#underbelly festival

[lynxfrost13]

MUDWINGS

Physical traits

Sharing a close common ancestor with seawings, mudwings are a very large flightless breed of dragon that have adapted to the swamps and mountain borders of their lands. The largest tribe in terms of their sheer bulk, mudwings typically have a chunky build, with fat tails and short powerful legs built for endurance, not speed. Mudwings are ambush predators, choosing to wallow in deeper waters to catch their prey or graze on plants. With iron stomachs and their powerful jaws and tongues, mudwings can eat just about anything they find. Their large canines and gum flaps are mostly used for displays of intimidation, as well as their gills.

Mudwing gills only work during their hatchling years in order to allow the babies to hide underwater from predators who would eat the unprotected newborns, who’s scales are incredibly soft. As they grow older, mudwings lose the functional abilities of their gills but in exchange, grow thick flexible scales that protect their faces and bodies, with their underbellies remaining mostly soft. Mudwings’ head ridges grow into horns that are layered and transition into a neck crest. Many mudwings also sport “beard” ridges on their face regardless of gender, and these serve no purpose but are considered attractive.

Mudwings are semi aquatic and can remain underwater for several hours, their soft nose flaps can close to prevent them from breathing water and their massive lungs can hold great deals of air. To help them detect prey in murkier waters, mudwings also have whiskers on their brows and around their noses,the exception to this is newborns, who’s whiskers grow in as they age. As hatchlings they all tend to be a solid dull shade of any color, but brighter accent colors develop in adolescence.

Customs

Mudwings are a festive tribe, holding annual contests pitting sibling groups against each other in various sports, with a focus on having each sib group demonstrate how well they cooperate with each other. Mudwings also have a deep connection to food and mealtimes, their cuisine is heavily made up of stews and soups and large meals that can be shared, such as meat roasts. Mudwings borrow from sandwing culture and use sandwing spices so frequently in their cooking that they’ve become a staple in every mudwing household. The emphasis on sharing a meal with a guest is also extremely important, to not offer a meal to a stranger is considered a hostile action against that stranger by other mudwings. They appreciate foods from all over Pyrrhia and many merchants from other tribes come to the mudwing kingdom to sell treats and food that would not be welcome in other places due to cultural differences.

Mudwings are also incredible storytellers, with much of their history being passed down through oral storytelling, they don’t keep many written records but instead have bards who’s duty is to teach mudwings about their history and entertain them with song. They swear oaths that bind them to a faithful retelling rooted in truth, but they are allowed to make the stories as poetic as they please. Mudwing bards have traveled across Pyrrhia and some even tell the histories of other tribes. Despite their rich tradition, the other tribes tend to dismiss the mudwing approach, since they see bards as unreliable.

[nayziiz]

Witness | CL16

Summary: In the shadowy world of Monaco's elite, the Leclerc family reigns supreme. Charles Leclerc, the charming middle son, maintains their pristine public image—until one rainy night, during a fit of rage, Charles does the unthinkable. A young woman witnesses his actions, and her terrified eyes haunt him. Consumed by guilt and fear of exposure, Charles embarks on a desperate search to find her before she can destroy his family’s legacy. As he delves deeper into Monaco's underbelly, Charles must confront his own darkness and the lengths he will go to protect his family.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x OC (name to be revealed)

Warnings: Violence, blood, angst

Masterlist

CHAPTER 3

The youngest Leclerc brother, Arthur, was the wildest one. Known for his insatiable appetite for adventure and thrill, he thrived in the vibrant nightlife of Monaco. He had a habit of dragging Charles to parties, clubs, and casinos when Charles would have preferred a peaceful night in with a glass of wine and a good book. Arthur’s energy was infectious, his charm undeniable, and he revelled in the attention their family name commanded.

Tonight was no exception. It was a Saturday, which meant the city was alive with the promise of excitement, and Arthur had already set his sights on the night’s itinerary. He burst into Charles’s apartment, grinning from ear to ear, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Come on, Charles! You can’t hide away tonight,” Arthur declared, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “I’ve got us on the guest list at the hottest club in town. Everyone’s going to be there!”

“Arthur, I really don’t feel like going out tonight. I had a long day, and I just want to relax,” Charles sighed, switching on his television and clicking on one of the motorsport channels.

“Relax? You can relax when you’re old and grey. We’re young, rich, and Leclercs! The world is our playground, brother,” Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically, grabbing the remote from Charles’s hands and tossing it onto the couch. 

Despite his reluctance, Charles couldn’t help but smile at Arthur’s infectious enthusiasm. It was a losing battle, as it always was when Arthur set his mind on something. Resigned, he stood up and grabbed his jacket, knowing there was no point in arguing.

“Alright, alright. But just for a few hours,” Charles conceded. “I have some business to take care of tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit! Trust me, you’ll thank me later. There’s nothing like a night out in Monaco,” Arthur clapped him on the back, his grin widening.

Arthur kicked the night off with a rented limo, already downing shots like nobody's business. The air inside the limo was filled with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses as Arthur entertained himself, his spirits high. Charles, ever the responsible one, watched his brother with a mix of amusement and mild concern, knowing how wild Arthur’s nights out could get.

The limo took them to a restaurant, an upscale place known for its gourmet cuisine and sophisticated ambiance. The plan was to have a meal before diving into the night's festivities. As they arrived, Arthur, already a bit tipsy, made a beeline for the bar. Charles sighed, resigning himself to a quiet meal alone.

Charles found a quiet table and ordered a hearty meal, intending to line his stomach properly for whatever the night would bring. The restaurant's dim lighting and soft music provided a stark contrast to the wild energy Arthur radiated at the bar. Charles watched his brother from across the room, seeing him animatedly talking to strangers, charming everyone in his vicinity.

Charles savoured his meal, enjoying the brief moment of solitude. The rich flavours of the food helped to ground him, a small comfort amidst the chaos Arthur had undoubtedly planned for the night. He glanced occasionally towards the bar, where Arthur continued to entertain, his laughter echoing through the restaurant.

As Charles finished his meal, he reflected on how different he and Arthur were. Arthur's zest for life and adventure often pulled Charles out of his comfort zone, dragging him into nights filled with unpredictability. Yet, despite the exhaustion these nights brought, Charles couldn't deny the bond he felt with his brother, a bond that often made him go along with Arthur’s wild plans.

Once Charles was done, he walked over to the bar, where Arthur was still in high spirits, flirting with the bartender and regaling a small group with some exaggerated story. Charles placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, giving him a look that conveyed both amusement and readiness for the next part of the night.

“Ready, big brother? The night’s just getting started!” Arthur grinned, downing another shot before clapping Charles on the back. 

“Lead the way, Arthur. Let’s see what you’ve got planned,” Charles nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. 

The night was still young, and Charles knew better than to underestimate Arthur’s knack for creating unforgettable experiences. From there, Arthur dragged Charles and his friends to his favourite casino, a lavish establishment with opulent décor and a vibrant atmosphere. As they entered, the group filtered through the other guests and diplomats to the bar, the clinking of glasses and low murmur of conversations adding to the casino’s lively ambiance. Some of Arthur's friends gravitated towards the slot machines, their excited chatter blending with the mechanical sounds of the games. Others headed for the roulette table, eager to test their luck.

Charles, however, remained withdrawn from the main group. He slowly made his way around the casino, observing the scene with a detached curiosity. He watched as some fools gambled away their trust funds, their faces a mix of hope and desperation with each spin of the wheel or roll of the dice. The flashing lights and the cacophony of sounds seemed to create a world of their own, one where fortunes could change in an instant.

Occasionally, Charles would take a seat at one of the tables, nursing a drink and simply watching the guests move about the dimly lit room. The casino was a microcosm of Monaco’s elite, a place where power and money intersected in a dance of chance and skill. Despite the bustling activity around him, Charles felt a sense of isolation, his thoughts drifting back to the incident and the woman he was desperate to find.

As he continued to observe, he felt a tug of responsibility and protectiveness towards Arthur. His younger brother thrived in this environment, effortlessly charming everyone around him, but Charles knew the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of their glamorous lifestyle. He needed to keep an eye on Arthur, ensuring that he didn’t get into too much trouble.

Arthur, meanwhile, was in his element, moving from group to group with an easy confidence. His laughter echoed across the room, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. Charles couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s antics, even as he felt a pang of worry. Arthur’s reckless nature was both his greatest asset and his biggest flaw.

She had perfected the art of the serene smile, a mask she wore to hide the turmoil churning inside her. Her hands moved deftly, expertly shuffling and dealing the cards with practised ease. The table was surrounded by a mix of regulars and tourists, their faces a blend of hopeful anticipation and steely determination.

“Place your bets, please,” she announced, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach. She swept her gaze over the players, taking in their expressions, their tells. She had learned to read people well in this job, to see beyond the surface.

The cards were dealt, and she watched as the players assessed their hands. A middle-aged man in a tailored suit tapped his fingers on the table, a subtle signal for another card. Next to him, a young woman with a wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses nervously bit her lip before deciding to stand. The tension was palpable, each decision a potential turning point in their fortunes.

As she revealed the next card, a murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. The man in the suit smiled triumphantly, his pile of chips growing with his win. She congratulated him with a nod, keeping her expression neutral. The casino's glamour masked the desperation that often lurked beneath the surface, and she was all too aware of the fine line between triumph and ruin.

Her shift progressed in this rhythm of bets and deals, wins and losses. She maintained her composure, but the memory of that fateful night lingered at the edges of her mind. Every face in the crowd was a potential threat, every moment a chance for her past to catch up with her.

A sudden shout from across the room jolted her from her thoughts. A commotion at the roulette table drew the attention of the patrons, and for a brief moment, the blackjack table was deserted. She took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment of respite. The noise of the casino faded to a distant hum, and she felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly.

But it was a fleeting reprieve. As the players returned, she resumed her role, her eyes scanning the crowd with renewed vigilance. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down, not when the threat of being discovered loomed so large.

A new player approached the table, a tall man with a confident stride and an easy smile. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. For a split second, she feared it was him, the man she had seen that night. But it wasn’t. Just another stranger in a city full of them.

“Good evening,” she greeted, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil. “Care to try your luck?”

The man nodded, taking a seat and placing his bets. As she dealt the cards, she couldn't shake the feeling that her time in Monaco was running out. The sense of being hunted, of danger lurking just out of sight, was ever-present. But for now, she had a job to do, a role to play in the glittering spectacle of the casino.

She watched as the players made their decisions, her mind drifting slightly as she mechanically performed her duties. The table was busy tonight, a mix of regulars and tourists, their expressions ranging from confident to anxious.

As the night wore on, Charles’s attention was drawn to the excitement at the blackjack table in the corner of the room. The dealer, a young woman with an air of calm professionalism, skillfully handled the cards, her movements precise and practised. Something about her seemed familiar, but Charles couldn’t quite place her. He decided to approach, drawn by a sense of curiosity and an inexplicable pull. As he got closer, the woman looked up, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.

Her heart skipped a beat, a faint sense of unease creeping in, but she dismissed it as the usual paranoia that had plagued her recently. Charles took a seat at the table, his gaze fixed on the dealer. There was something about her, a nagging feeling that tugged at his memory. He watched as she dealt the cards, her hands moving with practised grace. The way she moved, the set of her shoulders, it all seemed so familiar.

“Place your bets,” she repeated, her voice steady but her pulse quickening.

She sensed his eyes on her, a penetrating gaze that made her skin prickle. She focused on the cards, trying to shake off the feeling. Recognition flickered in her gaze, and suddenly, it all clicked in her mind.

Charles studied her face, the way she focused intently on the game. And then, like a flash of lightning, it hit him. Her face. It was her. The woman from that night. The memory of her terrified expression, her wide eyes frozen in shock, came rushing back. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding as recognition settled in.

“Hit or stand?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly as she met his eyes again. The look in his eyes made her stomach drop. It was a mix of shock and realisation, a look she had seen before, in a dark alley under the rain. Charles swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Stand,” he said, his voice rough with the weight of his discovery. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, the woman he had been searching for, now standing right in front of him.

She dealt the next card with trembling fingers, her mind racing. He recognized her. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the tension that now crackled between them. Her carefully constructed world began to crumble, the walls of safety she had built around herself now seeming paper-thin.

The game continued, but the atmosphere at the table had shifted. The other players sensed something was off, casting curious glances at Charles and the dealer. She forced herself to focus, to complete the hand, but her mind was spinning with fear and uncertainty.

