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anna-mator · 5 years

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How to Draw a Toon - (In-Progress) Fandom: Warner Bros, Looney Tunes, Disney, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Rating: M Categories: M/M Relationships: (eventual) Bugs/Daffy Warnings: Language, moderate violence, cartoon violence, racism, Additional tags: friends to lovers, mystery, adventure

Somewhere in Toon Town, a rabbit sat uncomfortably in the only library in town. He was pouring over autobiographies of other Toons. Each chapter of every book began the same: humble beginnings with a chance of stardom. Most were poor, some were sheltered… every single one was literally drawn into their lives. Their family, their class, their religion, their politics; it seemed to be all predetermined. Whether it was intentional from the creator, or heavily influenced, he still wasn’t sure.

“Bugs?” A small voice spoke.

Bugs Bunny jolted, placing his hands over the piles of books he collected on instinct. He quickly regained his posture and settled his eyes on a soft-colored and familiar face. “Belle?” He asked, shocked.

Belle was hovering over him slightly with a few books in hand. “It is you… Did you need any help, Bugs?” She asked politely.

“Oh ehh… nah.” Bugs said, trying to keep some of the books from her view. “I’m all good here. Say ehhh… shouldn’t you be at like…. Disneyland or somethin’?” he asked.

At that, Belle laughed slightly. “Oh Bugs… just because I’m a Disney princess doesn’t mean they keep us all holed up in their theme parks. Plus, with all of the royalty checks, I don’t really need a job. I volunteer here.”

“Ah. I see. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Not at all…” Belle said, then looked curiously at Bugs’ pile of books. “It looks like you’re about to check out the entirety of the Autobiography section.” She chuckled.

“Ahaha… just about.” Bugs said, suddenly feeling slightly nervous about her nosiness.

“All of them are Toons, too…”

Just then, Bugs had an idea. “Ah!” He exclaimed before he stood up and gently turned her away from his pile of books, “Actually, I’ve been watchin’ some kids recently and wouldn’t ya know it, I can hardly put ‘em to bed. If you could find me the very best fairy-tale book you can think of, I would be foreva in your debt.”

“Uh, sure.” Belle said with a weary tone.

Bugs didn’t like the sound of her voice. Once he believed Belle was out of earshot, he scrambled to gather his haphazard notes and supplies. “I gotta get outta here.” He said from under his strained breath.

When Bugs placed things away, he turned tail to find the closest exit. The rabbit managed to slip through a back door completely unnoticed. He found his car and sped off in a hurry. This kind of prodding had consequences. He had heard rumors of Toons going missing over stuff like this. Luckily, Bugs was smarter than that.

In truth, Bugs trusted no Toon nor Human with the kind of information he was gathering. It was starting to weigh on his conscience, and even take a blow to his general health. Typically, when a Toon became stressed it visibly showed. Bugs was no exception.

Which was why an hour later, with no one else to turn to, Steven Spielberg took a look at Bugs and simply said, “God you’re a mess.” He commented once he approached the Toon rabbit.

“Thanks, Doc.” Bugs said with a slight roll to his eyes. “You looked in the mirror lately, yourself?” He japed, commenting on the distracting and ugly anti-paparazzi gear Steven had on.

Deciding to ignore the comment, “Please tell me it’s not…” Steven asked, as he brought his shades onto the brim of his baseball hat.

“It’s not the kids. I can take care of ‘em jus’ fine.” Bugs shot Steven down immediately.

They walked down the sunny L.A. street, headed towards Griffith Park. They were both well aware it was the entrance to Toon Town. Still, the park itself was the only place that provided Bugs with any comfort.

“So… what did you bring me out here for?” Steven asked.

It took every ounce of energy Bugs had not to just start spouting out every tiny piece of information he had been gathering for the past six months. Instead, he took a breath and exhaled softly. “I’m over eighty years-old, mac. I’ve been repainted a dozen times and there’s no end in sight.”

Immediately, Steven knew exactly what Bugs was dealing with. It was obviously some kind of mid-life crisis, but a Toon equivalent. “Go on…” He prompted.

“So a few months ago, I got ta thinkin’... What else am I gonna do with my life? I can’t be slingin’ dynamite foreva. I already toured the world when I was younger… but I never learned anything!” Bugs cried out, “Sure the occasional script had some kind of historical tidbit, or a line from another language, but I still felt… uneducated.”

Steven was already connecting certain dots in his head, leading up to what Bugs wanted to say. Because of it, a small smile was beginning to inch onto his face. However, he continued to let the Toon speak.

“Then I realized… what if it ain’t just me? And as it turns out--”

“Eighty-seven percent of Toons are uneducated.” Steven finished and the smile vanished, ”And the number keeps growing every year. There isn’t a single school in Toon Town. If Toons want an education, they acquire it themselves or through scholarships the studios award.”

Bugs and Steven stopped and looked at one another. “I came to you nearly a decade ago... “ Steven started, feeling slightly irritated at Bugs.

Immediately Bugs cringed, “I know, I know!” he shouted, starting to move away from him. While he wanted to tell Steven more about his findings about Toon education, he decided to keep his mouth shut. Paranoia struck him again.

Still, Steven gave a small chase. “I asked repeatedly if you wanted to make Acme Loo into a real school, and you said there was no need. I gave you my pitch all those years ago, now give me yours.” He said in a harsh tone.

Bugs tugged on his ears before looking at Steven in the eyes again. “People love me, Toons idolize me… but for what? Bein’ the lucky one? Always comin’ out on top? What good is that when you can’t protect the ones you care about? I just… I want to give somethin’ back’.”

After hearing that, Steven was more than pleased. He gave a nod to Bugs, “Alright, I’ll help you. We’ll make Acme Loo.”

“Thanks, Doc.” There was still so much on Bugs’ mind, but he tucked it away for later. Right now, he allowed himself to relax and feel good about these life-changing decisions.

A year passes, and somewhere along the coast of Central America there was a lowly island on the horizon. With a closer look, anyone could see the stark-white mansion that stood nearly three stories tall.

Even as a young Toon, Daffy Duck had pictured his retirement from his acting career very vividly. He dreamed about being alone on a private island, with an enormous mansion and every luxury he could possibly think of. And wouldn’t you know it, after nearly a decade of work, few movies and a couple of reboots, Daffy had that private island. Staying there continued to be a blessing for many, many years. With the royalty checks and occasional paychecks from public appearances rolling in, he was able to upkeep the mansion very well.

Daffy’s desire for attention was somewhat satiated by social media. He had a big presence online and made sure everyone knew it. From when he woke up to when he was preparing for bed, he would cross post about every detail onto every feed. People ate it up, as they were fascinated by his lifestyle. While he wasn’t the richest duck in the world, he was certainly one of the most popular. At least, he was in his mind.

As Daffy was tweeting about his incredible breakfast one morning, he noticed one of his butlers carrying in some mail. “What’s the big idea? Checks go straight to my financial adviser, and fan mail without any valuables inside are shredded! You all know the deal!” Daffy barked. To his knowledge, he hadn’t been expecting anything either. Still, the butler came to his side and silently handed him a letter.

Before he could protest further, the Butler turned away. Daffy simply huffed to himself and opened the letter. He took his time to read it, just to make sure he was reading it correctly. Once he had finished he slammed the letter onto the counter top, and ran up the stairs towards his room in seconds flat.

He pressed his help buzzer multiple times and shouted into the speaker, “I need to pack, now! Book me a flight to L.A.! Let’s go people!”

It was time to move back to Los Angeles.

The next day, Bugs Bunny got out of his Oober (Toon Town’s Uber equivalent), adjusting his suit as he looked on towards his greatest accomplishment. A stairway from the curb stood Acme Looniversity. Despite seeing the building many times over the course of its production, Bugs still couldn’t help but feel his chest swell with pride at the sight of the finished school.

And there, in front of the entrance, he saw a huge crowd gather. This wasn’t even taking into account for all of the cameras and people lined up along the sidewalk. Not even the Toons who were celebrating in the streets. The crowd split like a wave as Bugs approached the doorway of the school, finding it partially blocked by a stage with a ceremonial ribbon. Bugs could tell it was painted because of how large and neat the bow in the middle of it looked.

As he approached he saw the only human at the event (besides a few brave reporters) Steven Spielberg, sitting beside the podium on stage next to three empty seats. Bugs’ felt slightly saddened by the sight of the empty chairs, still Bugs shared a smile with Steven before he approached the podium. A deafening silence went over the crowd, with all eyes on the Toon rabbit.

“My fellow Toons,” Bugs began, “For too long, we’ve been deprived of our own education. More than 87% of Toons have never stepped foot in a school that wasn’t a painted set. After learnin’ that, we decided that wasn’t fair.”

The crowd cheered and clapped for Bugs. Over the crowd he continued, “Our newcomers should know our history! They should know our culture!” He paused slightly to wait for the crowd’s enthusiasm to die down, “And they should know their limits.”

Bugs felt his stomach twist, “Too many Toons have been lost simply because they didn’t know how to survive their next fall durin’ a stunt. We owe it to them to inform newcomers of the risks. No one on Earth can do what we do, and we need to learn to do it right.”

Gesturing to the building behind him, “Now, thanks to Warner Brothers studios and Steven Spielberg, Acme Looniversity ain’t just a fantasy we all saw on TV all those years ago. It’s here for everyone!”

The crowd once again burst into applause and cheers. Bugs looked out into the crowd, noticing a slight disturbance that was making its way to the stage. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Daffy Duck emerged from the crowd and began to crawl his way onto the stage, rather than using the stairs on the side.

Immediately, Daffy wormed his way in front of Bugs in order to speak into the microphone. “Helloooo, Toon Town!!” He shouted. The only sound he was met with was the sound of crickets. “As the Master of Deception, I just wanted to say what an honor it is to have been recruited by my longtime co-Star, Bugs, to teach at this wonderful place of edumication.”

Bugs saw the shifty eyes from the crowd when Daffy had mentioned his unofficial title. “Eeeh… We’re still workin’ on the curriculum.” He said, addressing the crowd. Then he turned to Daffy, knowing exactly how to derail him from hogging the spotlight. “Hey Daff, ol’ pal, wouldja wanna join me in the honors of cuttin’ the ribbon?”

Daffy’s head whirled around as he gave out a gasp, “Really? You’d let me cut the ribbon?” He asked.

“Togetha, yeah. It feels only right.” Bugs said, just to butter him up even more.

The two of them were approached by a Toon who held out comically huge a pair of golden scissors. They took the scissors, holding them open above the ribbon for a little longer so photos could be taken. After a minute, they looked at each other and cut the ceremonial ribbon. Daffy and Bugs posed briefly with the scissors that were nearly the same height as them.

Once they were done posing, Daffy turned to look for the first camera he could find. For Bugs, he turned to Steven and gave him his hand. “Thank you… So much. For everything.”

Steven shook his hand, “Anytime, Bugs. I have a lot of faith in you.” Then he gave a slight nod towards Daffy, “You sure about hiring Daffy, though?” He asked.

Bugs looked over and watched as Daffy chatted up the remaining reporters. “If there’s anything I’ve learned in the years we've worked together, it’s that I know how he ticks.”

“Well, it’s your call. It is your school, after all.” Steven said with a shrug.

“I’m gonna go check on ‘im. I’ll be seein’ ya, Steven.” Bugs said before slipping away.

Bugs hovered over Daffy’s shoulder while he spoke to a reporter. “And that’s when I told my buddy Bugs, the only way we’re going to reach today's Toon youth is through education! And what better teachers than the oldest Toons out there?” He said.

When he heard that, Bugs rolled his eyes. Of course Daffy would lie and make this his idea. Bugs decided to butt in. “We’re opening our gates to humans, as well.” He told them.

At that, more reporters surrounded them. A chorus of questions were being launched at Daffy and Bugs. While Daffy shied away, Bugs lifted his hands to quiet the small crowd. “I wanna stress this; Acme Loo is gonna be the only school to focus on the importance of learning about Toons. As citizens and as a species. So we ain’t gonna turn away humans who wanna learn more about us.” Bugs said.

A reporter’s voice spoke up, “Who else do you have in place as teachers? Any word about Mickey Mouse?” they asked.

“That hack—?” Daffy said before Bugs pinched his beak.

“Mickey sent us his best wishes, but regrettably makes no plans of joinin’ the staff.” Bugs said with a shrug.

Daffy rolled his eyes when he felt Bugs let go of his beak.

“As for the rest of the staff, we’re still lookin’. So if any Toon wants to come forward and apply, they’re free to do so on our website.”

“When does class begin? And what’s the class size going to look like?” The same reporter asked.

“We’re startin’ in the next coupla months, just in time for the school year. Dependin’ on how many teachers we get, we’re gonna be expecting anywhere between 500 to 900. Applications for students will also be online.”

“900?!” Daffy exclaimed. Just how was he going to teach to a class of 900?

Bugs sighed a little, knowing Daffy had misinterpreted his information. He turned to talk to him, “900 altogetha, Daff. We’re lookin’ at a class of 40 for each homeroom.”

“Oh.” Daffy said softly.

Then Bugs turned to the cameras, “No more questions now. Thank you!” He said and waved them away.

Disappointed, Daffy watched the reporters shuffle along and pack away their equipment. He had truly missed being in the limelight. Then a tap on his shoulder brought him out of his daydream-like state. “Huh?” He asked as he turned towards Bugs again.

“Ehh… Daff?”

“Yeah?”

Bugs sat there like he was fighting to say something. “I’ll uh… I’ll see you later. We’ll have to look over that curriculum of yours, before school starts.” He finally said.

“...Yeah sure.” Daffy said. After looking at Bugs more he noticed something was off, “You should get yourself a new paint job. You look awful.”

Bugs deflated angrily at the comment before rolling his eyes and turning away. He knew that, in Daffy’s twisted way, that he was concerned for his health. So he let the comment slide off of his back. The truth was, Bugs had never let go of his Toon research; and the paranoia had set in so much that it was starting to alter his appearance. He hoped that the success of Acme Loo would be both a distraction and a resource at his own disposal.

Later, after numerous phone calls and even a couple of live interviews, Bugs managed to find his way home. He paid and tipped his Oober as much as he was allotted, due to the fact that they had to travel out of Toon Town during rush hour. As Bugs approached the steps of his white porch, he loosened his bow tie and unlocked the door.

Bugs threw his keys on a stand next to the door, just before closing and locking it behind himself. Just as he was about to call out for someone, his long ears perked at the sound of rattling glass and plastic coming from the kitchen. Immediately, Bugs’ eyes darted towards a lowly baseball bat sitting in his umbrella holder in the foyer.

Quickly and quietly, Bugs’ removed his black blazer and rolled up his dress shirt sleeves. All the while his mind was racing: Where had he slipped up? Who was onto him? What kind of force would be pitted against him? All these questions burned inside him while he picked up the bat and held it tight and high. With as much stealth as possible, he rounded the kitchen corner. As he suspected, the figure hidden partially inside of his fridge wasn’t any of the kids.

The fridge began to close and the figure swerved around to meet Bugs. Several plastic containers dropped to the kitchen floor as they exclaimed, “Bugs?!”

Bugs brought down the bat, stopping it only inches away from Daffy’s beak. “Daffy?!” He exclaimed.

“What the hell, Bugs? Is that any way to welcome an old friend into your household?” Daffy barked while pushing the bat away from his face.

Only a few seconds later, Bugs and Daffy heard a stampede of footsteps coming from upstairs. Settling on the staircase, three Toons looked down on Bugs and Daffy. “Well what’d ya know, the old Duck has decided to grace us with his presence.” The tallest smiled.

“Daffy, darling!! We had no idea you were in town.” The smallest chimed with an obnoxious accent of some kind.

“Really? I mean, he tweeted out his entire trip…” The middle one said in a thick Liverpool accent.

Daffy looked on in surprise and awe. “The Warner’s?! What are you three hooligans doing here?” He asked with a wide smile.

Bugs put down the bat, leaning it against the staircase, and turned towards Daffy. “They’re stayin’ with me.” He said simply.

Sure enough, the three siblings of undetermined origins ran down the steps and gave Daffy a group hug. “You three look a little different than I remember…” he said, looking over Yakko, Wakko and Dot.

Yakko peeled away first, “Haven’t ya heard? We got a reboot comin’ in! Two whole seasons, so far.”

“You don’t say? An’ they gave you a repaint jus’ for that? Your designs were fine before.” Daffy said, a little confused.

“It’s standard now. Nothin’ we could really do about it.” Wakko said as he pulled away with a slight shrug.

Dot continued to cling to Daffy, looking up at him with her glossy black eyes. “You don’t think we look ugly, do you?” She asked, her lips trembling.

“Ugly?! Nonsense!!” Daffy exclaimed, picking up Dot into his arms and holding her tight. “You three are the sharpest lookin’ Toons I know. Anyone who says otherwise is blind.”

Bugs looked curiously at the way Daffy was interacting with the three. He didn’t remember them being particularly close, but he assumed that was simply the effect the three had on adults and Toons alike. Still, he was certainly enjoying seeing this other side of Daffy.

“Alright, you three.” Bugs finally interrupted, “How’s about givin’ Daff and I some space?” He asked.

“Yeah yeah…” Yakko said before turning back up the stairs.

“See ya later, Daffy!” Wakko waved and followed the oldest.

“Always nice to see you, Daff.” Dot said when Daffy put her down so she could follow her siblings.

Once the three were out of sight Daffy turned to Bugs, “Now, I know it might not be the most convenient thing for you at this time…” He explained, “But I’m certainly not the richest Duck in the world. I had to sell all eight of my estates to get that private island.”

Bugs move towards the kitchen and began to clean up Daffy’s initial mess. He already knew what Daffy was about to ask, and he already knew his answer. Still, he let his friend speak.

“Each estate had to go, including the two I had in L.A.! Honestly, the price for rent in this forsaken city is so damn high, I really don’t know how you do it!”

“You can stay.”

Daffy gasped and looked deeply offended, “You would throw out your own flesh and blood onto the street? I thought I knew you better, Bugs Bunny!”

“Ehh… we ain’t related, but you can still stay wit us.” He tried again.

Daffy started to walk towards the door with a dramatic flair, “Fine! I know when I’m not wanted—” He stopped as soon as he draped himself on the corner of the closest wall, “Wait… what? You’ll let me stay?” He asked, bewildered.

“Of course I will, Daff. We’ll be able to look over your curriculum togetha, you’ll be able to do some shoppin’ for the house, maybe a few chores and you’ll be able to watch the kids…” Bugs said, closing the fridge door to get a better look at Daffy.

At that, Daffy looked even more surprised. “Watch those kids? Chores? Me?” He asked.

“Well yeah! What? You’d think I’d let you stay out of the goodness of my heart?” Bugs asked, leaning on the island counter.

“Well… Yeah!” Daffy exclaimed, manhandling the other side of the counter. Here he thought he could take advantage of Bugs’ feelings of existentialism and sudden generosity to fully weasel his way into staying with Bugs with zero obligations. But apparently this rabbit had other plans for him.

Bugs simply laughed in Daffy’s face. “Ahaha, oh that’s rich, Duck.” he laughed. Then there was a slight pause, “When are you gonna realize, we ain’t so different? You and I…”

Daffy and Bugs sat in silence for a little bit. Something about Bugs’ smug look made Daffy’s face feel warmer than usual underneath his feathers. He shook his head wildly. “Nope. I don’t see it.”

At that, Bugs simply rolled his eyes. “We can split chores in the mornin’... right now I just want to hit da hay.” He said, peeling himself off of the counter and moving to unbutton his dress shirt.

While Bugs navigated past the living room, Daffy gave a slight chase. “Wait, wait. I just gotta know one more thing,” then a slight pause, “okay a couple of things.”

A small sigh came from Bugs, then he decided to plop down onto the living room sofa. “Alright. A coupla questions.” He said, putting his feet up.

Daffy sat in a recliner adjacent to Bugs. “How’d you end up with the Warners?” He asked, his voice a little hushed in case they were being heard.

“...I was visiting the new set last year.” Bugs began to explain, “Steven told me that he was concerned about rumors that the Warners were livin’ in their trailer. No one was allowed to go near it. They even wrote up a contract about it, saying they’d leave the show if anyone on staff visited it. Because I wasn’t in the show, I could see the trailer for myself.”

The memory was still vivid in Bugs’ mind. A little more than a year ago, Bugs shared a weary glance with Steven before he slipped off the set. With the Warners busy in a scene, Bugs was able to make it to the trailer. And with a copy of the trailer key given to him by Steven, he pried it open.

The mess the three had accumulated was even taller than Bugs’ ears. He honestly didn’t know how anyone could navigate the trailer, let alone three Toons. Even as he was inside, he made an attempt to clean what he could. Still, it was a horrible mess.

After doing what he could, Bugs waited outside the trailer until the Warners began to approach it. Yakko was the first to catch eyes with Bugs, before rolling them. “God damn it…” Yakko groaned, seeing the look of disapproval spread across the rabbit’s face.

“Y’all really live in dere?” Bugs asked.

It was Wakko’s turn to be angry, “Yeah! What’s it to ya?” he barked.

“Guys, I’m jus’ concerned. A lot of the staff are concerned. Steven was even worried!” Bugs exclaimed, watching them weave around him and head into the trailer.

“Yeah? Well we don’t need your pity.” Dot snapped.

Bugs stopped the door from being slammed in his face with full force. The trailer door swung open and Bugs stepped inside once more. “Fine then. Lemme give you a place to stay. Eva since you were created, I’ve always told you guys you were welcome at my house!” He said.

“We’ve been fine on our own, Bugs. Didn’t need your help then, don’t need it now.” Yakko said. “Any day now, the show will air, we’ll get another wave of royalty checks and we’ll be livin’ it up in a mansion down the street from yours.”

“Those checks will only stretch so far. You already know this.” Bugs warned.

