#Starrs Comms

[starrcrossrose]

🦋“Shelldon, play Mama Mia!”

🌙“Yeah!”

They’re supposed to be doing chores… but the music calls💃🎶

Commission for @/star_sparkler on Twt! I’m so happy she wanted something of August and Sofía, I had so much fun making this!

(Close ups and an extra silly)

They are their fathers’ daughters after all 😗✌🏻💫

[scrambleddd-eggs]

Thanks a lot to @heybulldogs for commissioning 🥰❤! This was a lot of fun, i love mullet era paul :3

[starrspice]

bro i thought u died. nice to find you in the fnaf brainrot

I'm only HALF dead

For I have started a fulltime job you see

[stlaika]

YIPPEE

AHFKFKVKGJBJN WOOHOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!

[calyx-arts]

[COMM] Starr the Zorua

A commission for dragonnight1221! Thanks and enjoy! ----- Want a commission from me? Either DM me or see my Carrd: calyxarts . carrd . co

Posted using PostyBirb

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Our Angel of Brahma, pt. xii

No thoughts, head empty. I need a nap. @ananxiousgenz @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @the-private-eye @demonic-panini CW for: assault of disabled character (mentioned)

Ms. Starr,

I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you per our last discussion. You are right. You are not my child, and I am not your parent. Thank you for correcting me. 

In regards to helping you restore the comms: I will continue to help you, but once I have run out of recordings, we are done. I look forward to the article you will be writing but do not wish to associate with you any further. 

In regards to our last conversation: I am unable to reach you through your comms. Every time I call or message you I receive an error message. If you have blocked me, I ask that you unblock me to make necessary communication between us easier. If something else has happened to your comms, please let me know so I know to only communicate with you through emails. 

Best Wishes, Frannie. 

Dear Frannie,

My comms broke. I am trying to save creds for a new one. Please email me. 

-Calypso Starr

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING BEGINS. IRIS: Go on! Say it again! BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): (PROUDLY) This week on Brahma: after trying for nearly two years to prove the Rats are trustworthy enough, the Old-Timers have finally come around!  IRIS: More than that! I have supplies for the clinic again! BAIRD: We’re doing it! We’re doing it Iris!! SOUND: JUMPING AND FABRIC RUSTLING. BAIRD BREAKS INTO A BRIEF COUGHING FIT. IRIS(?) POUNDS THEIR BACK BEFORE LETTING OUT A SURPRISED YELP. IRIS: Oh! Oh! …Baird? BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): (RASPING) Shut up and let me have this. SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING. BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): You aren't my parent. But I'm glad you're here. I'm glad– I'm glad that if there's anyone I got stuck with, it's you. IRIS: Oh… of course. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat for you. (A BEAT) And for whatever it's worth Baird, you've grown into a fine young man. BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): (SNIFFLING) Thanks… SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING. IRIS: This does mean you have to talk to Talia now about this. You want to include her in creating a messaging system and using the Brats, it’s up to you to pitch the final sale. And you know she won’t be happy.  (BAIRD SNORTS) BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): Yeah, well, Talia’s never happy anymore. IRIS: Baird– for fucks sake, the Brat threw a rock at her! I would be pissed too.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): It happened two years ago! He apologized! They all did.  IRIS: Apology or not, she was still hurt by it. By them. Just because they apologized to her does not mean she owes them acceptance. And it doesn’t mean she has to tolerate them. Don't give me that look. You know I’m right and you just don’t want to admit it. BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): Fine, fine… who are you gonna pick to help run the clinic? IRIS: Whoever volunteers first, and if no one does, then I’ll take whatever I can get. It’s going to be a lot of information and reading that they’re going to have to digest. The manuals Hanataba left behind are hefty and it took me and Cyrus together to lift them on the tables. It’s going to take a long time before I’m comfortable leaving it to someone else to run.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): (SOFTLY) I understand. Really, I do. I’m not a little kid anymore. You have responsibilities to get back to finally. And if you gotta move back across town, that’s fine. I’ll be okay.  (A BEAT) IRIS: Come with me. You won’t be in the way, there’s plenty of Pests to wrangle all over the streets, and we could still go to the meetings together– BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): I can’t though. Josie takes care of the twins and Hank, Hank takes care of Talia and Mischa, and you and I take care of everyone. If you go, I have to stay.  IRIS: But– BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): You trust me and my decisions. You trust my judgment. I’ve grown into a fine man. IRIS: Young man, a fine young man.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): (A HINT OF A SMILE IN HIS VOICE) Yeah exactly. You trust me, so trust me with this. Trust yourself. If you go, I promise, I’m not going to die. IRIS: You better not, you still have another eleven years to go.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): So you’ll move? You’ll go? IRIS: I’ll– I’ll need to think about it. But it’s not a no.  (BAIRD HUMS) BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): How’d you and my dad even get involved in the Hanataba Clinic in the first place? IRIS: It’s kind of a long story. Put a pin in it for now and wait until we’re home, debriefed with the others, and had dinner, alright? BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): Fine. IRIS: I know you don’t see the harm in it, but the streets have ears. It’s dangerous out here.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): I know, I know… SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEXT RECORDING BEGINS. IRIS: Really? You’re going to record me? BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): Of course! Me and the rest of the galaxy are dying to know: how did Iris Desrosiers come to work at a Hanataba Clinic? Why choose to work full-time in a Hanataba Clinic, when you don’t get paid for it?  (IRIS LAUGHS) IRIS: It’s not all that interesting. I needed a home after dropping out of university. I met Eve and Cyrus, and Cyrus introduced me to the clinician at the time, Mister Regis. Regis put me to the test, I passed, he passed away, and someone had to take over. The Revolutionaries were far and few apart. There was no organization back then. When Regis died, some people wanted to tear apart the Clinic. Strip down it down to its bones leaving nothing but the floorboards. In times of need, desperate people will do anything to save themselves or the ones they love. Including demolishing Hanataba’s Gift.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): But the clinic is still standing.  (VERY HOPEFUL) You convinced them otherwise. IRIS: I wish I could say that I did, but I didn’t. Your parents moved across town when Eve got her job as a Dome Warden. Cyrus kept coming back to help me fend people off from robbing the clinic. I was young, dumb, and way in over my head. Cyrus could hardly read the books so I spent a lot of time reading out loud to him.  Whenever someone got hurt, Cyrus would take them to me after doing an initial patch job. With a few years, I became part of the community. I established myself as a well versed caretaker. As someone who could be trusted to operate Hanataba’s Clinic. The thieving stopped. I was welcomed in the local Revolutionaries and, in turn after Cyrus did too much begging, they welcomed him too. (SHORT PAUSE) I’m sorry Baird. My work at the Hanataba Clinic gave me a place to stay. It gave me a community that looked out for me and became my family. And I ended up stealing Cyrus away from you and Eve.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): You know I don’t hold that against you anymore, right?  IRIS: I know. But– BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): Save it. We look back only to ensure we have not walked this path before. Not to bash one another over the head with our grievances. So stop your pity party.  (SHORT PAUSE INTERUPTTED BY IRIS SNORTING AND BREAKING INTO LAUGHTER) Don’t laugh at me! IRIS: I’m not laughing at you! I promise. I’m just thinking… how dumb I was to ever treat you like a child. I’ll take what you said to heart but you ought to do me a favor and take your own advice.  Charlie would want you to at least. And I bet if you started talking again to Talia she would too. BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): Ugh, don’t remind me about that. I don’t even know where to begin with her.  IRIS: Conversations usually start with a greeting. Maybe start there.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): And what do I do about Hank? IRIS: Leave him to me. We all wants best for each other. Josie and I can make him come around.  BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY): Thanks, Iris… Thank you.  IRIS: Of course, Baird. So long as I’m around, I won’t let you fight battles on your own.  SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS. 

