#me: says I’ll make art of soleil and takes two months to do it

[cuteniaarts]

Me: *wants to make fanart of @silima’s OC*

Also me: *takes like two months to do it*

Anyways, here’s precious Soleil going full moth upon seeing bright lights, bc it’s my absolute favourite thing about her <3

[averyscarlet-blog]

Project Clypse

Hello there stranger! If you don’t know who I am, or you’re too lazy to read my name, I’m AveryScarlet! You can simply call me Avery or Av. And if you know me on fanfiction.net, mostly through my works Mercury Alchemist or Final Fantasy Versus XV, welcome! Now, for a while now, I’ve been wanting to write up my own original story. Issue with me, thanks to college in the past, I haven’t properly developed the mindset to write a full-blown novel. I’ve gotten so used to typing up a chapter or two in a month before publishing them that I can’t properly focus as an actual writer should.

As much as I want to focus on writing some of my fanfiction, I can’t because I’m focusing on studying for NCLEX. So if you’re waiting for the next chapter for FF Versus XV... It’s almost done! It’s just gonna take a while. But as you can see below, I’ve been working on something else. I’m sure you’re confused as to who these characters are in the chat and why I’m pushing so many out. Well. I’ll tell you. This is my way of practicing for a story I’ve been... REALLY wanting to write for a long time. It doesn’t have a definite name, so I’m calling it Project Clypse. Which partially comes from the group my main characters are in. 

Now, I thought of writing up their character bio’s but..... I’m not really that good at it as I used to be. I used to for when I was active in RP’s but I’m so rusty that I doubt I can keep up with whomever I’m chatting with. So, I’m just summarizing certain details you need to know about them! Not all of it because that'd be spoiling the story of every character. Now, with all that’s said and done, let me start explaining key points of Project Clypse.

Premise/Background

The story is centered on a world called Avarus, which you can say is sort of like Earth, except it was made with someone else's version of life. Or, it used to be. Avarus is one of the few remaining worlds that has an active patron God, who has chosen to go under the alias Belial. The world was originally created and governed by another, Belial’s younger sister, Soleil. After Avarus’ creation, and the birth of man, she was killed by an unknown assailant. But before she died, she was cursed to experience an endless cycle of death and rebirth into various random worlds. She will live a short mortal life, then die from either natural or unnatural causes.

According to Belial, this curse is bestowed only to Celetials who have performed a dire sin. While there is no definite way to lift the curse, Belial hopes that by locating and retrieving her while she's still alive, or at the very least obtain her soul, then he could find the proper means to spare his sister of her cursed fate and return Avarus's true patron Goddess. Because of her demise, life on the planet started to decay. To prevent its destruction, Belial forced the planet to stop rotating, hoping to delay it long enough for him to find Soleil.

However, there were dire consequences to this act. His actions indirectly causing the world to cease rotating; time became non-existent as a result. This, inevitably, killed off most of the remaining life in the world due to the imbalance of the ecosystem as one half of the planet became stuck in perpetual darkness, and the other being dried up caused prolonged exposure to the sun's light.

The only life that Belial was able to salvage was her sisters creation; humanity. Those that survived after the planet ceased its rotation found themselves unable to age. They can still die, but their bodies will no longer decay. During the first Century since Soleil’s death, the God went through various countermeasures to keep the world and the life still inhabits it safe until he can find his sister.

However, a strange plague began to manifest. Soon, it began to devour most of the remaining populace, creating a dark entity in the process; the Astrals (will explain in a different section). 

While Belial was successful in wiping out the infected, the God realized that he cannot keep the last remnants of humanity safe. Not while there are still Astrals lurking about. So he put them to sleep, sealed them in a place that only he knows. However, because of the sudden absence of time and life, the world began to deconstruct itself each time he departed in search for her in other worlds. Realizing he cannot manage Avarus and search for his sister at the same time, he found an alternative. Since his conception, he had noticed a peculiar type of living being popping up now and then in a variety of sentient species. So he sought them out. 

Eventually, gathered enough to temporarily replace humanity and trick the world itself into thinking life still exists. At first, he gathered adults since he knew nothing can grow in Avarus once they’ve lived in the world for a certain period of time, but because of their attachments to the worlds they originated from, it was difficult to convince them to remain. Then he thought up of another solution, one which he knew his sister would frown upon. Children. With their young minds, they’ll easily forget their place of origin and can be easily trained in the necessary skill in traversing through different worlds. And, after learning that the Astrals have branched out to those said worlds, learn how to handle their sudden enemy. 

Their goal is simple; to locate and, if possible, retrieve Soleil and eradicate the Astrals.

Main Characters

Note: Just in case you did not know... I. Cannot. Draw. As much as it pains me to do this, but I need you guys to have some sort of idea on how they look like. I cannot find the original artists of the artworks; mostly because google imaging is shit and Pinterest tends to... Send you elsewhere. So of you know the artist, please PM me so I can give them credit. If you know they don't want their works republished, I'll remove it and try to figure something out. I take no credit whatsoever on the art! I merely scoured the internet for any references I could use. If you're wondering why I'm not.using actual people... You know how awkward that is?

Anyway, much of these are concepts so expect changes in the future. I tried to discuss as little as possible about each character. And let me tell ya.... That was a lot I had to cut off, so if the explanation is a bit messy, that was from me trying to select what to remove to avoid revealing too much.

. . .

Sound

‘I have to be better. I have to be a better leader. I have to be a better lover. I have to be a better sibling. If I don’t... then I’ll lose everything again. If I must, I’ll sacrifice my identity for a third time if it means protecting them.’

Credits to: T0Q00(?) - Okay, on Pinterest it has the person’s name AND link to their twitter account. The thing is... it’s empty. Their entire page is empty. At least I found the artist’s name?

Also known as the Glutton King, Sound is one of the leaders of his faction, Tunera Clypse and a member of Mythral. He is a first generation Nors. While not as lazy as Noise, he’s not really a fan of getting involved in fights with people. When it comes to killing Astrals; that’s an entirely different story.  

Outwardly, he displays laid back, playful, and very concerning outlandish behavior. And by outlandish, I mean his... eating habits. Sound likes to experiment with his stomach. He’ll do absolutely ANYTHING to eat whatever he deems as edible. He also - absolutely - lacks any sense of shame (ex. walking out of the shower and to his room without a towel, slapping Noise’s butt). Although limited to communicate via writing, he makes sure that every single thing he writes is worth reading. Many are even surprised at just how fast he writes his messages. Then again, after years of practice, it’s expected he’d adapt.

Sound is self-aware of the fact that he’s a fictional character and will randomly break the fourth wall, causing much confusion to his friends several times. While not as dark as his previous self, Fell, he maintains some of his views towards life and tends to be as vocal - via writing - of his previous self's beliefs.

As a Cursed Blood, his curse forces him to conceal his face behind a customized Fox Mask. Depending on the amount of facial skin that was exposed, a person can live up to several minutes to several hours before inflicted with sudden death. If a person were to see the entirety of his face, they will die on the spot from unknown causes. He has a Physical Curse as well, which causes him to inflict a certain degree bad-luck to whoever hears his voice. While it’s rarely anything life-threatening, Sound is forced to become selectively mute. Although he tries his best to remain silent, he tends to accidentally let it a few words or sounds slip. Which usually occurs when he sneezes, and when he does, it is immediately advised by his friends to duck and cover.

After undergoing the Ascension Ceremony, he joined the faction Tunera Clypse and then gave up his original name, becoming the next Sound. Unbeknownst to him, his actions later in life has caused him to unknowingly become the Vessel of Gluttony. It is unknown if his eating habits is the reason he became the vessel or it’s the other way around. Either way, he has shown to be fully capable of controlling the abilities that comes with being a Vessel. Sound merely chooses not to use them.

. . .

Ayane Koronashi

“If my brother had left the orphanage that day without me, I would simply smile. If Ulric presented me his latest girlfriend, I’d smile. Smiling is all I can ever do without being a nuisance. I could never show them my pain. I want to cry but my curse renders me incapable of doing so. But now it’s better. I’m better.”

Also known as the Black Fox. Ayane is the younger twin sister of Sound. Like her twin, she is also a member of Tunera Clypse and Mythral; as well as a first generation Nors. Despite being an active member, unless accompanied by her brother, Ayane is rarely allowed to participate in any scouting or combat-related missions. The main reason for this is her curse. While also a Cursed Blood like her brother and some of their friends, the unnatural causes that led to sudden conversion to a cursed blood caused her condition to be unstable. At the beginning, she was unable to retain her original form and would take the shape of a fox.

After some time and practice, she has learned to maintain most of her former human appearance, leaving only a pair of fox ears to replace her human ears and a tail (not by choice) as an extra ligament. Not only that, some of her internal organs remain similar to that of a fox. Because of this, she is unable to eat certain foods that are potentially poisonous to her (or generally unhealthy). She was told that eventually, if nothing is done, she will permanently take the complete form of a fox. She cannot surgically remove the fox parts as they will simply grow back.

Side-note: No, they did not try or plan to remove her fox ears. The curse replaced her human ears so they cannot remove them without indirectly making her deaf.

Her personality is the somewhat similar to Sound’s, but is far more excitable and outgoing than her brother. Just like a fox, she is clever and witty, which she demonstrates many times during combat. She has a tendencyto steal things without her knowledge. While this isn’t necessarily kleptomania, as objects appear in her hands at random, she still tries get over her childhood habit. She does have a tendency to be reckless, though this is stems from her need to be useful as her curse leaves her unable to perform all of the necessary abilities that is required of a Nors.

Another thing to know is her intense hatred towards cats. Which will be explored at a later time.

As a Cursed Blood, she can take the form of a fox. While the size varies, depending on her emotional state, she is commonly seen to change into the size similar to an elephant. If she performs multiple transformations, she will regress to a regular sized fox and sleep for an extensive period of time. She has been recommended to avoid constantly rely on her full fox form as it will hasten the progression of her curse.

After undergoing the Ascension Ceremony, she followed her brother and joined the same faction as him, but unlike him, did not join as a core member so she did not have to give up her original name. Because of the current state of her body caused by her Cursed Blood, her emotions has unknowingly lead her to become thenext Vessel of Envy.

. . .

Reihana Toelle Ur Kamaria

“Why was I born like this... what did I deserve to be cursed like this!? All I want is to hold someone without fearing I’ll crush them. I can’t be the receiver forever!”

Or Rei for short. Is a member of Mythral and is a second generation Nors. As a floater, Rei rotates between the three factions, but she usually works with Tunera Clypse. Known for her terrifying brute strength, Rei is feared by many and is challenged on a near daily basis. Because of her strength and seemingly indestructible nature, she is (much to her annoyance) sometimes used as a human shield. While she is able to take on an army by herself, Rei tries not to go all out in fear of accidentally killing her allies in the crossfire. In terms of mental maturity, aside from Xavier, she is slightly more competent and is level-headed enough to not participate in childish activities. Most of the time.

Rei prefers to ‘punch first, talk later’ when confronted, though the talking never happens as her opponents is either obliterated or immediately knocked out after one hit. While she can be aggressive at times, she merely acts out on this person's due to the rumors that were spread when word of her curse began to circulate. Those closest to her have witnessed her carefree and adventurous nature. She is also cautious and careful of her surroundings, becoming more thoughtful in the usage of her strength as a result.

As much as she loves the thrill and adrenaline that comes from combat, she prefers not to fight too often. Mostly because it usually leads to unnecessary mass destruction. She craves for proper physical contact, but due to her curse, she forces herself to avoid it as much as possible.

Being the physically oldest, next to Percy, she tends to act like the big sister of the group, which Rei has admitted she finds embarrassing. Still, she works hard in trying to act as moral support for her friends. That doesn’t stop her from losing her temper when a certain line is crossed.

As a Cursed Blood, she is cursed with immeasurable strength. Her strength doubles based on who or whatever is the strongest in a world that she sets foot in. That, of course, excludes Celestial’s as the strength of the divinity is almost non-existent. By default, back in Avarus, her usual strength is enough to crumble an entire building. In other worlds, it depends. To help control and regulate her strength during combat, she uses a large amount of Astral Dust to create form-fitting gauntlets around her lower arm. She was meant to become the Vessel of Wrath but was instead changed to be the candidate for the Vessel of Pride.

. . .

Perseus Vlahos

"I used to believe that being a hero will allow you to cement your place in history. But over time, I learned that the farther in time your name is shared in time, you become nothing more than a mere legend. Or worse, a myth. Stories can be altered, changed. If that’s the case, I’d rather not be remembered at all. I didn’t work this hard just to be written off as a bedtime story.” 

Christened under the name ‘Percy the Naive’ by his best friend, later life-long rival, Wilhelm, he is the current wielder of the legendary sword; Excalibur, and member of Infernum Poncitator. Grandson of Rayner, Percy is one of the few third generation Nors in Avarus. He is a kind young man and is respected amongst his peers (well, most of them) and superiors, so much so that he has been offered the position of leader of the faction. Percy refuses as not only deems himself unworthy, but out of respect for those that have lived in Avarus longer.

He displays many the ideal traits of a knight, eventually becoming viewed as an ideal knight by others. However, deep down, Percy perceives himself as the opposite. He feels he is a dishonorable fraud and is not proud of his status as Excalibur's chosen wielder. If he was given a chance to do it over again, Percy would immediately abandon his decision never search and locate the sword.

After joining Avarus, in a short span of time, Percy was able to easily establish himself as a sort of leader figure within his faction. While serious most of the time, especially during missions, due to his time with other Nors, has displayed a degree of patience and tolerance towards whoever he is assigned. Still, he never forgets their main objective and takes charge if he deems the assigned leader incompetent. Which happens more times than he refuses to count. He tries to maintain a cool head, but will severely reprimand others if the situation calls for it.

Proficient in the ways of the sword, he garnered the attention of (the then Mongrel) Mitchell. He was very reluctant in taking in a squire. But eventually, Percy relented after the younger boy attempted to fight against an Astral and nearly lost his life. He plans to one day pass down Excalibur to Mitchell once he gains the strength to surpass Percy.

At the moment, Percy is the current Vessel of Wrath.

. . .

Noise (***** Rallus)

“I tried all of my life to give my dad a reason why he shouldn't be treating his body the way he did. I tried all of my life to keep my friend in line so I'd never have to be the one to discipline him. And yet... If only I didn't try so hard, they'd still be alive.”

Author’s Note: Yeah I... legit do not know who this belongs to. There’s the artist’s signature so that’s the good thing. Problem is....

After escaping from the confines of his original world, Eingesperrt City, and, with the help Sound, joined Avarus and assumed the title of Noise. Unlike others that were gathered in the past, Noise is a regular human being. Something only Sound knows. Regardless of the danger, he became one of the leaders for Tunera Clypse, later joining Mythral after adapting to his new lifestyle.

He wears one of the Artifacts in order to copy and use only one ability of his choosing. As long as a piece of original user is within the Artifact, Noise can use it for as long as he wants. However, if its been removed and replaced with something else, the previous copied ability cannot be used ever again.

Since his recruitment, Noise adopted an extremely lazy personality. He’s so lazy that somehow even snoring consumes too much energy. To make sure he’s awake most of the time, Sound forced Noise to set up a sleep schedule, so that when he’s ready, he has enough energy to do SOMETHING. However, no matter where he is, he’ll take every opportunity to take a nap. He doesn’t care. As long as he gets to close his eyes, Noise is fine to sleep wherever, even if it involves napping righ at the edge of a volcano.

He’ll get annoyed if anyone that dares try to wake him up and he’ll be in a fowl mood for the rest of the day. The only exception is the fox girl and his lover. Despite this, he displays a certain degree of kindness. It’s just really hard to tell if what he’s doing is truly an act of kindness or he’s just too lazy to do things such as delivering a ‘motivational speech’. He can be blunt when he has to be, and he tends to come off as a jackass rude because of his personality. However, this is his way of showing he cares. Noise will flat out tell you if he dislikes you.

Another thing to know about him is his crude sense of humor. Combined with his blunt and rude nature towards people, mostly acquaintances and strangers, it always leads to various... Misunderstandings. Worst case scenario? A fight. He'd improve if he could, but he won't.

Look, if you haven't figure out that he's lazy after reading all this, gooood luck.

For reasons unknown, despite becoming the next Vessel of Sloth, it remains dormant within him. They thought of extracting it to learn the causes that led up to its current dormant state, but Sound intervened in time as he knew that extracting it by force will kill the the vessel.

. . .

Michael/Raphael/Gabriel/Uriel/Saraqael/Raguel/Remiel/etc

‘Dragons are raised under the false pretense that they are the supreme species above all others. But that merely obscures the truth; the truth that we’re just as vulnerable as anyone else. There are various ways to kill aside from piercing our hearts with a spear.”

Author’s Note: Just so you know, HE’S BLONDE and has green eyes! This was the only option I have that closely resembles how I envisioned him! There was another because he gives off the same atmosphere when you look at him but... he’s from an otome game. And I only learned that recently so, if the same goes for this one? WELP. Oh and he has patches of dark brown scales on part of his skin.

Neither a Quietus Nors nor a resident of Avarus, Michael is a dragon. His version of his race if capable of transformation, but can only change into the form of the last creature they devoured. Whole. Rather than his true form, in order to remain working in Avarus, chose to work in the form of the former Prince of Edrakon, a world where dragons were enslaved and cruelly treated as mere objects. Despite his appearance not being his own, he maintains an intimidating and powerful aura, which is easily distinguishable even within a large crowd.

Due to the high esteem he holds towards his race and his pride as a Dragon, he can come off as domineering, even becoming critical towards other versions of his race if he finds something illogical or nonsensical in their appearance and their abilities. While he does act this way, he finds it absolutely disgusting to find dragons place themselves in a position of power and abuses their power in controlling another species. Another aspect of him is that he looks down on dragons with physical defects, which is mostly directly aimed as himself due to his extremely poor eyesight. Thus, forcing him to rely on his human form to watch glasses. He also has a very confusing naming system; where he changes his name based on the date, time and temperature.

Micheal held the potential required to become a Nors, but because of his age, he was unable to undergo the necessary steps to fully integrate into Avarus. While others are reluctant to have him join their ranks, several others, for different reasons, allowed him to remain. This eventually allowed others to accept his addition to the organization. 

As the one in charge of organizing and handling most of Avarus’ internal affairs, a job the Nors, even the Ex-Anima/Animus, are reluctant in taking up such an important position; he takes his job very seriously. Although he does express some contempt towards humans, this does not extend to the people he works with. He cares about them to a certain degree, which is shown by he constantly reprimands whoever acts risky during a mission.

He is the current Vessel of Pride, something he only learns of later on. Despite the fact Micheal is a vessel, Belial believes this is only temporary. He isn’t particularly close with Belial, but he respects the God enough to follow his orders.

. . .

Ulric Soknawo

'In my tribe, I was considered an outcast. You can thank the unnatural union that birthed me. Now? It hasn’t changed much, but at least I’m no longer considered the runt of the pack.’

Whose other name is Kuckunniwi, is a former member of the Aniwaya Tribe. In their world, his people are Natives who worshipped a guardian Wolf Spirit. According to them, in return for their unyielding loyalty and devoted nature, it granted the people with the power to take the form of the spirit they have worshipped for many generations. So long as they use that power to protect the forest, it shall provide them protection. Ulric is the third, second youngest, illegitamate son of the Tribal chief Tamaska and grandson of Wolfram.

As per tradition, all tribesmen are given two names, one for their human form while the other is for their inner wolf. Despite being allowed to use either name like others of his tribe, he refuses to be use his wolf name due to the meaning behind it. After being discovered by Ayane, she brought and recruited him to Avarus. Ulric is considered to be a Third Generation Nors due the fact his father was (oddly) not born a Nors, or had to potential to be converted into one.

Ulric tends to act like the stereotypical lone-wolf, choosing to remain in solitude and observe from a distance. He likes to spend his quiet time alone, though he does allow others to sit next to him when asked. Many have pointed out that he never smiles, but, as much as he hates to quote Noise, states that if there is no reason to smile, there is no reason to put so much effort in abusing his facial muscles.

As much as he loves being a wolf, he finds certain aspects of his second nature to be... aggravating. Depending on the season and the weather, it deals a the effects his wolf instincts on his human nature. Because of the two separate natures continually clashing, he tends to act irritable and his temper worsens, especially during the night. Ulric holds a strong belief that one’s nature, regardless of your race, should never control a one's personal feelings.

