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chiseler · 5 years ago

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The Last Light

There is a moment in David Lynch's Twin Peaks: The Return that on its incandescent surface could have been lifted, weightless, from the great post-war dream of materialist deliverance: The top on the convertible is down, the radio on; The Paris Sisters are singing I Love How You Love Me as a reincarnated Laura Palmer lifts her face to a cloudless sky. Within the tapestry of this early Phil Spector production — his trademark reverb eternally associated with Romance and Death (two conditions Spector knew all too well) — the voice of Priscilla Paris is a siren sound from the American Beyond. We could be hearing a dream goddess lullaby from the whispering gallery, or sweet nothings from the crypt. We don't know. We'll never know. Just as Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood keeps us guessing with the elusive murmur that “Sharon Tate will never die,” granting her a gaudy, wondrous L.A. to cavort in where it's 1969 forever and movie stars still matter, so we find ourselves in Tarantino’s version of paradise (complete with flame throwers to the face). In this oneiric echo chamber, momentarily shared by Lynch and Tarantino, Surrealism smiles down upon a vision of American blondness; muscle cars soaked in sunlight; the terrible ecstasy of unending motion; candy for the eye and ear.

David Lynch’s favorite film, to this day, remains Otto e Mezzo, directed by Western Europe's sorcerer of confectionary delights, Federico Fellini; the man who put the “dolce” in La Dolce Vita. And here you have a fleeting taste of ideologies swirled together and spun like ribbon candy: a blur of four-wheeled luxury from the New World, zooming past regional splendor into that fraternity of man: the socio-economic nirvana imagined by Karl Marx.

Careening from one via to another at harrowing, white-knuckle speeds, Fellini was heard to lament that “Some of the neo-realists seem to think that they cannot make a film unless they have a man in old clothes in front of the camera.” George Bluestone, recording these words in 1957 for the pages of Film Culture, was sittings in the literal passenger seat of the ideal metaphor of post-war ebullience in action: that famous Black Chevy skirting the Italian Scylla (the Vatican) and its equally dogmatic Charybdis (the Party); expert, 20th century precision guiding them through Roman streets with graffiti-scrawled churches proudly bearing the hammer and sickle. At those velocities, anything could make sense.

“What for you is the greatest human quality?”, Bluestone asks. Fellini responds, “Love of one’s fellows,” a period-appropriate oath that rings true to his brand of ecumenical solidarity.

“The greatest fault?”

“Egoism.”

Try, if you will, to imagine our more locally sourced egoists nodding along with Fellini in soulful agreement on that one. As a kind of compatriot of Edgar Allan Poe, David Lynch (and, to some extent, Tarantino) spawns from his abiding axiom that “The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetic topic in the world.” In Lynch’s hands, American television has become a brightly lit seance for Poe’s ethereal dead. Immortal creatures afflicted with the dream of physical existence, then afflicting the dreamers. Twin Peaks: The Return modifies Poe's axiomatic truth with great help from Amanda Seyfried's Becky and her pair of visionary's eyes, melting Spector's dark edifice of sugar in deathless, Sternbergian close-up — iridescent search lights, ever more urgently scanning the sky above for a sun to swallow her whole. We can only witness and internalize this shimmering ingenue trading places with Old Sol, as if the drugs she's consumed have entered our system and not hers.

Filmmakers like Fellini and Lynch celebrate bodily extremes in intriguing, if differing ways that should naturally gallop right beyond the pale but nevertheless become wholly, weirdly digestible. It is perhaps the innocent glee, even wonderment, of these artists in the vast variety of shapes the human body can assume; innocence which acts as a giant eraser for every awareness on our part of how physical representation in the age of political correctness is meant to function. Lynch is able to present the disabled as by turns childlike, mysterious or magical beings without ever worrying about lending them agency (The Elephant Man's John Merrick is a passive whipping boy for seemingly the whole of Victorian London) or the lie of adult sophistication (the latest Twin Peaks iteration includes a pint-sized hitman who whines like a puppy when his icepick is broken).

Fellini's dwarfs and grotesques, on the other hand, emerge from the struggle of a one-time Marc'Aurelio cartoonist willing one-dimensional images into three-dimensional embodiment. His big women, of course, are fetish figures. They always were. Gargantuan beauties, evidence of a sexual ideal formed in infancy: the big Italian mammissima, seen from below. As Fellini grew into a rather large adult himself, this ideal was simply re-scaled accordingly (even the icy mountain of Anita Ekberg takes on new implication). Goddesses all, they are, however, not meant for conventional movie stardom.

And what of Tarantino? Once Upon a Time's Margot Robbie IS the no-longer-doomed Sharon Tate as she watches herself on the big screen; enjoying a thrill that few have ever known so guilelessly that any half-baked charges of narcissism shrivel to nullity before they can escape a single throat. Here before us is an essential glimpse into the vanishing phenomenon of movie stardom itself, reflexive handwringing from the woke balconies notwithstanding. Tarantino has at last achieved something transcendental: even his grotesques — slack-jawed, gap-toothed, gormless members of the Manson Family conflated with more contemporary Identitarian cultists on the lookout for 'Lookism', knives unsheathed — are downright mythic. Robbie's Tate is a visage both generically perfect and possessed by the angels, every one of them a blond resident of LA County, sincere and unknowable as desert light.

The vampires, creatures of night slain by sunlight, infiltrated the movie theaters in the 1920s and never left. They sit next to us in the dark, having ceded the power to hypnotize us to the glowing screen itself. Photochemical vagaries invariably allow movie darkness to behave in impossible ways; as if the physical properties of film itself knew no rules, and thus invited us to accept its essential anarchy without question. Before us is a darkness that GLOWS.

A Black & White image flipped into negative can produce black fire, or the black sunlight which illuminated the Transylvanian forests of Nosferatu, through which a box-like carriage rattles at Mack Sennett speed. But with only the smallest underexposure, a little dupey degradation of the print, or even a little imagination (such collaboration is not discouraged), this liquid blackness will spread anywhere, everywhere; the most luminous pestilence known to creation. Be it in the laughing nightmare of Fleischer cartoons of old (Out of the Inkwell, indeed) or Jean Epstein's photogenie phantasmagoria, we're left to wonder. Is daylight burning out the corner of a building, or is it the blackness of the building which is eating into the sky? As with so many such questions, film permits us no answer. We are to simply watch as characters smudge, their shadows emanating out beyond themselves, pulsing and flickering with an obsidian internal flame.

By the time Jean Epstein adapted The Fall of the House of Usher in 1928, it could wisely be said that Poe had been already aggrandized through the mechanism of carbon-arc projection; which is but one way to say that the vision that once seemed unharnessable, had at last been industrialized. Dragooned. Pressed into an ever more modern service at a pace to be measured in frames-per-second. Artists like Epstein and Chomon were the first generation to wield an immense cultural and commercial instrument; at once abidingly real and totally incomprehensible. No medium of expression predating cinema could so thoroughly lift audiences from linear time, or could as convincingly, in the words of Jean Epstein, render death as a conscious state.

Transcendentalism barely scratches the surface here. A more apposite term — the one he nuances in his film theory, “photogenie” (a genesis out of light) — pulls transitory moments, otherwise escaping human perception, into focus. If Poe engrosses us in Romantic conceptions of death as a means to visionary truth, Epstein reveals that same supposedly “elusive” end in our earthly world of telephones, sports cars, Kodak cameras for the every-man and moderne manicures for up-to-the-minute dandies.

