#the strength required to toughen up and front the world

[fair-dinkum-mechanic]

..

[finoalcielo]

[PROFILE] ZANSHIN / PROCELLARUM

☆ SHIMOTSUKI SHUN ☆

"Your heart, I want to eat it. Fufufu~"

Soldier Class: General (Zessei - Unprecedented) ※Unique Name

Placement: ???

A young man who is qualified to be a Planner (commander) and is overwhelmingly strong. He seems to have a goal differing from the headquarters and as such he works alone and appears unexpectedly at unexpected places. He is referred as the "White King" and it seems he's also a living legend. He seems to possess a unique outlook, most likely due to the progression of Albinism. Despite how his actions and words are incomprehensible by ordinary people, his abilities cannot be disregarded. He is a symbol of darkness of the Minerva Army. He is always craving for the Black King and even abandons the war front if he catches sight of him. He desires to have all of him.

Cast Comment - Shun: Because my character is someone who acts and speaks in a manner beyond human knowledge, I was told to move and talk however I wish♪ Well then, I shall do so without having any limit~ If I like something, I will like it with my entire heart. If I want to eat something, I will eat it all. Fufufu.

☆ FUDUKI KAI ☆

"Hey! Here's your jack-of-all-trades!!"

Soldier Class: Colonel (Kessen - Decisive Battle)

Placement: 2nd Army, 1st Infantry Division

Before joining the Minerva Army, he was a suspicious person whose history was unknown, however, he is a good man who can make you forget that. He once said that he used to be part of a special military unit of some great country, was chased after disobeying orders for helping innocent soldiers escape, became a mercenary in the underworld and then got his current position. He is someone who does not requires the protection of nationality. A reliable general who will stand in front of someone in a pinch.

Cast Comment - Kai: I'm really enjoying seeing Shun uncharacteristically going all-out. I also want to show my battle with Haru. That guy is crafty and uses underhanded tricks so its really difficult to fight him. Oh, I meant that as a compliment (laughs).

☆ HADUKI YOU ☆

"Don't stand in my way."

Soldier Class: Major (Shura - Combat)

Placement: 5th Army, 1st Infantry Division

A young man nicknamed the "Crimson Demon" and is a battle enthusiast. He has a fierce personality and often goes against his superiors. If anything, his judgements are often correct and thoroughly hates incompetent superiors. He has two older siblings, of which the eldest, Sou, is a general with the unique name 'Fudou' (Immovable). It seems his childhood friend, Yoru is still angry since he was against joining the Minerva Army until the very end.

Cast Comment - You: I was told to bring out my strength but it really feels like the staff left it up to me (laughs). This time I'm stronger than the rank given to me, so I'll be giving it my all~! If the enemy is standing in front of me, then I'll kill my way through! I won't hesitate! I'll really kill them~!

☆ NAGATSUKI YORU ☆

"Toughen your heart. Put aside your worries for another time."

Soldier Class: Sergeant (Rekka - Raging Fire)

Placement: 2nd Army, 2nd Infantry Division

He was a kind and gentle researcher who didn't belong on the battlefield. However, one day, he was attacked by a Regret and witnessed the soldier who helped him turn into a Regret due to Albinism. Feeling responsible, he volunteers in the Minerva Army to find the truth about Regrets and Albinism. The data he collects from the front lines is used in the research to stop the progression of Albinism, which is a light of hope for soldiers.

Cast Comment - Yoru: What's the truth behind Regrets and Albinism? Shun-san already starts from a state where Albinism is progressing.... I really thought it was scary. It's so powerful that it feels like one will be swallowed whole... No, I can't afford to lose. I won't lose!

☆ MINADUKI RUI ☆

"I will cut what I want when I want."

Soldier Class: Sergeant (Rekka - Raging Fire)

Placement: 3rd Army, 2nd Infantry Division

As a world-famous pianist, he lived a life unrelated to war. However, his brother who was a researcher in the Minerva Army, was attacked by a soldier with advanced Albinism and was thus affected by Albinism. He volunteered for the Minerva Army due to his brother being in a cold sleep. He's waiting for his brother that he was closest with to recover. Due to his current state of mind, he says that the Regrets he cuts down makes a beautiful sounds when it disappears. He also lacks in physical strength so he does his best everyday.

Cast Comment - Rui: The sword fighting lessons were difficult since I haven't had many roles where I actively fight. My muscles are aching. But, I'll have to show you my cool side sometimes too, right? I'll do my best so please cheer me on.

☆ KANNADUKI IKU ☆

"Kannaduki Iku from the Captain Class is here."

Soldier Class: Captain (Senryaku - Strategy)

Placement: 4th Army, 1st Infantry Division

He used to be an ordinary student at some fitness university. One day, he repelled an attacking Regret using the sword dropped by a Soldier. Due to his overwhelming potential, he was scouted by the Minerva Army. He is growing at a rapid pace as he takes advantage of his naturally gifted physical ability. He is increasing ranks at a speed rarely seen before and is expected to received a unique name in the future. Due to his honest personality, he is well-loved by the older Soldiers.

Cast Comment - Iku: This time, after an unexpected turn of events, I'll be heading to the battlefield, kind of like a hero (laughs). What do you think of the Minerva Army? Regrets? It will be moving like this, so I hope everyone can think of it as an alter ego of sorts. Japanese sword action is so fun!

[inkstaineddove]

Business and Displeasure Ch.2

Chapters: 1 + 3

The next day brought more meetings. Again, the foursome found themselves seated around Austria's desk, staring down a map of Europe. Britain once again took over as the de-facto commander. "I think the best we can do is squeeze him on all sides, wherever his men are." He pointed to where they'd made blue marks, symbolizing the location of troops loyal to Napoleon. "For a few thousand pounds and a promise of supplementing them some troops, we'll be able to get Spain and Portugal more proactively on the offensive. They don't have to be particularly domineering, but enough to cause some trouble and bog down whatever French contingents are there. Thankfully, my men have already been fighting there for a year so that should soon be resolved and we can push into France. Once we're in, Napoleon will have to decide whether to continue running amok throughout Germany or go defend his homeland." He smiled, sneeringly. "Francis will force him to defend Paris, of course. But taking the capital has never required much effort."

Prussia yawned. "That's great that you've got your own plan for glory mapped out, rule Britannia and all, but are you just going to insult how we've been doing things and not tell us how to improve?" He threw his hands up in the air. "I need a better idea of what we're doing beyond 'hey, you don't mind if we do all the fighting in Brandenburg?' If we can start by pushing into the Rhine territories, rough them up until they switch sides, it'll take less time to force the French back into their own country."

"Well it's a little late for that sentiment, isn't it? There's French troops crawling freely through your cities! I understand not wanting to make it any worse for you or your people, but you'll have to toughen it out for a bit longer. If it's food or other supplies you're worried about, I'll break through the barricade and sneak ships out to get things to you." Arthur smiled, truly meaning to be kind while Gilbert took it as dismissive. "Think of the end result. Stiff upper lip, we'll all get through it."

"There's a lot of buildup in the east. He seems to have taken up residence more in Saxony than Brandenburg. Perhaps we can take the fighting there? If we manage to kick them out and have cavalry harass them along the way, the French might get the message that they're no longer welcome here." Russia smiled and this time Prussia took it for what it was, an attempt to be actually providing meaningful assistance. "It's the perfect spot, out of Gilbert's territory so no one important is getting harassed and in between us and Austria so we can get to them fairly easily."

Austria nodded along. "And, whether we like it or not, the three of us have ample experience fighting there. That's one good thing to come out of the Silesian Wars."

"There were more good things than that. I got Silesia, after all. I think that's been best for us all." Prussia grinned. Their silence was telling and his ego deflated.

"Anyways, we'll be able to use our knowledge to the advantage. Napoleon running around through it doesn't provide much practical experience on which hills are best for battle and Francis preferred to stay at home whenever his armies were there. They'll both be utterly useless. As for Saxony himself, if he and Bavaria have to hide behind France's coattails for defense then they're no longer a threat on their own. Prussia and I can work on weakening them further in the meantime."

