#I feel like McManus would get mad if you asked him this

[scurvyratt]

[wawamouse]

Oz Rewatch 3: S5E04: Next Stop Valhalla

Storylines

Jaime tries to kill Guerra and is killed instead; Miguel feels guilty; Alicia Hinden comes to Oz with the dog training program; Augustus, Penders, and Miguel are selected

Miss Sally’s Schoolyard to become Sallycise; Brass confirms to Rebadow he bought the lottery ticket; Martinez hits Brass with a shit cocktail; Gloria tries to get Martinez put in the hospital and then beats him up when he keeps touching her face

Beecher and Schillinger fight during an interaction session; Schillinger antagonises Schibetta;

Peter Marie visits Keller; McClain visits Keller

Winthrop and Guenzel arrive at Oz; Guenzel is taken under Beecher’s wing while Winthrop becomes a prag for the Aryans in Unit B

Frank Urbano arrives at Oz; Beecher asks Pancamo for the Italians help in protecting Guenzel; the Aryans and Italians get into a fight

Gloria tells Ryan he has to tell his mother about his crimes; Ryan breakdances instead; Shupe tells O’Reily that Li going to rape his mom; Ryan and Cyril kill Li

Augustus continues to grieve his mother and ends up breaking his sobriety

Omar annoys Emerald City and Said with his singing, McManus gives him a supply closet to practice in; Redding demands Omar use it to sell drugs; Lalar and Arif complain to Said that he’s neglecting his role as leader; Robson tortures and kills Lalar

Sister: That’s why they gotta stop announcing everything they do in this show, like...

Sister: I feel like [Norma’s] just dead at this point.

Sister: I feel like they’re leading up to him being like a mass shooter or something. Me: You think he’s gonna snap? Sister: He seems like the type...

Sister: …I think being free would making him happy. I mean, [Toby] had that whole vision about being free that did not include [Chris], so I think he’ll be fine.

Sister: You can just tell them anything and they’ll let you through…

Sister: What’s wrong with this guy? What’s he in for? Me: Hate crimes… Murder, officially, I think. Sister: Hate crime? What’s he sniffing people for? Me: He's just a perv...

Sister: …That’s so gross… In my sickened state*, I can’t even summon a bleugh. Me: [Retching noise] Sister: Thanks. (*We got some booster shots yesterday and Sister always gets sick afterward lol)

Sister: When are they going to address that guy whose wife also died? Me: Never. Sister: So why did they introduce her?! To spout off some facts and get shushed by the priest?? Me: Maybe there was originally supposed to be more of a story to it and it go cut. Sister: No, they just wanted to do their little after school special moment and then not deal with it. You know, if any of the Muslims should be having the issues in these episodes, it should be the other guy (Arif), not Mr. Said... Me: They could have issues together. Sister: Yeah. Kill the Nazi helper dude. The one who's egging everything on. Schillinger doesn't even really do stuff on his own anymore. Before, he didn't want to fight and wanted to become a Jesus freak and it was always that guy whispering in his ear. And now look.

Sister: How we know he’s not gonna build a bomb in there? … Oh, I guess they took away all the cleaning supplies…

Stray Thoughts

Sister says Jia Kenmin and Li Chen’s plan to provoke Ryan so they could kill him in self defense was really not thought-out

Sister is convinced that someone is going to die for one of the dogs

Sister believes that killing Robson would get rid of most of the Aryans’ bite since she views him as being the worst out of all the Aryans

Final thoughts

The scene where Robson and what’s his face torture Lalar is the toughest scene to watch in the entire show, imo. And it pisses me off (like, I’m actually getting mad thinking about it right now, lol) that Robson gets more expansion in terms of character as the show progresses, too, because whooooooooo gives a shit about a Nazi?! They still haven’t followed up on Arif’s wife LMAO. Also Urbano gets introduced this episode and they don’t end up doing shit with him, really, either. But let’s learn about this asshole!!

Sister: I feel like they’ve run out of storylines with the Muslims and are just repeating past ones. Wasn’t it [Arif] who was the one complaining about Said’s leadership the last time? And then he couldn’t handle it which caused the whole thing… and now he’s doing it again? Me: I think they just don’t like when Said helps other people. They complained when Said was spending time on Beecher, too… Sister: Yeah, [Arif] is so needy… He’s like “you’re spending too much time with your roommate who you have to stay in a cell with” and also every time he is around, [Said] just wants [Omar] to be quiet anyway…

[jasonspetertodds]

The House of Wayne

warnings: swearing, past mentions of abuse, homelessness and violence.

Jason silently slid through the window, his hips barely scratching the worn wood of the sill as he dropped into a crouch. Was it a little dramatic? Maybe. He didn’t care as he turned to shut the window just as silently as when he pulled himself through. Only when the window was locked did he finally stand to his full height. He hadn't been there in almost three weeks, preoccupied with a mission with the Outlaws.

He hummed, hand running along the edges of the dresser as he moved deeper into the room, avoiding all the creaky floorboards that would betray him. He didn’t really want anyone to know he was there, just wanted to get in and get out.

He should’ve known better, though. He was never that lucky.

He was lucky, on occasion, but not now, and not before. It wasn’t luck that kept him alive on the street, that was his own scrappy determination of wit and spite, he wasn’t lucky when he died. He was lucky when it didn’t matter. When it wasn’t life or death.

He inched his way closer to the hallway, palming open the door keeping the creaking hinges at bay. He could hear a TV going a floor down, in the kitchen, and he could hear a faint beginning of a noise a touch to his left, behind one of the other doors.

He ignored both, heading down the hall, staying off the runner to not track mud in and let them know he’d been there. He could keep his steps quieter than if they were on the carpet anyway. He let his shoulders drop in a dangerously casual manor as he passed the door he had heard something rustle around inside, not even a flicker of curiosity flitting through him.

Instead, he turned to the left, down the hall, past the study, silently lifted himself over the rafter of the first floor staircase and silently dropped down, landing in a crouch. His eyes narrowed before he moved deeper into the house, passing the silver candelabras that were dusted but never used, the same candles standing tall since he first arrived and died and the same Boston fern propped in the corner. He’d intentionally avoided the portraits, not being able to stand the wax sealed letter written in neat legible script asking if he could, would, sit for one. How it was different then the handwriting that carefully wrote his safe house address on it.

He had equal parts wanted to shred it, burn it, and curse it. In the end, he didn’t do anything. Just shoved it in the drawer of his bedside table along with his knife that he’d use to open the damn thing, resigned in ignoring it until he was in a better headspace to answer it. He shook his head as he turned through the french doors near the parlor and into the library. He knew Alfred was about, but knew because it was Tuesday the butler wouldn’t be anywhere near the library, too busy running laundry and preparing this week’s meals and dusting the upstairs.

