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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 2 years ago

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Is It Really That Bad?

It’s hard to believe nowadays, but there was a time where the Tim Burton/Johnny Depp duo was known for delivering nothing but certified bangers. Edward Scissorhands, Ed Wood, Sleepy Hollow… It was just hit after hit when these two joined forces. But in the mid 2000s, something shifted. It suddenly seemed like people were sick of Burton, sick of Depp, and most of all sick of them working together. Sure, Corpse Bride and Sweeney Todd were still well-liked, but once Alice in Wonderland hit theaters people weren’t shy about voicing their dislike of the director and especially the actor. Burton kind of skidded to a halt for a while, while Depp just kept making increasingly worse movies with Disney and generally not doing anything worthwhile after Rango, and while Alice was the breaking point, the cracks started to show in 2005 with a little film called Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

An attempt to redo Roald Dahl’s novel about a precocious child touring the candy factory of a wacky candymaker was being planned for a long time, with even Nicolas Cage in talks at one point to be Wonka, and at another point good ol’ Martin Scorcese was attached to direct. But things just kept falling through until Burton got dragged in, and from there he proceeded to get things done and talk the studio out of stupid decisions like killing off Charlie’s dad and making Wonka a parental figure. Ah, but speaking of Wonka, that crucial role needed filling, and it seemed a lot of famous actors were considered for the role by the studio—Robin Williams, Patrick Stewart, Michael Keaton, Steve Martin, Bill Murray, Christopher Walken, Brad Pitt, Leslie Nielsen, Robert De Niro, Will Smith, Mike Meyers, Ben Stiller, pretty much every living member of Monty Python left at the time, Adam Sandler, and Marilyn Manson among them according to TVTropes—and Burton had an interesting idea for his second pick to play the guy:

But instead he went for his first pick, someone who’s actually very similar to Marilyn Manson in a lot of ways! Good ol’ reliable JD himself! Surely this was gonna bring in the big bucks! And... it did! It's the highest-grossing adaptation of one of Dahl's works ever, and Burton's second highest-grossing film!

Critics seemed mostly fine with it, but audiences were a lot more divided. Some people liked that it was a new and different take on the story that stayed a lot more true to the book than the beloved 1971 Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (a movie that Dahl famously hated as much as he did Jewish people, so frankly who gives a shit about his opinion), while others clung to the nostalgia of the Gene Wilder Wonka and treated this new film like a war crime. How dare they remake their favorite movie, even though this isn't a remake, it's just a different adaptation of the same book!

So yes, this movie isn’t the most reviled film out there, but it definitely is incredibly divisive, and what’s more I distinctly recall even as a child being aware of the attitude towards Depp and Burton shifting towards the more negative when this film came out. So I figured it was a high time I see about revisiting it and find out if this second cinematic outing into Wonka’s factory was really that bad, or if it genuinely was a work of impure imagination.

THE GOOD

It may surprise you to hear that this film actually does a few things better than the 1971 film. This is especially evident in the four shitty children touring the factory with Charlie.

The ones from Willy Wonka were, to put it bluntly, dull and forgettable, and came off as far too sympathetic in regards to their fate because none of them aside from Veruca Salt showcased any terrible traits that would lead to them deserving their punishments. In this film, all these kids are assholes, so watching them fall prey to the karmic justice of Wonka's factory is all the more satisfying. We also get to see what happens to them after they get out, which is kind of funny. I’m not gonna pretend that they made them the deepest and most complex characters ever, but with how they updated them and with the young actors they got to portray them, they managed to inject a bit more life into them than you’d expect.

This movie also fixes Grandpa Joe, who is pretty infamous to fans of the '71 film as a total asshole who constantly encourages Charlie to steal and just in general seems like a massive burden to his family. Here, he actually is every bit the sweet old grandpa that you’d expect, and his motivations for wanting to go on the tour are a lot nicer and more sympathetic. He also never tries to push Charlie into a life of crime, which is nice.

Of course, the very best aspect of this movie is Deep motherfucking Roy. He’s the second best dwarf actor out there, only oovershadowed by Warwick “Leprechaun” Davis, and much like Davis was in Star Wars as the ultimate Glup Shitto—Droopy McCool.

And in this film he gets the incredible honor of being every single fucking Oompa-Loompa there is, and he is clearly having a blast and busting his ass. He had no prior dancing experience, but you could not tell with how he’s pulling off all these sick moves while spitting out diss tracks for children like he’s Blood on the Dance Floor. He really is the single best actor in the movie, and that’s not to slander anyone else—Roy is just that good. Like we have a scene-stealing minor role for Christopher Lee as Wonka’s dad, a crabby dentist who hates candy, and as amazing as he is Roy still is better. You better respect this man.

Speaking of men to respect: Danny Elfman. Taking lyrics straight from the book and weaving a unique style for each kid—Big Bollywood spectacle for Augustus (that was Roy’s idea), 70s funk for Violet, psychedelic rock for Veruca, and hard rock for Mike—the songs are all genuinely great and fun to listen to. I’d never go as far as to say they’re more iconic than the Oompa-Loompa tracks from the ‘71 film, but I think they function better as songs, and the fact each of them has their own distinct style to set them apart from each other was the right way to go. I do think Mike’s song is the weakest of the bunch, feeling a lot messier than the other three, but it’s not unbearably awful or anything.

THE BAD

The biggest issue with the film is that the two most important characters—Charlie and Wonka—fucking suck.

Let’s start with Charlie. Now, to be clear, I’m not putting any blame on Freddie Highmore—he was literally a child, and even then I think he’s doing his damndest to make Charlie cute and whimsical. The issue here is definitely on the writers, who saw fit to stuff him full of all the syrupy sweet Tiny Tim-esque kind-hearted poor child cliches but forgot to impart a personality to go with them. Charlie is, to put it bluntly, a boring and generic nice guy, and one who ends up feeling like a living plot device to further Wonka’s character development, something that feels especially egregious when his name is literally in the title.

And now let’s talk about Wonka. Boy, is there a lot to unpack with this guy.

Literally everything about this take on Wonka is incredibly awkward and off-putting. The most infamous aspect of him is definitely the look; with his pale skin and dorky haircut he looked a lot like Michael Jackson, who at the time the film came out was going through a very serious scandal where he was accused of doing awful things to children in his big rich guy mansion… which is essentially the plot of this film when you think about it.

But that’s just an unfortunate coincidence! It’s an ugly look, sure, but a good performance could make it palatable, and this was Johnny Depp during his big post-Jack Sparrow renaissance working together with the guy who helped put him on the map. Surely he wouldn’t deliver an incredibly awkward, cringey, and insufferable performance that dials up all his acting quirks to annoying levels, right?

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Here’s the thing: On paper, Depp’s Wonka is honestly not that different than Wilder’s. They’re both weird, quirky, reclusive confectioners with a not-so-hidden disdain for the kids touring their factory and snarky, condescending attitudes. What it all comes down to is the presentation, and to show you what I mean I’m going to use the most batshit comparison you’ve ever seen:

Burton’s Wonka is very similar to Zack Snyder’s Ozymandias.

“Now hold on, Michael,” I hear you exclaiming in utter bewilderment, “how are these two comparable? I know that both are fine with the wonton murder of children if it helps achieve their goals and that a lot of people are weirdly horny for them, but how is this a good comparison?” Well luckily I’m not trying to compare a mass-murdering anti-villain to a quirky chocolatier in terms of character, but in how the adaptation drops the ball with how they’re presented by removing the more warm and positive aspects of them. In Alan Moore’s comic, Adrian Veidt is essentially a relentlessly charming gigachad, an affable and approachable fellow who seems beneath suspicion because he exudes a traditionally heroic warmth. In the movie, however, Snyder chose to portray Veidt as a cold, distant twink who doesn’t seem particularly approachable at all (another case of Daddy Zaddy tragically missing Moore’s point).

This same "missing the point" issue plagues Wonka. Yes, Wilder’s take is just as much a smug asshole reveling in the comeuppance the children are receiving, but he also has a genuine warmth to him which is codified perfectly with him singing “Pure Imagination.” Sure, he’s perfectly willing to traumatize everyone with a demented boat ride shortly after, but Wilder’s performance and the presentation of his Wonks help sell him as a quirky genius who is more likable than insufferable, and you really understand how despite being kind of a dick he is also a beloved figure.

Depp’s Wonka fails as the character in the same basic ways that the movie version of Veidt does: He's a condescending, cold, openly rude, guy who is just genuinely unpleasant to be around despite the movie really trying hard to make him likable and relatable, to the point where unlike Wilder's take it's hard to grasp why this guy gets any respect from anyone. He’s like the proto-Rick Sanchez, except he’s not even particularly funny to make up for it. Maybe this take is more accurate to the book, but if it is it’s really just proof that taking liberties when adapting really is for the best.

And this failure is only compounded by the movie piling on a tragic backstory for Wonka. Yes, Christopher Lee is great, but there is genuinely no need to pile on a traumatic childhood and weird daddy issues to Willy Wonka. The character works best as this weird, trickster mentor figure who dishes out karma to the naughty kids and ultimately rewards the good egg of the bunch. Trying to bring a guy with a magical factory full of dwarfs who do choreographed diss tracks every time a kid falls into the incinerator down to earth and make him relatable is just a mind-boggling decision.

These are really the only two issues with the film that stand out as excessively bad, but… you see the problem, right? The titular character and the owner of the titular chocolate factory are both bad. One’s a living prop, the other is just an obnoxious asshat who is given unneeded character development that ends up falling flat, and while this would be easy to ignore if they were side characters it’s impossible to let slide since they are the main fucking characters. The whole film revolves around the two very worst things in it, and no matter how good the other stuff in the movie is these elements alone drag it down a lot.

IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?

Look, I’m not going to pretend like this is a great film. If it really is closer to Dahl’s book, all it managed to do is convince me to never read it and solidified my belief that being pragmatic when adapting books to screen is the way to go. It’s also really easy to see how the Burton-Depp fatigue came about, as this is some of the weakest work in both of their filmographies.

But I still feel like there’s plenty to like here. The songs, the bratty kids, Deep motherfucking Roy, it’s all genuinely good shit! There was never a chance it was going to be iconic as the Wilder film, but it’s disingenuous to write it off entirely when it does a lot good things (and a few things better than the '71 version). A lot of people are nostalgic for this one these days, as it's the one this generation grew up with, and honestly? I can't really blame them entirely. It's a decent enough movie, and I honestly think that score it has up there is pretty fair. It's certainly a mixed bag but when it actually succeeds at being charming it does it in its own unique way rather than trying to ape the beloved classic that came before it, and I do respect it for that.

And hey, if Johnny Depp's worst and most annoying movie role is in a movie I'd still say is okay, that's a good thing right? He couldn't possibly ever take a role more cringeworthy and annoying than Wonka in a film that's genuinely shitty, right?

Right?

RIGHT?!

#is it really that bad?#IIRTB #Charlie and the Chocolate Factory #Tim Burton #Johnny Depp #Willy Wonka #Roald Dahl #book adaptation #review #movie review #Youtube

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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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Listening Post: Don and Moki Cherry’s Organic Music

If ever an artist were to receive an award for pioneering a genre while defining several others, Don Cherry would be a prime candidate. His multi-instrumentalism speaks to that diversity. While trumpet was his main axe, his contributions on donso ngoni, Indian flute, piano and various percussion instruments embody an unceasing inquisitiveness that would traverse his 40-year multi-media odyssey. His first recordings were with Ornette Coleman's ground-breaking 1958-1961 bands, Alongside drummers Billy Higgins, Ed Blackwell and bassist Charlie Haden. One of these, the 1960 "Free Jazz" date, gave the emerging "New Thing" music one of its lasting appellations. In that vibrant scene, he worked with musicians as disparate as Albert Ayler, John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins and the New York Contemporary Five. On a 1963 Scandinavian tour with Rollins, he met visual artist and spiritualist Monika Karlsson, later Moki Cherry, and two newly released sound documents from their extensive collaboration will provide the springboard for our discussion. Meanwhile, Don Cherry's travels led him to India, Turkey, Brazil and various points on the African continent. They also informed his work on recordings as chronologically and culturally varied as Carla Bley's Escalator Over the Hill and Heiner Goebbels astonishing and still underappreciated Man in the Elevator. On these, in genre-busting workouts with Ian Dury, Lou Reed, and on the albums under his leadership, recorded between 1965 and 1993, his unmistakable musical voice echoes with that profound simplicity that made permeable every artistic boundary in his life.

Cherry died in 1995. Since his discography was scattered across numerous small labels, and he was more concerned with his next project than whatever he had already done, certain phases of his career have been inadequately documented. One of them is his episodic residence in Sweden. That time, which spans the 1960s and 1970s, and the artistic/domestic partnership with Moki Cherry that made it possible, are the subjects of a book and two archival albums published in 2021 by Blank Forms. The book, Organic Music Societies, includes interviews, scholarly analysis, reprinted publications, photos and reproductions of Moki’s visual art, which adorned their homes and formed the backdrop for Cherry’s performances. While audiences may have perceived Moki as an unobtrusive backing musician as she sat on stage playing a tambura, the performances they experienced would not have happened without her. She articulated the principal, “The stage is home and home is a stage,” created the visual components of that portable environment, and put in the hard practical work that made that principal into a reality. The book describes their desire to escape the jazz club milieu, which aggravated Don’s problems with addiction and was far from family friendly, in favor of happenings and teaching opportunities, which were centered at a former schoolhouse they inhabited in Tågarp, Sweden. The Summer House Sessions is a 1968 session that shows the transition from the free jazz suites that Don recorded for Blue Note in the mid-1960s to a more international conception of music. And Organic Music Theatre: Festival de Jazz de Chateauvallon 1972, by Don Cherry’s New Researches Featuring Naná Vasconcelos, presents a concert in which Don put aside his pocket trumpet to sit at the piano and sing songs of hippy living while puppeteers performed and kids gamboled on stage.

