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taddylonglegs · 2 years

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Maca-Runes

Genre: Angst, Comedy, Comfort

Word Count: 2,256

Characters: Elder Mark, NoMaddox (Original Character)

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Die die die die DIE! Every rock which lay in the path of Elder Mark's wrath must DIE! He's had a BAD DAY and he's not afraid to KICK THE INNOCENT to prove it!

"Stupid David! Stupid Barry! Stupid STUPID Kenneth and his stupid....stupidness! NYEH!"

The 'nyeh' sound effect leaving Mark's mouth was essential for his rock kicking extravaganza. It adds that extra 'oomph' to the destructive action and fills one with a rush of power. Unfortunately for our powerful punter, that rock was no ordinary rock. Nay. One might say this rock was rather brick shaped. Like a brick. Because it was in fact, you guessed it, a brick.

"Ow OW owowOWow ow!!"

A flurry of horrific curses fled from Mark's open mouth like wild horses. Vile words such as 'darn', 'gee', and 'oh golly this is going to drain my HP' were among them. Let's not follow in Mark's malicious footsteps, mm?

"Who puts a brick in the middle of a parking lot anyways!?"

Unfortunately for Mark, his question would remain unanswered as the apartment's parking lot remained vacant of life. His only option now was to hop about on one foot, holding his injured one betwixt his hands. This is the classic tactic to get the pain to vanish instantly and is practiced by many. Why isn't it working this time!?

Upon his hippity hopping happening, the back of Mark's good foot would collide against the apartment's steps. This would result in the unfortunate fall of our protagonist onto his back. A strained hiss slunk through gritted teeth.

Despite the pain, there was a big beautiful blue sky to gaze upon. A sky filled with white, puffy fluffy clouds. And a bright yellow sun.

The sky reminded Mark of his eyes.

The sun of his hair.

The white, his smile.

Kenneth...

Oh. Oh no. This will NOT do. He will NOT waste another moment of his time thinking on the loss of his friend. Friends. Multiple. Frick. Uh-

Mark was GOING to his room to spend the evening organizing his cards! Yeah! And watching anime! Worshiping his figurines that he kept hiddenunderhisbedsohisbrotherwouldn'tmakefunofhim.

Y E S. He was FINE on his own! He was NOT going to pout! He was NOT going to cry!

------

Elder Mark was pouting and crying. Alone in his room. Blasting his Spotty-Eye Anime Intros playlist to further the drama and pain. It was inevitable. He had just had the WORST day of his life and now? His only comfort was his robe wrapped about him. It was like an old friend giving him a hug. Such an old, old friend.

While Top Ten Anime Intros of the 90's may be bangers, when played at maximum volume, they do cancel out all sounds around you. Sounds like the front door opening and closing, a loved one calling out your name, said loved one approaching your bedroom doorway-

"Hey, Mark, you're still up? That's great, actually. I thought I'd-...oh-"

Maddox, the elder half brother of Mark, stopped mid sentence upon seeing what lay before them. The brothers locked eyes in stunned bewilderment: Maddox at Mark's emotional state and Mark and Maddox's presence in the doorway. Mark's thumb seemingly had a mind of its own as it paused the totally epic anime playlist.

Maddox should have already sensed something was off when Mark left his bedroom door open, but...they didn't. Social queues were often hard to grasp for this one. However, the steady stream of snot and tears did cement that Mark might not be alright in Maddox's thick skull. They haven't seen Mark cry like this ever since-

"Uh, you okay?"

Mark clearly wasn't, but it was more of a...formality to ask.

"I'm fine..."

Lied the brunette, as if it could fool Maddox. Please. A fish in the maw of an alligator might hold a better chance at convincing another they were okay.

"Mark."

The blonde cocked an eyebrow at the other, then motioned towards the lone elder like 'you're-crying-a-river-and-drowning-yourself-in-it-what-makes-you-think-I-believe-you?'

"It-"

Mark tsked lightly, removing his PineapplePods from his ears as he glared daggers into one floorboard in particular. How DARE it be so close knit with the other boards! It did NOTHING to deserve that community! It's not fair!

"It's none of your business. Just- just leave me alone! You've gotten pretty good at that."

Sssssssshoot.

He didn't mean to say that out loud.

Was Mark's verbal filter going to continue failing him?

Was today the day when EVERYTHING fell apart??

"What's..."

Maddox's posture stiffened, the bag under their arm crinkling as the grip tightened.

"What's THAT supposed to mean, Mark? Where is this-"

"Don't act so oblivious, Dox. It's insulting."

Ahhhhit'sallcomingouthecan't-

"Sunrise to sundown, you're not here. You're NEVER here! You either- you're either volunteering for extra hours at work or you're smooching it up with your Perfect Precious Robert!"

ShutupshutupSHUTUPSHUTUP

"Admit it: you're taking any chance you can to avoid me! Working yourself to DEATH is better than being at home with me. ANYTHING is better than being home with me! And do NOT pretend otherwise, unless you expect ME to start playing dumb as well. I CAN'T PLAY DUMB, MADDOX. I'M A SMART GUY AND WE DON'T DO THAT."

"H e y -"

At first, there was bewilderment on Maddox's face, but now? That expression was replaced with hurt. And rage.

"I work late hours to pay for this apartment! It's not easy making a living income in a candy store- and- and at least I can KEEP a job! How many have YOU gone through the past year? Four? Five?? Oh, I don't even know! I've lost count!"

Mark's teeth gnashed against each other with such raw power that he swore they might break apart into thousands of shards.

"Three! It was only THREE, you blockhead! And one of them doesn't even count since I was stuck under a ROCK with no means of escape!"

"Oh. Oh yeah. Right. NO escape. None whatsoever. Except maybe you could have called me?? Or literally any other adult??"

"FALSE. IF I DID THAT, THE CREEK WOULD HAVE BE DEEMED UNSAFE. ALL CHILDREN PARTICIPANTS WOULD BE FORCED TO PLAY INSIDE AND I'D BE SCORNED FOR ETERNITY. USE YOUR HEAD, FOR CTHULHU'S SAKE. AND IT'S NOT LIKE YOU CAME LOOKING FOR ME ANYWAYS. DID YOU EVEN KNOW I WAS GONE??"

These boys were going to get a noise complaint any second- but it seemed neither had an ounce of care in them. Not for the complaints. And certainly not for each other's feelings.

"OF COURSE I KNEW YOU WERE GONE. I JUST ASSUMED YOU WERE HAVING A SLEEPOVER WITH BARRY AND DAVID THAT YOU FORGOT TO TELL ME ABOUT."

A maniacal cackle of victory exited Mark's lips whilst he slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

"WELL, YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO USE THAT EXCUSE IN THE FUTURE, FOOLISH BROTHER. BECAUSE NOW THEY'RE BOTH GONE AND THERE'S NOTHING EITHER OF US CAN DO ABOUT IT. SO HA!!"

Hands clasped themselves over Mark's mouth as he realized what he just admitted. That he was now a friendless LOSER.

"YOU THINK JU-what?"

Everything stopped.

Both parties remained still for a moment. There was a pause in the serenade of screams. A lull in the ballad of bellowing. A new emotion introduced itself to the pair and its name was Sorrow.

Mark's fire, his spirit, his drive to always be right- it released him in this moment. He was free to feel how he needed and once more, he felt melancholy. His hands fell once more to grasp at the cape about him.

"....We talked to Kenneth over the phone. Apparently, D A V I D has been in contact with him for a while and neglected to tell me. Barry was all ready to-"

Mark paused for a moment to wipe his eyes and sniffle delicately.

"KISS THE GROUND HE FRIGGIN WALKED ON. But I thought better! THIS was the same Kenneth who left us- who left me- and it's just he- he didn't bother to- then David said I was-"

Mark was...crumbling right in front of Maddox. A terrifying fate, to feel so high and mighty and then melt into a puddle. Perhaps if he hid under his cape, Maddox would forget he was there and go back to Bobby's house or something! Yeah! Brilliant!

Sadly, this was not the case. Despite Mark's masterful plan, Maddox rolled a critical 20 to see through his disguise and approach the shivering youth. The sound of springs creaking under Mark's bed squeaked as they sat themselves down.

"....You know, I was originally coming in here to tell you we got Macarunes back at the store. Like, the ones we used to play with when I was your age? And you were an age even younger than that?"

Maddox would release a ghost of a laugh as they rested the bag of delicacies on their lap. Said bag was nearly stuffed to the brim with macarons decorated with strange symbols on the outer crust. Runes. Which might explain the name, or simply be the world's weirdest coincidence.

"We didn't even know what any of these letters meant. We'd just....try to rationalize they were letters of the English alphabet drawn wrong. And spell out any words we can. People didn't like them as much as we did."

Maddox would crack open the bag, removing a singular Macarune and waving it in front of where they assumed Mark's face was. Like a human trying to entice their cat out from under the couch with a treat.

"...I think you're a lot like a Macarune, Mark. You're hard to understand, not appealing to most people, and you do tend to scare people off with your pretentious and frightening exterior-"

"Is this supposed to be making me FEEL better??"

Mark's face popped out of his fabric fortress with a squint and a sneer.

"-But if you get past all that...you're soft. And sweet. And even if it's only by a small circle, you are cherished by your friends."

"Tch, yeah right- I'm a monster."

Mark's chin rested upon the tips of his knees as his legs curled closer to his chest. The hot tears still ran and stung at his flesh. It was a miracle he had any left to cry at this point.

"Maddox, I want to shut up. I hate that I hurt other people with my brilliant piercing words. And I....hate that I said those things to Barry, to David...to you. I know that I do this a lot, but I just...I just can't control what comes out of me! People act like it's soooo easy, but what's harder is lying! Like- are we all supposed to say what we don't mean now?

Hey; YOU work customer service; what do you do to keep yourself from ripping people's heads off?? When you know you're right??"

Before Maddox could answer, Mark snatched the Macarune and claimed it as his sadness snack. Mrph- it was still as good as the years ago when he last had it.

"Welp....that's the thing, Mark. I'm NOT always right. And, surprise of the century, you're not always right either. But..."

Maddox shifted slightly, sliding the opened bag of Macarunes closer towards his grieving brother. Mark was more than eager to rip the bag open and help himself to the contents inside like a rabid raccoon.

"Whether you're right or wrong, losing your temper and saying spiteful things is never okay. Which is...my bad, after tonight. I'm very sorry for that. The second best thing you can do is apologize. The best thing you can do is...never yell to begin with. So!"

Maddox clapped their hands together with a confident glint in their eyes.

"What you got to do is stuff your face."

"....Pardon?"

"Stuff your face," Maddox continued. "If your mouth is full of food, you can't respond when someone is making you upset! It's why I always have snacks on me. And if they're especially tasty snacks, you might not even be angry anymore after eating them! You take the time to chew and swallow, then you can think a bit more clearly."

"Really? THAT'S the big secret? So I'm just supposed to do this dumb l-"

Before Mark could finish his sentence, he crammed yet another Macarune in his mouth. Humming and grunting the while, his face scrunched and contorted as the anger crept through him.

But as soon as they were there, the negative emotions and the Macarune were gone.

"....Oh my many eldritch gods that actually works. Can I keep these?? I'm keeping these! No take-backsies!"

Mark would then proceed to glide the bag under his cape like an octopus sucking a clam into its beak.

"I'm still sad though," Mark proclaimed, feeling the wave of depression crash over him again. "Sad and...s..s....mrph- s o r r y."

"I know, bud." Maddox's hand would rest itself atop the other's head to pat his brother lightly. "But we'll get through it together, okay?"

"Okay." Like a limp ragdoll, Mark's body rested itself against Maddox's side. He just needed a hug right now and this was some odd version of one. Mark would get through this. He wasn't totally lost. He was just a Macarune that needed to learn when to shut up.

"....Don't actually use the 'shoving-your-face-with-food' trick at in front of a customer though. That'll get you fired quickly."

"No duh, Maddox."

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#Craig of the Creek #COTC #Fanfiction #Elder Mark #Elder Maddox #NoMaddox #OC #Original Character #Self insert #Fanart #Cartoon Network

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venialsun · 3 years

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to begin with, take warning (2/3)

[read on ao3]

1 | 2 | 3

When Damian found his way to his first class of the day, having missed something called homeroom and the first ten minutes, the instructor shook his head playfully and made Damian introduce himself and explain what he had done over the summer. He could not say he had spent the past few months traipsing across the globe, hanging out with killers and thieves, and dying more often than not as he tried to escape the oppressive feeling that had descended upon Gotham after years of tragedies and increasing catastrophes. So he said he spent some time with his mother’s family on their private island, which was close enough, took a seat at the back of the room, and listened to his classmates reconnect with old friends and talk about their vacations and holidays with an increasing sense of annoyance.

The rest of the morning classes were no better. The teachers would guide the students through introductions and some small talk, go through their syllabus, and sometimes begin a lesson that Damian was entirely bored by. A few of his classmates tried to speak with him, asking him questions about his family, about himself, and smiling welcomingly at him, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about that can of worms. He was not sure what he would say, how to spin his life into something half-truthful yet still benign. He’d never had to before. The rest of the students ignored him, and he was more than happy to ignore them right back.

By lunchtime, he was contemplating leaving and telling his Father he was done with this whole experiment. But Yanez’s yellow slip burned in his pocket, and Damian was not one to give up so easily. He would make it through the day, if nothing else.

The technology atrium was between the main academic building and the arts auditorium. A squat addition to the main building with walls made of glass and supported by steel beams, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the dark slate stones and high neo-Gothic arches and spires of the rest of Gotham Academy. Damian glowered as he neared and realized this was not only the technology atrium but, according to the placard over the main entrance, the Kenneth H. Wayne Technology Atrium.

Of course.

Inside, rows of computers and long tables encircled a central desk where a young woman sat typing at a laptop. She looked up as Damian approached and asked, “What’s up?”

Damian fished out the yellow slip and showed it to her. “Principal Yanez assigned me community tutoring or whatever.”

She took the slip and scanned it. “Already? Dang, kid, what’d ya do?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say. Hold on. Let me pull her notes.” She busied herself clicking and scrolling, then paused. “Oh, wow. I see. Well, hi, Damian. Glad to have you. I’m Miss Daisy.” She handed him back the slip.

“Daisy?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Well, Miss Daskalakis, but I got tired of all you runts mispronouncing it.”

“Miss Daskalakis,” said Damian, exactly.

Daskalakis smiled. “That was pretty good, actually. Okay, in about ten minutes, we should have some of the PSAT and SAT kids show up for their first prep. Make yourself comfortable at one of the tables, eat some of your lunch, and when they show up I’ll introduce you and explain the rundown.”

“Lunch?”

“You brought something to eat, didn’t you? Or you can go pick something up at the cafeteria.” She glanced at her laptop. “There’s still time, and since it’s the first day, there’s no rush.”

Damian hesitated. “Principal Yanez said I was to report here.”

“We’re not going to make you skip lunch, Damian,” said Daskalakis. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. Here, what do you want?” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll message my assistant to bring you something. He should already be at the cafeteria.”

“Anything vegetarian,” he said.

Daskalakis gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

He went to sit at one of the long tables. Surreptitiously, he pulled out his phone to figure out what in the world the PSAT and SAT were supposed to be. He was puzzling his way through the most confusingly worded, backwards maths questions he had ever read, when the door opened. Damian glanced up and froze.

The red-headed boy at the entrance to the atrium also froze, eyes wide like he had seen a ghost.

“Colin!” called Daskalakis. “Hey, this is Damian. Thanks for grabbing lunch.”

“Colin,” Damian said.

“Damian,” said Colin Wilkes. “Oh, my god. Damian. Dude!”

“Do you two know each other?” asked Daskalakis.

“No,” said Damian, at the same time Colin said, “Yes.” Then Colin said, “No,” at the same time Damian said, “Yes.”

“Cool,” said Daskalakis, dragging out the oo. “Cool, cool, cool. Can you guys figure that out? We have, like, five minutes.”

Colin approached and deposited what looked like a rice dish with vegetables in front of him. “Um, this is for you. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you a taco bowl minus the taco.”

“Thanks,” said Damian, accepting the not-taco bowl.

“So.” Colin sat across from him. “Long time no see, huh.”

Damian snorted. “I’ve been busy,” he said.

“No shit. Your family has been freaking out for like the past six months, saying you’re missing and Robin went rogue or something. Then the old Robin came back. The Titans restarted. Then there’s video of another Robin sword-fighting crime all over the world. I assume that was you. Dude, I thought you were dead.”

“To be fair,” said Damian as he opened his taco bowl and mixed the ingredients, “I was. A couple of times. Doesn’t seem to stick.”

Colin laughed. “Your mom?”

Damian chuckled, startling himself. “Something like that. Though the first time was a few years back. I was—gone—for nearly a year, and my Father resurrected me with alien magic.”

“Sick. I remember that,” said Colin. “You dropped off the face of the earth. Didn’t come by the orphanage anymore or sneak out with me for patrols. People were saying Batman went crazy. I thought you just decided you didn’t want to hang out anymore.”

“I—” Damian spooned some rice into mouth. Chewed, swallowed. Colin looked at him throughout, unrelenting. “I didn’t ignore you deliberately. And then after I came back, things were so…”

Colin waved a hand and unwrapped a greasy slice of pizza. He took a bite. “It’s cool, man. You literally just told me you’ve died multiple times. Plural. I can get over my hurt feelings. Seems kind of trivial in comparison.”

Damian frowned and ate some more rice. Colin ate his pizza. Then Damian set his fork down, resolute, grip tight on the handle. As evenly as he could, he said, “I apologize for not being a better friend to you.”

“Whoa.” Colin’s eyebrows shot up. His expression pinched with worry as he searched Damian’s face. “What happened, man?”

Damian swallowed.

Then the door opened again, and an older boy—sixteen or seventeen—peaked inside and asked, “Is this SAT prep?”

“Sure is,” said Daskalakis from the central desk. She stood and indicated Damian and Colin to follow her. “Come in, come in, I’ll set you up right over here.”

Damian stood. “Later,” he said in an undertone. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”

“Okay,” Colin agreed. “But if you disappear on me again, this time I know where you go to school, so there’s no use hiding.”

“Have you known me to ever hide from anything?”

Colin smirked and said nothing.

Damian’s face felt suddenly warm. “Shut up,” he said. “We have work to do.”

•

Surprisingly, tutoring his fellow students was not the disaster he thought it would be. There was some initial skepticism from the upperclassmen about being tutored by a fourteen-year-old, but after Daskalakis declared him “a genius prodigy or something, according to Yanez,” that eventually quieted. It helped that though the PSAT and SAT problems and questions were simple enough, the wording and specificity grated on him, and soon he was insulting the intelligence of the College Board and standardized tests in general. That endeared him to the upperclassmen, and afterward the rest of the lunch hour passed without trouble.

