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sepiadice · 4 years

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DiceJar Campaign 0.3: Holes, Doors, and Blood (2020/03/13)

Finally killed my first PC as a GM!

Yup… Wasn’t intentional but… well, dice made things interesting, so I have to work with it.

We also didn’t have our rogue, which is unfortunate as she’s an enjoyable member, and also there were a lot of traps and locks this time.

The content went through almost the remainder of what was prepared for the previous session. I’d like to get through the content a little faster so the group can move on to actual role-play opportunities, instead of dungeon crawling. It’s an unfortunate result of my experimental Game Mastering a Module, and I’ll likely try and stick to homebrew in the future.

Or, at least, look for modules with more emphasis on socializing.

I did a medium job preparing this session. I got complacent and let the session slip far to the back of my mind leading up. I found my sweet spot session 2, so I need to keep that standard.

Cast

Mogui (IndigoDie): Druid. Does what he’s told by his employer. Indigo has played this module before. Yot (LimeDie): Cleric. Looking to redeem himself for past failures. Lime will commit to bits. Bernard 'Bean' Dipp (NavyDie): Ranger. Trying his best despite being so young. Navy doodles when he’s bored. Delilah Dunford (VermilionDie): Rogue. Searching for an identity beyond her family. Vermilion could not make this session. Game Master (SepiaDie/me): The world (a dusty, dusty world). The walls probably have stories to tell. I’m desperately trying to keep ahead with drawing the map.

Session Three

We reopen in the loot room we ended in the last session. Navy is given his rewards and I expound on the uses of the various items they received.

Now given the opportunity to read his letter, Navy delays long enough to wonder if he’s chosen to make Bean illiterate, but eventually he takes to giving the description: his mother wrote it, opening with a joke, and giving random updates about life in town despite the letter needing to have been placed before the arrival of the party, but it’s an opportunity for the players to expound on their families, so maybe his mother is a little airheaded?

The letter canonizes a High School which has a football team and a glee club. Will anything come of it? Probably not. Did I say with a sigh ‘Guess that’s canon now…’? You bet I did! Always say yes! Improv!

The party headed back into the room with the pool, tested the other door to find it locked, and moved towards the wailing.

The chamber to the East of the entrance contained several walls crisscrossing. A door stood locked to the south. The puzzle of this room is walking around various hidden pit traps while finding three switches that must be held down at the same time to unlock the exit. I originally ruled the switches take a few minutes to reset so the party can run to get to the door, but then I remembered Delilah is technically still there, so I reverted it to operate as written.

Bean and Yot both took turns falling in holes as Mogui moved around cautiously and managed to jump clear of the one pit he did accidentally trigger.

The three maneuvered around the chamber until they found the necessary switches, activated them, and Delilah held open the door so they could get through.

Walking through the next hallway, they finally reached the door for the room from whence the wailing was emitting.

They all decide to ignore it.

Which means they’ve skipped some plot exposition. Oh well, keep rolling and adapt.

Instead, they go down a fork and into an empty room, which formerly held a giant beetle, but I cut that combat as being wholly unnecessary. Instead, our party continues through into the next chamber, which has a fight I did not cut, as I thought it would have narrative value.

A fire pit smolders in the center of the room, a charred corpse within. Upon the arrival of our party, a dark apparition arises and squares up to fight our heroes.

Bean had acquired an Oil of Magic Weapon, granting his bow Plus-One Status, and rendering it a magic attack, so he’s able to harm the shadow.

Yot, meanwhile, uses Holy Flame. Fun fact about our apparition: it was born because a pyrophobic man burned alive in a structure already pretty rife with necromantic energies. That terror and agony was all it took to create the shadow.

So the enemy is real mad at being set on fire, sending out psionic screams for flavor.

Mogui just watches the fight.

After a few rounds of Magic Bow and holy flames, the Shadow perishes. Victory music for everybody!

The party leaves the room, continues to ignore the terrified wails, and enters the last available door.

Within is a round, domed room, with a wooden pillar, standing on an outcrop over a pit at the center of the room, that fires blunted arrows. This is felt to be rather unpleasant, and the party discusses how to deal with it.

Eventually, they check out the door, and find a mechanism built into it.[1] The party attempts to break the mechanism.

Bean then enters, and is pelted by blunt arrows. He walks around and tries to open a southern exit, finding it to be locked, so Bean attempts to approach the trap. Unfortunately, he takes enough nonlethal damage to get knocked out. Whoops.

After waiting for the mechanical whirring to stop, the other two call after Bean, receiving no response. So they cautiously enter.

The trap is now docile. And the southern door is unlocked.

So, what happened here, by the text of the module, is that the trap keeps running for ten rounds, at which time it’ll be exhausted of arrows, and the south exit will automatically unlock. The hope was the party would take the tower shields from the wood golem of last session to block the arrows.

Because of how they broke the activating mechanism (as they snapped off the metal arm in the door hinge that turned the machine off and on), I decided that now once it turned on, it couldn’t turn off. So after Bean was knocked out, the trap kept running until it ran out of rounds.

Don’t ask how the trap’s supposed to keep pelting adventurers inside the chamber after the door closes. Magic I guess.

Stop asking how traps work.

Mogui investigated the south exit while Yot checked on Bean. The door was, of course, unlocked, to the annoyance of Navy, and Yot was taking his sweet time healing Bean, but soon the party was on their feet again and ready for whatever came next.

The final room of the floor widened as it went, the ceiling supported by four columns. Stairs to the south lead to the… basement? Second basement? The crypt’s already underground, so what terminology applies here, I’m not…

Also, there’s two statues in recesses of the south wall. The Module text doesn’t call any attention to them, but they’re probably Kassen.

Our heroes enter this room, get to approximately the middle of the room, and four skeletons, with talon-like clawed fingers and blood dripping from their bones, step out from behind the columns, and menace the heroes.

Combat begins.

As does a series of horrible rolls from both parties. Just a lot of do-nothing turns. Yot tries to bash the skeletons and misses, Bean fires arrows and the closest he got sent the arrow through the ribcage of one skeleton. The skeletons weren’t faring much better, three of them crit fumbling at some point, which I interpreted them as falling prone for a turn.

The rolls were so bad I gently reminded my party that I set up a dice-roll bot in the Discord channel, if they wanted to put Roll20’s die-roller into dice prison. They didn’t go for it.

Back and forth the combat went, the skeletons getting a couple lucky hits on Bean. Eventually, and tragically, those lucky hits added up and Bean hit zero. Navy started making Death Saves, a realm where the exhaustingly low rolls followed and brought him to his death.

NavyDie then spent the rest of the combat doodling an increasingly elaborate death scene, with grave stone, candles, what was either a pentagram or an alchemy circle,[2] and death himself. Whatever self-amusement was needed.

As a narrative-first GM, Player Characters dying in combat is not something I enjoy. I am now in an awkward position of needing to figure out how to proceed and keep Navy involved. If he still wishes to play, of course. A couple options immediately spring to mind: bringing in a new character will be narratively awkward at this point, as we need to justify why the ignorant town would send back up, or why a kid is running so late; there’s an available NPC I could give Navy, but he’d be an odd (but doable) add; or, and this is an idea I like most, I can bring Bean back for a price…[3]

But I need to talk it through with NavyDie first.

Back to those still alive.

Mogui maneuvers to keep a safe distance, eventually coaxing one of the four skeletons back to the previous room, running a circle and returning to the main combat room, closing the door behind him. I rolled a die to determine the nature of the skeletons, and concluded they’re running on animalistic instinct, and thus can’t operate a door.

Also, this cuts down on enemies to delay the fight and rewards IndigoDie for clever problem solving.

Yot, growing tired of not hitting with his Mace, starts using Holy Flame again, forcing the Skeletons to use the horrible dice rolls to avoid damage instead of Yot using the same rolls to cause damage. Progress starts to get made.

Mogui turns into a tiger and starts running about and attempting to hit the skeletons, but still no luck.

There’s also some talk about how the skeletons aren’t taking attacks of opportunity, which had a very elegant explanation: I totally forgot about that mechanic, and I also just plain hate attacks of opportunity. They feel cheap and punish players for not carefully considering every minutiae of their actions.[4]

Eventually, the skeletons are finally either redead, or trapped in another room.