Iris talk a lot about themself. For a life that “is not all that interesting” it sounds pretty damn interesting. 

The Galactic Civil War was still happening at the time of Peter Nureyev’s Revolutionary Stunt. Baird was 12 when that happened. I remember when the War ended, I was 13. They served cake and brownies at school that day. I took mine home to share with my mom, but she threw them away without ever telling me why. I think I know why you did that now. 

“Another eleven years to go” referring to Iris promising to get Baird to see past 40 (“Iris”)

FOLLOW UP: This puts Baird at about 29? 

“Decade”/”The Rats” at 27

Two years, not talking to Talia

“Hanataba” would put him at 29.

??????? I want to bash my head into the wall.

Baird and Talia stopped talking. At least some point in the last two years between this recording and the one prior (“The Rats”). 

Baird doesn’t call Iris his parent. I don’t think he needs to though. They’re parent enough to him without the title. 

“Conversations start with hello” / “Conversations start with a greeting” .... I do not owe Frannie an apology. And likewise, I do not expect one from her. Even if I did I will not receive it.

Questions:

How old was Baird when the Galactic War/Solar Intervention ended?

FOLLOW UP: How old is Iris? Eve and Cyrus? 

Iris knew Eve and Cyrus before Baird was born, what’s the story behind that?

Did Talia stop talking to Baird because he wanted to involve the Rats in the Revolution, even though they hurt her and Mischa?

Baird mentioned in the first recording "at least one person believes he built the Hanataba Clinic", where did this rumor come from? Perhaps the Rat that Iris ends up training?

[definitelynotaminion]

Rated "R" for Robin, Chapter 2 pt 6

This is a continuation of sneak peaks for Chapter 2 of this Jaytim fic (7k chapter 1). (Also on ao3) The full wip of chapter 2 is up on my patreon, if you’re interested (the full fic is up to 14,080 words so far). Here’s where to read the rest of the released sneak peaks in chronological order on tumblr.

-

Seeing you, just-- seeing you. Lay it open for me, baby bird.

“That would have been... affecting.” Considering rather than stilted, humming rather than forced through a tight throat.

“The suit? All black?”

“Your regard.” Tim sounded strangled. “You’re right. Nobody ever looked at me, much less-- I would have been arrested by the...”

Bruce. Just, Bruce.

Poetry in the most innocuous of places, prose for the sweat on his cheek.

“I wouldn’t have looked away.” Jason dared, and Tim made a hurt sound, a torn sound, so Jason pressed on. “Would you have come, if I gestured-- to a side room, an alcove, somewhere?”

“You could have-- signed. I would have. Recognized.”

“The code? Fuck, you would have, you freaky little stalker. But I don’t know you know, remember?” Jason huffs. “Maybe my hand twitches into it unconsciously, and you look. Meet-north or something.”

He twirls his hand in lazy mockery of the bat-sign for rendezvous, hoping Tim can see it. He realizes, all at once, that part of him is already inviting him over, dragging him into the room and--

Some variety of ‘and’.

“And you... find out I know.” Hoarse, like the words cost him. A flicker of tongue over lips, the slightest hitch in the mic’s feed.

“I suspect.” Jason corrects. “Maybe not that. Maybe it’s coincidence. But you look so familiar.”

“You meet me anyway.” Tim says, “It’s the Starr mansion, so off that little--”

“Yeah, to the back of that north hallway.” Jason knows the one. “I get you there and I wouldn’t put my hands on you.”

Tim’s-- mouth falls open. Just. Right there on the comms. The sounds of Tim’s breath just that much louder for him.

“You have to. Find out what I know.” A shudder through his voice, a hint of pant.

“Mmhm.” Jason lets his eyes slip half-lidded, giving a little teeth to his bottom lip. “And Robin had a certain way of that, yeah? You ever see me use those moves?”

“Yes.” Tim says, instantly. “It’s only...”

“Yeah?” Jason’s Robin had been a little heavy handed with the flirting, a little mean-- backed up with the fucking confidence that came from knowing he was the hottest and meanest piece of ass in the room.

“Jay.” Tim’s breathy little protest of a laugh. “I suspect... Large amounts of my gray matter would probably melt, Jason.”

“That good, huh?” He rolls his tongue around his inner lip, pokes his cheek to hide the grin.

“My brain would leak out of my ears.” He stresses.

Jason swallows. And-- yeah, why not? They’re already fucking here, already wide the fuck open, pried apart where his fucking chest scars--

“I’m Jay.” He pitches his voice just that much different, just that little bit--

“Jay!” Tim screams, affronted and scandalized and a lot of other things wrapped up in one little neurotic package that wants this. Wants this enough to be afraid of it.

“I’ve seen you around before,” Jason says with an easy, cajoling confidence-- and fucking intense eyes, burning-- fuck, burning right through people, demanding everything.

Tim breathes on the comms, breathes for a hot second that could teeter either way, and then he sinks right down.

Good-- Jason shakes his head.

“Timothy Drake.” Tim demurs, in a bland voice, an uninteresting voice, and like hell Jason would have let that slide-- not when Tim followed him over here, not when Tim has so much in his eyes. The glimpse of fear, of shyness-- interest--

You wouldn't give me that, he thinks, eyes narrowed and tongue pressing hard to his fucking teeth-- no. Jason wouldn't haven taken it.

And touching the kid-- this kid-- would be way too much, too soon, but Jason can still lean a little, get up close and personal-like.

"Do your friends call you Tim?" A blend, perhaps, the older yearning streaking through, something a little more direct than Jason would have-- probably-- gone for, but only if little Tim didn't look at him like a fucing shark.

"My-- I don't. Didn't have friends at this time."

And it's not like Jason couldn't relate-- the streets were lonely and cold-- but--

"Really? None?"

"I. I'd shiver." Tim says, truthfully. Like a bared fucking throat, Jason's scar, Jason's scar-- "You'd get me to tell you about Ives. My only civilian friend."

"I'd ask if you wanted to be friends with me--" That's a moan, fuck. "Yeah?" Jason wets his lips again, copes with the tentative fucking tremor in his wet-- really wet-- lip.

