#why did they not tell lestat's actor to at least try to put on a french accent

[helianthus21]

watched the queen of the damned movie. y'all werent lying. it is that bad sksk

[bestnoncannonship]

Alright..I'mma get in on this VC fancasting debate.

As a director, I often have a LOT of opinions on people's casting decisions. A LOT. (Someday, I'll write a novella on Ken Brannaugh's casting.) So as I see a LOT of fancasts casts based on how people look and few based on whether or not the actor can likely handle the role, I'mma throw my hat in the ring. (Warning....the more I write the less technical and more shitposty this is gonna get!) So here you go! The Vampire Chronicles series if I got to cast and direct it!!

The Brat Prince:

Most importantly....we gotta get us a Lestat. And the choice is clear:

Evan Williams: this fabulous shitposting aesthetic trash is as close to the one and only Vampire Lestat as we are gonna get on this plane of existance. He is all charm and quite light in his loafers and a complete mess.......but most importantly, he has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is able to play a character that does inexplicable and morally reprehensible things while still being read as highly sympathetic, likable, and even a hero. That's what I worry about most with Lestat. He really is a very terrible person who doesn't learn or face too many consequences. And he has to be very very very sympathetic. Not just "Oh I Stan that villain" likeable.....but a true hero. And it takes a very. Special. Actor. To pull that shit off. And this is it. This is the guy. He was hired to play an Iago-esque gay villain type in Versailles, STOLE THE SHOW OUT FROM UNDER GEORGE BLAGDEN (no mean feat as Blaggy was giving a hell of a performance) and made his character a beloved icon. Yeah....I trust him to lead a show. I trust him to be Lestat.

Nicholas L'enfant:

Okay not gonna lie I struggled with this one. There was someone else I wanted to see in this role....but I decided he was better employed elsewhere. And this is who I ended up with:

Yep. George Blagden. See...in the grand scheme of things Nikki is a very low-screentime role that has a LOT of impact on the story. And who better to trust with low screentime that the god of grantaires, who took a few small shots and lines and GAVE US A FULLY CHARACTERIZED GRANTAIRE in the Les Mis film. He is very sweet faced, and easy to like, can make being an on screen depressive fascinating instead of dull and has proven time and time again that he is the master of the complete mental breakdown, complete with horrifying but tragic crazy eyes. Also.....he bears a strong enough physical resembles to.....

Louis!!!!:

Our beautiful depressed dark angel with a vampire eating disorder who has no self esteem and is still in love with his abuser needs nuance. He needs soul. And he needs a sweet and delicate beauty. And so:

Alexaner Vlahos!!! The soulful eyes!! The delicate bone structure!!! The slight tones of simmering resentment!!! The ability to play a character that could have become VERY one note VERY quickly with goregeous amounts of nuance and sympathy!!! Vlavla has quite the varied resume. Mordred. Phillipe. Romeo. Captain Hook. To put it lightly he has a LOT of range and the one through line is he is NEVER boring. He plays a lot of roles that could very quickly become boring and one note (Romeo? Captian snooze right there!). But every second he's on screen or stage he is so completely alive in whatever he is feeling. I TRUST him to keep the entirety of Louis's brooding nuanced and fascinating for an audience and to physically and facially convey Louis's very important internal monologue that we will not be able to hear because this version is going to be from Lestat's point of veiw. I toggled with the idea of making him Nikki for a while....but ended up with Louis for 2 reasons. 1) he doesn't need the scripted plot drama Nikki has written in to make a compelling character and 2) he and Williams share such beautiful chemistry. Whenever they're together, even off screen, their focus shifts so that they orbit each other like bianary stars and any director can see that that's something that should be explored and exploited to add demension to the Louis/Lestat relationship and justify why they keep coming back to each other.

(And so ends the Men of Versailles segment of my fancast. So sue me. There's some incredible actors there.)

Let's return with

Gabrielle De Lioncourt:

The incomparable Alex Kingston, lately of River Song fame, though I met her as Elizabeth Corday, and Doctor Corday is driving this casting choice. I wanted an actor who was an appropriate age to play Williams's mother cause we don't fuck with that women are "old" at 30 shit in this house. And she can carry off the kind of "I will not hesitate to kill a man" BDE that Gabrielle requires without trying, but she's also proven herself comfortable and competent with the level of CAMP that VC requires. I can see her easily showing up on set for a few scattered episodes, slipping easily into the verse, and nailing the kind of woman who can put Lestat in his place then run back off to the jungle. Also....that De Lioncourt hair!!!!!

Marius "Daddy" Romanus:

Yep. This fuck. I can hear it now.... "Why isn't he lessssaaaat??? He's so blonde and prettttyyyyy????" Well....mainly because....I ain't sure this lil fuck can run a show as a very despicable but likeable hero yet. He's admirable. A good actor. A great villain. But not a hero and not heroically likeable. Personally, I'm of the opinion that in 10 or 15 years he will have grown into the ability to play something as complex as Lestat with likability....but for now.....DAMN is he a creepy imperial thing. He's got that "My house, my rules" vibe down. He's preditory. He's distinguished. He is Marius. And he's go the best Roman coin profile I've ever seen.

Armand:

N/A

Ok. Controversial decision....but I want to see a complete unknown as Armand. Send casting out to cast a wide net, scour the world for the Botticelli death machine. But definitely don't pull him from the pool of already famous younguns. Because your Armand needs to be deep. Skilled. And primarily UNSPOILED by the school of child acting that is forced upon child actors. (I was a commercial kid and child stage actor. It was terrible.) Go out and get some twinky fresh faced raw talent so you get depth.

Claudia:

N/A

Big old ditto on what I said above about child actors. A nice doe eyed unknown, preferably without a stage mom.

AKASHA:

Yikes. So many amazing choices!!! How do you follow Aliyah??

With literal human perfection Gina Torres of course!!! Again....I wanted to go with an older woman. Someone who would be seen as an authority to all vampires. Someone god damnned goregeous. And someone who I find intimidating. Also, since I'm skewing a little tall with this cast (at least as TV actors go) I wanted someone who comfortably stands among and above most of them! She's a seasond tested actor, and certified badass. And we know she can steal a scene. Besides if she can look regal as a queen in that weirdass dress they gave her in the serenity movie she can pull off whatever monstrosity costumes comes up with to follow the Aliyah getup.

Khayman:

Don't @ me but....I have a LOT of feelings about Khayman. I love his particularly breed of immortal insanity. I love the way immortality drove him mad into a childlike enjoyment and curiosity. And I knew exactly who has to be casted to play that combination of intimidating ancient and innocent curiosity:

This is Howard Charles. He is capable of playing both an intimidating giant and a sweet soulful cinnamon roll at the same time. I cannot sing this man's praises enough. Am I scared of him? Do I want to hug him? Both? He's also one of the best scene SHARERS I've seen on screen in a long time and that's very important in a supporting role.

Maharet:

Just because Anne Rice doesn't know shit about Mesopotamia doesn't mean we have to follow her in that. I wanted to pull from Middle Eastern or Indian populations for her to best reflect the look of the region in a time that's roughly in line with the pre-dynastic Egyptian mish-mosh associated with Akasha.

So I'm gunning for Indira Varma. When I say this woman has timeless beauty.....I mean timeless. She's as prehistorically hot as she is today. And she's such a strong actress, I want to give her a role that isn't 50% sex scenes. She's got both the warmth and the commanding strength to play Maharet. I would ideally like to get a dancer to play Mekare....someone who can handle the physical interp of the role. Probably an Indian dancer to match Indira Varma.

David Talbot:

In the newly declared tradition of Doctors playing Talbot:

This is the only current Gif I could find of Sylvester McCoy. Known to many as the Seventh Doctor. And to many as Ratagast the Brown. He embodies that sort of huffy aging britishness that David projects, but has the over the top personality that can give us those hints of the vitality of David's youth. Basically I can see this man telling stories about hunting tigers in India. Then when he gets the hot young Raglan James Body:

Luke Pasqualino. Swarthy young troublemaker. But for all the youthful good looks, he proved that he was able to play grace and gravitas as D'artagnion in the final season of the BBC Musketeers. I'd love to give him a chance to explore that deeper part. I also trust his ability to match the energy of a cast, which he did repeatedly on musketeers, and portray both the impulsive self aggrandizing Lestat in the Raglan James body and to play the DarkAU Musketeer type that is Raglan James himself.

That's literally all the Gifs I can put in a post. I know I skipped Daniel......but that's because I have surprisingly few opinions on Daniel.......he's very much a vanilla audience connecting character. I'd almost like to see an unknown in that role....just to see what we a new face could make.

