#he's so fucking desperate to keep foreman oh my god

[bougiebutchbitch]

oh my god he’s so fucking annoying

[rollingthunder06]

hero

hi yes i am aware mine collapses are kind of a trope now but i still wanted to write my own so deal with it. persephone goes into an unstable mine after her (in her mind stupid) husband who was inside when it fell. tw for blood/ichor, scars, mentions of death

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“How are you still standing?!”

Persephone ran to her husband, shifting his weight onto her. Hades was a big man, but good thing she was gifted with adrenaline. “I’m a strong man, lover. Besides I needed to see you again.” His voice sounded like it hurt to speak, he winced as he breathed. This wasn’t good.

She couldn’t pick apart his wounds, just see the bright gold staining head to toe and mixing into a haze with tears blocking her vision. “Well ya got me,” Her words die as he looks at her smiling, ichor tricking down his face from a rather deep gash on his head.

Persephone’d seen mine collapses before, hell she’d been in them several times herself. The wounds heal, but there this was so much blood. Too much blood.

He touched his bloody hand to her cheek brushing through the curls that had fallen out of her snood. “I love you.”

Persephone choked, a lump forming in her throat. She knew Hades, she could read his eyes. He thought he wasn’t going to be okay. Her husband thought he was going to die.

“Don’t talk like that. I ain’t done with ya yet old man.” He laughed, a low, wheezing and heart wrenching sound. “C’mon we just gotta get out, then you’ll be okay.” She tried walking but barely made it a few steps before Hades stopped.

“I can’t lover. Hurts..” The world was pulled out from under her. Hades collapsed, and she fell with him. Her heart hammed while his barely beat. “Hey, Hades, c’mon. You can’t do this to me.. please, Hades please.” She begged, kissing him, touching him, shaking him, anything that might get him to open his fucking eyes.

“Please you asswhole, wake up. Ain’t funny, please,” Tears started falling. Someone screamed loud enough to wake Tartarus. It took Persephone a moment of looking around in confusion to realize it came from her.

Every fiber of her screamed in rage. Why the fuck didn’t he go in with the foreman? Why did he push those shades out when he could’ve saved himself? Why can’t he open his fucking eyes for her?

It felt like a train ran her over, everything stung. A tearing pain in her chest turned tears to sobs. Turned kneeling by his side to keeping herself on his chest so she could constantly hear her husband’s faint heartbeat.

She sobbed, begging him. Praying to him. Praying to Hecate, Thanatos, Hermes, anyone. Hoping they would hear her cries and come to help.

She tore herself apart for not being able to hold his weight long enough to drag him out of the mine. She screamed in the darkness, and the earth rumbled after each rage.

Dust fell along with small pebbles from the ceiling of the mine, and the goddess quickly shut her mouth. Hades wouldn’t survive if the mine came down again even if she would take the brunt.

She was a sobbing, raging mess, clinging to her barely breathing husband as a lifeline. A sticky coating of his ichor covered her skin and dress. She kissed him, trying to make a hint of color come back to his cheeks. It didn’t work, nothing fucking worked.

How could she just sit here and let him bleed? But how could she leave him to go get help? If the cave collapsed again without her to shield him, there was no chance he’d survive. At least now there was a chance.

There was a chance one of the other gods herd her. There was a chance the workers were getting help. There was a chance he would live.

The ground shook.

She dove on top of him

Rocks pounded, a loud banging, stones digging into her skin, crushing her body spread across her husband’s. She felt each one fall and hit, until a sharp pain hit her neck and everything went numb.

Persephone couldn’t move. Her head pounded, but everything below was painless and the thick layer of rock on top of them wouldn’t be easy to move even if she had the strength to try.

No one was coming. They were going to bleed out down here and there was nothing she could do about it. Even immortals had their limits. If they had help they’d be fine, just chalked with scars that would fade over a couple decades. But now the second collapse stoped it was silent.

No one was coming.

She should’ve gone for help when she had the chance. Why in hell did she think she would be fine on her own? Who was she to think she could play hero for her husband?

Nothing to be done now

“Shut up.” She spat at the invisible voices. Her throat burned and barely made a sound.

Just relax, shut your eyes

“Shut up.”

No one’s coming to save you

She’d prayed to the entirety of the Gods, how could it be possible no one heard her? Maybe they just didn’t care. Most of them were asswholes anyway. It wouldn’t surprise her if they’d heard and ignored it, decided just to let them die.

Persephone, daughter of Demeter, Wife of Hades

Goddess of Spring, Patroness of the seasons, Queen of the Underworld

You are no hero

They were right.

The air was thick her lungs, it burned to breathe, she just wanted to stop. If no one was coming why not just stop? She couldn’t save them, she couldn’t fucking move.

Persephone kissed Hades’ bloody cheek, barely feeling him breathe at all. At least they were together. At least one of the last things they’d said was i love you. Gods, why hadn’t she said it back? Why did she have to be a smartass when she could’ve just said I love you?

“I love you.” She mumbles, her alto reduced to worse gravel than before. Gods she hopes he heard it.

The cavern shakes again, a loud sound blending in with her headache to the point she couldn’t tell it apart. She wouldn’t survive getting hit again, so she closed her eyes. It was better to go out sleeping than it was to be crushed.

Hades was there when she shut her eyes, standing in their wedding field. He held his hand out to her and they sat, watching the sun set.

“I tried, Hades.”

He kissed her head, holding her closer.

“I know, lover.”

She sighed, and looked at him. No scars, no scrapes, no blood, just him. Her handsome husband. He wiped her cheek, and she felt tears replace the ones she didn’t know were there.

“I love you.”

If this was death she didn’t mind it. Why did the mortals fear it if dying was like this? This was peaceful, she was in her husband’s arms, what was so bad about this?

“I love you too.”

The sun set and everything went pitch black. Everything ached. It was hot, where was Hades? Why was she alone?

Sharp pains hit her everywhere, wasn’t she dead? Why was she feeling all this pain? Why.....oh.

Her eyes shot open to blinding lights, and she hissed in pain. She immediately shut them and felt around wherever she was.

Silk? Was she in their bed? More importantly how did get there?

Her hand stopped, hitting something large and warm, and familiar.

Hades.

Persephone shot up, desperate every part of her violently protesting. Hades was on his side of the bed, covered in bandages but alive. Tears started falling and she sobbed, wanting to hold him but not wanting to wake him up.

“Lay your ass back down sis.”

She snapped her gaze to the doorway where Hermes was perched. “Hermes?” Her lungs still burned, and her voice was nothing more than hoarse whisper. “You came?”

“We can talk when you lay down. You need rest ya almost died.” She did as instructed and Hermes chuckled. “Leave up to you two to find a way to die.”

Persephone glared, moving closer to Hades despite her body’s begging to stay still. “But i will give it to ya, both woulda’ been gone if you didn’t buy me more time to get there.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Maybe not on purpose but tough ass vines saved the two of you from being crushed.”

How? It didn’t make any sense to her, but at the moment thinking was a little too hard. Breathing was hard, simply feeling was exhausting.

She felt warm fingers curl against hers. Hades’ fingers, her husband’s fingers.

He was going to be okay. He was alive. She didn’t give a damn if her body hurt like this for the rest of her life it would be worth it for keeping him alive.

“He’s gonna be okay, sis. You should sleep, you need it with all the drugs Hecate put the two of you on.”

She raised a brow at him. “I beat her by a few minutes. How else do ya think y’all woulda’ gotten patched up? You know me,”

“Good but ain’t that good.” She finished, immediately wincing from the burn. Hermes kept talking, but Persephone drifted in and out of consciousness until all was silent.

It was blank, no dreams claiming her head yet, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t ache in her head. She didn’t feel anything really.

Anything other than the weight of her husband’s hand in hers.

[meta-squash]

A ramble on Dallas Theater Center Les Miserables

So, 5 years late, I jumped back on the bandwagon and finally watched a bootleg of Dallas Theater Center’s 2014 production of Les Miserables.

And wow. I can’t believe I waited 5 damn years to watch it. So here’s a long rambling write up on it based on the live-tweeting I was doing as I watched (and a little bit on me skipping through the bootleg video right now). It’s partly just me summarizing scenes so I can nerd out about the little details I loved and towards the end me talking about the show as a whole and why it was so fucking important.

First of all I wanna say that I'm surprised it took this long for a professional theater company to do a "modern day" Les Mis. I know all the fans fucking love their Modern AUs fics, I've been reading them since like 2012 and I love them. But also I'm SO glad someone finally did it because Les Miserables' themes are universal and they are amazing but they're also really relevant to what's going on today, or 5 years ago (since it's only gotten fucking worse tbh).

My first big impression was how great the costuming was. You can tell the socioeconomic class of the characters just from what they’re wearing, from how they posture and interact with others. Which is easy when it’s period costuming, you just make everyone look dirty and ripped up vs not dirty, but this (aside from the Thenardiers) is a little more subtle.

Also re: the costuming, I absolutely LOVE that they modernized Javert’s costume into a cop’s uniform but managed to retain the classic Javert Silhouette by giving him that trenchcoat, so we still get the expected Inspector Javert Silhouette despite the fact that he’s a modern day cop. Also all of the other cops/soldiers being straight up SWAT was an excellent decision, not only because it shows the sheer violence of a police that isn’t supposed to necessarily be SWAT, but also because the helmets completely cover their heads, so when the soldiers sing lines, they don’t even sound human. Yet another layer.

Nehal Joshi as Valjean was great. Honestly the moment I keep thinking about is actually from the very beginning, just after Valjean is released. Joshi looks so happy, delighted, like his heart is light again. He smiles as he sings “ Drink from the pool / How clean the taste” while looking up into the sky like he’s amazed at being in the open air. Then suddenly his posture changes completely, becomes guarded and hard, his expression gets closed off, and he sings “Never forget the years, the waste” before thumbing at his nose in that tough way and grabbing his bag off the ground. It was an emphasis on a pair of lines that I’ve never seen properly emphasized before. Usually the emphasis is on the next lines, when Valjean is saying “Now let’s see / what this new world has in store for me”. But here they emphasize that despite being free, he has traumas he has to deal with, and experiences that mean he’s wary of the world. It makes his theft of the silver make a lot more sense; it’s not just opportunistic, it’s also that he straight up doesn’t trust anybody.

(Another note on costumes: Valjean’s post-prison costume is his orange jumpsuit with this weird ratty, torn up sweater thing over it. I do very much wish they’d given him a hoodie that was equally as ratty instead of a sweater because I feel like that would’ve been another interesting layer of commentary.)

Two notes I made specifically about this production’s Soliloquy: This production had Valjean rip his prison papers accidentally, while he’s in the middle of an emotional gesture, then he stares at the rip in disbelief, and comes to the realization that he could just rip it up, and so he does. I thought that was a very cool mechanic. The audience literally watches him get the idea of changing who he is. Also, when he sings “I am reaching, but I fall / And the night is closing in” he actually wraps the rope of his bag around his own neck, like he’s considering death, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. I thought it was really interesting considering those are the lines that directly mirror/parallel Javert’s Suicide.

This production also has all the Bad People roles played by white people, which is just fantastic. The foreman, Javert, all the cops, etc etc. I thought it was an excellent decision, since all of the main characters (minus the revolutionaries) are POC.

Fantine was amazing, has an incredible voice, and her I Dreamed A Dream sounded genuinely miserable, almost frantic with the fact that not only is she a single mother struggling to pay for her child who’s living with some other family, she now has nowhere to turn for money at all, and she’s completely alone. I think she’s my favorite Fantine of any of the ones I saw.

And Lovely Ladies absolutely blew me away. This was the first Lovely Ladies I’ve ever seen that felt Real. Not just that there was sex going on (because there was, there’s people fucking and getting blowjobs etc in the background the entire time), but it doesn’t feel like something silly or shallow. The entire thing feels desperate and exploitative and miserable and painful. Most of the other characters are dressed in provocative, revealing clothes. But there are a few in just jeans and t-shirts, looking desperate and kind of bedraggled. And then you have Fantine, who is literally just in a slip and long socks, looking out of place and terrified.

The usual Lovely Ladies shenanigans do ensue, but there’s a tinge of horribleness to it that is sharper than in the traditional show. In the traditional show, the moment where the music suddenly slows, and all the women sing “Lovely ladies / Going for a song / Got a lot of callers / But they never stay for long”, it usually feels like kind of a weird and unprompted moment of introspection after so much ruckus, but in this version the reason everyone slows down is because the pimp plucks their cash out of each of their hands one by one. And then the horribleness is increased tenfold because all of the women are in a line with men behind them simulating sex, and Fantine is in the center, bent double, the Captain behind her, staring down the audience. With each thrust she grits her words out like she’s in pain in every way imaginable. And the Captain ‘finishes’ just as she hits the line “dead!” Which is just. A lot. But so good. It packs so much more of a punch than Fantine leading the Captain offstage, or to one side of the stage.

