed into her seat and reached under the passenger dashboard. She unlatched the car’s built-in laptop from underneath, pulling its sturdy metal tray towards herself. Fareeha rubbed her fingers together before opening its lid, and pressing the blinking, yellow button at the corner of its keyboard. She began to type a few keys.

‘You have a non-urgent callback from your Tracker. Patching him through.’

She chuckled. “With Hanzo? It’s always urgent.”

“Amari.”

Fareeha grimaced.

He must have heard that.

“I thought we were on first names basis now, Shimada?”

She bit the insides of her cheek, trying to stifle a laugh as Detective Shimada went silent, the grating radio static successfully expressing his displeasure.

Fareeha could almost see him glare at her from the other side of the frequency.

“Tell me.”

“We have the results from our tech’s video analysis for Case 765.” He said, his keyboard clicking. “Quoting her report: ‘If I have to check this dumb video clip again, I will eat my equipment’. I believe her report strongly confirms she has found no further evidence of anything out of the ordinary.”

Fareeha cursed, her fingers raking through her hair. “Any good news?”

“Got a call about the wife, that Finnegan woman.”

“Eileen?”

“She cannot come for the interrogation today. I have just deleted it from your task list.”

“That’s not good news, Shimada.” She gripped the steering wheel tightly, drumming her fingers on the rim. “What happened?”

“Got the call thirty minutes ago. Neighbors and apartment staff reported she did not come home last night, and has been gone since yesterday.”

“Think she ran off before we got to her?”

“I am checking all nearby airports and train stations as we speak.” Shimada said, “Might be a good time to pay her a visit.”

“What is her address?”

Another minute of loud typing.

“I sent you the coordinates.”

“Appreciate it, Shimada”

“Don’t get shot.”

Shimada cut the audio on his side, leaving her alone with the sound of rain pelting the roof of her car, loud and cacophonous like the static of a dead television channel. Fareeha’s smile fell.

She pressed the back of her head against the leather headrest of her seat and exhaled, slow and steady, watching in a daze as her car’s wipers went back and forth across the windshield.

Stretching her numb fingers, she reached for the round metal knob of her radio and turned it on. A slow song began to play.

Welcome, my son, welcome to the machine...

The little girl woke up to the sight of a forest zipping by.

Her superhero posters and the toys on her desk were gone. Her desk was gone. Every morning she woke up to the sight of glow-in-the-dark stars hanging over her ceiling; her blinds half-open, allowing the morning light in. This looked nothing like her home.

Instead there were trees, yellow signposts, and guard rails blurring together into blotches of dizzying color.

She blinked, rubbing cold knuckles over her eyelids. For a moment, the girl had to take in a few seconds to remember where she was. Looking now at her surroundings, the girl’s mind caught up to her recent memories. They were not home anymore. They were so far away that girl did not know what this country was called anymore.

And there were so many trees.

The young girl did not wish to know what existed beyond the verdant landscapes; or beyond the faded blue mountains, which crested up into the sky like giant pointed specters. The view made her feel nauseous after staring at it for too long, and she had to look away, shaking her head. The girl supposed spending many days and nights riding a moving car for hours on end would make her stomach feel hollow and full of acid.

Up in the sky, the weather cast was blue and sunny from where she could see. It also looked windy, and pleasant, a good day. But the girl was starving, and she wished she could play outside with the children from back home instead. She imagined orange sunsets, drinking tea, and eating figs and nuts with her parents outside on the sandy balcony.

She hunched in her seat, watching thickets bearing spaces no wider than an inch or two apart whip past them as they drove far, far away. They have been driving for a long time, and she still did not know what day it was, or what time it was.

She hated traveling.

“We’re almost there, little one.”

The young girl frowned, looked down at her lap, and remained silent, fiddling with the hem of her jean jacket. The plastic yellow decoder ring around her thumb from yesterday’s cereal box was still sticky from the sugar and milk concoction she ate, but she found comfort in its weight. The girl took it off and worried it in her palm, turning the dials and trying to read a few random letters on the face.

“Still mad at me?” her mother asked, her voice rough from disuse. She sounded tired, and wary, but it was comforting for the girl to hear the familiar language again.

The girl said nothing. She pressed her head against the cool glass.