He holds an unyielding loyalty to his loved ones, almost to the point of willing to kill for them if the situation calls for it, but his actions are subtle and tends to be the exact opposite of how he truly feels. Only two people in his life have been able to decipher his behavior, and he cherishes them for it. Ulric has a bit of a temper as well but is able to keep it in check. His temper, however, is what led him to becoming a Cursed Blood. His curse forces him to foresee the deaths of whomever he romantically falls in love (or at least feel an interest) with.

Any attempts at interfering will only hasten their death.

. . .

Xavier Wozwald Hawthorne

'Murderers are dumbasses, always killing because of their unchecked emotions and pented up desires. Hence why most of them clumsily try to hide their crime. Serial killers are more... sofisticated with their craft, but their ego always gets in the way. If they weren’t complete dumbasses, they would have lived a long comfortable life. I should know.’

Note: Yes, this is obviously Vflower. Did I know that before? No. Do I plan to change the art reference? Yes, but only when I find one that’s not a god dang real-life person’s online avatar. XD Seriously, each time I thought I found one... it’s an utaite or vtuber.

Is a member of Mythral and a First Generation Nors. Like Rei, he is a Floater, which allows him to particiate in mission for all three factions. However, he prefers to work with those in Tunera Clypse as, since they mostly handle scouting and recruiting missions. As long as he doesn’t remain in Avarus for too long, he's fine with accepting any mission related to Tunera. Xavier will still accept missions from other factions, but that's merely to fill up his quota.

Despite appearing around the age 12-14; which was not by choice, Xavier is in fact mentally older than most of his fellow Nors. Known for his sharp tongue, Xavier is one of the few known Nors to have been granted permission to travel outworld immediately after undergoing the Ascenscion Ceremony.

Due to the experiences his past life went through, Xavier has a very grim outlook of the world and displays little to no respect towards authority figures. And that includes his current patron God; Belial, which only worsens after being told by the God that he is unable to help Xavier grow into the appropriate intended size. Unlike most Nors, he displays a high degree of critical thinking and intelligent. He is, if not more, level-headed than one of his friends; Percy. Though that doesn’t stop the teasing. While confident in his abilities in terms of combat, Xavier knows the limits of his current smaller body.

In order to compensate, he creates an excessively large scythe as compensation, but he's too proud to admit this.

Because of his level of maturity, he has been labeled as a 'Midget Grandpa'. Which he fails at trying to prove otherwise by collecting certain tthings that are considered out of date by their standards. Eventually, it became a soft of hobby for him to collect such things.

Xavier tends to display a sadistic nature while in combat, choosing to taunt his opponent by constantly pointing our their obvious flaws deficits and toy with them until the last minute. Most times, he will use his child-like appearance to his advantage to further torment his opponent/victim. Comically enough, if his opponent is a cold-blooded criminal, Xavier will compliment and , depending on their actions, congratulate them; much to the annoyance of those involved.

Like Sound, he has both a Physical and Blood-based Curse, but unlike  the latter, Xavier was born with both. His Physical Curse has caused severe permanent scarring on his right arm, making it appear similar to third degree burns. If freed from any type of coverage, such as bandages, his arm will painfully be set a blazed, forcing him to conceal his arm at all times. As a Cursed Blood, Xavier has a similar effect of a Siren, except his hypnotic singing forces someone to commit suicide. Every time he uses this curse, he temporarily falls into a coma.

. . .

Succu(bus) Kilmer

Like her name suggests, Succu is a succubus, but belongs to a different version of her species. Due to being a demon, she is forbidden to reveal her true name. Succu is neither a Nors nor a Cursed Blood. She’s more of an illegal immigrant after sneaking her way into a group of Nors when they were scouting for potential recruits. There have been many attempts in trying to relocate her back to her original world, but she is able to seduce her attackers and slip away. Eventually, Belial declared that she will be allowed to remain as a resident, so long as she contributes in their mission to locate Soleil.

While they do seduce those of the opposite sex, her source of food is not as grotesque as several others. She does seduce her victim, but moves her body in a way that her victims find alluring. Succu will then massage certain parts of their body as a means to relax them. To assure that they will not attempt to escape, she will release pheremones that nulls the victims senses. What she devours isn’t the flesh of her victim nor does she devour their soul, she merely devours the emotions she was able to invoke until her hunger is quenched.

Succu is flirtaceous and very... very.... VERY- Well, you get the point. While she doesn’t flaunt her beauty, she does know how to use it to her advantage. However, despite many approaching her, Succu has only eyes for one, and is willing to wait as long as possible for that person to reciprocate her feelings. Succu, although assertive and open with her feelings, is not the type to force them onto someone.

She does like to express herself by getting physical - very physical. Not the way that you’re thinking, you perverts. She finds it more convenient to allow her actions to talk rather than saying things verbally. Since she’s an outsider, she notices several things that not even Pery or Ulric have noticed, and both are outsiders as well considering the fact they grew up outworld before being recruited. Regardless, she remains silent for the sake of remaining by her beloved’s side.

Succu is often mistaken as the Vessel of Lust due to her nature, and, on her part, finds it’s tiresome to prove that she is not.

Side Characters

Tank Mortem

A former member of Tunera Clypse and Mythral, Tank has been assigned to act as one of the engineers in maintaining the Infernian Generator due to his body’s condition and the issues of his mental state. He seldom participates in missions but, despite being given strict orders not to, joins in anyway. Due to the limits of his mental capacity, Tank has difficulty interacting with others. Quite literally.

Beatrix Staccato

Is a researcher and inventor in charge of the tools and weaponry utilized by most Nors and Ex-Animus. Having taken over most of the unfinished projects since the passing of his master, Beatrix has dedicated all of his time in improving the welfare of the world and its inhabitants. However, most of his experiments tend to be a bit... over the top. If he’s not thinking of new potential products that may benefits the Nors, he’ll make whatever comes at the top of his head, and most of the time it’ll lead him to make the most outrageous and unnecessary items. Beatrix prefers to remain in his lab/home at all times, rendering his social interactions with the three factions to be limited via holographic meetings.

‘Nyx’ Pierrot

Leader of Vanidicus Persona, she is one of the oldest Nors - next to Constantine - making her the default leader of her faction. Much about her is a mystery. Even her behavior can be viewed as... questionable. Not outlandish, that’s Sound’s department. Her behavior is so odd that it’s enough to baffle even Belial. She takes her leadership over her faction very seriously, however, as part of her nature, the requirements in joining and maintaining your membership vastly deviates from the original. However, looks can be deceiving. Aside from her seniority, there is a reason why she was given the position of leader.

Mitchell Pierrot

He prefers to be called as ‘Mitch’ after being told, and proven, by his sister how much of a tongue twister his name is if repeated constantly in a single conversation. While he is the younger brother of Nyx, Mitch opted to become a submember of Tunera Clypse upon undergoing the Ascension Ceremony to be in the same faction as his mentor, Perseus Vlahos. Compared to the Nors in his batch, he is viewed as weak by many as he is unable to perform the abilities that is expected of him to develop after becoming a Nors.

Constantine L. Refrain

Nothing is truly known about him except that he’s a chronic smoker. Nobody truly knows who he is, no one even knows which faction he belongs to. It’s nearly impossible to question these things as he is constantly surrounded by a shroud of - barely tolerable - smoke. All that is known is that he’s been around longer than most of the Ex-Animus. Constantine usually frequints the Silent Siren Bar, staying there for hours until he’s either drunk or needs to receive another pack of cigarretes from Beatrix. He says they’re for medicinal purposes buuuuut...

I’m pretty sure black smoke isn’t normal.

Stefan Mal Sorcier

Is Percy’s second pupil. Although, it was more like Percy was forced into taking in another after his continual refusal to become leader of Infernum Poncitator. Outwardly, he is aloof and always appears smiling, which unsettles Mitchell even when they’re alone. His politeness is found unusual by many and causes others to feel wary around him. Even the dragon finds himself is unable to remain in the same vicinity as the young man. Despite being full of many secrets, Percy accepts him as is and tries his best to teach him all he can, which Stefan appreciates.

Kyline Necro

Considered as the mascot ambassador of Avarus, like the soul that was fused with her upon birth, she mostly lounges around and has little participation in any missions in and out of Avarus. This has caused her to be disliked by many, most especially Ayane. The only person Kyline has gotten close to is Noise; mostly because they share the same favored sleeping spot. On a side, she acts a physician, or surgeon if you like to get technical. She has a strange fondness of picking apart and replacing specific limbs with doll parts.

Yu-Yan Chi Ryou

Was once one of the strongest Nors from Xavier’s batch until he was inflicted by an unknown disease during one of his missions. While there is no name for the disease, it has caused much of his bones to undergo crystallization; rendering him immobile due to the pain that comes from even the smallest of movements. Since he is incapable in participating in any activities, Yu-Yan has since been forced to be confined to a wheel chair for the rest of his life.

Anita Eine Kleine

Is the fighting instructor of the Mongrels and a member of Infernum Poncitator. Anita is a highly-skilled caster, able to conjure and manipulate various elements. She absolutely hates the term ‘witch’, even going as far as to cast a minor curse in making a person temporarily mute if they refer to her as one. Which Sound found rather offensive when he found out about the curse, something she deeply apologized for. She participates in some Scouting Missions but only if personally requested by someone from Tunera Clypse.

Victor Stein

Is Beatrix’s (only living) research assistant. He is the sole survivor of the Night of the Black Moon. Although having physically recovered, the damage to his mental state has left a deep scar on his psyche. He fears yet obsesses over the sensation of pain. There is not one instance where he isn’t found sowing over his own intact skin. While Victor knows his addiction found uncomfortable by others, he finds it extremely difficult to control his urges.

Wolfram

Grandfather of Ulric and most of his siblings, he is an Ex-Anima (or retired Nors) and a former member of the original Mythral. As the more experienced and one of the longest surviving resident of Avarus, he acts as a mentor to those who seek his guidance. However, in terms of combat, his skills are very limited as he has become permanently stuck in his wolf form. The only grandchildren he's ever personally met are Ulric and Seeing, who have both ironically became his favorite. While acting as a mentor, he is rather strict, constantly parting lessons in order to make sure none make the same mistakes he committed when he was younger, many of which he refuses to share.

Diantha Anemone

Despite being still a Liberi, Dia still participates in many activities meant to be done only by Nors. She originally wanted to become a part of Tunera Clypse due to the many adventures imparted by Sound. But after having a first hand experience in one, it traumatized her to the point where she wants to merely work as a Librarian, a position many people avoid.

Echo & Yell

Fellow teammates of Sound and Noise. As part of the four heads leaders that overwatch many of Tunera Clypse's activities, both in and out of Avarus. They mostly take charge of delegating the members while the other two take an active role in leading many scouting missions off-world. Contradicting her name, like Sound and Noise, her personality is the completely opposite. Due to her sociophobia, she is extremely shy and is unable to speak when talked to, only whispering her sentences as she talks. Yell, however, is the only one whose personality fits the mantle she inherited. Due to her curse, she has to raise her voice after every two hours. If not, she will fall into a coma, and she can only be awaken by *************.

Important Figures

Belial

Credits to: @airtrees0507 (Again, another artist who... disappeared from the internet. How do I keep finding refrences where the artist is just gone?)

Is a Celestial and the younger brother of Soleil. However, despite his godly status, he does not have any of the expected gifts. Neither a god of creation, life, or death, he has been given the title God of Void by his peers. Because of this, he is incapable of maintaining Avarus by himself, forcing him to use alternative (and questionable) means in preserving the world his sister created. Like his title, Belial is unable to express emotions, giving blank demeanor. He does, however, hold some semblence of emotions within him. Yet despite this, he has little to no understanding of life, death and emotions. Even after centuries since he over his sister’s role as Patron God, he still has no understanding to all living things, almost to the point of coming off as insensitive and heartless.

Belial has a deep devotion to his sister, having gone through great lengths to make sure to maintain her world and willingly sacrifice the lives of many. Despite knowing her distaste towards such acts, he holds onto the hope of one day finding her.

Soleil

Credits: Um... Lucare Eu??? Sorry, I’m just basing it off the signature. Once again, can’t find the artist themself so...

The true patron goddess of Avarus and the older sister of Belial. Aside from her status as the original creator and caretaker of her world and the life that once flourished within it, not much is known about her. While her exact cause of death is unknown, she was cursed to live an endless cycle of death and rebirth in various worlds. In order to restore the world she created and loved dearly, Belial dedicated his life in searching for her soul and freeing her of her curse. As a Celestial, she was said to have chosen to take the form of her first ever creation and first mortal friend. 

It is said that, despite having blessed with the gift of creation, she was known to be a lonely goddess. Those that new her describe as someone that’s physically there but is spiritually detached.

The Oracle

Is a title given to those with the ability to commune and guide the spirits to the Empyrean Plain, more specifically Avarus’ residences due to the absence of Soleil. The Oracle acts as the divine anchor on the world to aid Belial in prolonging the world’s existence. They are also the main source of Belial’s divine power; both of which are maintained through her prayers. The gender and species of the Oracle is non-specific, but it if preferred by Belial if they are humanoid and have the ability of speech for the sake of communication.

The current Oracle is Aniela Fischl, who, unlike her predecessors, is able to foresee various futures. She does so by carefully peeking through the leylines and selects various possibilities that solely benefit Avarus. No one is allowed to meet her except Belial and her assigned Seekers.

The Seekers

The guardians, caretaker, and acting medians between the Oracle and the residents of Avarus. Their duty is to ensure that the chosen Oracle remains within the Spiral Tower and that he/she fulfills their duty, even going as far as to grant their wish regardless of the consequenses. Each Seeker has only one desire, and that’s to protect the Oracle at all times.

Races

Liberi

Age Range: Birth or 5 to 10 years

Although that is the official term, ‘Mongrel’ is what they are commonly referred as. It is the used for the for the children taken to or born in Avarus. Mongrels spend most of their young lives training within the safe walls of the Aldebaran Academy. They are forbidden from leaving as, according to Belial, they are the extremely fragile during this point of their lives. Regardless of their age, depending on how well they’ve performed in training, they will be given the right of undergoing the Ascension Ceremony. Those who fail are xxxxxxxx xx.

Due to their young age, their behavior is more sporadic than that of a normal child. Their reflexes are enhanced, almost to the point where it becomes difficult to contain them. Mongrels lack common sense so they tend to act out without fully understanding the impact their actions have. While childish and friendly by nature, Travellers are advised to approach with caution. Those who act beyond the expected norm are called Prodigies.

Quietus Nors

Age Range: (Physically) 14-19, (Mentally) 10 or above

Or simply called, Nors. After their graduation, every Nors is immediately sent to work. Depending on the final results of their training prior to undergoing the ceremony/procedure, each is individually assigned into one of the three factions ; Infernum Poncitator, Vanidicus Persona, and lastly, Tunera Clypse (formerly called Tunera). Those that are assigned to neither of the factions are assigned to more menial jobs alongside the Ex-Animus,

Despite their young minds, they have quickly adapted into their new forms. Due to time becoming almost non-existant in Avarus, Nors age at a rapidly slow rate. Though known to be childish by nature due to the gap of their young minds to their bodies, they dangerously lack empathy and display little to no compassion and remorse towards others. In worst cases, some act selfishly on their own accord. On a positive note, they lack any emotions that may hinder their mission in locating Soleil; such as fear.

Only two of the three current generations of Nors differ greatly from the first:

First Generation Nors - Are those converted or directly born within Avarus with the blood of two Nors. Those born in the first generation share two specific physical characteristics; raven black hair and golden eyes. They all share the same abilities upon conversion/birth, but it depends on the individual which ones they should master. Unless they happen to be a Cursed Blood, they are unable to obtain different abilities to call their own. They are required to undergo the Ascension Ceremony.

Second Generation Nors - In terms of personality, they are considered half as bad as those in the first gen. Unlike the previous, second generation Nors are considered slightly weaker, however, they have a better chance of obtaining other abilities outside of Avarus. Their hair is slightly lighter shade of black but their eyes remain the same. They too are required to undergo the Ascension Ceremony.

Third Generation Nors - While rare, they do tend to appear once in a while. It’s not exact how one falls into this category. The closest is being the grandchild or who has an anscestor that was a Nors. Because of their circumstances, these Nors are far weaker as they cannot use any of the standard abilities. Third Generation Nors are far difficult to locate as their potential doesn’t surface until they are of a much later age, rendering them incapable of taking necessary training to hone their abilities and undergoing the Ascension Ceremony. They do not share the common personality or physical traits of a Nors. One thing every Nors in this generation share are sky blue eyes, which emit a faint glow when in the dark.

Ex-Animus (or Anima for singular)

Age Range: (Physically) 30 to 40, rarely appears in their early 20′s

Are individuals who are retired from their duties as a Nors. Although Nors generally age at an excessively slow rate (due to the effects of Avarus), after a number of cycles (which refers to the number of batches that underwent the Ascension Ceremony), they will be given the order to retire. Regardless whether they are willing to or not, there is nothing they can do once the order has been issued. Once one becomes an Ex-Anima, they are completely cut off from their original faction and are unable to leave Avarus for the rest of their life.

Not only that, they are unable to defend themselves like they used to as they can no longer control Astral Dust and use the abilities from their time as a Nors,Basically.  Basically, Ex-Animus’ are left to fend for themselves.

Factions

Every Nors is allowed to join any of the three factions; Infernum Poncitator, Vanidicus Persona , and Tunera Clypse. There is an option to not join any of the factions; they are called ‘Floaters’.

[sarah-snook]

Hello! If possible, could you reccomend your favorite chaptered reddie fics?

ohhh yes! i love doing fic recs!!! i haven’t been asked for one in a while! here goes! it’s my bday today so i’m gonna be rereading (or finishing) all of these as a treat haha

some of these might be in progress so just be aware of that!

ask me to stay by @feldmancorey↬ word count: 36,036 | chapters: 7/7 | rating: T

“Your lip is all busted,” Eddie said, as though pointing out that Richie’s lips were injured would somehow make it okay that Eddie was paying attention to them. Richie’s hand came up, long fingers wrapping around Eddie’s tiny wrist, and he gently guided Eddie’s touch away.

Eddie finally wrenched his eyes away from Richie’s lips and met his best friend’s gaze. There was a softness there that he rarely got to see, not even the smallest hint of teasing or joking there. It was just Richie, just Richie looking at him and Eddie looking back. For a single moment, it was just Richie and Eddie alone in the world. Nothing to bother them, nothing to live up to.

[or: the year is 1994, and Eddie Kaspbrak is in love.]

the real world by @feldmancorey↬ word count: 15,796 | chapters: 5/18 | rating: T

The lights in the Tozier house were on.

Nearly four months ago, Eddie’s best friend, Richie Tozier, had seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth. He’d stopped coming to school, wouldn’t answer texts, and stopped posting on all social media. The home phone would ring and ring until the caller hung up. The driveway had been empty. The grass on the front lawn had overgrown and wilted. The house never went up for sale but for four long months, it was as though the Tozier family had simply disappeared.Until now, with Went’s car sat in the driveway and the living room lights all flicked on. Eddie could see movement through the windows. It was as though the world had picked back up from where it had stopped, without a hint of change.

[or: after a sudden and unexplained disappearance, richie tozier returns to derry with a secret that no one person could ever hope to hold onto.]

One caramel macchiato, on me by @jem-carstairs-is-perfection↬ word count: 11,058 | chapters: 2/2 | rating: T

“Oh shit.” Richie swore and looked around hoping he’d missed another empty seat somewhere in the classroom so he didn’t have to take this one.

He hadn’t.

With an apologetic shrug he said, “I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, probably ever and trust me, I’d fuck off if I could, but that’s literally the only seat left.”

The guy sighed but didn’t move, staring ahead, perhaps hoping Richie would disappear if he ignored him hard enough.

Richie couldn’t help but share the sentiment. “I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“It’s your elbows I’m more worried about.”

or Richie and Eddie have the opposite of a meet-cute. When their paths cross again, neither is too happy about it ―at first.

Un Nouveau Soleil by @eddiefuckinkaspbrak↬ word count: 33,353 | chapters: 3/3 | rating: E

It was three months into his first year that Richie met Eddie for the first time. Edward Frank Kaspbrak. The man who would become the love of his life.

