#some of these are very 'world of hats' but it's hard to condense an entire planet with its civilizations into a little paragraph

[elbiotipo]

Varied worlds of Campoestela:

This time they are outside from the Esteloplatense Confederation (you can call it Space Argentina). Some of them are from the wider 'human space', others not.

Hilav: A pleasant world of blue seas and archipaelagos, at the junction of several trade routes. Initially settled by Alevis from Turkey, their influence can still be seen in the local culture and architecture, but is now probably one of the most cosmopolitan worlds of human space, with bustling universities and markets. The orbital ring around Hilav glitters with the constant docking and undocking of ships, and is a reminder every time you look at the sky of just where you are.

Fraternité: A tropical world with low-lying lands and extensive river systems, terraformed with African flora and fauna. The Republic of Fraternité is one of the newest members of the Ubuntu Union, and is located in a privileged new aetheric route leading to Concordia. The cities of Fraternité are booming with cranes and construction robots, even as it tries to retain its traditional forestry genemodding art it is still known for.

Iaotol: Homeworld of the ibis-like Syuted, a dry world with rivers fed by melting glaciers. The canyon cities of Syuted are where you would find the sometimes uncanny displays of traditional Syuted "magic", including sentient gemstones and talking corpses whose secrets are tightly kept. The newer cities in the desert fed by hydroponics are where most of the population lives nowadays.

Ruleta: A million-years old ancient ring-shaped orbital, it has an overall steppe oceanic climate and geography, but it's unclear if that was the original configuration of its builders. Countless cultures have risen and fallen here, many still live in mountain chains or open spaces within the orbital. The current human inmigrants, perhaps because of nominative determinism, are known by their lavish casinos by the seas.

Berekti: A world under an ice age, with karstic caverns sheltering pockets of vegetation from the glaciers. Originally inhabited only by Oriental Orthodox monks from Ethiopia and a small spaceport town with EXCELLENT cafés, in the past few decades it has recieved some attention by extreme sports fans who come to enjoy the rugged geography.

Smaragaid: A carefully terraformed world of forested islands each with their own unique dialects and cultures, it was colonized by Irish culture revivalists who took the rather extreme step of completely banning English and related languages from the planet. Despite the trade opportunities, it remains a rather closed world, only accessible to chosen confidants who have to be vouched as trusted by local councils and families.

Utveh: Homeworld of the snake-like Feisans. While having a variety of climates, Feisans do prefer to live in the many floating 'mangroove' forests that spread over the tropical seas of this world. The basic political unit in Utveh is precisely the Floating Forest, and they have translated this to their expansion into space, preferring to live in independent orbitals. Their orbital constellations are often close to human worlds, coexisting or competing with them.

Saudade: Part of the Brazilian diaspora, this world of beautiful granite formations and flowered valleys experienced such political inestability that it turned into an absolute monarchy. Over the centuries, a constitutional regime emerged, but the dramas and turns of the Realeza are known all over human space, despite the thriving communist movement who's fucking sick of them.

Nueva Valparaíso: A remote, lightly populated world above the galactic plane. Rumors of strange elements on its stormy seas have brought several prospectors, but few settlements besides some remote floating platforms loosely aligned with the Cruzur. It always rains in Nueva Valparaíso, even if it's just a drizzle, hiding the spectacular views of the Campoestela.

Saesfi: A dry world with a thin atmosphere, with lush lowlands with unique ecosystems separated by lifeless mesa-like continents. Homeworld of the Saihisi, a cactus-like species. Saihisi mostly live in connected genets, and one driving factor for their spacebound exploration was to avoid damaging the fragile enviroments of Saesfi. They have settled in all sorts of "gardens" across the stars, but some embrace a more individual existence.

San Marco: Capital of the Serenissima Unione and a major trade center, San Marco is a warm world of low-lying seas, stromatolites and coral reefs, with colorful iridiscent fauna. Because of its beautiful sunsets and islands, it's considered one of the most romantic worlds in human space, at least according to the tourist board. There is a replica of Venezia in one of the atolls, but over time it has adquired a more tropical flair.

Concordia: If there is a true center of Campoestela, it's Concordia. Located in the crossroads of the main three aetheric currents, every space traveller eventually ends up here. A dyson sphere made of swarms of habitats of diamond-like carbon, it has been inhabited over millions of years, in fact, many cultures long extinct are still found here. From the modern city-ports to the ancient palaces and the edenic habitat gardens, Concordia is a sharp contrast of itself: a bustling, modern trade center with a yet not-wholly understood history stretching into the night of time.

Gagarin ("Little Terra"): An O'Neill Cylinder in Concordia, built under the auspices of the Terran Council to represent humanity in the galactic center. Over time, it has become an overbuilt city with people from all over human space and beyond. You can find virtually everything and everybody in the streets of Little Terra with every organization and culture represented somewhere. Many other habitats have been built around it, giving a bit of a ramshackle appearance. However, it retains its political and economic importance.

[phobiadeficient]

Now ya got me curious, how about a sniperscout drabble where they actually have sex in a car?👀👀

anon im gonna level with you real quick, i wrote this and was halfway through the edit when i realized this specifically said ‘in a car’ so like. that’s my bad that’s on me like im sorry

-

Yes, Sniper lived in a shitty campervan that was roughly as old as a middle schooler. But that didn’t necessarily disqualify him from being someone who could appreciate a nice car.

And Scout had a nice car.

Their mercenary jobs were pretty high-paying. High-paying enough that Sniper knew he probably never had to work again. High-paying enough that Spy could afford the business expense of replacing his already ridiculously expensive suits on the weekly if they were damaged. High-paying enough that Medic could be constantly buying all sorts of organs from the black market on the regular just for experimentation purposes.

Scout was one of the mercenaries who decided to buy a nice car—Spy for business reasons, Demo because he needed a car and figured he might as well get one new. But Scout divulged to him at some point that finally he got the first paycheck that was entirely his own, most of it having gone back home to his family for at least a year to help them all live in better conditions than they’d all grown up in, to support all the families they themselves had started. And with that first paycheck, he got a very, very nice car.

A 1969 Chevrolet Camaro. Bright orange body, black stripes. Custom suspension, tinted windows, he even got a custom horn on the goddamn thing. The rims on it cost more than his entire van and everything in it, he was pretty sure. Newer than new. And the first thing Scout did when he got it was ask Sniper if he wanted to come along with him on a drive.

“Where?” Sniper asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Scout laughed, shrugged, and Scout standing there in his straight up regular clothes holding the keys to a car nicer than anything Sniper had ever sat in, even at a car show, for some reason he found that extremely hot.

They set out a little later that evening, and to be fair, Scout usually wasn’t a terrible driver. He just tended to forget the speed limit, or what exit he was supposed to take, and sometimes forgot when he had the turn signal on, and really did usually take things like suggested speeds on curving roads as a loose suggestion, or as he put it, “the speed that little bitches should take the curve at”.

But now he was absolutely tearing up the road, speeding wildly beyond the limit just because he could—just to see what he could do. And usually Sniper got on his case about it, but just then? Just then he would’ve been doing the exact same thing. Faster, even.

They put the windows down, and Sniper had to keep a tight hold on his hat and shades before they flew off into the desert. And he could barely even hear Scout’s cheering over the wind, but he could feel it rising up in his chest alongside his own pounding heartbeat.

He looked over at Scout, saw the way his eyes were lit up, the flush on his face, the adrenaline blowing his pupils wide, and bloody fucking hell but he’d never seen anyone look more alive than Scout did in that moment.

He directed Scout to pull over, there at a cliffside on one of the mesas, and the minute the parking brake was on he was leaning over the gearshift and kissing Scout like the world was ending.

Scout looked smug, mostly, pulling back and looking Sniper up and down. “Hyped about my hot car?” he asked, like he already knew, which apparently he did, because Sniper absolutely was. “Hey, check the glovebox.”

Sniper pulled away, a little confused, but did. His eyebrows shot up at the bottle that tumbled out of it.

“This why you asked me to come along?” Sniper asked, picking up the lube from the floorboards and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Also because I thought it would be fun. But yeah,” Scout agreed, eyes glittering.

Sniper popped open his own door. “Bend over the hood.”

It was a little chilly outside, so Scout kept his shirt on, but otherwise he stripped from the waist down. Sniper worked him open nice and slow, really made him beg for it, before grabbing him by the ankles and flipping him onto his back.

“What do you want, love?” He practically growled, Scout’s legs over his shoulders, leaning forward and very much enjoying watching Scout bend and bend and bend without discomfort.

“You fuckin’ know what I want—“ Scout mumbled, face flushed, and gasped when Sniper’s hand came down hard on his ass, head rolling back.

“I want to hear you say it,” Sniper said, even as he slicked himself up. “What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Scout said, more than a little desperate.

“There’s a love,” Sniper said, and pushed in, and gave Scout only a few seconds to adjust before he started moving.

Scout’s hand fell to the hood below him, desperately trying to find some kind of grip to get leverage to brace himself as he was pounded into. But there wasn’t one, and he was left practically helpless, rocking and moaning with abandon as their skin smacked almost violently together. Sniper’s hands went to brace Scout’s leg against his shoulder and to grip his hip, and was pleased with the restraint Scout had to not reach for himself when it became clear that Sniper wasn’t planning on it, just staying along for the ride.

At first, at least. Sniper drew him higher and higher into his pleasure, and soon he was left sweaty and flushed, starting to stain the bottom of his shirt as he started to leak onto it. Sniper let Scout’s legs drop from his shoulders to instead wrap around his waist, shoving up his shirt and getting his mouth all over Scout’s chest, one hand bracing on his shoulder as his thrusts slowed down into hard slams rather than almost frantic pounding.

Scout keened into it, hands tangling into Sniper’s hair. “Oh, fuck,” he managed to gasp, weak and desperate. “Fuck, please. Please.”

“Please what?” Sniper prompted, a growl against his ribcage before he moved to suck one nipple into his mouth roughly.

A mewl of pleasure, Scout starting to try to rock against him again, muscles coiling tight. “Please let me come, I wanna come,” he pleaded, voice pitched high and threatening to break.

He continued to beg, only with increasing fervor as Sniper slowed his pace even further, bringing his hand down on Scout’s ass a second time, a third. It was only when his words faded into incoherence that he picked the pace back up, reaching a hand between them to grip at Scout.

A gasp, practically a flinch. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he managed, voice tight.

“You gonna come for me?” Sniper asked, pulling back enough to look at Scout’s face. His eyes were clenched shut tight, his mouth hanging open as he painted.

“Yeah,” Scout moaned, long and languid, writhing almost involuntarily against him. “Yeah, fuck!”

Scout came hard, legs squeezing around his waist almost to the point of crushing, spurting across his own chest and stomach and crying out Sniper’s title like salvation.

When he was finally finished, Sniper pulled out and let his legs drop from his waist, a controlled fall. Then he grabbed him by the ankles and flipped him over again, now onto his stomach, and pushed back in again.

A bark of surprise followed by a groan as Sniper went back to the previous pace, his own breath quick in his chest now.

“C’mon,” Scout urged breathlessly, pushing back into Sniper’s thrusts, trying and failing again to brace his hands against the hood. “C’mon, Snipes.”

It pushed him over the edge, Scout’s hands sliding desperately and uselessly over the hood beneath him, and he rocked forward a final one, two, three times before he spilled, legs locked, with a choked groan.

A few moments of panting, of trying to get air. Then he pulled out, and Scout managed to lean up on shaky elbows, looking down.

“You son of a bitch,” he swore, and leaned aside, twisting to glare at Sniper.

Sniper grinned, seeing Scout’s orgasm slicked over the hood, stark against the orange and black paint job, smeared between his stomach and the car alongside sweat and condensation where he’d been pushed up against it. It was like something out of a pinup magazine—gorgeous guy, pulled apart at the seams over the hood of a gorgeous car.

“It’ll buff out,” he assured, still grinning.

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

Blind Au

Drabble 3....uhhhh here you go, slides this out closes rock door and hides probably like forever. Will probably notice typos misspellings so on so forth after posting lol.

"Are you sure this is permanent, I cannot exactly give you a diagnosis when I have not been allowed to study you before."

Flug was looking over the readings on his clipboard, Hat had never so much as even let himself be scanned prior to this moment, how was the Doctor supposed to instantaneously understand all this jibberish, such complex equations, beyond anything ever seen before, it said Black Hat existed and yet didn't that he was alive but not, the coins edge neither one side or the other, absolutely perplexing to the mind but fascinating all the same.

"Are there not...those of your kind trained in the medical field?"

He enquired, already having a feeling he knew that answer, but finding one here seemed like it might just very well be impossible the doctor thought while turning the page.

The demons mint coloured teeth were clenched, jaw tense as he ground out

"My kind as you put it are not in the business of caring for each other...I destroyed anyone I thought would be a decent challenge...they were all worthless in the end."

Black Hat was currently sitting on one of Flug's desks as he'd refused to go in the infirmary where he would have been left alone in his darkness with only irritating beeps and other small sounds that may as well have been screaming at him.

" Well you seemed to think taking Demencia's eyes was good idea, obviously though her eyes are genuinely too important too take..."

He paused a moment, fingers drumming on the clipboard before suggesting

"Perhaps we could set up a ceremony in your cult, make some elaborate lie that you need to feast on the body and keep the eyes as treasured memorabilia that someone willingly fed themselves to you."

"Or we could just get someone off the street and take their eyes."

Black Hat returned flatly, how in the hell was Flug...Acylius, so matter of fact about all of this!

He could hear the scrawling of the pen, his breathing, heartbeat...while Hat was showing himself to be fine, he was honestly anything but.

Everything was so intense, despite only seeing a world of ebony he could feel those harsh cold lights, all of the doctor's chemicals, while able to detect each one singularly they also merged as a whole, a part...well more than a part of him wanted to press his face against Acylius's throat, take in his scent.

Even when he'd made the annual visit to see the troops at his University he recalled how the doctor had smelled even then, it was the first time they met.

Pfft please, no mortals eyes deserve to rest in your skull, they are not worthy enough.

Flug thought in response, scoffing at the idea, inwardly of course.

The demon though was letting his mind wander recalling he'd even asked him why he donned such a peculiar object on his head.

(waves hands, why don't we just do a flash back, bloody idiot writer.)

Black Hat had seated himself on the edge of a desk in his University that belonged some teacher, ankles crossed as he half looked with interest over a black and red paperweight, colours swirling within, similar to something akin to a place he'd once considered home.

Claws tapping over the object he then pocketed it, this supposed top of the line student was running late.

A few more minutes and he would leave, his time was too valuable too waste.

Finally the large oak door creaked open, fear filling his nostrils as well as coffee and fast food, he near expected some slob to come through but instead what stepped through was a lean man of six ft and seven inches to be precise.