By Bill Meyer

Organic Music Theatre: Festival de jazz de Chateauvallon 1972 by Don Cherry's New Researches featuring Naná Vasconcelos

Bill Meyer: I’m appreciating that even though the book and the two albums are historical documents dealing with work done half a century ago, that work feels pretty relevant to this time. The Organic Music model proposed a way of applying tools found around the world to personal ends without disrespecting the sources. It’s kind of punk because Don didn’t duplicate traditional approaches. Without that model, we wouldn’t have Joshua Abrams’ Natural Information Society, or Hamid Drake and William Parker’s blend of international and jazz elements.

Marc Medwin: Fascinating! I wonder how we can relate this idea very specifically to sound. Do you hear something in the group aesthetics on these albums, or in Don's playing that sounds "punk?" I'm talking about timbre now, which, while it is certainly an important component in any musician's language, plays a large part in Don's approach to his sonic art, especially in the pan geographic diversity you describe.

Ben Donnelly: I, too, have been struck by how relevant this record feels to this time. I've been pondering why this stage in jazz and improvised music has found a broader following in the last few years. Cherry was such an itinerant, and that speaks to where a lot of off-the-beaten track listeners find themselves these days.

The opening of this record rapidly clears away any sense that this music will fit a genre. The chant, in a literal way, is "spiritual" and perhaps Hindu in a Coltrane sense. But the effect is also like the old Sesame Street theme and "Do Re Mi" from Sound of Music. And it's also goofy like Ella or Louie scatting. There's big simple chords, like Black gospel, but it's kind of cult-like when the commune crowd joins in. Cherry's singing sounds like he's making it up on the spot. But there's a sax following his melody closely.

Then the ocean crash of piano when "Interlude with Puppets" – I can see the marionettes scrambling and scattering around the stage. I love how I can't place this music anywhere on the spectrum of composition and ecstatic creation, or self-expression to theatrical troupe.

Don's singing is pretty punk here — scratchy and carrying simple melodies without worrying about polish, coming up with weird refrains that make sense sideways. So many the timbres here are ragged and banged out.

There's a real arc to this performance that I admire. I can sense the sun setting as it moves along. The frantic and friendly piano pounding in the first half gives way to more drone and the evening rolls along and night breeze moves in. Was this performance outside? It sure feels like it.

Bill Meyer: Marc, I’m not really thinking about timbre, but about an attitude towards one’s tools. One thing that I think connects punk rock and free jazz is that they both break from an accumulated body of knowledge and technique that a musician was supposed to master prior to admission, and instead insist that desire to play and an ability to make sound gets you into the game. Cherry came from free jazz, of course, and took shit for his perceived technical lacks, but was valued by Coleman, Coltrane, Rollins, and so many more because of his ideas. Then he went off and got himself a Malian instrument, the donso ngoni, and rather than learn like he might have if he had grown up in Mali, he learned enough to play it his way and express what he needed it to express.

Ben, I think that the singalongs on the Chateauvallon album connect very strongly to playful, collective singing, whether it’s Sesame Street, grade school music hour, or take your pick of other multigenerational social singing events. The value of a song lies more in the ease with which others can join in, than in the kind of solo you can launch from it. Cherry used it to create an idealized zone for a communion that drew people across generations, races, and cultures, and the nervy thing about doing it at a jazz festival is not just that you had a hippy commune taking over the festival stage, but that Cherry and company were setting out on a jazz stage an alternative to the jazz life.

I haven’t found footage of this concert yet online, but I found a Mahavishnu Orchestra concert from the same year and it looks like it’s in an outdoor amphitheater.

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Michael Rosenstein: I wonder how much, if at all, Cherry was influenced by his meetings with Abdullah Ibrahim and Makaya Ntshoko in the mid-1960s. While they didn't utilize traditional African instruments, they certainly brought a sensibility of melding kwela and jazz vocabularies.

William Parker has long espoused Cherry as an influence, going back to the music he was playing in the late 1970s, documented on some of the early recordings he released on his Centering label.

Marc Medwin: Michael, yes, come to think of it, those middle 1970s Parker recordings do have a certain Cherry-esque immediacy and spirit of inclusion, and I really like Bill's Parker/Drake comparison, a duo for all seasons!

Not to mention Parker and those associated with him taking various matters associated with the music into their own hands!

Bill Meyer: My impression from reading Organic Music Society is that Cherry definitely played a lot with Dollar Brand. Copenhagen was actually the nearest big city to Tagarp, where the Cherry family lived, so he would nip down there to join the band when Dollar Brand was there. And he made enough of an impression on Cherry musically for Cherry to include his tunes in sets over the years. But I haven’t yet encountered discussion of a direct musical influence.

Marc Medwin: Bill, I wonder if a certain sonic event is discussed in the book. At 2:35 of Butterfly Friend, do you all hear that little person laugh? I wonder if it's in response to Cherry's bluesily and adorably silly wah-wah electric guitar vocal impression? I think it's an endearing moment!! I should also say how absolutely stunning the recording is! It's alive, gorgeously ambient, and sometimes surprisingly fluid (the audience moves around the soundstage a bit.) With headphones, I'm right there in it!!

Bill Meyer: The young person at 2.35 is not precisely identified, but kids came on and off stage throughout the set. It might be Eagle Eye Cherry or one of the other kids who caravanned with the band and the Danish puppet troupe, but it is definitely not Neneh. I recall reading her state in an interview that she wasn’t on stage that night, since she was out adventuring somewhere else on the festival grounds.

Marc Medwin: Man, I don't know how you remember all that!!

Bill Meyer: I wish I recalled my source for Neneh opting out of that concert, but I’ll give the pdf of Blank Forms 023 a look tomorrow and see if there’s more to add to this part.

Marc Medwin: And is it possible this thing was binaurally recorded?

Bill Meyer: I don’t think that’s how French TV did it.

Marc Medwin: Yeah I doubted it, but whoever did it captured quite an environment!!

Bill Meyer: The CD’s booklet provides information about the original recording, as well as the digitization and restoration of the master tapes. There’s no mention of binaural recording, and since it was done for French TV, I seriously doubt that they would have used an outlying audio technology such as binaural. As for who was there, the booklet describes the Cherry clan and caravan numbering thirteen adults and eight kids in two vehicles. Once they got to France, they set up a camp marked off by Moki’s tapestries. There, they played continuously, and Don is reported to have played his pocket cornet. So, it’s worth noting that his horn’s absence from the Chateauvallon concert is an aesthetic choice. This was his first recording on which he did not play brass.

Marc Medwin: This is actually the first time I'm hearing it with headphones, and I'm tripping out a little to the sound of what might be a cowbell moving behind my head!!

Nope, not a cowbell.

I have heard very few albums, even live albums, which benefit so much from headphone listening, ratchets the fun factor sky-high!

Mason Jones: As an aside, there's an interesting piece about Don & Moki Cherry in the latest Maggot Brain magazine: interviews with Terry Riley and Hamid Drake about their experiences with them.

Bill Meyer: I am a bit behind on my Maggot Brain purchases, but I should get that one.

Marc Medwin: Thanks Bill! I went back to Orient and Blue Lake, two very roughly contemporaneous Cherry live albums, and while the recordings are certainly atmospheric and immersive, they don't capture such a vivid perspective.

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Bill Meyer: Yeah, those are both from 1971, and both feature the rhythm section of Okay Temiz (from Turkey) and Johnny Dyani (from South Africa), who were frequent accompanists of Don’s around the time. The albums you mention are both oriented to sounds from around the world, but they’re closer to free jazz than Chateauvallon concert. If you’re putting Don Cherry’s development on a timeline, they are a developmental musical link between The Summer Sessions and the Organic Music Theatre concept, but they lack the multidisciplinary/ multigenerational inclusiveness of the full Organic Music Theatre experience. I think that part of what makes the Chateauvallon concert significant is that it introduces that concept to the world outside of Stockholm, where it had been presented in 1971 during Don and Moki’s residency in a geodesic dome on the grounds of the Museum of Modern Art.

Marc Medwin: Multi-disciplinarity is a good way to frame the concert we're discussing, especially as the music often switches geographic locations in a way that could be construed as pedagogical. I certainly don't mean that in a negative or stuffy way, and the sense of fun in the exploration is palpable. There's a similar element in the other live Cherry documents, especially Blue Lake's titular piece. In all cases, it's obvious that there's nobody more excited to be involved than Cherry himself, and that enthusiasm, I don't know, just makes me feel better about everything somehow!

Bill Meyer: Cherry’s ability to project joy through his playing was a constant, from his recordings with Ornette onward. And he was involved with education from a variety of angles. In the late 1960s, he taught at Dartmouth for a brief spell. The Summer Sessions date from a time when he was doing workshops for the Workers Educational Association; most of the musicians on the session were participants in the workshops, which contributes to their empathy with what he was doing at the time. And he and Moki played for/with kids in primary schools throughout Sweden. The Organic Music Society book has a lot to say about these episodes.

Ben Donnelly: It’s very interesting how these details explain the incongruities in the music that are so striking when listening to it with less context. It really demonstrates how vital breaking out typical performing and composing methods can be if you want to discover new sounds.

Bill Meyer: For Don and Moki, I think the question was not just how to discover new sounds. It was how to have a creative life and a family. When Don left California for New York to play at the Five Spot with Ornette Coleman in 1959, he had to leave his kids with his mom, and it was years before they had much time together again. He also dealt with addiction issues throughout his life, and performing in jazz clubs meant walking into temptation. The lines he sings about eating health food relate to his personal efforts to live a cleaner lifestyle. So, when he and Moki decided to be a family, but also remain on an artistic path, they decided to make every space they occupied, whether it was the inside of a van, a geodesic dome, or the schoolhouse they bought in Tagarp, both stage and home.

The Summer House Sessions by Don Cherry

We haven’t had much to say about the Summer Sessions album yet. Does anyone want to comment on that one? Or have more to say about any aspect of the Cherry family business?

I’ll start. The Summer Sessions doesn’t capture a moment of change quite so starkly as the Chateauvallon set, but I’m really enjoying it, too. It’s like a looser version of the music Cherry made for Blue Note in the 1960s, free and joyous, but the references to Anatolian folk music point it towards the music he would do with Okay Temiz and Johnny Dyani. The Scandinavian horn players, Bernt Rosengren and Tommy Koverhult, had been attending Cherry’s ABF workshops, so they hang with him through twisty-turning, Ornette Coleman-style themes way more faithfully than you would expect from a session that was pretty spontaneously organized. And the three drummers fuse into a rolling surge that’s way more forceful than the rhythms in a lot of Cherry’s 1960s music, or Ornette’s for that matter.

Jennifer Kelly: My first impression of the Summer House Sessions was that they were more of a conventional performance and less of a "happening," to use the 1960s cliche, than the Chateauvallon music (which I loved). You have a real sense of kids running around and people drifting in and out and maybe animals. There's a real communal vibe in the Organic Music tracks. There's a nice bit in one of the interviews about creating a sense of unity through group drone--and then you can hear them do it together — in voices of various timbres and volumes and degree of training and skill — in "Interlude/Brazilian Ceremonial Hymn."

But now that I'm listening to it again, The Summer House Sessions have a good bit of that same warmth and immediacy, too. You don't have the group participation, but there's a wonderful sense of play and cross cultural collaboration in these cuts. How far along were other jazz musicians at this point in bringing in African and middle eastern instruments?

I also really enjoyed the art in the booklet, which seemed to reflect the music in its colorful-ness and inclusivity. It must have been a very joyful place up there in Sweden.

Bill Meyer: At the time of the Summer Sessions, Cherry was rather new to African sounds himself. He first visited North Africa c. 1964, and his first international band, which included people from Argentina Germany, Italy, and Denmark, played in Paris in 1966. Around that time, Don was just playing brass instruments, but he was listening to music from around the world on a shortwave radio. One of his gifts was the ability to play a tune after hearing it once, and he started including the sounds he heard into his performances. His proposed curriculum for the ABF workshops included visiting musicians from India and Turkey, presumably people who were already on hand in Sweden, but it’s not clear how much of the curriculum was actually applied to the workshops. So Rosengren and Koverhult would have been exposed to those ideas in some form or another, and one Turkish musician, drummer Bülent Ateş, was present.

Cherry actually learned the donso ngoni from a Swedish musician, Christer Bothén, who is one of the players at the Chateauvallon concert.

Marc Medwin: Bill, again, you bring an admirable historical sweep and its relationship to individual contributions to the discussion. Jenny, as a blind person, I'd love to hear you talk a little bit more about your observations concerning the visual art, maybe even give a few details that stood out to you. I was also really intrigued by the way your take on the Summerhouse music veered between the conventional and the transculturally innovative. That duality is captured in so many moments! Check out the beginning of the B-side, where the "Bebop" aesthetic of virtuosity is at the service of entirely different modes of inquiry. There are the scales and melodies, but that fantastic rush as the tempo increases really drags any traditional preconceptions beyond themselves! For me, listening to this music is increasingly about listening between whatever lines of boundary, chronological or otherwise, I thought I needed to frame it. The more I hear both of these releases, the more completely I appreciate their existence and understand the Cherry’s' desire to fuse various modes of expression!

