#Insurrection Recollections Series

[nominalappraisal]

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[snidgetwidgeon]

Insurrection Recollections Series: Art Festival

Every year Hyrule Castle hosts an art festival where artisans from across the land can come together and share their culture with the added element of friendly competition. Having been far too long since Urbosa attended, she decides to surprise young Zelda with a visit. While there, she happens upon, and is very intrigued by the Castle Guard's most talented recruit.

Sivul’s Scimitar that I doodled as a prompt from Linktober 2020

Urbosa gingerly ran her fingers over the exquisite gems and sculpted hilt of the curved blade crafted by her master artisan. “This is your finest work, Sivul,” she commented in awe as she looked at her reflection in its polished, mirrored surface.

Sivul grinned and rolled her eyes good naturedly. “You always say that, Chief.” She stretched her neck both ways and rolled her shoulders, finally free of the project. She had fixated on it with such a single minded passion that she had no life outside the workshop, just as she did with every project really.

Urbosa drew her own blade from its horizontal sheath at her hip and compared the two. They were both thick, inlaid with designs reminiscent of Gerudo script and perfectly balanced. “I’d say you have even surpassed your master. The Scimitar of the Seven now has a counterpart, and almost pales in comparison.”

Sivul respectfully went down on one knee, recognizing when she ought to be gracious. “You honor me with such praise. I am glad to have lived up to my master’s craftsmanship.” She heard both blades sliding back into their sheaths and rose. After placing the scabbard back in its pedestal, she started to tidy her workspace a little.

Urbosa leaned against the smooth stone wall, continuing the conversation in a more casual way. “I’m also impressed that you always manage to finish well before your deadlines.”

“Yes, well... that’s just due to possession by my muse- to the detriment of every other aspect of my life,” Sivul admitted self-deprecatingly.

“Hmm, haven’t I told you to get an assistant? An apprentice, perhaps?”

“You have.”

Urbosa’s teal painted lips turned up in a wry smile when Sivul offered nothing beyond that. Cheeky vai. “Well then, you’ll have space for me to accompany you to the festival. I’d like to be there when you win popular choice.”

Sivul’s eyes were suddenly saucers. “Chief! I would- that would be- are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“My dear friend started the festival when she became Queen as a way to bring the people and cultures of Hyrule together through the sharing and appreciation of their art. I’ve missed one too many of them in the past couple of years and I will not do it again. It wasn’t a coincidence that I commissioned this work from you,” she winked. “Let’s give those yuppie Zora a run for their rupees.”

Their arrival to Hyrule Castle was heralded and the standard procession of pageantry was observed as they entered the King’s Court. Urbosa led proudly up the long red carpet, passing between numerous large pillars bedecked with banners bearing the colors and crest of the Royal Family. She was followed closely by Sivul, four attendants that carried an ornate chest perched on two poles, and finally, a group of five warriors armed with a display of Gerudo’s finest spears, scimitars and decadent round shields. The Gerudo always brought a colorful palette that was a feast for the eyes.

As she bowed, Urbosa wondered where her Little Bird could be but was sure it wouldn’t be very long before they were together. This was somewhat of a surprise visit, so she couldn’t fault the girl for not being present to receive her- she had a very busy schedule. Too busy, in her opinion.

“Gerudo Chief Urbosa,” the King’s voice boomed through the Hall. “Welcome.” Rhoam held a smile for his friend but she did not miss the tired shadow under his eyes. It was the very same one she saw in the mirror when she felt particularly run down with her own responsibilities.

“Is this a gift you have brought, perchance?” He asked, gesturing to the chest.

“You’ll wish it was once you’ve seen it.” She felt satisfied when her comment elicited genuine mirth from his features.

“Is that so? I wouldn’t dare contradict you.”

“Gerudo Town’s finest artisan, Sivul,” she took a step back and gestured to her companion, “has brought her craft for everyone to see. We intend to leave with all due accolades.”

He smiled again and very diplomatically stated, “May the best artist win. Please enjoy your stay during the festival.”

With the formalities out of the way, he closed the distance down the few steps between them and shook her hand, transitioning into his standard volume. “I’d invite you and yours to rest from your journey but I was hoping you could entertain me in my chambers for a few minutes?”

“Of course.” She turned to the others, “Don’t wait up, and remember to have fun. This is a visit for pleasure.” Her entourage all nodded respectfully and turned to leave except for two warrior attendants. She looked between them both, “That means you too. Let’s not insult poor Rhoam’s security. I’ll be fine in the castle,” she smirked. They bowed and acquiesced.

The two rulers made their way out of the Great Hall via the East wing. This led down a short hallway to a council chamber that had a very long, dark wooden oval table in the middle. The King offered some small talk as they crossed the room along the wall lined with windows, “It’s quite a surprise that you have made it this year. Zelda will be delighted.”

Urbosa smiled, slightly distracted, and nodded. She had been in these chambers many times negotiating and going over various policies and was glad to finally have a visit that was not duty-bound; though by Rhoam’s demeanor, it seemed she wouldn’t be able to escape it completely. She wondered what news was forthcoming that could not be delivered by official communications.

They entered his private chambers and he closed the door behind them. It was simply furnished with a desk and only a few chairs. There was a bookshelf against the wall and one window that looked out into a courtyard. This room was mainly used for private deliberation during larger meetings or simply as a retreat for when the King felt he needed a breather from all the political squabbling. He took a chair in front of the desk and gestured to the other, “Please, have a seat.”

She was intrigued by this meeting already; he was seated across from her casually as an equal rather than having positioned himself in a place of authority behind the desk. She crossed her legs languidly and pushed her vibrant and thick red hair off her shoulder, waiting politely for him to speak.

“My Adviser Impa has not long returned from an audience with the Deku Tree where she was able to confirm our discovery of the final Divine Beast’s location. Preparations are underway to begin another excavation mission to the Eldin region.”

“Hm, that makes sense. A beast for each race,” she laced her fingers together in thought, elbows resting on either side of her chair. “Then that could mean the soul of the hero will reside in a Hylian.”

“Still as sharp as ever. I sometimes wish you could stay at my table permanently,” he chuckled. As quickly as the humor came, it also went, and King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule revealed his vulnerability to her, as one in a very small circle he would even dare show since the passing of his wife. “I can only hope that it is not to be in our time. Perhaps we are merely a step in the grander destiny of those that come after us, and we must ready the machines for them. Perhaps the sealing power is meant to awaken within another Princess...” He scoffed at himself after a moment’s deep thought, “I sound like a cowardly fool.”

Urbosa uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, taking the hand that had been resting on the arm of his chair. Looking into his tired eyes, she said, “A good ruler always wishes they could reign over a time of peace. But some make the mistake of not being ready for war. You’re taking all the necessary steps. All we can do is try to prepare the best we can against an enemy we know little about.”

He squeezed her hand slightly and replied, a bit comforted, “You have always been a good friend to me as you were to my wife. Thank you.” He pulled away and stood. “I’ve no doubt that I’ll be in need of your ally ship more than ever in the coming-”

The doors to his chambers were suddenly thrust open and Zelda stood there in her white prayer robes, hair frazzled, panting. “Urbosa!” Her sandals flapped on the tiles and were then muffled on carpet as she ran into the room and wrapped her arms around the waist of the much taller Gerudo woman. Rhoam and Urbosa shared a bemused look as she returned the embrace.

Zelda looked up and asked accusingly, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“And miss this glorious display of surprise?” She laughed in husky, low tones. “How else am I supposed to entertain myself after a long journey?” She smoothed Zelda’s hair as she smiled with a maternal sentiment. “Would you like to see our entry for the festival?”

“You’re entering?! Of course! Is it down in the courtyards already? I’ll have to go change first.”

“I think it’s still in our chambers until installation tomorrow, but yes, let’s get you into something more casual.” As Zelda flitted out the door, Urbosa bowed politely, “King Rhoam.”

Rhoam returned the bow with a respectful nod, “Chief Urbosa.”

Urbosa practically had to chase Zelda to catch up with her in the Grand Hall but once she strode alongside, Zelda had to try and keep pace with her long gait. They chatted about nonsensical things while in the public eye: Zelda’s studies, devotions and hobbies; Urbosa’s new sand seal, her latest public works, and her continuous bragging that the Gerudo would win the competition this year. Once they were in private, however, Urbosa intended to ask the real questions. When they arrived in Zelda’s room, she smiled politely and waited until the attendant who was dusting made her way out.

“My apologies Princess, I thought you would still be out for quite some time. I’ll come back later and give you two some privacy.” The middle aged woman adjusted her glasses, stuck the duster under her arm and scooped up her skirts in a quick curtsy before attempting to make a hasty exit.

“It’s ok Fria. Actually- before you go, do you know where my light blue spring dress is? I’d like to wear it for the festival. I haven’t worn it recently but I wonder if it’s still accidentally with the wash?”

“I’ll go check for you now, Princess. Is there anything else I can help with while I’m out?”

Zelda pondered the question as she removed her devotional jewelry, placing the pieces in their custom, blue-velvet lined cases, “Hmm. Yes! Could you please lay out my sirwal for supper this evening? I’d like to dress in honor of our wonderful guest, Gerudo Chief Urbosa.” Zelda gestured happily to Urbosa as if Fria didn’t already know she was there; she was just so excited to have her visit.

Urbosa nodded kindly when she was mentioned.

“Of course,” Fria answered. She gave another polite curtsy to them both and gently shut the big wooden door behind her.

Zelda started talking about how dinner was going to be so lovely later, and about the smaller events that would be tied to the annual art festival. As she moved about the room to change out of her prayer robe behind a dividing screen, Urbosa made her way to the large four poster bed with the elegant red drapes and sat down. She stroked the blankets, the decorative one on top was chosen by her dear friend for her baby girl when she visited Gerudo Town twelve long years ago. “How are you really Little Bird?”

Her gentle, yet stern question caused Zelda to fall silent behind her changing screen. “I’m...” She thought of her days, always full to the brim with the same repetitive classes, courtly obligations and fruitless prayers. She came out from behind the screen in her day dress, a less formal version than the elegant long-sleeved blue one she wore to court. Her eyes bore the weight of too much responsibility. “I’m tired.” She walked over to the bed and sat next to Urbosa who wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “I’m tired of having to change into numerous different attire. It’s not fair. Father has much fewer task-related outfits.”

“Hm... I know clothes aren’t the only thing on your mind.”

“Praying is still useless. I don’t understand why I have to keep doing it.”

She let out such a deep sigh that Urbosa baled her up in her lap for comfort. “I’m so sorry Zelda. I wish your mother or I had had the foresight to consider that she might not have been able to teach you.” She stroked Zelda’s hair as she felt her small body starting to shake slightly from finally letting her emotions out.

“I can learn anything else from books, why not this?” A short sob escaped her quivering lip.

“I don’t know vehvi, I wish I knew how to help. You know you can come see me anytime you need to get away from it all.”

Zelda smiled bitterly, “If I could, I would stay with you all the time.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can do about getting you a much needed break during dinner. The way to get what you want is to make a good case to your father in public. That way he can’t refuse or he looks like crappy father of the year.” She wiggled her eyebrows and succeeded in eliciting some giggles out of her girl.

“Feeling a bit better already, I see,” she squeezed Zelda’s arm affectionately. “Now, shall we go and meet the others?”

Zelda nodded and hugged Urbosa tight before sliding out of her lap. “Thank you for the cuddles. They remind me of mom,” she said with a sad smile.

Urbosa stood as well, blinking back the sting in her eyes. She leaned down and gave Zelda a kiss on the forehead. “You remind me of your mom too.”

They made their way to the wing that housed the ambassadorial chambers. These were rather overtly opulent and tried a bit too hard to impress visitors in Zelda’s opinion. On the other hand, some guests had stated what a treat it was to stay in such a lavish room so it couldn’t be all that pretentious. When they entered, they found Urbosa’s entourage in varying states of relaxation and inebriation. A few of them greeted her informally, ‘Hey Chief,’ and ‘welcome back Chief.’

Zelda was intrigued by their lackadaisical manner. Urbosa saw the quizzical look on her little companion’s face. “This is a holiday, Zelda. I don’t expect anyone to be putting on airs. Being proper in court is tiresome enough.”

“I’ll say! I put on so many airs during our arrival, I nearly floated away.” The relatable sentiment came from a jovial, dark-skinned woman with dusty pink hair cut short enough that it was spiking messily all over her head, no doubt to be well out of the way while she was metalworking. She had the largest muscles Zelda had ever seen on a woman and she caught herself staring a bit in awe.

Urbosa chuckled at the joke and introduced them. “Zelda, this is Sivul, Gerudo’s finest artisan. Sivul, Princess Zelda.”

“By the sands, you look just like your mother. Such a dainty little vai.” Sivul crouched down in front of Zelda which brought her eye level, and took one of her small hands into her own in greeting.

“You knew my mother?” Zelda asked incredulously.

“Yes, Princess. She was a lovely artist. I even helped her learn how to make jewelry.” Sivul stood again and inquired with a friendly smile. “Tell me, do you have any favorite crafts?”

Zelda’s cheeks went a tad pink with embarrassment. She wished she could be more impressive. “N-no. I just study a lot, really.”

“Oh, but cultivating the mind is one of the most important crafting we can do. I have to put just as much time into myself as I do my work in order for it to be harmonious.”

One of the other women almost spat out her drink, “Oh, that’s sealshit, Siv.” She immediately became sheepish under Urbosa’s stern look, directing her to watch her mouth in front of the present company. She continued with her comment, albeit more politely, “You barely stop to eat or sleep when you get nose-deep in a project.”

“Excuse you, I do my preparation beforehand. That’s all just part of the process.” She placed her fists squarely on her wide hips and gave her detractor a withering gaze, which included a wink at the end to prove she was not actually offended. She then turned her attention back to Zelda. “Would you like to see what I brought before the unveiling tomorrow?”

Zelda lit up and nodded emphatically. “I would, yes!” She followed Sivul over to a chest that sat upon poles on the ground, ready to be easily lifted later. When Sivul waited a beat to open the lid, Zelda glanced over at her expectantly, excitement written all over her face.

Sivul laughed with an alto timbre rivaling Urbosa’s and said, “Sorry Princess, I do love building the suspense.” She unclasped the latches and opened the curved lid to reveal the most ornate and detailed sword and scabbard Zelda had ever seen. They both sat in a frame, the blade on the higher level and the scabbard below.

“Urbosa, this looks like your scimitar!”

“Yes. Sivul’s teacher crafted my blade. She has surpassed her master, something each instructor always hopes for in their students. Well, good instructors anyway.”

“I’ll definitely count my vote for you, Sivul!” Zelda exclaimed.

Sivul grinned and closed the chest. “Hey now,” she began in mock sternness, “I’ll not be having you playing favorites. You vote for it if you truly feel it is the best after seeing what everyone has to offer. They all worked very hard too.”

Zelda smiled and nodded earnestly. She then looked to Urbosa, “May I stay here with you until dinner time?”