"Jason. Jay." The two syllables so goddamn serious and intense and then his name, his fucking name like a balm before it could even sting.

-

Note: I'm thinking of finding a slice spot to throw up chapter 2 onto ao3. Until then, I'm dropping pieces onto tumblr tonight <3

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

An Uninvited Guest

https://www.patreon.com/empyreaniris?fan_landing=true

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/182501791735/master-post

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jzEIdDAB4omdO2JcQVMObfrhLJ5kX4ONmSsLypM1ks0/edit?usp=sharing

The Empyrean hummed with power. Filled to almost max capacity with crew, she had never had so much power, Veins of golden light ran down the sides of her corridors, and spilled like blood through her walls. The bridge itself was also filled with light, but dimmed to a subtle ambience  to match the atmosphere. 

Adam stepped forward slowly, the floor below his feet glowing subtly with runoff power as he stepped up onto the captain’s platform. As he did, a subtle flare of light rippled out from his feet and across the room..

“Open a comm line to the fleet.” He said, and off to his right side, the communications specialist did as told. Within the next few minutes, small windows of light and color opened up on the massive windscreen before him, until he stood in front of a crowd, composed of people spread across the galaxy. 

Eris, waiting behind on arcadia to take care of their people.

Martha: Interim director of the Arcadia intelligence Agency in Conn’s absence 

Admiral Simon, sitting aboard the Omen.

Admiral  McCaster on his  ship

Admiral Kozlov 

Tala Kelly, President of earth

Donavan Red

Lord Avex 

And a list of others that could have gone on for hours.  

Multiple politicians, dignitaries, and state leaders, no less than a hundred military leaders, and others witnessing this exchange as a third party.

“This will be the final push.” Adam said, standing straight back, alon on the Captain’s platform. His hands rested lightly against the small of his back. The black of his uniform was dim in the overhead lights, but the ribbons and pins on his chest and collar glittered subtly, “Whatever happens, I wish you to know that it was an honor serving with and for you, all of you.”

There was a muttering of agreement, spilling over the Empyrean’s speakers like the distant roar of a vast sea.

“We have been given a general astronomical location for something Kazna and the void is called the necrotorium. We believe this is where  they are harvesting Anima in order to create void power. Now though we know the general location, it may take days if not months to find it. When we do, coordinates will be sent back to the fleet.” A fleet that would be one of the largest on record, comprised more than a thousand ships owned by half a dozen species or more.

A group surprisingly absent?

Rundi.

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind at this point that the chairman of the galactic assembly was either dead or corrupted. Spies indicated moles planted in the highest echelons of other governments including the Terasaki,  Groom and Iotins. No one was safe.

The only species unbothered by the void, were the non construct species like the Mikes and the Lumin.

The Tvek were all but lost.

Reports coming in from that sector of the galaxy were not good.

Adam hadn’t realized their communication with the little aliens had been cut off some time ago, as most of their interaction had come through the GA. 

If only they had moved faster.

The one person brave enough to go take a look, had found a planet swathed in red mist.

The guilt hung heavy on his shoulders, but he knew that this was no time to give in to such feelings. He had learned that lesson the hard way, and through years of mistakes and suffering.

He would not blame himself for lack of foresight.

“This will be the largest military undertaking ever seen, but you all know your roles. If there is any group of people who have a possibility of pulling this off, it is us. Collectively.” He didn’t want to say much more, he was tired of making speeches, listening to words even from himself.

Now was the time to act.

Below him, past the little holographic images projected on the view screen, he could see Arcadia, lit up in its newfound burning glory. Distant star just beginning to peak over the horizon. From here he could see her vast tracts of bare stony rock. She seemed so barren from up here, Noxumber and the surrounding land only a small inkblot of color just beginning to spread veins into the terraformed land beyond.

Clouds swirled over her surface in lazy undulating spirals. 

kay , Nyx and Astra would probably be waking up soon.

He closed his eyes.

This was for them, no matter how long it took,and if it took long, he hoped that they would forgive him for what he had to do.

He took a step forward onto the platform and rose slowly into the air. Light and power diffused through his skin as he was elevated some fifteen feet above the platform, “Are we understood.”

Another murmur of agreement.

This was not news to anyone.

The logistics of such a task had been gone over again and again  and again, the topic beaten until it was dead and then beaten some more. Nothing had been left up to chance. Adam maneuvered the ship out, towards the arcadia defense nexus.

“Good luck.” He said, motioning to the comms specialist to cut communication.

The screen before him went blank.

With the twitch of his fingers, they continued forward, the Empyrean responding to his commands as if she was an extension of his own body. 

They reached the edge of the defense nexus, which flared only once, an array of bright blue hexagons that appeared and disappeared in an ever expanding ripple from their point of exit. The shield was dropped only long enough to let them through before closing behind.

Nexus deep space turrets followed their progression, but did not fire on the familiar ship

“Prep the ship for-”

WARNING PROXIMITY ALERT

The Empyrean rocked violently the side.

The golden light on the floor ruptured into a dull, angry red.

Outside the windows, the Arcadian defense Nexus reacted rapidly, guns swiveling and firing in rapid succession.

re the hell is that coming from!” Adam demanded.

It was Sunny who answered.

Sitting at the weapons station she glared intently at her screen, hands held out to puppet the phantom weapons controls, “It’s a ship, just appeared out of warp.”

“Who.”

The viewscreen lit up on one corner.

Adam knew the specs of that ship, like he knew the class and specifications of almost any ship that had ever been made.

A rundi political cruiser, outfitted with battle class weaponry.

“Someone’s a snitch.” he hissed under his breath.

Adam took control of the main cannons leaving the complexities of their other weapons systems to Sunny, as he rotated the Empyrean rapidly to face their opponent, making them a smaller target.

The rundi’s shields flared with burning orange light as missile after missile poured onto her from the defense nexus.

She did not seem particularly phased.

Let's see how they liked the taste of Anima Energy.

The ship was moving fast, still doing it’s best to avoid the bulk of the attacks being laid on it by the defense nexus, but he adjusted for movement, an action born out of years of flight combat training and intuition.

The cannons fired, a burst of bright Anima energy.

They may have had void shields, made of corrupted Anima, but this was still the Architect’s own ship, so the smaller vessel was hardly a match for her power, and the shields flickered and dimmed.

“Lay it on them.” Adam shouted.

Sunny did as told.

“We’re being hailed.” Comms shouted.

“Patch them in.” Adam snarled, pulling the Empyrean to the left and spinning rapidly as the other vessel attempted to match the maneuver.

Big ships weren't fighter vessels, they weren’t meant to move with speed or dexterity. Mostly they were meant to take damage until someone eventually imploded. Your average pilot was really just there to maneuver the ship into the best angle for firing on the opponent.

Any average pilot that is.

Adam shot forward with a well timed burst of speed that put them directly above their opponent, or under them, or to the side of them, it was all relative in the vacuum of space.

