#in which: jerry teaches a dragon how to kill

[greatshell-rider]

Jerry battered away the soldier’s sword and whipped his sword back, knocking the hilt into their jaw and stunning them. He kicked them in the chest, sending them stumbling back into their fellows. In this close-quarters fighting, even that created a brief opening, a moment of respite, for Jerry to wipe the sweat trickling into his eyes and back up a few paces, give him some space—

His back hit Radio’s leg, and both jumped apart—Jerry nearly landing himself directly into the swing of another soldier. He barely got his sword up in time, yet the blow still jarred nastily up his arm. A second soldier joined the first, attacking him in tandem. Teeth gritted, Jerry gave ground slowly, all his attention focused on keeping them away from the dragon. If Jerry fell and they got their hands on him . . .

“Back!” he shouted to Radio, who still cowered uncertainly. “Move, dammit!”

The dragon scrambled away, clambering over rocks and squeezing between foliage. Jerry followed, managing to dispatch one of the soldiers only for another to take their place. At least the uneven footing hindered them as much as it did Jerry—for now. Soon, their numbers would overpower him, unless he could get that damned lizard to do something.

Radio hesitated as the trail narrowed into a tunnel carved through the rock. Jerry couldn’t tell if it was big enough for the dragon, but—he exchanged a fierce flurry of blows with one soldier and dodged a stab to his stomach by another—there wasn’t a choice.

“Go!” he bellowed, gesturing wildly, and Radio plunged into the tunnel with Jerry close on his tail, the soldiers following after with angry shouts—but jammed briefly at the entrance before forced into single-file.

The tunnel was short. Radio had to squeeze through a tight spot, then burst out into a wider area. Jerry crouched and scooped a rock off the ground, chucked it at the head of the nearest soldier, then hurried out, head swiveling as he took in their situation. Radio stood a short distance away, head craned up, forced to stop as the canyon trail came to a dead-end, sheer rock walls preventing further retreat.

“Fuck,” Radio panted, his breath coming short and panicky. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He whirled a circle, eyes darting wildly, and a growl rumbled from his chest. “There’s no way out!” He instinctively flared his wings. 

“Don’t!” Jerry yelled, but too late, the charm activated and magic crackled down Radio’s wings. Radio shrieked in pain, wings flopping uselessly down his sides, and he keened quietly, huddling against the wall.

Jerry cursed and started towards him, but checked himself, his training screaming at him not to turn his back on the soldiers racing down the tunnel. He jerked back around, scanning the tunnel exit, looking for anything he could do, could use, to slow their coming. On one side, a jumble of tight-packed dirt and rocks from a long-ago rockslide, with a crooked little tree growing sideways out of it, was his immediate best guess. But it was far too large for him to push over . . . for him.

“Radio, I’m sorry, but I need your help,” he yelled, running to the side of the rockslide and pressing his shoulder to the loosest-looking section. Radio staggered to his feet.

Pounding feet on stone.

“Radio!” The dragon threw himself over to Jerry’s side and roared, slamming his body against the rocks. His head snaked around and jaws opened to clamp down on the tree, ripping its roots free and throwing the whole of it down before the exit, bashing the head of the front soldier and forcing them to stumble back. A second later, the top half of the rockslide crumbled down, half-covering up the opening.

“Again!” Jerry threw his meager weight against the rest of the stones, Radio repositioned and did the same, and grunting and swearing, the two shoved more rocks and dirt over the opening, creating a shitty half-decent barrier that would give them a minute, two at best, before the soldiers managed to either climb over or dismantle it.

One minute to get out, or come up with another plan.

Jerry stumbled back, picking up his sword where he’d dropped it and wiping the blood and dust off it on the bottom of his tunic. He was jittery from nerves and excitement, and his head buzzed almost too much to think.

But he had to. “Okay,” he said aloud, forcing the words out, forcing the whirling thoughts in his head to assemble into something like order. “Okay. That was—that’s something.”

“It’s nothing,” Radio said. He sank slowly down on his haunches beside the remnants of the rockslide, staring at the barrier. “We’re stuck here.” He winced and clutched at his foreleg where it had gotten cut earlier, squeezing hard enough for blood to trickle down his green scales.

