#north south FUCK west is directions made for east coast people who hate the west coast

[noladyme]

La Cuervo - Chapter 20

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

20.

The next morning, Nina was looking out the window, at a green truck that had just pulled up by the curb. “I think it’s him!”. “You’re really excited, huh, ma'…?”, Angel chuckled at her. Nina turned to look at him, and nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think he’d like some coffee? We should make him some coffee…”, she said. “Ooh! Maybe some cheese! Go to the store an get some. Hurry!”. Angel came up behind Nina, and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the window. “He’s not royalty”, he said. “To me, he’s pretty fucking close right now!”, Nina retorted. “I can’t wait until every one of those little assholes are dead and gone!”. Angel laughingly pressed a kiss to her temple, and went to open up for the exterminator. Nina felt a sudden urge to straighten her hair, and brush invisible lint of her clothes, before he came through the door.

As Angel showed the exterminator around the house, Nina followed close behind; adding to the conversation whenever it made sense – and sometimes even when it didn’t. She realized she was beginning to go stir-crazy from only spending time at either the clubhouse or Angel’s house; and she hadn’t talked to a person that didn’t have anything to do with the Mayans in days. Before that, she’d been kept under strict surveillance by SAMCRO, who were worried she’d hurt herself; and even before that, it had been the first lockdown at the scrapyard.

Crouched on the kitchen floor, and looking under the sink, the exterminator looked up at them, and sighed. “Yup. Roaches”, he said. “Is this a rental or do you own the house?”. “I’m the owner”, Angel muttered. Nina realized she hadn’t known either until now. The thought of having a stable home for a potential future family made her heart skip a beat – in spite of the roaches. “Too bad… You could charge the owner otherwise”, the exterminator. “That reminds me of a joke! A man walks in to an insect shop, and asks for a box full of roaches. The man behind the counter asks the costumer what he needs it for. Well, I’m moving, and the owner of my apartment told me to leave the place as I’d found it!”. He laughed loudly at his own joke, and Nina bit her lip to keep from grinning; while Angel simply raised a brow. The exterminator looked at Nina. “You liked that, huh…? Listen to this one: My girlfriend stepped on a butterfly the other day, so I told her; No butter for a week! Then she saw a cockroach, and stomped on that as well. I told her; Nice try!”. He roared with laughter, and Nina snorted out a snigger.

Angel went to stand half way in front of Nina, and looked at the exterminator. “What’s this gonna cost me?”, he grunted. “No price on peace of mind, right?”, the exterminator said, before catching on to Angel’s glum expression. “250 $... If you take care of the clean-up yourself, I’ll cut it down to an even deuce”. Nina winced at the thought of having to clean up an unspecified amount of dead bugs, and Angel sighed. “Just take care of it”, he muttered. “Will do. But I’ll need you to clear out of here for the rest of the day. And open the windows when you get home”. Angel grunted in confirmation, and took Nina’s hand; pulling her with him. She hardly had a chance to grab her borrowed helmet, before he dragged her out of the front door.

Once out by the bike, Nina stopped dead in her tracks. The weather was beautiful, and perfect for a day at the park, or a ride anywhere other than what at the moment felt like the suffocating closedness of the clubhouse. She looked deep into Angel’s darker than usual eyes. “Take me out for breakfast…”, she said. “Querida, you know how it is. We shouldn’t even be out in the open like this", Angel said.

“But I’m going crazy!”, Nina pleaded. “I only ever see you, or the people in the clubhouse… I feel like I’m under house arrest, even though you keep telling me I did nothing wrong". Angel got on his bike, and shook his head. “We’ll go out when all this is over", he said. “And when is that? You haven’t found the snitch yet; and even if you do, it’s just a matter of time before Palo realizes I’m still alive". Nina realized her voice was turning whiny. “I wanna go somewhere… see other people…”. “Like last time?”, Angel snapped back, taking her by surprise. “When you fucking left me, with nothing but a bullshit excuse?”.

Nina felt like she’d been slapped in the face. “Angel… You think I want to leave?”. “You did once already”, Angel said. “And just now, you were flirting with the guy who came to nuke the cockroaches, that’s made you hate my house”. “I don’t hate your house…”, Nina said, and scowled at him. “And I wasn’tflirting!”. “We’re not doing this now. Get on", Angel grunted, and started the engine. “Angel…!”. “Get on the fucking bike, Nina!”. “No! Fuck you!”, Nina growled, and began walking down the sidewalk, in the direction she thought might lead to a bus-stop.