He was a near tower of a man, for some strange reason he wore a recycling bin on his head, no wait he could sense an energy all around him, he was wearing something that disguised him to the world, some type of hologuise band on his wrist, so what did the others usually see then, the demon allowed his sight to be tricked by this creation.

Ah so that's what they saw, a nervous man hunched over and a good foot shorter, the bin was very real though and that nervous disposition seemed somewhat genuine, there had been photo's of Kenning Flug slys taken and shown to him or so he had assumed until now, now it was a question of was there were in fact any images in existence of this man.

Even Kenning was an Alias, his real name was Acylius Flug.

So question was what did this doctorrr look like?

What did it matter, he was here to study his work...not pick up on the subtle hints of vanilla...sandalwood, oh? Was that a surprisingly expensive whisky in there to amongst that myriad of tantalising aromas, sweet and warming, touching the tip of his tongue to his teeth, wondering what he'd taste like, especially with that intoxicating smell of smoke that only fires left behind.

Pupil momentarily dilating in excitement, it was not unheard of that Black Hat would bed a student at the University if they took his fancy for Five minutes.

Holding out a hand the demon snapped, usual scowl falling into place, good job that bin was on his head, he was supposed to be angry at him...not expressing an interest in his...everything.

"You are late, you had better pray that your work makes up for it"

"My apologies sir, it is not a mistake I intend to repeat again."

Oh no...even his real voice held that of a warm gavel, cigar smoke evenings mixed with a feeling of deep velvet red.

(Ultron's voice without the robotic sound)

Clearing his throat he returned

"You are correct in that matter, if you do continue such behaviour, you forfeit any possibility in working for me."

The slight nervousness in Acylius Flug's voice seemed a little forced, intriguing.

A brow raised, flipping through the pages in hand he had to admit these were extremely organised and well put together and what was here put this man as being one of the most intelligent beings on Earth.

(Alas sadly I am not, so do not expect any cool scientific facts from me LOL)

His scientific prowess was almost reaching off world levels, even that hologuise did not change his form with the shift of light to be made hard, it literally changed his cells to transform his body.

"I am curious, why exactly do you wear that bin and make your self look like that? With your natural height you could put the fear into most..."

He trailed off, looking him up and down, thinking of those long...long legs wrapped around his waist in an attempt to crush him, did they ever end, that height did send tingles down his spine as he bit his bottom lip.

" I do not want people staring at me for one and I would rather they had their attention drawn to the bin than my face."

Flug replied curtly, fists clenching, he knew that tone all too well.

"Are you having fun imagining me in bed with you sir? We are supposed to be here discussing my work are we not...also when I reveal myself to a victim I get to enjoy their horror as they realise the mistake they have made."

A smirk forming on his features

" I am sure you have sensed, I am not entirely human."

"Yes indeed and perhaps I was, there is no shame in admiring art when it is there to see."

"Oh, what next you intend to draw me like one of your French boys or some ridiculous shit."

Studying Flug's work once more he actually snorted at his students response, sensing the eye roll even under that bin, he was liking him all for more because he wasn't throwing himself at him.

"Does it not get a little warm under there, all that hot breath, condensation on the plastic, the air is no doubt hot and stale in there."

Black Hat was trying to make him want to take that thing off, make him feel claustrophobic inside of that recycling bin, he wanted to see his face, of course he could have demanded it but where was the fun in that.

Chuckling at the audible swallow, watching as his hands fidgeted.

"Why not take it off, perhaps I could give you a little fresh air."

He purred, coming in closer.

"No offence sir but I would prefer to be taken seriously in my work."

The old demon was disappointed when he moved away, practically flinching at his advances, should he be offended?

Perhaps, but it wasn't disgust he sensed from him, no it was something more guarded.

"You are being taken seriously, though a little pleasure with business never hurt."

Usually he was not so fascinated by the presence of a student, none who had been in his sights in this way had lasted with their clothes on for long and in this case bin as well and it well and truly seemed like they weren't making it to the office desk or floor anytime soon.

"My work is my pleasure, outside pleasures are mere distractions."

(End of Flash back)

"It was so green."

Flug had been taking in the readings on the medical charts, if they could even be called that and checking him over when he heard that wistful voice, making him pause, only the soft humming of machines in their quiet with the odd beep here and there could be heard.

That distant stare in his masters eye was unsettling, that was something he was going to need to get used to...something Black Hat would have to live with forever.

"Acylius, are you still there?"

Black Hat knew he was, though the mostly quiet was beginning to close in around him, all this darkness there was nothing visual to focus on, to distract.

It was like being born again, when existence was not even a thing where he was no more than a single thing, dark within darkness, when the first light spread open its flowering petals he wept at its beauty, never knowing he'd feared that endless abyss would be all he'd ever know until now.

"What was green sir?"

The doctor asked gently as he set down his clipboard, the sound he noticed made Hat twitch and focus on its source , shoulders falling at a near audible breath.

"That ridiculous bin you used to wear on your head."

Hat rolled his eye, unaware that Flug had just been about to examine his eye again, partially bent down, Hats hand landed directly on his face...his bagless, bare face.

He was tense, feeling the warmth of his skin through his glove, then again his clothes were a part of him, they were him.

So.

Flug just felt NOW would be a good time to expose his face when he couldn't see.

In another circumstance his fingers would have explored over his features, lips, nose to see what he looked like finally...but this stung, it was a cruel joke, he usually was up for those...but not like this.

Flug might as well be mocking the fact that he was blind!

Claw tips pressed into flesh as a distinct growl of annoyance left him, Acylius had dared not moved in case Black Hat decided to rip his face off.

"So, you're taking advantage of my condition, my eyes unable to see are now your masks to which you hide behind. You are to tell me that bear even Demencia have seen this exposed, but not me?"

His eye went grey with streaks of blue as the rage swelled within him, those colours had changed with the demons affliction

"Do you find my condition some kind of joke, do you enjoy mocking me boy, are you amused now!"

Black Hat snarled shoving him back, hearing the stumbling and desperate grabbing at items a sudden yelp he near laughed until the sudden thud of something hard and the scent of blood.

People usually complained when bleeding, whimpered, made some kind of fuss....

His brow furrowed

"Flug?"

Silence....

"Acylius?"

Silence...

"Mine?"

He asked weakly, climbing off the table, hands out trying to search for his doctor, why wasn't he answering, he could still hear him breathing-

The demon tripped on one of Acylius's long legs, eye widening, using his hands to feel over him.... Well that was impressive....no focus, not the time, Flug could be dying right now, he needed to find where the blood was coming from.

Everyone believed he could control how long his workers lived for, what stupid nonsense, he'd even admitted to vomiting on his last scientist and saying 'and now we have Flug.'

This man was his, even if the bastard felt nothing for him, the doctor belonged to him, no one was going to take Acylius away, the demon would fight death itself blind or not!

Resting his hand on the tiled floor he came in contact with a thick warm liquid, this...this needed to go back inside.

That labored breathing was growing more and more shallow, crimson light engulfing his hands, the blood started receding, coming alive almost as it crawled back to where it'd spilled from, following the trail to the back of his head, hair clumped and matted until it wasn't.

His doctor was still unconscious, but he would live, no one would believe him capable of the evil he could do, especially as he lay there with his head on Flug's chest listening to his heart beat.

With each beat he made his breath follow, taking in his warmth.

Black Hat, once truly believed seeing the first light had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen...but that day they met, that wonderful soul, it's burning red, like fires endless and bright, he'd seen and knew there were no words in all the billions of languages to describe Acylius.

It didn't matter if he was still faceless to him, this being was the first true light in his dark world.

What had his doctor hurt himself on...reaching out, it must be something close.

There was something wooden...with a metal front, claw tips finding all the little holes and jack ports, knuckles knocking on its surface, he knew that dull metallic sound.

Demencia's amp, Demencia had been the reason Flug had nearly died, he was going to kill her!

(He's shifting blame obviously, Flug will absolutely set that straight I assure you!)

End

[reddeaddenial]

A, G, and S for the boiiisssszzz (I'm sorry if its long setdfyguhij)

Nonono dont apologize, i loooove answering long questions like this! It really makes me think about my ocs and helps develop them more! 

 ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

A: Aptitude1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?

Nick has always had very quick reflexes. They most likely developed while he was pushing himself to get stronger when he was recovering from his childhood illness. Or maybe they were there all along and he finally had a healthy body to show for it. This of course carried over into him quickly being able to point and shoot, engage quickly with enemies. He’s got terrific aim, but that’s something he’s practiced with over the years. 

Leo is just… Leo. He understands and learns very quickly even from a young age. He learned to read very well early in life and impressed his tutors with his quick knowledge of math. He just retains everything like a sponge. Buuut he comes off simple because of his lack of understanding of social interactions. But i think the most natural ability he has is his way of thinking strategically. He’s been beating his brothers at chess for yeaaars lol And he’s been a massive help to his old gang leader when helping plan out robberies. 

Theo is a natural charmer. he’s been able to tell since he could talk who and what he can get away with by reading the situation in a room. That only got better the older he got. He became the trio’s negotiator for most things. Hell surprisingly he’s the one that knows more than one language!

2. what activities have they participated in?

I’m not really sure what this is defining as activities. So I’ll just go with the RDR2 theme of it. Target contests for sure wit Nick, I bet he’s one quite a bit of cash at those. Leo has gone and done several horse races and hasn’t done too bad there. Theo on multiple occasions has gotten an entire saloon shitfaced and basically they become big parties and everyone having a great time and Theo is gettin’ the juiciest gossip about new places and stores to rob. >:3

3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?

Nick it’s his aim. Before the outlaw life, they were all pretty sheltered and weren’t around lots of guns and such, so while he had the natural reflexes of a gunslinger, he hadn’t the aim. that was built up over lots of hard work and determination to protect his brother. He became pretty adept at it roughly 3 years in. He had to be, for them to survive. He also had to work to learn to cook for him and his brothers. Living on the road, they didn’t know much about food. It was a lot of trial and error, lots of food poisoning lol But now hes the best cook among the three, which isnt saying too much, but he at least knows how to season venison lol. 

Leo had definitely had to work with his ability to shoot a gun, or use weapons in general. He learned the gun out of necessity thanks to Nick’s coaxing, but he’s surprisingly more comfortable throwing axes than using guns lol. He’s just just honestly the most uneasy around guns because of the business they had with their dad and the trio shooting him, even if it was on accident. 

Theo had to work a lot with his knife throwing and just knives in general. He’;s got a lot of visible scars littered about his hands from a lot of failed attempts from some bullshit or another. But he’s gun a lot of dumb luck, like he’d throw a knife at an enemy and the handle hits the man instead of the blade. BUT he hit it so hard and in the back of the head, the guy goes unconscious instead lol

4. what things are they bad at?

Lol Oh man, so much. Like mentioned before, the other two boys cant cook for shit. They gotta live off of canned food or leftovers if Nick’s not around. Nick can’t patch up his own clothes, he sucks at sewing, just gets confused at what he’s looking at, one time he sewed the sleeve of his shirt completely shut, that had Theo and Leo in hysterics at his own expense. Leo as we know isn’t good with communicating well with others. He either comes off stupid or  arrogant to strangers, neither is a good scenario. Theo in particular, sucks at stakeouts, or just waiting around doing nothing, he gets very fidgety and wants to talk. So he’s been forced to find ways to entertain himself with like a book or playing cats cradle

5. what is their most impressive talent?

For Nick it’s definitely his gunslinging. He’s quite proud of how well he can shoot. 

For Theo, probably his medical work. He’s very quick and knows where to cute, and get you nice and buzzed on booze so it’s not too bad. He’s gone as so quickly to remove a bullet, sanitize, stitch and wrap a wound in less than ten minutes, he’s got it down to an art, it’s like removing a splinter to him lol

Leo it would be his brilliant plans. Like he may be quiet, but he is the most sly and creative of the group. I won’t go in too much detail cuz I have some great ideas he’s gonna implement in future chapters. But his brain is gonna have people go ‘well shit why havent we thought of that sooner?’ >:3c

G: Gorgeous

1. what is their most attractive external feature?

The twins like to tease that it’s Nick’s babyface and blonde hair. He just scowls and yanks them down into a headlock lmao. But honestly all the boys got those pretty ‘Teale Green’ eyes, that draw people in. 

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

Theo’s is his humor and empathy with others. Leo’s is… well I guess some people would be into the quiet listener type? Nick well… honestly he’s a bit prickly but he has some good morals underneath all that. I think the best part of his personality is standing up and protecting others I suppose. :p

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

Oh boy well basically you get the infinite protection of these three. They’re loyal to a fault and will back you up in any situation. When they bond to people, it’s family. And you treat family right. Of course with that, you gotta put up with Theo’s shenanigans, Leo desperately wanting someone else to thrash at chess, and Nick’s paranoid grumpy ass. But they’re good boys who treat their friends right. ;w; 

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

Theo hates that he cares too much about what people think, he can be easily antagonized sometimes because of it. He also has his moments where he just gets into this depressive spiral about how they’ve turned into murderers and thieves and his brothers gotta shake him outa it. He does like how tall he is though, it impresses the ladies and works for a good intimidation tactic :p Leo sometimes hates how identical he and Theo are, because people mistake him for Theo and get weird about how different and quiet he acts, he gets very self conscious about it some days, but hes usually ok. But in the same thought process, its something that he also likes about himself that he and Theo are identical. Idk its a bit of a crisis for him lol

Nick has some Arthur Moods™ when it comes to himself. He looks younger and smaller compared to his brothers some days, he hates the scar on his nose, reminds him of his dear ol dad who put it there, gets kinda self conscious about it too. One thing he suppose he likes about himself is his hair. Little secret, but he keeps good care of that shit, keep it nice and soft, will sometimes tie it back too. The twins tease him on occasion but not too much, else he’ll hide it all under a hat lol

5. what parts of others do they envy?

Nick of course envies his brother’s heights a lot, envies anyone who’s taller than him really. He also just envies people who can just be so carefree even in the darkest of time. He just hyperfixates on the worst a lot. 

Theo envies Nick’s ability to shoot and hunt. They’re useful skills to have as an outlaw that he just hasn’t mastered too well. But at least he’s got his knives! :) Leo envies anyone who can just speak their mind to others so easily. How can they condense all their thoughts into just a few sentences? How do they flawlessly move through unspoken social etiquette? It’s a mystery Leo wishes one day he too will understand.  

S: Streets1. are they street-smart?

They definitely weren’t at first! Sheltered boys practically caged up on their father’s property, only learning about the real world after they shot the man? Yeah they had a lot of learning to do and they learned through a lot of mistake son their part. But ten years have come and gone and they’re definitely a lot more street smart now. 

2. would they give money to someone on the streets?

Probably, they know how that life is like. That first year on their own was very rough on them and they sympathize with the normal poor citizens having more morals than themselves to not go robbing people like they did. 

