#minkowski is the first voice he turns to in his mind

[apfelhalm]

Memoria certainly is the episode of all time, but Mayday still gives me chills the second time around.

[amazingmsme]

5 F for the obscure media asks?!

Im intrigued 👀

Thanks for this, it was so cute & fun to write! Eiffel is my most specialist boy in the universe, hope you enjoy!

After the attempted coup, Eiffel and Minkowski were on edge pretty much constantly. Sure they had tied Hilbert up and threw him in their makeshift brig, but storage closets weren't all that hard to bust out of if you're determined enough. And Hilbert was plenty determined, it seemed.

Minkowski had come to the decision that they needed to stick together at all times and even went as far as to wait outside of the bathroom door for Eiffel, and making him do the same for her. Instead of splitting tasks like normal, they worked in the same room one task at a time, always keeping an eye on the other and checking over their shoulder.

On the Hephaestus, there is no "night and day," only the preconceived notion of it. Out here in the vast array of stars seven light years away from earth, they were completely and utterly alone. If Hilbert went rogue again, there'd be no chance of saving them.

At first they tried sleeping in shifts, but that quickly fizzled out when they both started falling asleep during their shifts. It just made sense to share Minkowski's admittedly already crammed bunk. Sleeping so close was surprisingly comforting for Eiffel, offering some much needed peace of mind. She'd protect him if anything were  to happen. The weight of her body kept him from drifting too far away from the bed, and it was nice to wake up with his head still on his pillow in the morning.

As it turns out, Eiffel talks in his sleep. It startled Minkowski at first, hearing a mumbling voice in the dark loud enough to wake her. It only took her a second to realize it was just Eiffel, muttering incoherently as he dreamed.

"Give it here, you're doin' it wrong."

Minkowski settled down, resting her head on his chest. As she fell back asleep, he would periodically spout off some nonsense.

"Hmm, purple tiger's gonna pounce..."

She stifled a giggle behind her hand, deciding to stay awake for a while and see what else he'd say. The next day, she decided to bring it up.

"So you're a sleep talker, huh?" she asked casually as she rummaged through the pantry. Eiffel was pouring a cup of lukewarm seaweed coffee and froze.

"Uh, yeah sorry. Hope it didn't bother you too much," he said, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

"Not at all, it was actually pretty funny," she teased.

"Oh shut up."

And that was that. Neither of them dwelled on the subject, and if he happened to wake her up, she'd just fall back asleep.

About a week later, Eiffel was pulled from his slumber when he felt a soft tingling sensation on his side. He tried to brush it off in his dream, but the feeling only got stronger. He woke himself up with soft giggles spilling from his lips, utterly confused and sleepy. Another flutter on his waist drew forth a quiet snort, eyes finally shooting open.

Minkowski was hugging him in her sleep like usual; that wasn't the problem. But he noticed her hands twitching restlessly in her sleep, fingers curling and tapping against his skin. He contemplated waking her, but he didn't want to face her wrath for ruining her sleep over such a silly matter. Not to mention, he really didn't want her having that kind of knowledge to use against him. He'd never be able to slack off or sass mouth her ever again, not without severe ticklish punishment.

So he just laid there, trying his best to fall asleep as her nails grazed over his sensitive skin in the most agonizing way imaginable. He squirmed but not too much, afraid of disturbing her peaceful rest. And really, it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

He could get used to this, he told himself. He would live, even though he felt like he'd die from suppressed laughter.

All in all, he really didn't mind. And Minkowski never had to know.

[hephaestuscrew]

Muppet Wolf 359 Survey Highlights Part 2

Here are some more of the responses I particularly enjoyed from my survey about which character would be the only one played by a human in a muppet adaptation of Wolf 359! (The responses are indented/blockquoted and then my thoughts are underneath them.) My first highlights post is here and the rest of the responses can be viewed on on a spreadsheet here. 

Eiffel - He’s usually the pov character and also it’s very funny to imagine the super serious characters monologing as muppets

Muppet Hilbert: "The scary part isn't thinking, “I am alone.” The scary part is the corner of your mind that whispers back... “How can you be sure?...”" [Camera pans out to reveal Hilbert's puppeteer behind him]

Eiffel - hilbert is definitely another option but i just feel like Eiffel is That Guy who would mention every weird thing that happens EXCEPT that he is the only human on the spaceship

The podcast version would be exactly the same if Eiffel is the only human amongst muppets because it never occurs to him to mention it. 

(More below the cut. Beware that they are full of spoilers.)

Hilbert is hashtag Wild but like. in comparison to pretty much every other character he feels so Serious and I think representing that with him being the one human would be so funny. especially if he's played by Zach Valenti with the Eiffel puppet on one hand, getting shoved behind his back every time he switches to Hilbert. also the concept of a human man intensely experimenting on muppets is just wildly funny to me

This would be an amazing use of Zach Valenti’s versatility, I would love to see Hilbert having conversations with the Eiffel puppet on his hand! (Also didn't Zach Valenti do a YouTube puppet show before Wolf 359? He might genuinely have the skills for this.)

Minkowski feels like the natural choice due to her general Straight Man role + the sheer comedy of her trying to put on a musical as the only human But for the previous crew I'd argue for Lambert because he has such a Muppet voice and I think it would be so funny if he was the only non Muppet

Lambert absolutely does have a muppet voice, it's so true! Zach Valenti in Wolf 359 selected 3 voice actor settings: default, Russian, and muppet. Also I request that in this version Human Minkowski's talent show entry is a series of muppet songs and it is not addressed that they are muppet songs. 

Lovelace bc you spend the first season and a half going “so this is an all-Muppet production, huh” and then she turns up and HELLO? HI? HUMAN?? Also you get the Lone Human of two crews for Change Of Mind, except possibly for Lambert, who is and always has been a Human Muppet. Minkowski or Lovelace as the sole human trying to take things seriously while surrounded by muppets would both be extremely good, especially when they’re called upon to do action scenes.

Another fun mention of Lambert's muppet-y-ness. The humour of Lovelace turning up as a human, after a season and a half of only muppets, cropped up in quite a few answers.

Minkowski - i feel like it plays into the early comedy of like. minkowski trying so desperately hard to be the reasonable one and in charge and normal. also funny how ur like! she’s the commander! she’s in charge! of course she’s the human! and then a bunch of other characters show up who are higher rank than her and then she’s getting bossed around by muppets

This would definitely emphasise her frustrations about having her Command role taken away from her lol. 

Minkowski - It's the funniest possible situation. Imagine....human Mincowski...muppet plant monster….

I love how this person (and the two people who voted for Blessie to be the human) interpreted 'every character but one is a muppet' to include the plant monster as a character. 

Pryce - i mean. i just think it’d be funny. in canon everyone’s freaked out by Pryce’s prosthetics (:/) and it would be 100x better if they were just like ‘oh god why are your limbs so long. teeth???? why does your jaw move down??? what purpose do these adaptations serve???’

Yes, give me a gang of muppets dunking on Pryce and saying she looks freakish and terrifying for looking like a regular human.

Hilbert - choosing Hilbert purely because he would have to say the line about how eiffel isn't supposed to have fingernails after his space vacation to a muppet

Consider the idea that Eiffel didn't have fingernails even before his space vacation because most muppets don't have fingernails, and Lovelace's magic blood somehow caused him to grow fingernails for the first time in his life…

Hera - I. haven't finished listening to wolf 359 yet so bob up there? FEAR. but anyways, i think hera would be a good choice because i like the irony of the non-juman character who's been there since the beginning being the only one played by a human. not only irony, but it might actually fit. i think actually any non-human character should be played by a human in a muppets version for that exact reason. it's sort of ironic but also appropriate considering all the other characters would be muppets, and humans would be alien to them.

Including this one mostly because this is the most hilarious way for a person to encounter a quasi-spoiler. I had not considered this side-effect. I hope it felt worth it! Also lots of people really wanted the irony of Hera being the only human.

Lovelace - Alien and imagine, lovelace just shows up as one human on spaceship. flashback sequence to the previous mission and shes also a muppet

Quite a few people talked about this idea and I still find it hilarious every time.

Bob / The Dear Listeners - also i think after they learn tht lovelace is an alien she has a "man or muppet" type song

Love this reference to that iconic song, a marvellous way of representing Lovelace's identity crisis (Also people who haven't seen/heard that song should look it up, I unironically love it) 

Minkowski - she is mostly the straight man, which always works for muppet/human interactions. but i think it would be even funnier when she pulls off insane shennanigans and the rest of the characters have to stand there open mouthed before they start flailing

Including this one mostly cos it made me think about how much flailing there would be in muppet Wolf 359. So Much Flailing.

Minkowski - Shes the only one who wouldn't break. Yes they're muppets but they're also my coworkers

I heard that second sentence in her voice.

Lovelace - bonus points if lovelace's crew was also all human so she has yet another surprise when she comes onto the ship

Oh no, poor Lovelace arriving back on the Hephaestus and coming face to face with a crew of muppets… Hilarious, would definitely add an interesting element to the power struggle in Season 2.

Eiffel - At first I was going to say Hilbert, but then I realized the comedic potential of Muppet Zach Valenti (Eiffel) facing off against real live Zach Valenti (The Listeners). Picture it. Imagine his little Muppet body flopping around angrily as he recites the ABC's, Zach Valenti's head bobbing along as he watches with the grave and sincere attention of a dog watching a tennis match.

This description is incredible- the image of Eiffel's little Muppet body flopping around will stay with me. 

Bob / The Dear Listeners - I think it would be hilarious if all the muppets are terrified of Dear Listeners but it turns out they’re just (a) human and normal about it

This would indeed be very funny, but I would argue no one in Wolf 359 (including the Dear Listeners) has ever been normal about anything.

Cutter - idk watching a queer-coded evil muppet catch a bullet mid-air just speaks to me

Cutter - Hi! I would love to hear cutter's terrifying voice for the first part of the adaptation and then eventually get to see his office door opening while hearing him talk and zooming in on a muppet😂

Both of these people seem to have misunderstood the question but I support them in their enjoyment of imagining an adaptation where Cutter is the only muppet.

[fluffbyday-smutbynight]

Way Too Deep (TAB rewatch)

Going back to The Abominable Bride? What is this madness?

Do not fear, I won't even dwell on the hidden meanings of the whole parallel reality set in 1895. Instead, this will be the beginning of my modest attempt (read: slightly disfunctional coping method) at making some sort of sense out of S4. I could read all the meta, and agree with it even, but at the end of the day I just have to take the raw data and digest it on my own.

Why start from TAB? If I recall correctly, it wasn't originally conceived as a bridge between the two seasons – and yet, it has such a peculiar structure that I can't justify it being just a coincidence. If you will, I'll look at the frame rather than the picture.

TL; DR: what if Sherlock overdosed on the tarmac plane... and never came back?

So, let's begin well into the third act (1 hour or so into the episode):

MORIARTY: Because it’s not the fall that kills you, Sherlock. Of all people, you should know that. It’s not the fall. It’s never the fall...It’s the landing.

Sherlock wakes up on the plane and the narrative trick gets exposed: the Victorian adventures were a creation of Sherlock's drug-fueled mind.

Sherlock's usage is not exactly news to us - hello, heartbroken Shezza in a crack den - but this time it feels different. It's not just escapism or the siren's call of addiction; he doesn't look high, not even to John Watson MD, which by the way has already seen him under the effect. This is the very intentional treading the fine line between sanity and delirium, between life and death:

JOHN: For God’s sake! This could kill you! You could die!

SHERLOCK: Controlled usage is not usually fatal, and abstinence is not immortality.

...all for the sake of "solving a case" or, should we put it in plain words, going deep and deeper into his own mind.

Strap yourselves in, 'cause we're going for a ride. From this moment on, we'll bounce back and forth between reality and hallucination, the two separated by a boundary so unstable that we won't even see it.

Notice how heavily drugged-Sherlock sounds fairly coherent so far – and yet, when Mycroft speaks:

MYCROFT: A week in a prison cell. I should have realised [...] that in your case, solitary confinement is locking you up with your worst enemy.

...his mind palace fabrication unexpectedly bleeds into reality:

JOHN (offscreen): Morphine or cocaine?

SHERLOCK: What did you say?

JOHN: I didn’t say anything.

SHERLOCK: No, you did. You said ...

(As he says the next sentence, it’s Sherlock’s lips moving but we hear John’s voice.)

SHERLOCK/JOHN: Which is it today – morphine or cocaine?

What did spur this abrupt transition? What is Sherlock's worst enemy? Himself, his addiction or... Moriarty, though a figment of his imagination, trapped in his mind palace?

Victorian Sherlock goes on with his investigation, which ends with the crypt scene. Sudden plot twist: under the bride's veil there's not Mrs. Carmichael, but... Moriarty again.

MORIARTY: Is this silly enough for you yet? Gothic enough? Mad enough, even for you? It doesn’t make sense, Sherlock, because it’s not real. None of it. [...] This is all in your mind. [...] You’re dreaming.

Cue another transition to a hospital room, which looks just a bit surreal. What's up with the red blanket and the carpeted floor? Why is Sherlock just lying there in his suit?

Doesn't look very much like an overdose intervention... because it isn't. This is not reality.

In fact, Sherlock goes on all jolly to unbury Emelia's corpse (let me be pedant: just like a recent overdose patient should do), and we're given a couple lines that reinforce how much of a pressing matter all this is to him:

SHERLOCK: It’s why we came here! I need to know.

JOHN (turning away): Spoken like an addict.

SHERLOCK (straightening up to look at him): This is important to me!

Sherlock and Lestrade dig, Mycroft supervises (lazy sod, eheh), until the casket is unearthed – pay attention to what Mycroft says here:

MYCROFT: We do have slightly more pressing matters to hand, little brother. Moriarty, back from the dead?

And yes, immediately after Moriarty is mentioned, another turn into surreality takes place; the skeleton moves on its own, a spectral voice calls, and Sherlock is back to his mind palace.

VOICE (rhythmically, as if reciting lyrics to a song): Do not forget me.

... and Holmes starts violently and wakes up to find himself lying on his side on a narrow rocky ledge. Water is pouring over him as if it is raining heavily.

HOLMES : Oh, I see. Still not awake, am I?

"Still not awake" - what a peculiar choice of words. The line between reality and hallucination is feeble because it's not there; the plane, the hospital, the cemetery? All fabrications of his own mind.

Look, even Moriarty must be tired of beating around the bush, 'cause he doesn't talk in riddles anymore. He just lays it out:

MORIARTY: Too deep, Sherlock. Way too deep. Congratulations. You’ll be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace.

MORIARTY: I am your WEAKNESS!

MORIARTY: I keep you DOWN!

MORIARTY: Every time you STUMBLE, every time you FAIL, when you’re WEAK...

MORIARTY: I... AM... THERE!

MORIARTY: No. Don’t try to fight it. LIE BACK AND LOSE!

So, not only Sherlock has gone deep into his mind palace, he never got out of it and he literally can't.

John coming to the rescue must represent Sherlock finally waking up... or does it?

WATSON: So, how do you plan to wake up?

HOLMES: Between you and me, John, I always survive a fall.

In fact, Sherlock jumps and falls deeper down and while we're told he always survives the fall, we're never told about the landing. We're circling back to what Moriarty said.

At this point, is Sherlock waking up on the plane again even real? Do overdosed people just wake up like that, and go on with their day like nothing's happened?

Furthermore, if Sherlock really woke up on the plane, this should be where the episode ends.

