#and now she’s a rising actress and he wants to be a gardener even though he can’t stand sunlight

[simgerale]

also apologies for my absence, i have literally just been focusing all my extra energy into sims 3 which i still can’t take screenshots in (reshade broke my game so I just took it out lol) so I’m just… enjoying my free time 😌

[forevfangirlwrites]

I'm obsessed with the actors au! first date/kiss for that au?

Part 1: Here (Part 2: Here)

The best thing about Percy’s life is that he has managed to score a date with The Annabeth Chase.

The worst thing about Percy’s life is that he has no fucking clue how he’s supposed to pull this off.

She’s a famous actress. So it’s not like he can just take her to Olive Garden and he does not have the budget for something super fancy and oh, did he mention, she’s famous, so going out in public is going to be an issue and—

He calls Grover.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Grover says in utter disbelief over the line.

Percy groans as he plops down on his couch. “I almost wish I was, this is too stressful. I can’t do it, why did I even say anything?”

Luckily, Grover is his best friend and completely used to rambling that’s usually just a tad dramatic.

“You just need to play to your strengths.”

“Did you just quote a sports movie?”

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Yes, please, sorry.” Percy's too desperate. “Continue.”

Grover sighs. “As I was saying, it seems like she just wants to spend some time with you--though I'm still having a hard time believing that you actually scored a date with Annabeth Chase, are you sure it was her?"

"Grover!"

"Sorry, just making sure. Anyway, you should do just that: spend some time with her. And do what you do best.”

“Which is?” he asks, but he thinks he knows the answer. His oven is already on.

“Don’t play dumb, I have no doubt you’re stress baking cookies right now.”

“Okay, okay, but…” he trails off, another thought coming to him. “What if she doesn’t like baked goods?”

“Oh my god Percy, it’s baked goods, who doesn’t like them!”

Grover makes a fair point. (Plus, he’s pretty sure she’s posted stuff on her Instagram that was baked goods.)

So, miraculously, with some help from Grover and the okay from Cali, he manages to pull together something that he hopes is at least halfway decent.

The small, cramped café is already cute, but Percy hopes that by drawing down the blinds and lighting some candles and lamps he’s made it cozier. (He even bought a table cover for one of the two lone tables at the place.)

The bell rings just as he’s finished setting out some plates and his head snaps up as Annabeth Chase, in all her dark jeans and crème blouse glory, walks in. (Seriously, jeans never look that good on anyone and what probably really famous designer thought it was a good idea to have off the shoulder blouses because he might be choking a little right now).

“Hey,” she says softly while he stares.

She laughs and crosses the distance between them to smile sweetly. “Percy?”

“Huh? Yes? Hi, Annabeth, you came, I mean, of course you did, have a seat.” He gets the words out all in one breath and turns towards the counter where he’s laid out some food.

A hand on his arm stops him and forget Jason Grace’s eyes, her touch is electrifying.

“Percy,” she says slowly and he’s afraid he’s fucked things up and the date hasn’t even started. “Does it help to know that I’m nervous too?”

What?

She offers a small smile. “Believe it or not, I don’t normally do this, and I don’t know what’s going through your head but right now, I’m just a girl on a first date, and I’m nervous too. So,” she takes a breath, “let’s just be nervous together, okay?”

He wants to slap himself in the face for being an absolute (insensitive) idiot. But he doesn’t think that would help the situation, so instead he nods.

“Yeah, okay, sorry. Can we start again?”

Annabeth smiles, her first real true smile so far and Percy feels a warmth in his chest. She nods and he thanks every deity in the world

Squaring his shoulders, he turns properly towards her, taking in her appearance with a wide smile, and takes her hand. “You look beautiful,” he says, raising her hand to his lips. “And thanks for, you know...” His brain kinda short circuited when he kissed her hand, but he tries to power through anyway, “joining me tonight.”

She giggles as he pulls out a chair for her. “You look pretty cute too,” she replies with a wink and Percy tries not to have a heart attack.

“You’re cuter,” he argues back, as she slips into her seat. She makes a face and he shoots her a grin as he turns around to get the food.

“I don’t know about that, my view is pretty great,” she calls, and he almost drops the dish of enchiladas he’s made.

He tells his brain to come up with a quick and witty retort. His brain returns an image of Annabeth kissing him that is entirely unhelpful to the situation.

Turning back around with the dish firmly grasped in his hands, all he can manage is making the same face as she did fifteen seconds ago. But at least he doesn’t drop the food. Baby steps.

She laughs and he places the dish in between them, maneuvering around the drinks he’s already set out.

“Clearly you haven’t looked in a mirror,” he retaliates.

Annabeth rolls her eyes and smiles. “How about I call a truce and say that the food looks the best out of all of us. Did you make it?”

 And the nervousness is back as some heat flares up to his cheeks and his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, sorry if it’s not the best, it’s my first time making them, really and—“

“I’m sure they’re going to be good, now please sit down and have some too, I’m feeling kinda lonely here,” she jokes, but he catches the look behind her eyes. 

He quickly sits down, wiping the palms of his hands on his jeans. Nodding towards the food, he aims for the casual that he had lost the moment he had served the food. “Well? Don't leave me hanging.”

Truthfully, he had already taste tested (he couldn’t serve something bad) and from the little he had, it seemed pretty okay. But that doesn’t stop him from anxiously looking over at her as he serves himself.

Annabeth's eyes widen as she chews and he hopes that's a good sign. “Percy," she says as she finishes up her bite. "This is so good! There’s no way you made them for the first time!”

He blushes again and wonders when he went from being 26 to 16 again. “I had help, my best friend Grover makes it even better.”

“Still. Do you like to cook?” she asks, taking another bite.

“Yeah, but I like to bake even more.”

Seeing her questioning face, he laughs, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. “Yeah, you’ll get to taste some of that later.”

She beams at him. “I can’t wait!”

“What about you? Do you like cooking?”

It’s kind of bizarre to be talking about cooking with Annabeth freaking Chase, but if there’s one thing he’s learned, she’s only human (an amazing, beautiful, talented human in his eyes, but still just human) and he needs to get over himself.

“I wish, I am horrible in the kitchen though.”

“What? No way? You’re telling me the guest star on Cooking with Dionysus can’t actually cook?” He jokes back.

She groans, leaning back in her chair. “Oh my god, that was so nerve wracking. Thankfully, I had a recipe and some help, even if it was snarky help.”

He leans forward. “Is he actually that snarky?”

Annabeth shrugs, her exposed shoulders rising and falling, and he represses a sudden urge to kiss the freckle on her right one. “Hard to tell. I don’t think he hated me though.”

“It must be tough, being around all these famous people, must be a lot of drama.”

She sighs. “Yeah, I mean, it’s a tough industry, but there are some really good ones out there.”

“Like Jason.”

“Like Jason,” she agrees. “I’m glad he told me about this place.” Her eyes wander the room and the nervousness about his choices crops up again.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he blurts, causing her focus to shift back to him.

“Mind what?”

Well now that he’s talked himself into a hole, he has to talk himself out of it. Nervous together, that’s what she had said right?

“That our date is here, I didn’t think being out in public would be the best so I tried to make it as private as possible and this was the only place I could think of that—”

For the second time that night, she cuts him off. “Percy, it’s perfect.” She lays a hand on his across the small table. “You’ve clearly put a lot of thought into this and I really appreciate it, thank you.”

He smiles, the anxiety slowly melting away. “Good, I’m glad, I was just kinda worried about it, you know, and I’m glad that you don’t mind this, so um, thank you,” he ends lamely.

“Don’t worry,” Annabeth assures, squeezing his hand, “I’ll make sure to plan the next one.”

“Next one?” Internally, he’s dying a little, but he has to play it cool you know. So naturally, his voice totally definitely doesn’t crack.

“We’ll see, depends on the baked goods,” she teases back.

He shoots her a conspiratorial smile. “How do you feel about cupcakes?”

As it turns out Annabeth Chase (like most people, as Grover would say) loved the cupcakes and Percy Jackson loved the way the frosting tasted in her mouth when he stole a kiss.

A/N: Thank you for sending a prompt! This AU is the most requested one that I get so I’m glad I was able to write a little first date bit to establish it a little more! I hope you liked it and thanks again!

[meow-bebe]

Elusive

The First installment of my Neo Classics collection, ‘Elusive’ is set in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby.

“Ten Lee throws the most extravagant parties in New York, though he rarely seems to be in attendance himself. When you find yourself in his mansion one warm June evening, you aim to find the elusive Ten Lee and get a bit more than you bargained for.”

Paring: Ten Lee x reader, Jung Jaehyun x reader

Genre: Roaring 20s au, Jazz Age au, The Great Gatsby au

Warnings: quite a bit of alcohol, general debauchery, mentions of adultery, mentions of smoking, this one gets a bit suggestive (heavy make out session, removal of outer layers)

Word count: 6.4k

Tonight’s soundtrack: Booty Swing - Parov Stelar, It Ain’t Over - Monsta X, Catgroove - Parov Stelar, Miss Jackson - Panic! at the Disco, Love Talk - WayV, Nicotine - Panic! at the Dicso

A/n: hiya! before you read, i’d just like to say that this fic is my pride and joy. Its my child. It took me over a month to plan out and write, is the longest thing ive ever written, and im very very proud of it. so please, if you enjoyed elusive give it a reblog! send me an ask! just scream in the tags, but let me know you enjoyed it! ill appreciate it more than you can ever know, and it will definitely help to give me motivation to keep working on the next parts of neo classics. 

“The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s names.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

In all of New York, fanciful, expensive, outrageous New York, there was one man known far and wide for his parties. Those in attendance always returned touting fabulous stories of more liquor than an army could drink in a week, of the celebrities that shamelessly showed their faces, and of the cover that night and perhaps hundreds of people could offer to those wanting to make a fool of themselves or sneak off with a mistress. It couldn't be denied that they were possibly the best parties in the whole state. 

And the man behind it all? The elusive Ten Lee. 

Ten was an enigma, a figure shrouded in mystery despite opening his property to all those who fancied a wild night most weekends. Very little was known about him to the general public. Even many of those in his own social circle knew little to nothing about the man. Supposedly he had inherited most of his fortune, and having only begun taking up residence in New York in the past year or so there was quite a bit of speculation that he was foreign. Despite being the topic of many a gossip column, Ten wasn’t exactly a public figure, and it seemed that this absolute lack of information about him bled into the atmosphere of his extravaganzas as well. Many of his regular partygoers never bothered to question his presence, or lack thereof. Ten had always interested you, and upon your invitation to one of his grand functions, you had decided that this was the night you would meet the little known Mr. Lee. 

Not that you were truly invited, but not many people were. Most just came anyway, saying they knew someone who was involved with Ten, or they had known him before he claimed his inheritance and became the Mr. Lee that all high class New Yorkers knew of. (Or was there a time before? Perhaps he had started out just as anyone else and his sudden acclamation of a large sum of money led him to spend on the most frivolous of things. Or maybe the man had arrived from his mother’s womb as the classy and expensive bachelor he was known as. No one seemed to know.) No matter what their story was, each attendee often brought along several plus ones. Automobiles would bear them out to Long Island, and they would flood onto the lawn, ready to dance and drink and make good use of all the expensive treats Ten provided. 

It was through a friend that you found yourself being driven out to the island one evening in late June. This was not your first Lee party, and it would not be your last, however you, unlike many of the other guests, held on to some shred of dignity and only showed up when invited. Even if you were only brought along because Irene didn’t want to be seen alone, it was something. Not that she ever kept to herself for long. 

Irene, a close friend of many years, was a self proclaimed rising starlet, although in reality she had been a very minor character in two films. She could be a bit dramatic at times (as her “profession” called for), and her title as “actress” was certainly an exaggeration. Still, she was a dear friend to you no matter how much she liked to stroke her own ego. And using her small claim to fame, Irene had managed to worm her way into the heart and car of a man who was also trying to make his way in the film business. You suspected he was about as in the public eye as Irene. Nevertheless, he had managed to get an invitation through one of his higher-ups and invited Irene to accompany him, which of course meant you would be tagging along as well. And truly, it wasn’t as if you minded. You enjoyed a night out as much as the next person, and Irene was your ticket into many affairs you wouldn’t otherwise find yourself attending. 

There were a few others driving out with you, all chattering amongst themselves and buzzing with excitement for the coming night. Irene, placed strategically in the front seat,  appeared to have latched onto the driver as her catch of the night. This was expected, after all he had been the one to invite her. You didn’t fool yourself into thinking she would stay by your side for very long anyway, Irene was notorious for ditching you as soon as a particularly good looking man showed up. You were fine on your own, and didn’t usually mind being left to your own devices. Depending on where you were you often got the urge to explore, after all the rich lead different lives, and getting a glimpse of that was always a good time. Irene often encouraged you to find someone of your own to pass the time with, and while sometimes you would find someone who could hold a half decent conversation, it was never very high on the night’s agenda. Though it seems tonight, in a rare break from your usual habit of flying solo, you had found someone. An attractive young man who had been introduced to you as Mr. Jung was seated at your side, and had begun talking quietly with you as the automobile sped along towards the island. 

“You look quite dashing tonight, Miss一?”

His voice was deep and soft, gentle and just a tad bit sultry.

“Y/l/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” you fill in.

“Miss Y/n Y/l/n,” Mr. Jung muses, and though you’ve heard them many times before the familiar words feel different when he says them like that, perfectly proper in his every action  except for the slight seductive tone slipping through his barriers. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine as he takes your hand and presses a chaste kiss to your gloved fingers, the black of the silk making a nice contrast with his pretty pink lips. “A beautiful name, though not as beautiful as the one who holds it.”

You giggle, raising the hand not grasped in his to cover your mouth, and reply, “Oh Mr. Jung, how you flatter me.”

“Please,” he lets your fingers slip out of his, “just call me Jaehyun.” 

Well, perhaps not entirely proper, but there was no denying that you were enjoying the attention he was laying on you. Finding Ten Lee might be the final goal of tonight but he could be notoriously hard to find, and even if you did have ulterior motives there was no reason you shouldn't enjoy yourself in the meantime. Jaehyun had been nothing but gracious and flattering, and it never hurt to have a gorgeous man’s arm to cling to. You chat idly with Jaehyun for the rest of the ride out to Ten’s mansion, words flowing freely between you the whole time yet each learning not a single note worthy detail about the other. 

By the time you arrive, just before dusk is preparing to settle herself over the bay, the party is already in full swing. Though the real festivities begin once night falls, many guests arrive in the afternoon, early enough to enjoy the section of the beach that falls on Ten’s property. They swim in the green glass waves of the bay and generally enjoy everything that the mansion has to offer while it's still light out before changing into evening wear in one of the many spare rooms and coming down the wide marble staircases in pairs, ready to throw themselves into the pulsing energy of the night. 

The beach is now empty as the unfamiliar man in the front seat pulls into the long drive snaking up the lawn and tries to find a place to park amongst the crowd of other automobiles. People dressed to the nines, still in their swimming suits, and everything in between trail up the lawn, bright light and the sound of many people talking all at once enticing them towards the house. 

The car comes to a stop, finding a lucky spot not too far from the house, the excitement rolling off each and every person surrounding you palpable in the air. Jaehyun opens the door and steps out before offering a hand to help you down. You take it with a slight smile, T-strap heels clicking against the pavement as you dismount and shut the door. The hand placed on top of Jaehyun’s quickly found its way to his elbow as he leads you up the lawn towards the french doors, thrown wide open and spilling the bright light that illuminated the inside and the growing noise of the party as people traversed in and out of the house. 

Irene and the driver were not far behind you, a familiar flirtatious bounce in her step as they traipse up the lawn. You knew from the way she looked at him一predatorial, like she was going to devour him but make him feel like he was the one doing the stalking一that you wouldn’t be seeing much of her after a certain point in the night. This wasn’t uncommon for Irene, she always said she liked the “thrill of the chase without having to do the chasing.” You supposed your own plans for tonight weren’t all that different, what with your search for the host. Usually that would’ve bothered you, as you didn’t particularly approve of Irene’s galavanting at events she shouldn’t really be present at in the first place, but tonight you were too wrapped up in the events unfolding to care all that much. 

The tiered silk of your dress swished against your calves, the heavy beading giving it a swing which accentuated the swing of your hips that grew with your confidence as you made your way up the wide steps leading to Ten’s front door. With each stride you take forward the noise inside seemed to dull a bit, fading away until it was just a buzzing murmur in the background. Your vision zeroes in on the mahogany doors, a small window to what felt almost like a whole other universe contained inside the mansion. You tended to get star-struck easily, but there was something different about the feeling tonight. An excitement burned in your veins, one you had never felt before, as if your body was in the know about some mysterious outcome or event of tonight. It felt as though you were surrounded by a bubble of water that hazed over the silhouettes of people and faded the harmonies of the symphony buzzing somewhere inside, laughter and the faint clinking of glasses tinny in your ears. 

There was something about the atmosphere that drew you in. You would never quite be able to explain the feeling, that odd tugging deep in your chest yanking you forward by some invisible string of fate. All feeling seemed to have left you except the aching want to throw yourself into the fray and dance until your feet fell off, drink until the sun came up, feel the burn of others’ cigarette smoke in your lungs until you choked, search for a companion until you found the right one. 

Time had slowed, and the usual clacking of your heels deepened to a hearty thud for each step you took. Every movement dragged you farther down under the surface, your sense of anything outside the confines of the house melting away until you had been utterly consumed by the muted liveliness of the party before you had even joined in. Everything happened so fast for being in slow motion, and before you could get the gears turning once again and recognize that you were no longer on the path leading to the steps Jaehyun was leading you through the double doors. The bubble popped. Imaginary water came crashing down around you, streaming off your hair and down your dress. The sensation was so strong you could swear that you felt the rivulets on your arms, the dampness of your hair on your neck. 

Everything was suddenly crystal clear, blurred forms regaining their sharp edges and an almost overwhelming surge of music and din of conversation assaulting your senses all at once. You look down at the ground, somewhat disoriented and almost expecting a puddle of water underneath you, drips falling from the hem of your dress, but there was nothing. The ground was dry, as it should be, and you shook your head slightly to yourself in hopes it would draw you back to reality a bit. 

As Jaehyun tugs you along, slipping nimbly through the crowds gathered in the tastefully decorated foyer, you simultaneously began to regain your wits and let your thoughts drift. An odd mix of cigar smoke, lust, and overbearing perfume hung in the air, threatening to put you in a trance and drag you away. There was always a feeling of disconnection with the world around you that creeped in at Ten’s parties. Often you would let it carry you away, but tonight you were here for more than just your own enjoyment, and so you clung to Jaehyun like a lifeline. He would glance back at you every few seconds, a reassuring smile on his face as your hand on his arm began to squeeze just a little tighter, the tiniest bit afraid you would lose him in the kinetic chaos of dancing and laughing. 

No guest goes without a glass of something to wash their inhibitions right down the drain, and many swipe the tiny sandwiches or pastries offered by butlers expertly balancing platters of hors d'oeuvres in hand as they expertly navigate through the throngs of people. You’re no black sheep tonight, for Jaehyun presses a glass of expensive champagne into your hand as you seek a somewhat less crowded place to enjoy the night, a replica clutched in his own. There are none who stand alone in this crowd, either surrounded by a group just as free spirited as themselves or paired off, hanging off their partners’ arms and not so subtly sneaking suggestive glances at each other. 

For each corner you turn you see a familiar face一an old acquaintance from school, a friend’s sister, the man who works at the bank. But just as quickly as you recognize them their  identities slip from your mind, partly from a combination of the overwhelming amount of people crowding around you on every side and the buzz of energy and alcohol. 

Ten’s parties were known for being quite anonymous to those looking for a good time. Those in attendance would always see people they knew outside the bubble of safety Long Island offered on night like these, yet no matter how scandalous their behavior it would never become public knowledge. Gossip was unavoidable, yet that was always how it stayed一mere gossip for the wealthy ladies to discuss over tea. As darkness fell over the bay so came a cloak of anonymity that drew in people like moths to a lightpost. 

An hour or so of aimlessly wandering the three story mansion, people have dispersed a bit which means that the rooms are a bit easier to navigate, though there is still no lack of bodies. You trail along through the groups of dancers, some getting drunk, all throwing caution to the wind (perhaps a little too much). The symphony had changed songs, now playing something with a bit more of a sexy tone to it and you sway slightly along to the beat as you walk. Idly chatting with Jaehyun, one hand on his arm and the other filled with a glass of something sticky sweet to replace the long gone champagne, the two of you traverse through Ten’s mansion, both surveying the rooms and glancing at the people passing by. 

He’s got quite the handsome face, and most people wouldn’t look past that on a night such as this. But he’s looking for something tonight, you can see it in his eyes. The subtle way his gaze flicks up and down the figures of women in dresses fancier than yours as he uses eyeing the crowds for a clearish path as an excuse to not be looking solely at you. The slight desire he holds as his eyes take in the people milling about matches exactly with the look he gave you when you first sat down next to him in Irene’s friend’s car, and the way he flicks nervously between observing the other women in the room and you, still holding fast to his arm, lets you know that he’s not yet sure if you’re what he wants. 

It doesn’t bother you though. He’s not what you’re looking for tonight either. 

You’re looking for Ten. Though you only vaguely knew what he looked like, you always kept one eye sliding over the many people you run across, hoping to see a face that would strike you as the one person that intrigues you most. You’ve always heard rumors that he never seems to be present at the parties he throws, but personally you have a hunch that he likes to hide in the cover of the crowds. You’ve done your fair share of research about the man, not that drunken recollections and idle gossip are much to go off of, but none of the people you’ve asked about him seem to care all that much. Free drinks, a good time, and the beautiful people that crowded into Ten’s mansion was enough to make most forget about the mysterious host within a matter of minutes. 

But not you. He intrigues you too much, and though you’ve been tempted to drown yourself in the pleasure offered up on all sides, your quest to find Ten is more important. 

Not so important that you can’t enjoy yourself as you search though. Jaehyun is good company, and the two of you mingle amongst the other guests. As you drift along, you meet people you would never believe were really there, had really talked with you, were it not for the reputation that Ten’s extravaganzas held and the fact that you had seen them with your own eyes. Actors, musicians, the richest of the rich, all to be found in the same house at the same time. Supposedly he knew many of them personally and had genuinely invited them. Many of the stories you’ve heard sounded more like they were just fantasies that had been made up with the help of some strong liquor and many expensive looking partygoers, but it seemed as though there was more truth to them than expected. Ten was a strange figure, and while most just take advantage of the numerous bars and sensually lit gardens, you’re itching to get to the bottom of the mystery that is Ten Lee. 

After several hours of drifting here and there in the house, you and Jaehyun find your way down to the gardens. The party still rages on the lawns, though there are a few less people and a bit more space. It's just as well lit as inside, and the alcohol flows just as plentily. Your surroundings are somewhat more tame, as people have more space to move around and less reason to do so. 

After exploring the gardens for a while, you nudge Jaehyun and tell him that your feet have begun to feel tired, after all standing around in heels for several hours isn’t exactly the most fun you’ve ever had. The two of you find a place to sit quickly, and you settle at a table already set up with a small group. A company of eight gorgeous figures sit there, several paired off with a partner equally as stunning on their arm. (You have to wonder; were only those perceived by the host as beautiful invited? What of those who just showed up?) Irene is among them, the reason you had decided on this particular table. She shares a drink with the driver from earlier, talking with you when necessary though most of her attention was focused on the man on her right. You sit to her left, with Jaehyun on yours. Swirling your drink around, you do your best to pay attention to Irene, although it’s not going so well. 

Something, or someone, has caught your eye. 

Your attention is brought back to the conversation you’re supposed to be participating in when Irene laughs一a high pitched sound that could be perceived as either mellifluous or grating depending on your temperament一as tonight’s beaux says something that’s supposed to be funny. You don’t think he’s particularly humorous but half heartedly play along anyway, eyes unabashedly set on the man sitting across the table and to the right a bit. 

He’s truly ethereal, both in looks and mannerisms. With a sharp and elegantly curved nose, dark hair swept tastefully to the side, and a sparkle of something dangerous you can’t quite place but find attractive anyway in his catlike eyes, he draws stares not just from you, but all across the garden. The sharp contrasting colors of his tuxedo seem to brighten his honeyed skin, his every movement graceful as he entrances you, all dazzling smiles and pretty features. 

You can tell that he’s so much more than that though. There are layers and layers to this man, all hidden just below the surface, and you feel the desire to claw your way into him and analyse every bit swelling somewhere in the back of your mind as he catches your eyes locked on him. His smile grows just the slightest bit before he turns back to the light flirtation he seemed to be pressing upon the woman next to him.

Though he had been an ideal partner for the earlier parts of the night, Jaehyun is almost forgotten in the presence of this new man. However, not so much that you don’t notice his attention drifting to another table. Watching his line of vision, you locate the young woman he has his eyes set on. She’s not hard to find, beautiful even compared to the other guests she’s gathered with. Wearing a slinky red dress topped with a fur shawl, she’s certainly quite the sight to see, and your companion has been observing her for a while now. 

It appears you weren’t what he was looking for after all. 

“Jaehyun,” you say, sipping on your drink delicately, “You should go on without me for a bit. I see how you’re eyeing the bar over there.” 

It’s a lie. His eyes flick from you back in the direction the woman in red was for just a second, and though it barely happened, a subtle movement that seemed instinctive, ot’s enough to give him away. Though he does his best not to show it you can see the recognition that you’ve seen through his show of keeping his eyes solely on you dawning in his eyes. 

“Ahh, but I shouldn’t leave you alone.” Still the same gentleman you met in the back of the automobile. Or perhaps he was just putting up appearances, there was no way to tell. It didn’t really matter anyway, you had your sights set on something higher than the possibility of the deeper fragments of this man’s personality. 

“I’ll be fine,” you wave off his concerns nonchalantly. “I’m not alone anyway, I’ve got Irene here!” At the sound of her name your friend looks over, leaning on the tabe slightly as she sends a wink at you and Jaehyun. 

You read the wink as more of a “I see you eyeing your man, if you don’t disappear with him it’s quite a shame and I might just take the responsibility upon myself,” although you were hoping Jaehyun, who you assumed was unused to Irene’s wiley charms, would see it as more of a “I’ve got Y/n, you go on now.” 

Either way, he seemed to take the hint, although he remained reluctant. 

You pat his arm, “You go and have fun, Jaehyun, I don’t want to drag you down.”

“Not at all,” he replied gently, and it seemed to you almost calculated the way his eyes didn’t stray from you in the moment. You weren’t sure why he was bothering to keep up the premise that he would be returning, that his interest in you hadn’t evaporated the moment the fur shawled woman pulled his attention to her the very first time. You both knew, and no one around you was aware enough of their surroundings to pay you any attention. But no matter, it wasn’t important to you.

“Well,” his words are hesitant, as if unsure of his decision, “if you insist. Would you like me to grab you anything?” 

“No, no, thank you but I’m alright.”

As he stands up and pushes his chair back into place, Jaehyun gives you one last look. It’s apologetic, he isn’t particularly proud of the way he was just leaving you for someone a bit more flashy and boisterous. But again, you don’t care. He can either deal with the guilt in the morning or drink enough to forget the whole night, it was no longer your problem. It hadn’t been since you locked eyes with the pretty man across the table. 