And thus ends my casting of the Vampire Chronicles!!

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 15

I was seated at the end of a chair grouping outside gate four in terminal two of the airport, luggage screened and checked. The six AM flight had departed without me, and the one PM flight would be leaving from here so it had seemed as good a place as any to wait. It was ten-thirty AM and I was on my fourth Starbucks Caffe Vanilla Frappuccino. I never drank coffee because it made me a jittery mess, but since I was already a jittery mess I figured why the fuck not. At least I’d be a conscious jittery mess this way.

The chairs were brutally uncomfortable, and the fluorescent lighting flickered from time to time, or it appeared to. It could have been from sleep deprivation and anxiety, I supposed. But it didn’t seem to matter much. Nothing did. All I wanted to do was disappear into the void and not have to face any aspect of my reality. Too bad it was never that simple. Not for me, anyway.

I tried to take a nap when I learned there would be no seats available on the six AM flight, but every time I nodded off either Tom’s words or my mother’s face would pop uninvited into my head and jar me awake. Focusing enough to read online or off was impossible, and any song I played on my iPod upset me for some stupid reason. Walking around worked for a while, carryon in tow, moving from place to place, sucking down my Frappuccino and visiting the bathroom every half hour, until I noticed airport security watching me. That’s how I wound up here, sitting down, staring at the walls, reading the signs over and over again and not comprehending a single thing they said. The people walking by were like ghosts, each living a life completely outside of my realm. They smiled, they hugged, and they laughed while I sat waiting to board a jet that would take me somewhere I’d never wanted to be again, where I’d have to gaze upon the lifeless body of a woman I’d never wanted to see again.

And then there was…Tom. I was incredibly angry at myself for growing so attached so quickly, for letting him in. I knew better. But I did it anyway, because…there was that feeling. That this was the person. My person. It was all so fast, but it had felt right. And whether I liked it or not, I loved him. He deserved a chance to explain himself, certainly, but I wasn’t sure I was capable of giving it to him. Some of the things he’d said cut very deeply, and by my own admission forgiveness wasn’t a thing that came easily to me. Yes, he’d been drunk. But that’s the thing about words…once they’re said, you can never take them back. Your state of mind when you speak them is essentially irrelevant if they’re heard and they hurt.

Yet in spite of what had transpired, I missed him terribly already. I wanted him right next to me, warm, present, here. I felt…halved. Alone. And lonely. There had to be an underlying issue that caused him to behave in such a fashion, didn’t there? Or, perhaps the man I saw last night was the real Tom, and the one I’d spent the past two weeks with and thought I’d known was simply proof positive that he was just a better actor than anyone could have ever imagined.

More than anything else, I felt stupid. Stupid for thinking that love at first sight could actually happen, and even stupider for thinking it could happen to me. I was not meant for this. No matter how far I thought I’d come, I would never be more than this broken thing on the inside, a thing that couldn’t even earn the love of its own mother, no matter hard it tried.

My phone rang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin, instantly ejected from my introspection. I thumbed to unlock the screen. It was Tom. Heart pounding, disgusted with myself when I realized that I wanted nothing more than to pick it up, say hello and make everything better, I flung it down on the seat next to me as if I’d been burned.

Four minutes later, the voicemail alert chimed. Staring down at it, I began rubbing my temples and had a lengthy back and forth with myself as to whether or not I should listen to it.

“Eh, fuck it. Let’s see what he has to say. At this stage of the game, I don’t think there’s anything that could make me feel worse than I already do.”  

I clicked, held the phone up to my ear and listened. His voice was several octaves higher than normal, his speech wavering between halting and rambling and filled with anxious panic, reminiscent of a child who’s just realized he’s lost and alone in a strange, unfamiliar place.

“Maude? I…it’s…I don’t know…I slept through my alarm and it’s after ten and we were supposed to be on a plane already but I woke up and you’re gone and all of your things are gone…” He choked back a sob. “And I don’t remember anything from last night after you called me…” Another sob. “I…Maude…what I said…I’m so sorry…I was just…I thought you…didn’t want to…be with me…” He was openly weeping now as he spoke, addressing himself more so than me. “I’m not…I…how did I even get back here? I don’t know…what happened? What did…did…I do? My god, what did I do that made you leave without me?” An agonized, muffled cry, as if from behind a hand-covered mouth. “Where are you, Maude? Why aren’t you here? Please call me. Please. Please.” Another cry, gasping this time, then silence.

My stomach heaved, and this time there was no holding back. I ran for the closest restroom but only made it as far as the garbage can around the corner. I vomited up all four Frappuccinos, then continued to retch long after there was nothing left to be brought forth. I leaned on the rim, face still hovering over the can, until I heard a voice behind me. It was airport security.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?”

I wiped my mouth with my forearm as I pushed myself into a standing position, shaking like a Chihuahua and wishing I could make myself invisible.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks. Sorry about that. Coffee and I don’t get along very well, apparently. Now I remember why I switched to tea.” I tried to smile, but it just wasn’t happening. He handed me some paper towels.

“Ma’am, if you need to use the restroom I’d be happy to keep an eye on your bag for you.”

I nodded and handed him my carryon but kept my messenger bag. “Thank you so much.”

My reflection in the mirror was gaunt, the dark circles under my eyes highlighted by yesterday’s makeup, which I had forgotten to remove. I looked like I’d been out all night partying, eyeliner smeared, mascara clumped and flaking. I rested my hands on the counter and leaned in closer to my reflection.

“Well, how do you feel, you fucking dumbass? What’s that? You feel….WORSE?” I barked out a laugh, then turned on the tap and rinsed my mouth out by cupping water in my hands, then ran my index finger over my teeth in a crude attempt at brushing. There was toothpaste in my carryon, but there was no way in hell I was going back out for it right now.

Next I washed my face as best I could with the paper ‘towels’ from the dispenser. There was nothing towel-like about them, and my eyes were red as fire after I scrubbed off the makeup, contacts all askew until I blinked repeatedly to get them back where they belonged. I wet two more towels with super cold water, then held them on my eyes for a few minutes. Most of the redness had faded, and I took out my braid and put my hair in a ponytail.

“Better, Maude. Hopefully the dude won’t want to haul you in because he suspects you’re a vagrant. Or a prostitute. Or a drug dealer. Or a terrorist. Or a vagrant, drug dealing, prostituting terrorist.”

He was guarding my bag, as promised, and handed me my phone as I approached him.

“Ma’am, you dropped this. It looks like it’s fine, though.”

I managed to fake a smile this time. “Thanks again. I really appreciate it. Crazy day, you know? I’m on standby for three flights trying to get to New Orleans for my mother’s funeral. Well, two, now. The first one didn’t work out. The next one leaves from this gate…it’s okay if I wait here until I find out if I’ll be on it, right?” I pulled up my confirmations on the phone, grabbed my ID out of my messenger bag and showed them to him.

He nodded. “Sure thing, ma’am. Take care.”

“Thanks.” I sank down in the chair, crushed under the weight of my emotions, feuding with the compulsion to not only call him, but to get in a cab and rush back to the hotel so I could comfort him and alleviate his pain in spite of that which he had caused me.

My phone rang again, and I decided that if it was Tom again I’d pick up. It wasn’t. The screen flashed at me…’Lestat calling’. It was Anne. Good. I needed a healthy dose of anger to get my sad-sack ass back on track. Because bitches get shit done. I hit the answer button.

“Maude, honey, how are you doing? I figured I’d call to check…”

“I’d be doing infinitely better if you hadn’t given the hospice my phone number, that’s for fucking sure.”

She clucked her tongue at me, which made me grip the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. “Kiddo, there was no one else to handle all that needed to…”

“Oh, I’m aware of that NOW. Did you know she was divorced this entire time?”

She hesitated. “Maude, listen…”

“You did, you fucking DID. And you never bothered to tell me.”

A sigh escaped her. “You never wanted me to talk about her.”

“Oh, right…like that ever stopped you from going right ahead doing it anyway.”

“In hindsight, perhaps I should have mentioned it.”

“Ya think?” I inhaled deeply, aware that if I continued being so loud I’d be receiving another visit from airport security. “Are you going to tell me what happened between them or do I have to wait until I get there and be blindsided with it by a total stranger?”

“He left her. For an eighteen year old. Who was a senior in high school. They’ve since married and have three children.”

After letting it sink in for a few moments, I began chuckling softly, which quickly evolved into raucous laughter. Unable to regain my composure, I tried to speak through it. “Oh, Anne. You most certainly should have mentioned it. That’s…” I wiped a tear from my eye. “It’s…it’s…fucking hilarious.”  