With one dead, the remaining three party members stare towards the stairs to the next floor. As the only escape is to fight the skeleton in the previous room, they mostly consider what difficulty they’re prepared to face.

Of the three sessions played thus far, this one felt of middle quality. I forgot to read my opening crawl text, and I waited until the last minute to write notes for the remainder of the floor (after copying over the leftovers from session two). Neither the combat with the Shadow (where I forgot to implement the smoke in the eyes mechanic the module wanted me to) or the Bloody Skeletons (with horrible dice rolls)[5] felt particularly fun or worthwhile. I’ll probably look to cut more superfluous fights going forward.

I’m also looking forward to moving out of the dungeon. I am learning a lot, as was my goal with running this module, but I’m missing being able to Role-Play as GM.[6] I’m certainly learning to answer questions the text didn’t bother to address, and also how annoying module formatting can be with where it explains things.

When I find time, I should sit down and design a dungeon of my own. That would also be a good learning experience, and also let me feel more at ease with making world-based rulings on the fly and implement elements I like and minimize those I don’t.

There’s just so much combat and map-based traps written in this thing. Makes it too difficult to abstract out the traps and rely on theater of the mind.

Most important take away: Attacks of Opportunity are dumb, and I hereby houserule them away.

I’ve already set things in motion for fun plot developments after this session’s events and feedback received, and hopefully the next write-up will come in about two weeks.

Until next time, may your dice make things interesting.[8]

[1] The party is really interested in the actual mechanics of these traps, which the module doesn’t explain, forcing their poor GM to try and reverse engineer it, and maybe I need to start shrugging and saying ‘I dunno, magic I guess.’ [2] Which is a good way to lose a sibling. [3] Just sent Navy a text asking if he’d like a level of Warlock. This could be fun. [4] Also, my experience with another player exploiting the mechanic to attempt to kill me. [5] Though based on his recap, IndigoDie enjoyed the combat for the bad rolls? Interesting guy. It felt like a bad joke that kept repeating to me, and I failed to improvise an Out for those involved. [6] Especially since Indigo sidestepped the opportunity I did have![7] [7] Whatever. Gives me time to give the man a less stupid name. [8] Despite working it into the opening, this sign off still doesn’t sit right. Feels too long… Magazines have little icons to mark the end. Maybe I should do the same?

#SepiaDieGMs #crypt of the everflame #Dungeons and Dragons #Fifth Edition #NavyDice #IndigoDice #LimeDice #VermillionDice

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promin-blog · 7 years

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Tolkien's Ungoliant and Stephen King's It – some interesting parallels

Scene from It (1990) - the Losers confront Its ‘true’ from.

While watching the recent adaptation of Stephen King's It (2017) and reacquainting myself with King’s work in general throughout the past year (including watching some older adaptations of his books, among which was also the 1990 miniseries It), my mind was constantly going back to Ungoliant, Morgoth and the Silmarillion.

Why? Well, some of it undoubtedly has to do with my ongoing interest in Tolkien, but I also managed to find some parallels between Ungoliant and It, and Morgoth and the arch villain of the Kingverse, the Crimson King.

Long story short, enjoy me shamelessly hopping on the It bandwagon!

Warning for the arachnophobic.

So, what do Ungoliant and It have in common?

They both:

1) assume a form of a (female) spider

2) have hunger as one of their defining traits

3) use Deadlights/Darkness, a fear inducing form of 'unlight' which traps their victims (connected to the spider form), also used by the Crimson King/Morgoth

4) are ancient and have a somewhat unclear origin

5) have a loose allegiance with the Big Bad's of their universes (Morgoth/the Crimson King)

What do Morgoth and the Crimson King have in common?

They:

1) use Darkness (Unlight)/Deadlights to achieve their ‘goals’ - Melkor uses it to steal the Silmarils and kill the Trees, and the Crimson King uses it as a weapon (according to The Dark Tower Wiki)

2) have a loose allegiance with a hungry spider-like being who also uses Darkness (Unlight) /Deadlights)

3) both are Big Bads of their respective fictional universes

4) both are trying to rewrite reality in their own image

NOTE: Others have already found some references to the Crimson King being similar to Sauron (The Dark Tower Wiki page on the Crimson King, under ‘Inspiration’). I haven’t yet come across any articles comparing him to Morgoth which I believe to be a better position (to me Randall Flagg seems like a more credible reference to Sauron, even though, of course, overlaps are possible, both because Sauron imitated Morgoth in-universe and because King could have fused them on purpose).

So, let’s first break down the similarities between It and Ungoliant.

While Ungoliant takes the form of a giant spider and is referred to as female, It's ‘final’ form is also a giant spider.

In the novel It the Losers call It the Spider (i.e. "The Spider stopped laughing", It p 4153). It also seems to be considered by the Losers as femal(ish) as they refer to It as a 'bitch' several times ("You k-k-killed my brother, you fuh-fuh-fucking BITCH" (…) p 4099, including the somewhat paradoxical "We killed It" (…) "We killed the bitch.", It, p 4289) after discovering It's eggs (It, p 4212).

It’s spider-form was also shown overtly in the finale of the 1990 miniseries It, as a kind of a 'boss-form' for the Losers to fight:

In the new It adaptation the spider imagery is covert, but still pervasive in the way Pennywise (definitely less ambiguously masculine, in my opinion, than in the 1990 adaptation) behaves and operates. This makes ‘the spider’ more than just another of It’s many forms designed to induce fear.

For example, It lives in the sewers, which are a kind of a web. The new film puts great emphasis on this, giving us both Bill’s model of the sewers and a map of them, both of which serve as visualizations of a ‘spider-web’. The ‘sewer web’ is also in a sense ‘invisible’ (like a real spider web) because it is underground. Thus it is both a hiding place for It and a trap for It’s prey.

Furthermore, as we can see in the Losers first individual encounters with It, the prey Pennywise finds by using the sewers are paralyzed by their own fears - the fears not produced directly by It, but by the ‘mundane’ (as opposed to the ‘supernatural’) part of the plot - mostly bullies and abusive parents. Arguably, It first finds the Losers because they are afraid. Pennywise uses fear (in the new movie It smells fear) to locate its victims and moves through the sewers accordingly, like a spider traverses its own web when its prey becomes entangled in it and it feels the vibrations the prey produces. Fear, in a sense, produces ‘vibrations’ in Pennywise’s spiderweb.

Pennywise's likeness to a spider in the new adaptation is also shown in the scene where the kidnapped children are suspended in air, as if trapped in some invisible spider web, stashed in a spider’s pantry.

As we can see when Pennywise suspends Beverly Marsh in the same way, all the children there are paralyzed by fear, the aftereffect of looking directly into It's deadlights. Fear is the spider venom which keeps It’s victims paralyzed and helpless. Deadlights are like a high-concentrate fear-venom that leaves you senseless.

No matter what form It assumes, It always acts like a spider.

Stephen King Wiki says the following on this issue:

"Throughout the book It is generally referred to as male; however, late in the book, the protagonists come to believe that It may be female (due to Its manifestation as a monstrous female spider). This is, however, not Its true form, it is simply the closest the human mind can come to approximating it (…) Its natural form exists in a realm beyond the physical, which It calls the ‘deadlights‘. (…) Coming face to face with the deadlights drives any living being instantly insane."

This can be compared with the description of the darkening of Valinor and the Elves and Valar’s experience of ‘the Darkness' that Ungoliant has 'woven':

"So the great darkness fell upon Valinor. Of the deeds of that day much is told in the Aldudénië, that Elemmírë of the Vanyar made and is known to all the Eldar. Yet no song or tale could contain all the grief and terror that then befell.The Light failed; but the Darkness that followed was more than loss of light. In that hour was made a Darkness that seemed not lack but a thing with a being of its own: for it was indeed made by malice out of Light, and it had power to pierce the eye, and to enter heart and mind, and strangle the very will." (Silmarillion)

The Darkness that Morgoth unleashed on Valinor with Ungoliant’s help paralyzed the Elves and the Valar to such a degree than they couldn’t immediately pursue them.