Sunny took that opportunity firing  with their lower anima cannons, and following up with classic high explosive ordinance rounds.

The shields flickered, and in the time it took the energy to dim, the ordinance rounds, had just enough time to slip through the lowered shields. Both of them exploded on impact, rocking the ship back in its spot.

Why they thought they could win this fight was baffling to Adam.

An image appeared on the viewscreen before him, though his eyes were mostly focused on the task at hand. He could only allow himself a momentary lapse of judgment when he saw who sat at the helm of that ship.  The Empyrean rocked again as a well timed bout of rounds landed on their shield,. Starbursts of golden light appeared around the zones of impact.

Adam cursed, “You!”

The charwoman of the galactic assembly looked at him with a measure of amusement on her alien face, “I’m sorry Admiral, but I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of meeting.”

Adam growled, “Don’t bother with introductions, you won’t be here long enough to give one.”

“Is that so?”

And then the sky lit up around him with a thousand blue flashes, the telltale sign of an incoming warp. 

And before he knew it.

He was facing an army.

[maddiesbookshelves]

The Many Deaths of Laila Starr, by Ram V. & Andrade Felipe (Illustrator)

Current day Mumbai. Mrs Shah, about to give birth and stuck in traffic, screams at her husband on the phone. Laila Starr, a young woman already tired with everything, is lounging on an open windowsill several floors above traffic. And even higher than that, well above the clouds, the goddess of Death is called into her boss' office. Those three fates cross path simultaneously when Laila jumps, Mrs Shah gives birth to her son Darius, and Death is bluntly fired. In a future, Darius turns out to be the one who will discover the secret to immortality, relegating Death to the status of unpleasant memory. But Death, made flesh in Laila's lifeless body, fully intends to get her job back, even if she has to kill the young Darius to do so. At least, that was the plan, until she gets hit by a truck and finds herself coming back from the dead once again years later...

Breathtaking art with a fascinating story that manages to juggle a wide array of emotions. It's funny, it's sad, it's reflective, it's hopeful... I absolutely loved this.

Some parts of the narration felt very poetic to me, which I loved. The story in itself is really interesting: the link between life and death (both literally and figuratively), what the point of life is if there is no death, a literal goddess experiencing humanity in all its complexity, and in the background, snippets of Indian culture.

A truly amazing read.

French version under the cut

Mumbai, de nos jours. Mme Shah, en plein travail et coincée dans un embouteillage, hurle sur son mari au téléphone. Laila Starr, une jeune femme déjà fatiguée de tout, est allongée sur le rebord d'une fenêtre ouverte, plusieurs étages au-dessus du trafic. Et plus haut encore, bien au-delà des nuages, la déesse de la Mort est convoquée dans le bureau de son patron. Ces trois destins se rejoignent au moment où, simultanément Laila saute dans le vide, Mme Shah donne naissance à son fils Darius, et la Mort est renvoyée sans ménagement. Dans un futur, Darius est en effet celui qui découvrira le secret de l'immortalité et reléguera la Mort au rang de désagréable souvenir. Mais la Mort, incarnée dans le corps sans vie de Laila, compte bien retrouver sa place, même si elle doit pour cela éliminer le jeune Darius. Du moins, c'était le plan avant qu'un camion ne la fauche et qu'elle ne se retrouve à nouveau ressuscitée quelques années plus tard...

Des dessins magnifiques avec une histoire fascinante qui arrive à jongler avec de nombreuses émotions. C'est drôle, c'est triste, ça fait réfléchir, c'est plein d'espoir... J'ai absolument adoré.

J'ai trouvé certaines parties de la narration très poétiques, ce que j'ai beaucoup apprécié. L'histoire en elle-même était très intéressante : le lien entre la vie et la mort (au sens propre comme au figuré), quel est l'intérêt de la vie sans la mort, une véritable déesse qui découvre ce que c'est d'être humain dans toute sa complexité, avec en toile de fond un aperçu de la culture indienne.

Une lecture vraiment excellente.

[scrambleddd-eggs]

Updated my comms :]

[petit-atelier-de-poesie]

NOTE DE LECTURE : Toutes les morts de Laila Starr. Ram V. Filipe Andrade. 2022

Excellent roman graphique ! La couverture marquée du "coup de coeur du libraire" m'avait interpellée et je l'avais gardée dans un coin de ma mémoire, et je ne suis pas déçue. 

Laila Starr est la narratrice d'une histoire de vie et de mort qu'elle raconte comme déesse hindoue déchue et réincarnée. A chaque chapitre de son histoire pour retrouver sa place perdue, elle croisera Darius le pauvre humain cause de sa disgrâce mais aussi toutes les affres de notre humanité qui désormais la rendent vulnérable.  C'est tout simplement beau, le récit est bien construit avec des chapitres, et les répétitions tragi-comiques de Toutes les morts de Laila Starr. Les illustrations sont épurées et chargées, saturées de couleurs, comme dans la culture indienne puisque cela se passe de nos jours à Mumbay. Et pourtant il émane de ce récit une subtile délicatesse, qui s'achève avec la poésie, et ouvre la champ de la philosophie. 

Bref, une BD qui marque en tous points, tout comme l'avait fait auparavant Daytripper : au jour le jour, dont l'auteur a rédigé la préface de cet ouvrage, avec la thématique commune autour de la mort et de notre rapport à la vie.

[lemondeabicyclette]

Toune inédite des Beatles, leur ultime enregistrée - jamais publiée avant le 02.11.23.

dickypedia : « Now and Then" est une ballade rock psychédélique. John Lennon l'a écrite et enregistrée vers 1977 en tant que démo pour piano solo, mais l'a laissée inachevée. Après la mort de Lennon en 1980, la chanson a été considérée comme le troisième single de retrouvailles des Beatles pour leur projet de rétrospective de 1995-1996 The Beatles Anthology, après "Free as a Bird" et "Real Love", les deux basées sur les démos de Lennon. Au lieu de cela, elle fut mise de côté pendant près de trois décennies puis achevée par les camarades de groupe survivants Paul McCartney et Ringo Starr, avec des overdubs et des pistes de guitare de George Harrison des sessions abandonnées de 1995

La version finale comprend des paroles supplémentaires de McCartney et la voix de Lennon extraite de la démo à l'aide de la technologie de restauration audio soutenue par l'IA commandée par Peter Jackson pour son documentaire de 2021 The Beatles : Get Back. Jackson a également réalisé le clip vidéo de "Now and Then". La chanson a été acclamée par les critiques, qui ont estimé qu'il s'agissait d'une finale appropriée pour les Beatles. »

Un des 44,000 commentaires (après 14 millions de visionnements en 24 heures) « C'était BEAUCOUP mieux et plus émotionnel que je n'aurais jamais pu l'imaginer et je peux m'identifier à cette chanson à tant de niveaux.

