#and there were three separate instances I remember laughing at the anime because something was silly in a slightly out of place way

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

Third time I've seen Ebisu's death scene, but that still hurts. You can't just have his last words be "I don't want to die" and then expect me to be okay. THAT'S what I mean. The characters really affect each other. And yet even where the story is now, I really don't think Yato has any idea how much of a force for good he's already been. I don't know if he knows he's succeeded. So many characters are willing to put their lives, safety, and happiness on the line because they feel like they owe him, and I don't think he knows.

anyway if anything bad ever happens to Ebisu again I'll riot

[rishi-eel]

thinking (yet again!) about the differences between the bad batch story reels and the season seven arc and like... some changes just blow my mind because all it did, really, was make the bad batch less likable.  

lets star with the whole “reg” thing. if i remember correctly, in the originals “regs” is said twice. the first instance is by crosshair when taunting jesse in the LAAT. the second is said by hunter: he tells tech (who’s hacking into the cyber center) that he and wrecker are going to “go get the regs” (i.e. rex and jesse). that is, hunter only used it among his squad when the others were not present (much like how cody informs that the bad batch are defective clones out of earshot. these words are descriptors, but there’s also an offense associated to being referred to by them). the idea that hunter has restraint referring to regular clones this way in their faces connects, i think, to how hunter was a tad more apologetic to jesse in the original script. “he means regular clones. don’t take it personal. it’s just that we don’t always follow protocol” carried an actual sense of hunter trying to convince jesse that it’s nothing to do with him.   

it’s interesting, i think, that in a context where you have clones and defective clones, that the bad batch (as defective clones) would find a way to talk about other clones in reference to themselves in a way that normalizes their own existence. it also introduces the idea that the bad batch experience a level of disconnect, and even animosity, in regards to other clones. all that can be conveyed by only using the word twice. the season seven episodes added three more instances, and in all of them the bad batch members comfortably throw the word around the clones who “are regs.” the sense of separateness (which, again, was already established/achieved by using it just two times) is only made stronger (thus more needs to be done to portray a sense of reconciliation or coming together. the reels succeed this to an extent because that barrier wasn’t built up as high). 

so yeah in the original... wrecker didn’t say “we always get shot down when we travel with regs,” he kept quiet as he helped people out of the wrecked gunship (in fact, wrecker lost a lot of subtlety going from the reels to the final eps, which i’ll get back to). hunter didn’t fake-compliment rex with a “not bad, for a reg”! and oh boy crosshair’s comment implying that echo is worthless and expendable because he’s a “reg”... yeah that was not in the reels either. in fact, not only does crosshair not call echo a reg, the meaning of his original dialogue was completely different.

in the original, after hunter voices his suspicions echo might be dead, crosshair suggests that if alive echo could be cooperating with the enemy, making him a traitor. rex takes this as an attack on echo’s character and crosshair explains that no, he’s not intending to insult echo, by saying: “oh i don’t blame him, if i were left for dead, i wouldn’t be so loyal.” and like!!!!! that’s such a radically different line of dialogue because crosshair seems to blame rex for having left echo behind, actually. if you betrayed the republic to survive, or even out of spite, i don’t blame you even if you now present a threat to myself and my family, is such an interesting, empathetic sentiment. and that contrasts with the lack of regard given to rex, making it read like he’s condemning rex for leaving someone behind. crosshair doesn’t seem to understand, as an experimental commando clone, the pressures rex as a legion captain is under, because he’s seen a less expandable (they’re a specially trained four man team, if one dies that’s 25% of the unit gone. is there a replacement for that member? you get the idea). so you’ve got a clash between different povs, but also crosshair being shown as having a set of morals, chief among them being that you do not leave anyone behind. so remember when rex says to move out and crosshair goes “commander cody is in no position to move” yeah i’d say that’s crosshair making sure cody isn’t being left behind. when crosshair saves anakin? that’s because he saw anakin go off on his own and followed him. because you don’t leave people behind. and like... the idea that yeah crosshair is an asshole. he’s unpleasant and that’s deliberate. he doesn’t care if people like him and he’s not trying to be liked. but that he values the lives of other people and looks out for them? that makes an interesting, flawed and multifaceted character. that got lost in the dialogue change because its no longer suggested that crosshair holds these values.

as for what i said earlier about wrecker: he lost subtle, nonverbal moments through the addition of lines that are either anticlimactic or only serve to make him seem loud or ditzy in an exaggerated fashion. he didn’t laugh when the LAAT came down. he was quiet as he helped people out of the downed gunship (no comment about regs!). he didn’t say “boom” when the ship exploded in the background after he flipped it over (the difference? a character moment that’s actually cool and impressive vs something that’s corny). when wrecker comes to crosshair’s aid by picking rex off of him, there was no quippy one liner. there was no need for anything to be said for it to be understood that wrecker is acting as a barrier and it trying to intimidate rex. when he’s afraid to get onto the elevator? that’s conveyed visually through camera angles and through hunter picking up on the fact that he’s scared. he doesn’t scream (if you can call a comical “aah what is that thing oh no its going to get me” a scream) when the organic decimator almost gets him. when they walk across the pipe? wrecker doesn’t whimper or talk to himself for comfort. he is scared of heights, that’s already been established, but he’s also a grown man and a soldier like he’s keeping that to himself? like we see wrecker hesitating to walk on the ledge but doing it anyway because he has to. in a piece of dialogue that was cut, tech said “does anyone want to know the odds of us making it across alive?” to which wrecker (who’s you know already having a bad time) interrupts with “don’t even think about it, tech” (if ur curious, this exchange was replaced with: wrecker: “keep walking tech!” tech: “that’s fine, but if you fall don’t take me with you” which???? uuh weird exchange). also, the fact that wrecker was mostly dealing with his fear silently means that when hunter tells wrecker to hold on because they’re almost there... that’s because hunter knows he’s scared and is checking up on him. basically... any kind of serious moment was cheapened by having wrecker talk in them. now i don’t want to say that DBB is a bad voice actor, but his expertise is making animal noises. he’s not able to do a realistic, deep voice, meaning that whenever wrecker talks he kind of sounds like a joke. it’s fine when wrecker is actual being lighthearted and jokey, but otherwise? the emotion just does not come across as genuine, which breaks the stakes or weakens credibility.  

and god the whole plot point about the bad batch being suspicious of echo was nonexistent in the reels. the “don’t worry, echo says he’s got a plan”/”that makes me feel so much better” exchange between rex and tech is in the original, but tech’s sarcasm isn’t from doubting echo’s allegiance, it’s because they’re planning to land on admiral trench’s ship and echo having a plan (that he himself doesn’t know) doesn’t exactly soothe his anxieties. rex acts like tech’s being a big joker and playfully shoves him, telling him to get on board. which is an interesting interaction because these characters are kind of starting to bond?? as for tech and echo, they kinda become nerdy friends really quick. like when tech warns echo not to send the signal right away because he first needs to make it look like it’s coming from skako minor, echo’s like “oh yeah good thinking tech.” and when echo figures out a way to shut down all the droids at once tech is impressed and lightly shoves his shoulder. again there is none of that “oooh maybe echo’s a traitor maybe he’s with the techno union” shit. like i understand that the writers wanted to up the stakes but it falls flat because the idea of echo being a traitor isn’t credible. it does not seem like an actual risk or possibility. so all it did was make the bad batch seem like assholes, cutting away at some very nice character moments.   

ok this is a long post and you might ask yourself “but tumblr user rishi-eel, why do you care so much about the story reels, this stuff isn’t canon now” and there are a couple reasons, first, i think it managed to tell a better story overall. so the question is: why is that? because you would expect that writers reworking the plot would add improvements and not downgrades. and to be fair, the s7 episodes had a bunch of upgrades, but not when it came to the characterization of the bad batch. another thing to consider is that changes were made in the context of setting the bad batch up as future protagonists of their own spinoff series (something the original arc was not intended to do because there were no plans for a bad batch series). were the characters made flatter and more archetypal to add to marketability? was the reg/defective clone rivalry (and dichotomy, even) amplified because this separateness serves a narrative in which the bad batch are heroes and the other clones villains?  

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 11: Prepare For Trouble And Make It Double

In a way, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you're walking away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster hags and blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; when you're a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day. Which was actually what's happening. So there we were, Annabeth, Percy, Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses. Percy and I walked side by side with our hand still connected. Grover was shivering and braying, his big goat eyes turned slit-pupiled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once. I was pretty much in shock myself. The explosion of bus windows still rang in my ears. But Annabeth kept pulling us along, saying: "Come on! The farther away we get, the better. "All our money was back there," Percy reminded her. "Our food and clothes. Everything." "Well, maybe if you hadn't decided to jump into the fight—" "What did you want me to do? Let you guys get killed? I was not going to leave Y/N." "You didn't need to protect me, Percy. I would've been fine." "Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover put in, "but fine." "Shut up, goat boy," I said. Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans... a perfectly good bag of tin cans." We sloshed across mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry. After a few minutes, Annabeth fell into line next to Percy. "Look, I..." Her voice faltered. "I appreciate your coming back for us, okay? That was really brave." "We're a team, right?" She was silent for a few more steps. "It's just that if you died... aside from the fact that it would really suck for you, it would mean the quest was over. This may be my only chance to see the real world." The thunderstorm had finally let up. The city glow faded behind us, leaving us in almost total darkness. Do you want to see?

Yeah that would be nice.

It was as if it was morning, I could see everything clearly. I wandered my head to make sure I could see everything. This is cool. "You okay?" Percy asked. "Yeah," Not really a fan of the current silence I turned to Annabeth. "You haven't left Camp Half-Blood since you were seven?" I asked her. "No... only short field trips. My dad—" "The history professor." "Yeah. It didn't work out for me living at home. I mean, Camp Half-Blood is my home." She was rushing her words out now, as if she were afraid somebody might try to stop her. "At camp you train and train. And that's all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That's where you learn whether you're any good or not." If I didn't know better, I could've sworn I heard doubt in her voice. "You're pretty good with that knife," I said. "You think so?" "Yeah maybe you can teach me some tricks. "Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me." Percy smiled. I couldn't really see, but I thought she might've smiled. "You know," she said, "maybe I should tell you... Something funny back on the but..." Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot-toot-toot, like the sound of an owl being tortured. "Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!" He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff. Seeing a tree coming up I tried to pull Percy to avoid it but Percy immediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on his head. I suppressed my laugh by covering my mouth which made Percy glare at me. After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy since I'd arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. This kid needed a double cheeseburger. >We kept walking until I saw a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and one open business, which was the source of the neon light and the good smell. It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I'd hoped. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos and wooden Indians and cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia than regular English, it's red cursive neon English. To me, it looked like: ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM. "What the heck does that say?" I asked. "I don't know," Annabeth said. She loved reading so much, I'd forgotten she was dyslexic, too. Grover translated: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium." Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes, ugly bearded little runts, smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken. I crossed the street, following the smell of the hamburgers. "Hey..." Grover warned. "The lights are on inside," Annabeth said. "Maybe it's open." "Snack bar," I said wistfully. "Snack bar," Percy agreed. "Snack bar," Annabeth joined. "Are you three crazy?" Grover said. "This place is weird." We ignored him. The front lot was a forest of statues: cement animals, cement children, even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps. "Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!" We stopped at the warehouse door. "Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters." I turned to look at my knife. It had a light glow emitting from it. Probably because it was sheathed. "I think there's monsters." I was now reluctant and sided with Grover. "Grover's nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?" "Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian." "You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," Percy reminded him.. "Those are vegetables. Come on. Let's leave. These statues are... looking at me."

"Percy, I don't think---"

"It'll be fine." Percy took my hand and went in. Be careful and don't look. Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of us was a tall Middle Eastern woman—at least, I assumed she was Middle Eastern, because she wore a long black gown that covered everything but her hands, and her head was completely veiled. Her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was about all I could make out. Her coffee-colored hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant, so I imagined she was a grandmother who had once been a beautiful lady. >Her accent sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, too. She said, "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?" "They're... um..." Annabeth started to say. "We're orphans," I said. "Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!" "We got separated from our caravan," Percy said. "Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost. Is that food I smell?" "Oh, my dears," the woman said. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area. We thanked her and went inside. Annabeth muttered to Percy, "Circus caravan?" "Always have a strategy, right?" "Your head is full of kelp." The warehouse was filled with more statues—people in all different poses, wearing all different outfits and with different expressions on their faces. I was thinking you'd have to have a pretty huge garden to fit even one of these statues, because they were all life-size. I was anxious so I tighten my grip on Percy.  It's stupid for walking into a strange lady's shop like that just because we were hungry. For a child of Athena, Annabeth sure isn't making wise decisions. I mean yeah I agree, you've never smelled Aunty Em's burgers. The aroma was like laughing gas in the dentist's chair—it made everything else go away.  But Grover's nervous whimpers, and the way the statues' eyes seemed to follow me, to add the fact that Aunty Em had locked the door behind us. Made me more cautious. Sure enough, there it was at the back of the warehouse, a fast-food counter with a grill, a soda fountain, a pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything you could want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front. "Please, sit down," Aunty Em said "Awesome," Percy said. "Um," Grover said reluctantly, "we don't have any money, ma'am." Aunty Em said, "No, no, children. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice orphans." "Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth said. Aunty Em stiffened, as if Annabeth had done something wrong, but then the old woman relaxed just as quickly, I had to turn to Annabeth to check if there was something wrong with her.. Quite all right, Annabeth," she said. "You have such beautiful gray eyes, child."  I wonder how she knew Annabeth's name, even though we had never introduced ourselves. "Percy, I want to leave..." I whispered. "Just a few bites Y/N. Don't worry." He gave me a reassuring pat. Our hostess disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before we knew it, she'd brought us plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries. I wasn't gulfing down my food like Percy was.  Grover picked at the fries, and eyed the tray's waxed paper liner as if he might go for that, but he still looked too nervous to eat. Annabeth slurped her shake. "What's that hissing noise?" he asked. I listened, but didn't hear anything. Annabeth shook her head. "Hissing?" Aunty Em asked. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover." "I take vitamins. For my ears." "That's admirable," she said. "But please, relax." I don't like it here. I'm scared. Be wary of all things. Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off her headdress, even to cook, and now she sat forward and interlaced her fingers and watched us eat. It was a little unsettling, having someone stare at me when I couldn't see her face, and I figured the least I could do was try to make small talk with our hostess. "So, you sell gnomes," I said, trying to sound interested. "Oh, yes," Aunty Em said. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know." "A lot of business on this road?" "Not so much, no. Since the highway was built... most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get. My neck tingled, as if somebody else was looking at me. I turned, but it was just a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than you see in most garden statues. But something was wrong with her face. It looked as if she were startled, or even terrified."Ah," Aunty Em said sadly. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face." "You make these statues yourself?" Percy asked. "Oh, yes. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are my company." The sadness in her voice sounded so deep and so real that I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. Annabeth had stopped eating. She sat forward and said, "Two sisters?" "It's a terrible story," Aunty Em said. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a... a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price." Annabeth gave me a look of worry. I knew she realized something. "Percy?" I shook him to get his attention. "Maybe we should go. I mean, the ringmaster will be waiting." Grover was eating the waxed paper off the tray now, but if Aunty Em found that strange, she didn't say anything. "Such beautiful gray eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen gray eyes like those." She reached out as if to stroke Annabeth's cheek, but Annabeth stood up abruptly. "We really should go." "Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!" "Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?" "A pose?" Annabeth asked warily. "A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children." Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I don't think we can, ma'am. Come on, Percy—" "Sure we can," Percy said. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?" "Percy, I don't want to..."  "It's just a photo guys." "Indeed it is just a photo Y/N," the woman purred. "No harm." I could tell Annabeth didn't like it as well, but she allowed Aunty Em to lead us back out the front door, into the garden of statues. Aunty Em directed us to a park bench next to the stone satyr. "Now," she said, "I'll just position you correctly. The young girls in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side." "Not much light for a photo," I remarked. But joke's on her I could see quite clearly. Don't look. "Oh, enough," Aunty Em said. "Enough for us to see each other, yes?" "Where's your camera?" Grover asked. Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me please, everyone? A large smile?" Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand." "Grover," Aunty Em chastised, "look this way, dear." She still had no camera in her hands. "Percy—" Annabeth said. "I will just be a moment," Aunty Em said. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil...." "Percy, something's wrong," I insisted. "Wrong?" Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?" "That is Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover gasped. DON'T LOOK. Annabeth turned to my direction, "Look away from her!" she then shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished. Her invisible hands pushed Grover and and I pulled Percy with me. We were on the ground, looking at Aunt Em's sandaled feet. I could hear Grover scrambling off in one direction, Annabeth in another. "Percy, we have to move!" I shook him. But he was too dazed to move. Then I heard a strange, rasping sound above me. My eyes rose to Aunty Em's hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails. Percy was about to look higher then her hands and I instinctively covered his eyes. "Don't look!" More rasping—the sound of tiny snakes, right above me, from... from about where Aunty Em's head would be. "Run!" Grover bleated. I heard him racing across the gravel, yelling, "Maia!" to kick-start his flying sneakers. "Percy we have to move please!" "Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face," she said soothingly. "Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up." "Percy please!" Percy pushed my hand away and looked to one side. I turned to look as well and saw one of those glass spheres people put in gardens— a gazing ball. I could see Aunty Em's dark reflection in the orange glass; her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was moving, writhing like serpents. Aunty Em. Aunty "M." How did Medusa die in the myth? But I couldn't think. Something told me that in the myth Medusa had been asleep when she was attacked by my namesake, Perseus. She wasn't anywhere near asleep now. If she wanted, she could take those talons right now and rake open my face. "The Gray-Eyed One did this to me," Medusa said, and she didn't sound anything like a monster. Her voice invited me to look up, to sympathize with a poor old grandmother. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this." "Don't listen to her!" Annabeth's voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. "Y/N carry Percy!" "Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer. We won't even hurt, Y/N." I swung Percy's arm around my shoulder. But he was too heavy.  "No," he muttered trying to make his legs move... "Do you really want to help the gods?" Medusa asked. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain." "Y/N!" Behind me, I heard a buzzing sound, like a two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive. Grover yelled, "Duck!" I turned, and there he was in the night sky, flying in from twelve o'clock with his winged shoes fluttering, Grover, holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His eyes were shut tight, his head twitched from side to side. He was navigating by ears and nose alone. "Duck!" he yelled again. "I'll get her!" I tackled Percy to the other side. Thwack! Then Medusa roared with rage. "You miserable satyr," she snarled. "I'll add you to my collection!" "That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back. Pulling along an out of a dazed Percy we scrambled away and hid in the statuary while Grover swooped down for another pass. Ker-whack! "Arrgh!" Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting. Right next to me, Annabeth's voice said, "Y/N! Percy!" Percy jumped so high his feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!" Annabeth took off her Yankees cap and became visible. 'You have to cut her head off." "What? Are you crazy? Let's get out of here." "Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but..." Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But you've got the better weapon. Besides, I'd never get close to her. She'd slice me to bits because of my mother. You—you've got a chance." "What? I can't—" "Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?" She pointed to a pair of statue lovers, a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by the monster. Annabeth grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would be better." She studied the sphere critically. "The convexity will cause some distortion. The reflection's size should be off by a factor of—" "Would you speak English?" "I am!" She tossed him the glass ball. "Just look at her in the glass. Never look at her directly." "Hey, guys!" Grover yelled somewhere above us. "I think she's unconscious!" "Roooaaarrr!" "Maybe not," Grover corrected. He went in for another pass with the tree branch. "Hurry," Annabeth told him. "Grover's got a great nose, but he'll eventually crash." Percy took out his pen and uncapped it. The bronze blade of Riptide showed. He turned to me and gave the glass then offered a hand. "Percy you can't be seriously bring her along!?" "I'll go with him." Taking his hand, we followed the hissing and spitting sounds of Medusa's hair. I raised the glass so I could guide us. I kept my eyes locked on the gazing ball so I would only glimpse Medusa's reflection, not the real thing. Then, in the green tinted glass, I saw her. Grover was coming in for another turn at bat, but this time he flew a little too low. Medusa grabbed the stick and pulled him off course. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the arms of a stone grizzly bear with a painful "Ummphh!" Medusa was about to lunge at him when I yelled, "Hey!" We advanced on her. I had let go of Percy's hand to bring out my knife. So if she charged, I could help Percy. But she let us approach—twenty feet, ten feet. I could see the reflection of her face now. Surely it wasn't really that ugly. The green swirls of the gazing ball must be distorting it, making it look worse. "You wouldn't harm an old woman, Percy," she crooned. "I know you wouldn't." I could tell he hesitated. From the cement grizzly, Grover moaned, "Percy, don't listen to her!" Medusa cackled. "Too late." She lunged at him with her talons. I ran and raised my knife to block her talons, Percy then swung his sword, then we heard a sickening shlock!, then a hiss like wind rushing out of a cavern—the sound of a monster disintegrating. Something fell to the ground next to my foot. It took all my willpower not to look. I could feel warm ooze soaking into my sock, little dying snake heads tugging at my shoelaces. "Oh, yuck," Percy said. His eyes were still tightly closed, but I guess he could hear the thing gurgling and steaming. "Mega-yuck." Annabeth came up next to us, her eyes fixed on the sky. She was holding Medusa's black veil. She said, "Don't move." >Very, very carefully, without looking down, she knelt and draped the monster's head in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice. "Are you okay?" Percy asked me, his voice trembling. "Yeah," I decided. "Why didn't... why didn't the head evaporate?" "Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," she said. "Same as your minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you." Grover moaned as he climbed down from the grizzly statue. He had a big welt on his forehead. His green rasta cap hung from one of his little goat horns, and his fake feet had been knocked off his hooves. The magic sneakers were flying aimlessly around his head. "The Red Baron," Percy said. "Good job, man." He managed a bashful grin. "That really was not fun, though. Well, the hitting-her-with-a-stick part, that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? Not fun." He snatched his shoes out of the air. "I didn't know Grover got Luke's shoes."  Percy recapped his sword. "I can't fly." He shrugged.  Together, the four of us stumbled back to the warehouse We found some old plastic grocery bags behind the snack counter and double-wrapped Medusa's head. We plopped it on the table where we'd eaten dinner and sat around it, too exhausted to speak. Finally Percy said, "So we have Athena to thank for this monster?" Annabeth flashed me an irritated look. "Your dad, actually. Don't you remember? Medusa was Poseidon's girlfriend. They decided to meet in my mother's temple. That's why Athena turned her into a monster. Medusa and her two sisters who had helped her get into the temple, they became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up, but she wanted to preserve you as a nice statue. She's still sweet on your dad. You probably reminded her of him." "Oh, so now it's my fault we met Medusa." Annabeth straightened. In a bad imitation of my voice, she said: "'It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?'" "Forget it," I said. "You're impossible." "You're insufferable." "You're—" "You're both loud and stupid." I growled. "Yeah!" Grover interrupted. "You two are giving me a migraine, and satyrs don't even get migraines. What are we going to do with the head?" I stared at the thing. One little snake was hanging out of a hole in the plastic. The words printed on the side of the bag said: WE APPRECIATE YOUR BUSINESS! I was angry, not just with Annabeth or her mom, but with all the gods for this whole quest, for getting us blown off the road and in two major fights the very first day out from camp. At this rate, we'd never make it to L.A. alive, much less before the summer solstice. What had Medusa said? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Percy and I shared a look. We got up. "I'll be back." "Percy, Y/N," Annabeth called after me. "What are you—" We searched the back of the warehouse until I found Medusa's office. Her account book showed her six most recent sales, all shipments to the Underworld to decorate Hades and Persephone's garden. According to one freight bill, the Underworld's billing address was DOA Recording Studios, West Hollywood, California. I folded up the bill and stuffed it in my pocket. In the cash register I found twenty dollars, a few golden drachmas, and some packing slips for Hermes Overnight Express, each with a little leather bag attached for coins.  "Found one." Percy called. We went back to the picnic table, packed up Medusa's head, and filled out a delivery slip: The Gods >Mount Olympus 600th Floor, >Empire State Building New York, NY With best wishes, PERCY JACKSON <3 Y/N L/N "They're not going to like that," Grover warned. "They'll think you're impertinent." I poured some golden drachmas in the pouch. As soon as I closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a pop! "I am impertinent," Percy said. I looked at Annabeth, daring her to criticize. She didn't. She seemed resigned to the fact that we had a major talent for ticking off the gods. "Great, well Fred and George," she muttered. "We need a new plan."