3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

Oh definitely! Sometime Theo’s placating nature just riles up people more and shit happens. But he’s got his brothers to back him up. Also on that note, someone trying to mess with Nick and Nick being the unsociable cactus that he is, makes things worse. Next thing you know, someone pulls out a knife and Nick’s curb stomping the guy who called him girly. Y’know, shit happens. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

4. has anything happened to them on the streets?

Lmao see above. 

5. are they cautious when out?

They’re always cautious thanks to Nick’s incessant lectures about watching their backs and always being aware of the law. 

[weareimprobable]

Almeida Young Critics review The Paper Man

We had the distinct pleasure of welcoming the Almeida Young Critics to The Paper Man at Soho Theatre a couple weeks ago. The Almeida Young Critics are a group of 10 young people aged 15–25 who work with the Almeida over a year to produce responses to theatre across London.You can read more about the group here.

Here are a few of their responses to the show 👇

Minna Jeffery:

Sometimes touching, sometimes joyful, sometimes uncomfortable, and always complicated, I’m finding The Paper Man a tricky show to review. In some ways that implies that I found it a tricky show to watch, but I didn’t really, mostly. I found it funny and engaging and o p e n.

So what is The Paper Man about? It’s sort of about football. Originally, it was supposed to be about the eponymous ‘paper man’, Matthias Sindelar, once the world’s best footballer, who lead the Austrian team to victory against the Nazi orders. An apt story of resistance in a time of escalating far-right violence. The idea to make a show about Sindelar came from Lee Simpson, Improbable’s co-artistic director. Simpson cast four women to help him make and perform the show (Vera Chok, Jess Mabel Jones, Keziah Joseph, and Adrienne Quartly), and quickly found that they were resisting the direction he wanted for the show, uninterested in making ‘yet another show about a dead white man’.

I would say there are broadly three things going on in The Paper Man:

1. The telling of the story of Matthias Sindelar, complete with evocative shadow puppetry (Jess Mabel Jones) and mournful cello playing (Adrienne Quartly). 2. The telling of the performers’ own relationships with football, from Lee Simpson’s self-confessed addiction, to Jess Mabel Jones’ tale of pulling boys from the sidelines of school games. 3. The telling and showing of the making of the show.

The Paper Man shows its workings, laying out pieces of the puzzle one after another, saying ‘see, this is how we got to where we are now, and where we are now is how we got here’. I tend to feel some resistance towards work that places a lot of its emphasis on ‘process’. It can feel a bit unready, a bit like you’re seeing the bits you shouldn’t be seeing, stuff that’s unfinished. Or it can also feel like ‘oh wow what a beautiful, transformational, formative experience these guys have had in making this, which I didn’t get to be a part of, and what I’m seeing is that being condensed into 90 minutes and it feels slightly unsatisfying’. I think it’s really hard to pull off process heavy shows, that put the rehearsal and making on stage, but The Paper Man does it. It does it by making that its subject. Ultimately, for me, it’s a show about telling and making, about how we tell stories and make theatre now in 2019.

I read that The Paper Man was devised through using Open Space Technology, which is a system through which the work/agendas are shaped by the people involved – diminishing hierarchy and inviting fluidity and openness, a process called ‘self-organising’. No wonder then that it ended up like this, with lots of different things going on, different threads, and everyone seemingly talking about what they want to talk about. That really excites me as a working practice, but also slightly scares me as an audience member.

Unsurprisingly, given its genesis, it’s quite episodic. I’m not always sure of what each episode is doing, but I enjoy each one in some way. And even that thought I just had there is written in to the show. There’s a bit where the show’s sound designer Adrienne Quartly comes on stage to a song (I think it was Pet Shop Boys’ It’s A Sin) and holds up placards telling the story of how formative this song was for her as a teenager. At the end of that bit Lee Simpson comes on and says something along the lines of ‘ok well I’m not really sure why that bit’s relevant to the show…’. I mean, same, but I don’t mind that it was there because I really enjoyed it and found it touching and relatable (particularly as a queer woman I guess?). The point is, they know exactly what they’re doing. The show is constantly self-aware.

There’s clear affection between Lee Simpson and the other performers, and at the beginning and end of the show they really seem like a cohesive ensemble. But a lot of the time they do also seem like an entity separate from him. The Sindelar bits, largely led by Simpson, are the most traditionally ‘theatre-y’ bits. These sections are often very beautiful, but they do feel remote from the cast members’ own stories, which feel much more immediate and ‘real’ (whatever that means). It’s weird watching that dynamic between the two forms played out on stage, and I’m not entirely sure what the end result is and what I think about this opposition.  

Looking back at the notes I took whilst watching I can see that I’ve scrawled ‘openness’ and ‘vulnerability’ several times. The heavy use of improvisation and the performers’ own biographies both feel open and vulnerable, and openness and vulnerability can really feel like endearing qualities in a performance. And The Paper Man and all its performers were, indeed, very endearing. That might sound a bit patronising, but I don’t mean it to be at all. There’s a real feeling of generosity.

It’s great to see a diverse group of women performers given prominence on stage, taking control of the narrative and being themselves unapologetically. But I do think that the show necessarily puts a lot on the women involved, asks them to share a lot of themselves. The pro of this is that it’s them taking up space and making their voices and narratives heard, but is that at the expense of giving part of themselves away? There’s a bit where the four women get audience members to pick personal questions out of a bowl for each performer to answer. Lee chooses not to take part in this exercise. The idea of these questions is that they make the participants vulnerable, which then creates a closeness between everyone involved. We, the audience, are involved insofar as we pick the questions, but we’re not giving anything of ourselves away. It’s a weird power dynamic, and this section, for all its generosity and openness and charm, does feel uncomfortable.

I really liked this show. It’s a living, breathing piece of work, a little bit different every night, always moving and changing. I’m a theatre-maker and, specifically, a dramaturg. I’m constantly examining my own and others’ working practices, so that inevitably made this an exciting show for me. It’s about what stories we choose to tell and how we tell them and what we as artists want to participate in and the work we want to make and how we value it. Listen, this review was squeezed out of a document containing over two thousand words of notes. There are bits in there like ‘the set is germane, playful yet somehow also ominous’, which I’m just not going to address now because this particular review doesn’t feel like the place for that sort of thing. Suffice to say that it’s a sticky, fun, complicated, show that does something very exciting in addressing how we make work in this current political and artistic moment. Just go and see The Paper Man so we can talk about it, yeah?

Bellaray Bertrand-Webb:

What can I say about the Paper Man? It wasn’t a traditional play but rather a real show. The performers play with the audience and with what is real and not. There was so much meat on the bone it is hard to shred down. Essentially, Paper Man is about 3 women reaffirming their identities. They do this by reclaiming a space traditionally dominated by white men, the stage. The arc of the story is that the Improbable co-Artistic Director Lee Simpson, has brought them together to tell the story of  Matthias Sindelar captain of the Austrian football team in the 1920s and 30s. To the dismay of Lee, the 3 women attempt to reconstruct the story, to take control and reuse Sindelars story for their own purpose. They will not just tell another white man’s story; instead they will rebel.

One of the ways they deconstruct Sindelar’s story, is by giving each character the spot light to relay a football memory. Not shying away from the stereotype that women don’t like football. Keziah told her story whilst playing football with Lee the only white male in the show, who ironically cut the story short by walking away. Vera Chok’s narrative was through a silent dance, the music trapped in her headphones, made it strangely moving to watch her jump from one side of the stage to the other, with just her breath as music. They were experimenting with how you tell a story, the power of the narrator and the different forms one uses for articulate truth. 

For me, what made this creatively disjointed performance click, was in one of the many moments the actors broke the forth wall. In this specific scene, they turned to the audience and asked them to take a question out of a hat to then ask it to one of the actors. So, Keziah cheekily ran up the stairs to her mum who was sitting in the back, having the best time, and asked her to choose a question, which she then asked Jess: Do you think humour can easily cross the line to be offensive? Jess responded quickly with a no, and then said it depends who is saying the joke and then retracted the latter and stuck with the original no. For me, this specific question and this specific answer summarised the play. This question serendipitously responded to an earlier scene, whereby, Jess, Keziah and Vera, dressed in their black and white football gear, wearing Hitler’s moustache, dancing to heavy grime music and on occasion incorporating the Nazi salute with the Eminem rap battle arm bounce, while the sound technician, Adrienne Quartly, held up a sign saying Feminazi. 

Writing it down plainly it does seem like a cause of concern, and probably makes you think- that is the definition of humour becoming offensive. But to be in the room and to have the previous scenes amounting to this moment, it made it almost revolutionary rather than baselessly offensive. For me, they were reclaiming an insult thrown left, right and centre by misogynists around the country. To me, it was a big ‘fuck you’ to the suppressors, oppressors, fascists and so was an empowering act to witness. 3 women from African, Chinese and British decent were having so much fun by using dancing to dominate the stage and show that they are proud of their feminism, owning the insult and in doing so ridiculing it. It made me question, what is offensive? What is humour? What is a revolutionary act? Obviously, this could have gone unbelievably badly and most of the time, it is the oppressors who feel comfortable enough to make offensive hollow jokes. But when executed well, it is liberating. 

Similarly, Sindelar, protested on the football stage. Sindelar was told to loose or draw to the Nazis but refused and consequently won against the Germans. Sindelar then walked to the Nazi delegation and danced a solo, silent, Viennese Waltz. For me both acts of protest were extremely powerful, they didn’t chain themselves to objects, shout, resort to violence, or remain subdued but rather, they translated their frustration and presented their identities through something joyful, un-seemingly political and in a way silent. For Sindelar, some believe this led to his assassination of Carbon- monoxide poisoning a few months later. Witnessing the Feminazi dance in this context I was reminded of the freedom we have on stage and in this country, our lives aren’t on the line, but we still have causes to fight for and to play with. We can have the last laugh.  

A Paper Man is clearly a feminist piece but also has the bravery to critise itself. They recognise the issues with white feminism, with a moving and deliberately awkward scene where Keziah tells Jess and Vera that the first woman football player was in fact a black woman called, Emma Clarke in 1800s as opposed to the famous white female football player Lily Parr in the 1920s, who was their poster girl for feminism and football throughout the show. Jess and Vera respond to Keziah’s sheepish reveal by saying, ‘we can’t tell everyone’s story’. Mic drop. Advocacy has its limits and that boundary is race. The scene ends with the 3 seemingly politically conscious women, shying away from the issue of white feminism and institutional racism, they have a cautious disagreement and each abort the stage. This conflict further highlights how complicated all the issues the play addresses are. There are fine lines between feminist fractions, between experiences, between doing something right and doing something wrong, between comedy and offense. Having fun and rebelling. We are all on the brink of paper thin boundaries.

Pamela Vera:

My thoughts of the Paper Man…..on paper.

Improbable co-Artistic Director Lee Simpson, a former-football-addict wanted to retell Austrian footballer Matthias Sindelar stand against fascism in 1939 Nazi Germany, ‘Nazi and football’ was the premise, however, the thanks to his diverse and outspoken four-female co-stars, it was reduced into a small sub-plot. . Keziah, Jess, Vera and Adrienne richly layered the narrative with intimate discussions and debates, about race, stereotypes, and of course gender. Creating a half-acting, half-Q & A, participatory political production with backstage segments that ultimately felt like a conversational social commentary.

As the cast reviews their own progress in between scenes, Vera, dressed in black sportswear asks ‘If we need another show about a dead white man?’ whilst casually stretching. In the era of #MeToo, gender pay gap scandals, Irish Abortion Referendum, the answer points to no. An answer that the show illustrates with fun quirky flare, whereby several narratives are told in conjunction with Sindelar’s rise and rebellion. This features monologues of football memories, a sort of backstage expose in which the cast eats, changes and discuss the show and its topics; culminating into a commentary on racial and gender inequalities, with the treatment of football greats Emily Clarke and Lily Parr symbolising the difference of ‘girly goals’ and ‘boys goals’. I’m aware of the oxymoron, illustrating how history glorified dead white men, to contrasts how other greats are discarded due to their race and gender; as to just producing a show that focuses on those unrecognised heroes and heroines in their own accord. However, the irony is so creatively executed, that it powerfully exemplifies the injustices, helping to make the Paperman one of the most idiosyncratic shows that I have seen.

The exposed set of a white framed pillar, with wooden stools scattered across the stage also instrumental to the play’s authenticity. Much like the narrative, a layering process ensued; the cast overtly constructed the set in front of the audience, during scenes. They added white curtains, tinsel, created paper projections of the dancers to the soothing violins and the visuals of fluorescent lighting, creating a lively disco atmosphere. Even the sound designer is on stage throughout the play, dressed understatedly, like the rest of the female cast who  were in either jeans, sportswear and plain tops. The DIY feel to the set design mirrored the show’s experimental essence, producing an immersive environment. As an audience, you were no longer just watching a social commentary, but also a participant. This added a lively unpredictability to the show, making the skilled actors think and react quickly, with impressive comical timing.

The show’s endearingly immature tones were cleverly offset with transitions in composition that forebode upcoming segments of thought-provoking conversations about racial and gender inequalities. The simplicity of Lee, a middle aged man, in jeans and a shirt, just standing to narrate the details of the Nazi’s systematic killing of Jewish people was an unsettling reminder of the two sides of humanity.

The show’s premise of ‘Nazis and football’ is not something I would’ve relied on for laughs,  but laugh I did, along with everyone else. There were a few times however, where boundaries were crossed. Imagine, one minute you are swaying in a fun sing-along, then next minute there is an unnecessarily overly sexualised dance of three 20-something females dressed as referees, with Hitler mustaches, finishing off with a Nazi-salute.

So word of warning, the Paper Man might not be everyone’s taste. For some, it could be a crude kerfuffle, for others bold and brilliant. For me, it was the latter; complex topics told with an authentic accessibility.

[heartofaquamarine]

Slytherin and Eton: A Primer on the British School System.

Slytherin occupies an odd place in the Harry Potter fandom. In canon, while it is the house with the second most development, that development is almost entirely negative, with the house and a large quantity of its students acting antagonistically throughout the piece. Heck, Hagrid, the lovable gruff figure who acts as Harry’s (and thus the audience’s) introduction to the magical aspects of the series explicitely calls them the most evil house before Harry has even seen the castle. This, along with Draco Malfoy’s terrible introduction (Malfoy will be covered in detail later in the piece) and the fact that Harry is already having to distance himself from Voldemort by the time of the sorting, is the major reason that Harry chooses anything but Slytherin. While the house, or rather its representatives, are sort of given more naunce later with Slughorn, Malfoy’s Draco and Narcissus, and Snape, the core example of how it is treated in the series comes just before the final battle, when the entire Slytherin student body either sides with Voldemort (Crabbe and Goyle, and to a lesser extent Parkinson who is willing to hand over Harry to save herself) or refuses to fight the good fight at all. 

