#//Which she knew would be Impossible; her role came first and foremost

[dutybcrne]

Kaveh definitely wants at least one child of his own. Partially to continue his family line, partially bc he himself loves the idea of having a family of his own. He would however like to move out of Alhaitham’s place before he even dares consider getting a partner to begin with. And the longer he stays there, the more stress he feels thinking about it. He even has sketched out nursery ideas and plans on how to raise them all set to go, if only he'd get out of debt fast enough-

Furina also really wants to have a child of her own. She adores seeing the families around Fontaine, and has dreamed a great deal what parenthood would be like. Nothing brings her joy than when children about Fontaine invite her to join in on the little games they are playing, leaving her giddy and smiling bright as sunshine on her way home. Of course she knows that to be a parent, she really has to get her shit together. One can't just rear a child on macaroni and residual payments, after all.

[beyond-far-horizons]

The Meeting of Two Minds

Dumbledore may have been Love’s greatest advocate in later years but for now the young and brilliant Albus likes to think himself above such frivolous sentiment. Until he’s introduced to the infamous Gellert Grindelwald that is… One-shot, Rating K+.

‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds. 

Admit impediments’.

Sonnet 116. Shakespeare.

With the The Crimes of Grindelwald out, here’s my take on the first meeting of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. I dedicate this to the amazing Broad Strokes prequel fan film - Dumbledore and Grindelwald - The Greater Good, which inspired this fic a few years ago. Their Gellert will always be my Grindelwald - I encourage you to watch it on YouTube if you haven’t seen it already!

Albus Dumbledore stood outside the vine-laden cottage of Professor Bathilda Bagshot, his hand hovering over the oaken door. Normally a visit here provided a brief respite from the gnawing dullness of Godric’s Hollow, but last time she had casually mentioned a visit from her Bavarian nephew and would he mind being introduced? Naturally Albus could not refuse on civility’s grounds let alone disappoint a benefactor of such kindness, yet now he chaffed under the obligation. Yet another burden getting in the way of precious research time. What little of it Aberforth and Ariana left him…

Which was awful and unkind and all too common a thought infecting his head of late.

I suppose he’ll be from Durmstrang too so I should prepare myself for some coarseness…

He sighed, biting his lip and looked back down the cheery ramshackled path to the front gate. If I can’t manage a better grace I should come back another time. Professor Bagshot deserves that much courtesy at least…

The door opened and his heart sank.

“Albus, there you are!” Bathilda answered the door in a deep garnet dress, her blonde hair pinned in a knot on top of her head. “How nice of you to pop round. I was just talking about you.”

“What a coincidence, Professor.” Albus said, turning and forcing his face into the best approximation of a smile. “I- I can’t stay for long, but I thought I would stop by just to introduce myself at least.”

There, Ive given myself an excuse if I require one.

“Well at least stay for a cup of tea. I’m sure Aberforth can manage till then.” Bathilda’s eyes twinkled and Albus had the uncomfortable impression she could read him far better than he would have liked. She waved him in, passed shelves weighed down with books and took his coat and hat.

As always the cosy cottage smelt of baking, woodsmoke and dried vellum. He wished that smell didn’t seem more like home compared to the house next to it. Aberforth did try his best…

“Into the sitting room, Albus. I’ll call Gellert down. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Has he?” Albus tried to inject enthusiasm into his voice as he edged around a tower of tomes that had grown since his last visit.

He could see it now - yet another dull exchange where he would have to pretend to be interested in the mediocre achievements of someone everyone assumed he would get on with because they were vaguely the same age.

Come on Albus, at least try not to be so stuck up! He chided himself, selecting his favourite chintz armchair and removing a selection of papers from it. If he’s related to Professor Bagshot then he should at least be intelligent.

“Or perhaps not…” He smirked as he caught sight of notes on Uric the Oddball scrawled across the page he was holding.

“Oh I am sorry Albus, I meant to clear the living room before you came.” Bathilda said as she took the notes from him. She stacked them neatly on a writing desk in front of the bay window that already teamed with scrolls, books and dried inkwells.

“Embarking on your great endeavour at last?” He smiled as he took a seat. “Although forgive me for my presumption Professor, but critics might not take the book too seriously if Uric the Oddball has a starring role.”

“Nonsense, Albus.” Bathilda said, taking his teasing in good humour. “Why, if I’ve learnt anything about Magical History, it’s that the eccentrics are the ones that push us to new heights.”

“My sentiments exactly, Aunt.”

Albus stood up, intending to make a quip about jellyfish hats, but the joke died on his lips as Bathilda’s hand swept towards a tall youth in black with blond, curling hair and an intense, evaluating gaze.

“Albus, this is my great nephew. Gellert, come in.”

Blue eyes met grey and Albus felt a lurch in his chest.

“Albus Dumbledore.”

“Gellert Grindelwald.”

His outstretched hand was met with a firm grip and he struggled not to flush. He nodded, keeping up his polite veneer as any proper British wizard would, only to see a flash of merriment on Gellert’s face.

Albus took back his hand, feeling mildly irritated. According to Professor Bagshot he was slightly older than her nephew so why then did he feel like the naughty schoolboy?

“Albus is exceeding bright, Gellert, I’m sure you will have lots in common.”

“Yes I’ve heard the name. Even in Durmstrang you are famous, Master Dumbledore.”

Albus had been expecting a veiled insult given Gellert’s previous smirk so was instantly wrong-footed. “Oh, it’s just Albus, please. And it’s nothing really.”

“Nothing?” The glittering eyes were back. “I’d hardly say ‘Most promising contribution to Alchemy in Cairo’ is nothing, Albus.”

Albus’s heart gave another lurch at the praise and the way the other boy said his name.

What is this?

Pushing the thought aside he smiled and at a nod from Bathilda sat back down. “Well, I like to apply myself.”

Gellert took the opposite chair and leaned back, stretching out his legs with a careless grace Albus envied. “And yet you are here. Forgive my curiosity but I thought a man as promising as you would be on the Grand Tour by now.”

Albus’s smile dropped and he fought back the resentment that burst up in his chest.

“Albus is very devoted to his family, Gellert.” Bathilda cut in quickly. He didn’t miss the significant look the witch gave her great nephew.

Wonderful, so he knows I’m the newly appointed head of the family. Would that they all knew just how truly devoted I am…

Pushing down the sense of shame that perpetually dogged him, he accepted a cup of tea from Bathilda’s floating tray.

“A noble sentiment - family.” Albus couldn’t work out if the tone was genuine or sarcastic. “And something I’m sure my great aunt thinks I could learn from.” The blond boy took the other cup but his gaze was still fixed on Albus. “But you can’t say this place isn’t full of history itself. If you know where to look, of course.”

Is he referring to the Hallows? No…most wizards think they are just a legend…

“Well you both know my feelings on the subject.” Professor Bagshot chuckled and suddenly all Albus wanted was for her to leave the two of them alone.

“It’s true, I suppose.” He replied carefully. “Although with all due respect to the professor, it can feel like something of a backwater at times.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Then I hope you won’t think me presumptuous to say I’m glad to have met you.” Gellert’s smile was infectious. “I was looking forward to exploring, but nothing beats meeting someone with the same interests.”

“You’ve also studied alchemy?”

“Yes and I actually found your contribution very interesting along with your theories about dragon’s blood. You know you had our Potions master at Durmstrang almost spitting fire himself saying that dragon’s blood didn’t work that way.”

Albus found himself on the edge of his seat. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I get that reaction! It’s like-”

I can’t say it. How arrogant would it sound? That I know better than-

“- like they refuse to see the truth because of your youth?” Gellert’s lips were pursed and he set his untouched tea down with a clank. “When the reality is, it is they who are blind?”

Albus’s mouth opened. “…Yes.”

Is he a Legilimens too? He felt uncomfortable at the thought.

Gellert leaned forward, lazy ease replaced by seriousness. “Actually I would believe it. They are blind, Albus. What is worse - they are jealous.”

“Jealous?” Albus laughed, hiding his shock. How many times have I thought that? How many times have I railed against the Establishment, feeling that they were holding me back? “Conservative, maybe…”

“I’ve heard the British are famous for their modesty. It’s charming, Albus, but let’s be honest, there are many who feel threatened by innovation, especially if it comes in the form of someone young, someone who might actually deserve the titles and accolades they have only gained through decades of toil.”

Albus looked down. “Experience is to be respected.” He mumbled and looked up sharply at the roar of laughter from the other chair.

“The archetypal gentleman wizard.” Gellert grinned and warm giddiness spread through Albus’s body.

He’s laughing at me! Albus tried to force his face into stern affront but the teasing light in those grey eyes was impossible to hate.

“Experience is to be respected but what of talent, Albus? What of true imagination? In Durmstrang we believed that only the strongest, the ones that proved themselves constantly, had the right to stand at the top.”

Albus had a sudden vision of a cold, dark landscape, of mountains, vast skies and powerful, brutal wizards standing on soaring pinnacles with their foes lying crushed beneath them. Gellert’s face was foremost amongst them, staring down at him as he did now with that haughty cockiness.

“Are you suggesting I should have duelled them into submission?” He replied coolly.

Gellert laughed again. “Maybe. Perhaps it would get them to try something new at least, rather than just passing judgement on the rest of us.”

“It sounds like you had a trying time at Durmstrang.”

Gellert waved a dismissive hand. “I’m beyond that now, on to better things. Speaking of which I tried your dragon’s blood solution in a compound of my own.”

“And?”

“It worked as you said it would.”

“You see! There are far more uses that can be made of it, I’m sure of that!”

The two boys didn’t notice Bathilda smile as she was quite forgotten.  She slipped silently up to her study, happy that her wayward but brilliant great nephew seemed to have finally met his match.

“I knew it would be good for Albus to talk to someone his own age.” She said softly to herself as she took out an elegant old quill. And if anyone can keep Gellert on the straight and narrow it’s Kendra Dumbledore’s son.

Dipping the ancient quill in ink, she sat down to write a long letter to Gellert’s mother.

Such good beginnings…

Albus’s throat was dry. Periodically he tried to take a sip from his tea cup and then remembered it was stone cold.

Odd…

He kept meaning to ask about another drink but then Gellert would say something else and he would be lost, excitedly explaining his latest theories or questioning his new friend about his own thoughts and experiments.

I can hardly believe it. He thought, the steady thrill that had been building in his body bursting again into life. I can’t believe someone like him would come here of all places. Finally something good is happening to me!

There was a brief pause in conversation as both parties stopped to gather their thoughts. Gellert was standing by the fire he had conjured earlier, one hand on the high mantlepiece, the other stretched towards the flames as if to catch them. Albus curled in the comfortable chair, his head on his folded hand and found his eyes tracing the other boy’s proud profile. Light danced across the handsome face, turning it molten and cast his long shadow into the cosy room. Albus dared not speak for fear of breaking the moment.

Was it just this morning I thought I would be trapped here forever? Now I never want it to end…

Gellert’s face, however, had dropped its perennial smirk. He stared at the fire with a concentration that was almost severe. A small tongue of flame pulled itself from the hearth and began to dance around his fingers.

“Freeze-flame. Wordless and wandless. Very nice.”

“I’m not trying to impress you, Albus.” Gellert’s voice was soft but firm, and more flames gathered, encircling his outstretched palm like a fiery serpent.

“What are you doing then?”

“Thinking.”

Albus raised his head. “Care to share?”

Gellert snapped his fingers abruptly and the flames were extinguished. “I think I’ve shared enough with you for one day.”

Dismay dispelled the happiness Albus had been feeling but he covered it with courtesy. “I hope you don’t regret it.”

White teeth flashed and the dazzling smirk was back. “Not at all. It is perhaps a little surprising. I’m not usually given to talking about myself so much.”

Albus’s heart turned over again but he wasn’t going to loss the opportunity to tease. “Aren’t you?” He replied with an innocent look.

“You see,” Gellert turned towards him, “already you know me too well.”

Albus chuckled, feeling like he had consumed half a barrel of his father’s firewhisky. “Not that well, I still haven’t asked you why someone as brilliant as you isn’t on the Grand Tour himself.”

The grin dropped as fast as it had appeared. “That would be because I should still be at Durmstrang.”

Albus’s face fell. “Should be…” The words escaped before he could lock his mouth shut.

Away from the fire and facing towards Albus, Gellert face was now wreathed in shadow. “I was expelled.”

Why? The Dark Arts? But they teach them there. What could he have done that would have been bad enough for Durmstrang to expel him?

Gellert’s smile was slow and secret like a siren’s song. “Ah but how could they expel such talented and affable person as myself?” He spread his arms in mock hurt. “Let’s just say you aren’t the only one that was held back by…how did you put it earlier? ‘Conservative’ witches and wizards.” He turned towards the stairs and looked back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Albus.”

“Night?” Albus stood up, horrified to see the window confirming word with telltale blackness.

Has it truly been that long? Oh no, Aberforth! Ariana! I said I’d only be an hour at the most!

“It was good to meet you…”

“You too…” Albus replied distractedly, then realised how rude and inadequate that sounded about the wonderful discovery of their new-found friendship. He turned back to offer a better goodbye but ex-Durmstrang boy had disappeared up the stairs.

All thoughts of his siblings melted away.

I should have said-

-But what did he mean-

-Wish I had-

Damn.

He stood there staring stupidly at the place where Gellert had been, before realising how bizarre and embarrassing it would look if his new friend came back down and found him still gawking like a lost troll.

He saw himself out, wondering idly where Professor Bagshot had gone.

Until tomorrow then…

There was barely a minute’s walk between the two houses but he stretched it out with several backward glances. A light was on in the Bagshot’s small guest bedroom.

That must be Gellert, what is he thinking? Is he thinking about what I said? …Is he thinking about me?

Albus paused on another doorstep, this time his own. The light that shone through this door was the complete opposite of the one he yearned for. It spoke of interrogation not illumination. Aberforth would be sat the other side, by the stairs so he wouldn’t miss his errant elder brother. Oh no, Aberforth never missed an opportunity to upbraid him, even if he did deserve it. Albus sighed, leaning his head against the wood, then glanced again at the narrow upper window in the Bagshot cottage.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough…

Reviews and thoughts very welcome! I’m so glad to have finally finished this piece. Such an intriguing and ultimately heartbreaking dynamic. Also if you are wondering why Bathilda didn’t come down and offer them lunch or dinner etc I suspect this was one of those rare ten hour first meetings between visionaries where she wouldn’t have been able to get a word in and would have gotten the Gellert Glare TM if she’d tried to interrupt, poor woman.

[actualbampot]

White Noise: Chapter 3

Holy shit it’s been so long since I posted a chapter of White Noise but here you go (so slay me it was a bloody hard one to write) Read it on a03 HERE

Enjoy!

Existing through our need to self oblige leads not to gluttony, but to humanity in it's most corrosive form.

Cinder held her spine straight, focused ahead if it meant only to centre herself.

‘How did the Grimm find their way here?’ The pensive intone should have been foremost on her mind, not the way her blood was running hot. She knew better.

As the ring of glass heels born from surrounding dust quickened their chime, the sound of gunfire thundering from the upper levels became intermittent before falling disconcertingly silent.

It wasn't unheard of for a Grimm to scatter from it’s pack: Anima’s rocky woodland was treacherous, shielded by a valley of mountains that rendered radio’s in static. It was only logical that a Grimm in the area could lose it's bearings entirely.

And that a bunker dating back to the Great War would exist here.

Fortunate for Roman Torchwick that he insisted on being so useful, presenting his ‘Slice of Haven’ as he so distastefully described the run-down complex. To flee amidst the chaos of Beacon’s demise had been a timed effort, moving as swiftly as the news itself had spread to the other kingdoms. With Anima's borders sealing behind them, their footholds had been established almost immediately, no less on the doorstep to Mistral.

Cinder’s hand fell on the button to take service elevator up far heavier than necessary. Two floors underground and in the middle of nowhere. They were, essentially, off the grid.

Pacing back and forth, she could feel loose floor panels giving beneath her step as the creaking lift dragged to the ground floor at an infuriating speed. It was the price paid for a hideout operating on prewar Atlesian technology, and the wait was hardly helping to distract Cinder from the way she stung all over.