Something malicious glinted in both their eyes. Yes, they would both enjoy that, especially if that meant control over some new territory along their borders. Britain cleared his throat. "Rich coming from me considering the whole reason I'm in this, but try not to go crazy settling old scores. We'll need maximum strength for the real enemy. Afterwards then you two can go cutting up all of Germany as you see fit, but not before we reduce France to tears." He smiled at the thought. If there was a god that was merciful, Arthur would be the one to relish in that sight first. "All that being settled, that leaves the matter of financing for the war tomorrow. I hope you three brought your checkbooks!" Collecting his things, he laughed and left the room.

"That was unnecessary. He acts like we're poor!" Ivan scowled. He childishly stuck out his tongue at the door. "Who died and anointed him king?"

"France." Austria grumbled. The truth of the statement elicited a weak laugh from the group.

"How could we forget, it's England's world and we're all just living in it. If we don't kiss the boot enough, we might get invaded and become his next colony." Prussia's bitter remark invoked more of a laugh. Before they could help themselves, they were trading barbs about England and his arrogant demeanor. He was always nice enough in small doses, but having to spend more than a few hours with him? Well, they certainly understood why America fought so desperately for his independence. Maybe they could find a way to get themselves independent from him or push his stupid little island farther away from the rest of Europe. And while they were at it, why not saw off France too and send them both the same way? Then they could just fight each other to the death while leaving the rest be.

Russia chuckled. "Ah, but you two don't mean that. Without them, you guys would begin going at it like crazy people. You'd try taking whatever was left for yourselves like the greedy little children you are." He sat his head on his hands and cocked it to the side. He appeared so menacing and childlike at the same time. "If you did that, I'd end you both so quickly you'd think you were Poland." He giggled at how shocked they were. "You both are so transparent. Don't believe yourselves better than them when the four of you are cut from the same cloth." With that, he left them in silence.

"What did we do to him to deserve that? I thought Ivan was my friend!" Gilbert crossed his arms. "No better than Arthur and Francis? The two of us? We're loads better! Especially because I wouldn't have the trouble Arthur has in crushing you once and for all."

"I think it was his way of giving us friendly advice, but it sure didn't feel friendly." Roderich rolled his eyes. "Give it up, you yourself admit your army's in bad shape right now. You couldn't defeat an invasion from Cleves, let alone my army. Defeating you would take half my forces and one eye closed."

Prussia rose, as did his temper. "Oh, and the Little Master is out here commanding his troops any better! I get my men back in shape, fire the useless, and it's over for you. You'll be on your knees before me, begging for mercy. But don't worry, I'd treat you well. Your head would hang on the shiniest pike in Berlin with a paper crown for a paper empire."

"You're kidding right? You're washed up, you're a joke. You're no longer the state you used to be, Gilbert. It would take a couple of infantry, some hussars, a couple of cannons and you'd be done for. I'd be in Berlin and no one would care or stop me. I'd be able to finally rip your heart from your chest, stilling you forever more, and hang it up on the mantelpiece. It would serve as a warning to any and all who sympathized with you or dared to defy me next of what I was capable of. And no annoying Prussian-check on my power to pretend to care about the little guy." As he spoke, Austria had backed Prussia into a corner. His right hand stood in the space between their chests. Prussia saw red, his fist twitched, he swung for Austria's jaw but was blocked. "You fucking idiot, you think you can pull the same move on me so soon? Learn some new tricks."

Russia clapped. "Wow, way to prove my point." Prussia and Austria jolted back. They forced back on their more civilized demeanor. "I wish you two would act like this more often in front of us all. So much more riveting and with an incredible amount of tension! Are you two always like this?"

Feeling panicked, they both switched into German. Russia shook his head. "You two are speaking so fast that I don't understand what you're screaming at me. No? No, no, no, no? You fuck-Gilbert that's not nice."

Eventually they calmed down. Austria managed composure enough to speak normally first. "I merely was so enamored with the idea of murdering him in cold blood that I got carried away. Surely you, of all nations, can understand that. We're normally much better behaved than this. The idea of unchecked power, even when not acted upon, is such a corrosive force. We're very good people, I assure you Ivan. We would never be like those two, ruining the world to kill each other. Pure fantasy nothing more!"

Prussia became much less eloquent once he figured out how to communicate again. "I got carried away with him begging on his knees, but I don't want him to actually do that! It was just a subtle way of letting him know how I'd dominate him! But not like that! I'd dominate him physically through capturing all his cities and having each state he controls turn against him, not in a weird way! Why are you making this weird? Is it so wrong for a man to want to kill his worst enemy? Oh, shit, yeah what he said. We totally don't act like this in private. We are men of moral character who haven't gotten in a fistfight in my basement recently. Yeah, we're actually best friends and this is just an act to impress people."

Austria jumped onto that. "Exactly! If people knew how much we loved each other - as cousins! As cousins, the best of cousins - they would be upset because they'd feel jealous that their family couldn't be like ours. We're so close that we share the same wife, look at us!" They put their arms around each other and smiled wide. "Nothing to think about here, so why don't you never bring that up again."

Ivan nodded, his eyebrows raised upward in apparent amusement. "I love you two, you're both so fragile. I can say anything and it sets you off." He laughed heartily, clutching at his stomach. "Thanks for revealing all of that personal information to me. You two will be the talk of Moscow when I return." He laughed off to his room, leaving Gilbert and Roderich feeling incredibly debased. They pushed each other away.

"Why mention that about Erzsi to him? What an idiot you are. Think before you speak next time!" Gilbert sneered at him. "I guess that would require you to have a brain first of all."

"As if you've been trying to be secretive about it at all! And how about you, why mention a fistfight in your basement? It wasn't even much of a fight, all you did was punch me and cause me to bite through my lip." He returned Gilbert's sneer. "Forget it, get the hell away from me. You've caused me enough trouble for the night."

"Fine, I was going to my room anyways!"

"Fine!"

They continued shouting fine at each other till Gilbert's door slammed shut. Roderich banged his head against the wall. He needed a new life, this one had grown too ridiculous for him to handle anymore. --- “I hope everything was alright before. From my room I heard a lot of frantic yelling in...I believe it was German? It all seemed to blur together. Did something happen?” Arthur mainly directed his question at Gilbert, who was focused on a painting next to Arthur’s head.

Ivan laughed. “Oh, you missed it. It was the funniest thing. Gilbert and-“ Gilbert had placed his hand over the Russian’s mouth. “Ivan, I’m telling you this because I care about you. If you breathe a word of that to anyone, you’re losing your only friend.”

He thought over this. In his eyes, Arthur observed Ivan go through frustration, bargaining, and then acceptance. Gilbert removed his hand. “Harsh, but very fair. I’m sorry Arthur, that must’ve been the wind. Nothing happened after you left.” The Briton looked between Ivan and Gilbert, then Gilbert and Ivan. “I-I-I, I guess so. Very well then. Cheers.” Shaking his head, he drank back all his whiskey before pouring himself another glass.

Gilbert bit his tongue to prevent himself from laughing, but he did nudge Ivan with his shoulder and the two shared a bemused look. He gestured to the deck of cards lying on the nearby table. “Forget idle chatter. Why don’t we play a bit of poker.”

Relieved to be back in normal territory, Arthur would agree to just about anything. “Certainly fills up the time.” He peered around Ivan to look at Erzsébet and Roderich. “Will you two be joining us?” ”It would be rude to say no, wouldn’t it dear?” More seemingly polite words laced with the faintest bit of malice. Erzsébet rose and made her way over to the other’s, sitting herself between Prussia and Britain.

Roderich sighed. He knew she was geared up for this fight, but he didn’t have it in him after the events from before. “You have fun, I’m an awful poker player.” “Maybe now we could make it strip poker if you’re in.” Gilbert had a hungry look about him. The room let out a collective breath after Erzsébet smacked him in the back of the head for the remark and called him crass. There would be no repeat of the previous night.

The group doled out the cards and the pennies they were playing for. The game carried on peacefully, the air filling with the usual joy of the winner and frustrations of the losers. It was so mundane that Roderich found that he had tuned them out completely and was engrossed in his book.