And Richie had no idea.

or: Richie is the heir to the British Throne who decides to study abroad at Harvard University. There, he meets Eddie Kaspbrak and they fall in love…duh.

The Greater Fool Series by @yallreddieforthis↬ word count: 47,573 | chapters: 7 parts | rating: varies

Begins a couple months after the end of the movie. Follows an alternate timeline in which none of the Losers other than Beverly move away from Derry, and none of them forget It or each other.

oh, somebody loves you by slytherincosette↬ word count: 12,341 | chapters: 3/3 | rating: NR

“‘I already know I’ll smell Eddie’s mom,” Richie announces to no one in particular, “I’ve never met her, but we’re soulmates. I imagine she smells like lemon cleaning supplies and antacid. Very sexy.’

Eddie lets his head drop onto the table.”

Amortentia is encountered in Potion’s class and everything goes to shit. Basically a romantic comedy set at Hogwarts. Everyone is Bad At Feelings, until they’re not.

He Asks How I Am by @themightychipmunk↬ word count: 19,369 | chapters: 4/4 | rating: T

After a year of writing to each other through an anonymous pen pal program, Eddie and Richie end up at the same school, completely unaware of their deeper connection.

Things get pretty gay.

and this is who we are by sunsetozier↬ word count: 40,763 | chapters: 8/8 | rating: M

He realizes, suddenly, that being in a position like this meant nothing to him two weeks ago. At the time, it was completely normal, holding no real meaning other than comfort and tradition – after all, him and Eddie have been disgustingly cuddly with one another since they were kids, even though they’d usually bicker while holding each other close, much to the annoyance (and entertainment) of their friends.

Now, however, Richie can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest, an undeniable thundering that echoes loudly in his ears. He can picture his younger self, as much of an oblivious idiot as he may have been, soaking in the warmth and the affection of Eddie’s touch when they hugged, shoved, or even just nudged one another. It’s funny, really, how much changes once you’re aware of how you feel.

[In which Eddie and Beverly lie to their friends for five years before finally coming out, much to the surprise of one supposedly straight Richie Tozier.]

the boy who cried (wolf) by @jortsbian↬ word count: 21,784 | chapters: 3/5 | rating: T

The following events seemed to happen in slow motion, which would probably have looked cool as fuck if Richie hadn’t been a gangly uncoordinated teen and if it had been a cool action movie instead of real life: the wolf lunged at Eddie. Richie, in a fit of anger and fear-fueled adrenaline, kicked at the wolf as hard as he could. The wolf twisted its head and sunk its teeth into Richie’s leg. Richie’s thoughts turned blank except for oh shit. Eddie screamed something at the wolf and sprayed it in the eyes with his inhaler. The wolf whimpered, released Richie’s leg, and stumbled blindly into the woods. Richie thought another oh shit as Eddie scrambled over to him and asked him—something. The world went dark.

AKA, the one where Richie’s a werewolf and that’s the least of his worries (or maybe not, but sue him for being dramatic, will you?)

call my bluff, call you babe by @hyruling↬ word count: 16,527 | chapters: 2/3 | rating: M

“Why can’t I ask Bill?”

“Because— he’s basically a celebrity too. That’s just. It’s already weird enough to people that you two even know each other, pretending to be romantically involved is just opening up a whole can of worms. I’m outside.”

“‘Romantically involved’, when did you start writing for The Sun, Eds,” Richie teases with a chuckle, just as Eddie reaches the final turn down Richie’s hallway. “That doesn’t really… I mean, people know we were friends when we were kids, so—”

“Just pretend to be my date,” Eddie says, and—

And nearly throws his phone into the fucking wall.

Thanks for Pudding up with Me by MooeyDooey↬ word count: 62,809 | chapters: 7/8 | rating: E

Eddie Kaspbrak was once one of the most influential professional chefs in New York. After an unfortunate incident in his kitchen, he loses his job and most of his earnings. Down on his luck, with no where else to go, he accepts a job offer with the ragtag ‘Prospect Test Kitchen’ in Boston.

What starts as a small passion project, making cooking tutorials online, becomes a lot more complicated and bigger than they could ever imagine when Bill brings in a new addition to their team. A comedian with a shocking background and surprise talent for culinary arts: Richie Tozier.

Eddie’s the only one who doesn’t like the new recruit, but Bill bribes Eddie into giving Richie a chance. At the end of six months, Richie’s contract will expire. Eddie will get to decide whether they offer him a contract renewal, or refuse to re-hire him.

Things are heating up in the Prospect street Test Kitchen! Will Eddie stick to his guns, and keep his dignity? Or will he get lost in the sauce?

[kazbrkker]

Chapter 2: Valley of the Damned

Chapter summary: Alexis and Alex are finally reunited after three long months. Now, their new assignment is to locate the gas. To do so, they have to align themselves with a local militia. Alexis finds herself reuniting with more than one old friend (2544 words)

Warnings: Mention of needles. Weapons and violence.

24 OCTOBER 2019, 1515 “Alexis" CIA BASE, Urzikstan

Clutching his IV stand, Alex enveloped her into a long overdue embrace, exchanging warm words of reconciliation. She smirked, appreciating the humorous view of a 6"1 man dressed in a knee-length surgical gown. It was a feast for her sore eyes, after months of doomsday work, it was liberating to genuinely enjoy a laugh. 

"You look like shit." Aside from his flesh injuries and his newly grown scruff, Alex felt leaner under her fingertips. The bags underneath their eyes were darker, heavier with the weight of the dark, frightful world that they had witnessed. 

Three months had since passed. While Alexis was tasked with chasing the mess left in Valhalla's wake, Alex was stationed everywhere Command pleased. Texts of good health weren't the same as physically seeing each other. Most of the time, it was a one-way communication with Alex's inconsistent replies, understandable as he was restlessly deployed from one hostile environment to the next. 

"And that's the first thing you say to me? How kind of you, Lexi."

"Please. Your nicknames are horrible."

They pulled away shortly after, the hug was enough to remedy for the lost three months. Although his arm remained on her shoulders, which normally would have earned him a harsh jab. Today, the injured man received immunity.

She turned back to face the CIA station chief, who watched their reunion with the faintest of a smile and morphed back into the cold, professional agent that Laswell knew best. 

The duo sat down while Laswell started her debrief. There was limited intel on where or who stole the gas. Satellite images discovered only the abandoned trucks five miles outside Verdansk, with intercepted chatter suggesting that they switched vehicles.

In short, the CIA doesn't know jack about the stolen gas.

"Your primary mission is to locate the gas and secure it." Laswell ordered.

Alexis inquired, "How are we transporting the package?" 

"Anonymous tip off, zero footprints. Russia cannot know that American operatives have a part in this."

"Third option, then." The young agent stated, scanning her brain for any holes she needed Laswell to fill. Third option was the SAD's motto, representing everything they stood for – when diplomacy fails and military wasn't an option.

"We're on our own." Alex followed, eyes briefly flickering to Alexis.

Laswell shook her head, which surprised them. "Normally, yes. But with the rising situation, we need to locate the gas fast. You will need the Liberation Force on your side, a local militia of 7000 strong. Use Captain Price's name to make contact with the CO, that should get you in."

 "Commander Karim," Alexis straightened up. Looks like Alex was not the only old friend she was reuniting with. 

"You know Commander Karim?" Laswell asked for the second time for today, pleasantly surprised.

She merely hummed, thinking know might not be the right word. A soft smirk formed at the memory. Without elaborating further, it left the other two to their imaginations.

 "Command is not sparing any expenses. Anything you need, radio in. They expect the Aces to bring it home as always." Laswell continued. "Go freshen up. We'll reconvene at 1800 for mission prep."

Over the years, she had mastered the art of reading in between the lines of Command's orders. We expect nothing but mission success, you cannot afford the price of your blowback. She agreed, failure was nonexistent in her books, for the hefty price would be paid by innocent lives. There was always too much riding on every assignment, pressurizing, to say the least. 

"Yes ma'am," were the last words she said with a crude nod before exiting, practically bolting out the door. 

Alexis mischievously checked her wristwatch as Alex sidestepped down the stairs, IV stand in toll. She laughed, draping his uninjured arm across her shoulders for support, "Jesus, you look like you could sprain a muscle climbing down those steps."

Alex derided, "That's hilarious."

He abruptly halted, earning a confused side glance. His hands brazenly clasped Alexis' face, the rough edges of his thumb contouring her features. A  grinned continuously while examining her face, utilizing Urkzistan's pounding sunlight to highlight her sharp features.  

His piercing blue eyes took her in. A little tanner, irritated veins hiding shyly in her eyes, cheekbones were more sunken than the last time he saw her. 

"Alex... It's like you're begging me to tackle you right here–" She struggled over her words as he tilted her head, calloused fingers tightly squishing her cheekbones to counter her resistance. "You really want to fall flat on your ass, in a surgical gown in front of the Marines?" 

He finally released her with a satisfied hum.

"Just jealous that Paris has been treating you so well." He messed with her neat bun, cooing at her irked expression. "Did you get 'em highlighted?"

Alexis peered with a sickly sweet, uncomfortably wide smile for her usual cold and expressionless face. Her fingers traced along where his IV needle was embedded and pressed hard. A pained groan fell from his lips, clutching onto her shoulder blades for silent mercy.

"That's hilarious," she echoed, taking quick nods at his sarcastic smile and nervous laughter. "I'll admit, my target sure knew how to pick his places. Quel beau coucher de soleil! (What a beautiful sunset!)"

She was being sarcastic. Showers were considered a luxury — being tasked on recon all the time, let alone to enjoy the damn sunset. 

He scowled in response, hurriedly plucking out his IV drip afterwards. He watched as she observed the scenery in the Urzikstan base, or rather, the lack thereof. She sighed, "Alex, I–"

Alex interjected before she said something self-deprecating. "Our job-"

"Our job never ends. I know..." She recited with Alex, a genuine smile as she looked back at him. It was remarkable how Alex always intuitively knew how she was feeling, a honed skill that he now specialized in when it came to her. "Just wish I could have seen it through the end. To catch Val–"

She quickly apologized for the almost slip. Alex strained his eyebrows at the unexpected mistake, now understanding the true extent of how her Paris mission affected her – for she wasn't one to be that careless.

Unbeknownst to the public, there were a series of bombings in various parts of the world tied to Boucher's MO. The puzzling detail was that Boucher had solid alibis when it all happened. That was enough for the CIA to launch an investigation to find out Boucher had turned contractual.

That was Alexis' assignment, to find out Boucher's buyer.

He wanted to divulge more, but he couldn't. In order for the government to maintain plausible deniability, every SAD operation was clandestine, deniable. Nothing, even in the face of true friendships, people that you trust your life with, would ever change that. Even the closest peas in a pod – the two of them, knew little about each other's assignments.

And sometimes, it really pissed him off. It made it more difficult to keep each other safe. 

Alex sighed, pulling her closer against him, injuries be damned.

What he could empathize with, was the pool of helplessness flooding their hearts when they get pulled away from assignments they believe in. Coupled with the fact they never get to choose, it was a cold splash of reality that they could only accept, never protest.

That sentence served as a reminder to anchor the pair, to never lose sight of their beliefs. At the end of the day, whatever you do, trust that you are still for the greater good.

Our job never ends.

The greater good is always calling. Even if it wasn't the one they wanted. 

━━━━ 26 OCTOBER 2019, 1300 "Alexis" and "Alex", Codename Aces CIA Assets Liberation Force Base, Urzikstan

The unsightly, plain cement building stared Alexis back in the face. It appeared awfully residential, pieces of cloth hanging loosely from its hinges.

Stationed just behind the corner of the militia's perimeters, arms folded, she watched Alex slid a combat knife in his left boot. "That's overdoing it, don't you think?"

"Empty your right boot, Lexi, let's see it."

"Left boot." She corrected with a wagging finger. He shoved it back playfully. "The right boot is reserved for a handcuff key and some razors– Which I will use on you, if you keep it up with that nickname."

Alex ignored her demands and rolled his eyes, mumbling the same sentiment about overdoing it. Now standing up, he stared down as she held a proud grin, "Not when it breaks you out of custody from the mob."

At this mention, the playful mood disappeared. She pursed her lips and raised her hands apologetically at the sight of Alex's tensed body language, knowing the joke was in poor taste. He had always disliked it when she joked about that. It went silent after that. 

It was in the mid-afternoon when the duo intentionally breached the militia's perimeter to make contact, hands raised defensively. It didn't take past five seconds before armed soldiers besieged them, yelling in Arabic at the pair.

Alex took charge, his voice unwavering as he used Captain Price's name as ordered. The two slowly disarmed as a form of sincerity to prove they weren't a threat. Their eyes met as they were slammed onto the rough gravel. With fire in his eyes, Alex stared at the man patting down Alexis' body, daring them to try anything. On the contrary, the female agent was calm and composed.

"I'll follow your lead." His head tilted in confusion at her request. Alexis should take lead, they were her contacts. 

"It's been a hazy five years. Plus, you're so handsome. Come on, you'll drop 'em dead." She commented elusively, entering his good graces again when a tiny grin surfaced. "Also, if you introduce me with that God forbidden name, you know what's in my boots."

"Hey. Right boot, don't forget."

"Look who's a fast learner."

They were escorted into a dark room to Commander Karim.

"What is your message from Captain Price?" Commander Karim spoke first. She examined the two intruders, eyes lingering longer on the brunette woman.

"Commander Karim. Call me Alex, this is Alexis." Gradually, the Commander's cautious expression was tainted with a hint of surprise – she remembered. Farah nodded an acknowledgement towards Alexis, arms crossed defensively. The female agent's presence was surprising, so was Captain Price's name drop. But that wasn't sufficient to lower her guard.

"I'm listening."

They requested complete privacy for the classified intel. The commander reverted back to her mother tongue, ordering the soldiers to leave them.

"Forty-eight hours ago, terrorists stole a shipment of Russian gas."

"Only Al-Qatala would do this." Commander Karim stated confidently.

Alexis remained seated, her face expressionless per usual. On the other hand, Alex stood up, confidence radiating as he sauntered around the table. She smirked, confidence was the one thing nobody could pry away from Alex.

The man was naturally charming, easy on the eyes and gifted with a silver tongue to wiggle him out of sticky situations. This trait of his was why he thrived well in hostile environments, due to his natural ability to quickly form bonds with local militias, which Command milked every single drop of it. 

She knew Alex had his doubts about the militia group and he wasn't afraid to sugarcoat it. Audaciousness was one of their common traits, they want to know exactly what they were dealing with. 

So she lets him get audacious.

"The Russians make no distinction between Al-Qatala and your people." With that bold statement, Alexis leaned deeper into her seat. 

"And I make no distinction between Al-Qatala and their army. They are both terrorists." Commander Karim narrowed her eyes, "We would never use these poisons."

Alex nodded, the delay between nods still suggested doubt. "Then help us track it, before they–"

"Before they what? Take it to Europe? Or America?" Farah chuckled bitterly, side-eyeing Alexis. Unspoken tension circled the air as the two women's gazes met. "We live like this every day."

Alex glanced at his partner suspiciously.

The door swung open and a younger man entered the room. "Commander, it's time to go–" He halted at the presence of new company. "Who is this?"

"Alex, this is my brother and lieutenant, Hadir. Alena, you already know him."

"Unfortunately." She replied without missing a beat, feeling Alex's perplexed gaze burning a deep hole in her side profile. 

Despite knowing better, he was futilely searching for a tell that he wouldn't find. He asked himself, what is she not telling me?

Farah Karim shrugged, humored. The hostility in Hadir's eyes washed away instantly upon recognizing the brown-haired woman. "Alena! What are you doing with the CIA?"

"Alexis." She rectified. "I work with the CIA now," The brunette rosed from her seat, a small nod in her first act of mutual acknowledgement to the familiar faces.

Their eyebrows raised at the revelation. "A lot has changed," Farah stated as a matter of fact.

Alexis recognized the wary looks in their eyes. Her palms rippled in reassuring waves, "I still work with Captain Price. So does Alex."

"Then you still kill Russians, yes?"

"We have friends who can help us. But, your sister decides what's next." Alex replied, tactfully using the situation to deliver this sole sentence that demonstrated their respect for the militia's authority and established the CIA's usefulness. Alexis stared with admiration, looking at the skilful agent doing what he does best.

"Of course. My sister is in command...and their army is still here." Something about how Hadir said it did not sit well with Alexis.

"This occupation must end. That we can all agree on, yes?" The two agents nodded, carefully observing a map of the Urzikstan capital.

"General Barkov's men control the city. We have plans to change that."

"We have no missiles, but we have our ways," Hadir added eagerly.

"If you stay, we can help you, but if you stay... you fight."

Alexis shrugged, her answer was crystal clear. Her lips curved upwards, simply crossing her arms and left her other half in charge. She observed his thinking face, unknown to the world but subtle to her. A small shift of his lower jaw, his tell. After years of experience, they could read each other like a book. 

"Then, let's fight." He answered in Arabic, pushing himself off the table just in time to catch a rifle that Hadir tossed to him.

She broke into a small grin, catching her weapon with her reflexes.

"Welcome to Urzikstan, Alex. Alena– Alexis, welcome back," Hadir said with an equally delighted expression.

"Follow me." Farah nodded, arming herself with an AK-47. Hadir, Alex and Alexis followed her lead to the militia's secret tunnels. It was pitch black until a red flare illuminated it.

"We have intel Russian troop commanders are in town today. We're going to ambush them."

Alexis eagerly squeezed her partner's shoulders. Adrenaline flowed through their veins and their stomachs twisted in a sign of anticipation. Anticipation for trouble, for blood, for faith. 

This marked the start of the duo's assignment.

"Let's seize the day."

a/n: hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. masterlist here. want to be tagged? let me know!

[endofjunee]

🍃 I think I'm falling (I'm falling for you) by @beau-soleil-louis Louis is a disaster gay on a skateboard. Harry is a beautiful, quirky stranger on a bicycle. Their first encounter really makes a splash.  📘 when you say you love me, know i love you more by @jimmytfallon Louis discovers one of Harry's insecurities and happily soothes it away. 

🍃 Falling For Me Won't Be A Mistake by @all-these-larrythings Harry is married to his job and so overworked that he doesn't know how to stop. All it takes is a forced Hawaiian get-a-away, the warm tropical breeze of the island, and the most beautiful, elusive man he's ever seen to make him remember what living is like outside of work. Well, that, and the little souvenir he accidentally takes home with him.

📘 Sun Means The Sky'll Be Blue by @twoheartsbeating​ As the only singleton under thirty attending his cousin's five-day wedding, Harry is desperate to find a date, or at least a reason to get people's questions about his love life off his back. So when Louis, Harry's old uni roommate and fellow wedding attendee waltzes back into his life, Harry seizes the opportunity, pretending Louis is his ex-boyfriend and that it's a sore subject not to be mentioned.

If it's a little bit closer to the truth than Harry would like, well, he's a master at living in denial.

So cue a mess of trudged-up feelings, past misunderstandings, a rekindled summer romance and a whole lot of sexually-charged bickering. 🍃 i was getting kinda used to being someone you loved by @werebothstubborn His hand clamps down over Louis’ mouth as firmly as he can manage. “What do you want? C'mon, you have my full attention now. What. Do. You. Want.”

Louis manages to look apologetic as he licks slobbery circles around Harry's palm until he lets go. “Pretend to be my boyfriend,” he says, dramatically gulping in as much air as he can breathe.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“This bloke just came up to me, said he’d give us fifty quid to be in his music video.”

“And you said what? ‘Sure, just let me coerce my friend into it with uncomfortable amounts of PDA and blackmail’?”

Or, Louis has a brilliant idea. Harry begs to differ. Until he doesn't. 📘 say that you can see me (i'll speak up i swear) by @coffeelouis “Well, it’s not like anyone really RSVPs,” Liam defends when Harry turns back to him, “No one takes Facebook events seriously.” Harry rolls his eyes, still finding it within himself to get annoyed in his moment of panic. Liam has been complaining about the lack of accountability Facebook events have bred in their generation since their freshman year. Harry glances back to the gallery entrance. Yep, still there and moving closer.

“But aren’t you guys friends?” Harry asks, trying to convey the urgency in his tone.

“Well, I mean, I talk to him when he stops by the office for supplies sometimes,” Liam reasons, “But I wouldn’t say we’re friends, exactly. Maybe more like, friendly acquaintances?”