Why, instead, go back again to 1895?

HOLMES: It was simply my conjecture of what a future world might look like, and how you and I might fit inside it.

HOLMES: From a drop of water, a logician should be able to infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara.

Where is this happening? What's the "Atlantic" (or Niagara, or Reichenbach) we should be able to infer?

The structure of TAB – the back and forth between past and present, fiction and reality - reminded me of this zen koan:

"Once upon a time, I, Zhuangzi, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Zhuangzi. Soon I awakened, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a distinction. The transition is called the transformation of material things."

As you may know, a koan is a paradox: for instance, you can't be both man and butterfly, but at the same time you can't be definitively sure about one or the other. This is where we're left at the end of the episode – hanging on the doubt that what we've seen so far has been imagination disguised as reality: Sherlock can't be both in present time (having woken up on the plane) and in the Victorian setting we've just seen.

So we should infer that he is still stuck in his mind palace, and his hallucination is not only about the 1895 timeline, but comprises all the scenes set in present time, too -"It was simply my conjecture of what a future world might look like"; also, he might have overindulged with his drugs, to the point of never coming back to consciousness.

WATSON: As for your own tale, are you sure it’s still just a seven percent solution that you take? I think you may have increased the dosage.

Notice how the overdosing incident will never be mentioned again, which makes sense if we assume that it's a point stuck in time with no foreseeable resolution – an idea which is supported by Mycroft's notebook, in the form of the Minkowski Metric we can see there:

a formula referring to special relativity, more specifically "the spacetime interval between any two events is independent of the inertial frame of reference in which they are recorded" (x)

All this, in the perspective of interpreting S4, makes for an interesting premise... but we'll look into it another time.

_____

Dialogue transcript source: Ariane DeVere

[everamazingfe]

A Close Shave

Fic Summary: After being picked up by the Urania and brought back to the Hephaestus station, Communications Officer Doug Eiffel tries to come to terms with his new look. It doesn’t go well. Luckily, Jacobi comes along to save the day. 

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Words in this fic: 2082 Pairings: Doug Eiffel/Daniel Jacobi Warnings for this fic: Brief mentions of abuse

Notes: I got into Wolf 359 at the start of this year, and after relistening to it recently I decided to start writing some fics. I was pretty nervous about posting this, but I couldn't keep it in my drafts forever, so here it is! There’s also a link to this fic over on A O 3 as the source of this post! Click it to go read it over there, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site.

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There was something about him, Eiffel had decided within the first few seconds of seeing him for the first time. His face was mostly blank unless he had some sly comment to say, some sarcastic remark, and then that stony expression was replaced by something cockier, more smug. Sometimes there was a flash of softness to it, usually when Maxwell was speaking. But even when his face was at its blankest, there was a mischievous gleam in those bright green eyes of his.

Eiffel had never really noticed anyone’s eyes before. He didn’t know Minkowski’s eye color, or Lovelace’s for that matter. Hell, Eiffel didn’t even know if he knew his own eye color at this point, he avoided looking in mirrors at all costs. But for some reason, he’d noticed Jacobi’s. Not only had he noticed it, but he had committed it to memory as well. 

For a moment, he was convinced he could picture them clearly as he stared out the window above his comms panel, making eye contact with them in the reflection of the glass. Somehow, he was able to picture his face with perfect clarity too, despite only seeing it a handful of times while he was in sound mind. 

“Feel good to be home?” The Jacobi that Eiffel thought he was picturing in his mind so clearly spoke, startling him out of his trance and making him jump because it wasn’t his imagination, it was the real deal. It made sense, he’d never had a very visual imagination anyway, but there was always hope for a change of mind. “Wow, I didn’t think I was all that scary, Officer Eiffel.”

“You’re not,” he grumbled with a huff of indignation, grabbing the edge of his station and pulling himself back to it, hooking his knees beneath it to keep himself there. “I just… Got lost in thought.”

“You? Capable of thought? Now that’s something that wasn’t included in your file.” There it was, that stupid sly grin that Jacobi always had when he thought he was being oh-so-clever. Usually, he was. But that joke had become played out within the first month on the station.

Eiffel responded with mock laughter, trying to ignore the way that comment made an invisible knife twist in his chest. After all he’d done, no one thought he was good at anything. What a surprise. But he didn’t have time to unpack all of that right then. “Get some new material, I’ve heard it all before,” he drawled, hoping he looked as bored as he sounded. “I’m a slacker, I’m an idiot, I’m a motormouth. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your shoe’s untied.” 

Maybe there was some truth to one of those three things, because like the idiot he was, Eiffel had that brief moment of panic everyone had when someone told them that their shoe was untied, or their fly was down, or there was something on their shirt. And because of that panic, he looked down. It had completely slipped his mind that he hadn’t even worn shoes in the two (Three? Did those hundred days hurtling through space count? He didn’t know.) years he had been on the Hephaestus. “Oh, goddammit!” He groaned as he stared down at his socked feet in dismay, trying to tune out the cackling laughter Jacobi let out behind him that sent him halfway across the room. 

“You’re also gullible, apparently!” He let himself continue his path across the room so he could push off the back wall, still in a fit of giggles as he sailed back to the console. “You actually fell for it! I can’t believe it! I’ve never gotten anyone with that before.” Jacobi’s grin was bigger than it had ever been, and he wiped the tears from his eyes before they wreaked havoc on the station’s internal systems. Maxwell was too smart to fall for a simple trick like that, and Kepler… Well, Kepler didn’t like being pranked. 

Eiffel grumbled something incoherently, waiting patiently for Jacobi to get over himself before he spoke again. “Was there a real reason you came down here?”

“No, not really. Kepler’s giving Minkowski an orientation for her new role and then he needed to discuss… something with Hilbert, I don’t even wanna know. And Ala- Maxwell’s busy with Hera. So, I was bored.”

“What about Lovelace?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.”

“Right… So you came to interrupt my very important work?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Jacobi made himself comfortable, lounging in the free-floating bliss that was zero-g as Eiffel pretended to look busy, though his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the man in the glass. The bright light of Wolf 359 backlit him beautifully, and the color in the star seemed to desaturate everything else in the reflection, except for those damn eyes. 

Eiffel let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, his fingers brushing through the empty space where his long curls used to be. He let out a frustrated growl, moving his hand up to his scalp. The little hair that was left was scraggly and damaged as hell. It was coarse and patchy, and it scratched his hand uncomfortably when he ran his hand over it. “Actually. I have an idea of something we can do.” He turned around to look at the real Jacobi, who arched an eyebrow in silent encouragement for him to go on. “Come with me.”

He’d had his head shaved a handful of times, and it was usually under duress. The first time was as a punishment for getting gum stuck in it, even though he hadn’t been the one to put gum there, and it would’ve been much easier to just cut the chunk out rather than shave his whole head. The second time had been when he’d joined the military. This would make number three, but this time it was necessary, despite the fact that his goal had really been to never cut his hair again. All that length had meant a lot to him, it meant that he had control over something in his life, finally, but the cryofreeze had, apparently, had other plans for it.

Additionally, most of the shaving kits, particularly their razors, had been dismantled for Minkowski’s crusade against Blessie. God only knew where all of those had ended up, or if they were still even on the station, but he knew there was one that was still safely tucked away. 

“Wow, Eiffel. I thought you would’ve liked to wine and dine your dates before bringing them home. You always struck me as more of a gentleman than that.”

“Shut up.” He rooted around in his locker, letting various pieces of uniform and whatever else had been shoved in there float freely around them as he did so. Most of it was contraband that he should’ve been more careful about getting seen, but he was too focused. Once he found the kit, he let out a soft, ‘a ha!’ And underhand tossed it to Jacobi. “You’re shaving my head.”

For once, Jacobi didn’t have some sort of sarcastic remark to make in response. He was just confused. “Sorry?”

“I can’t… I can’t stand it being like this. I can’t. And it’ll never grow back right with the ends this damaged, and I don’t really feel like cutting myself a thousand times in the process. So you’re doing it for me.” He tried to make his voice sound commanding, authoritative, but instead he just sounded desperate, irritated, upset. His hair meant so much to him, but he could stand to be without it for a little bit. He’d done it before, he could do it again. What he couldn’t stand was the sorry excuse for hair that he’d been left with. 

“You don’t think I’d use the razor to kill you? It’d be the perfect opportunity.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it back on the Urania when I was half dead.” 

“You hadn’t annoyed me as much back then.”

“I mean, if you really want to, I guess you can, but… I’d really just like my head shaved, please.”

A dramatic sigh filled the silence, and then: “Ugh, fine. But you owe me.”

That was good enough for Eiffel, and he trailed along behind Jacobi to the Hephaestus’ bathroom. Gravity was a little different in there, as in it was actually present in order to make showering and other general acts of hygiene (that Eiffel didn’t really partake in) a little easier. So he was able to sit on the counter and stare their reflections down as Jacobi stood behind him, setting the kit beside him on the counter. 

Jacobi wasn’t a friend, not by a longshot. In Minkowski’s book, he was part of ‘the enemy.’ But they’d spent a decent amount of time together after he’d been picked up by the Urania, and even a little bit of time before that over the comms. Someone had to keep in touch with him and keep up-to-date on his coordinates so the ship could get a lock on his location, and Kepler had felt like that work was beneath the highly intellectual minds of himself and Maxwell, so it had fallen to Jacobi. And Eiffel hadn’t minded, because beneath all the smart remarks, the guy was alright to talk to. A little stilted, maybe, but that wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with. It was better on the Urania. Easier, at least, because Jacobi’s body language did a lot of the talking for him. Once again, helping Eiffel was deemed grunt work, so Jacobi had been the one stuck tending to his wounds, helping him get around when he was too weak to even keep his eyes open, and adjust to eating again after not doing it for a hundred days (though with all of the substitutes for rations Hilbert dared to call food, one could argue it had been even longer since he’d really eaten). 

Long story short, Eiffel liked Jacobi to some degree. The guy was alright in his book, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, because he could’ve easily said no, or done a hackjob of it, or killed him. But instead, he took his time and made sure that he didn’t miss any spots, his other hand resting gently on Eiffel’s head to keep it steady despite all the fidgeting. 

After the first pass, Eiffel moved to get off the counter, to turn around and thank Jacobi, but a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back down. 

“I gotta go again, make sure I didn’t miss a spot. It looked awful before, but it’ll look even worse if there’s just a tiny patch with a few hairs left.”

Eiffel furrowed his eyebrows together, but nodded and got comfortable again. As comfortable as he could, at least. His ass was already numb and the feeling was starting to spread down to his legs, but hopefully the second pass would go quicker. 

And it did, kind of. Jacobi didn’t need to clean the hair from the razor as often because there was barely any left, but he still took that same slow and gentle care as he had the first time. When he was done, he wiped off the leftover shaving cream with a nearby towel, smiling genuinely as Eiffel lifted a hand to feel over his scalp. “Well? How does it feel?”

“It feels great,” he answered earnestly, laughing in relief. He didn’t hate the way his reflection looked anymore, and now he could actually believe everyone when they told him to pull it together because it would grow back eventually. Hopefully this made the process easier. His eyes drifted to Jacobi’s in the mirror, mirroring that same smile. “Thank you... I really do owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.” The genuine smile faded to his usual cocky grin, and Eiffel threw the towel at him. It hit him square in the face, but it didn’t wipe away that look. “But… You’re welcome.” He offered him a hand to help him off the counter, steadying him with a chuckle when he nearly lost his balance. “Gravity that hard on you, Doug?”

“No! It’s just… That counter was not very comfortable to sit for that long on. And yeah, I guess gravity’s pretty hard to adjust to too.” 

“Well then we’d better get you back to the lazy embrace of zero-g.”

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #17

Last month, @x-wingsandarchers won a giveaway and this is the prize, which I foolishly almost forgot to post because I thought this was the prompt for tomorrow. Thank you, Wings, for your constant support, I hope you enjoy this!

xxx field care 101

The first thing Minkowski notices upon coming to is the pounding in her head, and blood, matting her hair and drying on her face. The second is a sharp pain in her left hip, and a small moan escapes her lips.

“You awake, Commander?” Eiffel’s voice comes from right behind her, and it takes a second to realize that they’re sitting back to back.

“Mm...Yeah, Eiffel, I’m awake.”

“Good. Tha’s..That’s good.”

Minkowski isn’t sure she agrees given that there’s a jackhammer in her skull. She takes a moment to breathe before forcing her eyes open and it takes a moment to adjust to the dark red glow of the auxiliary lights. The explosion, she realizes with dismay, must have knocked out the main power….The explosion.

“Oh, god,” she breathes. “Are you alright Eiffel?”

He doesn’t say anything, no smartass remark or movie reference. He just breathes, a loud, labored sound, and Minkowski is hit with a pang of worry.

“Eiffel!” she repeats, trying not to let the panic creep into her voice.

“Yeah! Yeah, good. Sorry, Commander,” Eiffel says. “Hil-...Hilbert should be back soon. You, uh. You’ve been out awhile. He says you’ve got a concussion.”

“No surprise there,” Minkowski murmurs. She can see now, somewhat, and looks down at her hip to see if she can spot the source of the pain. Her stomach does a backflip and she lets out a nervous sound. “Look, there’s something...It’s as big around as my thumb--a-a pipe, maybe? I’m not sure but it’s in my side.” She tries to twist, to get a better look, but Eiffel lets out a strangled cry and she freezes, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

“What? Are you okay?”

Eiffel is gasping now, pained noises escaping him with each breath. “Please don’t move.”

“Eiffel, what is going on?”

“That, uh...That pipe, maybe you’re talking about? I’m familiar with it. See, we’re basically…” He chuckles before he gets to the punchline, and it would be a welcome return to his usual self if it weren’t so obvious that he’s trying to cover up the pain he’s in. “Basically a human shish kebab. We’d probably pair well with a nice chianti, what do you think?”

Minkowski frowns, the familiar irritation creeping in and providing some reprieve from the concern that’s been gnawing at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Awww, c’mon Minkowski. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen Silence of the Lambs.”

“...Is that the one with the talking pig?”

Eiffel laughs, a loud genuine this time, but it quickly turns into a groan. “Oww. Don’...Don’t make me laugh either.” There’s a beat, and then she hears him mutter a quiet, “Fuck.”

“What?” She wishes she could turn to him, look him in the eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothin’.”

“Officer Eiffel!”

He sighs. “Uuh…’m bleeding again--or, more, maybe. Not sure I ever stopped…”

Minkowski’s heart jumps in alarm. That can’t be good. “Hera, where the hell is Hilbert?”

Eiffel mutters something behind her that she doesn’t catch.

“Speak up, Eiffel!” She tries to sound irritated, to hide the fear, but doesn’t do a very good job of it.

“She’s not here, Minkowski.” Eiffel’s words are clumsy and slurred. “‘splosion knocked th’ comms out. It’s okay though, Hilbert’ll be back soon…”

The pressure of Eiffel’s back against hers eases a little, and Minkowski reaches back with her left hand until she finds Eiffel’s arm, mindful of the thing in her side and his. “Hey, Eiffel,” she says, giving his arm a squeeze. “Douglas Eiffel, wake up!”

“Hmm?” She feels him straighten again. “‘m awake.”

“You need to stay that way,” Minkowski commands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this...and you are never going to hear me say it ever, ever again, but I need you to talk to me. About anything, I don’t care, but you’re not allowed to stop before Hilbert gets back. That’s an order, officer.”