She could barely admit even to herself; Her torso, arms, face. Her pride.

Aura would repair the damage in due course, but there wasn’t much in the way of remedying how uncharacteristically unprepared she had been for the attack, no matter how meticulously planned. Unsurprisingly, that much could only be expected from an Atlesian Specialist.

Not to speak of one bearing the Schnee name.

With a shudder the elevator creaked to a halt, and Cinder paced down a lengthy corridor just adjacent to the main warehouse. Voices that couldn’t reach her before carried along the walls, shouting and strangled.

She swiped her tongue across her lips. A steadying inhale was supposed to steel frayed nerves- but the faint taste of rose petals on her tongue wouldn't allow it, treacherous and lingering on her senses.The urgency in her step faltered when touching the pads of her fingers to her lips, breathing in the distant scent of a blooming flower in midsummer heat; Her sullen, sweet little Ruby.

She succumbed like a flurry of petals trembling on the gale of a storm. It was almost unthinkable that the same girl who turned her gleaming, silver gaze to face impossible odds at the top of Beacon Tower now lay only existing, wholly dependant. Wholly empty.

And wholly hers.

Fractured and off-kilter was how Cinder had chosen to keep her, rewarding her weak and easily swayed heart with a nurturing hand. Distorting Ruby's perception remained a current, carefully executed task which painted Cinder in the only source of light the girl would receive. Unsurprisingly, Roman's glee when approached to play the malevolent role was only parallel to the sum of money Cinder had paid him to do so - and so he did, bending each and every truth that Little Red wholeheartedly believed in.

Given enough time isolated from colour, people, or anything that resembled more than the sound of her own heartbeat, Ruby had been prepared to believe any lie Torchwick spun, but most importantly that she was a victim rescued from atrocities committed by Ozpin and his so-called combat schools. That her guaranteed safety came aligned only with Cinder and no other.

Steel rattled not far off in the distance, dragging Cinder from her reverie to set about a faster pace. She expected a quadrupedal that could traverse the mountainside with ease had happened upon the front entrance, that unsuspecting White Fang soldiers unable to control their fear had attracted it inside.

Throwing open the double doors to the main warehouse with flames armed at her fingertips, she was ready to purge the Grimm to a blackened smoulder.

Cinder expected to find destruction, an ongoing fight against a larger Grimm. But on the floor Faunus bodies lay strewn and sunken in blood, drained from the same single, large puncture aimed directly at each of their jugulars. Executed.

Golden and sharp her eyes were drawn up beyond the bodies by the sporadic sound of clicking, plunging the blood pumping wildly through her veins into ice.

She saw Emerald and Mercury awkwardly knelt on the concrete, ensnared in red tendrils tangling their legs to their arms. Over them floated an inky blot, a shell of teeth and broken bone pulsing around a core of murky red. Nonplussed by Cinder’s arrival it hovered steadily as if in wait, all whilst Mercury and Emerald struggled to gasp past the tendrils wound around their throats.

Cinder was rooted on the spot, their eyes silently begging for her to intervene, but this was no ordinary Grimm. The remaining Faunus that had somehow managed to stay out of reach of it’s knifed limbs had it surrounded, dust-powered weapons raised.

“Wait.” Cinder announced, making herself known to the rest of the room. Eyes wide and frightened followed her as she stepped by the bodies to approach the Grimm, her hand quietly signalling the remaining Faunus to step back.

The Seer clicked in quickened beats, the change of rhythm echoing between corrugated walls just beyond the chime of Cinder’s heels. She stopped at a safe distance, unconcerned that it might harm her, but rather those in it’s grip.

Emerald was gasping, quickly turning blue while the coils around Mercury made to focus on keeping his legs pinned to the floor, and above them both the Seer’s bladed limbs precariously hung in gentle sway.

“I’m the one she sent you to search for. Aren’t I?” Cinder began barely above a whisper. “So release them. Your quarry is with me.”

She kept her focus without allowing her voice to waver, unable to afford showing weakness here despite how her pulse beat wildly against her ear drums.

Other than it’s unnervingly accelerated click the Seer did not seem to acknowledge her, and Cinder could sense doubt from the surrounding Faunus that a Grimm could comprehend human tongue let alone respond in any way, but the Maiden knew that with whatever cognitive function it possessed it was assessing it’s orders, deliberating it’s next moves.

Finally, the ropes loosened.

Emerald heaved forward on her hands, gulping down air the moment the Seer had released her. Similarly Mercury moved on his hands and knees, kicking the limbs away to catch Emerald beneath the arm, hoisting them both up and out of the Grimm’s reach.

“Piece of crap jellyfish” He cussed under his breath.

Cinder glanced between them, jaw drawn tight. They were shaken but otherwise unharmed, Mercury casting her a mute gaze of thanks before turning back to the now passive Seer, focused grey narrowed dangerously.

“Boss, let me take that thing out.” He snarled. From where Emerald was leant on her knees she managed a scowl of equal magnitude, one hand trembling as it reached back for her holstered sickle. “It got the spook on us before, but I ain’t gonna let it-”

“You will do no such thing.” Cinder said quietly.

Her disciples shared a stunned gaze, uncertainty flashing across Emeralds face first.

“But… Ma’am it slaughtered the Faunus here. It was about to-”

“And I want you both down below. Take the remaining workforce with you and ensure they remain there until this has been dealt with.” Cinder didn’t allow Emerald to finish, fixing them both with an icy look.

Not sparing them a moment more Cinder turned back to regard the Seer floating patiently in wait, her tightly drawn expression causing doubt creep onto both Mercury and Emeralds faces.

The boy breathed out of his nose when sluggishly Emerald was the first to move away, neither convinced of what exactly ‘dealing with it’ would entail. Trumping his apprehension with a snort, Mercury eventually tore away in Emeralds trail- almost colliding with the tanned girl as he did.

“What the- What’s the hold up.”

Looking down he saw pools of red widening in unmistakable panic, fixed on the double doors Cinder had just entered through, and as the remaining Faunus barrelled through them they paid no need to the small, dishevelled form that stood barefoot in blood matched to the same shade of her dark, unkempt hair.

She was white, and from here Mercury stood he could see, trembling from head to toe, her cheeks splashed with tears. “What the heck is she doing up here?”

“...

C...Cinder?”

No. Not here.

The woman turned stiffly, smouldering gold clashing with distant, blunt silver shadowed beneath the red tips of messy bangs.

Ruby Rose stood numbly by the double door entrance to the warehouse, taking small steps into a space packed densely with blood and bodies, unable to avert herself from the horror of her surroundings, and Cinder’s heart viced twofold.

Dim candle light and artificial fluorescence had stolen the rosy tinge from Ruby’s cheeks, and for a traitorous moment her thoughts weren’t of the very violence and bloodshed she had worked to shield the girl from, only how milky, pale skin seemed to glow in the natural light pouring from the shutters.

Her presence dropped a heavy weight on Cinder’s shoulder’s, dread too slow to soak into her bones before the temptation to taste the very tears from the girls cheeks with her lips caused all lucid thoughts to tailspin.

“Boss! Look out!!”

She heard the air whip before the warning had fully left Mercury’s mouth.

Bladed points hurtled to silence Ruby’s arresting fear, but the Maiden’s reaction was snap, and without thought reflex turned her into the attack before it could reach the girl.

Summoned glass stretched from her grip, only barely forming into an edged weapon of use when Cinder sliced upward through the ropes of the Seers elasticated limbs, combusting the floating entity into a curdled shriek.

Cinder managed to stave their momentum; the blades lost their target, carrying some way before uselessly clattering against concrete around Ruby’s feet.

The following silence was deafening, tension dense enough to strangle where even Ruby’s cold, vacant expression and sobs from her heaving chest bore no noise. Emerald and Mercury stood stunned, and though they could loosely theorise what had just happened it was Cinder and Cinder alone who understood the sheer magnitude of her actions.

Whether it was instinctual, or an attempt of self-preservation a Grimm did not hesitate in the presence of a human with eyes like Ruby’s, be it last Grimm in existence it would still charge blindly and foolishly forward.

Though a creature with little purpose in the destruction of mankind was without contrariety to this fact, the Seer floating before them crooked and limp was not here for this purpose, Cinder knew that.

So did she.

“...How nice to finally see you again, Cinder.”

The voice emanating from the Seer spoke unhurriedly, jarringly humble in spite of all that surrounded them, of what had just transpired.

The Maiden’s pulse beat wildly in her ears, knuckles whitening hotly until the grips of her makeshift, imperfect blades became viscous enough sink and mold between her fingers. The dark, syrupy eye swimming within the gelatinous body of the Grimm was fixed upon her, but it was the voice that froze her soul to a dead stop, mind cold with numb shock to all and everything.

“Salem.”

-

Something in the click of Cinder’s heels was off, each chime trembling in strain as if they might shatter with the next step she took.

Diversions in plans were inevitable, and any goal took setbacks into account in the event of compensating for them. Find a different route to accomplish the same means, make use of the resources on hand and if necessary, recruit more. It was this kind initiative that Cinder acted on by second nature.

Amber glinted over her shoulder to glance at the Seer following quietly, albeit slowly in her shadow. She hadn’t been foolish enough to believe that this wasn’t inevitable, yet why had she refused to account for it?

The Seer followed her through the bunker to an unused room on the derelict side of the hanger, intending to see this discussion through alone where all focus could be solely upon her. Mercury and Emerald did not argue with her orders a second time, especially when it involved escorting Ruby to the furthest part of the bunker and guarding the door after ensuring she was locked in.

Ruby… She could complicate everything beyond repair.

Cinder didn’t notice how painful the lump in her throat was until she swallowed.

Opening a door, she had led them to a room that at some point had functioned as an office, one that undoubtedly belonged to an officer during the Great War; The obsolete symbol of Mantle was identifiable between cracked drywall, as well as brandished on various files and paperwork strewn across the room.

Allowing the Seer to enter first Cinder closed the door behind them after casting a glance down the corridor to ensure she hadn’t been followed again.

“Paranoia is unbecoming of you, my dear.”

For some reason she hadn’t expected Salem’s voice, and prayed her mistress hadn’t notice how her shoulders tensed suddenly.

“Of course.” She answered evenly.

Cinder approached the Seer, and attempting to ignore the thumping in her ears she held her arms rigid at her side, bowing at the waist in such a way that angled her near-perfectly with the floor, dipping far deeper than necessary.

No voice acknowledged her greeting this time with only the Seers rhythmic clicking serving to fill the tense silence. When the moment felt longer than an eon, Cinder blinked, slowly swallowing before attempting to bridge the gap:

“Salem. I wish to-”

“Do not speak.”

The younger woman’s spine seized, her bow suddenly becoming painful to sustain. She stared at the worn, patchy carpet beneath her heels, searching for anything to steady and centre her, but Salem continued. “I do not believe the nature of my dissatisfaction is in question, but I will say i’m surprised that you would choose stand before me with such arrogance. Rise.”

A deep, quiet breath was taken in through her nostrils, eyes squeezing shut for just a moment before she forced her spine straight with arduous effort. In the Seer’s murky belly nothing gave Salem away, only the abyssal swirl of crimson smoke.

“I am going to ask you some very simple questions that require very simple answers.” She said, distaste becoming more and more prominent on the edges of her words. “Tell me, how long has it been since your last report?”

Cinder crossed her hands at the small of her back, out of the Seer’s and Salem’s sight to allow her fist to ball, tight enough to shake.

“Eight seasons, Ma’am.”

“Eight Seasons. Eight.” The razor's-edge on Salem’s tongue pressed in on Cinder’s vitals until the woman fought not to visually recoil. Her inhale was supposed to be calming when instead it stuttered in her chest as her mistress continued, slow and controlled; “I would like for you to explain to me..exactly why that is.”

“Unless I have misinterpreted my orders, our goal is to establish presence in Mistral. With the Kingdoms on high alert following our efforts in Vale, it was agreed that an indirect assault on Haven Academy-”

“And what do you pretend to know of my goals?”

Out of touch and out of contact; All that were present knew the answer, it would have been foolish of Cinder to claim otherwise but the tense silence that lay beyond the Seer told her that Salem’s question demanded a response.

“Nothing.” Cinder finally said, low enough that the word barely left her lips. “I have acted in my best judgement, as you have always trusted me to do.”

“And yet…I see your judgement has led you to undesired outcomes.” There was no mistaking the critical assessment that had caused Cinder’s hand to drift, open palm at the small of her back pressing to touch raw scars creeping from the cuff of her wrist. Her chin sunk a little as if it might hide the heavy wound that snuck along her jaw, and notch where her lobe used to be.

Though, there was nothing to be done about her state of dress. Dark lace and crimson asymmetry held to her body like a second skin, but where the signature sigils would have glowed with warm power they remained only as ruptured threads of dust, scorched to black and exposed like frayed wires.

“Explain.”

Their unmarked Bullhead routinely travelled to the outskirts of Mistral, slowly leaking Cinders authority into the lawless lower levels of the city, building capital, acquiring small businesses both honest and.. specific, until loyalties eventually fell in line. That had been the task assigned to her, albeit whilst such orders were tethered to valid goals

Cinder took a deep breath. “Our position in Mistral was leaked to the White Fang splinter group in conjunction with three huntresses. Granted the attack was carried out with unexpected magnitude; it reeked of desperation.”

Lacing together subterfuge with half-truths spouted as if a tongue of their own.

True to her word the landing pad had been rigged with explosives. Such things couldn’t harm her as it had the Bullhead, it’s pilots and her Faunus escorts, but the blurs of White, Black and Yellow that followed were another story, and one that Cinder chose her words carefully in telling.

“In ensuring the secrecy of our operation, my efforts were overextended.”

Had Cinder not bore the brunt of the attack she may even have applauded Weiss Schnee’s command of her semblance, and what unorthodox technique she had conjured to ignite the very molecules of dust itself.

Sewing dust into clothing was an age-old artistry Cinder prided herself in, but not even she could have foreseen it to be exploited against her.

However unconventional the application of Weiss Schnee’s semblance was, Cinder only remembered the velocity of impact targeted at the raw lines of dust in her clothing...closely followed by a volatile and explosive reaction that had sent her sprawling across the landing deck.

The noise still rung in her ears, vibrating the very roots of her teeth.

It wasn’t until she’d fully come to that Cinder realised the extend of what the little white witch had done, and with her Aura as it’s fuel the dust had ignited post explosion, fusing her burning clothing to her skin. Until Ruby stopped it.

Salem remained silent, informing no reaction to Cinder’s explanation, so she continued “The attack nor it’s perpetrators are a concern any longer, I’ve taken care-”

“I did hope…” Salem spoke over her shortly before she softly exhaled a sigh that had Cinder’s brows gathered. Her mistress was uncharacteristically quiet as if considering her words.

The next drawl told Cinder it was anything but: “...That your isolation had forced growth upon you. That you would continue to temper the edge of your newfound powers and drive results through your own initiative.” Her voice did not waver, did not carry anger nor disappointment, but all the same Cinder felt a bolt of uneasiness through her chest.

“How wrong I was.

Move your administration from this isolation.” The last word was punctuated on the razors edge of Salem’s teeth, and for the first time since their discussion began, Cinder recoiled. “And remove yourself from the sheer unutterable callowness you have surrendered to.”

The Maiden’s tongue lay heavy in her mouth, caged within a jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. There was nothing that could be said where Salem’s word lay in stone no less than the Gods themselves. It had been so long since she’d truly yielded, the final tilt of her waist caving into a deep bow, laden with the weight of Salem’s will.

Avoiding looking into the Seer, gold remained downcast when Cinder turned to take her leave.

“I do find it curious” Salem said. “That you would choose to keep the silver eyed girl with you, despite my warnings.”

Cinder stopped. Her feet, the air, everything suddenly weighed of lead, least of all the gaze pierced onto her nape. Salem spoke lightly, but there was no mistaking the demand driving her query, so as steadily as she could Cinder fixed her expression and turned back to regard the Seer.

“Tell me, is she obedient?”