Urbosa tackled her with another hug. “Are you kidding!? I’m not going to let you out of my sight for the rest of the day. We have too much to catch up on!”

~~~

The next morning, Urbosa had to rally her troops after they had caroused much too late into the night. She was even missing a couple, no doubt hunting for available voes... They washed with the basins of hot water delivered to their rooms and donned their sirwals, though the warriors remained in their supportive breast plates and boofy pants. After eating a quick breakfast from the fruits, nuts, breads and cheeses that came complimentary to their stay, they departed to see to the unveiling of Sivul’s scimitar.

Walking briskly, they turned heads as they passed through the halls. Even if Hylians had seen the Gerudo many times, it was hard not to marvel at their impressive physique. Their exceptional height, wide hips and toned midriffs were iconic, and admired by many, as well as the bright red hair most Gerudo shared.

In her haste, Urbosa almost led everyone astray, right past the registry room for the festival. “I could have sworn this used to be at the end of the hall...” she trailed off.

One of the exhibition organizers ran over and lead them to a small queue. “My apologies, Gerudo Chief Urbosa. You’re quite correct, we used to check everyone in down that way before but we’ve actually outgrown the space. Isn’t that wonderful? Participation has increased steadily the past few years.”

“The Queen would be so proud.”

She received a genuine smile and nod in response and was shown to the registry where she pulled Sivul out from lurking behind to do her own paperwork. Once that was all done they were taken to an available space in the courtyards that was undercover, as had been requested on their form. Quite a few sculptures they passed were on display out in the elements, while just as many it seemed, had protection. An empty pedestal awaited the sleek and simple frame that would hold the blade and scabbard. Sivul took it from the chest and held it toward Urbosa asking reverently, “Do you wish to unveil the blade, my Chief?”

Urbosa was amused and crossed her arms coyly. “This is your show Sivul, you do the honors.”

Shhhhiiinnng

Sivul drew quickly and smoothly and smirked with pleasure at the faint ring echoing afterward. It had turned heads and a small crowd gathered to watch her place the two pieces in their frame.

Urbosa heartily clapped her on the shoulder, “Well, you have fun playing Q & A with your fans. I’m going to join the Princess.”

Sivul gave her a reproachful look for being left alone to deal with the crowds but she would not begrudge her leader the free time she most definitely needed, and deserved. She then turned to one of her interested parties, a couple with an infant, who had asked how long it took.

“How long? Time is relative. How long did it take you to make that baby? This blade is my baby. Nine months?! Are you sure it’s finished? Our babies take twelve. Yes, really. I was just kidding, it took me three months- if you don’t count the gathering of materials. No, I meant the blade. Our babies still take twelve months. No, really! ...... and on and on.

Urbosa found Zelda in the castle shrine at her morning devotions. She was standing waist deep in a pool before the serenely smiling Hylia, hands clasped together, bedecked with the heirloom jewelry. Her long hair floated on the surface of the water behind her. Urbosa looked on in sadness between the statue of the Goddess and the small Hylian she supposedly inhabited. The poor girl was so devoid of comfort, never acknowledged by the one she entreated endlessly. The serene smile appeared more and more as a mocking smirk the longer she looked upon it.

Without a second thought, Urbosa silently descended the steps into the pool. As she drew near, the water rippled and made a soft swishing noise, alerting Zelda to her presence. She started to turn but Urbosa spoke softly as she sank to her knees behind the child Goddess, “Don’t let me interrupt, my vehvi.” She wrapped her arms around Zelda and held her to her chest, covering her small hands with her own and resting her cheek on the golden hair. There they stayed for an age, sending silent prayers to the Goddess together. And Zelda was comforted.

Eventually, Zelda needed to attend her classes, so with the promise that they would be together again the moment she was finished, Urbosa went for a walk to dry off and collect her thoughts. Short of taking the Princess away, something she selfishly wished she could do, she had to believe that what little she could do would be enough.

She swung by her chambers to collect some attendants. They would be cross with her if she kept parading around by herself, no matter that she was fully capable. Culture, tradition and appearances were also important. They strolled through the courtyards, viewing a section of impressive wooden sculptures from the Rito before reaching the stables. After passing by the horses, which had a similar but distinct aroma all their own from sand seals, her ears perked to the faint clangs and thumps of fighting followed by a whistle. The training grounds were nearby. She grinned to herself wondering if she would be welcome to observe.

Rounding a stone tower, they crossed an archery range to get to the main field. The area was walled on three sides and the upper levels contained viewing alcoves which would also be used for announcements. She could imagine troops being neatly lined up below, attentive to their commanders, ready to serve Hyrule. She casually joined the small throng of instructors, some of whom did a double take as she appeared next to them.

The eldest, most likely mid to late sixties, recovered first. “G-Gerudo Chief Urbosa, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” He bowed politely. “Forgive me, I’m Captain Auru. At your service.”

“I like watching a good tussle so I thought I’d have a sticky-beak with my free time. I hope I’m not intruding?” She stood casually, hip jutting out above her split skirt, making her muscled torso even more of a prominent feature.

Captain Auru stroked his goatee with mild interest at her statement. “Not at all. We’re just finishing the melee portion before moving on to duels.”

“I see. Please continue.”

He nodded and whistled for the final bout to begin. A dozen or so armored fighters wearing a white tabard with the royal crest entered the roped arena, which served to contain the battle. They carried a combination of their weapons of choice. Some preferred the classic pairing of broadsword and shield while others chose to fight with a two handed claymore or spear. Urbosa watched with interest as a smaller fighter quickly caught her eye. They carried a blade only and were so swift on their feet, they seemed to glide through the fight like water, dodging opponents so they ended up engaged with another, or parrying before back flipping out of reach.

Melees had one goal: to be the last fighter standing. How you got to that point is anyone’s choice, and a few fighters decided they wanted to work together against the slinky one.

While she was here, she had another agenda she could bring up. She deviously addressed Auru, “So Captain, do the soldiers get any time to enjoy the festival or is it all work and no play around here?”

He looked to be between distraction from the proceedings and not wanting to be rude so he leaned in slightly and spoke while still keeping an eye on the battle. “I’m not sure we’re too fussed actually. That’s more of a court and populace thing, give them a chance to come up to the castle every now and then, you know?”

“Hmm,” she replied with loose interest. She looked at the arena again just in time to see the group of four succeed in taking down their smaller competitor, though not without losing three of their number. The survivor proceeded to engage the next available opponent where they were summarily disposed of; all of their strength had relied on teamwork apparently. Not a complete negative, but one should most certainly be able to stand on their own if they were to be a competent warrior.

A loose smattering of applause rippled through the training grounds for the victor and Captain Auru blew the whistle to announce the line up for duels. The list keeper shouted for a five minute break for hydration and toilet and everyone peeled off to wherever they needed to be whether it was the privies, benches or water station.

Captain Auru excused himself momentarily to confer with the instructors and he returned with a gleam in his eye. “Chief Urbosa, my colleagues are quite excited about your presence here today. It’s not often we might get the opportunity to let the students spar against different fighting styles. I wonder, would one of your warriors be willing to step into the ring with us?”

Urbosa grinned with a glint in her eye. This was the perfect opportunity to bargain for what she wanted. If she could rustle up some votes from the soldiers, there was a good chance they’d appreciate the art of a finely crafted blade over some abstract shapes in the courtyards.

“I could be persuaded to enter the ring for a bit of fun myself, Captain.”

He and the fellow instructors responded with varying degrees of shock and excited approval.

“But I have two conditions.”

Captain Auru stroked his goatee again. “Name your price, Chief Urbosa.”

“I pick my opponent.”

“Easily done.”

“And you must give me your word that all of you will attend the festival and vote.”

He turned to look at the other instructors and was met with answers of shrugs and unopposed compliance.

“Right,” she grinned and put her hand on the pommel of the scimitar at her hip, “are there any hard rules I should know about?”

“Please don’t kill our students,” Auru jested. “Ah, the usual. Nothing below the belt. If a limb is ‘struck,’” he emphasized a simulation of it, “then that limb may not be used for the remainder of the battle.” He continued with a few more things before she put up her hand to interrupt.

“Captain, I appreciate you have a way of doing things but did you not want to see the way a Gerudo fights? Or would you have me merely demonstrate your own style to you?”

“Eh, you got me there Chief Urbosa. Right you are.” There was an awkward pause before he continued after clearing his throat. “Well then, not killing our students will work just fine. Please,” he gestured to the field, “choose your opponent.”

“I want the short one.”

“Oh, he’s just a boy still, perhaps-”

“And the most skilled of the group.”

“Uh, yes. He is quite the prodigy. Very well.”

She took to the arena and Auru sent one of the others to collect her choice. His day had gone from monotonous to suspenseful excitement and he couldn’t wait to see how this would pan out. He knew Link was starved for a challenge and he knew his class mates would love nothing more than to see him brought down. The outcome of this should suit both parties quite well no matter how it ended.

The competitors entered the arena and stood a few paces away from one another. The whole area had gone deathly quiet. Usually there was low chatter among the peanut gallery but the two opponents on the duel field today had everyone riveted.

Link saw she wore no armor and took off his helmet, chucking it out of the arena, then went down on one knee. The gesture not only humbled him, but also made him appear even smaller. Her inquisitiveness about him only rose.

“Gerudo Chief Urbosa, you honor me with your presence here today. I hope to learn much from you.”

She drew her blade, “Ha! Let’s have some fun, kid.”

Not a moment after he’d risen, Link was taken aback by her quick movements. The crowd gasped as she attacked without ceremony, lining up her scimitar to connect with his head. 

Link quickly rolled out of the way and shot up to his feet, grinning. He’d been waiting for this for so long. He was itching to really fight.

She pivoted in place, following where he’d dodged, kicking up dust as she slashed down. He parried with a surprising strength for his size but she quickly recovered and jabbed. 

He escaped with a back flip. She’d seen this move from him a few times already during his earlier bouts and anticipated what she could do next when he returned with a flurry of slashes.This boy was quick, but a bit predictable. 

That might have been due to a lack of challenging opponents. He was sussing her out, seeing what she could match. He was focused and calculating; something she did not usually see in Gerudo warriors until they were older.

Finally, she sidestepped his onslaught and rammed her knee into his chest. Link fell back in the dirt but rather than be laid bare to a potential stabbing, he used the momentum of his fall to continue in a backward somersault. He stood and regained his balance.

She gave him a short breather, knowing she’d probably winded him a little. The break was long enough for him to decide that he needed to relieve her of the shield on her back.

She nodded at him as she slowly circled a small distance away. “Crafty, aren’t you.”

Link was struck by an idea. He could try it with her, the move he’d recently discovered while training with his dad. Everyone else he had sparred with never challenged him enough to warrant using it. Would he be able to focus enough?

“Again!” she barked as she ran toward him. 

All he had to do was dodge and get behind her... just dodge, and slip past. He took a deep breath through his nose and as it left him her pace slowed before she reached him. He hopped to the side, but rather than take the opening to make a shot, he dashed around and jump kicked the shield up and off her back. He slipped it on and stood there with a smirk as she whipped around with wide eyes.

“How could you possibly-” her face morphed from surprise into a challenging grin, “much craftier than I thought.” She twirled her blade twice in excitement as she tried to work out what he’d done.

Even with just that small bit of practice, he felt he could put everything into his next move. He had always been exceptional at parrying blows, even more so with a shield. However, she now spoke again instead of attacking as had been the pattern of the battle so far. 

“Why don’t you come at me for a change?” She stood at the ready, a bend in her knee, curved blade held in a relaxed grip, ready to react to his move.

He had to rethink his approach now. His technique had been defensive, but he now knew where he could improve. This was the perfect time to try his attack a different way, see if he could succeed on the offense. 

“Hah!” he kicked the gravel out behind him as he lunged forward, watching her weapon arm closely. As he closed in, Link lost focus and they exchanged blows once more. To avoid another knee to the chest, he flipped out of reach before trying again.

She almost lost sight of him as he came for her a second time. How is he doing that!? She blocked his strike just in time and noticed his disappointment. 

He was testing a new technique on her. A wry smile spread from the corner of her mouth and she felt momentarily flattered. She wasn’t going to let him have all the fun though. It was time to show him he still had a long way to go, if only to keep him on his toes rather than bored with their current gawking audience. 

The side lines were full of wide eyes and gaping mouths as she pinned the tip of his blade into the sand with a swirling down-thrust of her scimitar. Before he could recover she grabbed the shield he’d stolen with her other hand to keep him close and used it as a conductor for her own final move.

His hair stood on end and he was ejected several feet away when she ran her electricity through his body. It wasn’t nearly enough to cause serious injury but it had certainly ended the fight. She was met with a wave of gasps but shrugged them off as she approached him. “Relax, he’s just a little toasty.” 

She reached a hand down and he grasped her wrist firmly, letting her easily pull him to his feet. “You alright, kid?” 

He hung on for a tick as he gained his balance in the midst of a sway before looking at her dead serious and asking, “Can you teach me that?”

She burst into a husky laugh. “I’m afraid that attack is a one of a kind specialty.” She leaned in closer to say privately, “But you keep it up with those moves you were pulling, you’ll no doubt be going places.”

[theculturedmarxist]

This book will concern itself least of all with those unrelated psychological researches which are now so often  substituted for social and historical analysis. Foremost in our field of vision will stand the great, moving forces of history,  which are super-personal in character. Monarchy is one of them. But all these forces operate through people. And monarchy is by  its very principle bound up with the personal. This in itself justifies an interest in the personality of that monarch whom the  process of social development brought face to face with a revolution. Moreover, we hope to show in what follows, partially at  least, just where in a personality the strictly personal ends – often much sooner than we think – and how frequently  the “distinguishing traits” of a person are merely individual scratches made by a higher law of development.

Nicholas II inherited from his ancestors not only a giant empire, but also a revolution. And they did not bequeath him one  quality which would have made him capable of governing an empire or even a province or a county. To that historic flood which was  rolling its billows each one closer to the gates of his palace, the last Romanov opposed only a dumb indifference. It seemed as  though between his consciousness and his epoch there stood some transparent but absolutely impenetrable medium.

People surrounding the tzar often recalled after the revolution that in the most tragic moments of his reigns – at the  time of the surrender of Port Arthur and the sinking of the fleet at Tsushima, and ten years later at the time of the retreat of  the Russian troops from Galicia, and then two years later during the days preceding his abdication when all those around him were  depressed, alarmed, shaken – Nicholas alone preserved his tranquillity. He would inquire as usual how many versts he had  covered in his journeys about Russia, would recall episodes of hunting expeditions in the past, anecdotes of official meetings,  would interest himself generally in the little rubbish of the day’s doings, while thunders roared over him and lightnings  flashed. “What is this?” asked one of his attendant generals, “a gigantic, almost unbelievable self-restraint,  the product of breeding, of a belief in the divine predetermination of events? Or is it inadequate consciousness?” The  answer is more than half included in the question. The so-called “breeding” of the tzar, his ability to control  himself in the most extraordinary circumstances, cannot be explained by a mere external training; its essence was an inner  indifference, a poverty of spiritual forces, a weakness of the impulses of the will. That mask of indifference which was called  breeding in certain circles, was a natural part of Nicholas at birth.