She was so angry, she hardly heard Angel drive after her; and only just noticed him, once he was coasting slowly next to her. “Are you gonna walk to the yard?”, he said. “No. I’m gonna take a bus”, she retorted. “With what money?”. Nina halted. “I’ll flirt with the driver. Apparently, I flirt with strangers!”, she hissed. “I’m sorry…?”, Angel said. “Is that a question?”. She looked at him with rageful eyes, and he stopped the bike; getting off to walk up to her. “You have girls all over you, all the time, and I never complain. I’m friendly with one person, and you flip out!”. “You laughed at his sex-joke!”, Angel exclaimed. “Creeper was making dirty jokes all night, last night. I laughed at them”, Nina sneered. “You didn’t even blink!”. “Creep is a brother”. “So, I’m allowed to talk to patches; but with everyone else, I’m supposed to pretend they don’t exist?”, Nina asked. “With the club, it’s different. I trust them not to…”.

Nina scoffed at him, and rolled her eyes; before continuing to stomp down the street. Angel ran up behind her, and grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry…”, he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that shit”. “You don’t trust me; that’s the problem”, Nina said. “Yes, I trust you. I’m just… I already lost you once. I can’t do that again”. Angel’s eyes were sincere, and Nina fought the urge to take him into her arms. She was still angry. “I wanna protect you… And maybe I’m trying to protect myself”. Nina sighed. “I’m not leaving you again… But I have to see more than the inside of your house and the scrapyard”. “I know”, Angel said, and cupped her face. “Just, please… Let’s finish this shit with Palo, and I’ll take you wherever you want, ok?”. Nina frowned at him for a moment longer. “Don’t accuse me of stuff like you did just now… That’s not ok”. “I won’t. I’m sorry”, Angel said. “Please get on the bike. We need to get you to the yard, where you’re…”. “Safe… yeah. Whatever”, Nina muttered; put on her helmet, and got on the bike, after Angel had saddled up.

They drove to the scrapyard in silence.

---

Once at the clubhouse, the tension between them had lifted slightly, but Nina was still feeling peeved at Angel. He managed to steal a short kiss from her; but frowned, when she didn’t reciprocate his hug with more than a pat on the back.

Coco and Gilly came over, with rushed expressions. “We got a load of meds for the doc, but border control is hovering around the flower shop”, Gilly said. “East tunnel?”, Angel said. “West”, Coco said. “It’s further, but safer”. Angel nodded, and gave Nina a final look, before going over to get on his bike with the others. Nina waved at them as they drove off. She felt bad about how she’d left it with Angel, but it was hard to just get over being reminded of what she’d done to him. Mostly, she was angry with herself. Maybe there had been a different way to deal with the situation with Danielle those weeks back; but at the time she hadn’t known how to.

Trying to take her mind of it – she couldn’t do anything about it at the moment, anyway – she went into the clubhouse to start work. EZ was waiting with coffee and burritos, and they spent a little while having breakfast; while Nina retold the exterminator’s bad jokes. “He was flirting with you!”, EZ said. “How did Angel take that? Is he still alive?”. “Angel?”. “No, the exterminator!”, EZ chuckled. “Yeah… Though, I have a feeling he’s gonna have to watch his back for a while”.

Bishop, Taza and Hank came out of templo, and the prospect got to his feet. “We’re meeting with El Padrino”, Bishop said. “Business”. “Where’s Huey, Louie and Dewey?”, Hank asked. “They got a hold of some meds for the doc down south”, EZ said. “They’re using the west tunnel”. Hank nodded in approval. “Riz and Creeper are rat-hunting”, Taza said. “With their dicks…”, Bishop grunted. The men all sniggered. “Do you need me with you?”, EZ asked. “No. Stay here and Nina-sit”, Bishop replied. Nina rolled her eyes. “Sorry, mija. You know how it is. Palo is supposed to come tomorrow, but we don’t know if he changes his mind, and shows up early”. “You have your gun?”, Hank asked. Nina pulled out the .38 from her waistband. “Always”, she said. “Good”, Bishop said. “Prospect, go take care of that load of iron with Chucky. Nina, call him if anything comes up”. Nina and EZ both nodded, and the Mayans left the clubhouse. EZ went to clear up the table, but Nina halted him with a hand on his shoulder. “Go… scrap, or whatever it is you do. I’ve got this”. EZ nodded with a smile, and left her to it.

After clearing off their dishes, Nina went behind the bar, and put her gun by the sink, to wash them. She took her time, turning on some music to relax her tense mood. She hated to think something might happen to Angel while he was away, after how she’d more or less shrugged off his affectionate gestures, before he left. A cheery song came on, and Nina let herself sway to the music. Maybe she’d get a chance to dance with Angel at the party the day after, in spite of the psychopath bikers coming to kill her. They’d be ok. They had to be.