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UwU bb I'm just licherali rippin off now srry -kookie-doughs

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@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[tanadrin]

The Botanist

Rahal called on Yaru at midmorning, when the springtime Kayuban air was still fresh and sweet. The walk down to the Botanical Institute was unusually pleasant, and put her in mind of nothing so much as Opara in the autumn, and the exuberance--and folly--of her youth. The Institute's doorkeeper directed her to a shabby little building behind a row of small greenhouses that was unassuming enough that Rahal assumed she had the wrong door, even as she knocked. There was the sound of footsteps within, and then the door opened; a pair of spectacled eyes, peeking out from below a wild mass of graying, curly hair looked up at her.

"Yes?" the man said curtly.

"I'm looking for Yaru," Rahal said.

"Oh?" He seemed to want more than that.

"I'm from the Order," she said.

"Oh! The archivist!" The man stood aside and waved her in. "I'm Yaru. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you until later. Come in, come in."

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Rahal said. The inside of the building was no more attractive than the outside. A stack of old boxes and a chair missing a leg took up most of the cramped vestibule. The windows were dusty and did not let in nearly enough light; a couple of cramped hallways led off to what looked like small offices, or large closets. Yaru himself was small, thin, and energetic, but it felt like Rahal that he, too, had been abandoned to this forgotten part of the Institute. But Sabir had been quite clear; she seemed to think Yaru's work was of the utmost importance.

"Not at all," Yaru said. "Only preparing tomorrow's lecture. They have me teaching students again. Ghastly business."

"You don't like teaching?"

"Oh, what's even the point? They're all blockheads. Waste of time, if you ask me. That door on the left there," Yaru said, pointing.

Yaru's office was in fact surprisingly well-kept, although not spacious, and full of the clear morning light. He had made an effort to dust, it seemed, and his stacks of books and papers were neatly organized, even as they seemed to occupy most of the available surfaces. His desk was only a small writing table in the corner; the only other chair was serving for the moment as an ersatz side table. He plucked up the books off it as he came in, and gestured for her to sit.

"Excuse the clutter," he said. "I don't get many visitors."

"Weren't you a student once?" Rahal asked.

"Oh, no," Yaru said, with a faint hint of disgust. "Well. Maybe yes, in a sense. But not like these ones. They're just here for an *education*. No love of learning at all."

Rahal was bemused. She genuinely could not tell whether his horror of the undergraduates was real, or just a very dry joke.

"Sabir said you'd joined the Institute a few years back?" Rahal said conversationally.

"Yes," Yaru said. "Well, I've been in this office since I came to Kayuba. A friend found it for me--it's nice and quiet and out of the way. But three years ago they were clearing out some old equipment and found me hiding back here, and told me I could only stay if I joined the Institute properly. And then last summer thy tracked me down and told me *all* faculty had to teach. Still, I've been managing to avoid it until recently. But I think I overreached by scheduling my last lecture for three in the morning in the rector's house."

Rahal smiled. "Did anyone turn up?"

"Goodness, I hope not. Tea?"

Yaru produced a small kettle from inside his desk and began hunting for a plug.

"Please."

"So what can I do for you, Walks-With-Dawn?"

"Rahal is fine," she said. Her name sounded ungainly to her in the southerners' tongue; she preferred to leave it untranslated. "Sabir sent me to you."

"And how is our mutual friend? I didn't see her when she was in Kayuba last. A pity"

"She's busy these days." Still trying to make up for my stupidity, she did not say. "Traveling a lot. Worried about the future. Though I suppose that describes most of the Order."

"But not you?"

Rahal bit down a dark thought. "No," she conceded. "Not me."

"You Archivists have always puzzled me," Yaru said. "More pessimistic a profession I have never seen. If the Holy Ones themselves showered gold upon the city and raised all our beloved grandmothers from the dead, you'd purse your lips and mutter."

"Someone's got to look to the future, I suppose."

"I always thought the future could take care of itself."

When the kettle finally boiled, Yaru poured two small cups of flower tea, the traditional Kayuban sign of hospitality. Rahal nestled her cup in her hand and enjoyed the warm, fragrant scent.

"So Sabir had some grim purpose in mind when she sent you to me, I suppose," Yaru said.

"Perhaps," Rahal conceded. "She said your work was important."

Yaru cocked his head. "Did she? She should tell the rectorate that! Very important, to be funded generously, and not to be disturbed for any reason! They might listen, coming from the Archive."

Rahal smiled. "I'll pass that along. She didn't offer me any details, though. What *are* you working on?"

Yaru scratched his head. "I never know how to talk about it to non-specialists. Well, not that anybody asks about it, besides my wife. Do you have a background in biology, Rahal?"

"I have the general Archivist's training in scientific matters," she said. "But my own specialty was always more... human systems."

"Economics?"

"More like, politics and diplomacy."

"Ah, the real black arts, if ever there was one," Yaru said with a nod. "No wonder that in darker days they called your kind the wielders of witchcraft."

Rahal laughed. "You understand us better than most."

"So what does the Archive generalist training cover? Cell biology? Ecology? Anatomy?"

Rahal leaned back in her chair and tried to remember her youth and the hours and hours of lectures she'd sat through. Natural philosophy, as they called it in the Archive, had not been her strongest subject. "Some of each," she said.

"Sabir tells me you learn all these things quite differently than we do in the outside world."

"That's true. You learn from principles. We learn texts."

"What do you mean?"

"For you, science is an inquiry into the world out there," she said, gesturing at the window. "For us, it is something that lives in books. And each book stands on its own."

This seemed to really puzzle Yaru.

"That seems like quite a strange approach to knowledge," he said.

"It depends on what you see as the ends of knowledge," Rahal replied.

"Understanding the world, improving human lives?"

"Well, yes, On that the Archive agrees. But... well, how do I explain this. You know the history of the Archive?"

"Vaguely, I suppose. It's old. Nearly as old as civilization."

"Older," Rahal said. "Maybe by a lot. And because it's old, and because its mission can only be fulfilled on the timescale of many lifetimes, every facet of its existence is oriented around long-term survival. That's a feature we don't talk about much for obvious reasons."

"It makes you sound like jealous, knowledge-hoarding, power-hungry tyrants. Which some say you are."

"And which we can be--if we have to. But mostly, we are preservers. We are advisors when we can be, but still librarians when we cannot be, and we are careful and slow, and we think everything to death, because too often we have seen the bitter consequences of recklessness--our own, or someone else's."

"But you're also only human."

"Yes," Rahal said. "These days, we're only human. The point is, we're not empiricists, although we do care about the work of empiricists. We preserve it, where we can, but this is the preservation of works. The masters teach Uranti's Six Mathematical Classics, not mathematics. We learn Furan's treatises on medicine, not medicine itself. The difference is drilled into us early in our education: the thing we learn is not the world outside, which is rapid and changing, but the world within the work we keep alive. It is for those to whom we make these texts available to judge their merits."

Yaru nodded. "I understand. You are only human, and no less a product of our fallen age than I am. And the Archive must preserve things it cannot possibly understand."

"Indeed," Rahal said. "We have preserved theological essays for centuries, thinking they were intended to communicate spiritual truths, only later to understand they were physics handbooks, and vice-versa. We preserve designs for machines that no civilization on Ogandraa can build, and maybe never could."

"Sabir herself told me she knew of a kind of mathematics that pertained only to an electric calculating machine that does not exist," Yaru said.

"Just so."

"So you would say your knowledge of biology is..."

"Scattershot."

"Very well. But you know the cell, and the genetic principle?"

Rahal nodded.

"We distinguish within the cell between the albuminous and non-albuminous materials; the latter are the secondary element of living tissue, while the former are considered primary. The albuminous materials are those that coagulate under heat, or condense within acid, and all are composed of the same ratio of elements: thirty one parts hydrogen, twenty parts carbon, six parts carbon, and five parts nitrogen, in large and diverse configurations. By hydrolysis, the albumins can be decomposed into their constituent parts, organic acids of the nitrogenic classification. By the careful separation of albumins, and by the measurement of their individual component acids, we can distinguish and name them, despite their common chemical formula."

"And this is what you work on?"

"It's the foundation of my work--the intersection of chemistry and botany. Before I came to Kayuba, I was primarily interested in separating and identifying the chemicals operative within plant cells. Albuminic and carbonic chain analysis was my specialty. Some of my work was directed at improving agriculture, while some of it was purely investigative."

"And now?"

"As you might expect, not every organism has the same albumins, or the same carbonics. The carbonic which forms the cell walls of plants, for instance--it's not found in animals at all, and it's totally indigestible by humans. We have already for a number of years used chemical distinctions, as well as physical ones, to distinguish the greater families of living organisms. Sessile, sunlight-capturing organisms, for instance, can be divided between the plants with a chemical environment similar to our own, the endoflora, and those with a chemical environment dissimilar to our own, the xenoflora. From the former come all food crops, and all plants which our livestock prefer. The latter are almost uniformly nutritionally useless."

"Native and non-native."

Yaru smiled. "Theology lies outside my competence, unfortunately."

"It's hardly a religious doctrine."

"I know in the north it is a view more universally held. We southerners tend to be a little more skeptical of folklore, I suppose. But I suppose it's no surprise the Archive tends to be conservative in these matters."

Rahal didn't press the point; it wasn't relevant to the conversation. She sometimes forgot that the descent from the stars was considered unverifiable mythology in the south, or downright superstition. She motioned for Yaru to continue."

"In any case, a similar division does exist within some, but not all, other domains of life. The funguses, for instance, are endochemical only. Land animals--motile, sensory--are endochemical and xenochemical, except in the sea, where they are mostly xenochemical. The disease-causing bacteria are uniformly endochemical, as are all viruses. I made a discovery a few years ago, which might be of some comfort to those of a more traditional turn of mind. You see, it had always been thought that one line of evidence against celestialism was that xenochemical and endochemical organisms still have certain albumins in common, albeit in small amounts."

"I've heard this," Rahal said.

"I discovered that this was not so."

Rahal raised an eyebrow. Yaru continued.

"If you take a sample of tissue from a human, a springgrass flower, or a mushroom, and separate its albumins and carbonic chain molecules, you *will* find small amounts of certain chemicals common across all three. More in the case of the two endochemical organisms, of course, many more, but even within the springgrass flower there is some similarity. Identicality, in fact--of the albumins found in humans and springgrass, the component acids exist in identical ratios."

"A common genetic inheritance? From an early split between the two domains of life."

"That's always been the anti-celestialist argument, of course," Yaru said. "But it's not true."

"What then?"

"A separate organism entirely. Actually, a whole group of them."

Rahal leaned forward in her chair, intrigued.

"They can be cultured separately, in small amounts: an intracellular symbiont that is chemically distinct from both of the other two major domains of life on Ogandraa. Microscopic only, and quite unlike either the endobiota or xenobiota. Indeed, based on some tantalizing clues, I predict this third domain may not form cellular structures at all. If humans are indeed not native to this world, these are probably the original inhabitants. And, I believe, they are the solution to a longstanding mystery in ecology. Do you know the remote signalling problem?"

"I think--something about wildfires?"

"That's the canonical example, yes. How does the springgrass know to hide its buds when the fire is hours away and upwind? But it goes deeper than that: if you isolate the springgrass bud entirely, seal it in its own jar with its own atmosphere and soil, insulate it from all outside heat, but burn a nearby patch of ground, it will still bury itself in the soil. There are similar phenomena elsewhere in nature, however. Raspflies will swarm if killed in large numbers, even up to half a mile away. The larvae of bloodfish begin to emerge in freshwater lakes when the mating frenzy happens at the river mouth, even if it's hundreds of miles away."

"Some kind of chemical signal?"

"The most current research on the subject indicates that such a signal would have to travel at about forty miles an hour, upstream. It's possible--but rather unlikely. My belief is rather that it is this acellular, symbiotic organism which plays a role in the remote signalling mechanisms that are omnipresent in nature. When supplied with the correct stimuli, it is capable of emitting energy, even visible light. Although as you might expect, the effect tends to be very weak. Yet it can propagate rapidly."

"How rapidly?"

"More than rapidly enough to let the bloodfish larvae know to emerge and make room for the next generation."

"That's fascinating. Genuinely. But I still don't understand why Sabir put us in touch. She seemed to think it was more than an ordinary scientific breakthrough that I should be aware of."

"Ah, well. I think I know," Yaru said. He shuffled some papers around on his desk, looking for a blank sheet, and picked up a pen. He scrawled a short mathematical equation on it.

"As I said, the effect is principally very weak in nature. A stronger effect, using purified chemicals or an electric current, can be obtained in the laboratory. An even stronger effect can be produced by the application of a specific modulated electromagnetic field, and the stronger the field--and the more accurate its modulation--the greater the release of energy, and the further its propagation. Two curious facts have emerged from my experiments.

"The first is this: these mysterious microorganisms contain an enormous quantity of chemical energy." He picked up the still-warm kettle and set it on his desk, between him and Rahal. "Our most vigorous organic explosives produce about enough energy that burning a few grains of them would raise the temperature of the water in this kettle by oh, let's say, a degree and a half. A small handful--enough to blow my office door off its hinges and make us both deaf for a few hours--would boil it."

"And these organisms are comparable?"

"No. They contain far *more* energy. I've attempted to exhaust small samples of all their energy available for signalling, and I can't do it. Based on the amount of energy they can output, they must be able of storing phenomenal amounts, far more than can be stored in an ordinary chemical bond. Enough that if the water in this kettle were frozen, and you could unlock the energy in an equivalent small weight of these microorganisms, you could vaporize the ice to steam--about eight hundred times the energy of a blasting explosive. At least."

"Goodness."

"This is the other curious fact." He slid the piece of paper over to Rahal, and tapped a variable circled in the middle. "Based on signal propagation experiments, an induced energy release by a very precisely modulated electromagnetic signal would release N units of energy from the activated sample, which would signal the release from nearby organisms reduced by a factor based on distance and the strength of the original activation signal. For any signal below a certain original activation efficiency--represented by this factor, k--the energy release falls off exponentially, and eventually disappears into the background noise of normal intercellular signalling. That behavior holds true up to a k of 1."

"And above that activation efficiency?"

"As you can see, k is part of an exponential term. In theory, at k the energy release propagates at full strength indefinitely. How far, I don't know. Maybe clear around the planet. Maybe you can make Ogandraa ring like a bell. *Above* k, the energy release increases, indefinitely, with each activation releasing more than the last."

"What are you saying?"

"That in the presence of the right electromagnetic signal, you could induce an energy release that would make our biggest bombs look like holy day sparklers. You could annihilate cities. Boil seas. Set the world aflame."

Rahal looked at the hastily-scrawled letter in the exponent position without saying anything. Then she folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into a pocket.

"There are practical difficulties, of course," Yaru said. "The richness of the sample matters. How much energy it actually contains--you *can* deplete the signalling mechanism, and it only replenishes very slowly. And the fact that the world is still here, and doesn't regularly blow itself up is indicative that if this phenomenon is possible, it's not at all trivial to unlock. It doesn't occur naturally."

"But such a signal wouldn't need to be natural."

"No. Just because it doesn't occur doesn't mean it *can't* occur."

"This is a weapon."

"Quite possibly. Quite possibly the most dangerous one ever conceived."

"Who knows about this?"

"Right now, very few people. But the possibility is latent in nature itself; and the remote signalling problem is being studied elsewhere. Even if I burned every scrap of my research and decided to become a house-painter, it would be a few years at best before someone working in Ptrar or Lareth stumbled across the same thing."

Rahal was feeling a little dizzy. She set her untouched tea down on the desk and folded her arms, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"You called the Archive conservative earlier."

"Hm? Oh yes, I suppose I did. Celestialists and such. No offense."

"None taken. Do you know what the difference between being conservative and being Conservative is?" She used the Kayuban emphatic particle to make the distinction clear.

"I imagine you have one in mind."

"The Archive is cautious, deliberate, and wary of change. We're not empiricists, it's true, but we're not hostile to empirical methods. We've seen both the good and the bad that can result from such methods, and we work to increase the former at the expense of the latter. But in times of crisis, in times of upheaval and war, I worry less about the conservative approach and more about the Conservative one."

"Are you speaking politically? Scientifically? Artistically?"

"All, and none. This is something that cuts across political factionalism and scientific squabbles, and runs to deeper attitudes, attitudes that in my experience are only loosely connected to specific beliefs or aesthetic choices. I'm talking about the...." She struggled for the right Kayuban word. "We call it the-turn-inward-and-reject-the-legible-world-impulse in the Archive. The urge to fall back on the oldest and worst parts of human nature. The parts that are still frightened and soaked in blood.

"There are histories in the Archive which--well, they're not secret. We'd tell you if you asked. But we don't usually volunteer them, because they are dark and frightening and usually not very applicable to novel situations. In Kfaris, when it fell, a madness consumed the people for ninety-nine days, and in their madness the people claimed the motions of the stars ruled their fates, that the world outside the walls of the city was a deceit of the devil, and they devoured every written word in the city, even if it meant smashing stone plaques to pieces and choking down the dust. In Chopakim, when it was beset by a festering plague, every fourth son was flayed alive in the city's plaza, and their skins were given to frightened mothers to wrap their babies in--this, it was said, would spare their infants from disease. In Lalai, on the eve of war, a beggar said that God had made him king; and when the enemy came, he ordered the gates opened, and the army to lay down its spears, and every living soul was slaughtered as a result.

"I walked here this morning, rather than take the streetcar, because it was a fine spring day. Peaceful, fragrant, with a shining sun. Kfaris, Chopakim, Lalai--each of these cities was, perhaps on some day not too long before disaster, sun-painted and happy. Each, like Kayuba today, was once part of a civilization that looked to make the world legible to them: through ethics or empiricism or philosophy, or some combination of the three, and very often succeeded. Each was once possessed of honest ignorance and superstition, and slowly worked to shrug these things off, and rise above them--until one day they proclaimed they wished to partake of that struggle no more, that to behold the-world-as-it-is was too frightful, and they would prefer to inhabit only the world of their hearts. Each was ruined; and each suffered terribly in the aftermath."

"And what lesson do you draw in this particular scenario, where I have shown you a novel path to ruin?"

"No lesson in particular. But I am afraid, Yaru. I am afraid some spirit wiser than both of us, than any soul in Kayuba right now, showed each of those cities the truth; I am afraid that, in their very instance on ignorance they might have been right."

"Do you really believe that? That there can be justice in ignorance, happiness in letting our fears govern us?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't be an Archivist if I did. And although I'm not a priest, it's not rare in my vocation to have a certain kind of faith. But I do have my doubts sometime."

Yaru sighed.

"So do I, my friend. So do I."

[rayatii]

A (somehow both very biased and not very opinionated) review of the Met orchestra musicians concert “Song to the Moon” from February 21, 2021:

I had been bothering my Tumblr followers with my excitement over this event yesterday, so it felt only right for me to stop procrastinating and give an attempt for a review of the whole thing; I think this is actually my first time writing a lengthy review ever, and it will probably sound naïve and be an embarrassment for me in the future.

It started around 10 PM where I live. I sat in my bed with my computer while eating chocolate in order to stay awake throughout the whole thing, and trying not to spill any pieces on the sheets, excitedly waiting for this event, having actually bought myself a fifteen-buck ticket about three weeks prior with my parents’ credit card (they didn’t bat an eye when I asked their permission), happily knowing that the money was not going to end up in the pockets of the undeserving Met management.

Given the shitty Lebanese Wi-Fi and the fact that this was a livestream, I had been worried that I might miss significant chunks and get upset over the fact. The stream did glitch a few times for me during the first number (mainly because I had my computer on my constantly-moving knees, before settling it down next to me on the bed), but otherwise it never failed me.

But let’s get on with the review. The livestream began with a title card representing an animation of a lunar eclipse, displaying the title “Song to the Moon”. The concert started with a performance of Antonín Dvořák’s String Quintet No. 2 in G Major, Op. 77 by members of the Met orchestra. (actually, given that this is a Met musicians concert, I feel that they ought to be rightfully credited; Nancy Wu, 1st violin [for this piece], Bruno Eicher, 2nd violin [for this piece], Désirée Elsevier, viola, Kari Jane Docter, cello, and Leigh Mesh, double bass.)

I actually listened to a recording of this piece in preparation a few days prior, just so you guys know. Obviously, there were a few slightly flat notes that were played, but overall this was quite a pleasant rendition, and I still have the theme from the 2nd movement stuck in my head as I’m writing this. What I also liked was that at one point (i.e. when I was actually paying attention in that area) I could actually hear the notes being played by the double bass quite clearly, at least compared to the other recording that I had listened to.

Next on the program, the musicians were joined by soprano Angela Gheorghiu (i.e. my main reason for actually purchasing the ticket), who performed all the way from the Athenaeum of Bucharest, Romania, [1st instance of Raya uselessly gushing] looking ethereal in that shot that was shown of her just walking inside the building wearing that white dress and flowing cape, before the actual performance. Just a warning for you guys here; I love Gheorghiu (actually, it’s a bit of a celebrity “crush”), so please expect a little bit of somewhat controlled gushing here and there (partly physical appearance-wise, which are indicated by the bold, and which I deeply hate myself for). This part of the review is causing me even more anxiety for that reason.

She performed on the stage of a theater that was practically empty besides the pianist. She sang in two languages I do not understand at all, which helped me a bit with not getting too distracted by pronunciation. [2nd instance of Raya uselessly gushing] Before I get into what y’all actually came for, I just wanted to get it out of my system about how she had this appearance that defined “has aged, aged really well”. She had this kind of mature beauty, especially with her makeup, that seemed to give me the overall vibes of a pleasant middle-aged auntie. (well, this was very difficult embarrassing to write) Even her singing voice had this sound that can be described as having this sort of “mature” quality blended with the whole fact of her overall sound being “hers”. I hope I have made myself clear.

Okay, gushing finished for now, let’s move on with the review!

Apparently the footage taken in Bucharest and the one taken in New York were both filmed separately. I found it really mind-blowing how the audio of both got synchronized so perfectly.

The first gem Gheorghiu sang was an arrangement of “Tatăl nostru”; basically an early-19th-century musical setting of the Lord’s Prayer by Anton Pann that is still used to this day in the Romanian Orthodox Church (totally NOT reading off the PDF for the program notes provided on the website). I had obviously never heard this piece before; I had tried to (VERY lazily) look it up a bit, but to no avail. I unfortunately don’t remember much from this performance apart from everything mentioned before, but what I do know is that was rendered really epic thanks to the participation of principal Met percussionist Gregory Zuber alongside the string players.

Next was performed the aria after which the whole concert was named, the incredibly famous “Měsíčku na nebi hlubokém” (aka “Song to the Moon”) by Dvořák again, from the opera Rusalka. This version was actually arranged by the violist Elsevier, who is among the musicians who retired from the Met during the pandemic. And it was indeed a beautiful arrangement! Now, unlike “Tatăl nostru”, which I virtually knew nothing about, I love this aria and know it quite well, so I did pay attention to some of the pronunciation; but then again, I do not speak Czech, so it didn’t matter much. Overall, Gheorghiu’s rendition was not perfect (I thinnnnnnnnk there were some notes that were a little bit out of tune? but there was vibrato that also touched the right tone and so I couldn’t tell), and I would certainly not imagine it within the full context of Rusalka the opera (see what I noted above concerning the quality of her voice), but that did not stop me from finding it quite beautiful.

It felt so weird not to hear any applause after each number, and so I could not help but clap after each gem, even though no one could hear me.

After the concert wrapped up, the audience got to watch a chat session between Gheorghiu and Met horn player Barbara Jöstlein Currie, where they talked about how this whole thing came to be (so apparently there was Instagram DM’ing between the two that was involved in the preparation?), before the five string players (which actually include two married couples!) whose music we heard earlier joined in. So unlike the concert, which was all pre-recorded, this was a Zoom session being streamed live. [3rd instance of Raya uselessly gushing] Gheorghiu’s speaking voice sounds radically different from her singing voice, and I can tell English is not her primary language, but that’s just something useless I wanted to include, on which I have zero strong feelings. In contrast to the pre-recorded concert, here she was responsible for me writing in The Balcony Seats Discord server earlier today about how “you know you have aged well when you end up looking a bit like Morticia Addams”, especially with the makeup. [gushing done]

The whole discussion hinged on the concept of “Met family”, and I found the whole interaction between Gheorghiu and the musicians just very very sweet, a star singer and musicians in the pit seeing each other as equals, as family. It’s not every day that I see that (but then again, my background is severely limited, so what do I know). Among the relatively unimportant things the convo touched on that stick with me, in no particular order, are:

Gheorghiu apparently married on the stage of the Met because the guy from the City Hall lost their papers and I never knew that??? (but then again, I never directly research info about my hyperfixations because I get overwhelmed) Everyone had a nice laugh at that recollection.