Harry groans. “You’re the fucking worst.”

Or, the liberal arts COLLEGE AU where Harry knows Louis as the best friend of the boy he has been hopelessly in love with for years now and Louis knows Harry as this boy he wished would look away from Zayn long enough to notice him. 🍃 Light My Fire, Blow My Flame by @goldbootsandvans “In New York, you can be a new man.” Broadway actor Louis Tomlinson has it all. An amazing flat, a wonderful friend group, a Tony under his belt, and the world at his fingertips. Yet there’s one thing that’s missing. And it might be in the shape of the curly haired lawyer who becomes Zayn’s new roommate.

Or, Louis is a Broadway actor, Harry is a newly graduated lawyer, Liam is a radio DJ, Zayn is an English Professor at NYU, and Niall is a music producer. A Friends AU. 📘 you move like water (yeah and you broke like waves) by @wankerville He gets it, he gets that he's weird, and clumsy, and his hair always seems to be a little greasy. He gets that he talks too slow and has a terrible movie taste and falls too fast, whatever. He can understand that Louis sees him as no more than a friend, and he can live with it. But he can't live with just being a fuck to him, thats something you say about a stripper, or a one night stand, but thats not them. They are best friends who have slept with each other three times already. He could at least call it ‘platonic love making’ or something other than a fuck.

Or, the four times harry sleeps with louis and wakes up alone and the one time he doesnt. 🍃 If the Surface Begs You Home by @becomeawendybird Harry is a mermaid from the underwater kingdom of Mercadia who is a little too fascinated by life above the surface. He's kicked out of his home after he winds up pregnant, and has to figure out how to make his way in the world. 

Louis is the darling of the small neighbouring seaside village who came home after university to take over their local library, and can't seem to stay away from the mysterious pregnant mermaid his friends introduce him to.  📘 No Love Like Your Love by @all-these-larrythings When it comes to saving the world from itself and convincing rich CEOs of environmentally harmful companies to go green, there's nobody better than Harry Styles. That is, until Louis Tomlinson, his ex and former Alpha, is involved.   🍃 Watch the Sun Coming Up by @sadaveniren As Louis approaches his thirtieth birthday his pack is desperate for him to find a mate.

Harry has always expected one day he may settle down with a nice alpha and they would continue to live in his small hometown.

Together they somehow will make this work. 📘 Consequences by @allwaswell16 Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au. 🍃 Becoming Us by @sweariwouldnt  Married at First Sight is a television show in which hopefuls looking for The One are matched by experts deeming them to be the perfect match. The twist? They meet each other for the first time at the altar. When they exchange their 'I do's'. And get married for real.

One Harry and Louis find each other at the altar. They have five weeks to make or break the set-up marriage. 📘 A Taste of Desire by @casuallyhl “As forward as I have been with you this evening, I am also aware this dinner party isn’t the place to conduct business.” Mr. Tomlinson chuckles quietly to himself, shooting a subtle glance across the table towards their hostess. “And besides, I am sure our hostess would be horribly disappointed to learn that we went away this evening with a business agreement and not a mating one.”

Harry, who had been sipping his wine, coughs harshly at this. He splutters, unaccustomed to such blatant statements about mating.

Mr. Tomlinson continues to laugh quietly, clearly pleased at Harry’s reaction.

“Mrs. Humphreys promised that there was an alpha attending the dinner tonight that I would certainly get on well with,” Mr. Tomlinson continues, voice teasing. “She assured me that we would have much in common since we both work with mills.” Mr. Tomlinson glances at Harry, eyes flashing with mirth. “Little did she know that would be where our mutual interests began and ended.”

Or, a Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world. 🍃 You're My Only Hope by @chloehl10 Harry and Louis have been hoping to start a family for a while, but it hasn't happened for them just yet. With the surprise arrival of a newborn baby on the doorstep at work, are their family dreams about to become reality?  📘 freaks from the internet by @jaerie  Harry sells his breast milk to freaks on the internet. Louis turns out to be one of those freaks. He also happens to be Harry's ex.  🍃 Stealing Flowers by @lululawrence​ When Louis finally arrived, he walked in and grabbed an apron. Without even saying hello, he immediately approached Jesy and said, “Sexy Stranger steals flowers.”

She kept pouring the Tanqueray shots she had lined up in front of her, but her face screwed up in confusion. “I’m sorry, he what? Did you finally talk to him and that was what you learned?”

He nodded to another couple of tourists and welcomed them to the Way Station as they eagerly made their way to the Tardis restroom.

“No, I didn’t actually talk to him, but—”

“Then how do you know he steals flowers?”

She was wiping down the bar and stacking the empty glasses to take back to the dishwasher when Louis realized maybe he should help too. After all, he was there to work, not just talk to her about his maybe crush.

“I saw a poster.”

Or the one where Louis pines after the Sexy Stranger on the Subway and almost asks him out. That's when the strange posters start showing up around Brooklyn. 📘 hard for me to know i might see you around by @coffeelouis The next profile shows a guy and his horse both crashing into the ground, the bio below reading:

"Hi, I'm Louis, I suck at riding horses so I ride dick."

Harry rolls his eyes and swipes left, but before he can consider the next profile in his feed, there’s a quiet “Oof” from right behind him.

Or, a TINDER AU where Harry swipes left on Louis' joke of a profile, then ends up stuck next to him on a trans-Atlantic flight. 🍃 Hey, Mr. DJ by @allwaswell16 Harry really, really does NOT want to go out to a club tonight and be hassled by a bunch of alpha knotheads, but against his better judgement, he finds himself alone on the dance floor, barefoot, with an orange in his hand. This is all Niall's fault. At least the DJ is the most strikingly gorgeous alpha he's ever seen...  📘 2,870 Miles by @sadaveniren Harry hated the BT Sports commentators, but considering he couldn’t fly to Baku while eight months pregnant this was all he had if he wanted to watch his husband in the Europa League final.  🍃 one man in his time by @bottomlinsons  “We’re fake-dating and I’m supposed to publicly break up with you but you’ve been irritating me lately so instead of dumping you I publicly proposed to mess up your plan and now we’re getting married, fuck” au.

[Previous Monthly Recs]

[thewidowstanton]

Alexandra Royer, Russian bar flyer and aerial hoop specialist: Barcode Circus Company

Alexandra Royer, who comes from Quebec City, was inspired to take up circus after watching companies such as Cirque Eloize and Cirque du Soleil. Later, after living in Morocco, she trained at the Quebec Circus School and was approached by Cirque du Soleil to join its show Quidam on an aerial hoop contract when she was just 16. In 2008, Alex chose instead to further her studies at Montreal’s National Circus School. There she met her two American Russian bar bases, Eric Bates and Tristan Nielsen, and on graduating they began to perform worldwide with leading companies including The 7 Fingers, Cirque Eloize, Cirque du Soleil and La Soirée.

The trio were joined by Eve Bigel of Compagnie XY, and as Barcode Circus Company they have performed in Olympic ceremonies, on TV shows and at corporate events and cabarets, also in street and contemporary dance shows, as well as full-length circus creations. They have also won numerous awards, including silver and bronze medals at 2018’s Cirque de Demain Festival in Paris. Alex is now taking part in Barcode’s first full-length production, Sweat and Ink (De Sueur et d’Encre), which headlines at Hand to Hand: A FringeArts Circus Festival in Philadelphia, USA. The show runs from 31 May – 2 June 2018. She chats to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: How old were you when you first became aware of circus? Alexandra Royer: Quite young. In Quebec City we were surrounded by Cirque du Soleil, Cirque Eloize… and I can’t remember exactly when I asked about it but I wanted to go to the circus. I wasn’t doing circus yet but I asked my parents to take me.

Do any shows stand out? I totally remember Nomade by Cirque Eloize. It was wonderful… Anton Carabinier was in it. He was, I think, 18 then and I had a big crush on him… and I wanted to do circus after seeing it. Guillaume Saladin was in it too, and he is so nice, just so nice. And also Cirque Eos, which was a circus from Quebec City. A lot of artists from Eos still do circus even though it was like, 20 years ago. Erika Lemay is like the queen of circus; she has long legs and she’s beautiful; she does handstands. She was with them.

Were you always an active kid? In school my mum registered me for theatre and dance classes but I was actually really, really shy so going onstage was never an option. But when I was seven we found a little class in a circus school. It was only half an hour a week but it was really fun.

Is anyone else in your family in showbusiness? I found out later on that I had some distant cousins – something like my grandparents were cousins of their grandparents – and they were also in Nomade. My cousin, Marie Michèle Faber, is beautiful and she sings and does aerial hoop and silks in Cirque du Soleil. Her brother is Jean-François Faber, and he does acrobatic bike, like, trial bike, manipulations and acrobatics. But they are not why I went into circus; they didn’t influence me.

Who or what did inspire you? After the year of circus I did when I was seven, my family moved to Morocco and I did horseback riding there. Once, the trapeze company Les Arts Sauts brought a huge show, Kayassine, to Marrakech. I was talking about circus then but I don’t remember why it affected me so much because I couldn’t do any acrobatics. My dad had bought a trampoline just to ease the move to another country but actually I was super happy to go. It was really nice to have a trampoline in the backyard but I was only doing simple moves… front drop, back drop… My mum is from France and she knows Danielle Le Pierrès’ sister really well. Danielle is the founder of Le P’tit Cirk, and when Les Arts Sauts came my mum’s friend was there to babysit Danielle’s young children.

My mum, of course, saw her friend, so we had a private visit to the tent. We climbed into the safety net, we saw the show, it was gorgeous – one of the best memories of a show I have. I think I was about nine. Then a lot of the cast came to our backyard for a barbecue. We had some wild boar in the freezer – a hunter had given us so much meat – so my mum was like: “Oh perfect, bring the whole cast.” Everybody was there and the trampoline was there, so some of the porters made people do backflips and I was thinking, ‘Wow, this is really fun. I want to join in with them’.

I think it was the first time I realised that I really wanted to do circus, not because of the show so much, but more because of the feeling backstage. It was really great; a great afternoon where we had fun and talked to the artists. After they left I carried on with my life in Morocco without circus but when we came back to Canada I went to the school in Quebec.

Why did you then choose aerial? Um… good question. To get into the school in Quebec I did a trapeze act. Jade Dussault, who is in FlipFabriQue, was my coach. I think she was 12 years old and I was ten. [Laughs] It’s really funny; I wasn’t ready to enter the programme so much but they were looking for people because it was a rather new programme. They said: “Oh, she’s super small and kind of strong and flexible,” so I did trapeze. I can still remember how stressed I was before doing my act. I couldn’t remember the music; I only had a CD and the guy said: “What is your music?” And I said, ‘I don’t know. My teacher is not here…’, or, ‘My teacher is 12 years old…’. but finally I did something and I was accepted. I was alone at home when they told me and I asked, ‘Is this person and this person also coming? I’ll come if they’re coming’. I had also been thinking of going to horseback riding school but I decided to do circus because I had so much fun in the audition and met lots of people.

How difficult a decision was it to turn down Cirque du Soleil’s offer? What’s interesting in Quebec you learn to do everything, and we were training quite hard. I saw The 7 Fingers’ show Traces, and we were all so pumped up when we came back, we wanted the school to open up, but it was the middle of the night; everybody was on a high. I was doing trampoline at the time… swinging trapeze, aerials, hand to hand, everything, and my aerial hoop coach was Marie-Eve Bisson from the hoop trio in Quidam. She was 27 and I was 16. I had about ten classes with her and she really showed me everything on hoop. She could spin so fast. She was the one I’d watched on the Quidam video.

But when I got the offer, I didn’t have many options. My mum just said: “No.” I did the audition at the National Circus School in Montreal and was accepted. The crew and vibe of our year was amazing. I also wanted to learn something else; I didn’t want to have just one act. I had the feeling that if I went to Quidam, I’d go to Montreal for six months, go on tour and then never be talked about again. It’s a bit like that in Cirque du Soleil; you just become a number. They take good care of you but at that age it was nice to keep learning stuff. My trampoline coach said: “Do you wanna be really good, or like, medium good?” I said, ‘I want to be really good’. So he said: “Go to the school.” They’d accepted me for aerial and acrobatics, so that was interesting. In Quebec I could change my schedule; I could ask for Cyr wheel or whatever but in Montreal, once you get your schedule it’s quite hard to change it. 

What made you add Russian bar to your skills? There was a Russian bar trio in Quebec City, and they made me try it. They were so chilled, like: “You really should do it.” They put the idea into my head and it’s something not so many people do. That was the idea behind it.

How much trust is needed between you and your bases? I was a bit unaware of how important the relationship with the porters is. I didn’t consider myself a flyer at all; I was doing aerial hoop as a specialist. But when I started to work with Eric and Tristan, we were really laughing a lot. They had their own specialties as well, so it was a good match because none of us were putting all our eggs in one basket. From the beginning, and it’s still the deal we have, that whenever it stops being fun, or one of us gets hurt, or we don’t believe in it, we won’t do it any more, because it’s quite dangerous.

What advice would you give to someone thinking of taking it up? A good level in trampoline is a good thing, even though I haven’t done it for years now because it’s really hard. The partners you work with are really important, because that’s how you could get hurt. You can learn on Russian bar quite fast but the relationship of trust afterwards becomes a bit complicated. You do the trick once and that’s great, but you have to keep doing it. We stopped for a while after Cirque de Demain because we had so many things to do but I needed to take myself in hand and say, ‘OK, let’s go; we’re doing it again’. For myself, I would not do it at all, but because we have this trio energy, we have to do it. It’s easier as well because we go through it together and have fun, and then we can travel so much with the Russian bar, because it’s such a rare discipline. If I’d only done aerial hoop, I would probably have done some flying thing but the Russian bar is special enough to make you a bit privileged with the contracts you have. So, that’s quite fun.

How wide is the bar and does it hurt your feet when you land? It’s maybe 15cm, but your body knows at some point… and the guys are so precise. That’s why it’s so important to choose your bases carefully. We pad it with a little bit of camping mat. Tristan is our Russian-bar maker, so he takes care of it.

You’ve brought some innovative moves to the discipline; how did that come about? We were watching other Russian bar acts when we started to make our acts, thinking: “Oh, we don’t like it when she has the moments of preparation; it’s too much, too long, too stiff and it’s only about the trick.” Also Eric and Tristan can handle being alone onstage; they don’t need the bar. Often the Russian bar porters only do Russian bar, so when we made one of our first acts the goal was, ‘What can we do that is not Russian bar-like?’. I think the act we did at Cirque de Demain was, ‘What can do that we’d like to see on Russian bar?’.  

So that was maybe the difference. And the fact that I’m not a crazy acrobat. I’m more like a mover in general; we use that. Especially when we were with The 7 Fingers, Shana Carroll was the instigator of the way I moved on the bar because before we did their show Sequence 8, we had never done a real Russian bar act; it was our minor discipline. I remember she put the music on and said: “Let yourself go.” We were working on that base of movement and then transferred it to the bar. It was really natural. It’s a strange movement that it gives you and I’m lucky to have boys who are good enough to catch me during that strange bit.

It’s almost like a rag doll; it’s lovely. I love your costumes as well. Who designed them? Camille Thibaud. We met her through The 7 Fingers. She really helped us a lot with the style. We didn’t really know what we wanted because we were creating the act at the same time. She was very open and at some point I realised that we needed movement in the costumes. I wanted something that flowed, but it was super challenging for a costume maker because there are so many technical requirements in making a Russian-bar costume that isn’t going to be dangerous. We worked with her last summer. I wanted rich fabrics, so it’s all silk, pure cotton or linen. She really understood what I was looking for, but you can’t just take linen and bend you legs so much, or take silk that will have to stretch, so she made it look like it’s good fabric but there are also stretchy parts that she made invisible. The costumes are really intelligently made. Camille Thibaud is a name to remember, I think.

What can you tell us about Sweat and Ink? Basically it has all the disciplines we do: aerial hoop, Russian bar, cigar-box juggling, hand to hand, and Eve is also a specialist in small teeterboard, when you land in columns and hand-to-hand positions. So the three of us are learning that right now. It’s quite fun for the four of us to do something acrobatically, and I catch in a three high; like, I’m a porter also [laughs]. It’s really good.

How long have you been working on the show? We started to work seriously on it last summer. We did a show together and it was really for Eve and Tristan to make sure they wanted to keep working together because their association was rather new. They didn’t want to rush anything so we did a summer contract to see, if they both liked it, then we’d do a quartet and make a show. But we were talking about it before that. Eve just arrived in Montreal in April last year and we pitched her the idea. Basically we wanted to talk about books, we wanted to talk about writing and that led to the topic of memory and oblivion. There were some readings I’d done that were addressing the questions, ‘What’s the duty of memory and what right do we have to forget things?’. It touched me a lot so I told the idea to the others and it brought up a lot of conversation, so we decided it could be a starting point of the creation.

It has been quite long and, I don’t want to say painful, but we’re not administrators; we want to be onstage, so for us it’s harder. Also we were preparing for Cirque de Demain. And in Canada if you’re not working, there’s no intermittance, you’re just spending money, so you need to work whenever you have free time. But I like that life. It’s quite hectic and crazy but that’s how it is right now… and we travel a lot so it’s really exciting.

You were very successful in Paris, did it bring you lots of opportunities? Yes, so many emails. Oh, my god! The goal in going to Paris was to have something that the four of us had done together. And because it went well for all of us at the same time, that has helped us a lot. With all the press we got we can ask for visas, that’s really helpful and so is having established something with the four of us, because we’d only done corpos or the show last summer with The 7 Fingers.

It wasn’t that stressful in the end and it was a small victory because I was always thinking, ‘If I go to a festival and do the Russian bar, I’m gonna do something wrong, for sure’. So most important was that we didn’t hurt ourselves. We were more stressed than usual so the first performance was a bit shaky. Russian bar needs to be super settled down and calm, so for me that was my medal. We did it and technically I was good. My coach, André St-Jean, was there too, and he’s somebody very important in our lives, so to see him happy was really nice. He’s the master of acrobatics in Montreal and teaches all the guys from teeterboard.

Can you pick out a few highlights from your career so far? The first time I left Montreal by myself and I went to do a circus festival, SOLyCirco in Germany, in 2011. I was doing my hoop act. There was a bunch of friends and it was all new for us. There were some well-known names taking part and I was like, ‘This is so awesome’. Finally I won the gold medal. There’s a picture of me when they said my name and I’m like… I still don’t realise it. I won because there was a storm at the same time as I was doing my act.

The act was about the Sisyphus myth. The music was by the Kronos Quartet and the composer was Peter Sculthorpe; it was super-contemporary. We’d felt the storm coming the whole day, the energy of the sky was super low and it was warm and had this windy thing. I started my act and the storm starts, but for real. The tent was shaking and the wind was everywhere, people had the shivers and I was just doing my act in the middle like a crazy horse; the movement was inspired a lot by horses. So, I was performing but honestly I had special effects doing my act. [Laughs] That was a great moment. I remember before I started I was, like, ‘Oh, my god, I’ve forgotten the act, I’ve forgotten the act’. [Laughs] It’s one of the best moments onstage I’ve had. It’s such a shame that festival doesn’t exist any more.

Afterwards I did Russian bar with Eric and Tristan at Flic Flac Circus, and that was also a great highlight because we had to do everything ourselves. It was traditional circus; nobody’s gonna check to see if I’ve rigged my hoop well, nobody’s gonna tell you: “Stand by.” There’s a clock so you should be on time. We learned a lot over there and that’s where we met the guys from XY. But whenever I work with friends it’s the best. After we did Sequence 8 with our best friends for three years – that was just a blast – we keep choosing projects on whatever they bring us artistically and who’s in the cast.

Alex appears in Barcode’s first full-length production, Sweat and Ink (De Sueur et d’Encre), which headlines at Hand to Hand: A FringeArts Circus Festival in Philadelphia, USA. The show runs from 31 May – 2 June 2018.

Picture credits: Caroline Dostie; Meredith Mullins; Sebastien Lozé

Barcode’s website and Facebook

Twitter: @FringeArts

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

Read our interviews with Barcode’s Eric Bates, when he was guesting with Silver Lining in 2015, and another Russian bar flyer, Tain Molendijk, when she was with15ft6 the same year.

