#while lear is in silent hill

[princepasio]

Augh!!! Disaster!!! Terrible!!!

There's a blackout on the island and it's overrun by ghosts!!! It's not even Halloween!!!

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Adventures of Silvertongue and Olive

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Warnings: dramakings, stubborn idiots falling for each other and slaughtered kittens. I’m kidding. Or maybe not.

10 - Bike riding gone wrong

“Olive, are you… Are you sure you… Ah! You…!”, yelled Loki in between gasps, holding himself to Olive’s back for his life. “My prince, you damn whoreson!”.

“Hold still, Silverprince, I’ve got this”, he assured him with a strong grip on the wheel. “You mustn’t panic over a bicycle”.

“I’m not panicking, I simply don’t trust… ah! Your abilities!”.

The cobbled streets made the riding even more difficult, as they bounced in each word. If it weren’t enough, the ups and downs of the paths made them fall off the bike more than once. Loki surrounded Olive’s waist and chest with his arms, as he grew more and more scared they’d crash violently, once again.

Olive wanted to climb the top of a hill and throw both down it. Loki was… not so sure. They put their feet on the ground, holding the bike still between their legs, and Loki rested his head on Olive's back.

"Don't even dream of it".

"Oh, come on, my prince. It'll be fun", said Olive, knowing damn well he'd convince him with those two magical words. My prince. His.

With a sigh, Loki accepted.

"Fine. If we die…".

"We would've died together".

"Sounds fine to me".

"What a clingy ass".

"Clingy ass? You've spent too much time on Midgard".

Loki secured himself around his friend, and Olive lifted the feet off the ground. Like a big snowball, they grew faster and faster off the hill, and started to lose balance. They were way too high to stop now. Both, screaming. Loki was having fun, but his yelling showed the opposite. Olive put his hands up and screamed in amusement while being sure they'd crash. Loki grabbed the wheel and Olive let him. But it was no use, for they were definitely flying off the hill.

Loki closed his eyes and Olive kept them very open. Not even once they remembered they could teleport themselves safely.

Like rocks, they sank in the dust and gravel that laid underneath the cliff. They stayed silent for a while, until Loki's silvertongue came back to his senses.

"The worst returns from laughter", he said, still from the ground. Olive chuckled.

"What?".

"Welcome then, thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!".

"You're a dramaqueen. It was not that bad".

"A dramaking, you mean".

"Do you have all Shakespeare memorized?", he asked sarcastically. Loki furrowed his brows.

"I fucking might".

They stayed on the ground, staring at the sky, defeated by gravity. Olive eventually got on his feet, undusted his clothes and offered his hand for Loki to get up. Loki stayed on the floor.

"Away, get thee away! Good friend, be gone. Thy comforts can do me no good at all; thee they may hurt".

Olive sighed, and, rolling his eyes, answered,

"You cannot see your way".

That was enough for Loki to stand right back on his feet, looking at him bewildered.

"You quoted back!".

"I did".

"You read King Lear!".

"I did".

"When?".

"These… past few weeks".

"When you met me?", he smirked.

Olive rolled his eyes again.

"You wouldn't shut up about it. Wanted to see what the big deal was about".

"I think I might be hallucinating. Oh, no. Call the healers. I'm dying, aren't I? Is this a dream? Is this the real life? Or is it just fantasy?".

"Well, sit down", said Olive, looking around. They were in the middle of nowhere. No streets to be found. Nothing. They were, indeed, caught in a landslide. "We should start thinking of what to do next. Do you know anyone around here?", and got no answer. "Loki?".

"Sorry", he shook his head. "I'm still too impressed you read Shakespeare to catch up on my conversations", he held his smirk. "I don't think anyone has ever been this cool to me".

"Don't worry, your future wife will probably read Shakespeare for you", he joked. "Unless you wanna marry me instead".

"I fucking might".

"Don't threaten me".

"Scared I might actually end up marrying you?", he joked back. Olive blushed. "Oh my Gods, you're red. Don't you actually think I'd want to marry you, do you?".

"Oh, stop it. I never know when you're teasing and when you're being serious".

"I'm never being serious", he said, knowing perfectly well he might as well have been entirely serious the whole conversation. "I don't know anyone around here. But we're Gods. Some around here actually know about us. We could use that".

"No, don't ruin the incognito. Even your father comes undercover to Midgard".

"Well, he also slaughters kittens for fun".

"Oh for the Norns! We left Cat in the Palace alone!", hurried Olive. "Loki, we need to go get them before they gets killed!".

"Oh, but Norway is such fun", he complained like a kid.

"The cat!".

"Alright. We're going back, my prince".

Olive smiled, and Loki thought it was completely worth it. If it made him smile like that, he'd do it again and again. And then, he felt he needed to see him blush. Just because Olive's face flustered was better than a hundred sunsets and sunrises, and Loki found himself unable to stop commanding his cheeks to grow hotter and hotter.

"What are you staring at?", inquired Olive after a while. "You're supposed to call Heimdall".

"Sorry", Loki came back to reality, blinking fast. "You look truly gorgeous today. What have you done?".

And, like that, Olive blushed from head to toes. Laughing it off, he tried to come up with a comeback line, and couldn't think of any. When Loki did those things, his mind went blank. And Loki loved it; he did it almost daily. A compliment, a little gesture, even a caring look he'd gift Olive and Olive alone. No one could get it except him. He was special, and, to him, he was his best friend because he couldn't be anything else. There was nothing better than having his friendship. 

"Please, my prince. I'm nothing compared to you", he whispered once he got his cheeks to a more normal color.

"Please. You're the prince tales warn us about".

"Are they warnings?".

"Well, they tell you, if you see them, you'd fall immediately and irremediably in love", he sighed, and widened his eyes after a few seconds of silence, realizing what he'd just said. "Well, maybe not! Maybe not exactly like those princes. I meant to say you're somewhat… nice looking. I…", but he couldn't find a better way to save himself from it. "I guess I… I find myself lost in words".

"Silver tongue turned to lead?", laughed Olive.

Loki has been called that catchphrase so many times before, but this was the first time it meant something different entirely. And, just as 'Leaf' had a new sound from his lips, the phrase renewed its use.

"To lead, indeed. Talking about lead, I should be leading our way out of here", he said, and looked up. Heimdall soon opened the bifrost and they traveled quickly to Asgard's palace, to get their cat safe.

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[tcm]

Norma Shearer: The Self-Made Star By Raquel Stecher

Norma Shearer was the epitome of ambition. Early in her career, Shearer had disastrous encounters with Broadway producer Florenz Ziegfeld and pioneer film director D.W. Griffith, for whom she appeared in a bit role in his film WAY DOWN EAST (’20). They basically told her that she’d never make it in show business, noting that her figure didn’t fit the ideal standard and the cast in her right eye gave her a slightly cross-eyed appearance. But that wasn’t a deterrent to Shearer. She was a woman in control of her career. Shearer worked with a doctor on manipulating her right eye, she learned how to dress to compliment her figure and she became an expert on how to look best in front of the camera.

Shearer soon caught the eye of Louis B. Mayer who put her under contract. She climbed the ranks to become an important player at MGM not by luck or talent but through hard work. She wasn’t satisfied with limited screen time, weak characters and poor lighting. She wanted leading roles, top billing and the best hair, make-up and costumes that a major studio like MGM could provide. She wasn’t destined to be a star. She made herself one.

Over the trajectory of her career, Norma Shearer constantly fought tooth and nail for better and better roles. She went from bit player to leading lady and proved her worth with films that turned into box-office hits. She successfully made the transition from silent to sound with THE TRIAL OF MARY DUGAN and THE LAST OF MRS. CHENEY (both ‘29). Her husband, movie mogul and producer Irving Thalberg, didn’t believe she had what it took to star in the sexually charged pre-Code THE DIVORCEE (’30). Shearer proved him wrong with a glamorous George Hurrell photoshoot that demonstrated she had sex appeal. She went on to star in the film and won the Academy Award for her performance. She was also nominated for her performances in THEIR OWN DESIRE (’29), A FREE SOUL (’31), THE BARRETTS OF WIMPOLE STREET (’34), ROMEO AND JULIET (’34) and MARIE ANTOINETTE (’38).

Critics might point to her advantageous marriage to Thalberg as the sole basis of her success. And while she tended to lean on the powerful men in her life, Shearer didn’t rest on her laurels. She carved a path for herself in the industry. But when Thalberg died at the tender age of 37 in 1936, Shearer not only lost the love of her life but also her biggest champion. She negotiated a six-picture contract with MGM. A few more hits came her way through a variety of “prestige” pictures and her last two box-office hits THE WOMEN (’39) and ESCAPE (’40). She took some time off before making WE WERE DANCING (’42), which was a critical and commercial failure.

Unfortunately, it was around this time that Shearer was making some bad decisions. She turned down plum roles in films like MRS. MINIVER (’42) and NOW, VOYAGER (’42). Her appearance was everything to her, and she did not want to be relegated to playing older women on screen. Now in her 40s, her days of being a romantic leading lady were quickly winding down.

Shearer’s next picture, HER CARDBOARD LOVER (’42), would be her last. For the film, she re-teamed with director George Cukor, with whom she had a good professional and personal relationship. The film is just the sort of high society romance she craved, and playing a woman desired by two charming men (George Sanders and Robert Taylor) seemed ideal. But the film was out of touch with contemporary audiences. Cukor later regretted making the film, saying “the plot was already too dated to engage a wartime audience.”

HER CARDBOARD LOVER put the nail in the coffin of Shearer’s acting career, although she wasn’t quite ready to admit to it. The film completed her obligation to MGM, and she informed Louis B. Mayer that she would not renew. A few weeks after the release of the film, Shearer married ski instructor Martin Arrouge and was preparing for a new chapter in her life.

According to Shearer biographer Gavin Lambert, “she denied that she had given up on acting and said she would return to the screen if the right part came along.” And a few projects did come her way. Using her strong connections in the industry, she made an attempt to produce a film adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel The Last Tycoon, which was partially based on the life of her husband Thalberg. Several attempts were made, but the project never came to fruition. (It was later adapted in 1976 and directed by Elia Kazan.) According to Lambert, Daniel Lewis of Enterprise Productions was working with Shearer in 1948 on a film project. When the film ARCH OF TRIUMPH (’48) set the company back financially, Shearer’s project was scrapped.

For a while, Shearer focused her attention on two things: discovering new talent and protecting the legacy of Irving Thalberg. Shearer came upon a picture of Janet Leigh and soon convinced talent agent Lew Wasserman to take a chance on the young woman whom she believed had star potential. For the biopic of Lon Chaney, MAN OF A THOUSAND FACES (‘57), Shearer insisted on casting the actor who would play Thalberg. Shearer spotted a young Robert Evans, who had acted as a child on stage but was then in the clothing business, at the Beverly Hills Hotel where she was currently living. Shearer and her husband Arrouge approached Evans and got him the part, which catapulted the future producer and studio head’s Hollywood career. Gavin Lambert notes that Shearer turned down Normal Lear and Bud Yorkin who were interested in making a biopic on Thalberg. Shearer said, “I do not believe it is something Irving would want and I would never consent to someone else playing me on the screen.”

Even out of the spotlight, Shearer seemed always to be in control of her destiny. She retreated from public life, preferring to spend time with her husband and a close-knit circle of friends. She never did return to acting but left behind a legacy fit for the Queen of MGM.

[pit-and-the-pen]

Chapter 4

 Just a short chapter to kick off my ideas for this series! Hope you enjoy! 

        A knock on Fred’s door interrupted him from a rather pleasant dream, the smell of apples faintly being chased away as he stirred awake. “Go away” He grumbled as loudly as he could muster before pulling a spare pillow over his head and rolling over onto his stomach. 

       “You’re late for training.” George calls from the other side of the door. Fred just groaned loudly and swore. He’d never hear the end of this from the guys. Trudging out of bed, he threw on whatever clothes he touched first. Deciding he could put together a better outfit later. His training gear would cover it anyways. 

     Walking out of the door, George whistles lowley when Fred passes him. A cup of warm coffee was shoved into his hands by George. Fred’s not normally a coffee drinker, but grimaces and downs the small cup anyways.  “Boy, you would think you stayed up the whole night.” George laughed at Fred’s disheveled appearance. “She even got you home at a reasonable time and everything.” He laughs a little louder at the slightly starstruck look that takes over his brother's face at the mention of last night. He claps his brother over the shoulder.  “Look at you, losing sleep over a pretty face.” 

Fred winds up to argue back before George holds his hands up. “Mate, it’s a good look on you. Well not right now obviously but overall.” George winks at his brother as they start to walk down the pathway outside to the training arena. “I haven’t seen you that lively since Bill was crowned.” Fred really wants to argue but he can’t, he knows he became a stiff the moment he became next in line. 

He remembers how him and George used to run rampant through the castle, pulling as many pranks as they possibly could. Minerva or even their mother yelling after them. The thought brings a smile to Fred’s face. How much of a simpler time that was. Back before they were looking face down at a war. Before his father’s problems we’re thrown into his lap because, in all reality, Bill wants nothing to do with them. The same way that Charlie had wriggled out under the guise of helping peace relations in Romania. The same way that Percy left the weight on Fred’s shoulders by being a royal face on the front and getting so good at raising morale that they decided to keep him exactly where he was. 

Plus, as much as everyone loved Percy, he cared too much about how he was perceived to make a great king. He would be too powerful in the wrong hands and the family had its fair share of people that would take full advantage of that fact before the crown even touched his head. He. realized he had been silent for a little too long and just sighed. 

“Sorry George. I know I’m no fun anymore.” His brother nudged him in the ribs.

“Whoever said you were fun in the first place eh?” George said in such a serious tone it made Fred pause. He saw the look on his brother's face and realized the joke had gone right over his head. I really do need to lighten up. He thought to himself and chuckled at his brother. 

Running a hand through his hair a small pang of sadness hits him harder than he thought it would’ve. He’s really just lost so much of himself by the prospect of being king someday. And he really knows it’s just a matter of time. The entire family is waiting with baited breath for Bill to finally run off with Fleur. They keep getting closer every day and it’s only a matter of time until the couple run off to the hills of France. Fred mentally curses at the thought. Bill isn’t doing it to be selfish, he knows that but Fred will be damned if he lets George suffer through everything he’s going through. If it becomes Fred’s turn he’s bringing them through a war and he’s never been more terrified at that idea.

 Fred walks down to the arena in a bit of haze. His thoughts run all over the place. Worse case scenario, one after the other, plays in his mind. How they don’t have enough bodies to fight a war. About how everyone will hate him when he has to draft. The kingdom falling because Fred couldn’t make the important calls at the right time. It’s enough to make him wish that he had stayed in bed. 

Before he realizes it, he’s stepping onto the gravel rink of the training arena. Trying to clear his head with a small shake, he realizes he can spiral later. Right now, he’s doing what he can. Everything else for now can wait. This is what he needs to do to play his part. Keep an eye out for who has leadership potential. 

With the Triwizard tournament coming up, currently being worked up and finalized as he stands here, he needs to keep a clear head. Does he think that right now is not the time for all the usual pageantry? Of course, but for now, it’s not his call to make and he’s grateful for that. He just falls in line and takes his orders when they are given. George gives him a firm pat on his back as he takes his usual spot on the bleachers, pulling out a large book and a quill. Ready to take notes down to report back to Bill. As he expected, there are a few lears and teases about his tardiness, comments he brushes off with a shrug. A few comments on seeing him with someone last night and he quickly shuts down that line of thinking. 

He pairs the men off into their small sparing groups. Deciding that he didn’t trust his own reflexes today, he informs them he wants to work on non-wand fighting. 

“Why would we do that when we have wands?” A voice calls out from the crowd. He sighs heavily. Of course these knob heads would think that. 

“What are you going to do if your wand gets lost, or heaven forbid, were to break in the middle of a fight?” He squints at the man that questioned him. “Are you going to run in the middle of a fight because of that? No. That’s why this is just as an important skill as dueling.” Fred pats the longsword currently resting on his hip. A few people from the crowd chuckle. They just assume it’s for show. He notices a few of the men looking behind him as he’s speaking. He sends a glance over his shoulder and he wants to curse from the sight in front of him. None other than Draco Malfoy. Loud and proud, standing like he owns the damn place. 

He bites back the eye roll and gestures to his men. “Work amongst yourselves for a moment.” He looks at the defiant faces. “With wands if it’s that damn important to you.” He says dismissively but with a tone that says this isn’t the last of that conversation. 