She got into this whole profession mainly to sing at the Met. Also the whole deal of her making L*vine cry and making her debut at a young age for a star singer.

Everyone relating to the feeling of going home at night after a concert, and not being able to go to sleep because you still have adrenaline flowing through you. As someone who does performing arts, I also relate to that on a moderate degree.

Family life talks.

Gheorghiu mentioning how she can’t work with a director who’s like “your character does that because that’s what I decided” because something something harmony? I can’t remember; I’m pretty sure I’m misquoting. But that’s basically the equivalent of “my house, my rules” (”my production, my interpretation” in that case, lol) imo, so can’t object too much.

Something about playing the finale of Götterdämmerung led the musicians to humorously throw in the idea of Gheorghiu singing Brünnhilde as her next role, and she went all “nah” to that, also humorously.

This led to her admitting that she’s not the biggest fan of Wagner’s music (though she would consider singing Elsa); saying that she’d travel back in time to tell Wager to stop writing these interminable phrases, to just get to the point (I’m not really into Wagner either, so I don’t completely disagree). Also, she believes that Wagner is difficult to sing, and that singers who nail Wagner tend to end up singing only Wagner (here, I think it depends, but there is a point somewhere in here).

She doesn’t seem to like singing acapella/without music very much, which also led her to record some sAcRiLEgiOuS versions of Orthodox worship songs, which you’re apparently not supposed to sing with music.

She sang something like “goodnight, goodnight” (idk) at the very end, it was cute.

To go back to the important stuff, Gheorghiu apparently wrote directly to the Met donors, asking to help in any way, because she wanted to set an example for other people by doing the right thing, and to help what she sees as her “family”, as mentioned above. I had heard some stories about her diva reputation (and she does seem to enjoy attention and stuff, from what I’ve seen myself), but overall she seems like a pretty good person. Mainly mentioning that because as y’all know I’m autistic and can’t tell intricate body language and stuff, plus my very strong belief that good person >>>>>>> great performer. (but my dear friends say that loving her is valid, so I guess I’m safe from too much disappointment. what am I even writing).

And that’s it for my incredibly long and uselessly detailed and almost incoherent and somewhat gushy review, which took me nearly 3 hours to write (and for which I may or may not have replayed a little bit of the stream just to get one bit of info right), and which will, again, probably embarrass me for the rest of my puny life, but which I could not not let out into the void of operablr.

(There were also moments earlier today where I was fantasizing about being interviewed on that very Zoom meeting for the scene-and-duet I composed back in January in response to the Met’s poor treatment of its musicians)

I guess what I can take from this post is: never write a review again, Raya!

[elencelebrindal]

Honest Opinion - Perseus Algol

His name change isn’t too bad in Italy. Argor instead of Algol. That’s it. 

Also (since someone pointed out - not so politely - to me a lot of stuff I wrote in this series is wrong because “the manga doesn’t say that”), let’s reinforce what I’ve already said in previous entries: this series is anime-based, it has nothing to do with the manga, so every opinion is constructed around the characters in the animated series. Please, don’t send hate messages if you don’t know the entire story behind something. If this doesn’t clear how this series work, I will make a separate post to explain it better, but please don’t just attack people. There’s already enough going on in the world as of now, being rude only makes things worse. 

Overall score (character, not looks): 10/10

Can you tell from the score he’s one of my favorite Silver Saints? Because if you can’t, let me tell you: Perseus Algol is, and will always be, one of my favorites.  Why, if he has just a handful of screentime? Well, because three seconds of screentime is all I have for the majority of them, and I loved Algol more than anyone else. Sort of.  I just enjoy “villains” (yeah, he’s not a villain, he’s just a plain old bastard) with psycho and aggressive tendencies. Maybe I should start worrying about myself. This has gotten out of hand.

Anyway, Algol. A huge part of the reason why I love this Saint is the Medusa Shield. Medusa’s myth is among the ones I almost know from memory, and I quite enjoy all the representation given to that woman (especially by people who take into account Poseidon was the real bitch in the myth and not her). In short, Medusa and her petrifying ability have a place in my favorite myths and stories.  Let’s be real, Athena turned her into a “monster” as a gift for her to use as defense.

But I digress.  Algol is, quite honestly, the worst when it comes to what I deem the proper nature of a Saint. He’s cruel, more than Aphrodite I think (we all know everyone fears Aphrodite more than anyone just because he’s a Gold Saint, he’s not the only one able to be wicked), and he doesn’t care about other people’s lives.  It’s obvious and it’s shown to us during the series, when he goes against Aiolia and not only petrifies those kids running away, but also destroyed the statues. Permanently killing them in the process. 

Though, if he was just that, just a man lusting after blood, he would definitely not be a good character. Let alone a good Saint. Because Algol, from his malice, knows how to follow orders, and is a valuable warrior. As a Saint, he followed what he was supposed to do, with his personality not being mitigated thanks to an evil Pope. From what I believe, Algol might be an awful person, full of himself and merciless, but he’s also a faithful Saint.  It’s the course of events that mainly made him look bad; one thing is personality, and another is orders from above. 

I’m sure he would have followed “good” orders, he wouldn’t be a Saint if he wasn’t able to perform various tasks and not just be a killing machine. But he needed to kill the Bronze Saints, and he gave his all to fulfill that order.  To me, that’s a dedicated Saint. 

[Dub digression]

Hopefully efficient. Remember when I said that the Italian dub has some issues with characters’ voices? Well, this is one instance. Because Algol has two different voice actors in the classic series. If you ask me why, I cannot tell you. Maybe it was technical issues, maybe something else. The dub is pretty old, I would be way more surprised if they didn’t have some sort of problem with voicing tons of characters, some of them recurring only every once in a while.  I am obviously annoyed by the fact he has two different voices; objectively speaking, the voice actors were good, but noto good for him. In terms of quality, it was amazing. In terms of continuity and suitability, well... eh. Fail. I know this might have been caused by an inability to keep calling voice actors in, especially if you take into account how weird is Saint Seiya with characters appearing one episode for like five minutes, disappearing for half the series, and then suddenly coming back for longer scenes. 

These voice actors are Maurizio Scattorin (ep. 26-46) and Paolo Marchese (ep. 27). Funnily enough, the first is also a voice for Gemini Saga in the classic series, while the second voices his brother, Gemini Kanon. I don’t know why, but it makes me laugh.  Maurizio Scattorin is here --> Argor di Perseo pietrifica i tre fuggitivi Paolo Marchese is here --> Lo Scudo di Medusa

[End of the dub digression]

On top of that, he’s an incredibile fighter. Algol, despite his plot-driven defeat, actually showed the strength of a Silver Saint. He didn’t go down immediately against the Bronzes. Rather, he was the one on the winner’s side, making quick work of them.  He knows how to use his cosmo, how to properly manage his shield, and was stronger than his adversaries. 

What made him lose wasn’t weakness. He lost because, used to people not figuring out how to avoid being petrified, when Shiryu understood how win he panicked.  He clearly panicked, thus losing control of the situation, and Shiryu broke his shield before dealing the final blow. Had he not fell into his own confusion and fear, Algol would have won. On a logical examination of the fight, at least; he would have still lost thanks to the plot, but that’s entirely a different reason. 

Also, he’s clever. There is a reason why he destroys the statues left behind during his fights; to avoid those people coming back for his head, should the shield end up broken.  This instance is only showed once in the series, but it’s pretty obvious it’s something he does, at least in my opinion. 

I’m mad this character didn’t get more than a couple scenes. Maybe more than any other Silver Saints, he deserved better. 

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Gray Out

Switch AU

Another entry in the thrilling saga of the AU I never meant to make. An important one, too! Because so far all the boys have separate bits and pieces of the story, but they need to put them together. Also there’s some stuff with Jackie’s family in the beginning because we haven’t seen too much of them but I think they’re neat. ^-^ Enjoy!

More of this AU found here

Weekday mornings were always a bit of a rush for Jackie. But at least it was the same routine most days. Wake up, get ready, make breakfast for Michelle, help her get ready, drive her to school, come back home to make sure he had everything for work, and then drive to work. Some days his shift started later, some days Michelle had to be early for a field trip, but the routine varied very little. In all honesty, Jackie kind of liked it that way. Which might be why he ignored the first phone call, rationing it away as probably being a spam number. But by the third call, it was obvious it wasn’t just spam.

After making sure Michelle was munching happily on her toast for breakfast, Jackie finally picked up the phone to check the ID, and was immediately overwhelmed by an emotion that was combination annoyance, exasperation, and a little worry. “You ever notice how you’re the one who always calls people?” He commented upon answering the phone. “Why don’t people ever call you?”

“What?” Schneep was clearly not expecting that answer. “Never mind. Jackie, we need to talk.”

Jackie glanced over toward the dining room table where Michelle was sitting. “Well, make this quick, I have to take Michelle to school.”

“No, I mean in person. And I mean we all need to talk.”

Jackie blinked. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

“You, me, Anti, and JJ and Marvin,” Schneep clarified. “It’s very important. Can you meet up with us soon?”

“I—I just told you I need to take my daughter to school. And then after that I work until two today.”

“We can do it in the evening.”

“Henrik,” Jackie sighed. “You work this evening, remember? You said you traded your shift yesterday for one today.”

“Fuck, I forgot.”

“You forgot...about your job.”

“To be fair, last night was eventful,” Schneep said defensively.

“Did. Did you go to sleep at all last night?” Jackie thought he already knew the answer, so he continued anyway. “Dude. Take a nap or something before you work. Even if you don’t fall asleep and instead just lie there, it’ll do you good.”

“Ah, whatever, whatever,” Schneep said dismissively. “So we have to meet tomorrow. Do you work then, too?”

“Yeah, until two again.”

On the other side of the line, Schneep’s voice became momentarily muffled like he was covering the receiver with his hand and talking to someone else. Jackie waited patiently, tapping his fingers against the dining room table with a satisfying clacking pattern.

“Daaaad!” Michelle called, even though she was just on the other side of the table. “I finished.”

Jackie glanced over. “You have to eat the crusts, Michelle.”

“Awwwww!” Michelle set her head on the table and groaned. “Ren lets me skip the crusts.”

“Well, you can skip then when I’m not here, then.” Jackie smiled a bit. “But I hear bread crusts make your hair curly.”

Michelle’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“It’s what I hear.”

Michelle looked down at the bread crusts on her plate and began shoving them in her mouth.

“Hey slow down, you might choke!” Jackie warned.

“What?” Schneep’s voice on the phone returned.

“No, I’m talking to Michelle, Schneep, not you,” Jackie said.

“Ah, I see. Anyway, we are now planning to meet at my apartment tomorrow at four. Would that work?”

“Well, that depends. What’s this even about?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Schneep laughed nervously. “It...remember the window incident a while ago?”

“How could I forget?” Jackie shivered internally. He still couldn’t quite believed that happened.

“Yes, well. It is about that. The creature that did that...it...all the rest of us have seen it too. And we need to talk about it.”

Jackie went suddenly cold, as if a bucket of ice water had been dunked over his head. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you then.” And then he hung up. He stared blankly at the phone for a bit longer.

“Dad?” Michelle asked. “Are you okay? You lost all your color.”

Jackie shook his head. He smiled at his daughter. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you finished?”

“Mm-hmm.” Michelle played with the ends of her hair. “Is it curly now?”

“Well, it doesn’t work instantly, but I think it is a little wavier. Now come on.” Jackie walked over to stand next to her while she hopped off the chair. “Let’s finish up and get you to school.”

——————— 

Jackie couldn’t concentrate the rest of the day. His work at the hospital slipped up enough for his coworkers to notice something was wrong, but he denied anything, just saying he was tired. If any of them noticed he was avoiding the second floor, they didn’t say anything. He’d never told them he nearly got pulled out a window. Because honestly, if one of them told him that a strange creature nearly killed him and that they couldn’t even really remember what the creature looked like, he would probably recommend they see a therapist.

He got off work at two like usual, then just as usual he drove over to the school to pick up Michelle at two-thirty. Upon coming home, he immediately excused himself to his room, where he lied down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

A few minutes later, the door to the bedroom burst open. “Jackie if I wanted to stab someone in the stomach area how quickly would they have to be rescued?!”

Jackie burst out laughing; he couldn’t help it. A question like that would be suspect, if it wasn’t coming from Rama, who was a crime fiction writer and also Jackie’s spouse. “Hi to you too. I’m home.”

“Yep, I heard you and Michelle come in.” Rama walked over and sat down on the mattress next to Jackie. Their black shoulder-length hair was tucked under their red beanie, and Jackie noticed they were wearing one of their favorite shirts: it had a picture of Shakespeare with sunglasses on with the caption ‘It’s hard to be the Bard.’ “Soooo?” They poked his arm. “Stomach stab wound?”

“Well I mean, it depends on where it happened and how deep it was. There are, like, organs in your torso.”

“Oh I didn’t think of that. Uhhh...it’s like, this-ish area I guess?” Rama made a circle with their fingers around a spot a little bit left of their belly button. “And pretty deep, I dunno, a switchblade went all the way in there.”

“Uh, okay, there aren’t any organs that are too dangerous to hit there. But if it’s a switchblade going all the way in...” Jackie scrunched his eyes closed as he thought. “That’s probably still going to puncture something, not to mention the blood loss. Maybe between one to three hours?” If Jackie was being honest, he was partially drawing on experience of having to patch up Schneep’s wounds after a fight, which happened way too often.

“Alright, that’s enough time,” Rama nodded.

“Are you going to stab Alice again?” Jackie asked, referencing the main character of Rama’s short stories.

“No, I’m stabbing her brother.”

“Noooooo!” Jackie whined. “You put him in danger too much, give him a break!”

Rama grinned. “Neverrr!” Their grin faded when Jackie only smiled lightly, and proceeded to drop the subject. “Hey. You okay, Jackieboy?” they asked.

“...I don’t know,” Jackie admitted. “I feel a bit...I don’t know.”

Rama stood up, walked over to the dresser, picked something up, then returned to their spot on the bed, handing the item to Jackie. It was a black-and-red fidget cube. Jackie took it and began idly pressing the buttons. “You have any idea what could be causing that?” Rama asked.

He did have an idea. Because he kept thinking about the window incident, and every thought tied to it was accompanied by a worm of anxiety in his stomach. “...yeah,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.

“Hmm.” Rama pursed their lips. “Well, you don’t have to talk about it. Anything I can do to help?”

Jackie shrugged awkwardly, still lying down. He traced the patterns in the ceiling with his eyes.

“How about we watch a movie? I’m gonna get my laptop, we’re gonna power it up, and find something that can distract you.”

“...yeah, that sounds good.”

The rest of the night was spent curled up on the bed watching Disney animated movies on Netflix. Michelle joined at one point, squeezing in between her two parents. And Jackie started to feel better, surrounded by his family. When night fell, it wasn’t too hard to fall asleep.

———————

And then the next morning dawned and it started again as he had to go through another shift at the hospital where he had to suffer through repeated instances of anxious thoughts assaulting him. What even was that creature? What did it want with him and the others? Was it going to kill them? Why were so many details about it fuzzy? Did it somehow affect your mind? That prospect caused Jackie to shudder every time he imagined it.

When four o’clock finally rolled around, Jackie had managed to calm down again. They were lacking in information, but if they all pooled their knowledge, they had to come up with something. They had to. Didn’t they?

Jackie texted Schneep when he was outside the front door of the apartment building. About a minute later, Schneep opened the door. “Jackie!” He brightened. “Come in, come in, you are the last to arrive, we were waiting for you.”

“Well, thanks for waiting, then,” Jackie smiled. He followed Schneep down the hall and up a single flight of stairs to the second floor. He’d been here many times before, to the point where he didn’t even have to look at the apartment numbers to know which one was Schneep’s.

The layout of the apartment was familiar as well. It was a simple studio apartment, with an attached bathroom and a single wall separating the sleeping area from the rest of the apartment. A corner of the floor was taken up with a kitchenette, while the rest was a combination living/working/dining area. There was a section for the dining table and chairs. There was a section taken up with a couch, two chairs, a coffee table, and a TV. And there was a desk with a computer shoved against a wall, next to a bunch of shelves overflowing with various stuff. Other than the shelves, everything in the apartment was very neat and clean, modern-style furniture in shades of blue. There were also a couple potted plants that Jackie knew from experience not to touch unless he wanted Schneep to freak out on him.

Currently, the other three of the group were scattered about the apartment. Anti was sprawled on the couch, eyes closed and probably half-asleep. JJ was looking about the kitchen section, opening cabinets, though he looked embarrassed about it when Schneep and Jackie appeared. Marvin was sitting in the desk chair, playing with the computer but honestly looking like he had no idea what he was doing.

“Alright, everyone is here!” Schneep said. He was trying to sound enthusiastic, but it fell flat. “Now we can start.”

“Well, where do we start?” Jackie asked, sitting down in the nearest chair, not relaxing.

JJ approached the living area, choosing to sit in the other chair. “Well, I guess we should put all our cards on the table. We don’t know much about whatever this...person is, but I bet that if we shared all our encounters, we’re bound to figure something out.”

Anti opened his eyes. “Well, then I think you and Marvin should go first. You saw him first, right?”

“You did?” Jackie asked, surprised. “When was this?”

“Oh. Well, you remember that night I texted you because Marvin was acting strange and wandered off?” JJ looked over at Marvin, who remained silent, over by the desk.

“Yeah?”

JJ kept looking at Marvin, raising an eyebrow. But when Marvin didn’t say anything, he sighed and stopped. “Well, most of what I told you was true. Marvin did disappear, and I did find him in an entirely different part of town. And everything that you said might be dissociation, that happened too, but—”

“I’m still not quite sure what happen’d,” Marvin said suddenly. “I t’ink at some point I...I’m not sure, but...I remember seeing a man dressed in gray, whose eyes were bleedin’.” He looked down, as if worried they might not believe him.

Jackie cleared his throat. “I know who—or what—you’re talking about. I saw it, not too long after you.”

As the minutes passed, the pieces were puzzled together. Marvin and JJ’s unplanned walk that night, Jackie’s encounter at the window, and Anti’s recent stint of nightmares and sleepwalking.

“I’ve been running into this...person,” Schneep said. At some point, he’d moved to sit on the couch, forcibly pushing Anti’s legs out of the way. “Not very often, perhaps once a week, but it has occurred enough. He has tried to kill me.”

“What? Does he, like, stab you or something?” Anti asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no.” Schneep shook his head. “It is...really whatever is available. The first time I saw him, we were in a construction site, I almost got impaled on that steel rebar. Then again, we were on a high building, and he tricked me into stepping off. I was lucky no bones were broken.”

Jackie furrowed his brow. “Wait, was that the night you broke into my house looking like you’d been hit by a car?”

“Ah...no?” Schneep said unconvincingly.

“How do you just step off a building?” Anti mumble-asked.

“Well, I did not know the edge of the building was so close!” Schneep snapped. He folded his arms. “It was like a hallucination, an illusion. It looked like I was in the middle of the roof, but I was on the edge, and I did not know.”

“So, this thing can create illusions, hypnotize people, and give them nightmares that make them try to kill themselves,” JJ summarized. “And he doesn’t seem to get hurt, if he can fall out a second story window and walk away.”

“It’s like a brain demon,” Jackie said, playing with his hoodie strings.

“Yeah, it messes with your mind,” Anti agreed. “But here’s the thing I’m wondering: can I stab it?”

“Anti!” Jackie gasped. “Is this the time?” Meanwhile, Schneep sighed.

“No, really, this is relevant. Because how the fuck are we supposed to get rid of it?” Anti scowled. “If it falls out a window and skips off afterward, how do we kill it?”

“Maybe we don’t need to,” JJ said. “Maybe we can ward it off, somehow.”

“What, with like garlic or something?”

“Maybe, we don’t know,” JJ shrugged. “I’ve never heard of a creature like this, but there has to be some sort of records of something like it. If not, I could probably set up some sort of protection spells.”

Anti blinked. “Oh yeah, I forgot you could do that.”

“It’s fine, to be fair you did only find out yesterday,” JJ smiled.

“But can you even set up protection from this thing?” Jackie said, looking down at his lap and pulling his fingers. “What if it just slips through your defenses? If it can make illusions, what if it can make you think you set something up, but you didn’t?”

“Well, there has to be a way to double-check,” Schneep said casually.

“And besides, wouldn’t we, like, see him nearby whenever he showed up to trick us?” Anti asked. “So we could like, stab on sight. Arm ourselves, you can all borrow my knives.”

Marvin, who’d been mostly silent this whole conversation, suddenly spoke up. “T’is might sound strange, but bear with me for a moment.” He waited until he was sure the others were paying attention before continuing. “T’is...t’ing t’at’s been following us...what color is his hair?”

Anti rolled his eyes. “What does this have to do with—”

“Answer. The question.” The others had never seen Marvin so serious.

Jackie responded first. “Well, okay, it’s...” He blinked. “It’s...” He frowned, scrunching his eyes closed as he tried to picture the gray man in his mind. “...I...don’t remember.” He could clearly see the man in his mind, yet somehow...that detail was not part of the image. Jackie opened his eyes. “Volt? What about you?”

Schneep crossed his arms, brows furrowing. Gradually, his look of concentration turned to one of discomfort. “I-I do not know. I do not know, how is that possible?”

“Alrigh’,” Marvin stood up, walking from the desk to the living area with the others. “How about how tall he is? Does anyone r’member how tall he is?”

“He’s...” Jackie trailed off. Anti stood up straight, making gestures with his hand like he was measuring someone’s height. Jameson shook his head, baffled. Schneep made an odd choking sound and covered his mouth, eyes wide.

“No, we don’,” Marvin said. “None of us know anyt’ing about what he looks like. Oh, sure, we got the monstrous swathes of it, but we cannae r’member the details. Now, Jackie.” Marvin turned to look at him. “How did t’is man get into your hospital, looking as odd as he does, and have no one even mention it?”

“That...I don’t know,” Jackie said slowly.

“Exactly!” Marvin threw his hand in the air.

“Wait, Marvin, are you saying that this...sort of illusion-casting this person can do,” JJ asked, “could possibly mean he can...make it seem like he’s not there at all? Like, maybe like the Silence from Doctor Who?”

Marvin frowned. “I don’ know what t’at is.”

“Oh. Right. That’s on me, remind me to show you that some time.” JJ laughed nervously. “Anyway, the Silence are...well, they’re sort of supernatural creatures that make it so that, while you’re looking directly at them, you know they’re there and what they are. But when you look away, you forget all about them.”

“Ah. T’en yes, t’ats what I’m tryin’ t’say. He migh’ be able to do somet’ing to t’at effect.”

Schneep visibly paled. “Well, what would we do in that situation? If that was true, then...mein Gott, then he could be anywhere. And we would not even know.”

“But...that doesn’t mean it would be anywhere, right?” Anti’s eyes darted back and forth between the others’ faces.

Everyone was silent.

And then they heard the laughing.

Everyone who’d been sitting down shot to their feet. Anti reached into his jacket and pulled out a handgun. Schneep leapt into a defensive stance, hands half-raised in front of him. Jameson’s eyes changed color to a brighter blue than usual.

“Lock the doors and close the blinds, we’re going for a ride!”

“What the fuck?!” Jackie was the first to see him, and practically tripped over himself in an effort to put the chair between himself and the gray man—who was just casually sitting on top of the dining table, one leg folded over the other, as if it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

Schneep stepped forward. “How did you get into my apartment?” he demanded.

“You mean you didn’t notice?” The man pressed a hand to his chest as if he was offended. The attempt at expression was ruined by the grin on his face. “I was right behind you the entire time, Zaps.”

“Jesus,” Marvin muttered, inching closer to the rest of the group.

“Yeah, okay, that’s nice to hear,” Anti growled. “But you know what? I don’t care. You are going to get out of here or there’s going to suddenly be a new hole in your head.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I beat you to the punch there.” Even though the smile never wavered, the man’s tone suddenly became a lot colder. “So your threats are poor excuses for threats, just like how you’re a poor excuse of a person. Works out perfectly, you know?”

Anti took a step back. For a moment, true hurt flashed across his face.