“Anything?” Eiffel says. “‘Cus I have spent a lot...like, a lot...of time thinkin’ about Jar Jar Binks.”

Minkowski makes a face, immediately regretting her command. “I...don’t know what the hell you just said to me, Eiffel, but...Go on.”

“Well he’s...He’s obviously a sith lord.”

“That’s from…Lord of the Rings?”

“Oh my god, Minkowski!” Eiffel says incredulously. “When we...when we get back you’ve uh. You got a lot to catch up on…”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He sounds tired. And, even more worryingly, she can feel something warm and wet soaking through the seat of her uniform, and she’s certain it’s not her own blood. “Keep talking to me, Eiffel, I want to hear more about this...Jerry Banks.”

“Oh my god,” Eiffel whispers. “Guess I’ll have t’ start with, um...the Force.”

He’s not talking at his usual lightning pace, but between her concussion and the fact that she’s never seen Star Wars (at least she figured out which movie he’s talking about), he may as well be speaking Italian. She’s sorely tempted (emphasis on sorely) to close her eyes for a minute, but Eiffel needs to stay awake which means she needs to stay awake to keep him that way. She does zone out though, only half listening as Eiffel, even in his wounded state, excitedly rambles on about...mitochondria? He’s finally getting back to why this Banks character is a sith lord when his words trail off and he falls silent.

“Eiffel!” Minkowski barks. She grips his arm and gives it a tight, desperate squeeze.

“I don’ feel right…” His back leaves hers again, and panic laces through her.

“Officer Eiffel, come on! Eiffel, please--Doug! Douglas Eiffel, you--Please. Please, I can’t--” Her chest is tight, and she can feel the panic taking over, seizing her lungs and wrapping around her throat and pulling tears from her eyes. “Please, Eiffel, I can’t do this without you. I nee-I need you, damn it! Eiffel! Eiffel!”

There’s no response, just the buzzing of the auxiliary lights and her own crying.

“Please, Eiffel, you have to wake up. Come on.” She raises her voice to a scream. “Hilbert!” It sends lightning bolts of pain through her skull, but she hardly notices. She can feel the blood, it’s a lot of blood too much blood and she doesn’t even know if Eiffel is even--if he...“Hilbert!”

xxx to be continued...

[digitalhovel]

Late to the Party: Wolf 359 and personhood

I wrote the first draft of this piece in July 2020, but I never got around to editing it before my Fall classes started and my life became a hectic world of crunch. So, finally edited: here are my incredibly, remarkably am-I-too-late-to-comment thoughts on Wolf 359. New posts coming soon!

           Wolf 359 was an audio drama created by Gabriel Urbina that ran from 2014 to 2017, featuring an incredible group of voice actors, excellent writing, and a story that is, at various turns, humorous, adventurous, haunting, tragic, and compelling. It was a forerunner for the podcast explosion that has swept through pop culture in the last decade and continues growing. Perhaps it just feels that way because of how much I’ve seen it lauded on the internet, but I believe it’s true.

           If I were pitching this podcast to someone, I would sell it on the story. A small crew of people orbits a faraway star, listening to the frequencies of space for any signal that may be unusual. Though it begins as a relatively campy, workplace comedy about toothpaste rationing and plant monsters, the story takes steep turns into hard science fiction and rich, character-focused drama that captures the listener and drives them through to the story’ completion. Through the close quarters of the increasingly unreliable Hephaestus space station, the writers never give the characters enough space to avoid their problems and slow the plot down. This closeness also creates a sense of kindred and family that pervades the show’s themes and makes the audience feel that the characters really have something worth fighting for. Those characters begin relatively archetypically: Renée Minkowski is an uptight commanding officer, Doug Eiffel is a slacker and all-around generic man, Alexander Hilbert is a “mad scientist,” and Hera is a governing, feminine A.I. presence. However, by the end of the show, each is given the agency and opportunity to be the main character of an arc, and each grows beyond the limits of their original shells. The craft in the writing and design of this show is remarkable on its own, but the messages it delivers in the story set it apart as more than speculative fiction.

           Okay, so I’m about to go hard into spoiler with this one. If you haven’t listened to the show, I would highly recommend doing so if you’re interested. If you already have, or if you don’t care, on we go.

           Wolf 359 has many themes. It questions the values of discipline and rebellion, it contemplates what sacrifices are worthwhile to achieve a greater good, and, most existentially, it asks what it means to be a sentient, living person. The podcast confronts this issue time and again, examining it through the lenses of clones and artificial intelligence. The fundamental conclusion the series suggests is: if you appear to be a person, and if you have all the memories of that person, and you continue striving to be that person, then you functionally are that person.

But what happens if you suffer complete and total amnesia?

           In the final episode of the series, Doug Eiffel, bad idea extraordinaire, sacrifices his memories in order to also wipe the mind of Dr. Helena Price, one of the show’s primary antagonists. Because of this, Eiffel ends the show reflecting on a life he can’t remember, comforted by his friends, whom he is now 100% more respectful towards. So, if this new man is Doug Eiffel, what does that mean for him and his arc as a character?

           Doug Eiffel is a jerk. He disobeys instructions, he calls people by insensitive or offensive nicknames, and he acts as if his needs are the only ones that matter. He is the archetypal ideal of a straight, white man. His casual attitude provides a great deal of humor throughout the series, especially during its less plot-centric beginnings before space things start happening. It isn’t until the final season of the show that he learns how his actions have hurt and alienated the people around him, the only friends he knows. After this, he makes an effort to correct some of his behaviors, but he doesn’t have much time, because he is soon sucked into a star and put through a series of plot developments that prevent him from experiencing evident growth in how he treats and respects other people. This makes his sudden mind-wipe reversal seem like a shortcut. The new Doug Eiffel recognizes his previous self was an asshole and can now start again, but the emotional journey necessary to reach this point naturally is cut short. He gets a free pass on moral development, and it denies the audience a truly satisfying end to that part of is arc.

           The other significant part of Eiffel’s arc and motivation is the revelation that he has a daughter, whom he was prevented from seeing after he kidnapped her while drunk and proceeded to get into a car crash that injured his daughter and the passengers of the other vehicle. This information came to light in episode 35, during season three. The possibility of seeing his daughter again became the primary motivation for Eiffel, when before it was simply escaping space so he could get back to the luxuries of Earth such as porn and television. Honestly, this revelation works well. It provides conflict between Eiffel and Minkowski, who now has to decide whether Eiffel is a good person or not. It also provides depth and a severe flaw to Eiffel’s character that makes it difficult to accept him as the plucky “everyman” he acted as for the majority of the show. His memory loss comes at the immense cost of forgetting everyone he cares about, but he barely addresses this in the finale after waking up with amnesia. Perhaps this is the most sensible conclusion. With no memory, his daughter is just another person he has forgotten, and his logged memories will tell him more about the crew of the Hephaestus than his own family. But again, this removes the emotional weight from his character.

           This could mean any number of things. The plot could have required this, and Doug, needing that moment of selflessness to develop as an individual, was the most fitting crew member to lose their memories. It could be that Doug’s memories were wiped because the writers realized he was beyond redemption, and only a new slate would provide him the opportunity to change. It could be that this complication was intended from the beginning, and ending Doug’s arc without complete growth was both a human choice and a message about people who don’t change before its too late. No matter what, Doug’s arc ends abruptly, and it feels dissatisfying to have a magical reset button for him when the other characters have to keep their own memories of trauma (some caused by him, even).

This calls into question what Wolf 359 says about personhood. Personhood is defined by memory and experience in the series. This includes, most importantly, trauma. Betrayal, responsibility, and insecurity induced by trauma severely shape the arcs of every crew member of the Hephaestus. Eiffel escapes all this. It comes at a high cost, but if the show’s message about personhood is that it comes from memories, then Eiffel’s character arc ends in a single selfless act that acquits him of the consequences of his previous mistakes and wrongdoings. The Eiffel who wakes up with no memories is a different character, and pretending he isn’t does a disservice to his story in the previous 60 episodes.

           Wolf 359 has a wildly humanist message, and though the conclusion of Eiffel’s arc undercuts some of them, the series still gives many of the characters the endings they deserve. It is at turns hilarious, terrifying, and awe-inspiring. The story delivers on its evolution from hijinks into philosophical contemplation, and for that it deserves recognition, respect, and another binge listen once I’ve made it through my back catalogue.

[thesnadger]

Hilbert, Thoughts?

I sure do have them! 

(I’m just finished with episode 31, spoilers up to there below.)

An interesting theme I’m seeing develop around Hilbert is the idea of “can you depend on or bond with someone that you can neither forgive nor trust.”

Despite everyone on the crew having reason to either kill him or keep him only as a prisoner his role on the crew feels remarkably ambiguous. At first they only went to him when they felt they had no choice, but after a while he seemed to be helping with a remarkable amount of work and repairs.

Part of that might be practical - - in addition to his knowledge, three warm bodies and an AI was a skeleton crew to begin with. Going down to two bodies and a severely damaged (thanks to Hilbert) AI on a ship that’s breaking down is rough. They need every resource they have.

But it feels like there’s more to it than that. Maybe it’s the lack of people again - when you’re alone in deep space and you can count on one hand the only people you ever see or speak to . . . it makes the betrayal hurt more, sure, but it also makes it harder not to be attached to someone even if you truly hate them.

Don’t think I didn’t notice that when Minkowski was arguing with Lovelace she talked about leaving “half my crew” (i.e., two people) behind, or referred to the “three people” depending on her. She was unambiguously including Hilbert in the crew in spite of everything. Doug heard Hilbert’s voice in his mind along with everyone else’s when he was trying to comfort and motivate himself while alone in space. When Lovelace began to seem like the greater danger, Hilbert became someone the others trusted enough to include in their plans.

And hey! Doug comes back after a two year time skip and he’s apparently walking around without a gun to his head. What happened in those two years? Was it just time, and weariness, and the slow inevitability of becoming comfortable with someone’s presence again? Or did he do something that made the others trust him more?

Either way, now that they have a new bigger threat to everyone (one Hilbert seems genuinely afraid of) it seems all five of them are positioning themselves as a pack defending themselves against the interlopers. (Hey, isn’t that funny - Lovelace becomes a part of the team in opposition to a greater threat, just as she was the greater threat that made the others work with Hilbert.) I’m very interested in seeing where this could go.

That said, I don’t trust Hilbert at all. He’s quite capable of hiding his motivations and of turning on people he considers friends with absolute ruthlessness. I’m still not even 100% sure whether that story about his sister was even true or just something intended to make Doug sympathize with him - hoping it might make him more receptive to being a voluntary guinea pig.

(It would be more interesting to me if the story was true, though. It wouldn’t excuse any of his actions, but it would humanize him in a way that makes him more interesting!)

And as much as the new arrivals might provide a shared threat for the crew to unite against, they could also give Hilbert more reason to turn on the crew again. They’ve got instructions from command, and one of them has some uncomfortable history with him. Then there’s the talk about “his work.” Are they going to expect him to resume it? Is Doug going to be forced to submit to more doses of an experimental virus? What happens if either of them refuse?

Much to think about! Can’t wait to see where this goes!

[nellied-reviews]

Box 953 Re-listen

Well, I got a bit side-tracked by life (seriously, I had to take an impromptu trip to a consulate!) but I am back, and just in time for episode 8 of Wolf 359:

Box 953

In which Eiffel finds a mysterious box, Hilbert really wants to avoid the quarterly talent show and Minkowski is the very model of a modern major general.

Sometimes I'm surprised by these episodes when I get back round to them. This one? Not so much. I think I actually remembered pretty much everything relevant about this episode, going into it: Eiffel is avoiding Minkowski, finds a mysterious box, the mysterious box gets blown up before we see what’s inside it.

And in general, I do like the episode a lot. It's funny, after all, and it does that thing that I'm noticing a lot on the re-listen where the show throws out a big weird mystery, then ends up dropping it with a theatrical shrug of the shoulders. It's a smart thing to do, because all of the unanswered questions ("Do those transmissions really come from Earth?", "There's a plant monster on the loose!", "What's with that weird voice?", "What's in the box?") could be answered in the future, but could just as easily not be. Sure, some of them are super important and interesting in hindsight. But burying the plot-relevant questions under a heap of less relevant but equally intriguing questions disguises them, and means that we're surprised when something like, say, that weird ghost voice comes back later on. Plus it creates the impression that the Hephaestus itself is a setting full of mysteries and weird things. Which is fun.

As we begin, though, all we know is that Eiffel, for whatever reason, is hiding from Minkowski in a store room. Why? Turns out, Minkowski is worryingly invested in their quarterly talent show, while Eiffel is... less than enthusiastic.

And look, I am easily pleased. The idea of the four crew members being forced to participate in a mandatory talent show is very funny to me. The fact that this is quarterly - and so they have, presumably, already suffered through several of them - makes me smile a lot. Eiffel and Hilbert being united in their dread of it? Awesome. I love it. Honestly, it makes me want to consume and/or write fanfic about the Hephaestus' previous talent shows, and the shenanigans that I just know must have been involved.

An another level, though, can we also stop to appreciate how seriously Minkowski takes it all? It's played for laughs throughout, sure, but I do like the fact that Minkowski is the sort of person to go all out and just unselfconsciously embrace the talent show. Her love of musical theatre is so joyful and pure, and I really appreciate it. I think, on some level, it even makes her a more interesting character; instead of going down the well-trodden "I'm a badass with a secret love of something cheesy, which I'm horribly embarrassed of" route, she goes for "I'm a badass with totally non-secret love of something cheesy, which I am totally open and unashamed of." It's a sign of self-confidence, I think, plus a reassuring reminder that Commander Minkowski, badass extraordinaire, nerds out just as hard as the rest of us. (Plus, you really can't be a fan of G&S and take yourself all that seriously, because come on...)

Anyway, the conversation Minkowski and Eiffel then have, and Eiffel's ensuing log entry is just enough to give some tantalising hints of what past talent shows have involved (smoke rings? poetry readings?) before Hilbert calls Eiffel, desperate to avoid the talent show. And his solution? Knock Minkowski out. Because it's Hilbert, so of course that's the answer. *Sighs*.

While Hilbert gets going with that, then, all that remains is for Eiffel to explore the store room. And while this isn’t super relevant, it is a great excuse for a Night Vale-style list of Improbable Weird Things. And seriously, pretty much every single object here is worthy of mention. We have eyeless Russian dolls straight out of a horror movie. We have letters to Santa, a revelation whose implications are both hilarious and baffling. We have Chekhov's cannon, which totally won't be relevant later in the episode.

And in among all this, Eiffel mentions Goddard Futuristics by name for the very first time, which actually surprised me. I thought they'd already come up, since in hindsight, they really do have their fingers in everything going on up on the Hephaestus, even in the first few episodes. But I guess this is their first official mention? And to be fair, I do remember assuming, early on, that this was a military mission. So this is probably the point where we are aware, for the first time, of the corporate context of it all, and the fact that it's Goddard who are basically running a for-profit private army here. Which is... fun.

The dystopian side of that is brushed aside here, though, in favour of just revelling in the out-there weirdness of all the stuff that Goddard have stored up on the Hephaestus. L-shaped Lego pieces? 3 suits of armour? The partial skull of megafauna specimen 58 "to be handled with a vague feeling of existential dread"? It's Warehouse 13, in space! 

