#he has a terrible little mustache and he wears a hat that goes all the way down to his eyes everyday and ive never seen

[geffenrecords]

ive realized my posts about csh boy arnt nearly as funny as they could be becos u guys dont know what he looks like so heres some visual representation 

[flannelepicurean]

Redneck Raditz: The Locals

There are so many OCs in this it's just a whole entire goddamn Situation, but you literally cannot write about somebody moving into a Southern town without there being a fuckin' town. Anyway, here are some of the most well-developed peeps:

Debra (Miss Debra) is the diner waitress. Yes, there are other waitresses at the diner. But she is THE diner waitress. Nothing fazes her, and she is very sweet, but you better bring your manners. She doesn't really get mad, but you will feel ashamed of yourself in the worst way if you disappoint Miss Debra with your behavior. She's got that classic Southern hospitality that's actually genuine, and she will not steer you wrong on a menu recommendation. She's from the same manufactory that spun out Dolly Parton, but she's not as glamorous on the outside. She and Miss Dolly would get along great, though, and Dolly would recognize a kindred soul.

"The Guys" consist of Wayne, Kevin, Ryan, and Derrick. They're the crew Raditz hangs out with when he's not working at the hardware store or haunting the diner. They smoke weed and play Playstation and do other hanging-out type shit, and they're still friends with Raditz even though his ass be cheatin' at Tekken.

Wayne is a real chunky guy who doesn't wear enough sunscreen even though he really should, and gets that "sun-bleached blonde, sunburnt edges" look in the 71% of the year that's pretty damn warm. Favors flannel shirts (lighter fabric, unbuttoned, ripped-off sleeves over a white tee or a tank in the warmer months) trucker hats with truck-related stuff on 'em. He's got the thickest accent, or at least the most animated one (there's a difference). Tends to talk at a spirited canter. He's frequently the first moral compass of the group, and tries to get Kevin to act like he's got some goddamn sense. Wayne will get vocal about when someone "ought not to've done that," if they're acting like a real asshole, even if he's not physically enforcing it.

Kevin is a Cory, of Cory and Trevor, of Trailer Park Boys, type of guy. 😂 Basically the same edition of dude, but not a physical copy. He's a little low-key on his energy, but extremely goofy, and often off-target on shit. He lives in sweatpants and jerseys and mildly obnoxious tee shirts and hoodies. Not a full-time hat wearer, but will put on an Adidas logo snapback every now and again.

Ryan is a mechanic. He's not terribly tall, and pretty wiry, but he has a presence. His hands are always a little grungy-looking, and his nails are always kinda black under the edges. His eyes are a little deep-set, and light green, and his hair and his sorta-whatever mustache situation are that kind of easily-overlooked light brown that like...wild rabbits have in their coats. He hangs out in his shop shirts and jeans and boots and that baseball cap that's kinda ???-colored because he's worn it at the shop for so many years. Ryan doesn't say much. But when he does, it's to the point. Ryan is a sage.

Derrick is "Derrick With the Truck." Not that nobody else has a truck; there are a LOT of trucks around. Derrick has a Truck, one of those pickup trucks with the fat ass and the extra tires and a big enough truckbed that all of The Guys, and Raditz, and maybe a couple other people, can get down to someplace to have a good time, and they can guaranteed lay Raditz's drunk ass in the back and still have room to drive everybody home after. Derrick is a Black guy with some height and some heft on him. He wears jeans a lot, but he goes for a little nicer shirts than the other guys. Short-sleeved button-downs in the warmer months; V-neck sweater with a white tee or a casual button-down under it in the cooler months. Derrick also doesn't say much, but he's got a sense of humor. He's a practical guy, and he likes to be helpful, but he's got good boundaries.

There are some other folks who fill out the roster in this thing, but I don't have as much about them yet. :)

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

Hello, I know that you are really busy, but how do you think Fallout 4 companions would react to child sole survivor. Who has somehow found a huge amount of sweets at midnight and has eaten so much that they are on a sugar high and are literally bouncing off the walls. With them getting into all sorts of mischief as they are hyperactive, and quite possibly waking up those around them.

Ooh, I love this! Awesome idea!

Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy! 🥰💖💖💖

Cait - Is ready to strangle her when the kid starts bouncing on her bed and she almost hits her in the middle of her sleep, thinking that she is some sort of enemy trying to attack. However, as soon as she realizes what's up, she tells F!Sole to not eat any more sweets and wait for this high to wear off. She tells her to bounce off the walls in a corner and to go back to bed when she's through acting nuts. Cait just does not want her bothering her anymore.

Piper - Is suddenly and terrifyingly awoken by both Nat and F!Sole who are very excitedly jumping on her bed and loudly singing their own version of "Pistol Packin' Mama" in which every time the word "mama" is uttered, it is the name "Piper" instead. She immediately recognizes the behavior and knows they've gotten into sweets. She handles it really calmly until she realizes that it was her sweets that they raided. Then she scolds them and tells them to get to bed, terribly unhappy that her stash is all gone.

Curie - Is really quite surprised when the girl awakens her in the middle of the night acting like a total fruitcake. However, when Curie understands what is going on, Curie is a little flustered about the entire thing, and she gently scolds the girl and explains that sweets are bad for her teeth and now she will have to brush her teeth again before going back to bed. Curie mostly just hovers over her until she gets tired, and Curie insists upon her brushing her teeth before going to sleep. When she's finally done, Curie tucks her in and kisses her forehead.

MacCready - When she wakes him up and he finds out what's happening with her, he is only irritated by the fact that she did not share any of the candy with him. However, when she says that she saved a little, he is really excited and is acting just as childish as her about it. They both act as silly as can be and jump on the beds, enjoying the candy way too much. He definitely acts way too immature and might even get them both into trouble.

Deacon - Somehow does not wake up the entire time that she is acting insane after finding all of the sweets and pigging out on them, but the next morning, he does wake up to a newfound pencil mustache crudely drawn on his face. He is not overly bothered by it, but he does tell her that if she gets into sweets again, make sure it's during the day so he can help her do all the crazy things that she pulled the previous night. He has several pranks in mind.

Codsworth - Is very shocked to suddenly see her practically fly past him at the speed of light. However, he quickly recovers and takes off after her, explaining to her that she really should be in bed. He fusses over her and tries to keep an eye on her while her sugar high runs its course. When she finally runs out of energy, he gently leads her to her bed and tucks her in carefully, chastising her very lightly about eating sweets at such a late hour.

Hancock - Was out cold the entire time that she was getting into the sweets and starting up insane antics. He had gotten high when she had supposedly went to bed and had ended up passing out on the couch. However, he was really disoriented when he woke up the next morning because she had practically turned the entire place upside down from all of her pilfering and jumping around. He was not upset about it, though, and he just made sure that the girl had not gotten into anything she should not have *cough* his chems *cough*. But when he realizes she did not ingest anything harmful, he is relieved and just makes a mental note to hide his chems better.

Danse - As soon as he wakes up and realizes that she is very crazily singing all manners of songs with the Pip-Boy on her arm that is playing Diamond City radio, he is completely bewildered and confused. When he figures out what happened, he sternly tells her to run laps around the building until the sugar rush has worn off. He is pretty grumpy about being woken up, and when she finally comes back, completely exhausted, he tells her to get in bed and to leave sweet treats for the next day.

Preston - Somehow sleeps through it, and the next morning, he finds a disaster. The place is wrecked from her jumping around and acting crazy and he honestly thinks that it had been destroyed by a deathclaw. However, when he sees her passed out in the middle of the floor with a small mountain of wrappers near her and his Minuteman hat on top of her head, he knows exactly what happened. He just shakes his head and takes his hat off of her head before resolving to wake her up later and get her to clean up her mess.

Valentine - Is very shocked to see her run past him as he looks through an old unsolved case. He just asks her what she's doing and what's going on, and when he gets an explanation, he just chuckles under his breath, figuring that the whole thing will run its course after a few minutes. Sure enough, it does, and when he goes to look for her, he finds her lying flat on the rug. He picks her up carefully and helps her into bed, a fond smile on his face.

X6-88 - Jerks awake as soon as he hears the high-pitched laughter. He narrows his eyes, sitting up in bed immediately and reaching for his gun due to the worry that there could be intruders afoot. However, when he realizes it is just her and she tells him about the candy she found, he is simply irked and he tells her to quiet down. But when he realizes she is on a sort of sugar high, he just sighs deeply before sitting down and patiently waiting her out.

Dogmeat - Is just as excited as she is, and if she shares a bit of her candy with him, he gets a terrible case of the zoomies and the both of them are zipping around like they're absolutely insane. They both end up crashing together at some point, completely tuckered out from running around so much, but they have a ton of fun and really enjoy it.

Strong - Is really angry and aggravated by the whole thing. He wishes she would just lay down and sleep. Even super-mutants need rest and Strong gets really grumpy when his sleep is interrupted. He yells at her for a while, really irritated but not planning to do anything to her. He is mostly just complaining and trying to explain things to her. When she finally tires out and falls asleep, he just grunts in frustration before going back to sleep, too.

[snazzy-suit]

LLoG Chapter (?) Fool Me Once, Fool Me Thrice (Snippet)

Yeah I know technically they’ve only been tricked twice but it’s the third time they’ve been through ghostly shenanigans so let me have this

Can I offer you a snippet in this trying time? 