Jennifer Kelly: Marc, I know you won't be able to see these photos, but I'll describe them, too.

The first is a photo of a young bassist, playing outdoors in a crowd of people, all sitting on the ground. There are several different groups, an umbrella against the sun, people playing hand drums and flute. To me it speaks volumes about the juxtaposition of very serious music in a very casual, natural setting. You know, looking at the photo, that some people are listening, others are talking, maybe some are eating, maybe there are dogs and kids just out of the frame. It looks like paradise.

The next is of Cherry playing pocket trumpet in front of a bright, colorful wall hanging, with abstract organic forms (you could make them into flowers or plants or sea animals if you squint) in blue, pink, and purple. It looks vaguely Asian, like the dragons in Chinatown at New Years, but the artwork has a definite sense of movement and rhythm and organic growth. It would be very easy to make a connection to the music we hear. Sort of exotic, but in a bright, colorful, child-like way. Cherry appears to be wearing some sort of a tiger suit.

Here's one inside, everybody again sitting on the floor in bright clothing, wall hangings behind them, looks like plenty of non-professional participation. There's a super communal vibe. Not sure what the thing on the floor is, looks like a pillow or stuffed animal.

Anyway, I know it's easy to idealize this period, and clearly one reason Moki took her family all the way to rural Sweden was to get away from the drugs, but it looks like a very welcoming, creative environment.

Marc Medwin: Perfect!! Thank you so much, visual art of varying types is such an important part of this multimedia project (really of everything Blank Forms does!) and of the "vibe" this extraordinary couple instilled in everything they did. What you describe complements absolutely what I'm hearing, to one degree or another, in both recordings. I love your description of internals and externals regarding frame, doesn't that also describe the music itself and sum up what we've been saying about it?!

Bill Meyer: In response to these photos, it’s worth noting that the first photo, with Torbjorn Hultgren playing bass, took place on the grounds of Stockholm’s Moderna Museet. The last was taken a year later at the geodesic dome that Koki and Don turned into an ongoing happening/installation. The vibe in these photos was a totally created one, and Moki’s banners were an essential tool for creating that vibe in places where it might not otherwise exist.

Michael Rosenstein: I keep going back to try and figure out why these two releases are just not resonating with me. I can certainly appreciate what they represent from an historical perspective of a truly mercurial musician. His music with Ornette and Rollins, but equally as important, his run of releases on Blue Note as a leader in the late 1960s (along with the various live recordings), his duos with Ed Blackwell, the large ensemble Relativity Suite and even his album Brown Rice are just so drilled into my listening over the past four-plus decades and these two on Blank Forms just don't quite end up measuring up. I certainly realize that this is very much due to my sensibility when I was initially listening to those early recordings as opposed to where my musical interests are currently.

What is particularly interesting about considering these two recordings though, is that like Cherry's entire career, they simply represent a stop along the way rather than a specific departure or radical change. Less than a year before The Summer House Sessions, he was recording with the Jazz Composers' Orchestra and with Charles Brackeen. A year after, he was in Paris recording the Mu sessions with Blackwell and off to Dartmouth College to record Human Music with Jon Appleton (not amongst my favorites of his music.) A few months after Organic Music Theatre he recorded a great trio with Abdullah Ibrahim and Carlos Ward and a few months after that was in New York recording Relativity Suite. And he kept that pace up right through the 1980s, playing in reunions with Ornette, with Old and New Dreams, in a great quartet with Steve Lacy, Dave Holland and Masahiko Togashi. And all of that barely skims the music he was part of.

I expect that if I had spent time with the book and the accompanying liner notes, I might get more out of these. And in any blindfold test, there's no question that these would jump out as Don Cherry which says a lot right there.

Jennifer Kelly: Michael, I think that goes back to my idea about concert performance versus happening, maybe? This stuff was more inclusive and, I think, about a shared experience, maybe not so much about sheer instrumental prowess? I'm no expert obviously, but it seems like if you bring in kids, there's going to be some diminution in quality.

Bill Meyer: I appreciate your observation, Michael. Each of these albums, as well as the ones Cherry was able to release back in the day, captures a moment in a fluid process of creation and existence that was happening every day. And each record intersects with the listener’s timeline, which influences their own receptivity, as well. Both of the Blank Forms releases are documents that didn’t make it into wider or recurrent circulation at the time. Would Summer Sessions have hit people’s ears differently and made a different impact if it had come out in the early 1970s, when Cherry struck up his relationship with Caprice? It was in the running, but he decided to put together Organic Music Society instead. I think that the Chateauvallon concert can be seen as a companion to the Organic Music Society album; there’s some overlap in material, personnel, and it comes from around the same time. But Cherry chose to make a collage-like document at the time instead of putting out a concert recording, which he could have done.

Michael Rosenstein: Agreed with both Jenny and Bill's comments. I often wonder who the audience for recordings like this is. Certainly, Cherry completists will grab them. For others who don't know his music as well, I do wonder who is drawn to them and whether they will just stop there or if it will lead to further investigation.

Marc Medwin: All excellent points. I hold these types of interstitial documents in high regard. I happen to rank them very highly on musical terms, and I'm much more satisfied by either than by Organic Music Society, but that's just my take. As a historian, I thrive on accessing what has fallen between the cracks, whether it's a concert, a studio session or home recordings. The fact that the documentation has been prepared with such attention to detail is gratifying and, frankly, unique. I'm thinking of the posthumous Coltrane releases and wishing similar love would have been put into more of their accompanying material. Don't get me wrong, there have certainly been fine essays to be read over the years, but this assemblage is a parallel and multileveled discourse. Who's it all for? Putting on my teaching hat for a second, now there are three more resources for the student interested in Don and Moki, individually or in their points of artistic intersection not to mention the various musics on which they draw.

Bryon Hayes: I for one was a Cherry neophyte going into this. I was only familiar with his music with Ornette and the Holy Mountain soundtrack. I was intrigued enough by these two records to snap up a few other releases. So far, each one is unique but intriguing in its own right. My limited exposure leads me to believe that he traveled down a wide variety of musical paths throughout his career.

Bill Meyer: He sure did.

Marc Medwin: I don't know about the other Cherry fans here, but I recommend the Codona discs should you want to explore further. It's Don Cherry, Nana Vasconcelos and the wonderful Collin Walcott, a member of Oregon before his tragically early demise. All on ECM and conveniently boxed.

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Bill Meyer: These are definitely a boon for people who want to take a deep dive into a phase in the artistic life of a figure that was influential and/or valuable to key figures of the day, but unlike his peers and contemporaries in certain of his concerns, practices, and values. The Summer Sessions probably exerts the most attraction on people who want to know about Don Cherry’s evolution, and particularly his presence in Sweden. But I can imagine some people being drawn to the Chateauvallon concert because they’re into the spiritual jazz aesthetic, and he is an outlier creating his own scene in a way somewhat similar to Alice Coltrane. Also, that concert situates Cherry’s work within a family and a community; without either of them, he could have just been an interesting free jazz horn player. The family/community emphasis drives a constructive challenge to the “jazz life” narrative. That difference creates its own attraction, just like Alice Coltrane’s uniqueness makes her attractive to people who aren’t primarily jazz fans.

You know, I absolutely love the first Codona LP, but I didn’t give the other two much time when they were released and have never gone back to them. I probably should do that now. I’m also thinking that I need to pick up that 1976 Italian concert, Om, before it goes out of print again. Although there’s something to be said for checking out the YouTube edition of it, because then you get to see Neneh and Eagle Eye performing with Don and Moki.

Marc Medwin: The first Codona album is magic, the one I return to the most!!

While I'm tangenting, but closer chronologically to our two recordings, I have to mention Escalator over the Hill again. The fifth and sixth sides (yeah, I still think of it as vinyl!) have Cherry all over them, including some of that fantastic yodeling and him riffing on the word "again." If someone else's album summed up much of what Cherry was about, and many other parts of that permeable era, it was Escalator! If you've never heard it, try to seek out the vinyl mix. There’s something there for everyone!

Ben Donnelly: One of my favorite Cherry excursions comes right out of this Swedish hippy collective culture, as it evolved a bit in the early 1980s and formalized into an exploration of African music: Bengt Berger's Bitter Funeral Beer. There's a lot of marimba-like percussion, and chanting, with a full bank of horns. The video footage of the project is fantastic too, and you can see Cherry's sartorial choices leading him back towards New York while the rest of the community is untucked and pajama'd.

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Bill Meyer: That is one of those records that you have to ask, why hasn’t it been reissued? It seems like a no brainer. I have a download, and I also have the concert recording issued by Black Truffle a couple years ago. Great stuff.

Marc Medwin: Well Ben and Bill, this one was new to me, but it's as great as you say, thank you!!

#don cherry #moki cherry #listeningpost #the summerhouse sessions #organic music #chateauvallon #sweden #jazz #free jazz #bill meyer #marc medwin #ben donnelly #michael rosenstein #mason jones #jennifer kelly #bryon hayes

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nottheangel-raphael · 4 years ago

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Eclipse || Raph & Lucien

With how quickly this year had gone by, Raphael lost time in preparing for Halloween. Before he knew it, mid-October had arrived and he had zero ideas for a theme for himself and his two slaves. He almost contemplated not even going this year, but as a councilman, he supposed it mattered if he showed up to castle events. A quick google search for hot costume ideas somehow brought him to the idea of Stephanie Meyer’s hit series Twilight as a theme for the trio. And why not? He was the brooding and mysterious vampire Edward Cullen, Mason fit the bill as the friendly and jock-type werewolf Jacob, and naturally Charlie was petite and pretty enough to play Bella Swan...with some extra help, of course.

He’d been looking for one of his slaves when he happened to find someone much better. Dr. Lucien Gaudet in some form fitting getup clearly dressed as that Marvel spy superhero Black Widow. Certainly not what he expected but not at all unappreciated as he approached his fellow councilman, his usual dark eyes shining gold with magical influence and a bit of sparkle on his skin underneath the moonlight.

“I must say, you make a fabulous Russian spy, Dr. Gaudet,” he hummed, leaning against the bar counter next to Lucien and looking him over deliberately. “Unfortunately I don’t know a whole lot about Marvel aside from the movies, so...” His smirk grew wider as he leaned in close. “Would you like me to help you wipe that red from your ledger?”

@drluciengaudet

#p: eclipse #para #drluciengaudet #krovs halloween 2021 #getting straight into the roleplay i fucking can't deal #you've created a monster

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mulletxmommy · 5 years ago

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pairing: meyer x charlie

warnings: none

this is just a stupid fluffy idea I had

———————————————

Charlie sat across from Meyer as the gentle jazz music filled the restaurant. They were out to dinner, just them. It wasn’t a usual thing for them. When they went out it was either to talk business with each other, or to talk business with others. This was different.

Charlie brought it up the night before as he laid in bed. The thought crossed his mind as he watched his lover strip from his suit into boxers to sleep in. It was small moments like those that reminded him why he fell in love with the skinny jewish kid.

“Let’s go out” slipped from his lips before he could even think about it.

“Now?,” Meyer replied, “It’s nearly 11:30, Charlie” he said, carefully removing his shirt.

“I mean tomorrow,” Charlie replied, “I wanna take ya out.” He watched his lover carefully, seeing his expression change. He wanted alone time with Meyer. They had never been the romantic types, they were always busy and rarely had time to relax and just be with each other.

“Where is this comin’ from, Charlie?” Meyer asked, sitting his clothes aside and climbing into the bed next to Charlie.

Charlie just sighed and turned towards his lover, brown meeting green. “It ain’t comin’ from nowhere, Mey,” He said, “I wanna take ya out, like a date. Just us.”

Meyer’s confused expression slowly softened as he relaxed his shoulders. A small smile started at the corner of his mouth as he reached up to run his fingers through the dark curls on top of the Italians head. “Alright, Charlie, you can take me out on a date.”

“How nice of ya to give me permission” he smirked, leaning in to press his lips against the younger man’s. They pulled back after a bit and Meyer rested his head on Charlie’s chest. They felt closer than ever at that moment as Meyer let Charlie’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.

Now Meyer was looking at the menu, trying to decipher the names of the Italian dishes. He spoke Italian, but he definitely wasn’t fluent. The waiter came to take their orders and Charlie said what he wanted with ease. When it came to Meyer, he stuttered a bit and messed up the pronunciation, but still got the point across to the waiter.

Charlie let out a chuckle and looked down, smiling to himself. He couldn’t help but think it was adorable. He knew that he was in love with Meyer.

#charlie luciano #meyer lansky #lanskiano #boardwalk empire

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brightbeautifulthings · 4 years ago

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Midnight Sun by Stephenie Meyer

"My life was an unending, unchanging midnight. It must, by necessity, always be midnight for me. So how was it possible that the sun was rising now, in the middle of my midnight?"