“I know you are, and I am sorry.” Her mother sighed. “I am so, so sorry. But we need to keep moving.”

“I want to go home.” the girl said, her voice soft, the hum of their vehicle drowning it out.

“We can’t, little one.”

“I want to know where ami is.”

“We’ll see her again soon.” her mother paused. “I know you’re afraid and confused – “

“I am not scared.”

“But you need to do exactly as I say. Okay?” The girl decided ignore how her mother’s voice shook. “I need to protect you now.”

“Thank you, but I can take care of myself.”

Fareeha slammed the car door shut, and looked up at the lush residential building.

It was an old and ancient structure, surrounded by well-trimmed trees and square hedgerows along the sides, separating it from the road. Its stern and sturdy form was unlike the grandiose arching designs of today’s modern architecture. It had stayed in the same place years after its construction in the mid-millennium, and Fareeha presumed it will stay in another twenty. Around the ancient building were newer structures, taller with narrower roofs reaching high into the sky; colorful hologram logos blinking and turning above every shop entrance. Talco Machinery. Jotunn Co. Kenwood Electronics.

Detective Amari felt out of place amongst the crowd of flashy local residents, their drab business suits and dresses well-starched and angular. Some were waiting for their valets, while the equally well-dressed residential staff kept their clients’ coiffed hair and makeup dry, lifting wide umbrellas decorated with a bright yellow logo above their heads patiently.

The well-dressed omnic who had approached Fareeha, holding up a dainty hand as if asking permission to collect her wet coat, nodded politely. “Very well, detective.” They lowered their arm. “Welcome to the Evergreen Complex.” The omnic opened an umbrella over her head with a flourish, and patiently waited for Fareeha to get out of her car and lock her vehicle. “We did not expect you would arrive this early.”

“Thanks… Mister, Miss…?”

“Mister Samwise-57, your loyal Residential Concierge, detective.” He nodded. “At your service.”

“I am Detective Fareeha Amari, King’s Row Constabulary. I believe you have spoken to my partner an hour ago?”

Samwise’s blue oculars blinked. “It has been most distressing.” he said, deflating visibly. “Especially considering what had happened to her husband. We are happy you came, detective. Please follow me.”

After making sure the Raptora was safely patrolling around the city district on its own, Detective Amari followed Mr. Samwise-57 to the building’s wide and golden entrance. Its well-kept exterior built with flared bricks fanning out in complex patterns, which made its design look rustic in its odd geometry. Rainwater gushed in mini-waterfalls from the white and yellow awning above its main entrance.

The door panels and curved handles were also colored gold, its surface was clear glass.

Another omnic opened the glass door and welcomed them with a small bow and an exaggerated sweep of an arm, their square jaw quirking as they smiled, and kindly told her to be careful of the slippery floors. Fareeha nodded back and mumbled a quick thank you in return. The lobby floors were spotless, and the carpeting was dry.

Warm air greeted her, and she shivered from the sudden shift in temperature. Her shoes squeaked over the shiny marble floors, sliding and squelching as she walked awkwardly to the reception. Miraculously, she did not slip.

The apartment’s lobby was a wide space, sparsely decorated, with minimalist sofas and a lingering smell of oranges. Two security guards sat behind a wide desk a walk away, watching her approach apprehensively. Detective Amari tugged her coat over herself, her hunched form making her look like a drowned castaway among the richer folk.

“Nice place, Samwise.”

The omnic perked up proudly. “Our staff works very hard to keep things going like a well-maintained machine, you could say.” He said.

A few of the tenants watched her, some murmuring about the detective’s sudden unsightly appearance. Some were sending her dirty looks as Detective Amari dripped puddles everywhere. Other, likely smarter individuals, noticed the embroidered badge and patch on her shoulder which read: ‘King’s Row Constabulary, Criminal Investigation Department. Nevertheless, they gave way to her tall presence, too busy reading the daily newspapers from their tablets, or hurrying to do their own businesses elsewhere.

“Do you happen to know Mrs. Finnegan in person, by any chance?” Fareeha asked, combing drooping strands of wet hair away from her face.

“She spoke to me a few times.” Samwise stuck his umbrella in a fancy copper bin nearby, which was already full of used wet umbrellas. “Lately to ask about her husband, but not much else.”

