#witness-fee-collection

[processserverscarolinas]

Effective Strategies for Witness Fee Collection

https://processserverscarolinas.com/ - When you need to ensure that witnesses comply with subpoenas and receive their statutory fees, we’re here to assist. We provide advance witness fee checks to ensure that your witnesses are paid on time, every time while reducing your administrative burden. Our professional team ensures that all legal requirements are met, providing you peace of mind and allowing you to focus on your core legal proceedings.

[naderjenainah]

Urgent Appeal for Help: Support My Family's Escape from Gaza

Donation Link ( https://gofund.me/972965e7 )

Hi, my name is Nader Jenanah, a Palestinian sales trainer, and I'm reaching out for support to get 11 of my family members out of Gaza: Hatem, Daloma, Loai, Walaa, Nader, Ahmed, Wasem, Nasem, Rodayna, Lojin, and Sanad. They've endured treacherous conditions and unimaginable hardship for nearly five months. Every day that they remain in Gaza, they face the terrifying reality of not surviving the next bombing. As conditions worsen and their lives are threatened daily, we have managed to raise nearly $5,741 so far, but we urgently need more support.

Despite the unrelenting bombardment and devastation, my family has embodied resilience and strength in the face of these hardships. Their home was completely destroyed, forcing them to relocate to southern Gaza with only the clothes on their backs. They are suffering from hunger, no clean water, no electricity, no internet, and insufficient medical care since the beginning of October. They have witnessed destruction and death all around them, heard the constant explosions of bombs day and night, been exposed to white phosphorus, and lost everything they own. The emotional and psychological toll is indescribable.

I am raising funds to help them escape these disastrous conditions and relocate to a safer place outside of Gaza, away from imminent danger. The cost to leave Gaza is about $5000+ per person, and we need to pay the exit fees by the end of March due to upcoming holidays and vacations. Our goal is to collect between $50,000 and $60,000 for the exit fees and an additional $12,000 to cover living expenses in Egypt for at least six months. Your donations are crucial for providing my family with a chance to survive and rebuild their lives in a safer environment.

[artwithoutblood]

ART WITHOUT BLOOD DAY 0 IS NOW ACCESSIBLE TO THE PUBLIC.

An entire remake and rewrite of the original demo, taking place entirely in the human gallery.

You are now the Afflicted, gifted to you by the Demon of Delusion. In seven days, the Parasight will consume your body and lays eggs of unblinking eyes in every orifice of your newfound decay. With the help of one of four newfound companions, you can look for a cure, or you can take their offers of demonic enlightenment.

Art Without Blood is a surreal horror visual novel about parasites, birth, and the reincarnation of self. You are an outsider to a new world, and you can never fully adapt.

What is currently available is Day 0. Witness the flesh death of your friend in the empty halls of an art museum, and feel the infection deep in your skin.

This is not a romance game, but it is a love story with Delusion themselves.

The game currently has the following features:

Day 0 of 7, providing context to your new affliction and the people responsible.

18k+ words.

4 eccentric demons who seem pasted into frame. They do not belong to the human world.

15+ CGs and additional illustrations.

Choose your own name + pronouns.

The future game hopes to have:

Day 1 for free, containing over 30k+ words of story.

Days 2-7 for a one-time fee of $5.

An overhauled UI with a sketchbook aesthetic, including an inventory system and a place to track artwork and endings.

Player choices that matter. Some choices made in days 0 and 1 will affect future days.

To view additional games in the same universe while waiting for updates, you can view this itch.io collection. Additionally, you can access:

The universe's website

Tumblr

Twitter

[judesmoonbeauty]

Fairytale Keeper's Final Assessment SE:

Jude Jazza's POV Chapter 1 ཐིཋྀ

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do NOT post my translations elsewhere. Translation notes are marked with *** Alternate translation is marked with/// Hour Glass Banners Credit: @/natimiles ཐིཋྀ

(The Crown forced a woman who just happened to witness an assassination into an unfair contract.)

(And that Bitch, her Majesty the Queen keeps ordering her to accompany us on missions.)

(And this woman herself, who is so stubborn that she will follow you no matter how many times she gets herself in trouble.)

(I too, tried to test her guts at some point.)

Everything about it is disgusting.

(So I'll end it right here and now.)

Victor: You will spend the day with her. Then sign here at the end of the day.

Victor: What happens if you don't agree?

Victor: At that point, we’ll say goodbye to Kate. Oh, and please keep all of this a secret from Kate.

(I wondered what the hell he was doing calling people out this early in the morning.)

(Fairytale Keeper Continuation Agreement. Ha….stupid.)

Why are you doing this now, don't force this kind of thing on people.

Even if I open my mouth I could be subjected to a number of criticisms though.

I thought to myself as I stared at this shitty consent form.

(Maybe this will put an end to our relationship with that woman.) 

Jude: I kind of know whatcha wanna do.

Jude: But the last condition is unacceptable.

Victor: You mean the part about keeping the existence of this consent form a secret from her?

Jude: I don't like sneaking around behind peoples backs without lettin’ ‘em know that they're involved.

Jude: Hey, Victor. I gave ya information and helped Crown once, right?

Jude: Ya haven't paid my information fee yet.

Victor: No way! I gave exactly what you asked for, because you're scary.

Jude: I'm still owed for the interest. But that's all right, we'll call it even.

Victor: Eh.

Jude: I’ll tell Kate everything. Then I’ll kick her out and that’ll be the end of it.

Victor: Hmm. I thought you'd say that since you're a hot-blooded person.

As I turn my back on Victor, who is grumbling, and start to walk away, a voice comes flying in.

Victor: Jude! Spend a day with Kate and assess her. You must comply with this.

(Ridiculous…..）

I headed to the common room and found Isla and Ellis frolicking in front of the arsenal of weapons that that freak was collecting.

Kate: Ellis, this pistol is shaped so that bullets can’t be inserted into it.

Ellis: It's not a real gun, it's a replica.

Ellis: It used by replacing this gun with the opponent's gun or pretending it is a real gun.

Kate: I see.….It looks like it can be used in many ways!

(What are you talking about?)

Kate: Oh, Jude!

Ellis: Oh, Jude. Welcome home.

Ellis: You were called by Her Majesty and Victor. What were you talking about?

As I tossed down the fairy tale keeper continuation agreement, Kate's eyes followed the text, and then her eyes widened.

Jude: To spend the day with and assess ya.

Kate: You’re the one to sign this consent form, Jude?

Kate: So, as long as you sign the consent form, I can continue, right Jude?

Jude: If ya look at the text, you’ll understand.

Ellis: Why Jude? I guess because he’s the most difficult.

Jude: I don't know. If ya have any complaints, tell that Queen's freak aide.

Kate: Do you want to continue as a Fairytale Keeper? Or quit here and leave Crown?

Ellis: What do you want, Kate?

Kate looks up and says in a clear voice.

Kate: I want to continue being a fairy tale keeper.

Kate: I think there is still a lot I can do with Crown.

(An immediate answer).

When she finished speaking, Kate turned her annoying eyes on me.

Kate: Jude, please sign the agreement for me to continue as a Fairytale Keeper!

Jude: If they had asked for my permission and I had said yes, then I wouldn’t have confronted ya in the first place.

Jude: I'm against your continuing as Fairytale Keeper, and I'm against your staying here.

Kate: I thought you’d say that Jude…..

Kate: But I'll never give up. I'll keep fighting until the end, until I get your signature.

Jude: Really? Do as ya please.

Jude: You’re leaving today anyway. Your playing with gifts of the underworld.***

Ellis: If you're happy to continue as a fairytale keeper, I'll help you.

Kate: Thank you, Ellis!

(Shit…..everyone is siding with Kate.)

Ellis: What would make you want to sign it Jude?

Jude: Think for yourself.

Kate: I think it's important that I'm not a distraction to you and that I'm useful to you Jude.

Ellis: Ah, then.

She took us out into the garden and suggested that we have a sparring match.

I guess she wants to prove that she won't be a hindrance even if she accompanies us on a mission, and that she can fight satisfactorily.

(Pointless…..)

I have no reason or time to look at something like this.

But going out with them is just a way to buy time until the end of this useless day called today.

Ellis: Isla, I’ll be your partner.

Kate: Yes, please don’t hesitate.

Kate: Jude, please watch properly.

Kate and Ellis begin to spar, as expected, it looked like a fixed match, like a cat playing with something.

Jude: What are ya showing me? Ellis, if you're going to go easy on her, don't.

Ellis: But…

Kate: It’s my fault for asking Ellis, who is so kind to me.

Kate: Jude, would you spar against me?

Jude: What, I'm just gonna letcha die, and that'll be the end of it?

Kate: Yep. 

Jude: Hmmm, let's do it then.

Facing Kate, we made eye contact.

Kate randomly threw some punches and tried to land some light kicks, but I dodged them.

Kate: I thought you’d come in with a kicking technique, Jude.

Jude: Eh, is that what you’re watching? But your back is open. 

I go behind Kate and tighten my arms around her. 

Kate: Ah…..***

Instantly, Kate bent down and slipped out of my arms.

(You did it…..)

(But you’re getting too carried away.)

I grabbed Kate’s arm and swept her legs, pinning her to the ground.

Kate: Ah…..***

I glared at Kate at a distance where the tips of our noses touched.

(Ha…….Really, not good.)

(Her eyes.)

[Next] [Master List]

***I'm 99.9% sure this second sentence is incorrect. I have no idea what he meant by this, and I spent forever researching this line. But I assume he meant since she's leaving, so is her playtime with the gifts from the underworld AKA the Crown members. It doesn't have a huge bearing on the story, so take it with a grain of salt.

***When they are sparring, Kate uses 'tsu' つ, (not to be confused with the little っ 'tsu', which is silent.). I changed to this to 'Ah', since I wasn't sure how to translate the noise she was making as Jude was grabbing her both times, and it would look weird with 'tsu' written.

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry]

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: nothing yet but this fic is heathers-inspired, so be warned for the future.

author's note: hi guys, long time lurker first time poster. this is my first time WRITING fic so feel free to leave any critique. also i don't know if i did the cut right lol i have a lot planned and hope you like!

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

Dear Diary,

I should’ve never let Mindy convince me to start this operation. 

Sure, it’s nice to have a steady cash flow, but nothing is more aggravating than everyone and their mother asking for doctor’s notes, report cards, prescriptions, and absence notes when I’m just trying to make it to fourth-period math. When I was ten, I expected to use my Nancy-Drew-inspired skills to unearth hidden staircases or find whistling statues, not help someone’s checked-out mom get a Xanax. 

Yet I forged three (3) permission slips today. Why? Because, next to mysteries, I love the sweet smell of cash in the morning. Yesterday, I added $150 to the rainy day fund. Hopefully, when the weather’s right, I'll be inspired to buy a car and ditch Woodsboro. This town is fucked, alright. Just ask Chad, Mindy, Sam, or–

“Tara! Jesus Christ!” I rub my leg where her sneaker connected. “What’s your damage?”

“Are you done, Shakespeare? You said you’d get lunch with me like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Tara isn’t so great with patience. But, again, I am not so great at keeping track of time. “Yeah, whatever,” I say. “Let’s go see what they’ve cooked up for us today.”

I follow her through the winding path of tables, chairs, and teenage bodies. As we go, I collect bills from outstretched hands and replace them with papers of varying sizes. Tara turns to smirk at me. “What was the event this time?”

“Oh, you know. It’s report card season, and this school is not known for its stellar GPAs.”

“We just have you to thank for keeping it floating below a 3.0,” she teases. “Tell me, Y/N. Does all that extra brainpower of yours get used up matching the way people dot their i’s and cross their t’s?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Sure, Tara. Let’s just get some lunch. I’m seriously starving.”

We grab trays and join the line, aimlessly chattering about the day. Tara’s been my friend since the beginning of the year when I was the only new kid in a town struck by tragedy. We were the only new buyers in Woodsboro over the summer. The rest are still empty, the memory of last year’s Ghostface attacks having driven out long-time residents.

What’s surprising, though, is that the so-called “Woodsboro Four” are still here. Sure, Sam, Tara, Mindy, and Chad mostly stick together, but despite the terrible tragedy that they witnessed, they let me and Annika, Mindy’s current girlfriend, into their lives. I could never measure up to that. I’m just glad they want to be my friend.

I’m taken out of my musings on friendship when I feel someone’s eyes on my back. Without turning around, I recite my usual speech. “$5 for report cards, $10 for prescriptions and absence notes, and an extra $5 for rush fees.”

“Woah, um, tempting, but I’m not looking for any forgery.”

Confused, I turn around to put a face to an unfamiliar voice. The guy’s tall, almost as tall as Chad, with curly brown hair and brown eyes that widen when I meet them. “Sorry, I was just going to get my lunch, but you dropped some cash back here.”