« En fait, je pleure maintenant. Quelle finale. Merci à vous quatre. Je vous aime et vous aimerai toujours. »

[antiqueteacup]

back from kupocon and it was maybe the most fun I ever had at a con. I regret not staying for the second day and also having no time to get a signing from Ben Starr Clive's VA cos I was nonstop busy. Thank you so much to anyone that visited or bought anything it was my first kupo and definitely will try get in to the next one. Big thanks to my table neighbour too letting me borrow their sticker tray and overall being awesome. The whole energy and feel of the con was amazing and everyone was so nice.

Wol sticker trade was my fav part and it made my day for so many people to compliment my dumb hyur and even have people saying oh you're the one with that cool/gorgeous wol. I still have stickers of him so if anybody wants to postal trade let me know his was also the biggest sticker there aside from the person trading sheets lol (big respect there). Let me know if your wol is here.

Was so busy I didn't get to look around much but bought myself some Estinien stuff hopefully can get some Aymeric next time.

I also had to leave for my train so if anyone was there who ordered a comm from me please let me know so I can mail it.

I'll be updating my shop with leftovers soon Zenos booba tea sticker is in low supply as is G'raha Tia +well fed pin

[sketchy-galaxy]

"STARR PLEASE. YOU GRADUATE TOMORROW YOU GOTTA GET READY."

Me, on my computer: Do do do Zelda and comms, Zelda and comms, do do do!

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Our Angel of Brahma, pt. xi

Hello Travelers, before we begin I need to stress that this part of Our Angel of Brahma contains explicit violence. With that being said, consider this your warning for the following content: kidnapping (mentioned), assault, police brutality, interrogations, and some self-harm. I will be going back to add CW to previous parts and will update when those have been added in. If there are any warnings that you would like added to this part or any others do not hesitate to reach out in my ask box or DMs! Additionally: I am planning on transferring this series over to ao3 in the coming weeks. The google doc is starting to crash and that is my sign that this is no longer a self contained one shot au. It is a drabble. a nearly 19k long (and counting) drabble @ananxiousgenz @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @the-private-eye @demonic-panini

Calypso walks into her office. Coffee mug in one hand, and her comms in the other. She hadn't checked her emails yet and had only briefly skimmed the messages Frannie had sent her early in the morning. Most of which didn’t make much sense and had been sent five hours before she was awake, which was by her standards, five hours too early to be doing absolutely anything important. She booted up the computer and took a long sip of her coffee. Her comms rang and it was un-surprisingly Frannie. 

“Calypso Starr speaking–”

“Have you seen them yet?” 

“Frannie. Good morning to you too. I believe conversations start with hello.”

“Right– hello, did you see them yet?”

“See what?” She opens her email and smiles reading the subject line “RE: THE CASE OF THE MISSING ANGEL”. Rita was creative. Calypso would give her that. But she also seemed just as scatterbrained as Frannie did at times. They both knew their way around computers and comms. More than Calypso ever learned from her mom, so she was in no position to really judge either of them. If anything, they had every right to laugh in her face for not being able to do all the work on her own. Some shit journalist she was turning up to be. 

“The videos!” Frannie huffed and in the background, Calypso could make out the sound of a cabinet door opening and slamming shut. “Listen, I’m hanging up, and when you’re done with the videos and taking notes– and I mean all the videos, and all your notes– call me. Rita spent ninety-six hours trying to hunt all this down for you, kid. You better write the best damn article this side of the galaxy has ever seen! Because she ain’t helping you anymore after this, alright?” 

Calypso opens her mouth to argue but the call ends right then. She sets her comms on the desk in its designated spot next to her coffee mug and one of the glass swans. She isn’t a kid. She’s a grown adult just like Frannie. Frannie was however much, much older than her. And it wouldn’t be the first time that she’s let an older lady step all over her. 

Without anymore preamble, she takes a seat and opens the first video file. 

The video starts with a lone woman sitting at a table. The room is bare and poorly lit with no windows.  “State your name.” “Why should I? You already know who I am.” The woman’s dark hair falls out of her face revealing dark eyes and a few freckles. She glares at the camera. “And get that thing out of my face.” “No can do, now state your name.”  The woman huffs hanging her head low to the table. “Eve Bell.” “Full name.” “Eevee Bell.” She jerks her chin up and snarls, “Happy?”

Calypso pauses the video. This is Eevee Bell. Eevee the same night she was taken from her home.The same night she tucked Baird into bed and promised nothing bad would happen to her. Calypso flips open her journal thumbing through the pages until she finds her notes on the “Dad” recording. She reads back over them and flips to the next blank page. She rummages around her desk for a bit before finding a pen tucked into her newly acquired swan pen holder. She hits play on the video, and begins taking notes.

“Very,” a figure walks around the camera to stand behind Eevee. They’re dressed in a freshly pressed uniform. Their epaulets are black, with two embroidered stars in silver thread. A Constable of high rank. They place one hand on her shoulder and grip her chin with the other. “Now look directly at the camera, and tell them exactly what you did.” She clenches her jaw and tries to pull away. The Constable keeps her firmly pinned in place.  “Not gonna talk, huh.” “Over my dead body.” The Constable tsks and lets go of Eve’s face. Eevee, to her credit, rolls her shoulders as much as she could with her hands cuffed behind her back, and tilted her chin up higher. “You’ll hear me sing and squeal before I tell you anything you want.”  The Constable shakes their head and laughs, “We’ll see how you feel after today.” They exit out of frame and a heavy door can be heard opening. Eevee looks over and her eyes go wide as three other uniformed Constables walk into the room.  “Welcome to New Kinshasa, Eve.” The Constable says out of frame said. The video ends.

Calypso leans back in her seat. She glances down at her notes. Nothing. Blank. She puts her pen down and folds her hands over one another, leaning to rest her elbows on her desk. Her stomach does a strange thing, flipping up over on itself. The coffee is starting to kick in and give her heartburn. 

From her research and based on Baird’s recordings, the Constabulary does not treat its prisoners kindly. Their treatment is not as harsh as Aurinko Permanent Corrections. No, nothing could compare to Palomine Aurinko, and nothing will ever come close to Hoosegow. But there’s a good reason the Solar Planets consider the Guardian Angel System a war crime and New Kinshasa has been charged off and on for committing multiples since the Galactic Civil War ended. 

She grabs her comms and searches for anything she can find on the Constabulary on New Kinshasa and Brahma. She wasn’t expecting her quick galactic search to turn up anything. Just like everything else she’s been looking into privately, this too should have been a dead end. Instead, a tourism site hosted on a Saraswatan travelers guide comes up. 

One of the main attractions to vacationing to Saraswati it turns out, is visiting New Kinshasa. Vacation to Saraswati, and set time aside for a three days, two nights trip to see New Kinshasa. Shuttle over on day one, and see New Kinshasa day two. Get to meet Constables, shake hands with Sergeants, and rub elbows with Inspectors off duty at hotel bars. Take a tour down main street and stop by the Skydeck: Edge of New Kinshasa and peer down at Brahma from up high. 