“Blah blah blah I learned my lesson. Like I said, I don’t need to stay at yours. I’m comfortable here.” To make his point, Yakko cleared off some space on the couch (which also acted as their bed) in the trailer and found his ideal position.

Immediately Bugs read this type of prideful attitude. He also knew where Yakko’s weak points were. “If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for your siblings.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bugs saw Dot and Wakko perk up and look over at Yakko silently. Yakko sat up from the couch slowly and looked at Bugs with a hardened expression. “You’ve got a whole lotta nerve, rabbit.”

“And you’ve got a whole lotta attitude, kid.” Bugs snapped back.

And with that, Bugs took them in. Presently, he looked at Daffy across the way and gave a slight shrug. “I’ve always seen a lot of myself in Yakko. Scrappy, independent and plenty mature for his age. It took him the longest to adjust here and for me to adjust to him, honestly. That boy doesn’t let me lift a finger for ‘im. His siblings? Sure. When it comes to him? No way, no how.”

“Interesting.” Daffy finally said.

Feeling exhausted, “Any otha questions?” Bugs asked.

“Yes! Where do I sleep?”

Bugs got up from the couch and beckoned Daffy to follow him. Down the hall there were three doors. On the left side there was a white door with a gold star labeled Bugs Bunny in black lettering. Though, something told Daffy that it wasn’t his original master bedroom. The middle door was left open, so Bugs pushed in further and flipped on a light to reveal a bathroom. “Here’s the bathroom…” he announced, then pushed open the door on the right side of the hallway. “And here’s your room. G’night, Daff…”

Before Daffy could say anything else, Bugs slipped away into his bedroom and shut the door. “Night.” Daffy said more to himself. He maneuvered himself inside the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase from his Toon space. He flicked on the light and looked around, the decor was still predominantly white with the same hardwood floor that echoed through the house.

Daffy placed his suitcase on a chair sitting across from the bed and launched himself directly onto the comfortable mattress. It was something akin to a bed from a five-star hotel: soft as a cloud. It didn’t take long for Daffy to fall into a deep sleep.

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NEXT CHAPTER >>

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! It was a struggle but I’m happy with it and I can’t wait to continue. <3333

#looney tunes #baffy #my fanfiction #htdat

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enniewritesathing · 5 years

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Part 8

(Beginning)

(Three months have passed since the incident in Granite Falls. Those who were present during the surprise blizzard, it was dubbed a mystery. It didn’t matter to either John or Brian, but they both knew they needed to find information before the impending supermoon.)

(Leads were few and far in between. Noelle had salvaged what she could, offering a singular brown box full of files. The files themselves were full of redactions, but Brian’s keen eye and stubbornness noted small mistakes. Names. Places. Dates.)

(The name of the hospital that John was held. The research team in itself -- the occult specialists. Brian dug around for names, leads. Most of them resided in Forgotten Hollow with the vampires, but there has been a small migration to San Myshuno and Newcrest. It’s an easy way to blend in, open up speciality practices.)

(Those places always had a vibe to them. One that Brian couldn’t comprehend, but John understood, even as a human. A question has lingered in the back of Brian’s mind ever since he saw John transform in front of him, but he remembered that his other side made some clarifications -- is there really separation between the two?)

(He knows that John has been relatively quiet since then, as if he doesn’t remember at all. Or doesn’t want to. Brian hasn’t pushed him for anything that may bring up bad memories -- and if that does happen, John cuts him off.)

(It’s... been a frustrating three months. Information wise. Behavior wise. He wants answers as well. Piece together this new-found situation and adapt to it as much as they can.)

(Even if he has to take drastic measures.)

(Brian makes his way to a part of the hospital that is woefully underused.)

(He enters the small lab room and locks it behind him.)

(Brian has spent weeks scouting this place out, in lulls of his shift. Night time was the better time, given time to file paperwork and work on research, but his absence is noted; during the day time, when things are hectic it was easy to slip away, but staff is already on the short side as it is. Especially since there’s a Llama Flu epidemic.)

(He better make this quick.)

(Brian looks up.)

(Hmm, the sign’s changed. Could also be a security camera, but it would be useless from how it’s angled. And he didn’t need to worry about the door or windows -- the door in particular that it’s frosted from the outside. He can have more time to react.)

(What luck that this computer isn’t connected to the hospital network. He can work with piece of mind.)

(Brian turns on the burner phone and activates the VPN service, along with bringing up the addresses and specific directions.)

Brian: “Okay... this better work.”

(His fingers work the keyboard. Three different addresses. A string of numbers, letters, and symbols. Gibberish to most people’s eyes.)

*click!*

(Several windows pop up, but the window with the red bar catches his interest. A download bar. It’s slow but, it’s going.)

(His phone pings.)

(Brian smiles. It’s John. He’s at home.)

(Hopefully, he won’t tear through the streets with the Jeep, but given that he’s said he wanted to try out the new snow tires, well... he better not see him come through the ER doors.)

(Come on, come on... Brian wiggles the mouse back and forth to make the bar load faster, even if he knows that that never works.)

Computer: *chime*

Brian: “Oh shit, that actually worked?”

(Okay, next step... drop them into the cloud account he set aside. The previous data he gotten was at least ten gigabytes worth, and most online services offered free accounts half or even a quarter of the size.)

“Oof, twenty-six gigs? Must not know how to compress things...”

(As he moves the files into the cloud, he notes some of the name files and extensions. There’s footage, too? But... why...?)

(He’s about to click on a file.)

*beep-beep! beep-beep!*

(Shit. A page.)

(It’ll have to wait until he gets home. Four more hours. There’s a nagging feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Maybe should have brought something to eat here too...)

(Brian exits out of everything, and makes a final sweep of the room. Everything’s back the way he’s found it.)

(Time to go back to work.)

(After a delay caused by a combination of the weather kicking up more snow than forecasted and John forgetting the slip itself, the highly anticipated files from Strangerville were finally in their hands.)

(The packages even included a laptop. It’s old and a little wanting as a whole, but at least it was functional.)

(Most of the boxes contained thin books organized neatly into volumes. This was only the first set of records. Might as well ease himself into this information. There’s no telling what’s in all of this, even if it’s about him.)

(John grabs his reading glasses and settles in for the long haul.)

(The pages are thin. It’s even handwritten. At least it’s neat and understandable -- segmented and dated entries. But what he doesn’t understand, why go through the trouble of handwriting it when there’s computerized entries too? Some of them were just one line, and others were multiple paragraphs and pages, signed off with various letters but no real names.)

(Some entries contain his name -- formal name -- and others simply as ‘Subject’. That’s odd... he scrutinises further. The language with his formal name is casual, but the ones with Subject contained words that he recognized to be medical in nature.)

“1.9.0X -- Conduction of tests on Subject and Subject’s mother. Confirmed affliction of Lycanism, also known as Lycanthropy, slang term Werewolf via heredity. Subject’s mother is a confirmed Grade 1 out of Grade 4. Subject is confirmed Grade 2 out of Grade 4. Posthumous confirmation of Subject’s twin is confirmed Grade 2 out of Grade 4. We could not confirm Subject’s father’s Grade, but we can conclude his father was of Lycan nature. This means that Subject is youngest confirmed Lycan in seventy-five years. - C.”

John: “Holy shit...”

“1.10.0X -- I can’t believe it. A lycan this young. And survived early transformation. We informed his mother. She’s... in shock. Lycans are extremely rare now. She didn’t know that about herself, let alone her son or deceased son. Wish the other one survived, but, he turned far too early. With this, we can study and get better information about lycans! However, we did have to answer for why we put him in a coma... for safety reason. It was because he attacked T. Mangled his ankle pretty good. - F.”

(”Mangled?”)

“1.13.0X -- Johnathan wakes from induced coma. He is mostly confused, but otherwise fine. Doesn’t quite understand what happened. The last thing he remembers is feeling hot and then passing out. Confirmed with mother that his fever was getting worse with time. Not a coincidence that it was in time with the moon. I asked Johnathan if he remembers anything else before passing out. He replies with, “just a wolf staring at me, wanting me to ‘turn’.” I ended the interview to let Johnathan and his mother rest. - K.”

“1.15.0X -- Subject is alert. Very alert and combative. He calls for his mother. It takes us a full hour to calm him down. We tried to inform him why he is here, but he is borderline belligerent. It’s best that we contact his mother. - C.”

“1.15.0X -- Okay... that didn’t go as well as we’d hope but what do you expect, he’s like twelve years old! You tell a child his age that he’s an occult! C’s bedside manner sucks. It broke my heart to see little Johnathan’s reaction to the news that he’s a lycan. He thinks he’s a monster... - R.”

“1.16.0X -- The moon as waned enough that John’s not capable of turning, so we’re discharging him today. I gave some contact information to his mom to keep in touch, and instruct her to come straight to us the first sign of turning -- and I instructed John to keep a journal. Daily if he can. We can’t let the public know about this. There’s still occult hunters around. Vampires have strength in numbers so it’s not big of a deal to them; they know their shit. Lycans are so few and far in between, they’re critically endangered. Not only that, they’re elusive. It’s our job to protect this boy and his mother. But it’s also our job to learn who and what they are. - O.”

(John sighs. Not the information he’s quite looking for... but he is curious about these people’s perspective and conceptions of him. It seems like they’re looking out for him at the time. He wonders what happened for them to completely stop all of this. He’s also interested in finding the journals he was asked to make... he doesn’t remember doing that at all. Maybe it’s with the stuff Mom has.)

(A few hours into reading the sixth notebook, John’s eyes grew unfocused and he decided to rest them. That ‘rest’ turned into a two hour nap with him snoring away on the couch.)

(Spaghetti looks on and meows.)

John: (in sleepy voice) “What, honey?”

(She meows again. That tone.)

John: “Alright, alright... don’t eat too much this time, okay?”

(After he feeds the cat, he decides to stretch a little bit with some light boxing drills. As much as he wants to read more, vegging out on the couch isn’t something he can do for long.)

(Something bugs him though. He doesn’t remember any of the times he’s spent in the hospital. Just passing out and waking up in them. Not even turning.)

(What the hell happened?)

(Brian scrolls through another entry, but he doesn’t bother with the attached video. The majority of them were simple observations, going over vitals and John’s condition. Nothing out of the ordinary... yet.)

(Then...)

“9.25.1X -- Going over this data, these tests... they’re not enough. We have to start taking measures. After all this time, we don’t know his exact triggers aside from the moon. They’re all over the place. Once it was caused by moonlight contacting exposed skin, another by looking at it for more than 15 seconds... here’s the odd part of this, it’s only on supermoons, every 3-4 months. We’ve compared it to Grade 3 and 4 Lycans and... well, John’s different. He’s in his were-state for much longer. Last time, it was a week and a half. Grades 3 and 4 only lasts 1 night, 2 at the most. We’ll try something else. I’ll suggest to monitor his vitals before and after letting him turn. That is, if he doesn’t resist. - I.”

“9.26.1X -- Subject has been brought in. He is close to turning, but is resistive and combative. He refuses, stating that ‘it’ will kill someone, maybe more. In the past, Subject has been instructed to resist ‘it’, but it’s starting to put strain on his body. We locked Subject down and let him turn. As suggested, we monitored his vitals and made observations and baseline measurements for the next time. See attatchment. - A.”

(Brian is about to click on the link, but John enters the kitchen. He eyes him from beneath his brow as John rummages through the refridgerator, whistling a tune. Something tells him he better not look at it right now.)

John: “Found anything yet?”

Brian: “Hmm, nothing that’s really... how to I put this. Nothing that we don’t know about yet. I’ve taken notes these past few days based on what you know, what I know, and what your mom’s told me. And there’s still a lot from the stuff we got from Strangerville that we need to go through... what about you?”

John: “I found some things back when I was a kid. Back when it first started.”

Brian: “Really? That’s great!”

John: “I wouldn’t call it great... it’s interesting for sure. Weird too. These people were taking notes on me like some kind of animal...”

(Brian clears his throat.)

John: “I’ve read some entries and... most of them seemed they weren’t creepy. Except this person, ‘C’. They don’t even call me by my name. To them, I’m ‘Subject’.

Brian: “I just read something refering you as Subject, but this person went by ‘A’...”

John: “When you have to study someone, what do you refer to them as?”

Brian: “Usually by ‘patient’ and non identifying markers for privacy reasons. Something like, Mr. H, Mrs. Y, Ms. W, Mx. B... ‘Subject’? I’m not too keen on. Too cold. It’s likely that they’re older.”

John: “Hmm... that can explain it. I still don’t know who’s the lead researcher. Or why it was stopped. I know my mom said she ended it, but there’s got to be more to it than that. And, I don’t remember most of this happening.”

Brian: “Oh? What are your thoughts on that?”

(John chews on his food thoughtfully. His mouth is becoming more sensitive by the day.)

“I think... maybe they were drugging me.”

Brian: “What?”

John: “Think about it. How else were they able to do all of this? I’ve read that I had to be put into a coma. For ‘safety’; I attacked someone and messed up their ankle. Mangled.” (He pauses.) Someone else said, while it was their job to protect me, they also needed to know who and what I am. But I don’t remember anything. Do you think--”

Brian: “--Let’s not think about that right now, John. We still have a lot to go through all of these things. What we have, and go from there. I know that may be a possibility, but I like to think that these people were ethical in their methods.”

(John hoped Brian didn’t hear the spike of frustration in his sigh. Something isn’t adding up at all.)

(John finishes his dinner in silence. Brian knows exactly what he’s implying and he hope that isn’t the case. That’s going too far. ...Maybe he was right to tell off his contact.)

(Brian watches the video. It’s in black and white and medium quality. A ceiling camera is focused on John. He’s on the exam bed with electrodes on his chest, oxygen mask on his face. Wrists and ankles in restraints. His eyes covered. He’s still, but he’s breathing fast. There are two other people with him, on each side, watching. They’re wearing all white scrubs and other things he doesn’t quite recogize, but they are not identifiable in the slightest. In the bottom corner of the video, a monitor displays his vitals.

One grabs his arm. Injects something. They both stand back. His vital spikes into dangerous levels as they watch. They watch him turn before their very eyes. John’s fighting those restraints, but they don’t give. He’s screaming and then goes limp. His vitals crash. The video cuts out after that.)

(Brian... doesn’t know what to do. No, they didn’t. No, they did.)

“9.16.1X -- Baseline obtained. Subject locked down after turning. He nearly crashed on us, but I surmise that survival instinct kicked in. His or the lycan’s side, not sure yet. He’s young, so he’ll be able to take what we can dish out. We don’t have much data on Grade 2 Lycans, so if there is a time to push for it, it’s here. This may be our only opportunity, so, let’s make the best of it. (see attachment) - C.”

(Brian scrolls down. The files with attachments have a common name -- “Test”. A particular set was labeled HF. A close up of John’s arm, restrained. A scalpel in someone’s hand. A timer in the lower right hand of the video. Scalpel meets skin and cuts down his arm. It takes two minutes for the cut to heal. No mark left behind.

That’s how John’s other side knew he can heal. But... John himself doesn’t. He’s scared to think what else they did to him.

12.14.1X -- C’s been made the lead. Ambitious fucker. We’re all being put through the wringer, but with so little information on this type of occult... I feel sorry for John. I really do. But, as C says, emotions have no place here. They don’t have a heart at all. John’s just a kid, y’know? -- F.)

(Brian closes the laptop and heads for the bookshelf. Where is it, where is it...)

(He remembers taking notes on healing factors, but they were vague at the time. With this evidence, he can piece together information. Baseline vitals...)

(It’s simple really.)

(They were occult specialists. That much is true, otherwise, there’s no telling what would have happened to John.)

(It’s an awful truth. It confirms his suscipion. But, does he want John to find out for himself, or should he tell him? Or even tell him at all? It’s his turn to protect him and that’s a silent promise he made to himself. But he also needs to know.

This sucks.)

(The next few nights, snow fell as much as it did when they stayed in Granite Falls. Only this time, they were in a familar place. They weren’t snowed in, and while both were on-call, they considered it a mini-vacation of sorts.)

(Brian is snuggled between thick blankets and the fireplace, fast asleep.)

(John is careful going up the stairs. They creak under his weight. The last thing he needs is to interrupt Brian’s sleep -- he needs it far more than he does. And while snuggling with him when there’s a snowstorm out is about the most perfect he can do in this situation, he can’t. Not right now. He wants answers.)

(John’s been sneaking up to the office these few nights. Papers, files, notebooks...)

(...boxes, packages, X-Rays, CT scans, EKG and EEG papers. Tapes, memory cards...)

(...strewn all over the floor.)

(In the back of his mind, he knows that Brian would give a stern talking to about the mess he’s made. This isn’t much different when he did it back in college, how he would stay up studying until the sun rises and then some.)

(John stares at the mess he’s created. What’s bad about all of this, he still doesn’t feel he’s gotten any answers. Not even when he read through the journals -- all five of them he was asked to keep -- made sense.)

(He picks a book that had some interest to him when he last picked it up. From what he can tell, this was closer before everything stopped.

“2.19.1X -- John’s checked in. He’s showing signs of pre-shifting. Fever at 105.3. Pale. Agitated. A little combative. Complaints of body aches and headaches. Mouthache too. Fangs are coming in. I interviewed him, asking if he’s had any wolf related dreams. He answers, “Yes.” We have given the informal name of “wolf dreams”. They reach their peak around each supermoon. It wants him to turn, but he is still resistive. The result of the resistance is severe flu-like symptoms... and nightmares. Heart rate is elevated at 130, tachypnea present. When he got him settled, heart rate spiked to 160. John reached 180 (The Point of No Return) fifteen minutes later. His control has been slipping lately. Perhaps, he knows he’s safe here and allows himself to give in. Or, it could be something else...? I’ll take it up with C. - F.”

“2.20.1X - I think... he can hear us. John reacted to V’s voice. She was about to check eye function when he opened them and looked at her. Stared at her like she was prey. Scared her, dropped her clipboard. He followed that too. But only for a moment. There was nothing behind those eyes. Freaky shit. - P.”

“2.20.1X -- John’s... spouse? Boyfriend? Whatever relationship he has with him, they’re obviously pretty close. Name’s Brian. Cute. Anyway, he came by for questions. We told him what we could, what we were allowed. I don’t think John’s told him. I have mixed feelings on that, but that’s not my place. Did some sleuthing, he’s a recent nursing graduate from San Myshuno University. Honors. Smart. He was asking some pretty indepth questions. We did a soft observation and John reacted to Brian’s voice. Didn’t open his eyes like he did with V, but we saw movement in his fingers when he left. Hoo boy. I don’t think locking him down will be a viable option for us much longer. We still have tests to conduct. Some we’ve put off for years. - F.”

“2.21.1X -- Based on anedoctic evident, the individual who visted Subject was his significant other. F and D noted a peculiar response Subject made in his presence, or rather as he was leaving. It’s also noticed that there’s a mark on his neck... confirming that he is his bondmate. V and P had an incident yesterday that Subject opened his eyes and focused on them, showing he can hear who is present with him or even outside the room. Is Subject beginning to build resistance to our methods? I’ll have to push up those trials. He’s strong enough to withstand them. - C.”

(John raises his eyebrow. Trials? There’s a note.

“2.22.1X -- We still need to test the full extent of John’s HF. We’ve only done surface tests. No visible marks or scarring on skin, no matter how deep the cut is. Muscle function is fine. The million dollar question is how will his organs fare...? - P.”

“2.22.1X -- I’m looking forward to the reversal trial. Stop that pretty heart of his and see what happens. - E.”

“2.24.1X -- We’ve prepped Subject for the HF trials and the reverse trial. The HF trials will probably not take that long. The reverse trial however... I must admit I am apprehensive about this. Subject may die, and with that, our chances of studying lycans. I did perform a pre-check via ultrasound. It is my understanding that when Subject resists turning, it puts a strain on his body, mostly his heart. It is confirmed that transformation starts around that ‘point’. To surpress it also means supressing the heart. He has done this several times, with a 80% success rate. The reason he’s doing this is because of social pressure -- if one is to find out Subject is an occult, and being a lycan, hell would break loose.

Heart structure is enlarged, but otherwise normal for a lycan in human state. No signs of strain or structure problems. Valves normal. Blood flow normal.

The reversal trial is to see if we can reverse Subject’s lycan state once he has turned without risk of death. The ways, methods, that are known are via silver bullets -- one to the head and one to the heart, decapitation, severe blood loss... Lycans can heal mortal wounds while in their state of wereness. I would like to think of this as... testing and developing a tranquilizer, some sort of medicine for Subject if he wishes to remain in society.

We’ll start tomorrow. - C.”

(What the fuck? Reversal trial?)

(A feeling of dread creeps up on John. He stares at the page. He... he doesn’t want to read anymore. But he has to, for him and his sanity. What is he? What happened?)

(He shakes his head. I need to find out.)

(John sighs as he steels himself to read the next page. He hears... footsteps. His name called. A frustrated noise, and footsteps. The stair steps creak under weight.)

(He looks up.)

Brian: “John! What are you doing up here?”

John: “What does it look like? I’m reading this stuff. I think I’m about to make a breakthrough here. Relax, it’s only eleven o’clock.”

Brian: “It’s one in the morning. Almost two.”

John: “Hm.”

Brian: “John... I’m getting worried about you. You’re getting obsessed and... I’m not sure if this is a good idea anymore.”

John: “Since when did you have a change of heart? You know I need answers and I am not backing off until I get them. You said that we both need to know everything, to be better prepared when I turn again. And I believe ‘again’ is coming in a few weeks. Right? You want me to turn.”

Brian: “Yes, I do, but John, I’ve done some reading myself and trust me... I don’t think you wanna know. Hell. I... I think it’s just better to drop and let it happen.”

John: “Drop it and let-- are you kidding me?”