Colin sidled up next to Damian as he gathered his materials to leave and showed him a crumpled-up piece of paper. “What’s your next class?” he asked. It was his schedule.

“Physical education,” said Damian. He had already memorized his own.

“Oh, really? Sweet. Me, too. We’ll go to PE together. I met Coach Freeman at the orientation. I think you’ll like her. What about after?”

Damian listed off his afternoon classes: physical education, then biology, then ancient rhetorics, and ending with a free study period. They shared no core classes, only homeroom, lunch, and physical education. Colin teased him for taking the honors track, and Damian started to complain that the classes were not interesting let alone challenging. But then he got sidetracked by wondering why Colin was somehow not in the honors track but still Daskalakis’s assistant for community tutoring (which, Damian insisted, was a dumb idea for punishments and an even dumber name). Colin laughed and explained he mostly helped with the younger kids. He said he was good with them, thanks to all the practice he’d had helping the nuns wrangle traumatized orphans and foster kids while growing up in the orphanage.

“After all that, spoiled rich kids are easy,” Colin said. He nudged Damian in the ribs. “It’s why we’re friends.”

“I thought that was because we both liked beating up on creeps a little too much,” said Damian, wry.

Colin grinned, and for a moment his face seemed to take on the grisly severity of Abuse—Venom-distorted and menacing. “That too.”

Physical education—“Just call it PE, dude,” Colin said—was a bore, more than Damian had anticipated. After changing into their gym uniforms and the requisite round of introductions, Coach Freeman set them on an obstacle course made up of rubber tires and colorful ropes. Damian was not impressed. But he remembered what his Father had said about damaging school property and refrained from destroying the so-called obstacles as he passed his struggling classmates and returned to Coach Freeman.

“What now?” he asked. To his frustration, he had hardly broken a sweat.

“Excuse me,” said Freeman. “Why aren’t you on the course?”

“I’ve finished it.”

“You’ve finished it?” Freeman checked the stopwatch hanging from her neck. “In slightly under six minutes? I don’t think so. Did you take a shortcut?”

“No,” said Damian. “It was easy.”

“Right. Well, if it was so easy, then hop to it. Do it again,” she said. “And this time, I’ll be watching you.”

“Weren’t you already supposed to be doing that?” asked Damian, but he did not argue further and restarted the course. It was better than doing nothing and standing around like an invalid, anyway.

This time he forced himself to go slower, aware he had done something abnormal. But it wasn’t his fault he was above this child’s play. He jogged the 100 meters to the start of course, climbed up the wooden incline, jumped down, belly-crawled under the mesh ropes, alternated jumps between tires then between wooden slats, climbed the rope to ring a bell, balanced across the too-wide beams, swung from bar to bar, and finished off by climbing over three wooden walls of increasing height. At the last wall, he paused and pulled a girl who had been struggling for the last two minutes up and over. Then he jumped down and high-fived Colin, who had finished his first runthrough. Going slower had forced him to focus the strain on his muscles, and the burn in his body and clarity of mind was starting to feel comforting and familiar.

He jogged back to Coach Freeman. “Shall I go again?”

She clicked her stopwatch and stared at it. Then she stared at him. “Slightly under eight minutes,” she said. “What’s your name, son?”

“I’m not your son.” He crossed his arms. “And name’s Damian. Damian Wayne.”

“Wayne, huh?” Freeman grinned. “Well, Mr. Wayne, Gotham Academy’s happy to have you. What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“Your sport, Mr. Wayne. Your sport. Everyone’s got one. And if you don’t, not to worry. The Academy’s got a team for everything. You’ll be attending the end-of-day assembly, correct?”

“It is mandatory,” said Damian.

“Perfect,” said Freeman. “The main teams will be doing showcases there. Scope them out, see what you think. General tryouts are in two weeks, and I expect to see you there.”

Damian grimaced. “Do you now.”

Freeman nodded. “Sure do.” Then her attention drifted; her nose scrunched, she blew her whistle and screamed across the field, “You two, under the mesh! Keep your hands to yourselves! No one needs to see all that!”

•

The rest of the day passed quickly. He ran the course twice more, for the hell of it, alternating between pausing to help a classmate over a particularly difficult hurdle or shouting at them to hurry the hell up so Damian could finish already. He got used to the rhythm of it, the formula of general teacher attention interspersed with student social-play. By Ancient Rhetorics, he was an old hat at describing his incredibly fun island adventure halfway across the world and not scowling whenever anyone bemoaned their envy at the life of a rich socialite without responsibilities or true problems. He had even managed to hold a few short conversations with two or three of his classmates, though for the life of him he could not remember their names. A day of nothing but introductions had thoroughly fried his brain and prevented him from retaining anything more complicated than Jessica—because there did seem to be an awful lot of Jessicas.

His phone buzzed as the early bell rang and he merged into the streaming crowd of students heading for the auditorium for the back-to-school assembly.

It was a message from his Father:

Dinner tonight.

He frowned and tapped out a quick reply.

“Hey, Damian, over here!”

Damian looked up. Across the auditorium, Colin was surrounded by a group of teenagers and waving him over. Damian approached, pocketing his phone as he went. Then he paused and groaned when he recognized the small girl with yellow hair ribbons hovering excitedly between Colin and another group of older-looking students.

Fuck it. Damian ducked behind some large boys in jerseys and helmets—not hiding, per se, just utilizing his extensive array of evasive maneuvers to achieve a desired outcome—but it was too late. She had already spotted him.

“Oh my crap! Damian! You’re here?!”

Damian sighed and accepted his fate. With as much dignity as he had left, he emerged from behind the football team.

“Of course you two know each other,” he muttered.

“Huh?” said Colin.

“It is you!” exclaimed Maps Mizoguchi. “Olive, look who it is!”

From the group of older students, a girl with platinum blonde hair glanced over and, seeing Damian, scowled. “Oh,” said Olive Silverlock. “I did hear a Wayne was coming to Gotham Academy. Weren’t you expelled already?”

“You’ll find I’m hard to get rid of, Silverlock,” said Damian.

“Yanez is a softie, of course she let you back in,” continued Olive, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Hammerhead would’ve rather died.”

“You guys know each other?” asked Colin, looking concerned and glancing between them.

“No,” said Damian and Olive, at the same time Maps said, “Heck yeah! We’re all friends!”

“Doth mine ears deceive me? Did I hear Wayne—as in billionaire, more-money-than-I-would-know-what-to-with, bordering-on-unethical-wealth Wayne?” An older boy with sunglasses popped up behind Damian and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Good sir, might I interest you in—”

“Remove yourself from my person at once before I break your arm.”

The boy held up his hands and stepped away. “Got it, got it. No touchy. I can respect that,” he said. “So, Wayne, how do you feel about acquiring some fireworks for your own personal mischief?” He tilted his sunglasses down, conspiratorially. “At a discounted price, of course. Us trouble-makers have to stick together, y’know.”

“Quit it, Colton,” snapped Olive.

“Yeah,” laughed Colin. “That was Damian being nice.”

“You associate with these people?” Damian asked.

Colin shrugged. “I’m a part-time member of the Detectives Club.”

“Pizza club,” corrected Maps.

“The what.”

“Nerd club that solves school mysteries and shit,” said a girl from Colin’s group of younger students. She waved. “Hey, I’m Jess. Nice to meet you.”

Another fucking Jessica.

“Damian,” said Damian, putting up a hand in greeting.

This started another round of introductions and names he immediately deleted from his memory. Who knew Colin was so popular? It was the first day of school; he had not thought it was possible to align yourself with so many friends so quickly unless your name was Dick Grayson.

Slowly, both groups of younger and older students shuffled forward to their seats, helped along by the half-hearted encouragement of manic-looking adults. Somehow, Damian found himself squished between both groups, Colin on one side and Maps on another, as they chatted across him about summer and clubs and the teachers they already hated. Sensing an opportunity Damian told them of his run-in with Headmaster Hammer that morning, which triggered another round of commiserating laughter and louder complaints about what a hardass Hammerhead was—for they called the headmaster Hammerhead. Olive and Maps were the only ones to defend him, citing his one-man defense of the Academy when Joker had tried to take over the city two years ago.

“So?” said Damian. “Joker’s a bitch. He tries to take over the city all the time. That’s not impressive.”

By which a stuffy-looking blond boy in the row behind them became offended, scoffing, and Damian begrudgingly felt his respect grow for Colin’s friends as they immediately dog-piled on the boy for his shit opinion. Then no one could agree who of the Gotham rogues wasn’t a little bitch. And the argument devolved from there until Olive said Batman was a little bitch, too. Everyone laughed.

The lights dimmed. An off-key note rang out as the school band warmed up, and Headmaster Hammer and Principal Yanez stepped on stage.

Slowly in fits and starts, the auditorium quieted, and the assembly began.

next ->

#spades #fic #damian wayne #colin wilkes #olive silverlock #maps mizoguchi #dc

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charlemange1 · 4 years

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Ranking adaptations of Victor Frankenstein from least to most evil

The character Victor Frankenstein has been adapted many times over the years. Sometimes he’s a heroic YA protagonist while others have him using his clone army to wipe out humanity and take over the world. But which Victor is truly the worse?

After reading several adaptations, I’ve decided to rank Victor’s morality in each one and find out! The gothic lit community doesn’t talk about these adaptations much, so hopefully this list can introduce the fandom to some of the lesser-known interpretations out there!

This is part one, which ranks printed retellings only. If people enjoy it, I’ll do a part two and merge the films into the mix!

Disclaimers (please read):

SPOILERS! Victor’s actions in these adaptations will be thoroughly analyzed with no regard for the spoiler tag.

Some of the more evil Victor’s get into dark territory, and while I will not go into extensive detail (lest I go insane) if mentions of abuse, sexual themes, possessive behavior and murder bother you, don’t make my mistake and turn back! (I will leave an additional reminder when said parts come up)

This list centers on Victor’s actions and NOT the quality of the books themselves—so if you see your favorite title getting a low score it’s not because it’s a bad book—it’s because Victor is a jerk.

This list is by no means complete, just the ones I’ve read personally.

These are my silly personal opinions and if you disagree with my ranking that’s perfectly fine!

Ranking: On a 1-10 scale, with 10 being fantastic and 0 being “run if you see this man in a dark alley.”

10/10 Perfect Sunbeam. Overall great, wholesome guy!

*crickets chirp in a serene backdrop of a Romantic field*

Good dude

Junji Ito’s Frankenstein: 8.5/10

Props to the master of manga monsters for making the twist be that Victor is not secretly evil/insane.

Not only does Victor pity the creature and agree to create a mate for him—but he keeps his word! This is especially touching when you consider how the creature treks alllllll the way to Switzerland to dig up Justine’s head as a face for the bride. (Henry says he probably didn’t know it was Justines, but come on, you just happened to pick up the head of the girl you framed and carried it for miles across land and sea to deliver it to Victor instead of stopping somewhere closer? I don't buy it.)

Victor even goes the extra mile, kindly stating:

Yet the bride rejects the creature (not Victor’s fault) and in revenge, the creature kills Henry, Elizabeth, and Alphonse. In retaliation, Victor follows him onto the ice and relates his tale to Walton before dying.

Victor's actions are nothing heroic, but what more could he have done? He didn’t break his promise and kill the bride like in the original novel and he clearly cared about reanimating “Justine” as shown in the above image.

And did I mention this manga was done by Junji Ito? Would YOU stay in the same room if you created a Junji Ito monster? Didn't think so! After the initial mistake of abandoning his monster, this Victor did the best he could to make amends and protect his family--making him an overall good person.

Decent guy

This Dark endeavor by Kenneth Oppel: 7/10

Serving as a prequel to the original novel, This Dark Endeavor tells the untold story of what leads young Victor Frankenstein to create his monster.

While Victor very much struggles with his angsty dark desires (bad), he tirelessly searches for the alchemic "Elixir of Life" to save his twin brother (good). A brother who is more talented than Victor, has the heart of his love interest, and Victor believes everyone prefers over himself.

Good on you, Victor, for letting the love for your brother override understandable sibling jealousy. If that wasn’t enough to make him decent, letting a few fingers be cut off to save his twin definitely does.

What brings Victor down to a 7 is his relationship with Elizabeth. It’s born out of jealousy from her loving his twin rather than genuine affection. Even if this retelling makes Elizabeth a feisty, pants-wearing independent female (to lessen the possessive undertones Victor exhibits, I presume? Read it and judge for yourself), the relationship does nothing positive for his character. Tricking someone into kissing you is a jerk move, bro.

Ok I guess….

Such Wicked Intent by Kenneth Oppel 6/10

The sequel to This Dark Endeavor loses Victor’s careful balance of good and bad traits its predecessor boasted. Victor wasn’t perfect in TDE, but the majority of his negative actions stemmed from trying to save his ill brother and were mostly forgivable. In Such Wicked Intent, his understandable sibling jealously now comes off as petty since Victor’s twin is already dead.

Victor trying to bring his brother back to life (good) is undermined by his growing reliance on supernatural butterflies that increase his abilities despite other characters pointing out the obvious danger. Victor is also not the greatest parent to Twin 2.0 and the previous issues with him and Elizabeth from book 1 don’t improve. He’s the same Victor from TDE, but the plot focusing on his selfish desires makes him more flawed as a result.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (the original novel): 6/10

Depending on how you interpret the events of the original novel, Victor is either a college Dad in over his head and trying his best after an initial mistake, or a misogynistic, irresponsible jerk only capable of thinking of himself. There are enough professional articles to support both interpretations, and I’m not the person to pick one over the other.

However, if the narrative he tells Walton is to be taken as truth (and the creature not correcting Victor's account tells me it is), Victor spent most of the novel trying to fix his mistake (intentions may vary)—and isn’t too bad as a result.

Pride and Prometheus by John Kessel: 5/10

Despite being a crossover with Pride and Prejudice, Kessel tries to be as faithful to the original Frankenstein as possible. However, the few changes he makes hurts Victor from a moral standpoint.

Victor’s not the greatest guy when handling the romantic gestures of both Mary Bennet and Henry. Also, murdering his creature's mate with poison right before they leave to start their happily ever after is awful, but understandable from his point of view.

Then there's P&P's ending, where Walton describes meeting Victor on the ice. It’s revealed that Victor left killing the creature's mate and the Bennet’s out of his narrative. While this is probably Kessel justifying why Jane Austen’s characters and his changes weren’t mentioned in the original text (and who can blame him?) it does make Victor a liar. In the original, the creature never called Victor out for omitting anything—so altering the story on his deathbed places P&P’s Victor a rung lower than his original counterpart.

Ehh….

Frankenstein According to Spike Milligan: 4/10

As a nearly-word-for-word retelling with minor, humorous changes by the comedian Spike Milligan, Victor is more pathetic than anything. He’s a harmless, pathetic, hilarious jerk.

Some quotes:

"I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity. From a great distance my family could see me bounding with unbridled joy and hilarity." (53)

"'I tell you,’ I said, ‘that murderer had his trousers down, was eating fish paste sandwiches and traveling 100 miles per hour.’" (59)

"‘I can offer you no consolation,’ said he.

‘Then piss off.’ said I." (54)

Here’s his jail visit with Justine in animatic form (and me shamelessly plugging my other creative endeavors)

Monster by Neal Bell 3.5/10

Warning: contains mentions of animal abuse

On one hand, Victor wants to conquer death to save his family and is clearly disturbed over Justine's and his mother’s death. However, the man expresses little concern at the possibility of William getting struck by lightning with his kite in front of his mother who had already lost 9 children.

He can also talk to dogs and cats (for…some reason?) who are portrayed as intelligent beings with feelings—yet that doesn’t stop him from eating said dogs in the Arctic and killing said cat after threatening her with a knife. He also flings around Bible verses while being painfully egotistical about “being God”.

Using Henry’s romantic affections toward him to his advantage, briefly forcing himself on Elizabeth, and tenderly caring for his monster only to abandon him after the creature expresses a want to die just makes him an awful person all around. The fact he doesn’t do these things with clear malicious intent saves him from being any lower.

Quotes:

ELIZABETH: A bone. A brittle bit of skin. A tooth—

VICTOR: Would you not be womanish now?

Be useful. Here—hold the Leyden jar,

While I attach the string…

VICTOR: A satisfactory morning, then, Mister Puss—tormenting the dogs?

CAT: God gave me a duty. I fulfill it.

VICTOR: Papa says there is no God.

(He takes out a knife)

Pretty bad dude

WARNING: Please note that some of these Victors get into unsavory territory. If the mention of sexual themes/abuse/murder bothers you turn back:

The Casebook of Victor Frankenstein by Peter Ackroyd: 3/10

This one was tricky. The narrative chugs along with Victor being an intelligent, thoughtful guy with only a few obsessive tendencies. He’s chilling with the Shelleys, talking to the poor in the streets and financially supporting Fred’s family along with giving out generous tips. He’s a cool guy. He’s a great dude! He’s….revealed in the final 2 pages to be recounting everything from a mental asylum, the monster was in his head, and he’s actually the one that committed the murders.

Alrighty then. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Having his insanity revealed in the final pages, it’s hard to judge whether there was genuine malicious intent or if Victor truly thought he created the creature and believed he was doing good in trying to “stop” it. No matter his intentions though, the body count remains and a child strangler has no place being anything higher than a 3.

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein by Kiersten White: 1/10

We all knew this one would make the list. Elizabeth’s first flashback sets up Victor as having serious issues—the question becomes how low will he go? Turns out pretty low.

He’s the one who killed William and framed Justine along with murdering his father, brother Robert and various people at Ingolstadt.

What really makes him despicable is that Elizabeth is the novel's main POV character who only sticks with Victor so she’s not thrown out on the streets. He’s abusive, controlling, dominating, and so possessive that he’ll perfect reanimation so that not even death can take her away from him! Yikes. I can’t stress enough how being in Elizabeth’s POV makes these actions all the more menacing.

Quote:

“There was never another path for you. Consider how much worse it has all been for me. How much I have had to suffer. And how much of that suffering has been caused directly by you!” His face twitched, and his fingers tightened on the pistol. Then he sighed. “It does not do to dwell on it. There is no point in fighting. This is your fate, Elizabeth Frankenstein. I will let no other claim you—not man, not death, not even God.” (279)

Nice guy.