The tzar’s diary is the best of all testimony. From day to day and from year to year drags along upon its pages the  depressing record of spiritual emptiness. “Walked long and killed two crows. Drank tea by daylight.” Promenades on  foot, rides in a boat. And then again crows, and again tea. All on the borderline of physiology. Recollections of church  ceremonies are jotted down in the same tone as a drinking party.

In the days preceding the opening of the State Duma, when the whole country was shaking with convulsions, Nicholas wrote:  “April 14. Took a walk in a thin shirt and took up paddling again. Had tea in a balcony. Stana dined and took a ride with  us. Read.” Not a word as to the subject of his reading. Some sentimental English romance? Or a report from the Police  Department? “April 15: Accepted Witte’s resignation. Marie and Dmitri to dinner. Drove them home to the  palace.”

On the day of the decision to dissolve the Duma, when the court as well as the liberal circles were going through a paroxysm  of fright, the tzar wrote in his diary: “July 7. Friday. Very busy morning. Half hour late to breakfast with the officers  ... A storm came up and it was very muggy. We walked together. Received Goremykin. Signed a decree dissolving the Duma! Dined  with Olga and Petia. Read all evening.” An exclamation point after the coming dissolution of the Duma is the highest  expression of his emotions. The deputies of the dispersed Duma summoned the people to refuse to pay taxes. A series of military  uprisings followed: in Sveaborg, Kronstadt, on ships, in army units. The revolutionary terror against high officials was renewed  on an unheard-of scale. The tzar writes: “July 9. Sunday. It has happened! The Duma was closed today. At breakfast after  Mass long faces were noticeable among many ... The weather was fine. On our walk we met Uncle Misha who came over yesterday from  Gatchina. Was quietly busy until dinner and all evening. Went padding in a canoe.” It was in a canoe he went paddling  – that is told. But with what he was busy all evening is not indicated. So it was always.

And further in those same fatal days: “July 14. Got dressed and rode a bicycle to the bathing beach and bathed enjoyably  in the sea.” “July 15. Bathed twice. It was very hot. Only us two at dinner. A storm passed over.” “July  19. Bathed in the morning. Received at the farm. Uncle Vladimir and Chagin lunched with us.” An insurrection and explosions  of dynamite are barely touched upon with a single phrase, “Pretty doings!” – astonishing in its imperturbable  indifference, which never rose to conscious cynicism.

“At 9:30 in the morning we rode out to the Caspian regiment ... walked for a long time. The weather was wonderful.  Bathed in the sea. After tea received Lvov and Guchkov.” Not a word of the fact that this unexpected reception of the two  liberals was brought about by the attempt of Stolypin to include opposition leaders in his ministry. Prince Lvov, the future head  of the Provisional Government, said of that reception at the time: “I expected to see the sovereign stricken with grief,  but instead of that there came out to meet me a jolly sprightly fellow in a raspberry-coloured shirt.” The tzar’s  outlook was not broader than that of a minor police official – with this difference, that the latter would have a better  knowledge of reality and be less burdened with superstitions. The sole paper which Nicholas read for years, and from which he  derived his ideas, was a weekly published on state revenue by Prince Meshchersky, a vile, bribed journalist of the reactionary  bureaucratic clique, despised even in his own circle. The tzar kept his outlook unchanged through two wars and two revolutions.  Between his consciousness and events stood always that impenetrable medium – indifference. Nicholas was called, not without  foundation, a fatalist. It is only necessary to add that his fatalism was the exact opposite of an active belief in his  “star.” Nicholas indeed considered himself unlucky. His fatalism was only a form of passive self-defence against  historic evolution, and went hand in hand with an arbitrariness, trivial in psychological motivation, but monstrous in its  consequences.

“I wish it and therefore it must be —,” writes Count Witte. “That motto appeared in all the activities  of this weak ruler, who only through weakness did all the things which characterised his reign – a wholesale shedding of  more or less innocent blood, for the most part without aim.”

Nicholas is sometimes compared with his half-crazy great-great-grandfather Paul, who was strangled by a camarilla acting in  agreement with his own son, Alexander “the Blessed.” These two Romanovs were actually alike in their distrust of  everybody due to a distrust of themselves, their touchiness as of omnipotent nobodies, their feeling of abnegation, their  consciousness, as you might say, of being crowned pariahs. But Paul was incomparably more colourful; there was an element of  fancy in his rantings, however irresponsible. In his descendant everything was dim; there was not one sharp trait.

Nicholas was not only unstable, but treacherous. Flatterers called him a charmer, bewitcher, because of his gentle way with  the courtiers. But the tzar reserved his special caresses for just those officials whom he had decided to dismiss. Charmed beyond  measure at a reception, the minister would go home and find a letter requesting his resignation. That was a kind of revenge on  the tzar’s part for his own nonentity.

Nicholas recoiled in hostility before everything gifted and significant. He felt at ease only among completely mediocre and  brainless people, saintly fakers, holy men, to whom he did not have to look up. He had his amour propre, indeed it was  rather keen. But it was not active, not possessed of a grain of initiative, enviously defensive. He selected his ministers on a  principle of continual deterioration. Men of brain and character he summoned only in extreme situations when there was no other  way out, just as we call in a surgeon to save our lives. It was so with Witte, and afterwards with Stolypin. The tzar treated  both with ill-concealed hostility. As soon as the crisis had passed, he hastened to part with these counsellors who were too tall  for him. This selection operated so systematically that the president of the last Duma, Rodzianko, on the 7th of January 1917, with the revolution already knocking at the doors, ventured to say to the tzar: “Your  Majesty, there is not one reliable or honest man left around you; all the best men have been removed or have retired. There  remain only those of ill repute.”

All the efforts of the liberal bourgeoisie to find a common language with the court came to nothing. The tireless and noisy  Rodzianko tried to shake up the tzar with his reports, but in vain. The latter gave no answer either to argument or to impudence,  but quietly made ready to dissolve the Duma. Grand Duke Dmitri, a former favourite of the tzar, and future accomplice in the  murder of Rasputin, complained to his colleague, Prince Yussupov, that the tzar at headquarters was becoming every day more  indifferent to everything around him. In Dmitri’s opinion the tzar was being fed some kind of dope which had a benumbing  action upon his spiritual faculties. “Rumours went round,” writes the liberal historian Miliukov, “that this  condition of mental and moral apathy was sustained in the tzar by an increased use of alcohol.” This was all fancy or  exaggeration. The tzar had no need of narcotics: the fatal “dope” was in his blood. Its symptoms merely seemed  especially striking on the background of those great events of war and domestic crisis which led up to the revolution. Rasputin,  who was a psychologist, said briefly of the tzar that he “lacked insides.”

This dim, equable and “well-bred” man was cruel – not with the active cruelty of Ivan the Terrible or of  Peter, in the pursuit of historic aims – What had Nicholas the Second in common with them? – but with the cowardly  cruelty of the late born, frightened at his own doom. At the very dawn of his reign Nicholas praised the Phanagoritsy regiment as  “fine fellows” for shooting down workers. He always “read with satisfaction” how they flogged with whips  the bob-haired girl-students, or cracked the heads of defenceless people during Jewish pogroms. This crowned black sheep  gravitated with all his soul to the very dregs of society, the Black Hundred hooligans. He not only paid them generously from the  state treasury, but loved to chat with them about their exploits, and would pardon them when they accidentally got mixed up in  the murder of an opposition deputy. Witte, who stood at the head of the government during the putting down of the first  revolution, has written in his memoirs: “When news of the useless cruel antics of the chiefs of those detachments reached  the sovereign, they met with his approval, or in any case his defence.” In answer to the demand of the governor-general of  the Baltic States that he stop a certain lieutenant-captain, Richter, who was “executing on his own authority and without  trial non-resistant persons,” the tzar wrote on the report: “Ah, what a fine fellow!” Such encouragements are  innumerable. This “charmer,” without will, without aim, without imagination, was more awful than all the tyrants of  ancient and modern history.

The tzar was mightily under the influence of the tzarina, an influence which increased with the years and the difficulties.  Together they constituted a kind of unit – and that combination shows already to what an extent the personal, under  pressure of circumstances, is supplemented by the group. But first we must speak of the tzarina herself.

Maurice Paléologue, the French ambassador at Petrograd during the war, a refined psychologist for French academicians  and janitresses, offers a meticulously licked portrait of the last tzarina: “Moral restlessness, a chronic sadness,  infinite longing, intermittent ups and downs of strength, anguishing thoughts of the invisible other world, superstitions –  are not all these traits, so clearly apparent in the personality of the empress, the characteristic traits of the Russian  people?” Strange as it may seem, there is in this saccharine lie just a grain of truth. The Russian satirist Saltykov, with  some justification, called the ministers and governors from among the Baltic barons “Germans with a Russian soul.” It  is indubitable that aliens, in no way connected with the people, developed the most pure culture of the “genuine  Russian” administrator.

But why did the people repay with such open hatred a tzarina who, in the words of Paléologue, had so completely  assimilated their soul? The answer is simple. In order to justify her new situation, this German woman adopted with a kind of  cold fury all the traditions and nuances of Russian mediaevalism, the most meagre and crude of all mediaevalisms, in that very  period when the people were making mighty efforts to free themselves from it. This Hessian princess was literally possessed by  the demon of autocracy. Having risen from her rural corner to the heights of Byzantine despotism, she would not for anything take  a step down. In the orthodox religion she found a mysticism and a magic adapted to her new lot. She believed the more inflexibly  in her vocation, the more naked became the foulness of the old régime. With a strong character and a gift for dry and hard  exaltations, the tzarina supplemented the weak-willed tzar, ruling over him.

On March 17, 1916, a year before the revolution, when the tortured country was already writhing in the grip of defeat and  ruin, the tzarina wrote to her husband at military headquarters: “You must not give indulgences, a responsible ministry,  etc. ... or anything that they want. This must be your war and your peace, and the honour yours and our  fatherland’s, and not by any means the Duma’s. They have not the right to say a single word in these matters.”  This was at any rate a thoroughgoing programme. And it was in just this way that she always had the whip hand over the  continually vacillating tzar.

After Nicholas’ departure to the army in the capacity of fictitious commander-in-chief, the tzarina began openly to take  charge of internal affairs. The ministers came to her with reports as to a regent. She entered into a conspiracy with a small  camarilla against the Duma, against the ministers, against the staff-generals, against the whole world – to some extent  indeed against the tzar. On December 6, 1916, the tzarina wrote to the tzar: “... Once you have said that you want to keep  Protopopov, how does he (Premier Trepov) go against you? Bring down your first on the table. Don’t yield. Be the boss. Obey  your firm little wife and our Friend. Believe in us.” Again three days late: “You know you are right. Carry your head  high. Command Trepov to work with him ... Strike your fist on the table.” Those phrases sound as though they were made up,  but they are taken from authentic letters. Besides, you cannot make up things like that.

On December 13 the tzarina suggested to the tzar: “Anything but this responsible ministry about which everybody has gone  crazy. Everything is getting quiet and better, but people want to feel your hand. How long they have been saying to me, for whole  years, the same thing: ’Russia loves to feel the whip.’ That is their nature!” This orthodox Hessian,  with a Windsor upbringing and a Byzantine crown on her head, not only “incarnates” the Russian soul, but also  organically despises it. Their nature demands the whip – writes the Russian tzarina to the Russian tzar about the  Russian people, just two months and a half before the monarchy tips over into the abyss.

In contrast to her force of character, the intellectual force of the tzarina is not higher, but rather lower than her  husband’s. Even more than he, she craves the society of simpletons. The close and long-lasting friendship of the tzar and  tzarina with their lady-in-waiting Vyrubova gives a measure of the spiritual stature of this autocratic pair. Vyrubova has  described herself as a fool, and this is not modesty. Witte, to whom one cannot deny an accurate eye, characterised her as  “a most commonplace, stupid, Petersburg young lady, homely as a bubble in the biscuit dough.” In the society of this  person, with whom elderly officials, ambassadors and financiers obsequiously flirted, and who had just enough brains not to  forget about her own pockets, the tzar and tzarina would pass many hours, consulting her about affairs, corresponding with her  and about her. She was more influential than the State Duma, and even than the ministry.

But Vyrubova herself was only an instrument of “The Friend,” whose authority superseded all three. “... This  is my private opinion,” writes the tzarina to the tzar, “I will find out what our Friend thinks.” The  opinion of the “Friend” is not private, it decides. “... I am firm,” insists the tzarina a few weeks  later, “but listen to me, i.e. this means our Friend, and trust in everything ... I suffer for you as for a gentle  soft-hearted child – who needs guidance, but listens to bad counsellors, while a man sent by God is telling him what he  should do.”

The Friend sent by God was Gregory Rasputin.

“... The prayers and the help of our Friend – then all will be well.”

“If we did not have Him, all would have been over long ago. I am absolutely convinced of that.”

Throughout the whole reign of Nicholas and Alexandra soothsayers and hysterics were imported for the court not only from all  over Russia, but from other countries. Special official purveyors arose, who would gather around the momentary oracle, forming a  powerful Upper Chamber attached to the monarch. There was no lack of bigoted old women with the title of countess, nor of  functionaries weary of doing nothing, nor of financiers who had entire ministries in their hire. With a jealous eye on the  unchartered competition of mesmerists and sorcerers, the high priesthood of the Orthodox Church would hasten to pry their way  into the holy of holies of the intrigue. Witte called this ruling circle, against which he himself twice stubbed his toe,  “the leprous court camarilla.”

The more isolated the dynasty became, and the more unsheltered the autocrat felt, the more he needed some help from the other  world. Certain savages, in order to bring good weather, wave in the air a shingle on a string. The tzar and tzarina used shingles  for the greatest variety of purposes. In the tzar’s train there was a whole chapel full of large and small images, and all  sorts of fetiches, which were brought to bear, first against the Japanese, then against the German artillery.

The level of the court circle really had not changed much from generation to generation. Under Alexander II, called the  “Liberator,” the grand dukes had sincerely believed in house spirits and witches. Under Alexander III it was no  better, only quieter. The “leprous camarilla” had existed always, changed only its personnel and its method. Nicholas  II did not create, but inherited from his ancestors, this court atmosphere of savage mediaevalism. But the country during these  same decades had been changing, its problems growing more complex, its culture rising to a higher level. The court circle was  thus left far behind.

Although the monarchy did under compulsion make concessions to the new forces, nevertheless inwardly it completely failed to  become modernised. On the contrary it withdrew into itself. Its spirit of mediaevalism thickened under the pressure of hostility  and fear, until it acquired the character of a disgusting nightmare overhanging the country.

Towards November 1905 – that is, at the most critical moment of the first revolution – the tzar writes in his  diary: “We got acquainted with a man of God, Gregory, from the Tobolsk province.” That was Rasputin – a  Siberian peasant with a bald scar on his head, the result of a beating for horse-stealing. Put forward at an appropriate moment,  this “Man of God” soon found official helpers – or rather they found him – and thus was formed a new  ruling class which got a firm hold of the tzarina, and through her of the tzar.

From the winter of 1913-14 it was openly said in Petersburg society that all high appointments, posts and contracts depended  upon the Rasputin clique. The “Elder” himself gradually turned into a state institution. He was carefully guarded,  and no less carefully sought after by the competing ministers. Spies of the Police Department kept a diary of his life by hours,  and did not fail to report how on a visit to his home village of Pokrovsky he got into a drunken and bloody fight with his own  father on the street. On the same day that this happened – September 9, 1915 – Rasputin sent two friendly telegrams,  one to Tzarskoe Selo, to the tzarina, the other to headquarters to the tzar. In epic language the police spies registered from  day to day the revels of the Friend. “He returned today 5 o’clock in the morning completely drunk.” “On  the night of the 25-26th the actress V. spent the night with Rasputin.” “He arrived with  Princess D. (the wife of a gentleman of the bedchamber of the Tzar’s court) at the Hotel Astoria.”...And right beside  this: “Came home from Tzarskoe Selo about 11 o’clock in the evening.” “Rasputin came home with Princess  Sh- very drunk and together they went out immediately.” In the morning or evening of the following day a trip to Tzarskoe  Selo. To a sympathetic question from the spy as to why the Elder was thoughtful, the answer came: “Can’t decide  whether to convoke the Duma or not.” And then again: “He came home at 5 in the morning pretty drunk.” Thus for  months and years the melody was played on three keys: “Pretty drunk,” “Very drunk,” and “Completely  drunk.” These communications of state importance were brought together and countersigned by the general of gendarmes,  Gorbachev.