After a while, she went to wipe down the tables around the clubhouse; having to work a little more forcefully on the table the poker-game had been held at the night before. Stains from liquor and stray cigarette ashes had dried in, and she broke a nail trying to get one of the stickier stains. She cursed bellow her breath, and put her finger in her mouth, to relieve the pain a bit.

The door to the clubhouse opened, and Camille came in. “Hey!”, Nina smiled. “What’s up?”. Camille looked around the room, as if searching; before walking behind the bar. “Where is everyone?”, she asked. “Bish’ and the other tops are at some meeting; and the rest are out on some job down south”, Nina shrugged, and turned around to continue wiping down the table. “What about EZ?”, Camille said. “He’s around the yard somewhere. Bishop has him working on something”. “So, no one’s around?”. Nina looked confusedly at Camille. She looked almost relieved that they were alone; when usually she’d be annoyed there was no Mayans around to adore. “Yeah, we’re alone”, she muttered. “But seeing as you’re here, maybe you could help me with the party prep”. Camille chewed her lip. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk”. “Sure”, Nina shrugged. She dried her hands, and went to sit at one of the clean tables. “What’s up?”

Camille sat down across the table from her, and blew out a deep breath. “I’ve been keeping a secret from the club”, she said. Nina felt a shudder go through her. The situation reminded her too much of her confrontation with Daniella. “What’s that?”, she said. Camille took a long moment to gather herself, before looking meaningfully at her. “Before I came here, I used to go with the Vatos”, she said. “Oh”, Nina croaked. “Yeah…”, Camille muttered. “I met Sala while on a trip to Tijuana; and he took me to one of their parties… I ended up sticking around for a while; you know how it is”. “I guess…”. Nina didn’t like where this was going. “At first it was fine. I’d hang around, and take care of them…”. Camille shot Nina a look; making it clear what taking care of meant. “They offered me a permanent place with them, if I helped them out with a problem… Apparently, they wanted to expand into the states, but there was another MC blocking their way… So, they sent me up here to get whatever info I could get out of the Mayans; and for a while, that’s what I did”.

Nina cleared her throat, and tried to look calm; failing miserably. “Why are you telling me this?”, she asked. “You should know, I don’t have very good experiences with snitches”. It was difficult to avoid having an edge to her voice. “Because… I like you”, Camille said. “And I want you to understand why I’m doing this”. She put her hand behind her back, and pulled out a .38; which Nina instantly recognized as her own. She cursed internally for letting the gun out of her sight. Her eyes widened, and she fought the urge to run for the door. She wouldn’t make it anyway. Camille let the hand holding the gun rest on the table; the barrel pointing towards Nina. “Camille… What is this?”.

“The night of the party, I went into the trailer with Creeper… I saw your inhaler, and I figured out who you were. Sala had told me to look out for someone like you”, Camille said. “I was going to tell him, but then Creeper started talking about taking me out to the ocean for a couple of days, and I didn’t want to miss the chance of becoming his; and being a part of the family here... The Mayans are so different than Vatos Malditos… It’s not just drugs, and guns and fighting. They’re like a club should be. They care about their own… VM never cared about me, not really”. There was true pain in Camille’s eyes. “So, I went to talk to Sala, and tell him I was done. I wanted to belong to the Mayans… He told me it was fine, and that he’d take me to get the last of my money… But in stead, they beat the shit out of me, and… The Vatos aren’t as nice to women as the Mayans are. They dropped me in that tunnel, for the club to find me; said that if the Mayans wanted me, they could have me…”. Nina could read on Camille’s face what had happened the night she was beat, and she felt bile rise in her throat. “Camille… I’m sorry that happened to you…”, she tried. “Don’t pity me”, Camille hissed, and clenched her hand around the handle of the gun. “After all that, after they beat and raped me to try to get me to talk, I was still loyal to the MC here! I didn’t say a word... You are the Mayans favorite pet, and I saved your ass; but I couldn’t even tell anyone about how faithful I’d been, because I’d still be punished for being a snitch.”.

Nina swallowed thickly. “But you did talk to them again… didn’t you…?”, she said quietly. Camille nodded. “People around here love you. Everyone lights up when you enter the room, and I want that as well... You left, and I thought that when you went away, I’d have a chance to take over your job; but Dani was here, and she was all over the gig… I didn’t stand a chance”. “So you told the Vatos she was me…”, Nina croaked. “I was there the night Angel made her tell him what she knew. But even after trying to blackmail him into giving her another chance, the club was going to let her stick around; I just knew it. So, when Angel calmed down, and went to take her home… I called Sala. I told them the woman they wanted was with him, and where they were headed”, Camille said. “They killed her… You killed her, Camille”. Nina felt her whole body shaking. “Yeah… With both you and her gone, maybe the Mayans would finally let me be a part of the family”, she said. “But you came back, and you make it so fuckingdifficult to live up to the standards you set”.