The relationship with the Malfoy family and the Royal family is rocky to say the least. They were part of the group that broke off and tried to become important in the Dark Lord's personal court, before it crumbled, of course. They were also some of the loudest opponents for the Weasley family to become the ruling family and decided to let that little detail fuel every one of their actions for the last fifty years. They did all of this while trying to worm their way into the most powerful positions. Much to Fred’s displeasure to admit, Lucius had managed to redeem himself quite well and from that Draco grew up just as good as a prince would have. 

“To what do I owe the displeasure of your presence Draco?” Fred sighed out. Not bother to care about diplomacy. There was something about the boy that just made his blood boil, too many smart comments aimed at his fathers competency when they were in school together he reckons. Malfoy just scoffs, pointing his head high in the air as he always does. 

“I was sent from the castle to come and get you. Important meeting apparently.” His voice full of discontent, obviously not liking being sent to run errands. 

“And why are you even in the kingdom again?” Fred taunts. “Front line too scary for you?” 

Once again Malofy scoffs. “They pulled Potter and I both out last week. That’s all that I know. Sent in replacements and everything.” Draco raises an eyebrow at Fred’s shocked expression. “Do you not even know what’s going on in your own kingdom? I thought they would be filling you in before him at this point.” He laughs and Fred lunges forward. Grabbing the shiny armor that Draco is wearing. Proof of how little he actually had seen of battle. 

“Woah. Not here Freddie” George says, coming to pry Malfoy out of Fred’s grip. Fred looks back at the group of men currently inspecting every detail of this interaction. 

“Better watch that temper, your majesty.” Malfoy spits out before Fred lets him go, giving him a large shove to get some distance between the two of them. He watches with a small smirk as the blond stumbles back and takes a second to regain his footing.

 Fred turns to the crowd, not even bothering to pretend they haven't just seen the interaction. “Well looks like you have been saved from a boring day.” Fred addresses them. “You’re dismissed but we’re doing double training to make up for this interruption.” He calls and claps his hands, letting everyone know they’re dismissed. 

There are a few groans from among the crowd but after the little show Fred put on no one thinks it smart to try to test his patience at the moment. 

I’ve tried to get this up three times and tumblr has decided to hate me so sorry if the formating is a little off. I tried to fix it but I’m terrible at editing if you havent noticed already.

Taglist: (some wont tag so if you changed urls and still want to be tagged please let me know!) @they-write-once-in-a-while @magical-spit @birdie-writes @ickle-ronniekins @heart-of-tempered-steel @wand3ringr0s3​ @thoseofgreatambition @things-that-start-with-f @elf-punk @bitchywhisperswizard @a-little-too-much @izzytheninja @kpopgirlbtssvt @shadowsinger11 @harrysweasleys 

[claptraprights]

Look we both know what I'm going to request so I'm going to not request that and instead ask for some Aurelia headcanons

the og girlboss!

- I imagine her childhood was very ‘icy glares and silent treatment-y’-kind with a side-serving of ‘any one who addresses problems is the problem’ from her parents (and also that they just weren’t around a lot bc - business). 

- Also she was taught from a young age that the servants were really just some pointless beings not worth talking to. There was however one governess she actually really felt close to and who actually cared about Aurelia and she asked her to take her to see the city down the hill once so that she could see how people live there and she did. But when Aurelia’s parents found out that she had taken Aurelia away from Hammerlock-owned premises, she was fired and shamed and could no longer hold a job as a governess anywhere. And in fact, Aurelia never saw her again.

- As a kid, she often felt jealous of her brother bc with his outdoor-sy activities and bug-searching habits (which is all very rebellious by Hammerlock standards) he got a lot of attention while the few times her parents noticed Aurelia was on the rare occasions that she did manage to fall out of her role or act untoward in a situation and the response to that was usually a stern talking-to about how she embarrassed the family - bc that was pretty much their parenting: You can do what you like, as long as you can do it quietly. But there wasn’t a lot of positive reinforcement. This kind of lead to being ‘evil’ becoming one of her favourite past-times. 

-  She’s a brilliant chess player with an Elo rating of >2000

- Both her and Alistair learnt to play various instruments as children. Aurelia is particularly good playing the violin. She likes to put her own, very theatrical air to her interpretations. 

- She was actually married before, in her mid-to-late twenties and her wife was from ...wherever it is that Ember is from. They actually divorced pretty amiably and her ex-wife is the reason why Aurelia peppers so much French words into her conversations (also bc it sounds fancy but pssh) 

- Her own planet is...surprisingly habitable? Freezing cold, of course, but her policies aren’t half-bad. Not so much bc she really cares about making life good for her subjects but because she realised that she will actually make more money if she gives the inhabitants the means to stay productive and as long as she treats them better than the corporations do, they actually come to her planet so the economy grows.

- Listen, while she might not like her brother she would still have left a very offended message if she had still been alive and he hadn’t invited her to his wedding. That’s just poor etiquette.

Despite her posh demeanor, she is actually very uninterested in the stuff that most other people in her social circle talk about. And tbh the fact that she was raised to think that ‘oh no my servant ordered my new space yacht in purple and not in burgundy’ and ‘my polo pony bit its art therapist!’ were the depth of human despair paired with being told not to talk or interact with any poor people led to her lack of interest in other people’s lives and feeling removed from most other people. She just thought they were all boring and overly concerned with nonsense that she couldn’t relate to.

- Yes, she can fence and she has settled various high-society disputes she got involved in with a duel.

- One of her favourite books are The Brothers Karamazov (or some cultural equivalent there is in her time. But then, she also knows King Lear so she probably knows Earth-time literature). When Alistair is being particularly self-righteous, she compares him to Alyosha.

- In turn, her time on Elpis was the first time in her life that she worked alongside people from outside of that social circle and that’s part of the reason why she becomes more invested in other people’s fate and grew as a person throughout the game.

- She is the definition of: “How much could it cost? 10 Dollars?” and back on her Elpis, her team frequently had to save her from being scammed by the locals.

- After she left, she actually offered a hefty sum of money to buy Timothy’s contract but she never received a response.

- She loves the opera and theatre. In her boarding school she got to act in plays sometimes but her parents mostly discouraged it.

- One of the reasons she likes ice so much is because it’s elegant. Fire and corrosion and explosions are all big messes - ice is a slow, silent killer that does not make much of a mess.

- She begrudgingly came to admire* Athena and even offered her a job as her bodyguard after she left (not that she really needs one but having an ex-Atlas assassin as your personal bodyguard sure has class). But that would have meant that either Athena would have left Janey behind which she didn’t want to or for Janey to resettle her entire business which Janey didn’t want to, so it didn’t work out (Or at least...came as close to admiring her as she could possibly be.

- This is not so much an Aurelia-specific headcanon but I like to believe that the Hammerlock dynasty and the Jakobs Corp. have had an allegiance since the times of the Corporate Wars when Jakobs got into a dangerous situation and managed to just about safe its neck by allying itself with the Hammerlock family. That’s also part of the reason why Aurelia was so eager to take over Jakobs (other than to piss of her brother and his  fiancé of course.)

[penitence-writings]

Even Bright Fires Will Die - Collab

Rilon finally fell asleep.

After hours of him lying there and thinking useless thoughts that plagued him daily and nightly, he gave in.

 This was a nightly deal, Rilon wouldn't be able to sleep for the longest time due to either Hyde nagging or his thoughts coming to haunt him.

Guilt, the fear of tomorrow, the hate for many individuals. A few that Hyde particularly had in mind. Three, a few mere kids in Rilon's mind. Teenagers that were now adults, with changed lives and personalities.

But that doesn't erase what they've done in the past.

Hyde knew he wasn't a just man or a good man. But he didn't care for morality, he cared about satisfaction for himself.

At first, it was a simple test. What was one life out of so many worldwide? Nothing. No one will remember in a thousand years. Then, the tests started to bore him.

No use caring for any of the statistics. For Edward. . . it was almost delightful. The thrill of a chase, knowing you're breaking multiple laws at once and not getting caught, the rush of adrenaline given when you do the complete the kill.

But, that all went away in a short span. Hyde learned to crave it more and more, and it became a sort of game. One that Rilon certainly didn't appreciate.

Many people had been hurt in Hyde's wake. Including his counterpart, the president's son himself. The ex-president, now — he's long dead.

Lear was one of Hyde's earlier kills, and it was after that day that the whole ordeal had become a personal game. Rilon and Asiah had lost their father years after they had lost their mother and under the same circumstances.

Murder.

The president wasn't purely a victim, not entirely. The things the man had done, to so many people — to kin. Hyde had been sloppy with Lear, but that had cost him. He didn't get much cleaner with recent times, but Lear being removed was necessary for Rilon.

No one liked him anyway, not even Rilon, as much as he liked to decry at Hyde for doing such deeds. Hyde killed Lear for Rilon, whether Rilon believed it or not. A lot of things were done for him, but yet he still refused to take Hyde's word for it.

Rilon thought things that Hyde was willing to put into action. Rilon put those thoughts into the back of his mind, not wanting to believe that he would think such sick things. Hyde found them and acted upon them. He acted upon his wants, too.

Hyde wasn't his counter, not for one moment was he ever Rilon. He's his being, his mind. Simply sharing a body with someone who didn't want to accept that fact. Rilon despised Hyde, that was no secret, but Hyde wanted more than what he was given, and he was given so little. Rilon prevented that like a dog would guard his bone. But, every dog had to rest sometime, didn't they?

Now, it was only right that Rilon would try his best to keep Hyde from taking more lives. He tried, but sleep was like a chronic illness. You can't go long before going back to it.

Just like tonight. Rilon tried to keep awake for as long as possible, but couldn't. Now, Hyde could peacefully and more or less painlessly come out.

Hyde stood from the messy bed of tossed blankets and indented pillows. He stretched, finding the feeling of a physical form rather than speaking absently in the mindspace pleasuring. 

The man changed from his nightgown into average day clothes. A gown wasn't something Hyde would prefer to go out into town in, even if it's the dead of night.

Then Hyde remembered, bare hands is never a good tactic for more than one person. Too much time is wasted on each, and with two other residents- Hyde would be at the risk of being caught.

Something personal to complete the kill, but not dull. Out of the corner of his eye, Hyde spotted it. 

The mirror that was broken due to Rilon's own emotions, shattered pieces were cleaned up, but the fragmented mirror was still in the room and a single shard was kept in Rilon's drawer.

Hyde walked into the living area, fumbling through a few drawers before finding the right one. There it stood, showing a broken reflection of Hyde, almost mocking him as he stared at himself through it.

He gripped it and shut the drawer silently, only sparing another second to look at the emotionless half-faced self-portrait. 

He paid no mind to the pain of the new weapon, and instead looked ahead to the mission. It was off-putting how well the shard fit into his hand but at a cost of his blood.

Hyde clenched the glass tighter, knowing he'd have to pick little bits of glass out of his palms later, but he left the matter for now.

The pain was almost a relief to him.

Hyde walked out of Rilon's room hurriedly after catching a glimpse of the time. 

Almost two a.m. Rilon stayed strong for quite some time tonight. 

The house that seemed inches away from the window of the tenth floor was quite farther than a few blocks. Nothing extreme, but Hyde made it a point to walk faster down the streets.

Finally, after some minutes, Hyde reached his destination. A mocking house up a little hill that towered over the rest on the block. 

Rich defined the people that lived there. Hyde wanted something more to do than sit around all day in Rilon's head, being forced to sit dormant while Rilon took most of the control.

Soon, though, Hyde would get the majority of the spotlight. The people who lived in this home were no doubt privileged middle-aged stuck-ups who controlled some amount of land or were too used to having everything made for them.

Tonight they're going to fend for themselves.

Hyde sneered at the thought. Their actions were going to bite them back and bite back hard. His grip tightened on the shard, and the euphoria came and left him within a split second, leaving him high.

He moved in.

Somehow, as Hyde searched for a way in, he got the sneaking sense that he wasn't alone. He nearly froze as another figure neared the house. From the way they snuck around, he could tell that the person was not of this residence.

His breath caught. He knew who it was recognizing the mannerisms even if he could not see them. 

When the figure's face was illuminated by a small, lit match, their identity was confirmed. Hyde could see the near joy that flashed in the figure's bright golden eyes, golden as the small flame he brandished.

It was unmistakable.

 "Alva." 

He hadn't expected him here. He wasn't supposed to be here.

How did he know I was here?

 "You bitch." The words came out a little too loudly. Alva flinched, dropping the lit match to the ground. He trampled it under his boot before the flame could get anywhere.

It was too late to hide - Alva had already seen him.

They stared at each other for some moments before any of them spoke. The one who broke the silence was Alva.

 "Edward?"

 Hyde was cautious as he inched toward the man. His face twisted into a snarl. "I thought you said we were done, Alva."

 "I didn't know you'd be here." Alva lit another match and illuminated his face. He was not amused, either. 

A smirk then lit up his face. "What an amazing coincidence." He said. "You show up on the same night that-"

Someone was coming. Hyde grabbed Alva by the hand and dragged him into a bush lining one side of the house.

He held his breath as the footsteps stopped just before their hiding place. Any wrong move - any move for that matter - could get them caught. They'd be thrown into prison - or worse, Institution. Hyde hated Institution, even worse going there. He couldn't get caught — Rilon would never see his brother again.

The footsteps retreated away to another spot around the house, and Hyde audibly gasped.

At least they were safe... For now at least.

 "You said you wanted nothing to do with me," Alva held up the hand Hyde had grabbed, and also the hand that he still held. "But yet, you seem too attached to let go."

 Hyde's face briefly flushed with heat, but he looked away and yanked his hand out of Alva's grip with an almost inhuman snarl. So this was how Alva was going to play.

Two could play at that game.

 "Stay out of my way." He said, pushing Alva out of his reach and cautiously walking out of the bush. Fortunately, the person had gone. All he needed now was to find his way inside.

This house was too big. Although that would usually prove an advantage for such a person as Hyde himself, it gave him a sense of overwhelming insignificance.

No. He couldn't let that get in his way. Too much of a clouded mind would obscure his concentration on his task.

Damn it. Just get inside, Edward.

Thankfully, sometime later, he had found a small door, which he figured led to a cellar of some sort. It took some prying open, but he eventually got it open and slipped inside.

The cellar was surprisingly nicer than he had expected. Usually, cellars were dark and damp and musty, not adorned with such… niceties.

The chandelier, the whitewashed walls, even a few old photos hung up on the walls. He noted a wine cellar, marked with a sign. If the house wasn't going to be set ablaze, Hyde would have chosen to visit it later.

Hyde avoided looking at the photos. They all too painfully reminded him of how fake he was, only a fracture of Rilon's broken mind. This was a life he never would have.

Soon, it would all go up in flames.

Hyde glanced back subconsciously, aware that Alva had followed his advice and was now in his part of the house. Soon enough, the place would be ablaze. Hyde needed to get his task done first before Alva could complete his own.

Out of the cellar, no noise came. The hallway was clear, Hyde stepped out and crawled into an even grander hall. It wasn't lit, but Hyde knew that the faint designs illuminated by his small light were extravagant and certainly undeserved for such people.

 Hyde scowled at the portraits on the wall. They were obsessed with looking at themselves. They had no children, and there was a couple who looked sickeningly in a honeymoon stage of their relationship, and another man, who stood alone in his paintings. 

Hyde moved on, knowing that Alva would be working a little slower than he expected too due to the sightings of each other. They had broken contact many fortnights ago, and they were no doubt frazzled. 

 But, Hyde forced himself to put that at the back of his mind, it was unimportant right now.

He approached a french door, one of the main master bedrooms of the house. Fancy carvings were etched onto the door, and Hyde found that it was unlocked with a silent turn of the handle.

 Gripping the glass close to his chest, Hyde opened the door painfully slow, the noise would've been a wreck.

He shifted his light source to the bed in the middle of the room meters away, showing the forms of two bundles under thick duvets. The couple's room. 

 Hyde shifted his attention, no cats or dogs in the room. No alarms besides Hyde himself. he crept close to the king-sized bed. Snores came from the man, making the floorboards seem less loud in comparison.

He sounds like a whole damn factory.

 Hyde went to the man first, the side closest to the door. The man was facing the door, and Hyde looked for every possible way to kill him.

 What could this glass do, exactly? What was it's limitations to piercing skin? It wouldn't be hard to find out.

