#which makes up for a lot of fairly dire nonsense

[cantsayidont]

December 2008. In the wake of his experience with the Thögal ritual (during 52), Bruce Wayne demonstrates that he is not an easy man to poison, in a scene from BATMAN #681.

[cheeriecherry]

Birds Of A Feather [4/7]

Hawks x Fem!Reader

Warnings: some swearing, a kiss

Part 4/7

By the end of the week, you’re walking into Hawks’ penthouse with nothing but a duffel bag of clothes. Most of your stuff had been moved to storage, but you’d told him you’d bring your own sheets, blankets, and pillows for the couch. He’d stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

He’d then gone on a tangent about how he had guest rooms, obviously, and how his sheets would be softer than yours. He’s probably not wrong, with his 1200 thread count egyptian cotton, but the way he says it ruffles you a bit. You don’t mention it, though. You don’t want to give him any kind of reason to kick you out.

“Hey chickadee, you gonna stand in the entrance all night, or are you gonna come in?”

You snap out of your stupor when Hawks calls to you, and continue lugging your things through the door.

The inside of the penthouse is beautiful; tastefully decorated (probably professionally), and it’s spacious rough that you could spread your wings out fully. The doorways are wider than average, likely catering to your boss’ specific needs. The entire place is gorgeous, immaculate even, and any person in their right mind would kill to live here.

You kind of detest it.

“I had some people come in this afternoon and set up the guest suite for you,” he says, kicking off his boots and flopping onto the couch. “They also brought some of your uniforms in from the agency, so you can change here. You won’t have to go in so early.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, and you mean it. Personal opinions aside, he’s let you into his home out of kindness. You’ll not soon disrespect that.

“Ah, you’re standing and staring again. Are you that impressed with the place?”

You snap back to attention for a second time, and hike your bag further up your shoulder. “I-it’s not that!” you try to explain, “I was just expecting something...different?”

Hawks sits up on the couch. “Whadya mean?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “More lived in, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful here, especially the balcony, but it’s also very...what’s the word…”

“Mature and charming?” he tries, but you shake your head.

He offers a few more suggestions, things like ‘perfect’ and ‘homey’ and ‘colourful’, each word hitting further and further from your mark.

Then it comes to you. “Monotone and sterile!” you nearly shout, your success momentarily quieting your desire to be polite. “It’s like it’s fresh out of a magazine, or a model home. Don’t take it the wrong way, Boss, I’m not hating on your tastes, but if I’m gonna be staying here indefinitely, I’m gonna have to add some personal touches.” You remember your manners. “If that’s okay…”

You worry that you may have offended him, with the way he’s looking at you, but a smile slowly spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling.

“Finally,” he sighs, “someone who speaks their damn mind.”

“Eh?”

“Do you know how many of the people I’ve invited here tell me ‘how beautiful’ it is?” He adjusts his wings and settles comfortably back into the couch. “All of them. Every single one. And look, I’m grateful that I’ve got this place, but it’s just a house. No sentimentality, no memories...just a space.”

“Well...it’s polite to not insult someone’s home when they invite you over…” you mumble, the severity of your outburst making your face heat up.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe they’re all schmoozing and hoping to get on my good side.”

The bitterness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you decide to leave it be. He should be free to be himself in his own home, and not have to put up any kind of front. You hoped he’d supply you the same courtesy, when you inevitably would wake up on the wrong side of the bed some mornings.

“Anyways,” he flips the TV on and tosses the remote to the side, “it’s late. You should probably unpack your stuff before you’re too tired.”

“Yeah…” you realize how wiped out you are as the weariness starts to settle in. “I’ve got tomorrow off though, so...if I wake up on time, I’ll bring you curry.”

You can hear him cheering as you walk down the hall to the guest room, and you smile. You’ll never understand his love for chicken, even though his enthusiasm boosted your confidence.

The room is spacious and airy, and has a beautiful view of the city. The bed itself is probably big enough to hold three people, and you’re silently grateful that your wings won’t be hanging on the floor while you sleep anymore. 

You set your bag down by the door, and flop face first onto the mattress. God, it was the most plush thing you’d ever had the pleasure to lay on.

“I’ll unpack tomorrow,” you mumble, sinking further into the sheets and, eventually, sleep.

In the distance, you hear Hawks snoring.

----

You wake up the next day to sunlight hitting your face. It’s bright, and annoying, and too warm, and your bed really wants you to keep sleeping but you don’t think you can.

You sit up.

You can feel that your hair is a disheveled mess, and your tongue feels gummy and sour.

“Blegh.”

You (regrettably) roll out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to fix your morning vibes, checking the time along the way. Ten is later than you would have liked to wake up, but you suppose you really needed the sleep. And you did, surprisingly, feel more rested than you had in months.

It’s ten thirty by the time you’re done in the washroom, overall energy more put together and presentable, and you waste no time heading for the kitchen.

The kitchen which is...painfully under-stocked. A couple of condiments and wilting vegetables in the fridge...some frozen meat in the freezer...a bag of rice under the sink, for some reason, and...a completely full spice rack, every bottle unopened.

You knew your boss didn’t spend a lot of time at home, but this was just sad. 

You make a mental note to go shopping later.

Thankfully he seems to have the necessary ingredients for chicken curry, which you’re happy about. It means you won’t have to brave the store just yet.

Bit by bit, you pull out what you need in order to cook, only sitting down when you have a moment to spare as the rice cooks.

‘Hey Boss, I’m making curry for lunch. Want me to bring you some?’

You send him a text. It’s still fairly early, and you know he has his meetings in the morning, so you doubt that he’ll get back to you before-

Your phone buzzes.

‘Chickadee, you sure know the way to my heart. I’ll leave my office window open.’

You send him a thumbs up emoji.

----

Once the food is finished, you pack it up into two containers, opting to leave the rest in the pot for now. You made lots, enough to get several meals out of it, just in case Hawks pulled his ‘too busy to cook’ excuse when trying to convince you to order take-out.

It doesn’t take long to fly to the agency, the skies much clearer than the roads. The city itself seems relatively calm, no sounds of explosions or screaming. There is a distant plume of dark smoke on the horizon, though…

But there were other heroes in the area. You wouldn’t be missed if you didn’t show up for one disaster...right?

But then you land in the window of your boss’ office, and your worry spikes. The room is empty, door closed, lights off, paperwork strewn about on the desk...like he’d run off in a hurry.

You pull your phone out and send him a text.

‘Lemme know if something came up. I brought lunch, but I can put it away for later. Stay safe!

-Chickadee’

He doesn’t reply, but that’s expected if he’s dealing with some kind of crisis. Maybe you should have headed to whatever disaster you’d seen earlier...if it was bad enough to call on your boss, it must be a pretty dire situation. Maybe he could use an extra pair of wings?

You sigh and take a seat beside the window, staring out at the city skyline. The black smoke across the way has turned to a dusty grey colour, a much less threatening hue, and one that bode well for any possible fires.

He’ll be fine, you decide, with other heroes undoubtedly on the scene. By the time you’d get there, whatever was happening would be dealt with.

You pull out your phone to scroll through the news while you eat.

Nothing urgent appears on the screen, nothing to incline that you were needed somewhere, nothing to say extra help was needed. Just day-old stories, gossip columns, the occasional media review. You do startle a little when a new article pops up that’s focused around your boss. You click on it, expecting to see some kind of haggard scene...but you only laugh.

“Hawks, most eligible bachelor in Japan, off the market?” You scroll further into the article to see what kind of nonsense the reporters have come up with this time.

What you don’t expect, is to find pictures of yourself littering the page. Pictures of you and Hawks together. On patrol, talking over lunch at a cafe he took you to one time, walking into his agency side by side, and -most recently- the two of you landing on his balcony.

You’re slightly panicked, and very, very flustered. Had he seen the column? God, he was probably used to it, though, being as popular as he was. All he had to do was look at someone and the media would start crying wolf, which in your opinion, was stupid.

Still, the more you read the article, the more you find it has some good points. You two did spend a lot of time together, more than he did with any of his other friends. But that’s all you are. Friends. Friends, and completely platonic roommates.

You weren’t sure why that made your heart sink so much.

So you copied the link to the article and sent it to him, typing a quick ‘lol’ afterwards. At the very least, he might get a laugh out of it.

----

You finish eating in record time, scarfing down a portion and a half of curry. It was lonely, sitting in Hawks’ office by yourself. You wondered if he ever felt like that when he was up here on his own. He was too busy for most things, too fast for his own good. Did that include friendships? He made time for you when he could, but you understood the busy and demanding life of a hero...other people might not.

You...understood.

The dull ache that you’ve felt in your chest for the past year returns, suddenly. The sadness and grief, the emptiness and all-encompassing tiredness, the big overhanging question of ‘what’s even the point?’. The point of being a hero, the point of suffering for the people who love you and hate you and who don’t even know you.

“Shit,” you sigh, your head and shoulders hanging low, wing dragging against the floor.

Hawks had brightened your life up so much these last few months. He’d brought the smile back to your face, the joy back to flying. You missed him when he was gone, worried for him when he was off on missions, fuck, you even cooked him lunch of your day off just so you could spend time together.

You were head over heels for him, and so totally screwed.

----

Hawks doesn’t return home until late that night. Far past your usual bedtime, but you’re far too distressed to sleep. If you hadn’t had your earlier revelation, you’d have chalked it up to ‘being worried’. But now?

Now that you knew you had feelings for him, all your thoughts were clouded. You were concerned because you liked him. You hung out with him because you liked him. Everything was because you liked him!

It was fucking with you a bit.

“What are you still doing up?” his voice sounds from the front entryway, startling you bad enough that you almost fall off the couch.

Your wide eyes snap to him, immediately taking him in. He’s worse for wear, that’s for sure. His uniform is singed in places, and you’re pretty sure the scuff on his neck is a burn. Most notably are his wings. Or lack thereof. 

Featherless red nubs is a more accurate description.

“You look like shit,” you say, keeping the air about you casual.

He makes his way over to you and finds a seat on the couch adjacent, wincing as he sits a little too quickly.

“Thanks, chickadee. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

Your face heats up. “I-I just mean! Long day?”

He groans, letting his head fall back against the cushions. You’re vaguely aware that he’s started talking, but the only thing you can pay attention to is the narrow column of his exposed throat, and how badly you wanted to lean over and press your lips against it.

You snap out of your daze when he nudges you with his foot.

“I feel like I’m talking to a wall,” you quips, devoid of any malice.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “what were you saying?”

“I was saying that we should hang out now that I’ve got a few days off. Kick our feet up, instead of culminating in a stuffy office.”

You shake your head. “As much as I’d love to, I still have work. Remember? I was already off today, I can’t miss more days.”

He whines, looking at you with sad puppy eyes. “It’ll be boring here by myself. You make the day more fun.”

“Hawks, I can’t-”

“Keigo.”

You perk up. “Huh?”

He rearranges himself on the couch so he can look at you more comfortably. “My name is Takami Keigo. Call me Keigo when it’s just us, okay?”

You consider it. “Why not Takami? That’s polite here, right? To use the surname?”

He nods. “Unless you’re close with the person. Family, good friends, the like.”

Your wings puff up, fully betraying the fact that you’re pleased he considers you a ‘good friend’. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and a teasing grin spreads across Haw-Keigo’s face.

“See? You waaaaant to. Say it with me: Kei-”

“Keigo.”

You don’t miss the way his cheeks tinge pink.

“You got it. And now, since we’re on a first name basis, I’m asking you to take a few days off to hang out with me.”

You’re exasperated.

“C’mon chickadee.”

“No.”

“Pleeeeease?”

“No!”

“Y/N…”

“No, Keigo.”

“Alright then. Now, as your boss, I’m officially giving you three days off.”

“You can’t just do that!”

“I can!”

“Hawks!”

“Keigo.”

“Sorry. Keigo!”

His expression is cheeky as you go back and forth for a while, and he’s unrelenting even as you gently beat him with a couch pillow.

It eventually morphs into a small war, the two of you chasing each other around the apartment, wielding whatever cushions you can get your hands on. You eventually end up tripping over the coffee table, shouting as you smack your foot and fall into an ungraceful heap on your back. Keigo wastes no time pouncing on you and pinning your arms beside your head.

Your wings are splayed out on either side of you, and he’s careful not to kneel on them. Even with your foot throbbing the way it is, he knows you could easily get away if you tried. But you don’t struggle. Instead you lay there quietly, out of breath, eyes locked on his. He can feel the warmth creeping up his neck, and you can see the redness returning to his cheeks.

“I...saw the article you sent to me today,” he begins, voice low. “I’m sorry they brought you into it.”

“I don’t mind,” you admit, “I just worry it might be detrimental to you. Some of your fans will be pissed.”

“Seriously?” He sits up on your chest, releasing your wrists. “You’re not online much, are you. Most of my fans ship us.”

“The hell does that mean?”

He laughs, soft of melodious. “It means that they like the idea of us. As a couple.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?” you wonder.

“No? Why would it?”

You avert your gaze from him, your insecurities and doubts creeping in under the scrutiny of his golden eyes. “I...guess you could just...do better, is all.”

“Chickadee...Y/N, look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. You feel very exposed laid out on the carpet, and you wish you’d never said anything.

A warm hand cups your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You’re so flustered you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your heart is beating rapidly against your ribcage, and you’re positive he can see your embarrassment when you finally do as he asks.

But he only smiles gently at you, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours.

“Listen to me, and listen well. You’re the best I can do. You bring out everything good in me, and make me forget the bad. You make me happy.”