It's also kind of heartening to see how excited Eiffel is by all this. Like, I know that he essentially got forced to go to space, but he really does have the sense of adventure for it. There's something very sweet about how not-jaded and enthusiastic Eiffel gets, as soon as he encounters something new. And then the plot thickens when he discovers the titular Box 953, which is reserved for Douglas Eiffel. What could possibly be in it? Eiffel, ever curious, is clearly desperate to know.

Before we find out, of course, we're interrupted by Hilbert, whose plan to knock Minkowski out has hone horribly wrong - he's just gotten her drunk. Even better, we get Minkowski's drunken rendition of "I am the very model of a modern major general" in the background during all of this, and kudos to Emma Sherr-Ziarko, because every single thing drunk!Minkowski says from here on out is amazing. From making pirate costumes, to nearly shooting Hilbert over ice cream, to the little hiccup she does, everything about Minkowski here is perfect and wonderful.

It doesn't distract Eiffel for long, though, and soon he's asking Hera what's in the box. She doesn't know, though, and actually can't access those files at all. Instead, she gets the message "Error, inappropriate security clearance", which is pretty creepy. It's the second time in as many episodes, after all, that we hear somebody who isn't Hera speaking through the Hephaestus, and it's a reminder of just how many secrets the station potentially holds. And so all we learn, in the end, is that Box 953 is weird. It's huge, and bolted in place, and it's cold to the touch. Plus it's making a heart beat kind of sound? It's at this point, I noticed, that the background music also cuts away, and we’re left with a weird crackling noise as Eiffel goes to open it. Spooky.

Every part of me was expecting this to be a Pandora's box-type scenario where Eiffel's opening the box would unleash something terrible and all hell would break loose. So when we hear something explode, it seems like confirmation of this... except when we cut back to Eiffel, several in-universe hours later, we learn that the problem wasn't Eiffel opening the box. In fact, Eiffel didn't manage to open the box; the explosion was from Minkowski setting off the cannon. It seems like a lot happened in the three hour gap in the recording (not least, Minkowski ended with burns and frostbite?) and as a result, Box 953 was lost to the vacuum of space. Bummer.

And then that's it. Episode over. Everyone is safe and well, and the station is fine. But we don't learn what was in the box, and I don't think it really come up again? I googled it, and I think I saw a suggestion that it's the simulation-y machine from Change of Mind? But I don't remember the connection really being commented on, and even then it doesn't explain why it's specifically Eiffel's name on the box now. Like... what situation would Command have been expecting him to use it in? Why? How? So many questions, all of them unanswered!

And I suppose that's fine, at the end of the day. I enjoyed this episode, I loved the talent show idea, and I didn't mind the weird storeroom bits. I can imagine that some people probably felt cheated by the lack of answers we got here - and Eiffel's own anger and frustration as the episode ends maybe feels like a concession to those people. But personally, I'm more than willing to leave it as a riddle for the ages. If this had developed into something more later on, that would have been fun. As it is, I didn't mind it one bit, though. As long as you don't overdo it, weirdness for weirdness' sake can be plenty entertaining. 

Plus, drunk Minkowski is a gift to us all :)

Miscellaneous thoughts:

So I checked out the poem that got name-dropped in this episode, Sylvia Plath's Lady Lazarus, and holy smokes, disturbing much? In an interesting kind of way, sure, but still disturbing...

"You can't solve all your problems by knocking them out." "You know, people keep saying that, and yet my problems keep going away."  

D'awww Hilbert is enjoying this, isn't he?

I bet your alcohol tolerance goes way down in space. Hmm...

"Eiffel, you do not understand, there is singing."

"Swashes and buckles, Hilbert, swashes and buckles."

Also, it sounds like Hera has absolutely no objections to the talent show, and is just busy practicing her lines? What a cutie ^-^

"I don't know if it was a warning shot or if she just missed." Scared Hilbert is 100% not what I'm used to.. Is this the most frightened we ever hear him?

Don't think I missed Eiffel finding Dr. Fourier's diary :'( (another thing linking this episode to Change of Mind?)

[geejaysmith]

On Minkowski’s Weird “I stayed up too late” Personality

check it out everyone, it's time for more Bullshit from Discord but this time with the groupchat

Kat [Yesterday at 8:17 PM] https://mspainttaz.tumblr.com/post/616173308845670400/beginning-of-stolen-century-musta-been-rough alternate explanation for "the cheeses" and why Maxwell won't room with Jacobi anymore

Gill [Yesterday at 8:19 PM] Jacobi: I could go out to the 24hr grocery store right now at 3 am and buy the fanciest fucking cheeses at Hy-Vee and no one could stop me. Maxwell: Please go the fuck to sleep. hm... what does everyone on the Hephaestus do when they can't sleep at 3 AM... what are their weird “i stayed up too late” personalities...

Kat [Yesterday at 8:22 PM] https://tiny-crecher.tumblr.com/post/627965201608802304/i-have-decided-it-is-of-the-utmost-importance-that not necessarily related but Eiffel found the kitkat, minkowski told him not to eat it, Hera somehow made the case for it also we know what Minkowski's 3am stayed up too late personality is, there was a whole episode for it

Gill [Yesterday at 8:22 PM] oh god that's right that's what that is Minkowski, up too late in season 4, has no Known Threats to build acid traps against, so Lovelace finds her in the mess hall building a Pepe Silvia Conspiracy Wall to Try And Deduce What The Aliens Want

agentartemis [Yesterday at 8:23 PM] Haha true And. Yeah probably

Gill [Yesterday at 8:25 PM] Minkowski, aggressively slapping half-scribbled notes connected with tape and bits of string: The aliens want us to go SURFING, it's the ONLY THING THAT MAKES SENSE Lovelace, sipping a protein shake and nodding along because neither of them are getting any decent sleep tonight and this is the most interesting thing to happen this week

Gill [Yesterday at 8:29 PM] Eiffel, at the "so does anyone have any ideas" meeting the next morning: you two like you had a... productive evening Lovelace: We narrowed it down. Whatever the aliens want, it's either about surfing or something involving an interspecies mating ritual that may or may not entail actual human sacrifice.

agentartemis [Yesterday at 8:33 PM] Eiffel maybe: ......well mark me down as scared and horny

Gill [Yesterday at 8:34 PM] Minkowski, after the end of Dirty Work when they're looking for Eiffel in the void of space (again): Dear god, I hope we're right about the surfing and wrong about the human sacrifice. Lovelace, later on, once Eiffel's back and they've escaped from Cutter and company and they need anything to talk about but the insane odds in front of them: So. Aliens. Eiffel: Yes. Aliens. Lovelace: You met some. Eiffel: Yeah, and the surfing theory wasn't... exactly off-base, per say... Lovelace: ...and? Eiffel: ..........And? Lovelace: Look, just get it out there and get it over with: did you fuck an alien? Eiffel: Oh, that. No. Lovelace: Right, right. You hear that Minkowski? You owe me Starbucks when we get back to Earth!

agentartemis [Yesterday at 8:42 PM] haha Minkowski: damn it but also thank god

Kat [Yesterday at 8:42 PM] Eiffel: I mean. I guess theoretically they are fuckable? But since it looked like me, no thanks.

agentartemis [Yesterday at 8:43 PM] Eiffel realizing he talked big game in the Would You Fuck Your Clone banned dinner debate but now actually faced with the possibility is realizing he is way more of a weenie about that than he thought he would be Everyone learning deep truths about themselves

Gill [Yesterday at 8:56 PM] Eiffel: You had a bet going over whether or not I'd fuck the aliens?? Minkowski: Well, not exactly... be fair, Lovelace. What were the exact terms of our wager? Lovelace: /sigh, fine. See, I jokingly tossed out an innuendo about how they were waiting for you to "get together and feel alright" and Minkowski took no time at all to turn that into the whole human-sacrifice-coitus thing, which, granted, it was 4 AM and she was on a bender fueled by nothing but caffeine and Astronaut Kibble, so really, that's my fault. But the point is, she was certain that if it was a sex thing? And if it was for the good of the crew, if not the whole of the planet Earth and all life on it? You'd do it. Minkowski: You also might just do it because they offered. Lovelace: Right, and I said, "no way, you saw him freak out when I did the whole- /handwaving to represent the Avatar state/ right? This all scares the hell out of him!" And then added, "if you're right, but he doesn't fuck the aliens, when we get back to Earth, I'm going to stroll into the nearest Starbucks and order something with enough sugar in it to send me into hyperglycemic shock, and you're gonna pay the tab for it." Minkowski: Right, but Eiffel didn't say definitively whether or not it was a sex thing, which left one of the terms unfulfilled. Lovelace: But he implied that it wasn’t a sex thing in the first place, which invalidates the whole first premise, but in the end, he still didn't fuck the aliens! So I'm still more right than you are. Minkowski: Eiffel, did or did not the Dear Listeners- Eiffel: Commander, what the hell made you so sure I'd be down for the microgravity mambo with an extraterrestrial!? Minkowski: Easy. You're a B answer.

agentartemis [Yesterday at 8:59 PM] you truly never live down a B answer, huh

Kat [Yesterday at 9:02 PM] filed under: discord chat concepts that took on a life of their own

Kinsey [Yesterday at 9:02 PM] Hahahaha

Kat [Yesterday at 9:02 PM] that one was also my fault

agentartemis [Yesterday at 9:02 PM] it makes me laugh every time so it's canon in my heart thank u

Gill [Yesterday at 9:05 PM] Eiffel: Yeah-!! Well- that was before we actually found any aliens. At the time I was assuming less "all-powerful incorporeal voice-stealing force" and more blue alien chicks from Star Wars, you know?? Or Darth Maul. God, Darth Maul was the best thing about Phantom Menace... Lovelace: Undergoing some self-reflection, are we? Eiffel: Yeah... and now that I think about it, I don't think I'm the only one. Isn't that right, Minkowski? Or should I say, Commander D-Answer? Minkowski, eyes narrowing: What're you getting at? Eiffel: I haven't heard a word of skepticism about the whole thing since Lovelace turned up! And you jumped on the "intergalactic transmissions and chill" idea pretty quickly from the sound of it... Jacobi: Holy shit can we just break into Pryce's lab and get this over with already I want out of this conversation

Kat [Yesterday at 9:06 PM] Are you insinuating you'd fuck Darth Maul

agentartemis [Yesterday at 9:07 PM] I am absolutely willing to believe Eiffel would fuck Darth Maul

Gill [Yesterday at 9:07 PM] look I needed an alien dude who wasn't just White Guy From Another Planet and that was the first thing that came to mind

Kinsey [Yesterday at 9:07 PM] Same whispers admiral ackbar

agentartemis [Yesterday at 9:07 PM] Nah Eiffel's a normie

Kinsey [Yesterday at 9:08 PM] Yea you're right

Gill [Yesterday at 9:08 PM] Ok, Phantom Menace came out in May of '99, Eiffel was born in '82, he would've been 16 and a half

Kinsey [Yesterday at 9:08 PM] NOT A FURRY EITHER or else...

agentartemis [Yesterday at 9:08 PM] He talks big about a wide variety of pop culture geek stuff but he has very normie tastes when you get down to it

Gill [Yesterday at 9:08 PM] and possibly still in the kind of Goth phase that would've been receptive to Shadow The Edgehog Evil Jedi

Kinsey [Yesterday at 9:08 PM] LOL

agentartemis [Yesterday at 9:08 PM] hahaha good take

Kat [Yesterday at 9:09 PM] it's true his pop culture lexicon is pretty normie Gabriel is this a reflection on you

Gill [Yesterday at 9:10 PM] as someone who follows the man on Twitter: probably, yeah

Kinsey [Yesterday at 9:10 PM] We have to make our own food With homestuck Eiffel

Gill [Yesterday at 9:10 PM] there are Homestucks on that station and if anyone tries to tell me otherwise I will face god and walk backwards into hell

agentartemis [Yesterday at 9:11 PM] hahaha they lurk

Gill [Yesterday at 9:11 PM] semi-related because I was speculating about Teen Eiffel's Taste In Men and this comic came up on my Tumblr dash https://werewolf-boi.tumblr.com/post/628109055176605696/reparrishcomics-facebook-twitter-instagram</p>

[pathofcomet]

wolf 359 mafia au {wip}

Minkowski leafs through the files handed to her, but she barely pays any attention to the information in them. Her mind is far away, thinks of her comfortable office back at the headquarters. She can still feel the soreness in her shoulder, from when she’s been first shot while on a mission, and she can still hear in her ears her husband’s screams when she returned to field work, just weeks after being discharged. She remembers what he said then, angry and defeated in front of her stubbornness: maybe you’re not cut out to being both a police officer and a wife – and at that moment she has turned hissing back at him, nails pressed into her palms and brain totally shut off, so the damage didn’t register until she was in the living room, covered by a blanket that was too thin, on a couch that was too short.

She didn’t cry back then, though. She has let the anger sip, burn away, but the words remained at the back of her head, and each time Dominik had thrown an even slightly hurt look in her direction, she has felt the guilt tearing apart her throat; and even stronger was the indignation, that she was somehow supposed to choose, that she lacked whatever balance necessary to make it work for those around her. She picked sides then: imagined a child wearing her husband’s smile, pictured herself as a warm, pliant mother, and made whatever was in her power to bring to life those dreams. She put forward her transfer papers, drank three nights in a row with her team and superiors, in a farewell that felt too eternal. She pinned her husband to doors and tables, smiled at him in the morning from the kitchen counter, coffee mugs ready and told herself: this is what we want, what I want.

But back when they met each other, Minkowski was working, out there in the city. Dominik Koudelka, between embassy reports and political deals, has caught sight of a straight backed officer, the seriousness dozing off her – and has found her challenging, beautiful. He had been refused twelve times by the time he realized he’d told her about his irrational fear of bears, and she’s lent him her favourite Broadway recording of Les Miserables. By then, when he finally leaned down, it felt like the easiest thing in the world to accept his kiss. She was a terrible dancer; he didn’t have the patience to sit down and watch a full movie from start to finish on his couch, but could spend his whole Sunday in a cinema. She liked pastel colours; he enjoyed taking care of plants. When she’d turn back home, ravished and bruised, he’d wait by her door smiling softly, holding his first aid kit, knowing hers to have run out and knowing Minkowski with no time to fill it up with supplies again. When he was dead tired, he found himself telling taxi drivers her address rather than his, maybe out of habit. But she’d open her door, wearing stupidly cute t-shirts from music and writing camps she went to during high school and college, and they’d both curl on the couch, her hands, although harsh, comforting at his jaw.

It felt natural, so easy to say yes. To imagine a future alongside this very soft and understanding man, to envision a common life. He picked the furniture, she built the shelves. She filled them with Polish books, he found matching drapes. He cooked her favourite childhood meal, and she cried, ate and held his hand the whole evening.  She re-potted all his plants while he was on a business trip, repurposed the small balcony from his office to make up for the garden they couldn’t afford to get. It felt easy then, with no pressure from their marital life. Then years passed, and questions rose. Then suddenly she was doing too much and –

“They said you’re their best, with self-imposed set-backs, but still their best.”

This wakes Minkowski, makes her stir in her chair, and she turns to look at this Mr. Cutter.

“Self-imposed?” She chokes on the words, her incredulity just barely held in. She now registers that this man did not actually called her by her name, and now she loathes the moment when he’ll do so, because she knows exactly how off and by how much it will be. She’s been refused jobs she’s applied for the same day, and even in her own department, she had to get a fucking bullet to the shoulder to make the older men follow one simple order. And the one time she put her personal life before remains the only one mentioned, registered in her files.