Not wasting another moment, Hyde raised the glass and used both hands for better grip and brute. He swung it down, right between the ribs. The man jerked, the glass fitting right through his skin as if the protective layer was useless.

 Blood streamed down after its initial eruption. Hyde sidestepped, blood covering his shoulder in uneven metallic splotches. The man was wide awake now, frozen in shock as his eyes forever stared at his murderer.

Though it was unnerving, Hyde continued swiftly. He slunk the glass out, more blood covering his hands than before- an unintelligible mix between his and the husband's- and brought it down once again to the place dead center to his heart.

 He jerked again, this time it brought him out of what trance he was in and he screamed out in agony, hands flailing up to his chest to desperately claw at the weapon stuck in it.

Hyde got scratched a few times before retrieving his shard, but none were deep enough to pierce the skin. The man got manicured regularly.

 Hyde stared at his subject a moment longer, watching his body fall onto the floor with a 'thump!' before ultimately passing out from blood loss. He would be dead soon with no medical attention. Hyde kicked him under the bed, now noticing that the woman was awake and in the corner, shaking.

"You... you killed him. . ." she said it in an annoying, high pitched voice. She jumbled her words multiple times before getting it out right. 

 Yeah, that was a kind of the point. Now it'll be harder to kill you. Hyde mentally rolled his eyes and outwardly scoffed.

Glaring down at her, Hyde stepped closer one glowering step at a time. He was no more than a foot away from her as he dropped to one knee.

 "And?" He asked, making no moves to even harm the lady. 

 He knew she was terrified, and she wouldn't do anything out of the fear that trapped her. 

Trapped. He knew what that felt like. She most likely didn't.

 Slowly, menacingly, Hyde strode back to the bed. He picked up the pillow she was laying on mere minutes ago. "Don't want the same fate?" He asked, with a sneer. Her fate was sealed the moment she spoke to Rilon years ago.

 "Please, sir!" The lady pleaded, her voice quivered and she still spoke as if in a meat freezer. "I have money. I can write you a check!" 

 "If I wanted money, you and your dead dearest would be held for ransom. I have all the money in the world at my disposal." Hyde said, dropping the glass piece carelessly on the sheets.

He tilted his head, in a questioning way, before talking again for the last time.

 "I'm not after money. Think of me as a peacekeeper. Disposing of the unworthy. I just do it severely." Then, he struck.

 Her head smashed against the thick wall as Hyde landed on her. He held her down with his weight, and her hands frantically swung in the air to hit Hyde, but he was too out of reach. 

The pillow was over her face in less than a heartbeat, and her attention was on getting it off instead of getting Hyde off. Stupid mistake.

 Hyde held it there until he felt her go limp under him. Then he brought the pillow up, seeing her face had turned an ugly shade of purplish-blue and had lost all signs of life.

Hyde let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding in. One more to go.

 He stood up, checking her pulse for a double measure. Dead. He didn't bother moving anything around, just picked up his glass from the bed and left the room silently. 

 He wiped spots of blood from his cheek on his clean shoulder sleeve, not enjoying the feeling of it. He'd have to clean it off after this was all said and done.

The other rooms in the manor were empty. But there was still one living person in this home. Hyde peered around a hall corner, spotting decorative stairs leading up in a spiral.

 Hyde smirked. Jackpot. The man liked a view - that will be the death of him.

Hyde scurried up the stairs, not wasting a breath as he reached what seemed to be the fifth floor. The starlight remained in the sky from a wall-sized window. It hadn't been long since Hyde had entered the house.

 The rooms went down a hall in a prison-like pattern. Hyde opened each of them as he went by, securing the shard in his fist one more time. 

The last door was the one that Hyde suspected he was in. He has to be, after all. The doors were all already opened. Hyde crept into the room, seeing ruined sheets but with no one there to ruin them. There was no one in here.

 Hyde fell to the floor, someone heavy on top of him. He grunted, the weight holding his lower body still. The opponent was heavy and sturdy but probably didn't know what he was doing in terms of offense. Self-defense would have to be tested.

Hyde got lost in his thoughts, the only thing breaking him out was a clumsy punch to the jaw. Hyde recovered quickly, glaring up at the man. He had panic in his expression, knowing that the man that had entered his home wasn't entering for a joke.

 Hyde reached for his weapon before realizing that it landed halfway across the room when Hyde went down. This kill was going to be physical, that's certain.

Hyde grabbed the man's gown front, clashing their heads together. The man cursed, bringing a hand to his head out of natural reflex. Hyde took the chance to flip them both over, getting the upper hand early.

 Hyde double punched him without a second thought. Then, he jumped off the opponent when he tried to strike back defensively.

The man took a hot minute to get up, and Hyde waited until he stood fully. Hyde slammed him against the wall, undercutting him twice. His head was knocked into the wall both times, and Hyde was genuinely surprised that the man hadn't been deemed unconscious yet.

 The gent gained his bearings for a final rush of adrenaline and shoved Hyde off of himself. Hyde almost tripped over his feet due to the momentum but stayed up long enough to be pinned to the other wall.

The window was inches away from Hyde's ear, and the moonlight that came in from it illuminated the man's bruised face; his jaw was littered with bruises in a discolored mix of shapes, his lip was busted, and even though it wasn't visible Hyde knew that the back of his head was even worse. 

 "Wait!" Hyde pleaded as the man reared up to punch him. "I'm sorry, I came into the home when I heard a scream from next door. I thought you were the one who killed them. I live just next door."

The man released his sweaty hold on Hyde's collar, a disturbed look in his eye.

 "You're a Magnusteen? I haven't heard of a fourth family member."

 Hyde nodded frantically, putting on a frightened mask. "Apologies, I have been away for years out of the country, I came back for my sister."

 "Oh, I see. . ." The man looked away, slowly blinking and rubbing his beaten jaw. His brows furrowed, "killed? How do you. . . oh my..."

 He glanced up at Hyde, intensely observing him. "You are in regular wear, you're covered in-oh my-" 

Hyde grinned at the overly funded man. "Faster than I thought you would be."

 Hyde sprung at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and twisting them both around. Hyde broke the window out with the man's body, holding him out of the five-story high window.

 A breeze flew in, the sounds of panes shattering on the cobble road ringing in Hyde's ears. 

 "But not fast enough."

 "Doctor Arlett?" The man gasped, horror-stricken at the new information. An old memory showing up in his own house, holding onto his very life.

 "Mister Hyde." Then Hyde let go of the dead weight, listening to the screams before they were cut off abruptly. Hyde leaned out of the hole in the wall, expecting to see merely a limp body.

Orange flames licked at the top of the first floor, and Hyde forgot about everything else. Alva had set the fire.

Hyde didn't waste time getting out of there, hightailing down the stairs, faster than what could have been the speed of sound. 

Already the flames lapped around him - Hyde suspected that Alva had started the fire in multiple places around the house. It was spreading fast, already reaching over Hyde's head when he reached the second floor.

Making a split-second decision, Hyde rode the railing the rest of the way down to the first floor. Fire made it hard to see where he was going; any of his other senses, he ultimately found them to be completely unreliable.

Everything was just a complete shade of bright red.

Hopefully what Hyde noticed in the corner of his eye was a door. He abruptly turned and made a mad dash for it.

He barreled into it - a wall - at top speed. It gave under his weight and collapsed. He didn't catch himself in time to balance himself, and he got sent barreling down the hill.

Hyde fell in a heap, the grass at the bottom of the hill catching his fall. He got to all fours, gasping and choking for air. As he did, he stared upwards at the burning house, nearly surprised to find it already engulfed in flames.

I'm impressed. He muttered to himself, searching for Alva. Half of him prayed that the man had gotten out safely.

Yet, as he got to his feet, there was no sign of him. He could only stare, his eyes darting everywhere in some vain hope that Alva would appear from the house, even if he did appear toasted like overdone bread.

But he never did. 

In slow motion, as Hyde broke into a run, the house began to collapse under its weight, collapsed into a flaming heap, sending a wave of hot air that brought Hyde to the ground once again.

It was a long time before he could bring himself to stand again, and the first thing that hit him was the recognizable smell of smoke.

But still no sign of Alva.

That thought struck fear in him, fear that Alva hadn't made it out of there alive.

Fuck it. He was going to search anyway.

Hyde prayed that nobody had spotted either of them, as for a man covered in the blood of the - now-deceased - residents was as suspicious sight in itself. A burning building on the edge of London would be as well, but that didn't matter much to him.

The rubble gave no sign of where the rooms had been before and was about as hard to wade through as wet cement. Yet, who seemed to care. The thing Hyde was searching for mattered more than some damn house.

Even if that thing had been a bitch to him in the past.

While he had been lost in thought, he'd tripped over what had to have been part of a dresser. Hyde caught himself before he landed, and luckily - a jagged part of a broken chandelier lay dangerously close to him.

He breathed a sigh of relief, struggling to regain his equilibrium. Blood pounded in his ears as he frantically searched for Alva, who still hadn't emerged from the house or the rubble.

 "That idiot is going to be in big trouble." Hyde struggled through the rubble, silently cursing himself for even showing up in the first place. He could have left Rilon alone, let him sleep.

But he let the thrill get ahead of him.

His legs eventually gave out, and Hyde stumbled to a place and collapsed, struggling for air.

The smell of smoke was just becoming too much, too overwhelming. Hyde knew he was going to die here, having not found Alva, having failed.

The only accomplishment he could accept was that he had rid the world of three more people. Fewer threats to Rilon, fewer people to wrong him.

That didn't feel like a big accomplishment.

 "Hey, Eddie." Someone bent down beside him, rubbing his shoulder. It was a husky voice, possibly from the smoke. Yet somehow recognized it.

 "Alva." Hyde held up his hand helplessly, gasping. "Get me up, you idiot."

 "I'm the idiot now?" Alva took his hand, helping Hyde to his feet. He laughed, a deep, genuine laugh. It was the first time Hyde had heard him laugh in a long while. "You are sorely mistaken."

 " No, are you hurt, you big oaf? "

Alva patted himself down, then shrugged. "I don't appear to be, except for this." He pulled at a tear in his jacket, wear blood slowly oozed from it. It was hard to tell in the firelight and the darkness of the early morning. 

"Oh," he fumbled through his coat, holding something out in his hand. "You dropped this."

Hesitantly, Hyde stared at the object. It was the shard. For a moment it escaped him that he'd dropped it, but when he tried to take it, Alva held his hand.

 "Can you forgive me, just this once?"

Hyde didn't know how to respond at first, and he couldn't put it into words. Alva had done terrible things, but none as great as this. It had been just a petty little fight, anyway.

 Alva had made his thoughts all flustered, discombobulated. It was all so... wrong.

 "Fine." He was flustered; to him, the reply appeared almost rude. He took the shard and stashed it in his pocket, with the strange urge that he was forgetting something.

Then frustrated, Hyde huffed, seizing Alva by the lapels of his coat, pulling him down to his eye level, and, against his own will but filled with a strange feeling, kissing him.

Alva appeared nearly surprised at this, but he relaxed and surprised Hyde as well.

He kissed him back.

 "Alva." Hyde stopped as they entered back into the city. He stared at the ground as Alva let go of his hand. 

The man disappeared into the darkness of an alleyway as Hyde gathered up his thoughts. He could only stare as Alva appeared to have leaned against a wall, staring at him. The gold of his eyes reflected in the little moonlight that shone upon them.

Three people dead, and for what? Just a little thing they had said to Rilon nearly two decades ago? Did that matter now?

 " Alva, I -" 

He didn't get to finish what he was saying, as Alva appeared to be entangled in some infernal struggle, sliding down the wall as if his legs were no use to him anymore.

Panicking, Hyde ran to him.

He was just fine a moment ago, I swear.

 "Alva, you idiot."

 The man was now only held up by the wall, weakly staring at his hands, which were crossed in his lap. "I got you out safe, didn't I?"

 " Yeah, but -" The panic rose in Hyde's throat, cutting him off abruptly. He felt helpless, kneeling beside him and dropping the shard. No other words rose in his throat, and he buried his head in his hands out of grief.

 "Eddie, at least you got out safe." Hyde raised his head - Alva was staring him straight in the eye with whatever strength he appeared to have left. "I could have been the major bitch I am and just left you there." He weakly laughed as he said this as if contemplating the outcomes. He had considered that... Hyde realized but had gone against his morals.

Still, he should be fine. The only wound Hyde had seen on him was that shoulder wound.

Unless… unless the injuries were internal.

He should have been aware of that.

Alva was going to have a slow, suffering death.

Right at that moment, Hyde felt a wave of defeat drown his once euphoric mood. He couldn't just leave Alva there to die after Alva came back for him.

Instantly and unconsciously, Hyde's hand went to pick up the shard, which had been discarded on the ground beside him. This was what he had to do, wasn't it? Put Alva out of his misery?

Although the shard, that of which was once familiar to him, now felt foreign in his hand. He clenched his hand into a fist, felt the pain of its sharp edges, cutting into him. Once again, he relished it.

It also came to him that familiar hesitation that pierced his mind like the shard.

Could he do it? 

 "I know what you're thinking, Edward." Alva sat himself up against the alley wall, groaning as he did so. "You want to put me out of my misery. I'm some suffering animal to you, aren't I?"

 Hyde dropped the shard once again, looked away, and nodded. For once in his life, he ignored his impulses, rejected them. He didn't want to kill Alva, at least not on purpose.

 "Then do it."

 Hyde's head shot up at Alva's order. Was this really what he wanted?

Again he struggled to find the words. "Alva, I.. I can't." He slumped down into a sitting position. He didn't want to hurt those close to him; after the residents' murders, he didn't want to kill anyone else. That was all taken care of.

 "I've seen you… I saw you… in that room." Alva was growing weaker still. "That man was.. Dead within seconds."

 Except for the couple, Hyde had believed that he was alone in that room. Alva had been… watching him?

Hyde felt his hands shake, and he nearly dropped his weapon once again.

Dead within seconds, instead of suffering for hours. This was how Alva wanted to go out, wasn't it?

Alright.

Hyde took a deep breath, steadying himself and his hand. Alva stared at him with a knowing look, smiling sadly. "I'll see you soon, Eddie."

 "I'll see you too." Hyde bent forward and pulled Alva into what was the guise of a hug. Less than a few moments later, the deed was done. He felt Alva slightly jerk, but there were no protests. Hyde knew that he couldn't.

Hyde's hand slipped away from the weapon, which had now been embedded in Alva's chest. Alva slumped forward, letting out a gurgling sigh.

He was right.

He had died within seconds.

Hyde didn't want to do this, but this is what it had come to. He couldn't just take it all back.

He sucked in a breath and buried his face into Alva's shoulder. For some time, he stayed like this, an emotionless mess before something finally snapped in him. He began shaking, trembling until he felt his eyes sting. His cheeks were wet.

He was...crying?

He set Alva's body back against the wall, falling back and staring at him. It was taking everything to keep him from sobbing. He reached out to retrieve the shard but something overcame him and his hand dropped.

 "No.. No." The realization came to him that Alva's blood was over him. The residents' blood. Something not easily rid of.

He needed somewhere to clean up.

 "I'm sorry, Alva." He leaned back over, kissing Alva on the forehead as if bidding him a good sleep. In a way, he was. "I'll see you in hell. For now," he took a pause, sighing before he continued. "I have someone else to visit."

 He took the shard out of Alva's chest — with some difficulty — and got to his feet. "I'll miss you, you dumb bastard."

Without a further glance, Hyde started off to another place.

Another place. Hyde's secondary thoughts rung in his head and ears, giving him a massive headache to start the day with.

He couldn't go back to Rilon's apartment. Not in this state. Not yet, Hyde wasn't ready to go back into dormancy. It was too early and he knew he would regret giving up control again.

 Another place. What other places did Hyde know, besides the never-ending streets of London? Of course, the only place left in the world that could give Hyde peace and sanctuary.

Ottawa's home. Ottawa's arms. Ottawa's heart. The one place where Hyde was (most of the time) welcomed wholly and Hyde could be Hyde with her. Not some ex-heir who created this mess of a personality.

 Not just Ottawa's home, their shared home. Hyde let the fact of the hitch slip his mind in the fritz of it all. He was so happy to finally get a home with the one he loved but...

The dread came back to Hyde. His heart sank and his hands trembled at his sides. Ottawa was innocent, she doesn't know the man she married. She doesn't know the things he has done nor the blood on his hands. The victims Hyde has ruthlessly killed just for pleasure and so-called revenge.