A cycle of questions tumbled in a nonsensical mess in Cinder’s head, and no less in the same moment that speaking her mind would undoubtedly yield serious consequences.

For the first time since the encounter began, Cinder felt real fear plucking at her frayed nerves. She didn’t like where this was going.

“Yes.” She asserted after a long moment, fighting tremors on the edge of her voice. “Perhaps of no practical use but her progress is promising. Given more time-”

“Time...an indulgence seldom had by many.” Salem’s voice was slow, a hint of displeasure in her tone. “And of which you most certainly have none, child.”

Nothing about this felt familiar, not the way Cinder’s heart seemed to wrench in different directions, or how the desire to open her mouth and dare protest against her mistress came without thought.

“The mission stands as your only priority” Salem interjected, her implication clear. “You are to migrate your administration to Haven within the week. As for the silver eyed girl, I have decided she will accompany me here as I determine her usefulness. I am sending Doctor Watts to-”

“Is that wise?” Anyone, even Cinder should have recognised she was exceeding the boundaries of Salem’s tolerance for failure.

As a child she witnessed subordinates throwing themselves before Salem’s feet to plead forgiveness, appealing to her wisdom or even more foolishly, her humanity: Their fates were sealed by their own hands, a truth the same as her own; risking herself over a negligible fixation was absurd.

Yet the rationale born of discipline felt like a lesson long forgotten, in its place there was only heat and anger at the first mention of Ruby. Any intention Salem had for the girl only meant she be taken from her and Cinder could not, would not accept it. “Her kind around the Grimm, around you.” She pressed heavier, roughly. “If something were to happen-”

“Your assurance that the girl is obedient should alleviate such concerns should they not, Cinder? You have your orders.”

“She's mine.” The Maiden snarled.

The air cracked, red ropes lashing towards her and ensnaring her throat in the Seer’s relentless grip. Cinder choked out, her eyes wide and aflame as it’s limbs coiled upward around her face and mouth, screeching as it wrenched her off-balance. Before Cinder had a chance to realise what was happening she was already on her knees.

“You’ve grown ignorant.”

Her lungs burned as she gasped for air, writhing more in shock and rising panic than any logical attempt to free herself, and for it the Seer was unyielding. Coiling around her left arm, it twisted from the shoulder to wrench up in a way a human limb should not.

Cinder stopped struggling immediately, keeping shouts of pain caged behind clenched teeth.

“You’ve grown soft-”

Salem's voice rolled out slowly, layered in calm as if conversing with a familiar acquaintance. Apparently she was most comfortable with her most revered strung up and noosed.

Strength flared in Cinder’s eyes, and as if in anticipation the Seer snuffed her defiance out by tearing her neck and shoulder in opposite directions, and the woman parted with a cry that shocked her as much as the pain did.

“-And it is clear that you have lost your objectivity. Allowing you to operate independently was a mistake, and while the blame in trusting your selfish, self-driven motivations falls on my shoulders I cannot help but to find this behaviour sorely disappointing.”

Cinder buried her Aura deep down, knowing that to defend herself would be to admittance of her guilt, but as the coils around her pulled with the intention to tear she instead found herself stabbing in the dark out of desperation.

“...I-I gave you Ozpin, gave you Beacon!-”

“With the power granted to you by me. You would be wise not to forget that, child.

Now, do you submit?” Salem asked, dangerously soft and doing nothing for Cinder’s festering trepidation.

Black began to dot the edges of her vision, swimming and airless her hands attempted to reach for the coils around her neck only to be wrenched and strangled tighter, utterly denied.

She heard the question once again bled out from between Salem’s lips as though listening from underwater, all whilst the Seer bore down from above, Cinder’s tunnel of vision filled with the judgement of crimson eyes blurred into abyssal black as if sucking the very soul from the Maiden’s body.

“Your infractions extend far beyond what I believed you capable of, and they will be addressed when your task in Mistral is complete. Make no mistake, Cinder.”

She fell numb, gears churning and stalling on one another without the capacity to conceptualise what to say. Salem had left no room for anything other than Cinder’s complete compliance, be it with her teeth bared and squeezed out as if each word rawed her throat until bloody.

“I submit.”

[woozletania]

What happened to the rabbit?

Three months after The Snap, three months after the Battle Of Wakanda, Thor finally has a moment free from responding to disasters to wonder: What happened to his furry little friend?  He will not be pleased with the answer, but the God Of Thunder does not readily give up on a friend.

https://halfhumanhalfworld.tumblr.com/ kindly allowed me to reference his excellent Axe handle story in this one.  http://readasaur.tumblr.com/ reminded me that there should be music involved. Huzzah!

It wasn't the first time Thor landed in New York City.  For a time it had even been home.  But since his disastrous failure to kill Thanos at Wakanda he'd been very busy. The loss of half the world's population - seemingly at random - created a host of disasters that demanded his attention.  

Over a thousand jetliners crashed in the wake of that incident. That was only the tip of the iceberg. Literally millions of vehicles were suddenly driverless on roads around the world. Millions of high speed crashes inevitably followed. The police, fire department, hospitals, were all critically understaffed with no warning. Then there were the really big problems, like power plants without sufficient workers to keep them going - including nuclear power plants - unguided container ships larger than aircraft carriers, millions of fires from now-untended cook and campfires, and more.

Thor was now, it was commonly thought, the most powerful being on the face of the planet. The Hulk hadn't been seen in months.  Even were the Green Goliath present, Thor won their last contest and his power had doubled since then.  So when a volcano erupted or a dam crumbled and someone needed to respond, he did.  His control of the weather - for he was more than the God of Thunder, the storm was his to call or dismiss - made his presence still more desirable. When natural disasters were absent, The Captain often called for his aid. Teleportation via the Bifrost meant he and his allies could be anywhere almost instantly...but there was only one Thor.

The many-headed hydra of disaster and near societal collapse kept him very busy.  Luckily, he was indeed a god.  He could go days without eating or sleeping with little impact on his health.

Three months flew by with hardly a break.  Now, finally, he and the other heroes, along with various governments and civilian organizations had pruned back enough hydra heads for him to get a day off.  Thor was left with one thought foremost on his mind.

What happened to the rabbit?

It nagged at him over the days and weeks.  What had happened to his little comrade?  The last he saw him the rabbit was shattered and grieving from the loss of his tree friend.  Later, Thor learned that this was not the only casualty among the furry little warrior's moron comrades...and the rabbit knew it.  The trackers he'd given each of his friends told him they were gone.

The little warrior was, if you didn't count the blue cyborg Thor heard about but never met, the sole survivor of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Every single person he knew and trusted was gone.  Now his one friend on Earth had time to wonder what became of him after Wakanda.

Thor landed with great care not to crush anyone with his dramatic arrival.  So softly did he land that the sidewalk barely cracked at all.  Nevertheless you couldn't miss the clap of thunder that heralded his arrival and a crowd formed.

"Thor!  Thor, it's Thor!" He smiled and nodded, pausing for a picture with an elderly couple who by great good fortune stayed together when The Snap killed half the world's population.  Then, begging off any further photos, he made his way to the side door of Avengers Tower.

"Welcome, Point Break," Friday said, and Thor smiled as the door opened.  Even in these dark days Stark was irrepressible.

A swift ride up the priority elevator - Tony warned him not to land atop the tower due to newly installed and as yet untested defense systems - and he was on the management floor.

"Mister Stark is out, sir," said the attendant.  "He is not expected back until this afternoon.  Problems at the geothermal plants in Iceland."

"That is all right," Thor said.  He leaned on the counter, which creaked alarmingly under his weight.  Asgardian flesh is denser than human flesh.  "I am mainly here about the rabbit.  I am told he came here after Wakanda."

'After Wakanda.'  Which was to say, after the death of half the sapient beings in the universe.

"What rabbit," the attendant said, and just then Pepper Potts appeared.

"Ah, Mrs. Stark," Thor said. "I heard you survived.  I'm pleased that not everyone suffered." He paused.  "I apologize.  That was poorly said."

Pepper smiled.  The stress of the last few months, running Stark-Pott Enterprises in its ever-elaborating role as the hub of global technology disbursement - in partnership with Wakanda, of course - had turned the tips of her hair gray.  She never seemed to find the time to dye it and with half the people in the world gone fringe industries like cosmetics were a lower priority for rebuilding than, say, agriculture, power production, food distribution, planetary defense....

Pepper hugged Thor.  "It's all right.  We're all just trying to get by.  But I hear you didn't just stop by to say hello?"

"Yes.  I am concerned for my rabbit friend." Thor indicated a height somewhere around his knee. "I only knew him briefly but he and his tree were valiant companions.  Now I'm the only person he knows on Earth, unless he's made new friends."

"Rabbit," Pepper said thoughtfully.  "You mean raccoon?"

"What's a raccoon?"

"Friday," Pepper said, but a screen was already popping up.  On it was a grayish-brown animal with a ringed tail.  It was busily feeling around in a stream, presumably in search of food.

"That looks like him, but that's an animal.  He is not."

"I know," Pepper said, and waved the screen away.  "He's here.  Two floors down, south hall.  See if he'll talk to you.  Please.  He won't talk to us.  Tony wanted to get with Bruce, Shuri and Rocket - his name is Rocket by the way - about possible orbital weapons platforms, but he won't come out of his room."

"Thank you, Pepper.  I'll see what I can do."

Technicians in the hall stared as he approached. A wide door stood open and a handful of men were lugging crates and cases out into the hallway, placing them on powered carts and driving away. As he rounded the corner he found a short hall behind the door with a second door at the end. Two techs were running scanners over this one.

"What goes on," Thor said, and a door tech jumped.  What must be the supervisor explained.

"Every so often the raccoon lights that indicator," he said, pointing at a light outside the outer door.  "To let us know there's stuff to pick up.  Look at this." He opened a case.  Inside were neatly racked weapons with a futuristic look.  Another case held grenades.  "The things he makes.  These are gravity pulse grenades, they create a localized singularity that sucks everything nearby in. We're still not sure how they work. Or half of this stuff," he gestured helplessly at the crates.  This tech is just...alien.  impossibly advanced." No two of the weapons were quite alike but all were sleek and deadly.

"Dark elves use grenades like that," Thor noted.

"Last time the door opened there was an antimatter bomb in here.  Mister Stark said it would take out a whole country.  Written on it was 'For Thanos'.  They stored it on the moon with the rest of the really dangerous stuff."

"What are they doing?" The two techs at the door looked up. They were still running instruments over it.

"Trying to figure out what he did to the door.  It was steel.  Now it's harder than diamond.  Even vibranium barely scratches it."

Thor ran his hand over the door.  "It feels like crystal." He shook his head.  "What does he eat?"

"We put food in every time he opens the outer door," the supervisor said.  He pointed to a stack of food containers and a flat of bottled water.  "He never touches it."

Thor took a moment to open a couple. They contained an assortment of food and smelled good.  Naturally Stark wouldn't be cheap when feeding...what?  An employee?  "Are you saying he's starving in there?  How long has it been since he came out?"

"He doesn't come out.  He won't talk to anyone. He just sends out weapons to use against Thanos and his troops."

"How long." Thor said. "Since he came out?"

The supervisor backed away as Thor loomed close.  "He went in right after he got here from Wakanda. He doesn't come out and he doesn't talk to anyone."

"He'll talk to me. Out."

"We're not done -"

"Out!" The lights overhead flickered as a spark as thick as a man's finger jumped from the Asgardian axe slung across Thor's back.  Seconds later he was alone in the hallway.  "Shut the outer door."

This time there was no argument.  As it slid shut Thor looked at the ceiling.  He didn't see any cameras or microphones but he was sure they were there.  "Rabbit...Rocket. Let me in.  We need to talk."

Nothing.  "Rocket.  I know what it's like to lose family.  You know this.  You helped me when I needed help.  Let me help you."

The silence stretched on. Stormbreaker slipped into Thor's right hand.  "This door is very strong. It will not stop me, Rocket.  I'm coming in whether you like it or not."

A moment later came a click and the door slid to the side.

It was dark inside, with pinpoint overhead light sources illuminated tangles of machinery, stacks of half complete weapons.  The built-up animal musk of a raccoon who hadn't left the room in months filled Thor's nose.  Music from unseen speakers almost drowned out the sound of machinery.  Thor knew just enough about earth music to recognize Fleetwood Mac's The Chain.

To one side a series of machines hummed as they worked.  Each was different, having a handmade look, but each continually dispensed shaped metal parts for weapons. Gangly mechanical arms collected the parts.  Thor followed the assembly line, guessing the raccoon would be at the end doing final work on each weapon.

His path took him to the brightest spot in the room.   Overhead lights cast artificial sunlight on a small table with three flower pots and a watering can.  Dead, dry twigs protruded from the pots.  Curiously Thor reached out.

"Don't touch that!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadowy figure jerk upright.  A shaking hand raised a blaster.

"Rocket," Thor said, and showed his hands.  "It's me."

Slowly the blaster dropped.  With a clatter it hit the table and small noises followed as the raccoon went back to his labors. Thor could just make out the tools and parts being worked.

For a moment Thor lingered by the pots.  He recognized the wood, though dry and dead.  Stormbreaker's handle was of the same material.  When The Snap happened and the tree crumbled away, the desperate rabbit - Rocket - rushed over and demanded he bury the handle in the hopes his friend would sprout anew from this last remnant.

It did not work.  Rocket thought it was because the tree broke the handle off himself some time before The Snap and that it was dead before the main plant fell.  Thor wondered if it were due to the enchantment on the whole axe, handle and blades.  Just the same they waited together for an entire day only to have the hoped-for green shoot not materialize.

It was the last he'd seen Rocket until now.  "You're trying to grow your friend back. I'm sorry it didn't work."

"Not my friend," rasped out of the darkness.  "I don't need friends.  Just work."

"Rocket," Thor said.  He eased closer, making no sudden moves.  "I'm your friend."

"I don't have any friends," came out of the shadows.  Thor was close enough to make out the skinny figure hunched over the table, hands busily assembling something. "You're just someone I know."

Rocket was ignoring him and Thor used the opportunity to move close enough to get a good look.  Rocket looked bad.  Threadbare, grease stained clothing covered his chest and upper legs but the fur that showed lacked the healthy sheen it'd had in the pod and on Wakanda.  Thor was certain that the raccoon had lost weight, and not a healthy amount of it.  So much fur had shed from his tail that the colored rings were barely visible.  For the first time Thor noticed the bolts protruding from Rocket's collarbones.  He didn't know the raccoon's story but he knew cybernetics when he saw them. The bolts were signs of a large, maybe even body wide augmentation.

But even a cyborg needs to eat and he could see that Rocket hadn't, or at least not nearly enough.  Thor remembered the boxes in the hall.  "Rocket, when did you eat last?"

The raccoon shrugged as he worked. "Dunno.  Last time I was hungry." He waved at a device in the corner.  Thor moved over to have a look.

He'd seen things like this before in prisons.  A relief system, a self contained power cell and banks of molecular filters and assemblers.  Rocket had built a recycler that turned his waste back into food.  Initially horrifying until you remember that practically all food has been not-food before, most likely many times.  If done properly, this was a reasonable approach.

A reasonable approach in a prison...or for a hermit.  Thor hooked a food pellet out of the dispenser with a finger and crunched it between his teeth.  Bland was an understatement, but you could live on it.

"They leave you food in the hall," he said as he turned back toward Rocket.  "It's much better than this."

Rocket didn't look up.  "I have all I need here.  I don't need anything from them but materials.". He turned to a series of hovering screen set to such low intensity that even an Asgardian's keen eyes could barely make out the details. Each was covered with formulas, schematics.  Weapons.

"Gravity bomb didn't work," Rocket muttered.  "Shoulda known space stone would protect him. Nova bomb didn't work.  Power stone absorbed the blast. I'll get him. Antimatter didn't work.  Reality stone stopped it. I'll get him."

He looked up for a moment as he thought.  His eyes were sunken into their sockets. His little clawed hands, so sure on the controls when Thor last saw him, trembled. "I'll get him.  I just need to figure it out.  Monowire?  Maybe monowire."

