#this scene is all freshly rewritten

[dark-ethereal-visions]

Short Story Excerpt: Night Terrors

This was another story that I had written years ago and lost when an earlier computer crashed. I’ve rewritten the story and I’m still amazed by how much of it I remembered. The plot and characters all seemed to flow from my fingertips just as though they would have if I’d had the first copy as a reference.

Night Terrors is more of an urban horror, dealing with the consequences of moving people in and out of tract housing as though there’s never anything left behind. Lydia and her neighbors quickly discover that some things do get left behind. When that happens in Night Terrors, Lydia quickly finds that it’s the new occupant who is left to deal with the ethereal fallout.

Get a glimpse of that which gets left behind in Night Terrors here:

     Her first glance told her that everything seemed normal. Jacob was sleeping soundly and everything else in the room appeared still and silent. Releasing a sigh of relief and silently chiding herself for letting her emotions get so worked up, she started backing out of the room. Then, just as she started to turn her head away from the quiet scene, she saw them.

     Her vision locked upon those two, narrow, yellow eyes and they, in turn, fixed upon her. The hideousness of the creature belonging to those eyes was apparent even in the dark night and still darker shadows. It was a large, black thing, nearly seven feet, judging by the awkward crouch it had taken upon Jacob's headboard. Its shiny, black claws dug into the soft wood. Its arms, nearly twice as long as its legs, rested upon its muscular thighs. As the creature grinned at Lydia and bared its jagged teeth, blood or saliva (it was difficult to tell which in the darkness) drooled from the fangs. The thing was covered in fur from head to toe and even its wings, visible only when it moved one of its arms, was cloaked in that same short, coarse hair.

     It leapt from its perch with such speed and stealth that Lydia was nose to nose with the beast before she even realized it had moved. It circled her, always keeping its black lips close to her neck, and flicked its thin, forked tongue at her quivering flesh as it hissed.

     "What do you want?"

     She was terrified, but she tried to sound forceful. Even so, she was certain it still sensed her fear.

     "Yes-s-s, I do want s-s-something from you. Until I get it, the boy sleeps-s-s."

     "If you hurt my son..."

     It attacked from behind, wrapping its long limbs around her body and digging its talons into the flesh of her face just deep enough to draw blood.

     "What will you do, Whore-Pig? This-s-s is-s-s not your world. This-s-s is-s-s my world. S-s-so be wis-s-se." It lowered its already soft yet unmistakably masculine voice to a whisper. "Be s-s-silent."

     "Just tell me why you're here."

     The creature released its grip on her, but only so it could resume the steady circling of its prey. This time, however, its tongue did not flicker at her flesh. Instead, the sound of the beast lapping her blood from its talons, much like a kitten slurping cream from a saucer, echoed throughout the room. It stopped just behind Lydia, resting its pointed chin upon her shoulder while its long, bony fingers reached around the right side of her face. The creature dipped its talons into the fresh gash it had left in her cheek. How many times had she smacked Jacob's hand for dipping his fingers into a freshly iced cake in just that same manner? She wanted to do more than simply smack him and she would have...had she known more about him or what he meant about being in his world.

     "Our homes-s-s were des-s-stroyed to make room for your homes-s-s. We're now los-s-st. It's-s-s plain. Lead us-s-s to our new res-s-sting grounds-s-s."

     "If I do?"

     "Your s-s-son will awaken from his s-s-sleep."

Experience all nine stories in Whispers From Hell: An Anthology of Horror & the Supernatural.

Follow these links to get your ebook or paperback copy:

Amazon Paperback

Amazon Kindle

Barnes & Noble Nook

[daswarschonkaputt]

on the rocks sneak peek #3

damn kaputt back at it again with that wip wednesday

on the rocks | kinn/porsche/tay | wip snippet ~600 words (this one’s from chapter two)

Tay finds the bar because he’s sick of people recognising him when he’s trying to forget who he is. He finds Porsche along with it.

“Enjoying singledom?” Porsche asks, because he’s not interested in starting a fight that he has technically already won. “You wear it well.”

Tay does.

Since coming back to Yok’s, Tay’s looked—rejuvenated, not just in mood, but in appearance. It casts an unhappy shadow back on their first meeting, the realisation that Tay was so muted back then – in mood, in hair colour, in dress.

Porsche doesn’t really know how to describe Tay’s sense of style – for something that seems so deliberate and consistent, it doesn’t really fit into any of the categories of clothes Porsche is familiar with. Dubiously business casual is Porsche’s best attempt. Tay’s clothes are patently designer, feminine enough to raise eyebrows, but technically modest.

Tonight, he’s wearing a collared mesh shirt, with a skinny black tie that feeds down into a black corset that’s fastened around his torso. Porsche can’t see beyond the bar, but he’d bet his life’s earnings that Tay’s wearing heels, too. The overall effect of the outfit paired with Tay’s make-up – lips just a little too dark to be considered nude, eyes smudged with eyeliner and a hint of shadow, the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks – is something close to dominatrix goes to a board meeting.

It looks good. Tay always looks good. Porsche wants desperately to stare just as much as he knows it is a categorically bad idea.

“I’m trying,” Tay says, snapping Porsche back to his body, his hands, and the drink he’s meant to be making. “Some days I feel like I’m one lonely night away from buying an army of cats and taking up knitting.”

The image of Tay in frumpy knitwear sticks in Porsche’s mind for as long as it takes him to realise that Tay would look good, bare legs stretching out beneath an oversized sweater, at which point he forcibly halts the progress of his thoughts. “And other nights?”

Tay’s smile is impish. “I think about waxing my legs and hiring a pool boy. Functionally, the only thing separating me and all the other rich divorcees is the fact that it wasn’t legal for me to marry – so I think I deserve to enjoy some of the trappings of my station, at least.”

Porsche does not think about Tay’s legs. He drops a scoop of ice into the cocktail shaker, and jams on the lid. “And where am I in this fantasy, Khun Tay?” he asks. “Does being a rich divorcee preclude you from back alley cocktail bars?”

Tay shrugs. “It might,” he says. “But if it does, I’m sure I can find a space in my harem of pool boys for you.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Porsche says. “Before it was just one, and now it’s a harem. I see where I stand in your eyes.”

Tay’s gaze is soft, and sincere. “You’d be my favourite.”

Oh. That’s—

Porsche’s hands stutter on the cocktail shaker. He feels a flush crawl up his neck against his will. That’s—

Jom’s words resound in his head. You know it’s not kind.

It’s like a shot of cold water down his back. Porsche grasps the cocktail shaker with all his might, shaking together Tay’s drink just a little more harshly than usual.

Tay tilts his head at him. “Too far?” he asks, once Porsche has started to strain out his drink.

No. Tay never pushes Porsche too far. Even—sitting on the floor of Porsche’s living room, with a debt worth 500,000 baht hanging between them, Tay hadn’t pushed Porsche too far. But—it’s not kind.

Porsche can’t lie. He just—can’t. “No,” he says, eventually, a touch too late and a touch too quiet. He slides Tay’s drink across to him. “No, you’re good.”

Tay watches him closely for a few moments, like he doesn’t believe him. Porsche makes himself smile, even as his thoughts turn and his stomach fills with dread.

He’s—he’s going to have to do something about this, isn’t he?

[goodluckbabe2024]

i can not live without my life! | 1.4k | ao3

Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”

A continuation of “Do not leave me in this abyss.” Done with prayers, Dean turns to action and ventures into the Empty, confronted with Cas’ worst memories.

(You do not need to read "Do not leave me in this abyss" to understand it but there are references to it)

He thought making it into the Empty had been the hard part. Over a month of effort, no sleep, and an embarrassing amount of tears in front of Rowena, and Dean’s here, where angels and demons go to die. But Winchesters don’t stay dead and damn Dean if he’s going to let Cas be the exception.  

The Empty, for lack of a better word, though he’s sure Sam would tease him for this, is extremely empty. It reminds him of those victims of an angel’s smiting, their eyes burned out with only empty sockets left. This is what they’d see, this is what Pamela did see: nothing. An absence. The void incarnate.  

Before he started the mission, he had sat in his room with a blade and cut the handprint out of the jacket, choosing to ruin the item for the sake of the handprint rather than lug the whole jacket in and risk being bogged down by it. Now, Dean stands in the middle of the Empty clutching it, praying the blood will work as the promised lifeline to Cas. 

He doesn’t know how much time he passes just walking forward, feeling like a fool. Sam and Rowena had warned him that he didn’t have an infinite amount of time in the Empty, so he had to work fast. He just wishes they’d warned him about how it was impossible to tell time at all in this place.  

The human mind isn’t meant to withstand a prison for demons and angels, and Dean can almost hear his brain break when he sees a shape in the not-darkness. The handprint curled up in his hand heats briefly, as if the blood is freshly spilled. Dean runs and runs as the shape melts into a trench-coated one, an angel whose normally electric blue eyes have dimmed with the weight of the Empty.  

“Cas,” he calls out, voice rough. He sprints forward, hand reaching out to—  

Colors. There are colors again. He’s back in the bunker, back in his room and Dean kicks the chair in frustration, sick satisfaction coursing through him at the bang that resonates. If only he had been faster, adjusted to the Empty sooner. He starts to turn towards the door to find Sam when his bedside table catches his eye.  

It’s too clean, like before Cas’ confession, before everything, when living life was more than just going through the motions. More than that: there are two of them. The last time he had had the hope to have two bedside tables was that fleeting moment when Cas was human and Dean didn’t know what to do with himself, before Gadreel let the weight come crashing down.  

Sprinting out of the room, Dean makes his way towards the map table, cursing his lack of exercise these past few weeks. Cas, he needs to make it to Cas. He rounds the corner just in time to hear his own voice say you can’t stay and watch Cas’ shattered face as his home is taken from him once more. Dean opens his mouth to call out, to tell him not to listen, when Cas’ gaze shifts to him and the world shifts around him.  