Could he? Hyde sucked in a painful breath, stopping and leaning against a lit pole for support. He caught his breath, one that hasn't been lost. Hyde felt like Rilon suddenly - hopeless, powerless, and like the world had turned against him.

Hyde knew it wasn't exactly unfair, Hyde wasn't the best of men, but Alva didn't deserve to go the way he did.

And his blood. . . Hyde looked down at his stained hands, seeing the quiver uncontrollably. Hyde killed someone he loved.

Hyde forced himself to think of something, anything, that could be a better train of thought. If Hyde hadn't been there this morning, Alva would have died a slow and miserable death anyway. Hyde shortened it. 

The thought just made Hyde sicker, and he swallowed harshly. His legs started to shake, coming back like an old memory. He didn't know what to do, his mind was everything but right.

Hyde needed to go home, even if for a night. He needed to recuperate and think without being so exposed.

 It was selfish to do that to someone like Ottawa, but Hyde couldn't help but stay with her. She was his anchor, and he couldn't live much longer without her.

Hyde started into a jog, thinking only about getting home and nothing else. Tunnel vision blocked out his other senses, including his blurry vision and drilling headache.

 He accelerated into a silent sprint before stopping suddenly and almost tripping from the momentum. His clothes. His face. Hyde needed a change of - everything, for the most part. Ottawa would immediately be suspicious.

She's innocent, not dull. Ottawa is a brilliant mind, even in fine lighting, she could figure something out. Something that Hyde had worked to cover up so desperately. He couldn't lose this one, not when she was his lifeline.

 Hyde turned a sharp corner into an alley with a bunch of connected houses. Simple family houses, nothing extravagant like the one that had just burned to the ground. Hyde inhaled a quick breath, not wanting to recall anything right then. Hyde wiped his face of any excess liquid, facing a dark brown home.

Hyde checked all the windows, immediately finding one left unlocked and cracked near the side of the home. Upon entering, Hyde found out that the window was for ventilation. The home was hotter than anything outside currently, they must have a few opened windows.

 Hyde couldn't blame the family, the crime in London with these family neighborhoods was almost nonexistent. No wonder they felt safe leaving a few windows open to catch a drift. Hyde peered around the home, finding the master easily. A couple lay in bed, snoring their night away.

Hyde tiptoed to the closet, cursing any creak in the floorboards. Opening the closet with maximum patience, Hyde found many sorts of men's clothes. Sweaters, coats, shirts, trousers. Hyde grabbed a soft light-colored sweater and long trousers. Hyde hoped that the sink running for a minute wouldn't wake either of the pair from their slumber.

Turning to them for a moment, Hyde confirmed that they most likely wouldn't even move a muscle at a thunderstorm. They were sprawled out on one another, snoring in a strange synchronization that Hyde found excessively creepy.

 Hyde moved into the hall, finding the main bathroom more near what could be a children's bedroom. He slunk into the confined room, closing the door swiftly. The bathroom had a window. It would be a squeeze to get out, but Hyde couldn't risk going out again. 

Hyde switched out of his browned clothes and into the fresh ones. He washed his face with a vicious scrub, ridding himself of Alva's blood. That would haunt him continuously. 

 He left the old clothes on the sink, staring at his faceless self in the small mirror above it. The darkness of the room prevented Hyde from seeing his expression in the mirror, but the lamplight from outdoors let Hyde see his clear outline. The man in the mirror wasn't someone Hyde wanted to be, but he chose to be anyway.

Hyde looked down at his hands, cupped with water in them. He splashed his face, clearing it a final time with a small hand towel. Hyde grabbed the bundle of old clothes, jumping out of the high window and rushing to a nearby canal. He dumped Rilon's clothes into it, clearing anything else from his hands. It wouldn't be as easy to do that mentally as he did physically.

Hyde took a moment for a deep breath before started back onto course for home. Ottawa would be sleeping, as she should be. It was probably four in the morning at this point. She never woke that early if she could help it.

 He quickly made his way down the roads, feeling a chill run down his spine. From a breeze or his own emotions, Hyde couldn't define a line. The home came up, a pure boon compared to everything else.

Hyde rushed up the porch stairs three at a time, practically skipping the stairs entirely. Softly, as if he would break the door itself, Hyde cracked open the door and entered his house. He closed it quietly behind him, locking it for good measure.

 Hyde lit a lantern in the living room, placing it back on its hook and shaking out the match. Quickly, he tossed the match in the trash, not wanting to look at a firestarter. The lantern's flickering was enough to make his eyes unconsciously water. He didn't mean to, but his body and mind willing the tears back with Alva. He loved Alva, even if they weren't on good terms.

Hyde wouldn't forget him.

 "Have a good stroll?" Hyde jumped from his planted position, knocking over the vase on the stand. Hyde struggled to catch it, still in shock from the sudden voice, and the pottery ended up slipping through his fingers.

 "Oh - Ottawa! I'm sorry, I didn't-"

 "Don't bother, it was fake anyway," Ottawa said, still as sharp as her first comment. "Where have you been, Edward?" She asked, almost as if she expected it to he a simple-worded answer.

 "You're still awake?" Hyde avoided the question, knowing she would eventually break him.

 "Edward," Ottawa looked narrowly up at him from her spot on the singular couch. Her legs were crossed firmly, her arms folded above. She looked exhausted, and Hyde felt a stream of guilt wash through him. She had waited all night for him to return. 

 "Ott, did you stay up all night?" Hyde questioned softly, his facial features dropping at the realization. How many days had Hyde been away? How many nights had she stayed up only to realize her husband wasn't coming home? God, he was stupid to leave her so much like this. The number of days he had left his wife alone in the empty house, the worry she had felt every waking moment of it.

Hyde knew only because he felt those same emotions when Rilon was in control. Countless days were spent worrying about Ottawa and thinking restlessly about her. About the baby.

 She gave him a look that told him everything and more. "Edward, you promised you'd be here more often for us. I can't do this alone." Her tone softened, and Hyde dropped everything he was feeling to approach her.

He crouched in front of her on one knee, gently taking her hands in his as they did during their vows. "Ottawa, I'm sorry. I know I promised that I'd be around more. . . things came up and got messy. From now on, I'll keep true to my promise." Hyde said honestly, laying a faint kiss on each hand like they were porcelain glass.

I need to talk to Rilon, we need to discuss this whole ordeal before I lose my wife. Hyde thought solemnly, knowing Rilon would understand but be reluctant due to Hyde's destructive behaviors - like today, for example.

 But, Rilon liked Ottawa and understood his alter's affection for her and his unborn child. He surely would allow the majority of control to pass on to Hyde. Rilon was a true man. 

Hyde looked painfully up at Ottawa, feeling his lies creep up to his throat as his words got caught. 

 Her eyes were watery as she stared down at her lover, and an out of character giggle came from her and she reached up to wipe her eyes from any incoming tears. Hyde panicked slightly, knowing about the easy mood swings that could be occurring. But it wasn't anything like that. What she said wasn't cursed hormones.

 "You idiot, do you have any idea how worried I've been?" She laughed again, settling on the floor and holding her husband in her arms once again. Ottawa rested her face in the crook of Hyde's neck as he wrapped his arms as tight as he was able to around her. "I missed you, Hyde."

 "I missed you too, Ott," Hyde said sincerely, grinning into her shoulder. "Both of you." Hyde placed his hand between them, on Ottawa's baby-swollen belly. 

 "Mein Lieblinge." Hyde murmured, finally feeling safe and loved for the first time in a long time.

 "But for now, let's get you to bed. You look like a raccoon, dear." Hyde said playfully, standing quickly and picking her up in his arms with him.

Ottawa cried out in surprise and laughter, lightly tapping Hyde's chest. "Hey! Watch the baby!" She exclaimed harmlessly between laughs. 

 "You don't look much better than a raccoon, Hyde." Before she could speak any more, Hyde hurried to their shared bedroom, placing her ever-so-gently on the bed. 

 "What, they're cute, aren't they?" Hyde asked, settling in beside her and holding her close. This is what it felt like to be home. Not at the place, not even close to a place. With Ottawa home.

She shrugged. "Not really. They're disgusting raggedy little creatures, with messy fur and yellow teeth."

 "And you're saying I look no better than one?* Although admittedly irritated, Hyde smiled.

"Maybe."

 Ottawa pulled the covers over her yawning loudly. “Now please get some sleep before I worry about you more.”

Uneasily, Hyde lay back into the bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to shut his eyes, not with all the thoughts running through his head. 

I feel like she’s going to find out in the worst way possible.

Will she hate me for that?

For several hours, he lingered that way, unable to sleep, jealous of how deeply Ottawa could, when he couldn’t.

Finally, he rose from the bed around midmorning, careful not to wake her. He lightly kissed her forehead, muttering a quiet, “I’m sorry, Ott.” before he left the room.

She wasn't going to forgive him for this, leaving her alone, going away without telling her, but he needed to get back to the Tower before the President got suspicious about Rilon's whereabouts.

Hyde couldn’t linger out here consciously anymore. At first, taking back control, it seemed fun, amusing even, but after a while, physicality only made Hyde sick to his stomach.

He made his way to a nearby alleyway, giving up. Rilon couldn’t linger silently without physical form forever. He felt his consciousness slipping, but not from the lack of sleep, and it was hard to keep himself from stumbling and collapsing.

Rilon fell to the ground with a loud thud, not catching himself in time. He groaned loudly as his body made an impact with the ground, and more when he attempted to get to his feet.

He held out his hands before him, examining them. Except for a few minor cuts and scrapes, they appeared fine. 

He couldn't exactly say the same thing for his hair, which felt scorched to the touch. 

He needed his glasses. Frantically, he searched his pockets, in hopes that Hyde had saved them.

It didn't immediately register to him that these weren't his clothes.

Your clothes are in the river, sorry. As for your glasses…

Rilon snarled under his breath. "This is the fourth time... I swear to God." He glanced around quickly, frustrated that only the things at a farther distance away were the things he could see, and not one of them was the tower. "How far am I?"

Hyde did not reply, only causing more frustration on Rilon's behalf. He paced quickly down the alley, narrowing his eyes in a vain attempt to see better. Of course, he didn't need a doctorate to know that that never works.

Uneasy and weary, he found his way into the streets. They were empty with the night, but as soon as the sun rose, it would be full of people. He needed to get home.

As he couldn't see, Rilon stared at the ground as he walked, lost in thought. 

What time is it? I couldn't have blacked out for that long? Has it been a day, a week, a month? What-

Bang! 

In his dissociation, he'd run into a street pole. He rubbed his head, still which was still stinging from the impact, and glared at the street pole as if it had been a living being.

If Asiah had seen this, I'd never hear the end of it.

You'll never hear the end of it from me, unfortunately.

 "Hyde, please shut up and explain what's going on." Rilon finally looked up, attempting not to make that mistake again. "There're unexplained cuts on my hands, my hair is a mess, and I vaguely smell of smoke. Were you with Alva?"

 I'll- I'll explain that later. Hyde muttered, then falling silent. That was what Rilon was afraid of. After years of sharing a mind with Hyde, there was nothing scarier than when he fell silent.

Rilon didn't like being alone in his mind.

Alone, and trying not to stumble into any light poles, he made his way home, albeit quickly, for the sun would rise soon, and a man wandering alone on the street would be a suspicious sight.

There was not a single person in the lobby when he entered the Tower. Rilon chose the stairs over the elevator, as it would take longer and would give him much more time to go over his thoughts.

Only it wasn't until he reached the fifth floor that Hyde spoke again. It nearly startled him.

I was with Alva.

 "Like that's going to reassure me." Rilon paused, sitting on the steps, gazing out into the vastness of the fifth floor.

I visited Ottawa.

 "That reassures me a bit," Rilon muttered, sighing, but he didn't relax. "But that doesn't tell me why I look like a mess, Edward."

 Would it reassure you to say that you'll never hear from Alva again?

 "That doesn't make me more or less worried than I already am. " It made Rilon tense up more.

He's gone.

 "Gone, like, fled the country, or gone like..." Somehow he knew and didn't finish the sentence. He wanted to know the answer to the question, an answer that he feared so much. "Gone... Like..."

He's... He's dead, Rilon.

 Nervously, Rilon laughed, hugging himself to reassure that what Hyde said was a lie. He always lied. He was manipulating Rilon's emotions... That's what he was doing.

If you're denying all this, you're lying to yourself, Arlett. Those cuts on your hands are from me. His blood is on our hands. I killed him - he's not coming back.

 "I.. How?" Those were the only words his choked up throat would allow him to say.

Yet Hyde did not say anything to clarify what deed he had exactly done, falling silent once again.

Rilon got to his feet, now making his way up the stairs much more slowly. It took everything in his power to not cry, or collapse on the spot, for fear that he may be seen by an oncoming person.

So he forced himself on as far as he could go.

The seventh floor was where his body finally gave up, out of pain and out of anguish. He fell on the corner of the stairwell, curling up into a tight ball. Still, he didn't cry. He felt too numb to.

Rilon only lifted his head at the sound of footsteps, hurried footsteps. He recognized them, light and quick. The owner of the footsteps must've dropped everything and run.

Only one person would do that.

Asiah.

The footsteps quickly pounded down the stairs, then abruptly stopped. Rilon stared up to find Asiah looking down at him. If it weren't for the concern - maybe empathy - in his eyes, Rilon would have most likely said that he was irritated at him.

He lowered his head and sighed. "You've been looking for me."

 Asiah knelt before him, placing a hand gently on Rilon's shoulder, which Rilon flinched at. "You worried me sick. Where have you been?"

 "I-" Rilon started, but stopped himself in the act. Hyde owned those memories - he couldn't lie. "I don't know. It's all just a jumbled mess of.." He shrugged, unable to bring words to what he felt. "I'm sick, Asi."

He was more than sick. He was in pain, so much pain that he couldn't bring words to what he felt. He ached, he hurt. It made him sick to his stomach, knowing how much he was keeping from his brother.

Asiah sat down, removing his hand from Rilon's shoulder. From what Rilon caught, he was aware of how stupid he looked when he sat there. 

 "For once," he said. "Please tell me what's going on."

For a split second, Rilon wanted to lie, but Asiah would see through it as he always did. He lowered his head, shaking. A sob escaped from his throat, then another. He felt tears began to streak down his face and drip steadily to the floor. He was a mess, a crying mess. Rilon was so caught up in his emotions, that he didn't realize that Asiah had pulled him into a hug.

It wasn't only out of comfort. It was also to hide his face. Rilon didn't need to see him or hear him, to know that he was crying as well. He knew that Asiah didn't exactly know what he had broken down about.

 "Asi..." Rilon whispered as his brother buried his face into Rilon's shoulder. He was still trembling. "Oh, Asi."

He held him close, for fear of when this moment of closeness would end. These moments were rare anymore, especially as so many things had attempted - and admittedly succeeded in - breaking their relationship apart. The last time they had this kind of brotherly intimacy was way too long ago for Rilon to recall clearly.

After a moment, Asiah raised his head and pulled away. Embarrassed, he let out a sad laugh.

 "I don't even know what I'm crying about…" His breath shuddered. "I just see you and... well I -" Asiah's face twisted into a grimace, and he stared at his lap. "I crash."

Without warning, he got to his feet, and his face hardened, showing no trace of the emotion he had felt before. "I need to get back to work, Rilon. Would you be okay, by yourself?”

As much as Rilon wanted to shake his head, to plead for his brother to stay there and keep him company, he couldn’t. Instead, he forced out a lie, choked up from emotion. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Asiah smiled, sparing him a final glance before heading back up the stairs again.

After a long while of silence and loneliness, Rilon let out a long, deep sigh. He hadn’t been aware of how fully exhausted he had been until now, his emotions clogging up his every thought.

He struggled to get to his feet but failed. Several more tries proved to be even more of an impossibility. He hated ignoring the fact that his own body was telling him to sleep, but he needed to get to his place, the most comfortable place in the Tower.

After one last attempt, Rilon collapsed back to the floor.

I guess I’ll just sleep here, then, he murmured. I have had a long night, haven’t I?

He chuckled at the thought, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Then, freeing himself from any further thought, Rilon finally fell asleep.

[rsfannan]

Day Five: Roman Times

Off to a day trip to Bath, UK. Bath Is the largest city in the county of Somerset known for its Roman-built baths. The Romans built a temple here in 60-70 C.E. And over the next 300 years, the bathing complex was constructed.

