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lonestarbabe · 4 years ago

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Giving Up the Ghost

[AO3]

The psychic T.K. AU.

Chapter 1: The Gift of Sight and Closed Eyes

T.K. had decided that he wouldn’t tell anyone in Austin that he could see ghosts. In New York, talking to the dead had always been a party trick that T.K. used when he needed to cut through the tension in the room. No one had ever taken it seriously. They didn’t believe he was really psychic—just the life of the party who could masquerade as a psychic reasonably well. To them, it was nothing more than a performance. T.K. had always laughed it off and played up the showmanship of it. He was careful to control how much he said because if it became more than a magic trick, people threw around the word “crazy,” and when people thought you were crazy, they started thinking that the partying, the drugs, and the psychic thing were pitiful instead of fun.

When he’d been five, he’d told his parents that he could see ghosts. They’d thought he’d had an overactive imagination, but when he’d come to them each night with terror in his face when a rowdy spirit in their apartment wouldn’t stop yelling, they started to think something was wrong with him because something had to be wrong with a child who genuinely believed he saw ghosts. When he told them about the mean drunkard who hung out in his room, they took him to a therapist, Lisa Koenig, who insisted that he had deep-seated issues. That was before T.K. had real problems. 9/11 hadn’t happened yet, but Lisa had insisted that something had traumatized him. She tried to dig into his past as if a five-year-old had a long and storied life. T.K. would go home and cry after his sessions because the ghosts wouldn’t go away, and no one understood that he wasn’t making them up.

When the ghost sightings got worse after 9/11, Lisa doubled down on her insistence that T.K. was making up tales of ghosts because of trauma, and T.K. couldn’t get her to believe that tragedy made ghosts noisier. It wasn’t his trauma; though, he had plenty of that. T.K. remembered how she looked at him—pity in her eyes no matter how hard she tried to have a neutral face. He saw her until he was ten and convinced his mom that he really could see ghosts by talking to his dead grandfather, and she let him stop the therapy. (He probably still needed it, but because he saw ghosts.) Owen’s role in T.K.’s life was too fleeting for his opinion to matter.

As soon as T.K. saw the fire station in the same state it had been the night the crew had left for the call, he knew he was in trouble. “It like a tomb,” T.K. said. He knew that they didn’t belong in Texas. They hadn’t even removed the dead flowers on the sidewalk. The place was haunted, and it was haunting even to someone who couldn’t see ghosts. “I can’t do this, Dad,” T.K. said. “This place has too many memories,” but Owen had promised that it wouldn’t be that bad once T.K. had gotten used to it. During his first visit, the ghosts had been quiet, but he knew they wouldn’t be quiet for long.

When he walked into the firehouse for his first shift, a tall man with a mustache and dark hair greeted him. T.K. was startled when the man started to talk to him. After so many years, T.K. should have been used to voices coming out of nowhere, but ghosts still put him on edge when he first met them. He could feel their presence, even when he couldn’t initially see them.

“Chuck Parkland,” the guy said, giving T.K. a wave. He didn’t look angry, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get angry, and if he did get angry, there wasn’t much T.K. would be able to do to get him to leave him alone. There was no “passing over” like they talked about in movies. Ghosts came and went as they pleased, and most of them respected boundaries, but some didn’t.

Before T.K. could say anything, a voice came from behind him. “Are you okay? You just jumped eight feet in the air.”

“First day jitters,” T.K. tried, keeping the ghost in his peripheral vision. He offered a mischievous smile. “T.K. Strand.”

“Paul Strickland,” Paul said, offering a hand that T.K. shook. Paul looked over the place. “This is quite the firehouse, isn’t it?”

“It was a dump before,” Chuck said, and T.K. tried not to look over because looking around at things that weren’t there wouldn’t give the first impression he wanted.

“Even my firehouse in New York wasn’t like this.” It had been nice, but it hadn’t been brand new.

“Oh, a New Yorker. We’re not used to outsiders here.” Chuck was talkative. Great.

“It’s not like this in Chicago either.” Paul gestured to the rest of the fire station. “I’m going to look around. You coming?”

“Nah, that’s okay. I got a sneak peek earlier. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Okay, man. Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” T.K. said, turning his attention to the ghost beside him when he was sure that no one was there.

“I guess we’re alone now,” Chuck said with a chuckle. He seemed like the kind of guy who was always in good spirits. T.K. would have enjoyed talking to him if he were alive. “You can talk to me. I know you can see me.”

“It’s not as easy as that. You can’t talk to me when people are around,” T.K. warned. “It’s distracting.”

“No one else can hear me.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to be that guy who’s always talking to himself.”

“And I don’t want to be dead, but we don’t always get what we want.”

“Listen, I’m sorry that you died, but this is my chance at a fresh start, and I don’t want to be a freak here.”

“I’m not here to ruin your life.”

“You do know that you don’t have to be here, right? You can go anywhere. Most people prefer the other side of the veil.”

“It’s too nice there. Nah, this is home.”

“It’s too nice here now, too,” T.K. pointed out.

“But it’s still home.” Chuck’s grin fell, and T.K. knew he was going to be in trouble. He hated to see people, even dead ones, in pain for all he wanted to be normal. “And it doesn’t feel right to go anywhere else.”

“You have a family, Chuck?”

“A wife and a little girl.” T.K. felt a pang in his chest as he thought of that poor fatherless child.

“Do you need me to tell them something?” Usually, that’s what ghosts wanted the most— to let their families know that they were okay. “I can try to get a message to them.”

“Is this your way of getting me to go away?”

T.K. shook his head. “Sudden deaths are hard.”

“They seem like they’re doing okay.” Chuck smiled faintly. “I don’t want to set them back.”

“I get it, man, but if you ever need me to tell them something, let me know.” For as much as T.K. didn’t want to get involved, he couldn’t deny his abilities. They were part of him, and whenever he didn’t use them, it felt like a part of him was missing because life was lonelier without the ghosts.

“I better let you go,” Chuck said. “Your shift is starting.”

“Talk later?”

Chuck smiled. “You know I have nothing better to do,” and then Chuck was gone, and T.K. was left alone. He laughed to himself. His first friend in Austin was a ghost. Nothing weird about that.{{p

#my writing #911 lone star #elise writes #wip #giving up the ghost #1000 - 3000 words

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hazbincalifornia · 4 years ago

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I wrote down a potential writing as ‘Angel finds out that Stella has a crush on Charlie’ but the idea that Angel finds out Stella has a crush on Charlie and Alastor is just... interesting. Angel’s probably ooc but I’ve never written him before so I’m just kinda feeling him out.

Stella’s 17 here, so she’s been visiting the Hotel regularly for a couple years. I’m using that as an excuse for Angel having developed a bit I guess.

Wordcount: 1675

Warnings: Mentions of cannibalism

“Stella, would you mind putting up some fliers around Imp City? I know some sinners do work there.”

“Sure!” Stella replied, and Charlie pulled her into a hug.

“Oh, thank you!”

“No- problem!” Stella’s face darkened slightly as she felt Charlie’s breasts squishing against her own before wrapping her arms around the demoness.

When Charlie pulled back, she brushed the little black feathers out of Stella’s eyes. “I really appreciate you keeping an open mind. I know the Hellborn aren’t exactly the most fond of the Hotel since...” She clicked her tongue. “Well, since we don’t know if it’ll work for us even when we manage to figure out how to rehabilitate sinners.”

“Hell’s my home too, I wouldn’t mind there being a few less jackasses around.” Stella smiled, and Charlie ruffled her hair.

“That’s the spirit!” She smiled back before turning around. “Oh geez, it’s getting late... I’ll get you those posters by tomorrow!”

Stella waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave as Charlie jogged out of the lobby at the same moment Alastor entered it from the kitchen.

“Ah, there you are!” Alastor nodded to her. “Are we still on for that dinner date tonight?”

“Uh-huh.” Stella nodded, tail absently curling in and out in the air as she rolled up and down on her heels. “I’ll be down at 7.”

“No curfew as usual?”

She shrugged. “Eh, my dad trusts I won’t get myself killed.”

“We’ll see about that, the spice in this one is killer!” He winked, twirling his microphone stand in his fingers before smacking the end down on the floor and fading back into the shadows.

“Why he didn’t just spit that out into the radio Charlie keeps on the desk, I’ll never know,” came a comment from behind her.

Stella whirled around. “Angel!”

He snickered from his spot in the shadows, resting on one of the crates Charlie had never put away. “I can be quiet once in’a while, you know. Used to do stakeouts and shit. I just came down for some of that good fat-free ice cream Vags got and didn’t want to interrupt.”

“That’s a new one.” She raised an eyebrow. He normally wasn’t exactly subtle.

He stretched all four arms, back cracking before hopping off the crate. “I’m a complicated guy. Walk with me.”

Stella’s tail swished as she followed him down the hall to the elevator. Angel had a half-smirk, the kind of look that she usually felt on her own face when someone revealed a deep, dark secret on accident.

She didn’t think she’d revealed anything, at least not recently enough that he’d have a grin like that now. It tickled unease in her throat as the elevator dinged.

The music was soft as always, and Angel examined his nails through his gloves for some reason as Stella watched his face in the mirror. His mouth twitched slightly and he glanced over at her.

“You’re being obvious, Red.”

“Am not.”

“Standard rates apply if you wanna touch the tits.”

“Bitch.” She shoved at his side and he snickered, pushing her head with one of his lower arms.

“Joking, joking, friends get limited access for free.” The door dinged open, and he headed down the hall to his room. She’d long since gotten used to how quickly he walked with his stupid-long legs, and when she closed the door behind them, he plopped down on the bed, patting the space next to him as Fat Nuggets jumped up on his lap.

“So, you clearly want to talk about something private that you didn’t just say whatever it was in the lobby.” Stella probed. In response, Angel nodded at the small radio on his vanity and then at his closet.

She popped the closet open, setting the radio inside and then dropping a few of the thicker-looking clothes on top of it for good measure before closing the door again. “Okay, so you don’t want Al hearing whatever it is?”

“Uh-huh. He’s as big of a snoop as you are, especially when it comes to himself.”

“Comes to himself.” She folded her arms and then plopped down on the bed, bouncing Angel up slightly. What a stick.

“So, I noticed how you act around Charlie.”

Stella kept her expression neutral. “She’s nice.”

“You like her.”

“Sure I do. Like I said, she’s nice.”

“And taken.” Angel was the one probing this time. “She’s cute, don’t you think?”

“You’re gay,” Stella said flatly. “How would you know?”

“I’ve also been around a lotta people, I can guess shit by now. ‘Sides, just because I don’t play that team doesn’t mean I’m blind.” He waved his hand. “I know how infatuation works. Sometimes Val likes it when a specific person really, really likes one’a us. They’ll pay more.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“I’m just trying to let you down easy, that’s all.” He shrugged. “I like you. Don’t want you getting hurt, and Charlie seems pretty happy with Vags.”

Stella sighed, rubbing her arm. She was moving on, so... it couldn’t really hurt her if he knew since he’d already figured it anyway, right? “Okay, fine. I’ve liked her since I was a kid. She’s just as nice in reality as she seemed to be, but I always worried everybody in Hell was gonna wring her dry by the time I got my chance to shoot my shot if I ever did anyway, ya know?”

Angel patted her shoulder. “Yeah, love’s a fucky thing sometimes, but at least you know it. That’s good, that makes this easier. You tell your pops?”

“Nah, if it’s not going anywhere there’s no need, right?”

“Fair enough. He chill with you- oh, right, you said you had two dads, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well. Answers that.” Angel’s fingers tightened around her shoulder. “Now, the other thing. Charlie, I think she’d just be flattered if you ever said anything, but Al...”

Stella sputtered. “Al? I don’t like him!”

“Really? Because your tail was damn near making a heart when he called dinner a date.”

Stella smacked Angel’s shoulder. “I think I’d know if I liked him!”

“I just call it like I see it!” Angel held his hands up. “Alright, lemme just try something.” He leaned over on the bed, and Fat Nuggets jumped over to Stella’s lap, kneading down on her leggings before settling down. She started to pet him as Angel scribbled something down on a sheet of notebook paper, tongue sticking out of his mouth as he did.

After a few minutes, he ripped it out of the notebook, and Stella snorted a laugh. It was an incredibly crude drawing of Alastor. “Yeah, there’s a reason you’re sucking dick and not painting for the royalty, isn’t there?”