It’s hot and everything is shaking and despite the ring of fire around Cas and the way Dean knows he’s the one that put it there he can’t help but admire the way it lights Cas up, casting shadows across his face. Dean watches himself, Bobby, and Sam run out of the room and the way that, despite all the betrayals, he still turned around. Then the building shakes and his past self flees and it's just Dean and Cas.  

“Cas you’ve got to listen to me,” Dean roars over the shaking, knowing what’s coming for them. He never actually asked how Cas escaped the holy fire, the memory too tender to ever touch. “Cas this isn’t real, you’re trapped in the Empty. I’m here to save you.”  

It’s as if there’s a hurricane centered above them. He watches Cas glance anxiously around the room, still trapped. His eyes land on Dean and Dean starts forward, blocked by the holy fire he laid out so long ago.  

“Cas, I—” Dean tries to say. The memory changes again.  

And Dean’s screaming, screaming at the light and the pressure and the way his head is too fragile for this place, a tin can crushed on the highway.  

He hears the name Naomi and then a startled Dean before the scene moves on again.  

This isn’t like flipping through channels, this is Dean’s mind trying to process the worst memories of an angel. He gasps, clutching his head and doubling over. His left hand still clutching the bloody fabric brushes against a familiar material. The trench coat. Colors and shapes and objects that he has no language to describe flicker past his sight but over and over again Dean is confronted with his own face.  

“Cas please,” Dean begs, hand tight around both the handprint and the trench coat. He doesn’t have it in himself to get up off of what passes for a floor, nervous system too shocked for higher functioning.  

He draws in a ragged breath, eyes squeezed shut against the assault. “You don’t have to do this to yourself. You don’t have to let anyone do this to you. You shouldn’t—you’re worth more. To Jack, to Sam, to Claire. To me, Cas. You’re worth more than all of this to me. I’m sorry I ever made you feel different.  

“I don’t know if you’ve been hearing my prayers, but I’ve been thinking about what you said, why you left me and Cas, I hate it when you leave me. Even when I’m so angry at you I could scream I never want you to leave me. But you did and you didn’t give me a choice otherwise.”  

He doesn’t know if humans have to breathe in the Empty but if they did, Dean would be in danger. He pushes on, forcing himself to speak.  

“I forgive you, Cas,” Dean says. “And I hope you can forgive me too."  

Silence. Blissful silence.  

The void is back, an undarkness so thick and heavy that it’s the belly of a beast. Not an absence of light, but that any light at all was an absence of this. And there, above him, making it safe and right and good is Cas.  

Dean knows that they’re fucked up. That even he’s rewritten his own memories to survive, a fiction created so he wouldn’t have to cope with the fact that Cas didn’t want him enough to stay. But Cas’ memories? What Dean just saw? That wasn’t coping, that was putting your neck on the chopping block with an X to mark the spot. The one-way street of prayer wasn’t enough—they need to talk. But that’s for the future, when time isn’t a noose hanging above them.  

Cas looks down at him and blinks, the darkness seeping from his eyes to be replaced by their natural blue. Dean’s breath catches in his throat as he rises to his feet, words fleeing his mind. Every prayer from these last few weeks, every dream and desperate plea that he could do this and now he’s in front of Cas and—  

“Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” Cas rasps, looking Dean up and down.  

Despite it all, Dean laughs sharp and bright, a noise unlike any the Empty has ever heard.  

“Skip ahead, Cas,” Dean says, taking a step forward. “What you’re trying to say is ‘I love you.’”  

Cas stops, his gaze heavy on Dean’s. “What?”  

His eyes are blue, blue, blue against the backdrop and Dean doesn’t know how he ever confused those false memories for life when life was right in front of him waiting for an answer.  

“I said,” Dean begins. “I love you.”  

“I love you too.”  

“You’re supposed to say ‘I kn—”  

The press of lips against his cuts him off, warmth and the scent of lightning, not unlike when he was electrocuted all those years ago the first time he nearly died and his faith was called into question. But this is no false god or preacher. It’s his arms around the man he loves and believes in and, ditching his inhibitions, Dean kisses Cas back.

[loftec]

It’s been four years today since I put up the first chapter of NTW. Let’s celebrate with a new chapter, and a couple of sneaky extras.

I have been editing old NTW chapters (which has been slow, painful, discouraging work) and it felt impossible to write new chapters before I had finished the edit. I am not finished, but I reached the roguish chapter 20 last week and managed to talk myself into a bit of a compromise. So,

here is chapter 43, effing finally

and a lengthy account of this editing malarky under the cut:

This is a strange one, and I’m not sure what you’re going to think about it. Will this upset you? Have I ruined something you liked? I don’t know. I just know that it’s been four years (FOUR YEARS) and I really just needed to do this. So I’m going to go through the whole process with you here, to catch you up on why and what, and where.

(If you’re not interested in these changes, or in reading my rambling explanation, please have this PDF of NTW chapters 1-42, unedited.)

So. 

Why!

I have been writing this story for a long time, and I was in a very different place when I started it. I’m hopefully better at writing, now, and I have a slightly different approach to how I write. Every time someone commented that they just started reading NTW, I would feel really awkward about it, because I knew there were specific weak points in the first half that I wish I had managed better when I wrote them. So I decided to go back and edit a little, no big deal, right? Well.

I ended up doing a little bit more than just correcting typos, and I realise that this might feel like a bad thing to some of you who care about this story, and have been reading it almost as long as I have been writing it.

What??

Not everything has changed, I promise. The story is still the same, and I have tried my best to keep the bottom line the same for each and every scene that have in some way been adjusted. The edits can be divided into three levels, in order of severity.

Level one: tone consistency

Little things you hopefully won’t notice. Trying to get the first half to stylistically better match the second half. I can’t promise it’s better, but it’s different and oh dang… I hope it’s better.

Level two: alternative routes

More noticeable changes which still remain faithful to what they used to be. 

Example! In chapter 7, Ian and Mickey talk about coffee. Ian makes a pointless reference to Clueless, because 2015 me thought it would be funny. 2019 me would still make that pointless reference to Clueless, cling to it for a minute, and then admit to myself that it isn’t particularly funny and definitely isn’t in character, and then rewrite the scene. So I rewrote the scene. They still talk about coffee, all the main points are still there, but this time it makes some god damned sense.

Level three: DEMOLITION SCHEDULED TO MAKE WAY FOR AN INTERGALACTIC EXPRESSWAY

Substantial changes and additions. 

Example! In chapter 16, I originally wasted some 1000 words ranting about Halloween before getting to the point. Why? Because 2015 me had thoughts about Halloween and figured what the heck, Mickey can have those thoughts too, that makes sense. Guess what, 2015 me? It didn’t! But the point of that section was never supposed to be “Mickey hates Halloween, here’s why”, but “Mickey is grumpy because his son chose to spend Halloween with his mom for the first time in ten years and it sucks”... which did not come across super clearly, all muddled up in me projecting my own thoughts on the poor guy. This has been rewritten to better reflect what I wanted to say with that section, and also include more Yev and better introduce Mickey’s friendship with Sonya. It’s more in character, it’s more fun to read (I hope) and it makes some god damned sense.

We also have a couple of pure additions, such as the second half of the infamously incomplete chapter 20, and little bits here and there.

WHERE?

Here’s a list for reference.

Chapter 1: edited (level 1)

Chapter 2: edited (level 1)

Chapter 3: edited (level 3), slight addition/change

Chapter 4: edited (level 3), slight addition/change

Chapter 5: edited (level 1)

Chapter 6: edited (level 2), slight alteration in dialogue

Chapter 7: edited (level 2), slight alteration in dialogue

Chapter 8: edited (level 3), pretty hefty edit, but no real addition

Chapter 9: edited (level 3), added dialogue in the beginning, minor changes throughout

Chapter 10: edited (level 2), slight alteration in dialogue

Chapter 11: edited (level 1)

Chapter 12: edited (level 2), slight alteration in dialogue

Chapter 13: edited (level 1)

Chapter 14: edited (level 1)

Chapter 15: edited (level 2), mostly just a level 1 edit, but I think I added a paragraph at the end that wasn’t there before

Chapter 16: edited (level 3), the start has been rewritten, large bit has been added, the rest has been heavily edited/rewritten

Chapter 17: edited (level 3), a few smaller additions throughout, pretty heavily edited

Chapter 18: edited (level 2), some heavier edits, mostly bits and bobs

Chapter 19: edited (level 2), pretty heavily edited, but no major changes. Except one, concerning Monica’s death (mentioned). Let me know if you want me to elaborate on why I made this change (or any change, of course).

Chapter 20: edited (level 3) FINALLY ADDED THE SECOND HALF. It’s nothing special, but IT’S THERE NOW OMG I’VE BEEN SO ANNOYED BY THIS FOR SO LONG. Also edited.

(Chapters 21-40 to come.)

And here’s the thing. I think the story is a lot better now, but I 100% understand if you don’t feel the same way. I needed to rewrite the version of it which is published online under my pen name, so I changed it. But! That doesn’t mean you have to read it. Here’s the link to that PDF again. Let me know if the link ever stops working, and I’ll fix it.

Lastly. I want to thank you (YOU) for letting me grow and get better, in my own time. Editing the first twenty chapters was a painful experience for me, they were incredibly uneven and occasionally mortifying. But I thought they were fantastic when I wrote them, and first put them up on AO3, and not one person told me a single discouraging thing about my poor grammar, sloppy spelling, or contrived references. And that means something.

I deal with a lot of “constructive feedback” in my actual work, and I know the value of it. But there is also something so uniquely wonderful about allowing someone to grow at their own pace, purely by encouraging them to keep going and do what they love, exactly the way they want to do it.

I would hope I am a more refined writer now than I was four years ago, but I wouldn’t be writing at all if I hadn’t dared to start somewhere and received the encouragement I needed to continue. So download the pdf and enjoy my humble beginnings, or come with me and enjoy a whole host of new typos in the freshly edited NTW universe. But whatever you do, please know that I remember and appreciate every click, kudos, and kind word you’ve ever said to me on the way. Thank you.

(If you have any questions about any of this, general or specific, please ask me!)