It also interesting that, similarly to the paradoxically sounding name 'Deadlights', Ungoliant’s darkness also gets a paradoxical negative prefix - ‘un’, ('Unlight of Ungoliant' (Silmarillion p34)). Both present fear, in a sense, but in Tolkien’s case I would argue that the Darkness/Unlight presents above all fixation on the experienced loss, and not moving on creatively, still aptly shown by the spider imagery.

What also comes to mind here is Frodo’s and Sam’s confrontation with Shelob in Shelob’s Lair in The Two Towers.

The new movie’s whole 'Neibolt house hunt' sequence reminds me very much of that, mainly because Beverly gives It a really good stab in the head after which It retreats like a wounded Shelob when stabbed by Sam. Also, the tunnels of Shelob’s lair are like a 3D spider web, much like King’s town of Derry sewer system is It’s spider web, with the emphasized spacial quality - you are not on the web, you are in the web.

And, yeah, Frodo almost gets stashed in the spider’s pantry, like Beverly.

Furthermore, Tolkien describes Sam’s fear like something akin to an invisible spider web of Shelob:

"But nothing of this evil which they had stirred up against them did poor Sam know, except that a fear was growing on him, a menace which he could not see; and such a weight did it become that it was a burden to him to run, and his feet seemed leaden." (TTT, Shelob's Lair)

Sam literally has difficulty moving because of his fear. Then a little bit later he has a moment of ultimate ‘fixation’, a moment of paralyzing fear - he believes Frodo to be dead:

"‘He’s dead!’ he said. ‘Not asleep, dead!’ And as he said it, as if the words had set the venom to its work again, it seemed to him that the hue of the face grew livid green. And then black despair came down on him, and Sam bowed to the ground, and drew his grey hood over his head, and night came into his heart, and he knew no more. When at last the blackness passed, Sam looked up and shadows were about him; but for how many minutes or hours the world had gone dragging on he could not tell. He was still in the same place, and still his master lay beside him dead." (TTT, The Choices of Master Samwise)

It's like Sam took a glance at the Deadlights. Notice also how this despair is first described as 'black', which is a fairly common construction ('black despair'), but then 'blackness' is described as an entity on it's own, like it is described in The Darkening of Valinor - "a thing with a being of its own".

However, Sam manages to disentangle himself from this web – there is a moment of fixation on the experienced loss, but then he goes to the ‘underground’ (externalized by him literally being underground, in Shelob’s lair) of his own thoughts and feelings (this chapter is not named for nothing 'The Choices of Master Samwise') and manages to move on with the objective of the Fellowship's mission on his mind:

"‘But what can I do? (...) Or go on? Go on?’ he repeated, and for a moment doubt and fear shook him. ‘Go on? Is that what I’ve got to do? And leave him?’ (…)"‘What? Me, alone, go to the Crack of Doom and all?’ He quailed still, but the resolve grew. ‘What? Me take the Ring from him? The Council gave it to him.’ But the answer came at once: ‘And the Council gave him companions, so that the errand should not fail. And you are the last of all the Company. The errand must not fail.’" (TTT)

At this moment Sam passes Tolkien’s ethical test - he is able to ‘go on’, even after a crippling loss.

So, that would be points 1) and 3).

2) hunger as a defining trait

Hunger is also a big parallel here. Pennywise practically only sleeps (hibernates) and eats, and Ungoliant (just like her offspring Shelob) is always hungry. She ate the Trees’s sap. She tried to eat Morgoth and the Silmarils:

'Blackheart!' she said. 'I have done thy bidding. But I hunger still.' (Silm)

She even ate her sex partners:

“(...) other foul creatures of spider form had dwelt there since the days of the delving of Angband, and she mated with them, and devoured them”

And, in the end, probably herself:

“Of the fate of Ungoliant no tale tells. Yet some have said that she ended long ago, when in her uttermost famine she devoured herself at last.”

In the novel, Pennywise describes itself in terms of it’s hunger:

“(…) I am the eater of worlds, and of children. And you are next!”

I didn’t address everything I listed in this post, in particular, those last two parallels between Ungoliant and It:

4) they are ancient and have a somewhat unclear origin

5) they have a loose allegiance with the Big Bad's of their universes (Morgoth/the Crimson King).

These are tightly connected with the second list that explains the parallels between Morgoth and the Crimson King so I will elaborate on them together in my next post.

Thank you for reading this.

#it #stephen king #silmarillion #lotr #melkor #meta #analysis

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ohmytheon · 7 years

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there's something at work in my soul (1)

I can't believe I finished this monstrosity of a fic, but I did it and now I can finally focus on all my other projects without feeling guilty. This is the Soul Eater/FMA AU that no one asked for, but I couldn't get out of my head and I used this year's Resbang as an excuse to write it. What was supposed to be like 20k turned into almost 44k, so wow, that's absurd. Special thanks to @innocentcinnamonbun whose incredible and beautiful artwork you can see HERE. I'm absolutely in love with all and may or may not be using that first one as my phone's background because WOW it's brilliant. I AM IN AWE AND FLOORED. And also a shout out to @dollypopup who inspired me, helped me keep my steam rolling, and is an all-around awesome person and writer, no matter what she says.

Rating: (hard) PG-13 Warnings: depictions of violence and death, blood, unethical and illegal science experiments, kidnapping, scenes of murder, animal death, Madness, body horror, suspense, fear, flashbacks, war, language Pairings: Stein/Marie, minor Maka/Soul, past Spirit/Kami, one-sided Stein/Medusa Summary: (Fullmetal Alchemist Fusion AU)

Years after serving in the horrors of the Ishval War and seclusion, Stein, a State Alchemist whose alchemy is terrifying and unique, is forced to investigate a series of grisly murders alongside his old roommate and closest friend, Lieutenant-Colonel Marie Mjolnir, and former pal, General Spirit Albern. The mission: find and capture the Vector Alchemist, Medusa Gorgon, to stop her horrific alchemy experiments. But things become complicated as Stein journeys down this dark rabbit hole. Not only must he confront the terrible truth about alchemy, but he also must face his own demons, the mistakes of his past, and how his alchemy affected his relationships with Marie and Spirit. Is he any better than Medusa or is he already too far gone? As gruesome as Medusa’s crimes are, he can’t help but be intrigued by the alchemy and Marie can only remind him of his humanity for so long.

Chapter One: Deflagration

Rain was as familiar to him as, well, not a friend. Most would say that he didn’t know what friends were, but rain was a near constant for him in Central. He supposed that some people would find that comforting. Honestly, he didn’t feel one way or another. The rain didn’t soothe him and it didn’t hinder him. He was capable of doing most of his work and research inside anyways.

Currently it had been fifty-five days since Stein last left his home-turned-lab. He only knew that because he had made sure to buy enough food to last him approximately sixty days and he was beginning to come up short. Not that he counted his calories or watched what he ate. He just didn’t like the idea of being interrupted by something as simple as hunger and the need to grocery shop. His work was important, one of a kind. He already slept as little as possible. The government acted like his unending research wasn’t enough as it was.

But then, the government was particularly greedy when it came to alchemy.

Many of his fellow State Alchemists had dropped out of the program after the war ended. Stein didn’t blame them exactly, but he didn’t know how anyone could give up alchemy, something that was a part of him as much as his brain. Then again, he hadn’t been shaken nearly to the point they were. He had simply come back home, stitched up what little was left of his soul after committing so many atrocities, and gone back to his research. And if he had any nightmares, he didn’t sleep much anyways.

Just as he was finishing typing up a report on his latest test, a knock at the door echoed through the hallway. Stein ignored it at first, thinking that it might be one of the neighborhood kids. The older ones liked to bully the weaker kids into knocking on his door and running away in terror should he ever answer. He was considered something of a horror legend to the kids. It didn’t phase him much, but it was sometimes amusing to watch them flee or try to come up with an excuse if he ever caught them.