Jerry stepped forward. “Are you alright?”  

“I’m fine,” Radio said shortly. He was shaking. The strange beetle-like device stuck stubbornly to his shoulder sparked, and a twitch shuddered down his wing. “I just don’t see how we can survive this.”

“We’ll get it off you, somehow,” Jerry said, reaching a hand towards the device. As his hand neared, the pupils of Radio’s eyes thinned to slits and he snapped at Jerry’s hand, narrowly missing his fingers before Jerry snatched his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Radio snarled, and Jerry stepped back, eyes wide. Then Radio blinked and dipped his head, immediately contrite. “Sorry. I don’t know why I—why I did that—”

But Jerry hadn’t been scared. His heart was racing, sure, but adrenaline burned through his blood already. “No, I’m impressed,” he blurted.

The soldiers in the tunnel had paused at the roar, but now they resumed digging in earnest. Radio tipped his head at Jerry skeptically.

Jerry said hurriedly, “I am! Radio, I know you don’t know how to fight—”

“I don’t want to fight,” the dragon corrected. “I don’t like it.”

Jerry huffed. “Right. But, Radio, look at what you just did!” He gestured to the barrier. “Admit it or not, you can help in a fight! You can be scary.”

Radio scowled at the barrier. Two of the soldiers had begun poking their swords out over the top of the barrier, waving them in the hopes of hitting something, Jerry guessed. Moodily, Radio reached a forefoot over and plucked one blade, then the other, free of their owners and tossed them over his shoulder, metal plinking unpleasantly against stone. The soldiers shouted and shuffled backwards, though Radio did nothing more.

Jerry gestured with his sword. “See?”

Radio snorted, smoke puffing from his nostrils, but turned reluctantly towards Jerry. “Fine. I guess . . . there’s no other choice, is there?” He gave the stone walls a critical look-over, and looked longingly to the sky, so cruelly wide and opening.

“This is their fault,” Jerry said, nodding to the charmed device. “The wizard put that on you. They sent these soldiers. They’re here to drag you back. Put more charms on you.”

Radio growled, lip curling back just enough to expose some teeth, and for more smoke to trickle out.

“There is a choice,” Jerry pushed. “Either we let them do that, or we fight.”

“And kill them.”

“And fucking kill these bastards.”

Radio tapped his claws in a rhythmic pattern. “I can get behind that. Very well. What do you want me to do?” He grimaced as he said it, and admitted, “I don’t know what I can do.”

Jerry laughed. If he hadn’t been holding his sword, he might’ve started rubbing his hands together. He felt like Lani right now. “What can you do?” he marveled. “Radio, you’re a fucking dragon. What can’t you do?”

“Would you like a list,” Radio said acidly, “or . . .”

Jerry shook his head and pointed at the barricaded exit. “Here, try this. Use that fire and burn them to a crisp.”

Radio got to his feet and shuffled over to stand in front of the barrier, lifting his head to peer down the gap at the top. “There’s only three of them up here at the front,” he said doubtfully. “I can’t get them all in one blast, the others will move out of the way . . .”

“Trust me,” Jerry said. “I’ll tell you what to do next.”

“Right, trust the human,” Radio muttered, then took a wide stance and breathed in deeply. Jerry couldn’t help grinning as a warm glow brightened against the scales of Radio’s belly, then arched up his chest and neck, for a stream of orange flames to surge out of Radio’s maw and crash down onto the soldiers’ heads.

They screamed, and the fire faltered, but Jerry eagerly stepped up beside Radio. “Keep going,” he encouraged, watching greedily. “When it’s done, don’t wait. Break the wall down.”

Radio rumbled in acknowledgement and moved closer as the flames began to slow, pushing the tail-end of them into the tunnel. Once the last flame flickered out, he reared up and slammed his forefeet down on the barrier, crumbling the stones. A few more swipes of his claws, and a sizable hole emerged.

Radio stumbled back. “Now what?” he panted.

