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theculturedmarxist · 4 years ago

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Below is the story of my day touring Tema with Prince Philip, in this chapter from my book “The Catholic Orangemen of Togo”. You may be surprised to read that I rather liked him.

The African Queen

One morning I was sitting in the lounge at Devonshire House, with its fitted wool carpets and chintz sofas. I was drinking the tea that our steward, Nasser, had brought me. I heard movement in a corner of the room, and thought it must be Nasser cleaning there. But looking round, I saw nobody. Puzzled, I got up and walked towards that corner. Rounding a settee, I nearly stood upon a thin, green snake. About four feet long and just the thickness of your thumb, it was a bright, almost lime green colour. There was not much wedge shape to its head, which rather tapered from its neck. Its tongue was flickering toward me, perhaps a foot away, its head raised only slightly off the floor. I took a step backwards. In response it too retreated, at surprising speed, and zipped up the inside of the curtains.

I stood stock still and yelled “Nasser! Nasser!” This brought Nasser hurrying into the living room with Gloria, the cook. “Nasser, there’s a snake in the curtains!” Nasser and Gloria screamed, threw their arms in the air, and ran together into the kitchen and out the back door of the house. This was not altogether helpful.

I remained where I was to keep an eye on the snake, not wanting it to be lurking inside the house unseen. After a while the front door opened and somebody, presumably Nasser, threw in Nasser’s scruffy little dog. The dog was normally banned from the house, and celebrated this unexpected turn of events by immediately urinating against the hall table. Then the dog too ran into the kitchen and out of the back door.

Abandoning my watch, I went out and recruited the reluctant gardeners and gate guards. They armed themselves with long sticks and came in and beat the curtains until the snake fell onto the floor. As it sped for cover under a sofa, Samuel the youngest gardener got in a solid blow, and soon everyone was joining in, raining down blows on the twitching snake. They carried its disjointed body out on the end of a stick, and burnt it on a bonfire.

Everyone identified it as a green mamba. I was sceptical. Green mambas are among the world’s deadliest snakes, and I imagined them to look beefy like cobras, not whip thin and small headed like this. But a search on the agonisingly slow internet showed that indeed it did look very like a green mamba.

The important question arose of how it had entered the house. With air conditioning, the doors and windows were usually shut. Nasser seemed to have solved the mystery when he remarked that a dead one had been found last year inside an air conditioner. The unit had stopped working, and when they came to fix it they found a snake jammed in the mechanism. That seemed the answer; it had appeared just under a conditioner, and it seemed likely the slim snake had entered via the vent pipe, avoiding the fan as it crawled through the unit.

This was very worrying. If anti-venom was available (and we held a variety in the High Commission) an adult would probably survive a green mamba bite. But it would almost certainly be fatal to Emily, and possibly to Jamie.

A week or so later, I was constructing Emily’s climbing frame, which had arrived from the UK. A rambling contraption of rungs, slides, platforms and trampolines, it required the bolting together of scores of chrome tubes. I was making good progress on it and, as I lifted one walkway side into position above my head, a mamba slid out of the end of the tube, down my arm, round my belly and down my leg. It did this in no great hurry; it probably took four seconds, but felt like four minutes.

There was one terrible moment when it tried an exploratory nuzzle of its head into the waistband of my trousers, but luckily it decided to proceed down the outside to the ground. It then zig zagged across the lawn to nestle in the exposed tops of the roots of a great avocado tree. Again the mob arrived and beat it to death with sticks. I persuaded them to keep the body this time, and decided that definite action was needed.

I called in a pest control expert. I was advised to try the “Snake Doctor”. I was a bit sceptical, equating “Snake Doctor” with “Witch Doctor”, but when he arrived I discovered that this charming chubby Ghanaian really did have a PhD in Pest Control from the University of Reading. As Fiona had an MSc in Crop Protection from the same Department, they got on like a house on fire and it was difficult to get them away from cups of tea to the business in hand.

He confirmed that the dead snake really was a green mamba. We obviously had a colony. They lived in trees, and he advised us to clear an area of wasteland beyond the boundaries of our house, and build a high boundary wall of rough brick at the back, rather than the existing iron palings. He also suggested we cut down an avenue of some 16 huge mature trees along the drive. I was very sad, but followed this sensible advice. That removed the mamba problem from Devonshire House. But I continued to attract mambas on my travels around Ghana.

The second half of that first year in Ghana was to be almost entirely taken up with preparations for the State Visit of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh in November 1999. A huge amount of work goes into organising such a visit; every move is staged and choreographed, designed for media effect. You need to know in advance just where everybody is going to be, who will move where when, and what they will say. You need to place and organise the media to best advantage. You need to stick within very strict rules as to what the Queen will or will not do. Most difficult of all, you have to agree all this with the host government.

I had been through it all quite recently, having paid a major part in the organisation of the State Visit to Poland in 1996. That had gone very well. The Poles regarded it as an important symbol that communism had been definitively finished. It was visually stunning, and at a time when the Royal Family was dogged with hostile media coverage, it had been their first unmixed positive coverage in the UK for ages. I had handled the media angles, and my stock stood very high in the Palace.

I am a republican personally; I was just doing my job. The Palace staff knew I was a republican, not least because I had turned down the offer of being made a Lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order (LVO) after the Warsaw visit. I had earlier turned down the offer to be an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) after the first Gulf war.

Rawlings was delighted that the Queen was coming. He craved respectability and acceptance in the international community, which had been hard to come by after his violent beginnings. But he had turned his Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) into a political party, the National Democratic Congress (NDC), and had fought elections in 1992 and 1996 against the opposition New Patriotic Party, which had an unbroken tradition running back to Nkrumah’s opponent J B Danquah and his colleague Kofi Busia. There were widespread allegations of vote-rigging, violence and intimidation, and certainly in 1992 the nation was still too cowed to engage in much open debate.

Even by 1999, social life was still inhibited by the fact that nobody except those close to the Rawlings would do anything that might be construed as an ostentatious display of life, while Rawlings had sustained and inflated the personality cult of Nkrumah still further (he is known as Osagyefo, “the conqueror”.) Open discussion of the disasters Nkrumah brought upon Ghana was almost impossible. It is still difficult for many Ghanaians today, after decades of brainwashing. As Rawlings had gradually liberalised society, the increasing freedom of the media, particularly the FM radio station, was giving a great boost to democracy. But there was still much prudent self-censorship. The media was particularly reticent about investigating governmental corruption.

The NDC government was massively corrupt. There was one gratuitous example which especially annoyed me. A company called International Generics, registered in Southampton, had got loans totalling over £30 million from the Royal Bank of Scotland to construct two hotels, La Palm and Coco Palm. One was on the beach next to the Labadi Beach Hotel, the other on Fourth Circular Road in Cantonments, on the site of the former Star Hotel. The loan repayments were guaranteed by the Export Credit Guarantee Department, at the time a British government agency designed to insure UK exporters against loss. In effect the British taxpayer was underwriting the export, and if the loan defaulted the British taxpayer would pay.

In fact, this is what happened, and the file crossed my desk because the British people were now paying out on defaulted payments to the Royal Bank of Scotland. So I went to look at the two hotels. I found La Palm Hotel was some cleared land, some concrete foundations, and one eight room chalet without a roof. Coco Palm hotel didn’t exist at all. In a corner of the plot, four houses had been built by International Generics. As the housing market in Accra was very strong, these had been pre-sold, so none of the loan had gone into them.

I was astonished. The papers clearly showed that all £31.5 million had been fully disbursed by the Royal Bank of Scotland, against progress and completion certificates on the construction. But in truth there was virtually no construction. How could this have happened?

The Chief Executive of International Generics was an Israeli named Leon Tamman. He was a close friend to, and a front for, Mrs Rawlings. Tamman also had an architect’s firm, which had been signing off completion certificates for the non-existent work on the hotel. Almost all of the £30 million was simply stolen by Tamman and Mrs Rawlings.

The Royal Bank of Scotland had plainly failed in due diligence, having paid out on completion of two buildings, one not started and one only just started. But the Royal Bank of Scotland really couldn’t give a toss, because the repayments and interest were guaranteed by the British taxpayer. Indeed I seemed to be the only one who did care.

The Rawlings had put some of their share of this looted money towards payments on their beautiful home in Dublin. I wrote reports on all this back to London, and specifically urged the Serious Fraud Office to prosecute Tamman and Mrs Rawlings. I received the reply that there was no “appetite” in London for this.

Eventually La Palm did get built, but with over $60 million of new money taken this time from SSNIT, the Ghanaian taxpayers social security and pension fund. Coco Palm never did get built, but Tamman continued to develop it as a housing estate, using another company vehicle. Tamman has since died. The loans were definitively written off by the British government as part of Gordon Brown’s HIPC debt relief initiative.

That is but one example of a single scam, but it gives an insight into the way the country was looted. The unusual feature on this one was that the clever Mr Tamman found a way to cheat the British taxpayer, via Ghana. I still find it galling that the Royal Bank of Scotland also still got their profit, again from the British taxpayer.

So while the State Visit was intended as a reward to Jerry Rawlings for his conversion to democracy and capitalism, I had no illusions about Rawlings’ Ghana. I was determined that we should use the Queen’s visit to help ensure that Rawlings did indeed leave power in January 2001. According to the constitution, his second and final four year term as elected President expired then (if you politely ignored his previous decade as a military dictator). We should get the Queen to point him towards the exit.

Buckingham palace sent a team on an initial reconnaissance visit. It was led by an old friend of mine, Tim Hitchens, Assistant Private Secretary to the Queen, who had joined the FCO when I did. We identified the key features of the programme, which should centre around an address to Parliament. A walkabout might be difficult; Clinton had been almost crushed in Accra by an over-friendly crowd in a situation which got out of control. A school visit to highlight DFID’s work would provide the “meet the people” photo op, otherwise a drive past for the larger crowds. Key questions were identified as whether the Queen should visit Kumasi to meet Ghana’s most important traditional ruler, the Asantehene, and how she should meet the leader of the opposition, John Kufuor. Rawlings was likely to be opposed to both.

The recce visit went very well, and I held a reception for the team before they flew back to London. Several Ghanaian ministers came, and it ended in a very relaxed evening. Tim Hitchens commented that it was the first time he had ever heard Queen and Supertramp at an official function before. It turned out that we had very similar musical tastes.

Planning then took place at quite high intensity for several months. There were regular meetings with the Ghanaian government team tasked to organise the visit, headed by head of their diplomatic service Anand Cato, now Ghanaian High Commissioner to the United Kingdom. We then had to visit together all the proposed venues, and walk through the proposed routes, order of events, seating plans etc.