Ever since Luigi’s Mansion 3 came out, I’ve been thinking about the masked ghosts in the lobby and just how bad their disguises were (I friggin’ loved it). I also kept thinking about how things might have gone if Luigi and friends had seen through their ruse right off the bat. I was just gonna let the thought be, but then I saw this clip of Luigi very clearly giving the hotel staff incredulous looks and was like “Shit, now I have to write it”.

So here we are! A sneak peak at my attempt to adapt the events of LM3 so they fit more soundly into the LLoG AU. This is very early in Luigi’s “liaison” career, before he and King Boo have shifted into their odd little frenemy relationship. He doesn’t quite have the confidence that we see later in the series, and still sometimes gets startled/alarmed by ghosts/spirits.

Oh! Also, this is a very rough draft, so if it feels choppy and/or if there are errors (grammatical, factual, and otherwise), that’s because I haven’t gone back and given it the ol’ spit and polish. All my writing starts this way. ^^’

=

For context, Luigi has just entered the lobby, and in his distracted awe, accidentally bumps into one of the hotel staff.

=== 

Luigi’s suitcase flies from his hand as he and the other unfortunate party crash to the floor with flailing limbs and undignified yelps of surprise. The plumber, quite used to clumsy mishaps, is the first to recover. He straightens his hat that had been knocked askew and pushes himself up, immediately spying a hotel staff member—the bellhop, to be specific—clutching at their face and blindly patting the floor in search of their own headwear. The odd behavior goes unnoticed, Luigi being far too mortified by the incident to even register it.

“Oh Stars, I’m so sorry!” Luigi cries, rushing to kneel at the man’s side. “Are you alright?”

“I-it’s okay! I’m fine, I’m fine!” the bellhop replies, still frantically patting at the ground. “I should have gotten out of your way.”

Luigi frowns at the response, perturbed by how the man could simultaneously sound both meek and jovial.

“No, I should have watched where I was going,” he refutes gently. Luigi carefully retrieves the bellman’s cap from the floor and presses it into the man’s searching hand. “Here you go.”

“Ah! Thank you, sir!” The staff member shakily dons the wayward piece of his uniform, back turned to the plumber as they gathered themselves. Luigi glances up to see Peach making her way toward them, face drawn with concern. He gently waves her off, silently assuring the princess that they were alright.  

“Here, let me help you up,” Luigi offers, extending a hand to the recovering employee. The man turns and reaches up to accept his offer.

“Oh! Why, thank you!”

Luigi only just keeps himself from recoiling. The bellhop’s face...it isn't a face at all. It’s a mask, and a rather eerie one at that. Bulging, unseeing eyes stare back at him—well, sort of. The pupils are just a tad off, and so small they’re practically pinpricks. A manic grin takes up most of the mask’s lower half, every white, too-perfect tooth in full view—so much so it almost looks like a threat display. To top it all off, the mask is pale blue in color, reminding Luigi of a frozen corpse—a rather fitting description for the static expression pulled straight from the uncanny valley.

“No problem,” Luigi answers, struggling to keep composure. He takes the man’s gloved hand (it's cold as ice) and gently hauls them up (they're unnaturally light for their size) to their feet (they don’t have feet. Or legs, for that matter).  

Luigi steps back as the bellman begins brushing off their uniform. He has to make a conscious effort not to let his eyes trail down the man’s coat to the marginal gap between it and the floor. The outerwear is far too long for the style, making the man look like a child in ill-fitting clothes, or more morbidly, someone that got chopped in half at the waist. Their attempt to hide their lack of legs drew more attention than it diverted, in Luigi’s opinion. It was so obvious it almost hurt.

Luigi was talking to a ghost.

“Heh, well, that didn’t quite go according to plan,” the ghost laughs nervously. “I came over here to help you, but you ended up helping me.”

A lot goes through the plumber's mind at that moment. How terrible the ghost’s disguise is. How, despite this, Luigi can’t help but be a little impressed that the ghost didn’t instinctively float upward after their collision, and thus, blow their “cover”. How Luigi can’t seem to escape the paranormal for one Star’s forsaken weekend. How, yet again, he finds himself getting tangled in some specter’s scheme.

But none of these thoughts deign to vocalize themselves, and really, it’s for the best. Luigi has to play this smart. Without the Poltergust, they’re doomed if the ghosts realize the jig is up. If he wants to get everyone out of here safely, he’ll need to feign ignorance—at least until he has a plan.

“Help...me?” Luigi says distantly, still somewhat lost in his thoughts.

“Yes! With your luggage.” The ghost gestures to Luigi’s suitcase, lying forgotten on the pristine floor. “Allow me to ease your burden and place it with the others.”

Luigi quirks a brow at his single piece of luggage. Burden? There was hardly anything in it.

“Oh. Thank you, but that’s not really necessary. I can—”

“Please, I insist!” The bellhop interjects, already drifting (quite literally) toward the aforementioned bag. “You’re on vacation, sir! You should be relaxing. Let me take care of the heavy lifting.”

Luigi starts to object, but then thinks better of it. Best not to create a fuss and draw unnecessary attention.  

“Okay, if you insist. Thank you, mister...?”

“Oh! Um, I’m Steward! And it’s no problem, sir.”

The bellman’s name...is Steward.

You have got to be kidding.

Luigi quietly watches the bellman as they (rather awkwardly) carry his suitcase over to the precarious tower of luggage the Toads are desperately trying to stabilize. The plumber sighs, studying the lobby with a carefully concealed wariness.

Now what?

Luigi pauses when his eyes land on one of the other nearby staff members. They, too, are clearly wearing a mask, though it’s not nearly as off-putting as the bellhop’s. The static expression is rather lax—eyes partially lidded and mouth resting in a neutral line, neither a frown nor a grin. A thin, curled mustache is painted neatly above the upper lip, and the equally clean eyebrows are raised in a somewhat haughty manner.  

When the costumed spirit turns their head to regard Luigi, the pupils of their mask wobble erratically like googly eyes before settling back into a more natural position (as natural as they can be, anyway). The plumber gently waves to them in a greeting, offering what he hopes is a convincing smile. The staff member acknowledges him with a nod. Their neatly combed wig slides askew at the movement, but they deftly readjust it without so much as a shift in their stance. Luigi quickly shuffles past them in an attempt to hide his grimace.

Good Grambi, he needed something to drink.

Fortunately for Luigi, there appears to be a pitcher of tea at the table Mario is still happily sampling treats from. It’s not what he had in mind, but if it occupies his hands and quenches his thirst, he’ll take it. The plumber approaches the table as nonchalantly as he can, grabbing the rather large kettle and pouring himself a steaming cup of tea. His hands shake minutely as he does so, and Luigi tries to convince himself it’s from the strain of hefting the heavy pitcher.

“Hey bro!”

Luigi nearly spills his drink at Mario’s sudden greeting. He turns, shooting his brother a strained smile.

“H-hey bro,” he says back.

Mario grins—oblivious to Luigi’s inner turmoil—as he snatches up a croissant. He takes a hearty bite and looks back to his brother, humming happily as he savors the taste.

“Isn’ thith plathe great?” Mario asks around a mouthful of pastry.

Luigi grimaces, both at the question and at his brother’s poor table manners.

“Yeah...great...”

Mario nods, taking another bite of the flaky treat. When he speaks again, Luigi is distantly grateful he remembers to swallow his food this time.

“Good food, good atmosphere, good friends...this vacation is just what I needed. What we all needed, right bro?”

Oh Stars, this is so unfair.  

“Right,” he answers honestly. A nice vacation is what they needed, but clearly the universe thought that was too tall an order.

How is he going to break the news to Mario? And how does he keep his brother from reacting badly?

Luigi looks down at his cup, absently swirling the hot liquid inside. He subtly checks his peripheral for any nearby staff. Thankfully, they’re all a good distance away, so as long as the brothers keep their voices down, there shouldn’t be a risk of being overheard. It’s possible one of the ghosts knows how to read lips, but if they keep their expressions in check, they shouldn’t draw the attention needed to do so. If that doesn’t work...well, Luigi can only hope the masks are as hard to see out of as they are to look at.

The green-clad plumber watches his brother select a soft pretzel from one of the platters, seeing an opportunity as Mario begins to chow down on the salty treat. His brother can’t yell and make a scene if his mouth is full, right? It’s not ideal, but Luigi is too stressed to think of anything better. He gently sips from his tea, and when his brother takes another bite from the pretzel, he speaks as casually as he can around the rim of the cup.

“The hotel is a trap.”

Mario promptly chokes.

Luigi nearly drops his cup at his brother’s rather violent reaction. He blindly thrusts his drink onto the table and ducks around Mario’s distressed flailing to deliver several hard slaps to his brother’s back. Just when Luigi thinks he’s going to have to try a first aid maneuver, the food swiftly dislodges itself from Mario’s airway, leaving the red-clad plumber to hack and cough wetly as he recovers from the harrowing ordeal. Luigi looks up to find all eyes are on them.

Well, that was stupid. So much for not drawing attention.

A couple staff members move uncertainly toward them, as does Peach, but Luigi quickly waves them off.

“He’s fine!” he calls, voice slightly strained with panic. “Just got a little too...overzealous, is all!”

The disguised spirits exchange what might be—sans masks—hesitant looks, but none-the-less return to their stations. For one, terrifying moment, it appears that the princess is going to come over anyway, but another wave of assurance manages to placate her. Luigi knows he’ll need to tell Peach what is happening eventually, but he doesn’t think telling both her and his brother at the same time would be very wise. Keeping one person calm is hard enough.