Jerry marched past him. “Anything gets past me—” No, nothing was getting past him. No one was touching Radio again. “Just keep breathing fire whenever you can. Stay safe. I’ll take care of the rest.” Jerry stepped into the passage.

“Just keep breathing fire . . . Jerry? Jerry! You’re in there too!”

“Trust me!” Jerry yelled without turning. He kicked aside an ashen corpse and sliced through the neck of a half-burnt soldier slumped against the wall, then stalked deeper inside, lifting his sword in greeting as the recuperating soldiers rushed him. In the tunnel, they were forced to come at him one at a time.

Where before Jerry had fought defensively, desperately, now he moved without fear. He smashed through the front soldier’s clumsy guard and jabbed up underneath their arm in a gap in their armor, then shoved them into their fellows. Listening to the growing hiss behind him, Jerry quickly backed away, passing the burned corpses from before. The soldier next in line swore and pushed past the one crying in pain, darting for Jerry right as—

Jerry ducked, pressing himself against a corner of the tunnel and ruined barrier a heartbeat before another blast of fire shot from Radio’s gullet, missing Jerry’s head by a hair and bathing the pursuing soldier in flames. This time, Jerry got a close-up view of the barbeque, and he sucked the stench of it down his throat and bared his teeth.

The screams ended before the fire-breath did, so there was that. Jerry was on his feet the moment it was clear again, and marching down the tunnel once again. Radio was right. He’d been lucky the same trick had worked even a second time, and only because that soldier had been too pissed off to think straight, but the rest would be cautious now. Even out of range of Radio’s fire-breath, his continued blasts would keep the enemy wary.

They were scared now.

Jerry sneered as he brought up his blade.

Good.

[mittensmorgul]

300, and other random observations

Last night Mel and I were scouring the episode looking for the expected obvious “300″ to jump out from some random door or building number, or appear SOMEWHERE in the episode the way 100 did in 5.18:

or 200 did in 10.05:

In case it isn’t obvious from this image, this is the 200 Motel:

So I was looking for the 300 in 14.13, and weirdly didn’t find anything quite this obvious. I rambled a bit about my search here on @drsilverfish;s post:

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/182669346730/14x13-lebanon-some-silent-storytelling-notes-on

But I saw some interesting things in the pawn shop and around Lebanon that I can appreciate, as well as some very well hidden “300″ references. Basically this is just my Jerry Wanek appreciation post, because what a guy!

All screencaps are from hotn.

The one thing I’d overlooked as a HUGE “300″ is the most prominently featured guitar in the shop:

That one right in the middle, raised up above the others, looks a bit downtrodden. It’s missing its strings, first off. While another guitar is labeled “PLAY ME!” this one isn’t playable at all. And yet it might be the rarest instrument in the shop, and with a bit of tlc could easily be worth thousands. It’s a ww2 era Gibson ES300. Between 1942 and 1946, Gibson only produced a few acoustic guitars, since metals for the electric pickups were needed for the war effort. I think this could be one of those guitars. So talk about a big, blaring 300. Unstrung, a product of war, seemingly unplayable, but with care and attention, possibly the most valuable and precious instrument in the shop. Easy to see why it’s given pride of place.

But again, this isn’t an obvious 300. You kinda have to know something about something to even recognize it among all the other second-hand guitars.

(also lol at the giant tv in the background that makes us think of 13.16)

(and lol at the tuba that makes me think of the house of horns or whatever from 6.06. This show has such a bizarre history with pawn shops...)

Under a cut because this got way longer and more rambly and tangential than I intended >.>

There’s a lot going on just at the register:

Roadhouse Monkey, “You break it, you buy it,” and the sign that says “Your baby daddy sitting in jail? Sell your gold and get bail!” with the weirdest assortment of random jewelry pictured on it... and oddly a mala draped around the register itself. Clearly this dude hasn’t been using his mala for meditation practice.

In the post I linked above, I already described their entrance into the secret back room, where everything was “one of a kind” and we immediately saw two identical goblets. Go read that post for more on that. :D

Behind the goblets, it almost looks like a heart frozen in a block of something. But what the shop owner points to is a Hand of Glory, which was the central magical item from 3.06, the plot of which had to do with people who committed acts of violence against family (and the spell they found to banish the ghost killing people forever contained the first use of the word “Castiel” on the show).