From the very first meeting between the two sides, held in a committee room at the International Conference Centre, it soon became obvious that we had a real problem with Ian Mackley. The High Commissioner had been very high-handed and abrupt with the visiting team from Buckingham Palace, so much so that Tim Hitchens had asked me what was wrong. I said it was just his manner. But there was more to it than that.

In the planning meetings, the set-up did not help the atmosphere. There were two lines of desks, facing each other. The British sat on one side and the Ghanaians on the other, facing each other across a wide divide. The whole dynamic was one of confrontation.

I have sat through some toe-curling meetings before, but that first joint State visit planning meeting in Accra was the worst. It started in friendly enough fashion, with greetings on each side. Then Anand Cato suggested we start with a quick run-through of the programme, from start to finish. “OK, now will the Queen be arriving by British Airways or by private jet?” asked Anand. “She will be on one of the VC10s of the Royal Flight” said Ian. “Right, that’s better. The plane can pull up to the stand closest to the VIP lounge. We will have the convoy of vehicles ready on the tarmac. The stairs will be put to the door, and then the chief of protocol will go up the stairs to escort the Queen and her party down the stairs, where there will be a small reception party…” “No, hang on there” interjected Ian Mackley, “I will go up the stairs before the chief of protocol.” “Well, it is customary for the Ambassador or High Commissioner to be in the receiving line at the bottom of the aircraft steps.” “Well, I can tell you for sure that the first person the Queen will want to see when she arrives in the country will be her High Commissioner.” “Well, I suppose you can accompany the chief up the steps if you wish…” “And my wife.” “Pardon?” “My wife Sarah. She must accompany me up the steps to meet the Queen.” “Look, it really isn’t practical to have that many people going on to an already crowded plane where people are preparing to get off…” “I am sorry, but I must insist that Sarah accompanies me up the stairs and on to the plane.” “But couldn’t she wait at the bottom of the steps?” “Absolutely not. How could she stand there without me?” “OK, well can we then mark down the question of greeting on the plane as an unresolved issue for the next meeting?” “Alright, but our side insists that my wife…” “Yes, quite. Now at the bottom of the steps Her Majesty will be greeted by the delegated minister, and presented with flowers by children.” “Please make sure we are consulted on the choice of children.” “If you wish. There will be national anthems, but I suggest no formal inspection of the Guard of Honour? Then traditional priests will briefly make ritual oblations, pouring spirits on the ground. The Queen will briefly enter the VIP lounge to take a drink.” “That’s a waste of time. Let’s get them straight into the convoy and off.” “But High Commissioner, we have to welcome a visitor with a drink. It is an essential part of our tradition. It will only be very brief.” “You can do what you like, but she’s not entering the VIP lounge. Waste of time.” “Let’s mark that down as another issue to be resolved. Now then, first journey…”

The meeting went on for hours and hours, becoming increasingly ill tempered. When we eventually got to the plans for the State Banquet, it all went spectacularly pear-shaped as it had been threatening to do. “Now we propose a top table of eight. There will be the President and Mrs Rawlings, Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh, The Vice President and Mrs Mills, and Mr and Mrs Robin Cook.” Ian positively went purple. You could see a vein throbbing at the top left of his forehead. He spoke as though short of breath. “That is not acceptable. Sarah and I must be at the top table”. “With respect High Commissioner, there are a great many Ghanaians who will feel they should be at the top table. As we are in Ghana, we feel we are being hospitable in offering equal numbers of British and Ghanaians at the top table. But we also think the best plan is to keep the top table small and exclusive.” “By all means keep it small,” said Ian, “but as High Commissioner I must be on it.” “So what do you suggest?” asked Anand. “Robin Cook” said Ian “He doesn’t need to be on the top table.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Neither could Anand. “I don’t think you are being serious, High Commissioner” he said. “I am entirely serious” said Ian. “I outrank Robin Cook. I am the personal representative of a Head of State. Robin Cook only represents the government.”

I decided the man had taken leave of his senses. I wondered at what stage can you declare your commanding officer mad and take over, like on The Cain Mutiny? Anand was obviously thinking much the same. “Perhaps I might suggest you seek instruction from headquarters on that one?” he asked. “Anyway, can we note that down as another outstanding item, and move on to…” I don’t know whether Ian secretly realised he had overstepped the mark, but he didn’t come to another planning meeting after that, leaving them to me and the very competent Second Secretary Mike Nithavrianakis.

The most difficult question of all was that of meeting the opposition. Eventually we got the agreement of Buckingham Palace and the FCO to say that, if the Queen were prevented from meeting the opposition, she wouldn’t come. But still the most we could get from Rawlings was that the leader of the opposition could be included in a reception for several hundred people at the International Conference Centre.

I had by now made good personal friends with several Ghanaian politicians. Among those who I could have a social drink with any time were, on the government side John Mahama, Minister of Information and Moses Asaga, Deputy Finance Minister, and on the opposition side John Kufuor, leader of the opposition, his colleagues Hackman Owusu-Agyemang, Shadow Foreign Minister, and Nana Akuffo-Addo, Shadow Attorney General.

In the International Conference Centre the precise route the Queen would take around the crowd was very carefully planned, so I was able to brief John Kufuor exactly where to stand to meet her, and brief the Queen to be sure to stop and chat with him. As he was the tallest man in the crowd, this was all not too difficult.

Once the Queen arrived and the visit started, everything happened in a three day blur of intense activity. Vast crowds turned out, and the Palace staff soon calmed down as they realised that the Queen could expect an uncomplicated and old fashioned reverence from the teeming crowds who were turning out to see “Our Mama”.

The durbar of chiefs in front of Parliament House was a riot of colour and noise. One by one the great chiefs came past, carried on their palanquins, preceded by their entourage, drummers banging away ferociously and the chiefs, laden down with gold necklaces and bangles, struggled to perform their energetic seated dances. Many of the hefty dancing women wore the cloth that had been created for the occasion, with a picture of the Queen jiggling about on one large breast in partnership with Jerry Rawlings jiving on the other, the same pairing being also displayed on the buttocks.

After the last of the chiefs went through, the tens of thousands of spectators started to mill everywhere and we had to race for the Royal convoy to get out through the crowds. Robin Cook had stopped to give an ad hoc interview to an extremely pretty South African television reporter. Mike Nithavrianakis tried to hurry him along but got a fierce glare for his pains. Eventually everyone was in their cars but Cook; the Ghanaian outriders were itching to start as the crowds ahead and around got ever denser.

But where was Cook? We delayed, with the Queen sitting in her car for two or three minutes, but still there was no sign of the Secretary of State or his staff getting into their vehicle. Eventually the outriders swept off; the crowds closed in behind and we had abandoned our dilettante Foreign Secretary. Having lost the protection of the convoy and being caught up in the crowds and traffic, it took him an hour to catch up.

Cook was an enigma. I had already experienced his famous lack of both punctuality and consideration when kept waiting to see him over the Sandline Affair. His behaviour now seemed to combine an attractive contempt for protocol with a goat-like tendency – would he have fallen behind to give a very bland interview to a male South African reporter? He was also breaking the tradition that the Foreign Secretary does not make media comments when accompanying the Queen.

When we returned to the Labadi Beach Hotel, there was to be further evidence of Cook’s view that the World revolved around him. He was interviewing FCO staff for the position of his new Private Secretary. Astonishingly, he had decided that it would best suit his itinerary to hold these interviews in Accra rather than London. One candidate, Ros Marsden, had an extremely busy job as Head of United Nations Department. Yet she had to give up three days work to fly to be interviewed in Accra, when her office was just round the corner from his in London. Other candidates from posts around the World had difficult journeys to complete to get to Accra at all. I thought this rather outrageous of Cook, and was surprised nobody else seemed much concerned.

The port town of Tema, linked to Accra by fifteen miles of motorway and fast becoming part of a single extensive metropolis, sits firmly on the Greenwich Meridian. As far as land goes, Tema is the centre of the Earth, being the closest dry spot to the junction of the Equator and the Greenwich Meridian. You can travel South from Tema over 6,000 miles across sea until you hit the Antarctic.

There was in 1999 a particular vogue for linking the Greenwich Meridian with the Millennium. This was because of the role of the meridian in determining not just longitude but time. Of course, the two are inextricably linked with time initially used to calculate longitude. That is why Greenwich hosted both the Naval Academy and the Royal Observatory.

The fascination with all this had several manifestations. There was a BBC documentary travelogue down the Greenwich meridian. There was a best-selling book about the invention of naval chronometers, Longitude by Dava Sobel, which I read and was as interesting as a book about making clocks can be. There were a number of aid projects down the meridian, including by War Child and Comic Relief. Tema and Greenwich became twin towns. And there was the visit of the Duke of Edinburgh to Tema.

I think this was the idea of my very good friend John Carmichael, who was involved in charity work on several of the meridian projects. It was thought particularly appropriate as one of the Duke of Edinburgh’s titles is Earl of Greenwich – though the man has so many titles you could come up with some connection to pretty well anywhere. We could make it a new game, like six degrees of separation. Connect your home town to the Duke of Edinburgh.

Anyway, Tim Hitchens had warned me that the Duke was very much averse to just looking at things without any useful purpose. As we stood looking at the strip of brass laid in a churchyard which marks the line of the meridian, he turned to me and said: “A line in the ground, eh? Very nice.”

But we moved on to see a computer centre that had been set up by a charity to give local people experience of IT and the internet (providing both electricity and phone lines were working, which thank goodness they were today) and the Duke visibly cheered up. He was much happier talking to the instructors and students, and then when we went on to a primary school that had received books from DFID he was positively beaming. The genuinely warm reception everywhere, with happy gaggles of people of all ages cheerfully waving their little plastic union jacks, would have charmed anybody.

We returned to Accra via the coast road and I was able to point out the work of the Ghanaian coffin makers, with coffins shaped and painted as tractors, beer bottles, guitars, desks, cars and even a packet of condoms. The Prince laughed heartily, and we arrived at the Parliament building in high good spirits. There he was first shown to a committee room where he was introduced to senior MPs of all parties. “How many Members of Parliament do you have?” he asked. “Two hundred” came the answer. “That’s about the right number,” opined the Prince, “We have six hundred and fifty MPs, and most of them are a complete bloody waste of time.”