Jason still didn’t know how the monolith of a man managed to clean the entire manor to such pristine condition, but like most things, he learned not to question it after awhile. Alfred just did. No more explanation needed than that. He launched himself over the settee, sliding easily over it, jumping up to climb up the grand bookshelves, not even giving an oblong glance to the rolling later not two feet from his side.

With the same ease of a jaguar climbing up its favorite napping tree, Jason pulled himself up to his bookshelves, easily sliding his leather-bound and gold leaf copy of a collection of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories and poems. He had picked it up at the flea market near his house and decided it was worthy of the collection. He had slipped it between two others, one a first addition illustration of Poe’s work and a first edition copy of Frankenstein. 5¢ was a pretty good deal despite the small fortune he had spent on the first editions. But like Jason said, he was lucky when it didn’t matter. He’d found multiple rare books at the bottom of rotting cardboard boxes all across the globe.

He shifted a shelf up, his left foot freestanding while his right was firmly planted on the mahogany of the thing. He didn’t even turn, while pulling a battered paperback of Pride and Prejudice out, mulling over if he wanted to read it when he felt a presence behind him. He rolled his eyes, gently placing his book back and dropping two shelves below, “What do you want?”

“Why are you here, Todd?”

So it was demon he had heard shuffling around upstairs and not his dog. Damian was really the only one that lived permanently at the manor. Tim would float in and out but since Bruce came back, hell, even before that, he wasn’t always around. Jason couldn’t really blame him, instead he opted for his apartment in the Diamond District if he wasn’t in San Fransisco helping out with the Titans. Dick had his apartment in Blüdhaven, continuing his crusade there and if he was in Gotham he was in his own apartment on the Lower East Side or the Penthouse. Jason wasn’t familiar enough with Cass’ living habits but he figured she floated around a lot with hero business too, even if this was her home base.

It always kept them busy but Jason didn’t quite know how to stomach the fact that the manor had always been crushingly lonely even without him haunting it despite how many of them there were now. He shook his head, returning his copy of Robert Frost poems before moving to the right to the comedies. He didn’t want classics, instead opting for something a little more contemporary.

“Haunting your Dad.” He deadpanned, sarcastically as he was climbing over his collection of Greek tragedies to get to the section that housed Carl Hiaasen and Pat F McManus. He knew better than to open himself up to whatever barb was planted on the little bird’s tongue. Instead, he grabbed the copy of They Shoot Canoes, Don’t They? and jumping down from the thing, landing perfectly in front of the little Wayne’s judgemental gaze. He strolled nonchalantly from whence he came, noticing Damian tagging along behind him, demanding; “What were you doing?”

“Getting a book,” Jason responded, hauling himself over the banister, ignoring the kid’s scowl as he hurried around to climb up the steps.

“What are you? An animal?” Damian sneered, relentless as he followed Jason up to the second landing. Jason shrugged, “I’m a bored bat.”

His back was turned so he didn’t know if the demon rolled his eyes at his response, didn’t know if the boy could dignify himself enough to roll his eyes. He was eleven, though. It warranted an amendment of pride at that age. Jason wasn’t really in mad march to the window he was going to disappear through, keeping up his casual pace as he turned the corner to the office, curious that Damian was allowing himself to chase him throughout the place. Maybe he was lonely. Or, same as Jason, bored. He didn’t care to imagine keeping himself occupied in the vast expanse of the house while Bruce and Alfred were busy and Dickiebird left three weeks before in a huff.

Jason had time, he asked in his usual gruff tone, as he turned into a separate guest bedroom. Not the one he had come in, no sense in wasting a good entry and escape when he didn’t need to, “What do you want?”

Damian looked appalled that Jason would even suggest he wanted something from the older man, “What good is a street rat for anything I could want?”

Jason felt a vague flicker of annoyance bubble up in his naval, before he squashed it down, rolling his eyes and making a move to the windowsill, tossing the book down on the bedspread before roughly placing his thumbs where the fingerprint readers were. Jason hadn’t known what to make of Bruce programming his fingerprint into the fire safety automatic windows when he first found out, still didn’t. Bruce hadn’t even told him, but Jason was sure Batman knew that he knew now. Batman, after all, was omnipotent. Or damn near it when it came to his kids.

He shook his head, not wanting to focus too much on that particular detail. He hadn’t come here to get harassed by the little demon behind him, honestly? Jason didn’t even really know why he had his back turned. He didn’t trust the brat not to stab him in the back the second he saw an opening. Jason slide the window open, feeling the breeze on his skin as the old sycamore’s leaves danced outside.

Maybe it was because Damian had a certain amount of respect for Jason. Despite Talia keeping them both separate as best she could with his time at the League, Jason wasn’t stupid. He had put two and two together pretty quickly and he knew Damian wasn’t stupid, either. The kid had snuck in to watch him spar when he was still at Nada Parbat, risked what would be an abusive punishment if he got caught to watch Jason learn and fight. He cringed inwardly, knowing half the abuse that kid suffered even when he was the heir to that empire, when he did things right, let alone when he disobeyed.

Talia, he knew, tried to shield her youngest from as much of it as she could, but it was still an abusive death cult. Maybe Damian had picked up the care his mother showed to Jason, though he didn’t want to know whatever justification she had told her son about Jason. He cringed inwardly again.

While Talia saw and fostered the potential Jason had, in the beginning she hadn’t quite seen him as him. She had ulterior motives, but she always had and Jason knew he was being used, but couldn’t muster enough up to care. He had started as a rehab project due to his connection to Bruce.

Talia had thrown him into the Lazarus Pit, saved him the trouble of a second death after he so shortly woke up from before, to win points with her beloved. Affection and attachment had come later and Jason still wasn’t sure where he stood. As a pseudo second son? As another project? As an informant? He never had good luck with mother figures. It didn't really matter to him.

The point was Talia loved Damian with her entire being. Sure, it was misguided occasionally on account of them both being raised in a hellish death cult of the ages, but if anything they fit perfectly within the current generation Wayne Family, dysfunction was a lifetime warranty at this point. He knew where he stood with Damian. He would normally get a disgusted sneer of a Todd when he was around and outside of that there wasn't anything to work with. Sure, he knew the brat knew about him, probably more than he knew about Damian from his mom. Jason always noticed his eyes on him any time he was interacting with Dick, especially. It was there when he was talking or dealing with B on the rare occasion, but never as heavy.