“Not a happy couple, I take it?”

“She wanted to make sure we caught her husband with a girl around his arm.” He said.

Once they approached the front desk, she signed her signature for the visitor’s record book, showing her badge to the security officers on-guard.

The elevator ride to the 54th floor took a while. Fareeha spent it in silence with the cheerful omnic by her side, who bounced along with the elevator jazz music.

In her mind, she was busy imagining Mrs. Finnegan’s daily routine. Retracing the woman’s journey every night, after coming back home from work.

The elevator was fairly spacious, and wide enough to fit ten people in. It was clean, the smell of perfume and cigarette smoke prominent, sticking on every surface. The wall behind them was covered in a large mirror, not a smudge marring its pristine surface.

Fareeha imagined Mrs. Finnegan fixing her make-up and hair in front of them every morning, every night.

The side walls were covered with a few LED display screens, which proudly advertised one ridiculously expensive product to another. Cheerful, multi-language voices from the ads rung out: perfumes, wristwatches, a fancy laundry service for the residents, and a ‘New Royal Mall on the Queen’s Walkway Boulevard! … Visit us today!’.

Fareeha lifted her eyes up, and saw a security cam overhead. Its small, red light blinking above its dark lense. She set her mouth to a thin line.

“You wouldn’t mind if I acquired copies of your security vids, would you?”

“Of course not, detective. Please feel free.”

Detective Amari mumbled a thank you, and grabbed a device from inside her coat, which looked like it could have fit around her wrist perfectly if one of her arms were not broken. It was as large as her hand, and it fit perfectly in her palm nonetheless. The front panel of the device split and slid apart, revealing a small glass screen. A few settings and actions appeared in blue letters. With difficulty, Detective Amari pressed a few keys on its panel with her thumb, sighing in annoyance when she found her fingers too short to work the device properly, but she managed to finish uploading the files to their database nonetheless.

The elevator dinged once it reached the 54th floor.

A long, and carpeted hallway greeted them. Fancy, seashell-shaped light fixtures hung in a precise row over the walls of the narrow hallway, each of them placed between an apartment door. The air was stale, and it smelt of leather, carpet shampoo, and – at one point, while passing room 5409 – the strong hint of brewing coffee.

Fareeha was also beginning to smell the stench of her sweat, fresh rain, and the streets hovering over her like a noxious aura.

They turned left.

“Mrs. Finnegan’s room is at the very end of this hallway, detective.” Samwise said.

“Didn’t expect this place to be huge.”

“Evergreen Complex is one of the oldest buildings in the district. Made of sturdy stuff, and recently renovated fifty years ago.” He said. “Quite close to the airport, with a train leading to the central hub a stop away. It is why most of our tenants never think about leaving.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to sell me a room.”

“Only if you can afford it, detective.”

“Ha.” Fareeha rubbed her nose with a finger, hiding her amusement at the omnic’s blithe response. “How long has Mrs. Finnegan been staying here with her husband?”

“Almost five years.”

“Do they have enemies? People they had an argument with that you know of?”

“Not to our knowledge, no.” Samwise paused. “They’re a quiet folk. Like to keep to themselves, not until their ‘domestic dispute’ reared its ugly head, at least.”

They reached the end of the hallway. The door facing them – room 5420 – seemed like any other door from the complex. Smooth lacquered wood, painted dark brown.

Fareeha reached for the doorbell and buzzed the room, hearing a musical bell jingle play inside. She waited, but heard no other sound. Fareeha’s eyebrows curled low in thought.

She turned to her guide. “May I?”

Samwise nodded, and took a few steps back, allowing her some space.

Detective Amari reached behind her ear – eyes taking in the sight of the door – and turned her virtual interface on, which filled her natural vision with a slight orange tinge and the glow of augmented reality. As the smart interface kicked in, it shortly began to scan her environment. A few details blinked in and out of Fareeha’s peripheral.

A collection of dirt and grime on the couple’s welcome mat.

Four different fingerprints on the doorknob, two from the husband and the wife.

The contents of the vase nearby had a layer of used cigarettes collecting at the bottom. Fareeha wrinkled her nose. It seemed like the local residents were not as disciplined as they liked to appear on the outside. She took note to check the discarded cigarette butts later.