“Maude, please, she just passed away. And it hurt her terribly when it happened. How could you possibly think it’s amusing?”

My laughter ceased and was replaced with fury. “The same way you could have possibly thought I’d give even the remotest shit if she was alive or dead, Anne. That’s how. And because you, sanctimonious Christian Samaritan that you are, wanted to ensure that she was sent off to your fairytale afterlife properly I’m stuck being the stupid fuck who’s responsible for it all. You know the whole story, Anne. Every bit of it. You mean to tell me you can’t understand why I’d take pleasure in learning that karma finally caught up with her? Seriously? Well, at least now I get why you never told me. If you’ll excuse me, I’m kind of having a massively shitty day here and I need to go.”

As I hit the end call button, I realized my hands were shaking wildly and I felt lightheaded, and that I hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. I hefted my bags over my shoulder and looked at the airport dining map on my phone. Einstein Brothers Bagels sounded promising, and after waiting in line for a shockingly brief five minutes my food was ready. I sat at a table, sucking down a thirty-two ounce Coke while starring down my bacon, egg and cheddar sandwich. I wasn’t at all hungry, but passing out in the airport sounded like it might be a hassle so I forced myself to eat it, trying not to gag as I did so. It was almost eleven-thirty when I finally finished, and I walked back to my spot. My phone dinged. It was a text from Simon.

Are you okay? – S

I had no idea if he knew anything, and if he did, what it was. I hadn’t mentioned a thing to anyone other than Tom via email as to what was going on.

Why wouldn’t I be? – M

Tom called us. – S

Well, then you know that ‘are you okay’ is, like, a totally loaded question. – M

Are you still at the airport? – S

Yeah. First standby was a bust, should know about the second one any minute now. I may or may not have puked in a garbage can earlier and I think airport security may have flagged me as a vagrant, drug dealing, prostituting terrorist. – M

Good to see you still have your sense of humor. – S

Sarcasm is my secret coping mechanism. When the humor goes, you’ll know things are really in the shitter, my friend. How much did he tell you? – M

Too much, like he always does. I’m sorry about your mother. – S

Don’t be. I’m not. – M

Marry me, woman. – S

Seriously, though. How are you holding up? – S

I’m sort of…not? But I don’t want to talk about any of it, just so you know. I need to deal with dead mother first, then I can try to sort out the rest. – M

You know I hear that, sister. Mothers. Bring you screaming into the world, and then they do their best to make sure you keep screaming. And screaming. – S

*virtual high five* - M

If you need me, honey, any time, I’m here, K? – S

Thanks. Love you. – M

Love you too. – S

Shaking my head, I wondered how Luke was handling all this and remembered my assurance that no matter what happened between Tom and me personally, the work would continue as specified and in a professional manner. I frowned as I took my tablet out of my bag and powered it up, checking to see if Tom had done what I’d asked. Everything was posted exactly as I’d specified. The sight of his countenance made my stomach queasy again, and I leaned my head back to let it rest on the wall behind me as I stared at the ceiling and attempted to convince my breakfast to stay put. As soon as the feeling passed, I put my tablet away and texted Luke.

Everything’s still on track for me being in London on the 20th, and I’ll be working wherever I am between now and then. If you need something, have questions, whatever, let me know.  – M

His response was immediate.

I don’t want you giving anything work related a moment of thought right now. Do what you need to do back home, and take your time doing it, all right? If there’s anything I can do to help in some way, let me know. – L

I sighed.

Thank you. Though I can’t help but work…I need the distraction. – M

I’m the same way. We’re here if you need us. – XO L & S

The PA system clicked on and I heard a woman’s voice say my name. “Maude Gallagher, please report to the check in desk. Maude Gallagher, please report to the check in desk. Thank you.”

Got called to check in…maybe this flight is a go. Thanks again, both of you. – XO M

As I made my way to the desk, the initial excitement at the prospect of getting the fuck out of San Diego faded and was replaced with panic as the grim reality of what was waiting for me in New Orleans began to settle in. There were three stations open, and I chose the one with two people in line ahead of me. When my turn came, I presented my ID to the clerk, a blonde woman in her late twenties, if I had to guess. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and her makeup was perfection…just enough color to make her features stand out, but barely noticeable. And a lip color shade that wasn’t more than a decade old, too. I had the sudden urge to begin reading Vogue and Glamour again, then snickered to myself when I realized I could look up anything and everything beauty related online but had never bothered to do so.

She smiled at me, teeth blindingly white. “May I help you?”

“I was notified via the PA system to report to the check in desk…Maude Gallagher? I’m on standby for two more flights today so I assume you have news for me?”

Her eyes roamed over my ID and her face flushed. “Ms. Gallagher. Right. Follow me, please.” She stepped out from behind the counter and over to her left, into a small alcove at the start of the hallway to the security offices. The first thing I noticed was my luggage piled up against the wall.

I gently grabbed her shoulder. “Wait, why is my…”

And then I noticed that there was someone standing next to my luggage. My brain froze, my heart stopped and my arm slipped from the clerk’s shoulder and fell back to my side. He was wearing his black sweatshirt, hood up, with jeans and those filthy white Vans. Sunglasses hid his eyes from me, and I was torn between wanting to embrace him or punch him in his pretty fucking face.

Seven steps closed the distance between us, and I reminded myself that we were in public and that it was Comic-Con weekend and he was very recognizable, so I’d best try to not make a scene.

I snarled, and my voice came forth in a hiss. “Why the fuck are you here? And what are you doing with my luggage?”

He removed the shades, and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, tearing up as he tried to meet my gaze. “Maude…I…I know that I’m the last person you want to see right now…”

“Um, no, you aren’t the last. Second to last, probably. Either way, I sure as shit have zero desire to look at you, yet here you are.”

He swallowed and wiped away a tear that had carved out a path through the stubble on his cheek. “I’m so, so sorry. But I had to come. It couldn’t let you sit here waiting and waiting to go do what you have to do when I’ve found a way to get you where you need to be, on time.”

I rolled my eyes as I crossed my arms, subconsciously protecting myself. “Thomas, there are no flights out of here other than my two stand-bys, so unless you have a magic carpet or your own private jet…oh, fuck ME. A charter. Don’t tell me you chartered a fucking jet. Why didn’t I think of that? What a fucking moron I am…I could have been there already.” I put my hand on my forehead, looked down and gazed at a crack in the tile floor.

He reached out to touch my arm, and I yanked it away, glaring at him. His bottom lip quivered, and he inhaled sharply as he tried to rein in his emotions.

“Yes. I chartered a flight. It will depart from Landmark Aviation whenever you’re ready to leave. There’s a car waiting outside.”

As mortifying as it was, desperation easily won out over my anger, and I knew that even if I’d had to sell my soul, if I possessed such a thing, there was no way I was passing this up. The sooner I got to New Orleans, the sooner it would all be finished. Finally finished. I could close the chapter once and for all and move on, though I was now much less sure of what I’d be moving on to than I was twenty-four hours ago. I unstacked my luggage, situated the handles and prepared to head out. “Don’t think for one second that I’m letting you pay for this…I don’t need your fucking charity.”

“Maude, it’s already taken care of, and please, it’s not chari…”

“Fuck you. Email me a bill and I’ll send you a check. Where’s the car?” He tried to take the bags from me. “No. I can schlep around my own shit. I’m not fucking helpless. Speaking of, how did you get your hands on these, anyway? They told me they’d stay checked and go out on the direct flight at four PM and be waiting for me at Louis Armstrong even if I wasn’t on board.”

He put his hands in his pockets and began walking to the main doors, head down. “One of the clerks is a fan. She pulled some strings.”

I didn’t reply, instead dropping back so I could follow his lead. He held the door for me, which I permitted, and walked down to the waiting limousine. I shook my head as the driver leapt out of the car to open the door, then gathered my belongings and placed them in the trunk. As I buckled in, the door opposite me opened and Tom climbed in. My jaw clenched as I turned to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“To the airfield?”

“Yes. And then to New Orleans. Because regardless of anything that’s happened between us, you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

My eyes narrowed. “I shouldn’t have to do this at all, and if Anne hadn’t given the hospice my number I wouldn’t be.”

He frowned and shook his head. “Why wouldn’t they already have your information? Did you not know she was ill?”

“Yes. I knew. Anne told me almost two weeks ago.”

His brow furrowed, and it was obvious to me where this was going to end up.

I sighed. “Yes, Tom. I knew she was dying. And I didn’t go see her. And guess what else? I still don’t want to fucking see her.”