Year Read: 2020

Rating: 3/5

Thoughts: I waited over ten years for this book, and I'm so happy that Meyer decided to finish it. There was a lot of fangirl screeching in my house when it was announced, but the truth is that I would have loved it a lot more ten years ago. My tastes have changed quite a bit since then, and I'm more critical about how books are put together: what makes them work, what makes them not work, what could have made them stronger. Unfortunately, despite its long, long writing process, I don't think this is the best version of Midnight Sun that could have been, and more editing would have helped it.

The most obvious problem is that nearly 700 pages is much, much too long for the same exact events that take place in Twilight, which has possibly the least amount of plot of any book in the series. Aside from Bella and Edward's relationship, almost nothing happens in it until the end, and that's fine for Twilight (if you like paranormal romance--and if you don't, why are you reading Twilight?). It's less fine for this book, and the story just drags on and on. I actually really like Edward as a character, but he overthinks everything, and his inner monologue is quite angsty and dramatic. It also doesn't always quite match up to Bella's original impressions of Edward, and while the narrative tries to explain that away, it felt more to me like Meyer's ideas about these characters had shifted some in ten years. (Understandable, but a bit weird on page.)

It's no secret that the side characters in the Twilight series are far more interesting than its main characters (I'm Team Alice, in case you were wondering.), and what I wanted out of Midnight Sun was more time with the Cullen family. In part, we get that. There's probably more Alice than any other vampire besides Edward, and the book is at its best when it’s showing outtakes of their family dynamics. Unfortunately, there are way fewer of those than I was hoping, since Edward spends a lot of his time watching Bella sleep. We're also treated to more in-depth conversations between Edward and Bella, which the original novel had the good sense to truncate.

Much like in Twilight, the end of Midnight Sun gets more interesting. It's better once James is on the page and we get to see a side of the story we haven't before: the Cullens' plan to lead him away from Bella and why it doesn't work. I also like the little hints Meyer drops about Jacob, and the way she works in interesting things about Charlie and Renee's minds. However, the end is a bit of a letdown. I was really looking forward to the final confrontation between James and the Cullens, but what could have been a cool action scene is skated over because Edward isn't even paying attention to it. Frustrating! Books that flip perspectives always have a note of self-indulgence about them, and this one is about as self-indulgent as it gets, but the author and I have different ideas about what's most interesting in the story. I didn't love it, but I liked returning to this world. I'm sure I'll even read it again, but I'm also sure it won't be soon.

#book review #midnight sun #stephenie meyer #paranormal ya #paranormal romance #3/5 #rating: 3/5 #2020

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goatsandgangsters · 5 years ago

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Hunger Games: The Boardwalk, Chapter 12

(ao3)

He woke up in bed, head pounding, tongue heavy in his mouth. The shadows encircled the corners of his room in the Training Center, the window tinted to blot out the twinkling lights of the Capitol below.

He shifted slowly, memories and pictures of what happened seeping through the fog of fatigue hanging heavy in his mind. He’d had a nightmare and Charlie had come in, had sat with his arms around him. The memory of it twinged. Charlie shouldn’t have seen him like that.

Meyer heaved himself upright. The bed was empty. The room held only shadows. Right, of course. That was before. There was only the smooth sheets of the Capitol bed, tucked too tightly into the corners, like he might escape even in his sleep. If only he could.

He stumbled out of bed. The room wobbled with the sudden change as he rose to his feet. He was still dressed, that was good. Arm still attached, which was strange. His head hurt. Did he hit it? No—food. He needed to eat.

The bedroom door slid open as he pressed his hand against the panel. There was light at the end of the hallway in the main room of the penthouse suite. Soft voices. He walked towards the sound, blinking as he passed into the light.

Carolyn sprang to her feet at the sight of him. Her vibrantly purple hair was obscured by a multitude of glittering dark beads woven onto the strands and piled high on her head in a delicate style that wobbled with her sudden movement.

“You need to take better care of yourself!” she chided, guiding him into a chair with her hands on his shoulders. He tried to shrug out of her touch. “Arnold, what were you thinking? Letting him stay up all night like that.”

He let himself be pushed into the chair, looking AR in the eyes from across the table. “Are they dead?”

“No,” AR answered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, sleek device that hung on a chain from his pocket. It opened like the old compact mirror his mother had and wouldn’t sell. It had been his grandmother’s once. But this was different, Capitol technology. AR swiped through a few screens on the projection from the device and clicked it shut. “No,” he confirmed, this time with the ghost of a smile.

“What are they doing?” His voice scratched in his throat.

AR nodded towards the empty place setting in front of him. An Avox stepped closer to the table and filled Meyer’s glass with water, herbs encased in the ice cubes.

“Quail?” AR asked, holding out a tray of small dead birds atop a bed of potatoes and green beans, a pool of sauce sloshing beneath.

Meyer didn’t move. “What are they doing?” he repeated.

“Eat and I’ll tell you.”

Meyer stabbed his knife into a quail hard enough that AR needed to brace the tray with his other hand. He dropped it onto his plate, pulling the knife out, glare fixed on AR. Carolyn tutted beside him, fussing about table manners per usual.

He cut into the quail, shoved a piece into his mouth, swallowed. Set down the knife and fork, even though it made the emptiness in his stomach more painfully pronounced. He raised an eyebrow at AR, who sighed.

One bite wasn’t what AR had in mind, his look said that plainly. The challenge in Meyer’s face replied that he didn’t care. Or maybe AR was thinking back on last year, that if he’d thought Meyer was surly as a tribute… Well, Meyer knew that, too.

“Fine,” AR said, in response to the squabble they’d been having with their look. “I can’t tell you what they’re doing at this exact minute—I’m only privy to the main camera, like the rest of Panem, as well as the current odds courtesy of a… connection of mine.”

He paused, looked meaningfully at Meyer’s plate, and Meyer shoved another piece of quail in his mouth. “But I can tell you that Anna has formed an alliance.”

“Has she?” Unexpected. What did anyone stand to gain from that? Sympathy from the audience, maybe? That was a foolish strategy. If the audience had sympathy, they wouldn’t have the Games at all.

AR nodded, beckoning the Avox to pour him a cup of tea. He added his own milk to it, liberally, until the contents swirled soft tan brown. “The tribute of our dear friend Mr. Thompson from District 4.”

Meyer frowned. “The boy Charlie pummeled this morning?”

“The other one. Billie.”

He hummed, took another contemplative bite. She had been personable in her interview—funny, bright, charming. Not a killer. He hesitated, found he couldn’t meet AR’s eye. “And Charlie?”

“Still asleep as of an hour ago. That’s all I can tell you.”

The quail was heavy in his stomach after so long without food. “I should get back—”

Carolyn’s talon nails—a grey-flecked shimmery black—latched onto his arm and tugged him back down. “You need to eat.”

“I can’t just sit here eating quail soaked in I don’t know what, not while the Games—”

“It’s truffle oil,” AR interrupted.

“I don’t care what it is, I need to get back—”

Carolyn’s grip tightened. “If you don’t keep your strength up—”

“I’m not a child!” Meyer snapped, a bowl of berries toppling to the floor as he wrenched his arm back. The room held its breath in the silence that fell after the fruit. Only the Avox moved, scurrying to collect the berries before the juice could stain the floor. He leaned down in his chair to help, dropping them into the palm of his hand instead of looking at the Rothsteins.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“That’s quite alright,” Carolyn huffed.

Meyer said nothing. He hadn’t been talking to them.

The Avox stepped away with the rest of the mess, as Meyer deposited his little pile of berries onto the corner of his plate and wiped his palm flat against the napkin. He stared fixedly into his water. “I’m not a child,” he said again, less forceful but no less sharp.

He heard Carolyn’s brisk inhale, like she was going to say something, but AR cut across and said quietly, “Of course you’re not. You’re free to return to the mentors’ room.”

Meyer nodded and backed his chair away from the table slowly. Those few bites had been his only food since yesterday morning, besides the coffee from AR. The hollowness in his stomach protested against getting only a taste but not enough to be full. It was remarkable how his body started to expect more after only being in the Capitol a few days. Remarkable, too, how they only ever gave a taste.

“Arnold, surely you can’t—”

But before Meyer could resume the argument, AR said, “He is free to make his own decisions.” He raised the teacup to his faintly painted lips. Meyer stood, watching him. Free was a funny way to put it.

Carolyn huffed and grabbed the serving spoons in her talons. She began serving potatoes and greens directly onto Meyer’s plate like she hadn’t heard the conversation at all. “It’s bad enough—the hours you keep, staying up until sunrise and sleeping all through the day half the year, pastry for dinner—but he’s a boy, Arnold, and you can’t—”

Awareness arrived. She dropped the spoons back onto the tray with a clatter, a mountain of green beans piled precariously on Meyer’s plate. She sat back, righted her posture, and pushed a few stray hairs out of her face with an air of compulsion. “Well, someone ought to take care of him while he’s our guest in the Capitol.”

They stared at her, but she pretended not to notice, busying herself with arranging the napkin on her lap. He couldn’t say what AR was thinking as he looked at his wife, his expression a perfect mask of blankness. But for Meyer, it was the first time he realized that maybe she did care. Not enough and not in the right ways. But enough to feel guilt, perhaps. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing at all.

There was movement to his other side, and Meyer startled and whipped around. It was the Avox from before. Slowly, carefully, eyes wide yet lowered, he placed a container with an ornate lid on the table. Without looking up, he nodded once at the food in the center, before hurrying quickly back.

Meyer’s eyes trailed after him. They were never supposed to initiate an interaction.

He set aside the marble-inlaid lid and dumped the contents of his plate into the container. He grabbed a second quail with his hand—Carolyn made a noise—and added that in, too. He glanced around, hoping he might be able to catch the Avox’s eye, but he had disappeared. “I’m heading back,” he announced, replacing the lid and tucking the container under his arm.

The Rothsteins stood as well.

“You don’t have to walk me there, I know where it is,” Meyer grumbled.

“And we’re supposed to sit around here all night?” Carolyn asked, smoothing down the front of her dress. “We don’t live here, you know. We only stay here with you while you’re a guest in the Capitol.”

“Guard me, you mean? If the Capitol thinks—” He broke off and ran his tongue along the back of his teeth to keep the words back. Best not to point out that he could kill either of them with terrific ease.

The elevator was already waiting. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder in silence as they whizzed down from the top floor.

Carolyn clicked her tongue. “Your collar is all ruffled.” She ran her hand along the back of Meyer’s shirt, curling his collar. He tensed. She patted him once on the back and smiled. Meyer tried to return the gesture, but his mouth didn’t quite make the shape.

She was nothing like her—purple hair intricately arranged, her face powdered and dusted in opalescent powder, wearing an elegant and complicated dress of burgundy and silver that cascaded in asymmetric layers. But Carolyn’s hand on his back, fussing with his collar—Meyer’s stomach rose into his throat as the elevator leveled with the ground floor. He missed his mother. He missed when she would smile at him, tired and warm, worrying over whether he had enough to eat, always with that knowing look in her eyes. It had been different, since last year. He wasn’t a kid anymore. She knew it, too. He could see that in her eyes.

The elevator doors slid open and they passed several Peacekeepers as they walked through the lobby and onto the street.

“I’ll meet you at home,” Carolyn said, breathing in a whiff of late night air.

“You aren’t going to walk with us?” AR asked.

Carolyn chuckled, raising her shimmering hand towards the street, where a silver-paneled craft glided over at her beckoning. “In these shoes? Arnold…”

She looked down at Meyer with a teasing smile, pointing to the container tucked under his arm. “I want you to finish every last bite, do you understand? I don’t care what my husband says, you’re a growing boy.”

AR shook his head and leaned up on the balls of his feet to peck her swiftly on the cheek. “You never do care what I say, my sweet.” For a moment, they almost seemed like real people.

“Have Meyer around for dinner one of these nights!” Carolyn called over her shoulder as she headed towards the curb. “You two are too much alike, and somebody needs to make sure the both of you remember to eat.”

Meyer looked down at his feet. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

He heard Carolyn laugh as the door slide down behind her. “Darling, I never cook.”

Meyer followed AR along the sleek, polished walkway towards the observation building, the buildings set apart by small squares and plazas connected by stretches of streets and small manicured shrubs in glimmering metal planters. It was not far from the Training Center, which made for a short commute for the mentors who were staying in the Capitol. They probably didn’t want mentors wandering all over the city. Even when they were invited into the luxury, the Capitol liked to offer only a short leash.

“Do you live far from here?” Meyer asked. It had never really occurred to him that the Rothsteins lived somewhere.

“Mm, in the western sector, overlooking the river,” AR said, like that meant anything to him. “And she’s going to hold me to it, by the way, bringing you around for dinner.”

“I don’t think now is really the time for me to be attending dinner parties,” Meyer responded tersely.

“She can be quite stubborn when she wants to be, you know.”

“She’s not the only one.”

AR hummed and looked up at the night sky. There were no stars in the Capitol. It was nothing like District 12, where the night sky glittered with millions of specks of light. The only light here was artificial, pooling down onto the streets from the buildings above. The sky hung dark and empty, a blank darkness staring back at them. “No, I suppose not,” AR said finally. Then, he chuckled. “It can be quite a useful tool, stubbornness, if you know how to direct it.”

There was something in his tone; suspicion prickled against the back of Meyer’s neck. “What do you mean by that?”

AR shook his head. “Just a… small strategy, if you will. Leverage.” He paused. “Tell me honestly. What do you think of their chances?”