For some reason, my voice is not working. All I can do is look up at him, suddenly captivated by how shy he seems to be. When I pause for a few moments too long, Tara reaches around and takes the money from his hand. “Uh, thanks. I’m sure my friend here appreciates it. Usually she’s more talkative.”

“Oh, god, yeah, sorry,” I finally get out, stumbling over my words. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Suddenly, I think he remembers to be bashful and walks away without another word.

When he’s gone, Tara laughs. “God, Y/N, drool much? I’ve never seen you like that before.”

I flush red. “Whatever, Tara, you’re the worst.” I give her a playful shove and walk off to buy my lunch. I hand the money to the cashier, but all I can think about are those big, brown eyes, and I know I’m fucked.

[goldenrodgal]

andre found something in the tapes, and has brought it to our attention. thank you Lumiose Press for the coverage!

this got a lot more personal than anyone was expecting. as in we are apparently all witnesses to long-running blackmail, personal.

i think we have grounds to have half of upper management fired.

dj ben has updated the fundraiser link to start collecting legal fees! please donate if you can! (www.goldenstrike.org)

[rnn11203]

recently i am mesmerized by the idea of Nishiki/Reina + Yuya/Kazuki.. (most delusional yakzua shipper)(perhaps u get convinced?)

i like to think reina is pretty well acquainted with the boys too, they both run buisnesses very close by and both know kiryu well enough. I’m a big fan of onesided feelings too, which is why i like reina/nishiki so much, but i also kinda think the same could be true with Yuya. I think theres a really interesting dynamic to be explored there with Reina and Yuya. Both are kinda blinded by two attractive men with lofty ambitions and goal oriented personalities, both nishiki and kazuki put on acts for their respective jobs and i think its safe to assume they soften around Reina and Yuya which probably only fuels those two unrequited feelings.

i also like to think nishiki was only acquaintances with Yuya and Kazuki (pre killing dojima) I think Kazuki and Nishiki would get along pretty well though. I like to think Yuya and Reina are friends tho, I can see Kazuki off handly commenting that nishiki should quit being yakuza and come be a host for him. I can see them being playful with each other, would nishiki reminding him that yakuza arent allowed in his club and kazuki telling him he could be the exception be too self indulgent of me ^^’’? its interesting that reina calls nishiki “nishikiyama-kun” but calls kiryu “kiryu-san”, is it even more indulgent of me to say maybe Kazuki calls him that too? side note but i always think of nishiki being rather young, younger than kiryu, reina, and even maybe yumi too. but i think its cute to think Yuya is the youngest out of the 4.

After the events of killing dojima and kiryu being sent away, i think nishiki would avoid that area of town for a bit. mostly because hes busy though. i have this headcanon that Nishiki returns to reina right after killing Matsushige, that she cleans the blood off of him while hes dazed, that when nishikis hands are cleaned his forehead damped from the now crimson rag, he kisses her and its everything she wanted but nothing she wants. her own hands are now smeared in blood and the night he came back to her he was different. i still dont think his change would be entirely unwelcomed, hes boldened, ambitious, and isnt that pathetic slobbery mess anymore. its always interested me that whenever nishiki was about to strike her, she sees it in his eyes, of course she has, shes worked at the bar most of her life after all. I dont think hed ever strike her again, not because of morality, but it just wasnt worth his effort. he knows hes already engulfed her. maybe hes always known.

As the nishikiyama family grew i think theyd slowly pop up frequently around Serena. they arent exploiting her though, its half to send a message to other families, and half to watch her, maybe partially to protect her too. that being said, i think theyd bump into yuya often picking fights with him, harass the hosts, and their looming presence bothers their customers. I can see Nishikiyama captians/lieutants trying to collect a protection fee too like back in 0. All would be unsuccessful thanks to yuya, but still them just being there hurts buisness anyways.

I like to think Yuya sees Nishiki standing at the entrance, his hair is slicked back, a pristine white suit, and he’s different. maybe he tells him to get lost, maybe nishiki tells him hes the exception, remember? i could see that really firing yuya up. but before any punches are pulled Kazuki interrupts, I think Kazuki wouldve invited nishiki to discuss the issue their having.

I dont see Nishiki/Kazuki having “real feelings” for each other tbh, i think for them its mostly aesthetics mostly some strange fondness they have with each other. I think they have similar personalities though nishiki more cruel. I think they both admire each other for their work, have similar regrets about how work has consumed them in ways they hadnt realized before. I think kazuki would like that nishiki was cute, that he could be wittled down back to how he use to be, that he was playful, smug, and confident too. theres soemthing about nishiki thats refined. where yuya is sloppier. yuyas cute in his own rough way though. I think nishiki would like the dynamic between him and kazuki, nishikis hard to say no to, kiryu, yumi, reina, even kashiwagi and kazama knew this about him. nishikis alluring, but in a way that a siren is. luring sailors into rocky sea to devour them whole. Nishikis always been greedy though.

i belive the issue would be solved rather quickly, well, quick for them, agonizingly slow for yuya who watched them from the lower floor. i can see his stomach dropping seeing kazuki laugh up their with him. I think nishiki would easily reign in the nishikiyama family, under the pretense that he still remain the exception. i can see kazuki explaining this to yuya but yuya being completely dumbfounded by why. irritatingly, for yuya, it works. the nishikiyama family disperses. though highranking officers pass by to Serena still. even more cumbersome, nishiki takes the offer to heart and DOES show up to stardust from time to time, teasingly requesting Kazuki too. i think their relationship bothers yuya alot, kazukis dismissive of it, saying that nishiki just likes their selection of drinks and menu. it bothers him more that hes so left out of it the most though.

Maybe one of those days yuya goes over to Serena, i think hed notice she looks different, a defeated look in her eyes. she wants to marry him, she tells him thats what she wants, but he only says “if thats what you want”. she tries to ignore it though, yuya notices she has new earrings, a new necklace, and shes wearing nicer heels and a more expensive belt too. it only then hits him that Kazuki had been wearing a more expensive watch, different cologne, a new stud in his ear too. kazuki brushes it off as a particularly wealthy customers gift. but all of the items are too close in taste for it to be such a coincidence……….

ahhh this post is getting way too long and way too self indulgent! ill hurry it up by saying i think yuya and reina would both be involved too but in a more jealous and messy away… i think nishiki would rather like yuya (i can see their dynamic be similar to how i see nishiki and shinji too)

btw isnt it interesting that kazuki says he was funded/helped by kazama !?!? like what was that about !?!?!?

[frecklystars]

I need some advice, if anyone is willing 🙏✨

I purchased a La La Land screenplay from someone on Etsy, apparently signed by Ryan and Emma for an extremely affordable price. I thought "oh, there is NO WAY in HELL these are real." and then I agonized over it for a few weeks because my god I need some serotonin, and I have a little bit of spending money left, and I WOULD like a La La Land screenplay, bonus points if it really is signed by Ryan and Emma.

Finally, I bought one, reading on the seller's page that they do full refunds/returns within 14 days of the delivery. So I had nothing to lose if I ended up discovering the autographs were fake, I could just send it back and get my full refund. No shipping fees either.

Screenplay got delivered. So gorgeous, everything looks all nice and official, got a Certificate of Authenticity with matching serial numbers. I had high hopes, at first. The sharpie Ryan and Emma supposedly signed with have bled through the page, so it cannot be a reprint. But I did some research on the "Certificate of Authenticity" and it is probably fabricated. I am 99% sure. Someone could easily fake this certificate, slap on some holographic stickers they made themself, and then mimic Ryan and Emma's signatures using their own sharpies.

It says it was certified by 8FL*X institute (the * is an "i" -- I won't type the name out fully because I'm afraid it'll show up in the tumblr search results, and this guy apparently has a tumblr with a shit ton of "receipts" on him. but more on that later) and - guess what - that is not an actual institute run by multiple people. That is a website run by one (1) dude -- the very dude who sold this to me on Etsy. On the certificate, it's HIS name that is signed saying it's official. Did he witness Ryan and Emma signing this?? I have no clue. How would I know that. I don't know how this stuff works tbh but I'm pretty sure it's not real, seeing someone selling *multiple* signed scripts for just $61 each, with a lot of A list celebrities.

The holographic stickers and serial numbers seem legit, but there is no way for me to search them online to check if they're authentic. It's as if he basically said "yep these signatures are real" and signed the certificate himself. Also, if you search "8fl*x nick" on tumblr, there's a whole ton of discourse??? because he apparently leaked a screenplay for Stranger Things when he wasn't supposed to, or something??? Listen. Listen. I fucking HATE mob mentality on this hellsite; any time there's a call out post about someone, I take that shit with a grain of salt, because you don't know what's real or not, whether or not the "sources" of someone's wrongdoings are completely fabricated screenshots or not, because it's SO easy to make fake screenshots these days. but I still think it's worth mentioning here that there are existing "receipts" on this guy, bc knowing there's discourse abt this seller just in general... doesn't help me feel reassured whatsoever.

If anyone is able to figure out a way that these signatures are legit btw, that would be great. but like I said, I don't know anything about buying online autographs. Maybe there's something I can do to verify, and I just don't know it.

Anyway I debated on whether or not I should keep the screenplay, decided in the heat of a moment "ah fuck it, I wasted money", I contacted the seller and didn't mention why, I just asked for a refund without any explanation -- to my surprise, have had no trouble! He's totally willing to give me a refund without any question. Huge relief. So if I am willing, I can get a full refund and send this most-likely-not-actually-autographed screenplay back.

Except. Now... I keep thinking about it... do I actually want to give it back? I mean yes it is the smart thing to get my money back but... here's the thing. I don't own a La La Land screenplay - like, physically in my hands. I love collecting screenplays. There's a La La Land screenplay for sale online for ten bucks, but it's not the one I want, and I'm not very fond of the cover for it... I can't find another La La Land screenplay anywhere online that's as pretty as this one. There's the 2013 original version and there's the 2015 final draft version, both are really fucking good and totally different. Lots of good content. This seller put together the 2015 version, and the colors look so nice, there's photos in the front when you open it up before you get to the signed page, it's just... it's so pretty. The signatures are pretty, even if they are most likely not real, it's kind of fun to just... hope blindly that maybe, just maybe, they're real. 99% sure that they're not -- but that 1% chance is nice to think about!

So, my question: is it smarter for me to get my full refund and just settle for not owning a La La Land screenplay? Or should I keep this, despite every time I look at the signatures I feel a pang of disappointment and think to myself "ah man that's not real and I spent sixty bucks on it" ??? OR... or. or. should I return this screenplay, get my refund, and then... just .... print the screenplay myself... and make my own very pretty screenplay???

If I go that third route -- HOW do I potentially print out the entire screenplay myself? If I knew how, I could include pictures of Ryan and Emma and just put together my OWN La La Land screenplay. Oh, hell, why stop there?? Why not replace Mia's name with mine, make a whole self ship script out of it, put my own story with Sebastian? Add some drawings?? Make it look like a real screenplay. That would be such a fun project.

But... I don't own a printer and I don't know if it would cost fifty bajillion hundred thousand dollars to go to a printing shop and ask them to print up a hundred pages for me. Or... is that too big of a project to take on? Am I just being silly? ;-;

ok thank you to anyone who took the time to read this. I love u.

[hitman-two]

The Jalapeno and Cheesy tears

Nate's in tears. Brad is laughing. Even stateside, those Jalapeno and Cheese sandwiches are a goddamn curse.

Translation: ‘Alapeno Sheezh Sannizh = Jalapeno Cheese Sandwich

Brad was waiting in the waiting room, leg bouncing in anticipation of waiting for Nate to be given the all clear and that Brad could go home. It was supposed to be a 45 minute appointment but it had already gone 10 minutes over the scheduled time, which had Brad worried that complications arose. “Brad Colbert?” The voice pulled Brad out of his worried thoughts as blue eyes snapped to the medical personnel addressing him. He offered no verbal acknowledgement but stood up the moment his name was called. “What’s the Sit-Rep?” The look of confusion the man of medicine gave Brad had Brad reword his phrase in civilian terms, “What’s the report on the LT? Were there complications? You were ten minutes over the scheduled time.” It wasn’t an accusation, just an observation with questionable tones at the lack of communication.