Despite his terrible actions, Victor is trying to "save" Elizabeth from death. In his mind, he wants what’s best for her. It’s a crazy mind that mixed up domination and love, but the fact that his evil actions come from wanting to keep someone he wants to control cares about safe vs. other versions where his crimes stem from wanting to rival god and rule the world, this version isn’t THAT bad. At least his hearts in the right place—even if his mentality is utter garbage.

The Memoirs of Elizabeth Frankenstein by Theodore Roszak 0/10

*insert my screams of insurmountable anguish here*

Caroline: Hey son, you should do NSFW things.

Victor: Sure. I will now do NSFW things.

Victor: *proceeds to do NSFW things*

The reprint of this novel mentions on the cover it’s erotica, but the copy I bought (and to this day have not finished) had no such disclaimer. I’ll break my rule and speak on the quality of this book: there is none. For an alleged “pro-feminism” novel everyone is terrible—and Victor is no exception.

Literally Satan.

Dean Koontz’s Frankenstein Series: -∞/10

So you’ve read far enough to join me in Hell.

Where do even I start? This is a Victor who extended his life to the present day. Who worked with Hitler, Stalin, Castro and regretted the fall of the Third Reich. Who created an army of emotionally deprived “new race” creations to kill people and assume their identities so he could ascend the ranks of politics. Who, once he has enough of his new race integrated into society, desires to commit mass genocide on humanity and establish himself as supreme ruler of the world—only then can he conquer the cosmos as well because why the hell not?

Oh, and he’s a wife-beater/murderer too! Which isn’t a problem, considering he can create a new wife whenever he sees fit (he was on Erika 5 by book 3). The sheer lack of any positive traits in this man is laughable. Koontz really, REALLY wants to get across that Victor is a bad guy.

And if you’re somehow not convinced by the above description, here are some quotes I pulled from the first 3 novels as a bonus to reeeeeally sell how despicable this clown is:

Regarding Elizabeth:

“Victor had not loved Elizabeth. Love and God were myths he rejected with equal contempt. But Elizabeth had belonged to him. Even after more than 200 years, he still bitterly resented the loss of her, as he would have resented losing an exquisite antique porcelain vase if [his creature] had smashed that instead of the bride,” (3.97).

Regarding Mary Shelley:

“When Mary Shelley took a local legend based on truth and crafted fiction from it, she made Victor a tragic figure and killed him off. He understood her dramatic purpose for giving him a death scene, but he loathed her for portraying him as tragic and as a failure. Her judgment of his work was arrogant. What else of consequence did she ever write? And of the two, who was dead—and who was not?” (1.79-80)

(Author Note: For your information, Victor, The Last Man is considered by some to be the first dystopian novel)

His…ah…"friends”:

“Fire was featured in some of his less pleasant memories. The great windmill. The bombing of Dresden. The Israeli Mossad attack on the secret Venezuelan research complex that he had shared with Mengele in the years after World War Two. Nevertheless, he liked to read to the accompaniment of a cozy crackling fire,” (1.76).

“Victor admired Hitler. The Führer knew talent when he saw it.

In the 1930s and 40s, Victor had worked with Mengele and others in Hitler's privileged scientific class. He made considerable progress in his work before the regrettable allied victory…the problem with the Führer had been that his roots were in art and politics…The future did not belong either to artists or to politicians,” (2.24-25).

Dat ego tho:

“When I die, those cells will be capped descend a signal that will be relayed by satellite to everyone made of new race flesh, to every meat machine that walks. And you will fall down dead,’…Victor smiled, anticipating triumph in spite of their silence. ‘Did you think a God would die alone?’” (3.345).

Civilization would not be remade or sustained by Christianity or by Islam. Neither by Scientologists nor by the bright-eyed adherence of the deliciously solipsistic paranoid new religion encouraged by The Da Vinci Code. Tomorrow belonged to scientism. The priests of scientism were not merely robed clerics performing rituals, they were gods, with the power of gods. Victor himself was their Messiah,” (2.25).

“With Victor's unstoppable drive for power, with his singular intellect, with his cold materialism and his ruthless practicality, and now with synchronicity on his side, he had become untouchable, immortal.

He was immortal,” (3.329).

“How they goggled at him, abashed by his wisdom and knowledge, mortified by their ignorance, over-awed by his godlike power,” (3.330).

“’Murder,’ said the caller. ‘murder…excites me.’

Victor kept the growing concern out of his voice. ‘No, your mind is fine. I don't make mistakes.’” (1.156)

Oh yeah, he has a wife, doesn't he:

“This is why Victor requires …the cruel humiliation of his partner. He has long ago transcended the guilt that committing acts of cruelty might spawn in others...the exercise of raw power thrills him,” (1.244).

“I have given you a life…remember that. I have given you a life, and I will choose what you do with it,” (1.464).

Wives view of him:

“She owned literally hundreds of outfits. Having been created to his ideal measurements, Victor had purchased everything…She hoped that someday she would be allowed to shop for herself. When Victor allowed that, she would know she had at last met his standards and earned his trust. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like not to care what Victor—or anyone—thought of her. To be herself. Independent. Those were dangerous thoughts. She must repress them.” (1.107)

And those are just the PG bits, he does much, much worse.

In conclusion:

So yes, Spike Milligan made Victor a pathetic jerk, Casebook made Victor a madman, Memoirs made him an erotic predator, Dark Descent had him as an abusive boyfriend ruthless in possessing “his Elizabeth”, but nearly succeeding at worldwide genocide while abusing/murdering/manipulating people to achieve his goals makes Dean Koontz’s Victor Frankenstein the worse, more morally despicable Victor Frankenstein of them all. At least from what I’ve read.

Annnnd that’s it! If you want me to make a part 2 and add in the films/plays let me know! Hopefully at least one of these peeked your interest as something to check out during spooky season.

Shameless plug-in: here’s my own Frankenstein adaptation

Bonus!

Ranking the books on how much I liked them personally!

Great:

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein: Nice to see Victor’s villainy stem from family relations and not ego and wanting to defy God for a change.

Junji Ito’s Frankenstein: Phenomenal artwork, fairly faithful adaptation, and the changes serve to put Victor in a better light—which I love! The master of manga monsters himself made the right choice in keeping the creature more monstrous in this version instead of focusing on his humanity.

This Dark Endeavor: Frankenstein characters go on a Harry Potter styled adventure. Need I say more?

Average:

Such Wicked Intent: Victor’s character takes a dip, and pit monsters/life-absorbing butterflies don’t quite fit in a Frankenstein prequel.

Frankenstein According to Spike Milligan: It’s a silly, stupid comedy. Got a few chuckles out of me.

Pride and Prometheus: The concept works way better than it should. However, it follows the original text to a fault and can be boring at points.

Bad:

Warning: contains mentions of suicide

Monster: Victor’s character was far too inconsistent to be likable. He can talk to animals why, exactly?

Casebook of Victor Frankenstein: So, Victor is revealed to be crazy in the final 3 pages? So, the monster was in his head? Alright. But other characters throughout the book SAW the monster and described him like Victor did. So, there’s no way to separate Victor’s POV from reality and that kills the reread value and makes this a waste of time. Don’t get me wrong, the creature being symbolic for Victor’s inner demons is a fascinating direction if done well—and I recommend the essay “Frankenstein: The Man and the Monster” by Arthur Belefant if you want a much shorter exploration of this concept. It’s not perfect, but beats Casebook by a longshot!

Also, taking the real-life suicide of Percy’s wife Harriet and turning it into Victor murdering her and framing it on someone else to mimic Frankenstein’s Justine/William scene is just wrong. You made a woman’s suicide a cheap plot point in your fanfic of the mistress’s novel. That is what you did, author.

Dean Koontz Frankenstein: It starts out good and has great suspense—too bad the actual plot is awful. Victor’s so painfully evil it comes off as comical, the characters are bad/bland, plot holes abound (they state Mary Shelley’s novel is canon, then mention the windmill which was only in the films—so who even IS this Victor? Book or film?). The conclusion in book 3 is one of the most underwhelming finals I’ve ever read, and the creature “cures” a kid of Autism in the final chapter. No really. How this is a book series/comic series/movie is beyond me.

So atrocious I couldn’t bring myself to finish:

Warning: contains mentions of sexual themes

The Memoirs of Elizabeth Frankenstein: It claims to be pro-feminist, but the women “good guys” blatantly state they are grooming children for sexual rituals and Victor and Elizabeth are coerced into doing NSFW things by Victor’s mother in the name of “women’s rights”. Here’s the kicker: these awful actions are framed as being positive. I—a woman—loath this novel. Maybe things got better by the end (and if there was some plot twist that changed the entire setup, I apologize for ranting about nothing) but I’m not reading to that point to find out! This will forever stay both my first and last experience with erotic literature. Thank goodness The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein exists to give us a decent feminist take on Frankenstein!

#THIS TOOK OVER 5 YEARS AND I'M FINALLY DONE!#victor frankenstein #frankenstein #halloween #gothic literature #classic literature #frankenstein adaptations #frankenstien au #frankenstein memes #the casebook of victor frankenstein #the dark descent of elizabeth frankenstein #frankenstein according to spike milligan #dean koontz frankenstein #Monster neal bell #this dark endeavor #such wicked intent #pride and prometheus #charlemagne1

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danco110 · 3 years

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The vedalken surveyed the fire and glared down her nose at the viashino standing before her. “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Kenneth. At it again with improper handling of explosives, are we?”

The lizard glared at the arrester, and balled his claws into fists. “I’m a safety inspector, Myna. The other Izzets’ stuff keeps blowing up on me when I try to check internals. We’ve been over this before.”

The vedalken smirked and said in reply, “Indeed we have, just like we’ve been over the penalties of unauthorized explosions, which brings me to…”

Myna waved her hand and conjured a slip of paper to hand to Kenneth. “…Your fines, in a convenient itemized list. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“You’re all heart,” Kenneth growled. The viashino then turned watch the Boros angel who had been fighting the fire finally finish her work and land a short distance from him and Myna. “And would you give me a break? I’m sure the Boros are gonna want their pound of flesh, too.”

“Now, now, Mr. Kenneth. If the Azorius made exceptions for anyone - even their own - it would be an egregious failing of the system we made, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, and that’s a bad thing how-”

“Excuse me,” interjected the angel’s calm voice. “Kenneth, was it? Could I talk to you for a minute? Confirm your identity and address, and all that.”

The viashino took one last look over his shoulder at Myna, who was still wearing her smirk, and sighed in defeat. “Yep. Sure thing.”

—

“I must say, Kenneth, your residence is much…more humble than I anticipated.”

The engineer laughed at the angel. “Yeah, that’s what I get for volunteering to be a safety inspector for my teammates’ passion projects.”

“Teammates…oh.” The angel took another look around the small apartment room, crammed with all sorts of scrap and electronics. “Those things I’ve been responding to aren’t actually your things.”

“Hole in one!” Kenneth chimed. “Look, you’ve ‘verified my everything,’ so can you just give me my court date or execution date or whatever? I’ve got to scrounge together enough to pay off the Azorius, then I’ve got to deal with you Boros. Time is money, and all that.”

The angel’s eyes widened. “Right. The Azorius fined you too, didn’t they. Do you…perchance mind if I take a look at the fines that arrester gave you?”

“…Fine.” Kenneth fished around in his pocket and handed the paper to the angel. “Go ahead and laugh.”

The note and the hand holding it began to glow, and the angel suddenly adopted a serious expression. “Kenneth, community service is no laughing matter.”

Kenneth laughed at this. “Right. The service of filling the Senate’s pockets, maybe.”

“No, it says right here, ‘One week community service.’”

“What?” Kenneth snatched the note from the angel’s hand and began to read. Sure enough, the paper called for work at a Selesnya commune next week. “Thank you. Why help me, though?”

“The judge won’t look twice at an Azorius ticket. Myna and I have a grudge. I felt bad causing you trouble after seeing your residence.”

“Thanks…you…?”

“Lenora.”

“Thank you, Firemane Lenora.”

“Just Lenora is fine.”

“Thank you, just Lenora.”

The angel put her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. “I’ll leave you alone now. Stay safe.”

“No promises,” Kenneth said, as Lenora turned awkwardly to fit her wings through the small doorframe. When the viashino was finally alone, he wearily collapsed onto a cot in the corner of the room.

“It’s going to be a long few days, isn’t it?”

[1]

#magic the gathering #mtg #ravnica #story bites

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caffeineivore · 5 years

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The Taylor Swift Concert Hijinks

This is dedicated to the lovely @mygeekycorner and @minakosaino and follows the last thing I posted. M/K and a Taylor Swift Concert. Please don’t kill me, Swifties! Rated PG/PG13. Romance/humour.

The corporate office of Ainsley-Hart Holdings, LLC is not exactly her favourite hang-out spot, ever, but Romina Catherine Ainsley-Hart, “Mina” to everyone but her parents, still breezes in as though she has nowhere better to be at half-past four on a Thursday afternoon, carrying a cup-holder from Starbucks bearing no less than four drinks in one hand, a stylish oversized Gucci handbag in buttery red leather in the other. She plops the first one down at the desk of Janet, the formidable office receptionist, with a winning smile. “Grande soy flat white?”

“Your father is off-site until five.” Wise to Mina’s wiles, Janet accepts the drink, but looks askance at the tray. “I was under the impression that you had a prior engagement-- drinks with some of your sorority sisters this evening? Shouldn’t you be uptown by now if you want to make it on time?”

“Well, Una has the flu, and Cassie bailed on me at the last minute because she has a hot date with Miguel Rivera-- you know, the buff Pro soccer player she hooked up with the last time she went to Cabo for vacation. He looked her up because he’s in town. So no drinks for me, no ma’am, so here I am! I’m just going to go on back, but I promise not to bother anyone or break anything!”

Janet humphs as though she doesn’t quite trust Mina’s word, and Mina pouts for a moment even as she sails off towards the elevator in the back. She’d jammed the copy machine one time, all of ten years ago, and the old battle axe still held a grudge! But no matter. She had more important fish to fry, so to speak. Her father’s office is empty, as per Janet’s report, but she sets down the espresso macchiato in the middle of the desk, with a post-it note scribbled “Mina was here!” with a smiley face tacked on as an afterthought. The four drinks now down to two remaining ones, she makes her way down the hall to the last door on the right. It’s open only a sliver, bearing a plain placard with the name “Kenneth Knightley, CFO” engraved on it. The quiet sounds of keyboard tapping alerted that her target is indeed inside, though from the looks of it, has his back turned to the door as he crunched numbers in a spreadsheet on the computer. Mina raps her knuckles on the door frame for a split second before she invites herself in.

“Hey, Kenneth! I brought you coffee.” Kenneth, never Kenny or Ken, had been working for her father since her college days, though they rarely exchanged more than the usual pleasantries. Smart, driven, serious and good-looking in the unapproachable chiseled-jaw alpha-male way, Mina had always been quite certain that he had exactly zero use for the likes of her. That she knew bits and pieces about him that he’d never exactly told her himself-- his coffee order, for example (Grande Triple Americano, one non-dairy creamer, no sugar)-- was beside the point. But there was the not-small matter of the Taylor Swift concert tickets currently burning a hole in the bottom of her handbag, which had been discreetly dropped in there at some point after the gala masquerade. Exactly in the way that her infuriating older brother, Zander, had prophesied. And if he’d been right about that, then…

Kenneth’s shoulders snap straight, and he takes a moment to turn around, but by the time that he does, he’s schooled his face into polite neutrality. “Good afternoon, Mina.”

She’d insisted on their first meeting that she would not answer to ‘Miss Ainsley-Hart’ and only her mother called her ‘Romina’, and generally when she was not behaving herself. It had still taken him a good six months before he’d started calling her ‘Mina’, and she wasn’t above feeling a thrill of gratification whenever her name was spoken in those grave, collected tones. “You busy? I can just sit here and drink my own coffee until you finish. I got a caramel frappuccino with extra whipped cream and cinnamon dolce sprinkles on top. It is delicious.”

“I will take your word for it.” He saves whatever spreadsheet he’d been working on, then closes out of it, courteously. “What brings you here today?”

“Well, I thought I’d say hi, and you know Janet almost didn’t let me back here because I think she hates me, but you’re free tomorrow night, right? For the concert? Because you are so going with me since those are your tickets and I am so thankful that you thought to give them to me but it would be wrong if you didn’t come with, seeing as to how you paid for them. So I came to set up the plans so we can go there tomorrow and have a great time and I am so going to treat you to drinks beforehand so you can be good and tipsy before dealing with legions of screaming fans, which I’m sure is completely not your scene. So, yes. Do you want to meet at my place, or yours? Five o’clock?”

“I…” Kenneth blinks, apparently caught off-guard. “You don’t have any friends who you’d want to go with you to that concert?” He doesn’t try to deny the fact that he had, indeed, bought expensive-ass Taylor Swift tickets and dropped them into her purse. But then again, she’d never known for him to be less than scrupulously honest about anything.

“That’s not the point!” Mina has a tendency to talk with her hands, and this time she has the wherewithal to set her sugary coffee concoction on his desk first before launching into her schpiel. “You do not have to give me concert tickets just to be nice! And while it’s a sweet gesture on your part, I could at least also get to enjoy your company while at this concert, you know? I insist. You’re going or I will give these tickets away to someone else. And then I would be sad, because they’re TAYLOR SWIFT TICKETS. So, where do you want to meet? We’ll have an hour before the concert begins and we can get drinks before then. My treat, of course. You do drink in moderation on social occasions, right? Oh of course you do. Glenfiddich and soda, if I remember correctly. From the last company Christmas party.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him carefully pull a Kleenex out of the box on the desk and place it, coaster-style, underneath her frappuccino cup, and curses herself for not thinking of it, but soldiers on nonetheless. “So yes. I think we can meet at my place. It’s a bit closer. And there’s a great little bar called Dazzle right by the venue which certainly has your Glenfiddich as well as a nice wine selection, since I’m pretty sure Scotch would put me out on my ass, and you don’t need me embarrassing you on top of everything else. Please don’t stand me up? I know this is probably not your idea of a fun time, but…”

Perhaps the faintest note of uncertainty makes it into her voice, because Kenneth finally cracks the tiniest of smiles, and faint though it is, it transforms his whole face. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Well, maybe it was a good thing he didn’t smile often, because there was no point in being turned into a babbling incoherent mess just by the random side observation that his eyelashes were a few shades darker than his hair, curly and surprisingly long, and that his eyes softened from the colour of the sky before a thunderstorm to a pleasant cashmere-charcoal. Mina meets that faint smile with a blinding megawatt one of her own and picks up her half-melted frappuccino. “So, five o’clock it is. I’ll let you get back to work and see you tomorrow, then. I’m so excited!!”