“Keigo-”

He shushes you by bringing your lips together.

[mst3kproject]

Atomic Rulers

 So 2020 fucking blows.  We’ve got Death and Pestilence all over the place, War is waiting in the wings licking her chops, and I’m sure Famine is only a matter of time.  You know what we need?  A hero. Operator, put me through to the Emerald Planet!  After fifty-five years, the Earth must once again call upon Star Man.

(I apologize for the poor quality screencaps in this review.  The WiFi at sea is not great, so I’m watching movies on YouTube in decidedly low definition. I’ll replace them with better ones if I ever get out of here.)

Atomic Rulers, also sometimes known as Atomic Rulers of the World, is actually the first Star Man movie.  Does that mean we get an origin story for our brave hero?  Of course not.  Instead, we learn that the evil nation of… uh… a sign in the movie says Merapolia but the dubbing sounds like Magolia... whatever. Their nuclear testing is starting to contaminate Outer Space and the Emerald Men don’t like that – they send Star Man to Earth to do something about it.

This movie gives us two things none of the other Star Man movies do.  First of all, there’s an actual purpose to that ‘globemeter’ watch thingy he wears. The opening of every movie explains that the globemeter allows Star Man to do three things: travel through outer space, speak and understand any language, and detect sources of radioactivity. The first two functions have proven to be very useful, but neither the Salamander Men nor Ballazar’s Brain were radioactive, so the third just sat there like the stocks app on an iPhone.  Now, with the threat of concealed Magolian nuclear weapons, he finally uses it!

The second is, holy shit, a plot.  The Magolians want to rule the world, and aliens from a dozen different Godzilla movies have assured them that when conquering the Earth, you have to start with Japan.  To that end, their agents are sneaking atomic weapons into the country. Star-Man tries to confiscate these, and in the midst of the lame-ass fight scene that follows, the Magolian Bag-O-Nukes is carried off by a bunch of annoying little kids!  The Magolians kidnap one of the kids and try to force him to tell them where their bomb is.  Star-Man rescues the boy, but it’s too late – they’ve already retrieved the bomb.  There’s just a few hours left before Japan must surrender, or be blown to bits as an example to the rest of the world!

There’s actually even more to the plot than that. It’s full of wild twists and turns, with Star Man and the Magolians taking turns looking like they’re about to win the day.  Yet at the same time, unlike the other Star Man films, the story is not obviously bifurcated!  You can tell where Movie One ends and Movie Two begins (with the rescue of the kidnapped kid), but the same characters are involved throughout rather than changing from reel to reel.  Even the gaggle of nameless kids in short-shorts kind of play a role in the plot, helping Star Man and giving information to the police whenever they can. The plot unspools in a single main storyline from beginning to end, and events usually make enough sense that you can figure out where they fit.

Even more shockingly, Star Man himself actually has some personality in this film, even a bit of a character arc.  In the other movies he just ran around punching aliens and smiling at children, but here we see him as a bit of an arrogant dick, confident in his ability to beat the mere humans who represent the threat to the universe.  When he is nearly beaten instead, he is forced to learn a little humility, and nearly sacrifices his life to save a hostage.

By leaps and bounds, then, this is the best Star Man movie I’ve seen.  There’s a couple more out there, but they’d have to work hard to be better than Atomic Rulers.  At the same time, as praise goes ‘the best Star Man movie’ is almost as faint as ‘the best Coleman Francis movie’.  It still sucks big-time, and Mike and the bots would have had riff material to spare.

I mean, this is a movie where the bad guys have a giant cartoon demon face on the wall of their lair for some reason, and when they’re not disguised in blazers and ties they wear coronavirus suits with the same face on the chest.  There’s a bit where Star Man swordfights with a bunch of them, using fencing foils that were just lying around in the room for some reason.  Other fight scenes are mostly things like Magolians frantically shooting at Star Man while he just stands there looking smug. The ‘atomic core’ MacGuffin is just a plastic tube full of glitter.  The back-projected ‘flying’ effects are dire.  There’s a bomb that has a literal clock on the side ticking down the minutes like in an old cartoon.  There’s a pretty girl strapped into a death trap that I can only describe as the world’s slowest guillotine.

There’s a fairly extended sequence in which we see the Magolians’ car driving down a road, then cut to Star-Man flying, then back to the car, then back to Star Man, then back to the car, and on and on until I could almost hear Crow shouting “he’s following them!  We get it!”

The Magolians themselves confuse me a bit. People refer to their embassy and their ambassadors, and there’s a flag on their car and so forth, so I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to be from a country on Earth… and yet they behave exactly like the villains of a Japanese alien invasion movie.  They have dumb costumes, they call the guy in charge ‘supreme leader’, and most distracting of all, they refer to conquering ‘the Earth’.  Maybe this is just an artifact of the translation, but I would expect humans to talk about ruling ‘the world’ rather than ‘the Earth’.  It left me expecting a big reveal at the end, and when there wasn’t one, I had to go back to the beginning to see if they’d been established as aliens and I’d missed it.

Speaking of possible artifacts of translation, there’s another thing here I’m not sure about.  A lot of Japanese ‘no nukes’ movies have American antagonists, or at least, white guys who are clearly a stand-in for Americans.  My favourite example is the belligerent country of Rolisica in Mothra, which is an absolutely hilarious summary of what 60’s Japan thought the West was like.  Magolia, on the other hand, appears to be a stand-in for the USSR.  The actors playing the Magolians are mostly white, and we only ever hear two of their names: the supreme leader has a nonsense name, but the ambassador is called Boris Zedenko.  I wonder if this is original to the script, or whether it was changed when the movie was dubbed for American release.

The thing I find most interesting about Atomic Rulers is that while Star Man does save the Earth, that’s not really his goal.  The Emerald Men sent him here to prevent a war because Earth’s radioactivity was leaking into outer space, threatening other planets.  Star Man isn’t here to save humanity, he’s here to save the rest of the universe from us; saving us from ourselves is merely a side-effect.

This makes Star-Man a little different from his imitators, Space Chief and Prince of Space.  Despite their space-themed code-names, they are humans from Earth, with a specific interest in protecting this planet.  Star-Man seems to have the broader responsibility of protecting the civilized galaxy in general, and this is reflected in the premises of his movies. In Evil Brain from Outer Space, Ballazar’s Brain is using Earth as a place to launch a general takeover of the universe. Invasion from Space was a little less clear about it, but I’m pretty sure there was something about the Earth being ‘the richest planet in the galaxy’ and the Salamander Men would presumably use that loot for nefarious purposes.

A side implication here is that Star-Man probably has other adventures, too – we’re only seeing the ones that happen to bring him to our particular planet.  Considering how strange Star-Man movies can be anyway, and how trippy the brief shot of the Emerald Planet, with its crystal-headed creatures and robots and even a couple of what appear to be the Pairans from Warning from Space, one has to wonder about these potential non-Earth storylines.  How fucking weird would those be?  I’m imagining something like an entire movie about Krankor’s pet giant.

Another thing that distinguishes Star Man from the other space dinks is that he has actual superpowers.  Space Chief and Prince of Space are basically just normal guys in stupid outfits.  Prince of Space claims that Krankor’s ray guns have no effect on him, but really we see he’s using his wand-thing to deflect them.  Star Man, who is from another planet, can fly and has super-strength. This kind of makes me wonder if he was intended as a Superman imitator… but that would make Space Chief and Prince of Space the equivalent of Batman, and I just can’t insult Batman like that.

I am developing an honest affection for Star Man movies.  Their desperate cheapness is more than made up for by their over-the-top absurdity, and the result is not at all ‘good’ by any reasonable measure and yet is always entertaining.  Camp like that is all too rare to find, and even rarer to find a franchise like Gamera or Star Man that can do it dependably.  I don’t know why the Japanese are apparently so good at this, but I’m glad somebody is.

[spindlesandrosethorns]

So Bad At Playing It Cool  @@  War and Peace

In which Aurora and Reza share an awkward drink after prom and it only goes downhill from there. [Takes place on June 13th (Look at this point posting these things months late is just tradition)]

tw: heart break. like, a lot.

AURORA

Aurora had left just before they had announced Prom King and Queen, unable to pretend like there wasn’t somewhere else she’d rather be anymore. Because the fact was that no number of dance partners or flirtations could patch up the hole in her night where Reza usually stood, grumping off to the side. It was pathetic, really, how much she missed his sarcastic commentary and occasional soft smile, but there it was. She missed him. It was sad, and she felt small admitting it.

She would have been perfectly content going straight home, curling up in bed with a glass of wine and watching bad telly, but she’d left her toiletry bag at Reza’s house from when she had been getting ready with Lamia and Fadela, and when she had seen her leaving, Lamia had passed off two bottles of wine she had snatched from the bar for Aurora to sneak home. So she had to stop at his house.

Sighing softly to herself, Aurora easily let herself in the front door. As much as she would like to kick off her heels, there were too many straps and buckles in the way, so instead she just ‘clack’ed as quietly as she could to the kitchen…

Stopping dead once she realized the lamp next to the couch was on, and there was a body sitting in the small ring of light. “Reza?” Aurora asked softly, not wanting to wake him if the man was sleeping.

REZA

Aurora was at the house. He hadn’t expected her to be - he would’ve put a shirt on if Lamia told him she was bringing her over after prom. Instead he was sitting on the couch in goddamned nothing but sweatpants reading a book, and his apprentice who was deeply in love with him was here.

Fuck.

He willed away any anxiety (Aurora was getting so much better at magic so quickly, if he thought too hard about the situation, she’d see Some Kind Of Reagent to give it away) and looked over in the direction of her voice.

“Get a lot of compliments on your dress? I thought it was really pretty.” What? He wasn’t going to just stop being honest with her just to trick her into not loving him. Experience told him that didn’t work. 

AURORA

Okay, that just wasn’t fair. 

Aurora had spent the whole night trying not to think about Reza, and here he was, sitting shirtless in the dim light and complimenting her dress like she had been dying to hear all night. It was even better in his beautiful, musical accent, and Aurora was at a very real risk of swooning. Instead she simply blushed brightly, unable to stop her pleased smile as she tugged shyly on a curl of hair with the hand that wasn’t holding the wine. 

“A few, from friends and some of the regulars at the shop, but it’s still nice to hear,” she said, looking down at the floor bashfully. Gosh, why did it mean so much more coming from him!? Like, she knew, but why!? Damn her squishy, easy-to-sway heart!

Even though getting closer was the last thing she should do, Aurora came over so she could lean her hip against the back of the couch, giving Reza a small smile. “Sabiha already in bed?” she asked, very pointedly meeting his eyes and not looking below his neck. She would not oggle her sorcery master, she would not oggle her sorcery master. 

REZA

Not that he should be surprised, but the little purpley-pink wisps were around Rory’s head again. The flowers would form soon enough. He hated those flowers. They made him feel guilty.

At the mention of Sabiha, Reza relaxed. Sabiha was easy to talk about. This was good, safe territory. “Out like a light,” he said. “She wanted to stay awake to see Lamia and Fadela but we’re making bedtime only two hours late in the summer.”

“Kid needs some structure.” 

AURORA

Aurora smiled fondly at the mention of Reza’s daughter, giggling at the mental image of a sleepy Sabiha struggling to stay awake. “Hey, structure is never bad,” she joked. “Makes her easier to wrangle at rehearsal.” A well-rested Sabiha was always better than a sleepy one, even if Sleepy Sabiha had recently started to join Aurora for her naps in the auditorium. 

Shifting the wine bottles in her arms, Aurora held one up for inspection. “Lamia sent me back with stolen goods, want some?” she offered. Because she was a moron. Sitting and drinking wine with a Shirtless Reza was so far from a good idea that the very concept of ‘Good Idea’ had been abandoned in an alternate timeline. But Aurora could be startlingly self-destructive at the best of times, and they didn’t get a lot of quiet moments alone together. Usually Sabiha or one of Reza’s sisters were around, and if not them then Aurora was getting called or pulled away to resolve a problem in the shop. The shop was closed, Sabiha was asleep, and Lamia and Fadela were still at prom.

There was no better time than now.

REZA

He almost was like, ‘I can’t, it’s Ramadan’. Before he remembered, he’d celebrated Eid already with Donald and the rest of the Mafia. The Muslim Single Dad Mafia. He was just looking for an excuse to say no.

When he couldn’t find one, he agreed. “I do have a month of drinking to catch up on.”

AURORA

Aurora smiled brightly at Reza's reply, handing him one of the bottles to hold before heading to the kitchen. "Be right back!" she whispered as loud as she dared, not wanting to risk waking Sabiha.

In the kitchen, she set down the second bottle of wine where they kept the rest of the alcohol before pulling two wine glasses from the cabinet, along with a corkscrew. She came back with her spoils in hand, smiling brightly at Reza as she took her seat at the opposite end of the couch (yes, she was an idiot, but not that much of one; his side of the couch was the Danger Zone). Both glasses were set on the coffee table, and Aurora held out her hand expectantly.

REZA

He handed her the wine without a word, and settled back into the couch, closing the book he was reading and setting it aside. Between them. To make it harder for her to just slide up next to him. He wouldn’t have minded, strictly factually speaking. They were close now. Aurora was welcome in his personal space bubble like any good friend would be. 

But he wasn’t just a close friend to her, was he? He saw the reagent, he knew the truth, and didn’t want to give her any more reasons to feel that way about him.

Conversely, he didn’t want to do anything to hurt her that would make her more inclined to hate him.

He was at an impasse here.

