#what does a busman do on his day off

[frimleyblogger]

What Is The Origin Of (131)?...

What Is The Origin Of (131)?…

Busman’s holiday This phrase is used to describe someone who is on holiday but is actually engaged in doing what they normally do during their working week or rather than putting their feet up, are engaged in some form of work. So, if I was a doctor who took time off to do some voluntary medical work, then I may be described as having a busman’s holiday. For such an innocuous phrase, its origins…

[macgyvermedical]

Homegrown, Organic, Certified “Whumper-Free” Whump

I was going to say “cage-free” up there too but then I realized that’s not always the case...

Anyway. Here’s the thing, folks. It could just be the blogs I happen to follow, but I’ve noted a fairly recent trend of people lumping torture fic in with whump fic, or using the terms interchangeably. Specifically, I’ve seen posts implying that there needs to be a “whumper” character hurting a “whumpee” for a fic to be considered whump (and while this isn’t inherently torture, most of how it’s interpreted as prompts and fics tends to be).

I just wanted to set the record straight. There is no need whatsoever for one character to purposefully/personally hurt another character in whump. That’s just limited thinking. Heck, the only thing “required” for a whump fic is a situation in which one character accepts their vulnerability in a situation (and, arguably, overcomes it with or without help), which usually involves an injury or illness. *Old man voice* back in my day, “whumper” was a term exclusively used for a person who enjoyed consuming/creating whump content. 

Can torture be a part of the injury or the cause of the vulnerability? Sure! Is is required? Absolutely not! In fact, I’d argue that torture is only a very small segment of the whump world, and similarly, the presence of torture does not a inherently a whump fic make. (Straight up non-whump torture fic exists, and that’s fine to use/enjoy as it’s own tag/separate category!)

So, what other situations can you use to create whump without using a “whumper” or torture?

Accidental

Falls- tumbling off a cliff and breaking a bone

Burns- saving another character from a fire and ending up with their own injuries

Bites/stings- sticking their hand somewhere to accomplish a mission, ending up envenomated

Poison- accidentally eating something not meant for eating/surviving an assassination attempt

Friendly fire- character ends up accidentally shooting his friend

Lost- hungry, tired, cut off from all communication or resources

Environmental

Storms- whumpee gets hit with flying debris

Floods- whumpee gets swept away from friends and injured

Lightning- whumpee gets struck by lightning

Cold- falling into an icy lake or being stranded in the cold with no way to warm up

Heat- dehydration, heatstroke, hyponatremia from needing to do hard work in the heat

Collapsed building- getting trapped when a building collapses

Low-resource setting- something that would be perfectly treatable is now possibly deadly due to not having the right equipment/medication

Violent

Active shooter- whumpee catches a stray bullet and has to wait for the building to be cleared to get help

Bombing- getting caught up in a blast, losing hearing or vision, catching shrapnel

War- high stress, bullets, bombs, desperate people, getting trapped behind enemy lines without help

Bank hostage situation- busman’s holiday-type situation where the whumpee just happens to end up trapped and needing rescue without being the target- possibly injured, ill, or slated to be killed

Emotional

Fear- specific phobia or just plain situational fear

Another characters death- mourning, grief, disbelief

Mental illness- specifically ones that mess with the ability to regulate emotion

Trauma- acute or PTSD

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: DS9 Fanfic: Chris’s Teleplay

In celebration of A Star to Steer Her By’s fourth anniversary, we did what pretty much all theaters are doing right now and put together a little Zoom reading. This time around, our latest fanfics in our “Tales from the Holodeck” series are all Deep Space Nine teleplays that you can listen to us cold read here (this one starts at 1:05:58), complete with really dodgy attempts at accents! Follow along with Chris’s teleplay below or read with your friends with your own dodgy accents!

[images © Paramount/CBS]

“Day Trip”

By Chris

Random pick: Bashir

[The DS9 replimat. Garak and Bashir sit at their usual table. The doctor is just wiping his mouth and tosses his napkin casually onto his plate]

Bashir: Well, I’d best be on my way.

Garak: Yes, both of us back to our stitching. The usual time tomorrow?

Bashir: Of course. [beat] Oh, but not the day after.

Garak: Oh?

Bashir: I’m...well, the Chief has been trying to get me to visit Bajor with him and I’ve finally run out of decent excuses not to.

Garak: Excuses? Why, Doctor, I thought your friendship with Mister O’Brien was second only to ours.

Bashir: He wants to go kayaking.

Garak: Ah.

Bashir: Exactly. He somehow manages to injure himself during holosuite kayaking, and that has safety protocols! I dread to think what the real thing might do to him.

Garak: Has he ever gone kayaking outside of a simulation?

Bashir: He says he used to fairly frequently before he joined Starfleet.

Garak: But that was…

Bashir: Over twenty years ago, yes.

Garak: Well. Thank goodness he’s friends with a Doctor. Enjoy your trip. Hopefully you’re wrong and it won’t turn out to be a...what was that charming expression? A busman’s holiday!

Bashir: I sincerely hope so.

[The side of a quickly-rushing river, day. As we pan across the scene we start seeing bits of flotsam and jetsam, equipment, and before long an overturned kayak. Sprawled nearby is Bashir, unconscious, bleeding from a cut on his temple]

Opening credits

[The riverside, where a groaning Bashir slowly comes to. He gets to his feet, glances around for a few moments, lifts kayak and finds nothing]

Bashir: Chief? [pause, then louder] Chief?! [goes to activate commbadge, sees it’s not there] Damn.

[Bashir begins picking up equipment, throws away a few pieces after a brief inspection. The rest go in a small, metal valise. Looks around a bit, then begins walking]

Bashir: Chief?! Chief, can you hear me! Damn it…

[suddenly, a low growling can be heard. Julian stops dead and glances around. From a tree line a wolf emerges. But, you know, a Bajoran wolf. Maybe it has a bumpy nose or antenna or one of those wacky earrings, whatever]

Bashir: I knew we should’ve brought phasers…

[the wolf barks and leaps, Julian throws his arms in front of himself. Suddenly, a high-pitched “thwip” is heard, the wolf lets out a quick, brief whine, slams into the Doctor and the two go down in a heap]

Bashir: I...rather expected mauling to hurt more.

[Bashir pushes the wolf off himself, revealing an arrow having pierced its neck. He glances around, and a Bajoran woman can be seen at the treeline, holding a bow with a second arrow ready to be nocked. Her clothes are unlike any Bajoran outfit we’ve seen before, seemingly made of skins with obvious hand-patching and repairs scattered throughout]

Bashir: I suppose I’ve you to thank for my being alive right now, Miss...?

Ellet: Danzari Ellet.

Bashir: Miss Ellet. My name is...

Ellet: Hold! Do not come closer!

Bashir: Sorry. I don’t mean you any harm.

Ellet: You are neither Bajoran nor Cardassian.

Bashir: I’m human.

Ellet: Human...human... [beat] Federation? Here?

Bashir: Yes.

Ellet: Finally come to end our suffering at the hands of the Cardassians?

Bashir: What?

Ellet: Come now. I know the Federation has ignored the plight of Bajor, but you know what has happened here.

Bashir: Ah, yes, but...well, the Occupation is over. It ended five years ago.

Ellet: What? The Cardassians are...gone?

Bashir: Yes.

Ellet: Do you have proof? For all I know you are a Cardassian agent.

Bashir: Ah...well, no, actually. I was boating with a friend and we capsized. Most of my supplies and communicator were lost. I assume you’ve not seen my friend?

Ellet: You’re the first stranger I’ve seen today.

Bashir: Do you...live near here? Are there many others? Could anyone else have…

Ellet: I cannot trust you with any of that without knowing who you are.

Bashir: I’m Doctor Julian Bashir, from Starfleet. I’m not entirely sure how to prove that, however.

Ellet: Hm. Hands behind your head. I’m going to approach you.

Bashir: Alright.

[Ellet stalks towards Bashir, looks sternly at him. Their eyes lock. He tries a little grin. She suddenly reaches up with the unused arrow and slashes his cheek. He flinches and gasps, and she wipes at the blood with a fingertip]

Ellet: Red. The Cardassians may be able plastic surgeons but even they cannot change blood color.

Bashir: I suppose not.

Ellet: Alright, fine. Drop your arms. Come with me. Tell me what has been happening…

[We see Bashir and Ellet walking into the woods. We are clearly seeing from someone’s Point of View, partially obscured by branches and leaves. There is heavy breathing...commercial break! Oh boy, 90s shit! Vote for Bob Dole! Buy a pager! That Ford Taurus sure is a sexy fuck! AND WE’RE BACK! A small, Bajoran village. There’s no sign of any tech, the homes are simple, aging wooden structures. People do old-timey shit. Bashir and Ellet approach]

Bashir: ...so Winn withdrew her candidacy. Shakaar won the position of First Minister very handily after that.

Ellet: Amazing. A free Bajor. I can’t believe it. I want to.

Bashir: What, my injury isn’t enough proof that I am who I say I am?

Ellet: Plenty of species have red blood, even mine. You could be a collaborator who had his nose shaved down.

Bashir: It would be easier and less traumatic to fill the ridges in, actually. Speaking as a physician. More easily reversed, as well.

Ellet: Which is why the Cardassians would shave it down. Probably without anesthesia.

Bashir: Ah, well…

Pold: Ellet! Ellet come quick!