"When did you sleep last, Rocket? Where?"

"Dunno," the raccoon muttered.  His hands began snapping together parts though his eyes were vacant, distracted.  "Somewhere."

The shed fur and dust bunnies under the workbench told the tale.  Rocket worked until he collapsed, then rose and worked again.

He was a tough little creature.  Even a cyborg has limits, though.  Eating little and working until he dropped was killing Rocket. To keep from thinking about his loss he worked and worked but something had to give, and soon.  Soon he would be able to work no more.

"Rocket," Thor said.  "Open the door.  I'm leaving."

"Good.  Don't need ya anyway." Rocket waved absently and the inner door slid open. "Go kill Thanos for me, god man."

If it were that simple, the Mad Titan would be dead already.  When the inner door was firmly shut the outer slid open and the waiting techs once again harvested the fruit of the raccoon's labors.  Thor didn't have the heart to snarl at them.

Pepper waited outside the door.  "How is he?"

"Killing himself," Thor said grimly.  "Working himself to death to get at Thanos."

"I was afraid of that.  Tony's like that sometimes.  I've talked to Nebula when Tony brought her by. She told me about Rocket.  He was an experiment, tortured into existence before he escaped.  He won't talk to us and losing the Guardians destroyed him.  They are the only friends he ever had."

"No," Thor said.  He slid a card out of his belt.  "He has one more."

"Your Avengers stipend," Pepper said when she saw the card. Avengers were allowed a thousand dollars a week for personal expenses, more if she or Tony approved it. "You hardly use it."

"Only for ale, mead, beer," Thor said.  He didn't smile.  "But I won't use it for that today."

Ten minutes later he was on the street.  The loss of half the population meant that until society adjusted - some towns would be entirely abandoned - there were shuttered stores even here next to Stark Tower. It was still New York City and he soon found a deli.

"I have a sick friend," he told the woman behind the counter.  She was wide-eyed at the sight of him but nodded professionally as he went on.  "He needs food. Good, healthy food to put some meat back on his bones."

"A care package," she said. "I know how it is.  We sell baskets to put it all in."

Thor watched as she assembled the package.  Sliced ham, potato salad, baked beans, fresh bread. Grapes, jam, cubed watermelon, packets of condiment for sandwiches.  Cooked chicken, three small cherry tarts, a thick slice of lemon cake. Dinner rolls, pretzels for snacks. More.  Enough food to satisfy a small family accumulated in the basket before he told her 'enough' and paid her twice what she asked.

"Now," he told the very attentive woman. "Where would I buy a bed for a small creature, say, yay high." He indicated a point just above his knee.

In the pet store he bought a round, padded bed big enough for Rocket.  He chose the most expensive and was still not satisfied with the quality.  It would do, for now. With a flat of bottled water under one arm, the pet bed under the other and the basket in his hand he returned to Stark Tower, ignoring the bemused glances following the thunder god gone shopping.

"Out," he told the two technicians still taking the pulse of Rocket's inner door.  He didn't need to tell them to shut the outer one this time.  They did it on their own.

"Rocket," he said to the ceiling.  "You know I can come through this door if I choose. Then you would have to fix it.  Open it."

And it opened. In the shadows of the work room he found Rocket at the bench, from all appearances not moved from his spot two hours ago.  He didn't look up.  "Is Thanos dead?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

The raccoon let out a startled yawp as Thor's fingers closed on his collar and lifted him from the seat.  He was noticeable lighter than the time he stood on Thor's shoulder and as his shirt went tight his ribs showed.  "Put me down!  I got work ta do!"

"You can go back to work after you eat," Thor said.  He kicked the round bed under the work bench and plopped Rocket down next to the basket.

"Can't eat now," Rocket said, and looked longingly toward his floating screens.  "Gotta work.  I got something new, I think it'll get him."

Rocket's teeth clicked together as Thor slapped the floor hard enough to make dishes jump.  The thunder god had most of the food out of the basket.  "You can work," Thor said firmly, "after you eat."

"Fine," Rocket grumbled. "But just for a sec'." His little clawed hand plucked a grape out of a bowl.

As though possessed by a separate being his hand went out for another grape even as the first popped between his fangs.  And then another grape, then a chunk of sliced ham, and Thor watched as the raccoon fell on the food like a demon, eating with no thought of manners or moderation. Rocket ate with his hands and tore at the bread like the starving man he was. He ate and ate until Thor wondered if he'd indeed brought enough food.

When Thor began to worry that Rocket might actually do himself an injury overeating the raccoon finally sat back, took a long drink of water from a bottle and burped.

"'Kay," he muttered as he licked the strawberry jam from his fur. He had eaten it right out of the jar. "I ate.  Happy now?"

"Not yet," Thor said as he reached out.  Rocket protested weakly as he was once again picked up, cradled this time in Thor's great hands and slid into the padded bed.

"No," he complained as Thor kept him from crawling back out.  "I can't sleep.  Gotta work. Gotta find a way."

But an iron will can only carry a man so far.  With a full belly and days - at least - behind on sleep, Rocket was asleep almost before the words left his lips.

The music, always present, changed. Thor noted the little black device on the workbench, manifestly Earth-made unlike virtually anything else here.  The new song was louder and Thor tapped the device.  Sure enough a display popped up. The fast, jangling melody was by something called Five Jacksons.  He found the pause button.

The result was immediate.  With the music gone Rocket twitched and whined in his sleep, his claws scrabbling at the bed.  As soon as Thor restarted the music he quieted.  So. For whatever reason music gave him comfort.  Music he would have.  Thor leaned back against the wall and waited.

Asgardians are hardy folk, able to do without sleep for days if need be.  Thor sat and watched as the raccoon lest Rocket wake and go right back to work.  He needn't have worried.  It was twelve hours before Rocket even stirred.  Thor blinked awake from a brief nap of his own to find the raccoon had left the bed, presumably used the relief station, then crawled into the picnic basket and fallen right back to sleep. It made him smile to see the brave little warrior curled up in the basket, resting on a half eaten pie. Thor let him sleep.

Twice the raccoon shuddered in his sleep, his claws scrabbling at the wicker.  Both times Thor reached into the basket and petted him until he calmed down.  He knew what was happening.  He'd had fifteen hundred years to learn to live with horror and death.  He doubted the little raccoon had a hundredth that.

When Rocket finally woke his fur had the beginnings of its normal gloss and his hands less of a tremor than before.  Apparently his augmentation allowed for fast recovery...when he ate and slept, that is.  He unapologetically used the relief station again before speaking.

"Okay," he grumbled.  "That food was good.  Now I gotta get back to work."

"Certainly," Thor said as he stood.  "I will leave you to it.  But."

"But?" Rocket cast a worried look at the pet bed, afraid he'd be shoved in again.

"I am going to instruct the men to tell me if you don't take the food they leave for you, rabbit.  If you don't, I will come back and we will do this all again."

"Okay," Rocket said with a suspicious lack of protest. Thor wasn't fooled for an instant.

"And the next time I visit - and I will visit, rabbit - if you haven't eaten that food I will know. And if that bed hasn't been used, I will know that too.  Then we will have words."

"Why are you doing this," Rocket said. He didn't know what to do with his hands, one picking stuck-on cherry pie from his fur and the other reaching for the last few grapes in the bowl.  "You're not my friend."

"Of course not," Thor replied.  "How could I be your friend?  We're hardly met.  I just value your work." He waved at the stacks of weapons, bombs, grenades, and devices less obvious in their destructive potential.

"We need you, rabbit.  We need your hands and your mind.  If you starve yourself it's one less weapon we'll have when we find Thanos."

"Oh," Rocket said as he chewed a grape his hand popped into his mouth between words.  "That makes sense."

"I have to go now, rabbit.  I'll be back in a few days."

"Sure," Rocket said as he turned back to his work bench.  "Have fun."

The inner door slid open as Thor approached. He knew what was happening.  He'd done it himself a few times over the centuries.  When you lose everything, you decide that the best way to never lose another friend is simply to have none.  To push everyone away, to lose yourself in your work.  Or you work yourself to death.

That was not going to happen.  Thor had lost people, too.  His family, most of his friends.  He wasn't going to lose this one too.  If he had to come by every night to make sure Rocket ate and slept he'd do it.  And when the raccoon finally broke down and let the grief pour out, he'd be there for him too.

It would take time to coax Rocket out of his hole. It would take time to get him to accept friendship again.  That was all right.  Thor had all the time in the world.

[thebestplltheories]

Pretty Little Liars 7x20 Til Death Do Us Part - Thoughts

I literally just finished watching the finale and A-List Wrap party right now. I have not seen a single comment about the finale, I don't know how it was received, at all. Sorry if these comments are just reinforcing what everyone else has been talking about for the past several hours, because again, I have no idea what everyone is saying. Here are my thoughts! 

- It did not feel like a series finale to me and I cannot pinpoint why. I felt the goodbye scene at the end was not strong enough. Sasha said that they had to keep re-filming that scene because she was crying too much when she said “this feels like the end of something” - well, I think they went with the take that had not enough emotion, to the point it felt like a regular line and it lost its power. Not just this line, but in general, I never got a sense of “farewell PLL” from this episode, unfortunately. Not saying it’s a bad episode, but, I didn’t get that sense of “thank you and goodbye Spencer, Hanna, Aria, Emily, Alison and Rosewood”. 

- Marlene said that there is one question she cannot wait for fans to find out, but she can’t tell us what this question is without telling us who AD is. What the hell could be this question?

- THEY ALL DID THE SHHHHH TOGETHER, I LOVED THAT

- DID ANYONE ELSE NOTICE DURING THE INTRO THAT THE CASKET OPENED, RATHER THAN CLOSE???

- I’ve always said Pretty Little Liars is a two-part show: half a romance show, other half a mystery show. They really demonstrated that tonight, by having almost a very equal divide between the romance and mystery. The entire first hour was romance, and the entire second hour was mystery (plus farewells). The first hour, I was shaking my head. “This is not good. Not good at all.” Sure, there were some cute scenes, like Emison’s proposal, but there was too much fluff in the first half. The second half, it really kicked off. 

- So, my theory ended up being so damn accurate, what the hell! I can't believe it! Even though Spencer’s twin was my foremost suspect going into the finale, I still ended up being shocked, because of the simple fact that they went with it almost exactly exactly exactly how I said! Not just the who, but also the why! I even got the name Alex Drake! 

- Okay, so I got the part wrong about the twin having helped Charlotte play the game from season 3 onwards. And honestly, that is my biggest complaint about the finale: AD started playing the game after Charlotte died, period. Again this is my biggest complaint and this is where the finale fell flat for me. Technically, PLL could have ended with Charlotte’s reveal in 610. Everything we got with Alex Drake’s story, was purely an extension because we got renewed for more seasons. I just know there will be people saying “ugh I’m so mad that AD has no connection to pre-time jump” and yes I fully agree, and that’s my biggest complaint too... but my response is: weren't the extra 2 years nice? Sure AD is irrelevant to seasons 1-6A, sure that is incredibly underwhelming and no where near as good as the fan theories... but we got an extra 2 years of PLL in our lives because of this extra, final A story? I’m grateful? #alwayslookingforthepositiveside

- I do not understand Ashley’s comment. Quote “you finally get to find out who A is, who’s been torturing us for the last 7 years”. Girl... it was just a month or two, in Rosewood time. 

- Am I the only one who never really felt a sense of danger, or intensity? Weird, since it’s the series finale, and literally anyone could’ve died. It’s not like we had another season, and I knew Spencer was safe from dying. Yet, I never truly did feel like Alex would win the fight. I can't take PLL villains seriously for some unexplainable reason.

- I really liked the flashbacks that explicitly showed us the scenes where “Spencer” was actually Alex. That was great. I wanted more flashbacks to earlier seasons, however. (I did appreciate that they played some music from the pilot, though!)

- THANK YOU MARLENE for not doing another Charlotte reveal where A sits around crying all episode, trying to make us feel sorry for them. Sure, Alex (nearly said Twincer!) had a sad story, but she embraced her sadness, and it fuelled her anger to take over Spencer’s life. That was really good. I loved seeing Troian walk around with an axe. Bless. 

- I was surprised we didn’t hear of Radley (as a sanitarium). Honestly, thank god.

- I think the motive is the strongest we’ve ever had, of all the A’s so far: Alex was so jealous of Spencer so she wanted to break up the girls, yet her threats only made them closer. Therefore, she decided, “why break them up, if I can just become Spencer?” That is so evil and I love it. 

- I EVEN CALLED IT that there will be a scene where someone holds a gun to Spencer and Twincer, and they have to prove who the real Spencer is. I LOVED that! 

- I have a feeling that once I finish typing this, the first word I’ll be seeing people use to describe the motive is cliche. Especially the above mentioned scene about not knowing which Spencer to shoot. It is a bit cliche. (”I’m Buzz Lightyear!” ... “no, I’m Buzz Lightyear!” Toy Story 2.. anyone? That’s where my mind went, lol) An evil, jealous twin is a tad cliche. I can't defend that. But within this world of PLL, it worked well I guess. 

- Sorry Troian, I wasn't too convinced by the British accent unfortunately. But my gosh you slayed the rest. WHY COULDN’T WE GET AT LEAST ONE SCENE WITH TROIAN IN THE HOODIE!? That was a real shame. I get that it was set one year later, but... still, Alex should’ve wore the hoodie for a scene or two. For satisfaction’s sake, and it’s also just iconic for PLL. 

- SHOUTOUT TO A FOLLOWER OF MINE WHO MESSAGED ME AFTER THE AIRPORT SCENE IN 715 SAYING THAT TWINCER SOUNDED BRITISH. HOW DID YOU GET THAT PART TOO!? “Are you going someplace?” sounded very British, I agree, but I never picked it until I was told to listen for it. Genius.

- We even got it right as to who Wren was shooting: Twincer, so that she can look like Spencer. Gosh, is there anything we didn’t predict?

- Bethany who? Eddie who? Seriously though, I’m going to spend hours editing my unanswered questions list. We got a lot. You can say whatever you want about the finale, but you can't say we didn’t get answers. Like, c’mon. If you’re saying we didn’t get answers, you’re the type of person who complains over nothing and is just impossible to please. Every word that came out of Alex’s mouth was golden. We had rapid fire Q&A with Alex and Spencer. I’m not saying this finale answered 7 years worth of questions; I’ll probably find some unanswered things once I start going through my list. But... You. Can. Not. Say. We. Got. Zero. Answers. I hope that when I finish this post, I don't see people spreading such stupid negativity. 

- Wren died? How? Why? That was unnecessary. This finale really lacked a major death. I wanted to say OMG to at least ONE thing, and unfortunately, I couldn't. Not one thing shocked me.

- Am I the only one who thought Wren’s involvement seemed a bit forced?? What are the actual odds of Wren running into Alex at a bar in London? Seriously? But whatever. I’m so glad he played a role in this, and a damn big one too. 

- So ALEX was the British person Mary was talking to on the phone in 701!!!

- I loved the scene between Alex and Charlotte!!

- I found it really really random that Alex started messaging Mona 1 year later. They had just moved on and all of a sudden Alex is back to start to reveal herself. Maybe I’m forgetting something because that was just weird.

- I was disappointed that there wasn't a major reason Alex took Ezra. I was waiting for them to reveal a mind blowing alliance between the two but then it slowly became obvious that he had just been kidnapped and wasn’t on the friendly side with Alex. 

- Melissa’s mask was just pointless. That was pure fan service to MelissA theorists. (And also to throw us off for a bit.) And I knew Melissa wasn’t AD since there’s no way they’d reveal Uber A so randomly at a picnic like that. I knew it was a mask.

- I got dollhouse vibes when Spencer (or Ezra?) said “we’re still underground”. I thought that was creepy!

- Seriously... they make reference to the mums getting out of the basement, without actually giving us an answer??? “Do you remember how we even got out of there?” said Veronica. It would’ve been better to leave that dialogue out completely. Teasing fans over something they’ll never get, is far worse than acting like it was just forgotten. 

- Did Veronica know that Spencer has a twin, since she made a comment in 4B about not knowing who is coming down for breakfast; Spencer or her evil twin? They really made it out as if no one knew about Alex.