AURORA

Aurora didn’t notice the strategic placement of the book between them, and if she had, she wouldn’t have minded. She was staying very far away from Reza and his bare chest, thank you. She was still aiming for a whole evening without passing out.

She took the wine bottle from Reza with a smile, twisting the corkscrew into the cork that kept it sealed up tight. Then - in a move that was a little more difficult if only because of the skirt of her dress - wedged the bottle between her legs so she could hold it in place with her thighs while she pulled the cork out. It was the easy, practiced move of the Designated Wine Opener on girls’ nights, and she casually tossed the corkscrew onto the table before pouring them both a glass.

Picking up her glass, she held it out to Reza with a grin. “To structure,” she joked. 

REZA

“Structure,” Reza parroted, raising his glass and taking a sip. “Mm. You said Lamia chose this wine? She doesn’t drink malbec. I do. Curious.”

Except, not curious at all. God, no, because he knew his sisters too well. Fadela was his best friend. Lamia, Reza practically raised. They sent Rory here alone intentionally with Reza’s wine, didn’t they? What were they expecting? Reza to suddenly gain the capacity to have feelings for another person over a bottle of malbec with his adorable, witty apprentice?

It wasn’t going to happen. And it was unfair to her. 

“Lamia must have assumed I was lonely tonight and needed some company.” He mused, swirling his wine in the glass. “Mm. Tell her it wasn’t dire, but appreciated. A pleasant surprise.”

AURORA

Aurora took a sip of her wine before setting it down on the coffee table, flipping part of her skirt up so she could finally undo all the buckles that kept her heels on. Her hair formed a curtain between them, which turned out to be a good thing when Reza’s words caused her face to flush. Aurora was fairly certain it was less for Reza’s benefit than her own; early in the evening, Aurora was doing fine pretending she didn’t miss Reza or Sabiha’s presence. But by the time Lamia had approached her, it was fairly obvious that Aurora was wilted and lonely without them there. 

Plus, Lamia absolutely knew about Aurora’s feelings for Reza, and seemed to take perverse joy in teasing Aurora about those feelings. Bitch.

But Aurora didn’t say any of that, instead laughing softly as she popped her foot out of the second heel, setting it neatly aside. “Tell her yourself,” she returned, tossing her hair back before picking her glass back up and curling up on the couch. “Although I will be adding ‘a pleasant surprise’ onto my resume,” she joked. 

After a moment, Aurora looked at Reza from under long, dark lashes. “It’s a shame you and Sabiha couldn’t make it, tonight,” she said as casually as possible. “I almost didn’t know what to do with myself without you two to look out for.”

REZA

Reza laughed politely at her joke-that-he-knew-wasn’t-a-joke about him and Sabiha, but he was letting her think he thought it was one behind his glass, the slight feeling of discomfort in his chest ballooning. Nope, nope, shut that shit down quick.

Don’t let her know you’re onto her, Reza. Think about how much you like this wine instead. Yes, let her see nothing but a twinge of Satisfaction.

“Nonsense. You look lovely tonight, I’m sure you found plenty of people to dance with, a flirtation or two or three. Much more fun than reminding me to smile. Or keeping Sabiha from tripping on her own skirts.” 

AURORA

Yeah, he was so not allowed to compliment her while shirtless. That had to be illegal. Aurora quickly ducked her head, her cheeks and ears turning a pretty shade of pink. “I did get to dance with Claude, and this lovely gentleman named Arthur, I think? But no grand flirtations, unfortunately.” Or at least, every time she had tried to reciprocate the flirting, her mind had drifted to the people she would much rather be with; making her a rather distracted conversation partner.

“Besides, neither of those things sound dull in the slightest,” she said. “Getting a smile out of you in public is more challenging than any game.” Aurora was teasing him now, reaching out to knock her heel against his covered knee playfully before drawing back to her half of the couch. “And Sabiha hardly needs my help! She’s more graceful than I am most days.”

REZA

Six months ago, he was hoping for this kind of comfortable, easy physical contact with Aurora. It was supposed to mean that they were friends, that he had more than just the two women with whom he shared DNA in this town. It wasn’t supposed to mean Rory clawing for some semblance of… whatever she wished this was.

No, now, the physical contact felt wrong. As if somehow tainted. 

He rolled his eyes, as if she were Lamia teasing him about being a grumpy bastard, and let out a huff through his nose. “I told you I was boring, Aurora. You knew what you were getting into when you became friends with me.”

“You speak so highly of her, but you didn’t see her completely eat it in ballet class last week.”

AURORA

Aurora’s eyes caught on Reza for a moment, not due to any reagents or anything like that. There was just something in his expression, something she couldn’t identify that made her want to stop and make sure everything was alright. But it was gone in a heartbeat, and she decided not to pry. Not when they were having such a nice evening.

“It’s true, I did,” she said with a fond shake of her head, sticking her tongue out at Reza before taking a sip of her wine. At Reza’s next statement, she nearly choked on her wine, barely keeping her giggling quiet as she covered her nose and mouth and fought not to cough. Her knees curled up to her chest as she rocked back against the couch, snorting into her hand. 

“Oh no! Poor baby, did she really?” she asked, glittering with mirth. “No wonder she was pouting so much that night!”

REZA

“Well, she was mad at me. I laughed at her; it’s really funny when she falls down. Her facial expression is always just - pure betrayal. Like how dare her body not stay airborne? Uhmm, rude?” Reza mimicked Sabiha’s inner monologue, voice going up a couple octaves. He laughed and took a sip of his wine and looked to Rory. 

Just in time to see her literally glitter talking about his daughter. Reza hated that he had to see that, and only get further confirmation that he wasn’t being careful enough, he’d let Aurora get too close to Sabiha and vice versa. He downed the rest of his wine and poured himself another half glass, quickly downing half of that, too.

The pit in his stomach grew. He didn’t know what to do about this. God, he wanted to sink into the earth and slither away. 

“Hm. Suppose she’s not old enough for me to tease her for her misfortunes.”

AURORA

Aurora had to set her wine glass down, lest she risk spilling it all over her dress as she laughed. His impression of Sabiha was spot on, and she had to actively muffle herself so she didn’t wake the little girl up. Reza laughed and the sound filled her up from head to toe, settling warm in her bones and muscles and making her toes curl just a little. God his voice was pretty. It was enough to make her own giggles calm down, and she leaned against the back of the couch with a soft smile.

Only for her smile to dim when Reza quickly downed nearly a whole glass of wine like it was water. Okay, she knew he was glad to be able to have alcohol again, but that was a little much. She sat up a little more, watching him with a furrow between her eyebrows. Now that she was really looking at him, she could see how muddled and muted the reagents around him were, like they were being smothered before they could fully form. 

She hummed distractedly at his comment, pursing her lips before she decided to take the plunge. “Thirsty?” she asked, pointedly looking at his glass and then back at him. The silent ‘Are you okay?’ was clear on her face, but she hoped it was subdued enough that he knew she wasn’t trying to push him. 

Sometimes he just needed a reminder that she was there, waiting and willing to help if he decided he needed it.

REZA

He schooled his expression, reigned in his emotions, and awkwardly laughed. “I just really missed alcohol during Ramadan. Have a lot of drinking to catch up on.” Reza lied, a genuinely warm but deceitfully carefree smile on his face. 

Reza brought his glass to his lips again and took a small sip, to show that the drinking like a fish was over (for now). A beat. Two, five. “Actually, Aurora-” the older sorcerer said, sighing and straightening his posture. “-I need to tell you something.”

It felt dirty, that he knew and she didn’t know she knew. Like he’d read her diary without her permission, or like he’d walked in on her stark naked and instead of closing his eyes he’d just stood there and looked. The only thing keeping this from being a total violation of Aurora was that reagents weren’t secrets. Not to him, not to any sorcerer. It hadn’t been his fault he found out her feelings for him; it’d been right there, in the flowers around her head.

No, not a violation, but an unfair advantage perhaps. In any case he felt it only fair he confess that he wasn’t nearly as clueless as he pretended to be.

“Aurora, I know.”

AURORA

Aurora managed not to sigh when Reza brushed her off, but just barely. She couldn’t push him. It wasn’t her place. But her slight disappointment was quickly waved off when Reza sighed and sat up, saying he had to tell her something.

Sitting up straight as well, Aurora’s eyebrows furrowed together in concern. Had something happened? Was everything all right? “I’m listening,” she said gently, giving him a small smile.

His words sounded so final, so weary… too bad she had no idea what he was talking about. Her head tilted to the side curiously, lips pursed slightly in confusion. “Know… what, Reza?” she asked. Was he talking about the ice cream trips with Sabiha after rehearsals? She wasn’t exactly keeping that a secret, she had just… never officially asked if it was okay.

REZA

God, damn. Did he have to be explicitly direct about it? Did he have to struggle through forming that awful, dangerous, four-letter word, and blatantly discuss this problem? He’d hoped she would understand so they could just leave it there. But he’d been vague. Purposely vague, but it was too vague.

He needed more alcohol for this. Drinking much more would only hurt her feelings though. She’d think the idea of her feelings for him was so horrible he had to drink to broach the subject. And no matter how much he told her ‘no, ‘Rora, it’s not like that at all’, she wouldn’t believe him.

So he held his glass in his hand, careful not to move it upward, and made the gentlest, least accusatory eye contact he could. “At the risk of sounding like a conceited antagonist in a CW show, I know you’re in love with me, Aurora.”

AURORA

Aurora met his eyes easily, willing to wait patiently until his words came together. And then they did. It took a moment to register, actually, but once it did her eyes went wide as all the color drained from her face.

Oh, fuck.

She laughed awkwardly, immediately regretting setting her wine glass down if only because it meant she had nothing to hold on to. Her hands clutched at the skirt of her dress, instead. “I’m what?” she asked, trying to play it off and failing horribly thanks to the barely hidden panic in her voice. She knew she had been too obvious! God, she had prayed this wouldn’t happen; she didn’t want to talk about it. She already knew where this conversation was going. It was there in how gentle he was trying to be, in the drinking and the awkward, vague ‘I know’.

She had been so willing to ignore it, to never bring it up, to let the boat remain unrocked in still waters. Reza was pushing her onto the plank.

The blood quickly returned to her face until she was entirely red, embarrassment and shame squirming in her gut and throat. Aurora couldn’t look away from him though; she was locked in place, unable to look away from the heartbreak she knew had been coming from the moment she had admitted to herself what her feelings for him had become. “What makes you say that?” she asked, voice small. It wasn’t a denial, but it also wasn’t an outright confession either. She wouldn’t lie, but she… she didn’t want to talk about this.

She could have managed if they had never talked about it.

REZA

He knew he had to be appealing to women, again, at the risk of sounding conceited. She wasn’t the first woman with one-sided feelings for him, but the first in a long time that he actually cared about. Aurora was his friend, his apprentice. She wasn’t just someone, she was someone to him. 

“I may be stupid, but I know what’s in front of me. The reagents have been everywhere, Rory. The flowers… they really are lovely. I’m a waste of such raw beauty,” Reza muttered, then cleared his throat. “I regret that I’m incapable of reciprocating, Rory. I don’t— I’ve never—“

AURORA

Bizarrely, under the horrified embarrassment and the beginnings spasms of a freshly-broken heart, Aurora was kind of insulted that it was her reagents that had given her away. Really? It wasn’t anything else? Not the blushing, not the staring, not the quiet attention she paid to only him? It had to be her traitorous magic that wasn’t even hers ratting her out? Bullshit.

She tried to cling to that annoyance, as it was a much easier emotion to handle than whatever it was that was twisting her guts at his next words. She didn’t even know how to quantify it, just that it hurt. There were no flowers now, but she reached up anyways like she might be able to pluck them out and see them. 

(See the part of her Reza found beautiful, even if it was the only part that wasn’t even her. And wow, wasn’t that a fun thought to get shoved into her gut like a knife.)

And then it came. 

‘I regret that I’m incapable of reciprocating.’

There was a difference between knowing something, and hearing it said out loud. Reza might even be able to describe the difference in how they looked or sounded or their effects in spells and potionmaking. All Aurora knew was that there was a difference between knowing Reza wouldn’t love her back, and hearing him say it. It was the one thing she had wanted to avoid, and it struck her so hard she gasped softly when it hit. 

Oh, god. That hurt.

It felt like a bolt to the heart, her stomach twisting into empty, aching knots as she tried to force herself not to feel it. She needed this conversation to end. Right now.

She held up her hands. “You don’t-” she started, clearing her throat when she realized how weak and watery and pathetic she sounded. “You don’t have to explain. I know. I never… I never expected that of you. You don’t have to- to apologize or anything like that.” How she managed it, she’ll never know, but Aurora managed a small, shaky smile. 

“We don’t have to talk about it. I just… I always planned to keep it to myself.”

‘I didn’t want you to say it out loud. I never wanted to hear that. I wanted getting over you to be as easy as falling into you.’

“I won’t change anything if you won’t,” she said, finally looking away from him to stare at her lap. She didn’t want him to see her silently begging him for mercy.

REZA

He may have fucked up here. Just a bit.

(‘A lot bit, you fucking moron,’ Fadela’s voice in his head sneered.)

The goal was to confront it, to talk about it, and hopefully she could get over it. Over him. Someone who didn’t deserve her affection, and who wasn’t even capable of returning those feelings. He never could return feelings like that for people, nor could he initiate them. Love songs never made sense to him. Shakespeare’s sonnets bored him to tears but the one. He didn’t even have that kind of love in his heart for Rafika as he watched her give birth to his child.