While she was frightened, he was overwhelmed. He wasn't sure how to approach the subject with her without scaring her any further. He wasn't a horrible person and he hated the fact that she caught him at such a brutal moment in his life. He kept watching her, his mind racing with thoughts of how to handle the situation. He couldn't speak to her openly about it in front of so many people, so when the game ended and she quickly rushed towards the staff rooms, he caught up with her.

“Excuse me, Miss,” he called after her.

She stopped and hesitantly turned around. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she seemed ready to bolt at any second.

“I'm not quite sure how to go about this, but I would appreciate a moment to speak with you…privately,” he tried to keep his voice as gentle and non-threatening as possible, aware of the tension in the air.

She looked around, clearly nervous about being seen talking to him. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, curiosity, and a sliver of defiance. She had seen him at his worst, and now here he was, confronting her in a way she hadn't anticipated.

“Why should I?” She asked, her voice shaky but with an edge of determination.

“Please,” Charles said, lowering his voice even further. “I just want to explain. I need you to understand that what you saw was not who I am.”

Before she could answer, her manager strolled by and spotted Charles and her.

“Mr. Leclerc!” Her manager bellowed, interrupting the two.

She had to stop her jaw from falling to the ground when she heard his last name. Leclerc? The realisation sent a shiver down her spine, and the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place. This man, the one who had haunted her nightmares for days, was one of the notorious Leclerc brothers.

“Is there something Marie or I can assist you with?” the manager asked, his tone shifting to one of eager politeness.

“Marie?” Charles repeated, turning to look at her with a mixture of surprise and recognition.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded.

“No, thank you. I, uh, was just looking for the restroom,” he lied, his voice steady despite the tension radiating from him.

“Right this way, sir. Marie, you can return to your station.” The manager smiled, oblivious to the undercurrents in the exchange.

Charles gave her a lingering look before following the manager down the hall. She watched them go, her heart pounding in her chest. The shock of his identity and the suddenness of the encounter left her reeling. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before heading back to the blackjack table.

As she resumed dealing cards, her mind raced with the implications of what had just transpired. Charles Leclerc now knew her name, and she knew his. The stakes had just gotten infinitely higher. She had seen a side of him that no one else had, and now he was aware of her existence in a way that made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

She had to figure out what to do next. Reporting the incident seemed even more complicated now, knowing the power and influence the Leclerc family wielded. But staying silent felt like a ticking time bomb. She was caught in a dangerous game, and she had no idea how to play it.

For Charles, the encounter left him equally unsettled. As he walked towards the restroom, guided by the manager, he couldn't shake the feeling of fate's cruel irony. The girl from that night was named Marie, and now she worked in a place he and his brothers frequented. He needed to speak to her, to explain himself properly, but the opportunity had slipped away.

Once he was alone, he splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He had to find a way to reach her again, to make her understand. The fear in her eyes haunted him, and he couldn't let things remain as they were. Not knowing how she might react, not knowing if she might go to the police, was a risk he couldn't afford to take.

He returned to the casino floor, his mind made up. He would find Marie again, and this time, he would make sure they had the conversation he so desperately needed. The game had begun, and he was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.

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

Taglist: @headinthecloudssblog

[operationtimeguard]

sable ward lore

Sable figured she had to be adopted. No way was she the progeny of her insanely perky mom and her grinning, golf-playing, frat boy of a dad. They didn’t understand the first thing about her. No one in Greenvile did. Except for Mikaela. They were fast friends since third grade. Up until then Sable had no friends. She wasn’t into ponies or dolls or tea parties with teddy bears. She liked bugs, lizards riding bikes and dirt cloc fights.Her favorite holiday was Halloween and Mikaela was the only one who didn't think she was crazy when she dyed her hair purple in eighth grade. Sable's mom was furious. Her dad didn't even notice. Mikaela went with her to the mall when she got her ears pierced and helped her pick out her first tattoo. An occult symbol hidden in a place her parents would never see. Mikaela declined to get her own tattoo. She flirted with the dark side, but she didn't live it. Not like Sable. The dark side made sense to Sable, and she reveled in it. Partly because it freaked out her parents and teachers. Partly because it felt like who she was. Some called her a goth because of the way she presented herself. But she wasn't into labels. She loved horror movies and found the occult exciting. It made sense to her. She knew that the shiny suburban world of her mom and dad had a dark underbelly. They were afraid to confront their fear, so they pretended everything was perfect and that they would live forever. But Sable knew better. Death stalked us all and no one was getting out alive.

Mikaela got Sable a job at Moonstone. Probably the only place in town that would have hired her. She took classes at the local college and produced a guerilla radio show on the shortwave in her attic. All Things Wicked This Night was about the world's dark underbelly. The occult. Urban legends. Horror. And often there were heated discussions with Mikaela about the horror movies they'd catch at the only theater in Greenville. Mikaela liked her horror with a little comedy, but Sable liked it meaner. Scarier. Bloodier. She relished the gore. Enjoyed the terror. Liked to feel the adrenaline rush. And their debates were entertaining to say the least.

When searching for inspiration for her show, Sable would take walks in the cemetery with all the statues and headstones of early settlers who had founded the town as a sanctuary for those escaping persecution. She often talked about that history on her show, and she formed a theory that the uncanny sightings and disappearances were somehow linked to the town's history. One caller suggested the town was built on top of a fracture. The caller went on to describe a fracture as an overlap between worlds. Another caller said these fractures were created by an ancient cult devoted to forgotten demons. Another caller defined fractures as a cosmic buffet for an elder god that fed on pain, fear, and misery. And one caller even argued that it wasn't a fracture but The Unknown, a mysterious creature that consumed anyone who dared to imagine it. All the theories made for fun and inspiring debates, and she loved nothing more than to discuss real-life horror until the horror became personal.

One evening Sable had challenged Mikaela to tell a real horror story at Moonstone's Annual Halloween Festival. Scare the crap out of people. Stop dancing around the horror and embrace it. Tell a story about The Unknown. Make them imagine it. Make them believe The Unknown will show up on stage. Nothing terrifies an audience more than a show that could potentially kill them. Mikaela laughed at the idea and declined the challenge because she was working on another story with her roommate. 

But a strange, black fog had taken Mikaela during her performance and Sable felt the icy hand of guilt grab her by the back of the neck. She was convinced that she had somehow sent Mikaela to her doom. Did The Unknown take her? Did she try to define The Unknown? What about her roommate? Her roommate disappeared as well. But then she realized Mikaela's story wasn't about The Unknown. It was about something else. Another dimension. A dimension filled with terrifying creatures, sadistic killers, and endless horror.

This was not The Unknown.

With this realization, Sable began to investigate other disappearances in Greenville. Before long, she realized most of the disappearances occurred at the theater or somewhere close by. Investigating further, she discovered the theater was built over the ruins of an old, one-room schoolhouse that had burned to the ground in the 1920s. Somehow the students couldn't get out and everyone perished in the flames. Feeling close to an answer, she continued her research and discovered two teenage brothers had recently disappeared from the theater. Elias and Elan. The only witness, their younger sister, Ellen, was committed to an institution after ripping her eyes out. And so, pretending to be a relative, Sable went to talk to Ellen who admitted she and her brothers had been trying to steal old movie posters from the storage room behind the movie screen. She then described a secret door in the basement and a passageway that led to another Place.

A dark place.

A cold place.

An evil place.

Stay away from there, she begged. Stay

Away.

But Sable wasn't about to stay away.

Not after that story.

Determined to see Mikaela again, Sable hitched a ride to the theater and soon found the door behind the movie screen. In the darkness she jimmied the door open with a crowbar and headed down a creaking, wooden stairway to the dank cellar. A light switch activated flickering fluorescent lights that illuminated a room filled with broken theater seats and old movie posters dating back eighty years. She searched the sprawling basement and found a thick wooden door hidden behind a poster of the original Frankenstein. She pushed and shoved the door open to reveal an endless circular stairway descending into perfect darkness. Using a penlight to navigate, she descended for ten minutes before she noticed the cold, black fog rising from the lower depths.

The same cold, black fog that had taken Mikaela.

Sable considered running back up the stairs to where she would be safe. But then she thought about the terrifying creatures and the sadistic killers and the endless horror, and she quickly decided she wasn't going to let her best friend have all the fun.

[garglyswoof]

Fragile Things

ao3 For @kastleexchange Come What May Day 1, "What Could Be" The first thing they say to each other in Daredevil: Born Again. Please note i have no clue what canon is anymore, except (hopefully) in terms of characterization. She knows it can’t last, like it’s a truce the world has temporarily granted, fragile and held together by the most tenuous of things. A house of cards, really, and she eyes it warily, even as Matt’s let down his own guard now that Fisk isn’t around. No one has stepped up to the plate to organize criminal activity on the scale Fisk had managed, his empire ran haphazardly by lesser minds, as lesser threats.

So yes, Matt has let them in more, her and Foggy, now that his nightly excursions seem almost too easy. Not that they don’t leave him bruised and battered, but he seems less afraid of pulling his friends in when there’s not a criminal mastermind behind them, just poor attempts at the throne.

Still, she‘s tense that whole spring, into summer, then the fall, waiting and watching that house of cards. The Jack of Hearts looks a little bit like Foggy, who’d grown a goatee and then shaved it off in favor of just a mustache despite Karen needling him mercilessly for it.

“Karen, I’m going through my eras of TV Hunk. We’re in the Tom Selleck phase, do you know how many women swooned over his mustache? I will not be bound by societal changes.”

“Does Marci like it?”

He glances sidelong at her, pauses then lets out a defeated sigh. “Yes, or you know it would be gone in 30 seconds.”

“Ok I’ll work on her. Every time you come into the office I picture you sliding across the hood of a 70s muscle car like you’re in Magnum P.I. and I can’t take you seriously.”

“Reminds me of that time when Fr--” Foggy stops himself, but she knows.

“Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes flicking up to meet his gaze then leave it. “Yeah it does.”

It would be a lie to say she didn’t think about Frank, but Murdock, Nelson and Page had been a good distraction this last year. Setting up the firm, finding a new office in the Kitchen, and just playing serious legal catch-up to the two avocados at law were enough to keep thoughts of him to a dull roar (she’d bought them little namesakes, glass-blown ones with painted-on sunglasses and a mustache, from a stall at one of those weekend art festivals that were always popping up around the city).

Still, at night when she tosses her keys on the side table and the lonely weight of her quiet apartment settles into her bones, she thinks of him. Of how he couldn’t look at her in that damned hospital room, eyes darting, of how he pushed her away with his own stubborn, selfish aims. Yeah. Yeah, she’ll have a lot to say to him, if she could. 

But he’s been gone this past year, or maybe just terrorizing some other part of the country’s criminal organizations. Like she’d thought earlier, New York was missing some of its seedy underbelly these days. It’s why it worked, this house of cards.

It comes crashing down that Thursday night. 

It had been a good day, Matt heading into court in the afternoon, Foggy finally breaking the industrious quiet by announcing he’s always wanted a putting green in his office. 

Somehow that has evolved into a three-hole miniature golf course where the final hole is a ramp to Foggy’s blown-up face from an old political poster with the mouth cut out. Karen’s sides hurt from laughing as the city settles into the dark of evening. 

“Wow, you really suck at this,” Foggy laughs.

“I did not know I needed to practice -” she bursts into giggles -”putting a ball - oh god - p-putting a ball into your m-mouth”.

Foggy loses it too until a text buzzes both their phones. They both sober up from the laughter, each thinking the same thought as they reach for their mobiles. Matt’s been gone too long.

Sure enough, it’s a text from him, and Karen’s heart sinks from the vagueness of it.

Won’t be able to make it out tonight. You two have fun and see you in the a.m.

She looks up to see Foggy’s expression as he studies the words on the screen like an Ancient Text, the backlight and the now dim light in the office lending him a haggard expression. It's the first time she’s seen it in a year.

“He’ll be okay, Fogs.” She isn’t sure she believes it, but she says it anyway. She doesn’t think he believes it either, but he smiles all the same. She marvels, not for the first time, at how trauma is a form of time travel. Because despite the progress of this past year, her and Foggy both remember Matt, before, and they are right back there again in an instant.

Foggy’s expression almost breaks her heart as he nods and takes an absentminded last putt, the ball rolling up the braille legal book ramp and straight into the picture’s mouth.

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

Karen hasn’t changed a bit, despite all that’s happened, and she knows this is a bad idea but can’t stop herself all the same. She’d said goodbye to Foggy at the office doorway, mumbling something about cleaning up the casserole dish from one of their recent sliding scale (if you could call it that) clients. Foggy had been on the phone with Marci, but had paused - Karen’s heart aching with the kindness of him - for a moment, holding his hand over the speaker.