He goes on to point out “gris gris bags” and “anointed dove’s blood.” Gris gris bags are protective talismans, which my brain immediately associates with Gordon Walker. He traded his to Bela for the Winchesters’ location in 3.07, and after giving it up, he was turned into a vampire and then killed by Sam. I can’t remember any use for the dove’s blood in canon...

It’s hard to see, but one shelf over is a Jason Voorhees style hockey mask (which is interesting to me because of 14.04 and the horror movie callbacks that were referenced later in 14.13 again at the movie theater in Lebanon playing All Saint’s Day and Hell Hazers). Not to mention as we talked about during 14.04, the original “monster” they were supposed to fight with in 3.10 in their nightmares was Jason, but Kripke didn’t realize they couldn’t obtain the rights to it, so that scene had to be cut. So in a roundabout way we get another reference to that iconic scene between Dean and his demon self, rejecting John’s influence over him. Beside the mask is the first of three Centurion Helmets we see in the episode (actually the second instance is probably this helmet again, but in a different context, in the box the teens steal from the Impala and take into their party house, along with the teddy bear Sam plays with here in a minute).

There’s the spray bottle of Dragon’s Breath, that looks like an innocent bottle of perfume with the squeezy bulb, but shoots out a gout of fire. 

Inside his safe, along with the skull of Sarah Goode, executed during the Salem Witch Trials, is an odd assortment of things, double-locked inside this already secret room:

It looks like a clock of some sort, a brass globe, and a genie’s oil lamp. But it’s the fact he had the skull at all, stolen from a murdered hunter that they knew, meant that he’d been involved with that horrific crime, like the previous references to Bela who traded in these artifacts (and had sold the hand of glory when she’d needed to destroy it to save her own life... I mean this was pretty heavy Bela parallels here), the owner turns the Dragon’s breath on them and pulls out a saber:

It’s called “Chrysaor.” Whether the one from Spenser’s “The Faerie Queene” that belonged to Sir Artegal, the Knight of Justice, and had supposedly been used by Zeus to battle the Titans, or to the offspring of Poseidon and Medusa and the brother of Pegasus, or whether it was a nod to Assassin’s Creed (I honestly think it’s the former and the latter is a bonus here...)

This reminded me SO MUCH of Gog and Magog and their Special Swords forged by a god, with the reference back to Zeus and the Titans here, AND to the actual circumstances around how Dean managed to kill them. Because Gog and Magog... just would not shut up. Dean even lampshades the fact this guy stood there with the sword over his head, raised above Sam sprawled on the ground the same way Cas was in 13.14:

But he talked long enough about Cas’s “beautiful death” that Dean was able to stab him from behind, just as he was able to shoot the store owner now, because he wouldn’t stop talking. Forged by a god, touched by God...

Then we see the store’s secret ledger:

I honestly don’t want to know what’s in the “genitalia jar.” But these entries are dated from 1956. How long has this shop been into this sort of shady business? At least as far back as the original MoL was operating in the US (they were annihilated in 1958 by Abaddon). And there’s even a reference to a “Men of Letters membership discussion” in the ledger:

Of interest on the next page is a lock of hair from a victim of HH Holmes (taking us back to 2.06), as well as trinkets associated with Vlad the Impaler and Napoleon, a “bag of sorrows,” and a “razor of the damned.” Among other items of interest.

But here’s the page with the magical pearl:

And nowhere in this book does it say the pearl “gives you what your heart desires.” It says, “a pearl that grants wishes.” So... where did Sam get that additional information? I find it fascinating how things that are written in books are interpreted in a much broader fashion by the reader-- first Dean with the book Billie gave him in 14.10, and now Sam with this entry in this ledger.

Because this has been happening a lot.

For example in the scene immediately prior to this, the kids outside are talking about the Winchesters when they actually drive up. Their conversation is really interesting:

Eliot: People say they’re brothers. All I know is I was standing right here when-- when I heard this BAM! from the trunk of their car. And then, this like, shallow breathing. Max: No way. Flower Shirt Girl: Eliot, you’re creeping Max out.