The bloom of Raputin’s influence lasted six years, the last years of the monarchy. “His life in Petrograd,”  says Prince Yussupov, who participated to some extent in that life, and afterward killed Rasputin, “became a continual  revel, the durnken debauch of a galley slave who had come into an unexpected fortune.” “I had at my  disposition,” wrote the president of the Duma, Rodzianko, “a whole mass of letters from mothers whose daughters had  been dishonoured by this insolent rake.” Nevertheless the Petrograd metropolitan, Pitirim, owed his position to Rasputin,  as also the almost illiterate Archbishop Varnava. The Procuror of the Holy Synod, Sabler, was long sustained by Rasputin; and  Premier Kokovtsev was removed at his wish, having refused to receive the “Elder.” Rasputin appointed Stürmer  President of the Council of Ministers, Protopopov Minister of the Interior, the new Procuror of the Synod, Raev, and many others.  The ambassador of the French republic, Paléologue, sought an interview with Rasputin, embraced him and cried,  “Voilà, un véritable illuminé!” hoping in this way to win the heart of the tzarina to the  cause of France. The Jew Simanovich, financial agent of the “Elder,” himself under the eye of the Secret Police as a  nightclub gambler and usurer – introduced into the Ministry of Justice through Rasputin the completely dishonest creature  Dobrovolsky.

“Keep by you the little list,” writes the tzarina to the tzar, in regard to new appointments. “Our friend  has asked that you talk all this over with Protopopov.” Two days later: “Our friend says that Stürmer may remain  a few days longer as President of the Council of Ministers.” And again: “Protopopov venerates our friend and will be  blessed.”

On one of those days when the police spies were counting up the number of bottles and women, the tzarina grieved in a letter  to the tzar: “They accuse Rasputin of kissing women, etc. Read the apostles; they kissed everybody as a form of  greeting.” This reference to the apostles would hardly convince the police spies. In another letter the tzarina goes still  farther. “During vespers I thought so much about our friend,” she writes, “how the Scribes and Pharisees are  persecuting Christ pretending that they are so perfect ... yes, in truth no man is a prophet in his own country.”

The comparison of Rasputin and Christ was customary in that circle, and by no means accidental. The alarm of the royal couple  before the menacing forces of history was too sharp to be satisfied with an impersonal God and the futile shadow of a Biblical  Christ. They needed a second coming of “the Son of Man.” In Rasputin the rejected and agonising monarchy found a  Christ in its own image.

“If there had been no Rasputin,” said Senator Tagantsev, a man of the old régime, “it would have been  necessary to invent one.” There is a good deal more in these words than their author imagined. If by the word  hooliganism we understand the extreme expression of those anti-social parasite elements at the bottom of society, we may  define Rasputinism as a crowned hooliganism at its very top.

[mateohurtadothings]

Rican Incantations: A Synthesis of Sonero Stardom and Caribbean Colorism in Joaquin Octavio’s staged reading of “ECUA JEI”

By: Mateo Hurtado 

“Cortijo had created a recipe with a taste, un bocaito for everyone, and isn’t that how we, as island people eat, with everything on the plate instead of separated into neat, American TV dinnerstyle compartments?”

-From “Ecua Jei! Ismael Rivera, El Sonero Mayor (A Personal Recollection)” by Aurora Flores

What happens when the joy of your upbringing, your becoming, transfers to a space that you think is rather removed from your roots? When you have that exhale that you sustain after winning dominó combined with smelling the arroz con gandules moments after its ready to eat, does time stop? Reaching tangentially at possible ways of understanding Rican existence but mostly cueing my (in)finite memories of growing up in Chicago as a freakin’ MexiRican, my experience last summer in NYC at Cherry Lane Theatre certainly stopped me in my tracks with my memorias. Featured in the reading series presented by the Dramatists Guild & Cherry Lane, Power Grid: A Festival of Puerto Rican Theatre Voices, was a performance piece que se llama Ecua Jei penned and helmed by San Juan based director-dramatist multihyphenate Joaquin Octavio.

The performance which I hesitate to place or position as a play as much as it encourages you to do so, follows the origins of iconic Salsero sensation, Ismael Rivera. Rivera being a Puerto Rican black individual desde Santurce who began working as a bricklayer then skyrocketed to international music acclaim as an improvisational Sonero star. Assuming the role of El Sonero Mayor was Mr. Volmar, Andres Waldemar Volmar, that is ; Modesto Lacén dived in as his right hand man and fellow sonero, Rafael Cortijo. Yet, equally as important as the two actors reifying the seminal Salsa figures, what certainly is as alive as the island (#tamobiencc: Bad Bunny) to consider in the staging of this story is the fierce ensemble combined with the otherworldly music direction from Desmar Guevara fused with percussions by Marcos Lopez & Camilo Molina. The band, the band, the band, the music, the sounds of being together and collective noise is what sang the song of this spontaneous Rican Incantation that night. As the actions, inactions, existential woes, cries for dear life and death echoed from character to character, the ghosts of substance abuse as well as colorism attacked the key players. Yet, to not conflate or polarize these power dynamics, it was partially through music and aesthetic intervention in tandem with reinvention that in the 1970’s “As far as Cortijo was concerned, it is the skill and precision of the indio and not the choice of arrow that hits the target. The bomba was now needed for a newer insurrection, a cultural one inclusive of both black pride and Boricua identity unifying the lighterskinned jíbaro with his black coastal cousin.” (Flores 66)

So what of this Sonero stardom and its persistent ability to surpass, to a certain extent, or at least combat caribeño colorism? What does it mean for (and pardon my lighterskinned jibaroness, I’ll check my bias at the door) this retelling of -Ismael Rivera’s claim, little bit of shame, then claim to fame shining as bright as possible- to be unearthed in this political moment? Perhaps this inkling to latch onto all-things-improvisational by nature is helping me make sense of what I experienced that night as an audience member, as a pseudo-perpetual-performer that evening. To specify, to hone in on this investigating, I want to take a closer look at both meanings of incantations; the first being “a series of words said as a magic spell or charm” followed by the second “the use of words as a magic spell”. QUIZAS, the Rican incantations in the space deflected, refused, and dare I say resisted (ugh) the opportunity for subjectivity in the confines of ONLY Theatre, a concert, words that always have meaning, a freestyle, a poem, a speech, a lovely gathering of minds and spirits with seldom worries about a fire hazard, a protest, a town hall meeting, an embodied manifesto. On the verge of 3 hours including an intermission, this glimpse, this window tan abierto with every smell you could hypothetically imagine was left wide open for all to look at and look with- a shared feeling, a shared sentimiento, a shared orgullo of Salsa, of Ricanness, of a place that’s not-yet-imagined, all left spread across your plate.

[thinkdragonage]

Elissa’s Journal - 1st Entry

[This is a bit rough, but I haven’t written and posted in so long, I feel compelled to share it. These entries might wind up comprising the next chapter, but for now I’ll post them one at a time here, just because... I haven’t written in so long and I’m desperate for attention :P But seriously, I’m just happy to be finally getting out of this writing block,even if it’s just a little bit.]

[In large writing, covering the top of the first page of a leather-bound journal.]

Diary of Elissa M. Cousland, Warden of the Grey, Rightful Teyrna of Highever, daughter of Teyrn Bryce Cousland (8:80 Blessed - 9:30 Dragon) and Teyrna Eleanor Cousland (8:85 Blessed - 9:30 Dragon).

I am the last remaining survivor to the great Fereldan House of Cousland. My parents perished, along with the Lady Oriana Cousland (9:03-9:30 Dragon) and her son and heir, Oren Cousland (9:25-9:30 Dragon), when Bann Howe (8:79 Blessed, and will die in 9:30 should the Maker guide my hand to retribution) diabolically murdered and betrayed his old friend, attacking Cousland Castle in the night, after our soldiers had departed. Fergus Cousland (9:03 - 9:30 Dragon) died in battle in the Korcari Wilds around the time of the Battle of Ostagar, presumably.

[The entry ends here. There are several pages torn from the journal, and then the writing begins again in the same script, with different ink.]

I had thought to record our travels and travails in an objective and complete fashion, omitting opinion where it was not warranted, and divulging only the important events and decisions. I have recorded our mission and goals, our objectives to meet at each of the locations we visited, and what was accomplished and was not.

However, it is of my fellow warden’s ([Alistair Theirin is crossed out, replaced by Warden Alistair, which is then again crossed out and replaced by simply ‘Alistair (9:10 Dragon).’]) opinion that my writing does not engage the reader’s interest. Whereas I held my objective and factual prose to be a benefit, Alistair informed me it was anything but, and that my factual rendition would do little good if “no one can stand to finish it.” 

I have given the matter some thought, as I feel a great reluctance to taint my recollection with subjective analysis and individual perspective. However, the point nevertheless remains. If my personal style is too dry and academic, it would behoove me to adapt one more accommodating of my reader’s limited attention span.

As such, I shall swallow my trepidation, and attempt to record here not just the details of events, but my personal opinions and situational analyses, in the hopes that including this somewhat irrelevant information will increase the likelihood of my work retaining its worth.

I have little wish to recollect the particulars of my early days as a warden. Suffice it to say that I came to the organization through great tragedy, but not, as I first suspected, through any sentiment of charity. Duncan recruited me from my dying father, knowing that I had no martial skills or experience. I was much too overcome with grief and fear to challenge this negotiation, and by the time I regained my senses, I had accepted the additional weight of another duty. Thus I began my career with twin missions: avenge my family, fight the Blight.

I had little sense of what it all meant at the time, of course. Overcome with grief as I was, it was a simple thing for Duncan to guide my mute form to Ostagar.

Others have no doubt told the tale of that fateful battle, and I’ll not weigh down this narrative with tactical details that have surely been thoroughly examined and discussed by everyone with the free will to form an opinion by now. I’ll say just this: Alistair and I survived.

We were, improbably though it seems, rescued by a figure out of legend--at least according to the subject in question. Flemeth, she claimed to be, and while this writer can not ascertain what truth may lie in this assertion, I nevertheless must conclude that the power dwelling inside this individual is no small thing. Indeed, we are not quite sure how the seemingly old woman collected us and transported us to her hut in the Korcari Wilds, but as I have no other explanation for how we wound up waking therein, I can offer no alternative explanation.

It proved fortuitous in any case, as the witch woman knew of the Grey Warden treaties we held, and in fact considered our quest so grave and important as to offer up her only daughter as our companion, to help guide us out of the wilds and lend us aid in battle. And so, Morrigan joined our party.

It was also in the Korcari Wilds that I forged the beginning of an alliance with my fellow Warden. We vowed to each other to not rest until we’d fulfilled the treaties and seen to our personal vendettas (him, to the traitor Loghain, whose betrayal cost us the victory at Ostagar and our young king’s life, and for me, of course, the despicable Howe).

From there, we set out to call upon the aid of Arl Eamon, who had served as Alistair’s guardian in his youth. We discovered a village in turmoil when we arrived. The Arl, we would come to discover, had been poisoned by agents of Loghain, while the townsfolk were plagued by a horde of undead monstrosities. With our help, as well as the cooperation of the Templars and mages of Kinloch Hold, we managed to quell the undead uprising, kill the demon and save the Arl’s young son. 

Our success required a brief sojourn to the Circle Tower, where Alistair and I discovered yet another calamity was taking place. A group of blood mages had staged an insurrection, and the resulting fighting had torn open the veil, infesting the tower with all manner of demons and undead. Unwilling to walk away from the Tower without meeting our objectives, I insisted that Alistair and I attempt what the Templars were afraid to: we entered the Tower, and discovered a few survivors that helped us re-establish order by finding and defeating the demons, blood mages, and possessed Templars. When we discovered the First Enchanter alive and rescued him, we were finally able to deliver our treaty and gain their alliance for our upcoming war. 

By the time we arrived in Denerim a few weeks later, we had acquired a few more travelers to our party, including an Antivan Crow named Zevran Arainai (birth, unknown, and was offended when I asked), a sister of the Chantry, Leliana (8:98 Blessed), a Qun warrior (birth, unknown) and two mages from the Circle Tower, Solona Amell (9:10 Dragon) and Wynne (8:?? Blessed). Having failed at reproducing an antidote, it occurred to me that our best strategy to procure one would be to steal the original back from Loghain.

It took several weeks to put the pieces in place, and during this time the Wardens (including now, Solona) set off to discover an ancient keep in the hopes of reclaiming it for our use. We discovered more than just history within its crumbling walls--there was another living Warden residing there still. The old mage had extended his lifespan through who knows what magical methodology. He provided us few solid answers… though the recipe for the Joining proved to be a useful one soon enough.

Whilst in Denerim, we aided a young elf by the name of Darrian Tabris (9:10-, presumed 9:30 Dragon) by uncovering and dismantling through force the illegal Tevinter slave operation taking place in the city’s alienage. Our work captured the attention of the city guard, who kept a few members of the party gainfully employed during our stay in the city.

Our planning culminated into a covert operation at the Howe estate. Though it pained me greatly, I held back my vengeance during the mission. Securing the antidote for Arl Eamon was my utmost priority--I did not have the luxury of being selfish. But, perhaps irrationally, I am optimistic that my vengeance will not remain unfulfilled for long. My reckoning with my vile enemy is inevitable… so long as I am patient, I’m confident I shall be rewarded.

Through great planning and no small sacrifice, we managed to procure a cure for the poison that afflicted the Arl, and sent a vial of the antidote back to Redcliffe, born by the witch woman Morrigan, who possesses the ability to shapeshift into various animals, including a raven.

We escaped Denerim, barely, and unfortunately… the Tabris elf did not make it. I’ll not spend ink relitigating my decisions here. As I said, no small sacrifice…

In any case, once Morrigan departed toward Redcliffe, the rest of the party (save the dwarves and my devoted mabari, Prince, who I sent on ahead) ventured into the Brecilian forest, seeking the Dalish. We bore a treaty to enlist their aid during a Blight, and it was our intention to see this treaty fulfilled. Unfortunately, in something of a pattern, the Dalish were besieged by their own troubles when we finally met them. A band of hostile werewolves had attacked the clan, cursing several of their tribe with an ancient magical affliction. Though the clan’s elder… the Keeper, as the Dalish refer to him… appeared reluctant to request our help, we committed to the cause of curing them, and thus embarked on a wild and unpredictable adventure in the forest.

We entered the woods seeking the heart of a monstrous wolf named Witherfang, as the clan’s Keeper (Name? birth?) intimated that it’s acquisition was key to reversing the curse. As it turned out, the situation was a bit more complicated than presented to us, and by the time we saw it’s resolution, both my partner and I succumbed to the lycanthropic curse.

I don’t think I can properly describe the surreal and painful experience of transforming into a werewolf… Alistair has a flair for the dramatic and would likely provide a more salacious account of that ordeal. Nevertheless, I will say this: it wasn’t just a transformation of bodies that took place in the forest. Our relationship transformed as well.

I find myself struggling to form the words to describe this series of events, for reasons that are quite personal in nature. However, I suspect this is just the information Alistair meant for me to include (no doubt so he can gain the pleasure of reading my complimentary comments about him once I’ve finished). But I think this entry has taken long enough, so Alistair, my dear, when you read this, I’ll be happy to demonstrate explicitly my feelings about our relationship, in lieu of a written explanation here. I hope that will suffice…

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #361

Top Ten Movies I Associate with my Wife

It’s my wife’s birthday this weekend. We’ve been seeing each other for over twenty years now, and married for nearly ten. I don’t want to get too soppy or personal up in this joint, but obviously all of that’s a big deal. And in that time, we’ve seen a lot of films together. And there are some films that, when I think of them, I instantly think of her, and of the circumstances of when and how we saw them.