A minute later though, the knocking continued. It was a persistent and precise tapping on the metal door. The second he recognized it, he knew who was behind the door. Well, not who exactly, more like what. Stein sighed and saved his work before standing up and stretching. He hated being bothered by what he considered watch guards, but he was a Dog of the Military and so he had little to do but respond obediently.

At least they didn’t try to make him wear that irritating military uniform.

Not bothering with the lights, Stein made his way through his sparse lab to the front room. What would’ve been considered a living room by most standards held the barest semblance of one. The only reason he had a couch was because of his last roommate who moved out a little under a year after returning from the war. “Keep it,” she’d told him, “because I know you won’t buy another one.” He hadn’t planned on ever using it, but to be honest, he found himself sleeping on it more than his own bed.

Right as another round of knocking began, Stein unlocked the door and opened it, ready to tell of whatever poor Sergeant or Warrant Officer they’d sent to come fetch him. He had very important work to do, after all. Instead, he was left to stare down in mild surprise at his old roommate.

Marie Mjolnir was as small as he remembered, though not as bright. Her normally shiny blonde hair was a dirty blonde and plastered against her head due to the pouring rain and his house not having an awning to hide under. The blue eyepatch was new; she had left wearing the sparse black one the military had given her like an apology back in Ishval. It matched her uniform, which she somehow managed to make look attractive, despite being the same as every other soldier’s and hiding her curves. Maybe that was just her though.

“Are you going to let me in or are you just going to continue to assess me?” Marie asked.

Read the rest: AO3 (or keep reading and wait for updates)

A very direct question, how so very like her. Despite the fact that he had left her out in the rain and ignored her for a few minutes, she didn’t look mad. She didn’t look happy either though. Considering that she was still wearing her uniform, when he knew for a fact that she slipped out of her uniform the second she came home, this was not a personal visit. This was work. And they had sent her.

Stein stepped aside so that she could traipse inside. She cringed, muttering an apology about the water, but he only shrugged his shoulders in response. It would take little effort to clean it up. Instead of waiting for him, she found the light switch and turned it on to illuminate the room as he closed the door. Even after all these years gone, she didn’t need his help to find her way around the place.

“Do you need something dry to wear?” If it was anyone else in the world, Stein would not have bothered asking. Hospitality was a stretch for him even with her after years of not seeing her, but he knew that she would appreciate the attempt. He did not dwell on why her appreciation mattered. He especially did not dwell on why he had some of her old, dry belongings for her to wear still stored in a box in the back of his closet.

Marie smiled at him in the same sad way she did when she was moving out. “Thank you, but no, I’m afraid I’m here on business.”

“What do the Powers-That-Be require of me now?” Stein asked as he moved to sit on the couch. He sat right in the middle, lounging and throwing his arms on the back. A polite man would have offered her a place to sit, but Stein admittedly felt on edge. The government was requiring his assistance and they had sent Marie to get him, knowing full well what she meant to him. Or at least he thought they did. They had their eyes in everyone’s lives.

“It’s not necessarily you, per say,” Marie told him carefully, “so much as someone you know.”

Stein eyed her. She didn’t appear uncomfortable being under his scrutiny, but she never had been. While every other person averted their gaze from him or skirted around him, she never looked away from his gaze and was always upfront with him. She wasn’t afraid of him, despite his reputation. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had been; she had seen firsthand exactly what he was capable of.

“What do they want?” Stein questioned flatly.

“You’re familiar with Medusa Gorgon,” Marie said, not sounding a hint bitter. He remembered the times when they were younger and she would desperately try to avoid any conversation about girls with him. Such innocent times seemed so far away, like they weren’t even real. No, this was business for her. “Also known as-”

“The Vector Alchemist,” Stein interrupted. “Yes, I’m familiar with her.”

Marie folded her arms across her chest. “A little more than familiar, I would say. You’ve seen her work, yes?”

“Sure, along with every General that has their hands in the State Alchemist Program.”

“Actually, that isn’t true - or at least it hasn’t been in a while.” Marie sighed. It wasn’t often that the government admitted making a mistake. They liked to pretend that every bump in the road was a step in the right direction, like it was meant to happen. Tell that to the men and women that died during the Ishval War. “She disappeared a month after the last State Alchemist exam, taking all of her research with her. Many felt like she was holding out. You were in contact with her that last month.”

Fixing his glasses so that they reflected off of the light, Stein considered what was being laid before him. It was true that he had been in contact with Medusa the month after their exams, but that hadn’t been the last time he had seen her. That had been eight months ago, a full two months after she’d supposedly disappeared. She had been extremely secretive and they hadn’t met in the same location as before, but many alchemists were quite possessive of their research to the point of paranoia.

Apparently, she had been confident enough in him to show him some of her top secret alchemy research and now the government was expecting him to spill the details. Very smart of them to send Marie, who he hated lying to. He wondered if they had questioned her on her past relationship with him before sending her here.

“They need me to tell her what I know of her research?” Stein fiddled around in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes before pulling out a rather smashed up pack. Despite being a little bent, he found a usable one. “It’s not much, to be honest. She kept all of her work coded. I only saw what she me to see and only because I thought it might tie into my own research.”

“And did it?”

Stein placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit it, taking a long drag and blowing out smoke before answering. “We had different views in the end.”

Apparently that wasn’t the exact answer that Marie wanted to hear, judging by the little frown on her face. Still, she didn’t push him. She knew better than to do that. Anyone else and they would’ve started trying to interrogate him. Marie knew that if he had something to say, he would say it, and if he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t. Alchemists were tricky lots to deal with. Having grown up around them, she knew how to deal with them. Most people in the government did not.

“Regardless, the higher ups don’t really care about what you have to say about her research,” Marie explained, not bothering to wave any smoke away from her face. He was careful to blow in the opposite direction. “They would rather hear about it directly from her.”

Ah, there it was: the kicker, the true reason why they needed him. “I’m the last known person to see her. They need me in order to find her.”

“She trusted you enough to show you part of her research,” Marie pointed out. She didn’t look away from him even now. Marie trusted him too, didn’t she? And yet from the way she spoke about Medusa, she clearly didn’t like this other woman. So what did that say of him? Years had passed since they last saw each other, much longer since he saw Medusa. She had to wonder how much he had changed, especially after the war.

She had offered to stay - if he needed any help - but hadn’t given her a reason to do so. Every now and then, he couldn’t help but wonder if things would’ve turned out differently if he had. No reason to dwell on that though, not with her standing in front of him now gazing at him expectantly. Even though he hated going to Headquarters and talking to his superior officers even more, she wouldn’t have had to push him to come with her. A soft look from that single eye of hers alone would have corralled him into following her.

Pushing himself from off the couch, Stein moved to grab his white jacket when Marie made a slight noise of disapproval. Stein glanced back at her, jacket in his hands, but he didn’t need her to speak to know what she was telling him. He couldn’t help himself; he groaned out loud. “I’m not exactly a proper member of the military. Is it really necessary?”

“Yes, Franken, it is,” Marie huffed. The use of his name was both foreign and familiar. It had been a long time since anyone had said it, but she always had. “Go put on your uniform. And we’re stopping by my place before we head to HQ. I’m not stepping foot in the Fuhrer’s office sopping wet.”

Once in the Fuhrer’s office, Stein tugged uncomfortably at his uniform, just barely avoiding Marie slapping his hands away. Even though he was the leader of the country and military, the Fuhrer was an oddly cheerful man made even odder by his very uncheerful nickname, “Lord Death”. The man that had taken over the government after the Ishval War was tall and thin, pale skin stretched thin on a bony face that reminded some people of a skull. He had a white, toothy smile and youthfully cheeky voice, but his dark eyes were sharp and attentive. There was no such thing as hiding from a man like this.

Stein had only met the man once before when he was promoted in a ceremony the month after the war. It had been more for show than anything else. Anyone that knew him would’ve said that Stein didn’t give a damn about how far up he was on the ladder in the military. He’d taken the title of Major for granted after becoming a State Alchemist. The fact that he was technically a Colonel, despite having no subordinates to order around, was laughable. He had only joined the military because of the abilities it granted him with his research. Serving in the war had been an...unfortunate consequence he had considered before taking the initial exam.