The way that Confrontation was staged was also so cool to me. In the shows I’ve seen the first part of Confrontation is Javert and Valjean facing off with Javert stage left and Valjean kind of up beside Fantine’s bed, but they’re on the same “level,” in that Valjean walks a few paces forward a few lines later and they grapple. In this version, they stood quite literally on either side of Fantine’s hospital bed, so that they’re arguing across her dead body.

Madame Thenardier made me think of a bizarre cross between Miss Hannigan, the mom from Matilda, and Patsy Stone from Absolutely Fabulous. She did a great job. M Thenardier is a douchey hipster pirate type guy with white guy dreads. Also they made him an ex-con as well, but he displays the numbers tattooed on his chest with pride compared to Valjean who hides them, which was yet another interesting decision.

This version of Les Mis has taught me that “My mom doesn’t let me drink” is the absolute BEST piece of spoken dialogue you could throw in before Master Of The House kicks the fuck off. 

Also this version has Eponine participating in the scams during Master Of The House: she takes peoples’ orders, carries plates, dances, etc. She’s cleaner and more pampered than Cosette, but she’s still being used.

Look Down was really interesting to me. Now, I think what I’m about to say is partly informed by costuming. That is, I think with period costuming an audience has a harder time distinguishing more subtle roles between (non-main) characters. What I mean is, in traditional Look Down, it just seems like three characters having an argument with each other, but with a modernized version the costuming makes it clear that it’s an old beggar woman, a prostitute, and her pimp. While that’s obvious from the actual dialogue, the period costuming makes it a little harder to glean the separate character types other than “beggar type”. Anyway, the roles being clearer via costuming makes all the interactions seem a lot more Real. It’s not just people all dressed alike singing lines at each other, it’s actual separate people having actual conflicts.

Also, I really really liked Mark Hancock as Gavroche. He’s older, or at least bigger, than most kids who end up playing Gavroche, and he’s not the most beautiful singer, but I think that works all the better for a production like this one. He’s not a cutesy Oliver Twist-type character. He’s a kid living rough on the streets, and he’s got a sense of humor but he is a badass.

This version also had a LOT more flirtatious behavior between Marius and Cosette. Like it’s not just one glance on the street. During The Robbery, Marius and Cosette are giving little glances and flirty waves the whole time, all shy and cute, little hand signals like “I want to talk to you oh my god” etc. Also this Cosette has glasses! She’s so cute!

Stars as a song feels very weird when it’s a Modern Day Cop singing about such a philosophical topic, and at first I was kinda ??? about it. Because you know, in a period piece, you kind of expect more elaborate language, you expect certain types of morality, etc. It sounds weird coming out of someone dressed like a pig you’d see on the street in real life. But then at the end of the song Javert takes a rosary out of his breast pocket to sing “Lord let me find him...” etc, and suddenly it actually made a lot of sense. It finally connected the religious references and morality displayed in the lyrics. Because a lot of shitty cops in real life are masquerading as Christians, so again, a good decision.

Ah, the ABC Cafe. Always lovely to hear those horns. John Campione was AMAZING as Enjolras. At first I was a little disappointed they made him a white guy, but then I thought about it and it actually makes a lot of sense. Despite his passion about justice etc, Brick Enjolras is a wealthy student; what better way to show his privilege in a modern setting than to have him be white? Anyway, I think Campione did a great job of portraying a leader who is so passionate, and so dedicated, and so intent on his cause but also kind of stressed out as the day draws nearer. (More on that later.)

Similarly, this Grantaire is a little shit. He does this hilarious like “call on me!” hand raise before “I am agog, I am aghast” which I thought was quite funny and cute. Also after “It’s better than an opera,” the Amis all laugh and clap, and Enjolras does this extremely sarcastic slow clapping before admonishing Marius with “It is time for us all to decide who we are” etc. Also Grantaire and Enjolras are actually standing beside each other for Marius lines, so that when he says “struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight,” Grantaire looks directly at Enjolras and stays staring at him, so that when he moves downstage to stand across from Marius and sing “Red!” and “Black!” at him, it feels more like solidarity than mocking.

But then Enjolras pulls Marius further downstage for his “Marius you are no longer a child” etc lines. His body language is great here. When he sings “Who cares about your lonely soul,” he doesn’t just look like some charismatic leader man. He looks like someone who’s stressed out and a little annoyed/exasperated that this person is causing a distraction right when things are started to get important. He runs his hands through his hair, his gestures are clipped and fast, like he’s got too much energy and isn’t quite sure where to put it. It’s so good. He sings “Our little lives don’t count at all.” And then there’s a long, long moment of silence. A long one, where Marius looks around at his friends and realization that what they’re undertaking is much bigger than his emotional outburst, that Enjolras is right and he has to be with them instead of off in the clouds. And he raises his hand tentatively and then more surely towards Enjolras and sings that next “Red! The blood of angry men!” all on his own before the rest of the Amis join in. GREAT decisions there. SO COOL. (Also this is the moment when an Amis Hand Sign is established, which is important later on.)

This show uses silence in a way that I’ve never really seen another version do it. After Gavroche yells “General Lamarque is dead!” there’s usually a beat of silence before Enjolras begins to sing. In this version there is a long, long moment of silence when everyone looks around at each other, a moment where Joly tosses his pamphlet angrily onto the table and sits down with his head in his hands, a moment where Marius and Grantaire are the only two who turn away and face upstage at the news, a moment where they all process that this is fucking Real, and everything that they’ve been planning is suddenly Actually Happening. And then Enjolras begins, and his voice is so soft, and so sad, and it’s like he’s delivering a eulogy, but it’s only when he gets to “Is the sign we await!” and we get those trumpets that it changes into Enjolras The Leader, and it’s go time, and everything is Intense. Campione is fantastic as Enjolras because I think often people play Enjolras as this solid, charismatic leader who is stoney-faced and sure of himself etc. Which works for the period style (and is fairly Brick-accurate), but I think would seem a little odd in a modern day setting. This Enjolras is in it, he’s into it, he’s fucking intense and ablaze with energy. He sings Do You Hear The People Sing like he’s giving a speech, like he’s trying to convince (And “the real glory is to convince” so y’know).

And Do You Hear The People Sing as a campaigning song is brilliant. It starts out not with march, but with handing out fliers made of red paper, passing them out and getting out the word. Only then do they pull out signs and put on red caps and start marching.

In My Life/A Heart Full Of Love was so fucking hilariously cute. Marius and Cosette are both excellent levels of awkward, and there’s a lot of nonverbal flirting going on, and I just thought it was really well done.

I was told while I was live-tweeting that during One Day More the sort of dancing march they do (because it’s like a dance, instead of the in-place marching of the traditional version) is actually the Toyi-Toyi, a South African dance that was used as a form of protest during Apartheid and during other times as well. So that was a very cool addition. I’m sure there are other callbacks in this show to other protests or protest traditions like that that I didn’t even catch. The dance also reminded me of the body percussion used in A Quoi Tu Danses from 1789: Les Amants De La Bastille, so that was cool as well. We also get face paint and signs and red berets and button pins and a lot of stuff that has been seen in a lot of modern protests/movements lately.

Side note: Javert’s disguise is amazing because he retains his cop boots and trousers and crisp white shirt; he just puts a brown jacket and a red scarf over it and wears a red beret.

OKay SO. This is possibly the BEST On My Own I’ve ever seen. Now, I’m highly partial to Briana Carlson-Goodman as Eponine because the emotion in her voice is just mind-blowing. But this On My Own was so amazing. First of all, I’m amazed I’ve never seen any other production do this: when Eponine sings “pretending he’s beside me”, she puts out her hand like she’s holding some imaginary lover’s hand, like she’s genuinely imagining him walking with her, and it made her self-deception that much sadder. And this version was so good, I think because it was this perfect combination of angry and disappointed and yearning and self-deceiving. You can tell this Eponine KNOWS she’s deluding herself that Marius will ever love her, that she’s hugely disappointed and almost angry at that fact, but she still loves him and wants him and wants that love, and it just makes that self-deception all the stronger.

This version of Les Mis brings the barricade in as a flown set piece, which I think is an interesting decision. I definitely prefer the US Tour version, where the downstage scrim is backlit/lifted and both the audience and Eponine are suddenly confronted with the fully-built barricade. However, the barricade being flown in does give the Barricade Boys a moment to stand and admire their handiwork, so that’s kind of also cool.

(Somewhat unrelated, but throughout the show this Grantaire is a lot more still than other actors’ versions of R, but also more still than the other Amis in this show, so it’s clearly a choice. Other version of R are slumped over a table or slumped on the ground a lot, or they’re wobbly, or just generally restless and upset. This R is so still and just standing unmoved and blank it’s definitely a choice. Very much taking the “he seemed to be waiting there for a bullet which should spare him the trouble of waking” quote from the Brick and translating it to the stage version, in that he does move to shoot his gun but aside from that he’s so stock still it’s like he’s given up. Anyway. Back to the actual show instead of me just waxing lyrical about my favorite character.

When Eponine climbs over the barricade, Marius waves down all the guns just as Joly yells “There’s a boy climbing the barricade!” This kind of happens in other versions, but it seems like most of the traditional Les Mis versions all the Barricade Boys just kind of accept someone’s climbing the barricade and let Eponine over? In this one Marius like actually is waving down their guns, blatantly being like “don’t shoot, I know this person.”

And when Eponine is revealed to be shot, they don’t just let her die in Marius’ arms. The first half of A Little Fall Of Rain is sung with Eponine in Marius’ arms, but there’s also Feuilly there as a medic, pressing handkerchiefs to her wound, his hand on her with Marius’ hand on top of his and Eponine’s on top of them both. When Marius is saying “and you will live ‘Ponine,” medic/Feuilly shakes his head at him as if to say, ‘don’t tell her that, she’s not going to make it, I’m so sorry,’ but he still has his hand on her wound. It’s only when she sings “Just hold me now, and let it be” that Eponine pushes the medic/Feuilly away so she can die just with Marius. I really, really, really loved that because it seems so Right. Like, they’re fighting for a better world, they’re not just going to let an injured person die, they’re going to try their best to help her even if she’s dying and there’s nothing they can do. And I really liked that there was a medic there, but he was faced upstage, away from the audience, as if he was trying to help but also not intrude on this private moment. But when Eponine does push him away, he goes fairly easily, like he’s realized that she’s realized that she’s going to die. Also, instead of carrying Eponine offstage like a ragdoll, Grantaire and Feuilly bring over a stretcher and she’s carried off in it by Marius and Feuilly while Grantaire collects the handkerchiefs that were bloodied by her wound.

Valjean’s soldier disguise is the SWAT gear, even the helmet, although he mostly carries it in his hand rather than wearing it. It’s interesting because the difference between the SWAT gear and the suits he wears as Fauchelevent are a hugely stark difference, whereas the difference between his nice period clothes and the soldier’s period uniform isn’t quite so intense.

I noticed that during Drink With Me, Joly put his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder during “Let the wine of friendship never run dry,” which is sweet. I also noticed that aside from the moments where he was shooting his gun and the few moments he was being helpful re: Eponine’s death, Grantaire spends most of his time very very still, staring down at the floor with his shoulders slumped. He judges moments with just a shake of the head and turning away while others watch. His part in Drink With Me is sung with a bitterness that is more final than it is angry, like he can’t understand why they’ve all chosen to sacrifice themselves like this and he hates it and he’s bitter that all his friends are going to die but he’s realized there’s nothing he can do about it.

Bring Him Home is SUCH a hard song to sing and it’s actually really interesting in this version, I think. Because in traditional shows I think Valjean is played as a fairly calm person who is just always calm. Joshi plays his Valjean like he has taught himself to be calm, but inside he’s still kind of angry and traumatized and still has those instincts and still doesn’t quite know whether to believe in god or not, or something like that. So Bring Him Home is a moment where it seems like at first he’s just hoping, and then by the end of the song he’s genuinely imploring god to save Marius. Like it’s the first time he’s ever really begged a higher power to do something instead of just acting of his own power to make the good happen. I have no idea if I’m articulating myself well.

Again, Campione is a FANTASTIC Enjolras who plays him like a stressed out passionate leader who is constantly stuck between This Is Finally Real Hooray and Holy Shit This Is Too Fucking Real Oh God. In The Second Attack he portrays it really well, looking around at all the people he suddenly feels responsible for, body language like he’s trying to make too many split-second decisions. It’s just really good.

Death Of Gavroche is also great because even though this Gavroche is not the best singer, he gets shot once and keeps reaching for the bullets, and only stops when they riddle him with bullets. Also, I didn’t realize this until skipping around in the video to write this, but I think they kind of tried to retain some of the Gavroche-Grantaire relationship that the US Tour established? Grantaire goes from being kinda listless stage left to bolting over to the barricade once Gavroche starts climbing, reaching for him desperately; he gets shot in the leg and goes down and spends the rest of Gavroche’s lines up to his death with his head in his hands. Once Gavroche dies, Enjolras actually checks on Grantaire and wraps a tourniquet around his leg while Feuilly and Marius tend to Gavroche’s body.