[tournesolia]

Chaos Lineage Yuma Chapter 9 Translation

Place : Scarlet mansion – Yuma's room

Yui : Hmm... Huh... ?

(Since then, Yuma-kun and I always stayed together yesterday, and... That's right. We fell asleep before we knew it)

(Huh ? I can't move... ? It's warm, could it be...?)

Yuma : … Zzz...

Yui : (He's hugging me from behind ?)

Yuma-kun... If you hug me so strongly, I can't move

Yuma : Hmm... ? … Zzz...

Yui : Geez, you're sleeping soundly

(But Yuma-kun looks happy when he's like that)

(He's right beside me and hugs me...)

(But we still have things to do. We must hurry and recover everyone else's memories)

(We have to get out of this strange situation and return back to our daily lives...!)

Let's get out of bed for the time being

*Yuma prevents her

Yui : Kyaaa... !?

Yuma : … Where are you going... ? Stay here

Yui : Y-Yuma-kun ! No, I have to get up and act

Yuma : Ah ? What “act” ? Working at the fieds... ?

Yui : N-No... I also have to go check on the vegetable garden, but...

I have to get everyone's memories back ! Come on, Yuma-kun, wake up as well !

Yuma : Geez, 'can't be helped... Then let me feel a little good

Yui : Eh ?

Yuma : *kisses Yui

Yui : Hmmm !?

(He kissed me !?)

Yuma : Aaah, I finally feel like waking up. Now, let's get dressed. Are you gonna just stand here ?

Yui : That's my line...

(He caught me of guard, that's unfair...!)

Scene change : Scarlet mansion – Corridor

Yuma : So, what do we do now ?

Yui : Hmm... I think it would be better to go meet everyone first

We hardly ever talked to the Oranges...

Yuma : Well, true. I'll bring them food at the same time

There's vegetables we just harvested. How about making soup ?

Yui : Ah, sounds good !

Yuma : Ruki loves soup, so maybe that would help him recover his memories

Yui : Hehe... I see

(Reiji-san may scold us but I want to reach everyone even if I have to apologize)

There are four oranges... Ruki-kun, Shin-kun, Ayato-kun and Kanato-kun...

It would be nice if they show even one sign of recovering their memories

Yuma : And if they don't, what about the Violets ? The Scarlets never showed any signs

Yui : That's right. Shu-san, Reiji-san and Kino-san don't show any signs of remembering...

Yuma : Ah ? By the way, that Kino dude... Who's he ?

Yui : You don't remember him either ?

Yuma : I don't know him, and never heard of him. But he's maybe friends with the other red dudes, no ?

Yui : Indeed. I wonder if he's acquainted with the Sakamaki or the Tsukinamis...

(Hmm, it's worrisome but, unless they remember, it would be meaningless to ask the person themself)

(Kino-san looks like a bright and nice person, so let's leave him alone for now)

Scene change : Scarlet mansion – Kitchen

Yui : As expected, the freshly picked vegetables are good

Yuma : Obviously. 'Cause I grew them

Yui : (Hehe, Yuma-kun sounds like he's having fun in the kitchen)

Yuma : It's nice to make soup for them but I begin to want something to eat

Yui : Eh ? Y-You're not going to suck my blood, right ? I will be anemic

Yuma : I know that, dumbass. Vegetables would be nice but there would be nothing left for them

Now that I think about it, there's my little sugars around here. I won't get caught even if I take one

Yui : (H-He hid them at the back of the shelf... Reiji-san must be strict...)

By the way, you haven't eaten too much sugar cubes recently, right ?

Yuma : It's 'cause of Reiji. When I try to eat some, he says stuff like “They're used for the tea ceremony”, “It's bad manners” and blah-blah-blah...

He's gonna get his hands on the next supply again, he's extremely stingy

Yui : … Supply ?

Yuma : Yeah, and that's weird. There's no shops here, huh ?

Food and medical products pop up in a fixed place at a fixed time

When my memories went crazy, I found that normal even though that's a weird mecanism

Yui : W-Wait ! That means someone prepare these supplies, right ?

Yuma : Ah ? Well, I guess ?

Yui : That's right. Someone must have prepared those if they suddenly appear here. In other words--

Yuma : … ! Is it who I think it is ? That bastard who brought us here is the one giving us food ?

Yui : It's a strange thing that everyone's memories got out of order at once

Someone is intentionally... having everyone fight each other for some purpose...

Yuma : Shit, I can't believe it. Who the hell would have such bad hobbies !?

Yui : (Someone who can rewrite memories of everyone here... even Carla-san who's a founder...)

… Even if I think about it, I can't find an answer right now

Let's make dinner. I'm sure they're all waiting. Especially your brothers

Yuma : … Yeah, you're right. I'll first talk to Ruki and the other Oranges

Yui : (All the people we know gathered. Rewritten memories, an unknown land...)

(If this is the work of someone's will, could it be--)

Scene change : Dungeon

Yuma : Hey, I brought dinner

Yui : (It looks like the two families are separated in two different cellars to avoid quarrels. This cellar is where the Oranges are)

Shin : Dinner, huh. Are you trying to gain the enemy's sympathy ?

Ayato : Eww... Didn't you put poison in it ?

Yuma : I didn't. Stop complaining and eat up

Kanato : I prefer sweets

Yui : I'm sorry. I'll bring some next time

Ruki : What is the meaning of this ? We don't accept your charity. Quit doing unnecessary things

Yuma : Don't be obstinate. Under such circumstances, you must be the one who's the most hungry

You always had three meals a day, right ? Here, you like vegetable soup, no ?

Ruki : You have no right to be over-familiar to me. Take it back

Yuma : … You...

Yui : Um, Ruki-kun. Won't you listen to our story ? Even just a little ?

Ruki : We have nothing to say to you. It's no use trying to get information from us

Yui : We didn't intend to do that...

Yuma : … Fine

Yui : Yuma-kun ?

Yuma : It's no use talking to him now. I'll just leave the soup here for now and go

Here, drink it whenever you like. I put plenty of vegetables in it

Ruki : I said I don't need your charity

*Ruki drops the soup

Yuma : … !

Yui : No way...

(The soup Yuma-kun made with all his heart is...)

Yuma : Ruki...

Ruki : … Disappear. And don't come ever again

Scene change : Scarlet mansion – Corridor

Yui : (I never thought he would break the plates...)

(The others didn't accept the soup either...)

Yuma : … Shit...

Yui : (Yuma-kun is depressed as well...)

Choice 1 : Cheer him up (White roses)

Yui : (I have nothing to comfort him, no matter what I say, but I want him to get better)

Yuma-kun, it's alright. Ruki-kun lost his memories right now but there must be a way to restore them

And when they are restored, we'll all live again at the Mukami house

Yuma : … Yeah, you're right. It's not the time to be bummed

Choice 2 : Leave him alone (Black roses)

Yui : (I have nothing to console him, no matter what I say. I can do nothing more than leaving him alone...)

Yuma : … Why are you making that face ? You don't need to make such a face

Yui : Eh... ?

Yuma : I'm fine. Iwas just pissed off, more or less. Or rather... bummed

– End of choices

Yuma : It's naturally natural that I can't deny that guy lost his memories

Now that I think of it, that guy was just like when we first met. I remembered it after a long time

Yui : Yuma-kun...

Yuma : That Ruki guy is suspicious of us so we just have to be patient

Yui : Yes, you're right. He will surely be able to understand our feelings, even little by little

*footsteps approaching

Reiji : … Did you feed those rats again ?

Yui : Ah, Reiji-san...

Reiji : Shall I advise you to stop now ?

Yui : Um, we're sorry. But we're worried about them no matter wh--

Reiji : Please be quiet

Yui : … !

(The atmosphere changed from usual. Is he angry ? No... upset ?)

Yuma : Reiji... Why are you acting like that ? You bored or something ?

Reiji : Not at all. I was waiting for you. There's something I need to talk to so gather urgently in the living room

Yui : (Something Reiji-san needs to talk... ? I wonder what... I have a bad feeling about this)

Scene change : Scarlet mansion – Living room and dining room

Kino : Ah, you finally came. You're a bit late

Yui : Kino-san...

(Shu-san's here as well. Does that mean it's a general meeting ?)

Yuma : Tch... I'm picking up bad vibes

Reiji : With this, all the members are gathered. So let's begin the meeting at once

All those cumbersome members of Violets and Oranges got captured. There's nothing that can become a treat to us now

Therefore... We have no need to get conservative anymore

Yui : (Don't tell me...!)

Reiji : Yuma, you don't need to continue guarding Eve. She is now under my supervision

Yuma : Wha... !

Yui : No way...

Yuma : I can't give her to you ! If she's put with you, what will you do to her... !?

Reiji : You thing I will be rough with Eve ? It would be reasonable for her to stay with me in order to get information from her

Yuma : She doesn't know anything ! All that stuff about the supreme ruler are fabricated memories !

Kino : Haa ? What are you saying ? Did you hit your head ?

Yui : (It's no use, even if we try to convince everyone whose memories got out of order, they won't listen...!)

Yuma : If you need a reason to be convinced... She’s mine. So I can't give her to you

Yui : Yuma-kun... !

Reiji : I see... So these are your true intentions

Yuma : Yeah. There's no way I would give her to another man

Reiji : … I see. This is very disappointing but it seems to be as Kino said...

Yuma : Kino ? Hey, you bastard, what did you put into Reiji's head !?

Kino : I didn't put anything in his head. I'm just concerned about you. Don’t get any ideas

Look, you really get along with Eve. Aren't you aiming for the supreme ruler's throne ?

Yuma : Stop saying garbage !

Reiji : Be quiet. I won't allow you to outwit me. How about confessing honestly ?

Yuma : It's a misunderstanding. I don't intend to... !

Yui : (How can we explain it to convince Reiji-san ?)

(Reiji-san is smart... So he's excessively possessed by the knowledge and memories implanted in him)

(Not any words will reach him...?)