The Victorians were falling away. And with them a system of reality contained in narrow, overwrought performances. Withered technique as a means of reflecting Nature — or, to quote Balzac, the “conjugation of objects with light” — was displaced, uncrowned by Jean Delville’s Death (1890), which embodies an altogether different kind of virtuosity, one no Academy could ever comprehend. The charcoal drawing and ode to Edgar Allan Poe’s Masque of the Red Death yearns with a combination of verve and starkness toward a capital “G” Gloom destined to escape salons.

Coming of age in a series of shady elsewheres — the fairgrounds, nickelodeon parlors and movie palaces of an Edwardian America — nitrate and its twinkling mineral essence gave Poe's crepuscular light its time to shine and thereby illuminate the world. No longer held in the solitary confinement of a page of reproduced text or an image, however still, rendered in paint or ink. Poe's singularly tormented vision was finally written alchemically, in cinematographic rays beamed through silver salts; into moving images of such aggressive vitality as to blast every rational thing from one's mind.

All hail magic mirrors! Celestial mandalas! Giant eggs and butterfly women! Segundo de Chomón's The Red Spectre (1907) ruthlessly invades our eyes with a wraith-magician dissolving through his coffin lid in a red, hand-tinted, flame-flickering hell. His caped, skull-masked presence was to herald the manic new thespic truth that, from this moment forward, the art of acting is in how you respond to light, and how light responds to you. The Specter of Chomon's dark bauble is in every element Poe's Red Death — japing and performing tricks for us, his adoring fans and welcome guests, before announcing our doom — literary metaphor slammed against a literal backdrop of amber stalactites, pellucid as an ossuary.

Doctor Pretorius might have been musing on the history of cinema in 1935’s The Bride of Frankenstein when he said: “Sometimes I have wondered whether life wouldn't be much more amusing if we were all devils, no nonsense about angels and being good.”

by Daniel Riccuito, Tom Sutpen and David Cairns

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batamc-ultimate · 8 years ago

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Name: Satsuki Kondo

Anime: Twin Angel: Twinkle Paradise

Anime release year: 2011

#2011 #Twin Angel Twinkle Paradise #Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel #teen #female

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myanimerecs · 6 years ago

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Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel

Rating: 2/3

Categories: comedy, fantasy, game adaptation, magic, magical girl, mecha, parody, school, shoujo, superpowers

School girls by day, a crime fighting duo by night. Haruka and Aoi are the Twin Angels and they’re dedicated to fighting evil and their next enemy is from the fourth dimension who will do anything to get his hands on their school’s new angel statue.

OVA, 2 eps

Twinkle Paradise, 12 eps

Twinkle Paradise OVA, 2 eps

BREAK, 12 eps

#Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel #2/3 #comedy #fantasy #game adaptation #magic #magical girl #mecha #parody #school #shoujo #superpowers #2 seasons #14 - 26 episodes #medium series #anime recommendation

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mahoushoujodatabase · 6 years ago

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Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel

Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel (Manga - Aug/2007 - Jul/2009) [v. 3; ch. 21]

Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel (OVA - Aug-Oct/2008) [ep. 2]

Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel:Kyun Kyun☆Tokimeki Paradise!! {Eng: Twin Angel: Twinkle Paradise} (Anime - Jul-Sep/2011) [Ep. 12]

Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel:Kyun Kyun☆Tokimeki Paradise!! OVA (OVA - Dec/2014) [Ep. 2]

Twin Angel Break (Sequel - Apr-Jun/2017) [Ep.12]

[English: Translations × - Subs ✔]

#msdatabase #mahou shoujo #kaitou tenshi twin angel #twin angel

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makeshiftparade · 3 years ago

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there is heaven in you now

And Jacob thinks that if there’s heaven on earth, it would be here, in each other’s arms.

(or, Jacob and Sangyeon celebrate their anniversary in a cottage by the sea.)

Content note: 1.8k words of fluff without plot. Contains very implicit references to sex. Future fic set in an alternate universe where they’re not idols. Title from the angel of 8th ave. by Gang of Youths.

When Jacob and Sangyeon make their way back to the cottage through the beach, there are only a few other people there—perks of vacationing on an off season. The last rays of twilight are slowly receding as deep blue creeps into the horizon, unveiling speckles of constellations in the sky. Tides swell and break against the shoreline under the gentle lull of the waning crescent moon. The lapping water is cool against their feet.

They went earlier in the afternoon, lazing around the beach, and stayed long enough to watch the sunset before going for a pleasant dinner of pizza and a couple cans of beer at a seaside café nearby. There’s a shorter route back to the cottage they’re renting, but Jacob had suggested that they take a long walk down the shoreline. Somewhere along the way, they’ve settled into a comfortable silence filled only by the song of the waves.

“I wonder what our baby is doing,” Jacob says. Sangyeon pauses his step beside him.

“Byeolie would be fine,” he says reassuringly. They’ve asked Kevin, who loves dogs, to watch over their golden retriever puppy.

“I know. But I’d like to bring her to the beach sometime. My family used to bring Lucky and Dexter along when we went to the beach.” The ends of his lips curl up as he recalls his beloved dogs back home in Toronto. “They loved it.”

“Really? Next time, then.”

“Next time,” Jacob agrees, a promise for the future. Now, it’s time to focus on the present, the gentle caress of late spring breeze, the aquatic-green smell of saltwater against his skin. The sea is a sparkling turquoise with white foams like fine lace under the daylight, and turns liquid gold as the sun goes down. Now, in the last trace of twilight, it’s a blue almost as dark as a bruise, majestic and merciless, yet still as magnificent.

“It’s still beautiful at night.”

“It is,” Sangyeon says, but he’s not looking at the sea—he’s looking at Jacob, with a smile wide enough that his dimple appears and his eyes form those familiar twin crescents. After all their years together, the laugh-creases on the corners of his eyes are increasingly deeper, but the endlessly fond look in those twinkling eyes reminds Jacob that this is still the same man that he fell in love with, years ago at the age of twenty. “But, even here, you’re still the best view.”

“And you’re still an old sap.” Jacob splashes the water at him, and he retaliates by kicking the waves toward him.

They end up chasing after each other along the coast until they reach the rocky end of the cove. Jacob manages to tackle the older man, who only laughs and pulls him down as he falls to the ground. There are stars above them, but he is mesmerized by the ones below, in his husband’s ever-loving gaze as he’s splayed underneath Jacob on the gleaming sand.

“I love you so much,” Sangyeon says, and kisses Jacob.

His plump lips tasted a little like the drink they’d shared over dinner and a lot like the sea. Jacob returns it the way he’d fallen for this man: slowly, and then all at once—and then they’re the only two people in the world. Here, in this distant paradise far removed from their everyday worries, they can act like they’re young and reckless again, freshly in love, falling for each other through a makeshift parade of magical serendipities. All senses and sensibilities have evaporated with the delirious friction of skin against the grains of sand and the seismic pounding of his own heart.

They kiss until they’re both breathless and giddy, gasping for air. Jacob is still panting when Sangyeon continues to press kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, his left hand creeping underneath the younger man’s shirt, his warm brown eyes glazed with yearning.

Jacob is tempted, actually—the butterflies in his stomach are feral with want. And there are only a couple more people in the entire stretch of the secluded cove, and they’re partially hidden from view by the rocky crags and outcrops scattered along the shore. But he decides against it.

“Yeon-ah,” he whispers against his husband’s ear, hand halting his arm. “Not here.”

“Right.” Sangyeon laughs. “It’ll be too much of a hassle cleaning up.”

“That, and I’m feeling a bit dizzy, actually.”

The smile on Sangyeon’s face turns downwards into a gentle, concerned frown. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little warm and lightheaded from too much sun, I guess. Shall we go back to the shack?”

They get up and make their way to their cottage, leaving behind fading footprints for the sea to swallow.