Before Jaehyun was even out of sight the man you had been watching across the table catches your gaze once again. This time he stands and sidles over to the chair on your left that Jaehyun had abandoned moments before, sitting lightly beside you. 

“Good evening.” His voice, low and silky with a hint of an accent you can’t quite recognize, would have knocked you right over if you were the swooning main character of some unrealistic romance film. He takes your hand and presses it to his lips, a coy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Might I ask whose presence I’ve been graced with tonight?” he inquires, and you tell him your name. “Miss Y/n,” he repeats. "Pretty." You raise an eyebrow at this, enjoying his efforts nonetheless. 

“And you? What’s your name?” 

He merely hums in response. “Has anyone told you that you look gorgeous tonight darling?” You let his avoidance slide, momentarily moving on. Some people wished to not reveal themselves, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t continue to enjoy his company.

“They have, in fact,” you say, thinking back to Jaehyun. You glance across the room but he’s long gone, the woman dressed in red having disappeared as well. 

“As it should be.”

Your attention is drawn back to your current suitor, and the nights former flirtations are quickly forgotten as conversation strikes up between the two of you. Every other word out of his is some flirtation or another, and you absolutely bask in the attention that the cat eyed man lays on you. His forearms are leaned on the table, and he’s staring up at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re sure that your face mirrors his, but in your case it’s true. He really is the most strikingly beautiful human being you’ve ever had the pleasure to set eyes on. And for the moment, he’s all yours. 

There’s something oddly familiar about him though, and the fact that you can’t figure out why is rubbing you the wrong way. It would be quite impossible to forget a face like that. The feeling is not so much recognition as it is that odd niggling feeling of deja vu that plagues your thoughts in a situation that you know you’ve never experienced before. You try to stay slightly wary of his presence, but he’s downright entrancing and your focus slips to his stunning features every time you feel like you’re approaching the answer as to who he is. 

You’re unsure of how much time has passed when he leans closer to you, lips brushing lightly against the hair falling over your ear. “Perhaps we could find somewhere we could talk a little bit more一” He sets a hand on your waist and a shiver runs up your spine一 “privately.” 

You grin slyly as he pulls away, awaiting an answer with his own smirk. 

“It would be my pleasure.” You glance over to Irene, thinking you should let her know that you would be sneaking off for a while, but she was already gone.

And so, all suspicion tossed right out the window, you follow this handsome stranger. His arm tucked securely around yours, the two of you dash up through the bright gardens, whisking by the tables full of couples making eyes at each other and under the pretty strings of lights, up the lawn and once again through the french doors, still wide open, although with less people flooding in and out. You duck through the crowd of people still meandering around in the foyer, expertly weaving around dancers and drinkers. He takes you through the ballrooms and up a few grand sets of grand staircases, which you certainly would have tripped down were it not for the tight grip he had now moved to your waist. 

“You seem to know your way around quite well, do you come here often?” you inquire as you slip down a hallway that was mostly devoid of guests. 

That odd, dangerous glint you saw when you first caught sight of him reappeared in his eyes. “You could say that,” he chuckled.

Before you could wrap your head around what that meant he was pulling you into a spacious bedroom at the end of the hall and letting his hold on you cease to draw the door shut behind him. You turn away from him and marvel at the bedroom he had chosen. The room (which you assume to be a spare) is although fairly simple obviously belonging to someone extremely wealthy. 

A pretty chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and you have the feeling that the cufflinks scattered across the desk and the edging of the mirror above the vanity might just be real gold. You can see expensive velvet peeking out of the slightly ajar wardrobe, and just from glancing at them think the bedsheets to be silk. 

The only light in the room comes from the golden gleam of the gardens spilling through the french windows. The pretty glow gives the moment a sensuous and romantic feel, and you turn back to the cat-eyed man. He basks in the golden light, as if he knows that it's good to his complexion, accentuating the honeyed tone of his skin and shining in his hair. 

A hopeful smile works it’s way across your face, a gleam of eros in your eye as you take a step closer to him, hoping he doesn’t turn out to be a total bore like many of the men you meet at parties. A matching desire shows on his face, fingers reaching up to begin working at the black material of his bowtie. He expertly undoes the knot, and tosses the inconsequential scrap of fabric to the side. 

Placing a hand on your waist, he draws you towards himself as he takes small steps backwards, eventually landing against the wall with a slight thud. Your arms wind their way around his neck, and you press yourself up against him, sandwiching his lithe body between yours and the wall. 

As he traces your features with his eyes, a slight change occurs deep within them, a darkness pooling in his pupils and that familiar hint of danger from earlier making itself present once again. 

The corners of his mouth tug upwards slightly, and as he leans forward you tilt your head to nudge your nose against his, eyes fluttering shut. You meet him halfway, lips pressed together in a light kiss, almost as if you were just testing the waters, unsure as to whether you were truly interested. 

And, come to find out, you definitely were. His mouth was soft on yours, keeping your pace for the moment. You draw back for a moment, taking a breath and reinitiating the kiss, plunging yourself into his mysterious depths. 

He tastes of secrecy and some sweet cordial you can’t quite place, and you have never known something quite so heavenly. The heavy feeling of his mouth on yours is addictive, all your senses alight at once, and your hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, trying to draw him closer despite there being no space left between you. 

“What should I call you?” you whisper against his lips as you come up for air. His eyes flick open, meeting your own as you take a step back and pull him along to slip your hands under the shoulders of his jacket. He chuckles slightly, detaching your hold on him to undo the button and slip out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair before the vanity. 

“That doesn’t matter.” His hands resume their rightful place on your waist, one sliding down to your hip and drawing you into his figure. “Just enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, trust me,” you press a kiss to his jaw, taking his hand and slinking out of his embrace to place yourself on the end of the bed, “I am.” (You don’t notice until later, but the sheets were in fact silk.)

You tug him along to where you sit, bringing him forward and between your knees. You tilt your head upward as your hands come to rest on his waist, sealing your lips together again. 

You lose yourself to him, the feeling of his thin, wandering fingers tracing your silhouette and the way he pays the same amount of attention to every inch of your body, as if he was trying to memorize every dip and curve of your figure under the silk of your dress. The sweet taste of his mouth entrances you, and when he moves to press his lips to your neck or the line of your jaw between long winded kisses you feel as though you’ve ascended. 

Time no longer exists in the muted bubble of a third floor bedroom in an unfamiliar house. Perhaps it’s only been seconds, and maybe you’ve been locking lips with a handsome stranger for hours, the party melting away to make way for dawn to dutifully traipse her way into the sky. Nothing matters anymore, you’re far too immersed in the passion of the moment to pay much attention to anything other than your unnamed lover. 

Though in reality it’s only physical, he’s explored you so much that you feel with each slide of his tongue against yours he reveals another one of your secrets, one of your stories, something only you know. Despite the intimate impersonality of finding a lover in a stranger, despite the illusion of invasiveness that his careful movements bring, you want to fully surrender yourself to this feeling. Breaking a particularly lengthy kiss, he presses on your shoulder to get you to lean back, and you rest your weight on one hand behind you, the other busy clutching at the silky strands of his hair. 

“You know,” you say, words broken in between the slotting of your mouths back together, “I came to this party in search of the ever so elusive Ten Lee, but goodness一” you press a particularly sloppy kiss to his lips, and he hisses as you tug gently on his hair一 “I do believe I’ve found something much better.”

“Oh, darling, don’t you see?” He presses on your shoulder again, and you fall back to sprawl yourself across the bed. He hovers over you, dipping to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I am Ten.” 

With a smirk that would haunt you for the rest of your days, he gives you one last mindblowing kiss before evaporating into the shadows of the room, straightening the black vest he wore and slipping his suit jacket back on. As you pushed yourself back up so you were supported by your hands behind you, dazed and trying to comprehend what he had just whispered against your skin, Ten turned to look at you. He threw you one last look, a dangerous, beautiful look, before slinking out the door, back into the whirlwind of dancing and debauchery. 

That night would never leave your mind. 

No matter how many parties you attended, no matter how many men circulated through your life, no matter how much you drank, you could never forget Ten. And you’ve tried. He would forever live in your mind, fleeting thoughts of a bedroom flooded with golden light, of his discarded suit jacket, of that gleam in his eyes the first time you saw him.

It would take you many years and much consideration to finally figure out what that look in his eye was, that strange mirth you had never seen another wearing. Later in life, when you’re much wiser and have experienced more than your younger self who met Ten could even imagine, it comes to you one day. You realise that he seemed to find as much pleasure in the facade he presented to the world, the fanciful rumors and scandalous whispers that followed him like a shadow, as he did in the heated intimacy you shared in a darkened bedroom one night of the Roaring Twenties. 

You would attend many more parties held in that mansion, sometimes dragged along by Irene, sometimes finding yourself there alone and unsure of why a somewhat faded memory keeps leading you back here. Every time, you held onto a fleeting hope that you could see just a glance, a sliver of the man you met that fateful night. But as much as you held onto the notion that you would see him again someday, you knew it was foolish. Ten’s reputation preceded him, and he liked to uphold that reputation. 

True to your logic, Ten would never make himself known to you again. For years you would search, a futile attempt to prove to yourself he wasn’t just something you dreamed up in the haze of alcohol and the feeling of weightlessness one can only find on Long Island Sound on Saturday nights as the extravagant parties thrown by a man who rarely showed his face rage on. 

Ten Lee, larger than life, beautiful, nebulous Ten Lee, truly was elusive, barely more than a shadow to his grand reputation.

[ficsinhistory]

Analysis and Theories - Cobra and Mongoose/Better off Fred -  Disney finally learned how to balance comedy, emotion and action!

Cobra and Mongoose

Hiro and Fred's friendship! It's as cute as these two are always so close, not least because, as was established in the first episode, if the gang were to leave it would be just them. So these tips are cool to see from how they are friends and rely on each other.

The fact that the video game is the same as "Pray Date"! And this time, Fred really won, different from last time! And bonus point for everyone, including Baymax, to have a headphone!

The snakes!! The fact how they attack Fred and how Heathcliff intervenes is so amazing and well animated!! And how sordid and deadly they are!

The poison! Since snakes are robots, they have to throw the poison to be absorbed into the skin. And this happens in real life, there are substances that do it! It was a great recurring joke!

When Hiro comes to help and Heathcliff leaves a cell phone with a dramatic message even though he's barely there!

All the message in question! That butler is so dramatic and I love it!

The fact that Heathcliff knew how to shuffle tracking signals, he was a spy, so well played! Aside from the fact that Hiro took this as a personal challenge to his genial intellect, I love my pompous and intelligent son!

The restaurant where the first battle took place! It's so beautiful and the aesthetics of south asia and how it has influences beyond the Japanese in the city. Because San Franscisco really is full of other cultures and San Fransokyo being part Japanese doesn't erase that. Which is very cool.

Cobra. That's it, that's the whole point.

I love this villain!!! Everything about her is perfect! She is menacing, fun, smart and, as the name says, acts and moves like a snake! Outside I loved the design! And the whole sequence of conversation before the fight was the best! She remembered Momakase, but you can see the difference from her!

Reference to Mary POpPins! Eclipse WHO?!

Heathcliff fighting!! He has a sword in his umbrella and fights masterfully, all this is perfect and from how Fred is with a vase on his head during the fight and is paralyzed again!

In real life, Mongoose are natural predators of cobras and have a layer of fur that makes them immune to poison. So, well drawn writers, well drawn.

Cobra analysis. Unlike Momakase who steals objects, Cobra works on stealing technologies to steal objects, which is a good differential the two thieves. And how Hiro takes offense at his neurotransmitter being stolen. Not least because the last time this happened, his brother was killed. He must not have good memories of it.

Heathcliff's past itself! This, for those who do not know, is a reference to Alfred who was a spy before serving the Wanne. And the fact that he has this whole story with Boss Awesome, and saved the life of said hero in a volcano and how snake should have died and in the end Heathcliff ended up as a butler is cool.

"Who took these pictures?""You have not changed since then?"Hiro Hamada asking the right questions!

Mention to Boss Awesome. Rip Stan Lee.

And he explains it through a spy pen. Carmen Sandiego fans Rise UP!!!

Farewell! How Heathcliff loves the family he works for and Fred, whom he must see as a nephew and he having to leave to preserve that same family is sad. And how he makes Fred swear not to go after him is also sad, because Heathcliff had to use one of the things Fred loves most to make sure he doesn't follow him. It shows how important Fred is and how he knows that because Fred cares so much, he can't risk it.

The memories of Fred and how Heathcliff was with him from the beginning are touching. Fred as chaotic as he is, he really cares about who he loves. And from how his family sometimes travels a lot, it implies that the only parental figure was the Butler. And Heathcliff has no family outside the Fredericks.

It's lil Fred! It's cute!

Cobra's encounter with Mongoose! Cobra had so many robots and how it was on the roofs with the lights in the cities! This avoids the confusion of having people in the middle of the fight, as preserving identity and gives the fight drama on the roof™ !

Fred coming and " breaking” the oath. Oh, the old technical detail of that was a copy! And how he didn't steal the spotlight, thanks to the snakes. That was Heathcliff's past after all.

The final fight!!! From how Heathcliff changed clothes in the best Magic Girl style, with an effect phrase and everything, and in the fight with the umbrella and the giant snake?! It was all for me! He looks good in white!

Hiro helping!!! And of how, in the end it was Heathcliff who arrested Cobra having the spotlight from start to finish! Perfect!

The scary smile joke! I think people too!

Cobra in my top 3 of non-main villains!!

Better off Fred

The beginning has the reference of “guys,guys,guys” from Big Hero 7 (if I don't), but less lively.

Fred being extra™ when heartbroken and having it right in sight!

Baymax can now be a surgeon. Tadashi worked very well.

Honey wanting to know more and Gogo just begging not to. A classic!! Honey Lemon being the mother of the group as always. And Gogo just not getting paid enough!

Flashback! I love how Fred met Olivia. It was very Fred and having someone who liked rare comics is very something that would happen.

I love Olivia! She is super cute and I understand why Fred fell in love with her. She is funny, cool and is actively a nerdy girl, without the vibe of ”no like the other girls", which I quite liked. She is feminine, but not conventionally feminine, reads comics and no one in every episode talks about it. She is actively a nerd, with beanies, colored hair but no one points out that she is the "stranger" for it or she demeans other girls for not being like her. She is a girl who likes rare comics and with a good attitude! Thank You Disney!

The nerd crush music! And the whole gang balloon sequence.

The rejection and what was led to it. They talk about family until culminating in her revealing herself to be a Mole. But, let's be honest, Fred can be pretty chaotic, but he had spine to call the girl he liked right away for a date. Maybe Hiro can ask for some advice.

"Since when have you been there?"The writers recognizing the absurdity of some jokes and out-of-nowhere pops adds 10 years to my lifespan!

Everyone saying listening to Mole was a bad idea! But Fred is in love so he top! Stupid in love, huh?

The music of the transformation sequence speak just that!

The gang in fancy clothes!!! This is not training!!! They look beautiful! And man, Honey looked good in that dress and Hiro kill in that suit. My son looked beautiful! And points bonûs for giving him a real formal costume.

Baymax tie!!!

The arrival of Fred, or rather, Frederique. And how Honey tried to warn him that being himself is the best approach.

Fredsorna. That's a word in canon in BH6. That's... I didn't expect it.

It was all just very shameful when Fred wasn't himself.

Olivia not being traditionally female again. She wears a dress, but it is simpler and instead of high heels, she wears a pair of sneakers. And nobody says anything! Not to mention that I would use.

Points to Disney for showing that behaviors like imposing themselves on someone, invading personal space and acting like the other had no choice is NOT attractive. The media has done this for years and show, mostly to a male group, that being aggressive while flirting is cool. So Disney show showing that this is scary is all I want. I'm glad Olivia dumped her ex, including.

Mole is unbearable!! This kid is evil pure and Fred really got down for it. He really liked Olivia and wanted to spend time with her and gremiling ruined it!!! Besides paying Bluff was only low, even for him.

Olivia listening to everything from afar. She didn't want to leave him badly, she just went... fool.

When Supersonic Stu and Sue appeared! They may be bad, but that Stu has more family support than a lot of people!

Some may find it strange that everyone only delivers their belongings, but we have to remember that without the police and Big Hero 6, most people are defenseless and in the end they are still villains. They can hurt.

Fred saving the day with Olivia's help and using references! That's style!!!

She taking off her glasses and being a lousy actress. I love it.

Fred being honest with Olivia. He explaining everything and being vulnerable and explaining everything is very cute and open, being the opposite of her ex. And from how Olivia understands it is very cool and how good that it all ended well for them with a meeting of giant monster movies.

And Mole stuck on a piano! Please less Mole on eps!

Olivia / Fred will be interesting!

Conclusions and theories:

Cobra's coming back! Maybe after Hiro since he led him to his overthrow? She's a very rancorous villain. And definitely behind Fred and Heathcliff! Anyway, Disney I want to see her again!!! Maybe along with Momakase or even Sirque, who is another tech thief.

Heathcliff! He was amazing!! Best unofficial uncle!

Olivia!! Another one that will appear again!! And now Hiro and Fred can talk about their girls officially! I loved her and want to know more about this girl and the relationship between her and Fred!! And with the rest of the gang!! She's just super cute and I want to know more in general.

I... kind of noticed a pattern here. As much as Karmi as Olivia has names based on nature, more specifically plants and has positive characteristics. Olivia makes reference to olive trees and the name means “friendly”, “beauty” and “kind”. Karmi means "orchard, garden”,  "my vineyard “and other things like” hardworking“,” golden “and even”, ”generous". It would seem that the love interests of these heroes are amazing and brave people with names of a similar nature. Interesting.

She and Karmi would get along very well, by the way. You know, two fangirls.

I like how the two episodes focus on the theme of the season that seems to be family. And this can yield interesting things.

I have this theory even that the episodes will start to have more plot and complement each other more when all the villains of the hexagons appear and then, the grand Big bad (or the villainous driving force of the season) will appear, complementing the NBB.

So far we have most of the villains, just missing Momakase, and along with them,story lines related, with the theme family, that will converge even more. The NBB and the sisters has the theme of Brotherly Love, along with Hiro's conflict with the separation of the gang established in the first episode, apart from what may be the push to the Big Bad that I believe to be Braggtech, brought in the first episode and that I think will be developed in the episodes ahead, in addition to the

Hardlight and the Super duo brought the romantic love of a family to both Hiro and Fred, with Harlight taking an extra line on what may be Karmi's rise as a heroine and how all these changes in her will affect her and Hiro's relationship. The Supers have a strong relationship with Fred and Olivia.

Cobra too, but she may have a more forward role more related to Braggtech, in my opinion.

Apart from the other villains that remained from the second season. Of course, not everything will be connected, but the main plots yes.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[natromanxoff]

Queen live at Colston Hall in Bristol, UK - November 18, 1975

x

The photos could be from either night.

This article from the November 29 issue of Sounds chronicles the second night in Bristol.

Queen triumphant

QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.

On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.

Skin tight

That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.

Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?

John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".

Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.

Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.

Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.

Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour.

Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and 'A Night At The Opera' turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.

Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.

As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to A Night At The Opera. The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.

Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...

Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph.

There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and shake his cute arse, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!

Phallic

Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of the time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.

He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.

Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.

Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.

Bulldozer

Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.

For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.

That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kowtows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.

Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.

Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.

They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."

Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.

The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'.

Maniacal

The audience, seeing their faces in town for the first time, are vociferous in their appreciation. Guys know all the words to every song, yelling enthusiastically at every effect and solo. The band picks up, Freddie receiving the crowd beneficently, telling them they’re beautiful.

As the show builds it is obvious that things are gelling more. The previous night Brian had seemed totally out of place, not moving too much, taking solos with the weirdest half blank half possessed stare, talking to himself; cocking ear towards guitar. He was the proverbial stranger in a strange land, one step removed from the plane inhabited by you and me.

Tonight he moves fluidly, the gonzo lead guitarist of a gonzo band. His expressions are just as maniacal, but it only makes him look more demonic. His solo in 'Brighton Rock', an exposition in riffing and echo, is a treat because of his physical response to both music and audience, complete with ham acting. Freddie gets into the same game on 'The Prophet's Song', where he conducts an acapella madrigal with himself. It's a pretty commanding moment.

It’s soon after this that Madison Square seems reasonable. About a minute into 'Stone Cold Crazy' it becomes very obvious that Queen have suddenly Plugged In. Found the metal music machine and Connected. Freddie's movements explode in perfect unison with the music, the lights and surroundings go crazy, and the audience goes berserk.

Freddie asks for requests and receives a roar out of which one can vaguely make 'Liar'. Fred walks along the stage, nodding, agreeing he will do this one and that one while the kids roar on. "I'll tell you what - we'll do them all!"

'Doing Alright' opens slow and portentously. Queen's variation of light and shade is one of the major factors in their popularity, but even so the quiet sections frequently find the audience's mind wandering. One kid starts getting a joint together, totally forgetting it when everything blasts off again; guys talk among themselves, only to instantly leap to their feet, fists flying to the beat.

'Doing Alright' changes into a cha-cha beat, Freddie snapping his fingers, the coolest hipster in town, and then instantly drops into faster-than-light drive - the whole row next to me leaps to their feet as a man, rocking back and forth as Brian roars into a blinding solo.

Two songs later, in 'Seven Seas of Rye', the kids break - very fast - and in five seconds half the audience is a seething mass in front of the stage, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as a splintering seat sends a few bodies to the floor.

The rest of the show is equally intense, especially for a couple of minutes during 'Liar; where Fred and Brian merge into a tight little triangle with Roger while John stands in front of the bass drum, staring out with his small smile.

Freddie has treated his encores - 'Big Spender' and 'Jailhouse Rock' - differently on successive nights, once appearing in a kimono and in Bristol with rather rude tight white shorts, giving the song title new emphasis. In Cardiff, though, he doesn't bother to change at all. Later it transpired that Brian had twisted his ankle during 'Liar'. While he’s attended to, kids out front pick up chair slivers to keep as mementos.

On the bus back to the hotel Brian sits quietly at the back, chatting with two girls. John sits at the front, as always. Freddie stares out of the window, lost in his own world. Roger bounces around, starts a pillow fight with Brian - which stops as soon as Brian scores a direct hit to the face - then discovers an eight track of 'Sheer Heart Attack', punching it through the channels as he conducts the group. The two hours towards which they have channelled the day's energies are spent.

Ambition

That Queen have become a top attraction through a fair degree of plagiarism is amusing. Stealing is nothing new in rock (or any art for that matter) and mostly Queen use the borrowed material better than the originals. That they would be big I don't think anybody really doubted. All four have immense desire to be successful, and that kind of ambition will keep them slogging until they achieve it.

But there are popular heavy metal bands and there are popular h-m bands. From watching Queen's audience it is apparent that Queen speak for them in a way that bands such as the Who and the Stones and the Beatles spoke (and continue to speak) to their audience. Uriah Heep may be great at what they do, but five years after their demise who'll remember them? Creedence Clearwater Revival demonstrate the same thing - who remembers them? And yet five years ago they were the largest band in the world.

Queen will probably always be remembered, because as their tour is beginning to demonstrate, they have the ability to actualise and encompass the outer limits of their sense of self-importance. Queen and their music, presentation, production - everything about them says that they are more important than any other band you've every heard, and who has there been, so far, who has objected? Certainly not the 150,000 people (plus 20,000 a day) who bought 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in the first 20 days of its release. Certainly not me.

See you at Madison Square Garden.

[text © J. Ingham 2007; photos © Kate Simon]

~ You can see the photos which was mentioned on the article, from the link on the title. ~

[enchantedxrose]

The Monster of West End: Chapter Three A Beauty and the Beast retelling set in 1837 London

The “Beauty” of this story is a young seamstress desperate for work to pay off her father’s debts. Her new employer, though Beastly in appearance, is coldly tolerated by society because he has money and status. She is quickly charmed by his warm heart and sense of humor, but his monstrous form isn’t the only obstacle to their budding relationship.

Mrs. Hutchinson led Viola up the servants’ staircase to a small garret bedroom at the top of the house.

“The upper-servants sleep on the upper floors,” she explained over her shoulder, “but I daresay the rooms off the kitchen for the cook and scullery maid are more comfortable. It gets rather drafty up here in the winter and stuffy in the summer.”

Viola surveyed the room with a satisfied sigh. It had creaky floorboards and a low sloping ceiling. The utilitarian furnishings consisted of a nightstand and a brass bed. 

“I think this will do very nicely for me,” she told Mrs. Hutchinson without a trace of irony.

The housekeeper raised her eyebrows at Viola’s enthusiasm. “If you say so,” she muttered.

Viola did not pay Mrs. Hutchinson’s skepticism any heed. This room boasted one enormous advantage over her ten-square foot cell in the Marshalsea: a large window with a view. 

The single narrow window in their Marshalsea ‘apartment’ faced only the discolored bricks of the prison wall. She could not see the sky, nor even the iron spikes atop the wall to deter escape artists. Her only occasional splash of color came from the laundry hanging on the line, the grey chemises that had once been white. There was nothing green to be seen all summer, save the bare spindly weeds between the paving-stones. They were on the second of four stories in their prison complex, and there was another building directly behind them, so that Viola felt constantly closed in by bricks on all sides.  

Even when she was permitted to step outside the gates, the Marshalsea was always creeping up behind her, and she could not escape its shadow. Always trapped.

But here, in Mr. Carlyle’s house, she could breathe. She could see the slate-grey overcast sky above the rooftops; she could look down and see trees lining the cobblestone street, their branches glazed with frost. She could open the window and feel the fresh sting of the winter air.

Guilt gnawed on her, in the background of these hopeful observations, try though she might to wave it away. Was it so wrong of her, to want to leave her miserable circumstances behind? Was it selfish of her to escape like this, when she could not yet bring her father with her? 

“Breakfast in the servants’ hall is served promptly at seven o’clock,” the housekeeper announced, abruptly cutting off Viola’s musing. “If you wish for a hot meal, do not be late.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hutchinson,” she replied with feeling, undeterred by her coworker’s sharp tone. “Before you retire, I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am for the opportunity you and Mr. Carlyle are giving me. I hope to prove myself worthy of his trust.”

The words were more deferential than she truly felt, but Viola could sense that Mrs. Hutchinson was suspicious of her in some way, and she wanted to be on better terms with her if they were to be working in close quarters. The housekeeper’s pursed lips relaxed a fraction as she continued to study Viola with that critical, piercing gaze.

“Mr. Carlyle has a partiality for waifs and strays,” Mrs. Hutchinson said at last in a clipped voice. “I need not explain why he feels a…kinship with those that society looks down upon. Therefore, it is incumbent on me to protect him from those that would take advantage of his sympathies.”

“I understand,” Viola said, swallowing hard.

“Do you?”

Of course she did. Viola had lost plenty of sleep over her too-trusting father over the years. But she decided to hold her tongue.

Once alone, Viola rapidly undressed to her chemise. The earlier she retired for bed, the earlier she could rise and return to her father. 

She caught her reflection out of the corner of her eye and winced. She had no looking-glass in her cramped quarters at the Marshalsea and usually made do with checking her appearance in the reflection on the single windowpane—an image that was indistinct at best. But the garret room had a large oval mirror propped on the nightstand and she was face-to-face with herself. 