They sat for a long moment in silence. Nina was terrified to move even a muscle. “What are you going to do now?”, she asked, convinced she already knew the answer. Camille looked at her with sad eyes. “You weren’t supposed to come back”, she said. “I just want to be a part of something, but with you around, there’s no room for me”. “That’s not true… You belong here as much as I do”, Nina said. “Bullshit…! I tried everything; serving their favorite beers; laughing at their jokes; giving them a good time in bed… They still see me as a nobody. But you… you’re like this shining, perfect person to them; and I can’t live up to that… The only chance I stand of having a home here, is if you’re not around. I’m not enough as me; so, I’m going to become you”. Camille pulled the hammer of the gun, and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna tell them the Vatos came by, and took you out… I’ll take care of them while they heal. They’ll see me as the new Nina”. Camille raised the gun, and smiled sadly. “I’m sorry…”.

Nina felt pure adrenaline flow through her veins. She put her hands under the edge of the table, and flipped it over; making Camille fall backwards, and the bullet hit the ceiling. Running for the door, another shot was heard, and she felt a burning pain in her leg; and screamed out in agony. Crawling behind the bar for cover, she heard Camille scramble to chase after her. “Don’t make this so fucking difficult”, the red-head yelled. Nina got to her feet, and grabbed a stray bottle of scotch; throwing it at Camille. Camille ducked just in time for the bottle to narrowly miss her head; giving Nina time to jump at her, and grab her wrist, to force the gun to point away, before Camille could pull the trigger again. They wrestled for the gun for a few seconds, before falling to the floor; limbs tangled. Camille was growling in anger, and as Nina got on top of her, she grabbed her arm, and bit down on her skin; drawing blood. Nina cried out, and pulled back; making Camille able to get on top of her. Nina kept her hold on Camille’s wrist, trying to force her to drop the gun, but Camille was like a wild woman; not letting go of her weapon. Once again pointing the .38 at Nina; she was startled at the door to the clubhouse slamming open. Nina twisted her wrist, when Camille pulled the trigger again.

The next three seconds felt like years to Nina. Red mist clouded her vision, as Camille’s blood and brain matter rained down over her. Something heavy held her down, and she realized it was her assailant’s body, slumped on top of her. The weight was pulled off her, and someone yelled her name repeatedly. She didn’t reply. Even opening her mouth a little, she felt the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She could hardly even breathe, though not for need of her inhaler. It just felt like there wasn’t any air to be had. Turning her head, she looked at Camille. It was that dark alley all over again. The bullet hole in Camille’s head, and her dead body on the floor; laying just as Gael had lain there.

A hand on her wounded leg made her jolt in pain, and she finally met EZ’s startled eyes. “Nina…! Are you ok?”, he said. Nina simply let out a short breath; unable to reply. When she didn’t answer, he pulled out his phone. “Angel! Get back to the clubhouse now. Camille is dead, and Nina’s been shot…”.

---

She sat on the floor, with her back against the bar. A paramedic was shining a flashlight into her eyes, and trying to get her to talk; but she had nothing to say. She’d not spoken a word to anyone, not even shed a tear.

EZ’s second phone call had been to Bishop; and he, Hank and Taza had arrived moments later. They all tried to get her to move away from Camille and the pool of blood she was sitting in, but she’d refused; recoiling from anyone trying to touch her. She’d sat there, looking at the dead woman on the floor, while Taza called 911.

The Mayans were pacing the floor, and giving statements to the cops; and all giving her worried looks. “Miss? Do you think you can tell me what happened here?”, a police officer asked. He crouched down in front of her, while the paramedic moved down to take a look at her leg. Her calf was soaring with pain, but Nina didn’t move a muscle. “Miss Teller?”, the officer tried again. “This is a serious situation. A woman is dead!”. “Back off her!”, Bishop growled. “You see the gun in the dead bitch’s hand. It’s clear what happened”. “You need to relax, sir”, the officer said warningly.

A roar of bikes was heard from outside, and Nina recognized the sound of one of the engines. It felt like there was finally a little bit of air to be had, and she took a gasping breath. “Where the fuck is she?”, Angel roared, before slamming the door open. He took one look at the scene, and ran over; dropping to his knees next to Nina. “Get off her!”, he growled at the police officer. “Watch it, son…”, the officer sneered. “She won’t move”, the paramedic muttered. “We need to get her to the hospital”. “Just let me talk to her”, Angel said. The officer got up, and backed away; keeping wary eyes on him and Coco and Gilly, who had come in after him. Both of them cursed bellow their breaths as they took in the scene.