Yuma : I got back my memories. That's not the original house we lived in

You guys aren't my brothers

There's no point becoming the supreme ruler ! It's useless getting your hands on her !

Reiji : Is this your only excuse ? If you go against my orders, you will be given the appropriate punishment

Yuma : Why you... !

Yui : H-Hey now, you two... !

Shu : … You're noisy...

Yui : Shu-san... ?

Shu : Did you call me just to listen to your silly talk ? I wanna sleep

Reiji : Are you going to act as you please again ?

Shu : You there. There's no proof, so what makes you so upset ? It's not like it's been confirmed

Reiji : … !

Shu : And Yuma is not the kind of guy who steals a march on someone

Yuma : Shu...

Yui : (Could it be he's defending Yuma-kun...?)

Reiji : People like you... You always have to go against me, right ?

Shu : That's not it at all

Kino : Is that so ? You immediately went soft on Yuma

Shu : … Shut your mouth

Yui : (The atmosphere is cooling down... Everyone is glaring at each other with a sharp glance...)

Reiji : Let's call it a day. However, if you take a behaviour that goes beyond limits, I will give you appropriate punishment

Please keep that in mind

Yuma : … Shit...

Yui : (They're brothers, even if it's fake, and yet they're starting to dislike each other... Why...?)

Scene change : Dungeon

Ruki : …

Shin : What's wrong, big brother ? You're staring at your hand

Are you perhaps injured ?

Ruki : … No, it's nothing

Shin : That's fine then... We aren't going to be stuck in that place forever, right ?

Ruki : Of course not. I have no intention of being used by those guys

Shin : I thought you would say that. Those guys are taking us for fools. Giving us food to mess with us

Ruki : … Soup, huh

Shin : Big brother ?

Ruki : Nothing... It's nothing...

Chapter 9 : End

[luninosity]

Working on that Character Bleed sequel...Leo needs some hugs.

#

Voices murmured. Celebrity wranglers. Staff. Telling him to come along, to come in, they were about to start.

 “Wait—” Leo said. “Wait, I—there’s someone—”

 “Someone you want to speak to?” The staff person checked her watch. “I’m sorry but we really don’t have time—if you give me a name I’ll try to arrange something after—”

 “Sam,” Leo whispered. Colby and Jason were heading his way, everyone else following, aiming for the entryway and the first-ever showing of this film, this epic love tale— “Sam Hernandez-Blake. I don’t know if—I only thought I saw—but if he’s here…”

 “We’ll find him if he is.” She set a hand on his arm. “This way, please.”

 Leo went, obediently. He took a seat in the reserved row, and smiled at Jim and Tim and Katie as they plopped down beside him. He leaned around to say to Colby, “If Jason’s shoulders don’t fit in these antique seats I’m sure they can bring in another option,” because Colby was looking a little anxious, though whether that was about the crowds or the film Leo wasn’t sure.

 “I like the seats,” Colby said, holding Jason’s hand. “I like the velvet.”

 “Of course you do. Secret hedonist. Which I knew you were. Anyone who likes cheese that much obviously also likes velvet.”

 “I don’t even pretend to know,” Jason rumbled, “how your mind works.”

 “Darling.” Leo batted eyelashes at him. “You couldn’t comprehend it. No need to try.” The eyelash-batting was also an excuse to twist round and peek back at the theatre. No, too many people, all finding seats and shuffling around. Too difficult to pick out one man.

 “Yeah,” Jason said, “incomprehensible sounds about right. If you’re still looking for your annoying paparazzi guy, we can try to find him for you. People tell Colby everything.”

 “I’m not,” Leo denied immediately. “No need to invoke Colby’s superpowers on my behalf. Actually, no, never mind, invoke them. Get someone to tell you where I can find the best chocolate martini in London. Then make them bring us all a round.”

 “His name was Sam, wasn’t it?” Colby’s smile was a gift: quiet and lordly and generous. “That must’ve meant something, if you’re thinking about him after all this time. We’d like to help, if it’s important.”

 “Don’t,” Leo muttered, embarrassment now eating a hole through his chest. Colby and Jason had enough to worry about; they didn’t need to be concerned over his wistfulness about a man he’d likely only imagined in any case. “You don’t have to—”

 Tim leaned over to hiss, “All of you shut up, come on, I’m supposed to be the dramatic teenager here, and Jill’s getting up to make a speech!”

 “Sorry!” Colby said, to which everyone rolled eyes—Colby, out of them all, had the least to apologize for—but no one had time to scold him, because Jillian was indeed getting up on stage, grinning ear to ear.

 In pink and black ruffles and leather straps, a casual rock-star director with freshly re-touched color in her hair, she looked younger than half of them—she wasn’t, Leo knew—and utterly thrilled to be here; that was Jillian Poe, Leo knew. Someone who loved her profession and her craft, and the stories she got to shape and oversee and offer to the world. He’d been fortunate in getting to work with her; he hoped to again.

 If she’d liked working with him. If she thought Leo Whyte was worth having around, on a film set. If.

 Jill thanked everyone for coming, briefly introduced the film, mentioned how passionate they’d all been about this project. Hearts and souls committed. A love story that needed telling. A history brought to light. She kept it quick, and sat back down.

 Passionate, Leo thought. Had he been?

 He’d loved the story, of course. Stephen and Will were brilliant central characters, and their love mattered, and the script had been among the best he’d ever read. He’d wanted to be a part of it and he’d wanted to work with Jillian Poe and Colby Kent.

 But he hadn’t loved it the way Colby had, the kind of love that’d read the source novel multiple times and wept over it and rewritten it. He hadn’t been so caught up in character that he’d cracked on set and begun crying for his near-death fictional other half, the way Jason had.

 Maybe Leo Whyte just wasn’t good at love. Not epic. Too shallow. A puddle, not a towering ocean.

 Leo Whyte fell out of boats and laughed about it. Leo Whyte spent off hours orchestrating a delivery of a nineteen-eighties vintage mermaid-comedy movie poster to tease his director about an early crush. Leo Whyte did not have deep conversations with silver-screen legends like Sir Laurence Taylor. What would they talk about? The time Leo’d convinced set decorators to construct an entire second trailer around Matt Grant’s trailer, so that when he’d stepped out he’d still been inside? Matt had been a good sport and laughed. Sir Laurence would probably not laugh.

 Leo’s chest hurt slightly, a bizarre hollow ache. He did not like that feeling, so he watched his movie instead.

 On screen, he and Jason emerged into London streets: a captain and a loyal lieutenant, facing the wilds of polite Society. A mission. No less vital than those at sea: the desperate need for more men, more provisions, support from the Admiralty. Hence this ball: political connections, maneuvering, patronage.

 Leo spared a thought for how dashing he appeared in period naval attire—he really did look good in that coat, he decided—and then watched Jason acting.

 Jason Mirelli was good. Leo saw that in a heartbeat: a man of action, certainly, but the action-hero label would never be all that Jason was, not after tonight. Not with that complicated and contradictory emotion: Stephen’s loathing of aristocratic games and awareness that he himself needed to play them, and the secret he hid about the directions of his desires.

 Leo had had such fun playing off that broad-shouldered serious nuance. He could trust Jason to get the layers of a scene, a line, a simple glance of comprehension.

 He watched Colby appear on screen: bright and scholarly and sickly, enthusiastic about frogs and mathematics, afraid of nothing other than running out of time. The audience made appreciative noises about Colby’s beauty: bathed in sunshine, in a meadow, shirt fluttering open.

 The film shimmered, and soared, and sizzled where it should, and swept them all away like sails full of wind, breathless.

 Leo watched Jason and Colby flee a ballroom and run through a door and tumble into a historic library, hands and mouths busy, finding each other; he knew how hard that scene would’ve been, back when Colby did not like being touched, when even now roughness might hurt in less physical ways. He saw Stephen and Will coming together; he saw Colby trusting Jason, on camera.

 That odd tiny ache poked him in the chest again. Not big, not hard. A small knitting-needle. A pointed tip. Not worth paying any mind.

 He hoped Sam had come. He hoped Sam liked this film. It was good, and he was proud of it, and he’d given his all to the character of Richard, supporting Jason’s Captain Stephen Lanyon in battle and in love. He hoped that’d been enough.

 On screen, Richard drank some port, chatted with a lord, glanced around for his missing captain. The moment was mildly funny, mildly sweet, a bit wry: Stephen’s falling in love was not, after all, their mission. And Richard would stay in the ballroom and attempt to navigate those tricky political waters, and draw no attention to his captain’s vanishing with the Stonebrook heir.

 The moment worked, multilayered if quick. Leo thought that he’d managed it well. He wanted to believe that he had.

[thespearandthecrown]

A Whiskey for Her

AN- Hey fam! So this July/August was insane. Now that September is on its way, I will have a bit of free time to work more on some writing. I am about another 5 or 4 more chapters left for The Sheriff and The Soldier, which, I'm super happy to see nearly completed. Dakota and the gang have been at the back of my mind for the past two months demanding that I finish their story. I've also released the first two chapters of my original story about my gay werewolf dweebs on fiction press. If you wanna check that out, as well as my ko-fi page, take a look at my ‘WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME’ tab on this Tumblr. Without any further adieu, have something that has been a warm-up piece I've been working on for the past three years now. I've rewritten this thing like 800 times. Thanks for your support, I hope this fic finds all of you well <3

Vi hated the 'underground' Piltovian technopunk scene. The venues are usually filled with too drunk mid-forty housewives, whose cheating husbands let them loose for a 'girls night out'. It wasn't like the legendary raves of Zaun, where laws or claims of power meant nothing. Where people could get lost in the flashing lights and pounding beats.

That was where the real fun laid.

The number of people she would bring home after a night of dancing most likely broke some kind of record.

But here?

Void's above the only thing she could pick up is some blubbering wife who wants to get back at her husband.

Too much vengeance and drama for one night.

This, however, wasn't the reason why Vi was in such a despicable joint. The 'boys' from the cop shop wanted to get together and tear up the town. They invited Vi, promising good drinks and plenty of women. Rather than declining, she thought that after the last few busts she deserved a night out.