During the ceremony, Marie had also been promoted to First Lieutenant, not having the same advantage of having jumped straight to Major like he had upon first joining the military. She had beamed throughout the whole thing, graciously thanking the newly appointed Fuhrer and shaking his hand, even dancing with him at one point - only to cry in her bedroom later that night. He had heard her cries through the walls, torn between leaving her alone and trying to help her, except he hadn’t known how to help her. That was the beginning of the end for them, though he couldn’t say why he thought that or if it mattered now.

The Fuhrer did not look a day older than he did during the ceremony. It had to have been almost five years and yet the man looked no different. Granted, Marie didn’t either, except for being a little more defined and perhaps more subdued, but Stein was certain that he was marginally paler, skinnier, and grayer. Being constantly indoors did not help his appearance.

“Ah, Colonel Stein, a pleasure to meet you again!” the Fuhrer exclaimed, reaching out to shake his hand. Stein was used to having larger hands than anyone, what with his long fingers, but he was curious to see that the Fuhrer’s hand was bigger than his, almost comically out of proportion with the rest of his body. “I knew that if anyone was going to be able to get you out of that dark, creepy lab, it would be Lieutenant-Colonel Mjolnir.”

Stein arched an eyebrow at that and gave Marie an appraising glance.

In response, Marie tilted her chin up. “You didn’t think I would stay where I was, did you?”

“You said that you didn’t want to make the military a career,” Stein pointed out, though not accusingly. Those hadn’t been her exact words. It was more along the lines of her being concerned that it would be more difficult for her to find a husband if she was career military. Men tended to feel...threatened by a woman higher up in the ranks. He wondered if her advancing meant that she had found someone or she had given up. Neither option seemed pleasing for some reason.

Staring back at him almost defiantly, Marie simply told him, “Things change.”

“That they do, that they do,” the Fuhrer cut in. “I can see you all have plenty to catch up on, but time is of the essence. Luckily you two will be working together on this mission.”

Marie whipped her head back to gawk at the Fuhrer. “Pardon me, sir? Together?”

“Mission?” Stein questioned, his brain having even gotten to the ‘together’ part of his statement, freezing mid-tug on his jacket. The last mission he had gone on had been being sent to the frontlines. The higher ups had known better than to ask him to be part of one again, leaving him to his lonely but important alchemy research. Being dragged back into another military mess was not high on his priority list.

“I’m sure the Lieutenant-Colonel informed you that we are searching for Medusa Gorgon in order to learn the details of her research, but that’s not the entire story,” the Fuhrer explained as he sat down behind his desk. Neither Marie nor Stein followed suit, as they had not been given leeway to sit. Stein might abhor the military and all that it stood for and even mock some of the customs, but this was the Fuhrer, after all. “We have been...made aware of crimes committed with the use of alchemy and evidence suggests that it’s the Vector Alchemist’s work. Unfortunately we have little to no idea what we’re up against and any attempt at finding her has either ended with dead ends or, to be frank, dead soldiers.”

“So you decided to send a mad dog to hunt another one?” Stein drawled dryly.

The Fuhrer smiled and it did not come off as kindly as before. “Well, dogs are good at sniffing things out, are they not? And madness has such a particular stench, especially when alchemy is concerned.”

Alchemy was dangerous. There was a reason why the government was so interested in it.

“And the reason for Marie joining?” Stein asked. Marie stiffened at his side, but said nothing. If the Fuhrer had any thoughts concerning Stein’s use of Marie’s first name instead of her military rank or surname, he made no comments. Stein was about as close to a civilian as a State Alchemist could get these days. The anti-fraternization laws were strict, but it had never been of any concern for them before, especially since they had only ever worked together during the war.

“Well, you’re not exactly trained on military protocol or used to being on missions,” the Fuhrer said. “That’s where Mjolnir comes in. She’s going to run the mission.” In other words: she was going to hold his leash. “I imagine that her people skills might come in handy.” The man had the audacity to laugh as he leaned back in his chair and watched the two of them stand awkwardly next to one another. “Besides, I figured you would want to work with her versus a stranger. I know how...prickly you can be towards people.”

That might have been an understatement, but it was true nonetheless. If he had to work with someone, Stein would have only wanted to work with Marie. Everyone else was too squeamish.

The train ride out to Eastern took far too long. Stein stayed in their assigned compartment nearly the entire time, buried in his notes as usual, while Marie toured the train. Well, she said she toured the train when he knew for a fact that she merely got lost and forgot which compartment was theirs. When he finally found her while leaving for his one trip to the bathroom, she was peeking into the wrong compartment and apologizing profusely. She was not particularly forthcoming on what she saw and sat across from him silent and red-faced the rest of the trip.

“Our contact is to meet us at the train station rather than HQ to not arise suspicion,” Marie stated as they gathered their belongings and walked off the train.

Stein paused so that he could frown at her. Their contact? So there was to be someone else on this ridiculous mission then? Why hadn’t the Fuhrer told him about this other person? It seemed that the longer this went on, the more questions that came about. How were they find answers if their own government refused to provide any?

“Took you long enough to get here, Little Mjolnir,” a familiar voice called out to them.

Marie squealed in excitement as she rushed past him, dropping her suitcase in the process. Stein was left to stand and process the situation. Being so short and their contact being so tall, she had been forced to jump in order to throw her arms around the neck of him. She was practically glowing with joy as she beamed. Stein, for his part, did little more than pick up her suitcase and carry both of their belongings forward.

“You’re our contact out East?” Stein greeted. “I didn’t think the Fuhrer would let you out of his sight.”

General Spirit Albarn scowled as he hugged Marie. When she let go out of him, he carefully let her down to her feet so that she didn’t stumble. He looked as if he had aged as little as Marie, still youthful in the face and with vibrant red hair almost to his shoulders. The uniform looked good on him, especially those stars on his shoulder. Being promoted to the Fuhrer’s right hand man had done him well - and kept him out of Stein’s field. The two of them hadn’t worked together since the War and for good reason.

It was, after all, thanks to Spirit that Stein knew so much about manipulating the soul via alchemy, whether he had been a willing participant or not.

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Spirit admitted, his glare at Stein turning into a softer look at Marie, “but certain circumstances have come up.”

“The witnesses,” Marie replied, already commiserating with him. She was much more empathetic than he was. When Stein made no reaction, both soldiers looked at him. “Did you even read the file?”

Stein slid his tongue across his teeth behind his lips and squinted at the sun. That was a sufficient answer enough for them and they both sighed in aggravation. Of course he didn’t. Stein read files only when they suited him and he knew more about the Vector Alchemist than anyone else in the military. They didn’t have anything that he didn’t already know and, even worse, they were lacking sufficient evidence. What else did he need to know?

“Trust me,” Spirit added as they walked out of the train station, “I wouldn’t be working with you if not for her.”

Stein arched a bored eyebrow. “The Vector Alchemist?”

“My daughter,” Spirit ground out irritably.

That was considerably more interesting than Stein anticipated. His other eyebrow rose in response, but he said nothing out loud. The Fuhrer had said that they had been made aware of Medusa’s crimes somehow, which he’d figured was most likely through a witness, and it appeared as if the witness was his old colleague’s daughter. Of course, if Spirit’s daughter was able to recognize Medusa’s work even a little bit, that meant…

“Your daughter is an alchemist,” Stein blurted once his train of thought finished.

Spirit smiled, looking somewhat dazed. “She’s absolutely brilliant, just like her mother.”

“How is Kami doing these days?” Stein asked.

He was not deigned an answer. Both of them knew that Kami was somewhere in Xing, traveling the world in order to learn more about alchemy. She’d been gone for over a year. The last time Stein had seen Spirit’s ex-wife, she’d been slinging a bag over her shoulders and telling him not to bother contacting her. He didn’t know why she felt obliged to tell him that. He wouldn’t have even if she hadn’t told him. She knew that. Maybe it was action itself.

“Arrangements have been made for you at the Mirage hotel near HQ,” Spirit said as if Stein hadn’t spoken. He started to walk out of the train station and they followed him to a military vehicle that was parked outside. “I didn’t think you’d want to stay in the dorms.” Before Marie could say anything, he quickly added, “Only one room, I’m afraid, but two beds. Cliche, I know, but it was last minute. I’m sorry; I’ll work to get it fixed as quickly as possible. I know that Stein is a terrible roommate.”