Was she really that ashen-faced, or was it just the layer of dust over the mirror? Her linen shift hung so loosely on her, exposing a prominent collarbone and bony shoulder. The shadows were deep under her dark brown eyes.

Ugh, I look like a street urchin with consumption, she thought. No wonder Mr. Carlyle took pity on me tonight.

Viola had a rather square jaw set on a long, slender neck, which automatically gave her a waiflike appearance at the best of times—and now was decidedly not the best of times. Her hair was wispy and flaxen and did whatever it pleased. 

She set the mirror face down.

The nightstand, she was pleased to discover, had been prepared for her stay: not only was there fresh water in the pitcher and a clean towel, but also a small cake of soap and a jar of tooth powder. She poured out a little water into the basin to wash her face, but found herself overcome. She had to brace herself on the nightstand and take a few deep breaths to swallow down a sob of incredulous relief.

The water was so clear and clean. It did not reek of rust. When was the last time she had used water without boiling it first? She couldn’t recall.

The garret room was chilly, as it had no fireplace, but when Viola pulled back the covers of the bed, she found a bed-warmer full of smoldering coals, which made the sheets invitingly warm. Exhausted and grateful, she fell asleep within minutes.

Viola went back to the Marshalsea early the next morning, to fetch her meager belongings and kiss her father goodbye. She was not expecting the scene she stepped into.

By the single narrow, grimy window stood Mr. Weston. Hardship had aged him prematurely—his hair was a solid iron grey, and sparse at the temples—and cataracts had taken almost all of his sight from him. He was speaking softly to his eldest daughter, Miranda, and had his hands soothingly upon her shoulders. 

While Viola had inherited their father’s slight frame, Miranda took after their mother with her tall, commanding figure, made all the more striking by her wide straw bonnet and puffed gigot sleeves.

At the sound of Viola’s entrance, they both looked up—Mr. Weston’s face brightening with relief, Miranda’s contorting with outrage.

“Oh my dear, we have been so worried,” he said.

Miranda glowered at her. “Where have you been, Vi? We have been scouring the city for you. I hope you have a good explanation.”

Viola presumed the ‘we’ in this case meant Miranda and her husband Eustace, given that their father was not allowed further than the courtyard outside.

“I told the gatekeeper to send word that I’d gone back to Mr. Carlyle’s house for the night, because I missed the bell. Did he forget to pass along the message?”

Mr. Weston raised an eyebrow at Miranda. “There, now, what have I been telling you? I knew there must be a simple explanation—”

Unfortunately for him, Mr. Weston was much more softly spoken than his daughters and easily faded into the background during impassioned discussions. Miranda acted as if she had not heard him.

“Who in heaven’s name is Mr. Carlyle, and what do you mean by staying at his house?”

Viola took a deep breath to calm her temper. “He’s my employer, as of yesterday. I’m to serve in his household as a seamstress. I’m sorry to have caused such a fuss, but I thought you would know where I was.”

“We were about to start dragging the Thames for your lifeless body!” Miranda snapped. “For all we knew, you were frozen to death in the storm.”

Viola rolled her eyes. Her elder sister had once fancied herself a great actress, and even now always seemed to be auditioning for a Greek drama.

Miranda continued, gesturing to her heavily pregnant figure, “And I really ought not to be distressing myself so, not in my current condition.”

“I never asked you to distress yourself about me!”

“Well apparently someone has to, or you’ll gallivant about the city, staying at the houses of strange men!”

Before Viola could muster an angry retort, their father intervened.

“That’s quite enough from both of you,” he said, a note of pleading in his tone. “The important thing is that Viola is, in fact, safe and all is well. There is no need to quarrel over what is already past.”

He stood between the sisters for a long moment, waiting for their petty anger to deflate. Viola’s cheeks burned; their father had a way of making them feel like children caught misbehaving.

“I’m sorry for causing you to worry,” Viola said grudgingly. “It wasn’t my intention.”

“I’m sorry for getting so cross about it,” Miranda mumbled, picking at a loose thread on her coat.

“There, now,” Mr. Weston said briskly. “Was that so terribly painful?”

The sisters avoided each other’s eyes. Mr. Weston ignored their sullen silence and carried on as if the quarrel had never taken place.

“So, Viola, I take it you have accepted the position you interviewed for. Tell me about the house. Where does your employer live?”

“Near Covent Garden.”

“Oh dear.” Mr. Weston wrung his hands, troubled. “Is that a suitable neighborhood for you to be walking by yourself? It’s got rather an unsavory reputation.”

“That was true in your day, Papa,” said Miranda, “but it’s changed a good deal in recent years. They’ve rebuilt most of the houses. Now it’s considered quite a fashionable place to live.”

“Ah.”

Viola’s heart twisted painfully. Their father had been locked away for so long, and London was rapidly changing without him—when he was finally at liberty to walk the streets again, would he even recognize it? 

“I’ll return every Sunday afternoon for dinner,” she promised him. “Mr. Carlyle has given me leave to visit you the entire day.”

Miranda cut in sharply. “You mean to say this will be a live-in position? How can you leave our father alone all week? How is he to manage by himself?”

Viola felt a renewed flicker of annoyance. Their father was still quite capable and independent; he did not deserve to be treated like a child or like a doddering old fool. But before she could speak up for him, he did it himself.

“Miranda, my dear,” he soothed her, “I may be blind as a bat, but I am not hopelessly infirm. I know this apartment well enough to get about without stumbling.”

Viola squeezed his hand. “Just promise me that you will ask Mr. Wilkins down the hall to help you light the stove fire in the mornings. I’m sure he won’t object.”

“I promise. I do still have some sense, after all.” He gave her a wry smile.

As Viola predicted, Miranda seemed mollified at the notion of his fellow-inmates checking in on him daily. “Well,” she said briskly, “it seems I am overruled. Gather your things, Vi. Eustace and I can take you in the cab. You are not walking all that way carrying luggage.”

Viola had few personal belongings worth bringing; they fit neatly into a single carpetbag. She owned exactly three dresses at present: two sturdy, practical wool dresses of brown and navy blue, and one finer black gown reserved for holidays and funerals. She didn’t like wearing dark colors, but they lasted much longer against wear and tear and stains. A working woman ought not to wear pink or yellow, if she was at all sensible. 

The dour colors did make her look so grim and severe, she reflected morosely. She dreamed of a day when she had spare money enough for a gown pale as springtime, in rosebud or lilac or buttercup. What a luxury that would be!

Underneath the faded chemises and shabby stockings, she tucked her one real treasure: a well-worn collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets, in the margins of which her mother had scribbled her own annotations.

In farewell, Viola took both her father’s hands and kissed them. “I don’t want you to worry about me, Father. This is going to be good for our family, I promise.”

“I know that, my dear,” he said gently. “It’s been clear to me for a long time that you would have to forge your own path.” He leaned over to murmur in her ear, soft enough that Miranda was unlikely to hear. “Try to have a little more patience with your sister. She’s only looking out for you.”

Even though he could not see Viola purse her lips, he must have heard the irritation in her sigh.

“Viola,” he chided. “Be kind to your sister. For my sake, if for no other reason.”

“I’ll try. And now I really must be going; Mr. Carlyle expects my return before noon.”

[spyvstailor]

GRAVEYARD DIRT & SALT

CHAPTER ONE

So, it was brought to my attention people might not like the links to my novel, so I will be posting chapters here on tumblr as well. But please, don’t forget to head over to my KO-FI, and support an author.

Chapter One

Sometime in Summer 2014

 The first sign that troubled times were upon them was the empty shelves in the toilet paper section of all the grocery stores.

  There was no rhyme or reason to this and society fell too fast for top psychologists or sociologists to chime in with their two cents as to the reason why people thought toilet paper would save them during the troubled times.

  The next thing to break down after the panic shopping were the roads and the highways.

 If you think about the population of the earth, six billion and change, and growing each day. If you think about the population of the US alone, all of them fleeing the chaos of the cities and towns. Then you'd understand why the roads were the first to go to shit.

  Humans run on instinct, their lizard brains demand fight or flight. But when they didn't know what exactly they were fighting, when they heard news reports of an epidemic. Stories of people dying and coming back running on pure animal hunger, their first instinct was to flee.

 They've seen the movies, played the video games, entertained the idea of the dead rising up and walking the earth with their insatiable hunger. As humans, they knew what this meant. It meant the end of civilization as they knew it. No more cell phones, no more magazines, and no more internet. It was chaos and it was confusion.

  Back when HQ was up and running. Back when the marines at the base were still receiving orders. When 'task forces' were being sent into hospitals and morgues, schools, churches even. All the places humans congregated in times of trouble to take care of the sweeping epidemic. Back when governments and commanders were still in control, the first thing to fall to the dead were the roads and the highways.

  The highways were veritable buffets for the hungry horde. Panicked people just stuck in traffic, idiots who thought the threat wasn't real and were still out trying to get to their local fucking bar. They became a meal for the horde, delicious, soft, warm, living flesh.

  After the roads and highways fell to the dead, the government sort of disappeared. There was no structure because the officials all sort of went the way of the one percent. Disappearing in the smoke of the burning society around them.

  The next thing to fall was the media. It was all over the place, reports of the dead walking, reports of the one percent disappearing. With their need to know and to be on the scene, many stations began to mysteriously replace their reporters. Reporters changed, their faces different from hour to hour. Until in the end, all that remained was a single, sweaty, panicked looking young intern.

  After the media went the churches, the mosques, the synagogues, even that real fancy cult place in Hollywood.

  When faith failed, then everything just sort of fell away.

 In the days just after the initial outbreak, he was still a marine stationed at HQ in Georgia. He still followed orders. Still went where they told him to go, did what they told him to do. But after a few weeks, the lines of communication went down. HQ went cold, dark. One by one his squad had left him, either picked off by a lucky uggie or just plain run off in the night.

  Sixteen marines had set out from HQ. Thirteen marines had gone off to protect and serve the civilians of the state, and all that remained of that squad was him.

  The men who had left in the night were just heading home, he assumed. And to be honest, the Lieutenant didn't blame them. The more they patrolled from small town to small town, the more he realized there was no one left alive to protect. The last orders he had received had been to keep clear of the major cities, that HQ had fallen, and then silence.

  Hell, until a few months ago, he had assumed he was the only couyon left alive on earth.

 Didn't matter. Everything he had he left back home in Eunice, Louisiana. And that was all inanimate and cold and long-buried in the ground, nothing that could warm him on dark nights anyhow.

  For months, he walked the highways and the roads, just off in the woods in the shadows of the leaves and trees. He did his duty, killing as many of the damned as he could.

  Didn't bother him much, he was recon, trained to do whatever needed doing. Improvise, adapt, and overcome.

 He saw a lot from his place in the woods. He saw men and women trying and failing to survive, the dead roaming, ambling about by the handfuls. Great herds of them shuffling across the blacktop like cattle going down the Chisholm Trail.

  There seemed to be no end to the uggies. Everywhere he went there they were. Old folks, young folks, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. Hell, he had seen a bride one time in her pretty white gown just wandering around.

  The longer he survived in the land of the dead, the more he forgot what other humans, real humans, sounded like. He was beginning to go a little nutty if he was honest. It had been months since he last saw someone who seemed alive, and even they looked like they were on their way out. Tired, sickly, starving maybe. A shadow that had appeared and disappeared so fast he wasn't entirely certain they were real.

  So he drove further back from the roads, deeper into the Georgian woods.

 He did well there, flourished even. Hunting, fishing in the river, killing uggies at an easy pace. Every day, he lay his head in a different spot, never staying still too long, never growing attached to anything.

  It was there, in the middle of the sylvan woods of Georgia, that he came upon a high, grey stone wall, beyond which towered an old looking church. There were some equally dated-looking buildings surrounding it.

  At first, he thought it was a compound of sorts. Maybe some of those good ol' Georgian boys who had it in their mind to form their own militia. A ragged group of NRA enthusiasts with too much ordnance and not enough brains or balls.

  When he had scaled the wall out of morbid curiosity, to perch high and get his bearings, he was startled to find a handful of nuns working in a vegetable garden below. At the time they didn't notice him as he perched on their wall. They seemed too intent on gathering the bounties of their good-sized garden, safe, and almost cocky behind their wall.

 With his rifle shouldered, he had watched them at work, amazed to find life so deep in the woods. Feeling like a man who had just witnessed a miracle, an angel, a vision.

  Sitting at ease on the high, eight-foot wall, the Lieutenant watched the ladies in their garden for the longest time, entranced by the simple beauty of their work and their pretty flowing habits that swished when they walked, before he settled his pack beside him to open it up for a snack of dried nuts he had found in the Piggly Wiggly in Blackshear.

  It had been so, so long since he had observed actual human beings moving and chatting, laughing and living, that he seemed to forget where he was and he was only just a little hungry so he thought he'd have himself a snack while he watched them work.

  It wasn't until one of them, the only one who wore all white, glanced up and spied him on the wall.

 Her face was one of serene, simple beauty. Clear blue eyes, a classic beauty that would give Vivian Leigh a run for her money and a hard, almost stern look which changed from placid to startled at the sight of him on their wall. She dropped the basket of potatoes she was carrying to wash at the water pump just past his position and took a quick step back.

  Shouldering his rifle slowly, he held up his hands to show her he was defenseless and offered her a smile he hoped was as charming as he wanted it to be.

  She stared, gawped at him for the longest time, delicate brows knitting, lips trembling like she wanted to say something.

  “Now hold on, I'm not here to stir the nest.” He cautioned as the woman took small, dainty steps back from him.

 The other Sisters now noticed him and wavered between moving to protect the one close to him and fleeing into the shelter of their convent buildings.

  He studied them quietly for a moment, almost as though he thought they were a figment of his imagination, a lie, a mirage on the horizon.

  “My name is Lieutenant Layfayette Vancoughnett of the United States Marine Corps,” he greeted in a voice rusty from disuse. Had it been what? A month? Two months since he last said anything to anyone. “I'm charged with protecting the citizens of this country from the epidemic of the dead.”

  The woman nearest him looked at him with hard, steely eyes, unwavering and unimpressed, but still, she said nothing.

  “I'm not here to hurt any of you,” he went on. “I'm here to offer aid and assistance to any survivors.”

 “We have a front gate for a reason,” the woman suddenly scolded him in the prettiest Southern Belle accent he had ever heard. Straight out of an old movie about Southern Belles and their airy, sweet fiddle-dee-dees.

  Now, when the Lieutenant was a boy he used to stay up late and watch the old late-night showings of movies on Channel 15. He loved those old pictures, the actresses and actors were always far much more elegant than anyone he had ever met. Even dirty, even rugged and sun-scorched in Westerns and historical war films, they always looked so much more.

  This woman, as soon as she opened her mouth, had him yearning for those old films. She had him thinking of Atlanta burning and cotillions and balls of the American South and the Civil War. She had him thinking of Scarlett and Rhett.

  Recovering from the nostalgia of his youth, and feeling as though she had slapped him, the Lieutenant blinked at her for a moment. It had been a few months since he heard words coming from the mouth of someone rational, so he had to think whether he said something rude.

  “Do y'all know what's going on beyond these walls?” He asked.

 The woman wiped a smudge of dirt across her cheek with her wrist and sighed. “Are you here for trouble or to be a spider on my wall? Because I have no time for leering men peering down at me and my nuns like we're chocolate pie at the Easter picnic.”

  Hopping down into the inner convent grounds, the Lieutenant grinned crookedly and took a step towards the woman in white. “Was I leering? Aw, Missy, that was not my intention. It's only that it's been a long, long, very long while since I've seen a living, breathing person.”

  Wincing as she backed away from him, the woman frowned delicately, her mouth drawing in a thin line. Behind her the other nuns were gathering, they seemed less intimidating than the one in pure white. But she still remained resolute before him, the top of her head only coming up to his shoulder.

  “I think you should leave,” the woman suggested.

 “Is there really no one left alive?” One of the young nuns in a blue dress asked. She didn't wear a full veil like the older nuns, her skirts reached to mid-calf, black stockings and shoes hiding her feet and legs from sight.

  “Not that I've seen. Then again I've been keeping myself clear of the major cities, could be some, could be less than some, could be none.”

  “Please,” the woman in white said. “Just leave. We don't want trouble.”

 “Maybe we could offer him some food and at least a place to rest for the night?” An older nun suggested. “We all were strangers in Egypt, Mother Mena.”

  “Sister Mary Agnes, go inside, take the others.” The woman in white said firmly.

 “Now, don't be so hard on them,” the Lieutenant amended. “I'm leaving. I didn't mean to shake things up. Just wanted to perch on your wall a little and take a rest.”

  Hopping back up onto the eight-foot wall with a little trouble, he managed to collect his things with some dignity, before giving the women below him one last look.

  The leader, at least he assumed she was in charge, raised her chin a little and gave him a real hard look, her pretty, clear blue eyes narrowing a little in a silent challenge. Her pretty little starlet looks, that soft edge of the dying breed of the American South, the Southern Belle, the debutante, hard as steel under velvet was all enough to make him reconsider stirring trouble. She looked like she'd take his eyes out without a second thought, like a she-wolf protecting her young.

  Nodding, he leaped back down off their wall, heading for the little camp he had made for the day.

 He had returned to what he did best for the next few days, killing uggies and scrounging for supplies. Surviving like a shell of a man, staggering around, putting down the dead, eating whatever he could find, it was a hollow life he had now and it had only just come alive again at the sight of those nuns.

  Every now and then he thought of those nuns in their walled-in convent and it sparked life back into him. He worried about them, which was something he missed about people. Caring about them, whether they lived or died. He had become like a man trying to preserve the last of the endangered little critters, only with nuns and it renewed in him a purpose.

  For at least two weeks he resisted the urge to return, not wanting to harass them. But he was a weak man and that drum that pounded in his chest told him 'go back, go back, go back'. And those grey stone walls of the convent seemed to draw him like a magnet to metal.

  They weren't in their garden when he finally managed to pull himself onto the wall, using a tree and a lot of long reaches, but he remained on the wall for a bit, hoping to spy one of them. He just needed to know they were okay, that he hadn't imagined them.

  He sat on that wall so long that before he knew it, it was beginning to get dark, and he realized he had to go find some sort of place to hunker down for the night, a tree or an old foxhole, something tucked away enough for him to rest up.

  Pulling out a bottle of Aspirin and a box of feminine pads he kept in his pack, the former for pain, the later for emergency bandages, he left them on his spot on the wall just opposite the back door to a long, rectangular building, as a sort of offering, before he slipped down and back into his woods.

  Slumping against the side of a house, he sunk down beside the latest uggie he had killed and sighed. Everywhere you went they were there. The dead, the uggies, the creatures he did his best to avoid calling zombies.

  Zombies weren't real. They were movie monsters brought to life with CGI and latex.

 These things, these uggies, they were something else entirely. They were infected, they were rotting. Some kind of nerve damage? Maybe they weren't dead. He didn't know. He just killed them before they tore him apart. Because they sure did have rage and hunger to them that wasn't normal. An entire group of them could tear a man apart in less than a minute.

  Sighing, he looked over at the young man he had put down.

 It hadn't occurred to him that before the nuns, he was lonesome. The Lieutenant was a social creature by habit, he enjoyed a good story and a better joke, but he had grown used to nothing and no one but the dead.

 Now, knowing there were living people out there somewhere, people who didn't fire first, who didn't want what he had, or hate that he was untouched by the dead, knowing that somewhere in the Georgian woods were potential companions, had him distracted from the rut he had fallen into.

  It was the same old thing, day in and day out. Wake up, crawl out from wherever he had bunkered for the night, kill some uggies, scrounge for some food and supplies, hunt if the food wasn't available, dig down like a tick for the night and do it all over again.

  His pack was getting heavy with things he needed to survive, his boots were worn thin, nearly to the sole of his foot itself. He had slogged his way north, south, east, and west, but always somehow came back to the area surrounding the convent.

  He needed some company, just a little chat with someone who didn't drool or moan, or at least didn't drool and moan until he bought them some dinner.

  The farmhouse he had stumbled onto was a rundown shack, very little in uggie activity, but replete with goodies.

 Digging through the pantry, he stuffed jar after jar of pickles, jams, and preserves into his pack, until his pack was too full for any more.

 So he ducked outside to bury most of his found treasure, in case anyone else came upon his goldmine, he wanted some things left for himself. It was a dog eat dog sort of world now and while burying his treasure seemed juvenile, it would prove handy come crunch time when everything had been picked over and gone through. When nothing remained of the old world but trash and canned peas.

  Finding an old water pump, he helped himself to some well water and settled down to clean up some, shaving the itchy goddamned stubble away and rubbing stains out of his uniform where uggies had spewed their nasty fluids all over him like some goddamned reject from a devil possession movie.

  Ducking back into the house before he left, he stuffed the last of the jars of food into his pack and zipped it shut.

 He had enough jam and jelly and pickled veggies to get him through some rough times and in a few more months winter would be upon him and those preserves would really matter.

  Just as he was about to head out from the location, he spied some seed packs sitting on a windowsill in the mudroom and slowed down enough to read them.

  As it did lately, his mind wandered to the nuns and their garden. So he snatched up the seed packs, stuffing them into his trouser pockets, before leaving the farmhouse.

  Climbing onto the convent wall later that afternoon where he had found it easiest to climb, just opposite the back door of the rectangular building, he began his search for life, before pulling out a few jars of preserves to give up to the nuns as an offering. He stacked the jars in such a way as to create a sort of cairn, inside which he tucked the seeds, safe from birds.

  He sat for a few more hours on the wall, before climbing down and slinking off into the forest with no nun in sight.

  It would be another day of same ol', same ol'.

  There was a small farm just on the outskirts of the woods, near the river where he had decided to make camp for the night.

  It had been left pretty much alone, way out in the backroads as it was.

 There were only four uggies, huddled around the carcass of some unfortunate kitty cat, eating their meal with all the greed of a biblical King, fattening themselves on kitty cat meat.

  It was awful of him to think it, but humans he could abide, but a kitty cat being killed? It just sort of stabbed at him in his soft spot.

  Standing over the five bodies, four humans, and one small feline, the Lieutenant realized how messed up it was that he had more sympathy for the cat than the humans. But the poor thing was small and easy prey, humans had the luxury of size and warfare tactics.

  With a string of fish he had caught in the river waiting to be fried over an open flame and a hungry belly, he ignored the corpses in favour of setting up on the far side of the farmyard, building himself a nice fire to fry his fish dinner.

  They sort of haunted him though, the corpses always did. It seemed unnatural, even to a marine, to just leave the dead out in the open as he did. There was never any time to really dispose of them though and to burn them meant the risk of the smoke being seen by other less friendly humans or smelled by the dead.

  Huddled over the old frying pan he kept hanging from his pack, he tended to his dinner with care.

 At first, he didn't hear it or it didn't register to him as a threat. He was so used to hearing only three things, the dead shuffling, the dead groaning, or absolute and terrifying silence.

  But as he cooked, he began to tune back into the world around him.

  Over the crackle of the fire and the sizzle of the fish, he heard a soft mewling, muffled it seemed, by distance or objects.

 At first, worried about the dead not staying dead, he glanced over at the heap of corpses in the growing twilight, making out just dark shadows. Removing his pan from the flame, he set it aside in favour of wandering towards the heap, nervous. Scared the kitty cat was going to pop back up and get him with one well-placed chomp.

  He had never seen the virus or whatever it was infect animals, but he knew somehow his dumb Cajun ass would be the first.

  Hell, if zombies were real, maybe he'd turn into a werecat or something.

  As he headed towards the heap, the mewling grew softer, quieter. He was putting more distance between himself and the sound.

 He continued on, though, kneeling by the corpse of the poor unfortunate cat, reaching down to sort through the gore the dead left, feeling the swollen teat of a mother cat.

  “Shit,” he swore.

  There were kittens somewhere.

  Standing up, he looked around.

  Beyond his fire, was a barn, he figured that would be ideal for a nest, so he headed towards it.

  Passing by the fire, he heard the mewling grow louder, but not much, so he stopped at his pack and pulled out a flashlight.

 Entering the dark barn, he shone the light around cautiously. He was weaponless, but there was no real threat of the dead, the door had been latched securely.

  Inside the barn, the stench of death was strong, but he figured it was coming from the heap that lay in one of the stalls.

  “Poor baby,” he murmured.

  Whatever it was, horse or cow, it had rotted where it dropped.

 God. As cold as it seemed, he could handle human death, it was familiar and sometimes necessary, but the death of an animal always got him.

  The sound was louder in the barn, but he couldn't exactly place it.

  He walked the aisle up and down, looking in stall after stall.

 His growling stomach called him back to the fire and his fish, but every time he considered selfishly going back for dinner, the kittens would call him and they sounded hungrier than him.

  It broke his heart.

  “Where are you, babies?” He called out, knowing no answer would come.

 It seemed like an hour he spent, tearing apart square straw bales and looking in the cracks between wooden slats in the stalls and in the manager part of the stalls before he remembered most barns had a hayloft.

  Shining his light upwards, he saw only wooden floorboards overhead decorated with cobwebs.

 The Lieutenant was trailer park trash or at least one step up from that (which in Louisiana meant his granny had a trailer in the middle of the woods near Eunice), he had never been on a farm beyond a few times in passing, so he didn't know how the hell to get up there. He couldn't see a ladder or a staircase, but as he shone his light across the ceiling above him, he spied a part that had rotted away, near the door he had come in and moved towards it.

  As he moved, in near-total darkness save for the beam of light from his flashlight, he spied a pair of glowing eyes peering down at him, before they ducked out of sight.

  “Found you,” he cooed gently up at the hole.

  Looking around for something to climb on so he could poke his head up into the hole to find the kitten, he came up with an old five-gallon pail and hoped to God it would be tall enough.

  Wobbling a little as he climbed onto it, he realized it was still too short, so he jumped down and looked around again.

  The mewling continued.

  “I'll be right back, yeah?” He called up to the kittens.

 Ducking outside, he began to look around the farmyard, knowing how dangerous it was to be outside at night, shining a flashlight like a beacon beckoning the dead to come home to eat. If he could find something, a ladder, or something tall enough to climb onto, he could pull himself up into the hayloft.

  Throwing a bundle of dry branches onto his fire as he passed, he headed for a nearby shed. It looked like a tool shed.

  The door was locked, but it didn't take much for him to kick the weathered door off its hinges.

 Entering like a criminal into a bank vault, he looked around. There wasn't a ladder, but there was a riding lawn mower that looked tall enough to park under the hole. Grabbing up what looked like an old birdcage, he set it on the seat and putting the lawnmower in neutral, he clamped his teeth down on his flashlight and began to roll the machine out.

  It took him a good twenty damned minutes to get it through the door of the barn and for him to crawl over the top of it before he finally managed to get his head up and into the hayloft.

  That pair of shining eyes blinked at him from way, way back in the dusty, moldy hay-filled barn attic, and then another pair blinked at him and another.

  “Hey,” he soothed to the babies. “Come on over here. Come on.”

 After five minutes of gentle cooing, one of the kittens came close, curious about the man who had wedged himself up and into their hole.

 He hoped like hell there were no dead coming at him at that moment. His bottom half was exposed and he didn't want them eating his tender bits first.