The irony was that there was no British journalist present to hear this, as they had all thought a meeting between Prince Philip and Ghanaian parliamentarians would be too boring. There were Ghanaian reporters present, but the exchange didn’t particularly interest them. So a front page tabloid remark, with which the accompanying photo could have made a paparazzi a lot of money, went completely unreported.

On a State Visit, the media cannot each be at every occasion, as security controls mean they have to be pre-positioned rather than milling about while the event goes ahead. So by agreement, those reporters and photographers accredited to the visit share or pool their photos and copy. At each event there is a stand, or pool. Some events may have more than one pool to give different angles. Each journalist can probably make five or six pools in the course of the visit, leapfrogging ahead of the royal progress. But everyone gets access to material from all the pools. The FCO lays on the transport to keep things under control. Organising the pool positions ahead of the event with the host country, and then herding and policing the often pushy media in them, is a major organisational task. Mike Nithavrianakis had carried it off with style and only the occasional failure of humour. But he had found no takers for Prince Philip in parliament, which proved to be fortunate for us.

I should say that I found Prince Philip entirely pleasant while spending most of this day with him. I am against the monarchy, but it was not created by the Queen or Prince Philip. Just as Colonel Isaac of the RUF was a victim of the circumstances into which he was born, so are they. Had I been born into a life of great privilege, I would probably have turned out a much more horrible person than they are.

Prince Philip then joined the Queen in the parliamentary chamber. Her address to parliament was to be the focal point of the visit. I had contributed to the drafting of her speech, and put a lot of work into it. The speech was only six minutes long (she never speaks longer than that, except at the State Opening of Parliament. Her staff made plain that six minutes was an absolute maximum.) It contained much of the usual guff about the history of our nations and the importance of a new future based upon partnership. But then she addressed Rawlings directly, praising his achievements in bringing Ghana on to the path of democracy and economic stability. The government benches in parliament provided an undercurrent of parliamentary “hear hears”.

But there was to be a sting in the tale: “Next, year, Mr President,” the Queen intoned, “You will step down after two terms in office in accordance with your constitution.” The opposition benches went wild. The Queen went on to wish for peaceful elections and further progress, but it was drowned out by the cries of “hear hear” and swishing of order papers from the benches, and loud cheers from the public gallery. There were mooted cries of “No” from the government side of the chamber.

I had drafted that phrase, and it had a much greater effect than I possibly hoped for, although I did mean it to drive home the message exactly as it was taken.

For a moment the Queen stopped. She looked in bewilderment and concern at the hullabaloo all around her. The Queen has no experience of speaking to anything other than a hushed, respectful silence. But, apart from some grim faces on the government benches, it was a joyful hullabaloo and she ploughed on the short distance to the end of her speech.

Once we got back to the Labadi Beach Hotel, Robin Cook was completely furious. He stormed into the makeshift Private Office, set up in two hotel rooms. “It’s a disaster. Who the Hell drafted that?” “Err, I did, Secretary of State” I said. “Is that you, Mr Murray! I might have guessed! Who the Hell approved it.” “You did.” “I most certainly did not!” “Yes you did, Secretary of State. You agreed the final draft last night.”

His Private Secretary had to dig out the copy of the draft he had signed off. He calmed down a little, and was placated further when the Queen’s robust press secretary, Geoff Crawford, said that he took the view that it was a good thing for the Queen to be seen to be standing up for democracy. It could only look good in the UK press. He proved to be right.

The State Banquet was a rather dull affair. Ian Mackley’s great battle to be on the top table proved rather nugatory as, in very Ghanaian fashion, nobody stayed in their seat very long and people were wandering all over the shop. There were a large number of empty seats as, faced with an invitation to dinner at 7.30pm, many Ghanaians followed their customary practice and wandered along an hour or so late, only to find they would not be admitted. This caused a huge amount of angst and aggravation, from which those of us inside were fortunately sheltered.

Mrs Rawlings had chosen a well known Accra nightclub owner named Chester to be the compère for the occasion. His bar is a relaxed spot in a small courtyard that features good jazz and highlife music, and prostitutes dressed as Tina Turner. It was a second home for the officers of the British Military Advisory and Training Team (BMATT).

Chester himself was friendly and amusing, but amusing in a Julian Clary meets Kenneth Williams meets Liberace sort of way. Chester says he is not gay, (regrettably homosexuality is illegal in Ghana) but his presentation is undeniably ultra camp. It is hard to think of a weirder choice to chair a state banquet, but Chester was a particular pet of Mrs Rawlings.

Chester was stood on the platform next to the Queen, gushing about how honoured he was. His speech was actually very witty, but the delivery was – well, Chester. I turned to Prince Philip and remarked: “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two Queens together before.” To give credit to Chester, I gather he has been telling the story ever since.

High camp was to be a theme of that evening.

Fiona and I accompanied the Royal party back to the Labadi Beach Hotel to say goodnight, after which Fiona returned home to Devonshire House while I remained for a debriefing on the day and review of the plans for tomorrow. By the time we had finished all that it was still only 11pm and I retired to the bar of the Labadi Beach with the Royal Household. The senior staff – Tim and Geoff – withdrew as is the custom, to allow the butlers, footmen, hairdressers and others to let off steam.

The party appeared, to a man, to be gay. Not just gay but outrageously camp. The Labadi Beach, with its fans whirring under polished dark wood ceilings, its panelled bar, displays of orchids, attentive uniformed staff and glossy grand piano – has the aura of a bygone colonial age, like something from Kenya’s Happy Valley in the 1930s. You expect to see Noel Coward emerge in his smoking jacket and sit down at the piano, smoking through a mother of pearl cigarette holder. It is exactly the right setting for a gay romp, and that is exactly what developed after a few of the Labadi Beach’s wonderful tropical cocktails.

We had taken the entire hotel for the Royal party, except that we had allowed the British Airways crew to stay there as always. Now three of their cabin stewards, with two Royal footmen and the Queen’s hairdresser, were grouped around the grand singing Cabaret with even more gusto than Liza. Other staff were smooching at the bar. All this had developed within half an hour in a really magical and celebratory atmosphere that seemed to spring from nothing. I was seated on a comfortable sofa, and across from me in an armchair was the one member of the Household who seemed out of place. The Duke of Edinburgh’s valet looked to be in his sixties, a grizzled old NCO with tufts of hair either side of a bald pate, a boxer’s nose and tattoos on his arms. He was smoking roll-ups.

He was a nice old boy and we had been struggling to hold a conversation about Ghana over the din, when two blokes chasing each other ran up to the settee on which I was sitting. One, pretending to be caught, draped himself over the end and said: “You’ve caught me, you beast!” I turned back to the old warrior and asked: “Don’t you find all this a bit strange sometimes?” He lent forward and put his hand on my bare knee below my kilt: “Listen, ducks. I was in the Navy for thirty years.”

So I made my excuses and left, as the News of the World journalists used to put it. I think he was probably joking, but there are some things that are too weird even for me, and the lower reaches of the Royal household are one of them. I have heard it suggested that such posts have been filled by gays for centuries, just as harems were staffed by eunuchs, to avoid the danger of a Queen being impregnated. Recently I have been most amused by news items regarding the death of the Queen Mother’s long-standing footman, who the newsreaders have been informing us was fondly known as “Backstairs Billy”. They manage to say this without giving the slightest hint that they know it is a double entendre.

The incident in parliament had made the Rawlings government even more annoyed about the proposed handshake in the International Conference Centre reception between the Queen and John Kufuor. My own relationship with Ian Mackley had also deteriorated still further as a result of the Royal Visit. I had the advantage that I already knew from previous jobs the palace officials and Robin Cook’s officials, and of course Robin Cook himself, not to mention the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. All in all, I suspect that Ian felt that I was getting well above myself.

As the party formed up to walk around the reception in the International Conference Centre, Ian came up to me and grabbed my arm rather fiercely. “You, just stay with the Queen’s bodyguards” he said. I did not mind at all, and attached myself to another Ian, the head of the Queen’s close protection team. I already knew Ian also. Ian set off towards the hall and started ensuring a path was clear for the Queen, I alongside him as ordered. Suddenly I heard Sarah Mackley positively squeal from somewhere behind me: “My God, he’s ahead of the Queen! Now Craig’s ahead of the Queen.” If I could hear it, at least forty other people could. I managed to make myself as invisible as possible, and still to accomplish the introduction to John Kufuor. The government newspaper the Daily Graphic was to claim indignantly that I had introduced John Kufuor as “The next President of Ghana.” Had I done so, I would have been in the event correct in my prediction, but in fact I introduced him as “The opposition Presidential candidate”.

As always, the Queen’s last engagement on the State Visit was to say farewell to all the staff who had helped. She gives out gifts, and confers membership of the Royal Victorian Order on those deemed to merit it. Only once in the Queen’s long reign had she ever been on a state visit and not created our Ambassador or High Commissioner a Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order – that is to say, knighted him. Ian and Sarah were to become Sir Ian and Lady Sarah. This seemed to me to mean the world to them.

The day before, Tim Hitchens had turned to me as we were travelling in the car: “Craig, I take it your views on honours have not changed.” “No, Tim, I still don’t want any.” “Good, you see that makes it a bit easier, actually. You see, the thing is, we’re trying to cut down a bit on giving out routine honours. The government wants a more meritocratic honours system. We need to start somewhere. So, in short, Ian Mackley is not going to get his K.” I was stunned. Tim continued: “And as well, you see, it hasn’t exactly escaped our attention that he has … issues with the Ghanaians, and some of his attitudes didn’t exactly help the visit. Anyway, if you were to want your CVO, then that would be more difficult. Ian Mackley is going to have one of those. So that will be alright.”

No, it won’t be alright, I thought. You’ll kill the poor old bastard. For God’s sake, everyone will know.

I wondered when the decision had been taken. The kneeling stool and the ceremonial sword had definitely been unloaded from the plane and taken to the hotel: that was one of the things I had checked off. When had that decision been reached?

We were lined up in reverse order of seniority to go in and see the Queen and Prince Philip. I queued behind the Defence Attaché, with Ian and Sarah just behind me. She was entering as well – nobody else’s wife was – because she was expecting to become Lady Mackley. Tim was going to tell them quickly after I had entered, while they would be alone still waiting to go in.

You may not believe me, but I felt completely gutted for them. It was the very fact they were so status obsessed that made it so cruel. I was thinking about what Tim was saying to them and how they would react. It seemed terribly cruel that they had not been warned until the very moment before they were due to meet the Queen. I was so worried for them that I really had less than half my mind on exchanging pleasantries with the Queen, who was very pleasant, as always.