[a teenage boy rushes up to Ellet and Bashir, barely giving a second glance to the stranger]

Ellet: Pold! What is it?

Pold: It’s Elder Caso! He collapsed!

Bashir: Where is he? I don’t have my full kit, but…

Ellet: Follow me!

[Interior of one of the houses; an old man lays in a bed, his breathing strained and raspy. Other Bajorans stand nearby looking worried. A middle-aged woman, Calra, leans over him, listening to his heart with something that is recognizably a stethoscope. Bashir and Ellet rush in]

Calra: Ellet, who...

Ellet: He’s a Doctor, from Starfleet.

Calra: Starfleet? What…

Bashir: I’ll explain everything in time, but first…

[Bashir kneels next to Calra and pulls his tricorder from his kit. He flips it open and it lets out a somewhat-sickly version of it usual beeps]

Bashir: Damn…

Ellet: What’s wrong?

Bashir: The power supply was damaged. [noting the stethoscope] Did you get a chance to use that?

Calra: Yes. His heartbeat is badly irregular.

Bashir: Does he have any allergies you know of?

Calra: Some hay fever, nothing else.

Bashir: Cordrazine, then. [pulls out a small case from his kit, flips it open to reveal some phials. Pulls one out] Thank goodness, it’s intact. But I haven’t a hypospray. Do you have a syringe or anything?

Calra: Yes. Ellet, over there…

[Calra points and Ellet vanishes for a moment, before reappearing with a tray of needles. Bashir picks one up and glances momentarily at the Bajoran writing]

Bashir: What line is...ah...damn, what’s the Bajoran equivalent of ccs. Ah...right, right! Which one would be half a dectol?

Calra: There.

[Bashir twists the top off the phial and sticks the needle in, slowly pulling the plunger back. He delicately hands the phial to Calra, then starts tapping Pold’s arm]

Bashir: Haven’t had to find a vein since medical school…

[He nods, satisfied, and plunges the needle into the old man’s arm. He picks up the stethoscope, puts it on, and presses the diaphragm to the elder’s chest]

Bashir: He’s stabilizing...good. I suppose it’s too much to hope for that you have IV bags?

Calra: You’re lucky we have syringes.

Bashir: Alright, make sure he stays hydrated. More so than you might think is necessary. Someone should be watching him at all times. Check his heartbeat every hour. If it gets irregular again, a quarter dectol of this. If his breathing becomes rapid at any time try chest compressions. If that doesn’t work get me. [beat] Real, frontier medicine. I knew a young fool who romanticized this stuff…

Caso: Ellet…

Ellet: Father!

Caso: Who...is this?

Ellet: He’s Doctor Bashir, father. He’s from Starfleet. The occupation is over, Father. Bajor is free.

[Exterior, night. We are again watching from an unknown figure’s PoV. We can just make out Bashir sitting with Caso, Ellet, Calra and others by a large fire. Someone hands him a bowl. Switches to the side of the fire as he eats]

Bashir: This is excellent. And you’ve raised or hunted all of this yourselves?

Ellet: It’s what we’ve done since I was born.

Caso: We have been on our own for almost four decades. I was a child when the occupation began. My memories of a free Bajor are...a fog, at best. I can somewhat remember the quiet meetings in my parent’s home. The early days of the Resistance, though I didn’t understand that at the time. I was barely a teenager when we set up our first camp to begin striking at a Cardassian shipping port.

Bashir: So what happened? Resistance camps didn’t tend to become permanent emplacements.

Caso: We had moved here for a major strike planned with another cell. I can’t remember what the target was. Almost every single adult went. Many of the teenagers. I wanted to go, but they said I was just too young. If I’d not been recovering from a sprained ankle they may have taken me. I’m not sure. [pause] No one came back from the mission. We waited for days. Weeks. Before long we began to be sure the Cardassians would arrive and destroy us. But we were mostly children, we didn’t know how best to pull up stakes and resettle. We didn’t know how to contact other cells. We didn’t even know if we were near civilization. After a few months, we realized we were on our own. And...well, we made do.

Bashir: I’d say you’ve thrived. You’ve remained undiscovered and self-sufficient for almost forty years. That’s astounding!

Caso: Yes. But now...now we can rejoin Bajor. A Bajor free of Cardassians. I still scarcely believe it. [beat] I do not mean to seem ungrateful to my savior but...well, have we simply replaced Cardassians with Federation troops?

Bashir: No, no not at all! No, we’re all on a space station. There’s no permanent on-planet presence.

Caso: But your commander is the Emissary?

Bashir: Yes. But he’s a Starfleet officer first. He hasn’t abused his position as Emissary to try and force the issue

Calra: Starfleet is famously hands-off.

Bashir: We try to be. First and foremost we consider ourselves explorers. We’re ambassadors of the Federation, we don’t exist to strongarm anyone into joining.

Calra: Tho you certainly have military might.

Bashir: An unfortunate necessity when not everyone shares our ideals.

Calra: Yes. Like the Klingons. Orion Pirates. Cardassians?

Bashir: Right…

Caso: Calra…

Calra: Tell me, Doctor, when is non-interference just willful ignorance?

Bashir: Sorry?

Caso: Calra, he’s barely older than Ellet, he had nothing to do with…

Calra: Oh, I’m sure they’re making some similar decision now, though. Right, Doctor? What atrocity is your Federation turning a blind eye to now?

Ellet: Calra, come now…

Bashir: No. No, she’s not wrong. The Federation. Starfleet. We let a lot happen in the name of The Prime Directive. I can’t disagree. We don’t live up to our own ideals sometimes. And that’s because we’re flawed. [beat] But that’s the root of it. The Federation has had its brushes with failing itself even more drastically than that. So we stop the Cardassian occupation. Then we get asked to help another culture. Then another. And another. Then one day we don’t get asked but just show up. Then we show up again. And again. And then, suddenly, we’re taking over Bajor instead of the Cardassians. The line is fine. Too fine. And I have yet to meet anyone who I would trust to see it.

Calra: And what do you think about Bajor joining the Federation willingly? Since that is how you see the overture now.

Bashir: Honestly? I don’t know. On the one hand, the Federation has plenty to offer. On the other hand, Bajor is still trying to figure itself out after having its own culture nearly eradicated. But then there is the issue of the worm...Celestial Temple. Bajor is now the most important planet in the Alpha quadrant, which means it could also be a target for countless people.

Calra: You seem to have trouble committing to ideas.

Bashir: I’m a doctor, not a diplomat. My choices are much simpler. If someone is in need of medical help, I provide it. I leave diplomacy to better people than myself.

Caso: Well I, for one, am grateful a Doctor arrived instead of a diplomat. Now, come! No more interrogating Doctor Bashir! Let’s enjoy ourselves, and in the morning we shall send out parties to try and find his friend!

[The spooky PoV shot again. Heavy breathing. WOOOOOO, what could it be?! MOTHERFUCKING COMMERCIAL TIME! It’s a trailer for Twister, fuck did you see that cow?!  It’s the “great googly moogly” Snickers ad! Oh shit they made the Game Boy smaller! BACK TO THE SHOW, HONKIES!

Day, Julian walking through the woods with Ellet]

Bashir: So, are you looking forward to seeing the sites of your homeworld?

Ellet: I...suppose? My whole life has been stories of Bajor. For me, Bajor has just been my village and a few square miles of woodland. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Bashir: Well, the capital has some stunning architecture. The Bajoran Gallery has already managed to rebuild much of its collections. I’d be more than happy to show you around.

Ellet: That could be…

[suddenly, a large rock whizzes past their faces and they both duck down into the brush]

Bashir: What the hell?!

Ellet: Come on! There’s not enough cover here.

Bashir: This way!

[the two start running towards a large boulder near a tree line, Bashir slightly ahead. Suddenly there’s the noise of bending wood and straining rope]

Bashir: WHOA!

[Bashir is now danging upside-down, one of his feet caught in a makeshift rope hanging from a branch. Ellet dives behind the boulder]

Bashir: Ellet, what’s going on?! Is this normal?!

Ellet: No! I have no idea what…

[Another rock spirals in and Ellet dives behind the boulder. It bounces off and barely misses Julian’s head Ellet nocks an arrow and glances over the boulder]

Ellet: Where are you…?

Bashir: Could you get me down maybe?

Ellet: Shh!

Chief: [from a distance] You damn Cardie bastards! You let him go!

Ellet: What?!

Bashir: Chief?! Chief! What are you talking about?!

[The Chief is standing in a shadowy area, having gone full Apocalypse Now. His shirt is gone and he’s covered in mud from waist to face as makeshift camouflage. He holds a homemade sling and a rock. His face is hard]

Chief: It’s alright, Julian! I’ll free you from those bastards before they can scream at you about lights!

Bashir: Ellet, please. That’s my missing friend! Something’s clearly wrong with him!

Ellet: So I can’t kill him.

Bashir: Afraid not.

Ellet: Great.

Bashir: Sorry. If you could get me down I could help…okay.

[Ellet has already launched herself over the boulder and started charging towards the Chief. She barely ducks a stone, which ends up hitting Julian in the gut, making him give out a little oof. The Chief loads another stone, but Ellet shoots an arrow that cuts the handle. Time for a motherfucking fight! Chief goes all Classic Starfleet double-hand punches and Kirk-chops. It’s...well, you know. It’s a “Trek” fight. Then Ellet manages to crack him one across the chin with her bow and he goes down. Before he can get up she puts a foot on his chest and has an arrow drawn and near his face]

Ellet: Calm yourself, Chief. No one wishes to hurt you or the Doctor…

[the interior of DS9’s infirmary. O’Brien, in uniform, lays on a diagnostic table while Julian scans him]

Bashir: So my best guess is that spring you said you found had been tainted by spores from some nearby bitari mushrooms. Calra explained them to me. For a Bajoran they can cause rather pleasant hallucinations. Humans, it would seem, not so much.