And so – because I like talking about films a lot more than I like talking about, y’know, mushy personal stuff – here are ten films that always make me think of my wife. Fondly, I might add.

Happy birthday!

L.A. Confidential (1997): technically the first film we ever saw together, before we were a couple; the first time I ever met her was in the lobby of the cinema, which – now I think about it – is incredibly poetic.  Fun fact: my wife claims not to have known it was an 18-certificate film at the time we saw it; as we were both 15 in 1997, she blames me retroactively for sneaking her into a film underage.

Star Trek: Insurrection (1999): I’m pretty sure this is the first film we saw together as a couple, although it could have been Gus van Sant’s Psycho. I still have a lot of affection for this one, even if it is an extended episode of the TV series with surprisingly low stakes.

Meet Joe Black (1999): we went on a date to the old Middlesbrough Odeon to see this one, and the screening was full of rowdy teens running in the aisles and making wolf whistles at Brad Pitt. It kinda livened the film, to be honest, which is long and dull. This may have been the last time I ever went to the Odeon, which was the beloved cinema of my childhood.

The Sixth Sense (1999): the first proper classic of our relationship (Confidential coming a bit too early), we both adored this film. It was one of the first DVDs either of us got and we watched it again and again, often on our PCs (we both had DVD-ROM drives in our computers before we had standalone DVD players).

Being John Malkovich (1999): we saw this in London, in a tiny cinema in the West End. We both really wanted to see it, but – used to cheap prices at uni cinemas or up in Middlesbrough – we were shocked and appalled at having to pay a whopping £7.50 for a ticket, just to squint at a tiny screen. Still loved the film, though.

She’s All That (1999): we saw quite a few “teen romcoms” early in our relationship (and “teen horrors” too), but the two that stick out most are this one and Ten Things I Hate About You. Either could have made it, to be honest, and I'm not even going to pretend that Ten Things isn’t a far superior film. I don’t remember liking She’s All That very much at the time, but I remember it more strongly as a “date” movie (we might have even seen Ten Things on DVD), and the song “Kiss Me” from the soundtrack played an awful lot in the early years of our relationship.

Donnie Darko (2001): took a punt on this when it was showing at the Warwick Arts Centre when I was at uni; I thought it was a teen horror-type film (they were really in vogue then). The twisty, bonkers plot and vague E.T. references left us perplexed and delighted, and we had a long conversation about it in the bar afterwards.

The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001-2003): in a lot of ways, Rings defined our time in uni, even though the first one only came out part-way into our second years. I was a big fan of The Hobbit as a kid, and I knew the films were on their way even though I wasn’t familiar with the book; so we took it upon ourselves – her in Nottingham, me in Warwick – to read the book before the films came out. We’d chat about it over the phone, compare our various pronunciation experiments on words like “Nazgul” or “Isengard”, and await the films. That the three of them lived up to, or even exceeded, our expectations was incredible.

In Bruges (2008): this was one of those quirky little films that – it seemed – no one was really talking about but that we took to our hearts. By this point we were living together and had Cineworld Unlimited cards, going to the pictures every other week just to see what was on. In Bruges we both loved and thought was hilarious, and it inspired us to go to the real-life city of Bruges on a short break the following year.

Frozen (2013): this is when “reminds me of my wife” segues into “reminds me of my kids”. Frozen was the first film we ever took one of our own children to. It was a sing-a-long performance in a theatre, with actors on stage bookending the film and live renditions of songs including “Let it Go”. We took our eldest, who was about three at the time, whilst our youngest stayed home with her nanna. She was dressed up as Anna, in a costume that’s now too small for her little sister, and was rapt throughout.

So there you go. I don’t really like getting too autobiographical, especially when it touches on other people in my life, but it was fun to recollect my shared cinematic history. I definitely have a stronger association with films we saw in the early years of our relationship; perhaps back then it still felt like an event to go to the cinema together, whereas once we’d moved in together and had jobs and stuff, it was more about the film? I don’t know. We certainly saw a lot of films in the “Cineworld years” (post-uni, pre-kids) but they don’t linger in the subconscious as “relationship movies” quite as strongly. If you’re interested, however, films from that era that did stick out, and nearly made the list, include The Bourne Identity, Brick, Skyfall, Transformers: Dark of the Moon, Avatar, and Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol. Also bubbling under where both The Phantom Menace and The Last Jedi, for different reasons. We have a sort of tradition of going to see a bit epic movie in Imax over the Christmas break, whilst someone babysits the kids, and most recent Star Wars films have fit that bill, as did Avatar and the Hobbit trilogy; but I couldn’t quite settle on one film to represent that bunch, and we skipped the whole tradition last year as there were no big films out we fancied (I’m sure it’ll return this Christmas with Episode IX).

Anyway: I like my wife, I like going to the cinema, and I like it when the two things intermingle. Here’s to many more trips to the flicks.

[nofomoartworld]

Detroit’s Fiery Rebellion Gets Remembered as a Multimedia Art Series

In 2002, Detroit sound artist and producer Sterling Toles sat in his basement studio with his father and a digital recorder, having little idea what would come of it. "I just thought it would be interesting to hear him talking shit over a Marvin Gaye record," Toles tells Creators. "But then he said, 'Stop the music. Bring the mic closer. He shared his ongoing struggle with addiction and told me about a Molotov cocktail that was recently thrown inside his house. He went downstairs and his house was in flames."

Resurget Cineribus is Toles's new 67-minute, 19-track album on Sector 7-G Recordings, which he played live in Detroit on Monday, July 24 as part of People of the Infinite Fires , an art installation and performance series taking place through 28 outside the city's Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History, marking the dates of the Detroit Rebellion of 1967 that took place exactly 50 years prior.

Resurget Cineribus, Sterling Toles. Courtesy Sector 7-G Recordings and the artist

Named after an excerpt of Detroit's official motto adopted in 1805 ("We hope for better things; it shall rise from the ashes"), Resurget Cineribus weaves together audio excerpts from Toles's Dennis Edward Toles's recollections with soundbites from archival news reports covering the tumultuous events from '67 that took place as part of the revolt that raged on urban streets.

"At some point I realized that my father found his life up in flames, just as the city found itself in flames," says Toles. "It's like he was a living personification of the city, with his own version of 1967 happening inside of him. All of us are self-contained societies. Everything that happens socially, happens internally."

The Detroit Rebellion of 1967, also known as the Uprising of 1967, was an insurrection sparked by the anguish of inner-city poverty and institutionalized oppression — in particular, unjust and prejudicial treatment of the Black community. It resulted in forty-three deaths and hundreds of injuries over the course of five days. The event led to more than 7,000 arrests and destroyed more than 2,000 buildings. Similar episodes occurred in approximately one hundred cities across the States during the Civil Rights era, including in Newark, New Jersey, just a week prior.

Graphic for People of the Infinite Fires designed by Dan Demaggio. Courtesy Art as Ritual

People of the Infinite Fires is a project of Art as Ritual, a collaboration between artist and filmmaker Oren Goldenberg and Rev. Dr. William Danaher of Christ Church Cranbrook in Bloomfield Hills, MI. From July 23 through July 28, an interactive circle takes shape around a continuously burning fire altar fabricated by artist Ryan C. Doyle and adorned by Olayami Dabls of Dabls MBad African Bead Museum. It's the site for curated performances by local artists, such as Toles, as well as an open invitation to community members to participate in their own cathartic rituals.

"Memories divide as much as unite," writes Danaher in a statement regarding the project. "What makes a memory 'bad' or 'good' is not its content, but the way we carry it in our minds and bodies."

Wrestle, Billy Mark, 2016. Courtesy the artist

Amid continued crises in social and economic inequality across approximately 140 square miles of this large post-industrial city, the fact remains that Detroiters possess a widened spiritual and political consciousness, giving way daily to meaningful creative expressions of peace, healing and togetherness. People of the Infinite Fires begins at sunset on Sunday with a ceremony initiated by musicians Chi Amen Ra and The Aadizookaan. Interdisciplinary artist Billy Mark leads an improvised ritual on Thursday, July 27 exploring confession as a radical act.

"I was thinking about the powerful honesty of Alcoholics Anonymous," explains Mark, describing Confession by the Body. "At those meetings, people say incredibly vulnerable things in public. But what about the person who comes and doesn't say anything? What about the person who drives to the meeting, sits in their car, then drives home without entering the building? Those are all different forms of confession. On Thursday, if people want to explore confession as a verbal act, as a pilgrimage, or with a more hands-on, physical approach, there is an opportunity for them to hold space."

Visit People of the Infinite Fires for a complete schedule. The event is live-streaming in its entirety. Programs presented by the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History are listed on their website.

Related:

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[summerzs-blog]

Star Wars Female Fans

Star Wars Female Fans

The uniqueness of the female Star Wars, portrayed with a strong will in the male-dominated industry gives the young girls the enthusiasts to take life issues as the female star characters inspire them. Star Wars movies demonstrated that with the appropriate cast and director, in addition to the guts toward reevaluating the main outline and go drastically enormous. The Star Wars female characters are an inspiration and role model to the young female fans.

How Female Fans Made ‘Star Wars’ Their Own

       Some female fans come together to make their own Star Wars. Because they want to a form which is a women communication come together. The female fan wants Star Wars could revolve around women. On some social media, fans wrote a post which is “Why does the father have to be the scientist.” ( Johnamarie Macias, Web) It means not just male could be a scientist, the female also could do that. Recently, they posted some opinions on social media to talk about few female character in the film, so more and more writers started to write a story with a female character. Many such minor “Star Wars” characters were multiplied to greater prominence way to their woman admirers. on these sites, it’s now not all Leila. Women can be underrepresented inside the “Star Wars” films, however, the universe is so huge that woman lovers were able to scrape together enough cloth to work with.

 Female Star Wars Fans: Strong with the force.

I always think what it means to female fans about Star Wars. I did some research it shows that 501st Legion become out in 1998 and there were so many costumes; however, there were just three women. It is less than 25%. But Until Star Wars female fans want to have a more female character in the film and they post their idea on social media. Many writer and company noticed it. We started to have the film with main female character not just like “girlfriend” it is a superhero character in the film. I think this change gives female kids more understanding how female live in this society, and they could have braver to do “male’s job” in the future.

LGBT “Star Wars” Characters

 Beyond female characters in Star Wars itself, it’s occasionally difficult to be a woman fan of famous person wears out on the planet. I realize that it is a little bit weird once I wear my Star Wars shirts. I also need to mention not just for female, just a few year ago, in Star Wars there are no gay, homosexual characters show up. Because of this situation, it gives more pressure to LGBT person. Star Wars influence bunch of young people and they have to show they treat people all equity. I like this movie and I want it could influence more people through the media.

The Strong Women of Star Wars

    Fighting the empire does not go away lots of time for small communicate. however, the girls of the “Star Wars” universe manipulate to skip the Bechdel test, which examines how often female characters talk with each other approximately anything apart from a person. and with “Rogue one” (Dec. sixteen), the primary standby myself tale within the film series, a lady is at the coronary heart of a brand new insurrection task.

Because of this strong female character, kids could study a lot from it about equity. For me, if I am not doing this research I could not realize most of the films is a male character. I already accept is inequity gradually and unwittingly. Star Wars, not just a movie for male, female also likes it and want a female character to be a hero in there.

       .   Female character in films

           Sly Moore is another comic character who featured in the “Attack of the Clones” and played an administrative assistance to the emperor. Her political influence is the comic movie alongside the emperor is a clear vision of how the women are portrayed is equals to men in the contemporary society. Be that as it may, in a fantastic tale, this sort of advance does not need to be incremental. Including more ladies in group scenes and as foundation characters, even a little rate, is a simple approach to include different qualities. Rogue one tried, however, it’s as yet making baby strides, displaying Sly and Mothma as anomalies in a planet essentially inhabited by men (Staff, 52).

            Zam is a female bounty hunter among the male hunters in the star war movie “Attack of the Clones.” She is one of the fastest in her group; however, she is unable to finish most of her calls. Her speed and classy gadgets is an example of the young lady fans that even girls can handle duties perceived to the male calls and still look good at the same time. Zam’s mother, Lyra, presents her a gem. Not only a remembrance to recollect her with, but it is also additionally what controls radiance sabers as well as the weapons on Death Star. Zam is one of two human characters who show up in CGI frame in the motion picture, depicting a form of performing artist Carrie Fisher at the age she was when taping Star Wars

                       Numa is portrayed as a helper who frees the world. Despite her being young and small size, her courage and strength are seen as she facilitates the freedom of the republic from the droid army. She is an inspiration to the young ladies, giving them the courage to face the world. She is helpful with a blaster or, when essential, a slave chain, so one speculates that had Obi-Wan gave her a lightsaber and sent her after Vader, the adventure would have wrapped up by Cloud City. She’s treated with precisely the perfect measure of veneration in the new set of three.        

           Female enthusiasts of the establishment had one unique female character to stick to, Princess Leia Organa, who first scenes include her anticipating salvage, in the long run, turns into the paste holding the Rebellion together. It’s quite simple to infer that Organa was the main lady left in the universe. Later motion pictures endeavored to add Organa’s mother Padme Amidala towards the rundown at the same time, in spite of being a powerful congressperson and skilled negotiator, Amidala’s vital capacity was to wed the person who progressed toward becoming Darth Vader, then fantastic bringing forth the Skywalker twins (Horstmann et al., 28).

           Aurra is a star war female warrior whole art of assassination is perfected. She heads most of the war, and she is also a leader and mentor to the bounty hunters Boba as seen in the movie Attack of Clones. Her leadership role is an inspiration to the young ladies who want to be leaders in the community. It is a decent film that would most likely not have been as energizing had it not occurred in the Star Wars universe (Kim, 39). Without that critical scenery and mythology, it could have been whatever other nonspecific activity motion picture. There were some incredible minutes and remarkable enhancements, great activity and even some incredibly amusing trades and gestures to preceding movies. In any case, these significant minutes aside, Rogue One remains my slightest most loved of the non-prequel films, and its weaknesses uncover so profoundly missed potential. Be that as it may, the possibility that female characters could accomplish more than getting caught, conceive an offspring, or bite the dust appeared to be excessively for some male fans.

          According to these female characters, it shows that female has a big influence in the society, so not only we teach everyone to treat everyone to be equity, the social media also has to do something to keep gender equal. After more films have female characters, more female fans could talk more about their identity.

               WORK CITED

Bain, Robert. “Hollywood’s best supporting actors." Significance 14.1 (2017): 14-17.

How Female Fans Made “Star Wars “Their Own. Amanda Hess, Nov.3, 2016

Fans+ Community, April 4, 2013, http://www.starwars.com/news/female-star-wars-fans-strong-with-the-force

Phil Owen, March 10, 2016,   http://www.thewrap.com/lgbt-star-wars-characters-a-brief-history/

George Gene Gustines, the New York Time, Nov 3, 2016

Dixon, Wheeler Winston. "“Service Providers”: Genre Cinema in the 21st Century." Quarterly      Review of Film and Video (2017): 1-11.

Horstmann, Kaitee, et al. "Gateway (November 2016).” (2016).

Kim, DaEun. “Geoengineering." Ethical Ripples of Creativity and Innovation. Palgrave       Macmillan UK, 2016. 37-44.

Staff, Rose Thorn. "Volume 52-Issue 13-Monday, January 16, 2017.” (2017).

[snidgetwidgeon]

Insurrection Recollections Series: Clandestine Research

After Zelda's father orders her to give up her research, Zelda and Purah hatch a plan. The only way it will succeed is if Link intervenes.