Sadly, this blew ass.

Her coworkers were long gone, either too drunk to stand or too busy dealing with housewives.

Giving up, she took a great sigh and left the establishment feeling fairly bummed out and in the need of some kind of greasy substance.

She didn't walk far before she came up to her favourite pub, the Brass Gauntlet. Humming to herself, she agreed, instantly craving a Bilgewatian sea bass butty, a specialty that this pub was quite famous for.

The reason why she enjoyed this place came in three parts.

One, the food and drink were good, cheap and usually what she needed. Two, it was a wooden establishment with polished down seats and a lovely smiling old bartender that easily held the feeling of welcome warmth. Three, it was quiet and close to work. Sure the room could be filled with patrons, but it could never get any louder then whispered conversations. Usually, after a long day of hearing the sheriff bitch and complain about Vi's work methods, she would come here to destress and breathe.

Tonight, the basement pub had a small handful of patrons. A group clustered together at the far end chatted quietly amongst themselves, sipping their drinks as they nodded along with whoever was telling a story.

At the other end was a sole individual, huddled in their own booth.

Vi practically fainted as she recognized the individual. Not a day in her life did she ever think Sheriff Caitlyn Deramore would ever step foot in a pub of her own free volition.

With curiosity and a few pints fueling her forward, she made her way to the sheriff's table.

The sheriff had her back to the entrance. Her long raven black hair was tied up into a messy bun, revealing her pale swan-like neck. Her purple petticoat had been removed leaving her in her white blouse that seemed a bit to loose around the neck.

"What is a girl like you, doin' in a place like this?" Vi grinned as she stood at the head of the table to face the sheriff head-on.

Caitlyn quirked an eyebrow at the pinkette. Her brilliant ice blue eyes were accentuated by heavy shadows and wire-rimmed reading glasses. As to what Vi expected, her white blouse had two buttons undone, revealing a bit more of her neck and her collarbone. Vi returned the expression with her own raised eyebrow as she witnessed the rolled-up sleeves revealing the tense forearms of the Sheriff. Her right hand twirled the tumbler of whiskey; the single ice cube gently tapping the glass in the movement.

"Doing your paperwork," Caitlyn replied coldly.

Vi's eyes lowered to the small stack of yellowed sheets. In Caitlyn's left hand was a decorative ink pen.

"Ah, shit, sorry Sheriff. What did I do wrong? I honestly thought I got it right this time. I even got Albert to help me out on this one." Vi admitted sheepishly.

The Sheriff gave a great sigh before she took a swig of her whiskey. "It's alright deputy."

"Why here though? Why not at your office?" Vi asked perplexed.

"Because the bullpen is insanely full with that shimmer bust and the captives will not cease their incessant caterwauling of proclaimed innocence." She muttered lowly, taking another long swig of the amber liquid. "It is very quiet here and the whiskey selection is not terrible."

"Mind if I sit wit' ya? Maybe show me where I went wrong?" Vi asked, both hoping the sheriff will say no and yes.

Caitlyn mulled the thought over, watching the liquid in her glass swirl. With a sigh, she nodded toward the bar. "Get me another round then, deputy."

Vi chuckled. "Not a problem. What's your poison, boss?"

"The dragon's breath whiskey from Freljord. One rock, please." Caitlyn replied as she continued the work set before her.

"Coming right up." Vi turned on her heels With mixed emotions curdling her gut.

She wasn't afraid of Caitlyn, nor hated her. She was just so…uptight. Too serious and work-focused. Usually, the day shift crew would go together to the leather boot, a Piltovian warden stomping ground, with expensive prices to accommodate the large salaries of the trained officers. The shift would all go together, have a pint and unwind before going home.

Every time, Caitlyn would decline.

Out of the six months that Vi had been working with her, she didn't see her cut loose once.

And within a weeks time, she should be working more frequently with Caitlyn once she graduated the progressive and special program they implemented to make sure she was ready for the job.

Frankly, Vi was both dreading and too excited to work with this intense woman.

Maybe this could be the kick starter to get to know each other better.

For Vi to properly understand the sheriff and her insane work ethic.

With a quick nod of thanks and an exchange of coins between her and the bartender, Vi walked back with a pint and a whiskey tumbler.

"You have tomorrow off, right?" Vi asked as she passed the glass to Caitlyn's slim dexterous hands.

"Thank you," Caitlyn nodded. "Yes, I have every Sunday off."

Vi seated herself on the bench opposite of Caitlyn. The pinkette observed the tight-lipped exchange as she flipped to the back of a page and scratched on another. Her jawline became tight with annoyance.

"You seem a bit ticked that you have it off." Vi deduced, taking a mouthful of beer.

Caitlyn snorted. "I am indeed 'ticked'. Albert handles the scheduling and insists that I have that day off, rather than allowing me to work on cases."

"Albert is a good guy. Not to pry or anything but do you ever feel like you could amount to him since you're his replacement?"

The sheriff sighed heavily. "Albert was a great Sheriff. The community loved him, the politicians couldn't get enough of him. However, as much as I hate to say it, I do the job better. He has been a great mentor and has really taught me some valuable lessons with the social aspects of being sheriff. He has trained and trusted me to do better than him, and I'm glad I can fulfill his wishes. I just wish the man would properly retire."

"Well obviously his paperwork reviewing could do better." Vi joked gently.

"In all honesty, you didn't do anything wrong. Your handwriting is just despicable and I need to give the mayor this report so he can show our hard work to the council."

"How rude, Sheriff. It's not like I learned how to properly write like six months ago." Vi grinned teasingly. Then a thought crossed her mind, making her eyebrows furrow in concentration. "Why does the council need to see my report?"

"They are putting a lot of resources to use for you. They want proof that you are actually capable of being my partner, let alone a legal protector of the city." Caitlyn explained.

"So you're helping me look good?"

"In those terms, yes. As much as you seem like you are capable of turning in criminals, they want to see you be an officer, a deputy. Not some loose canon vigilante with no respect for the rules. Sure you may be completing that program, but they want to see your training applied to the real world."

Vi snorted loudly, causing the table on the other side of the bar to take a quick peek behind them. "But that's what I am, Sheriff. I'm not here to slap the wrist of some city hooligans. I'm here to stop the real bad guys. The ones who'd take kids, sell the harmful chemical shit, try to bring terror to good innocent people."

Caitlyn observed as Vi balled her fist.

"I'm glad you have faith in me. I'm glad that you are willing to go the extra mile to help me out. But let them see me for what I want to be." She took a long sip of her brew, then placed it down onto the heavy oak table. She tightened her jaw as she focused on her scarred hands holding the pint glass.

In this, Caitlyn observed the brawler before her. She was in her cracked leather jacket, brooding in the raised lapels. She had freshly shaved the side of her head, showing the dark pink roots. The scent of citrus and mint hit her nose as Vi straightened herself to sit upright. Her violet eyes bore into Caitlyn. They blazed with a determination that the sheriff had started to become quite accustomed to.

She had witnessed this determination a multitude of times in the past six months of Vi working with the precinct. It was normally accompanied by loud snarled curses and frustrated yells. It was smashing through a wall with a broken collarbone, whilst dodging bullets and protecting the hostage in her grasp. It was spitting in the face of political terrorists who threatened to blow the city to smithereens. It was her staying up all night to help prove the innocence of a street orphan who was facing charges of murder. It was her facing these almost impossible tasks with a crooked grin and a crack of her knuckles.

Caitlyn respected this determination, but she only wished the pinkette would give her on-the-fly plans a bit more thought.

"Why do you do this?" The brawler asked. Her voice was stern and serious. "Why put all of this effort when, no matter what, they're going to throw me out."

The sheriff takes a moment to mull over her statement. The tumbler clinks as she lets the ice and whiskey mingle more and more with each twist of her wrist. "Frankly, I am not quite sure, myself." She admits. "Maybe it’s because I know they can sense the potential in you. I understand your skepticism though; the old guard of the city council can be quite misogynistic. It took them a while to have full faith in me."

Their eyes meet for a moment. Caitlyn can see the gears slowly turn in Vi's head and it made the raven-haired woman curious.

Vi regards the sheriff in a new way. It isn't the usual brush off 'we'll deal with the situation as we go' kind of look that the brawler usually gives her.

Caitlyn can't help the small smile that tugs at her lips. "Be careful, Vi. If I didn't know any better it looks like I just earned some respect from you."

That troublesome smirk that drives the sheriff nearly up the wall, spreads through the pinkette's lips easily. "You should slow down on those Dragon Breaths, Sheriff. I think they're causing you to hallucinate."

They share a small chuckle between themselves.

"I think I like this side of you, Sheriff." Vi drawls as she finishes her drink. She signals to the bartender for another round, and the old smiling man nods.

Caitlyn raises an eyebrow, trying her best to not smile. "Don't get too used to it."

[phinnsyreads]

Item #: SCP-1417-J

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: As it cannot be moved, a titanium containment chamber 10m x 10m x 10m has been erected around SCP-1417-J, with SCP-1417-J itself in the center. SCP-1417-J's containment chamber is to be painted solid white and decorated with prop scientific and medical equipment. At no point should any equipment installed within the containment chamber be used for actual examination of SCP-1417-J. Current authorized decorations include:

Two high voltage traveling arcs ("Jacob's ladders"), to be kept online at all times.

A late 1950s transistor computer covering one wall, with visible reel-to-reel tape drives and three large panels of flashing diagnostic lights ("blinkenlights").

One telescope of at least 100 cm circumference, with a retracting roof section.

Six conical glass flasks ("Erlenmeyer flasks") filled with brightly colored liquids and illuminated from behind the perspective of SCP-1417-J. At least three of the flasks are to be kept boiling above Bunsen burner flames at all times.

One centrifuge holding test tubes filled with brightly colored liquids.

Two oscilloscopes, one of which has been modified to play the game "Tennis for Two".

Three large wall-mounted switches with signage in English and German reading "DO NOT PULL".

One Van de Graaff generator and one plasma globe standing side by side.