I have to assume this was when they still had Garth in the trunk of the car, and just :’). Eliot is making some assumptions, but he’s much more terrifyingly accurate than he probably could guess. And Max’s flippant comment in her next scene proves it:

Eliot: I mean think about it. Where do they even come from? Them or their weird sidekick with the trenchcoat. Or what about the kid with the dumb Bambi look on his face all the time? Max: So what, it doesn’t mean they kidnapped Bigfoot or whatever.

And they all laugh, and Eliot calls them dicks. :P

And all of this makes me think of how the show spent the early part of the season teaching us how to read between the lines, to fill in narrative gaps, and to parse the subtext to understand exactly what it was they were actively not showing us.

Like in the scene at the party house where the John Wayne Gacy clown appears, we don’t see Dean thrown by the clown (just as we didn’t see the other boy who was attacked escape from the clown), nor do we see Sam light the fire that burned the cigar box tethering the ghost. But it’s clear that Dean was thrown because we saw him land, and Sam obviously eventually got his lighter to work because there’s the evidence of the flames.

Also, did they bring that old pickup truck from the bunker? Because they should DEFINITELY drive that thing more often. :’)

And Eliot follows his instincts, wanting to know what’s up and witnesses the ghost going up in flames. And he knows what he saw, and doesn’t even question it. When Sam confirms it, he feels so validated. Just like us when we read the subtext and fill in the blanks.

I have no idea how I got here from rambling about finding the 300′s in the episode but here we are.

OH. Right! The Centurion Helmets!

The first we see was in the shop pictured above. We see it again at the Party House in the Establishing Shot inside, nestled in a box with Sarah Goode’s skull, which was the original Macguffin that led Sam and Dean to that pawn shop in the first place, which enabled them to find the pearl to even be able to make this wish at all:

And the second and third Centurions are on the wall of B&E Pizza:

(and the one on the other side of the menu board hasn’t been screencapped yet, but is much more clearly visible than this one because Cas lights it up:

Three Centurions. Each of whom commands a century, or a group of 100 soldiers. So I’m going to use the fact that the show is actively telling us to notice and read between the lines, and assume we’re seeing yet another 300.

Especially after Misha’s tweet joking about it: https://twitter.com/mishacollins/status/1093606706532282371

[tanmath3-blog]

Some authors are afraid to cross the line.

International Best-selling author Andrew Mackay makes it his starting point.

Multi-genre author Mackay is the author of the best-selling Brit satire series In Their Shoes. He is also responsible for keeping people up at night and questioning their sanity with his extreme horror series Pure Dark, and also writes crime (Versus, Let’s Kill Mr Pond) and romance (Simple Machines.)

Self-proclaimed “Antisocial Justice Warrior” Mackay is the founder of Chrome Valley Books – “The Home of Dangerous Fiction”. His works often contain a ruthless and shocking commentary on society, delving into the darker machinations of modern life, but always with a sense of humanity and wit.

His influences include John Cleese, Tom Sharpe, Kurt Vonnegut, James Patterson, Hunter S Thompson, Douglas Adams, Imogen Edwards-Jones, Michael Frayn, Chris Morris, Jerry Sadowitz, Christopher Hitchins, Bill Maher, George Carlin, Milo Yiannopoulos and Larry Cohen.

His obsessions include (and are essentially limited to) unhealthy amounts of: smoking, drugs, alcohol, caffeine, sex, arguing, fighting, vandalism, daydreaming and writing about himself in the third person.

I’ll stop writing about myself in the third person, now, because it’s annoying and pretentious.

Please help me welcome Andrew MacKay to Roadie Notes………

1. How old were you when you first wrote your first story?

I think I was eleven years old, as that was my first year in high school. Our English teacher gave us some homework. A half-finished story he’d written about a prince fighting a dragon. We had to finish it. I had never really contemplated writing seriously at the time, but I was a movie freak. I thought it could be my first proper attempt at writing something. I ended up filling out the exercise book (as they were back in the early nineties) and included a twist, a sex scene between the hero and a character I introduced, and filled it with gore and action. I loved writing it, exercising my overactive imagination, and it ignited a passion that my readers are continually hassled by to this very day lol

2. How many books have you written?

I’m about to finish my twelfth. It’ll be out just before Christmas. My first book was released October of 2016.