There is, however, a legend that Bath was actually founded in 860 B.C.E. when Prince Bladud, father of King Lear, caught leprosy. He was banned from the court and forced to look after pigs. The pigs, as the story goes, also had a skin disease but after wallowing around in the hot mud of the area, were miraculously cured. The Prince followed their example and was also cured. He later became King and founded the city of Bath. Great story, doncha think?

In any event, this hot spring, abundant in minerals, continued to attract locals during Roman times and visitors from all over, enjoying the curative waters long after the Romans left England in 407 C.E. It became super popular in the Georgian Era, and most of the city’s famous buildings come from this time, especially when Beau Nash presided over the social life, from 1705 until his death in 1761. The city continued to be quite fashionable for the well-to-do on into the 19th when Jane Austen made here home there.

Despite the rainy day, we started off with a double-decker bus tour of the city, stopping at #1 Royal Crescent for a walk through a Georgian home. Quite interesting. Diane and Jeannie went to the Fashion Museum while I treated myself to a pint in the museum cafe. They liked their adventure and I enjoyed mine.

Then, it was off to the Roman Baths. These ancient baths are formed by rain entering the earth from the surrounding hills percolates through aquifers to a depth of 2-3 miles and then rises as geothermal energy raises the temperature of the water to between 150 and 200 degrees F. Hot water rises through a geological fault to a pretty constant temperature of 115 degrees F in quantities plenty enough for the baths to accommodate hundreds and hundreds of bathers throughout Roman times. It was not until several hundred years after the Romans left that the baths fell into disrepair, and were eventually destroyed at the end of the 6th century. There were attempts to resurrect the baths many times over the centuries, but the modern version was started in 1894 and completed three years later. There are far too many interesting things that we learned during our visit, but I will tell you about my personal favorite.

Archaeologists have discovered what are known as Bath curse tablets at the bottom of many of the baths. These are small metal sheets upon which are inscribed curses against specific people asking the gods to inflict justice, usually in the form of physical injury (including death) upon those that have stolen property from the writer of the curse. A particularly good example follows

“...so long as someone, whether slave or free, keeps silent or knows anything about

it, he may be accursed in his blood, and eyes and every limb and even have his

intestines quite eaten away if he has stolen the ring or been privy to the theft.”

This was asked of the goddess Sulis Minerva. Pretty serious business.

Some tourist attractions are just that. This one certainly delivers. Bath is a beautiful town that we shall have to return to for a longer visit someday.

[amandabe11man]

do all the emojis

aw ye now i don’t have to differentiate between them, omg:

😍 celebrity crushALL THE OLDER MEN😘 irl crush….another older man, lol😖 something that makes you anxiousparting from family members or pets (you could say i’ve gotten a bit protective of them since my godmother passed…)😑 pet peevethings that are considered popular by the vast majority😒 person you hatesurprisingly, not too many (irl at least, except my former stepmom and stepsister; they can both fuck right off)– but vladimir putin is one of the ones lmao (sorry kiana…)😱 biggest fearflying, time passing, dying, aging🤐 tell us a secreti am finally getting used to this body😡 something that makes you madwhen people take culture and artists etc. for granted😈 turn oncrossdressing on guys, lol👿 turn offsmoking (yes, weed too) and drinking🙌🏻 something you can’t live withouta cliché but; the people and animals around me. it’s true👽 ever seen a ufo?sadly, no. but one time i saw this weird-ass moving dot-pattern up in the sky and i was fuckin weirded out tbh, so i guess if that wasn’t just some massive headlamp then i might’ve seen a ufo??👄 first kiss storydunno if it was my first, but of course, it was during some party game we were playing during a classmate’s b-day party, omfg. (tbh i’ve actually never kissed anyone properly, like– open mouthed and all, lmao)🤘 first concert you went toprobably not the VERY first, but the first one that comes to mind is ofc when i went to see Red Hot Chili Peppers when i was 10👀 eye colorblue👤 ethnicityuh– white?💇 hair lengthpm shoulder-length rn💁 hair colorbrown👯 best friendi don’t really have A best friend anymore, so much as i consider all the ones i hang out with to be varying degrees of best friends, omfg👑 favorite Disney princesspocahontas, maybe?🐱 have any pets?YES; several rabbits, a few cats and some sheep☘ are you superstitious?yes🌸 favorite floweri don’t know anything about flowers tbh but my favorites when i was little were tulips🌿 favorite seasoni’ve started seeing the beauty with each season lately, but autumn has still gotta be the favorite tbh🌎 where you want to liveRIGHT HERE (on gotland, that is)🌝 day or nightnight☄ seen a shooting star?many🌈 favorite colorgreen, to put it simply❄️ favorite winter sportuhh– skiing??🌊 ocean or poolOCEAN☂ rainy or sunny?rainy tbh, but sunny can be alright as well🍎 favorite fruitapple🎤 favorite singeruM THERE ARE SO MANY (till lindemann is always the bomb tho)🎧 favorite bandRammstein… hoping they’ll be back from war soon…..🎭 favorite playmy acting-group’s version of “Alice in Wonderland” tbh (but as for professional plays, idk, i’ve seen quite a few good and inspirational ones. i haven’t seen it but i’ve wanted to see “king lear” for a while since i used to think it looked creepy, haha)🎹 play any instruments?used to play the recorder from like– age 9 to 14, maybe?? (that alto recorder fuckin slayed my tiny babyhands, man) – kinda wanna learn to play the piano and guitar too tbh🎬 favorite moviealsO SO MANY, but “the shining” and “the hitcher”(emphasis on the one from ‘86) are always good picks🎮 favorite video gameJSHGSJERT SO MANY Y U DO DIS– i seriously love most of the Silent Hill-games, though. and both Jazz Jackrabbit-games. and Undertale. and–🚲 preferred type of transportationbike✈️ place you want to traveli used to be able to think of so many places but now i’m not sure– definitely would wanna go back to germany again though. japan would be cool too, and– FINE…. the US too i guess🏠 where you currently livegotland, sweden, europe, planet earth📞 last person you talked on the phone withmy mom or dad📻 favorite radio stationi don’t listen much rn but when i was young and impressionable, my favorite station was rix fm, lmao (basically just the same loop of currently popular songs over and over, mixed with commercials and hosts shout-talking into their mics)📺 favorite tv showLOTS, once again. but the one i’ve kept coming back to over and over for 10+ years now is “Midsomer murders”, so that’s what it’ll have to be🔋 battery %87💰 jobi’m an intern at nickelodeon– a bookstore🚬 ever smoked/drank/done drugsi’ve tried cigarettes a couple times, drank a little, NEVER done drugs🔮 where do you see yourself in 5 yearsi honestly don’t care to think about it (fear of time passing, remember?)🎁 best gift you’ve ever gottenlife idk🎉 favorite holidayhalloween or christmas💌 ever received a love letter?not that i recall📚 a book you are currently readingseveral i haven’t finished yet after a lot of years, lol. i’m still trying my hand at “moby dick” and recently; “färjan”📖 favorite booksome of stephen king’s short story-collections tbh❤️ 5 people you lovemom, dad, my brother, my rabbit(s), my crush (the rabbits DO count, okay)💗 sexualityhonestly kinda straight, but sometimes a little bi too i just dk✝ religionwants to believe in something, but i can’t say i’m religious either♌️ zodiacvirgo✅ something you’ve checked off your bucket listnot sure it was on my bucket list but, uh– swam in the mediterranean?#️⃣ lucky numbermost even numbers from 4 and up🎶 top 5 favorite songscurrently: “cut the cord” – shinedown                “crashing around you” – machine head                “homecoming” - kanye west (…..shut up)                “shiny” from the swedish Moana-soundtrack                both the opening and ending-songs in season 2 of “Attack on titan”✖️ 5 things you hatewar (just all stupid-ass conflicts, pm), diseases, when we people build everywhere, most memes of today, poachers🕒 time you go to bedpm always later than i should

[mrmichaelchadler]

A Look Back at Those We Lost in 2018

Below is a full index of our tributes from 2018, celebrating the unforgettable talent we lost like Penny Marshall, Stan Lee, Aretha Franklin, Burt Reynolds, and more. Each tribute includes a passage from the obituary, a credit to the respective author, and a link to the full piece. 

John Mahoney (1940-2018) 

“Whether it was in film, on TV, or on stage, John Mahoney found a way to always feel like he was present in a scene, listening to the actor opposite him and not just waiting to say his rehearsed lines. I was lucky enough to see him at the Steppenwolf, and he was so completely captivating that he stole nearly every scene he was in. What he did was so subtle—whether it was in “Frasier,” “Barton Fink,” or on stage—that it probably didn’t get the attention it deserved, but he’s one of those rare actors about which one can honestly say that he made everything he was in just a little bit better. And sometimes a lot.” (Brian Tallerico) [link] 

Jóhann Jóhannsson (1969-2018) 

“He leaves behind an incredible discography, made from his sensibility to tell stories with minimalist melodies, grandiose arrangements and meditative pacing that challenged the conventions of music composition. Aside from his own accomplishments as a nearly unclassifiable composer, his film work was pivotal to helping numerous movies deeply resonate with audiences.” (Nick Allen) [link] 

Steven Bochco (1943-2018) 

“On the Mt. Rushmore of TV creators next to faces like Norman Lear and David Chase, there should be a spot reserved for Steven Bochco, the man who changed the medium of television drama in the way he emphasized ensemble over star vehicles and multi-episode arcs over standalone stories. Shows like “Hill Street Blues,” “L.A. Law,” and “NYPD Blue” earned Bochco a stunning 10 Emmy awards, along with prizes from the Directors and Writers Guilds of America and four Peabody Awards. In 1996, he was inducted into the Television Hall of Fame. He should probably have his own wing.” (Brian Tallerico) [link] 

Isao Takahata (1935-2018) 

“As a producer, he co-founded the legendary Studio Ghibli with the legendary Hayao Miyazaki and would go on to collaborate with him on a number of his internationally celebrated films as a producer. […] Without his efforts and influence over the years, it is safe to say that the animated film industry would be a markedly different beast than it is now, and definitely a less interesting one to boot.” (Peter Sobczynski) [link]

Milos Forman (1932-2018)

Milos Forman, the Czech-born filmmaker who helped revolutionize cinema in his home country before moving to America and becoming one of its most celebrated directors as well, has died. The man behind such celebrated films as “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (1975) and “Amadeus” (1984), both of which won Oscars for Best Picture and earned him prizes for Best Director, passed away from what was described as a short illness at the age of 86 at his home in Connecticut. Mixing together surreal humor, documentary techniques and an interesting blend of cynicism and affection, Forman helped put Czech cinema on the map. When he applied those same techniques to the projects produced in his adopted country, the result was some of the most incisive, knowing and most profoundly American films of his era. (Peter Sobczysnki) [link]

R. Lee Ermey (1944-2018) 

“Ermey was fun to watch. He became an actor by playing himself, a rare breed of man who was familiar as himself—an American, a Marine and later, an actor. While many scream over Hollywood's liberal slant or other preconceived notions, Ermey's presence on screen was an example talent always wins out. We're all winners for having the Sarge in our viewing life.” (BJ Bethel) [link] 

Anne V. Coates (1925-2018): 

“Throughout a career spanning over 60 years, she worked on over 60 films, receiving numerous accolades that included two Oscars and four additional nominations, and is credited with creating perhaps the most famous single cut in movie history. [...] In 2003, she was named an Officer of the British Empire by the Queen in celebration of her career. In 2007, the British Academy of Film and Television Arts, who had in the past nominated her work on “Murder on the Orient Express,” “The Elephant Man,” “In the Line of Fire” and “Erin Brockovich," presented her with a Lifetime Achievement Award. She received her second Oscar, a Lifetime Achievement Award, in 2017.” (Peter Sobczynski) [link] 

Margot Kidder (1948-2018) 

“She was a spiky brunette with a sexy low voice, but she had her goofy side. Her “Superman” director Richard Donner once said that Kidder was so physically maladroit that if she walked into an empty room with a small trashcan in it she would somehow find a way to get her foot caught in that trashcan.” (Dan Callahan) [link] 

Tom Wolfe (1931-2018) 

“As a journalist, he would take subjects that I would ordinarily have little interest in—Southern California car culture, LSD, the early days of the space program—and attack them with both a zingy writing style that was practically novelistic in nature. He had an enormous depth of detail that made the subjects come to life in the most memorable and unexpected of ways. Later on, Wolfe applied those same techniques in the service of narrative fiction and came up with a series of best-sellers that included one of the most popular and influential novels of the second half of the 20th century.” (Peter Sobczynski) [link] 

Philip Roth (1933-2018) 

“Early novels like Goodbye, Columbus and later novels like The Humbling might show differences in relative aggressiveness but they grow from the same work aesthetic and the same desired relationship with the reader. Much like the greatest films, they pick you up, they draw you in, they show you a world—and the world, usually, is not the world you would have dreamed up. It is a world in which you are morally and intellectually uncomfortable.” (Max Winter) [link] 

Harlan Ellison (1934-2018) 

“That said: if you want to send Ellison off in style, do as he encouraged, and not just as he wrote: read more; talk back to any authority figure within earshot; raise a stink if you feel like you're being taken advantage of, even if it's by a friend; value your time, and don't be afraid to walk away from somebody you love if they don't; respect artists by paying for their work; denounce superstition whenever you can, especially when it seems harmless; reject platitudes, and don't let anybody tell you that your informed opinion doesn't matter. Life may be a series of confrontations, as Ellison said at least once, but you can't let the bastards get you down.” (Simon Abrams) [link] 

Claude Lanzmann (1925-2018) 

“The 1985 documentary “Shoah” was a movie whose critical reception, at least in its United States incarnation, was defined by a slight paradox. The nine-and-a-half hour movie about the Holocaust, specifically the Nazi death camps operated in Poland, was a work utterly defined by the personality, the aesthetic, and the moral determination, and determinations, of its director, Claude Lanzmann. [...] Lanzmann’s flame was an uncommon one. Filmmakers and people of conscience and compassion the world over would do well to keep its memory close by.” (Glenn Kenny) [link]

Tab Hunter (1931-2018) 

"And yet, it was the very things about him that the system sought to repress—such as a sly, self-effacing sense of humor and his homosexuality—that helped breathe new life into his career a couple of decades down the line. Now that he has left us, three days before his 87th birthday, Hunter will be remembered not just as a pretty face with an admittedly memorable name. He'll also be celebrated as a trailblazer whose accounts of his experiences as a gay matinee idol in Hollywood at a time when such things were unheard of helped pave the way for acceptance." (Peter Sobczynski) [link]

Aretha Franklin (1942-2018)

“Her lyrics told you to think, but her voice taught you to feel. She was a fountain of useful knowledge, too: She could tell you who was zoomin’ who, where Dr. Feelgood’s office was and the exact speed limit on the Freeway of Love. She also knew that the only path to immortality was through her art, so she infused every one of her performances with an otherworldly staying power.” (Odie Henderson) [link]

Neil Simon (1927-2018) 

“Neil Simon’s work was often about human connection. It was a message often hidden in humor, but he was clearly a playwright and screenwriter who believed in empathy and compassion, bringing together disparate personalities to ask a simple but crucial question: If Felix and Oscar can get along, can’t we all?” (Brian Tallerico) [link] 

Burt Reynolds (1938-2018) 

“His screen persona often fused the strong-silent jock-adventurer with the anti-establishment wiseass, a combination that had never been attempted in movies before, at least not to such staggering effect. In the '70s and early '80s, Burt (that's how you referred to him, as Burt) was the biggest movie star in existence.” (Matt Zoller Seitz) [link] 

Scott Wilson (1942-2018) 

“Every time I got to talk to him, he was unfailingly kind and open and, best of all, filled with great stories. I mention all of this here upfront because as you read this, I want to stress the fact that he was not just a great actor but a great guy as well. [...] Because of his association with “The Walking Dead,” it was ensured that his passing would not go unnoticed and I can only hope that the renewed interest in the man will inspire some to go looking at some of his past work to see what a truly gifted and memorable actors he was. He may not have been the most famous of actors but when it comes to the things more important than fame—little things like talent and decency—what he left behind will more than stand the test of time." (Peter Sobczynski) [link] 

Stan Lee (1922-2018) 

“It is impossible to fully grasp the influence Stan Lee had over the world of popular culture since he first achieved fame in the Sixties. As a writer, editor and publisher of comic books, he, along with an extraordinary group of collaborators, revolutionized and expanded what could be said and done in that particular art form in ways that reverberate to this day.” (Peter Sobczynski) [link] 