The man of medicine was well aware he was dealing with military men so he didn’t mind that he was being timed to the second. He brushed it off but focused on the important question as he lead Brad through to collect Nate. “No complications. Extraction can sometimes be a little … tricky. Soft foods for the next few days. Do not let him drink through a straw. I know it seems like the easiest option right now but if the hole doesn’t clot, he’s in for a world of pain. Salt water swirl but don’t spit… just let the water fall out of his mouth…” Brad listened intently to the Doctor, all of which he knew having googled about oral aftercare while waiting. “Now, he’s still quite groggy and high on painkillers. That will wear off in a few hours. Here’s the prescription for some pain killers to get him through the next few days. Any complications or questions, please feel free to ring us. Okay?” “Okay, thank you, Doc.” Ice cold blue eyes softened the minute they saw a slightly puffy cheeked Lieutenant who looked far more vulnerable than Brad has ever seen him. Those green eyes latched onto his blue ones and burst into tears. “I couldn’t find you a ‘alapeno and sheezh sannizh” the sad mumble of his Lieutenant and boyfriend greeted him. Brad smiled softly, forcing himself not to laugh. “I think I can forgive you for not finding a Jalapeno and Cheese sandwhich.” As Brad reached Nate, he gently wiped away those tears, well aware those deep forest green eyes were watching his every move out of amusement and curiosity. Brad held out his hand to help him out of the dentist chair, “Let’s get you home, sir.” Nate quietly let Brad lead him to the reception area where they both sat with reception to sign the paperwork and pay the fees. Everything was going smoothly until Nate’s voice interrupted the process, “You’re very tall. And handsome.” Poor Brad. As much as he loved the compliment deep down, he couldn’t help feel his cheeks heat up. Blue eyes flicked to the reception momentarily in an unspoken apology but the Receptionist was smiling, enjoying the soft interaction Nate’s eyes solely stayed on Brad as though he were the only thing in the room. Brad had a hard time focusing on processing the paperwork because even in Nate’s morphine-high state, he still managed to fluster Brad. Goddammit. Paperwork and fees finally processed through, Brad stood up and helped Nate up, bid the Receptionist farewell and held the door open for Nate. The last thing he heard from inside the building was the Receptionist laughing as Nate stopped in the door way and looked up at Brad. “How about we fin’e you a ‘Alapen Sheezh Sannizh an’ then you take me to bed…?” Brad had to gently nudge Nate out the door, thanking his lucky stars that Ray wasn’t here to witness all this. “Sir…with all due respect…but what the fuck?” He half expected Nate to argue back but Nate was already distracted with the cuff of the jumper he was wearing. It was going to be a long few hours until Nate shuts those pretty eyes of his.

Authors Note: It's super rushed. I do plan to edit properly and add more to the story. But for now, enjoy the cute lil idea that's been rolling in my head, rent-free, making me giggle a little. I just haven't had time to properly write but if I got a soft lil giggle out of it, I hope my other HBO shippers do too!

[paulagnewart]

Sonic the Oz-Hog Act 4/12: Knux Readux!

Knuckles the Echidna Volume 2 issue 1 AU Publication Date: 14th April 1997 Price: $2.70

Spinoffs. No self-respecting media can live with them. No self-aggrandising media can live without them. And for those of us who lived through the space year that was 1997, corporations were chomping at the bit for a slice of those sweet spinoff dollarydoos.

Best place to start and witness such influence would be, arguably, the cinema. After Baz Luhrmann's blockbuster remake Romeo + Juliet spent weeks atop the box office, the majority of March was a bitter struggle between Wes Craven's thriller Scream and Cameron Crowe's football drama Jerry Maguire. A fascinating if ultimately pointless grudge match between two distinct genres. For all their efforts, neither claimed victory when by month's end, a film 20 years their senior blasted both off the map. The Star Wars Special Editions had arrived.

The promotion (and merchandise deals) was huge. A New Hope proved an instant hit, swiftly followed on 10th April by The Empire Strikes Back. Everything old was new again, and the re-hits just kept coming. Audiences pounded the pavements, eager to revisit Jurassic Park when its sequel The Lost World saw release on 29th May (only a week after its US premiere, a then-impressive feat). Superhero buffs ignored the winter freeze to watch Batman and Robin on 26th June, a film often lauded yet pulled respectable numbers and local reviews at the time.

Speaking of space, following a successful campaign through latter 1996, the Oddbodz were back. Smith's Chips and Glow Zone launched their second series of 61 collectable glow-in-the-dark cards featuring a myriad of wacky, wicked and occasionally controversial space-themed characters. If gross-out humour wasn't your speed, ripping into packs of Thins, Ruffles, Cheetos or Doritos chips instead offered adventures in a galaxy far far away with official Star Wars 3D Magic Motion and Techno Tazos.

After the toyline's initial launch in January, Beast Wars had successfully put Transformers back on the map, though kids would have to wait at least three more months to see their favourite characters in animated action. To Channel 7's credit, they at least gave the program a decent timeslot. More than can be said for Channel 9's decision that April to broadcast the all-new Star Trek: Voyager season 2 and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine season 4 at the ghastly time of 11pm weeknights.

In spite of the former losing 30 minutes off its timeslot, the rivalry between weekday morning children's entertainment continued between Agro's Cartoon Connection and Cheez TV. Both were banking on the spinoff craze, and viewers waking up 14th April could choose between the premiere of Power Rangers Zeo episode 'Oily to Bed, Oily to Rise', or the premiere of Earthworm Jim episode 'Darwin's Nightmare'. For the musically inclined, American rockers No Doubt had enjoyed 8 weeks atop the music charts with the third single on their third album, 'Don't Speak'. At least until April saw them bumped off by Aussie pop prodigy Savage Garden and their third single 'Truly Madly Deeply'.

But of all the spinoffs to arise and bedazzle locals, after three years of development and an exclusive preview party the night prior, SEGA World Sydney opened its doors at 4pm on Saturday 22nd March 1997. Touted in print and on TV as "Australia's Largest Indoor Theme Park!", it offered hours of unrivalled entertainment and programs for Sydneysiders and visitors alike. Anyone who could afford its hefty entry fee lost themselves in all the games and rides they could handle (except Mortal Kombat, which was pulled last-minute). An escape into pixilated fantasy guaranteed to forget their real-world troubles for several hours. Mundane adult things like Victoria and Western Australia's brief yet brutal summer bushfire seasons where 3 lives and some 59 homes were lost. Or how after one year into the top job, captain conservative John Howard faced international anger over comments at the United Nations General Assembly, and local anger over casual dismissing threats by extreme right-wing rival Pauline Hanson's One Nation party.

Be it stage shows, costumed cameos and all types of merchandise featuring their antics, fans of Sonic, Tails, Sally and Robotnik were in paradise. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for a fifth member of the cast. For someone who enjoyed strong popularity and a species originating right there, SEGA World put the bare minimum effort into giving Knuckles the Echidna his own time to shine. A remarkable oversight undoubtedly leaving young fans wondering where that embattled echidna was hiding. As luck would soon have it, they needn't look far.

Nestled comfortably among the shelves between Sonic issues 45 and 46 came Knuckles: The Dark Legion. Sales had proven strong enough (or at least stronger than Tails and Sally's comics) to warrant the development of a second miniseries. Exciting in its own right, only amplified when exclusively announced through AOL in January 1997 it would evolve to a fully-fledged ongoing spinoff. No longer was trotting off to the newsagents exclusively a Friday end-of-month treat. Knuckles' arrival meant a mandatory Monday mid-month booster for us deprived of Mobian adventures.

Over the course of its 32 issue run, Knuckles the Echidna was, much like Endgame two months later, once praised as a pinnacle of Archie Sonic. Fans adored the series, giving ol' Rad Red his own unique mythos and adventures. While Sonic naffed around aimlessly in a post-Robotnik world, we saw Knuckles as the cool, 'mature' comic. He had stakes. He had drama. Quite a turnaround after the heavy criticism its writer took in late 1996 over Sally's leaked demise. Within months he was described as "a kewl writer!", or "one of the ONLY "good" and "balanced" writers Archie has", or how they're "so much better then sonic comics now its not funny." with "all the good villains and family members." Fans swarmed en mass to his WWWBoard, creating their own stories, characters and entire websites tied to the Brotherhood and Dark Legion. Not everyone agreed on the book's mission statement "Why does everybody liek it so much? All it is really is a bunch of Penders' characters running around with slight appearacnes by Chaotix and occasionally knuckles himself.", but it made a lot of other people happy. Enough for both The Dark Legion and Lost Paradise reissued as 'back catalogue' orders to selected comic book stores in late 2004.

And just like Endgame, those nostalgic memories have since dissipated when adults reflected on his tales with matured, scrutinous eyes. We grow. We learn. We reevaluate on what was once adored as adolescents, realising perhaps those good times weren't all that good. Maybe the series and characters were fine in concept but lacked competent execution. Maybe our childish expectations meant they were never good to begin with and the critics were right all along.

The youthful, creative glory days from the late-90's to mid-2000's of Knuckles of an Echidna, Kragok Comics, Echidna Gals, Dark Legion HQ, Echidnapolis, Knux Redux, Tisha-Li's Dark Legion Camp, Kensuke Aida's Julie-Su Shrine, Echidnoyle, Shattered Moonlight, Knuckles 9000, Kiri Megami's Chaotix Hideout, Darkest Mysteries, and of course True Red's mighty Knuckles Haven have long passed.

It's from learning said past our futures are forged, but do any of these characters have a future? Do they even deserve a future?

Or maybe it's just best they're all forever banished to the Twilight Zone of cultural irrelevance.

Next Time: For years I said it wouldn't be done. Yet promises, like the hearts and cheekbones of fictitious rodents, were made to be broken. Will May's hedgie rectrospect-y truly be worthy of such hate? Or have revisionists painted a far worse picture over the past two decades?

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[helenofsimblr]

Elita: Isaac collected the second drink and when the barmaid whom he had lusted after for weeks turned to grab the nuts off the back wall, he quickly emptied the small bottle of pink liquid into the drink. The gentlemen he had met earlier and purchased this from, for hefty fee, had assured him that this would be all he’d need, and the woman of his desires would want him so bad she would even fuck him in the middle of the street. 

****

Elita: Do you ever wonder how much different life would be if certain things happened slightly differently? What if Isaac hadn’t looked back to the table? What if DC hadn’t been so quick-witted? What if Isaac had specified if it was his right, or hers?

Isaac: Keep the change, yours is on the right. 

Elita: DC’s alarm bell went off immediately, why would it matter which was hers?? Clearly, Isaac was trying to con her and he just slipped up. She scowled at the back of his head and decided that she was going to give him an epic ass kicking for this when he left the club, she would take her break, and he would get the ass whooping of a lifetime…

DC: Thanks…

Elita: DC reached to claim the drink, she would pour that one down the sink instead of her throat…

****

Francine: Finally! I thought I was gonna die of thirst here.

Isaac: Where’d Sarah go?

Francine: Well, let's just say I think Sarah is going to be getting some serious action tonight. I hope she can handle it! 

Isaac: Nice. It’s empowering for her.

Francine: Yeah sure… why not? So why didn’t Guy come with you, I thought you guys were inseparable?

Isaac: Yeah, me too. He moved out, he um… doesn’t talk to me much anymore.

Isaac cast a look over at the barmaid. He needed to go back to the bar again soon…

[isa-ghost]

Good afternoon, I have some anti capitalist propaganda for everyone.

I recently got a new boss. He sucks ass for a multitude of reasons, including but not limited to:

Owing at least 3 of my coworkers money for multiple weeks; he owes one $2500+ and another $500+. He keeps saying he'll pay them [insert day] and then doesn't. He has actively refused to pay the one he owes $2500+, even telling her "you make too much," when he made her district manager of all 3 of our stores because he can't take any responsibility for himself.

He requires prepay for a service. Aka you are paying upfront when it's not guaranteed your product (dry cleaning) will come back cleaned right, unruined, or unlost.

He put a fee on our credit card machine so he doesn't have to worry about it with his taxes. He took down the sign he put up to notify customers of said fee, and told us not to tell customers, aka he doesn't want us telling customers we're charging them more than we're saying, and to lie to them. He claimed two weeks ago he'd remove this fee and hasn't.

He said he won't be paying us overtime or sick days. Not paying us overtime is illegal in our state. And dare I mention he said something about making the full time employees (ie: my mother) work 66 hours a week?

He only wants us to have $40 in singles at the end and beginning of each day. Aka we have no change ever for many of our customers who pay in cash, which forces them to use their card on the machine with a fee. When we run low on singles, he makes us walk across our mall's parking lot to the bank where ""he has one million dollars in an account"" to get singles. Yesterday he made me do this in a blizzard and negative temperatures, and the bank was closed because of the Midwest's current deadly weather. So I did it for nothing. When I called and informed him, he said he would come bring me singles to my store. 15 minutes later he called again and said he wouldn't make it because of the snow. I had to ask for exact change or force them to use the machine with a fee.

One morning he straight up forgot to give me any cash at all and took 2 hours to make a 15 minute drive from the main store to my store to give me said cash.

Another time he was supposed to come to my location to collect the day's money. Again, 15 minute drive. He never showed up. Then returned to the main store 5 minutes before it was supposed to close. We have no fucking idea where he was that whole time.

His changes have chased away regular customers who have been coming to us 20+/30+/50+ years. And other less long-time regulars too. We told him all 3 stores are getting several complaints DAILY and being told by SEVERAL customers that they're not coming to our cleaners anymore. He quite literally told me to my face "oh well."