3. Anything you won’t write about?

God, no. I’ve tackled most subjects others daren’t touch. From pedophilia to class warfare and back again. I’ll have tackled every genre I can think of before very long.

4. Tell me about you. Age (if you don’t mind answering), married, kids, do you have another job etc…

I turned 39 two months ago. I’m married but don’t have children. I hate kids with a passion. Little, scary pre-adults with absolutely no filters. God, they’re annoying. They make fascinating subjects, though. I was a teacher for fifteen years till summer of 2016 and gradually grew to hate the job as much as the kids. There was no way I could continue. During the last year of that job, I spent most of my free time unhappy and wanting to kill myself. I knew I wanted to write, so, it was either kill myself or make a decent attempt at being a writer full-time.

I’m also a traveler, been all over the world. My wife is from South Korea, where I spent quite a bit of my time, now. I’m also a psychopath, which probably won’t come as much of a surprise to my readers or those who know me. It’s way more common than you think, actually. I believe upwards of 90% of everyone on the planet are psychopathic, or at the very least mildly sociopathic. Certainly everyone is out for themselves. A half lifetime of dealing with thousands of people in the teaching profession and filmmaking world teaches you this is true, and fair enough. Then again, this is something a fucking psychopath would say, isn’t it? It certainly makes sex all the more interesting in ways I can’t be bothered going into right now…

5. What’s your favorite book you have written?

The one I’m writing now, Simple Machines, even though it’s not quite finished. It’s a romantic thriller featuring some very interesting characters and dilemmas. My second favourite is probably In Their Shoes: The Dealer (Book VI) which is a mile-a-minute rollercoaster of action, suspense and deranged violence, and very satirical. It’s an epic and wild ride, and I amuse myself thinking about it from time to time.

6. Who or what inspired you to write?

My desire to murder people and cause serious harm to others for real is quelled by my writing. I get to kill fictional characters, rather than real people. I think my writing is my own prison time, really. I love it and can’t live without it. Deep down inside, much like you, probably, I fucking hate the world we live in. It’s full of injustice. Pointless wars. Corrupt governments. Insanely rich people getting even richer. The poor are left to fucking die. I spend a lot of my time laughing at the news, reconciling the fact that the world is indeed a fucked up place. I consider it my civic duty to write about the disastrous state of affairs in my books, almost to the point of trivialization. Because, after all, what’s the fucking point in anything, ever. Right?

7. What do you like to do for fun?

I’ve perfected the art of staring at women’s butts when I’m out shopping and making it look like I’m not doing it. I like plugging my earphones into my head and blasting music into my cranium at full volume whilst smoking myself to an early grave, dreaming up mad-ass scenarios for my books. Music is a big part of my life, because it adds a soundtrack to my fucked up thoughts. Often, they’ll translate as sequences in my books. Life is just one long, huge movie trailer in the world of Andrew Mackay. Sometimes it’s a scene where I dissolve a child molester in a bath of acid. Other times, it’s me in a threesome with another guy where we’re spit-roasting the shit out of an unsuspecting woman. Sometimes, it’s compassion. Slow-moving and heartfelt. Now that I think about it, a lot of my life is dictated by my penis. I’m glad I took part in this interview, it’s been therapeutic so far…

8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book?

On the last letter of the last word of the last sentence, I usually punch the key and spin around in my chair, like it’s the final blow to my opponent, and I’ve knocked the fucker out once and for all. Let’s say the last word in the sentence is “fuck” – the “K” will get a pounding ten times harder than the last girl I slept with.

9. Where do you write? Quiet or music? I write at home at my desk, which is also my media centre and where I masturbate. Sometimes I fall asleep on my desk. But my life is basically in the corner of a room on the seventh floor of an apartment block somewhere in Hampshire. It’s my life, really, and definitely as sad as it sounds. It’s not especially healthy, either. I smoke quite a lot, you see. And I drink occasionally. Lots of coffee, too.