True to his word, Kenneth does not stand her up, and the doorman of her building calls her at 4:59 on the dot to tell her that she has a visitor. Mina spritzes on perfume and gives her hair one final once-over in the mirror before opening the door for him, and really, it’s not fair. She knows, intellectually, that he’s tall and built in such a way that no stodgy numbers-crunching finance guy has any right to be, but it’s easy to forget when he’s usually hunched over a computer at the office. Here, standing in front of her in pressed gray slacks and a white button-down, he towers over her even in her sparkly Jimmy Choos.

“Good evening, Mina. You look… nice.” If he’s a bit disconcerted by how glittery her dress is, he doesn’t say it. He does hold out her coat for her to slip into, and offer her his arm. It’s not a date, not exactly, but that doesn’t mean that Mina’s not about to make the most of it. She may or may not be vibrating with excitement, but keeps up a steady stream of conversation as they spend an hour at the bar over his Glenfiddich and her Riesling. Kenneth doesn’t talk too much about himself, seeming content to inquire, in his grave, polite way, what she’d been up to the last week.

“Well, there was wrapping up the stuff with the fundraiser, of course. Una bought the Dior dress, and it looks beautiful on her, and Matthew is going to swallow his tongue when he sees her in it. And I saw Zander off to the airport. He was a bit distracted after the party, which bears further investigation, but he’s in Vancouver now, so it’s hard to get all up in his business while he’s so far away. I’ll still call him later, because at least it’s Canada and not like, Madagascar or something, right?” Zander had also been the one to clue her into Kenneth’s possible intentions, and that has her staring into the pale golden surface of her wine, uncomfortably aware that she’s blushing. “Anyway, there’s the tax forms for the fundraiser to get filed, but I’m pretty sure they just got slapped on your desk by my mom the morning after. In which case, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I sort of get paid to handle stuff like that.”

“You’re paid to handle the real estate company’s finances, not this nonsense, and don’t try to pass it off as no big deal, because I did minor in econ at NYU, and non-profit is a whole new breed of pain in the ass to deal with from an accounting point of view. But thanks for handling it.” Mina plays with the slim stem of her wine glass, then glances up at him through her eyelashes. “The first time I met Dr. Miller, before the fundraiser, she cut the meeting short to Face-time her hospital in San Jose to talk to one of her patients. I sort of hung around. He’s a six-year-old boy who wants to be Captain America when he grows up, which… is a one in a hundred chance. She talked Avengers with him for ten minutes, and I’m pretty sure that’s not her type of movie. I almost cried.”

“She does important work, and so do you, for helping those like her get their funding.”

Mina beams, and when the bartender moseys on over, cheerfully orders both of them a refill before asking for the check. “I’m so glad you think so. So many people think that only ditzy rich girls work on fundraisers, and don’t have any idea how hard it can be. Do people think that Dior exclusives commissioned for A-listers just fall out of the sky or something? Anyway, we have time for another drink before we should get going. Figure I should let you get as tipsy as possible before Tay-Tay. Which… what type of music do you like, anyway?”

She had never seen him at a loss before this very moment, but this is most certainly the most deer-in-headlights look which had possibly ever crossed Kenneth Knightley’s face in the history of ever. He takes a long swallow of the Scotch and soda that has just been set down in front of him, then clears his throat. “I’m not much of a music guy.”

“Oh, surely you listen to something? It’s okay if it’s embarrassing. Opera? Trance techno? Death metal? I won’t judge, even if nothing trumps Tay-Tay.”

“No, nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” Mina blinks, her wineglass halfway to her mouth as she stares at him with not a little confusion. “Surely you listen to something. In the shower, or on the subway. Everyone does. No one actually talks to people on the subway.”

“Umm. Usually NPR, though I follow a few podcasts as well.”

He looks so glum and embarrassed at this admission, as though not being a music guy would disappoint her on a personal level, and though her mind sort of boggles at the idea of anyone who would listen to NPR while showering, she grins at him over the surprise and gives his arm a quick squeeze, noting at random that the bicep underneath her fingertips is solid and firm as a softball.

“Well, you’re in for a real treat, then. Tay-Tay is the GOAT. Just you wait and see.”

An hour and a half later finds Mina with a brand new sparkly white-and-gold Taylor Swift concert tee thrown over her equally sparkly dress, jamming and singing along with “I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In” next to a petite dark-haired girl with a nose-ring who, in typical concert fashion, was now her new best friend. Kenneth’s face looks much like that of someone in the waiting room of the dentist’s office right before a scheduled root canal. As there is a seven-foot-tall linebacker-sized man in a top hat and a legit Taylor Swift onesie dancing with at least equal enthusiasm to Mina and her new friend on his other side, she supposed that she couldn’t blame his discomfiture too much.

The pop star goes on to something slower a few songs later-- All Too Well, a ballad about lost love, and the dark haired girl lets out a few hiccuping sobs at Mina’s side, so Mina wraps both arms around her and they hug it out for the duration of the song. Like magic, the melancholy mood vanishes when the next song comes on, and they’re belting along with “Shake It Off” and dancing around Kenneth in a way likely designed to give him whiplash. But for all this behaviour is undoubtedly outlandish and completely incomprehensible to him, Kenneth looks as though he could be persuaded to crack a smile if he’d only let himself relax a little more, so Mina redoubles her efforts, likely yelling out “Haters Gonna Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate” loud enough to annoy everyone around them. But it does bring a tiny smile to his mouth for a second, and she finds, to her surprise, that she’s okay with him finding amusement at her ridiculousness. That had never, ever happened before with another guy.

“Are you having fun?!” She shouts at him over the applause and cheers as the song comes to a close. “Isn’t Taylor the best ever?!”

“It’s… catchy, I suppose. The music, that is.” It seems as though he had to think hard to find the correct word, but Mina forgives him even as she links her arm through his.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, because we still have the backstage passes and we get to MEET HER IN PERSON! I am having the best time EVER!”

Much to his credit, Kenneth doesn’t say anything, though the sigh that he lets out says it all for him.

They hit up a 24 hour diner after the concert, and this time, he insists on paying for her greasy hash browns and slightly burnt coffee, and though she knows quite well that he has likely been up for close to twenty-four hours at this point, he is a consummate gentleman and doesn’t mention that fact, and lets her excitedly run through a blow-by-blow of the concert that they’d just attended as he nurses his own coffee.

“And she is so nice isn’t she? And so so pretty! I wish I was that tall. Legs for days. Then I wouldn’t have to jog to keep up with tall people, or they wouldn’t have to slow down their stride like you’ve been doing all night, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Mina nibbles on a hash brown and gulps coffee adulterated with a good half-cup of sugar and cream. “Did you have some fun, though? At least a little? I hope I haven’t irritated you too much.”

“No, you didn’t irritate me, and you’re fine just as you are. You don’t need to be any taller.” It’s not exactly the most poetic or flowery of compliments, and yet Mina feels the stilted words warm her from within. Now, post-adrenaline-rush, a bit tired and content, somewhat cold from gallivanting about in a tiny dress all night and letting second-rate greasy food warm her back up, she absolutely can’t think of a better way to spend her Friday night. Undoubtedly, her usual crew is out at some place a great deal fancier, and having a blast, and yet… she takes a second hash brown and smiles up at Kenneth.

“So, should I get you a Taylor Swift album for your next birthday? I love her new one, but the old ones are where it’s really at.”

“You don’t have to get me anything for my birthday. But I should get you home, yeah? It’s getting late, and you’re probably cold. That coat’s still bound to be drafty with that dress, and you’ve been wearing it unbuttoned half the time.” Almost as though on impulse, he buttons it up all the way, then jerks his hands back like he hadn’t meant to take such a liberty.

The traffic is reasonable by New York City standards when they share a cab to her place, and he walks her all the way to her door, gentleman-like. Mina turns to him with a smile, and-- is he leaning towards her just a little?

He is, one hand held out towards her, and she launches herself at him, wrapping both arms around a broad back firm with muscle underneath his black pea-coat, but he freezes, stiff as a board, and belatedly she realizes that he probably meant to shake her hand rather than give her a hug, and she’s quite certain that the heat of her cheeks is warm enough to start a fire in the hallway. But there’s nothing to do but roll with it, and she stands on tiptoe, leaving a whisper of Tom Ford Lavish against his jaw as she air-kisses him.

“Well, good night. And have a good weekend. I’ll see you around. Probably.” Uncomfortably aware that she’s babbling, like she has been all night long, really, she unlocks her door while managing to avoid his eyes, and all but jogs in, heels and all. She leans against the door after it’s locked back up behind her, and lets out a windy sigh as she pulls up Spotify on her phone.

Lovelorn ballads by Taylor seemed to be in order, possibly played on repeat, the neighbours be damned.

Mina takes four days to talk herself into visiting the office again, and even then, makes a point to shuffle her own schedule for the day, getting up at an ungodly hour of the morning to sweet-talk a contact in Milan to donate couture evening-wear for a charity fashion show-- proceeds to benefit victims of domestic violence. That phone call, which was originally slotted in for early afternoon, freed up the rest of the morning to visit the salon after a shopping trip to Bergdorf Goodman-- it was never too late, after all, to get her parents the present for their upcoming anniversary, and she went with the traditional 35th anniversary gemstone of emerald for both-- finding matching platinum-and-emerald cufflinks for her dad and earrings for her mother. She has both presents wrapped and sent off to her place, and then leaves herself at the tender mercies of her stylist, Adrianna, whose surgeon-steady hands snip off the split ends of her golden hair and refreshes the layers without taking off so much as a centimeter more than necessary. In the very least, she knows, she will be facing Kenneth looking her absolute best. Not that he was the shallow type like that, but still.

“That’s a boy-related frown, and boy-related frowns cause wrinkles.” Adrianna’s voice floats, matter-of-fact, above her head. “I’m double-booked like a mother-trucker this whole week because of the ills of holiday over-indulgence which apparently I’m supposed to wave my magic wand and handle, and don’t have time to deal with wrinkles today, sweetie, so you’re either just going to have to jump him or get over him.”

“I don’t know if jumping him is in the cards, and there’s no getting over someone who never exactly-- well. It’s weird, is all.” Mina starts to pick at her nails, a bad habit from her middle school days, but a stern look reflected in the mirror stops the fidgety movement in its tracks. “Am I so obvious?”

“Sweetie, I’m pretty sure I’ve not seen a boy-related frown on your face since I did your updo and makeup for senior prom, and had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t tell you that any boy who told people to call him ‘Ace’ with a straight-ass face is clearly on next-level rom-com antagonist levels of douchebag. But all I can do is make you look gorgeous, not that you’re not already, and wish you luck. Please tell me he at least has a normal name.”

“His name is Kenneth, and he has an MBA from Columbia, and he works for my dad, and he has absolutely no use for me whatsoever.”

“Oh, nonsense. If he found some use for you, he’d probably have lobbied for you to be on daddy dearest’s payroll, and then where would we be? Wearing some ugly blazer and god-awful follicle-destroying chignon. My suggestion is to get a stupidly large box of chocolates, of course. The damned things are already getting put up in stores in preparation for Valentine’s Day, of course. Either the boy is not interested, and then you can self-medicate with chocolate endorphins, or he is interested, and you can share the chocolates, in bed.”

The deliberately crass suggestion brings Mina out of her funk, as it is intended to do, and she laughs helplessly even as Adrianna finishes blowing out her hair, fussing with it until it gleams like sunlit silk. Mina thanks the stylist and leaves a generous tip, and then stops at a boutique bakery en route to the office. She does buy the stupidly large box of chocolates, but also a fancy box of assorted macarons in numerous pastel shades.

This time, when she arrives at the desk of the formidable Janet, she doesn’t do much more than hold out the delicate cookies as a peace offering. “I’m just going to go on back.”

“Good for you. I’m too busy to chit-chat anyway. Take your cookies and be off. Close the door behind you when you have it out with him, will you?” Janet doesn’t even look up from the computer screen, the phone receiver cradled between her shoulder and jaw as she clacks away at the keyboard. Mina looks at the solidly-built brunette with a little bit of consternation, but Janet simply waves an irritable hand in dismissal. Put squarely in her place, she makes her silent way to the elevators, and makes a beeline towards Kenneth’s office.

It’s almost deja vu when she gets there. Door slightly ajar. The man seated at his desk, typing away at some spreadsheet. She knocks, then lets herself in. “Hi.” To her annoyance, her voice seems to have gone all breathy and low.

Kenneth still takes his time to turn around, but this time, when he does, his expression is almost soft. As with the last time, he closes the Excel spreadsheet and gives her his full attention. “Mina. What brings you here today?”

“I… cookies? That is, do you want cookies? I thought I’d come and say hi. Hopefully you’re recovered from being surrounded by Swifties. Are you busy?” Belatedly, she remembers Janet’s injunction that she close the door, and gives it a hasty shove. The slam sounds overly loud in this quiet hallway, and she blushes. “I know my dad usually schedules his meetings in the mornings, so I figured this would be a better time.”

“Yeah, he’s off-site. A late business lunch with some guy from an architectural firm. And you didn’t need to come and make sure I’m all right. I… I had a good time that evening. Really.”

“I should’ve brought you something for lunch rather than cookies, probably, but they looked so good. Not practical, though.” She, too, wasn’t the practical type. Taylor Swift and sparkly dresses as opposed to NPR and spreadsheets. What was she doing, really? Without anyone here to stop her, she sets down both cookies and candy box on his desk and picks at her cuticles. “Anyway. Glad you didn’t hate it. I should probably go. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

For such a big man, he moves with incredible speed as he stands up and comes around the desk, blocking her way to the door before she’d registered that he’d moved. “Mina. Are you all right? You seem out of sorts, and in the… six years, seven months, two days and… an hour and a half?... that I’ve known you, you’ve never been like this.”

She blinks up at him, then crosses her arms. “Six years, seven months, two days, and three hours and fifteen minutes. I know exactly when I met you.”

“No, your dad introduced you to me before taking you out for lunch that day at eleven o’clock. It’s twelve twenty-six right now.”

Mina, if she closes her eyes, can see that day as clear as if it were yesterday, down to the navy blue tie knotted just a little too tight on the man standing across from her. He’d filled out a bit since that internship when he’d started working at the firm, and his ties were both more expensive and more expertly tied nowadays, but… She raises her chin stubbornly. “Yeah, that’s when my dad introduced us. But I actually met you before that, when I was running to make the elevator and you held it open for me, remember? I said hi, you said hi back. I remember thinking, when my dad introduced us, oh, it was nice to have a name to go with the hot guy I’d run into on the elevator. But you sort of didn’t have any use for me, and you still don’t, not really, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company, right? Maybe not at another Taylor Swift concert, if that’s truly not your thing, but I…”

“You remember that?” She’s not quite sure how he got so close, but he’s standing right in front of her now, and when she looks up, she’s eye-level to his chin. She tilts her head up, and the expression in his face is something she’s never seen before, and it gives her enough courage to finish.

“I remember a lot of things about you, Kenneth! You just don’t know, because you don’t pay much attention to me, which I guess we don’t have too much in common, not really, but just because we don’t talk that much doesn’t mean that I don’t know, just like you must have known how much I wanted to go to that concert, and being there with you was the best time I’ve had in forever, though you can’t tell Una that, because she’ll be sad and look like a kitten left out in the rain, and I was just trying to work up the nerve to see if you wanted to spend some more time together and…”

She’s cut off mid-sentence by a pair of strong arms, bare to the elbows with the sleeves rolled up, hauling her up just a little off her feet and pulling her close. She has one breathless moment to register that he smells really, really good before she’s being kissed, and there’s nothing placid about it at all as one hand fists in the glossy hair that Adrianna had just so painstakingly blown out and the other lands at the small of her back, hot and wide through the thin material of her dress. She can do nothing but clutch at his wide shoulders and hang on for dear life, but a moment later, she gives as good as she gets, lips parting under his and soothing the tiny nip that she inflicts on his lower lip with a flick of her tongue. A moan breaks the silence of the office, and she belatedly realizes that it escaped from her lips as his mouth shifts to the sensitive skin of her jaw, giving both of them the chance to catch their breaths.

Mina slides her fingers through the silky hair at the nape of his neck and leans her head against the crook of his shoulder, where it seems to fit perfectly. “Don’t you dare start to regret kissing me.” The words come out forcefully, but with a bit of a tremble nonetheless which she tries to hide by muffling it against his neck. He’d have lipstick on his collar, but it couldn’t be helped.

A faint, slightly breathless chuckle escapes him, rumbling through his chest underneath her ear. “No. I regret not kissing you that night, though.” That statement is delivered in a shockingly frank, matter-of-fact way even as he tilts her face back up. Her fingers, of their own volition, link together at the back of his neck, and she’s sure that her smile is both goofy and excessive. It was quite likely that she would not be eating that box of chocolate in its entirety in boy-inflicted angst, after all.

“Well, I can invite you to dinner tonight, and we can make up for lost time afterwards. Unless you’re busy. If you’re busy, we can resche--”

His mouth stamps over hers, cutting her off mid-sentence, but the kiss is sweet and gentle this time, and she’s sighing with the romance of it all by the time he pulls back. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Okay.”

The giddy thrill of it is not unlike something that would be touched upon in a Taylor Swift song, she decides, but she keeps that thought to herself for the moment. Maybe in another six years, seven months, two days and however many hours, she’d bring that up again. Surely by then, she could teach him to enjoy the finer things in life, such as jamming to pop music in the shower.

#m/k #senshi/shitennou #sailor moon #fanfiction #fanfic #mygeekycorner #minakosaino

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gotham-ruaidh · 5 years

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Truth to Triumph

Previously…

Chapter 19: Intermission

October 15, 1904

“A Madcap Princess” ran on Broadway to rave reviews in the summer and autumn of 1904.

Fully electric hansom cabs such as these debuted on New York City streets in the late 1800s.

“I’m sure you’re sick of hearing this, Jamie – but my God! What an impact you’ve made.”

Jamie blushed as Aidan McCallum, third-in-command in the New York City Police Department, pumped his arm in a strong handshake.

“It’s the least I could do, Chief – you know how greatly those victims suffered. How much they’re still suffering.”

Chief McCallum sniffed, his thick, walrus-like mustache shifting amid the deep-set lines of his face. “Oh, I know about that all to well. My wife, Amy – she’s volunteered for almost every charity initiative to support the orphans.”

A soft touch on his shoulder – Jamie turned to smile at Claire, who had returned from the bar with two glasses of Champagne.

“Chief McCallum – may I introduce my fiancée, Dr. Claire Beauchamp?”