Marius gets a thigh injury during The Final Battle (we know this because this production shows Actual Blood! Gavroche is actually bleeding! Eponine, too! And Marius! And Enjolras! Like there’s actual red and it makes it so much more intense! Anyway, Marius gets a bullet to the thigh, which frankly I think makes a lot more sense than the shoulder injury he gets in canon at least in terms of him being unconscious for so long (although I guess in canon he also has at least one head injury so meh). Anyway, Valjean sees it and immediately tourniquets him as one by one all the revolutionaries are picked off by bullets.

This Enjolras death is my favorite I’ve ever seen. We don’t get a permets-tu scene, but that’s okay because this is fantastic in another way. Enjolras doesn’t die on the barricade.

Enjolras is standing center stage, the bodies of his friends around him. He’s shot once, in the stomach, and goes down on all fours. As he’s on the floor, SWAT cops surround him, pointing machine guns straight at him. Enjolras struggles up, standing, and faces the cops and the audience. He raises his hand in a defiant fist to the air and is shot in the head.

Then there is a long, long stretch of silence. Quite literally an entire minute (I just counted) of silence, where there is no music, no speaking, nothing. Just the sounds of SWAT walking around, checking the bodies on the floor, and the indistinct sound of walky-talky chatter. Only after a whole minute of silence has passed and the SWAT leave the stage do the little plucked notes and the clarinet playing the Bring Him Home instrumental begin as Valjean stands up.

Valjean actually goes over and checks Enjolras’ pulse to see if he could possibly be alive, which I think hurts A Lot. And then there’s a moment where he looks around at all the bodies on the floor and kind of doubles over in shock, but only for a moment, and then he’s bolting back over to Marius to make sure he’s still breathing and then heaving him up into his arms.

(By the way, the bodies of the revolutionaries remain onstage through all of the proceeding songs.)

Dog Eat Dog is a boring, crap song in every production, and this one is no exception. The guy playing Thenardier is quite good but there’s really no way to redeem how boring a song Dog Eat Dog is. Also, this version cuts out the long instrumental part of Valjean walking with Marius through the sewer due to the fact that they don’t have that crazy projection thing. Instead it’s just a few seconds of him dragging Marius before encountering Thenardier and then also a few seconds before encountering Javert. Also, Valjean straight up puts his chest against Javert’s gun while he’s asking to save Marius’ life. Brave as fuck.

Okay this Javert’s Suicide was mostly really really good. Edward Watts gives Javert this sort of frantic emotion that Valjean spared him on the barricade and then is only asking to save this stranger. He looks genuinely freaked out and distressed. It’s not just confusion, it’s like actual Freaking Out. The only part I didn’t like was the actual throwing himself off the bridge part, but honestly I feel like there really is no way to do that part in a way that isn’t a little ridiculous-seeming. It’s hard to have a show where they never had any sort of fly rigs or any special types of practical effects at all and then suddenly there’s a guy flying through the air? and take that seriously. I dunno. But in any case, the rest of it is really good because the frantic confusion and questioning and anger and sadness and everything is so well done. Also, he takes his cross out of his pocket and drops it on the ground before he jumps, like he believes even god has failed him.

And then the lights return and the bodies of the revolutionaries are still onstage, with police tape cordoning them off. Turning begins with women in black mourning clothes coming onstage: at first they stand behind the tape with candles and flowers and teddy bears, then someone breaks the tape and they move to sit beside the bodies and set flowers down beside them. As Turning is going on, as the women move to sit beside the bodies, Marius also enters and sits in a chair upstage.

So Empty Chairs At Empty Tables happens with the bodies of the revolutionaries lying on the floor right in front of Marius, and women in black kneeling beside the bodies, facing upstage. But as Marius sings “Phantom faces at the window, phantom shadows on the floor,” the revolutionaries rise and move downstage, looking at him. They all make their little group hand sign before exiting, until it’s just Enjolras looking at him, then he makes the sign as well and exits and Marius is left alone with the mourning women in front of him and his hand raised in farewell. It’s just SO GOOD because I think it makes it all the more real. It feels like he’s actually singing to the bodies of his friends as well as their memories, like he’s full of survivor’s guilt and he’s watching them walk away from him and doesn’t know what to do. Combining the Turning Women’s mourning with Marius’ mourning is really cool, because it shows it’s really not just Marius that’s affected by this, and essentially he’s singing Empty Chairs for himself as well as the women in mourning kneeling on the stage before him.

Side note: Dorcas Leung, who plays Cosette, is a True Fucking Soprano. Her voice is SO high. It’s wild. Like, really wild. Like, glass-breaking high but in a good way. Also she’s really cute.

Anyway, the next thing I took note of was Valjean telling Marius why he was leaving without telling Cosette goodbye. He sings “Promise me, Monsieur, Cosette will never know” and puts his hand out in a way that’s partially imploring, and partially asking for a handshake on the promise. Marius says “For the sake of Cosette, it must be so,” but pointedly does not shake his hand. He’s going to honor the promise but he’s not gonna fucking like it.

Wedding Chorale/Beggars At The Feast is mostly unremarkable except that Mme Thenardier is dressed like Cruella de Ville. Oh, and Thenardier gets a kick in the balls instead of a punch to the face from Marius. Also the actor who played Combeferre and the actor who played Bossuet are dancing together so during Beggars At The Feast when Thenardier sings “This one’s a queer, but what can you do?”, the Combeferre actor does a little wave.

I’ve always hated in the musical that Valjean goes from being perfectly healthy to straight up dying in a matter of minutes but I also understand that montages of like a year are hard to do in musical format, so I forgive it but it’s still annoying.

Anyway, this Epilogue is FUCKING FANTASTIC. Valjean does this beautiful laugh of relief and amazement when Fantine tells him “And you will be with god” like he’s still amazed after all these years that he’s a Good Person Who Deserves Heaven.

Also, Fantine sits down on the bench beside Valjean, and then when Marius and Cosette enters, Cosette runs and sits down between Valjean and Fantine, facing Valjean, and there’s a moment where Fantine smiles in disbelief and strokes Cosette’s hair like “oh my god this is my daughter!”

Finally, the fucking kicker for me: “Take my hand, I’ll lead you to salvation / Take my love, for love is everlasting.” That’s always the moment in the show when I start actually crying and this one made it even sadder: Eponine is not the only one to enter in that moment. Eponine enters singing the duet with Fantine like usual, but Enjolras and Gavroche also enter, standing behind her, not singing.

This was such a great, fascinating, unique decision, and I fucking loved it. Because with that group, you have all the types of love and belief that are Important in the Brick: Fantine, the love of a mother. Valjean, the love of a father and the faith and belief that comes from someone else suddenly believing in you and the goodness that is a result of that. Marius and Cosette, romantic love, but also love of children and chosen family. Eponine, unrequited love and sacrifice. Gavroche, not necessarily love but an innocent death, a death from the goodness that comes from wanting to help. And Enjolras, the love of the people, the belief in the people, love of patria and the belief in justice. Just all of these important symbols standing together.

Then Do You Hear The People Sing reprise starts up, and the rest of the cast enter and stand at the edges of the stage around the group at center before everyone scatters out and spreads across the stage.

So basically that was an incredible fucking show. Like, okay. Since joining the Les Mis fandom in late 2011-ish or something I've read A LOT of Les Mis fanfics, I've read the entire book, seen the show live half a dozen times plus a ton of filmed boots and movie adaptations and last year's BBC miniseries. I've got a Les Mis tattoo and I'm vaguely thinking of getting another one. I've read fanfic taking place in canon era, modern day, Mai 1968, the 90s, the 40s, and on and on. All of them are important because all of them interpret the themes differently. Basically what I'm saying is I've consumed A Lot of Les Miserables.

But this version of Les Mis is So Important. Like, it's important enough I'm really surprised they didn't give in to the call for a DVD recording back in 2014.

Because the difference between like, the traditional version of the show, and reading a modern day AU fanfiction, and this Dallas show is that this Dallas show is In Front Of You. It's important because you're used to seeing this show with 19th century clothes and 19th century mannerisms so you don't necessarily connect it to today, or you do on a surface level only.

And in fanfics you can imagine it, but it's not the same.

But this show takes the music we all know and the characters we all know and places it in front of us NOW. We get Valjean in an orange jumpsuit, posturing like we've seen people posture in real life. We get Enjolras in a denim vest and button pins. We get Fantine, a woman of color, being fired for having a child out of wedlock and being accused of prostitution, and having to actually turn to prostitution. And we get a depiction that shows so viscerally how horrible that is. We get white people as cops (SWAT, no less) while POC are abused.

Suddenly this is a show that connects on every level.

And not only that but the visuals of the actual rebellion can be connected to so many movements and protests and things that have happened in recent years. Like with the Toyi-Toyi. And all the signs and pins and face paint and weapons and clothes and even to some extent the barricade.

And the cops going from soldiers with bayonets (which, to be fair, back in the day were pretty daunting weapons with their triangular blades, but we don't see them that way) to SWAT with helmets that black out their faces and semi-automatics is a a hard-hitting message.

And I've always thought it was funny that people who see the show casually think it's about Marius & Cosette's romance. Because that’s not all it’s about, of course. But this version made me really, really realize how little that romance matters in the musical. How much the musical is about Valjean, and then in tandem about the rebellion. Because place the whole "I've known you a day and I'm in love" thing in a modern setting and you realize how ridiculous it is, and how much more important Valjean's growth is, and how much more important the movement and the rebellion is. I mean the entire book is just about the Power Of Love And Belief In All Its Forms etc etc. But I think this version pointed out better than any other how many other forms of love exist in this story, besides the romance of Marius and Cosette.

But truly I think the most important thing that this show did is what I mentioned earlier: it placed the story, its themes, its characters, its rebellion, it's Love and Belief, in the Here And Now, and made it really, truly connect with its audience and the present world. This is a show that people always say is so relevant, so important, and it is. It really is. But sometimes, for a casual viewer, it’s hard to see past the period costumes and sets. And then you transplant the show into modern dress and modern sets and suddenly it’s a story that is just as believable and hard-hitting and important now as it was then. Suddenly you can connect with these characters and you can see these things happening in real life, in present day, and you can believe that it would happen.

It just blows my mind that we have all these Modern AU fanfiction pieces, that we have multiple groups of people doing Modern Les Mis Youtube interpretations, that there’s a Spanish musical out there that’s purely about Grantaire (which, god I wish there was more info on!), that there’s a ton of music and TV adaptations and yet this is the first time I’ve seen a professional company do any sort of modern interpretation of the show. And it works SO incredibly well and is SO hard-hitting and just took my breath away.

Uh so yeah such massive praise to the Dallas Theater Center for having the courage and imagination and awesomeness to finally do a modern version of this story because they knocked it out of the damn park and made an already important story even more important.

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 36

Ansgar slept fitfully during the night. The unfamiliar bed, the soft occasional coos and rustles coming from the baby monitor, the thumps and sleepy whines from the Bean’s room, and ultimately, the lack of Joline’s warm body beside his kept him wide and painfully awake.

Not to mention the arrival of his brother and sister in law at two o’clock in the morning. Their attempt at quiet whispers and floor-creaking tip toes as they made their way through their house was comical to Ansgar at just how ineffectual it was. They may as well have stomped and shouted for all the noise they made.

At least, it sounded like they had fun.

And so, come early morning, still dark, Ansgar pushed himself, groaning, out of bed. He reached immediately for his phone, disappointed to find Joline hadn’t responded to, or even read his texts.

“Shit,” he muttered, running his palm viciously down his face. “It’s too early anyway,” he said. “Probably still sleeping, the lucky darling.” He rubbed his eyes, blinked away the rest of the sleep - or lack thereof - and texted.

5:01: Good morning, darling. 5 am comes too quickly. Hope you rested well. See you at 10 x

***

He strode out of the bedroom, dressed and showered, combing his hands through his damp hair. He’d left his curls loose again, eschewing his typical slicked, combed and pomaded look. It wasn’t a conscious decision, not a calculated thought, just… an instinct. A knowledge. A deference to Joline’s comments, to the way she toyed with his hair when they made love, to the anticipation of more of it to come.

And of course, Rebecka noticed.

“You look… different, Sgar,” she said, handing him a cup of coffee. “What gives?”

“Well, good morning to you too, my dearest sister.” He took the cup, bent to her and pressed a warm kiss to her cheek. “Thanks,” he muttered, and took a long drink of the fragrant brew. “Mmmm. You’re up early, early bird.”

“Ingrid woke up. Had to feed her,” she shrugged, yawning. She walked back to the table and sat slowly down, straightening out the placket of her pyjama top. “What’s going on with you?” she pressed. “Something’s off.”

“How was the wedding?” Ansgar asked congenially. “Did Mags make a fool of himself on the dance floor?”