The photos on the website are orderly and well lit. More than likely staged pieces of propaganda meant to make the average person forget about what happened to Brahma. If Calypso were anyone else even she’d believe it. But Baird’s recordings exist and Brahma has been suffering. Dark Matters can successfully scrub all records from the galaxy but they never stood a chance at stopping something from slipping through the cracks. 

One of the photos on the website catches her eye. A Constable in uniform, with epauluets on their shoulders embroidered in silver thread. Perfectly stitched planets with tilted rings. They’re shaking hands with a man with grey hair and a peculiar mustache. A gold brooch with blue jewels is pinned to his suit. His wide smile reaches his eyes. 

Calypso scrolls down to read the caption at the same time she reaches for her mug. She takes a long sip of her coffee. 

Superintendent Constable Bishop shaking hands with art collector, Osiris Cygnet. 

A “cygnet” is a word used to describe a baby swan. So named after the swan-shaped constellation, Cygnus, and -et indicates smallness. 

If Calypso were the average person, she shouldn’t know this. As she leans back in her desk chair and stares at the swan pen holder, Calypso is reminded that she is not the average person. As she stands now running through her apartment, digging through a cardboard box for a gold swan brooch with sapphire eyes, she has not been the average person since childhood. 

The storage unit came from a deceased art collector. He had an affinity for collecting crystal swans and counterfeit paintings. She sold most of the glass swans back to collectors on Earth while on her visit to her mother’s grave. She held on to the pen holder as a memento and sought out a pawn shop to trade in the brooch when the shop owner said she ought to keep it, “you don’t find jewels like that out there anymore.” Or whatever that meant. 

“Shit shit shit shit–” she finds the brooch and races back to her office clutching it tight. Sure enough, it’s a good match. 

Osiris Cygnet, art collector that vacationed sometime within the last ten years to Saraswati and took a shuttle trip to New Kinshasa. Just how the fuck did he get ahold of Baird’s recordings?

Superintendent Constable Bishop, Eve’s prison guard, and most likely, her future executioner. And he was promoted. At some point in the last twenty years, he was promoted. Multiple times. 

The pin back on the brooch digs into her palm. Calypso clenches her teeth. She should let go before the wound is too deep and forms an ugly gash. She reaches with her free hand and hits play on the next video.

Eevee sits on the stone floor of a prison cell. She stares pointedly at the door. Occasionally her eyes flick up to the camera. Its hard to tell, but her face looks puffy. Her arms have bruises running from her elbows all the way down to her wrists. There are red marks on both wrists from wearing handcuffs. She pulls her knees up to her chest letting out a long groan of pain. The camera zooms in. It is just near inaudible, but the camera's microphone picks up her quiet voice.  I hear your tune,  like a songbird at noon. What a lovely trill, it makes me feel ill. Eve looks like she would curl tighter around herself if it were possible. Shrink into nothing. Make herself as small as a mote of dust.  Like chimes in the wind, we were destined. A full-body shudder wracks through her.  Birdie, I’m not comin’ home, I'm sorry to leave you all alone. A figure approaches the cell. They’re not in uniform but the way they approach Eve’s cell is not without confidence.  “It’s a good song.” Eve jumps with tears in her eyes as she blinks at the person in front of her. “Hey baby, I came to bust you out.” The figure shoves their hands in their pockets.  “Cyrus…” Eve slowly gets to her feet and crosses over to the bars of her cell. She holds a hand out. Cyrus takes it carefully, pressing his lips to her knuckles. She is nearly breathless as she asks, “What are you doing here?” “Like I said: busting you out.”  “I–” Eve shakes her head. “No, you can’t. What about Iris? What about Baird? They need you more than I do right now! How'd you even get in here anyways?” Cyrus shrugs and pulls a key card out from his pocket. “Snuck onto a shuttle, knocked out a Constable, stole their key card? C'mon, Eve, it's not that hard.”  “Not that hard– Cyrus! That's a death sentence! If you get caught–” “I won't get caught, alright? Peter Nureyev”– Eve flinches– “scared them shitless. They’re scrambling right now and too disorganized to notice me.” She's quiet, staring at their hands. “How long has it been already?” “Day five of the Warden Strike, second day without you. Camilla was the one who reached out to. Everyone else apparently was too afraid to, and the other Wardens are losing steam without someone to keep their morale up and minds motivated.”  “And what about Baird? And Iris? You left them alone to try and rescue me? Cyrus, I'm a prisoner, not a princess in a tower.” Cyrus clicks his tongue. “Iris has been alone for a long time, they’ll be fine. And Baird isn’t alone, the Spade’s are taking care of him.” He plays thoughtlessly with her fingers. “You and I only have each other though. I promised your parents I’d look out for you, and I intend to keep that promise, til’ death do us part and all that.”  Eve jerks her hand away to grip one of the bars. “Cyrus, look at me.” He lifts his head and flinches in response only slightly. “I came here willingly. And I’m not going to make it out of here alive. Eber and Camilla can barely afford to take care of themselves and Charlie. And Iris lost their family like you and I did. You and I both know what it's like to lose your parents. I don't want Baird to experience the same thing.”  Cyrus shakes his head. “Eve you're thinking this all backwards. I'm the one that dragged you into this, let me take your place and get you out of it.” The video ends. 

Calypso drops the brooch on her desk to run her hands through her hair. She tugs on the ends of her short bob. 

Eevee pushed Cyrus away because he wanted revolution. And he got it. He got a revolution and it took everything from Baird. 

These are real people. Not just voice recordings or a bedtime story a mother made up to soothe her distressed child. Baird, Eeve, Cyrus, and Iris. A real family. Charlie, Eber, and Camilla and their daughter, Evelyn. A spare family. Josie and the twins. Hank and Mrs. Darius. The Rats. Brahma was full of life. And it still is. Peter Nureyev is a legend to these people. Even if it turns out the name was fake, he was just as real as any of them. 

And despite all their hardships, Cyrus still married Eevee and then Iris. Josie still went on to have twins. Camilla and Eber brought a daughter into the galaxy. Charlie chose to go down singing. Cyrus went out singing. Eve echoed a song. And Baird kept his head high and trilled for their memory. 

The recordings from the comms were real. Are real. Calypso knows this. She doesn't have any faces to put to any names except now for Eve and a rough idea for Cyrus. They were alive. 

Calypso hesitates to start the next video. She's seen more than enough already. More than plenty. There are still two videos left. She already knows how this ends. Eevee Bell walked out of her apartment in the middle of the night so her son wouldn’t have to wake up screaming and watch her be dragged out the front door. She did everything in her power to safeguard him from a War she never wanted to bring home in the first place. And what did it get her? What good did it do when two years later Baird watched what happened to his father anyways? What good did any of it do when they broadcasted Charlie’s execution? 

Taking a deep breath, she hits play. 