“We all have our talents.” He flicked at the edge of the paper. “So, you know how you feel around Charlie, right?”

“Yeah, still got some light butterflies but I’ve mostly gotten over them.” Stella narrowed her eyes. “That’s how I know you’re talking out your ass, Dust. I already know what infatuation feels like.”

“Nah, it means you’ve mostly gotten over her. Any’a the rest is just residual gayness from being around a pretty girl. Trust me, I had plenty experience of that when I was your age, just with dipshit dudes.” He held the paper Alastor face up in front of his own. “So, pretend I’m Smiles. Think about the last coupla times you saw him. How were you feeling?”

“Last couple times...” Stella bounced her knee in thought just to entertain him, and Nuggets, disgruntled, jumped off her and went back to Angel.

What were the last few times they’d interacted? Well, this morning, when he asked her to come back for dinner with the human meat she’d brought in from an IMP job where they were supposed to dispose of the body completely. He’d been delighted to get a whole corpse, and a shaved one too since it had been a woman in her mid-thirties who apparently cared about that sort of thing.

Before that... he’d showed her around the Cannibal Colony. The ladies there waved at him, and she’d felt a spike of something that she’d passed off as fear before. That was ridiculous, though. She was all muscle and sinew, and could defend herself perfectly well. Besides, she was at Alastor’s side, and if they tried anything, he’d have her back. Probably.

Last week... he’d done a broadcast about a brawl happening right outside of the Hotel. He thought it was hilarious they were trying to end each other’s afterlife right outside of the Happy Hotel, and she’d kept up running commentary with him about who was winning. He’d mentioned it was nice to have someone who appreciated showmanship, and she’d grinned back at him.

Silk caressed her face, and she snapped back to reality to see Angel had dropped the ‘mask’ and one hand was cupping her cheek.

“You’re flushing.”

“Am not!” She smacked his hand away, and he sighed, crumpling the ball up and tossing it over into the trash can.

“Al doesn’t seem the relationship type. I’ve propositioned him a coupla times, both outta habit and ‘cause he is good-looking. He always just shoots me down cold, and I’ve never heard him mention a missus or a mister or anything- even in the past, even when he was alive. I know he’s pretty tight-lipped about himself, but I feel like we’d know about something by now. Just temper your expectations. Some people are just like that.”

“Temper your expectations. Fancy vocabulary there.”

“Yeah, well, you hang around Al long enough, his fancy-pants wordage rubs off.” Angel straightened Stella’s bandanna. “Whatever weird hormonal teenage deal you’ve got with him, just keep it on the down-low to be safe, got it?”

“There’s no deal,” Stella’s face wrinkled as she narrowed her eyes, but Angel’s raised eyebrow said that he didn’t believe her.

The acid bubbling in her stomach and her thudding heart said that she wasn’t sure that she believed her anymore either.

#stella #hotel stella #shadow writes stuff #oops this wasn't supposed to be over 1k but it is now #writing about canon characters interacting with my ocs in a non-parent way is still.... an adjustment #I didn't do it when I was like 12 and I gotta do it now. I Gotta #angel #stellastor #I... guess?#that's a tag now #hh #hb #daddy blitzo

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hvnriks-archive · 4 years ago

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ERIK — personality types.

“ he sighed with contentment, thinking that life held nothing better than the feel of a good ship running before the wind, with a sky full of stars to guide her ”

zodiac: sagittarius

“ sagittarius is a born adventurer, and loves solo travel and exploration. curious and energetic, sagittarius is one of the biggest travelers among all zodiac signs. their open mind and philosophical view motivates them to wander around the world in search of the meaning of life. freedom is their greatest treasure, because only then they can freely travel and explore different cultures and philosophies.

... sagittarius is extroverted, optimistic and enthusiastic, and likes changes. their enthusiasm has no bounds, and therefore people born under the sagittarius sign possess a great sense of humor and an intense curiosity. sagittarius is a steadfast friend and a creative thinker; a great person to have on a work team, as they have infectious energy. ”

... because of their honesty, sagittarius-born are often impatient and tactless when they need to say or do something, so it's important to learn to express themselves in a tolerant and socially acceptable way. a Sagittarius will always be honest and in check with their emotions, and a sagittarius will not engage in emotional blackmail. if it’s not working, it’s not working, and a sagittarius won’t stay for the sake of another person’s feelings. ”

hogwarts house: gryffindor

the gryffindor house emphasizes the traits of courage as well as daring, nerve, and chivalry

“ its members are generally regarded as brave, though sometimes to the point of recklessness. members of other houses, particularly slytherin, sometimes feel that gryffindors engage in "pointless heroics" and find many gryffindors to be self-righteous and arrogant, with no regard for rules. ”

patronus: dolphin

“ there is an adventurous and carefree nature to the dolphin, one that is reflected in those with it as their patronus. they are incredibly unique individuals, and quite often social and loved by most. they are strong and like to explore new things and meet new people. despite their need to be themselves and individuality, they can at times become incredibly dependent on others, asking them for help in every aspect of their life. ”

myers briggs: ESFP-A

the entertainer - people who love vibrant experiences, engaging in life eagerly and taking pleasure in discovering the unknown. they can be very social, often encouraging others into shared activities.

“ entertainers are welcome wherever there’s a need for laughter, playfulness, and a volunteer to try something new and fun – and there’s no greater joy for entertainer personalities than to bring everyone else along for the ride. entertainers are known for their irrepressibly social and excited attitudes. they don’t internalize much of anything, sharing it all with their extensive circles of friends with wit, style, enthusiasm, and optimism. entertainers are explorers of the pleasures of life, and they take particular pleasure in sharing those experiences with others. for entertainers, there’s no point in living if you can’t feel alive.

... though it may not always seem like it, entertainers know that it’s not all about them – they are observant, and very sensitive to others’ emotions. people with this personality type are often the first to help someone talk out a challenging problem, happily providing emotional support and practical advice. however, if the problem is about them, entertainers are more likely to avoid a conflict altogether than to address it head-on. entertainers usually love a little drama and passion, but not so much when they are the focus of the criticisms it can bring.

... the biggest challenge entertainers face is that they are often so focused on immediate pleasures that they neglect the duties and responsibilities that make those luxuries possible. complex analysis, repetitive tasks, and matching statistics to real consequences are not easy activities for entertainers. they’d rather rely on luck or opportunity, or simply ask for help from their extensive circle of friends. it is important for entertainers to challenge themselves to keep track of long-term things like their retirement plans or sugar intake – there won’t always be someone else around who can help to keep an eye on these things. more focused on leaping at opportunities than in planning out long-term goals, entertainers may find that their inattentiveness has made some activities unaffordable. ”

strengths: bold, original, aesthetics and showmanship, practical, observant, excellent people skills

weaknesses: sensitive, conflict adverse, easily bored, poor long term planners, unfocused

enneagram: 7 ( wing 8 ) “ the opportunist ”

“ sevens are extroverted, optimistic, versatile, and spontaneous. playful, high-spirited, and practical, they can also misapply their many talents, becoming over-extended, scattered, and undisciplined. they constantly seek new and exciting experiences, but can become distracted and exhausted by staying on the go. they typically have problems with impatience and impulsiveness.

... sevens are enthusiastic about almost everything that catches their attention. they approach life with curiosity, optimism, and a sense of adventure, like “kids in a candy store” who look at the world in wide-eyed, rapt anticipation of all the good things they are about to experience. they are bold and vivacious, pursuing what they want in life with a cheerful determination. they have a quality best described by the yiddish word “chutzpah”—a kind of brash “nerviness.”

... sevens are extremely optimistic people—exuberant and upbeat. they are endowed with abundant vitality and a desire to fully participate in their lives each day. they are naturally cheerful and good humored, not taking themselves too seriously, or anything else for that matter. the basic desire of sevens is to be satisfied, happy, and fulfilled, and when they are balanced within themselves, their joy and enthusiasm for life naturally affect everyone around them. they remind us of the pure pleasure of existence—the greatest gift of all. ”

strengths:

staying high-energy and positive

natural self-confidence and charisma

ability to assert themselves

remaining calm in situations of crisis

weaknesses:

being perceived as impatient and blunt

focusing too heavily on career

difficulty following through on plans

tendency to focus on material items

love language: physical touch

there’s not much too it - erik is just a touchy guy. friendly claps on the back, throwing an arm arms over shoulders, overly enthusiastic bear hugs, he’s just super big on even platonic affection. if you’re close with him just expect him to invade your personal space with his loud presence on the regular.

alignment: chaotic good

“ chaotic good combines a good heart with a free spirit. chaotic good characters are strong individualists marked by a streak of kindness and benevolence. they believe in all the virtues of goodness and right, but they have little use for laws and regulations. they have no use for people who "try to push folk around and tell them what to do." their actions are guided by their own moral compass which, although good, may not always be in perfect agreement with the rest of society ”

character inspo: scott mccall ( teen wolf ), peter kavinsky ( tatbilb ), james t. kirk ( star trek ), harry potter ( harry potter )

pinterest: erik kishimoto.

#﹤ 🌊 ﹥ salty sea air & the wind blowing in your face . — 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 * ╱ eric.#﹤ 🌊 ﹥ salty sea air & the wind blowing in your face . — 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 * ╱ eric.#back on my bullshit

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joestories · 6 years ago

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The Silent Magician

November 1, 1961

Dear Aleister,

If, perchance, someone offers you the opportunity to perform a very special show for the leader of a small, troubled country on the other side of the planet—even if said leader has asked for you by name—politely decline. I’ve gotten myself deep into something. And I’ve broken all three of my cardinal rules.

Everyone is dead, Aleister.

It looks bad, seeing it typed on the page like that. But that’s the truth of the matter.

I want to get this all down while the events are fresh in my mind, but also because I worry, dear friend, that if somehow I fail to make it out alive, this might the only way to recount what’s happened. I might as well start with what I’ve been concealing from you.

It was no lie when I said I’d be traveling to Europe to perform a special show. What I left out is that the people paying for this show weren’t the best sort of people.

I received the letter near the end of summer. Apparently, I was still a celebrity in the world’s farthest crevices. They were so far away that they couldn’t smell the stink of desperation that had attached to me after I’d performed one too many bar mitzvahs. And even the bar mitzvah circuit was drying up.

This leader (or dictator, as I would learn), Konstigt, had grown up watching my old routines on smuggled filmstrips. He still loved me all these years later. And he was willing to pay handsomely for the pleasure of having me perform for him in his palace.

I had grown weary of magic, but perhaps this was what I needed. One last show. Go out with a bang.

I wrote back immediately and the following day I received a visit from a pair of rats from the CIA. Apparently it’s a big deal for them when there’s communication between the country of ██████████████ and a person stateside. They paid me a visit to learn whether I was a spy or an imbecile.

They had my return letter, which had been intercepted. They read it back it me and I was immediately embarrassed by how effusive I had been. They said I sounded like a desperate, sad old man and they were right.

Cooperate, they said, and the charges would disappear. What charges? They couldn’t say, but cooperation seemed simple, not a large deviation from my original plan. I would meet with them at a tavern in town each night and tell them everything I had learned about Konstigt. I would be doing my country a service. They would offer me protection and if everything worked out, I would be rewarded handsomely.

A month later, I found myself in a succession of smaller and smaller planes until I arrived at a small village at the foot of an old castle spire; this was the palace at which I would perform. I was shuttled through the village in what appeared to be a taxi cab. Perched in the back window was a tiny figurine of a serpent. I pocketed it.

Milton called the serpent the subtlest beast in the field. But there was nothing subtle about this country’s obsession with serpents. Quickly, let me recall at least ten instances in which serpents factored into my time spent here:

A magnificent stained glass window in the cathedral.

A sign hanging in front of the tavern where I would rendezvous with my CIA contacts.

The tattoo on Mila’s wrist.

A mural in the lobby of the hotel I stayed at.

On a coin I received as change at the aforementioned tavern.

A wooden toy that I observed a child in the village playing with.

A huge parade float that was operated by at least three people

Engraved on the barrel of a pistol held by a dead man.

An actual snake, which slithered over my foot as I made my way to a secret rendezvous

The figurine. The one I had stolen. It will reappear later.

And of course, barely anyone in this serpent-obsessed country speaks English. The only English I hear is American music on the radio. Where is their music?