If you refused honours, as I always did, you got compensated by getting a slightly better present. In Warsaw I was given a silver Armada dish, which is useful for keeping your Armada in. In Accra I was given a small piece of furniture made with exquisite craftsmanship by Viscount Linley. Shelving my doubts about the patronage aspect of that (should the Queen be purchasing with public money official gifts made by her cousin?) I staggered out holding rather a large red box, leaving through the opposite side of the room to that I had entered. Outside the door I joined the happy throng of people clutching their presents and minor medals. Mike Nithavrianakis and Brian Cope were Ian Mackley’s friends, and they were waiting eagerly for him. “Here’s Craig” said Mike, “Now it’s only Sir Ian and Lady Sarah!” “No, it’s not, Mike”, I said, “He’s not getting a K” “What! You’re kidding!” It had suddenly fallen very silent. “Ian’s not getting a K, he’s only getting a CVO.” “Oh, that’s terrible.” We waited now in silence. Very quickly the door opened again, and the Mackleys came out, Ian with a frozen grin, Sarah a hysterical one beneath the white large-brimmed hat that suddenly looked so ridiculous. There was a smattering of applause, and Sarah fell to hugging everyone, even me. We all congratulated Ian on his CVO, and nobody ever mentioned that there had been any possibility of a knighthood, then or ever.

Personally I don’t understand why anyone accepts honours when there is so much more cachet in refusing them.

#prince phillip #prince phillip death #prince phillip is dead #craig murray #ghana

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mastrmiscellaneous · 4 years ago

Text

Curses and Blessings

Summary: The curse of the Plague Bearer has been hanging over Apollo's head for centuries. That curse is said to end with the arrival of the son of Apollo and Diana Peters. How will the great god react?

Word Count: 8060

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Long ago, in the ancient times, when the kingdom of Olympus still stood on Greek grounds, the god Apollo was angered by the warrior Agamemnon after an argument broke out between him and Apollo’s High Priest. Agamemnon insulted the priest, and Apollo flew into a rage, spreading pestilence, the first plague, upon the Greek soldiers of the Trojan war.

At least, that is what Lord Apollo wants the world to remember. The truth, however, is much deeper and so much darker.

In truth, the god was indeed angered by the insults thrown at his High Priest, but it was not him that spread the first plague. It was his son. A simple boy, born to a woman Apollo had met in an average Greek village, with a strong affinity for music. She played the lyre as well as he did, better even, he liked that. There was the one problem of the woman already being married, but that was quickly solved when her husband was dragged off to fight in the war. Apollo set off to comfort his desired lover, but instead of a warm welcoming acceptance of his love, she rejected him. In his anger at being rejected, he took her anyway. She became pregnant with his child. However, the boy was born through anger and desire rather than love and tenderness, as a child should be. The fates are not kind to those who break these expectations, and they are certainly not kind to half-gods. The fates released a curse upon the babe before he was born, changing the mother’s fate in the process. During the woman’s pregnancy, she fell deathly ill. Her struggles caught the attention of Apollo himself, and he returned to her, supported through her illness and attempting to heal her, but nothing he did would help her. When the time came for their son to be born, her string of fate was coming to an end. The Fates were ready to cut her string. As she relaxed from her final push, hearing the cries of her new-born son, she released her last, warm breath. Her sickness had weakened her so terrible, the immense physical stress of her labour was the turning point, and the woman died.

Despite Apollo’s grand grief, he made sure the boy was raised well, to become a strong, creative individual, like his mother. Despite the war raging on between the Greeks and Trojans, he grew to be just like his father. He was an excellent musician, he had a way with both the ladies and the men, and he adored a good party, although he always did have quite the temper. But a war was still raging. Eventually, he was dragged off to war, just like his mother’s husband. He trained hard, became strong and excelled in war archery.

One day, on the same day Agamemnon fought with Apollo’s High Priest, the boy got into a fight with his comrades. He felt a rage from within, a bubbling in his stomach, and a power pulsing through his fingers. Instinct took over, and he trust his hand out towards his comrade. The man felt his stomach churn, his head pulse, and a tight pain in his chest. He threw up mostly blood, spluttering over the rest of the surrounding soldiers. Not long later, the troops were down in numbers, the first plague wreaking havoc on the Greeks.

Apollo knew his son would be blamed. So, as a gift to his fallen lover, he spared the boy’s fate, and lied to his fellow gods, a feat so difficult he felt a pulse of energy take over in his stomach, and he took the blame for the fall of Agamemnon’s army.

“Agamemnon insulted my High Priest. I did what I had to do.”

His lie swirled through his head for the rest of the meeting. He stumbled out of the throne room and found solace in his private quarters. As soon as he was alone, a prophecy came to him.

Apollo’s mistakes started a new fate,

When no blood be spilt his power so great,

The fall of Olympus the Plague Bearer shall bring,

Lest blood be spilled through the arrow’s sting

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Over the next few thousand years, once a century, a new child was born to Apollo and an unsuspecting young woman. Just as it occurred with the first Plague Bearer, the mother died in childbirth, leaving the cursed infant alone. Sometimes the plague would be released during the child’s infancy, others during their childhood, but most often it was during adulthood. In times of extreme emotion, The Plague Bearer would release their new plague, destroying populations in a terrible manner, all in a different way to the last.

That was the routine for thousands of years. That was, until the Plague Bearer of the 21stCentury was born.

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July 1996

In the back ally of an underground club, just on the outskirts of St Cloud, Minnesota, a group of spunky young adults were hyping themselves up and warming up their voices and playing hands. Three guys and three girls, all between the ages 18 and 21. One of the women stood out from the rest, the lead guitarist and vocalist. Be it her short, bright, golden hair, her even brighter smile, or even her exposed waist and short skirt, no one knew exactly what was so enamouring about Diana Peters, but she was always able to gather a crowd of suitors wherever she went.

Places like this though, they are not the type of place she would have liked to play in. They do not exactly bring the best of crowds, meaning the men that will be eventually surrounding Diana would not be the type she would usually go for. In short, they were disgusting pigs, doomed to spend eternity alone if they were to stay on the path of creepy and pushy behaviour. She was already forced to be around a man like this, and he was far too much already.

“Diana!” There he is, right as expected. Late as usual, but just in time for them to go on stage. The lead vocalist and the leader of their band, Nolen Fink. He shot Diana a crooked, douche smirk, grabbing her waist and pulling her towards him, attempting to steal a kiss. Sadly for him, and luckily for her, he was already a couple drinks in, so real easy for her to push him away. He scowled at her, but quickly regained his composure and smiled at the rest of the grew. “And the rest. Are we ready folks?

“You’re late again.” Said the drummer, Carter.

“I had shit to do.”

“Yeah, helping us set up!” Growled the lead bassist, Jen.

“More important shit than that.”

“Alright!” Diana said in fake cheer, clapping as she regained her band-mates’ attention. “I wanna get out of this… filthy place, as soon as possible.”

“Hey, this is my favourite place!” Patrick, the second bassist, exclaimed from the doorway.

“Of course it is.” Diana mumbled, looking at her watch. “It’s time to go in, we’ll be called on stage soon.”

“Right you are, my dear muse!” Nolan wrapped a restricting arm around Diana’s shoulders. “But first!”

Nolan pulled a brown paper bag from behind his back, Diana suspected he had been storing it in his waistband. he pulled a bottle of vodka out of the bag and uncapped it, taking a swig and offering it to Diana.

“To sooth the nerves.”

The band smiled and laughed eagerly, Diana included. she grabbed the bottle from Nolan and knocked it back, swallowing twice, then handed it to the next person, watching it get passed around as she felt the near pure alcohol reach her brain as her nerves relaxed. She was ready.

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Their show went on for four hours, the musicians playing, singing, and dancing along to their own special sound. Diana revelled at the fact that their large, bubbling crowd went wilder and more excited when the band played one of her songs, and their mood dulled when Nolan’s songs were played. She loved the attention, watching the crowd as she stood on stage, allowing her fingers to move strong and confident over the metal strings of her guitar, and letting her voice echo in all it’s strong, confident glory. She encapsulated the meaning of showmanship and musical talent. She enamoured the crowd, as per usual, and she just loved it! The young woman thrived in the attention from the stage, even from within the crowd, to a certain extent, when she was finally released from her job of entertaining the crowd.

She stayed in the crowd for another hour, dancing along to the music played over the speakers with the two other ladies in the band, Jen and Nicki. Though eventually she grew tired of dancing and required a refreshment, so she broke away from her friends and went to the bar. Much to her dismay, Nolan was there, chatting up some girl who appeared far from interested. Diana stood beside them, leaning over slightly and squishing her shoulders, loosening her shirt and shooting the bartender a flirtatious look as she ordered a drink, which he wilfully poured for her without question. Diana silently thanked all the gods she could think of for her taste in revealing clothing and shapely form. It made for the perfect distraction.

As she sat at the bar, sipping her beer, she listened to the conversation Nolan was having with this girl, she seemed incredibly uncomfortable. Not that Diana blamed her, he was grasping her thigh, rubbing his beefy hand up and down her expose flesh as she leant back in her seat. Luckily, she managed to escape before Diana had to intervene, the musician was not in the mood to fight her band leader and risk this jig she had with the group. Unluckily, Nolan finally noticed that his favourite associate was sitting at the bar with him.

“Hello Diana!” He slurred, moving to tower over her as he decided what he wanted. Diana took in his frame, assessing her options in case this went in a bad direction. He had broad shoulders and strong arms. He was a generally fit and strong person, very surprisingly considering his habits. He started the same act he did with the other girl, just a little more forceful with her. His hand went straight to her waist, pulling the stool along with her. “Enjoying the night?”

Diana scowled at his hand and slapped it away. “I was, until you did that.”

“Aww, come on baby! you know you want this.” He flexes his muscles and Diana rolled her eyes. “you can sense this tension between us, I know it.”

“There’s a tension alright, but not the type you’re thinking of.”

“Come on, Diana! come to the van. I’ll get you to change your mind!” Nolan leant in close to Diana, pinning her against the bar, kissing her jawline and whispering in her ear. “I’ll give you a good time.”

“Get off me Nolen!” Diana’s heart started to pound. This place was filled with drunks, no one was looking at her, and the bartender clearly did not care about anything that was happening to her. Nolen moved his hand from her shoulder, sliding them down her largely revealed skin and landing on her thigh. His thumb moved up her skirt, getting higher and higher as her lungs tightened and heart raced. Why did this have to happen to her?

