#cats on synthesisers in space

[catsonsynthesizersinspace]

[alternazine]

Time for our second "Questions and Answers" session!

I, Rebi, will once again help you out. It's always lovely to see you! Here, us scientists will resolve all doubts. Remember you can ask us anything via our Curious Cat, Twitters DMs, Tumblr ask-me-anything or email. Now, let's begin! . . . «The following questions belong to: CONTRIBUTOR APPLICATIONS.» 1.- “If we, the artist submitting an application, created an artwork we believe fits in our top 3 after sending the application, are we allowed to change it before said applications close?” R = Applicants should be able to edit their form to do any changes they wish to. If this is not the case, feel free to reach out to us through Twitter, Tumblr or our email! 2.- “Are applicants going to be sent emails regardless of acceptance?” R = Yes! All applicants will receive either an email on March 11th with their acceptance, pinch hitter role or rejection. 3.- “It seems that this kettle/site is missing, is this a mistake?” R = All missing kettles/sites have already been claimed by guest artists and staff. This is to avoid someone picking most, if not all, taken kettles. 4.- “Are we allowed to use our own ocs as agent 3?” R = All contributors are allowed to use their own Neo 3 OCs in their pieces, as well as any interpretation of the canon cast, other agents and involved OCs. 5.- “Any word on the research figuring out if squids are real or not yet?” R = That’s classified information we cannot reveal at the moment. ----- «The following questions belong to: CURIOUS CAT.»

1.- “hello! I never saw the musician option before, was it in your Interest Check? I wanted to ask what is expected of a musician contributor. What kind of music are you accepting and the overall guidelines! I am also slightly concerned as I do not see a music Moderator, are mods knowledgeable about composition/production? Would there be any specific assets provided to make my music?” R = It was not, but we received some answers proposing musical involvement and we are happy to oblige! We think all art forms should be celebrated and given proper space to shine, we are just facilitating the stage.  Any kind of music is accepted. For example, you can make a melody that can blend seamlessly with the alterna soundtrack, a remix, full lyrical song about the story mode, acoustic, acapella.... It can be something as small as a ringtone or big as an album... It's all up to you! You own all rights for its publishing and distribution, we are just sharing it with your authorisation on the zine and not anywhere else. Changes to our carrd have already been done when this answer is published to reflect these guidelines. As for experience, host Rebi has received musical education and was part of an orchestra and a choir not so long ago as well. Although she no longer plays music due to health concerns and time restrictions, she is happy to help in any way to the best of her abilities. Host Tari has dabbled in composing and has musical education not only themself, but their family too. If by assets you mean music sheets or programs and alike then no, assets aren't provided. At this moment, Rebi works only with synthesisers and Tari with free chiptune/composing sites. Please keep in mind that this zine isn't serious, just a fun project to show off the members of the splatoon community and how they interpret the artificial land of Alterna!  2.- “If multiple people have the same level as their first pick and their portfolios are roughly equal, how will it be decided who gets the stage? by better pitch, other level pick availability, randomizer, smth else?” R = Stage assignment is decided solely on the chosen level availability, pitches are just for us to see how people think. 3.- “For pieces featuring Neo 3- does it have to feature the “canon” version of the character, or are OC interpretations allowed” R = All contributors are allowed to use their own Neo 3 OCs in their pieces, as well as any interpretation of the canon cast. 4.- “Hi! Ummm When we fill out the application forms and send it, do we automatically receive an automated email saying the form was sent?  I'm unsure whether or not I actually sent it after filling out one since I never received anything saying it was sent unlike other forms.” R = Please feel free to reach out through our email or social media DMs to check if your application went through or if you wish to edit something! 5.- “Do you need a social media presence to join? I plan on posting more online, but i only have a few posts on public social media so far” R = You do not need a social media presence to apply! It's an alternative if we cannot reach you through email when sending application results. 6.- “Is a downloadable pdf or a google document ok as a portfolio format?” R = Yes! As long as we can clearly see your work, it counts.

. . . This has been all for today. We thank you all for your interest and support. Now, I must go back to the Alterna center… One must keep an eye on the researchers. Some are still missing- Please look forward to our application results on March 11th!

« Art by @calatarii. Graphics by @rebiisea. All rights reserved. » « Information Hub: https://alternazine.carrd.co » « Open Contributor's Applications: https://www.tumblr.com/alternazine/741452328861908992/contributors-applications-start-now?source=share »

[mindfulcuppa]

Dipped in Foreign Lands; An Exercise in Image Storytelling

The beginning of an offering of consolidated thoughts, photos, slices of life in between rocks, more photos, and general going.

Preface.

With an elongated farewell, a month passed before I departed the country. This time wasn’t spent finding accomodation, or sorting bank cards as it probably should have been. No, instead there was lots of relaxing, music, surfing, watching the NBA playoffs and organising of the hoards gathering dust in my parents cupboards. It wasn't until the final 2 days that the urgency of packing life into a bag for the foreseeable future became a priority. 

It was done though, thanks to my loving housemates who provided a ‘jacpac’ for its potential to be filled. 2 jackets, 6 t-shirts, 2 brother-made garments, 2 shirts, 2.5 pairs of shoes, 2 cameras, a recording kit (regrettable now…), synthesiser (also marginal…), 400 leaves of paper, and a whole lot of other possessions that I probably didn’t need to pack. I felt sad to think of time apart from some things, but their absence will drift like the main themes of Toy Story (1998). 

I write this now sitting at a glass dining table enclosed in a small house-in-progress situated on a piece of land in Almagreira. There are dogs barking next door, and many flies darting around the area. It has been 2 weeks since leaving Aotearoa, so I would like to tell you how I have been, and how it’s being seen. Through the lens of a digital camera (and the occasional iPhone pic).

1 Melbourne

As early birds get worms, I had an early flight to Naarm on 01/06/2023. Melbourne waited a bounty of friends, sandwiches, musical sharing, long walks, and pizza. A social extension on a Friday saw our Mouthfull ‘Live at Capers’ residence with a jovial group of deejays providing a space for listening, dancing - and a great meeting point for people to come together over some Mastika & Moussaka worthy of a trophy made of pure 1 million carat gold.

Tyler and I would also have so much fun playing songs on the radio for breakfast over 2 days (links below for listening). For breakfast we ate toast with avocado and tomato, and for breakfast radio we listened to a mixture of jazz, folk, new wave, ambient, worldly music with a sprinkling of a few classic ballads of course.

Sleeping on the sofa was comfortable after some cushion amendments and some wine. We would spend our days walking and talking in Carlton North, relaxing and imagining. Our best meal together was from the Sri Lankan spot, Citrus, where you can find a banquet of vegan smorgasbord for $15.

Once the event was said and done, a recovery in the mornings light was aided with a walk to the felafel shop to meet again with Olive. Hearing of her news in between bites brought great happiness and love.

The following day, I met with Poppy. We were to find a place in Brunswick for a coffee; opting for some breakfast too at Kines. While we were there, I would think of Denzel for his obsession with the cafe. His voice would riddle through echoes from the past. After our breakfast, we walked up and down, crossing Sydney road 3 times, turning corners, and entering discount food stores to browse the obscure flavours of pringles and chocolate. The day was hot and the walk long. Navigating our bodies to Ceres we rummaged through bike parts and found entertainment in a cat in the chicken coup. It was a pleasant walk, except the moderate panic when I left my jacket on a park bench with all money and devices embezzled in the pockets.

After all the catching up, walking, wandering; I caught a train down to Torquay to visit an old friend, Isabelle. It was strange down there considering last time was around 5 years ago staying in a resort not dissimilar to vaudeville. However, we would go for a long walk to discover an amazing mosaic sundial (designed by artist Claire Gittings - whom I have no known lineage to - but am probably related somehow). 

With conversations over a cafe breakfast of my conviction against mining, we would enjoy each others' company in a true taurus manner. I would stay in her house near Marshall and meet her love, and we would have a Spanish soup next to a brazen colour changing fire in a brazier. A casket of red wine was ordered for $10 and delivered promptly, while it wasn't exactly even middle of the road it was a fine drink.

Finally, a pizza evening at Leonado's with Harrison & Andre. Some of the best pizza you will try, the Italian community in Carlton is a reliable source. Twas a welcome carbohydrate to carry forward into the nights digestion on what was to be my last night in Naarm. I bought Tyler a Toblerone to thank him for my stay, and the constant trickling of happy travel wishes would soon be finished with a final embrace.

And so it was, as it was, an extended layover in a city being taken over by sandwich shops and wine bars. It was to be the takeoff point to the north, an expansion to signify the changing of place from previous programming. The world outside was luminous and the air filled with a freshness known to mother nature so much more well than ceiling fans.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

[space-cadet-blues]

June 1st prompt - Give it up

Ed/Stede - Modern AU

Stede sits at a table in the corner of his local, his and Ed’s usual table. It’s bustling, just starting to get busy as the DJ spins out classics for 80s night.

He spies Ed chatting animatedly at the bar drawing smiles and fits of laughter from those nearby. He’s just like that, takes up a whole room with his presence.

Stede smiles, warm and bright.

Ed.

They’d met by chance when Ed had been knocked off of his motorbike in front of Stede’s wine shop. Stede had called an ambulance and frantically tended to him while waiting. Ed had spent the entire time attempting to calm Stede down in between flirting, and Stede only realised his interest wasn’t a symptom of head trauma when Ed returned two weeks later in a leg cast and crutches to get his number.

Four years, a cosy flat and one cat later here they are. Settled, happy and looking to the future whilst listening to synthesised beats from the past.

It takes Stede a moment to realise the man himself is heading his way with drinks in hand as the DJ blasts another old classic.

Everybody wants you

Everybody wants your love

Ed’s gait takes on a sway, and he starts to dance his way towards Stede, keeping the drinks elevated and steady as he weaves between tables and patrons alike.

I’d just like to make you mine, all mine

Ed mouths along to the words and winks at him. Stede snorts a laugh, unable to hold back a grin.