- Wren is the father of Emison’s baby!? That was so subtle, the way Alex said it. WHY!? That makes no sense. I’ve noticed that this show is really big on “who” but not so big on the “why”. I’m just going to assume that Wren was the only male she had “access” to, to pull off the stunt, so she used Wren simply out of convenience. That’s all I can think of.

- So Ezria got married, Haleb is having a baby, Emison is engaged with twins, and Spoby is??? I was really really shocked actually that one ship is still left up in the air. It’s not a sad ending, but it’s not happy either. Maybe that’s the one thing that doesn’t get answered that Marlene was talking about.

- That last scene with the recreation of ‘that night’ should NOT have been the last scene of the entire show. If Freeform wants to launch a spinoff, fine, go ahead, but how dare you cut to the end credits after that scene. Call me fussy, but I call it passion. The final scene of the show should have been Mary and Alex stuck in Mona’s dollhouse. Cut to the credits after that closeup on Alex (Which, was brilliant by the way, and aligns with Janel’s comment of Mona having her own unique happy ending.)

- The wrap party was boring. Just saying. It should’ve been the 6 liars (yes Mona too) with Marlene, sitting in Spencer’s barn, talking about the making of the finale, any questions that couldn't get wrapped up, favourite episodes, etc. I finished the finale and thought “it’s okay, I still have one more chance to farewell the show since the last scene didn’t do it for me!” and nope, this third hour was no better.

- FULL CIRCLE HOW??? Can someone name one thing that happened, that can be classified as “full circle”??? In my mind, full circle means Alison dying and the girls having a sleepover in the barn!?

- Overall, this is how I summarise the finale:

It did not feel like a finale. The first half was boring, even for a series finale. The goodbyes were not strong enough, and I did not feel like I properly said “thank you” and “farewell” to my favourite fictional characters ever. The scene with the girls at the end was far too short. The AD reveal was very predictable for me and other dedicated detectives, but I think other fans across the world will be pleased since it wasn’t actually that obvious. The motive was great. Troian slayed. But, coming from a person who also has a non-rhotic accent (Australian), I felt put off by Alex’s accent. The final scene was just stupid, I’m not watching a spinoff - the final scene should’ve been Mary and Alex. We got a shit ton of answers, but, as I’ll soon see when I go to my list, I don't feel like it was everything. But absolutely, most things, yes.

In 3 words: slow, predictable, fun. 

Here’s my theory where I correctly solved Alex Drake

Here’s my farewell letter

[madlyinlovephff]

Chapter Six

“Take The Cake”

“To be exceptionally good at your tasks”

“One of the first things a mentor had told me before I made a debut in this industry, was to not lose myself in the glitter and glamour of Hollywood”

The MusiCares Session had started an hour ago; I’d arrived through the back door because the last thing I wanted was to publicize this event in my name; or for the media to think that I’m going to be one of their patients, but I also knew all my attempts were really in vain because the pictures would hit Twitter anyhow.

“First and foremost, all of you beautiful people are so lucky that you get to be with the incredibly experienced faculty here in Los Angeles itself; they are so hard working and so dedicated towards their goal; which is to help musicians find their way back and that is highly commendable. So, can we have a huge round of applause for them?”

I was told that I also had a way with words; I would slip and forget a few things but most of time, the crowd was putty in her hands because it usually because emotional.

As a huge cheer broke out, everyone looked behind where all the mentors and nurses stood; shyly looking at each other before looking back up at me on the stage.

“I have been working with MusiCares for a few years now, and it's been one of the best parts of my job; to find such a platform and to encourage and motivate people like you; people who are so talented; whose talents deserve to be recognized and appreciated instead of being wasted”

Sometimes working with MusiCares was a little emotional for me; having seen numerous people lose their identity; which was their music. It's not only drugs and alcohol that pull you down; most of the times it's just life and situations.

“Sometimes life fails you and other time you fail yourself; but honestly, its okay. Its okay when you learn a lesson from it. Failures will only be failures if you perceive them as such”

Soon after the impossibly long speech, an applause broke out and all patients were on their feet; ready and eager to meet me.

Situations like these became a little daunting to me; all these people had the talent to be in the position I am right now; some of them probably weren't too far before they admitted here but to see them so excited to meet me; just another somebody was daunting to me as a thought.

I started greeting the staff first, who had lined up in the front during the last few lines of my speech; grinning with a lot of emotion in their eyes.

“Ma'am, I shouldn't say this but I particularly chose the LA department because of your previous track record of visiting this center” One of them, a lady with short blonde hair and green eyes, said as she shook my hand and smiled up at me.

“Oh my god, that is so flattering to hear. Whatever the reason, now you're here and your work helps people of my profession; so thank you”

The minutes passed as I met patients after patients; each with a different story and a different reason for being there. But they were all in such high spirits, I never felt as if I was standing in a rehab center.

“Adelaide; dear, it is so great to see you again” came a voice, an old and weary one but a recognizable one for me.

Jerka Jenkins had worked with me years ago on my first and second albums. She was incredibly impressive in her songwriting skills on slow and melodious songs. A lot of my first slow songs were thanks to her skills.

I looked at her; first in shock and then in concern. I didn't even know that Jerka was admitted here; I hadn't heard from her in years, yes, but in the industry, you find yourself in the same room with the same people way too many times.

“Jerka; I wasn't even aware you would be here. What happened?”

“Oh, you needn't worry too much, Addy. I'm doing quite alright; I've been here for almost a year; they should let me go any day now actually” she replied.

I frowned to myself; she’s been a whole year, I should’ve atleast heard about it from someone. “I honestly had no idea, I feel so bad now. You have got to call me as soon as you’re out of here” I said, grabbing both her hands and giving her a smile.

She nodded, “Ofcourse, I didn’t really expect you to know. It was a sudden thing and I didn’t want many people to know”

“But imagine my surprise when they told us a week ago that you’d be coming here; the atmosphere was absolutely electrifying Adelaide, and I assure you, that speech you just gave, it will really make a difference in all their lives” She said, heavy emotion in her eyes as her voice got a little shaky.

I didn’t say anything as I hugged her small frame, holding her close to me as I heard her sniffling.

“No, thank you for everything you have ever done for me, Jerka. You are so strong”

If I was honest; I never felt as powerful as I do when there are people I am genuinely helping.

“You shouldn’t have wasted your time in LA” said my sister, miles away from me but I could still practically see her rolling her eyes at me.

Amelia had called me while I was still in the MusiCares Session; and Lima had informed me about it as soon as I was back in the car, on my way to my Bel Air house. I hadn’t heard from my sister in the last one week and when she heard about my tightly packed schedule, she couldn’t help but be my elder sister.

“I know what you’re thinking Addy, but just think about yourself and your entire crew sometimes” she said, shuffling from her end as I chuckled when I saw Lima and Kyle share a look upon hearing her on speaker.

“Are you done quiet yet? MusiCares was important, Em” I replied, after hearing her rant.

“No, what is important is that we establish the fact that you have a known habit of derailing all over your schedule, baby” She said.

I knew she was right; I did make it a habit but even she knew that I went to huge lengths for the organizations I supported.

“Can we just forget about it now; I’ll be in New York within the next six hours, don’t worry” I said.

Amelia Edwards, my elder sister is a fashion designer. She worked with Victoria Beckham, our aunt and also played the role of the chief executive designer for my Adelaide line.

She was also a workaholic, always running from one country to another, always clashing ideas inside her brain. Maybe it was a family thing; but both of us sisters couldn’t sit idle. Good thing Arthur wasn’t a girl.

“Adelaide, honey, if you miss my show, I will make sure you don’t see my face for months to come” Amelia threatened.

All my career long Amelia had been one of my biggest supporters; one of the only few people I could whole heartedly trust; one of the only people who always understood my situations. She’d never been the one to complain if I wasn’t there for her important days; but she’d always made sure that she was there for mine.

And if I wouldn’t go to her show; even after being in New York; then what kind of a sister did that make me?

“Okay, now we wouldn’t want that. Don’t worry sister, I’ll be there, front row” I said; shooting Karol a look. She still hadn’t contacted the right people to inform my appearance day after.

Shortly after I hung up the phone, I sighed, thinking whether or not I was really taking a break.

I would already be the last person in the bridal party to reach Greece because I just had to prolong my stay in NYC another day to attend my sister’s show.

I sighed as I caught a glance of the Bel-Air, lavishly spread and unequivocally mine. I could still remember the day I had finally sealed the deal, clear as day. It was about two years into my career before I had gotten so absolutely sick of staying in hotels while I was over in Los Angeles, which was a good few months every year.

My father was the one that suggested that I waste no more time and just go along and buy myself a home here; ‘After all, it’s not like you don’t have the money for it”, Arthur had said.

It wasn’t very late before I was house hunting all over LA and its outskirts; the search all over the news because that was essentially the period that the paparazzi had decided that they would start to hoard me everywhere I go, and the media had also become unambiguous about my position in Hollywood.

Bel Air had soon turned into my passion project; I took part in its every finishing, going as far as to choose the exact windows I wanted in every balcony. It was also one of the reasons why the area was very soon inhabited by various other celebrities and tycoons; and the location came to be known as posh.

It had a totally different meaning for me though; I had so many memories in that house. Half my songs were recorded in there; so many of my songs were written there. So many gatherings, so many parties that was attended by almost everyone in the industry.

And as I looked up at it as we were slowly coming to a stop in front of the main gates; I felt Karol speak up. “So the DailyMail claims that they have inside information from one of your closest confidants that you’re very serious about leaving music” Karol broke the silence, a little humour in her tone as she scrolled on her phone.

I looked her weird, confused why she would tell me that but couldn’t help but join the laughter spree in the car.

“The DailyMail claims a lot of things, honey”.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

“That doesn’t look good at all” I muttered as soon as I caught sight of the humongous amount of paparazzi waiting for me at the LAX Airport.

LAX is one of the hardest airports to get into because it is always lined with photographers waiting for a glimpse of one or the other celebrities. It always becomes messy and hard in situations like these but I knew that my entire crew is so used to it by now, they can do it with the back of their hand.

“Let’s get this over with” Karol said, quickly getting out after Kyle and Gary. I could see them get into position before I got out of the car. The crowd was huge, and the paparazzi were already clicking away instantly recognizing Lima and Karol.

As soon as I stepped out, slamming the car door behind me, my handbag on arm, sunglasses in place and phone in hand, I was rushed away from the crowd, which inevitably followed us all the way till the door. I could see a few fans here and there being pushed behind by the hoard of photographers, but couldn’t really do anything about that situation.

It wasn’t until I was almost to the entrance, Lima’s hand guiding me that I saw that a fan was pushed down in the mist of the chaos, laying on the concrete floor, crunched over as another man stepped on her stomach in the race to get a picture of me.

I instantly stopped, Lima turning to shoot me a dark look as I left her hand, all six of my bodyguards turning into place around me as I took fast trodden steps towards the girl. I gave her my hand, helping her get up and saw her tearful gaze set on me.

“It’s alright, I’m so sorry” I whispered in her ear, hugging her and turned to look at the man who had unknowingly stepped on her.

“Sir, next time could you please look where you walk; this isn’t a funny situation” I said to him, hearing all cameras recording my every word. The man shook his head, shamefully bringing down his camera and didn’t utter a word. But I knew that I had just given these people exactly what they wanted; an event to report about.

After a few seconds, I was already bounded inside, after making sure the girl was alright and sent up to her car. These kind of events scare the hell out of me.

As soon as I entered the highly designed entrance of Ralph Russo; I already knew that I was spotted and recognized by the wide-eyed and open-mouthed cashier, who then quickly controlled herself but her reaction definitely alerted some others littered across the showroom.

None of my crew were with me, all enjoying their own lives for some moments, which becomes rare for them day by day, with the exception of Kyle, who was outside the store, in the car. I looked around for a minute, taking off my sunglasses, my hands rubbing against the marron leather pants before I spotted Mary Olivia, glittering in her shiny wedding couture.

“Look at you, out of your hub in London and here in the average United States” I said, mockingly walking towards her and kissing both her cheeks in greeting, and turning to look at everyone else in the bridal party.

Each of them were dressed down, atleast according to their style, all smiling up at me as they each had a glass of champagne and were sat in the plush couches.

“Well, I figured that since you have actually made everywhere your hub, that I could try the average United States every once in a while” she replied, almost a minute later, but I laughed anyway.

I finally got around to greeting everyone, subtly noticing my sister’s absence even though she was in the city, and decided to bring up the matter later.

Sophia Fermor-Hesketh turned to look at me, as I sat down next to her, smiling slyly “Well, madam, hasn’t it been quite a long time since we’ve seen each other”

“Oh please, who are we even when she’s got the entire Hollywood running behind her” Willa Keswick scoffed, though I didn’t really know if she meant it as a joke because I didn’t know her as well as my sister did.

I couldn’t do anything besides laugh at their comments, “Don’t blame me; I think it’s equally your faults too” I said, taking a sip of my champagne before crossing my legs.

The bridal party did in fact include of all the people that I had known whilst growing up. There were some seniors of mine, very few classmates but a lot of juniors as well. I knew that Alicia, one of my childhood friends would be directly coming to Greece along with a few of my classmates from a while back.

My sister, Amelia is incredibly great friends with all of the ladies in this group, but knowing her; she probably decided to skip the bridal party meet because of her show in the evening.

“I did talk to Amelia a while back, Adelaide. She’s so busy with the show, I reckon she’d be travelling with you” Chloe Green said, her posh accent very noticeable but that was all intercepted by her kind eyes.

I nodded, shrugging wasn’t an option with this crowd sometimes, “Yes, I think so too. I’ll be at the show this evening, she’s almost threatened to disown me if I don’t go” I laughed slightly, thinking about my sister’s response.

The rest of the time passed fairly quickly as Mary Olivia finally settled on her’s and her maid of honour’s dress. It wasn’t too late before I was also trying on my bridesmaid’s dress, the shade of pale pink, up to my ankles and of the softest material of satin.

I was only here for Mary Olivia; having considered her a great friend since school days. She was loud and she was upbeat; but that was just her personality. She had had a difficult childhood, of sorts, having parents that were both very dramatic in their behaviors. And whatever it was, I just couldn’t say no to attending her wedding, now could I?

It wasn’t long before I was out of the store, earlier than the rest because they were all directly leaving for the airport; on their way to Greece. Promising to see all of them a day later, I was back in the backseat of the car, Kyle driving us to my apartment so that I could change before my visit to the New York center of MusiCares.

“Were we spotted, Kyle?” I asked my bodyguard, whom I’d known for the past five years.

He nodded his head, “I’m afraid we were ma’am, Lima called me up half an hour ago, seems to me that it was someone in the store itself”

I sighed, my eyes on the street passing by; will I ever be able to escape this attention?

“Alright, so I need a rundown” I said, when we were on our way back my apartment in New York City, ready to be dressed to attend my sister’s show.

The New York MusiCares session went just as good as the Los Angeles one did. I was able to meet some of the most hardworking people, and that honestly felt great in the midst of the absolute chaos, that is my life.

“Okay, so, the plane’s booked. We’ve contacted Amelia’s team about the timing, you are meeting Selena tomorrow morning for a late breakfast, if that plan is still in motion, Addy” Karol looked at me, pausing.

I nodded, letting her continue, “Jordon called this morning, apparently he’s heard from Victoria about your non-existent gym life and he’s frantically trying to reach you” she said, openly chuckling at the frightened look I gave her.

“Holy fucking shit, that had completely slipped my mind” I face-palmed, knowing Jordon would give me hell when I get back to London.

“Well, other than that, I think you’re ready for 5 days off at Mary Olivia’s wedding” She said, finally clicking her phone off.

“Adelaide?” I heard her call me after a few seconds.

“Hm?” I asked, turning to look at her.

She was frowning, a concerned look on her face, “Do rest while you’re in Greece, won’t you? You deserve it”

“Yes, thank you Karol” I smiled softly at her.

Stepping right into the small blue carpet laid out before the entrance to the arena had about 200 photographers littered around, behind the railings.