Honestly, Stein had benefited quite a bit during all the times Spirit had crashed on his couch whenever Kami kicked him out, much to Spirit’s own displeasure, but Marie would never have to worry about the same things as Spirit.

In fact, Marie smiled slightly at the implication. “I never had a problem with him.”

As Stein put their suitcases in the back of the truck, he caught sight of Spirit shaking his head. Spirit had never been able to understand how Marie was able to live with Stein in peace. Along with Kami, the four of them had grown close during the war, the taint on their souls bonding them in ways that even Stein recognized as different and perhaps even important. It had also torn them apart in the end. Stein never wondered what their lives might have been if none of them had been shipped off to the frontlines, but he knew Marie did.

That kind of thing left a stain on a person. He did wonder if that was when her dreams about getting married and living happily ever after had started to dissolve.

Even though Spirit held the front passenger door open for her, Marie shook her head. “I’ll take the back.” She wiggled a foot in the air, looking small even in her military boots. “I’m smaller.”

Spirit did not look exactly pleased at having Stein sit up front with him, but he didn’t complain either. Marie hopped in the back while Stein slid in the front. He’d forced his tall body into odd and uncomfortable positions before, but Marie was all about being a mediator. He had a suspicious feeling that she was trying to force Stein and Spirit together so that they might mend the tattered remains of their old friendship. Stein honestly didn’t know if it was worth it or if Spirit would be a willing participant.

“I’ll drop you off so you can get settled,” Spirit told them as he started the truck. “It’s late and a school night for Maka, so we’ll convene at HQ tomorrow at 8 and conduct Maka’s interview during her study hall.”

It struck Stein as interesting that they weren’t jumping on things immediately, regardless of Maka being in school, but he said nothing. The rest of the drive was silent, which suited Stein. Smalltalk had never been one of his fortes. Manipulating previously unheard of and volatile alchemy on the other hand was, which made him both a better and dangerous fit for this mission. While he had known right from the get go that Medusa was a horrible person, she was also a brilliant alchemist and, horrific or not, he’d like to get a glimpse of her research before handing it over to the government. It wasn’t like the government wasn’t going to try to use it for their own benefit anyways.

They’d used Stein’s alchemy research, after all, to dramatic effect.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, Stein caught Marie gazing at him, but she quickly averted her gaze to outside the window and the passing buildings. His fingers twitched on top of his thighs. How did it always seem like Marie knew when his thoughts were turning darker?

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marjaystuff · 4 years

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Elise Cooper’s Guest Review of No Ordinary Dog by Will Chesney

No Ordinary Dog by Will Chesney with Joe Layden shows why dogs are man’s best friend. The canine four-legged patriots put their lives on the line for their partners but also to keep Americans safe. The heart of the book is the love between a man and his dog. Although both are elite soldiers, ultimately, they were a man and dog that had a bond like no other.

This July 4th, Americans should remember why it is important to celebrate. Chesney and his dog Cairo served gallantly to make sure that that their fellow citizens were able to enjoy inalienable rights endowed equally to all including life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Some might remember the name, Cairo, since this Belgian Malinois military working dog went on the mission to get Osama bin Laden along with his handler Will and approximately two dozen others. They were able to find and kill the man who wanted to take away all the liberties. Everyone on that mission, except Cairo received a Silver Star for their “gallantry in action against an enemy of the United States.” Will was disappointed because he felt that Cairo risked just as much.

But the book does not begin with that mission but with Will, a recent high school graduate, deciding he wants to be a Navy SEAL. The first part of the book has details of SEAL training. The next portion of the book talks about how the military acquires their Combat Attack Dogs and goes about training them. But the meat of the story begins in 2008 when Will decided to become a Navy dog handler and he met his partner, Cairo. They worked side by side, depending on each other for survival on hundreds of critical operations in the war on terrorism. The book ends with Will and Cairo together helping each overcome their emotional and physical wounds. Will was recovering from TBI, while Cairo from his many wounds received while a military dog.

Will told how he feels privileged while serving alongside “some of the bravest and best men you could ever hope to meet. I also had the distinct honor of working and living with an unusual and unsung hero, a four-legged warrior named Cairo. He did everything expected of his human counterparts, and he did it with unblinking loyalty and unwavering courage. I would have taken a bullet for him, and he did in fact take one for me. Cairo became my dog. And I was his dad.”

When asked if he agrees with the quote by Senator Martha McSally in her book, Dare To Fly, “I wouldn’t have survived this far without the unconditional love of the furry, four-legged angels in my life. You can make it through nearly anything if you come home to the love of a dog who brings smiles, joy, and a coat to dry all tears.”

He responded, “Definitely yes! Anyone who has ever shared his life with a dog understands the symbiotic nature of the relationship. A dog relies on us for sustenance and shelter, while they respond with love and loyalty that is unconditional. Take that relationship and multiply it tenfold and that is the bond forged between a military handler and their dog.”

Cairo was a dog with athletic ability, sensory gifts, and a tireless work ethic. Yet, he was also affectionate with a laid-back demeanor. Will describes it “as throwing a switch. When it was time to go to work, he would work. There was also something else that made him special, a ferocious drive to perform and serve with his human counterparts in Special Operations. He could sniff out an IED, saving dozens of lives, or find the bad guys. But he knew when we went home it was time to hang out. He and I would sit on the coach and watch movies together or eat steak together. I could sleep right next to him and trust him with strangers and children. He was in many ways my closest friend.”

To show what a special dog Cairo was there is a scene in the book where, in Afghanistan, they encountered some insurgents. Cairo could help neutralize the enemy by taking away their advantage, the ability to hide. He was following the scent, weaving in and out of the trees. Then, shots rang out. He came upon two terrorists and engaged one of them. The other one shot at Cairo, who was hit in the chest and leg. This revealed the insurgent’s position, which saved SEAL lives. After hearing Will call out his name, Cairo was able to find his way back, collapsing from a nearly shattered leg and a gaping chest wound.

Will explained, “He was treated just like a soldier, one of the family of brothers. The medic came up and stuffed gauze into the chest wound. Within a few minutes a medevac helicopter came and flew us back to Sharana where a team of doctors worked on him for hours. These were physicians who normally treated human soldiers. He was treated just like any other soldier. They didn’t treat Cairo like a dog, but simply as a wounded member of the US Armed Forces. They performed an emergency tracheotomy to open his airway and inserted chest tubes. They put a brace on his leg to stabilize the wound and to keep his femur from falling apart. He was then put on a plane bound for Bagram Airfield where there were veterinary staff. While recovering he had rehab and then back to Lackland Air Force base in Texas. Eventually he recovered and was able to resume his life as a critical member of our team.”

Through thick and thin Will and Cairo were there for each other. Starting in 2012 Will had debilitating and painful headaches, probably caused from a grenade blast experienced in Afghanistan. The headaches had become chronic, which caused depression that led to self-medication. To make matters worse, there was the fact that he had an undiagnosed traumatic brain injury. He became confused and angry and terrified. His hair was falling out from the stress. What finally helped him was stopping by the kennel to play with Cairo, which is when he decided that he wanted Cairo to retire with him.

“I wanted him to be with me and my girlfriend Natalie. He had earned a better life that included chilling at home with dad, eating a steak, running loose in the yard or at the beach, watching TV, sleeping wherever the hell he wanted to sleep. Cairo had served his country honorably, saving my life and countless others. It seemed only right that he gets a chance to have a few happy and relaxing years. I felt he needed me, and I sure needed him. In April 2014 he came home.”

What makes Will special as an author is that he can put into words what others are feeling. Anyone who is a dog lover and who has lost a dog can relate to what Will said in the book. The story does not “end on a high note. It never does with dogs, right? Someone once said that buying a dog is like buying a small tragedy. You know on the first day how it all will turn out. But that’s not the point, is it? It’s the journey that counts, what you give the dog and what you get in return.” He directly noted, “Our relationship was based on mutual respect, trust, and love.”