Honestly? Jason wasn't going to touch the weird pseudo father-son bond those to had while Bruce was lost in time with a ten foot pole. It was increasingly funny to watch the dynamic as they went back to Nightwing and Robin, brothers. Dick might say that they were like him and Bruce when Grayson had first come to the manor. A mentorship, but that could really only fool a deaf and blind man. And Jason had seen through that veneer easily.

He snorted, maybe he should've picked up something with the House of Atreus, considering the House of Wayne was becoming incredibly close to it.

"You didn't answer the question." Jason stated, simply. Not sure how long the silence lapsed between them while he was internal monologueing. Like he could help it. Damian had crossed his arms behind him now, Jason spying on him in his peripheral, his expression was still harsh disdain, but it had softened some.

"Why are you here?" The kid asserted again, taking a step toward Jason. Jason turned to look at him, shrugging. He was ignoring Jason's question. The older man answered him again, "Like I said, I wanted to get a book."

"Don't lie. Todd. I'm not nearly as gullible as the rest of this family."

Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes, but made a mental note that Damian had said family, "I'm not lying." He didn't really know who the kid considered family, but he could guess and it was miles more improvement than when he first came to the manor. I am the blood son and all that. Not that Jason could blame him, his mother dropped him on the doorstep and his Dad, his real biological father had all but disowned him without knowing him.

He even scooped up the book off the edge of the bed, dumping it upside down to show that nothing was hidden between the pages before offering it up to Damian so he could flip through it if he wanted. The brat just stared at it, deepening his scowl, looking at it like it was rigged to blow. Jason supposed that was fair, in any other case, but his soul was exasperated at this point. He vaguely wondered if every conversation with the kid was like running into brick wall after brick wall at full speed. It probably was for Bruce, at least.

"You come here every once in a while just to read?"

"I don't read here," He was pointedly ignoring the other part of that sentence. He wasn’t going to be baited into giving himself away by short-stack to his left. Jason was getting impatient, so he asked again, "What do you want Damian?"

He knew the kid wouldn't have stuck around this long if he didn't want to talk to Jason about something. He flopped down on the bed, his ankles crossed as he folded his hands behind his head, the picture of relaxation. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Damian stiffened at the accusation, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit at being found out before he bit back, "Like I said before, Todd, what could I possibly want from you?"

"I don't know? Enact a grisly revenge scenario, cover for you, murder someone?"

He watched the kid flinch at the murder word. It was subtle, but Jason could still see it, the way he grit his teeth, eyes snapping shut as if he was suffering an actual blow. God, everyone in this family was dramatic. Jason rolled his eyes, waiting for a few more seconds before admitting, "I'd do that for any one of you. 'Cept Bruce, but you're smart enough to know that."

"I--I can't."

The younger boy didn't say anything after that and Jason inched forward, sensing where this was going to go. Jason didn't think he was the best person to comfort a child assassin, but maybe that made him the best person to comfort a child assassin. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. He hadn't meant to drag this up.

"Dami," He said gently, crouching so he was almost kneeing before his youngest sibling, the leather of his boots and jacket cracking at the action as he ignored the heel of a knife digging into his ankle. Damian slowly, almost shyly opened his eyes, keeping half of his face hidden from Jason. Jason, for his part, tried to paint a softer expression onto his face, "It's okay."

He recoiled at the nickname, but still had the same haunted face when he looked at Jason, voice hushed, "How?"

How did he know? Jason couldn't tell give him an answer outside of straight intuition, his voice was invariably softer as he shifted forward on his toes, leaning closer, "Damian. It's okay whichever one you chose, okay? If you completely reject what the League expected of you or if you decide to change B's philosophy down the line. Or if you create a third options for yourself. This, despite what your Dad wants you to think, isn't black and white, okay?"

Dami swallowed, hard. Obviously trying his best to keep his emotions under control, to squash any and all vulnerability down within him. Jason could relate. It was honest to god heartbreaking that a twelve year old like Damian had to be confronted with the complexities of an ethical debate like this. To be put in that position in the first place, but Jason knew life was very rarely fair.

Damian was making direct eye contact with him at this point, "How can the blood on my hands, even when I didn't know any better, be forgiven? Washed away?"

"Because you're a kid, Dami, you were just doing what you could to survive."

He looked affronted at Jason's suggestion that it was to survive but it wasn't like Jay was lying, even if his younger brother didn't believe him. If he didn't go through with League training and be up to snuff, he couldn't imagine the amount of abuse tenfold that the kid would endure. It was insanely traumatic already and he was their Prince who followed orders. That didn't stop them from almost killing him on multiple occasions if not for Talia's interference and his own sheer force of will that all Bats apparently had.

"You're still a kid," He countered, looking Jason full in the face now, refusing to hide, but his voice was significantly quieter when he asked, "So why haven't you been forgiven?"

Jason didn't know if he should be offended or deeply amused that a twelve year old called him a kid. He shook his head, standing up again to start to pace around the room. His soul was getting restless having a conversation to this magnitude. He needed something else to focus his energy on. He sighed, halfway to the bed, "Because I already knew Bruce's rule. I intentionally broke it. It was and still is a conscience decision to take someone's life."

He was struggling with his words, while Damian cut in, "I told you, ignorance isn't excusable for my actions."

Jason scrubbed his hand down the front of his face, suddenly very tired. Damian was still looking at him but it had shifted into a glare. He fought the urge to throw up his hands, instead focused on keeping the frustrated bite out of his tone, "What I meant to say, I think, is that every time I have ever decided to kill it's been my own decision. My own agency. No one was threatening me with anything when I pulled the trigger. You-- you didn't have that."

This wasn't working. He could tell by the way Damian looked like he was about to interrupt him again, so he plunged on, hurriedly switching examples. "Look, when I was on the street, I only ever stole out of necessity. I never took more than I needed," He explained, leaving out that he really couldn't have afforded to be greedy for a number of reasons, but Damian didn't need to know that, "Because otherwise I wouldn't have made it."

He still looked like he wanted to argue, but something in the way he shifted his clenched jaw was different, his mood softening the slightest when he finally seemed to grasp what Jason was saying to him. Jason probably should've gone for an animal allegory but he couldn't think of another species on the spot that coerced others to do things in quite the same way humans did. God, he felt like such an older brother, but he didn't think many older brothers needed to talk to their siblings about past infractions that included murder and the trauma that comes with growing up in a sadistic secret cult.

"It also doesn't matter," He said, a little offhandedly, flopping back down on the bed as he tried to shake the restless feeling out of his bones, "It's in the past. All that matters now is how you deal with it."

"Anyone can see how hard you've been working the last year and a half Dami to transform yourself, to be more informed and do the best at what you think is right."