“Sorry, Mario,” Luigi whispers. “That, uh...was poorly thought out on my part.”

“Ya think?” Mario wheezes, straightening from his hunched over position. “Making a bad joke like that while I’m eating—not cool, Luigi.”

Luigi frowns, but quickly replaces it with a fake smile. He feigns a hearty laugh and throws an arm around Mario’s shoulders, much to the latter’s confusion.

“I’m not joking, bro,” he says through gritted teeth, false grin still in place. “The hotel staff are all spirits wearing disguises. Really, really bad disguises.”

Mario gives his brother a bewildered look.

“If you’re not joking, then why are you smiling like that?”

“Because if they’re watching us, I don’t want them thinking we’re on to them.” Luigi grinds out. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand and retrieves his cell phone. He lifts it up, screen facing the brothers, and turns on the forward-facing camera. “Say: Play Stupid!”

===

And there you have it! Join us next time to see Luigi and friends smiling and taking pictures like good tourists as they scream internally about their terrible predicament. Laugh and cry as the nefarious hotel staff silently beg the mortals to Blease hurry up and check-in these costumes are itchy

[arcadianambivalence]

World on Fire, Episode 1

March 1939 – September 1939

World on Fire begins with a blackshirt rally in Manchester.  Blackshirts (not to be confused with the Italian group of the same name) were paramilitary supporters of the British Union of Fascists political party, led by Sir Oswald Mosley.  

In the middle of this rally, where a mustached man levels all too familiar accusations, a singer named Lois and her interpreter (boy)friend Harry break out in a derisive contrafactum of “Bye, Bye Blackbird.”  The two are thrown from the rally and arrested while the fascists remain free to incite violence, an irony that is not lost on Lois or her father, Douglas.  

After their parents pay their bail, Lois and Harry part ways, not only because they come from different classes, but also because Harry is leaving for a translator position in Warsaw.

The next thing we know, it’s five months later, and we are introduced to a completely different character, an American journalist named Nancy Campbell.  Shades on and swigging from a flash, Nancy swerves down a road along the German-Polish border until she notices something and stops to investigate.  Lying at the edge of the woods is a pile of bodies.  She attempts to look for identification in the uniforms the dead men are wearing but is startled by the sound of nearby gunfire.  German soldiers are executing people in civilian garb, and if that’s not enough of a sign that war is imminent, Nancy finds an entire field littered with (illegal) tanks.  As she escapes back to the car, a German soldier fires through the rear window.

“Nazi Germany is a master of illusions, and the greatest illusion of all is that they are seriously negotiation for peace.”

Nancy arrives in Warsaw unscathed and determined.  Harry is there too.  In the months since he left England, Harry has fallen in love with Kasia, and her family has welcomed him with open arms .  But the massacre at the border is not enough to convince his new girlfriend, Kasia, to leave Poland.  In the months since he left England, Harry has fallen in love with Kasia, and her family has welcomed him with open arms.  Poland isn’t entirely defenseless, either.  Her father, Stefan, and brother, Grzegorz, are going to fight for the Free City of Danzig, a key barrier between Poland and Germany.  (FINALLY, something that talks about Danzig!)

“What sort of camera is that?”  “A Leiker.”  “Ah, German-made.  Perhaps when Harry clicks the shutter we should all duck.”

Stefan is hopeful that Poland (with the help of the long-promised British support) will successfully push back the German army.  Harry can’t bring himself to say that his homeland will likely not honor its promises in the way Stefan envisions.  Later that night, he begs with his boss to do something to help the Tomaszeski family, but his boss waves him off.  

Nancy is encountering the same reaction with her nephew, Webster, who is currently working as a doctor in Paris and enjoying every minute of its jazz scene.  While Harry’s love for Kasia makes him want to flee Warsaw with her, Webster’s budding relationship with saxophone player Albert makes him want to remain in Paris with him.

Ultimately, this first episode places its characters between the delicately balanced familiar and the incoming unfamiliar.  Despite the bodies at the border, invasion still feels so abstract as Kasia goes to work as a waitress and Douglas sips his tea at home.  

At no point is this more apparent than Stefan and Grzegorz’s arrival in Danzig.  Far from a confrontation on a literal battlefield, the father and son prepare to fend off the German arrival from a post office, and it is post office on a little peninsula in Danzig that the first shots of war are fired.  (At one point in the first attack, you can see a stack of envelopes go flying over the end of Grzegorz’s carbine.)

Outnumbered and outmanned, the Polish fighters keep fighting for hour after hour, defending the building floor by floor, and finally, room by room.  After nearly a day of combat, Grzegorz, Stefan, and Konrad are pinned in the basement with other survivors.  Realizing that reinforcements are not coming, Stefan considers surrender, but the others agree to fight on.  

As is sometimes done in period pieces, the fictional Stefan is placed in a leadership position instead of the people who actually rallied the fighters and, ultimately, raised the flag of surrender.  

The basement in which the survivors are recovering is set ablaze in the final push against the Polish.  Grzegorz watches in horror as men are burned alive in the underground inferno.  In the chaos, Stefan steps out of the gouged frame of the post office with a make-shift flag of truce.  As was, unfortunately, true to life, German soldiers open fire on the surrendering man.

Grzegorz and Konrad escape through the sewers and climb to safety in a bombed-out building.  A band of German soldiers enters close behind them, and the two hide behind a door.  But Grzegorz, whose congenital cough is exacerbated by the grime of the explosions, coughs, revealing their hiding place.  The two are led out into the town and backed against a wall for execution by a very young and frightened German soldier.  Seeing his fear, Grzegorz offers the soldier two packets of British cigarettes that Harry gave him earlier.  The soldier does not accept the cigarettes, but he does turn away at the sound of another execution.  Grzegorz and Konrad use this moment to escape once more.

The young German soldier, it turns out, is the son of Nancy’s neighbors in Berlin.  Having returned to her normal assignment in Berlin, Nancy continues to broadcast the progression of the newly-declared war, but with a more conscientious word choice than her typical bluntness.  This is Nazi Germany, and her every word is closely monitored.

The Luftwaffe fly over Warsaw in the morning.  Harry tries to find Kasia in the chaos and is thrown through the glass doors of the restaurant in the shockwave of a blast.  He proposes.  Once more, she starts to turn him down out of concern for her family, but she loves him and can’t say goodbye yet.  While the city around them recovers from the aerial bombardment, Harry and Kasia elope.  

(Only the young and in love can smile as their country is officially being invaded, I guess).

Life is much calmer in Paris, but it is not without danger.  Albert the saxophonist arrives at the American hospital where Webster works after being attacked by Action Francaise, a French extremist group that espoused many of the same beliefs as the British Union of Fascists, the Nazi party, etc.  As Webster tends to Albert’s wounds, Albert cautiously tries to determine if Webster’s interest stems from music or love.

In England, life seems even safer.  Lois has work at a factory and moonlights as a singer, her true passion, to provide for her brother, a happy-go-lucky petty thief, and her father, who turned to pacifism after his experiences in the First World War, experiences which still haunt him with shell shock, though he is embarrassed to admit it.  With the declaration of war, there seems less and less of a place for peace in the world, and Douglas is starting to fear that his children, already at odds with his pacifism, will be swept up in war like he was.

Still in school, Kasia’s little brother Jan is already on the verge of growing up too fast.  With his father and brother gone, he is technically “Man of the House,” a title swiftly refused by Kasia.  She holds Jan tightly and tells him that from now on, he will have to be very brave.  Within the course of one episode, Kasia has changed from carefree to heavy-hearted.  One way or another, she will have to leave her family behind.

Harry calls his mother, Roberta, and tells her that he will take the next train out of Warsaw.  Far removed from any danger (and partial to the very fascism that brought it!), Roberta is too busy planning a party with her wealthy friends to be terribly concerned.  

Before he can tell her that he is bringing his new wife home with him, Harry chickens out.  There isn’t really a good way to say you’ve moved on from your British kind-of girlfriend that your mother hated to marry your Polish girlfriend that your mother will definitely hate.

But no matter.  There’ll be time enough when he gets home.  

The train station is packed with people fleeing the city and saying goodbye, perhaps forever, to their loved ones.  Harry, dressed in wide-brimmed hat and trench coat like a British Rick Blaine, anxiously waits for Kasia to arrive.  But Casablanca, this is not.  Kasia emerges from the sea of people, Jan in tow.  He’s come to see them off, Kasia explains with a kiss. Harry loads her light suitcase onto the train as Kasia says her goodbyes to her little brother.  

And this is where the show convinced me to follow it to the end.  As the train begins to leave, Harry holding her suspiciously light suitcase, Kasia lifts Jan onto the train and slams the door behind him.  “If you love me,” she shouts to Harry over the shriek of the train whistle, “You’ll watch over Jan.”  

As the train carries a stunned Jan and Harry away, Kasia cranes for a final look at the family she will have to live without, for she has made up her mind not to flee as a refugee, but to fight on like her father and her brother and the thousands of other Polish volunteers against the oncoming storm.

Closing Thoughts

At first, I thought it was a strange choice to start the series with Harry and Lois’s arrest, especially since the relationship between the two characters could easily have been communicated through the editing like the Rossler family.  

But after rewatching the first episode, I began to realize the bigger themes of this series.  The threat of fascism is not simply Germany and Italy versus the World, but a possibility in England and France, too.  The inclusion of the BUF and Action Francais brings out the movements that could have risen higher in their countries, blending the simple lines of this country is good, this country is bad often drawn in period pieces.