It simply wasn’t possible. That’s what Rory needed to understand. What he wanted her to understand. But the right words just didn’t exist.

Wine, he needed wine.

“It’s not you. I’m a cold, emotionless person. I mean- I must be,” he admitted. “I think you misunderstood what I meant by ‘incapable’, it - it’s nothing to do with you. I meant it when I said you were wonderful, because you are, Rory. What’s wrong isn’t you, it’s me. Something has to be wrong with me to have never loved anybody, especially when I’m lucky enough to have gotten you as my best friend.”

“I could sit here all day and list, alphabetically if I had to, everything wonderful about you. You understand?”

AURORA

Aurora definitely couldn’t look at him anymore. Not when each word seemed to press her chest further in on itself.

“No, you aren’t,” she said quietly, voice shaking ever so subtly. And he wasn’t. Cold and emotionless, that was. He loved his daughter and his sisters so much, and, to a point, he loved her too. Just not the way she loved him. And she was fine with that.

Being confronted with it was what was fucking her up.

“Please stop,” she gasped, shoulders by her ears. How she wasn’t crying yet she had no idea. She couldn’t survive hearing him tell her how ‘wonderful’ she was while her heart was getting stomped into the dirt. She would rather jump off the plank and let herself drown in her heartbreak than let him shoot her with well-meaning.

“I-I appreciate it, but please… stop. I-I can’t- I…”

Aurora clutched the bodice of her dress in one hand, like she could stop the pain from spreading. It wasn’t enough.

REZA

Okay, so he fucked up big time on an emotionally sensitive matter. In other news, water is wet. 

He looked down at his lap to avoid looking at Rory and the awful, ugly reagent creeping across her chest and down her arms, making her skin look like cracked windshield glass. All he wanted to do was get Rory to get over her silly crush on him. She deserved to be free of those emotions so her heart could be open to the right someone someday. 

And you know. He wasn’t really giving her the best environment to get over him, was he? Think about it.

Reza was stupid enough to allow his daughter to be attached to Rory’s hip. It wasn’t fair to Aurora, or to Sabiha, to let her fill part of the traumatically-vacated role of mother in that child’s life. Not when Reza wasn’t even sure he was staying in England past Lamia’s university education. Especially not when the woman helping to raise Sabiha wasn’t even romantically involved with him.

Not when she was in love with him and really, really shouldn’t be. I’m not good for you, Aurora, he wanted to say, but didn’t.

“I...think we need to talk about Sabiha.” He said instead, making an even bigger mess of this situation. Aurora probably wouldn’t talk to him after tonight anyway. Best to get it all over with. “Rory, I- I don’t want Sabiha to make your feelings for me more complicated, or vice versa. And I - I feel like you’ve gotten just a bit too close to her. I would be more comfortable if you took a step back for a while. You care about her, and that’s sweet, it is. But you aren’t her mother, and I’m worried that your feelings about her might change as you realize what an asshole I am after tonight.”

AURORA

You know, she hadn't thought it could get worse. Aurora was taking a long drink of wine - hoping it would soften the breaking, cracking feeling in her chest - but when Reza mentioned Sabiha, all her intentions to make a hasty retreat vanished like smoke. Instead, her head snapped around like she was possessed and she could only stare at him, gaping.

Okay, she knew he was a little emotionally-insensitive sometimes, but what the actual fuck.

She actually flinched from him, the cracks across her chest getting deeper and spreading further across her chest under her dress like spiderwebs. "I'm sorry," she started, voice taking on an edge, "but are you saying that I only care about Sabiha as much as I do because… because I have feelings for you?" Was he trying to imply that she would just abandon her as soon as Reza broke her heart?

More than anything else he had said that night, that hurt. That was the really revealing moment. Because if Reza thought she was capable of that, it meant that all of those things he had tried to placate her with - all those lines about how it wasn't something wrong with her, that she was wonderful despite not being someone he could love - were bullshit. And that… that made her mad.

(Anger was easy. Anger was simple. Anger blocked out the pain of having her heart broken again and again, mercilessly, within the span of only a few minutes.)

"I can not," she hissed, "believe you are doing this now, and that you're doing this like this. I care about Sabiha because she is a brilliant, wonderful girl, not just because she's yours. That's not going to change no matter what you say or do to me, and that fact that you think it would is incredibly telling. I know I'm not-" Aurora's voice hitched, and she wanted to slap herself "- I'm aware of what I am and am not." No matter how much she wanted to be.

"You're her father and I will respect your wishes, but you better have a damn better reason to make me abandon her than the fact that you apparently think I am capable of bailing out the second you make me sad," Aurora nearly growled, lilac eyes burning with hurt and anger and unshed tears. "I never expected you to return my feelings, Reza. I care about Sabiha because she is deserving of care and love, not because you're a package deal. A broken heart isn't going to change that."

REZA

It was getting comedic how truly awful Reza was at this. God, he was the definition of an asshole. But that was the point, wasn’t it? That Reza was an asshole with so much baggage that Rory needed to just… just understand that. Just use him to master her magic because that’s all he really could do for her.

A part of him wanted to just snap at her, that he never asked her to have these feelings for him, that he shouldn’t feel like navigating them was his responsibility. Wasn’t that what it was to be human though? To navigate the minefield of other people and their emotions and hope you weren’t fucking it all up?

“Aurora, I don’t want her to get confused.” Reza said weakly. “Or- or her heart broken if suddenly you’re not there at all. I’m not asking you to not be around her. I’m only asking you to take a step back until this...isn’t a problem anymore.”

AURORA

God, she wanted to be mad at him. She wanted to fight with him! Wanted to scream and yell at each other until she didn’t hurt as much, until she could claim she hated him. Fuck, she just wanted it to hurt a little less.

But then he reminded her of one of the reasons she fell in love with him and all she could do was look away. Biting her lip and fighting back tears because damn it, why did he have to be such a good person? He was just trying to do what was right for his daughter.

“God, fine,” she gasped out, shoulders by her ears. Like if she curled up enough she could keep her glass chest from cracking any further. “I’ll take a step back. But I’m not leaving her completely, I-I can’t do that to her, Reza. I can’t abandon her.”

She would take a step back until this wasn’t a problem, like he asked. Until she wasn’t a problem. Her and her stupid heart, continually caught up on the wrong right guy.

“Fine,” she whispered, hiding behind her hair as the tears began to flow.

REZA

“I’m not asking you to abandon her,” Reza said softly. “I would never.”

A step back meant a step back, not running away. It’s not like he was barring Rory from seeing Sabiha. No, she was part of the family now! But she was a cool auntie figure, not a mother. And Reza worried Sabiha was starting to see Aurora like the latter.

“I’m sorry. I just want Sabiha to recover emotionally from losing her mother. And for her to recover in a way that doesn’t run the risk of confusing her again later.”

AURORA

“No, don’t be sorry,” Aurora said faintly, voice wet, not looking up from her bare toes. “You’re right. It’s not fair to her.”

And at the end of the day, that’s all she wanted. The best, for both of them. She didn’t need Reza to love her back, or for Sabiha to see her as more than a family friend, she just wanted to know they were both happy. Aurora was happy to sit back and let them find that happiness, even if it didn’t involve her, she really was.

Didn’t stop the tears currently rolling down her cheeks.

She sniffed, trying to wipe her eyes as quickly and subtly as she could. She didn't want to confirm that she was crying, didn't want to think too hard about how she must look to him. Pathetic and small, crying over things that weren't hers and never had or would be. She reached out and downed the rest of her wine quickly.

"I should go," she said quietly. Reaching her foot out, she snagged one of her heels by the strap and dragged it back to her like it weighed hundreds of pounds. She didn’t bother putting them on, didn’t bother getting her toiletry bag she had intended to collect in the first place. She just stood from the couch, and not looking back, walked out the door.

Walked past the happy people leaving prom.

Walked past the street lamps and shop fronts.

Walked until her feet were aching and sore, until she was in her own flat.

And all alone, collapsed to her knees and sobbed as her heart finally shattered in her chest.

[scope-dogg]

Arcadia of my Youth and Endless Orbit SSX (brief) final thoughts

I’ve been fairly interested in seeing something to do with Leiji Matsumoto’s famous space pirate Captain Harlock for a fair while now - with the announcement of SRW T and Harlock’s inclusion therein I finally had an excuse. Interestingly, the SRW T team picked Endless Orbit SSX, the anime followup to the 1982 movie Arcadia Of My Youth, both of which I’ve now seen. While the latter was a really beautiful movie that I’d highly recommend, the TV series is a bit of a controversial pick for Banpresto, as it’s now of dubious canonicity and was brought to a clumsy, crashing halt by its premature cancellation less than halfway into its projected TV run. However, I thought that it was a decent watch for as long as it lasted.

Arcadia of My Youth is something of an origin story for Harlock, as it chronicles his transition from military captain to renegade as he forges a friendship with the diminutive but affable engineer Ooyama Tochiro, and their subsequent uprising against the oppressive alien Illumidas empire using the Arcadia, a warship built by Tochiro in secret. Endless Orbit SSX is fundamentally a continuation of this story, chronicling Harlock and Tochiro’s search for a real Arcadia, a paradise world where people can be free of Illumidas oppression, all while fighting off the Illumidas as well as Mr. Zone, a genius human engineers who seeks to further his own lot by collaborating with the the enemy. Both stories carry the same kind of themes, primarily of upholding idealism against a backdrop of despair and tragedy. Harlock and his crew are portrayed as free spirits against an overbearing, all-destroying authority that lays waste to all it comes into contact with, and those who have willingly bent their knee to it. The mood throughout is dire, with the suffering of those trod on by the Illumidas equalled only by the mental torment of those who were forced to sell themselves out to them, with only Harlock remaining indomitable throughout. His stoicism might not make him everybody’s cup of tea but I thought he was a really cool character in this, fitting with his enduring legacy as one of the iconic characters of Japanese sci-fi, and the supporting cast plays its part in both parts of the story too - in particular, I thought that Zone, SSX’s chief antagonist was a pretty interesting character. Unfortunately, the show’s early cancellation really shows - it was shitcanned at the 22 episode mark when it was scheduled for more than 40, and the ending is a rush job. They probably did the best they could - it’s not a disaster like Layzner’s rushjob ending but it wasn’t handled gracefully like Gundam X was either - it’s like reading a book that just skips to the end when you’re really just beginning to get to the good bits in the middle.

Presentation wise, the movie is really beautiful. It’s this strange but sublime blend of classic sci-fi and an almost baroque romanticism, which is probably best summed up by the look of the Arcadia itself, which is a blend of sci-fi battleship and pirate galleon. The TV series isn’t bad looking either, although it reuses footage a lot and leans a little more on the typical sci-fi side of things, making it feel less unique and artistic than the movie it follows up on, though it definitely has its moments.

Ultimately, the show’s a somewhat hard sell, although I actually don’t think it’s a bad pick for SRW T - the fact that the story’s kind of barebones due to its early cancellation gives them a little room to play fast and loose to slot it into the larger narrative of the game, but it still brings enough to contribute, both in terms of stuff for the player to use and cool enemies to face off against. Even if you’re planning on getting the game though, I wouldn’t hold it against you if you skipped the show. The rushed ending puts a damper on what could have been a great series, and it’s not really considered canon anymore because it contradicts stuff from the original TV series. The movie on the other hand is a must-watch if you ask me. It’s not explicitly included in SRW T but I expect that its events will make up part of the backstory and that they’ll be referenced in the game. Even if that’s not the case, you should watch it anyway. It’s a really beautiful piece of cinema that feels like an artistic vision, almost like a sci-fi Shakespeare tragedy at times. It’s very melodramatic and it has some goofy nonsense in it but to me that was part of its appeal.

I was just gonna watch Rayearth next, but I wanna be fair to everything I’ve got on my (quite long) list of things to watch before SRW T comes out in late March, so I’m gonna use my traditional method of picking which of these series to watch next. It might end up being Rayearth anyway. Whatever it is, I hope that I can work through it quite quickly, I’ve got a long way to go.

[pass-the-bechdel]

Marvel Cinematic Universe: Thor: The Dark World (2013)

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, at least four times.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Four (23.52% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirteen.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Film Quality:

Surprisingly dull.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Darcy tells Jane about the scientific anomaly. They check it out together. They pass when Jane reappears. Frigga instructs Jane. To be honest, I forgot to notice if they actually passed once Jane came back to Earth, but it’s ok because we already confirmed that the film achieved multiple passes anyway. There were definitely some.

Female characters:

Sif.

Jane Foster.

Darcy Lewis.

Frigga.

Male characters:

Malekith.

Bor.

Loki.

Odin.

Thor.

Fandral.

Hogun.

Volstagg.

Richard.

Ian.

Heimdall.

Algrim.

Erik Selvig.

OTHER NOTES:

Odin is encouraging Thor to have a relationship with Sif, aka his One Female Friend. What a cliche. It comes to nothing in any direction and I don’t know why they bothered to even mention it.

They bother to give Frigga something to do (ever-so-briefly) in this movie, just in time to kill her off. Nice.

They spent so much time having Thor and Loki trade quips while they’re escaping Asgard, I straight-up forgot that Jane was there. Bad editing, y’all.

Erik is ~crazy~ and then he sees the convergence is happening and he’s spontaneously better and it’s all just very...poor.