“I just read a passage about starting trials. Trials! I’ve heard that word before. They did something to me! These papers, these... files and books are all on me alone. I read another that I have a point of no return and it has to do with my heart rate. I didn’t know that before! Or the dreams I have before it’s time to turn.”

(He jabs at the page.) “Someone mentioned a ‘reversal’ trial and apparently it involved stopping my heart.”

“I want to find out!”

(Brian groans. It’s never a good thing that John gets stubborn. He’s not gonna let this go.) “John... listen to me.”

“I... I don’t want you to get hurt from all of this. This? All of these files and information? It’s a lot. It’s a fucking lot! Like I said, I’ve read some of it and... there are some things that you should never read.”

“I know you want to understand what happened. I want to also. But, I’m afraid of what will happen to the both us. We know more about lycans as a whole more than ninety-eight percent of people. One percent are specialists, the other are hunters. We’re approaching dangerous territory here, John.”

John: “Then what should I do, Brian? I’m lost. I don’t remember any of this. I need to know.”

“I need to know... I’m not dangerous. I may be a lycan, probably the last one, but I need to know at least that much. That I can control this on my own without any problems. When I turned, I was scared what I was going to do. That I’d harm you or worst.”

“According to these notes, I already done that a few times to other people, accident or not. They didn’t take it personally, thank god, but the fact that I lashed out doesn’t sit right with me. I... I have a feeling that I may have done something really bad.”

Brian: “You mean... killed someone?”

John: “Yeah.”

Brian: “John... what would you do if you did that? What if you killed one of the researchers? Or more?”

(John doesn’t answer. He has no answer.)

(Brian... mulls on the silence.)

Brian: “I... should probably tell you how I got all of these files. The ones not redacted to hell and back. Including your scans and xrays. I’ll preface that I’m not proud of what I did or said.”

(Brian kneels and John looks at him expectantly. He can’t hold anything back. It’s time to rip the bandaid off.)

Brian: “After we got the files saved from your mom, I went through everything for any clues that we can use. Mostly names. The hospital you were at doesn’t exist anymore, or rather, it never did. Not to the public eye. The notes, as you guessed, doesn’t contain any other name except yours. I’m impressed by the consistancy, but then again, they may not be the same people with the letter they signed with.”

“But... I found a name. And a number on the back of it. I looked it up on the ‘net, and sure enough, it’s them. They’re still working in the occult field. Looks like they’ve been promoted.”

John: “What did you do?”

Brian: “It took me a few days to get the courage to actually speak to them. I did it through professional means. I frame it in a way to pique interest -- a patient with a lot of anomalies. I gave them all the classic symptoms. I told them that, while farfetched, I had a lycan on my hands.”

John: “You set them up.”

Brian: “Yeah. And they asked if it was you by first name.”

John: “And?”

Brian: “I told them everything that they needed to hear for them to loosen up. They were so excited to hear that you were still alive. Hell, they even offered to pick up the research back up, that I’ll be made lead.”

John: “What?!”

John: “Brian, don’t tell me--”

Brian: “Let me finish. The offer was made solely based on the fact that I am close to you. It would be easy to gather data and make observations and you’d be none the wiser.”

(John shakes his head.) “Did... did you tell them I turned?”

Brian: “Yes. And no. I told them that you turned and then disappeared for a few days; when I found you again, you were back to normal but unconscious. I said nothing of being in Granite Falls, that was mere coincidence.”

“They begged me for information. Where we lived, our status. They became belligerent. Told me I was missing out on all the riches and fame of chronicling a lycan’s life.”

“And you know what I said?”

John: “Brian, please tell me you didn’t.”

“Tell me... you didn’t.”

Brian: “I’ll tell you what I told them.”

“I told them they can fuck off; if they ask that of me again, if they even think about harming you again for the sake of science, I will find them them, and I will kill them and anyone you send after us.”

(John gulps. He’s serious. He’s very serious.)

Brian: “I’ll never forsake you. You know that. Hell, I wanted to go after them right then and there. When they asked where we lived, that gave me a thought -- it appears that they didn’t put any tracking implant in you. And trust me, I would have figured that a long time ago.”

“John...” (Brian sighs.) “I want to protect you, but I know you want answers. The things I’ve read, the videos I’ve seen... if you read them, if you watch them, you’ll become vindictive. Angry. Wrathful, maybe. I don’t want that to happen. But, I’ll tell you anyway. You need the truth.”

“You were tortured under the guise of research. The reason you don’t remember any of this, because you were placed in comas the whole time. The medicine that kept you under had an amnesia effect. Your nightmares... are the products of what happened to you during those times.”

“John... I’m sorry.”

(Brian stands up.) “You’re not a monster. You never were.”

“They are.”

“And if you decide to go after them...”

“...I know where to start. Good night, John.”

(John watches Brian leave.)

(The dread is still there.)

(Should I stop?)

(John turns the page with a trembling hand.)

“2.25.1X--”

(A week later.)

(John works the heavy punching bag. He keeps errant thoughts away as he concentrates on his strikes.)

(He ends a combo with a slashing elbow. The bag nearly comes off the wall from the force.)

(That was a bit too much, and he decides it’s time to stop. He’ll have to adjust the mount later.)

(Even with a window cracked to let the winter air in, John’s feeling hot. He’s been like this for two days. He knows that his body is giving him a heads up, but he wishes it wasn’t a fever that gets worse in time, the sort that just sticks to his bones.)

(He hears a soft, rising meow.)

Spaghetti: “Poppi?”

John: “Huh? Wh--”

Spaghetti: “Poppi! Toppi told me to get you!”

John: “Oh, did he now? Do you know what he wants?”

Spaghetti: “Nah~”

(John reaches down and gives Spaghetti some scritches. This is the only enjoyable side effect of slowly turning.)

(John crosses the house, expecting Brian to be in the kitchen. No, he’s in the bedroom with a smile on his face. There’s something’s up.)

Brian: “There you are. I got something for you. Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

John: “Christmas is in like, what four days. Can it wait?”

(Brian lifts a finger) “I know, I know, but I think this is something that will benefit the both of us.”

John: “And you’re not gonna tell me what it is, huh?”

Brian: “Nope, but I will say that you’re already dressed for it. Hang on a second, I’ll be right back.”

(John stares into the mirror.)

(This... was something he did not expect.)

(Brian hears the low noise that John makes when he’s worried.) “John, there’s nothing to worry about.”

(Some gift this is.)

“What’s on your mind, big guy?”

John: “I’m not a fan of this...”

Brian: “What, is it too tight? Too bulky? I can loosen it up just a little, but then accuracy goes down...”

John: “That’s not what I mean.”

“What are you doing anyway?”

Brian: “I’m syncing that monitor on you and this watch on me to my phone.”

“Honestly, I forgot that I bought it for running... and you know how long ago that was? Look at us now, we have a legit use for it.”

John: “Oh... so you’re going to track me?”

Brian: “Mmm, sounds bad when you say it like that.” (The phone and watch beep.) “There should be a icon flashing; press it, okay?”

(John makes another worried noise.)

Brian: “Listen... I know you have questions.”

John: “Well, yeah. You can’t just strap this on me and not expect any.”

“What made you do this anyway?”

Brian: “Well, I’ve been thinking. I’ve taken some notes and there’s a behavior and physical pattern that lycans seem to follow. In retrospect, I should have known something was up with you every supermoon, but that’s here nor there. Anyway, about a week or two before turning, you show signs. Fevers that get worse with time. Right?”

John: “Right.”

Brian: “I would track that instead, but I couldn’t find any hard numbers or any range. That and you have a tendency to hide your sickness in general.”

John: “That’s because I know how you get sometimes...”

Brian: “Well, I’m taking an alternative approach to my care plan. Something a little less intrusive.”

(Brian holds up his wrist.) “I got to thinking what else I can track and that’s your heart rate and that fact is consistent. Your ‘limit’ is 180bpm. Once you reach that point, you have about fifteen seconds before you start to turn -- the Point of No Return.”

John: “Fifteen? That’s not much of a warning.”

Brian: “No, it’s not. It seems that this doesn’t apply to any other point in time, which is great.”

“But with this, I can get an idea of when you’re gonna turn, and that way, we can be prepared this time. I’ve already scouted out a few places where no one’s gonna see, and you’ll be safe. You’ll have space too.”

John: “That’s good and all, but that means I can’t really train or be stressed out. And not trying to be stressed out about all of this is... stressful.”

Brian: “This is the best I can do, for now. I’ve set two alarms with different vibration settings so it can wake me up when I’m sleeping. This is gonna be a process... bit of trial and error and a lot of cooperation. Don’t want any more surprises--”

(The watch beeps.) “What-- John, why is your heart rate so high?”

John: “What? What did you set it at?”

Brian: “The first one’s at 120.”

John: “That’s because I’m still recovering, and I’m really nervous and, I dunno, stressed out that this thing is on me. It feels like I can just go at any moment just by accident and who knows what’ll happen then!”

“It’s making me self-conscious.”

(Brian looks up from the watch.) “Hm...”

(He reaches out and touches John’s shoulder.)

John: “Sorry... it’s just...”

Brian: “...I know.”

John: “I’m not sure if I can go through turning. I’m... still scared from last time. I’m getting bad dreams again and...”

Brian: “John?”

John: “Yes?”

Brian: “The only thing we can do is to be patient and wait. Like I said before, we’re going to be prepared this time.”

“In the meantime...”

“Why don’t we just... relax instead of worrying? Do something mindless for a change? We’ve been tense for the last three months.”

(...he’s right. He didn’t even think that that much time has passed just thinking about all of this. This... was something that needed to be taken one day at a time.)

(John gives Brian a small smile.) “Have I told you that I love you and you have the best ideas?”

Brian: “Oh, please.”

“Save the sugar for later.”

(After that, John set his mind on being calm as possible. Be normal. Yeah, he can do that.)

(A nice, homecooked meal will do a body and soul good...)

(...as well as much needed laughter.)

(John hasn’t laughed this hard in a while. Tears rolled down his cheeks.)

(It was decided that movies were in good order. Didn’t matter what genre -- though John made a soft ban on horror.)

(John busied himself trying to catch popcorn thrown in the air while Brian quoted the scene from memory.)

(Good thing it was a movie they saw about twenty times.)

(Being snowed in naturally made them a little stir crazy and well, a little frisky. Brian’s hand drifted down to grab John’s ass.)

John: “Mm-- wait, wait...”

Brian: “What?”

John: (slightly out of breath) “You think... you sure this is a good idea?”

Brian: “I don’t see why not... are you okay?”

John: “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I think?”

Brian: “Mm. How ‘bout we play it by ear?”

(After some adjustments and some test movements, Brian deemed John well enough for some much needed fun activities.)

(Later that night.)

(John sits on the edge of the bed. His body is shaking.)

(The tears... they don’t stop.)

(They can’t stop. They won’t stop. No, not after what happened. He... wants to scream, but he can’t. He can’t breathe. That lingering feeling that he’s going to snap and all hell will break loose. He needs to get away. Right now. But something’s... something’s making him stay.)

(No, no, he has to go. Now. Or else--)

(The watch goes off.)

(Brian stirs awake.) “The hell is that nois--”

(The alarm!)

(Brian looks at the watch. 164bpm.) “Oh, shit.”

Brian: “John--”

(John takes a shuddering breath.) “I’m fine.”

“I’m not... turning. Or anything like that. I...”

Brian: “You don’t sound too good--”

(He hesitates.) “I had a nightmare.”

Brian: “Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to tell me everything.”

John: (sniffs) “No. Not really. But I have to. You should know too.” (He sniffs again.) “I should have never read the rest of that file.”

“I remember... laying there. I was conscious, but I couldn’t move. My eyes weren’t open but I saw the ceiling lights. I heard others around me. Voices, but I don’t know what they’re saying. I can’t see their faces, except their eyes. They’re wearing surgery clothes and masks.”

“Then, I’m at a room with a door. Nothing else. On the other side... is my other self. He’s... angry. He kept saying that if I didn’t open it, we were both going to die. I was always told to never open it under any circumstances, but this time... he was desperate. He told me all the things that the specialists did to him -- to us.”

Brian: “What did you do?”

John: “I... I didn’t believe him. A-at first. Then, he told me to listen. I didn’t understand... I was back in the room. There’s other noises besides voices. I felt my arms and ankles being strapped down. Why would they do that...? I kept hearing ‘reverse trial.’”

“My chest started to hurt and I couldn’t breathe. I felt... my heart stop. I blacked out. I... died.”

(John pauses to collect himself.) “Then... I’m alive again. Everything’s quiet, except something beeping.”

“I’m weak. It’s like... recovering from getting knocked out. I see faces, the masks over me. Checking. I hear someone say the reversal failed and someone else told them to go ahead again.”

“It happens again. And again. And again.”

“I hear my other side. He’s desperate. The fourth time... he’s gotten out. Busted the door down. Shaking me awake. We’re both weak. He doesn’t know if we can take another hit. We have to make them stop. I asked him how the hell are we going to pull that off.”

“He told me that he’d have to take over. He knows exactly what he needed to do, but we had only one shot, and that shot... required me dead so he’d have full control. I told him... I told them that I just want them to stop. I may have said it outloud, who knows.”

“By now, the specialists have figured out we’re getting weaker. They started bickering. I started to move my fingers. Not enough for anyone to notice.”

“My eyes were open. I was looking at some of the monitors. But I don’t remember blinking at all, just stared. That’s just want my other side needed.”

(Brian doesn’t say it, but he’s in awe of this plan. No wonder they had him locked down...)

John: “After the sixth time, the specialists called the whole trial a failure. Then, I hear someone... disagree. That there wasn’t enough time in between resets to truly try and reverse it; they even said they’d have to cut me open if this fails.The seventh time...”

(John shakes. Everything -- his breath, his hands, his body.) “I saw myself flatline. And that noise. Everything started to fade and time stretched. The voices panicked that it was taking too long to bring me back. One of them got near me. They noticed that my eyes were opened. And look at them. Dead. I heard them call a time. Started taking things off. The oxygen mask. The straps, ankles, then hands.

That’s when he took over. The very second those straps were loose...”

(He turns to Brian. Renewed tears fall down his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to say it.) “Brian, he killed them. We killed them.”

Brian: “Oh... John...”

John: “When I came to... I was standing over someone. The lead specialist. My hands were covered in his blood. I tasted some in my mouth and... his throat was torn out. By me. By us. The room was... destroyed. The others... were bleeding out and crying.”

“This is the first time I’ve had this dream in full. It was always in pieces, but ends with blood on my hands. Sometimes... it’s yours. That’s why... that’s why I don’t turn. I’m dangerous. I’m scared that I’ll kill you. And you wanna know the worst part of it? It felt good. But...” (He falls silent.)

(Brian doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he even has the words.) “John... I’m so sorry this happened. It’s... not your fault.”

John: “Don’t start with that.”

Brian: “I mean it. You and your other side protected yourself.. You would have died if they kept going. You... had no choice. That’s that.”

“John, I never told you what happened between me and your other side. The lycan... never harmed me. He’s not that different from you at all. He protected me. From a grizzly bear, of all animals. He told me everything he’s experienced while the both of you were locked in those comas. He... he doesn’t want separation anymore.”

“John?”

(John shakes his head. Brian sighs.) “John... please listen.”

“If you’re scared of turning... This may sound wild, but you should talk things out with your other side. In fact, he told me to tell you that. He wants to and honestly, I think he deserves being... ‘out’.”

“Was that time the only time you actually talked to him?”

(John nods.)

“Two years. That’s a long time not to be talkin’ to anybody.”

John: “I don’t... I don’t really trust him.”

Brian: “Why?”

(John shakes his head.)

Brian: “If it helps... I trust him. And you know me. That doesn’t come easy. Hell, I can easily say I trust him with my life, just as I trust you with mine.”

(John wipes away what tears are left.)

Brian: “John...”

(Brian reaches for John’s hand.)

“...it’ll be okay. It’ll take time, but I promise you’ll heal, and you’ll never have to go through anything like that ever again.”

“I promise.”

“Talk to him. For me. Okay?”

John: “Okay.”

“I will.”

“...I promise.”

(After that night, things calmed down. John got it in his head that he’ll talk to his other side. He doesn’t know when he’ll be able to do it, but he assumes that he’ll present himself when the time comes. For now...)

Brian: “Ooh! John, is this what I think it is?”

John: “Hey, babe.”

Brian: “Hm?”

(John dangles the mistletoe with a shy smile.)

(... but that lingering feeling, those tendrils of change...)

(They stand beside each other....)

(...and they realized, time’s almost up.)

(John stands at the door.)

(He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there; he just knows that he should be here.)

(He hears footsteps from the other side. Prowling.)

(John takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.)

“Okay. Here goes.”

(He stops turning the knob, and the prowling stops. He feels the presence on the other side shift.)

(Can’t let him know you’re scared, John tells himself. As long as he has control of the door, he’s fine.)

(He tries again.)

(The door creaks opens as he pushes it.)

(John sees nothing but darkness. Hell, even the light stops at the doorway.)

(This is a bad idea...)

(...but he stands his ground. Better to be patient and let him approach.)

(A clawed hand grips the door.)

(It stays there for a moment before sliding away.)

(The Werewolf stares back at him from the darkness. His expression is surprisingly neutral.)

(John stares back.)

John: “...we need to talk.”

(The Werewolf snorts.) “Just like that, huh? No ‘hi’, ‘hello’, ‘how are you doing?’. How rude.”

“I know why you’re here. I heard everything.”

John: “Then you know.”

“I want... to turn.”

The Werewolf: “After all these years... you want to turn. Just by asking nicely? Aren’t you worried about what will happen?”

“Twice you lost control. You don’t know how to control me. It’s risky.”

(The Werewolf growls.) “It’s d͙̥̖̠̲ͅͅa̬̙̕ng̙er̥̱͚̝͝o̙͎͍͜ṷ̶̪͖͇s̢̪̗̠. You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen, right?”

John: “No...”

(The Werewolf laughs low and dark.) “You’re worried. You’re scared like a little child. Ha, don’t worry about our mate. He talked to me, healed me... no harm will ever come to him.”

John: “Mate?”

The Werewolf: (laughs) “Oh, he must have glossed over that part. Him and I? Bonded. Let me put it this way... you better find a ring.”

John: “The hell does that mean?”

The Werewolf: “You know damn well what it means.”

(John looks to the floor.)

(The Werewolf steps out and leans against the doorframe.) “You’re that worried? Are you sure you want to turn?”

John: “Yes.”

The Werewolf: “You don’t look sure. You’re still afraid. Why?”

John: “I don’t know... I thought...”

The Werewolf: “Hmph. I feel like I should apologize for putting you through so much shit all these years. I also feel like you should apologize for suppressing me for so long. In your terms, that cancels out. So for now, we’re even. Got that?”

John: “Yeah.”

The Werewolf: “That said... may I ask why all of a sudden you want to let me out? Aside from Brian convincing you.”

John: “Well... that is a reason. He told me... to talk to you. Maybe get some answers. He told me that you weren’t dangerous. That you protected him.”

The Werewolf: “Uh-huh.”

John: “And because... I’m tired of fighting you. I’m tired of running. I don’t know how much I can take. I’m tired of... feeling like I need to hide. I read... things about you, about us, about who and what we are. We’re rare. Maybe the last of our kind.”

The Werewolf: “Everything, huh?”

John: “Except turning. There... wasn’t too much that I found. And the ones I did didn’t exactly apply to us.”

The Werewolf: “Well... you’ve come to the right place.”

The Werewolf: “I’ll teach you, but under one condition.”

“Do not resist me. When I want out, you better let me out, got that?”

John: “Go it.”

“What do I need to know?”

The Werewolf: “It is a process, and you are correct that we do not need to fight each other anymore; we must live in harmony and balance. Is that not a philosophy you have learned and practiced?”

(John nods.)

“Not only the body changes, but the mind does too. You don’t have either of that down. It’s easy to panic and that causes more pain.”

“What you have to do is breathe.”

(The Werewolf demonstrates.) “It will be chaos to you, but as long as you remember to breathe, you’ll be fine.”

John: “And what do I think about?”

The Werewolf: “Whatever you deem appropriate. I’ve heard of things that ‘flow’ helps. Something simple. You can imagine yourself changing. You can even imagine the energy spreading out from your heart and through your limbs. The choice is yours.”

John: “How long will this take? The transformation.”

The Werewolf: “It was quick last time because I simply took over when I had the chance. I can’t say the same for this time because you’re going to be conscious of the whole thing.”

“All I can say is ‘don’t think about it’. The pain is only temporary.”

John: “Temporary...”

The Werewolf: “We have to stop fighting. For our mate’s sake. He trusts you... but he trusts me as well. To him, we are no different from one another.”

“My question to you is: do you trust me? Will you trust me?”

“In time, we will be one, and this is the start.”

“I’ll ask you again: will you trust me?”

(John’s made up his mind. There’s no turning back.)

(John looks up.)

John: “Yeah. Let’s go.”

(The Werewolf laughs again and flashes his teeth.)

“Excellent. G̤e҉t̵͍͍̰͙ ̤̖̬͠r̞e͉ad͓̰̻̳͟y̩̪̻̯̤ͅ!̶̣̬̠̯̬”

(Bee-bee-beep! Bee-bee-beep!)

(Bee-bee-beep!)

John: (breathing heavily) “Br... Brian.”

“Wake...”

(Brian stirs.)

(Bee-bee-beep!)

John: “Brian...”

“W̧a̮̞̘̦̦ke͔̬̜.̖ ͓̬̦͖̠̜ͅT͓̰̥h̖̺̙̥̦̀ḙ̰͕͇̤͔̠ ̡͚f͍͈̜̹u̶͉̪̫c̠̦̙̮͎k.̟ ̣̹͉̹̳̺̝U̳͓̘̖͇p͔̠̤.̦́ Now.”

(Brian makes a sharp gasp.) “Uh?”