I write to music – as I type. It’s often a four-hour YouTube video/mix of some description. There are some great horror ambience tracks for when I write horror. For Simple Machines, I’ve found a chill-out mix thing which features a remix “You’re Not Alone” by Olive, which has sort of become the book’s signature track, quite unintentionally. But it’s a perfect fit for the tone of the book, and would definitely by in the film adaptation.

10. Anything you would change about your writing?

No. Or, rather, yes – everything. Depends on what you mean by the question. Would I change the way I write? Hell, no. It’s what makes me, me. Do I want to evolve and get better? Yes, with every single book, please. I demand honest, no-BS feedback.

11. What is your dream? Famous writer?

I admire a lot of different authors, but I shan’t name any because none of them are as good as I am. That’s not me being arrogant, actually, quite the contrary. I write stories I want to read. I’ve not come across any other author who has written exactly what I want to read, except me. I many ways, I write my books for my own edification. If I want to read it, and like it, the chances are some other people will, too. Like Shakespeare said, “To Thyne Own Self be True”. Never, ever, write a book with the intention of pleasing anyone other than yourself, first and foremost.

12. Where do you live?

Mainly in my black-hole, perma-nightmare brain. Answer you want; Hampshire, UK.

13. Pets?

No. I love, love, love cats, though. My wife hates them. I used to have a cat years ago, but he died. I was heartbroken. I’d have another cat in a heartbeat. Maybe six of them. They’re gorgeous little bastards, aren’t they?

14. What’s your favorite thing about writing?

The bits in between I have planned. I’ll know what “A” is, and I need to get to “B”, but am relying on my ‘pantsing’ to get me there. It’s where the real genius comes into play, if you trust yourself enough. It’s happened twice this week already with Simple Machines. It’s great.

15. What is coming next for you?

Simple Machines is next. Jan, Feb, March will be a zombie horror trilogy which I think will put me on the map, properly.

16. Where do you get your ideas?

Mrs Doris McWhirter, a charming old woman who lives in a remote Scottish village. She sends me her ideas by post on the first Monday of every month, because she doesn’t know how to use emails. November’s ideas included Convenience and Simple Machines, which I thought were wonderful. December’s included the horror trilogy. I once asked her where she gets her ideas from, and she didn’t have a fucking clue.

You can connect with Andrew MacKay here:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Andrew-Mackay/e/B01MDKTJ2Y

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1289569681153945/

Some of Andrew MacKay’s books:

Getting personal with Andrew MacKay Some authors are afraid to cross the line. International Best-selling author Andrew Mackay makes it his starting point.

[leechangjoons]

Ew 2008 OC

Name: Ye Rende, Jerry 叶仁德 Shifter form: A purple dragon sporting golden, curved horns with a thick, onyx collar around its neck. The collar is encrusted with 12 amethysts- several are mere indents. Appearance: A lanky, pallid man with a very obvious side shave on the left side of his head, which reveals a huge and very gnarly scar that wraps around his head (trailing into parts where he does have hair). The remaining of Rende’s hair falls in a lazy, black mohawk-like mop on his right, and he usually wears a nook around his neck to catch his drool, which often heightens when he tries to talk or gets emotional. Rende is usually clad in a purple, tie-dyed shirt and long track pants, often leaning on a curved cane to move around. The other more unusual part of Rende is the heavy-looking pair of gauntlets he sports on each wrist (mirrored by his shifted form), with 6 amethysts on either gauntlet. It’s also visible that several of the gemstones are missing on both gauntlets. He primarily communicates via sign, being that he slurs very heavily and tends to drool a lot if he tries to speak. Personality: Rende is blunt and often scathing by nature, but he’s matured over the years of reflection he was forced to endure. While much less twisted than his past self, Rende is still mischievous and ridiculously self-centred despite himself, and he doesn’t take well to any form of criticism at all. Rende is also incredibly reckless, often tackling situations ruthlessly with no rest if it captures his interest. Once you earn Rende’s trust, however, he is an introspective, intelligent and highly protective individual, especially towards his mother- a self-made man who’s learnt a few lessons from his time in isolation. He’s an awful man who likes to see people squirm, whether in a good or bad manner, and enjoys being the center of attention for anything. History: The spoilt and callous bastard youngest son of the illustrious Ye family, Rende never quite stood out for his intelligence or benevolence- which made his name, meaning ‘kindness and virtue’ utterly ironic. After sexually assaulting a woman he couldn’t have, karma eventually caught up with Rende and he sustained horrific brain damage from a fall off the 3rd floor of a parking lot which caused a quarter of his brain to be removed- leading to constant seizures, his current inability to stop drooling as well as a lack of balance.