Thor’s whole take-the-aether-to-Svartalfheim plan goes astronomically badly and I feel like they kinda...gloss over that. He and his buddies all commit treason, they deliver the aether straight to Malekith, and Loki DIES (as far as Thor knows, anyway). It’s just kinda weird that they don’t take a moment to be like ‘wow, really fucked that one up’, y’know, lean in to the emotion a bit, give it some weight? I feel like they played Frigga’s death like it was the more desolate moment, which is nonsense from both a narrative perspective, and in terms of character (since the audience is three films in with fan-favourite Loki, as opposed to this being Frigga’s second appearance but the first in which she actually did anything (recall in the first film she was not actually given a name, let alone anything to do)). Whatever. 

I’m not gonna linger overlong with this one, because there’s really not a lot worth saying. For the ladies, I will say this: I think all four of them have more utility in this film than they did in the first Thor. Jane is less prominent than last time, but she gets to do more than just talk excitedly about science this time (though for the middle portion of the film, she is rendered a damsel and spends a lot of time either unconscious or just weirdly silent and being totally forgotten by narrative and audience alike (pro tip: reaction shots of all involved parties are important. No one is ever just hanging on the sidelines of a major action event doing and thinking and responding to nothing). Nevertheless, she gets to actively participate in science-ing a way to win the day at the climax of the film (using Selvig’s tech, admittedly - I can’t give points to any aspect of Jane’s handling in this film without also adding a caveat), and at least that’s better than standing around yelling and wringing her hands over Thor? It’s something.

When I say Sif had more utility this time, that’s...maybe an exaggeration. She had about the same amount as last film, really: she does at least one (1) thing in her function as ‘one of Thor’s group of friends’, and she gets at least one (1) scene where she has a personal conversation of some description with Thor so that the film can play with the possibility of using Sif as a love interest. It’s not a thrilling effort, and I can’t pretend that there’s any real evidence of a character there, just a placeholder standing in until someone with an actual personality shows up to take over (it doesn’t happen). Darcy continues to be that mix of fun and annoying that only sometimes works as comic relief, but at least this movie gives her some minor action to perform (getting Selvig out of the psychiatric facility) as opposed to just tagging along being chatty for the sake of it all movie long. It’s not much - and frankly, Selvig’s whole storyline is useless - but at least it allows anything at all to be happening on Earth while Jane and Thor are away. It’s...something.

And then there’s Frigga, who, as noted, is briefly given something to do so that the film can shore up some meagre emotional capital in order to buy a fancy funeral scene and some tasty manpain for our Asgardian royals. Yippee. An inordinate amount of attention is given to the death of a relatively minor character with whom the audience has been given little opportunity to forge an attachment, and while it works fine enough at that point in the film, the fact that the movie never reaches that same tempo again is egregious. Normally, the primary emotional intensifier in the film is the event which prompts the final act, but this movie misplaces that event way early with Frigga’s death and then Thor’s treason-plan which ensues; there’s a whole other action set-piece on Svartalfheim and ANOTHER (much more major) character death, and THAT is what spurs the final act of the film, but it is handled in a much more low-key (pun not intended) fashion, with very little response from the characters past the immediate moment. After Loki’s death, there’s no evidence that Thor is particularly bothered, there’s no indication that he’s emotionally driven to avenge his brother (or his mother, now, because we already spent that arc) by defeating Malekith at last, and there’s no hatching of a reckless Hail-Mary ploy to beat the bad guy, they just kinda...go and plant some gravitation rod thingies. Wowzer. The primary emotional intensifier of the film happens at the half-way point with Frigga’s fridging, and there’s not nearly enough fuel in that to keep the story running to the end. 

Essentially, this is the problem with the entire film: it has no emotional cohesion, and that renders events that should feel compelling/exciting/original perfunctory and empty instead. It also has the same problem as the first Thor in that the majority of the characters feel flat and fairly meaningless as individuals, existing more as plot devices than anything else, but unlike the first film this one doesn’t even muster a good villain plot (Christopher Eccleston’s Malekith has presence, but he isn’t given anything dynamic to work with, he’s literally ‘evil, because’. Also, I’m annoyed that they had Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje as Malekith’s lieutenant and failed to do anything cool with him as a character, he’s just The Muscle (who is also ‘evil, because’)). The adventure to Svartalfheim is the best part of the film because it has the sense of escalating stakes that the actual final act lacks, so it’s the only time that the tone of the film feels like it’s on-track, plus it is notably the only time that the narrative utilises Loki (fan-favourite character and easily the best asset from the first film: you kinda want to lean in to that - the other best character from the first movie, Heimdall, remains woefully underused this time around). Once Loki is out of the picture and Thor’s not real worried about it and the characters on Earth are fooling around with planting a handful of itty flimsy spikes in Greenwich to disrupt the cosmic alignment of the nine realms (who knew it was that easy?), the film lapses into the same old predictable beats with no emotional core, and while there’s some basic fun in the portal-hopping of the film’s climax, there’s no sense of any genuine jeopardy for any of the characters, nor is there a clear idea of what they actually have to do to beat Malekith or how that can be achieved, so the action isn’t building toward anything more defined than ‘super-powered aliens whaling on each other’. As the MCU already learned (but evidently, failed to internalise) after The Incredible Hulk, just having rubber characters bounce around breaking stuff and being invulnerable until it becomes convenient for them to stop does not a good finale make. Well. At least this movie isn’t as ridiculously contrived as Iron Man 2? It’s less fun, though, and for all its spectacle, it’s not even as good as the first Thor movie, and considering how very generic that film was? That’s a dire conclusion. The MCU track record for sequels is presently, not good. Just you wait, though - we’re about to have an exception to the rule.

[chromsai]

DM Review

So now that I’ve reached the end of my rewatch, I feel it’s appropriate to give it a quick review before I move onto GX. I don’t really plan on dragging this on too badly since I feel I expressed my thoughts over the show well enough throughout the liveblog anyway, but I do, however, want to break it down a bit, so in order to give it a proper rating, I feel it’s best (and easiest) to give each “season” of the show its on individual rating, and then go from there. So let’s do that...

Duelist Kingdom (episodes 1-40 + 41-49)

Well ignoring the fact that the rules are incredibly broken throughout (which can be forgiven since the rules for the actual game still hadn’t been fully established yet), the ridiculous premise is very much enticing enough to make me want to keep watching Yugi climb his way through the tournament to save his grandpa from Pegasus (who is, imo, still the most enjoyable villain of the whole show) and become the King of Games. Even though from episode one, we’re just thrown into the world and have to follow along with these characters that we know nothing about, the season makes up for it as it does take its time throughout to tell us each character’s background and story and why they’re involved. The world building this arc is, funnily enough, not that important, which is something that shows can very rarely get away with. We get just enough to understand why this tournament is important to the world of these characters, and that’s fine. Though the outcome of each duel is terribly predictable, it’s not in a bad way since what matters is the journey, not the destination. When I started, I thought this was going to be a hard arc for me to get through due to the nonexistence of the rules of Duel Monsters, but oddly enough it was exactly the opposite for me. It’s not such a grandiose plot, this season, but it kept up the intrigue throughout. On an overall note, DM’s main cast are (mostly) lovable so that of course always helps keep its charm.

The episodes in between Duelist Kingdom and the next arc are basically filler... meant for the purpose of introducing some recurring side characters. They’re fairly... um... ignorable, imo. Wouldn’t necessarily say they’re terrible but... most of them don’t really keep your attention for too long.

Overall rating for this arc: 3.5/5

Battle City (episodes 50-97, 122-144)

This arc does tournament arc tension and development for its characters pretty well, namely, actually, for Jounouchi. He got a good start in Duelist Kingdom, however he definitely starts shining this arc. Anyway, like 85% of this arc is legitimately enjoyable. There is a lot of dumb logic happening throughout, courtesy mostly of this arc’s villain Marik and his rare hunters, but I’d say it’s for a good cause (as in creating at memorable conflict and personal dire stakes to the game). This arc also does a great, no, a superb, job at demonstrating exactly why Seto Kaiba is such a memorable rival and character. World building is much improved in this arc, but also isn’t overwhelming where the cast is too large that we can’t even keep track or we just don’t care about certain characters (though... *coughbakuracough*). We also get to see some more good inner turmoil well up within Yami Yugi regarding dragging his friends into such a dangerous tournament, which in turn works very well along with his friends’ (again, mainly Jounouchi) support of him. The final duels in this arc are, despite their slow as hell pace, exactly the kind of shit you ended up watching Yugioh for anyway so it almost makes you forget any small little flaws you had to deal with on the way. Though, one of those flaws... was exactly the pacing. Why. Why do duels have to be that long? No... I don’t think I needed to hear that same monologue one more time. Lastly, is this arc also predictable? Definitely yes. But again, it’s in the journey. Not the destination.

Overall rating for this arc: 4/5

Noah’s Virtual World (episodes 98-121)

This is, more than any of the other arcs, the one that I was *not* looking forward to when I first began rewatching since I remember that I didn’t enjoy this as a child. Well it’s a good thing I seem to have grown up. This arc... is not exactly written well, and thus thoroughly flawed (mostly in its logic and general premise and whatnot), but what matters, once again, is the content we get in between all the idiocy. The most enjoyable parts of this arc comes, no doubt, in the form of Kaiba family backstory. We knew a fair bit about Kaiba beforehand, but this arc definitely adds a good well of information regarding his motivations growing up, why he is the way he is now (side note: lmao holy shit), and what kind of business man he really is. The backstory found in this arc for Kaiba is well worth slugging through it. Actually, even if you get frustrated with the dumbness of it all (especially the incompetence of its villains, The Big Five), it’s still overall a pretty fun watch.

Overall rating for this arc: 3.5/5

Doma (episodes 145-184)

Sighs. This is the worst arc. Just. Straight up. I don’t wanna beat around the bush.

I wish I could just keep it at just that but I want to emphasize that this isn’t just a “weak” story arc in the overall grand scheme of things, it’s bad. It is terribly noticeable that the writing direction was handled by someone else than whoever was writing-directing it up until before this point because the show stops being fun to watch. The entirety of Duel Monsters is riddled with bullshit logic, but this arc really takes up to an unforgivable eleven. The villains of this arc are literally fools whose tragic backstories are very obviously shoehorned in at the last second in order to draw out sympathy. The stakes of the game are so high, you don’t really feel compelled to root for our protagonists because you know that everything they’ve “lost” will be restored anyway. Not even the big bad of this arc faces any consequences. To top it all off, Mai, DM’s strongest female duelist, is reduced to demeaning levels of melodramatic character arc writing.

Noah’s Virtual World arc was indeed filler, but it was passable to good filler. This arc is just bad filler.

Overall rating for this arc: 1/5 this shit was a drag to get thru. I enjoyed it as a kid but I’ve grown tf up.

KC Grand Prix & Memory World (episodes 185-224)

I’ll probably get through this a bit quicker...

The KC Grand Prix arc was short... but not exactly sweet, though I will say it gave us a few classic lines here and there. Overall, it’s mostly forgettable and not exactly important for the story. It’s, once again, more filler, this time meant to convince Kaiba to let Yugi & co. hitch a ride back to Japan after the nonsense that occurred in America the last arc.

As for with the all important Memory World arc which leads us to the grand finale ceremonial duel between Yugi & Atem: It’s a nice story but the pacing is scrambled. That being said, however, I’ll forgive it mostly because it was a very interesting watch (not exactly fun, per se) and gives us answers to many questions we’ve been holding onto since the beginning of the show. Not to say it doesn’t raise some questions (that it doesn’t answer as well), but the other reason I’ll forgive it mostly is because Takahashi-san rushed to finish the manga on time for the anime whilst being severely ill. For as obviously rushed as it is, it still gives a good bit of depth that is just satisfying enough for us to run with that it feels mostly complete. 

The ceremonial finale duel, tho? The set up was rushed as well, but the duel itself was beyond iconic. Pretty good ending, I’d say.

Overall rating for this arc: 3/5

Final Overall Rating: 3.1/5 (yes, I did the math, check it if you must).

Final Thoughts: This show mostly shines on through nostalgia and its characters’ undeniable charm. However, its overall quality gets dragged down from its unnecessary filler, pacing, and flawed logic. For a shounen about card games, it certainly set a standard and a foundation, and I think that’s a good thing that future series can build off of and nod back to. It’s certainly one for the books, but with a big asterisk attached to some of its story arcs.

[foxofthedesert]

RQ OUaT FF | OGA: 2

Chapter 2 - Tension Rising

After departing the council chamber, Regina heads straight for the office of Misthaven's Supreme Military Commander. Mulan has been serving in that capacity, and the adjacent role of Chief Adviser to the Crown, for just over nineteen months. Most of her deployment to date has been spent in the field whipping the army into a shape that satisfactorily approaches her exacting Eastern standards. It is only recently that Mulan felt confident enough in the officers she personally retrained to delegate the vital task of maintaining an acceptable level of discipline throughout the various branches of the military. This means she is finally able to attend to other duties that were being neglected in the meantime, such as the copious amounts of paperwork incumbent upon the occupant of her current position. She also conducts daily debriefings with Regina or Red or both, and is expected to attend court with them as often as she is able. Needless to say, Mulan is a busy woman, which is just the way she likes it.

Taken as a whole, Mulan's appointment is one of the best decisions Regina has made in recent memory. It was also one of the most highly controversial. Elevating a foreigner, whose service to the realm was a fairly recent development, to the ultimate military post in the land was a calculated risk. Unsurprisingly there was a great deal of backlash. The nobles were especially aggrieved, as their ranks traditionally supplied the position regardless of the applicant's military service or lack thereof.