“You have no right to say such things!” Jameson suddenly shouted. “Not when you are just as poor. You’re not even human, why do you have such authority to speak on others? And why should we listen to a distorter of minds?”

The man sat up straight. “A distorter of minds? I love it, I’m going to use that from now on.”

“Good try, Jems, but don’t encourage him,” Marvin hissed.

“Aw, I’m hurt, Marvin!” The man—Distorter—seemed to smile wider at the way Marvin jumped when he said his name. “I wouldn’t expect such dismissive words from you!”

“Wh—” Marvin visibly flinched, stepping back. “What do you...?”

“Oh well. Guess nothing lasts forever. Unless you make it.” Distorter stood up. He raised one blackened hand and snapped his fingers, tilting his head to the side. “Smile for me.”

Something clattered to the floor. Everyone sharply turned to look over at Marvin—Marvin, who had dropped his cane. He’d suddenly gone limp, posture slacking and a blank expression on his face. His eyes were empty.

“That’s better.”

“Marvin?” Jameson was by his side before he even knew it, shaking him gently, trying to get a response. To no avail. “Marvin, wh...what...?”

“What...what did you do?!” Jackie was emboldened by the sight of his friend in distress, forgetting all previous fears about Distorter’s unnatural powers. He rushed to Marvin’s side as well, immediately jumping into assessment mode.

“He’s fine,” Distorter dismissed. “If anything, this is better. You don’t have to worry about anything if you can’t feel anything.”

“Okay, that is it.” Schneep’s expression was more than stormy—it was outright thunderous. He quickly closed the distance between him and Distorter and grabbed the gray man by the shirt. “I am getting you out of here if you will not leave yourself.”

Distorter seemed untroubled by being grabbed, though maybe that was just his unchanging smile. “Oh, come on.” He wrapped a hand around Schneep’s wrist, nails digging into skin. “The fun part’s just about to start.”

Everyone tensed. Jameson and Jackie were momentarily distracted by the statement, looking away from Marvin for just a moment. Anti did the opposite: he happened to glance toward Marvin at the exact time the other two looked away. And because of that, he saw when Marvin stiffened, a flash of something—something not exactly friendly—entering his eyes. “Watch out!” Anti cried, suddenly lunging across the room.

The following sequence of events happened very quickly. Marvin bent over, grabbing his cane from where it had fallen to the floor. At the same time, Schneep shrieked and stumbled back, the sleeve of his shirt now shredded as long slices leaked blood through the fabric. Distorter laughed, the nails of his hand dripping red. Immediately after, Marvin stood up and swung his cane until the topper connected solidly with the side of Jameson’s head, who cried out and staggered backwards, falling against the nearest chair. Marvin wound up for another swing at Jackie, but Anti arrived just in time, grabbing the cane and attempting to wrench it out of Marvin’s hands.

Marvin’s head whipped toward Anti. His eyes were unusually wide, and thin streams of blood began to drip from them. He hissed, and instead of trying to pull the cane back toward him, pushed with a surprising amount of force. Anti was shocked enough at the movement to lose his footing, and next thing he knew his head hit the ground and he was lying on the floor. Marvin pressed his advantage—quite literally. He knelt on the floor and began pushing the cane down on Anti’s throat, the length immediately cutting off air supply. Anti made a choked sort of gasp, and tried to push the cane away, but Marvin showed no sign of letting up.

“No!” Jackie sprung into action, grabbing Marvin around the torso and trying to pull him away. Marvin resisted, continuing to press down, but Jackie wasn’t about to give up, and was slowly winning.

Jameson climbed to his feet, pressing a hand to his head where the topper had hit it. There was a bit of warm liquid soaking his hair, but this wasn’t the time to focus on that. He was about to help Jackie, when he heard a cry of pain. He spun around to see Schneep on the floor in the dining area, scrambling backwards and clutching his bleeding arm. He looked unhurt apart from that arm injury, but his head was turning wildly on a swivel, seeming to latch onto things that weren’t there at all. Distorter approached him slowly, his grin wider than ever.

“Oh no you don’t,” Jameson muttered to himself. He cupped his hand and let the magic flow down his arm, until he was holding a handful of swimming blue light. He tossed the light, and it scattered into droplets. The drops arced across the room until they hit Distorter, each drop making a surprisingly solid impact that made him reel back, until he was finally knocked over. Jameson ran to Schneep as soon as Distorter was out of the way, murmuring vague reassurances as he patted him down for further sign of injuries.

Schneep shook his head like he was clearing it of ghosts. “What..?” He blinked several times, looking around.

Distorter stood up in one single motion, flicking away remaining drops of blue magic. “And here I thought you might be alright, magic man.”

Jameson threw an arm in front of Schneep, shielding him. “To you? No, I’m afraid not while you’re trying to kill my friends.”

“Who said I was going to kill all of them?” Distorter spread his arms. “What would that do for me, hmm?”

Jameson’s hand curled into a fist, streams of magic responding to the motion. “Then what do you want?”

For a moment, Distorter’s smile shrank. “I just want companionship. Friends. Well, and to get rid of anyone who’s going to stop me from getting that. Which, unfortunately, includes some of your—”

Bang!

Distorter staggered back, looking down at the sudden red staining his shirt, the vivid crimson standing out against the gray. Jameson blinked, then looked over to were the other three had been scuffling in the living area. Jackie had his arms wrapped tight around Marvin, who was squirming and struggling to get free. Anti was half-standing, half-kneeling, his hand extended and pointing his handgun directly at Distorter. “There’s more where that came from,” he said.

Distorter stared at him. And then he began laughing again. “Weren’t you paying attention earlier?! I told you that wouldn’t do anything! Or did you not bother to check?” His head turned to the side, farther than it should’ve been able to, with a crack. Everyone in the room was able to see that which none of them had, somehow, never noticed before. A neat hole in the side of Distorter’s head, going all the way through and dripping thick red blood.

Everyone stared; they couldn’t help it. It was like a car wreck. Some things you just couldn’t tear your eyes from, no matter how gruesome it was. “...how?” Jackie finally whispered.

“You can’t kill what’s already dead.” Distorter chuckled. “But I’ll give you points for trying.This has been fun, hasn’t it? Hasn’t this been fun? I can’t wait until next time.”

None of them could say what happened next. All they knew was that one moment Distorter was there, the next their heads were filled with fuzz, and he was gone.

Anti was the first to recover. “What...was that?” He scrambled to his feet. “Where did he go?!”

“That...really happened, yes?” Schneep asked.

“Yes, it did,” JJ said, nodding. “I’m not sure where he—”

A scream. Marvin pushed Jackie away, practically falling over himself in trying to get away. He ended up crawling over to the nearest chair and pressing his back to it, wiping at the trails of blood on his face and breathing quickly.

“Marvin!” JJ grabbed Schneep by the hand and pulled him to his feet before running over to where Marvin was and kneeling next to him. “Are you okay?”

“No! What? No, what? T'at wasn’—no!” Marvin was pulling at his hair with one hand, while using the other to grab for his cane. He was shaking his head.

“Hey, I know it’s a lot, but it’s going to be okay,” JJ said in a gentle voice. “Do you need anything right now? Anything I can get you?”

A strange sort of half-whimper half-yell escaped Marvin’s throat. He was holding the cane close to his body, running his fingers along the designs in the topper. “I-I dunna—I dunnae. I-I dun...t’at didn’ feel...good.”

Jackie had appeared at one point, leaning over JJ’s shoulder. He pursed his lips. “Hang on a second, let me try...” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small black cube with various attachments in red. He handed it to Marvin. “Here, just look at the for a bit, okay?”

Marvin seemed doubtful, but he took it anyway. Within only a few moments he was engrossed in the various parts of the cube. He seemed to especially like the switches and the rolling ball. JJ looked at Jackie and gave him a smile, which Jackie returned before standing up to go look at Schneep’s injured arm.

———————

It took a few minutes, but eventually they all settled down. They were all back in the living area, with Jackie and Schneep on the couch, Anti in one of the chairs and Marvin in the other, JJ standing nearby Marvin’s chair. Jackie had found Schneep’s first aid kit in one of the kitchen cabinets, and managed to bandage up the cuts on Schneep’s arm.

“I’m going to say it: I’m super paranoid that he’s just...somewhere.” Anti looked around the apartment.

“I think he left,” JJ said. “Otherwise why would he make that comment about ‘next time’?”

Anti nodded. “Good point. Still...maybe he’s always there. Always watching.”

“Please don’,” Marvin muttered. JJ and Jackie glared at Anti.

Schneep cleared his throat. “Marvin...are you ready to talk about...what that was back there?”

“I-I don’ know what it was,” Marvin said simply. “It was just...t'ere was not’ing. Just a daze. But also, t’ere was...I-I don’ know. An...urge...to do certain t’ings. An I know it was coming from him.”

“Mind control?” Jackie asked. He looked at JJ. ��Is that possible?”

“Um...” JJ folded his arms. “I know that there are spells out there that can do that. And strange creatures that can influence your thoughts. But I’ve never even heard of something like...him.”

“Um, Marvin?” Anti asked tentatively. “Is it okay to ask how you know that...thing?”

Marvin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’ know how I know him. I just know he’s familiar. I don’ r’member much, and I know less. I don’t even know how I got to now—to here!”

Schneep blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say—”

“Not!...now,” Marvin interrupted, opening his eyes. “I’ll explain it to you t’ree anot’er time, righ’ now it’s...too many t’ings.”

Jackie nodded. He looked around the room quickly. Everyone was tense, uneasy, and/or upset. “Well!” He clapped his hands. “I think that’s too many things for all of us today. We need to do something to calm down.”

They all looked at him in surprise. But none of them disagreed. Or, well, Anti did, but he just liked to disagree. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t you need to get home soon?”

“Rama and Michelle could do with some time together,” Jackie shrugged. “Why? Are you worried about Will?”

“I mean, I paid the sitter for the whole afternoon because I didn’t know how long this would take, so I guess I could technically stay a bit longer?”

“Good. So we’re going to do that.” Jackie stood up and walked over to the TV. He began rummaging through the cabinet under it. “Trust me, sometimes you just need a distraction. And I think we all need one right now. I don’t know what kind of movies people like, so you’re going to have to tell me so we can pick something everyone likes.”

It’s surprising how quickly a mood can change.

It’s surprising, sometimes, how easy it is to bounce back to reality after being in a grayed-out zone for a while.

Maybe all it really takes are five friends laughing and shouting so loud that you can’t really hear to movie, until someone makes popcorn and someone else takes out the spare blankets, and eventually everything seems right again.

[howtohero]

#239 Spooky Skeletons

October, specifically the period of time around Halloween is a time where the many spooky spirits and monsters who populate the world become more powerful, and therefore more active. Superheroes will find themselves responding to more hauntings, werewolf attacks and break-outs at the Egyptian exhibit at the local museum than they usually do. Even regular well-to-do monsters will find themselves to be much stronger and more active than they usually are. For monsters, Halloween is like New Years in that they all decide it’s time to get really fit or that they can take on more hobbies. Anyway, I digress, today we’re going to talk about a very specific type of spooky creature that find this time of year very auspicious for them. Today we’re going to talk about spooky skeletons.

The thing about spooky skeletons is that they are literally everywhere. Each and every one of us, even you my dear reader, has the potential to become a spooky skeleton inside of you. All you have to do is believe (and decompose). If you look inside yourself, if you truly take a moment to self-reflect, I’m sure you’ll find that you’ve got some spooky skeleton in you right this very moment. Spooky skeletons are different from other undead spirits, like ghosts or shades, because they are fully physical creatures. Spooky skeletons can run through the streets, they can dance, they can jive, they can play on their own ribcages like xylophones. They are completely separated from the soul that once inhabited them. This means that, for all intents and purposes, they will often have very little to do with the person they were when they were alive. These animated bones will be free to follow their own path in unlife, and that’s beautiful. They also do not have brains. So they are very very stupid.

Now I know what you’re going to ask, because you’ve been vocalizing your thoughts out loud, and it’s very distracting: How can a loose collection of bones do anything. Well, they’d probably say the same thing about you, so how about you shut up. But if you must know, spooky skeletons are in possession of a special and specific kind of magic that we here at How To Hero Inc. have dubbed “spooky skeleton magic” because it was late in the day when we got up to naming this kind of magic, and we wanted to go home. Spooky skeleton magic is literally just the force that holds these skeletons together and allows them not only to walk and talk, (and chug milk by the gallon in a misguided attempt to make themselves stronger) but also to detach parts of themselves without feeling any kind of pain. This magic does have its limits though, for example, it does not give these spooky skeletons the ability to think critically at all. You will often find spooky skeletons just stumbling around, asking children to pull their fingers and then laughing maniacally when said finger pops off. Which, sure, is objectively hilarious, but it isn’t exactly a productive use of their time.

Though these creatures are usually just around to have a good time and be wily and whimsical, there are a few instances where you actually need to watch out for them. The first time is the annual skeleton war, in which all of the spooky skeletons around the world spend a couple of days in October hacking at each other with cobbled together, and poorly constructed, weapons. (I’m talking like a squirrel taped to a stick or a foam finger with forks stuck through it. Again, they do not have any brains.) While superheroes need not interfere in these battles, as the skeletons are skeletons and thus, cannot die, (It is hard to skewer someone with a spear when they’re 75% empty space and completely devoid of any vital organs.) you should try to make sure that the skeletons remember to fight one another and not living people. People can still be hurt by water bottle slingshots or marker swords and skeletons are too stupid to know the difference between a dead skeleton and a live one wearing a skin suit. They are also too dumb to secure the proper permits to reserve private venues for their skeleton wars. So you either need to cordon off the skeleton war to a relatively empty space, (which you should have no problem since you often need to redirect supervillains or monsters to empty spaces and thus are aware of several that can be used as a skeletal battle ground!) or rent out a park or a wedding hall or something where they can battle in peace.

The second instance when you need to be wary of spooky skeletons is when they’re being controlled by some nefarious figure for villainous purposes. Since spooky skeletons are technically magical creatures, and just the dumbest beings in the known universe, (I once lived with a spooky skeleton named Skullk and I once woke up in the middle of the night to find him making a stew made from turnips, a salt shaker and an entire throw pillow. He was making enough for both of us which I guess was very considerate of him but let me tell you, that stew would have tasted much better if there had at least been salt in the salt shaker.) they are very easily to manipulate by dark mages or demons or other evil occult forces. When under the control of someone with a working brain, spooky skeletons can actually prove to be formidable foes. They’re usually given real weapons for one thing, and they are no longer easily distracted by their own reflections. When fighting a spooky skeleton it is wise to aim your attacks at their joints. If you can cause them to fall apart, and then separate their limbs before they can reform, you’re good to go. Just remember that spooky skeleton magic causes all of their body parts to become animated, bones don’t need to be attached to the skull in order to attack you. So don’t leave fingers attached to hands (they can choke you to death) or hands attached to arms (skeleton hands can be surprisingly ambulatory). Really dismember those guys until you can break the control or spell that they’ve been placed under. Once the real threat has been taken care of, you should reassemble the spooky skeletons and let them go on living their lives, playing limbo, desperately trying to get to the moon, and sitting at chairs in the barber shop because they don’t understand what barber shops are for. 

Spooky skeletons are a natural part of life, and there is no need to fear them. These fun loving bone piles are just trying to have a good time and occasionally hack at each other with ducks or three whisks taped together or anything else they can get their hands on. So go out today and befriend a spooky skeleton, just make sure they’re actually skeletons and not just a people with face tattoos of skulls. Those guys are definitely evil.

[rrrawrf-writes]

closet pt ii

this one’s for @lux-scriptum​, i hope u had a good sleep~

part one || part two || part three

tw: minor violence, threatening, claustrophobia, cursing

Forty-eight hours.

Winn shivered, running his hands down his bare arms. The female guard stayed sitting on the stairs across the room, not even looking up from her phone.

Shivering again, Winn anxiously paced the limits of the closet. He mentally tracked Rembrandt as the man went upstairs - and kept going up. Winn ground his teeth together, looking towards the doorframe. If he -

But Rembrandt stopped at the door to the room Rhiannon was in, and stayed there for only a few moments, next to whoever was watching Winn’s girlfriend. She crossed the room to the, both, and Winn tensed - but then, a moment later, Rembrandt turned away.

Winn let out a hiss, but he didn’t relax until Rembrandt had walked out of the building, down the street, into some kind of car, and drove away, finally leaving the uppermost radius of Winn’s powers.

Dropping to the floor, Winn let out a shaky breath, curling his knees up to his chest. He could do this. He had to. Forty-eight hours wasn’t very long. He had enough room to lay out. Winn needed to catch up on his sleep anyway, and his neighbor would watchi his animals.

He had to do this. He had to, for Rhiannon.

--

Winn didn’t get very much sleep at all. There was no door to close him in, and he couldn’t decide if that made his situation better or worse. He’d physically never been able to leave his cell at the PCC, not unless it was at the whims of the guards, but all that kept him in this prison was the knowledge that leaving would put Rhiannon in danger.

There were no windows in the basement; the only exit was the stairs. Winn tried to keep track of the time, but after the second instance he startled awake from a doze, his heart pounding, he had no idea how long he’d been stuck in the closet.

He blinked, and dragged a hand through his hair. What had woken him up -

Rhiannon. She’d left her room. Gone to a smaller one - but by the time he managed to gather up and refocus his power more accurately, she was walking back from the smaller one. The toilet, he realized. She’d only gone to use the toilet.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, until stars bloomed behind his eyelids. “Hey.”

The woman - now more comfortable in a folding chair at a card table - didn’t look up from her book. Winn pushed up to his feet. “Hey,” he repeated.

She just scowled more intently at her book. Winn rubbed the side of his face. Had it gotten colder? “Hey, I gotta take a piss.”

She grunted. “Go ahead.”

The closest bathroom was upstairs. Winn toed the line separating the closet from the rest of the basement. “So I can go up?”

Finally, she looked up at him. Her sharp gaze made Winn take a step back from the open doorway. “I didn’t say that.”

Winn scoffed. “So, what, am I s’posed to piss myself?”

Shrugging, the woman went back to her reading. “If that’s what you gotta do.”

Winn fidgeted, looking around the closet. This was stupid. “Look, I’ll put myself right back in here -” “You step one toe outside of that closet, your girlfriend gets shot in the head.”

Winn froze. His thoughts darted right back to Rhiannon, four stories up, and now back on her bed. With her guard right next door, and armed.

Scowling, Winn slumped against the wall. “You got a bottle, or something?”

“Shoulda thought of that yourself,” the female guard drawled, flipping a page in her book.

Winn stared at her. “Fuckin’ prison was better than this.”

“Why didn’t you stay behind bars, then, if you liked it so much?”

Winn had known the newcomer was coming downstairs, but his stomach sank at the familiar voice. He tensed as he recognized Jonas Huntington, an oversized lackey of Rembrandt’s that Winn really hoped had died by now.

He licked his lips nervously. Jonas’ favorite hobby was kicking people when they were down.

“Missed that ugly face of yours,” Winn said. “Needed to see something to remind me my life’s not completely horrid.”

Jonas sneered at him. Scoffing in disgust, he turned to the woman. “You can go home.”

“What time is it?” Winn asked. No one answered him.

“Thanks, Huntington, but I gotta wait for my ride,” the woman said. Jonas shrugged and went to the wall, grabbing a second metal folding chair from where it had been propped up against the cement. He undid the button on his sleek black suit jacket before he sat.

Winn waited for him to get comfortable before he spoke up again. “You really still doing the grunt work for that bastard?”

“Shut up, Vinn.”

“Winn. Still can’t even get my name right.” Sticking his hands in his pockets, Winn tried to ignore how cold he was and eyed Jonas. “Look at you, wearing the same kinda monkey suit Remy does. Fuck, ‘least before, you weren’t this bad of a copycat suck-up.”

The female thug arched her eyebrows over at Jonas, who was stoically doing his best to ignore Winn, poking at his phone.

Winn probably shouldn’t needle him. It would only end in blows.

He didn’t care.

“What’s the matter, Remy-two?” Winn asked with a sneer. “Six years without anyone intelligent to talk to, and you forget all your words except, ‘may I wipe your arse, sir’?”

That was it. Jonas shoved his chair back from the table with a scraping noise, and the woman set down her book, finally finding something more interesting.

That was the moment Winn realized he had nowhere to run.

He backed up a step as Jonas filled the doorway to the closet. Winn’s grin turned nervous, now. “Careful. Don’t wanna get blood on your hand-me-downs.”

Jonas crossed his arms over his barrel-like chest. “You didn’t learn a damn thing, did you?”

“I took some  courses at the PCC.”

“Yeah, musta had nothing else to do, when they stuck you in that tiny little cell the whole time.” Jonas leaned against the doorframe. “Kinda like this, right? Heard it made you crazy.”

The back of Winn’s neck prickled, but he forcing himself to keep smiling. “Oh, it was nice. Peaceful. Didn’t have to smell that booze breath of yours.”

Jonas snorted. He dropped his hands; Winn kept an eye on the man’s fists as Jonas stepped forward. “Peaceful, huh? Going to bed every night on that hard little board, locked up, trying to remember the last time you saw the sun?”

He walked forward as he spoke, forcing Winn to back up. The closet was so narrow that there wasn’t any room for Winn to dodge around Jonas, not unless he wanted a fist in his gut. Two steps later, Winn’s back hit the wall.

“Shut in, day after day,” Jonas went on, his voice low and deadly calm. “Knowing you finally got thrown into the one hole even you couldn’t wiggle out of. How’d that feel, Vinn? Feel nice and relaxing? Feel peaceful?”

Winn shut his eyes for a moment, trying to shove back the memories of day after day after day in solitary. He forced out a laugh and opened them, because staring up at Huntington was better than the images of cell doors and sneering guards and walls with barbed wire that crowded his mind. “Wow. You really been playing the part, huh? Give it up, Jonny, Rembrandt doesn’t even intimidate me. What makes you think you can?”

“Keep lying to yourself, Vinn, maybe one day you’ll even believe it.” Jonas poked Winn in the chest, his thick finger hitting right over Winn’s heart, in the middle of the crosshair scars Rembrandt had carved into his skin. “How do you get any sleep at all, with that target on your chest?”

“How do you get any sleep,” Winn shot back, panic forcing his words out in a rush, “when you spend all your time sucking Remy’s -”

He ducked, Jonas’ fist just skimming the top of his scruffy yellow hair. Even with nowhere to go, Winn tried diving for the narrow slice of space behind Jonas and the wall. He didn’t quite make it before Jonas snapped his elbow out, hitting Winn in the side of the head. Rebounding off the wall, Winn didn’t have the room to escape Jonas’ grab for his arm. The bigger man punched Winn in the stomach, and as he doubled over, heaving for breath, Jonas snapped his knee up and into Winn’s right eye.

Winn swore with what little breath he could suck into his lungs and leaned backward. Jonas still managed to grab a chunk of his hair, though, and then backed up, dragging Winn with him.

There was nothing in Jonas’ clothes or pockets that Winn could use to get away. He hissed and spat like a cat, bracing his bare feet against the floor, and finding no purchase.

“Hey - shit, stop - wait -”

Jonas swung Winn around with ease, scraping Winn against the wall for a second. He gave Winn a good shove.

Swearing, Winn caught himself on the doorframe, before he could fall backwards out of the closet. Jonas huffed in disappointment.

Regaining his balance, Winn glared up at Jonas, heart pounding in time with the throbbing of the blow to his eye. He took a step forward, from that invisible line he couldn’t cross. Not if he wanted to keep Rhiannon alive. “It doesn’t count if you throw me out.”

“No one gives a damn if you walk out or fall out,” Jonas said. Winn flinched, squashing the urge to run as Jonas stepped forward, looming over him. “How much you like that girl of yours?”

Winn braced his hands against the doorframe, eyes wide and his pulse thundering in his ears. He should’ve kept his mouth shut -

“You gonna answer me? Or am I gonna push you outta here?”

Winn’s mouth went dry. “Hunt - Jonas - don’t, leave me alone -”

“Why?” Hunt’s lip curled. “Hell, Vinn, you don’t know how great this is for me. All that bullshit you pulled, always makin’ me look like an idiot -”

“You are an idiot,” Winn interrupted without thinking.

Jonas smashed his fist into Winn’s ribs, prompting a strangled yelp. “Who’s more of an idiot?” Jonas snapped, and hit Winn again. “Your girlfriend’s life is on the line, and you’re down here runnin’ your mouth like an asshole.”