World on Fire shakes up the typical portrayal of war by basing it on the ground with civilians from perspectives not traditionally seen in media.  Sure, there are the strapping young British guys of Harry and Tom who will inevitably be involved in the more familiar portraits of heroics, but the use of a translator and petty criminal as your average war heroes is a twist on the clichés.

More refreshingly, the show spotlights the people often left on the fringes of war portraits, if included at all.  The most obvious example of this is Albert Fallou, a gay black French musician (when was the last time you heard those four words together when describing a TV character?).  War correspondents, too, are given their due through Nancy, our psuedo-narrator and historical guide who reminds the viewers of how many journalists on the front lines or the heart of enemy territory continued to witness the war at risk of censorship or a more dangerous punishment.  The Tomaszeski family especially ascends to the heroes of the episode from the delightful, but doomed Stefan to his resilient children.

Ultimately, this show provokes its viewers to sympathize with the characters and their situations because of how similar the people are regardless of their unimaginable experiences.

Historical Notes

Nancy Campbell is an amalgamation of multiple historic people.  Like Claire Hollingworth, the British journalist for The Daily Telegraph, she discovers German forces amassing along the Polish border (while driving a borrowed car).  Hollingworth was also responsible for the first report of the war’s outbreak and, in earlier that year, had arranged for the visas of thousands of refugees.  Like William L. Shirer and Howard K. Smith, Nancy broadcasts the early days of the war from Berlin.

Professional and uniformed soldier Stefan waving a make-shift white flag is likely a reference to Dr. Jan Michon, the director of the Polish Post Office central to this episode.  

There are fleeting moments with other people who were historically involved in the event, too, such as the ten-year old Erwina Barzychowska who was hiding with her family during the onslaught

and Konrad Guderski, who held off the incoming Germans during the first attack with a grenade.  

(However, the show makes a confusing choice of including another character named Konrad who escapes with Grzegorz.)

While the war began officially on September 1st, 1939, the Siege of Warsaw did not become a ground fight until a week later (which is why Warsaw is still in relatively good shape by the end of this episode) Polish soldiers and volunteers managed to defend the city for nearly a month until capitulation.  The city was officially occupied starting October 1st until January 1945.

Observations

I love the detail that Harry uses a dishrag to change the lightbulb in the camera.  

Dan Jones’s score is fantastic, especially during the train station scene when the whistle of the train and the hiss of the wheels are incorporated into the orchestration.

Sources

Danzig:

http://brushesandbayonets.blogspot.com/2016/09/01ix1939-defence-of-polish-post-office.html

http://www.stampnewsnow.com/PDF_Pages/1-Poland.pdf

Clare Hollingworth:

https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-37606306

https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-38573643

More on American Reporters:

https://www.loc.gov/exhibits/wcf/

[hermannsthumb]

Hey dude!! Never done this before so I’m sorry if I screw it up but love the prompts you reblogged and thought I’d give it a try. Newmann wedding fics are the cutest things in my opinion so I thought possibly write a combination of 16, 7, and or either 2 or 9. Your newmann fics are the absolute best, I read them whenever I’m having a really bad day and they always cheer me up. Your a fantastic writer and you have such and amazing personality! I Hope you have a lovely day

16: Weddings, 7: Beach, 1: Fireworks, 2: Sunburn AND 9: Stargazing, 

from summer prompt memes here

combining yours with @francissaintgermain​ for a double whammy of wedding...AND THANK U BOTH for the really sweet words :’)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Seems a bit of a hassle, if you ask me,” Hermann says. “All this bloody planning, and money, and effort—”

“It’s not a hassle,” Newton says. “I mean, it is, but—it’s gotta be worth it, you know? It’s romantic.”

It takes Hermann a great deal of effort to not roll his eyes. Newton’s idea of romantic includes necking on the couch while Ghostly Encounters plays on the television set and showing Hermann how many pieces of sushi he can cram into his mouth at once. (His record is ten, and he would’ve kept going if Hermann didn’t remind him that they were in a very nice restaurant and he paid quite a lot for the reservation.) It isn’t what Hermann meant, anyway. “I’m not talking about weddings in general,” he says. “I mean this sort. With all the—” He waggled his hand vaguely. “Extravagance.”

Extravagance did not fully encompass everything this wedding was. Hermann’s cousin and his fiance—wife, now, Hermann supposed—-had rented out a massive chunk of beach for it, with all the trappings of the sorts of things you’d expect for a beach vacation. Bouquets of tropical flowers. Bridesmaids in flip-flops. Seagulls swooping down every few minutes. Tiki torches at the end of each aisle of chairs, one of which had nearly caught the sleeve of Newton’s gaudy Hawaiian shirt (“I have to dress for the theme, babe,” he insisted) on fire when he passed it. It would’ve been nice if they hadn’t set the damned thing at midday, with the sun broiling overhead and making everyone squint and almost certainly burning Hermann alive, despite the long-sleeved linen shirt and sunhat he donned, and the fine layer of sunscreen Newton took a bit too much sensual pleasure in applying to him back in the hotel room. None of the other Gottliebs (genetically predisposed to pastiness) appear to be faring much better: Hermann spies his aunt a few rows up, who’s beginning to resemble a surly, dark-haired tomato.

Still. Hermann’s the only one of his immediate family to be invited, and his cousin paid for their airfare and hotel room, which is in some outrageously expensive resort with a spa and mimosas at the complimentary breakfasts that Hermann thinks Newton would call bougie, and they’ve got it for a week at that, so Hermann can’t bring himself to complain too much. It’s not as if he’s had the chance to go on many vacations in the last decade. The break is well-deserved and nice.

Newton leans in close with a grin and a nod to the front of the aisle, where the bride and groom have taken each other’s hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Gottlieb that happy in my life.”

“Nonsense,” Hermann says, and then realizes Newton does make a fair point: it’s not just Hermann’s aunt on the groom’s side of the aisle who’s surly. (Genetic predisposition to pastiness and melancholy, he supposes.) He goes for a different approach. “I’m certain I looked that happy on our wedding day.”

“You were kinda just crying the whole time, dude,” Newton says.

Hermann flushes. He had cried a little bit. “It was—er—overjoyed crying.”

“It was cute,” Newton says, grin softening out into something a bit dopier. He slings his arm around Hermann’s shoulders, and Hermann can’t help but lean in to his touch and smile back.

They both startle a moment later when the crowd suddenly begins clapping; the couple have finished reciting their vows, it appears. “Thank fuck,” Newton whispers. “I’m starving. I hope they have those tiny cream puff things at the reception.”

They don’t, but they have plenty of seafood (apt for the theme). Newton settles on filling a plate with a comical amount of jumbo-sized shrimp and some crab legs. The reception is likewise on the beach, under a great big tent lit up with lanterns and more torches only a short walk down from where the ceremony took place, and Hermann has to admit he’s beginning to see the appeal of the extravagance of it all. The oppressive heat’s dissipating, finally. The sea breeze’s picked up enough to ruffle the ends of Hermann’s hair and even make him shiver (and lean in a touch closer to Newton). The sunset’s gorgeous on the horizon. Even the live band is pleasant, and Hermann recognizes one song as something Newton’s played for him on the guitar before.

After dodging a fair number of his relatives, most of whom give Newton (with his tattoos and ear piercings and tiny Godzillas patterned on his shirt) side-eyes even before he lunges in and catches the bride’s bouquet, only to guiltily throw it back when he realizes it’s for the unwed partygoers, Hermann and Newton find their assigned table at the edge of the dance floor and sit down to watch the fireworks show overhead. Because of course the wedding party sprung for fireworks. “God, I fucking love this,” Newton says, beaming like an overeager child. “We should’ve had fireworks at ours.”

“Ours was indoors,” Hermann reminds him.

“I didn’t mean inside the building,” Newton says.

He downs a third of the frozen daiquiri he got from the bar and offers the rest out to Hermann, who shakes his head. “Do you wanna dance?” Newton says. His lips look sticky, vaguely red, and terribly inviting, so Hermann steals a quick kiss before he bothers responding.

“In a bit, perhaps,” he says. His hand drifts up to cup the side of Newton’s face. His cheeks are rougher than usual: he forgot to pack his razor, and they haven’t had the time to find anywhere that sells disposable ones yet. Hermann doesn’t mind it, though it’d tickled like mad in bed last night when Newton tried to kiss his throat. “I think I’d like to go for a walk.”

Newton nods and unhooks Hermann’s cane from the back of his chair, then, almost as an afterthought, crams several of the shrimp from his plate into the top pocket of his shirt. Hermann makes a face. “No use in wasting them,” Newton says. He holds the cane out to Hermann.

They walk, arm-in-arm, far enough down the beach that the tent becomes a dim glow and the music barely audible before they ease themselves down on the sand and spread out. Above them, stars are beginning to appear. The night sky is far clearer and far more devoid of light pollution out here than anywhere else Hermann has been before; Newton, excitedly, points out three shooting stars before Hermann’s even made himself comfortable. (Another pleasant benefit of this all.)

Newton’s shirt is unbuttoned enough to give Hermann a glimpse of the kaiju piece that spans across his chest. Hermann used to hate it. Hermann used to hate a lot of things about Newton. “I ran into your uncle at the buffet table,” Newton says. “Mustache. Looks just like your dad. He didn’t believe me when I said I was your husband. What constellation is that?”