“Hey buddy, you heard her.” An unfamiliar voice chimed in from behind Nolen. He sounded smooth and confident, a strong voice that sounded overbearing even in the loud environment by the speakers. Nolan stepped grunted in anger and turned, releasing Diana from his grip. Diana got a peak of her saviour; he was toned, with chiselled muscle and jawline, bronze skin, and golden hair that reached his shoulders, with bright blue eyes the colour of a clear sunny day. He seemed to glow in the dark bar, but Diana took that down to him standing in a beam of light. He wore a cheerful smirk, and serious, intimidating eyes as he glared at Nolen. “Hands off.”

“fuck off dude, this doesn’t concern you.” Nolan spat at him and turned back to Diana, but her saviour grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

“Oh yes it does. You don’t touch a lady like that, especial when she says no.”

Nolan’s booming laugh filled Diana’s ears, making them ring. “Diana? A lady? Fuck that, she’s a whore, likes the atten-”

Suddenly Nolan was on the floor, rubbing his jaw as a bruise started to form quickly.

“Fuck off.”

Nolan scrambled away into the crowd of ever oblivious dancers, and her saviour puffed his chest out, his eyes softening as his smirked turned to a comforting smile. He slid onto the stool beside her and checked on her. They conversed for the rest of the night, until the bar closed at 1am, hitting it off immediately. He seemed a bit too cocky for her, she usually went for the more casually braggy people. He made no attempt to hide his ego. However, it was a rather pleasant change. He made for the perfect partner for a brief summer fling, just until she went back to college. He introduced himself as Apollo, which made Diana laugh a lot harder than she intended. The irony just stuck out to her.

That night, he took her back to his place. He lived alone, unlike her, so it made for quite the night. He made for a decent time. Not the best in bed, but he at least satisfied her enough for her to keep him around. Average sex was better than nothing, which is what would be happening if it weren’t for Apollo, and he was certainly eager.

After their escapades, they would lay in bed and chat, mostly about music, their one thing in common. However, he also spoke of his family. He had a twin sister, which again made her laugh. He also, naturally, had a mother. he only spoke of the two women in his life, none else. She understood that, sometimes it is hard to talk about the other people in your life. For her, she only spoke of her parents. She did not want to reveal too much about her friends. This young man just did not sit with her well, he was keeping something from her. Something big. Therefore, she must keep her secrets too. If he won’t share his life, neither will she.

One month later, after a surprisingly enjoyable evening with him in bed, Apollo informed her he was leaving for a short while. His mother was calling for him and he would answer that call. She understood, honestly the only thing she would truly miss is the presence of another person. Although she could easily find that elsewhere. Apollo said he would be back in a couple weeks, and he would see her again. Diana agreed, as long as he promised the sex would be as good as it was that night. With that, he left, and Diana went on with her life as always, unbothered and having fun.

Apollo, on the other hand, had to be somewhere, and inform his fellow Olympians on recent events. The new Plague Bearer had just been conceived.

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“Not this again, Apollo.” Artemis grumbled as they walked through the Olympian streets towards the throne room for their meeting. “You got attached again? Apollo, you knew she’d be the mother of the Plague Bearer, you really need to stop putting emotion into these things.”

“Easy for you to say.” Apollo stared vacantly off into the distance as they walked. True, he had grown attached to Diana, he was beginning to believe that was another part of the curse. But separating his emotions, that had always been difficult. “You should have seen her, Arte. her skill with the guitar, she could beat me in any music competition-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it a million times Apollo!” Artemis stopped in the street, pulling her twin to a stop with her. “A woman to rival the god of music, with spunk to last a lifetime. Apollo, She’s going to die, like the rest of them, why get attached?”

“I can’ help it Artemis!” he raised his voice in anger, towering over his twin and making her shrink a little. He was always tense and angry around this time. She got it, his lover was bound to fate, and his child was destined to either die as any demigod does and release a plague to exterminate the masses, or cause the collapse of Olympus. “She’s wonderful. She doesn’t deserve the fate she has been given, and that child doesn’t either, but- but I don’t even know anymore! I wish this weren’t a curse a dolled out, but…”

“I know.” Artemis softened as her brother started to crumble. “Why don’t we just inform the others, then we can go see mother?”

Apollo nodded and smiled, taking in a deep breath, holding it as he turned, and released as they set off once again. Finally, they reached their thrones, and the meeting went on as normal. Reports on Hermes’ delivery system, Hephaestus’ forge, the happening of the Ocean and the Underworld, and the dangers that were forthcoming. That is where Apollo chimed in.

“The Plague Bearer has been conceived once again.” He said bluntly, leaning on his hand and staring at the floor as he slumped in his golden throne. The bright shine seemed rather inappropriate. “A few days ago. We should prepare. This woman is strong.”

“How, pray tell, is she any different to any of your other victims?” Dionysus grumbled, disinterested but loving to annoy his fellow god. Apollo just glared at him and carried on.

“I sensed magic in her. It’s ancient, distant. Someone far down her line was related to our magic, but can not for the life of me figure out who it is.” Apollo straightened up and stared into his father’s eyes. “I’m weary.”

“Keep an eye on her. Keep us informed. That is all we can do right now.” Zeus ordered. He appeared calm and collected, but everyone felt the hairs on their necks stand on end.

“Yes, my king.”

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Apollo and Artemis sat in their mother’s cave, opposite the titaness, who was simply smiling at her children.

“My son, what is the matter?” Leto’s calming voice allowed Apollo’s stiff muscles to finally relax. “You have seemed off all day.”

“Just some old curse…” Apollo tried to figure out how to tell his mother he is the reason so many women have lost their lives so tragically. Why so many children have had cursed lives filled with suffering, and why the world consistently suffered from plague.

No. no, it was not him dolling out the plagues, it was these plague bearers… these monsters.

“Are you sure, son?”

Artemis shot him a look only he would understand. A look of anger and comfort, disgust and sorrow. Her brother was a good guy, but he was also terrible. Because something he refused to tell people was that half the time, he was the one to kill his own children. He did not claim it was a bad thing to do, because they were not children. They were monsters, doomed to decimate the population.

“I am sure. Just a bit stressed.”

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It had been two months since Diana had last seen Apollo. At this point he seemed like a distant memory, as she sat on the wall outside a random building with Jen and Nicki, talking as friends usually do.

“You’re telling me that you had sex with a guy, didn’t check if he was rubbered up, and now, two months later, you’re throwing up?” Nicki stared at Diana in a state of wonderment.

“Yes, Nicki, I think I might be pregnant.” Diana said, exasperated.

“No shit you’re pregnant.” Jen muttered as she filed her names, leaning on the wall and sitting on the floor.

“Look, I’m just asking if you could go buy me a couple pregnancy tests and let me do it in your apartment.” Diana almost pleaded to her friend, her desperation getting stronger and stronger. “You know my mom would kill me if she caught me doing that!”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll go get them. Wait here, I’ll be a few minutes.” Nicki took Diana’s wallet and wandered down the street to the nearest convenience store. Diana visibly relaxed in relief as she watched her friend walk away.

“So, what you gonna do if you are pregnant?” Jen asked, not looking up form her nail care.

“I have no idea…”

The truth is, Diana knew she was going to carry to full term. She had never been a fan of aborting. For herself, others can do what they want, but it just never aligned with her own moral compass. After that though? She didn’t know what she would do. She was still in college, she had dreams, ambitions, a life to live! Kids, that was further down the road in her plan.

“Well, you better figure it out. I know you won’t abort, we’ve had that conversation.” Jen finally looked up from her nails and smiled at her friend, reaching out and taking Diana’s hand and squeezing. “But you can’t hide that forever. You’re a skinny bitch, Diana. at some point that belly is gonna grow and your parents will find out. figure out what you’re gonna do. Nicki and I will be there fore you, but please, figure it out.”

“I will…”

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

Well, Diana was indeed pregnant, and it was not going well. Her two friends showered her with support, offering their upmost support, and helping her plan on how to tell her parents. When she eventually did, it was certainly difficult, and to say her father was ready to murder that blond bastard for knocking up his daughter was an understatement. Eventually they came up with a plan. Diana refused to budge on her moral code, so she would have to carry to term, that meant she would be staying with them instead of staying in a dorm room in college. At least until the child was born. From then on they would figure it out. The plan was, the child would be put up for adoption, to give him and Diana their best chance.

However, life never goes the way you want it to. For Diana’s morning sickness became much, much worse as time went on. It got to the point that she could barely lift her head from her pillow, and since she was still throwing up anything she ate, that was a huge problem. She had missed so many classes, she had received a letter from hr college stating she either had to come to class or leave. Therefore, her parents took her to the doctors. Eventually they would make their decision based off their diagnosis.

Four doctors, seven nurses, and 12 ungodly hours later, they still could not figure out what was wrong with her. Well, more accurately what was causing this terrible sickness. All they could figure out was she would die if she did not stay under supervision. They admitted her, putting her in a private room, which surprised her parents, but after the explanation that with the machines she would be hooked up to, and with the estimated length of time she would need to stay, it was necessary.

Diana stayed in that hospital bed for the remaining five months of her pregnancy. In that time, she only seemed to get worse, fading weaker and weaker, her weight dropping off her and her pinkish skin riding itself of colour. She was forced to drop out of college as she was clearly not getting any better. She was barely conscious when she found out she was having a boy, just recognising the strong heartbeat. However conscious enough to finally make the decision of what she would do with her baby boy. She could not bring herself to give up her son after all this, after all that she had been through to bring him into the world. She told her mother she wanted to keep her son. To say Marilyn Peters was not pleased was an understatement. However, after some convincing from the grandfather to be, Colby Peters, who so desperately wanted a boy in his family, she came around. As Diana suffered through her sickness, Colby and Marilyn prepared the third bedroom in their home to be a nursery for their grandson.

By the eight-month mark, Diana was in a half comatose state, barely conscious enough to recognise her 20th birthday going by, and the start of her final month of pregnancy going forward. The doctors made a final decision for Diana, with the consent of her parents, them being her next of kin. The boy would be born exactly on his due date, via c-section. Due to Diana being so weak, they knew she would certainly die if she tried to give birth naturally. That risk was knocked by 50% this way. They were not the best odds, but it was the only thing they could do in order to have a smidge of a chance of keeping their daughter alive.

Eventually, that day came. May 4th, 1997. Her boy was going to be born. As the doctors filled her with anaesthetic, she looked to her parents for encouragement. Her mother took her hand, held it tight in between her palms, hoping and praying her sweet young daughter could not see the tears streaming down her face. Her father stood at the top of the bed, brushing the sweaty golden strands of hair out of her face. Diana took her final conscious breath, and she was wheeled off to surgery.