His eyes widened, shocked at my statement and disgusted by my coldness. “But Maude, she’s your mother.”

I could feel my face contort into something ugly, something horrible, twisted with pain. “She may have given birth to me, but she was never my mother, and she’s already been dead to me for a very long time.”

He gasped softly, but said nothing. I stared straight ahead and remained that way for the eight minutes it took us to reach Landmark Aviation. The driver opened my door, then Tom’s, and another employee arrived with a cart for our luggage, which they whisked off to the waiting Learjet 35A. The office area was open plan, two floors with a modern design and floor to ceiling windows. I sat in the waiting area while Tom completed all the paperwork, joining him only when the clerk requested my presence so he could obtain all the required identification information. He walked us to the jet, where we were greeted by the pilot who advised it would take approximately four hours to reach New Orleans. I climbed the stairs into the cabin, which consisted of seven seats in dark brown leather. Two chairs faced each other, two were in the rear across from a bench seat, and another bench seat was up front beside the facing chairs. There was a refreshment area with a mini-fridge and microwave, as well as a bathroom. I walked all the way to the back and strapped myself into one of the bench seats, my messenger bag next to me to prevent Tom from sitting near me. I needn’t have worried, as he sat up front with his back towards me.

Our takeoff was perfection, and the pilot announced that we could unbuckle ourselves and move freely about the cabin shortly thereafter. I undid my seat belt but stayed where I was. Tom blew his nose, got up, walked back to where I was and knelt in front of me. He’d taken off his hoodie, his well-worn blue V-neck nearly see-through in the harsh interior lighting. It was obvious that he’d been crying, his eyes bloodshot and still damp.

“It was very, very wrong of me to pass judgement on you like that. Especially after…” He closed his eyes briefly. “It’s just…my mother and I are so close…but I should know better than to assume that everyone is so fortunate. If yours was ill enough to be in hospice and you didn’t want to see her then and don’t want to now, you must have good reason for feeling as you do.”

I turned away from him. He shifted so he was in my line of sight again.

“If you don’t want to be with me any longer after this…” He swallowed. “I…I’ll understand. I won’t want to accept it, but it’s my fault and I’ll do whatever you wish me to do because I love you. But please, let me help you through this. Don’t shut me out.”

I met his gaze, my heart full of ice and my head full of sorrow. “Oh, sure, right. Because letting you in has worked out so well for me.”

He broke down then, right in front of me, placing his hands over his face as he tried to stifle his sobs. He wept until he retched, then got up and went to the lavatory. I heard him vomit several times, and he finally emerged fifteen minutes later and returned to his chair at the front of the cabin. Great, puking all around today. This love stuff is the best.

As I stared at the back of his seat, it crossed my mind that he might be just as broken and lost as I was, and I needed him to know why I was. Right now, even if it was too late to make a difference. I rose and walked up front, then slowly lowered myself into the chair across from him and attempted to put it all into words.

I spoke softly, emotionless. “Tom, we fell into this so very fast, and neither of us reached the point of revealing all we’ve been through. We’re both intelligent enough to know that what happens in someone’s past affects them in the present, no matter how hard they try to deny or avoid it. If you really want to be with me through this, there are things you need to know in order to fully understand me, so you don’t think I’m a monster for not seeing my…mother…when she was dying in hospice, and to help you decide if you want to remain in this relationship.”

He looked at me, a faint smile on his lips at the mention of there still being a relationship to remain in.

“Don’t take that the wrong way…I should have phrased it differently.” His face fell. “I’m not certain where we stand, because I don’t know what I want to do about what occurred last night. But, from an emotional vantage point, I’m one hundred percent certain that I’m incapable of dealing with it at the moment. What I do know is I that can’t let you be a part of this if you’re still completely unaware of everything that…happened. For now, I just want to say my piece and for you to listen. Is that all right with you?”

He nodded.

I leaned back in the chair and began, hands shaking as I tried to keep my voice evenly modulated.

“My parents met in February of 1977, in a pub in Dalkey, Ireland, my father’s hometown. His name was Sean, and he was born in Dublin but grew up in Dalkey. His family wasn’t flat broke, but they were far from what you’d consider middle class and he was bartending at the pub to make ends meet. He was nineteen. My mother, Mary Clarke, was born and raised in Manchester, England. Her father was a prominent solicitor, her mother distantly related to the royal family. Or so she claimed. Either way, they were quite wealthy and had a summer cottage in Dalkey. She was eighteen years old, engaged to an Earl who was in his last year at Oxford University, and due to be married in May of that year. Her and her girlfriends decided to take their last holiday as singles over Valentine’s weekend, staying until the following Sunday. She was Protestant, my father was Catholic, and she felt inspired to sow her wild oats with what she considered to be a ‘bad boy’. He fell madly in love with her after their week together, and she left him high and dry and went back to Manchester. Two months later, she discovered she was pregnant, which was problematic as she had yet to sleep with her fiancé. The engagement was called off, her family publicly disgraced, and her father sent her packing to Dalkey and forced her to marry my father lest she be completely disinherited. They married and immigrated to the states, my maternal grandfather having used his connections to find him a position with Exxon, working on an oil rig off the coast of New Orleans.”

I paused, and Tom reached over to the mini-fridge and handed me a bottle of water, which I cracked open and drank greedily.

“Thanks. She hated New Orleans, but her narcissistic personality disorder made her want to not only fit in, but stand out. Her father paid for the trip over and got them set up in a two bedroom apartment, but after that he cut her off completely. Even more than New Orleans itself, she hated being ‘poor’ in New Orleans. She often spent all the funds designated for bills on clothes, which meant my father was never around, because in addition to his week-long shifts he worked overtime on the weekends to make up for her expenditures. She desperately wanted to live in the Garden District, but settled for being a big fish in a little pond, working her magic to impress the women who resided near our apartment building, even adopting a southern accent so she could pretend to be native to the area. When I came early on Halloween, she was thrilled that she’d had a little girl and began habitually dressing me up and showing me off to all her new friends, but that didn’t last long. One of the first things I remember is her combing my hair roughly as she tried using some smelly product to straighten it, telling me she wished it was red like my father’s and straight like hers, instead of this dingy brown bird’s nest of unattractive curls. I couldn’t have been more than three.”

I swallowed, hard. “I wasn’t what she expected, I guess. Puberty began early for me, when I was around eight or so, and I put on some weight, as most girls do. She made fun of me in front of anyone willing to listen, called me fat, forced me to diet and exercise, and told me that she was disappointed I’d turned out to be so ugly, that I embarrassed her and made her look like a terrible mother.”

He cringed, and I saw his hand reach for me, then retract.

“By that time, my father had moved up the ladder at Exxon and was on his way to being an executive, so he was home with us most evenings and weekends instead of being out on the rigs. She’d always been a drinker, but mainly socially. His being around so much seemed to trigger something in her, and just like that, we were living with a full-blown alcoholic. Every day began with a swig from the bottle of vodka she kept on her nightstand, and I rarely saw her without a drink in her hand. She’d rage around the house at all hours, coming into my room in the middle of the night to scream at me for something I’d done that had offended her in some way, sometimes dragging me out of bed to rectify whatever mistake she thought I’d made. My father would try to reason with her, but she’d threaten to divorce him and he’d back off and leave her to her own devices. She was the love of his life, and he would have done anything to keep her. We wound up being asked to leave our apartment building because of all the complaints from the neighbors, and my father found a single family home for us to rent in an attempt to cover it all up. That’s just what people did then, I guess. Keeping up appearances, hiding the truth.”

I got up from my chair. “Sorry, need to use the bathroom.”

After peeing and washing my hands, I splashed some water on my face but refrained from looking in the mirror, afraid of what I’d see staring back at me. He was pacing when I came out, but sat down again as I did.

“In 1988, my maternal grandfather died and my mother inherited a sizable sum of money. She lost herself in the process of buying and remodeling our home in the Garden District and the drinking diminished significantly…at least until she realized that no matter how expensive her clothes were or that we had a live-in housekeeper and a French chef, the women of the neighborhood who’d been there for generations would never accept her as one of their own. When Anne met my father at a Sunday service, my mother suddenly wanted to convert to Catholicism, hoping ties with one of the area’s most famous residents would improve her standing. She changed her mind when she found out that Anne was sober and had no qualms about pushing those around her to live the same lifestyle. The drinking escalated again, and by the time I was thirteen I was spending every moment possible at the New Orleans Public Library, or at Anne’s, or wherever else I could go that wasn’t home.”

Tom offered me another water, which I accepted. I’d been trying to avoid his gaze, but his hand grazed mine as he handed me the bottle and our eyes locked. We stared at each other briefly, then quickly looked away.