“You sure?” He'd mouthed before speaking in a whisper. “This isn’t about Matt, right?”

She’d shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t going to lie about that, at least. “Maybe it is, but it’s okay. I just want to have some time to think, and scrubbing cheese off this casserole dish will sadly give me time.”

He’d left then, with one worried glance backwards. She’ll have to keep an eye on her phone tonight, she’s willing to bet he’ll at least text to check in on her. 

It had been the silences from Matt that had scared them the most. She isn’t doing that to Foggy.

Still, she’s pretty sure he wouldn’t approve of her rifling through Matt’s files, her notes, and the Bulletin trying to triangulate where the hell Daredevil is off to tonight. She figures it out when she sees the line in the local crime beat from last week, from a paper she hadn’t yet let herself start reading again until now. 

Ex-FBI Officer Charged with Death of Priest, FBI Officer Escapes From Prison

She drops the paper and scrambles to her desk, pulling out the drawer that holds her purse, shaking, and grabs her gun, her breath ragged in the quiet of the office, the gun almost sucking the light out of the room, matte black. She stares at it for a moment before raising it in both hands, her feet unconsciously shifting apart to ground her. She feels the trigger under her finger, safety still on, she knows, and she presses the trigger once, twice, three times, over and over until her face crumples and she slides to the floor. 

She doesn’t give herself much time to let the pain rule her, she never does. If Bullseye is back, then that’s what Matt is looking into, and she knows he’ll need help despite not wanting it. Not to mention she has a score to settle with that psycho. Her hand shakes as she locks the office up until she stares at her fingers, willing them to calmness.

The church still looms taller than her faith, which isn’t hard to manage, she thinks wryly. The night holds an early fall chill, a breeze off the river teasing the hairs at the nape of her neck where her hair is pulled into a low ponytail. Quiet rules the street with the church lit gently by low exterior lights as she eyes the windows and tries not to think about the past. She’s almost about to give up, thinking that she’s guessed wrong, when she sees the heavy front door shift. A figure darts through, too broad-shouldered to be Matt, she thinks, then the door shuts without a noise and she’s staring into a face lit lowly for just a second before the man ducks into the shadows. 

Frank. She’s frozen there, on the sidewalk, and she knows it’s the stupidest thing for her to do so she darts off the path onto the grass that edges the church’s lot. She’s not sure if he’s seen her, and can’t spot him anymore in the darkness, and she has a moment to think - god how on earth did he just disappear like that? before he’s in front of her, finger to his lips at her impending shriek of surprise, his face familiarly blood-spattered and sporting an almost goofy grin. It doesn’t make sense, any of it, and she stares at him in confusion as he tugs her hands into his, holding her out like he wants to look at her, take stock, that grin lowering like a sail as his eyes grow more intense and how can he be so casual and what is going on and -

“Ma’am,” he says, his tone teasing. 

She relaxes, because there can’t be any danger here if he’s acting like that, but then tensing back up because honestly, what the hell? 

He must see it in her face because he rumbles an apology. ‘M’sorry. Just…seeing you like that, reminded me of…” he trails off, dropping her hands to tug at his hood in mimicry of his beggar routine. That happened forever ago, but he still remembers. So does she. “And you’re still all heart, I don’t even need to ask.” 

Something about the way he says it, almost proprietarily, pisses her off. Her eyes flash in the shadows they’ve found themselves in, pulling deeper in as a car passes and breaks the silence with loud, low bass.  “Yeah, Frank? What clued you in there?” 

She wants him to say it. Doesn’t want to have to spell it out.

His head punches back slightly, taking the blow. He changes the subject, or maybe it’s still the same one. “I came back as soon as I heard. The church’s been clean so far, surprised though. Guy like that usually wants to win where he lost.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” Karen admits. “So what’s with the blood?”

He touches his face, as if reminding himself. “Research.” 

She almost laughs. 

“Where’s Red?” He rasps out.

“This was me trying to find him,” she says and watches his face soften out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry, Karen.”

She waits, staring down at where the grass, wet from the day’s watering, sticks to her sneakers.

He clears his throat. “I wasn’t there for you when he came after you the first time. Fuckin' killed me to hear about it. Killed me to know you were hurt and scared and I wasn’t around to help.”

He’s not saying the right things, but they’re still good ones. She smiles a timid smile, glances up and lets him give her what he can. She’s got a year of therapy on one Frank Castle under her belt.  “It’s okay, Frank.”

She knows he wants to say more, say something about the hospital. She pulls him in for a hug, kisses his cheek in a spot bare of blood. Maybe she’s the one that isn’t ready this time. 

“It’s okay.”

She feels his lips on her neck, a brief chapped kiss, before he pulls back and stares into her eyes like he’s trying to solve her mystery.

“I just want to find Matt, Frank. Make sure he’s okay.” 

Maybe he hears it in her voice, the unspoken later, maybe he just senses the urgency.

“Alright then, let’s go.” He grabs her hand again, pulls his hood up with another. She’s so in shock that she doesn’t move until he starts tugging. He looks back at her, casually throws back, “You’re going to do it anyway. At least I can keep an eye on you this way.”

It both pisses her off and makes her smile. Her feelings are never black and white for Frank Castle, but it definitely seems like he’s accepted some things about her, at least. She squeezes his hand that dwarfs her own, callused and warm, and follows him away from the church, into the heart of the city.

[synokoria]

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!!! Whether you celebrate or not, here's hoping you've had a good year and wishing you a better upcoming one!!

These images are sneak peaks at images from the upcoming Christmas Otome Fan Book (that we hoped to have finished this year but that's clearly not happening so ...)

As a special treat here's a an unedited extra related to everyone's favourite eccentric doctor from Christmas Otome for anyone interested in reading that:

I glanced at my watch in irritation as I made my way towards paeds. There was still an hour before midnight, but if he wasn’t here then I wouldn’t have time to check anywhere else. Why couldn’t he just stay at home? No, that’s a stupid question - when had he ever made my life easy?

???: “Cantankerous old codger.”

I felt my lips pulling into a fond smile at the thought of him. I’d only been gone for a month but it felt like longer - probably because he couldn’t be bothered to return my calls or texts. He really could turn sulking into an olympic sport. My smile froze the moment I saw him swaying to the festive music coming out of the hospital speakers while belting out the lyrics and stopping only to take large gulps out of a vodka bottle. He hadn’t noticed me yet thanks to my position and I spent a moment just drinking in the sight and his melodious voice.

It was only the reminder of my deadline that had me clapping to get his attention before he could launch into another song. The speed at which he spun around wide-eyed would have been comical if he hadn’t almost toppled over in the process. I was by his side helping him stay up before I’d even registered I’d moved.

Shippe: “You?”

???: “Merry Christmas to you too, Shippe.”

He shrugged my hands off and plopped himself into a nearby seat looking for all the world more like a petulant teenager than a distinguished doctor. I ignored his show of pique and sat down beside him - after decades in his company this was par for the course, really. I took the bottle from his hands and gulped down a swallow only to choke on the unexpected taste. I glared at him through my coughs while he stared at me like I was an idiot.

Shippe: "It's just water."

???: "Why's it in a vodka bottle?!"

Shippe: "It's more fun that way."

That statement was so - so him that I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. God, I’d missed this screwball. He looked away uncomfortably.

Shippe: “Why are you here?”

???: “You know why I’m here - you weren’t at home. Why are *you* here?"

Shippe: "There was no reason to go home."

???: "I'm not a reason to come home?"

Shippe: "You weren't home."

???: "You knew I was coming back to spend Christmas with you."

Shippe: "How was I supposed to know that?"

The sentimental answer was that I always have and always will but I knew that wouldn't be enough for him so I used the practical one instead.

???: "The same way you always do - you check my bills, you phone airlines pretending to be me confirming my return date, you hack my email account. You psycho."

Shippe: "..."

???: "You're telling me you didn't?"

Shippe: "..."

???: "Why?! The one time I expected it of you and you-"

He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing erratically.

Shippe: "I was afraid of the answer."

The vulnerability openly showcased by that admission stunned me. This was a person who preferred to hide behind wordplay and sarcastic jokes, not one that would willingly show his soft underbelly.

???: "You… You had to know I would come back to you."

Shippe: "You went to visit your family without me."

I remembered, then, that we'd argued about it, but then we'd always argued about these sorts of things. It really hadn't struck me as anything out of the ordinary at the time.

???: “I always visit them without you - you hate my family gatherings. You once likened it to giving yourself a lobotomy with a rusty spoon.”

Shippe: “It really does feel like that. Your dad-”

There it was - the jokes he used when things became too emotional. Was he really this bothered by it? Why? As much as I wanted to push the subject, I knew that wasn’t the way to deal with this - not yet anyway.

???: "Your team said you spent your entire vacation time pretty much haunting the hospital."

Shippe: "... I need to assign them more work if all they do is tattle to mommy."

???: "Shippe."

Shippe: "There was work to be done."

???: "There's always work to be done; it's a hospital. You were supposed to be on leave."

Shippe: "I was on leave."

???: "... You do understand that being on leave means *not* taking on new cases, right?"

Shippe: “Well, what was I supposed to do for a whole month then? You weren’t around.”

???: “Okay, I’ll concede that you don’t actually have many hobbies outside of work but you could have gone home at least once. I left you frozen meals in the freezer and the answering machine is pretty much full with messages from me.”

Shippe: “... ”

I waited for an answer - he might have been stubborn but so was I.

Shippe: "I was afraid to find out you'd moved out."

???: “Why would I move out?! I pay the bond! I'd kick you out!”

Shippe: "You're too soft to leave me on the streets even if I deserve worse than that after the things I said."

I tamped down on the urge to tell him that he didn't deserve to be alone; all that would do is make him try to prove me wrong - to push and push the boundaries until something makes me hate him as much as he thinks I should. It wouldn't even be a conscious decision on his part - just his brilliant contrary mind gnawing on what he sees as a fallacious statement.

???: "Since when has this been about what you deserve?"

He made a surprised sound. Good. Any deviation from the script he's spent our time apart simulating in his head was a step closer to bringing him out of the pit he's dug.

???: "I stay because it makes me happy. I can leave you at any time."

Shippe: "No, you can't."

My lips twitched at his automatic response. He'd hate it if he ever realised how much insight our years together have given me into his contrary mind.

I doubled down on my chosen course.

???: "I absolutely can leave. I just don't want to."

Shippe: "No. You -"

There it is - that spark of clarity as he's forced to analyse why he's so certain I can't leave.

Shippe: "You're just as dependent on me as I am on you. I'm the only one you're comfortable enough to be real with instead of putting up that saintly act."

Codependence wasn't the way I'd have chosen to put it but he'd shy away from anything more sentimental.

???: "Is that so?"

Shippe: "It is. I'm your safe space."

'My home - the one place I will always return to - where I can be my truest self' is how I would have phrased it, but he's not wrong.

He leaned his head against my shoulder, seeming a lot more tired now, like he'd taken off a great weight and could finally rest.

Shippe: "You missed the Christmas party. You would have loved it - I had the nurses dress up as Mrs Claus."

???: "I saw the photos in the staff chat. That outfit of yours was something."

Shippe: "I knew you'd enjoy that. Weirdo."

I might not be able to see his face but the grin in his voice was unmistakable.

???: "We're both weirdos."

Even this standing Christmas 'date' of ours seemed to highlight that. After all, neither of us even celebrated the holiday.

But this was just us and I wouldn't have it any other way.

[eddie-redmayne-italian-blog]

New Article Interview!!

Tonys Roundtable: Rachel McAdams, Kelli O’Hara, Leslie Odom Jr., Sarah Paulson, Daniel Radcliffe and Eddie Redmayne on Broadway Paths, Parts and Pet Peeves

The talented sextet — nominated for 'Mary Jane,' 'Days of Wine and Roses,' 'Purlie Victorious,' 'Appropriate,' 'Merrily We Roll Along' and 'Cabaret,' respectively — sat down with THR ahead of the 77th Tony Awards.