O’Brien: I swear, they all looked like Cardassians. It was like I was back in the war. Thank goodness I didn’t hurt anyone.

Bashir: You bruised one of my ribs, actually.

O’Brien: Well, being fair, I wasn’t aiming for you. Still, I’ll get you your next pint to make it up to you. Quark’s?

Bashir: I’m going to need a rain check. I’m acting as an ambassador today.

[Ellet walks in, dressed in modern Bajoran clothing]

Ellet: Doctor?

Bashir: Ah! Ellet! I’ll be right with you! A Vulcan survey ship is due back from the Gamma Quadrant in twenty minutes, so we’ll start with a docking pylon! They have the best view!

Ellet: I’m looking forward to it.

[She exits]

Bashir: Right, well. You’re officially released, Chief. You should be all set. If anything seems off just come back here straightaway.

[Julian exits]

O’Brien: Horny prick.

[THE END! END CREDITS!]

Majel Barrett: Next time on “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine”

Sisko: Why is my razor so stupid?!

Dax: Benjamin, Kai Winn is here to see you.

Kai Winn: [incoherent screeching]

[scene change!]

Bashir: Goddamn it, so itchy…

O’Brien: I really didn’t need to know that, Julian.

[scene change!]

Dax: Kira, you’ve got a message coming in from Gul Dukat.

Kira: Ugh. Put him through.

Gul Dukat: Ah, Major Kira…

Kira: I swear to God if this is another thinly-veiled attempt at hitting on me I will cut of your balls and feed them to your pet vole.

THE END!

Stay tuned for whatever bullshit was on your local station in 1996 after DS9!

—

Check out Caitlin, Ames, and Jake’s stories for more Tales from the Holodeck! Also, be sure to keep listening on SoundCloud, follow us on Facebook and Twitter, and don’t drink the tainted spore water!

[firesign23]

Trivia Tuesday

So, technically Tuesday so I’m posting this now. I’m sure it will seem riveting in the morning. 😂

I ran into a major kink in the next few chapters of in the wild blue yonder and I’ve been freaking out for days. I have chatted at multiple people. I have rejected their very valid suggestions because it never quite answered the fundamental conflict. I wailed that a happy ending was impossible, woe. All due to a relatively minor plot point changing a timeline. Ridonk.

And then I was making collages for fics I’m not writing (well, at this rate I might eventually) and started wondering what I’d title those fics, and of course a vague 1920s/30s mystery vibe brings to mind Dorothy L. Sayers because of course it does. And I was reminded of this scene from Busman’s Honeymoon and all of a sudden all the little tendrils coaelesced into something resembling an answer, even though the specifics are rather different. Apparently I am incapable of writing a story without prodding at this idea of love and independence and identity. I apparently know what I like.

"I only know that I started to behave like a pig and thought better of it. Peter—it hasn't upset the—the things you said before? It hasn't spoilt anything?" "To know that I can trust you better than myself? What do you think?... But listen, dear—for God's sake let's take that word 'possess' and put a brick round its neck and drown it. I will not use it or hear it used—not even in the crudest physical sense. It's meaningless. We can't possess one another. We can only give and hazard all we have—Shakespeare, as Kirk would say.... I don't know what's the matter with me to-night. Something seems to have got off the chain. I've said things I didn't think I could say if I lived to be a hundred—by which time most of them wouldn't be worth saying." "It seems to be that kind of day. I've said things too. I think I've said everything, except——" "That's true. You never have said it. You've always found some other phrase for it. Un peu d'audace, que diable!... Well?" "I love you."

And from there my mind threw up the following Rilke quote, and I think I know what I’m doing now?

“The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.”    

So there you are, the strangest source of broken writer’s block to date.

(Full scene from Busman’s Honeymoon below the cut because I had a hell of a time cutting down the quote and really it is the whole thing)

"Well," said Harriet, as her lord returned from seeing the Superintendent to the door, "he wasn't unreasonable, after all. But oh! I do hope there won't be any more people to-night."

"Nous menons une vie assez mouvementée. I've never known such a day. Bunter looks quite haggard—I have sent him to bed. As for me, I don't feel like the same person I was before breakfast."

"I don't even feel the same person I was before dinner. Peter—about that. It's frightened me rather. I've always so loathed and dreaded any sort of possessiveness. You know how I've always run away from it."

"I've reason to know it." He made a wry face. "You ran like the Red Queen."

"I know I did. And now—I start it, of all people! I simply can't think what came over me. It's frightful. Is that sort of thing always going to happen to me?"

"I don't know," he said, lightly. "I can't imagine. In an experience of women extending, like the good Dr. Watson's, over many nations, and three separate continents——"

"Why separate? Do ordinary continents come blended, like teas?"

"I don't know. That's what it says in the book. Three separate continents. In all my experience, you are completely unprecedented. I never met anybody like you."

"Why? Possessiveness isn't unprecedented."

"On the contrary—it's as common as mud. But to recognise it in one's self and chuck it overboard is—unusual. If you want to be a normal person, my girl, you should let it rip and give yourself and everybody else hell with it. And you should call it something else—devotion or self-sacrifice and that sort of thing. If you go on behaving with all this reason and generosity, everybody will think we don't give a damn for one another."

"Well—if ever I do anything like that again, for heaven's sake don't give in...you wouldn't have, really?"

"If it had come to the point—yes, I should. I couldn't live in a wrangle. Not with you, anyway."

"I wouldn't have believed you could be so weak. As if a possessive person is ever going to be satisfied. If you gave in once, you'd have to do it again and again. Like Danegeld."

"Don't be harsh with me, Domina. If it happens again, I'll take a stick to you. I promise. But I wasn't sure what I was up against—la femme jalouse de l'œuvre, or a perfectly reasonable objection, or just marriage as such. I can't expect being married to be just like not being married, can I? I thought I might be heading the wrong way. I thought if I showed you where the hitch was—I don't know what I thought. It doesn't matter. I only know what you said, and that it took my breath away."

"I only know that I started to behave like a pig and thought better of it. Peter—it hasn't upset the—the things you said before? It hasn't spoilt anything?"

"To know that I can trust you better than myself? What do you think?... But listen, dear—for God's sake let's take that word 'possess' and put a brick round its neck and drown it. I will not use it or hear it used—not even in the crudest physical sense. It's meaningless. We can't possess one another. We can only give and hazard all we have—Shakespeare, as Kirk would say.... I don't know what's the matter with me to-night. Something seems to have got off the chain. I've said things I didn't think I could say if I lived to be a hundred—by which time most of them wouldn't be worth saying."

"It seems to be that kind of day. I've said things too. I think I've said everything, except——"

"That's true. You never have said it. You've always found some other phrase for it. Un peu d'audace, que diable!... Well?"

"I love you."

"Bravely said—though I had to screw it out of you like a cork out of a bottle. Why should that phrase be so difficult? I—personal pronoun, subjective case; L-O-V-E, love, verb, active, meaning—— Well, on Mr. Squeers's principle, go to bed and work it out."

[seriouslyinventive]

Character Development

Character’s Major Actions from End to Beginning.

1.       Sarah (archaeological report editor) eavesdrops outside boss’s office (he’s getting bawled-out on the phone). She rolls her eyes, takes deep breath and allows herself a small, serene smile before heading out the building.

2.       Prints, binds and presents to the boss twenty glossy copies of a ‘finished’ client report that a colleague has submitted to her. It is still full of unaddressed edits and yellow highlights.

3.       Compiles a file showing the trail of blame that has led to the production of sub-standard reports.

4.       Initiates blisteringly sarcastic confrontation with mid-level manager who has instructed a colleague to do some things the way they are done at the last place he worked. Surprises herself with her own venom and bile. This is not who she is.

5.       Takes items used by Rick and refiles them randomly so that he has difficulty finding them. This is instead of putting itching powder in his bag of clothes (Rick is living at the office though this is not permitted).

6.       Locks herself in the toilet with her imaginary friend (famous, sexy actor with fruity voice) who she regularly conjures to improve her day, while Desmond bellows at her from outside.

7.       Bumps into Rick when she is dropped off late one night, near her home. She hurries away from him, only to discover a drunk man pissing on her house, which is an end terrace back of his next to a footpath. She shouts at the drunk, grabs him by the scruff of the neck and the back of his trousers, then pulls and shoves him away from her wall.

8.       Tries to calm Caroline, the illustrator (who is wound up by sexual harassment, poor scheduling, bullying) but gets it wrong.

9.       Discovers that colleagues are bypassing the editing stage and senior management are allowing them to get away with it. Caroline, Emma and imaginary actor make her laugh.

10.   Tries to stop Desmond from crossing the line with his personal comments, but he becomes more extreme, which she finds funny despite her exasperation.

11.   Watches colleagues’ ineptitude during First Aid training.

12.   Sarah and Desmond have a meeting with the bosses about prioritizing post-excavation work on a particular project. Sarah sits wide-eyed while Desmond bawls-out the bosses until they agree to his demands. She says nothing throughout this meeting but gives the bosses an apologetic smile before exiting after Desmond flounces out of the room.