The shack is a small, snug white building by the sea. They enter from the back door and into the pantry. Jacob flicks the lights on.

“Go shower first while I get water,” he tells Sangyeon.

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to see whether or not the tub is big enough for two, but okay.”

“With all the sand in our hair and skin?” Jacob opens the drawer to take a cup. “Nah. Maybe tomorrow morning.”

“Sure.” Sangyeon pats his head, fingers briefly carding through dyed brown locks. “Drink plenty of water.”

After Sangyeon goes to their bedroom, Jacob sits at the dining chair, pouring himself water to drink. He checks his phone, finding Kevin’s reports that Byeolie has been walked and fed. Jacob coos at the picture of his sleeping pup that his best friend has sent. Kevin is online, and they continue catching up about each other’s day until Sangyeon’s voice calls him.

“Cobie? I’m done.”

He has just got out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, hair still damp and swept back. Jacob wants nothing more than peppering kisses on his soft, full lips and throughout that toned body, but he also feels warm and gross from an entire day spent outside.

Sangyeon lifts an eyebrow. “Like what you see?”

“Very much.” Jacob tells Kevin *talk to you later* and heads to the bedroom—not before giving Sangyeon a light smack on his backside.

He runs a warm shower in the bathroom, washing away the taste and scent of salt that constant exposure to sun has baked onto his skin like gloss polish on metal. After he finishes, he slips into a plain white tee and red boxer shorts, then walks out of the bathroom to find his husband sitting on the edge of the bed, already clothed in his dark blue pajamas (to Jacob’s slight dismay).

“Oh, you’re done.” Sangyeon puts his book and reading glasses on the nightstand. “Let me dry your hair?”

Jacob sits cross-legged at the end of the bed that faces the mirror while Sangyeon turns on the hair dryer he finds in the drawer of the nightstand. They quietly fall into a familiar rhythm: the constant buzz of the hair dryer, the scent and song of the sea waltzing through the open window, the soft touch of Sangyeon’s rough fingers on Jacob’s scalp and through his hair.

Jacob heaves a content sigh when the other turns off the hair dryer. “Thank you.”

“I’m not finished yet.” Sangyeon takes out a comb. “Need to brush your hair.”

“I mean, for always doing this,“ Jacob says. “Even if I can do it myself.”

“It’s a habit at this point.” Sangyeon gives his head a final pat. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Thanks.”

“Feeling better now?”

Jacob hums in agreement, and Sangyeon puts his chin on the other’s shoulder.

“How come you’ve dyed your hair so often and it’s still so nice?” He sniffs at Jacob, his breath tickling the latter’s ear. “It smells nice too. Like home.”

Jacob rolls his eyes. “How do I even stand you?”

“In case you forget, Baebie, we’re here for our seventh anniversary. I’m entitled to be cheesy.” Sangyeon lays his body back on the bed and pats the empty side next to him. “Come here.”

Jacob follows suit, snuggling into him. “I mean what I said, though.”

“Hmmm?” Sangyeon turns to his side, and their faces are so close now, close enough that Jacob thinks he can count his partner’s eyelashes and puts a quick peck at the mole under his eyebrows.

“Thank you for always drying my hair. And making my coffee the way I like it in the morning,” he says. “And all the little things you’ve done for me.”

“Well, I don’t like it when you sleep with damp hair.” Sangyeon wraps his arms around the other. “And you’re grumpy without your coffee. I’d rather not deal with a pre-caffeinated Zombie Cobie first thing in the morning.”

“You have a point,” Jacob relents. “And I don’t deserve you enough for that.”

Sangyeon feigns a dramatic gasp. “All these years together, and you still think you don’t deserve me?”

“No, I mean… you always do those things, even when we’re fighting. Remember that time we didn’t talk and I slept in the guest bedroom for, like, two weeks? I’d still wake up to your coffee every morning.”

“I was wrong at that time, wasn’t I? I can’t believe I’d ever put work before you.” Sangyeon grimaces. “I was so stupid for putting work before you. That cup of coffee is the least you deserve for staying with me.”

“You know what people say? ‘Get someone who looks like you with stars in their eyes’?”

“Oh, Cobie.” Jacob thinks Sangyeon’s gaze can’t go softer—but now he feels like he’s swimming in those impossibly tender eyes. “You know I could never say no to you.”

“I know. But, I mean, it sounds nice at the beginning. But sometimes you can’t see the stars, no? Sometimes all you can see is darkness.”

“Right.”

“But just because you can’t see them, it doesn’t mean they’re not there. Sometimes, the sky’s just cloudy, and you just have to stay until you can see them again.” Jacob rests his left hand on his husband’s cheek, thumb softly stroking his cheekbones. “And because of those little things you do, I know that staying is always worth it.”

“Since when are you so poetic?”

“I guess if you’re friends with Kevin for long enough, some of his poetic inclinations will eventually rub off on you.”

“Then, thank you for staying with me through those days when you can’t see the stars.” Sangyeon takes the hand on his cheek, kissing it on each knuckle, then on the golden band on Jacob’s ring finger. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And Jacob thinks that if there’s heaven on earth, it would be here, in each other’s arms, as Sangyeon loves him well into the night, as their bodies rise and fall with the whisper of the waves and the rhythm of their heartbeats.

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otapleonehalf · 7 years ago

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2 Surprisingly Entertaining Magical Girls

(There’s no rule saying I can’t take up two days to talk about magical girls right?)

Twin Angel Twinkle Paradise is one of, if not the worst magical girl show I’ve seen. I couldn’t believe it was getting a sequel this year and I felt obligated to watch it. And then I couldn’t believe it when Twin Angel Break was actually a good show.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a great show. I don’t think I would actually recommend it to anyone. But that’s not because it’s a bad story, it’s just because it’s a sequel. It expects the audience to already be familiar with the characters and premise. Twin Angel Break is not good enough to validate sitting through it’s predecessor.

In the new and unfortunate trend of violent magical girl battle royales branching off of Madoka copy-cats, Twin Angel Break which is just a goofy and light show was such a breathe of fresh air (along with Matoi the Sacred Slayer from the season before it). It gives me hope that the magical girl genre is finding some new life blood, rather than just becoming obsessed with spilling blood.

#twin angel break #12 days of anime #anime

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 8 years ago

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(Armed Girls Machiavellism 1)

I was doubtful about this one because I could never get what was so offputting about it. Maybe I’ll figure it out while I watch.

…bear?

I bet he’s just a hand to hand brawler, that Nomura.

I appreciate the correct English, but “WARNING! Knock out 40+” sounds like a bunch of dot points…or a really bad brand of sunscreen, LOL.

Okay, I know anime has weird names, but “Kirukiru Amo” is a whole ‘nother level of weird. Then again, there’s weirder names out there (like Zolbe from Saiki Kusuo, but he seems to be a bit of a stereotype).

Hey wait, I thought I’d heard of Tenkai Goken (Great Five Swords) before, and it turns out I have! Touken Ranbu’s Juzumaru is one, so is Mikazuki and so is Oodenta (TR’s Oodenta is drawn by the same guy who did character designs for Kiznaiver, to boot)!

You gotta admit the colours in this really pop in a modern sort of way, unlike the somewhat plain Sagrada Reset.

See? Fudo really is a hand to hand brawler! (Then again, I knew that from the ANN stuff, LOL. Sorry I didn’t warn you about that.)

I half expect the pink stuff to be either transformation goo or makeup applying goo.

When I scoped out the show, the first impression shot that put me off was this one (the one just after the OP). Then again, I was intrigued by how empowering it was for the girls the first time I saw it, and I was put off by it the second time (because I scoped it out twice by looking at the manga website). I think it was Fudo’s face that did it for me, which is a bad sign going forward.