“School was a blessing for me in many ways, in spite of the fact that I was teased and bullied frequently. I was smart, weird, and chubby…not exactly a winning combination. By the time I entered high school, I started to come into my own and stand up for myself amongst my peers, but at home I was still meek, always walking on eggshells. If I got a ninety-nine on a test, she wanted to know why it wasn’t a hundred. If I got an A, why wasn’t it an A+? Nothing I did was good enough. Ever. No matter how hard I tried, there was no pleasing her. I started hiding out in my room after I conned our chef into helping me put a slide bolt on the inside of the door. That was my sanctuary, where I read, I drew, I danced, and I sang. For my sixteenth birthday I asked for a computer instead of a car, and it changed my life. I tore it apart and put it back together again, learned everything about it, inside and out. It became my passion, and knowing that I could do something that not many others could was such a powerful feeling. The real turning point came at the start my senior year when I was awarded the full scholarship to NYIT. She was adamant that no daughter of hers was going to go away to school in New York City and study such a stupid subject that was meant for men. It was the first time I lost my shit on her, and the first time that my father backed me up. She refused to contribute any money, so he sold some of his Exxon stock and bought me an apartment in Manhattan so I wouldn’t have to stay in a dorm. Or, I should say, my apartment. Because I still live in it. Sometimes.”

I smiled sadly, remembering how proud he’d been of me, and so happy that he’d been able to help me on the path to making my own way in the world. “College was…amazing. I was away from my mother, spending every day learning in the company of people who were like…me. I put on my ‘freshman fifteen’ and then some, but no one cared. We were all nerds, and what was inside was far more intriguing than what was on the outside. I met Erik Lund in my Comp Sci I class, and over the course of the first semester we became very good friends, taking in all that New York had to offer when we weren’t delving into the wonder that was the World Wide Web. It was 1995, and the hacking scene was exploding…god, we had so much fun trying to crack codes and get in through back doors, even if all we wound up finding was someone’s resume. It was if a new world had been created, one that belonged solely to us. Over Christmas break, I came to the stunning realization that I’d developed feelings for him, and when class was back in session he confessed that he felt the same way. We fell in love, a little bit at a time. I invited him back to New Orleans for spring break, and he couldn’t wait to see where I’d grown up. I guess I’d pushed all thoughts of my mother out of my mind, forgetting what she was capable of. From the moment he walked into the house she began criticizing everything about him. He was stocky, his hairline already receding, and, like me, he didn’t really give a remote shit about what he wore. And I thought everything about him was…beautiful. Right in front of him, she told me that even an ugly fat girl like me could do better. We left immediately and spent the rest of the week in my apartment in the city, slept together for the first time, and he officially moved in three weeks later. I took a summer class so I wouldn’t have to go home, but I’d agreed to be a bridesmaid for a close high school friend who was getting married over Labor Day weekend, so I had to fly back for the wedding. I wanted Erik to come with me, but my mother would be in attendance and I didn’t want to subject him to her insanity again, so he went back home to upstate New York to spend time with his family instead.”

I could feel my heart starting to race, and I closed my eyes and bit my lip, trying to calm myself down.

“I got a phone call the day after the wedding from one of Erik’s friends. He’d been killed in a car accident the night before, hit by a drunk driver doing eighty miles an hour in a forty-five mile an hour zone who crossed over the middle line.”

My mind took me back to that moment, how I’d said no, that can’t be right, it must be a mistake, how I’d fallen to the floor as the truth sank in, wishing I’d died with him. And later, how my mother had smirked when I told her the news.  

“I flew to New York for his funeral, and two weeks later I found out I was pregnant. My mother tried to convince me to have an abortion, but I refused. It was the last thing that remained of him, a living piece of himself he’d left behind for me. His legacy. I decided to quit school, stay in New Orleans and raise the baby on my own. A few days later, I miscarried.”

Tom sniffled, and I looked up to see tears flowing, his hands gripping the armrests as he fought to stay in his seat. I wanted him to hold me, more than anything else. But I just…couldn’t.

“My heart was broken. I felt like there was no point to anything anymore, and that’s when I started drinking. First, I snuck booze from my mother’s stash. Then I had a fake ID made and started going out to bars every night, staying past close and staggering home to sleep the day away. I wasn’t eating, so I lost a ton of weight. My mother made it a point to compliment me on how thin I’d gotten. During Mardi Gras of 1997, I met Will Bonaventura. He had long, dark curly hair, dark brown eyes…Spanish creole, going back three generations. I was drunk and singing karaoke, and after he heard me he asked me if I wanted to sing with his band. He played lead guitar, and I figured it was a great excuse to party. You know, ‘hey, I’m not a drunk, I’m an artist’. I moved into his shitty apartment and continued my binging. That’s really all we had in common…partying. That and music. One weekend we decided to drive to Las Vegas for a Battle of the Bands, and I drank so much I blacked out and woke up with a ring on my finger and a photo of us with the Elvis impersonator who’d married us. He said he remembered everything that had happened, that I said I’d loved him, but it was all…blank…for me. Once we got back to New Orleans and he met my family the abuse started. Just verbal initially, constantly belittling me, accusing me of cheating, calling me a slut, telling me he was going to find someone better. My solution was to drink more. I started when I opened my eyes and didn’t stop until they closed. Time just passed, and I…slipped away. More than a year had gone by when he finally hit me. It was early in the morning so I wasn’t totally blotto yet, and got in his face after he started his shit and told him that usually people who accuse their partners of cheating are the ones who are being unfaithful, and he punched me in the face and called me a worthless whore.”

I watched Tom’s grip tighten, and thought he was going to rip the armrest right off the chair.

“I hit him in the head with a rum bottle, and he left for a few days. He never touched me again, for any reason. A month or two later, my father came over to the apartment. He told me I needed to stop drinking, that I had my whole life ahead of me and that he didn’t want me to wind up like my mother, that I needed to get away from her and New Orleans, that I was brilliant and I had to go out and make my life mean something. He apologized for letting his love for my mother blind him for all those years as to how much she hurt me. We embraced, and he was gone as quickly as he’d come. The next morning Anne called me to tell me that he’d killed himself. My mother found him in his study. He’d shot himself in the head with a revolver.”

Tom opened his mouth and started to speak, but I held up my hand to silence him. I was almost there, almost done.

“I haven’t taken another drink since that day. After the funeral, Will was nowhere to be found. My father had left me all of his remaining Exxon stock, which of course pissed my mother off to no end, and I decided to cash it in and move back to New York a week after we buried him. I already had a place to live rent free, and I wouldn’t need to worry about money for a while. I packed up what I wanted to bring with me, which didn’t even fill an entire suitcase, and headed over to what was now my mother’s house to confront her about being such an evil cunt my entire life before I left. When I got there, the door was unlocked, so I went inside. I could hear her moaning and screaming and chanting ‘oh god yes, yes, harder, harder’ and it was like someone flipped a switch and I saw red. I ran up the marble staircase and could see that the door to their…her bedroom was open and as I got closer I yelled ‘He hasn’t even been dead for two weeks and you’re already fucking someone else you enormous piece of shit?!’. When I stepped into the room, there was Will, naked and on top of her. He rolled off, grinned at me, and she said in her stupid fucking fake southern accent ‘Actually, we’ve been fucking for months already. See, Maude, that’s the thing about women like you. Sure, y’all might manage to get yourself a man, and hell, he might even stick around for a little while, but you’ll never be able to hang on to him. They’ll always leave you the second they find someone prettier. And thinner. Always.’. That was the last thing she ever said to me. I left town, and I found out from Anne that she’d told my father she was having an affair, was in love with Will and wanted a divorce, which is why he killed himself…he’d mailed his suicide note to Anne because he knew if he left it at the house, my mother would have made it disappear. I filed for divorce immediately, and as soon as it was final two months later, in August of 1998, Will married my mother. I didn’t know it until last night, but they divorced in 2007, which is why I’m the only remaining next of kin.”

I took a deep breath. “I guess the thing that sticks out most is that I have not a single memory of her touching me, holding me, or telling me that she loved me, unless someone else was watching. I was just a pawn for her, an object, just another thing to use to get what she wanted. And when that didn’t work any longer, she focused all of her anger on me, blaming me for everything that had gone wrong in her life, and what she then wanted more than anything else was to see me fail. Over and over again.”

I raised my hands, palms up. “So, there you have it. That’s who I am, what I am. The progeny of a narcissistic alcoholic and her love blinded enabler who’s already been pregnant, married and divorced. Used goods, broken down, badly damaged, always waiting to be replaced. Reasonably acceptable for fucking, but thoroughly unsuitable for an actual relationship.”