The taxi deposits me and my luggage in a hotel lobby. It is eerily quiet. I seem to be the only guest. A concierge silently escorts me to my room. It overlooks a courtyard and features a painting in which a woman on a beach stares at a shark in the ocean.

I open my suitcase and am displeased to learn that it has been ransacked by some sort of brutish security detail. The contents smell vaguely of cheap cigarettes.

My trick gun had been seized. I’m not surprised by this, it looks realistic, even though it can’t actually fire a bullet. I will need to find a replacement before the show.

Of the four decks of playing cards in my suitcase, I am missing four cards. The queen of hearts from each deck. A strangely superstitious people, this bunch.

My clothes have been rifled through. My cape looks to have been trampled by schoolchildren. My poor hat, which is in no way magical, seemed as if it had been run over by a steamroller.

The rubes left my most magical items unmolested. The puzzle cube is untouched. I am able to locate my invisible dagger after feeling around for it inside the lining. Of course they had no idea it was there.

The concierge reappears and leads me back to the lobby where a uniformed military man is waiting for me. He leads me inside the castle walls and through corridors until I am in a tall wood paneled room adorned with paintings of crying women. From the far end of the room, I am approached by a tall man with grey hair and a grey beard. He wears a white, military-style coat. He is smiling.

The first English spoken to me the day I arrived was by the dictator himself. Konstigt says, “I am so happy you could make it.”

He is flanked by two serious looking men. He introduces them. On his left, wearing a black uniform is Pavel, his chief of police. On his right, in a pale green uniform adorned with hundreds of medals is Vlad, the commander of the military.

He asks about my flights. He asks what I think of his country. I smile. I am genial. This man is a fan.

“If you need anything, I will provide it.”

“I’m going to need a coffin, for the final part of my act. I couldn’t bring one with me.”

“Of course. One will be delivered to you tonight. What else?”

“They took my gun,“ I said.

"Ah, well you’re going to need that for your famous bullet catching trick, aren’t you?” He knows my act well.

Pavel says something. I think he’s asking what I said. Konstigt replies in their gibberish language.

This is where it all started to go wrong. I’m about to break the first of my three rules: never explain a trick, even under penalty of death. I always thought that last part was an exaggeration.

Pavel draws his gun. It’s polished silver and ivory. Every surface reflecting light. I’m squinting as it directs sunlight into my eyes. The gun is pointed at me. He says something. Konstigt laughs as he translates: "Pavel wants to see this famous bullet catching trick!”

Panic sets in immediately. The bullet trick is an illusion. I am sputtering, talking fast, trying to explain that. The gun isn’t real. The bullet is transferred to the mouth with sleight of hand. When you strip away the showmanship, it really is quite a simple trick. Konstigt looks disappointed, but he waves at Pavel and the gun is lowered. Even though it is no longer an imminent threat, the gun continues to reflect light at me, daring me not to look at it. I notice a serpent engraved on its barrel.

“You talk too much,” says Konstigt. And in that moment, I make a promise to myself to talk less, starting right now. They can’t understand me anyway. My vacation will be one of profound silence.

I am whisked back to my hotel. I try to relax and rehearse my act, but it’s no use.

It gets dark. At the predetermined time, I wander into the village and find the tavern. The CIA goons are easy to spot. They look as out of place as I do. We settle into a booth in a dark corner. “Can you draw us a layout of the palace?”

“And a good evening to you too, gentlemen.” A notepad is placed in front of me.

I had been escorted around so quickly that I couldn’t remember it with any clarity, but I am embarrassed to admit this, so I make an attempt. I draw the outline of the entry hall, with the two smaller halls coming off of it. My drawing resembles a diagram of the female reproductive system. I slide the notepad back to the goons. “I’m sorry, this is all I remember.”

They want to know if I have any idea where they’re keeping the diamonds.

“Diamonds?”

“Don’t play dumb with us, we know you know about the diamonds. That’s why you’re really here.“

But I’m not playing dumb. "I’m here to perform my act.”

“You want us to believe you came all the way here and put yourself in serious danger to perform? Are you an idiot?”

The other one chimes in. “Listen, if someone asks you if so-and-so is the reason you’re really here, the answer is always yes. That’s the first thing they teach you at the academy.”

I wander back to the hotel in a daze. When I open the door to my room, there’s a loaded revolver on the nightstand and a pine box coffin propped against the wall.

Aleister, have I told you the story of how I decided to become a magician? I’m certain I have, but it bears repeating.

You might know of the vanishing of Orius in 1899. He was a genius performer, but he was not well known. This story takes place on the night of his final performance. He told his audience that he was going to perform an illusion that could be performed only once by any human, and for this reason he had saved it for his last show.

He was going to turn completely invisible.

But the only way for this to work was for everyone who was not pure of spirit to turn around. This was in Bavaria in 1899, so I don’t need to tell you that this meant everyone in the audience.

And so, with the entire audience facing away, he narrated as he vanished each part of his body. His legs, his arms, his torso, and finally his head. Now, as the legend goes, there was a one young child in the audience, and this child thought himself to be pure of spirit. So when Orius had been reduced to a disembodied voice, this child turned to look. And he was the only one to see that Orius was invisible. He cried out in shock, “He’s truly vanished!”

The audience had been transfixed, but this shout caused them all to abruptly turn to the stage. The spell had been broken, and Orius was immediately made visible again. There was thunderous applause, even though no one in the audience had witnessed this trick. Only the boy had seen it. But that boy had seen something truly magical.

I was the boy.

My spirits had improved for day two.

I took in a hearty breakfast, of which the predominant ingredients were boiled cabbage and sausage. The populace seems to sustain itself on boiled cabbage and sausage. The streets stink of it. A dedicated vegetarian like yourself would starve here.

I set about the town collecting the odds and ends that I will need for my show. I am still far from understanding the language, but I have noticed that the locals have bestowed some sort of sobriquet on me in their ugly goat tongue. It sounds like plo-nee-ba-ka. I suspect it to mean something like outsider or interloper. And I was one, wasn’t I? I made a mental note to ask a trusted source for a translation, should I find someone to trust.

In the meantime, I had developed a set of hand gestures for communication. And I started to figure ways that I might incorporate them incorporate into my act.

The townsfolk were full of energy. I was swept up in a parade that deposited me in the what I judged to be the most blighted part of town. And yet, I was not robbed, I was simply subjected to more singing. They have folk songs they sing here, as you would expect, but I was surprised to hear them interspersed with American music which they had written new lyrics for. The crowd performed a version of I Want to Hold Your Hand and I can’t imagine their version was a direct translation. The intonation was too violent. If I was to guess, the hand in this song had been torn from the wrist of an enemy.

I stumbled upon a group of children who had gathered for a show. I joined them. The show was performed with a strange collection of puppets and toys. The plot, as I could gather, was that a benevolent stranger arrives from space. The stranger befriends a mountain princess, and she then betrays him to win her country’s freedom. The only evidence of the identity of the performer is a visible tattoo on a wrist. It is, of course, a serpent.

At the conclusion of the show, one of the children tugs at my sleeve. I look down and he presents me with a note. I examine it: a clock face reading 11, and an image that I recognized as the stained glass window of town’s cathedral. It was a serpent wrapped around an inverted cross. I suppose it would be bad manners to ignore such a finely crafted secret invitation. I put it in my pocket. How would I occupy the next five hours?

I decided to wander back to the palace. I had intended to survey the theater in which I would be performing. This is a very important step before any performance. And I should admit, I had been indulging in drink. All the townsfolk were. Would you reject a beer stein from a smiling man that just a minute before was singing violent love songs?

I was permitted entry to the palace by the guards, but they were not able to direct me to the theater. They did not appear to speak English. I got lost and wandered from room to room hoping to bump into a human who might understand me.

I finally crossed paths with a soldier, but when I got his attention, he seemed very nervous. I used my hand gestures on him, they had no effect. My presence seemed to have spooked him, and he exited the room in a hurry.

I followed him out of the room and through another chamber. When you’re lost in the wilderness, you follow a river. When you’re lost in a palace, you follow a man. Eventually, he would lead me to other people, and perhaps one of them would speak English.

I was horribly, horribly right.

I followed the spooked soldier around a corner and bumped into him. He had frozen in place. Pavel was before us. And this man’s behavior seemed to trigger something in Pavel.

“Mr. Pavel, I am very happy to have happened upon someone who speaks my native tongue. Might I trouble you for directions?”

I was ignored.

Pavel started speaking in a low, accusatory voice. The soldier stuttered a reply. Pavel unholstered his magnificent shiny pistol. The soldier attempted to speak, but Pavel motioned for him to stop. He pointed at the soldier’s groin with his gun.

The soldier, with much hesitation, started to turn the pockets of his trousers inside out. A few handfuls of dirty, unremarkable looking rocks spilled on the floor.

Pavel laughed. “Diamante!” he shouted. Just my luck that this should happen to be the first easily understood word in this guttural swamp language.

Pavel continued to laugh. And the soldier uncomfortably started to laugh too. And so I started to laugh.

Pavel stopped laughing, lifted his gun to the soldier’s head, and fired. The soldier dropped dead on the ground. Pavel resumed laughing. I did not.

I watched a blood stain grow larger on the dark crimson floor. I recalled that most of the floors in the palace were this color. A utilitarian consideration? Easy to conceal bloodstains when all your floors are already the color of blood. What kind of monsters run this country?

I thought of the CIA men laughing at my naivety the prior night. They were right. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

Pavel seemed to remember that I was present in the room, and now he addressed me. “Yes, magic man. Have you got any tricks for me?”

“I… I’m afraid not.”

He studied me. “Do you often travel with thieves, then?”

Aleister, you know that if I was to be honest, the answer to this is yes, but this was certainly not the right thing to say in my present situation. But he didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He waved his pistol in my direction.

“Why don’t you let me see what you have in your pockets, magic man?”

A magician and a thief have a thing in common: They both always know the exact contents of every one of their pockets at any given time. Left front pocket: mysterious note. Right front pocket: pilfered serpent figurine.

I was a fool for not destroying the note as soon as I had read it. Old age has made me soft. But there’s always a way out. You know the adage? One can escape from anything. It sounds better in Latin. I have escaped from locked rooms, arguments with shopkeepers, moving vehicles, and marriage proposals. I will escape from this.

Misdirection is the greatest ally of both the thief and the magician. The note, I had inferred, should not be revealed. The serpent figurine I was less certain about. But no one trusts a man with empty pockets.

And so I did have a trick for Pavel after all. I reached into my pockets and turned them out quickly. With my left hand, I palmed the note. With my right hand, I revealed the serpent. As my right hand extended forward, my left hand slipped the note into my sleeve. And then both hands are palm up. The deception is so simple that you would never know anything was out of the ordinary.

Pavel looked at the serpent figurine. He smiled. “Now, how can I help you?”

I was delivered to the theater, but I was feeling scatter-brained, owing to the fellow whose brains I had seen scattered moments before.

In the evening, I once again met with the CIA goons at the allotted time. They were overjoyed by the evidence of diamonds. That I had witnessed an execution didn’t seem to have any effect on them.

One of them gets a serious look on his face. He wants to know if I could use my magic to teleport the diamonds from their location into a suitcase that could then be whisked away. I tell him this is impossible. He wanted to know if this was because I didn’t know exactly where the diamonds were being kept? I told him I am an entertainer. I’m not actually capable of magical acts. He seemed very disappointed in me.

“Do you mean to say that nothing you do is magic? Everything is just an ordinary trick. Something that anyone could learn?“

"I suppose that might be the most pessimistic way to describe what I do.”

They briefed me on the plan for my show tomorrow. They told me that when the performance has ended, if there’s an opportunity to distract Konstigt or any of his men, I should keep them distracted for as long as possible. They told me they would be watching me and they would appear at the first sign of trouble.

The hour was nearing 11. We parted ways and I walked quickly across town. Hoping to avoid detection by Konstigt’s men, should there be any out looking for me, I stuck to the shadows. The only trouble I encountered was in an alleyway a block from the cathedral. In the darkness, a serpent slithered over my foot. I leapt back in shock, but contained my surprise. The snakes, I told myself, worked for no one.

I pushed past the heavy door to the cathedral. A few men in monk’s robes were seated around the altar playing a card game. Another monk emerged from the shadows and lead me down a narrow side passage into some sort of catacomb.

The monk’s hood was pulled back and this monk was revealed to be a beautiful woman.

“My name is Mila. Fate has brought us together.”

I was so charmed that I agreed! Yes, fate had brought us together.