He ignores any and all feedback employees and customers alike give him. He blatantly ignored me to my face twice. Related, he can't get it through his thick fucking head that we're a business in the suburbs, not the city, so things don't work the same as his shitty cleaners in Chicago.

We're a small mom and pop business who's been struggling since the pandemic. This is part of why my previous absolute saint of a boss sold the 3 stores to this douchebag. This ignorant moron said we'd probably lose 10% of our business and "it'd be fine," when we're struggling as it is.

We have 9 employees for 3 stores. He tried to make my coworker he dumped all responsibility on fire 5 of us (rather than doing it himself), including the one that trained her for the job years ago. He called all of us replaceable, even the one he dumped all responsibility on. He also took down all Help Wanted signs and said we definitely have enough staff.

We've caught him in MULTIPLE lies ranging from white lies about his personal life to MAJOR lies about our business and how he wants us to run the stores. We've also witnessed him lie to customers.

He doesn't communicate at all, he's told all 3 stores 3 separate things. There's no reasoning for this, all 3 stores do the same shit. All 3 stores have always done everything the same way before now. He just literally doesn't communicate properly. He changed store hours, and was shocked to find that my store didn't change them weeks later. We didn't change them because he didn't tell us to, he didn't tell us when the change was supposed to go into effect.

He's impossible to contact. If you call and he doesn't answer, his voicemail box is full. He doesn't call back. If you don't have his cell number to text him, you're screwed. There's no guarantee he'll answer texts either.

He's trying to change our entire system that keeps track of customers and implement a text system that will tell the customer their cleaning is done. I told him many customers we get are elderly people who don't text and don't even have smartphones and can't get that notification. He said he didn't care, and that they'd just have to remember their cleaning or forget it. Might I mention that after 60 days or more, he plans on selling the clothes on eBay?

He has a fake service dog (he told my coworker himself) that he brings to our main store every day and forces my coworker to babysit while she does her work. Work that you can't do and watch a dog at the same time. This is the one he owes $2500+ to btw.

That coworker looked up his full legal name (which she has access to since she had all his responsibilities dumped on her, including his personal emails) and found an article that strongly suggests he has a criminal history, if it's definitely him and a credible source. The kicker is, he has a very unique non-White name that we'd be very shocked to hear more than one person has. I can't confirm if the article is legit even so, because I obviously don't have his legal name. But she sent me a screenshot of the article and the crime was gun related. My coworker also saw emails of his that she, a recovering addict, is confident are drug dealing related.

The heat in my specific store hasn't worked properly in months. My previous boss was too tight on money to fix it. He was literally maintaining just enough to pay all employees and the essentials for the stores. He cared way more about us than money.

And the heat not working is what brings me to my real post, despite those reasons being more than enough to birth a new anti capitalist. Here's my REAL post:

So that deadly Midwestern weather right now? -20°F to -70°F in some parts? For my non-Americans, that's -20°C to -56°C. Without "RealFeel"/Wind Chill included. Those are daytime temperatures, not how cold it gets at night.

It was snowing SIDEWAYS almost the entire day yesterday, and he didn't close the stores. I had to work. My car is small and light, it slides and gets stuck super easily. Our roads are not plowed right now. I'm relying on the grooves from traffic to avoid driving in snow that'll get me stuck. I have to drive 20mph at the fastest on roads where the limit is 40-45mph.

Today it's-3°F (-19°C). For the high. RealFeel/Wind Chill is -27°F (-32°C). There are wind gusts up to 55mph. Visibility on the road is almost nonexistent, snow is blowing everywhere in massive walls across the streets, which still aren't properly plowed.

He still had my mom work today from 7am to 3pm, in our store that has no working heating. The inside of our store has been about 50°F (10°C) at the warmest all day. We're relying on two small and unhelpful space heaters, one at the front of the store and one at the back, to keep any form of heat in the store, which is all immediately sucked out the second our door opens for even a second. He also had the audacity to ask my mom to walk across the parking lot in this weather, to the bank as soon as they opened (which isn't even open) to get singles again, rather than bringing them despite there no longer being any snow preventing him from coming in his big ass definitely snow-safe truck.

It's still so cold in this store that my mom and I have our coats, hats, gloves and scarves on. I'm currently wearing 4 layers, a scarf and gloves sitting literally inches from one of our space heaters to keep myself warm. We have had maybe 5 customers since 7am. It's now 4pm.

Normally I would be working until 6pm today. At 6pm, it will be -6°F (-21°C), RealFeel/Wind Chill -40°F (-40°C according to my converter. It's so fucking cold our temperatures are syncing). My mom called our boss to see if we can close early, even mentioning that we've had no business today to try and persuade him further. He said we can. At 4:30pm, which was 2 hours from when she called him.

He's so greedy, he'd rather leave us in these conditions for a little longer despite there being 0 benefit to anyone rather than just sensibly closing right then and there. I've been here an hour and we've had no customers. At 4:30pm, it'll be dark outside on top of the already poor visibility outside, on top of rush-hour traffic, on top of roads in garbage condition.

He's quite literally choosing profit he's not going to make over my and my mom's lives, because if the worst happens as we're driving in those conditions, with the car that slides and gets stuck easily that I mentioned before, we could die if we crash or slide off the road.

Fuck capitalism, eat the fucking rich.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

From the Ashes Pt.6

Pairing(s): one sided! Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader

Warnings: new characters :), changing povs, Cersei POV, MC POV

Words: 3689

Summary: A shadow assassin is sent after Jaime and Reader.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 3.5  Part 4  Part 5  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22 Part 23  Part 24  Part 25  Part 26 Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34  Part 35  Part 36  Part 37  Part 38  Part 39   Part 40 Part 41 Part 42

Book Two of Heir of Ash and Fire

Book One of Heir of Ash and Fire

She wouldn’t let the sight of the man intimidate her. The very sight of him had her chest flinching with fear. Knowing what this man was, what he did, it made her all to conscious of them being alone.

Cersei purses her lips and pushes the fairytale that her mother had told her long ago out of her mind. There was no time for that. That kind of stuff wasn’t real. Even if it was, well, the best for her she supposed.

“Half now, the rest when the deed is done.” That’s what the daughter of the golden lion had told this assassin. Inniros Orelelion. There was a power in her narrowed green eyes. It was nowhere near the somewhat bored stare that came from Inniros’ single blue eye. The other. . . well, the other was closed, sunken in by what was lost. When he moved his head, his shocking red dreadlocks moved to cover it as to not offend a lady of her pedigree. Cersei could hardly care. What she did care about was what this man could do. She had searched high and low for someone of his caliber. Once part of the Golden Company and even more important was the rumor that clung heavy on him. “I’ll throw in extra if you return my brother to me, alive.”

“It will be done, Your Grace.” His voice, not used to talking, was gravely and low as his eye lowers to the sack of coins she had hefted onto the table.

Grimacing, Cersei leans back in her seat; worried glances at the door then back to Inniros’ sickly pale face.”We shall see. I have sent the finest assassins after them. None have succeeded.”

Inniros stood and swiftly grabbed the bag, measuring the weight in his hand. “I’m not the finest. I’m the best there is.”

Abruptly jumping out of her seat, she stares with disbelief at what she had just witnessed. With complete ease and nonchalance, Inniros had walked into a corner that was dark with shadows and completely disappeared within them.

She stares hard where the assassin had once been. It was true. This man who was born from the shadowlands of Asshai was a shadowdancer. A darkin like the one from her mother’s stories. Someone who could control shadows at their beck and call.

A chill ran up her spine at the thought that they had been alone together. Someone who had a capability like that. . . an evil capability that came from the Stranger.

Breathing deeply was able to calm her nerves. What’s done was done. A handsome fee had already been paid just to get information on Inniros Orelelion. Not that the Casterly Rock vaults would miss it. They were swelling with gold.

The cost didn’t matter. She would spend as much as was necessary. Eyelids lowering at her fingers, lovely and flawless. “Come home to me Jaime. . .”

“Lady Cersei? Lady Cersei?” A servant is heard calling her down the hall.

A sigh heavy on her lips, Cersei gets up and pokes her head out of the council room. “Stop all that yelling. What is it?”

Collecting her breath, the maid holds out a neatly folded letter from her apron. “His Grace Prince Rhaegar has been injured!”

“Is it fatal?” Cersei snatches the letter and skims over it.

Slash across the face.

Protecting Robert Baratheon.

Wounded.

Still advancing.

She had thought Rhaegar a coward at first and highly doubted that he would win even with the help from House Lannister and the Dornish.

But Rhaegar was now causing fear in the Crownlands.

Since the battle in the Reach, Rhaegar’s army had been advancing quickly; cutting down anyone that got in his way. A sudden switch in him that seemed to turn the tides. It was only a matter of time before he toppled Aerys off the throne. He would be king and Cersei would be married to Oberyn and living in the hot sands of Dorne.

“Has my father said when they estimate on Rhaegar’s army arriving in King’s Landing?” Cersei closes the council room door behind her and follow the maid to her father’s apartments.

“Not yet. He’s dealing with a raven he received from King’s Landing. Aerys is scared and running to Tywin to fix everything.” A few more doors to pass and they would be at his library. “The king makes his own doom too easy.”

Quickly knocking to announce Cersei’s arrival, the maid bows and takes her leave.

“Enter.”

Cersei puts the meeting with Inniros out of her mind and walks into the library. How boring the life of a lord must be to consistently be stuck in a room; signing this, writing that all sounded tedious to Cersei as she finds her father permanently stuck to his chair. Keen eyes focused on the note that was no doubt from Aerys.

“What tidings does the Mad King send to you, father?” Leveled and cool, Cersei perches herself on a chair, eyeing the new lines around Tywin’s eyes; a reminder of his age and the toll of Jaime’s disappearance had on him..

He hardly looked in the mood for anything. If Jaime didn’t return, Tywin would have to name a new heir. Long ago when Jaime first decided to be a knight, it was decided by Tywin that no matter what, little Tyrion would never inherit the title of lord. Beyond everything, Cersei’s father held out hope that Jaime would eventually come to his senses and come back to Casterly Rock where he belonged. Now everything had fallen around Tywin as he tasted bitter ashes of his empire.

“He wants me to send my troops to defend King’s Landing when Rhaegar arrives.” Stating simply, Tywin set aside the king’s notice and looks up at his daughter.

Cersei offers him a smile. “None the wiser.”

Even with this news Tywin did not smile. “Do not be too confident just yet. Rhaegar still has to overthrow Aerys.”

She scoffs and leans back in the chair. “He might as well already be at the gates. Do you not smell the fire that he set in the Reach? How it has begun to engulf the Crownlands? We should be calling him King Rhaegar.”

“Much can happen.” He warns, making Cersei purse her lips. “A Targaryen uprising like this hasn’t happened in centuries. Not since the Blackfyre Rebellion. People forget how easily the tides can turn. Caution is required now as are calculated moves.”

Victory had already been on Cersei’s tongue though. Once Rhaegar took the throne he would wed Elia Martell, sister to her own fiance Oberyn. She would be that much closer to power. In Dorne, women were more revered and weren’t thought of as the weaker sex. In Dorne, women were allowed to rule. She was already coming up with her own plans on how to take rule of the sandy dunes of one of the most difficult kingdoms that Westeros had ever fought against.

Lowering her lashes, she knew that her father had much wisdom in the art of war. “Caution. . .”

Something Jaime never took heed of. Internally, Cersei scolds herself for thinking of him. By now Cersei was convinced that Jaime had fled, possibly rescuing (y/n) from the flames that Cersei had let loose. Somewhere in Essos they were together now.

Indignation fanned Cersei’s cheeks just thinking about it. He had made his choice. Now Jaime would pay for it. He had deftly taken down each assassin sent. Not this time. This one was different. Cersei witnessed it herself. Inniros was no ordinary man.

It was hard for her not to get her hopes up.

Caution. She needed caution and to hold her breath. Trust that this killer birthed from shadows would get the job done. * He watched them diligently atop of one of Volon Therys’ many towers as they entered the city. How hard could it be? Jaime Lannister may have been a former King’s Guard but that meant little to Inniros. He had taken down men twice as strong as this young cub. From what the Lady Lannister had divulged to him, he had need of caution around her brother. That he was an expert with blades. Blades could do little against a shadow though. His main goal however was the sister. The young girl that walked happily at his side. Even though they were but a speck at the height Inniros was at, his hawk-like eyes were able to see true that these were the ones. Both blonde of hair. If he succeeded in getting the young maid alone then his job would be that much easier. Innocence plain on her awestruck face, Inniros felt like a cat with a tiny bird in his claws. Easy.

Inniros reached out to the shadows at his feet as he slowly dissolved into them. This river front city had plenty of shadows for him to walk through. A voice inside of him spoke of the trepidation; everything about this assignment was proving too simple. Never the less it was the easiest money he would ever make. ** You and Jaime deserved to rest. With Bastard having taken all of your belongings, including your money, there was no way that you could afford to rent a room.