He got a ghost of a smile for that, and Jason wouldn't normally admit such a thing, but the brat really needed a little bit of reassurance. The smile dropped though and with it, so did Jason's stomach.

"You've transformed, too. You reinvent yourself every time you step into this godforsaken city. And father still refuses to forgive you."

"Like I said," Jason murmured, feeling very much like he was repeating his conversation with Dick a month before, "'S different with me."

"It should not be." Jason shrugged, suddenly so worn out from the entire conversation and the mere idea of explaining the complexities of his relationship with Bruce. How it was rocky and probably never going to end in anything other than tragedy and heartbreak to a twelve year old. He also had heard the unvoiced question. Will it be like that when I'm older too? He didn't know. You'd think after six kids and a few other strays Bruce felt personally responsible for, he'd be better at this parenting thing. What was different though, was Bruce did seem to trying with Damian. He felt a twinge of jealousy at that. Whatever. He didn't want another one of them to suffer the same fate as he did. He was strong enough to take it for them.

Jason shrugged again, getting up off the bed and ruffling Damian's hair before taking his book and ducking out the window without so much as a hint of a goodbye. He couldn’t deal with this much emotion. He’d hit his limit and he needed to leave, his skin crawling with the scent of the manor.

Damian would know where to find him though, if he did was a whole different thing entirely. But it didn’t really matter to Jason as he dropped down from a tree and started his trek across the manor grounds, debating if he should check in on Alfred’s sage bushes.

[myuntoldstory]

Harry Potter | Samhuinn

AO3 | FF.net

A little thing for my favourite couple for Halloween. This one was interesting for me to write because I learned about some culture and traditions and that’s always a fun thing. Also learned some things about my writing habits. Also have additional author’s notes tacked on this story that’s too long for the post so if you’re interested then just click on the links!

Now, on to the thing!

Enjoy.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Sirius Black/Mary Macdonald

Warning: N/A

Word Count: 3, 275

Samhuinn

The Forbidden Forest was peaceful tonight. Overhead, the nearly full moon casted its silver spotlight over the grounds while the stars shined brightly in clusters for anyone who cared to look. Deep within the woods was a lazy melody of noises, adding to its magical ambience. There was no sense of the eerie or the horrifying, as was the forest’s reputation. It was just the sky, the sounds, and the trees. Perfect in its own way.

Sirius pocketed his hands and smiled. The scenic route was a good decision. A shame his mates couldn’t be with him. Their duties called them back to the castle and so, being the only free man, Sirius took the liberty to explore the fringes of the forest before returning. After where he had just been, some fresh air and a renewed appreciation for the living world were a sought after change.

Suddenly, a flash of light caught the corner of his eye. Turning to the source, he saw a faint veil of orange light touching upon some of the trees ahead. He frowned. In a place where students were forbidden to explore and the teachers rarely visited, it was a curious sight.

Tilting his head to one side, he planted his hands on his hips. Should he look? He glanced at the direction of the castle, pursing his lips as he actually considered being good and returning. But then a grin stretched his lips wide. Not today. He already broke the rules anyway. Without hesitation he made his way towards the light. Quietly. Carefully. With every metre he crossed the glow grew brighter. Soon he caught the buzzing of muffled conversation and laughter. There seemed to be a clearing ahead. He moved faster. What would he see? Centaurs? Sirius smirked to himself. Perhaps he’d get lucky and discover of group of Veelas native to the forest.

He was close. Now, he heard snippets of conversation underneath rambunctious laughter. The line of trees thinned; through them he glimpsed embers dancing upwards and dissipating before reaching the sky. Silhouettes blocked the sight of the embers every so often, but he couldn’t discern to whom they belonged to. He found a tree closest to the perimeter of the clearing. He hid behind it, keeping most of his body behind the trunk as he peeked.

In the centre was a tall bonfire. Surrounding it were alternating rings of cushions and food. There were eighty or so people dressed in cloaks; they sat on the cushions, ate the food, and mingled with the others. However, strangely, the first two rows closest to the fire were undisturbed.

Sirius frowned. What’s happening? What were they? Hogsmeade villagers? Strange… forest people of the forest? Death Eaters? He shuddered at the last thought. Voldemort’s most lethal worshippers sneaking into Hogwarts grounds just to gather around some bonfire? Stupid. These people didn’t feel like Death Eaters anyway. In spite of that, though, more than half of the gathering had their hoods down, but he couldn’t recognise any of the exposed faces.

Hang on.

Sirius squinted. Four rows away from the bonfire, laughing with a group, was Benjy Fenwick. It was definitely him. He couldn’t mistake that face nor could he miss the golden boy grin that was Fenwick’s signature. Then just behind Benjy was another student Sirius recognised: Melanie Macmillan. She was staring intensely inside a tea cup in front of Nancy Abbott, another student. All tension now left Sirius. Well, definitely not anything dangerous. Not Veelas either, sadly.

He crossed his arms, watching, trying to understand. Now just begged the question of what in the bloody hell they’re all doing. It seemed like an ordinary gathering… just with unordinary details—like the cloaks and the set up. It resembled a cult. Sirius stewed in his own questions and theories, frustrated that the urgent need to satisfy his curiosity was quelled by the fact that if he barged in and started demanding answers he’d be in trouble… or inducted.

A few minutes passed and nothing interesting happened. Sirius yawned, eyes following Macmillan and contemplating on returning to the castle when he recognised someone else. He straightened, attention captured and heart quickening in excitement. Unbeknownst to him, the corners of his lips were stretched wide in a grin.

It was Mary.

She walked past Macmillan. His gaze followed her now as she said a brief greeting before approaching a group containing two more people he recognised: Professor Ophius, the Astronomy teacher, and Professor McManus, the Muggle Studies teacher. Well, then… it may not be a cult with teachers involved—perhaps just a very strange excursion? As Mary entered the group she was welcomed by exuberant greetings and hugs by the others, the teachers incredibly friendly in talking to her.

A sense of novelty settled over Sirius. In the darkness the fabric of her cloak looked black, but he had a feeling it was actually blue. She had her hood down, hair gathered on either side of her shoulders. She looked the same… but somehow different. Unreachable. This Mary was different to the one he knew. After knowing her for years there were still parts of her he didn’t know. It was disconcerting—for reasons that eluded him. He watched her, discomfort spreading throughout his body as she talked and laughed, especially whenever Ophius said something. He pressed his arms harder against himself.