Angel cupped Nina’s face, and looked at her with worried eyes. “Nina? Look at me, please…”. He stroked her temples with his thumbs, and Nina met his gaze. “Angel…”, she almost whispered. “I’m here, querida”, he said, trying for a soft smile. Nina slumped against him, and he gently wrapped his arms around her; letting her melt into him. “She… I can’t…”, she croaked. It was as if a dam inside her exploded, and tears came streaming out of her eyes. She sobbed violently, and clutched her hands around his arm. “I got you… I’m here”, Angel said, and pressed his lips to the top of her head. Everything surfaced in Nina’s head – overwhelming her with emotions. Her fight with Angel; how she’d not said goodbye properly; how she could have died without telling him again how much she loved him. She looked at the dead body on the floor. The coroner was crouched over it, taking pictures, and swabbing for gun residue on the hand. Camille’s eyes were still open, and it felt like she was staring straight in to Nina’s soul. Nina closed her eyes, turned away, and wailed against Angel’s chest; while he continuously stroked her hair, and tried to wipe away the unstoppable rivers of tears coming from her eyes.

“Sir, we have to move her… I can’t treat her here”, the paramedic said. Angel nodded, and slipped his arms under Nina’s body; lifting her up. He carried her out of the clubhouse, and over to the waiting ambulance, where they’d set up a gurney. Nina was shaking and crying as he set her down on it. “Let’s get you out of here”, the paramedic said. Nina shot Angel a panicked look. “Don’t let them take me away”, she cried. Angel looked at the paramedic. “I’m going with her”. “Only family can…”, the paramedic tried. “He is family", EZ said. He and Bishop had followed close behind Angel. “All of us are", the president grunted. Angel looked ready to kill anyone who tried to keep him from Nina’s side, and the paramedic sighed. “Alright. Let’s go", he said, and together, they pushed the gurney inside the ambulance. Angel jumped in to take the seat by Nina’s head, and took her hand.

The paramedic went to share a few words with the police officer, and left them alone in the ambulance “Angel…”, Nina whimpered. “Shh… you’re safe”, he whispered, and stroked her cheek. “It’s over”. “No…”, Nina whispered. “Camille was the snitch”. Angel’s eyes widened, and he stared at the body bag the coroner was rolling out of the clubhouse, before giving Bishop a hard look. “Rat…!”, he growled.

The last thing Nina saw before the paramedic closed the doors to the ambulance, was Bishop rushing back towards the clubhouse, his phone in hand.

---

[barrykeoghans]

Barry Keoghan Can Do It All

Barry Keoghan returns from the bathroom of a “members only” club on the Lower East Side in New York City and plops down a handful of Dubble Bubble in front of me and his girlfriend, Shona Guerin. “Here’s some gum,” the 25-year-old Irishman says. I grab one—not because I necessarily want any, but because Keoghan seems to be presenting the Dubble Bubble as some kind of ice breaker, and it’d be rude not to join in. But as I start to untwist the wrapper, he quickly interjects: “The question is, do you trust me?”

It’s a pretty fucked up thing to say, considering Keoghan knows I’ve just seen The Killing of a Sacred Deer. In the film, directed by Yorgos Lanthimos (The Lobster, Dogtooth) and costarring Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman, Keoghan plays a teenage boy named Martin who forces the surgeon who accidentally killed his father (Farrell) to make a dreadful compromise: sacrifice an immediate family member, or else watch each of them go paralyzed, bleed from their eyes, and then slowly die. How Martin is able to set off this agonizing chain of events is never explained; Keoghan plays him with an eerie matter-of-factness, blankly reciting the horrific rules to Farrell’s Steven Murphy like they’re lines from a book report. He uses a similar intonation to suggest that he’s poisoned the Dubble Bubble, clearly relishing the layer of wickedness that starring in Sacred Deer has added to his bright-eyed, innocent-seeming persona.

I put the gum down on the table.

Keoghan has had a remarkable few months: Before Sacred Deer, he played George, a naive, pure-hearted teen in a sweater vest, in Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster World War II epic Dunkirk. It was a small role with a basic function and only a handful of lines, but Keoghan managed to capture a sense of idealism in the character—to the point that his sudden death is genuinely and tragically sad. “I always said, I want to work with good indie filmmakers, and if a blockbuster comes up and the filmmaker is great, I’ll do that,” Keoghan says. “And then I get the best of all that! It’s Chris Nolan! The best director who also makes big films.”

Still, Keoghan’s performance in Dunkirk hardly compares to his turn as the Sacred Deer’s grim reaper in blue jeans and a backpack. Sacred Deer is a movie about responsibility, consequences, and comeuppance, and Keoghan’s Martin is the center of gravity around which all of those themes revolve. Lanthimos, as always when it comes to his films, is the one who crafted the seemingly alternate, near-human universe of Sacred Deer—at once sick and sickly humorous—but Keoghan is his mouthpiece, morphing from a simple, sympathetic kid into a merciless but magnetic exactor of justice over the course of two hours. “His face, his physicality, his whole presence,” Lanthimos tells me, when I ask why he decided to cast Keoghan. “He’s just an interesting human being to watch. It would’ve been easy to create this one-dimensional evil kid, but his mere presence conveys many different things at the same time.”