Jaime finds a spot for you to sit and wait. “I’ll go get some money. Just wait here for me and don’t talk to anyone. Keep your hand on your sword. We don’t know how dangerous this place is.”

Your brother was always scared when he was forced to part ways with you. He didn’t like the idea of not being able to keep an eye on you. “I’ll be fine, Jaime. I know you’ll get funds in no time. Be careful.”

Rough hand patting the top of your head, it lingered as he chews at his bottom lip. Growing self-conscious with the knowledge that your hair hadn’t been washed in days you take a step back. His hand falls to his side. “I’ll be back. Two hours tops.”

“I’ll be waiting.” You smile up at him and watch him as he reluctantly left. As he had instructed, you kept your hand on the pommel of your sword; eyes observing the daily going-ons in Volon Therys. You and Jaime had arrived in the city in the late afternoon. Being so, there was a decent flow of people walking around; too busy to pay you any attention. Finally you felt the weariness of your travels weigh you down. A night’s rest would have you ready for your final destination: Volantis. Already fantasizing of sleeping on a bed, your body relaxes a bit. Jaime had set you down on a discarded barrel, out of the way of the main street but still in sight of the pedestrians. Tented stalls that sold various items were alive with business. Above you was a stone archway that provided shade from the descending sun.

Your stomach grumbled at the scent of someone roasting meat. Mouth filling with saliva you shake the hunger from your head and instead pull your sword out of its scabbard. Your sword wasn’t anything grand. Jaime had just picked it up from a thug that thought he could pull one over on your brother. The blade was dull and scratched in several places. Something you would have never seen in King’s Landing. Knights and soldiers took great care with their weapons, priding themselves with keeping their swords sharp and glistening. This sword had not been well loved before falling into your hands. You had tried to get the scuffs out, polish it a little bit but it was no use. Years of mistreatment had taken its toll.

You turn your wrist in practice, the way your brother had taught you. The sword becoming an extension of your arm as you set on simple practice drills as you sat waiting. All while humming The Dornishman’s Wife.

Humming halting, you feel something in the pit of your gut. Sick, cold and slithering inside of you. Something you had never felt before.

You didn’t feel good.

Out of instinct you stand up and lean forward as if you were going to vomit.

Just in time to catch the metallic sound of a sword swinging in the air behind you. Abruptly you spin around, sword at the ready to catch a glimpse of bright red hair and a gleaming blue eye. The face disappears before reappearing off to the side. Astoundingly tall, this stranger emerges from his blanket of darkness. Shocking red dreadlocks tied together in a ponytail rests over his shoulder. The bottom half of his face was concealed by a black cloth.

Hand immediately becoming sweaty, you move to take a step back to prepare yourself for a fight. Only. . . you couldn’t move your feet despite attempting to lift your leg up. A thick shadow was holding your feet down to the ground, forbidding you from moving.

You panicked as he moved to strike you.

“Darkin.” Your mother’s voice came to you. A memory as she held you in her arms. Her chin rested atop of your head as she kisses your crown. In a scary voice she continues reading the book that was in front of you; your little hands holding it up as she read. “These creatures give up their souls to become one with the shadows. To shape, control, and even walk in them. They come from the shadowlands of Asshai where the people there even fear them as well.”

“Are there any darkin in Westeros, momma?” You tilt your head up. She smiles. “No darling. These are just stories. They aren’t real.”

Gods. . . this couldn’t be-

Sword blocking his attack, your body moves backwards as you tried not to fall over. Knees buckling, you use all of your strength to swipe him away. He moved easily, not like he was fighting. Like he was dancing. Taking a step back he disappeared again only for you to feel him behind you again.

Everything was happening so fast. Your heart didn’t even have a chance to beat when you felt his presence.

This was how you would die. Unable to move to defend yourself. Pitiful and weak.

Then he hissed, the shadow at your feet quivering.

“Let her go. Unless you want another lash.” A heavily accented female voice laced with venom.

That didn’t scare off your assailant. The noises you could hear behind you were that of a struggle.

Cracking of a whip filled the air and made you inwardly flinch. The woman spoke in a foreign language that you couldn’t pinpoint. Hisses and grunts could be heard from the male until silence.

“He’ll be back.” She grunted. A weight was lifted from your feet. The moment you felt it you turned to face her. Beautiful dark skin, face framed by a wealth of thick black curls and a proud, furrowed brow. “We must make sure that you’re at the Red Temple before he strikes again.”

So many questions. The urgency in her hazel eyes told you that there wasn’t time for any of that.

You were wary though. This new stranger mentioned the Red Temple, something Thalina had told Jaime. That didn’t give you cause to trust her though.

The hand that held her weapon, a golden whip, went slack as her features softened. “You are (y/n) Lannister, yes?”

Keeping your mouth shut you eye her, vaguely nodding yes.

“You can call me Sirvart. I am a servant of the Lord of Light. Thalina sent us a letter telling of your arrival. It was my duty to wait for you here in Volon Therys for as long as it took so that I may safely escort you to Volantis.”

Thalina. A mere stranger wouldn’t have known who Thalina was.

You lower your sword feeling exhausted all over again. Sirvart offered you her hand. “We must leave before the darkin returns. I lack the power to kill him.”

“W-Wait. My brother. I’m supposed to be waiting for him.” Fearfully you gaze at the closeby shadows, wondering if your assailant was still there. Waiting for another opportunity to strike.

Sirvart nods. “We shall retrieve him then.”

She seemed to know where she was going, this mysterious woman as she lead you through the streets with ease. Her eyes never stopped scanning her surroundings though. Always alert and watching the shadows closely.

“Do you know where my brother is?” You hesitantly ask.

“Yes. My companion alerted me. That’s how I knew you would be here too. She told me that there was a young man with hair like gold making trouble in a tavern nearby.” Sirvart’s pace was brisk and business like.

Thinking of the shadow man, you dared to speak up. “And. . . that man. . . was he really a darkin?”

Stopping, she meets your concerned expression. High cheekbones lowering a fraction as she frowned. “Yes.”

“I thought they weren’t real. My mother used to tell me stories about them.”

“Many share the same assumption. Darkin are all but gone now so they might as well be stories. A hand few of them are still around, make no mistake about that.” Pensive, Sirvart continues a much more leisurely stroll. “For one to attack a follower of R’hllor though. . . That’s unheard of.”

“Why is it unheard of?”

“Without light, there can be no shadows, only darkness.” She states matter of factly. “Many darkin worship R’hllor and would never do harm to his followers. That one must have been a rogue.”

Why had he been after you? The question was left on the tip of your tongue. You didn’t really want to know the answer. The reason why this man made from the tales your mother had told you wanted you dead.

Soon enough, you and Sirvart had made it to the seedier side of the city. Where crime seemed the only way to live. There was an area like that in every place you had ventured to. Even King’s Landing had Flea Bottom. You knew that’s why Jaime left you behind whenever he had to go to places like that. They were dangerous. Silly, you should have been used to that threat by now. It never ceased to surprise you though. The coarseness of humanity and how life could turn out so cruel for so many.

Reassuringly, you pat the handle of your sword to make sure it was still hugging your hip.

Outside a rundown looking establishment was a slip of a girl. Coming closer, she turns her pale face toward you and Sirvart. Sleek black hair that comfortably reached her shoulders as she stood patiently outside of the door. You noticed a few men eye her, but quickly avert their gaze when they see her face. A mass of scarlet freckles decorated her cheeks almost making her look like she had some sort of disease. They were off putting against her pale skin. Two strips of red were tattooed on either corner of her mouth, running down to her chin. She was an oddity but somehow they made her look pretty in an ethereal way.

Sirvart calls out to her. “Alizah.”

Even though her face was turned toward you, she seems to perk up at her name and smile. She was blind. “You found her.”

“Aye. Is he still in there?”

Alizah nods. Black unfocused eyes glittered like the night sky. “It’s so nice to finally meet you (y/n).” Even though she was blind, it felt like she was actually looking at you. Like she saw you.

“Alizah, there’s a darkin after this one.”

Alizah blinks owlishly, her smile dipping down into concern. Realizing how urgent the matter is, Alizah opens the door for you and Sirvart to enter. The tavern is incredibly noisy and filled with a dense cloud of smoke. Smoke from what, you hadn’t a clue. Confidently leading the way, Alizah moved through with grace and ease while you couldn’t help feeling self-conscious of the many men that stared at you and your two female cohorts. The three of you obviously stuck out.

There was a group of men gathered at a table, but you could clearly make out Jaime’s voice among the hoots and cheers.

“Alright men, pay up!” Jaime shouted, cockiness thick in his tone. He was met with a few grumbles and quite a handful of nasty glares as men handed over their money to the golden boy who spoke the Common Tongue.

Squeezing your way past a few grubby men, you get to the center where you catch Jaime’s attention. Frowning at the sight of you there, he collects the money and promptly puts it away. “(y/n), what are you doing here?”

Sirvart pushed her way through to stand next to you, sending deadly eyes at men who looked your way. “I was attacked while waiting for you. This is Sirvart. She saved me and is here to escort us to Volantis.”

“Attacked?” Jaime immediately stood up. Panic made his eyes wild as he moves away from the group and ushers you and Sirvart out of the circle to where Alizah stood patiently. He eyes the other girl but is too concerned about you.

“I tried to fight back.” You claim defensively. “But. . .”

Shoulders drooping, Jaime lets out a sigh and rests his hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re alright. That’s all that matters.” Now he addresses Sirvart and Alizah. “Thank you for helping my sister.”

“Thanks are not needed.” Alizah replies in that dreamy voice of her’s. “If you’re done with your business here I suggest we leave for our boat.”

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Jaim glanced at you. “What about resting?”

How you wanted to rest from your long journey. You couldn’t though. That wasn’t an option now. “It would be best if we keep moving. They’ve been waiting here for us all this time. Plus whoever attacked me is still after me.”

Your safety put in danger was enough to make Jaime nod. “Okay. Lets go.”

[eden-baileyrp]

Full Name: Eden Bailey Faceclaim: Zendaya Pronouns/Gender: she/her - cis female Age & Birthday: 29 - August 14th 1995 Birth Place: New Orleans How long have they been in town?: on and off since 2004 Living Situation: Small 1 bed apartment in Old Bellevoux Occupation: Escort Family: Three siblings (Jasmine Bailey currently in game)

Biography:

Drug tw, depression tw, mental health tw, abuse tw

Born to Mr. Bailey and wife, Jasmine, in New Orleans as the baby child of the family, Eden was a quintessentially youngest child, falling into every stereotype that came along with the territory. Somewhat bratty, fun-loving, and certainly freewheeling she was independent at a young age, setting her own course. Pretty good in school but it never really got noticed, her A’s went without praise and her science fair ribbons were in a box collecting dust under her bed for her whole childhood. In fact they probably still sat there now.

She was meant to be leaving home to travel to Florida for university, University of Central Florida to be exact, to study hospitality but got somewhat diverted on the way by the attention of a man and never actually made it to the first day of her class. Convinced she’d met Prince Charming she ended up in Arkansas for the next five years in what she thought was a loving relationship but she couldn’t’ have been more wrong. Picture the worst kind of man and you’d have a pretty solid picture of Eden’s so called true love. It took her a while to wise up to what was going on and by that time she had missed her chance at her university scholarship so instead had to figure out another way to get away, not to mention make a living.

Leaving early one Saturday morning she somewhat fell into the industry of escorting. Asked by a nice older man if she would accompany him to a school reunion (he knew he’d get kudos for showing up with a pretty 24 year old on his arm) for a fee, it became a no brainer to the girl. She could get dressed up, showered with compliments, taken out, and paid at the end of the night. Well…at least when the clients followed the rules. That wasn’t always the case - far from it. She hadn’t intended for addiction to become a part of her life in the way it did but sometimes you just had to do what you could in order to cope. 

Four years ago she’d found herself back in the small town of New Bellevux, Louisiana with her family again and sort of put down roots. Turns out a small town could be incredibly lucrative what with the large number of family men who wanted to feel a bit special on the side, politicians who needed some arm candy to make them look good in front of donors, and everyone in between. It was lucrative so why would she want to stop? Sure it could be lonely….very lonely…but it wasn’t like she was trained for anything else, nor did she have a family she could really go back to. So here she was. Working under the name Colby to allow for some separation between her work and reality, but on the whole she enjoyed her job. 

Incredibly independent, sharp, quick witted, and with a wicked sense of humour it was said that Eden was great fun to be around. As long as she was on form. If you caught her on a bad day when the darkness in her head took over it was a very different story - you might want to duck for cover if she got angry as well, her temper short and fiery. Though if you got through her high walls she was incredibly loyal and would defend her friends until the end. If you are a trusted friend to Eden, she would be the same right back to you. 

[kulturegroupie]

Discover Jimmy Page pt. 3

The Mighty Zeppelin

from pageysartgallery

How to start writing about something that was bigger than anyone involved, even bigger than its own creator?