~~~

The day after her father told her she could no longer waste her time by playing the scholar, Zelda was issued an official written directive via castle courier as if she were one of his subordinates. She was livid. It instructed her to relinquish all of her ancient technology artefacts and materials to the Tech Lab by the end of the week. Oh how considerate of him to give me some time to sort out my busy schedule! She tore the missive to pieces and threw it in the fireplace.

Fine. She would do it post haste to the detriment of everything else she had going on. Studies with her economy instructor? Nope, she had a directive. Receiving the latest visiting dignitary in court that evening? Nope, she had a directive from the King. A fruitless visit to the Spring of Power to perform devotions that brought her nothing but scorn from her own people? Thank Nayru she had a Goddess damned directive from her father that allowed her to avoid the very thing she no longer wanted to do anyway!

Link looked on as Princess Zelda stomped back and forth between her room and study, forgetting things in her state and then becoming even more upset. He had offered his help but she refused so he stood watch on the bridge. The best he could do was stay out of her way and be available at a moment’s notice.

When she finally got to her journal, having left it for last, she closed the door to her study to have a moment of privacy. As she re-read some of the pages detailing her adventures into archaeology, she thought about how they were merely notes and should not be subject to the purge. She decided to keep it.

Emerging from her study with a resolve that Link could see was strained at best, Zelda nodded to him that she was ready to leave. He hailed an available attendant and they assisted in carrying items down to the stables. Even with Zelda insisting on carrying some things herself, the attendant would need to make one more trip and grab another person along the way.

While the rest was being collected, Zelda and Link saddled up the horses in silence. To anyone else, this would seem no different from the early days of their time together when she resented him and their silence was cold and strained. Now it was a companionable silence. He caught her looking at him over her horse’s back as she was tightening her straps. He smiled.

She felt a flush and a sudden need to make an excuse. “You always have such a way with horses...” She then ducked behind hers and pretended to do something else.

Between their mounts and a third mare carrying normal travel supplies, they were able to take everything. Zelda also wore a satchel on her back with a few of the more delicate items. As they made their way through the grounds, Link steered his horse around slightly, indicating down the path that led to the docks and asked, “Shall we take the ferry?”

“No, thank you.” She looked straight ahead with her nose stuck figuratively up toward her father as she passed him. “I would like to make this trip last as long as possible if you don’t mind.”

~~~

They arrived in the evening, just in time for dinner. Zelda and Link had agreed on the way there that she could have a night of normalcy. While she went in, he attended the horses and unloaded everything, stacking it in a tidy pile just inside the workshop to be dealt with in the morning. He then joined the others, received a heaping serve of beef curry and proceeded to keep mostly to himself as he was wont to do in large social gatherings. 

He watched Zelda closely, but not obviously, and noticed how very bittersweet it all was for her. She would no doubt be wishing it could be like any other visit. She laughed and carried on with the others, sharing how well the trials at the castle had gone the previous day. But he could see it. Any small moment where she wasn’t engaged with someone, her face fell and the light was gone from her eyes. When Purah noticed and asked if she was alright, she easily brushed it off by saying she was just tired from her busy schedule and a full day of travel.

The following morning, Link was in tow when Zelda entered Purah’s messy workspace with the Sheikah Slate. They had already seen to the items in the workshop, making sure they were distributed to the proper places around the Lab.

“Good morning, good morning! You’re just in time- oh, I’m so glad you brought the Slate. I meant to send word that you should come by the Lab soon so I could use it, but you must have read my mind because here you are; and I completely forgot to send the word.” She put her arm around Zelda’s shoulders and guided her to the large stone in the middle of the room, “Come, I want you to look at this and tell me what you think.”

Zelda let herself be dragged over but instead of looking at the stone, she sort of glazed over in an effort to shield herself from more pain. “Purah, I must apologize.”

“What for? Give it a second, I didn’t expect you to figure it out right away, silly.”

“No, I mean- I should have told you first thing last night.” She handed the Sheikah Slate to Purah who took it with brows furrowed in concern but also remained quiet to listen to her friend.

“Father has ordered me to focus all of my attention on my training. I’m- I can no longer assist the research team. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I just... kind of wanted to pretend it didn’t happen for as long as I could.”

“Oh, Zelly, no. It’s ok.” Purah gave her a quick but sincere hug before going off. “Din’s balls, this is the pits! I’ll be lodging a formal complaint- you watch me- he can’t take away one of my best researchers.” She waved the Slate around dramatically. “Now I’m going to have to find a new translator; who does he think he is!?”

Zelda started giggling. As always, Purah’s infectious energy and earnestness made her feel a bit less crap when she was down. “The King,” Zelda’s giggling evolved into open laughter. ”He’s the King, Purah.”

Purah just pushed up her glasses and said matter-of-factly, “Well... King or no King, he’s acting like a fool.”

Link smiled from his post across the room thinking about how he couldn’t agree more. The day before yesterday on the bridge he had questioned if his oath to protect the Princess extended to defending her from the King himself.

“Were you leaving today?” Purah asked, but didn’t let Zelda answer and kept talking, “You’re not leaving today. I need your help with something and you aren’t officially done until you leave, you hear? Come with me.” She strode out of her office on a mission.

Zelda smiled after her and then looked at Link with a raised brow asking- not for his approval, but more his opinion. He merely shrugged and gestured that she should follow the woman.

Over the course of the day Link observed their antics and found moments to opportunistically disappear when it looked like they were going to need a person for some sort of trial. That night, some celebrations ramped up as Purah decided to throw a gratitude party to thank Zelda for all that she had contributed. Link thought that idea was pretty smart, making it look like Zelda’s choice to take on other important tasks. This way, she could leave with her head held high, at least until she was out of sight.

About mid morning the following day, Link got the horses ready for the return home and then realized he may have been a bit preemptive when he went to collect Zelda. She and Purah looked at him like startled foxes when he entered Purah’s office and they proceeded to finish their conversation in hushed voices.

Perhaps Zelda wanted to stay on longer? Then Purah spoke normally again and handed Zelda a book. “So, if you could just take that one back to my room, that would be great.”

Zelda nodded and said nonchalantly, “No problem.”

As she walked out, Link started to follow, but Purah exclaimed, “Oh, Link! Could you help me carry these?” She grinned, “Please?”

“Um, sure. What is it?” he asked when he didn’t see anything specific that she was asking about.

“Just a sec!” Her eyes darted around and she grabbed a box that already had a few guardian pieces in it which she proceeded to unceremoniously dump in the middle of the floor. She then flitted around the room grabbing random items to throw in the box that she needed ‘help’ carrying.

He wandered over to the second story window to check on the horses outside while he waited to see how- whatever it was that she was up to- played out. He didn’t have to wait long at all as he noticed Zelda, distinctly not in Purah’s room, and still holding onto that book. He immediately knew what it was. Ancient contraband.

She approached her white horse and gave it a scratch as she went to place the book in her saddlebags. As she lifted the flap she hesitated for a moment. He smirked as she went over to his horse instead and buried the book into his saddle bag. Clever, but not clever enough. If she was worried that her father might go as far as to search her things when she returned, then he was not going to take the chance that they wouldn’t do the same to him. He’d have to hide it better later.

“Right! So... this stuff here. Could you please take it downstairs?” Purah requested with another cheesy grin.

He balked a little at everything sticking out of it. She couldn’t at least have made her distraction easy? He gave a little sigh, “No problem.”

~~~

That night as Zelda slept by the campfire, Link snuck over to the horses and quietly dug through his saddle bag for the book. She tucked it right at the bottom under the other book he generally kept with him in case he ever had time to kill. He looked back over to her sleeping form and surreptitiously stuck it behind his back just inside the waistband of his trousers, then tightened his belt over it a bit. Sleep would be a bit less comfortable and he’d have to wear his cloak over it even if he got warm tomorrow, but that should do the trick.

When they arrived back home, Link clocked that their approach was noticed with a bit more interest than usual. Zelda may not have been wrong in her suspicions regarding her father; the King was becoming more stressed and paranoid by the day.

They were met at the West gatehouse by a young castle guard who looked nervous. “Many pardons Princess Zelda, but we have instructions to check your cargo.”

She kept her calm and said coldly, “Do as you will.”

Another guard approached to help and she felt her ire rise as they rummaged through her things right next to her. She didn’t bother hiding her withering stare. She wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

Once they were satisfied, the guard bowed. “My apologies, Princess.”

“Indeed.” She then clicked for her horse to continue and went no more than two steps before she heard the guard behind her ask for Link to please remain still for a search as well. Her stomach sank and she twisted around in her saddle before pulling her mount up sideways. Outwardly, she appeared to just be waiting for her Knight Attendant. Link appeared entirely unfazed, and why wouldn’t he? He didn’t know that she’d foolishly set him up to be punished.

Her eyes darted back and forth between the guards, then stared sharply at the one that took out a book. He turned it over and opened it to a random page in the middle before nodding to Link and placing it back in his bag. “Our apologies, Sir Link. Please enjoy the rest of your day.” They crossed an arm across their chest and nodded.

Link came to join her as she continued a few more steps before she stopped awkwardly. Her mind was racing. Did it get lost!? She gave a harried look at Link who returned it with a head tilt of curiosity. Did he find it and throw it out!? She couldn’t act on any of her agonizing questions!

“On second thought,” she called after the guards, “You may take the horses to the stables. Please have my things delivered and report to my father that I will be resting from today’s journey and will not be disturbed.” She dismounted, continuing out of the gatehouse on foot. Link followed suit.

As she went up the steps leading to the courtyard below her quarters, she was afraid to say anything with patrolling guards so near. She finally stomped up the stairs to her room in a frenzied state. That book was important! How was she going to find out about what happened to it without being seriously reprimanded from going against her father’s will?

She practically forgot Link was behind her and before she entered her room, he said in a hushed tone, “The next time you need me to hide something for you,” he pulled the book out from under his tunic behind his back, “it might be better that I’m actually involved.”

She looked down at it and her eyes widened before snapping back up to his smug face. It quickly turned into one of shock as she grabbed him by the front of his tunic and pulled him in. After riding the highest levels of stress, fear of discovery, and relief all in the span of a few minutes, she latched onto him in a tight hug without a second thought. “Thank Hylia, you have it! First I thought I was fine, then I thought I’d- and you would be punished for sure as well, and then I thought it was lost somehow-” she had pulled away at this point, “but how could it be? I hid it at the very bottom.”

Link watched her nervous rambling with a rather judgmental, yet amused expression.  

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He held his hands up, book still in one, as if to accept defeat to a potential argument that hadn’t even started.

“I didn’t think that they would bother to search you.” She stopped herself as she noticed her old habit of deflecting fault was rearing its ugly head. She had vowed to be better since he saved her life in the desert and right now, that meant an apology was probably due.

She sighed, “I’m sorry, Link. I should have trusted you. I guess I just thought that you wouldn’t approve or... may have stopped me.”

“Have you met you?” he asked rhetorically as he handed the book over.

She copped his joke and pressed her lips together hard so she wouldn’t laugh on principle, but her belly bounced a little  in a silent chortle anyway. Once she regained her composure her brows knitted and she enquired, “But why didn’t you just tell me you knew before we got back? You could have-” her mouth gaped as she gasped in realization. “You were getting back at me for not telling you!?”

“I did think I was owed a tiny bit of payback for being an unknowing accomplice in smuggling your ancient contraband.”

“Well... I...” She became flustered in her defeat.

He hadn’t meant to actually make her feel bad so he smiled. “It’s ok. I’m on your side so just tell me next time you need help.”

He probably thought that was just a nice thing to say but his genuine declaration of support struck right to the base of her core. The oaths that they had taken at the beginning of this colossal mess had meant nothing to her back then, but through the eventual development of their friendship, she discovered that those ties now carried weight; and though she still felt useless for the coming trial, she respected their bond more than ever. And he did too. Urbosa and Impa were the only other people whom she felt truly knew her. Now she had another, and she felt blessed that he was always by her side.

Blinking away her hard stare at his words, she came back to herself and said, “Alright then. Since you’re now in on this, you can be my mule.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m Purah’s best translator so I’ll need you to feed any potential discoveries to Impa. If she’s away you can take them to Robbie. He’ll still be here for a while yet working on the Guardians.”

She continued nattering on, the way she did when she seemed to speak more to herself than to another person, while she sat down with the book at her desk and started to flip through the pages. “I’ll be starting right away. I’ve actually been dying to dive in. Did you want to stay until I get something ready or do you have things you need to do?”

When she looked back at him he had an unspoken expectation on his face which she proceeded to misread. “It’s quite alright if you have things to take care of, I’m sure I’ll be a while yet before I have- oh! You mean,” she smiled sheepishly and then cleared her throat. “Sorry. Sir Link, do you consent?”

The way she asked had him closing his eyes and shaking his head in amusement.

“No?”

“No- I mean, yes, Princess, you have my consent.” He bowed eloquently. “I’ll return later when you might have something for me.”

“Thank you.”  

He opened the door to leave and she added, “And thank you for...”

He stopped and looked back.

“For being on my side,” she finished.

He nodded and went.

She sat for a few moments looking at where he’d just been, a tingle running through all of her limbs in a wave, causing goosebumps.

~~~

There had been a few things of interest that she sent to Purah via Link’s underground network. Thankfully, she had kept many detailed notes about how to translate ancient Sheikah text. She always was a good note taker. Her very own research journal was an invaluable resource that she had justifiably not been made to give up. Her father must have either thought she couldn’t do much with it or didn’t want to go to such an extent to violate her personal belongings after he took the only thing that was bringing her any joy.

She was out at her study tower again, working on it at a time she was not likely to be disturbed- but even if she were, Link was on duty outside. She came across a passage on underground structures and thought she was finally on track to learning where the pillars were. If only they could be located, the research team would supposedly be able to harness many more Guardians, not just the ones that had been dug up. These ones were properly stored and ready for when the Calamity struck.

With her potential conclusion on the material of the passage being under such a bias, she kept getting stuck. The page wasn’t making sense as it stated the pillars were all over Hyrule; but she knew them to be under the castle.

She read on about something pertaining to activation of the network, or that everything was connected, or... something. Her eyes were getting tired and she felt a brain melt coming on. If only she had more points of reference. She pined after the Slate. In its absence, all she had left was the library and she couldn’t risk going there without being watched. She started to lean back in her chair and zone out at her wall in abject defeat when she noticed a doodle. It was a less detailed, but accurate copy of the tapestry in Impa’s office.

Just as she began to think she wouldn’t glean anything from a picture she’d looked at a thousand times, she noticed the pillars framing the castle. There were also a few of the same at the bottom, and one in each quadrant... all around Hyrule. But the others wouldn’t be the pillars. They look like towers.

She sat up straight and began to re-read the translation. If she thought of them as towers, and there was some sort of connection between them- but where were they? She’d practically been all over the kingdom and had never seen such a structure. Perhaps buried, like the pillars!

With newly invigorated passion, she stood and stretched, then crossed the small circular room to the door. Opening it part way, she saw Link standing at ease and then turning to regard her.

“Sir Link? I believe I am in dire need of a hot chocolate in order to continue performing at the best of my abilities. Could you please send for one?”

He smiled knowingly and dipped his head in kind before leaving to find an attendant or a less strictly positioned guard to pass on the request.

“Oh, and please get one for yourself! If you want to,” she added.

He waved behind him to acknowledge he’d heard.

She closed the door and looked over at the materials on her desk and the drawing of the tapestry. She felt there was something potentially big here. If so, she wanted so badly to find a way to tell Impa or Purah herself. She thought of the devotions she had looming in a few hours time. They were now most of her days and she felt more like a helpless failure than ever before. She couldn’t bear the thought of never being able to share in discoveries again. She would wait until she could see them somehow. At least then she would have some joy.

[snidgetwidgeon]

Insurrection Recollections Series: Royal Etiquette & Funding

Zelda sighed and began distracting herself with the clouds rolling by through the large windows of the Reception Hall. About a quarter of the size of the Great Hall, it was filled with amenities for entertaining delegates, courtiers, and their guests. At ten in the morning on Mondays, however- when nothing social was ever scheduled- Governess Beatrice utilized the space to teach young ladies from the upper and middle classes in Castle Town, as well as the noble families across Hyrule, about etiquette. She was currently standing at the head of the table, which was draped decoratively in neutral linens, and decked out with just about every dish, glass and piece of silverware one could imagine; including those that featured on the tables of all the races in Hyrule. Eye-catching pops of color were provided by the matching table runner and napkins, all in complementary shades of red, but to Zelda, it seemed frilly and way over the top.

Governess Beatrice must have known, or planned herself what the display was going to look like today, because she matched it perfectly. She wore a deep crimson gown over a cream chemise with long sleeves trailing from her elbow. In her hand, she held a fan which Zelda could swear was permanently attached to her body if it weren’t for the fact that it always changed to align with her elaborate ensembles. She was also partial to big hair and small hats.

As she droned on, Zelda went further into her daydream and thought she could see the Royal Crest in the clouds. Perhaps it was a sign from Hylia. Maybe if she prayed now, the power would come to her. What if she didn’t even need her robe, heirloom jewelry, or to be penitent before Hylia’s statue? Maybe she just needed to be open to celestial signs in the clouds. She clasped her hands under the table and moved her lips silently in prayer, eyes locked on the crest that had already begun to morph out of shape.

“Princess Zelda? Princess, may I have your attention please?” After no answer, Beatrice smacked her fan on the edge of the table. “Princess Zelda! Pray tell, what is so important that you are ignoring my class?”

Zelda snapped out of her focus and looked sadly at her instructor, “I thought I had received a sign from the Goddess.” She looked down at her hands, “But she has not answered my prayer.”

Beatrice was taken aback, reprimands dying on her tongue. “I see.” She did feel somewhat sympathetic, though still frustrated. When Zelda had first joined her classes, she been instructed to allow the Princess to seek the divine if she felt naturally inclined. After recalling the directive, Beatrice opened the fan with the flick of her wrist and offered graciously, “Perhaps your Highness would like to retire to the chapel to continue communing with Hylia?”

Zelda closed her eyes and nodded wistfully.

“Very well then, you may be excused.” Beatrice clipped.

Zelda stood and elegantly held her hands in front of her the way she knew Governess Beatrice liked. When she stepped away from the table, an attendant skillfully blending into the wall nearby, approached to push her vacated chair back in. They immediately returned to their position of observation.

Before she made her way out, she made a request. “Governess Beatrice, could Lady Agitha please accompany me?”

The two were inseparable, Beatrice noted, and the lesson was nearly done so she couldn’t see too much harm in it. “Lady Agitha, you may join the Princess. I expect you both to be diligent and learn from your peers what you’ve missed. Perhaps you can invite some of them to tea before Thursday.”

Agitha had leapt from her chair and practically scurried over to Zelda. She hadn’t yet grasped the finer points of subversion.

Beatrice clapped her hands, “Ah, ah! Girls... decorum.”

Zelda gave Agitha a look to ‘cut-it-out’ and took her friend’s arm in her own. They departed, Zelda’s steady steps guiding Agitha’s giddy ones.