Readers will take a journey with Will. They will get to know Cairo, and understand the relationship that forges between a dog and handler. This book is informative, heartfelt, and also a heart-wrenching memoir about a Navy Seal and his bond with Cairo, a Belgian Malinois, designated a combat assault dog. As Will said in summarizing their relationship, “Cairo gave me more than I ever imagined, probably more than I deserved. The bond is crazy.”

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healthandfitnessrecipes-blog · 6 years

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How a Public Suicide Harms the People Who See It

https://healthandfitnessrecipes.com/?p=5055

One evening last March, Nancy Bacon saw a stranger die. She had just touched down in Toronto and set off for a business meeting, chatting on her phone as she navigated the rush-hour traffic of the financial district. She was jaywalking, hurrying across a particularly busy street, when a fire extinguisher seemed to fall from the sky, smashing to the ground just a few feet away from her.

“I was actually annoyed,” she says. Her first thought was that some mischievous kid had thrown the extinguisher through a window high above. But when she lifted her gaze, Bacon’s annoyance turned to horror. What she witnessed next would haunt her for months. “I saw the guy falling,” she says. “I saw him hit the ground.”

Bacon looked on as the police arrived and attempted CPR. She noticed that the man’s shoe had come off.

A suicide can be dangerous to those closest to the victim, leaving family and friends vulnerable to depression and self-harm. When the act is committed in public, any incidental observers are left to grapple with it, too. While studies on witnessing strangers’ suicide are scarce, a small body of research—alongside a larger body of anecdotes—has begun to show that the experience can be damaging, even traumatic.

Each year in the United States, approximately 45,000 people kill themselves. There’s little data on how many of these suicides occur in public view, and even less on how many people witness them when they do. One study analyzed all completed suicides in Riverside County, California, from 1998 to 2001, and estimated that around 17 percent took place in public places, like roads, railways, and fields. Another study, from 1994, reviewed forensic reports of 1,183 suicides among people affiliated with the U.S. Air Force and found that 4 percent were committed in the presence of at least one other person.

Ashley Tate Hatton was studying for her Ph.D. at the California School of Professional Psychology when she saw the controversial documentary The Bridge, about people who leap from San Francisco’s iconic Golden Gate Bridge. Watching the victims fall—even on camera—Hatton felt queasy, complicit. When it came time to choose a subject for her dissertation, she decided to study the effects of witnessing suicide in real life. She posted ads around campus and online, and to her surprise, soon found a small group of people who had seen strangers take (or attempt to take) their own lives.

“I thought it was a long shot,” she says. She hadn’t realized how common an experience it was. “I didn’t have to travel outside of Southern California—I was prepared for that.”

Three of Hatton’s subjects had seen people jump from bridges, three from a building; two had seen people shoot themselves; three had seen people step in front of vehicles. One of the subjects, a man in his 50s, was waiting for a bus when a young man threw himself in the path of an oncoming van. For the next several days, the onlooker thought about it constantly. He became obsessed with the precariousness of life, and told Hatton that he began to feel as though “every second could be [his] last.” When she met him three years later, she found that he no longer ruminated incessantly about the memory, but he still dreamed about it from time to time. He told her he had become a more cautious driver; he worried about running someone over.

All but one of Hatton’s subjects said that they considered the experience traumatic, and one, according to Hatton, met the criteria for chronic post-traumatic stress disorder. (Those who had been more involved—who had called 911 or tried to talk the victim down from the ledge—tended to be more affected.) Nine of the 10 said that pictures about the event popped into their minds; six admitted they thought about it without meaning to; three had physical reactions when they were reminded of the event, including sweating, nausea, and trouble breathing. Eight said that the experience had a significant impact on their lives, including one who started volunteering at the Red Cross, and two who resolved not to act on their own suicidal fantasies.

Hatton’s sample was small, and people who would sign up for her study were probably more shaken than average. “When you have only a few people who experienced something, you have no idea how representative they are,” points out George Bonanno, a professor of clinical psychology and the director of the Loss, Trauma, and Emotion Lab at Columbia University. Still, projects like Hatton’s are a start. “There’s surprisingly little research on the nuances of different traumatic events,” Bonanno says.

Last spring, a young man leapt from the building next to the one I was in. I didn’t see him jump, but I heard him land; I thought it was a clap of thunder. A woman I was interviewing in that moment gasped, so I turned and followed her gaze. I can still see the scene outside the window: an empty pair of pants dangling over the ledge of the low roof that had broken his fall, a human arm sticking out an unnatural angle. I heard the man moaning, and I saw a woman who appeared to be his mother crying in the street, reaching up to touch his foot. I didn’t know what to do; I felt useless as other members of the lab ran out with a ladder to help the woman reach her son.

That evening, I violated Amtrak’s noise policy by crying on the Quiet Car. I had violent nightmares: that a teenager was teetering on a ledge; that an acquaintance was threatening to jump in front of a train. I talked with friends about what I’d seen. I spent an afternoon trying to find out whether the man had lived. I gave up, the dreams faded, and I don’t think about it much anymore. The memory remains clear, upsetting even, but I wouldn’t call it traumatic.

Teresa Lopez-Castro, an assistant professor of psychology at City College of New York, emphasizes that most people who experience or witness trauma don’t go on to develop PTSD, even if—as I did—they experience distress in the weeks or month following the trauma. She pointed to a comprehensive 1995 study that found more than half of adults in the United States reported being exposed to a potentially traumatic event at some point in their lives, but only about 5 percent of men and 10 percent of women ultimately develop PTSD. Nonetheless, Lopez-Castro notes, “witnessing the violent death of a person—whether it be a stranger or a loved one—certainly carries the potential for causing psychological distress, and places the individual at risk for developing post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Bacon, the woman who witnessed the suicide in Toronto, always thought of herself as tough. She has traveled, mostly by herself, to 66 countries; she has been nipped in the ribs by a lion. But the day after seeing a stranger fall to his death, she walked around the city in a daze. “I thought every single person I passed was going to kill me,” she says, even though she recognized this as “a completely irrational fear.”

When she got home, she began combing through Toronto obituaries. She hoped that learning more about the stranger would help her process what she had seen, but she never definitively found the right person. She made her first-ever appointment with a psychologist. And she talked about it with whoever would listen. “There is not a single friend, client, colleague, 7-Eleven employee” who didn’t hear about it, she says. (Hatton—who’s now a clinical psychologist specializing in PTSD—says that sharing the experience is a “very important” part of recovery.)

Still, Bacon suffered from nightmares and night terrors for weeks. “I was kicking and tossing and turning so much I ripped the sheets off my bed, ” she says. She never used to lock her doors at night; now, more than a year later, she says she bolts both her front and bedroom doors.

The experience has changed how she relates to others and how she thinks about mental health. She started donating to suicide hotlines, and she’s become more proactive about reaching out to friends who are struggling. “If I see a negative post or even a drunk post on Facebook or Twitter, I don’t ask them if they need help,” she says. “I go to them.”

https://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/mt/2018/05/GettyImages_478204951/lead_960.jpg Credits: Original Content Source

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trendingnewsb · 7 years

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The humanity at the center of ‘Rick and Morty’s’ rick-diculousness

When there's no one to blame but yourself

Image: adult swim

Like its mad scientist protagonist, at times it feels like Rick and Morty does everything in its power to remain unlikeable.

Grotesque, crass, nihilistic, confrontational, distressing, and almost insufferably up-its-own-ass intelligent — it’s actually the show’s undeniable heart (and tendency to rip it out of your chest) that grounds the sci-fi juggernaut in issues that can hit a little too close to home.

If Rick and Morty has ever made you uncomfortable, you’re not alone. And, actually, not outside the intentions of its creators.

“We always saw this show as our little darling that was supposed to have nothing to do with success, or attention, or pleasing people,” co-creator Dan Harmon recently told us.

On those first two accounts, he and fellow mastermind Justin Roiland failed miserably.

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ co-creator slays trolls harassing its female writers

This season, Rick and Morty is up 81% year over year, and has become the #1 comedy on TV among adults 18-24 and adults 18-34, according to Nielsen’s Live+7 ratings — putting it ahead of primetime favorites like The Big Bang Theory and Modern Family. The critical praise for Rick and Morty remains damn near unanimous.