13.   Takes Emma home when she gets paralytically drunk on Cider on one of the regular office nights out.

14.   Several incidents of trying but failing to get colleagues to collect and present data efficiently and accurately: amusing misappropriation of term; ‘calmly’ reiterating themes like what should go under basic headings; a site that’s only located by a grid-reference on one corner and no north arrow, digitization of the overlapping edges of the tracing paper on an AutoCAD plan of site, an incompetent colleague who passive aggressively refuses to show her his work on a large project until he is ‘finished’, etc.

15.   Arrives one morning to find Emma storming back into their room with a sickly-scented candle. The day before, Sarah put it next to the open window on Emma’s side of the room, after receiving it for her birthday, and had then forgotten about it. After apology and misunderstanding, it turns out that Emma thought it was an unwanted gift from Rick and has just returned from giving him a piece of her mind. It transpires that he often gives her childish gifts like lip-shaped post-it notes and plasters with pictures of puckered lips.

16.   Presents in-house handbook of how to do and present research to colleagues at office meeting.

17.   Back at work: usual laugh and wisecrack with colleagues. Emma and Caroline, get a bit silly when Sarah mentions a man, with whom she became acquainted on holiday, who reminded her of a certain actor. Sarah gets hot from laughing and must remove her jumper. Every time she puts it back on, her colleagues start giggling about the actor again and off comes the jumper. This is where they start conjuring the actor with “What do you think he would have to say about it?”, or “What would he do?” They also discuss, humorously, what is to be done about certain office issues.

18.   Busman’s holiday somewhere exotic with beautiful, bronzed, intelligent, multi-lingual people.

  Character’s Wants and Needs from End to Beginning. Is The character Aware of What They Want?

1.       Sarah wants her boss to understand what happens if colleagues do things his way without her intervention. She is aware that she wants recognition but is prepared for trouble instead.

2.       She needs to break the cycle that she is stuck in as, otherwise, she feels compelled to work all hours to save the company’s reputation. She feels that she has nothing to lose. She is not fully aware that she also has a vague idea of inflicting punishment for bad behaviour.

3.       It is at about this point that she has the full revelation that most of her colleagues are incompetent and not necessarily destructive or lazy. She wants to demonstrate her competence. This action shows that she is a strategic thinker.

4.       She is not trying to achieve anything by this. She is just letting go of pent-up rage. Her behaviour surprises herself as much as anyone else.

5.       She is showing Rick how his behaviour affects others by inflicting some aspects of it back on himself. This is a crooked outlet for feelings that she doesn’t full acknowledge and understand.

6.       By walking away from Desmond, Sarah wanted to show that she would not put up with his aggression, but finds herself humiliated and alone in the bathroom because he has followed her and is now making his argument public by shouting in the corridor.

7.       She is not aware how disturbed she is by Rick’s attention, which transferred to her from Emma, via Caroline, because many of the things he does are trivial but annoying. When she bumps into him on a dark night, near her home, she suspects that he may be stalking her, and she becomes frightened for the first time. When she sees the drunk man pissing on her house, she reacts without thinking. The adrenaline is pumping. This is yet another man behaving badly. Afterwards, she is surprised at herself and doesn’t fully understand her reactions.

8.       Sarah does not understand exactly what has got Caroline so enraged. She is aware that she is not fully able to empathise, but cannot fathom it, as the office experience is shared by them. Sarah doesn’t seem to be able to understand that they can have such different reactions to similar stimuli and this causes further offence to Caroline who already has a head of steam.

9.       She is assailed by incredulity and disgust, but the blow is lessened her friends’ support.

10.   She feels both frustrated and amused. She knows will never win this argument.

11.   This is the beginning of a dawning realization of how incompetent many of her colleagues are and that maybe they are not as deliberately obstructive as she thinks. She is not fully aware that this is the beginning of the thought process that leads to that conclusion.

12.   Sarah is powerless and she knows it. Desmond takes over the meeting and his approach is not remotely like hers. She doesn’t want to undermine Desmond, but she does not want to insult and bully her bosses. She suffers a terrible sinking feeling but does not yet attribute it to the wider implication that she is stuck between passively aggressive employers and an openly aggressive colleague.  

13.   Sarah feels disappointed with Emma for making such a fool of herself in front of everyone but wonders what has prompted her to get herself into this state. Sarah is the only one to offer to look after Emma. This shows that she is caring and responsible, in line with her mother-like role withing the organization.

14.   Sarah’s patience and credulousness are tested increasingly throughout this. She thinks her colleagues are deliberately trying to wriggle out of doing their jobs properly, because they enjoy their easy life and expect her to ‘mop’ up after their errors and omissions. She believes this to be a lack of respect and does not understand that they have their own personal codes of conduct, and perhaps don’t understand or care that their laziness is taken as an insult.

15.   Sarah is surprised and embarrassed because she has been blind to what has been going on and because she, unwittingly, caused more trouble. Rick is in his late fifties, so Sarah finds it a little shocking that he is behaving like a coy, lovesick schoolboy. Sarah is also a little saddened that her friend did not confide in her before, but she is only aware of this later.

16.   The handbook is received well by some quarters, so Sarah is hopeful that they will be able to put all the processes in place and work more seamlessly together. She is grateful for the apparent approbation she receives from senior management and thinks that her career may be turning a corner. She is unaware of how most of her colleagues view her as evangelical and overzealous with regard to perfecting their work.

17.   Sarah is initially ambivalent about her return to work. Her holiday has allowed her to forget all the unnecessary stress she’s been put under and the lack of thanks that she gets. She is soon reminded in a light-hearted way. Together, the women come up with a plan which makes them all feel a lot more positive.

18.   Sarah is content and revitalised by being in an environment where the volunteers care about the work, which they perform diligently and with initiative. She is also revitalised by the presence of the actor look-a-like, who reciprocates the attraction, though Sarah is so focused on other things and humble, she doesn’t allow herself to acknowledge her own feelings or recognize that they are reciprocated. This makes her appear aloof or on another level of which she is, again, unaware.

 How the character thinks: Her Basic Psychology.

Sarah is intelligent and intellectually engaged. She is a very strategic thinker when it comes to getting practical tasks done. She tends not to think of herself as an individual, but as a cog in a greater mechanism. She feels good being part of something bigger than herself and feels she has a lot to offer. In this way she may be obsessively compulsive, but not debilitatingly so. She is a true team-player. Perhaps she is overly sensitive, but she protects her feelings by rationalising everything. She begins this phase of her life as a positive and enthusiastic person, not yet cowed by what has gone before. She wants to make the people around her happy and has a personal code that, initially, she relies upon for this. She is also slightly naïve and gullible, believing that colleagues are as great as they make out and trusting them on the basis of this. All she wants as an individual is to be accepted, respected and thanked, and to make others feel like this. In the last half of the story, Sarah’s feelings of jadedness and anger increase. She starts behaving in ways that are out of character because none of her other strategies work, she is stressed and doesn’t know what else to do. By the end, she has concluded that she is unique in a world where every other man is for himself. Logically, she must let go of her misapprehensions and her feelings of responsibility for the workforce. She does not see this as a satisfactory answer, but what else can she do?  

 Character’s superficial affect: How Might a Casual Acquaintance Describe Them?

Colleagues might describe her as a neurotic, work-obsessed, pushy control freak and tiresome perfectionist.

Casual friends might agree with that to some extent, but they would also see her as a little reserved (or possibly shy), caring, knowledgeable (very desirable team member at the pub quiz), witty, dryly humorous and energetic. She’s someone who can fix almost anything and parallel park in the tiniest space.

 Important Physical Characteristics

Slight but with surprising, wiry strength (outdoor enthusiast). Early thirties but looks in her mid-twenties (bit of a baby face, which may be why some people don’t take her seriously). She sees her body as a vehicle for her practical causes. Despite or perhaps because of this, she is very fit, healthy and naturally attractive, seemingly without effort. She has ‘niche’ sex appeal, but it’s not high in her thoughts, so she tends to be surprised when people are attracted to her. She looks edgily fashionable because she gets cast-offs (which she throws on her fashionably angular frame without much thought) from her mother’s friend’s daughter who works in fashion and she has never met.

[freaoscanlin]

Legendary Arguments

Hi, all! It’s been forever. Here’s a 1578 word fic I wrote set in my Momsverse AU, where Laurel’s foster kid is Stephanie Brown and she’s also dating Felicity, who has a kid of her own. Previous installments have been Present Tense, Cautionary Tale, and The Nightmare Fallout. This one’s PG-13 for a couple of swearing instances and takes place when they’re comfortably living together and being cute and domestic because life is hell but fiction is great. 

Buzzing from a persistent phone was a bad enough sign while dating a vigilante. But when said vigilante picked up that phone, squinted at the screen, slammed it back onto the nightstand, and proceeded to burrow deeper under the covers, that was an entirely new one for Felicity.

“Please tell me that’s not work,” she said, cracking one eye open. “If you get up, Shay will get up, and then we’ll all be up. Can’t they find somebody else?”

“It’s not work.” Laurel pulled a pillow over her head.

“Then why is it buzzing?”

“Because life is hell.”

“Something had better be on fire.” Giving in, Felicity levered herself up on one elbow and stretched over her girlfriend, reaching for the phone and the nightstand. “And if it’s not, it’s going to be when I get a hold of whoever it is.”