When Ed makes it to the table, he puts the drinks down and then grabs Stede’s hands to urge him out of the chair, all the while singing at him.

Na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na-na-na now

Baby, give it up

Give it up

Baby, give it up

Stede rolls his eyes but allows Ed to pull him up and spin him.

“I don’t dance,” Stede says, as Ed shimmies his way into his space.

“I know, just stand there looking pretty then.”

“Ed!”

“Stede!”

Stede gives him a faux stern look and Ed deflects it with an innocent widening of his puppy dog eyes.

That’s all it takes.

Stede lets Ed lead the way.

[earhartsease]

My badge collection grows apace - the top one is a Soviet era "master of hemp growing" badge apparently

[newmoonwastaken]

*inhale*

die hard fans adored your hands they loved your throat and quote unquote you hey remember Michael Jackson Michael Jackson really happened delta echo alpha delta walking on the moon forever you are dead and buried you are dead oh no that's being revised even as we speak we're synthesising blood and organs synthesising heart and soul even Katy Perry knows you're dead oh no won't she be surprised when we get your heart to start tomorrow when you see the chart tomorrow you'll be number one bro you look amazing really put together it's like you haven't aged a day oh it's like we know what we're doing or something you've been gone for way too long like half a year entire career for some good luck getting into heaven if you live past 27 listen to the radiation put you back in circulation you are dead and buried you are dead oh no oh but you never died even as we speak we're synthesising blood and organs synthesising heart and soul ain't no cemetery you can shed oh no ain't nowhere you can hide don't be frightened of us soon enough you're gonna love us just remember this is your last ride ever forever fill up your lungs feel better look it's you good as new new hands new throat new living tissue you earned this new purpose lifetime achievement award don't be nervous baby we put a billion eyes back on you from the grave to the stage you're unnatural babe you are dead and buried you are dead oh no that's being revised even as we speak we're synthesising blood and organs synthesising heart and soul even Katy Perry knows you're dead oh no won't she be surprised when we get your heart to start tomorrow when you see the chart tomorrow you'll be number one due to my strong personal convictions I wish to stress that this record in no way endorses a belief in the occult due to my strong personal convictions I wish to stress that this record in no way endorses a belief in the occult due to my strong personal convictions I wish to stress that this record in no way endorses a belief in the occult I think it's time for you to know the awful truth the truth about me and the truth about you 'cause you're a brand new species big cat space Nazis Robert Stack God damn it gonna snap Leonard Nimoy call me back I try to call you every day I'm rehearsing what to say when the truth comes out of my very own mouth I've been working on a unifying theory if I make it through tonight everybody's gonna hear me out 'cause I'm the right one on my touch tone touch tone telephone I'm the only one on your am am radio oh I'm crying now authentic tears they flow out of me when I think about you 'cause you're the only person in the world who'd understand 'cause you're the only person in the world who'd understand the meaning of this oh my God I try and I try and I try to make you listen to me I try to call you every day I'm rehearsing what to say when the truth comes out of my very own mouth I've been working on a unifying theory if I make it through tonight everybody's gonna hear me out 'cause I'm the right one on my touch tone touch tone telephone I'm the only one hey on your am am radio don't hang up yet I'm not done I'm an expert I'm the one the one who was right all along better to be laughed at than wrong I'm an expert in my field ufology yes it's all real ancient aliens it's all true I'm an expert just like you and like you I'm a genius before my time disbelieving that's the real crime pretty soon they'll discover me in the Super-Sargasso Sea I try to call you every day what can I say when the truth comes out of my very own mouth I've been working on a unifying theory if I make it through tonight everybody's gonna hear me out 'cause I'm the right one on my touch tone telephone on my touch tone touch tone telephone I'm the only one on your am radio on your am am radio the day they found me I hadn't yet been played inside my workshop behind the old arcade electric desires had unravelled all my wires now I'm in the box for safekeeping the news reporters reported that I died but all my organs were living on inside circuit board to brain with two lungs collecting change one big human heart gently beeping you can't win me I can't be beat I won't hurt you unless you cheat you can't see me behind the screen I'm half human and half machine thank God for business they let me take the floor I stood so proudly like I was going to war players soon appeared and I quickly was revered this must be what love would have felt like such dedication that came from miles away with eyes so piercing they'd wait their turn to play perfect patient lines because I was in their minds I could do whatever I felt like you can't win me I can't be beat I won't hurt you unless you cheat you can't see me behind the screen I'm half human and half machine I'm happy for years and years and only eating the occasional maintenance man only driving a few kids to madness maybe they were predisposed to madness who knows I only want to have fun but now they're telling me my days here are done 'cause there's a tiny little box that they make in Japan and pretty soon it's gonna fit in your hand it's getting lonely it's getting hard to breathe the arcade's empty I think it's Christmas Eve someone's broken in now they're painting on my skin breaking me and taking my corners bashing in my face with a crowbar kicking me and pushing me over now they see my blood on their sneakers you can't win me I can't be beat I won't hurt you unless you cheat you can't see me behind the screen I'm half human and half machine knowing what we know knowing what we don't know this is gonna change our world feeling how I feel I'll accept the unreal if you be my no eyed girl from nowhere mankind can go there's too much light blinding white your matter tells mine to scatter it's alright it's alright from the moment that we met I've been awake like I've never been awake in all my life if I spoke your language I could tell you how I feel but your language isn't real in every myth there's a little bit of truth but I cannot say a thing I cannot say a thing without proof oh no knowing what we know knowing what we do not know this is gonna change our world I might go insane if I learn your full name if you be my no eyed girl from nowhere mankind can go there's too much light blinding white emotions human implosions it's alright it's alright right before the kiss I noticed something in the air molecules existed where there should have been none there chemical reactions with the surface of your skin some would say my actions let the no eyed people in and I'd do it all again and I'd do it all again and I'd do it all and I'd do it all again when he died turns out he left behind a mansion full of other people's skulls the odd thing is they never found his own when he died when he died he somehow left behind strange symbols on the floor beneath his corpse investigators said the wood was scorched when he died when he died they found so many scorpions inside his lungs when he died the statues of his missing children cried what was later found to be his blood when he died on a dark and stormy night they telephoned his wife who reacted with delight but gradually her voice began to fade to nothing and the laughing record played the laughing record played when he died they found a message etched into his spine that said when he died an endless age of untold nightmares would be nigh and the blood would make the seas run read when he died on a dark and stormy night a nearby shed caught fire it simply caught alight and when they cleared the charred wood from the ground inside they found a painting of a clown he painted it when he was just a child but scrawled upon the back was exactly when he died when he died when he died when he died when he died your body is so sweet now baby I'm saying trick or treat now you know I have to have ya you sexy sweet cadaver all wrapped up like a mummy I'll cover you in honey and wait a hundred years or so you know you know it isn't sexual strictly confectional strictly medicinal if a little nontraditional I'm digging up your coffin and pouring out the contents your sexy sweet solution is prime for distribution sweet bod your body's starting rumours of mason jars of sweetness whose satisfied consumers have often claimed to witness some sexy shrinking tumours a sweet return to fitness for just a hundred bucks or so you know you know it isn't sexual strictly professional entrepreneurial and what a sweet memorial I'm digging up your coffin and pouring out the contents good God I'm glad to see ya won't you be my panacea sweet bod sweet bod sweet bod sweet bod sweet bod extra clever earth bound spirit ghost in the form of a mongoose and I have hands and I have feet I'll never die I am a freak hello I'm here I'm living in the wall I know I might be small but I am a freak thou wilt never know what I am I am the 5th dimension and I'll split the atom and if you see me you're paralysed pillar of salt you're mummified hello I'm here I'm living in the wall I know I might be small but I am the eighth wonder and I was born 1852 and I was born in India and I shall haunt like the Buggane with such weird noise and clanking chains hello I'm here I'm living in the wall I know I might be small but I am a freak I say vanished to underground Jim let me go I watch like Hell and I have hands and I have feet I'll never die I am a freak hello I'm here I'm living in the wall I know I might be small but I am the eighth wonder eighth wonder of the world you'll never get to see what in the name of God could I be my mind's this cave so dark no moon no stars no sound just hearts and walls of art strange things happen for no reason that's all I know my mind's this cave so dark no moon no stars no stars no sound just hearts and walls of art these creatures I've seen some of them edible some of them mean that's all I know I'm not like you you fly you burn my eyes my eyes you speak in my mind your kind all died when you arrived I saw you making fire strange things happen for no reason at all I can't help you you're not human you're not animal my mind's this cave so dark no moon no stars no stars no sound just hearts and walls of art and you you fly you burn my eyes you speak in my mind you seem surprised that I don't hear you cold and windy dark and stormy let me float your way please don't ignore me what you girls really need's a soft fuzzy man an ambient man a trick of the light to love you tonight you don't understand there's nothing quite like a soft fuzzy man can't you see me why can't you see me I'm all around all cold and dreamy what you girls really need's a soft fuzzy man a wisp of smoke man to waft over you and cloud up your view so show me a hand to wave right through a soft fuzzy man although I have no arms to hold you in a human passion burns within and I need to feel like I exist so please baby please baby step into the mist woo don't be nervous no don't be nervous I'm not like other guys who have a surface what you girls really need's a soft fuzzy man an atmospheric man a shimmering puff of indistinct love what's better than the vague embrace of a soft fuzzy man who seeps through your thoughts who makes you see spots who blows through the air who plays with your hair I know it sounds crazy but once you go hazy you'll understand I'm your soft fuzzy man hey turn your techno music down your grandpa's coming by tonight now I don't want to hear it we'll be having macaroni you will be polite when he's here tonight don't talk about the internet your grandpa doesn't understand you will not bring your Gameboy or whatever to the table do you understand he doesn't understand as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it I'm your dad I'm your dad what happened to my medicine the stuff I take to keep my hair it's obvious you stole it and you sold it on the street 'cause you don't even care if I lose my hair okay I found my medicine I'm sorry that I yelled at you but let this be a lesson if you ever steal my medicine that's what I'll do yeah I'll yell at you as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it I'm your dad I'm your dad as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it I'm your dad as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it as your father I expressly forbid it I'm your dad I'm your dad I'll quit my job the day I die I'll quit my job the day I die I break my back and never cry I break my back and never cry I'm losing all my hair losing all my hair losing all my hair because a man provides I'm standing on a chair standing on a chair standing on a chair because I earn my life I earn my life I earn my life I learned it from my father and I tell it to my wife Jesus Christ don't tell me not to hurry I wouldn't be so worried if I wasn't always right while you're asleep I'm terrified while you're asleep I'm terrified I see the end before my eyes I see the end before my eyes a marker on a grave marker on a grave marker on a grave and I know I'm the one who died and underneath the name underneath the name underneath my name it says he earned his life I earn my life I earn my life I learned it from my father and my father never lied Jesus Christ better learn how to forage utilities and mortgage are all that will survive I wish my life was on a graph so I know how much left I have to earn tonight it burns too bright I think about myself a lot 'cause it's the only one I've got I've earned this life what have I done to earn this life I earn my life I earn my life I learned it from my father and I tell it to my wife Jesus Christ don't tell me not to hurry I wouldn't be so worried if I wasn't always right because I earn my life I earn my life I learned it from my father and my father never lied Jesus Christ better learn how to forage utilities and mortgage are all that will survive utilities and mortgage are all that will survive in this present crisis government is not the solution to our problem government is the solution to our problem are you unhappy girl in this confusing world where everything you earn is getting left to burn if it were up to me then living would be free and I can give you that and I can give you that they'll take your money into their greasy hands and spend your money and take away your land 'cause you're worth saving baby deregulating baby I'm Ronald Reagan baby I'm Ronald Reagan yeah I'll save you honey you'll never be alone I'll save the business that you will someday own not like in comics baby with economics baby with Reaganomics baby atomic bomb it yeah government is not the solution to our problem government is the solution to our problem government is not the solution to our problem government is the solution to our problem are you unhappy girl in this confusing world where everything you earn is getting left to burn if it were up to me then money would be free and I can give you that and I can give you that if you just hold my hand if you just close your eyes if you get in my car I'll take you for a ride with Reaganomics baby with Reaganomics baby with Reaganomics baby with Reaganomics yeah with Reaganomics with Reaganomics with Reaganomics with Reaganomics I want to meet potential architects all night I want to purchase urban real estate all night I want to study local zoning laws all night I want to calculate construction costs all night I have a vision of a man made object I have the money I have the means I have the strangest dreams I caught insomnia from looking at the moon I have a picture of a rectangle I drew I am an altogether different man by day I have the influence to send that man far away I have a vision of a man made object towering over all I have a vision of a man made object towering over all I have a vision of a man made object towering over all I have a vision of a man made object towering over all I have the money I have the means I've been having the strangest dreams baby over and over the pheromones the overwhelming harmony consuming the colony the circle rules your life chop chop don't want to be late lift up and carry your weight you've got no choice but to dance in a spiral of ants true bugs may laugh in your face don't fret you're leading the race don't let bastards step on your hands in a spiral of ants you can't remember where you came from in a spiral of ants you can't remember where you're going in a spiral of ants you can't remember knowing you are one ant over it's over the pheromones the self avoiding odyssey consuming the colony the circle rules your life now now don't run out of breath don't feel surrounded by death no take the wheel this could be your chance in a spiral of ants false bugs you'll soon be alone see how they drop like a stone you're free now forever to dance in a spiral of ants now you remember where you came from from a spiral of ants now you remember where you're going to a spiral of ants you've got to keep it flowing you are one ant over and over the pheromones the overwhelming harmony consuming the colony creating its own gravity before we knew it we became a hurricane and the bugs who laughed got blown away as we proclaimed the circle rules your life