As I stood, he leapt up from his chair and tried to embrace me. I shook my head, put my hands on his chest and pushed him away gently, then went to sit back on the bench. He sat back down, head in his hands, sobbing again. I took out my iPod, put in my earbuds, cranked up the volume and leaned my head on the window. I stared blankly out at the sky, my self-imposed isolation the only thing preventing me from losing control of myself and falling apart. Which I refused to do. Because it was the only thing I had left to hold onto.

********************************** There was darkness, and I felt arms reach around me, hands on my lower back and below, fumbling, searching. They found what they were looking for, and I felt something slide along my back and then up around my waist. A strong scent hit my nostrils, one I recognized but couldn’t place. I inhaled again. Tom. A click from down near my belly button. I tried to open my eyes, but the lids were just too heavy. Then, the feel of something soft and warm being pulled up over me as I drifted away.

A loud voice saying ‘We’re now approaching MSY, landing in ten.’ jarred me fully awake, my eyes flying open. I was unsure of where I was for a brief span, but then everything came flooding back at once. I looked around in a panic. A pillow had been placed between my head and the window, and a blanket covered everything but my feet. I pushed it off me, then glanced to my right and saw my iPod and earbuds resting next to my messenger bag, along with a bag of Lindor truffles. Then my eyes found Tom, seated in the chair across from me. As I studied his face, his shirt, his hands, his knees, all of him, a cyclone of emotions overwhelmed me and I realized that I was no longer numb.

The left corner of his mouth turned up in a sad half-smile. “Hope you don’t mind that I took your headphones out and gave you a pillow and blanket. You fell asleep almost immediately, and I figured you needed the rest and didn’t want the music to awaken you, or for you to wind up with a stiff neck, or be cold. And I apologize for touching you without your permission when I buckled you in…the pilot announced…”

And just like that, I saw him again. Tom. He knew everything, and he still cared for me.  

I shook my head, interrupting him. “It’s all fine. Thank you.” I pointed at the blanket and pillow. “For these.” Then at the truffles. “For those.” Then waved my hands and ran my gaze around the cockpit. “And this.” My eyes met his. “And for wanting to be here. And for listening.” I pointed at the truffles again. “But especially for those.”

He laughed softly, and I smiled, then bit my lower lip.

“Tom, how did you know I’d still be at the airport?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“What was your plan if I hadn’t been there?”

He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Take the jet myself and wait for you to arrive at Louis Armstrong.”

“I might not have gotten there for another day. Or two.”

“I had no intentions of ever leaving that airport without you by my side.”

What I wanted to do, what I needed to do about last night became abundantly clear to me.

“Did you book a room yet?”

He looked down briefly, then back up at me, face red. “Yes. At the Prytania Park Hotel. I chose a double queen, in case you preferred to not sleep with…to have your own bed. They’re separate, one on the main floor and the other up a spiral staircase so you’ll have…”

I interrupted him again. “How about a car?”

“Yes. A rental. I won’t know what make and model until we get there.”

“Thanks for taking care of it all. After we land, I’d like to go directly to Passages Hospice and get…that…over with. Once we’re checked in to the hotel, there’s something I want you to do.”

His jaw twitched, then he nodded. “Anything.”

“I want you to tell me why. Why you reacted the way you did after we ran into Norman. Why you got so drunk. Why you said those things to me. And, most importantly, I want you to tell me why it is that your life became so dark.”

He paled, folded himself in half, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. After a few moments he sat up and ran his hands through his hair, then began touching his neck. He was breathing through his mouth, fear in his eyes.

“Maude. I…I..” He shook his head. “I’m afraid if I tell you, I may lose you.”

I put my hand on his knee, and he looked frantically back and forth from my hand to my face, shocked at my touch.

“Thomas, you’re definitely going to lose me if you don’t tell me.”

As the jet touched down I removed my hand. He was looking down, eyes darting to and fro. The cabin door opened, the steps lowered. I unbuckled my seat belt, put my iPod and the truffles in my messenger bag, then headed for the door. Tom followed.

As I stepped outside, the oppressive humidity and smells of the city washed over me, drowning me in memories. I proceeded down the stairs, and as my feet made contact with the tarmac it hit me that I was…back. In the place I’d vowed to never be again. The place that had taken from me so much more than anyone should ever have to give. The place where I’d lost everything. I could feel the panic rising, and as I lifted my hand to place it on my chest in an attempt to calm down, Tom took it in his. I stared straight ahead as our fingers intertwined, then stepped forward as he squeezed gently. I squeezed back, and we slowly made our way toward the gates, the pilot pulling our luggage on a cart behind us.

[5thinvictus]

The Strain 4x05: A Write Up

Disclaimer:  The point of this is not to belittle or undermine anyone else’s interpretation or headcanon of the episode.  The point of this is simply to get it off my chest.  This is in no way an attack or a troll.  It’s simply what I do after episodes, I just normally attach it with GIFs.

As MANY people in this fandom already know ... I’ve never been a Tasa shipper, but I accepted the relationship as a part of Quinlan’s life which allowed him to grow and feel.

I admit, full-heartedly, that The Strain is no longer a good TV show, but until now it was a HELL of a guilty pleasure. I watched it despite some part of myself understanding that it was bad, because I dug some of the characters and actors. I spent a LOT OF TIME pushing the show and creating content for it. I even spent nearly all of my time at SDCC doing so, knowing it wasn’t critically acclaimed or anything. However, this past episode wasn’t a guilty pleasure. This past episode, the creators actually insulted my intelligence a bit.

From the truck action (there were a few cool bits, but i.e. Quinlan falling to the truck for SEVERAL seconds, as the strigoi looks CONFUSED at him before getting cut in half. The wire was REALLY high up. It would have been so much cooler if Q had ducked under it at the perfect time) to the flashbacks to the unnecessary meandering dialogue/romance with Eph and his new lady friend (did we need that scene at all? There are only 5 episodes left and … what was the point of it all?), to Eph just letting that woman go to become the Master and know his location ... the writing and direction in this episode was scattered all over the place.  ಠ_ಠ

I could likely go on for pages about the rest of the episode, but I’m not going to rant about anything in this post except the flashbacks and their personal impact on me.

Quinlan: out of Character? Perhaps ... Perhaps not.

The Strain is a bit notorious for not being able to keep any of their own characters straight. I think this might be because of the wide range of writers and I know this happens on TV shows because of that fact, but they flip-flop back in forth for everyone, with the only exceptions being Abraham and possibly Mr. Quinlan. Until now.

The flashbacks.

Very simply put, I would have accepted this all better if he was younger. That’s the crux of my problem with it. Not Louisa. Not that Louisa isn’t Tasa. Not that they’ve, once again, changed canon. I’ve read some arguments for this behavior that conjecture he was just "curious" and he had talked about being “curious” in Rome two thousand years prior. But that was when he was very young. If you follow the canon timeline, he was in his late teens or early 20s in that scene.

That was when he was STILL trying to figure out humans. In this scene, he is 1848 years old (1888 A.D. - 40 A.D.). Take a moment to fathom that number. 1848 years old. If human’s average lifespan is around 70 … that is a little more than 26 lifetimes. At this point in the story, he has lived 26 lifetimes. He has traveled the world, leading the life of a demigod undead hunter, integrating with societies all over. He was a gladiator, which meant he was likely used for sexual purposes. He would not be as curious as a schoolboy, or confused by a woman painting his face. Makeup is not a new invention. Over 1848 years, it’s ludicrous to think that he hasn’t TRIED to paint the strigoi out of himself before.

What I find the most hard to swallow about this scene is not that they replaced Tasa with Louisa or that they gave him a woman at all. I don’t care either way. It is that he acted like a child for most of the flashback. When the little girl ran in and met him, he acted like he’d never met a child before … Wait what?

So, if they had done this "love story" in Rome or sometime around that part of his past, I would have actually bought into it, because he was still on his first lifetime and he was still trusting, and curious, and childish, and … naive.

This leads me back to my headcanon about it. Louisa and her daughter remind him of Tasa and Sura, so he bought into the "romance," or the “idea” of it. He’s been alone for a long time and he’s grown tired and this woman pops out of nowhere and offers him a chance to revisit what he had lost so long ago, then maybe he would be more open to … moving in with her after a couple of days / weeks? (I agree with @theforgottensheikah on this. I fully understand they are rushed, but some kind of montage would have made it seem like more time had passed? The quickness was terribly OoC).