The chief bowed, resplendent in his navy blue dress uniform.

“A pleasure. May I assume you’re the Dr. Claire my wife keeps hearing about, from her work with the Slocum victims?”

“The pleasure is all mine, Chief. And you may. I’m fortunate to have treated a fair number of them – I work at the quarantine hospital on North Brother Island.”

“Where the ship wrecked. My God,” the chief gasped. “That must have been a sight to see.”

“Nothing short of hell on Earth, to be honest.” Jamie carefully sipped his Champagne, watching his fellow theatergoers mill around the lobby.

The chief shook his head. “Anyway – those articles you’ve been publishing in the World? Those bastards at the Knickerbocker Steamship Company have blood on their hands. You’ve single-handedly proven that.”

Jamie shrugged. “I’ve had help. But I’m grateful I’ve been given the platform. Mr. Pulitzer says that he got a call from President Roosevelt himself this morning. He’s eager to get the Department of Justice involved.”

“One of the more meteoric political rises in recent years,” Claire remarked, as Jamie’s arm tightened around her waist and settled on her hip. “New York City Police Commissioner for not quite two years. Then Assistant Secretary of the Navy for just over one year. Then Vice President for just six months, until poor President McKinley was assassinated – and now, he’s President of the United States!”

“You missed his two-year stint as Governor of this great state,” Chief McCallum interjected. “But you’re right, Dr. Beauchamp – Teddy has certainly gone places, these past few years. But he’s never forgotten his roots, here in New York. I hear at the Department that he’s been regularly checking in with my boss. Wants to make sure we keep an extra eye out in the neighborhoods where the Slocum victims now live.” He sighed. “It’s my job to keep people safe – and I can’t understand the thought process of those criminals at that company. Playing with people’s lives.”

Four notes in a quiet chime. The group looked up to see a young woman strolling through the lobby, hitting the xylophone – clearly the intermission was over.

Claire smiled at the Chief. “We better be getting back to our seats, Chief. So lovely to meet you – I’d love to meet Amy someday.”

The Chief touched the brim of his cap. “I’m sure she’d love to meet you too, Doc. And Jamie – well done. My department backs you up, one hundred percent.”

Jamie nodded his thanks, and Claire steered him back towards their seats.

“That’s the fourth man who’s buttonholed you tonight,” she remarked as they approached their row.

“All positive, thank God. Their praise is worth every ounce of effort we put into it.”

They sat back down, watching the heavy curtain draped across the stage.

“Do you like the show, Claire? I know we got the tickets at fire sale prices, since it’s closing in less than a week – ”

Gently she settled her free hand on his knee. “I love it. I love how ridiculous it is – it’s so nice to spend an entire evening laughing. Don’t you agree?”

He did. So much that during the entire second act of A Madcap Princess – a hilarious mélange of screwball comedy and musical theater, set at King Henry VIII’s court – he watched her smiling face, rather than the farce unfolding on stage, and knew he was the happiest man on earth.

“I know you told me earlier, but – what happens now?”

Jamie slung his arm through Claire’s as they exited the theater at Broadway and West Thirty-Eighth Street. “It’s all up to the lawyers now. Railroad Randall’s lawyers, and Silas Hawkins’ lawyers, and Mr. Jerome, the District Attorney.”

“He’s made a name for himself as an anti-corruption crusader, from what I recall.”

“Yes, he has. He knows this is the case of a lifetime. Mr. Pulitzer says the criminal charges – criminal negligence – are certain, with the documentation Mary provided.” He stopped on the corner and raised his hand for a cab.

“I’m so glad Joe was able to help her out. Some time with his sister in Bergen County will do a world of good.”

An electric hansom pulled up – and Jamie and Claire eased into the open cab, Claire pulling her shawl around her shoulders against the October evening chill.

“Third and Twenty-Second, please.”

“All right, pal. You and your lady just hold on tight – this goes faster than the horses!”

Claire had just enough time to grip the side of the cab before they sped off, wind whipping her face, clutching Jamie’s hand tight.

They didn’t speak during the journey back – they didn’t need to.

Jamie knew his work with the Slocum was nearly done – all that remained was to cover the charges that would be filed, and then the trial, should Randall and Hawkins be foolish enough to not broker a plea.

As for Claire – she still treated Slocum victims as patients, and she still diligently made house calls both in what little remained of Kleindeutschland as well as uptown in Yorkville. That would always continue – but already there were new patients. New lives to heal; new stories to tell.

Somehow they both knew that this very strange chapter in their lives was ending.

And yet, another chapter was beginning. For five days hence, on her birthday, they would be married – not by a justice of the peace in the brownstone’s parlor, as she had originally planned, but in a small private ceremony at the Church of the Epiphany, just one avenue over from the Beauchamp family home. She had grown up attending Mass at the church, and Father Kenneth had been so kind and understanding when he had baptized Henry in a closed-door ceremony just days after his birth – no questions asked.

So Father Kenneth would marry them; her parents, and Henry, and Joe and Gail Abernathy, and Mrs. Crook and Lizzie, and Nanny Fitz would all be in attendance. Mr. Pulitzer had declined the invitation, saying that he’d be busy on a Thursday afternoon, and had sent the happy couple a check for one thousand dollars and a voucher for three nights at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, all expenses paid.

They would remain at the brownstone at least until the springtime. Settle in to their new lives together. Above all, make sure Henry became acclimated to the new arrangement.

Though truth be told, Henry had been the most excited when the three of them had visited Jamie’s dusty rooms on Stanton Street, the day before. For Henry took the lead in helping Jamie pack his boxes and move his furniture downstairs and into the apartment of his very grateful Irish neighbors. He had played with the five children until Claire announced it was time to go, sadly saying goodbye but happy to carry a small bag containing Jamie’s books.

Henry deserved a sibling. Jamie, thankfully, shared her enthusiasm in this regard.

New beginnings all around. It was all Claire could think of as the hansom driver careened down Broadway, dodging horse-drawn carts and weaving between tram lines and steering clear of the handful of other automobiles on the road. The wind blowing in her face reminded her of the summer she and her parents had spent on the beach when she was a girl, and she had insisted on riding the Whip and Steeplechase over and over again.

She and Jamie had to take Henry there, come springtime. Perhaps there would be another child on the way by then…

“Ah! Great work.”

Jamie jumped out of the cab and onto the pavement in front of the Beauchamp family brownstone. He helped Claire up, and together they fished for cash and coins to pay the three dollar fare.

“Thanks ever so much!” Claire waved as the driver doffed his cap and silently whizzed down East Twenty-Second Street, toward Second Avenue.

“That was fun!”

Jamie gathered Claire close, and kissed her smile.

“Come on. Let’s kiss our son goodnight.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #truth to triumph #jamie and claire

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onceuponanaromantic · 5 years

Text

00:00 (a little update)

(so this version isn’t within the 1000 word limit of fff but it’s based of the prompt Furry Friend and on my class so :>)

3C is not superstitious, but perhaps this once, they should have been. Perhaps, if they had turned back upon seeing the black cat sitting, licking its paws on the rooftop they intended to have their class picnic on, things might not have turned out quite the way they did.

In another world, they did turn back. In another world, someone mentioned that maybe seeing a black cat on Friday the 13th sitting at the very place they intended to use was a bad idea, and maybe they should just postpone their picnic to another day. It had already been a bad day for a meeting, really, given that their original plans to fly a kite had been derailed by the impending rain and also lack of a kite.

In this world, they did not turn back, and the black cat hopped up and didn’t look back as it walked off.

(Zunnur would wonder later that day why the class chat was so eerily quiet. But by the time he came out from his Friday prayers, it would already be too late.)

“Has anyone seen where Ethan went?” Yixin asked casually, sitting cross-legged and chomping on a Subway cookie. The scent of petrichor fills the air, mingling with the food they brought, and the wood-like scent of the floorboards.

“He went to get KOI for Xin Yee and never came back.” One of the people playing bridge responded. The Bridge Squad was in the middle of another game and whoever it was had just placed down a new card, which then proceeded to cause a lot of cursing.

The sky being grey was not something particularly surprising, given that this was March and it was raining in some other part of Singapore. The lack of people in this shopping mall was something slightly surprising, but then, most people were staying home because of the epidemic. 3C was only able to have this meeting in the first place because school had been cancelled after news came out that a student in the secondary section of their Junior College had caught Covid’19. They would have to go back to school on Monday, but while they were doing deep cleaning of the school, there were to be no students around.

None of the 3C students paid attention to the black cat which stretched and purred off to the side. They were a Science class that took Lit, which meant that certain impulses were to be expected. The black cat straightened up and walked into the building, past the glass doors.

“Should we try calling Ethan?” Jay Roon suggested, picking up another piece of sushi from the takeaway box on the ground. The sushi was surprisingly good, all fresh salmon with mayonnaise and tobiko on top.

“He should be at KOI right? He’s probably just waiting for the KOI.” Someone turned on his phone to check, but there were no new messages in the class chat. “Anyone else want KOI?”

There was a mass shrugging, and a piece of paper was passed around for people to write down their orders from KOI. In the end, Dorothea and Xin Yee took the paper and went down to KOI: Xin Yee because she felt bad for Ethan and Dorothea to accompany Xin Yee.

It began to rain and there was some grumbling as 3C moved closer to the glass doors. There were shadows cast across the floorboards, and Kenneth was still trying to get the piece of fish roe out from between the floorboards when lightning struck.

The playing card that Kenneth had been using to fish it out caught on fire, and Kenneth yelped.

The lightning shouldn’t have made it that far in. There was a lightning rod on the building. But more importantly, the place they were in was covered.

Kenneth dropped the card, forgetting of course that wood was flammable. A small section of the floorboards started to burn. Someone took out their waterbottle to try and pour something over the fire, hoping that the flames would subside. None of them wanted to get accused of vandalism, after all.

Kenneth stood up, cursing, and went inside to get water and toilet tissue. The fire had started to glow purple, casting an eerie light on the ground.

“Should we call Ethan now?” Ming Rong asked, pulling out his phone. Someone said something about going inside because of electrical conductivity and lightning, so Ming Rong stood up, leaving his bag on the ground, and went inside the building.

(Somewhere inside, a black cat would transform into human form, take one look at the boy hiding in the toilet, clutching the damp bundle of tissue paper, and laugh. How long would they take to realise what exactly was going on? The shadows slowly lengthened under the fluorescent lights of the shopping mall toilet, creeping closer and closer.)

The rain started to pour in earnest. Someone, Madhu or Alyssa or someone else, would suggest they all move inside. The glass doors have clouded over so they can’t see what’s inside but that might just be condensation from the temperature difference.

Lightning struck again and 3C finally started to grab peoples’ bags and go inside the building.

It’s darker than it should be for 3pm in the afternoon. The shopping mall is in the heart of the city, and they don’t remember it being this dark when they first came at 11am. But then, the difference might just be that it’s raining now when it wasn’t earlier, and also 3pm is the afternoon after all.

(Yixin was baffled when she looked down at her watch and only saw a straight string of zeroes, instead of the time. The blue plastic digital watch she had been using had literally just been delivered from China the previous day and shouldn’t have been malfunctioning already.)

The class decided to walk down the escalators which have apparently stopped. Someone suggests using the elevators, but when they press the buttons, the lifts appear to be stuck in the basement. KOI was in the basement, and it was more trouble than it was worth.

Someone idly asked if Ming Rong and Kenneth know where they’re going. Someone else said they’ll text the class chat, so Ming Rong and Kenneth know where they’re going. Ethan, Dora and Xin Yee haven’t responded yet with the bubble tea.

(If Yixin had lifted her hand to her nose, she might have smelt the burnt lithium smell coming out of it and wondered why. But she didn’t.)

Axel asked if Kenneth remembered to grab his phone. No one can find the phone, including Mervyn who’s holding Kenneth’s bag, so he probably did.

If any of 3C had turned back, they might have seen a black cat sitting on the roof behind them, licking its paws and purring a little. It runs a long tongue over tiny, sharp fangs, and if any of them had looked at its eyes, they might have seen an intelligent, malicious gaze looking back.

@a-blue-hoodie

@andiwriteunderthemoon (if ur interested in it hehe)

#syl's writing #00:00 #haha a rewrite what icon #syl's stuff #yup my class is a science-lit class #fff39 #a furry friend

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nightmareonfilmstreet · 6 years

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Let’s Try That Again; The 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes

The horror movie remake is a polarizing topic that drives the horror community crazy. You either love remakes, or hate them. Few horror movie re-imaginings have been able to rise above their “remake” branding. Too many fans chalking their existence up to exploiting a film or franchise’s existing fandom, being made purely for profit, being rushed, or re-envisioning iconic characters to a lesser extent.

Despite not being received with open arms, there are a select few remakes that stand above the pack – converting their audiences of naysayers into rabid fans, re-invigorating the franchise they birthed from. Here are our picks for the 10 best horror movie remakes!

10. Friday the 13th (2009)

Against the advice of locals and police, Clay (Jared Padalecki) scours the eerie woods surrounding Crystal Lake for his missing sister. But the rotting cabins of an abandoned summer camp are not the only things he finds. Hockey-masked killer Jason Voorhees lies in wait for a chance to use his razor-sharp machete on Clay and the group of college students who have come to the forest to party.

Alright, I may get a lot of flack for putting this one on the list. But I really do love the Friday the 13th remake. It’s over the top, it’s got everything you want in a slasher, and there’s exactly 13 kills. While it doesn’t hold a torch to the original from 1980, this 2009 remake directed by Marcus Nispel ain’t half bad. There’s some really fun kills and a bit of back story about Jason.

9. Piranha 3D (2010)

Spring break turns gory when an underground tremor releases hundreds of prehistoric, carnivorous fish into Lake Victoria, a popular waterside resort. Local cop Julie Forester (Elisabeth Shue) must join forces with a band of unlikely strangers — though they are badly outnumbered — to destroy the ravenous creatures before everyone becomes fish food.

Piranha 3D is the perfect summer film! The original was released in 1978 and was titled simply Piranha. In 2010 we got a 3D remake that took the thriller element from the original and added way more boobs. And humor. And blood. Piranha 3D is a cheesy gore-fest. Directed by Alexandre Aja, it has an all-star cast including Richard Dreyfuss, Christopher Lloyd and Jerry O’Connell. A great flick to watch in a group while vacationing at a lake. Just make sure to maybe check there’s not another lake under that lake.. filled with ancient piranhas.

8. Quarantine (2008)

Reporter Angela (Jennifer Carpenter) and her cameraman Scott (Steve Harris) are doing a story on night-shift firefighters for a reality-TV program. A late-night distress call takes them to a Los Angeles apartment building, where the police are investigating a report of horrific screams. The TV team and emergency workers find an old woman, who suddenly attacks with teeth bared. What’s more, Angela and company find that the building has been sealed by CDC workers. Then the attacks really begin.

[REC] (2007) is a Spanish found footage film directed by Jaume Balagueró. The film is absolutely terrifying and exactly how found footage should be done. One year later came the American remake Quarantine, directed by John Erick Dowdle. Both films follow the exact same story, so there’s not a lot of surprises watching the American remake. Both films also set up for a bunch of sequels, some of which are really great. The American version stars Jennifer Carpenter in the lead role, who does a great job carrying the story. I won’t say much more because both of these films should be watched with no prior knowledge of the story. The first time I saw the ending was one of the few times I’ve screamed out loud while watching a horror film. I apologized profusely to my neighbors.

7. Evil Dead (2013)

Mia (Jane Levy), a drug addict, is determined to kick the habit. To that end, she asks her brother, David (Shiloh Fernandez), his girlfriend, Natalie (Elizabeth Blackmore) and their friends Olivia (Jessica Lucas) and Eric (Lou Taylor Pucci) to accompany her to their family’s remote forest cabin to help her through withdrawal. Eric finds a mysterious Book of the Dead at the cabin and reads aloud from it, awakening an ancient demon. All hell breaks loose when the malevolent entity possesses Mia.

Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead was originally released in 1981. A campy, low-budget film that became an instant cult classic. In 2013, Fede Alverez’s re-imagined the beloved story of Ash and his deadites, creating a darker, more sinister interpretation. One of the biggest changes, was opting for an incredible female lead played by Jan Levy. The film is deliciously dark, and only embellishes the silly, zany palate of the Evil Dead Franchise. There’s been a lot of chatter about a sequel being in the works, but nothing concrete.

6. Willard (2003)

Desperate for companionship, the repressed Willard (Crispin Glover) befriends a group of rats that inhabit his late father’s deteriorating mansion. In these furry creatures, Willard finds temporary refuge from daily abuse at the hands of his bedridden mother (Jackie Burroughs) and his father’s old partner, Frank (R. Lee Ermey). Soon it becomes clear that the brood of rodents is ready and willing to exact a vicious, deadly revenge on anyone who dares to bully their sensitive new master.

Willard was released in 1973 and the remake came years later to screens in 2003. It stars Crispin Glover in one of his best roles, and a crap tone of rats. Glen Morgan directed this awesome remake and fills it with everything you’d want in a terrifying situation about killer rats. Glover shines on-screen as a total weirdo and carries the film with perfection. If you weren’t scared of rats before, you will be after this flick ends.

5. The Grudge (2004)

Matthew Williams (William Mapother), his wife, Jennifer (Clea DuVall), and mother, Emma (Grace Zabriskie), are Americans making a new life in Tokyo. Together they move into a house that has been the site of supernatural occurrences in the past, and it isn’t long before their new home begins terrorizing the Williams family as well. The house, as it turns out, is the site of a curse that lingers in a specific place and claims the lives of anyone that comes near.

An American remake from the Japanese original Ju-On: The Grudge released in 2002. The remake, directed by Takashi Shimizu, the same person who directed the original, is terrifying. Back in the early 2000’s it was harder for North Americans to access J-horror and horror audiences were grateful for an accessible remake. Starring Sarah Michelle Geller in the lead role, she carries the story with grace. There’s so many memorable moments and jump scares. While I do recommend The Grudge, I say go crazy and watch both the original and remake one after the other. Have the pants scared off of you!

4. The Fly (1986)

When scientist Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) completes his teleportation device, he decides to test its abilities on himself. Unbeknownst to him, a housefly slips in during the process, leading to a merger of man and insect. Initially, Brundle appears to have undergone a successful teleportation, but the fly’s cells begin to take over his body. As he becomes increasingly fly-like, Brundle’s girlfriend (Geena Davis) is horrified as the person she once loved deteriorates into a monster.