“Oh shit!” (He checks the measurement and notes the rising spike.) “161. Is it time?”

John: “Yes. We don’t... have much time.”

Brian: “Do you think you can hold him off?”

(John shakes his head.)

“Maybe. He didn’t... give me a time frame. Just told me...”

“...to get ready.”

Brian: “Okay. That eliminates three places--”

(John growls.)

“Just... keep it brief.”

Brian: “The Bluffs.”

John: “Fuck, really? I’ll turn before we get there!”

Brian: “Don’t worry. I already have the car packed. And I have a boat stowed away and ready to go.”

(John growls again.)

John: “Fine.”

(Brian assists John getting out of bed. He feels the sheer heat off of him before touching bare skin and wonders what his actual temperature is. It’s definitely something a person can’t survive let alone still be conscious.)

(Guess clothes would be out of the question... but the weather...)

John: “I’ll... I’ll be fine. I... just need pants. No shoes.”

Brian: “What?”

John: “I heard... your thoughts. Trust me... I just need pants. I don’t... wanna tear anything up.”

Brian: “Since when... you were able to do that? Can you read minds?”

(John laughs.) “No. It’s... my senses kicking in. I can’t read minds but I can hear them. You think way too hard, mahal. Since we were kids.”

Brian: “Oh. Oh. So you mean--”

John: “Yep.”

John: “I know... everything’s happening at once. My senses... my body’s changing... I... talked to him. Wasn’t anything heartfelt... he was mad at me but... he mentioned something. He said, you’re bonded. To us. I’d better get a ring.”

“What does that mean? Is... that what I think it means?”

Brian: “Yes. It does.”

John: “Get outta here.”

Brian: “That’s what I said too. I’ll tell you later.”

“But we do have to get out of here.”

(It’s 2 in the morning. The journey to The Bluffs was quick thanks to no traffic and the route Brian planned out days prior. The hardest stretch was getting the boat to work; he didn’t count on the motor to seize up or John showing signs of being boatsick.)

(Snow blankets the ruins of this remote island. It’s quiet and peaceful.)

Brian: “We’re almost there.”

(John nods. He’s concentrating on breathing and nothing else. His body is on fire and the winter air isn’t giving him the relief he needs.)

(He’s not feeling too much of anything at all. It’s hot...)

(Brian leads them to the open spot and steadies John.) “Right here. Okay?”

John: “Brian? I’m... I’m...”

(He can’t bring himself to say it.)

Brian: “Are you starting now?”

John: “No. Not yet.”

(He pauses. Just say it, he tells himself.)

“You better get this thing off.”

Brian: “Right...”

(Brian fumbles with the strap.)

John: “What’s... the number?”

Brian: “175. You’re close. Hell, I can feel it.”

John: “It’s... not a great feeling. Feels like... I’m gonna faint.”

Brian: “You were going to tell me something. It sounded important. You better say it now.”

(That tone. Brian’s used it before. He’s... preparing himself. For the unknown. He’s going through his feelings. Fear.)

Brian: “John?”

John: “Brian...”

“I’m...”

“I’m scared.”

Brian: “Me too.”

John: “I’m not ready... but... I have to let this happen.”

(Brian kisses John’s forehead.) “I know.”

“It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

(No matter how many times he’s said it, those words bring him relief. His words are true. He’s not alone. Brian’s here. That’s all he needs.)

(John smiles and laughs softly.)

“Brian... thank you.”

Brian: “You’re welcome, John.”

“You ready?”

(John nods.)

Brian: “I’ll give you space. Take all the time you need. Remember, I love you, okay?”

(Brian turns to go, his hand slipping away. It doesn’t feel like a goodbye, or even a ‘see you later’; ‘just a moment’ is more fitting.)

(Yeah, that’s it. He’ll be right back. Slightly different, but he’ll be the same. Maybe... this won’t be so bad after all.)

(John directs his attention to the sea and himself..)

(It’s time.)

(John closes his eyes...)

(....and breathes.)

(Something... stirs.)

(Just keep breathing.)

(It’s barely started...)

(You can do this.)

(Get it under control.)

(Stirring again. It’s stronger.)

(He falls to his knees.)

(No. I can’t--)

(John bares his teeth. There’s a growing pain in his chest.)

(He wants to fight it.)

(That’s what he was asked to do for all these years.)

(He can’t just let it happen.)

(He pitches over. No, it’s coming. It’s coming.)

(Something’s happening.)

(It feels like he’s tearing apart...)

(Just...)

(No. No no no.)

(G͓̼̲e͎͈̹̪̗͕̟t̮͕ ͖̟̦͟a̕ ̰̦h̸̺̝̦͎͎o̬̞̖l̨͇̙͇͔͉̪d̖̯̮̼̪ o̲͔f̵̱̭ ̣͇̝̦͇y̠̫̘͖̲̹̝o̪͚͙͍̜̟ͅu̙͚̱͎̗ͅr̦̖̤̬̖s҉̫͈èl͉̼̥̫͖̜f͎͔!͏̲)

(John’s hands shakes.)

(He can hear bone. They want to...)

(Claws erupt his fingertips.)

(Oh no.)

(There’s no going back.)

(John reaches out, grasping at thin air.)

(Each breath grows panicked. He can’t take it anymore.)

(He’s dying.)

(He can’t do anything about it.)

(What are you doing?)

(The stir knocks him down.)

(A strangled cry escapes his lips.)

(I can’t do this...)

(Y̛̩͕̤̙̗̭̲è͖̟̩̪s̠̤̯̲̙,̳̙̯̗̖ͅ ̹͖͢y͎͚̰̬̪̲͇o̪u̜͕͝ ̺̙͙͙͍̞̮̀c͖̩̱̕aṉ̭͕͍̼͠.̝̫͓̖)

(I’m sorry...)

(L̖̺̘I͓̻͖͍̳͘ͅS̷̛͈͇̖͈̤̕T̷̴̪̠̤̙E̯̮̺͢N͢͏̖̩̫!̧̺̪̲͎͎̥̦͢)

(John doesn’t want to.)

(But he has to. He screams.)

(There’s something in the recesses of his mind. A voice. No. A feeling. Like... a ghost of a hand touching his shoulder. It’s... kind.

“Breathe. It’ll be okay.”)

(John’s in pain. He wants it to stop. He’s screaming himself hoarse. Torn apart...)

(No. No, he’s not being torn apart.)

(G̨̗̠͔̫͍̘͕̲̣Ę͇̩̘͙͕̪͎͎͜T͙̻̙̲̺̥͍̯ ̡͝͏̫̻U͇͔̬͓̰̦̯̭͘͝P̴̢͎̦̗̻̮̯̖̕ͅ!̨̢͈̳̗̝͍̺͚͞)

(He struggles to get up. His breaths are wild and fast. But he’s listening. John’s listening.)

(Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.)

(Breathe.)

(John’s teeth shifts. He tastes blood in his mouth.)

(That doesn’t matter.)

(Power... courses through him. His veins. His body. Everything.)

(He wants it. It’s there. It’s right there.)

(It’s his.)

(And all he has to do...)

(...is...)

(...let go.)

(John roars at the moon.)

(John feels the snow beneath his fingers.)

(He opens his eyes and allows them to focus under the moonlight.)

(Snow, huh?)

(Has it been that long?)

(He sits up and takes the view before him in.)

(Water... far off mountains. He hears the waves breaking the shore below him. This is far different from last time.)

(The cool air is wonderful on his skin.)

(John looks up at the moon.)

(There it is. It’s as beautiful as he remembered.)

(As much as he wants to stare at it all night, there’s something to be done.)

(He stands up. John feels his body winding down from the change as he breathes deep and slow.)

(There’s something missing...)

(...but what?)

(He’s not sure if he should approach.)

(John hears footsteps fall behind him.)

Brian: “John?”

“Are... are you okay?”

John: “...”

Brian: “John, it’s me. Brian.”

(...his mind is still cloudy, but, he is familiar. He sounds familiar, he looks familiar.)

(...but his scent?)

(It snaps him out of his daze.)

John: “Brian? Is that you?”

Brian: “Yes.”

(John runs his fingers -- carefully -- through Brian’s hair.)

(He’s real.)

John: “Am I ...back?”

Brian: “Yes, John, you are.”

“Welcome back.”

(They bow each other’s head, just to take each other in.)

(It’s nice to breathe again.)

Brian: “How are you feeling?”

John: “Hungry. Tired. Mouth hurts. Thirsty. A little cold. Not bad.”

(Brian chuckles.) “You’re in luck. We’re about to go back home. Eat. Get some sleep. Peace and quiet.”

John: “I’d like that.”

Previous //

#ts4 simblr #ts4 story #ts4 #sims 4 story #the sims 4 #ts4 story telling #sims 4 #oc: john #oc: brian #oc pair: healing hands #werewolf!au #story tag: the werewolf

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years

Text

Ripped: Part 4

Ok, but actually, just..............this. Just..............get in on this

Ao3

Hiccup and Heather found the Johann connection while she was helping him research his book. It started, like most of his best ideas, as a joke while he was sifting through Sergeant Johanssen’s notes on the Grimborn case. Johann was by all metrics, insufferable and attention-seeking, and as hard as it is to define the character of people who’ve been dead over a hundred years, the sheer number of mostly useless anecdotes he made officers sit through speaks for itself. It was late in his Dad’s office when Hiccup flopped back and griped that if Johann was sadistic enough to make the Sergeant sit through one more tale about morality and cattle, maybe he was sadistic enough to murder and mutilate a series of prostitutes.

Heather laughed, but something about it stuck with both of them because they kept looking into it anyway, as silly as it was, pulling the string to see what was there. There are no shortage of primary sources citing Johann using the murders to sell more bibles, aiming to cleanse the streets of moral filth by educating them about the might of the lord.

As a theory, it holds out further than most. In fact, there’s nothing to disprove it. Johann was in Berk during all of the Grimborn murders. A couple of the Grimborn letters even have phrases in common with notes taken on Johann’s witness accounts. It’s entirely plausible that a bible salesman in the late eighteen eighties killed a string of loose women in a violent campaign to impose morality on Downtown Berk, but there’s absolutely no way to prove it.

That’s where Hiccup and Heather started fighting about it, she couldn’t take the open end. She found random slayings in downtown Outcast Island, no mutilation, not even all prostitutes or obviously morally destitute people, and tried to start pinning them on Johann based on the fact he wasn’t noted to be in Berk that month. She was ready to pull the trigger on something definitive and she started pushing it in tours, adding in leading pauses in front of the church, where Reverend Svenson encouraged Johann to lower prices as a form of aid, rather than expanding efforts to feed the poor.

Just because there’s nothing wrong with the Johann theory doesn’t mean there’s anything right. Knowing things too well gets in the way of learning more about them, and Hiccup is in this to learn, not know.

At least, that’s a very polite and summarized version of what he yelled at Heather and quit, calling her tour a stolen heap of sensationalist garbage that warps the facts for her own vanity.

It’s ironic now that he’s approaching her out of his own vanity. After a night of bugging Snotlout about how Astrid possibly could have known about Johann and getting nothing more than grumbling, it occurred to him that maybe she took Heather’s tour to have something new to shout down at him. And well, since she already made it clear how she feels about him looking in her apartment, asking about her whereabouts in reference to Heather’s tour seems like a good way to press that harassment charge.

He gets to the Ripped Tavern a bit early a couple days after Astrid’s Johann revelation and looks for Heather. She’s at the bar, talking to her brother, and Dagur steps away when he sees Hiccup approaching, presumably warning Heather, because she turns and raises an eyebrow.

“Can I do something for you, Hiccup?” She cocks her head, “I thought I was too sensationalized for a rational person like you to need anything from me.”

“I just wanted to ask if you’re still talking about Johann.” He adjusts his bag on his shoulder, fidgeting with his laser pointer in his pocket.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She sets her jaw, “since we discovered the idea together—”

“Has anyone been particularly curious about it lately?” He cuts her off, uninterested in rehashing the fight. As long as she doesn’t publish anything without his notes, he’s content to trim the sides of Berserker tours’ profits as long as she holds out.

“Why? Did you tell someone who wanted to finish figuring it out?” She rolls her eyes and Hiccup sighs.

“She’d be about our age, blonde, moved into Elizabeth Smith’s apartment and umm, well, she’s not a fan of my tour route—”

“No blonde women have asked me about Johann while complaining about your trespassing habits,” Heather shakes her head, “I swear, if Snotlout wasn’t looking out for you—”

“Well, he is.” He doesn’t need this lecture from Heather, of all people. Back before she took herself so seriously, she’s the one who dropped through the boarded-up window at Number 31, Harbor Road to examine the third site before it got torn down to make room for condos. “And I was just wondering if anyone asked, but it sounds like no, so…thanks, have a sensational tour.” His fake bitterness doesn’t do much to her and he wishes he hadn’t said anything at all when she frowns, concerned. Hopeful. “Don’t even—”

“What if someone else figured it out? I’m not the one being too petty to publish anything, I still have all my notes.”

“Yeah and mine, how do they fit into the version of reality you tour?” He doesn’t expect an answer to that and he doesn’t get one. Letting Heather keep the notes is letting her have the last word without having a verbal WWE match in Victorian Garb, and his hat has been through enough lately already.

Heather’s tour leaves on time and Hiccup’s slips out the side door fifteen minutes after. It’s a foggy night and the girl on the spot where Mary Johnson was found squeaks and jumps into her boyfriend’s arms when she realizes. He’s a little ahead of schedule when he approaches the first site, talking a little too fast and trying not to hope that Astrid will have something to say today. Maybe something that reveals her methods or reasons.

Maybe she’ll lean out the window again and argue with him, shivering in her pajamas. He shouldn’t have noticed, and he definitely shouldn’t have remembered, especially given he had to spend the rest of that tour fending off someone asking after her theories. That should have been annoying enough for him to wish she’d stayed inside, but well, he didn’t.

It’s worse that she’s pretty in a way that makes looking directly at her difficult. Funnier for Snotlout, but worse for him.

The lights are out in her apartment though, like she’d rather find somewhere else to be than argue with him, and he steps to the side of the sandstone wall, rubbing his hand over it and remembering the first time he came here. It was the first place he stood that he knew that at some point, Viggo Grimborn stood in the exact same spot.

“Before we get a little closer to the site of the first Grimborn murder,” he pauses when he looks at the group and sees Astrid at the back of it, arms crossed and keys dangling from her hand, like she caught him on her way home. “Where we won’t enter or peek in at all, because that would be creepy.” He gives her a thumbs up and she shrugs.

“You’re talking about the ‘All Safe’ message, right?”

“Well, I was going to,” he pats the wall, focusing back on the group and remembering where he was, “right, this wall, on the morning that Elizabeth Smith’s body was found, there was a message on it, presumably left by the murderer. The officer on his morning patrol assumed it was meant for him from the officer on watch the night before, but when questioned, the night officer didn’t know anything about it.”

“And because there were no pictures taken of it, because of a rainstorm later that afternoon, the main source for the message has always been the notes from the officer who was called by a witness to discover Elizabeth Smith’s body.” Astrid excuses herself unnecessarily because the group is already splitting to look back at her, confused but used to being talked at by this point in the tour. She could thank him for the warm up, maybe, but he doesn’t think he’ll be that lucky. “So, the message, ‘All Safe’ has always been understood to be a statement, as in, behind this wall, everything is safe.” She steps up next to Hiccup, in front of the wall, fiddling with her keys like she’s nervous even as she gestures at the bricks.

“Oh, are you going to give my tour?” He doesn’t mean for the sarcasm to shut her down, necessarily, but he doesn’t expect her to shove it off, standing up straighter and looking between him and the tour group.

“I was going to fix it, if that’s ok with you.”

“Fix it?”

“The ‘All Safe’ message was not officially photographed as part of the crime scene on the morning that Elizabeth Smith was discovered murdered,” she reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper that unfolds to an eight and a half by eleven, slightly smeared, freshly printed scan of the Berk Enquirer. Judging by the font, it’s copied from a paper issued in the late eighteen hundreds, but Hiccup doesn’t recognize it. He tends to stay away from the Enquirer, because he got done with stories about Viggo Grimborn running away with the Loch Ness monster. “But, a back-page story broke in the Enquirer on the same day as the investigation began, and the ‘All Safe’ message is clear in the background.”

“What?” Hiccup stops short, reaching reflexively for the paper, but she holds it over her head away from him, eyes flicking between his and his hat.

“Well, if you didn’t know about this, I guess I am going to have to give the tour.” She offers him the picture and when he takes it, snatches his hat off of his head and puts it on herself. “Which means I need the stupid tour outfit.”

“Hey!” Hiccup reaches for his hat back but looks at the picture at the same time, his indignance and his hand pausing in unison when he angles the grainy image under the street lamp and clearly sees the chalk text of ‘All Safe’ written on the wall where they’re standing. “Oh my God.”

“As I was saying, when you actually see the famous ‘All Safe’ message, it’s obvious that it’s something else entirely.” She nods decisively, the too big top hat tilting forward over her forehead, “it doesn’t say ‘All’, it says Al, I. It’s a signature.”

“How did you find this?” He traces it with a fingertip.

“Aren’t you going to pass it around to the group?” She adjusts his hat, and he swallows hard, nodding a little too quickly and exhaling a suddenly obvious puff of steam into the cold air.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, presumably it’s a signature apparently announcing that one Al, last name starting with I, was safe at the wall the morning of November eleventh, eighteen eighty-three. And the assumption has always been that it was connected with the Grimborn murders, because Elizabeth Smith was automatically considered the first Grimborn victim.” She starts pacing a couple of steps back and forth, hands clasped behind her back, and she’s mocking him, sure, but she’s teasing him too.

And she brought him new Grimborn evidence and it makes him wonder if she figured out about Johann herself, and that thought makes it kind of hard to breathe.

“But, I’d like to present an alternate hypothesis,” she turns to Hiccup, in particular, blue eyes on fire and he feels like he can’t move. Not his foot, not his expression, which is somewhere between rejected, stunned, and thrilled. “The same night that Elizabeth Smith was killed, there was a robbery in the downstairs of 324 Harbor Road. It’s glossed over, because of the murder, but all signs point to it being a two-man job. One lookout, one person casing the basement apartment belonging to Elizabeth Smith’s brother-in-law, who she could have easily been visiting. A week later, one Alfred Ireland was caught with that brother-in-law’s monogrammed knife and arrested for breaking and entering.”

“What are you saying?” Hiccup passes the picture to the nearly forgotten tour group and the first girl looks at it with only casual interest.

“I’m saying that a man, whose name could easily be abbreviated to ‘All’ was caught after stealing a knife the very night that Elizabeth Smith was stabbed, in the upstairs of the house where her brother-in-law lived. I’m proposing that she’s not a Grimborn victim at all, but a casualty of a robbery that wasn’t meant to be anything more.” Astrid reaches up for his hat, taking it deftly off of her head and setting it back on his. Her thumb grazes his ear and he swallows hard. “So, my apartment was just unfortunate enough to be the location of some casual, run of the mill violence, and does not belong on a Grimborn tour.” She exhales and nods, obviously pleased with herself as points at the circulating picture. “You can keep that.”

“Thanks,” Hiccup’s voice cracks and he clears his throat, “thank you, umm, but—”

“Don’t you have an actual tour to start?” She waves him off as she walks to the front door of the building and lets herself in, “since this isn’t a location on it, I mean.”

“I’m confused,” a guy in the tour group cuts across Hiccup’s thoughts, “is this a location of a Grimborn murder or not.”

“I don’t—Ok, I don’t know why you guys chose my tour.” Hiccup scratches his face, feeling flushed and off kilter again, brain flitting between Astrid and Johann and evidence he’s never imagined actually seeing. “Or I do, it’s because it’s cheaper, but I like to pretend it’s because it’s less sensationalized and less…like I’m trying to spoon-feed you my own opinion of who Viggo Grimborn was or might have been.”

“It’s also longer,” a woman offers helpfully, “longer and cheaper.”

“Great. Thanks,” he laughs, “longer and cheaper, I’ll add that to the website.” He looks up at Astrid’s apartment, the light turning on behind closed blinds, her shadow moving in front of it like she’s pacing. “I’ve been studying Viggo Grimborn for about five years, I’ve read police notes and fictionalized accounts and theories that the murder was committed by anyone from the crown prince of a now defunct Scandanavian monarchy to a gang of rogue Free Masons. Most sources point to one person, most likely a man, committing at least four murders, starting in that apartment with Elizabeth Smith in November eighteen eighty-three.” He resists the urge to snatch the picture back and stare at it, to run home and compare it to his scans of letters and detectives’ writing.

“But you don’t know?” Someone else asks and Hiccup shrugs.

“I don’t, and no one ever will. There’s nothing in my knowledge saying what she just said isn’t correct, but there’s no DNA, there’s very little evidence left. Sure, the case was foundational to modern forensics, but like all foundational things, the police work was flawed and riddled with mistakes.” He gestures down the road, “let’s go to the second site, maybe the Grimborn fairy will come inform me that it was actually committed by…I don’t know, an escaped circus dragon.”

Hiccup is a little surprised that anyone follows him, but then again, he is giving them a real bang for their ten bucks. He manages to find his rhythm again at the second site, showing the gruesome pictures people love to cringe at, and walking too fast to illustrate the complicated timeline of the proposed double event. But he’s glad when it starts raining, a veritable deluge cutting off the last ten minutes of the tour and sogging the brim of his hat by the time he gets home. Usually, he hates cancelling, but tonight he’s fumbling his phone out of his pocket to update weather concerns on his site before he’s even up the stairs to his apartment.

“I thought I smelled wet goat,” Snotlout catches him in the entry way, shrugging into his uniform jacket and zipping it up.

“Good to see you too.”

“You know, because your coat is made of old goat fur or whatever.”