William Goldman (1931-2018) 

“William Goldman changed the perception of the screenwriter in Hollywood, often refusing to give in to studio or directorial demands—his list of “unproduced screenplays” is as long as the ones that got made. He was an icon in his industry that helped pave the road for well-known screenwriters that would follow him like Aaron Sorkin and Cameron Crowe. Movies wouldn’t be the same without him.” (Brian Tallerico) [link] 

Nicolas Roeg (1928-2018)  

“Roeg was one of the least celebrated influential filmmakers of the last half-century. In terms of the techniques that he helped refine, he's as important as Orson Welles or Stanley Kubrick. And if you judged contemporary cinema purely in terms of the grammar that it has borrowed and retained from past masters, you might have to give Roeg the edge, because of how he told stories.” (Matt Zoller Seitz) [link] 

Ricky Jay (1946-2018) 

“He was a sleight-of-hand magician whose illusions startled and amazed audiences throughout the world; a student of the history of magic who used his extensive knowledge to pen several books, and put together a number of museum exhibitions and lectured extensively on the subject; an actor whose cagey screen presence made him a favorite with such filmmakers as David Mamet and Paul Thomas Anderson; a crucial man behind the scenes who helped create a number of the screen’s most celebrated illusions.” (Peter Sobczynski) [link] 

Bernardo Bertolucci (1941-2018) 

“Bertolucci was the opposite of austere, providing the element of danger in these movies—this was dependent on plumbing a sub-conscious that could be seen as out-of-date in some areas, but that was part of taking such risks. Sometimes it felt like Bertolucci was providing the idea of a certain type of Italian film director of his time, and that idea was meant to be more than the sum of his filmography.” (Dan Callahan) [link]

Penny Marshall (1943-2018) 

“To some, she was the co-star of one of the most popular sitcoms of its era and a familiar face/voice on any number of shows over the years. To others, she was a trailblazing filmmaker who became the first American woman to direct a movie that made over $100 million at the box office, a feat she would repeat for a second time just a few years later. Whichever side of the camera she was working on, Penny Marshall was a consummate entertainer who could handle everything from the broadest slapstick comedy to serious drama.” (Peter Sobczynski) [link] 

from All Content http://bit.ly/2TogguT

[londontheatre]

Eleanor Lloyd Productions and Rebecca Stafford Productions today announce casting for their major new production of Witness for the Prosecution by Agatha Christie, opening on London’s South Bank this October. Catherine Steadman, best known for her role as Mabel Fox in Downton Abbey and nominated for an Olivier Award for her performance in Oppenheimer will play the role of Romaine, while rising star Jack McMullen, whose recent work includes hard-hitting TV drama Little Boy Blue, Waterloo Road and Noel Clarke’s Brotherhood, will play Leonard Vole. David Yelland (The Crown, Foyle’s War) will play Sir Wilfrid Robarts, Philip Franks (Art, Noises Off) will play Mr Myers, Patrick Godfrey (Half Life, Mr Turner) will play Sir Justice Wainwright and Roger Ringrose (Broadchurch, Mr Selfridge) will be playing Mr Mayhew. The cast will also include Richard Attlee, Elliot Balchin, Alexandra Guelff, Miranda Horn, Jon House, Jules Melvin, Hywel Simons and Alex Stedman.

Directed by Lucy Bailey (Comus, The Graduate, Titus Andronicus), this gripping tale of justice, passion and betrayal will open in The Chamber, a magnificent court room setting inside London County Hall. The audience will find themselves thrillingly placed in the thick of the action in this spectacular location.

Leonard Vole is accused of murdering a widow to inherit her wealth. The stakes are high. Will Leonard survive the shocking witness testimony? Will he be able to convince the jury of his innocence and escape the hangman’s noose?

Witness for the Prosecution will run from 6 October – 11 March with Press Night on 23 October. The production will be designed by William Dudley, with lighting by Chris Davey and sound design by Mic Pool.

[See image gallery at http://ift.tt/1FpwFUw]

  CAST

RICHARD ATTLEE – CARTER/ DR WYATT Richard is best known for playing Kenton in The Archers on Radio 4. His theatre credits include: Sleuth (Watermill Newbury), The Way of the World (Sheffield Crucible), Arthur and George (Birmingham Rep), Calendar Girls (Noel Coward Theatre), Macbeth, Twelfth Night (Shakespeare’s Globe), Present Laughter (Theatre Royal Bath) and War and Peace (Shared Experience). He has toured internationally with the English Shakespeare Company and the Kosh and worked in Rep at York, Chester and Exeter. T.V and Film credits include: My Mad Fat Diary, Silent Witness, Midsomer Murders, The I.T. Crowd, My Week with Marilyn, Topsy-Turvy and Mrs. Brown’s Boys D’Movie.

ELLIOT BALCHIN – CLERK OF THE COURT Elliot’s recent stage credits include Kenneth Branagh’s production of Macbeth (Manchester International Festival/ Park Avenue Armory, New York) and The Judas Kiss (Chichester Festival Theatre / Theatre Royal Bath/ Hampstead Theatre/ Ed Mirvish Theatre, Toronto and BAM, New York). Recent film credits include Journey’s End. Elliot was a member of the BAFTA credited ITV Junior Television Workshop at the age of 9, working alongside the likes of Samantha Morton, Toby Kebble, Vicky Mclure and Jack O’Connor. Early credits include The Spidermen (National Theatre), feature film The Tulse Luper Suitcase directed by Peter Greenway and on TV The Bill and Casualty.

PHILIP FRANKS – MR MYERS QC Philip’s recent theatre credits include Art, Noises Off and Journey’s End (all West End), Murder in the Cathedral (Temple Church, London), Flare Path, Breaking the Code, The Winslow Boy, The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Secret of Sherlock Holmes and The Rocky Horror Show (all UK tours). Philip spent ten years with the RSC, in London, Stratford, on tour and in New York. His TV credits include The Darling Buds of May, Heartbeat, Bleak House, Martin Chuzzlewit, Absolutely Fabulous, Foyle’s War and Midsomer Murders. Film work includes Finding Neverland and The Phantom Thread. Concert performances include The Soldier’s Tale, Silverlake, Journey to the Centre of the Earth, King Arthur.

Philip is also an award winning theatre director, his productions include Private Lives, The Heiress (both National Theatre), Nicholas Nickleby Parts One and Two, Taking Sides, Collaboration, The Duchess of Malfi, Dear Lupin (all West End), The Comedy of Errors (Regents Park Open Air Theatre) and four of the Sixty-Six Books (Bush Theatre). He was an associate director at Chichester Festival where credits include Twelfth Night, The Deep Blue Sea, The Master Builder and Separate Tables.

PATRICK GODFREY – SIR JUSTICE WAINWRIGHT Patrick most recently appeared in Half Life (Theatre Royal Bath). He has performed extensively with the National Theatre, Royal Shakespeare Company and Shakespeare’s Globe. Stage credits include Cause Celebre and The Iceman Cometh (Old Vic), Master Builder, Enemies, Galileo and The Iceman Cometh (all Almeida Theatre), The Crucible (Regent’s Park Open Air), Lying Kind, Life Price and Inside Out (Royal Court) and The Importance Of Being Earnest (Birmingham Rep/ Old Vic). Productions for the Royal Shakespeare Company include Barbarians, Romeo And Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, Merry Wives of Windsor and Cymbeline. West End credits include School for Scandal, Wild Oats and The Important of Being Earnest. On Broadway he has performed in the RSC’s Nicholas Nickleby, The Iceman Cometh, Brooklyn Academy, Summerfolk and Love’s Labour’s Lost.

Patrick’s many TV appearances include Da Vinci’s Demons, Fallen Angel, The Falklands Play, Bramwell, A Dance To The Music Of Time, Dandelion Dead, Agatha Christie’s Poirot, Shadow Of The Noose, Pericles; Prince of Tyre, The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby and Hobson’s Choice. Film credits include Breathe (to be released), Mr Turner, Final Prayer, Les Miserables, Dimensions, The Duchess, Oliver Twist, The Importance Of Being Earnest, The Count Of Monte Cristo, Ever After, Remains Of The Day, A Room With A View, Heat and Dust and Morris.

ALEXANDRA GUELFF – GRETA / MS CLEGG Alexandra’s theatre includes Gaslight (Royal & Derngate), Ghosts (Trafalgar Studios) and The Busy Body (Southwark Playhouse). On television she has appeared in Call The Midwife, Law & Order, Eastenders, Obsession and Dark Matters. Her film credits include Brimstone.

MIRANDA HORN – GIRL Miranda has recently finished playing the role of Dollie in British Feature film The 12. Prior to this she played the joint lead in the short film Pillow Talk, which was nominated for several awards. This is Miranda’s professional stage debut.

JON HOUSE – WARDER Jon’s previous work for the stage includes Hamlet (Cockpit Theatre) and The Last Lycoon (Above the Arts Theatre). His appearances for TV and film include BBC detective drama River, Bronson and the Oscar-nominated Bollywood epic Lagaan. Jon has also written the screenplay and soundtrack, directed and performed in the television pilot, Elvis Jones.

JACK MCMULLEN – LEONARD VOLE Jack’s multiple TV credits include Little Boy Blue, Maigret, Together, Common, Fast Freddie, Waterloo Road, Moving On, The Street, The Bill, The Forgotten Fallen, Grange Hill and Brookside. On stage, he most recently appeared in Henry V (Regent’s Park Open Air). Further theatre work includes Kill Me Now (Park Theatre), Fathers and Sons (Donmar Warehouse), Carthage (Finborough Theatre) and The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (York Theatre Royal). For film, his work includes Brotherhood, The Marker, Urban Hymn, The Hatching, The Knife That Killed Me, The Lie is Dead and Seamonsters.

JULES MELVIN – JANET MACKENZIE Jules’ numerous theatre credits include In Lambeth, The Broken Heart and The Rape of Tamar (Lyric Hammersmith), A Chaste Maid in Cheapside, Augustine’s Oak, The Taming of the Shrew, an all-female Richard III, Much Ado About Nothing, Pericles and Othello (Shakespeare’s Globe), Ursula, The House of Correction and I Saw Myself (The Wrestling School), The Devil is an Ass and Faust Parts One and Two (Royal Shakespeare Company), The Rose Tattoo (National Theatre), Private Lives (Hampstead Theatre), An Inspector Calls (English Theatre, Frankfurt) and Gabriel (UK Tour). TV credits include The Bill and Casualty.

ROGER RINGROSE – MR MAYHEW Roger’s recent theatre credits include Untold Stories (Newbury Watermill), Each His Own Wilderness (The Orange Tree Theatre), The Importance of Being Earnest and Travesties (Birmingham Rep). Other credits includes The Picture (Salisbury Playhouse), The Tempest (York Theatre Royal), Burnt by the Sun, Never So Good (The National Theatre), The Duel (Lyric Hammersmith), Henry VI Part 3 (Shakespeare’s Globe) and King Lear (Barbican Theatre). TV credits include Outlander, Berlin Station, Tina and Bobby, Call the Midwife, Mr Selfridge, The Musketeers, The Hour, Silent Witness and Spooks. Film work includes Stan and Ollie, Love/Loss and The Rookery.

CATHERINE STEADMAN – ROMAINE Catherine is most well-known from her role as Mabel Lane Fox in ITV’s Downton Abbey. She was nominated for the Best Supporting Actress at the Olivier Awards for her role in Oppenheimer (Royal Shakespeare Company/ West End). Further theatre work includes She Stoops to Conquer (Theatre Royal Bath), That Face (West End), Numbers (Royal Court), Babooshka (Pleasance) and The Glory of Living (BAC). More widely her TV credits include Bucket, Fearless, Midsomer Murders, Tutankhamun, Trying Again, Fresh Meat, Breathless, Quirke, Lewis, Plastic Gangsters, An Old Fashioned Christmas, Law & Order, Missing, The Tudors, The Inbetweeners, Doctors, Holby City, Mansfield Park and The Bill. Film work includes Astral, About Time, Lena, Cold Water, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, Dust and Princess Kaiulani.

ALEX STEDMAN – POLICEMAN/ PLAIN CLOTHES DETECTIVE Alex was most recently on stage in Pink Mist (Bristol Old Vic/ Bush Theatre/ UK Tour). Other theatre credits include Layla’s Room (Theatre Centre), The Passenger Project (Box Clever), Silent Dance, Boom! (Bush Theatre), Henry Walker and the Wheel of Death (Roughhouse Theatre), Tangled Minds (Roughhouse Theatre), The Snow Goose (Theatre West) and If You Really Love Me (Company of Angels). He has also worked on a number of rehearsed readings at The Tobacco Factory. On TV Alex has appeared in Skins and Casualty. He is also a writer and has had his work performed at Theatre 503 and The Theatre Royal Plymouth as part of the Plymouth Fringe Festival.

HYWEL SIMONS – INSPECTOR HEARNE Hywel’s numerous recent theatre credits include Hay Fever (Royal Lyceum/ Citizens Theatre), Betrayal (Citizens Theatre), Noises Off (Mercury Theatre), Enquirer and A Doll’s House (National Theatre of Scotland), The Passion of Port Talbot (National Theatre Wales), Red Bud (Royal Court), Money (Shunt), The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (Royal & Derngate) and Dangerous Liasons (New Vic). He is well known for his role as Sgt. Craig Gilmore on The Bill. Further TV appearances include Poldark, Casualty, and Doctors. Film credits include Enigma, Shakespeare in Love and Wilde.

DAVID YELLAND – SIR WILFRID ROBARTS David has previously been directed by Lucy Bailey in Uncle Vanya (The Print Room). He most recently appeared on stage in All Our Children (Jermyn Street Theatre). His other extensive theatre credits include Phaedra, Britannica, Hamlet, John Gabriel Borkman, The Shoe Maker’s Holiday, Summer and Major Barbara (all National Theatre), The Winter’s Tale (Globe Theatre), Taken At Midnight (Chichester Festival Theatre/ West End), A Marvellous Year for Plums, Time and the Conways and The Circle (all Chichester Festival Theatre), Nicholas Nickleby (Chichester Festival Theatre, West End), An Ideal Husband (Gate Theatre), Henry IV Parts 1&2 (Theatre Royal Bath/ Tour), Mrs Warren’s Profession (Theatre Royal Bath, West End), The Rules of the Game, The Jew of Malta (Almeida Theatre), The Importance of Being Earnest (Old Vic) and Henry IV (Donmar Warehouse). For the Peter Hall Company credits include An Ideal Husband (West End/ Broadway), Waste, The Seagull and King Lear (Old Vic), The Misanthrope and Major Barbara (West End), Cuckoos (Gate Theatre/ Barbican) and As You Like It (Theatre Royal Bath/ US Tour). Other West End credits include Deathtrap, The Deep Blue Sea, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, Richard III and God Only Knows.

Among his many TV appearances are the title role in David Copperfield and Rumpole of the Bailey. More recently he has appeared in The Inspector Lynley Mysteries, The Line of Beauty, Agatha Christie’s Poirot, The Crown, Reg and Endeavour. Film credits include Happy End, Hunter Killer, Coriolanus, Private Peaceful and The Prince of Wales in Chariots of Fire.

AGATHA CHRISTIE LIMITED Agatha Christie Limited (ACL) has been managing the literary and media rights to Agatha Christie’s works around the world since 1955, working with the best talents in film, television, publishing, stage and on digital platforms to ensure that Christie’s work continues to reach new audiences in innovative ways and to the highest standard. The company is managed by Christie’s great grandson James Prichard.

November 2017 will see the release of 20th Century Fox’s feature film adaptation of Agatha Christie’s acclaimed mystery, Murder on the Orient Express. The film will be directed by five-time Academy Award nominee Kenneth Branagh, who will also star as Poirot. Branagh helms an all-star cast that includes Judi Dench, Johnny Depp, Michelle Pfeiffer, Penelope Cruz, Olivia Colman, Willem Dafoe, Daisy Ridley, Tom Bateman, Derek Jacobi, Josh Gad, Leslie Odom Jr, Sergei Polunin and Lucy Boynton.

ACL’s recent television projects include the critically-acclaimed BBC One adaptations of And Then There Were None (Aidan Turner, Charles Dance, Sam Neill) and The Witness for the Prosecution (Toby Jones, Andrea Riseborough, Kim Cattrall), both produced by Agatha Christie Ltd alongside Mammoth Screen, with screenplays from Sarah Phelps (Great Expectations, The Casual Vacancy). The latest adaptation, Ordeal By Innocence, is currently in production.