[c-40]

A-T-2 240 Wendy Carlos - Tron Soundtrack

The look of 80s Movies was only one part of it. The London Symphony Orchestra were as much a character of Lucasfilm or Amblin Entertainment type science fiction/fantasy/adventure type movies in the 80s as streams of light are or faces of awe and surprise

Wendy Carlos had created soundtracks for two Stanley Kubrick films, A Clockwork Orange and The Shining. The pioneering production of Tron made her an inspired choice for the Tron soundtrack. Wendy Carlos "I wanted to use a combination of orchestra and synthesizer for the real world, and just a string orchestra for the real world. I felt the symphony orchestra in combination with the synthesizer could be a strong factor in the film. It was a natural, simpatico idea that exactly complimented the way the film combined live actors and video graphics.

"In addition, this appeared to be an opportunity for me to break out and do a substantial amount of orchestral composition. I heard the soundtrack as blending throughout of electronic and acoustic colors with no harsh, artificial separation of timbres. I am trained and experienced in orchestration, I enjoy composing for orchestra, and I wanted to enter the project with my competence in orchestration acknowledged."

According to wikipedia Disney insisted on hiring the LSO because they feared Carlos couldn't complete the soundtrack on time but this is contradicted by Carlos who says it was always intended to be a mix of orchestration and synthesisers

There were production issues with Tron, it overran and Carlos got the final reels late in the process. She had noticed earlier because the production team had come from advertising the films editing was cut quicker than usual, this might explain the complex changes in the pieces. The LSO wasn't allowed any time to rehearse which created problems and meant a lot of fixing and new synthesiser parts to clean up mistakes

Tron is overshadowed by all synth soundtracks from 1982, Georgio Moroder's Cat People and Vangelis' Blade Runner and other LSO soundtracks like Ravi Shankar's Gandhi. At the time combining orchestration and synthesisers was a new idea and Carlos should get props for opening that space

Like Vangelis' Blade Runner and Mutiny legal issues with record companies have held up released of the soundtrack, it took the Tron soundtrack nearly 20-years to be released on CD

Here's a great interview about the Tron soundtrack with Robert Moog

Let Us Pray

The MCP sounds here are awesome

[thepenpalhub]

I'M LOOKING FOR A PEN PAL!!!

I've been wanting a pen pal for a while now, as I thought it would be a nice way to meet interesting people.

I'm Hashim and 21y/o. I'm studying Archeology, interested in history, cultures and traditions. Some of my few interests are using film cameras, playing synthesisers, unsolved cases, paranormal and space. Fascinated about world war, marine and bio-archaeology as well. Keen on experimental films. I feel serene about shin hanga. Intrigued about egyptian mythology. Finally, the star wars. I own a cat and play occasionally video games.

If I seem interesting at all, don't hesitate to message me. I'm looking for a pen pal who's similar to my age.

[snailmailworldwide]

I'M LOOKING FOR A PEN PAL!!!

I've been wanting a pen pal for a while now, as I thought it would be a nice way to meet interesting people.

I'm Hashim and 21y/o. I'm studying Archeology, interested in history, cultures and traditions. Some of my few interests are using film cameras, playing synthesisers, unsolved cases, paranormal and space. Fascinated about world war, marine and bio-archaeology as well. Keen on experimental films. I feel serene about shin hanga. Intrigued about egyptian mythology. Finally, the star wars. I own a cat and play occasionally video games.

If I seem interesting at all, don't hesitate to message me. I'm looking for a pen pal who's similar to my age or older.

[insanityclause]

Cats review: a sinister, all-time disaster from which no one emerges unscathed

Tim Robey - The Telegraph

(Zero stars)

Dir: Tom Hooper. Cast: Judi Dench, James Corden, Idris Elba, Ian McKellen, Jennifer Hudson, Taylor Swift, Francesca Hayward, Jason Derulo, Rebel Wilson

Pre-judging Cats based on the widely ridiculed trailers wouldn’t be fair, especially once you realise they did it a lot of favours. They hid the big numbers. They silenced the singing. Minimised were James Corden’s wobbly pratfalls into piles of dead fish, Idris Elba’s leering expressions, and the entire role of Ian McKellen as Gus the Theatre Cat.

Once seen, the only realistic way to fix Cats would be to spay it, or simply pretend it never happened. Because it’s an all-time disaster – a rare and star-spangled calamity which will leave jaws littered across floors and agents unemployed. For the first time since the head-spinningly dire dadcom Old Dogs in 2010, I'm giving a film no stars.

At every turn, you imagine the panicked justifications. Andrew Lloyd Webber’s stage musical ran for 21 years in the West End and has grossed $3.5bn worldwide. Memory, sung by the depressed ex-glamour cat Grizabella, is a household favourite even your gran has covered. All of Tom Hooper’s last three films have won Oscars, somehow, and doesn’t the eclectic cast have something for everyone?

It becomes a scramble to get out alive. What worked in the round off Drury Lane in 1981 – a  suspension of disbelief, with the whole cast pirouetting in cat-suits – has been converted into a computer-aided hellscape so off-putting you may suspect eye failure. Hooper's Cats has an impossible job recovering from its own surreally charmless visual... I can’t say style. Choices certainly abound. Not one of them is good.

Meanwhile, the Frankensteinian marriage of live performance, “digital fur technology” and human/cat anatomical splicing – the boobs! they have boobs??!! – has such endlessly sinister impact that the film's U certificate ought to be an 18.

As it starts, a writhing pillowcase is flung into an alley off Piccadilly Circus, containing Victoria, an unwanted ingénue cat played by pretty, helpless ballerina Francesca Hayward. From all around her, a chorus of disembodied faces, atrociously wedded to the efforts of the effects team, bear down; a ghoulish synthesised arrangement of the overture gathers force; already, we know we’re in deep, deep trouble.

Jokes don’t save us, since Lee Hall’s script tries every cat idiom in the OED to find a funny one. Plot, too, can’t come to the rescue, because T.S. Eliot’s source poems didn’t provide one. As each cameo performance comes and goes, the mind boggles at which of them – according to judging matriarch Old Deuteronomy (a deeply earnest, inescapably hilarious Judi Dench) – could possibly be deemed top cat.