“Wool,” Hiccup takes off the offending coat, hoping that Snotlout doesn’t notice him sniffing it. It doesn’t smell great, he could dry clean more often, but Astrid would have assumed that’s just the smell of murder sites, right? “You’re looking for wool.”

“Whatever,” Snotlout pats his holster and checks how secure his badge is, “are you in for the night?”

“Probably,” Hiccup shrugs, “Astrid actually umm…delivered some new evidence to me, I’ve got a lot to dig into.”

“She seemed so normal, I can’t believe she’s shouting weird shit out the window at you.”

“Grimborn-ology is cool,” Hiccup dodges when Snotlout tries to put him into a headlock, laughing and shuffling backwards towards his dad’s old office, “I always told you.”

“Yeah, but I never thought it would start attracting hot girls,” he says goodnight and leaves and Hiccup lays the photo Astrid gave him out on his desk, next to his most recent, half full notebook.

The fact is he’s not good with data he didn’t find himself, he always wants to see the paper it came from or the notes themselves. The obsessive double checking of everything Heather found drove her crazy, but when he was having to back track from theories to the facts themselves, it was even more necessary. He drums his fingers on the desk for a minute and his eyes dart to an old book on the shelf, the only one he has duplicates of.

He still doesn’t know how Astrid found out about Johann. Or the chalk message.

She hasn’t come through on the harassment threat yet, and now she’s researching. And Snotlout isn’t here to tell him that going to see her is a horrible idea, and maybe it’s not, they have a shared interest.

He grabs a copy of the book, second edition, the one he found first, on the way out of the office and changes into an actual raincoat before heading out, hood pulled low over his forehead against the rain. It’s a Saturday night, chances are she won’t even be home. Maybe he could leave the book with a note in it. His number maybe, that would be a better way of communicating than her occasionally taking over his tour or shouting out windows. That’s a good way to phrase it, not too presumptive, just as a way of sharing evidence.

He’s so busy thinking through what he’s going to say and the rain is loud enough on his hood that he almost runs into two people on the sidewalk, one in an official looking black uniform that he’s really learning to hate and the other huddled under an umbrella with a heavy looking backpack.

“It’s past curfew,” the man in the uniform says, blocking an alley that the woman with the umbrella is apparently trying to walk through, “the courtyard is closed to everyone but residents.”

“I’m not trying to go through the courtyard, I’m just cutting through to the shelter.” The woman shivers, “please, it closes in ten minutes.”

“The courtyard—”

“Hi, what seems to be the problem here?” Hiccup cuts in, doing his best Snotlout’s-cop-voice impression and standing up straight.

“Neighborhood Watch Force concern,” the man in the uniform tries to brush him off, showing a pseudo-official badge that Hiccup knows to mean nothing. Snotlout complains about these guys enough, the private security employed by the condo developers to keep the streets a certain brand of clean are really starting to think they’re cops.

“I live in the neighborhood.” Hiccup points over his shoulder, “one of the brownstones back there, what’s the neighborhood concern?”

“The other side of this building is visible from The Docks,” he uses the pretentious name of the ugly condos he apparently works for, “I’ve been instructed to keep the streets empty past curfew for the safety of the neighborhood.”

“Well, I feel safe,” Hiccup turns to the woman, who’s scared and probably homeless, “I’ll walk her to the shelter, I know the guy who runs it, I can get him to open the door even if we go the long way.”

“Good, you’ll have to,” the uniform brings gravitas that doesn’t hold water and if Hiccup weren’t worried about scaring the woman further, he’d point it out.

The woman’s name is Jennifer and it sounds like she’s trying to navigate a difficult divorce, but Hiccup doesn’t pry. He delivers her to the back door of the shelter, texting Gobber to open up. His usual lecture about being late ends abruptly when Hiccup mentions his conversation with the NWF.

“No one will tell me what those pushy bastards are supposed to be allowed to do,” he shakes his head.

“They’ve been driving Snotlout crazy too,” Hiccup shrugs, “I just thought you’d want to know they’re blocking people crossing town, you might want to loosen up when you close the doors.”

“Right, like I’m not already up against their curfew laws,” Gobber rolls his eyes, “thanks lad, great advice. Oh, and by the way, speaking of driving people crazy, are you still harassing my tenants?”

“You say harassing, I say stimulating their curiosity,” Hiccup grins, “it seems I have a new source of Grimborn info. I’m heading over to talk to Astrid now.”

“She invited you?”

“She stimulated my curiosity,” he winces, stepping backwards out of the range where Gobber could cuff his ear with a cold, metal hook.

“I’m sure she did,” Gobber shakes his head, “you know, maybe I could get that NWF to keep my tenants safe too. Keep the riff-raff out of my courtyard.”

“Hey, that’s what I’m for, you want me out of a job?”

“Maybe then you’d be into a real one,” Gobber grumbles as he goes back inside and Hiccup yanks his hood back up, heading towards Astrid’s apartment the back way to avoid any more run ins. He cuts across the street at the second murder site, patting the book in his inner pocket to make sure it’s still dry and ringing the visitor bell on the front door of Astrid’s building to get temporary access.

It gives five minutes for an interior door to open, and if none do, Gobber is alerted and tonight, would know to call Snotlout, so keeping this under five minutes if necessary is probably for the best. He really just wants to drop off the book and ask Astrid a few questions, if she seems receptive. If not, there has to be another way to track down her sources, there are only so many collections with hundred year plus old Berk Enquirers.

He knocks on the door and takes a step back so that she can see him clearly through the peephole, checking his watch and vowing to leave in three minutes, no matter what. She opens the door almost immediately, wearing sweatpants with her hair braided over her shoulder and the suspicious glare he’s starting to think of as typical on her face.

“What do you want?”

“Hi,” he brushes beaded up water off of the front of his coat before unzipping it to get out the book.

“Hi, what are you doing here?” She blocks the doorway with a confidence that shows she’s not really worried about him fighting his way through, and looking at her, that’s probably fair. “You don’t have a troupe of people who want to see my living room with you, right?”

“No, I cancelled my last two tours,” he shakes his head, wet hair dripping onto the floor, “weather.”

“But you couldn’t skip your pilgrimage?” She steps back, gesturing at her mostly empty living room.

Hiccup can’t help but impose the tenant house walls over it, the pre-remodel door about six feet behind her, eternally immortalized in those first crime scene photos. There were three apartments on this floor then instead of two, and the kitchen plumbing had to go through an external add on that made the window on the far wall wider.

“I brought you a book,” he holds it out to her and she stares at it, suspect.

“Viggo Grimborn Solved: The Admiral Haddock Connection.” She reads the title and her hand twitches towards it, curious even as her face betrays nothing.

“You asked a couple weeks ago what my theory was. I told you I liked the mystery, and that’s true, but this is my favorite theory.” He waits a beat and almost pulls his hand back, but she takes the book and starts flipping through it, leaning her shoulder on the door frame.

“Admiral Hiccup Haddock?” She raises an eyebrow, “so that’s not your real name? It’s an alias or something?”

“No, it’s my real name, I’m named after him. He’s my great-great-great-great grand uncle or something, I’m not exactly sure what you call your great-great-great-great-grandfather’s brother, I probably miscounted greats—”

“Did he do it?” She frowns, looking at the publishing information. Second edition, nineteen forty-five underlined.

“Oh God no,” he laughs, “his dad had been the crown prince before the republic and then raised a son who had an esteemed navy career and retired to police work, but this guy, A. M. Mildew was absolutely sure that he spent the summer he was twenty-four murdering prostitutes in Downtown Berk. Absolutely none of it makes sense, there’s a whole passage hinting at a victory song at The Academy actually referring to this complicated web of forbidden, gay, masonic relationships.”

She raises an eyebrow and flips through, skimming his notes in the margins, “so it’s bullshit.”

“An utter, steaming pile of it.” He nods, “my favorite theory, it has my name all over it.”

“Funny,” she snorts, a dry little laugh that reaches her eyes more than the rest of her expression. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You showed me a picture I’ve been wanting to see for about five years, a picture I didn’t think existed.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, his jeans damp almost through from the rainy walk over. “And Johann was kind of my pet theory, for a while, I didn’t tell anyone but my old partner. At first, I thought you must have talked to her, but she said no. And well, it seems like you’ve been doing your own research, I was guessing—hoping, maybe—that you were curious.”

“I work part time at the archives at the university,” she sets the book inside on a shelf or table he can’t see, and it feels like a win, if not a definitive victory. “If it was all about the mystery, I thought maybe if I solved it, I could diminish some of the allure.”

“But then I come here and tell you that my favorite theory is the absolute nonsense one that I happen to be named after…”

“Any chance we could compromise on you buying me soundproof curtains?” She smiles then, not quite friendly, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes as she takes half a step forward, almost into the hallway.

“Let me give you a private tour,” he blurts, gesturing at her living room and down the stairs beside him in a combination that’s probably more jazz hands than anything else. “The real tour, the three in the morning tour, with the good stuff I leave out most of the time.”

Her brows knit together as she stands up straight, arms crossed and instantly closed off again, “no, I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” he flushes, “I thought you were maybe umm, warming up to me a little there, guess I misread that. I’ll go—”

“No, as in ‘no, I’m not going on a serial killer memorabilia tour at three in the morning with a guy I don’t know’. That sounds like a really good way to get murdered.”

“When you put it that way, that makes sense,” he looks at his shoes for a second, “you have a gift for framing things.” Which is the lamest compliment that anyone has ever given anyone and he winces.

“You keep needing me to remind you of really obvious things.” She looks like she might be about to smile again, and Hiccup can’t help but push his luck, tapping at his watch.

“Let me try, you know how time is circular?”

She frowns, “I’d say time is linear, last time I checked.”

“Ok, sure, but our understanding of a repeating twenty-four-hour day is circular.” He waits for her to nod, one shoulder shrugging slightly, “so if we follow that theory, at some point, really late becomes early. So, while staying up to meet someone to go on a Grimborn tour with some guy you barely know at three in the morning might be creepy, starting your day outlandishly early by meeting a guy who gave you a book on his family’s fake sordid history for a Grimborn tour might be totally fine.”

“Oh, so mornings I have to be at work at four-thirty, you’re saying it’s normal to add a Grimborn murder tour detour to my morning commute?”

“Four-thirty? The private tour is at least two hours.” He assures her, “and by that point it’s getting light out, which makes it even harder for it to be creepy.” He can see her thinking about it, biting her lip and looking over her shoulder at the book. “And if worse comes to worst and I default to my obviously genetic tendencies towards murder, I bet you can totally take me.” He flexes, “noodle arms.”

“I’ll…” she sighs, “I’ll let you know if I ever have a morning that early. Give me your number?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s—here,” he hands her his phone, “put yours in, I’ll text you.”

“One condition,” she passes the phone back and forth between her hands, “you aren’t going to start a daily Grimborn facts text service, are you?”

“Not until you ask me to,” he nods, “which you will, after my private tour.”

“Sure.” She hands his phone back and stares at him another second, taking a slow step backwards into her apartment. “So, I’ll let you know.”

“Right.” He nods, rezipping his jacket and steeling himself to go back into the rain, even though he doesn’t think keeping warm will be a problem this time. “Looking forward to it.”

#modern au #hiccstrid #serial killer tour guide au #httyd fic #hiccstrid fic #ripped

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junioradventure · 7 years

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[FANACCT] 170611 KNK “해달별" Fansign Experience at 제일라아트홀 (Fanboy)

Hi again!

I’m here with my fanaccount for KNK’s fansign during their “해달별" promotions.

This was a notably important fansign for me because I’m pretty sure this is my last fansign event before I leave Korea on the 22nd...

I’m so sad. ㅠㅠ

Anyway, it was a really awesome event and I’m glad I got to see my favorite group up close and personal again.

I did a video about their fansign before during “U” era too.

Without further ado, let’s get started!

KNK’s fansigns are getting more competitive nowadays, with fans buying more than 10 albums to have a chance to get in. I originally bought 9 albums, but after seeing a fan next to me at the CD store buy 10, I bought 3 more, totaling up to 12 albums overall. And I got in!

On the day of the fansign, I found the building where it was held and headed to the B2 floor. Some fans were waiting to get in, but the staircase and entrance was rather narrow. I showed my Alien Registration Card to verify my identification (though a passport works just as well) and the staff told me to pick a card that was on the table. The assorted cards were all face-down, and this was to determine my seat number. I got number 63.

I took my seat, but the rows of chairs were all close together and narrow too, not allowing much room. This was a noticeable inconvenience when fans had to squeeze past each other in the rows. I spent a huge amount of time before coming to prepare a fanletter for my bias Seungjun, so I had to write down all the post-its for the members that I would put in my album.

Soon the members appeared and the fansign went underway. They looked so handsome as always, but they look especially good with the suits in this era aghhhh.

Sorry that my picture’s quality isn’t too good, but this is how the fansign was conducted. The order was: Jihun→Inseong→Seungjun→Youjin→Heejun

MEMBER INTERACTIONS (with pictures and gifs!)

I’ll fast-forward to the interactions I had with each member. I’m sorry that I forgot some things that happened, but in the thick of the moment, it’s hard to process and take in everything that happened (for me). Luckily, I met someone at the fansign that was kind enough to take a video of me when I went through this great experience. I was really nervous again, because they’re my favorite group and this was my last time, so I was even more anxious.

JIHUN

So leader Jihun was first this time around~ Actually he was rather quiet today as well; when I met him at a fansign last year, he was rather soft-spoken too. But it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I pointed to the questions I had brought for him on the post-its and told him I was a part of an international KNK fan group on Facebook, and I gathered some questions other Tinkerbells wanted to know about KNK. He was listening and then all of a sudden, said, “Ah. International,” in English. THAT WAS FREAKING CUTE AHH. He was really handsome up-close, though. He looked mature and cool when he was in thinking mode, but then he lapsed into squishy mode when he smiled and it was just adorable.

He really thought deeply about the questions I wrote. I guess he had to think a lot about how to answer them. But another factor was that time was really limited and the staff members were quite strict so they moved our albums to the next member by force, cutting our time short.

Blue post-it note: Q: Which member is really the closest to Jihun-hyung...? A: I’m close with all but umm... Heejun?! Jihun had some trouble answering this question but dang, I didn’t expect him to think so seriously about it. ㅠㅠ I’m sorry if I had to make you pick a favorite! I know you all love each other LOL.

Yellow post-it note: Q: Where do you draw the inspiration when you make the choreography (for KNK)? A: There’s just times when suddenly... Ttak! I forgot what other little things we said after he answered those, but I had to move on. I gave him high-fives as a farewell and moved over to... Inseong!

INSEONG

Next was my second bias, Inseong. I greeted him by saying, “Inseonggie hyung~” hahaha because he’s just a fun, cool guy. He grinned and asked, “Hyung?” I SWEAR THIS WAS SO REMINISCENT WHEN I FIRST MET HIM in person when he asked me, “Am I hyung?” LOL. But he is just killing the visual game nowadays. He looked especially handsome today. He asked me where I’m from and I told him America, more specifically Hawaii.

Bottom post-it note: Q: Is there a place you really want to visit (vacation-wise)? A: Hawaii That’s probably why he cleverly wrote his answer as “Hawaii” for my question, but I’m not complaining! Inseong is really easy to talk to. I told him that his hairstyle for this concept suits him very well and that he looks really handsome. He was really happy to hear a compliment and ahhh he was just an excited hamster. I assured him that he was already handsome but now, even more. I basically complimented him a lot because he deserves more love and attention!! Top post-it note: Q: The most difficult point of this promotion...? A: Live...!? He explained that singing live was one of the toughest parts of promotions. I asked why, and he said it’s because he has to sing rather high. I understand him because him singing the chorus in “해달별" while dancing pretty vigorously looked really tiring... But he pulled it off! I told him he was really good and that he’s doing well. I feel like he was insecure a little about his performance as a vocalist and how well he does and I wanted to reassure him. It was time to move on so I told him bye~ Inseong really does have a warm heart and he’s such a nice person please give him lots of affection and reassurance

SEUNGJUN *BIAS ALERT*

*sigh* I really can’t express how great and caring Seungjun is. I can tell he truly loves and adores his fans, and it shows from the way he treats them. He said my name like, “Junior?” in a cute tone and I said cutely too, “Seungjunnie-hyung~” AHAHAHAHA. He immediately looked at my questions and more antics ensued.

Blue post-it note: Q: POKEMON or DIGIMON, you can only choose one A: *marks Pokemon* but went the extra mile to show his UNCONDITIONAL PREFERENCE FOR DIGIMON LIKE WHAT THE NOOOOOOO Yellow post-it note: Q: Is there a member you want to live with for the rest of your life? A: Inseong Jihun At first, he took a look at the blue note and I reiterated, “You can only choose one!” Without hesitation, he answered, “Digimon!” I was like WHAT THE HECK, NO YOU CAN’T CHOOSE DIGIMON OVER POKEMON OMGG. He was so firm, he was like, “Digimon~” in a cute tone and I told him, “Why??” He seemed a bit sympathetic and marked Pokemon, but said, “Digimon~” again and decorated a box around the word Digimon. DANG IT SEUNGJUN. I was like OTL because I came dressed in a Squirtle hoodie because I thought he loved Pokemon more but that happened. I mockingly complained, “I came dressed like this too...” Seungjun chuckled and then proceeded to gently grab my arm and draw a little heart on the Squirtle patch design on my hoodie!!!

SJ: *in a Korean accent* Hearteu~ I internally died at this cute action like I AM NEVER WASHING THIS HOODIE AGAIN LOL I also made sure to give him the letter I worked on. He then looked at my second post-it, which he thought about for a moment. At first, Seungjun wrote Inseong, so I asked him why. He said because Inseong is funny. BUT THEN LAST MINUTE Seungjun scratches out Inseong’s name and writes Jihun AND HE DIDN’T EVEN GIVE A REASON WHY LOL. So that made think like HMMMMM this ship really sails itself huh... Now I had to tell him that this was pretty much my last chance to see them... Me: Actually, on the 22nd, I’m leaving Korea, so this is my last chance to see you guys. I’m really glad I got to see you guys often while I was here. SJ: *in a cute pleading voice* Don’t go~ (AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH) Me: I don’t wanna leave either!

And then this happened.

OMG I was so flustered when he asked when I’ll be back with that cheeky smile that I accidentally lapsed into English hahahaha. He probably didn’t understand what I said, but I had to move on ㅠㅠ!! Wait for me Seungjun, I’ll be back!! I really want to cry now... Hahahaha. And it ended cutely because I kept shaking his hand, and then...

Thank goodness. He is the best and he’s always so sweet!!

YOUJIN

Okay I’m going to start off my account of Youjin because right when I got to him, he asked me, “Are you a fan of Seungjun?” BWAHAHAHA he called me out!! I told him that I liked all the members but yeah, Seungjun was my fave... If he noticed that, then wow...

And then it was like another round of deja vu because I told him I was from Hawaii and that he should come, and he replied, “I want to go too!” LIKE THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT WE SAID LAST YEAR AT THE FIRST FANSIGN LOL.

He looked over my questions and I told him they were from other international fans. He got super excited over the Overwatch question and his inner fanboy came out.

Yellow post-it note: Q: Which heroes (do you use) when you play Overwatch? A: Roadhog, Reinhardt, and... the last part was a bit illegible but I think he wrote the name of a Korean Overwatch player named 후아유. [If anyone wants to help me out with deciphering that, it’d be much appreciated~] He was so happy when talking about his mains for OW, but I had to tell him that I actually didn’t know the game at all loooool. I wish I could’ve nerded out with him but idk ㅋㅋㅋ He even asked me, “Isn’t Overwatch quite popular in America?” lmaooo which is true but yeah, I’m clueless.

Blue post-it note: Q: What are you most afraid of?? A: Bugs! 1인칭 horror game.

So Youjin seems to be the least fearful in the group so I also wanted to know what scares him. He wrote “bugs” and I couldn’t believe like this guy didn’t flinch for the ghost prank or a VR zombie slashing him but he’s afraid of insects??

I’m not judging tho but dang.AND OKAY I SEARCHED UP THE HORROR GAME HE TALKED ABOUT AND THAT SHIZ IS NO JOKE.

OH HELLLLLL NOOOOO YOU CAN COUNT ME OUT OF THIS GAME CUZ SHIZ I WOULD PISS MYSELF DURING THIS VR EXPERIENCE

But Youjin is a cool chill guy who loves gaming so hit him up yo

HEEJUN

Heejun, Heejun, Heejun. You never know how he’ll be like. I heard from a friend that he’s different every time which is kinda true. The first time I met him, he was comical but on the quiet side, and we were kinda awkward... BUT THIS TIME WAS JUST OMG LOL. He spoke some English to me even though I was talking to him in Korean which was cute. He said things like, “Where are you from?” and “Really?” Soooo silly. I complimented him on his English pronunciation and I DIDN’T NOTICE THIS UNTIL MY FRIEND SHOWED ME THE FOOTAGE SHE TOOK AND-

OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGG. Heejun’s also quite chill but he’s so funny agh.

Yellow post-it note: Q: Is there a concept you want to try? A: BTS’ Blood, Sweat, Tears hOLY SHIZ IS IT WEIRD THAT I CAN ALREADY IMAGINE HEEJUN IN THAT KIND OF CONCEPT? he already bares his chest sometimes like omfg and I can totally see him pulling it off like shiz I AM READY Blue post-it note: Q: Heejun-ah~ Please write down your favorite color!! A: Black, gray Heejun forgot because he even asked himself out loud, “Which colors do I like?” I told him, “Why don’t you know??” HAHAHA. I told him I was l was leaving soon and he just replied, “When will you be back?” LOL. IDK, I wish I knew, then I wouldn’t have to leave y’all ㅠㅠ I told him bye and he was like, “bye bye!!!” Later on, the members picked random seat numbers from a box and the chosen fans could take a selca with them. SO LUCKYY. I WASN’T CHOSEN BUT UGH IT’S OKKK. Then they played 공기, which is a Korean bean game similar to Jacks. Jihun got really competitive and he almost kicked the stage LMAOOOO. Seungjun was really bad at it and he ended up last. Youjin was first, followed by Inseong, Heejun and finally Jihun secured a place by a hair. Seungjun’s punishment was dancing to their title track with aegyo LOOOOOL he tried his best but he looked so awkward omg And that was it. My last fansign with them. I love them so much, because they’re all so wholesome and show their personalities unabashedly. All of them are SO DIFFERENT and the dynamics are just so interesting and charming. SORRY I cut it a little at the end but I have to go to class ㅠㅠ I’ll tweak this a bit later maybe but I hope y’all enjoyed this!!!!