Laurel grumbled. “It’s the Legends group chat.”

She did not emerge from under the pillow, and the phone was locked. Felicity could have made short work of the security, but instead she just tapped the button on the side to silence it. Why Laurel couldn’t have done that herself, she didn’t know.

Wait: “The Legends are in town?”

“No. But they’re in this time zone. Or period. I don’t know, they’re halfway across the world which is why they’re texting at four in the fucking morning.” Laurel reached out blindly with one arm, nearly clipping Felicity’s chin with her elbow as she located a handhold and tugged. “Please don’t validate them with attention. They’ll never learn otherwise. It’s time for sleep.”

“You’re the one who didn’t silence your phone,” Felicity said grumpily, but Laurel did have a point. She acquiesced to the tugging and cuddled in, grateful for the body heat since they’d set the thermostat too low again. She was just drifting off to sleep when the sound of a pitiful cry broke over the baby monitor.

“Goddammit,” she said, but Laurel was already shoving the covers off. “You don’t have to, it’s my turn.”

“Penance for my sins of not shutting my phone off,” Laurel said, collecting the object in question from the nightstand. She stumbled a little on the way to the door, grunting as her shoulder hit the wall. Felicity was sure she heard her mutter, “Besides if I don’t answer them, they’ll probably just show up in person and it’s a school day.”

Felicity couldn’t argue that one, so she decided just to go back to sleep instead.

At some point, Laurel must have settled Shay back down to sleep, for she was curled up next to Felicity, phone clutched in one hand, when the alarm went off. She groused wordlessly, batting at Felicity when she tried to shake her awake.

“You said it yourself, babe,” Felicity said, sing-songing the words just to tease her. “School day. Wakey-wakey.”

“Give me coffee or give me death,” was the reply from somewhere in the covers.

Steph at least proved easier to wake than her foster mother, as the teenager was already up and working on her combinations against the training dummy Oliver had given her for her seventeenth birthday. She bounced from foot to foot, chattering away at Felicity about school and an upcoming history project as Felicity made coffee. Felicity could not remember a single cheerful morning from her own teenage years, but she kindly did not inform Steph that she might be an alien.

She also felt no remorse in sending both her and Shayna in to haul Laurel out of bed after the coffee was ready. Probably mean, but Laurel would be upset at being late for work the day after a night off.

She looked somewhat more awake and put together as she joined Felicity and the girls for breakfast. She set her phone on the table, facedown.

“Are they still going at it?” Felicity asked.

Steph looked up from her last minute calculus homework. “Who?”

“The Legends,” Laurel told her foster daughter. “And yes. It’s led to a very intense debate. People have taken sides. They’re writing manifestos. Well, Ray and Nate are writing manifestos. Sara’s just mooning them, as far as I can tell.”

“Over what?” Felicity asked. “Please tell me they’re not fighting. I don’t think time can take another Strudel Incident.”

“Gideon has built in protocols to keep that from happening again,” Laurel said.

Like that would actually stop the Legends. “Seriously, what are they arguing about?”

Laurel sighed. “Shayna.”

Even the toddler turned to give her a puzzled look over that one.

“Sara,” Laurel said with that patented mix of fondness and aggravation that applied to her sister, “was apparently bragging about being Aunt Sara, which means Nyssa is Aunt Nyssa by privilege of marriage. Except that an argument started that since you and I aren’t married, can Sara actually claim ‘auntship?’ And if Sara gets to be Aunt Sara, Ray wants to be Uncle Ray. And then Nate had opinions and it escalated from there, as you can imagine.”

Felicity realized she was staring with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth. Carefully she put it down. “They’re…arguing over what my kid’s going to call them? That’s what led to them blowing up your phone at four o’fu—dging clock in the morning?”

“Yes,” Laurel said, grimly.

“Hold up. I’m your actual legal kid,” Steph said. “If Sara is Aunt Sara to anyone, it should be me.”

“Yes,” Laurel said again.

“So why does Shay get all the attention?”

“Do you want to call them Aunt or Uncle So-and-So?” Laurel asked.

Steph paused. “No,” she said slowly, as though discovering it for herself as she spoke.

“Exactly. Though every single one of them has chimed in that they would be honored by the title, so there’s that.” Laurel reached out and squeezed Steph’s shoulder. “You know they consider you their favorite mascot.”

“Ha, ha,” Steph said, but she looked a little pleased as she ducked back to focus on her math homework.

“I’d say that I can’t believe this has led to an argument this big,” Felicity said. “But that’s a lie. I fully believe it.”
 

“Yup,” Laurel said, picking up her phone and walking it on its edges across the table. Felicity could see that she had 72 new messages.

“How is that even an argument?” Felicity asked.

“I don’t know. At one point I saw a message from Sara about ‘blood is thicker than water’ and then Nate, being the twerp he is, pointed out that it’s actually ‘the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’ Which means friendship bonds are stronger than family bonds. So I learned something, amid all of the inanity. So there’s that.” Laurel twirled her phone around, clutching her coffee in her other hand like a lifeline. “None of them, by the way, have thought to ask either you or me to weigh in on this.”

“You’re in the group chat,” Felicity said. “They probably consider that your giving approval.”

“They don’t know I’m in there. Somebody tried to add Dinah and got the wrong one. Nobody has noticed.”

“Honest mistake. There are like thirty of you now,” Felicity said, grinning when Laurel wrinkled her nose at her.

Shay, gnawing on a strawberry slice, blew bubbles at the both of them.

“This is going to become an all-out war if we don’t do something,” Felicity said.

“Probably.” Laurel handed Shay another strawberry slice.

“So are we going to do something?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I’m kind of impressed by the caliber of arguments they’re making for and against their case.” Laurel shrugged. “It’s a little like a busman’s holiday for me.”

“Would it bother you to have them all be Shay’s honorary aunts and uncles?” Steph asked Felicity.

“And with one simple question, she proves herself capable of more logic than an entire group of time travelers,” Laurel said dryly, as Steph and Felicity laughed.

“If they promise to stop blowing up my girlfriend’s phone at all hours of the night, they can try and convince Shay to call them any non-offensive thing they like,” Felicity said. “It’s ultimately up to her.”

“Okay, good.” Steph turned to Laurel. “Can I see your phone?”

“Don’t set it to Thai again, please, that took me over an hour to get it back to English.” But Laurel handed over her phone.

Felicity made a mental note to check in on Steph’s hacking ability, as Laurel hadn’t even unlocked the thing and Steph had the messaging app open in record time. Her thumbs flew over the keyboard for a few seconds before she hit SEND and handed the phone back.

There was a pause and then seventeen messages seemed to come through at once.

“What did you just do?” Felicity asked.

“Oh, nothing much.” Steph buffed her nails on her school blazer and blew on her fingers. “Just ensured that Shayna’s going to have the best birthday presents from now ’til, like, eternity. If they want aunt or uncle status, awesome birthday gifts are the bare minimum. You’re welcome, little sis.”

She leaned across the table, fist extended. Gleefully, Shayna bumped her own strawberry-juice-stained fist against Steph’s knuckles.

Felicity met Laurel’s eyes over her coffee cup, mostly to hide her smile. “Have I mentioned lately that I love our life?” Laurel asked, and Felicity toasted her with her mug.

On the table, now ignored, Laurel’s phone continued to buzz away furiously.

[rose-of-pollux]

And yet another MFU blurb

Written for today’s short affair prompt at Section VII.

Summary: In which the complexities of Solo Luck show themselves when Napoleon wins two tickets to a luxury cruise that he didn’t really want--but for once, Illya does want to indulge.

Notes: There are two versions of this piece.  This is the light slash version (also cross-posted to AO3).  There is a gen version on my dreamwidth if you’d prefer reading that. The two blurbs are around 95% similar.

Napoleon sighed to himself as he walked under the night air, out on the deck of the cruise ship he and Illya were traveling on.  A cruise wouldn’t have been his first choice to spend his vacation—not being fond of deep waters, Napoleon would have preferred to avoid boats of all kinds.  But in a bizarre and yet classic example of how Solo Luck worked, Napoleon had won two cruise tickets in a door prize drawing—all expenses paid, including food, which Illya had insisted that they jump on.

“…I’d been hoping to win that European tour…” Napoleon had sighed.

“What do we need a tour for?” Illya had queried.  “You and I have been all over Europe—multiple times!”

“True, but that was when we were on duty.”

“I can guarantee you, if we tried to go on a European tour, Mr. Waverly would find a way to reach us, and soon, we would find ourselves on a busman’s holiday,” Illya had pointed out. “Out on a ship, in the middle of the ocean?  …Granted, he could still find a way to get us on a mission, but it would be far more difficult.”

Between that and the desire to partake in the buffets that the brochure had promised, Illya had seemed very intent on going—and Napoleon couldn’t help but agree in the end, knowing that Illya asked for very little, and these were, no doubt, well-earned comforts.

The stateroom had been luxurious, and the food had been excellent; Illya had found more than enough to feast upon, and Napoleon had to admit, it was nice to get away from the pressures of work, and to see his partner able to lower his guard and enjoy himself.

Illya had been eating a second dessert, and so Napoleon had taken a stroll on the deck to pass the time. The tropical air was warm, even at night; his Hawaiian shirt was open, fluttering slightly in the light breeze as he made his way to the bow of the ship.

Napoleon leaned almost artistically against the ship’s railing, as though posing for a painting in the moonlight.