First contender Jennyandots is a lazy house tabby in the desperate, crotch-scratching shape of Rebel Wilson. Her big number has mice in a doll-house with human faces, and cockroaches in march formation, one of which she gobbles down in mad close-up. With its nightmare production design and nauseating lurches in scale and perspective, it might be the ugliest big-screen musical sequence ever mounted.

But let’s not count our chickens quite yet. In come Jason Derulo as a sleazy playa called Rum Tum Tugger, and Corden’s greedy-guts Bustopher Jones, neither carrying a tune to speak of, and both made to strip off outerwear and get furrily naked, sans genitals. McKellen, meanwhile, is caught lapping backstage from a dish, tongue loose. It’s one of a thousand giffable moments an audience won’t be able to delete.

Grizabella (Jennifer Hudson) traipses about in shadow, shawled in what look like the remains of four other dead cats’ pelts. Hooper gets her to do Memory at the base of a lamp-post, essentially duplicating his one-shot I Dreamed a Dream for Anne Hathaway in Les Misérables. No Oscars here: when J.Hud hobbles amateurishly into the ball for a double-the-pathos reprise, my adjacent colleague was reduced to a senseless, cackling wreck for a full minute.

An hour and a quarter in, I wondered if Taylor Swift, who’s nowhere to be seen, had forced her management at knife-point to yank her out of the edit. But no. She drops by on a suspended moon and is gone in the space of a song – Macavity – which comes closer than anything before it to genuinely working.

Swift is catlike and can sing, which – guess what? – turn out to be attributes helpful in a Cats musical. If we pretended this bit was just her weirdest ever pop video, and ignored Elba’s Macavity – sashaying in with shiny chocolate fur for the worst shots of his life – we might just about live with it. Finding any high point in Cats, though, takes some serious scratching.

[dianamjackson]

How To Achieve World Peace (2020)

I have figured out a few things that explain common phenomena in society but are routinely overlooked.

I can explain why conservatives and liberals have always existed, and why conservatives are often in power. I can explain ‘black sheep’ of families and why almost everyone has a ‘weird aunty’ or a ‘weird uncle.’ I can explain why artists are so often depressed, so creative and so misunderstood. I can explain conformity and non-conformity. I can explain Michael Jackson’s attraction to shiny things, and everything else about him.

The thing to remember is that we are animals like all the others, and that our evolutionary history shaped us — not culture. People who think culture is stronger hold that individuals choose their preferences in life, which is false. People choose the things they do because they’re programmed that way by evolution, and it is not one size fits all.

There are two main sorts of humans on the earth: family types (making up at least 80% of the population) and leaders (making up the rest).

Family types evolved to survive, raise families and do exactly what their parents did. For this reason they are conservative, incurious (because any new thing is a potential threat to existing conditions), blinkered and have a practical and deductive intelligence rather than a synthetic and inductive one. Leaders are explorers — their education never ends. Their permanent curiosity ensures they are forever exploring, making new connections and forming new hypotheses.

Without this neat ~80/20 balance, human society would not progress. Without the leaders, no new inventions would be created and we’d all still be living in caves. Without family types, nothing could be instantiated and there would be anarchy. Nature or God or whatever is responsible for the order we see in the universe worked this ideal ratio out so that beings could develop and differentiate and proliferate — basically, to make manifest the creativity of the universe.

I remember a few years ago reading Satoshi Kanazawa’s book The Intelligence Paradox, wherein he describes the traits of people with above-average intelligence: they are usually night owls, are less likely to marry and have kids, enjoy experimenting with drugs, are highly curious and creative. I think he was fired from Psychology Today for stating his findings. Ah, political correctness getting in the way of science, again.

Growing up I noticed a pattern in every family I encountered: the parents were normal enough (after all, they were parents), one child was robust and similar to the parents, and the other was a highly sensitive, interesting and curious type. If there were more than two children, there were more robust types than sensitive types.

Growing up I had a hell of a time in my family. I loved staying up late reading, writing and playing music. I loved the night so much that I covered my windows during the day, which is something Jimi Hendrix also did. My parents were dismayed and couldn’t understand why I was so different to them. I also liked going out for days, exploring and experimenting. I was, of course, extremely artistic from the beginning. I understood concepts at school very quickly, and got in trouble for breaking the rules and prioritising my own ideals over that of my superiors.

All these behaviours label children, and the adults they become, ‘troublemakers’ and rebels. “Why can’t they just behave?” parents and teachers lament. Well, because evolution programmed them that way. But back then I would’ve utilised a far shorter answer.

Leader types, being highly sensitive, experience the discord of growing up in families of followers very intensely and in far higher resolution. If a father is strict and domineering, the sensitive child will feel he is ruled by a tyrant. Off-handed criticisms will be stab wounds that are nursed for years and years. Their deep processing will have them mulling and stewing over the slightest things that followers forget in the very next moment.

Thousands of years ago, human tribes had to hunt animals, gather foods, build shelters, live in the shelters and raise families. Distinct human types evolved to carry out these different tasks.

Leaders are the hunting and exploring type. They were the ones who went out, probably at night, to look for food. To be good at this, they had to be highly sensitive so they could hear every noise, smell every smell, feel the vaguest touch on their skin and see the slightest movement. They had to be brave and bold to explore scary places. They had to be graceful and silent as cats to sneak up on prey, but aggressive enough to actually kill. They had to have loud, developed voices in order to communicate with other members of the hunting party. They had to be confident of their own opinion and communicate it effectively to others in order to lead.

They also had to be able to imitate other animals they encountered, to seem less threatening. They also had to be ingratiating in order to win the trust of people they only just met — and they would have met many people on their travels. They had to be highly adaptable to quickly get used to ever-changing environments. They had to be physically robust and agile to withstand the rigours of their itinerant hunting life. They developed the classic ‘rolling stone’ personality — Jimi couldn’t stand being in the same place for three months, let alone years. They also needed great and detailed memories, to remember where they’d been.

With their keen vision they would spot anomalous objects in the environment — shiny things might indicate water, and colourful things (especially red and yellow) would indicate food. Look at the colours and shiny things Michael wears and is attracted to. Watching him shopping is literally watching a leader type hunting in the forest thousands of years ago.

Their sensitivity is responsible for their artistry. As I read somewhere (possibly in Elaine Aron’s book The Highly Sensitive Person), not all highly sensitive people are geniuses, but all geniuses are highly sensitive. Charles Darwin lined his room with cork to keep the noise out. Jimi, as mentioned, covered his windows with black fabric. All this is to minimise stimulation. Because highly sensitive people take in so much more information from their environment, and process it so much more deeply, they need to restrict it only to what is most important to them.

Being a night owl, as Kanazawa found in his research, was related to higher intelligence. Much hunting probably occurred at night, when the animals were about, or it was easier to travel without being seen. The peace and stillness of the night also minimises stimulation for highly sensitive leader types. Intelligence itself is required to make connections between disparate phenomena, entertain several possible explanations, and synthesise information to decide on a verdict and course of action. The activity of hunting would have honed the intelligence of leader types. Any kind of physical bodily movement and coordination increases brain power — dancing for example. Moving the body in space. I relate this to moving ideas around in one’s head. This is how I did philosophy at university: I literally saw concepts as interacting forms in my mind. Einstein also thought in visual-spatial terms.

Something fascinating about stimulation is that leader types seem to become rapidly overwhelmed by experiences that family types consider quite routine and harmless, but at the same time, they crave intense stimulation. Paradoxical personalities, innit? Clearly, not all stimulation is created equal: a normal day in an office as an employee would be intense and overwhelming for a leader, but then they go out at night, attracted by the bright lights and shiny things of the city, loud music and the stage, and crowds.

A hypothesis of mine is that leader types are born with ‘happy’ neurotransmitter deficits. The strong correlation of substance use and abuse with artists, I think, is related to this deficit. In general, almost everything that makes us feel good — no matter what type of animal you are — does so because it fulfils some evolutionary prerogative. Leader types evolved to be sad — is what I’m saying. They are naturally sad. Therefore, they are forced to do things of a specific kind to alleviate that sadness. Michael is really good at being sad, but he’s also really good at alleviating that sadness. Drugs, alcohol, excitement, driving fast, athletics, dancing, bright colours, shiny things, movement, strong sunlight, making people feel and do things, eating certain foods, exploring, romance, helping and educating people, learning, discovering, conquering, mystery — all of these things alleviate the natural depression of the leader type. Fasting, too. What could more blatantly inspire a person to go out and hunt, besides hunger? Both Michael and myself had anorexia, but his was more extreme perhaps because he was more sensitive or his upbringing was more damaging, and he was constantly in the spotlight. But apart from the self-soothing reason, and the aesthetic reason (wanting a “dancer’s body”), I think we literally like to be hungry, as it were. I do believe he said, in his delightful hyperbole: “I hate food.” It keeps us searching. Anything that inspires a leader type to go out and be a leader will feel good, because that’s what nature wants us to do.

Mystery is integral for the leader type. It’s one of the main motivators of action and a guarantee of happiness and flourishing. I finally understand the propensity for this type to entertain idealistic romances and muses. Try making a person give up something that guarantees them happiness! As C. S. Lewis said so well “Desiring desire is the fullest possession we can know.” I finally understand this. What I want is to be in a state of desire, because it’s animating, life-giving, exciting. Why else would I love improvising so much? I love the mystery of not knowing what will come out of my guitar, what I will sing, or what dance moves I will come up with. I love mystery so much that all my essays are pretty much streams of consciousness.

Everything is on a spectrum, including family type/leader proclivity, and gender too. Effeminate men prefer masculine women; masculine men prefer feminine women. It’s all about balancing genetics to bring about the best complementarity. Who you’re attracted to is not a choice. Those with feminine hips are attracted to masculine hips; those with deep-set eyes are attracted to protuberant eyes; square-jaws are attracted to heart-shaped jaws; pinched-in cheeks are attracted to smoother, convex cheekbones. You can set your watch by this stuff.