“Hercules,” Hermann says automatically. “Do you regret it?”

Newton turns to frown at him. “Do I regret what?”

“Our wedding,” Hermann says. “It wasn’t very—flash.”

It’d been quick. In and out. Courthouse affair barely even two months after they closed the Breach. Newton wore a bow tie borrowed from Tendo, Hermann slacks with a coffee stain on the left leg. They didn’t even have a honeymoon. It seemed romantic at the time, almost as if they were eloping—they loved each other, after all, they had in silence for a decade, they saved the world together, they drifted together. They’d been in each other’s heads. It seemed foolish to wait.

“Oh.” Newton laughs. “Of course I don’t regret it.”

“You wouldn’t have preferred all this?”

“Dude,” Newton says. “We have, like, two friends, and you hate half your family. Who would we have invited?”

“Fair point,” Hermann says, satisfied.

“Besides.” Newton rolls onto his side and drapes his arm over Hermann’s waist, and he rubs his scratchy cheek against the crook of Hermann’s neck. “You gotta know I would’ve literally married you anywhere.”

“Ah, Newton,” Hermann stammers, “stop—”

“Nope,” Newton says, mistaking Hermann’s reticence for bashfulness over the public display of affection, and nuzzles and kisses at him this time. “No way. Anywhere.”

“‘S not that,” Hermann says, and winces in pain, because Newton’s stubble is suddenly feeling a hell of a lot sharper, “Newton, it’s—sunburn—”

Newton rolls off of him, giggling madly. “How?” he says. “I put a whole fucking bottle of sunblock on you. You were wearing that stupid hat.” He prods at the sunhat, resting on the sand a few inches away with Hermann’s cane.

Hermann ghosts his fingers over the skin of his neck gingerly; it’s hot and tender to the touch, as is the skin of his shoulders and upper arms through his clothing. Bloody figures. If it’s this bad already, mere hours after the ceremony, he doesn’t even want to know what it’ll be like tomorrow. “I certainly don’t know how,” he says.

The kiss Newton leaves on his reddened skin is far more delicate this time, without a hint of his stubble. “Poor baby,” he says, with a mocking pout. It turns suggestive in seconds, aided by the hand that he slips up under the hem of Hermann’s linen shirt and massages circles with over his abdomen. “I’ll just have to rub aloe all over you when we get home tonight, yeah?”

“Mm,” Hermann agrees, eyelids drifting shut. It’s nice, more than nice, and, for a moment (there’s no one around to see, after all), Hermann is considering indulging Newton in some light touching and kissing in return. Then he wrinkles his nose. “You smell like shrimp, darling,” he says. It’s killed any lust that Newton may have been inspiring in him. Newton retracts his hand.

“There’s still one in my pocket,” he admits.

[galahadwilder]

The Living Joke, Ch. 1

It is a quiet afternoon in the Burnley District when the formerly most dangerous couple in Gotham find themselves sitting across from each other in a cafe. They are no longer a couple, and as of last week, neither of them is the most dangerous person in the city, though they are both still somewhat unstable, somewhat dangerous. A sufficiently perceptive outside observer—the billionaire in the corner, watching them from behind sunglasses and a particularly convincing fake mustache, perhaps—would be able to tell that neither one of them seems to entirely want to be here, to be looking at each other. She resents him, she resents his presence in her life, and he knows. He has invited her here nonetheless.

”How long did it take you?” Jack says, softly. He remembers, vaguely, the loudness of his other voice, the mania that would take him before he struck her or shot or stabbed or melted someone. He keeps his voice level. He doesn’t want to scare anyone, her least of all. Even if he knows she could beat him to death with little effort, she is still terrified of him.

Harley, too, remembers the lilting, looping sound of the voice before her, and it’s his voice, but somehow calm and steady and strange, and coming from a man impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, impeccably groomed, instead of dirty and disheveled as he’d once been. His face bears no trace of the white. “A few months,” she says. “Pam helped.”

”I don’t remember her very well,” Jack says, rolling his empty mug between his hands. The handle hits his fingers back and forth, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. “I didn’t like her very much, which I guess means she was better for you.” He looks up. “How is she? Still trying to end humanity?”

”She’s... better,” Harley says, blowing on her coffee. She’s dressed like she’s on break from a day at the psychiatrist’s office, a proper professional woman in a black pencil skirt, though the bright red of her blouse does detract from that a bit. She’s wearing large glasses, partly because it’s easier to see and partly because it helps hide her face. “She ain’t happy about me seeing you.”

”Hrm,” Jack says, placing his empty coffee mug on the table. He doesn’t know how caffeine will mix with his new medication, doesn’t want to try it yet in case something goes terribly wrong. “I wouldn’t be either.” He chuckles, then cuts himself off when he sees Harley flinch. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s difficult to remember not to laugh.”

“Pretty rough for someone who used ta be a comedian,” Harley says. She sees how he collapses a bit at her words, at ‘used to,’ but she can’t entirely bring herself to care. “Wouldn’t’ve expected you to talk all proper like this neither.”

“I’m consciously controlling my speech patterns,” he replies, staring at his cup. Gotham Knights Champions! it proclaims, premade merchandise for a championship title that they did not actually win and got sold to various shops around the city at a massive markdown. “Joe hurt a lot of people in this town, and, well...” He sighs. “He may not have listened to you very much, but I picked up enough to know how triggers work.”

Joe. It’s a convenient fiction for them, that someone else poisoned the Gotham Reservoir, that someone else shot the Commissioner’s wife, that someone else beat Robin to death. Like most fictions, it’s a little bit true. But Jack still remembers some of the worst of it. The things the Joker enjoyed the most, the memories he lovingly reviewed when he was bored. Horrors he can’t shake from his mind.

Harley sighs. “Why’d ya ask me here, Jay?”

”I wanted to know why,” he says. “Why you looked for a cure, why you didn’t just kill me.”

”How’d you know it was me?” she says, hiding her smile behind her coffee mug. Perverse as it is, this is the most appreciation she’s ever gotten from the man she once loved, and damned if it doesn’t satisfy her at least a little.

”A neurologist, psychologist, and chemist who knows me well enough to be able to guess what’s wrong with my brain despite my constantly changing mental state?” Jack says with a smile of his own that he immediately fights down. “It was either you or Batman, and given that the first dose was sprayed from a flower...”

”Your signature,” Harley murmurs.

”Ivy was my first thought, actually,” he says, turning the mug on the table. “It can’t have been easy to convince her to synthesize. I know it wasn’t for me, and I doubt she’d have accepted it for you. So why?”

Harley sighs. “Joe and I...” she begins, then places her mug back on the table. Her eyes grow wet, and she wipes them with the backs of her hands despite the easily available napkins. “We had a daughter.”

Jack’s breath comes short and his eyes widen. “I’m... I’m a father?”

Harley nods. “Her name is Lucy,” she says. “I’m not gonna tell you where she lives in case... he comes back, but I needed to test the meds. I... didn’t want her to...”

”To turn out like me,” Jack finishes, breathless. He takes no offense at the implication. He wouldn’t want his child to end up like Joe either.

Harley nods. “Didn’t know if your condition was hereditary.”

He’s still shellshocked. He lost his first chance at fatherhood three hours before he fell into that vat, when the men shot his pregnant wife just to scare him into complying. To get another one, now, after all he’s done...

”I’d love to meet her, someday,” he finds himself saying. “If you ever decide it’s safe.”

She grimaces. “Might be a while.”

He nods. “That’s fine.” He stands up from the table, reaching for his hat before remembering that he doesn’t wear one—Joe wore one, and Jack burned it. Or at least he thinks he did. Some things on the new medication are still hazy. “Thank you for meeting me,” he says. “I know it must’ve been hard.”

”You have no idea,” Harley responds, picking up her mug again.

”Give my thanks to Pam,” Jack says as he gathers up his coat. “For... being there for you when I wasn’t.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, because he’s feeling urges now, urges to laugh and kill and burn and he needs to get out and get another dose, he needs to stabilize before he doesn’t want to anymore. But he takes a moment on the way out to stop next to the table of the man in the sunglasses.

”That mustache must itch like hell,” he says, nonchalant. Not really looking at the man.

”Pretty rich comin’ from a stiff who once wore ‘is own face as a mask,” the man fires back, chewing on a toothpick the whole time.

The side of Jack’s mouth quirks upwards, and if it wouldn’t have terrified everyone in the cafe, he’d have burst out laughing. The accent is ridiculous, but Jack supposes that might just be because he knows what the man’s voice is supposed to sound like. And his observational joke is pretty clever. “Who knew you had a sense of humor?”

“Pretty much everyone but you,” the man says. His mouth doesn’t change, but there’s a crinkling at the corners of his eyes that suggests a smile.

Jack nods, then makes his way out of the cafe with no one else the wiser.

[fanfeline]

Get your cousin on Cam👏ille 👏 Des👏mou👏lins👏 asap!!!

@oh-and-this so this got FUCKING LONG my sincerest apologies to anyone on mobile I’m…I’m so sorry

it’s hysterical though

so: me, adoring Camille Desmoulins, vs. my cousin, who knows literally nothing about the man or about history in general!

N: Hello~

A: So, ready?

N: Yeah!

A: Alright, there we go.

N: Honestly…he doesn’t look- he’s not the worst you’ve pulled.

A: :) No, he’s not.

N: Like, we’ve definitely had worse. I’m disappointed in you.

A: [mock offended] Oh, okay! Fine!