“To get to play those two roles within the space of a few months, to show my range, that’s a dream,” Keoghan says. “I want people to go, ‘Fuck, that’s him? He’s completely different.’”

Keoghan was born in one of the grittier neighborhoods of Dublin, Ireland. He’s from the north side of the River Liffey, which bisects the city and acts as a socioeconomic dividing line between the underprivileged north and the more affluent south. His mother, who was addicted to heroin, died when he was 5 years old, and he was sent to live in foster care. It’s the only segment of Keoghan’s life he won’t talk about; when I ask him about his childhood he responds, “You’ve probably done your research, haven’t you?” as if to say, “The information’s out there, so let’s move on.” When he was 11, his grandmother took him in. He’s more than happy to tell stories from his adolescence, painting a picture of himself to be just as sneakily sinister as some of the characters he’s played. He got kicked out of his all-boys high school because “they weren’t having my games anymore. The last thing I done was, I threw a coin and it hit a teacher in the head. That was the last straw for them.” He tells the story bashfully, staring down at his feet and suppressing a smile.

It was around that time that Keoghan started acting. “I seen this note in a window that said this small Irish movie Between the Canals, they were looking for actors.” Keoghan, who had never acted before, saw an opportunity. “I took the number down on the sly, because I knew that my friends would take the piss out of me, and I rang it when I went home.”

“Acting? I don’t know—I just see money,” Keoghan says when I ask what made him audition for the movie, an admission that feels honest and understandable. Actors are especially known for treating their profession like a craft they were drawn to by Dionysus himself; to hear one flatly admit that it’s a job is both jarring and refreshing. For much of the beginning of his career, Keoghan played characters similar to the side role he landed in Between the Canals: troubled kids from the streets. In 2013, he appeared in six episodes of the fourth season of Love/Hate, an Irish television series about Dublin’s criminal underbelly; he played a homeless youth in 2016’s Mammal. They weren’t splashy parts (Mammal screened at Sundance), but they were enough to get Keoghan noticed.

As Lanthimos says, Keoghan just has one of those faces. It somehow seems to be in constant flux; one second he looks like a Dior model, the next he looks like if Cillian Murphy got hit with a shovel. Sitting in front of me in a white tee and gray, Superdry sweats, he looks kind, innocent, and young—much younger than 25—but his expression can quickly flip, either because the light hit the scar under his right eye in a funny way or because he wants to tease you about poisoning your food. It’s his greatest weapon, and he knows how to use it.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer is full of disturbingly memorable scenes, but one stands out: About two-thirds through the film, Stephen Murphy’s wife, played by Kidman, confronts Martin in his home and begs him to lift the curse. Martin’s in his boxers and in the middle of eating a plate of spaghetti, which reminds him of a story about his father. As a kid, Martin remembers, he used to marvel at the way his dad ate pasta: so efficient, so brilliant. He demonstrates, twirling some of the pasta around his fork and eating it in one big mouthful. Still chewing, and with sauce covering his face, he continues the story, blankly recalling how devastating it was to grow up and one day realize that the way his father ate pasta is the way everyone eats pasta. The discovery made him feel betrayed, Martin says; as if the man whom he revered so much barely even existed. Meanwhile, Kidman’s character sits across from Martin dumbfounded, realizing how deep the boy’s scars go and perhaps coming to grips with the fact that the person who holds her life and her children’s lives in the balance is a teenager covered in marinara sauce.

It’s an outrageous scene, this kid shoveling spaghetti into his face while spouting an allegory about coming to realize your own insignificance—and Keoghan is unflinching, turning each forkful into a work of art. “You know, sitting in front of Nicole Kidman in your boxers is not an easy thing to do,” Keoghan tells me, hardly interested in talking about his performance or how he’s able to simultaneously capture pain, loss, and bald evil in one fell swoop. “I was just constantly like, ‘Can she see up there?’”