Her eyes flicked up to him, fixing him with a deep, delving stare. “Quit the diversionary tactics, Sgar. I’m a journalist. I’m tenacious. I won’t give up. Now, spill.” She sipped at her coffee.

Ansgar leaned against the back of a chair, crossing his legs beneath him. He drank his coffee, eyeing Bec over the rim. “I’m sure I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”

Rebecka glared at him, eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she intoned, nodding sagely. “Don’t forget, Sgar. I’m married to your twin.”

“So?” Ansgar shrugged.

“So, I can tell what you’re thinking. I can read you and Mags like books on a shelf.”

“No. You can’t.” He spat, shaking his head. “Don’t even try.”

“Oh. Really.” Bec’s eyes widened above a broad, knowing smile. She settled back into her seat, perched her feet on the opposite chair and cradled her steaming cup by her chest. “Tell me, Ansgar. What’s her name?”

He stopped, mid-sip, and stared. He held the cup to his lips for a long moment before he lowered it slowly, set it on the table, and straightened. He swallowed, dropped his customary mask, and let his lips curl into a blithe sigh of a smile. “Her name,” he said brightly, “is Joline.”

***

10:35 a.m. Monday

Ansgar peered at his watch for what he knew was at least the fiftieth time since he’d read the face at 10:00. He’d paced Joline’s office back and forth for the past twenty minutes, sure he’d worn a fresh path in her already threadbare Oriental rug.

He’d even taken to sitting at her desk, making a surreptitious attempt to gain access to her laptop in an attempt to locate her. He tried various combinations of the names Hugo and Adrian and Emilie and Elias and even his own name until the system locked him out of any further tries.

He’d called, and by the time he’d finished, his phone showed twelve calls to her mobile number and two calls to her land line, all of which went unanswered. Voice mails, two. Face time attempts, three.

He’d walked the theatre, asking for her at the reception desk, the ticket office, the light booth. He asked the foreman of his own company, the costume designer, the stage manager, the director of the production of Aida. None had seen her. None had heard from her. With every person he’d asked, it became more and more difficult to hide his anxiety, his fear, his apprehension….

… his anger.

And, then there were the texts.

10:05: You’re late.

10:07: How long are you going to keep me waiting?

10:18: I’m still at your office. Are you on your way? Are you okay?

10:26: Joline, respond to me. Pick up your phone. It is most unprofessional of you to miss a meeting with your partner without notice. Please advise where you are ASAP. Work cannot proceed without your authorization.

10:30: If you are not here by 10:40 I am going back to my office. Text me when it is convenient for you to reschedule this meeting.

10:35: Joline. Where the fuck are you?

“God damn it to hell!” he bellowed, wrenching open her office door. He strode angrily down the marble hallway, his loafers slapping against the slick surface, echoing off the walls like his heartbeat in his ears.

He clenched the steering wheel two-handed as he bobbed and weaved his Tesla viciously through the midday Stockholm traffic. He sat forward, keeping  his eyes fixed straight ahead. But his thoughts were elsewhere, far away.

He couldn’t help it. He thought of Faye, damn her. His flesh, his bones, his very soul remembered. Remembered that desperate, empty coldness, that numbness of the nerves and fire behind the eyes and thickness in the chest that felt as if he were choking in the sulfuric clouds of Hell.

He wondered, as he slipped the car dangerously into the left lane, nearly missing a trash collector truck, whether she’d, whether Joline, too, had run from him. Whether she had severed ties and slipped away and deserted him like Faye had. Wondered if she, too, abandoned him.

Left him.

Took his heart and wrenched it asunder at the seam of his scars.

Heaving the wheel hand-over-hand, he caromed the Tesla, tires squealing, into his parking spot, and threw the car into park. He sat there, breathing like a grampus through his nose, his throat too tight, his jaw too clenched to even open his mouth. His heart pounded against his chest wall like a caged lion desperate for its freedom. “Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the dashboard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Not again! Not fucking again! I never should have said that! Never should have told you… told you….”

Never should have told you I loved you.

He peered down at his phone, the mute-arsed piece of shit. He lifted it, opened the messages, and peered at it. “Come on,” he growled, willing it to chime. “Fucker, come on, give me something, you useless bastard.”

Nothing.

He opened the car door, lifted the phone high and nearly threw it across the garage, his imagination painting him a picture of the phone and all of his overtures of love to Joline breaking into a million pieces – glass and little red broken hearts shattered against the concrete abutment.

But instead, he lowered the device, regarded it once more, set his thumbs to the keyboard and typed.

11:10:  Ms. Lindberg. Come when convenient. I may or may not be available.

Pocketing the phone, he lit from the car, slamming the door shut with an echoing, hollow thunk. He kept his hand there, on the top of his Tesla, and he bowed his head, thinking - or trying to think. His mind was clouded, foggy, his logic blocked with filthy, sticky clots of pain. He breathed, calming himself, flushing those mental pathways clean of corrosive emotion.

And then, he imagined two compartments set apart by a partition in his mind. A massive wall.

He placed Faye in one compartment. Placed her there and sealed her up along with the gory, blood-soaked detritus of her -  his anxiety, his worry, panic, desperation, despair, self-hatred, loneliness, loss, and hopelessness.

And Joline he set, free to roam, within the other.

And this wall, he fashioned it of steel girders and heavy masonry block and thick concrete and kevlar siding.

Impregnable. Indestructible. Mathematical.

Faye =/= Joline. The two sets do not intersect. Disjoinder. Non-union.

And thereby, the fog lifted. He found he could think again. He stood up straighter. He settled his shoulders. He relaxed his breathing, let his clamped jaw go slack, slowed his heartbeat. Logic, as it does, won out over emotion once again and the calculations and numbers and words flowed freely through his intellect.

“Something has to be wrong,” he told himself, calmly. “It’s not you. She’s not left you. Ergo,” he muttered. “She can’t communicate. She’s distracted. Something happened. She had an accident, she… Jesus!” His eyes flashed with the realization of it. “Her mother!”

And, like a shot arrow, he ran toward his private lift, mashing his hand on the button. While he waited, foot tapping, eyes staring at the moving numbers, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

And as expected, the call went to voice mail.

“Elias,” he barked. “Ansgar Martinsson here. Ring me when you get this. It is an urgent matter so you must respond immediately if you can.”

And as the lift arrived, he hung up and opened his messages again.

11:14: Joline. Is it your mother? Is she ill? Tell me where you are and I will be there.

***

Peritoneal Dialysis Infection.

The doctor called it. The doctor used those words to explain what happened, why Emelie needed to be hooked up to hemodialysis, intravenous antibiotics, a heavy drip of hydration and a ventilator to breathe for her. Her body suffered from a massive infection. She no longer had the antibodies to fight, her system already weak and depleted by her low red blood count. Her own immune system attacking itself, gone haywire by a disease that confused healthy and detrimental cells. The lupus had destroyed her kidneys, her blood full of toxins, her belly full of infection.

Joline understood it logically, but she couldn’t justify it happening all at once and certainly not to her mother. The doctors explained it time and time again to both of them, but Jolie still felt a sense of outrage for all of it. For the doctors explanations. For the lack of a cure. For their inability to fix it, to even make it better.

Joline felt her mother being ripped from her life, ripped from her arms, and ripped from her heart. Her heart ached with missing her mother already, the way she pulled Joline’s leg about her choice in shoes, the way she played with Joline’s hair while she worked at her computer, how she met Joline at the door when she was due in.

Joline clutched her mother’s hand (not cold but not warm either) as she listened to the machines beep and whirl and drip and spin. She willed all of it to work, to bring life back into her mother, to bring her mother back to her. She wasn’t done, and even as a grown woman, she needed her mother’s practical guidance and savage logic.

Tears slid down her cheeks in utter helplessness. She couldn’t lose hope and she wouldn’t, but she felt impotent, handicapped and entirely lame… just sitting there, doing nothing. But didn’t dare more, to wander away and leave her mother’s side. Emelie needed her, and Joline needed her mother.

The chair was anything but comfortable, but she stayed, nearly glued to it, waiting for a miracle to occur. She’d sit on railroad pikes if it meant saving her mother from this danger, this hint of death. Joline laid her forehead on her hand gripped around her mother’s and stared at the jeans she wore beneath. She couldn’t remember putting them on, the act of sliding into them forgotten in her haste, in her agonizing stress… but she must have done.

On her days off, at home, oversized t-shirts with the neck cut out suited her. She still wore the Harley Davidson one that she’d been wearing while reviewing her notes for Ansgar.

Ansgar… he felt a million miles removed from this, from her, from their fledging relationship. A million miles, a million hours, a million heartbeats and breaths away.

The jeans she’d shimmied into just before the first responders arrived and rung the bell to fetch her mother had been the first pair Ansgar had seen her in, after the smart pencil skirt that she’d worn to invade his office. She’d changed into the threadbare, broken knees, painted massacre of denim, but the first pair of jeans she’d worn in front of Ansgar, that first day they met. She couldn’t figure why this was important, other than… she missed him. She missed her life.

Absently she pulled at the white strings at the knee of her jeans, trying not to cry, trying not to dissolve on the spot. She didn’t often find comfort in another’s arms but she suddenly longed and craved for Ansgar’s, coveted his confident strength, yearned for his unflappable arrogance.

Joline could imagine him in her mind berating the doctors until they fixed her mother. Demanding a better doctor, a better specialist, a better hospital, even a better procedure because he simply could. That’s precisely who Ansgar Martinsson was. He expected the best and accepted no less than that. He didn’t accept failure.

A sob, a combination of fear for her mother’s fate and the realization about how she felt for Ansgar, escaped in a hiccoughing sound and she finally lifted her head. Swiping at the tears with the heel of her free hand, she whined and cried to the woman in the bed, “Oh, God, mama… I love him and you haven’t met him yet.”

Please don’t leave me. I can’t bear it, mama. Not yet. I don’t know what I’m doing.

Finally, mercilessly, Elias made it to the hospital. He held Joline securely in his arms as the doctor repeated everything for him, for his benefit, without the filter of Joline’s limited knowledge. Elias remained stoic, listening, intent on getting pertinent information and a possible course of treatment. The next three days were critical to get through and would indicate whether Emelie would survive this bout of infection. The doctor also mentioned a kidney transplant, not for the first time, as a possibility.

Elias rubbed Joline’s back, imbuing her with some form of comfort, as she took it the hardest. His sister was capable of so much, she exceeded in diplomacy and logic and management in her everyday life, but she experienced intense empathy for her family. That strong part of her all but disappeared when her emotional, compassionate side emerged.

When the doctor left them alone outside the intensive care unit, just outside their mother’s window, the siblings tried to make sense of all that happened in such a short amount of time. “Did she give any indication that she was unwell?” Elias asked softly, without blame.

“You know how she is, she’s so stubborn about… God! I wish I’d known. I should’ve known!”

Elias pulled her to his shoulder and kissed the top of his sister’s head. “You can’t blame yourself, Jo-Bo. You know that. This,” he indicated their mother upon the hospital cot with a wave of his hand, “was always a danger. The course treatment she chose… it was a risk.”

“I just… I need her well. I need her with me. I need her, Elias.”

He nodded silently, stroking her back again. He let the quiet between them calm her, dry her tears some. It was so rare to see or hear Joline cry that he didn’t know any other way to stop them other than letting them run their course. “I remember the first day mum brought you home. I hated you, Jo-Bo,” he said with a sad chuckle.

Joline laughed through her tears even.

“It was a Friday. I was meant for this show and tell or some shit at school. Instead our grandmother kept me home to meet my baby sister. I was pissed right the fuck off—“

“At five?” Joline asked with a reserved smile.

“Don’t mock me. I never got to show off my car collection.”

“The horror!”

“You were a little terror,” Elias pulsed his arm around her shoulders. “Cried all the damn time. I was the star until you came along.”

Although their father was a big part of both of their lives when he was alive, for the most part, Emelie was a single parent. Bryan, their father, visited once a month and took long vacations in the summer to spend time with them.

“Sorry, I stole your spotlight, big brother.”

Elias brought Joline into a hug. “I do remember when things changed though… just so you know.”

“You don’t still hate me for stealing your thunder?”

“Just a bit sore, but I’m getting better,” he joked, holding her tightly. “You gave me your scone. You were maybe, three or four? I was whining mum’s ear sore about something… she gave you the last lemon glazed or cranberry. From your highchair, you pushed your plate to me. You kept the peace even then, and I knew you wanted it.”

“Did you give it back?”

“Hell, no! I wanted it! But you weren’t so bad after that.”

After another lull in their conversation, both lost in their musing about Emelie, Joline asked, “What are we going to do, Elias? This… this is serious. I can’t lose her. Not now!”

“It is serious,” Elias acknowledged with a nod. “We just have to see how the next few days go, and we’ll make the decisions together. Yeah?”