  A grey and white kitten, nothing but fluff and eyes and ears touched a wet nose to his outstretched hand, before jerking back nervously.

  “Hi there,” he whispered. “You're a lovely little thing, aren't you? Come on. I've never hurt an animal and I won't start today, baby.” That was a bit of a white lie, he did have to hunt and fish to survive, but he never kicked a dog and never once tossed a kitty cat out of his way.

  Carefully he scooped the fluff ball up and tucked it into the birdcage. Taking that time to glance around at his surroundings for threats, he pushed the cage up into the hole and climbed up in after it.

  Sniffling and sneezing due to the old straw and hay and whatever else was up there, he felt like he was going to catch at least something from it all. Cholera or something else.

 Underneath his six-foot-something weight, the old floorboards groaned, so he moved cautiously, stepping only where he thought the joists underneath were.

  Stopping a few feet from the other two pair of eyes, he cooed and called to them, before finally he was still enough that they cautiously came over to him, one was easy to catch, but the other retreated as he did so.

  The one he had caught was a beautiful short-haired calico and she looked at him in the light of his flashlight with such big eyes that he fell in love a little.

  “Hey, baby,” he greeted. “I'm not going hurt you. But mama's not coming back, so y'all gotta come with me now.”

 With two kittens in the birdcage, mewling hungrily, he tried coaxing the last one over. When the short-haired grey tabby refused to come any closer, the Lieutenant realized he was going to have to go after it.

 “Come on now,” he said gently. “I'm not going hurt you, baby. Catching the kitten, he carefully moved back to the cage and added him.

  Taking one last look around to ensure he got all of the kittens, he headed back for the hole.

  Carefully he poked his head down first before blindly emerging from the hayloft.

  Seeing the coast was clear, he crawled down, bringing the kittens down with him.

  Most of his fish had been consumed by the kittens, the poor things were hungry.

 With a small bowl of water from the well in the cage with them, he moved everyone into the house finally, the land had grown dark a long, long time before.

  Settling upstairs, he secured the door to the room he was going to bed down in, before opening the cage door and letting the kittens out.

  They moved carefully around the room, inspecting everything, before launching themselves at the blanket on the bed where the Lieutenant had settled.

  Dragging themselves up one by one using their claws and the blanket, they sniffed around him for a bit.

 “Bedtime,” he commanded softly, picking up the little calico and smiling as she instantly began to purr. “Aren't you just the sweetest thing,” he said. “What are we going to do with y'all?”

  He couldn't leave them to be eaten as their poor mama had been, but he couldn't travel around with kitties in his pack.

  As with everything as of late, his mind drifted to the nuns and their high walls.

  He hoped they were charitable to kittens.

  Scaling the wall was never easy, but he had a system at this point.

 There was an old gnarled oak tree just behind the convent, close enough to the wall that if he leaped from a thick lower branch and kept his balance he could make the wall.

  It was a little more dangerous with a cage full of kittens, but he managed to make the jump safely.

 Once upon the wall, he realized, however, that he had no escape plan with a heavy pack and a cage of precious cargo. He couldn't just jump down, the kittens would get jostled too badly, but he didn't see any other option.

  Just as he was considering the physics of jumping, he spied a flash of white appear from the back door of the large rectangular building beside the church.

  A nun had emerged, a laundry basket in her hands.

  Not wanting to startle her, the Lieutenant let loose a low, soft whistle to get her attention.

  It failed, the nun still jumped a little, dropping her basket of clothes.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, pointing to the kittens in the cage hurriedly as an explanation.

  Exhaling a relieved breath, the nun hurried over to stand below him on the wall.

 Kneeling, he handed her the cage, explaining himself, “sorry,” he apologized again. “I found these little fellas and didn't know where else to bring them.”

  The nun looked up at him with large, beautiful brown eyes and a sort of amused grin. “You're that marine, aren't you?”

  He nodded. “I don't want to make trouble.”

  “I know,” she returned. “Sister Gertrude has cats, so...you brought them to the right place.”

  He smiled. “Good. I'll bring y'all some kitty food if I find it then.”

  “You've been leaving us things,” the nun went on.

  “Have they been useful?”

  She nodded.

  Looking up and out at the convent, he asked, “what is this place, exactly?”

  “Veil of Tears of the Sacred Virgin Convent,” she said.

  “Which one are you?”

  The nun smiled. “Sister Dymphna.”

  “Dymphna. I'm Lieutenant Vancoughnett, USMC.”

  “Lieutenant.” She repeated.

  They both looked up as another nun emerged from the back of the building, a laundry basket in her arms.

  “You'd better go,” Dymphna said. “Mother Mena will be out soon. She doesn't want strangers in the convent.”

 He nodded, watching the other nun who was approaching them cautiously. “Thank you for taking these little guys. Their mama got nabbed by a couple of the dead and I didn't want them to starve.”

  Dymphna smiled. “Thank you for bringing them to us.” She hesitated, before adding. “Stay safe out there, please?”

 Thinking of the nuns the next morning, he remembered his promise to Dymphna; cat food. And he recalled the town nearby had an agro-center with all manners of animal feed.

  So he headed there, with no better plans for the day but wandering around and surviving.

 The town had been cleared of anything living, or at least anything with a thinking, rational brain, but he still walked into it with all the caution of a man going to battle.

  The dead lingered in places where people once inhabited, either because they could smell the living scent lingering or because somewhere in the backs of their rotting brains, they recalled that this was a place where they were supposed to be, like salmon returning to spawn or birds migrating.

 If he was quiet enough, moved silently enough, the lingering scent of the living would mask his own and he could slip in and out without any problems.

  And even though he swore he'd avoid areas that had once been heavily populated, he went into the town on a mission.

 Kittens would need soft food at best, maybe a smallish bag of special kitten chow, he wasn't sure, he emptied his pack to make space for both.

  The agro-center was dark and quiet, the shops always were now.

 Someone had already broken the glass door wide open but had pulled a heavy, empty snack stand over the hole behind them as they left, possibly with the intention of returning for more scrounging.

  The Lieutenant tread carefully once past the stand and inside, worried that maybe the stand had been pulled in behind someone entering, but determined to get his kitten food and leave. It would be an easy in and out, once he found the cat aisle.

  Passing by garden aisles and chemical aisles, both raided for tools to be used as weapons and chemicals he could only imagine were to be used for bombs or other methods of self-defense from the dead, he turned down an aisle containing small appliances and barbecue equipment, following the signs overhead that pointed him towards the cat aisle, moving slowly and cautiously around each corner.

  It was so far quiet and empty, but that didn't mean the next corner didn't have someone or something waiting in surprise for him.

  The cat aisle was at the very back of the store, last aisle and as he glanced around the corner, he spied a small form sitting on the floor in the very corner, playing with some cat toys, her back to him.

  It was a child, he realized. And she looked very much alive.

 Approaching her slowly, eyes moving constantly, looking for someone who may be with her, the Lieutenant moved down the aisle, a new mission at the forefront of his mind.

  If this child was alone, he had to get her out of here and to the safety of the convent, whether the nuns wanted strangers there or not.

  About five steps away from the little girl, she happened to look up and over her shoulder, a cautious, searching glance, watching for the dead he assumed.

  She saw him, gasped, and stood up.

 Someone stepped around the corner, handgun aimed at the Lieutenant. They must have been right beside her, scrounging the endcap of the aisle.

  Raising his own rifle, the Lieutenant kept it trained on the man with the child.

 The two could not be any different. The small black girl wore the uniform of a Fox Scout, dirty, worn sneakers and had the sweetest, most open face he had ever seen on a child. She looked at him with big, dark eyes, before reaching up and rubbing in irritation at her button nose, tucking in behind the man.

  The white man with her wore an expensive suit, brightly patterned silk shirt underneath, boots that had at one point been polished and expensive, looked dangerous and prepared to kill. His predatory look was ruined a little by how big and green his eyes were, fringed by dark lashes. Altogether with the freckles on his face adding to his boyish appeal and softening the threat if only a little made him deceptively dangerous.

  They were not father and child, and yet the girl hid behind the man, trusting him to keep her safe.

 For a minute the two men just stood there, guns trained on the other's face, before the Lieutenant spoke carefully, “I'll put my weapon down if you do the same.”

  The man narrowed his eyes a little but kept his weapon trained on the Lieutenant.

  “I'm just here for kitten food,” the Lieutenant said. “I don't want a fight.”

  “Kitten food?” The man asked, almost a breathy laugh.

  “If you put the gun away I'll tell you the story,” the Lieutenant lied.

 Grinning, the man tilted his head and gave the Lieutenant a sort of admonishing, playful look, his mouth lifting in the right corner crookedly, before palming his pistol and raising his hands defensively. “Well now I've gotta hear this one,” he said in a tone that sounded like the man had once been born in the American South, like the distant memory of a twang was hidden just behind his calm, smooth voice.

 Lowering his rifle, the Lieutenant paused for a second, watching as the man watched him, before both men put their weapons away, the man sliding his pistol back into a holster inside his suit jacket, resting it at his breast, the Lieutenant sliding his rifle onto his back.

 “Was scrounging some farm,” the Lieutenant said, carefully turning from the man, keeping one eye on the two at the end of the aisle and one on the selection of canned cat food, “found some orphaned kittens.”

 “And you're taking care of them?” The man almost teased. “You know the world's fucking decimated, right? Doesn't really matter.”

  Giving the man and the girl with him a simple look. “Guess we both have soft hearts.”

 Placing a hand on the girl's head, the man in the expensive suit tucked her behind him further, shielding her from the Lieutenant's gaze. “Don't look at her. Just get your fucking cat food.”

  Both adult men, prickly and on their guard, remained in their respective spots, before the Lieutenant deferred slowly, moving down the aisle, keeping one eye on the man and the girl as he browsed for canned kitten food.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl tug the man down to whisper something to him, and at first, the man ignored her before he stooped a little.

  Cupping her hand, the child whispered to him.

  “I'm not...this isn't the time, kid.”

  After a bit, the man with the child sighed deeply and asked, “how many kittens?”

  “Three,” the Lieutenant said, speaking directly to the child, knowing the question came from her.

  Once more the man in the fancy suit gently pushed the kid behind him fully, eyes warily on the Lieutenant.

 “You her daddy?” The Lieutenant asked, finding the kitten food and dropping his pack to stuff as many cans inside as he could.

  “Do I look like her fucking daddy?” The man demanded.

  The Lieutenant tilted his head. “The world is a diverse place.”

  The three of them were silent for the longest time, before the man said,  “it's just the two of us now.”

  “What are you two doing here?” The Lieutenant asked. “Is this where you hole up?”

  The man scowled a little. “What the fuck do you care?”

  Again the Lieutenant backed down into silence, hefting his pack back up onto his back.

 “Ran into some good ol' boys a bit back,” the man in the suit supplied. “Seems the NRA survived the end of days and they're just as nasty as they were before it all went to shit. Thought it'd be best to hole up until early morning, then duck out of town.”

  The Lieutenant nodded.

  “You? Still serving the government?”

 “I don't think so,” the Lieutenant said. “If HQ is still up and running ain't nobody told me.” Eyeing the two of them, the girl and the fancy man, the Lieutenant asked, “you got a place to be or you just moving?”

  “El Dorado,” the man said simply, still on his guard. “Hey, where's your cats?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You got them stashed somewhere safe or you just fucking with us?”

  “They're safe.”

  The man nodded.

 “I could think of eight better lies I could have told than kittens,” the Lieutenant said. He took one last, studious look at the two of them, before that small part in him, the one that wanted to protect people kicked in. “Why don't you two come with me? There's safety in numbers.”

  Folding his arms, the man tilted his head back a little and stared hard at him, before saying, “get the fuck out of here.”

[madamsixx]

Beyond The Leather: Chapter 10: First Concert

July 31st, 1985 New York

Paparazzi had been following me everywhere I go. I now had security for my protection. I just finished shooting season two of the TV series I was on. And also finished the filming of the new movie I was in as well. The premiere will be out next year. My face was all over the billboards in New York and LA for the Sports Illustrated Magazine shoot. I was rising higher and higher and my fame was growing. I haven't spoken to Nikki since March and he has not even bothered to call and apologize for the way he treated me at that night club. There Theater of Pain album was released and they started touring. They were in New York today. How I know this.... well because I talk to Vince. And were meeting up for lunch today. Me and Vince have grown closer with each other. Were able to just have casual conversations and enjoy each others company. He's going to pick me up in his limo. I have so much to tell him.

"What are you wearing?" Lisa asks looking up at me from her magazine.

I met Lisa at the Modeling event back in March we became very good friends. Tamara allowed her to come on the New York trip with me on the condition that we stayed out of trouble. She of course agreed. Tamara had her own room right next to us. So she comes in and checks somtimes.

"It's a disguise. I'm meeting up with Vince for lunch and I don't want people seeing us." I put on a base ball cap and dark shades with a trench coat.

"You look ridiculous. And I'm sure people are still going to know it's you and Vince from Motley Crue." Lisa giggled.

"Well worth a try. Alright I'll see you later ok."

"Alright have fun with your boy friend."

"He is not my boyfriend." I sneered.

We met up and drove down to a pizza pizza. We decided to just order that and than go out to find a park to sit at and talk.

"Oh my God I haven't had junk food in a long long long time" I grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza and shoved it into my mouth.

"Ha well I eat junk all the time before I know it I will be overweight."

"No you won't you'll be fine. So what's going on with you?" I ask.

"Well I'm not really enjoying the tour. Nikki and Tommy have been dicks to me. They keep doing drugs and drinking in my face and chewing me out if I even have a drink. I'm so sick of it."

"That's really selfish of them. They should be supporting you. But at least your staying sober so thats a good thing. You have a clear mind."

"Yeah your right." Vince scoffed. "The whole album is shit. There are like two songs which are Smokin In The Boys Room and Home Sweet Home that are good. Everything else is bullshit. I don't even know how people don't see it."

"Im sorry to hear all that. How are the boys doing though?" I asked about the boys but who I mostly meant was Nikki.

"There doing ok. Mick is still crazy, Tommy is actually dating a nice girl Heather Locklear, and Nik-"

"Wait what?" I interrupted Vince.

"Yeah Tommy's dating Heather Locklear. I know its weird but honestly she really likes him."

This was shocking because Heather is a good girl like me and she's going to date a bad boy like Tommy.

"Wow this is shocking. I wouldn't have thought that she would want someone like Tommy." I stated.

"Guess you cant help who you like."

Yeah I guess you cant.

"So hows Nikki doing? You know he hasn't apologized for how he treated me at the Hollywood Palace in March."

"Well Niks uh Niks dating some girl named Nicole. She's some yuppie actress in the making." Vince says scratching his head.

I can't beleive this pig. After every thing that he has done to me he goes out and gets some other girl to be his girlfriend. He doesn't even call me to say he's sorry for what he did to me. And no im not jealous I'm just mad. Really mad.

"Oh, well good for... good for him." Is all that I could say.

"Iman remember he's not good for you. And to tell you the truth that girl Nicole is probably just Nikki's drug buddy."

"Yeah probably." I say with a low voice.

"But anyways what's new with you?"

"Well next month I'll be on the cover of Bazzars Fashion magazine. Well not just the cover the whole magazine. It will be about me. And then in September I'm walking my first runway. And it's all happening here in New York!" I screamed.

"Wow that's great Mani good for you. I would love to come."

"You just want to see the models Vince. You dont care about me at all."

"What?" Vince says with a pretend shocked voice. "I do too care about you. But I would also like to see the models." He laughs.

We finished eating and the limo dropped me back to my hotel. "Hey seeing as your still going to be here in August. We will be coming back to New York August 14 and we will be having a show at Madison Square Garden. You should come watch us. You have never seen us live. And this show is going to kick ass." He smiled.

"I'd love to Vince but Nikki- "

"Don't worry about Sixx he wont give you any trouble. I promise." Vince assured me.

"Ok, I will." I smiled.

I came up stairs and dropped my things and myself on the couch. I don't know why I agreed to go to that show. I should have said no. It will be awkward going if I had to see Nikki. But either way I will be in the audience and he will be on stage. There's no way he will see me. __________

Wednesday August 14, 1985 New York, Madison Square Garden

I put on a grey short dress with white tennis shoes and pink lip stick. I had my curled my hair to make it look fuller. I was into looking good especially because it made me feel good. Vince got two tickets for me because I told him I wanted to bring a friend. I was nervous and excited at the same time. Excited because I have never seen Motley Crue play at a concert before. And nervous because I would see Nikki. But to be honest I don't care much for him especially because he didn't apologize. We told Tamara that we were going to take a walk around town and she said it was alright.

"Do I look alright?" I looked over at Lisa who had two lines underneath her eyes like Nikki. She was a big Motley fan and a bigger Nikki fan. I never told her about the problems I had with Nikki. I wanted her to go to the show and just enjoy it without having any judgement.

"You look awesome. Alright we should get going the limo it will be here soon." I said.

We arrived at Madison Square Garden. It was complete anarchy out here. The paparazzi were going wild, the girls were half naked, and the fans were screaming out of there minds. It was total chaos. The chauffeur opened the door and security came to escort me and Lisa in.

"Is that Iman Darlington?" One reporter said. All of a sudden hundreds of reporters and paparazzi ran towards me snapping there cameras in my face as well as holding a microphone up to my face asking me several questions.

"Miss Darlington are you here for Nikki?" The reporter ask trying to shove pass security.

The security pushed the reporters back and got us in. "Oh my that was a lot." Lisa giggled.

"I know." I laughed.

We were escorted down the hall to the right side of the stage where we saw a big chubby guy with brown slick back hair standing there.

"Ah Miss Darlington right?" He held is hand out for me to shake.

"Hi yes." I shook his hand. "And you can call me Iman no need for the formalities." I smiled.

"Alright sounds good. I'm Doc Mcghee manager of Motley Crue."

"Its nice to meet you Doc. Oh this is my friend Lisa she's a model like me." I say pulling Lisa forward.

"Hi nice to meet you." She smiled.

"Alright let's get you girls to your area. I hope you ladies are coming to the after party tonight after the show?" He asked while walking us to our spots.

"Oh uh I dont know we'll see." I said.

We arrived at our spot and now it was just to wait for the show to begin. The crowd behind us were rowdy and jumping all over the place. I was very excited.

"Alright let's pose girl." Lisa brought out her camera and we posed by the stage.

Ladies and Gentlemen from Las Angeles's California, Please Welcome On Stage Motley Cruuuuuuuue!!!!

There was a loud bang and Vince came out jumping on stage with Mick and Nikki behind him. Tommy was hitting the drums with full force and the crowd was going wild. Vince started singing looks that kill.

Now listen up She's razor sharp If she don't get her way She'll slice you apart Now she's a cool, cool black She moves like a cat If you don't get her name Well you might not make it back

She's got the looks that kill, that kill She's got the looks that kill, that kill She's got the look

Me and Lisa were singing along to the song. We were having a blast. I looked at Tommy who was at the back drumming the hell out of the drums. He was honestly gifted because I tried using his drums and I really sucked. Then I turned my attention to Mick. He was spectacular with the rifts of his guitar. Hitting every note like his life depended on it. Then I looked to the front and Vince was singing and dancing around the whole stage. He was a very good hype man. He knew how to get the crowd going and keep them on there toes. And lastly Nikki, there he was jumping around the stage playing his bass. He had so much energy that I didn't even know where he got it from. But where ever it was from he was putting it to good use.

Vince came closer down to us and started singing into the mic. We smiled at him and he looked over at Lisa. I knew instantly he liked her. He sent her a wink and she started blushing. When I looked to the side I could see Nikki had come a bit closer his eyes went wide and his lips parted slightly when he saw me. His breathing even changed. I didn't know what to do when he saw me I froze a bit then looked away. Vince then moved away and went back to dancing on stage.

The show was finally over and I have to admit it was well worth coming. I was not disappointed at all.

"Oh my fucking God did you see that Vince winked at me ahhhhhhh!" She screamed. She started jumping up and down and hitting me at the same time.

"Hi ladies the boys are expecting you back stage now." The security said.

"But we didn't say we were-"

"Yes we did now let's go. Stop being a party pooper." Lisa pushed me to move through the doors leading to the hall of backstage.

We walked down the halls where we saw all the guitars and tech guys putting there stuff away. It was cool to see what happenes after the concerts behind closed doors. We arrived at a door and the security guard knocked on the door. "Yeah what?" It sounded like Tommy yelling. "Miss Darlington is here with her friend. "Oh shit really let her the fuck in!" Tommy yelled again. When we walked in my eyes went wide there were girls, booze, drugs and all the things that made a rock star a rock star. And the Motley boys were still in there stage clothes. They looked very funny.

"Iman fuck girl where have you been?" Tommy yelled running to me and picking me up.

"Woah T bone how are you?" I asked with my feet dangling in the air.

"I'm good dude shit it's been long. Look just cause you and Nikki have problems dosen't mean you should stay away." He stated.

I was alittle embarrassed when he said that, especially because I didn't tell Lisa about Nikki.

"No I've just been busy that's all T- bone. And I heard you have to with Heather Locklear?" I lifted and eyebrow.

"Fuck yeah man she's a good girl looking for a bad guy. I'll have to introduce you to her. But after the tour of course." Tommy said as he bit a beer can open and drank it from the side.

"Hey this is my friend Lisa." I said pulling her up beside me.

"Hey Lisa you love to party?" Tommy asked.

"Depends on what you got." She responded.

"Oh we got everything you need honey." Vince spoke up giving her a devilish grin. He then walked over and gave me a big hug I returned the hug. "Im glad you made it."

"I'm glad I did too the show was fun." I smiled. Then in walked Nikki with two girls on each side of him he looked at me but just walked right passed.

Rude!

"Hey kiddo long time." I turned to see Mick sitting on the chair behind Vince drinking the usual vodka.

"Hey Mick how are you doing?"

"Fucking fantastic." He said.

"So uh I'm gonna take your friend and show her around if you don't mind Mani?" Vince smiled while putting his arm around Lisa's neck.

"Uh sure just dont go too far were not staying long." I say walking over to sit beside Mick.

Tommy was still chatting it up with a bunch of groupies even though he was seeing Heather and Nikki was just making out with a bunch of girls.

"So you and Nikki got into a fight or somthing?" Mick asks looking at me. I cant beleive that Mick dosen't party like these guys. Maybe it's cause he older and more wiser.

"Somthing like that. He was aggressive towards me at the last club we went to. I think I'm just going to stay away from him for now on." I say crossing my legs and looking down.

"That's the smartest idea you can ever have. Nikki is crazy and not in a good way. He's a lost cause and needs some help."

"Well I don't know about the lost cause thing, but I agree with you on the crazy." I laughed.

I noticed that everyone, including the tech guys, the managers, and basically Motley's whole team were doing drugs. So I wasn't surprised that the boys have gotten into it. I thought it was really sad. They are a good band, but the drugs wont let them last long.

"Oh here comes your friend." Mick pointed over to Lisa and Vince walking back.

"Hey girly." She slurred. "Me and Vince had a great time." She smiled.

"I'm sure you did." I chuckled.

"Don't worry I didn't get her completely wasted this is the party before the after party. And that's gonna be big." Vince giggled.

"Uh yeah no were not going to that. This is enough." I said as a matter of fact getting off the chair.

"Oh come on Mani you'll have loads of fun trust me." Vince put his arm around my shoulder.

"Well the way Nikki is looking at me says other wise." I grabbed Vince's chin and directed him to look at Nikki. At this point, Nikki is standing up leaning on the counter with his head tilted back slightly with an unamused look on his face. His hands are in front of his stomach and he looks like he's about to knock someone out. I have to admit he looks good in his stage outfit. He's wearing a white and black outfit with a rose sticking out of the pocket. With his war paint under his eyes. Can he be any hotter.

I yelped when somone grabbed me and picked me up and threw me over they're shoulder. "Ahhh oh my God T- bone put me down!" I yelled.

"Only if you say your coming." He yelled and started swinging me around over his shoulder.

My dress started hiking up and my panties were showing. I started trying to pull them down from behind. Then every one started whistling and laughing it was embarrassing.

"T- bone put me down pl-"

"T- bone put her fucking down now!" Nikki yelled interrupting me.

The whole place went silent with Nikkis loud voice. It was like a grave yard.

"I'm sorry Sixx I was only joking around with her." Tommy said with a low voice putting me down. "Sorry Mani I was only joking."

"I know you were." I giggled. I looked over at Nikki who sat back down and started drinking his jack.

"But for reals you should come it will be fun. Plus I'm sure your friend over here." Tommy grabs Lisa. "Is dying for some fun as well." Lisa stands beside him and smiles. Then Vince comes and smiles beside them too. They looked like fools.

"Pleeeeeeeease." They all say at once.

"Fine. But the moment anything starts going wrong were leaving." I say with a serious voice.

Doc came in and told the boys they had to go back to they're hotels to change for the after party.

"Alright we can send a limo to pick you girls up at 10." T- bone said.

"Sounds great come on Mani we should go get changed too." Lisa smiled.

I looked at Nikki who was staring right back at me. I didn't know if I should walk up to him and say something. But I don't think he wants to talk to me anyways. When he came in he walked right passed me. I'll just leave it alone. "Let's go." I said to Lisa as we walked out.

This night is going to continue on to the next chapter. Hope you guys are enjoying the story.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: The Sanderson Sisters

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Ah, Hocus Pocus, everyone’s favorite campy Halloween cult classic. Objectively speaking, the movie is probably no better than a made-for-TV cheesy 90s Disney movie – and funnily enough, this film’s director would go on to make plenty more of those, seeing as he would do the High School Musical movies and The Descendants – as it has all the hokey writing, late 80s/early 90s cliches you’d expect, and some truly boring main characters.

But, thankfully, it has three of the most charismatic women you could imagine camping it up and firmly cementing their status as Halloween icons for all time: The Sanderson sisters, Winifred, Sarah, and Mary. These three are the reason this movie is held so near and dear to people’s hearts, and frankly, without them this movie would just plain suck. With them, it still sucks, but in a fun way, elevating it beyond “so bad it’s good” and into the realm of endearing camp alongside such masterpieces as Venom.

But enough of all this; just like when you’re watching the movie, you’re here for the girls, so let’s talk about them.

Actor: The leader of the bunch is Winifred, and she is played by Bette Midler. Bette Midler has called this her favorite role ever, and seeing how she acts in this, it really shows. A running theme with these three is that they just absolutely ham it up, and Bette Midler goes above and beyond with Winifred – she’s not just a ham, she’s the whole damn hog. In fact, in a lot of ways, she hogs the spotlight, what with her hamminess being so magnetic and the fact that she is clearly the brains of the operation. But that’s not to say the others are bad.

Sarah Jessica Parker plays… Sarah. Funny how that worked out. She is the hot and dumb one, and boy oh boy does she play that role to perfection, though of course she does manage to be creepy and sinister when the scene calls for it – that song of hers has become iconic for a reason.

Finally we come to Mary, played by none other than Peggy Hill herself, Kathy Najimy. Najimy does a great job, she plays her role well, but out of the three I feel like she has the most trouble standing out. Which isn’t to say she’s bad, far from it – she doesn’t have the bombastic personality of Winifred nor the complete ditziness of Sarah.