On the day we meet, Keoghan’s particularly giddy because Aaron Paul tweeted about how good he was in Sacred Deer. After six years of toiling away in mostly Irish productions, Keoghan’s performance as Martin has put him in a position where he can not only think about the future of his career, but the next five or 10 years of his life in general. Keoghan says, “It’s all a plan.” When he first signed with his talent agency, WME, this plan was already partially formulated: He had written down a list of directors he wanted to work with. Christopher Nolan and Yorgos Lanthimos were both on it. “I write everything down,” he says. “Directors, movies I want to do, that I want to produce, direct, start my own company, start my own boxing club.” Keoghan takes his roles in Dunkirk and Sacred Deer as proof that the first step to achieving a goal is putting it down on paper (or in his iPhone Notes). “I’m a big fan of the law of attraction,” he proudly states. He won’t show anyone the obsessively curated and growing list, but everything on it can be boiled down to one simple goal: “Have a successful, good career.”

Keoghan seems to know that, at 25, after two prominent roles in the films of two high-profile directors, his plan is coming together. He has two upcoming projects on his slate—an Irish movie starring Hugo Weaving and Jim Broadbent called Black 47, and American Animals, costarring Blake Jenner and Evan Peters—but he wants to ride this momentum even more. “I’m lookin’ for that script,” he says, leaning into the recorder, graveling his voice to sound tougher. “I’m lookin’ for that script!”

His personal life shows a different side of him, one that’s less scrappy and not so firmly tuned to survival mode. You might even call him a romantic. He met his girlfriend, Shona, at a bar she worked in in Kerry. He asked her out on the spot, but not to dinner or anything like that: He suggested they drive out to Dingle, a picturesque peninsula on the west coast of Ireland. “Luckily she had a car. I had no way to get to Dingle,” Keoghan notes. Two weeks later, he returned to Kerry with suitcases. They’ve been living with Shona’s mom since.

“He doesn’t put a lot of thought into things,” Shona tells me, with more admiration than admonishment. “But he’s very caring. He can feel when he’s done something wrong. It hurts him.”

Now Keoghan and Shona want to move to the United States. They don’t know where exactly—he prefers New York City, she prefers L.A.—but the idea of turning ex-pat is thrilling to them. “And we’re looking to get our own dog,” Keoghan adds. “A rescue one. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just love them, don’t I? They just listen.”

“I have to try to be in the moment,” Keoghan says at the end of our interview. “Because these moments we’ve been having lately are great. Everyone is looking at you, and it’s like, you’re totally in control of everything. It’s something that you need to enjoy.”

I pick up the gum again, and Keoghan’s eyes follow me as I put it in my coat pocket. He says nothing this time. Walking away from the table, I pull out the gum and decide to eat it.

By Andrew Gruttadaro

[blubszog]