Three lava lamps.

Three microscopes.

One paper stock ticker providing the current readout of the New York Stock Exchange.

One electric heart monitor connected to SCP-1417-J at all times and producing falsified readouts representative of a healthy adult human male.

One falsified SCP containment file for SCP-1417-J, identifying it as a Keter-class artifact capable of producing an XK-class event if not neutralized as soon as possible.

SCP-1417-J's containment chamber is to be staffed at all times by no less than three Level 1 personnel with prior experience in live theatre or public performance, and who have attended and passed Foundation Training Seminar 43021.102 ("Improvisational Acting and SCP Containment"), 52033.206 ("Advanced Technobabble"), and 83902.101 ("SCIENCE!"). Containment personnel are to be dressed in white laboratory coats and wear eyeglasses at all times, and are to carry a notepad, six pens or pencils and two test tubes in a breast pocket, a slide rule, and a pair of opaque goggles. Containment personnel are not to make any actual attempts at experimentation on or scientific observation of SCP-1417-J, and are to engage in "experimentation" involving the provided prop equipment while pretending to take notes and speaking to each other in "technobabble" with no intended actual meaning. Actual observation and monitoring of SCP-1417-J is to be conducted indirectly by hidden camera and microphone; in the event that physical interaction with SCP-1417-J is required for testing purposes, personnel conducting the examination are to be dressed and behave in a similar manner to containment personnel.

In the event that SCP-1417-J ceases to respond to standard containment, Emergency Procedure 1634-Broadway is to be conducted as soon as possible until such time as SCP-1417-J becomes inactive. Emergency Procedure 1634-Broadway is to be rewritten after each such implementation and containment personnel are to rehearse the current procedure for at least two hours each day while not engaged in containment. Class-B or Class-E amnestics are to be distributed to the civilian population of █████ as necessary in the event of high-visibility containment breaches.

Description: SCP-1417-J is an irregularly shaped meteorite approximately 1.2 kg in mass, composed primarily of silicates and igneous stone, which entered the Earth's atmosphere on ██/██/20██ and impacted the Earth's surface in a desert area approximately 6.3 km east of █████, Iraq. SCP-1417-J's surface has been no less than ███ degrees Centigrade in temperature at all times since its discovery; all attempts at relocating SCP-1417-J from its impact site have resulted in its temperature increasing rapidly and producing physical pain or destruction of equipment being used to attempt to move it. Physical analysis suggests that SCP-1417-J came into being during the initial formation of the Solar system approximately 4.3 billion years ago, and that it had been in an irregular orbit of the Earth for an unknown period of time prior to its impact.

SCP-1417-J is believed to be sentient and to possess telekinetic abilities. No means of direct communication with SCP-1417-J has been established; observation suggests that SCP-1417-J is able to see and hear events occurring within its immediate vicinity, that it is sensitive to radio waves, and that it is able to induce telekinetic effects within a 20 km radius of itself (an area including all of central █████ and several outlying suburbs and agricultural areas).

SCP-1417-J's telekinetic abilities become active whenever it is not undergoing what it considers to be active "scientific observation", which it appears to define as being directly observed by a group of human beings who are experimenting on it with electrical or chemical apparati and taking written notes regarding it. Early attempts at containing SCP-1417-J with legitimate scientific research became ineffective after approximately two weeks, whereafter increasingly dramatized and pseudoscientific "Hollywood science" setpieces were performed by containment personnel with success, leading eventually to the establishment of current containment protocols. Current speculation by Foundation xenopsychological specialists suggests that SCP-1417-J finds actual scientific research "uninteresting" or "unrealistic", and that stylized performances with no actual scientific merit are more "entertaining" to it or appealing to its ego.

In the event that direct observation as described above ceases or the quality of performance fails to "impress" SCP-1417-J, it will begin to employ its telekinetic abilities against site personnel and/or civilians in the neighboring areas. Manifestations of SCP-1417-J's telekinetic ability have been noted to extend solely to mischievous deeds of a light-hearted nature ("pranks" or "practical jokes" in common use), beginning at a rate of approximately one per minute and increasing in frequency and severity until containment performance resumes, with a high of 700 instances per hour noted during Containment Breach 1417-J-36. "Pranks" performed by SCP-1417-J rarely result in direct lasting harm to the target; in advanced containment breaches, however, pranks have become increasingly malicious in nature and have been noted to result indirectly in serious injury or fatality. Pranks performed by SCP-1417-J have been documented as including;

Tying together of personnel's shoelaces

Manifestation of partially inflated balloons under seat cushions, intended to gradually deflate with a loud report when sat upon

Unscrewing of shaker lids on condiment jars

Manifestation of burning paper bags containing animal excrement at the front door of a domicile

Replacement of freshly ground coffee beans with instant coffee crystals

Placement of phone calls to police agencies reporting false crime tips, including reports of "streakers" outside the ██-███████ mosque, that Prime Minister █████ ██-██████ had become stuck in a public toilet, or that author Salman Rushdie [DATA EXPUNGED]

Replacement of the active ingredient in non-prescription painkiller tablets with prescription painkillers, laxatives, or nitroglycerine

Manifestation of dead houseflies (Musca domestica) within ice cubes contained in a person's beverage

Replacement of live rounds in a US serviceman's rifle with blank cartridges, tracer rounds, or bullet-shaped pieces of caramel candy

Spontaneous appearance of large amounts of pornography, of a legal or illegal nature, upon staff computers

Manifestation of paper notes upon persons' backs reading "Kick me", "Pinch me", or "Death to ████████ and all the ████ that ██████ him" in English and Arabic

---

Containment Breach 1417-J-36: Emergency Procedure 1634-Broadway

Foreword: On ██/██/20██, a Level 1 employee engaged in routine containment procedures broke character after tripping and injuring himself. As a result of the lapse in containment, SCP-1417-J began instigating telekinetic pranks throughout the █████ area and failed to respond to attempts at re-containing it. Dr. James Anderson, current SCP-1417-J containment manager and six-time star of the annual Site-19 Christmas Pageant, entered the containment chamber to assist in conducting Emergency Procedure 1634-Broadway. Personnel on hand: Dr. Anderson, Dr. Sarah Becker, Dr. Ibrahim Kemal, Dr. Andrew Sullivan.

<Begin Log>

Anderson: (whispering) Earpieces are in. Alright, Control, are we clear to proceed?

Control: Affirmative, Jim, we are monitoring the anomaly remotely. Ready when you are.

Anderson: (whispering) Are we ready, people?

Becker: (whispering) Ready, sir.

Anderson: (whispering) Great. Scene.

(Becker and Kemal begin running around the room frantically. Sullivan rushes up to Anderson, panting.)

Sullivan: Thank God you're here, sir!

Anderson: What the Devil is going on here? This is a laboratory, not a circus!

Sullivan: It's SCP-1417-J, sir! It's… the readouts… seventeen minutes… if we don't… all those people…

(Anderson slaps Sullivan across the face.)

Anderson: For God's sake, man, calm yourself down!

Sullivan: Sorry, sir. It's just… we've got a runaway positronic acceleration on our hands here!

Anderson: Have you tried realigning the multimodal flux relay?

Kemal: It's no good, sir. We're getting a gluonic resistance readout of 38!

(Anderson whips off his glasses.)

Anderson: Mother of God.

Becker: If we don't stop the antipolar magnetic attractors from aligning in the next three minutes, Doctor, this entire continent is going to be kaput! We're going to have to reboot the central lenticular magnetron and…

Anderson: Dammit, there's no time! Ibrahim, you took Advanced Phlogistonics back in college, right?

Kemal: Yes, sir, but I don't see how that's…

Anderson: Andy, get the subatomic electro-vulcanizer ready. Ibrahim, I'm going to need you to manually rejigger the anti-nucleonic force matrix!

Becker: Are you mad, sir? That'll kill him!

Anderson: If we don't stop those nega-quarks from sorting the strange matter from the osmium-freon colloid, we're all dead! Ibrahim: can you do it?

Kemal: I… I can't do it, sir.

(Anderson slaps Kemal across the face)

Anderson: Dammit, Ibrahim! When I rescued you from the orphanage in that Turkish prison, it was because I knew someday you'd save the entire world. Are you going to let me down now?

(Kemal sighs and mumbles under his breath in Arabic.)

Kemal: I… I can do it, sir. Stand back and watch how a pro does it.

(Kemal puts one hand on the plasma lamp and one on the Van de Graaff generator and begins to mime being electrocuted.)

Kemal: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

Becker: Photonic resonance rating at 63, sir! 68! 74! 85!

Sullivan: Oh my God…

Becker: 87… 93… 99.8, sir…

Kemal: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Control: Telekinetic activity is slowing, folks.

Becker: 99.9… 92. 73. 48. It's going down, sir!

Sullivan: Raritanium levels dropping… negative Aetherius levels nominal… we're in the clear, sir!

Anderson: We did it! Ibrahim, are you OK?

(Kemal falls flat on his back.)

Anderson: Dammit!

(Anderson rushes to Kemal's side and begins miming CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.)

Anderson: Don't you die on me, you son of a bitch! You've never given up on anything before! Don't you give up on me now!

(Kemal coughs, lurches up, and rises slowly to his feet.)

Kemal: Did we do it?

Sullivan: We sure did… son.

Kemal: I knew we would… dad.

(Anderson sweeps Becker off her feet and kisses her.)

Anderson: I love you.

Becker: I'm pregnant.

Anderson: But how…?

Becker: SCIENCE!

(Kemal and Sullivan cheer as Anderson lifts Becker off her feet and carries her out of the containment chamber. Relief staff enter and standard containment resumes.)

<End Log>

===

[The voice of Dr. James Anderson was provided by @iridethedirt.] [The voice of Dr. Sarah Becker was provided by @mezzoprime.] [The voice of Dr. Ibrahim Kemal was provided by @navox-the-weary.] [The voice of Dr. Andrew Sullivan was provided by @phinnsy.] [The voice of Control was provided by Christian Jasper.]