And as soon as I stepped onto the said carpet, my bodycon dress tight against my figure, Lima trailing behind me, reminding me to not give any interviews and to stop at the right places for photographers.

It was an instant havoc, the paparazzi were on their toes, yelling at the top of their lungs to get a good angled picture of me. I didn’t plan to stay long on the carpet; just enough for a few pictures.

I was dressed in the Altuzarra Gramm Sweater dress; perfectly fitting me in every sense of the word. Not that I had much of a choice in the matter of my outfit for the evening, Amelia having send over two options for me to choose from her campaign.

I was led inside the small arena, Lima’s hand on my back, guiding me straight towards the front row. Several familiar faces turned to glance at me, some having the audacity to throw a smile while others kept staring.

I was sort of used to this by now; I wouldn’t have been able to survive all the attention if I wasn’t. There were people who didn’t like me; some for no reason at all and some because of reasons they’d heard from others. I didn’t let it bother me though, because I genuinely was too busy for shit like this in my life. Nor did I have the effort to keep up with the acts of the people in the fashion industry.

Speaking of fashion industry, I smiled when I saw the very familiar face of Anna Wintour, posture straight and upright staring directly up at me as I paused at my seat, beside her’s.

“Anna, been a while” I said, smiling widely.

She was on her feet within the very next second, kissing both my cheeks with loud ‘muah’s as we sat next to each other. A lot of cameras were pointed our way because it had been almost 2 years since Anna and I were last seen together.

“The kiddies went to your New York show, I heard you made them come to the backstage” she said, her face now perfectly set with the right amount of emotions.

I nodded swiftly, “Yes, I had gotten your message. You didn’t think that I wouldn’t do that?” I shook my head lightly.

There was very little that I wouldn’t do for Anna Wintour. She had, in a way, shaped up my global image. It was because of my first Vogue cover, just a week after my first album, that people actually thought I was someone.

Very less of any of my fashion endeavors are not discussed with her; with me trusting her opinion about it the most along with my sister’s and aunt’s. Anna had, in lots of ways, favored me multiple times; which also might be the reason behind my numerous Vogue covers despite not being a model.

Other than all that, she was also such an inspiration. All my years spent in the industry, and I had learnt the most important part of having an inspiration; someone whose work ethic inspires you. And that was Anna Wintour.

Half an hour later, I was heading backstage with my crew, after greeting goodbyes with Anna and cheering loudly when Amelia had come on stage with Joseph Altuzarra.

“Oh my god, that was brilliant” I shouted as soon as I was within arms reach of Amelia, wrapping her to myself in seconds.

The backstage was too crowded to hold a decent conversation; but I grinned at Joseph as Amelia introduced us. Turns out, he was a fan.

“I’m getting a feeling as if you used me just so you could meet my sister” my older sister said in a playful huff, a few moments after Joseph stopped freaking out about meeting yours truly.

He shrugged, “Who says that ain’t true”.

“Wow; you’re actually up early, even with all your jet lag” Amelia said, sipping her morning coffee and sat in the kitchen of my New York Apartment, cross legged while working on her laptop.

I made a face at her, so used to all of her taunts, “I was in the gym an hour ago actually” I told her, noticing that nobody else was awake yet.

Now that had her attention, “Are you okay, Adelaide? That is just so not like you at all” she said, shaking her head.

I stomped towards the marble dining table, with my glass of orange juice, putting my head on the table in exhaustion even though it was barely 9 in the morning.

“Jordon is making me do this” I cried, remembering how he had finally caught me after I picked up his call.

It did not take her another second as she threw her head behind, laughing at my current state, “I always knew I loved that boy”

“Don’t let him hear you say that”

Jordon might’ve been gay and married; but did he ever hide his attraction towards Amelia? Definitely not. She grinned at me as her phone rang, Edmund’s name flashing on it.

Amelia and Edmund had a long history that involves family drama at its best, but they got through it. It was something that made you yearn for a love story like that.

I went to pick it up but she was quicker, snatching it from right under my nose and making a dash towards her room. I shook my head chuckling loudly.

“Pick your stuff up from your flat and meet me at the airport, okay?” I yelled, standing up to leave the apartment after I heard her shout her agreement.

“I swear to god, you always make me feel under-dressed” was the first thing Selena said to me as I moved forward to hug her, ignoring the numerous eyes following my movement.

“I have to directly go to the airport after this, Sel” I said, rolling my eyes and taking a seat on the small round table we booked for the two of us.

“Where are you off to now, didn't you just come to New York, like, a day ago?” She asks, taking a sip of her cocktail as a waiter handed us appetizers’ menu.

“Yes, yes, that's right. You know my friend, Mary Olivia? She's getting married to her rocker boyfriend and I have to be there” I said, shrugging, my eyes scanning the expensive list of dishes.

“Wait, isn't she another aristocratic friend of yours?”

“There we go, that's the one” I said, grinning.

“Wonderful, so rich and high society crowd for the next week or so for you then; have you got your wardrobe and sarcasm ready?” Selena says, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Yes, absolutely” we laughed some, looking around in our habit of doing so.

“No but honestly, I've grown up in that kind of atmosphere in school; so I'm sort of drained into it, you know?” I say, sipping my water.

Marlborough was elite; it was for the elite and it was by the elite. Aristocracy was in the walls and meals of that school. And as

“It just makes me realize how people view all these things so differently than they really are” She says, nodding her, clearly double meaning it.

“Yes, true. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

Selena had called me as soon as she had come to know that I was in New York for sometime or so. I did not expect her to be in NYC; but it was a last minute trip for her as well.

Selena and I had met at the set of Wizards of Waverly Place back in 2007; when I was asked to guest star in one of its episodes. She was young and a debutante back then; whilst I was already knee deep within 3 albums.

What struck me the most about Selena Gomez was her absolute genuinity. You couldn't question her intentions if you actually knew her like I do. She's brutally honest with if considers you a friend.

“Yes, actually” She said, glancing around the restaurant, rather inclusively.

I sighed, almost wanting to put my face in my hands but I knew better than to do that, in case if anyone in the restaurant was lucky enough to click a picture of us.

“Is this about Justin? Selena-”

“No! I mean, yes, but no. Addy, you know I would've told you if anything like that would've happened. It's all great as of now. No, what I wanted to talk to you about is this show I want to produce” she interrupted me.

I frowned, signaling a waiter over to our table and to the star in front of me to stop talking; we gave our orders and as soon as he was out of the hearing range, I spoke up.

“You want to produce a show?”

“Yes, my mom just read this book called Thirteen Reasons Why and she suggests that I should go ahead with it” she replied.

I sat back, “well, I mean, your production house should be put to use for something atleast; and Mandy does have great taste. Have you read the book though?”

She nodded, instant in her answer, “I'm in love with the story, Adelaide. It absolutely needs to be out there”

“But a show? Why not a movie? You do realize producing a show is too much work” I reminded her, pointing her finger her way.

She took a deep breathe, “Well, it was supposed to be a movie at first, I was to star as the protagonist but that went down the drain pretty fast and we brainstormed some ideas, nothing seemed better than a show”

I thought about it, and then about my production house, “Hey, would you mind having another producer on your team?” I asked her with a sly smile knowing she wouldn’t refuse me but also knowing that she’d feel more comfortable about going ahead with the project with me on her team.

Her eyes brightened within a quick second, “You’re not insinuating what I think you are” she almost squealed.

I paused her frantic words, “Hold up though, you need to give me time to read the story first. But I mean, like I’ve said before, Mandy has incredible taste”

And just like that we were switching from topic to topic. Talking first about how her parents were trying to get pregnant again after Mandy’s last miscarriage to her relationship with Justin. She had suddenly found herself as a name on everyone’s lips because of the interest generated by the media in her relationship.

I knew it overwhelmed her at moments; and she’s still just so young, I would be worried if it didn’t shock her at times.

“Oh hey by the way, I think now you’ll be the one interested in my proposal. WE Day’s around the corner-“

“Yes, yes, I know, Adelaide. I read all about the list of performers online. Now imagine my surprise when I read that! I’ve been behind you for this for years. You let Taylor perform two times now” she interrupted me, almost in hysterics.

I stared at her wide-eyed, not expecting the outburst, “And that’s exactly why I’m letting you in it this year. Taylor is on tour, so, you can do it if you want” I said, a playful smile on my lips.

She rolled her eyes, incredibly annoyed with me at this point, “Yes, okay. I’ll do it”

“Now that’s what I call a good girl”.

Outfits:

Los Angeles MusiCares Session

LAX Airport

NYC MusiCares Session

Mary Olivia’s Bridal Meet

New York Fashion Week

Meeting Selena for Lunch

[seyaryminamoto]

May I ask, why does Azula make you passionate? Not a lot of people has the capability to empathize (NOT sympathize) with the antagonists, or a lot don't have the power to share or sense clearly their thoughts and feelings (for many reasons) as they do with the protagonists. Most people are mersiless toward them, even if they were understandable.

Uh, well, if you want the very honest answer? I saw myself in her. But if you want an in-depth answer, click the Read More.

I didn’t mean to, no. I didn’t go looking for myself in her character, I was uneasy about her, even somewhat worried, in her first episodes. She had been characterized very deliberately as colder, more scheming, more efficient than her brother or Zhao, the only Fire Nation villains we knew so far. She hadn’t quite succeeded at anything yet, but there was no tantrum after her failures, no self-pitying act: she simply kept going relentlessly. 

She wouldn’t stop at anything, and after watching her convince Mai so easily that her brother wasn’t worth trading over a king, it’s kind of natural to wonder if she’s really devoid of a conscience… No lie, though, it also reflects heavily on Mai that she agreed so easily. It especially looks like Mai has less of a conscience than Azula, since it’s her brother we’re talking about, and it doesn’t really look like she was scared of contradicting Azula: she had only ever complained about her family ever since she showed up on-screen. In short, I thought they were all weird and mean and morally incorrect! :’D

But I have had a penchant to grow interested in characters who are strong, who are driven to the ends of the earth. I used to think I favored tsundere-types of female characters back when I was in my anime-heavy phase, but soon enough I realized that wasn’t quite right: I was interested in female leaders instead, characters who were often tsundere because they bury their feelings deep down, because their main interests are professional, or academic… basically, they were ambitious people who sometimes went too far in dragging others into stuff they hadn’t signed up for (Ritsu Tainaka, Haruhi Suzumiya, Misaki Ayuzawa, Kyoko Mogami, Natsumi Tsujimoto, and so on…).

Basically, I’ve been appealed by characters who share Azula’s reckless determination, but when I approached Avatar I had also moved on mostly from anime, and I found myself, instead, writing an original story where my protagonist was a princess, hailing from a western nation she was supposed to rule one day. This princess was very determined, physically powerful to the point of being beyond human (then again, she was a literal descendant from gods :’D), with a terrible relationship with her family (in particular fighting with an older half-brother who wants to prove he’s more suitable for the throne than her). Said girl’s priority, first and foremost, is her nation, and she’s willing to go to whatever means she must in order to protect it (even resort to magic, which is frowned upon in her nation of warriors).

Now, after I exposed that character’s main traits to you, don’t you think there’s a few too many similarities with Azula? :’D yep, I thought so too as I continued watching ATLA. Tbh it freaked me out how similar they actually were, since I hadn’t watched the show or been influenced by it at all. I didn’t even know Azula existed!

Anyways! I’ve gone off the rails a bit, but back on track: why did I identify with Azula?

First off, I did start getting the feeling she was similar to those characters I loved, despite she was, obviously, meant to be a villain. But what REALLY did it for me?

It was the scene in Zuko Alone, when Iroh’s gifts arrive. Azula’s dear brother gets something mind-blowing while she gets something pathetic, generic, that someone assumed was going to please her because she’s a girl. Because girls like dolls, right?

Well, in my case, I got play make-up instead. I had a trauma with make-up since age 4, and if people had bothered knowing me, or even talking with my mom about me, they would have known that. They didn’t. It didn’t matter to them either way. Meanwhile, my brother’s gifts were incredible! :’D all sorts of action toys, new Hot Wheels, even remote-controlled cars. And when I wanted to play with them? I got a big ole’ NO from him, along with my parents telling me, often, that the toys were his and that I should let him play instead.

Heck, there was this one time he got this ship-in-a-bottle crafts as a present for his birthday from someone who worked at MY school. When I asked where was mine? Oh, there wasn’t one. My birthday was the day before my brother’s, the guy who made it worked at MY SCHOOL, but he would make a gift of the sort for my brother and not for me. I don’t remember if he even lied saying he’d make one, but fact of the matter is, I never got a handcrafted, special boat-in-a-bottle with my name on it. He did.

Let’s just say… when I saw Azula getting that disappointing doll while Zuko got the incredible knife, my jaw dropped. I literally dropped all my defenses against her along with my jaw, too. I saw that and damn, it put her character in a completely different perspective for me: it made her REAL, her experience with her brother resembled mine so much that I was in genuine shock. The salty “You’re not even good!” comment when he was playing with the knife, spoken with the intent to mask her interest in the weapon and her jealousy? The way she takes the knife later too, smirking and teasing her brother, yet letting him have it back because she knows it’s not supposed to be hers? Anon, I swear that was 100% the way I acted in countless similar situations. And I know, it may make me sound like a very bad sister (in Azula’s defense she’s actually a better sister than I am, in my brother’s defense he’s a better brother than Zuko could ever hope to be), but it’s still how it was.

From there onwards, a lot of my interest in Azula came from seeing how she suddenly stepped out of her “supreme villain overlord” role to prove she was really just a teenager like the rest of the cast. We’re talking about a girl who imitated her brother for shits and giggles, just to amuse herself at the expenses of a completely confused Aang. A girl who made a pun about the Avatar’s fangirls. Her sense of humor, no doubt, is kinda weird and not the sweetest? But she has one! It’s there, and no lie, I laughed my ass off with those two occasions at least.

Eventually, I just found myself more interested in her to the point of recklessly supporting her in the show. Yes, I knew the Gaang would win, and I didn’t mind, I liked them too! But I was slowly and surely loving Azula more with every passing episode, as she proved she was the one villain worth respecting in this entire franchise. And she was a fourteen-year-old girl with zero social skills, self-esteem issues to the ends of the earth, a turbulent relationship with her parents and her brother, and the frankly adorable wish to know if people might like her if they didn’t know she was a princess.

Another big selling point for me, as already stated, was her relationship with her brother. While my brother is a little less of a drag than Zuko can be (meaning, my brother can be happy once in a while :’D he even makes jokes… though seriously bad ones .__. maybe he shouldn’t make them...), their relationship was so similar to ours that it freaked me out. I’ve been competing with my siblings since forever, but when it came to outdoing my oldest sisters I seriously just couldn’t do it (honestly, no 3yo can expect to compete in regards of anything with a 10yo, or can she? :’D and yet I was such a pig-headed brat that I did it all the same). Meanwhile, my brother, only two years older than me, was an easier target to surpass, and I set myself on the task of doing that. Whenever he was better than me at anything, I ridiculed him (remember the knife scene?). Whenever I was better than him at anything, he would try to outdo me again and usually fail, then get annoyed and say it was a stupid thing anyways.

As we grew older, the conflict in our relationship grew a lot uglier in the sense that we didn’t really just snap at each other about toys now. I seriously got so pissed off by how entitled he was acting once that I locked myself up in the bathroom, punched a wall out of sheer frustration and damn near broke my hand in the process. No lie, that helped me vent my frustration real easily :’D

Basically, I’ve experienced the sibling relationship Azula did. My brother is far more popular than I am (well, in regards of people who live in our environment, at least), so everyone flocks to him, and when Azula’s friends betrayed her for Zuko, well… you can imagine how that stung for me :’D I’ve had friends who haven’t quite betrayed me for him or so, but they’ve stopped being my friends and become his, instead. How about that?

Anyways, Azula most likely wasn’t built up to be relatable, she was built to be a rounded character instead. There are more obviously relatable characters in the show, Katara is relatable for most the fandom, Toph is relatable for natural tomboys, and so on. But even then, none of these characters were built to be relatable. They were built to be real and believable, and in being built that way, they became relatable. And that’s what happened to me with Azula.