Illya, who had just finished eating, decided to use his tracking device to find Napoleon, rather than go through the trouble of searching for him.  He paused as he saw Napoleon leaning against the railing, and he smirked as he walked over to him, standing beside him.

“You really can’t turn it off, can you?”

Napoleon glanced over at him, pausing as he saw the moonlight now fall on Illya—the silvery light illuminated his partner’s white polo shirt and yellow hair, make him seem almost like from another world.

“What?” Illya asked, seeing Napoleon staring at him in awe.

“You’re beautiful. Illya, I’m looking at you, and you look exactly like you did the moment I realized I was in love with you—the moonlight and everything.”

Illya blushed slightly.

“I was right… you can’t turn it off,” he managed to say, still blushing.

“Either you’ve got it, or you haven’t…” Napoleon said, sagely.  “And you sure have got it…”

He gently placed his hand on the side of Illya’s face, lifting it slightly so he could kiss him.

“Do I look as otherworldly in this light, too?” Napoleon asked.

“Da, like something out of my dreams, during the days I could only hope that I would find true love…. And yet, you are far more beautiful than that!”

Now it was Napoleon’s turned to blush as he grinned.  He drew an arm around Illya as the two of them now looked out onto the ocean.

“Admit it, Napoleon,” Illya said.  “You are enjoying this cruise, and you are pleased I insisted that we come here.”

“…Yeah, alright, you win…” Napoleon conceded.  “I’m enjoying it far more than I thought I would.”

“I’m glad,” Illya said, sincerely.  “It is nice to finally share a vacation with you and have nothing interfere.”

“And the food is good…”

“…And the food is good,” Illya admitted.  “Such a variety of food—and especially seafood!  If only Baba Yaga was here…”

“She’d be just as nervous about the water as me,” Napoleon mused.

“You seem alright now,” Illya said.  “Or are you concerned about it?”

Napoleon thought for a moment.

“You know, I think I am alright,” he said.

Illya laced his fingers with Napoleon’s and smiled.

“I am very glad to hear that.”

Swing music suddenly started from beneath the deck they were standing on; the late-night dance had started in the grand ballroom of the ship.

“Ah, the party scene that you enjoy so much,” Illya observed.  “Very well, shall we go to the ballroom and join them?”

Napoleon thought for a moment; his knee-jerk reaction would have been to say “yes” immediately.  But, on the other hand, he was enjoying this beautiful, peaceful moment in the moonlight with his partner.

“In a little bit,” he said.

And so, the two partners continued to stay on the deck and talk, enjoying their moment of solitude—just them, the ocean, and the moonlight.

They had no need for anything else.

[silentdovelove-blog]

HONORING MY LATE HUSBAND NICKOLAI COWELL, Screamin' Olaff Maginski, NEW SONG ROAD SCORE ONIONS I am baaaack. I am having an INTENSE physical transformation. In my 10 Years of horrific illness, I had thousands of tumors/graulomas, and many many badly broken and dissinetegated bones. I had numerous surgeries, including 2 prostetic hips, other human bones, screws, and countless stiches in my throat where they kept on having to save my life with IVs sewed into my neck, for my blood was teribly infected, I had DVT blood clots, and my veins had collapsed. I know it is BEYOND a miracle I am here, typing this, smiling, breathing. I am trying to find that balance that I always struggle with between helping make the world a better place and caring for myself. The past few days, as it was most of the last 10 years, I lost hearing in my left ear and every noise that came to me was garbled into torturous pain in my left ear and eye where so many tumors recently melted, leaving holes so to speak. Since I coud not use music at all, I deeply mediated on the places and people I love so dearly and healed healed healed, am healing healing healing. I am almost COMPLETELY off narcotics, just had to add a bit back with he recent intense pain. I realize I am not yet strong enogh to travel on a plane, so I will not make it to the Portland Memorals May 6 and Music May 7 for my dear late husband, 'Nickolai' Nicholas Cowell, Screamin' Olaf Mcginski. My songs will be there, a dozen of them, on recycled paper, as will my spirit, and I will be there on some form of social media. Every single person that was attracted to the wonderous light of my husbad is an exceptional person, I assure you will not be let down if you attend and meet some of his glorious 'extended family'. This is a small event for friends and family organized by his parents and brother. He never had a friend he didn't consider family, so in that vein: all are very welcome, kids too of course! I will post information soon about the event(s), timing and more details. I am working with my dear sisier on a Funeral close to home, in Massachusets perhaps. My nephew and I will be playing songs, and we are planning some beautiful rituals. I will be honoring this brillinat man for the rest of my life, so after Portland will be a Mass/NJ event, one in Telluride, CO, and on from there Interntionally eventually. This hubmle brilliant unseen man in his lifetime deserves the world, and I internd to give it to him now that I am alive again, taking care to first feed and love and heal myself, which I am deepy working on now. He is truly helping me write the Album, Band of Peace, letting all beings know they are dearly loved, powefrul, and thet unity and peace and susainability are all possible! There will be a non-proft fund in his name associated with this evetually. I have been offline, completely had my phone shut off, and have been in a deep cuccoon. I will check messages and emails etc. soon. I was able to listen to music again starting yesterday!!!!!!!! YEAH! I will be working with many many msicinas! SO EXCITED! Today, I wrote the song Road Score Onions about meeting and inevitably falling deepy in love wih my late husband, Screamin' Olaf Mcginski. The greif is deep, for he is my True Love. The music helps immensely, and I am trying to remind myself not to be so sad, for he is here with me!!! Cheers and peace, y'all! No matter what is going on in your world around you, peace is possible-for is inside you!!! I will be recording music videos of Whanganui River and Road Score Onions soon, as my ear pain allows me to, gives me the green light!!@@ ROAD SCORE ONIONS ************************************** Darlin', you brought me road score onions and I was all in. Singing by the fire your face floated through centuries in my dreams. We had the same visions passions hearts right from the start. Always before I thought I was on a holy mission alone. Until you became my only home I've ever really known. I knew I was on a mission to bring sustanability to our people, solar power to every steeple. But oh, how you gloriously stopped me in my tracks. To join me. There is no looking back. Sundays were our days. You taught me how to telemark ski. You moved with me to New Jersey. To move in with grandma so she didnt have to go alone to a sterile home. To Unite. To fight for new state laws for solar wind and earth energy sustainability afforability city. You designed engineered and installed solar all over. You taught biodisel. Your gigantic heart is so damn lethal! We did what we loved for work. Busmans holidays. Neverending passions to create on earth a new and true heaven from seven stars from very far away, away. Oh, how i remember how tender your touch. It is too much to not have you here as I have awakened. No, I am mistaken. For you are writing this with me! Holy!!!! It was way too much. How sick I fell. We went down the deepest well. It was pure hell. Unable to talk. Unable to walk. You never left me, my darling. 10 loooonnng years, beyond our deepest fears. The waxing new moon lends me these tunes. Any days of breath I have left I give honor to the holy father and deep thanks to you. You. You remove my blue. My boo. My true blue. So may Nick names for the man that means the word to me, Nickolai, how you do Fly, Fly. Fly!! My one true new moon. Bloom. Boom. Bloom. You bring me love from my deepest dreams you benevolnt being! How your life was taken mid-steam. No! I am mistaken! You were not taken! For you are here healing with me. I remember it all so clearly. So dearly. You would sing to me Bob Marley and Michael Franti tunes, under our Harvest Moon. We would dance. dance. dance. Into a trance. Until I could no longer stand. How you always held my aching hand. You demanded peace. In all you did. But for your own self. Self less you are my dar'ling. You couldn't see your worth. Your love is so healing, healing, healing. How it removes my ceilings. So many more peaceful warriors I love so are in heaven. Watching over us. They will rise with us again soon, under a glorious winter solstice afternoon. We have a love so true. I have gone so deep down iside. Where you reside. I am your bride. With deep pride. I have been deep in my cuccoon with you and the moon. Thanks and praises to the one above working with you to heal this weary dove. Oh, how you still bring me road score onions straight to my heart. In the end and right from the start. The number of times we saved eachothers lives. Forged in fire. You satisfy my every desire. Spiritually we are steemed from trees. Fom Luxor, Nepal, Tibet. Peru. We are never through. We come from Water. Earth. Air. Dust. Don't despair. All that is true and holy and sacred will soon rise. Stop the illusions and our people's confusion. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. In the Great Spirit I put all my trust. You must know you will never leave my heart. Your essence from me cannot part. Our trip to Nicaragua. Sabana Grade Village. Our Holy Pillage. Staying with our humble loving beautiful family on their earthen floor, teaching eachother about sustainability. Singing dancing so very free! We learned how to make solar panels. Change the channels. Flooding all lies. Bridge the divide. House sitting in straw bale heaven adobe. Riding horses from the mountian peaks to the sea. Dancing underneath the glorious full moon. For you, I do forever swoon. My big spoon. Look at the moon. Planting gardens composting making the most of what we were given. You were always forgiven. Livin' I am again. Your humble brilliant hands they do heal this sacred land. Oh, how your glance and dance does put me into a trance. Come into my arms. Away from all harm. Sway with me to the rhythum of the soft afternoon. Watch the new blooms. Please, deliver me from evil!. All the countries you worked for peace in. To my deep chagrin too brillant you were for the darkness here you are now devoid of fears darling, you are so damn pure!! I can feel you, ever-presently near. Oh, how my days are filled with rain and my nights are filled with sorrow. The thought of loving you brings me rainbows of tomorrow. The kind bones in your face defy space. Your soothing voice is so very gentle. So choice. Your brilliant mind so divine. Your gigantic heart melted me right from the start. Your addictions and earthly afflictions haunt me. I try to remember that now you are finally at peace. You are my peaceful warrior. How you do deliver me from pain. You are a white buffalo in my dreams: dancin' prancin' singing a dancin' and and a bell ringing. You light my fire deep within, my love twin. Sing to me as we sway to the wind in the trees lighting beings. Erupting into a violet orange sky, no longer shy. His white orange violet indigo blue silver gold halo showed me past lifetimes with this precius soul. I right then did know. I would never go. When I was down, you would bring me kittens donkeys and love poems. How I know them all by heart. You are my man. We are taking a stand with this album you are helping me write. People, Unite!!! You took my hand all over this glorious land. Man oh man. When I was long captured underwater and could not talk or sing, I would bring my visions to the pure of heart above. Owlie was sent to Nahko to sing to you this love song, 'She breaks free a flower. Catches the wave of the wind. She plants it South, far below the canyon walls. We are the mighty rivers, emptying at the mouth and joining currents. Currently, I am waiting for the midnight hour when the moon undresses in all her glory. You are my shell. My ocean as well. Put your mouth to my mouth, breathe along. You are my shell my ocean as well. Put your mouth to my mouth breathe along', he croons. How every single night was freight with the deepest strife. I could not even be touched or held. How tears welled and felled. Of course you had to check out!!@@ I do shout! Your addictions and our afflictions were to much to bear. Bear. Bere. Bare. But for our deep deep undying love, and uconditional love from the one above. I swear, I am being miraculously healed. All was reveled. It happened so damn fast. You did not believe your eyes. You tried and tried while I cried and cried for you to wake up. I had to leave to set you free like you had so often delivered to me. After all is said and done, You returned to me! See!! These songs you are writing with me! Glory!! I open my mouth south to your breath. Dissolving the tumors in my brain, my breasts. Your violet eyes Singing and dancing together on the hightest peaks. In your arms I find the deepest releif. The light in your soul. How it roll roll rolls. Over and over with you down the valleys, we met at the mouth of the river where we are finally delivered back into eachothers' arms. I finally received your ashes. I have been planting them all over. Rebirth Rebirth Rebirth. I will show you your worth that you couldn't see in this particular form on Earth. Oh perfect storm! I will always remember your water. We shall recover. All that was lost. lost. Roots run deep. True love doth forever seep. Oh, in my heart how you bring me road score onions every day to keep me sane. I will always honor your true name, my darlin'! Galloping on horses to the sparkling waters in Dominica. You are a fantastic humble leader. Watching all you do the classes you hold. You are so very bold. A sight to behold. You have zero ego, ergo my heart sings for your ring. Your humble brilliance was definately heaven sent. My love for you does rise rise rise. I will always be your bride. We will not be denied. My Darlin', My Serapin. My Dolphin. My Holy Love Twin Deep Within. Oh. How you bring me road score onions every day. It is a miracle I am healing at all. I can feel you holding me carressing me right underneath me singing to me writing these songs with me. How your mighty heart cures my disease. Please. Pleease. Don't leave me. I deeply believe. In you. My boo. I will soon be honoring you across the world 'From the west coast to the east coast blazing a trail of gold', as our wedding song Katharina wrote us our story is Told. Oh, at first glance, you took a deep stance in my heart. Your exceptional kindness, brilliance, humbleness, compassion, deep beauty had me from day 1. You Sacred Sun. We had to meet to consolodate our grants under the same ubmbrella nonprofit Atals Arkology. Steeprock Jointery. Led by the late, the great, the brilliant, the dear my brother from another mother: Glen Harcourt. Dear Brother, I know you are with my lover in Heaven. Creating glorious breathable buildings that sing! Structures that venerate and create love. They self illuminate, never to take. My grant was for green bulding code changes and education series. His was for Biodiesel for town busses and trucks. What Divine luck. That smile. I could see for miles. Your kindness. Your gentle kiss, that sweet abyss. Many many laughs. I crocheted your favorite hat. After our first weekend together, you left me the most heavenly letter. On the back of a macaroni package. That said 'You are like a perfect red apple on top of a tall twisted tree in a desolate land.' Not long after, you asked for my hand. Photon belt. Starseed Gateway. Gravity. Weightless. Unity. Blue Cosmic Hands Across this Sacred Land. Time to take a Stand. A Stand. On our first date after our grants were given to my house in Telluride you had driven. From your Biodisel Warehouse in Montrose. Our date to the potluck at our friends yurt that glorius fall night by the fire. Your face removed all my hurt, You beamed through centuries in my deepest dreams. I knew that road score onions had been planted so deep in my heat. Right from the start. Oh, darling. I 'aint leaving you again. You breathe life into me eveytime I remember you showing up with your road score onions in my heart. They took deep root right from the start. -Elizabeth Robbins April 29, 2017