===

This episode is from our Patreon-exclusive series of monthly joke episodes. To gain access to more of this series, including a second joke episode for April (to release 3-Apr-2020), please visit patreon.com/thescpfoundationdatabase.

[aion-rsa]

Zack Snyder’s Justice League: Why It’s Better Than the Joss Whedon Cut

https://ift.tt/3lqZB9g

This article contains spoilers for zack snyder’s justice league.

The long-awaited Snyder Cut is here at last. After nearly four years of rumors, innuendos, hints, allegations, online harassment, and everything else that’s good and bad about fandom, Zack Snyder’s Justice League has been willed into existence by the filmmaker and his legions of fans.

Four hours long–one for each year you’ve had to endure the clamor of Snyder acolytes demanding the filmmaker’s vision be restored–Zack Snyder’s Justice League is the ultimate version of the movie that Snyder never completed in 2017. Instead the version of the film that reached theaters was a truncated, patched-together mess that nearly stopped the DC cinematic universe in its tracks.

If you detect a bit of snark in the preceding paragraph, you’re not off-base. The very notion that a vocal contingent of fans could make enough noise to actually get a version of a piece of art or entertainment in their preferred format opens a proverbial Pandora’s box. Everyone treats whenever fans sign online petitions to get movies, television finales, or the like remade as jokes. But a cynic might wonder if the Snyder Cut gets us closer to that happening.

There is of course a key difference between Snyder finishing his passion project and other flair ups between fans and creators: The Justice League that came out in 2017 was a Frankenstein’s Monster of a movie, with half of the finished picture rewritten and reshot by a director (Joss Whedon) with a completely different tone and approach. This occurred after Snyder had to abandon it due to a terrible family tragedy–which, in the most cynical version of this tale, the studio (Warner Bros.) saw as an opportunity to hijack the film and retool it to their liking.

So now that Zack Snyder’s Justice League is a thing, with the original director restoring hours of footage that he shot (and adding some freshly filmed material at the end) while throwing out everything he didn’t, there is one question that burns as fiercely and brightly as the raging eyes of Darkseid himself: Is it better than the 2017 theatrical version, aka the Whedon Compromise?

The answer is unequivocally yes.

Now that doesn’t automatically make ZSJL a good film. Nor does it necessarily make the Whedon version a wholly bad one–but there’s no question that the 2017 version suffers greatly and is diminished by comparison. In fact, it’s almost not fair to call that version the “Whedon” one; regardless of the man’s personal controversies, it seems apparent that he was put in an almost impossible position when he was recruited to finish Justice League back then.

Whedon was tasked by the studio to make a movie more like his own The Avengers out of material that couldn’t be more different in terms of tone, visual style, pacing, and structure. He was also asked to recreate what Marvel had taken six movies to do: introduce and assemble a team of superheroes all in a single film and in less than two hours (minus credits). And he did that by stitching together footage that was already shot by a different director with scenes that he had to craft almost on the fly, all with a desperate, panicking studio breathing down his neck. Whedon could have summoned Scorsese, Coppola, and the ghosts of Hitchcock and Kubrick to help him solve it and it still might have defeated him.

The result was a movie that was the soulless, corporate product that critics accuse all Hollywood blockbusters, particularly superhero movies, of being–but which most are decidedly not. Whedon’s own The Avengers is proof that a studio can make a heartfelt, earnest, charming, and still awe-inspiring spectacle with the right people, story, and vision in place. The vision behind 2017’s Justice League–which does have its lively moments and does benefit in some ways from better pacing (but is ultimately hurt more by its shortened running time)–is a vision only of bottom lines and quarterly profits.

So, yes, ZSJL is the better movie. For one thing, it’s clearly a personal work. Whatever one thinks of Snyder’s directorial vision and peculiar take on superheroes, it’s all there on the screen and unashamedly his, just as Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and, to a lesser extent, Man of Steel were. The fact that the DC film franchise has long moved past his approach doesn’t necessarily factor into ZSJL. It stands alone.

On its own terms, it hits all the marks that Snyder probably wanted to hit. The story and several of the characters are developed much more than they ever were in the 2017 edition. True, a lot of exposition is needed to make that story more cohesive and complete than it was before, but there are plenty of new visuals to go along with that foundation building as well. There is much more representation here of the full breadth of the DC universe, from ancient gods to Jack Kirby’s Fourth World.

The back story of Darkseid and the Mother Boxes, and the first battle for Earth with the Atlanteans, the Amazons, and everyone else somehow seems better articulated and executed. The connective tissue joining Darkseid’s quest to that of his lackey Steppenwolf–tying it all to the death of Superman, whose removal from the board cleared the way for Steppenwolf to return–is strengthened. Bruce Wayne’s quest to put together the team to defend the planet takes longer and has more steps to it, making it feel like much more of a challenge than it did four years ago.

Warner Bros. Pictures

Some of that team are given much better treatment this time, with Victor Stone/Cyborg getting the most out of the deal. He truly does become the heart of the picture in many ways, getting two extensive flashbacks that are equal parts elegant and clumsy but do a lot to round out a character who was little more than a special effect in 2017.

Ray Fisher’s performance is assured and graceful, and one can now see why he is so angry about what happened with the theatrical cut: it’s quite possible that some backroom studio committee meeting came up with a variation of “we can’t have an unknown take up so much space in a movie starring Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman.”

Ezra Miller’s Barry Allen/the Flash also has more to do than make jokes, although the much-ballyhooed introduction of Iris West (Kiersey Clemons) is little more than a walk-on, seen once and never heard from again (there’s a bit of that going around in this picture). Similarly, Lois Lane’s grief over the death of Clark/Superman is explored with somewhat more depth, although an otherwise poignant scene between her and Martha Kent (Diane Lane) is nearly ruined by a pointless twist.

Aquaman (Jason Momoa) and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) are less developed here, and their characterizations clash with what we’ve seen since in their standalone movies. There is a much more melancholy resonance to the absence of and longing for Superman. And although he’s still no Thanos in terms of complexity and nuance, Steppenwolf at least has a clearer motivation in this film. He just wants to get back on the boss’ good side, which kind of makes him weirdly amusing in a movie notable for its almost complete lack of humor.

All the banter that Whedon wrote and shot–the flirting between Bruce and Diana on the plane, Aquaman sitting on the Lasso of Truth–is gone. There are still some laugh lines in the movie, but ZSJL is as self-serious and grimdark as Snyder’s previous two DC entries. That makes it feel heavy-handed, as does Snyder’s deployment of agonizing slow-motion for so many scenes that it feels like he could have lost an hour just by speeding up the film. The colors are murky, mostly brown and gray, and while a number of visual effects are pulled off handsomely and seamlessly, this is supposed to feel mythic but ends up feeling just artificial more often than not.

But most importantly, the story and characters in this Justice League are still ill-served by the way the film was conceived in the first place. Even though our heroes are overall given more to do, this is still a movie that has to introduce three of those heroes, their backstories, and their worlds in one fell swoop. There’s no sense of culmination or victory in seeing them together, like there was in The Avengers. And in the end, Steppenwolf’s pursuit of three magic boxes just doesn’t carry the entire four hours.

Read more

Movies

Zack Snyder’s Justice League vs. the Whedon Cut: What are the Differences?

By David Crow

Movies

Zack Snyder’s Justice League: A History of Steppenwolf

By Marc Buxton

For all the world-building that Snyder (and screenwriter Chris Terrio) do, the placement of the “Knightmare” epilogue and its Joker cameo undermine everything that has come before, and undermine the character of Superman again. By the time the movie’s ending rolls around, Snyder is still basically saying that our heroes are going to keep letting us down–especially poor Superman, who’s going to turn evil in the future after being killed off and brought back once already as a rage monster. The addition of a Martian Manhunter cameo (his second!) at the very end is also superfluous, pointless fan service.

It certainly seems as if Snyder put every scrap of footage he shot into this version of his magnum opus, and perhaps that is what it took to give him closure, both for the film and for the unspeakable loss he endured while making it (there is a poignancy now to the movie’s major plot point of trying to bring back someone from the dead). But just because he could do it doesn’t mean he should have. Incredible as it seems, there may be an even better two-and-a-half or even three-hour cut of this Justice League that we’ll never see.

As it stands though, this one we now have will be the one spoken about in the years to come. Meanwhile the 2017 version will fade into history as an oddity. And that is, in the final analysis, the way it should be.

Zack Snyder’s Justice League is now streaming on HBO Max.

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The post Zack Snyder’s Justice League: Why It’s Better Than the Joss Whedon Cut appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[journeyintowriting]

Review: Play: Hamlet: RADA/KBTC

  It’s long over due, but this is my review, thoughts, and reflections of the Sept. 7th performance of RADA Hamlet.         

This review has been started and rewritten too many times. It’s been fifteen days since I’ve seen the play, and I’m no closer to putting my thoughts into words.

           Like everyone else, I was blown away by the strength and power of the cast. The intimacy and simple stage balanced those of us in the audience on the fringes of a period of mourning for the characters. The lighting itself was a character as its simplicity made it easier on the audience to see the difference between the masked dance of the real world verses the roiling chaos in the character’s minds. Each cast member had their own version of grief to show, which they did with the rawest of emotions. Most people have already commented on Tom’s breathtaking opener with the piano and song. It reminded me of the opener to ‘I Saw the Light’ with Hank’s lone voice calling out of the darkness. Barely able to hang on, Hamlet’s and Tom’s voice cracked and wavered before collapsing under the pain. Whatever pain Tom was drawing on to cause an entire theatre to hold its breath; it was one that haunted him through the entire performance and left him (and us!) drained in a healing exhaustion by the time bows were taken.