It seemed to Arthur as if Erzsébet and Gilbert could pick up on this somehow and use it as pretext for increased flirting. It started with Hungary leaning against his arm.

Gilbert looked down at her with an endeared look on his face. “Are you seriously trying to look at my cards?”

“Why would I need to do that? I’m beating you aren’t I?” The feigned innocence almost worked. Almost because Erzsébet couldn’t help herself leaning further to actually get a good look. “No wonder you’ve lost so much. What a bad hand.” Gilbert gently nudged her back upright. "Hey, there's a strategy here. Maybe you can't see it, but I'm three steps ahead of everyone and it's clear as day. So eye's on your own cards and learn from the master." His tone was chiding, but too familiar for it to not raise suspicion in Arthur. He glanced at Roderich and found him obliviously focusing on his book.

"She's not lying, your hand really is awful." Ivan looked over Gilbert's shoulder. "That's why you keep folding."

"Fuck it, I'm getting a new hand." Prussia switched out his cards quickly and put them in coat jacket, away from prying eyes.

"Oi, Gilbert. Try not to be so uncouth." Children. Britain was dealing with children. If he wanted to deal with this type of behavior, he would've visited Australia.

The Prussian rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Who do you think you are, my Vatti?"

Arthur forced a strained smile on his face. He looked between Ivan and Erzsébet. "Would you two mind pretending not to know English for a second?" Once they confirmed in their native languages, he pointed at Gilbert and dropped the fake smile. "You're a right cunt."

Instead of being properly insulted, his newly adopted children were howling in laughter. They had apparently never seen a more thrilling thing than Arthur using such a strong word before. If he knew how popular unrestrained cursing would make him, he might have considered that as his preferred mode of diplomacy. If all it took to secure the Anglo-Prussian alliance was insulting Prussia, then what a fool he was spending hundreds of thousands of pounds to make weak impressions on Gilbert's monarchs. As for Russia, well, what do you expect from a man whose culture revolves around wearing strange hats and doing completely inane dances? No wonder his nation reigned supreme above others.

In all the excitement, Arthur's neatly stacked pile of pennies got knocked to the floor. Grumbling, he knelt down to pick it up. A rough hand on a soft thigh, the image flashed in the corner of his eye. He took a hesitant glance before averting his gaze back on his scattered change. "For heaven's sake," he mouthed, not wanting to risk anyone hearing and having this turn into a scene. He cursed them. He cursed Gilbert and Erzsébet for being so blatant and he cursed Roderich for being so spineless in affairs of the heart (and, if Erzsébet's behavior was any indication, of the body too). He even cursed Ivan for being so oblivious, whether willfully or because his head was filled with slush, to everything going on around them. How did Roderich not realize he was setting himself up for disaster and Gilbert not realize that, somehow, this would blow up in his face? Fools, damned fools, the whole lot of them.

The Briton rose from the table, considering one game to be sufficiently over. He pitied poor Austria the most. To lack such control of his household or, more likely, being up against two stubborn forces of nature had to wear on him. Arthur himself understood, he'd been there through his dealings with France and Spain as equals and with America and Australia as caregiver. The idiot likely had no friends, was completely loathed by anyone who might be sympathetic to him due to his unlikable personality, and too emotionally constrained to try and forge a deep connection with another person. Was he projecting too much? He shook that thought off. No, Arthur was certain, he understood Roderich and he was going to have a companion through the rest of this week whether he liked it or not.

Roderich did not like it.

[isempiterna]

𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑃𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑒: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐷𝑜𝑣𝑒

   The year was 1942. Peter Walter I sat in the sun room of Walter Manor, having finally been pried from the basement laboratory at the insistence of his son, Peter Walter II. This had been a common conflict ever since Peter II had grown old enough to realize that his father’s obsession with creating automatons, while a scientific miracle, had gone past the line of unhealthy. Peter I wasn’t keeping track, specifically—he no longer kept track of much, not the number of mechanical beings he created nor how he created them—but as he watched the dusky glow of sunset caress his pale hands, he mused that more often that not, his son would eventually leave in some manner of upset and Peter would remain hunched over one of the many worktables, half-formed mounds of metal and wires drawing him in until they filled his lungs and eyes and mind. Until he hardly felt like a man, himself.

   But this time he had been too tired to resist Peter II’s firm-yet-gentle reprimands. And so he found himself in the cavernous room above the ground, watching the sun take his place below the horizon. Peter I could hardly remember the warmth of sunlight. The beauty of it hurt his eyes, his tired, tired eyes. He knew tiredness, an old and intimate friend, and so it was that he knew that this was a different sort, that things were changing. Time continued passing as was time’s nature. He was dying. 

   Gaze now fixed on the lace-like tops of trees, to the burnished sky beyond, Peter I thought of death. And while briefly he lingered on the slow approach of his own, much like the gradual arrival of night in front of him, he was not afraid, for his death had never concerned him. No, in this hour of ponder with his hands motionless in his lap, away from the haven of his work room where he could armor his mind with metal and rewire it with sparking circuitry, he allowed himself to think, for the first time in years, of Delilah. Beautiful, clever, brilliant Delilah; oh, how he loved her still. As he had a million, no, countless times beyond that, he wished that he only loved her more than his desire to be loved in return. A breath escape him softly, stale and ghosting on memories. He’d forgotten how beautiful the world was, how graceful the trees, how captivating the skies, but he could never forget the beauty of Delilah Moreau.

   The pale figure that appeared at the edge of the slender woods stole whatever breath he might have drawn. It was as though she had been summoned directly from his mind, impossible as it was—although who was he to claim the impossible? But no, the woman standing just shy of the shadows was not entirely true to his memory. For one, Delilah had never been so pale in life; only in death, eyes closed, her hair fanning slightly on the pillow of the sickbed. And that was another difference, for the Delilah he was looking at had short hair, not the long waves of soft ebony he had so admired. And...while she was certainly how he remembered her, she was not how he should know her.

   Peter found himself at the window, somehow, tremors coursing through his old and weary body as his hand, calloused and wrinkled, fumbled with the latch. But she was still young, in her prime, strong and healthy and alive, not dead or dying. And yet as the window swung open, the slight glare of glass separating them removed and he saw her more clearly, there was something new to her. A quiet something, not noticeable like pale skin or hair that brushed her jaw but undeniably there. An undercurrent. A timelessness.

   “Delilah...” he wheezed, still not able to catch his breath. “Delilah?” He could not know if she heard him, only hope, but he hoped with a fierceness that had him believing it to be true. “Delilah, I...” Whatever he was going to say trailed off before he could even know what it was. She would not stay; he knew it like he knew that she really was Delilah who had died, been dead for years. Or, not so dead, it seemed. Whatever he said now would truly be the last thing he ever said to her.

   For a handful seconds hoarded into eternity the two simply looked at each other, her eyes so bright and clear they were almost glowing and his, dimmed and only fading further. He had lived his life, and she...she had found another. 

   And just like that, Peter suddenly knew there was nothing to say. True, he loved her still and would never stop loving her to his last breath, but this was not her life anymore. He did not know this Delilah, not for lack of wanting but simply for lack of time; even if she stayed, they could never return to their old relationship of colleagues, much less achieve a new one. He had a son, a family he had built with his own hands, years of memories without her. What Delilah had he did not know, but he didn’t want to give her the burden of an old man, a reminder of a past that was long since covered in dust and buried. This was not a reunion; this was a goodbye.

   So Peter smiled. He smiled bigger than he had ever smiled before, until it felt like it covered his whole face, until his eyes were almost closed so tightly that all the moisture was being squeezed out to trickle down the lines of his cheeks. He smiled with all the strength and determination and wonder that had lead him to his path in life, to discover and create new life in ways only dreamed of. He smiled like the rising sun, and she smiled back, small and peaceful and mysterious.

   And then she was gone before he could realize it, fading back into the secret darkness of the night. The light was but a lingering glow of an ember ready to sleep. And for the first time, he felt no sense of loss. For the first time in a long time, Peter I felt awake, clear of mind and inspired with the bubbling energy that drove him all those years ago. He felt invigorated. He needed to work. Not to distract or avoid or forget, but because his thoughts were crashing together and sparking and on the verge of exploding; they were buzzing and he needed to create. 