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Olympus was bustling with the average mess that lay in the air before any meeting. Apollo was tense, sitting slumped in his golden throne, leg bouncing and biting his nails. The Plague Bearer had just been born. The final update on its status needed to be shared, but everyone was too busy catching up and messing about to sit and listen. Eventually, the sun god made eye contact with his father, and Zeus understood.

“SILENCE!” He shouted, gaining the attention of the other 11 gods in the throne room at that moment. They all retreated to their thrones, and the meeting finally started. “Apollo. You have some news for us?”

Apollo nodded, taking in a deep, long breath. He stood, scanning the room, acknowledging the faces of his fellow Olympians. He stopped a little longer on his twin. Annoyingly, he and Artemis were keeping a secret from the others, and it was weighing in them terribly. Especially Apollo, being the god of truth. Their mother, Leto, escaped Tartarus along with their uncle Lelantos, a couple decades earlier. That was an easy secret to keep. However, things got more complicated around the same time the Plague Bearer’s mother had found out she was pregnant. Leto was expecting a half mortal infant. Due any day now, in fact. And with this fact piled onto the news he had to share, it was any wonder he was still able to stand.

“The Plague Bearer was born today. The mother lived through the birth.”

A deep, concerned chatter erupted from the Olympian council. They all knew what that meant, this Plague Bearer was destined to be the end of Olympus. When paired with the great prophecy due to enact, this was horrible news.

Zeus silenced the court once again and looked upon Apollo. “What must we do?”

Apollo just stared back at the king, blank faced, and responded monotonously. “I am going to kill it. Its mother is still weak, but her family have stuck around, so I will wait until they leave, take it, and kill it.”

“Won’t that enact the plague?” Athena asked.

“Yes. but its power is weak, it’s young, it should be manageable. A plague is better than Olympus falling.”

Apollo avoided looking at his sister as more chatter erupted from the gods. He felt her stinging glare dig into his soul as he resisted her. She was trying to communicate with him in their minds, but he refused. He knew she would hate this plan.

“I predict it will take four days for them to leave.” Apollo silenced the gods as he spoke. “I’ll have it killed then.”

“What if his mother stops you?” Artemis demanded, still glaring daggers at him.

“She is weak. She won’t be a problem.”

“Fine.” Zeus grumbled. “Apollo, make sure this is the right decision. Dismissed.”

The gods dispursed, and Apollo half ran away from Olympus, finding himself in the forests outside St Cloud, Minnesota, where he would stay until Diana’s parents finally left her side.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Leave me alone, Artemis.”

His sister stormed to his side and pushed him into a tree, pinning him to the trunk, one arm pushing into his chest. “What are you thinking, Apollo?”

“I can not let that thing destroy Olympus. I have had enough of this curse, I am ending it now!”

“You know even you can’t stop a prophecy!” Artemis exclaimed, desperation dripping form her voice. “You can’t interfere. you have to let it run it’s course, even if he will bring help the end of Olympus there is still a chance he’ll lose!!”

“Stop saying he!” Apollo shouted with enough force to blow back Artemis, knocking her over and landing on her back on the floor. “That thing does not deserve to be referred to as a human. It is a monster that will kill us all if I don’t act now!”

Artemis flinched in pain as Apollo’s anger brought out his worst. He was hurting his sister. Unintentionally or not, his power over plague and illness affected the gods terribly. But she could still speak, she was used to fighting against that power.

“He deserves a chance. Come with me to mother, please. Our sibling will be born soon, we need to help mother. Let that family be a family.”

“No.” Apollo’s voice was gruff. He shook his head and started to walk off. “I am waiting here. Just call for me when mother needs us. I promise I will come.”

“You’re a coward, Apollo.”

He did not Answer.

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

Finally, the Peters family left Diana alone with her son. She was conscious, weak, but completely and utterly in love. They had been instructed to stay in hospital for another couple of weeks, so they could both be monitored, to make sure they were ok. She named her boy Justin Colby Peters, following the tradition of her family to give your child the name of an influential family member as their middle name. In this case, her father. He was a beautiful little boy, bright, icy blue eyes, a thin head of golden blonde hair. Behind the sickly appearance of her small boy, she saw the strength he held. He was going to be a grand young man.

Diana lay on her side in the hospital bed, staring at her son in the incubator beside her. He lay on his back, attached to a few tubes and sensors, the same as her own. The doctors monitored their heartrate, their breathing, and their fluid levels. Breathing tubes were stuck in their noses, wires suctioned to their chests, and tubes injected into her hand. There was a hole in the side of the incubator Justin lay in, just big enough for he hand to fit through so she could touch her son. She held his tiny hand between her fingers. She would rub his stomach when he appeared to fuss. That helped her boy, he calmed down well enough with the simple affection. It was clear he just wanted a cuddle from his mother. Alas, their physical contact was severely limited, them both being weak, needing rest. They were limited to a couple breast-feedings a day, supervised by a nurse. It broke Diana’s heart to watch her son be cared for by her parents, and it killed her even more to see nurses caring for him. That was her job. All she wanted was to hold her boy, and care for him properly. She was too weak.

Her parents had finally left her alone, needing to rest themselves. They promised they would be back for visiting hour later that day. Diana did not really care. She revelled in her alone time with her son, laying down, staring at him, holding his hand through the little hole. Sadly, her solace was interrupted but an unexpected guest.

“Hello, Diana.”

She did not have to turn around to know who that was. His voice had haunted her for the past nine months. If her dreams were anything to go by, a lot had been revealed to her about him.

“Apollo…” She said with a weak voice.

“That’s our son.” He stated, coming into her view and leering over Justin’s incubator. He looked dark, nothing like the smiling, cocky man she knew before.

“What are you doing here?”

“Claiming,” He tapped the top if the incubator. Justin started to squirm, quietly gurgling in a fuss at being disturbed. “This thing.”

“You have no claim over my son.” Diana slipped her hand out of the incubator and pushed herself up, panting at the effort, forcing enough energy to sound stronger, but it wasn’t enough. “You were gone this whole time. I nearly died… You said you’d come back…”

“Things came up.” His scornful eyes still locked on the infant. “I have to tell you something, Diana.”

“You’re the god Apollo.” That caught his attention. Finally, he looked away from the baby, shock taking over his face as he looked upon her. “I already know. That’s what happens when you spend five months basically asleep. A lot comes to you.”

“Well, that makes my job easier.” His gaze adjusted back to Justin.

“What job?” Her voice cracked as she feared the worst. Diana may not have listened all that much in school, but she remembered learning about the gods of Ancient Greece. pollo may have been quite a fun-loving god, but he had a temper. That is all she could think about with that stormy glare in his eyes.

“To take this. I need to protect Olympus. You survived, and the prophecy said blood must be spilled if this thing is to stay away from Olympus. You survived. So, this beast must die.”

Diana reacted before she thought, grabbing a gripping point on the incubator and pulling it away from Apollo, making him lose his balance and fall to the floor. As the angry, flustered god fell to the floor, she opened the plastic box and picked up her now screaming son and holding him close to her chest. The tubes and wires connected to Justin pulled, making his cries stronger had higher pitched. She took Apollo’s confused state to adjust them, attempting to sooth her baby before Apollo stood.

“You little-”

“I don’t care what you do, Apollo, I don’t care that you’re a god, I don’t care if I die doing it.” She strained her weak voice as much as she could, gaining a gruff, threatening aura that made Apollo flinch. “You Will Not. Take. My. Son.”

“I’m sorry Diana, but you’re wrong. I will be taking it now.”

“Him. His name is Justin.”

“Diana, that thing is a monster that will destroy the world. I have no- no-”

Apollo flinched and grunted. It looked like he was in pain. he muttered something that sounded like ‘Not now’, but the pain in his head as his sister called for him to come to their mother’s aid was too loud. Apollo growled and glared at Diana, who sat staring, afraid, holding her screaming son so close to her chest it looked like she may absorb him.

“I’m being summoned.” He said through gritted teeth. “Keep that monster for now. But I promise you, I will be back to claim him.”

A flash of bright golden light erupted from him, half blinding Diana for a few moments. Once she regained her vision, and felt her son in her arms, she looked around the room, but there was no sign of Apollo. Just the blearing sound of Justin’s monitors and the sound of a nurse rushing in to check on them. The infant was taken from her arms with some struggle, but it was clear she was still sick, because as soon as the danger had left, she let herself collapsing again. Soon, the world went black, and Diana fainted.

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

Apollo appeared in the mouth of his mother’s cave on Delos, where is new sibling was supposedly being born, though his trust in his sister was limited at this moment. He knew she hated his plan, and would do anything to protect a new mother and a new-born infant. Even calling him for a false alarm.

“Took you long enough!” Artemis’s fear snapped him out of his rage as she rushed around the cave, gathering everything she needed to assist in the delivery of their new sibling. The sight of their mother leaning on the back wall of the cave, gripping the thin bedding beneath her in pain, brought out the healer within him.

“Sorry… What do you need me to do?”

“Right now, go to mother. Keep her up and listen to me.” The final step to her routine before assisting with a birth was throwing her hair into a simple bun. “Don’t argue, don’t get distracted.”

“Of course.”

The set of twins assisted Leto with the painful birth of her third child. Luckily for them, this birth was much easier than her previous one, and she had the support of her loving, skilled daughter and son. After much strain, pushing, squeezing of Apollo’s hands, and Artemis barking orders at her family, a small dark-haired infant was handed to Leto. Half titan, half mortal.

“What’s her name?” Apollo smiled at his mother and gazed at his little sister. The perfect little girl, so strong and capable. Full of potential, as long as the fellow gods never learn of her existence.

“Laeta.” Said Leto in a weak voice.

“It’s perfect.”

“She will be a might woman.” Artemis called to the pair as she started cleaning up. “Apollo, come help me clean this tuff in the river. Our mother and sister need time alone to bond, and rest.”

Apollo sensed what was happening, but he could not argue in front of his brand new baby sister. So, he complied with Artemis’ demands.

Once they were by the river, Artemis aggressively scrubbing at the dirty cloth, Apollo waited for the rant that was waiting for the rant that was definitely coming, but she just sat there, leaning on her knees, just scrubbing.

“Artemis, can you just get it over with?”

She continued scrubbing. Silent, strong, finishing one cloth, ringing it out, and throwing it in the basket she brought.