Detective Amari waved away details she deemed unimportant with her hand, deciding to file them all in her memory banks in case they needed further inspection, and buzzed the doorbell again.

No sound, no movement. Not even a bio signature.

Damn. “She’s not here.”

“Our staff would have known anyone coming in or out of the building.” Samwise said, his computerized voice carrying a baffled tone. “Just like every morning, without fail, Mrs. Finnegan left for her workplace yesterday carrying nothing but her purse. She mentioned nothing about coming home late, or staying someplace else. None of our staff have seen her since.”

Detective Amari gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, her nose flaring as she exhaled.

“Thank you, Samwise.” Fareeha pulled the front of her coat down over herself. “You’ve been a great help.”

“You are welcome, Detective Amari.” Samwise said, angling his body away from her by a polite inch. “I hope you wouldn’t mind, but I must go back to my duties. Please do feel free to leave any time you wish. I believe you know your way to the lift?”

Detective Amari nodded, still staring at the door long after the omnic turned around and left, the sound of his loafer shoes muffled by the carpet.

Her brain was screaming.

Fareeha stretched her hand out and pressed the pads of her fingers a few inches below the eyehole.

“No.” Fareeha narrowed her eyes. “It can’t be.”

She froze. Fareeha took a peek behind her in case someone else was watching. She traced something on the wood.

Fifteen minutes later, Detective Fareeha Amari left Evergreen Complex in a hurry, her face gaunt and set in stone. The back of her coat flying behind her as if she was being chased by a ghost she did not wish to see.

Her mother held out her hand. Her eyes tired, dark, and yet still full of love.

The young girl bit her lower lip, but relented. She turned in place from where she sat on the hood of the car, and dropped the plastic decoder ring in her mother’s open palm.

“You like this cartoon?” Her mother asked, her slim finger tracing the grinning cartoon dinosaur decorated along the ring.

“I have never seen it before.”

After driving long into the evening, crossing strange red and purple landscapes which beheld giant loping shapes, they finally stopped under the protection of the glowing moon and the shade of black sky. Her mother had parked the car behind a large sign which, the girl presumed, showed directions to places she had yet to see. For now, her mother thought they were safe enough, and so they sat, and waited, and listened.

Her mother held out her palm again, as if boasting her novice showmanship, showing the girl where the ring was placed in the middle of her hand. She closed her hand into a tight fist, and with a twinkling eye, her mother twisted her wrist and waved her other hand over it. A genuine smile teased the woman’s lips, which finally replaced the lines of worry etched prominently on her face for weeks now. The girl perked up and reached for her curled fingers, prying them open. The ring was gone.

“Where did it go?” The girl asked.

Her mother chuckled.

She reached behind the side of her head, and as if plucking it from her ear, revealed the toy ring and its grinning dinosaur. Its shade now a powder blue. Her favorite color.

The girl bounced where she sat. “How did you do that?”

“Magicians never reveal their secrets.” Her mother smiled, booping her nose. “But I can make an exception for you, little wonder.”

“You will teach me someday?”

Her mother wrapped an arm around her daughter, rubbing her back. “I will, when you are ready.” She said, pressing a kiss in her messy hair.

“Mama…”

“Look at you, you have dirt all over your face. We need to find you a cozy room with a big tub, huh?”

“Mama, I’m sorry.” the girl said, ducking her head. Her mother fell silent, but the girl felt her chest hitch, making her wince. “I’m sorry that I got angry at you. I don’t hate you.”

“It’s all right, my dear.”

“I’ll be good next time.” The girl wrapped her heavy arms around her mother in a tight hug, sniffling. “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Her mother caressed her cheek. She smoothed out the knots from her daughter’s black hair, feeling the front of her shirt grow warm from freshly spilled tears.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed to feel afraid, habibti. Your ami and I are sorry you had to go through all of this.” She enfolded the girl in her arms. Draping them desperately around her, as if trying to shield her away from the world. “Especially me. This is all my fault.”

“It’s not, mama, it’s those men…”

“Hush, don’t think of them again.” Her mother’s voice wavered, choking through her words. “Ami will come back, and the three of us will be here together, like before. Won’t that be something?”