She was familiar with my routine, and had worked as the assistant to local magician whose current whereabouts were unknown (he was a drunk). She wanted to be my assistant. She was quite insistent that she be my assistant. She had been performing since she was a child. I knew I was naive to accept her offer, but I also knew my act would be much better with an assistant.

I noticed that one of her hands was still sheathed in a hand puppet from her performance earlier. This one was a donkey.

“You may join me, but the donkey must stay,” I said, thinking I was being quite clever.

She looked crestfallen. “My hand… it was mangled in a thresher accident when I was just a small child. I keep the puppets to cover my mutilation.”

I was embarrassed, and recanted my previous declaration. She would be my assistant, puppet included. She was overjoyed.

Aleister, you know my act. Two of my illusions are certainly better with an assistant:

Cranks at Work

The Ghost Talks

And then there’s three that I had planned to leave out entirely, as they are impossible without an assistant:

The Doctor’s Secret

Fancy Baggage

A Most Immoral Lady

If this was to be my last show, why not go out with a bang? With Mila’s help, I would be able to perform all of them. Was this greed, or pride, or both?

I was breaking the second of my cardinal rules: When someone offers to help, be suspicious of their motives.

I told her we must meet to rehearse tomorrow morning. She agreed. Then she got a serious look on her face, and I had utterly no idea what she was thinking, though it didn’t seem to be of a romantic nature. She came close to me. In a low voice, she said, “You’re here for it too, aren’t you?”

It? I remembered the advice of my CIA friends. The answer is always yes. So I said, “Yes.” She seemed very relieved. “Good,” she said, “I will speak no more of it.”

I bid her goodnight, and she raised her hand (the unmutilated one) for me to kiss it. This is when I noticed the distinctive serpent tattoo on her wrist.

As we were parting, I remembered something. “The people have been calling me a name… plo-nee-ba-ka, I think. What does that mean?“

She thought about it. "The hollow one. Or invisible one. Or silent. There’s not an exact word in English.”

The Silent Magician. I like the sound of that.

I want to amend my story of the Vanishing of Orius in 1899. Aleister, I am going to tell you something that I have never told a soul, and I want this knowledge to die with you.

I did not witness an act of magic.

Yes, the audience, they all turned their backs. Yes, I was the boy. Orius narrated his disappearance, and when I turned back to face the stage, what I saw was a sad old man. An old magician performing his final show, totally corporeal on the stage. Not a hint of transparency. He wasn’t magical, he was a liar, or perhaps, more charitably, a trickster. And suddenly a very young child, me, held his fate in my tiny hands.

And I chose to carry the lie. I didn’t know why I said what I did at the time. But I know now that I wanted to live in a world where magic was possible.

That’s the problem with magic. The keepers of magic are the ones who know it’s a big charade.

You can’t unsee the man.

There is no magic.

We know definitively, and yet we have to keep telling the lie.

The rehearsal was a success. The room, as I’d demanded, was empty except for myself and Mila. She had gotten some looks for her puppet (today it was a wasp), but the story of her mutilated hand elicited sympathy (or at least deference) from the guards.

They asked how I wanted to be introduced. I told them to call me The Silent Magician. Plo-nee-ba-ka.

The rest of the day was a blur. All I cared about was the show.

I watched nervously from behind the curtains as the audience was filled in. It was a mix of townsfolk and military men. Konstigt was seated front and center with Pavel to his side. Vlad was conspicuously absent.

I’m not going to bother describing my act. You’ve seen it a dozen times. Of course, I had to remove the double entendres, those only work with spoken language. Some of them I tried to relate with hand gestures, but they were single entendres at best. But it didn’t matter, there was a real excitement in the air. I had an eager audience, and my set was performed without a hitch. It was brilliant.

The standing ovation carried on for an embarrassingly long amount of time, I am certain this was due to the fact that Konstigt continued to stand and applaud and so everyone else felt the need to follow suit.

Perhaps this also means the audience was less enraptured with my performance, and was merely performing for Konstigt? Well, that’s possible, but let’s not dwell on that. Trust me, I know a great show. This was a great show.

The curtain was dropped and I stood frozen in place. It was done. I had done my act, and I had done it silently, and I had still wowed them. It was a wonderful feeling. It was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Seconds later, Konstigt had appeared backstage with Pavel in tow. He stood to my left, clasping my shoulder, with Pavel in front of me. And then there was a noise from backstage and Vlad appeared.

Vlad was apologetic about missing the show. Pavel’s expression soured. I was a look that I’d seen before. He issued a command in his goat language and Vlad laughed. But Pavel wasn’t laughing. I recognized the command. He was asking Vlad to turn out his pockets.

When Vlad did not comply, Pavel drew his pistol and pointed it at him. Vlad, in response, drew his own weapon, a large revolver. Konstigt now had a very grave expression. Pavel and Vlad stood on opposite sides of me, I was positioned perfectly to catch their crossfire. I slowly started to back away, but the pine box coffin was still on the stage from my final trick and it blocked my path.

Aleister, would you agree that this seems like the best time for my buddies from the CIA to show themselves? To rush to the rescue?

They thought so too, rushing the stage from opposite ends, and when they saw the guns, they positioned themselves so one of them was behind Pavel and the other was behind Vlad. Much to my chagrin, their guns were pointed at the midsection of each man (and those midsections were aimed at me), which meant there was now the possibility of four bullets hitting me.

Konstigt had taken his hand from my shoulder. He had a furious look on his face, as if he had just understood I had been working against him this whole time. Had I, though? If you could look into my heart with a microscope, I think you would see that I just wanted to perform. That was my motive. I was pure of spirit, at least in this one regard!

Konstigt was unholstering his weapon when the cover of the coffin flung open next to me.

From it emerged Mila. With a theatrical flourish, she unsheathed her hand previously hidden by a puppet, to reveal a perfectly lovely hand holding a perfectly lovely gun. Did you see that one coming, Aleister? You were always sharper than I was. Mila yelled something in that cursed troll language, which if I had to guess, I would think might be “The revolution has started, and your time is now at an end.”

She was pointing the gun at Konstigt, who at this point has his own gun drawn and pointed back at her, which also means that both of them are pointed at me as well and I’m now in for six bullets when the guns go off.

I’ve enclosed a diagram if you’re having trouble visualizing my predicament.

[enclosed image missing]

Everyone was shouting in their terrible tongue, and I couldn’t say anything. They were yelling at each other, they were yelling at me. I was trapped. I was a fool. At least I had one last good show.

And in my last moments on earth, I thought about Orius. Not his act, but what he said. Everyone gets one chance to vanish. It’s a thing you can do only once and never again. If that were the case, I had never used mine. This would be the time to use it, if ever there was one. I pressed my eyes shut.

I don’t need to tell you the ways of the magician. We weave magic out of what we have to work with. We don’t witness miracles, but we can tell others we did.

A miracle happened. I turned invisible. I had my eyes shut, so I couldn’t see myself turn invisible, but I felt it. And it must have startled my gun wielding stage-mates because there was a sudden, terrible cacophony and the air was alive with bullets, And then six thumps as six bodies fell.

I opened my eyes. First I saw the blood. My brilliant white cape was specked with it. I dropped it to the floor and noticed a half dozen new perforations. I felt myself up and down. Where was I hit? Where did I feel pain? But I didn’t feel pain. I hadn’t been hit.

I was the only one who hadn’t.

They were all dead and crumpled on the floor.

Konstigt had a bullet between the eyes. Pavel and Vlad had felled the CIA men (whose names, shamefully, I am realizing I never bothered to remember). Or perhaps they felled each other? The four of them wore shocked, lifeless expressions. Pavel’s hand still gripped his beloved engraved pistol.

And Mila, poor Mila. Just as dead as the others. She’d fallen back into the coffin, her two perfect hands draped over her lap. She would have looked like she was sleeping if you could ignore the chunks of her brain that were splattered across stage left.

In a daze, I stumbled my way past the curtains and into the orchestra section, and I started to become aware of the commotion as my senses come back. Bodies of soldiers and townsfolk were sprinkled throughout the aisle. Some of the townsfolk had donned animal masks. A fox and a rabbit were trying to decapitate a fallen soldier with makeshift knife. There was blood everywhere. Or there wasn’t. It’s hard to tell when the floors are the color of blood.

I shuffle past numerous scenes of agony and violence. I’m not wearing a military uniform or a police uniform or an animal mask, so it’s as if I’m invisible.

The streets are in chaos. I mind my business and make my way back to the hotel. Where will I go next?

It’s when I start to consider how I might bribe my way out of this mess that I realize that I’ve broken my third cardinal rule: Always get the money first.

My room seemed undisturbed. I went to my suitcase seeking my invisible dagger. When I’m in a dangerous situation, it always calms me to hold it, even though I’ve never had to use it.

It has been sitting on the table next to me while I type this out. I am ready to brandish it if necessary. The last time I peeked outside, there was black smoke rising from the palace and the commotion seemed to have died down a bit. Even revolutionaries need to sleep.

When the sun is up, I’ll figure out what’s next. First, I’m going to try to post this letter. If you’re reading this, then at least something went right.

I’m not sure if I’m a hero, a villain, or just an invisible person. I will know soon.

With the best regards I can muster given the circumstances, One can escape from anything, Your friend always,

The Silent Magician LL

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beowulfs-booty-call · 7 years ago

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I am doing well. Also realized you may have some sort of answer for this. What would you consider like... pro-dark stuff? Like you've got your classic anti-dark silver, salt, holy water kind of things. What's the opposite? I know someone who gets bad reactions to anti-dark stuff (the salt being especially bad with how common it is as a preservative), so I want to try to find stuff that might be good for him. And I thought you may know with the whole demon thing. If not no worries. :)

Mm... pro-dark stuff?

Let’s see... Well, if you’re looking for more “this won't banish demons / ghosts, rather invite them” sorta business, look no further than becoming one with Dracula and raising Castelvania from the depths of the crypt. But of course, if you don't have homemade flames of hell, store bought is fine too!

Pfft,

But on the other level, I would say salt is the beginning of all steps people have taken just because of how usable it is (”Usable” being as in just how common honestly.) yet it’s really bad for the environment too of course.

Normally, I use sigils around the house I like to burn with the intent of what I want to do, and I like to burn specifically more... Thicker, darker incense to get a good focus in. However, to facilitate more darker practices, objects probably would include:

- Obsidian (if we’re talking aesthetic)

- Athames (with intent, not all objects need be sacred for the lighter stuff of course)

- Black candles

- Black Mirrors (Can also be used for scrying as well)

- I would also say inviting darker presences are really all about showmanship and aesthetics. I myself have adorable little statues of grim reapers reading from tomes, or holding skulls and dragons holding my candle sticks. Black crows are all over as statues too!

- Black feathers, ideally from ravens or crows, but really again intent is a big part of course

- Fangs or other bones

- I would also theorize headdresses in a certain ritual can benefit off this. Witch doctors of old, of course, also used masks in order to bring the gods to life through them, I imagine having one used for that purpose is also an invitation to the spirits that work with it.

- Books on the dark side of magic also is a wonderful way to get info for him as well! I have a few books (Gifts from my ex) that is all bout the dark side of magic!

- Iron keys, voodoo dolls / poppets, graveyard dust, regular tools of the death witch trade

- While for the benefit of saying “Holy shit this is dark energy”, human bones / animal bones are also recommended, however, on a kinder note, this need not be the case as well: You can easily find a skull “Piggy” bank in the likeness of a real gothic skull (In other designs, I might add) for your friend to use. That said, I’ve a green one with Celtic designs, easily beautiful yet also so real and life like! And yet? It’s resin!

- Hecate, the goddess amongst witch-kind, was said to have the Yew tree very sacred to her and the work of the underworld. If you could, perhaps a stick from a Yew tree to fashion into a wand would be preferable. It can very well be a novelty gift, but a wand is a wand, and even if not used, can still be a memorable gift as well.

- One of my favorite eerie items is a Spirit Bell. Used by Daisoujou in SMT (Also actually based on the Sokushinbutsu, a buddhist practice in which monks would basically sit, entombed alive, and cross legged for the remainder of their days, meditating on nothing but air with a small tube providing it. Someone would arrive every day, to hear the ringing of the bell of the Sokushinbutsu in order to tell if they were in fact, alive. Even more interesting, the monks would starve themselves first for almost 3 years to self mummify! But alas, after the ringing of the bell, and about 1000 days later, the body was exhumed. If it was preserved, the monk was then revered as an enlightened spirit of intense virtuousness.) is a ringing bell. Now of course, such an item seems so trivial, but walking in the night ringing a small little bell to ward off spirits and practice my mantras was frighteningly wonderful for maintaining a clear focus, and potentially being able to ring the bell to sound a sort of “Clear the way!” or “I am here” vibe!