When In Fog City

I'm now in Burlingame, CA: suburb of San Francisco: the end of the continent. In this Bay Area, it is a grey area blanketed in morning fog. But still the trees are singing, and bells are ringing in a new age, toothauzindsevantean. We are closing in on the conclusion to yet another decade, and still I haven't forgotten my somebodyness. Oh how I yearn to be holy, and yet in my yearning I'll never be holy. So now I'm out of guacamole for my chips, I must make more guacamole. Well, never have I made guacamole, and yet I have made ravioli before, which I enjoy less than guacamole, alas. Yes tuonnysevvinteene, nonetheless we've all got enough shit to examine, both out there and within ourselves. With the rivers drying, trees dying, the oceans rising. Mother Nature deluges us now with a climatic morass comparable to human female pre-menstrual events. By the way, there's a brand new phone that's just hit the market. With it is storage memory enough for 9,000,000 photos and every last mobile application in existence. Never again need you to go out and do anything or speak to anyone, ever, finally! It also has two arms and legs allowing it to move about independently; you can even program its voice to sound like your mother's. Furthermore, it'll pluck out your own pubic hairs on command! Go now on to Snapchat and shoot a live video of your own reaction concerning the emergence of this new, exciting, neat little device. Then, watch others as they pour out their hearts in dramatic testimonials, vote for your favorite one. Hopefully, you'll get fucked in your precious little face with some appreciation! I digress. So San Francisco. Me and some family waltzed around (sometimes practically hiking perpendicular to the ground up and down The City's many undulating hills) getting a good up close and personal look at the idiosyncrasies found in any city. Particularly fascinating concerning San Fran are its building which seem to grow from out of one another in horizontal bunches, blanketing the hills and valleys of a lush, mountainous peninsula on America's West coast. We departed on foot from our hotel in historic, iconic Chinatown, to the Ferry Building for lunch, then to an underground Muni station on the corner of Market and Drumm streets; the underground Muni, being San Fran's subway system. We got off in The Castro, a prominent SF neighborhood known for housing mostly The City's gay contingency. There are prideful, rainbow colored crosswalks and rainbow flags adorning the windows of homes and businesses alike. One such business, a public house called 440 Castro, sports a front door poster. What's on said poster but an image of a faceless, nude male body, nude save for a pair of boxer-briefs donning the imprint of a well-endowed member. It's clarion call reads something like: "Rock Hard: Battle of the Bulges: Every first Monday at 9 p.m.: Hosted by Shando Darby." Be there. Then there is historic Castro Theatre, which displays posters you're more comfortable showing your grandmother, of 'The Sound Of Music' sing-a-long, (oh joy) as well as a showing of '2001: A Space Odyssey.' We proceeded to walk past several well-decorated cafés, salons, and hole-in-the-wall food joints. There's plenty of those kinds of places throughout town, but the difference in this particular neighborhood is they are well-decorated. Now at this point, my aunt expressed her wanting to walk around Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, and, in her words, "Go see some couterculture." We received directions from a volunteer who noticed our unawareness of how to get to our desired location. He was a buddha of a man, indeed a very, very round man with the plan. No distinguishable chin nor head had he, but rather one contiguous neck with a face on it. He had insisted we take the bus, however, we with our unsure, odd midwestern demeanor implied shyly our wishes to walk, when really we were probably afraid of interacting with the whole bus-riding garble in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar folk. Finally, after not really ignoring him, yet not quite interacting with and heeding him either, he waved us off and gave up. I overheard him say rather cynically half to himself, "I'll just mind my own business" and he returned to sitting on sidewalk bench with his cane and conversing intimately with friend, whom also attempted in vain to assist us. With this, we continued on foot, onward along Castro Street to Haight Street. That's Haight, spelled h.a.i.g.h.t., not h.a.t.e., the neighborhood name, Haight-Ashbury does not tell you to hate Ashbury, nor is it a hotbed for hate crime, actually it's the intersection of two streets marking the epicenter. Now Haight-Ashbury is the hippie capital of the world, or so it was in the 1960's. To get an idea for the place, it's like Dinkytown without the spoiled college students, turn up the general funk of the place to 9,000, three times the size, and add some washed up hippies, bums, and other folk, all of whom are right on the sidewalk; either drunk, stoned, getting drunk, or getting stoned, or of those activities, some permutation. Even now as I describe it, I can almost smell the marijuana wafting from every alleyway. However, don't get the wrong idea, it's a charming place, enough. After all, my aunt, a biology professor at a small college in rural Wisconsin, was willing to walk with her two daughters and two nephews there. We proceeded on into a small clothing shop right off of Haight Street. I didn't rummage through the store's wares myself, but instead made friendly with the young woman working behind the counter. She greeted us as we came in, "hope you're staying warm out there," I found humor in this, as it was a 50 degree evening. I told her we were from MN and WI so the weather was devoid of any hardship. Also I told her we were over to see my uncle in Mendocino County, (which is a couple of hours north in wine and olive country) at this she exclaimed, "I'm from Mendocino, that's so great!" etc. I was sampling the smells of their essential oil collection, when I came across blessed, holy sandalwood. I reveled in its blessing aroma then commented to the gal working there that you couldn't go wrong with it. She agreed, and we ended up saying "great" or some such word in unison. Of course, I was obligated, "Jinks! I like Pepsi." Said she, "I'll have a soda ready for you next time you come by." I chuckled then said "I'll come back, but, well, who knows when that'll be." She was warming up to me, I would have wished to stay a while and talk to her, the least I could've done was take down her contact and then I would've had an ally to turn to in San Francisco. However, none of that occurred, as I was flummoxed by the sudden departure of my kin. I left her forever with a, "oh, looks like my folks are jetting, peace" she just looked somewhat longingly back at me, not saying anything. How I berated and hated myself the remainder of the night and the proceeding day for not even at least inquiring as to her name! Perhaps she could've showed me goings on, new people, new experiences, in a new fascinating town, San Francisco: the end of the continent! Not to mention, she was pretty, too. But still, we must let all this to pass, allow the feelings of desire run their course and ourselves remain in present, for doors to new blessings are always opening and closing, no matter what you do. Despite that, the rest of that night was good, and rest of the trip too was good. We went north into still more lush and mountainous wine country to my uncle's and his newly husband's ranch. What did I learn that day? San Francisco is grooving at the end of the continent. Her buildings, in contiguous horizontal stacks of a Victorian menagerie, a testament to her aesthetic, cultural grandeur. If indeed you find yourself standing on Ferry Plaza, take your look around the around the Bay: away South towards Palo Alto, then to the East, the Oakland skyline, then continuing with your eye northward still to see Sausalito and Marin county beyond, and finally the wide endless ocean; guarded by the Golden Gate. One hell of a bridge, with great, hulking, scarlet, ladder-like doorways, welcoming and fare-thee-well-ing sailors, locals, and travelers alike. Sometimes, you just about can't differentiate whether you're in California, U.S.A. or some dream. Or so it would seem to one such as me, after living in frightfully freezing, flat Minneapolis; which has its own charm, but that is another story.