“Artemis, please. I can’t handle this sike out, just tell me what you want to!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Apollo.”

“You knew I was coming for the Plague Bearer today, and mother just so happened to go into labour right as I was about to take it? I know you, Artemis. I know you don’t use that reproduction power you have very often, but this definitely seems like a chance you’d take!”

“You really think I would make our mother go into labour just to stop you from kidnapping your son?” Artemis looked up at her brother, side-eyeing him with a familiar troublemaker glint in her eyes he had not seen since their youth.

“You know I have to do this, right?”

“You don’t.” Artemis dunked the final cloth into the river and scrubbed, staring as it visibly cleared. “You really don’t need to do anything. Let the prophecy run its course. You may be surprised.”

“I can’t do that. I’ll stay here a little longer, but I am going back, and I will do what I must.”

“Sure you will.”

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

Two weeks went by, and Diana had not heard a peep from Apollo since that day he tried to take her son. Since then, she had been released from the hospital with Justin a week after that event, both still needing to be monitored but able to function a little better. Justin had a portable heart monitor to track his progress, and medicine to take when being fed. Diana had her own medication to keep her stable. Marilyn Peters had offered to stay home, taking leave from work, in order to look after her daughter and grandson, which Diana happily accepted. She had no idea what she was doing as a mother, having not read anything, learnt anything, during her pregnancy. You know, dying makes you pretty busy.

Diana adored the bedroom for Justin her parents had made up. The furniture was a pale pinewood, the walls pained pale blue. Little trinkets, books, and toys littered the surfaces, Marilyn had clearly bought a lot to do with music, as a lot of the decorations and toys were music themed. In the corner, by the large, bright window, was a cushioned pinewood rocking chair for Diana to sit in when giving all the attention to her little boy.

One day, exactly two weeks after that event in the hospital, Marilyn had left to go to the store, so Diana was Alone with Justin. She sat in the rocking chair, cradling her son, humming a sweet, gentle tune as she rocked him to sleep. The baby yawned and nuzzled closer into his mother as he finally settled down completely. Diana stood gently, adjusting how she stood with the extra weight of her boy, trying to avoid stretching her stomach too much because of her caesarean wound. Just as she was about put Justin down in his crib, a familiar voice sounded from the doorway.

“I told you I would be back.”

Apollo invited himself into Justin’s room, marching over to her. His blue eyes appeared black in his fury, his strong and defined jaw clenched, and his eyebrows furrowed as he glared at the infant in Diana’s arms. As he marched towards them she brought her son back up to her chest and held him close to her chest.

“Leave us alone, Apollo.” She half growled; a small shake carefully hidden in her voice. “You will not get my son, or I will die protecting him.”

“You should have died when he was born. Else I wouldn’t have to kill the monster.”

The full extent of the danger before her hit Diana like a tonne of bricks. To this point she refused to believe the god of music and healing was just planning take her son, maybe give him to someone else. That alone was something she could not allow, but to kill her baby? That is too far, and she will not allow it.

“Fuck no, get away from us! And how the hell did you get in my house?”

“I’m a god, I can do what I want.” He growled, still glaring at Justin.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s right.” She said, drawing out her words as she scanned the room for something to protect herself and her son with. She orienteered herself to be standing behind the crib. “Why are you doing this?”

“Did you not wonder why you got so sick during your pregnancy?” Apollo’s gaze shifted from Justin up to Diana. She noted a small amount of sorrow in his eyes as he spoke about her. He gestured to Justin as he continued. “It holds the power of plague. A long time ago, I made a mistake and cursed myself. About once every 100 years, I conceive a ch- something like that. They hold the power over sickness, and are destined to spread a plague over the world, killing thousands. That was, until you. Through the past, every mother who conceived the Plague Bearer died during childbirth. Except you. The prophecy about these Plague Bearers said you had to die in order for Olympus to stand. You understand that, right? Someone has to die.”

“No. I don’t believe you.” Diana broke eye contact with Apollo and looked down at her boy. He was still asleep somehow. She silently gave thanks for his calm, it made this so much easier. He just looked so tiny, so innocent, so… unlikely to hurt anyone. “About the world-shattering plague thing, not the powers, that actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Gods you ramble a lot.” Apollo’s fury and pity faltered for a second, and he switched to the young man she met almost a year ago. However, he quickly regained his composure. “It amazes me that you are so… chill, about this. Now I wish I had told you before.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I expected you to die.”

“Wait, so you expected me to die, you expected that my life would end, and my son, our son, would be left an orphan. And you just, I don’t know, ignored it?”

Her voice rose higher and louder as her anger grew and grew. Over the past couple of weeks, she had indeed started wondering why he never came back, and why he never told her who he was, and the risks involved in being with him. She was angry at him, but willing to let it go. Until now, with the information that he thought she would die never meeting her son. No, she could not forgive him. Justin started to fuss in his sleep, the sudden loud noise of his mother startling him out of his rest. Diana attempted to sooth her son as Apollo continued on.

“I’m Sorry Diana. I had to leave you.” Apollo stepped towards the crib. “And I have to take the Plague Bearer.”

“No!” Diana saw a chance and took it, hooking her foot around the base of the crib and pulling up, tipping the crib, it hitting Apollo, making him jump back a foot or two. Justin finally woke up, the jostle disturbing him, and the sound scaring him. The baby wailed and Diana held him closer to her chest as the tried to sooth him whilst also protecting him from the god before her. “Stay away from my son!”

“Gamoto…” Apollo muttered as he readjusted himself. “I knew I sensed something strong with you.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty great.” Diana smiled sarcastically at the crumpled god on her floor. “So don’t test me, Apollo. Because I don’t give up without a fight.”

A look of fear flashed over Apollo’s eyes as he stared up at Diana. Justin’s wails appeared to soften as he stared up as his mother, seemingly soothed by whatever power she felt flowing through her.

“There’s that something…” Apollo muttered. He intended for Diana not to hear him, but he was never too good at volume control. “Fine. Raise the Plague Bearer. We’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong. The god of prophecy, or a mere mortal.”

Once again, with a flash of golden light, Apollo disappeared, leaving the mother and son on their own. Diana felt the strange sense of power drain from her body, her crying son taking her attention once again. She sat back down on her chair to sooth him back to sleep. She had won, for now. Why was he so scared of her though?

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

Apollo reappeared back on Delos, still processing what he just saw in the mother of the newest Plague Bearer. Her eyes, they… glowed? No, that must have been the light hitting them weird. But the window was behind her. That strange glow, it reminded him of someone from way back in the past.

He was snapped back into reality as he heard the cries of his little sister, Laeta, echoing through the cave. The voices of Leto and Artemis quickly followed as they attempted to calm the infant, and the tightness in his chest loosened at the sight of his family fawning over the newest arrival. He couldn’t think about Diana and the Plague Bearer right now. This was far more important.

#justin peters #diana peters #Apollo #pjo ocs

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fanfoolishness · 5 years ago

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Steven Universe Future musings

Rambling thoughts behind the cut for A Very Special Episode! As always, feel free to reblog or message me with your own thoughts and ideas!

We streamed the episode through the official CN app and for a second it cut out part of the vital discourse between Explorer Gal and Mayor Guy. Thank goodness it wasn’t more!

How the fuck old IS Onion

I thought he was about 4 before but if so he should be pushing 7 and kid should know how to chew a fucking broccoli by now

Oooohh Rainbow can access Pearl’s sand/cloud animation powers and Steven’s levitation powers together to apply them to objects?

Also THE FUCK IS THAT STEVEN PLUSHIE WITH ITS CHEST RIPPED OPEN AND ONE EYE PINK

I thought fandom had left behind the whole Steven loses an eye thing but oh ho! It’s sorta back!

Maybe Steven will wind up with one permanently pink and one normal, showing he’s scarred by his Gem struggles but still ultimately human???

I’m hard-pressed to see him lose an eye entirely given that the movie definitively established he can heal himself

Leave it to Onion to have that thing lying around

And leave it to Onion to fucking COLLECT GREG’S HAIR OUT OF THE OCEAN BECAUSE YOU KNOW THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED

Rainbow 2.0 has such a sweet voice!

My favorite was What the--???

haha I just spent like 3 hours drawing Steven’s phone but still didn’t draw it correctly. Why didn’t I look up a reference?

Steven got stress eyes IMMEDIATELY

Initial thoughts were “Wow, why is Garnet being so mean to these Gems?”

Later thoughts: ahhhh this is the future where Garnet overdid it.

FUSION DANCE FUSION DANCE FUSION DANCE

MY BOY’S DANCE MOVES ARE SO GOOD

WOW

THAT CONFIDENCE

THOSE LITTLE HAND GESTURES

THE LEAN BACK WITH THE FISTS AND HIS EYES CLOSED

LOOK HOW HIS JACKET FLOOFS AROUND HIM

LOOK AT HIM GO

I’M SO PROUD

THE WAY HE HOLDS GARNET’S HANDS LIKE AN EQUAL AND THEY SMILE AT EACH OTHER AND I’M LITERALLY TEARING UP IT’S JUST SO GREAT AND HE’S SO PRECIOUS

HE’S GONNA DO GREAT AT THE BIG DANCE WITH CONNIE

SOMEONE PLEASE GIF IT FOR ME BECAUSE I WANNA WATCH IT FOREVER

I’ll make a separate post with caps because I just love this SO FUCKING MUCH!!!!!!

Sunstone is so much wiser than anyone knows -- turn off that motion smoothing!

Great safety tips, Sunstone!

Steven starts sweating immediately as soon as unfusing... poor kid!

Just... Rainbow, you are the best Mary Poppins that ever was <3

But Onion is just.... beyond

Home Safety obstacle course??? nooo! Motion smoothing??? Nooo!

BungaCOWA

Do you guys think the tiny arms are Sapphire’s, and the beefy arms are Steven + Ruby?

Steven almost passes out coming out of Sunstone again....

The entire Pearl second video call is AMAZING

Incredible insane angles on Pearl! The mood! Onion in the Wall! Then it goes into like a take on the X-files theme???

You were such a good kid you were never like this I’m so sorry I never told you that omg Pearl your love for Steven is soooooooooooo pure!

But don’t worry Steven you’re still loved now whether or not you live up to someone else’s idea of good!

Steven is so done with Onion by the time they find him in the kitchen

So Onion, like Steven, doesn’t grow, but apparently, he has grown enough to be literate

Oh no Steven’s eyes are just closed on Rainbow’s face because he’s so tired now

Steven is wiped out

No no no, it’s fine, it’s good!