Joline nodded, fighting back another wave of tears. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know… I still don’t know what to do, how to fix this.”

“Be patient. There’s nothing you can do. I know you’re used to fixing things, finding the best solutions for all parties, Jo-Bo. But this isn’t one of those things for you to solve.”

She nodded, unconvinced.

“Why don’t I sit here with you and mum for a couple of hours, yeah? We’ll talk. Keep her company. Let her know that we’re here pulling for her. At nine,” he said looking at his mobile, “I’ll hit the cafeteria to get breakfast. If you need anything in the morning, I’ll get it and you can stay by mum, okay?”

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part One {AO3} {Read from the Beginning}

Chapter Twenty-Eight → in which there is an accident at the Lumbermill

“Hypnosis,” Nick explained as he threw aside a debarker, “Might seem unlikely, but Klaus seems to think that’s what’s going on. You remember morse code?”

The siblings had ducked back into the lumbermill, and they were all keeping an eye on Klaus, who had been assigned to a log far from them. They were starting to wonder if that was on purpose.

“Vaguely.” Lilac said, while Violet nodded.

“He tapped it onto my hand,” Nick explained, “But now he’s hypnotized, he won’t be able to tell us anything, Orwell probably wouldn’t want him to.”

“Somnus?” Sunny asked, which meant, “Do you really think Dr Orwell has hypnotized him?” 

“I’m certain.” Nick said. “Usually there’s a codeword to order them around- like if Orwell said ‘Nero, play the violin,’ and you could suddenly find yourself able to perfectly play the violin, even if you’ve never tried before. And there’s usually a word to break them of the hypnotism, in case the hypnotist thinks they’ll get caught.”

“So what’s the codeword?” Violet asked.

“It’s different.” Nick said. “We could read through a dictionary and try to find something.”

“That’ll take too long.” Lilac said.

“Do you have any suggestions?”

Lilac sighed, glancing worriedly over at Klaus, who was talking to the Foreman. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“We need to do something.” Violet said desperately. “We can’t just… okay, here’s a plan. Nick, you memorize things. Let’s just repeat the exact conversation we had with him until he breaks.”

“I don’t remember it.” Nick said. “I memorize everything I read, not hear. Otherwise I’d be able to pay way more attention that one time Mom and Dad tried to put me in a classroom. Though, I guess it’s a good thing, since I don’t wanna memorize this noise.” 

“Does it seem louder?” Violet asked.

“I swear to God it gets louder the longer we’re here.” Nick sighed.

“No, I mean… what’s that noise?” Violet said. “That stamping.”

They paused, and Lilac glanced towards the other log, freezing when she realized Klaus was no longer there. “Klaus?” she called. “Klaus!”

Nick and Violet picked up Solitude and Sunny, and Violet spotted their brother first. “There!” she called, pointing to a machine in the corner of the room. Several workers were sliding bundles of boards onto a mat, and the mchiine would bring a huge stone at the edge of a large metal arm down onto the boards with a thunderous stamp!, leaving the logo of Lucky Smells Lumbermill. And sitting at the controls of the machine was Klaus, who was staring blankly ahead as his hands worked several levers on a board ahead of him.

“Klaus!” Lilac shouted again, and the siblings ran to the machine.

They stopped just short of the workers, and Phil turned around, saying, “Hello, children! I didn’t know you were on stamping duty with us.”

“What’s Klaus doing with that machine?” Violet asked.

“Stamping the lumber, of course.” Phil said.

“No, we know that!” Nick said. “But Klaus wouldn’t operate a machine without reading the manual first!”

“Don’t you worry!” Phil said. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s doing great!”

“Pick up the speed!” shouted Foreman Flacutono, and the workers pushed the lumber faster, and Klaus moved the machine faster.

“He should slow down!” Lilac said. “He’s never done this before!”

“Klaus, slow down!” Violet called, but Klaus didn’t appear to hear.

He kept moving the machine, and his siblings stepped back. Solitude cried quietly, Babbitt curled up against her, and Sunny covered her ears and buried her head in Violet’s arm.

Then something snapped, and they heard a call of, “Look out!” But the call was too late; the mechanical arm started swinging, and Lilac pushed her siblings back so forcefully that Nick and Violet fell to the ground, only barely avoiding falling on their younger siblings. Lilac jumped on top of them, throwing herself over them as they heard a loud crash.

After a second, Lilac sat up, and Violet and Nick whipped around, holding up Solitude and Sunny. Up ahead, they could see the wreckage of a stack of lumber, and on the mat had fallen Phil, whose left leg was now pinned under the machine arm.

“Whoa!” he shouted. “Half-price pedicures for life!”

“Wow.” said another worker. “I probably would’ve said something like, ‘Ow! My leg!’”

“Phil!” Lilac shouted. She and Nick ran forwards, with Nick slamming a hand over Solitude’s eyes. “What happened?”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” Phil said. “I’m sure it’ll be okay, soon as we move the arm-”

“Violet!” Nick shouted, and Lilac looked up only just in time to catch Sunny as the infant was tossed at her. Violet tied her hair up as she ran, and carefully dragged Klaus out of his seat. She looked at the board, and then ran to the side of the room, grabbing gum from a box. She chewed as she ran, and then she sat back in the seat and stuck the wad of sticky gum onto two snapped wires. Then she considered only a moment before pushing several levers, and slowly, the arm reached up.

“Holy fuck.” Nick said, and Lilac also covered Sunny’s eyes, even as the infant let out a screech of protest.

“Your leg’s been completely crushed!” said a worker.

“He’ll be fine.” said Foreman Flacutono, who walked up, somehow looking very cross even though he still had a mask on. “But look at this machine! It’s ruined!”

“What’s going on here?” Behind them, Sir entered the mill, his cloud of smoke following him, and Charles a few feet behind him. “What happened to our stamper?”

“Klaus Baudelaire wrecked it.” Foreman Flacutono gestured to the youngest Baudelaire boy, who was standing completely still, as if he saw nothing ahead of him. “He said he could operate the machine.”

“That’s not true!” Lilac shouted.

“Well, now I know that!” the Foreman said.

“I mean it was a mistake!” Lilac said. “Klaus shouldn’t have been put in charge of the machine, but the fact it operated wrong wasn’t his fault. He’s been hyp-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Sir said. “You children are just like your parents, always causing trouble. And now we’re going to have to deal with a one-legged worker.”

“I have a half-price coupon for the local hospital.” said a worker. “If someone else chips in, we can send Phil so they can repair his leg.”

“Do what you must.” Sir said uncaringly. “But you chlidren listen to me: I do not want any more accidents in this mill.”

“Then listen to us!” Lilac said.

“Dr Orwell has-” Violet said.

“Oh! Dr Orwell!” said Charles brightly. “I’ve got an appointment with her in just a few minutes! Her receptionist called to remind me, I’d completely forgotten.”

“No!” Violet shouted.

“Charles-” Nick began.

“Children!” Sir shouted. “As I was saying, should another accident happen, I will have to send you away. Orwell’s receptionist told us all about how much she loves chlidren, and how she’d love some of her own to help her in her receptionist duties.”

“No!” Sunny shouted.

“Don’t be like that.” I said. “It’ll build character. Now, someone clean up that machine! We’ll need to work twice as hard to replace it, it cost an inordinate amount of resources.”

“Someone help Phil.” said a worker. “We’ll take him over to the hospital.”

Sir sighed and left, Charles following him before the children could warn him about his optometrist.

They then heard a quiet, “What’s going on?”

“Klaus!” Violet called, running to her brother and ripping the ribbon from her hair. “Are you okay?”

Klaus looked incredibly confused. “Why is everyone looking at me like I’ve done something terrible?” As Phil passed him, being helped by two workers, he cried, “What happened to Phil?”

Violet bit her lip, glancing at Lilac and Nick, who were both very stunned. Solitude whimpered a little, and Sunny reached out her arms so that Klaus could hold her.

“Let’s sneak out again and talk in the dorms.” Violet said.

She started to walk, only to hear Foreman Flacutono call, “Where do you midgets think you’re going?”

Before they could say anything, Solitude turned towards the Foreman, picked up Babbitt, and threw them at the man. As he let out a cry of surprise, the children took off running, with the frog hopping fast to catch up.

“Do you think I’m the only one who’s being hypnotized?” Klaus asked.

They were sitting in the dorms; Babbitt had finally caught up and was asleep on a pillow, while Solitude and Sunny sat beside them and watched their brother.

“I don’t know.” Lilac said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if everyone else was, which would explain why they never leave.”

“They seem less… robotic than Klaus.” Violet said.

“Maybe it’s a matter of how many times they’d been hypnotized, or how intense the hypnotism was.” Nick said.

“What did you two read about hypnotism?” Lilac asked the boys.

“Not much.” Klaus admitted. “I skimmed the books to look for fun stories, didn’t really look at how it worked.”

“Same.” said Nick.

“We need to go.” Violet said, staring at the ground. “Nothing here matters anymore, we need to get to safety.”

“And then what?” Klaus turned to her. “Olaf will find us again and find a way to hypnotize me again. And then who knows what he could make me do?”

“We’ll protect you.” Lilac promised.

“But what if he makes me try to hurt you?” Klaus said. “Like I hurt Phil.”

“That wasn’t your fault!” Nick said.

Klaus stood up. “I’m going to Dr Orwell’s.” he said.

“What?” Lilac also leapt to her feet. “No, no, you’re not-”

“I’m going to find out what she did to me.” Klaus said. “You said Charles is going over there? Maybe we can help him.”

“Klaus, no! No, you don’t-” Violet began.

“I’m going.” Klaus said. “We need to figure out what’s going on and how to stop it. I’ll be back soon.”

He turned and left, and his siblings stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then, slowly, Nick picked up Solitude, and Lilac picked up Sunny. The siblings all shared a look, and they all knew what they had to do.

Violet caught up to Klaus only a few feet outside the dorms, and she slid her hand into his. Nick took his other hand as he stopped, and Lilac quietly said, “Klaus, what’s that thing Samuel Beckett said?”

“I can’t go on.” Klaus quoted quietly. “I’ll go on.”

“Let’s go on.” Violet said. “Together.”

“Alright, so,” Lilac tied up her hair again, “We’re gonna sneak in the back.”

She knelt by the back door, pulling out a hairpins from her pocket and working on the lock. Nick grabbed tighter onto Klaus’s arm, and Violet said, “Okay, girls, we’re gonna need you to be quiet, okay?”

Solitude made a motion as if she was zipping her mouth shut, and Sunny nodded seriously.

“This door won’t unlock!” Lilac hissed. “It’s stuck!”

Nick glanced to the side, and then said, “I mean, we could take the stairs.”

“What stairs?” Lilac asked.

Nick handed Solitude to Klaus, walked over to some movable stairs that had been lifted up and stuck against a balcony, outside the Eye window. He jumped up and grabbed the edge, dragging it down to the ground.

“That’s way easier.” he said. “Come on.”

Lilac sighed, but pocketed her hairpins and gestured for her siblings to go up first. Nick grabbed onto Klaus’s arm as they climbed, and Solitude held out her arms so he could take her back from Klaus, who looked very nervous. Violet followed, holding Sunny as close to her as she could, and Lilac kept glancing behind them as she brought up the rear. Once they were all on the balcony, Violet moved up to the Eye-shaped window, finding that it was thankfully a door; she pushed it open, gesturing for her siblings to follow her inside.

“This is the office?” Nick whispered, looking around. The place was gray and small and very cold-looking, and a projector was flickering an eye chart against a screen, occasionally shifting to other pictures they couldn’t quite place. There was a chair facing away from the window, but before they could get a close enough look at it, they heard footsteps coming towards them.

“So sorry to keep you waiting!” called Orwell and, quickly, Klaus and Lilac gestured for their siblings to follow them up some stairs, where a closet door swung open. They ran quickly up onto the small balcony, pressing against the wall as Orwell moved into view, but they didn’t go into the closet quiet yet, in case she saw the movement as they ducked inside. Nick clutched Solitude so tight his knuckles went white.

“I had to make some preparations.” Orwell continued. She turned the chair slightly, and the Baudelaires could see her newest victim; Charles.

“Now, Charles,” Orwell said, “Look at the screen. See it?”

“Yes.” he said robotically. It was very unnerving; he usually emoted a lot more than this.

“Do you see the swirls?” Orwell asked, as the eye chart on the wall shifted to a swirling optical illusion. As it did, Klaus started to shake, his eyes going wide. Orwell continued, “Now, tell me. What do you see here?”

The picture shifted to one of the Baudelaires, standing by a log. The picture must have been taken while they were busy debarking.

“Orphans.” said Charles.

“Dangerous orphans.” Orwell corrected. “Charles, you and your partner will finally be happy once those orphans aren’t around.”

“We can finally be happy once those orphans aren’t around.” Charles repeated.