Meyer swallowed and buried one hand deep in his pocket. He spoke slowly as he picked each word, paving out sentences like the sidewalks panels that passed under his feet. “Charlie’s a fighter. He doesn’t give up easy. I know it doesn’t seem like much yet, but he… Well, I think he’s impressed them more than I had at this point in the Games.” The second portion of the question didn’t need to be answered. It was better if they didn’t say anything at all.

“Don’t sell yourself short, there were several keeping an eye on you,” AR chuckled.

Meyer scoffed. “Please. A twelve-year-old from a district with no victors? Nobody thought I could win this early into the Games.”

“Ah, so you do think he can win.”

Meyer faltered. For once, he didn’t know what he thought. From a purely mathematical standpoint, there were still too many tributes left—many of them with far more to their advantage. But the Games could change at any second. For the worse or the better.

“Like I said, he doesn’t give up easily. That’s what matters right now.” He had the distinctly uneasy sense that AR was weighing Meyer’s own confidence against the odds and figures in his head—and he couldn’t tell whether AR judged him too naive or too cynical.

With the tone of someone still making up his mind, AR said, “Well, at least we’re in agreement about playing to his stubbornness.” Before Meyer could ask, he explained, “We had a conversation, just before the Games. We’ll see if the strategy pays off.”

The warm evening air burned cold in his lungs. In a tone that matched the ice in his inhale, Meyer asked, “What did you talk about?” Without waiting for an answer—in case that smirk on AR’s face meant it wouldn’t be forthcoming—he added, “As his mentor, I believe I’m owed that information.”

Idly, AR tugged at the chain from the small device in his pocket. The building with the mentor’s observation room loomed up ahead. As they neared the doors, AR surveyed the plaza—empty apart from a few Peacekeepers either keeping the mentors in or keeping the rest of the Capitol out. Finally, he said, “I may have implied that I’m betting against him.”

Meyer stopped. His feet were too heavy to lift from the ground. “You what? Are you? Did you bet against me, too?” he demanded. “How could you say that to him?”

AR leveled his gaze at Meyer, looking him up and down, appraising. He seemed almost surprised, even disappointed, by Meyer’s outburst. “I’m not. But he’ll win just to spite me.”

“That’s cruel,” Meyer spat.

“Is it? If he wins, then it was merely an incentive. An advantage, even.” He opened the door, pressing his palm against the panel until Meyer stepped through into the lobby.

“And if he doesn’t?” he demanded, more quiet but no less angry. The lights inside were bright, casting a ring of shadows around AR as he stayed on the threshold.

AR shrugged. “Well, if he’s dead, then I suppose it didn’t really matter.”

The door sliced shut between them. His eyes strained as AR and the night’s darkness disappeared behind it. But his gaze stayed locked on the sleek white doors as though he could burn straight through them.

“Then I guess that’s the difference between you and me,” he said under his breath.

Meyer turned on his heel, footsteps echoing in the high-ceiling dome of the lobby. They needed him upstairs. He had tributes to look after.

**********

He woke with a start, bolting upright, alert in the darkness. Moonlight filtered through the grimy window and spilled across the floor, just enough to illuminate the peeling wallpaper and the silhouette of Benny slumped and snoring beside him.

The taste in his mouth was beyond foul. His head throbbed. He licked his lips—dry and peeling. It all tasted like metal.

Charlie smacked Benny in the chest, who also jerked awake, fumbling with the crossbow and slurring a string of curses.

“Time’s it?” Benny mumbled, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.

“Middle of the fuckin’ night.” He sat up on his knees, peering out the window. The Cornucopia’s silhouette loomed in the distance; it was too dark to tell if it had been abandoned while they slept. “So much for stakin’ it out…”

“Hey, who’s idea was that? I wanted to go for it but somebody—”

“Shut up, will ya, I’m lookin’.”

“What, your eyes and your ears don’t work at the same time?”

Charlie swatted at him aimlessly as he pressed his forehead to the glass. “Somebody’s down there—look.” A little ways down the beach, in the opposite direction from the Cornucopia, the low flames of a small fire burned. Charlie’s stomach rumbled deep from his core. “Think they’re cookin’ dinner?”

Benny hopped up onto his feet. “One way to find out.”

Hunger did funny things. It carved a hole in his insides, hollowing him out. It pulled him down the stairs and back onto the boardwalk with an energy he couldn’t have summoned on his own. When Benny hopped the railing and leapt down into the sand, Charlie didn't stop him this time. He ducked beneath the beams and dropped down beside him. But this wasn't stupidity, the hunger reasoned. It wasn't the same group as before; he knew it without seeing them. Nobody'd be dumb enough to give up the Cornucopia to camp half a mile down the beach instead.

They had the cover of darkness, Benny's crossbow, and surprise on their side. And if the fire meant food—or water or a weapon—it would be worth it. They needed something.

“Quiet,” Charlie mouthed. He didn't need Benny blowing their cover by being stupid about it.

Night hung heavy around them, the air humid. They picked their way carefully across the sand, moving slow, getting closer. Charlie could see better now. There were two of them, sitting around the fire. He squinted in the dark, but they were cast in shadow. Definitely cooking though, he could smell it. Fish.

“Maybe I can get them from here,” Benny whispered, hoisting the crossbow and closing one eye.

“Wait.” Charlie flung out his arm. One of the tributes stood to flip the fish over the fire. Her silhouette was small, scrawny, long hair falling around her shoulders. “Wait!” he hissed as Benny reached for an arrow.

Benny didn’t wait.

The arrow fired; Charlie dove into him sideways. They crashed into the sand together, Benny yelling and kicking and Charlie scrambling to look around. The arrow stuck in the sand several feet from the target. He exhaled.

Someone slammed into him. He hit the sand, flat on his back, and kicked up. The girl doubled over. He scrambled to his feet, but she was faster. In two quick motions, she knocked the crossbow from Benny’s hands with the end of a spear and swung around to Charlie. The sharp point jabbed against his throat. Up close, Charlie recognized the bob of curly hair around her round face—Billie, District 4.

“Don’t move or I gut you.”

Charlie raised his chin and his hands. “Prefer it if you didn’t,” he said back, clear and loud.

“Charlie?” a voice called from the fire.

The girl with the spear to his throat hesitated. Benny glanced between the two of them and his crossbow in the sand at her feet. Charlie ignored them both and called out, “Looks like you made a friend, huh?”

From the fireside, Anna hurried over. “It’s okay, he’s okay,” she said until the other girl lowered her weapon. Once it wasn’t under his throat, Charlie realized it wasn’t an actual spear. It was the baluster from a staircase with a knife tied around the end.

Anna seemed relieved to see him. Charlie wished he could have said the same; he couldn't think about much else other than the scent of cooking fish. There’d been a weapon to his throat, but he couldn’t take his gaze from the flames flickering around dinner. “Oh, are you hungry?” Anna asked, when she noticed him looking.

Billie sighed and leaned on her makeshift spear. The end of the wood was still wet. Of course—it was for fishing. “Great, more mouths to feed.” She shook hair out of her face and cocked her head, studying them. “You know, if you want a meal from us, we're going to need something in return.”

In a flash, Benny snatched the crossbow from the ground and aimed. “How about we don't shoot you?”

“Benny.” Charlie glared at him, raising his hands in exasperation. “You can't shoot somebody from my district.”

“I could shoot her,” Benny pointed out, smirking at Billie. “One less mouth. Besides, she was gonna do the same to us.”

Charlie shook his head, ignoring Benny and focusing on Billie instead. “How 'bout this? You got food, we don't. We got weapons, you got... a stick thing. Me and Benny are plannin' on lootin' the rest of the Cornucopia. You share what you got, and we'll share anything we get. Sound good?”

He directed the last part firmly at Benny, who groaned. “You are no fuckin' fun.”

“I want to point out that I kicked both your asses with my stick thing,” Billie said.

“Imagine what you’ll do with somethin’ better,” Charlie countered. “Deal?”

She grinned. “Deal.”

Charlie looked at Anna next—whose gaze fixated on Benny's still-loaded crossbow—and said, “Ignore him, he's an asshole. District 1 don't even want him.”

Benny snarled. “Maybe I'll just kill all three of you!”

Charlie scoffed and started towards the campfire. “You keep sayin’ that and not doin’ it, so I ain’t exactly quakin’ in my boots here.”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re too dumb to know what’s good for you. You got coal for brains.”

Billie dropped down around the fire and jammed her homemade spear into the sand, end pointing up at the sky. “Wow, they ought to give you two an act, traveling around to all the districts, doing your little comedy routine.”

Charlie sat down opposite and smiled at her across the flames. “Ain't what we're doin’ now? I'm Charlie, by the way.”

“So I heard,” she grinned, bright and gleaming, the light of the fire dancing across her face. “Billie Kent.”

“Can we eat?” Benny complained, plopping down between them with a frustrated sigh.

“Not yet, unless you like raw fish.” She rotated the fish to its other side as Benny groaned. “You wanna be helpful? Fill this with seawater.”

Billie searched through a large backpack sitting between her and Anna and pulled out a small cast iron pan. Charlie eyed the bag curiously, but before he could ask, Anna chimed in. She explained that she found it inside an old crate. It came with the pan, plus a few empty canteens and some rope. They boiled seawater earlier to fill up one of the canteens, but they were trying to collect as much as they could.

“I'll go,” Charlie said, grabbing the pan. Benny didn't look like he planned on moving anytime soon. Sitting around always made his skin itch, anyway.

He walked down to the water with the pan dangling in his hand and stooped to let the sea water rush in. It foamed as the waves broke, cool droplets splashing against his hand.

He stood upright, but didn’t turn back to camp. So this was the ocean? He knew about it, knew some districts were on the coast, but he’d never seen it before. They had a lake in District 12, but it was nothing like this. He’d never seen that much sky, either, with all the trees and mountains of District 12 blocking the view. Here, the night-black water slithered back and forth under the expanse of stars—stretching on forever into the horizon, the waves cresting and lapping at his shoes. The moon glimmered and shifted on waves that moved like a pit of liquid coal.

Even the air was different. It was fresh—crisp, like salt. The lake back home smelled like wet earth, like sediment and mud and coniferous trees. It was better than the stench of the mines, but it didn’t smell as clean. Back home, the earth clung to his lungs even when he came back above ground. He breathed in deep, the salt air filling his ribs as he inhaled more and more, before letting it out in a rush. It was like breathing for the first time.

It wasn’t even the real ocean—just the Capitol’s creation—but it was still like nothing else.

“You drown?” he heard Benny shout.

“No,” he called back.

“Damn.”

He scoffed, took a last look at the water, and walked back to the fire. He handed the pot of seawater to Billie, who put it over the flames, as he dropped back down into the sand. Charlie leaned back on his hands, fingers burying through the little grains and rocks and shells. “Does it smell like this? Where you’re from?” he asked, looking to Billie.

“Does it smell like this,” Benny repeated, scoffing as he watched the fish cook with hungry eyes.

“Sure does,” Billie answered, then paused. “Well, sometimes—if it’s a good, clear day. But most of the time, it smells like rotting fish.” With a grin and a theatrical flourish, she leaned towards Anna and scrunched up her nose. “And if you don’t have fish where you’re from, that smells like our pals Charlie and Benny here.”

Anna giggled; Charlie shrugged and said, “Hey, I’ve smelled worse before.”

“I bet you have!” Benny hooted.

Charlie swiped at him, Benny shoved him back, and all four of them laughed. It filled his lungs, filled his body, his face burning with a bright smile. For a moment, they could have been friends. But as the sound faded, their faces falling, the reality settled around them again. Charlie scanned the shoreline, left and right, for movement. Silence settled heavier in his stomach than hunger. He sighed and tipped his head back. The stars above him still twinkled.

After a long quiet punctuated only by the lap of the waves and the crackle of the fire, Billie announced that dinner was ready. She served them each a portion of fish, pulling on an exaggerated imitation of a Capitol accent. “For tonight’s delicacy, we’ll be having seared wild striped bass in fine herb sauce.”

It certainly wasn’t anything like the delicacies of the Capitol, but they didn’t care. They tore into the fish, gnawing around the bones and ripping every bit of meat off with their teeth. Anna offered him a canteen and he tipped his head back, chugging. The water was tepid and warm, but he let it flow into his mouth and out of the corners of his lips. It seemed like mere minutes until they were only left with a pile of bones.

Benny’s stomach grumbled in the silence.

“Guess I’ll go catch some more.” Billie hopped to her feet, pulling her makeshift fishing spear out of the sand. She gestured to Benny with the tip of it. “You, with me. I’ll show you how it’s done. You’ve got too much energy, do something with it.”

Charlie watched their retreating backs as they walked towards the water. He kept scanning in both directions, periodically turning to check behind him.

“Sounds like you done okay so far,” Charlie finally said into the silence.

Anna sighed, hugging her knees up to her chest. “I guess. Billie’s nice. She found my hiding spot and—” She broke off, tracing a pattern in the sand with her finger. She didn’t need to say anything else. Good thing Billie’s nice.

“Two whole days in the arena and District 12’s still in it. Better than most years, huh?” Charlie said. He meant it to sound encouraging. It didn’t. Past expectations for their district were low. Except for Meyer, District 12 had never even come close before—at least not as far back as Charlie could remember.

They didn’t say much more until Billie and Benny returned with more fish. Billie set to work preparing them over the fire, narrating the process. Anna refilled one of the canteens and fetched more water from the ocean. Charlie was far from full, but at least his stomach didn’t hurt with emptiness anymore. At least he could swallow again.