Isn’t it “co-educational”, rather than “co-existence”? Or is that just a very bad pun on the show’s part? Update: It is a bad pun, one on the word kyousei (correct/coexist, different kanji for each).

This is what definitely makes it offputting – the ecchi part. I really shouldn’t have wanted to watch this show, eh?

Nipple wrestling is a thing?! (wut.)

Take out the leg she’s standing on. Then again, if you went for that leg, she’d kick you with her other one…eh, I’m not good at strategy, y’know?

I know this is a battle anime, but since it’s a school anime too, shouldn’t Fudo get that thing disinfected?

Seriously, this show can never decide if it’s one or two parts of Rin’s mask they need on her face at one given time. On that note, I don’t think I’m coming back to this show. While it’s middle-of-the-road in some ways, it’s downright disturbing in others, including the bear.

(Love Tyrant 1)

I can’t remember why I picked some of these up…I was wandering around ANN a lot since I had a bunch of things due before the spring season started…

Well, that’s new. A show that made me cringe before anything really happened.

Wow. Blatant parody much.

I’m with Seiji re: Guri. The “wait a minute” though? Do they have that on all TV stations in Japan? Plus, ANN says Guri’s a fujoshi…which is vaguely disturbing when she randomly picks the PM and House Speaker…at least pick someone who’ll cause less impact on the world at large and not play that for comedy!!!

Okay…ooooooookkkkkkkkkkayyyyyyyyyyyyyy…not only Gainaxing, but fanservice galore…I think I learnt my lesson from Armed Girls. I’m getting out of here.

(Warau Salesman New 1)

Why do I have this on my list? ANN says it does its job competently, and while I’m not completely a sucker for monkey’s paw stories, seeing another 60s manga revived as an anime…is one odd choice after another for the industry, so hey, why not. Plus it was made by one of the Fujios, which makes it somewhat culturally relevant.

The artstyle might seem outdated, but it’s living up to its premise – there seems to be an uneasy feeling laced throughout the show.

Comic Sans, get out.

Hyper realistic artwork in an anime like this is always a “should that even be there????” factor. It works in the show’s favour though.

I think the intro is fine once per episode or at the start of each episode if the episode is about 5 – 10 minutes long. For a full length, you want to go ???? (in a bad way) at it. It’s different animation, sure, but it’s the same intro text, and that’s bad.

LOL, she looks like Fujiko Mine now. It must be no coinicidence, since it comes from the Lupin III era.

This is strangely well produced for an anime of a time gone by, but it reminds me of a show that creeped me out, updated, mature and Japan-ified. (For reference, this is the show I got creeped out by – Death By Chocolate, which is the one where a girl eats chocolate with a bug egg in it and turns into a bug herself …ugh.) So I’m gonna drop it. (As another reference, I wrote a transformation story – do you remember Melting Chocolate, back in the day? – that may have taken its inspiration from Death by Chocolate.)

(Alice to Zouroku 1)

Apparently the sci-fi part of this is good, so I hope it can live up to expectations.

Alright, I admit I completely forgot this was a double-length first ep. SGRS managed to pull it off (and in a sense, so did Kado), but anything that squanders its chances with such an opportunity is a waste in most senses of the word.

Oh great, this looks like Denpa Kyoushi. Not a good sign.

…giant arms?

Okay, whose idea was it to turn all the cars into CG blocks? It works on just one car or a bunch of cars, but if you do it on the waffle thing (that’s on the side of the road) too, it starts to look clunky.

Faim Mart (sic), LOL. Obviously Family Mart.

Does this count as breaking and entering…?

The more I look at these CGI cars, the more I’m led to believe this is some Very Bad Anime, but the chase scene is actually thrilling to a small degree, so it’s obviously not.

I like this old man already. Meanwhile, I still don’t like Very Bad CGI.

Asahi and Yonaga (yo can mean “night” while asa can mean “day”), LOL.

Kensaku means “search” (as in, kensaku no engin is “search engine”).

Zoroku is the one element that makes this stand out. I mean, I laughed way too hard at him pushing the girl (Sana, right?) down.

It’s this season’s ACCA, LOL.

Okay, that’s a breach of privacy I don’t like. However, unless you’re a psychic, you can’t follow that example…

Xiaochi means “snack” in Chinese.

“I hate crooked stuff.” - So then why’d you work with the yakuza, Zoroku?

The flowers look real! Is that the true power of CG? (Actually, I take that back. Kado’s cube is better than that.)

Phlox. Doesn’t quite look like what its animated version looks like.

Alice to Zoroku has potential, but almost non-existent themes, no real sense of suspense in its action scene and horridly bad CGI. The only real good point is Zoroku, so I’m going to drop it.

Update: I watched this in bits and pieces because I had my mind on other things, but apparently there’s dust on Sanae’s stuff and Zoroku said Sanae was on a school trip? This is one of the times I’ll have to disagree with whoever said that, because I do not recall that one speck.

(Twin Angel Break 1)

I apologise in advance for if I call this Twin Angels Break instead of Twin Angel Break, because there seems to be no particular set name this show is called in that regard. Plus, you already know I’m a fan of magical girls – last time there was a show that could have gone into circulation (Nurse Witch Komugi-chan R), it didn’t make it but considering how brutal I am with my decisions for simulcast commentary these days, this one might just make it! Update: There were actually a few shows after Komugi that could’ve made it, with Flip Flappers notably making it but Magical Girl Raising Project not making it. It’s just that I consider Flip Flappers an Alice in Wonderland show more than a magical girl one.

This is…pretty obviously a commercial…maybe I should take my excitement back…

The only sister school scheme I know that requires grades requires average grades, so I guess I can’t really talk (since I’ve never been on exchange anyway…?).

LOL, selfies. Thought they’d gone out of style at least a half year ago. Even dabbing’s more recent than selfies…

I can feel the yuri…

I feel Yuki’s reveal as a crossdresser was unnecessary.

Those “women” are from a series I was going to watch (Twin Angel Twinkle Paradise). Dangit spoilers – stealth sequels hurt the self-esteem if you don’t remember they’re coming. (I was aware this was a stealth sequel from ANN, but then I forgot about it because I’ve been churning out about 4 premiere entries a day…)

4 cups?! I couldn’t eat that much if I tried! I can almost finish a whole bag of chips on my own though (not the oven-baked, potato-mush-in-middle sort, the other sort).

Shamisenist? Is that a thing? However, this guy’s so camp, it’s hilarious.

Zundar, is that you? LOL, jks.

Why does this hedgehog have non-kawaii eyes? (LOL.)

Gratuitous shaking of the butt means it’s one for the yuri crowd…no wonder it’s a pachinko ad…

Wait, so Miruku is a girl?!

“What is the Tamagawa River?” - I ask the same question Meguru did, John.

How could you not tell, Meguru?! It’s kinda obvious, right? I love magical girls, but this is the sin of all magical girl shows, built into the format.

Welp, it seems like this one gets an OK from me. It’s not particularly groundbreaking, but the flail and naginata bit seems promising. However, the thing about magical girl shows is that they often don’t fare well under the simulcast commentary format so it may not stay on forever.

(Tsukigakirei 1)

Apparently this is decent…but if it’s only decent, I may just shove it aside…Update: Promo material says male protag likes Osamu Dazai, and after Bungou, danggggggg I’m thirsty for more Dazai, LOL.

Already I cringe at the bad CGI…

There was live action in the OP of Kado but this one seems even more out of place with it.

There’s that one guy with pink hair who wouldn’t look out of place in a different anime, but here he stands out since I already know how uptight Japanese schools can be with their rules (it’s a common topic during Japanese study, y’know?).