Leader types also tend to be gender-indeterminate, or “in the middle” with respect to the male-female spectrum. This gives them the best of both worlds — e.g. deep empathy and nurture from the female side, and single-minded determination and action from the male. I do not think this is a degeneracy. Rather, in my view it is actually a requirement for leader types. To be too male or too female would be a hindrance for a leader.

In politics, there will always be conservatives and liberals, and more conservatives than liberals, because these represent the two primary types of humans, and their ratio, on earth.

The way to achieve world peace is to acknowledge the two broad types. Both are necessary for the survival and continuation of the human species. Conflict can seed change, but oftentimes we could do with a little less conflict and a little more understanding. Understanding of the millennia-old biology of our species that is — not politically correct ‘tolerance’. We need to understand things instead of merely tolerating them.

But the sobering reality is that family types can never fully understand leaders, and leaders can never fully understand family types. Each has a very different evolutionary prerogative that is very deeply ingrained. For one to understand the other, the one needs to literally inhabit the physical body of the other — which is currently impossible. Type ‘goes all the way down’ — the nervous system is different, the brain is different, the emotions are different, the values are different — everything is different.

This is why ‘black sheep’ — a derogatory term that betrays a lack of understanding on the part of the family types (but it is after all in their nature to demonise difference because it is threatening) — get along better with friends, aunties and uncles and other leaders unrelated to them instead of their own families. And it’s interesting that they’re called ‘black’: I have noticed highly sensitive leader types do often wear black, and I think this is to minimise stimulation. It’s one less item for them to process.

This is why certain kids act out at school, and why every person I admire from Debussy to Miles Davis to Isadora Duncan to Walt Disney quit the schools they were at. This is why Michael left the Jacksons and struck out on his own. This is why Zappa stayed up all night drinking coffee making the music he wanted to hear regardless of what other people thought about it.

This is also why the majority of people — the followers — shun, disbelieve and are afraid of leader types. The reason J. K. Rowling had to pitch her book to 200 publishers was because she saw the value of her work, but the publishers — who aren’t leaders — could not. The more innovative a thing, the less followers can comprehend its value. Followers are biologically programmed to play it safe and not take risks. This is infuriating for leaders, but the solution is not anger, but rather perseverance. Think of J. K. being turned away from the 199th publisher. Perseverance. Bang on long enough about something and family types will eventually stop feeling threatened because now you’re part of the furniture.

Another paradoxical thing about family types feeling threatened by leaders is that leaders are, in almost every instance, seeking to make the world a better place with their works. Think of Tesla. Leaders need family types — the two are in symbiosis — so it is definitely not in a leader’s interests to harm their followers. They are shepherds, not wolves. Empathy for their pack is high, because a leader who doesn’t care for their flock will not be followed for long. The extremely high degree of similarity between myself and Michael can be, to a great extent, explained by the fact that we are of the same human type (and probably share some genetics too). He has all the characteristic leader type qualities: he’s highly sensitive, an artist and a musician, he’s obsessed with the way people and animals move and is very curious. He loves bright colours and shiny things, which are food. I believe he said he loved Disney films so much “I could just eat (them)!” (I told a friend once that his photographs made me hungry; he looked at me like I was insane.) And of course the beautiful — Michael loves beauty — he goes weak in its presence. If there’s something he doesn’t understand, he’s fascinated by it and will obsess over it. He has a highly developed somatic-neuronal ability (that’s my term; I don’t know the correct neurological term), which is why his movements are so fluid and why he can imitate others so easily. He’s both male and female, has a great strong voice, resists authority, is ingratiating and immediately loveable, likes climbing trees and running around, staunchly believes in his own vision and he made looking after his ‘tribe’ the central mission of his life. He owned thousands of books and was constantly reading, usually by himself. All Michael’s searching made him very knowledgeable, of course. He liked to associate with fellow talented and driven people, from whom he gathered even more leadership advice. Michael’s not messing around — the advice he gives you is the advice he’s given himself. He experiments on himself. He’s a leader — a real leader — so he wants to help. One day I was dancing at home and came up with a certain move. Two weeks later, I happened to be watching a video of Mike’s and saw him do the exact same move. I couldn’t believe it. At the time I came up with it, I had no memory of having seen him do any such move. I was dancing in the mirror, and happened to trace the outline of my thigh with a finger — it was totally spontaneous and improvised. I liked that I was drawing and dancing at the same time — I do draw and dance, so it was exciting for me to do them simultaneously. In his video he was dancing to Dangerous, and he did that move. I thought “So now he’s copying me?!” This kind of thing happens often, and not just in dancing. For example, I’ll have some opinion about something, then later hear that he has the same opinion about that thing. Or I’ll happen to think of something I did when I was a lot younger, and it turns out he did the exact same thing. Then there’s the Star Wars thing, the one glove thing, the cape thing, the cutting the front of our shirts thing, the liking the same colours thing, the gum and TicTac thing, the similar music taste and compositional style thing, the sitting down with one leg or arm stretched out thing, the liking the exact same part of the flight attendant demonstration thing... We even have the same taste in women. Type, type, type. Once you know someone’s type, you can pretty much get out your checklist and starting ticking things off. Although, I don’t at this point know where type ends and genetics begin, because a lot of these similarities must owe to genetics, not type. I’ll work on this.

Being childlike is, I am positing, an integral part of the leader-hunter-HSP type. Mike and I both retained our childlike attitude to the world. For me, I distinctly remember the day I made the decision to never grow up. I was 14, on the basketball courts in junior high school near the end of the day. I thought “It’s just so much fun being a kid, I’m not going to grow up. Why should I?” It was also around that time that I decided what my life’s goal would be, having just read Freud: to be myself. I didn’t want to be a fireman or a lawyer or a teacher — I wanted to be myself, my truest self. Even back then, I knew this was a worthy goal, and I knew that it would be difficult.

Mike famously identified with Peter Pan, and passionately championed a childlike view of the world. He often claimed this was because he was denied a childhood, but I think there’s more at work here than that fact alone. Even if he had had a more normal childhood, he’d still probably have remained pretty childlike, because that’s an integral characteristic of the leader type. Being childlike — being open, innocent, relentlessly curious, able to withhold judgement, and trusting — is essential to being a leader. If leaders weren’t open to new information (i.e. adaptable), etc — they wouldn’t be effective leaders. If a leader didn’t trust his advisors, he couldn’t get anything done. Suspicion is poison.

It’s known that Mike was trusting. He advised his friend Brett Ratner that one of the big lessons he learned was “not to trust everybody in the industry; there are a lot of sharks.” But a person who is naturally trusting has a hard time trying to become the opposite, let me tell you. To be trusting is beautiful; when a trusting person is betrayed, it is not they who have erred.

It has fascinated me over my lifetime to observe the way sexual desire can be completely decoupled from child-rearing. Leader types definitely have sexual desire: just think of Jimi. Mike too, Madonna, Greta Garbo, Picasso. With men it’s fairly straight-forward, but I always wondered how female leaders could get away with it, seeing as they’d be having so many children but no desire to look after them — clearly a less-than-ideal situation. Maintaining a pregnancy and then a baby would definitely slow them down and make them vulnerable to attack. Nature may have solved this problem by making leader types infertile. After all, their genes will be passed on via their siblings’ children, so there’s no need for them to do it personally. It prevents overpopulation. And besides, their legacy is cultural innovation, not physical progeny. Some say that Mike was infertile. It could well be that this is by nature’s design.

Barbara Sher calls leader types ‘scanners’. Scanners are people who flit from one thing to the next, seemingly at random, are reading 50 books at any one time, and change careers frequently — you get the idea. But my contention is that leader types do this in order to get the best ‘lay of the land’. If they didn’t, if they were a specialist in some tiny nook of expertise, what would they know about the world? Nothing! All they’d know is their little area (which there’s nothing wrong with by the way, it’s just not the scanner approach). Scanners scan. They try to get the best view of everything — figuratively and literally.

I know this type is rare, but I don’t know how rare. I’ve certainly never encountered anyone as similar to me before, but then I don’t know everyone. Surely a person with such obvious and anomalous qualities would rise to prominence, almost by default. They’re generally in art, but not just anywhere. They’re in the ‘I’m either myself or dead’ camp. Michael’s well-known because he’s well-known, and because he so strongly felt the need to share his values with the world, he thereby revealed himself. There could be many of us. Some may prefer to remain unknown. I don’t know yet.

As I said before, everything is on a spectrum, so you could be a more or less extreme leader type, and a more or less extreme family type. There may be sub-types. The ‘lone wolf’ is an extreme leader type. Aldous Huxley said “The more original and powerful a mind, the more inclined it is to the religion of solitude.” I think lone wolves relate best to other lone wolves; other types will simply be too different. They’re introverted because there’s a whole world inside their heads, and much of the outside input they’d encounter would actually hinder their progress. As a leader, stepping outside of the leader pack can be incredibly demoralising. Out there, there's a flattening going on. If you have a sleepover with kids, all of a sudden it's about sex. If you say the n word, it's suddenly all about race. And you think, “Why is everything about sex and race? Are there not more things to discuss? Develop some granularity in your approach already!” The flattening is in full swing at the moment, with so many red herrings slapping around that you can’t hear yourself think. (Contemplating that kinda makes me hungry... All those shiny fish...) Maybe the majority do this in order to feel safer: if they can reduce indeterminate phenomena to something simple, then they can feel like they know what they're dealing with. Simplify and blame. It’s a stupid game, and so boring. I'm not at all surprised that artists feel the need to invent entirely new worlds to escape this shit.

So there you have it: there is a naturalistic, evolutionary explanation for so many of the specific human behaviours that we observe in society. The choices people make are, in large part, due to their evolutionary type. Encountering Michael was the icing on my cake of investigation, because I reasoned there had to be an explanation as to why we’re so similar and I knew that it wasn’t due to mere chance.