Honestly, I think I can’t really relate or empathize with Zuko a lot because of my own experiences too. I will judge him harder because yep, I’m biased :’D but I’m not trying to say he’s all bad and Azula is all good or anything. Truth be told, secret I’ve kept to myself for a long time… The finale depressed me for a day or two because I kept wondering if that was the only outcome for someone like Azula. Because in a sense, it looked like the show was saying that was kind of the outcome for someone like me. It felt like it was saying the world would judge me as impossible to save, while my brother got every success I could only dream of. 

And... who knows? Maybe that’s what’s happening indeed. He’s certainly doing better than me these days. All I can safely say is I’m glad he is. Despite things were bad between us, they’re not so bad anymore. So if I’m to be left unsuccessful and he’s off to shoot for the stars, I’ll congratulate him instead of holding grudges about why he gets that and I don’t.

Anyways, the finale freaked me out, but I distanced myself from the character to a degree so I wouldn’t project on her so much. Still, the way her ending wrapped up bothered me, and I was very much unwilling to see her life end that way. As the comics have been building her up either for a very bad downfall or for a very long redemption that still is barely beginning, I lose my patience often as I keep wanting something better for her ASAP. Not a lot of positive stuff has happened yet to her… but that’s what fanfiction is for, for me. Ever since I opened FF.net’s ATLA archive, the first thing I did was search for Azula getting happy endings xD

And thus, that’s why I write her as I do and connect with her as I have. Azula seems to gather most the traits of characters I loved, but on top of that, she had an eerily similar sibling relationship to mine with my brother. A lot of my own eternal chase towards polishing and developing my talents came from a rather toxic place of thinking that having lots of skills was the only way I could be valid, somehow. I’m not exempt from self-esteem issues myself, see :’D

Anyways, I realize the majority of people won’t find Azula relatable, acceptable, likeable in any way. I don’t mind, I don’t really think it’s that odd, the show very obviously featured her as a problem that needed to be dealt with. But I’m not one to stick with supporting only the heroes in stories. Very often I’ve liked villains better, whether because they’re complex and worth exploring, as Azula is, or because they’re simply more interesting than their heroic counterparts. I guess I could have said this from the start and spared you the insanely lengthy insight into how my mind works, right? :’D

[kenttheatreblog]

Are actors and directors supposed to get along?

Directors are the staple of any production. After all, pretty much everything you see on stage was once merely a thought in the back of a directors mind, and while any production is a collaboration, whether it be costumes, set design, props, sound or lighting design, it is a director that glues these various factors together. It is they that deal with every part of the production and it is they who mould a script into a living, breathing piece. Despite this however, directors - like actors - can be either good or bad.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had experience in directing and it’s one I would rather not repeat. The stress is more than any actor can comprehend. Everything is your responsibility and everyone turns to you to fix their problems. You have to have a certain temperament to be a director, and I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t have that temperament.

But like I said, there are good directors and there are bad ones, and boy have I experienced both. The bad ones are very few and far between, but sadly it’s always the bad ones that seem to stick out in my memory. They’re not necessarily bad all the time but you have those moments with them that leaving you banging your head against the rehearsal room wall.

My first said experience was with a director who wasn’t necessarily awful, but he had one vice that left his cast scratching their heads, and that was that he never gave notes. No feedback whatsoever. At the end of rehearsal he’d just shout “Right everyone thank you see you next time!” and we’d all then just shuffle off home.

All actors crave feedback, we’re a sensitive bunch, and we need to know that what we are doing is the right thing. The risk you run by not giving notes is that the cast fall into a false sense of security. If you don’t get a note, you assume you’ve done a good job so you carry on as you are. This all came crashing down on me with this particular director. He decided, in all his wisdom, to not give notes at all until the final dress rehearsal.

A finger licking genius right there.

When I say the final dress rehearsal, I mean the final dress rehearsal, as in the next time we were doing it was opening night. My note was simply, “Andy, I can’t understand what you’re saying, can you slow down a bit please?” “Oh, right,” I responded slightly shocked, “Erm, what part can you not understand me saying?” “Pretty much all of it,” he replied indifferently.

That’s when it went dark.

How the hell are you supposed to get up in front of an audience after your director has told you almost immediately before that everything you’ve been doing for the last 3 months is nothing but a gabbling mess? I literally spent the whole day before opening night practicing my diction like I was doing a shit one man version of The King’s Speech. After the curtain closed on the first night, I ran out of the dressing room and to my friends and family in the audience screaming “Did you understand me? DID YOU UNDERSTAND ME??!!!” Thankfully they did and I could spend the rest of the run without the twitchy eye my director had gifted me.

As I said though, he was in a minority of whirlwind directors and he’s made it on to my “naughty list” of directors to avoid. However while the “naughty list” is very short but thankfully the “nice list” is quite long.

One of the directors on the “nice list” is a very lovely lady by the name of Valerie Galbraith. I’ve had the pleasure of working with Val as an actor on two occasions, once in Terrence Rattigan’s Flare Path and again last year in her production of For Services Rendered. I think most people who have been in one of her casts will agree with me when I say that it’s always a privilege to be apart of her shows. Aside from the exquisite attention to detail her and her husband Pete put into their productions as a whole, Val’s approach to directing actors is everything you could ask for when playing a role. She trusts her cast entirely and let’s you make the character your own before fine tuning bits of your performance.

A good director makes the production a collaborative piece and not a dictatorship. An actor should be made to feel comfortable in a role first and foremost, then the director helps you mould that performance into something that can be put in front of an audience.

I once had a director, who shall remain nameless, who seemed to nitpick on the weirdest things and had the brain of a goldfish when it came to giving notes. Once we were off book, he gave me this note: “Andy, Andy, Andy,” he always said my name three times before giving me a note like I was Beetlejuice or something, “you must put your hands in your pockets more, you need to look more relaxed. Putting your hands in your pockets will make you look a lot more relaxed.” Hearing that the first time, I thought fair enough and made a mental note of it.

The next rehearsal came and I made sure I put my hands in my pockets occasionally, conveying the relaxed state my director was so keen to see me in, and then we were called for notes. Low and behold my note was “Andy, Andy, Andy, you must never put your hands in your pockets, you look far too relaxed.”

Now, as I’m sure you understand, that bloody confused me. So I said “Oh, I thought you wanted me to put my hands in my pockets?” “No, no, no,” he said, “do not put your hands in you pockets please.” Very well, I thought, you’re wish is my command.

The following rehearsal, my pockets remained a hand free zone, and you’ll never guess what… “Andy, Andy, Andy. You must put your hands in your pockets. You need to look more relaxed!”

This pantomime went on for several rehearsals and I got to the point where I wanted to gnaw my hand off and launch it at him so I could slap him from the other side of the room. It was impossible to look relaxed because I had no idea what his idea of relaxed was. I came to the conclusion I was just going to do what the hell I wanted and if it felt like a hand-in-pocket moment, I’d put my hands in my pocket. Naturally what ever I did, his notes contradicted it, even to the point where on the last night of the 8 show run, I was told to do something entirely different and that was to fold my arms instead. I stifled the urge to say that instead of folding my arms, I was going just stick my middle finger up, and that he could politely go swivel on it.

I really think directors have better things to be doing than worrying whether their actor’s hands have been pocketed or not. Surely, they should be helping you play the thing and then your bloody hands will act accordingly?

A few years ago, I did a fantastic play called Underground. The director, Chris Howland, was really good at getting the best out of his cast and made you feel comfortable playing a part. He made you understand what was going on beneath the surface of a character, which as a result you felt less like you were performing a role but just being a person. Isn’t what all directors should be doing? Encouraging you to do your best rather than create neuroses that make you want to sob uncontrollably?

As I previously mentioned, I have dabbled in directing and while the experience was ultimately a rewarding one, I don’t think I’d want to do it again. While actors only have to worry about what their doing, directors concerns are endless and for those who undertake such a task, I salute you. My directing experience wasn’t by any stretch a bad one, as a matter of fact it was fantastic, but it taught me something that I now carry with me in every production I do and makes me considerate of every director I work with:

We actors can be a MASSIVE pain in the arse.

My directing experience was fortunately shared with a dear friend of mine, who without I would have surely had a nervous breakdown. We didn’t help ourselves much with this particular project, as not only did we decide to co-direct the thing, we also wrote it together and also gave ourselves supporting roles (as if we didn’t have enough to worry about). All this aside, and I know I would say this, but we had a really good show. Our cast were spot on and everyone involved really mucked in to make it a special show.

But there is always one.

There was a member of the cast who, because of the societies “all inclusive” policy, we sort of inherited and had to give him a part. Fortunately in the play there was a space for him so we wrote him in accordingly. It soon became very apparent to me that the man was undirectable. He said every line in a monotone voice, he kept facing the back of the stage when saying his lines, was always in the wrong place, and (I SWEAR this is true) he kept reading his stage directions OUT LOUD. Further to this, he hated being given notes and he would sarcastically respond to any feedback, no matter how minor, with “Ooo ok then, Mr Spielberg.” Naturally, as I’m sure you can imagine with a man who spent most of rehearsals ending his lines with “Crosses down stage left”, I was called “Mr Spielberg” rather a lot in our time together and quite frankly it got on my tits.

This was merely the tip of the iceberg, however. Having worked with him on a few previous occasions, I knew that he had a tendency of fishing the director to let him sing a solo in a show. To be clear, he couldn’t sing, he just simply read the lyrics in his monotone voice, but it didn’t stop him attempting to audition for The X Factor several times.

Much to his chagrin, our show was a straight-play so there was no singing. This didn’t stop him making a suggestion that unnerved me somewhat…

In the final scene of our play, the lead character kills himself after killing various members of his family, and with a bit of stage magic he appears at the opposite end of the stage to walk into the afterlife (it sounds crap, but in context, it’s awesome). It was quite a poignant moment in the play and ended it very nicely.

Prior to this final scene taking place on the opening night, Simon Cowell’s wannabe bestie came pounding up to me like a puppy and said, “Andy! I have a brilliant idea for the final scene!” I said, “Well seeing as we’ve opened now, I don’t think we can change anything but go on…” “Okay, well, you know how David kills himself in a bit? I was thinking, how about when he does that, I take centre stage and sing ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ by Queen?” I laughed out loud, but it didn’t take me long to work out from the look on his face that he wasn’t joking. “Seriously?” I replied. “Well… Yeah? He’s the fourth character to die? Another one has bit the dust?” He then gave me a look which was similar to one that you give your dog when you see it dragging its arse across your cream carpet. “I’m gonna say no.,” I said “but thanks for the suggestion.” He then let out a grunt of frustration and retorted with, “Well, Mr Spielberg, when I’m out there, there is nothing you can do to stop me from singing if I want to, is there?”

Now, I wasn’t sure if it was the fact he called me “Mr Spielberg” again, the fact he’d threatened to ruin the ending of the play me and my friend had slaved over for the last 6 months, or if it was my burning desire to protect the collective works of Queen, but I snapped, “You know what, you’re right. There is literally nothing I can do to stop you singing, but I swear to God, if you go out there and destroy the ending of this play with ‘Another One Bites the sodding Dust’ I will run out onto that stage and vomit on you in front of everyone. I will then find someone else to read in your part for the remaining shows and I will make sure it’s someone who hasn’t got the inclination to burst into song at any given moment.”

It was at that moment, I realised that I wasn’t directing material, but I got what I wanted and he didn’t sing the bloody song.

My point is that both directors and actors have faults, but we have to fulfil the job we’re given to the best of our abilities and work together to achieve an end result. A good director equals a happy actor, and a good actor equals a happy director. But if you ever work with me, please don’t mention my hands or sing 'Another One Bites The Dust’ to me.

I will sob.

[newyorktheater]

Paul Rudnick

You’re getting attention for “Coastal Elites,” which was supposed to be a play at the Public Theater, but launches as a film on HBO September 12th, starring Bette Midler, Kaitlyn Dever, Dan Levy, Sarah Paulson, and Issa Rae in five separate monologues about coping with the new abnormal. Less heralded is your role as Tweeter of Trump family foibles; some of these Tweets strike me as mini-plays, and others just draw blood. How did you come up with the two enterprises, and do you consider them connected in any way?

Paul Rudnick: As with everybody else, Twitter lets me talk back to the Trump administration. It’s like an anti-anxiety medication, and I’ve been trying to make my tweets mostly funny, instead of just constant howls of anguish. The Twitter community intrigued me, from every side of the political divide; it’s like a global town hall. It’s insane and filled with crackpots, but I like logging on to follow the world’s reactions to unfolding events in real time. Trump has galvanized Twitter and the weirdest part is, he pays attention to it. He’s furious when #TrumpMeltdown or #TrumpIsAnIdiot are trending.

I wanted to capture some of this rawness and frenzy in “Coastal Elites.” Right after the 2016 election I went to see my doctor for a check-up. He’s a very circumspect, ultra-professional guy, and he looked shell-shocked. He said that all of his patients didn’t want to talk about any medical problems – they couldn’t stop talking about the election. I wondered if this obsessiveness would subside, but it’s only expanded. And that’s where “Coastal Elites” came from. I started writing it about a year ago, and I was able to rewrite up until shooting, which ended a little over a month ago. We filmed the show remotely, with every possible Covid protection, and our director, Jay Roach and the amazing cast were incredibly helpful – everyone was hyper-informed about every nuance of politics.

The piece was always a collection of monologues, which also reflects Twitter, where people can pour out their frustrations without getting interrupted.

Neither of these projects are theater in any normal definition of theater, although it feels like there’s a theatrical sensibility at work (whatever that means.) I know you’ve had a varied career as a writer [e.g. films such as  Addams Family Values and In & Out; essay collections such as I Shudder], but many people see you primarily as a playwright [The Collected Plays of Paul Rudnick] Or at least I certainly do, given that I’ve been attending your plays since “Poor Little Lambs.” Do you see yourself that way? Yet now playwrights are focusing online. Do you foresee any lasting effect on the theater of the current period, when “theater” and “online theater” are basically synonymous?

I very much think of myself as first and foremost a playwright. That’s how I started and that’s the world I love. When I started writing “Coastal Elites” it felt theatrical but I wasn’t sure where it would land; I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. I’ve written monologues before and combined them into full evenings – this was the structure of my play “The New Century,” which was produced at Lincoln Center. I knew “Coastal Elites” wanted to be monologues, because I was dealing with characters at peaks of emotion and storytelling; they’re all in crisis. Monologues can be like songs in musicals – they’re outbursts.

We were originally going to stage “Coastal Elites” for a series of performances at the Public Theater in NYC, with a live audience, which Jay Roach would film for HBO. When the pandemic hit this became impossible, but then HBO and the show’s production team, which includes Jeffrey Seller, Scott Chaloff and Flody Suarez, all with extensive backgrounds in theater, wondered if there was another route. Once we knew that our cast and crew could be kept safe, Jay and I talked about how the show could be filmed remotely. Because the pieces are monologues, they lent themselves to the intense focus and intimacy of being filmed for TV. It’s like having a front row seat for performances by an incredible cast.

I never anticipated any of this, but the format ended up feeling like a great match for the material, and thanks to Jay, it doesn’t feel limited.

I’ve watched a lot of online theater, and much of it is amazing, especially because the times we’re living in give the shows such yearning. But with all that, I’m like everybody else: I’m desperate for the live event, to see actors onstage, to react as part of a packed theater, and to be in a rehearsal room. I have a new play called “Guilty Pleasure,” which was scheduled for this Fall at the LaJolla Playhouse, to be directed by my long-time collaborator, Chris Ashley. The production has understandably been postponed to next Fall.

I love how theater people are adapting creatively to the shutdown, and trying to stay economically afloat. And online theater will continue to be a world to explore, but nothing replaces, or will ever replace, live theater. It’s too essential and too joyous.

Ok, but do you think this moment of online theater experimentation will have any kind of effect on live theater itself when live theater returns?