The girl nodded, her tears burning her eyes and cooling her cheeks.

“I will always be with you. And I will never abandon you, Fareeha.” Her mother said. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe…

“No matter what.”

Detective Shimada jumped when a paper bag almost toppled the steaming cup of tea on his keyboard.

He glared at the offending object, its lower half translucent from an unholy amount of grease seeped into the paper, while something savory and spicy wafted from the crinkled opening. He looked up at the newcomer, and raised an eyebrow. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” A sniffle. “You look great, by the way. Got you samosas.”

“You should follow Morrison’s advice and take a few days off.” Shimada said, curling his lip at the mess of rainwater she dripped all over his desk. He wiped them away with the bottom half of the greasy paper bag. Shimada took off his earpiece, and pushed his keyboard to the side, making small room for lunch amongst his stack of organized files. “Want some?”

“Go ahead. Already ate my share.”

He ripped the paper bag open wide, and grabbed a cold, poorly wrapped pastry. It smelled like spiced potatoes and peas.

“You forgot the chutney again, didn’t you?”

Amari grunted in reply.

She headed for her own desk, opposite his larger work station fit for a Tracker, dripping rain water and spreading puddles everywhere she went. Her leather chair squelched as she sat.

“How was the – “

Amari released a watery cough, holding her fist firmly in front of her mouth.

Shimada shook his head. “Take some time off.” He slid his tissue box over to her desk. “Make it a week. I don’t want to catch whatever you have.”

“I can feel your love and concern emanating from here, Shimada.”

Her partner muttered angrily at her in his language, before continuing to type up their report with one hand, while guiding food to his mouth with his other.

“Did you get the vids I sent you?” Fareeha asked, taking a tissue paper from the box to blow her stuffy nose with.

“Nothing there.” Shimada said. He looked up from his work, peering at her above one of his many monitors. “Unless you wish to add ‘indecent public displays of affection’ or ‘public nudity’ as one of our cases?”

Amari didn’t reply. She sat in silence for a while, her nose and eyes flushed red as she stared at her own station front of her. Her desk was sparsely decorated compared to her partner’s collection of figurines and pictures from his home life, but Fareeha supposed she preferred it that way. She had a coffee cup full of used pens at the corner, and a tray where all her memory bank chips were organized into a collection of stacks.

“I didn’t find anything, either.” She said. “No new witnesses, nothing. Her co-workers said she left early. No one else saw her.”

“Our job just keeps getting easier, no?”

“How about you, how’s your search going?”

“Still waiting for confirmation from a few airports in the country.” Shimada said, pausing to chew his food. “Otherwise, I have found no trace of her, so far.”

“Hope it’s not another dead end.”

“Morrison might throw a fit.”

Fareeha snorted.

He swallowed another bite. “What are you doing here, Amari?” He asked. “I thought you weren’t coming in until later?”

“I have to make a call.”

Shimada narrowed his eyes and made a face. He leaned sideways in his seat, tensing when he got a better look at his partner, and realized how her eyes were bloodshot and dull. He whispered. “An encrypted phone call?”

She sent him a look over one of his monitors. Shimada didn’t reply, and wisely decided to look focus back on his work while finishing his food.

Fareeha stared at the phone next to her workstation. She nibbled her lower lip and – after a moment’s hesitation – grabbed the phone and dialed a long number. Nobody answered, but she was not surprised. The call switched to voice mail.

“Hey, Jesse.” Fareeha cleared her throat when it cracked from a rising cough, and definitely not because she felt nervous. She licked her lips, turning her chair away from Shimada’s curious look. “Been a while. Listen, call me back. It’s urgent.” Fareeha swallowed and felt her chest seize up, but she managed to keep herself calm and continued to speak. “I think there’s going to be a ‘family reunion’, or something like it. Not sure if your ‘dad’ is coming. He just sent me a message, earlier. I hope he will come this time.” She doesn’t. “Anyway, call me back. Please. And not a week too late this time, or I’ll kick your ass.”

Fareeha hung up. She leaned back in her chair and grabbed the orange stress ball from inside her coat.

“Hm.” Shimada grunted, his eyes going back to his workstation. “Family shit?”