[vrheadsets]

VR vs. A Busman’s Holiday

Some people don’t learn, do they? If you recall the first part of last week’s column you might remember me discussing someone getting all bent out of shape because a story about a videogame where the developers specifically mentioned the possibility they would be developing it as a PlayStation VR title was tagged witrh the PlayStation VR tag. (I know, it sounds stupid to even have to write it.)  Well, this last week they got all antsy again.

This time they were upset by a story, the latter part of which discussed a trailer being released for said videogame that was labelled up as PlayStation VR in the title – despite no official declaration of a console version yet. That’s pretty newsworthy I would say. Of course, no it wasn’t according to our friend, and no, this wasn’t to do with the PSVR either. Apparently. Despite, you know, the PlayStation VR trailer. Instead it was, we were informed, just clickbait.

Umm, I’m pretty sure that’s now how that works. Especially when a) it’s not mentioned in the title or description at all and b) the subject complained about not existing actually exists plain as day and there’s even an external video about it.

Unfortunately, their “J’accuse!” behaviour at our foul crime of labelling something what it was about ended up with Disqus deciding it was spam. I can’t blame it frankly. But the accusation was so ridiculous I was actually quite happy to leave it there to entertain people at the logic – or lack thereof. But no, they then got riled up when they found it was gone and kicked off with the ALL CAPS and F-bombs annnnnd… managing to get themselves banned. So well done there, fella.  If you’d waited another hour you’d’ve seen it reappear again.

It was a similar sense of bemusement that I felt a couple of months ago when we were in Malta. A sense that somehow this was all just an inevitability of the situation.

This of course gives me an excuse to go back (finally…) to the story of the team’s festive trip to Malta, first chronicled in VR vs. Travel.  As you might recall the entire team for once was off on a trip, including, amazingly, #TeamLeftBehind. Myself and Rebecca were going somewhere! Although where Rebecca really needed to go was hospital to have surgery – and she still very much does.

Meanwhile Peter was also far from 100% as he had some sort of chest infection/flu, and the fact he managed to review Fallout 4 VR when the code came through, spending hours in VR when the last thing he needed was to have a headset on (we had taken a HTC Vive out with us, incidentally) was nothing short of miraculous. Seeing the coughing, wheezing Peter animatedly trying to get radroaches away from his legs was one of the highlights of the trip. Sadly, Peter’s act of review heroism wasn’t thought of so highly in the comments as he never came across some of the graphical issues other did, and subsequently didn’t mark the title down for such an issue. C’est la vie! Or should that be ‘c’est la vay air’?

Anyway…

After several days hard graft and much wondering about whether we were going to blow ourselves up with the gas cylinder powered heaters that were a necessity to survive the apartments in the evening. We finally had pushed ahead enough on content that we were to be able to spend the last day actually out looking around the northern island of Gozo.  We decided to take a bus into the city of Victoria, which is Gozo’s capital and found that doing so was something of a wait. Looking around the dusty landscape, rocky outcrops and hedges full of cacti some considerable time later, I was convinced that we were more likely to have a roadrunner and a coyote come tearing past than something with wheels on it. Eventually, of course, one did. But a little seed of doubt had entered my mind. Something was off. Something was wrong.  I wasn’t familiar with public transport in foreign lands, but still, for a weekday service it felt somewhat… limited.

Arriving in Victoria after the trip in a very stuffy bus, saw me and Rebecca dodge around all the various stray cats that filled the city. Cats are to Gozo as Barbary monkeys are to Gibraltar. They’re everywhere and they’ll happily scamper off with anything remotely resembling food if they think you’re offering it to them. (I.e. you own any food whatsoever.)  Our first tourist stop was the pharmacist though, as now I was feeling pretty awful myself and Rebecca was in an awful lot of pain. Travelling through a little shopping centre of sorts, the team were surprised to find all the shops closed. That seed of doubt was germinating fast.

“Maybe they’re having a siesta?” Nina suggested. Peter and I looked at each other dubiously.

More wandering found an open pharmacist, thank goodness, and some open souvenir shops too – but even more closed stores. As we trudged down some back streets to find more and more closed businesses my seed of doubt was at this point a 50 foot tall oak tree filled with a variety of cheery woodland creatures. With a sense of dread, I opened Google on my phone.

As I’d suspected in our great wisdom we’d managed to pick, of all days to come out, Republic Day on Gozo. It was a bank holiday. No one was going to be doing much of anything.

Well… arse.