Expectation vs. Execution: The scene itself

Intimacy + Bonding vs. Strange Stinger Kink + Porno Moans

IMHO, this was weird. He’s feeding on her. There’s no kiss, there’s no intimacy, there’s no bonding.

They could have made that scene very sexy and made the audience feel the emotion that was supposedly there (even with the unbelievable Quinlan makeup) by having something like:

Forehead or nose touches (I fucking love these, sorry).

Quinlan refusing at first, telling her he didn’t want to hurt her, expressing concern for her.

Kissing … good lord, some kind of kissing.

Twitching and rattling with excitement over just the possibility of touching her.

I’m not daft or a fool. I get what they were trying to convey, but it fell flat. I’m not a crazy fangirl because I was more than open to see this. I DIDN’T MISS THE POINT AT ALL. But I wanted to see some intimacy. I wanted to see how Rupert would convey that intimacy. I was excited to possibly see Quinlan kissing someone.

IT … FELL … FLAT and then they made it weird.

He drinks her. Hmmm. To him, humans are food. To him, humans have always been food. 1848 years of food food food. I get that she’s got the kink and he conforms to it, but that’s not his kink He does what she asks but I’ve never been a huge vampire/blood play fan because … You like a good steak, but that doesn’t mean you want to fuck the cow, and if you are fucking the cow, doesn’t mean you are eating them at the same time. This disappointed me because it’s an incredibly clichéd vampire trope and I would hope that someone like Quinlan would be beyond it, especially at his age.

Also, I want to point out something particularly poignant here. Given how he reacted to the Master reminding him of Ancharia in 2x07, her death is still very much an open wound. So, I would think that being encouraged to drink from Louisa would be uncomfortable for him, to say the least. Since the Master forced him to drink the last known human that he cared for to survive, this scenario should actually be quite traumatic to him.

And, why would he want to drink someone he loves, especially after she just told him he was more beautiful as a human than a strigoi?  Isn’t that confusing?  She just painted him up like a human and then told him to drink her like a strigoi.  I digress ...

When I watched this part of the episode, I wasn’t crying, I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t even cringing. When I watched this part of the episode, I started laughing. This is no exaggeration. Even my husband asked me what I was ‘cackling’ about because these flashbacks played as if I was watching them re-enact a bad fanfiction. After it was over, I was more embarrassed and a bit creeped out about being a fan than angry or even disappointed.

What ran through my head was:

Oh good god. Is this what the show runners think of us?

Someone who accepts him in all of his unique beauty vs. Someone who tells him he needs to be human to be beautiful

I don’t need to touch on this subject as many already have. Instead, I’ll let Guillermo del Toro speak for all of us:

Well, I have said this in the past, so I hope i don’t bore you by repeating it, but I think that we live or die under the tyranny of perfection. Socially, we are pushed towards being perfect. Physically, beautiful to conform to standards that are cruel and uncommon, to behave and lead our lives in a certain way, to demonstrate to the world that we are happy and healthy and all full of sunshine. We are told to always smile and never sweat, by multiple commercials of shampoo or beer.

And I feel that the most achievable goal of our lives is to have the freedom that imperfection gives us.

And there is no better patron saint of imperfection than a monster.

We will try really hard to be angels, but I think that a balanced, sane life is to accept the monstrosity in ourselves and others as part of what being human is. Imperfection, the acceptance of imperfection, leads to tolerance and liberates us from social models that I find horrible and oppressive.

— Guillermo del Toro, on why he has always been intrigued by monsters

Passive vs. Submissive vs. Dominant

Quinlan was uncharacteristically passive in this episode. HE WAS THE SEXY LAMP THIS TIME. From Ancharia to Rome to modern day, he’s never been this passive. Even when he was working with Abe, he was still contributing and arguing.

This breaks the continuity of his characterization.

Aside

For those comparing him to Dracula AND/OR Lestat and using that as a basis for belittling others into loving what they saw: I didn’t pick Mr. Quinlan because he reminded me of other critically acclaimed vampires.  I picked Mr. Quinlan as my favorite fictional character because he was uniquely interesting and beautiful.

I chose him because of how intriguing and new he looked, how he acted and how Mr. Penry-Jones portrayed him.  I picked him because he was different than any other vampire/dhampir/nephilim I had ever seen.  Comparing what they did to him with other vampires, regardless of how I feel about those other character, actually cheapens his uniqueness for me.

Also, Gary Oldman was a shapeshifter in that movie and thus, it was well within my suspension of disbelief that he could change the contours of his face to look entirely human.

Now ... Understanding Your Fanbase

Part of the reason I, and many more fans, like the character of Quinlan is because he doesn’t conform to modern beauty standards. I loved that he wasn’t your average handsome, makeup-laden (cough - Twilight) vampire hunk. I loved that he was unique and complex. They took one of the most important aspects of his character and they wanted us to buy into a rushed and botched romance with a woman who wanted to fundamentally change him. Tasa fan or not, it’s very clear why this bothered people.

Would you and SHOULD YOU be with someone who convinced you that you needed to get plastic surgery?  I guess, since this is made by ‘Hollywood’, then this is an acceptable thing in that space?

In Conclusion: 4x05

No, we did not miss the point. No, we aren’t being stupid fangirls who don’t want to share Quinlan. The fact is, we just aren’t that gullible. Many of the people in this fandom have written their own fics, whether it be explicit or not, whether it be with an original character or Tasa or another canon character.

An impressive amount of us have actually sat down and put pen to paper in an attempt to characterize Quinlan. This is a difficult thing to do, because we like to think that he’s incredibly complex and mysterious. But, everyone is free to have their own interpretation of him.

Mini rant: Why does The Strain always make their female characters so sexually aggressive?  From Nora ripping Eph’s clothes off in the middle of an episode, to Anya being the one to invite Gus into her warm bosom, to Dutch VERY AGGRESSIVELY seducing both Fet and Eph, to Louisa begging for it?  Is this really the only type of woman that exist in this world?

In Further Conclusion: Quinlan and The Strain Fandom

I’ve never been a superfan of anything in my life and, while it has been a phenomenally creative outlet, the toxicity and ugliness of the current fandom makes me realize that I’ve got to get back to being an adult now. At the end of the day, it’s just any old terrible TV show and they’ve decided to remove the one thing that was inspiring me to continue watching and the bragging that it’s only going to get worse only tires me more.

It’s absolutely no secret that if the Strain didn’t have Quinlan in it, I would have stopped watching it halfway through season 3. It was all over the place, from the plot holes, strange character direction, and … of course … the treatment of women.

On that note, allow me a tiny tangent.  Something has seemed significantly off about the Strain since it came back together to film Season 4. Speculation on the cause of this tepidness shown from the creators, crew, and actors has driven mad speculation throughout the remaining members of the dwindling fandom.

What was going on that no one wanted to say anything? Was it that good that they didn’t want to spoil anything or … was it that bad that people are actually embarrassed about their contractual involvement? Why wasn’t the cast promoting it very much anymore? Why wasn’t the social media team themselves promoting it very much? Why weren’t there any teasers or anything to drive anticipation. And … most importantly … where the fuck did Guillermo del Toro go?!?

While we’re desperate to know why everything seemingly fizzled out, as just ‘simple fans’ who’s opinions don’t matter, we will never be privy to such information. If anyone has any insight into this and they’d like to share with me as a parting gift, please do so. It would be a private conversation.

I’ve been putting far too much passion into promoting and generating content for this show and after the atrocity that was the last episode (and the manner in which people reacted to criticism of the episode), I’ll be taking an indefinite hiatus from further involvement in this fandom. (Indefinite: lasting for an unknown or unstated length of time.) After all, I’m just a ‘simple fan’, and the only way that I can really show my disdain for the misdirection is by boycotting further direct involvement in the fandom.

WAIT! WAIT! WHAT ABOUT THE GODDAMN FIC!?!

。゜゜(´Ｏ｀)°゜。

I do not regret the time I’ve put into this as it gave me the confidence to reach beyond what I thought I was capable of and it drove me to start writing finally. I don’t even regret that the Strain was terrible in Season 3, because the best fanfic actually comes out of terrible shows (for obvious reasons). And regardless of what happens next in the show (which I am politely declining to watch further), no one can EVER take away the headcanon that I’ve created for myself and my version of Quinlan. Overall, I am incredibly proud of the characters that I built and the fandom that I have for my own interpretation.

With that being said, the latest episode was amazingly uninspiring and it kinda murdered my muse a bit. I will see what I can do about that. I promise. And if there is enough interest in me continuing it, I will.