            In the midst of tragedy there was humor, oh yes, maybe even more so than what one would assume for the definition of tragedy. There is often humor in the grips of grief and loss, if one knows where to look. Sean’s Polonius stole every scene he was in, playing the unsuspecting fool and providing the steady foundation for many of the actors to work off of. Some did it with practiced ease, tossing the juggler’s balls with lightning speed and a lightness known well in Branagh’s works as the humor takes its unexpected twists and turns. Ansu was the champion of balancing dramatic and comedy, making him thrilling to watch as he handled three different characters. Sean did provide support in humor for those less practiced in their humor; Hiddleston for example. In the scene with “Words, words, words” in it, it was a game of copycat and a game of catch between the two characters. The text helped play to Tom’s talent for speed of tongue in the rapid-fire dialogue, while Sean guided the younger actor into the comfort of the physical humor that would come into play in the scene just after. One such scene was the graveyard scene with the gravedigger, Hamlet, and Horatia. In what’s traditionally a serious and grave return for Hamlet (heh) turned into a humor fest between Ansu’s bone drumming and Tom’s facial expressions with the absurdity of the scene and the added icky factor of handling freshly dug up skulls that reminded me of his interview about the autopsy observation he did for ‘High-Rise’ where he ran out and promptly threw up.

           While everyone who has seen this play spoke of the opening scene and the power of the acting and Tom in leather- yes, it was glorious seeing that in person- there was one scene that jumped out personally for me. I’ve been struggling with my own grief for years over the loss of self and the years of denial I put myself through. Putting on a brave face for the world when all you want to do is curl up and howl into the void. It is the scenes between the “Words, words, words” conversation and Hamlet screaming at the couch after realizing his friend’s betrayal. Hamlet enters with his hoodie up, his face streaked with the colors of Denmark, and a Danish flag draped around his shoulders as if he had returned from a sporting event. In his hands was a book that only my side of the theatre could see. It was an anti-suicide book; a bit of dark humor with an ongoing dance Hamlet does with the romantic notion of Death. Hamlet plays games with Polonius for a bit and after he leaves Hamlet once again is left in his misery. The mask pops back on with the arrival of his friends and as the dance party began (OH YES) I was first struck by the direct eye contact Tom and I had for a brief moment (he made eye contact with every person in that room, which is highly impressive in my PA book) and then recognized the glazed smile Hamlet wore. It was a familiar smile, one that I have used so many times that I could have mistaken it for my own natural smile. It’s the one we slip on when we don’t want the world to know that we are drowning in the storm on the inside. As the scene unfolded with Hamlet switching between denial, broken down sobs, wariness, paranoia, and anger; it was like watching my own wrestle with grief, depression, and anxiety I fight with every day. By the time Hamlet was done throwing pillows off the couch and screaming into the cushions, I was numb with realization that this was me. It was eye-opening, refreshing, and healing seeing that I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t until I was walking back to the Tube station in the rain did I cry deep, ugly sobs as it released my own pain and gave me permission to start to allow myself to grieve.

           The ending was difficult to watch. Hamlet got stabbed by Laertes right in front of me and of course they’re pros so it was intricately realistic down to the scream of pain. Not cool, guys. As Hamlet is dying, he glances up at Horatia in surprise with the sudden realization that he was actually dying. It was a theme and idea floating around the entire play, and it was something that Hamlet flirted and danced with but didn’t really think he was going to succumb to his dance partner. In that moment of surprise, regret, and fear; Death came for Hamlet.

           This is what Art is, and it’s something I try to teach everyone as I teach my own students to try. Not the death part, the other part. Whether it is a performance, an art exhibit, a new book, or simply hearing a song come on the radio; we will all hear/see/experience the same thing but take away something different from everyone else. As a music teacher who was wrenched away from my own ability to perform as I had dreamed and trained to do, by allowing myself to open up to the power of the Performing Art and let its healing energy fill and surround me.

[delectable-travel-dining]

Canada's National Cocktail Turns 50 - And Here Are 4 Great Places to Drink It

It's as Canadian as maple syrup. The Caesar is Canada's national cocktail. Created in a hotel bar in Calgary in 1969, it's been the only-in-Canada favorite game night, summer patio, and 'hair of the dog' Sunday brunch cocktail. Caesars even prompted an exclusively Canadian cocktail mix: Clamato juice, a combination of clam and tomato juice, which you can find on the shelves of almost every market in the country.

The country's 35 million residents consume an estimated 350 million Caesars every year, with variations and a cornucopia of local and inventive garnishes that ratchet up competition between bars across the country.

Feel like a taste of Canada? Well, book a trip to one of these standout Caesar cocktail destinations from coast to coast… or enjoy the recipes these bars, restaurants and hotels have been kind enough to share.

Hail Caesar!

Lynn Elmhirst, Producer/ Host, BestTrip TV

The Birthplace: Westin Hotel – Calgary, Alberta

Today's Westin in Canada's oil country capital was the Calgary Inn in 1969. Bar manager Walter Chell was assigned the creative task of devising a signature cocktail for the opening of the hotel's new Italian restaurant. He called on his own Italian roots and favorite dish, spaghetti with clams, mashing clams and blending them with tomato juice, adding spice, topping the beverage with a celery stalk, a 'crown' for a cocktail to be named after ancient Roman emperors.

The Caesar is still on the bar menu at the Westin's Liquid Lounge in Calgary, and although its recipe is true to Walter Chell's original recipe, they make it unique using local vodka from Eau Claire Distillery.

The Original Caesar Recipe

1 lime wedge

1 T celery salt or as needed

ice cubes as needed

1 oz vodka

1 dash Worcestershire sauce, or to taste

1 dash hot pepper sauce (such as Tobasco), or to taste

8 oz tomato and clam juice cocktail (such as Mott's Clamato or Walter Chell Caesar mix)

1 celery stick

Wet the rim of a cocktail glass with the lime wedge; set aside for garnish. Place celery salt in a small dish, and press the rim of the glass into the salt to coat. Add ice to the glass.

Pour vodka, Worcestershire sauce, and hot pepper sauce over the ice; top with tomato-clam juice. Garnish with lime wedge and celery stick.

Pro Tip: Double down on local flavor, pairing the Liquid Lounge's Caesar with the hotel's western-themed Bison Nachos.

The First Caesar Bar: 1858 Caesar Bar - Collingwood, Ontario

Two hours north of Toronto, mountains meet the shore of the vast Georgian Bay on the Great Lakes. The town of Collingwood is the gateway to the four-season Blue Mountains resort area, where skiing and snowboarding in the winter meet hiking and biking in the summer, and a host of marine activities in this historic Great Lakes shipping and ship building destination. Collingwood's beaux-art Federal Building downtown is one attraction. Another is the first Caesar Bar in North America.

1858 Caesar Bar features a huge menu of Caesars from traditional to outrageous, and you can even build your own custom Caesar cocktail. They all uniquely contain Walkers OneShot Caesar Additive, the Caesar seasoning that was the inspiration for the bar. They shared the recipe for their all-Canadian flavored Caesar:

1858 Caesar Bar - Canadian Maple BBQ Caesar

Start - Rim a 16oz to 20oz Glass with Walkers OneShot ‘Bold and Savory Rimmer’

Use Lemon or Lime Juice on a Tea Plate or Bowl to Wet your glass for the Rimmer to stick to the glass

Rim your glass

Add lots of ICE, THIS is important for a Great Caesar.. Yes ICE! Fill the glass full of ICE

Add Saddleback Whisky - Maple Bacon Whisky

Add Mott’s Clamato Original - Or your favorite Clam Juice

And now here comes the Magic - Add about 1oz of Walkers OneShot Premium HandCrafted Caesar Additive - Choose your desired Heat Level from Mild to Hot

Garnish with a piece of Maple Canadian Bacon

Finish - The Best Part - ENJOY this True ALL Canadian Caesar

Pro Tip: It's easy to make your own Maple Bacon - Get some BBQ Sauce and add some pure Canadian Maple syrup to the BBQ sauce. Stir it up, and brush onto the cooked piece of bacon.

The Liberty Distillery – Vancouver, British Columbia

Canada's West Coast cruise port is famously nestled between the sea and the mountains. Vancouver's Granville Island neighborhood has been transformed from factories and sawmills to a famous shopping and foodie destination. There you'll find the century-old Saloon Bar of the Liberty Distillery.

The Liberty Distillery's award-winning, light and citrus-y Bloody Caesar (pictured, top) highlights their organic, local grain craft distilled spirits.

Bloody Caesar

In a Collins Glass, build:

1oz. Truth Vodka

½ oz. Fresh Lemon Juice

3 Drops Tabasco

5 Drops Worcestershire

Clamato Juice or Tomato Juice

Ground Pepper

Grated Horseradish

Spicy Bean and Olive on a pick

Lime Wedge

Rim glass with celery salt. Fill with ice, spirit, lemon juice, tabasco and Worcester. Top with clamato juice and garnish with an olive/bean skewer, freshly grated horseradish, ground pepper and a lime wedge.

Pro Tip: instead of driving, practice safe cocktailing and at the same time enjoy an iconic Vancouver trip: take one of the adorable mini-tugboat ferries over to Granville Island to indulge in Caesars and the famous food scene.

Peake's Quay Restaurant and Bar - Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island

Canada's smallest and only island province is one of Canada's east coast provinces. PEI is famous for red sand beaches, lighthouses, Anne of Green Gables, and church lobster suppers.

Historic capital Charlottetown, with its Victorian buildings, is the birthplace of Canadian Confederation, and home to Peake's Quay Restaurant and Bar, overlooking the historic Charlottetown waterfront. They serve a classic Caesar, but with a local twist:

Peake's Quay Classic Caesar

Rim a collins glass with Celery Salt

Ice

1 oz Vodka

Lea and Perrins Worcestershire sauce

Splash of. Lime Juice

Maritime Madness Bacon Blaze Zesty Bacon Hot Sauce (made in Montague, Prince Edward Island)

Topped with Motts Original Clamato Juice

Salt and Pepper

Topped with Salt & Pepper

Garnished with a Spicy Bean and Lemon and Lime.

Pro Tip: Peake's Quay is open during the summer season, when it hosts some of the best of the Canadian maritime's famous music. Check out their Summer Concert Series schedule to make sure you're sipping a Caesar and tapping your toes to 'down East' coast music.

Start your Trip!

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