So if you’re a sensitive, introverted kid who likes doing their own thing and your family gives you hell for being strange and different — for God’s sake, understand that there’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. You’ve been designed to be the way you are over millions of years of evolution, because this is the only way humanity can work. You are the reason we have electricity, cars, great works of art, beautiful films and music, incredible dancers and athletes, mathematics, poetry, physics, philosophy, engineering, comfortable houses and beds, heating, space exploration, wonderful stories and the rule of law. All of these things were invented by leader types. The most important thing is to know who you are. It’s Quincy Jones’ first rule too. Once you know that, you will make much better decisions in all areas of your life. “A guy can dig ditches and enjoy it”, as Jimi said. If you want to be happy and effective, you must be doing things that align with your particular nature.

Don’t waste years doing things other people tell you to do. What do they know about you, anyway? Do they know your deepest desires? No they don’t, because to discover them is long, personal work. No-one can do it for you. Your mum can’t do it for you. I don’t care if she’s your mother and she wants the best for you -- she’s not you. Don’t do things for extrinsic rewards like money or fame. I recall reading a teacher who complained that all his kids just want to be famous, but then he asked them “Famous for what?” People who become famous do so because they’re passionate and obsessed with something and thereby become very good at it. Don’t desire to be famous, desire to become obsessed with something. Fall in love with something. Then you’ll probably become famous anyway, but by then you won’t care, because all you want to do is the thing you’re obsessed with.

But family types are essential too. Just because they don’t innovate, they create a stable society in which everyone — including leader types — can live. They create and maintain order, follow instructions and implement your ideas. They start families and actually create the people society needs, including all future leaders.

The two types must know about, respect and be thankful for each other, for neither could live without the other.

Masses of conflict rage each day because people think that other people act the way they do by choice. But things are so incredibly ingrained, that it’s quite absurd to think that anyone makes any kind of choice. We do have free will, but can only exercise it to the point our fundamental orientation allows. Can’t fight one’s nature, as Orwell said. Fight it too long and she’ll make you pay, with your health or your life.

It is apparent to me that my entire discussion has remained completely materialistic. I’ve not touched upon so-called ‘supernatural’ phenomena at all. I don’t like the term ‘supernatural’ because, if something exists, it is natural — no matter how perplexing or odd, everything is Nature, everything is natural. It’s not like the earth and its rocks are natural, and then precognition of the future and witnessing midnight processions of long-deceased people — as Jung and others did, centuries apart mind you — are outside of the natural. Everything is natural. If it happened, it was natural, and there is an explanation.

Now it might seem boring to learn that all these things in fact have a boring materialistic explanation. But as usual, there are many more things that we don’t yet know. The perplexing nature of time, for example. I suspect that time is very different to how most people conceive of it, but that discussion is for another time.

Back to the strictly material. A few hundred years of culture won’t put a dent in millennia of evolution. Culture is itself an outgrowth of evolution, and it needs to humbly acknowledge this fact instead of thinking that now it is king. The patterns and drives of Nature are king, and they explain everything. DS 06-07/2020

[catsonsynthesizersinspace]

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[emeraldtawny]

Drug Dealer!AU Harr, Lancelot , Sirius & Fenrir (ft. Seth): Networking

A little taster of my Drug Dealer AU. The set-up of the characters is linked here and I recommend reading it before reading this. Hope you all enjoy~! :3

“This is a bad idea. Nothing good can come of this, Lance, and you know it.”

“Stop your needless worrying, Sirius. It’s a simple business deal and everything is under surveillance and moderated.”

“Which means as soon as the police catch wind of this, we’re all going to jail, if not worse. Dammit, why did I agree to be dragged into this?”

Sirius’ exasperated sigh echoes his distaste of the situation as he rakes his fingers through his short hair, his amethyst hues glancing out the window at the sickly neon lights lighting up the surrounding buildings. His grip on the steering wheel of the car tightens, his leather gloves scrunching its fabric together as his fist clenches.

“Relax, Sirius.” Lancelot’s refined voice drawls out as if tired of his friend’s constant disbelief in his abilities - which he is, “It’s a simple over-the-table discussion. The man may be young, but he’s cooperative and knows what he’s doing. I can almost guarantee a positive outcome from this.”

Sirius closes his eyes with a sigh, “Whether he’s on board with it or not doesn’t matter when even opening up this operation to a broader scale is just asking for trouble. It’s bad enough with just the three of us as it is.”

Opening his eyes, Sirius directs his gaze to the rearview mirror and lets his eyes lock with the man in the backseat, one eye of grey and the other covered by a silver patch, like his family namesake.

“What about you, Harr? You’ve been quiet the whole ride here. It’s never too late to turn back.”

“Just because you want to, you coward. Don���t force your opinion onto him.”

Lancelot scoffs before turning around in the front seat, his elbow propped up on the seat as his eyes, as blue as the Crystals they refine and synthesise, meet Harr’s with an almost piercing glare, an inkling of a threat seeping out of his serious gaze.

Silence. Shortly after, a soft sigh; not of resignation, but more to reassure and calm one’s nerves.

“Let’s go, Lancelot.”

The younger man doesn’t wait for a reply as he opens the car door and steps out of the vehicle. Lancelot and Sirius share a glance, Lancelot’s holding silent smugness whilst Sirius’ only holds concern.

“If you’re not back in 30 minutes, I’m dragging both of you back here, whether the deal goes through or not.”

“It won’t take that long. Just stand by and be ready if we need a quick escape.”

Ignoring his friend’s clearly vexed glare, Lancelot exits the car slamming the door behind him. The heels of his boots click softly against the road as he moves to stand beside Harr, the latter’s trenchcoat fluttering its edges with the night’s breeze. The two stand as different as night and day, Lancelot’s clean-cut crimson red button-up with a classy black blazer with white accents contrasting against Harr’s mahogany trench coat covering up most of his tall form. Yet the two stand in front of a building neither would consider a place they would go to of their own whim.

The infamous Cat’s Cradle nightclub. A popular hangout for the adult youth of the city, yet the shadow of its less than savoury underbelly looms ever-present over the fun boisterous atmosphere the nightclub promises. With nothing more than a shared side glance at the other man beside them, the two men step towards the nightclub’s entrance, the bass of the music loud enough to reverberate through the walls and jostle the ground beneath them with their vibrations.

The garish neon lights intensify tenfold as they step into the nightclub’s walls, shades of cyan and bright pink flaring and illuminating the room, each pump of the bass through the countless speakers drowning out the vicinity with its catchy, deafening music. That matters little to Harr and Lancelot, aware of how out of place the smartly dressed older men look compared to the younger party-crazed inhabitants of the club, straining their vocal cords over the music and tipping back shots without a care in the world.

“Where is he?”

Harr’s voice is barely above a whisper, but Lancelot picks up on every word despite the constant distractions surrounding them, the highly refined Crystal coursing through his bloodstream working its magic - or rather, science.

“Near the back. He should be expecting us so let’s not keep him waiting.”

With a curt nod, they begin to weave their way through throngs of people, Harr reaching up to adjust his collar with awkward discomfort while Lancelot pushes through the crowd creating a path for them both. As they emerge on the other side, both breathe to relish their regained personal space before approaching the esteemed VIP area, velvet ropes cutting off the area from the rest of the club, the air of esteem more refined yet still bubbling with the excitement of the club’s bubbly atmosphere.

As they approach the bouncer standing in their way, his brown eyes narrowing in recognition and a refined smile curling his lips, he unhooks the chain of the rope and stands aside before they even reach him.

“Right this way, Mr Silver, Mr Kingsley. He’s been waiting patiently for you.”

The two men pass him, both eyeing the bouncer somewhat sceptically, seemingly surprised by the deeper tone of voice coming from the mouth of someone with luscious baby blue locks framing his face and stretching down to caress his back. They pay this little mind, however, as the man they’ve arranged to meet comes into their view, Lancelot moving forward with purpose with Harr moving slightly slower behind him, a silent sigh escaping him for whatever is to come.

Under the blue lowlights of the nightclub, a young man lounges casually against the lavish plush couch, his legs crossed and one arm hanging over the back of the couch, his other busy rubbing a Crystal between his thumb and forefinger. His magenta hair jumps out, somehow brighter and more eye-catching than the countless flashing lights surrounding them. Eyes of an equal hue gleam with confidence, charisma and a cocky aura, yet in a way that draws one in instead of being repulsive. His foot kicks languidly back and forth, his eyes narrowing at the Crystal he holds, a suave smirk splitting his lips accompanying it. The metal bauble pierced to hug the curve of his left eyebrow sparkles with the reflected light from the Crystal, as well as the earring dangling from his left ear, the intricate chain with a spade motif attached glistening with the light’s divine influence.

His eyes flit to the men approaching him before they even make their presence known and he grins wide, the sight somehow more invigorating and adrenaline-pumping than the nightclub’s entire atmosphere; the man who runs such an infamously popular nightclub would, of course, have the personality to match.

“Yo. Glad you could make it.”

Even over the pumping bass of the music, his tenor voice only emphasises his charismatic demeanour. His legs uncross as he moves to stand, his tight jeans with rips littering the right leg yet minimal on the left hugging his legs down to the black laced boots adorning his feet. The white V-neck he sports generously teases his collarbone and the beginnings of his pecs before a black waistcoat with lime green accents draws one’s eye away, the dozens of silver chains hooked onto the lapels and following to the pocket of the waistcoat another charming addition to this man’s entire character. Slicking his hair back with a simple push of his fingers through his hair, he throws the Crystal softly into the air before catching it with a cocky grin.

“Well, gentlemen. Shall we begin?”

[expressandadmirable]

Tomorrow Untrodden (Morgan)

I.

“Hey.”

Morgan offered a wan half-smile. “Hey.”

Pulling the Lefein into a soft hug, Aviva was struck by the memory of hugging Morgan the Gnome. Back then she had been half the Tiefling’s size rather than half a head taller. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah.” The pair released one another and settled onto a bench in the hallway, the soft, misty light from the windows at either end making the world seem preternaturally quiet. “He was happy to see us. He told us a couple times.”