[shihlun]

Chris Marker - Sans Soleil / Sunless

The first image he told me about was of three children on a road in Iceland, in 1965. He said that for him it was the image of happiness and also that he had tried several times to link it to other images, but it never worked. He wrote me: one day I'll have to put it all alone at the beginning of a film with a long piece of black leader; if they don't see happiness in the picture, at least they'll see the black. 

He wrote: I'm just back from Hokkaido, the Northern Island. Rich and hurried Japanese take the plane, others take the ferry: waiting, immobility, snatches of sleep. Curiously all of that makes me think of a past or future war: night trains, air raids, fallout shelters, small fragments of war enshrined in everyday life. He liked the fragility of those moments suspended in time. Those memories whose only function had been to leave behind nothing but memories. He wrote: I've been round the world several times and now only banality still interests me. On this trip I've tracked it with the relentlessness of a bounty hunter. At dawn we'll be in Tokyo.

He used to write me from Africa. He contrasted African time to European time, and also to Asian time. He said that in the 19th century mankind had come to terms with space, and that the great question of the 20th was the coexistence of different concepts of time. By the way, did you know that there are emus in the Île de France?

He wrote me that in the Bijagós Islands it's the young girls who choose their fiancées.

He wrote me that in the suburbs of Tokyo there is a temple consecrated to cats. I wish I could convey to you the simplicity—the lack of affectation—of this couple who had come to place an inscribed wooden slat in the cat cemetery so their cat Tora would be protected. No she wasn't dead, only run away. But on the day of her death no one would know how to pray for her, how to intercede with death so that he would call her by her right name. So they had to come there, both of them, under the rain, to perform the rite that would repair the web of time where it had been broken.

He wrote me: I will have spent my life trying to understand the function of remembering, which is not the opposite of forgetting, but rather its lining. We do not remember, we rewrite memory much as history is rewritten. How can one remember thirst?

He didn't like to dwell on poverty, but in everything he wanted to show there were also the 4-Fs of the Japanese model. A world full of bums, of lumpens, of outcasts, of Koreans. Too broke to afford drugs, they'd get drunk on beer, on fermented milk. This morning in Namidabashi, twenty minutes from the glories of the center city, a character took his revenge on society by directing traffic at the crossroads. Luxury for them would be one of those large bottles of sake that are poured over tombs on the day of the dead.

I paid for a round in a bar in Namidabashi. It's the kind of place that allows people to stare at each other with equality; the threshold below which every man is as good as any other—and knows it.

He told me about the Jetty on Fogo, in theCape Verde islands. How long have they been there waiting for the boat, patient as pebbles but ready to jump? They are a people of wanderers, of navigators, of world travelers. They fashioned themselves through cross-breeding here on these rocks that the Portuguese used as a marshaling yard for their colonies. A people of nothing, a people of emptiness, a vertical people. Frankly, have you ever heard of anything stupider than to say to people as they teach in film schools, not to look at the camera?

He used to write to me: the Sahel is not only what is shown of it when it is too late; it's a land that drought seeps into like water into a leaking boat. The animals resurrected for the time of a carnival in Bissau will be petrified again, as soon as a new attack has changed the savannah into a desert. This is a state of survival that the rich countries have forgotten, with one exception—you win—Japan. My constant comings and goings are not a search for contrasts; they are a journey to the two extreme poles of survival.

He spoke to me of Sei Shonagon, a lady in waiting to Princess Sadako at the beginning of the 11th century, in the Heian period. Do we ever know where history is really made? Rulers ruled and used complicated strategies to fight one another. Real power was in the hands of a family of hereditary regents; the emperor's court had become nothing more than a place of intrigues and intellectual games. But by learning to draw a sort of melancholy comfort from the contemplation of the tiniest things this small group of idlers left a mark on Japanese sensibility much deeper than the mediocre thundering of the politicians. Shonagon had a passion for lists: the list of 'elegant things,' 'distressing things,' or even of 'things not worth doing.' One day she got the idea of drawing up a list of 'things that quicken the heart.' Not a bad criterion I realize when I'm filming; I bow to the economic miracle, but what I want to show you are the neighborhood celebrations.

He wrote me: coming back through the Chiba coast I thought of Shonagon's list, of all those signs one has only to name to quicken the heart, just name. To us, a sun is not quite a sun unless it's radiant, and a spring not quite a spring unless it is limpid. Here to place adjectives would be so rude as leaving price tags on purchases. Japanese poetry never modifies. There is a way of saying boat, rock, mist, frog, crow, hail, heron, chrysanthemum, that includes them all. Newspapers have been filled recently with the story of a man from Nagoya. The woman he loved died last year and he drowned himself in work—Japanese style—like a madman. It seems he even made an important discovery in electronics. And then in the month of May he killed himself. They say he could not stand hearing the word 'Spring.'

He described me his reunion with Tokyo: like a cat who has come home from vacation in his basket immediately starts to inspect familiar places. He ran off to see if everything was where it should be: the Ginza owl, the Shimbashi locomotive, the temple of the fox at the top of the Mitsukoshi department store, which he found invaded by little girls and rock singers. He was told that it was now little girls who made and unmade stars; the producers shuddered before them. He was told that a disfigured woman took off her mask in front of passers-by and scratched them if they did not find her beautiful. Everything interested him. He who didn't give a damn if the Dodgers won the pennant or about the results of the Daily Double asked feverishly how Chiyonofuji had done in the last sumo tournament. He asked for news of the imperial family, of the crown prince, of the oldest mobster in Tokyo who appears regularly on television to teach goodness to children. These simple joys he had never felt: of returning to a country, a house, a family home. But twelve million anonymous inhabitants could supply him with them.

He wrote: Tokyo is a city crisscrossed by trains, tied together with electric wire she shows her veins. They say that television makes her people illiterate; as for me, I've never seen so many people reading in the streets. Perhaps they read only in the street, or perhaps they just pretend to read—these yellow men. I make my appointments at Kinokuniya, the big bookshop in Shinjuku. The graphic genius that allowed the Japanese to invent CinemaScope ten centuries before the movies compensates a little for the sad fate of the comic strip heroines, victims of heartless story writers and of castrating censorship. Sometimes they escape, and you find them again on the walls. The entire city is a comic strip; it's Planet Manga. How can one fail to recognize the statuary that goes from plasticized baroque to Stalin central? And the giant faces with eyes that weigh down on the comic book readers, pictures bigger than people, voyeurizing the voyeurs.

At nightfall the megalopolis breaks down into villages, with its country cemeteries in the shadow of banks, with its stations and temples. Each district of Tokyo once again becomes a tidy ingenuous little town, nestling amongst the skyscrapers.

The small bar in Shinjuku reminded him of that Indian flute whose sound can only be heard by whomever is playing it. He might have cried out if it was in aGodard film or a Shakespeare play, “Where should this music be?”

Later he told me he had eaten at the restaurant in Nishi-nippori where Mr. Yamada practices the difficult art of 'action cooking.' He said that by watching carefully Mr. Yamada's gestures and his way of mixing the ingredients one could meditate usefully on certain fundamental concepts common to painting, philosophy, and karate. He claimed that Mr. Yamada possessed in his humble way the essence of style, and consequently that it was up to him to use his invisible brush to write upon this first day in Tokyo the words 'the end.'

I've spent the day in front of my TV set—that memory box. I was inNara with the sacred deers. I was taking a picture without knowing that in the 15th century Basho had written: “The willow sees the heron's image... upside down.”

The commercial becomes a kind of haiku to the eye, used to Western atrocities in this field; not understanding obviously adds to the pleasure. For one slightly hallucinatory moment I had the impression that I spoke Japanese, but it was a cultural program onNHK about Gérard de Nerval.

8:40, Cambodia. From Jean Jacques Rousseau to the Khmer Rouge: coincidence, or the sense of history?

In Apocalypse Now, Brando said a few definitive and incommunicable sentences: “Horror has a face and a name... you must make a friend of horror.” To cast out the horror that has a name and a face you must give it another name and another face. Japanese horror movies have the cunning beauty of certain corpses. Sometimes one is stunned by so much cruelty. One seeks its sources in the Asian peoples long familiarity with suffering, that requires that even pain be ornate. And then comes the reward: the monsters are laid out, Natsume Masako arises; absolute beauty also has a name and a face.

But the more you watch Japanese television... the more you feel it's watching you. Even television newscast bears witness to the fact that the magical function of the eye is at the center of all things. It's election time: the winning candidates black out the empty eye of Daruma—the spirit of luck—while losing candidates—sad but dignified—carry off their one-eyed Daruma.

The images most difficult to figure out are those of Europe. I watched the pictures of a film whose soundtrack will be added later. It took me six months for Poland.

Meanwhile, I have no difficulty with local earthquakes. But I must say that last night's quake helped me greatly to grasp a problem.

Poetry is born of insecurity: wandering Jews, quaking Japanese; by living on a rug that jesting nature is ever ready to pull out from under them they've got into the habit of moving about in a world of appearances: fragile, fleeting, revocable, of trains that fly from planet to planet, of samurai fighting in an immutable past. That's called 'the impermanence of things.'

I did it all. All the way to the evening shows for adults—so called. The same hypocrisy as in the comic strips, but it's a coded hypocrisy. Censorship is not the mutilation of the show, it is the show. The code is the message. It points to the absolute by hiding it. That's what religions have always done.

That year, a new face appeared among the great ones that blazon the streets of Tokyo: the Pope's. Treasures that had never left the Vatican were shown on the seventh floor of the Sogo department store.

He wrote me: curiosity of course, and the glimmer of industrial espionage in the eye—I imagine them bringing out within two years time a more efficient and less expensive version of Catholicism—but there's also the fascination associated with the sacred, even when it's someone else's.

So when will the third floor of Macy's harbor an exhibition of Japanese sacred signs such as can be seen at Josen-kai on the island of Hokkaido? At first one smiles at this place which combines a museum, a chapel, and a sex shop. As always in Japan, one admires the fact that the walls between the realms are so thin that one can in the same breath contemplate a statue, buy an inflatable doll, and give the goddess of fertility the small offering that always accompanies her displays. Displays whose frankness would make the stratagems of the television incomprehensible, if it did not at the same time say that a sex is visible only on condition of being severed from a body.

One would like to believe in a world before the fall: inaccessible to the complications of a Puritanism whose phony shadow has been imposed on it by American occupation. Where people who gather laughing around the votive fountain, the woman who touches it with a friendly gesture, share in the same cosmic innocence.

The second part of the museum—with its couples of stuffed animals—would then be the earthly paradise as we have always dreamed it. Not so sure... animal innocence may be a trick for getting around censorship, but perhaps also the mirror of an impossible reconciliation. And even without original sin this earthly paradise may be a paradise lost. In the glossy splendour of the gentle animals of Josen-kai I read the fundamental rift of Japanese society, the rift that separates men from women. In life it seems to show itself in two ways only: violent slaughter, or a discreet melancholy—resembling Sei Shonagon's—which the Japanese express in a single untranslatable word. So this bringing down of man to the level of the beasts—against which the fathers of the church invade—becomes here the challenge of the beasts to the poignancy of things, to a melancholy whose color I can give you by copying a few lines from Samura Koichi: “Who said that time heals all wounds? It would be better to say that time heals everything except wounds. With time, the hurt of separation loses its real limits. With time, the desired body will soon disappear, and if the desiring body has already ceased to exist for the other, then what remains is a wound... disembodied.”

He wrote me that the Japanese secret—what Lévi-Strauss had called the poignancy of things—implied the faculty of communion with things, of entering into them, of being them for a moment. It was normal that in their turn they should be like us: perishable and immortal.

He wrote me: animism is a familiar notion in Africa, it is less often applied in Japan. What then shall we call this diffuse belief, according to which every fragment of creation has its invisible counterpart? When they build a factory or a skyscraper, they begin with a ceremony to appease the god who owns the land. There is a ceremony for brushes, for abacuses, and even for rusty needles. There's one on the 25th of September for the repose of the soul of broken dolls. The dolls are piled up in the temple of Kiyomitsu consecrated to Kannon—the goddess of compassion—and are burned in public.

I look to the participants. I think the people who saw off the kamikaze pilots had the same look on their faces.

He wrote me that the pictures of Guinea-Bissau ought to be accompanied by music from the Cape Verde islands. That would be our contribution to the unity dreamed of by Amilcar Cabral.

Why should so small a country—and one so poor—interest the world? They did what they could, they freed themselves, they chased out the Portuguese. They traumatized the Portuguese army to such an extent that it gave rise to a movement that overthrew the dictatorship, and led one for a moment to believe in a new revolution in Europe.

Who remembers all that? History throws its empty bottles out the window.

This morning I was on the dock at Pidjiguity, where everything began in 1959, when the first victims of the struggle were killed. It may be as difficult to recognize Africa in this leaden fog as it is to recognize struggle in the rather dull activity of tropical longshoremen.

Rumor has it that every third world leader coined the same phrase the morning after independence: “Now the real problems start.”

Cabral never got a chance to say it: he was assassinated first. But the problems started, and went on, and are still going on. Rather unexciting problems for revolutionary romanticism: to work, to produce, to distribute, to overcome postwar exhaustion, temptations of power and privilege.

Ah well... after all, history only tastes bitter to those who expected it to be sugar coated.

My personal problem is more specific: how to film the ladies of Bissau? Apparently, the magical function of the eye was working against me there. It was in the marketplaces of Bissau and Cape Verde that I could stare at them again with equality: I see her, she saw me, she knows that I see her, she drops me her glance, but just at an angle where it is still possible to act as though it was not addressed to me, and at the end the real glance, straightforward, that lasted a twenty-fourth of a second, the length of a film frame.

All women have a built-in grain of indestructibility. And men's task has always been to make them realize it as late as possible. African men are just as good at this task as others. But after a close look at African women I wouldn't necessarily bet on the men.

He told me the story of the dog Hachiko. A dog waited every day for his master at the station. The master died, and the dog didn't know it, and he continued to wait all his life. People were moved and brought him food. After his death a statue was erected in his honor, in front of which sushi and rice cakes are still placed so that the faithful soul of Hachiko will never go hungry.

Tokyo is full of these tiny legends, and of mediating animals. The Mitsukoshi lion stands guard on the frontiers of what was once the empire of Mr. Okada—a great collector of French paintings, the man who hired the Château of Versailles to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of his department stores.

In the computer section I've seen young Japanese exercising their brain muscles like the young Athenians at the Palaistra. They have a war to win. The history books of the future will perhaps place the battle of integrated circuits at the same level as Salamis and Agincourt, but willing to honor the unfortunate adversary by leaving other fields to him: men's fashions this season are placed under the sign of John Kennedy.

Like an old votive turtle stationed in the corner of a field, every day he saw Mr. Akao—the president of the Japanese Patriotic Party—trumpeting from the heights of his rolling balcony against the international communist plot. He wrote me: the automobiles of the extreme right with their flags and megaphones are part of Tokyo's landscape—Mr. Akao is their focal point. I think he'll have his statue like the dog Hachiko, at this crossroads from which he departs only to go and prophesy on the battlefields. He was at Narita in the sixties. Peasants fighting against the building of an airport on their land, and Mr. Akao denouncing the hand of Moscow behind everything that moved.

Yurakucho is the political space of Tokyo. Once upon a time I saw bonzes pray for peace in Vietnam there. Today young right-wing activists protest against the annexation of the Northern Islands by the Russians. Sometimes they are answered that the commercial relations of Japan with the abominable occupier of the North are a thousand times better than with the American ally who is always whining about economic aggression. Ah, nothing is simple.

On the other sidewalk the Left has the floor. The Korean Catholic opposition leader Kim Dae Jung—kidnapped in Tokyo in '73 by the South Korean gestapo—is threatened with the death sentence. A group has begun a hunger strike. Some very young militants are trying to gather signatures in his support.

I went back to Narita for the birthday of one of the victims of the struggle. The demo was unreal. I had the impression of acting in Brigadoon, of waking up ten years later in the midst of the same players, with the same blue lobsters of police, the same helmeted adolescents, the same banners and the same slogan: “Down with the airport.” Only one thing has been added: the airport precisely. But with its single runway and the barbed wire that chokes it, it looks more besieged than victorious.

My pal Hayao Yamaneko has found a solution: if the images of the present don't change, then change the images of the past.

He showed me the clashes of the sixties treated by his synthesizer: pictures that are less deceptive he says—with the conviction of a fanatic—than those you see on television. At least they proclaim themselves to be what they are: images, not the portable and compact form of an already inaccessible reality. Hayao calls his machine's world the 'zone,' an homage to Tarkovsky.

What Narita brought back to me, like a shattered hologram, was an intact fragment of the generation of the sixties. If to love without illusions is still to love, I can say that I loved it. It was a generation that often exasperated me, for I didn't share its utopia of uniting in a common struggle those who revolt against poverty and those who revolt against wealth. But it screamed out that gut reaction that better adjusted voices no longer knew how, or no longer dared to utter.

I met peasants there who had come to know themselves through the struggle. Concretely it had failed. At the same time, all they had won in their understanding of the world could have been won only through the struggle.

As for the students, some massacred each other in the mountains in the name of revolutionary purity, while others had studied capitalism so thoroughly to fight it that they now provide it with its best executives. Like everywhere else the movement had its postures and its careerists, including, and there are some, those who made a career of martyrdom. But it carried with it all those who said, like Ché Guevara, that they “trembled with indignation every time an injustice is committed in the world.” They wanted to give a political meaning to their generosity, and their generosity has outlasted their politics. That's why I will never allow it to be said that youth is wasted on the young.

The youth who get together every weekend at Shinjuku obviously know that they are not on a launching pad toward real life; but they are life, to be eaten on the spot like fresh doughnuts.

It's a very simple secret. The old try to hide it, and not all the young know it. The ten-year-old girl who threw her friend from the thirteenth floor of a building after having tied her hands, because she'd spoken badly of their class team, hadn't discovered it yet. Parents who demand an increase in the number of special telephone lines devoted to the prevention of children's suicides find out a little late that they have kept it all too well. Rock is an international language for spreading the secret. Another is peculiar to Tokyo.

For the takenoko, twenty is the age of retirement. They are baby Martians. I go to see them dance every Sunday in the park at Yoyogi. They want people to look at them, but they don't seem to notice that people do. They live in a parallel time sphere: a kind of invisible aquarium wall separates them from the crowd they attract, and I can spend a whole afternoon contemplating the little takenoko girl who is learning—no doubt for the first time—the customs of her planet.

Beyond that, they wear dog tags, they obey a whistle, the Mafia rackets them, and with the exception of a single group made up of girls, it's always a boy who commands.

One day he writes to me: description of a dream. More and more my dreams find their settings in the department stores of Tokyo, the subterranean tunnels that extend them and run parallel to the city. A face appears, disappears... a trace is found, is lost. All the folklore of dreams is so much in its place that the next day when I am awake I realize that I continue to seek in the basement labyrinth the presence concealed the night before. I begin to wonder if those dreams are really mine, or if they are part of a totality, of a gigantic collective dream of which the entire city may be the projection. It might suffice to pick up any one of the telephones that are lying around to hear a familiar voice, or the beating of a heart, Sei Shonagon's for example.

All the galleries lead to stations; the same companies own the stores and the railroads that bear their name. Keio, Odakyu—all those names of ports. The train inhabited by sleeping people puts together all the fragments of dreams, makes a single film of them—the ultimate film. The tickets from the automatic dispenser grant admission to the show.

He told me about the January light on the station stairways. He told me that this city ought to be deciphered like a musical score; one could get lost in the great orchestral masses and the accumulation of details. And that created the cheapest image of Tokyo: overcrowded, megalomaniac, inhuman. He thought he saw more subtle cycles there: rhythms, clusters of faces caught sight of in passing—as different and precise as groups of instruments. Sometimes the musical comparison coincided with plain reality; the Sony stairway in the Ginza was itself an instrument, each step a note. All of it fit together like the voices of a somewhat complicated fugue, but it was enough to take hold of one of them and hang on to it.

The television screens for example; all by themselves they created an itinerary that sometimes wound up in unexpected curves. It was sumo season, and the fans who came to watch the fights in the very chic showrooms on the Ginza were the poorest of the Tokyo poors. So poor that they didn't even have a TV set. He saw them come, the dead souls of Namida-bashi he had drunk saké with one sunny dawn—how many seasons ago was that now?