Billie served their second round of fish and they all started eating, though they were able to at least pace themselves this time. “I’m surprised you two get along so well,” Billie said, looking between Charlie and Anna. “You know, like at the parade and everything.”

Charlie frowned as he tore into his second fish. “Why wouldn’t we? We’re from the same place.”

“Yeah, but… A lot of people keep the other tribute at arm’s length. You can only team up for so long, you know?” Billie said.

“Trust me, it does not look good if you come home after killing the other tribute from your district,” Benny chimed in. “We had that happen a couple years back and nobody likes her.”

Billie murmured her agreement. Charlie looked between them, brow dipping into a scowl. There was a lot he could have said—like how that was only a problem for rich districts, the poor districts didn’t even think about those things because their tributes never lived long enough to have a problem like that. But they were all getting along. He wasn’t about to go running his mouth off. Benny might finally make good on his threats to shoot him.

Instead, in case the cameras were on them, he pulled a smile and playfully knocked Anna with his shoulder. “We look out for each other back home.” They didn’t. But it sounded nice. Isn’t that what the Capitol wanted?

Changing the subject, Anna asked, “What’s that?” She pointed to a large silhouette jutting out into the water far in the distance. It was even farther that the Cornucopia—some massive shadow coming off the beach and shooting out into the waves.

Benny craned his neck over his shoulder. “Looks like a landing strip. They gonna hovercraft us outta here?” he joked.

Billie shook her head and flicked a fishbone at him. “It’s called a pier. We have those back home. You fish off it.”

“Can’t you just fish off the beach?” Benny asked.

As Billie explained the different types of fishing in District 4, Charlie’s gaze drifted from the pier in the distance to the much closer silhouette of the Cornucopia. He tilted his head, squinting in the darkness. He couldn’t see much better here than he could at their stakeout. But he didn’t see any movement, that’s for sure. Only the waves and the cool breeze moved along the beach. He sat up on his knees, even though it didn’t help his vantage point. But if nobody was moving… Either the Cornucopia was abandoned, or whoever had claimed it was inside—asleep and vulnerable.

“If you’re lucky, they beach themselves, but they’re so big—whatever you’re picturing, think bigger—that sometimes it drags the whaling boat under—”

“Hey, you think we oughta check it out?” he said, interrupting the conversation. He looked away from the Cornucopia and back at the group.

Billie shook her head. “Yeah, I don’t think whaling’s that interesting either,” she said with a smile.

“Don’t worry, neither’s mining,” Charlie replied with a smirk.

The back of his neck prickled. Charlie’s hand shot up to silence the group. He only had a split second to process the sounds under their voices—the crackle of the campfire, the wind, the crash of the waves, footsteps.

His head whipped around as three shadows closed in around them—one hulking, one small with a gleaming machete, and the one in front squat and chuckling.

“Aw, ain’t this cute? You havin’ a little cookout? Swappin’ stories?” Al said, as he passed a spear—a real one—from hand to hand.

Charlie shot to his feet; they all did. His eyes darted between them. One crossbow and one knife-on-a-stick against Al’s spear, Sigrid’s gleaming blade, and hulking Nelson with his brute force and what looked like a club. His pulse pounded in his ears. They’d have to run for it—he just had to keep Al talking until they found their break.

“Yeah, we were actually,” Charlie said. His fingers twitched at his side—fists curling and uncurling—even as he pulled on a sharp smirk. “Talkin’ about how your mother couldn’t stand your ugly face, so she begged the Capitol herself to pick your name this year.”

Al’s spear flashed in the firelight as he snapped into a fighting stance. “You wanna say that again?”

“Why, you wanna hear it again? You get off on it or somethin’? That’s messed up.” He didn’t even know what he was saying—the words were coming out—but if he was talking, Panem was watching. They all knew it. If they put on a show, it gave them time to stay alive.

“You got a mouth on you. You get one victor, and District 12 thinks it can talk to me like that?” Al spat in the sand. “Why don’t you be a big boy and let the kiddies make a run for it? That oughta give ‘em maybe ten seconds head start while we finish you and the girl.”

There it was. An opening. “Go,” Charlie said without taking his eyes off Al.

Benny laughed. “Yeah, right!”

The arrow whizzed passed Charlie’s head. Al’s eyes went wide and he turned at the last second, the arrow burying right into Nelson’s shoulder, who roared with rage.

The night exploded in a frenzy. Al's spear whipped past his head, clattering into Billie's as she deflected. “GO!” Charlie yelled, grabbing Anna by the back of her shirt and practically chucking her up the beach, the open backpack clutched in her arms.

Al's body slammed into him. Charlie staggered, slipping in the sand. He caught himself, turned, and kicked the campfire; embers sprayed into Al's face. He ducked a fist, grabbed the cast iron pan and swung—right into Al's jaw.

“Benny! C'mon!” Sand sprayed under his feet as he ran. Up ahead, Anna had reached the boardwalk, but the others weren't following him. Charlie skidded to a halt and looked around—Al nearly careened into him as he turned on a dime and charged back towards the fight.

Silver flashed in the moonlight as Billie and Sigrid sparred in the surf—Sigrid's blade glinting, Billie dodging and parrying with her own weapon. Benny ducked around Nelson's huge fists as he swung with his left arm, the right shoulder blood-soaked through his shirt.

Charlie didn't have a plan and Al was right on his heels. He snagged the spear from the sand and hurled towards the ocean.

“How’d you miss!” Benny shouted.

“GET THAT!” Al yelled, gesturing to the silver gleaming in the waves. It was enough to distract Sigrid and Nelson for a split second. Benny leapt forward, throwing his small weight on the arrow lodged in Nelson's collar. Billie swept low, knocking Sigrid's legs out from under her.

Again, Charlie skidded to a halt and changed directions—this time Benny and Billie ran behind him. He only glanced over his shoulder once to see Al wading through the waves, Nelson righting himself in the sand. He pushed forward harder.

“Into the alley, we can lose them!" he called over the wind and surf, breathless. They didn't have long, but it could be enough.

He grabbed the railing of the boardwalk and heaved his weight up. He crashed onto the boards. “Hurry, c’mon!” Charlie scrambled to his feet, locking his hands with Benny’s and flinging him up off the sand.

In the distance, three shadows charged up the beach after them.

#Boardwalk Empire #boardwalk fic #charlie luciano #meyer lansky #benny siegel #arnold rothstein #my writing #boardwalk au #hunger games au #hunger games the boardwalk #NOT TO SPOIL but the plot summary of this chapter is #Meyer and Charlie do the exact same thing but in different places #BECAUSE! THEY'RE SOULMATES!#carolyn rothstein #anna citron #billie kent

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iamtwilighttrash · 5 years ago

Text

My Breaking Dawn

*warnings: mention of sex, minor cursing

(Stephenie Meyer owns this series and it’s characters)

Chapter Two

Jacob dropped me back home at 7:30. The sky had begun to change from overcast blue to a muted pink, and together we watched from my small front porch as the sunset blossomed.

“You have fun tonight, Bells. I mean it. I’ll see you tomorrow!” He was eager to go to the Bachelor Party— I could see the anticipation shining in his eyes. He turned to rush off but I gripped his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.

“Our last normal human day and I don’t even get a hug goodnight? Asshole.” Thoroughly chastised, he grinned and ducked his head before swooping me up in a crushing bear hug.

“Sorry, Bella. Love you like crazy.” I laughed when, at last, I was able to breathe again.

“Love you too, Jake. Get outta here you crazy wolf,” I teased, sticking my tongue out. He rolled his eyes but jogged to his bike. I was barely inside the house when the engine roared to life and he was tearing down the street.

“Was that Jake?” My dad’s voice, so close, startled me so much that I nearly jumped through my skin.

“Agh! Dad!” Charlie, soda in hand, leaned against the entryway to the kitchen and patted my head as I scowled at him. “Why are you still home?” He had made arrangements to stay over at Billy’s so that my party could take place at our house; Alice had nearly hugged him off his feet when he’d grudgingly agreed.

“Sorry, Bells,” he said gruffly. “I just wanted to make sure that you got here safe, wasn’t tryin’ to give you a heart attack.” There was a little smile peeking on the corner of his mouth. I rolled my eyes, but felt deeply touched by the notion that he had wanted to make sure I made it safely.

“It’s okay. Yeah, that was Jake. He swung by the Cullens earlier to, er, spend time with me before I...got married.” But it was so much more than that. Soon, I would no longer be human. Neither Jake nor I knew what the future would hold after I was turned.

“Well, I hope you too had a nice time. I know you promised me this before, but I just wanted to make sure that tonight-”

“No drinking, no strippers, no damage?” I teased. Charlie reddened, all too easy to embarrass, and I giggled in passing as I veered towards to fridge. It was dinnertime for the human. Imagining that in Edward’s voice made me smile bigger in remembrance, and then blush at the thought of what was soon to come. Silly, silly girl. Ruled by your hormones. After rummaging through the fridge, I turned to assemble a grilled cheese and tomato soup. Comfort food. Comfort food for the fear of my wedding, but also to ease the anxiety of the party Alice was about to subject me too. Charlie watched me as I methodically sliced cheese, oiled a pan, and butter bread.

“Do ya think you could make me one of those to go?” I flashed him a grin.

“Going to miss having me around to cook?”

“A little.” He seated himself at the table. The realization hit me hard; this was it. This was the last time I would be human, eating dinner with my father in his shabby kitchen. I would no longer be able to hug him without wanting to kill him.

My dad, my biggest supporter, and he would have to fear for his life around me.

“Bells, what’s the matter?” The tomato soup was started to scald to the pan. I quickly moved to stir it.

“Just nervous.” With my back turned, I hoped he could accept the lie.

“Bella.” The firmness made me turn to look at him, our eyes locked. “I know I might not have acted the right way, you know, when you first told me. But I...” Both of our cheeks were on fire. The pregnancy accusation. “I want you to know that I’m happy you’re marrying Edward. When I see you look at each other, well,” he got a sad look on his face, and swiped a hand through his hair, “I remember how I used to feel when I looked at your mom.” My vision blurred through surprised tears. “Me and your mom didn’t work out, but I know what it feels to be in love. And you’re not like me, Bells, or her. You’re strong, and determined, and if you and Edward have a problem you’ll fight to fix it. He’s different too. I can tell...well, aside from when I almost killed him for running off... that he’s going to be a good man to you. I just wanted you to know that.”

I walked over, bent down to hug him tight. I had not spent enough time hugging Charlie; I knew that now that my human life would soon be over. But, I resolved to not feel guilt, and instead served up our grilled cheese, listened to my father talk about his day, and spent a few precious last moments with someone I loved.

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Angela threw her pillow towards Alice in disbelief, shocked but giggling at the question. Alice feigned an OUCH! at the pillow’s impact, and cast me a sly wink. I was flushing just as hard as Angela, and the question hadn’t even been directed towards me.

“Alice! So not fair to put me on the spot like!”

“Asking if you and your long-time boyfriend have had sex is not an unfair question! It’s a Bachelorette party!” Rosalie let out a little laugh as well, and Leah smirked from her perch on the arm of my love-seat.

“Agh, alright. Yes. We have.” Everyone let out a girlish squeal of excitement. I was a little shocked; was I the only virgin I knew besides Edward? Not that virginity mattered much to me, but it was still a little surprising. I was no prude, and I fully accepted that people in high school had a lot of sex; I had heard all of the almost comical story of Jessica losing her virginity to Mike, which Edward had complained about to me in his car after school-- The details were so much worse in her head, love. You have no idea how lucky you are. -- but I still had not heard about Angela and Ben.

“How was it? When was it?”

“About a month ago. And it was,” she gave us a lewd eyebrow wiggle, “phenomenal.” All of the other girls, myself included, let out obnoxiously loud laughs. “But enough about me. Bella.” Oh no. I knew it was coming. “What about you and Edward?”

“Ah...well...we both decided to wait. Until after...marriage.” I had struggled for a moment, fumbling on the words. I thought that my skin was ablaze.

“Oh man, I don’t know how you guys managed!” Alice teased. I gave her a look. Angela gripped my hand.

“Does that mean that tomorrow...the honeymoon...” As my cheeks darkened and I bobbed my head in a shy nod, Angela smiled. “That’s so romantic!”

“Nervous?” asked Rosalie. Her gentle fingers were busy braiding Leah’s shoulder-length hair, but both of them gave me their full attention. Leah was flipping through the pages of an old magazine that my dad kept on the coffee table. I knew she would rather be out in the woods, out with her pack, but the fact that she chose to be with me made my lips curl on their own accord.

“Rose...” I scolded, half-serious. She gave me an innocent look. I sighed, taking a sip of the soda to my left. The carbonation had all but evaporated, but the liquid soothed the dryness of my tongue. Soon, human food would mean nothing to me. I indulged in another watered down sip. “I guess...” I looked around. These were my friends. I had to stop being so embarrassed about sex when I was the one who had begged Edward to have it. “Yes. Yes, I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be,” said Leah. There was always a bite to her tone but I knew she meant the words with kindness.

“Yeah, Bella,” Alice scooted over to give me a one-armed hug; as always, the coolness of her body settled me. “You’ll be okay. I’ve packed some...um...helpful things in your suitcase.” The blush came rushing back with a vengeance. Angela guffawed into the crook of her elbow. Rosalie smirked, tying of Leah’s braids skillfully.