She stayed with the group for a while. After, she moved on. Every move was with grace, ethereal in the dark of the woods. Was it because of the cloak or has she always moved that way? With every group or person she passed she was greeted with genuine happiness. To Sirius’ detriment, however, she stopped by Fenwick’s group. Sirius scowled when they embraced, Fenwick looking a little too happy to hold her. He took her hand when they separated, facing her palm towards him. He said something and Mary laughed.

He looked away. He tried to watch the rest of the gathering, but every so often his eyes returned to her and each time he found her still talking to Fenwick his mood soured more. Finally, to his relief, McManus gathered the crowd to her. Silence fell as she and Ophius addressed them. After the speech, the professors waved their wands. Jars gathered before them and floated in front of each person in the crowd. Mary and a few others got more than two. With a flick, the professors then took out smaller flames from the bonfire and placed them within the jars. While the crowd closed the lids, the professors portioned the leftover food and handed them out too. After some final words the group dispersed as McManus led out of the clearing while Ophius remained behind.

People were going his way. Sirius hid behind the trunk, the darkness covering him as people started to walk past his tree, their jars of fire illuminating them. He waited for Mary, but didn’t find her. He finally saw her when he dared peek again, walking towards his tree too.

Perfect.

He intercepted her. She yelped at his sudden appearance. He lunged and cut her off by pressing the tips of his fingers against her mouth. Her lips were soft against his skin… but he didn’t get the chance to appreciate that as teeth chomped on a good portion of his palm. Hard. “Ow!” he hissed, yanking back his hand. “What the fuck—”

“Who the bloody hell are you!?” Mary demanded.

“Shhh—Merlin. Macdonald, it’s me.” Sirius held onto her shoulders. “It’s me.”

“Sirius?” she grabbed one of the jars and held it between them. He grinned at her and she gasped. “God, Sirius!” she released the jar. It bobbed in the air as she took his hands and rubbed his recently bitten palm. “Bugger. I am so sorry.”

“You’ve got some jaws on you,” he chuckled. Her hands were warm. Gentle.

“Can’t say you didn’t deserve it,” she said, raising a brow at him. “What are you even doing—”

Suddenly, she leaned towards him and sniffed. He leaned back. “What?”

“Godric.” She recoiled. “You smell like rotten food and dung.”

“Do I?” Sirius took a whiff of his collar and frowned.

She’d stopped rubbing, but still held onto his hands. “What have you been doing?”

“Ah. Just been to Nick’s death day—”

“Mary!”

Fenwick appeared before them with his own floating jar of fire. Sirius looked at him, smirking as Fenwick’s golden boy grin seemed to freeze on his face. He looked at Sirius, then at Mary, and then at their hands. Her fingers twitched in his, but before she could disengage, he held on tight.

“All right, Fenwick?” Sirius asked, smiling innocently at the boy.

“Black,” Fenwick said. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Yep,” he agreed.

“Right…” Fenwick drawled hesitantly. Then, slowly he turned to Mary. “I thought I’d walk you back.”

The nerve of this prick. Sirius could just imagine a golden retriever’s tail wagging between Fenwick’s legs. He turned to Mary, raising his brows, suppressing a grin when she squeezed his hands too tightly. She smiled apologetically at Fenwick. “Very kind of you, Benjy, but, uhm, I need to have a chat with Sirius so…”

“I see.” The disappointment was so clear in his voice it was laughable.

“But I’ll catch you tomorrow, yeah?”

Oh, that tail wagged that much faster. “Of course!”

She beamed. “Good. Be careful on your way back.”

“You too.”

Sirius looked at Fenwick at his warning tone and received a steady gaze from him. He winked. “Bye, Benjy.”

“See you.” Fenwick moved on. Sirius scowled as he watched Fenwick’s back disappearing into the darkness. He then turned to Mary, smiling more genuinely.

“Are you completely mad?” Mary said, dropping his hands.

“Not completely,” he quipped.

She sighed and shook her head, moving on. “What are you even doing here?” The fire jars floated around her like some sort of portable lights. She was not the only one; the rest of the crowd were ahead, only identifiable by their gently bobbing fire jars that occasionally illuminated the nearby trees.

“Witnessing a bizarre ritual.” He grinned unapologetically when Mary gave him an unamused glare. “What about you?”

“Taking part in a bizarre ritual, I suppose,” she sighed.

“Seriously,” he said, tapping one of the jars gently. “What was that?”

Mary breathed deeply. “Samhuinn celebrations.”

“Saw—what?”

“Samhuinn.”

“Sah-heen?”

“Merlin—Samhuinn!”

“Sow-ween?”

Mary snorted. “Close enough.”

Sirius beamed. “So… what’s Samhuinn?”

“Seriously?” Mary looked at him in surprise and he nodded. He wasn’t joking; now that there was someone to answer all his questions he was wasting no time. “Well,” she huffed, “it’s a magical holiday. Celtic. We celebrate the dead, the spirits, and the coming winter. There’s a bonfire, as you saw, and… let’s see… divination, food, games, human sacrifices—”

“Human sacrifices!?”

“Yeah,” Mary said, face frighteningly straight. “Hogsmeade provides them, see—criminals, though. We don’t want to set any innocent lives on fire.”

Sirius stared at her, jaw slack and eyes wide. “Please tell me you’re joking.” Mary looked at him and held his gaze. For a few, tense minutes neither of them said anything. Sirius was so close to believing her when her passive mask cracked and a smile shined through. He sighed and pushed her. “Come on, Macdonald, I’m serious.”

“Hello, Sirius, I’m Mary.”

He pushed her again. “Stop.”

She laughed. “All right—sorry.”

“What is it, really?”

“It’s what I said—minus the human sacrifices, of course.”

“Okay.” It sounded… normal. “I’ve never heard of it before, though.”

“No?” Mary smiled. “We learned about it in History of Magic.”

“Really?” Sirius thought back to all the lessons he bothered to attend... none of them ring a bell about Samhuinn. Then again, when he did attend all he ever did was sleep and copy off Remus’ notes after.

“Mhm.”

“I…” why was he feeling embarrassed? “Honestly, though, whoever paid attention to Binns?”

“True,” she laughed. “Generally, not many in the Wizarding World know about it. Same with the Muggles. If you’re Celtic, you’d probably know. If you’re related or know someone who is then you have a good chance.”

“Are you Celtic?”

“Sure—on my father’s side.” She shrugged. “If my nan was to be believed.”

“Huh.” He knew about the Celts and the Druids from Remus’ notes. But he barely remembered what he learned. It’d make sense for some members of the magical community to have other magical blood in them—similar to how some families in France have Veela blood. Pureblood families were never proud to make such claims unless it referred to powerful figures. Godric knew his mother was adamant of their relation to Slytherin or Morgana. He glanced at Mary and the fire jars bobbing around her. “What’s with the fire?”