Aviva considered making a joke about how impossible it had always been to unravel Lukahn’s ramblings, even for someone as adept at prophecy as Elerian or Cid, but she thought better of it. Morgan had always had a gift for deciphering her spiritual kin. “You came to see him often, huh?”

Morgan nodded. “Uncle Cid and I made regular trips. We built a lot of card houses, and we told him how the world was changing. I came up with a lot of ways to play games differently, like extra rules and variations and stuff, and he really liked that.” She smiled. “Maergrahn trained me well, I guess.”

“Was he able to leave you with any parting thoughts?”

“A few. Mostly he told us he was happy. And he asked me to build an extra large card house in his honour.”

“Sounds like an appropriate cairn.”

Morgan snorted, then let it fade into a sigh. “Uncle and I are the last of the Lefein now.”

Aviva nodded slightly. “How are you feeling?” The eternal question.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” For a brief time, Aviva had known what it felt like to be the last of her kind. But they had been able to restore the Tieflings. The Lefein did not share that destiny. She took Morgan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You want to come back to Aelfheim for a bit? Spare room’s yours whenever you want it.”

“Uncle and I need to take care of a few things first. We’re going to scatter Lukahn’s remains in places of significance to the Lefein. It shouldn’t take too long, with the Highwind. But then yes. I’d like that.” Morgan smiled a little more broadly. “I think Starman is pining for Demon.”

Aviva chuckled. “I know Demon’s pining for Starman, she regularly tears up the toy you gave her that looks like him and then cries at me until I mend it. Please let our cats reunite before she drives us mad.”

Morgan giggled. “Okay. I’ll come by once I’ve dropped Uncle back at his lab. Maybe a week or so.” For a few moments, she lapsed into silence, then laced her fingers with Aviva’s. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” Aviva kissed the Lefein’s cheek. “You’re family.”

II.

Leaving Halei in their sitting room, Aviva grinned in anticipation, the air turning translucent gold as she cast her spell. A moment later, the bridge of the Highwind shimmered into view. “Cidney!” she called. “I’m here early, and I brought treats from Aelf--”

“‘Viva, get down!!”

Instinctively, Aviva ducked, just in time to see a bolt of energy streak through where her head had been. Turning in a crouch, she realised the ship was listing precipitously to one side, the internal gravity only thing keeping her from tumbling into the window. “Cid?!”

Another bolt of energy struck the floor near her knee. A mote of flame instinctively forming in her palm, she spun to face her attacker and nearly collided with Morgan coming for her at a sprint. “Cid, what in all the hells?!”

“Behind my chair!”

The pair dove beyond the captain’s chair just as the hulking metal humanoid at the other end of the bridge fired again. Calculating the distance of its prey, the living tech lumbered towards them. “Making friends?!”

Morgan flashed her a lighting quick withering look, then raised both guns and fired, hitting the tech square in the chest. “Lefeinish creation. Prototype servitor. In near perfect working condition, and I’d like to try and keep it that way--” She ducked to avoid a retaliatory blast. “So don’t hit it in the head!”

With a curt nod, Aviva let loose handful after handful of searing flame, dutifully aiming for the torso. Morgan reloaded her guns with practiced efficiency and separated the tech’s joints from its body, causing it to topple forward onto the deck. In perfect unison, each woman took one final shot, and with a frustrated whir, the tech stilled.

Silence crept across the bridge. Morgan stood cautiously, stepping out from behind her chair and nudging the tech with her boot. It did not move. Confidence instantly restored, she crouched by its head. “Well, that didn’t go how I expected.”

“And how, exactly, did you expect that to go?” Aviva straightened, then leaned against the chair.

“How was I supposed to know it had defence protocols?” Morgan replied testily, rapping on the tech’s head. “Just means I have to run more diagnostics before I turn him on again.” Sensing Aviva opening her mouth to retort, Morgan waved a hand. “It’ll be fine.” Every inch the mad scientist. She pushed to her feet, straightened her hair, then turned to Aviva with a wide, delighted smile.

“You said you had treats?”

III.

“It’s time.”

Halei set up from her place on the sofa, instantly alert. “Are you sure?”

Aviva glared at her wife, then doubled over as a contraction shot through her, leaning against the dining table for support. “Yes,” she forced through gritted teeth, “it is most definitely time.”

“Right.” Appearing at Aviva’s side, Halei helped her into the bedroom and over to the bed. “Mei and your mother are in the garden; I’ll fetch them first, then Elerian. You breathe. What else do you need?”

“Infinite willpower. And water.” Aviva winced in pain as Halei turned on her heel, then an irritated chirp drew her attention to the corner of the room. From a nest of old fabric, the amber eyes of Demon of the Abyssal Reach stared back at her. “You too?”

“Hmm?” Halei returned from the kitchen, pressing a mug of water into Aviva’s hands. “Me?”

“No, Demon.” Aviva nodded to the ball of black fur. “I think she and I are on the same timeline.”

Halei’s eyes widened. “Seriously? That’s far too many babies for one set of quarters.”

“I’ll say.” Aviva sipped her water. “Well, I promised I’d tell Cidney when either Demon’s clock went off, or mine, so…” Flicking her fingers in the familiar gestures of Sending, she announced into the air in front of her: “I’m going into labour -- and so, I think, is my cat??” She took another drink of water as she listened to the response, then promptly spat it out in a burst of manic laughter.

“What?” Halei pressed. “What did she say?”

Aviva looked up at her, her breathing laboured and her eyes watering, though whether due to joy or contractions was unclear. “‘What did Elerian do to your cat?’”

IV.

“This might be the best augment you’ve made.”

Morgan grinned, sliding into the steaming bathwater and letting out a happy sigh. “There we go. Worth it. I wasn’t using this space as a cabin anyway.”

“No?” Aviva laughed. “I guess your garden variety servitors don’t use beds.”

“These aren’t garden variety servitors,” Morgan replied haughtily. “They’re salvaged Lefeinish tech, updated with my own personal designs. They don’t make them like this in Scanderimus, no matter how good they are down there.”

Aviva humphed in acknowledgement. Morgan had spent years collecting and restoring these specimens and they ran the Highwind like clockwork -- in some cases literally, given her clock-making background. It did, however, mean that the majority of Morgan’s interactions with living people came in the form of shopping for supplies or visiting Aviva and her family. “Have you made one from scratch yet?”

“Not yet.” Morgan slouched further into the water, creating tiny ripples that lapped against Aviva’s chest. “I think I’m gonna try soon, though. I have enough small pieces to build most of the chassis, and I think I could synthesise the rest. I can do all the internal programming. After that it’s just a matter of designing the right exterior. If I’m gonna make it entirely by myself, I want it to be really special.”

“Like you?”

That caught Morgan off-guard. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think I would make it look like me, but less metallic would be interesting.” She paused. “It won’t be like me. I mean, it won’t have a spark. I was an anomaly.”

Aviva watched her, head tilted in thought. “Anomalies can happen more than once.”

Morgan slid up to her nose in the water, her white hair piled atop her head like a captive cloud, and she thought for a few long moments before coming up for air. “They can. I guess it could happen.”

“Would you like that? Is that something you would want?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.” Spying Aviva’s raised eyebrow, Morgan glowered. “Okay, I’ve thought about it. I’ve wondered if there were ways for me to do it on purpose, but I don’t think there are. It’s just random. So I haven’t gotten my hopes up.” She met the Tiefling’s gaze. “But I think I would like that, if it happened.”

Aviva smiled. “I could see that being… really nice.” She grinned. “Parenting without the childbirth.”

“What, no!” Morgan squealed, water splashing as she sat up. “I wouldn’t be its parent! Maybe its teacher, or its caretaker. But I wouldn’t be giving it life, I’d just be building a vessel.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” Aviva leaned back, resting her head on the lip of the bath. “I may be relatively new at it, but that sounds an awful lot like parenting to me.”

“Maybe.” Morgan watched the ripples on the surface of the bath. “Maybe.”

V.

“Cid,” Aviva slurred, rolling her head to look lopsidedly at the Lefein at her side. “Ciiiiiiidney.”

“Mmmwhat,” Morgan responded, blinking the Tiefling into focus.

Aviva grinned brightly, if sloppily. “I’m real glad you’re here.”

Morgan reached for her bottle of wine, nearly knocking it over in the process. “I’m glad I’m here too. You know I’ll always come visit.”

“I know, but I mean, like… here.” Aviva gestured broadly with her own wine bottle. “In the world. In my life. I’m real glad you’re here.”

Spreading her arms wide, Morgan pulled Aviva into a hug, nearly tipping them both over in the process. “Me too.”

(Art by @stufflaalikes​)

[jedwashere]

A Billion Years Away - Chapter Four

The Noose Around Your Neck

***

I will hold on hope and I won’t let you choke

On the noose around your neck,

And I’ll find strength in pain and I will change my ways,

I’ll know my name as it’s called again…

***

The Enterprise.

Gabriel Lorca.

Immediately as he materialised, doing his best not to wince at the light, he knew that Captain Jallistra knew. He had been as honest as he could, knowing that repurposed truth was better than outright lying, but still she had seen right through him. He could tell in the way she glanced furtively at him, like he were a ticking time bomb, in the way she smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she went to consult with one of her officers.

But she didn’t act on what she knew. Not yet, anyway.

She would, of course. He knew that - not only because it was what he would have done in her place, but because, more pertinently, it was Starfleet procedure to do something about… about people like him.

What even was he going to go up for, he found himself pondering. Impersonating an officer, clearly. Treason? Possible. Desertion? Also possible. Heck, anything was possible - he was in the future, after all.

From next to him, he heard Jallistra’s crewmember speak. “Are you alright, Captain Lorca?”

He turned to look at her: redheaded, young, a phaser holstered at her side. Probably security: swapping the red and gold of the uniforms the brass had put out to the Connie’s made a certain sense to Lorca. As much as anything here did.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant…?” he asked.