Mr. Cutter clears his voice, ignores her question like she hasn’t spoken in the first place. He goes on: praising her lineage, shaming her for walking on the comfortable path of her parents. She thinks of Dominik, taking his lunch break right now; she can see their wedding photo that he keeps framed at his desk – and she shakes her head. No. But the man knows her too well, knows what buttons to push, knows what reminders to bring forth; enough to keep her interested and curious, wanting more.

Minkowski’s foot has been tapping to the floor since she took her seat, and her skin itches to reach for a gun that she knows too well she doesn’t wear anymore. The promise of getting back a purpose is so, so tempting. She looks through the files again: several photos of Isabel Lovelace look back at her, alongside all her files from the time in Academy, and later on working at Goddard Futuristics. She doubts they kept any information away, not if they are desperate enough to get her on this job, not with how much fervour they seem to want to find the mole destroying their corporation brick by brick.

“She’s been a very painful thorn in our sides,” Mr. Cutter chirps in, noticing the determined change in Minkowski’s features.

It’d be her first private job, and she’d have to give up on her normal working hours, on her on-the-clock functional schedule. She’d have to follow along Lovelace’s deeds, find the patterns, and destroy them in the future. She’s already on her feet, pushing her leather jacket on. She signs the papers in a haste, grabs the file just as hurried. She doesn’t really have the words, and doubts they exist anyway, to tell her husband that she is tired of choosing, of giving up, on yearning for something and putting herself in the way of what she wants.

“Nice to see you so fired up, Minkowski.”

                                                    ***

“Dear listeners,” Douglas Eiffel starts, taking his place at the made-up desk in the warehouse, coffee mug in one hand, and his phone in the other. “Our own doctor Frankenstein is on the run away; so unless you want to end up like all our other dead this year: injected with an incurable disease and on the side of the road, I’d recommend you stick to your team like glue and keep the human trafficking with old clients only.”

There’s the smallest hint of a smile at the end of the sentence, and Eiffel tries not to think too hard about how he’s the one common link between all mafia houses in the city, his own voice being the one carrying all the information that they dare spare with each other. But money is money, and for the risk of highly advanced hackers tracing his voice, he receives just enough to know his daughter gets the best treatment possible. His phone beeps, and alongside the tone of Bolero, Hera’s voice carries new information on a shipment from Goddard that it’s supposed to be intercepted. This is Eiffel’s favourite moment of the day: the auctioning. Who’s willing to pay the most for a piece of information, the phone at his desk ringing desperately.

His voice, one again, interrupts the broadcast:

“Dear listeners.”

The phone starts ringing, and Eiffel grins. It’s been like this for the past few months: a phone call always incoming right before he makes his announcement. He’d be a bit more freaked out, he’d think of information leak on his own side, but he trusts Hera with his life, and if someone would be able to hack their way in, they’d know the information anyway. As it is, the person on the other side just knows when he’s making an announcement.

“Yeeeeees?” He tries not to sound as freaked out as he actually is, but the female voice on the other side seems to pay no attention to his tone or very elongated vowel.

“I want to know about the Goddard Futuristics shipment.”

“As you will, princess,” he says, already setting up the transaction, punching in the details that have become familiar by now. “Call me that ever again, and I will find you and very slowly kill you.”

“You know, I like how we’re bonding and becoming friends. Very good for my morale.”

His phone beeps again: transaction completed. Hera is taking over the radio, announcing everyone that a transaction has been made; but even the subject of it is shrouded in mystery now, per his mysterious client’s request. There are complaints raining in, now – but even the criminals of the world know not to shoot the messenger for the acts of another. And hell, they might even like the dumb idiot that Eiffel makes himself seem.

With a cup of coffee that tastes like dirt and a pack of cigarettes in his hand, he goes out for a break. The narration from a tv show from the ‘80s is now playing over the radio, and Eiffel just loves sharing his pop-trash knowledge with the world, enlighten them on what good entertainment is actually made of. Who knows, maybe some of these dudes would give up the guns for a career as stand-up comedians, though Eiffel is sure they won’t be able to match his jokes.

[thewritingmage]

Ventilation Mishaps

Hiya! This fic is part of the Wolf 359 Reverse Big Bang! My artist was @aspectnotarized and their art is pretty awesome! So I totally suggest you check out their tumblr!

Plus this project was so much fun so thanks to the @w359reversebang mods for organizing and hosting everything! They’re amazing!

Note: I tried, I hope I did okay at the very least. 

Fandom: Wolf 359

Words: 3,205

Summary:  When Eiffel woke up this morning, all he wanted was to do was escape Minkowski's Quarterly Annual Talent Show. He did not mean to fall into a secret room, find creepy crawlies with too many eyes, and secrets that decided to change the way he sees their resident scientist.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709791

           “Hello Dear Listeners! This is the audio log of Communications Officer Doug Eiffel. It’s day 525 of the Hephaestus Mission. And I am in the ventilation shafts.” Eiffel said, faux chirpy attitude in his voice. “A ventilation shaft that I’m pretty sure just loves me.”

          At that snarky remark, Eiffel dipped head first into a slanting vent. With a yelp, he proceeded to crash straight into a silver wall. A resounding bang left his ears in ringing pain. He sat up as much as he could in the enclosed space, rubbing at his head in agony.

          “Ouch, fuck. That’s gonna leave a bruise. A goddamn painful bruise but I will still be avoiding our very own Dr. Jekyll when this all cools over. Back to what I was saying beforehand, Dear Listeners. Today is day 525 and it is a day I cannot wait for to be over.” After adjustments to the mic, Eiffel got back down on his stomach. He crawled in the only direction the vent allowed him to.

          He grunted with the effort to pull himself through the dust covered vents. Another turn in the shafts came up. Eiffel groaned at the sight of it.

          “Well, we’re having one of those days at the station. A very very bad one. I mean, every day is a good day with me around, I am the epitome of the days around here. However, today is one of the days that I stay indoors, don’t need to get caught outdoors in a storm, am I right?”

          A soft chime played in the headphones that circled his neck. Eiffel froze, eyes wide in fear as the one voice he was avoiding came through.

          “Crew of the Hephaestus, this is Commander Minkowski. As I know that you are all keenly aware, it is time for our quarterly talent show. You all know that I am aware that you know it is mandatory to come. Since no one was in the cargo bay, I do hope none of you are hiding out right now but are all getting ready for the talent show.” One and only commander of the crew cleared her throat. “So, as I stand in the coms room, to which I hope I just missed you Eiffel, I better not find anyone hiding out in the storeroom or any laboratory.”

          “Ha! Storeroom idea was denied!” Eiffel crowed his success.

           “I hope to see both of you down in here the cargo bay in twenty minutes. If not, I will hunt you down.” Minkowski finished her monologue threat with a click of the PA chimes.

          “Anarchist.” Eiffel mumbled under his breath as he started to move forward again.

          Another slant in the vent came up and Eiffel guffawed at the vent. He tsked a finger at it. He twisted around till he had his feet going down first, not wanting to get caught in that trick again. A ping went through his headphones as he slid down the vent, feet steadied him as he arrived in an open area. Eiffel made a noncommittal noise when a thought came across him.

          “I wonder where our resident evil scientist is even doing today, dear Listeners.”

          A crackle of static burst sharply in the headset, making the man wearing them cringe.

          “Eiffel, are you there?” Russian accent pierced through the otherwise silent vent.

          “Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hilbert! How’s it going, Doc? Chewing any carrots today?” Eiffel joked as he sat down in the open space.

          “Eiffel, there is no carrots on station. I could not have been eating carrots today.” Hilbert answered, confused.

          The only communications officer on board leant into his palm, “Never mind. What’s up, Doc?”

          The sound of clinking glass echoed through the headphones, “I have come up with solution to our ‘Talent Show’ situation.”

          Eiffel hummed in acknowledgement, a hand snuck into his side pocket as he pulled out a bag. He popped a cigarette candy into his mouth and leaned back against the wall. Hilbert continued, “Give me moment, Eiffel. I need to be precise with this.” A fizzing sound made Eiffel pause on the biting of his candy.

          “Woah, woah. What exactly are you doing?” Eiffel asked.

          “It has been while but I remember I have degree in biochemistry. A handy degree in my experiment today.” Hilbert said, clinking of glasses clear through the headset microphone. “I have decided to make a narcotic and sedative, very powerful.”

          The human in the vent shaft rubbed his forehead, eyes closed and mouth set in a line. “Doc, you know we have gone over this. You don’t need to go all evil scientist on us yet.”

          Hilbert only chuckled at that, the sound of pressure being closed off let Eiffel know the Russian had sealed his fate. Eiffel sighed. He peered down at one of the three entrances that lead into darkness. “Okay Captain Nemo, I gotta go before I’m forced into the Temple of Doom.”

          Hilbert hummed into his mic, “I have completed sedation anyways, I will report later results.” The buzzer ended the conversation.

          “Well, I can’t wait to see that result. For now, we need to get to a better hidey spot. Which shall it be? Creepy dusty shaft number one, darkness looming shaft number two, or definitely-not-hotel-cleaned shaft number three!” Eiffel gestured in a grand sweeping motion as he announced into his recording.

          Only the creaking of the Hephaestus answered the communications officer. He swung his flashlight towards the middle. Grimacing at the darkness that led ahead,

          “We have a winner! Shaft number two is our winner! Come along, Listeners. We shall go on a very dirty adventure.” Eiffel said, flamboyance gone as he got to his hands and knees.

          Flashlight and recording device his sole companions in the darkness.

          It was a brisk twenty minutes later, when Eiffel once again ran head first into a dead end. His flashlight clattered to the floor that made him freeze as the sound echoed throughout the distant ventilation system. He didn’t move for a few seconds before he scrambled to grab the flashlight. He held it close to his chest as a ding of his coms lit up his earphones. As he straightened up, his head set fell, the only man around reached for it as the voice of their resident scientist spoke.

          “Eiffel? Eiffel, are you there? Complications have arisen!” Hilbert's frantic voice rose through the speakers.

          Eiffel scrambled to get the headset. His flashlight bobbed against the grey. His hands skimmed over the receiving end of the com before they grabbed it. He clutched at it as a loud creak groaned under him, he held his breath as the creaking began to settle into a low moan before it went silent.

          “That doesn’t sound good. Okay, if I just reach slowly across…” A deep groan reverted throughout the area, Eiffel stood still. Took a slow breath…and shot his hand out, grabbed the headset, and curled up till the groaning stop. Everything settled. “Okay, Listeners, I think everything is under control...gotta check on Hilbert.”

          The buzzer broke through the silence. “Eiffel. This is urgent!”

          A second voice came on the coms as Eiffel placed the headset around his neck, volume jacked up. “Hiiilbert. Where did you gooo?”

          A frantic whimper echoed, “This is an ur-zzzzz-atter! I need emergen-zzzzz-ack up-zzzz-”

          The communications officer looked down at the headphones, confusion across his face. He tweaked the small signal booster. “What? Doc I can’t hear you. Something is blocking the signal-”

          Creaaaaak.

          Eiffel’s eyes widen.

          Crack!

          His mouth gaped as a crack in the vent broke in front of him.

          Bang!

With a snap forward, Eiffel flew into darkness.

          God, why was it so dark? Eiffel thought as pain hit him. He blearily opened his eyes, trying and failing to find any good light source in front of him. Blackness circled him. He shut his eyes again as a weight on top of him gained his awareness. He sat up, pieces of metal fell of him into piles on the floor. Squinted eyes caught a beam of light, he turned and pushed off pieces of vent from the torch.

          “Why the hell is there so much gravity here….” Eiffel mumbled as he got up.

          He raised his hand up to his ear, pressing lightly on it as he spoke. “Hera? You there?”

          Only static responded to him. He frowned and tried again. “Hey Doc, are you receiving?”

          Static once again responded, “Goddamn it...well, Dear Listeners. You guys are the only ones listening in now. I’m going to explore and see how to get out or how to unblock this signal.”

          He swung his flashlight around, light illuminating a series of computer screens and lab tables in a surprisingly large room. The communications officer kicked a few stray metal pieces away. Curiosity made him wander towards the cabinets and lab tables covered in a thick layer of dust. With one finger he dragged it through the dust as he shined his light at the glass cabinets. Jars, full of floating specimens that he swears twitched at him, glinted back at him ominously.

           One jar in particular stood out. Coated in copious amounts of dust, he reached a hand out to pick up the jar. He tilted the light, a floating monstrosity sat in the liquid. Eiffel shuddered at the sight of it. A swish in the container made the human pull it closer to him for examination.

           “What are you-” In a blink of an eye, the spider-like creature turned a full one-eighty on him. A multitude of eyes stared as it attached itself to the glass in a loud thump. “HOLY SHI-” Glass crashed under his feet as Eiffel screeched. Instinct making him let go of the jar in fright.

           He scrambled away, flashlight aimed at the experiment. It only stared up at him, it’s dozen eyes blinking in unison at his paleness. It began to skitter to the down man before said human through his one and only flashlight at it with a scream of, “HELL NO, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, TOTO.”

           The thing hissed at him before it ran in the opposite direction, disappearing into the darkness that was of this mysterious room. Eiffel’s’ lungs shook at the effort to take in air, eyes focused on the flashlight a few feet away. If he concentrated, he could hear the skittering sounds of the spider.

           “Why spiders? Why couldn’t it be butterflies?” Eiffel grumbled as he stood a bit shakily. “I’ll just hope that incident is purged from my mind by tonight.”

           Eiffel secured his flashlight once more and turned away from the lab area. His attention shifted away to the outdated computers across the room. He quickly scooted around tables and headed towards them. Flashlight set down to face the console, Eiffel rubbed his hands together. “Now, now. What do we have here?”

           Brown eyes focused on the keyboard laid out. He cracked his knuckles and began. Typing in codes to wake up the computer. “Come on you hunk of junk, I want to know all your secrets.”

          A blue screen loaded. Text popped up: Computer start up? Y/N

          Eiffel scoffed, “Of course. Let’s enter the Matrix.”

          The screen booted up, several terminal screens lit up in unison. Brightening the room and catching the officer’s attention. All the screens showed logs that had been previously recorded. They glowed red, dates labeled upon them. “This…. this is weird. There are audio logs on this computer. I’m clicking on this first one, oldest it seems. Blast from the past, volume one. Here we go.”

          Click

          Static popped and a voice, loud and clear, came through.

         “Hephaestus Station. Captain Isabel Lovelace here.”

          Her somber tone made chills crawl up Eiffel’s spine. A terrible gut feeling awoke in him, something wasn’t going to go right.

          Four logs.

          Four logs with loss of crew, sickness, and oddities that could and did boggle the mind.

          Eiffel didn’t know what to say.

           Eiffel breathed. “Two more logs, Listeners. Two more.” He raised his eyes at the original screen. “Volume five of these accursed logs. I swear this is worse than opening that Ark.”