It says dai dai dai boshuu (basically, they’re trying reallllllll hard to get people to join through words alone) but the bottom line on the bo seems to be a little too long. There’s also the fact someone accidentally wrote “dog” instead of one of the dais, since “dog” and “big” (in this case big = dai) are only one stroke’s difference, but that extra stroke was rubbed out. Either way, there is an error in the recruitment statement, so the typo reflects that…I listened to it again, and the “dog” thing was indeed the case.

Thank you Dazai for such sage advice in describing teenage romance. (semi-sarcastic)

Okay, who describes water as tasty? Unless you’ve flavoured your water, I just don’t see why. Water is flavourless, y’know?

I live close to a shopping centre, so I see people I know working there sometimes and it’s awkward in that sort of way - Tsukigakirei just captured that feeling perfectly.

I left the volume on after checking the dog joke and gosh, that piano music is gorgeous. I’d love to hear this show’s OST when I can.

People in Western countries use Facebook these days, but it’s the same gig, right?

Watching that hand in the corner working that phone…it’s an odd angle.

Taiko no Tetsujin is a play on Taiko no Tatsujin. That’s where the lil’ drum in Osu comes from, and heck, it’s real similar to Osu.

I never quite understood that thing where girls have to go to the bathroom together…maybe it’s because I was raised to be independent? Or because I’m antisocial? Or even both? I get it if they want to chat, but otherwise nope.

I consulted Aozora Bunko, and apparently that line exists in that story.

Yudemen.

The only real supergroups I know are Swedish House Mafia (kinda sorta, they were only real big stars after SHM took off) and Apparatjik (because Coldplay).

“You should read all kinds of books,” LOL.

There was one background with one door and light streaming in that was so lifelike…that took my breath away…

So, despite its awkwardness, this one seems intent on being brutally honest and that’s admirable. It’s a keeper.

(Boku no Hero Academia 15)

It’s interesting to note in the final shot of the OP, Shouto wears a navy suit that looks a lot like his sport uniform. However, Bakugou is clearly wearing his hero outfit and so is everyone else.

Interesting to note All Might’s blood stain stays on the side of his face when he speaks after it spurts out of his mouth. However, that attempt at humour didn’t quite work for me.

“…until the day of.” – The day of…what? The subs didn’t finish the sentence, even though it’s obvious from the context what it’s referring to.

Mineta’s “person” thing is something used to relieve stress – you write the kanji for “person” on your hand (which only needs two strokes) and then you eat it (figuratively speaking).

Ooh. Shouto’s made a real pretty ice sculpture.

Oh. Koseiteki literally, but “Quirky” in English translation. Nice one, subbers. (The title for the next ep is affected by this particular grammar snarl – which I don’t really know how to explain myself – affecting the word for Quirk (kosei). Literally speaking, the title for the next ep is something along the lines of “Everyone’s Good With [Their Own] Quirks, Aren’t They?”)

(Tsugumomo 1)

I wasn’t part of the anime scene in 2007, so I wonder how that’ll impact my view on the show.

Oh man, OP debut queue. It’s kinda hard to keep up with…

I get why people make that eye-shaped window thing, but I’m not a fan of it visuals-wise.

Oh gosh. Why can’t harem protags keep their hands to themselves? Plus, that hand movement Kazuya makes doesn’t make sense if you’re reaching out for the girl (Kiriha, that was her name, right?).

The more I sigh, the more I want to get out of here. I can’t handle 1) jokes about…a man’s area, 2) jokes about peeking at panties and 3) jokes about groping girls, among other things (which have all been ticked off!), so this show has one last chance to prove itself before it gets a bad score and a kick out.

Yeahhhhhhhh. I get why you’re doing that, but...out in the open, you look like a perv, Kazuya.

Don’t say you’re dead when you’re falling…*sigh*

Dang that battle made me change my opinion fast. Good fight scene. Now tone down the harem parts and we have ourselves a deal.

Dang that “Ya-kun, I’ve drawn a bath!” thing reminds me exactly of Masamune-kun’s Revenge. Or Fuuka. Whichever one it was last season with the dude with the multiple sisters who lounge around in their underwear…*rolls eyes*

When Kiriha showed up in bed I half expected either 1) “PERVERT!” *shaking screen* or 2) “YIKES! Why is she in my bed?!” *shaking screen*. If either of those happened, I never registered it (mercifully) because I had the volume off, but luckily the screen didn’t shake...Okay, he screamed. I’m getting outta this cliché fest, see ya.

#simulcast commentary #Boku no Hero Academia 2 #armed girl's machiavellism #love tyrant #tsugumomo #tsuki ga kirei #warau salesman new #alice to zouroku #twin angel break #Chesarka watches Boku no Hero Academia #boku no hero academia #Chesarka watches Tsukigakirei

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anime-end-cards · 3 years ago

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Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angel: Kyun Kyun Tokimeki Paradise!!

Episode 3 end card by Watanabe Akio

#episode 3 #end card #watanabe akio #lime #kurumi hazuki #hazuki kurumi #kaitou tenshi twin angel: kyun kyun tokimeki paradise!!#kaitou tenshi twin angel #twin angel: twinkle paradise

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carbuncies · 8 years ago

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👐 !!!!!!!!!

improvisation | @tiiamate

👐 YOUR MUSE GIVING MINE A HUG

" Tia! Tia, over here! “

My, what laughter, what j o y encompassed white haired youth. To put a spring in buoyant step this early midsummer’s morn, till childish frame all but collided with the one whom was sought. Petite, the arms that wound around she who was the cause for such merriment in optics all but twinkling. That gazed upon the source with boisterous gleam; head tucked beneath a lone arm of hers for in her side had the celestial attached themselves. A single one of their own soon drawn back, alongside did their cranium recline; eyes raising, to meet beloved mercury above.

Lips parted ( but ah, what did they say? ) as an offering was made. Not with words, but with a single flower cradled betwixt fair digits. Pastel hue almost luminescent beneath glowing rays of sunlight. ” I picked this for you! “ ( Was that it? ) the sound to flit through gentle breeze & spray of ocean near. Was that which quirked angelic lips; a smile that would make the youth beam brighter than any star in the sky above. In the heavens-.

…

A blink; russet pools masked for but a moment. Reopening, to tones cooler than the light seen mere seconds ago. To air that possessed a chill not as kind as the all encompassing w a r m t h imagined but for a moment. Fantasied, by one who’d fallen for memories snare. For the silence, & the thoughts that had wandered so.

( Poor child, didn’t you know? The age of old was gone.

Nothing would ever be the same again. )

Look forward. Onward. Never look back. ( That was what you tried to tell yourself, was it not? That was the mantra spun time & time again like a broken record- but it never quite stuck, did it? ) For nostalgia, it was a cruel mistress. A jester tugging the strings- the chains to & fro, the memories in which such entwined & linked together to the forefront at moments most inopportune. Moments which spurned others. Spurned by the faces of those before physical eye, akin to the one to manifest before the mind’s, but never quite the same. For the former & the latter were not the identical no longer. Not with smiles that never reached quite as high. The twinkle within quicksilver hues amiss. Laughter not as animated, as full of h e a r t as once remembered. Ever missed, such as it was in a moment wistful & yearning, but never forgotten. Ever hoped, to be seen once more. Ever…

” Tiamate? “

Low & behold, the s u r p r i s e to etch across astonished soul. Across features fair, human. A persona reserved for few & far between, but one never hidden from she who knew it so well. Whose face was known, before bestial mask became the norm. Taken now, this waning eve, for one as dear as dear could be. To speak upon equal footing, not as serpent & fox- as Goddess & guide.