Klaus grabbed onto Lilac’s arm as he continued to tremble. He looked on the edge of a panic attack, tears springing to his eyes. Lilac glanced at Violet, who had her eyes shut and was hugging Sunny, who was staring down at Charles as if she could unhypnotize him with her gaze. Solitude struggled not to cry or make noise, while Nick had his eyes locked on the scene below them, his gaze unreadable.

“Won’t you want to help us get rid of these orphans?”

“I will help you get rid of these orphans.”

“Now, Charles,” Orwell continued, “You will awaken from your trance when I say the word-”

“Charles!” the Baudelaires jumped when they looked and saw Olaf entering the room. While he still wore the dress, he had abandoned the wig for the moment. “Would you like to do your impression of a chicken?”

Charles started making the noises that a chicken usually makes, and Orwell shouted, “I thought I told you to wait in the waiting room!”

“Did you? I must have forgotten.” Olaf said, strutting over to the chair. Violet backed against the wall, and Sunny looked like she would have hissed if she wasn’t trying to be quiet.

“Charles, would you like to stop?” Orwell said, annoyed.

Charles stopped, and Nick clenched his fists, looking prepared to leap off the balcony and start fighting the adults by himself. Lilac gestured for them to go, but Violet and Klaus shook their heads, staring down.

“Can’t I say the secret word?” Olaf said. “I’d like to practice.”

“Why? So you won’t need me anymore?” Orwell snapped.

“Someone has trust issues.”

“Of course I do! I dated you!”

“Charles,” Olaf said in a high-pitched, feminine voice, “Would you like to tell Georgina to stop bringing up the past?”

“Stop bringing up the past.” said Charles.

“Charles,” Georgina said, “Would you like to tell Olaf to stop using that voice?”

“Stop using that voice.”

Klaus shook some more, and Nick’s eyes narrowed, his face going white.

“You drank all of my wine.” Olaf said.

“You tried to poison me!” Georgina said.

“You tried to hypnotize me!”

“It was the only way to shut you up!”

Solitude finally couldn’t stop herself; she let out a low whimper. Olaf and Georgina froze, and as they did, Lilac quickly pushed the closet open and dragged her siblings inside, closing the door just enough that it wouldn’t look like anyone was hiding in there.

“What was that?” came Olaf’s voice.

“Nothing.” Georgina said.

“If there’s nothing up there, then what was that noise?”

They continued to bicker and argue, and Solitude shut her eyes and buried her face in Nick’s shoulder. Sunny glanced around the closet, pointing to a box at the edge. Slowly, Klaus crawled over to it, opening it carefully and flipping through.

“Records.” he whispered.

“Timbales?” Sunny asked. “Any Tito Puente?”

“Egieb?” Solitude asked. “Or Duke Ellington?”

“Not those kinds of records.” he whispered back. “Medical records. Eye exams. For the whole mill.”

“Everyone’s hypnotized.” Violet whispered.

“We need to find the word that will break them.” Lilac said.

Nick didn’t say anything. Instead, he listened at the door. Solitude also pressed her ear to the door, and after a moment, she whispered, “Tixe,” which meant, “They’re leaving. We can go.”

“Why would she need Charles to help her?” Violet asked, reaching to push back her hair. “Sir’s already going to hand us over the second something bad happens.”

“Clearly she needs Charles to help her cause an accident and blame it on us.” Lilac said. She carefully pushed the door open, and led her siblings out, towards the window and the exit. “We’ll need to be careful.”

“We need to leave.” Violet said sadly. “We need to protect Klaus.”

“We can’t do that forever.” Klaus repeated. “We need to stop Orwell.”

They walked out onto the balcony, climbing down the stairs, and Lilac said, “Klaus. We can’t let her do that to you again.”

“I’ll be more careful.” Klaus said quietly. “We need to help the mill workers.”

“Ionary,” Sunny said, which probably meant something like, “Maybe we can say random words until they wake up.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they realized that Nick had been uncharacteristically quiet.

“Nick?” Violet glanced over at him. “Something up?”

Nick, very silent, held Solitude a bit closer. Then he spoke, and his voice sounded very broken.

“Klaus. Is that what they did to you?”

Klaus shut his eyes, and then said, “I don’t know.”

Nick grabbed his brother’s hand, and gripped it very, very tight.

[mugsywrites]

Fic Update

Friends I’ve been out of town the past week because my uncle died and I had to drive my dad (who’s in terrible health himself) back to our home town for the funeral. I haven’t spoken to my uncle in over 10 years and we were never close but I’m still heartbroken for my dad. Plus I fucking hate being in my hometown (the locals aren’t quirky, they’re racist and the town is so small every time I go out I’m at risk of running into my fucking ex).  So I haven’t gotten around to writing much. But here, have a taste of something I started because I was in a negative frame of mind: (eventual Jaaryl)

The Unquiet Grave

Over thirty years after Daryl Dixon was murdered a small fleet of construction trucks show up on the ridge just above his grave. He isn’t sure of the exact date until one day while drifting through the site he sees an open newspaper—September 21, 2010. Boyd Guthrie and the rest of the Savage Sons had beaten Daryl to death behind Willie’s bar on October 5, 1979.

Daryl keeps waiting for the construction crew to uncover his bones but much to his relief they never do. When he first died he’d been trapped in his body—one minute the world was slowly fading out as Boyd stomped the back of his head again and again the next things snapped into focus. “Oh geez Boyd,” Ashley Morrow was saying as he stared into Daryl’s dead face, “You killed him.”

“Fucking queer deserved it,” Boyd replied.

“Merle ain’t gonna be happy.”

“He’ll get over it,” Boyd said easily.

They wrapped his body in a tarp and threw it in the back of Ash’s pickup truck where Daryl spent several terrifying hours in blackness before hearing Merle’s voice screaming, “I want to see him! I want to fucking see him!” The tarp vanished and Daryl was looking up into his brother’s tear-streaked face. “Oh my sweet Jesus,” Merle whispered. He laid a shaky hand on Daryl’s cheek and Daryl realized he could feel it. Could feel the whiskery kiss that Merle pressed against his forehead. Boyd was jabbering away, saying he was sorry but what did Merle expect him to do when his queer brother tried sucking his dick? What the fuck was any man supposed to do?

Daryl could see Merle’s eyes, could see that Merle didn’t believe the bullshit coming out of Boyd’s mouth and that even though he said, “I understand. Tried beatin’ it out of ‘im myself since he was little,” that Boyd was not forgiven. Merle kissed him again and tenderly replaced the tarp over Daryl’s face.

After that was hours of driving over bumpy back country roads. They stopped and he could hear the scraping of earth, then he was dragged out of the truck and thrown into the ground. Daryl had calmed down a bit but started panicking again at the first feeling of the weight of earth thrown on his remains. The men burying him said nothing but Daryl still knew one of them was Merle.

No Bubba don’t let them, he screamed internally as the weight of earth grew greater, in his panic reverting to his childhood word for his big brother. More weight, the noises from the outside world fading until he could hear nothing. He was imprisoned in darkness and silence and could do nothing but scream helplessly and pray for madness oh god this was hell, worse than any fire or demons or—

The world shifted and Daryl was standing outside in a dark woods at night. Merle was kneeling down at Daryl’s feet, palm flat against the disturbed earth and breathing raggedly.

“Merle?” Boyd’s voice, “We best be on our way.”

“Need a minute,” Merle said in a thick voice, “He was my brother even if he was a queer.”

“Fine,” Boyd muttered, “I’ll be in the truck.”

Daryl was too relieved to be free from the earth to be angry. He could move, he could turn around, and when he looked down he saw he was dressed in the simple black t-shirt and jeans he’d worn to Willie’s that evening.

“Thank you fucking Jesus,” Daryl muttered. He heard the door to the truck slam shut, “If that prick didn’t want to waste his evenin’ up here he shouldn’t’ve bashed my head in.”

Merle let out a choked sob, hand going to his face. Daryl reached down and squeezed his shoulder, surprised that he could do it, surprised that he could feel the leather of Merle’s jacket beneath his hand. It didn’t go both ways; Merle took no notice of his brother’s comforting gesture. Merle’s fists balled up into the earth and he growled out, “Fuckers will pay for this, baby brother. I swear to you on everything.” Then he was getting to his feet and walking back to the truck.

Daryl never saw him again.

He watched the truck as it faded off into the distance. The woods were black but Daryl could still see, and he drifted over to his grave. There was a bit of metal flashing in the moonlight, and Daryl bent down to examine it. He saw it was the Zippo lighter Merle’d brought back from ‘Nam; on the side a hand-engraved skull and the words, 15 KILLS IF YOU ARE RECOVERING MY BODY FUCK YOU. He’d laid it on Daryl’s grave as a miniature tombstone, and later Daryl would wonder if that simple act had been what had freed him from the ground.

He supposed he’d never know.

Three decades later he watches the construction crew trample over his grave again and a-fucking-gain he wonders what would happen if his bones were ever discovered and given a “proper burial”. Wonders if he’d pass over into the Great Beyond or start haunting whatever pauper’s grave is his new resting place. Neither option is particularly appealing—he knows where he’s going if it’s the former and it isn’t the place with the harps and angels floating on fluffy clouds. If it’s the latter he’s not interested in hanging around for eternity in the graveyard of Mountain View Baptist next to his Daddy. He doesn’t know if graveyards are full of ghosts or if he’d have to actually talk to Will Dixon and isn’t interested in finding out.

Daryl is perfectly content to stay where he is. He’s not exactly happy, but he’s at peace. The area around his grave is a beautiful spot, and Daryl can think of worst places to spend eternity.Daryl spends his days wandering through the woods cataloging the flora and fauna and marveling at the endless variety of life teaming in this corner of the Southern Appalachians. He finds everything from black bears to blue ghost fireflies; the latter flickering to life for only a few weeks in wet summers.

On the rare occasions he feels lonely he goes to the stretch of the Appalachian Trail that is just inside the boundary of his haunt. It can get fairly lively depending on the time of year, there’s an overnight shelter in Daryl’s range. Solitary hikers stop and sometimes read and Daryl can look over their shoulders. He only gets a chapter or a two at a time this way, random glimpses at a larger story he’s cut off from. Still it’s something. Whenever he gets bored or depressed he just switches off for a bit and when he returns to the world days or years later he’s refreshed.

Daryl would like to switch off for the duration of construction but he can’t, much to his annoyance. There’s too many people for too much of the day. He’s not sure exactly what causes him to come back to the world after switching off—there’s no rhyme or reason to it—but having people around seems to have something to do with it. He’s never had this many people around, never had them this close to his fucking grave. Heavy workmen’s boots tromping everywhere as they tear down his trees and scare off his animals.

Daryl can affect the physical world. It requires a great deal of sustained concentration and effort for not a lot of results but since he can’t fucking switch off he has nothing better to do. Workers lose their keys, are startled by loud bangs, equipment breaks down, wood piles are toppled over. He follows the construction foreman around, placing his hand on the back of the man’s neck. This is the hardest thing to do and he doesn’t always succeed but when he does the foreman stops dead in his tracks and shivers all over.

“Tobin?” says one of the crew, “You alright, boss?”

“Something just walked over my grave is all,” the guy replies, looking spooked.

“Motherfucker you’ve been tromping over my grave all fucking month,” Daryl snarls, “Let’s see how you like it.” He places his hands on the back of Tobin’s neck and pours every ounce of concentration and anger he has into it. He breaks out the big guns, remembering the night he was murdered, every thrown punch and desperate attempt to survive before he was overwhelmed.

“Boss!” the worker says, and lunges forward to catch Tobin before he can collapse. The beefy guy is pale and his eyes are glassy and he looks on the verge of passing out. Daryl feels savagely triumphant, but only for a moment. It’s replaced by guilt so intense he’d give anything to be able to just switch off and not have to deal with his thoughts or the bright lights of the world any longer. Wants these people gone so he doesn’t feel the pull of his grave so strongly and can leave. Wants to just be able to fucking rest. It’s not this fucker’s fault, he’s just doing his job.

“Sorry,” Daryl mutters, even though the guy doesn’t know he’s there and can’t hear him even if he did, “I’m bein’ a dick.” He decides to leave them alone from that point on, wandering among the fringes of the site, following what animals haven’t been scared off. Watches the building come together—it’s a log cabin with enormous picture windows looking out over the valley.

In the end it turns out to be a good thing he can’t switch off. He might have missed when Aaron showed up for the first time if he had been.

[odderancyart]

Retribution

Chapter 6

First

Last

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On AO3

Summary: A late night, after yet another unfruitful day with no work, Detective Edge Serif receives a phonecall from the countryside. There seems to have been a murder.

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Swearing, Past Abuse, Past Rape (of a character not in the story)

Worry shines in Stretch’s eyes as he steps inside, placing the tray on one of the chests of drawers by the wall. Inspector Fuente keeps his eyes on him the entire time, and so does Edge. Trying to read any traces of guilt on the face of someone he’s nearly began considering a friend. He doesn’t want Stretch to be guilty, but what he wants doesn’t matter. Fate, or God, or the universe, doesn’t care. It’s with heavy soul he gestures for the other to take the office chair and pull it up so he can sit, facing them.