As the Season 3 finale approaches on Sunday, Oct. 1, it appears Rick and Morty has transitioned from cult favorite into full-on cultural phenomenon in just a few months, since the premiere in April.

But the metamorphosis goes far beyond ratings. Over the course of the season, we watched a show that did all it could to alienate itself from everyone turn into a show that’s about as personal and intimate as a nightmarish Thanksgiving at granny’s house.

The familiarity that grounds Rick and Morty‘s universe(s)

Since Day 1, the series has reveled in an unrelenting, disconcerting kind of honesty. But when Season 3 promised to be the “darkest” one yet, no one really understood what that meant. More gore, presumably — plus the soul-crushing existential dread we’ve come to know and love.

Then the premiere finally aired. Both gore and existentialism abound in Rick’s annihilation of not one but two planetary systems of governance. But the most disturbing twist of all in “The Rickshank Redemption” cut deeper than even species-wide genocide.

A scene all too familiar to anyone who’s attended a family dinner

Image: adult swim

And it took place in the family garage, without a drop of blood being spilled.

Mere seconds after Beth declares she’ll never let her father come between her and Jerry’s marriage again, the devil himself portals back into her life uninvited.

“Guess who dismantled the government?” he declares as an apology for abandoning his daughter (again).

Without so much as a blink, Beth wrestles out of her husband’s embrace to crawl back into daddy’s arms like a beaten puppy to its abuser. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I never will, baby.”

From there on out, we can only watch in horror as Grandpa Rick’s reign of terror takes hold of the house. Having manipulated Jerry out of the picture, Rick reveals his psychotic plan to his grandson — globs of alcohol-induced spittle flying from his deranged mouth:

“I’ve rep[burps]laced them both as the de facto patriarch of your family and your universe. Your mom wouldn’t have accepted me if I came home without you and your sister, so now you know the real reason I rescued you. Oh! I just took over the family, Morty!”

Yup. Definitely getting darker.

How Season 3 transcended itself (by accident)

To anyone who’s ever been a member of a family, these scenes of dysfunction feel unshakeable.

You know this man, the de facto patriarch, who manipulates himself into the center of everyone’s universe, only to abandon them at every opportunity. Or perhaps you know his daughter, wine glass perpetually in hand, struggling to fit a role she never suited, while enjoying herself most with the poor robotic approximations of her children programmed to emote only supportive affirmations toward her behavior.

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ went super Freudian in ‘Pickle Rick’ and it was perfection

Maybe you’re the kids, watching helplessly from the backseat, as the insurmountable truth that none of the adults know what the fuck they’re doing dawns on you. That, in fact, nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing.

The psychological damage stemming from the collapse of their traditional family unit ripples through nearly every episode of Season 3 with stinging authenticity. The sci-fi premises that used to define the show’s boldness have become more of a backdrop, as week to week the tragedy of a family fighting to put their ill-fitting, broken pieces back together unfolds. Only to fail. Again and again.

Rick and Morty has become one of the starkest portraits of familial love, and our endless capacity to care for and destroy the people we’re closest to — often simultaneously.

This shift has surprised perhaps no one more than the show’s own creators.

“If anything we were trying get back to basics,” Harmon said. “We were just chasing the initial dream — that joy of infinite possibilities that we got from Season 1… and I guess along the way we screwed up and made Breaking Bad instead.”

Whether intentional or not, the numbers don’t lie. Rick and Morty is striking a cord of universality that it never has before. But in typical Rick and Morty fashion, that universality doesn’t come from any place of comfort.

It stems from the shared agony of being alive, and stumbling through the illogical reality of human existence.

The two major emotional themes of the season have personal relevance to Harmon in particular. For one, in between Season 2 and 3, he started going through his own divorce. For another, he got himself into therapy.

“In previous seasons, the height of my introspection had to do with how angry I was at NBC. Or humankind in general,” he said, referring to his disastrous experience as the creator of the beloved but niche NBC show, Community. “The big shift [of Season 3] is that I don’t have anything to be angry at, except myself.”

In one of Harmon’s favorite episodes of the season, “Pickle Rick,” the once infallible and all-powerful patriarch can be seen on a therapist’s couch. Having turned himself into a literal pickle to avoid dealing with the damage he’s inflicted on his own family, Rick looks positively dwarfed in the seat.

And, for the first time in Rick and Morty history, a character bests the smartest man in the universe.

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ Season 3 returns with a blood-soaked ‘Mad Max’ family therapy session

“You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse. And I think it’s because the only truly unapproachable concept for you is that it’s your mind within your control,” therapist Dr. Wong tells him. “You chose to become a pickle. You are the master of your universe, and yet you are dripping with rat blood and feces.”

Before their time runs out, Dr. Wong tries one more appeal: “The bottom line is, some people are okay going to work [in therapy], and some people well, some people would rather die. Each of us gets to choose.”

For Harmon, this scene was the most clear demonstration of his own transformation as a writer and person.

“I don’t know if I could’ve written that two years ago,” he said. “Two years ago, I would’ve made sure Rick got the final word.” For once, he didn’t.

This is sad: Dan Harmon recently got divorced, so this is Rick and Morty Season 2 Credits vs Season 3 http://pic.twitter.com/P2UizjHmWU

— Chandler Balli (@CinematicEX) April 3, 2017

“I wanted to make sure Dr. Wong’s response came from a place of, ‘well, don’t let yourself off the hook — just because you’re mad and alone. That doesn’t make you above other people who just want to get better. And it doesn’t make you beneath them, either.'”

In Season 3, Rick and Morty managed to pull off its biggest, darkest turn of all. To the utter shock of an audience desensitized to all things blood, guts, and abject atheism, the show transformed from one of infinite comedic cleverness, into one of equal and biting emotional intelligence.

The human heart at the center of the Mr. Poopy Butthole

“It feels like we swam the English Channel, got across, then somebody said: ‘that was amazing how you outran that shark that was trying to eat you,'” Harmon said in reference to Rick and Morty‘s explosion into popularity. “It’s just like… ‘what? No, I was trying to swim the English Channel.'”

He paused to reconsider. “Actually, it’s the opposite: you were swimming away from a shark, and then told you coincidentally swam the English Channel.”

For a show with an ethos that insists it does not care about people, the world, or the senseless pain it inflicts — Rick and Morty understands human nature in a way that few other shows do.

Addressing a popular fan debate over the source of their mad scientist’s drinking problem, Harmon noted that he remembered Roiland saying that “the day we find out the ‘one’ reason why Rick drinks, the show’s over. Because nobody drinks for one reason.”

He added, “I mean, none of your friends have origin stories, either. Real people are defined by their own undefinability. Out of all the unreal things, I think the most real thing about Rick is that you don’t know what makes him tick or where he’s coming from.”

The humanity and cruelty of Pickle Rick

Image: adult swim

We can make guesses. Like with our own family members, we can take Rick at his word when he says “as far as Grandpa’s concerned, you’re both pieces of shit!” Or we can see him for what he is: a walking contradiction, like the rest of us, with all the redeeming and irredeemable qualities that make us human.

Perhaps the most central question driving the tension of Rick and Morty throughout the course of the series is whether or not Rick actually loves his grandson (or is even capable of love at all). But much like our real-world relationships, the answer is a double-edged sword.

“If you really really loved someone, and [like Rick] also knew the universe was a meaningless gaping mouth waiting to eat innocent life alive — it could take the form of telling that person over and over again that they mean nothing. That you don’t care about them,” Harmon points out.

If you’re a person who’s ever lived, breathed, and dared to try and connect with another person, that internal conflict likely carries an unsettling resonance.

Ironically, it’s not the surreal circus of infinite multiverses, microverses, interdimensional space travel, alien planets, sex robots, Mr. Poopy Buttholes, or even Birdpeople that makes Rick and Morty stand out.

Instead — more than any other drama, comedy, or live action show before it — the most unprecedented thing the show ever did was to further commit to its stark, unvarnished realism.

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