The weirdness comes from the fact that Slytherin is probably the most popular house to self identify as within the active fandom. Aside from having traits many consider positive associated with it (cunning, loyalty and ambition), it is also treated as the outcast house to the rest of the school, particularly the Gryfindors. The treatement of Slytherin therefore sticks in a lot of fan’s nerves, and understandably so. The notion of Houses, defining people at age 11, is already a weird way to handle things, after all, and defining an entire group of them as evil from the start? Yeah that’s not great, particularly if you identify with aspects of them. I myself would probably be a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw, so I can understand this distaste. But...here’s the thing. The reasons for treating Slytherin this way are not entirely diagectic in nature. The house is the centre of a massive pile up involving world building, characterisation and most importantly some fairly blunt and pointed social commentary about the British School system and society at large. 

It’s been a running gag that what racism is to the American political discussion, classism is to the British. This is not entirely true (for one thing we are certainly not over racism or xenophobia here), but there is a nugget in there. British society is heavily class stratified society. We have some of the worst mobility in the developed world, and much of our political system is dominated by a very small part of society.

Perhaps the most obvious example of this is that there is a particular branch of the schooling system that dominates government, known as the Public Schools. That name can be confusing at first. The original group of Public schools vastly predate the mandatory schooling system; the oldest of them predate Columbus’ birth by over a decade. Not his voyage to the Americas, but his birth. The original idea was that they would take promising boys who normally would not get an education, due to them not coming from families who could afford them to be educated, hence the name Public Schools. Nowadays these are all elite private schools, not linked to the department of education. While approximately 7% of the population attend these schools, 33% of the members of Parliament (MPs), 50% of the Peers in the second chamber of government and 70% of the top judges are educated here. Heck, of the 54 Prime Ministers who have led the country, 32 were educated at one of three Public schools; seven at Harrow School, six at Westminster School and nineteen at Eton College. Compare that to the 9 prime ministers educated, as I was, in state schools. These institutions form part of the basis for a web of connections that defines a lot of the elite parts of British society, not just in politics but in business, in media and in higher education as well; the “old boy’s club” that provides a barrier to entry for a vast swathe of society. While supporters of these systems will note that efforts have been made to overcome this, with around 310 of Eton’s pupils receiving financial assistance, but that means that the remaining 1,000 students come from families that can afford the £12,000 per term fees, and these students are only male. The idea that this system is anything close to meritocratic is not just laughable, it is the equivalent of starting a discussion on orbital dynamics with the word’s “assuming a heliocentric universe”. Another point to make? The entire House structure comes from these schools. Eton has 25 Houses, and in this case they are literally houses; they are where the boy’s sleep at night, since it is a boarding school. While not unique to Public Schools, they are heavily associated with them in British culture. I’m adding this in because Rowling didn’t just make up the concept of splitting the children into groups. As a teenager she attended Wyedean School, which notably historically had a four House system (oh look it’s almost as if there might be a connection), before abandoning it as the school grew (I can’t find anything about when this happened, but it could well have been after Rowling studied there). Hogwarts itself, while it is an individual school, is also a condensation, celebration and condemnation of the British School system as a whole, being the only wizarding school in the UK. Umbridge isn’t just a single throughly unpleasant inspector, she is a stand-in for OFSTED, the body responsible for school inspections. It’s notable that in Harry’s year in Gryfindor,  you have, among others, the dirt poor Ron, the muggle born Dean and Hermione, the Irish half-blood Seamus Finnigen (and given that this was written in the 90′s holy shit is UK and Irish relations another can of worms I am not going to open here because this already too long but will be glanced a bit at in a later bit of this essay). It’s honestly hard for me to not read Gryffindor and Hufflepuff as stand-ins for the UK state schools, Ravenclaw for the private schools, and Slytherin as the public schools. Remember what I said about how Slytherin is treated as the outcast part of the school? Well, it is honestly treated much like the rest of the UK school system treats the private school. How is that? Well, when it snowed in my school days and we all went to the main park, the one thing that would immediately unite all the state and a lot of the private schools was the arrival of the public school kids (particularly since they tended to try and pick snowball fights with everyone while throwing classist insults around). Slytherin is in many ways the house of privilege, and not necessarily earned privilege. Lucius Malfoy, until his ousting when he plays his hand too hard in the second book, is the leader of the Board of Governors and escaped Azkaban despite his crimes, while it is explicitely stated in the first book that Slytherin has won the House cup for repeatedly in the previous years, mainly due to Snape bestowing preferential  treatment on his own House (and yes I do think it was fine for Dumbledore to pull that last minute switch, since Harry Ron and Hermione had just legimately just prevented Voldemort from returning. That kind of deserves some credit. The Neville bit might be pushing it but again, the timing was just pretty tight). But there’s more to what Slytherin represents, and this comes back to what I was saying about how charactisation is involved in this pile up, particularly the characterisation of Slytherin himself. Specifically the characterisation of him as a rascist shitfucker. I know that’s blunt but so it is the characterisation. He left a giant monster behind for the sole purpose of having it one day unleashed on a load of kids for the crime of not being born to magical parents, and Slytherin the house has historically been defined as much by its stated qualities of cunning and ambition as it has been by this continuing tradition of racist ideology. The Sorting Hat song is not the full picture as to what defines the Houses; they have grown beyond that, both in universe and in fandom. This characterisation comes back into social commentary because, yes, the UK has had and still has a long history of racism and xenophobia, from our imperial history to the Troubles in Ireland to how Eastern European and muslim immigrants are treated now. So why does Slytherin House still bare a stain from Slytherin the man? Well, in a word, it’s tradition. Remember what I said about the age of these institutions? Yeah, that’s not a joke. The Public School system, the Oxbridge higher education that it feeds into, are heavily influenced by traditions that have grown up over the ages. Heck, it used to be that in Eton, the youngest boys in the House were basically servants to the older students and staff, a practise known as “fagging” (I am not even joking). Wizarding society in general is also heavily steeped in the past; the steam train of the Hogwarts express, for instance, or the very concept of the Houses themselves. Heck, while it is never confronted directly, quite a few characters talk about how the Sorting isn’t the best idea, most notably the Sorting Hat itself. Slytherin the house has passed down the ideals of Slytherin the man in its culture, just as the UK has passed down racism, classism and xenophobia in ours. If Voldemort is the embodiment of these issues at their most violent, then Parkinson is them at their most passive; she is willing to go with Voldemort’s demands to save herself, and is willing to accept the racism and classism throughout the books. This is what I meant by a collusion between characterisation, world building and social commentary. The books were written while Rowling was viturally penniless, and a lot of the social commentary in them reflects this, including the way Slytherin is portrayed. Is it fair to the characters of Slytherin? Should she have been more naunced about it? Well, yes. There’s a reason I called it a pile up, but if you are treating the resulting mess as simply being in universe, you are going to miss a lot of important aspects about why she created it the way that she did.

[archonreviews]

The Archon’s Review of Sonic Forces

Sonic Forces is a 3D platformer developed by Hardlight and Sonic Team as part of the venerable Sonic the Hedgehog franchise. These are dark times for... wherever the hell the Sonic the Hedgehog characters live. Dr. Eggman has taken over the world, and a new horror, a beast named Infinite, has slain Sonic himself. There is still hope, however. Knuckles the Echidna has formed a resistance movement, and though its gains have been minuscule for now, their fortunes are about to turn. You, the player, are a new recruit for la resistance, known simply as “The Rookie”. And if that nickname doesn’t get on your tits within the first twenty minutes or so, then you must be a machine or something. You will be the catalyst that saves this world from robotic annihilation. Also, dress-up. So much dress-up.

Deviant-artists, rejoice! You can finally make your very own Sonic-OCs-do-not-steal, and even play as them! I would be lying if I said that this singular feature wasn’t what initially drew me to Sonic Forces. Hell, the concept actually got me kinda excited! Of course, if I wanted to play Sonic the Hedgehog: Dress-up Edition, I could Google it and probably have a competently executed flash game appear, so how’s this game actually do?

Well, we’ll begin with a rather sad statement. That is, you only really play about a third of the game as your OC. And that may be a generous estimate. Otherwise, you play as either Sonic, or the old-school Sonic from Sonic Generations. Sometimes you play as both your OC and Sonic; so as to combine your powers to perform a rare and dangerous team dash scripted section thingie.

Speaking of your OC’s interactions with Sonic the Hedgehog, they have some. And this actually ties with one of my fundamental problems with the game’s story; it characterizes your OC for you. Sadly, the character they decided was “Loves Sonic so huggy muggy much.” Honestly, the amount of time your OC spends thinking about, or hanging out with, or taking inspiration from Sonic the Hedgehog grates on me quite a bit. It also prevents your OC from being their own person somewhat, as most of what you see of their personality is filtered through this veneer of hero worship, and I mean, I like Sonic and all, but I don’t think my OC would like him as much as the game makes it out.

^(Pictured: Sonic helping my OC from beyond the Shadow Realm.)^

What, you want to know how each of the playable characters works? Well, it’s fairly simple. If you’ve played Sonic Adventure 2 or Sonic Generations, that’s regular Sonic. If you’ve ever played a 2D Sonic, that’s basically how OG Sonic rolls. The OC is a bit trickier though; superficially, they play like regular Sonic, going fast and platforming. However, the OC has a device called a “Wispon”, which allows them to swing on certain parts of the environment, Saul Spiderman-style. In addition, Wispons come in various elemental flavours, and each one has an attack ability, and a platforming ability that makes certain parts of certain levels super easy. So stages where you play as your OC are half-Sonic, half-swingy-elemental-bollock.

I have one little nitpick concerning difficulty. There are two difficulty modes: normal and hard. But the game locks achievements behind the hard difficulty setting. Except the hard difficulty setting is really not that difficult. Like, Hard is normal and normal is easy? It’s a bit weeiird is all.

So how about that plot? I’ve got to say, it’s actually really, really dark. Like, darker than Shadow the Hedgehog. And the game just sort of takes on this dark plot by accident. As I mentioned earlier, Sonic is killed in the second cutscene or so. Except, he’s not dead, he was merely captured by Eggman... who then tortured him for months on end. The only reason Sonic was kept alive at all was because Eggman wanted him to witness the birth of the Eggman Empire before Eggman ejects Sonic into the vacuum of space! And all of this is relayed to the player with the same tone of voice as one might relay a sad factoid to a friend. And Sonic himself doesn’t seem all that phased by the relentless torture. Like, damn, great fortitude on Sonic’s part, but it would be nice if the tone of the game reflected the seriousness of the plot.

^(Also, there’s a Death Star -- Sorry, Death Egg bit.)^

In fact, the entirety of the game has this very militaristic overtone that I actually found very interesting. The entire world seems to be inhabited by animal-people, all of whom seem to be engaged in a death-struggle with Eggman’s robot army, and (SPOILER WARNING) Eggman’s over-arching plan is essentially genocide. Like, this may very well be the most threatening Eggman’s ever been. If memory serves, the more recent Sonic games usually have Eggman being a secondary villain in front of some big, bad, true ending villain. (SPOILER WARNING CONTINUES) But here, it’s the other way around; Infinite is built up as this big badass, with reality-warping powers extraordinary, but he gets wreked near the end after a mildly frustrating chase-fight. After that, you fight Eggman, who has constructed a truly frightening mechanized horror, and as far as multi-stage mech bosses go, his transition from stage 1 to 2 is actually a bit grotesque. I’ll admit, this may have been because of my low expectations, but I was actually impressed with Eggman in this one. (SPOILERS OVER)

^(Like, I think this is the first time in recent memory that Eggman actually professed to hating Sonic with as much passion as he does here.)^

Another peculiarity, albeit a minor one, is that there are no Chaos Emeralds, or a Super Sonic, both of which are usually series staples. Instead, there’s a “Phantom Ruby”, which turns out to be the source of Infinite’s powers.

^(Plot phlebotinum.)^

But enough of that interesting plot nonsense; you want to play dress-up with your very own Sonic-OhSee-Donut-Steel. You acquire new options for dress-up and new Wispons by completing missions, such as finishing stages or getting a certain number of medals while playing as a particular species. However, the options for customization are a bit... limited. There are only 7 or so species to choose from, and only a few different eye shapes and voices. As for clothes, there’s enough variety to keep you going for one go of the main campaign, but after that, there’s little else to acquire. Also, I feel that they could have condensed certain clothing options into a single article, while allowing the player to choose the color for their clothes, instead of it being pre-set per article.

^(My Original Character, Greg the Dog. He will later replace that fedora with a tri-corn hat.)^

I have one more problem with the gameplay before the ending wrap-up. Basically, the 2D Original Sonic sections work well, being evocative of ancient Sonic the Hedgehog stages; however, every so often, the regular Sonic stages and the OC stages will shift from full 3D to 2D. Unfortunately, they keep the same physics, meaning that most of the time, your character will go too damn fast, especially when they throw goddamn piss-taking, assaholic precision platforming sections at you. They’re not fun, not engaging, and not a test of the player’s skill. These sections are asssssss. Plain and simple. The number of times I fell into a pit while in 2D mode because I couldn’t curtail Sonic’s ridiculous speed is proportional to the number of blood vessels I burst in rage.

^(This part haunts my nightmares. That pod thing there in the center has no hit detection, and constantly shoots spike balls at you.)^

Also, Shadow the Hedgehog is in there somewhere. He’s not a problem; I just figured I should mention that he has a little 3-part prologue thingie. There’s no reward for beating it, it’s just kinda fun I guess.

Is Sonic Forces fun? Would I recommend it? Well, ask yourself this: Would you play as your Sonic OchSea Doughnewt Stale if you had the chance? If yes, then I would totally recommend Sonic Forces. Otherwise... I mean, it’s not bad, per se, The plot’s a pretty big deviation, which I found interesting. But the mechanics are... okay. I’m not going to keep playing because I already beat it. The adventure of Greg the Dog is over. It’s fun while it lasts, but afterwards, I wouldn’t think about it too much.

Hey, this part is a later addition because I messed up and forgot to include one more point. That is: the music in this game is the most buttastic butt rock I’ve ever heard. I have a soft spot for butt rock; I Am... All of Me by Crush 40 is one of my favorite songs, and the cover of Live and Learn by FamilyJules and Jonathan Young is one of my favorite works of theirs. But this music... Arrrgh, is it ever trite. Like, Think of a middle schooler trying to write music for Crush 40 and having it sung by another middle schooler, and you’ve basically got the music for this game. Is bad.

^(Best shot of Infinite I could get.)^

[roraewrites]

seventeen

[ sakura’s secret ] rating: m

// hi, i said i wasn’t going to update, but s u r p r i s e ~

previous | next

“Pinky, hey! Where were you today?”