   Peter II’s voice floated from somewhere behind him, asking if everything was okay. The elder Walter turned from the window, strode across the room to his son to grip his shoulders with metal-toughened hands. He could still feel remains of the smile on his mouth, see the surprise in his son’s face, a spark of hope in his eyes.

   “I have an idea, Junior.” The nickname was old, from a time when Peter II still fell of his bike and dropped his ice cream, when Peter I had managed to rouse himself from his self-imposed prison to taste again the joys of life. It had not been used in many years. “And I want you to work with me.”

   The Mourning Dove was built with the original idea of being a new addition to the band once the others returned from the war. However, as the war struggled on, plans were changed and The Mourning Dove was modified to be a medical unit to be sent to join the war. Given a titanium alloy skeleton to help withstand the dangers of war (as well as hollow compartments in her legs and arms to store medical supplies, small gas canister chambers in her lower rib cage, and a variety of medical and mechanical tools in her hands and wrists) it was not long after she woke that she was sent across seas. It was the first and last that she ever saw her creator.

   The first time she and her siblings ever met was on the battlefield; along with the medical treatment files for humans, Peter I had also added a large file containing all the information she would need to help maintain her fellow automatons. Because she did not have the necessary additions to be a weapon she quickly grew closest to The Jon due to the medical support he would often assist in, though it was inevitable that they all grew to love each other simply because that was how their Pappy made them.

   When the war finally ended and the bots were returned home they were finally allowed the time to get to know each other in peace. Those were good years, if not perfect, touched with the sad passing of Judith and ever-shadowed by the loss of Peter I. But it was a shared loss, and the robot siblings pulled together to support each other, and they were surrounded by the loving members of Walter Manor.

   Five years later, that peace was shattered. Rabbit’s power core was stolen by the Walters’ competitor Becile, and with it The Mourning Dove. Although Rabbit’s core was eventually recovered at a terrible price, The Mourning Dove was never found, and it was assumed she was destroyed in the blast along with Peter II and Guy Hottie.

   In fact, The Mourning Dove survived, though she would remain in stasis in the space-time continuum for many years to come. With the rift still open she was trapped there, unable to settle fully in any world, and it wasn’t until it was closed by Peter VI that her existence was finally able to stabilize. Unfortunately, she would not be found until some years later by a particularly adventurous and not-quite-law-abiding mechanic.

   After being brought home by Lark, many weeks are spent laboriously fixing up the damaged bot. The various dings, dents, scuffs and scratches are easily dealt with, but the deep gouge in her lower back resulted in a partially severed spinal column which would require an entirely new replacement. Without that kind of money or material on hand, Lark had to settle for installing new oil and hydraulic lines, circuit cables, and fixing up as many little things as she could to make the eventual spine replacement easier. During this time The Mourning Dove was left in stasis, as she would only be shut down again for all the necessary repairs.

   Finally, however, Lark had done all that she could, and it was with great anticipation that she started up the Walter automaton. Once online, though, only more problems were discovered. At some point, or perhaps slowly over time, a total data scramble had occurred; some files were erased either partially or fully and many more were locked, and a small corruption in her processing hard-drive would short her out every time she tried to retrieve them. Essentially, The Mourning Dove was experiencing amnesia. When asked her name she could not remember, and it was only Lark’s introduction that prompted a vague feeling that it had something to do with birds as well. Immediately after that she was dubbed Sparrow.

   It was at this time that Lark’s previous decision began to waver—for while she had known that this was a Walter bot and should rightfully be brought back to her original home, the mechanic had been dreaming for so long of the wonders that were the robots that she couldn’t help but desire to keep her, just long enough to learn more about how she worked both as a machine and as a person with a unique soul. At first Lark had planned to fix her and befriend her before returning her home (and perhaps even acquire a job as a Walter mechanic), but with the new revelations she became unsure. A selfish part of her realized that with the lack of memories it would be all too easy to keep her for good, but Lark squashed it quickly, unsettled by the thought. And then there was the problem of the replacement spine; it would take Lark a good while of hard saving before she could fully repair the bot, but with the help of Walter Robotics it would be a cinch. 

   However, unbeknownst to either party, the trouble runs even deeper yet. In the casing that holds Sparrow’s Blue Matter core there is a small, hairline crack. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been a problem had she been recovered at the same as Rabbit’s core, but it’s been over 50 years since then, nearly all of which has been spent stuck in the limbo of the space-time continuum. This lead to a fundamental alteration in her Blue Matter linking to the space-time continuum, which eventually becomes a next-level can of worms.

   Due to the link, there is a constant trickle of unknown energy bleeding through the core. As more energy gathers and builds up it becomes unstable, and eventually a rift will open, pulling Sparrow and anyone too close to her into another part of the world, a different world entirely, and sometimes a completely different dimension. It has also affected her hard-drive, allowing her to occasionally receive random data from anywhere: the future, the past, information that should be impossible for anyone to access, or even data from other worlds. This technopathy is independent of her will and a rare occurrence; however, there is a possibility that she could induce it with extensive practice, willpower, and focus. Using it consciously would come at a steep price with dangerous side effects, though, such as increased susceptibility to unknown viruses (including real diseases translated into viruses), as well as creating back doors for anyone/thing that might attempt to breach her system. Consciously inducing it also raises the traceability, whereas when it’s random it’s nigh untrackable.

[wordybee]

the words that make an origin story

Community Appreciation Week 2017 Day 1: favorite character (Troy Barnes)

also available on ao3, in case my blog isn’t fun to read on.

Troy knows that he's not the smartest. It never really bothers him, because his teacher knows that he tries and she never yells at him. He’s only six years old, his mom says, and learning will come with time. Figuring out the difference between the little letter ‘b’ and the little letter ‘d’ just requires practice. Adding and subtracting the numbers his teacher gives him might take him a few moments longer than the rest of the kids, but she’s never said anything about the way he counts on his fingers. Practice, practice, practice – that’s all he needs. The schooling environment is harder for some children, the adults say to each other when they think he isn’t listening, but everything evens out in the end and Troy will be just fine with practice.

He doesn’t know how practice will solve his confusion over why cats and dogs can’t mix and make a really cute puppy-kitten for him to play with, or how Godzilla can’t be real when Godzilla shows up on the same exact television from which Troy’s dad gets his news, and news is completely real. But practice is the answer, somehow, and when Troy learns what it is he needs to practice, he’ll be just as smart as the other kids. It will be nice, he thinks, when he doesn’t have to feel so confused anymore. When his mom will stop having to tell him, in that sympathetically encouraging voice, that kindness is more important than being smart, and it’s not even that Troy isn’t smart, but maybe he jumps to conclusions a bit too quickly and doesn’t spend enough time thinking things through. Kindness is important, though, and the rest will come with time.

Those words enter his mind and become a mantra, long before he ever figures out what a mantra even is. He repeats them to himself when he counts his fingers wrong and when he writes ‘bog’ instead of ‘dog’ and when he gets confused over why the Pledge of Allegiance makes him pledge to a Republic that’s invisible, with liberty and justice for all. For years, he repeats his mother’s words of comfort without realizing that he’s even doing it, until the idea of them becomes a truth as true as any he’s ever known.

Troy knows that children aren’t the cause of their parents’ divorce. There are a lot of television shows that use an episode or two to hammer that message home, to the point where he’s pretty sick of seeing it. Of course kids aren’t the cause of divorce. Parents practically live in alternate universes from their children, with things like electricity bills and nine-to-five jobs to deal with, so how could something as simple as having a kid lead them to break up? It’s far more likely that paying bills causes divorce, or getting the wrong kind of car, or something called Insurance Premiums that Troy doesn’t actually understand – but they do sound complicated.

Still, the fact that Troy’s name comes up often in their arguments makes him second-guess the things he learned from television.

“You’re too hard on Troy,” his mom says. They don’t know he’s listening to them in the living room from his chair at the kitchen table. If they knew he could hear them, his mom would have that sour, forced smile on her face and his dad would be stern, would probably pick up a newspaper to hide behind and refuse to say anything at all while Mom asked Troy about school and friends and the girls he liked.