It was the visage that turned to face her, much as it could in the embrace that had startled them to their core. The gathering within tender arms catching them off guard, their mind having wandered from reality so. However, that was not the end of the tale. That was not the sole reason why optics once hazed with the past were w i d e as the twin pair were now.

Question after question found itself to the tip of concerned tongue, of one used to fretting over the well-being of others. Who… wondered were this had come from. Had they been that obvious? Was there something else- something wrong that plagued mind of her own?

& yet…

Yet the question remained silence, quelled with the softening of features that found themselves eagerly pressed into the shoulder of the one who’d hugged them. The affection swift to be returned, as arms were wrapped around the Astral in turn. The faintest of smiles forming against supple skin. Ever growing, no matter how lips quivered just slight. Eyes screwing shut ever so.

Perhaps they were not the only one reminiscent this beneath this twilight. For the paradise that once was, & would never be again.

#◤ ☄ ◞ ◜ ⊰ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃˢᵏˢ ⊱ ◢#◤ ☄ ◞ ◜ ⊰ ⁱᶜ ; ᵍᵘᵃʳᵈⁱᵃⁿ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ⊱ ◢#tiiamate #( just gonna #gently place this down here and hope it's ok #hugs for everyone )

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thesunlounge · 5 years ago

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Reviews 322: Aporia

I discovered the music of Aporia and Mitchell James O’Sullivan by way of Dub Disco, a beloved label who released Dub Disco Presents Aporia + Remixes back in 2018. One side of the 12” highlighted tracks from Aporia’s debut release Almost Tropical alongside an exclusive new track featuring Fazerdaze, while the other saw Dub Disco head Aussteiger and associated artists such as LITS801, Cosmic Palms, and S&W applying their balearic remix skills to to O’Sullivan’s tropically-tinged psych pop fantasies. The whole thing was a revelation and in the time since, both Almost Tropical and Dub Disco Presents Aporia + Remixes have worked themselves deep into my heart and now comprise some of my favorite music ever. So as you can imagine, there was considerable anticipation for an Aporia follow-up, which finally came during fall of 2019 in the form of Hotel Aporia, released by Cosmic Compositions and Fantasy Fiction Records. The LP sees O’Sullivan expanding the band’s line-up to include Nick Petricevic and Alia Seror-O'Neill, while also featuring a host of guest musicians providing additional guitar, synth, and woodwind treatments. And conceptually speaking, Hotel Aporia seeks to transport the listener to the titular hotel…an imagined beachfront resort existing in a sort of Lynch-ian dreamspace, one used by the band as a means to “navigate their South Pacific identities” and that is seemingly only accessible via exotic amalgams of library psychedelia, 50’s pop, Hollywood noir, sci-fi surf rock, and Hawaiian tropicalia.

Aporia - Hotel Aporia (Fantasy Fiction & Cosmic Compositions, 2019) After an introduction of mysterious orchestrations, operatic hazes, and chirping birds and insects, “Psychic Driving” sees a psychedelic surf beat riding alone before being joined by swinging bass thumps, tambourine jangles, piano chord splashes, horror film Moog leads, and spaceage theremin choirs. As the noir atmospherics recede, multi-tracked narcotica whispers flow above a sparse groove...as if O’Sullivan is scatting forbidden secrets while glowing synth hazes hover just out reach, with his voice sometimes backed by wordless feminine magic. During mesmeric choruses, cinematic strings and ghostly synth leads flow beneath Seror-O’Neil’s fantasy hooks and at some point, the whole thing gives over to a delirium jam out…like a trippy 60s happening taking place in the Red Room from Twin Peaks, with strobe lights flashing and enigmatic masked figures executing the batusi and the swim amidst melting layers of orchestral exotica. “South Seas Beijing” follows with seagulls and crashing waves surrounding liquid chord slides that recall nothing so much as “Breathe in the Air”. A lazed beat snaps amidst maraca rattles and chime strands as a Roger Waters style bassline drops, giving the whole thing the distinct feel of Pink Floyd scoring a South Pacific sunrise. And after an outro of moonlit wave motions, echoing loon modulations, and galactic synth flourishes from Lawree Goodwin, we flash into “Moon Taxi” and another solar surf rhythm glide. Seaside guitars glimmer in the sunlight and basslines sing beneath equatorial electronics as a vocal duet emerges, with O’Sullivan’s and Seror-O’Neil’s voices blurring together into heavy-lidded splendor. Cooing wordless refrains alternate with a fantasy chant of “the moon is watching” as flower power breakbeats are guided by bouncing bass guitar warmth, with lines occasionally sliding through lyrical romanticisms. There are moments where the mix reduces to an ambient blur, with aquamarine guitar vapors flowing through underwater vibrato fx, and towards the end, we flow into instrumental psych pop perfection as yearning voices suffuse the background…like sirens singing out from a hidden island paradise.

Amongst my favorite cuts here is “Helium,” which lets dense layers of fantasy synthesis guide a futuristic 50s pop epic. Slow motion drum beats glide beneath birdsong, with snares splattering through dub echoes. The classical ice cream chord progression rushes over the mix via lush pad orchestrations, angel choirs, and sparkling chimes while subsonic body grooves are generated by buzzing waves of analog warmth. Eventually, everything recedes save basslines, beats, and O’Sullivan’s and Seror-O'Neill’s vocal lullabies, which surround the heart with narcotizing threads of Roadhouse style synth-pop that strongly recall Angelo Badalamenti's and David Lynch's collaborations with Julee Cruise, as well as Chromatics. Gemstone piano mirages swim through the mix and during feverish choruses, the soul rushes towards a cinematic paradise aglow in tropical warmth. As the track progresses, multi-tracked string machines and droning polysynths subsume the singing…though hushed vocal incantations are still heard deep in the ether. Galactic lasers wiggle and cosmic tracers squiggle while fuzz guitars (or synths?) climb towards a molten summer sky, and during a moment of psychosonic mystery, the mix devolves into tremolo chordscapes and filtering trap kit rhythms, only to explode back into a stunning climax of “Heart and Soul” romance. A-side closer “Hawaiin Noir” continues exploring realms of 50s pop ethereality, though the vibe is pushed ever further towards South Pacific fantasy. Seed shakers keep a sparse rhythm while surf-stye guitars play doo wop progressions. A gorgeous voice calls out over the crashing waves with ecstatic abandon…like a goddess of the sunrise beckoning the spirit towards a paradise yet undiscovered…the effect so powerful as to literally take your breath away. Another guitar glides into the picture with soft motion solos, starshine electronics twinkle amidst a universal string synth hum, and nearing the end, everything fades into a mirage of meditative metal resonance, wherein Tibetan bowls sing over cricket chirps and crashing waves.

“Cloud Lodge” opens with insects and bongo rhythms surrounded by bubbling liquids. Bell trees flutter and stoner basslines pulse through ethereal shadows as O’Sullivan’s doped out lyricisms ride on sci-fi synths and spaghetti western guitars. New age melodies swim through the cosmos and further six-string accents melt into golden shimmer…all while dub chords delay towards the horizon. Next comes “Moog in Cairo” and its atmospheres of classical jazz meeting otherworldly exotica. There are touches of Omar Khorshid, Diminished Men, and Hosono’s, Suzuki’s, and Yamashita’s Pacific in the surfadelic guitar leads and as Fabien de Menou’s clarinets intertwine with mystical choral cloudforms, hand drums guide the body towards a hidden oasis. Twanging baritones decay towards a blood red sunset and child-like choirs sing songs of forbidden ecstasy amidst guiro scrapes and starshine chime descents....the whole thing like The Ventures tripping acid through a dramatic Hollywood rendering of an Arabian desert landscape. Rainforest percussions filter and pan over kick drums and ethereal gas clouds in “News from Nowhere” before we drop into the main groove, which sees basslines dancing and Peter Magnum’s sci-fi funk riffs crawling across the fretboard while drum machines sketch out robotic exotica patterns. Interstellar hazes blow across the spectrum, carrying with them outer-dimensional orchestrations that again evoke Arabian sunrises as well as the sensual dances of tango, and O’Sullivan’s double tracked vocalisms marry sonorous sensuality and falsetto radiance. Synthesizers gleam like diamonds and noir guitars melt down as ecstatic children sing in support of the increasingly desperate lyricisms…their voices only adding to the sense of haunted disorientation. Elsewhere, the mix reduces to hand drums and static oscillations while vibraphones sparkle like oceanic crystal. And at the end, wave sounds and prayer bowl drones return us to the fourth world environments of “Hawaiian Noir.”