In the Zeppelin realm, myth and real happenings merge together to form a bittersweet reality, that first made its leader a man of godlike status and then slowly killed its own divinity.

From its creation to the very end, Led Zeppelin has been a colossal, thunderous force that changed the world of rock and roll forever, architect of a sound considered underground at first, that proceeded to take over the world with its infectious groove.

All thanks to the ambitious mind of one gifted 24 year old.

After plans of an alleged band featuring himself, his longtime friend Jeff Beck, Keith Moon and John Entwistle got cancelled, Jimmy Page, then 22, decided to continue the path he was on with his current band, the Yardbirds, which quickly enriched him with brand new experiences around the world, for the first time as a member of a well-known rock and roll band.

He started being praised for his unique playing style, as well as the countless revolutionary ideas he was applying to live performances and slowly collecting for an upcoming album.

While in Los Angeles with the Yardbirds in May 1968, Jimmy visited a palm-reader and brought tour manager Richard Cole along with him.

“It was on Sunset Boulevard, not far from the hotel. Richard was with me so I’ve got a witness. The key phrase was, ‘You're going to make a decision in a very short period of time that's going to change your life.’ Within 48 hours the other Yardbirds said they didn't want to continue. I was disappointed – what we had going I was willing to do with them, whatever it was. I can understand how disillusioned they were, but I could see the trajectory. FM radio was happening. I knew what that meant to underground bands. I wanted an underground band, but one that would come through and make a difference.”

— Jimmy Page, Rolling Stone

What would follow is a long, almost obsessive search for musicians available around his area, but after two weeks nothing had changed yet. Page then reached out to Terry Reid, a vocalist and guitarist whose work he had become interested in. Reid turned down the offer, explaining that he had already committed to go on the road for two tours with the Rolling Stones and another with Cream. He suggested to Page that if he were compensated for the gig fees he would lose and if Page would call Keith Richards to explain why Reid had to pull out of the US tours, Reid would try some things out with Page. It never happened and Reid told Page to consider a young Birmingham-based singer, Robert Plant, instead, having previously seen Plant's Band of Joy as a support act at one of his concerts. Reid also suggested Page check out their drummer John Bonham.

The New Yardbirds - soon to be Led Zeppelin* following a cease and desist letter issued by Chris Dreja - became one of the best-selling acts of all time, with strong musical morals and an eagerness to expand and explore their individual and collective abilities as much as they could.

*Why the name Led Zeppelin? Because it brought “the perfect combination of heavy and light, combustibility and grace” to Page's mind.

They broke records and earned a reputation for excess, but most importantly, they gained a steady place in the hearts of countless musicians and/or fans, a place that would endure the passage of time and still be here, today, after more than half a century.

What's curious about this 12 year period is that Jimmy continued his career as a session musician, too. Collaborators around this time include Joe Cocker, Chris Farlowe, P.J. Proby, Screaming Lord Sutch and Roy Harper.

My favourite tracks from this time period are the ones he recorded with Maggie Bell! She has a voice easily comparable to Janis Joplin's, and Jimmy's solos on these two songs are absolutely flawless and full of page-isms:

(Released March 31, 1975)

Another song I'm fond of is "Male Chauvinist Pig Blues", where Jimmy's electric guitar can be heard throughout the entire track:

(Released February 14, 1974)

And of course the live version of the song (part of Roy's Flashes from the Archives of Oblivion live album), in which a stunning slide guitar performance is delivered by Page:

(Released 1974)

As for Led Zeppelin, a remarkable piece of their early history is the first studio track all four members ever recorded together on August 25, 1968. Part of the P.J. Proby album Three Week Hero, the name of the track is "Jim's Blues" (featuring Robert Plant on harmonica):

Also worthy of notice is the first Zeppelin bootleg ever recorded, from their December 30, 1968 show in Spokane, Washington.

I really recommend checking out the bootlegs because a big part of what separated Led Zeppelin from other bands were their outstanding live performances and on-stage improvisations! If you may need a guide to the best bootlegs in order to get started, here's a really helpful one.

One song from the earlier years that was to be recorded as part of their first album - but probably got discarded to make place for other tracks - is my beloved As Long As I Have You:

(This version was performed at the Fillmore West on April 27, 1969)

Personally I will never forgive them for not including it as it's one of my favourite Zep songs ever.

As we all know, after many years and quotes of Robert Plant swearing that the band may as well “go on forever”, the tragic death of John Bonham on September 25, 1980 at Jimmy Page's then recently acquired Old Mill House, after a long day of alcohol binges, is what finally put an end to the giant that was, and forever will be, Led Zeppelin.

“Led Zeppelin wasn't a corporate entity. Led Zeppelin was an affair of the heart. Each of the members was important to the sum total of what we were. I like to think that if it had been me that wasn't there, the others would have made the same decision. What were we going to do? Create a role for somebody? Say, ‘You have to do this, this way?’ That wouldn't be honest.”

— Jimmy Page, 2014

Live performance:

There are quite a few professionally filmed concerts included as part of the 2003 Led Zeppelin DVD that you can watch on YouTube:

1970.01.09 London, Royal Albert Hall

1973.07.27, 28, 29, New York City, Madison Square Garden

1975.05.24 London, Earl's Court

1975.05.25 London, Earl's Court Arena

1979.08.04 Stevenage, Knebworth Festival

1979.08.11 Stevenage, Knebworth Festival

However, there is one more fully filmed concert that was not included in the DVD. It's the July 17, 1977 concert in Seattle:

Interview:

There is only one available filmed Jimmy interview on YouTube from the Zeppelin years that everyone and their mum has seen lol (the Sept. 18th 1970 one), so instead I want to include this other one, only recorded - not filmed, but a very precious piece of musical history nonetheless:

He addresses many topics and is quite talkative for 1977, a time when he would just stand up from his chair and say “I'm really not sorry to say the interview has ended” when the interviewer seemed to get on his nerves.

Gallery:

[dynamoe]

A break in the narrative of TOMORROW'S JUST ANOTHER DAY for a flashback to Burbank. 1989. (6101 words) read on AO3 (better for your eyes) → or keep reading here below the break ↓

BURBANK 1989

He waited for the craft service manager to leave to empty the coffee urn. She’d be gone ten minutes max so he had to work fast. He pushed a cooler to the edge of the table, stood lightly on the lid and surveyed the end-of-day remnants. He grabbed the bowl of Hershey's Miniatures and up-ended them into his backpack. Same for the bowl of trail mix. The hummus wouldn’t keep and he didn’t have a container for that; he’d have to eat the carrot sticks he already swiped from the green room plain. Everything else was too picked over.

He jumped off the cooler and opened it— only a couple cans of TAB and RC Cola left. He closed it in disgust. Craft service was tapped, he could give the green room another once-over but he already had snatched up the last third of the party sub, the crudité platter and a bowl of M&Ms.

He turned back in a rush, smashing directly into someone walking the other way. He bounced backward, dropping his backpack and all his raided provisions spilling onto the floor

“Whoa whoa whoa,” a familiar voice admonished, “Watch where you’re goin’, kid.”

“Mr. White! Sorry, I—” Billy collected his wits and then dove onto the pile of peanuts and M&Ms leaking out of his backpack.

The taping ended an hour ago, why are you still here?”

“I missed my bus back to the hotel so I’m just killing time, I guess,” Billy lied, stuffing as much food back in his bag before Mr. White noticed as he could. White didn’t seem very observant, focused fully on the craft service table.

“I gotta stay to record promo bumpers for all the affiliates on Fridays,” Mr. White muttered sourly and then sniffed loudly.

Billy looked confusedly at Mr. White, out of wardrobe and wearing pale-gray jeans and a polo shirt. 

“Audio only,” White explained, looking back at the table, “Someone took all the Krackel bars! Nuts!”

Billy spotted a miniature Krackel he had dropped next to Mr. White’s foot. He retrieved it and held it up in White’s field of vision.

“Thanks, kid,” White snapped it up and stuffed it in his mouth, “Oh, you’re the champ this week.”

White never learned the Quizboys’ names. They turned over too quickly. Two tapings a day five days a week with only one champion carrying over from show to show, that’s 21 Teacher’s Pets he had to feign interest in meeting on-camera and then never making eye-contact with after.

“Yeah, Billy Whalen,” Billy introduced himself again. Not just “this week” but the last three weeks but he wasn’t going to correct the host.

 That was the problem. He had come out to Hollywood to tape his episodes with only two changes of clothing and no long-term plan of how to take care of himself. The production paid for his flight and his hotel room but other than that he was left to his own devices. He got paid $10 a day as an appearance fee, but his winnings were locked up until he ended his streak. He couldn’t drive and Los Angeles wasn’t terribly accommodating on the public transportation front.

There was a long weekend starting tomorrow that meant no taping on Monday, meaning one fewer day of meals and one fewer 10-spot provided. He always collected the leftovers at the end of a shoot day to tide him over into the weekend but he felt unusually desperate and was pushing his luck.

“Hardly behavior befitting a Quizboys champion to be stealing craft service, huh?” Mr. White teased him.

Billy froze and felt like he was going to cry, “I don’t want to, but we’re not shooting for the long weekend so I needed to take something to eat tomorrow.”

“I was just kidding around, loosen up, kid,” White said, smacking Billy on the back.

“We get catered meals on set, but if we’re not shooting I just stay in my hotel room and watch TV. I figure food left at the end of the day is stuff no one else wants so I can take it. It’s not really stealing, if it’s gonna get thrown away, right?”

White was sort of half-listening until the content of what Billy was saying sunk in, “Wait, No food. Alone all day in a room for… how long have you been on the show?”

“Three weeks,” Billy reminded him. That means he had been on-camera ‘introduced’ to Mr. White thirty times.

“Where are your parents, kid?”

“I came by myself,” Billy said with a tone of finality indicating he didn’t want to get into it.

“All that time by yourself. That’s awful,” Mr. White was horrified.

“That’s showbiz,” Billy threw jazz hands.

“Fuck it. No,” Mr. White took a stand, “Leave this. Come with me. I’m getting you a decent hot meal.”

Billy hesitated, “This seems like a conflict of interest. A Quizboy fraternizing with the host might smack of favoritism.”

“Why? I don’t decide who wins. I didn't write the questions. I’m just the dancing monkey who reads the cue cards. Who cares?” White shrugged it off.

“What about taping the bumpers for the affiliates?”

White sniffed, “Eh, fuck ‘em. They can use ones from last week.”

Billy walked meekly behind Mr. White as he charged out of the studio, still doubting if this was ethical but also really, really hungry.

White walked him to a kitted-out Suzuki Samurai parked around the block from the studio, “I don’t even get my own parking space on the lot, if you can believe it. Fuckin’ cheap ass production.” He sniffed audibly.

Billy was awestruck, “Is this your car?”

“One of them,” White grinned as jumped into the driver’s side, “Hop in.” Billy eyed the three foot rise from ground to car warily. 

He scooted over to the passenger side and extended his hand, “Sorry, I’m a bonehead. I’ll give you a hand."

Billy grabbed it with his foot on the edge of the running board, White heaved and pulled him into the truck.

White started the engine and peeled out of the parking space, jostling Billy out of his seat. He grabbed at the seat belt over his shoulder, trying not to be strangled by the awkward angle. Other cars honked, which White cheerily ignored, fiddling with the car radio to find a good station. 

Billy studied his host away from the studio lights and he seemed weird. Uncanny even. He wore sunglasses while driving even though it was already early evening but, Billy rationalized, he was a celebrity and that was par for the course. Billy couldn’t quite figure out why he looked so… wrong.

“Mr. White, do you always keep your TV makeup on after the taping?” Billy asked as he and the other contestants were scrubbed clean by the make-up department as soon as the cameras turned off, the more histrionic losers having already cried off half of it before the credits finished rolling.

“I wanna get out of the studio faster so I take it off at home when I shower,” White shrugged, pulling into traffic recklessly with a wide turn. 

Billy nodded. It made sense. It was really sticky, greasy thick stuff and it smelled oily. He couldn’t wait to get it off at the end of the shoot himself, but he didn’t have anywhere to be. If Mr. White was just waiting around to record audio bumpers today, he had time to take the make-up off, didn’t he?

 “Learn to drive, fuckhead!” White yelled out of the window at a car that honked at him, even though he was running a red light.

 The car was brand-new and lit-up impressively. The top of the line stereo pumped She Drives Me Crazy. White even sang along tunelessly. He sure seemed a lot younger than he did on set, but maybe it was the change of wardrobe or that his words weren’t written for him or that he no longer had the authority to give and take points from him.

"Your car's kinda dusty," Billy observed.

White glanced over at the powder on the dash and quickly wiped it away with a finger, "It's wind from the desert. It blows all kinds of dust and grit in the air. I must have left the window open. Forget it."