“You’re too soft on him,” Troy’s dad snaps. “The boy has no common sense. He could’ve gotten hit by a car because he got distracted by a dog. He’s twelve years old and he doesn’t know that you look both ways before crossing the street?”

Oh, was that what they were fighting over? His parents hadn’t seemed too angry with him that morning, just disappointed and concerned. If anything, the angry person in that conversation had been the lady who had marched him to his front door and started lecturing his mom and dad about how she’d almost hit him with her car, and how Troy hadn’t even hesitated before running across the street, and how they should teach him better about road safety. Why weren’t they fighting with that lady, instead of with each other?

Anyway, Troy had seen the glimmer of pride in his mom’s eyes when he’d explained the dog stuck on the median, and how he’d just wanted to get it to safety.

Kindness is more important.

Then Troy’s dad says, “This world is going to eat him alive.”

The words drive themselves deep, much like the mantra his mother had given him when he was six years old and always confused. Without realizing it, Troy secures these words somewhere in the depths of his mind and they begin cycling through his thoughts, over and over and over.

Six months later, when his mom is hugging him goodbye and holding a plane ticket to North Carolina, Troy’s heart is breaking and all he can do is cling to her. There’s something inside of him that believes if he just keeps hold of her, she’ll miss her flight and she’ll never have to leave. He knows that it’s ridiculous, that she will leave regardless, but he holds her and holds her and holds her until his father is prying his arms away and she’s stepping back to lift her suitcase off the pavement.

He watches her leave through the sliding glass doors of the Denver airport and, for what it’s worth, his dad slaps an almost comforting hand on his shoulder before pulling him away, back toward the car.

Troy’s father doesn’t say anything as he drives them back to the house. He doesn’t say anything as he gets out of the car. He doesn’t say anything as he pointedly opens Troy’s passenger-side door and gestures toward the house, and he doesn’t say anything as Troy unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the vehicle as slowly as possible.

It’s only when Troy is glumly staring at the front door, standing in a city that no longer contains his mother and is therefore woefully bereft of things like hugs and sympathy and understanding, that Troy’s dad speaks.

“You need to toughen up, Troy. Or this world is going to eat you alive.”

Troy knows that high school is important because television says it is. He knows that he has to plan his next four years out carefully or they’ll be hell. He knows that this is what his father meant two years ago when he’d told him that the world could eat him alive.

He tries his best not to picture a fissure in the ground full of rocky teeth when he remembers the words, because that is exactly the sort of thing that would make Dad roll his eyes at Troy and hide, silent, behind a newspaper for several hours.

Toughen up, Troy. Think things through. Stop daydreaming. They’re all his dad’s words, all things that have rooted themselves in Troy’s brain. Troy has always been dumb and thoughtless and confused, has always acted without processing and only realized afterwards why his actions had been wrong. He’s assumed things and believed things and arrived at conclusions that didn’t actually make sense, and really – that was no way to go through life, right? He tells himself that his father’s advice on strength is exactly what he needs, especially for high school.

When he sits down in his homeroom class on his first day, Troy decides that the best strategy for getting through school is the one his dad uses for getting through life: silence. Troy has no newspaper to hide behind, of course, but he can hide behind his smiles and a cultivated aloofness and an acceptance of his own dimness that the other kids in class learn to respect. He doesn’t get embarrassed when he gets things wrong – he gets comedic. He gets stubborn. He efficiently carves out a space in his high school as someone who is well-liked and popular and strong, and his dad’s words are what propel him and bolster him.

But one morning early on, as he’s heading into his freshman Algebra class, he hears the loud bang of an oversized textbook falling and the brash echo of teenage laughter and looks to see a gawky fellow classmate struggling to pick up her book without sending everything else in her arms toppling to the shiny tile floor. Troy thinks nothing of bending down to pick up the book, just smiles pleasantly as he hands it back to a chubby girl with crooked teeth and frizzy brown hair. Because several years ago, his mother had said something too, and her words stick inside his head – less prominent, perhaps – just has his father’s words do:

Kindness is more important.

Troy knows that students like him, who aren’t good with books and grades but are pretty good at memorizing sports moves and throwing things, belong on teams. It’s the safest place to be. If you’re really good, sports teams can get you extra help from teachers and private tutors, and – if you’re really, really good – safety from failing grades. They can also get you into college after high school, which can get you a good job and a good life when school is over.

He joins the football team. His dad is proud of him, but when he calls his mom in North Carolina for their weekly chat, she’s concerned until he explains the stuff about college to her. She knows just as well as he does that Troy’s grades have never been (and probably will never be) good enough to get him into a good university, and he has no skills that look particularly impressive on a resume. For the sake of her boy’s future, she tells him to try his best and to still go to church, and he doesn’t inform her that church isn’t really something his dad does anymore and, by extension, neither does Troy.

For the first time in a long time, Troy’s dad looks at him with more than vague concern over his dim, good-natured son’s future. He looks at Troy with pride, and Troy accepts that pride readily, because he deserves it. Because Troy is good at football. Being good at something, Troy finds out, is a great way to learn who you are, and Troy becomes Troy Barnes, Star Quarterback for Riverside High. It gets easier and easier for him to slide into the role of strength and popularity that stems from his father’s advice, easier and easier for him to let the words his mother had spoken fade into the back of his mind, mostly forgotten.

He passes through high school breezily, learns the school’s fight songs and earns glory and a letterman jacket and promises of a bright, gilded future. He laughs off his middling-to-poor grades because they don’t matter, and the people who get good grades are just nerds. Who cares? Troy Barnes, Star Quarterback for Riverside High, is going to be famous one day. He’s going to be rich and famous and strong, and it won’t make a difference that he isn’t so smart.

Troy ignores the suffocating feeling that grips him whenever his coach shows him off to talent scouts and brags about the trophies Troy has won for the school and how he’s going down in history as one of the best players in the game someday. He ignores the familiar vision of an earthy maw with sharp, rocky teeth chomping at Troy’s feet, because it’s a ridiculous idea and the world can’t devour someone as great as Troy Barnes.

Troy knows that his mom will be livid when she finds out he’d gotten hurt doing a keg flip, and he knows that she’ll consider the loss of his scholarship a justified punishment from God for drinking alcohol. He also knows that she can never, ever find out that he injured himself on purpose – that the thought of spending four more years crammed into the identity of the stupid, shallow jock he had created as a freshman made him either want to run and join the circus or injure himself to make the possibility impossible. In the end, he was drunk and feeling no pain and the opportunity was there for the taking. And also, he didn’t really agree with the circus’s treatment of animals.

His father is livid as well, but Dad’s anger has always been easier to deal with than Mom’s, because his anger is just more silence. Troy is used to the quiet. It sucks that he can’t really expect his father to help him get around the house, though, and he wishes his injury hadn’t been so incredibly successful. One shoulder dislocation would have been enough; two is overkill. But Troy thinks he probably deserves the inconvenience of having to feed himself with both arms in slings.

He’s sitting up late at night, surrounded by the mess one creates when one has to tear into a bag of Cheez-its with one’s teeth and a precariously-angled desk drawer, when he sees the commercial for a local community college. The school seems pretty laid back, Troy figures, and like the sort of place he could use to avoid his dad for a few hours. Also, the nerdy basketball dude’s cool thumbs-up move makes him laugh, and then wince when he tries to do it with one of his injured arms.

Troy doesn’t know what he’s doing as he signs the admissions papers for Greendale Community College. He doesn’t know what he wants to study, or if he wants to study anything at all, so when the advisor asks him questions he just smiles and shrugs his freshly-healed shoulders and lets the lady sign him up for some basic classes. She tells him that he doesn’t need any remedial courses, which Troy is weirdly proud about, even when she ends the pronouncement by adding, just barely.  His mother’s words, the mantra that he’d buried under football and popularity and strength, resurface again – kindness is more important – and just keeps smiling through his embarrassment.