She caught his gaze. “These?”

He tapped one of the jars. “Yeah. The bonfire too.”

“Sacred fire,” she answered. “Back in the old days the Druids light great bonfires in villages during Samhuinn. Hearths in every home are doused and relit with the embers of the sacred fire. The Druids imbued it with magical protection, see, and it bonded the villagers together.”

“So why bring it back with you?”

“For my mates.” she chuckled. “Protection spells are now easier to cast so this is just normal fire, but bringing it back to my mates and the Gryffindor fireplace is a nice gesture so why not, you know?”

“I see.”

Silence fell between them. They were finally out of the forest. The castle loomed close ahead of them. Sirius looked around and saw the rest of the gathering more clearly. Behind them, the bonfire was no longer visible, save for the faint glow of orange on the tree tops. He looked at Mary and saw that she was nibbling on the leftovers: apples, nuts, cheese, cold meat and pastries. She caught his eyes and smiled, presenting him the food. He smiled back and took a slice of apple. Up ahead, he could already see the doors.

“You mentioned being at Headless Nick’s party?”

“Hmmm?” Sirius saw her looking at him still. “Yeah.”

“Where was it this time?”

He snorted. “One of the empty greenhouses.”

“Ah,” she giggled. “Just you?”

“Nah. I was with James and the others.”

“Why are you alone, then?”

He grinned at her. “Decided to take the scenic route.”

She nudged him. “Stumbled into quite a scene, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “an interesting one.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” Sirius wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed her tightly against his side. “Never saw anything like this before. Honestly, I thought I was witnessing a cult at first.”

“Oh…” she looked down at herself and chuckled. “Yeah. It’s all part of tradition, though.”

They reached the entrance. Before them the rest of the crowd had gathered, waiting. The double doors were opened to get as much of the people in as possible. Professor McManus and some others were on either side of the doors, ushering the crowd in. Sirius managed to blend in as he joined the people trickling inside. He waited for Mary to come through and together they set off to Gryffindor Tower.

“You know, it’s too bad,” Mary said.

“What is?”

“That not many people know about traditions like these anymore.”

Sirius looked at her and saw her smiling wistfully. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, just… you know, the opportunity to learn and celebrate our roots.” She shrugged. “Magic is, after all, nuanced in any place.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know Ilvermorny, yeah?”

“The American school? Of course.”

“Professor Ophius taught there for a year.” She smiled. “Did you know that though they’ve incorporated Native American magic that their roots were actually Irish?”

“That… I didn’t know,” Sirius admitted.

“Yeah,” she replied excitedly. “He visited the Australian school once too—can’t remember the name. They had their roots from here too. But he says there’s a difference between the innate origins of magic and transferred magic.”

He listened to Mary gush—there was no other word for it—about Ophius’ great knowledge of the magical world. He noticed her eyes sparkling, hands moving animatedly, and the hint of pink on her cheeks. His chest constricted and the words that came out of his mouth were sarcastic. “Ophius sure does go around.”

“He does. He is amazing—his stories, I mean. His stories are amazing.”

“Huh.” He intoned. “Why was he there? Is he Celtic too?”

“Oh, no,” Mary chuckled. “No, he’s supervising. Professor McManus, though, is.”

“I see.”

“But it’s good to see someone non-Celtic joining. Magic is to be shared, after all.” Her expression softened. “He’s appreciative of our differences so it’s nice.”

“Do you fancy him or something?” That… was not something he meant to say. His mind was trying to come to terms with what was happening, but the words escaped him instead. Without his permission. He nearly cringed when she flinched and looked at him in panic. In his own panic, he couldn’t give her anything except a passive expression.

“W-why do you ask?” she squeaked.

Might as well see it through. “The way you talk about him.”

“Well, no, Sirius, I don’t…” she trailed off as he stared at her. He’d never seen anyone’s face go that red before. It was bloody brighter than the flames. “Erm…. Okay. Maybe. A tiny bit. But that’s because for a professor he’s… you know… amazing.”

He smirked. “You called him amazing. Twice.”

“What about it?” She shot back.

“I… am amazing,” he replied. Casually. They finally reached the hallway leading to the portrait. Sirius didn’t even realise they had arrived. It was a little fun poking Macdonald with the proverbial stick and seeing her reactions—though they were at his expense.

“Not really,” she said.

“Not really!?” Sirius gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “My, Macdonald, I am hurt.”

She snorted. “Stop being a prick and you’ll definitely be amazing.”

“When have I ever been a prick?”

“A while ago. With Benjy.”

Sirius nodded, though he did smirk at the memory. “Right.”

They arrived. Mary said the password and the Fat Lady let them through. With a bow, Sirius let her go first. The fire jars trailed behind her as she took his offer. He followed after her, finding her waiting for him as he emerged. As usual, the common room was bustling with people. Sirius wondered if his friends were here and itched to go, but at the same time he didn’t want to leave Mary. He wanted to keep talking to her. “So…”

“I’m sure you want to find your friends,” she said, smiling at him.

He smiled back, sheepishly. “Yeah…”

“Right, hang on.” She reached for one of the fire jars and handed it to him. “Here.”

He held onto the jar. “I thought this was for your friends?”

She winked. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

That caught him off guard. He blinked, words failing him for a second. “Y-yeah…”

“Then I wish this winter is kind to you.” She held his hand and squeezed.

He stared at her, a little shell shocked at her kindness. “Oh, t-thank you—for the fire and… and everything.”

She beamed. “Have a good night.” With that, she turned and made her way to the fireplace.

“Night…” he mumbled, watching her. A strange warm feeling settled in his chest as he glanced down at the fire she had given to him. Unbeknownst to him, the corners of his lips stretched in a smile; he pulled the jar close to his chest as he turned to make his way to the seventh boys’ dorm.

[magicmenageriestuff]

3am Eternal (Live at the S.S.L.) – The K.L.F.

( The Ancients of Mu Mu )

*

Alien 3  –  Paranoia In Pinewood part 2

The six stages of Film Production : as seen carved into the wall in Pinewood, Studio Five, by someone presumably better-versed in the industry than I :

Wild enthusiasm

Disillusionment

Panic

Search For The Guilty

Punish The Innocent

Reward The Non-Involved 

The above quote from the diary I kept in 1991 while filming Alien 3 in Pinewood Studios.  I released it into the atmosphere as My Pop Life #171 – Praying For Time.  I think it’s time for part 2, don’t you?

*

Somebody send me a clean version of this picture.  thanks.