Here’s the thing, though: if any of these three weren’t here, or weren’t portrayed by these specific actresses, they’d fall apart, the movie would fall apart, game over man, game over! The film only works because these three have such great chemistry, such great interactions, and such great weirdness to them that if even one of them were gone or they just weren’t in synch, things would be a lot less fun.

Motivation/Goals: Like most evil witches in fiction, these three want children, specifically so that they can drain their vitality with a magic potion so that they can be young and powerful forever. This gets them hanged 300 years before the main story starts, and when they come back, they reuse this goal with a bit more urgency: they now need to drain the vitality from children before the sun rises and turns them to dust, as their resurrection is set to only last a single night otherwise. Frankly, the fact that their goal is killing and sucking the life out of children is the only thing that’s keeping the audience from rooting for them, because the actual protagonists of this film are so unremarkable and cliché that it’s pretty hard to want to see them stop the funny and charismatic witches,

Personality: Winifred is clearly the one who got all the brains, which makes sense as she is the leader. She’s a lot quicker on the uptake and realizes things more quickly than her ditzier sisters, as well as a lot more proactive and pragmatic in general. She does the spellcasting, she brews the potions, she just inhabits the role of leader naturally. It helps that of the three she has the most outwardly intimidating presence.

Mary is the middle child, and her personality is somewhere between the two sisters: she’s ditzy, but not to Sarah’s level, and she’s got some common sense and wits, but definitely not on Winifred’s level. This is kind of why I said she has a hard time sticking out personality-wise before, as she’s the epitome of the awkward middle child. However, she does excel at her role as a predatory child tracker, able to sniff out their victims with ease. It’s also implied, but not outright stated, that she’s a much bigger eater than her sisters; she is noticeably chunkier than the others, after all. And considering their diet… it’s definitely not a good idea to undersell that Mary is definitely a wicked witch.

Then we come to Sarah, who is an absolute ditz and the epitome of a dumb blonde… and yet, she is also one of the most dangerous, as she has a sort of siren-like power to draw children to her with her singing. In fact, while she does come off as a ditzy goofball for the most part, her interactions with children paint a rather… uncomfortable picture, one that reveals her true nature.

I think it’s worth noting that despite how ditzy both Mary and Sarah are, both of them also have the common sense to point out to Winifred that, when Sarah has called numerous children to their house, they really don’t need to bother with the protagonists anymore. In this moment, Winifred decides to reject common sense and go after them because one of the heroes called her ugly. It sort of highlights just how petty and irrational Winifred can be, and how despite her disdain for her sisters, she’s really not so different from them in the end. It’s also worth noting that Mary and Sarah, while clearly evil due to their association with Winifred, are actually pretty nice and mostly harmless otherwise, to the point where you could make a case that without Winifred around, they’d probably not be villains at all.

But if that were the case, we wouldn’t have a movie, and then we wouldn’t be here, huh?

Final Fate: Of course these three fail to suck out any vitality by sunrise, with Winifred’s stupid little vendetta damning her and her sisters. The rays of the sun turn Winifred to a statue and cause Sarah and Mary to explode, with Mary even getting a moment to wave goodbye in resigned sadness as she bursts into a dust cloud. After her sisters are gone, Winifred’s statue explodes spectacularly.

Best Scene: I don’t think there’s really anything that comes close to the sister’s spellbinding performance of “I Put a Spell On You,” at least in regards to all three of them together. I mean, if you get a singer like Bette Midler to star as a villain in your movie, why would you not have her sing? Only a complete hack who doesn’t know how to properly utilize actors would waste a singer in a role where they don’t sing.

The thing is, these three are together all the time, so there’s not much room for individual moments for them to shine otherwise… or there wouldn’t be, if they didn’t showcase Sarah’s absolutely terrifying power, leading her number “Come Little Children” to being her standout moment, and the moment that really drives home the incredibly uncomfortable undertones she exudes.

Best Quote: I think Winifred gets the best quote in the whole movie, which occurs when her zombified ex Billy Butcherson (played by Doug Jones, who you may remember for his critically acclaimed role as Mac Tonight in the McDonald’s ads). Billy tells her to go to hell, and she retorts with: “Oh! I've been there, thank you. I found it quite lovely.”

Sarah, of course, has her villain song: “Come little children, I'll take thee away / Into a land of enchantment / Come little children, the times come to play / Here in my garden of magic.”

And, unfortunately, in this regard I think Mary gets the shaft. Despite her definitely being funny and entertaining, she just doesn’t have the same level of standout quotes as her sisters.

Final Thoughts & Score: So as I was writing this, I was thinking of what their score could possibly be. I thought I’d probably have to lower their score, because aside from them, this movie is just corny early 90s cheese… but then I thought, what’s wrong with that? And why should these three suffer a lower score due to the rest of the movie’s failings? That isn’t their fault. Hell, these three are the reason to watch the movie. If anything, the movie’s failings are drowned out by just how charismatic and enjoyable they are to watch.

Much like their fellow child-hating hag the Grand High Witch, the Sanderson sisters are blessed with fun, funny, charismatic actors who aren’t afraid to ham things up and know just what kind of move they’re in and absolutely revel in it. They saw they were playing three stereotypical fairy tale witches and decided to have a blast with it, and in doing so they managed to transform an otherwise corny Disney film into the Halloween legend that this film is. I wouldn’t say these three are particularly deep or complex, but they have a very fun dynamic and add a lot of spice to an otherwise bland plot. Between them and Doug Jones, they give you a lot of reasons to come back and watch this film over and over.

Obviously, these three are getting a 9/10, only held back from a perfect score because yes, sometimes the camp can be a bit much, even for me. But I’m just not heterosexual enough to give these three ladies anything lower. I still have to unfortunately say Mary is the weak link here, but it’s only comparatively speaking, and I’d probably bump these three down to a 7 if she wasn’t here. I really can’t stress enough that there dynamic is so utterly important that even one of them not being there would spoil things. They just don’t make evil trios like this anymore.

[kyrie-silverwings]

Night 1. The Sharlayan

the first chapter of Morag’s story. I’ve been meaning to write this up forever, so here ye go, something for the big banshee lady!

“--Goodness me. Are you alright?”

She was barely aware of the voice before she stumbled on a loose cobblestone. She was overwhelmed by too many sensations at the same time; the bright moonlight on her face caused her to squint and blink through watering eyes. I fell? Her hands scratched against stone, but the feeling was dull against her numb skin. 

“Here, here. Hold still, lass.” A warm hand touched against her shoulder, pulling a shudder in response. Blurry vision revealed the shape of a Hyur standing over her. She swatted at him to no avail, and he gently took her shaking hand into his own. The warmth coming from the woolen-clad fingers was stinging. Confusion won over and she huddled over, curling into herself as a frightened child. There were too many thoughts racing at once, too many questions. Her eyes clenched shut and a soft whimper escaped from her.

The gloved hands held onto her and softly patted. The fabric was like pinpricks to her and she wanted terribly to push away the stranger. She nearly jumped when a heavy coat was draped over her. “There... That should help... Can you hear me?” The question seemed to focus her attention, and she meekly nodded.

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. The visage slowly sharpened and she began to notice the details of the gentle stranger. He had covered her with a heavy fabric coat, the fine red color washed out into a blackish grey in the moonlight. Pale light bounced off glass pince nez perched on a small, beakish nose and caught in wispy, greyed hair that was tied back into a loose braid. Lines creased his face and she noticed that he was smaller than she, perhaps only a few ilms taller than five fulms. 

Her fear began to abate, replaced now by mute curiosity. She was hardly surprised to realize she was completely naked, but fit the coat over her torso as much as she could. She tucked her long legs beneath her as she sat up and watched quietly as the man pulled out a small notebook and wrote something inside it. He seemed preoccupied and without any questions to ask yet, she took in her surroundings.

She was somewhere unfamiliar. The garden of a once-beautiful mansion, now long abandoned and overgrown, sprawled out before them. They were gathered by a twisting hedge, with an uneven cobblestone path under their feet. From the corner of her eyes, the woman could see a few creatures flitting in the distance but couldn’t make out what they were. Her lips pursed.

“Where is this?” She asked the scholar bluntly, still gazing across the lawn. The man looked up from his journal and adjusted his glasses.

“Haukke Manor, of the Black Shroud. You don’t recognize it?”

She shook her head. “Mmm, no. I don’t even know what that means.” 

He stopped writing. “I see. You are not Gridanian then. Did you come from another city state?” The pen lifted and waited on her reply. He watched the unusual woman closely. As she gave thought to her answers, he could only bring forward more questions. 

There was a frustrated sound from her. “I do not remember. Probably...” City states...? Shouldn’t I know what that is? She gathered the coat closer, shrinking into the fabric. Her mind felt so empty, as if everything she knew about herself was nonexistent. She realized she didn’t even know the color of her eyes or, on that matter, her own name. What was it? What was it...

While she curled into his coat, the man finished another length of writing and set his journal on the edge of a cracked fountain to let the ink dry. He was excited to continue writing, but learning about his new subject was turning out to be even more intriguing. Clearly, this woman was no ordinary person. Perhaps even a voidsent, judging by her unusual aether and her unnatural appearance. She dwarfed him, standing almost seven fulms tall by his reckoning and her eyes were like a serpent’s. He half expected her to attack him when he approached her and certainly didn’t anticipate the current turn of events. The amnesia was an unexpected trait, but he could make that work in his favor. 

He noticed her huddling closer to the ground and knelt just out of arm’s reach from her. If this was a ruse, she was an exceedingly convincing actress. Better to keep himself safe... But what do do about this one? He couldn’t simply take her into Gridania and hide her away in the Roost, she was inconspicuous and the Wailers about the town would certainly notice her. He would have to keep her in his care and go somewhere beyond the watch of the Wailers and Adders. A moment later, and he decided. 

To Dravania, then. Ishgard’s too dangerous to stay, but traveling through should be fine enough. 

“Well, it just so happens I know a place where you can stay. If you like.” The woman peered over to him, her eyebrows furrowed. He continued, hoping she would be convinced. “It’s a Sharlayan colony, though it’s independent now, I believe, and you should-- would be safe there.” He conjured his most charming smile, something he hadn’t done since he was a young college student. It appeared to work and the pale creature tilted her head.

“Safe? What do you mean? Am I not safe here?” 

“Yes, well... We just so happen to be in a place where voidsent are very active. If I take you to Gridania and somebody asks where you came from...” He made a weighing gesture with his hands. “Gridanians dislike foreigners and are quick to judge, trust me, it’s a right pain to deal with them sometimes.” He continued rambling about his various interactions with the townsfolk but stopped as the woman stood up, clutching his coat around her slender body. He blinked, wondering if she was convinced.

She stared into him for a long moment. Sweat began to bead on the back of his neck as he stared into those inhuman eyes and he briefly questioned his own sanity for asking a voidsent to travel with him.

“What is your name?” she asked quietly, her expression unchanged. 

He exhaled sharply; he didn’t notice he was holding his breath while he waited on her reply. “Weston.” He cleared his throat. “Weston Thorgold, scholar of Sharlayan and uh, researcher of Mhach.” He felt self-conscious about that last bit, but remembered the woman probably had no idea what that meant. “And what about you, lass?”

She took her eyes off him for a moment and thought to herself. She had her suspicions and her instincts about this man, but seriously considered his offer. It was genuine and he gave her his true name, so his intentions were at least academic in nature. She would deal with him later.

“I don’t have a name. Don’t remember it, in any case.” she replied bluntly. “Call me whatever you’d like, Weston Thorgold, scholar of Sharlayan.” Weston rubbed the back of his neck, smiling wryly.

“Just Weston will do, lass. Then... how about...” Looking at her, he was reminded of an old fairytale from his childhood, the one that cautioned travelling men about meeting strange, beautiful women in the forests at night. “Morag. It’s not a common name, but do you like it?”

She nodded, her lips curling into a smile. “I do like it. Is it far, this place you want to show me?” Morag stepped closer to the scholar and while he was distracted by her, she picked up his notebook and hid it inside her coat. 

Weston could hardly believe his luck. He never noticed his missing journal, completely forgetting about it in his excitement. “Oh excellent! Idyllshire is perhaps a few days from here, barring bad weather and the occasional Dravanian along the way. We will have to find you a change of clothing, of course. The weather is hopefully going to be pleasant, but even so...” He paused in his rambling, looking up to Morag. Weston reached into a belt pouch and handed over an eyeglasses case to her.

“Before I forget, you might want to wear these while we cross through Ishgard. It’ll keep the glare out of your eyes...” She slid the concealed notebook into one of the inside pockets and pulled a pair of opaque, maroon-tinted lenses from the case. Morag carefully placed the glasses on her nose and adjusted the frame until it was comfortable. She narrowed her eyes, adjusting to the faint purple wash over her vision. 

Weston was ready to quit the gardens of Haukke. The sun was going to rise soon and he wished to cross the border before the Wailers began their rounds in the morning. “Ready to set off, Morag?” he asked softly. “We can stop just before Ishgard, but it would be best to make it across before the afternoon.”

“Of course. I’ll be right beside you. Lead the way, Weston.”

[weerd1]

Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1908.21: Missions Reviewed, “The Quickening,” “Body Parts,” and “Broken Link.”

“The Quickening” finds Bashir, Dax, and Kira in a runabout in the Gamma Quadrant when they pick up a distress signal coming from a small planet. When they get there, they find a post-industrial civilization where everyone is infected with a disease. The disease will “quicken” and the person dies a painful death, sometimes young, sometimes after years. 

 Bashir and Dax find that this is a case of biological warfare developed by The Dominion against this rebel planet. They do find a doctor, but his only function really is the ritualization of the quickening process, making death comfortable and not trying to cure anything. Bashir takes it upon himself to try, at first getting only the support of a young pregnant woman who wants to live to see her baby grow up. At first, Bashir finds success, but all at once his patience begin to accelerate. He finds the disease was engineered by the Founders to accelerate in the presence of electro-magnetic fields; like those produced by the instruments he is using to find a cure. The local doctor curses Bashir for giving people false hope and ruining their deaths. Bashir is ostracized, but continues to try to work with what is available. His only patient is the young mother, who has quickened, and shows no sign of any treatment he has given her.  She gives birth and they find that the baby is completely clear of the disease. 

As the mother dies, Bashir realizes he has not created a cure, but a vaccine which will prevent the next generation of children from having it. He passes it to the local doctor, who now himself feels hope. Bashir returns to DS9, still hoping to find an actual cure.

A very well written and moving episode including great performances from guest stars actress and producer Ellen Wheeler as the young mother and genre staple Michael Sarrazin as the local doctor. I think this episode takes on special pertinence when placed into the context of Bashir’s genetic enhancement- he really thinks that though he me fake his way through a lot of things, when it really matters his genetically superior intellect will always save the day.  Here, yes he gets some victory, but you watch him deal with his failure and Siddig’s performance is very affecting. This episode also helps paint the Dominion as more than just an empire that wants to rule, they are vindictive bastards as well, something we will see in just a couple episodes, “Broken Link.”

There are two pretty interesting stories in “Body Parts.” The first, Quark returns from a trip to Ferenginar with news that he has a rare disease himself and will be dead in six days.  In Ferengi tradition, he puts what will be his desiccated remains (52 little plastic disks of dried Quark) up for auction to settle any remaining debts, and receives an enormous bid. He accepts, but the next day, finds out the diagnosis was wrong; he’s going to live. All is fine until Brunt, Ferengi Commerce Authority shows up. 

HE was the bidder and he wants his freeze dried Quark. According to the Rules of Acquisition, “a contract is a contract, is a contract.” Quark even considers hiring Garak to kill him rather than face the embarrassment of breach of contract. In the second tale, Bashir, Kira, and Keiko O’Brien go on a Gamma Quadrant expedition, despite Keiko’s pregnancy. After an accident, Bashir finds it necessary to transplant the O’Brien child into Kira in order to save Keiko’s life. Due to the technobabbly way Bajoran women carry children, they won’t be able to reverse the procedure: Kira will carry the O’Brien baby to term. Miles, Keiko, and Molly welcome her into their family.

 While Quark dreams he’s gone to the Divine Treasury, he sees a vision of the First Nagus telling him to break the contract- the rules were meant for Ferengi, not Ferengi for the rules. Quark does break the contract, and Brunt seizes everything in the bar. As Quark wonders what he’s going to do, the various station members start bringing things in- Bashir has a case of liquor he can’t keep, needs Quark to take it. Sisko needs Quark to keep tables and chairs from a part of the station being renovated.  Quark realizes the Hew-Mon adage of friends being treasure might be true.

The pregnant Kira storyline me seem a little oddly intimate here between the O’Briens and her as surrogate, but the real story is even worse; at this point Nana Visitor was together with Alexander Siddig, and pregnant; this whole subplot was a way of writing the fact Major Kira is actually carrying Doctor Bashir’s baby into the story. In Quark’s vision, the first Nagus was also played by Max Grodénchik (Rom) and seeing him with a totally different demeanor and voice is neat.

 A Jeffrey Combs guest appearance is always great, but the real slam dunk in this episode is Quark watching holodeck simulations of Garak killing him so Quark can choose the best death. Not wanting the snapping vertebrae of his neck to be the last thing he hears is a fair point.

“Broken Link” begins with Garak trying to hook Odo up with a local Bajoran woman; as soon as Odo mentions he doesn’t care about such things he suffers a strange attack. Bashir finds his “goo” is in flux, and despite his best efforts he knows they may need the Founders to treat Odo.

 Despite a sudden rise in violent rhetoric from Klingon Chancellor Gowron, Sisko takes the Defiant into the Gamma Quadrant to find the Founders to help Odo. Garak comes along to ask if there were Cardassian survivors from their ill fated attack two years before. After broadcasting for help, the Defiant is surrounded by a flotilla of Jem’Hadar ships, and they beam aboard with the female Changeling. She reveals that THEY infected Odo with the virus that caused this to force him back to the Great Link to be judged for killing a Changeling at the end of season 3.

 On the way Garak asks about Cardassian survivors, only to be told by the Changeling that his entire race signed their death warrant when they attacked the Dominion. Arriving at the Great Link’s new homeworld, Sisko and Bashir wait on an outcropping while Odo is absorbed into the Link. Meanwhile, Garak tries to seize the Defiant’s weapons to wipe out the Link now, even as a suicide mission- better to save the Alpha Quadrant. Worf stops him, but Garak shows the Klingon a thing or two in fisticuffs. 

On the planet, Odo emerges from the slime, naked and disorientated. Bashir scans him and finds the Link have in fact punished Odo…by making him human. They return to the station as Gowron declares war on the Federation. Odo stares, he has some memories from being in the Link. Gowron, Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, is a Changeling imposter.

A solid season ender with a lot of frightening Dominion moments (Salome Jens as the female Changeling describing Cardassian genocide coolly to Andrew Robinson’s Garak among them) and an interesting twist for Odo. Apparently the Bajoran woman to whom Garak introduced him at the beginning was intended to be an romantic interest for Odo to pursue in the next season, but the producers didn’t feel the chemistry (and if they’re like me Odo and Kira are their OTP). The end of episode reveal of Gowron as a shapeshifter may be a red herring, but it serves as a more harrowing warning even than season 3’s “we are everywhere” delivered by the Founder Odo killed. And finally, keep an eye out here for Garak teasing Odo with his history as a gardener at the Cardassian embassy on Romulus, and the number of Romulan dignitaries who mysteriously died that year.  Andrew Robinson actually wrote a spectacular novel detailing Garak’s life, and his time on Romulus is one of the books highlights: worth finding to read as a  DS9 sequel regardless!

NEXT VOYAGE: Season 5 begins with a covert mission to stop the imposter Gowron before he ensures an “Apocalypse Rising”!

[radio-nano]

A Riot At The Opera: Queen Triumphant by Jonh Ingham with my favorites parts in bold.

QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.

On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.

Skin tight

That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.

Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?

John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".

Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.

Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.

Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.

Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour. Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and A Night At The Opera turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.

Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.

As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to "A Night At The Opera". The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.

Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...

Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph . There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and SHAKE HIS CUTE ARSE, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!

Phallic

Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of that time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.

He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.

Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.

Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.

Bulldozer

Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.

For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.

That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kow-tows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.

Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.

Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.

They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."

Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.

The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'.

Maniacal

The audience, seeing their faces in town for the first time, are vociferous in their appreciation. Guys know all the words to every song, yelling enthusiastically at every effect and solo. The band picks up, Freddie receiving the crowd beneficently, telling them they’re beautiful.

As the show builds it is obvious that things are gelling more. The previous night Brian had seemed totally out of place, not moving too much, taking solos with the weirdest half blank half possessed stare, talking to himself; cocking ear towards guitar. He was the proverbial stranger in a strange land, one step removed from the plane inhabited by you and me.

Tonight he moves fluidly, the gonzo lead guitarist of a gonzo band. His expressions are just as maniacal, but it only makes him look more demonic. His solo in 'Brighton Rock', an exposition in riffing and echo, is a treat because of his physical response to both music and audience, complete with ham acting. Freddie gets into the same game on 'The Prophet's Song', where he conducts an a capella madrigal with himself. It's a pretty commanding moment.

It’s soon after this that Madison Square seems reasonable. About a minute into 'Stone Cold Crazy' it becomes very obvious that Queen have suddenly Plugged In. Found the metal music machine and Connected. Freddie's movements explode in perfect unison with the music, the lights and surroundings go crazy, and the audience goes berserk.

Freddie asks for requests and receives a roar out of which one can vaguely make 'Liar'. Fred walks along the stage, nodding, agreeing he will do this one and that one while the kids roar on. "I'll tell you what - we'll do them all!"

'Doing Alright' opens slow and portentously. Queen's variation of light and shade is one of the major factors in their popularity, but even so the quiet sections frequently find the audience's mind wandering. One kid starts getting a joint together, totally forgetting it when everything blasts off again; guys talk among themselves, only to instantly leap to their feet, fists flying to the beat.

'Doing Alright' changes into a cha-cha beat, Freddie snapping his fingers, the coolest hipster in town, and then instantly drops into faster-than-light drive - the whole row next to me leaps to their feet as a man, rocking back and forth as Brian roars into a blinding solo.

Two songs later, in 'Seven Seas of Rye', the kids break - very fast - and in five seconds half the audience is a seething mass in front of the stage, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as a splintering seat sends a few bodies to the floor.

The rest of the show is equally intense, especially for a couple of minutes during 'Liar; where Fred and Brian merge into a tight little triangle with Roger while John stands in front of the bass drum, staring out with his small smile.

Freddie has treated his encores - 'Big Spender' and 'Jailhouse Rock' - differently on successive nights, once appearing in a kimono and in Bristol with rather rude tight white shorts, giving the song title new emphasis. In Cardiff, though, he doesn't bother to change at all. Later it transpired that Brian had twisted his ankle during 'Liar'. While he’s attended to, kids out front pick up chair slivers to keep as mementos.

On the bus back to the hotel Brian sits quietly at the back, chatting with two girls. John sits at the front, as always. Freddie stares out of the window, lost in his own world. Roger bounces around, starts a pillow fight with Brian - which stops as soon as Brian scores a direct hit to the face - then discovers an eight track of Sheer Heart Attack, punching it through the channels as he conducts the group. The two hours towards which they have channelled the day's energies are spent.

Ambition

That Queen have become a top attraction through a fair degree of plagiarism is amusing. Stealing is nothing new in rock (or any art for that matter) and mostly Queen use the borrowed material better than the originals. That they would be big I don't think anybody really doubted. All four have immense desire to be successful, and that kind of ambition will keep them slogging until they achieve it.

But there are popular heavy metal bands and there are popular HM bands. From watching Queen's audience it is apparent that Queen speak for them in a way that bands such as the Who and the Stones and the Beatles spoke (and continue to speak) to their audience. Uriah Heep may be great at what they do, but five years after their demise who'll remember them? Creedence Clearwater Revival demonstrate the same thing - who remembers them? And yet five years ago they were the largest band in the world.

Queen will probably always be remembered, because as their tour is beginning to demonstrate, they have the ability to actualise and encompass the outer limits of their sense of self-importance.

Queen and their music, presentation, production - everything about them says that they are more important than any other band you've every heard, and who has there been, so far, who has objected? Certainly not the 150,000 people (plus 20,000 a day) who bought 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in the first 20 days of its release. Certainly not me.

See you at Madison Square Garden.

And Freddie in an interview a few later after this article:

He has been talking almost an hour and from the rapid increase in body twitches it's obvious he now wants to leave. He gets up to go but then thinks of something else.

A few weeks before I had written a story that adored in detail the tightness of Freddie's costume and the obvious bulge it contained. The Editor had not missed the opportunity to use an obvious headline.

"You know, your 'Cock Opera' piece has done me more harm than good. It was a wonderful piece, but My God, I've got to live up to it now. The insinuations of hosepipes and things, it's gotten really amazing. My God! A day hasn't passed when someone hasn't made a comment on it."

I was reminded of critic Lillian Roxon interviewing Tom Jones and wanting to poke her pencil there to see if it was all Tom. I guess only Fred's tailor knows for sure.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Breaking Free

Summary: Your whole life had led up to this point, marrying Prince Minhyun had been every girl’s dream. Except yours.

Pairing: Hwang Minhyun x reader

Genre: Royal AU, angst, romance, fluff

Warnings: unhappiness within arranged marriage

Word count: 4416 

You stared into the mirror in front of you, wearing the finest gown you had ever put on. Lush fabric adorned with jewels and intricate embroidery floated around you and you felt exactly like a princess.

A princess.

An audible sigh left and deflated your chest, your best friend Anne coming up to your side. “What’s wrong? I thought you really liked the dress!”

“I do,” you started, your hands gently running over the large skirt and you admired it again in the mirror, despite the sadness within your eyes. “But I didn’t want this either.”

“Oh Y/N, don’t be silly, isn’t it every girl’s dream to grow up and marry a prince?”

Not mine.

Your family had been delighted when two months ago your name had been chosen as the suitable bride for Prince Minhyun. It had been a dream come true for all those around you, after decades of loyal, endless support to the royal family, you were the first descendant to finally propel your family forward.

Any girl would be excited to get this opportunity. But you weren’t.

Ever since you were born into this world, you had been prepped for this moment in time. But you had dreamed of another lifestyle, where you chose the boy you would marry, and further, it would be out of love.

This was far from that fantasy.

It wasn’t that Minhyun was a bad match. From the very small amount of time you had been in his company, he seemed polite and kind. But this wasn’t enough for you to build anything on before accepting marriage. Even with his handsome appearance, good credentials within education, leisure activities and socially, you were unsure if you would have even chosen him to date.

But you didn’t have a choice anyway.

This thought alone darkened your mood and a single tear slipped down your perfectly made complexion at the thought of what was to come.

Today you would be married.

It felt as if it were a blur, the ceremony had been over two hours long, but you were sure you simply blinked and it was over, moving onto an intimate luncheon served by the King and Queen, before another reception holding further guests.

Night time had cascaded down and although you stood at the side of your new husband, you had said less than five words to him since leaving the chapel. It was exhausting, greeting guests, entertaining them, standing for so long in your heels. Although you had been allowed to change into another gown for the reception, you were still unable to feel comfortable, though you wondered if that was down to the situation and not what your body was wearing.