He wrote me: even in the stalls where they sell electronic spare parts—that some hipsters use for jewelry—there is in the score that is Tokyo a particular staff, whose rarity in Europe condemns me to a real acoustic exile. I mean the music of video games. They are fitted into tables. You can drink, you can lunch, and go on playing. They open onto the street. By listening to them you can play from memory.

I saw these games born in Japan. I later met up with them again all over the world, but one detail was different. At the beginning the game was familiar: a kind of anti-ecological beating where the idea was to kill off—as soon as they showed the white of their eyes—creatures that were either prairie dogs or baby seals, I can't be sure which. Now here's the Japanese variation. Instead of the critters, there's some vaguely human heads identified by a label: at the top the chairman of the board, in front of him the vice president and the directors, in the front row the section heads and the personnel manager. The guy I filmed—who was smashing up the hierarchy with an enviable energy—confided in me that for him the game was not at all allegorical, that he was thinking very precisely of his superiors. No doubt that's why the puppet representing the personnel manager has been clubbed so often and so hard that it's out of commission, and why it had to be replaced again by a baby seal.

Hayao Yamaneko invents video games with his machine. To please me he puts in my best beloved animals: the cat and the owl. He claims that electronic texture is the only one that can deal with sentiment, memory, and imagination. Mizoguchi's Arsène Lupin for example, or the no less imaginary burakumin. How one claim to show a category of Japanese who do not exist? Yes they're there; I saw them in Osaka hiring themselves out by the day, sleeping on the ground. Ever since the middle ages they've been doomed to grubby and back-breaking jobs. But since the Meiji era, officially nothing sets them apart, and their real name—eta—is a taboo word, not to be pronounced. They are non-persons. How can they be shown, except as non-images?

Video games are the first stage in a plan for machines to help the human race, the only plan that offers a future for intelligence. For the moment, the inseparable philosophy of our time is contained in the Pac-Man. I didn't know when I was sacrificing all my hundred yen coins to him that he was going to conquer the world. Perhaps because he is the most perfect graphic metaphor of man's fate. He puts into true perspective the balance of power between the individual and the environment. And he tells us soberly that though there may be honor in carrying out the greatest number of victorious attacks, it always comes a cropper.

He was pleased that the same chrysanthemums appeared in funerals for men and for animals. He described to me the ceremony held at the zoo in Ueno in memory of animals that had died during the year. For two years in a row this day of mourning has had a pall cast over it by the death of a panda, more irreparable—according to the newspapers—than the death of the prime minister that took place at the same time. Last year people really cried. Now they seem to be getting used to it, accepting that each year death takes a panda as dragons do young girls in fairy tales.

I've heard this sentence: “The partition that separates life from death does not appear so thick to us as it does to a Westerner.” What I have read most often in the eyes of people about to die is surprise. What I read right now in the eyes of Japanese children is curiosity, as if they were trying—in order to understand the death of an animal—to stare through the partition.

I have returned from a country where death is not a partition to cross through but a road to follow. The great ancestor of the Bijagós archipelago has described for us the itinerary of the dead and how they move from island to island according to a rigorous protocol until they come to the last beach where they wait for the ship that will take them to the other world. If by accident one should meet them, it is above all imperative not to recognize them.

The Bijagós is a part of Guinea Bissau. In an old film clip Amilcar Cabral waves a gesture of good-bye to the shore; he's right, he'll never see it again. Luis Cabral made the same gesture fifteen years later on the canoe that was bringing us back.

Guinea has by that time become a nation and Luis is its president. All those who remember the war remember him. He's the half-brother of Amilcar, born as he was of mixed Guinean and Cape Verdean blood, and like him a founding member of an unusual party, the PAIGC, which by uniting the two colonized countries in a single movement of struggle wishes to be the forerunner of a federation of the two states.

I have listened to the stories of former guerrilla fighters, who had fought in conditions so inhuman that they pitied the Portuguese soldiers for having to bear what they themselves suffered. That I heard. And many more things that make one ashamed for having used lightly—even if inadvertently—the word guerrilla to describe a certain breed of film-making. A word that at the time was linked to many theoretical debates and also to bloody defeats on the ground.

Amilcar Cabral was the only one to lead a victorious guerrilla war, and not only in terms of military conquests. He knew his people, he had studied them for a long time, and he wanted every liberated region to be also the precursor of a different kind of society.

The socialist countries send weapons to arm the fighters. The social democracies fill the People's Stores. May the extreme left forgive history but if the guerrillas are like fish in water it's a bit thanks to Sweden.

Amilcar was not afraid of ambiguities—he knew the traps. He wrote: “It's as though we were at the edge of a great river full of waves and storms, with people who are trying to cross it and drown, but they have no other way out, they must get to the other side.”

And now, the scene moves to Cassaque: the seventeenth of February, 1980. But to understand it properly one must move forward in time. In a year Luis Cabral the president will be in prison, and the weeping man he has just decorated, major Nino, will have taken power. The party will have split, Guineans and Cape Verdeans separated one from the other will be fighting over Amilcar's legacy. We will learn that behind this ceremony of promotions which in the eyes of visitors perpetuated the brotherhood of the struggle, there lay a pit of post-victory bitterness, and that Nino's tears did not express an ex-warrior's emotion, but the wounded pride of a hero who felt he had not been raised high enough above the others.

And beneath each of these faces a memory. And in place of what we were told had been forged into a collective memory, a thousand memories of men who parade their personal laceration in the great wound of history.

In Portugal—raised up in its turn by the breaking wave of Bissau—Miguel Torga, who had struggled all his life against the dictatorship wrote: “Every protagonist represents only himself; in place of a change in the social setting he seeks simply in the revolutionary act the sublimation of his own image.”

That's the way the breakers recede. And so predictably that one has to believe in a kind of amnesia of the future that history distributes through mercy or calculation to those whom it recruits: Amilcar murdered by members of his own party, the liberated areas fallen under the yoke of bloody petty tyrants liquidated in their turn by a central power to whose stability everyone paid homage until the military coup.

That's how history advances, plugging its memory as one plugs one's ears. Luis exiled to Cuba, Nino discovering in his turn plots woven against him, can be cited reciprocally to appear before the bar of history. She doesn't care, she understands nothing, she has only one friend, the one Brando spoke of in Apocalypse: horror. That has a name and a face.

I'm writing you all this from another world, a world of appearances. In a way the two worlds communicate with each other. Memory is to one what history is to the other: an impossibility.

Legends are born out of the need to decipher the indecipherable. Memories must make do with their delirium, with their drift. A moment stopped would burn like a frame of film blocked before the furnace of the projector. Madness protects, as fever does.

I envy Hayao in his 'zone,' he plays with the signs of his memory. He pins them down and decorates them like insects that would have flown beyond time, and which he could contemplate from a point outside of time: the only eternity we have left. I look at his machines. I think of a world where each memory could create its own legend.

He wrote me that only one film had been capable of portraying impossible memory—insane memory: Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. In the spiral of the titles he saw time covering a field ever wider as it moved away, a cyclone whose present moment contains motionless the eye.

In San Francisco he had made his pilgrimage to all the film's locations: the florist Podesta Baldocchi, where James Stewart spies on Kim Novak—he the hunter, she the prey. Or was it the other way around? The tiles hadn't changed.

He had driven up and down the hills of San Francisco where Jimmy Stewart, Scotty, follows Kim Novak, Madeline. It seems to be a question of trailing, of enigma, of murder, but in truth it's a question of power and freedom, of melancholy and dazzlement, so carefully coded within the spiral that you could miss it, and not discover immediately that this vertigo of space in reality stands for the vertigo of time.

He had followed all the trails. Even to the cemetery at Mission Dolores where Madeline came to pray at the grave of a woman long since dead, whom she should not have known. He followed Madeline—as Scotty had done—to the Museum at the Legion of Honor, before the portrait of a dead woman she should not have known. And on the portrait, as in Madeline's hair, the spiral of time.

The small Victorian hotel where Madeline disappeared had disappeared itself; concrete had replaced it, at the corner of Eddy and Gough. On the other hand the sequoia cut was still in Muir Woods. On it Madeline traced the short distance between two of those concentric lines that measured the age of the tree and said, “Here I was born... and here I died.”

He remembered another film in which this passage was quoted. The sequoia was the one in the Jardin des plantes in Paris, and the hand pointed to a place outside the tree, outside of time.

The painted horse at San Juan Bautista, his eye that looked like Madeline's: Hitchcock had invented nothing, it was all there. He had run under the arches of the promenade in the mission as Madeline had run towards her death. Or was it hers?

  From this fake tower—the only thing that Hitchcock had added—he imagined Scotty as time's fool of love, finding it impossible to live with memory without falsifying it. Inventing a double for Madeline in another dimension of time, a zone that would belong only to him and from which he could decipher the indecipherable story that had begun at Golden Gate when he had pulled Madeline out of San Francisco Bay, when he had saved her from death before casting her back to death. Or was it the other way around?

In San Francisco I made the pilgrimage of a film I had seen nineteen times. In Iceland I laid the first stone of an imaginary film. That summer I had met three children on a road and a volcano had come out of the sea. The American astronauts came to train before flying off to the moon, in this corner of Earth that resembles it. I saw it immediately as a setting for science fiction: the landscape of another planet. Or rather no, let it be the landscape of our own planet for someone who comes from elsewhere, from very far away. I imagine him moving slowly, heavily, about the volcanic soil that sticks to the soles. All of a sudden he stumbles, and the next step it's a year later. He's walking on a small path near the Dutch border along a sea bird sanctuary.

That's for a start. Now why this cut in time, this connection of memories? That's just it, he can't understand. He hasn't come from another planet he comes from our future, four thousand and one: the time when the human brain has reached the era of full employment. Everything works to perfection, all that we allow to slumber, including memory. Logical consequence: total recall is memory anesthetized. After so many stories of men who had lost their memory, here is the story of one who has lost forgetting, and who—through some peculiarity of his nature—instead of drawing pride from the fact and scorning mankind of the past and its shadows, turned to it first with curiosity and then with compassion. In the world he comes from, to call forth a vision, to be moved by a portrait, to tremble at the sound of music, can only be signs of a long and painful pre-history. He wants to understand. He feels these infirmities of time like an injustice, and he reacts to that injustice like Ché Guevara, like the youth of the sixties, with indignation. He is a Third Worlder of time. The idea that unhappiness had existed in his planet's past is as unbearable to him as to them the existence of poverty in their present.

Naturally he'll fail. The unhappiness he discovers is as inaccessible to him as the poverty of a poor country is unimaginable to the children of a rich one. He has chosen to give up his privileges, but he can do nothing about the privilege that has allowed him to choose. His only recourse is precisely that which threw him into this absurd quest: a song cycle by Mussorgsky. They are still sung in the fortieth century. Their meaning has been lost. But it was then that for the first time he perceived the presence of that thing he didn't understand which had something to do with unhappiness and memory, and towards which slowly, heavily, he began to walk.

Of course I'll never make that film. Nonetheless I'm collecting the sets, inventing the twists, putting in my favorite creatures. I've even given it a title, indeed the title of those Mussorgsky songs: Sunless.

On May 15, 1945, at seven o'clock in the morning, the three hundred and eighty second US infantry regiment attacked a hill in Okinawa they had renamed 'Dick Hill.' I suppose the Americans themselves believed that they were conquering Japanese soil, and that they knew nothing about the Ryukyu civilization. Neither did I, apart from the fact that the faces of the market ladies at Itoman spoke to me more of Gauguin than of Utamaro. For centuries of dreamy vassalage time had not moved in the archipelago. Then came the break. Is it a property of islands to make their women into the guardians of their memory?

I learned that—as in the Bijagós—it is through the women that magic knowledge is transmitted. Each community has its priestess—the noro—who presides over all ceremonies with the exception of funerals.

The Japanese defended their position inch by inch. At the end of the day the two half platoons formed from the remnants of L Company had got only halfway up the hill, a hill like the one where I followed a group of villagers on their way to the purification ceremony.

The noro communicates with the gods of the sea, of rain, of the earth, of fire. Everyone bows down before the sister deity who is the reflection, in the absolute, of a privileged relationship between brother and sister. Even after her death, the sister retains her spiritual predominance.

At dawn the Americans withdrew. Fighting went on for over a month before the island surrendered, and toppled into the modern world. Twenty-seven years of American occupation, the re-establishment of a controversial Japanese sovereignty: two miles from the bowling alleys and the gas stations the noro continues her dialogue with the gods. When she is gone the dialogue will end. Brothers will no longer know that their dead sister is watching over them. When filming this ceremony I knew I was present at the end of something. Magical cultures that disappear leave traces to those who succeed them. This one will leave none; the break in history has been too violent.

I touched that break at the summit of the hill, as I had touched it at the edge of the ditch where two hundred girls had used grenades to commit suicide in 1945 rather than fall alive into the hands of the Americans. People have their pictures taken in front of the ditch. Across from it souvenir lighters are sold shaped like grenades.

On Hayao's machine war resembles letters being burned, shredded in a frame of fire. The code name for Pearl Harbor was Tora, Tora, Tora, the name of the cat the couple in Gotokuji was praying for. So all of this will have begun with the name of a cat pronounced three times.

Off Okinawa kamikaze dived on the American fleet; they would become a legend. They were likelier material for it obviously than the special units who exposed their prisoners to the bitter frost of Manchuria and then to hot water so as to see how fast flesh separates from the bone.

One would have to read their last letters to learn that the kamikaze weren't all volunteers, nor were they all swashbuckling samurai. Before drinking his last cup of saké Ryoji Uebara had written: “I have always thought that Japan must live free in order to live eternally. It may seem idiotic to say that today, under a totalitarian regime. We kamikaze pilots are machines, we have nothing to say, except to beg our compatriots to make Japan the great country of our dreams. In the plane I am a machine, a bit of magnetized metal that will plaster itself against an aircraft carrier. But once on the ground I am a human being with feelings and passions. Please excuse these disorganized thoughts. I'm leaving you a rather melancholy picture, but in the depths of my heart I am happy. I have spoken frankly, forgive me.”

Every time he came from Africa he stopped at the island of Sal, which is in fact a salt rock in the middle of the Atlantic. At the end of the island, beyond the village of Santa Maria and its cemetery with the painted tombs, it suffices to walk straight ahead to meet the desert.

He wrote me: I've understood the visions. Suddenly you're in the desert the way you are in the night; whatever is not desert no longer exists. You don't want to believe the images that crop up.

Did I write you that there are emus in the Ile de France? This name—Island of France—sounds strangely on the island of Sal. My memory superimposes two towers: the one at the ruined castle of Montpilloy that served as an encampment for Joan of Arc, and the lighthouse tower at the southern tip of Sal, probably one of the last lighthouses to use oil.

A lighthouse in the Sahel looks like a collage until you see the ocean at the edge of the sand and salt. Crews of transcontinental planes are rotated on Sal. Their club brings to this frontier of nothingness a small touch of the seaside resort which makes the rest still more unreal. They feed the stray dogs that live on the beach.

I found my dogs pretty nervous tonight; they were playing with the sea as I had never seen them before. Listening to Radio Hong Kong later on I understood: today was the first day of the lunar new year, and for the first time in sixty years the sign of the dog met the sign of water.

Out there, eleven thousand miles away, a single shadow remains immobile in the midst of the long moving shadows that the January light throws over the ground of Tokyo: the shadow of the Asakusa bonze.

For also in Japan the year of the dog is beginning. Temples are filled with visitors who come to toss down their coins and to pray—Japanese style—a prayer which slips into life without interrupting it.

Brooding at the end of the world on my island of Sal in the company of my prancing dogs I remember that month of January in Tokyo, or rather I remember the images I filmed of the month of January in Tokyo. They have substituted themselves for my memory. They are my memory. I wonder how people remember things who don't film, don't photograph, don't tape. How has mankind managed to remember? I know: it wrote the Bible. The new Bible will be an eternal magnetic tape of a time that will have to reread itself constantly just to know it existed.

As we await the year four thousand and one and its total recall, that's what the oracles we take out of their long hexagonal boxes at new year may offer us: a little more power over that memory that runs from camp to camp—like Joan of Arc. That a short wave announcement from Hong Kong radio picked up on a Cape Verde island projects to Tokyo, and that the memory of a precise color in the street bounces back on another country, another distance, another music, endlessly.

At the end of memory's path, the ideograms of the Island of France are no less enigmatic than the kanji of Tokyo in the miraculous light of the new year. It's Indian winter, as if the air were the first element to emerge purified from the countless ceremonies by which the Japanese wash off one year to enter the next one. A full month is just enough for them to fulfill all the duties that courtesy owes to time, the most interesting unquestionably being the acquisition at the temple of Tenjin of the uso bird, who according to one tradition eats all your lies of the year to come, and according to another turns them into truths.

But what gives the street its color in January, what makes it suddenly different is the appearance of kimono. In the street, in stores, in offices, even at the stock exchange on opening day, the girls take out their fur collared winter kimono. At that moment of the year other Japanese may well invent extra flat TV sets, commit suicide with a chain saw, or capture two thirds of the world market for semiconductors. Good for them; all you see are the girls.

The fifteenth of January is coming of age day: an obligatory celebration in the life of a young Japanese woman. The city governments distribute small bags filled with gifts, datebooks, advice: how to be a good citizen, a good mother, a good wife. On that day every twenty-year-old girl can phone her family for free, no matter where in Japan. Flag, home, and country: this is the anteroom of adulthood. The world of the takenoko and of rock singers speeds away like a rocket. Speakers explain what society expects of them. How long will it take to forget the secret?

And when all the celebrations are over it remains only to pick up all the ornaments—all the accessories of the celebration—and by burning them, make a celebration.

This is dondo-yaki, a Shinto blessing of the debris that have a right to immortality—like the dolls at Ueno. The last state—before their disappearance—of the poignancy of things. Daruma—the one eyed spirit—reigns supreme at the summit of the bonfire. Abandonment must be a feast; laceration must be a feast. And the farewell to all that one has lost, broken, used, must be ennobled by a ceremony. It's Japan that could fulfill the wish of that French writer who wanted divorce to be made a sacrament.

The only baffling part of this ritual was the circle of children striking the ground with their long poles. I only got one explanation, a singular one—although for me it might take the form of a small intimate service—it was to chase away the moles.

And that's where my three children of Iceland came and grafted themselves in. I picked up the whole shot again, adding the somewhat hazy end, the frame trembling under the force of the wind beating us down on the cliff: everything I had cut in order to tidy up, and that said better than all the rest what I saw in that moment, why I held it at arms length, at zooms length, until its last twenty-fourth of a second, the city of Heimaey spread out below us. And when five years later my friend Haroun Tazieff sent me the film he had just shot in the same place I lacked only the name to learn that nature performs its own dondo-yaki; the island's volcano had awakened. I looked at those pictures, and it was as if the entire year '65 had just been covered with ashes.

So, it sufficed to wait and the planet itself staged the working of time. I saw what had been my window again. I saw emerge familiar roofs and balconies, the landmarks of the walks I took through town every day, down to the cliff where I had met the children. The cat with white socks that Haroun had been considerate enough to film for me naturally found its place. And I thought, of all the prayers to time that had studded this trip the kindest was the one spoken by the woman of Gotokuji, who said simply to her cat Tora, “Cat, wherever you are, peace be with you.”

And then in its turn the journey entered the 'zone,' and Hayao showed me my images already affected by the moss of time, freed of the lie that had prolonged the existence of those moments swallowed by the spiral.

When spring came, when every crow announced its arrival by raising his cry half a tone, I took the green train of the Yamanote line and got off at Tokyo station, near the central post office. Even if the street was empty I waited at the red light—Japanese style—so as to leave space for the spirits of the broken cars. Even if I was expecting no letter I stopped at the general delivery window, for one must honor the spirits of torn up letters, and at the airmail counter to salute the spirits of unmailed letters.

I took the measure of the unbearable vanity of the West, that has never ceased to privilege being over non-being, what is spoken to what is left unsaid. I walked alongside the little stalls of clothing dealers. I heard in the distance Mr. Akao's voice reverberating from the loudspeakers... a half tone higher.

Then I went down into the basement where my friend—the maniac—busies himself with his electronic graffiti. Finally his language touches me, because he talks to that part of us which insists on drawing profiles on prison walls. A piece of chalk to follow the contours of what is not, or is no longer, or is not yet; the handwriting each one of us will use to compose his own list of 'things that quicken the heart,' to offer, or to erase. In that moment poetry will be made by everyone, and there will be emus in the 'zone.'