“It’s awfully nice of you to worry about me,” Billy said, “You probably have a lot of cool friends you could be hanging out with and, like, Hollywood parties to go to on the weekend.”

“Not really. Nah,” White dismissed, “Unless there’s promos to shoot or public appearances for the show at a mall or something I usually just stay home and watch TV, same as you.”

Billy assumed he was humoring him so he wouldn’t feel bad.

“But I can drive and have money and do adult stuff so it’s not exactly the same,” White qualified his answer, “I really wanted a hot dog right now so this worked out great for all parties.”

They approached a boxy building with bright pink awnings just off the intersection of LaBrea and Melrose.

“We’re not going to Spago?” Billy moaned sarcastically.

“No Wolfgang Puck on a first date,” White quipped back, pulling into the small parking lot behind the hot dog stand, “This place has been here forever. It’s a landmark! Orson Welles ate eighteen hot dogs in one sitting here! That's probably what's in those lost scenes of The Magnificent Ambersons, I bet. Just Orson scarfin' down wieners.”

“I thought it’d be in a building shaped like a big hot dog,” Billy said, trying not to sound disappointed.

“You’re thinking of Tail o’ the Pup,” White said, “You know Bruce Willis proposed to Demi Moore right here... Aaaand Aaron Spelling orders a hot dog from Pink’s every day that he’s working in his office up there.” White pointed towards the CBS studios up the block.

“Pink’s Hot Dogs appears in the opening credits of The Golden Child,” Billy said idly, dropping non-academic trivia after hours.

“Whaddya doin’ watching R-rated movies? That’s not a kid’s movie.” White taunted him, “Someone oughta put a parental lock on the cable box in your hotel room.”

“It’s only PG-13,” Billy defended himself, “Fifteen uses of ‘ass,’ two ‘asshole’s, eleven ‘shit’s, three ‘bastard’s, two ‘hell’s, and one ‘goddamn,’ but no f-words at all!”

“What, did you have a bingo card you were filling out?” White mocked him with a snort.

It was late but there were still a dozen people waiting in line at the stand. White mentioned that the line is twice as long during the day and it wouldn’t be more than a few minutes before they got to order as he sniffed and wiped his nose.

"Do you have allergies, Mr. White?"

"Something like that," White shrugged, "Get anything you want, kid. It's on me."

Billy studied the menu card in front of him, with the dozens of hot dog combinations with celebrity names, “I guess I just want a plain hot dog.”

“C’mon. Live a little, Billy!”

Billy sighed and announced, “I want a John Tesh dog with onion rings. And an Orange Crush!”

White nodded and ordered, “Gimme a Marlon Brando. A John Tesh. A side of Tom Berenger and an Orange Crush.”

White paid and waited, Billy walked around to the patio to claim a table. They settled in to a hot dog feast al fresco in the cool of evening.

A woman in a bikini roller skating down LaBrea with a boa constrictor around her neck passed 

“Welcome to Los Angeles,” she said, skating a ring around their table, waving her snake as she moved on.

“She seems friendly,” Billy observed, a little confused.

“So,” White asked through a mouth full of chewed bun, “Why’s your head so big?”

“That’s pretty tactless, Mr. White,” Billy mumbled.

“What can I say,” White threw up his hands, “I’m a no-bullshit kinda guy!”

“I was born with hydrocephalus. It’s colloquially known as ‘water on the brain.’” Billy shook his head demonstratively, making a faint gurgling sound, “It’s better than it was. I had brain surgery after graduation so I don’t leak anymore.” 

“Huh,” White said flatly, “That’s cool.”

“I know I look kinda weird.” Billy muttered apologetically, breaking eye contact.

“What, are you nuts? You look fantastic!” White reassured him, “Despite the haircut.” 

Billy suddenly felt embarrassed. What was wrong with his hair? Half the teen idols on the cover of Tiger Beat had this haircut. He roughed it up with his hands. Maybe that would fix it?

“Actors hang out here during the day waiting to be ‘discovered,’” White mused while stuffing an onion ring in his mouth, “I never wanted to be an actor. This is my first TV job. I was on radio before this, but they needed someone fast when they shit-canned the old host for getting ‘handsy’ with the Quizboys.”

“Prof. Dolan? No way!”

“Yes way!” White argued back, “They paid plenty to keep it out of the Enquirer, too. Settled out of court with all the kids. A real shit-show.”

Billy was shaken. He had watched Prof. Dolan's reign as Quizmaster on the show since he was five. He always assumed he had just retired.

“He’d take the champ and the runner-up back to his dressing room and give ‘horsey rides.’” White air-quoted, slowing the words down as if this had some well-known double meaning. Billy didn’t know and didn’t want to know what he was implying. He caught Billy’s expression, “Don’t worry, you would have been fine. You weren’t his type— he liked blondes with sad eyes.”

“Are all grown-ups this fucked up?” Billy finally muttered.

“Language,” White tsked.

“Ugh, you sound like my mom.”

“Jeez. I’m not that old. I gotta talk to Wardrobe about the hokey suits they stuck me with. Like I’m frickin’ Richard Dawson!” Mr. White said indignantly, “I only graduated from State, like, two years ago. Less than that!”

“That’s what I’m using the prize money for! To pay for college!” Billy interjected excitedly, “We blew my college savings on medical stuff.”

“Keep winning like you have been and you’ll cover tuition, housing and textbooks and still have money left over for beer bongs.”

“My top choice school is MIT,” Billy announced and then added, “You sound like you might be from near there, Mr. White.”

“Me? Yeah, the general area, I guess,” White prevaricated. He thought he had done a pretty good job rounding out the corners on his regional dialect to Broadcast Standard English but the kid was perceptive.

“Have you been to MIT?” Billy asked, hopefully.

“They had a good radio station,” White searched his memories, “Back in high school me and my friend Donnie would steal his older brother’s car to drive down to see bands in Cambridge on the weekends. That’s as close as I got, though. Sorry.”

“I’m from the East Coast, too,” Billy offered, “This is the longest I’ve been away from home.”

White seemed distracted, rubbing his teeth and gums vigorously with a finger.

“Are you ok, Mr. White?” Billy asked with concern, “Do your gums hurt?”

“Huh?” White said, caught in a tick, “Oh yeah. Just giving them a ‘finger check.’ Gotta floss more. Gingivitis can creep up on you.”

“I think I just saw Dabney Coleman walk by,” Billy whispered excitedly while standing on his seat, craning his neck to see further.

“Hey kid, why are you still wearing that?” White asked, gesturing up and down to Billy’s blazer over a sweater and khaki pants with a knit tie that he was wearing during the taping.

“I don’t have any other clothes,” Billy confessed, “I didn’t think I’d still be doing this three weeks later so I didn’t pack anything else.”

“You’ve been wearing the same outfit every day for three weeks? That’s disgusting,” White turned up his nose.

“No, I have two outfits. I wear one while I wash the other one in my bathroom sink. I trade off every day,” Billy said. 

“At least take the tie off when we’re not on the show so this doesn’t look like a job interview.”

Billy slid the knot down and unbuttoned his top button.

“Better,” Mr. White pointed with the butt of his hotdog, “That settles it. Tomorrow I’m taking you to buy you some decent street clothes.”

“You wanna experience Los Angeles at the cusp of a new decade at the end of the Millennium?” White pontificated, gesturing broadly as they rode down the escalator, “Then you go to the mall. The Beverly Center Mall if you can swing it.”

“There’s a scene in Less than Zero set at this exact mall,” Billy quizboyed.

“Jesus Christ, don’t tell me kids are reading Brett Easton Ellis novels now,” White peered over his sunglasses. 

“And it’s in Beverly Hills Cop. Briefly,” Billy added.

“Ok, that one is definitely R-rated and—”

“Eddie Murphy says ‘fuck’ in it 60 times,” Billy said with a naughty smile.

They walked off the escalator, crowded by shoppers, as dozens of neon-lit store signs twinkled at them across the atrium.

Mr. White always looked really stylish and put-together, Billy thought. Even when they were just hanging out at the mall he had a deconstructed white linen suit over a pastel-colored t-shirt. Billy reached up to flick some specks of white from his otherwise impeccable jacket’s cuff

“Guess the powdered donut I had for breakfast got away from me,” White laughed.

“Or your dandruff shampoo isn’t working well enough,” Billy suggested snarkily, even though the placement of the white specs didn’t make sense for either of those explanations.

White was still wearing his sunglasses even inside the mall. They had only a slight warm amber fade to them so Billy assumed they were just his regular glasses he wore all the time but it made it hard to look him directly in the eye. He had a big expensive-looking watch– probably a Rolex or something, a small gold chain around his neck and a signet ring with a pink stone on his finger. The only off element was the silky bandana-type wrap he wore on his head— a kind of tight-fitting fabric cap that covered his hair completely.

“It’s a du-rag, Billy,” White had explained on the drive over, “I put a conditioning treatment on my hair this morning so I gotta keep it covered while the chemical processes. You call it vanity, but it’s all part of the job. Gotta be slick and shiny when the cameras roll next week, y’know.”

“It still looks super weird,” Billy felt comfortable enough with Mr. White to offer his opinion. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to bring up that it still looked like he was wearing his TV make up from yesterday or he had put on a brand new face of thick foundation even though they weren’t shooting that day.

White spotted the green sign of the United Colors of Benetton, steered Billy away from the Electronics Boutique and in the front door. Here was a brand that was trendy, but not too intimidating to a fashion novice with, presumably, pretty conservative tastes. Plus they had kid sizes.

“I applied to work here when I was in college. Never hired though,” White remembered bitterly, muttering under his breath, “United Colors, my ass. I guess ‘No Color’ isn’t included that union, huh.”

Billy wasn’t listening, just overwhelmed by the size of the store and all the bright colors. Pop music blared from the sound system. Blown up photos of cheerful diverse groups of young attractive people of all races wearing primary colored Euro-Preppy outfits on white backgrounds smiled at him from the walls. Inclusive, sure, but all of them had a head-size proportionate to their bodies.

Mr. White walked with him to the kids’ section.

"You're really going above and beyond, taking me shopping, Mr. White," Billy said, "Spending all your free time helping some kid you hardly know with his problems."

“It’s kinda fun. Makes me feel useful, too. Reminds me of when I was back living at home with all the cousins and nephews and neighborhood kids underfoot. Lookin’ after 'em. Keepin' em outta trouble. I never thought I’d miss that but being out here is kinda… I dunno... isolating?” 

"What do you mean? Don't you have lots of friends from being on TV?"

"It definitely helps when booking restaurant reservations, but otherwise... nah. I don't even hang out with any of the people who work on the show, it's too awkward. You never know who's on the way out or who's trying to get you fired or take your job."

Billy looked up a shelf that stretched up to the ceiling with tiny square cubby holes for socks in every color of the rainbow.

“You end up alone a lot of the time. Alone and doing nothing. Alone in your car waiting in traffic. Waiting for a call. Waiting to go on set. Waiting for someone to tell you to do something. Makes me feel like my brain is atrophying," White sniffed noisily and wiped his nose, "I used to be wicked smart before this gig, y'know?"

Billy watched his expression shift from melancholy to resolved.

"But not today! Today belongs to us," White went over to a table of folded sweaters in neat piles,"Pick out whatever you want. Get a week’s worth of clothes. Extra socks and underwear. I’ll cover you and you can pay me back out of your winnings.”

Billy hesitated. “Don’t make fun of me but… I’ve never bought my own clothes before. My mom always picked them out and told me what to wear.”

“Explains a lot of your ‘look,’” White sniffed. Billy pouted. “What can I say, I’ve got a good eye for ‘Sunday-Best picked-out-by-mom’ after 250ish fuckin’ episodes now. I tell ya I got sweater vests dancin’ before my eyes when I go to sleep at night.”

Billy snickered. White smirked, “Buying clothes doesn’t have to be a drag. Get something you like, not what your mom likes.”

Billy looked around at the sweaters on tables, the hanging racks, the open shelves with stacks of folded shirts. He didn’t even know where to start.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“I dunno,” Billy thought, “I like green, I guess. Green or yellow.”

“Good choice. Nice contrast with the whole carrot-top you got goin’ on.” White encouraged him while pulling a striped green pullover from a shelf and handing it to him. “Try it on in a couple sizes. These koo-koo European numbers on the tag are meaningless to me.”

Billy made a selection from the rack and walked to the dressing room, White followed him and sat outside the door while he dressed.

“From now on, bring your laundry to the studio on shoot days. Wardrobe can wash them for you,” he shouted over the door, “Unless you, like, crap your pants or something. Don’t bring that to the studio.”

“I’m not going to... soil myself,” Billy sputtered with disgust from inside the room, “Jeez Louise!”

"You say that now but you never know,” White shook his finger, “In a close game those final question challenges get pretty stressful.”

Billy groaned.

“Hey. Did you pack a bathing suit?”

“No.”

White pulled a pair of swimming trunks from a rack behind him and tossed them to Billy, “Get those, we’re going to the beach later.”