You had taken glances at Minhyun several times throughout the night; his smile never seemed to become jaded. You wondered how he could still appear so genuine, when you were sure everyone would be able to tell neither of you were a true couple. You felt like you were an actress in a lavish show, your smile coming out as part of the role. You stood close but not as close as lovers would, and affection was lost on you both. All the same, well wishes and “you both look like a match made from above” were constantly hitting your ears throughout the evening.

Mocking you.

You had no appetite for dinner and yet you still sat and played out your part, raising your champagne flute for several toasts, laughing at the dry jokes by the jolly cousin of the queen across the table, and answering questions from family relatives that you had practiced as if lines in a play for the past month.

Eventually the appropriate time for you both to leave for your new home within the palace grounds arrived, and you hugged your parents goodbye, a sudden ache growing in your chest as you departed from their sides. The show was over now, and real life was settling in, the grief you felt from now being a daughter to another family hitting you in that moment.

“Let’s go.” The voice near your ear was deep and quiet, causing you to flinch. You glanced up at the tall boy, his hand rising in a wave to those behind you as he gently guided you into his car.

Once enclosed, the atmosphere was thick with distance. The smile had faded completely from Minhyun’s face, and instead his eyes were steely, the only emotion that you could read upon his face. The purr of the classic jaguar and the crunch of the gravel under the tyres were the only sounds for the short drive to your new home. It made you awkward, not knowing how to act around him.

Before when you were both fulfilling your roles, you knew what was expected of you. Now you were not so sure. Should you talk to him? Ask him about himself? What the rules of your new home would be? Of your own chambers? So many questions were rushing around inside you, and yet the aloof demeanour of Minhyun had you hesitating.

The car rolled to a stop and Minhyun hopped out of it, not even glancing back to see if you were following him inside. Dejected, you pulled yourself out of the car and stared up at the manor that would now become the setting for your impending loneliness.

A month went by and you had no time to become accustomed to your life at the castle grounds. It was still quite the upheaval, with no real sign of settling soon. Each day was a bustle, new outfits, new appointments, more interviews. You had spoken so much of your family and marriage that you no longer had to rehearse anything, it was second nature.

It was at night time though that you struggled.

Minhyun was obviously used to his own company, and routine. After dinner he would retire to his study for several hours, and then at precisely ten each night, he would come to find you. At first when he had appeared, you had been hopeful of some kind of bonding to begin.

“Goodnight,” he swiftly greeted, walking back out and leaving you sitting there, perplexed.

Now you were used to smiling lightly and repeating the same word, heading into your own bedroom not long after.

This wasn’t the marriage you had dreamed for.

“So what’s he like?!” Anne leaned forward in the plush armchair in the parlour room, bringing you out of your thoughts. You blinked and noted her eagerness. “He’s so freaking handsome!”

“Looks might be all he has,” you replied with a sigh, glancing out the window and finding the subject of your topic in the yard, talking to one of the gardeners. “I’m not sure what he’s really like.”

“What do you mean?”

“We barely speak, unless we are in an appointment where it’s expected of us. There’s nothing to enjoy about living here with him. He’s cold, and hard to read.”

Anne stared outside at the Prince and then looked back at you. “Really? But he’s so kind and forthcoming to everyone else.”

You nodded, feeling a hint of jealousy at the natural way he was interacting with the old man outdoors. Even though you hadn’t wanted to marry him, you had hoped to somehow make the best of your situation. Your resolve was slowly breaking though, and watching what you wanted occurring around you was difficult to bear.

“Maybe you should start proactively make his life more interesting?” Anne suggested, a sly smile crossing her lips.

You were intrigued, leaning forward to hear of her idea.

“You are simply beautiful, you’re glowing, Y/N!”

You smiled politely, bowing your head a little in gratitude at the woman. “Thank you, Senator Blight.”

“Together you look like such a powerful couple; you will truly bring a new element to the royal family with your youth and modern mindsets.”

Minhyun glanced down at you with his wide smile and then grabbed at the hand of the older woman in front of you. “It’s an honour to be able to have you and your husband attend our dinner tonight.”

“When will you make the announcement?” she asked and you looked at her with a hint of confusion. She laughed and placed a hand over top of Minhyun’s. “Oh we all know she cannot be glowing simply because!”

“Actually I can be,” you blurted out, stunned at her assumption. “Make up artists are extremely talented.”

Minhyun and the woman stared at you for a moment and you continued to smile, whilst inside you raged. You were unsure why it affected you so much, when your marriage hadn’t even been your choice. All the same, the insinuation of you being pregnant made you extremely frustrated; you hadn’t so much as kissed your husband yet.

Senator Blight clapped her hands together in a forced laugh and Minhyun awkwardly chuckled with her. “You are too funny, Princess. I cannot wait until you announce it though, until then I will make sure not to say anything funny.”

“To announce anything, wouldn’t-”

A hand covered your mouth then, Minhyun laughing loudly. “She’s nervous.”

“Oh but of course, I’ll see you inside then.”

Once she was gone, you wrestled out of his grip, glaring up at him. “What? I was telling the truth!”

“You have to remember your place here, Y/N,” he warned, his eyes darting around you at all the guests. “Rumours are easily started.”

“It isn’t a rumour if it’s a fact. We have no reason at all for me to be suggested as glowing. Surely she knows what highlighter is, she was wearing enough of it herself!”

He regarded you for a moment, his eyes dark and searching yours. “We can discuss this later.”

“We can actually talk to one another? More than goodnight?” you shot back, and Minhyun’s mouth dropped at your statement. You smiled up at him, albeit with some tension. “Do you actually have words you would even say to me?”

“Not now, Y/N.” He almost growled and you bit your lip, blinking a couple of times. Had you pushed him too hard? He however had no respect for how it made you feel to be in this situation. You pressed on.

“Why not now? Ah, because we’re here to act together, right?”

His eyes were becoming as sharp as daggers.

“Your Highness, Princess, the dinner is now ready to be served.”

Neither of you looked away from each other at the butler’s announcement, and for a moment you could see Minhyun wrestling with something you had never seen reside in his umber eyes.

And then he turned to the man waiting on you, smiling graciously. “Thank you, shall we?”

His elbow was hooked out for you to grasp onto and you sighed inwardly, slipping your hands around the arm and followed him into the dinner with your smile placed upon your face.

However as the meal progressed, you could tell the tension was still simmering between you both. Minhyun’s attention was on you more than usual, and you wondered if he was monitoring your behaviour. Many times throughout the meal, you had found him staring at you, unwavering. It made you feel anxious, and also a little encouraged to continue frustrating him. You were finally seeing more reaction out of him than you had known so far into your marriage. Even if you were uncomfortable, it was worth it. The distance was becoming too much for you.

“Y/N?” You blinked rapidly, only realising you had been ignoring the older man beside you. As you turned to look at him, you noticed the sly smile briefly cross Minhyun’s lips over the table from you. It threw you off. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes,” you managed, smiling at him and he took your hand gently. You clasped your hands over his. “What were you saying?”

“I asked you what you like about your husband the most,” he mentioned, his deep seated eyes piercing yours. “None of the generic stuff either that I’ve read in your interviews, something real.”

You were stumped; there was nothing you had yet to like about him. Glancing over at the boy, you were surprised to see him gazing back at you, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly, an expectant expression settled on his face. Narrowing your own eyes and scrunching your face up for a fleeting second, you then returned to your conversation.

“What do you think I should like about him?”

He chuckled. “I’m asking for your opinion. Do you like him so much you don’t know where to begin?”

“Uncle, I believe she might not like me at all, fancy that.”

Minhyun’s eyes were now challenging you, his sweet smile sickening you. Smiling back at his relative, you nodded. “There’s very little to like.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. But he does have one attribute I can attest for.”

“Which is?”

You sighed, remembering the many occasions you had felt jealousy rear of late. “He treats those who work for and with him with the utmost regard. He listens to their concerns, wisdom and joy and treats them all as people he treasures greatly. It’s admirable.”

Minhyun’s smile faded as the older man chortled. “That’s right; he’s a very soft person at heart. You have paid attention to him well. I’m relieved. I was worried there would be no love between you both since neither of you appeared to want this marriage initially.”

You were acutely aware of the eyes fixated on you, but you chose to avoid them, swallowing roughly and then smiling at the old man again. “Time will tell.”

“Dear Princess,” the man then pulled you closer, words only for you to hear. “He’s a hard person to grow accustomed to, I know. But trust in this, he is very much so interested in you.”

He moved back then with a knowing smile, and you shook your head immediately. “I believe you’re wrong.”

You were pulled closer again and the words he uttered this time shocked you to the core. “It wasn’t the King who chose you but Minhyun. He was adamant it had to be you.”

The party was over and your head hurt, the constant buzzing of thoughts since gaining knowledge from Minhyun’s Uncle giving you a headache. You barely were aware of climbing into the car to go back to the manor, hands fumbling over you to place your seat belt on. You only realised this after the fact and suddenly pressed yourself into the leather upholstery, eyes wide with shock.

“What has made you like this?” Minhyun asked quietly as he started the car up, and you merely stared out your window.

Why had he chosen you? It wasn’t as if he knew you well enough to be so certain you were the right pick. Thinking on the four other girls you knew that had potential to be in your spot, all were more beautiful, successful and powerful.

Had he chosen you because you were the plainest of the bunch? Or more importantly, because you wouldn’t be someone to threaten the balance of control within your household? You were known to be pleasing to all around you, your inner thoughts being held in; even if you disagreed, you were trained to be compliant. Except for tonight, you had never challenged anything in public before. Your hands clenched up as you realised how quickly you had become a choice because of living trapped as a marionette doll, and now Minhyun held your strings.

“Stop the car.”

“What?” Minhyun glanced over at you and then back at the gravel track. “We’re almost there.”

“I don’t care, stop it.” He obliged, and as soon as it was stationary, you threw the belt off of you, ripping the door open and taking off into the field adjacent to the car. Stopping momentarily, you removed your heels and threw them, allowing your sore feet to embrace the soft grass as you ran as fast as you could take yourself.

You heard movement rushing after you, and it only angered you more, coming to a complete stop and turning to face Minhyun, the taller boy rocking back on his heels to prevent crashing into you. He panted once and ran a hand through his dark hair. “What on earth was that?!”

“Why did you have to choose me?!” Your hands were balled at your sides and your chest rose and fell with the exertion of running and your emotions. “Why did you have to ruin my life?!”

His eyes were wide, and for the first time since you’d met him, he looked crestfallen by your accusation. You glared at him, searching for a reason for this situation. Finally he seemed to be able to breathe again. “I ruined your life?”

“I never wanted to marry you, not once!” Heaving in a deep breath, you pointed at his chest, Minhyun flinching at your touch. “But since I did, I thought I would make the best of it. Surely we could at least find companionship in time. Instead you barely acknowledge my existence. I’m sick of playing the role of the perfect Princess and wife. I’m done!”

You spun around and stalked off again, the moon lighting your path through the grass. He stopped you though, moving so fast in front of you that you almost tripped over and fell onto him. Minhyun held you up, but you snapped away from his grip, shaking your head. “Don’t touch me!”

“Should I have let you fall then?”

“Maybe! Then we’d be on the right playing field with each other. You don’t care about this relationship at all!”

“And you do?” he challenged, his mood darkening like it had earlier. He was exasperated, shaking his hand in your direction. “Have you ever once thought of what I wanted?”

“No!”

“Exactly.” He scoffed loudly, and you bit your lip. “Don’t point the fing-”

“Because you’ve not given me a single chance to even know what you want, Your Highness.”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” he growled, stepping closer. “Don’t place me higher than you.”

“Aren’t you though? Didn’t you pick me because I would be the person to keep out of your affairs? The type of wife who was well trained for this role, and would just comply with all my marital duties, with no opposition?”

He laughed bitterly. “Is this what you call no opposition?!”

“No, this is the real me. The one who is screaming at you to regard me as… as-”

“As what?” he asked, moving even closer to you. The intimate proximity and your heightened emotions were playing tricks on your mind, and you watched as he pursed his lips together, his eyes glued to yours. “What do you want to be to me?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” He covered the remaining space between you, his shallow breathing hitting your face as you looked up at him. “Tell the truth, you were so ready to at dinner.”

“Why did you pick me, Minhyun?”

He stared at you for what felt like an eternal moment, and then a quick smile crossed his lips. “Because I like you.”

His words knocked the breath out of you, but your brow furrowed, and you came back to your senses. “Don’t lie, yourself. If you liked me, wouldn’t you pay more attention to me?”

“All I do is pay attention to you, Y/N. You just don’t seem to recognise it at all.”

“We barely speak!” You shook your head, not believing anything he was saying. His features had softened though, embarrassment evident in his eyes. “How would you like someone you don’t even know?”

“I related to you,” he said, gently shifting a tendril of your hair away from your face. You were surprised, you hadn’t even realised your hair had been there. “The others all knew what they wanted, why they were pursuing me with advances that I didn’t ask for. You simply completed what was asked of you, respecting the others and my family. You appeared sincere, but really, you looked frustrated, wanting nothing more than to break free.”

You nodded slowly, he had been more observant that you expected.

“My whole life, I never wanted anything that I’ve done. Do I look like I even would enjoy tennis? Yet, I trained to the point that I hated that court more than anything else. Why? Because it was expected of me.”

“Because your parents wanted you to,” you surmised and he nodded.

“My parents didn’t want to choose you,” he admitted and he smiled, taking off his blazer and then sitting down. He laid the garment out beside him and looked up at you and then at the jacket. For some reason you accepted his offer, thankful for getting off your sore feet. You glanced down at them and realised how painful they looked.

“Why did you then?”

Minhyun’s smile grew. “Because I thought if I chose you, we could be free.”

“This is your definition of free?” you reproached, shaking your head.

“Our parents will always expect things of us. But between us, couldn’t we expect nothing like that? You could do whatever you want to. I’ll support it.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Because I like you,” he repeated, looking ahead. “Because I understood your cry for help back then. If you didn’t marry me, wouldn’t you be auctioned off to the next family in line? Like me, you never had a choice to marry for love in your cards, right?”

“Mm.” You sighed, pulling your legs up around yourself and resting your head on your knees. You were growing tired now that the anger was seeping out of you. “Why didn’t you just talk to me, get to know me, spend more time with me, if you liked me though?”

Minhyun didn’t answer right away, and you glanced over at him then, his eyes staring off into the distance. He took a deep breath and then turned to look at you. “Because I liked you too much.”

“That makes no sense,” you laughed but he grew thoughtful.

“I didn’t want to say anything that would make you uncomfortable, or make you angry with your situation anymore than you had been. And I was worried, always.”

“Why?”

“That I wouldn’t be enough for you. That you would end up hating me because you never chose me.”

Your eyes fell down to your knees, shocked by his vulnerability. And then you looked at his own lap, his hand clenching and then loosening off against his pants. You reached over without much thought, slipping your fingers inside his palm and holding his hand, feeling it settle against yours. Looking up, you were surprised by how close his face now appeared, and took a shaky breath. It was enough for the prince to lean over and kiss you gently, hesitantly.

Emotion came from someplace you never knew existed within you, and you closed your eyes, kissing him back. Your free hands both moved to each other, yours to his neck, slipping around to support yourself on him, and Minhyun’s to your waist, drawing you in closer as your embrace deepened. An urgency between you grew, and soon you were both breathless, your lips separating only for a deep breath before you let go of his hand, slinging your other arm around his neck, Minhyun gently laying you down beside him, your kiss not breaking at all.

And then he finally pulled away, your eyes attached to his now swollen lips. He glanced around you both and laughed. “Imagine if we were caught out here like this. How impractical of us.”

“You just kissed me like that, and then that’s all you can think to say?” you asked, your arms untangling from around his neck. He stopped you from moving away and you looked up at him.

“I didn’t say it because I didn’t like it.”

“Then why did you stop?” You reached to touch his face tenderly. “I’m worried that when the sun rises tomorrow, you’ll be back to your old self.”

He shook his head, turning to kiss your hand gently. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

“So why did you stop?” you repeated, and he scooped you back in his arms, feeling like a completely different person. Minhyun wasn’t cold at all like you knew him to be; in fact his warmth was the only thing keeping you from shivering in your slip dress.

“I left the car running,” he admitted sheepishly, and you both laughed, getting up to your feet.

“Couldn’t you just let the battery die?”

He leaned down to place a chaste kiss on your lips and then smiled. “Let’s go home. Let’s do all the things we’ve wanted to all this time.”

“I’m sure it’s past ten now,” you teased and nudged him playfully. “Isn’t that when you need to retreat to your bedroom?”

“What do you think of making it our bedroom?” he asked, his eyes diverting away from yours after a quick glance to see your reaction. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Only if you want to that is, after all I did ruin your life, as you said.”

“You did,” you agreed readily and the taller boy snapped his eyes back to yours. You smirked. “But I think you might have a way of making my life better now too.”

You stretched up to kiss him briefly again before running off, Minhyun chasing you all the way back to the car. As he sped down the drive and you both jumped out of the car, you laughed earnestly, feeling like the field had been a place where you both left your burdens behind. You hadn’t felt this free before.

Opening the door to the manor, the mood changed again, Minhyun’s hand slipping into yours and leading you up the staircase, his eyes constantly soaking you in. He then let your hand go, moving over to his bedroom door and opening it. Standing there, he tilted his head to the side and waited.

It didn’t take you long to rush towards him, your lips entangled in each other as you moved over the threshold and into your new relationship with your husband.

Minhyun hadn’t ruined your life after all. He had opened a new world for you instead.

And you couldn’t wait to experience all of it with him.

_________________

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[avaalons]

Chris Evans Fic: Anticipation (NSFW)

So I’ve written this, in a struggle, during a horrid bout of writers’ block. Given the request, this should not have been so difficult to write and definitely shouldn’t have taken so long. It’s done now though so sorry for the delay and hopefully I’ve seen the back of pesky writers’ block!

Can you do a cute Chris Evans one of him inviting you over to his house for the first time and youre nervous because yall haven’t taken the relationship sexually yet? Thanks!

***

‘Gracie, help! This is a code red. I repeat: code red,’ you left the voicemail on your best friend’s number as you hurried through the city streets to your apartment, the heels you wore to work clacking against the pavement.

You finally, finally reached your building and fumbled with the three locks on the front door. You took the stairs two at a time - nothing short of a miracle in your office-appropriate pencil skirt - and had your key ready for the next three locks on your apartment door. You kicked your heels off as you rushed through to your bedroom, flinging your handbag down on your bed, tugging your blouse out of your skirt’s waistband and over your head, not even bothering to undo the buttons. You unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the floor, stepping out of it as you walked through to the master bath, switching the shower on just as you heard your phone ring.

You ran to answer it, responding without even so much as a hello.

‘Gracie, he’s invited me over. Tonight. This is it. I’m fucking shaking. I have nothing to wear, I need to shave my legs, deep condition my hair, exfoliate from head to toe, paint my toenails…’

‘Babe, slow down and breathe. What exactly is the problem?’

‘Tonight. I am going to Chris’ house. For sex.’

’…has he said that explicitly? I seriously hope he didn’t actually include sex in his invitation.’

'Well no, but this is the first time he’s invited me to his house. We’ve never been to each others’ places before. This means sex, right?’

'There’s a high possibility. What are you freaking out over? It’s not like you haven’t had sex before. You do want to sleep with him, right?’

'Grace, you’ve seen the guy! He looks like he was sculpted from marble. I still have to pinch myself when I’m on a date with him.’

'Hon, how many times do I need to tell you? You’re freaking hot and you’re amazing, the-

’-the whole package. Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve said. But he’s probably seen loads of actresses and famous women naked. Who are, like, Hollywood hot and not just normal person hot. Like, I know I’m not vomit-inducing or anything, but I don’t look photoshopped when I’m naked either.’

'Hollywood hot has a whole lot of ugly on the inside, in my experience. If he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t keep asking you out. Try and apply a bit of logic to this situation, dumb ass. Now get your pert backside in the shower, shave your legs and thank all the deities in existence that you had a bikini wax booked in this week. Moisturise everywhere and get that really hot Boux Avenue lingerie set out - the one you got when we were in London, remember?’

'Yep, got it now,’ you assured her as you dug through the top drawer in your dresser, laying your hands on the pretty dusky pink silk and lace strapless bra and panty set.

'And then just wear a really simple, understated but short dress over the top. You want to look like you’re not planning on wearing it for long.’

You rifled through your wardrobe, cradling the phone between your ear and shoulder as you weighed up your options.

'Satin cami dress?’

'Is it tight or swing cut? And what colour is it?’ Grace was in full outfit-planning mode now. You needed her cool calm in the face of your panicked energy.

'Swing cut and it’s like an aubergine colour.’

'Yes, that would be perfect. I love that whole nightwear-as-outerwear trend. Some black strappy heels, hair blown out, smokey eye and out the door. Are you going for dinner or anything first?’

'No, he’s cooking apparently. He’s coming to pick me up at eight.’

'Yeah, you’re definitely getting laid sweetheart! Oh, this is so exciting! He seems like the type to have a really huge dick but doesn’t brag about it.’

'Gracie!’ You pretended to be affronted but her humour was a calming influence on you.

'Listen to me right now. Don’t get anxious, don’t get stuck in your head. If he’s cooking and coming to pick you up, I think I’m probably right in guessing he’s going to want you to enjoy yourself above all else, so fucking enjoy it, okay? He’s lucky to have this chance with you.’

Grace was your best friend for many reasons, but one very high up on the list was that she always had your back.

'Thanks Gracie.’

'You better tell me all the good details tomorrow.’

You grinned, 'Just try and stop me.’

You said your goodbyes and hung up. Glancing at the time before you put your phone on charge, you had about two hours to primp and preen before Chris would be here, and you were going to make sure you were scrubbed and smooth and silky from top to toe.

***

It was seven forty five when you felt like you were finally ready. You headed to your kitchen on your heels, trying to steady your nerves. You needed to calm down, he was going to be here soon and you were going to end up a sweaty, flustered mess. You threw open the doors onto your Juliet balcony to let in some fresh air and headed back to the kitchen to dig out something that might steady your nerves. A shot of tequila should do it, right?

It burned but it warmed you just enough and you took a deep breath. You had this. You took another shot for luck and did one last check in your full length mirror just as the buzzer rang to let you know that Chris was downstairs. You dashed across the room to the console and buzzed him in, collecting your bag and reapplying your lipstick and perfume once more.

When the knock came at your door, you composed yourself and answered with a big smile. You were happy to see him after all, despite the stage fright rolling around in the pit of your stomach.

'Wow,’ was Chris’ first word upon seeing you. 'You look… breathtaking. I kind of wish I’d dressed up more!’

He had jeans and a Henley on: he looked hot, of course, but you wondered if you’d misjudged this whole evening.

'I… probably didn’t need to wear this, did I?’ A nervous smile passed over your face and you struggled to look him in the eye, feeling more awkward than ever now.

You saw him in your peripheral vision take a step towards you, in your apartment now and only inches from you and when he spoke, his voice had an unmistakable gravelly quality to it that hadn’t been there before.

'I’m glad you did.’

You looked up shyly from under your eyelashes, 'Oh.’

'Hmm, oh.’

You were frozen there by his heated gaze while you briefly contemplated slamming the door behind him and stripping yourself naked so he could do what he liked with you, but then his eye line flickered to something over your shoulder and his gaze narrowed.

'You started without me?’ He inclined his head towards something behind you and when you spun around to see what it was, you remembered you’d left your bottle of tequila on the kitchen table.

'I… um… had one. Or two. Just to… start the night right,’ you rolled your eyes at yourself, knowing that Chris was looking elsewhere. Could you sound any more pathetic? But then, anything was better than admitting the truth: that you were so nervous to have sex with him that you needed a couple of shots to take the edge off.

He fixed his eyes back on you, seemingly considering you for a moment. Then he dipped his head towards yours, capturing your lips with his in a long awaited greeting. His tongue swept your bottom lip and it suddenly dawned on you that he was tasting tequila.

The material of your dress bunched in his hands as he gripped your hips, slipping against your skin over the silky fabric and pulling you in close to his body, the two of you fitting together like jigsaw pieces. Your hands instinctively went to his head, your fingers threading themselves through the shorter hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss. You felt like you were making a promise for the night ahead.

Chris pulled back minutely, just enough to speak against your mouth, the vibrations from his deep voice delicious on your lips.

'Yeah, I think that tequila will be coming with us.’

***

You chatted as easily as you were able to in the car, trying to keep the jitteriness out of your voice, keep your dialogue light and breezy: all a perfect mask for the whirring thoughts and feelings just under the surface.

You felt stiff and not able to relax into your seat, your whole body on high alert. How you were supposed to eat later was anyone’s guess. The heady combination of excitement, anticipation and nerves had you feeling more than a little nauseated but you wanted desperately to appear cool and confident.

His house was incredible. A bachelor pad, yes, but incredible. It was all minimalist lines, smooth and sleek, with pale, calming colours contrasting the dark wood of his furniture. He led you through to an L shaped kitchen, breakfast room and living area where the whole of the back wall was just huge glass panels looking out over his garden. Despite the light colours, it wasn’t cold or clinical, but you still felt a little unsure of what to do or where to go. You were caught in a strange limbo, not wanting to appear to be too instantly comfortable in his home but also not wanting to be overly awkward about it all. Why you couldn’t just exude an effortless charm at all times was beyond you. It didn’t seem fair, how some people just had that gift and you were stuck second guessing every step you took.

He’d handed you a glass of chilled white wine and invited you to sit on one of the high rise padded chairs he had for the breakfast bar. It meant you could watch him cook and he’d could talk to you while he was working.

'Paella okay?’ he asked as he began collecting ingredients from his fridge and cupboards.

Now he’d said the words, you could actually feel a bit of hunger creeping up on you. Maybe you’d just started to calm down a bit, or maybe the wine was helping soothe the anxiety.

'Actually couldn’t think of anything I’d like better right at this moment?’

'Good,’ he’d grinned, 'It’s about the only thing I can make that is just fancy enough to be impressive. If I can get it right, of course. Otherwise we’re on mac n cheese from a box.’

You laughed, his need to please and impress you helping you feel a bit better about yourself, 'That would suit me just fine too, don’t worry. Shall I do something to help?’

'No way, you just sit there and let me try to prove what a great chef I am… at making paella and paella only.’

He set about chopping, crushing, sautéing, and boiling as he asked you questions about your week and as you watched him and he led the easy conversation, you did feel yourself relax, the tension ebbing out of your shoulders, the muscles around your spine finding a more comfortable position. It was nice watching him work his way around the kitchen. You could almost forget the whole Hollywood thing. He was just a normal guy, trying to impress a girl by making her a meal.

He’d noticed your wine glass was empty and pointed it out, 'I’m terrible host, would you like a top up?’

You immediately jumped up, fully aware that he was at a crucial stage in the preparation of the meal and said, 'I’ll get it, don’t worry.’

As you darted towards the fridge, so did he, the result being that you collided together, hands on the door handle.

You both laughed awkwardly and apologised before the tension simmering between you took over and he gazed down at you, bodies pressed against one another.

'You’re really hot, do you know that?’ you told him, the wine clearly having gotten rid of ninety nine point nine per cent of your inhibitions.

'Well, I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen, haven’t I?’ He retorted, just a hint of cheeky cockiness crossing his features, 'Body temperature is bound to have risen a little.’