Fareeha exhaled, and allowed herself to relax once she realized Shimada wouldn’t push her to speak. She knew they both had their fair share of secrets. Things Morrison and the others didn’t need to know, especially. She appreciated that.

“Yeah.” Fareeha said, falling into her chair, pushing it as far back as she could. She closed her eyes. “Family shit.”

A/N: ok so here’s the thing, we did not expect to give this story some cyberpunk-ish elements. This was supposed to be a one shot set in modern era with some pretty basic mystery stuff, but I guess here we are? After planning the story further along, plotting out the bits and bobs and doodads, we decided welp. Hey, why not add more and make our job a tad bit harder?

Angela will return again in the next chapter, so prepare for more dead bodies in chap 4!

And yes, Fareeha’s Raptora is a cop car… I’m totally not thinking Knight Rider ha ha what’re you talking about…..

(also, yes, we finally decided to change the title.. did a little bit of a fic renovation, so to speak… hopefully my writing partner won’t kill me :D)Lastly, I would like to thank my writing partner in crime, best brother Tobe for his awesome help as always. (you’re the best I love you dude)

#pharmercy #my fics #body electric ow ff #pharah #fanfiction

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actionfigurebullshit · 3 years ago

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Waiting On C. A. Kirk & Other Action Figure Bullshits

Today, I got my very first Galoob 1988 TNG action figure, nearly 30 years after seeing them for the last time. THEY’RE SO TINY! I mean this with glee. My memories of the action figures were from when I was no more than 7. I’ve done a little bit of growing over the years. I was not disappointed in its size, though I was very disappointed that the mail lady, as she has done with a lot of our orders here, shoved them into the box. The cardstock was in pretty good condition when it was sent, but now has an ugly crease from where it was shoved in. It’s another one of those mixed blessing things. Having the pack get bent like that encouraged me to open it up, actually feel one of these action figures for the first time. It’s too bad they didn’t give them more articulation in the arms, give them open hands to hold their items rather than have a phaser sculpted into the hand. Everything else is kind of amazing, especially considering how tiny it was. That was one thing that I remember 6 year old me liking more about the Galoob line- they actually looked quite a bit like the actors who played them, and the level of detail in the painting- those tiny little heads! That tiny little communicator! The Playmates Toys like looked weird to me at first, almost like they were from a cartoon, but, obviously, they grew on me. I love that when you pose the Galoob TNG action figure to sit, their legs aren’t bowed out, and they almost seem more proportional... I mean, of course they are! I read somewhere that the Playmates version was modeled on the proportions of a child. I maintain they look cartoony.

I also got a Captain Koloth and a Gangster Kirk- he looks like he’s gonna sing, that Kirk action figure, which was, as I suspected, a Kirk head on a Dixon Hill body. Fine by me. Might even give Dixon Butts that old film noir look I want.

As the title suggests, I’m waiting on that “casual attire” action figure. It was supposed to ship on the 14th, but it didn’t happen. Maybe today or tomorrow. I’m not too worried about it.

I used this time to start putting together a construction paper replica of the USS Enterprise bridge from “Star Trek”. First, I made some test prints, and it took me a few tries to get the size right. I thought I could screen cap the PDF file at 300 percent and get what I want, but it turns out I had to blow it up to 200 percent size after that. This makes some of the wall consoles a little tricky to print, but I got it and put it together. It’s flimsy. it should have a base made of at least poster board and popsicle sticks. Still, I got to prop up one such wall with tape long enough to snap a picture, the post, with the edited audio I will use in my “Tribbles Recut 1″ short, is directly below this entry.

I’m glad I was able to cut through the “Oh, wait! I can’t do it just yet because...” nonsense in my head and just do it. How else am I going to know how this will look if I don’t print a test page? This is how I learned that my original idea needed work... and that 150 percent wasn’t enough. Maybe enough for that little Tasha Yar action figure? Once I got that far, there wasn’t much of a reason to NOT use the “correct” print-out as a pattern on some pieces of black construction paper, and when I had those shapes, I might as well print off other sections- rather than print out something colorful (I couldn’t even if I wanted to), I simply print out another shade of gray and glue it to the other pieces.