He writes me from Japan. He writes me from Africa. He writes that he can now summon up the look on the face of the market lady of Praia that had lasted only the length of a film frame.

Will there be a last letter?

Comparative Cinema > No 3 (2013)

[maryam0revna]

@pringlesaremydivision just fucking...did this whole list...for no reason. and I thought it was revolutionary, so here’s a bunch of shit you didn’t ask for!! 

1. if you got married, what colour would you wear to your wedding?

White but with some kind of gold thread/beading/other subtle accents. Bc I’m committed to getting married just after sunset with a bunch of candles and shit, so I’m gonna need my dress to have a golden glow to it.

2. do you prefer cereal & milk or hot chocolate?

Those are not opposites, but I guess cereal? You can have cereal anytime, but hot chocolate is pretty weather-dependent.

3. what name would you give to a cactus?

Spike

4. what would you name your kids if you had them?

Charles for a boy, Cora for a girl, or Caroline. I’ll probably change my mind by the time I actually have them. And no, I don’t know why they all start with C. Maybe I’ll be one of those parents...

5. what are your favourite shoes like?

They’re flat sandals; the part that cups your heel is black, and then there’s a wide band over the toes that’s a warm brown. They’re very Minimalist and match absolutely EVERYTHING, and I paid like..$8 for them at Dirt Cheap.

6. would you like to change your name?

Not really. It’s not my favorite, but it’s me. 

(Mood.)

7. are you a star person or a flower person?

Again, not opposites, and I am absolutely both. 

8. would you be ok with ending up single?

Oh yeah. I mean, I’d like to have many torrid affairs, but if I don’t find somebody I love and want to make it work with, I’m not gonna force myself to be in a subpar relationship. I’ll just have some sperm donor babies and live my best life.

9. are you a museum person or a park person?

Hmm, those are closer to being opposites, and yet I am still both.

10. how do you know it when you’re in love?

I’ve been in love exactly one time, and there was no one Moment or Lightning Strike or anything. I think the biggest thing was that I was willing to change my behavior to be more considerate of their needs. If you know me, you know I’m like...Very Me. Forcefully Me. So when I’m willing to modify or mitigate that, shit’s for real.

11. how was your favourite toy as a child like?

Do books count as toys? I was a book kid.

12. what name would you give to your car?

My current car is named Ahab. (It’s a big white whale, so obviously it needed a Moby Dick name.) Car before that was Belle. (Something about a Belle and Sebastian song. I don’t know. I was in 10th grade.)

13. do you decorate your bedroom a lot?

Yes. Candles, fairy lights, art, stacks of books, records, artfully draped scarves, giant cork board, etc. All have been in my room at one point or another, almost all at the same time.

14. does it make you sad to sleep alone?

GOD no. No one touching me? No one stealing the blankets? No one raising my body temperature to its boiling point? I love it.

15. do you have a favourite memory with your grandparents?

I have this very hazy memory that feels almost like a dream. We were in the car, late at night, driving to, I think, (great-)Grandpa Campbell’s house in Yazoo. My grandpa was driving, and my gran and I were in the back seat. The lights in the car were on, we had a blanket over our heads, and we were acting out a part of a movie. I can’t remember anything else except being very sleepy and watching the headlights from the oncoming traffic in the dark. The warm, hazy light under the sheet and then the headlights coming out of the dark...it’s comforting.

16. if you had a date, would you rather go to the amusement park or to the theatre?

Amusement park. Having been on a theatre-like date (we went to see Cirque du Soleil), I can authoritatively say that, even with someone I broadly enjoy, it’s a little uncomfortable, if you’re not like, A Couple already. And amusement parks are fun as hell! There’s lots to do, a lot of variety, and plenty of opportunity to be silly, which is ideal. 

Also ROLLERCOASTERS. I’ve had a blast riding a rollercoaster with an ex with whom I, at the time, had a pretty contentious quasi-friendship, because rollercoasters are the great unifiers. Once I’ve seen fear in your eyes (and you’ve seen my open-mouthed, eyes-clenched, screaming in absolute euphoria face) we’re a thing now, baby.

17. if you could have a professional makeup artist to do your makeup for a day, what would you like for her to do?

I would want her to do my makeup super slowly and teach me how to do it myself. Bc I’m pretty confident in my day-to-day abilities, but a makeup artist would definitely know shit that I do not.

18. does going to the doctor frighten you or comfort you?

Neither. I mean, if I know I need stitches, there’s some trepidation, obviously. But usually it’s just a thing.

19. if studying anything was free and you had endless time & energy, what stuff would you study?

Everything. I mean it. Everything. I would learn every language, every skill that could ever potentially be useful, everything.

20. who would appear in the acknowledgements if you wrote a book?

My parents, my extended family, my friends, and an old professor.

21. do you have a favourite bird? which one is it?

I do not. But hawks are very cool, and so are rosiate spoonbills. 

22. what colour do you wear the most?

Either navy, gray, or black. My hair is fairly bright, and I don’t want my clothes to compete too much. 

23. if you could launch a magazine, what would it be about?

Real Shit. Like, “here’s what you’re told about [insert subject of the month], but here’s the Real Shit that insiders know.” 

24. what name would you give to a cat?

My cat’s name is Hadrian. He was almost Sarkan, but he’s a Hadrian.

25. if you were a historian, what time in History would you like to study?

Either classic antiquity or Sun King-era France. I just wanna do The Most, please.

26. do you have a favourite lesbian story that happened to you?

Probably when MadTV outed my lesbian aunt to me. I was probably 7 or 8, and there was a joke about how two girls that were “roommates” must obviously be lesbians; my brain instantly went to my aunt and her very butch “roommate” of many years, and I was like, “Oh, okay. Noted.”  

27. what was your biggest childhood dream?

Literally to be a witch with magic powers. After that, to write books.

28. have you ever kept a dream journal?

Twice, briefly. My dreams are WEIRD and flow in ways that make them hard to describe.

29. if you had a camera & could start a photography project, what kind of stuff would you take pictures of?

My hometown. It’s such a place.

30. do you have a favourite kissing memory?

Almost all of my kissing memories are good kissing memories, so picking a favorite is tough... I think my favorite memory is my first kiss with the guy I dated my senior year of high school. The relationship ended badly, but that’s one of those Really Good Memories that just wasn’t tarnished by that. 

Basically we were on a picnic blanket in the middle of a field of tall grass, middle of the day, summer afternoon. Just had lunch, joking around. The day before, I had made some joke about “bite me” and he’d said some corny shit like, “I will”. So out of nowhere, he was like, “Remember how I said that?” and proceeded to plant a gentle but firm bite right onto my shoulder. Three things happened in about .25 seconds: I gasped, my eyes got approximately as big as dinner plates if I had to guess, and my mouth was on his mouth. It’s like I blinked and it happened, zero decision-making on my part. Pure response. Was it silly and completely High School? Oh yeah. But it was a funny, spontaneous moment that surprised the hell out of me, and I was the one doing the kissing! Good, good times.

[jamessiimon]

NICA.

My experience in circus school started in 2008, with a two-week “work experience” period, as when I was sixteen I attended Cirque Du Soleil's show 'Quidam' and immediately realised that I could apply my gymnastic skills towards a plausible career. I researched how to make this a reality and after successfully completing VCE was accepted into NICA in 2010.

Our first day we were lined up in the order highest entry score to the lowest. This was a little confronting, as my name was the first to be called meaning I had past the exam on top. We then were sectioned off into four different teams depending on your score or “level” of the basics. NICA has a funny way of always putting the best coaches with the best students making them improve and leaving the less gifted students with the less qualified teachers allowing for a very small improvement. I am not complaining, I was not spending almost $10,000 a year to improve others; I was there to learn from the best, to become the best I could. It just shocked me when it came to examinations that they were surprised that the good got better, but the not so good got worse.

First year was easy, to say the least. The first three months in the circus training we did “conditioning training”, which included strength, handstand basics, tumbling basics and flexibility in the morning and in the afternoon (depending on the day) two dance classes (contemporary or ballet) and three theory classes (anatomy, physiology or psychology) per week. As I had trained over 35 hours in gymnastics from the age of 5, this level of training and intensity was: medium. Now, I get that as an institute you take in a wide range of students with many different backgrounds and NICA did many efforts to help with the differences; split basic groups, separate dance groups and open training with the other years (for advance students) but with a class of 28 or so, it still isn’t the intense, small class training I was expecting.

After the first three months, we then had the opportunity for three months to “shop” around and decide what specialties suited our body types, what specialties we liked and what specialties the coaches thought was appropriate for each student. This was a fabulous time, trying different and unusual apparatuses, pushing your body and your capacities and most of all feeling that you are moving closer to the goal of becoming a professional circus performer.

At NICA, you can have two main specialties and one group specialty, but the group specialties were limited to only three choices chosen by the staff, our choices; Icarian Games, Skipping or Teeterboard. A small group of us during the “shopping” period were very keen on pursuing flying trapeze and put a formal appeal to the staff to allow us to do this as a group specialty. We had the coach, we were committed to even out of normal hours training and to signing a contract within the team that we would finish the year together no matter what. It was denied and so my specialties included; handstands, tumbling tight wire and teeterboard.

The last six months of first year training were actually some of the best; new skills, exploration, improvement, I really felt as though I was blossoming and I was receiving the right sort of attention. I was able to hold multiple one-arms in handstands, due to my gymnastics background I excelled in basics and teeterboard but my biggest and most impressive apparatus was the tight wire. By the end of first year I was able to walk, run, perform multiple jumps and execute a front sault and backflip unassisted.

At the end of my first year I was presented the NICA Achievement Award. This is normally given to the most outstanding second year student who displayed great potential, it is a scholarship to subsidise third year tuition fees, and I was further honoured by winning it again my second year.

Second year was by far one of the hardest years, as it sort of went nowhere. We had our first full scale show which was a great experience into the different elements that go into creating a performance and of cause if you pushed yourself and trained hard you saw improvement, we had harder dance classes and different theory classes but you were sort of the forgotten year. By the end of the year, teeterboard was no more and I was ready to move to Canada to attend the Montreal circus school and then walked in our director of the third year group ensemble. She auditioned us all before second year ended to define parts and assigned different specialties to some of us, something challenging and motivation to stay.

My best friend and I were in the small group of selected students to perform a different specialty, she then went further to tell us that we could design, create and execute the act we wanted. This was an experience that (I believe) is only possible for students of an institute and I am so grateful for this. I was also told 8 weeks from premiere night that I would need to learn and have an act with an aerial net. The stress of two new apparatuses and my own specialties was exactly what I needed to keep me busy and working hard.

Training was not without its fight. My coach and I didn’t quite see eye to eye and so would have training sessions in silence. He wanted me to do a more traditional act and I wanted to explore the tumbling on and off a lower wire. He would only talk with me if I had achieved something incredible, which happened a few times, when I did a back sault unassisted, when I completed an aerial walkover (walkover without hands) on the wire and when I completed a back flip-back sault combination (in lines) on the wire.

My favourite moment was when I ask a friend “what is the most craziest tumble you would not think to see on a wire” and he responded with “an Arabian (back half twist front sault)”. This was on a Friday afternoon and I said, “I’ll train the preparations today and Monday ill do it”. Monday training had arrived and within the first 5 minutes my coach had left the training so I called over my friend and three attempts in completed the Arabian. My coach who was watching from above in his office ran down, hugged me and begged me to send him the video, as he thinks I could have been the first to perform this.

My end of year showcase piece was a tribute to my past, my family and a message to myself to “never give up”. I performed it on the tight wire as I thought that in the future I would not have the chance to perform it as easily as in the institute.

In my final year I participated in The Heath Ledger Young Artist Oral History Project for the National Film and Sound Archives. This entailed interviewing the most outstanding male and female students of the graduating year from each major art institute in Australia in 2012.

After graduating, I was invited to participate in the NICA cast for their first representation at the largest international circus festival, Cirque de Demain in Paris, France. I remained in Paris for three months networking within my industry, attending numerous circus performances and visiting art institutions. This resulted in obtaining a position as an acrobat for the crossover Belgian circus company. Performing for two seasons with the company, I have now left that company becoming associate within On Stage Events, performing my own acts internationally and created with my team our own circus cross live music performance “Fillage” by Sur Mesure.

[muscledemandsrespect]

BEING AVATAR FOR THE DAY!

I want to share an extremely rare behind-the-scenes experience I recently had with Cirque Du Soleil in Finland. They’re the world’s largest & most profitable circus troupe, and I’ve been fortunate to have seen several of their shows – and have been uniformly delighted by their exceptional choreography, their enchanting imagination, and their unbridled connection to the human soul. In Helsinki, I viewed Toruk: The First Flight, at Cirque Du Soleil ahead of the London premier, which debuted last night, on the 23rdJune. For a few magical days, I was immersed in the world of Avatar, as this Cirque iteration breathes new and unusual life into James Cameron’s remarkable epic. I watched the show and spent a full day backstage meeting and interviewing the artists about their gruelling lives as world-class performers (click MORE for the full interviews), worked alongside the costume designers and makeup artists, tried out the equipment with the performers, and experienced what life as an Avatar at Cirque Du Soleil might be like for a day. I left with new levels of respect and humility for the raw talent of these super-humans. Read on to see for yourself why this is one show you (and the family) NEED to catch!

  THE SHOW

The first thing that hits you is the sheer scale of the stage and production. There are 43 artists in the cast (1 actor, 1 singer, 1 percussionist, 1 kite specialist, 1 boomerang specialist, 6 puppeteers, and an enormous number of acrobats including 1 contortionist)

To complement the physical performances, there’s digital media too;  no fewer than forty video projectors with a projection surface of approximately 20 000 square feet, (more than 5 times the size of an IMAX screen) transforms the stage within seconds creating new shapes, textures and colours, which helps to emulate the world of Pandora. The colours have a bioluminescent quality in shades of blue, purple and green. Next to the Na’vi’s 25 shades of blue which were invented for the costumes and 4 blue-base skin tones to depict the different DNA variations among the Na’vi beings, it looks truly magical and is quite the overwhelming visual spectacle. 

THE NA’VI

Whether you’re an Avatar mega fan or not, you’ll easily be able to follow the story, so don’t worry, pre-knowledge is not required! The First Flight differs from other Cirque shows I’ve seen in the past and not just because of the vast stage, unlike the conventional structure you may have come to expect from Cirque – the artists don’t speak the invented Cirque language, but instead they speak Na’vi and the storyteller who beautifully guides you on the odyssey speaks English. There is less live music, there are more spectacular acrobatics, but it is all part of the storyline with several artist on stage at the same time. In some ways, it’s a little bit more like a musical than a traditional act. Also, you won’t find any of the slapstick clown humour which renders this format so universally appealing; that said, the most important ingredient it shares with Cirques is that it takes you on an imaginary immersive journey, and it does it with the same excellence you’d expect from this venerable troupe. I was completely blown away – it was pure escapism; the music, the scenography, the venue and undiluted talent. Remarkable.

  Lydia, the Viper Wolf

Lydia who plays a Viper wolf and is part of the 14-puppet crew who represent the creatures of Pandora. The largest puppet is the titular Toruk, which has a mammoth wingspan of 12 meters and weighs approximately 115 kg. All the puppeteers are equipped with microphones and make their own animal sounds for perfect synchronisation with their movements.

Kiter

…. Is head of the 19 kites that feature in the show: that comprises 6 quads (kites equipped with four-lines), 11 kites on poles, and 2 giant ‘traction kites’ which fly over the audience. A traction kite is typically large enough to pull a vehicle on land, snow, ice or water, and it is exceptionally difficult to mobilise with any degree of control – I can attest to that personally! How these kite magicians extract such precision will remain unknown to me!

Interview time! I sat down with a number of the performing artists, but focussed on fellow brit, Lydia Harper, the double cloud and Chinese pole artist, whos responses are forged into the following fascinating insight into the life of a world-class performing artist!

TRAINING LIKE A CIRQUE’R!

What’s your training background?

My Background and introduction to Cirque is quite different to everyone else’s. I was an actress in my youth and went to the national centre for circus arts. I got in to it more from a performance side and then got in to the physical side of it. A lot of people that I work with are gymnasts or dancers who ‘started training when I was two and I’ve been doing back flips for years….’, whereas I started when I was 15 years old, which is considered late. Most people have been doing this their whole life. It puts me at a slight – not disadvantage – but at a different level when it comes to training, whereas there are some people who just don’t need training as much because their body is conditioned to do this, whereas my body is conditioned to eat crumpets and watch tv and drink tea so I have to train in a different way to them. So at 15 I had to do a bit of catching up to get to the same level.

What sort of training did you do?

The sort of training I did was trapeze and rope, and when I went to circus school I started learning Chinese pole and cloud swing. Cloud swing is like a loop of rope, some people do it swinging and do big tricks. I do it in a very contemporary fashion. I have these two loops – one above the other, I hang off one and drop off the other one.

When did you decided you wanted to get into Cirque?

It was sort of a joke, I just emailed a show reel to them, just out of the blue, going I really need a job… these are all the companies I’d like to work for… expecting them never ever to contact me. Most people have to do this really big audition process, they get cut, two day gruelling auditions… I kinda skipped all of that and about 7 months after I sent in my show reel they sent me an email asking if I’d like to join the show. I feel super lucky and like ‘teee heee, I didn’t have to audition’!

In this show we have a lot of what’s called ‘generalists’, which means we’re very good at lots and lots of different things. You can say ‘hey can you do this new trick, we’ve got these ropes and we want you to be able to use them like this. And then we’re like yeah ok. Whereas in other show in Cirque Du Soleil they have specialists – you have a contortionist, you’ve got jugglers whereas on Toruk we do everything.

What’s a typical day like in terms of training now that you’ve been here for four years?

I’m an artist coach so I have to be here (in the gym) very early; i’ll do about 45 minutes to an hour warming up, and some physiotherapy. I’ll do like 20 minutes on an exercise bike, I usually do interval training, then I’ll do a shoulder warm up sequence, so lots of exercises for my rotator cuffs, and the hanging shoulder shrugs, then I’ll do some hanging leg lifts, and then a lot of core work, then I move on to my gluteus and legs. I do a lot of gluteus strengthening and hip releasing exercises as well. We have two physiotherapists who tour with us full time. They are there for general maintenance, helping us build training programs, for instance if your knee is getting a little bit sore because you’re doing a lot of jumping they’ll suggest a program as to how to strengthen that.

Then I’ll do some on stage training so if there’s something in the show that we need to work on, integrating new artists, making some artistic changes, we’ll have on stage training sessions. Then I’ll do my makeup which takes about an hour, then in the middle of that I’ll have meeting about who’s doing what in the show. Then we do the show, the after the show I’ll do a strengthening workout including free weights, pull-ups, squats and squat jumps. I do my strength training workout after because I want to be in the best possible shape for the show. I don’t want to exhaust myself by lifting heavy weights prior to the show, so I do it afterwards. It’s quite a nice cool down as well!

So to summarise, we have a 45 minute warm-up which includes at least 20 minutes of HIIT training, followed by a two-hour show, followed by a weight session in the gym, and finally a 15-20 minute cool down. That’s a good solid 5 hours!!

What would you say is your top tip to help with recovery?

Drink loads of water, because you sweat so much more than you know. We really notice the difference when we don’t drink enough. For example when we were in Australia recovery took a lot longer because we were so hot and dehydrated. I reckon I drink about 5 1/2 litres of water a day.

We also get massage therapist who come and visit us in each city. We can sign up for massages each week. Our physiotherapists give hands-on treatments if we need any soft tissue release. I’m a fan of dry needling; so I get dry needling in my back and scream but that’s really nice as well. So everything you could possibly do for your body, just do it! 

What does you weekly training routine look like?

So I train three days a week for 5 hours, because we have 2 shows and no training. On a Monday we travel so we have that day off and we have Tuesday off too, but most of us will go train for an hour – resistance or yoga or something. Still exercise but much more chilled.

How do you complement your training with nutrition?

Everyone is very different. I expected everyone to have the same sort of diet but it’s completely different. For me personally I don’t do very many carbs. Like I don’t do pasta and rice but I do loads of protein and salads. I don’t eat pasta but I do eat cake. Whereas some will go just rice beans and pasta and then no cake out caterers provide such an array so there’s really something there for everyone.