- Of course, you could go out and get fresh corpses from the burial ground (I’ve read in Roman necromancy texts, most people lather on the herbs and blood on corpses in order to restart the breathing, or if not, damnation of truly unspoken torture generally was the case) but I would simplify can opt for things that can very well be used as tools, rather than mere aesthetics alone.

- Ars Goetia is a wonderful gift to start of the demonology craze too! (Though, of course, I need to look for mine now...)

- I will also theorize a broom could also be a wonderful little novelty gift for their practices, actually. But of course, this is just me, after all, I use mine to sweep up and clean up the residual energies (and my own bad ones, Yakity Yak does that to you while cleaning) of my space (Of course, my room is always still a mess so... That’s on me.) but that could very well be a good item to clean up after rituals! Suffice to say, it’s not a pro-dark craft item, no, but sometimes the essentials are most needed in one’s craft just like any other!

These are all off the top of my head, but I’ll be sure to look into some other books and parts of my grimoire to see what else you can use for your friend!

Somethings may seem basic and otherwise, kinda a bit contradictory to the inner workings of the craft (lord knows, saying “you don't need to be expensive to be a witch” and “Intent can have all the meaning in my personal craft” can be pretty confusing when you can definitely use a quartz crystal for almost anything!) but really, my personal belief is as always:

Your intent, whatever it may be, has power. Give it the tools and form, and it will show itself to you, perhaps even, not in the way you’d imagine.

Hope this helps in the slightest way possible, at the very least though!

#Bone tw #Human remains tw #body parts tw #My craft #Grimoire #Grimoire asks #Asks #Wulf answers #Thanks for asking dude!#I'm a witch like 30% of the time due to school and such #but hey #always around for a good old fashioned ask!#mirron91

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dmahaaxxblog1-blog · 5 years ago

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Prior to the Malls Arrived Showmanship For Smaller City Motion picture Theatres

Ahead of the Malls Came- Showmanship for Modest-town Film Theatres

Above forty a long time ago, a Film theatre did not have to be situated in a shopping center to bring in enough patrons. As other little, privately owned businesses had performed before them, little-town films theatres survived -- and, in some cases, even thrived -- for quite a few decades. One should still from time to time locate impartial theatres grinding away in tiny cities Situated far plenty of from metropolitan areas, but one particular is more likely to locate abandoned buildings with empty marquess That usually resemble the rusted prows of old ships. Some old theatre buildings serve as shells for church buildings and small firms, but even quite a few of those buildings use this kind of skimpy camouflage that someone passing by means of city can certainly guess the role they at the time played as a local Centre for any shared Neighborhood expertise. Immediately after the nature from the Group changed, after the community people commenced pinpointing While using the national television community, the area exhibitors stepped up the public spectacle by promotional showmanship so that you can revitalize not only its function within the Group but often the local community spirit itself. These converted marquees remind us not merely of deserted ships but of shabby circus tents that keep on being extended following the circus has remaining city; They might bear handful of traces in their previous position inside the Neighborhood rituals, even so the Recollections of the private attempts of community showmen to maintain the circus alive during the face of cultural transform will preserve that circus plus the familiarity with the cultural significance alive inside us.

Just before folks relied so heavily on vehicles, and in advance of they ended up frightened to walk various metropolis blocks, several cities of lower than a thousand persons had their own personal theatre which residents typically labeled "the present household" or "the Film image exhibit." Citizens with the western Illinois city of Carthage, by way of example, noticed two present houses in its organization district not very long after the beginning on the 20th century, but only one of these survived for very long. The Woodbine Theatre, named after the crawling vine that grew over the east facet of the brick creating, wasn't the first theatre in the town of above three thousand men and women, however the showmanship of its proprietor brought on the competition to head out of enterprise.

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The 1st Woodbine was converted into a theatre in 1917 by Charles Arthur Garard. C.A., as he was called, had already operated an area dairy and a downtown ice cream parlor which presented five-cent ice cream sodas, confections, 5-cent crushed fruit souffles, and also a tobacco named Garard's Royal Blue. He was a shrewd businessman, but he was also a fanciful dreamer who required to be held in Look at by his pragmatic and in some cases shrewder spouse. Bertha, who generally accompanied the silent films revealed in his theatre with her piano, retained him from offering the theatre and drifting off into other projects, such as the escalating of grapefruits in Florida. When C.A. died, she took around as proprietor until her youngest son, Justus, grew to become old enough that can help her.

Justus recalled in June of 1981 how his father never truly experienced a chance to enjoy any considerable returns through the theatre for ten many years soon after he transformed it. "We might've been out of small business if it hadn't been for chatting movies," Justus mentioned, the earliest of which "have been quite challenging to be familiar with." The Woodbine was the first theatre in the region to point out chatting pics, which were seem-on-disc like Warner Brothers' Vitaphone procedure (shown in the black-and-white TV promos for the 1955 film HELEN OF TROY and A part of the DVD and VHS copies of that film). The 1st sound movies were "only section-talkies. They'd use some dialogue, then [the characters] would soar into tune." Mainly because seem gear was costly to setup, he and an acquaintance Oliver Kirschner made their own personal seem program. Forged-iron record turntables had been Forged at an industrial plant sixteen miles absent in Keokuk, Iowa, and connected for the projector travel. Because sound projectors operated at 34 frames-for each-2nd, they revised a means to hurry up their projectors to synchronize the film with the soundtrack around the record. Once in a while, "the needle would soar out on the groove," as well as the projectionist would have to "choose it up and set it on the appropriate groove by observing thoroughly and following the sound." He recalled which they had to do this for 2 or 3 several years until the appearance of audio-on-film. Each time the needles would jump from 1 groove to another because of more than-modulation, the customers would patiently anticipate the projectionists to synchronize the record Along with the movie.

The introduction of sound-on-movie, which Justus recalled was listed here to remain by 1933, necessary that he, like other exhibitors, insert an expensive seem head in the projector. Simply because some movies ended up unveiled as sound-on-disc and a few were being launched as seem-on-film, for example Fox's Movietone procedure, a lot of exhibitors experienced to choose from a person program or the other. "Consequently," mentioned Justus, "we were not enjoying any Fox shots. Paramount arrived out With all the data and Fox Together with the audio-on-movie." The moment he installed the audio-on-film system, he no longer employed the disc procedure due to the fact he was never "capable to completely triumph over that wavery noise. The songs would go up and down."

Though C.A. died Soon once the audio-on-disc technique was Functioning, he never ever saw the business enterprise at his theatre increase. Justus observed a gradual advancement "along about 1937." This boost in patronage came about not due to the fact quite a few tiny-city citizens were interested in the latest technological enhancements or in acquiring their life enriched by the imaginative visions of these types of geniuses as Orson Welles; they merely desired enjoyment that may whisk them away from their humdrum life -- and an excuse to receive away from the house. They didn't expect to be surprised by the plot or ending and did not really need to become intellectually challenged. They had been as excited about looking at their favourite intimate potential customers involved with the most recent routine star vehicles as they were being about observing the burning of Atlanta.

The reality that Absent With all the WIND (1939) was successful in Carthage may or may not are already the result of Justus leasing the aspect of a barn wherever he and his pals pasted up a 24-sheet Display screen touting the favored vintage. Lots of the movies that we today regard as classics have been, at time, little over run-of-the-mill programmers. CASABLANCA (1942), for example, was simply a modest intimate thriller with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman performing as stand-ins for our unique fantasies; they turned the eye of compact-town patrons clear of their own issues although the caricatured Nazi villains offered targets for his or her anger. In the majority of instances, what was playing in the regional theatre was irrelevant, no matter whether it be a film like WIZARD OF OZ (1939), which in the beginning did disappointing small business but was later perceived to become a common, or films with appropriate titles like Smaller-TOWN Woman (1936). It had been a community action that was as crucial to the city as the Saturday night time band concert events if the white-painted wood bandstand was hauled to the middle of Primary Avenue.

An exercise that Justus promoted in his little town to help you enhance theatre patronage was financial institution night time. Bank night time was a gimmick that labored similar to this: the patrons would register in a big reserve, and hooked up to each registration type was a numbered tag which Justus or an personnel positioned in a large drum. The drum was hauled out in front of the theatre audience right after the initial demonstrating on Tuesday evenings in which an area merchant or other distinguished citizen would draw out a range and announce it into the audience. If the individual holding that number sat in the theatre at that moment, he / she would declare The cash. "Otherwise," Justus extra, "The cash was set into what we known as bank night time and held in excess of right up until another week. We'd insert fifty bucks each week." A fifty greenback evening would barely pay for the demonstrating, and the theatre wouldn't begin earning funds until the jackpot arrived at all over $200 or $300. "Then we'd fill the theatre," he claimed, and this didn't include things like "the many those who came down and gambled inside the afternoons." Obviously, a weekly winner would have worn out the business, so Justus, like other impartial exhibitors, took a bet using this distinct gimmick.

One more gimmick to bolster limping ticket sales concerned the distribution of sets of silverware one particular piece at any given time until eventually the patron experienced gathered a whole set. These sets -- knives, forks, spoons, and ladles -- were being easier to handle than dishes; dishes had been shipped in barrels and often arrived broken. Contrary to nowadays, exhibitors basically created the majority of their profits from ticket revenue. The restricted choices with the concession stands in little theatres -- long ahead of the days of incredibly hot Pet warmers and cheese-lined tortilla chips -- furnished only a little per cent of the profits. The most effective a long time for ticket product sales, extra Justus, were in the course of World War II.

When Justus was an officer inside the Navy in 1943, a fireplace started off in the furnace and eaten the entire theatre. His uncle, outstanding architect Edgar Payne, drew up blueprints for a wider, single-floor theatre, and design began quickly under Kirschner's supervision. The brand new constructing had no balcony, nevertheless it did consist of a soundproof cry place on the next ground. The seating potential in the theatre was 500 seats, and this was later diminished to 350.

While in the late 1930s, Justus remodeled an older setting up right into a theatre in Dallas City, Illinois, sixteen miles north of Carthage. The theatre, he recalled, experienced a "lovely front lobby with walk-up entrance methods" which "later on grew to become illegal since it was a fire hazard." The Dallas Theatre manufactured a gain throughout Earth War II but , he added, was the primary of his a few little-city theatres to "dry up." A quonset hut theatre was manufactured from the river city of Warsaw soon after Planet War II. It outlasted the more mature theatre in Dallas Metropolis, nevertheless it hardly ever, according to Justus, created money. A large theatre circuit manufactured him a substantial offer you within the early nineteen fifties for all a few of his theatres, but, despite the gradual shifting of populations far from small communities, he declined. He claimed that he just did not wish to get out with the theatre company.

Television contributed to variations in the rural communities, specially when close by Quincy obtained a TV station during the early fifties, but a shift faraway from the shared knowledge of modest-town dwelling was Similarly responsible. Justus' theatres shed clients no more quickly than many other regional businesses, for instance furniture dealerships and dry goods stores. Even with endeavours of theatre exhibitors and other merchants to help keep their integral roles alive in the shrinking Group, transportation facilitated the migration of inhabitants to city places exactly where they proven suburban communities full with ubiquitous procuring facilities and malls. New theatres cropped up inside of these purchasing regions, afterwards turning out to be twins and multiplexes, but they generally did not supply patrons any feeling of taking part in communal rituals. Watching films projected by automatic tools though seated between strangers in a very shoebox-sized shopping center theatre (in a few urban spots) bore very little resemblance into the expertise of looking at a Motion picture with neighbors and kin on the nearby "clearly show residence."

Patrons in smaller communities didn't must hold out sixteen months or to drive across the town for just a new film since the modest theatres ran various modifications per week. Justus recalled that his individual theatres would run "a Sunday-Monday Motion picture, a Tuesday financial institution evening, a Wednesday-Thursday, then a Friday and Saturday. We obtained to The purpose in which we ended up open 3 days each week. 1st it had been Thursday-Friday-Saturday-Sunday; then it was Friday, Saturday, and Sunday." The Carthage community supported the theatre in the course of the week nights from the late nineteen fifties and early sixties, but the Warsaw Theatre dwindled right down to Saturday and Sunday showings, at times with a special movie Every evening. College students in the local 4-calendar year liberal arts university in Carthage retained Friday evening attendance robust for the Woodbine, but highschool football online games seriously restricted Friday attendance in Warsaw.