If people are generally resistant to change and highly xenophobic in nature, amongst the nobility those moral deficiencies are greatly exaggerated. Any and all interlopers are regarded as a threat and handled accordingly with suspicion bordering on paranoia that often gradually develops into tactical subversion, overt and otherwise. By contrast, those whose origins are not anchored to blood and soil are immediately besieged by every available weapon in their impressive arsenals with which to discredit the newcomer. For instance, as it was, crowning Red made waves that have yet to completely dissipate five years on; but had Red not been native to Misthaven, chances are the glancing threats leveled by the Council of Nobles would have been explicit broadsides. In that case, the choices available to Regina would have been to either voluntarily surrender the throne, give up Red, or refuse to do either and potentially plunge the country into a bloody conflict from which recovery would take decades. That is how rigid and insular the nobility is.

Imagine, then, a woman born in a land thousands of miles away, of which ninety-five percent of the born and bred aristocrats have never even heard, being entrusted with power second only to the ruling monarchs. Not only did Mulan command the might of the realm's armies, but she also oversaw the vast spy apparatus Regina had painstakingly constructed over more than a decade. It came as no surprise that upon announcing the replacement for the recently retired General Dru the entire council erupted into a frenzy of disbelieving shouts and vociferous condemnations. Had Regina not made plain her vehement displeasure at their disrespectful behavior, they might still be squawking to this day.

Of course, their falling into line quickly under the force of her will while inside the council chambers did not extend to the outside. In short order, many reneged on their acquiescence and proceeded to make Mulan's job as difficult as possible. Liars, the whole rotten lot of them.

No prior Commanding General has endured as much antagonism from the noble houses as Mulan. The first several months of her service were constantly frustrated by Lords or Ladies randomly wielding their titles to force allowance of spot troop inspections or to tie her up in mountains of completely unnecessary formalities or traditions they insisted to be the opposite. Several recalled locally mustered regiments from key strategic deployments out of bald spite. All sneered down their noses at her during public functions and ridiculed her at ever opportunity. Regina watched all of this without intervening, which required much restraint considering her considerable outrage. The guiding principle behind her inaction was a keen desire to avoid the appearance of subverting Mulan's newly conferred authority, and furthermore she wished to avert any implication of there being even a minuscule hint of mistrust between them. Regrettably she would come to regret staying her hand when these unending nuisances eventually culminated in a proper disaster.

That first winter of Mulan's service saw record lows in temperature and highs in snowfall accumulation over much of the country. While she was out on extended patrol with a company of footmen, a particularly brutal storm blew in from nowhere, catching them all out in the open. As misfortune would have it, the patrol was slogging through lands belonging to an obstinate Lord who was the leading voice of opposition to Mulan's promotion. The coward chose that most dire moment to express his discontent by denying her request for emergency quarter, and then went so far as to threaten to sic his personal force upon her tiny outfit should she refuse to comply. The purpose of the patrol was supposed to be observation so that any holes in training could be corrected. Instead, turned away from safety and shelter, the company spent a frigid evening constructing ramshackle shelters out of any available material. Mulan then passed the entire night without sleep tending to her suffering soldiers and fighting to keep the fires going against the driving snow. By morning, a third of the company had frostbite – including Mulan, who thankfully did not lose any fingers and toes unlike many of her soldiers – and another third came down with respiratory illnesses, the worst cases of which developed into full blown pneumonia. Three died of exposure during the night and an additional five of ensuing disease.

When Regina learned of this travesty, she flew into an ungodly rage. After assembling every dissenting noble upon the palace courtyard, including the perpetrator, she called the offending Lord forward and executed him on the spot. To drive the point home, she used the bastard's own sword to lop his head off, then wiped it clean upon the twitching corpse's clothes before presenting it to his closest friend and clandestine lover. It wasn't the first time Red watched her kill someone, but it was the first she had done so in a fit of unbridled wrath. And while she never wants to see her wife look at her so fearfully again, she does not regret her actions. That was the end of the nobles' resistance to Mulan. It also served as the occasionally necessary reminder to the uppity patricians that while they have some authority within the realm, they were also her subjects.

Fortunately, the results that have rolled in since speak for themselves. When Mulan has yet to lose a battle and worked undeniable wonders with the army, neither her exotic ancestry nor her deep aversion to court politics can be used against her as a smear. Slowly but surely, she is winning over hearts and minds with her quiet demeanor, sharp tactical and strategic acumen, no nonsense leadership style, and a dutiful attention to detail that she uses as effectively to verbally disarm opponents as to complement her friends. Those who continue to oppose her are increasingly ostracized in the face of her impressive successes.

Yes, Regina thinks as she nears Mulan's office located within the east wing of the castle, she is excelling even more than I had hoped. And that's saying something, because she was as confident as could be of Mulan's abilities beforehand.

Upon spotting the Queen's approach, the guard posted outside Mulan's office grants Regina entrance without requiring her to issue a stern command.

"My, aren't you such a good boy. Your General has you well trained," she says, smirking at the young soldier who ducks his head in obeisance as she passes through the threshold and steps into the office.

Not much larger than the chambers upon the upper floors assigned to castle staff, Mulan's office is a decorative representation of the occupant. The only pieces of furniture are a desk as stern in appearance as the warrior seated behind it and a high-backed chair with minimal padding that is sure to leave a number of aches and pains behind after a long day seated upon it. Few ornaments are to be found upon the surface of the desk, only a statue of a serpentine dragon carved from marbled rhodonite she lovingly refers to as Mushu and an ordinary wooden spindle once belonging to a spinning wheel whose provenance Mulan refused to elaborate upon. It was a gift from someone special, she would say, then dismiss any further discussion of the peculiar memento.

Tall cedar shelves line two of the walls, holding a myriad of tomes, nearly all relating to the art and philosophy of warfare, command administration, and a vast assortment of military histories both foreign and domestic. Most have been acquired over generations, each Commanding General adding his or her contribution to the collection for their own benefit as well as to the furtherance of their replacement's success. There are a few manuals and manuscripts that Mulan procured at great expense from her homeland back east while a handful of others she has composed, compiled, and bound into book form herself. The other two walls are bare save for a hand-carved wall hook for Mulan's sheathed katana, a priceless heirloom passed down in her family for more generations than can be accounted. The weapon hangs proudly next to the door, both a warning to those entering as to whom they will soon be facing and a constant reminder to Mulan of her deep, unwavering sense of duty.

Inside the office, Mulan – as is typical on days when there is no troop drilling scheduled – is nose deep in a monumental pile of reports.

"Your Majesty, I wasn't expecting you," the stoic warrior greets upon looking up from her work. She makes to stand but Regina holds up a hand to halt her. Frowning, Mulan tilts her head to regard her intently. "Normally you don't arrive for the daily briefing until much later in the evening. Also, you told me yesterday that you were taking the afternoon off. Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Regina answers, choosing to remain standing. She doesn't expect to be here very long. "I've just come from a meeting with the Council of Nobles where they expressed universal concern regarding rumors trickling in from Drakkenhall. A number of villages in uncomfortable proximity to our border have been put to the torch. I gave them my word I would consult with you since you also serve as our Head Spymaster. Have any of your assets gleaned viable intelligence about what – or who – might be the cause of these events?"

Mulan's frown deepens. "Viable intelligence? No. Nothing that can be verified. I heard of these incidents, though. About a week ago, I read a missive from the garrison commander on the border about those same rumors. It was compelling enough that I took the liberty of instructing my best people in Drakkenhall to investigate. They are doing so as we speak. And while they have no definitive theories, I can now at least confirm the rumors are true. In fact, I was just reading the initial reports when you came in. Eight villages in total have been destroyed."

"Eight?" Regina's brows raise. That is not an insignificant number of devastated municipalities. "That is worrying."

"Agreed. Very worrying. My gut tells me something foul is afoot."

A dark brow arches at the General's vagary. "Care to elaborate? I know you and Red share an inadvisable reliance on instinct, but I'll need more than that if I'm to make the best decision on how to handle this situation."

"Well..." Mulan pauses, scratches her chin, then levels Regina with a sharp gaze that showcases her rapier-edged acuity. "According to our sources, loss of life was minimal, suggesting it was not overt aggression by marauding bandits, a foreign invasion, or an ogre incursion. At the same time, it's too widespread to be random. This is no act of the gods. The reports detail the devastation to be precise. Every last public building was reduced to ashes along with the private abodes of key citizens, while noncritical assets remain virtually intact. Normally I would conclude there was arson involved, as there is clearly a human hand guiding the flames. But in most arson cases, there is always collateral damage. That doesn't seem to be the case here, which leads me to suspect the culprit is someone wielding sorcery."

"A sorcerer? Do you really think so?" Regina asks, heart rate picking up speed.

Mulan is rarely off in her assessments, and the possibility of some rogue witch operating so close to Misthaven has her stomach twisting into a painful knot. A magician capable of razing a number of villages without being detected is a definitely a cause for alarm. Such an individual is as cunning as they are powerful, a combination that is especially lethal.

Regina does not fear for her own safety so much as she does for her kingdom. And primarily for her wife. While Red is highly resistant to magic in her fur, on two feet she is as vulnerable as any ordinary human – except during Wolf's Time, that is. With the full moon not scheduled for another three weeks, Regina will need to be on high alert. She also makes a mental note to double Red's dedicated guard until the situation has resolved.

Mulan's brows draw together, revealing her own concern. "Unfortunately, I do. I've seen it before back east. Sorcerers love to sow discord and chaos before striking out at their true target. When a person has power like that, senseless slaughter and wanton carnage become a sideshow for their game instead of an objective. The direct approach is too mundane or boring for them, I suppose."

The assessment is brutally accurate, as Regina knows firsthand. During the Dark Days, she often hit tangential targets for the sake of her own amusement or as an intimidation tactic. The former more so than the latter, as she expects to be true in the majority of cases with power-drunk, morally deficient magicians such as she once was.

"Yes, but to what end?" she asks, not liking the direction this conversation is going at all. "Why the villages closest to our border? Are they trying to draw us into conflict with Stefan?"

Mulan acknowledges the possibility with a tip of her chin. "Maybe. It's too early to tell. In my experience, one never knows the real aspirations of a sorcerer until blood is flowing in the streets." Upon catching Regina paling, she grimaces. "Forgive my candor. Rest assured, I'm monitoring the situation closely. I'll protect you, my Queen, whatever the cost."

"It's not me I'm concerned about," Regina says, voice low and rough.

"I know." Mulan smiles sympathetically.

On Mulan's first day as Captain of the Royal Guard, Regina had made her own safety in the list of priorities clear. Forget everything you've ever been taught about the value assigned to persons within your chain of command. From now on, Mulan, whether in peace or emergency, I am your second concern. Red is always to come first. Do you understand? Mulan had understood back then just the same as she does right now.

"It goes without saying I won't allow her to be harmed, either," Mulan then says, an affirmation of Regina's train of thought.

Regina believes the assertion with all of her heart. Red is the only person in Misthaven who can actually get Mulan to regularly smile and sometimes even laugh. Their friendship is special. Perhaps even more so than the one Red shares with Snow White. For that reason alone, she knows Mulan will go the extra mile to protect her from whatever threat looms so ominously over the darkening horizon.

The problem is that she can't afford to keep Mulan here to make good on her promise. When she says as much, her friend appears perplexed.

"I wish there were another option," Regina adds to clarify her meaning, "but there is no one else I trust more to keep our people safe. That's why I dropped by. I need for you to ride to the border with Drakkenhall and personally shore up the defenses there."

To her credit, Mulan takes the news in stride. She is, if anything else, the most unflappably professional individual Regina has ever met. "Understood. When would you like me to leave?"

"Tomorrow if at all possible."

Like the quintessential soldier that she is, Mulan nods succinctly then pushes out of her chair to stand. "I'll make the arrangements immediately then."

"Thank you, General," Regina says, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Knowing Mulan will be present at the crux of the presently simmering crisis puts her mind more at ease. Mulan has never once failed in a task, and she doesn't expect her finest warrior to start now.

After a deep bow, Mulan snaps to attention. "Of course, my Queen. I live to serve."

Regina only barely holds back a frustrated sigh. Will the woman ever let down her defenses? After three years, she still hasn't gotten her name to pass through those perpetually severe lips. Nor has she been able to convince Mulan that she doesn't have to be so damn formal all the time.

"I hope you know you're more valuable to Red and me than that," she says, determining now is the perfect chance to bang her head against this unforgiving wall one more time. "You are not just our most capable and trusted adviser, but our friend."

Mulan remains frustratingly proper, ever the unsolvable riddle wrapped in a conundrum. "I do know that, Your Majesty. But I cannot change my nature."

"Nor would I ask you to. I would, however, ask that you exercise caution." Seeing that she's not going to make headway being approachable, she self-corrects for an authoritarian inflection that will at least make a dent. "Actually, belay that. I'm not asking, I'm insisting. Do not take any unnecessary risks with your life. The resources of the kingdom are at your disposal to solve this puzzling problem without putting yourself in harm's way. Consider it an order if you must, but I'll have your compliance on this before I allow you to leave."

"I lead from the front, my Queen. It is my way." Regina clenches her jaw and slowly exhales through her nostrils in irritation. Noting that, Mulan adopts a less rigid stance. Finally. "That said, I will not draw my sword unless I have no other recourse."

Regina nods curtly. "That is an acceptable compromise."

An awkward pause develops then, and after a few too many seconds of it, she decides it is high time for a strategic withdrawal. She's made all the progress she's going to this afternoon and is itching to get back to her chambers. Back to her wife.