He dragged Winn closer, as the small man dry-heaved and struggled for breath. “Tell me why I shouldn’t drag you up there and make you watch me blow her pretty little head off her pretty little shoulders?”

Winn coughed and tried to pull his arm out of Jonas’ grip. “She - She doesn’t have anything to do with - with any of this -”

“So? None of our business ever had anything to do with you.” Jonas gave Winn a good shove, and Winn hissed as he tripped over his own feet. His hands snapped out to catch himself on the doorframe again, before he could stumbled over the threshold. “Sure as hell never stopped you.”

Winn looked up, but Jonas settled his massive hand at the base of Winns throat, before he could move. Slowly, Jonas pushed forward, the slight pressure forcing Winn to straighten up from his aching ribs. Gritting his teeth, Winn dug his fingers into the doorframe and stiffened his arms. “Huntington - Jonas, stop -”

“Why should I?” Jonas asked lazily. He increased the pressure, forcing Winn to lean back, and all he could think about was the female guard behind him, phone in hand, and the other one upstairs near Rhiannon, a gun under their jacket.

Licking his lips, Winn tried to push back. “Jonas,” he whimpered, “please - please don’t -”

Jonas stopped pushing, his eyebrows shooting upwards. He didn’t relieve the pressure, though. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘please.’”

Winn opened his mouth - and then, for the first time he could remember, closed it again, and actually thought about what he wanted to say.

“Please,” he whispered again, the word acid on his tongue. “Don’t hurt her, Jonas.”

“I been wantin’ this for a long time, Vinn,” Jonas growled. “Give me a reason not to ruin your life.”

Winn closed his eyes, teeth grinding, before he bit out, “What do you want?”

A slow, cruel grin spread over Jonas’ face. He stepped back, finally letting Winn straighten up, take a step away from the door.

Then Jonas grabbed Winn by the jaw and swung him around. He slammed Winn against the wall, digging his fingers painfully into Winn’s skin. Leaning in close, Jonas hissed, “I want to see you beg.”

[suburbantimewaster]

Here’s the first illustration I received for a fanfic, this one being Mind Games set in the universe of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and the origin of Candy Marino and Chris Patel, who can also be found in Return of the Greek Gods.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get the references right for Marino the first time but I did get them right for everyone else.  Anyway, this is drawn by s2ka from Deviantart.

Marino gave all of her attention to Shere Khan, feeling the vibration of his purrs.  All it took was one sneeze for him to get off.  She still had time before her next shift to make one call, even if it was one she dreaded.  Marino took a sip from her flask, enjoying the bubbly substance going down her throat, then finally entered her room on the right with another fan set up in the middle.  She set her personal computer on the desk and opened it.

"Computer, connect to T’Mara on Vulcan, Priority One connection, authorization Marino-Alpha-6359-Rose," Marino ordered, taking a seat.

It wasn't long until a caramel face female Vulcan with her raven hair tied in a long braid appeared on Marino's screen.

"Ensign Marino, I was expecting your call," T'Mara said, noticing the flask in Marino's hand with a disapproving gaze.

"Don't worry, it's just synthehol," Marino explained as she put it on her desk.

"Acceptable," T'Mara said with a nod.  "I suppose you have just finished making yourself at home on Deep Space Nine."

"Actually, I haven't even started," Marino admitted with a wave of her hand.  "I got caught up reading this manuscript left by the previous owner."

"What was the content of this manuscript?" T'Mara asked with clear intrigue.

"It was about looking into the mind of a Cardassian who loved torturing any Bajoran he could get his hands on," Marino explained with a smile and tone equivalent to a five-year-old girl who just tried on her first princess dress.  "Rebels, collaborators, civilians, you name it." Marino's smile faded and her tone grew more condescending.  "Though it does talk a bit too much about Cardassian superiority over other species.  Other than that, it was like reading something written by Ramsay Snow.  Only thing missing was the sigil of a flayed man."

"Considering the character of Ramsay Snow, I would imagine that Roose Bolton would be more likely to write such a tale," T'Mara told her.

"No, Roose Bolton wouldn't be stupid enough to flay a collaborator.  Remember what he told Ramsay?" Marino recalled and then adopted a serious stance.  "'If you acquire a reputation as a mad dog, you'll be treated as a mad dog.  Taken out back and slaughtered for pig feed.'"

"Logical," T'Mara acknowledged in a voice only a tiny bit away from being complete monotone.  "Speaking of Game of Thrones, when we last talked, you described being assigned to Deep Space Nine as 'being sent to The Wall without having to take a vow of celibacy and no Jon Snow to make it bearable.'  I am pleased to see that your opinion has changed."

"I'll say one thing," Marino said with a confident smile.  "You never would've found anything like that manuscript on the Prometheus."  Then she pointed to a suitcase with isolinear chips, one of them containing Game of Thrones.  "Plus, I made sure to bring that gorgeous bastard with me."

"Ah yes, your last posting," T'Mara acknowledged, completely ignoring Marino's last remark.  "I remember you compared the Prometheus to serving on a dollhouse in outer space."

"With everyone all sunshine and roses, you always knew who was good and who was bad and everyone went around talking about how we're so superior and have found the right way," Marino said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

"To which you believe that there's no such thing as 'the right way,'" T'Mara said, raising her eyebrow at the last part.

"And anyone who believes that is deluding themselves," Marino said with a scoff.  "This is turning into less of a check up and more of a counseling session."

"Considering the nature of these 'check-ups,' a counseling session is inevitable," T'Mara informed Marino.  "Or are you forgetting about the incident that nearly resulted in your expulsion from Starfleet?"

"Trust me, I haven't forgotten," Marino said, taking a sip from her flask.  "It's the whole reason I got assigned to this shit bowl."

"From what you've told me, I can logically assume that the assignment is a good fit for you," T'Mara told her positively.

"Great, then the conversation's over," Marino said, about to cut the connection until T'Mara raised her hand.

"Unfortunately, you and I still have some issues to discuss," T'Mara told Marino in as harsh of a tone a Vulcan could muster.  "For instance, were there any temptations when you arrived on the station?"

"Just one," Marino said distastefully.  "When I walked into the station, I smelled booze.  I'm talking the smell of stardrifters, kanar, blood wine, Saurian brandy, and something that smelled like a citrusy wine.  Even if the smell of dust and grime mostly covered it up.  Not to mention the heat."

"Does the heat curb your cravings for alcohol?" T'Mara asked in a helpful manner.

"You'd think, but no," Marino said sardonically, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.  "Don't get me wrong, thanks to living on Vulcan for a few months, I've gotten used to three-digit degree weather.  It's Shere Khan who truly suffered."  Marino's voice filled with distress as she remembered her kitten's meows and his attempts to bathe himself with his tongue repeatedly.  "I had to set up fans all around my quarters to keep the poor little guy from overheating!"

"Considering Cardassian physiology and the average temperate of their home planet, this does not surprise me," T'Mara informed Marino.

"Then I hope Cardassian animals don't have fur, because that would be pure torture," Marino remarked bitterly.  "But we both know I didn't call you to talk about Shere Khan's suffering."

"Yes, I can sense that you are troubled by far more than your feline's suffering," T'Mara told her.  "Care to tell me what that would be?"

"I had a little run in with a blast from my past," Marino told her.

"I didn't think anyone from the Prometheus would be assigned to Deep Space Nine," T'Mara stated with confusion.

"Actually, this one isn't from the Prometheus," Marino informed her.  "He goes much further back."

* * *

Patel unpacked everything and then set his computer on the desk, seeing a message from the one member of his family he could count on.  It only took a few seconds for the face of a jet black haired young woman with a toffee complexion to appear on his screen.

"Hey, Chris," she said with a smile.  "By the time you view this, you're probably settling down in your new posting.  You know, the rundown Cardassian station you were dreading.  Well, I kind of envy you right now.  I'm still interning on Andoria," Cathy said, pouring herself a drink.  "Which makes New Jersey winters look like Gujarat."

Patel looked at the alcohol with a disapproving glance.

"I know, you don't like your baby sister drinking," Cathy said, rolling her eyes.  "But cut me some slack, I'm living on a giant ice cube."

Patel drew back with a jolt.  It was scary how well Cathy knew him.

"All right, the internship's not all bad.  I got to watch Redbats nesting in a cave!" Cathy said excitedly, putting her hands on her chest.  "Though one of them freaked out and nearly crawled through my brain."

Patel found himself peering at the top of Cathy's head, at least as much as he could see, for signs of scratches.

"Thankfully, Areliv helped me get it out," Cathy said with a dreamy smile.  "He even offered to take me out to dinner."

And Cathy's got a new boyfriend, Patel thought with both pride and worry.  Though I don't think Mom and Dad will like their daughter dating an Andorian.

"I know what you're thinking and Areliv is not my boyfriend!" Cathy insisted, though her bright red face told another story.  "He's just a friend!  A very handsome and charming friend!"  She laughed.  "All right, I'm kind of hoping that it will turn into something more." Cathy smiled brightly.  "Who knows?  Maybe Areliv and I can double date with you and Ian."

Patel's face fell.

"Anyway, I've got to go.  I'm meeting my boss in a few minutes," Cathy told him.  "Try to make the best of your assignment and, remember, our summers on Gujarat prepared you for Cardassian heat, even if it made Andorian cold almost intolerable."

Cathy closed the connection, leaving Patel staring at a black screen.

* * *

"His name's Chris Patel," Marino answered.

"Ah, yes," T'Mara said with a nod of her head.  "The childhood friend who you separated from in high school."

"We both fell into different crowds," Marino explained bitterly.  "He belonged to the hotshot squad and I belonged to the social outcasts."

"I recall you saying this during your time at the monastery," T'Mara noted.  "However, I do not recall you ever telling me that Chris did anything to personally attack you."

"Oh, he didn't," Marino stated, hoping she wouldn't have to clarify.

"Then I fail to see the problem," T'Mara said, shrugging her eyebrows.

"The problem is that I'm trying to make a new life for myself and I don't need some childhood friend telling everyone about the 'sweet little girl' I used to be," Marino said crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

"Again, I fail to see how a childhood friend would cause you personal strife at your new duty position," T'Mara told her.

It was at that moment Shere Khan chose to jump on the desk.

"Is that the transient feline you found outside the monastary?" T'Mara asked, her brown eyes following Shere Khan.  "The one you retrieved the fans for?"

"You mean the one who was abandoned on Vulcan?" Marino said, her eyes narrowing as she remembered seeing him panting on the hot desert of her former retreat.  "He didn't really have anyone else who could take him in."

"So, you chose to make him your pet," T'Mara recalled.

"What was I supposed to do?" Marino said defensively as she took Shere Khan off of her desk and held him in her arms.  "Help the poor kitty and then abandon him to the shelter?"

"You always did have a compassion for animals," T'Mara told her, raising an eyebrow.  "People are another matter."

"Yeah, animals rock, people suck," Marino said, setting Shere Khan down on the floor, meowing loudly as he rubbed against Marino's legs.  "Sorry, wittle boy, but your mama's in the middle of something."

T'Mara raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm one of those nutsos who treats their pets like their children," Marino said, folding her arms.  "Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

T'Mara raised her right eyebrow.

"Perhaps Mr. Patel will not divulge sensitive information without your approval," T'Mara told her helpfully.

"You might be right about that," Marino conceded hesitantly.  "But he might get defensive when people insult me."  She recalled his apology before contacting T'Mara.  "Plus, Chris would still have questions that I really don't want to answer."

And one of them will be answered when the CMO arrives with my medical file, Marino thought sardonically.  That'll be fun.

"I'm sure if Mr. Patel respects your privacy, then he will not force you to share information that you are uncomfortable divulging," T'Mara told her reassuringly.

"You've got a point there," Marino agreed with a reluctant nod.

"Is that all that concerns you?" T'Mara asked.

"Actually, there's one more thing..." Marino asked hesitantly, holding up her right index finger.

"Ensign Marino, Vulcans do not 'change their mind.'  You are still not permitted to imbibe any alcohol," T'Mara told her firmly.

"Wow, am I really that predictable?" Marino asked, her eyes widening.

"Yes." T'Mara answered in her usual matter of fact tone.

She has me there, she thought. When she spoke again, her voice was a little more relaxed.  "Though, you have to admit, it's going to be hard for me to 'curb my cravings' when I'm assigned to a place that smells like booze."

"Your argument is illogical since the synthehol and blitz should curb your cravings," T'Mara told her sympathetically.  "Additionally, consider the manuscript you found.  It may be logical to conclude that Deep Space Nine could give you the mental stimulation the Prometheus could not."

"Yeah, but even Deep Space Nine can't keep my brain entertained all the time," Marino concluded with her arms crossed and her head tilted to the side.  "So I might need a little pick-me-up on those slow days."

"As your sponsor, I must advise against that," T'Mara told her firmly.

"Fongool," Marino said angrily, putting her arms to her side.  "Chat with you more, but I need to unpack."

"Very well," T'Mara said with a nod.  "Remember to contact me if you feel any urges."

"Sure thing," Marino said as T'Mara held up her right hand in the traditional Vulcan greeting.

"Live long and prosper," T'Mara told her.

"I can try for the latter, but I'm not making any promises about the former," Marino told her honestly.

"Ensign Marino..." T'Mara told her in a slight warning tone.

"All right," Marino said, putting her hand up in the Vulcan salute.  "Peace and long life, Counselor."

Marino cut off the connection and looked around her quarters.  It seemed pretty standard with a desk, the typical Cardassian mattress, her bags near the door and silhouettes of paintings owned by their former occupier.  Like everyone else on the station, he left in a hurry.  She unzipped one of her bags and pulled out a few isolinear chips that contained recordings of all of her favorite songs, some of them having their own playlists.  She used her personal console and installed them all in her quarters, instructing the computer to play one at random.

"Journey," Marino exclaimed with a bright smile as the music started playing.  "Awesome!"  Emptying the contents from the rest of her luggage, she lazily threw them in the correct places in her quarters, singing along to "Don't Stop Believing," relishing in the antiquated style.

* * *

Patel turned on the connection, ready to record his outgoing message.

"Hey, Cathy," he greeted.  "Really liked hearing your message and glad to hear you're doing well, in spite of the freezing cold.  Though I might have to check this Areliv out to see if he's good enough for my sister."  He smiled to let Cathy know that he wasn't serious.  Well, not entirely.  "Things on Deep Space Nine aren't too bad and trust me when I say the heat's the least of my worries."

The doctor's smile disappeared.  "The whole place looks like a shipwrecked ghost town and knowing the history of this station doesn't help.  Let me put it this way, Candy found a manuscript of the Gul who used to live here and, by the way she talked about him, things didn't sound pleasant."  Patel's smile returned, imagining the look on Cathy's face.  "Yeah, you heard that right, Candy's my roommate.  Though, she's a little different from how we remember.  As for how, let's just say that she finally got that backbone you always said she needed to grow."

Patel's face fell.  "Also, there's something I need to tell you.  Ian and I broke up.  I know you liked him and you're sad to see him go, but it's better this way.  Our careers were taking us in different directions and we both felt that it would be better to, in archaic terms, rip the band aid off rather than leave it on until it naturally falls.  Anyway, I have to go.  Plenty of unpacking to do and I need to get the Infirmary set up for when the CMO arrives."

He closed the connection and unzipped one of his bags.  He meticulously placed everything where they belonged and realized he could hear Marino's music from across his quarters.  He had to admit that the ensign had a beautiful singing voice, but he had a hunch that he'd be listening to it way more often than he wanted to.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      * * *

[lauren-scharf]

The Mathematics of Memory

The Mathematics of Memory

An Imitation of Form of Eula Biss’ “The Pain Scale”

By Lauren Scharf

For Grandpa Will

0---

An advanced fifth grade math class told me of the unique qualities of the number zero. Nothing can be divided by zero. There’s no way to carry out such an equation. I fantasized what it would be like if I could find a way.

 I am sitting on a plane to New York, preparing myself to be coddled by parents, grandparents, and cousins, who have been counting down the days until my visit, and they’ve finally reached zero.

 An underachiever in all other subjects, I excelled in math because of my ability to remember things through numbers, as though their values and patterns made up an alternative language.

 Can zero be divided by zero? I think of this and ask my high school A.P. Calculus teacher. Her quirky response explains that black holes are where God divided by zero. I immediately imagine writing zero over zero on the next exam, and watching the equation animate to a swirling vacuum that sucks the surrounding scribbles and equations inside, leaving a blank page.

 In a deck of cards, there is no zero. Each card has some worth. The closest suitable are the Jokers, which belong to no suit and are commonly discarded before a game is dealt.

 The New York excursion is for my youngest cousin’s Bat Mitzvah, or “Bas Mitzvah,” as my Grandpa says it. It’s the last of this generation, and there is yet to be a Bar Mitzvah. Grandpa makes a regular joke at reunions like these. “Where are all the boys?” There are no grandsons. The Scharf family name stops here.

 Any number over itself is one, except the infuriating zero.

 ---1---

My sister taught me fractions when I was little. I didn’t ask her to. She also liked to correct and poke fun at my childish mispronunciations. “Count-culator” made sense to me for the purpose it served, as well as “Old-timers.”

 “It’s ‘Alzheimer’s,’ Lauren.” She had to write the word out for me before I caught my mistake.

 An ace holds a discontinuous value in a deck of cards. Aces high means eleven. Aces low means one.

 I was a year old when I took my first plane trip, once again to New York. I don’t remember a thing about it but home videos show the brown shag carpet and gold furniture in my grandparents’ house just as it all looks today. Nothing’s changed there.

 My grandpa taught me how to gamble. I was the only first grader to recognize the checkers pieces as poker chips.

 ---2---

My favorite children’s game was Memory: a deck of cards, usually with pictures if meant for a younger age, is set up in rows and columns, face down, and turned up two at a time in an attempt to find a match. I was unbeatable. My parents and their friends were so impressed by how quick I was to recall a pair and pick up techniques. “You have to pick up the one you think it is before the one you’re sure of,” I would tip-off to my opponent.

 Grandpa’s game is called 31. Much like 21 but with an extra card in each hand. Players take turns picking a card from the deck and discarding; if the top of the discard pile follows suit of the next player’s hand, they may pick that card instead, but forfeit the secrecy of their suit in hand.

 The higher the card number, the higher its value. Face cards are ten. Aces are high.

 No one ever picks a two from the discard pile. It’s not worth the risk, not to mention the subsequent mockery from other players.

 “A deuce for my favorite Grandpa!” One of my favorite things about 31 is playing just ahead of my Grandpa so I can discard all of my worst and lowest cards, simply to catch the looks on his face.

 Grandpa has my eyes; or I suppose I have his. They light up and widen when we’re caught by surprise, but squint into slits when we smile, more so if we’re laughing. His eyes are a little more hidden among wrinkles and behind a thick pair of bifocals.

 Memory storage is marked by two stages: long term and short term. It’s difficult to draw a line between the two. How long is long and how short is short? My understanding is that the long term is for the firsts. First kiss, first pet, first day of kindergarten. While short term is for the lasts. Last night, last Tuesday, last book you read.

 In one of her first games of 31, my sister jumped from the table and shouted “Thirty-two! Thirty-two!” She was convinced she had two aces of the same suit.  

 Thirty-one is the highest score you can get in 31 (fittingly). An ace and two tens, all one suit. This hand ends the round instantly and every player but the holder of 31 surrenders a chip to the middle. A player can also end the round by knocking with what they believe to be the highest hand, or at least not the lowest. The lowest hand must pay up.

 My sister had two aces alright. One, hearts, the other, diamonds. We made her pay double.

 ---3---

Some experts separate memory storage into three stages, adding the “Sensory stage” to long term and short term. The sensory stage acts as a filter to determine what information will pass into short term, and perhaps eventually long term, or if it will be stored at all.

 Information is only in this stage for a flash of a second, like an exposure to film. That kind of information, however, is preserved through a different medium.

 One of my first vivid memories is of a day in preschool when my mom was late picking me up. I couldn’t tell time but I knew when the hands formed an “L” pointing to the number three, my mom was due to walk through the door.

 This was most likely not the first time she ran behind, but it was the first time I noticed. I developed a tickle in my throat, and as the angle of that “L” turned more acute, the tickle progressed to more of a scratch. I wanted my mommy. At three years old, this was the first time I would recognize a common sickness coming over me.

 My family took a trip to Rhode Island when I was three. My mom had to tell me that; I had no recollection of being in Rhode Island. To me it was just another trip to the east coast to see family. When on the beach I saw my grandpa’s jolly sized belly and asked why he had an inny belly button while I had an outty. He told me it was to make a nice home for the spiders that lived in there. That, I remember.

 The most infuriating hand to pick up in 31 is three tens, each a different suit. Thirty points altogether yet the hand is valued only at ten. The first card I pick up from the deck determines what I’m collecting. A couple times, this has been a fourth ten of the remaining suit. At some point, I’ll have no choice but to discard a high card, reluctantly assisting my opponents.

 ---4---

I’m not the best at Memory anymore. Ever since a childhood friend became the first to beat me, I’ve been on something of a cognitive decline. We lost touch years ago, but I remember her birthday was four days before mine.

 Many fail to see the pattern in dates, which are frequently the first details to fade from memory, despite that each presents its own reminder in the form of a reoccurring anniversary.

 They also separate into four seasons.

 All of the cousins and I were born in summer; six birthdays fitting perfectly from late June to early September.

 Memory retrieval in the human mind is broken up into four common components: verbal recall, aural recall, visual recall, and tactile recall.

 Retrieval through speaking, retrieval through hearing, retrieval through seeing, and retrieval through touching or writing.

 Numerical recall is perhaps too rare or vague to classify.

 Grandpa’s birthday is in March. My dad says he’s 88 years old, but I don’t think he’s remembering correctly. Like father, like son.

 The four suits of a traditional deck of playing cards are spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts.

 These suits originated from the French style of playing cards and, while not the first, they were the cheapest to manufacture, and thus the most popular.

 Other countries alter, slightly, the name and appearance of certain suits. For instance, clubs are acorns in Germany and Italo-Spanish or Latin decks have cups in lieu of hearts. These discrepancies are mostly found in cartomancy, or tarot cards.

 Whatever the icon, each suit follows a pattern rooted in the feudal system: Spades for nobility, clubs for peasants, diamonds for merchants, and hearts for members of the clergy.

 The suits also consistently associate with riches and romance, adversity and agriculture. Can you find each match?

 The four elements, earth, water, fire, and air tie into the four suits as well, though this pattern is more obscure and it is arguable which suit belongs to which element.

 ---5---

When my dad told me of the changes in conversation with my grandpa, how he asks the same questions every five minutes, I shrugged it off as a natural consequence of aging. I’ll believe it when I hear it for myself.

 My memory runs on aural recall.

 Some card decks hold five different suits, the fifth tying in the classical element Aether, a void or space, dark matter, pertaining to the space above the terrestrial sphere.

 In mythology, Aether is the open sky where only the gods live and the pure air which only the gods breathe; heaven.

 Aristotle names Aether as the fifth element but noted that it lacked the qualities of the other four in that it could be neither hot, cold, wet, nor dry, and its only recordable change was in density.

 Much like a black hole.

 An estimated 5 million Americans suffer from Alzheimer’s disease. By 2050, the number is expected to hit 13.4 million.

 ---6---

Almost 60% of Americans think Alzheimer’s is genetic.

 Like eyes, or a smile, or a family name.

 No matter how random they may seem in the world of arithmetic, numbers consistently go hand in hand with formula. Strategy requires such a pattern to ease the task of memorization. This is how some people are able to memorize Pi to a thousand digits, if they really have the time and patience to do so.

 My sixth grade locker combination was 24-6-42. Two plus four equals six minus four equals two.

 The combination of my locker in 12th grade is a blur.

 ---7---

Seven is my lucky number, which sounds very cliché, but I picked it for my favorite month, which has my birthday, July. The 10th of July if you’d like to remember it.

 Seventeen is my sister’s lucky number, chosen, I think, for the day her birthday falls on. But then her name also has seventeen letters. Then again so does mine.

 Therapies show that keeping the brain engaged with patterns and puzzles delays (though does not prevent) memory loss and confusion.

 All these years Grandpa was teaching the family how to gamble, I should have explained to him the grids and patterns and tips and tricks I found in Memory.

 Just a reminder, my birthday is the 10th of July. Seven/ten. Seven plus ten is seventeen. Seventeen letters are in my name. If you didn’t remember it before, perhaps you will now.