Karin’s voice was soothing, her tone excited the second she answered her phone and before Sakura croaked out her answer, she inhaled deeply.

“Can you meet me at the coffee house in about fifteen minutes?”

“Uh, sure?” A short pause, “is everything okay?”

“I’ll explain there,” she worded with a low tone through a raspy voice. Everything was not, in fact, okay.

Sakura hung the phone up and started lacing her boots up and pulling her coat on over her body. It felt warm, and next came her hat and gloves. It had snowed about a foot since the last time she had been outside that day, but instead of dreading the walk towards the coffee house, she took her surroundings in and began to walk.

Her father and mother both returned home later that day, but instead of acting like their family was everything but okay, she walked out on them and made her way towards Karin and a warm cup of coffee. She needed to get things off of her chest -- her mind was overloaded and it was getting too hard to face these things by herself.

Her fifteen minute walk had turned into a twenty-five minute walk, and the moment she walked through the front door, a blast of bitter scents and glazed donuts entered her sinuses almost instantly, and the heat of the building melted her core.

Sakura felt okay. Okay until she found a familiar pair of ruby eyes behind glass lenses.

“Pinky.” Karin waved her over. Sakura smiled briefly, mostly at the nickname before stomping the snow off her boots and making her way towards the table.

They were the only ones in the shop, minus the employee's, but Sakura didn’t mind. She needed a quiet and secluded place, something to help clear her mind and an ear to tell her secrets to.

“Hey, Karin.”

“Are you sure you should be out? You don’t look well,” she commented with wide eyes and pursed lips. Sakura took her seat and dropped her gaze to the wooden table. Karin’s attention was turned towards the guy working at the front counter, waving a hand before he walked himself towards them with glasses of ice water.

“Thank you,” she muttered, her attention back on Sakura. “Now, what’s up?”

Her tone was harder, scarier than Ino’s, but her eyes were soft and her face didn’t hold tension like Ino’s normally would. If Sakura could somehow mold both of their personalities into one person and have that person as her best friend, she would; but she enjoyed both of them and figured this was the best way to go through with it.

Before she had left that night, she texted Ino just to catch up on some things.

Sakura’s slender fingers encased the glass, soaking up the condensation and cooling off at the touch. She gulped hard before squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath.

“Have you ever had a secret that no matter how important it was, you just wanted to tell someone? Even if your life and someone else’s depended on it?” Sakura couldn’t feel her chest due to the aching beat of her heart, and even her fingers had gone numb, her mind in overdrive.

Karin’s red brows furrowed, her thick bottom lip puffing out slightly as her head cocked to the side. “What do you mean, Sakura?”

Just like Ino, she was using her actual name in a serious case like this. Sakura took another deep breath before continuing.

“My life is just a mess right now and I don’t know right from wrong.”

There was a long pause before Karin’s fingers intertwined and her posture straightened. She was waiting for Sakura to continue.

“I’m falling and I don’t have any help or support. I feel like I can’t breathe, and I can’t cry in front of people because they’ll ask what’s wrong, and I can’t continue to say ‘nothing’ because it’s not the truth and no one will believe me.”

Karin’s hand reached out towards Sakura, resting lightly on her cold fingers before she dipped her chin and let her fiery eyes look over the frames of her glasses. “Breathe.”

Sakura was nearly panting, sweat lined her hairline and as her viridian eyes dropped to Karin’s hand on her own, she closed her eyes once more and inhaled for four seconds, and out for seven.

“You good?” Her voice drug out from her throat, and as Sakura exhaled slowly, she nodded her head.

“Yes.”

“Now,” Karin brought her chin back up and looked at Sakura through the lenses of her glasses. “Please, if you can, start from the beginning. I want to help you, but I can’t if I don’t know what’s going on in your life.”

Sakura squirmed in her metal chair, her teeth digging into her bottom lip while her nails bit into the palms of her hands.

I can’t tell you everything, Sakura told herself. But I can tell you bits and pieces.

“When I got home last night, my dad told me that him and my mother are getting a divorce.” It felt unreal, like a lie falling from her tongue and dripping from her lips. Karin’s eyebrows lifted with worry and concern, but Sakura wasn’t done yet.

“I’ve been spending the last month and a half being so angry and pissed off at him because he hasn’t been home, but the second he told me that, it was like my world came shattering down on me and I panicked.” Sakura remembered the memory clearly and squeezed her hands tighter. “I don’t want my family to break up, Karin. I’m--”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes but she fought back and refused to let them run free. “Instead of telling my dad how I felt, I panicked and ran to my room and lost myself. I was numb, I still am. I’m upset and I can’t control my feelings because it doesn’t feel real, but my body won’t wake up and I can’t shake the upset feeling in my stomach.”

Her voice had grown louder throughout their conversation. Sakura’s emerald eyes traced the boards that lined the walls, recalling the look in her father’s blue-green eyes and the way his face fell when she snapped at him.

“I’m such a bitch,” Sakura chuckled. “I didn’t know what I was saying, but it was unreasonable and he didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve to have me be rude to him, considering the fact that we’ve always been close.”

She took a long pause and remembered days long gone at the park with her father. He would balance her on his shoulders while her hands held onto the monkey bars, his body holding her weight as she smiled and laughed the entire way to the other side. Even ice cream shop visits in the summer stabbed a hole through her chest; pistachio almond on a waffle cone every Wednesday night.

“I’m so angry,” she muttered into her small hands. “Pathetic.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Karin scolded. “It’s one thing to feel bad for your actions, but that doesn’t mean you get to throw yourself a pity party.”

Sakura dropped her hands to meet the redhead’s intense eyes. She could see a burning fire within her ruby orbs, and instead of burying her face back into her hands, she dropped her gaze and nodded her head.

“Continue, please.”

“Remember the guy I’ve mentioned before?”

Karin nodded her head before taking a sip of water. Sakura could hardly process her thoughts now. The only thing she could feel was the beating of her heart against her rib cage and her shaking hands that she placed in her lap. Would it be okay to tell one person?

“Well--” she stopped, her eyes glancing back to Karin who sat with confusion in her eyes. “I went to his place late last night.” She stopped herself there. Karin’s eye were now wide and her lips parted.

“What happened?” She whispered, her eyes flashing quickly to the guy who sat at the counter. It was obvious that he was eavesdropping. “Pinky?”

“Nothing serious,” Sakura reassured her. “But I ended up staying there--”

“Did he do anything to you?” Karin was now standing from her seat, the chair pushing out from behind her with a shrill screech against the tiled floors.

Sakura waved her hands in front of her face, her cheeks flaring up with a pink blush. “No, no! Sit down, Karin.”

She took her seat and scooched back in, her eyes still burning that same fire, except it was like a volcano on the verge of erupting.

“He didn’t take advantage or do anything to me. He’s not like that. He may be grumpy at times and very strict, but he’s also sweet and attentive to my feelings.” Sakura found herself smiling, thinking of Sasuke’s dark eyes and sharp jawline. He was absolutely flawless.

“Who is he?”

“I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry,” Sakura muttered. The smile from earlier had vanished and a nauseous feeling stirred in her gut.

“Okay,” Karin nodded. It was obvious that she was bummed, but also very understanding of Sakura’s feelings. She wasn’t going to pry for information and as much as Sakura wanted to confide in her new found friend, it just wasn’t right to go behind Sasuke’s back and tell not only her classmate, but his student, of their relationship.

“It’s fucked up.”

“Then why do you continue on with it if it’s so screwed up?”

Sakura pursed her lips as she thought about it. The cool glass of her drink came to her chapped lips, and as she swallowed the refreshing liquid, she nodded slightly before smiling. “It’s harder than you think.”

“If you say so,” Karin returned the smile before checking her watch. “Is there anything else on your mind lately?”

“College.” Sakura answered honestly. “I might apply to University of Konoha instead of trying to get in at Suna. It’s closer to home, closer to my mom--”

“Closer to your boy?” Karin joked, her white teeth came to show behind her thin lips.

Sakura’s cheek heated up at the mentioning of ‘your boy’ and she giggled a girlish laugh before shaking her head. “No! That’s not why.”

“Does it have to do with the academic program they offer?”

“That, and if I want to get in with the best, I feel like it’ll look better in the long run. I’m just trying to plan ahead for the future, honestly.”

“Hey,” Karin started, “if you think that’s what’s best for you and your future, then go for it. Nobody will stop you.”

Sakura smiled at the encouraging words and chugged the rest of her drink. Although cold, it was still very refreshing in this warm building. Her body began to feel lighter, her head a little more clear and a smile on her lips, finally.

She no longer felt sick to her stomach thinking about where her’s and Sasuke’s relationship would go, or where she would go to school, or how her parent’s divorce would end up. Her mind now felt as light as a feather, the weight of the world no longer on her shoulders as she stood from her seat and reached her hands above her head to stretch out.

“Thanks for meeting me here.”

“No problem. By the way,” Karin mentioned before pulling a sheet of paper from her bag. “Uchiha-sensei wasn’t in today either, but we did have to take some last minute notes on a chapter. There’s nothing major coming up that I know of, but here’s the assignment numbers.”

“Oh,” Sakura paused before scanning the words and smiling lightly.”Thanks, again!”

.

.

.

“Say, Forehead,” Ino huffed out the moment she dropped from the pullup bar and looked at Sakura. “Isn’t your dad home?”

Sakura nodded, remembering that she had texted Ino and told her about her parent’s situation. She rolled her eyes as Ino started talking again. Gai had the girls in the weight room, working on their last physical test before winter break and required that each of them do a certain amount of reps for each test.

“He’ll be home for Christmas?”

“Yes, Pig.” She felt herself growing impatient, and instead of waiting for Ino to jump back up to the bar and start pulling herself up again, she positioned herself on the mat and launched towards the metal bar.

“Sweet! Maybe I’ll come visit, considering I haven’t seen everyone in awhile.”

“Don’t bother.” Sakura pulled herself up with ease, a drop of sweat forming on her temple as she began another round.

“Why?”

Sakura finished the number she was on before dropping to the ground and frowning at her blonde friend. “I texted you last night and told you what was going on.”

“Oh, right! My phone broke and I ended up getting a new one with a new number. Sorry,” Ino shrugged with a gentle smile. Her blue eyes remained on Sakura as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“They’re getting a divorce,” Sakura spoke nonchalantly. Ino’s ice-like eyes were wide, her lips parted as she grasped Sakura’s forearm.

“Since when?”

“A couple days ago.” She really didn’t feel like going into details; so, instead of sticking around and filling Ino in, she removed her friend’s hand from her arm and walked away.

It hurt to walk away from her problems, but Sakura had turned over a new leaf as of last night. She was going to focus on her schoolwork, turn a blind eye to her parent’s drama filled life, focus on getting through the next few months and see where her relationship with Sasuke would go.

Into the locker room she went, her gym clothes stripped from her body and her towel, shampoo, conditioner and soap in her hand, and to the steamy shower room.

It wasn’t that she was ignoring her problems -- she just wasn’t in the mood to deal with any drama anymore. She had goals, her eyes set on important things that she was going to focus on from now on.

The moment she exited the locker room, she smiled and felt the wings of butterflies in her stomach. It was just what she had told herself -- her eyes were now on something important and there he stood, a slight smirk on his face, while his dark eyes watched Sakura walk on by.

Sakura waved her goodbye as she made her way towards the gym doors and out of the building. Naruto and Ino didn’t acquaint her on her way home, neither did Karin or Sasuke. It was now winter break, and it was time for Sakura to reflect on her goals.

With Christmas and New Year's coming up, she had a lot to think about and a lot to do before then. Maybe if she was lucky, she’d see Sasuke more than once over their break. And maybe, just maybe, her family would have a nice time and things would start to look up.

Maybe.

[agendahammer79-blog]

Saying Young Cooks Need to ‘Pay Dues’ Before Finding Success Is Kind of Bullshit

“Why do you think you can write a memoir at age 29?”

This is the question chef Kwame Onwuachi asks himself, seated across from me at a table as the final lunch guests of the day leave the sunny Kith and Kin dining room.

It’s the same question that Washington, D.C., asked when he set out to open his first restaurant, an ambitious, pricey affair that would tell his life story, weaving Creole and Nigerian culinary influences through a multi-course tasting menu.

“I’ve heard it a lot,” he says. “I just want people to know that everyone has a story.”

Onwuachi spent his formative years in the Bronx, learning from his mother’s cooking at home and at her catering company. After teen years spent dealing drugs, Onwuachi began working in restaurants (and on a ship) and started his own catering business. His passion and obvious talent for cooking led him to the Culinary Institute of America, where he studied while working in a local restaurant and running his catering company to cover tuition costs. He externed at Per Se, and then after graduating worked in the kitchen at Eleven Madison Park.

Both experiences were educational, but as he describes in his memoir, Notes From a Young Black Chef, which hits shelves April 9, Onwuachi was also subjected to racism both personal and systemic. In the book, he calls out specific chefs in the Per Se and Eleven Madison Park kitchens, still something of a rare practice in the chef-memoir genre. “It’s not easy to call out people,” Onwuachi says. “I think it’s important if you want change to occur, if you want people to listen. With this book, I want everyone to listen. This book is for everyone. It’s not just for young black chefs, it’s just not for chefs of color. It’s just not for chefs. It’s for everyone to know that no matter what happens in life, you should just keep going.”

He left EMP to tour with the Dinner Lab, basically doing pop-ups and competing with (and consistently beating) other chefs as part of a fundraising program. Eventually, two D.C. entrepreneurs offered Onwuachi and his culinary schoolmate and fellow EMP (front-of-house) alum Gregory Vakiner a seemingly blank check to build the restaurant of their dreams, which would be the Shaw Bijou. While that restaurant was under construction, Onwuachi competed on Top Chef Season 13, finishing in the final six. His profile on the show added flames to the fire of the hype around the Shaw Bijou, and when the restaurant closed only three months after opening, it came as a shock to everyone — including the chef.

As I wrote at the time of the closure, the meta-narrative around the Shaw Bijou was troubling. A major bone of contention within D.C. was that the Shaw Bijou was too expensive, at $185. In his memoir, Onwuachi reveals the domino effect of mismanagement that led the team to need the cash from early, high-cost ticket sales. And it wasn’t just that the Shaw Bijou would be expensive. It was the audacity, as some saw it, of such a young chef (he was only 26) opening his first restaurant project at such a high price point.

Looking back, it’s impossible not to wonder whether it wasn’t also that some of the D.C. dining public simply wasn’t open to a young black chef charging so much money and asserting his confidence in the fine dining space at all. The glee with which some corners of the internet cheered the closure says a lot more about dining culture in 2017 than just the enduring power of schadenfreude; it also tells us that the restaurant industry and its diners still believe big breaks are “deserved” or “earned,” even as the goal post for what it takes to be “deserving” isn’t fixed in place.