Globally, ACL works closely with leading screen production companies to deliver territory-specific adaptations. Notable productions include the popular French series Les Petits Meurtres d’Agatha Christie produced by Escazal, and Japanese adaptations of Murder on the Orient Express from Fuji TV (winner of the Tokyo Grand Prix drama award) and the forthcoming And Then There Were None from TV Asahi. Further projects are in development in Europe, the US, Asia and Latin America.

In 2016 literary projects included the global publication of the new Hercule Poirot novel Closed Casket, the second continuation novel from bestselling crime writer Sophie Hannah, published in more than 30 languages and distributed in over 100 territories. Sophie will shortly begin work on two more Poirot novels for publication in 2018 and 2020.

LISTINGS Eleanor Lloyd Productions and Rebecca Stafford Productions present Witness for the Prosecution By Agatha Christie Directed by Lucy Bailey Designed by William Dudley Lighting Design by Chris Davey Sound Design by Mic Pool

London County Hall The Chamber, County Hall, Belvedere Road, London, SE1 7PB 6 October 2017 – 11 March 2018 Press Night 23 October, 7pm

http://ift.tt/2uG9VOZ LondonTheatre1.com

[gracewithducks]

The Stories We Hate to Tell (Genesis 22:1-14)

This summer, my daughter Michaela and I have been reading through the children’s bible she received when she was baptized. She’s been delighted whenever we come across a story that she remembers from Sunday School – she can often even tell me which church she learned it at, whether it’s Adam and Eve and Miss Gail or the story of Ruth and Naomi and Cherry Hill. But what we grown-ups often forget is that there are some difficult stories in the bible: like the story of Noah, which – when you get past the cute pairs of animals – is really a story of global devastation; or the story of the Exodus, which – while it’s so foundational for our faith, the promise that God is on the side of the foreign slaves, that God delivers the powerless and gives a home to the homeless – is also a story about the death of Hebrew babies and Egyptian first-born sons.

 The bible is messy. A lot of the stories are hard to tie up with a neat bow and a tidy moral at the end. And some of the stories don’t even make the cut at all. Hagar and Ishmael, for instance, are completely absent from Michaela’s children’s bible – and today’s story, the story of Abraham’s near sacrifice of Isaac, is missing, too.

 I’ve preached this story before. And just about every time, I’ve told people that I am convinced that Abraham made a mistake. If this is a test of his faith, I’ve always been convinced that Abraham failed: that what God was really hoping for was for Abraham to hear the command to sacrifice his son and say, “No” – and not just “no” but “hell, no!”

 Abraham is portrayed so often as a hero of the faith, a model of faith, a man who was willing to leave his home behind in order to travel towards an unknown destination and God’s promise of a future. And along the way, Abraham has revealed himself to be a man who is willing to take some chances and even make some questionable decisions: he’s lied in order to save his own skin; he’s tried and tried different ways to get himself a son; and he’s even haggled with God in an attempt to save a city full of strangers. But this same man, who was willing to risk so much for his faith, this same man, who was willing to fight to save strangers – this same man, when God pronounces death on his own son, this man so meekly bows his head and picks up the knife.

 I hate this story, because it is utter nonsense. It’s completely senseless to me, and this God – the God who demands blood sacrifice, not even as a result of any sin, but just because God is feeling violent today – this God is not a God I want to know. The idea that God would ever demand that we sacrifice our own children for divine amusement, that we bind their hands and cut their throats in order to keep God’s happy – this is not a God I want anything to do with.

 And sure, God steps in and saves the boy and provides a ram and everybody is happy at the end of the story. I’m not convinced that makes the story better, because it means that God was willing to break Abraham’s heart, to crush Abraham’s spirit, to force Abraham to worry and grieve for days, as he travelled to the mountain, as his own beloved son asked him, “Hey, dad, where’s the lamb we’re going to sacrifice?” – God let Abraham suffer and choke on his grief, knowing all along that this was just a farce, just a test, just some game that God came up with because God was bored.

 And sure, yes, I know, as Christians, we are supposed to hear this story through the lens of the crucifixion: and in Abraham’s heartache and agony, we are meant to get just a glimpse of what it cost God to allow God’s own son to be bound and killed.

 But, friends, Abraham didn’t know that he was enacting a parable of the future crucifixion. He didn’t know that God was going to provide a last-minute reprieve for his son. He didn’t know any of it. All he knew was that, after he’d left his ancestors and his homeland behind, after he’d given up and risked everything for God’s sake, after years and years of waiting for God to finally give them the son they had longed for for decades – God is now saying all of that, it’s not enough. And God is demanding that Abraham climb up the mountain, take up a knife, and give his boy back.

 And Abraham just says, yes. He doesn’t argue, he doesn’t bargain, he doesn’t fight. He doesn’t ask God, “Why?” He doesn’t try run away from this barbaric plan, and he doesn’t even try to climb up and put his own body on the altar so his boy might be spared.

 I hate this story. I hated it growing up; I hated it when I became a parent myself – and there are not even words for how much it sickens me now, now that I have watched my own son die, and there was nothing I could do, no bargain I could make to save him. I would have done anything; I tried everything. And I just cannot even imagine myself into Abraham’s meek and silent shoes, handing my child over, just like that.

 So that’s where I come from today. Whenever I read this story, I cannot help but think of my son, and to think of all the other parents out there for whom there was no ram caught in the thicket – all of us who didn’t get the miracle we were hoping for; all of us who, having held these little miracles in our arms – have tried to survive the agony of having to let them go, putting our hearts in a box in the ground, and walking away.

 But see, whenever I read this story, I don’t just think of Carl. I also think of my daughters, the little faces I still get to kiss and tuck in at night.

 When Michaela, our oldest, was baptized, I cried. This was long before we even knew we would have a son, much less that we would bury him… on a day when we were surrounded by family and celebrating the gift of our firstborn, a beautiful, happy, healthy child. And still, as I handed her over to be marked with the water – as I handed her over to be baptized, I cried, and I didn’t quite understand why.

 I know now.

 There is a song we sang when our children were baptized, and it’s also the song that is written on our son’s funeral cards: and it says, “Child of joy, our dearest treasure, God’s you are, from God you came; back to God we humbly give you: live as one who bears Christ’s name.”[1]

 God’s you are, from God you came; back to God we humbly give you…

 This is what it means to be a parent: being reminded, from the start, that our children are not our own; and from the first time we hold them in our arms, we are learning what it means to let them go.

 I still can’t understand Abraham’s silence in this story. Maybe this is one of those places where there’s more to the story: maybe he did argue, maybe he wept and tried to run away, and we just don’t hear about it, because somewhere along the way, somebody decided that it wasn’t dignified for the father of our faith to cry. Or maybe, maybe he really did have the kind of faith that I remember my childhood pastor talking about: that Abraham so readily agreed because he really did trust God, and he trusted that the God who had brought him halfway across the known world, the God who had saved his wife when he, Abraham, didn’t have the wherewithal to do it himself, the God who had promised him this son, and who has brought this son into their lives so long after reason said that all hope was gone – maybe Abraham trusted that somehow, somehow, this God would make a way.

 I don’t know. I don’t know what Abraham was thinking, as he climbed that mountain.

 But what I do know is this: that none of us can protect our children; for all the childproofing we do, none of us can guarantee our children will be safe. All we can do is love them, as best we can, for as long as we can – and trust God with the rest.

 This is why we cry at baptisms: because we hand over our hopes and our dreams, we hand over a piece of our hearts, and we affirm: you belong to God. God’s you are, from God you came; back to God we humbly give you. And in that moment, we catch just a glimpse of how deep that love runs, and just how much it will cost us along the way.

 The whole rest of their lives, we are learning to keep letting go: we help them walk, and they clutch our fingers – and then one day, they run on ahead without us. And again and again, we hug them, and then we let them go. On first days of school. Middle school orientation. Drivers’ ed and first dates. In freshman dorm rooms and starter apartments. In airports and bus stations, and when the pastor says, “Who brings this woman to be married?” – again and again, we let them go. And sometimes, too, in hospital rooms and funeral homes, we kiss them good-bye, and we let them go.

 I think that’s what’s so hard: it’s that there are times when God doesn’t answer our prayers, at least not the way we hoped God would. There are times when it sure feels like God is demanding the unspeakable and the impossible for us; there are times when it feels like God has turned away, that God has abandoned and forsaken us, that God has demanded of us nothing less than the sacrifice of the ones we love the most. That’s the reality of our lives, and that’s the experience that Abraham speaks to – and what’s incredible is that he shows us that, somehow, we can face even the unspeakable trials, with faith. Even if we don’t get the last-minute reprieve; even if our miracle doesn’t come through – still we believe that, somehow, the story doesn’t end with heartache and death on a lonely mountain. Somehow, in the end, God will always provide.

 Love is always risky. Our children are not our own, but neither are our spouses, our parents, our siblings, our neighbors, or our friends. Loving one another – it’s always a risk, but it’s that risk that makes life worth living. The people we love are gifts; they are given to us, to love and to be loved – but in the end, just like us, they belong to God, and one day, to God we will all return. So we do the best we can to love one another, for as long as we can, as best as we can, and we trust God with the rest.

 This is what we learn from Abraham: we learn, we are reminded, that we are not our own. We learn to trust that God will take care for our loved ones when we can’t; we learn to trust the ones we love to the care of the God who loves them, too.

   Oh God, we are so grateful for the people who fill our lives: for family members, for spouses, for siblings, for children, for nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles, for neighbors, for coworkers, for friends. We thank you for the gift of love, in so many shapes and by so many names.

 And God, we know that you understand our hearts; you understand our deep fear of loss, you understand how much we hate to feel powerless, and you know the grief we feel when there is nothing we can do to save the ones we love.

 Help us to believe that you do not abandon us in our grief; help us to believe that you do not demand or steal our loved ones from us, but that you love them as much as we do, and we can trust to you to care for them when we ourselves just can’t.

 Give us such faith that, at all times and in all places, we may entrust ourselves and those we love to your steadfast loving care. Help us to believe that love is worth it, and in the end, love wins.

 In the name of Christ, who shared our grief so we might share his joy, we pray; amen.

[1] “Child of Blessing, Child of Promise” – words by Ronald S. Cole-Turner (1981).

[bdotson46-blog]

The first person to welcome me at NBC was a photojournalist named Cliff Adkins. Cliff died this month at 81. His wisdom and warmth guided my life and many others. Cliff worked with sound man Frank Greene, a whiskery little guy, standing on a chilly sidewalk waiting for a crew car to take us on assignment.   Frank maintained a two-inch ash on the cigarette that he dangled from the corner of his mouth even when he talked.   He greeted me with one eye squinting through smoke. “I just want youse ta know one ‘ting,” he said, his voice a low rasp.  “I’ve been here thirty years and I’ll be here when you leave!”  Frank was nearing retirement.  He must have had underwear older than I was.  I had seldom worked with anyone over 50 and didn’t know what to say.  Frank didn’t want an answer.  He was simply telling me what to expect.  “When we go out on stories, I sits in the right front seat.”  A stiff breeze finally knocked the ash off Frank’s cigarette.  “I always sits next to the heater.”  He paused to puff.   “The cameraman drives, unless he doesn’t want to.  Then, the electrician drives.  Otherwise, the electrician—who we call 40-watt, cuz he’s usually a dim bulb—he sits in the back seat on the hump.”  Another puff.  Frank smoked Camels.  Once he lit a cigarette, it stayed in the corner of his mouth until he took it out to light another.  Frank glanced at the crew car garage.  No sign yet of our ride.  He continued, “The producer always sits in the back left seat, behind the driver, so he can flick ‘em on the ear and tell ‘em to turn right or left.” A small smile.  “You?  Reporters sit in the right rear seat.”  He wiggled his index finger.  “Don’t crowd 40-watt.”  The crew car pulled to the curb.  Frank popped into the front seat next to the heater.  “Welcome to Cleveland,” he chortled, pointing to my place in back.         This was the first time that I had ever worked with a guy who cared more about heat than stories.  At noon I learned he cared about food, too.  “Hey, Dotson,” he rasped.  “Youse got ten more minutes!”             “Ten minutes until what, Frank?”             “Ten minutes, den I’m pulling my audio plug outta da camera and sittin’ in da car until we go to lunch.”  We were filming children on a playground.  True to his word, ten minutes later, Frank yanked his audio line from the back of the camera and left.  I looked at cameraman Cliff Adkins.  Cliff shrugged.              “Well,” said Cliff.  “At least Frank waited until we got a minutes worth of audio in the can.  No one can fault him for not doing his job.”               I looked around glumly.  “Yeah, but what are we going to do?”  Was this the end of my big time career?             “Do you want to drive Frank nuts?” asked Cliff.             I grinned.  “Sure.”             “He’s going to expect one of two things.  Either we yell at him when we go back to the car or we give him the silent treatment.”             I nodded.  Made sense.             “If you really want to drive him crazy, let’s act like nothing ever happened.”             “How will that drive him crazy?”              “You see, he wants to pick a fight so he can file a union grievance,” Cliff said.  “That’ll take him out of the cold for days while the grievance committee sorts it all out.  Meanwhile, he’ll be warm and get lunch on time.”             “Why doesn’t he just talk to the managers who assign the story?  It’s not our fault he’s working through lunch.”              “He’s afraid,” said Cliff.  “It’s easier and safer to take out his frustrations on us.”             “Great,” I sighed, looking glum.             “Well, let’s do it,” said Cliff.  “Let’s pretend as if nothing ever happened, but you have to promise me one thing.”             “What’s that?’             “You’ve got to talk to Peter Menkes, the assignment editor, and remind him that Frank needs his lunch on time.  Food and heat are important when you’re over sixty,” Cliff grinned, but he meant it.             We finished our shooting, then walked back to the crew car.  Frank was hunkered in the front seat, next to the heater.  Engine running.              “Hi, Frank!”  I said.  “Hey, where do you want to go eat?”             Two weeks later, we worked together again, meeting on that same chilly corner.  Frank was pacing back and forth.             “Hello, Frank...”             “All Right!” Frank growled.  “What’s goin’ on!”             “Going on?  What, Frank?”             “How come youse never yelled at me?”             “Yell at you, Frank?  Why?”             “You know why!”             “Well,” I said.  “I thought you made a good point about missing lunch, so I talked to the assignment editor when I got back to make sure you didn’t miss any more.”             “You did?”             “Yeah.”             “Oh.”             Frank Greene was not our best soundman.  He was known for letting the needle ride in the red.  Didn’t pay much attention to over modulation, but from that day forward he got better when he worked with me.   I always made sure to highlight Frank’s audio in my stories.  If he climbed down a hill to get sound of a rushing river, I would pause in my narration to let the sound play.  Gradually, grudgingly, we became friends.             My wife, Linda, was eight months pregnant at the time.  The day she flew from Oklahoma to join me in our new home, I met her at the airport with Frank and the crew.  We were on our way to Cincinnati, assigned to do a Today show story.  Would she care to fly along in the Lear jet?               “What’s another plane ride?” said Linda.             Off we went.             When we arrived in Cincinnati, 40-watt pulled the rental car alongside the plane.  Frank hopped out and opened the car door -- the front passenger door.             “Mrs. Dotson,” he motioned.  “Would youse like to sit next to da heater?”             The next morning, over coffee, Cliff Adkins shook his head.             “I’ve worked for thirteen years with Frank Greene and I’ve never seen Frank give up the heater, not even for a pregnant nun!”             “Cliff,” I laughed, “Why is it we can communicate clearly with millions of people, but can’t seem to talk to the guy sitting next to us in the crew car?”         “We seldom work well together,” said Cliff, “because we blame everyone else while overlooking our own failures.  I say, ‘My story would have been an award winner, but you wrote a terrible narration.’  You say, ‘Hey, Cliff, your shots are shaky and the audio is unusable.’  “Remember, Bob, the only person you can change is you.  You want to get better.  Make yourself better by helping others become better, too.” The people who help us thrive in this world are not always the most pleasant.  I’ve learned not to waste life waiting to work with the ‘best’ or cursing fate when faced with a ‘Frank Greene.’  Life is a rough and tumble business, like a football game.  Change when you see an opening.   I remember something Cliff told me when I thought my career wasn’t catching fire.  “Try to make yourself one of a kind.  That will give you a distinctive voice others will want to hear.  You might not get every assignment you want, but someday, someone will say:  “We need a Bob Dotson story.” I've told this story to many young journalists over the years. Cliff Adkin's wisdom lives on.