It’s strange. Those words hadn’t entered his mind in years, as the daunting high-school environment made his father’s harsher advice seem more practical. But Troy doesn’t think the same words that got him through high school will work at Greendale. He’s not even sure they worked back in high school. Maybe his mother’s words will be more useful, or maybe Troy will find some different words to live by, some mantra that is unique to himself and his life from this point onward.

Troy doesn’t know if he’ll make new friends or if he’ll drop out during his first semester. He doesn’t know if his dad will let him stick around, or if he’ll have to get a job and an apartment and live on his own because the silence is too much and home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Troy doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life and he doesn’t know if he’ll need to be kind or if he’ll need to be strong, but he thinks it’ll probably have to be a mix of the two. He doesn’t know if he’ll be popular, if he’ll get a girlfriend, if he’ll have fun or get so bored that washing dishes at Denny’s will look like heaven compared to another four or so years of academia. Troy doesn’t know if he’s smart enough for college, even a community college with standards so low that the application reads You’re Already Accepted! at the bottom in Comic Sans font.

But there is a uniqueness to this place, he has to admit. Troy thinks that just maybe this is where he needs to be to find that new mantra and that new path in life, one where he can be a kind of smart instead of kind instead of smart. One where he could be strong even though he daydreams too much. He decides that it’s all right for him to just go with it for once, to stop worrying and stop pretending and stop thinking about how things are supposed to be, because he really doesn’t know. For the first time in a long time, Troy finds peace in not knowing.

[thisdaynews]

Team Biden beats the press

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/team-biden-beats-the-press/

Team Biden beats the press

The first thing you notice at a Joe Biden event is the age: Many of the reporters covering him are really young. Biden is not. The press corps, or so the Biden campaign sees it, is culturally liberal and highly attuned to modern issues around race and gender and social justice. Biden is not. The reporters are Extremely Online. Biden couldn’t tell you what TikTok is.

Inside the Biden campaign, it is the collision between these two worlds that advisers believe explain why his White House run often looks like a months-long series of gaffes. For a team in command of the Democratic primary, at least for now, they’re awfully resentful of how their man is being covered. And yet supremely confident that they, not the woke press that pounces on Biden’s every seeming error and blight in his record, has a vastly superior understanding of the Democratic electorate. This is the central paradox of Biden’s run: He’s been amazingly durable. But he gets no respect from the people who make conventional wisdom on the left.

Story Continued Below

“I don’t know of anybody who has taken as sustained and vitriolic a negative pounding as Biden and who has come through it with the strength he has,” said a top Biden adviser. “So why isn’t the argument not that he’s a ‘fragile front runner,’ but instead why is this guy so strong? How is he able to withstand this? Because it is unrelenting. Every story that has been written about Biden for a month has been negative! I would ask Warren and Sanders and these folks: He’s been pummeled for months. For months! So why is he going to fall apart now?”

In mid-June, when I spent a few days on the Biden campaign trail, one of the biggest stories on Twitter to circulate about his swing through eastern Iowa was about a young female activist who said she felt intimidated by Biden when she asked him a question about his reversal on the Hyde Amendment. A photo of the encounter went viral, with almost 25,000 likes and retweets. To many influential commentators on lefty Twitter, where Biden is sometimes accorded only slightly more respect than Donald Trump, it was a disrespectful and blatant act of Biden mansplaining. Vice reported breathlessly, “In the photo, Biden, the current Democratic frontrunner, is pointing his finger in Cayo’s face with his eyebrows raised.”

During another stop, at a diner in Eldridge, Biden’s only comment that made news was a cringe-inducing remark to a 13-year-old girl’s brothers: “You’ve got one job here, keep the guys away from your sister.” He’s been using a version of this avuncular bit of schtick for years, but this time it created a furious Twitter outrage cycle. (Biden seems to have learned a lesson and abandoned the line.)

On the same trip, Biden spoke at a mid-day event in Clinton, Iowa. At one point he discussed the benefits of electric scooters as a transportation solution in city centers, and he explained that after a rider hops off a scooter, he plugs it in. He pantomimed someone inserting a power cord into an outlet, which, as anyone who has used one knows, is not what you do. Reporters, myself included, snickered at the micro-gaffe.

To many Biden supporters, who polls consistently show are older, more working class, and more culturally conservative, these alleged gaffes are eye-rolling examples of the absurdity of the press or the woke left. They think the young activist in eastern Iowa should toughen up, that the throwaway line to the 13-year-old is endearing, and that Biden’s lack of precision when he speaks, about scooters or so many other things, is a sign of his authenticity. And they grouse that Biden is held to a standard President Donald Trump is not.

How Democrats see such episodes is at the heart of the Democratic primary. One side views these sorts of typical Biden campaign-trail moments as evidence of a politician well past his prime — casually sexist in a way that might have gone unremarked in, say, 1973 when he first joined the Senate. His supporters see them as good examples of why he’s the lovable Democrat best-suited to beat Trump. What is clear is that the critics, who are louder and more visible online and on cable TV, have had absolutely no impact on changing Biden’s status as the steady front-runner in the race.

This woke-working class divide is at the heart of the most salient fact about the Democratic primaries: Nothing has damaged Biden. Biden entered the race with about 30 percent support nationally and he has that same 30 percent today.

Perhaps this could all begin to change tomorrow night in Houston, when for the first time Biden and his two closest competitors, Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders, will be on the same debate stage. But so far, just as the press has been unable to disrupt Biden’s bond with his core thirty, his Democratic opponents seem similarly at a loss to understand, let alone undo, Biden’s enduring appeal.

***

Given Biden’s resilience and consistent lead in the national polls, his advisers range from bemusement to rage in their frustration with how he has been treated by the press and many liberal elites.

They brandish the many predictions of his demise as evidence of their more sophisticated understanding of the Democratic electorate. “He’s still leading the race nationally. He’s leading in Iowa. It looks like he’s in a dead heat in New Hampshire,” said the top Biden adviser. “I don’t know why the story in New Hampshire isn’t how Bernie Sanders went from sixty to fourteen. And why is it that Biden is beating Warren in Massachusetts? And he’s way ahead in South Carolina. And this is all on the back end of really the most vicious press I think anyone’s experienced. So that to me is a statement of strength. And anyone who’s sitting around waiting for him to fall apart—you know what, it hasn’t happened yet.”

To Biden’s advisers and allies, the gap between a press corps, as well as the wider online political class, that is largely in its twenties and thirties and a candidate who would be 78 at his Inaugural explains a lot about why the pundits and Twitter activists are so confounded by the former vice president’s resilience.

“You have a press corps in which most of them were in college when Barack Obama ran for president and they have fundamentally no understanding and experience in how politics works,” said a well-known Democrat backing Biden. “They have not really covered a true Democratic primary ever because there hasn’t been one since 2008. The 2016 race didn’t become a real primary until very late and the press corps never thought Bernie would win. And Bernie never got the treatment from the press corps that opponents like him typically get. So they haven’t seen this kind of race.”

This dynamic has produced what Beto O’Rourke might call a fuck-you attitude inside Biden world toward the press and liberal social media influencers who drool over Elizabeth Warren’s every policy paper and see Biden as hopelessly square.

The well-known Democrat said of the Biden press corps, “They view this party as dominated by woke millennials and through the lens of coastal issues. They are products, increasingly, of fairly elite schools and they don’t talk to a lot of voters who don’t look and talk like them except their parents, who also tend to be similar to them. Occasionally they are shocked to learn they have relatives who voted for Donald Trump. And they were not on the ground in the Midwest primaries for governor races in 2018 in Michigan and Ohio and Wisconsin where more moderate and older and more experienced candidates won against young cool left — often people of color — primary opponents.”

They are, this person argued, obsessed with a Democratic Party that exists only on Twitter. She pointedly noted that there are Democrats “outside of those 18,000 voters in Queens,” referring to the total vote share — it was actually closer to 17,000 — for Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez in her June 2018 primary victory. “And by the way, those didn’t even tend to be the economically disadvantaged people of color who live in that district. They were the quote ‘new people’ if you talk to anyone from New York.”

Her point was that the AOC phenomenon “is emblematic of what most reportersthinkis going on nationally.”