Even in the state it’s in, it’s recognizable as a set piece, but in its incomplete looking state, it really reminds me of “The Cage”. It’s so tempting to make it “unique” with a different color scheme, but I need to stay focused and not take too many liberties. It needs to be good enough for the film, it doesn’t need to be good enough to be entered into some kind of modeling contest.

This bridge is me dipping my toe into the world of papercraft, and getting my first taste for how I can tweak the papercraft to my ends, make it AFBian (aff-bian?). Each day I don’t get the Casual Attire Kirk is another day to work on the bridge. Tomorrow, I may cut out the shape of the wall console from an old piece of poster board to make it sturdy. Though I’d expect everything may hold up better when all the pieces are made and attached to one another, I want to make it more like the original series production. Back in the day, those wall consoles were “WILD”, meaning they could be moved in and out of the rest of the set in order to get better camera angles. Several times on “Star Trek”, we see a side of Spock’s console we shouldn’t be able to see because the adjacent station has been wheeled away for this shot.

In addition to making it a sturdy, stable piece, I still want to print off some “light shapes” and then color them in with magic markers. I will also need some red trim on the edge of the “table surface” part of the station. For the mini viewscreens, I want to cut out a rounded rectangle of sky blue, and then cut out a smaller rounded rectangle which will have some kind of space art on it. This time, I might do a painting, or perhaps I need not go any further than printing the black elements and coloring in the rest with markers. I wanted to cut open a space to put the space art, but I don’t have much faith in myself to cut out the rounded corners without making them look ugly, so fuck that. I’ll have better luck doing it the other way.

After that, Kirk needs a chair, and the bridge needs some railing and maybe I’ll attempt one of those fancy seats, though I may have better luck just fudging it with a single piece of black paper. Let’s see how much of this I can get done before that new Kirk action figure arrives.

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gilbertineonfr2 · 8 years ago

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TROOPERS 2017 Day #4 Wrap-Up

I’m just back from Heidelberg so here is the last wrap-up for the TROOPERS 2017 edition. This day was a little bit more difficult due to the fatigue and the social event of yesterday. That’s why the wrap-up will be shorter… The second keynote was presented by Mara Tam: “Magical thinking … and how to thwart it”. Mara is an advisor to executive agencies on information security issues. Her job focuses on the technical and strategic implications of regulatory and policy activity. In my opinion, the keynote topic remained classic. Mara explained her vision of the problems that the infosec community is facing when information must be exchanged with “the outside world”. Personally, I found that Mara’s slides were difficult to understand.

For the first presentation of the day, I stayed in the main room – the offensive track – to follow “How we hacked distributed configuration management systems” by Francis Alexander and Bharadwaj Machhiraju. As we already saw yesterday with the SDN, automation is a hot topic and companies tend to install specific tools to automate the configuration tasks. Such software is called DCM or “Distributed Configuration Management”. They simplify the maintenance of complex infrastructures, the synchronization and service discovery. But, as software, they also have bugs or vulnerabilities and are, for a pentester, a nice target. They’re real goldmines because they content not only configuration files but if the attacker can change them, it’s even more dangerous. DCM can be agent-less or -based on agents. This is the second case that was the target of Francis & Bharadwaj. They reviewed three tools:

HashiCorp Consul

Apache Zookeeper

CoreOS etcd

For each tool, that explained the vulnerability they found and how it was exploited up to remote code execution. The crazy story is that all of them do not have authentication enabled by default! To automate the search for DCM and exploitation, they developed a specific tool called Garfield. Nice demos were performed during the talk with many remote shells and calc.exe spawned here and there.

The next talk was my favourite of today. It was about a tool called Ruller to pivot through Exchange servers. Etienne Stamens presented his research on Microsoft Exchange and how he reverse engineered the protocol. The goal is just to get a shell though Exchange. The classic phases of an attack were reviewed:

Reconnaissance

Exploitation

Persistence (always better!)