~~~

It had been a few months of constant tedium and Zelda found that she could not always sealshit her way out of it. Twice a week, they learned how to speak, walk, stand, sit, breath, and exist as a lady. If it had to be done, there was a proper way to do everything, even blow your nose. But no one ever dared break wind. As far as Governess Beatrice was concerned, ladies did not poot.

Zelda’s eleventh birthday was approaching and Beatrice was using the event as a reason for the girls to begin perfecting their curtsies. First, they began by learning basic form. Once the general sweep of the leg, the dip of the head, and suspension of the arm was well practiced, she started to demonstrate the different levels one observed for varying degrees of rank. Zelda had been exposed to this all her life but Governess Beatrice was exceptionally exacting and expected nothing less than perfect preciseness. She thought of attempting escape again but she’d already done it twice this month. Anything more would surely attract suspicion.

Just as she started to feel a brain melt coming on after the fiftieth-odd curtsy, the Governess called an end to their lesson for that day. She entreated them to practice before later in the week when they would continue, and her excitement was practically terrifying when she announced they’d be presented with a varied wardrobe to study with. The morning was sure to be overflowing with petticoats, laces and frills.

Zelda wondered if she could play sick, or hide in the library. She much preferred it there, and recently she had managed to make a friend with an acquaintance of the Head Librarian Laslin. Her name was Impa and she had come to Castle Town recently with her older sister from Kakariko Village up in the Necluda mountains. They were here to research Ancient Sheikah Technology and were apparently already well informed on the subject. Zelda didn’t know much beyond the fact that the Astral Observatory was Sheikah. She adored that part of the castle and held dear a few faint, but very warm memories of her mother teaching her about the constellations.

“I’ll say it one more time ladies. You’d do well to practice on your own because we will be staying on this until you have all transformed into elegant herons.” She finished in the sing song voice that she thought made her seem nice, but really just grated on everyone’s nerves.

Zelda’s legs were so sore the following week after the extra curtsy lessons that it reminded her of the time she had tried ballet. The stiffness of her thighs made everything difficult, even using the lavatory; especially in her court dress. She smoothed the skirts and made sure everything was back in place before returning to the high tea being held in the courtyards. She was hoping she could get away with doing nothing more than sit and look pleasant for the rest of the afternoon, but just as she made herself comfortable under the pavilion, Governess Beatrice announced that they would be taking a stroll through the gardens.

Zelda sighed and rolled her eyes, which her friend Agitha had seen and giggled. She came to join Zelda as the sore Princess got up again and took her arm. “It’s better if you keep walking around you know,” she imparted as if she was full of infinite wisdom.

“How do you know that?” Zelda asked skeptically.

“Because my older brother told me. He goes on lots of adventures.” She paused as they both received parasols upon entry to the gardens, and ignored Beatrice’s spiel extolling the virtues of parasols. “He gets to do all the fun things with father while I have to stay here ‘because it’s tradition’,” she quoted her mother in a mocking voice.

“I thought brothers were no-good troublemakers.” Zelda stated with an air of query.

“Mine’s ok... most of the time.” Agitha laughed at her own joke while Zelda smiled, then continued, “When we’re both at home he helps me to find the best bugs.”

Zelda halted in shock and pulled Agitha to the side of the path so the other girls could pass. She whispered excitedly, “You like hunting for bugs!?”

Agitha dropped her parasol over their heads to whisper back, “I have a collection! I haven’t been able to add to it for a while though. Too much lady stuff to do,” she spat out with a scrunched face.

“I know the best rocks to look under, follow me!”

They were suddenly a flurry of giggles disappearing around the corner of a hedged bush. The other girls rolled their eyes and the teacher’s pet of the bunch took it upon herself to go and inform the Governess that there had been a break of rank in there very serious garden stroll.

Zelda dropped her parasol to the ground carelessly when they arrived in her old hunting grounds. There was a garden bed separated from the gravel path by a curved line of medium sized stones. She dropped to her knees and began turning them over one by one, inspecting the microcosm under each. Agitha joined her on the ground after folding and leaning her parasol against a bush with slightly more decorum, but once she was into the bugs, all sense of propriety was forgotten. They dirtied their dresses in the upturned soil and Agitha stood back up to hold out a layer of her skirts to make a receptacle. She directed Zelda which bugs to throw in and they devolved into fits of giggles as they rediscovered one of their beloved childhood activities. When they were found, Governess Beatrice was beside herself at their display of unladylike behavior.

All the other girls had followed to see what the commotion was about and were entertained beyond measure that the Princess of Hyrule was in trouble. They stood in their pristine, high tea finery, with slightly agape mouths hidden by dainty gloved fingers.

“Lady Agitha! Princess Zelda!” Beatrice’s head kept jerking back and forth between the two of them as if she couldn’t decide whom to admonish first. She decided on the royalty. “Princess Zelda, stand up at once! You have completely dirtied yourself!”

Zelda stood and brushed some of the dirt off the fabric over her knees. She started to tip the rocks back to rights with her foot while Beatrice turned her frustration to Agitha.

“And- Lady Agitha!” she admonished while straightening her back.

Agitha clutched her skirt closed around her waist and started to feel distraught that she would lose her new friends.

“What in Hyrule are you doing? It is very improper to be showing your petticoats in public. Put them to rights this instant,” she demanded. When Agitha hesitated, she became cross. She snapped her fan and came closer in an effort to appear more intimidating. “I said fix your dress, girl. You look like a harlot!”

Zelda glared daggers at the woman and vowed to get her back somehow, but Agitha took care of it herself.

Fear gave way to anger and she decided to unleash her new army upon Beatrice in frustration for not being allowed to be who she was any more. She hated growing up. With a dramatic cry of, “Have them, then!” she flung her dress open and the bugs were hurled in her direction.

The woman proceeded to scream, throwing up her parasol and flapping her fan all over to get the critters away. As she carried on, all the young ladies started laughing... and Agitha curtsied.

~~~

Four Years Later

Agitha kept moving restlessly from the parlor table to the tall balcony windows, peering out at the long and empty road leading up to the Windvane Manor.

After hearing her sigh for the umpteenth time, her older brother Theudric drawled, “At this rate, you’ll dull the marble. Why don’t you busy yourself and go check on the refreshments?” He was draped on the chaise lounge reading and when she came back over to scowl at him, he smirked.

“And miss her arrival? Absolutely not!” Her hip bounced a little and she admitted, “Though I do need to powder my nose.”

Just as her dress swished around the corner and out of the room, Theudric yelled, “Agitha! She’s here!”

“Finally!” She came peeling back round, almost slipping on the polished floors, and raced to the window only to find the same empty cobblestones. She heard her brother snickering behind his book and stomped over with a withering glare. “You remember the last time?” she threatened. “What ended up in your bed?”

His eyes went wide and he fell silent, burying his face in the book again, but his shoulders were still bouncing slightly.

It was still another three quarters of an hour before their guest arrived. Zelda appeared bright and cheerful, too excited to be tired from her journey, and refused offers of an afternoon’s repose. The opportunities to spend time with her friend were dwindling far too much so she wanted to take advantage of all the limited time they’d have. If she could give up sleep she would.

Agitha held her for an age in a warm embrace and then brought her to the parlor where they could all have luncheon. The moment they entered, Theudric snapped his book shut and stood ramrod straight, a slight color entering his cheeks.

“Zelda, you remember my brother, Theudric?”

Zelda smiled as he approached and gave a curt bow. “Princess Zelda, it is my pleasure to receive you to the manor. Lord and Lady Windvane send their apologies since they are away on business.”

“Thank you, and please give them my regards when they return,” she performed a small curtsy.

“Right,” Agitha announced. “Are we done with the pleasantries? Let’s eat! I’m famished.”

They gathered around the table and Theudric jumped to Zelda’s side to pull out her chair. “If you’ll allow me one more pleasantry.”

“Oh, thank you.”

Agitha stood near her own chair watching the lingering interaction and then cleared her throat.

Theudric shook his head a little in exasperation, “Oh, of course. Let me get that for you Aggi.”

They caught up while they ate and shared their latest interests. Agitha declared that she had a lovely surprise for Zelda in the lower storerooms of the house and Zelda spoke about her obsession with ancient Sheikah technology after the Divine Beasts had been discovered. A new friend, Dr. Purah, had lead the excavation for the last one in Eldin about two years prior and her younger sister Impa had begun advising the King on the subject. Zelda had since signed on to help where she could.

As she continued regaling her company with anecdotes about her translation work, Theudric sat riveted; he was so impressed with her academic achievements. A lot of people held the incorrect assumption that the Princess frittered away her time in court. She did make appearances in court- he had seen her himself on a few occasions when he went to the castle with his father on business- but she hardly wasted her time there. In fact, it seemed to him that she stayed the bare minimum that was acceptable. He vowed from then on that he would defend her honor and brilliance to anyone who stated anything to the contrary.

When he joined in the conversation and spoke of what their parents were up to lately, Agitha put on her most irksome, bored face. “Theu, that’s not interesting in the slightest- Zelda, have you had enough?” she interrupted herself to change the subject. “I can’t wait any longer to show you my new collection.”

Zelda laughed and regarded Theudric with a look of apology. “Forgive me Master Theudric, I appear to be summoned to the bowels of the house. Will you be joining us?” she asked as she stood.

He rose with her out of respect and opened his mouth but Agitha cut in, “He will not. He told me earlier that the day was so lovely he might go riding, and it’s about time I got you all to myself.”

Theudric put on mock dramatics, “I’m afraid I can’t join your Highness as I have a previous engagement with my horse. Missing an appointment with her would be a most egregious offense.” He bowed deeply. “Please forgive my absence.”

Agitha rolled her eyes and Zelda smiled bemusedly. She heard pandering like this all the time but it was much more palatable when delivered in jest rather than earnestly. It could become very tiring when people tried too hard and spoke only to her rank instead of to her person. It was why these less frequent opportunities to visit her friend away from the castle had become all the more important. She could relax and be herself out here, especially with Agitha. The only other respite she had was Gerudo Town and a trip there was even harder to wrangle as her responsibilities grew with each passing year.

“That’s quite understandable,” Zelda related. “My Rune also gets temperamental if I don’t visit him regularly.” She dipped her head and took one more little triangle egg sandwich from the table as Agitha dragged her off. “Enjoy your ride!”

Agitha led Zelda downstairs to one of the cooler, stone-lined basement store rooms. Behind the heavy wooden door that Agitha held open for her, Zelda’s breath was taken away by all of the glass terrariums lit by a plethora of lanterns. Each one had a manicured ecosystem and held from one, to many different species of bugs. Zelda bounced from one to the next as Agitha stood back, pleased with her reaction.

“This is wonderful Agitha! How did you manage to curate this?”

“Mother finally caved and said I could pursue my entomology hobby as long as it ‘doesn’t interfere with my other obligations’,” she quoted, exaggerating her mother’s shrill voice.

“I’m so happy for you. Oh! What’s this one? It doesn’t have a sign yet.”

Agitha approached to get a closer look. “Ah, that’s one of the rainy beauties, a Thunderwing Butterfly. Mother had a cow when I went to collect it because I was running around the meadow in a downpour.” She sighed, “Honestly, I’m so glad when she goes away because then I can just do my thing without her fretting over me.”

In a soft voice that sounded wistfully sad, Zelda offered a different perspective. “I’m sure that whatever she does, she does it out of love.”

Agitha was about to argue but when she noticed Zelda’s face after turning her attention away from the butterfly, she understood what she’d done. “Yeah... I’m sure you’re right.”

~~~

The next morning, Theudric found himself in front of the mirror trying to make himself look extra spiffy. He’d already asked his valet to put out one of his smartest ensembles. It included a red vest with gold buttons, brown trousers and calf-high boots. He was about to second guess if it was too fancy when he got distracted by his hair and proceeded to fiddle with it for a good twenty minutes. There were only so many things he could do with a short brown mop so finally, he just slicked it back and finished with a spritz of cologne.

He came downstairs, ready to entertain but he couldn’t see the girls anywhere. Their breakfast was half eaten and in his curiosity to find out where they could have gone, he gulped a bit of apple juice and grabbed a boiled egg to eat on his way out.

He wasn’t expecting to run right into them after turning the corner of the garden hedge, so he covered his mouth unceremoniously as he chewed quickly, the pasty egg yolk clinging to his teeth and tongue.

Zelda looked up and smiled radiantly under her sun hat. "Good morning Master Theudric." She was bent over the rim of a new large terrarium on a table, carefully placing a bit of hollow log inside to add to the habitat.

“Yes,” he finished swallowing his breakfast, “it is indeed a very beautiful morning. What are you ladies up to?”

Agitha gave him a withering stare. “What does it look like, genius?”

“Give me a break, I haven’t even been able to have my coffee,” he defended himself. “Had to come looking for you instead, didn’t I.”