Things settled down a little after the heart-thumping and deeply paranoid first month recorded in the previous episode.  No one was sacked.  I don’t think.  No one was re-cast.  There was a terrible accident one day when Sigourney’s make-up lady Linda was standing in a doorway on set – one of those science fiction doorways with a sliding panel which goes up and down with a swish.  It was a wooden contraption with a weighted pulley which failed, and it came down suddenly onto her face, right onto her nose. I wasn’t there but it was a nasty accident and she was rushed to hospital.  We never saw Linda again. Later I learned that she didn’t want to claim the medical expenses from the company, but having had a facial reconstruction and various operations I think that she eventually did settle.  Dangerous places film sets.

The cast of Alien 3 with David Fincher on set, 1991

My relationship with Sigourney had subsided into a kind of sulk, and although she would make the odd remark, the earlier fire and brimstone had calmed down a bit.  Not that we’d made up at all.  Sadly we weren’t friends.  I’d confided in other cast members – Niall Buggy thought I was completely bonkers “What are you talking about Ralph, she’s lovely!”  Pete Postlethwaite and Phil Davis felt the same way.  Dhobi Oparei too.  I was happy that they were enjoying working with her, but just as I started feeling cornered, there was Charles Dance asking me how it was all going as we waited for a set-up.  I think I was tentative at first but eventually told him what had been going on.  He confessed that he’d had the same kind of experience. “Is that how you’re going to say it?” and all of the paranoia about how clean he looked, other competitive nonsense.  I felt relieved that I wasn’t going totally mad.  It was only people she had scenes with where the behaviour occurred.  Wait – was Charles Dutton also having this relationship with her?  No.  He was a friend already and he was not the enemy.  Charlie and I have been firm friends ever since.

Charles Dance as Clemens

One day on set Sigourney and I had a scene on a balcony, after the fire. Men had died.  The Alien was trapped, locked in a loading bay. Dutton and his men were praying below us.  The scene wasn’t going well.  But we got it at around 8.00pm and Fincher pulled me aside.  “Dude.  She vampired that scene. Don’t worry I can cut around what you did, we got it.  But you’re letting her get to you.”  I think I said that I was trying to stand my ground.  “If you ever need to leave the set, take five minutes, regain your centre, just say it OK?  I got your back.”  It was another welcome acknowledgement that I wasn’t paranoid.  I went home, cuddled my lady and gritted my teeth for the long haul.  I had to try and protect my performance at the end of the day, that was what mattered.

the balcony scene is in the “director’s cut” on the DVD

As the weeks progressed, all of the actors were called in every day, in case we were needed.  First thing – put through ‘the works’ – costume and make-up – and then sat in our dressing rooms to await the call, often all day.  I often went into the next-door dressing room occupied by the Prison Governor, my boss the legend Brian Glover, who’d memorably played the gym teacher in Ken Loach‘s heartbreaking film Kes.  Brian was from Barnsley and did the voice overs for Tetley Tea Bags : ‘Tetley. Make tea bags. Make Tea.‘

Brian Glover as Andrews

Brian regaled me with stories from his days as a professional wrestler, fighting on the circuit with Giant Haystacks, Big Daddy and Mick McManus. ‘There’s money in ugly Ralph‘ he would announce, his squashed ear a keepsake of his years playing rugby.  Every 45 minutes the lovely 2nd AD Marcia Gay would knock and pop her head around the door – ‘Gentlemen. You won’t be required for the next 45 minutes. Just relax‘.  This became alarmingly irritating until one day Brian swivelled his giant head in her direction and asked ‘Is the money the same?‘  Marcia was puzzled.  ‘Yes‘ she said. ‘Well Fook Off Then!‘ shouted Brian.  Rude and fucking funny.

Fincher on the camera with Alex Thomson alongside him who had taken over as DP when Jordan Cronenweth was too ill to continue

There were eventually four units running at the same time – 1st Unit with David Fincher directing and another legend Chris Carreras as 1st AD.  The eye of any storm, the 1st AD basically runs the set, oversees all of the departments and keeps a keen eye on who is slowing the unit down.  The 1st AD is basically making the film.  Chris had an amazingly calm temperament but I saw him biting his tongue a couple of times.  Years later in 1999 I would contact him and ask him to 1st AD my film New Year’s Day, which he graciously agreed to do.  Without him it wouldn’t have got made. I was going to create a link there to the blog where I talk about the film that I wrote and which actually got made.  So scarred am I from this experience that 220 blog posts later I haven’t even started to think about discussing it.  Watch this space !

Paul McGann as Golic

Meanwhile back in Pinewood, the other 3 units which might or might not need actors for any given day were :  2nd Unit with Martin Brierly directing (and Nick Heckstall-Smith assisting, whom I would also work with later), Action Unit doing Alien Stuff and other SFX, and a Fire Unit which set fire to things and put them out while stunt guys ran around with falmes one their clothes.   We were all required, at one point or another, on all of these units.  But there were interminable days when nothing happened.  Backgammon became institutionalised, with American actors Chris Fields and particularly Holt McCallany relieving us of our wages on a regular basis with ruthless use of the doubling dice. I soon saw the error of this form of time-wasting, likewise poker and other competitive pursuits. 

Clive Mantle as William, Peter Guinness as Gregor

One day when it was clear once again that nothing was going to happen a group of us decided to wander around the studio lot and see what else was going on.  Like a bunch of escaped prisoners escorted by a correction facility officer.  That was me.  We went into one of the bigger studio buildings (Alien 3 had the majority but some were still available for hire) – I can’t remember precisely who was in that gang but I think Peter Guinness, Paul Brennan, Clive Mantle and Danny Webb certainly were. Maybe Niall Buggy and Vincenzo Nicoli too.  And there was a giant pyramid structure with lights on frames around it and people with cloaks wandering about.  We’d asked permission to visit of course, and the producers knew who we were, what we were doing there.  The band was The K.L.F. and they were shooting a video for their single 3am Eternal which had been at Number 1 in the charts that January.  A video it turned out, for the US market. We watched a take with smoke and lights, bleeps and heavy metal guitar chords, acid house beats and rap, capes and cloaks. It was all a bit mental.  Then they took a break.

We wandered into the next studio through a heavy door.  And there was Kylie Minogue, dressed for the Shocked video. We were all introduced and I became suddenly aware of a tiny elfin Australian blonde woman being dwarfed by half a dozen dirty shaven-headed prisoners from outer space.  She shook everyone’s hand then gently wandered away and asked one of her people if they could ask us politely to leave.  Which we did.  Poor love.