Billy hesitated, “Do I have to get exactly this pair or can I pick out one that will fit?"

___

Billy had donned one of his fresh new styles to make his debut on the Santa Monica boardwalk. A butter yellow rugby shirt with mint-green stripes over avocado green elastic-ankled slacks. He mussed up his hair to look beach-ready. For the first time in his life, he thought he looked pretty cool (allowing for the whole "built like a bobble-head and shorter than parking meter" factor).

Mr. White donned a bolero hat in bleached straw with a wide brim and switched to a pair of much darker tinted sunglasses. He draped a cashmere scarf in muted mauve over his shoulders. Being out in sunlight was unavoidable in Los Angeles, so he had strategies to protect himself while still looking the peak of yuppie au courant.

“C’mere kid,” White grabbed Billy by the shoulder and squatted in front of him. “You ain’t got much of a nose but it’ll still hurt like hell if you get a sunburn on it.”

Taking a dab of sunblock (top of the line stuff, from France) from the tube, he patted it on Billy’s nose and on the top of his ears. He squirted a streak across the palm of Billy’s hand and indicated he should rub it into any other exposed skin.

A woman in a bikini with a boa constrictor draped around her neck like a scarf roller skated the opposite direction as they walked down the boardwalk.

“Welcome to Los Angeles!” she shouted behind her in a sing-song voice as she whipped past.

Billy did a double take “Wait, is that the same woman from—”

White cut him off, “Nah, there’s tons of them.”

“This is gonna sound weird, Mr. White, but I’ve never been to the beach before,” Billy said, his hand on his forehead shielding his eyes from the sun overhead as he looked out at the small waves lapping at the sand.

“Really? Never?”

Billy nodded, “I’ve even been to California before— four times! Never once made it to the beach.”

White snorted derisively, “No beach. Just came out to admire our world-famous freeway system.”

“My mother didn’t consider the beach culturally or educationally enriching. Didn’t think it was a good use of my time.”

“She sounds like a barrel of laughs,” White said snidely.

Billy counted on his fingers, “I came out twice for academic tournaments at CalTech. Once for a conference at Stanford and once to… UC Irvine, I think. It was some UC school anyway. I was only three. Some grad students let me play Asteroids on a terminal hooked to a DEC PDP-11.”

White smiled nostalgically, “Ah, the DEC minicomps. Gorgeous machines. State had one avocado green.”

“Wow, you know about computers, Mr. White?” Billy was blindsided by Mr. White’s hidden depths.

“My sophomore year, I secretly coded a program in ours that would randomly generate different ‘fuck off’s to any subsequent entered commands. Made the Freshman lab seminar think the machines had attained sentience,” White laughed. 

“You can do computer programming, too,” Billy shouted, even more amazed. He already idolized Mr. White for being tall and handsome and cool, plus being on TV, but if he knew computer stuff, too, he was ascending to god status. Mr. White might even challenge Rusty Venture for his all-time personal #1 hero pedestal.

“Oh sure. I got my BS in Computer Science. I ain’t just a pretty face, y’know.” White winked, “Theoretical and practical. Hardware. Software. Circuit engineering. Hacking, Cracking and limited Phone Phreaking.”

“That’s so cool,” Billy bounced on his heels, having found a kindred spirit, “You’re a scientist.”

“Scientist-Non Practicing,” White clarified, “Other than working as an involuntary help desk every time a boss bought a computer, I haven’t actually used those skills since graduation. I’m probably really behind the technology. I only got through C, never mind the C++.”

“How did you end up being a TV star if you were a computer scientist?”

“‘Star’ is really pushing it, pal,” White dismissed. For a smart kid, Billy was investing the low-budget production with way too much pop-cultural influence. It wasn't even a network show, just pretaped and syndicated to a patchwork of markets. White would make more money managing a Gap Kids or a Banana Republic over the chicken scratch he was paid. 

His condo and his car leases were covered by his… other job.

“You’re squinting pretty hard there,” White noticed.

“I don’t have any sunglasses and no hats will fit me.” Billy sighed. “I’ll be OK.”

White made a bee line for a kiosk on the side of the boardwalk, gesturing to Billy to follow him. A standard little pushcart, stocked with water wings and beach balls and extra tanning lotion. Of interest to them was the rack of cheap hats and sunglasses.

“This looks like it’ll fit,” White joked, putting a kid’s inflatable pool ring on Billy’s head like a swan-headed crown.

“It doesn’t give me any shade, does it?”

White pointed at a rack of cheap neon-colored plastic sunglasses. Billy scowled.

“They’re not going to fit.”

“Humor me.”

Billy sighed and demonstrated, slipping the glasses arms over his temples, warping the hinges long before the bridge met his nose. He forced the glasses on with a shove, the arms digging into the side of his head before snapping off from the pressure and they fell from his face.

“You break it, you bought it, chief,” barked the vendor.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” White mumbled, handing him a couple of crumpled dollars while still combing the racks. He found a plastic sun visor on an elastic strap. He snapped the elastic and showed it to Billy.

“How about that? Pretty clever.”

“No way. I’ll break that, too.” Billy predicted.

White thought and then grabbed a second one, paying the vendor for both. He pointed at a fluorescent green boogie board in Billy was examining. “And I’ll take that, too.”

White gave Billy money to get them both frozen yogurt and sat down with the two sun visors. With the Swiss army knife in his pocket he cut the elastic off the first visor and used it as a donor to extend the length of the second. He didn’t have the means to sew or staple it on so he tied it on in a flat-lying knot. He bent a paperclip into a little slider to keep the free end slightly adjustable. It wouldn’t last more than the day but it was good enough to let the kid wear a stupid sunhat the same as any other normal kid could. 

He finished up his jerry-rigged creation just as Billy returned, handing a paper cup to White without ever detaching his tongue from his own chocolate-vanilla swirl cone.

“Taa-daa,” White announced, holding up his creation, “I MacGyvered it.”

He slipped it over Billy’s head— the transparent plastic visor looking woefully tiny on his forehead, but actually casting a little shade over his eyes— and tugged on the loose elastic to cinch it on. It fit.

“You actually did it,” Billy said, “I’m totally, totally impressed.”

“Now let’s get to that beach you’re here to see.” 

Finding a stretch of empty sand, they left the boardwalk for the beach proper. White hung back towards a bench with a city-provided parasol covering, well in the shade. Billy kicked off his shoes, pulled off and tossed aside his flashy Benetton duds revealing the swim trunks and t-shirt underneath. 

“Before you go in, lemme refresh your sunblock or you’ll look like a boiled lobster on camera.”

“How about you Mr. White?”

“I’m already all blocked up. I took care of myself before I left the house,” White waved him off. Billy noticed Mr. White seemed to have put more clothes on since the morning, he was wearing his driving gloves on and had a long-sleeved shirt buttoned right up to the edge of his throat, plus that scarf draped over top.

“You’re not going to go in the ocean?”

“There’s a provision in my show contract that I can’t get a tan. It fucks up the lighting in the studio if I’m a different color. So I have to stay in the shade.” White gestured at the beach umbrella overhead

Billy looked a little disappointed, “That’s not gonna be fun. We came all the way here.”

“I live here. I can go to the beach whenever I want. You run around and go in the water.”

Although disappointed, Billy accepted it. He grabbed his neon boogie board and ran toward the ocean whooping cheerfully, his oversized Fido-Dido t-shirt all but entirely covering him.

“Hey! Hey! Hold up!” White called out.

Billy trotted back obediently.

“Whaddya doin’ keeping your shirt on when you're in the water? It looks dorky. You scared someone’s gonna make fun of your fat boy tits or something?”

Billy screwed up his face, disgusted, “No! Of course not.”

He peeled off his Fido Dido shirt defiantly and threw it on the ground. He threw a stink-face and a crotch-thrust at White before dashing back towards the ocean giggling.

“Oh shit,” thought White. Not what he was expecting on the secondary sexual characteristic front. He was more than a few Tanner Stages off in his estimation of how old this kid was. Speedos didn’t leave much to the imagination and he definitely wasn’t wearing the right size. Billy seemed oblivious, hopping over the incoming waves on his stumpy surfboard and screaming in delight.

White sat on the bench, thinking. The whole day in retrospect suddenly felt kinda shady. How did he feel more like pedophile because the kid was older, that made no sense! He didn't have any kind of attraction to any fuckin' kids; he just felt bad and wanted to do something nice. He shook the thoughts from his head. Fuck what people read into it.

Billy took a break from swimming and padded up to him, his sea-salt-scented bangs clinging in fettuccine strips over his forehead. White handed him a rolled towel.

“How old are you really?”

Billy stared innocently, “Fifteen. Why?”

“All this frickin’ time I thought you were like seven or something.”

Billy frowned, “Because I’m short, right?”

“And the haircut, honestly.”

Billy scowled and shook his wet hair like a dog drying off. 

“The show thinks you’re a little kid, too, y'know. You were competing against 2nd Graders! I'm gonna have to tell 'em.”

“I never claimed to be anything. Your casting people made an assumption at the audition that I chose not to correct," Billy said snottily, “I could have shown my ID if they asked.”

“Yeah, well, Casting is coked to the eyeballs. They’d book a ham sandwich to be a contestant.”

“'Coked to the eyeballs?'” Billy repeated, confused by the phrase.

“Never mind,” White shrugged, “I’ve gotta pick up a package in Sylmar, all the way down in the Valley so I should get on the road soon. Are you ready to go?”

 Billy nodded, wrapping himself in a towel. They walked back to his car.

“Now that I know you’re actually a teenager I guess I should be taking you to more mature attractions, huh?”

“Can we go see boobie movies?” Billy asked, wide-eyed and vibrating with excitement.

“Not that mature,” White rolled his eyes, “Not if you’re calling a skin flick a ‘boobie movie.’”

—

His car idled in front of the hotel as Billy got out.

“Did you have fun today?”

Billy smiled and nodded.

“Whenever you feel sad sitting alone in that hotel room, call me up and I’ll take you out for ice cream or something. No one should be alone because they’re different.”

Billy was alone more for logistics than his personal uniqueness, but it was still a heartfelt gesture.

“Even if you just wanna talk about anything that’s bothering you,” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and handed Billy a business card, “Any stupid thing. I’ll listen. I get it. I’ve been there.”

Billy turned the business card over in his hand, confused. Tasteful thickness, eggshell texture. “But it’s blank?”

White grimaced, “It’s printed white on white. Tilt it in light.”

Billy held the card up at an angle and the name Mr. White followed by his phone and a pager number flickered in subtle glossy relief to the pale nimbus background. There also was a thin edge of powder grains stuck to the long edge for some reason. He flicked them off.

Billy squinted at small writing next to his name “Why does it say '250 per gram, delivery no pickup' at the bottom?” White ignored him, and clasped his hand.

“If you’re feelin’ alone in the world just... know I’m here for you, kid.”

“Same for you,” Billy said back, but then second guessed himself. “I mean, if that’s not too presumptuous, Mr. White. I don’t know anything about your life. I’m just a kid but… it schucks to be alone all the time.”

“Yeah,” White agreed and sniffed.

“Goodnight, Mr. White.” Billy looked up at him with his puppy-dog eyes, “Thank you. Really.”

to be continued...

I gave up on posting fiction here because lack of interest and tumblr's annoying text layout but this story has TWO Illustrations and is mostly self-contained so maybe some fan might stumble onto it and get some enjoyment out of it, y'know.

→ Chapter title is a 1991 Boys II Men hit. Did I think it came out in 1989 when I titled this chapter? A little bit.

→ On a TV or Movie set, “craft service” is an assortment of snacks that is set out for the cast and crew to nosh on during breaks in shooting. Because hot meals (provided by a different department “Catering”) come at weird times on shoot, craft service keeps people on set (not ducking out to buy food). There’s a hierarchy of who gets to eat when (eg, SAG actors before non-SAG). A green room is the waiting room for guests (different than a dressing room— one room shared by all the guests) appearing on a talk show or game show and there’s usually a catering tray there, too.

→ Most facts about swearing in Eddie Murphy movies, Pink’s Hot Dogs and the Beverly Center Mall are accurate. I made up some of the hot dog names; I don't know what was on their menu in 1989. The Beverly Center Mall was the setting of 1991’s Scenes from a Mall, which was shot a year after this chapter is set.

→ A lot of that business card crap is a lift from American Psycho. Another novel by Brett Easton Ellis, came out 1991/set in 1987, movie made in 2000.

→ If anything else that needs explaining, ask me

→ the rest of the story is on AO3, but this flashback is a one-off scene. (It mostly takes place in 1995-1996 when Billy is 22, living in the trailer in the desert.)

A Conjectural Technologies backstory story ('95-'96ish) → with illustrations ←

Billy has a crush on the mean grrrl who works the video store. Pete disapproves and suddenly finds himself ever-popular with a whole new fan base