#knk #fanaccount #fanboy #해달별 #크나큰 #팬싸인회 #170611 #sunmoonstar #gravity

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hmhteen · 7 years

Text

HMH Teen Teasers: WASTE OF SPACE by Gina Damico

WASTE OF SPACE by Gina Damico is unlike any book you’ve ever read. It involves: an intern whistleblower, a government conspiracy, reality TV, NASA, and the 10 teenagers at the center of it all. Told in epistolary format—that means records, documents, journal entries, phone and video transcripts, and more—the book follows each angle of the story as the reader, and the teenagers, get closer and closer to the truth about what really happened behind the scenes of the viral hit TV show Waste of Space...and why the government tried to cover up the truth.

You can read the first few chapters of WASTE OF SPACE below!

DV8

2375 Wilshire Boulevard

Los Angeles, CA 91523

National Center for Missing & Exploited Children

Charles B. Wang International Children’s Building

699 Prince St.

Alexandria, VA 22314

May 7, 2017

To Who It Might Concern:

As per your request, enclosed are all relevant transcripts of recorded meetings, phone calls, email correspondence, raw video footage, edited-for-broadcast video footage, and confessional interviews used in the production (from development up until the glitch) of the reality television show Waste of Space. We apologize for the admittedly substandard quality of the transcripts; since you insisted on a rushed—some would say unreasonable—deadline, the task to type them up fell to an untrained intern who seems to have inserted personal commentary and conjecture in certain places. A more objective compilation is forthcoming.

We hope these documents will help you guys with your investigation, though we would be remiss if we did not insist yet again that we officially disavow any responsibility for the incident currently under investigation. Waivers were signed. Parents were informed, or so we thought.

This isn’t on us.

Sincerely,

Chazz Young

CEO, DV8 Productions

Author’s Note

Untrained intern here.

Shortly after my boss wrote the above letter, he instructed me to go down to the post office and mail it, along with the thick packet of documents that accompanied it. On the way, I was to ask his personal courier, Boris, to deliver to the office enough recreational drugs to “stop the heart of an elephant,” as the DV8 team was “super stressed.” Then it was suggested that, in honor of the people who were giving our company so much trouble, I stop by an Edible Arrangements store to buy a symbolic bouquet of “fruits with sticks up their asses.”

I did none of those things. The packet was not mailed. Fruit was not purchased, sarcastically or otherwise. I spoke to Boris, but about a different matter altogether. Drugs were acquired—but only for me, and only in the form of caffeine. The decision to become a whistleblower is not an easy one, and faced with the daunting task of tearing into that packet of documents and learning things I could not unlearn, I needed a pot of freshly brewed courage.

The account that follows is my attempt to ascertain what really happened in January and February of the year 2017—not what was reported in the news, not what was claimed afterward in the statements from all parties involved. The evidence I will present is composed of the files found in the aforementioned packet, plus several additional records unearthed over the course of my investigation (some of which were obtained through measures that were not, I admit, strictly legal). All documents are presented in their original states and are labeled with as much information as I could ascertain.

The full body of evidence calls to mind a jigsaw puzzle at a yard sale—some pieces are missing, some are bent out of shape, and some don’t make sense unless one can see the full picture. The truth may be out there, but I doubt anyone will ever be able to irrefutably prove what it is. All I can hope for is that my version is the closest.

Full disclaimer: Because I personally knew and/or met most of the witnesses, and as I was watching and listening from behind the scenes throughout many of the events described herein, it’s inevitable that some of my own judgments and criticisms will leak into this report. But I’ll do my best to keep my perspective to a minimum and to interpret the events in an unbiased manner. To that end, I will refrain from telling this story from my point of view, as it is not meant to be a tell-all. From this point forth I’ll let the evidence speak for itself.

I am not the story here. I, like each of you, was only a helpless witness.

When I accepted an internship at DV8, I knew it wasn’t going to lead to a Pulitzer. The network isn’t what you’d call “prestigious” or “groundbreaking” or “staffed by literate individuals,” but the road to a degree in journalism is fraught with despair, douchebags, and dead ends, and I was aware of and prepared for that. In today’s competitive job market (especially in an allegedly dying profession), I was ecstatic to land any internship at all. I vowed to throw myself into the inane, unending errands. I’d cheerfully fire off meaningless tweets, retweets, and “impactful hashtags.” I’d withstand indignities and humiliations galore, and after all that, I’d be on my way with six full credits and nary a look back at the eight months of hell I’d had to endure, all in the name of my education.

But then came Waste of Space.

And a different type of education presented itself.

—An Intern

July 11, 2017

***

Part I

Preproduction

Development

The year is 2017.

Things aren’t looking good for the future of space exploration. Things aren’t looking good for the state of reality programming, either. It is at this intersection of earnestness and stupidity that the idea for Waste of Space is born.

Naturally, it involves teenagers.

And so it comes to pass that in the midst of a rare Los Angeles thunderstorm, a dozen shadowy figures meet in the small hours of the morning at a secret and nefarious location: the Denny’s off Wilshire Boulevard. They take up two tables, eight urns of coffee, and five carafes of orange juice. The astrophysicists wittily order Moons Over My Hammy. The television executives order nothing.

The following meeting ensues.

Item: Transcript of audio recording

Source: Development meeting

Date: January 2, 2017

[Note: Due to the difficulty in identifying multiple voices, most speakers have been labeled with their organizations rather than as individuals; this format will be employed in several instances throughout this report.]

DV8: You’re okay with us recording this, right?

NASAW: We don’t know what “this” is yet.

Waiter: [off-mike] Who ordered extra hash browns?

[thirty seconds of unintelligible chatter, rustling, sound of plates being placed on table and silverware clanging]

DV8: All right. Now that you’ve got your breakfasts—

NASAW: Aren’t you going to eat?

DV8: We don’t have time to eat.

NASAW: Not even a bagel?

DV8: Especially not a bagel, Paleo doesn’t—forget it. Back to the matter at hand: our proposal. Chazz?

[sound of a throat clearing, then a chair scraping across the floor as Chazz Young, CEO of DV8, stands up to address the group]

Chazz: Ladies and gentlemen of science, I hate to break it to you, but astrophysics isn’t cool anymore. Sure, people embrace technology when it allows them to post photos of epic bacon-wrapped food items, but drag them into a planetarium and you’ll end up with desperate scratch marks on the walls. Funds have been cut, the man on the moon is several decades in the rearview mirror, and the youth of America continue to respond to the vast and impossibly boundless possibilities of outer space with an emphatic yawn.

NASAW: What about Cosmic Crusades? Cosmic Crusades is cool.

Chazz: Science fiction is cool. Science is not.

NASAW: But—

Chazz: Example: two different panels at Comic Con, one with the cast of a space movie franchise and one with genuine astronauts. Which do you think will be better attended?

NASAW: [unintelligible grumbling]

Chazz: Exactly. Likewise, we admit, people have grown bored with the repetitive nature of reality television. They can watch only so many bar fighters, spurned lovers, table flippers, bug eaters, bad singers, and cat hoarders before it all seems like stuff they’ve already seen before. The world is clamoring for something new! Otherwise they’ll have to turn off their devices and go read a book, and we simply can’t have that.

NASAW: Books aren’t bad!

Chazz: Books are the worst.

NASAW: [unintelligible grumbling]

Chazz: So. You need to drum up interest in the space program, and we need more eyes on more screens. Luckily, we’ve come up with a solution that we feel will be mutually beneficial to both of us.

NASAW: And that is?

Chazz: We want to take a bunch of teenagers and shoot them into space.

[choking noises]

Chazz: And put it on television.

NASAW: That’s—er—not possible.

Chazz: Why not?

NASAW: Aside from reasons that should be apparent to anyone with a functioning brain stem, it’s a logistical nightmare. They’d need to undergo months of training and health assessments. You’d need a ship big enough to accommodate a cast, crew, equipment—

Chazz: Oh, we’ll be faking it. The whole thing will be shot on a soundstage. You really think The Real Housewives of Atlantis was filmed at the bottom of the ocean? Please. Those women were so full of silicone they would have floated straight to the surface.

NASAW: But we thought this would be a purely educational endeavor. Didn’t you say you were from PBS?

Chazz: Yes! We lied. We’re from DV8.

NASAW: DV .º.º. 8?

Chazz: It’s a cable television network with several blocks of programming across multiple platforms, including streaming services, our own website, and every social media outlet there is. We’d like to cram all of them full of this.

[sound of coffee urns shakily hitting the rims of coffee mugs]

Chazz: Which is why we need you! Our first choice was obviously NASA, but they not so politely declined. So the low-rent version of NASA it is!

NASAW: I beg your pardon. We are the National Association for the Study of Astronomy and Weightlessness. We are not some piddling little administration—

Chazz: Which is exactly why we’d like you to be consultants. We’ll take care of the casting, the production, everything on that end. You, meanwhile, design a convincing space plane—

NASAW: [overlapping] Spaceship.

Chazz: —you tell us what all the rumbles and beeps and boops are supposed to sound like, and we’ll bring in the best special effects team money can buy.

NASAW: But won’t this seem like one big joke? With all due respect to your special effects, not even the major Hollywood movies can get it a hundred percent right. It’s going to look silly.

Chazz: People believe what they want to believe. Remember America’s Next Top Murderer? Viewers thought that victims were actually being picked off by a serial killer. The network had to start airing a disclaimer before each episode,saying, “No one’s really dying, you morons.”

NASAW: Are you serious?

Chazz: Well, I’m paraphrasing.

NASAW: I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this. It just doesn’t seem necessary. We’ve got a bunch of new initiatives in the works—

Chazz: Snore. Yawn. Coma. Let’s be real. Space is passé, and everyone knows it. But you still need a new generation to carry on that galaxy research gobbledygook, or your life’s work will be nothing more than a sham, right? [hearty laughter] So let’s get them excited. Let’s take a bunch of young, gullible, energetic, absurdly good-looking teenagers, stuff them into a space plane—

NASAW: [overlapping] Spaceship.

Chazz: —give them some bullshit training, and tell them they’ll be the first ones ever to set foot on Jupiter!

NASAW: You can’t set foot on Jupiter. Jupiter is a gas giant.

Chazz: You’re a gas giant! [sound of high-fiving] That’s what they’ll say. That’s what the kids will say. Comedy gold like that.

NASAW: But—

Chazz: Point is, this’ll get the youth of America high on space again. Audiences will watch those beautiful idiots floating out there in zero G and want to be just like them. They’ll buy space suits. They’ll buy that astronaut ice cream that tastes and looks and feels like Styrofoam. The merchandising possibilities alone are astronomical. Pun intended! [sound of more high-fives]

NASAW: Now, you listen here. I’ve raised teenagers, and if there’s one thing I can tell you about them, it’s that they do nothing but talk. All day long. On the phone, on the computer, to themselves. How do you expect to get a group of high schoolers in on a secret like this and not blab thirty seconds later about how lame and fake it is?

Chazz: Easy. We tell them it’s real.

[pause]

NASAW: You want to trick a group of kids into thinking that they’re actually being launched into space?

Chazz: Yes.

NASAW: You want them to think that they’re actually being torn away from their friends and family for months, undertaking a dangerous mission from which they actually might not return?

Chazz: Yes. Drama.

NASAW: But isn’t that cruel?

Chazz: “Cruel” is such a subjective word .º.º.

NASAW: Not in this case! The entire proposition is morally questionable! I’m sorry, but we—we can’t sign on to do something like this.

Chazz: Fine. Continue your recruiting efforts in the same way you have been. How’s that going for you?

[silence]

Chazz: Envision with us, for a moment: Plucky kids. Touching backstories. Plaintive piano music. They first set foot in the space plane. Their eyes light up. Our intrepit explorers are—

NASAW: Intrepid.

Chazz: Huh?

NASAW: The word you’re attempting to use is “intrepid.”

Chazz: Pretty sure it’s intrepit. Anyway, the mission commences. Lifelong friendships are formed. Bitter fights erupt. Maybe a slap or two. A slap in zero gravity—that’s never been done before! [sound of a pen scribbling in a notebook] Every eye in America will tune in to check on their new cosmic sweethearts. We’ll edit it down to a half hour each week, plus a live segment tacked on at the end of the show so the cast can wave to their furiously jealous friends in real time. We’ll air it online, too. Live stream, 24/7. Shove it into viewers’ faces until they can’t help but get swept up into it. And before you know it, their impressionable young minds will be putty in your hands. They’ll sign up in droves to join the Cosmic Crusades!

NASAW: That is a fictional movie featuring fictional space heroes.

Chazz: All the more reason to bolster their ranks! Point is, once this show airs, you’ll have an entire generation of walking, talking, floating space zombies begging to be a part of it, ready to do your bidding.

[sound of chairs scraping]

Chazz: We’ll give you some privacy to discuss.

[rustling]

NASAW #1: Has it really come to this?

NASAW #2: The worst part is, they’re right. We’ve tried so hard, reached out as much as we can, but we still haven’t connected with the voice of today’s youth. These .º.º. people, horrible as they are, do have the kids’ attention.

NASAW #3: It pisses me off! Sitting here across from these plastic, vapid nincompoops, having to listen to this claptrap. We’re scientists, for Galileo’s sake! People should be looking to us as golden gods of knowledge, worshiping us for our big brains and thick glasses! Why can’t anyone see that?

NASAW #4: I don’t know. But something has to be done. Something drastic.

[commotion]

Chazz: All right, time’s up. What do you say, nerds?

[long pause]

NASAW: [dejected] When do we get started?

Chazz: Casting begins next week!

Casting

Despite the assumed glamour of it all, the logistics of organizing a nationwide audition are tedious, daunting, and involve more screaming fits than one might think. Hundreds of phone calls, emails, contracts, and location deposits go into the organization of the Waste of Space Star Search (pun intended!), and within one breakneck week, all necessary casting and administrative personnel are marshaled and five lucky shopping malls across America are chosen as casting locations.

Thousands of teenagers show up. Each is photographed, given an applicant number, and paraded before a panel of network representatives. Those deemed attractive enough are admitted through to the interview phase, where casting directors interrogate them on the spot.

Not a single interview is recorded. DV8’s casting procedures are unconventional at best and impulsive at worst; this is by design, as will be described in the pages ahead. But this particular lack of content may be for the best. Many applicants are desperate, depressed, lonely, and/or starving for attention, the sorts of kids for whom the opportunity to be shot into space would be an improvement in their lives rather than a calamity. The fact that their audition interviews will never see the light of day will be, for many of the applicants in the years to come, a blessing in disguise.

Besides, the evidence that’s left is, in some ways, far more enlightening.

***

The following is a small compendium of documents featuring the applicants hat are eventually chosen as cast members on Waste of Space. Not all final cast members are represented in this selection, and not all documents are particularly relevant to the troubles that befall the show, but they are provided here to offer a bit of insight into the curious mindsets of those who would endeavor to audition for this particular reality program in the first place.

Item: Email

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: December 18, 2016

Dear Mr. Evans,

You probably don’t remember me, but we met last month at the “Leaders of Tomorrow” luncheon. I’m the one who lost out on the scholarship. No hard feelings, though! For the chair of the MIT Aerospace Engineering program to take note of my academic achievements and flight simulation skills and even go so far as to label me a “future astronaut”—that was reward enough. I am humbled and honored to have met you, and your vote of confidence means more to me than you can ever know.

Thank you again for your consideration. I hope our paths cross again one day—in space!

Item: Transcript of audio recording

Source: Chazz’s cell phone voicemail

Date Recorded: January 12, 2017

Hey Uncle Turd,

It’s me again. I know you think you can keep blowing me off, but guess what? Circumstances have changed. I think you’ll want to pay attention to me this time.

But first, let’s talk about how you declined to cast me last summer in Pantsing with the Stars—an egregious oversight, I think it’s now clear. I wept for the unwatchable drivel that you doomed yourself to produce without my tour de force personality in the mix. I can only assume that your foul, idiotic casting directors were felled by the brain-altering effects of a chlamydia outbreak. How else to explain their insistence on my absence? My appeal is boundless. My charisma is unmatched. My pores are impeccable.

And my middle finger is extended in their direction.

But you’ve got a chance to make it up to me. I heard about your new show. I want in.

And this time, I think you want me in too. Would be a shame if that video of you and Mom were to end up in Dad’s inbox.

Tell me when and where I should show up. Peace OUT.

Item: Post on Cosmic Crusades online forum

Username: LadyBalwayGalway

Posted: January 6, 2017

[excerpt from page 3 of 5]

.º.º. and if you freeze the frame at exactly eighty-three minutes and thirty-seven seconds, you can see that the gamma-ray missile that Fekawa Gooe sets up is NOT in fact aimed at the Intragalactic Senate, in fact it’s cocked at an angle of 52.6 degrees, which would in fact point it directly at Lord Balway Galway, WHO, if you’ll RECALL, stated during the Transnebula Peace Talks that his home planet of Gavinjia was sure to escape the conflict unscathed, so OBVIOUSLY the bombing mission was intended as a wake-up call to prove him wrong and send a TELEKINETIC message that .º.º.

Item: Online video

Username: the_entropy_within

Posted: January 8, 2017

[IMAGE: hands strumming a mandolin while words are spoken over the tuneless chords]

looking up at the sky /

and a thought floats by /

what if the galaxy /

is just a strawberry /

and all the stars we see /

are only flecks of seeds /

that get stuck in your teeth /

and increase carbon emissions /

and line the pockets of corporate America

Item: Social media account

Username: @BacardiParti

[collection of more than 2,000 photos, half of which are unprintable because they are blurry, the other half of which are unprintable because they feature underage nudity]

Informative as these documents are, there are two cast members in particular who warrant closer attention. They will emerge as the most crucial players in this chronicle for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that they personally provide a substantial volume of information about what occurs during production—both of them by way of personal video diary entries, also known in reality television parlance as “confessionals.” A small window into their pre-shooting mental states is provided in the following two documents.

(It’s also worth pointing out that both cast members choose to express themselves in the form of dispatches to their parents—symbolically in one case, and literally in the other. This is nothing more than a coincidence, but as their body of work will come to show, the bond between children and their absent parents is a complicated one, to put it mildly.)

The first is a clip from Nico’s personal GoPro video camera. Nico rarely captures himself in the frame of these videos; rather, he uses his words as a soundtrack for the often mundane images he is recording, which are mostly of wherever he happens to be at the time.

Item: Transcript of video recording

Source: Nico’s camera

Battery charge: 100%

Date: January 14, 2017

[IMAGE: Nondescript room. From the angle of the camera, it seems that Nico is seated at a large table at the center.]

Nico: [voiceover] Hi Mom. Hi Dad.

Um.

I did something stupid.

[The camera pans downward under the table, now pointing at his feet. They are rested on a skateboard, which he rolls back and forth.]

I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know how I did it. A lot of systems had to come together to make it happen. My legs had to push me here, my mouth had to say things, my eyes had to make contact with other eyes, my brain had to formulate thoughts, my hamster-size soul had to blow up to ten times its size and pretend to be a lion. And I can honestly say I don’t know how all those things worked in tandem to do what I did.

I auditioned for a reality show.

[pause]

Shit.

Saying it out loud makes me feel like throwing up.

[Nico gets up from the chair. Camera pans to window and holds steady on people walking down the sidewalk—a couple, then a woman pushing a stroller, then two men smoking cigarettes.]

It was like .º.º. like I couldn’t help myself. I’d heard that they were holding auditions at the Queens Center mall, so I told Diego that I was going there to see a movie with some friends—which he didn’t buy, by the way. “What’s wrong with movie theaters in the Bronx? Since when do you have friends in Queens? Why ride the subway for an hour for no reason? Are you out of your mind?”

All fair questions. Especially that last one.

But it was the weekend, and I pointed out that I can do whatever I want with my free time, and he washed his hands of me like he always does, so I went. Just to watch. Just to film the people in line. Figured they’d be an interesting crowd. When I got there, I saw the DV8 banner hanging across the entrance, and I thought, obviously I would never audition, obviously that is something for the otherninety-nine percent of the teenage population to embarrass themselves with, but when I went inside .º.º. I got in line.

Okay, in my defense:

You know how rough I’ve had it.

You know how miserable I’ve been.

(I know you don’t really know. But let’s pretend that you actually watch these videos. That for the past couple of years I have not been pouring the contents of my heart into a digital cache that I’d rather chuck under the B train than let anyone see. Let us pretend that the phrase “pathetic delusion” does not figure into any of this.

Because the thought of college feels like a five-ton block of concrete pressing on my back, and the thought of getting a job instead feels like the floor is rushing up to squish me against the ceiling. Like I’m trapped in a dungeon in a video game, with all these moving contraptions of torture trying to flatten me into a splat of pixels. Like no matter what I do, the future is going to crush me.

I wish you were still here. Diego’s all right, but legal guardian-slash-older brother is not the same as parent. And I don’t know why I thought that this show was the answer, but it was something different, a change, an honest-to-God decision in a haze of fuzzy, unknowable .º.º.)

[Camera pans away from window and focuses on a pair of vending machines in the corner of the room.]

Anyway. Back to the mall.