Another aspect that "made it so difficult for the tiny towns," In line with Justus, was that the impartial exhibitors "couldn't obtain the merchandise until it had played the bigger places," including Quincy, and that is about forty miles south of Carthage, or Keokuk, which sits just across the Mississippi River on the southeastern suggestion of Iowa. Mainly because he was an independent, he had to attend six weeks to Perform a movie which was booked to start with in Quincy, Keokuk, or at other close by circuit theatres. "If we could've played the film the next week," Justus added, "Why, the people would have stayed household to check out it. But they understood that we weren't gonna have it for awhile. So they'd head to Keokuk."

Amongst later on gimmicks used to stir local people curiosity were being Halloween midnight exhibits and four options run each New 12 months's Eve, but the most important seasonal party in Carthage was the annual number of service provider-sponsored Xmas films. Right before Just about every Xmas season, Justus acquired a Filmack trailer with the merchants, plus a salesman from St. Louis offered the merchants a spot on the trailer for $37.50. The merchants were also specified tickets or complimentary passes with the theatre that were superior any time, nevertheless the Christmas films -- generally selected for the youngsters of Individuals mother and father who had been encouraged to accomplish Christmas purchasing in town -- ended up shown absolutely free towards the community. The popcorn, obviously, was not free. I'm able to try to remember stuffing sacks full of popcorn and handing them over the glass counter to pushy patrons who had to pay. . . not $3.00. . . but 10 cents.

The midnight Halloween showings of horror double-features had been the ones that I discovered to be especially exciting. Justus usually ran double costs such as the FLY and also the RETURN In the FLY and AIP's I had been A TEENAGE FRANKENSTEIN (1957) with UA's THE RETURN OF DRACULA (1958). For your latter, in Warsaw, I formed white cardboard right into a castle which included the left exit. Over the exit, appropriately adequate for Halloween, was a clock which marketed an area funeral house. (I often wondered why funeral household clocks have been displayed in modest Film theatres in Individuals times. Ended up patrons becoming reminded that their lives ended up ticking absent though the films ended up flickering around the display screen?) I stretched a wire with the projection booth into the exit, Situated instantly to the remaining from the monitor, and draped a white bed sheet about a clothing hanger. Throughout a substantial place of among the movies, I stood from the exit doorway with my Lady friend and jerked around the string attached to your hanger, aspiring to pull my ghost right down to the exit more than the heads of your viewers. The ghost emerged from the little projection window on cue, however the hanger turned hung-up within the wire and refused to travel as I'd supposed. I tugged around the string and it snapped, Hence the projectionist gave the hanger a push. If the houselights came on at the end of the element, I noticed my meant deus ex machina suspended in basic check out in the middle from the auditorium. Possibly this failure was why Justus confined all of my future advertising initiatives to the lobby and outside the theatre; it's possible he resolved that I had been influenced too much with the gimmicks of these types of learn showmen as William Castle (for these types of films as Your home ON HAUNTED HILL, THE TINGLER, MR. SARDONICUS, HOMICIDAL, and 13 GHOSTS). Of the entire Castle films that Justus performed, I can only don't forget the colored glasses for the original THIRTEEN GHOSTS remaining significantly efficient. [Even more facts about horror movie promotions can be found in the companion posting BLACK-AND-WHITE HALLOWEEN HORROR HITS: I had been A TEENAGE UNDEAD WITCH, which is offered on line.]

They are only some examples of advertising machinations that were necessary to Increase ticket profits for the 2nd-operate films shown by impartial, modest-city exhibitors. A lot of the sooner gimmicks, which include bank night and service provider-sponsored Xmas shows, brought in a handful of added dollars, but it is Uncertain whether or not the afterwards and even more flamboyant gimmicks greatly afflicted ticket income. BOXOFFICE magazine and push sheets for the person films offered exploitation suggestions, a lot of which necessary the ordering high priced supplies, but the struggling impartial needed to mostly rely on his individual creativeness to develop makeshift, economical promotions.

Justus Garard* claimed being on the list of previous independent exhibitors in the region to head out of business. The Woodbine Theatre in Carthage was sold to your neighboring car dealer in 1969 and sooner or later transformed right into a showroom For brand spanking new cars and trucks. The inside of his theatre, when my brother and I observed it Soon following it were gutted for this goal, resembled the inside from the small-city movie theatre inside the wonderful and touching Italian movie CINEMA PARADISO (1989). The Dallas and Warsaw theatres, Despite the fact that shut way back, even now resemble Motion picture theatres; the latter, utilized as being a storage region for antiques, nonetheless has its prow of a marquee that juts out above the sidewalk. Not Significantly has altered in the river town of Warsaw, but on Saturday nights, with no bandstand with area citizens enjoying instruments when Little ones skip close to it, and without the glittering marquee with the outdated Film theatre, Key Road seems A great deal darker, and also a ton lonelier. Potentially just a few impartial exhibitors, like Those people in small, midwestern towns like Carthage and Warsaw, resorted to the above mentioned-pointed out gimmicks, and maybe the Demise knell for the Mother and pop

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mustseemorebands · 6 years ago

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46 bands in 96 hours: My 16 favorite acts at SXSW 2019

1. The Black Pumas at Hotel San Jose and the Mohawk - The biggest Austin buzz band since Gary Clark Jr. in 2012 surpasses expectations with galvanizing sets that balance smooth showmanship with gritty funk-soul.

2. Bad Moves at The Shed - D.C punk-pop band turns unison vocals into an art form by utilizing every combination of their four voices to elevate the tension, accelerate the pace, and escalate the fun

3. Black Pistol Fire at The Historic Scoot Inn - Mixing brute-force originals with snippets of Fleetwood Mac’s “Oh Well” and Childish Gambino’s “Redbone,” this Canadian by way of Austin duo is the missing link between Led Zeppelin, the White Stripes and Japandroids.

4. Pink Sweat$ at The Historic Scoot Inn - Philadelphia soul is alive and well in the hands of this romantic crooner who came in known for his wardrobe but left renowned for his velvety voice

5. Angie McMahon at St. David’s Episcopal Church - The husky-voiced 24-year-old Australian delivers introspective anthems with the skyrocketing power of Brandi Carlile and the snarl of Chrissie Hynde

6. J.S. Ondara at the Mohawk Indoors - Kenya-born singer-songwriter’s emotive tenor recalls the quiet rebellion and hushed intimacy of Tracy Chapman. The crowd was pin-drop silent and so mesmerized that it took until the chorus for the smiles to register as everyone realized he was covering “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

7. Gymshorts at Side Bar - This fun, ferocious Rhode Island band owes a debt to the raunchier, metal-tinged side of the Ramones, with lead singer Sarah Greenwell waiting only one song before storming into the crowd, moshing and sharing the microphone with a fan, and flailing on the bar room floor.

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8. Moritz Simon Geist at Cedar Street Courtyard - The strangest “band” at SXSW was a group of small self-built robots that helped their leader make thumping techno music by rhythmically dropping a stylus onto a record to create a bass drum, clacking hard drive arms to create percussion - and making inventive use of motors, circuits, relays and good old fashioned water glasses.

9. Altameda at The Bungalow - Sometimes, the best American roots-rock is played by bands from Canada.

10. Robert Ellis at Hotel San Jose - The best-kept songwriting secret in Texas re-invents himself (temporarily) as The Texas Piano Man, a Lone Star version of Elton John and Billy Joel, on tongue-in-cheek songs like “Passive Aggressive” and “Topo Chico.” The showboating took a backseat to his impressive piano chops and a brilliant re-arrangement of his moody “California” that fit right in.

11. Laura Jane Grace at Continental Club and solo at Central Presbyterian Church - The former leader of Against Me and her new group, The Devouring Mothers, rock just as hard and loud as her previous band. But she made the most indelible impression with just an acoustic guitar. Between stripped-down originals, she covered two songs by the Mountain Goats (”The Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton,” “Original Air-Blue Gown”) and the Replacements’ “Androgynous,” spilling her guts and opening her heart

12. The Beths at Container Bar - This co-ed New Zealand quartet fronted by Elizabeth Stokes crafts harmony-laden indie pop songs they way they all should be - powerful, punky, and perfect.

13. E.B. The Younger at Hotel at San Jose - Eric Pulido’s solo side-project finds the Midlake frontman veering into breezy, Southern California-inspired pop with help from members of the Texas Gentlemen. Great cover of Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up” too!

14. Ben Kweller at The Mohawk - Many artists celebrate the power of rock ‘n’ roll, but this Greenville, TX native is one of the few who effortlessly embody it

15. Molly Burch at The Parish - This Austin singer’s voice swoops and swerves, switching octaves and shifting tempos mid-song, sometimes even mid-thought. She grapples with self-doubt and being an introvert but her hypnotic songs also ooze with a sense of wonder and quiet determination.

16. Weakened Friends at the Barracuda - Lead singer Sonia Sturino’s yelping, jittery voice gives this Portland, ME trio their edge, but their bouncy energy and heartfelt debts to alt-rock icons ranging from Weezer to Dinosaur Jr give them their charm.

I also caught: Sasami, Combo Chimbita, Wyclef Jean, Ambar Lucid, Barrie, Duncan Fellows, The Nude Party, Cassia, Priests, Durand Jones and the Indications, Black Midi, William Tyler, Pool Party, Tunic, Chai, Stef Chura, John the Martyr, Priscilla Renae, Sontalk, Graham Coxon, Guy Forsyth Jackie Venson, Mystery Lights, Bush Tetras, Yahyel, Sidney Gish, Cherry Glazerr, Dylan Cartlidge, Her’s, and Larkins

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godslonelycinephile · 8 years ago

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Review - John Wick: Chapter 2

Back in 2014, I walked into a theater that was half full with reasonable expectations for Keanu Reeves long awaited return to action films. Me and everyone else in that half-capacity theater had a blast. I walked out of that theater having seen one of the most pleasurable action films perhaps this century. John Wick became a litmus test for whether or not I could trust somebody. If they don’t like John Wick, I don’t trust them. I dressed as John Wick for Halloween that year. One time a friend finally watched it and I got two texts from him in response that read “DUDE JOHN WICK” and “HOLY SHIT.” The list of what that film meant to me goes on and on. With that said, Chapter 2 is not only one of the best action sequels I’ve ever seen, it’s possibly one of the best sequels I’ve ever seen, period.

Perhaps the greatest achievement of Chapter 2, which any great sequel should do, is that it completely validates its existence despite the first film not really asking for a sequel. When you finish John Wick, you don’t sit there during the credits going “Can’t wait for the sequel! So many questions!” yet still when you finish Chapter 2 you nod your head approvingly, acknowledging that yes, we actually did need this. It keeps the core tenet of the original, which is that you should not fuck with this guy. It’s as the tagline on one of the poster says, “Never stab the devil in the back.” Chapter 2 finds most of its narrative thrust by expanding on a cautionary line from Winston to Wick in the first film: “If you dip so much as a pinky back into this pond, you may well find something reaches out and drags you back into its depths.” Santino D’Antonio (Riccardo Scamarcio), a member of the most powerful family in Italy comes to Wick to demand a return on a favor he is owed. By the rules of their trade, Wick must honor this request or die. Thrust back into the world he wanted to leave behind, Wick has a target on his back. Chapter 2 manages to to expand on what happened in the original for new material without undermining anything that happened previously.

Not many films attain the level of action opera. The only other one this decade was The Raid 2. I haven’t quite written down the rules of entry for the classification of action opera, but if you’ve seen The Raid 2 or John Wick: Chapter 2 hopefully you understand what I’m getting at. It’s just another level of action filmmaking, where you’re watching it at its grandest and most theatrical. Take John Woo for example, if you’ve seen The Killer or Hard Boiled, that guy knows how to make an action opera. The action in Chapter 2 is bigger, more expansive and theatrical, yet doesn’t lose the key pleasure of the first, which is watching Reeves demolish scores of baddies unassisted. The operatic nature of the film is immediately felt. The opening sequence is created by answering one question left unanswered from the first: where did his car go? He never got it back in the first film. In a giddily coked up turn from Peter Stormare, he plays the brother of Viggo Tarasov who’s in the unlucky position of having something of Wick’s. It doesn’t have much impact on the plot to follow, but it’s a wonderful, delirious sequence to reintroduce Wick to us. John Wick is a pure force of nature. We spent the first film getting to know this character and how badass he is, now we get an entire film that knows we already know that, and all it has to do is continue to display his ultimate levels of badassery.