In the first chapter, Onwuachi writes, “More infuriating is the question about to whom I should have been paying dues. It seems like the only ones keeping track are the white guys with tall hats. And how did those guys get into the club? By paying dues to older white guys with even taller hats.”

In fall 2017, he burst back onto the D.C. dining scene with Kith and Kin, which has continued to gain steam, earning positive reviews from former Eater national critic Bill Addison and the Washington Post’s Tom Sietsema. When I sat down with Onwuachi earlier this month, it was only two weeks after he learned of his place on the James Beard Award semifinalist list for rising star chef. He’s back in the spotlight again, and maybe this time, people won’t insist he’s there too soon.

This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Hillary Dixler Canavan: One major theme you really wrestle with in the book is the meaning of paying dues. Specifically, what happens when you’re paying dues to people who don’t look like you, who operate in systems that are meant to keep you out. But also, you understand why one would have wanted to work at Per Se or EMP before doing something on their own.

In the mythology of professional kitchens, there’s the idea that kitchens are for outsiders. It’s this rag-tag crew of people and if you’re a misfit out there, you’re welcome in here. In reality, there are a lot of people for whom professional kitchens are a very unwelcoming place, for many women, LGBT people, people of color. Do you feel there’s a way for this industry to make room for young people that are in that period without defaulting into the dues-paying mentality that seems to be inherently stacked against them?

Kwame Onwuachi: As a young professional of color too, you teeter on: Okay, I go here to this restaurant. I “pay my dues” and then I’ll eventually get to open up my own restaurant. The reality is you go there, nine times out of 10 it’s the unspoken racism. The not moving you up, the let’s try again in a year and see where we’re at.

It’s not necessary. For me, I had my own path and I got exposed to fine dining, one from living in New York City, two going to the CIA and seeing the opportunities that were there for the externship program. For me, it was a different narrative. At Per Se, I didn’t get paid to work there. That’s now a real reality for people in general, but where I come from, where we take care of our families: It’s a very collaborative effort, when we’re at home, I pay some of the electric bill and everyone pitches in to make ends meet. That’s not a reality for everyone.

It shows the systematic oppression. I don’t think it’s necessarily intentional, but I remember there was another kid that was an extern there and he lived downtown near Per Se. Yes, he didn’t get paid either but his rent was paid for, his parents sent him money every weekend, and he was able to get there [easily]. I had to travel all the way from the Bronx and spend two hours in transit to get to Per Se. It’s not an equal, level playing field. When I get there, I’m exhausted before I even step through the door. I remember one chef telling me I was the laziest person he had ever met in his entire life after I had to work at 6 a.m. as a backup chef for Chopped [a paid job], just so I could afford to pay rent to come here. I was noticeably tired. No one asked, “Hey, are you okay?” It was like, “What are you doing? You’re so lazy. You know that? You’re the laziest person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” Meanwhile, I’m there working for free, busting my ass.

I think what it’s gonna take to change that scope is a little more diversity within the critics, more diversity with editorial staff. It’s gonna take more diversity with people of color within the staff of these large houses in order to really seek out these places from these people of color that may not have had the opportunities to work at places like Per Se or Madison Park, or go to the CIA, or even have the opportunity to have a restaurant like this. This is amazing. I’ve worked really hard for it. I’m very proud of it. There’s a lot of people doing pop-ups, or they have a small restaurant that’s open for dinner, or it’s been passed on throughout their family. They got a chance to send their kid to culinary school, but they still have to go back home and help run that restaurant. That is what it’s going to take in order to change things around a little bit.

HDC: And of course this isn’t unique to the restaurant world. In many professions, young people hear “it’s not your time yet, pay your dues, head down.” And then there can be a real backlash against people who put themselves out there when they feel ready to instead of when they are told they’re ready.

KO: Yes, when they’re told they’re ready.

HDC: I also wonder about if some of the conditions on the ground change, would that aspect of it change? If paying dues doesn’t mean the same thing for every person. If the person next to you at Per Se was paying his dues but living rent free, it’s different.

KO: It’s a lot different.

There are a lot of people that have worked their whole lives and then they get a chance to work in a restaurant, maybe like mine, and they can get a little bit of experience. They may feel that they are ready. Who am I to say that they’re not ready to go on and do their own thing?

Who are they paying their dues to? If anything, you’re paying your dues to yourself. When you feel like you’re ready, you should be able to go out and do whatever you put your mind to. This is a very short life we live. I would hate for someone not to strive for something and always have that what if I would’ve just done this.

HDC: In the book, it seems like you’re arguing that the whole concept of dues-paying in your own story was a way to validate certain types of experiences and not others. That there is a whole range of experiences that might be relevant.

KO: It depends on what you want to do.

HDC: Related to that, one thing that surprised me is that you really named the names. You didn’t shy away from saying this is who I worked for, here’s how they behaved. Did you have any hesitation about being so honest?

KO: There’s always some apprehension when you’re, for lack of better words, being an open book. Are people going to shun me or judge me for this? Or will they be upset at me because I named names, or how dare I speak about these things that should be left in the kitchen? I think that that’s bullshit and there is no bravery in that, on my end. How am I going to prevent that from happening to the next person if I don’t openly talk about it? Give real examples about it. That’s when things stop.

When people realize, Oh man, I’ve done that. I shouldn’t do that anymore. I didn’t know that these small little racist jokes affect people. When you’re a chef, most people are just like, “Yes chef” to you. I deal with that in my own kitchen. I’m like “Hey, how’s it going?” They’re like, “Good, chef.” I tell my sous chef, “Go see how it’s actually going over there. They are just telling me it’s all good.”

We need to know that our words matter. Especially if it’s some sort of harassment. We don’t talk about racism in the terms of harassment a lot. We talk about it as yes, if something major happens like if someone was racially profiled or it is a hate crime, or something like that.

The small, subtle jokes go unheard. Those are the ones that hurt the most because they are usually in front of a large group of people. If you understand it for what it is, then it’s like you’re not cool. “We’re just joking around.” But I didn’t start joking like this. Why do you feel that you could do this?

You just have to push through that small little area of uncomfortability. Whether it’s speaking up, speaking out, or just believing in yourself.

HDC: Right now, naming names has been such a powerful part of the #MeToo movement, too.

KO: It’s important to name your abusers. I don’t have to be excited about it. I’m just telling the story. I think that’s the same thing with the #MeToo movement. They are saying what happened and that it’s not okay. It takes a lot of bravery and I’m so proud of the women that have come forward and said that, because it has sparked change. I’ve noticed it in the industry.

A lot of friends that have restaurants now have sensitivity classes around sexual harassment. We have it here about racial equality as well. I think that that’s something that needs to be talked about more and more, to have people feel included, feel welcome.

HDC: Another theme of the book is that you are still young; it’s very much about a young person finding their voice and their career path. With the opening of the Shaw Bijou and Kith and Kin under your belt, with a book now under your belt, what’s your sense for young chefs who do feel ready to express their voice? Do you feel like you have any takeaways? Is your thinking about doing that different now than it was before?

KO: Not really. I think people learn in different ways. For me, I learn a lot by doing. I couldn’t have opened a restaurant that’s successful without having another restaurant that either went well or didn’t go well. I can only learn as much as I can with being hands on. I think it depends on the chef. I have a lot of chefs that look like me in my kitchen, which is amazing. They are like, how did you do it? I’m like: “I started to do pop-ups and then I traveled around the world. Then I got an opportunity to open up a restaurant and I was scared as hell, but I did it. I failed. I tried again, and that was it.” When they are like, “What should I do?” I’m like, I don’t really have the answers for you, what you should do specifically. I know as a cook I can give you what you need to work on as a cook: Hone your craft, more importantly. Keep your station clean. The normal things of being a good chef, that’s the foundation. To garner exposure, there is a multitude of things you can do. You can start writing. You can start doing YouTube videos. You can start doing pop-ups. You have to do what makes sense for you. Maybe you want to open up a food truck after this. You can go right into that after working in this kitchen. If you want to open up a restaurant this big, maybe start with a smaller one. It depends on the person, really.

If you’re ready to do anything, I would just try it. I’ve never written a book before and I did this. When are you gonna be ready for something unless you just do it?

Hillary Dixler Canavan is Eater’s restaurant editor.

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Source: https://www.eater.com/2019/3/21/18266033/kwame-onwuachi-memoir-notes-from-a-young-black-chef-interview-paying-dues

[mollykittykat]

The Cupboard Game Pt. 2

AU in which Splinter evaded the contents of the mutagen canister and ended up raising the turtles as a human. No real warnings apply. Mostly family fluff with a teeny hint of angst. (Also available on A03: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10471893/chapters/23136108)

[If sum won coms wat do we do?]

Splinter got the fist text message a mere few minutes after he clocked in, when he was gathering his cleaning supplies and heading off to mop up the coffee spill in the recreation room.

He allowed his sons to send him text messages so long as it was important, although to four year olds “important” easily ranged from ‘I’m feeling lonely’ to ‘the stove was left on’ and everything in between. Though the turtles always forgot to say who was speaking before sending a message, Splinter could usually tell who it was simply by their writing pattern.

This one was from Leonardo. He had an average vocabulary for someone his age, misspelling things and sometimes allowing autocorrect to fill in the wrong word, but that aside he used the phone properly, and was typically clear and concise about his messages.

[Is there a stranger in the apartment?] Splinter’s return text was sent immediately. Normally he waited at least a thirty minutes before replying, not wanting to be caught shirking his duties to pour over his phone messages, but after yesterday’s encounter he was fearful that he had been too quick to deem Michelangelo’s slipup inconsequential.

There was an extensive pause, eventually followed by the long slow “typing…” message that lingered for a while. Though this was status quo for a barely literate preschooler Splinter’s heart hardly beat the entire time.

[No] [Mike want to no just in cays] Splinter let out a heavy sigh of relief, then returned with his own text.

[Remember the fire escape on the fifth floor? It leads to an alley where there is a drainage pipe leading into the sewers. If you can’t hide and must run, go there.]

He knew this would strike a familiar chord with his oldest son. They had gone over a similar escape plan when discussing what they should do if a fire should break out in their small dingy apartment, a news story about such an accident striking justified anxiety into the hearts of his four children.

[The sewers are infested with bacteria, won’t we get sick?] The next text came two hours later, this one obviously from Donatello. The turtle was very intelligent for his age, sending full sentences with proper grammar and vocabulary words that most parents could only dream of getting from a four year old. Splinter finished scrubbing down the sinks, and once they were shiny and clean he took a moment to exchange his supplies in the janitorial closet and reply to the text.

[We won’t have to stay there forever. It’ll just have to do as our hiding spot until we find a new home]

Another two hours and there was a new text. The timing for this one apropos, as Splinter had just settled down for a lunch break.

[I don want to hid in sewer thats dum this were the toylet water goos we shelled not had to hid] [Wy cant we moov to a big tenthose like peepol on tv] Raphael was clearly less patient in his texts, writing runnon sentences interspersed with nonsense words, the meaning behind his statements sometimes a struggle to understand. In some ways he was similar to his older brother, thought there was a tone to his wording that certainly set him apart from the others. It took Splinter a solid minute to realize that “tenthose” was bad spellcheck child speak for “penthouse”

[You mean penthouse? the big glass fancy rooms at the tops of skyscrapers? Penthouses take a lot of money, more than I can make.]

There was a pause. He took a bite of his sandwich as he waited for the child to finish reading the hefty sentence. [Even if u werk 198490829 ours?]

[Even if I work all the hours in the world]

Splinter finished his lunch break and was retrieving the floor buffer and a few fresh rags when another text came in…. though this one was ambiguous whether it was from Leonardo or Raphael. [I do not want u to work all the ours in the world] Splinter couldn’t help but smile at this one, taking a moment to send back an immediate reply.

[Neither do I]

Four hours passed, the phone remaining silent until Splinter clocked out. Putting on a jacket to shield him from the brisk humid wind he tore into the New York streets toward the location of his next job. The overhead sky was beginning to darken, the air thick with the smell of condensation as the forecasted rainstorm rolled in a day earlier than predicted. Splinter sighed, wondering whether or not he should ask for a ride from one of the acquaintances at the docks rather than risk returning to the apartment on foot.

His phone buzzed, the arrival of another text pulling him out of his thoughts.

[Papa heanrm forkn sjklj isnuwant abcdefgabc Mikey] Even if the turtle hadn’t put his name at the end it would have been obvious who had sent the undecipherable key smashing. Luckily, Splinter often found that messages from his youngest son, though impossible to comprehend, were immensely easy to appease.

[I love you too]

He let out a sigh, contentment and exhaustion fogging together into a single undecipherable emotion as he put the phone back in his pocket and continued his way toward the docks, where heavy crates of imports and exports would be waiting for him. It was hard work, but it had an aura of adventure to it and was worth the extra money. This time, however, he knew who would be waiting there. He felt it in his gut; certainty that the moment he was done loading crates Nezumi would bump into him, claim it was a coincidence, then push and prod with his offer once again, and worst of all… Hamato Yoshi was actually beginning to reconsider.

The night Splinter got the turtles, for all of the positive changes it had brought to his life, was a long exhausting night of many conflicting thoughts. The idea of calling the police or notifying a neighbor came to mind more times than he’d ever like to admit, the sight of four reptiles the size of infants, acting like infants, initially striking him as wrong… horrific even. But they weren’t merely acting like infants, they were infants. With every passing second the genetic mishaps showed themselves to be nothing more than helpless children, who would likely be hurt or even killed if word got out about their existence. Not knowing where else to go Yoshi brought them to his apartment. He panicked at every crying fit, he panicked over whether to feed them warm milk or insects from the windowsill, he turned up the television in order to cover up the sound of their fits until the neighbors complained, and then he panicked when the tenants knocked on his door. All night, for many nights, he made the changes necessary to carry on with the secret existence of four infants, soundproofing cupboards and stockpiling supplies. He moved on instinct, an unexpected family in dire need of protection filling his life with a sudden unexpected vigor that he hadn’t felt since his days with Shen and Miwa. Of course it couldn’t last forever. He could only be absent from his waitering job for so long before he met an ultimatum: earn a living, or leave four squirming infants all alone for eight hours on end.

He knew he couldn’t choose the latter, it would put his newfound family in a position of terrible neglect even if he dedicated every hour he had apart from work to tending to their needs. He needed a miracle, and the universe followed through, though not without it’s price.

It was by sheer luck that one day, when he was walking to the convenience store, he discovered Nezumi being thrashed by gangsters who were demanding some sort of overdue payment. Splinter didn’t know much about the situation, but he did recognize when a lone unarmed man was being threatened by hoard of thugs wielding blunt weapons. To this day he still didn’t know whether it was intuition or simple stupidity that inspired him to interfere, but in the end Nezumi got a good glimpse of what he was capable of. As a show of gratitude Splinter was given an offer, an offer that would have him working for only two hours in the dead of night, filling his pockets with more than enough to pay the rent while leaving him full days to take care of his infants sons and ensure they got a decent upbringing.