“Oh my God, Alice!”

“Oh, don’t panic Bella!” My almost-sister-in-law nudged me. “I can almost be certain you’ll thank me later.” The wink almost pushed me over the edge.

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It was hours later, alone in my own bed, that the true gravity of my situation hit me. I was about to be married woman, say goodbye to my human family and friends, lose my virginity, and become a vampire. Isabella Swan was being shredded to pieces and rebuilt: Bella Cullen. Beautiful, hopefully graceful, and bloodthirsty Bella Cullen, who could wrestle with mountain lions and play baseball during thunder storms and race werewolves. Newborn Bella Cullen, who would have bright red eyes and uncontrollable thirst.

Was I ready to say goodbye to Isabella Swan? Was I ready to walk away from my parents and Angela and possibly even Jacob?

On my desk, I could just make out the photograph of Edward and I that we had taken over summer. Even with my dull human senses, his beauty stood out in the darkness. My heart thumped.

Yes. Yes, I was ready. For an eternity with him, there was nothing I wouldn’t do.

#bella swan #edward cullen #breaking dawn #cullens #twilight #jacob black #twilight saga #my breaking dawn #fanfiction #chapter2 #madison mefford

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panlight · 6 years ago

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How do you think BD would have panned out if Irina had stopped to let Bella explain Nessie? I feel like Meyer would have still had the Volturi show up--how else will Bella show off her amazing beauty/control/shield? What could be a big enough offense other than Nessie? Telling Charlie? The shifters? Just coming to confirm that Bella is a vampire now?

I think the Charlie issue or the wolves issue would have felt a lot more natural than the Renesmee thing. In general I found all the fuss over Renesmee a . . .little much. Like everything was so heightened during the pregnancy. There was no nuance to the whole discussion--”OMG it’s a monster that will destroy us all! Kill it!” vs “no it’ s a CUTE BABY” when literally neither side has any idea, and it’s a way more complicated situation that is not just putting Bella’s life risk. Carlisle’s mother died in childbirth and it never comes up. This whole section could have been deeper, more nuanced, and not so knee-jerk. Then you have the wolves totally freaking out about the pregnancy after Sam was just like “meh, let it go” to the idea of Bella becoming a vampire. Even if it turns out to be a terrible monster, it’s a BABY terrible monster--how much damage could it do? Everyone is just losing their minds and going to extremes over this pregnancy and it just felt . . .over the top for me. Over the top even for Twilight. And then the whole Irina thing really doesn’t add up, IMO. I mean forget the fact that she’s been ‘family’ to the Cullens since the 1930s, Bella specifically says she can see Irina’s golden eyes--that’s how she knows it’s Irina, the only golden-eyed vampire she hadn’t met (because in the book she doesn’t got to the wedding). And if Bella can see Irina’s eyes that clearly from that distance, then Irina should have been able to see Renesmee’s BROWN (ie, not gold or black or red) eyes and flushed cheeks and at least had ~questions instead of leaping to the Immortal Child conclusion. Like no one in the story can take a deep breath and chillax when in Renesmee’s orbit. Honestly given the established history we have of Caius hating werewolves, and the fact that Aro would know about the wolves from reading Edward’s mind in New Moon (thanks, Edward), and then when Jane returns and he finds out all about the Eclipse battle, surely he’d put two and two together and realize the only way the Cullens survived was with help from the wolves. I’ve always kind of wanted to see the Cullens standing up for the wolves, you know? Like the Volturi come not to get Bella, or Renesmee, or Alice, but to destroy the wolves, because they’re threatened by this group that can, and wants to, kill vampires. The Cullens are given the choice to step aside and let the Volturi do their ‘job,’ but they refuse and stand between the Volturi and the wolves. It’s the least they could do for all the trouble they’ve caused the wolf pack. It looks like it’s going to be a fight, but then Bella’s amazing shield and Alice’s tentative vision (she can’t see much because wolves are involved, but it’s enough to freak out Aro) make him hesitate and he’s all “oh Caius they aren’t real werewolves after all!” and they go on their merry way.

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brianamorganbooks · 5 years ago

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Even for an all-girls boarding school, the first day of classes feels normal. I wake up a little before my alarm, anxiety roiling in my gut. No way can I go back to sleep. Waking up early turns out to be an unexpected blessing, though, as a knock sounds at the door. I glance over to the other bed, but Charlie isn’t there.

I yawn and manage to roll out of bed. When I answer the door, a security guard informs me that I have two visitors, but I’m not expecting anyone. To my surprise, two movers, both men, stand in the hallway. The security guard supervises as they haul two giant trunks into the dorm room, setting them down at the foot of Charlie’s bed.

“Here you go, Miss Masters,” one of them says to me.

With Charlie missing, it looks like I’m living in this room alone. I kind of feel like I am. I’m not so sure that Charlie unpacking will change that.

“I’m not her,” I say. “I don’t know where she is.”

The first mover grunts. “We need someone to sign for this. Do you think you can do that?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

The second mover passes me a tablet, and I scrawl my signature on the screen. He hands the tablet to his colleague and nods to the trunks. “Clothes and everything. Mr. and Mrs. Masters said if she’s missing anything, just let them know.”

That must mean they’re not coming to help her move in. As awful as she is to me, I feel a pang of pity. I may not be on the best terms with my parents right now, but at least they cared enough to make sure I’m settled.

The first mover nods. “Well, have a nice day.”

“You, too,” I answer.

Without another word, they shuffle off, talking loudly down the hall. The security nods and escorts them out.

Once they’re gone and I’ve closed the door behind them, I look over at the giant trunks—large, ornate, and ancient-looking—and wonder what to do. Charlie isn’t here to unpack them herself, and I wouldn’t dream of helping. She’d probably kill me for it.

The movers also brought an easel, a plastic storage tub labeled PAINTS AND ART SUPPLIES, and a bucket full of paintbrushes. Charlie’s an artist? Now the Monet makes more sense.

I finish my routine without touching her stuff, somewhat surprised when she doesn’t show up. My uniform is stiff and scratchy, but it doesn’t look too hideous. The Livingston standard is a red-and-gold pleated skirt, white dress shirt, red tie, and tan blazer with the Livingston crest emblazoned on the chest. As far as uniforms go, it could be so much worse. Still, my knee-high red socks and low-heeled shoes make me feel like a Catholic schoolgirl.

I sit alone at breakfast, fighting the urge to dump my tray and crawl back to my dorm room. I nurse my glass of orange juice like it’s something stronger and push my scrambled eggs around my plate with my fork.

I knew it would be hard for me to make friends here, but so far, I haven’t met a single person who isn’t in a clique. After my weird encounter with Charlie and the other girls in the bathroom, I’m less sure that was a fluke and surer that it’s par for the course. My mom thinks opening up is the key to getting closer to people, but how can I open up to anyone if I can’t get them to look at me, let alone maintain a conversation?

Not far away, Charlie, June, Billie, and Ronnie all sit together, eating and laughing. Some girls in hijabs sit at the table closest to me, also laughing. A squeal of delight cuts through the air, and I turn to see a group of black girls reenact a story. Nearby, more girls trade food items with each other.

I would give anything to know what that inclusion feels like.

After halfheartedly pushing my eggs around on my plate until my phone reminds me it’s time for class, I dump the content of my tray in the trash and sling my bag over my shoulder. Charlie and her gang are still seated, still laughing. I don’t want to bother them.

Classes are predictably boring. Thankfully, because this isn’t a movie, none of the teachers single me out for an introduction as a transfer student. None of the students pay me much attention either. I’m getting used to being ignored.

By the time my English class rolls around, I’m beyond grateful to see two familiar faces—Ronnie and Billie. Unlike June, however, they don’t seem keen on making me feel included. They don’t even acknowledge me as I slide into the desk adjacent to Ronnie’s.

“Hey,” I try.

“Hello,” Billie says.

Ronnie takes a brush out of her purse and runs it through her hair without saying a word. She digs out an eyeshadow palette and a rainbow-handled makeup brush.

Billie takes out her notebook, turns to a new page, and scribbles something across the top of it. Hand-lettering, it looks like. Fancy penmanship stuff. I bet she keeps a bullet journal.

“Have you had this teacher before?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Ronnie says. She doesn’t elaborate.

“Not me,” Billie says. “Doesn’t matter. Heard he’s easy, anyway. Also, it’s English, which we all happen to speak.”

This is probably the most they’ve ever spoken to me, and I’m not sure how to keep them talking. In my earlier classes, I didn’t dare try to even speak to anyone. My nerves got the best of me. Plus, I was too busy making sure I was in the right classroom. This school is too big.

I lean forward in my seat. “I like your glasses, Billie.”

“Thanks, Daisy.”

“It’s Rose.”

She flicks her gaze toward me. “Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

She presses her lips together. “You’re settled in with Charlie then?”

The change in topic pricks my ears. “She say something bad?”

“Not in so many words.”

I look to Ronnie, hoping for some kind of tell. She pulls old receipts and tubes of lipstick out of her purse.

“Charlie’s nice,” I say, and then feel like a giant idiot. Charlie isn’t nice. Anyone can see that, surely even her friends.

Billie quirks an eyebrow. “Is she though?”

“I… no, I guess not.”

I swear to God she smiles. “Haven’t lived with her long and you already get the gist. She’s a right terror. You’re in our thoughts.”

“I’d rather live outside than bunk with her,” says Ronnie. “You’re stronger than I am.”

“Well, so far so good.” I mirror Billie’s smile, hoping I look more comfortable than I feel.

The teacher, a man named Mr. Preston, enters the room and calls us to attention. I spend all of class trying not to look too eager, either to impress the teacher or for friendship, even though I’m starving for both. Once class ends, Billie and Ronnie get up. I start to follow them out when the teacher pulls me aside.

Billie and Ronnie either don’t notice, or they don’t care. I’m not sure which is worse.

“Uh… Rosemary, is it?” Mr. Preston begins. I can already tell from his tone of voice that this won’t be a fun conversation.

“Rose,” I say.

He falters, then forgoes my first name altogether. “Miss Abbott, I wanted to let you know… well, given what happened at your last school…”

Wait, he knows about that? My face catches fire. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not discuss that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. I just wanted you to know, I’m happily married. And, if you want to make a good grade in this class, you’ll have to work hard, like everyone else. Any… extra credit will be announced in advance and will be open to everyone. During school hours.”

My whole body burns. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t repeat myself. Do you understand?”

All I want is for the ground to open up and eat me. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Have a good rest of your day.”

How can I do that, though, when my teacher insinuated that what happened with Nathan is my fault? That I’m a predatory temptress who lured someone saintly off the straight and narrow?

The rest of my day follows a similar pattern. I have no classes with the other girls, save Charlie in my history class. Relief washes over me when I realize that none of them see the way the teachers here treat me. If it’s any consolation, at least none of the faculty single me out during class.

I’m having a tough time wrapping my head around the idea that news of what happened has traveled over here. Sure, what happened in Salem was local news, but I didn’t think it made it all the way out here. Clearly, I was wrong.

Maybe the faculty have all seen my file.

After my classes, I head back to my dorm room. I pray Charlie isn’t there, but even if she is, it’s not like she’ll talk to me.

Meyer Hall sits sad and empty. Most of the other students must be out in classes, at the library, or hanging with their friends. I get on the elevator and head up to my floor without running into anyone else. While I fish my keys out of my purse, I consider calling my parents. It’s been less than two days, and while they’re not exactly thrilled to speak to me, at least it might be nice to hear a familiar voice.

Then again, if I call them now, it will feel like giving up. Like I’m a scared little girl who still needs her mommy and daddy. I’m not sure I’m ready to give up yet.

When I open the door to my room, Charlie is sitting on her bed. Ronnie, Billie, and June are sitting on mine. Their heads all snap up as they notice me. It might be my imagination, but I swear they all frown.

Ronnie snatches something out of Billie’s hand and holds it to her chest, hidden from me. “What is your roommate doing back here?”

“I don’t know. I thought she was in classes all day.” Charlie shoots me a look, like it’s somehow my fault that she hasn’t memorized my schedule. “Rose, do you mind? We’re in the middle of something.”

It’s the first time she’s gotten my name right, let alone tried to display any semblance of manners toward me, but anger heats my blood. “It’s my room, too. I’m staying.”

Charlie’s eyes narrow. “It’ll just take a second.”

Is she serious? Are they all so self-absorbed they think I’m not offended? This is my room as much as hers. She has no right to kick me out.

I square my shoulders. “I’m taking a nap.”

Ronnie mutters something under her breath. Billie titters. I probably don’t want to know what she said, especially as June won’t look at me or her—or anyone, for that matter. Ronnie is still holding whatever it is tight against her blazer, hidden from sight. What could it be?

I keep my eyes locked on Charlie’s, daring her to try again. Maybe it’s not wise to cross her but they’ve all treated me like shit so far and I just want to crawl under the covers and forget about the day.

Charlie blinks. Ronnie looks to her for guidance, as do the others.

“Fine,” Charlie spits. “Guess we’ll go somewhere else.”

She gestures toward the other girls. Ronnie rolls her eyes, tucks the object she’s been holding into her purse, and heads for the door. June and Billie follow. June shoots me a look so warm, it could almost be sympathetic. Even her sunflower earrings seem to smile at me. Charlie gets up from the bed and glares.