[londontheatre]

Rehearsals began this week for the new West End cast of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child who will start their performances at the Palace Theatre in London’s West End on 24 May 2017 following the final performance from the current cast on 21 May 2017. Jamie Glover will play Harry Potter with Emma Lowndes as his wife Ginny Potter and Theo Ancient as their son Albus Potter. Thomas Aldridge will play Ron Weasley with Rakie Ayola as Hermione Granger and Helen Aluko as their daughter Rose Granger-Weasley. Playing Draco Malfoy will be James Howard with Samuel Blenkin as his son Scorpius Malfoy.

They are joined by new cast members David Annen, Ruthxjiah Bellenea, Danny Dalton, Leah Haile, Rupert Henderson, Elizabeth Hill, April Hughes, James McGregor, Sarah Miele, Jordan Paris, James Phoon, Henry Rundle, Ged Simmons, Mark Theodore, Gideon Turner and Ed White. Original cast members Nicola Alexis, Rosemary Annabella, Phoebe Austen, Annabel Baldwin, Jabez Cheeseman, Morag Cross, Esme Grace, Lowri James, Martin Johnston, Alfred Jones, Barry McCarthy, Sandy McDade, Tom Mackley, Harrison Noble, Ben Roberts, Nuno Silva, Hope Sizer and Joshua Wyatt complete the 42-strong company playing a variety of characters, including seven children who will alternate two roles.

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is the eighth story in the Harry Potter series and the first official Harry Potter story to be presented on stage. The critically acclaimed production received its world premiere in June 2016 at the Palace Theatre and is now the recipient of thirteen theatre awards including the Evening Standard Best Play Award. Earlier this month it was announced that Harry Potter and the Cursed Child was nominated for a record-breaking eleven Olivier awards, making it the most nominated new play in Olivier history.

Back Row (left to right) James Howard (Draco Malfoy), Emma Lowndes (Ginny Potter), Jamie Glover (Harry Potter) Front Row (left to right) Thomas Aldridge (Ron Weasley), Rakie Ayola (Hermione Granger), Helen Aluko (Rose Granger-Weasley), Theo Ancient (Albus Potter), Samuel Blenkin (Scorpius Malfoy) photo by Manuel Harlan

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is currently booking to 29 April 2018. The next advance ticket release will take place on 25 April 2017. Tickets are priced from £15 per part and for every performance there are over 300 tickets at £20 or less per part. Further ticket releases will be announced throughout the year, details of which will published via the official Harry Potter and the Cursed Child website, social media channels and the official newsletter.

It was always difficult being Harry Potter and it isn’t much easier now that he is an overworked employee of the Ministry of Magic, a husband and father of three school-age children. While Harry grapples with a past that refuses to stay where it belongs, his youngest son Albus must struggle with the weight of a family legacy he never wanted. As past and present fuse ominously, both father and son learn the uncomfortable truth: sometimes, darkness comes from unexpected places.

Jamie Glover (Harry Potter) was last on stage in What’s in a Name? for Birmingham Repertory Theatre. His other theatre credits include The Rehearsal, An Ideal Husband and If Only all for Chichester Festival Theatre, Donkeys’ Years at the Rose Theatre Kingston, Noises Off at the Old Vic and Novello Theatre in the West End, The Chalk Garden for the Donmar Warehouse, The Shawl and The Man Who Had All the Luck both for Sheffield Crucible, The Novice for the Almeida Theatre and The Invention of Love for the Theatre Royal Haymarket. For the Royal Shakespeare Company his credits include All’s Well That Ends Well, The Roman Actor and Edward III. On film his credits include These Foolish Things, Sacred Life and Age of Treason. He is best known on television for playing Andrew Treneman in Waterloo Road and James Lacey in Agatha Raisin, and has also been seen in Endeavour and Doctor Who: An Adventure in Space and Time.

Row 5 Back Row (left to right) Joshua Wyatt, Ruthxjiah Bellenea, Jordan Paris, Elizabeth Hill, Mark Theodore, James Phoon, Henry Rundle, Leah Haile, Tom Mackley Row 4 (left to right) Rupert Henderson, James McGregor, Nuno Silva, Gideon Turner, Ged Simmons, Danny Dalton, Ed White, Martin Johnston Row 3 (left to right) Lowri James, Morag Cross, Nicola Alexis, Rosemary Annabella, Sarah Miele Row 2 (left to right) David Annen, Annabel Baldwin, James Howard, Rakie Ayola, Jamie Glover, Thomas Aldridge, Emma Lowndes, Barry McCarthy, Sandy McDade Row 1 Front Row (left to right) April Hughes, Samuel Blenkin, Jabez Cheeseman, Phoebe Austen, Alfred Jones, Esme Grace, Harrison Noble, Hope Sizer, Ben Roberts, Theo Ancient, Helen Aluko. Photo by Manuel Harlan

Emma Lowndes’ (Ginny Potter) many television credits include Bella Gregson in Cranford, Mary Rivers in Jane Eyre and Margie Drewe in Downton Abbey. She can soon be seen as Carla Davis in Channel 4’s The Trial. Her theatre credits include The Herbal Bed at the Royal and Derngate Theatre Northampton, Children of the Sun and Thérèse Raquin for the National Theatre, The Accrington Pals, Port, The Rise and Fall of Little Voice and The Seagull for the Royal Exchange Theatre and Whose Life is it Anyway? at the Comedy Theatre. On film her credits include Mother’s Milk and All or Nothing.

Theo Ancient (Albus Potter) trained at RADA and will make his professional stage debut in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.

Thomas Aldridge (Ron Weasley) is currently appearing in Les Misérables at the Queen’s Theatre. His previous theatre credits include The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe for Birmingham Rep, Made in Dagenham at the Adelphi Theatre, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Taming of the Shrew for the Open Air Theatre Regent’s Park, The Secret Garden and Peter Pan – A Musical Adventure for West Yorkshire Playhouse and Birmingham Rep, His Dark Materials on UK tour, Only the Brave for Soho Theatre, and High Society at the Shaftesbury Theatre. His television credits include Undercover, Titanic, Call the Midwife, Silent Witness, Hope and Glory and The Support Group. His film credits include Flea and Blasted.

Rakie Ayola (Hermione Granger) was last on stage in The Rest of Your Life at the Bush Theatre. Her previous theatre credits include King Lear at the Royal Exchange Theatre where she played Goneril, Crave/4.48 Psychosis for Sheffield Crucible, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time at the Apollo Theatre, Dido Queen of Carthage for the Globe Theatre, The Winter’s Tale for the Royal Shakespeare Company and Welcome to Thebes for the National Theatre. Her television credits include No Offence, Vera, Under Milk Wood, Black Mirror, Doctor Who, Silent Witness and Holby City. Her film credits include Been So Long, Dredd, Now is Good and Sahara.

Helen Aluko (Rose Granger-Weasley) is an original member of the Harry Potter and the Cursed Child company. Her previous theatre credits include Doctor Faustus for the Royal Exchange Theatre, Once Language, Many Voices for TNT, The Price for Walking Forward, The Wind in the Willows for Sixteen Feet Productions and Beauty and the Beast at Theatre Royal Stratford East. Her television credits include The Driver.

James Howard (Draco Malfoy) is an original member of the Harry Potter and the Cursed Child company. His previous theatre credits include Brave New World for Northampton Theatre Royal, Romeo and Juliet, As You Like It, Mojo, King Lear and Morte D’Arthur for the Royal Shakespeare Company, Twelfth Night and Ivanov for Donmar Warehouse and The Duchess of Malfi for the National Theatre. His television credits include Black Mirror, Dark Matters, Skins, Spooks, Inspector Lynley Mysteries and Dream Team. On film his credits include Survivor, The Theory of Everything, The Oxford Murders and Penelope.

Samuel Blenkin (Scorpius Malfoy) trained at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama and also makes his professional stage debut in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.

Based on an original new story by J.K. Rowling, Jack Thorne and John Tiffany, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is a new play by Jack Thorne, directed by John Tiffany with movement by Steven Hoggett, set by Christine Jones, costumes by Katrina Lindsay, music & arrangements by Imogen Heap, lighting by Neil Austin, sound by Gareth Fry, illusions & magic by Jamie Harrison, music supervision & arrangements by Martin Lowe and casting by Julia Horan CDG.

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is one play presented in two parts. Both parts are intended to be seen in order on the same day (matinee and evening) or on two consecutive evenings. On Thursdays, there is an evening performance of Part One and on Fridays an evening performance of Part Two. On those days tickets to each part can be bought together or separately. Tickets for Wednesday matinee and Wednesday evening performances can also be bought together or separately.

The regular performance schedule is as follows – Monday – no performance, Tuesday – no performance, Wednesday – 2pm Part One & 7.30pm Part Two, Thursday – 7.30pm Part One, Friday – 7.30pm Part Two, Saturday – 2pm Part One & 7.30pm Part Two, Sunday – 1pm Part One & 6.30pm Part Two.

Every Friday, The Friday Forty takes place at 1pm when 40 tickets are released for every performance the following week for some of the very best seats in the theatre. Subsequent ticket releases take place each Friday for performances the following week. Priced at £40 (£20 per part) tickets will secure a seat for both Part One and Part Two on consecutive performances. Customers will be selected at random for the opportunity to buy tickets online and will be able to purchase a maximum of two tickets for both Part One and Part Two in one transaction. To ensure that as many people as possible have the chance to access these tickets, they will only be available to buy online http://ift.tt/2aaAyqp

Returned and other late-release tickets may also become available at short notice. These are not guaranteed, but any tickets that do become available will be sold on a first-come-first-served basis, online or in person at the Palace Theatre box office at full price.

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is produced by Sonia Friedman Productions, Colin Callender and Harry Potter Theatrical Productions.

Box Office – 0343 208 0500 http://ift.tt/1Pzesaj http://ift.tt/25xE0k9 @HPPlayLDN http://ift.tt/25vRNEE http://ift.tt/25xE5of www.pottermore.com

http://ift.tt/2gDuMMR LondonTheatre1.com

[bdotson46-blog]

The first person to welcome me at NBC was a photojournalist named Cliff Adkins. Cliff died this month at 81. His wisdom and warmth guided my life and many others. Cliff worked with sound man Frank Greene, a whiskery little guy, standing on a chilly sidewalk waiting for a crew car to take us on assignment.   Frank maintained a two-inch ash on the cigarette that he dangled from the corner of his mouth even when he talked.   He greeted me with one eye squinting through smoke. “I just want youse ta know one ‘ting,” he said, his voice a low rasp.  “I’ve been here thirty years and I’ll be here when you leave!”  Frank was nearing retirement.  He must have had underwear older than I was.  I had seldom worked with anyone over 50 and didn’t know what to say.  Frank didn’t want an answer.  He was simply telling me what to expect.  “When we go out on stories, I sits in the right front seat.”  A stiff breeze finally knocked the ash off Frank’s cigarette.  “I always sits next to the heater.”  He paused to puff.   “The cameraman drives, unless he doesn’t want to.  Then, the electrician drives.  Otherwise, the electrician—who we call 40-watt, cuz he’s usually a dim bulb—he sits in the back seat on the hump.”  Another puff.  Frank smoked Camels.  Once he lit a cigarette, it stayed in the corner of his mouth until he took it out to light another.  Frank glanced at the crew car garage.  No sign yet of our ride.  He continued, “The producer always sits in the back left seat, behind the driver, so he can flick ‘em on the ear and tell ‘em to turn right or left.” A small smile.  “You?  Reporters sit in the right rear seat.”  He wiggled his index finger.  “Don’t crowd 40-watt.”  The crew car pulled to the curb.  Frank popped into the front seat next to the heater.  “Welcome to Cleveland,” he chortled, pointing to my place in back.         This was the first time that I had ever worked with a guy who cared more about heat than stories.  At noon I learned he cared about food, too.  “Hey, Dotson,” he rasped.  “Youse got ten more minutes!”             “Ten minutes until what, Frank?”             “Ten minutes, den I’m pulling my audio plug outta da camera and sittin’ in da car until we go to lunch.”  We were filming children on a playground.  True to his word, ten minutes later, Frank yanked his audio line from the back of the camera and left.  I looked at cameraman Cliff Adkins.  Cliff shrugged.              “Well,” said Cliff.  “At least Frank waited until we got a minutes worth of audio in the can.  No one can fault him for not doing his job.”               I looked around glumly.  “Yeah, but what are we going to do?”  Was this the end of my big time career?             “Do you want to drive Frank nuts?” asked Cliff.             I grinned.  “Sure.”             “He’s going to expect one of two things.  Either we yell at him when we go back to the car or we give him the silent treatment.”             I nodded.  Made sense.             “If you really want to drive him crazy, let’s act like nothing ever happened.”             “How will that drive him crazy?”              “You see, he wants to pick a fight so he can file a union grievance,” Cliff said.  “That’ll take him out of the cold for days while the grievance committee sorts it all out.  Meanwhile, he’ll be warm and get lunch on time.”             “Why doesn’t he just talk to the managers who assign the story?  It’s not our fault he’s working through lunch.”              “He’s afraid,” said Cliff.  “It’s easier and safer to take out his frustrations on us.”             “Great,” I sighed, looking glum.             “Well, let’s do it,” said Cliff.  “Let’s pretend as if nothing ever happened, but you have to promise me one thing.”             “What’s that?’             “You’ve got to talk to Peter Menkes, the assignment editor, and remind him that Frank needs his lunch on time.  Food and heat are important when you’re over sixty,” Cliff grinned, but he meant it.             We finished our shooting, then walked back to the crew car.  Frank was hunkered in the front seat, next to the heater.  Engine running.              “Hi, Frank!”  I said.  “Hey, where do you want to go eat?”             Two weeks later, we worked together again, meeting on that same chilly corner.  Frank was pacing back and forth.             “Hello, Frank...”             “All Right!” Frank growled.  “What’s goin’ on!”             “Going on?  What, Frank?”             “How come youse never yelled at me?”             “Yell at you, Frank?  Why?”             “You know why!”             “Well,” I said.  “I thought you made a good point about missing lunch, so I talked to the assignment editor when I got back to make sure you didn’t miss any more.”             “You did?”             “Yeah.”             “Oh.”             Frank Greene was not our best soundman.  He was known for letting the needle ride in the red.  Didn’t pay much attention to over modulation, but from that day forward he got better when he worked with me.   I always made sure to highlight Frank’s audio in my stories.  If he climbed down a hill to get sound of a rushing river, I would pause in my narration to let the sound play.  Gradually, grudgingly, we became friends.             My wife, Linda, was eight months pregnant at the time.  The day she flew from Oklahoma to join me in our new home, I met her at the airport with Frank and the crew.  We were on our way to Cincinnati, assigned to do a Today show story.  Would she care to fly along in the Lear jet?               “What’s another plane ride?” said Linda.             Off we went.             When we arrived in Cincinnati, 40-watt pulled the rental car alongside the plane.  Frank hopped out and opened the car door -- the front passenger door.             “Mrs. Dotson,” he motioned.  “Would youse like to sit next to da heater?”             The next morning, over coffee, Cliff Adkins shook his head.             “I’ve worked for thirteen years with Frank Greene and I’ve never seen Frank give up the heater, not even for a pregnant nun!”             “Cliff,” I laughed, “Why is it we can communicate clearly with millions of people, but can’t seem to talk to the guy sitting next to us in the crew car?”         “We seldom work well together,” said Cliff, “because we blame everyone else while overlooking our own failures.  I say, ‘My story would have been an award winner, but you wrote a terrible narration.’  You say, ‘Hey, Cliff, your shots are shaky and the audio is unusable.’  “Remember, Bob, the only person you can change is you.  You want to get better.  Make yourself better by helping others become better, too.” The people who help us thrive in this world are not always the most pleasant.  I’ve learned not to waste life waiting to work with the ‘best’ or cursing fate when faced with a ‘Frank Greene.’  Life is a rough and tumble business, like a football game.  Change when you see an opening.   I remember something Cliff told me when I thought my career wasn’t catching fire.  “Try to make yourself one of a kind.  That will give you a distinctive voice others will want to hear.  You might not get every assignment you want, but someday, someone will say:  “We need a Bob Dotson story.” I've told this story to many young journalists over the years. Cliff Adkin's wisdom lives on.