BY SCOTT FEINBERG

Ph. JESSE ILAN KORNBLUTH

Eddie, you grew up in England but made it to New York when you were still very young… EDDIE REDMAYNE I was a kid of the ’80s in London, which meant the mega-musicals were a massive deal — the [Andrew] Lloyd Webbers and the [Alain] Boubil and [Claude-Michel] Schonbergs. The first theater I saw — I was aged about 7 — was Cats, and I remember the sets, these gigantic tomato ketchup things, and then it would turn in the round, and then suddenly cats appeared at my feet and scared the living daylights out of me. And I was completely seduced. PAULSON That’ll do it. REDMAYNE Exactly, some ’80s leotards and some cracking songs — talking of which, Cats: The Jellicle Ball is about to start here! PAULSON Sign me up — to watch it! [Laughs.] REDMAYNE But I remember, I instinctively just loved it so much. My parents, for my birthday, would take me to see one of these shows, and — this is slightly embarrassing to admit — I remember I would weep at the interval because I knew I only had half of it left. As far as New York was concerned? We were brought up on American culture, so seeing this city, it was the zenith of aspiration. When I came in my early teens or whatever, I remember coming to Broadway, and to this day, as we walk on the way to work from the subway, you walk past Times Square, and it just has this thing, doesn’t it? It’s electric, and it’s vibrant, and it never loses that “Come on in!” Its pulse is pulling you in. And so yeah, it was always something that I aspired to.

Eddie, in Cabaret you play The Emcee at the Kit Kat Club in Berlin as the Nazis come to power. The show has been around since 1966, and the film version came out in 1972, but your version is, from what I’ve gathered, very deliberately different than prior incarnations with Joel Grey, Alan Cumming and others. And you have your own long history with it… REDMAYNE I played The Emcee when I was about 15 years old at school — which feels a bit inappropriate now, I think. I didn’t know Cabaret when I first did it, so I watched the film and listened to all the recordings and was just stunned by it. It seduced me. It moved me. It made me laugh, and it made me think, “That’s what I dream of when I go to the theater.” And even though I didn’t necessarily understand all those things when I was a kid, it really stuck with me. Then, I did it again at the Edinburgh Festival when I was about 19 in a production in this grimy venue; we were out flyering every day trying to persuade people to come to the festival dressed in latex and PVC, and then at night we would do the show at 8:00 in the evening, and it would finish at 11:00, and then we’d have half an hour and do another show. And then the people who created that venue at the Edinburgh Festival — they’re called The Underbelly, and it became their business, these site-specific comedy shows — became really successful in London. About nine years ago, they asked me, “Would you ever consider doing this again?” And since then I’d seen every production of Cabaret that I could touch. I saw the Sam Mendes production in Barcelona, in Spanish; I’d seen Alan do it with Emma Stone so stunningly here; I’ve seen the Rufus Norris production; and I just love it. So, when they approached me about doing it, I thought, “I would love to, but only if we’re going to do something that hasn’t been seen or a new take on it.” And I’d just seen this production of Summer and Smoke in London, directed by Rebecca Frecknall, that had blown my mind — it was so poised, and it was stunningly designed by a guy called Tom Scott — so I went and spoke to Frecks and she said, “I’d love to do it.” But at this point, we didn’t have the rights. It’s impossible to get the rights to Cabaret — everyone dreams of doing it! So it became one of those pipe dreams that was never going to happen. But, even at that stage, we wanted to do it site-specific, so we’d found this old music hall in London underneath a train station in Angel, which basically now looked like a concrete car park in the shape of the Globe Theatre, and we thought, “If we could take people down fire escapes, and then the show could turn into Bergheim afterward and into a club, could that be interesting?” Then COVID happened. Afterward, the producers, ATG, who had jumped on board, said, “Look, we’ve got all these theaters that have been sitting empty. Could we ever take the experiential idea of taking an audience to an evening where, once they step over the threshold, they pass dancers and musicians and get discombobulated into a world where, by the time they reach the show proper, they’ve left all their troubles behind?” And I’ve always loved the backstage of theaters and seeing the grime and the grot behind the presentation. So that’s what we dug into.

And on Broadway, you guys basically invite people to arrive at 6:45 p.m. for what you call a prologue, and for over an hour before you ever show up onstage, bars are open and dancers are dancing and a whole vibe is created — it’s really its own show. REDMAYNE The dancers are extraordinary. Our choreographer, Julia Cheng, comes from a clubbing background, so one of the things we’re trying to do with the show is, although it’s very specifically set in its period, the echoes are so tangible now, and so the dance vocabulary is from waacking, from voguing, from contemporary club culture in the same way as the costumes. We’re not going, “This happened then; it can never happen again.” The costumes refer to contemporary fashions. There aren’t lots of Nazis in Nazi uniforms. It’s all trying to go, “Wait. There are regressions, things that we’ve talked about now, powers and rights being taken away and pulled back, and the loss of individuality.” Hopefully, the evening makes you think.

REDMAYNE I certainly agree with you about the physical costs. What I find interesting about doing Cabaret in the musical theater world is it demands a different set of skills that I’ve not necessarily harbored all my life and trained all my life. And whilst I look forward to serving this extraordinary piece every night, I’m filled with fear of whether technically I’m going to be capable to serve that. My wife, as I was having a complete meltdown in the lead-up to doing this, was back in London and reading Andre Agassi’s memoir [Open] — O’HARA Oh, it’s the best memoir! REDMAYNE And there’s a passage in it in which he talks about going to a musical on Broadway and how he relates to musical theater people because it’s that monastic, athletic living of having to eat, sleep and breathe something. My wife was sending it to me basically going, “Come on, you’re like Agassi!” But I’ve found that nothing upsets me more than when I have to go onstage to serve this stunning score in this extraordinary part in a beautiful — or I hope it’s a beautiful — production, and you are worried that you don’t have the facility to serve it to its full potential.

Does your ability to handle the demands of these parts vary depending on specific days of the week?

PAULSON Can I ask a question? Does anybody else loathe when people come on a Tuesday?

MCADAMS Yes!

PAULSON I hate the Tuesday show! When you come to see me on a Tuesday, I am so upset. People are like, “Lady, this was the time I could come…”

I would have assumed that on Tuesday, having had Monday off, you’re at your freshest…

O’HARA No. You’re not warm.

PAULSON A Tuesday, to me, I just feel like I’m finding my sea legs for the first 20 minutes of the play.

MCADAMS Yeah, you only had one day off, but it feels like a month.

O’HARA Tuesday’s not a good day. Don’t come on Tuesday.

REDMAYNE Guys! We need people to come on Tuesdays! [laughs and then jokingly continues] It’s my favorite night of the week!

RADCLIFFE It could go either way. It either feels like, “Oh, I’m back and I feel fresh,” or “I feel like I’ve never done the show before.”

Right. When I saw that, and ever since, I have said, “This is the greatest voice I’ve ever heard.” It was a great show. But it didn’t last very long. You never know what goes into these things — I read something where Leslie said that if Hamilton had come along five years earlier, who knows if even it would’ve clicked. It may be about just catching the zeitgeist. So I just wonder the degree to which you guys think about these things…

ODOM I’d love to hear you [O’Hara] talk about it because I —

O’HARA Why? Because this one closed too? [Laughs]

ODOM When I came to see you guys, man, did I love it so much.

O’HARA Listen, this musical was about alcoholism. Deep, dark alcoholism. And a love story, but riddled with this third player, right? So it wasn’t for everybody. I knew that it wasn’t the most commercial thing. It was an art piece, and I was so proud of that, actually. And we’re lucky that it had a space on Broadway for even a minute. But what killed me is that I felt like the population that needed it — us all being the daughter or having had that mother or knowing that father or whatever it was — I was worried that we hadn’t reached them. I sometimes worry that the business can be very formulaic, especially in how we sell things. And I was concerned that we weren’t reaching the audience, the whole new generation of sober-curious people, and people that don’t usually come to theater, or whole organizations that thrive and survive on sobriety or that need to have the conversation constantly or to see themselves in a story.

We were being told to sell it as a love story. We were deceiving people as they walked in the door, and I’m saying this out loud because it was one of the most painful parts of the process for me — to be doing that much, to be giving that much of my heart, and being so satisfied by the performance, and then I would literally have someone every single night come and see it and say, “Oh, I had no idea it was about alcoholism.” I jumped back on social media when we got the closing notice and started trying to promote the show, sweating, just to get more people in front of this beautiful piece of work. And I felt sad and angry because there was a time when that wasn’t your job as much; your job was to do eight shows a week with all your heart. But it felt like, “Gosh, I should have been more of an influencer. I should have been having things on the sidewalk [like Hamilton did].” And I started to get desperate because when you work on something for 20 years, and you know how special it is… But then you have to check yourself and say, “It’s special to me, and that doesn’t always translate to special to the larger community.” But it’s painful. When you’re in something that means the world to you, and it’s closing, it’s heartbreaking because it feels like a death.

REDMAYNE There’s something interesting that I’ve noticed, and that’s the extraordinary difference between doing a commercial play in the West End and on Broadway. The idea of grosses being announced and your makeup artist knowing them every Tuesday and telling you? In London, I had no idea. But here, as a producer on Cabaret as well, I had to say, in the producer meetings, “I’ll sit on all the calls, but I don’t want to know.”

With our remaining time, I’m going to give a few prompts and ask you to say the first thing that comes to your mind. To begin with: Excluding family, whose attendance at one of the performances of your show has meant the most to you?

PAULSON Laurie Metcalf.

RADCLIFFE Martin Short.

REDMAYNE Joel Grey.

MCADAMS Linda Maskell, my high school drama teacher — the reason I’m here.

ODOM Kathleen Battle came to our last performance, and I fell on the floor.

What’s the most unusual thing in your dressing room?

RADCLIFFE A small plastic basketball hoop that was left by Alex Edelman, who was in the show before ours. He said, “Do you want to keep it?” I was like, “Yeah, obviously!”

PAULSON I had a fan send me what looks like a taxidermy dog that is an identical replica of my dog. Everyone walks in the room, and they’re like, “Your dog is so calm!” I was like, “This is not a real dog.”

REDMAYNE Mine is something that looks like a loaf of really soft white bread, but it’s a stress ball. It was given to me by Jamie, who does my wigs. One day I was so in tears that she was like, “Eddie, you need some anger bread.”

What’s the most annoying thing that audiences, or at least some members thereof, are doing these days?

ODOM The cell phone thing. We had one crazy show where we had three or four cell phones going off. When you hear the first one, you should think, “Oh, shoot, let me actually turn mine off.” But there was a second one. And a third one. And it was in the first 20 minutes of the show. And so I did have to stop the show and say, “There’s grace in this moment. There’s amnesty. Let’s really do it [turn off all phones].”

PAULSON Good for you. God, I love that you did that. There is this thing of, “Let’s just be here together, all of us. You do your part. I’ll do mine.” I do feel like there is an alchemy every night, depending on what the audience is bringing and what we’re bringing.

O’HARA Oh, sure. They’re the final collaborator.

PAULSON Yes, they are the final collaborator.

MCADAMS I think people don’t realize that. I think they think you can’t even see them. I thought I wouldn’t be able to see them, but I can see everything. I can see when you’re sleeping. I can see you when you open your phone to see what time it is.

PAULSON I think the most annoying new thing that’s happening is everyone seems to have their cell phone in their lap, and so there’s all the phones dropping on the floor. And at the Helen Hayes, where we started, there’s no carpet, and so it would just be like [makes clanking noise]. Now, at the Belasco, you just hear this dull thud onto a carpet.

Eddie, there’s a lot of people that are getting smashed at your show, right? Is that an issue?

REDMAYNE “Come to Cabaret and get smashed!”

O’HARA “Especially on Tuesdays!”

REDMAYNE We do have a few vocal people. There was a moment last night when Gayle [Rankin, Redmayne’s Tony-nominated co-star], who is extraordinary in the show, was singing “Mein Herr,” and she got to that bit, “And I do, what I do, and I’m through, toodle-oo” — and literally there was a woman like, “Oh, my gosh, I love the ‘toodle-oo’!” [Laughs.] So occasionally, you get a good vocal Cabaret support.

MCADAMS Just a question. I remember someone — was it Jack White? — was asking people at concerts to put their phones in lockers or something. Has that happened on Broadway?

PAULSON They did it during Take Me Out because of the nudity. They did that. So, I know it can be done, and I would love to know why we don’t just do it. Just put your phone in a cubbyhole —

MCADAMS We’ll charge it for you.

PAULSON Would that be some cost-prohibitive thing to implement?

RADCLIFFE At Merrily, it’s been OK. I think being in a musical covers a lot — I’m sure stuff’s happening during those songs, but I can’t hear it. But since we’re here, my two favorites: On Equus, there was seating onstage, and I was onstage the whole time, and if I wasn’t in the scene I would just go back to sit on one of these four blocks — it was supposed to be my room at the hospital. And there was one night when I got to my block in the first scene that I wasn’t in, and two girls in the seats just started talking to me, just full voice, while Richard Griffiths and Kate Mulgrew were doing a scene behind me, just going, “Dan! Dan! Look up here!” It carried on through the whole first act. And then I was like, “I don’t need them to leave. But can they just go into the main auditorium so that they’re not just trying to speak to me through the show?” And then my other favorite audience member? I was doing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead in London, and this dude came in, sat down, and, through Josh McGuire’s first monologue as Guildenstern, which is incredibly complicated, took out a footlong sandwich, wrapped in tin foil, unwrapped the whole thing, ate it in its entirety and fell asleep for the rest of the first act. But then in the second act, he was the most attentive audience member — jumped up at the end and clapped. I wanted to be like, “Wait, did you have a good time?” “Yeah. I had a dinner, had a sleep and saw half of a great show.”