 ---8---

Alzheimer’s starts in patients when certain forms of the gene apolipoprotein E, or ApoE, promote the formation of an abnormal amyloid precursor protein, or APP. APP clumps together to form plaques that break down tau proteins, whose purpose it is to stabilize a neuron’s structural integrity. Once broken down, the neuron dies, leaving a hole that disrupts the electrical signals traveling among the nerve.

 Much like a black hole.

 Tau ÷ (APP × ApoE) = x over zero. I found it.

 When film is overexposed, it processes as a white, almost heavenly void or space.

 Not only is there no cure for Alzheimer’s, but there’s also no way to test absolutely positive for the disease until an autopsy is performed. I think that’s a bit too late.

 Unlike a three year old with a sore throat, my Grandpa is 88, give or take, and he doesn’t know if he’s sick.

 Screenings, recall tests, and family member reports promise 80 to 90 percent accuracy.

 It’s getting there.

---9---

I once read about a photographer who developed a journal documenting the final three years of his father’s life. The old man lacked all short term memory storage and would ask his son over and over where his mother was, as though no one told him of her death.

 Tired of watching his father’s heart break again and again, the photographer joined the game of pretend, and told his father she’d simply gone to Paris to join the circus. The pretending continued until the father’s death at ninety-nine.

 Once parties and brunches that follow the very last Bat Mitzvah die down, the family finally gets a chance to crowd around the kitchen table for a good old game of 31.

 “Where are all the boys?” He asks this more and more these days. I want to think that he believes it’s funnier with repetition, but part of me wonders if maybe he doesn’t remember asking just minutes before. Another part wonders, and worries, if he’s really not sure of whether or not he has grandsons.

 They’ve gone to Paris and joined the circus, Grandpa.

 ---10

Grandpa knocks with the confident gambler’s attitude he’ll probably always have.

 The family each takes one last turn before we reveal our hands.

 Grandpa has three tens; thirty. However his hand is only worth ten. He’s forgotten the suits.

 This game, this last game, goes in my long term memory.

[klonoa-at-blog]

Champion of Dreams: An Interview with Hideo Yoshizawa

Originally published Sept. 17, 2012 on 1up.com. This article was accessed through web.archive.org as it has been offline for a long time.

As director and producer of games like Klonoa, Ridge Racer Type 4, and Mr. Driller, Hideo Yoshizawa played an instrumental role in Namco's PlayStation-era console game renaissance. Emphasizing playability (and great music) over the increasingly complicated nature of their contemporaries, Yoshizawa's games may not have dominated the sales charts, but they certainly won their share of loyal fans who even now look back on those titles with a fondness that has faded from many other PS1 releases. I recently spoke to Mr. Yoshizawa at Bandai Namco's sci-fi office in Shinagawa, Tokyo about the birth of his PlayStation classics and learned unexpected detailed about Klonoa's origins in the process.

1UP: How long have you been at Namco, and what projects did you start with when you first came here?

HY: I came to Namco in 1992, so I've been here about 20 years now. First I started out with Super Family Tennis, which was released for the Super NES, and also a character IP-based game called Yu Yu Hakusho. It was a very famous comic book in Japan. And then I worked on Klonoa.

1UP: What was Namco's Yu Yu Hakusho game like? I'm familiar with the one that was made for Sega by Treasure, but I hadn't heard about Namco's before.

HY: It was like a visual animation fighting game. It's not a normal fighting game like Street Fighter. It was a fighting game where the animations unfold as you fight each other.

1UP: What was your role on that game?

HY: Producer and director.

1UP: Had you worked in the games industry before you came to Namco, or is this where you got your start?

HY: I used to work at Tecmo before I went to Namco.

1UP: What projects did you work on with Tecmo, if you don't mind my asking?

HY: Ninja Gaiden and Mighty Bomb Jack.

1UP: Okay, I'm familiar with both of those. What was your role on both of those?

HY: Director again.

1UP: With Ninja Gaiden, was that the arcade game or the NES game?

HY: That was the NES.

1UP: Were you involved with the arcade game at all?

HY: No, not the arcade game. That was the one where you chopped off heads, right? [laughs]

1UP: Was the arcade game developed internally at Tecmo? There's always been this uncertainty about that. Americans are very familiar with the NES games, but we're not really clear about the history of the arcade game. Were you involved with that at all, or was it even made at Tecmo?

HY: It was internal, yes. It wasn't in alignment with the NES versions, though. It was developed at the same time, so it was two completely different lines working with the same name. They were separate projects.

1UP: I think it's interesting to know that you worked on Ninja Gaiden, because that game has such a reputation for its animation and the idea of cutscenes that it brought to action games. It was a very visual game, and I can see that in some of the games you worked on, especially Klonoa.

HY: What I wanted to make was a very dramatic game, back then. For Ninja Gaiden, actually, 40 percent of the visual capacity was used just for those scenes.

1UP: I remember how I'd always bring my friends over to my house... The scene where Ryu makes it to the castle, and the castle scrolls back in the background, I'd always get to that part in the game and show it off.

HY: Thank you!

1UP: And then I'd try to finish the game for them, but the last level was so hard that they never got to see the ending.

HY: You never got to show them the castle collapsing?

1UP: I finished the game on my own time, but every time I tried to show it off I failed and had to start the level over.

HY: Yeah, it was difficult, back then.

1UP: I don't want to take up too much time talking about something that wasn't a Namco project, but your history with that game... I think it's something that is important. It shows some impact on the later things you've worked on. I'm wondering if you could talk about that a little bit. What did you take away from the Ninja Gaiden project and bring into subsequent projects you worked on?

HY: From Ninja Gaiden... I wanted to really connect the story portion and the gameplay portion. That was only possible in TV games. I really wanted to do that at a high level, and I think I've still been able to do that with Klonoa.

1UP: What do you think of the way that story and game integration have evolved in the years since Ninja Gaiden?

HY: At the time, we called it a "cinema display" or "theater display." That was evolving at the time. Also, there was a game Tecmo released before I left, Radia Senki. It was an action-RPG. That kind of story, I really liked it, and that affected me. Some of that wound up in Klonoa as well.

1UP: In what sense did the story of that impact you? What was it about that game that caught your attention?

HY: Aspects like... The world is created with the energy of dreams. And some of the character names are actually the same in Klonoa as in Radia Senki, because it wasn't quite as well known back then. [laughs] But I took some parts of that and put it in Klonoa.

1UP: Did you work on Radia Senki, or was it just a game that you were familiar with and enjoyed?

HY: Yeah, I was the director.

1UP: Oh, I didn't realize that. One of my editors is a really big fan of that game, and he's talked about how he likes it a lot.

HY: He knows about that game?

1UP: Yeah, he wrote a really nice retrospective about it.

HY: Well, say hi to him for me. It's actually the prequel to Klonoa, in a way. That's the project where Klonoa started, for me.

1UP: I'd heard that Klonoa was influenced somewhat by Sega's NiGHTS into Dreams...

HY: Actually, Klonoa started development before NiGHTS, but it was released after NiGHTS, so a lot of people say that. There's really not any connection. Klonoa took something like three years to develop.

1UP: So let's talk a bit about Klonoa. It's a very interesting game, if you look at where it was released in the PlayStation library. That style of game wasn't very common at the time.

HY: At first, it had a really dark kind of world background. But the camera system was really popular within the company, so I tried to make it so we could get to more of a mass audience, not just the people who'd enjoy that darker theme. Here, these were some of the characters back at that time. As you can see, it's not bright at all like Klonoa is. But, thinking back to that time, everything released on the PlayStation had a very dark theme like that, so I thought, "No, I don't want to do it. I don't want to be the same as everyone." So it took a 180-degree turn and became a whole different game.

1UP: It seems like there was an almost Egyptian theme to some of that.

HY: Actually, the [Egyptian design, not shown] was a draft that wasn't approved. The other is the one that was approved. The background is that a human being is imported into a stone figure... In Japanese history, we have these stone dolls from ancient times. That's the theme of it. A human being's soul is pushed into it, the stone figure, and how that soul tries to get back to being a human was the idea behind the story.

1UP: So did this version of the game that you were developing... Would that have played like the game that became Klonoa, or was it a completely different kind of game altogether?

HY: It had a different game system, too. You were supposed to grab the enemy and swing them around and bang them into the walls in order to attack them.

1UP: There was another PlayStation game that was similar in style to Klonoa called Wild 9. Did you ever play that? It was by Shiny, and it had that same mechanic, where you grabbed things and threw them around and smashed them...

HY: I don't recall that game, no. But flinging enemies around, at first it seems interesting, but if you kept doing it throughout the whole game, it started to get boring. So I wanted to make a game system where you could use it to attack enemies as well as doing other stuff.

1UP: In the last image, the one before this, it seemed like when you grab the enemy, they inflated. That's one thing you did keep for Klonoa.

HY: This slide is actually something that was nearer the development of Klonoa than the previous slides, so that makes sense.

1UP: Was this inspired at all by Dig-Dug? I know there's a connection between Mr. Driller and Dig-Dug. I'm curious if the inflating-the-enemy idea came from there as well...

HY: When I was first thinking about it, visually it just popped into my head. Inflating them and throwing them around, it just seemed cool. Later on, somebody pointed out, "Oh, it's like Dig-Dug," and I saw they were right. But...

1UP: How did this eventually become the final mechanic of Klonoa, where you grab enemies and inflate them, but it's at a very short distance? And then you use them in other ways, to throw them or jump off of them as platforms.

HY: At first, there were three buttons. There was one for inflating them and one for picking them up, and then there was a button to... Not necessarily throw them, but to roll the enemy. That was kind of difficult to do, because if you wanted to do that, and you wanted to bounce off the enemy in order to go up, for instance, you had to get the enemy right underneath. It always bounced three times, so you had to do it over and over again. That was difficult at first. I wanted to make a game with a good tempo, but by doing the rolling thing, you had to get it right underneath, and it was getting annoying. The tempo was really bad. I was thinking, "No, this isn't what I want. This doesn't work." Then, a newcomer with the team came to me and said, "Why don't we just use them to double jump?" And that was what we did.

1UP: So your solution was to simplify the game. To me, that seems to be the opposite direction to the way most people were going with PlayStation games. In that era, games became more and more complicated. People wanted to use all the buttons on the controller, and you just used two. Can you talk about that more?

HY: The way I see it, human beings can only handle two buttons, when they're really concentrating. My policy is to use two buttons maximum for any game. When I was working on this, it used three buttons, and it was annoying me, because I wanted to make it use two buttons in the first place. I think it's the most attractive way to do it. If there's only two buttons, the controls are very simple, but there's still a lot you can do with just two buttons.

1UP: I agree. I think Klonoa does a really great job of giving you very simple, limited tools, and doing a lot with the world around it. Can you talk about how the game world evolved around the control scheme? Did it evolve that way? Or did you already have a world and this was just a better way to navigate it?

HY: I wanted to make the controllability, how you can utilize the controls... For Klonoa, it was only two buttons, but you could do a lot of things. From there, the level design and the world-building started.

1UP: I feel like Klonoa has a very strong... Almost a puzzle element to the level design. Was that a deliberate decision, or did it just evolve naturally out of the controls?

HY: At first, Klonoa was a lot like Ninja Gaiden, where you attack and kill the enemies and mainly focus on that. But after the double jump came about, the direction changed to not just killing the enemies, but moving them around and using the enemy in order to move forward through the story. That became the center of the gameplay. So it became more of a puzzle game than entirely battle-themed.

1UP: Something I always liked about Ninja Gaiden is, if you know the game and you know where the enemy placement is, you can really make a straight dash through the game and jump at just the right times and attack at just the right times. I do feel like there's a little bit of that still in Klonoa, with a lot of the puzzle elements. Knowing when to jump, when to double jump, when to grab an enemy that's in the air and do combination moves...

HY: You have a very good insight there. With Ninja Gaiden, what I wanted to do was an action game that flows very well. That's the same as for all of my action games, including Klonoa, so that part doesn't change.

1UP: There's a certain rhythm to the game. Once you really know it, then it's very graceful.

HY: My theme is always to have people understand that tempo and get that graceful feeling and sensation out of it, so I'm happy that you feel that way.

1UP: You mentioned that when Klonoa first started out, it was very dark. In the final game... When you start to play it, it seems very happy and very lighthearted, but later in the game it actually does seem to become a bit dark. Is that something that carried over from the earlier versions? Can you talk about that?

HY: Yeah, I wanted to lead into that ending. I wanted to use that ending, so I started out with the opposite feel. If it started out so happy that way, everyone would think, "Oh, I'm saving the princess and it's going to be a happy ending," but it's not. That kind of impact was what I was going for.

1UP: Yeah. When you first start playing Klonoa, it seems like the play mechanics are very simple, and it seems like it's very lighthearted. When I first played it, I don't think I really appreciate what kind of depth was under the surface of the game. I only made it about halfway through and then I put the game down. But then I came back a few months later and decided to try it again, and I went all the way through the game. I was really surprised, because the level design becomes more complicated, especially in the final stages. But also, midway through, when Klonoa's grandfather dies... The game really takes on a change in tone of how everything plays out. It really surprised me.

HY: Thanks. That's exactly what I was going for.

1UP: I think I underestimated you when I first played it, but later I came to appreciate more of what the game was about.

HY: Actually, I got that same kind of feedback a lot. That's why Klonoa 2 started out with a more impactful scene.

1UP: So you worked on Klonoa 2 as well?

HY: Yes, but I was more on the production side.

1UP: Did you have any involvement with the Game Boy Advance games?

HY: Yeah, I was the producer.

1UP: I really liked the GBA games, even though they're very different, especially in terms of presentation, from the PlayStation games. They have much more of the puzzle element to them, and so does Moonlight Museum, for that matter. Can you talk about that?

HY: At the time of the Wonderswan game, I'd actually put together two teams, one working on Moonlight Museum and one working on the PlayStation 2 Klonoa 2. One was more focused on the puzzle elements and the other was more focused on action.

1UP: It seemed like with Dream Champ Tournament, the second GBA game, you'd pushed those two styles together, the puzzle and the action, with the running boss battles and that kind of thing.

HY: Well, I wasn't actually on that one. I was only on the first one.

1UP: Then it's just a coincidence. [laughs] I was wondering, though, if you could speak to some of the thinking behind making the portable games more puzzle-like.

HY: Well, I wanted both of them to be fun in their own way. For console, I wanted people to enjoy more of the action, a more interesting kind of action game, but for the handheld games, I wanted to get more into the puzzles. To have the same audience, but let them enjoy it in a different way.

1UP: The EX stages in Empire of Dreams are probably the hardest way to play Klonoa out of all the games. Was that intentional?

HY: Hmmmm... I think I made those a little too difficult, actually. [laughs]

1UP: I remember one stage where it's just the little flying enemies, and you have to grab one and then double-jump and grab the next, all the way to the exit. I spent a long time trying to get through that one.

HY: When the double jump came about, everyone thought that, "Okay, you can do this, so we can make things like having tons of enemies, and you have to grab them and double-jump, double-jump..." Not eternally, but numerous times in succession. I thought that if we did that for the real part of the game, everyone would be really anxious to get past it. So it's not in the real part. For the real part, we only wanted to do it up to two times, for the grab-enemy and double-jump series. But for the extra stages, I told the dev team that they could do whatever they wanted. And that's what ended up happening. [laughs]

1UP: Can you talk about the camera system of Klonoa? I thought that was something that really helped set it apart from other 2D platformers at the time.

HY: At first, my manager called me in and asked me to try and make a different kind of action game with a new character, a new IP. At the time, it just came in to my head, that idea of using dynamic camera angles and making an action game with them. That just popped up. Also, at the time, on the PlayStation, everyone was making 3D games. But when I wanted to play games, trying to figure out how to control them within that 3D environment was very difficult. So I wanted people to be able to play it in 2D, but being able to experience that 3D feel. That's how I came up with the camera angles and what kind of action game I wanted to make there.

1UP: Not to call out the competition, but... Did you have a difficult time maybe keeping the cinematic camera elements in check? If you look at a lot of games in that era, like Resident Evil and Final Fantasy VII, they have these very interesting camera angles, but sometimes it wasn't very much fun to play, because all of a sudden the camera would switch and you'd be confused about where you were on the screen or how to control it. I saw that even in a lot of the 2.5D games that followed Klonoa. Did you ever look at things and say, "Well, maybe we need to pull this back and make it a little less exciting?

HY: At the time, with the PlayStation, the camera angles were pretty limited. We couldn't do much with that many polygons. We could do a bit with the camera system, but when we went to PlayStation 2, suddenly we could do a lot with the camera system, so I was using angles from way above or way below. Those kinds of things, I actually liked to do them.

1UP: I was just wondering if you ever pushed it too far, to the point where it affected playability and you had to say, "Oh, maybe we should tone it down."

HY: Not really, not during gameplay. For gameplay, I feel like the controllability, how people can control it as easily as possible, is more important. So I wouldn't do that in gameplay. But for the cinematic portion, I wanted to do a lot more. I always had it in my head that camera angles should support gameplay, so whenever there's an enemy that you're supposed to get far up here, the camera angle will move a bit towards that. But it should never work against the player.

1UP: Mr. Driller, from the interface standpoint, was actually even simpler than Klonoa. It was just the one button. Can you talk about how the Mr. Driller project came to be, and what your intentions for that were?

HY: At the time, the first director, who actually came up with that game system, was imagining something more like... There's a kid's game that Japanese people play at the beach, where you stand a piece of wood in the middle of a pile of sand. One by one, you're supposed to grab some of the sand, and whoever knocks over the wood is the loser. If a person was actually put in the middle of the sand pile, that'd be scary, so that's what the director was thinking of. It was a much slower-paced game at first. When I made it, it was much faster-paced, but it turned out better.

1UP: Was that originally conceived as an arcade game, or was it meant to be a console game first?

HY: Actually, I was on the console side of the company at the time, so it was made to be a console game. But when it was first going to be released on the console, I didn't think it would become very popular or that the buzz would grow too much. At first, I wanted to build up some popularity before putting it out on the console, so I asked a co-worker in the arcade division to release it in the arcades first.

1UP: I know there are connections between Mr. Driller and Dig-Dug. Was that something conceived from the beginning, or was it something added in later, when people said, "Ah, these remind me of one another"?

HY: The connection actually came later on. But since it's a digging game, at first the character was actually Dig-Dug and the title was Dig-Dug 2 at the time. But that didn't mean it was supposed to be a Dig-Dug game, exactly, it was just because it was about digging, so he was Dig-Dug.

1UP: So he was just a placeholder character?

HY: Yeah, just a placeholder.

1UP: But the connections did eventually come into place. Was that something you were responsible for, or was it someone else on the team who decided to draw the family tree up and create all these other connections to Namco franchises?

HY: The visual staff members actually went off with their imaginations, doing whatever they wanted. That's how we ended up with all that.

1UP: It is kind of interesting that Mr. Driller serves as almost a hub for all these classic Namco games. I don't know if that's something that was intended from the start. Probably not. But it's interesting that it's evolved that way.

HY: Yeah, the staff members are doing whatever they want. It's taken off a bit, so...

1UP: What really surprised me when I played Mr. Driller, it has this kind of clean, classic 2D look to it, and the action is very fast and very simple. But then the music is a little bit mind-blowing. It's such interesting and adventurous music. It fits, but it's not what I expected from the game. Can you talk about some of the design choices behind that?

HY: At the time, Go Shiina-san was still new in the company, and not many sound people wanted to do Mr. Driller, because it wasn't so popular at the time compared to other franchises. Everyone wants to do big titles, of course. Shiina-san was assigned to do it. When he first brought in the background music for Mr. Driller, it was pretty normal puzzle game music. I said, "No, I don't want normal puzzle game music!" I asked him to remake it, and he said, "Okay, then I'll make whatever I want to." And I said, "Go ahead!" He came up with this bizarre music, and I actually liked it very much. That's why I kept bringing Shiina-san in to create more bizarre music.

1UP: That's great. It felt very...contemporary, which is not necessarily what you'd expect from a puzzle game. It was very surprising in that sense.

HY: Yeah, I love that music too.

1UP: With Mr. Driller, given the simplicity of the gameplay, did you find it difficult to think of ways to build on that game for sequels? Ways that wouldn't be too complicated or miss the point of the series.

HY: It was very difficult, actually. I made a lot of modes for sequels and stuff, but at the end of the day, the normal digging mode is the most fun. I do love Dristone mode, though.

1UP: I was told that I can't really talk about your current projects, but where do you see both the Klonoa and Mr. Driller series going from here in the future? Do you think those series have a future? We haven't seen a sequel to either one in quite a while, but do you think it means it's time to let that series go, or do you have ideas and hopes for their futures?

HY: When we released the Wii version of Klonoa, I was thinking about sequels and stuff, but apparently it didn't sell that well. So right now I'm not really thinking about any sequels.

1UP: And how about Mr. Driller?

HY: There's the download version for the DSi [Drill Till You Drop]. If you have this version of Driller, you'll get the most fun out of it you can, so I think I'll stop at this one.

1UP: So you dropped the mike, basically.

HY: Yeah, I think this is the ultimate version.

[in-defense-of-the-horror]

Creepy Window

You know how when you live with someone you develop these sort of household jokes? The kind of stuff that wouldn’t really be funny to anyone else because they simply weren’t there and the premise doesn’t really hold up when you try to explain it? Growing up “creepy window” was the inside joke that my father and I shared.

 My childhood home was a bit odd in design. It wasn’t very big but there were two stories and a basement – plenty enough room for just my father and I. The top story was fairly normal, two bedrooms a couple linen closets and a bathroom. The floor plan downstairs however was incredibly open. This meant that unless you were in the little half-bath or we had the library closed off (something we only ever did in the winter) you could essentially see into any room from any other room. More importantly to the story, you could see the dining room windows on the north-facing wall from virtually anywhere on the first floor.

 There were three windows on that wall. They were large but also high up which let a lot of natural light into the home without sacrificing privacy in that area, something that I’m sure was intentional with the design. The windows were all identical, which I guess is what made the situation so funny. We were sitting on the couch in the living room getting a movie set up when my dad said “hey, look out creepy window.” We had never discussed the window before, but when he said that I knew right where to look; the dining room window on the far left.

 It wasn’t that the window itself was creepy; it looked exactly like the other two after all. I had never really associated that word with it until Dad said something, but I had on a subconscious level realized that something about the window was off. It caught the light in such a way that was different than any of the other windows. This was especially noticeable at sunrise and sunset; the sky would appear to be two radically different colors from that window than from the two beside it.

That day when we first talked about it, for example, the sky was a shade of deep blue when viewed from all of the windows except that one, from which it appeared to be almost lilac. We had been staying in the house for about a year at this point and this wasn’t the first instance of something like that happening. I was only twelve and I guess I just hadn’t thought about why that window always seemed so strange until someone else pointed it out.

 What my dad found amusing more than the pink tint out of that one spot, was the fact that both of us had apparently at separate times noticed the bizarre, almost unnatural quality that the coloring had right there. He used the phrase “creepy window” expecting to puzzle me but instead, I had immediately been drawn to the place he’d been referring to. Thus the joke of creepy window was born.

 When we were done laughing about it he did the parent thing and took the teaching opportunity to explain to me about how the angle of light can affect our perception of color. I eagerly accepted the explanation for something that had been lightly nagging at the back of my mind for awhile by then. My curiosity was, for the time being, satiated and life went about as normal.

From that point we would often crack jokes about the window, pointing it out when we noticed a substantial difference in the light and making up crazy alternative explanations. These theories ranged from alien technology to radiation effects, to the supernatural and covered just about everything between. When we had guests sometimes one of us would casually bring up creepy window, leaving the other to explain the situation as best we could. One thing that other people seemed to have in common was that they found creepy window to be more “creepy” than “funny” or amusing like my father and I did. I guess in the time we had spent living there we had just gotten used to it, to the point where it no longer seemed so abnormal.

Gradually, over the years, I began to suspect that there might actually be something wrong, or dare I say, creepy, about creepy window. I started noticing things aside from the lighting that just didn’t quite line up with reality as I knew it.

 The first thing was that I never saw animals outside of creepy window. I first noticed this one day while looking for my cat. He had snuck out through the fence to sunbathe on my neighbors back porch, something he did often. That was one of the first things that I checked, only I couldn’t see him through the window. I went outside and sure enough, there he was right in the middle of the porch. I figured he had just gotten there which is why I hadn’t seen him, but after I wrangled him back inside I started to think about it. As far as I could remember I had never seen him or any other pets through that window. No birds or squirrels or anything either. Since cats, birds and squirrels aren’t creatures that are well-known for posing, I had no real way to validate this, but as time wore on I continued to not see animals through the window.