'That’s not what I meant and you know it,’ you whispered, lost in his eyes.

'I know,’ he grinned back, bringing his head down just enough to whisper in your ear, 'I find you extremely hot too. Especially in this silky dress.’

You reached up for his neck exactly as his hands encased your ribs on either side and he spun you ninety degrees so your back was pressed against the fridge door, pinned there by his body. He stared at you intensely, eyes searching your face for something… what, exactly, you didn’t know but he dipped his head and kissed you tentatively, almost experimentally, before pulling back to look at you again. Time seemed to slow and you were all to aware of your laboured breathing and the cool, smooth surface of the refrigerator door at your back.

'Chris..?’ your voice was low and raspy.

'Yes?’ He whispered back.

'The paella’s about to burn,’ you told him, inclining your head towards the view you had of the stove.

He let go of you instantly with a curse and covered the short distance across his kitchen in no more than two strides, removing the pan from the heat immediately.

You took a steadying breath and pushed yourself off the fridge, just about able to trust your legs.

'I think I’ve saved it,’ Chris poked at the contents of the pan as you headed back to the breakfast bar.

'So, the mac n cheese will live to see another day,’ you replied jokingly, trying to dilute some of the crackling tension in the room.

'It will. It’s day will come however. We can be sure of that.’

He plated the food and slid the plates across the counter: one for you and one in the place where he would sit once he was on the right side of the breakfast bar.

'I never did get you that wine,’ he remembered and stopped at the fridge on his way past to pull the bottle from the shelf in the door.

'No, apparently we’re both very easily distracted.’

'I blame the dress,’ Chris decided as he sat down.

'Well, you know, the dress can go any time, if you find it so inconvenient. Just say the word.’ Wow, talk about Dutch courage.

He raised his eyebrow with a smirk as he considered you and murmured, 'Now there’s a thought. I’ll keep that in mind.’

Your face heated under his gaze and then the moment was broken as he poured a measure of wine into your glass.

'Now, apologies if this is actually barely edible but I gave it my best shot.’

'It looks and smells delicious, Chris. Thank you.’

'You’re welcome,’ he picked up his fork, flashed you a boyish smile and waited for you to do the same before tucking in.

***

Chris’ paella was fantastic and the decadent chocolate fondant he’d served up with vanilla ice cream was a surprise too. You’d tried to be as ladylike as possible with tiny little bites but Chris had given you a sidelong glance and smirked.

'Go on, just go for it, I know you’re desperate to.’

You’d laughed bashfully and started eating with more gusto. Inside, you were dancing. He’d remembered your favourite dessert.

Once you had cleared your plate, you leaned back in your chair with a satisfied sigh.

'Well, Chris, you’ve earned yourself some definite brownie points tonight.’

'Oh yeah?’ he smiled around his wine glass as he took a sip, 'And what will my prize be?’

'You tell me Evans. That’s what you brought me here for, after all, right?’ you told him in what you hoped was your most breathy, most seductive voice as you slid a brave hand up his thigh. This was better, you thought, if you were controlling the situation, it gave you something to focus on other than your frayed nerves.

But, there was a problem, that much was evident almost instantly. You could see his brow furrow in response and you were instantly on the defensive, snatching your hand back. Had you got this all wrong? Oh god. This was so humiliating. You watched him in horror, starting and ending sentence after sentence as he obviously tried to phrase his rejection of you in the most diplomatic way possible.

'I… didn’t,’ he stopped again, let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

You just wanted to put him out of his misery, call a cab and go home to curl up in a ball in the middle of your bed and die. You were never going out with a guy again, not if it always ended up with you reading signals wrong and embarrassed beyond belief.

'Look, Chris, sorry. I’ve obviously just read this whole thing wrong, so I’ll just call myself a cab and be out of the way…’

You heard him begin to speak but you were already up on your feet and hunting down your bag to find your phone. Maybe Grace would come and pick you up actually. That way you could cry all the way home without judgement.

You retrieved you bag from where you had left it next to his sofa and opened it up, only to feel a strong grip around your upper arm, a gentle pressure turning you to face what you knew would be a look of sheer pity.

'Hey, wait. What are you doing? This isn’t what I-’

’-look, I get it. I knew this was too good to be true. My friend will come get me, it’s fine,’ you began fumbling with your phone, refusing to look up at him, until a calm hand covered the screen and your own hand.

'Will you just stop for a second, please? If you really want to go home, I’ll take you myself but first, you need to listen to me. So please, just look up at me.’

You felt a finger under your chin, softly drawing your face up to meet his gaze. You tried to remember to breathe in and out. This was torture.

His expression was wary, but a smile appeared when your eyes met.

'Now, I’m sorry about my reaction just then. It kind of threw me, is all. You are wildly attractive, believe me, but I didn’t bring you here purposefully for sex. This isn’t a set up or a seduction. There wasn’t an endgame other than getting to know each other a little bit more. You’re here because I like spending time with you and I wanted to just have a more relaxed date with you, that’s all. There was no expectation.’

You processed this information, trying to take it all in. Slightly overwhelmed, you blew a breath out, the hair that had collected around your face flying backwards. You considered his words and decided it wasn’t exactly a rejection but there was still one thing you needed to get straight.

'So… do you want to have sex with me or not?’ There was nothing seductive or breathy about your voice this time. This was a question you needed answering honestly and quickly, for your own sanity more than anything.

In a not-too-encouraging response, he barked out a laugh before cupping your jaw in both his hands, edging forward so your bodies were even closer together.

The blue of his eyes was darker than usual, it seemed, and seemed to sparkle as he answered.

'Yes,’ he breathed out, 'Of course I do. Probably more than is gentlemanly. But, after this, I think I’m leaving the ball firmly in your court.’

You were entranced, unable to tear your eyes away from his, his palms holding your head fast.

'Me? I have to…’

He gave one definitive nod, 'You decide when and where.’

You were both silent for a moment, each considering the other, weighing up this new deal that had been made. In that moment, you realised you wanted him. Like right now. From the moment you left that voicemail with Grace, you knew that sex with Chris tonight was inevitable, and not because he’d invited you to his house, or cooked you a meal, or prepared your favourite dessert, but because he was fucking sexy as hell and was probably going to be incredible in bed. All you really wanted was him to show you a good time, and for him to be blown away by how amazing you looked in your lingerie. This required a ballsy move and a deep breath.

You had a new set in your face, reflecting the determination you felt at the core of your being, steeling yourself and letting yourself recall every single moment he’d let on just how sexy he found you. You wrapped your fingers around his wrists and tugged them down gently as you stepped back just once. Keeping your eyes unwaveringly on his, you slid your fingers under one cami strap, sliding it down your arm and freeing it. You raised an eyebrow at Chris, almost challenging him to stop you, before freeing your other arm from the dress and letting the whole garment plummet to the floor, the silky material flowing over your curves.

And there you stood, shameless and, you hoped, confident, in your dusky pink lacy lingerie set, strappy heels and nothing else. Chris swallowed hard, caught like a deer in headlights.

'I believe,’ you began, 'that if the ball was in my court, I’ve just sent you a pretty hard serve. Fancy a volley, Chris?’

He nodded slowly, unblinking, before launching into action, lurching forwards to snake his arms around around your waist and walking you backwards with his mouth pressed roughly to yours. He led you until your back was against a wall and he pressed his body into yours, forcing the breath from your lungs. You brought one leg up, bent at the knee and bracing your foot flat against the wall, cradling his body between your legs, rolling your hips against his.

He hissed, pulling his mouth from yours minutely.

'Fuck. Do you have any idea what you do to me?’

'Show me,’ you whispered.

'Not here. I’m doing this properly. Come on.’

Gripping your hand, he tugged you off the wall and led you down the hall, pulling you into a dark room. He switched a lamp on from somewhere and a warm glow filled the room. The momentary reprieve had made all those insecurities come flooding back to the surface and you stood, in what was clearly Chris’ bedroom with your arms wrapped awkwardly around your near-naked body.

'So this is where the magic happens,’ you tried to joke, the quiver evident in your voice.

He reached out an arm for you and pulled you into his embrace, back to his chest, praising your arms from around you and replacing them with his.

'Don’t try and hide yourself from me. You’re so beautiful, head to toe, inside and out.’

He planted soft, open mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder and you leaned your head the opposite way to give him better access, eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. His hands smoothed over your stomach and hips, travelling down to cup your butt. A giggle escaped you at his touch and you spun around in his arms, steadying yourself by gripping his shoulders, realising just then that he was still fully clothed. You ran your hands down his chest, tugging at the hem of his Henley. Pulling it upwards, he manoeuvred to help you pull it over his head and throw it behind you.

Trying really hard not to focus on just how crazily sculpted he was in comparison to your own, incredibly normal and regular body, you let him capture your mouth again as you travelled south towards his belt and jeans.

'If this is… too fast, just say so,’ Chris breathed out even as you hastily fumbled with his buckle. 'You’ve seemed on edge all evening and I… don’t want to be the cause of that.’

'Chris, it’s not too fast. I just… you’re fucking sculpted from marble. Look at you. How I am supposed to… can we have the lights off?’ You pushed his jeans down to the floor, trying to distract him.

'Are you kidding me? Baby…’ he kicked his jeans out of the way, 'Come over here.’

He tugged you towards another door in the room, opening it out and revealing a full length mirror on the back.

'Just stand here,’ he pulled you in front of the mirror and stood behind you, 'Can’t you see what I see?’

His hands brushed your hair to one side so he could lay kisses against the sensitive place where your neck met your shoulder. His hands travelled your ribs, down and then back up, lazy and slow, before unclipping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. You looked at yourself as he worked your body, lips swollen and parted, eyes heavy lidded, lolling your head to one side to allow Chris to suck at and tease your skin.

One hand travelled down your stomach, toying with the edge of your lacy underwear, the dusky rose creamy and decadent against your colouring. He dipped his fingers under, just slightly, and you watched him in the mirror, arms encasing you, and you looked at yourself, wanton and writhing.

He kept going, dipping lower, teasing your clit and you watched his fingers moving under your lingerie as he ever so slowly circled and stroked through your heat and wetness. The sight alone was enough to make you whine, and the sensation was already causing a slight wobble in your knees.

He slowly circled you, never taking his hand away from you.

'We look pretty hot together right?’ He whispered in your ear, and all you could do was nod as you tried to grind against his fingers.

He sank to his knees in front of you and you immediately tried to edge away but he held you fast by your hips.

'Don’t take your eyes off us in the mirror,’ he directed you and you just about managed to breathe out an 'okay’.

You threaded your fingers in his hair and watched you both in the mirror. You could see yourself, with Chris on his knees in front of you, back to the mirror but you were able to see the intricate patterns of his muscles in his back, flexing as he moved his arms.

You could feel his fingers over your underwear, pressing the material into your wetness, letting the skimpy material soak it all up.

It wasn’t long before he hooked his fingers around the material and pulled the whole piece of lace down your legs, revealing you to him completely. He held your panties still while you stepped out of them, using his shoulder to help steady yourself. He placed gentle butterfly kisses against your thighs, travelling upwards a couple of inches before swapping to the other one, and, so deftly and expertly that you barely even noticed, he nudged your legs apart to provide himself with better access to one part of you he wanted to get to know very intimately indeed.

Chris continued his kisses, only pausing to ask, 'Are you still looking at us in the mirror?’

'Uh huh,’ was your only reply. You could feel his fingertips gliding over your skin getting ever closer to where all the heat in your body was currently radiating from and as you watched him in the mirror, you could see his hands working torturously slowly towards that spot. You tried not to grip him too hard but it was proving difficult as the anticipation grew and grew. The pressure was building within you and you knew that if you’d ever felt like this when you were alone, you’d already have two fingers inside yourself, pumping impatiently towards orgasm.

As it was, however, you had an incredibly sexy man on his knees in front of you and he was going at his own pace, teasing you, cranking you up notch by notch with every purposeful avoidance of your clit as his fingers and lips darted around your lower body, everywhere but right there.

'Chris…’ your voice was barely more than a breath, 'Please.’

He looked up at you sweetly, making you feel worshipped.

'Please what, baby?’

'Please just touch me. I can’t… I need…’ it was almost a sob.

'Okay, okay, I got you,’ his voice was calm, reassuring and you watched him in the mirror lean forward, the intricate pattern of muscles in his back flexing and locking with each minute shift. Then, you felt, rather than saw, one broad, thick stroke of his tongue over your clit and you couldn’t control the moan that tumbled from your lips.

His fingers took over what he couldn’t reach with his tongue in this position and before long you could feel one, then two digits sliding obscenely in and out of you. It was easy, barely any friction, wet as you were, but he moved and shifted and changed angle and explored you so that every touch was new, no part of you that he hadn’t felt out.

You watched yourself in the mirror, carding his hair with your fingers, lips parted, a pink blush over your entire body, your legs quivering under your weight. You could see his head bobbing, could see the muscles in his neck twitching as his jaw and tongue moved against you, could see his tricep pumping as his fingers slid in and out of you. Everything was so intense, all the sensations in your body plus being able to see the two of you together in the mirror, you were scared you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up if you came here and you could feel the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening in that tell tale way. His ministrations were relentless, giving your body no reprieve, and your hands tightened in his hair.

He must have felt your weight beginning to collapse against him because all of a sudden he rose quickly, leaving you just on the cusp of an orgasm. Disappointment flooded you on instinct but when he started backing you up towards the bed, you were glad. He leaned forward to kiss you as you took careful steps backwards and you could taste yourself on his tongue. There you were, your mark all over him, and that thought only intensified the excitement in your body. You wanted him in you, over you, claiming you, right now. You pushed his boxers down as he walked and he stepped out of them as you wrapped one soft hand around his hard cock. You revelled in the hiss it brought forth from him as you ran your thumb over the tip, spreading the precum forming there.

The bed hit the back of your legs and you immediately sat down, looking up at him in awe, still working his dick in your hand. He leaned forward again, capturing your mouth with his, guiding you backwards until your back hit the sheets. His hand travelled the length of your body again, heading straight for your clit and circling it slowly, just enough the keep the sensitivity building but not enough to let your orgasm explode.

‘Chris… condom… now,’ you forced out breathlessly against his mouth and you felt, rather than saw, him shift one arm towards the night stand, rummaging around blindly, never taking his mouth from your lips, your jaw, you throat.

Your hips began to undulate in anticipation, searching out his dick, hungry to have him inside you, and finally you heard the tell tale sound of a package being ripped open and then a few moments of stillness. You propped yourself up on elbows, watching in fascination as he rolled the condom over his thick length, admired his dick standing proudly, jutting out, ready for you.

You spread your legs wider and he pulled you towards him by the hips. He was still standing, bracing his legs against the edge of the bed, and you knew this was going to be hard and fast. You giggled helplessly as your body was pulled across the sheets and you tried to catch your breath in readiness. You wrapped your legs around his hips, your butt hovering off the surface of the bed and he slid his cock through your heat a few times, letting you feel his hardness against your clit. He teased your entrance each time, never pressing in, just gliding over, and you were getting antsy.

He grinned down at you, knowing exactly the effect he was having.

‘You ready, baby girl?’

‘More than.’

He cupped your butt, holding you firm, and you watched as he lined himself up. Not able to look away, you watched him sink into you, his whole length disappearing into your body in one swift movement and you let out an obscene, wanton moan. It felt so, so good. He filled you exactly, just enough stretch and just deep enough to intensify the feeling he already been building tonight.

Then he moved. Increasing speed with each thrust, rocking against you, controlled but with an edge of wildness that betrayed his own pleasure. You could do nothing but be shunted against the sheets as he took complete control of your body. Your head fell back against the mattress, unable to support it anymore and you sobbed out into the night as each thrust drove you higher, pulling the orgasm from within you.

He kept it up, the relentless pace, and you could process nothing, feel nothing, be aware of nothing except him and all too soon you were on the edge and tumbling over, clamping around him hard and you felt him slump forward against you as his own orgasm hit. He found your mouth and kissed you long and deep, still rocking against you as he milked both your orgasms, and you linked your ankles behind his back, wanting to keep him there for as long as possible.

He leant up, brushing your hair from your face, planting kisses here, there and everywhere, stopping every so often just to gaze at you, still inside you.

‘That was intense,’ and there was an edge of apology to his voice, ‘I totally had his idea that I’d go all slow and sensual the first time, but I…’

‘Don’t you dare apologise. Literally never come so hard,’ you cut him off.

‘Really?’ He asked, pride in his voice.

‘Don’t go getting all big headed about it now.’

‘Promise not to,’ he insisted as he planted yet more kisses against your mouth, quickly turning into slow and lazy making out. ‘Is it bad that I just want to have sex with you all night now?’

You pretended to think about it, ‘Hmm, I could probably put up with that.’

You gasped as he slipped out of you, feeling the emptiness keenly and immediately wanting him back. He got up, removing the condom as he went, and headed for the bathroom.

He lay down next to you when he returned, rolling you on top of him and kissing you again, tongue in your mouth, hands running over your naked body.

You pulled up just to look at his face and smile at him in your post-orgasmic haze.

‘What?’ He asked in response to your gaze.

‘Nothing. Just excited for slow and sensual now.’

He grinned at you, ‘Give me thirty minutes and then I’ll show you slow and sensual so good you’ll barely be able to stand it.’

You giggled, gently nipping at his lips with pecking kisses.

‘Can’t wait,’ you told him honestly.

[vampbait-a]

|| Cemetery Roses - Ch. 8

|| co-written with @cynaram    Posted with permission.    Previous:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 

In Which Lessons Are Learned And Tea Is Had

Horst opened his eyes in the dark enclosure of his coffin. He noted the sounds of the house: the ticking of the clock in the hall above, the sound of a human heart.

So he is alive, Horst thought as he rose to dress.

Horst’s pocket square smote at Johannes’ sensibilities, as usual.  This time he kept his feelings to himself; he was going to need Horst’s help, and for once, he wasn’t sure what Horst would say.  He buttered toast and greeted his brother. “Good evening.”

"Is it?" Horst paused to regard his brother. There was an additional adjective in the greeting, and Horst had learned long ago that the younger Cabal's good moods were suspect.

"I'm glad to see you're alive and still mostly human. I was beginning to think you'd eloped with that vampire girl."

Cabal contained his urge to correct Horst’s understanding of the species Llamiae as opposed to the genus Vampire.  “I have seen her, yes.  She is going to assist my work.”  He wondered if he should lie and say that Laurelai had enquired after Horst, but any advantage gained by that fiction would not survive their next meeting.

"Assist in your work? That does sound personal. What are you up to?" Horst's misgivings about his brother's activities deepened.  "What happened while you were away?"

“It was eventful.  And it has become personal,” Cabal said with grim understatement.  He narrated recent events: the possession, the murderous gardener, the bizarre empathic experience.  He tried to distil it down to the most relevant and appealing points. He didn't often talk to Horst about his work.

“Mademoiselle Laurelai is able to channel her ghost.  Berenice’s ghost.”  He had to say her name.  Clarity was important.  “I have spoken with her twice.”  He heard himself say it, and his speech slowed.  “I have spoken with her, Horst.  I could not be deceived.”

As much as Horst often did not like his younger sibling's work, he was intrigued. Hearing what had happened caused him alarm and curiosity. What sort of relationship was his younger brother building with this mysterious Laurelai?

Horst was silent for a moment, weighing what he had been told against what he knew of his brother. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, considering.

"When you spoke with her," Horst began, choosing his words carefully; "Did she know where she was? Was she conscious, or was it like the soldier you told me about? The one you found in the station?"

Somewhere, there was a faint feeling of relief; he had expected Horst to condemn the situation, to insist he stop.  "It was something like that at first.  Toward the end she became more aware.  She knew the body she was in was not her own.  I believe she may become more aware with repeated contacts."

"I see." Horst looked thoughtfully into the fire, frowning. He saw so little of his brother these days, heard little of what he was doing in his work, and Horst had begun to worry that Johannes might never emerge from the lab.

That he might never heal.

Laurelai might be an odd person, but she had saved Johannes’ life. Horst sighed, looking back at his brother. That had to count for something, he hoped.

"And she can just… have ghosts in her head without ill effects? I saw one of those stage performances once, a séance. The actress was carried offstage." Horst looked seriously at his younger brother.  "And what are you doing for her in return? I have the feeling that you aren't telling me everything."

Cabal smiled thinly.  “For one thing, she wants clothing to replace those leather things.  I will acquire something.  Unless you want to help?”  He felt a rising of his hopes; maybe this could be Horst’s problem, not his?

"Oh, no, you go right ahead. Enjoy the experience." Horst straightened, looking at Johannes with barely contained mirth at the idea. He covered his mouth with one hand, suppressing a giggle at the idea of Johannes muddling through a Ladies’ catalogue.

Fine.   He would leave some sensible catalogues around and wait for Horst to break, as he inevitably would when it came to fashion.  “Also, she will be coming here for lessons in reading and in passing among humans.  It is my responsibility, but she would benefit from your guidance.”

"Wait what's that?" all traces of mirth vanished, and Horst sat up straight. "Me? A mentor? To her?"

Cabal tilted his head.  “She knows nothing of humans, obviously, and I think she is the only one of her kind. She is completely isolated.  She could be no more than an animal if she wanted, yet I saw her feed three times, and she left the men alive.”  Cabal never said it; he rarely thought it, but he was proud of his brother.   “She could be like you, to a degree.”  He picked up the marmalade jar and inspected the marks in the glass.  “I can teach her to read; she is intelligent, and I think she can apply herself.  I can teach her to attract less attention among humans.  I cannot teach her not to be a monster.”  He looked up at Horst, his eyebrows raised. “Think of it as a public service for the pub-going population.”

Horst had misgivings, but thought it best to let Johannes give his explanation. Horst heard so few of them. He was surprised more by what he saw in Johannes' expression and heard in his voice then he was by anything else.

Slowly, Horst smiled. Johannes liked Laurelai, though how much was uncertain. He did not bother to bring up the fact that making Laurelai more like him would actually be doing her a great disservice, as she appeared to be mostly-alive. He envied her that, and wondered about it. Thoughts for another time.

"You're curious about her. Was this tutoring her suggestion, or yours?" Horst asked, arching a brow. "Do you… do you perform experiments together? Is she your laboratory assistant?"

Though he was gently teasing, Horst hoped the answer was yes.

Cabal felt that Horst had missed the point.  “She is a psychic medium.  I am not going to have her washing test tubes.  No, she will attempt to channel Berenice’s spirit.  It is a rare talent.  Literacy is not, but few tutors would tolerate her supernumerary fangs. I am curious about her subspecies as it contrasts with yours.  Over the next few weeks, I will ask her to provide some blood and saliva samples for comparison.”  Cabal’s expression was bland; he hadn’t caught the innuendo.

"So your answer is yes, then." Horst had sobered, but still felt that it would be wrong to discourage Johannes. There were so few things that could excite his younger sibling, it seemed. It was nice to see him talking again. Socializing.

"Alright, I'll play nice when she comes to call." Horst stood up again, intending to make the long-avoided trip to town. He turned to leave, then paused- a thought occurring to him.

"Do you think she might be able to help you, in my case?" He asked, trying to seem casual. "She is alive, you know. I've been thinking about that, and while I won't interfere with this... thing you're proposing now..." Horst sighed.   "You won't hurt her."  

It wasn't a question.

Cabal did not reply.  How could Horst expect anyone to promise that?

Instead, he answered the earlier question. “It is my hope studying her half-vampiric condition may cast light on yours.  She still lives on blood, cannot eat, must flee the sun.  But all data is good data.”  Cabal squeezed a lemon slice with an air of frustration.  There was never enough time.  What of his experiments with the gas?  What of Horst?  What of Bea’s spirit, flickering in and out?  The weight of it pressed upon him.  He drank his tea and blotted out the thoughts.  One thing at a time, in order.  

“I will consider her clothing today.  Perhaps I will find something in the village.”

Horst stared hard at his little brother. He knew that trying to extract reassurance would glean nominal reward at best: Johannes was a scientist. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Do you know her size?" Horst experienced a sudden urge to look at Ladies’ fashion catalogues, his eyes glazing momentarily. Then he remembered his shredded waistcoat, and the feeling fled.  "Helena has a dress shop in town, she's very good. I'm sure you'll find something lovely."

Oh.  Was that who owned the dress shop?  Cabal recalled an incident with an escaped laboratory failure that had nested in her yardage.  He removed the village from the list of possibilities.

“I do not have her size, but….”  He could measure the Llamia. He imagined himself doing so.  On the other hand, he could buy everything in three sizes. Problem solved.  “I will handle everything.  She will arrive after sundown on Friday.”

"Friday?" Horst made a face; he had plans for Friday. "Can't you do it on Monday or a Thursday? Why Friday?" He sighed, remembering who he was talking to.  "Alright, I'll chaperone your playdate. But next week either choose a different day or call Zee to help you."

Cabal had prepared himself for Laurelai’s first reading lesson.  He had acquired materials, which he set out upon the library desk.  He had even decided to wear his cardigan instead of his jacket, as it seemed vaguely in keeping with the role of tutor, and besides, he had a chill.

Horst had busied himself in the kitchen upon waking, having put off his trip to town for a night. He had chosen to bake - anything to keep him nice and occupied and away from his brother's guest.

Shortly after eight, Laurelai arrived carrying a small rose bush in a broken pot. After scattering the garden pixies with a growl and flash of fang, she crouched beside the herbaceous border. Discarding the broken crockery among the stones, Laurelai planted the black-velvet flowers in the soft earth bordering the wall. Smiling with satisfaction, she stood, dusted her hands on her bottom and knocked on the door.

“Good evening, mademoiselle.  Please, come in.”  At this point, a courteous host should offer to take his guest’s coat and hat, but Laurelai travelled without either, so that part of the implicit lesson was abandoned. She didn’t even appear to own shoes.  “You appear to be in good health.”

"Bonne nuit, mon ami." Laurelai had bathed and cleaned and repaired her clothing as best as she could. Normally wild curls hung in smooth ebon waves; combed back over her shoulders and still damp. She smiled pleasantly and nodded, gesturing behind her.   "I brought you this, for your garden."

The black roses shouldn’t have been visible in the moonlight, but they were, as if there was a sullen sheen to the plant.  “Thank you. It is an attractive plant,” he admitted. “I hope it will survive.  The conditions are unforgiving.”  

Laurelai wiped her bare feet on the mat and stepped inside.   "They like the climate, and acidic soil suits them, unlike your unfortunate Carsons." She had identified the blossomless bramble that housed the pixies and had begun to formulate a strategy for reaching an understanding with the creatures, or exterminate them as blight. Garden infestations aside, her expression was warm in reply to Cabal's gratitude.

“I am pleased that you like them.  Your home is very bright. Are you very blind when it is dark? Why do you have dark glasses in your bag, if you like light?" The gas lamps were harsh, and she blinked and squinted in discomfort, unaccustomed.

“This is not as bright as daylight.  I do not often wear the glasses indoors or at night. Though my night vision is good by human standards, it is nonexistent by yours.  Follow me.”  Cabal led her to the library, bypassing the odor of vanilla and a rustle of parchment paper coming from the kitchen.   There, her directed Laurelai to the desk and its paper, pencils, and colorful alphabet book.