Stretch’s hands rests in his lap as he sits. It would’ve been the perfect picture of propriety, hadn’t he been fiddling. His shoulders are hunched the tiniest bit, but he meets their gazes straight on.

“Mr Fontaine,” the inspector says, grinning humourlessly. “Detective Serif has found that you delivered wine to the deceased the night he died. And I have gotten the autopsy back. He died by cyanide poisoning. Cyanide that had been mixed into wine. What do you have to say about this?”

“Nothing.” Stretch’s voice is tight. When Edge narrows his eyes, his expression becomes strained. He straightened and sighed. “I really don’t know how that happened. I did what I did every night: bring a glass of wine to the music room. Doctor Gaster always spent an hour or two there before going to bed, playing piano. Apparently his genius was stimulated by fine wine and music. I left, made myself ready for bed. Then I came back, just to check if he needed anything before I went to sleep, and I found him on the floor, whimpering. He went silent and limp within seconds.”

“Who else had access to the wine?”

“Everyone in the staff.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Edge rolls his pen between his fingers, trying to keep his calm. He has no right at all  to feel upset. Betrayed. Stretch owes him nothing, and they have known each other for absolutely no time at all. That he is pleasant company doesn’t mean anything.

It takes a few moments before Stretch answers. He closes his eyes and exhales. “Blue told me not to. Didn’t want any unnecessary suspicion on me. Or us.”

“Well, Mr Fontaine.” Inspector Fuente stands, taking a step forward until he’s almost in Stretch’s face. “That backfired badly, because you’re now our main suspect and I will need to search your rooms. And your brother’s too, in case he was involved as well. I can also charge him with obstruction of justice.”

Stretch visibly pales. Before Edge can do as much as react, he’s halfway out of his chair. “No, don’t-” He seems to catch himself and sinks back. “Blue’s only trying to protect me, as always. Don’t get my brother in trouble, please.” His expression is almost pathetically pleading. “Search our rooms, search the entire manor if you wish. But Blue’s only doing what he can to help me. Please.”

Inspector Fuente hums. He stares at Stretch for a few, long seconds before nodding and sinking back into the armchair. “Very well. He’ll walk free this time. But if any of you try to hide anything from me again, you will need an attorney.”

The relief on Stretch’s face is evident. He nods quickly. “Thank you, sir.”

“You may leave, Mr Fontaine.” Inspector Fuente waves toward the door. “But let your brother know what happened in here now, that you’re both our main suspects, and that we will be searching your rooms.”

“Of course, sir,” Stretch mumbles as he rises, half-bowing quickly before he exits. Edge stares after him, clenching his fists in his lap. It is stupid, how he has to resist the urge to rise and rush after him. They hardly know each other. And Stretch is suspected for murder.

In the back of his mind, Edge knows he can’t blame him if he did it. He knows he would’ve done it to the foreman if he ever had gotten the chance.  He still isn’t sure what he’d do if he ever sees the man again. Exhaling, he schools his face into gruff neutrality before he turns to the inspector. Inspector Fuente watches him with an eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“You seem fond of the butler, Detective.”

Edge glares at him. “I don’t see how that is any of your business, sir. I can relate to having an abusive employer, that is all.”

“Oh?”

“None of your damn business.”

The inspector grins, clasping his hands behind his neck. There’s almost something kind in his eyes, but not quite. Edge wonders if he’s capable of that. Probably not, members of the Police force seem incapable of showing compassion to anyone ‘below them’. He learnt that early. “It isn’t.” He leans forward, grin falling. “You do look like you’d like to talk about it though. Have you ever? I can swear by God Himself, or by my own honour if you’d prefer that, to keep silent about it. I already know some details, through my research. Your mother and your boss, eh?”

For a few seconds, Edge only stares tat him. How the fuck did he know that? Nevertheless, he was right. Edge hadn’t talked about it, even once. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.

No one had never asked before.

He is an idiot. A lonely fucking idiot.

“Fine. Swear. On both of them.”

Drawing a cross over his chest, the inspector swears.

“It’s a simple thing,” he says. “As the unwed mother of a bastard my mother had few choices. I got badly injured at work when I was fourteen, and the foreman, who had been trying to get her in bed for months, offered to pay for the medical care if she would sleep with him. And then she was in that trap. If she refused him, he could easily have us out on the streets. He started coming and going in our home as he wanted, got himself a key. And he was a violent, cruel man, and as much as he lusted after my mother, as much he disliked me because I refused to bend. I couldn’t. And now I couldn’t even escape him in my own home. Then she died, and I was on my own.”

“Shit.” Inspector Fuente stares at him, his eyelight flickering in shock.

“What’s your sob story then, Inspector?”

“Heh.” The corners of his mouth tilt upwards. “Afraid I ain’t got one. My mother’s a sweet lady from a good family and my father’s a preacher, an’ th’ kindest person I’ve ever met. They’re both disappointed I ain’t got much faith, but nothing that damages any familiar bonds, here. Most of our property survived the crash, even.”

“Hm. Lucky.” Shaking his head, he turns toward the wall with the pictures and texts. “Your thoughts?”

Luckily Inspector Fuente doesn’t comment on his obvious change of subject.

…

To be honest, the inspector doesn’t know much Edge hasn’t’ figured out himself. The background checks were more thorough, and he has a time of death that matches up with what Stretch had told them, but otherwise he didn’t give Edge anything else to work with. Soon enough they part, each going their own ways. Edge wanders through the hallways of the manor, searching for someone, when he hears quiet talking from behind the corner. Stopping dead, he considers whether he should leave or not as he hears his own name mentioned. His eyes widen. With a few careful steps, he goes up to the corner, leaning against the wall so he can listen.

“-to hide,” he hears. Blue. That is Blue’s voice, gentle and patient. “There is nothing to worry about, brother, because neither of us have done anything.”

A loud exhale. “I know, Blue. I know. But. They really seem to think it was me. I don’t- Blue, I didn’t kill Doctor Gaster, you know that.” Stretch’s voice shakes as he speaks with his brother. Edge closes his eyes, resisting the urge to walk around the corner and confront them. “I wouldn’t-”

“I know,” Blue assures him. “I know. And soon they will know too. They can’t prove something that didn’t happen.”

“True.” Stretch sighs loudly, his voice still trembling somewhat. “You should go back to work, Blue. Sir Razz will wonder where you are.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Aren’t I always?”

They say something else, quieter, something Edge can’t hear, before footsteps is heard. Edge freezes, but they disappear the other way and he relaxes again. He waits a couple minutes, but when Stretch doesn’t move either, he steps around the corner. The other stiffens when he sees him. He’s sitting curled up in the beige, old-fashioned couch standing along the wall, but immediately throws his legs off it and straightens.

“Dete-” he begins, his smile obviously straining on his face, and his hands balls together in his lap.

“Edge,” Edge interrupts him, sitting down next to him. Stretch twitches. Or perhaps it’s a flinch. It’s hard to tell. “I don’t think you did it.”

“Wha-”

“And honestly. I can’t blame you even if you did. The amount of times I wanted to kill my foreman…”

Stretch stares at him, mouth open, Edge’s expression is fully serious as he regards him before looking down on his own hands. There’s a perfectly straight crack running over his fingers. Straight as a ruler. He closes his eyes for a few moments, and when he opens them again, Stretch is still staring mutely at him, shock shining in his eyes. The corner of his mouth curls upward in a bitter smile. “Do you want to hear a sad story?”

Slowly, the other nods. He looks thoughtful as he regards Edge. And Edge has no idea why he’s doing this, but he is, and he doesn’t want to stop. Two times in a day, huh?

“Growing up in the slums isn’t easy, especially when you’re a bastard, and your mother isn’t married. She was a beautiful, kind-hearted woman, she could have done well, hadn’t she had me.” He’s been battling the guilt ever since he was old enough to realize that hadn’t he been born, his mother’s life would have been better. Even though she always had told him that it wasn’t true. “And when I got injured at fourteen, at the steel mill I worked, she was desperate to pay for the doctors. I was dying. My arm was crushed and the infections… Even with medical assistance, my chances for survival was slim, and she couldn’t afford it. So she made a deal with my foreman, who was lusting after her. I would say in love, except there was nothing loving about that man. She sold her body to him so he’d pay, and then there was no end to it. Even though I healed, he came back. And I’d spend nights lying on the kitchen couch where I slept, and I’d hear them. Hear her whimpering as she was raped. And he hated me. I’ve always been stubborn, and now he seemed to believe that because he was fucking my mother he could do anything to me. I-”

He swallows. Glancing around, he ensures no one is there. Stretch watches him, wide-eyed, as he takes off his coat and pulls up the back of his shirt. A horrified gasp escapes him. Edge knows he doesn’t have to explain, it’s obvious what happened from the criss-cross patterns across his back. Bone doesn’t heal as well as skin does. “Leather belt,” is all he says. He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Not the worst he did, but probably all you want to hear. Then he infected Mother with syphilis – I usually say the flu, but it wasn’t – and within half a year, I was alone. I was seventeen. He’s probably dead now too, that whore, but if I ever saw him, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Correcting his clothes again, he finally meets Stretch’s eyes. “Point is, I do know how it is to be abused by an employer you can’t escape even at home.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stretch whispers, compassion shining in his eyes. His hands rests over his mouth, horror evident in his expression.

“It’s fine. Was years ago.”

“No it’s not. You shouldn’t have had to-” Edge’s eyes widen as he realizes there’s tears in Stretch’s eyes, and the other smiles awkwardly as he wipes them away. “It’s just unfair, you know. That-”

He doesn’t seem capable of continuing, but Edge nods. “I know. It is.”

Unfair that they have to suffer. Unfair that the powerful are cruel. Unfair that the world doesn’t care for people like them.

The great clock on the wall rings. and Stretch twitches, glancing up at it. “I have to go. Sir Razz will be waiting for his tea.”

Edge nods. “Go.”

As Stretch disappears around the corner, he stands as well. He has a job to do.

…

He can hear the ringing of the church bell from over the meadows as he makes his way toward the library once more. It’s where he was pointed, so it’s where he goes. Stepping in there is much like stepping into another world. The room is dimly lit except for the reading lamp standing away by one of the armchairs, and the scent of dust and books is almost overwhelming.

In the armchair with the reading lamp lit, Sir Razz sits, a book in his hands. The new master of the house lowers the book as he hears Edge’s footsteps and nods in greeting. He gestures for him to sit down, and Edge takes place in the dark blue armchair next to him. All the armchairs in the room are old, that much is obvious from the design, though he has no idea how old.

Sir Razz’s smile is polite as he gestures toward the teapot standing on the table next to him, but Edge denies it politely. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes.” Putting away his book, Sir Razz nods. He clasps his hands in his lap. “I’d like to hear how the case is going. Inspector Fuente does not need to tell me anything as he works for the state, but as you are under my employment, I believe I can ask you this?”

“Yes,” Edge confirms. He can. He considers for a moment what to say: technically, Sir Razz is still a suspect, although he’s certainly the one who seems the least guilty right now. “Our main suspect is Stretch, though I personally am not convinced. Inspector Fuente is awaiting some constables to come help search his and Blue’s rooms at this very moment. If nothing is found, then it is only to keep investigating: everyone has a motive, though Stretch and Blue has the most obvious ones, which is to be expected as they knew Doctor Gaster the longest.”

“I see.” Drumming his fingers against his skirt-covered leg, Sir Razz looked thoughtful. “Well, I quite doubt it was either of them. Blue is the most loyal individual I have ever met, and Stretch does not seem like he’d be capable of murder. He cannot even bring himself to hurt those abhorrent cats.”

Edge nods. To be perfectly honest, he agrees. Nonetheless, someone in this house is a murderer, and he hasn’t the faintest idea who it actually is. Stretch and Blue sure do have motives,  but they don’t seem like the murder-y type. But then again, who knows? Anyone can be a murderer. One of the sweetest girls in his old class had been arrested for the murder of her husband only last year, it had caused quite the stir. She’d been driven to the edge by him threatening to kill their children if she wouldn’t obey. So she had killed him.

Desperation could bring people to do horrible things.

Though, to be perfectly honest, Edge isn’t certain if he would call the murder of an abuser, a would-be-murderer, and likely rapist horrible. Sounds like he’d deserved everything he got. If there is such a thing as Heaven and Hell, he better burn.

Both of them twitch as it knocks on the door. A young human man sticks in his head through the doorway, nodding in greeting. “Are you Sir Razz and Detective Serif?”

“Indeed we are,” Sir Razz confirms, standing up. “And you are?”

“Constable Johnson, sir. We are conducting the search and the inspector sent me to invite the detective.”