It doesn’t tiredly rehash plot points of the original, instead taking the opportunity to flesh out the underworld that Wick has reentered and can’t escape from. It’s terrific world building, there’s a good amount of expository construction about how this world functions that happens visually, or in how characters insinuate things in dialogue. There’s so many bizarre little oddities to absorb about this world. The sommelier at the Rome Continental doesn’t recommend wines, but guns, in a great stunt performance from Peter Serafinowicz. To put out a hit, you contact a building full of women in pink blouses, all with the same tattoo sleeve on their right arms, and they connect calls using old-timey phone line connectors, then enter the hit info on a computer that is older than me. The introduction of an amulet known as a marker is integral to the plot. It’s a blood oath of sorts that must be honored at all costs.

Keanu Reeves is 52 years old and is out here with the dexterity and athleticism of an NBA power forward, doing physically grueling stunt work while making it look like ballet. Meanwhile, I am 24 years old, and this morning I woke up with my back really sore because I guess I slept on it wrong. Keanu Reeves is one of the last movie stars, along with Tom Cruise, who can do the most insane stunts themselves. They don’t need a double. There’s a trustworthiness to their presence, you can trust everything you’re seeing. The second shot of the film nods to one of the greatest stunt artists of all time, Buster Keaton, subtly relating that the filmmakers understand that stunts work at their best when their star is actually performing them. Keanu Reeves was already in my mind one of the great action stars, but Chapter 2 puts him in the Hall of Fame discussion.

Scamarcio turns in a wonderful villain as Santino, a sniveling sleazy presence. Common plays another assassin hunting John Wick and rises to the challenge of the stunt work and fight choreography. They have an epic extended couple of fight scenes, and they really beat the shit out of each other, it’s incredible to watch the sheer athleticism on display. Here’s hoping he comes back for Chapter 3. Ruby Rose also delivers a terrific character, a mute assassin also hunting Wick, and she too pulls off the physicality required extremely well. Side characters from the first make welcome appearances (I greatly appreciated another exchange with Jimmy), while other characters like Winston (Ian McShane) get a larger role. The legends Laurence Fishburne and Franco Nero contribute great turns that further flesh out this world, with Fishburne getting the juicy line “SOMEBODY GET THIS MAN A GUN.”

It’s just Chad Stahelski directing this time around, but the spirit of collaboration between himself and David Leitch is still felt. Stahelski’s past as a stunt coordinator and double is essential once again to why the film succeeds. The action is as good as it gets, filming them in long and extended takes, avoiding the noise and fuzz of hand-held action in clean camera movements. Stahelski knows how to make this look good, and with an actor like Reeves, he doesn’t have to hide anything in cuts. How Wick weaves his way through battle is like watching the greatest ballet act, he pulls off the feat of making heavily rehearsed action sequences look and feel in the moment, like they’re a product of this character’s expertise and skill. Chapter 2’s action had me sweating. Each sequence and showdown continually gets more impressive. Every single action scene feels like a highlight, you could put nearly every scene in this film down for the best action scene of the year. This film never runs out of tricks and showmanship to wow you with. There’s a sequence late in the film that takes place in an extended maze of mirrors that should have been impossible to film. It just should have been impossible to orchestrate so much mayhem while trying to hide the camera from reflection. You’ll need a cigarette after watching it.

The aesthetic of this world is always striking, a heightened reality made from shadows and neon lights. It would be enough if the fight scenes were just as good as they are, but the fact that the whole filmmaking process is as driven and ambitious really goes the distance. I didn’t realize until Chapter 2 just how great and understated the score from Tyler Bates and Joel J. Richard is. They use the same score from the original, only a few new compositions are added. It’s a pulse-pounding work that relies on muffled guitar riffs and electronic machinations, yet there’s a 4-note synth melody that finds its way through each time, like Wick’s own dwindling humanity.

Even though I would watch another 10 chapters, there’s comfort in knowing that they plan to only make 3, and the final chapter is set up terrifically. Chapter 2 ends on an incredible note, with the most dangerous character in these films running for his life with no sanctuary. John Wick joins the annals of the greatest action heroes on screen, up there with the John McClanes, the Rambos, the Bullitts. We get many films with great action heroes, but so rarely do we get great action films driven by character. John Wick and Keanu Reeves are two of the greatest gifts to action films, and to cinema in general. I’m just so happy to be alive while these films exist. At the end of each year, I like to do an action hero power rankings, and Reeves is far and away the top seed right now for 2017.

#Reviews #John Wick: Chapter 2 #Keanu Reeves #Chad Stahelski #David Leitch #Common #Riccardo Scamarcio #Laurence Fishburne #Ian McShane #John Leguizamo #Tyler Bates #Joel J. Richard #Dan Laustsen #John Wick #Ruby Rose #Peter Stormare #Peter Serafinowicz #Lance Reddick

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jatamansi-arc · 8 years ago

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@illusivexemissary brought this up in her vocaroo about Salome’s and Gabe’s relationship with each other. So, let’s talk about that really quick.

I lied, it’s going to be a multiple part escapade. So here, let’s get the first part done.

Salome’s History, Pt. I: Familial Relations

As I’ve talked about before, and what can be found in her biography, Salome was born as Shelomit Rut Bernadette Cohn on November 4th, 1985. Her parents are named Tzvi and Rachel.

Here’s the important stuff you need to know about her parents:

Tzvi: Her father was born in 1956, to two Holocaust survivors named Avraham (31) and Rut (29). He’s the youngest of three, with a brother a sister. He grew up, went to school, graduated, and otherwise lived in Syracuse his entire life. Was raised in a Conservative Jewish environment, but became BT” (baal teshuva) in his early college career, c. 1976-77, and went to rabbinical school. From there, he formed his own haredi congregation with himself as rabbi in Syracuse.

Her father was charismatic, but he also was incredibly mean-spirited, manipulative, and an otherwise questionable human being. I’ve said before that power went to his head. With luxury cars and amazing showmanship, Rebbe Cohn, like many in positions like him, pretty much ignored or buried any allegation of abuse in his community, including the ones that directly impacted his daughters. And it’s a precedence he teaches to his followers. Aloft and mysterious, even to family, it’s not a surprise that Salome finds herself unable to describe him to strangers, let alone under bad terms.

Because, to everyone under his influence, even his children, a rabbi can’t do any wrong. Even if all of his children are the victims of his wrongdoing and predilection for manipulation and intimidation. Salome, not around for the final years of his life, eventually concludes that karma catches up with him in the form liver cancer that kills him slowly, over the course of two years.

She doesn’t attend his funeral, nor does her brother. It’s an invitationafforded only to his eldest daughter.

Rachel: Younger than her husband, born in the spring of 1962 in a Moroccan hospital to now French expats, Rahelita has lived a much more colorful life than her husband. One half of identical twins, to which she’s a few minutes earlier than her sister Estimada, they both earn instant citizenship to the country of their parents’ origin before the family returns to Northern Paris after a few weeks time. There, she goes to secular day school and an Orthodox school in the afternoon.

Flash forward to her early adulthood, Rahelita adopts the more traditional name of Rachel and goes to America to study medicine on a scholarship. Here, looking to an Orthodox matchmaker, she meets Tzvi. They are married within four months, and soon after, she earns the title of Rebbetzin. And if being a rabbi went to Salome’s father’s head, being the wife of the rabbi certainly went to Rachel’s twofold. Nagging, overbearing, and almost every other stereotype of a Jewish mother wrapped into a 5′1″ package, Rachel is nearly unbearable to all of her children, and Salome rarely escapes from her gaze, even now.

That said, she struggled through motherhood physically and nearly died having Salome, so she had to give up on her big family of kids. It’s a grudge I don’t think she’s ever forgiven Salome for, even if it’s not the kid’s fault. And when Salome was four, Rachel also developed a very severe form of breast cancer that resulted in her having to undergo a double mastectomy and reconstruction.

This was when Rachel learned Salome had a talent for drawing, as her daughter brought her get well cards in the hospital with sprawling landscapes and other details that were impressive for a near toddler. Rachel took them, crumpled them after her daughter left, and would eventually tell her daughter that her hands were blessed only by the devil’s, and art was the work of idolatry. Starting what would become a cavernous pit of a relationship between the two by the time Salome reached adulthood.

When it comes to her siblings, Salome is the youngest -- and therefore the baby and black sheep -- of them. Preceding her are an elder sister, named Tova, who is five years her senior, and then a brother, this time three years greater, named Moses (but almost exclusively going by Moishe.)

Tova

Works as an emergency room nurse somewhere around Monsey, NY. Married at 17, Tova is now a divorced mother of three boys who is trying to date and work and balance single motherhood with both. Cute, kind and incredibly naive about the non-Orthodox world, Tova is everything Salome isn’t. She’s also consistently, and patently, adorable.

Salome and her sister are close, but somewhat also strained. Tova caves under the pressure of their mother easily and it oftentimes has the worse impact of the baby sister. Tova tries to protect her, but there’s only so much she can do.

Basically: Salome knows her sister is sensitive and under an incredible amount of stress, but sometimes it gets frustratingly old.

Other important details? Her husband was abusive as fuck, which is why she took her boys and left in the middle of the night, and never looked back. She also also worked progressively, since then, to try to make inroads on the Orthodox community when it comes to sweeping abuses under the rug.

Moishe

The middle sibling, Moses seemed to be like everything her parents ever wanted. Gifted, with the same talent for language as his baby sister, he excelled in his studies and their father wanted him to take over the family “business” at some point. Moishe, instead of seeking out rabbinical school, veers towards medical school after his four years as an undergrad. Oh, and then he blows, just like his baby sister did.

Now he lives in New Canaan, CT (which I laugh, because omg so close to the X Mansion oops), and is a cardiac surgeon. He specializes in transplants, but he generally also works the Emergency department, which means only the idiot baby sister escaped emergency medicine. He’s not Orthodox, nor does he even really practice, and is pretty much an atheist. If it’s not science or medicine, he doesn’t really have time for it.

Other things I know about Moishe: he has an autism spectrum disorder, along with a mild form of OCD. He likes dogs, and owns five. He’s more like Salome than Tova is, in actuality, and if they would bloody talk to each other, I think they’d actually get on. But Salome is bitter mcprissy pants because her brother got spoiled and treated better, so she doesn’t much talk to him unless she has to.

Salome doesn’t talk to her immediate family in adulthood, or at least not willingly. The only exception to this is Tova. There’s also a few cousins of hers, namely Miriam and Darcy ( @zzapzzaptasers ), but Miriam lives in France and Darcy is off on space adventures, usually.

Salome was also close to her paternal grandparents, perhaps even moreso than her parents. Which brings us to another cut off to talk about them.

Avraham

Born in Warsaw in 1925, Avraham was the oldest of two children by a year (the other is Basia, a sister), and grew up under tons of turmoil throughout his entire childhood. A year to the day of his birth saw the start of the May Coup and a more authoritative government, for example, but by the time he was fourteen, Warsaw was already under threat from the air by Nazi Germany. By the end of that year, 40,000 or more people had been injured or killed while the city was shut down, and the President deported to Dachau.

The prospects of going to college basically were destroyed soon after, though Avi, being the son of a Rabbi who was also a sofer, contributed to family means by also scribing for the Jewish community. Usually in the form of mezuzah parchments or marriage certificates, though this would become increasingly unstable once the Warsaw Ghetto was established. In the winter of 1941, Avi’s mother perishes from starvation, with the toll of a roughly <175 calorie intake a day finally taking its final toll on her already weakened body.

In late 1942, their father refuses to be deported to Treblinka, knowing it is a death sentence, and is subsequently shot. Basia, infuriated by this and long having been involved in the illegal ZOB, encourages her brother to become involved in the Resistance movement and they begin to smuggle weapons into the ghetto. This is, perhaps humorously, where Avi meets his later wife, Rut.

During the Uprising, two major points happen for Avraham:

His sister, Basia, working as a sniper in one of the ghetto’s buildings, is killed when the Nazi forces begin to torch buildings to destroy the opposition. She dies from a combination of smoke inhalation and burns at the age of 17.