Originally released in 1958, it was a long time before The Fly remake came around in 1986. The original movie was adapted from a short story written by George Langelaan. The remake was directed by the always impressive David Cronenberg and starred Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis. Both brought insane performances to this movie which makes it such a great remake. Of course, it is Cronenberg, so…you know…don’t eat while you’re watching it.

3. Dawn of the Dead (2004)

When her husband is attacked by a zombified neighbor, Ana (Sarah Polley) manages to escape, only to realize her entire Milwaukee neighborhood has been overrun by the walking dead. After being questioned by cautious policeman Kenneth (Ving Rhames), Ana joins him and a small group that gravitates to the local shopping mall as a bastion of safety. Once they convince suspicious security guards that they are not contaminated, the group bands together to fight the undead hordes.

The original Dawn of the Dead was a fantastic, beautiful, groundbreaking film from Romero, released in 1978. The remake came in 2004, helmed by James Gunn and Zack Snyder. What stands out about this remake is how far they veer from the source material. But it works! The film boasts a strong cast featuring Sarah Polley, Ving Rhames, and Jake Weber, to name a few. There’s also some heart-breaking moments and genuine scares. Oh, and zombies. Lots of those.

2. The Ring (2002)

It sounds like just another urban legend — a videotape filled with nightmarish images leads to a phone call foretelling the viewer’s death in exactly seven days. Newspaper reporter Rachel Keller (Naomi Watts) is skeptical of the story until four teenagers all die mysteriously exactly one week after watching just such a tape. Allowing her investigative curiosity to get the better of her, Rachel tracks down the video and watches it. Now she has just seven days to unravel the mystery.

Another J-horror American remake. Ringu was first released in 1998 based on the book Ring by Koji Suzuki. In 2002, along came The Ring directed by Gore Verbinski. This was a huge deal for us teenagers in the early 2000’s and made us all terrified of our landlines. The Ring is beautifully shot and colored mystery. It’s a wonderfully done film. It stars Naomi Watts as the mother fighting to save herself and her child, played by David Dorfman.

1. The Thing (1982)

In remote Antarctica, a group of American research scientists are disturbed at their base camp by a helicopter shooting at a sled dog. When they take in the dog, it brutally attacks both human beings and canines in the camp and they discover that the beast can assume the shape of its victims. A resourceful helicopter pilot (Kurt Russell) and the camp doctor (Richard Dysart) lead the camp crew in a desperate, gory battle against the vicious creature before it picks them all off, one by one.

You didn’t think I’d make this list without The Thing did you? Come on! Originally titled The Thing from Another World and released in 1951, the remake was done by John Carpenter in 1982. The Thing is probably the one film everyone will agree on. It’s perfection on-screen. Giant, snowy, cold landscapes filled with unbearable tension and fear. An outstanding performance from all involved – but Kurt Russell stands out on top. Amazing practical effects and a terrifying premise, The Thing is the penultimate remake. They actually remade this again in 2011, but let’s not talk about that..

Those are our picks for the 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes! Are any of your favorites on this list? If not, let us know what your favorite horror remakes are in the comments below, or over in our Facebook Group!

The post Let’s Try That Again; The 10 Best Horror Movie Remakes appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

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bigloquatthoughts · 3 years

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Thoughts While I Watch The Nintendo Direct A Day Late

Thoughts on the Nintendo Direct: Yoko Toro is an interesting person, that card game looks interesting but Y wouldn’t I just play Talisman? Cool to see more isometric RPGS on switch.

Hyrule Warriors is fun! Age of Calamity is where I really fell in love with the musou formula again - I played a LOT of DW Empires 5, so taking over a map / doing stuff on a map before combat is fun. The silly weapons like the broom etc also make this really fun. I’ll gladly play more of this. the new scientist warrior looks sick! Who asked for Chocobo GP? This looks like Garfield Racing re-skinned and with better physics maybe. When they said Chocoboooooo! I was hoping for a Chocobo’s Dungeon. My buddy Ted got that game with his PS1 and we though it was soooo cool, especially after playing Azure Dreams on Gameboy.

Thanks for telling us when we can see the new Smash Fighter which is probably more Sword boy / Sword gorl why won’t you put any interesting fighters in this game I am moving to Smash Bros CatDog Edition. Kirby washing up on an island is the most unlikely thing for a being who summons giant warp stars to fly through the universe on but okay. this looks INCREDIBLE. Kirby + Nier vibes with the busted up environment. what bums me out is that we saw the same enemy like, 10 times in the first 10 seconds of that one area. The giant snakes / fish are cool, but lets see some more variation maybe 3D Kirby boss fights look pretty freaking fun! 3D Kirby looks pretty great. It will suffer from Kirby things and also be fun. I will play it.

Hey, don’t worry. We’ll tell you some things about Animal Crossing in October. Not now - but in October. U will have content in November. Just hold on pls, be on the lookout for all ur rotten turnips in ur house

Lets move on, to more stuff second free update for Mario golf, which I would LOVE to play but can’t afford rn. I played it at my neighbors the other day and it’s pretty damn good. new courses and seeing little ninji run around will be very fun. Cool, kid Disney game. Dope. Old Republic for Switch looks great! Dying Light 2: Mirrors Edge edition. Oh, we can play with other people? That seems fun. Do we scavenge together? The Control cloud game demo felt okay on my wifi, but IDK about these cloud games as something worth getting on the switch when PC’s are a thing?

Triangle strategy looks dumb, Disgea does that shit better now right? Metroid Dread looks really cool, excited to run from big robot and make Samus Very Strong Hopefully u get to crawl around as big robot at some point in the game. Love the lore dump we get. Dude, Chozo were here! That’s sick!

Many people have been using switch online… Oh, giving out their old roms gathering dust for “free,” with their current sub was too generous for Nintendo I suppose. New plan for N64 games seem sick - the playing together online thing is very cool. Starting library is standard but nothing too exciting. Very excited to see how the emulation handles these games in relation to how they behaved on the console, as all the cool sped running shit we see in these sorts of older games vary depending on the version of the game.

I’m more excited about the Genesis line up than I am about the N64 one, save those two games I don’t recognize. We get Castlevania, a Contra, some puyo, Beatem ups, and playing this version of Gunstar Heroes might sell more of the other one. Expansion Pack is a name.

Notice how Mystical Ninja Starring Goemon and Comix Zone are not on these lists? They are too afraid to give us the best of what both platforms have to offer and it’s a shame.

WIRELESS CONTROLLERS FOR $60 EACH? ARE THEY BLUETOOTH SO I CAN USE THEM WITH OTHER STUFF? WTF

I was just talking to my friends about the Shadowrun Isometric RPGs last night! Cool. Castlevania collection looks dope. Button mapping is huuuuge for me. Love that. An Almighty Classic Returns: Actraiser - even the SNES game was hella off my radar, this looks dope. I’m down to side scroll and then town build. Deltarune + Homestuck are games that I really really want to play but my depression is such that I just sit and stare at the starting screen and nothing happens. One day I will consume Toby’s works and be better for it. But until then, I’ll just be excited for my friends and listen to the baller soundtrack. god dammit I love that dog.

new story of seasons looks cool but Natsume is dead, no hope left cept for Stardew #doomer NAMCO Hamster - yes. Rune Factory 5 might be good on the switch. The 3DS versions were sooooo sloooowwwww for me. I’ve heard really good things about the franchise as a whole though. MARIO movie thoughts: THIS CASTING IS GREAT EXCEPT FOR CHRIS PRATT WTF. WHY IS HIMBO WHO HATES GAYS MY MARIO?

CHARLIE DAY AS LUIGI WAS WRITTEN IN THE FUCKING STARS EXCEPT HIS SHORTER THAN FUCKIN CHRIS PRATT, HOW THE FUCK COULD YOU MESS THIS UP. CHARLIE DAY AS MARIO AND CHRIS PRATT AS LUIGI BECAUSE HE BUSTS GHOSTS WHICH IS SUPER THEOLOGICAL ANYWAY GOD DAMN DUDE. THIS ISN’T THAT HARD.

KEEGAN MICHAEL KEY AS FUCKIN TOAD MADE ME LAUGH SO HARD. I AM SO EXCITED FOR THAT.

JACK BLACK AS BOWSER - WOULD HAVE BEEN A BETTER MARIO BUT ANYTHING THIS MAN TOUCHES IS GOLD.

Movie is saved by Seth Rogan, I bet you 1 full bitcoin that DK saves this fuckin movie.

FRED ARMISEN AS CRANKY KONG IS ACTUALLY PERFECT. He is a real life hipster Cranky Kong and I love it. Dude playing Kamek looks familiar? Who is that

After seeing Wreck it Ralph, doesn’t Mario sound more like a Kenneth the Page than a Starlord? IDK man. Boomers are weird. Splatoon 3 looks cool, bummer it’s still 4v4 but whatever. the story mode for 1 and 2 were great aside from the difficulty spikes. stoked.

THE WAY THAT BAYONETTA IS REVEALED IS ONE PUNCH MAN TIER COMEDY.

Also, ya’ll spoiled it for us with the capcom font.

WAIT A GLOVED HAND PUNCHED, NOT A DEMON HAND? YOOOOO MOMMYYYYYYY THIS HAIR.

YOOO BUTTERFLY SHIT HELL YEAH

THERE IS MY BIG HAIR DEMON YES OH SHIT WE GET TO MEGA ZORD FIGHT WITH OUR DEMON?! THIS IS FUCKIN SICK

OH DIFFERENT DEMONS TO FIGHT WITH THIS IS SICK. THIS IS HOW I WANT POKEMON TO PLAY. 100% NOT JOKING. BAYONETTA: GODZILLA EDITION

HOLY SHIT THAT IS TIGHT

UHHHH IS DANTE GONNA BE IN THIS

WHO IS THAT BOI WITH THE SWORD

UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Alright. There have been better directs, Christmas line up is looking p weak so far. Hopefully they can give us some bangers for holiday.

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mosaiccreme · 6 years

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Safer With You

Chapter 4: I Love You, Too (Final Chapter)

(Snippet Below)

Patreon and ko-fi

He was drunk. Really drunk. But it wasn’t enough. He had Sidonis in his sights, and he’d let the traitor go. He’d let Shepard convince him to at least hear what Sidnois had to say, not thinking it’d make any difference, but then … then he couldn’t pull the trigger. He’d let his whole team down—again. He asked Shepard for his space, and she agreed, but only after telling him she thought he did the right thing.

Did he do the right thing? If Sidonis spoke the truth, then he was a coward … but he didn’t act with malice. He didn’t turn on the team, he just sold them out to save his own hide. Garrus still wanted to kill him, but maybe … maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do. He felt so confused. Spirits, he needed to talk it through with Shepard. She was the only one who could possibly help him, despite feeling like he might’ve made a huge mistake because he didn’t want to disappoint her.

He stood up, more than a little unsteady on his feet, and pulled his undersuit shirt back on. He nearly stumbled down the steps to the mess hall, expecting the place to be empty, but found those two humans from Engineering sitting at one of the tables.

The man … Donnelly was his name, took one look at Garrus and let out a laugh, pushing up to his feet. “You look a little wobbly there, Garrus. Too much to drink?”

“Don’t tease him, Kenneth. I’ve had to drag your ass back after one too many countless times.” Daniels hid a smile behind a coffee cup.

“I’m not making fun. I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t fall over.” Donnelly turned his attention back to Garrus. “Here, let me help you. Are you going up to the loft?”

“Thanks.” Garrus hummed, waving off the man’s offer. “I can make it on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Donnelly shrugged. “I don’t mind helping. Might even get a chance to take a peek at the loft. I hear it’s pretty amazing up there.”

Garrus chuckled, swaying on his feet a little. “It is pretty impressive, but I’m good. Thanks.” He kept moving, making his way to the elevator and pushed the button before leaning against the wall next to the doors. As soon as he got upstairs and the door to her cabin opened, he realized just how late it was, the lights inside were already off.

“Damn it,” he said, stumbling inside and catching himself on the fish tank.

“Garrus?” Her voice reached out to him, instantly soothing something inside of him, despite the hint of fear and confusion he heard there.

“Yeah. It’s me, sorry.” He pushed off the fish tank, taking another two steps forward before listing to the side again.

“You alright?”

“Hmmm.” He slapped his palm against the fish tank again, barely keeping himself from tilting forward and losing his balance. “I think I drank more than I realized. Having a little trouble walking here.”

She let out a soft chuckle, and then the sounds of covers shifting and her climbing out of bed floated up to him. A few seconds later, she appeared at the foot of the stairs, bathed in blue light from the fish tank. Spirits, she looked beautiful. She stopped, glancing up at him, a grin on her face. “Need some help, big guy?”

He flicked his mandibles, holding an arm out toward her before letting it drop again. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just ….”

She moved up the stairs, pulling one of his arms over her shoulder and sliding her arm around his waist, moving him toward the stairs. “Got shitfaced and decided you needed to talk about Sidonis after all?”

He flicked his mandible. “Exactly.”

Her hand squeezed his waist, sending a shock of desire through him, and he let out a little groan. She stopped, glancing up at him. “You okay?”

He cleared his throat, reaching down to grab her hand and move it up a little higher, closer to his ribs. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Her brow furrowed, the question clear in her eyes, but she brushed it off and eased him down the stairs. “So, what’s on your mind?”

Chuffing, he let out a heavy sigh. “I feel like I failed them by not pulling the trigger, Shepard.” He flung his hand out in exasperation, nearly making them both fall in the process.

She let out a soft laugh, pulling at him to keep him on his feet. “Bed or couch?”

“Bed,” he said, the word coming out more of a grumble.

“You didn’t fail them, Garrus.” Her thumb rubbed back and forth against his arm over her shoulder, voice low and soothing. “Sometimes plans change when we have more information.”

She walked him around to his side of the bed. Spirits, he had a side of the bed. Of her bed.

#mass effect #fanfic #shakarian #angst and fluff and smut

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afroavocadowitch · 3 years

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News reports and interesting up-dates on POS Hardware and POS.

Every Juneteenth, as soon as Pamela Baker got to Booker T. Washington Park, she’d race to the merry-go-round, squeeze through the swarm of shrieking kids, grab one of the shiny rails, and hold on tight. After a few minutes, she would jump off and dart up the steps of the nearby dance hall to survey the throngs below. She and her brother Carl would weave through the crowd, looking for cousins from Dallas and Houston they hadn’t seen since the previous year. Eventually, her whole family would congregate under an oak tree their ancestors had claimed as a gathering place a century before, in the years after news of the end of slavery reached Texas.

“Every year, this is where we’d be,” Baker said. It was a cold January day, and she sat in a purple pew in the park’s open-air tabernacle. Baker, sixty, wore camo pants, a hoodie, and a knit cap. She had come from work and looked tired as a heavy rain beat down around her. The park sits along Lake Mexia (pronounced “muh-hay-ah”), about thirty miles east of Waco. For generations, African Americans made pilgrimages to this spot to celebrate Juneteenth, or Emancipation Day. They came from all over the country to hear the reading of the Emancipation Proclamation, to worship, to run and play in the green fields, to dance in the creaky pavilion, to eat barbecue and drink red soda water, to sleep under the stars. Locals referred to the park by its name from an earlier time: Comanche Crossing. Juneteenth here would run for days on end. It was like a giant family reunion, held on hallowed ground.

The merry-go-round at the park on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

Baker grew up in nearby Mexia, and each June, her family would camp around that same towering oak. In the early sixties her grandfather built a wooden countertop around the trunk, and every June 19, her grandmother and members of her grandmother’s social club would fry scores of chickens in an old black washpot—enough to serve a few hundred people who’d stop by to sit, eat, and reminisce. “Juneteenth meant everything to us,” Baker said. As a kid, she looked forward to the holiday all year long.

Until she didn’t.

“After what happened with my brother,” she said, “we weren’t interested in coming out here anymore.”

Forty years ago, on June 19, 1981, not far from where she sat now, her brother Carl and two other Black teenagers drowned while in the custody of a Limestone County sheriff’s deputy, a reserve deputy, and a probation officer. The Baker family was devastated—as was the entire town of Mexia. The deaths became national news, with people from New York to California asking the same question as those in Central Texas: Why had three Black teens died while all three officers—two of them white, one Black—survived?

Over the years, whenever a highly publicized incident of police brutality against a Black person occurred, many in Mexia would think back to that night in 1981. This was never more true than last summer, when outrage at George Floyd’s murder, captured on video in broad daylight, sparked one of the largest protest movements in U.S. history. As millions of demonstrators took to the streets, Mexia residents were reminded of the drownings that once rocked their community and forever changed their hometown’s proud Juneteenth celebration, which had been among the nation’s most historic.

Four decades later, Baker still grieves for her brother. “It never goes away,” she said quietly, sitting in the pew, surrounded by the ghosts of her ancestors. “I miss everything about Carl—just seeing his smile, his dark skin with beautiful white teeth, walk into the house after work. I wish I could see him come up out of the water right now, but I know I can’t.”

She paused and looked toward the lake. “My brother,” she said, “he didn’t deserve that, what they did to him.”

Pamela Baker sitting in the park tabernacle on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

James Ferrell was at Comanche Crossing on June 19, 1981. It was a clear, warm Friday night, and Ferrell, a tall 34-year-old who sported a scruffy beard and a cowboy hat, had led a trail ride to the park from nearby Sandy. He sat with his brothers, cousins, friends, and their horses, drinking beer, telling stories, laughing. They could hear music coming from the pavilion and see a line of cars creeping over the bridge onto the grounds, while pedestrians who had parked two miles away on U.S. 84 hiked through the gridlock. The moon was almost full, and the air smelled of grilled burgers, fried fish, and popcorn.

Sometime after ten, three law enforcement officers clambered into a boat on the other side of the lake and pushed off. Lake Mexia is a shallow, dammed stretch of the Navasota River in the shape of an M; the park sits near the lake’s center, where the water is about two hundred yards across. The Limestone County Sheriff’s Office had set up a command post on the opposite bank. The deputies rarely patrolled the park after sundown, but on this night they did. Because the bridge was bottlenecked, they cut across the lake in a fourteen-foot aluminum vessel. They were led by sheriff’s deputy Kenny Elliott, 23, who’d been on the force for about a year. The Black officer, reserve deputy Kenneth Archie, was also 23 and a former high school basketball player from Houston. The third man was David Drummond, a 32-year-old probation officer who planned to check on some of his parolees.