"Well, I had better let you go on with your business so I can get on with mine. I promised Red I would spend the afternoon with her and I've already overshot my target by more than an hour. She won't be happy."

Mulan actually cracks the barest hint of a smile at that. "Misfires happen to the best of us. Would you be so kind as to give her my regards when you see her?"

"You should do that in person," Regina says. "You know she'll be upset if you leave without saying goodbye. So will I for that matter."

"Good point. I will drop by in the morning before I set out."

"Very well. In case I am unavailable when you arrive, allow me to wish you a safe journey. Take a handpicked squad and a murder of trained ravens with you. When you reach the garrison send word back to me at once. I'll expect daily reports of your progress to follow."

"Thank you, my Queen. It will be as you have instructed." Mulan then offers her another precise bow, to which Regina responds with a nod of approval and gratitude.

"Good luck, General," Regina says, then turns on her heel and departs.

After leaving the General's office, she wastes no time traversing the many corridors winding through the Dark Palace, on her way to the Royal Quarters. Upon reaching the safety of her bedchambers, all she wants is to curl up on the chaise lounge with her wife and let Red's love soothe away the stress clogging her pores and hammering away at her brain.

Those plans go up in smoke when she draws near enough to hear the chatter belonging to two female voices through the thick oaken door. Their conversation is punctuated by airy giggles that give Regina the wrong idea, which is the worst possible scenario that could have happened considering her current state of mind. The Council confronting her today already had her hackles raised and this only stokes the embers that had since died down into a rejuvenated inferno.

Storming inside, she catches Red in an embrace with their handmaid that, while her rational side recognizes as perfectly innocent, is yet far too intimate for her tastes. The way the young, pretty Iris clings to Red's arm and smiles as she leans in so close their noses are almost touching sets off a spark of outrageous jealousy. That Red isn't rebuffing what Regina deems as inappropriate proximity boils the blood coursing through her veins.

"Get out, Iris," she all but shouts, grimly satisfied to see the enviably shapely handmaid jump away from Red like she's been burned. The guilty look they share is a spur thrust into Regina's side. "Now!"

Eyes blown wide, Iris stammers, clearly terrified of her Queen's rage. "Y-yes, Your Majesty," she manages after a moment gawking uselessly. Ducking her head, she rushes out the door as if fire is nipping at her heels. In a manner of speaking, it is.

With Iris gone and her chest being seared with caustic fury, Regina sets about pacing the length of the chambers. Perhaps wearing a rut in the floor will help diminish the anger burning behind her eyes and building unsustainable pressure at her temples. Those factors, along with the telltale throbbing at the back of her skull indicates the onset of a blistering migraine.

It takes Red a bit to recover from the shock of her dramatic entrance. And at her poor treatment of their handmaid. Tentatively, she approaches, hands extended out in front of her in a show of innocuous intent.

"Hey, come on. There's no need for this. You need to calm the hell down," she firmly orders as she reaches Regina, who halts her pacing the moment strong hands find purchase at her elbows. "If you keep this fretting up you're going to give yourself a headache. Unless you want to land yourself abed for an entire day."

What Red said is true. Once or twice per month, sometimes longer, either stress or a rapid change in the weather incite a massive migraine that renders Regina utterly useless. Unable to bear even faint sources of light, all she can do is throw on a night mask and sleep off the relentless attacks. During the worst ones that hurt so terribly she whimpers and cries without even realizing, Red refuses to abandon her side and regularly applies cool, damp cloths to her forehead that are marginally effective at prying away the vice jaws clamped around her temples. Red being present doesn't relieve the agony, but it does supply a reassurance of value far beyond pain relief; when she's at her weakest, she is never alone.

Be that as it may, she would prefer to avoid triggering another excruciating spell. So when, without another word, Red gathers her into a secure embrace and guides her head into the crook of her neck, she does not put up even a shred of resistance. The steady thrum against her ear of a strong heart pumping blood through vital vessels and the pressure of warm hands that begin rubbing up the length of her back help to assuage the ravening, jealous beast that momentarily took control of her faculties. All at once, she feels the tension ebb from her body, a sweet release that frees of her of an oppressive weight that has been incrementally crushing her over the past few hours.

"Better?" Red asks when Regina heaves a contented sigh, suddenly weary to the bone.

"Very much. Thank you," Regina murmurs against the exceptionally warm skin of Red's neck, her sanity having finally returned.

Regina feels Red gently smile down at her. "You're welcome." When she pulls away after a while of enjoying their closeness, the smile is gone. "You know, there really was no reason for you to be so mean to Iris. She didn't deserve that. Whatever you thought you walked in on, I promise it wasn't that. You've met her husband and know she is every bit as happily married as we are."

Mortification at her behavior colors Regina's cheeks. Not for the first time, she feels like an idiotic child who has just thrown an inexcusable tantrum. She trusts Red implicitly and absolutely. Since they became a couple, many have shamelessly thrown themselves at Red. Those who approached respectfully were always turned down politely while those who came on aggressively were spurned in kind. There are few things in life Regina is as sure of as Red's fidelity, the sun rising each morning or the moon at night being two of them. And it isn't as if she has reason to suspect Iris of harboring forbidden feelings when she is, as Red so aptly stated, every bit as happily married as they are.

"I know," she whispers repentantly. In the back of her mind, she makes a note to apologize to Iris at the first opportunity. "I'm sorry. I...I should not have taken it out my frustrations on her."

"No you shouldn't have. Any particular reason you're so agitated?"

Red's question is posed gently as she rubs lightly calloused palms up the length of Regina's upper arms. The toughness of Red's hands built up over years of grueling toil is slowly giving way to the softness of royalty, and Regina isn't sure whether she likes it not. Each day, it seems, her opinion is different. Some days she loves the new texture against her skin, how it produces different sensations in different areas of her body, and can coax out knots in her muscles with such delicious finesse. Others, she misses the way the callouses would feel like they were scouring her skin, removing old dead layers in favor of the fresh, and how they provided a little pain with her pleasure as they swept greedily over her erogenous zones. In the end, though, she of the mind to not care so long as the hands – whether soft or rough – are attached to Red's arms.

"The council meeting today went poorly," Regina answers after a momentary pause, then winces as much at the understatement as at the unwelcome reminder of her oath to the council.

Swearing to produce an heir within a year's time had effectively quelled their malcontent. But at what cost? Not only is she now honor-bound to do something that utterly terrifies her, but Tremaine's contemptuous little speech provoked her into reissuing a threat not a single soul in those chambers would have dismissed as mere bluster. Lord Maurice alone was not a resident of the palace during the Dark Days.

"To say the very least," she adds, thinking of how the council members are likely to be walking on egg shells around her for some time, "next week will be interesting. As with Iris just now, I believe I successfully reiterated their many reasons to be afraid of me."

"Do you wanna talk about what happened?" Red asks, being her supportive self. There is no point trying to estimate how many times Regina has decompressed to her after particularly difficult meetings. Red invariably listens as if there's nothing else she'd rather be doing than indulging Regina's colorful ranting and raving about the incompetent morons she has to work with. The woman has the patience of a saint.

"I'd prefer not to if it's all the same to you," Regina replies, not eager to discuss the reason she became so perturbed. Having it out again with the council was stressful enough. She has no interest in taking it up again with Red. She needs a quiet evening in her wife's arms, not another argument, which is where the topic will inevitably lead.

Sensing Regina's reluctance to confide in her, Red moves back a step and takes her hand. "Alright. What would you like to talk about then?"

Regina shakes her head and heaves a weary sigh. "Nothing at the moment. I just want...I need...oh, bother. Damn it all!" Sometimes it's still hard for her to admit she's not invulnerable and that she requires an affectionate touch like any other human being. Frustrated at herself for her inability to ask for comfort she knows will be given without question, she flails her free hand as she says, "Just forget about it. It's getting late. Let's have an early dinner brought up. You're probably starving and I haven't had anything since breakfast."

Red, unfortunately, isn't having any of her deflection. "Hey. Don't do that. Don't deny yourself for my sake. Yes, I am hungry, but for you it can wait. Being here for you is more important than accommodating my greedy stomach. So, what is it?" Regina fights with herself for a several seconds before Red slips back into her personal space. Long arms wrap low around her waist and tug her forward until their hips make contact. "Oh, love, stop torturing yourself. Just tell me what you need. I love you. Unconditionally. I'm not gonna judge. Whatever it is, I'll be glad to do it if it's within my power."

Tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, Regina cannot hold in a whimper of want. Pathetic. Her mother's voice in the back of her head condemns her weakness and berates her for letting a scrawny peasant so effortlessly break down defenses that took decades of painstaking effort to construct. It takes all of her strength to banish the insidious whispers into the vault buried in the deepest recesses of her mind where they belong.

"Could you hold me again?" she asks, voice barely a whisper. Already she is leaning in, her body having betrayed her will before her mind could catch up. "Just for a while longer?"

The empathetic pained noise Red makes reminds her of a dog who's just seen it's owner injured. "Sweetie, of course I will! C'mere," she says, and then with a hand pressed between Regina's shoulder blades, fits their torsos together.

Regina sinks into the embrace with the liquidity of warm honey dripping from the comb in the middle of a sweltering summer afternoon. Needing to be even closer, she again tucks her face into Red's neck and breathes in a lung full of air as her wife begins murmuring an unending string of encouragements and endearments. As those smooth muliebral tones soothe her ears, the rich, wild scent unique to Red inundates her olfactory sense, causing a sweeping wave of serenity that washes away all of the tension from her mind and body. Like a daisy stem slowly unfurling from a knot, she feels her muscles and joints relax, knowing she's safe and supported by arms perfectly capable of holding her upright should her strength fail altogether. It wouldn't be the first time that has happened.

About four years ago, an earthquake rocked the northern regions of Misthaven. Infrastructure was destroyed on scales that baffled the imagination. The loss of industry set the economy back six months or more. Nearly two hundred fifty lives were lost. Regina had personally journeyed to inspect the damage. After thirty hours without sleep dealing with the calamitous fallout of a natural disaster no one was prepared for, she finally magicked herself back to the palace. She was so exhausted, she hadn't realized she was drawing energy from so much vapor. Needing a bastion of strength to prop her up, she sought out Red's embrace. Situated much as she is right now, Red swaying them to and fro to the pacifying rhythm of a kinetic lullaby, she promptly fell asleep standing up. If Red hadn't been what she is, she could not have held her up, not to mention hoisting her bridal style and carrying her from one end of the castle to the other to their chambers before ever-so-gently depositing her in their bed.

There is a deep sense of security in knowing Red's strength is always at her disposal. Every now and then she can afford to let go of the threadbare rope of control she precariously dangles by most days. So long as Red is by her side, there will always be someone willing and able to catch her lest she be dashed against the jagged rocks that await her at the bottom of a meteoric descent. No one else can handle her when she's a loose canon, bore packed with charge and shot, fuse in place and igniter licking at its highly flammable threads. No one else understands her when she's maudlin and mopey and irritable because she's been thinking about Daniel off and on all day. No one else gets the internal struggle to subdue the monster inside that some days presses so close to the surface that it can taste delicious freedom and the chance for a good old fashioned slaughter. Red alone knows how to talk her down from the ledge, recognizes when to give her a wide berth, can tell when it's time to stand toe to toe with her and fight out their differences, and senses with eerie accuracy when she needs a hug so badly it's embarrassing. Such as now.

"So...when I came in, you and Iris were embroiled in a cozy discussion." Regina pulls away after several minutes, using the age old tactic of a subject change when she starts to feel like she's indulged too much in her rediscovered touchy-feely, lovey-dovey side. When an arched, chocolate-colored brow shoots up, she realizes how that might come across. "I didn't mean it as an accusation. I'm merely curious. Care to fill me in or have you been sworn to secrecy?"

Sometimes Iris will confide in Red about her home life and ask their discussions remain private. Regina doesn't like that very much, though she can't really object seeing as Iris does the same with her on occasion.

"Not at all," Red replies, suspicions alleviated. "She was just telling me about John's plans for their anniversary in a couple months. He's been talking about taking them abroad. Iris has never been out of the country, you know. Come to think of it, why don't we do something for them. Oh! I know! We could arrange a trip for them to Chansiréne. You know, it's so beautiful there this time of year. I bet they'd love it, all that warm ocean air and the gorgeous beaches. And, oh, hey! Maybe we could go too if things aren't too busy around here. I've been thinking we needed a break what with tax accounting winding down, and I really wouldn't mind visiting Ariel and Eric. We haven't seen them since Melody was dedicated, and we did promise them, remember? And..."

And so it goes on. Once Red gets started about a subject she's passionate about, such as traveling the world, there is little stopping her. Regina doesn't mind, though. Red's voice is one of her very favorite things in the world. An afternoon passed listening to it so enlivened and invigorated is one well spent. So that's exactly what she does. With no regrets.

[yesyunniechan]

Detective Conan 995 [Japanese to English Translation]

Anguished... Depressed... Worried Conan?!

Ran's behavior is strange?! Conan and Kogoro decide to follow Ran and...

[Saraie-san?!]

N: Please hold on, Saraie-san!!

N: Saraie-san?!

S: Stop touching him!!

N: Eh?

S: I'll take a look...

N: O-okay...

[A murder occurred in the cafe where three female high school students were having a friendly chat!!]

K: Ran! The police! Call the police!!

R: O-okay!

K: And an ambulance...

S: No, we only need to call the police...

S: He has no pulse...

N: N-no...

H: W-who did this to Saraie-san?!