If you could snap your fingers and make it so, what would be the ideal number of performances your show would offer per week?

RADCLIFFE I don’t want to make myself unpopular, but I like the grind.

ODOM I mean, listen, the ideal would be six, right? Six or seven.

PAULSON I think the Wednesday matinee is the one I would chuck. Because when you start the Tuesday week, and then you’ve got that matinee right away? I would like to do seven with no Wednesday mat.

O’HARA I would do anything to have two days in a row off.

REDMAYNE When you get two days off, your voice can really recover.

MCADAMS Oh, fuck that Tuesday show. [Laughs.] To get the Sunday or the Sunday night-Monday-Tuesday stretch off — I mean, I might actually leave the city and go somewhere where there’s nature.

Last one. If you could play any role on the stage that you have not played before — somebody’s listening — what would it be?

PAULSON I would like to do The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia?

REDMAYNE Oh! Which I would love to see you in. That was the first play I ever did in London, and you would be magnificent in that part.

RADCLIFFE I’ll know it when I see it.

REDMAYNE I’m exactly the same. I’m much better when people tell me which part I should play.

ODOM Someday — and it ain’t soon — I want to do Lear.

And the Purlie musical maybe still?

ODOM It could happen.

Rachel? Are you going to come back for more after this?

MCADAMS Not next year! [Laughs.] I would love to star in any musical, but that will never happen. So this is just all pipe dreams. But yeah, anywhere I could sing. I started out doing Disney musicals at theater camp, and I was so bad that the teacher said to me, “You know, you might be really good in the Shakespeare camp,” and sent me on my way, and it was devastating. But it was the right thing in the end.

full interview here!!

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/lifestyle/arts/tony-nominations-roundtable-rachel-mcadams-daniel-radcliffe-eddie-redmayne-1235918192/

[breadcheekstete]

My Roommate is a F33dee

(vm¡n // f33dee tæhyung)

th always wore baggy clothes. Especially those that make him look extra small even when he is next to jm. He never gave much mind into his roommate’s fashion, 'till he saw him shirtless. Who was gonna tell that under his oversized hoodies would hide a belly?

th had a round face, but overall, he was tall, enough to make the trick into thinking that maybe he just had some baby fat on his cheeks like jm did. And he never changed in front of jm nor in their room, he always went to the dorm showers to do so, which was a bit odd if you ask him.

You see, jm wondered about th's body since they were assigned to share their dorm room. He ate a lot since day one, yes, but his friend jk did too and he's very lean. At first he thought it had something to do with being practically strangers. Now that they have a proper friendship, jm just thinks he's shy about his body.

But a few months into the term, th's habits started to… change.

jm should have seen the signals.

Today, he came back earlier from the library and was about to rant about how this teacher is driving him nuts with his dreadful way to teach when he sees th jolt startled. He's sitting on his bed, a 1L bottle of sprite in hand and his phone in front of him. “What's that?”

th hiddes the bottle behind his back. "Oh, uhm… It's for a challenge I wanted to try... Nothing important."

jm closes the door behind him and sits next to him. "I'm curious."

th slowly reveals the bottle again and clears his throat. "Well I was going to film it, but I don't know how to do it by myself," he says. He looks at jm, but adverts his eyes before he asks, "Can you film me?"

jm was a bit taken aback, and th seemed like he was starting to regret it, but as he said; he's curious. "Okay." He takes the phone and looks at TaeHyung uncaping the bottle. "Isn't 1L too much for one person, though? Shouldn't you, I don't know, just chug a smaller bottle instead?" jm asks, a bit worried and a lot impressed.

"Go hard or go home," th responds with a wiggle of his eyebrows and gestures to jm to start recording.

jm is proven wrong when th reaches half of the bottle with ease in one go. He wonders where all of that is going, when th pulls back and rests a hand on his bloating torso. He never did a chugging before, but he's sure that that's a lot of bloat for just half a bottle.

His thoughts are short-lived when th interrupts them with a string of belches. They burped in front of each other before, but not quite like this, and Jimin is embarrassed to admit that it does something to his tummy.

"I– bWooOOOUuuUrP fuck… –uUUuRp huh.." th groans and complains, tapping his chest for more trapped burps as he gasps for air before taking the bottle onto his lips once again and chugging as fast as before.

"Easy, Tete, take it easy," jm reminds.

th belches around the bottle and with a grin he continues.

He's almost done when he pulls back again, this time, he leans back onto the pillows and his hoodie raises a bit, exposing his bloated belly. jm freezes, and th, oblivious to all of it, rubs his underbelly and presses next to his belly button to help the burps out.

"You can –BwOooUrP do it, come *hic* on," th mumbles, encouraging himself. And with that, he gained the strength enough to finish it all with a loud belch that surely was heard in the whole hall.

He takes his phone and thanks jm for recording him. jm can't articulate a word after what he just witnessed, so he nods and excuses himself to the bathroom to take care of his increasingly obvious boner.

happy hollidays (ôㅈô)/ ! take this little treat from me in these festive days, you'll see more of it soon so enjoy and wait for me 🖤 !!

[eddieredmayneargentinablog]

“WHAT MADE THE EXPERIENCE SO UNIQUE, AND I HOPE WE BRING TO NEW YORK, WAS THE SENSE OF OCCASION. YOU WOULD HAVE PEOPLE DRESSED IN BLACK TIE, NEXT TO PEOPLE IN FETISH GEAR, NEXT TO PEOPLE IN JEANS AND A T-SHIRT.”⁣ -EDDIE REDMAYNE ⁣-.

Replica Man Magazine, issue 13, Spring/Summer 2024. 📷 Credit: Writer and Editor Dean Mayo Davies @deanmayodavies on IG. (Note: First two pics are phone photos taken of his own copy).

#Repost: Really enjoyed speaking with #EddieRedmayne for Replica Man about taking the Emcee to Broadway for Cabaret’s new stateside production. ⁣

⁣#ReplicaMan Issue 13 (Spring/Summer 24) is on sale now.⁣

⁣When Redmayne talks of re-excavating the Emcee, he means it, having taken part in a school production aged 15. Following aged 18 at the Edinburgh Festival, at a new venue, the Underbelly, under George IV Bridge.⁣

⁣“This was two shows a night. Because it sold well and I didn’t really see daylight for months, I became quite skeletal and very, very pale, but I remember it being the most thrilling moment of really pushing myself. It was a moment that made me think, ‘I would love to try to be an actor, I feel like I have the passion for it and the tenacity for it.’”⁣

⁣Unnerving and physical, with the actor really harnessing his body, Redmayne’s West End portrayal of the Emcee wowed audiences and critics, landing him an Olivier for Best Actor in a Musical. The description ‘shape-shifting’ applies in every sense to this character. But Redmayne has long showed himself an actor of calibre: he got his first Olivier getting on for fifteen years ago. ⁣

⁣Photography - @oliviarthur ⁣

Styling - @harry_lambert⁣

Casting Director - @ck.lau⁣

Grooming - @petransellge @thewallgroup⁣

Production - @william__simeone @magnumphotos⁣

Photographer Assistants - #philipebeling #benbradishellames #benbutcher⁣

Stylist Assistants - #naomiphillips and #ellabacon⁣

Shot at #dilstongallery⁣

⁣(First three pics are phone photos of my own copy).⁣

⁣Thank you @jobarker10! ⁣

⁣#replicamanmagazine ⁣

#SS24⁣

[lynxfrost13]

SKYWINGS

PHYSICAL TRAITS

Skywings are the biggest dragon breed due to their great height and additional wingspan. Tall and lanky, these dragons are accustomed to life at high altitudes, with many living in mountainsides and other rock faces. Their wings and claws are built for gripping the rough stone of their homeland. Skywings have an incredibly strong grip that is also very effective when hunting prey.

At the base of the skywing skull is where the main horns grow, with a base growth plate being protected by an upturned part of the skull. From this original plate horn segments will grow off of the base or each other with age. Skywing horns never stop growing until death. Additional facial horns grow in a similar fashion as the skywing matures, with hatchlings displaying bumps where the most prominent horns will come in. With age these dragons tend to grow more elaborate scale patterns and horns, with chin spikes/ridges, eyebrow, and cheek ridges being the most common.

As hatchlings, skywings have no underbelly scales, and the scales they do possess on their backs are incredibly soft and flexible. Hatchlings break out of their well protected shells with an egg tooth that falls off a few days after they break free, and it’s typical for heavier facial ridges to develop where the egg tooth was. Skywing hatchlings cannot produce fire of any sort until they reach a few years of age, around when their scales harden and fill in the underbelly area (roughly 3-4 years).

The fire produced by skywings is the hottest of any dragon breed, which could cause serious damage to any dragon’s body due to the heat. To combat this, skywings evolved to have cooling vents on their necks. Several flexible scale plates can open up along each side as the dragon breathes fire, allowing for excess heat and pressure to escape without harming the dragon. To help cool their mouths, skywings also have two additional sets of “nostrils” that serve the same purpose. Despite the common misconception, skywings cannot smell from these sets of nostrils, and their overall sense of smell is average.

CUSTOMS

Skywings have a huge culture around the upkeep of their horns, since they never stop growing they do need maintenance. What began as simple horn trimming ages ago grew into much more. Skywings style their horns in various different ways, and trends in style pop up here and there. Horn painting and carving is common, but there are a wide variety of modifications that skywings apply to them as well. Jewelry is popular, but draping horn jewelry tends to be avoided since it can be a hassle in the air. Overall jewelry and body decoration is incredibly popular, with skywings using light metals, beads, and fabrics in everyday wear.

Skywing cities are situated in cliff faces or mountainsides. These cities hold huge terraced gardens, ensuring that their citizens have a local spot to gather food. It’s also common for most skywing homes to have their own personal gardens, whether decorative or for additional food. These cities tend to have few walls, they’re not needed due to natural protections such as the altitude and surrounding mountains. The Sky Palace was the only city to be heavily fortified under Queen Scarlet, while the rest remained as they were. The openness of skywing cities has also made the ones along the borders into large trading hubs with lots of intermingling.

Skywings refuse to eat birds of prey out of a deep respect for them, as well as a belief that when a skywing dies, the part of them that remains on earth becomes one of those birds. To honor their memory, skywings hold an annual weeklong celebration in the spring, celebrating the births of new hatchlings (both dragon and avian) where they compete in racing games and the like. Their love of festivities has led to them adopting from mudwing culture, and in recent years they have even begun to adopt their own version of the bard, which is more focused on the storytelling aspect rather than the history.

[permafrown]

"essays" in question btw in regards to Irene + Irene/Jonathan 👇 they're very informal bc I just copied and pasted my own messages LMAO

ABOUT IRENE:

SO THIS IS MY SILLY BILLY IRENE CHURCHILL aka "The Undertaker" !!

Their whole thing is that they moved to Gotham, right.. initially being from the Midwest and so they're there as an Embalmer for the GCPD. They end up picking up a side gig as a body disposal service for Gotham's criminal underbelly just like. Completely by accident. They did it once for Penguin but after that it's what they became Known For and like they'd get shady mfs at their door like. 🕴️ we got a job for ya and they're like. 😔 I guess this is what I do now ⚰

They don't kill anybody they just take care of a deed that's already been done, in exchange for money and favors they can cash in. They consider themselves a "Modern-Day Charon" bc of the morbid but neutral role they play.

EVENTUALLY they decide they want to do a little more with themselves and one thing leads to another and . . . they get into experimenting w/ reanimating corpses specifically after modifying a sample of Jonathan's fear toxin into what they call Vie (short for Vie a la Mort bc they're fake french). It bites them in the ass and they die and then are brought back with their own creation and now they're The Cooler Irene

ABOUT IRENE AND JONATHAN:

if I were to like generalize instead of basing it around pre-existing comics .. I'd say Irene and Jonathan probably met at something like a gala/charity event that Gotham University was hosting and members of the GCPD were invited to including Irene bc Jim Gordon was like. We have got to get you out of that morgue and socializing spending all that time around dead bodies isn't good for you. And they're just like. Ok 😗👍

SO THEY MEET JON AT THIS PARTY that they're both like half-heartedly attending for one reason or another. and they're like wowww.. this guy's weird (twirling hair). Theyre talking to eachother getting along well. And well since Irene doesn't know abt Scarecrow and (at this point) Jon doesn't know about Undertaker they're both just kinda thinking to themselves - this guy's definitely hiding something.