"Oui, I am often surprised that humans go outside at night. You act like you are invincible; it is almost sad." Laurelai's tone was conversational, even sympathetic of his mortal limitations. How fragile her fearless human friend was! She admired his salt, and his posterior, as she followed him through the house.

Cabal was perplexed by being cast in the role of the brave but vulnerable individual who gallantly transcended his weakness.  Of course, everything supernatural was stronger and faster and more fatally toothed, but… he was certain there was a flaw in her reasoning somewhere.  

The library was not as brightly lit, and Laurelai paused in the door to examine a sconce.  "How do you make them work? Where is the flame?" Without waiting for an answer, she perused the room. Pausing to look at a framed picture, hands clasped behind her back to prevent curious exploring. It was difficult not to touch such amazing things, and she forgot herself several times despite her best efforts.

“Why will you not call me Laurelai?”

He took a moment to compose his answer.  “With the exception of Horst, I address people formally.”  Was this coming back to flocks and him being welcome in her nest?

"I shared my bed with you, Johannes," Laurelai's lower lip threatened to pout. "You saved my life, and still you doubt me."

There was a loud clang from the kitchen at the word “bed.”  He might have to address that misconception later.   “And you, mademoiselle, accuse me of doubting you when I refuse intimacies.  I will not be bullied, but it does not mean I expect you to attack me.”

"Bullied?"  Laurelai turned away from the shelves, frowning in dismay. She did not understand why the idea of familiarity upset him- she had made no advances, despite her natural playfulness and desires.  Had she misspoken?

"I have not made myself clear. Forgive me, I do not know how to make you understand, cherè." Laurelai sat down in the chair before the desk, and folded her hands in her lap with a sigh. The intricacies of human socialization escaped her experience, and she had little choice but to concede to his greater wisdom. Even more frustrating was her limited grasp of English; too many nuances lost in translation.

"It does not matter. Call me as you like." Laurelai gazed off at the hearth, her expression unreadable.

"May I ask why Monsieur Horst is a vampire, while you are not?"

Cabal gave the books and paper a longing glance.  She was prepared to discuss anything awkward and painful, it seemed.   “In a minute.”  He disliked the paranoid feeling that she had agendas and wishes in this partnership he did not understand, however harmless they were.  

“Mademoiselle Laurelai, try to make me understand what you want from me and why. With reference, if you please, to the significance of given names and llamia nests, as well as any other subjects you find relevant.  And what, if you please, is a flock?”

Laurelai's lower lip quirked irksomely, and she looked down at her hands. He was quick to demand answers of her, and yet many of her simple queries went ignored. Not for the first time, she considered shaking him violently.

Instead, she took a deep breath and examined her fingernails for traces of blood or dirt.

"When we met in your garden, we became friends, no? I returned your silver, and we played a game. This is known." she looked up at him evenly, spreading her hands as she presented the facts. "I respect that you do not want my kiss, and those other rules you made. I have not betrayed the things you confide in me, nor would I wish to pry in affairs that are not my own."

"But then that man tried to kill us. I do not like to remember that." she lowered her voice; her tone earnest. "I was afraid for you. You did not have to fight for me. What am I to you? Nothing."

Here, her hand pressed over the sliced leather at her ribs- the wound healed but present in memory. Laurelai looked up at Cabal, frowning.  "I do not know the word for it. But I treat you as one of my own, and you address me as a stranger. It is offensive, to me."

Cabal’s eyes unfocussed as he made mental notes.  “So by ‘flock’ you meant you were considering me ‘one of your own.’”  He was unashamed when thinking it through as an abstract concept.  “And a flock shares the nest?  So by rejecting the nest I was implicitly rejecting your offer of kinship status?”

"Oui. After a fashion." Laurelai's lashes lowered and rose in catlike agreement, and she lounged back in the deep leather chair.  Her lower lip threatened a pout.  "I treat you as an equal. You treat me as a stranger. Is that not doubt?"

Cabal was silent.  He knew she would wait for his answer, and he needed time to express it.  “I brought this house here more than ten years ago, stick and stone.”

“In that time, four people have been allowed to enter.  The police sergeant from the village, Horst, one other, and yourself. Alone of that group, I have invited you into my home, into my work, and, briefly, into my mind.  It does not seem to me like I am treating you as a stranger, however I address you or wherever I sleep.  I regret that this bruises your sensibilities, but you must not ask more of me.”  

Laurelai's brow lifted as Cabal explained his point of view, her expression open. She nodded when he was finished, collecting her thoughts. Perspective gained, the perceived insult eased.

"I am not easily bruised, cherè." Laurelai smiled a little and laughed as her posture relaxed, and combed a hand back through her hair.  "I am glad you told me this, it is much different from what I was thinking. Call me as you like, I do not mind so much."

Cabal nodded, unexpectedly relieved.  “Shall we continue to your first reading lesson?”

"Oui, I would like that." Laurelai's eyes brightened, and she sat more upright, the arch of her torso causing the slashed side of her leather vest to gape. Pale ribs showed beneath, unmarked.

Clothing next week, Cabal thought.  "Are you familiar with the letters of the alphabet?"  He had bought the book he thought would appeal most to Laurelai. It had colour illustrations and touches of gilding.

"No, but I know my name. It is how I found my cemetery." Laurelai smiled a little and tugged the edge of her vest down as she moved to the edge of her seat.

"This is - hm.  An English book.  It might have been easier to start with French, but there are advantages to starting with the most untidy and irrational language, and besides, it is where you live."  

"Oh, it is pretty!" Laurelai was enticed by the illustrations, and she leaned close to look over Cabal's shoulder. He opened the book so she could see it and started to read.  

“A is for….?”

“Une pomme- ah- apple?” Laurelai liked this game. “Brioche! No, bread!”

Cabal soon realized that some of the examples were more familiar to her than others.

"Carousel.. I like those."

Cabal pictured Laurelai on a carousel, surrounded by children and their parents and suppressed a smile.  “D is for duck.  E is for elephant.”

"Fleur?" Laurelai touched the next page, recognizing the illusion and drawing a conclusion. Her fingers traced the F, and she lingered on the page, tracing each letter.  She moved on to the next page, frowning at the illustrated greengrocer. The rows of vegetables and smiling family meant nothing to her.

"What is that?"

“A greengrocer’s.  They sell fruits and vegetables.”  

There were these odd lacunae in her memory, he thought.  Things she must once have known that she had forgotten.  Vampires rarely experienced a loss of memory with the change, though the memories were often incomprehensible to them as they lost the ability to feel love or loyalty.  Laurelai’s psychology seemed human, if foreign.  

He continued reading, pausing to allow her to make the connection between the shape of the letter, the sound, and the example given.

"The sounds are different, in here." Laurelai tapped the side of her head with her index finger, looking puzzled as she took the alphabet book into her lap. She flipped backwards through the pages, sounding soft consonants under her breath as she sought examples on each page.

She seemed to forget that Cabal was present.

“Are they?” Cabal was bemused for a moment. “What sounds do they make in your head?”

She didn't answer at first, quietly repeating the sounds under her breath. Puzzled, she sat back and shook her head. "Different, it is like.. I do not know how to describe."

"Hullo Miss Laurelai," Horst smiled warmly from the doorway, carrying a tray of Assam tea and freshly baked currant scones. He nodded to Johannes, and placed the tray on the edge of the desk. "Thought you might like to have a little snack while you work."

Cabal gave his brother a narrow look.  “Miss Laurelai does not eat… scones.  As you well know.  Is this purely for my benefit?  How kind. How completely unmotivated by anything but brotherly affection.  How unsuspicious.”

Laurelai had fallen quiet as Horst had entered, watching him warily. She held her book closed upon her lap, lavender eyes flicking from one brother to the other. She neither acknowledged the greeting, nor replied, watchful.

Horst was unaffected by his younger brother's vitriol. He smiled pleasantly and nodded, looking at Laurelai. Seeing that she did not smile back, his confidence wavered; an unfamiliar feeling.

"I wanted to say hello, and knowing that you're not likely to feed yourself without a reminder, I thought I'd do something nice. People do nice things for each other all the time, did you know that? Funny old world." Horst winked at Laurelai, hoping she would enjoy his humor.

She did not, and gazed balefully back before looking at Johannes. "It is me he is curious about. Vampires always are."

“I have never known Horst to be overburdened with curiosity.”  Cabal was beginning to get the feeling that Laurelai actively disliked his brother.  Was it some natural antipathy of species?  “We were working, Horst.  But… did you bring lemon?”

"Well, I might be a tiny bit curious, but only because I'd like to get to know you." Horst smiled at Laurelai. He felt that he was on unsteady ground with her and wanted to fix whatever social misstep he had made. "I like to get to know my little brother's lady friends."

Laurelai did not respond, but looked vaguely uncomfortable. She nodded, and looked down at her book.

"Lemon? Oh, back in a mo'," Horst had never felt so awkward, and his smile felt like a mask as he returned to the kitchen.

“He always forgets the lemon.”  Cabal straightened the papers.  “You are under no obligation to socialize with Horst.  Although.  People do generally want to.”

Laurelai watched Cabal, silent for a moment as she considered whether or not to reply. After all, he had not asked for an explanation.

"I have not had good experiences, in the past." she confided, looking back down at the elaborately drawn ‘T’ upon the page. She did not like anything that made her feel weak, which Horst most certainly had at their first meeting. She traced the gilded illustration with a finger.

"Why does this page show a Horn, and yet the letter is not that sound?" Laurelai attempted to change the subject.

Cabal disliked straying from the task at hand, but she had piqued his curiosity. "You have been mistreated by other vampires?"  

Laurelai's gaze turned inward, her shoulders slouching slightly. She was silent a moment longer- her thoughts faraway.

"Oui."

"How did they...  that is, in what way...."  The cross-examination forming in Cabal's mind came to a jerking halt as he took in her bowed shoulders.  "That is...."  There would be a better time, he told himself, to learn about vampire-llamia relations.  "A trumpet.  That is a trumpet, a type of horn."

"For sex, or blood. Sometimes for sport- how should I know?" Laurelai's gaze remained unblinking, fixed upon Cabal's. His answer to her question was either disregarded or assimilated- it was impossible to know.

She tilted her head, apparently waiting.

After a moment, Cabal nodded.  "Then naturally you are wary."  He tried to stop there, but could not.  "Horst is a good man.  You are safe here.  And if he could not protect you," Cabal had a feeling this sentence was getting away from him, but there was no way to divert it now, "then I would.  Under the terms of our agreement.  Now, the letter 'U.'"

Laurelai's expression turned querulous for a moment- confusion and surprise mingling. His vow was heartfelt. She could not recall another instance where she felt such camaraderie.

Standing in one fluid movement- book toppling to the floor- Laurelai cupped Cabal's face and kissed his forehead. Then she sat down with a happy coo and retrieved the book from where it had fallen.

Cabal wasn’t sure she saw the severe look that rewarded the kiss; it was not one of his best efforts.  He had cobbled it together hastily from a confused expression, and it came from a desire to remind her of the rules, not from genuine ire.  “Mademoiselle,” But her gesture had not felt threatening. Inexplicably, she was happy again. It struck Cabal that she was like Horst in that way; nothing clouded her temperament for long.  It baffled him.  “May we return to work?”

"Oui." Laurelai favored the scientist with a fond, fanged smile- tinted with a hint of mischief. Legs folded beneath her, she perched on the edge of Cabal's desk and peered at the book.

"Umber-alla?" she blinked, frowning. "Parasol?"

"Indeed. But waterproof."

The next few letters passed without incident.  Cabal sipped his tea as they arrived at the final page.  "Are you familiar with this animal?"

No sooner than had Laurelai turned the page, the book went flying--

                --the Llamia hissing down at the offending illustration from atop the bookshelves.

         "Zebra."

Unperturbed, Cabal placed his cup back in the saucer.  "Indeed.  An impractical and unpleasant animal.  That concludes today's lesson.  I will not detain you with such simple material next time.”  She had been able to read once, he suspected; she was already sounding out words.  “You may take this book with you, if you wish."  He withdrew his notebook.

"I need to hold our next lesson a day or two late.  I find I have a commitment.  Is that acceptable?"  He glanced up.

Satisfied that the illustrated embodiment of nightmares would not gallop off the page and harm her, Laurelai lowered herself to the floor. She lifted the book and folded it closed, considering Cabal's proposal. She placed the book atop his desk.

"One night? Or two?" she asked in return. "I must have care for my roses. It grows colder."

He shrugged. "I should return by daylight on the Saturday, and I will be rested by that evening.  We may meet then, or a later day."

Laurelai's expression became thoughtful as first she had to recall what day it was- counting on her fingers. She nodded solemnly, rocking from heel to toe as an idea bloomed.

"I could go with you? I could protect you, or be helpful in some other way? And my lesson would be to travel. As a human woman."

Cabal did not dismiss the idea out of hand.  He believed in the value of applied learning.  "The idea has merit, and were I tutoring you in theft from mid-range British museums, I might require you to accompany me.  But you wish to learn to pass among humans." Her acrobatic skills might be very useful, he thought.

Laurelai nodded, and, in an effort to persuade him, she smiled, clasped her hands politely before herself and subtly batted her eyelashes. "I have no need to learn how to break into the museum, cherè, I go there quite often. I like the ghosts."  She smiled, her tone softly pleading.

"If I promise to wear a dress, and speak only French, could I not also provide you with security of alibi?"  She had heard the term over the wireless, and found it intriguing. What games humans played!

Cabal’s eyes narrowed as he considered the advantages and disadvantages of her offer. He had planned to go in while the museum was closed and smash a case open with a hammer.  If he was interrupted, no number of be-gowned Frenchwomen would provide a sufficient alibi, although a llamia might be of some use. He might be able to accommodate her wishes while gaining her help.  Laurelai was a habituée of the building; at least she would not slow him down. 

“Perhaps. You might accompany me to the town,” it was unnecessary for the theft but would be good practice for her, “and assist me during the acquisition.  After, I would return here alone.”

"You mean I would not have to stay and watch you growl at your notebook?" This was a bonus to the plan, which would also allow the time she needed to acquire certain chemicals she needed for her roses.  Perhaps she might practice her new skills in a tavern or two. "Oui, this is acceptable."

Cabal was confused.  Growl at his notebook?  Possibly her English was faulty.  "Very well, then."  This was an excellent development: an efficient use of both their time, and advantageous to them both.  There was no reason to feel any misgivings.

Laurelai smiled at Cabal's agreement, a gesture that complimented her features and showed off deadly dentition.

"Oui, bon. I will arrive at the customary time." She paused, a thought occurring. "You may tell your brother I will need a dress, hm?"

[cookinguptales]

SO. Some thoughts on the shorts presentations.

(Note: I only go to the live-action and animated ones; the documentary shorts are harder to see in my city and frankly, they’re often too intense for my current mental health.)

I went to see the shorts yesterday and like I said earlier, I thought the live-action shorts were generally very good and the animated shorts were generally a waste of time and In A Heartbeat was fucking robbed. The live-action shorts were mostly based on true stories, oddly enough, but they were still beautiful.

(This is two years of underwhelming animated nominees and I’m like ughhhh bc some years everything is amazing but recently I’ve not been agreeing with their picks at all.)

I’m about to discuss like 13 shorts, so it’s all under a cut.

Live-Action Shorts

DeKalb Elementary

I have to be honest with you, considering our current political climate, I started crying from the moment this short started until it ended. Like I saw the title come up on the screen and I was like OH NO. The short is based on the real-life school shooting at Ronald E. McNair Discovery Learning Academy, and I teared up just typing that sentence. However, this school had one of the few “happy” endings of a shooting; a receptionist at the school started talking to the shooter and calmed him down until he could admit that he really needed medical help and didn’t want to hurt anyone. She probably saved a lot of lives, and this dramatic interpretation of her 911 call is really deeply touching. The acting was really incredible, and the connection between the two of them was palpable without lessening the terrifying suspense of the moment. A really beautiful and deeply affecting short.

(Though, all that said, I wonder at the decision to create a mostly apolitical short about school shootings in today’s climate…)

(cw: guns, threatened violence, mental health issues)

A Silent Child

Surprise, I cried through this one, too! A Silent Child is a short about a young deaf girl in the UK whose parents refuse to learn sign language or teach it to her. This is a depressingly common experience in real life, and watching this girl’s nanny teach this girl sign language and seeing her really come alive now that she could truly communicate, neither the mother’s jealousy and self-consciousness nor her eventual decision to fire the nanny and forbid her child from ever using sign language again surprised me.

To keep a somewhat objective approach, I do think the end of the short was a bit maudlin; it seemed kind of odd that the girl, in that situation, would choose to sign “I love you” — this seemed more heartstring-yanking than something that felt realistic. That said, the rest of the short was really heartbreakingly realistic. It’s a personal subject for me; deafness runs in my family and my little sister is profoundly deaf. My parents started learning sign language the day she was born and made sure I did, too. I grew up in a truly bilingual household and didn’t understand until I was much older that many hearing parents don’t do this for their children. At first I was sitting in the theater like “well, my parents knew it might be a possibility; they were prepared before she was born” but then it is revealed that the mother in this short knew of a family history as well; her utter self-involvement and ego become more and more clear throughout the course of the story.

The short presents a very complicated familial relationship that felt very foreign and very familiar to me at the same time, and I’ll admit I cried a lot. Despite some shortcomings in the character writing, it really is a very important topic to talk about. I think I would have preferred that the emphasis be a little less on the nanny’s feelings and a little more on the girl, but it was overall a very good short — and notable for using an actual deaf actress and real BSL.

(cw: Ableism, child abuse)

My Nephew Emmett

This is a dramatic retelling of the experiences of Mose Wright as he tried to save his 14-year-old nephew, Emmett Till. If that name is familiar to you (and if it’s not, google this important case — but guard yourself for some deeply upsetting events and imagery) then you can probably figure out about how this short went. The story is a familiar, if horrifying one, but this film is interesting in that it doesn’t show much of the part we’re all familiar with. There isn’t that much graphic violence (IIRC, punching a boy in the stomach, manhandling him, and threatening folks with guns is the extent of it), and the very famous pictures of Emmett Till post-attack are not shown. (Though they are evoked in animation during the credits.)

Instead, this film really focuses on the emotional build-up of the event, and very palpably expresses the horrors and tensions of living during this time period in this place while black. There is some absolutely gorgeous imagery in this short, and some of the images of Mose sitting up all night with a gun, waiting for his nephew to come home, will stay with me forever. The acting and cinematography are top-notch, and there is a sort of dignity to these people that is not always afforded in shorts that can easily become misery porn for fascinated gawkers. Really just beautifully, meaningfully done. Media based on true stories like this can sometimes be wooden or insensitive. This was neither. A familiar story, but a breathtaking short.

(Cw: extreme racism, including racial slurs, violence, child death)

The 11 o’clock

In a year full of strong contenders, this Australian short was a glaring weak point. It’s a film about a psychiatrist who gets a patient who believes he’s a psychiatrist, and the rest of the fairly predictable short is pretty much just who’s on first shenanigans that get annoying very quickly. Also, after the powerful DeKalb Elementary, it felt uncomfortable poking fun at people with mental illness and using personal delusions for comedy.

But hey, at least it was short.

Watu Wote (All of Us)

Though it was a great year, this was probably my favorite of the shorts. As the film introduced itself as being about racial tensions between Christians and Muslims in Kenya, I was kind of bracing myself for some of the frankly racist/xenophobic content I’ve seen in some past years. However, this short was actually about an event in 2015 during which the militant group Al-Shabaab stopped a bus with an eye towards killing the Christians onboard, but were thwarted by the Muslim passengers who protected their Christian co-riders with, quite literally, their lives.

The short follows a Christian woman who is traveling home to visit with her sick mother, and the trip clearly terrifies her. It is later revealed that her husband and child had been killed by anti-Christian radicals years before and she still views Muslims with a large amount of wary mistrust. She clashes with other passengers on the bus, but she is shocked when the bus is pulled over and the Muslim passengers immediately move to protect and hide her. There are some truly tense scenes during which she is hiding from the militants and Muslim passengers are arguing with them about how un-Muslim their actions truly are. The short is not without bloodshed.

The short could have veered into being preachy at any time, but was instead a very raw depiction of these religious and ethnic tensions in this part of the world. While you could not fault the protagonist for being wary after her experiences, a lot of catharsis is felt when she realizes that there is a large difference between the men who killed her family and the terrified yet heroic passengers on her bus. It’s a true story and one respectfully told. I’d heard about the event when it happened, but didn’t know all the details; it was nice to have these heroes (particularly the fallen ones) commemorated in a moving short like this. The acting and directing was incredible, and again, I cried. A lot. I cried through basically this entire shorts presentation with a short break during the psychiatrist one, during which I ???ed a lot.

In a time where there is so much anti-Muslim sentiment in the world, I think this film made a very powerful statement, and I was glad to see it. I cannot believe this was a student film.

(Cw: ethnic/religious discrimination, blood, violence, death, child endangerment, mentions of dead children)

Honestly, this was a very strong year for the live-action shorts, and I would happy if any of the non-Australian shorts won.

Who I think will win: My Nephew Emmett or Watu Wote

Who should win: Very, very narrowly, Watu Wote

Animated Shorts

Negative Space

This is a French stop-motion film, and probably my favorite of the animated shorts this year — not that that’s saying much. It was kind of slight, frankly speaking, but the animation was really inventive and it was a joy to watch, at least, even if it was mostly just a guy relating a brief anecdote about his deceased father. Besides praising the really visually interesting animation, I’ll admit there’s not much to say about this one.

(Cw: death, you see an open-coffin funeral)

Garden Party

Beautiful animation, for the most part, but like. The entire plot is that a bunch of frogs take over this rich guy’s house after he’s murdered, which is…again, not that much of a plot. I guess the main point of it was “nature doesn’t care about riches or human life” and “corpses are funny”, which I’d tend to agree with and disagree with, respectively. While I appreciated the rising tension as you notice all the creepy details of this broken-into house in the background of cute frogs cavorting, the “punchline” of this short, which was a detailed close-up of the prior resident’s mutilated, bloated corpse that’d been sitting in the pool is just like. Pointlessly disgusting, and after watching a short about Emmett Till, it felt almost unconscionably callous. Honestly I was like. Mildly interested for most of it, and completely repelled by the end. People talk about this short’s “dark sense of humor” and I’m mostly just reminded of all those edgy assholes I met in college and was happy to never meet again.

(Cw: violence, very, very grotesquely graphic depictions of a corpse)

Lou

This one is Pixar’s inevitable nomination, and it’s very… Pixar. Idk, this one was kind of fun to watch, had a typical slightly-maudlin moment of sentimentality at the end, but it really wasn’t Pixar’s finest. It’s a pretty slight film about a bully befriending a sentient lost and found and learning to Be A Good Dude along with some stuff about the cycle of bullying that was dealt with too briefly to really be hard-hitting. What was odd to me while watching it is that I found myself thinking “wow, this animation does not seem up to Pixar’s usual standard”, which really surprised me. Like, it’s by no means bad! It just reminds me of the work that Pixar was doing several years ago, y’know? All in all, kind of cute but ultimately forgettable.

Revolting Rhymes, Part 1

(Longer review because this one was a half hour long as opposed to the rest, which were all 5-7 minutes.)

Ugh, okay. So the Academy, in their infinite wisdom, keeps nominating children’s specials for this award. They’re typically long-winded, rhyming adaptations of children’s picture books with subpar animation, and while Revolting Rhymes was better than The Gruffalo or Room on the Broom, I still felt my eyes glazing over. Plus, frankly, I take issue with this “short” even being eligible. It’s not a short. Shorts (in the Oscars) are 40 minutes or less. Revolting Rhymes is a two-episode miniseries that makes up one hour-long children’s program. In other words, if you see this at the short’s presentation, you will only see the first half of the story. (I googled the second half when I got home so I could properly review it.) They just split it into two; that doesn’t make it two discrete shorts. But I digress.

So this is your typical fairy tale retelling, and while I liked some aspects of it, others were trite and overdone. It was fun seeing Red Riding Hood go full vigilante, I suppose. It was actually frustrating as hell, especially because of In A Heartbeat’s snub; Revolting Rhymes really seemed like it was about to go to the f/f place with Red and Snow White. I was starting to get interested. These women were fighting for each other, giving each other flowers, embracing, leaning against each other, they eventually move in together… Like it was pretty fucking gay. AND THEN THEY NO HOMO’D IT AT THE END. I even looked up the second half to be completely sure. So that was really going to turn me against this film anyway because there’s nothing more tiring of getting one of those “in the future, they are gal pals and Red grew up and had kids!!” epilogues, especially when an actual queer love story was utterly ignored in favor of subpar shorts.

That aside, though, it’s just overly long, predictable, and kind of dull after a while. Frankly speaking, it’s for children and it doesn’t really have great crossover appeal for adults.

(Cw: pretty intense non-graphic violence, some sexist overtones, no homo-ing)

Dear Basketball

This short is just incomprehensible to me. It’s a short poem by Kobe Bryant that’s animated by the legendary Glen Keane with music by John Williams. Which should tell you how bewilderingly weird this whole scenario is. The whole time I was like “Is this a vanity project? How did he get such talent to sign on for such a self-indulgent little film? Did he just start throwing money around? Are both of these men closet Kobe fans?” Like I really don’t understand what even happened for this film to get made. It was inexplicable.

I guess it’s exactly what you’d expect. Kobe Bryant has written a saccharine poem about how much he has always loved basketball, and how he is now sad he has to give it up. It’s beautifully animated with a sweeping score. I am deeply confused, and cannot understand why this was even nominated in the wake of the #MeToo movement, considering the allegations against Bryant.

*shrugs???*

(And the highly commended shorts. IN A HEARTBEAT DIDN’T EVEN FUCKING MAKE HIGHLY COMMENDED, FUCK THE OSCARS COMMITTEE TBH.)

Lost Property Office

Another short about a lost and found…? I mean, okay, why the fuck not, this year is clearly a debacle anyway. This one was basically about a guy who works for the MTA lost and found, and he’s being let go because no one ever claims anything. The film, to be fair, does have a really interesting visual aesthetic… But the direction it goes in, again, is just kind of like. Okay. Not exactly emotionally gripping.

(Cw: no one actually commits suicide in this, but the short very clearly utilizes imagery that conjures up suicide)

Achoo

Trite little film about a dragon I’m supposed to think is cute but I really thought was kind of gross and annoying. It’s this thing about how this annoying dragon wants to make a fireworks display better than the mean bully dragons and he sneezes goop everywhere and uses chemicals (which feels like cheating..?) and accidentally invents fireworks. It’s always, uh, awkward when there’s a piece of animation that does some cutesy depiction of another culture’s faux “mythology”, and this one really didn’t particularly do it well.

Weeds

Short about a dandelion (I guess? They didn’t really look like dandelions, but oh well.) trying to move from a dead yard to the yard next door full of sprinklers. It dies before it makes it and its seeds float over to the lawn. Then you get some inspirational quote about NEVER GIVING UP and I’m like okay but it died???? It didn’t make it????? Is this some really depressing point about the struggles of immigrant parents or something or did you actually think this was inspirational?

Forgettable.

Who I think will win: Negative Space or Revolting Rhymes Who I think should win: In A Heartbeat

IN A HEARTBEAT WAS ROBBED NEVER FORGIVE NEVER FORGET.