To Biden world, it’s the media’s cultural affinity for this New New Left that explains why the Biden-will-soon-collapse storyline has such staying power.

“I get this question all the time: Why does the press hate him so much?” she said. “And the answer is because they are younger and they want someone cooler.”

***

Last Saturday, 19 of the Democrats running for president spoke at an all-day convention of the New Hampshire Democratic Party in Manchester. The event attracts the state’s most important activists, as well as a good smattering of Democratic political junkies from around the northeast, and campaigns are under pressure to create some theatrics with supporters and signage and post-convention parties in nearby parks and beer halls.

On stage before the party delegates, several candidates began to make a more robust case against Biden. Elizabeth Warren owned the room, and the day, with an electric performance that also showcased her campaign’s ability to organize. She brought in many supporters from Massachusetts and outfitted them with inflatable thunder sticks, producing a well-choreographed but authentic audience response that her campaign immediately used for a promotional video. (“We did the same thing with Dukakis in ‘88,” one longtime Democratic strategist noted about busing in supporters from the neighboring state.)

Biden’s message is that Trump represents a unique threat that requires Democratic voters to be careful and ultimately risk averse in choosing a nominee to face him ��an unmistakable warning not to elect someone too far to the left, such as Warren or Sanders.

Warren’s response remains subtle, for now. “There is a lot at stake and people are scared,” Warren told the crowd on Saturday. “But we can’t choose a candidate we don’t believe in because we’re scared. And we can’t ask other people to vote for someone we don’t believe in. I am not afraid and for Democrats to win you can’t be afraid either.”

The assumption embedded in Warren’s line is that many of Biden’s supporters aren’t really enthusiastic about him, that they are backing him out of some misguided sense of obligation and fear, which also might explain his modest crowds and the lack of any Biden thunder-stick moments in this campaign.

This line of attack drives people inside the Biden campaign mad. To them it smacks of elitism and suggests that Warren and her most vocal supporters believe that Biden’s voters, who polls consistently show are more likely to be working class and people of color, are somehow not smart enough to understand why they support him.

“This gets back to the vitriol of the left,” said the prominent Democrat. “They seem to feel like, ‘Why don’t you dumb voters see what we see? If we yell at you enough will you start to listen to us?’”

“The party is older than people think. It’s more centrist than people think,” said the senior Biden adviser. He noted that Biden’s favorability rating among Democrats has been in the mid 70s since the start of this race.

“But they say he’s out of step with the party! Well he’s the only person to demonstrate substantial support across a multiracial coalition. So actually he is mostin stepwith the party. But no one ever sees it that way because that is not the world as seen through Twitter.”

Speaking early in the day on Saturday, Biden gave his typical stump speech about beating Trump and rebuilding the middle class, but the only thing that really made any news was when, at one point, he accidentally said “hump” instead of “Trump.”

Other candidates have begun beta testing a more direct anti-Biden message, and the intensity of the message seems closely correlated with how poorly the candidate’s campaign is faring. “Democrats are long past believing that we want to be led by folks that supported the Iraq war and are long past a generation of politicians that couldn’t do anything about the income stagnation that exists in this country,” Sen. Michael Bennet told me in an interview backstage. “When you hear the vice president, who I’ve nothing but the highest regard for, say that if we just get rid of Trump it will all go back to normal, which is what he’s saying, it misses the 10 years that I’ve been in the Senate when it’s never been normal. And for the last six years of the Obama administration he couldn’t get anything done.”

Like others, Bennet argued that the polls were misleading and would get more volatile as voters focused more closely on the race. “If history is any guide, the people that are leading today are not going to be the people that win in Iowa and win in New Hampshire,” he insisted, adding with self-deprecation: “And I’m prepared to let history be our guide since I’m at 1 percent today.”

After his speech, Mayor Pete Buttigieg and his husband, Chasten, played cornhole and ate ice-cream at a nearby park while mixing with supporters. In an interview, he made an anti-Biden case that put him somewhere between Warren and Bennet.

“Every single time Democrats have won it’s somebody who’s generally viewed as outside of Washington, typically somebody from a new generation and somebody with a different approach,” he told me, noting the victories of Kennedy, Carter, Clinton and Obama. “And every time we’ve tried to do something very conventional, and very safe and had a very established Washington nominee, every time we’ve come up short. This is not just a pattern. This has essentially been an iron law for the last 50 or 60 years.”

The Biden camp scoffs at the generational argument. “The last guy who tried this was out of the race in a week, that congressman from California,” said the senior Biden adviser, who couldn’t remember the name of 38-year-old Eric Swalwell, who tried in vain to create a viral moment about generational change during the first debate. “He was going to pass the torch.”

Swalwell told me he was wrong that this was the right moment for that message and doubted that a candidate like Buttigieg would be any more successful than he was. “I felt like I was in a bad traffic jam with no offramp and no way to get ahead,” he said in an interview about his short-lived campaign. “And certainly the lead car was the vice president. I don’t know if this is a generational election because of who the president is. Beating him is so important because of who he is and what a threat to democracy he is. It is still early and there are still other generational candidates but my sense is that this isn’t a ‘Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow’ election. The stakes are so high with this president that there is a fear of rolling the dice.”

Perhaps the one line of attack that just might work against Biden is, at least for the moment, the only area of criticism considered strictly off limits by almost every campaign. Most of Biden’s opponents are scared to directly confront the one issue that both his gaffes and all the talk about generational change tiptoe around: his age.

I rode with Steve Bullock, the governor of Montana, to the convention arena. He is supremely confident and polished and in the back seat of his SUV discussed his successes as governor, his frustrations about being excluded from the next debate, and his concerns about the leftward lunge of his party. The only time he seemed to hold back was when I raised the issue of whether Biden was really up for the job. “I think that’s one for the voters to figure out more than me,” he said. (His campaign manager escalated the rhetoric slightly in a memo sent to reporters on Tuesday that said, “there is a growing fear that the candidates promising revolutions are out of step with general election voters while others fear Vice President Biden may be unable to take down Trump.”)

In the afternoon, the issue of Biden’s age and mental acuity suddenly burst open in the airless media room where most of the candidates, though not Biden, spoke with reporters after their speeches. I asked Rep. Tim Ryan, who the previous day had been quoted saying that Biden was “declining,” whether he meant declining in the polls or mentally declining and he made it clear he meant the latter. Pressed further by reporters, he would only say “there’s a lack of clarity” when Biden speaks. (“You know, with Ryan, if he declines anymore he’s going from like one to zero,” the senior Biden adviser told me in response.)

But Ryan was alone in raising the issue. Afterward I visited Sen. Amy Klobuchar in her suite and, she too refused to engage on the subject when I mentioned Ryan’s remarks. “I’m running my own campaign,” she said through bites of an apple, explaining why she wouldn’t discuss Biden or any of her other opponents. After five minutes of pressing her about how to differentiate herself from Biden, she essentially ended the interview. Like several other candidates, her strategy remains one of waiting for Biden’s collapse rather than trying to trigger it.

But offstage, in the backrooms of the SNHU Arena and nearby hotel lobbies where activists and aides gathered, the discussion frequently turned to whether Biden is up to the task of facing Trump.

“The narrative that Biden has staying power is bullshit,” said a senior adviser to one of Biden’s rivals. “It is just too fucking early. Did we not learn anything from 2016 that polls are shit? The dude does not know what is going on. He is not in fighting shape to beat Trump. You put him on stage together with Trump and they’re both gonna forget shit but Trump is sharper. The dude is just old and it’s showing and they’re fighting every day to make the case that’s not happening but it is.”

But only Bakari Sellers, a former South Carolina state legislator and supporter and informal adviser to Sen. Kamala Harris, was willing to say the quiet part out loud.

“Joe Biden has been running for president since before I was born,” Sellers said. “Joe Biden is nearly 80 years old and he’s running to be president of the United States. My dad was president of an HBCU and will be 75 this year and his doctors told him he couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t have the energy and strength to lead that campus anymore. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t a great man and a great leader and a great visionary. But it is a justifiable conversation.”