“Reddin, sir, Faye Reddin,” the officer said. Her hand was twitching slightly. She didn’t trust him.

Clever kid, he thought.

“Reddin,” he repeated. He glanced at the phaser. “Well, Lieutenant, it’s good to see Starfleet security maintains the same standard of security officers they had where… when I’m from.”

Reddin blinked. “Sorry, sir. Just not sure what to make of you.”

Lorca smiled. “I’m sure you’ll know soon enough.”

“Captain Lorca,” came Jallistra’s voice. He looked at her: she was smiling again. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me. We have quarters available.”

In the brig? he almost asked, but he restrained himself.

“Looking forward to seeing how the ‘Fleet’s changed their furnishings,” he said glibly. “Priorities, right?”

She just smiled again.

***

Jallistra.

The minute she materialised, Jallistra wondered if Lorca knew she was on to him. He looked… resigned? Defeated?

Or maybe, she thought, smiling at him reflexively, he’s just lost. He’s hundreds of years out from where he was, when he was. That’s got to change a man.

Lorca was wincing slightly, looking away from the lights. Jallistra kept smiling, but that moment all-but-solidified her suspicion. Immediately, she went over to the transporter chief.

“Ensign,” she said quietly, “run a scan of our guest’s quantum signature.”

The ensign didn’t speak, simply tapping a command into his console. A moment passed, and then he looked up, frowning. Jallistra leant over and looked at the results of his scan, and almost let out a sigh.

He is the one from the Mirror Universe, she thought, swallowing. She turned to look at him: he was chatting to Reddin, who looked tense.

“Captain Lorca,” she said He looked at her, and she smiled. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me. We have quarters available.”

In the brig, she almost added, but she restrained herself. It wasn’t true, after all.

“Looking forward to seeing how the ‘Fleet’s changed their furnishings,” he said, his tone glib. “Priorities, right?”

She just smiled again. Got you, you bastard.

“Follow me,” she said. “Reddin, come with us as well.”

***

Lorca.

Oh, she definitely knew. Her smile was almost predatory, the cat who had caught the canary.

“So, Captain,” she asked as they walked through the corridors of her ship. He barely paid attention to the corridors, except to note that they seemed a lot less utilitarian than any ship he’d ever been on (the Charon excepted). “I’m curious: is something wrong with your eyes?”

Canny bitch. “I was… trapped in another universe,” he said evenly. “They tortured me. Their eyes are more sensitive than Homo Sapiens in our world - and so they decided to make me more like them.”

It was a fanciful story, but he said it with such a perfectly sincere tone that he heard Reddin make a small noise of disgust from behind him. Jallistra glanced at the Lieutenant, before looking back at Lorca.

“They tortured you,” she repeated. “I’m curious: how did you end up there?”

“Transporter malfunction of some sort,” Lorca said quietly. “I ended up on the I.S.S. Buran, instead of my own. Right in the middle of a fight. Next thing I know…”

He didn’t elaborate. There was no need to, and on the off-chance (the very off-chance) that he was just being paranoid, not going into detail just meant less details about his story to remember.

“We know a little about the Terran Empire,” Jallistra said. “They invaded our reality a few times in the early 25th century. We still get raids now and then.”

Lorca nodded. That made sense: eventually, someone with the Defiant files would want to go to that universe, take it over. Too bad for them: Lorca had thought the same once, a long time ago, but had learned during his time on Discovery that the Federation were less a bunch of scared rabbits than they were tamed dogs. If a wolf approached a dog, the dog might be more timid, but there was still steel in there, waiting to come out.

“So,” he said after a moment. “Got anything in this time for a rusty old ship captain to do?”

“That,” Jallistra, “greatly depends.”

Lorca smiled. Here it is. “On what, Captain?”

“On what sort of rusty old ship captain you are,” Jallistra said. She slowed, and then stopped outside a door labelled ‘guest quarters’. “Lieutenant, if you wouldn’t mind waiting out here. Captain Lorca and I have business to discuss.”

Reddin nodded and stood to attention. “Aye aye, ma’am.”

Lorca raised an eyebrow at Jallistra, but she had already stepped into the quarters, leaving him little choice but to follow.

***

Jallistra.

The door closed behind Lorca, and Jallistra went over to one of the replicators.

“Drink?” she asked.

“Whiskey, if you’ve got it,” he replied. He took his jacket off, tossing it on one of the chairs. “Might as well get rid of that, don’t you think?”

Jallistra smiled coldly. “What could you possibly mean by that, Captain?”

Lorca paused, meeting her eyes, and then he smiled back, mirroring her expression.

“You know, don’t you?” he asked. “Who I really am.”

Jallistra nodded. “Captain Gabriel Lorca. Of the Discovery. An impostor, a traitor, and a murderous, obsessive psychopath.”

Lorca winced at the description. “Well. Who wrote that one?”

“I read between the lines on your classified file,” Jallistra said evenly. She turned to the replicator. “Alcoholic whiskey, two glasses and one bottle.”

“Specify type,” the computer said blandly.

Jallistra looked at Lorca with a questioning gaze.

“Scotch,” he said blandly, sitting down. “Might as well, right? Enjoy my freedom for the two minutes it lasts.” Jallistra wasn’t fooled for a moment, and clearly Lorca could tell, because he raised both hands. “You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“Forgive me if I don’t find that reassuring,” Jallistra said, as the Scotch materialised. She picked up the glasses first and handed one to Lorca, before picking up the bottle. “I imagine you could kill me with that bottle if you wanted.”

“I imagine you could kill me with that bottle, if you wanted,” Lorca retorted. He took a swig of the whiskey. “Fact is, where would I go?” He made a face. “You sure this is scotch?”

“Replicated alcohol,” Jallistra said evenly. She took a sip of her own, ignoring the foul burning sensation. “Why shouldn’t I put you in the brig.”

“You should,” Lorca replied at once. “I’m guilty of a lot of crimes by Starfleet’s penal code. And I can only guess they’ve updated it since 2257.”

Jallistra considered his words for a moment, before smiling. “Let’s make a deal, shall we?”

“A deal,” Lorca repeated, frowning.

“I have no orders to put you in the brig,” Jallistra said. “I don’t know if the officer who told me about you knew who you really were, but the fact is, I was told to bring you to Starbase 93 after ‘ascertaining the truth of the matter’. I’ve done the latter: just the former left.”

“So, what?” Lorca asked. “I get to stay in here and relax my way to this Starbase, where I then get put in a brig?”

“Perhaps,” Jallistra said, “or perhaps something else will happen. I don’t know what Commodore Hayne wanted from you.”

“Or if I’m even the ‘me’ she wanted,” Lorca pointed out, smirking and gesturing with his glass.

Jallistra smiled back mirthlessly. “Or even that.”

There was a pause as Lorca seemed to consider his options. Finally, he simply gestured with the glass again.

“I’ll take the gilded cage,” he said. “since it comes with whiskey. Assuming I’m allowed to use the food synthesiser.”

“It’s called a replicator,” Jallistra said patiently, smiling again. “A bit more advanced than your time.”

“I’d be pretty disappointed if it wasn’t,” Lorca chuckled. “So. Ground rules?”

“Apart from the obvious ‘don’t try to escape’?” Jallistra retorted. “Well, you’ll have civilian computer access. Stuff that isn’t classified to anyone, anywhere in Federation space.” She paused. “You won’t be allowed to leave your quarters at all. But you should find that they are perfectly amenable for you. There’s even an ensuite bathroom.”

Lorca whistled. “Fancy.” He paused, before motioning to the jacket. “Suppose you’ll want that gone.”

Jallistra glanced at the discarded Starfleet uniform jacket, before sighing.

“For the best,” she said. “You’re not a Starfleet officer, Captain Lorca. You never were, in our universe. Wearing a uniform is just flaunting your crime.”

“And I’d hate to flaunt myself more than I already did,” Lorca chuckled again, but there was something in the way he said it that Jallistra didn’t like.

This is too damned easy, she thought. Where’s the fight?

“If you like,” she said, her tone of voice softer, “I can have the ship’s counselor come and pay you a visit.”

Lorca only snorted derisively at that, leaning back in his seat and finishing his glass of whiskey. He picked up the bottle and poured another, and Jallistra sighed.

“Have a pleasant stay, as much as you can, Captain,” she said, turning to leave.

“Hadn’t you best stop calling me that?” he asked. She paused, turning to look at him. His expression was hard, but he wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t looking anywhere. “I’m not a Captain.”

Something about his tone jarred Jallistra, and she scowled, remembering his attempt to launch a coup in the Mirror Universe from Michael Burnham’s centuries-old reports. He had been a monster, manipulating and betraying his crew, and now he looked… self pitying? What right did he have to that? Any concern she may have had for him suddenly evaporated into anger and indignation.

“Would you rather I called you Emperor?” she asked scathingly.

He flinched, but his tone was quiet when he spoke again. “I’m not an Emperor, either.”

“‘Mr Lorca’, then,” she said. When he did not object, she sighed once more. “Goodbye, Mr Lorca.”

She turned and left him alone in the room, drinking the whiskey she had replicated for him. Reddin gave her a questioning look as she walked out, but said nothing.

“I want a guard on this room at all times,” Jallistra said to her tactical officer. “Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Reddin said, nodding. “I’ll have my best people on it.”

“See that you do,” Jallistra said, before walking off, heading for the nearest turbolift and wondering just how the quiet, defeated man she had just left gelled with the picture of the man written up in the reports.

I’m going to have to read them again, she thought. And, while I’m at it, request some of his reports.

Might as well read the man’s own words, after all. 

If nothing else, ‘know thine enemy’.

[earhartsease]

The collection! I'm so happy with my collection.

Also wearing this bag in summer is a test of awareness lest the badge backs cheesegrate a nipple - but as Snoopy famously said "some of us prefer to sacrifice comfort for style"