SO IT'S THIS STUPID LIKE. ROMCOM ASS DEVELOPMENT of them gradually spending more and more time around eachother falling in-love in the process being in denial about it ETC

and then one Halloween. Irene's first Halloween in Gotham there's a fall festival that Jonathan had invited Irene to and they're like oh hell yeah. They dress as a plague doctor with a small twist that ends up saving their ass (the mask actually functions as a mask) so they go and they're waiting for Jonathan just chillin and then BOOM there's a scarecrow attack and everything's in shambles around 'em there's people screaming and what not. Except for Irene who like in the midst of it all sees Scarecrow and their ass FALLS IN-LOVE thinking he's just a scare actor

They just kinda go home after like wow what a wild night lol. and then they hear police sirens outside at where the festival was and they're like . I'm starting to think that whole ordeal wasn't part of the festivities.

SO they see a news segment talking about a scarecrow attack and they're like scarecrow.... AND they rmbr how they hadn't seen Jonathan that night and it's not like him to no-show esp not when he made the plans so they're connecting the dots like . . . Uh oh 😨 ( <- experiencing heart palpitations but brother it's not fear)

SO THEY JUST. HAVE TO GO ON PRETENDING THEY DONT KNOW SHIT LIKE ahh damn jonathan shame I didnt see you last night. Yeah no I wasn't even there I had to feed my fish.

AND THENNNNN as Undertaker they have scarecrow as a client once and they're normal about it. like maybe he doesn't know. and then it happens again shortly after but this time they're like 🤨 this body you want gone isn't even fresh man the rove beetles are getting to it it's been out for atleast a week and Scarecrow's like. How would you know that if you weren't involved in the forensics or perhaps even mortuary field. Irene. and they're like FUUUUCK 😭

SO THAT'S HOW HE FINDS OUT BC HE SET THEM UP and then they take off eachother's masks/veil and it's all tense and they kiss sloppy style THE END

[saltminerising]

"tert saver" is such a weird term to me. Especially considering the genes this definition is usually applied to. Stained is not a fucking "tert saver", 90% of the time stained with a shitty tert just makes the dragon look worse. None of the ancient festival terts are here to save any dragons either, especially not crystalline, how tf can you consider encasing a dragon in a bunch of chunky icicles a "saver". Veined, sparkle and firefly tend to look pretty bad too with colors that don't match, especially darker ones for the latter two. More often than not, you'll get a better look by just using good ol' underbelly... and spines has just been forgotten about I guess?

🌱

[bespokeredmayne]

Report: Eddie Redmayne’s lengthy commitment to Cabaret on Broadway — and its whopping budget

A exclusive report today from Philip Boroff and his Broadway Journal says Eddie Redmayne is committing to an expensive New York production of Cabaret for six months. ‘CABARET’ IS COSTLIEST BROADWAY REVIVAL

by Philip Boroff 

EXCLUSIVE: Investing in Cabaret  at the August Wilson Theatre this spring might seem like a safe bet, after the success of the Kander & Ebb classic in London and earlier productions in New York.

That's until you see the price tag: $24.25 million, a record for a Broadway revival.

Broadway Journal reviewed a preliminary budget and recoupment chart for the transfer from the West End, which is being presented by the multinational theater operator and producer Ambassador Theatre Group and U.K.-based Underbelly, which creates shows and festivals. Tony and Oscar-winner Eddie Redmayne will reprise his role as Kit Kat Club emcee on Broadway. 

Revivals of musicals by John Kander and Fred Ebb have been golden on Broadway, particularly the concert version of Chicago, now in its 27th year; and two Roundabout Theatre Co. engagements of Cabaret. This production, which follows several new musicals into the financial stratosphere, needs to be a smash to repay investors. 

Cabaret‘s largest line item is its $9.4 million physical production. That includes millions from investors to transform the August Wilson into a Weimar-era nightclub, designed by Tom Scutt, where the show will be performed for an audience of about 1050. (There’s also a pre-show with actors and musicians interacting with the audience.) Another $1.5 million is allocated for a “refurbishment reserve,” presumably for cost overruns. A production spokesman declined to comment for this story.

For the 2021 premiere, Ambassador Theatre Group paid most of the expense of renovating London’s Playhouse Theatre (where the show’s performed in the round), someone familiar with the production said. As is standard in the industry, backers benefit from the sale of tickets but don’t share in revenue from drinks or food.

The New York production is what’s known as a related-party transaction: ATG is both producer and landlord. It recently bought a majority stake in the August Wilson along with Jujamcyn Theaters’ four other Broadway venues.

One of the busiest players on Broadway, ATG and subsidiary Sonia Friedman Productions are producing four of the 16 plays and musicals opening this season through December: The Shark is Broken, Gutenberg! The Musical!, Merrily We Roll Along and Appropriate (with Second Stage Theater). It’s controlled by Providence Equity Partners, a mammoth private equity manager that buys companies with the eventual aim of reselling them at a profit.

Cabaret must thrive to survive, requiring a weekly $1.2 million at the box office to pay its bills. That’s one of the biggest nuts on Broadway, even more than the time-travel spectacle Back to the Future projected in its recoupment chart. Back to the Future‘s home, the Winter Garden Theatre, has about 50 percent more seats than the reconfigured August Wilson, which will lose about 200 seats in the renovation.

Investing may be most appealing for patrons who prioritize backing a prestigious and artful show (and a leading Tony contender) over return on investment. Rebecca Frecknall’s dark revival won seven Olivier Awards last year in London, including for Redmayne. He’s committed to reprising his role for six months, two people familiar with the production said. ATG and Underbelly haven’t disclosed details about the transfer, including casting.

When it opened in London in 2021, Cabaret got flak on social media for its prices, now as much as £375 (equivalent to about $465, which includes a light three-course meal and champagne). Producers have told investors that the show played to 96 percent occupancy through July, with the highest average ticket price in London.

Broadway seats may be costlier. The average ticket at 110 percent capacity of the August Wilson — i.e. with premium pricing — is projected to be $248. That’s approaching Hamilton in its peak years, when it was charging as much as $849 a ticket.

If Cabaret can command that $248 average and sell out — grossing $2.1 million a week — recoupment will take about a year. (Hamilton, which cost half as much as Cabaret and has low running costs, was distributing profits six months after opening night.)

By selling out with an average ticket of $176 — Sweeney Todd  territory — Cabaret‘s recoupment would take closer to two and a half years.  With an average ticket of $158 — $1.3 million a week — recoupment would take four and a half years. (Projections in this story are based on recouping $20.9 million, which excludes Cabaret‘s reserves, deposits and advances; and receiving a $3 million state production tax credit, which can take years to get to investors. If the show dips into reserves during construction or the run, recouping may take longer.)

Musical revivals have gotten ever-pricier to produce, but none has approached Cabaret. For example, Sweeney Todd was capitalized at $14.5 million and appears to be on track to recoup later this fall, after about 33 weeks. Hello, Dolly! was capitalized at $16 million in 2017 (about $20 million today) and earned a small profit; last year’s $16.5 million Funny Girl  recouped and is expected to make a profit.

Shows that required extensive renovations have a mixed record. Most recently, Here Lies Love, the $22 million disco-themed historical drama around the corner from the August Wilson, is struggling at the box office; whereas Harry Potter appears to be enjoying a long life in ATG’s souped-up Lyric Theatre, after producers trimmed the two-part show to one. But it arrived from London at considerable expense. In addition to Harry Potter’s $35.5 million capitalization, ATG, which competed against other landlords for the play, spent tens of millions of dollars clearing out and renovating the Lyric, Michael Paulson reported in the New York Times.

Revivals are typically short-lived, Cabaret as well as Chicago being obvious exceptions. The Roundabout Cabaret revival directed by Sam Mendes and Rob Marshall opened at the Henry Miller’s Theatre in 1998 and ran through 2004. It initially starred Alan Cumming, who stepped in again when the Roundabout revisited the revival in 2014.

Two decades ago, the Roundabout bought its revival’s most recent home, Studio 54. The nonprofit company, with help from the city of New York, paid $22.5 million for the real estate, which looks like a bargain today.

[brian-in-finance]

The 10 Best Caitriona Balfe Movies and TV Shows, Ranked

With her starring role as Claire on the hit fantasy romance series Outlander, Irish actress Caitríona Balfe has become one of the biggest leading ladies in television. Despite her stardom though, Balfe has been careful with her roles, with IMDb listing just 17 acting credits to her name across a career though, to be fair, it doesn't count some of her earliest short film roles nor her blink-and-you-miss-it appearance in the hit fashion comedy The Devil Wears Prada.

The approach has undeniably been one of quality over quantity though, with Balfe's filmography including two Oscar-winning pictures, underrated animated gems, and supporting parts in major blockbusters alongside some of Hollywood's biggest names. These 10 films and television series present as the best projects the actress has been involved with over her career thus far.

🔟 Angela's Christmas Wish (2020)

Image: Netflix

Throughout her career, Caitríona Balfe has always offered her voice acting to underrated gems of animated cinema. One such example of that is her work on the festive Irish animated film Angela’s Christmas Wish, a sequel to the Emmy-nominated animated short Angela’s Christmas which follows a young girl’s hopes to reunite her family, especially her father working in Australia.

The quaint picture boasted a war-hearted charm which made it an adorable family Christmas picture which, at just 47 minutes long, was easy for young viewers to embrace. Balfe’s role was a minor one as the mother of one of the protagonist’s friends, but she was able to use her natural Irish accent.

9️⃣ Now You See Me (2013)

Photo: Lionsgate

A magician heist movie with a modern spin on the steal from the rich and give to the poor narrative, Now You See Me became a fan favorite film of 2013. It follows the performative magician troupe ‘The Four Horseman’ and the FBI and Interpol agents trying to uncover how they are able to steal money from major banks to give to the audience as part of the show.

Michael Caine plays the Four Horseman’s wealthy sponsor with Caitriona Balfe playing his young wife. Sadly, the role didn’t give Balfe a huge chance to make much of an impact, but it did get the actress on screen alongside some of Hollywood’s biggest names before her career took off with Outlander.

8️⃣ Lost Angeles (2012)

Photo: Burgandy Films

An indie comedy-drama focusing on the whirlwind that life can be in the city of Los Angeles, Lost Angeles was the first feature length film to give Balfe a real chance to showcase her acting talents. The film follows homeless ex-con as he is released from prison and moves to L.A. where he claims to be a legitimate photographer to get work.

As Jared (Kelly Blatz) becomes embroiled in the sleazy underbelly of celebrity stardom, the film takes on a grittier tone, one that Balfe was well suited to with her minor role as Veronique. The film was directed by acclaimed cinematographer Phedon Papamichael.

7️⃣ Super 8 (2011)

Image: Paramount Pictures

Released in 2011, J.J. Abrams’ sci-fi thriller is something of an overlooked gem in his blockbuster filmography. Set in 1979, it follows a group of kids using a super 8 camera to film a zombie film when they accidentally capture a terrible train crash on film only to discover it may not have been an accident as strange things start happening around town.

With the aura of the summer blockbuster hits from Steven Spielberg’s early days, Super 8 excelled as an effects-driven action spectacle, but it found its true brilliance in its quieter, more dramatic notes. Despite only appearing in flashbacks and photos, Caitríona Balfe had a huge emotional impact on the film as the recently deceased mother of one of the kid's, and the late wife of the town's Deputy Sheriff.

6️⃣ Escape Plan (2013)

Photo: Lionsgate

Yet another minor role before her career erupted, Escape Plan featured Balfe in the small but important part of Jessica Miller, the CIA operative who hires renowned jail breaker Ray Breslin (Sylvester Stallone) to escape from a top-secret maximum-security prison. The majority of the film follows Breslin as he befriends fellow inmate Emil Rottmayer (Arnold Schwarzenegger) and plots his escape.

Eventually it is revealed that Rottmayer is Jessica Miller’s father, and she hired Breslin to mastermind his escape. The film has achieved a certain cult classic status and gave Balfe a meaningful supporting role alongside two of the biggest names in Hollywood history.

5️⃣ Money Monster (2016)

Photo: Sony Pictures Releasing

Directed by Jodie Foster, Money Monster was a compact thriller which followed the host of a financial television show as he and the crew are held hostage by an outraged investor. The true villain of the film turns out to be Walt Camby (Dominic West), a CEO whose manipulation of a trading algorithm for self-gain was what resulted in the financial crisis of the young gunman and many others around the world.