Underground fights. Serious underground fights settling bloody feuds under the gazes of vicious gamblers. It was illegal and dishonorable and extremely dangerous and yet, so long as he wouldn’t be hurting anyone innocent, Splinter knew he couldn’t refuse. After that, his sense of being was constantly jumping back and forth from opposite sides of the spectrum. During the day he was a father, a good father, watching small children slowly learn to talk, teaching him what he could about language and history and how to keep out of sight. However, when he was in the fighting ring, he was a submissive attack dog beating men that were all muscle and meat into unconsciousness while surrounding crowds shrieked and hollered. It reached a point to where even the simplest fights turned into behemothic bet-hedging schemes, Nezumi leeching off of the ‘“street cred” Splinter never wanted to make a name for himself in areas that Splinter wanted nothing to do with.

Those months contained some of the best and worst moments of his life. Overall, however, he couldn’t say he had any regrets. All it took was one memory of the quartet of two year olds falling asleep in his lap while he read about the antics of The Cat in The Hat, and he could contentedly affirm that… despite everything… he had done the right thing.

Would it be the right thing if he went through with it one more time? It was just a couple of nights in the ring, maybe only one night judging by the purse Nezumi had mentioned yesterday. With money like that he would be able move his family to a small place outside the city limits, somewhere far away from the constant prying eyes of strangers where the turtles could run around carefree like boys should... …. like they deserved to.

When Splinter arrived at his destination he found his suspicions confirmed. There was Nezumi, sitting in a dingy little sports car just off from the docks, windows rolled down a crack to release the smog of a half-smoked cigarette. The moment their eyes met the skinny tattooed scarecrow jumped, startled to see that not only had his target arrived, but he was walking directly toward him. There was the sound fumbling as Nezumi let his cigarette drop to the floor and rummaged around the glove compartment, probably in search for some hidden weapon. When Splinter yanked him out of the vehicle by his wrists it became clear Nezumi probably should have dedicated more time to locking his door than locating his switchblade, and before he could so much as blink he was pinned to the concrete, foot on his back, arm twisted until pain forced him to unhand his weapon.

“Hey hey hey hey!!! Cool it! This trip had nothing to do with you! I’m out here meeting some old friends!” he squealed as Splinter took the switchblade “Coincidence! Pure coincidence! I’m not-“

“How much did you say that purse was?”

Nezumi suddenly stopped, rubbing his sore shoulder as he found himself released from the painful hold. He rose back to his feet, watching his attacker casually toss the swiped blade to himself, a look of calm earnestness on his face.

“You… you’re serious?” “I don’t know yet” Splinter muttered, “Tell me how much I’ll win if I take part in this fight you talked about.”

“Th-… thirty grand if you win the final round. Twenty grand if you get second place and-” “Fine.” Splinter closed the switchblade and pocketed it while giving his answer. Forgetting his swiped weapon, Nezumi took a moment to come to grips with what was happening, a look of idiotic glee on his face when he realized his hopes were confirmed. “The Splinter is back in action?”

“‘Mister Takara.’ Or Daiki if you want to be informal.” Splinter knew he’d regret accepting that “stage name” the moment it caught on. His old self laid across ocean, lost in the passing years, but making his lifelong nickname into a tacky “extreme warrior” title served to twist the knife rather than help him move on. But of course, Nezumi took the correction as a signal to keep their plans on the down low, and still wearing that stupid smile the scrawny little thug placed a finger against his own lips in a gesture of silence and winked.

Decision made and instincts already telling him this was a terrible idea, Splinter turned away and began heading back toward the loading docks. “I’ve got to go. I’m already late.”

“Wait wait wait!” Nezumi rushed ahead, blocking Splinter’s path with outstretched arms. “Tell me when you get off work! I’ll come by and pick you up!”

Splinter shot him a doubtful glare.

“I’m taking you to dinner!” Nezumi explained “It’s on me. You can ask for all the details you want over some hot grub and some wine. Huh? What do you say?”

Splinter’s glare softened. He would have to skip out on the wine, he had a notoriously low alcohol tolerance, but the idea of a good meal swayed him. That, plus a ride home that would keep him safe from the rain, and he couldn’t find the will to protest.

[I’ll be home late] Raphael saw the text at about six, an hour before their father was scheduled to get home. The small turtle slowly mouthed the syllables, getting through the sentence at an agonizing pace before Donatello swiped the phone and read the sentence at his preferred speed.

“Papa’s gonna be home late Leo!” Big dark blue eyes looked up just in time to see the brainiest of his brothers get tackled to the ground, Raphael wrestling to regain possession of the blackberry cellphone. Leonardo, remembering how angry Splinter had been the last time they’d broken a phone by fighting over it, trotted over and took the device from his feuding siblings before texting back.

[time?] [Very late. There is apple sauce and cheese sticks in the fridge. Nuts raisins and crackers in the cabinet. Be in bed by 8.] [Ok] [Make sure everyone brushes their teeth and washes their face too] [Ok]

“What is it?” Leonardo had just sent out the last text before his youngest sibling snatched the phone from his hands, squinting at the letters with his tongue hanging out of his mouth in concentration. “Papa’s gonna be late” Leonardo explained before his brother could finish reading the first word, snatching the cell right back much to Mikey’s displeasure. “We’re gonna eat and get ready for bed without him” “No bedtime story?” Leo shook his head no, a dutiful look on his face as he trotted to the kitchen and opened the fridge door, standing on his tiptoes in order to reach the assigned snacks.

“Don’t worry though! Papa usually makes up for this stuff. He’ll prob’ly bring pizza tomorrow!” Though this reassurance seemed to please the youngest turtle, Donatello and Raphael didn’t look all too happy.

“He shouldn’t be out longer! He needs to sleep more! Thas’ the opposite of what I told him to do!” Donatello said, sounding close to tears as he gave a little stomp of his foot. “Whadya mean he’s not going to be home?!” Raph added, joining in with his sibling’s protests “He’s never home and I miss him!” “He misses us too!” Mikey whined in turn, now crying for reasons he himself didn’t quite understand until Leonardo and shoved an unwrapped cheese stick into his mouth, satiating him.

“We just gotta be patient. We’ll watch TV” Leonardo reassured, as if watching television wasn’t something they’d already done all day to pass the time waiting for their father to get back. Already bored by his brother’s suggestion Donatello peeled back the translucent foil on the window, big ruddy brown eye peering up at the sky.

“Turn it to the weather channel. I don’ like the look of those clouds. Papa really should’ve looked at them before deciding to stay out longer” Raphael wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and found the remote, slowly clicking his way toward channel six. Mikey chewed contentedly on his cheese stick as he yanked some blankets down from the back of the couch, curling up on the floor in front of the screen as his eldest brother delivered the food and began dividing it out between his siblings.

[cambriomusic]

Rainbow Sun Francks Interview

Rainbow is an actor, musician, and former MuchMusic VJ (2001-2003). CamBrioMusic.com is delighted to present the following interview. It has been condensed for length considerations.

Cam Brio (CB) = Thanks so much for taking the time to talk with me. Do you have any general memories from your time as a MuchMusic VJ?

Rainbow Sun Francks (RSF) = It was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I grew up watching MuchMusic and walking by 299 Queen Street West, and then got the opportunity to be a VJ. It was much different than what I thought, and it was an incredible new skillset that I had to learn. I’m very grateful that I got to do it for years.

CB = Was Strombo (George Stroumboulopoulos) around at that time?

RSF = Yes. It was me, Rick the Temp (Rick Campanelli), Jen Hollett, Amanda Walsh, Bradford How, Namugenyi Kiwanuka. When I first started Master T and Sook-Yin Lee were there, but they were leaving as I was coming in.

CB = I’ve heard Strombo say that he felt MuchMusic VJs, at that time, didn’t get enough credit for the important issues that were covered daily.

RSF = Absolutely. I don’t think we got enough credit for anything we did. After I left and the next generation came in, it was more highly produced, and had way less free flow. The VJs had less airtime and there were more promos. It was just more corporate. When we were there, there were no teleprompters. All of it was us. During the day with the video flow, there was no one there. We were doing our own segments and doing everything ourselves. We weren’t just talking heads. I was working 85-90 hours a week. When I wasn’t on air, I was researching on how to do better interviews. We really were conquering topics that were not poignant in the mainstream media at the time. There were so many great shows like The New Music and The Wedge that were breaking bands who would have never gotten a shot otherwise. Now that it’s gone, I miss it. I really realize how wonderful and worthwhile it was.

CB = Do you think that type of originality in media has mostly gone online?

RSF = Yeah, some definitely has gone online. I think there was something that Moses Znaimer created (at MuchMusic) that was so special because he allowed young people to talk about the music they loved. The environment was open to the public, and we were able to speak to people on the street at any moment if we wanted to. I went to Silver Snail and bought a light saber one time when they first came out and did a whole segment with the light saber. We were able to do something original within the corporate structure. It’s something you don’t see anymore. Anyone can have their voice online, but honestly, there’s a lot of followers. There’s very few leaders, like in the real world and art imitates life. Social media is a wonderful thing, even if it is oversaturated.

CB = What were some of your best interviews on MuchMusic?

RSF = I always loved when Swollen Members came to town. We were friends, and my band was signed to their label Battle Axe EMI later. I got to interview Basement Jaxx, that was great because I was such a huge fan of them. I did one of Hot Hot Heat’s first ever TV interviews. I became friends with their singer Steve Bays years later. I loved interviewing people on the street. When we would go on trips, I loved interviewing anyone around the event we were covering. It’s been twenty years since I started at MuchMusic and it all rolls into one amazing memory. The individual moments fade.

CB = Did you host Electric Circus as well?

RSF = Yes, I was the last host. I hosted it for almost two years. Amanda Walsh and I were the last two hosts, it was incredible. I interviewed Kylie Minogue on Electric Circus and that was great. I had such a crush on her. Electric Circus made no sense, but made all sense of the world. It was such a magical, weird, voyeuristic show that played great music and broke artists. There was no real exposure for EDM (electronic dance music) at the time. And no term “EDM” either. We were the only people bringing in ground-breaking music makers and DJs in the electronic format and giving them a chance to shine.

CB = One of the greatest Electric Circus clips is a Corey Feldman performance from the early ‘90s.

RSF = Oh my God, yes! (laughs) The Corey Feldman “Michael Jackson” performance on Electric Circus is something people need to YouTube. If you’re ever feeling down or unsure about moments in your life, just Google Corey Feldman on Electric Circus.

CB = Do you have any favourite EDM artists right now?

RSF = Well, now that we have such an abundance of music, I create these playlists on Spotify. I don’t remember the artists. We have gone into a world of singles instead of artists. Massive Attack is one of my favourite bands in the world. (Their album) “Mezzanine” changed my life, and the lives of many others that heard it. The “Heligoland” record is massively underrated as far as everyone just talks about “Mezzanine.” Portishead is my favourite band of all time. They changed how I made music. I make hip hop music, but it always has an air to downtempo stuff that Portishead and Massive Attack were doing. All that music that was coming out of the UK in the late 90s was incredible.

CB = Who are your top five Canadian bands?

RSF = I absolutely adore The Arkells. Bedouin Soundclash are my best friend’s band; I have toured with them many times. I was always a Metric fan. Broken Social Scene, for sure. It’s so hard, how far back can I go? Sam Roberts is one of my favourite dudes. In the late ‘80s I was a Pursuit of Happiness fan.

CB = What were some of your first concert experiences?

RSF = In 1989 or ‘90 I was in LA visiting my sister and I got to go to the Soul Train Music Awards. I was outside waiting to go in the back. I looked like I was a part of Arrested Development, or some sort of De La Soul, I don’t know what. I had a big African medallion and beads on, I had a shirt that was way too big, and a jacket that was even bigger. I looked amazing, and was just a little kid. I looked beside me, and Eazy-E was having a cigarette. He said, “what up little man.” I freaked out; my little kid brain couldn’t take it. Later on that night I met Heavy D & the Boyz, I met Big Daddy Kane, who was my favourite rapper at the time. I met LL Cool J, I hung out with Queen Latifah. It was just the craziest night I ever had. I don’t remember myself, but my sister recalls that after that night, I went home and was in the kitchen doing the running man for like four and a half hours (laughs) until I passed out.

CB = Do you have any favourite concert films or documentaries?

RSF = At Hot Docs I went to see “Echo in the Canyon.” The documentary about Laurel Canyon in the ‘60s. I went to see that with my mother, because my sister was born in Laurel Canyon at Lookout Mountain. That’s where my parents lived in the ‘60s. My mother talked about seeing Frank Zappa at the bottom of the hill because his house was there. I saw the Robbie Roberson movie “Once Were Brothers.” I thought that was wonderful because I didn’t know in-depth the history about The Band. Ava DuVernay did a documentary called “This is the Life.” It’s about the “Good Life Cafe” in Los Angeles. Artists featured in that documentary like Freestyle Fellowship, Volume 10, and others are the guys who made me want to rap. That’s one of my favourite ones.  

CB = What was the name of your group?

RSF = We were called The Oddities. We had lots of underground releases. Our one commercial release was on EMI and called “The Scenic Route.” We did the record in 2001, and we had a sound that was different than other things coming out at the time.

CB = It seems now that rap has taken over popular music entirely.

RSF = Yeah, but it’s not good.

CB = Do you think the quality has gone down because so much rap comes out now?

RSF = Honestly, rap has controlled music since the early 2000s. I’m disappointed with rap right now. I don’t know what any song is about, no one is saying anything. These people are making so much money, and rappers didn’t used to make that much. It’s always been about chains, but there was some kind of class to it before. It’s all very tacky now, in my opinion. I would love for a resurgence in rappers saying important things, there’s so much more to it.

CB = It seems like a lot of rap follows the same general sound now.

RSF = Historically you couldn’t be a “biter,” and have the same style as someone or you would be ostracized. Now, if you sound like Drake, people like you. Migos came out and did that little triplet flow, and now everyone sounds the same. It’s just 808s, and weird hi-hats that are going too fast. I think everyone jumps onto it because it’s easily digestible.

CB = Are you a video game guy?

RSF = Yes. I’ve been playing games since I was a little kid. In 2001 when MuchMusic started Much On Demand (MOD), Alex Sopinka, the producer, and I had the idea to play games on the show. It was a way to get free games (laughs). On Thursdays I would play the brand-new game that came out on Wednesday, live on MOD. I went on a 57-week winning streak; I played people and never lost. At the beginning I was playing people who didn’t know what they were doing. But by the end my streak caught wind and we had people coming in with signs. I started to have some valid gamer challengers; it was very fun.

CB = Do you have any favourite video game music?