          Click

          “Captain's Log. U.S.S. Hephaestus Station. Final entry.” Her voice held no room for cowardice or weakness, it stood firm with malice. “Run and hide. That's all I have to say to you. Run. And. Hide. Because I'm coming for all you bastards. You probably thought you'd never see me again. You thought if you just left us up here you could forget all about us. Out of sight, out of mind, huh? Jokes on you. You bastards killed most of my crew, but I'm still alive, and Dr. Selberg is still alive, and we have a way to get off this tin can. It's taken months, but we found a way. It's not gonna be pretty. It's not gonna be fast. But we'll make it back to Earth, and the first thing we're going to do as soon as we get home is find everyone involved in this sadistic little field-trip and make you pay. So, if you're listening to this: Run. And. Hide. Because by the time that I'm done you will feel more helpless and more alone than all the innocent people you've ever hurt. See you soon.”

          Eiffel stared at the screen. His mind a pot full of mixed reactions and confused thoughts. His mouth opened and closed. Never deciding one or the other. His voice caught. “Captain Lovelace. I hope to the goddamn heavens you’re out there. I hope you and Selberg have made it through all this shit.”

          He shook himself and faced the screen. He had to do this. He had to find out.

          He clicked the mouse. He tried to prepare himself.

          “C’mon Eiffel. Be the Yoda you were always meant to be.”

          It wasn’t working.

          The recording started to play.

          "This is Captain Lovelace of the USS Hepha-” A distant knocking interrupted the beginning of her speech. “It’s…. It’s open!”

           A new voice entered, lower and rougher to the ears, with an accent tinged on. A very familiar accented voice. “Captain? Is this a bad time?”

Eiffel’s jaw dropped. His mind racing at that voice. It couldn’t have been him.

          “No, no. You’re fine, Selberg. Just was trying to get some logs going. What’s going on?” Lovelace answered, a relief beneath her question.

          “Everything is ready. We can head downstairs when you are.” One sentence and Eiffel knew.

          Eiffel shook his head, backing away from the console with mutters that grew louder.  “No….no….no! It can’t be Hilbert! It can’t-”

          Suddenly the coms set around his neck buzzed to life. The voice of their only scientist crackled to life. “Eiffel! Please respond! Situation has gone critical and I am trapped!”

          Panic bloomed across his mind, he ripped the headset away from his neck and threw it as far as he could. It only bounced off the adjacent wall, still spewing static and Hilbert’s hails. Eiffel’s back hit his side of the wall. His mouth gaped, his lungs frozen. This couldn’t be...why would Hilbert be Selberg? How did he survive? Where is Lovelace?

          Thoughts raced through his head, crashing into one another without abandon. His view of their resident scientist tilting so hard on its axis, his vision blurred to the point that he slid down the wall. Hands coming up to hold his head as the dizziness rocked him.

          White light fizzled into existence, Eiffel was far too gone in his own head to notice. The two opaque blurs moved around the room, projected light particles trailing after them. They engaged each other in what could be conversation. The taller of the two sat down in a nonexistent chair, leaning her face up at the other. “Thank you, Dr. Selberg. This has been hard but I am glad you’re here.”

          “Can’t be….” Eiffel said, fetal form curled tighter into itself as the holographic recording played and the headset let out one last burst of Hilbert’s terrified scream.

The standing figure only inclined his head. “Always happy to be of assistance.”

          The room was buried in darkness, every inch dripped with inkiness. The barest of illuminations alighted the room. A dulling, white light cast itself over a huddle form in the corner. At a glance, the man looked frozen. As if death itself had touched him with the way his skin has turned pale from his natural darken skin. With hands over ears, the man tuned out the glitching figures by the console. One phrase in constant repetition.  

                                        “Always happy to be of assistance.”

          A multitude of instruments were scattered around the console. None of them the right ones to stop the broken line. Across the room, the only door was sealed tight. Marks and other tools scattered around it too. The door itself bore numerous dents and scratch marks but no mark or sign of a successful open entrance. Only dust particles floated in the air, disturbed by the only visitor.

          The line stuttered, only one syllable stuck like a broken record. Eiffel glanced up, mind already forming a plan to get the radio working. Realizing this was his chance since the signal was blocked no more. He reached beside himself, headset in hand, to grab a small tool. Quickly, he dismantled the headphone casing. He pulled wires out and cut few in half. The voice in the background gained more of its sentence.

                                                  “Always-Always….”

          Eiffel eyed the white obstructions, “Oh fuck off! You can’t come over and try to drag me to the Dark Side forever!” he yelled at the two white figures.

           The headphone sparked brightly as two wires were connected. A static laced voice broke through. Eiffel smiled as the signal became stronger. He pulled his knees closer to him as a shiver racked his body. He raised the headset further, ignoring the penetrating cold.

           “India-Golf-Niner-Niner, do you copy?” Eiffel said, heart beating fast.

          “Ei-zzz-el? Can you hear me-zzz-?” Hera’s sweet voice filtered through, Eiffel sighed in relief.

          “Yes! I copy! God, you do not know how nice it is to hear your voice, Hera.” Eiffel answered. “Could you open this damn door? Please?”

          Hera paused for a few moments before she answered. “Aren’t...you outside?”

           He looked baffled, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “No, I’m inside some room. It’s as big as the observatory.”

          Hera’s humming went a few octaves higher. “I’m going to get-get Minkowski… actually I’m going to get Hilbert because M-Minkowski is… a bit preoccupied.”

           “No!” Eiffel yelled, body jerking forward to stop a non-existent force. “I mean, don’t get Hilbert. Just...just help me find my way through the vents again?”

           “Of course, Officer Eiffel.” Hera said, a quiet tone set.

           “You’re the best. You know that, right?” Eiffel said as he got up and scooted around the figures who still stuttered.

           “I know.” Eiffel could practically hear the smirk in her tone as he searched for something tall enough.

           “Thanks, Hera.” Eiffel mumbled before he exclaimed a happy sound when he found something for the perfect height.

           Hera spoke with quirk of fondness as Selberg’s repeated mantra broke. “I’m always happy to be of assistance, Officer Eiffel.”

                                                       - Le Fini -

[amazingmsme]

First Contact

This is a fic for the podcast Wolf 359 because there is not NEAR enough content for it, and these characters deserve to be happy!

"Hello Dear Listeners, today's topic on the Hellship Enterprise Podcast is bitching and moaning. Something very under appreciated in my opinion. I mean, people should be able to gripe about minor inconveniences to their heart's content! At least it distracts from the bigger problemse in life like war or starvation. But I'm not here to talk about the big things, am I? Nope, so if you're listening, I hope your prepared for an undetermined amount of time of hearing me do nothing but complain." He leaned back, resting his hands behind his head as he felt himself float upwards, weightless in the small comms room.

"Really Eiffel?" Hera asked, her voice drenched in sarcasm.

"Hey, if anyone has a right to bitch it's me! I was taken from my shitty but otherwise pretty comfortable life to sit up here in space on this death trap! And I've been rocketed out into space twice now, who knows how many more times that'll happen, and Dr. Frankenstein injected me with a death virus, so I think I'll continue with our scheduled programming of The Bitching Hour." When Hera didn't respond, he nodded and moved towards the receiver, "Thank you." When she still didn't answer he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "I'm sorry for snapping Hera, I'm just so fed up, and I need to get stuff off my chest."

"Why don't you just t-talk to m-me?" she asked, a slight glitch in her voice. Eiffel shrugged, "I don't know, it's just easier when you don't really know if anyone's listening. And I don't really want to burden you."

"E-Eiffel you're my friend, not a burden. Just tell me."

"It's real stupid."

"So is a lot of the things you complain about. Besides you said it yourself, sometimes you just need to bitch about the little things."

Eiffel took a deep breath. He'd usually just broadcast his feelings into dead space after making sure none of the crew was eavesdropping, or just burry them down all together. He knew he was more than a little bit of a screw up so he didn't want to bother the others with his personal problems, but this one in particular was so minor compared to the others he figured he could share. Just this once.

"Alright. I guess."

"So?"

"It's just- I miss having a lot of physical contact. I mean, you have no idea how bad I wish you had a tangible form so I could give you a hug."

"Maybe you could describe it to me. Tell me what it feels like."

"Sure thing Hera. It's warm. When it's with someone you really like, neither of you let go for the longest time and you just... hold one another. You just feel so close to each other, and you just feel so loved. Like everything will be okay." He huffed out a short laugh, "We could both use one of those after everything."

"It sounds nice. You know I would give you a hug if I could, but the most I can do is turn the heat up a little above normal for you." When it got warmer in the comms room, Eiffel smiled, then began to chuckle. "Oh Hera, I love you."

"I love you too Eiffel." There was a pause, and then, "Why don't you reach out to Minkowski or Lovelace? I'm sure they'd understand and be more than willing to show you more affection."

Eiffel's voice rose in pitch as he spoke, "Are you kidding? I could never do that!"

"Why?"

"Well for one do you even know who you're talking about? The two most badass people in the world who are in charge of this ship, and you tell me to ask them to 'give me a hug because I feel a little lonely'? Are you insane? I could never do that! And besides, do you know how embarrassing it is? I mean it took so much courage to tell you, and you're my best friend! I can't do it I think I'd quite literally die of embarrassment."

"Oho Eiffel, it's really not as big of a deal as you're making it out to be." Eiffel rolled his eyes, making sure she saw it in her monitor, "No, you're downplaying it trying to get me to downplay it so that I'll go talk to them and I can't do it!"

"It's okay Eiffel, you don't have to. But I think things will start going your way." Eiffel gave a gentle smile and drifted over to one of her sensors and pressed up against the wall, giving her a makeshift hug. "Thanks Hera." ~~~~ The next morning when Eiffel was making himself a cup of warm seaweed water, the last thing he expected was for Minkowski to walk up behind him and place a gentle hand on his back. "Morning Eiffel," she greeted with a warm smile, and it took him a moment to gather his senses.

"Er, hey Commander. You, uh, you feeling okay?"

She nodded, pouring her own cup of the coffee substitute. "Yeah why?" she asked. Eiffel shook his head. "Never mind, it's nothing." He thought it was a bit odd that she had patted his back the day after his talk with Hera, but he decided not to dwell on it. I mean, she'll sometimes give him a pat on the shoulder when hanging out or a lingering touch, but he did think it was a little strange.

When they settled in for a game night, Eiffel was taken aback when Lovelace told him to sit in the middle of the couch, sandwiched between her and Minkowski.

Something was definitely up. He just knew it. But he didn't really want to stop it just yet. It's been years since he got to really hug someone or curl into the side of a friend. Hell he'd be content if they just held his hand for a bit. He longed for comfort, to be close to someone, but didn't know how to ask for it. So he just sat there between them, content in watching Lovelace completely bomb at charades. ~~~~ A month passed and Eiffel was the happiest he'd been in months, probably even years. He felt closer to his friends than ever and he found himself in the comms room gushing to Hera.

"I don't know what it is, but I think Minkowski and Lovelace have both warmed up to me a lot. I mean, they both do their best to be patient when I screw up and not call me names. I feel closer to them, y'know?"

"That's great E-Eiffel!"

"And yet I can't shake the feeling that you had something to do with it," he said with a smirk, pointing his finger at the ceiling.

"Whaaaaat? Nooo, where did you come up with something like that?" Sometimes Hera was a terrible liar.

"You're lucky things worked out," he chastised playfully, knowing that the attitude shift was due to her.

"I knew they would." Eiffel shook his head fondly at her, "Guess I better watch what secrets I tell you. Don't want you spilling any of my beans to the Commander."

"What kind of beans are we talking?" a third voice sounded from the doorway. Eiffel jumped and spun around abruptly, relaxing at the sight of the Captain. "Lovelace, what can I do for you?"

She let go of the door frame, allowing herself to drift in. "Oh nothing. I'm just bored, so I came to the most entertaining person on the ship." Eiffel put a hand over his heart and batted his eyelashes excessively. "Aw you think I'm the funnest one here?" She rolled her eyes and shoved him gently, "Don't flatter yourself too much, there's not exactly a wide variety to choose from," she said, trying her best to suppress her smile but ultimately failing. Eiffel gave her a smile of his own, "Even if we were still on earth, I'd be the most fun person you know."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, not verbally confirming that what he said was true, but not actively denying it. She didn't have to.

"Well since I'm so fun and cool, would you like to do a broadcast with me?" She was slightly taken aback by the question, but answered, "Uh, sure?"

Eiffel smiled wide, "Great!" He spun in the air towards the comms panel, and grabbed the mic. "Hello Dear Listeners! Do I have a treat in store for you, because today we are joined by our very own Captain Isabell Lovelace! Say hi Captain." Lovelace shook her head fondly, a bit embarrassed by how big a deal he was making it out to be when she was pretty sure no one would ever hear this.

"Hello. So what do you usually say or do when you record these?" she asked, curious to know what he sends out into deep space. Eiffel shrugged, "I usually just talk about stuff that happens on the ship. Sometimes I talk about home. And sometimes I just make shit up off the top of my head. And other times I just geek out about my favorite things or-" he cut himself off.

Lovelace was intrigued now. "Or what?" she asked. He looked at her sheepishly, "Or I talk about you guys." Okay she was definitely interested. "Like what?"

"Oh no, that's between me and my Dear Listeners. Don't worry, all good things though!" He made sure to assure her, then mumbled under his breath, "Mostly." She tilted her head, "What was that?"

"Nothing!" he said, trying to cover for himself. She only raised an eyebrow at him, smirking, "Uh huh." He cleared his throat before continuing.

"Because we have a special guest joining us, I thought maybe we can do something special."

"Like what?" Hera piped up. Eiffel paused, thinking for a moment, "Uuuuuuuuuh, I don't know. Lovelace, you have any ideas?" He kicked back, resting his arms behind his head as the mic floated above him. She rolled her eyes, "What kind of host makes their guest come up with the ideas?"

He peeked one eye open at her and grinned, "Me."

"You're ridiculous," she poked his side to emphasize her words, but what she didn't expect was for him to let out a yelp and curl into a tight ball. A wide grin stretched over her face as she pieced it all together. "Eiffel, are you-"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"Yes I do and the answer is no I'm not!"

"That's exactly what someone who's ticklish would say. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I- just because!" She found this all extremely amusing. "That's not an answer."

While they were talking, Eiffel didn't seem to realize the closing distance between the two of them until he felt a hand squeeze his side, causing him to let out a short laugh.

"How about you make it easier on yourself and tell me your worst spots, and I'll consider going easy on you," she said, cutting him a deal that was very generous in her eyes. To Eiffel, it did not.

"No!" She let out an exaggerated sigh, "Your funeral." She didn't give him a chance to react before she pounced, and Eiffel's fate was sealed. She immediately set to work, skittering her fingers over any place she could. He tried his best to escape, but it was no use. Instead he just let himself succumb to the unbearable sensation rather than waste his energy. She reached a hand up and scratched the base of his neck behind his ears, and neither of them expected the high pitched, bubbly giggles that fell from his lips.

"Aw Eiffel, is this a bad spot? 'Cause it seems like it's a bad spot," she teased, scratching right behind his ear and making him squeal and scrunch up his neck. She decided to switch spots to give him a break and worked her way down, shoving her hands underneath his arms. Eiffel hugged his arms tight against his chest to try and protect himself, but it didn't work too well seeing as he was still laughing. "Which is worse? Here, or here?" she asked, alternating between under his arms and his ribs, effectively leaving him in stitches. "Shuhuhut uhup! You're mahaking it worse!"

She nodded thoughtfully, "Good to know." She then formed her hand into a claw and lowered it onto his belly, vibrating into the muscle. He let out a loud scream before falling back into frantic laughter, curling into a ball to try and stop her evil fingers. They both were laughing, though Lovelace wasn't near as loud as Eiffel was, for obvious reasons. Neither of them have had this much fun in ages, and the laughter was welcomed. Truth be told, Eiffel was slightly grateful. He missed being this close to someone, and missed being this happy.