N: I thought you could do better.

A: Yeah, fine, give me a second-

N: No, wait! I still need to describe this guy!

A: Alright, alright, it’s fine, we can do both major portraits, I can pull out Boze too. Okay, start with this, we can transition later.

N: Okay, so!

A: There’s a zoom function here too, I’m not sure quite how far it will go….

N: So, his nose is a little wonky. He should get a nosejob. Sorry.

A: Okay, this is the eighteenth century.

N: Yeah, just a little, you know, chop chop, go to the doctor-

A: I’m pretty sure this is the era of bloodletting as a valid form of medical treatment.

N: What? Whatever. His hair? Honestly, his hair’s not the worst. Although, you can kinda see these little, like, short pieces on the side of his face? Looks like a little kid, taking his mother’s scissors, chop chop chop.

A: Yeah, I could see that. I’ll be honest, having studied this man, specifically this man? [pause] Yeah.

N: Where are his eyelashes? Can I- can I zoom?

A: You can, I don’t know how far it will oh jesus. [high-quality portrait, it zoomed in a lot and startled me, okay?]

N: Do- do you see that?

A: Short lashes are not uncommon. I don’t know, ask the painter, it’s not like I have any photographs of the man!

N: There are no eyelashes there. There is: eyelid, eye, under-eye-bag. There are no. Eyelashes.

A: [high pitched] Give me details about this man.

N: Also, his eyebrows are not on fleek at all. Kind of just disintegrates. Like, “Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.” Um, okay, this man, he definitely works as an actor. But like, community theater. He takes improv classes, he lives in Pennsylvania- no, New Jersey. [imitating New Jersey accent] Jersey, honey. [normal] I can’t do the accent.

A: No, you really can’t.

N: He’s got ears, I think. I can see one…part of one.

A: Probably. [look, he never listens anyways]

N: He definitely, like [pause] unicycles to work.

A: [laughing] Okay.

N: But only on Tuesdays. The rest of the days, he bikes. He’s zero-waste, except he has a drug problem, sooooo. He’s also vegan, but only every other day. Oh, and he’s definitely an Internet troll.

A: [laughing harder] That’s the most accurate thing you’ve said yet.

N: His name is like…Cameron.

A: [pause] That was weirdly close.

N: Wait, what’s his name?

A: Camille. His name’s Camille. [note: my voice changed dramatically here and now I’m wondering if my voice always gets that soft, sad and practically reverent when saying his name because if so? that’s fucking pathetic]

N: His name’s Cameron. And he has- does he have any pets? An iguana.

A: What’s the iguana’s name?

N: Jorge [pronounced as in the Spanish]. Spelled J-G-E-O-U-R-G-J-E-U-X.

A: That is roughly the way he does spell names, I will admit, he’s terrible at it.

N: And there it is. He definitely works in a museum part-time, cause community theater doesn’t pay unfortunately. …Is that a rat tail? Oh no, that’s just part of his collar.

A: Yeah, that’s his collar, he wears his hair loose.

N: Okay….I’m just zooming in on random spots.

A: Yeah, no kidding.

N: Look at those LIPS, BABY!!! [dramatic kissing noises] Wait, why is his nose shiny? Oh, shit, the boba, hang on-

[N goes to go make sure the tapioca pearls didn’t melt again]

A: [calling across the kitchen] If you’re done with this one, I’m going to the other portrait, there’s another portrait. Here.

N: …You know what he looks like? A character from Pushing Daisies.

A: Okay, yeah, that’s fair.

[digression about Pushing Daisies]

A: No comment on his hair in this one? It’s very different here.

N: Oh, his hair’s so bad. Wait, is this the same guy?

A: Yeah, same man.

N: Oh god.

[break]

N: We’re recording again!

A: Yay! So, second portrait, this is the man you have nicknamed Cameron.

N: Cameron! Wait, this doesn’t look like Cameron.

A: Same guy, I promise.

N: This is Olga. [Ari starts laughing hysterically] Olga is a woman in her thirties, you wouldn’t guess it, she looks like she’s ninety. She lives on a farm in, like, Norway. Olga churns butter.

A: I swear to God, this is the same human being!

N: No, this is Olga. She churns butter with her brother, Üulga.

A: Oh, right, I keep forgetting he had siblings.

N: Olga is the girl, Üulga is the boy.

A: To be fair, I think he keeps forgetting that he had siblings too.

N: Üulga! Üulgaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. So, Olga. Actually, this more and more starts to look like Üulga. By the way, Üulga is spelled with two “u”s.

A: O-okay, I’ll figure out how to fit that in somewhere.

N: You’re gonna have a fun time typing this up.

A: It’ll be a mess! I love it.

N: Okay, Olga! Olga has a computer from the 1990s, and it only works with a bicycle.

A: You’ve established a connection between this man and bicycles, then.

N: Oh yeah, Cameron! I forgot about that.

A: It’s the SAME HUMAN BEING, I promise you!

N: Does he like bicycles?

A: I have no idea.

N: Olga’s trying to grow in a mustache.

A: [deep breath] Continue.

N: So…okay, moment of silence.

A: [laughing] For my last remaining brain cells?

N: Stop laughing, pay your respects!

A: I have PAID my respects in TEARS.

N: Okay, he kind of looks like that sticker on your laptop.

A: The sticker of Thranduil from the Hobbit movies with a flower crown?

N: …Yes.

A: Okay! Newsflash!

N: Will your followers know who that is?

A: Almost definitely, they’re nerds.

N: Wow, okay. [pause] Olga, precious Olga, I’m gonna end this with a scene? Of Olga, like I did the manchild. What was his name?

A: They were, like, neighbors.

N: They were roommates. Oh my god, they were roommates.

A: If you knocked down the ceiling or the wall or something, I don’t remember exactly where, I’m not good at this. Oh, yeah, these are his letters? This book I’m holding. They’re his letters. Oh, wait, any comment on his facial features, because they’re decidedly different than the last portrait, meaning I have no idea what this guy looks like.

[I can’t transcribe the scene because the file’s being weird, but she was basically voicing/characterizing Olga like The Final Pam from Monster Factory. It was a trip, I assure you. Maybe I’ll manage to get the good file at some point - Ari]

A: Okay, wait, here’s my favorite print, where he’s holding the sword by the blade like an idiot.

N: Yeah, he’s an idiot. This guy is named Christopher Columbus.

A: Don’t you dare compare this man to that rat-ass bastard that is Christopher Columbus.

N: No no no, this is Christopher M. Columbus, he killed Christopher Columbus, stole his name and became the greatest leader of Czechoslovakia that there ever was.

A: What a terrifying thought.

N: Can you zoom in on his hat?

A: No, if we were somewhere else- I actually have this print hanging on my wall?

N: Why.

A: [pause] What do you mean, why?

N: …Nevermind. His hat looks like Mario’s hat. It’s got a facial expression.

A: Where?! Where is there a facial expression??

N: There, see, eye, eye, mouth.

A: Those are leaves, and I don’t see! Oh…no, I do see.

N: I wanted to tell you, dear readers, I’ve loved doing this commentary, I’ll do more in the future, I don’t know when I’ll be back-

A: We’ve got time, we’re doing more recordings after this.

N: Oh. [laughs] Okay bye!

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball 135

The prelims are still going on, and the fans are upset that they can’t watch.   I find this odd, because they never seemed too worked up about this before.    At the 21st tournament, Bulma used Oolong as a pedastal and watched from the window anyway.   She was the only one who even tried this.   And in the 22nd tournament, no one seemed to care that they showed up for a whole day of  tournament action and only got to watch one match.

To me, it feels like the preliminaries are the real meat of the tournament.    72 fighters battling it out for just eight spots in the quarterfinals?   If you were a King Chappa fan, that would be your only chance to see him in action.

Tournament officials have to get the crowd to make way for injured fighters, and one of them is Chiaotzu!  Holy shit!

It’d be funny if Chiaotzu woke up, looked at Oolong and said “Who are you again?”   They load him up in an ambulance, and Bulma and Launch hop in to ride along. 

But Chiaotzu’s not the only one getting hurt today, because we have no fewer than two supervillains in this event, and they don’t care how much they hurt their opponents.

Hey, is that Yajirobe?  Yes, it is.   He wore a mask to compete today, but it’s pretty clearly him.

Here, we see him win a fight by biting a guy’s ass.  

What is wrong with this guy?    At least buy him dinner first, Yajirobe.

Piccolo just chokes guys until he’s declared the winner.  Pretty sure that should be a disqualification, but what do I know?

As for Yajirobe, he nearly makes it into the quarterfinals, but his final opponent is a guy named Shen, who gets mistaken for a fan who wandered into the room.   Someone tells him his fly is down, and he ends up ducking one of Yajirobe’s punches and knocking him out with his head, seemingly by accident.

So now all the quarterfinal spots have been filled, so it’s time for the elite eight to draw numbers for the main tournament.   The mysterious lady keeps side-eyeing Goku the whole way.   I’m with Krillin, I wish some lady would look at me the way she looks at Goku.    Not so much the yelling, but I could probably learn to live with that.

I’m not sure exactly when I figured out who Shen really was (he’s called “Hero” in the dub, btw).    His facial structure is the main clue, but it’s not terribly obvious, at least not until later.

And here’s the World Tournament Announcer, who’s grown a mustache since his last appearance. 

Yajirobe’s a sore loser, but he figures he saved face by wearing a mask.  