Terrified by this, and now without any family, Avi convinces Rut to escape with him and they manage to get out but are captured. Avi is sent to Auschwitz, and Rut would eventually end up at Mauthausen.

Some of this is more relevant than others, as for example, in her canon with @metallsinne, Avraham meets Erik’s parents there eventually and tries to protect Edie from being gassed immediately upon arrival (though we all know how well that worked.) But after the war, he becomes what will eventually be known as a Sh'erit ha-Pletah and helps form a cohesive government before emigrating from Poland to the United States. Why?

He finds out Rut is alive and living in New York from one of his peers. And in one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever written, after he manages to get to New York, a bloody year later, he arrives on her doorstep with his mother’s wedding ring in a shitty cardboard box and a bouquet of flowers.

And she accepts. They lived, very happily married, for the rest of their lives. Avi eventually taking up work as a clockmaker and repairman. And they are become a beacon to the outside world to Salome and her siblings, to remind them that normal people exist. So close to her grandfather was Salome in particular, that when he dies in the year 1998, she is devastated.

Rut

Rut is also born in Warsaw, Poland, in 1926, but unlike her husband, she is the only daughter of a young couple just trying to find their way in [ the already explained shithole that was ] Poland before WWII. Rut grows up wanting to be a normal kid but generally gets involved in the ZOB pretty early into the Ghetto’s existence. Doing what, you may ask?

Generally helping to facilitate food being smuggled in, which she also helps deliver to those who are in most need along with her parents’ help. It’s at a meeting shortly before the uprising, in 1942, where she meets Avraham and quickly falls in love with him. Her parents bless this potential union, provided everyone survives the hell that is the Holocaust, and it is one of the last things they do. Like Avi’s parents, they too, succumb to a combination of forces like starvation and illness that end up taking thousands in the few years they are trapped there with so many others.

After trying to escape after Basia’s demise in the Uprising, both are deported to Auschwitz, though Rut is later moved to Mauthausen where she works as a “nurse” in the Krankenlager. Here, she sees many of her people breathing their last, though Rut can’t reconcile is this is for the better or not, considering the alternatives.

Once the camp is liberated, Rut manages to secure a place emigrating to America and settles in Syracuse in a tiny mother-in-law apartment at the home of relatives who already lived in the area. She makes money to pay for her expenses by tailoring clothing and sewing dresses for others, which is something she will continue until her death in 1994.

Before way then, however, Avi shows up on her doorstep, like I said. And they eventually get married a few months later, with very little to show for it. Rut sews her own dress, to save money, and it’s very simple. They don’t start a family for several years after that, out of this survival’s instinct that it’s not safe to, but eventually they have three kids they adore. Mostly adore. Tzvi’s always been kind of questionable.

They take their grandkids on alternating weekends, though Salome usually stays every weekend, unlike her siblings. Her parents find her attitude better, along with her mood, so they encourage it to help ease their own stresses. Salome’s name is also chosen by her grandmother in the end, because she hopes that she’ll grow exhibiting the traits of a warrior queen. Something she thought was fitting in the post-Holocaust state.

Oh, and she also worked at a drug store in her senior years. She enjoyed it, and collected a bunch of stupid stuff. Rut was kind of a giant nerd like that. Avi was just... pretty fucking lost without his wife, to be honest. I’m surprised he made it another four years without her, because they did everything together.

AND THERE’S THE FAMILY PORTION. YOU GET MORE SOON.

#ooc #hc #salome's family

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biofunmy · 5 years ago

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Disney’s Haunted Mansion at 50: The Ghosts Are Still Grinning

One summer visit to Disneyland after another, a young Tom Morris stood outside a mysterious set of locked gates, peering up at a stately, old-fashioned manor sitting just out of reach and wondering what awaited inside.

When those gates in Anaheim, Calif., finally opened in August 1969, Mr. Morris and others entered what became one of the most beloved and long-lasting attractions at any of the Disney theme parks: the Haunted Mansion, a macabre ride filled with mystifying illusions, eerie inhabitants and 999 grim, grinning ghosts, having a delightful time in the afterlife.

For Mr. Morris, who later became an Imagineer (a Disney employee who designs resort attractions), every element of the dark ride was fascinating. There was something about the music — the theme song, “Grim Grinning Ghosts,” plays throughout the ride — the smell of the hydraulics, the “old-fashioned showmanship.” He took a spin through the Mansion twice each trip, a rare sign of dedication back when two rides at Disney required two separate tickets. And he found himself doodling pictures of the ride in class.

Surely, Mr. Morris thought, he was the only one with this level of adoration for the Haunted Mansion. Fifty years later, it’s clear that has never been the case.

The Haunted Mansion, treasured as one of Disney’s quirkier rides, has long maintained a fan-favorite status for its distinct balance of the spooky and the sprightly. Varying iterations of the attraction, including the Dutch Gothic-style Tudor version at Walt Disney World, in Orlando, Fla., have become staples at five Disney resorts around the world.

Other rides over the years have come and gone (and been given face-lifts to reflect recent Disney films). But with remarkably little deviation from the original design, the Mansion has been a constant for five decades.

Mysterious From the Start

Built in the early 1960s to resemble an old New Orleans estate, the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland sat vacant for years — its exterior finished, its insides a mystery. The longer it sat, the more the mystique built. An advertisement at the gate for “post-lifetime leases” hinted at the type of ride future visitors might expect: Inquiring spirits were directed to contact Disneyland’s “Ghost Relations” department.

There were rumors among visitors about what had rendered the house off-limits for park guests. Maybe Disney had already tried to open it as an attraction, but the ride had been too terrifying. Perhaps Walt Disney himself was planning to move in, and the house would never open as an attraction.

In the end, the delays boiled down to something more mundane: Between creating other future favorite rides like Pirates of the Caribbean, breaking ground on a new park in Orlando and getting ready for the 1964-65 World’s Fair, Disney’s Imagineers were simply swamped. After Disney died in 1966, finishing the Mansion became a focus.

A creative debate between the project’s two driving Imagineers, Marc Davis and Claude Coats, inspired the Mansion’s complementary moods. Davis was in favor of a lighter, humorous approach to a haunted house. Coats wanted the opposite.

“The beginning of the attraction is more Claude Coats,” his son Alan Coats said. “It’s scarier, it’s more moody, it’s darker, it’s ominous. You think, ‘Uh oh, this is going to be scary,’ and it does really frighten a lot of people when you enter those doors.”

But as the ride’s vehicles, called “doom buggies,” whisk visitors along, the mood starts to brighten — Davis’s influence. Spirits dance through the ballroom, and the journey culminates in an upbeat graveyard party. For many fans, it’s that combination of fun and frightful that has made the ride a favorite.

“I think the Mansion taps into our wanting to be scared and realizing that we made it through safely, that we were able to overcome our fears and deal with them and come out O.K.,” Mr. Coats said.

Susan Thompson, who lives in Lakeland, Fla., spent her first ride through Disney World’s Mansion in Orlando, as a 5-year-old, crying with her head buried in her mother’s side. When she went back a year later, determined to keep her eyes open, she fell in love with watching the Mansion come alive.

Ms. Thompson, now 51, has since acquired her fair share of Haunted Mansion souvenirs: a dress reminiscent of those worn by Mansion staff and a backpack patterned with the manor’s signature wallpaper, among other items. On her twice-a-month visits to Disney World, she always returns to the ride.

For R.J. Crowther Jr., a bookseller in San Diego, the Mansion is the first attraction he has a vivid memory of riding at Disneyland. He’s since been on it more than 200 times, earning him a certificate from Disney staff that declares him an honorary citizen of the park. Mr. Crowther has also collected an “embarrassing amount” of Mansion merchandise, primarily sculptures inspired by art within the ride.

“When you’re younger, it’s just all real and magical,” Mr. Crowther said. “There’s just something wonderfully otherworldly about it that just captures people’s imaginations.”

Alyssa Ottum, another superfan, is planning a tattoo sleeve composed entirely of Mansion-related images: The exterior of the Disneyland manor is already finished, and pieces with the Mansion’s gothic wallpaper and some of the ride’s most famous characters are in the works.

For the 50th anniversary, Ms. Ottum attended an overnight event at Disneyland, complete with ghoulishly named snacks and photo ops with Mansion characters. Tickets went for nearly $300.

Haunted Memories

The Haunted Mansion’s fans extend beyond the ride’s regulars; it’s a favorite among Disney Parks employees, who are called cast members.

“Everybody that says they want to work for Disney?” said Robert Brauchler, who was a cast member for 16 years at Walt Disney World in Orlando. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, they say they want to work at the Haunted Mansion.”

The work itself isn’t extraordinary. Like those at any other attraction, cast members (clad here in green polyester tuxedos and dresses) still spend hours parking strollers in the Florida heat or loading guests into ride vehicles. What sets this attraction apart is how workers, acting as the Mansion’s eerie butlers and maids, can melt into their somber, creepy characters as part of the ride’s ghoulish aesthetic.

“If you’re having a bad day, that’s a great place to be working,” Mr. Brauchler said. “I would just stare at people and just not smile. It’d be like, ‘Hey! You work at Disney; you’re supposed to smile!’ No, I’m not. I would just walk away from them, and it’s all part of the theming.”

Mansion cast members still find time for more upbeat moments: Mr. Brauchler and another employee would sometimes sneak black-and-white photos of themselves into the picture frames in the ride’s ballroom scene. And when employees at the attraction complete their training, they crawl underneath the “doom buggy” tracks — flashlights in tow — to sign their names alongside hundreds of others on a wall beneath the ride.

Some riders, though, have a different way of leaving a mark. Every once in a while, a cast member discovers gray powder on the floor — the ashes of deceased park-goers who had a particular affinity for the ride, spread by loved ones hoping to add another spirit to the Mansion’s collection of happy haunts.

“It was like, ‘Ugh, somebody spread Grandma on the carpet again,’” Mr. Brauchler said. “We’d have to shut the ride down and go investigate it.”

He added: “All these people that think that their loved ones are going to be in the Haunted Mansion forever? Well, Grandma’s getting vacuumed up into a vacuum and getting sent out to the landfill somewhere.”

But there are plenty of other park-approved memorials at the Mansion. Many Imagineers who worked on the attraction were honored in a mock cemetery at Disneyland bordering the ride queue, its gravestones etched with rhyming epitaphs. (The cemetery was removed to make room for longer lines, but a similar one remains in Orlando.)

“At peaceful rest lies Brother Claude, planted here beneath this sod,” Coats’s reads.

It was a bit too dark for Coats’s wife, their son Alan said. She was not a fan.

Voices From the Beyond

Another Disney employee was immortalized in the ride itself. Madame Leota, the Mansion’s floating head who summons ghosts from inside her crystal ball, is the face of Leota Toombs, one of Disney’s first female Imagineers.

Her daughter Kim Irvine, Disneyland’s art director, was a teenager when her mother was practicing for the role. Toombs was the face of Madame Leota, but not the voice, and Ms. Irvine remembers her mother lip syncing the incantation in front of a mirror downstairs for days.

“One day my friends and I came home, and she was down there doing, ‘Witches and goblins and ghoulies!’” Ms. Irvine said. “They were like, ‘What’s wrong with your mom?’”

Toombs did, however, lend her voice to the end of the ride at the California park, where a small spirit — lovingly called Little Leota by fans — ominously bids visitors adieu. When Toombs died, in 1991, Ms. Irvine’s visits to the ride with her own daughters gave them a chance to hear their grandmother’s voice again.

“I always had to laugh when we would be going up the exit escalator and seeing Little Leota over there going, ‘Hurry back,’” Ms. Irvine said. “And I’d go, ‘Girls, say hi to Grandma, there’s Grandma!’ and I’d hear people around me go, ‘What a weirdo.’”

When Disney decided to create an annual holiday-themed makeover for the Mansion, Imagineers needed to record a new incantation for Madame Leota in order to match the overlay. When they approached Ms. Irvine for the part, she was initially unsure — but she knew she didn’t want anyone else to do it either.

Now, every winter, she and her mother are both a part of the ride.

“I go out in the park in the morning before guests come in to check things out and look things over, and it’s so quiet out there in New Orleans before they turn on the music,” Ms. Irvine said. “But Little Leota never turns off. So to walk by the exit there and hear her little voice just talking away to me makes me smile.”

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