The online experimentation during the pandemic will certainly affect subject matter, in terms of plays or musicals taking place during this period. It’s part of the internet’s and social media’s ongoing effect on theater; artists are inventing ways to include the online world in live events, with regard to everything from dating apps to TikTok. The world lives online, and theater had already begun to reflect that. Also, auditions and meetings were already taking place virtually, but this may become even more commonplace. Zoom readings will probably remain a useful tool for writers, actors and directors, as a shorthand during the development of theater projects. Maybe the pandemic has normalized a new form of rehearsal, especially for performers whose personal lives and schedules don’t always allow everyone to be in the same room.

Even more than the pandemic, the Black Lives Matter movement is already having a huge and welcome effect on theater. Artists have been using this downtime to examine how theater, at every level, can become truly inclusive. Whenever life returns to something resembling normal, theater may, in many necessary ways, be changed forever.

What was lost in “Coastal Elites” by having it become a film on HBO rather than a play at the Public Theater?

I’m not sure what was lost in transforming Coastal Elites from a theatrical experience to a filmed one. On one hand, comedy benefits enormously from audience response; but I watched our cast navigate this potential obstacle with incredible skill, and the script gained an intensity. Most of our cast has stage and film experience, so they drew on both. Also, on a sheerly practical level, it most likely would have been impossible to assemble this particular group of actors for a stage run, due to their schedule demands and other commitments. So while I miss having a live audience, and the thrill that can provide, I’m so grateful that these performances have been captured on film.

In the monologue The Blonde Cloud in “Coastal Elites,” Issa Rae portrays a former schoolmate of Ivanka, who calls her “Dracula with a blowout!” In your writing (especially in your feed), you focus more attention — more venom and more wit — on Ivanka than Donald. Why? Is there a strategy in that?

Trump has become a hopelessly easy and infuriating target. We know he’s a horrific tyrant. I’ve tried to approach his ongoing damage from an angle. Ivanka, who claims to empower women, has denied all of her father’s sexual assaults, and when asked about his war on women’s reproductive freedom, she smiles brightly, and refuses to answer, claiming such matters aren’t in her “portfolio.” She, along with her family members, have wholeheartedly supported Trump’s bigotry, lies and his many other crimes.

Ivanka has tried to remain in an untouchable bubble, which is insulting to all Americans. She’s constantly retweeting praise for herself, along with hopelessly privileged and out-of-touch advice: in the early days of the pandemic, she posted photos of herself making pillow forts with her kids at her Washington estate, and flew private to her family’s resorts. None of this is okay and a lot of it is ripe for satire. In Coastal Elites, I examined this situation through a character who’s every bit as rich and powerful as Ivanka, but her moral opposite. The brilliant Issa Rae plays Callie, who attended boarding school with Ivanka, but who’s been raised with a sense of responsibility and service. Their reunion, at the White House, raises the stakes for everyone involved.

The five monologues of “Coastal Elites”  each seem to represent different aspects of the new abnormal. Which are you most hopeful about?

I can be as anxious and pessimistic as anyone, but this can be self-defeating. I’ve been inspired by the millions of people, all over the world, who are figuring out work, family, love and basic survival right now. One of the Coastal Elite characters is a young nurse from Wyoming, superbly played by Kaitlyn Dever, who comes to New York to volunteer as a frontline worker, The courage of doctors, nurses and healthcare workers remains astonishing. Even in the early days, without any protective equipment, they worked around the clock, providing care and whenever possible, saving lives. This degree of sacrifice is both staggering and hopeful; these workers are an inspiration to all of us.

In addition, I wanted Coastal Elites to be a tribute to the sense of humor that’s helping everyone cope. Bette Midler plays Miriam, a public school teacher and hardcore New York liberal who’s very much a tribute to my Mom and her sisters. Their passion and wisecracks always gave me hope, and I see their spirit in so many people. Bette Midler herself gives me hope: she’s a legendary performer whose tweets are hilarious and outrageously committed to changing the world for the better. Theater artists always give me hope. No one pursues theater to make a fortune or have an easy life. People work in the theater because they can’t imagine doing anything else. The pandemic has made theater almost impossible, but the theater community has stayed in constant touch, Theater people don’t give up, and that’s hope itself.

Paul Rudnick On Coastal Elites, Trash-Tweeting Ivanka, and How Bette Midler and Theater Give Him Hope You're getting attention for "Coastal Elites," which was supposed to be a play at the Public Theater, but launches as a film on HBO September 12th, starring Bette Midler, Kaitlyn Dever, Dan Levy, Sarah Paulson, and Issa Rae in five separate monologues about coping with the new abnormal.

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Richard E. Grant has been a familiar face since his breakout role in the British black comedy Withnail & I, in which he played the perpetually drunk out-of-work actor named in the title. He’s had a long stretch of strong work since then, ranging from supporting roles in movies like The Age of Innocence and Gosford Park to roles on TV shows including Girls and Game of Thrones.

His latest big-screen role is as Jack Hock, the roguish sidekick to Melissa McCarthy’s down-and-out writer Lee Israel, in Can You Ever Forgive Me, based on the real-life Israel’s memoir. The pair meet in a dingy Upper West Side bar in the middle of the afternoon. Mutually lonely and prickly, they develop a sort of friendship and then a partnership in crime, when Israel starts forging letters by famous writers and passing them off as the real thing to sellers of rare books.

Both Grant’s and McCarthy’s performances drew praise during the film’s fall festival run. Grant’s take on Jack is electric — he’s a live, uncontrollable wire, an endlessly cheerful fast talker, and a delightful hustler with a misanthropic streak that stands in stark contrast to Lee’s more straightforward bristly exterior. But he’s also sick and lonely, slowly wasting away, and his friendship with Lee is, for a time, a cure.

Can You Ever Forgive Me? is as much a buddy-heist comedy as drama. Mary Cybulski / Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

In person, though, Grant is charming, friendly, and delightful. On an October Saturday in Manhattan he sat down with me for a few minutes to talk about the film, his role in it, the loneliness of characters like Jack in New York in the early 1990s, and why Melissa McCarthy is “impossible.”

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Alissa Wilkinson

How did you get interested in Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Richard E. Grant

I got a call from my agent in November [2016], saying, “You have 24 hours to read this script.”

I said, “What is it, like, Mission Impossible? Is it gonna explode?” And she said, “No.” And I said, “Well, who’s dropped out? Who’s passed on it, or dead?” And she said, “Don’t concern yourself with that because it’s irrelevant.” I said, “Do you know?” She said, “Read the script.” So I did, and I saw there’s Melissa McCarthy playing Lee Israel and Marielle Heller, I knew from Diary of a Teenage Girl. I said, “Yeah, great, when do we start?”

Alissa Wilkinson

Did you know Lee Israel’s story before?

Richard E. Grant

I didn’t know her story, but I had her biography of Tallulah Bankhead, which I’d read, and which is really good. I had her name on my bookshelf but this story, I didn’t know. I thought, “How is it possible that I didn’t know about this story?” It’s such an extraordinary, grand feat of literary ventriloquism that she pulled off, passing off these letters of really great writers of such disparate talents and styles in the 20th century. I thought that was an amazing thing.

Now her story’s out there. I just wish that she was alive to see how celebrated it is for her crimes. Crimes of passion really.

Alissa Wilkinson

That’s a good way to put it — passion for whom?

Richard E. Grant

Passion for the written word. Passion for the great writers who may have become more neglected from an audience now that don’t know the breadth of Noel Coward or Lillian Hellman or Dorothy Parker — these people that she held in such high esteem.

Alissa Wilkinson

The movie is about Lee’s story, but it’s also almost like a buddy heist.

Richard E. Grant

It’s a buddy heist. It’s like a buddy road movie to me, one that happens to go through the highways of Manhattan, from bar to bookshelf to bar to bookshelf to seedy apartment and then back again. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in the Wild West of Manhattan and downtown in the 1990s, without the guns and the pistols. There’s no dead bodies.

Alissa Wilkinson

And that makes you Robert Redford, right?

Richard E. Grant

In your dreams. More like Ratso and Joe Buck in Midnight Cowboy, probably closer to the mark.

Melissa McCarthy and Richard E. Grant in Can You Ever Forgive Me? Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

Alissa Wilkinson

All good road movies have a journey of discovery built into them. Your character is not the main character — but you still have your own arc. How did you approach him?

Richard E. Grant

Lee Israel’s memoir was astonishingly scant on detail about him, which tells me how eccentric she was — thinking that she was the only person involved in this story. I know the producers who knew Lee, who spent years trying to get her to write this story, who knew all the ins and outs — which is what the screenplay fleshed out so cleverly.

He was from Portland. He was blonde, was tall, was charming, had died of AIDS at the age of 47 in 1994, used a stubby cigarette holder because he was a chain smoker but thought he wouldn’t get cancer by using that, had been in jail for two years for holding at knifepoint a taxi driver in a dispute about a cab fare, which absolutely fit the bill. That is as much as I knew to go on.

And also the fact that she praised him, because once she had been rumbled by the FBI and couldn’t go out and sell these letters anymore, she got him to do it. Where she thought he might predictably get $500 or $600 for a letter that she conjured up, he came back with $2,000 or more. That was testament to how good he was at scamming or schmoozing people.

Alissa Wilkinson

Hustling.

Richard E. Grant

Yeah, just a hustler. A street-grifting hustler.

Alissa Wilkinson

And yet he’s very lovable in the film as well. She’s a downer, and he’s very cheerful in a manic way.

Richard E. Grant

I always think of them in animal terms. I think of people I meet in animal terms: what kind of animal are they, first and foremost? She’s a porcupine to his Labrador. He will just go schmooze, wag his tail, and lick anybody into submission until they finally give him some food, give him a shag, give him a bed, or give him a bone to go chew on, figuratively. I thought that was the most bizarre dynamic: Two animals that would never, ever be together, but somehow they go through little journeys together.

The odd couple, plotting. Mary Cybulski / Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

Alissa Wilkinson

So you end up with an odd couple dynamic.

Richard E. Grant

Exactly. Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon in The Odd Couple, 1968 — that was the other movie reference along with Midnight Cowboy that I thought of. It’s what the essence of this movie was.

Alissa Wilkinson

I’d somehow had never seen the original Odd Couple until this summer.

Richard E. Grant

You’d never seen it?

Alissa Wilkinson

I know! But it’s interesting that both that movie and this one are about single people who band together to find their own family. And then drive each other crazy.

Richard E. Grant

Lonely people in a city — millions of people, but you can still be lonely as a cloud surrounded by everybody.

Alissa Wilkinson

The fact that your character and Melissa McCarthy’s character find each other in the bar in the middle of the day tells you everything you need to know.

Richard E. Grant

Absolutely.

Alissa Wilkinson

Part of the reason this movie is so appealing to me is that I’m a New Yorker, but I wasn’t here in the early 1990s, when the movie is set. So it’s a New York I didn’t know. It looks kind of dingy. Were you here much during that time?

Richard E. Grant

I first came here in 1989 — 42nd Street in Times Square, all the sleaze of that. It wasn’t all floodlit and touristified like it is now. There were sex joints and strip joints. There was hustlers. You felt like you were in a kind of post-apocalyptic landscape: “Hold onto your wallet, keep your head down.” It had a sort of seedy, fascinating, roughish quality. Nothing had been gentrified to the degree that it has now, when you have to have a lot of money to live in Manhattan.

I had done a movie with Sandra Bernhard. We played husband and wife in Hudson Hawk with Bruce Willis, which was a disaster. Sandra was living in the Meatpacking District. And I was so shocked in 1991, because on more than one street corner I saw men who were dying of AIDS. Young, younger than I was, who had placards saying, “Abandoned by my family, no medicare, no money, please help me.” It was so shocking to see that.

In the middle of this film — it doesn’t make a big deal out of it — Lee says to Jack, “Can I trust you, telling you this story about this scam that I’ve got going?” And he says, “Oh, you can tell me, because I don’t have anybody else to tell; all my friends are dead.” He’s flippant about it. And then of course, at the end, you realize that he is dying of AIDS.

That really hit home. I thought, that was the reality of that generation. There are no photographs of him. I imagine his backstory: He would have been abandoned by his family. It was pre-social media, so there were no photographs. Polaroids that might’ve existed were gone. All his friends were dead. He’s somebody that lived and grifted, lived for the day. As soon as he got any money from some shady deal or whatever he was involved in, he just spent it. He wanted to live a life of pleasure and then pay the ultimate price at a very young age.

Alissa Wilkinson

The movie has a huge undercurrent of anxiety — being anxious about where your money is coming from, whether you’ll be able to have healthcare. A lot of writers I know — including myself — walked out of the screening and said, “Well, that’s a horror film,” because of how familiar that feeling is. It’s something we’re seeing here and in Britain, something that’s resonating with a lot of people.

Richard E. Grant

And the loneliness! I walk around the streets now — the silhouette of our age is heads down to a tablet or a mobile. People are not looking at each other. We see people, couples having dinner and they’re looking at their mobiles and they’re not talking to each other. That need for connection is so strong in this story. People have responded to that in this movie.

Richard E. Grant and Melissa McCarthy at the premiere of Can You Ever Forgive Me? in Toronto in September 2018. Photo by Suzi Pratt/Getty Images

Alissa Wilkinson

So what was it like playing this character alongside Melissa McCarthy?

Richard E. Grant

[Grins slyly] You can’t even imagine what a nightmare it was to work with her. I mean, can you really imagine how difficult that was? She’s so grumpy and uncooperative. She was Lee Israel. All this persona of her being warm, cuddly, and lovable in real life? Ha! She should not be up for any awards at all, because she is that person. She is impossible.

Have you seen her today?

Alissa Wilkinson

No!

Richard E. Grant

Oh, you’ve been spared!

Alissa Wilkinson

The first role I ever saw her in was on Gilmore Girls — have you watched?

Richard E. Grant

Yes, I have.

Alissa Wilkinson

Her transition from that to Bridesmaids and then a career in comedy was such fun to watch.

Richard E. Grant

She’s also done a huge amount of drama off Broadway in the early 1990s, so the fact that she’s come full circle in a sense and now playing this role in a movie is not what I think people have expected to see her in. Yet she mines the comedy and compassion out of it in a way that only she can.

Alissa Wilkinson

What was your dynamic like on set, since the dynamic between the two characters was so important?

Richard E. Grant

[The grin returns.] It was terrible. Oh, it was terrible. We hated each other. Never saw each other. I didn’t speak to her between takes. It’s just awful.

No, I absolutely worship and adored her and we’ve become great friends. That was the bonus. I think it’s the only movie I’ve ever been on when you have days off you think, “Oh my god, what am I gonna do, I’m in New York?” And you’re gonna go see this show and you’re gonna do that and this museum, that art gallery, see these people perform and every day we had lunch together when I was working. That’s real testament to the bond that we forged on this. I think it certainly shows in the final movie.

Alissa Wilkinson

The movie is also suffused with books. Did you do any supplementary reading?

Richard E. Grant

Yeah. I’m a voracious reader so I re-read the Tallulah Bankhead biography, and I read the other books that she’d written, and then of course, the memoir that the film is based on and the great writers that she loved. The fact that she liked the most caustic and witty writers of the 20th century was in such contrast to this porcupine saying, like, “I’m not budging.”

The fact that she was so politically incorrect, uncompromising, and unwilling to change anything — even in her court confession. She could have been contrite and full of public remorse while privately thinking, “Oh, fuck the lot of you.” She just says quite blatantly, “Well, yeah, I know it wasn’t the greatest thing that I’ve done, but it’s the best work I’ve ever done, and it’s the best time I’ve ever had.”

The fact that she says that, you kind of go, “Yes!” She’s just the most quintessential unlikely romantic heroine that you could possibly conjure up and I loved her for that and I know Melissa did too.

Alissa Wilkinson

She takes so much pride in the fact that she thinks her forgeries are better than the real thing.

Richard E. Grant

“I’m a better Dorothy Parker than Dorothy Parker.” I guess Lee really was that fantastic.

Can You Ever Forgive Me? opens in theaters on October 19.

Original Source -> Richard E. Grant on playing a “Labrador” to Melissa McCarthy’s “porcupine” in their new movie

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