But he makes it clear-- if only to the audience-- that Shen is no mean opponent.  He didn’t beat Yajirobe by sheer luck.

WTA sees Krillin and flips out, because he literally saw him die three years ago.   Krillin assures him that he’s not a ghost.   He simply returned from the dead, nbd.   Apparently this totaly satisfies the announcer’s concerns. 

All right, your card for the 23rd Budokai is as follows:

Cyborg Tao vs. Returning Champion Tien Shinhan!

Son Goku vs. (Name Withheld By Request)!  

Majunior vs. Krillin!

Shen vs. Yamcha!

Injury update!   Bulma says he’s “all right” even though “he suffered injuries all over his body.”   That’s a funny definition of “all right”.   Well, at least he didn’t break any bones.

Crane Hermit shows up to bring down the mood.   He talks smack about the Turtle School, and Roshi explains that his students left his school some time ago, and they only wear the Turtle uniform out of respect.

Krillin tells Crane what for, which is pretty awesome, except for the part where he has to stick up for Master Roshi, who as we all know, belongs in jail.  

Crane informs them that Tao gained even greater strength by becoming a cyborg.   Okay, stop.   Just stop.    Crane, the whole point of becoming a cyborg is that you become unimaginably stronger than you were as a human.   Why would Tao even show up here today if he was somehow weaker than he used to be?   He beat up Chiaotzu.    We all know he means business.   We don’t need you to tell us he’s stronger this time.    You’re like an old lady who points out obvious things in movie theaters.   You absolutely suck, Crane Hermit.   You punched Fanfan, your hat looks dumb, and you just suck.    Go away.

Roshi tells his boys to make him proud.  I just put this image here because I like seeing all of these young men in their orange pajamas and sweatbands.   Also, Yamcha’s rocking the long hair again.   Good for you, Yamcha.

Roshi’s kind of pleased to be able to watch the tournament from the crowd this time around, but it’s a little too crowded for them to see anything, so Bulma makes Launch sneeze...

And Blonde Launch clears a path to ringside with her guns.  You’d think the tournament organizers would have done something about her by now, but oh well.

Goku offers senzu beans to the others, but they already have some, because they’ve been to Korin Tower themselves.   Okay, but if that’s true, why didn’t anyone give senzu beans to Chiaotzu a little while ago?    Or does Chiaotzu have his own?   Why isn’t he eating a senzu bean right now?

While discussing their experiences with Goku, Krillin and Yamcha say they met Yajirobe and invited him to compete in the tournament, but he acted like he wasn’t interested.  

Goku isn’t surprised, but...

Yajirobe did show up, and he lost, so now he’s hiding in the bushes for some reason.    I guess the deal is that Yajirobe really does care about all this stuff, but he’s really sensitive about showing it.

Kind of weird how he’s going to end up babysitting her granddaughter someday...

Before Tien goes to fight Tao, Yamcha grabs his hand.  “Bro.  Use this to hit him with.   Like we practiced.”

“Of course, my friend.    I remember our strategy sessions well.”

Tao talks a lot of smack before the match because he’s a chump.

Launch demands that Tien clobber Tao.    Is she just rooting for him in general, or does she know what Tao did to Chiaotzu?  

Then everything gets letterboxed for some reason.  It’s kind of silly, if you asked me. 

[askbittyerror]

Bitty Type: Magnus (Dreamswap Nightmare)

Height: 6 in/15.24 cm

Likes: Spicy food, pranking people, Halloween

Dislikes: Being blamed for something he didn’t do

-Probably lowkey plotting something

-Lil’ bit flirty

-Easily excited over stupid shit

-Obsessed with Halloween

-He goes overboard on most things

-Has trust issues, but will take chances on people anyway

-Expect him to just acquire bitties who need help

-He’ll just bring someone in from off the street and be like “This is Stabface McTragicBackstory and we’re keeping him.”

-So expect to gain more bitties at some point after adopting him

-Is afraid of being abandoned

-He loves music, particularly classical

-If you can, try to find a bitty sized violin

-But be prepared to find him playing it really angrily when he gets upset

-Also expect to be woken up by aggressive violin playing right in your ear at some point

-He has trouble sleeping alone and at the very least needs someone in the room

-Let him sleep on your pillow or your chest or something

-Has issues with insomnia, so have some quiet stuff for him to do when he’s busy not sleeping. Bonus points if it’s relaxing and helps him fall asleep.

-He can vaguely sense your feelings

-Nothing really specific, just if you’re upset or something

-He’s a tad arrogant

-He loves cuddles and affection

-Although he will never admit it

-Will randomly initiate cuddles

-As in, you’re just sitting on the couch or something and he’ll just climb on you and snuggle

-Don’t say anything about it and just love on him

-If you mention it and go like “Hurr durr I guess someone wanted some affection hahahahaha” he’ll get embarrassed and leave

-And probably not come to you for cuddles again

-Has a weirdly deep voice for someone so small

-Fast little shit

-Accident prone

-So he’ll just break something and fucking run

-Just SMASH “MAGNUS!” “I DIDN’T DO NOTHING!” NYOOM

-Keep first aid supplies on hand

-Give him some partners in crime it’ll be fine I swear

-Well, it’ll be hilarious at least

-Seriously he needs buddies don’t let him get lonely

-Supervision is required when fire is involved

-Terrible posture

-Overdramatic

-Will tell people to fight him so be prepared to extract him from situations where he’s bound to get his ass kicked

-Keep him away from corrupted Nightmare bitties

-Also Rogue bitties but that kind of goes without saying

-Kind of a troll

-Prefers to tell the truth when he can

-Very likely to injure himself doing stupid things

-Resting bitch-face

-Possessive

-Will get jealous if you start spending the majority of your time with other people/bitties

-May sulk and/or try to scare people away

-And by scare people away I mean he’ll just sit on your shoulder and glare at people until they feel awkward and leave

-May acquire a stick from somewhere and whack people with it

-The stick will be named. (Beatin’ Stick, Staff of FuckYouRightInTheFace, etc.)

-Supportive, but in a way where he’ll ask what’s wrong, tell you you’re lying when you say nothing, reassure you, and then offer to fight whatever made you sad.

-Kind of likes drama? He won’t actively start shit himself but he will stay and watch while someone’s relationship falls apart.

-Either take him with you when you go somewhere or he will follow you and poorly hide in bushes.

-Or wear a ‘disguise’ (basically he’ll just draw a mustache on his face and steal someone’s glasses. Maybe he’ll even add a hat. Lucky you!)

-Refuses to show weakness at all ever

-Compatibility with Paladin (DS Dream) bitties can vary.  

-Sometimes they get along well and can be very close

-Other times….

-Just…

-Just love him, okay?

-Someone needs to.

Dreamswap AU and Dreamswap Nightmare belong to @onebizarrekai

[uncannyvalley-fic]

Last One Standing, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“Um, not that we’re not thrilled to be part of… whatever this is,” Ember says as the hipsters lead the way out of Ace of Cups, “but you haven’t really told us who you are.”

The tallest one stops, and the others, as though they were beads on a string, crash into him.  He whirls around. “My goodness, you’re right!  I am Enos DuFray, and I am the leader singer and lead guitarist of the band, and we are called Barstow & Daughters.”

Ember scans the group. “... and daughters?”

“Yeah, none of us have daughters,” the guy with the gold-rimmed glasses says.

“We got the name out of a band generator on the internet,” Bowler Hat adds.

“I hear all the best bands do,” Ember says.

In short order Enos introduces the rest of the band: Keegan (Bowler Hat), Gustav (gold-rimmed glasses), Downton Abbey (a skinny guy with a British flag tattoo and a handlebar mustache), Elmo (wearing shorts with suspenders), and Jefferson City (whose entire outfit, including the scrunchie around his man bun, is navy).

“And you are?” Downton Abbey says, leaning in while he twirls his mustache.

“Oh!  I’m Ember, and this is Mr. Zephyr,” Ember says.

“And apparently, we’re your new roadies,” Mr. Zephyr says dryly.

“Awesome.  First order of business is to get our truck up to the fairgrounds,” Enos says.

“You guys… can’t drive?”

“No,” Gustav says.

“None of you can drive?” Ember repeats.

“How did you get to be fully-functional adults?” Mr. Zephyr asks, incredulous.

“Hey, man, there are plenty of places with expansive public transit systems,” Jefferson City says.

“Of course,” Mr. Zephyr allows.

“Uh, well, okay.  Where is your truck?” Ember asks.

“It’s down some dirt road,” Enos says.  He turns around and points. “Over… there.”

“We’ll go… sort that out,” Ember says, looking at Mr. Zephyr, who nods in agreement.

They walk for a bit in the general direction Enos pointed, away from Ace of Cups and over a ridge just beyond the park, making their way down a small hill into the forest beyond.  There’s no truck - and no sign of any dirt road -, but Ember stops short as he sees what’s in a small clearing below town.

“Is that… a spaceship?” Mr. Zephyr asks, panting just a little as he comes up behind Ember.

“I think… I think it is,” Ember says, and they stand there, mouths open, staring at the giant spacecraft in the middle of a newly-cleared area of the forest.

Jo takes a chocolate chip cookie from the catering table and wanders over to look at the giant bracket posted listing all of the bands and the configurations for the “battles,” and, not for the first time, thinks how absolutely seriously Beckett seems to take something so mundane as a series of concerts by nobody bands.