In “Isles in Motion / Shipwreck Bay,” chime strands flow over seaside field recordings while vibraphones and islander hand drums establish a loose exotica groove. Synthetic harps are plucked, morphing fourth world crystals decay into the mix, electronic zithers execute zany runs across a virtual fretboard, and basslines thump through tropical jungle growth while tambourines shake out golden glitter. Eventually, the stereo field washes away as an abstracted voice lectures above the sounds of the sea, presumably signaling entrance into “Shipwreck Bay.” Guitars smear into paradise mesmerism, with touches of Hawaiian psychedelia intermingling with oceanic new age, and ambient angels sing through bodies of cosmic-aquatic light. And as rainbow colorations surround the body in amniotic warmth, tribal drum rolls flow forth from bubbling pools of neon. Helicopter oscillations and mirage guitar shimmer introduce the climactic drum beats of “Secret Fields”…a sort of slow pounding ritualism accented by e-piano chordscapes. Rolling tom fills introduce dirgey basslines while synthesizers howl into the night, bringing touches of progressive rock, only as if slowed to the speed of heroin mesmerism. Vocals flow through lush vocoder fx and evoke a sort of balearic leaning Black Sabbath, though that band’s funereal doom energies are here subverted by Callum Fairely’s dreamscape guitar ascents and these ethereal orchestrations that radiate hues of a Hollywood sunset. Shakers and ride cymbals splash through tide pools while e-pianos sparkle and during a moment where the rhythms fade away, aqueous dolphin songs and mermaid pan-pipe melodies swim across the sky. As the drums return, they stomp unencumbered, although barely-there guitars trace out haunting themes of paradise majesty. Then, after returning to the Sabbath-ian psych rock dirge, the vocals eventually fade away, leaving space for increasingly hallucinogenic tapestries of synthesized symphonic wonderment.

(images from my personal copy)

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seternm · 7 years ago

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witches & strangers. prologue.

All Hallows Eve, 1856. Salem, Massachusetts.

The night was cold and frigid, and a breeze howled as it blew crinkled leaves against the cobblestone streets. Lamps illuminated the dark scenery while trees slumped over cemented sidewalks. A coach was parked on the side of the road, and the coachman sat in a mildly uncomfortable seat atop the carriage. The horses attached upfront whined impatiently, kicking their legs to signify their annoyance. The coachman clicked his tongue to quiet them down, and he leaned against the coach’s roof. He held a pipe in his gloved hand, and he squinted his eyes when he brought a match’s flame close to the pipe’s contaminants. He placed his lips on the pipe’s reed, and he inhaled the smoke, only for the toxic fumes to exit through his nostrils. His head turned, and he stared at the mansion that was displayed across the street.

Columns and pillars lined the front of the mansion, and a numerous amount of windows were placed all around the structure. Balconies hung over the sides, showing the locations of important rooms such as master bedrooms, the study, and even the library. The home was painted an alabaster tone, and the black shingles on the roof contrasted the pale white. In all of its entirety, the building stood four stories high. It was a piece of magnificence! The house’s qualities would have made anyone stare agape in disbelief, but not him. (Not anymore, at least.) A wondrous glow came from the home, and he would have gawked at the warming sight longer had the horses not begin to whine out of agitation.

Across the street, within the perfectly molded mansion, there was a festivity being held. The whole room was in an uproar. Old and plump men bellowed as they laughed; wives awkwardly recoiled each time their fat husbands attempted to kiss their necks. Eligible bachelors boggled at the fair maidens that danced playfully and waved their fingers for the boys to come closer. (Such sirens they were!) The band played symphonies of delight and elation, and in result to the melodies, couples waltzed around the room. Alcohol buzzed the guests’ senses; it made their eyes droopy and their stances wobbly. They all waited anxiously for the clock to strike midnight so they could drown themselves in the wine and whiskey offered to them throughout the nightly event. An infectious amount of alcohol spurred from an idea that involved guests to consume as much alcohol as their livers could handle once the time reached midnight; this was a common tradition in the Carson mansion. Nobody questioned the strange custom, especially if he or she was getting alcohol out of it. Most attendants were escorted instead of walking home and ending up in a ditch. Even rich men could not stray from acting like fools.

Aside from the guests, the house seemed to have an exultant facade as well. The ballroom was designed with marvy architecture, and intricate designs lined the walls and ceilings. Chandeliers dangled from the ceilings, and they were made from crystals that twinkled in the light. A balcony sat on top of two staircases, and a grandfather clock was placed at the base. Tables of food and drinks were displayed against the walls. There was cake, pie, scones, cookies; anything anyone could have ever imagined! An arrange of fruits surrounded a large piece of ham. The ham was drenched in honey, and on top of the ham pineapple slices were placed to complete the meal. It was almost too good to eat, but that certainly didn’t stop anyone from using their grubby hands to tear into the hunk of meat.

While guests rejoiced and danced giddily, there was one person who stood separate from the contagious merriment.

Adeline Carson, the mansion’s owner and hostess, stood at the top of the staircase balcony. She held a wine glass in her hand, gradually sipping away at her drink to ease her tensions. Anybody who looked at her assumed she was enjoying the party like the rest of the guests; she laughed, conversed, and waved at anyone who passed by. The reality of the situation, however, would only be knownst to her and those involved, but she didn’t worry. This plan was going to work. She knew it!

Adeline was known by everyone in the upper and lower class communities, and she made sure of that. She had a charm that would make anyone laugh or smile and an alluring persona that could make anyone draw near. In her lifetime, she had been dubbed as one of the most beautiful women alive. Compliments such as those only made her ego bigger than it already was.

Her hair was the color of gold, and it was so soft and sleek that many rumored her hair to have been woven by Rumpelstiltskin himself. Her eyes were as blue as the sea, and their glare made sailors wish they had never traveled by boat. Her orbs could pierce anyone with just a glance; some would say, if you looked directly into them you’d be dead! Her long eyelashes tended to emphasize her eyes’ icy color, and she batted her lashes innocently towards possible suitors. Her lips were colored a bright red, and while they were pouty and sensuous, her kiss would come with a painful sting. Her face embellished freckles, and a distinct beauty mark rested above her top lip. The shape of her countenance was sculpted with fine curves, and she had a heart-shaped and pale complexion. Her form was succulent and luscious, and she wasn’t afraid to show it off. She was usually seen wearing red or black tones, (maybe a white and gold dress for occasions) and a purple or blue color would be pulled from her wardrobe once in awhile. “Only a harlot would wear that outfit,” woman would say as they gossipped about Adeline’s apparel. People criticized her daily, but she wouldn’t allow such petty words to hurt her feelings. Consequently, it seemed she didn’t have any to hurt.