 With my interest in the situation renewed, I began to actively check the view from out of creepy window on a regular basis. It wasn’t exactly an obsession, but it did become part of my daily routine. A few months passed without me witnessing anything exceptional, and I had begun to relax some. Then it rained.

 It was late fall in Ohio, so it’s not like it was a rainy season or anything, but neither was it unheard of. I was in the dining room doing my homework when I glanced up. There was no sign of rainfall outside creepy window. I stood up and walked around some, trying to get a better view or find an angle to look at that gave me better visibility, but no matter where I stood I couldn’t see the rain. It was falling fast in big drops and that was a fact that I could easily confirm by looking out any other window in the house. I spent the better part of an hour that night fixated on the situation, but I could find no explanation.

 Of course, that was the same night where Dad had to work late, and by the time I saw him the next morning at breakfast the rain had stopped and I had nothing to show him. I held my tongue, but waited for another storm. A few weeks later the skies were cloudy and overcast and sure enough, when it began sprinkling, there was still no sign of water outside creepy window. I pointed it out, trying to sound casual.

Dad laughed it off. “That’s creepy window for you,” was all he said. The situation had already become too much of a joke to concern him, I realized. I did my best to let it go. I thought that if my father wasn’t worried about the totally random views from that window that I didn’t need to be worried about them either. If I had learned anything from my years living in that house and looking out that window, it was that it doesn’t take a lot for our perception of something to become wildly skewed.

I actually ended up doing a science project on the whole thing for school one year. I obviously omitted the term “creepy window” to get it approved by my teacher and keep my classmates from mocking me. I can vaguely recall titling the paper something obnoxiously long in the hopes that my teacher would find it more sophisticated. I thought that was exceedingly clever, but my peers found it pretentious and in retrospect, I don’t blame them.

I don’t remember the paper very well but I do remember the rest of the project. I kept a “Light Refraction Log” to document the way that light can affect color. I got a few disposable cameras and every day for two weeks I would wait until sunset and take three pictures of my dining room windows. One would should the world from outside the middle window, one would should the light from creepy window, and one would show all three windows together to prove that the first two were taken at the same time. I didn’t want to risk failing the project because my teacher thought I playing an elaborate prank.

 I didn’t include it in my paper, but I began to notice a pattern in the photos that made me believe the view might not be as random as I had thought. The sky color from the pictures taken through creepy window one day would almost perfectly match the sky color from the pictures taken from the normal windows the day after. It was almost like there was a 24 hour preview into the next day. If my teacher noticed it she didn’t say anything and I felt no need to point it out.

The idea that the window was somehow showing me the future seemed absolutely ridiculous to me, even with as young as I was and the amount of evidence I had leading me to that conclusion. I went back and forth about what to do with the information. Part of me desperately wanted to tell my dad in the hopes that he would have a more rational explanation for me – like he had the night when we had first discussed creepy window.  I was afraid though, in case he didn’t take my concerns – or me – seriously. What scared me even more than that was the idea that he would take it seriously and I’d find out that something really was wrong.

 I started keeping a closer eye on the window. There were days when I’d see moisture on the glass and I’d feel my entire body go cold. The next day it would never fail to rain, which would always leave me with a sense of dread. It was days like that, when I had been able to accurately predict the weather, that I almost broke my silence on the subject, but I never did. Creepy window was just some dumb, inside joke.  I felt like it would be safer if it just stayed that way.

You’d never believe just how easy it is for adults to forget things that seemed important to them as children. Creepy window was something that alternated between the coolest thing ever and utterly terrifying, but it was something that was always relevant to me growing up. It seemed life changing, like the kind of thing I’d never be free from. Then I grew up. I moved out, went to college, got a job and an apartment and just like that, creepy window ceased to matter. On the rare occasions I thought about it, it was just a fading memory of an inside joke that I had let myself get spooked by in my earlier teenage years. My dad and I had other things to talk about when he’d call and eventually I didn’t think about it at all.