I’m combining all my responsibilities into one responsibility!

Steven just went full Bojack Horseman here somehow!!!! I think the I’m fine loop does it, and the crazy angles on Steven’s face -- soooo good!

It’s - it’s brilliant! It’s fine, I’m fine, it’s really, I’m fine, it’s fine, I’m fine --

I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m -- really, just fine -- huh?

Amethyst omg

Why is Onion a Pied Piper??? because he’s terrible

Wait, I just realized both skinny arms have the wedding rings... curious!

Steven for Beefy Arms confirmed 2019

So did any of that happen? Did it happen as a skit? Was it all being filmed? Or was it only shown to us the audience, suggesting it did happen in a future that is not canon?

I suspect that if Sunstone looked ahead and saw possible futures where a) gems were hurt and b) Steven was hurt by overcommitting, that the possible futures they had to pick from would be influenced by everyone in the fusion. So since Steven is super anxious these days and thinks he’s the only one who can solve people’s problems, then the futures Sunstone has available to pick from are naturally going to be ones where other people are more incompetent (Garnet being callous, Pearl being inept with Onion) and where Steven tries to sacrifice himself to save the day.

I’m not entirely sure! Future vision episodes always give me a bit of a headache in a good way. Very fun and not the emotional devastation I was expecting, which means that the next episode to be a heavy hitter will probably gut everyone and leave them for dead.

#steven universe future #suf spoilers #steven universe future spoilers #suf #steven universe spoilers #a very special episode #steven universe #sunstone #rainbow 2.0 #fanfoolishness su meta

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fly-pow-bye · 8 years ago

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Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “Splitsville“

Written by: Haley Mancini, Jake Goldman

Written & Storyboarded by: Phil Jacobson, Sofia Alexander, John West

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

Does it split sides, split opinions, or should you split?

The episode starts with the Powerpuff Girls fighting a giant monster. In fact, it’s the same giant monster from Princess Buttercup that keeps showing up randomly. He was even in Silico’s backstory as the monster that crashed into his house, destroying his toys. Either the Powerpuff Girls have not kept their promise to be more careful around residential areas, or this was the event. I'm going with coincidence.

After successfully defeating that monster, you’d think they’d be celebrating. After all, giant monster battles usually end with Monster Punch, Girls Down to the Reboot Puffs. Instead, each of them complains about how long it took. First we have Donny whining, then we have Buttercup whining, and now all of the reboot Puffs are whining this time. It sure is happening a lot this season!

While this is happening, all of their cellphones go off. Wait, so is the Mayor calling them all at once, or are they now taking calls from the public now? I really shouldn't care; we have two scenes once common in the original that are super rare in this reboot: monster fighting and getting emergency calls. Usually, they're too busy doing ordinary human things like messing with time machines and hanging out with jerk unicorns.

They challenge each other: whoever does their deed first gets to pick the movie for movie night. This episode really hammers in the girls' personalities, which, given the choice between having those personalities and having two characters play the same role, is not bad. It helps that they're closer to the original Puffs than being Urkel, Patrick Star, and Bart Simpson. Relatively speaking, of course; Reboot Blossom still loves those spreadsheets!

I have no nothing against the movie choices, either. Bearnado is a clear refence to Sharknado, but even to people unfamiliar to it could conclude that it's a movie parody so over the top, that it couldn't possibly exist. I could question a joke about a movie called "Cuddle Bunny" being banned in several countries, a continuation of a gag Buttercup said about her movie, but I'm not so sure that wasn't intentional.

Buttercup's mission is to fight a slime dog. This job was made for her, because it involves fighting a giant monster, someone only Buttercup can do in this series for some reason! She even shows off her strength beforehand by flexing them into exaggerated beefy arms. Sorry to say, that is not going to be a gag exclusive to this episode.

Buttercup tries to punch the slime dog, but it splits into two. Buttercup says it's no problem, and punches one of the dogs again, spliting it into two. It keeps going and going until she's surrounded by slime dogs ready to tear her apart.

Even though it's a creature that can't be hurt by such actions, we can't see Buttercup actually make contact with it with her fists or her feet. It's a wonder if this is the fault of the toymakers, the writers, or Cartoon Network's higher-ups. I hope it's not the latter, but how every new show on Cartoon Network has a TV-Y7 rating after years of TV-PG shows makes me think it loudly.

Bubbles' mission is to help a farmer, his goose, his fox, and a bag of seed across a river. This job was made for her, because it's about cute animals! This segment is a reference to the famous fox, goose, and bag of beans puzzle.

Of course, she can't just move the fox, because the goose would eat the seed. She can't just move the seed, because the goose would roughhouse the fox! I didn't think they were going to play it that straight, so it's not exactly unexpected. It's a running gag with the goose. Bubbles is still at square one, and it's only going to get worse.

Blossom has to go to a library and fight a brain robot, who is tearing it apart reading every book in it. The robot does this in the most destructive and loud way possible to justify a beating. This job was made for her, because she's a nerd who likes libraries. In her own words, "swish."

Because she's the plan girl, she decides to come up with a plan. It boils down to her tilting a laptop screen, using her eye lasers to cut a rope holding a giant chandelier that happens to be directly over the robot. One may wonder why cut out the middle man and just aim the eye lasers at the rope, but that wouldn't be convoluted enough.

Before she was even finished with that plan, the robot throws the chandelier at her. Robot Punch, Girl Down. Of course. It may not be that, as the robot knows so much from all of that added knowledge, that he can predict her every move! Huh, sounds familiar. He then tells Blossom that she'll be bored of the Dewey Decimal system as he pelts Blossom with decimals. Add that to the Powerpuff Girls new weaknesses.

Meanwhile, Buttercup is still in trouble. She tried punching, kicking, punching harder, kicking harder, but nothing seems to work. It would have been more creative if she kept trying different things, but all she really did was punch and kick. This would have been a good time for the aura powers, which don't even show up.

She yells at the dogs to stop, and to her surprise, they stop. Buttercup is confused until she realizes that the slime dogs are dogs. She tells them to sit, they sit. She tells them to roll over, they roll over. She finds this adorable, in a scene that should be out of character, but is actually hinting towards the point of the episode.

Minutes later on Bubbles' side of things, she still can't seem to figure it out. Not helping is that it turns out the goose was keeping out annoying tourists as well. With this and the Yeti subplot of Snow Month, the show seems to have a hatred for outsiders. Instead of thinking, Bubbles tries a different strategy: doing a dance across a bunch of rocks across the river, and tell the others to follow along. Eh, it fits her character.

Bubbles: Way to go, guys! Mission Bubbles-complished!

Ugh, this show’s puns are Butter-terrible. It’s about as good as that one! Unfortunately, none of the people, animals, and seed follow her. The farmer outright tells her that she needs to use her brain for this puzzle. Yeah, good luck with that.

Meanwhile, Blossom tries to do another plan by trying to catch him off guard by trying to attack him while he's distracted by her chit-chat. Silly Blossom, that only works on Reboot Puffs! She gets taken down by being buried by books, and getting hit by a punch...card. Because libraries. Another thing to add to the Powerpuff Girls' new weaknesses!

This is my least favorite of the three segments, which is sad because Blossom is my favorite of the three reboot Puffs. Granted, that's mostly by default. This segment will get worse from here.

While Blossom and Bubbles are nowhere near solving their assigned crises, Buttercup seems to be doing just fine. She trained them well enough to make them form. She then says that "Bubs will love this!", subtlely giving a clue on what is happening. She tells them to play dead...

...and Buttercup gets covered in rainbow blood. It took me a while to realize what happened, and when it hit me, I found it kind of clever. I blame the show not using the right sound effect. I am reminded that, if the blood was red, this would have had to be on Adult Swim Toonami. That's an article for another time.

Meanwhile, Bubbles is still trying to figure it out as more and more people have to get across the river. A Dick Dastardly guy shows up, the Townsville Women's Basketball Team shows up, Sherlock Holmes shows up, and a raptor king shows up!

Bubbles gets an idea from her mentor in her head: Buttercup, who tells her she's not her mentor. In a bit of comedy, Bubbles acts like Buttercup actually told her to act like Blossom. While Buttercup's scene slightly hinted at the point this episode was trying to make, this part outright says it.

I guess she had to be told to think, as she does, and she instantly knew the correct answer! She brings everyone to the other side of the river except for the Dick Dastardly guy, who is left on the raft to careen over a waterfall to his persumed death. Bubbles doesn't seem to mind, and neither does anyone else. I guess he was that awful.

Blossom also gets an idea from her mentor in her head, which happens to be herself. Honestly, with Patrick Star and the rascally little green princess, I’d be my own mentor, too. Buttercup didn't get a scene like this, she just figured it out on her own. They sure favor Buttercup over everyone else; she's usually the one that has to save the other two. Good news, this is not one of those episodes.

Since Bubbles figured it out the Blossom way, and Buttercup figured it out the Bubbles way, it makes sense that Blossom figures it out the Buttercup way. Of course, that means she gets to have a fight scene. And, oh boy, here comes the bad news.

Blossom gives the robot a furious beatdown in the most exaggerated way possible, much like Mojo Jojo did in Forced Kin. They even decided not to do hit flashes for this scene, but it's hard to notice because...what am I looking at? Did they forget they were supposed to be rebooting the Powerpuff Girls, and decided to reboot The Brothers Grunt instead? I really hate to think that this scene is their response to people criticizing this show for its lack of violence. It wouldn’t surprise me.

They go back home at the same time, crashing through the walls. That seems like a minor thing to put in a review, but it's another aspect that happens so rarely in this reboot. They then decide to watch each other's movies, but can't decide on which sister deserves to watch their movie the most. It's a cute ending, and it's something deserving of a "so once again the day is saved", but we don't get one. I have my own theories, mostly based on the last episode, but I don't want to say them.

Does the title fit?

The Powerpuff Girls split, but there’s really no reason for the “ville”. They live in a place called Townsville, and they usually get calls from the mayor of said Townsville, so it could fit?

How does it stack up?

Outside of that one scene, this episode is actually decent. None of the characters are unlikable, the situations are mediocre at worst, and it fits the superhero narrative the show should have. I would put it among the episodes of the original's Season 5 and Season 6, and not one of the worse ones at that. That might be mediocre, but by this reboot's standards, that's pretty good!

Keep it up, but don't get too comfortable.

Next, we go fishing!

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#fpb reviews #fpb ppg 2016 #ppg 2016 #powerpuff girls #cartoon network

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