“And just in time too. This one’s almost finished,” she said as she placed seedlings in pre-prepared holes in the soil at the bottom. “You can help us carry it downstairs.”

“Oh! Ah, I just remembered,” he started with a pained look on his face. “I have this thing.” He started to retreat and Agitha produced a flat and unamused expression that made him chuckle. “I’m just kidding Aggi. Are we carrying it or is it heavy enough that I need to get Genly?

“Mmmm, yes. I think Genly would be a good idea. I saw him in the stables earlier when I went to get some manure.”

“Wow, you aren’t messing around,” he said with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

“Only the best for my babies,” she answered.

His brow raised skeptically. “Riiiight... I’ll just go fetch Genly, then,” he stated while letting his gaze linger on Zelda as she brushed her hands together to remove the soil.

He had just turned away when she looked up to speak, the thought of allowing some self indulgence crossing her mind. “Master Theudric, do you mind if I join you? I’d love to meet the mare that stole you away from us yesterday.” Of course all three of them had known it was a pretense, but she enjoyed keeping up the ruse.

Theudric curtly bowed at the waist and gestured toward the stables. “Absolutely, your Highness. Posy would be enchanted.”

“She’s enchanted by hydromelons and if you visit her without them she’ll be a right little piece of twatittude,” Agitha warned. “I’m going to water this in. Don’t take too long.”

While Zelda bribed her way into Posy’s affections, Theudric searched the stables for Genly and found him organizing in the tack room. He was a kindly, middle aged man who’d worked for the Windvane family since he was about fifteen. His family ran the Highland Stable down south but rather than taking on the business and starting a family as he would have been expected to do when he got older, he decided to make his own way and live quietly alone in a little house on the grounds.

“Ah, Master Theudric,” Genly greeted him with a smile under his bushy mustache, tipping his hat. “Going for a ride this fine morning?”

“Morning Genly. Not at the moment.” He was about to continue with his request when an idea occurred to him. “Though maybe a bit later. I’m afraid I’m just after assistance with some heavy lifting. Aggi needs a new tank taken downstairs to her lair.”

“Righto,” Genly said as he laid some rope on the table to return to later. “Always happy to help; point the way.”

Zelda opted to continue making Posy’s acquaintance. She was entertained by the fact that the temperamental mare was pacified by hydromelons. They weren’t the usual fare at the castle stables and she thought perhaps she should acquire some for Rune to try. Maybe it would help them to bond better.

Theudric wasn’t long in returning and Genly, who was in tow to head back to what he’d initially been doing, took one look at them and steered clear out the other end of the stables to do something else. He tipped his hat as he passed by, “Your Highness.”

She smiled and nodded, then regarded Theudric with a hand on Posy’s muzzle. “Well, shall we get back? Agitha will certainly be getting restless by now.”

He leaned against the gate of Posy’s enclosure and smoothed his hair back with one hand before saying, “Actually, I’m wondering if you’d be willing to humor me for awhile. I’d love to hear more about the ancient Sheikah research you’re into.” His face was all keen interest.

“I’d be wary of that if I were you,” she warned. “Once you get me going on the subject, I’ll forget the time and talk you to exhaustion, I’m sure!”

His lips turned up into a dashing smile. “Try me.”

She seemed reticent but still in good humor, so he pursued a different tactic. “How about a deal then?”

She forgot her manners and snorted derisively, accidentally startling Posy. “Of what sort- oh, sorry Posy, I’ll leave you to the rest of your melon,” she said as she put the remaining pieces in her feed trough.

“A hobby for a hobby. You tell me all about yours while I escort you to mine. That way, there will be mutually assured boredom.”

She enjoyed his company. He seemed to not judge her natural proclivities and she appreciated that. “I really can’t fault your logic, Master Theudric.”

“Please, call me Theu,” he requested earnestly.

Agitha had just arrived on the scene to find out what had been keeping them and rolled her eyes so hard her whole body teetered to one side. “Uuugh, you’re not taking her to the Collie, are you?”

“Why not? If we take the horses, it will be a fun, midday outing. We can take a lunch.”

“What’s going on at the Coliseum?” Zelda asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

Theudric began to speak but Agitha cut him off again, “Only his pet project which daddy is sooo proud of.”

Before Agitha could continue teasing, Zelda said earnestly, “It’s a wonderful thing to have a father’s approval. I think I’d like to see the hobby that garnered such a thing. Maybe I can get some tips so father can see the value in my hobby as well.”

Theudric’s ears perked up and he asked, “Are you short of funding?”

“Honestly, I can’t complain. The research has been well funded, but it has grown to the point where we need a second location. There is an energy source that must be tapped if we want to progress as quickly as possible.”

“Sounds very interesting.”

“You say that, but there’s a catch. It’s almost as far east as you can get, near the Village of Hateno.”

“Ahh, the boonies. Father calls it bum ffff- never mind,” he caught himself from almost being incredibly uncouth in front of the Princess of Hyrule and straightened his posture. He just found her so easy to be around. Quite a different flavor from other young ladies he’d socialized with.

She suppressed a chuckle and caught Agitha’s bored expression from where she was sitting on a bale of hay, twirling pieces in her hand and waiting. “Agitha, are you going to join us? I think a ride with lunch sounds lovely.”

“It’s ok. You two go on ahead.” She stood up and stretched. “I’m going to finish the habitat for the second tank. I’ll send something from the kitchen while the horses get tacked up.”

Theudric looked incredulous. “Thanks Aggi.”

She left the stables and just as he was about to continue his conversation with Zelda, she poked her head around the corner. “Don’t take all day, you hear?!”

Zelda waved cheerfully and had a look at the other horses in their stalls. “So Theu, who shall I get ready to ride today?”

“Oh! Um...” he quickly turned away from her so he could hide the warmth he felt on his cheeks, no doubt manifesting as a full on blush at hearing his nickname as he’d requested. He led her to a brown and white spotted mare about three stalls down. “We’ll have to take Daisy because she’s the only one that Posy likes hanging around with.”

“Daisy and Posy, hm? All we need is another flower and we’ll be on our way to a bouquet,” Zelda joked.

And she made silly jokes. He was a goner.

Theudric led Daisy out to introduce them and laughed nervously. “Actually, you’re not far off. All the horses have been bred at my Uncle Talon’s farm on the other side of the field and he’s a... a quirky one. Names all his horses after flowers.” He leaned over to look past Zelda outside, “I’ll just find Genly to tack up.”

As he brushed past, she touched his arm, “It’s ok, I like doing it myself. Besides, that way Daisy can get to know me better before we go. Isn’t that right, beautiful girl?” she cooed, gently stroking Daisy’s face.

Theudric felt rude for letting his surprise show but she was paying more attention to Daisy anyhow. “Alright then, let’s get ready.”

He collected saddles and reins from the tack room and they got to work. She asked him about his project but he only touched on it briefly, wanting to share the full story during their outing when he could show as well as tell. He did let on that it was his innovation to combine the annual Kingdom Games with a harvest market. It would be a whirlwind fortnight of competition and bartering, boosting trade in the region for smaller, local farmers, and trades people. It was also ideally situated to receive the quality gem crafts and fabrics coming out of Gerudo Desert.

Zelda sat astride her mount first and was glad she brought her hat as she rode out into the clear summer day. Genly came past with another tip of his hat and handed her a packed lunch. “This came from the big house. I hope you enjoy your ride, your Highness. I’ll take care of the girls when you get back.”

“Thank you, Genly,” she beamed.

He shrugged shyly over the Princess of Hyrule remembering his name and passed Theudric’s lunch to him as he emerged next from the stables astride Posy. The two horses nibbled at each other and snorted, but otherwise got on.

“Well, then. Shall we?” Theudric asked.

Zelda clicked her heels and set off at a cantor. “We shall!”

~~~

The moment Zelda pulled away and the last of her small retinue were out of earshot, Agitha turned on her brother with a look of disdain. "I hardly get to see Zelda anymore. I'd appreciate you not stealing her from me next time she visits."

He finished waving and rolled his eyes at her as he turned to go back in the house.

When he didn't say anything, she kept on. "Theu! Seriously, you used to pay us no mind whatsoever. Why are you butting in?"

He kept walking through the vaulted foyer and answered nonchalantly, "I like her."

She froze in a silent gasp but recovered from the shock quickly, catching up to him in a flurry of clicking steps that reverberated off the polished floor. "Well- then-," she struggled to retain the argument after such a bombshell. "Then go see her on your own time and-"

He whirled on her, having become slightly annoyed at her petulance, "Honestly, I don't know why you're so upset. If she likes me back, you two could end up being sisters, and then you can spend as much time with her as you like."

A loud and deep gasp filled the room this time, as if she'd inhaled all the available air in the house, "YOU'RE RIGHT!"

She then left him with a bemused expression as she made a mad dash to her writing desk upstairs. She'd begin matchmaking right away, starting with a letter to Zelda. Subtle hints, not too overt. She'd have to gauge if he was even on her radar. Probably not, all she talked about was ancient Sheikah tech...

She giggled as she wrote, imagining the day when they could be sisters.

[summerzs-blog]

Star Wars Female Fans

Star Wars Female Fans

The uniqueness of the female Star Wars, portrayed with a strong will in the male-dominated industry gives the young girls the enthusiasts to take life issues as the female star characters inspire them. Star Wars movies demonstrated that with the appropriate cast and director, in addition to the guts toward reevaluating the main outline and go drastically enormous. The Star Wars female characters are an inspiration and role model to the young female fans.

How Female Fans Made ‘Star Wars’ Their Own

       Some female fans come together to make their own Star Wars. Because they want to a form which is a women communication come together. The female fan wants Star Wars could revolve around women. On some social media, fans wrote a post which is “Why does the father have to be the scientist.” ( Johnamarie Macias, Web) It means not just male could be a scientist, the female also could do that. Recently, they posted some opinions on social media to talk about few female character in the film, so more and more writers started to write a story with a female character. Many such minor “Star Wars” characters were multiplied to greater prominence way to their woman admirers. on these sites, it’s now not all Leila. Women can be underrepresented inside the “Star Wars” films, however, the universe is so huge that woman lovers were able to scrape together enough cloth to work with.

 Female Star Wars Fans: Strong with the force.

I always think what it means to female fans about Star Wars. I did some research it shows that 501st Legion become out in 1998 and there was so many costumes; however, there were just three women. It is less than 25%. But Until Star Wars female fans want to have a more female character in the film and they post their idea on social media. Many writer and company noticed it. We started have the film with main female character not just like “girlfriend” it is a superhero character in the film. I think this change gives female kids more understanding how female live in this society, and they could have braver to do “male’s job” in the future.

LGBT “Star Wars” Characters

 Beyond female characters in Star Wars itself, it’s occasionally difficult to be a woman fan of famous person wears out on the planet. I realize that it is a little bit weird once I wear my Star Wars shirts. I also need to mention not just for female, just a few year ago, in Star Wars there are no gay, homosexual characters show up. Because of this situation, it gives more pressure to LGBT person. Star Wars influence bunch of young people and they have to show they treat people all equity. I like this movie and I want it could influence more people through the media.

The Strong Women of Star Wars

    Fighting the empire does not go away lots of time for small communicate. however, the girls of the “Star Wars” universe manipulate to skip the Bechdel test, which examines how often female characters talk with each other approximately anything apart from a person. and with “Rogue one” (Dec. sixteen), the primary standby myself tale within the film series, a lady is at the coronary heart of a brand new insurrection task.

Because of this strong female character, kids could study a lot from it about equity. For me, if I am not doing this research I could not realize most of the films is a male character. I already accept is inequity gradually and unwittingly.

       .   Female character in films

           Sly Moore is another comic character who featured in the “Attack of the Clones” and played an administrative assistance to the emperor. Her political influence is the comic movie alongside the emperor is a clear vision of how the women are portrayed is equals to men in the contemporary society. Be that as it may, in a fantastic tale, this sort of advance does not need to be incremental. Including more ladies in group scenes and as foundation characters, even a little rate, is a simple approach to include different qualities. Rogue one tried, however, it’s as yet making baby strides, displaying Sly and Mothma as anomalies in a planet essentially inhabited by men (Staff, 52).

            Zam is a female bounty hunter among the male hunters in the star war movie “Attack of the Clones.” She is one of the fastest in her group; however, she is unable to finish most of her calls. Her speed and classy gadgets is an example of the young lady fans that even girls can handle duties perceived to the male calls and still look good at the same time. Zam’s mother, Lyra, presents her a gem. Not only a remembrance to recollect her with, but it is also additionally what controls radiance sabers as well as the weapons on Death Star. Zam is one of two human characters who show up in CGI frame in the motion picture, depicting a form of performing artist Carrie Fisher at the age she was when taping Star Wars

                       Numa is portrayed as a helper who frees the world. Despite her being young and small size, her courage and strength are seen as she facilitates the freedom of the republic from the droid army. She is an inspiration to the young ladies, giving them the courage to face the world. She is helpful with a blaster or, when essential, a slave chain, so one speculates that had Obi-Wan gave her a lightsaber and sent her after Vader, the adventure would have wrapped up by Cloud City. She’s treated with precisely the perfect measure of veneration in the new set of three.        

           Female enthusiasts of the establishment had one unique female character to stick to, Princess Leia Organa, who first scenes include her anticipating salvage, in the long run, turns into the paste holding the Rebellion together. It’s quite simple to infer that Organa was the main lady left in the universe. Later motion pictures endeavored to add Organa’s mother Padme Amidala towards the rundown at the same time, in spite of being a powerful congressperson and skilled negotiator, Amidala’s vital capacity was to wed the person who progressed toward becoming Darth Vader, then fantastic bringing forth the Skywalker twins (Horstmann et al., 28).

           Aurra is a star war female warrior whole art of assassination is perfected. She heads most of the war, and she is also a leader and mentor to the bounty hunters Boba as seen in the movie Attack of Clones. Her leadership role is an inspiration to the young ladies who want to be leaders in the community. It is a decent film that would most likely not have been as energizing had it not occurred in the Star Wars universe (Kim, 39). Without that critical scenery and mythology, it could have been whatever other nonspecific activity motion picture. There were some incredible minutes and remarkable enhancements, great activity and even some incredibly amusing trades and gestures to preceding movies. In any case, these significant minutes aside, Rogue One remains my slightest most loved of the non-prequel films, and its weaknesses uncover so profoundly missed potential. Be that as it may, the possibility that female characters could accomplish more than getting caught, conceive an offspring, or bite the dust appeared to be excessively for some male fans.

          According to these female characters, it shows that female has a big influence in the society, so not only we teach everyone to treat everyone to be equity, the social media also has to do something to keep gender equal.  After more films have female characters, more female fans could talk more about their identity.

               WORK CITED

Bain, Robert. “Hollywood’s best supporting actors." Significance 14.1 (2017): 14-17.

How Female Fans Made “Star Wars “Their Own. Amanda Hess, Nov.3, 2016

Fans+ Community, April 4, 2013, http://www.starwars.com/news/female-star-wars-fans-strong-with-the-force

Phil Owen, March 10, 2016,   http://www.thewrap.com/lgbt-star-wars-characters-a-brief-history/

George Gene Gustines, the New York Time, Nov 3, 2016

Dixon, Wheeler Winston. "“Service Providers”: Genre Cinema in the 21st Century." Quarterly      Review of Film and Video (2017): 1-11.

Horstmann, Kaitee, et al. "Gateway (November 2016).” (2016).

Kim, DaEun. “Geoengineering." Ethical Ripples of Creativity and Innovation. Palgrave       Macmillan UK, 2016. 37-44.

Staff, Rose Thorn. "Volume 52-Issue 13-Monday, January 16, 2017.” (2017).