The line was so long, it wrapped all the way past the escalators and ended near Macy’s. I thought, obviously I’m not going to give them my name, obviously I’m not going to forge Diego’s signature on the waiver, obviously I’m not going to stand in that ridiculous line—

But the line moved fast, and before I could change my mind, my name was called. They brought me into a vacant store where they had set up screens to make little cubicles, like the kind they use in blood drives. There was a cameraman and an interviewer, a woman with a blouse that was cut so low I could see her bra.

(Sorry for that detail, Mom, but I couldn’t not notice. It was staring me in the face, and I’m a healthy adolescent boy.)

(Dad, it was bright turquoise with little rhinestones. You get what I’m saying.)

She asked me all sorts of awful questions, and I answered them. Told her my age, where I’m from, that I’m into skateboarding and shooting videos. To be honest, I don’t remember most of what I said, because it all went by so fast, and she kept nodding, so I kept talking—and also, you know, the bra. All I remember is that her face lit up like Yankee Stadium when I told her you were dead, and after that, it all felt like a done deal. That’s when the dread started, the feeling that this might actually happen. Like I’d stepped into a pool of sticky tar and it wasn’t going to let me go.

I mean that literally. They wouldn’t let me go.

They brought me into this break room, told me to wait, and closed the door.

[Camera pans to door handle. Hand reaches out to jiggle it.]

Locked.

They ducked their heads in about fifteen minutes ago and said that it shouldn’t be much longer, they’ll be reaching a decision soon.

Shit. Shit shit.

I mean, even if I do get cast, it’s not like I have no choice in the matter, right?

Obviously I can say no.

Obviously I’m not going to do it.

The final pre-taping document is another video, this time featuring cast member Titania. She is in a public restroom, aiming her phone camera at the mirror. She looks straight into the lens.

Item: Transcript of video recording

Source: Titania’s cell phone

Date: January 15, 2017

Titania: Remember Trackleton’s Guide to the Big Outdoors?

Cute little picture book that you bought for three ninety-nine at the ranger’s station. The pages were held together with a plastic coil. It had maps of Washington’s hiking regions. And it followed Trackleton, that charming, bearded outdoorsman, as he went on adventures.

His catchphrase was “Keep moving. Keep exploring.” Advice so good it became our family motto.

You read it every time we went camping, which added up to a lot of readings over the years. We used to snuggle into our sleeping bags, and you would read it aloud to us by the lantern light, as little black specks of bugs giving a shadow puppet performance against the walls of our tent.

[Titania’s reflection smiles.]

We loved that book. Patrick liked the colorful maps. Nathan liked to chew on the coil. Lily made up songs to go along with the words—remember how you used to tell her to sing quietly so the rest of us could still hear you read? As if that girl would ever stop singing.

[Her smile fades.]

I’ve been thinking a lot about that book lately. About Trackleton’s cheery optimism and can-do attitude. I hadn’t for years, not since it slipped out of Dad’s pack during the hike through the Columbia River Gorge. But after our last trip—the trip—it all came rushing back to me. I can’t get it out of my head. And I finally realized why.

It had only two rules: Keep moving. Keep exploring. Hard and fast, with no room for error. Don’t overthink them, don’t second-guess them, and everything will work out.

But life isn’t like that at all. Keep moving, and maybe you’ll succeed. Or not. Keep exploring, and maybe you’ll be happy. Or not. Do both, and they could lead to the best possible outcome.

Or do both, and they could ruin everything.

Keep moving, keep exploring.

I’d always thought it was good advice. The best advice.

But I’m not so sure anymore.

The applicants are impressive enough to warrant this response from Chazz Young, the CEO of DV8, delivered via an all-staff conference call.

Item: Transcript of audio recording

Source: Chazz’s cell phoneDate: January 16, 2017

Chazz Young: Hey guys! Chazz here.

So I’d like to bring the entire DV8 family up to speed on our new project. As mentioned at the companywide meeting last week, this project is going to be groundbreaking. It’s going to break, like, every ground that’s been put there since television started.

So over the past week we’ve been holding casting sessions in cities around the country, and—hang on a sec, before I go any further, we all need to give up some mad, mad props to the publicity department. Thanks to your commercials, press releases, and social media efforts, over ten thousand kids came out to audition! That’s a lot of hormones to shoot into orbit!

So as usual, we’re implementing the classic smash-and-grab casting technique our network has become famous for. Any of you out there who are new to the DV8 family, allow me to elaborate on our patented selection process. Back when we were a tiny fledgling network that didn’t know any better, we dragged out the audition process for weeks. We left no stones unturned, no cell phones untapped. We were thoroughly exhaustive in our attempts to pinpoint what potential castmates might do to one another.

But let us recall the season four finale of Alaskan Sex Igloo. We had thought, based on Saffron’s tendency to fly off the handle and start stabbing things, that she would break one of the icicles off the ceiling and use it to stab Khaleesi. We spent all season leading up to it, right? With foreboding music? And tasteful close-ups of the icicles? And Saffron’s confessional, where she talked about “getting her stab on”? It’s why we cast her. But for all of our efforts, look what happened—she and Khaleesi hugged and cried and shared a snow cone. With Jared. Jared was the one who was supposed to be so lonely and ignored that he left the safety of the igloo to seek the loving embrace of a grizzly bear!

But the bears never came. And no one got stabbed.

From that point forward, we decided to take a more hands-off approach. Now, rather than have the whittled-down pool of applicants come in for a final round of casting, we simply go with our gut reactions and finalize the cast based on their original, uncut interviews. In fact, we whisk them directly out of the auditions as soon as their parents or guardians sign the waiver! (Reminder to all employees: any questions from the press that contain the word “kidnapping” should be forwarded straight to the PR department.) And so we are proud to announce that we have already chosen the final ten cast members—only one week after auditions!

We’ve still applied the standard network reality casting percentages: fifty percent male, fifty percent female; sixty percent white, thirty percent ethnic, ten percent undetermined; balanced dispersal of ages from fourteen to eighteen; plus the four Golden Tokens: gay, foreigner, disabled, and orphan. And as per usual, we’ll be throwing all sorts of plot bombs and crazy situations at the poor bastards—with the new added twist of a live segment at the end of each episode.

Of course, we’ll still leave some things up to chance. Fifteen percent of the editing will be done on the fly, based solely on the relationships and developments that we’ll be monitoring closely over the course of each week. Who knows how it’ll unfold? Who knows where it’ll lead? Who knows what those hyperactive, questionably sane caricatures will throw at us?

I do: Drama.

A brief word about Chazz Young, CEO of DV8, walking innuendo, and overall trash barge of a human being.

The word that pops up most often when people attempt to describe Chazz is “exceedingly.” He is exceedingly tanned. His teeth are exceedingly white. He is exceedingly self-centered, as evidenced by his initiative to move the human resources department to the basement of DV8 headquarters so his twin puggles could have their own corner office. He is exceedingly arrogant, treating everyone involved in his television productions—cast members, crew, staff, and, yes, interns—as insignificant specks who exist solely to make his star shine more brightly. And he is exceedingly cocky, given the fact that he unilaterally declared himself to be the best candidate for on-air talent. Plenty of talented hosts have presented themselves to DV8 over the years, and although a lucky few manage to grab a sliver of airtime now and then, it’s Chazz’s vinyl face that you’re most likely to see whenever you tune in. Especially when it comes to something as high-profile as Waste of Space.

Which calls to mind another of Chazz’s qualities: he is exceedingly lazy. He thought that Waste of Space was going to be a home run no matter what, and that all he had to do was plug in the numbers to a tried-and-true formula that hadn’t failed him yet. But when someone as oblivious as Chazz Young stops seeing people as human beings, he might also stop noticing other details. Smaller details.

Important details.

Item: Transcript of audio recording

Source: Chazz’s cell phone

Date: January 9, 2017

Chazz: You nerds there? Ready to get this conference call party started?

NASAW: We’re here.

Chazz: Great. So let’s—[doorbell rings in background] oh, hang on a sec, everyone. Rock climbing wall delivery.

NASAW: You have your own rock climbing wall?

Chazz: Two rock climbing walls. LA’s an earthquake town, it’s important to always have a backup—listen, just talk amongst yourselves for a few minutes. I'll be right back.

[beat]

NASAW #1: I can’t believe we agreed to this. [sound of papers sifting] These people are certifiable.

NASAW #2: And irresponsible.

NASAW #3: Don’t forget soulless.

NASAW #4: [sighing] Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. We signed the papers. We’re in this whether we like it or not.

NASAW #2: But look at these emails! They are hurling money at this thing. We’ve been trying to get this sort of funding from the government for years and received nothing—because apparently the money’s all wrapped up in television! I called to double-check the budget because I figured it couldn’t possibly be correct, but it is. The girl on the phone offered to throw in an extra million just because I asked how her day was going!

NASAW #4: How do they have so much money? They’re a television network!

NASAW #2: Two words: Chazz Young. I did some research on this guy. Got rich off his daddy’s trust fund, then used it to buy a struggling sports channel. He did an extensive overhaul, switched all its programming to trashy reality television, bumped up its online presence, and installed his own in-house production company to develop his own projects.

NASAW #4: What does that mean?

NASAW #2: It means that whenever a ridiculous idea pops into Chazz Young’s mind, he has the unlimited budget and power to make it into a show, air it on television, and spread it all over the internet, just like that.

NASAW #3: Let me see those figures. [sound of coffee being spit across the table] Jesus Christ! We could buy a brand-new shuttle for that kind of money! Plus fuel!

NASAW #4: I say we round up the lot of these dolts and send them into space.

NASAW #2: And I quote: “We will spare no expense on the visuals. None whatsoever.” They’re teaming up with a company called ImmerseFX—it makes video games or virtual reality or theme park rides, I don’t know what the heck it is—to handle the special effects. Which we’re supposed to keep quiet about, by the way, since they’re trying to pass this thing off as real.

NASAW #4: Psfff. Good luck.

NASAW #2: They’ve reserved the largest soundstage in the New Mexico desert, and they’re handing it over to us, keys and all. “Build a space plane inside!” they said. “Bounce it up and down! Make as much noise as you want!” The effects people will be out here for a few days to build the thing based on our designs—then after that, it’s up to us. All for the purpose of torturing these poor kids with ridiculous pre-written plot points—

NASAW #3: Pre-written? I thought this was a reality show.

NASAW #2: Ha! Reality, my ass. The only thing that’s real is the team of video editors they’ve got on call, ready to craft it into whatever they need it to be while we get to sit around with our thumbs up our posteriors, shaking a tin can with of a bunch of spoiled little fame whores sealed inside.

NASAW #4: But there’s a host onboard with them, right? Some form of adult supervision?

NASAW #2: Nope! [slightly hysterical laughter] The network people aren’t even going to be on set! They said they’d, quote, “rather be shot into the sun than spend three months in that shithole of a desert,” so they’ll be monitoring everything via live feeds, safe and cool in their air-conditioned offices in Los Angeles, and sending us their instructions. Instructions that, I might add, would be hilarious if they weren’t so blisteringly idiotic.

NASAW #4: [papers sifting] “Week number one: Asteroid Attack. Will require impacts against the walls of the space plane. Week number two: Spinning Out of Control. Will require a rotating video animation to be displayed in the space plane’s window.”

NASAW #2: And there’ll be more where that came from! The cameras onboard the ship will record six hours at a time, upload the video files to the main server we’ll have on-site, then automatically wipe the memory cards and begin recording again. It’s a process that can sustain itself indefinitely without any manual upkeep, which frees up even more time for them to dream up even more foolishness. And then there’s the list—the twenty-three-point list!—of consultants who are only a phone call away should we wish to contact them. Industrial Light and Magic, Pixar, a charter helicopter company, the Jim Henson workshop—

NASAW #3: Are you kidding me? Puppets? Do they want aliens?

NASAW #2: They might! They might want aliens!

NASAW #1: Enough. [sound of a coffee mug pounding the table] There is a clear path through all this.

NASAW #2: Yeah, right through to the unemployment office. Better get in line.

NASAW #1: You’re looking at this from the wrong angle. What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is an opportunity. A golden opportunity.

[pause]

NASAW #2: What are you proposing?

[sound of coffee being poured]

NASAW #1: We make their spaceship.

[sip]

NASAW #1: We make their show.

[sip]

NASAW #1: And then we make history.

***

WASTE OF SPACE is available on 7/11, but if you liked this teaser, pre-order it today by clicking the links below!

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-a-MillionHudson IndieBound Powell’s

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ibilenews · 4 years

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Zoom rushes to improve privacy for consumers flooding its service during COVID-19

Over the last month, the Zoom videoconferencing service has emerged as the communication lifeline of the coronavirus pandemic. But the convenience fueling Zoom’s explosive popularity has come at a price.

Originally a service meant for businesses, Zoom was designed to make it easy for company employees, sales representatives and clients to hop on meetings. When consumers flocked to the video platform for school and socializing, however, those conveniences also made it easy to hijack videoconferences and harass participants in online attacks known as Zoombombing.

Now the company is scrambling to deal with privacy and security issues that keep popping up. On Wednesday morning, Zoom announced that it had formed a council of chief information security officers from other companies to share ideas on best practices. The company also announced that it had hired Alex Stamos, the former chief security officer of Facebook, as an outside adviser.

Eric S. Yuan, chief executive of Zoom Video Communications, the California company behind the video platform, said in an interview Tuesday evening that his greatest regret was not recognizing the possibility that one day Zoom might be used not just by digitally savvy businesses but also by tech neophytes.

“We were focusing on business enterprise customers,” Yuan said. “However, we should have thought about ‘What if some end user started using Zoom’ ” for nonbusiness events, “maybe for family gatherings, for online weddings.” He added: “The risks, the misuse, we never thought about that.”

Yuan said Zoom never felt the need until now to rigorously examine the platform’s privacy and security implications for consumers. “If not for this crisis,” he said, “I think we would have never thought about this.”

In addition to the Zoombombing episodes, Zoom has reacted with surprise to press reports that the company’s iPhone app leaked user data to Facebook as well as to criticism that the platform had allowed certain users to covertly access the LinkedIn profile data of other participants.

Zoom’s trajectory from mass media darling to privacy pariah may seem like a familiar narrative in a tech industry with a build-it-first, beg-forgiveness-later culture. But the coronavirus has accelerated the Silicon Valley story arc at an incredible pace.

The coronavirus-fed boom has essentially forced Zoom to publicly acknowledge and address problems on a vastly shorter timetable than older companies like Facebook. Now attorneys general in several states are scrutinizing Zoom’s privacy and security practices even as the company has publicly committed to improving them.

Yuan said the company had not anticipated the exponential growth in new users during the coronavirus pandemic or the unrelenting public scrutiny that would come with it.

Four months ago, Zoom was a niche business tool with 10 million daily users, many of them people working in offices or at home. Today, it has emerged as a fundamental online utility, with 200 million daily users – including family members gathering to celebrate holidays, teachers leading online classes for students and members of Alcoholics Anonymous holding meetings.

Last week, Zoom said it was suspending work on features for the next 90 days to devote all of its engineering resources to shoring up its security and privacy practices.

Security researchers also discovered that, despite its marketing promises, Zoom encrypted users’ communications but not with end-to-end encryption – a system that prevents third parties from accessing private communications. Yuan noted that end-to-end encryption was significantly more difficult with many users communicating simultaneously instead of something like Apple’s FaceTime, which is typically used by a handful of people at the same time.

Last week, the office of New York’s attorney general sent a letter to Yuan, questioning whether Zoom’s current security practices were capable of handling “the surge in both volume and sensitivity of data being passed” through its network.

Several days later, the FBI issued a warning saying that it had received multiple reports of Zoombombing, including incidents in which school meetings were hijacked by strangers posting pornography and using threatening language.

Zoom quickly announced that it was removing the Facebook software from its iPhone app and eliminating the LinkedIn data-mining feature on its platform. To hinder Zoombombing, the company just introduced default settings that will require kindergaten-through-12th grade schools to individually admit participants to videoconferences from virtual waiting rooms.

Yuan said Zoom was now making user privacy and security its top priority and was shutting down enterprise features that could present risks to consumers. “This is a turning point. We have to raise the bar,” he said. “Whenever there’s a conflict, privacy first.”

Yuan, a former executive at Cisco Systems, founded Zoom in 2011. He has often described the company’s mission as “making video communications frictionless.”

Before the pandemic, Yuan said, Zoom used a number of security measures to identify vulnerabilities and invited hackers to probe its service for payment awards, through a bug bounty.

It also developed security and privacy features that could have prevented Zoombombing. But Zoom left it to business customers, which included some of the biggest names in the cybersecurity industry, to decide how they wanted to configure privacy and security settings.

Technologists at those companies vetted Zoom’s code for security vulnerabilities, decided whether their own employees should be required to use passwords to join meetings and how much of their data should be exposed to colleagues and managers.

Yuan also said the company created certain services, like the features enabling Zoom users to log in from Facebook or access the LinkedIn profiles of other participants, to accommodate requests from enterprise customers. But outsourcing such decisions to business customers created blind spots for Zoom.

Some cybersecurity and privacy experts said the time for Zoom to reassess its privacy and security was last year, after Jonathan Leitschuh, a cybersecurity researcher, discovered a flaw that attackers could use to activate a Zoom user’s webcam without their permission. Even when users tried to remove the app from their computers, researchers discovered Zoom would secretly reinstall itself.

In its letter last week to Yuan, the New York attorney general’s office noted that Zoom did not address the problem until after the Electronic Privacy Information Center, a public interest research center, filed a complaint about the company with the Federal Trade Commission last year.

Yuan acknowledged that his drive to open access to Zoom during the pandemic sometimes moved faster than the platform’s privacy protections.

Early in the crisis, for instance, a few U.S. schools that foresaw they would need to quickly move classes online contacted him for help, he said, and he personally set up free accounts for them. Soon after, Yuan made basic Zoom accounts free for schools.

But the company did not have experience working with K-12 school districts, he said, and was not set up for federal privacy laws requiring special protections for students’ and children’s information, noting that the company has had to update its privacy policy for schools several times.

Now, however, Zoom has gone even further and signed an extensive privacy compliance agreement with the Board of Cooperative Educational Services for school districts in Chautauqua County, southern Erie County, and part of Cattaraugus County, in New York.

The landmark agreement, which Zoom signed March 31, meets stringent new state privacy rules for schools and could serve as a model for other school districts. Among other things, Zoom agreed to delete any data it had collected or stored about the districts’ students, teachers or principals when the contract expires later this year.

Yuan said his three children were now home doing distance learning over Zoom, and he recently asked his daughter if her teacher used certain security features meant to keep out troublemakers. He was relieved when she said “yes.”

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shirlleycoyle · 4 years

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Zoom Has Security Flaws. It’s Still Fine to Use

The security community’s newfound interest in Zoom, the suddenly critical video conferencing software, is unlike anything we’ve seen before. Zoom itself has said that it went from having 10 million daily active users before the coronavirus pandemic to more than 200 million now. We’re conducting business, teaching classes, singing karaoke, and having beers over Zoom.

Zoom’s sudden ascendence as a critical communications vector for millions of Americans has understandably put it in the spotlight, which has led to a flurry of research and media coverage about the company’s security flaws and design decisions that make it insecure or not ideal in a variety of ways, both critical and relatively insignificantly.

Recently publicized findings, several of which have been fixed after they were disclosed, include:

Zoom shared data with Facebook without noting that in its privacy policy

Zoom allows anyone to join video calls if they have the meeting ID, which has led to the phenomenon of targeted (and random) “Zoom bombing”

Automated “war dialer” tools have been written to brute force valid meeting codes, allowing for more Zoom bombing

Zoom allows your boss / teacher / the person administering the call to determine whether you’ve been paying attention

Forums have popped up to enable coordinated Zoom bombing

Zoom’s calls are not actually end-to-end encrypted, even though it says they are

Researchers have found vulnerabilities that could allow hackers to overtake a user’s webcam

People who use less popular email services (i.e. not Gmail, Hotmail, etc) are sometimes put into a list as though they all work at the same company, allowing strangers to call them, see their email address, and photos

A certain data harvesting feature allowed some Zoom users to match a meeting participant with their LinkedIn profile.

"Private" text messages sent during a call can be read by the call's host

These findings come after the discovery of a terrible security flaw last year that allowed hackers to hijack a user’s webcam with a simple link (a much more serious attack than the one discovered earlier this week).

These discoveries have led the FBI to issue a warning about the use of Zoom, Sen. Richard Blumenthal to write a letter calling for an investigation into the company’s security, multiple investigations by state attorneys general, and a class action lawsuit to be filed against the company.

It’d be easy to look at all of these flaws and say that people should simply stay away from Zoom, and that is, indeed, what many people are saying. Meanwhile, some high-profile security researchers are saying that others in their industry and the media are doing the public a disservice—and are being unfair to Zoom—by focusing so much attention on the company and by blowing what are, in some cases, minor bugs, out of proportion.

I think that security researchers who say the media is being unfair to Zoom are wrong. As a suddenly critical part of our culture, economy, and government, Zoom deserves to be thoroughly poked, prodded, and analyzed by experts, who can point out design flaws.

"For those using Zoom to keep in touch with friends, hold social events, or organize courses or lectures that they might otherwise hold in a public or semi-public venue, our findings should not necessarily be concerning"

Zoom, for its part, has largely responded to these disclosures admirably and transparently (with a helping of corporate half speak, but, well, it’s a corporation). It has apologized for misleading marketing about its encryption, it has made the decision to stop sharing information with Facebook, and it has announced that it is beefing up its security team and will spend the next 90 days solely dedicated to pushing security updates. This is the right move, and it’s also something that could not have been reasonably expected without widespread media coverage of the company’s failings. This is the system working, and working well.