Sellers went further and lumped Sanders and Warren into the debate about age. “The three front-runners are all older than Ronald Reagan was when he took over,” he said. “Democrats are afraid of criticism, which is silly to me. But we are going to have a contentious primary on vigor and issues about fitness to be president.”

Then he paused and added, “But at the end of the day I’ll take a 90-year old Joe Biden over Donald Trump.”

The tricky part about attacking Biden is that few Democratic voters have any hostility toward Biden personally. The most aggressive public attack against him was by Harris in the first debate, when she confronted him about his past positions on busing and working with segregationist senators. She juiced her fundraising in the days following the debate and received a spike in national polls, but her numbers soon settled back down to where they were, at about seven percent. Biden’s advisers now frequently mention the episode as a cautionary tale for others.

“Kamala going after Biden didn’t really work out for her so I’m curious to see how many try that again on Thursday,” said a Democrat close to the Biden campaign. “How do you tear down the front-runner that everyone actually likes?”

He added, “Do I believe that Joe Biden is the future of the party? No. But he’s the right person to beat this president in 2020.”

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Exclusive interview with BMW X3 and Concept Z4 Designer, Calvin Luk

Calvin Luk has been one of the most important designers at BMW in recent years. Having penned the refreshed 1 Series Hatchback, which dramatically improved its looks, Luk has been one of the favorite BMW designers among many fans. He is also the man responsible for the new BMW X1 and now the new BMW X3. And he just gave us the BMW Concept Z4 as well.

His best creation to date is arguably the new BMW X3, the mainstream SUV which brings a refreshed look to the BMW SUV lineup and some interesting design cues. To learn more about the X3 and Concept Z4’s design, we reached out to Luk for an interview describing in detail the thought process, not only behind the X3, but around car design in general.

How did the BMW X3 come to life and what were some of the initial design requirements that you had to adhere by?

When it came time to start thinking of the next generation X3 we started with the intention to make the car sportier and tougher. Proportionally, we stretched the car, increasing the wheelbase by roughly 55mm, and toughened up the stance with 10mm extra width and larger wheels.

With the foundations set, there was an internal competition amongst the designers, producing a bandwidth of sketch proposals. Those with the most potential were selected, and explored further by making ‘tape drawings’ – think of these as 2D full sized renderings made out of black tape, filling up the entire wall. They help to visualise a design over an engineering package, and to translate our ideas from 2D to 3D.

During and after this period, the models were developed in 3D computer programs, followed by full-scale clay models. Working with a team of clay sculptors, we refined the volumes and surfaces of the cars. After the final design has been selected by the BMW board of management, we were busy refining surfaces and incorporating technical considerations in preparation for manufacturing and bringing it to the street!

What was the thought process going from designing the X1 to the X3? Any influences?

The BMW X1 and X3 are brothers in the X-family and both showcase corecharacteristics of strength, power, and confidence. The X1 being the younger brother is more youthful, and the side-view gesture has more wedge (front low, rear high) giving it an ambitious ‘go-getter’ attitude. The X3 is bold and powerful, it utilizes large kidneys positioned high up for an upright posture with lots of presence, and it is combined with a more horizontal side-view gesture to express maturity, sovereignty and elegance.

Would you describe the new X3 as being more muscular, sportier than the second-generation?

Certainly, the new BMW X3 has been to the gym. It is more muscular, powerful, and imposing – more ‘X-ness’. Simultaneously it gains elegance and sovereignty.

What were some of the most challenging elements to design on the X3? What lines are you mostly proud of?

I love that the powerful kidneys lead the charge forward on this car. A strong, thick chrome surrounds the kidney, with triangular lines tapering from the corner of the kidneys towards the hood and flowing back to shape the headlamp contour. This makes the kidneys feel like they protrude out from the hood creating more presence.

The new wheel arches is something I am very happy with too. They are a very unique shape combing a rectangular and trapezoidal form. It achieves a character which is both ’rock solid’ and dynamic with its forward push.

The shadow under the main character line in side view is newly interpreted, it starts at the front wheel and tapers away at the rear door handle, picking up again after the rear fender as it opens up into the tail lamp. The open area in between, allows for a clean, modern feeling powerful rear fender. The strong shoulder in the rear view, gives the cabin a solid foundation to sit on and further emphasizes the power to the wheels.

Perhaps one of the most challenging elements was reaching our ambitious aerodyanmic goals. A few aerodynamic gains come from the active kidneys, air curtain, closed underbody. The extra length of the rear spoiler improved the aerodynamics greatly. Design-wise, the extended roofline stretches the side view becoming more sporty and elegant. In rear-view you notice a notch which dips down in the middle of the spoiler, this not only looks sporty but reduces the aerodynamic cross section, improving efficiency. We are very proud to achieve a drag co-efficient of 0.29 and giving the BMW X3 best in class aerodynamics.

The X3 uses the sculptural form language, but the future of BMW design seems to be focused on simpler shapes, less sculpture. Any thoughts on that?

Sculpture is one of the core elements of emotional car design, and is still very important to us at BMW Design. As seen in some of our latest concept cars, we are focusing on fewer lines, and more (not less) sculpture in the surface. For example, when I designed the exterior of the BMW Concept Z4, we spent a great deal of time defining the one main ‘master’ line, stretching up from the body side over the rear fender, which would control and drive all the surrounding highly sculptural surfaces.

The BMW X3 already moves in this direction. We reduced the number of lines above the wheel-arches and gave more space to the front and rear fender surfaces, to emphasize the car’s power and muscularity.

What colors do you think best showcase the design of the new X3?

During the development, we often assess the form with a neutral silver paint, so it is refreshing for me now to see the X3 in so many new characters with the different color options hitting the street.

What would be your ideal X3 configuration?

It’s hard to choose, each is different. The M Performance M40i’s powerful robust exhausts are especially cool. The new Luxury line features great attention to detail with its elegantly crafted integrated chrome accents. The X-Line emphasizes power, with bold accents reflecting the structural rigidity beneath the skin, and has the BMW X “Go anywhere, do anything, Let nothing stop you” character. Basically, to answer your question, my ideal configuration is the anything with the 21 inch wheels!

As a designer, how do you transition from designing two production series SUVs to the BMW Z4 Roadster Concept?

Seeing the cars I’ve worked on, driving around enjoyed by so many in all parts of the world is a truly rewarding and emotional experience. It is a huge honor to have designed two production SUVs the X1 and X3, and to be now working from X to Z. The X cars are a blend of the emotional and rational, being both sporty and versatile in its functionality. With a roadster, the approach is more expressive, the shapes and proportions are more extreme.

Being a Z4 driver myself, the BMW Concept Z4 was a very personal and emotional project. As I was sketching out the design, I wanted to capture the intense, emotional thrilling driving experience of the roadster in which all senses come alive. I am very proud of the way it came out including the shark nose character and the BMW Z8 inspired proportions on the front end.

As touched on earlier, the design form language takes a step to the future, less lines, more sculptural surfaces. The main ‘master’ character line starts above the side air vent, rising over the rear wheels and fender, wrapping around to the rear, and ends forming the 3D tail lamp. This is done all in one sweep and controls a highly emotional composition of surfaces below the line, where surfaces start from a downward facing air vent, twist while moving towards the rear wheel, and invert to face upwards towards the sky as it forms a powerful rear fender muscle, giving the car it’s dramatic stance.

The car’s character is completed with the dual layered carbon aluminium wheels and my favorite feature, the dramatic speedster-esque roll over bars which extend from the rear seats showcasing an emotional machine.

Growing up, I remember when the BMW Z3 came out followed by the iconic and exotic BMW Z8 in the James Bond films, I recall sketching these cars over and over in my high school books. As the first generation BMW Z4 launched in 2002, I was so captivated by its twisting surfaces, it reaffirmed making car design my career path. I loved the BMW roadsters and dreamt of one day owning one and also designing my own.

The BMW Concept Z4 was a dream project. I believe the drama and passion of this car truly captures the spirit of the words, “Ultimate Driving Machine”!

The article Exclusive interview with BMW X3 and Concept Z4 Designer, Calvin Luk appeared first on BMW BLOG

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