How do you balance work life situation… how do you make time for yourself?

You really have to force yourself to especially when travelling to different cities every week. You want to go out and explore the city but we just came out of doing four weeks with nine shows in a row which was quite intense so then this weekend my ‘me time’ was going to a sauna, going to a tiny coffee shop and just reading a book. It’s a hard balance. Like it’s a beautiful day outside but I got here at 10am and I’m not going to leave until 10 pm so I don’t know what the weather is like so you need to find the things that make you feel human… I have a lot of Lush bath products, and I have to have my lush bath at the end of a long week and that’s the sort of thing that makes me feel human again.

What’s your favourite thing about working for Cirque Du Soleil?

Everyone thinks you’re really cool! It’s amazing to be able to travel the world and make people happy. That’s what Cirque du Soleil does, it’s this magical world where you go and see a show and your mind is blown – the costumes, the characters, the music, the acrobatics – it’s all just incredible. To be a part of that is really really special whilst you get to tour the entire world doing it.

What’s the coolest place you’ve been to?

New Zealand was my favourite country ever but I’m pretty excited to go to the U.K. because I’ve been touring for four years so now, I’m coming home!

KITE FLYING WITH CHRIS GOFF, KITE SPECIALIST!

What got you into Cirque, Chris?

I started playing kites when I was six years old. My dad wanted something for the whole family to do something outside rather than spending so much time inside inside watching movies or whatever. So he bought some kites, we headed out onto a field. A local kite shop saw me and asked how long we’d been flying and my father was like, 30 minutes. This was in Stockley park just outside of London. It ended up that I had a natural ability for it and it allowed me to travel around the world and it brought me to here. I was the only one in my family apart from my dad who actually took it up.

Did you apply to Cirque?

I didn’t originally apply to Cirque. The I got a message out of the blue asking if I’d like to met the kite team. It’s quite a niche skill, and now I’ve been here for 2.5 years!

Once you joined was there a lot of training involved?

Completely, first I went to Montreal for 3 weeks (it’s a Canadian company), learning how to do makeup lessons, 2-3 acting lessons a day. Then I had a trainer who helped me get my fitness levels up as I’d never done anything like this before. It was a real shock to the system. 

What was the hardest part for you?

The hardest bit was the acting, and just feeling comfortable. Also the fact that the costumes you’re in are complete Lycra so there is no hiding in that. You have to be completely comfortable just being yourself, not being self conscious in front of 7000+ people.

What else do you do on the show aside from the kite discipline?

Most people on the show need to do at least two clans (the different Avatar tribes-people), so I do the Mataky which is the first one, then I do Takamay, then I do Kattaney – the kites.

What’s a typical day like in terms of training regime?

A typical day now is as follows… what I really like is that there are no early mornings – you normally start in the afternoon. You come to work about 1 o’clock if it’s a one-show day. You do gym work mostly after the show because you don’t want to do too much beforehand. For me, the kites are very light-weight, and it’s all about muscle memory, so if you work out before the muscles are pumped and you’re going to pull too hard. With the giant kites it’s all on the legs so you don’t want to do too much leg work beforehand. With the giant kites you need to be able to run a good 20% faster at all times because if it ever begins to fall you need to run faster. So you never want to be sprinting full speed but you always have to have that there if needed.

Going back to what my normal day is like, I come in and stretch in the morning as you stiffen up overnight. Then I eat. I eat a good hour before the show because it’s not much fun being in a harness when you’re still digesting food. Then you do the show and I’ll eat after the show.

Photo Credit: Jesse Faatz

What does your typical diet look like, if you have one? 

The good thing is you can eat really whatever because you’re constantly burning so much energy. The catering is amazing at Cirque. The body does tell you what you need and crave, so I pay attention to it and act on it. 

What difficulties have you come across on your time with Toruk?

We’ve experienced it here, for example last week the wind was totally different to the week before because we had humidity. So the kites were suddenly feeling heavier. The air’s denser. We did Mexico City so there was literally no air. We were pulling this massive kite, it was still flying but you’re so high up with the altitude so you’re pulling this kite but you can’t feel it because it’s so light!

What tips do you have to anyone who’s interested in getting into kite flying? 

My tip tip would be spending a little bit more money when buying a kite because often the problem is the kite doesn’t fly properly and then people get bored and never fly again. Especially if you go to a proper kite shop they will advise you on what’s best. It’s so healthy for you, these days most people walk around with their heads down so just to spend a few hours in the middle of a field looking up, is so different. Also kites are cheap. Once you’ve bought your kite you’re only reliant on the wind, the rest is down to you. Before I had this job, I flew once a week and if I didn’t fly once a week it would change my whole posture and attitude. When you’re flying outside you’re feeling the wind and I can map the wind now from just feeling it behind the neck!

I hope that has been an intersting journey into the backstage secrets of the latest offering from Cirque Du Soleil! You can book HERE – enjoy

Faya x

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[inspirebrandonsports1]

Real love

Something about fun and pleasure comes together in love and the monogamous connection you make the first night. As you and everybody on here probably realizes at some point you're going to be baring your soul to your mate you're going to have all of your clothes off you're going to be showing your body to her you're going and she is going to be showing her body to you. It starts with the shirts as you take off your shirt she will look the eye does not far to fall from the tree when it comes to getting an eye on what she's in a relationship with the love is more attractive as the shirt comes off and she starts running her fingers across your chest and your stomach. A momentary smile comes across her face after seeing you take your shirt off the intimate moment begins to turn more intimate as she plays with your chest hair and runs her fingers across your belly button. Then in a romantic exchange of things she takes her shirt off in your eyes begin to follow the of true shion's of her Live begin to show her body her soul is all right there in front of you and it is all how you take it her swimsuit model as you might want to call it it is now exposed to your eye s. Pretty soon your hands by simple mistake accidentally rub across her belly and she smiles with The Gleam in her eye and the light shining brightly on her face.. Pretty soon the music begins not to matter what song is playing Evan if it's Pitbull the song will play on.. your hand massages her stomach your hand caresses her side your hands are used to exfoliate her already burning body to her full potential. The focus of a rose is never too far from the eye the center as a rose petals or dollop down her body with each drop of rose petal hits a spot pretty soon it becomes more evident that there is going to be some sort of condiment used Weatherby chocolate or strawberry sauce it all depends.. And the female body begins to show a turn on her bosoms become hard her eyes become very entering and the draw begins to relax self-injury mind as your eyes become glowy and lookie inside of hers that first kiss that first touch leads to a night of fiery passion.. What's the dogs barking at the moon light and the cats meowing at the Moon you forget all about the outside world and focus on your world because your landscape is going to get a lot brighter than anybody else's in that night. Pretty soon after you're done licking the chocolate sauce and she is done scrolling her fingers through the strawberry sauce on your body you realize it is time to take a shower and you Embrace each other's little bodies to increst a nice warm bath. Pretty soon the water warms up and it feels comfortable she steps underneath the water first slowly removing any clothing she had on right up till she gets to her bosoms and then she allows you to help her do it. Next you start moving articles of clothing first your parents and that mysterious pair of heart-shaped underwear you are wearing to compliment yourself and her. The glowing of the water hits her eyes the glowing of the water hits her body and the glowing of the water hits your body warm shaved with hearts you begin to kiss underneath that warm shower pretty soon you reach for the soap you run your hands up and down her body cover and her and leather and her and so you begin to explore the Soapy regions of her body. Slowly and carefully you begin to wash the sofa way and then she takes soap and begins to do you too with the soap running down your body front and back she takes a soap and runs it across your body washing you from head to toe Soleil embracing every inch of your body you begin to realize that this is going to be a very romantic and steamy shower. Your hands begin to take her sides your Embrace her as you massage her back with the soap and her behind as her bosoms begin to Glow with the water running over the top of them and a hair dropping little drops of water in your face. Soon after the showers done you both turn off the waters slowly you step out of the shower and you hand her a towel and then you begin to help her dry off with that towel as she turns and starts to dry you off with that same towel. Now the shower is over now you begin to warmly embraced her with kisses up and down her neck as she slowly begins to walk to the bedroom from the bathroom just a left and a right turn she says and we'll be in the bedroom pretty soon you realize that all your hopes and all your dreams are going to lay in that bed for tonight. Your body glowing with the lights her body glowing her face glowing her eyes watering pretty soon her hand runs down your thigh and across the front of you and then your hand softly Maneuvers down her stomach down both her legs and begins to massage Upward at a progressively slow motion. Then you kiss you start at the neck your kisses begin to get softer as you begin to use your tongue going down her arm you leave little dots with your tongue as you kiss and then you come back up her other arm then you moved her side across her belly down to her halfway point then there's your kiss begins to Glow she begins to feel it and pretty soon you start massaging her legs. Now but your to this point it's going to be a long night she says because she's going to return the favor continue to massage her legs slowly embracing every inch of her legs right up to where her legs connect to her body Your Loving Hands the sweat dripping from your face the sweat dripping from her the two bodies pressed together and as you begin to see her spasm or orgasm and her uncontrollable urge to moan really loud. By the night time by the end of the night you guys are just now getting to sleep it's about a quarter to 4 in the morning thank goodness it's a Saturday morning so you can sleep in The man wakes up with a smile on his face a glow in his eye the woman wakes up with a smile on her face turns over and wraps her arms around your body holding you close ever gently kissing you on the neck and you turn over and kiss her on the lips locking lips for the first time for 3 minutes straight. The woman says I love you beautiful and the man says I love you amazing that is exchange of words that go through your head those are the two words that begin the Flawless relationship that started 6 months ago and is built on to this. Forever lasting relationship messages exchanged messages received six months ago you didn't know where you were going to end up but now that you're here it is worth everything you put into it. You're Romancing her with beautiful dinner you're cooking her cooking your exchanges of poetry and your exchanges of coffee and a movie or movie and dinner those have been the past six months what happened last night is deja vu because you and her will not say anything to anybody about it simple to say you had the best night of your life with that woman and that woman had the best night of her life with you. Love is an art form he says and I definitely love you and her reply is simple love is an art form and passion is a fire and I love you and I love the fire you have put in me. Pleasantries aside you both decide to fix breakfast she likes ham and eggs you like bacon eggs and a biscuit all of those or which seem very conceivable at the time you both agree to have bacon and eggs and a biscuit with no salted butter. You say I love you she says I love you and you go out and start fixing breakfast for her and she says I'll be right there so you slip into what you wore last night which was your clean underwear after your shower and she slips into a very slim see-through bathrobe..

[thewidowstanton]

Lise Pauton, contortionist

French performer Lise Pauton knew she wanted to be a contortionist from an early age. She grew up in her family circus school and from the age of 14 studied at the Ècole Nationale de Cirque de Châtellerault near Poitiers, gaining her Bacalaureat in circus arts and literature. She has performed her solo acts La Poule Noir and La Poule Blanche internationally, has created two solo shows – Cri de Coq! and Au Fil des Torsions, has her own company, Raiemanta and has appeared in films. Lise also models for art projects.

She co-created the solo show Heart with Hamburg-based Italian director Sebastiano Toma, who has directed The Tiger Lillies and created the show Little Big World. (For my review of Heart click here and scroll down to 'Heart of the Show’.) In-between sessions of teaching in Toulouse, she tells Adrian Arratoon about taking advantage of serendipity and how she wants to move the art of contortion in a new direction. How did you start in circus? I was born in 1989, and at this time in France new circus arrived. My grandfather and mother had had a roller-skating school, and he was inspired by traditional circus and tzigane music. We were aware of the new wave of circus but we were in the south of France, in Provence, far away from Paris where Annie Fratellini's circus school was. So it was only on TV that we could see what was happening in the world of circus: the first show of Cirque du Soleil, for example, where you could start to see different things happening. My mother and my grandfather were a little bit crazy people, really open; they’d put me into a capoeira workshop or into an improvisational theatre course.   My grandfather and my mother were not professional circus artists but they opened a circus school. They were into sports and roller skating and they decided to learn how to teach acrobatics and trapeze. My mum did a workshop with Annie Fratellini when Annie was in the south of France with some teachers. They never tried to become circus artists. They were really passionate about circus but they wanted to fight for this circus school for the children in the middle of the countryside. It was never about the money or having a salary; it was really for the children; it came from the heart. The school was called Les Patineurs de Valaurie – Valaurie was the name of the village where I grew up. Now the circus school is called Cirk'Onflex, and mixes circus and contemporary dance.

What was it about contortion that you fell in love with? My parents were working a lot, with the circus school and a roller-skating show. One day my grandfather said it was time to put me into school: “She was supposed to start two years ago!” To give me motivation to work at school he found a trick. “Oh, Lise, every day I will record on to VHS cassette something about shows or circus, or clowns like Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy or the Monte Carlo Circus Festival.” Every day I'd finish school and quickly do my homework, dying to see what the new recording of the day was.

One day I saw a show, like Cirque du Soleil, with someone like Angéla Laurier, who makes some spider contortion. Every time when I was watching contortionists when I was a small girl, four, five years old, I said, ‘Oh, me too! I want to put my foot on my head!’. Trapeze? It was, ‘Yes, nice’. Juggling? ‘Oh [shrugs]’. But contortion? Just putting my foot on my head, it was, ‘Oh!’. And I asked my grandfather and he said: "Oh, OK, let's try." And as a child it was really easy to do, and I've stayed passionate about it ever since. As you become older does contortion become more difficult ? When I was a child it was really easy until I was 11 and had to spend time doing schoolwork. Then a couple of acrobatic contortionists arrived in our area. They wanted to meet my mother because they wanted to create their own circus school but didn't know how to do it. My mother said they could spend a year teaching at our circus school. One was called Emmanuelle Perre, or Manou. When I was 13 or 14 I watched her and learned how to warm up. I thought, ‘Wow, she's so professional, she does handstands! I want to do that!’. So when I spent a year with her I wanted to become like her. Did you always want to be a performer? Always. From the day I told my grandfather I wanted to put my foot on my head. I was a little girl who was always dreaming about doing circus. At one point I thought about training to become a cinema actress but that idea didn't last very long. I knew circus was what I wanted to do. When I was 14 I went to the school in Châtellerault. During the week I stayed at the school and at the weekend I was with a host family. Then when i was 17 my parents helped me to rent a studio flat there. I learned to be independent really early.

As well as Cri de Coq!, you have two solo acts about chickens: La Poule Noire and La Poule Blanche. Do you keep chickens in your garden? Do you eat chicken? 
Ha ha, it's a crazy story, because after going to the circus school in Chatellerault I was 18 and I tried to get into some high-level circus school and nobody wanted me, because in those kinds of circus schools you need acrobatics, and me, I was really not interested in this kind of thing; I just liked the artistic part. And people would say: “No, Lise, you have zero out of 10 when it comes to power…” So I went to Toulouse because the school there, the Lido, was more open, they looked first at the person and how she wants to work with the technique she has; they look at personality first. And the Lido Circus school said I was too young to join because I was only 18. They said I had to be more adult and more psychologically prepared.

But they said: “Welcome to Toulouse; we will look at you and maybe after one year you can try again.” There was a really good teacher called Pascal Angelier, from traditional circus, who was really good at teaching handstands. I was thinking. ‘Wow, I can go to Toulouse and take free lessons from him in the evening’. He gave them for freelance circus artists. And every Wednesday at this circus school there is an open stage, including one for freelance artists, and they said if I stayed in Toulouse I should perform in that show so they could follow what I was doing. The first time I went to the open stage I was really scared, you know; it was a big stage with so many people who come to see the shows, for free. I thought: "No, I will never do that!"

And I waited and I waited and at the last open stage of the year, the director of teaching came to me and said: “Lise, you know, if you want to go to this circus school we ask you to do this open stage, and there is one last opportunity.” So I created The Black Chicken. I was looking for something I could do, I didn't want to do an improvisation, there are 300 people there… I just thought, ‘OK, take a big jacket and work a little bit with your hand and create a story about a woman who's a little bit strange, a bit like a classical dancer, a little bit eccentric’. And it became Black Chicken because everybody said to me: “Lise, I don't know if you realise but you really looked like a chicken when you were performing that!” 

And I never went to that circus school because I got a contract with this chicken act. I never thought I would be paid for doing this act!



Your story is inspirational for people who don't get into circus school; iit shows that there is an alternative.
 Yes, but you need to be really strong because all the time I was really scared and so young, and alone all the week. I rented a little studio by myself to practise. And I had no structure, I didn't go to parties, I just worked. But you have to be strong otherwise it can be really hard.



How did you meet Sebastiano Toma?
 I met him at the Sol y Circo Festival in Germany. One day someone said I needed to show my Chickens in Germany, in varieté. I did not know what varieté was, and the only contact I could find, on Facebook, was Tobias Fiedler, who ran Sol y Circo. So I wrote him a message, not to be considered for his festival at all, just to send him my video and to contact someone who knew varieté. And I got a message saying: “Hello Lise, if you like you are invited to perform at the Sol y Circo festival: it's in one month.” He said casting was over but invited me anyway. So I went and everyone was a little bit surprised, the jury hadn't seen me before. That's where I met Sebastiano. He looked at me and said: “Hmm, interesting… interesting…”

I knew him by name because when I was in the Châtellerault circus school there were some flyers for shows in the hallway and one of them was for a Tiger Lillies show that he was involved with. I remember it because there was a photo of a contortionist on it! And I realised that he was always working with contortionists. I thought that maybe one day I would have the opportunity to work with someone like that.

 On the last day of the festival there was a party, and a friend said: “Lise, you have to go to the discotheque, to the bar.” And I hate that sort of thing, but she said: “Everybody goes there, it's a celebration, you need to go there.” So I said: “OK, I'll go but I'm not going in, I'll stay on the terrace [laughs].” And Sebastiano was there because he didn't want to go inside either. So we just sat and talked. And then we understood we had lots of things in common.



How long did you work on preparing Heart?
 Two years. Sebastiano had never worked with someone doing a solo before; often he has a lot of people on stage, and many times works with people who already have an act, so we spoke about how to start from zero and create everything. He is in Hamburg and I am in Toulouse. We tried to find a starting point for the creation. I also started a contract with GOP with Chickens, and whenever I had a break from those shows I'd go to Hamburg. For me it was, whew, really hard. We spent a year doing that and we finished in France.



In Heart you're on stage alone for more than an hour. It's obviously physically hard work but is it mentally difficult too? 
I'd already done two solo shows before but what is good with Heart is we really built a strong story, action and reaction, so if we want to change something really small in the show everything around it broke because it's all so detailed. I never have a moment where I don't know what I am doing, it all flows and is controlled. I just have to push my emotions and let myself go. But the skeleton of the show is really strong. Everything is so clear.



What do you have planned for the rest of 2017? 
Lots of things! I have a company, Raiemanta. I am teaching a lot; we're waiting to hear on a few things with Heart. I'm doing my chicken shows. I am performing Le Fil des Torsions in the Musée Soulages in Rodez, one hour from Toulouse; they are taking a contortion show, and I'm so excited about that. I'm creating a new short show called Harmonia; we started rehearsals in January and we'll finish in June. It's a sort of continuation of Heart: I want to make three international collaborations; with Sebastiano it's French-German; Harmonia is French-Moroccan, and in two years' time I'm making a French-Ukranian show with someone who lives in France. It's interesting to have other influences, moods and energy.



And you're as committed to contortion as ever? 
I have really changed my point of view about contortion. I'm 27 and I started doing it when I was four. More and more I enjoy changing the language of contortion. It is really extreme but I like to stress the ‘torsion’ aspect of it. I want to push contortion more into a 'torsion' way because 'contortion' is something so closed, where you try to make your body so small. But with torsion you can use space. I really hope one day I can push a new movement in circus for contortionists and break this traditional code of contortion from Asia or from yoga. What I do is different. I hope I can create a new body language.

Photo credits: Sebastiano Toma; Lise portrait: Acey Harper

Lise Pauton appears in La Poule Noire and La Poule Blanche at the Festival International des Clowns de Tergnier, in Tergnier, France on 17 March 2017, and in La Poule Noir in the Festival Boules de Cirque in Toulouse on 24 April, and in Au Fil des Torsions at the Musée Soulages in Rodez on 26 April. Heart is available for booking.

Lise’s website; Lise on Facebook

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

If you enjoyed this, read our interviews with contortionists Raphaëlle Boitel and Leilani Franco