Nobody bands with wild names.  Jo has never heard of any of them, but their names are things of beauty.  The first match-up is between In Meat and The Alpine Fertility Squad.  After that, Orion and the Force Abroad goes head-to-head with Gray Silk Blowtorch.  The names devolve from there, going long into the night, ending with the final pairing of Barstow & Daughters and Leaping Adam and The Absent Justification.  She notes with some satisfaction that the ABBA tribute band Leon’s a part of doesn’t perform until the next morning, when she’ll be back at work.  She doesn’t want to miss Leon’s performance.

From one of the stages comes the sound of an out-of-tune violin, and Jo cranes her head to look at the band.  She isn’t sure if it’s In Meat or The Alpine Fertility Squad, but whoever they are, they sound terrible.

When her cookie’s gone, Jo brushes off her hands and starts patrolling again.  She catches sight of Levi and GaaP every now and then; GaaP seems to have made herself an honorary security guard, and her face lights up as she talks to Levi, bouncing along beside him.  Levi, to his credit, seems genuinely pleased to be walking and talking with GaaP.

Jo makes her way around the field, seeing nothing that needs to be handled by someone in a security role, and is about ready to head back to the VIP tent for a bottle of water when she hears an angry chorus of voices.  She turns towards the sound of a rising argument, weaving through speakers, chairs, tents, and other assorted equipment, and rounds a corner to see two groups facing off, arms waving and voices irritated.  As far as she can see, there’s no actual fisticuffs, but judging from the way the (so-far) verbal combatants are squaring off, it might not be too long before a real fight breaks out.

“Excuse me!” she says loudly, walking directly into the middle of the spat. “What’s going on here?”

Her presence seems to break the flow of the fight, and all of the yelling individuals fall silent.  At last one of them, a tall, statuesque woman with a hawk-like glint to her eyes, says, “Just a bit of a misunderstanding.”

Before Jo can query as to how a “misunderstanding” turns into a yell-fest, a short man in what looks like a majorette costume barks out, “Oh, yeah, Juliet?  It was a misunderstanding that you stole our bass player?”

“Hey, I didn’t hear him put up much of an argument,” the hawk woman - Juliet - replies, holding up both of her hands.

“You drugged him!” the majorette man spits.

“We gave him two bottles of Heineken.  Don’t be such a drama queen, Paolo,” one of Juliet’s band-mates, a similarly tall man in obscenely short lederhosen, says, rolling his eyes.

“And where is he now?” Paolo demands, spreading his arms wide as his voice rises dramatically. “In prison!”

“Not because of the Heineken, you moron,” Juliet says. “He was dealing meth - something he started, by the way, when he was with your group.”

“Okay, let’s take a bit of a time out here,” Jo says, waving her arms to motion the two groups a little further apart. “Obviously tensions are running high.”

“You can say that again,” Paolo mutters.

“Is there some way we can resolve this matter?” Jo asks, looking from Juliet and Lederhosen Man to Paolo.

“You can find us a bass player,” a woman standing next to Paolo says.

“Okay, see, now, that’s progress,” Jo says. “I think there’s a bulletin board over by the food booths where local musicians are posting their numbers and information for any of the bands to contact them for help.  Why don’t you start there?”

Paolo nods begrudgingly.

“Is there anything you need?” Jo asks, turning to Juliet.

“Just for these guys to leave us alone,” Juliet says.

“Don’t you need a bass player too?”

“No - Morrow can play bass too.  We used to be a bass-heavy band, now we’re just bass-light,” Juliet answers.

“Oh.  Uh, well, great.” Jo scans the groups. “I don’t want to have to eject either of these bands from the competition, so keep it together, okay?”

Everyone gathered around her nods a bit sheepishly.

“Awesome.  Get in touch with the security staff if there are any more issues.”

Jo waits until she sees both bands disperse before she leaves the area.  She sees Levi and GaaP moving towards the far-off stage at the end of the event grounds and turns to make her way back to the front of the field to start patrolling again.

Behind her, the out-of-tune violin starts playing “Musetta’s Waltz.”

Mary and Leon arrive at the Battle of the Bands (and Pancake Breakfast) a little after four in the afternoon.  Leon’s quickly swept up into the joyous embrace of his fellow ABBA tribute band members - three adorable older ladies in similarly eye-catching spandex jumpsuits - and Mary’s left on her own.

She takes a leisurely stroll around the festival, hoping to catch sight of Jo or any of her other friends.  Instead she sees ensembles of all kinds preparing themselves for performances.  An all-trombone quintet rehearses in a quiet nook, a band that seems to be made up entirely of pairs of twins is practicing dance moves with their instruments to the tune of “Ignition (Remix)” and what looks like bad KISS cosplayers are strumming their mandolins with all the fire and fury of Viking warriors.

Then she catches sight of a group practicing under a small tent rather than on one of the stages, as though their performance isn’t coming up for awhile.  It’s not their music - generously layered acapella - or their outfits - pastel knee-length dresses - that causes Mary to take a second look.  It’s the fact that all of the members of the ensemble are ghosts.

She approaches cautiously, but none of them are paying her any attention.  They’re too focused on their arrangement of “Exes and Ohs.”  She stays a short distance from them, and softly asks Clearwater, “What’s up with that?”

“What, you think ghosts can’t like pop music?” Clearwater asks.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Mary says. “I’m just confused as to how they managed to… organize themselves.”

Clearwater thinks on that. “We’ve seen ghosts do some remarkable things before.”

“And everyone seems to be treating them like they’re human,” Mary says, noticing a stagehand talking to a member of the ensemble at the side of the practicing singers.

“World’s a weird place,” Clearwater says. “Maybe that guy’s a geist.”

Mary snorts at the near-pun of “guyst.”

The stagehand moves away, checking something off on a clipboard, and Mary continues to watch the ghost girls sing and twirl and two-step-shuffle.  They’re surprisingly good.

“Clearwater, are there any… spells or artifacts that would cause a group of ghosts to seem corporeal?”

“Sure, I bet there’s lots.”

Before Mary can ask any further questions, she hears a voice from behind her. “Mary!  You’re here!”

She turns to see Jo striding towards her, and smiles. “Hi, Jo.  How are you?”

“Ready for a break,” Jo says. “You want to have a girls’ night?”

“That sounds fantastic,” Mary says. “Just you and me, or do you want to invite GaaP and Clementine?”

Jo resists the urge to roll her eyes at the suggestion of Clementine and merely says, “That would be great.  GaaP’s been following Levi around all day, so I’m sure she’ll have lots of great stories to share with us.”

“We’ll get some wine and Chinese food and put on a silly movie,” Mary says.

“Are we going to braid each other’s hair and paint our toenails?” Jo asks with a smirk.

“If the spirit moves us,” Mary says, grinning.

Clementine, her hands still raised in preparation for some sort of attack, turns around slowly.  Standing in the locker room, staff raised like a spear about to be thrown, is the woman she saw outside Ace of Cups.  She’s slender, pale, dark hair brushing her shoulders, clad in a puzzling ensemble of a tunic under a vest, leggings, and some sort of burlap-looking arm wraps.  She sports leather bracelets and a wide leather belt and leather boots that are, to Clementine’s eye, absolutely luscious.

“Okay, so, you’re definitely not with that hipster band,” Clementine says.

“Sorry, what’s a… hipster?”

“Oh, sweetie, I wish I didn’t know,” Clementine says. “Um, could you possibly… lower your weapon?”

The woman jumps, seemingly unaware that she was still holding the staff to Clementine’s throat, and brings it down. “Sorry.  I just… everything here is… new.”

Clementine tilts her head.  There’s something about the woman’s posture, the lines of her face, her voice, and her general appearance that’s incredibly familiar. “Have we met?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’d remember meeting you.”

“Are you from Beckett?”

“What’s Beckett?”

“Here.  It’s this town.  This incredibly bizarre town.”

“Oh.  No, I’m not from here.”

“Are you here for the Battle of the Bands and Pancake Breakfast?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Did you escape from one of the cults on the outskirts of town?”

The woman shakes her head.

“What do you know?” Clementine asks, a little frustrated.

The woman shrugs. “I don’t know.  I think I hit my head when I landed.”

“Okay, so, what’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

Clementine sighs. “Yeah, of course no one who just walks into this town is going to be normal.”

She holds out her hand. “I’m Clementine.  It’s nice to meet you… whoever you are.”

The woman shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Clementine.”

“We need to give you a name,” Clementine says. “It’s weird not to have a name.”

She thinks. “How about… Jane?”

“That’s not my name.”

“I know, but you don’t have a name.”

“I’m fairly certain I have a name.  I just can’t remember it.”

“Well, I can’t just take you out of here and introduce you like ‘This is nobody, she has no memories and also dresses like a bag lady.’”

The woman frowns. “What’s a ‘bag lady’?”

Clementine sighs again. “Do you remember any names?”

The woman thinks about this. “I think there was a woman I know named… Amy?”

“Perfect.  You’re Amy.”

“No, I’m not.  I know someone named Amy.  I think.”

Clementine throws up her hands. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m very possible.  I’m standing here.”

Clementine’s phone lets out a chirp, signaling an incoming text message.  She pulls it out. “Oh, great.  An invitation to a girls’ night.  My friends will know what to do with you, okay?”

“You have friends?” The woman raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Clementine says, a bit testily. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No,” the woman says, cracking a bit of a smile. “You seem difficult.”

Clementine prepares an angry retort, but the woman continues, “I think I like that.  I think I’m a bit like that too.”