Yesterday I came back to town to visit him, however. I dragged my bags up to my old room and got settled in. I spent some time reminiscing before I came down to let him know I was ready to head out for dinner. Near the bottom of the stairs I glanced up and saw out creepy window for the first time in years. Memories of the thing and my ongoing suspicions about it hit me hard and it was all I could do not to scream as I looked out into the red, fiery oblivion that was waiting for me just beyond the glass.

~~~

Inspired by a true story.

Art Credit: "View From Creepy Window” by Coffeenoir

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Jurassic

I really love your fics so I was wondering if you'll pleaseee write a clexa jurassic park au Tks

“Most meat eaters walked on two feet. This made them faster and left their hands free to grab their prey,” the professor explained, clicking the pointer so that the page changed. “Most plant eaters walked on four feet to better carry their heavy bodies. Some plant eaters could balance on two feet for a short time.”

“What about T-Rex?”

“What about them?”

“When do they show up and did they hunt humans?”

“Here we have the first instance of failure to read the material,” she shook her head and walked in front of the lecture hall.

Almost two hundred students watched her as she cross her arms and smiled as she shook her head. This was her favorite misconception, and her favorite way to tease an entire group of freshmen. The professor leaned against the desk at the front of the room, with a giant projector screen displaying a large graph behind her. She felt powerful like that.

“Millions of years separate the faintest inkling of humans and dinosaurs. We probably wouldn’t be sitting here today if we coexisted during the same time period. Not even because of the sheer amount of predators,” she explained before clicking through a few slides until she came to the graph she wanted. “There is a little gap in the estimates, but the Earth had about fifteen to thirty percent less oxygen than it does now. That means about five times the amount of Carbon Dioxide existed, which is thought to have contributed to the fact that everything was so damn big back then. Yes?”

“Could dinosaurs exist now?”

“No.”

From the back of the lecture hall, a gentleman smiled and watched the professor push herself up from leaning and begin to walk around, emphatically explaining with her hands so that every set of eyes was trained on her, riveted by her passion and explanations.

As the professor moves around the class, he melts into the crowd, unnoticed in the sea of eyes, but still, they are just like the kids around him, glued to the woman who is so excited, she has to push her glasses up on her nose from time to time as she explains, who has to shove her hands in her back pockets to keep them from gesturing to explain magnitude and such.

“That wraps up week seven,” the professor offered as the familiar shuffling that indicated the end of the allotted hour told her. “Remember, next week we will be tackling differentiation and specialization! If you close your eyes and sniff the air you can smell it. Tests are coming. Start preparing.”

Melting into the crowd, he pulls the phone out of his pocket and makes a phone call as the sea of students rush past him.

“She’s the one.”

Hot as all hell, the day hung there, dirty and thick and angry at nothing in particular. The tropical afternoon made it impossible to breathe, while the sun itself pulled every ounce of sweat it could from bodies as sacrifice for existing. It was a warped version of the angels share if she ever heard it.

From her spot against the fence, Clarke ran her forearm over her eyes and pushed the sticky ends of hair from where they stuck, though nothing truly helped.

She was familiar with heat and sweat.

Her eyes never stopped moving, following a herd moving through the upper wall of the far valley before a truck pulled up and stole her attention.

“Dinner is served,” Raven called happily as she hopped out and slammed the door. Some animal squealed and complained in the crate in the bed.

“That’s my line,” Jasper complained as he parked.

“You’re late.”

“We had a little problem with the new pens over in quadrant Charlie,” the driver gave a pointed look to the girl in the brace.

“That’s what you want to hear when you’re surrounded by creatures that are literally faster and bigger and sharper than anything else on the planet.”

“Listen, I fixed it. There was an over--” Raven tried to defend herself.

“Please don’t do the engineer stuff again,” Clarke sighed as she grunted and opened the truck lift.

“I need to take a look at the wiring for the converter panel over here. Thought I’d catch the show first.”

“It’s not a show.”

“Sure it’s not,” Raven teased, earning a smile. “Release the pig.”

“She’s not a toy. She’s a dinosaur. I can’t make her put on a show, no matter what Jaha thinks I’m capable of.”

“You got the raptors to behave.”

“I got a pack of starving animals to believe that I was the only reason they could eat. I’m a long way off of--”

“Okay, none of that boring animal junk. Can you make them ride tricycles yet?” Raven interrupted, leaning against the truck as the other two carried the giant crate with the help of the keepers at the paddock.

“Did you fix the island’s surge problem yet?”

“I have a feeling you’re closer to the tricycles than I am,” Raven acknowledged before heaving herself up the first few steps toward the observation deck.

From atop the stand, the three stood there and watched, waiting for the beast to show.

“I haven’t seen her since the last trainer...” Jasper began before trailing off when he looked at Clarke. “Who really wasn’t as good as you, and had it coming, I guess.”

“Total asshat,” Raven agreed.

The trainer shook her head and crossed her arms, leaning back and waiting for the inevitable. The other two leaned a little closer until everything stilled. The ground shook. The trees parted and trembled. The pig squealed and fought to climb a wall it hand no chance of making a foot up.

And then nothing.

A few heartbeats went by, and everything tentatively resumed itself, the world kept turning, the sky kept sitting there, the clouds yawned.

The growl was quiet, subtle, melting into the world of the island. Clarke heard it though as she scanned the tree line. A few seconds later, it burst forth, teeth glistening and legs churning with all its might before eight inch teeth serrated dinner and swallowed it in two gulps.

“Holy fuck,” Raven and Jasper breathed in unison, unable to blink or take their eyes from the dinosaur below.

It let out a long roar, that shook the world and echoed from the stars, that brought quiet to the island for a long moment, as if everyone knew this was different.

“Yup,” Clarke chuckled as she made her way down the steps. “Buy me a drink at the canteen. I’m thirsty as hell.”

For a full minute, Lexa stared at the stranger who now sat on the other side of the desk at her office. If she had been the type to be amused at such jokes, she was certain she would have laughed for the entirety of the pause that settled itself in the room quite comfortably. Instead she settled for quiet and a disbelieving stare that turned into an incredulous lean back in her chair, oddly disappointed the the meeting about potential funding to continue her dig in China was a ruse for a madman’s stupid prank.

“I do need you to say something, Dr. Woods. I have a few other appointments before I head back...”

“To your island,” she supplied, slightly amused.

“Yes. I leave in the morning.”

“To go back to your island of dinosaurs.”

“Correct.”

“An island that has genetically modified, brought back from extinction after millions and millions of years, dinosaurs, that used science which I can only imagine is still light years away from being stable or even... real.... that Island?”

“Yes,” Thelonious Jaha nodded with a warm smile, watching as the scientist leaned forward once again and tried to form more words to express her disbelief.

“You have to go back to the island with... what? Triceratops? and let me guess, you have... What? Ornithopoda? Just... running around?”

“We do have a nice little collection of those. Quite gentle creatures. My favorite though,” he explained, crossing his leg and folding his hands over his lap, “I think are the Apatosaurus. Did you know that they fight like giraffe’s often?”

“Often,” Lexa barked a laugh and caught herself before sitting up a bit straighter and blanking her face from the outburst. She pushed up her glasses and took a deep breath before a giggle escaped once again. “Often this happens. That Apatosaurus fight. Like giraffes.”

“Dr. Woods, I came to you with a serious business proposition, one that I think is more than fair--”

“You want to visit your fantasy island that is populated by dinosaurs brought back from extinction by DNA collecting and replicating methods which are... impossible at best... to study and monitor your collection... or real, live dinosaurs. Is that a good summation, Mr. Wells?”

“Fairly fair, I should say,” he agreed, smiling at her kindly.

“Mr. Wells, the wealthiest man in the world, spent his money making dinosaurs,” Lexa shook her head and whistled. “Well, I wouldn’t have guessed that one. But if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Wells. I have a class at three thirty I should prepar--”

While she spoke, she watched him reach toward his briefcase, which she assumed meant he was ready to depart after she rudely berated his craziness. Instead, a stack of pictures slid across the expanse of her desk.

“Those are not doctored in the slightest, Dr. Woods,” he explained as the paleontologist surveyed the array without picking one up, leaning closer than she would have liked to pretend. “I approached you because you are the best in your field, the most well-respected and honored scientist in the study of evolution and especially paleontology, and many of your theories have not only proven true, but also helpful in the development of behavior models of our subjects.”

As Lexa picked up a picture finally, her guest stood and watched her squint, trying to find the falsehood.

“My terms are simple. Just come see the park, Dr. Woods, and the money will be made available in a grant the second you step back off of the plane in this city.”

A plane ticket made its way to the desk beside the images. All the doctor could do was stare back at the man who placed it there before her eyes were drawn back to the image in her hand. It was impossible. There was no way.

“If you have any questions, my business card is here,” he smiled and pulled it from his jacket pocket. “I hope to see you soon, Dr. Woods. We could really use your expertise.”

Still stunned and unsure what to say, Lexa heard him leave as she leaned back in her chair and swiveled away from her door, holding what looked the picture of a pterodactyl soaring. She shook her head to get the inkling of belief from taking root before she picked up the business card.

From behind her sunglasses, Clarke watched the small prop plane land and turn around at the end of the small runway. The metal of the jeep was hot against her hip, but still, she leaned there and waited for the professor who was coming to tell her how to do her job, as if training or working with animals could be taught in a classroom, as if it could be taught by a bone hunter who wrote articles and--

“Holy shit,” she whispered to herself as the door finally opened and the dorky, middle-aged professor with a paunch belly and affinity for wearing tweed and smoking pipes turned out to be a ridiculous beautiful, legs-straight-from-Olympus, short-shorts wearing, siren of a there’s-no-way-she’s-a-doctor, doctor.

It took a moment, but the trainer swallowed quickly and crossed her arms, not letting the momentary distraction keep her away from indignation too long.

“So that’s the person that’s going to tell you what to do,” Raven observed as she leaned over the top railing of the Jeep.

Clarke pursed her lip and crossed her arms tighter around herself.

“She’s here to study and offer feedback.”

“Looks like just your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“You do,” her friend chuckled. “Too good for you and unattainable.”

Before she could argue the point, the newest arrival shouldered her bag and made her way from the tarmac. The closer she got, the more Clarke was vividly aware of how right the engineer was, and how much it bothered her.

The tan of her legs, the way her sleeves were rolled up, the old baseball hat that betrayed hair that lingered somewhere between chestnut and auburn, that curled up near her ears in the heat. Clarke was taken with her jaw and her collarbones, though she would never admit it.

“Hello,” the professor smiled awkwardly.

“Dr. Woods, this is Clarke Griffin, our trainer--

“Handler,” Clarke corrected.

“Of the dinosaurs,” Lexa took the hand offered to her and shook it before pulling off her sunglasses and tucking them into her shirt. “Because there are dinosaurs here.”

Her eyes made Clarke gulp, her words made her smile.

“Yes ma’am. I handle the dinosaurs.”

With a polite shake of her hand, Lexa shook her head and sighed as it dropped, still almost amused at the situation.

“If there are dinosaurs, I can’t imagine they handle well.”

“All animals handle well enough if you listen to them.”

“These would be multi-ton creatures that have millions of years of evolution and survival skills--”

“Two minutes on the island, and you’re calling my job a bunch of useless garbage,” Clarke inhaled deeply and nodded to herself. “You could at least wait to tell me how to do my job until after you see me in action, Professor.”

“I’m... I didn’t. I’m not here to tell you how to do your job.”

“Good.”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot--”

“I think it’s just fine. You’ll be gone in a few days and that’s fine enough,” Clarke opened the back door and motioned for her to get in.

Still distracted by the blonde and the lips and the words that came out of them, Lexa furrowed before slowly crawling in the back seat of the Jeep. She put her sunglasses back on and fanned herself through her shirt.

“Hi. I’m Raven. Head Engineer, persistent tag-along,” the girl in the passenger seat turned around and held out her hand. “You met our resident surly handler.”

“Lexa.”

With a smile that grew larger as she took in the newcomer, Lexa watched Raven turn around and say something to Clarke that was eclipsed with the roar of the engine back to life. Raven’s laugh was silent though her head tilted back as if she were enjoying herself.

Lexa leaned back in the seat as they began to rumble along through half a road into the jungle. All she could wonder was why and how she ended up here.

The jungle was thick and lush, sprouting up on both sides, blotting out the sun so that it came down in little shots of pure gold through the canopy. Lexa jumbled in the back over the uneven path that was barely a road to start with and more of a trail that was confiscated by the trees every chance it got.

When they emerged, Lexa wasn’t ready. The sunlight blinded her for a moment before it all registered and she saw them.

From the driver’s seat, Clarke looked at the professor in the rearview mirror, the astonishment catching again. She exchanged a look with Raven who shook her head, but that didn’t stop her.

Lexa didn’t notice they weren’t moving. She noticed the articulation of the spine of the stegosaurus. She noticed the sheer size of the apatosaurus. In a flash, she peeled off the sunglasses and leaned closer over the edge of the vehicle, gripping it tightly before murmuring to herself that it was impossible. As far as the view stretched, as far as the eye could see, nothing but life existed, pure, primeval live.

“Well, what do you think?”

“That’s... Those are...” Lexa shook her head. In a second, Lexa dug in her bag and slipped on a pair of large, round glasses.

“You didn’t think that it was real?”

“How can it be real?”

“Magic,” Clarke grinned, amused at herself.

“Those are... those are... Those are...”

“Yeah.”

“A doctor,” Raven rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t even know what those are.”

“Can we...? What? How?”

“Mr. Wells is going to meet us at the main property,” Clarke said before starting the engine once again.

“Can’t we stay with them?”

The amazement was infectious, and Clarke couldn’t remember losing it, though she did in the grime of her day-to-day life. Raven was right. She had a type, which apparently included hot professors with big glasses and old baseball hats and legs that were godly.

“You’ll have plenty of time,” Clarke promised.

Lexa didn’t hear anything. She stared, wide-eyed and blown away by the giants that walked along the valley floor. She was certain her heart didn’t beat at all the entire trip.

The science, the show, the behind the scenes parts, Lexa was absolutely intrigued by, swallowed up in it the moment the handler and the engineer dropped her off at the main entrance.

Before she knew it, the day was over and her notebook was filled with notes and questions and ideas and observations, and she hadn’t even made it back out to the park that blew her mind.

“Finally escaping the lab, professor?” a familiar voice greeted her as Lexa attempted to make her way toward her room to try to type up her notes and see what else she wanted to look into in the morning. She had stacks of reading the doctors lent her so that she could be up to date on their findings. It was highly classified and she had to sign a million contracts just to read them, but she looked forward to it.

“I think I could live in there,” she confessed, head still twirling slightly.

“Where are you heading?” Raven asked, walking alongside the doctor, dragging her leg gently, appreciative that she slowed slightly.

“Just back to my room. I’m supposed to have dinner with some of the scientists in an hour to go--”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“I don’t?”

“Come slum it with the hired hands. I promise it’ll be way better.”

“I’m not sure your friend likes me very much,” Lexa remembered, adjusting her bag on her shoulder and pushing up her glasses. “And you’re not exactly a hired hand.”

“We all are in our own ways for Jaha. Trust me. Even you are. You just don’t know it yet.”

All she wanted was to shower and go back to her room, and yet Lexa decided that detoxing from the science, from the pounding feeling in her head that came from the impossible existing, it was too much.

“Plus, Clarke doesn’t warm up often to people. You can’t take it personally. She’s an animal person.”

“I don’t know that I’d consider these animals.”

“You have a lot to learn, doc.”

The little cantina was a slice of actual life in the middle of what felt like the Twilight Zone. Perched on the far side of the main compound, behind the employee’s only fence, leaning against what was left of an almost drained lake, the little open, sided hut was the nightly gathering place for everyone. Clarke enjoyed it as much as she could, though it made her feel as if she was missing out on actual life, far away, away from the tiny dome of the island.

The sun hung around, lazy and disinterested in leaving the day to give into the night. The big, fluffy clouds caught on fire and became embers, while the people below sipped drinks and ate from the communal buffet.

The addition of a stranger had everyone awake and buzzing. The little staff were all experts, all knowledgeable, all adventurous and running from things, and yet as tough as they strived to be, any kind of newness, of new person, made them yearn for the real world.

Clarke avoided it as much as possible. Something about a new person reminded her what she was running from, why she escaped from real life and wound up in this zoo.

She knew what Raven was doing, and Clarke wanted nothing to do with it.

The back porch looked out onto the field that led into the trees. From atop the slope she sat and drank the beer and let it cool her down, a near impossible feat in the weather.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” a voice behind her offered. “After meeting with Jaha, I understand why.”

Clarke didn’t move, didn’t say anything. She just took another drink and listened to the noises of the world beyond the tree line.

“I don’t want to tell you how to do your job. I came to study behaviors, not to... to... train them. I told him that’s impossible, and he said you said the same thing.”

Wringing her fingers, Lexa ran her hand up her neck and tried to think of what else to say, hoping not to do anything else to piss off the person she’d be working with for the next week.

“Anyway. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Would you like a drink, Dr. Woods?” Clarke offered without turning around.

Somewhat relieved, the professor smiled to herself before grabbing the bottle offered and taking the seat beside the lounging handler.

“Lexa. You can call me Lexa.”

“You survived your first day. That’s impressive.”

“I don’t know how you do it every day. How long has it been?”

“About sixteen months.”

“Goodness.”

Both drank and stared at the sunset while the jukebox played something behind them. Clarke sighed and relaxed further while Lexa leaned forward and listened beneath the noise to what was happening out there.

“The Diplocodus sing at night,” Clarke offered.

“Like whales.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

From across the cantina Raven watched the two sitting on the back porch and congratulated herself on a job well done. It was no surge-proofed server system, but it was something.

For two days, Lexa soaks up everything that she can. She can’t imagine her eyes being any wider at every glance and nook and cranny. The entirety of the island is mesmerizing. For nearly four hours just one day, she spends sitting in a Jeep on the edge of a field observing. She filled up three notebooks in the short amount of time.

As much time as she spends observing, a certain handler spends just as much observing the professor. It isn’t on purpose, just always seems to work out that way. Something about the nerdy, quiet, passionate, smart, funny, kind... and the list raged on as Clarke tried to make an excuse for her gazing. Something about her just distracted Clarke at inconvenient moments, had her spilling words out of her mouth, even when she thought she was being quiet.

“Are you busy, Professor?” Clarke realized she was asking as she stumbled upon Lexa at the cage for check ups.

She’d meant to walk by, to leave her with possibly just a wave, while she assisted the vet with some notes. Of course, Clarke was suddenly a mess, and very much angry at her best friend for planting seeds that actually took in the arid desert that was her mind.

“Depends on what you may have for me today,” Lexa smiled in that way that felt like dew on ankles at dawn.

“I don’t think you’ve gotten a proper introduction to what I do.”

“Do I finally get to go into the employees only section that’s hidden behind those high walls and heavy doors?”

“No, but I promise you’ll have a better time than examining with Dr. Lame.”

“Dr. Lima is going to give me my first contact with dinosaurs.”

Clarke smiled to herself and flicked the keys in her hand.

“Trust me,” Clarke offered. “I rarely disappoint.”

The ride to the southern side of the island was bumpy and even worse than the one from the airport, but Lexa held on and for some unknown reason, trusted the handler. She regretted her decision precisely six minutes into the trip as she was nearly bounced out of her seat, earning just a grin from the driver who shrugged and adjusted her sunglasses.

Far in the horizon, clouds emerged from the horizon, angry and black, contrasting perfectly with the bright white-blue of the clear sky. Lexa shielded her eyes as they hopped along and recognized the storm coming in the way the breeze shifted and then calmed to almost nothing.

“How far are we?”

“Can’t you enjoy the ride?”

“Has anyone?” she retorted. “There’s a storm coming.”

“It hasn’t hit the first set of islands yet. We won’t see that for another hour or two,” Clarke promised as the Jeep slowed and stopped.

“Now you’re a meteorologist?”

“I’d like you a lot better if you were nicer to me,” the handler grumbled, pulling herself up by the crossbar and sliding out of the rover. Before Lexa could muster a reply, the blonde shouldered her bag and walked around, towards the front.

Half tripping and half afraid of being left, Lexa scrambled out after Clarke.

“I’m plenty nice to you,” she argued, pushing up her glasses as the tall grass tickled her bare legs. “You’re the one that’s rude to me.”

“I brought you out here, didn’t I?”

Lexa almost slammed into Clarke’s back, she stopped so quickly. Humming to herself, she met the challenging blue eyes and a smirk and swallowed deeply, blaming the humidity most of all.

“Yes, but you’re very surly, did you know that?”

“Surly.”

“Surly.”

“I don’t mean to be, it’s just... people talk a lot, don’t they?” Clarke asked, almost too honest and real, such a flip that it caught Lexa slightly off balance. “I don’t like wasted words.”

All she could do was follow down the faintest semblance of a trail. She wanted to ask more, but she felt like they were all wasteful kinds of words, no matter how she flipped them around and examined their surfaces in her head.

“We don’t breed, we reproduce,” Clarke explained as she came to a stop finally, digging through her bag. “Which makes herd dynamics easier.” She let out a low whistle.

For a moment, nothing happened.

The trees jostled, the shrubs moved, the earth shook slightly. With a squeal, a blur emerged and rammed into Clarke’s side, knocking her over in a fit of actual laughter. All Lexa could do was watch as the baby stood atop her and nudged her with a dull snout, rooting under her arm.

The trees moaned and came down to their side a few seconds later as a full grown triceratops came forward, timid and waiting at the edge. Lexa took a step back, eyes wide. She’d been close to the specimens before, but behind the glass back at the lab, in the paddocks used for observation.

“Okay, okay, enough,” the handler shoved at the teenage rhino sized creature that hovered over her. “Easy there buddy. You’re getting bigger and stronger.”

“That’s a...” Lexa trailed off slightly before she felt a giant breath on her shoulder and wet, sloppy lips on her shoulder. A horn met her eyes when she turned toward the adult.

“Yeah. It is,” Clarke chuckled.

Gone was the tightness of her shoulders, the defensiveness of her face. Clarke was a new person, full of life and joy. She righted herself despite the insistence of the animal that nudged her hips and ribs.

“Looks like Doreen likes you.”

“Doreen?” Lexa swallowed and met the large, doleful eyes of the thing that nipped at her shoulder, covering her in slobber.

“I like giving them old lady names. They remind me of old ladies. Nice and gentle, would give you hard candies,” Clarke grunted as she pushed back against the newly forming horns on the baby as it lifted her. “But get them mad, and they’ll take you to town with a wrath of many years lived.”

“Can I...”

“She doesn’t bite.”

“Just slobbers.”

“I thought they’d be a good way to properly introduce you to the real thing. This is what I do,” Clarke laughed as she got pushed again by the antsy little critter who came up to almost her shoulders. “They’re real and alive, and have personalities. You hypothesize on what makes them do what they do.”

She ran her hand along the plate of the dinosaur’s shell, feeling the unique texture, smiling to herself as she did.

“Who is that?” Lexa asked, nudging her chin at the thing still nudging Clarke.

“CJ.”

“CJ. Not a very good old lady name.”

“Clarke Junior,” she explained, blushing slightly at the admission. “I never thought I’d have to explain that to anyone.”

“She definitely has your legs.”

“I think she takes after my personality.”

A slobbery nose dug into Clarke’s bag, and Lexa grinned at the display.

It took impending clashes of thunder for Clarke to convince the good professor to retreat back to the main part of the park. It took a promise of taking her to see the herds on the southside of the river to get her to not mope.

The entire ride back, Lexa raved, and asked a million questions, her eagerness overpowering her fear of the weather and her worry about the ethics and implications of what seeing an actual dinosaur in real life, would mean. Clarke just smiled and answered what she could, amused at the way in which this girl was absolutely in love with the science of it.

As the rain started to fall, they dashed into the cantina and still, Lexa couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop gushing. Clarke realized it was maybe the best thing she’d ever done, to get a girl like that so excited and alive. She didn’t know how, but she liked it.

Gradually, the evening grew later, the rain came hard, the water coming down in buckets and the lightning flashing. Everyone emptied out as the lights flickered. Clarke was exhausted, but in no way eager to miss a second of Lexa, and she hated Raven for it.

“So we’ve made it clear that you love this, but you never told me why you study bones,” Clarke finally ventured, balancing the beer bottle on her knee as she leaned against the wall in their little nook.

“You never told me why you’re a handler,” Lexa countered, pushing up her glasses before tilting her head back for a long swig.

It was the drink and the hour, but Clarke let her eyes linger too long on the slope of her neck and shoulders.

“You first.”

“Fine,” the professor finally sighed with a grin. “I just like that for something so old, we don’t know anything about it. All of the information is there, we just have to find it. It’s a giant game. And I like hunting for them.”

“It was the cool hats and the digging, right?”

“And the computer models. That’s what really sold me.”

“I’m serious.”

“I went to the museum when I was a kid. My dad didn’t hang around much, but I did skip school and he took me to the museum, and we learned about dinosaurs. After that, he always sent me something about dinosaurs when he could. I don’t know where he went,” she shrugged. “Just stopped coming around, but I don’t know. The dinosaurs stuck.”

“See? That’s a much more human answer.”

“I’m human.”

“You use the scientific name for things and speak in numbers. You’re far from human,” Clarke chuckled and earned a look. She earned a blush and leaned across the table slightly, propping her cheek up and really looking at her.

“Tell me your deep, dirty secrets then,” Lexa finally managed.

“I’m boring. Good mom, good dad. I just always liked animals, and I didn’t like school. I did odd jobs. Horse trainer when I got out of high school. Dog and obedience classes. I joined the circus for a bit.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah, a little,” she grinned.

“I went to school to be a large animal vet, and I worked at a zoo for a long while. And then I just… My dad got sick, and I got an offer from Jaha that I jumped at to get away from home.”

“That sounds more like it.”

“Have you ever held your hand up to a tiger’s paw?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“I never thought anything would beat that feeling,” Clarke explained. “And then I came here.”

“But this place… it can’t… it can’t sustain this. The animals…”

“It’s not as perfect as they make it seem,” she agreed. “We had a bacterial outbreak that killed off a few dozen, and the raptors are showing signs of--”

“Raptors?”

That had been missing from the tour. Clarke gulped when she realized the words that came out of her mouth. Frantically, she searched her brain for a way to back track it, though none presented itself rightly.

“Um.”

“You’ve bred predators?!” Lexa yelled.

Clarke didn’t like that very much. She did, actually. She liked how angry she looked because her jaw was tight and her eyes were fire. But she hated it.

“I didn’t do anything. I just help try to keep them all alive.”

“There’s no way this place is safe.”

“We have high walls, lined with electric charges, and the predators are kept separate.”

“I can’t believe this,” Lexa stood and grabbed her bag, ready to march out.

Quickly, Clarke grabbed her arm and tugged her back.

“Where are you going?”

“To shut this down.”

“Believe me, it’s too late for that.”

The storm roared outside, and Clarke stood there, holding Lexa’s arm until she yanked it away. Slightly wounded, she just waited for the inevitable lashing that she was almost growing to expect from the professor.

Instead, she was met with quiet.

“You can’t be okay with it,” Lexa shook her head.

“I’m not, but I was too far in before I found out. Now I have all of those animals, like you met today, and I can’t just trust anyone else--”

“No, I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Lexa asked, cocking her head slightly. Once more, in that place, in this room, around that girl, she felt overwhelmed.

“I don’t know. It just felt right.”

Once more, she shook her head and was met with a kind of grin that made her forget about giant carnivores who could eat her in one bite. Until she remembered.

“I should, um,” Lexa pulled away slightly, unsure how she got to be standing so close to an animal handler in the middle of an island in a jungle inhabited by extinct creatures. “I should go to bed.”

“Yeah, um, me too,” Clarke agreed, clearing her throat. “Tomorrow? See you early for the trip out to the river?”

“Yeah.”

With coy eyes, Lexa darted away as fast as her feet could take her without looking like she was running. Clarke stood on the porch and scratched her neck as she watched her look back and hurriedly look away.

And she hated Raven once again.

NEXT

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The Mysteries of Animal Movement

A scientist’s unfettered curiosity leads him to investigate the physics at work in some very odd corners of the natural world.

By James Gorman

Nov. 5, 2018

David Hu was changing his infant son’s diaper when he got the idea for a study that eventually won him the Ig Nobel prize. No, not the Nobel Prize — the Ig Nobel prize, which bills itself as a reward for “achievements that make people laugh, then think.”

As male infants will do, his son urinated all over the front of Dr. Hu’s shirt, for a full 21 seconds. Yes, he counted off the time, because for him curiosity trumps irritation.

That was a long time for a small baby, he thought. How long did it take an adult to empty his bladder? He timed himself. Twenty-three seconds. “Wow, I thought, my son urinates like a real man already.”

He recounts all of this without a trace of embarrassment, in person and in “How to Walk on Water and Climb up Walls: Animal Movements and the Robotics of the Future,” just published, in which he describes both the silliness and profundity of his brand of research.

No one who knows Dr. Hu, 39, would be surprised by this story. His family, friends, the animals around him — all inspire research questions.

His wife, Jia Fan, is a marketing researcher and senior data scientist at U.P.S. When they met, she had a dog, and he became intrigued by how it shook itself dry. So he set out to understand that process.

Now, he and his son and daughter sometimes bring home some sort of dead animal from a walk or a run. The roadkill goes into the freezer, where he used to keep frozen rats for his several snakes. (The legless lizard ate dog food). “My first reaction is not, oh, it’s gross. It’s ‘Do we have space in our freezer,’” Dr. Fan said.

He also saves earwax and teeth from his children, and lice and lice eggs from the inevitable schoolchild hair infestations. “We have separate vials for lice and lice eggs,” he pointed out.

“I would describe him as an iconoclast,” Dr. Fan said, laughing. “He doesn’t follow the social norms.”

Dr. Hu with his 2015 Ig Nobel Prize, for showing that nearly all mammals empty their bladders in 21 seconds.

He does, however, follow in the footsteps of his father, a chemist who also loved collecting dead things. Once, on a family camping trip, his father brought home a road-killed deer that he sneaked into the garage under cover of night.

The butchering, a first time event for everyone in the family, he wrote once in a father’s day essay for his dad, “was an intense learning and sensory experience. There were a lot of organs in an animal, I learned.”

His own curiosity has led him to investigations of eyelashes and fire ants, water striders and horse tails, frog tongues and snakes.

Dr. Hu is a mathematician in the Georgia Tech engineering department who studies animals. His seemingly oddball work has drawn both the ire of grandstanding senators and the full-throated support of at least one person in charge of awarding grants from that bastion of frivolity, the United States Army.

Long before his role in the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation hearing, Senator Jeff Flake, Republican of Arizona, put three of Dr. Hu’s research projects on a list of the 20 most wasteful federally funded scientific studies. The television show, “Fox and Friends,” featured Sen. Flake’s critique.

Naturally, Dr. Hu made the attack on his work the basis for a TEDx talk at Emory University, in which he took a bow for being “the country’s most wasteful scientist” and went on to argue that Sen. Flake completely misunderstood the nature of basic science.

Dr. Hu was tickled to think that one scientist could be responsible for such supposed squandering of the public’s money. Neither he nor his supporters were deterred.

Among those supporters is Samuel C. Stanton, a program manager at the Army Research Office in Durham, N.C., which funded Dr. Hu’s research on whether fire ants were a fluid or a solid. (More on that and the urination findings later.)

Dr. Stanton does not share Dr. Hu’s flippant irreverence. He speaks earnestly of the areas of science to which he directs Army money, including “nonequilibrium information physics, embodied learning and control, and nonlinear waves and lattices.”

So he is completely serious when he describes Dr. Hu as a scientist of “profound courage and integrity” who “goes where his curiosity leads him.”

Dr. Hu has “an uncanny ability to identify and follow through on scientific questions that are hidden in plain sight,” Dr. Stanton said.

When it comes to physics, the Army and Dr. Hu have a deep affinity. They both operate at human scale in the world outside the lab, where conditions are often wet, muddy or otherwise difficult.

In understanding how physics operates in such conditions, Dr. Stanton explained, “the vagaries of the real world really come to play in an interesting way.”

Besides, Dr. Stanton said, the Army is not, as some people might imagine, always “looking for a widget or something to go on a tank.” It is interested in fundamental insights and original thinkers. And the strictures of the hunt for grants and tenure in science can sometimes act against creativity.

Sometimes, Dr. Stanton said, part of his job is convincing academic scientists “to lower their inhibitions.”

Needless to say, with Dr. Hu that’s not really been an issue.

Dr. Hu has shown that the ideal eyelash length for mammals, like this sheep, is one-third the width of an eyeball.CreditGuillermo Amador

An aspiring doctor is led astray

“Applied mathematicians have always been kind of playful,” Dr. Hu said recently while talking about his academic background — although they are perhaps not quite as playful as he can be. A few years ago he did gymnastic flips onto the stage of a Chinese game show that sometimes showcases scientists.

He grew up in Bethesda, Md., and while he was still in high school, he did his first published work on the strength of metals that had been made porous. He was a semifinalist for the Westinghouse Science Prize (the forerunner of the Regeneron Science Search) and won several other awards.

That work helped him get into M.I.T., which he entered as a pre-med student planning to get an M.D./Ph.D.

He was soon led astray.

Dr. Hu’s undergraduate adviser at M.I.T. was Lakshminarayanan Mahadevan, a mathematician who works to describe real life processes in rigorous mathematical terms.

Dr. Mahadevan, known to students and colleagues as Maha, investigated wrinkling, for example. Naturally he won an Ig Nobel for that work.

“Maha lit the fire,” Dr. Hu said. Before he encountered his adviser’s research, he said, “It didn’t really make sense that you could make a living just playing with things.”

But he came to see the possibilities.

He stayed at M.I.T. for graduate work, in the lab of his adviser, John Bush, a geophysicist. Dr. Bush remembers him as very enthusiastic.

Asked by email about some of Dr. Hu’s wilder forays into the physics of everyday life, he said, “A sense of playfulness is certainly a good thing in science, especially for reaching a broader audience.” But, he said, “targeting silly problems is not a good strategy, and I know that David has taken considerable flack for it.”

Dr. Hu may be the first third-generation (in terms of scientific pedigree) Ig Nobel winner, because Dr. Mahadevan studied under the late Joseph Keller, a mathematician at Stanford University. Dr. Keller won two Ig Nobels. One was for studying why ponytails swing from side-to-side, rather than up and down, when the ponytail owner is jogging. The other was an examination of why teapots dribble.

After M.I.T., Dr. Hu did research at the Courant Institute at New York University, another hotbed of real-world mathematics. He moved to Georgia Tech, after Jeannette Yen, a biologist there, told the university they ought to take a look at him.

From ants to self-assembling robots

Dr. Hu’s research may seem like pure fun, but much of it is built on the idea that how animals move and function can provide inspiration for engineers designing human-made objects or systems.

The title of Dr. Hu’s book refers to the “robots of the future,” and he emphasizes the way animal motion offers insights that can be applied to engineering — Bio-inspired design.

When Brazil’s Pantanal wetlands flood, for instance, fire ants form rafts so tightly interlaced that water doesn’t penetrate their mass. When he picked up such a mass in the lab, Dr. Hu writes, it felt like a pile of salad greens.

“The raft was springy, and if I squeezed it down to a fraction of its height, it recoiled back to its original shape. If I pulled it apart, it stretched like cheese on a pizza.”

He found out that the ants were constantly moving even though the shape of the mass stayed more or less the same. They were breaking and making connections all the time, and they became, in essence, a “self-healing” material.

The idea is appealing for many engineering applications, including concrete that mends itself and robots that self-assemble into large, complex structures. Depending on the force applied to them, a mass of a hundred thousand ants or so can form a ball or a tower, or flow like a liquid.

He and students in his lab also showed that the reason mosquitoes don’t get bombed out of the air by water droplets in a rainstorm is that they are so light that the air disturbed by a falling drop of water blows the mosquitoes aside. The finding could have applications for tiny drones.

They also showed that the ideal length for a row of mammalian eyelashes is one-third the width of an eyeball. That gives just the right windbreak to keep blowing air from drying out the surface of the eye. Artificial membranes could use some kind of artificial eyelashes.

And what about urination? It didn’t make sense to Dr. Hu that a grown man and an infant would have roughly the same urination time.

After he sent out undergraduates, under the guidance of Patricia Yang, a graduate student, to time urination in all the animals at the Atlanta Zoo, the situation became even more puzzling. Most mammals took between 10 and 30 seconds, with an average of 21 seconds. (Small animals do things differently.)

The key was the urethra, essentially a pipe out of the bladder, that enhanced the effect of gravity. Even a small amount of fluid in a narrow pipe can develop high pressure, with astonishing effects.

Water poured through a narrow pipe into a large wooden barrel can split the barrel. Dr. Hu said the experiment, known as Pascal’s barrel, can be replicated nowadays with Tupperware.

“Applied mathematicians have always been kind of playful.”

What is interesting about the urethra biologically is that its proportions, length to diameter, stay roughly the same no matter the size of the animal (as long as it weighs more than about six and a half pounds).

The 21-second average urination time must be evolutionarily important. Perhaps any longer would attract predators? But then predators are subject to the same rule. In any case, the principle of how to effectively drain a container of fluid could be useful, Dr. Hu wrote in the original studies, to designers of “water towers, water backpacks and storage containers.”

As usual, in his book Dr. Hu does not neglect the human side of his work, or treat it too seriously. He refers to the urethra as a pee-pee pipe. And he corrects his son when he brags that only he, not his sister, has a pee-pee pipe.

Not so, Dr. Hu insists. The urethra is present in males and females.

Once older, his children may never forgive him for this book. But middle school science teachers and nerds everywhere will thank him.

[2017mdia4120-blog]

Mierke - 1/13/17 Assignment

Maureen Mierke

MDIA 4120

13 January 2017

PART 1

1.     My earliest childhood memory of social media use by me is when I first used AIM messaging, about 11 years ago. Although this may not seem like the first idea of “social media,” as it seems to be defined today, it was a means of communicating with others through an online medium. However, in terms of social media we often use today, Facebook was my first social media site that I joined and used. Although I don’t precisely remember when I joined Facebook, I believe it was sometime around when I was 13 or 14 years old.

As for my first memory of a family member using social media, I think this was probably when my brother first made his Facebook account. As my older brother, he was allowed to make his account before I was and I remember asking him about as he was on it. Again, I don’t exactly remember when this was, but I know he made it about a few years before I did.

2.     I never stuck with reading any blogs, but I do remember subscribing to different YouTube channels and “vlogs” when I was younger. One of the main ones I still remember was a YouTube account called, “Smosh,” that consisted of two guys who basically just made up goofy stories or songs. There wasn’t much to them, but they were very entertaining. Another YouTuber that I subscribed to was Jenna Marbles, who posted funny videos regarding her life. Although neither Smosh nor Jenna Marbles are video bloggers (vloggers) in the typical sense of the definition, they both dip into the entertainment blogging world.

I was always one to turn to video blogs that were funny and entertaining and this has stuck with me even today, as I continue to watch Jenna Marbles videos every now and then. I also began subscribing to other channels as I grew older that stuck with this genre of “entertainment vlogging,” such as Olan Rogers, a vlogger who shares humorous stories of his life, updates of his life and animation stories here and there. As I mentioned, I followed these vlogs because they were funny and entertaining and would brighten my day. Reflecting on these vlogs, that is mostly what I remember: they brightened my day. Today still, I turn to vlogs that make me laugh. Humor has a strong place in my heart and so that is what I turn towards. In addition, I have begun reading actual blogs, too. Most of these are crafting blogs, that give me tips and ideas of different crafts to try. I guess my choice of vlogs and blogs simply has been determined by my personality and interests at the moment. 

3.     In order to prepare myself for a career involving social media, I have taken numerous social media-based courses here at Ohio University. I’m currently a part of the Social Media Certificate program, that helps with these social media courses. I also have ensured that I have joined most every social media platform that exists, so I better understand each of them. I am also a part of numerous organizations, where I have either helped produce social media content or have run the social media accounts. Finally, I have had a few internships where social media has been a priority or the organization. Overall, I recognize how important social media is in today’s modern world and I am doing everything I can to stay ahead and on top of it. 

PART 2

1.     Three situations where users have shaped social networks are, (1.) the use of Facebook Live, (2.) Twitter’s “Moments” feature and 3.) Pinterest adopting the “Buy Now” feature.

For the first one, everyone today seems to be very interested in sharing with the world what they are doing at precise moments of the day. This can easily be seen by people’s 500-second-long Snapchat stories, where they would broadcast the interesting moments of their day. Facebook adopted this idea of people sharing their lives by creating “Facebook Live,” which lets users begin and end a video in real time, allowing people to follow along with their interesting moments at the time that it is happening. This has proved valuable for not only personal accounts, but also organization or news accounts, going “live” with news updates or other featured opportunities. In an academic study, Rashid states that, “Facebook offers capabilities to its users to create, cultivate, and continue social relationships” (22). This idea is showcased with Facebook Live, allowing its users to continue social relationships in a more personal manner.

Secondly, Twitter recognized the fact that many people now turn towards social media platforms to see news of the day. By taking this into consideration, they developed their “Moments” feature, which showcases newsworthy content of the day and most talked about news of the day in one easy to maneuver space. This allows its users, who often turn to Twitter for news, to see this news in one area instead of constant scrolling.

Lastly, a feature that I think was very well thought-out is that of Pinterest’s “Buy Now” feature. So many people who go on Pinterest are searching for multitudes of ideas or products. I personally have gone on so many times and have seen something I wanted, but have had to jump through hoops in order to find where I could buy it. Pinterest changed this way of life by implementing a “Buy Now” feature that takes you directly to where you the product is sold. This has been a blessing for myself and many others and have saved us all so much time in our online shopping habits. Mikalef, Giannakos, and Pateli developed a study that shows how social media impacts product advertising and Pinterest’s development falls in line with this. Mikalef and others say that, “…social media is a viable solution for marketing and product promotion.” Pinterest paid attention to what its users were doing and what they wanted most and developed something to offer this that also promoted products in a new manner.

Each of these examples showcases the fact that users are the ones who get to decide what direction social media goes. None of the ideas mentioned above would have become reality if they had not first been noticed to be things that people wanted. In the world of social media, people have the power to decide what happens next.

2.     Three predictions I make about users’ contributions to social networking are… 

(1.) Technology, especially wearable technology, will only continue to get better and better based on what people like to do. For example, Snap Spectacles were recently introduced by Snapchat. With these sunglasses on, you can record 10-second videos that wirelessly sync to your Snapchat account and then charge themselves in the case. This form of social technology is incredible, especially right now, as everyone continues to share more and more information on their social media platforms. Rob Marvin, writer for PC Magazine, says, “Spectacles are coming to market at the right place, time, and price to make for an ideal viral toy.” As the years go on, I believe these glasses will continue to upgrade and, if they connect with some other technology companies such as Apple or Google, we could have an all-inclusive media platform right on our faces and no one would be the wiser. Users will continue to want technological advancements and this wish will be granted.

(2.) I think users will push for more interaction with TV shows and movies. Exactly how this is done, I’m not sure yet, but I think it will be something far beyond simply hashtagging while watching the show. For one, I think television will create more instances where users get to decide the actions during the show and the ending of the show. This would allow users to feel more connected with the shows they are watching and would allow their voice to be directly heard. Perhaps virtual reality will also come into play and you can put on a headset or pair of glasses and be placed directly in the TV scenes. You can either be a character in the show, or direct how the characters perform. No matter what happens, TV won’t simply be a sit-on-the-couch event anymore.

(3.) Lastly, I think users will advocate for more unified apps. So many apps nowadays do such similar things, such as GroupMe and Slack, and yet, some people still prefer using one over the other. Doing this, people end up having so many different conversations occurring on different apps that it becomes overwhelming. Eventually, people will want a single app that everyone goes to for team or group messaging; a single app for checking yourself in at places; and a single app for meeting people to hook-up or have romantic relations with. Right now, each app has enough of its own personality for the separation to be okay, but at some point, this will change.

Resources:

MARVIN, ROB. "Spectacles Are The Missing Piece Of Snapchats Business Model." PC Magazine (2016): 131. MasterFILE Premier. Web. 12 Jan. 2017.

Mikalef, Patrick Mikalef, Michail Giannakos, and Adamantia Pateli. "Shopping And Word-Of-Mouth Intentions On Social Media." Journal Of Theoretical & Applied Electronic Commerce Research 8.1 (2013): 17-34. Computers & Applied Sciences Complete. Web. 12 Jan. 2017.

Rashid, Ayesha Tahera. "Online Befriending On Facebook And Social Capital: A Socio-Psychological Study On University Students Of Assam." Global Media Journal: Indian Edition 6.1&2 (2015): 1-25. Communication & Mass Media Complete. Web. 12 Jan. 2017.