Catriona Balfe portrays Camby’s chief communications officer who proves to be the underlying hero of the film, using her inside information on Camby to investigate his wrongdoing and reveal the truth. The socioeconomic themes gave the film a distinct modern punch, one which thrived off the back of its impressive cast.

4️⃣ The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (2019)

Photo: Netflix

One of the most eclectic and underrated projects Balfe has bene involved with is Netflix's The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, a miniseries which served as a prequel to the 1982 cult classic film The Dark Crystal. Like the 82 movie, Age of Resistance used puppetry to tell the story, focusing on a band of Gelflings who seek to unite the clans of their people to stand against the Skeksis and save their home world.

Balfe voiced Tavra, a Paladin warrior and Princess of the Vapra Clan who often has to serve as the peacekeeper between her two stubborn sisters. Balfe played the part of the tritagonist well, giving her a composed presence which stood out amid an A-list cast of voice talent.

3️⃣ Ford v Ferrari (2019)

Photo: Twentieth Century Fox

A racing drama focusing on Ford’s efforts to beat Ferrari at the 24 hours of Le Mans race, Ford v Ferrari became a major hit on its way to winning two Academy Awards. It predominantly follows the relationship between Carroll Shelby (Matt Damon), an American car designer, and Ken Miles (Christian Bale), a temperamental British driver.

Balfe’s supporting role sees her portray Mollie Miles, Ken’s no-nonsense yet devoted wife ever supportive of her husband. Admittedly, it would have been great to see Balfe get more of a chance to display the agonizing angst that goes into loving someone involved in such a dangerous sport, but she plays the supporting part to a tee, becoming a major reason why the hot-headed Ken was so accessible to audiences.

2️⃣ Outlander (2014-)

Photo: Starz

A centuries-spanning romantic epic loaded with fantasy wonder and historical grandiosity, Outlander has become one of the biggest television series of the 2010s and early 2020s. Based on Diana Gabaldon's best-selling novels, it follows a military nurse in WWII who is swept back in time to 1743 where she meets and falls in love with a Scottish Highland warrior, documenting their adventures across the world and through time.

Starring alongside Sam Heughan, the role of Claire Randall shot Balfe to international stardom, making her a household name for fantasy fans while seeing her win numerous British television awards. The penultimate seventh season of Outlander is currently airing on Starz.

1️⃣ Belfast (2021)

Photo: Focus Features

Irish cinema has been thriving lately, with 2021’s Oscar-winning hit Belfast one of the best dramas in recent years. The semi-autobiographical coming-of-age film from Kenneth Branagh takes place amid the tumult of 1960s Belfast, following a nine-year-old boy’s childhood experiences and reactions to the rising tensions around him.

Balfe portrays the boy’s mother, a hard-working and steadfast woman who, with help from her in-laws, looks after her two sons while her husband has to work long stints in England. Balfe was exceptional throughout the film, playing the role with a grounded, weighted power with her scene on the bus particularly unforgettable, highlighting Balfe's raw and heartbreaking performance.

Collider

Remember… a tritagonist* is “the person who is third in importance, after the protagonist and deuteragonist, in an ancient Greek drama.” Oxford Dictionary of English

*Tavra, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance

[mqfx]

looking at ghost city (and similar cases in other fiction) inevitably just makes me think about infrastructure and idk. social programs. how did the ghosts know to go to ghost city. are there employment programs for the beautiful ghosts who work the casinos? what's their backstories and why are they dead / resentful enough to have physical forms? is cosmetic treatment part of the insurance / work package? how long have they been alive? does ghost city function as a sort of purgatory where people live and let their resentments slowly peter out over time until their souls dissipate? why do some look more "monstrous" than others? are there other ghost cities? are they in competition or isolated stops on a long chain of ghost city confederations? what's the trade like. i know some humans/gods also sneak in there sometimes so what's the etiquette like? are the ghostly sex workers treated fairly and do they have systematic protections in place or is it a "fuck around and find out" policy? does ghost city move around like the circus? if it's a city then how's housing? is it competitively priced or does everyone get free/low-price accomodations. is it relatively easy to live there or is it cutthroat like the seedy underbelly of an overdeveloped and underfunded society? oh my god is the ghost city communist? how is hua cheng the mayor?? does this mean there are offices and shit for this or does yin yu have to wear like five different hats?? oh god what's their parks and rec situation. their community centers. can i PLEASE get a spinoff on what it's like to live there and fall in love amidst the lurid glow of vice and rejection from mainstream society. do they have schools in ghost city? are there ghostly festivals and can i join

[eddie-redmayne-italian-blog]

Life Is a Cabaret! The Shimmering Kander and Ebb Classic Heads Back to Broadway Starring Eddie Redmayne

BY ADRIENNE MILLER

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JULIEN MARTINEZ LECLERC

STYLED BY HARRY LAMBERT

March 5, 2024

When I was 15 years old, I saw Cabaret for the first time, at a community theater in northeast Ohio. Though I considered myself sophisticated in important ways (I recall that I was wearing a wide-leg Donna Karan bodysuit that evening), my experience as a theatergoer was then limited to The Sound of Music and Ice Capades: Let’s Celebrate. I wonder if my parents, who had season tickets to the theater, knew that the show wasn’t exactly “family” entertainment. Set in 1931 Berlin as it careens toward the abyss, Cabaret depicts alternating stories. There’s the doomed romance between a fledgling novelist named Clifford Bradshaw and a young singer of supreme charisma (and mediocre talent) named Sally Bowles. And then there’s the seedy nightclub, the Kit Kat Club, which is populated with a highly sexualized cast of misfits and overseen by a ghoulish Master of Ceremonies. The show’s ethos—the glamour and terror, the irreverence, the campiness, the unreality—shaped my taste forever, and I knew that I had just experienced one of the greatest works of art ever created. I would never look at theater, or life, in the same way again.

Over three decades later, I’ve seen more stage productions of Cabaret than any other show, including a revival starring the original Emcee, Joel Grey; I’ve seen the Bob Fosse film version over 50 times. I’ve pretty much always got one of Fred Ebb’s sardonic lyrics jangling around in my head. Today, it’s “You’ll never turn the vinegar to jam, mein Herr,” and I couldn’t agree more.

Youthful exposure to Cabaret also turned out to be a life-changing event for the star of the new production opening this month on Broadway, Eddie Redmayne. “Weirdly, when I was 15, it was the first thing that made me believe in this whole process,” he says. Redmayne was a student at Eton when he first played the Emcee; he had never seen Cabaret when he was cast. On this late-autumn evening, Redmayne is speaking to me from Budapest, where he is shooting a TV series. “It reaffirmed my love for the theater,” he says of his first experience. “It made me believe that this profession, were I ever to have the opportunity to pursue it, was something that I wanted to do.”

Now, as he prepares for the transfer of the smash-hit 2021 London production of Cabaret (in which he also starred), Redmayne is reflecting on the power and durability of the John Kander and Fred Ebb masterpiece. “The show was just so intriguing and intoxicating,” he says, adding that the character of the Emcee posed many questions when he portrayed him for the first time, but provided scant answers. A few years later, when he was an art-history student at Cambridge, he again tackled the part of the Emcee at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. At a dingy performance space called the Underbelly, he did two shows a night, the audiences getting rowdier and more intoxicated throughout the evening. He’d get up the following afternoon and stand along Edinburgh’s Royal Mile handing out flyers for the show, dressed in latex. “There was just a sort of general debauchery that lived in the experience,” he says. When his parents came one night, they were alarmed to find that their son had turned into a “pale, lacking-in-vitamin-D skeleton.”

Flash forward 15 years. The Underbelly cofounders and directors, Charlie Wood and Ed Bartlam, would approach Redmayne—now with an Academy Award for The Theory of Everything and a Tony for Red under his belt—with the idea of again playing the Emcee. Redmayne was eager to return to the role, but many questions remained—principally, who might direct it. In 2019 he happened to have been seated in front of the visionary young director Rebecca Frecknall at the last performance of her West End production of Tennessee Williams’s Summer and Smoke. It was an emotional evening for Frecknall, who’d been working on the project on and off for a decade. She and Redmayne were introduced, but “I had mascara down my face and probably didn’t make a very coherent first impression,” she tells me from London, where her new show, The House of Bernarda Alba, has just opened at the National Theatre.

Redmayne was astonished by the depth and delicacy of understanding that Frecknall brought to Summer and Smoke, a romance with the classic Williams themes of loneliness, self-delusion, and unrequited love. A few months later, Redmayne asked Frecknall if she’d consider directing a revival of Cabaret. “I said, ‘Of course I’ll do it, but you’ll never get the rights,’ ” she recalls. Those rights were held up with another production but were shortly thereafter released, and Frecknall went to work assembling her creative team—among them musical supervisor Jennifer Whyte, choreographer Julia Cheng, and set and costume designer Tom Scutt. Frecknall’s transcendent production of Cabaret opened on the West End at the tail end of the pandemic and succeeded in reinventing the show anew, winning seven Olivier Awards, including one for Redmayne and one for Frecknall as best director.

When Cabaret begins its run in April at the August Wilson Theatre, starring Redmayne, Gayle Rankin, Bebe Neuwirth, and Ato Blankson-���Wood, it will be just the second major production of the show directed by a woman. (Gillian Lynne directed the 1986 London revival.) In Frecknall’s version, Sally emerges as the beating heart of the show. “I find that most of my work has a female protagonist,” says Frecknall, who has also directed radical new interpretations of A Street­car Named Desire, Chekhov’s Three Sisters, and Romeo and Juliet. “And I have a different connection to Sally,” she says. “I was really drawn to how young she was…and how she uses that sexuality and how other people prey on that as well.” The role of Sally Bowles, originated in this production by Jessie Buckley, who also won an Olivier for her performance, will be played this spring by the brilliant Scottish actor Gayle Rankin.

“When I first met with Gayle, I was blown away by her passion and fearlessness,” says Frecknall. “She’s a real stage animal and brings a rawness and wit to her work, which will shine through. She’s going to be a bold, brutal, and brilliant Bowles.” Redmayne also praises Rankin for the depth of emotion she brings to the part, and for the vulnerable and volcanic quality of her interpretation.

Rankin arrives at a candlelit West Village restaurant on a chilly winter evening in a sumptuous furry white coat that would put Sally Bowles to shame. Her platinum hair is pulled back from her face and her dark blue eyes project a wry intelligence. Rankin lives near the restaurant and mentions that she has recently joined a nearby gym—not that she’s going to have much time for workouts in the coming months. Over small seafood plates (of her shrimp cocktail, she shrugs and concedes, “It’s a weird order, but okay”), she shares her own rich history with Cabaret.

She grew up in a small Scottish village, watching Old Hollywood movies with her mother and grandmother. At 15, she left home to attend a musical theater school in Glasgow; on her 16th birthday, she visited New York for the first time with her family. “It sounds like a cheesy, made-up story,” she says, but when she and her parents took a tour of the city on a double-decker bus, they passed by the Juilliard School. “I thought,” she says, “ ‘I am going to go there.’ ” The following year, she and her father flew from Glasgow to New York for her audition. She would become the first Scottish drama student to attend the institution.

At Juilliard, there’s an annual cabaret night, in which all third-year drama students perform songs. Rankin sang “Don’t Rain on My Parade” from Funny Girl, but she recalls her acute sense that she could have chosen a number from Cabaret. “I think I secretly always wanted to be that girl,” she says of the classmate who did perform those songs.

A couple of years after she graduated Juilliard in 2011, Rankin’s agents approached her with an opportunity to audition for Sam Mendes’s 2014 revival of his celebrated 1998 Broadway version (first staged in London in 1993), with Alan Cumming reprising his Emcee role. She was cast as Fräulein Kost—an accordionist sex worker who is revealed as a Nazi—playing opposite a revolving cast of Sallys, including Michelle Williams and Emma Stone.

Rankin has recently emerged as a fierce presence in films and in television (The Greatest Showman and two HBO series—Perry Mason and the upcoming season of House of the Dragon), but then “it kind of came across my desk this summer to throw my hat in the ring for Sally.” How does Rankin make sense of this fascinating, mystifying character? “Everything is so sort of up for grabs…. People feel as if they have a claim over her or know who she is. And the real truth is, only Sally gets to know who Sally is.” She has been rereading Christopher Isherwood’s 1939 semi-autobiographical novel Goodbye to Berlin—the inspiration for the show—in which the English writer sets the dying days of the Weimar Republic against his relationship with the young singer Sally Bowles. (In 1951, the playwright and director John Van Druten adapted the book for the stage with I Am a Camera; in 1963, Broadway director-producer extraordinaire Harold Prince saw that the play could be musicalized and hired Joe Masteroff for the libretto and the songwriting team of Kander and Ebb.) Isherwood based Sally—somewhat—on Jean Ross, a British flapper and chanteuse who later became a well-regarded film critic, war correspondent, political thinker, and Communist. (He gave the character the last name of writer and composer Paul Bowles.) For the rest of her life, Ross maintained (correctly) that Isherwood’s portrayal of her diminished her reputation as an activist and as an intellectual.