RSF = The theme song from Final Fantasy VII. I love that a remake was just released. Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2, that’s epic for music. All of the EA games had great music curation. They had custom music. A new NBA Live would come out and Fabulous would do the song. It would be a song you could only get on that soundtrack. A Jay-Z song would come on that I’d never heard, and it would be for the NBA.

CB = Anything you want to plug or put out there?

RSF = Watch the new TV show that I’m on, High Fidelity. It’s an incredible music-based drama. Zoë Kravitz is the lead. I play her brother. Questlove is our music supervisor. The soundtrack is amazing, it is available on Spotify. It’s a great show. Also, I’m working on some music that I might at put out at some point.

[smackedjibe-blog]

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Painters and Decorators, London https://m.hardhatjobs.co.uk/display-job/411210/Painters-and-Decorators.html?searchId=1509357198.9042&page=17 … — Hard Hat Jobs (@hard_hatjobs) October 30, 2017

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[insiderlinuxtk-blog]

What to Expect (and Not Expect) from Linux Universal Packages

Last June, Canonical Software propelled the advancement of Snap bundles, which are planned to deal with any Linux dispersion. After seven days, Red Hat declared its own rendition of all inclusive bundles, called Flatpak. In the months since, both Flatpak and Snap have been elevated as the answers for the issues with conventional bundle groups. In any case, the arrangements are not as entire as publicized and require a modification of the duty regarding security for which free programming is essentially not readied.

Customarily, Linux has depended on two principle bundle groups, .deb (Debian) and .rpm (Red Hat). Albeit organized in an unexpected way, both .deb and .rpm bundles comprise of upstream programming tweaked for a specific conveyance, in addition to the scripts to introduce any conditions — that is, required libraries, utilities, and different bundles — not as of now introduced on the framework. This course of action confines the required hard drive space to a base, and both organizations have served Linux well for right around two decades.

Notwithstanding, as of late, these conventional organizations have gone under expanding feedback. "Linux clients are progressively expecting all the more a buyer encounter for application — much like the application encounter on a cell phone, for instance," says Thibaut Rouffineau, Canonical's head of Internet of Things promoting. Rouffineau reprimands the conveyances that utilization .deb or .rpm for having "strict and confused" necessities that moderate the presentation of new forms and muddle the support of Linux by requiring a different adaptation of the bundle for practically every dispersion.

By having bundles made by upstream engineers and including all conditions as a component of each bundle, Snap and Flatpak are proposed to disentangle and accelerate the conveyance of the most recent programming to clients, while giving upstream designers more quick input.

Holders have no instrument for recognizing the requirement for updates, or for consequently refreshing, and can, in this way, be a wellspring of vulnerabilities in themselves.

Alexander Larsson of the Red Hat desktop gathering, and the first designer of Flatpak, notes that all inclusive bundles can include another level of security by introducing in holders that confine them from whatever is left of the framework. "Having an approach to separate security areas in a solitary desktop makes it conceivable to ensure against [intrusions and loss of privacy] in a vastly improved manner," Larsson said.

The way that these points of interest have been broadly reported and expressed on Snap's and Flatpak's home pages clouds for some the truth that these advantages are still being developed, and now and then more confident than practical. For instance, Larsson notices that compartments are discretionary for Flatpak, and that the level of sandboxing differs, so that "few Linux applications are conceivable to completely contain right now." Moreover, both Rouffineau and Larsson see customary and general bundles as existing together, as opposed to one inevitably supplanting the other.

However, all things considered, widespread bundles are as a rule intently viewed by disseminations. OpenSUSE Chairman Richard Brown, for example, hypothesizes in a current FOSSDEM introduction that general bundles could decrease the measure of work required to look after conveyances. Therefore, notwithstanding the overstated easygoing cases once in a while listened, all inclusive configurations could in any case be a distinct advantage for Linux bundling.

The Limits of Containers

Spectators have broadly noticed that, with Snap created by Canonical, which assembles the well known Debian subsidiary Ubuntu and Flatpak by Red Hat, the final product could just be another adaptation of the division between the .deb and .rpm designs. In any case, this perception offers nothing more valuable than incongruity. Different contemplations are much more imperative.

To begin with, compartments are not the general security arrangement that is once in a while expected. In April 2017, software engineers at North Carolina State University discharged an investigation of security vulnerabilities on Docker Hub. In 356,218 group contributed pictures and 3,802 authority pictures, the review recognized a normal of 153 vulnerabilities in the group pictures, and 76 in authority pictures, the greater part of them of high seriousness. In another review, the journalists of Banyan Blog found that more than 30% of authority pictures in Docker Hub contained High Priority security vulnerabilities.

At the end of the day, while compartments may give security against interruptions, nothing ensures clients against the genuine substance of holders. As Debian engineer John Goerzen notes holders have no system for distinguishing the requirement for updates, or for consequently refreshing, and can, along these lines, be a wellspring of vulnerabilities in themselves.

As pointed out by industry spectator Adrian Coyler, who condensed the North Carolina State contemplate, an extensive piece of the issue is by all accounts that for accommodation new bundles regularly obtain conditions from more seasoned ones, making the propagation of vulnerabilities very conceivable. Truth be told, even a containerized bundle that is up and coming when made may later demonstrate to have vulnerabilities yet keep on being utilized. With the presentation of programmed apparatuses, for example, the Docker Security Scanning Service, these issues might be moderated, be that as it may, all things considered, much still relies on the scruples of a bundle's maintainer.

Arrangement versus Innovation

All of which raises another point: albeit specialized groups naturally look for arrangements in new innovation, as long-term Debian maintainer Josh Triplett watches, "innovation doesn't trade the requirement for strategy."

Asked on a mailing rundown to look at the .deb organize with widespread bundles, Triplett does not shield the specialized configuration by any stretch of the imagination. "The .deb arrange in separation just speaks to a chronicle of documents; what makes one into a genuine Debian bundle is Debian Policy, he says. "Debian without the .deb organization would even now be Debian; Debian without Debian Policy would simply be SourceForge or Rpmfind" — that is, accumulations of bundles and source code with no general quality control.

Triplett is alluding to the Debian Policy Guideline, an extensive record that subtle elements everything that a bundle for the Debian circulation should and should not contain, and how it must communicate with different bundles. Where documents ought to be set, how logs ought to act, the configurations for xservers and terminals, how to add a menu thing to a desktop domain — this and more is determined in Debian Policy.

Before a Debian bundle can move from the Unstable archive to Testing and Stable, it has been over and again investigated for its adjustment to Debian Policy. It is this examination, Triplett is expressing, that makes Debian the standard it has moved toward becoming in Linux and the wellspring of 66% of every single dynamic appropriation, particularly those worried with security.

Nor does the approach end with adjustment to Debian strategy. As John Goerzen online journals:

On the off chance that you run a Debian framework, the mix of unattended-updates, needrestart, debsecan, and debian-security-support will help one keep a Debian framework secure and confirm it is. [… ] Debian's security group for the most part backports settles instead of simply say "here's the new form", making it extremely safe to naturally apply patches. For whatever length of time that I utilize what's in Debian steady, all layers said above [everything] will be secured utilizing this plan.

Up until now, neither Snap nor Flatpak has an arrangement anyplace close as total as Debian's. Nor, at this phase of advancement, should anybody anticipate that it will. However at last, regardless of whether Flatpak and Snap can convey all they guarantee will be reliant on the arrangements for building bundles, not simply on their specialized components.

Upstream versus Distros

Different inquiries that emerge are: who will implement quality control on general bundle? What's more, firmly related, when in the discharge procedure will authorization occur?

As Triplett and Goerzen clarify, generally, quality control happens at the conveyance level. By and large, upstream engineers generally give just source code, surrendering bundling altogether over to the circulations. And no more, they give bundles of changing quality to a couple of mainstream appropriations — for the most part, Ubuntu.

This game plan is the reason protestations about the trouble of composing applications when such a large number of Linux dispersions exist are invalid — under the present course of action, upstream designers are not in charge of fitting their code to the disseminations; the appropriations do that for themselves. For instance, when Steam was ported to Linux, the first advancement work was produced for Ubuntu, and inside weeks different dispersions had adjusted the Ubuntu adaptation for their own appropriations.

However in the event that widespread bundles are discharged without the intercession of the distro maintainers, the suggestion is that upstream designers will test bundles and authorizing arrangement themselves. As Richard Brown said in his FOSSDEM introduction, "With these instruments, Flatpak and Snappy, the main genuine arrangement is to begin having a similar outlook as an appropriation. Will need to manage similar duties that we manage in the conveyance world." Automatic testing may improve the procedure, as it accomplishes for openSUSE, yet sooner or later, regardless it should be finished.

Additionally, Brown cautions, all disseminations are not organized similarly. They put records in various areas and now and again utilize distinctive applications to facilitate their adaptations of Linux. "Despite everything will need to create and test everything on each conceivable distro," Brown says. "Unless you package each reliance for all that you require at any rate [… ] will wind up crying."

Darker infers that, as the experience of AppImage, a prior exertion at widespread bundles appears, the possibility of general bundles that can keep running on any Linux dissemination, is as of now incomprehensible. The main way that he sees that all inclusive

[nanostuffs]

150 Words a day: 3/5/17 - 3/11/17

3/5/17 - Superhero

I didn’t plan on becoming a superhero, but then I got bit by an aardvark.

My parents were doing volunteer work in Ethiopia. It was a dark night when I got bit, which is a really redundant statement because of course it was dark. Now that I think about it, since there weren’t any clouds or smog, it was lighter out than I was used to. The only that matters is that it was night.

Getting bit was the weird part. Aardvarks don’t really have mouths in the same way that most mammals have mouths. Their mouth is a tiny opening at the end of a long snout. I had been sleeping, and I guess my fingers sounded and smelt just like termites in the night, because an aardvark grabbed my finger with it’s tongue, brought it into its mouth, and bit down. And that’s how I became Aardvark Girl.

3/6/17 - Eye Contact

Her eyes were glowing in the dark. It was all he could think about as the dwarf approached slowly. They were a dark brown, but they glowed an amber color. Obviously it was dark out, otherwise he wouldn’t have noticed it. She had a smile on her young looking face, but her eyes betrayed her true feelings. She was scared, and he hoped it wasn’t fear of him.

“Hail and well met,” He called out to her, hoping she’d join him.

***

His eyes were an icy blue. It was the first thing she noticed as she cautiously approached the human. His eyes weren’t glowing, but she knew he’d seen her. Glowing eyes were hard to hide in the dark after all. She put on a friendly smile, and hoped to hide her fear of the late night, encircling darkness from him.

“Hail and well met,” he called out to her.

3/7/17 - Seven Days

Green stood in stark contrast to the brown wood of the dresser. There were several stacks of twenties, all held together by paper with bank seals. Each stack of twenty held at least five hundred bills, and there were at least one hundred stacks. One-hundred thousand dollars, just sitting on her dresser.

She ignored the money and got up, Surely the money was there by mistake, and six in the morning was far too early to sort out the money nonsense. Mela went through her usual routine of checking her schedule while she waited for her kettle to boil. Another odd thing stood out to her, it had been cleared out for the next several days. One-hundred thousand dollars, and a whole week to herself. Mela smirked as she turned her stove off, At the very least, she could afford to treat herself to a few more hours of sleep.

3/8/17 - Alien Slime

“Where is I’mork,” the tentacled blob monster seemed to growl at the human captive.

“Who?” Jane asked, shrinking back in fear.

“I’mork,” the alien was curt, “Looks like me but is green.”

“I haven’t seen anything like you since I’ve been taken,” Jane sunk to the floor, “I’m sorry. I don’t-”

“Save your apologies,” the pink blob said, “I don’t need them.”

The blobby tentacle monster left the room swiftly, leaving a slick looking slime trail behind. Jane hoped that someone would come by to clean the trail up. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get close enough to find out exactly how slippery it was.

“Hu- woah,” A second alien entered the room, and was quick to fall on it’s butt. This alien was a bald being of pure white, and normally towered over Jane, but on the ground was much closer to her own 5’8”.

“I hate T’mork.”

3/9/17 - More Alien Shit

T’mork and I’mork were quite  obviously siblings. Other than their similar name, Jane would have been an idiot to not notice their similarly blobby and tentacled forms. T’mork was a bright fuschia color, and had at least six tentacles, though Jane supposed it could have been hiding additional tentacles somewhere in it’s gelatinous body. I’mork was aqua in coloration, and had eight tentacles, though he was prone to pulling four into his body whenever he talked to her. Jane supposed that was a nervous habit, but it looked very uncomfortable.

Her other captors were more humanoid than T’mork and I’mork, who left a trail of slime wherever they went. Jane suspected that the two were made of mucus, but refused to touch them to prove it. Her other captors didn’t think highly of the two, often cursing their existence when they slip in the slick trail the blobs left behind.

3/10/17 - Playlist For the Week (252 words because I can’t condense it)

Bell sighed as she scrolled through her music. Forming a playlist for her week was never a task she relished. She could never quite fit her entire day into one song, so she usually chose songs that encapsulated small moments.

The Sunday song she picked was Everything Stays from Adventure Time. She’d never gotten into the show, but the music was great.

The Monday song was The Crystal Kingdom Song from The Adventure Zone. She’d recently got her sister into it, and that was her favorite song composed by Griffin McElroy.

The Tuesday song was The Living Tombstone’s Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 song. She had listed to it before going shopping with her sister, and it wouldn’t leave her alone.

The Wednesday song was No Mercy, also by The Living Tombstone. She’d started listening to his music while working out, and this made her feel extra motivated to do whatever the day’s exercise was.

The Thursday song was Into the Woods by Cillia James. Bell had been in a writing mood, and slower paced music was always good for that.

The Friday song was Adiemus composed by Karl Jenkins. She once again had been in the writing mood, and there was nothing like a good Karl Jenkins song to get her in the right mindset for it.

The Saturday, and final song was Dragon Charmer composed by Peter Gundry. Bell had been in the mood to do some character creation, and this was her favorite song to play while doing so.

3/11/17 -  Ghost Writer (156 words. F- the rules, I do what I want!)

The circumstances of Lyra Viki’s birth, were extremely odd. First and foremost, her mother had conceived her under the moonlight on a warm night with a man hat Lyra would never know. This was of course because her father was a bear, and I do not mean a hunky gay guy.

Pregnancy had been hard on Lyra’s mother’s body, and several days into it she found she was more inclined to eating fish and berries, which in itself was odd because the woman loved candies and cakes more than anything else in the world, including that bear she slept with.

Giving birth had been an ordeal of it’s own. Lyra’s mother was afraid to see a doctor because she wasn’t sure her child would be born with a human visage. Lyra had thankfully been an easy birth, not causing her mother any pain upon arrival.

Though odd, Ms. Viki’s birth was nothing compared to her life.