The group visibly deflated, groaning loudly. All except Nina who looked at me like I’d grown an extra head, “How did you know that?” I looked pointedly at my phone, but she didn’t get the gist so I suggested I could read perfect Maltese and pointed at a random road sign. This explanation was deemed acceptable. Resigned to making the best of things, Kevin and Peter led the way as we plodded off in the direction of the citadel.

It was a reasonably sure bet that Victoria’s Cittadella wasn’t closed – and if it was we were probably going to launch a 5-person siege of the battlements in protest. So, we marched up the various hills (much to Rebecca’s discomfort) before a final very steep road indeed.  As the rest got to the top however, Peter and Rebecca realised I wasn’t with them.  I was at the bottom still reading a pamphlet. Reading and laughing. They looked confused.

I walked up to join them, brandishing it in the air. It was for a sort of tiny private cinema. What were they showing? A 360 degree video of Gozo from the air.

“No way!” Peter laughed, “Is it open?”

“Nope!”

“Aww, damn it.”

As we chuckled over the possibility of engaging in a proper virtual reality (VR) ‘‘busman’s holiday‘, something else caught my eye halfway up the same hill. It was a picture of a Samsung Gear VR. I went over… and nearly went over. ‘Did you know that you could download a companion app to find out all about the Cittadella – as well as see it in VR?’ asked the poster. I initially thought this was the same item as the 360 degree video. But no – it was a completely different thing.

Less than twenty metres apart, up a hill, in the middle of Northern Malta we’d stumbled across two different VR items in a matter of seconds. We weren’t even deliberately looking. What was that about VR and mainstream, again? And the hilarious thing was we couldn’t try out either of them!

The day wrapped up after a trip up to the battlements, lunch at a cafe which I turned down as I wasn’t feeling hungry.  On the way back there was one final laugh. In the UK as part of us having a monarchy still you may have seen the letters ER associated with a crest. This is the Royal Crest and the letters represent the reigning monarch at the time. You can see different ones on post boxes and older buildings. Currently it is ER which stands for Elizabeth Regina; the R often referred to mistakenly as ‘royal’ but in this instance specifically Regina means ‘queen’ . I’d forgotten the place had obviously been renamed after Queen Victoria, and so her version of the crest appears in the city’s coat of arms.

Or, as I put it on Twitter…

Malta seems to be on brand… pic.twitter.com/7f0apjcUKS

— VRFocus (@VRFocus) December 13, 2017

from VRFocus http://ift.tt/2Hwfk2f

[electricgrasshopper]

Good Morning readers.

Today I would like to introduce you – if you’re not already familiar with her work – to Sam Stone; horror/fantasy writer. Another hugely prolific author with an impressive resume of novels, novella’s, short stories, a screenplay and editorials under her belt. Winner of multiple awards; including the 2011 British Fantasy Society Awards 2011 Winner for a short fiction piece, Fool’s Gold. She writes poetry and prose and is even a radio host on SirenFM. Modest and polite, even if she does write of horror and occasional gore, just don’t cut her up on the motorway – you may end up in her next story!

Award winning author Sam Stone began writing aged 11 after reading her first adult fiction book, The Collector by John Fowles. Her love of horror fiction began soon afterwards when she stayed up late one night with her sister to watch Christopher Lee in the classic Hammer film, Dracula. Since then she’s been a huge fan of vampire movies and novels old and new.                                                                                                                        http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1681383.Sam_Stone

  Hi Sam, Welcome, and thanks for agreeing to be interviewed for my blog; Flailing Through Life…

A: And talking about flailing; do you ever find yourself ‘flailing through life’?

S: All the time! That’s what being a writer is all about! We don’t just make up fiction, we’re all winging it in the real world too. 🙂

A: What were you like as a child?

S: I guess I was a quiet, studious child. I was always hiding in a corner somewhere reading a book. But for all that, I hated reading aloud to my teachers. I found it embarrassing and I stumbled over my words. As a result they thought I couldn’t read well and gave me extra reading lessons. All of which I really enjoyed!! I also loved to sing, and my sister Adele and I used to sing together all the time. I was always too shy to actually get up and perform and usually avoided being involved in school plays because I would just get too nervous. I hated feeling like that and so I always stayed in the background as much as possible.

 It would probably surprise you to know that most of the time I still feel like hiding!

  A: We have met a number of times now; through Steampunk, and you are always polite, always smiling, always giving of your time to fans of your work. Are you ever angry? Do you ever swear? And what would it take to make you do either of those things?!

 S: I love to talk to people and meet them at events. I’m eternally grateful for anyone continuing to buy my books and support my work. As any creative person should be. So when I hear about how obnoxious other writers or media celebs can be that makes me angry. Without their readers or fans they wouldn’t be anywhere would they?

I get a bit angry whenever I’m not having time to write. I find writing cathartic and so when I’m not writing for any length of time I become a little bit moody and frustrated. Even a bit depressed to be honest.  Writing makes me happy. I’m a very sociable person but I love my own space.

 I do sometimes suffer from road rage. My husband, David, says I have ‘driving’ tourettes!! Other drivers can be bad-mannered and they really annoy me!! I dislike someone tailgating me. I detest them using bullying tactics to shove you out of the way. It’s just so rude. It makes me cross that some people think that their journey is more important than yours, and that you have no right to be using ‘their’ road.

 But real anger – rude people. Ignorance. I hate it when people criticise other people without actually knowing anything about their circumstances. Bullies make me angry. Cyber-bullies especially because they usually hide under false names. Some things that people say online is totally inappropriate – the way they treat others is unacceptable. They would never say or do these things face to face. But it’s okay for them to do it behind their computer screen. Cowardly for sure.  No one person is better than anyone else and everyone deserves to be treated with respect no matter who or what they are.

  A: What does literary success look like to you?

S: Success is always somewhere way above my head and out of reach. Even the most successful authors think this. All you can do is strive to write the best you can. Reading should be fun and as long as people continue to buy and enjoy my work, then I have all of the success I need.

  A: Sam, you’re well-known for writing in the horror genre, you have ‘Zombies in New York and Other Bloody Jottings’; a collection of short stories and poems that walk firmly on the dark side, and ‘Killing Kiss’, amongst others. What draws you to this genre and what kind of horror do you prefer to read (or watch) yourself?

S: Growing up I loved Hammer horror movies. This led onto me reading horror, Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Anne Rice. I enjoy a good Zombie movie now. Love watching horror that’s fun rather than bloody. I’m not into torture porn at all, even though I’ve written some pretty gruesome stuff in the past. I don’t really like non-supernatural horror much either. So no home invasion films for me! I think horror should be something that you can use to help exorcise and face fears and phobias but, for example, the claustrophobic The Descent was a bridge too far even for me! Which is why I personally prefer supernatural horror, because it’s easier to have the scare thrill but you don’t carry it with you for long afterwards.

 I do enjoy watching a variety of different types of fiction these days. Horror is something of a busman’s holiday to me sometimes. But I love  IZombie, Santa Clarita Diet, Outlander (Historical Romance – but quite gruesome in places!), Lucifer (Comedy) and I recently bought the box set of a series called Revenge.

So exploring caves is NOT on Sam’s To-Do-List. The Descent 2005. 

  A: You also write Steampunk novels, Kat Lightfoot being the eponymous heroine of many of these. Can you tell us how Kat came to be, and did anyone in the ‘real’ world influence her character development?

S: My daughter, Linzi Gold, was actually the basis for the personality of Kat in the first book. They were both the same age and Linzi is funny and strong and really sparky. Naturally Kat has evolved and become completely her own thing now. But how the character was initially created came from the title of the book Zombies  At Tiffany’s which David suggested to me. It shaped all of the characters: Kat was Audrey Hepburn in looks for example.

A: Does writing energize or exhaust you?

S: Writing definitely energises me. Although when I’ve had a particularly busy day and I’ve written 5-8000 words, I’m a little bit spaced out! David gives me a glass of wine and I’m soon back to normal, and back in this world and not in the one I’m creating.

  A: What is the first book (another author) that made you cry? And have you ever shed any tears when writing your own pieces?

S: As a teen I loved the Angelique series of books written by Sergeanne Golon. They were epic historical romances and I did cry when one of the main characters died in that series.

  A: As a writer, what would you choose as your mascot/avatar/spirit animal? And why?

S: A wolf. Wolves are pack animals when they need to be but like solitude too. They always protect their young, and I am by nature a very nurturing person. I always look out for others – even when I know they wouldn’t do it for me.

The Wolf : a symbol of guardianship, ritual, loyalty,

  A: Do you hide any secrets in your books that only a few people will find?

S: Oh yes! I often kill off people that have done something vicious to me, and believe me it has to have been bad for that to happen because I’m a very forgiving person. The clue to who they are would be in the description I give of them. But there are also lots of hidden meanings to things too because I do reflect on human nature quite a lot.

A: And finally, what is your favourite childhood book?

S: I don’t really have one. I didn’t enjoy young fiction at all when I was young. The stories we were forced to read were all fairly boring. I only enjoyed reading once I discovered adult books. The Collector by John Fowles was the first one I read. Then after that it was anything I could get my hands on that was grown-up or scary.

  Thank you, Sam, for taking part.

    *You can find Sam at www.sam-stone.com, and her books in all good book stores, and online retailers or visit www.telos.co.uk for signed copies.

    The Sam Stone Interview Good Morning readers. Today I would like to introduce you - if you're not already familiar with her work - to Sam Stone; horror/fantasy writer.