“Ross wanted so badly to write to Isherwood,” says Rankin, “and to condemn him: ‘You slandered my name. You said all these things about me that weren’t true.’ And as far as she got in the letter was ‘Dear Christopher.’ ” As Rankin builds the character, it’s this notion of the real Sally—not the fictive version constructed by Isherwood—that she finds so captivating, and heartbreaking.

The upending of Sally as an “object” is another core conceit behind the production. “I felt that other productions I’d seen had this slightly stereotypical male-gaze idea,” Frecknall says. She views Sally’s musical numbers as describing different facets of female identity. “Don’t Tell Mama” deals with the fetishization of youth and virginity, and in Frecknall’s production, Sally, disturbingly, appears in a sexy Little Bo Peep costume; “Mein Herr,” a song about manipulation, control, and female sexual desire, is in conversation with the cliché of the strong, “dominant” woman. “I think Sally’s very clever at being able to play an identity, and also play it against you,” she adds. The character “has secrets to tell us,” Rankin says. “Important things to share with us. And I think that’s the umbilical cord between her and the Emcee.”

Although Sally and the Emcee share the stage for less than five minutes, the Emcee’s musical numbers can be seen as a kind of meta-commentary about Sally’s actions. “What interested me was the idea that the Emcee was a character created by Hal Prince and Joel Grey,” says Redmayne, referring to the actor who portrayed the Emcee in the original 1966 production. “He doesn’t exist in the book Goodbye to Berlin and was their conceit to connect the story of Sally Bowles.” Rankin believes that there is a kind of mystical bond between the two characters. “As to whether or not he’s a higher power, or higher being, he does have an access to a higher knowledge,” Rankin suggests. “I think Sally feels that too.”

And who is the Emcee? A supernatural being? Puppeteer or puppet? There are no clues in the text. Prince conceived of the character as a metaphor representing Berlin itself. “The idea of him as an abstraction,” Redmayne says, “and so purposely intangible, meant that I actually found a new way of working.” Redmayne built the character from the ground up, starting with big, broad gestures that would be gradually refined. The “very fierce, ferocious intensity” of Herbert von Karajan, the famously dictatorial Austrian conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic and a Nazi party member, served as a particularly fertile inspiration.

Historically, the role of Emcee has been coded as gay, and embodied, in most prominent productions, by gay actors. Frecknall’s production had to address what it meant to cast Redmayne, a straight white male actor, in the role. “Tom [Scutt] and I felt very clearly that, well, it’s not going to be the Emcee’s tragedy,” Frecknall says. A person like Redmayne—given his class, ethnicity, and sexuality—would emerge from the catastrophe unscathed. Redmayne concurs: “As the walls of fascism begin to close in, he has the privilege to be able to shape-shift his way out of it.” The character’s journey is from Shakespearean fool to Shakespearean king.

In Hal Prince’s 1966 production, Grey’s delicate, meticulous performance as the cane-twirling Emcee is pure nihilism—as a representation of Germany’s conscience. In the later Mendes iteration, the Emcee emerges as the central victim: In that production’s chilling last scene, Alan Cumming’s louche Emcee removes a black trench coat to reveal a concentration camp uniform; a burst of bright white light follows, from, presumably, a firing squad. But in Frecknall’s version, the Emcee is exposed not as a victim of the system, but as the chief perpetrator. The show, she notes, “becomes the ensemble’s tragedy.”

“I was really intent that we cast it very queer and inclusive,” says Tom Scutt, Cabaret’s multitalented set and costume designer. We are sitting on a black banquette in the lobby of his hotel, across the street from Lincoln Center, where he’s working on Georges Bizet’s Carmen. To mount a revival of Cabaret in 2024, Scutt contends that “there’s no other way. That was really at the headline of our mission.”

There are two casts in the show: the main company and the prologue cast, which provides pre-curtain entertainment. In general, the members of the prologue cast don’t come from traditional musical-theater backgrounds, but from the worlds of street dance and hip-hop—“dancehall, voguing, and ballroom scene,” Scutt notes—and in the London production, some of the prologue performers have been promoted to the main cast. “There is something deeply, deeply moving about how we’ve managed to navigate the usual slipstream of employment.”

Part of Scutt’s intention with Cabaret has been to “smudge and diffuse’’ the audience’s preconceived notions. Inclusive casting is one mode for change; iconography is another. In this case, that has meant no bowler hats, no bentwood chairs, no fishnet stockings. The aesthetic is less Bob Fosse and more Stanley Kubrick. “We started off in a place of ritual,” he says. “I really wanted the place to feel as if you’ve come into some sort of Eyes Wide Shut temple.”

Scutt has reimagined the 1,250-seat August Wilson Theatre as an intimate club—warrens of labyrinthine new corridors and passageways, three new bars, and an auditorium reinvented as a theater-in-the-round. Boris Aronson, the set designer of the show’s iconic original 1966 production, suspended a mirror on the stage in which the audience members would see their own reflections—a metaphor that forced the audience to examine its own complicity; but in Scutt’s design, the audience members must look at one another. Access to the building is through a side entrance; as soon as you arrive, you’ve already lost your bearings.

In many ways, it’s remarkable that such a weird and complex work of art masquerading as a garishly entertaining variety show has had such longevity. Scutt has an explanation about why this piece—created by a group of brilliant Jewish men about the rise of antisemitism and hate, about the dangers of apathy—​continues to speak to us so profoundly almost 60 years after its Broadway debut.

“I can’t really think of anything else, truly, that has the same breadth of feeling in its bones,” Scutt suggests. “I honestly can’t think of another musical that does so much.” As grave, and as tragically relevant, as the messages of Cabaret are, he and the members of the company have found refuge in theater. Both Scutt and Frecknall grew up singing in their churches as children; theater is to them a secular church, a space where human beings can congregate and share healing. “It was made with such pain and such love,” Scutt says. “Which is absolutely the piece.” 

In this story: hair, Matt Mulhall; makeup, Niamh Quinn. Produced by Farago Projects. Set Design: Afra Zamara.

[torbeen]

“Five aces!” Torben announced as proud as a farmer presenting their prize winning pig at a harvest festival who simply *knew* they would bring home the blue ribbon. The cards were slapped down upon the rickety table amidst the dank elegance of what was the Underbelly of Dalaran’s finest, and be sheer coincidence only…tavern? Inn? Watering hole? Even by the loosest standards of what passed as any of the former this establishment failed to reach the bar of any of them, no matter how low such a bar had been brought. 

Did it matter that there were only four aces total in a deck of cards? Of course not. Did it matter that the back of this mysterious fifth ace failed to match the color of *every* other card in play? Sheer happenstance, of course. Such things happened all the time, surely. If any fuss was to be made Torben would make the most likely of excuses for such a thing. The drawing of an ace from his sleeve as the nova of magic transported Dalaran…somewhere or other. Khaz Some’whereo’such. Never. It must’ve been some residual instability in the nexi of arcane energies causing fluctuations in space and time itself. Thus, leading to Torben possessing five aces.

No protest could be made from the trio of dumbfounded faces that surrounded Torben at the table, no steel could be drawn in protest over any such allegations of cheating as they so often were down here. Not when the very base of the city shook with such force that pebbles and loosened sand from the bedrock above vibrated, coming down upon the pile of coins, Torben’s soon to be winnings, in a cascade that left the gold suffering the indignity of being coated in debris. 

What in the wide, wonderful world of Azeroth could have been the source of such a disturbance? What perfect timing it was that the barkeep at the counter uttered such a keen inquiry. “What are those Mages up to now…” The barkeep questioned, setting down the mug he was polishing, as all barkeeps did when they made such questions. 

“NERBIANS!” Came a shout from further within the network of sewer pipes that made up the Underbelly, followed by the sounds of struggle. Gunshots, the clash of steel on something solid, flashes of magic cascading from further ahead in displays so brilliant they put fireworks to shame. 

Stares of disbelief were shared all around the table, now not from the dazzling mystery of the five Aces that Torben had played, and most certainly used to win, the game of cards at the table. Ahhhh, but how swiftly disbelief turned to shock as the very brickwork of the tunnels began to shift, then erupt, as Nerbians poured forth from…somewhere.

How was Torben supposed to know? What was he, an Arachnologist? Of course not! All he knew is that they must have been here for one reason and one reason only. The gold.

How plain it was in the way they chittered and shrieked, scrambling forth onto the planks of the Underbelly’s finest establishment, the glint of greed in their numerous eyes. They were coming here to deprive Torben of his ill-begotten riches from this final hand of the card game!

That must have been it!

Alas, no matter how many legs they had and pockets they had on their pants, not a single one of them would be lined with coin if Torben had anything to say about it. Torben stood over the table and in one fluid, practiced motion drew forth the flintlock pistol tucked into his belt and fired at the nearest Nerbian, scattering their dreams of wealth, and chunky spider juices or whatever they had in their skulls (again, he was not an Arachnologist) through the air.

“Washed straight down the waterspout.”

What shock it was, to Torben at least, that things were still *spinning* out of control, as chaos was weaved around him. Why had that single Nerbian, foiled in it’s plans to interrupt the game of cards, not stemmed the tide of Nerbians that continued to pour forth?

Torben could see the scattered defenders of the Underbelly becoming swiftly overwhelmed, despite the fierce resistance these vagabonds and scoundrels offered,  the blades of the Uncrowned spun into webs and imprisoned. It didn’t take a Marshal to access where things were going. This battle had turned against them.

In such times there was but one thing to do.

“Every man for himself!” Went up the cry from one of the patrons of the Underbelly, and with the practiced precision of cats being let out of a bag, everyone sought to scatter. To escape. To flee.

Not Torben, who stood with the still smoking pistol in hand. He would not flee. He would not abandon the UNderbelly to it’s fate of invasion and armed robbery by these eight-legged monsters.

Not until he had saved…

The gold.

Torben poured his winnings, pebbles, dust, coins and all into the knapsack at his feet, a number of the playing cards falling inside as well. The chaos of the exodus of the Underbelly gave him that precious time. Time to throw the sack over his shoulder, turn…and witness a sight so heinous that it could have chilled the core of a fire elemental.

The depravity. The horror. The crime was so perverse that it went beyond words in any known language to explain.

There were Nerubians…pilfering from the treasure hoard of the Underbelly. The collected wealth that all of the Uncrowned had earned through good and honest robbery. Yet these spiders sought to steal from thieves. It was something that could not be allowed to pass, no matter how readily Torben put his own life and limb at risk. 

Pouring the last of the contents from the table, the few remaining playing cards and a handful of coppers into his hat, and placing it upon his head, Torben charged, with steel in hand.

Two Nerubains could never hope to stand between Torben and the hoard of gold behind them, so it was that his cutlass danced through them like a shears through silk, ichor pouring forth from missing appendages as the would-be thieves were dispatched. 

There was little time, even Torben knew that. Not all of the treasure could be spared from what was an apparent invasion of Nerubians. His previous suspicions that this were nothing more than a robbery were beginning to unravel by the sheer number of them, and the fact that none of them, not a one, were wearing pants and thus, lacked pockets to pilfer anything inside them. 

At least Torben could save some of the treasure, and keep it in his personal safe keeping, of course. There could be nobody better trusted than him to be the caretaker of such wealth.

So caretake he did, shoveling handfuls of jewels, a plethora of priceless treasures, and one namely, odd looking coin with the face of a skull on one side and twin blades on the other that he just felt compelled to take, into the knapsack until it threatened to burst at the seams. 

It wasn’t the press of Nerubians that inspired Torben to finally beat that hasty retreat down the escape tunnel, ohhhh no. It was the sound of something far, far more insidious coming. The voice of a monarchist with a bad haircut coming from the other side of the Underbelly.

One wonderfully executed escape later.

Torben stood upon the banks of…well, who could truly say, watching what appeared to be a massive swell of inky magic consume the floating city-state in a mass…and then erupting with such a violence it made Torben’s puffy, ichor stained swashbuckler shirt billow.

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he stared up at the immensity of the loss. All that treasure. Gone.

The Nerubians would pay.