Basically, Exchange is a mail server but many more features are available: calendar, Lync, Skype, etc. Exchange must be able to serve local and remote users so it exposes services on the Internet. How do identify companies that use an Exchange server and how to find it? Simply thanks to the auto-discovery feature that is implemented by Microsoft. If your domain is company.com, Outlook will search for https://company.com/autodiscover/autodiscover.xml (+ other alternatives URLs if this one isn’t useful). Etienne did some research and found that 10% of the Internet domains have this process enabled. After some triage, he found that approximatively 26000 domains are linked to an Exchange server. Nice attack surface! The next step is to compromise at least one account. Here, classic methods can be used (brute-force, rogue wireless AP, phishing or dumps of leaked databases). The exploitation in itself is performed by creating a rule that will execute a script. The rule looks like “When the word “pwned” is present in the subject, start “badprogram.exe”. A very nice finding is the way Windows converts UNC path to webdav:

\\host.com@SSL\webdav\pew.zip\s.exe

will be converted to:

https://host.com/webdab/pew.zip

And Windows will even extract s.exe for you! Magic!

Etienne performed a nice demo of Ruler which automates all the process described above. Then, he demonstrated another tool called Linial which takes care of the persistence. To conclude, Etienne explained briefly how to harden Exchange to prevent this kind of attack. Outlook 2016 blocks unsafe rules by default which is good. An alternative is to block WebDAV and use MFA.

After the lunch, Zoz came back with another funny presentation: “Data Demolition: Gone in 60 seconds!”. The idea is simple: When you throw away some devices, you must be sure that they don’t contain remaining critical data. Classic examples are HD’s and printers. Also extremely mobiles devices like drones. The talk was some kind of a “Myth Busters” show for hard drives! Different techniques were tested by Zoz:

Thermal

Kinetic

Electric

For each of them, different scenarios were presented and the results demonstrated with small videos. Crazy!

What was interesting to notice is that most techniques failed because the disk plates could still be “cleaned” (ex: removing the dust) and become maybe readable by using forensic techniques. For your information, the most feasible techniques were: Plasma cutter or oxygen injector, nailguns and HV Power spike. Just one advice: don’t try this at home!

There was a surprise talk scheduled. The time slot was offered to The Grugq. Renowned security researcher, he presented “Surprise Bitches, Enterprise Security Lessons From Terrorists”. He talked about APT’s but not as a buzzword. He gave his own view of how APT’s work. For him, the term “APT” was invented by Americans and means: “Asia Pacific Threat“.

I finished the day back to offensive track. Mike Ossmann and Dominic Spill from Great Scott Gadgets presented “Exploring the Infrared, part 2“. The first part was presented at Schmoocon. Hopefully, they started with a quick recap. What is the infrared light and its applications (remote control, sensors, communications, heating systems, …). The talk was a suite of nice demos where they use replay attack techniques to abuse of tools/toys that work with IR like a Dunk Hunt game, a shark remote controller. The most impressive one was the replay attack against the Bosh audio transmitter. This very expensive device is used in big events for instant translations. They were able to reverse engineer the protocol and were able to play a song through the device… You can imagine the impact of such attack in a live event (ex: switching voices, replacing translations by others, etc). They have many more tests in the pipe.

The last talk was “Blinded Random Block Corruption” by Rodrigo Branco. Rodrigo is a regular speaker at TROOPERS and provides always good content. His presentation was very impressive. They idea is to evaluate the problems around memory encryption? How and why to use it? Physical access to the victim is the worse case. An attacker has access to anything. You implemented full-disk encryption? Cool but many info are in the memory when the system is running. Access to memory can be performed via Firewire, PCIe, PCMCIA and new USB standards. What about memory encryption? It’s good but encryption alone is not enough. Controls must be implemented. The attack explained by Rodrigo is called “BRBC” or “Blinded Random Block Corruption“. After giving the details, a nice demo was realized: how to become root on a locked system? Access to the memory is more easy in virtualized (or cloud) environments. Indeed many hypervisors allow enabling a “debug” feature per VM. Once activated, the administrator has write access to the memory. By using a debugger, you can use the BRBC attack and bypass the login procedure. The video demo was impressive.

So, TROPPER 10th anniversary edition is over. I spend four awesome days attending nice talks and meeting a lot of friends (old & new). I learned a lot and my todo-list already expanded.

[The post TROOPERS 2017 Day #4 Wrap-Up has been first published on /dev/random]

from Xavier

#TROOPERS 2017 Day 4 Wrap-Up

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allenmendezsr · 4 years ago

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