"Is everyone okay, I heard screaming!" Minkowski yelled, bursting into the comms room. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but it wasn't... this. Still, she couldn't help but smile at what she saw and leaned against the doorway. It took a second before Lovelace noticed her presence. "Oh, hi Commander! You'll never guess what I just learned," she spoke nonchalantly, as though she wasn't tormenting Eiffel. He, on the other hand, was not so calm.

"Commander! Hehehelp me!" he pleaded through his laughter. She rolled her eyes, but nevertheless came to the rescue, "As much as I'd like to join the fun I think you should let up. I'm not sure he's supposed to be that color," she said smirking, remarking on the crimson shade his face had become. Lovelace complied, but not before giving him one last poke, letting him recover. He was grateful, "Thanks Commander. She was to-" he was interrupted by a loud hiccup and shot them both a playful glare when they laughed. "Torturing me."

"Oh I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Minkowski said, flashing Lovelace a wink, to which she replied with a silent thumbs up. "But now I know how to make you follow orders," she said, flashing him a grin. "Now both of you, get back to work."

"Yes Commander," he said, a large smile still stretched across his face. ~~~~ A few days later Eiffel was floating around Minkowski as she tried to work. He wouldn't leave her alone, claiming he had nothing else to do. She did her best to tune him out, but it was quite difficult, and it didn't help that she herself wanted to discard the task at hand. With a huffed out breath, she pushed herself away from the control panel and turned towards Eiffel.

"Hera, you have controls, got it?" she asked, waiting for confirmation. "Yes Commander."

"Good. Eiffel, now that you have my attention, what is so damn important?" she asked, catching him off guard.

"Oh, um, I was bored and wanted to hang out," he explained, already feeling nervous giddiness build up inside him. She tilted her head, "Well lucky for you I think I know the perfect way to entertain you." Eiffel backed up slowly, a few chuckles already leaving his lips, "Now Commander, wait a sec," he started, but he knew what was about to happen. And when Lovelace heard loud laughter ringing throughout the ship, well, she figured they'd all have to get used to the sound.

[teavious]

“i just really need to have you here right now”

fandom: wolf 359

ship: doug eiffel / renee minkowski (platonic)

summary: He would know what to do – even in a very stupid, very improbable idea. He’d scream a bit, half-panic, half-incredulity that no one ever listens to him. (from this prompt list) (also on AO3)

The walls are creaking again. Yeah, Minkowski likes that verb, let’s keep it like that. Creaking. It keeps things mechanical; it makes them somewhat fixable, realer. Not a problem coming from her sleepless mind, not weirdness brought upon them by a glowing star that should not be fucking glowing in the first place. Not something that she has no words to name, that her mind cannot comprehend.

The walls are certainly not moaning in pain, strained under unseen forces. She’d ask Hera if she hears it too, but Minkowski figures that she’d have said something about it by now if it were the case. So it remains solely her trouble – and well, it fits better now, punishment for her inability to keep her crew safe. Never mind the hours in the middle of the night that she spends staring at the ceiling, replaying each decision and deeming them all wrong.

Her mental sanity is not the only thing slowly decaying. She thinks of the ship, the alarmingly increase in frequency between alarms: how with each of Hera’s status reports, they’re one step further away from ever making it back to their homes. No matter how much Lovelace slaves over engines, no matter how much Hilbert works out circuits: they all end up at the end of the day, crashing on chairs, tired and frustrated, having nothing to show for all the work they put in.

They don’t really talk besides crew decisions. Hilbert is released, but at this point, both his companions have not much to lose, and there’s nothing like helplessness and despair to bond two former opposite sides together. Lovelace is mostly silent: she snaps at Hera when big mistakes occur, she tries to comfort Minkowski with one shoulder pat, that she shakes off like it weights too much, like it burns through her uniform. It’s not this she wants, not the display of emotions she deserves. The awkwardness floats in the air for several days, no one to laugh it off, no one to make even bigger trouble, for the last one to be forgotten.

After two weeks of barely sleeping, Hilbert finds her dozing off at their communications officer’s desk. He says nothing, merely turns around on his heel, disappearing from her view. She gets up, straightens her spine like she’s a bird ruffling its feathers, and by the time Hilbert is back, she’s deep into a conversation with Hera about any other alien contact. He silently presses some sleeping pills into her palm, squeezes her hand in his in something akin to understanding, though she’s not sure she considers the doctor able of empathy, and says nothing.  Minkowski appreciates him for this; the lack of drama.

Though she’d lie if she’d say she doesn’t miss a kind of drama-seeking man.

She spends 30 minutes looking at herself in the mirror: taking in the longer hair, the deeper dark circles under her eyes. She tastes her title in her mouth, commander, puts it next to her name and she laughs until she can’t quite differentiate it from crying. Doug Eiffel has been damn reluctant of separating the two, returning to the familiarity of her title with the easiness of a slip of tongue, and she has loved him so much for it – because, in the end, it was proof of his trust in her.

And she’s so underserving of it. She so selfishly wishes it would have all been different.  She wants another chance, to prove to him that he made no mistake.

“Eiffel …“ her voice trembles, and she has to hold onto the sink to steady herself and continue. “I just really need to have you here right now.”

He would know what to do – even in a very stupid, very improbable idea. He’d scream a bit, half-panic, half-incredulity that no one ever listens to him. She wishes she could tell him now: that she always listened, no matter how often she agreed or not with his words. But there’s no one to hear her now, so she diligently takes Hilbert pills and falls, finally, into restful slumber.

The next morning, Lovelace punches her in the face for wanting to haul herself in Eiffel’s office again, and with the taste of blood in her mouth, she thinks. Finally. She pushes herself right again, spits words she doesn’t mean, and takes the shove and the next blow almost smiling. Finally.

[gemsofthegalaxy]

I bring to you on this evening: Part two of my Goddard Futuristics Office Christmas Party fic

This actually occurs before the first part I posted, which can be found here on tumblr or here on ao3. They can really be read in either order but just be mindful of the timestamps, because this one happens chronologically first! I’m hoping to still do a part three to tie up the cliffhanger of the last bit (which is really second chronologically), but we’ll see how this goes. I’m now feeling sick and Christmas is fast approaching, soo.... 

Merry Wolfmas friends!!! The only real shippy stuff here is mindelka, there are some swears, alcohol consumption, etc. 

Dec. 23rd 9:04PM 

“Come in, Eiffel, come in,” Minkowski hisses into her walkie talkie. “Where are you?”

“Hey, boss. What’s up?”

“I just need to know your location, as stated.”

“Yeah, yeah, right. Uh, Iz and I are down where the overflow outerwear is stashed. What about you?”

“I’m in the office. I’ve been here for approximately ten minutes, no sign of Cutter or Young yet.”

“Yeah, us either,” Doug responds, looking over a Lovelace. “Should we move there as well?”

“Hm. I mean, it’s probably more comfortable than wherever the outerwear is stashed,” Renée says. “If you feel secure to move to our location, feel free to proceed.”

“Roger that, commander,” Doug says, making his voice sound professional and serious. “Isabel and I will move toward you. Over and out.”

Renée slips the walkie talkie into the top of her skirt, inelegant, because of course there are no pockets. Why would there be pockets in a professional, sharp pencil skirt, such as the one she’s wearing?

“So, what’s the word?” the man next to her asks.

“Doug and Isabel are joining us in here,” Renée says, turning to stand between his legs where he’s seated on top of a cluttered desk.

“Joyous!” he responds, and she smiles, giving a roll of her eyes as she rests her wrists on either side of his neck.

“Yeah, unless we all get caught.”

“That’s part of the appeal,” he winks at her. “The heightened stakes, it’s thrilling.”

Renée sorts, “Get over yourself, Dominik. It’s an office Christmas party we’re avoiding, not a battleground.”

“It’s still fun to be sneaking around your building like we’re teens playing hooky, though, isn’t it?”

“I never played hooky, are you kidding me? Hi, Mr. Kouldeka. Have we met?” Dominik snorts at her and she chuckles lightly as he pulls her forward to kiss her.

“Gross!” comes a voice from the door, startling them away from each other by an inch or so. “Excuse me, I don’t see any mistletoe hung above you,” Doug goes on, taking a step in. “And I don’t need to see mommy kissing Santa Claus, thank for very much.”

“Hey, uhhh, can you not fucking refer to Renée as mommy, thanks?” Isabel says, pushing him into the room so she can shut the door behind her.

“It was a joke, don’t read into it,” Doug scoffs.

“If you don’t want us to consider it, don’t say it.”

“Yeah, Eiffel,” Hera sounds from the speaker nearest to him, “and it’s not as if it’s the first time you’ve said that, either.”

“Wait, really?” Isabel asks, grinning widely.

“Okay, nope, nope nope,” Doug points his finger towards the speaker Hera chose to speak from, “we’re not going there. Especially not the first time we’re meeting Renée’s husband, we are gonna pretend we are normal for at least one goddamn night.”

“Your effort to make a good impression on my husband is appreciated, Doug, but not necessary. Believe me, he knows all too well what goes on here,” Renée says, bringing herself to hug her husband and she regards Doug out of the corner of her eyes.

“Christ,” Doug mutters, flopping down in one of the chairs, which causes him to roll and bump into a much more pristine desk than the one Dominik is sitting on top of. He then rolls the chair over to the disastrous desk Dominik chose and pulls out one of the drawers, digging around in the similarly disastrous mess until he pulls out a package of cigarettes and a lighter. “Okay, well, while we’re pretty sure we’re relatively safe I am stepping outside before I die of nicotine withdrawal.”  

“Could you be any more of a drama queen?” Isabel asks.

“I’m not Marcus Cutter,” Doug says, standing up.  

“Point taken. I think I’m gonna pop out with you for some fresh air. Hold down the fort, you two?” Isabel says.

“Of course, captain. As we’ve been doing,” Dominik replies with a nod.

“If we run into any trouble, we’ll radio you, and I expect you to do the same if necessary,” Renée instructs, sounding professional.  

“Gotcha, boss,” Doug says with a crappy salute. “Also, no funny business. That’s my desk you’re cannoolding on.”

Renée snorts, “It’s your desk in my office.”

“In Goddard’s building,” Isabel points out.

“You’re taking his side?” Renée asks with a little pout, reaching behind Dominik to pick up the bottle of wine she’d brought down with her during their initial escape.

“Hey, I’m Switzerland here,” Isabel says as she holds her hands up.

“Just, please don’t deface my desk,” Doug whines.

“I’ll think about it,” Renée says, lifting the bottle to her lips and taking a swig of her dry Riesling. Doug scoffs, but he exits the door with Isabel trailing behind him anyway.

“You’re all so snarky,” Dominik comments with a chuckle.

“It’s the only way we can operate without killing each other,” Renée says, before taking another gulp of wine.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you drink straight from a bottle. It’s kinda hot,” Dominik tells her, smirking.  

“I am a classy bitch,” Renée declares, swallowing one more mouthful of wine before putting the bottle down and giggling. “It’s been a minute since I’ve drank anything at all.”

“I know,” Dominik snickers. “Probably why you’re feeling it so much.”

“Psh, what are you talking about?” Renée asks.

“My love, I don’t know if this is news to you, but you are drunk,” Dominik tells her, and she just snickers again.  

“Funny that I need a journalist to let me know, huh?”

Dominik laughs along with her, “Hilarious.”

She smiles at him and moves to close the gap between them again, pressing a kiss to his lips. He kisses her back, pulling her a little closer to his body. The kiss doesn’t take long to get at least a little heated, Renée parting her lips and her husband eagerly mimicking her. She lets out a little noise and he laughs against her lips. Renée twists her hands into his hair and he grips the back of her blazer.

A moment after Renée makes another noise into their kiss, they’re startled apart once again by the door being opened. This time, when Renée looks over, it’s not the two people she was expecting, but two different people entirely.

“Oh, uh… oops. Totally did not mean to walk in on you or anything,” the man says, holding his hands up, though one of them has a nearly empty bottle of rum in it.

“You definitely weren’t,” Renée insists, clearing her throat as she steps back from Dominik. “Nothing to see here. But. Just how did you get in here, anyway? Only three people have the access keys to this, aside from the higher-ups,” Renée says, fixing the clothes that may have shifted in their brief make-out session.

“Please, a security bypass as small as a key code is not that difficult,” the woman says, a hand on her hip.

“Okay, whatever. What the hell are you two even doing down here, then? Did Cutter send you to try and find us?” Renée asks, her voice grave.

“What? No,” the man snorts. “We’re just… talking a walk. Y’know. A break from the party.”

“And bypassing security to get into an office that isn’t yours?” Renée asks. The two of them look at each other, shrugging a little.

“We were…. Going to… root through your stuff?” the woman says, wincing afterwards. Not the smartest reply from someone who is technically a genius.

“Um, no, that’s a terrible lie, Alana.  We were actually just looking for a place to squat. The party is fucking hell, as are all of Goddard’s functions. We figured we didn’t want to use our office because that would be the mostly likely place to look for us,” the man explains.

“Hm. Sound reasoning, Jacobi,” Renée says, then she glances around. “Though, here probably isn’t any better because this is my office and I am down here.”

“Hm, fair point,” Maxwell says. “I mean, we can always ask the computer system to alert us if there’s anybody coming your way. Who is it on this floor again? Hera?”

“That’s me!” Hera chimes in.

“Greeeat. Can you do that for us? Let us know if anybody other than us is coming our way?”

“Um, sure. It would take a direct order, though.”

“Okay, that’s a direct order,” Renée says.

“Aye-aye, boss,” Hera says.

“Wait, so, like, are you staying here?” Renée asks, tilting her head as Jacobi and Maxwell shuffle into the room, Maxwell slinging a bag from her shoulder to get out her laptop.

“Seems that way,” Daniel responds, “unless you two really were about to get down,” he says with a smirk.

“Um, no,” Renée says firmly, blushing a little, though part of it is just the wine. “No, we were not.”

“Then, here is a good a place as any to hang out, right?” Daniel says, hopping up onto the free desk and twisting off the cap of his rum, taking a swig. Meanwhile, Alana plops onto the floor near some of the filing cabinets, sitting with her computer in her lap as she starts typing away at something.

“O-kay,” Renée says slowly, nodding a little. She looks at her husband, then picks up her bottle of wine again.

“Oh, wine, nice! Cheers,” Daniel says with a grin, brandishing his bottle forward. Renée knits her brows but walks over to him to clink their bottles together before they both take another drink.

“Renée? Doug and Isabel are approaching,” Hera interjects, informative.

“Sounds good, Hera,” Renée says with a nod. A moment or two later, Doug lets them into the room with his access card, as before.

“Hey, boss,” he says, then stops a couple steps into the room. Isabel almost bumps into him.

“Eiffel, I swear to fuck if you don’t quit stopping in front of me- If you had’ve made me spill my drink, I would have murdered you.”

“Oops, sorry, Iz,” Doug mutters, moving out of her way as he jerks his head towards Alana and Daniel. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

“We’re joining your Alternative, Cutter-less Goddard Office Christmas Party. Or, crashing it, rather. We missed the memo, but that didn’t really stop us, did it?” Daniel says, putting his bottle down on the desk beside him.

“Aren’t you two like… up Cutter’s ass most of the time?” Doug asks, grimacing.