Kylie Minogue is Shocked at the power of love in 1991

There’s a curious link here because Bill Drummond, (who with Jimmy Cauty is The K.L.F.) had worked as an A&R man for WEA (now Warners) in London in the mid-80s and had apparently spent half a million pounds on a band called Brilliant who never quite took off.  Stock Aitken & Waterman were writers & producers for Brilliant, and Jimmy Cauty was in the band along with Martin Glover aka Youth from Killing Joke.  And Stock Aitken & Waterman were now writing and producing for Kylie, along with a vast stable of acts including Donna Summer, Mel & Kim and Jason Donovan.  Kylie & Jason had starred together in Aussie soap Neighbours, and to continue the odd waltz between the 2 acts, the K.L.F. had made a single called ‘Kylie Said To Jason‘ which was a hilarious rip-off of ‘Left To My Own Devices‘ by The Pet Shop Boys.  Confused Yet ??

Bill Drummond & Jimmy Cauty

I didn’t make any of these connections at the time.  I was listening to George Michael, Public Enemy, The Breeders. Catching up with Bob Marley and Miles Davis.  Discovering Wagner – again.  Looming on the horizon was Massive Attack. The K.L.F. seemed to me a little like The Tubes, one of my favourite bands to be sure, or the Bonzo Dog Band (see My Pop Life #77), formed by musicians who wanted to lampoon the music and the industry and anything else they could gather into their fiendish net.  Like everything was in quotes. I mean who sang along with the phrase “Ancients of MuMu” without a silly grin on their face?

And of course we were still recovering from the smiley-face rave culture moment from which the K.L.F. appeared to have emerged.  In fact they were rather more like a situationist art project that wanted to burn the whole thing down.  Anarchists.  Their career was inspired partly by the theatre show The Illuminatus Trilogy, written and directed by mad genius Ken Campbell in Liverpool where Bill had been the set designer.  He walked out one day to buy a sandwich and never came back. Later he formed his Pop Group who became The Timelords with big novelty hit Doctoring The Tardis, then The JAMS (Justified Ancients of MuMu) with the single What Time Is Love which got re-issued a number of times from 1988 onward, then The K.L.F.  Their brilliant warped career  peaked a year later in 1992 at the BRIT Awards when Drummond machine-gunned the audience of music industry execs from the stage, and a dead sheep was left at the door of the afterparty with the message “I died for you – bon appetit” attached. A few months later in May 1992 The K.L.F. announced that they had quit the music business and deleted their entire back catalogue.  Other stunts followed such as the infamous burning of a million pounds, the Soup Line, the 17 Choir and other innovative ideas.  Apparently Bill Drummond lived just down the hill from me when I was in Brighton but I never met him, I don’t think.

Niall Buggy as Eric, Danny Webb as Morse

Back on the Alien3 set a few days later it was Valentine’s Day.  I had been sent a card and an AD delivered it to me as we relaxed between shots.  It was of course from Jenny my beloved.  We were not married at that point.  And I could swear Sigourney was looking over my shoulder to see who it was from.  Hahaha.  Fincher was shooting a lot of footage.  “I’m doing long pans & track so they can’t cut into my footage” he explained one day.  It meant that when we had a group scene we could open a book on how many takes it would be.  Anything under five was unpopular.  Over twelve was possible, common even.  I think we did a tenner per set-up.  Someone wrote the names down and the number they’d chosen.  Often no one would win because we went up to Take 17 and no one wanted to put ten of your earth pounds on that.

Here’s an idea…

In fact Sigourney and I had one of our scenes discussing plans regarding telling the company their was an Alien on the planet, and playing a fella who wanted to go home to his wife and kids, rather than perish in some millennial cult group suicide, Aaron ’85’ suggested a plan.  Ripley’s response was tentatively ‘yes maybe‘.  We did a couple of wide shots, then into my single.  Can’t remember how many takes it was – probably around seven or eight.  Then turned round onto Sigourney.  David didn’t like her tone, which suggested that Ripley thought Aaron was a dick.  He didn’t think that was right at that point in the story.  So. One more.  Turn over. Sound Speed. Scene 178 take 17.  Mark it. And….Action! Blah blah blah.  Cut.  Same result.  He’s not your enemy.  Take 22.  Don’t sneer. Take 29.  You think it’s a good idea. Take 34. By which time we were all so exhausted and dizzy from the repetition that Sigourney said the line in a kind of dazed acquiescence and Fincher had the take he wanted.

About a year later in Los Angeles, after the re-shoots, I had two days of ADR in a West LA studio on Olympic Boulevard.  David remembered the scene well, 34 takes.  He’d never done ADR before though – Automated Dialogue Replacement – where you can change the inflexion, emphasis, tone, shade and meaning of a line just by using your voice and matching the lip movements on screen in front of you precisely.  Movie magic.  Some actors hate it, I made friends with the process very early on after I had to voice the whole of my performance as Danny in Withnail & I for the US market. The test screenings had indicated that audience members couldn’t understand what he was saying.  Who could? I did that piece of work at Twickenham Studios in 1987 where the engineer consoled me having to re-do my entire performance at the same speed except more intelligibly by telling me that Michael Caine had done Alfie and Bob Hoskins had also done The Long Good Friday for America.  And yet we were expected to understand Stallone’s mumbles or Pacino’s – hey that’s what it means to be an outlying part of The Empire right?  I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen the US version of Withnail but I suspect it would be a bad idea.  But having said that the experience toughened me up for future sessions.  Especially the Alien 3 session which was two long days – the reason for that was the amount of atmospheric smoke and steam in the design of the film which was very noisy to produce.  Often back in the day on big movies the Sound Department knew that they were recording a guide track only, to be completed and polished in ADR.  So here we were down on W. Olympic and David says – if I’d known about ADR in Pinewood I would never have done 34 takes just for a vocal inflection…

It’s hard to recall now in 2019 how difficult that experience was.  Jenny can remember quite clearly how I would come home every day, full of doubt, full of worry and anguish, just because I was trying to do my best work.  What a fantastic opportunity for me, but you know I was running fast just to stand still.   I remember a visual image I used to produce while trying to explain it to friends, as a learning curve which came from my chest, looped back over my head and stabbed me in the back.  I wondered if, at some point, whether the fact that we were making a horror film in space meant that we had to have a horrible experience in space.  I called Richard E. Grant one day who was shooting Hudson Hawk in Italy – another picnic – and he asked me how much I was getting. I told him. He said

“well – that’s the amount of shit you have to eat then.”

I could almost understand why Bill Drummond had formed The K.L.F.

  My Pop Life #220 : 3am Eternal (Live at the S.S.L.) – The K.L.F. 3am Eternal (Live at the S.S.L.) - The K.L.F. ( The Ancients of Mu Mu )