In his hospitalisation, Rende noticed how hard it was for his estranged mother to care for him and work at the same time, and for the first time, Rende began to question himself as a person and how he had led his life. Growing introspective about himself after a visit by his victim, Rende was perhaps a little horrified at how awful an individual he had been and sought to better himself in his time at hospital, once again hitting the books to teach himself business and finance to prepare himself for his eventual return to Gemini, his late grandfather’s business.

Though, as life would’ve had it, things got interesting with Rende. Forced into a contract by a higher being or be sent to hell for his past offences, Rende gained his gauntlets as well as powerful telekinetic abilities- but he had to learn to sacrifice his power to save others. For every amethyst he shed to revive another with no malice, Rende was shortening his own life to extend others’. By then, Rende was well enough to leave the hospital and recuperate at his mother’s- but he couldn’t orally eat or speak to others, which made opening himself up to such demands difficult.

For now, Rende works humbly at a regular 9-to-5 job in Gemini, helping out as much as his health would allow: while he had tried several odd jobs here and there, none quite seemed to fit him as much as Gemini had, and he accepts this lot in life without complaint. His social circle remains small on his insistence, being that it would be stressful for him to explain himself constantly about his gauntlets, and he really only has 2 friends- his day nurse, and a vicarious mechanic who had worked out with him at physiotherapy.

What Rende remains clueless of is that for every amethyst he shed, he was actually gaining immortality at the end of things- the contract was offered by a curious Junjie, the Traveller having followed Rende’s redemption arc and needing someone to fill the position of a Past Reaper for him. After all, who would fit that role than someone who had to take a long, deep look into their own dark past before deciding to rectify it? Abilities: Rende is an incredibly powerful telekinetic, having the equivalent of super strength in them due to the amethysts amplifying this power- for every amethyst lost, however, his powers diminish. He rarely uses his powers publicly or for combat however, mostly for day-to-day tasks that he can’t complete (like getting a can of juice off a high shelf or unlocking the cellar so that he can get to liquor).

For now, with six of twelve left, he is still able to turn another’s brain to putty with just eye contact and hurl a person quite a distance without making physical contact. Rende is also one of the rare shifters that is not only willing and capable to kill, but also would be allowed to get away with it being a Traveller’s apprentice (since his job is to cast judgment). While he could by right telepathically speak to others, he refuses to use this and strongly prefers to sign.

Overexerting himself with his abilities, however, leads to painful seizures, being that his telekinesis taps into the missing portions of his brain. He’s often plagued with side effects if he focuses too hard on his abilities, ranging from mild dizziness to throwing up. Rende is incredibly careful with this, as a result, having lost a previous job from having a seizure that put him out of commission for several weeks.

Rende’s left gauntlet also acts as an occasional time machine, being that his test is to decide who deserves to live and cast judgment. He has no control of this ability, however, and is often pulled backwards in time or tossed across timelines on Junjie’s whims. The gauntlets themselves are generally indestructible as well as permanently grafted onto Rende himself- attempts to remove the amethysts if you’re not him or steal them causes him excruciating pain.

Alignment: Lawful Evil 
Immortal?: ‘Immortal’
 Other: Rende has a feeding tube on his belly due to being unable to swallow properly. It’s an understatement to say he hates it, though he often feeds himself in public to the often negative reactions to the public. Also he was totally a rip off the 双子星 character, bye