She was watchful as she stood over the platform, and her finger lined the edge of her wineglass. The sound of someone’s voice made her head turn, only for her eyes to settle on a young woman; it was Abigail Carson, Adeline’s daughter. Abigail was Adeline’s only child, born in the year 1836 and heir to the Carson fortune. Abigail looked so similar to Adeline, Abigail could have been Adeline’s twin!

However, the golden locks were replaced by copper ringlets that bounced with every step the young female took. The blue eyes her mother adorned were instead gifted with the color of gingerbread freshly made. Freckles kissed Abigail’s face just like her mother, but they were precisely defined in particular places on Abigail’s face. She looked like an angel sent from heaven. (The irony could have slapped Adeline in the face if it wanted to!)

“Mother? Are you heading to bed soon?”

Abigail’s voice was melodic and hushed; her vocals worked together to make a pleasing lullaby that could lull Adeline to sleep.

The back of Adeline’s hand gently stroked the girl’s cheek, “Darling, you mustn’t worry about your mother. Go, sleep and melt away your stresses. I plead you to dream of paradise and luxury. Don’t you have an eventful evening in just two days time?” The words were just enough to make Abigail pout, and it caused Adeline chuckle in amusement. “Yes, ma’am.” Abigail responded, holding the hand that ever so delicately touched her previously. The girl moved away to walk down the hall towards her bedroom, and the door is closed behind her. A sigh left Adeline, and she swallowed a large portion of her drink before the sound of a creak echoed behind her.

“It is rather cruel to die before the wedding, yes?”

“That is none of your concern, Burrell.” Adeline swiveled, “You dare question me?”

Color seemed to have been washed from his sun-kissed face, and the fearful expression he had made it all the more convincing. His dark brown hair was slicked back and reflected from the hallway lamplights. He was dressed rather refined, much like Adeline was. His name was Isaac Burrell; he was a dedicated servant to the mistress of the home. No one really knew where he came from or how he had gotten to his position, but most had rumored he had been hired right after Adeline had settled in Salem in the year of 1824.

His arms were behind his back, and his brown eyes showed worry as he stepped beside his mistress. “I would never. The plan, however, would surely fail if Abigail were to--” he was cut off by Adeline’s hand raising. “You needn’t worry; you only need to sit idly by and ensure my family line continues. That shouldn’t be too hard for you.” She downed the rest of her drink, “I’ve already explained my actions in journals and letters she will inherit once I am gone. You will make sure Abigail gets them.” Adeline straightened her spine. “The only missing component was a husband,” she hummed to herself, “I have a plan for everything.”

“You of all people should know this.” she traced a finger along Isaac’s jawline while her head tilted to the side playfully. A seductress she was, unable to keep her hands to herself even if her life depended on it. There wasn’t one night that her bed went cold. She used her advantages to get what she wanted, and only those who felt her lustful hand knew of her immoral actions.

“You love to play with your toys, don’t you, Mistress?”

“You know me so well; I applaud you.” she giggled.

Adeline stood over to watch the guests once again, and silence settled between the two of them. Isaac glanced at Adeline’s face. His eyes were lidded, and his face showed no emotion, but on the contrary, butterflies tickled the outline of his stomach. He had admiration, longing, and much more for the woman that stood next to him. His hand then raised in attempt to touch the small of her back, but he stopped himself. Don’t be such a fool, Isaac. He cleared his throat, “I’ll begin preparing the escort.” Adeline sighed and looked down to the floor. She blinked in the direction of her daughter’s bedroom, and she chewed on her lower lip.

“I’ll accompany you in just a moment,” she swallowed thickly, “I need to speak with Abigail first.”

Isaac walked away and left Adeline to journey down the halls alone. Her heels were quiet against the soft rugs that lined the walkways, her feet pacing towards the entrance to her daughter’s bedroom. A petite hand grabbed the knob in hesitation, and Adeline cracked the door open. The candle in Abigail’s room was still lit, and this candle’s light signified Adeline’s daughter was still awake. Abigail’s eyes looked up from a book she was reading, and she seemed to be invested from the concentrated look she had prior to looking up at her mother. “Are you here to tuck in my sheets?” A snort left Abigail, and Adeline soon followed suit. “Aren’t you a little old for such things?” Abigail grinned at her mother’s remark and patted the bed. Adeline moved to sit down beside her daughter, and Abigail leaned her head onto Adeline’s shoulder. “What are these silly comments about, mon amour?”

Abigail studied the look on her mother’s face. She could see every shift in her mother’s eyes, and she couldn’t bring herself to even say the words that wanted to spew from her lips. Abigail took her mother’s hands in her own, and she held them close. “Tonight is the last night I slumber here. I wanted to tell you a goodbye.” Adeline could feel her lower lip tremble, “Abigail.. My darling, my sweet, my flower! Do not leave, for as a wedding gift, I bless you with this house. I will be traveling to meet an old friend, and I might stay in their presence for awhile. Raise your young, let them grow up with your blessings!” Abigail looked at Adeline with shock, “Mother, I couldn’t--” Abigail squeezed her mother’s hands.

“Nonsense! The two of you will live here. During this home’s construction, I made sure it was made to your liking. This is your home..” Adeline kissed the back of her daughter’s hand, and Abigail sniffled. “Goodnight, my love. In the morning, I want you to expect me gone. I will send a letter for you,” Adeline brushed hair from her daughter’s face, “Isaac will give you my wedding gifts. They are for you only.” Abigail nodded, and Adeline stood. “I love you, mama.” Adeline felt a tear trickle down her face, but she wiped it away before any sign of it was seen. “I love you too, mon amour.” The two shared an embrace, and Adeline clenched her teeth. She couldn’t bring herself to do the horrendous evils that were to take place that night, but there was no other choice. A final hug would be Adeline’s goodbye, and words couldn’t describe the immense pain in her heart. Adeline stood and reached for the door. She turned to look back at Abigail, who gave a friendly smile towards her. Adeline closed the door behind herself, and she clutched her chest. What an emotional endeavor! She thought, but she was quick to brush off her dress and clutch her fists. It was time to leave.

Outside, Isaac contemplated whether the plan would fall through while he waited beside the coach. He tensed when a voice spoke behind him. “Why are you so worrisome?” It was the coachman, “Is it because you hold repressed feelings?”

The man’s name was Peter Kendalls, and he was the horseman and coachman of the Carson mansion. He had dirty blonde hair and green eyes. His orbs were dark and cold, and people strayed away from him to prevent themselves from falling under his harsh gaze. He had a chiseled face, and it was pretty fitting since he had a strong and muscular build. He was a stoic man, and he usually kept to himself. The only exceptions to this, however, were Isaac and Adeline. “You ought to know her well enough that she doesn’t fool with such things.”

Isaac scoffed and folded his arms behind his back, “You only speak words of jealousy.”

Peter laughed and slapped his knee in amusement, “You’re a card, Burrell! Go on, tell me another jest!” Isaac rolled his eyes with a grunt. The sound of the mansion doors opening and closing caught the attention of both men, and they straightened themselves.

“Mistress?”

The softness in Isaac’s voice made her turn her head, and she stared at him. His face showed a look of concern, but she brushed it off. He swallowed. “I’ll be waiting for you.” Adeline looked away from him, but Isaac could see a cracked grin at the corner of his eye. “I’ll be looking.” Adeline responded as entered the carriage without another word. Peter shook his head. “You’re such a show off.” Isaac grinned at Peter’s remark. The horses began to clop their hooves into the surface of the road before they pulled the coach. The horses started off slow, but as soon as Peter cracked his whip, the coach was gone. Eventually, the horses and the carriage were no longer able to be heard by Isaac’s ears. Isaac sighed and stared into the distance. “Goodbye, Mistress Adeline.”

#writing #prologue

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