“Songbird,” Constable Bishop stands in front of Eve's cell. They keep one hand on their blaster. Eve tucks her chin down while pulling away from the bars. “Tired of singing? That's a pity. You know, a few hours ago, I was alerted that someone came to pay you a visit. I had the cameras checked and we put the facility in lockdown. You'll never believe what we found trying to fly the coop.”  Two Constables drag a man into frame. It's Cyrus. Eve stands in place, her face drained of all its color. Cyrus tilts his head up. The two Constables flanking his side force him to stand, hoisting him up by his underarms. His hands remain pinned behind his back. .  “I wouldn't be all smiley right now if I were in your shoes, Desrosiers.” Constable Bishop pulls their blaster from its holster. They click the safety off and point it directly at Cyrus. “Now then, here's how this is going to play out. Ms. Bell, you're going to admit that you organized the Warden strike, you're going to take the fall and you're going to accept the consequences.” “And if she doesn't?” The Constables holding Cyrus pull on his arms. He hisses through his teeth.   “If she doesn't, then we'll blame you both. And then, with you both out of the way, we'll hunt down that Little Birdie of yours, pluck him from the nest, and make him sing us songs about how beautiful it is to be saved by New Kinshasa–”  “I did it.” Eve crosses her cell and reaches out as far as she can to grab the Constable Bishop’s uniform. Her fingers just barely reach their elbow. “I organized the strike. It was all my idea to begin with. I knew it was risky and stupid but I did it anyways. I poisoned the watering hole–” “Eevee–” “And Cyrus had nothing to do with it. Joining the revolutionaries and inciting the Dome Wardens was all me. Let him go. Blame me for everything, say that I'm the Revolutionary's mother while you’re at it and publicly execute me. Tear me limb from limb– just let Cyrus go and leave my son out of this.”  Constable Bishop holds her gaze. He lowers his blaster and gives her a curt nod, “I wasn't going to go that far, but if that's how you feel, well…” He put his blaster away. “I’m pleased you came around, Ms. Bell.” He turns to the other two Constables and motions for them to leave. “Escort the Pest off of New Kinshasa.” They grab hold of Cyrus’ jaw and force him to look up. “And if we ever catch you sneaking up here again, you’ll be publicly executed.” Eevee looks away as they drag Cyrus out of frame. His voice comes as a muffled shout that grows quieter and quieter.  “Don’t look so down Ms. Bell. You made the right choice. New Kinshasa thanks you for your candor.” The video ends. 

She lied. Eevee lied to Constable Bishop. Even if half of what she said did hold some truth to it, there were still lies she sprinkled in that they believed. At least they chose to believe them. And choosing to believe in something only grants it more power. It warps reality, and makes it more real. 

Baird’s first recording that Calypso heard echoes in the back of her mind. Some say that the legend isn’t true. Some say that Eevee Bell set the Dome Wardens on strike. At least one person believes that she is Peter Nureyev’s mother. 

Baird and Iris did not know everything. For whatever Cyrus was caught for finally, Constable Bishop made good on their promise and did eventually come back for him. They did not however publicly execute him. 

They got Charlie instead. 

With only one video left, Calypso hits play. She’s only slightly surprised to see Cyrus in a similar interrogation room to the one Eevee was in in the first video.

“There will be a free Brahma. There will be a free Brahma. Brahma will be–” “Do you ever, shut up!” Constable Bishop slams their fist against the table in front of Cyrus. His epauluets are different, now instead of two stars theres three. Cyrus winces clenching his jaw, but doesn’t draw away. “No wonder you got a divorce, I’d get one too if I was stuck married to you.” “Charmed, though I don’t find you pretty enough to marry… maybe if you lost the scrappy beard–” “Enough!” Constable Bishop drags a hand down their face, scratches at their stubble, and stares down at Cyrus. “All you have to do, is look at the camera,” they point to the one currently rolling, “and say exactly what you did.” “And then what? You’ll let me go scot free? You’ve already beat black and blue, I think I felt a tooth or two dislodge from my mouth. You willing to pay for my dentist bill?” “There are no dentist left on Brahma.” Constable Bishop circles around Cyrus and stands behind him. They grip his left shoulder, and guide his face up towards the camera with their other hand. “Now go on, tell them exactly who you are, and what you did.” Cyrus’ eyes are a muted green. His face is long and skin a darker shade of brown than Eevees’. He takes a deep, calming breath, and flashes a quick smile revealing a dimple on his left cheek.  “My name is Peter Nureyev, and I am going to bring down New Kinshasa.” Constable Bishop lets go of Cyrus to whip out their blaster. They crack the blunt end against the back of his head. Constable Bishop’s hand and blaster come away slightly bloodied, and the shout Cyrus lets out echoes in the small room.  “Think you’re so smart, huh? Try again.” “Cyrus Desrosiers-Bell, and when I get out of here,” Cyrus strains against his restraints baring his teeth in a sharp, sadistic grin, “I’m going to rip your fucking throat out!”  Constable Bishop clicks the safety off their blaster. They press it to the side of Cyrus’ head. “Go on, keep talking. We don’t need you alive, you serve no greater purpose to your revolution. You get caught in New Kinshasa once and I let you go, shame on you. You get caught sneaking around New Kinshasa a second time and get far enough back home just outside your front door, shame on me.” Bishop tsks rechecking their blaster. “One jolt. That’s all you need.” “Well go on then,” Cyrus lifts his chin. His brows squish together. A small gasp escapes his lips. “You don’t scare me. Not the first time you’ve pressed that thing to my head.”  After a moment, a comms goes off. The Constable checks it with a quick glance and relaxes. “You’re right,” they draw their blaster away from Cyrus but do not click the safety back in place. “I don't scare you enough. But she probably will.” A question forms on Cyrus’ lips but dies just as quickly as the interrogation room doors whirls open and close. Heavy bootsteps cross the room. A small shadow falls over Cyrus. His eyes go wide.  “Eve, my angel…” Cyrus shakes his head, tearing his gaze away. He grits his teeth. “No. You killed her.”  “Did we though? Constable,” the Bishop turns to the new arrival. They pass their blaster off to them. The new arrival walks into frame to accept the blaster. Standing beside Constable Bishop, is none other than Eevee Bell. The same dark hair, dark eyes, and constellation of freckles. A collar of some sort clasps snuggly around her neck.  It is as if the soul that bubbled to life inside of her has been snuffed out. This may look like Eevee Bell, it may move like Eevee Bell, but it is not her. Not anymore. No song whistles from her lips as she levels the blaster pressing back against Cyrus’ head.  “Eevee, baby,” the Constable places her finger over the trigger.  “Now then, any last words, Desroisers-Bell?” Cyrus licks his lips and stares into the camera. “My angel, my angel. Set me free.” The Constable pulls the trigger. Her arm absorbs the recoil as Cyrus’ body seizes and–

Calypso closes out of the video and turns away. She presses her head between her legs gasping for lungfuls of air. 