Now, my fierce and lovely fandom … prepare yourselves for one final and epic commission for Straining for Originality. I’d wanted to wait until the chapter, but fuck it all …

Gif by @quintustheinvictus

[moviegroovies]

just realized i never wrote that interview with the vampire post i promised y’all, so here we go

first of all! i love it. just want to get that out there. like, 10/10 stars, would watch again, have watched again, almost twice, kind of planned to watch for a sort of fourth time tonight, might not. idk. it’s great!! it’s great both as a movie (i watched the movie first like a blasphemer) and as an adaptation of the book. actually, it’s a GREAT movie adaptation of that book, probably one of the best jobs i’ve ever seen of adapting a book into a screenplay and then getting it on film. as i said, i read the book after i watched the movie, and pretty much everything was adapted directly, even significant amounts of dialogue, to the point that it felt sort of like a novelization, if novelizations were perfect.

this is what i WISH novelizations were, actually. like, using it as an example isn’t fair because it was written before the movie, but as the kind of loser who has read novelizations (i payed. like 40 dollars for a ghostbusters one. and then like 2 bucks for a Different ghostbusters one which i haven’t read yet but don’t have high hopes for), this was what i always want them to be like. same plot, lots of the same dialogue (i HATE novelizations that try to make it their own by changing the dialogue slightly. i was reading that ghostbusters one and i don’t even think i had watched ghostbusters recently but i know the lines well enough that it threw me the fuck off when the author changed them. like if someone came into your house and moved all your furniture slightly to the left? that was what it felt like), but a few things that didn’t happen in the movie, too. deeper characterization, the kind of worldbuilding/character building you can’t really do in a limited time frame on screen. getting into the charater’s thoughts. using nuance. novelizations could totally be this! or at least i wish they were! basically what i’m saying is stay tuned for my unlicensed nuclear accelerator novelization of ghostbusters going up on this blog coming soon. 

anyway, a thing i liked about it as an adaptation of the book was that it was always true to what anne wrote (and i think she did at least part of the script, although i heard the director did heavy edits on it), but there were some lines that weren’t in the book that improved the scenes imo! like the little exchange in the theater of vampires where louis is commenting on the vampires pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires, and claudia responds “how avant garde.” it serves both to clear up what’s going on (since we don’t have the benefit of louis’ narration at this point in the movie) and to humanize them a little. most of the added dialogue did that, and that’s something i really like--especially that line as louis watches new orleans burn and thinks that lestat deserves his revenge. Loved that. and him getting to see the sunrise again through film? oof!!!! honestly i liked the ending of the movie more than i did the book, which makes me feel blasphemous. it seems like louis is just doing... better in the movie. i don’t want to give too many spoilers or anything, but in the book he ends up completely detached, and never gets that gay power moment of telling armand he’s not going to give up his pain and then leaving him, so What’s The Point. on a more positive note, another thing i liked was the “you used to eat rats?” exchange. that was a much needed cute family moment.

oh! and they put some stuff from the vampire lestat into this movie, too, which, again, i liked, or at least, i like now that i know that’s what was happening. lestat being able to read minds and louis not being able to. lestat only wanting to drink the blood of evil doers. a lot of the added stuff helped make lestat more sympathetic, which was a definite necessity. actually, tom cruise acted the hell out of that role, which was surprising. not really that he could act (i’ve seen things i liked him in) but that he could be lestat, a flamboyant vampire prettyboy. wasn’t tom cruise the one who punched someone for implying he was gay? idk. 

actually, i was really surprised how gay this movie was for a movie starring tom cruise and brad fucking pitt. like, tell me before i watched it that those two were the stars and i would have been expecting (i was kind of expecting) the most no-homo rendition of the movie possible. and yeah, they toned it down a little from the book... but not that much. louis’ narration is a lot less overtly homo than lestat’s anyway, and brad pitt really fucking Nailed being louis. 

(which i find hilarious, because while tom cruise apparently got really into the vampire chronicles while they were filming this and had all these opinions in like movie promoting interviews about how lestat was actually a good dude, and loved louis (smthn along those lines i skimmed the shit about this), which really came through in his characterization of lestat, brad read like, one chapter of the book and lost interest. i loved the book, myself, but what a fucking icon.) 

that almost-kiss with armand at the end? also iconic. 

really, the only sexual stuff they actually tuned down was the louis/claudia shit, which i’m all fucking for. like, claudia is a grown woman, but it’s still so awk in the book whenever she’s coming onto louis, especially considering how often he reaffirms that she’s his daughter. even worse when he comments on her sensuality, or when she kisses him.... ick. plus, kirsten WASN’T a grown woman, so that would have been really nasty if they kept it.

oh and christian slater!!! i didn’t know he was in this until i started watching it, and i was very excited to see him. that’s my heathers love talking. i was talking to my dad after i saw it and apparently river phoenix was supposed to play daniel before he died, and my dad thought he would have been a lot better for the role i guess, but personally i think slater really picked up the part. he also didn’t shy away from being a little homoerotic, especially toward the end. he got the part right. plus, heathers. 

and i can’t gush about the actors without talking about kirsten dunst. she was 11 when she was in this (apparently her parents wouldn’t let her actually watch the movie when it came out, which, ha), but she absolutely conquered the part of the 60 year old woman in a child’s body. there were times when i actually forgot that she was just an eleven year old, because she was that good. the scene with the body in her bed isn’t in the book (not quite, although something else happens with claudia and leaving bodies around), and it’s one of the best in the movie imo. you can see lestat doting on her but not understanding her, you can tell why she would resent him, you can see her resentment and before she even snaps at him you can see that she’s an adult woman stuck inside a child (like that villain from batman the animated series--did anyone else think of that?), pissed off that she wants to be treated like the grown person she is but continues to be given dolls. also, there was some peak murder family moments in that scene, with louis standing there lowkey horrified. we never got the exchange with claudia telling louis that she’s going to kill lestat and him telling her Do Not Do This Thing, unfortunately, which was something i liked more from the book, but his concern and confusion in this scene kind of speak to that. you can especially tell that he still hasn’t realized that she’s grown--he’s seeing her the same way lestat is. aww.

so, i read the book and watched the movie in pretty quick succession, and i’m writing this a day after finishing the book and a few hours after my kind-of rewatch and about a week after the last time i saw it all the way through. my memory of both being pretty strong rn, there are only a very few things that i can think of which changed from book to movie outside of things necessary to take it to the screen and keep the movie from being like twelve hours. claudia is necessarily aged up from 5 to 11--it’s just practical, a 5 year old would not nearly have had the range that kirsten did for this. armand is changed from looking like a 17 year old redhead to antonio banderas (is it bad that i’m so uncultured that before this i only knew him as the dad from spy kids?), age 34, in a Really Bad black wig. (in general i’m all for banderas in the role, and he definitely acted it well, but what the FUCK was that costuming. why does his hair look like that. i digress but they did him dirty, especially considering how much Better everyone else looks as a vampire.) the subplot with lestat’s blind father living with him and louis at first is cut, which is kind of a shame imo. i really liked how on edge lestat was when begging louis to kill him (not as bad in context), how it kind of breaks the mask lestat tries to wear and shows that he’s confused and vulnerable and he really just doesn’t know much about being a vampire--that “and why should i know!” outbreak they put in did a good job of being the movie’s counterpart to that scene, however. the ending is changed a bit, altho i’ll leave the spoilers of how exactly up to your imagination. some things should stay sacred, right?

one thing i’m REALLY glad they added was louis freeing the slaves on his plantation.  i think it was a nasty choice on behalf of anne rice to write her sympathetic, thoughtful protagonist as a slave owner in the first place, especially one who by his own admission didn’t see slaves as people for a long time, and it’s unfortunate to me that it had to be adapted in that way (although i don’t think ignoring that aspect entirely would have been a better movie solution), but the slaves were at least made free men before louis moved to new orleans. in the book, louis still burns the house, but he doesn’t free the people enslaved there, and he never reflects on that. fucked up if true, i guess. i blame mostly anne for that whole thing.

ooo, that scene with lestat killing the two prostitutes was good. it’s pretty much adapted word for word from the book, but the book doesn’t have the visual of tom cruise leaping over the coffin to sit on it while she’s in it, and that was one of the sexiest scenes i can remember. so.

just remembered at the last moment that i liked the “i’m going to give you the choice i never had” thing, both because it gives a little hint of lestat background (and makes him more sympathetic/adds to the whole breaking the mask thing that i like) and because they did a Very fucking good callback with it at the end.

there’s probably more about that movie that i have Opinions on, but when i remember them i’ll just have to make another post, ig. i will say tho? that last scene they added is so FUCKING good. cue up sympathy for the devil on my way out, will you?