People who say “no one should use Zoom” are wrong, too. Many of the flaws that have been found are minor, can be mitigated with different user behavior, and are not necessarily worse than what would be found if other video chat software were suddenly put through the same high level of scrutiny that Zoom suddenly has been. The answer as to whether people should use Zoom or not is, as it is with all communications apps, “it depends.”

Zoom is so popular right now because, compared to many of its other competitors, it is fast, stable, deals with bad connections particularly well, and can handle groups of large callers all at once. Of course, it’s so fast in part because it may have made security concessions to make it work so well, as was pointed out in a report published Friday by Citizen Lab, a group of highly respected security researchers at the University of Toronto.

“The most prominent security issues with Zoom surround deliberate features designed to reduce friction in meetings, which also, by design, reduce privacy or security,” Citizen Lab wrote in its report.

The Citizen Lab report is the most thorough and clear-eyed explanation I've seen of Zoom's strengths and weaknesses, and the whole thing is worth a read if this is a topic that interests you. The general takeaway, though, is that sensitive communications should probably not take place on Zoom—this means important government meetings, conversations between journalists and sensitive sources, and conversations between high profile individuals. If you're the British Prime Minister, you probably shouldn't hold cabinet meetings via Zoom and tweet a picture that reveals that meeting's unique ID, which is exactly what Boris Johnson did earlier this week. But Zoom is fine for karaoke night, for having a beer with a friend, for low-stakes work updates, unless you are particularly concerned that your friend is going to get mad at you for alt-tabbing over to Netflix.

If you are worried about being Zoom bombed, you should use a password for that call. You should also make sure that your Zoom account doesn't re-use a password that you've used on another internet account (you should really be using unique passwords for all of your accounts).

Zoom Has Security Flaws. It’s Still Fine to Use syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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douchebagbrainwaves · 6 years

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SNAPSHOT: VIAWEB, STUPID

And so there is a role for mathematical elegance: some kinds of elegance make programs easier to understand. Keep rewriting your program. There's an advantage as well as wearing a gorilla suit in someone's booth at a trade show. The third false positive was a bad one, though. You can pick any group of users. It was alarming to me how foreign it felt to sit in, then you've done a bad job, period. I've never liked this question. Because hackers are makers rather than scientists, the right place, and then gradually refine this initial sketch.1 So if you need to take care of, you're forced to see everything. Basically, I had to start treating it differently.2 But they're doing it because byte code is a convenient place to insert themselves into the process, not because byte code is in itself a good idea to save some easy tasks for moments when you would otherwise stall. Instead of just tweaking a spam till it gets through a copy of some filter they have on their desktop, they'll have to choose one or the other, we ought to give priority to the ones that matter anyway.

And to engage an audience you have to take these cycles into account, because they're affected by how you react to them.3 FREE Free free If you do this right, you only have to keep the topmost layer in your head that you really understand the problem.4 There are two main kinds of badness in comments: meanness and stupidity. But I don't write to persuade a hypothetical perfectly unbiased reader. What will happen when they do? So when investors stop trying to squeeze a little more out of their existing deals, they'll find they're net ahead, because so many more new deals appear. Chesterfield described dirt as matter out of place. In another conversation he told me that what he really liked was solving problems. In math you don't choose abstractions because they're easy for humans to understand; you choose whichever make the proof shorter. But first, I thought, I'll see how far I can get with single words.

It would be like programming in a language with infix syntax, there's a clear watershed at about age 12, when he got interested in maths.5 That's what Stripe did. Is there some way Microsoft could come back?6 To a lot of money—so does IBM, for that matter. In fact, worse than arrogant: since readers are used to essays that try to please someone, an essay that displeases one side in a dispute reads as an attempt to pander to the other. But you yourself are the most extreme case, but a lot of maximally interesting tokens, the result can end up counting the same word multiple times, according to your old definition of same.7 The kind of filters I'm optimistic about are ones that calculate probabilities based on each individual user's mail. For me, as for many users, it's a kind of premature optimization.

I was a kid I was firmly in the camp of bad. This kind of work they want to.8 I say that design must be for users, I don't mean to imply that good design requires that one person think of everything. Email is not just that people can't find you. Actually I was being conservative. That's what Stripe did.9 Whereas if a startup regularly does new deals and releases and either sends us mail or shows up at YC events, they're probably going to live. Instead he'll spend most of his time talking about the noble effort made by the people who call in with questions on talk shows.10 No matter how thoroughly you've read it, you've only read it, not written it.11 You can use text classification techniques, but solutions can and should reflect the fact that each series A has enormously elaborate, custom paperwork.12

They shouldn't be. The conversation will turn immediately to other topics. Hacker News had the good fortune to start out good, so in this case it's literally a matter of preservation.13 For example, I know that when it comes to code I behave in a way that is extremely rare in technology.14 Foo. Which means if letting the founders keep control stops being perceived as a concession, it will be more interesting than one without. Right now, for me at least that if we find more than 15 tokens that only occur in one corpus or the other, we ought to give priority to the ones that matter anyway. Most hackers don't learn to hack mostly by hacking. Writers and painters don't suffer from math envy.

Notes

I didn't care about. All he's committed to is following the evidence wherever it leads. At first I didn't. Even in English, our sense of the edge case where something spreads rapidly but the number of situations.

Decimus Eros Merula, paid 50,000, the more corrupt the rulers. Options have largely been replaced with restricted stock, which shoppers used to say that a person's work is not so good. Instead of no counterexamples, though. 03%.

It's ok to talk about startups. I used a recent Business Week, 31 Jan 2005. The founders who go on to the browser, the idea is bad.

1% a week for 19 years, dribbling out a preliminary answer on the aspect they see and say that's not art because it made a better education.

A variant is that any given person might have done well if they'd been living in a in the absence of objective tests. There is of course. Letter to Oldenburg, quoted in Westfall, Richard and David Whitehouse, Mohammed, Charlemagne and the Origins of Europe, Cornell University Press, 1965.

But you couldn't possibly stream it from a company's revenues as the love people have historically been so many still make you feel that you're paying yourselves high salaries.

The reason the dictionaries are wrong is that you're not trying to make programs easy to write and deals longer to close than you meant to. The first big company, and eventually markets learn how to value valuable things.

But scholars seem to have suffered from having been corporate software for so long to launch a new business designed for scale. 5 seconds per day.

It does at least one of them. Because we want to get going, and both used their position to amass fortunes among the largest in the mid twentieth century.

We just store the data, it's easy to believe this number could be mistaken, and the manager of the iPhone SDK. Google seemed a plausible excuse. I'm not claiming variation in prices. Above.

Make it clear when you lose that protection, e.

And that will seem to want to help their students start startups who otherwise wouldn't have understood why: If they agreed among themselves never to do tedious work.

Which feels a bit misleading to treat macros as a phone that is a service for advising people whether or not, and no doubt partly because you spent all your time working on is a bit. I was writing this, I should probably start from scratch. At first I didn't care about. So if all bugs are found quickly.

Those groups never have come to you. Yahoo. 32.

Thanks to Harj Taggar, Robert Morris, Chris Anderson, Tiffani Ashley Bell, Bill Clerico, Patrick Collison, Sam Altman, and Trevor Blackwell for smelling so good.

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bakechochin · 6 years

Text

The Book Ramblings of March

In place of book reviews, I will be writing these ‘book ramblings’. A lot of the texts I’ve been reading (or plan to read) in recent times are well-known classics, meaning I can’t really write book reviews as I’m used to. I’m reading books that either have already been read by everyone else (and so any attempt to give novel or insightful criticisms would be a tad pointless), or are so convoluted and odd that they defy being analysed as I would do a simpler text. These ramblings are pretty unorganised and hardly anything revolutionary, but I felt the need to write something review-related this year. I’ll upload a rambling compiling all my read books on a monthly basis.

The Princess Bride - William Goldman When I purchased this book immediately after having finished watching the film (which is amazing, as everyone other than me already knew), I was certain I’d be giving it a book review instead of a book rambling. But this book honestly surprised me with its interesting approach to storytelling, so I’m going to ramble about it. That being said, it would be remiss of me to not quickly summarise my opinions on the book by, before getting into the more academic thoughts, saying that this book is really fucking good; amazing characters, amazing story, quality humour, all the rest of it. The book employs a frame narrative of sorts; the book that you hold in your hands is presented as an abridged edition of a pre-existing text by some bloke called Morgenstern, altered to include only the ‘best bits’ by Goldman. The original text was said to be a satirical piece on royalty, and the few comments from the author reveal that this omitted text was often made up of hilarious hyperbole. This story, on account of these omissions, is transformed into a fairy tale, where simplistic plots are expected and accepted; I do find it awe-inspiring that Goldman has managed to essentially get away with only writing what he wanted to write about, and yet his methods of doing so are equally as interesting as the story’s content. I am somewhat torn on what I think on Goldman’s additions to the text, describing his own experiences and memories of his first read-through of the book. On the one hand, it does a great job at centralising the book in Goldman’s fabricated backstory, and it emphasises the way that the book ought to be read, as a delightful childhood memory that you get attached to and enthralled in. (As a quick side note, this book emphasises this perspective a hell of a lot better than the film did). On the other hand, Goldman is essentially interrupting the reading experience every now and then to give away plot points and tell you how you ought to be feeling. This book is oddly more meta (as much as I hate the term) than I was expecting; when I went into the book I assumed that it would be a standalone fantasy fairy tale with a few real world bits thrown in just to give the book’s existence context (an assumption which perhaps stemmed from my observing that, unlike The Neverending Story, the 'real world' and the fiction world in this book didn’t appear to be intrinsically linked, and could probably function well enough on their own). But this book is pretty much defined by Goldman’s ‘own’ experiences with the book, and constantly refers to the real world goings-on regarding the making/editing of this book. This is employed to justify certain edits in the text; for example, there is a scene in which Westley and Buttercup reunite, but the actual scene is not included in the book because Morgenstern supposedly didn’t write it. And so instead of that scene, we are given an address of a publishing company to send a letter to requesting Goldman’s supposed newly-written version of that scene. I find it all good fun, if a tad baffling regarding why it is here (other than centralising the story in Goldman’s version of reality, as said above). It seems like it could be construed as attempting to streamline the story, because obviously in a story about true loves getting repeatedly separated, there will no doubt be a veritable fuck tonne of reunion scenes filled with tears and heartfelt confessions of love, of which it may be wise to skip; however, this explanation for not writing this scene is somewhat juxtaposed by the fact that you spend just as long reading Goldman’s explanation for the absence of the scene as you would have done reading the scene. This ties in to another aspect of this book’s storytelling that I quite like; Goldman’s opposition with Morgenstern. The obvious example of this is the whole existence of this ‘abridged’ book, edited down as a response to the preponderance of dense satire in Morgenstern’s original work, but it continues in other aspects; the book is full of daft parentheses, seemingly to elucidate where and when the book is set but in reality muddying the waters even further, and Goldman frankly admits that he doesn’t know why they are there and that if you don’t like them, you don’t have to read them. Whatever Goldman’s reasoning for putting in these bizarre and constant parentheses, be it an actual literary device or as a whimsical fancy as befitting the genre, I do have respect for him for not only not explaining why he includes them, but flat out denying having any knowledge of said information. The ending toys with two different versions; Morgenstern’s version, in which things start going wrong and everything is left uncertain, and Goldman’s version, where everything is left happily ever after. I can appreciate both endings, and find them very interesting for the purpose of analysis, but I’m going with Goldman’s ending. Call me a reductionist if you must, but I want the happy fairy tale ending, because that’s how I want to think of this book when I’m talking about it casually. There’s even entire extracts from a supposed sequel to this book, but to tell the truth I didn’t even bother to read them, because said snippets are deliberately written to seem like fragments of a lost manuscript, and I want to read this book as a fairy tale, not as a text for literary analysis or criticism. Maybe I should have just given this book a normal book review after all.

The Murders in the Rue Morgue and Other Stories - Edgar Allan Poe I was biased going into this, as I’ve read Poe before and was already a firm believer that he is the master of the short story, but after having read pretty much all of his well-known short fiction collected in this anthology, I can’t say my opinion’s changed all that much. I think it was Huxley who described Poe’s writings as being shitty because it was ‘too poetical - the equivalent of wearing a diamond ring on every finger’, and though this is delightfully eloquent, I consider myself better than Huxley so here’s my take; Poe’s stories are some of my absolute favourite writings, eloquent without being too pretentious and grandiloquent without being too dense (for the most part). Poe is the indisputable master of writing stories that deal with the contrasting themes of the fantastic and the real (I’ve gone on enough about Todorov’s definition of the fantastic for you to know what I’m on about here), and his fantastic stories are absolutely fucking brilliant. There isn’t much to be said about the storytelling other than that it balances its inclusion of the fantastic and the real excellently (so as to allow the reader to make up their own minds as to if the events of the stories are actually supernatural or just the result of madness), it is excellent at building up tension, and the twists are always amazing (if occasionally a tad variable in how predictable they are). My favourite stories, by the way, are ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ and ‘William Wilson', both of which epitomise my aforementioned praise excellently. I also absolutely love Poe’s versatility to apply the fantastic to other settings and to interesting subject materials (even some subjects contemporary to the times Poe was writing); I was expecting an abundance of settings similar to ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’, with gothic mansions and the like, but we get Italian carnivals and the Inquisition and incorporation of themes such as mesmerism, which keep the stories continually fresh and interesting if you were to read them one after the other, as I did. I do believe that Poe’s writing style is best suited to his fantastic stories. This collection sheds light on the fact that Poe has written a fair amount of diverse stuff, despite the fact that he is best known for ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’ or ‘William Wilson’, the generic ‘Poe’ stories. ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’, for example, is a detective story (admittedly a very fun one), but Poe’s grandiloquent verbosity does not lend itself well to quick snappy deductions and conversations; instead, we get long streams of dialogue from our detective character, followed by a very fast and somewhat anticlimactic resolution of events that really ought to have been staggered throughout the story a tad. (I am willing to cut the story some slack, since it is among the earliest detective stories and, as mentioned above, it is great fun). There are some of Poe’s stories that tackle the theme of love, like ‘Ligeia’ or ‘Eleanora’, but then the language seems at odds with the tone of the story, as its incessant formality makes the love seem rather disingenuous. Of course I wouldn’t want to devalue how Poe’s work has inspired some other excellent genre pieces - for that they deserve some praise - but, whilst not saying that they are terrible, said stories, with the possible exception of ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’, are not very memorable when placed alongside Poe’s short stories that are more obviously recognisable as Poe. No one’s favourite Poe story is 'The Golden Bug’. And that’s not just because it’s quite racist.

The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and The Bottle Imp - Robert Louis Stevenson I probably ought to have read this story aeons ago, considering how prevalent it is in modern media due to its creation of one of the archetypal British literary ‘icons’; because of this aforementioned prevalence, I went into this book with an abundance of preconceptions as to what to expect from this book, and I was surprised by how few of said ideas were actually involved in the book. Most of the things I have to say about this book revolve around how it went against what I would have expected. Everyone knows the character(s) of Jekyll and Hyde, and so I was surprised as to how, for the most part, the narrative was told from the perspective of someone else entirely; it honestly really helps the building of mystery, and if it wasn’t for the fact that a) everyone knows the twist of this story, and b) even if you didn’t know the twist, the fucking blurb spoils it, I would have absolutely been taken by this story’s enigmatic plot - convinced by its posited rationality to justify the weird goings-on, and surprised by the ending twist. This does, however, raise concerns of mine regarding how this novella is structured; obviously the grand reveal that Jekyll and Hyde are the same person needed to wait until the end of the book, but consequently this results in one incredibly lengthy explanatory chapter from Jekyll right at the end to elucidate matters. Considering that a lot of this book’s themes revolve around this final chapter, I wonder if the novella would have been better suited as a narrative entirely told by Jekyll. Arguably the main theme of this novel, the duality of man, is of course told excellently, and unlike other stories which revolve around the theme of ’the double’, the explicit explanation of where this double comes from and how it ties in with Jekyll’s own character makes for, in my opinion, a more compelling read (especially since this explanation revolves around pseudoscience, and I love the whole ‘man playing God’ malarkey that comes with said subject). For a story that is essentially gothic, featuring a character like Hyde who has been depicted as a vile little villain in many different adaptations, I was expecting a tad more penny dreadful-esque gore and violence; instead, the violence that Hyde carries out is often described matter-of-factly and succinctly, which seems at odds with the hysterical eyewitness accounts from which these events are reported from, but certainly makes sense when considering the professional detached perspectives of the narrative voices Utterson and Jekyll, law and medical professionals respectively. However, I am less inclined to believe that this was a deliberate decision in the writing style than I would be with something like A Clockwork Orange, wherein that’s the whole point; I reckon it’s just Stevenson’s own writing style, which is, don’t get me wrong, bloody great. The Penguin English Library edition of this story (i.e. the one that I read) also comes with Stevenson’s short story ‘The Bottle Imp’, which I very much enjoyed for its amazing titular concept and for its somewhat anticlimactic and yet still satisfying ending, but, despite what others have said to me, it’s not as good as Jekyll and Hyde.

Autobiography of a Corpse - Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky The blurb of this book described Krzhizhanovsky’s stories as ‘mind-bending’, and I cynically assumed that this was nothing more than a hyperbolic marketing ploy, like when people call 1984 a ‘masterpiece’ when in reality it’s a bit shit. But by fuck is this book legitimately mind-bending. I bought this thinking it sounded reminiscent of Gogol, who I love, but I also had it recommended to me by a pretentious friend who reads all the Booker Prize nominations just so he can have contentious opinions about them, which should have probably notified me of the Mieville-esque air of self-satisfied pretentiousness that this book has with its very clever and very wanky themes. Though used for roughly the same ends, there is a difference between cryptic writing and abstract writing, and this book is certainly more of an abstract read. The stories take seemingly mundane or simple concepts from fields of study like philosophy or geography or what have you, and adapts these simple principles into complex ideas to reflect the story’s fantastic elements. In some cases this makes for some absolutely genius writing, with such simple ideas being utilised with such versatility to create some truly fascinating and amazing stuff, but in other cases it comes across really quite annoying, jumping sporadically from subject to subject and taking away from the mystery of the story’s fantastic elements with its constant need to explain said elements (often poorly and with a heavy reliance on tenuous links). This is especially evident in the stories that aren’t so much stories as they are a compilation of unrelated ideas, the main example being the story ‘Seams’. The few stories in the anthology that do not rely on long-winded verbose ramblings about abstract philosophical content (musings on the ‘I’ being an especially prolific example in the collection) were in most cases my favourite, indeed putting to mind Gogol to some extent as I had first hoped when I bought the book. All of the stories from ‘The Runaway Fingers’ to ‘Thirty Pieces of Silver’ are absolutely amazing, because they had a base concept that Krzhizhanovsky excellently built upon; it’s a great sign when an already great concept that I wouldn’t have thought of is then elaborated on in interesting directions that I wouldn’t have thought of. These stories are amazing not just because they aren’t entirely reliant on abstract wankiness, but that certainly helps their case. The eponymous story ‘Autobiography of a Corpse’ has its base concept, and doesn’t really elaborate on said base concept as much as it does add on additional abstract ideas, but arguably this works well enough because said abstract ideas link, in a weird and abstract way, to the original concept. Honestly I can’t keep on attempting to explain this; I’ve written the word ‘abstract’ too many times and it’s starting to lose meaning.

The Picture of Dorian Grey - Oscar Wilde Yet again have I been tricked into reading a novel that I thought would be gothic but instead just has one central vaguely gothic plot device. Indeed, a brief Google search describes this book as a ‘philosophical’ novel, which is certainly not my usual fare, but because I’m a fan of Wilde and needed an actual novel to read instead of another short story collection and am vulnerable to chicanery regarding what constitutes a gothic piece, I picked it up. I didn’t really read this novel as being especially reflective of Wilde’s own sexuality, because whilst there is something of paiderastia to be seen in some of the relationships between the male characters, such relationships hardly persist through the entirety of the book and end up being somewhat forgotten as relationships move past first meetings or characters change their standpoints on certain matters. What I did see in the book was some excellent commentary on the fin de siecle, aestheticism, and of course the theme of appearance versus reality; I’ve realised that I’ll happily read a philosophical novel so long as the philosophies it is spouting are interesting enough to read (although an interesting premise and plot also really helps, which is all well and good because this book possesses that too). I am for the most part a fan of Wilde’s wit. I’ve heard it criticised because a lot of it is just Wilde reversing statements of common wisdom or perverting cliches, and when you realise this, you see it absolutely fucking everywhere. Lord Henry is basically a mouthpiece for every melodramatic stereotypically ‘Wilde' quote you can think of, and I do think that the fact that we even have a preconception of what a stereotypical ‘Wilde’ quote ought to be is part of the problem. Despite Wilde's statement (in this book, even) that ’there is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about’, exactly how prolific and prevalent Wilde’s witticisms are in modern culture, with bags and mugs and little tiny books full of his most well-known wit and all that shit, is part of the reason why it seems so saturated and perhaps even a little bit stale. We know all of his wit, we can see the common trends behind it, and that somewhat diminishes it’s worth. Despite that big fuck-off rant, I still really enjoy Wilde’s wit, and even if you are aware of how he comes up with this shit, it’s still a great joy to read. Hell, even if you’re tired of that, there’s still some great banter from Wilde about aristocratic haughtiness to enjoy, so take your fill of that. There’s a lot to enjoy about this book. I like it a lot.

Stuff I read this month that I couldn’t be arsed to ramble about: Fantastic Tales (edited by Italo Calvino) and John Milton’s Paradise Lost. In it’s fucking entirety. Fuck you Milton.

#book reviews #book ramblings #the princess bride #william goldman #edgar allan poe #sigizmund krzhizhanovsky #autobiography of a corpse #robert louis stevenson #dr jekyll and mr hyde #oscar wilde #the picture of dorian gray #should be 'grey' really oscar mate

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