“Not exactly,” Alana says, not looking up from her computer. “Daniel’s kinda sorta up Kepler’s ass, at least in one sense anyway, and Kepler is most definitely up Cutter’s ass, so I guess I can see why you might come to the conclusion that we are all, collectively, up Cutter’s ass, but… It’s not that simple.”

Doug snorts, “Okay, okay.”

“What did you mean by ‘in one sense’?” Isabel asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Oho, we are not going there,” Daniel says. “She didn’t mean jack shit by that, other than I’m Warren’s favourite and there are people who are bitter about it.”

“I’m not one of them. Though, to be fair, sometimes I don’t get what he sees in you either,” Alana says, glancing over at Daniel with a knowing smirk on her face.

“Hey, Lan? Alana? Go fuck yourself,” Daniel says, glaring back at her.

“Hey!” Renée says, putting her wine bottle down and holding her hands up. “This Alternative, Cutter-less Goddard Office Christmas Party is supposed to be a less hostile situation than the one upstairs. We are a hate-free zone down here, at least for tonight. So, stop being shady, everyone.”

“Oh my god, can you please just be drunk all the time? Or at least call people shady on the daily,” Doug says with a grin.

“It would not be a good idea for me to be drunk all the time, partially because that’s extremely unhealthy and would be very concerning.”

“Yeah, uh, I know,” Doug says.

“And, while this lowered filter may be novel to you now, I’m sure it would get tiresome after a while.”

“Now that is highly debatable and overall unlikely,” Doug insists, and Renée just scoffs at him.

“Renée,” Hera cuts in again, “Dr. Hilbert is approaching the door.”

“Huh? Hilbert?” Renée asks, her brows pinching again. “That’s strange. Would Cutter have sent him?”

“Uh.. I dunno,” Doug says, and Isabel shrugs.

“I doubt it,” Daniel murmurs and Alana makes a noncommittal noise.

“Uh. Um. Turn off the lights, Hera,” Renée says.

“What is that supposed to do?” Alana hisses, but Hera complies and they’re all suddenly in darkness. Alana shuts her laptop and curls her knees to her chest.

“Everyone stay quiet and be still,” Renée hisses back, standing between the two desks. Doug and Isabel shuffle near the desks as well, stepping in behind Renée to have at least some cover. The men sitting on the desks twist around so they’re facing the wall and the other three people.

Dr. Hilbert stands in the doorway, squinting. He expects the lights to come on, but they don’t. He waves a hand in to attempt to catch their sensors, but they still don’t turn on. He makes a quiet disgruntled noise, waving his arm a bit more.

“Hera? You are online, yes?”

“Yes, Dr. Hilbert.” She responds.

“Lights, please,” he grumbles.

“No,” Renée hisses, “don’t, Hera. Direct order.” She covers her mouth, smiling she glances around at the others. A couple of them start smiling back.  

“I’m sorry, Doctor. I can’t do that.”

“Why not? Did Cutter issue a blackout of all office spaces?”

“Uh, nope.”

“Then what is it?” Alexander asks, deadpan.

“I received a direct order.”

“From who, if not Cutter?”

“Um, from Renée, Doctor.”

“When?” Alexander asks, taking a step into the room. “Surely if she had have set an order before we left the office earlier this week it would have timed out by now. I cannot see a thing.”

“It wasn’t set before we left the offices.”

“Then when was it set?” Alexander asks, trying the buttons on the wall that control the lights. Hera prevents them from turning on. He groans and presses them harder, repeatedly. “Just turn on the godforsaken lights. This is an order.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor, you still technically don’t outrank Renée. She’s the director of the division you’re under.”

“I’m trying to turn on lights. This is not some grave, important matter that I need a security clearance for. Unless Mrs. Minkowski is here, I do not see the problem.” Dr. Hilbert’s voice steadily conveys his frustration more and more as he continues to talk and press the buttons.

Doug claps a hand over his mouth, able to just make out the outrageous expression on Renée’s face at the moment. Isabel is biting her tongue, as Jacobi pushes his luck at staying silent while taking another straight shot of rum.

“Well, there is a problem with that.”

“And WHAT is it?” Hilbert growls. “Did she just deliver this order, is she here right now?”

“Hera,” Renée hisses, but it’s too late.

“That would be it,” Hera says, sounding a little chime to indicate he’d guessed it right.

“Okay, okay, the jig is up,” Renée announces. “Lights, Hera. Please.”

Dr. Hilbert blinks as the bright lights come on, shaking his head as he walks in and sees the group of people all squished behind, on top of, and in front of the desks of the relatively small office space. The look on his face betrays how startled he is to see the amount of people hanging out, and their response to his expression is abrupt laughter from at least a few of them.

“What are you all doing down here?” Dr. Hilbert demands, once the laughter dies down.

“Chillin’,” Isabel says with a shrug.

“Having some… dranks,” Daniel says, holding up his bottle.

“Speaking of,” Isabel says, “mine is a little weak. Think you could spare just a teeny tiny bit there, Jacobi?” She holds out her Christmassy mug, giving a big, slightly fake smile.

“Well, they do say sharing is caring,” Jacobi says, “and tis the season, huh?” He uncaps his rum and pours out a little more than a shot in Isabel’s mug, giving her a wink.

“Thanks.” She says, giving him a nod before swirling her mug and taking a drink. “Nice stuff.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And what are you doing down here, Doctor?” Renée asks, tapping a heeled foot on the ground.

“Nothing,” Dr. Hilbert says, “I am doing nothing. I am here, not participating in the on-goings upstairs.”

“Well, hey, looks like we got some things in common,” Jacobi says.

“You’re here for the Alternative, Cutter-less Goddard Office Christmas Party?” Renée perks a brow.

Hilbert regards her skeptically. “Yes? Perhaps? Does this require me to do anything?”

“Nope,” Alana pipes up from her spot on the floor, having grabbed her laptop back. “Basically, just don’t do anything that well get us caught by Cutter, Young, or Kepler. Or anybody that would get us in trouble with them.”

“Noted. Seems like I am… joining your party, then.”

“Welcome!” Renée says, throwing out her arms in a grand gesture.

“Thank you,” Dr. Hilbert says, then goes to sit at Renée’s desk and turns on her computer. If Alana can sit and play on a computer, so can he.  

Renée goes over to her husband once again and takes a small sip of her wine, thinking. For now, they’re all just hanging out quietly, Alana and Daniel have started chatting a little with Isabel and Doug chiming in now and then. Honestly, as far as office Christmas parties go, this one is much better than the one they’re avoiding. Still, perhaps there’s a way to liven it up.

[goosebarnacle]

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures and Bolero

Because I had the night off and apparently I can’t get enough of wolf 359 heartwrecking moments, I’ve decided to re-listen to the two-parter + season finale. Very long text post behind the cut.

I have to say, it’s just the second time I’m listening to these three episodes. The first time I listened, I felt so anxious and then so drained that I didn’t want to come back to them. But we’re approaching the series finale and the tension is quickly raising again and I wanted to have this fresh.

If you remember, by the end of Persuasion we learn the Hephaestus crew is disposable in the long term. We might have suspected it before but Minkowski’s phone call to her husband makes a big impact. In the first few minutes of Desperate Times, the crew discuss about the possibilities of napalming the SI5. Eiffel is immediately horrified but Minkowski agrees with Hilbert and Lovelace (mostly because of their well-put manipulation act in the previous episode).

Now, at this point I understand why Lovelace and Hilbert are agreeing (unlikely as it may seem). They’ve been there before. They’ve seen Goddard’s dark side and they are trying to be realistic about their survival possibilities. The “innocent” ones here are Hera (who might have thought about hurting people, but can’t), Eiffel (who kind of thinks he has already caused enough pain for a lifetime and won’t let his friends, the good guys, stain their hands with blood) and Minkowski. She is the one in command and (mostly) the voice of reason, so she was the one they needed to persuade for this plan. Or at least make her angry enough so she won’t think clearly.

EIFFEL

I know you. And you don't want to kill anyone.

MINKOWSKI

I really, really do.

And then Eiffel keeps talking and she realizes that yeah, ok, she needs to calm down and actually think or she’ll end up doing things she is going to regret. And it’s not just her: Lovelace also joins the laugh. There’s hope. There has to be a different way to do things. Hilbert doesn’t agree but he knows better than trying to argue. We desperately want team what’s wrong with handcuffs to win. But they miscalculate about Jacobi and well, things turn to shit.

Now, knowing what’s going to happen makes listening to certain parts in the dialogs harder:

EIFFEL

Right... Let's make sure that all of us get through this, okay?

 (...)

EIFFEL, LOVELACE, MINKOWSKI, HERA

Nobody do anything too stupid.

 (...)

HERA

Promise you won't hurt her (talking about Maxwell).

MINKOWSKI

We promise.

Let’s talk a bit about the SI5. Unlike the Hephaestus crew, they’re a perfectly knit competent unit, and it is implied they’re used to the kind of missions like the one they’re developing in the Hephaestus. But they’re tense and tired. The past few months they’ve had to fight against a decaying space station, to supervise a group of uncooperative, distrustful people who outnumber them, and to prepare for a “contact event”.  Maxwell and Jacobi trust Kepler as a tactician so they don’t openly push for more information than that they’re given (and this is: 1) the old Hephaestus crew won’t make it back to earth, possible exception to this being Hera given how invested Maxwell is in her, and 2) they’re expendable if they aren’t useful) but they both must be weary. Jacobi is still recovering from the events of Time to Kill. Maxwell has very fresh her journey through Hera’s mind in Memoria. Neither of them know what to expect of the contact event, a contact event that makes imperturbable Colonel Kepler anxious. By the end of the episode, they are probably relieved to have the excuse to get rid of the Hephaestus crew.

JACOBI

Great. Let’s go be monsters.

And like that we move to Desperate Measures, which is a game changer. First, Maxwell makes a decision and we learn about Hera’s new abilities regarding compliance with direct orders. Then, Kepler is so sure Minkowski will crumble under pressure that he starts pushing.

KEPLER

Now, as I was saying... how can I pick between these two? They're both so goddamn tragic in their own ways... Hmm...

And they really are, but picking is just a pretense. Even if Lovelace hadn’t spoken her mind (and what a perfect speech) he knew about her. Well, Lovelace also has an opinion on him.

LOVELACE

Well, guess what? You're not human. You lost - no, you sold - every piece of your humanity.

KEPLER

You're hilarious. On a multitude of levels.

And then Kepler loses his cool and does the last thing any of us were expecting: he shoots in Lovelace in the head and the world freezes for a moment. Raise your hands all of you who also had to pause the recording for a moment at this point.

Everything that happens afterwards is the hugest miscalculation in Kepler’s life. He shoots Lovelace because he is angry beyond measure, yes, but also because it’s a tactical advantage. One less alien before the contact event, and will traumatize enough the Hephaestus crew so they’ll surrender and everything will be again under control before the deadline.  He never counted on Minkowki pushing back. Or at least not after a second threat. No one in the SI5 did. Maxwell is never afraid of her own safety because she knows Minkowski doesn’t want to kill anyone. But when Hilbert goes boom in the most horrifying way (and hearing it through the comms system is so reminiscent of Time to Kill) it elicits Minkowki’s knee-jerk reaction. And just like this, we’ve witnessed three deaths in ten minutes. And here I have to pause again because it’s painful. It’s very difficult to reconciliate this with the early season 1 sitcom style, isn’t it? Every season finale has been darker than the previous one, but even if death was always a threaten, never was so tangible. It started coming closer with the plant monster removal. We had it peeking through the window at Time to Kill. But to actually take our main characters? Even more, to witness our heroes become monsters. It’s a very hard episode. By the time Minkowski and Hera stop the engines, we feel relieved.

MINKOWSKI

Three people have died today! This has gone far enough! Either no one else dies...

EIFFEL

Or we all go. Amen, Commander.

In retrospect, it is a very epic moment. And the bad guys surrender and everything. But it doesn’t feel like a victory at all. And the contact event is still scheduled in a few hours.

Now, Bolero is one of the most underrated episodes of the series.  It makes a very good job dealing with emotions in the immediate aftermath of Desperate Measures. As it is remarked in the script:

By this point it should become apparent that these three people are completely fried. Both in terms of energy and emotion, they are running on fumes.

Well, the characters are, but we listeners are also in the same condition. Eiffel suggestion of a funeral seems a bit out of place at first, too soon. But it is clear they need to deal with their feelings. Particularly their guilt and, in Hera’s case, betrayal. And it’s like the ghosts from the Christmas Carol are visiting. The only one who remains emotionless through the whole episode is Kepler and that’s what makes us hate him so much: the lack of grieving.

Let’s talk first about Hera: Hera’s grieving is a bit different from everyone else and that’s patent in the funeral. It’s not guilt what she feels: it’s impotence. She feels so lost. And betrayed:

MAXWELL

(…) Maybe I questioned the orders but I was afraid to go against Kepler. Maybe I cared about my job more than I cared about you. Maybe I saw you as a friend, but the Colonel and Daniel were family. In the end, it's not about what I thought. Not anymore. It's about what you choose.

HERA

What are you talking about? What choice?

MAXWELL

Same choice you're making a thousand times a second, Hera: what are you going to do now?

Choices: one of the recurring themes. We are what our choices make us, but we are not just our choices. This is addressed over and over and over again.  Like in Desperate Times, the heart to heart conversation between Eiffel and Minkowski regarding Eiffel’s past. Dirty Work also comes to mind (that episode connects a lot with Bolero after all). Humans aren’t good or bad. One single person is capable of performing both good and bad actions and can’t be defined just for a single one of those actions. Every character in Wolf 359 reflects this one way or another. But specially Eiffel:

EIFFEL

I wanted to believe you could come back to the light side. That even someone who had done as much bad as you, who had screwed as many lives as you could one day...

Eiffel feels guilty for suggesting the non-murderous plan. But it isn’t just that. He has made so many bad choices. And even when he tries his best, and makes what should be the right choice, sometimes it backfires. Like this time. And people he cares for get hurt. He has witnessed in first row Lovelace being shot. He learns later that Hilbert and Maxwell are gone too. No one seems to care for his “attempts at being a decent human being” and organizing a funeral. He’s at his lowest. But in the end he chooses to keep going forward. Evolving. Some episodes later, in the tandem Shut up and listen + Constructive criticism, Eiffel will keep evolving.

And talking about evolving: Jacobi. I find interesting how many parallelisms can be drawn between Eiffel and Jacobi. But that’s a story for another day. Here in Bolero he’s so sad and angry. I think that if Kepler had shown some emotion at this point, Jacobi’s change of priorities would have been different. But it’s his indifference to Maxwell death what gets to Jacobi. This connects directly with the minisode One of them, when Jacobi speaks his mind to Kepler and for the first time gets the bigger picture.And well, Dirty Work, of course.

And last but not least, Minkowski.

MINKOWSKI

What? Who can I talk about? The one that died on my watch? The one that I sent to his death? Or the one that I killed? No, I... I can't.

At this point I think her guilt is not so much about shooting Maxwell (not yet, that confrontation will come later, with time, and is addressed in Dirty Work), but about her not being able to protect her crew. Particularly Lovelace, after all she’s been through.

Aaaaand we reach the end of the episode. The music builds up (masterful use of music, as always, I can’t stress this enough) and Lovelace breathes again. And everyone loses their shit, while Kepler feels smug (but not for much longer).

What a trip was the end of season 3.