The boat hit the shore, and the men climbed onto the bank, which was muddy from recent rains. Though the three officers wore street clothes, they stuck out in the nearly all-Black crowd of roughly five thousand. “Police have a special way of walking,” recalled one bystander. They stopped at the concession stands to buy some soft drinks, then moved on. Young lovers walked through the crowd, eating cotton candy. Elderly men and women, many wearing their Sunday best, perched on benches talking to old friends. Everywhere the officers walked, they saw tents and campers with families gathered around. Some folks were dozing, some were playing dominoes, some were drinking beer or whiskey. Some were smoking marijuana, and as the officers passed, they either snuffed out their joints or hid them behind their backs. “When they came up,” Ferrell said, “we just put it down. They never said nothing. They walked off.”

As the trio approached one of the park’s small caliche roads, they came upon a yellow Chevrolet Nova stuck in traffic. Inside were four local teenagers: Carl Baker, Steve Booker, Jay Wallace, and Anthony Freeman, whom friends called “Rerun” because he resembled the hefty character from the sitcom What’s Happening!! As Elliott shone his flashlight through the windshield, he saw the teens passing a small plastic bag of what he took to be marijuana. It was just after eleven, and in the time since he’d crossed the lake, Elliott hadn’t acknowledged similar violations of the law. Now, though, the deputy ordered the four out of the car and made them put their hands on the roof while the officers patted them down and searched the interior.

A bridge over Lake Mexia.Photograph by Michael Starghill

They found the baggie of weed and a joint, which they confiscated. Wallace would later say that the officers “didn’t act like they knew what they was doing; they kept asking each other what they should do.” The crowd began to take notice. As far as anyone could remember, there had never been an arrest at the park during Juneteenth festivities.

Elliott made the decision to take Baker, Freeman, and Booker into custody. Days later, Wallace would tell the Waco Tribune-Herald that the officers found drugs on Baker and Booker, while Freeman was arrested because the car belonged to him. Wallace was spared because “they didn’t find anything on me.”

At least two and possibly all three of the teens were handcuffed; some witnesses said Baker and Booker were cuffed together, while others recalled each being restrained individually. Onlookers didn’t like what they saw, and some began to curse at the officers. Rather than walk the teens through the crowd, over the bridge, and around the lake, the officers opted to go back the way they came.

When the group reached the boat, Elliott climbed into the back by the motor. Next were Booker and Baker, then Drummond and Freeman. Archie, who weighed more than two hundred pounds, sat in the bow. There were no life jackets, and the combined weight of the passengers exceeded the boat’s capacity by several hundred pounds.

Elliott started the motor. The craft had no running lights, and as it crept forward, water started pouring in. Drummond yelled back to Elliott, who couldn’t hear him over the engine; Drummond yelled again, and this time Elliott turned it off. By then, they had traveled about forty yards. As the boat slowed, more water rushed in, and the craft submerged and flipped over. All six began splashing wildly in the ten-foot-deep water.

Elliott shouted for the others to stay with the boat while he swam to shore for help. As soon as he reached water shallow enough to stand in, he fired his gun into the air, in what he would later say was an attempt to summon assistance. Soon after, he was joined by Drummond. Out on the water, Archie, who wasn’t a good swimmer, clung to the boat “like a spider,” one witness said.

The teens were nowhere in sight.

Mexia High School yearbook photos of Anthony Freeman, Carl Baker, and Steve Booker.Gibbs Memorial Library

While a boater pulled Archie out of the water, Elliott and Drummond ran across the bridge to the command post to report what had happened. Someone called the fire department, and before long a search party was on the lake. As campers watched from the shore, firefighters in three boats threw dredging hooks into the water. Onlookers hoped against hope that the teens had been able to swim to safety.

Around 2 a.m., the crowd’s worst fears were realized. A body was found near the bridge, tangled in a trotline. An observer, David Echols, said the rescuers positioned their boats between the body and the civilians and spent twenty minutes pulling it out. “They were shielding the bank where we couldn’t see.”

The body was Baker’s. The searchers brought him back to shore, where they took a couple of hours to regroup before returning to the lake at dawn. All the while, Juneteenth campers kept watch. Mexia was a small town where just about everybody knew Baker, Freeman, and Booker. They were country boys who had grown up playing at the local pool and in this very lake, although Freeman was scared of water, and his mother said he “couldn’t swim, not one lick.” Baker and Booker, however, were known to be excellent swimmers. “Carl was like Mark Spitz,” said his friend Rick Washington. “He could dive in the pool and swim underwater and come up at the other end.”

“Carl was like Mark Spitz,” said his friend Rick Washington. “He could dive in the pool and swim underwater and come up at the other end.”

How could Elliott, Archie, and Drummond survive while all three teens were presumed lost? Many witnesses had seen the teenagers marched through the crowd with handcuffs on. Had the handcuffs stayed on in the boat?

About 1:30 p.m., another body was found near the bridge. Three rescue boats formed a circle around it, blocking observers from making out the crew’s actions. “They took a while before they pulled the body out,” said a reporter who covered the search, “but we couldn’t see what they were doing.” What they were doing was retrieving Freeman’s body from the water.

The apparent secrecy fueled more suspicions, which intensified as the search for Booker continued. The next day, his body floated to the surface not far from where the others had been found. By then, many in Mexia who’d heard about the drownings believed that the teens had been handcuffed when the boat flipped. A hot-dog vendor named Arthur Beachum Jr. told a reporter about seeing Baker being removed from the water. “I saw them pull the body from the lake and it still had handcuffs on it. One officer took them off and put them in his pocket.”

Sheriff Dennis Walker denied this to the press. “It was a freak accident,” he said. “All of what they’re saying is untrue.” Reserve deputy Archie told a reporter that two of the teens had been handcuffed together but that the cuffs had been removed before Baker, Booker, and Freeman were led into the boat. According to the Dallas Times Herald, Archie also said that if he’d been in charge, things would have been different: “I probably would’ve pulled the marijuana out and put it in the mud puddle next to the car and sent the suspects on their way.” (He later denied saying this.) Sheriff Walker said, “This could turn out to be a racial-type deal.”

That was an understatement. Reporters and TV crews from Waco, Fort Worth, Dallas, and Houston arrived in Mexia. By Sunday, the drownings were national news. “Youths Allegedly Handcuffed,” read a headline in the New York Times. The NAACP sent a team of investigators and demanded the Department of Justice conduct an inquiry. Someone from the DOJ called the sheriff on Monday morning and was given directions to the sheriff’s headquarters in Groesbeck, the county seat. The FBI came too.

Richard Dockery, the head of the Dallas NAACP, examined Baker’s body and told reporters he thought that the position of the young man’s hands—wrists together, fingers curled—meant he had been cuffed. Initial autopsies of Baker and Freeman, done in Waco, found no bruising or signs of struggle, prompting Booker’s mother to announce she was taking her son’s body to Dallas because she wouldn’t get “anything but lies” from Waco pathologists.

Reporters rang the sheriff around the clock, and Walker later complained that the attention “severely hampered” his investigation. “The press has been calling me day and night from as far away as Chicago and New York,” he said. “I had to leave the house to get a couple of hours of rest.” Mexia’s mayor called the coverage “sensationalized,” while many white townspeople felt torn between defending their home against its portrayal as a racist backwater and acknowledging the wrong that had been done. “I was at a laundromat yesterday,” a white waitress told a reporter from Fort Worth, “and usually everyone gets along alright, but yesterday some of the Blacks were kind of testy . . . and I don’t blame them.”

The drownings had exposed a deep rift in Mexia, one that went back generations and couldn’t be smoothed over. “My God, this has turned the whole town upside down,” a local man told the Waco Tribune-Herald, “and those three boys ain’t even in the ground yet.”

The pavilion and tabernacle at Booker T. Washington Park on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

Rick Washington was in the Navy in June 1981, stationed aboard the U.S.S. Tuscaloosa in the Philippines, when a shipmate handed him a newspaper. “Wash,” he said, “ain’t this where you’re from? M-e-x-i-a, Texas?” Washington, then twenty, read the headline about a triple drowning. Then he saw the names. “I just broke down like a twelve-gauge shotgun. Steve, Carl, Rerun. They were my best friends.”

Now sixty, Washington is the pastor at Mexia’s Greater Little Zion Baptist Church, and every day he drives past places where he and his friends used to play. “We would eat breakfast, leave home, come home for lunch, leave again, be home before the streetlights came on,” Washington said. “We were almost never inside.” They would ride bikes, play football and basketball, hunt rabbits, swim at the city pool, and explore the rolling, scrubby plains.

Washington, like everyone else in Mexia who knew Baker, Freeman, and Booker, remembered them as typical small-town teenagers. Baker was short, handsome, and athletic. He liked hanging out at the pool—he was such a good swimmer that the lifeguards sometimes asked him to help out when it got busy. He’d graduated from Mexia High School the previous year and was working at a local cotton gin. He was nineteen, with an easy charm and a voluminous Afro that had taken months to grow out.

Anthony Freeman, the youngest of the three at eighteen, was an only child of strict parents. He played piano, performing every week at the church his family attended. “He was a very bright kid,” said Shree Steen-Medlock, who went to high school with Freeman. “I remember him trying to fit in and not be the nerdy kind of guy.” He had graduated that spring, and he and Baker planned on going to Paul Quinn College, then in Waco, in the fall.

Nineteen-year-old Steve Booker was the group’s extrovert. “He was flamboyant, like Deion Sanders,” said his friend John Proctor. Booker was born in Dallas and raised on his grandparents’ farm in Mexia, where he helped to pen cattle, feed hogs, and mend fences. He loved basketball and grew up shooting on a hoop and backboard made out of a bicycle wheel and a sheet of plywood. Once, playing for Mexia High’s JV team, he hit a game-winner from half-court. In 1980 Booker moved back to Dallas, where he graduated high school and found work at a detergent supply company, but he’d returned that week to celebrate Juneteenth.

The Mexia where the three grew up was a tight-knit city of roughly seven thousand, about a third of whom were Black. Kids left their bikes on the lawn, families left their doors unlocked, and horses and cattle grazed in pastures on the outskirts of town. Boys played Little League, and everybody went to church. Mexia was known as the place near Waco with the odd name (which it got from the Mexía family, who received a large land grant in the area in 1833). City leaders came up with a perfect slogan: “Mexia . . . a great place to live . . . however you pronounce it.” Football fans might have heard that NFL player Ray Rhodes grew up there; country music fans knew Mexia as the home base of famed songwriter Cindy Walker.

The VICA Building Trades club at Mexia High School in 1979, which included Carl Baker, Anthony Freeman, and Jay Wallace.Gibbs Memorial Library

Black Texans knew Mexia for something entirely different: it was the site of the nation’s greatest Juneteenth celebration. The holiday commemorates the day in 1865 when Union general Gordon Granger stood on the second-floor balcony of the Ashton Villa, in Galveston, and announced—two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation—that enslaved people in Texas were, in fact, free. Word spread throughout the state and eventually reached the cotton-rich region of Limestone County. Formerly enslaved people in the area left plantations and resettled in tiny communities along the Navasota River with names like Comanche Crossing, Rocky Crossing, Elm, Woodland, and Sandy.

They had to be careful. Limestone County, like other parts of Texas, was a hostile place for newly freed African Americans. In the decade after emancipation, the state and federal governments had to intervene in the area on multiple occasions to stop white residents from terrorizing Black communities. Historian Ray Walter has written that “literally hundreds of Negroes were murdered” in Limestone County during Reconstruction.

The region’s first emancipation festivities took place during the late 1860s, in and around churches and spilling out along the terrain near the Navasota River. “If Blacks were going to have big celebrations,” said Wortham Frank Briscoe, whose family goes back four generations in Limestone County, “they had to be in the bottomlands, hidden away from white people.”

Over time, several smaller community-based events coalesced into one, gravitating to a spot eight miles west of Mexia along the river near Comanche Crossing. There, families would spread quilts to sit and listen to preachers’ sermons and politicians’ speeches. Women donned long, elegant dresses, and men sported dark suits and bowler hats. They sang spirituals, listened to elders tell stories of life under slavery, and feasted on barbecued pork and beef.

In 1892 a group of 89 locals from seven different communities around Limestone County formed the Nineteenth of June Organization. Six years later, three of the founders and two other men pooled $180 and bought ten acres of land along the river. In 1906 another group of members purchased twenty more acres. They cleared the area, preserving several dozen oak trees, alongside which members bought small plots for $1.50 each. The grounds were given a name: Booker T. Washington Park.

The celebration continued to grow, especially after oil was discovered in Mexia, in 1920. Some of the bounty lay under Black-owned land, and money from the fields gave the Nineteenth of June Organization the means to build the park’s tabernacle and a pavilion with concession stands. During the Great Migration, as Black residents left Central Texas for jobs in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, they took Juneteenth with them, and word spread about the grand festivities along the Navasota River. Every year, more and more revelers came to Comanche Crossing, bringing their children and sometimes staying the entire week. Some built simple one-room huts to spend nights in; others pitched Army tents or just slept under the stars. During the busiest years, attendance reached 20,000.

James Ferrell’s Black Frontier Riding Club on a trail ride to the Juneteenth celebration at Comanche Crossing, year unknown.Courtesy of James Ferrell

On the actual holiday, it was tradition to read aloud the Emancipation Proclamation, along with the names of the park’s founders. Elders spoke about the holiday’s significance, and a dinner was held in honor of formerly enslaved people, some of whom were still alive. “You instilled this in your children,” said Dayton Smith, who was born in 1949 and began attending Juneteenth at Comanche Crossing shortly before his first birthday. “It had been done before you were born, by your parents and grandparents. Don’t forget the Emancipation Proclamation.Your parents didn’t come here every year just because. They came because of the Emancipation Proclamation at Juneteenth.”

Kids would grow up going to Comanche Crossing, then marry, move away, and return, taking their vacations in mid-June and bringing their own kids. “It was a lifelong thing,” said Mexia native Charles Nemons. “It was almost like a county fair. If you were driving and you saw someone walking, you’d go, ‘Going to the grounds? Hop in!’ ”

At the concession booths, vendors would sell fried fish, barbecue, beer, corn, popcorn, homemade ice cream, and Big Red, the soda from Waco that became a Juneteenth staple. Choirs came from all across the country to sing in the tabernacle. Sometimes preachers would perform baptisms in the lake, which was created in 1961, when the river was dammed.

The biggest crowds came when Juneteenth landed on a weekend. Renee Turner recalled attending a particularly busy Juneteenth with her husband in the mid-seventies. “My husband was in the service, and we couldn’t even get out,” she said. “He had to be back at Fort Hood that Monday morning, and so I remember people picking up cars—physically picking up cars—so that there would be a pathway out.” Everyone, it seemed, came to Juneteenth at Comanche Crossing. Daniel Keeling was an awestruck grade-schooler when he saw Dallas Cowboys stars Tony Dorsett and Drew Pearson walking the grounds. “If you were an African American in Dallas or Houston,” Keeling said, “you made your way to Mexia on the nineteenth of June.”

Even as Mexia’s Black residents took great pride in the annual Juneteenth festivities at the park, back in town they were still denied basic rights. Ferrell, who started spending the holiday at Comanche Crossing as a kid in the fifties, recalled life in segregated Mexia. “Up until the sixties, you still had your place,” he said. “If you were Black, you drank from the fountain over there, whites drank from the one over here, and if I went and drank in the fountain over here, well, I got a problem.” Back then, many Black residents lived near a commercial strip of Black-owned businesses called “the Beat,” along South Belknap Street, where they had their own movie theater, grocery stores, barbershops, juke joints, cleaners, and funeral home. When white and Black residents found themselves standing on opposite street corners downtown, the Black pedestrians had to wait for their white counterparts to cross first. “We couldn’t walk past each other,” said Ray Anderson, who was born in 1954 and went on to become Mexia’s mayor. “And if it was a female, you definitely better stay across the street or go the other way. You grew up knowing you couldn’t cross certain boundaries or you’d go to prison—or get hung.”

For years, the only law enforcement at Lake Mexia during Juneteenth consisted of a few well-known Black civilians. One was Homer Willis, an older man who had been deputized by the sheriff to walk around with a walkie-talkie, which he could use to radio deputies in case of an emergency. In the late seventies, more rigorous licensing requirements made such commissions a thing of the past, and the sheriff set up a command post across the lake where officers would hang out and wait. They stayed mostly on the periphery, helping to direct traffic and occasionally crossing the lake to break up a fight.

Until June 19, 1981, when, during the peak hours of one of the biggest Juneteenth celebrations in years, three officers piled into a small boat, started the motor, and cruised across narrow Lake Mexia.

The concession stands at Booker T. Washington Park.Photograph by Michael Starghill

When Baker and Freeman’s dual funeral was held in Mexia, so many mourners planned to attend the service that it had to be convened at the city’s largest church, First Baptist. Even so, the 1,400-seat space couldn’t accommodate them all. Baker and Freeman were remembered as kind young men who never hurt anyone and never got in trouble. At one point, Freeman’s mother, Nellie Mae, broke down, fainted, and had to be carried out. She insisted on returning for one last look at her only child before she was rushed to the hospital.

The district judge in Limestone County, P. K. Reiter, hoped that a swift investigation would defuse the escalating racial tensions. “We need to clear the air,” he said, announcing the opening of a court of inquiry, a rarely used fact-finding measure intended to speed up proceedings that would normally take months to complete. The court lacked the authority to mete out punishment, but it could refer cases for prosecution. Reiter asked the NAACP to recommend a Black lawyer to lead the inquest. The organization sent Larry Baraka, a 31-year-old prosecutor from Dallas. Baraka arrived in town two days after Booker’s body was found.

Limestone County had never seen anything like this. News helicopters flew into Groesbeck from Dallas and Fort Worth, landing in the church parking lot across the street from the courthouse. It was summer in Central Texas, and the courtroom, which lacked air conditioning, was crammed with 150 people; reporters filled every seat in the jury box. A writer from the Mexia Daily News wrote that the room was loaded with a “strong suspicion of intrigue, deep pathos, heavy remorse, and indignation.”

The main issue was the handcuffs. Eighteen witnesses testified, including Drummond, the probation officer. He insisted that the officers had brought just one pair of handcuffs, that only Baker and Booker were handcuffed to each other, and that the cuffs had been removed before they got into the boat. A witness who’d been on a nearby craft—a Black woman from Dallas—told the court that she saw the officers remove the restraints from two men who’d been handcuffed together. The fire chief testified that no cuffs were found on the bodies as they were pulled from the lake.

Other witnesses contradicted the officials’ version of events. Beachum, the hot-dog seller, again said that he saw cuffs taken off Baker’s body after it was retrieved from the lake, but he also admitted to drinking almost a fifth of whiskey that day. Another said all three were handcuffed—and that Elliott was drinking beer and his eyes were “puffy.” The local funeral home director, who had seen some two hundred drowning victims in his seventeen-year career, said that the position of Baker’s hands indicated that the teen had been cuffed. “It’s highly unlikely you will find a drowning victim’s hands in that position.”