I try my best to ignore her, but she’s not leaving until she says her piece. “What is it?”

“Watch yourself.”

“What?”

From the open doorway, Billie laughs again. Charlie shoots her a look, then returns her attention to me. “You need to work on your attitude.”

Jesus. “You’re the one with the attitude here.”

She clenches her jaw, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she grabs her purse and keys and heads out into the hallway. When the door slams behind her, it rattles the hinges.

I sink down on my bed and flop onto my back, staring up at the ceiling once more. Maybe I’ll never find my place here.

I roll onto my side and stare at Charlie’s bed. It’s unmade, the comforter rumpled from where Charlie sat on it. Her belongings haven’t moved since the movers brought them this morning. Maybe she’s not unpacked yet as some form of protest. Though I don’t know her well, I can see her doing that.

Maybe she hates her parents as much as she hates me.

Keys jangle in the lock, and I sit bolt upright. Charlie rushes in, flushed and anxious. Speak of the devil.

“Forget something?”

“My phone.” She grabs it from her nightstand, pausing to look at the unpacked trunks. “You didn’t touch them, did you?”

If I weren’t so tired, I’d be offended. “Why would I do that?”

“Why would you touch my vial?” Charlie counters.

I bristle but don’t take the bait. I’m too tired to start any more fights with her. One of us needs to be the bigger person.

Charlie checks her latest-model phone, frowns down at something on the screen, and types something out. She mutters a curse. “Gods, I hate boys. They’re so stupid sometimes.”

Surely, she’s talking to herself, right? She can’t possibly be trying to strike up a conversation with me.

I don’t respond. After a second, her gaze flashes toward me, like she’s only just registered she said something to me, someone she hates.

“I’m sorry about your vial,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”

“Charlie!” Billie shouts from the hall.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” I continue.

“Don’t worry about it.” Charlie tucks the phone into her pocket and heads for the door. “Thank you.”

Once the door closes, I lie back on the bed. Despite the shitty day I’ve had, I feel a tinge of hope. Maybe Charlie and her friends will come around. If not, I can reach out to other girls, right?

tag list (let me know if you’d like to me removed/added): @lady-redshield-writes @smokescreens-n-otherillusions @cogwrites @nicholewrites @fireflys-locket

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imenonsreviewsblog · 5 years ago

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Movie Review ECLIPSE

The Twilight Saga Eclipse , popularly known as Eclipse was released worldwide on June 30, 2010 in theaters as part of Stephanie Meyer’s vampire-human romance tale -turned movie saga called Twilight. In fact, Eclipse became the first Twilight movie to be released in IMAX.

The movie starts in Seattle, near to Forks, Victoria , ladylove of vampire called James killed by Edward and his family for attacking Bella, decided to take revenge and came down and assaulted Riley Biers with an intention to build an army of newborns with him.Back in Forks, Edward and Bella Swan talks about the difficulties and complications of turning into vampire. At eighteen years of age, one year more than the age Edward was the point at which he turned into a vampire, Bella opens up about her thoughts of getting married to him, even if its too young to do so, but however Edward won't transform her into a vampire until getting married, adding to fact that Bella would have to miss most of her human experiences that she has yet to explore if she turns into a vampire. Edward obviously don’t want that to happen with Bella as he knows how exactly that feels because he has been through that. While Charlie Swan investigates the disappearance of Riley Biers, Edward suspects his disappearance was caused by the newborn vampires, furthering his suspicions is Riley's intrusion into Bella's room cause . In spite of the fact that Edward fears for her safety, Bella insists Jacob and the rest of his werewolf pack could never hurt her, yet Edward was not convinced. Bella goes to La Push to see Jacob, and gets back safe. During one of her visits, Jacob admits that he is totally in love with Bella, and while confessing this he forcefully kisses her. She punches him and sprains her hand, and as soon as Edward came to know about this he warned Edward Jacob and both took out their anger at each other created a scene which concluded as Billy calmed them down. Meanwhile, Alice sees a vision of the newborn army attacking Forks drove by Riley Biers. As soon as Jacob and his mates gets to know about this, it prompts a partnership between the Cullens and Wolf pack. Afterwards, they decided to meet at a specific place from where they will together plan and prepare for this, sticking together. During the preparation Jasper discloses his past to Bella that he was made by a vampire named Maria to control an infant armed force. He also told how he met Alice and joined the Cullens. Edward and Bella camp up in the mountains to protect Bella from the newborns. During the night, Bella catches a discussion among Edward and Jacob, where they briefly set aside their contempt towards one another. Toward the beginning of the day, Jacob catches Edward and Bella talking about their feelings and commitments ad their plans of getting married, Jacob takes off with racing frustration and disappointment. To calm him down, Bella runs after him and kisses.Edward gets some answers concerning the kiss yet isn't disturbed, as Bella says she adores him more than Jacob. In the end of the attack, Edward kills Victoria and others kill the rest of the newborns. Just when the war got over some members of the Volturi appears and inquires about what happened. But when the saw Bella out there, still warm and mortal they gets curious as well as suspicious, but Bella clarifies saying her transformation from mortal to turn immortal is not far and that the dates are set. Then the Volturi takes leave. In the end of the movie, Bella confesses to Jacob saying even though she has feelings for him, she still chose Edward and that they are getting married that leaves Jacob broken, helpless and hurt.The Eclipse movie is all about the Love triangle of Bella, Edward and Jacob.

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letscuttothefeeling · 5 years ago

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season three episode two

Before we get into the intricacies of this subpar episode, I want you to close your eyes, inhale, and reflect: is the guy you’re dating your boyfriend, or is he a father figure to you? Think about it. Now let’s cut to the feeling.

I don’t know about you, but seeing a groggy Old Man Ish clumsily lumber around in a backwards hat and a short-sleeved gorilla tee while holding his morning coffee made me immediately sick. And I’m just watching it on TV. Imagine being Madisson and waking up to that. Like, yes, this show is my sole will to live, but even I can’t stomach this. It really can’t get worse. Oh my God. Ish just described Brandon as “agro.” It did get worse.

Thank god Ish is finally off my screen and I’m back to looking at G baby and BG. Appetite restored. Jared’s also there, so I’m unable to entirely recover from the Ish debacle, but I guess this is the best I can hope for. And may I just add that I am absolutely loving this playful “boys” scene? Seeing the guys boolin with their goon squad is bringing the vibes up big time. BG doesn’t even seem upset about Dadisson – in fact, he begins talking about a potential budding romance with Amanda! And just like that, we’re back on track.

Strap in. The scene I’ve been waiting for. Dadisson’s reveal to her actual, biological father. Fade in. Jon, Madisson’s bio dad, is seated outside at a cute restaurant, completely unaware of the bomb that is about to explode in his face. As he looks up and sees his daughter walking over with her former producer, you can see the confusion setting in. Wait, what? Why is my youngest daughter walking in with Ish, the show’s old producer? Isn’t she supposed to be introducing me to her boyfriend? Oh, no . . . I think at that point, Jon must know, but he’s remaining willfully ignorant for as long as possible. And I get that, Jon. I do.

Ish has this special oafish trudge that seriously makes him look like some sort of ogre and I am absolutely living for it. When the lovebirds take their seats, a dark cloud rolls over the Key. Reality sets in. Madisson starts telling her real father about her new Daddy, and my heart is racing. After establishing their respective ages, Jon takes a deep breath and calmly asks the most uncomfortable question your Dad could ever ask you about your boyfriend: “Is he a father figure to you?”

Let’s decompress. This has to be one of the rawest scenes on reality TV, so pour one out for Jon, who at this point was undoubtedly racking his brain trying to recall the exact moment he fucked Madisson up so badly that she now actively chooses to bang 50-year olds. I feel bad for you, Jon. Back to the show.

Madisson is crying, Jon is reeling over his mistakes, and Ish is trying to defend his relationship. As for me, I have one question: could Siesta Key have provided these poor souls with drinks before forcing them to do this on camera?

After that cringey scene, I’m more than happy to watch Amanda and BG have a SPICY meetuppé. Unfortunately, Amanda begins serving me really strange vibes and I’m kind of scared of her. There’s too much licking involved on this date and I’m not interested. Let’s cut to the next scene, where Madisson and Brandon meet to hopefully get closure.

Finally, we get a glimpse of the breakuppé timeline! If you remember correctly, Season 2 ended with us thinking we’d get a glorious Bradisson reunion in Season 3. Alas, we have Dadisson instead. Please don’t misconstrue this as a complaint, because it’s very far from that. I’m just a little confused as to how Dadisson came about, and apparently, so is BG. Madisson explains that after she moved to LA, she no longer felt connected to Brandon. Two months after breaking things off, she began taking to Ish. Brandon isn’t buying it. He’s convinced their relationship has been brewing for some time. Personally, I believe her. She’s never lied and I think Brandon is projecting his own issues onto Madisson. Thoughts?

Lots of tough conversations today – now we’re at Cara’s waiting anxiously for her to drop the news we all knew was coming from the moment she started dating Garrett. That she wants to break up. I think now is as good a time as any to unpack Garrett’s love life. Garrett. Get it together. The whole “hot but stupid” narrative is something the producers are pushing . . . right? You cannot possibly be this idiotic IRL. But love is blinding, I guess. Garrett was cheated on by Kelsey (with Alex), used by Juliette to make someone jealous (Alex), and used by Cara to piss off Kelsey and Juliette (and Alex.) Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me three times, and you can call me Garrett Miller.

Okay, time for Kelsey and Juliette’s housewarming / rosé party! That had to be the whitest sentence I’ve ever written. The party begins and everyone seems to be in good spirits. Side note – I really applaud the film crew for catching everything that they do. They even got a short clip of Garrett having difficulty opening the front door and included it to perpetuate the very true belief that Garrett is actually a failed artificial intelligence robot project gone wrong.

Chloe arrives with a shot ski, but “Con Artist” Robby has to one-up her by bringing a TV. She’s convinced he’s bringing it to make up for how small his dick is. Boys, you heard it here first – don’t even THINK about bringing a TV to a party unless you want everyone to know how small your penis is! Madisson’s not even paying attention to Boring Robby’s embarrassing genital blunder because she’s too busy eyeing Amanda and Brandon. She even has the audacity to whisper, “I just hope he has the best intentions.” Right, because Ish definitely has the best intentions with you. Okay, Madisson.

Notably missing from the soirée is Cara and my new favorite cast member, Victoria. Kelsey obviously vetoed Cara’s invite, so C and V decided to get a romantic relaxing beachside massage instead. Cara begins explaining that she’s only stringing Garrett along because he functions as her safety net. Meanwhile, at the party, Juliette is having to spell this out to simple Garrett. He looks glum. Suddenly, Garrett’s “unhappy hour” t-shirt seems much more fitting.

Chloe and Amanda are in a corner, and shocker, they’re talking shit about Juliette and Robby. Juliette overhears, confronts them, and tensions rise. Chloe and Juliette step outside to discuss it further, and it becomes very apparent to me that Juliette is utterly plastered. Chloe is basically sober. What could go wrong?

Everything! Chloe starts off by asking Juliette what she thinks about their friendship. Obviously, these two have a sordid past, but Juliette is literally too blackout to articulate anything, so Chloe’s immediately won this before it even really begins. Towards the end of the conversation, Juliette starts wagging her finger in Chloe’s face. Chloe slaps it away, so naturally, Juliette retaliates by PUNCHING HER IN THE HEAD. Juliette, I love you, and I’m normally on your side, but this is just not a good lewk. Chloe is straight chilling while Juliette attempts to rip out her extensions. So of course, Chloe looks like the normal one, and Juliette looks like she’s on The Bad Girls Club instead of Siesta Key. Hopefully, she’ll learn a lesson from this, because violence is never the answer!

Unfortunately, Juliette doesn’t learn that lesson! As soon as Amanda steps in to break up the fight, Juliette also tries to hit her. She also can’t understand why Amanda is being so harsh when Amanda was the one who punched Chloe in the face and broke her nose two years ago. Which I feel like is valid! Everyone is screaming, running around and fighting. Genuine chaos. Anarchy. The only person there who is remaining calm is Brandon. He is quite literally the human embodiment of Switzerland. Immediately I’m reminded of that part in Twilight’s third book, Eclipse, when Bella is forced to be the voice of reason and soothe the tensions between vampire Edward and werewolf Jacob. In order to fight the vampire army that Victoria’s newborn lover has created, the vampires and werewolves must put aside their inherent differences and join forces. If not, they could totally ravage Seattle, travel to the quaint town of Forks, and potentially eat Police Chief Charlie Swan!! By becoming a neutral Switzerland, Bella narrowly avoids this horrific fate. Like Bella, Brandon remains neutral in a time of utter disaster. Thanks, Brandon. But more importantly, thank YOU, Stephanie Meyer.

Kelsey swiftly removes everyone from her home and starts looking for Amanda’s lost phone while Boring Robby hugs Juliette and tries to make her feel better about being the worst. And Kelsey standing around in the background after having to forcibly remove all her friends from her property while her roommate makes out with her boyfriend is such a vibe.

After Cara comes to the rescue to pickuppé the stranded party guests, the episode ends. Overall, I was pretty unhappy with this episode, but I feel that it was a necessary step to get us back in the right direction. I just miss Alex. He needs to return from Europe immediately. I’m tired of all of this girl drama and I want Boring Robby to become Interesting Robby. The next episode seems promising – but we’ll have to wait and see.

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