Rita spent ninety-two hours digging through Goddess knows what just to dig up this. The tumbling feeling in her stomach returns full force. Combined a racing heart and the rising bile in her throat, Calypso isn’t so sure anymore if she wants to call Frannie back. Maybe she ought to reach back out to Mister Mercury and try creative writing again. Maybe she ought to quit writing and journalism altogether, shuttle home to Venus, find a nice well off spouse, pop out another fucked up kid like her and her mother, and pat herself on the back for not dying to cancer or radiation poisoning or whatever. It might also do her a whole lot of good to find a therapist. At least looking for one wouldn’t kill her.

She waits until her heart has stopped racing and stomach settled back into place. Her pen feels like it’s barely there as she scratches down quick notes:

Eve gave the constable’s idea for public execution, thus Charlie. 

Cyrus Desrosiers-Bell. He took Eevee’s last name? And then kept it after marrying Iris?

Cyrus was beat and taken away because he snuck on to New Kinshasa– twice. First time to try and save Eve (failed to) and second time for unknown reason (caught and tracked down). Could this be why/how Talia’s book club found a way to New Kinshasa?

Don’t know what song Cyrus sang as he was dragged away from Iris. Possibly some version of Charlie’s Lament? 

How does Osiris Cygnet connect to all this?

What was the collar around Eve’s neck?

Constable Bishop’s promotions: have something to do with what happened to Eve? With what he did to Cyrus? (SIDE NOTE: I pray to my Goddess that whatever the hell happened to Eve, they did not do to Cyrus.)

… I pray that whatever they did to Eve, they did not improve and inflict upon Charlie. 

She puts her pen back in the swan holder and examines the puncture wound in her palm. The injury is small, not a gash like she thought it might be. A bandage and anti-spetic and Calypso will be right as rain. Peachier than an Earthen Sunday morning. 

“I need to find a hobby.” Calypso glances at the swan holder. Perhaps– no. Absolutely not. 

She dresses her injury and calls Frannie back despite every part of her howling not to. Her coffee has long since gone cold. Normally this woudln’t be a problem. Just drop a few ice cubes in and presto. Or reheat the whole mug and presto. Today is one of those rare days where neither is an appealing option and the last of her six hundred cred coffee goes down the drain. Finally her call connects with Frannie.

“You finished the videos?”

“Frannie.”

“Right, hello. You finished the videos.” It’s not even a question anymore. Calypso hums turning away from her sink to lean her lower back against it. Slowly she lowers herself to the floor. “I’ll take that as a yes, okay! I asked Rita about Peter Nureyev like you wanted me to. And she turned back around within a day to tell me that there was nothing she could find about the man. He doesn’t exist. Just another legend.”

Calypso scoffs, “Well that’s impossible, I just saw the videos. Eve and Cyrus both mention him by name. Baird mentions him in his recordings by name. Camilla mentions him by name at some point. He has to be real.”

“Well I don’t know what to tell you, kid, but if Rita can’t find him, no one can. It’s impossible to find something or someone who doesn’t exist.”

“Or maybe he disappeared.”

Frannie hums, “Sure, maybe that. Look, kid,” Calypso bites her tongue, “I wanted to talk with you about asking for help. Remember how I said you won’t be asking Rita for anymore favors?”

“Yeah, yeah actually– Frannie what was that about?”

“Kid,” Calypso does not retain her inward groan, “Rita is a really good friend of mine. Me and her go way back to when we were just little ladies getting our noses dirty and toeses wet with cybersecurity. She went down the HCPD path, I went down a freelance one. 

“My point though is that me and her aren’t the same little ladies we used to be anymore. We’re little old ladies now. And us little old ladies need our rest and relaxation. When Rita starts something she doesn’t know when to take a break. She puts her whole body into it.”

“Don’t you mean mind?”

“No, body. Rita has been sacrificing her own health for the better part of three decades now trying to help her Boss. He’s a prick at best and an asshole at his worst. He’s taken her for granted a lot.” Well, maybe she should find a better Boss, goes unsaid. “Their relationship is better now, but I’m not going to let another kid like you come and drag her around the whole galaxy.”

“For fucks sake Frannie– my name is Calypso! I’m not your damn kid!” Calypso pants. The swooping feeling returns. “I’m not you’re damn kid, I haven’t been anyone’s damn kid in over ten years, so stop calling me a fucking child! If you don’t want me talking to Ms. Rita anymore fine. I get it. You don’t wanna hear about my requests to her that’s fine. I’ll cut you out of it and–”

“Calyspo Starr.” Her jaw clamps shut narrowly avoiding biting her tongue. “If you reach out to Rita after today, I will cease to help you myself. You can take your little comms and find someone else willing to help you for free. All I’m asking, Ms. Starr, is that you don’t involve Rita any further. Have I made myself clear, Ms. Starr?”

Ms. Starr, I’m sorry but there’s nothing more we can do for your mother. Your next decisions are going to shape how the end of her life are going to be. Have you got a will lined up already?

Ms. Starr, I can’t accept your solo proposal. Everyone else found partners for this project at the start of the year. Maybe you can join a group and be their editor? 

Ms. Starr, that will be a demerit for you. Let’s find you something more suitable in the lost and found. You wouldn’t want to mistaken for a ruffian, do you?

“Crystal.” Calypso ends the call before Frannie can respond. She calls back. Calypso decline the call and throws her comms across the kitchen. She watches as it skitters along the tile. 

Alone. Shit writer. Parentless. Jobless. Flying by the seat of her pants and overpriced coffee grounds. She was never cut out to be a journalist. Maybe she ought to go off and find a cold ditch to lie down in. Or a warm ditch. Whichever she stumbles across first. 

Just who is Calypso Starr? Who the hell does she think she is anyways? And what gave her the idea that any of this meant something to someone in the first place?

I choose to believe… 

Calypso takes a deep breath and starts counting back from ten. 

I choose to believe… 

As she slowly exhales, true clarity rings through her mind. Baird chose to believe. And it doesn’t matter how, his recordings made it off-planet. And if not Calypso Starr to tell his story, to transcribe every last detail she can capture, then who else? Who else does that leave? 

Calypso Starr, the rebel who didn’t wear the right uniform. The orphaned university student who scrapped by without any friends. And now, a Solar based, historical freelance journalist. Scratch that from the record: Galactic, historical freelance journalist. She’s worn half a dozen different hats over the years, but one thing has remained consistent: a Starr burns brightest before they go out. And if Baird Bell and Brahma are the undoing of her, then there’s nothing to be done about it. She’ll get to the end of the recordings and uncover the truth one or another. With or without Frannie’s help.

[firebarzzz]

Gang Starr : Pionniers du Rap East Coast

Gang Starr : Pionniers du Rap East Coast Par Firebarzzz, Le 11 Juillet 2024. Gang Starr est un groupe de rap américain emblématique, formé en 1989 par le rappeur Guru (Keith Edward Elam) et le DJ/producteur DJ Premier (Christopher Edward Martin). Ils sont souvent considérés comme des pionniers du rap East Coast et ont marqué l’histoire du hip-hop avec leur style unique, mêlant des paroles…