At the end of the three-day proceeding, Baraka told reporters that the evidence suggested the teens were not handcuffed in the boat. He believed the officers had acted without criminal or racist intent, but he added that they had behaved with “rampant incompetence” and “gross negligence.” The boat was overloaded and there were no life preservers, so the officers could still face criminal charges.

For Mexia’s Black residents, the court of inquiry had cleared up nothing. They rejected the testimony of both Drummond and the fire chief and suspected a cover-up. Whites in Mexia also criticized the officers’ judgment. “You put a gun on someone’s hip, and it goes to their head,” former district attorney Don Caldwell told a reporter. “The evidence in this case doesn’t add up. It was a terrible act of stupidity, and somebody is going to have to pay the fiddler.”

That fall, Limestone County attorney Patrick Simmons, together with a lawyer from the state attorney general’s office named Gerald Carruth, took the court of inquiry’s findings to a grand jury. They hoped the panel would indict the officers for involuntary manslaughter, a felony. Instead, the jury came back with misdemeanor charges for criminally negligent homicide and violating the Texas Water Safety Act. If found guilty, the officers faced a maximum penalty of one year in prison and a fine of $2,000 per teen. “I could get that much for starving my dog,” said Kwesi Williams, a spokesperson for the Comanche Three Committee, an advocacy group formed in response to the drownings.

Defense attorneys argued that the officers couldn’t receive a fair trial in Mexia, so they requested the proceedings be moved. A judge in Marlin, about forty miles away, said he didn’t want it, not after “statements in the news media by certain persons created an atmosphere in this county that is charged with racial tension to the point that violence is invited.” The case was moved to San Marcos, where another judge punted. “No one wants this,” Joe Cannon, the attorney defending Drummond, told a reporter. “It’s a hot potato.” Finally, Baraka, who had by then joined the prosecution, convinced Dallas County Criminal Court judge Tom Price to preside over the trial.

If found guilty, the officers faced a maximum penalty of one year in prison and a fine of $2,000 per teen. “I could get that much for starving my dog,” said Kwesi Williams.

Price, who was eight years into a four-decade judicial career, would later call the Mexia drownings the biggest case he ever handled. “It was a hard, emotional trial,” he said. “Three young kids who died for no reason. There was so much tension, and it was so racially mixed up in there. I was thirty-three, thinking, ‘What have I got myself into?’ ”

The trial, which lasted three weeks, was perhaps the highest-profile misdemeanor proceeding in Texas history. Each defendant had his own attorney, and each attorney objected as often as possible, squabbling with prosecutors and spurring Price to threaten them all with contempt. The atmosphere was further strained by the presence of news crews, who swarmed the legal teams and the teens’ families during recesses.��

To convict the officers of criminal negligence, the all-white, six-person jury would need to be convinced that under the same circumstances an ordinary person would have perceived a substantial risk of putting the teens into the boat and avoided doing so. Defense lawyers acknowledged that the officers had made mistakes but argued that their actions were reasonable—that they had needed to use the boat to avoid what they viewed as a hostile crowd. Two defense witnesses said they had seen the officers remove handcuffs from the teens before boarding the boat. Beachum, the witness who told the court of inquiry he’d seen handcuffs on Baker’s body, didn’t testify at trial because the prosecution didn’t call him to the stand. “I think Carruth, Baraka, and I all had problems with his credibility,” Simmons said recently. Instead, the prosecutors centered their case on other facts—from the absence of lights and life jackets aboard the boat to the officers’ reckless decision to overload the craft. “They made mistakes that would shock the consciences of reasonable people,” Baraka told the jurors.

The officers took the stand and said they had tried to save the teenagers. Archie told the jury that while he clung to the overturned boat, Drummond pushed Freeman toward Archie, who grabbed the thrashing teen by the hair and shirt and pulled him onto the hull. Archie said he tried to maneuver to the other side of the craft while holding Freeman across the top but the teen slipped off, sank, and then bobbed up four times before disappearing. Archie didn’t try to rescue him again because the reserve deputy wasn’t a strong swimmer. Drummond testified that he tried to help Baker but the teen kept pulling him under, so the officer let go and swam to shore. He also said that if he could have done anything to change the situation, he “wouldn’t have made an arrest in the first place.”

Elliott acknowledged that he and the other officers had erred. He called the drownings “just a horrible accident” and said he’d do things differently given another chance. When Baraka asked Elliott if he thought they deserved forgiveness, the deputy answered, “Under the circumstances, yes.”

After the closing arguments, the jury took less than five hours to render a verdict: not guilty. The defendants, showing no emotion, were rushed away. Afterward, Nellie Mae Freeman sat on a bench outside the courtroom reading the Bible. “No,” she told a reporter, “justice was not done.” Evelyn Baker, Carl’s mother, said she had expected the verdict. “This is very terrible, but that’s Mexia for you, and that’s Limestone County. The Lord will take care of them.”

The families found more disappointment when it came to their last remaining legal option: civil lawsuits, in which the deputies and the county could be held responsible for negligence under a much lower burden of proof. Each family sued for $4 million in damages, alleging that their sons’ civil rights had been violated. In December 1983, they settled for a total of $200,000, or $66,667 per teen.

A local official told the Fort Worth Star-Telegram that the county’s lawyers felt “very lucky” about the outcome. “We were just sitting on pins and needles hoping it would get as low as possible but we never really thought [the settlement] would get this low,” said Howard Smith, a county judge familiar with the civil case. Attorneys for the county made a lowball offer, and the families and their lawyers accepted it. “I was tired,” Evelyn said recently. “I was hurt, and I never did get to really grieve. They just really ran us through it.”

The pavilion at the park on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

For many Black Mexia residents, Comanche Crossing was never the same after the drownings. “It just changed my whole life,” said Steen-Medlock, the teens’ schoolmate. “I never went back to another Juneteenth there.” Many others felt similarly. Attendance in 1982, the year after the drownings, was about two thousand, the lowest in 35 years. It wasn’t just that celebrants were fearful of being harassed, arrested, or worse. Comanche Crossing was sacred ground, land that had been purchased by people who had survived slavery, to ensure that they, along with future generations, would have a place to commemorate emancipation. Now that land had been defiled.

Texas had made Juneteenth an official state holiday in 1980, and celebrations of Black freedom spread to other cities. In 1982 Houston’s Juneteenth parade attracted an estimated 50,000 onlookers. As crowds moved elsewhere, attendance at Comanche Crossing’s Juneteenth ceremonies continued to decline. Arson attacks in 1987 and 1989 caused severe damage to the tabernacle and pavilion, and the structures had to be rebuilt. Concession booths were tagged with racist graffiti.

Many of those who’d grown up with the teens left town. “It was all eye-opening to our generation,” said Nemons. “This was the first thing I saw as far as being a real racial injustice. A lot of young Black folks said ‘I’m done’ and moved.” Over the years, Juneteenth crowds at Comanche Crossing dwindled even more, while the brush along the lake grew thicker and the buildings fell into disrepair. During the past decade, official attendance has sometimes dropped to less than a hundred. When the Nineteenth of June Organization elected former county commissioner William “Pete” Kirven as its new president in 2015, some locals felt optimistic. “I had a lot of hope,” said Judy Chambers, a municipal judge for the city of Mexia and a past member of the organization’s board of directors. She thought the group—and Comanche Crossing—could use some new blood.

That hope didn’t last. Although the new leadership cleaned up the park’s grounds and installed new light poles and swing sets, it also posted a sign banning alcohol, instituted a 1 a.m. closing time, and increased the law enforcement presence during Juneteenth. The new rules did not go over well. “Juneteenth is not worth going out there,” said a Mexia resident who had attended the festivities since he was a boy. “It’s not any fun. So many police you can’t enjoy yourself. I went in 2018. I didn’t like it. I haven’t been back.”

Echols, a member of the organization’s board of directors, said that despite the “No Alcohol” sign, members of the public are allowed to drink as long as they use plastic cups. He agreed that law enforcement had gone overboard in 2018 and “was scaring people away” but added that after the group expressed these concerns to the sheriff, the presence was reduced.

Simmons, the prosecuting attorney at the 1982 trial, is now the district judge for Limestone and Freestone Counties. “This was the Juneteenth place, and it’s a shame we lost that,” he said. “At the time, I looked at it as an incident that needed to be prosecuted. I look back on it now and say, ‘What a tragedy. What a shame.’ The ridiculous idea of going over—three guys in a boat—could they rethink it? It was such a tragedy, not just the loss of three young men but the whole Juneteenth.”

In recent years, awareness of Juneteenth has exploded. Some of that is due to a woman from Fort Worth named Opal Lee. In 2016, when she was 89, she set out to walk from Texas to Washington, D.C., to publicize a campaign to designate Juneteenth as a federal holiday. Last year, Lee collected 1.5 million signatures on a petition in pursuit of that goal, and in Congress, Texas senator John Cornyn and U.S. representative Sheila Jackson Lee filed legislation to take Juneteenth nationwide. The bills didn’t pass, though they have been reintroduced this year.

Perhaps the biggest factor wasn’t a petition or a bill, though, but the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis in May 2020. In the weeks after Floyd’s murder, the Juneteenth holiday became linked with the national protest movement in support of Black lives. On June 19, hundreds of thousands of protesters hit the streets of New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, D.C., and Houston. All across the country, marchers carried Juneteenth banners as well as signs emblazoned with Floyd’s face and the names of other Black people killed by law enforcement.

Back in Mexia, locals drew a straight line from 1981 to 2020. “When I saw that video,” said Chambers, “it took me back to that place and time where Black men were getting killed on the streets of Limestone County by law enforcement—and back then it was just swept under the rug.” Steen-Medlock said watching the video immediately reminded her of her three friends who died 39 years earlier. “Those three deputies thought, ‘We have a right to do whatever we want to do’—and that meant putting these boys in a small boat, at night, handcuffed, with no life jackets,” she said. “That’s how they dealt with Black people. If it had been white kids, they would have said, ‘Call your dad to come get you.’ But when you’re Black, you’re not treated like that. You’re guilty.”

“It was all eye-opening to our generation,” said Nemons. “This was the first thing I saw as far as being a real racial injustice. A lot of young Black folks said ‘I’m done’ and moved.”

This history helps explain why Chambers, Steen-Medlock, and almost every other current or former Black Mexia resident still believe the teens were handcuffed in the boat. Chambers said she has spoken with witnesses who told her they were scared to testify forty years ago. “I don’t know if you live in a small town in the South,” she said, “but a lot of powerful people in town control others with things like mortgages and loans.” Echols said, “Back in those days, there was a fear of the sheriff’s department. A lot of guys may have had some problems with the law, so they didn’t come forward.”

The foreperson of the grand jury, Ray Anderson, said that jurors discussed the handcuffs at length and subpoenaed Beachum to testify about their presence, but Beachum never showed up. At the time, that spoke volumes to Anderson. “I was never presented enough evidence of handcuffs,” he said. “If I could’ve proved murderous intent, I would have been the first to vote on it. I would have said, ‘We need to make an example—right here.’ ” Now, almost forty years later, Anderson doubts the grand jury got the whole story. “I still feel there was a lot of stuff that didn’t come out.”

Most white officials involved in the case maintain that there was no evidence the teens were handcuffed in the boat. Instead, they cite other factors that could have caused the three to drown. “I’ve taught swimming for years,” said Cannon, the attorney who represented Drummond. “If you’re fully clothed and it’s dark and you’re not oriented correctly, then you panic. You easily panic. I was surprised that any of them got back.”

Daniel Keeling was ten in 1981, and he grew up in Mexia hearing about the handcuffs as a statement of fact. The drownings left him so unsettled that he eventually pursued a career in law enforcement, where he hoped to improve the field from within. Keeling also hoped that he might uncover the truth behind his hometown’s most controversial case.

“Supposedly Drummond took the handcuffs off,” said Keeling, who spent over seven years as a deputy in Hunt County and six more as a deputy constable in Dallas and now works as a corporate security manager. “Well, usually when you’re making an arrest, you put handcuffs on a subject and don’t take them off until you get where you’re going. Did the pressure come down on him to change his story? The blue shield is real. And telling the truth could ruin your whole career.”

What really happened that night? Keeling’s search convinced him that the answer will never be known.

Around Mexia, locals don’t talk about the drownings much anymore. “This is still very raw for a lot of people,” said Steen-Medlock. “They want to forget it ever happened.” The city boasts several colorful murals depicting local heroes and historical figures, but there’s no memorial for Baker, Freeman, and Booker—not at the park, not anywhere in town. There is also no official record of the 1982 trial in either Dallas or Limestone County because the officers had their records expunged. Legally, it’s as if they were never even arrested.

These days, most Black Mexia residents celebrate Juneteenth at home with family and friends. Some hold block parties; others attend events in nearby towns. Many use that week for family reunions, with faraway aunts and uncles taking vacation time to come home to Mexia. But most don’t go to Comanche Crossing.

None of the officers involved in the drownings agreed to speak with Texas Monthly for this story. Archie, who retired from his job as a security guard, lives close enough to Lake Mexia that he can see it from his porch. Drummond retired from a career running a fencing company; he declined when reached for comment, adding, “I’ve done that. It’s been a long time and it’s still relatively fresh on my mind, believe it or not.”

Elliott did not respond to several interview requests. Ronnie Davis, an old friend who hasn’t spoken with him in decades, said the deputy took the incident hard back in 1981. “He looked really bad when I talked to him a week after,” Davis recalled. “It was bothering him that lots of people thought he did it on purpose. No. It had nothing to do with prejudice. Nothing at all.”

After the trial, Elliott moved to College Station and began a decorated career as an investigator with the Brazos County Sheriff’s Office, where he solved the twelve-year-old cold case of a murdered local real estate agent. At Elliott’s retirement ceremony in 2018, one colleague lauded him as a zealous loner, and another noted his “perseverance, integrity, respect, and trust.” Elliott was hanging up his badge because he had been elected as a justice of the peace for Brazos County. To Mexia residents who’ve never forgotten the drownings, the thought that life simply moved on for Elliott and the other officers is maddening. “They got away with murder!” said Edward Jackson, who went to school with the three teens. “Nothing happened to their lives or careers.”

Jay Wallace, the fourth teen in the car, also declined interview requests for this story. Friends of his say that Wallace, now 58, has never talked to them about that night. “I can just imagine what he’s feeling,” Proctor, who grew up with the teens, said. “What’s going on in his head is ‘That could have been me.’ ”

As the officer in charge that night and the one who initiated the arrests, Elliott has usually been considered most responsible for the tragedy. In 2001 Simmons, the prosecutor, told the Texas Observer that Elliott was viewed as a “wild man” and not well-liked by fellow officers. More recently, Simmons said, “I think Kenny was trying to make a name for himself as a hotshot officer, but if you look back on it, why on earth would you have done that?”

A big part of a deputy’s job is learning to deal with crowds, Keeling said. “The way I was taught, you ask yourself the question ‘Do I really need to make this arrest? Are they breaking the peace? Are they causing harm to others?’ If not, let it go.” Keeling added that he remembers the pressure he felt early in his career. “I know the weight of being a young officer—you have to prove yourself. I think it was basically an ‘I’ll show you who I am’ mentality. I think it was one officer’s fault, and the other two backed him.

“Hopefully he’s atoned for whatever the hell he did.”

Pamela, her sister Evelyn Jean, and Patricia Baker under their family oak tree at Washington Park on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

For the first time since her brother’s death, Pamela Baker visited Comanche Crossing on Juneteenth last year. The official festivities had been rescheduled as a virtual event due to COVID-19, but a group of locals set up a few stands and gathered at the park, and Baker met some friends there. She hadn’t wandered the grounds in decades, and now she found herself walking down the caliche road and past the merry-go-round and the dance hall. She pointed out to one of her friends the oak where her grandmother used to serve fried chicken and biscuits to hundreds of fellow campers. The counter her grandfather built was long gone, but the tree still stood. Baker perused the vendor stalls and bought a purse and a plate of fried fish before settling on a bench by the lake. She looked out at the water. Before long, she was crying.

The Nineteenth of June Organization has reached out to Baker about holding a memorial for the three teens this Juneteenth, and she’s thinking about going back. She talked with her children about possibly getting together around the old oak and even rebuilding her grandparents’ counter. Her ancestors celebrated emancipation on this same land while living through their own unthinkable tragedies, and she figures it’s time she did so too. “I don’t think it’ll ever be like it used to be,” she said. “I wish it would, ’cause this is history for us. This is something we should build back up together.”

This article originally appeared in the June 2021 issue of Texas Monthly with the headline “The Ghosts of Comanche Crossing.” Subscribe today.

The above article was published here.

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The merry-go-round at the park on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

Until she didn’t.

“After what happened with my brother,” she said, “we weren’t interested in coming out here anymore.”

She paused and looked toward the lake. “My brother,” she said, “he didn’t deserve that, what they did to him.”

Pamela Baker sitting in the park tabernacle on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

A bridge over Lake Mexia.Photograph by Michael Starghill

The teens were nowhere in sight.

Mexia High School yearbook photos of Anthony Freeman, Carl Baker, and Steve Booker.Gibbs Memorial Library

“Carl was like Mark Spitz,” said his friend Rick Washington. “He could dive in the pool and swim underwater and come up at the other end.”

The pavilion and tabernacle at Booker T. Washington Park on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

The VICA Building Trades club at Mexia High School in 1979, which included Carl Baker, Anthony Freeman, and Jay Wallace.Gibbs Memorial Library

James Ferrell’s Black Frontier Riding Club on a trail ride to the Juneteenth celebration at Comanche Crossing, year unknown.Courtesy of James Ferrell

The concession stands at Booker T. Washington Park.Photograph by Michael Starghill

If found guilty, the officers faced a maximum penalty of one year in prison and a fine of $2,000 per teen. “I could get that much for starving my dog,” said Kwesi Williams.

The pavilion at the park on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

“It was all eye-opening to our generation,” said Nemons. “This was the first thing I saw as far as being a real racial injustice. A lot of young Black folks said ‘I’m done’ and moved.”

What really happened that night? Keeling’s search convinced him that the answer will never be known.

“Hopefully he’s atoned for whatever the hell he did.”

Pamela, her sister Evelyn Jean, and Patricia Baker under their family oak tree at Washington Park on April 21, 2021.Photograph by Michael Starghill

This article originally appeared in the June 2021 issue of Texas Monthly with the headline “The Ghosts of Comanche Crossing.” Subscribe today.

The above article was published here.

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