“Thank you.” Edge stands as well. Sir Razz follows him as he marched out of the room and followed the constable as he navigates through the manor’s countless hallways. At one point Sir Razz has to tell him he was taking the wrong way. It is a labyrinth. The rooms are on the ground plane. Not in the basement as he had expected, but in the back of the manor.

Stretch and Blue are standing outside of an open door, close together as they watched. Stretch hugs himself as he watches the Policemen poke around his room. Papyrus is there as well, watching the search attentively. Edge can’t help but wonder what he is doing there. Then again, surely it was a curious thing to see. Inspector Fuente stands just inside the room, leaning against the open door with his arms crossed. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, and his hat tilted on his head. He grins as the two of them show up.

“Come to see yer first proper investigation, Detective?” he asks, eyes glittering. When Edge only stares at him, he shrugs. “Come and take a look at what my constables find. Sir Razz,” he adds, tipping his hat.

“Inspector,” Sir Razz replies, sounding amused. He casts a short, concerned glance at his servants before smiling at Inspector Fuente and looking into the room. “Finding anything?”

“Not ye-”

“Inspector!” one of the constables calls out. Inspector Fuente immediately twists around, just in time to see a uniformed man step out of the wardrobe. He’s holding a box. “There’s hydrangea flowers in here, and a bottle with white powder. It’s literally marked Cyanide.”

Edge stiffens. Sir Razz stops dead behind him. And Inspector Fuente twists around again, staring straight at the butler, who is wide-eyed and gaping. “But-” Stretch begins, but doesn’t have time to get out anything else before the inspector steps up to him. His expression is serious as he grabs Stretch’s arms, twisting them behind his back. Stretch lets out a small noise but doesn’t fight as the handcuffs click into place.

When Edge meets his gaze for a moment, panic shines in them as the inspector proclaims him under arrest. Blue’s hands are slapped over his mouth but when the word arrest is uttered, he lets out a small shriek. “No! No my brother isn’t a murderer Inspector this isn’t-”

Sir Razz gently puts his hand on his arm, silencing him. He leans forward and says something that Edge can’t catch, but tears spring up into Blue’s eyes as he steps out of the way. Edge’s eyes flicker back up to Stretch’s face. Fear and confusion is written all over it.

The inspector leads him out of the room, past Papyrus who is silently watching everything unfold. Edge startles when he sees the cook’s face. His expression is compassionate, and he’s watching the events unfold with remorse on his face.

But there’s a faint glimmer of triumph in his eye.

[cosmospoons]

House MD season 2

30 second episode recaps from someone whos just watched em for the first time and has bad recall

Ep1: they gotta cure the death row dude so he can go back to death row to b killed, cameron is Bad at telling ppl they're dying, house n Wilson had lunch with the coma guy, they cured death row man, also they changed the theme and I hate it Ep2: House has hayfever lmao, this cancer girl with hallucinations is honestly just the coolest she's so positive I love her, shes nine and got chase to kiss her hero,, house an Wilson have a shared balcony amazing, Wilson is so good and pure and is amazing at his job holy shit I love this man. House actually 'temporarily killed' the patient to cure her and made people run drills on a dead man. House is 400% going to buy a motorbike Ep3: i prayed for Cuddy's handyman to fall off her roof past the window and then god answered my prayers and he did, house broke into Cuddy's house mainly to look at her underwear lbr and then won the 'can we chop off his arm' argument, house secretly speaks spanish and waited for the most dramatic moment to reveal this, they gate crashed a cock fight (ayy) and saved the patient Ep4: the patient is a doctor with an ego ((according to house lmao pot, kettle)) who wanted to sit in on the diagnostic process and honestly is actually full of himself,, house puts him on a tippy table and cranks it up, foreman made a patient cry except he was pretending to be house lmao house got in shit,, Cameron needs to stop please, can the patient get his head out his arse please. house gatecrashes the press conference that the patient called and managed to put him into cardiac arrest on live television and eventually cured him of everything cept bein a knob Ep5: Wilson's handwriting is such doctor handwriting and house definitely bought a motorbike and made Wilson pay for it he's so pleased with himself. The kid keeps getting electrocuted but like,, by his own body. House is avoiding his parents but Cameron n Wilson aren't letting him get away with it. I love house n Wilson's friendship so much it's worth 5k apparently lmao. These patients are fukin serial liars jc why are ppl like this, it was rADIATION wow houses dad is a fucking DICK. There were so many good interactions and the house/wilson ship is sailing Ep6: there was a cyclist who took a LOT of drugs which turned out to be curing him of the thing he had, house is a douchebag but we all knew that - he may b a dick to mark but m sure mark deserves it n I love him anyway. Wilson remains a sweet boy even if he cheats idgaf he's adorable look at him ((wilson: i net someone who made me feel funny, me: was it hOUSE)),, he n house are balcony buddies and house shud stop stealing his food, and he should definitely stop digging thru stacys life but actually fuck it why not he's not gunna let go of this why is she so pissy i wanna know Ep7: I love houses new pet rat Steve McQueen,, Wilson is 4000% done with houses Stacy related antics which is fair tbh he should stop but I actually don't give much of a shit about Stacy I've taken against her....he did deserve what she said after reading her file tho. The patient may have given Cameron aids and Cameron got high and slept with Chase, who she may have given aids lmao these ppl r messes but not as much of a mess as that father/son relationship jc...i dont remember anything else about the patient whoops Ep8: chase is being suuuueeeeddd and he keeps lying about why lmao,, house fuckin reamed him one which was probably called for but maybe not like that, turns out chase screwed up cus his dad died and foreman is houses boss ((supervisor)) now how well do u think that's gunna work (((not very))) Stacy's still a bitch and has ~~feelings~~ Ep9: foreman is in charge and house is doing his utmost best to be the dick of the year and it's fucking hilarious honestly I love this man the shit he pulls jc,,, Wilson is super aware of houses antics as usual and had a mild gay panic when foreman started to question him about house,, the patient was a big ol Faker™ but surprise surprise she was actually sick this time ((house totally injected her with a load of stuff so she’d b readmitted after they’s released her)) Ep10: house solved a case thru the phone alone and spent most of the ep at the airport except for those five minutes when he almost slept with Stacy who once had a terrible experience with curry apparently and called house a vindaloo, nice restraint very well timed phone call thank fuck,,, they will sleep together tho and I am Not Happy about it....the power play amongst the fellows is a boiling pot of trouble - the patient was v interesting I enjoyed the word scramble game Ep12: WHAT A GOOD FUCKIN EP so the patient orgasmed in the white chamber while unconscious and covered in burns but more importantly house gatecrashed the lecture of his old archenemy that he had arranged just so he could disturb it and criticise the dude who got him thrown out of med school for snitchin on his cheating all whilst Wilson told him to get better hobbies (('a hooker anything please')),, to test this dudes migraine meds he gave deliberately himself a migraine and the meds didn't work (unsurprising) so the fellows turned out all the lights while he had a nap under the table,, wilson took a diff approach and deliberately made a Lot of noise because he is a Shit even if he hides it better than house,,,, then house dropped a tab of acid and took a bunch of antidepressants, and cured his migraine as well as the patient Ep13: houses leg was super duper sore but at least we got some fantastic house/wilson interaction when wilson pretended to be God during that MRI, even if house hit him with a cane.... The patient was a teen supermodel who seduced her own father to get whatever she wanted,, house was super sure she had cancer and it turns out she did but it was testicular because she had xy chromosomes and was immune to testosterone - which was really fucking interesting...... Also cuddy played house like a violin and gave him placebo saline instead of a morphine shot to prove to him that his leg pain was psychological Ep14: House is stealing organs now. Ok so technically he did get the husband's permission to steal his newly dead wife’s heart for the dying old dude with a strangely young daughter but only after he kneed house in the balls super hard. House spent the whole ep goin on at wilson about the affair he thought he was having and at the end wilson showed up on houses doorstep but sURPRIse !! It was his wife who was sleeping around!! poor baby Wilson I know what goes around comes around but he's such a kicked puppy cmon Ep15: Wilson and house living together is a recipe for disaster and I'm living for it so good so many good interactions I love that house is gunna keep him for his food ((I'll never b over house hearing the voicemail about Wilson's new place, looking over at him sleeping on the couch and then deleting it so he has to stay)). The patient had a super cool marriage and didn't have lupus except whoops actually not a happy marriage his wife is tryna kill him thru gold poisoning. House needs to stop accosting ppl in bathrooms and should also stop destroying marriages Ep16: oh man good shit so,, first of all house n Wilson are still living together and there are some Domestic Antics happening right here including but not limited to a prank war which house desperately tried to get Wilson to participate in, the peak of which had house making Wilson wet the couch and Wilson sabotaging houses cane. The patients mum was ridiculously overprotective and house essentially kidnapped the patient to find the tick noone else thought was there,, surprisingly Wilson helped set that up despite the fact house was the reason he woke up wet that morning Ep17: first things first house could absolutely clean everyone out at poker if he knows Cuddy's tells that well through just a phonecall,, also he needs to stop calling Wilson out on his toenail varnish habits lmao. The patient was a smol boy who presented the same symptoms as an unsolved and dead case that house had 12 yrs ago so he really wasn't gunna let this one go cus he's like a dog with a bone. They were in formal wear all ep which was a Good Look™ and Wilson's retelling of how he won the poker championship may have been one of the cutest things I have ever seen Ep18: Emma from Glee is here and she has the black plague,, her gf decided to donate her liver n Cameron was all het up cus house had worked out plague girl was gunna leave her and sending the gf in blind would be ~~unethical~~ but turns out she knew and deliberately did that so Emma would stay with her out of guilt lmao. In other news Cameron's pissy cus foreman 'stole' her article and house spent most of the episode napping cus wilson is fuckin up his sleep cycle ;) I'm upset there was no physical wilson Ep19: the most annoying patient so far appears in the form of a 15 yr old faith healer with herpes. I feel like the degree to which unrelenting niceness irritates me rly says something about me but eh oh well. Chase (ofc it was chase) kept a tally on who was winning God or house, faith healer managed to shrink a womans cancer tumour through giving her herpes (((a miracle praise be))) and during poker night house called wilson out on sleeping with said cancer patient and discovered wilson was actually living with her whoops bad Wilson ((he totally regrets his life choices ((he should)))) Ep20: HOLY SHIT ITS A TWOPARTER AND FOREMANS GUNNA DIE !! Ok so,,, there was this cop who couldn't stop laughing till he could but then it got a lot worse and then foreman caught whatever it was which they began to realise when he smirked as house shot a corpse to see what a bullet in a brain would do to an MRI ((spoilers it broke the machine)) anyway long story short it wasnt the pigeons and the cops dead and foreman is gunna die even after that shitdick move he pulled where he stabbed Cameron with a needle so she'd go to the apartment Ep21: HOO BOY OK SO a lot happened so much happened the most important thing is foreman by the end of the ep is mostly kind of ok - he's just a bit muddled on his lefts n rights. During the ep house was stressed the entire time cus even tho he denys it he does love n care for his ducklings,, he even cares enough to deliberately attempt to poison Steve McQueen which didn't work but can be added to the list of stressful events. Cameron grew a spine a lil bit I literally yelled when she berated cuddy and she forced the biopsy cus foreman had the foresight (ayyyyy) to make her his medical proxy even if house managed to find the problem anyway so it was ultimately unnecessary and has just resulted in some possible brain damage Ep22: house keeps trying to pick a fight with foreman and failing because Foreman's all happy go lucky now, the patient was mad because of a thing and killed her baby accidentally on purpose, the music that played during the baby autopsy was super unnecessary and bizzare, and in the end the woman had cancer but she's refusing treatment cus of the baby guilt. Cuddy didn't have cancer, which we know because Wilson ((WILSON NOT HOUSE)) stole her dna and ran secret tests in the middle of the night, but it still wasn't a date Wilson despite what house said about skin lessions she was actually just going to attempt to use u as a sperm donor - have fun at the L-word marathon with house you big sad loser (I love u) Ep23: we meet an old house friend which is Super fun he is ridiculously naive and I love that he calls house g-man holy shit. House is now giving cuddy injections as part of a fertility treatment which is nice of him especially seeing as his leg was in a Lot of pain this ep,, like a LOT...he's self-injecting morphine now which is probably bad :/ house's friend's daughter was the patient at one point she pooped out her mouth gRoSs and house ran a paternity test n told the girl she was actually the dudes daughter ((except he was lYINg in support of his friend)) he does care Ep24: HOUSE GOT SHOT WHAT IS IT WITH THIS TEAM SUFFERING RN JC this was a very fun episode of 'guess when house is hallucinating', spoilers the answer is all the time the whole ep takes place in his head. That aside I absolutely loved the hospital gown/trainer combo (no I won't apologize) and the fact that house did almost none of his physio - instead relegating it to others which is....not how it works. The hallucinatory clinic patient was freaky deaky his eye exploded and so did his dick but dw cus to escape the hallucination house killed him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ what can u do. At the end house woke up n requested ketamine we'll see how that goes

Season 1