K: I don't know who did this yet.... But they must possess superhuman strength...

K: To not killing someone by wielding such huge vase...

K: But also crushing the padlock on that locker...

K: Looks like they took something from there...

M: So you're saying that you were looking for the flower vase that ended up being used as the murder weapon, came to this changing room in the process, and found Saraie-san?

N: Y-yes...

N: The manager told me 'why don't you search for it?'... Right?

H: Yeah...

H: One of the vases that we usually keep near the entrance was missing...

T: And when did this flower vase disappear?

N: I don't know... I usually get here first and clean the cafe...

N: It was already gone at that point...

H: I left after closing down shop... and the vase was there last night, right?

M: You two are the only ones with keys to the cafe, right?

N: No... The key used to open the cafe... Saraie-san has a copy as well...

H: And the kitchen staff has keys to the kitchen... in case they need to restock...

T: Kitchen?

I: The door near the exit of the changing room! Since it's troublesome to unlock all the doors when we open cafe, we leave this one unlocked...

M: Anyway, go and interview the kitchen staff!

M: Ask whether they noticed anyone walking by after the victim left for the changing room!

T: Ok!

M: You were at the cafe, did you see anything?

S: This is an employee-only door, so we would've noticed if someone had passed through...

So: But we were talking to each other...

R: And weren't paying much attention...

So: Maybe the detective-san who was keeping tabs on us...

So: Did you see anything?

K: A, no, I didn't...

K: We didn't see anything, right?

K: Oi, brat?!

C: Eh?

K: I asked you, we didn't see anything, right?!

C: A... yep...

[Megure-keibu!]

[I asked the kitchen staff...]

T: Estimated time of death is around one and a half to two hours ago, and nobody had come out of the kitchen at that point...

M: I see...

T: That aside, looking from the kitchen entrance, there's a blind spot where the door to the changing room would be...

T: They said that they don't know if anybody entered the changing room at that point in time...

T: A, but it looks like the former chef of this cafe visited the kitchen to offer advice at one point... 

H: This is my younger brother...

M: Yes... I did go to the kitchen once, because my sister asked me to advise the cooks, but...

M: I didn't even know that this man was in the changing room...

M: What's more important, though... 

M: Is that I didn't even have a reason to kill anyone, right?!

S: But you could've predicted that the victim would come here, right?

M: What?

S: This room smells like cigarettes...

S: There's an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the shelf, all from the same brand... and the victim's mouth smells like cigarettes too...

S: The victim was a heavy smoker, right?

S: That's why you must've known that if you waited for a bit, he'd come to this room?

H: Yeah...

H: Saraie-kun was the only one in our cafe's staff who smoked... So I knew that he'd to come here fairly often...

M: The murder weapon is this flower vase, right?

H: It might be hollow, but it's still a pretty heavy vase... No one on my staff could move it easily!

T: S-she's right... It weighs as much a 30 kilo rice bag...

M: If it was filled with water, not even I could move it...

K: But a man built as well as you might be able to do it, no?

H: Impossible!

M: It's as she said, look!

M: I got a luxation while playing grass-lot baseball... I can't even hold a frying pan in my current condition!!

K: Which means that... the only one left is...

M: I'm a woman... What?

K: Ah, nothing...

M: By the way, that locker with the broken padlock... could it be that it belonged to the victim?

H: Yeah... it was Saraie-san's locker...

M: Then maybe the criminal was aiming the this locker's contents?

M: It looks like someone rummaged through it... 

M: Any guesses as to what might have been stolen?

N: Who knows...

H: He's the only one who might have known...

T: Why'd this locker have a padlock?

H: He put it there when he started working here, right? I just figured he's a very cautious man...

M: But it was broken in such a bold fashion... How would someone break it like that? 

S: Does this cafe have a toolbox?

N: Yes, inside the shelf...

M: Hm... Pliers, a hammer, a screwdriver and a wrench...

M: You can't break a padlock like that with this...

T: Right... 

T: It also has screws and nails...

T: Ah...

T: Wah...

A: Ah! I just remembered!!

TN: No, you shouted to take the attention off the shelf.

T: Eh? 

N: There's this really important thing that Saraie-san keeps in his locker!

N: His tablet PC!

N: He'd always write stuff down on it during smoke breaks... maybe that's what was stolen...

M: Well, what on earth would he type?

N: I asked him, but he never answered...

Mo: It's his blog!

Mo: This guy... he was keeping an eatery review blog under the handle 'Full Belly Professor'... 

Mo: And he'd write a lot of nonsense about rival cafes!

R: I know that blog!

Se: He's got an interesting writing style, which is why he's pretty popular, right?

M: Oh really... so that's why he was so full of himself!!

M: My cafe is in dire straits because of that blog of his...

S: I see...

S: That's why you stopped Sonoko-kun from giving away the address of the Cafe Poirot, which she said had tastier sandwiches?

M: Y-yeah...

T: E-err, excuse me, manager.... you're brother and sister, but your surnames are different...

T: Are you married?

H: No, I'm getting married next month!

H: My brother's soon-to-be father-in-law was stubborn...

M: 'I can't give away my only daughter and heiress of the cafe...' So I had to adopt her family name... I had no choice...

M: Speaking of which, Isuzu-chan's family cafe, which is affiliated with my cafe... 

M: It's not a victim of this man's blog, right?

N: Yeah... it's staying afloat for now...

N: Netting as little profit as ever though, and we're drowning in debt on top of that...

K: ...or you're just claiming as much, when it actually did sank because of his blog... and you killed him out of hatred... 

N: Then I would've complained, just as Motosu-san did!

N: B-besides, I'm just eye candy at my family cafe...

H: But I didn't know... that Saraie-san was keeping such a blog...

M: But you lived with this guy for a year...

H: H-hey... that has nothing to do with this, right?

Me: Lived together?

T: You shared a place with the victim?

H: Yeah... well... that was 5 years ago.

K: That must be why he was able to extort you by threatening to show your fiance those embarrassing pictures of you, and so, and so...

K: And was blackmailing you...

H: Haah?

K: He was doing so many terrible things with his blog...

H: He wasn't short on money! He was going to become manager after I resign because of the marriage!

N: He mentioned that to me as well...

N: That he'd be the next manager, and that I would never have to worry about money if I agree to become his woman...

K: Then the criminal must be the former chef!!

M: And how exactly could I bring that vase over here? I handed over my keys when I quit my job at this shop...

K: But if you had the key... you could've made a copy, right?

M: B-but my wrist is dislocated...

K: You could've tried to trick us by bandaging your wrist after the fact!

M: I already had the luxation before I was bandaged!!

M: Call the hospital and ask!! They should have a copy of the X-Ray!!

S: I see..

S: That’s how it is..

S: But... with a trick like that, any one of those three could be the culprit...

S: But who...

So: Hey, Ran... Doesn't he seem off to you?

R: What?

So: Look, there, there!

So: The brat in glasses!

So: He's not doing his usual 'ah-le-le' or 'this is strange' thing, and he's not interrupting the investigation...

R: Y-yeah, but...

R: Looks like Conan-kun is thinking hard about the case in his own way?

R: While sometimes making scary faces...

S: What, what? You don't get it?

C: Yeah...

C: I don't get it... At all!!

Se: I've figured out the trick... too bad I still don't know who the culprit is...

C: Culprit?

C: Yeah... I understood it the second we entered the changing room! The gist of the trick!

S: Eh?!

S: So by saying that you 'don't get it'....

C: Ran-nee-chan's journey...

C: Not the usual trip experience, which I'll understand when 'grow up'... 

C: What in the world could it be?!

S: Eh? That one?

[The worried Conan's interest -> lies not with the case, but with Ran's behaviour?! Next issue - the resolution... whose deduction will it be?!]

[robotichooligan]

Hooligan Over-Analyzes Characters: Starring Bean the Dynamite Duck

I’m looking back through the Pirate Plunder Panic arc, and I started thinking about Bean’s behavior and his character overall (And I kind of hop around a lot in this post so please forgive me for that; I’m mostly just throwing around my headcanons and explanations for said headcanons). He’s obviously doesn’t have the best morals, although it could also be put down to that he just doesn’t care. He even admits something like this himself.

Although I feel like it’s less out of genuine malice and more out of him just not realizing the full weight of some of the stuff he does. His age on his Wiki page says that he’s 15, and considering what little we know about his past aside from little hints toward it and what he does now, I think it’s a decent guess to say that he was basically raised without too many restraints, and as a result his sense of awareness is a bit...Lacking, to say the least.

Taking his age into account and the fact that he rarely ever takes anything seriously, I think that a major part of what he does is because, like a lot of kids, senseless destruction and being able to do whatever you want to is fun (And yes, I am aware that he’s an “off their rocker” type of character, which I’m also taking into account here).

He’s shown that he knows that certain things are going too far, like when Blaze’s friends were supposedly killed, but the way he presents it makes it seem like he doesn’t understand the complete weight of it. I would say that he does and is just being a jerk about it, but his reaction to what happens doesn’t seem to be the case.

He seems pretty neutral about it for the rest of the issue, so either he doesn’t realize the full weight/seriousness of it, or he just has a really good poker face. I’m going with the latter.

He also tries to cheer up Blaze in the next issue, but again, he does it in his own, “I’m not taking it as seriously as I should,” sort of way.

Branching off a bit, I’d like to also acknowledge this panel from the same issue:

Which loops back around to my idea that Bean just likes to do whatever he wants (even when a good chunk of the time it’s just nonsense)-- But, like the comics have shown plenty of times, he’s not necessarily stupid or completely oblivious. Pirate Plunder Panic did a great job at showing this, as, instead of his usual inane speech patterns, he instead chatted it up with Blaze for a few pages and held a decent conversation. I think that part of his “off his rocker” behavior is him just liking to mess with people.

Example: His fight with Espio during the Sonic The Fighters arc:

He’s a lot more clever than people give him credit for, and I feel like he keeps up a bit of a charade because A) He likes to act the way he does, and B) It gives him a leg up on everyone else who don’t expect him to be sly about anything.

He’s even the voice of reason when The Chaotix and The Hooligans are fighting to get the Chaos Emerald (ft. Bark’s cute floppy ear):

Now I’m sure that a good chunk of Bean’s zaniness isn’t him doing it intentionally, but my point still stands-- He’s a lot more intelligent than people give him credit for. His age likely has something to do with it, as well.

Going all the way back around to my initial statement about his seemingly lacking understanding of dire situations, he seems like he’s just kind of a jerk sometimes-- As most young teenagers are.

This is especially prominent when Cream asks for his and Bark’s help after the Pirate Plunder Panic ordeal:

I think that he could do a free job if it interests him enough, but for the most part he just wants money and no money = no job, no matter how much you actually need it. And like he said, he’s willing to do a free job just ‘cos, but beyond that he’s not really one to do favors for people unless he really owes it to them or if he has another motive behind it. There are exceptions to the rule, however.

In short, I think that Bean more self aware and intelligent than people give him credit for-- But he’s also fairly young and he’s not the most stable person, so more often than not he’s doing his own thing, much to the annoyance of others (mainly Nack and Bark). I also think that he grew up without too big of a moral code, and as a result his grasp on morality is a bit weak compared to others. He has a pretty blasé attitude about it and about things in general, but part of that could also be put down to him just being kind of a jerk.

With all of that being said, I think that I’m done with these particular headcanons that I have for him. I’ll probably have a few more in the future, but I think that I’m done for now. See ya!

[hopefulfestivaltastemaker]

July 19, 2020

My weekly roundup of these I am doing and looking at. Topics include the Biden energy plan, current vs. advanced nuclear, the construction industry, population trends, pesticides, and agglomeration.

The Biden Energy Plan

This week the Biden campaign put out an energy/climate plan. I won’t try to do a comprehensive rundown, but here are a few of my thoughts.

The core of the plan is $2 trillion of spending on clean energy infrastructure: renewable energy, electric vehicles, transit, housing, and building energy efficiency. I don’t find any of this to be objectionable, though it can be hard to forecast how cost effective spending approaches will be.

There is nothing on carbon pricing. I regard carbon pricing as essential to any credible decarbonization plan. With carbon pricing we know how cost effective decarbonization will be because cost-effectiveness is set.

The plan calls for $400B on R&D (that’s about two and a half Apollo Programs in modern dollar figures), with a wide range of areas including advanced nuclear, carbon capture, novel grid storage, electrofuels, and other areas. I consider R&D investment to be the other essential component to a credible decarbonization plan. This aspect of the Biden plan looks very good. The advanced nuclear concept has sparked some debate (see the next item). My friend Dan Rejto gives mixed reviews for the food and agriculture aspects of the plan. He notes some positive elements on the R&D side but the lack of funding for alternative proteins is a major omission.

There is lots and lots of emphasis on union jobs. I’m not really a big union enthusiast and wonder how this impacts the overall cost for a given result. There’s some rhetoric on trade that sounds vaguely protectionist.

The environmental justice section emphasizes enforcement of pollution laws, which sounds good, and “a goal that disadvantaged communities receive 40% of overall benefits of spending in the areas of clean energy and energy efficiency deployment”. I get nervous when EJ becomes a vehicle for passing out goodies. I see this all the time in local planning and the process can quickly devolve into a patronage system.

There’s no nonsense on curbing population, redefining GDP, or other such things. I didn’t expect there would be, but it is still a relief.

There’s nothing about NEPA reform or other regulatory reforms. There really needs to be when considering disbursing such large sums of money. Decarbonizing the power sector by 2035--at most 14 years after the plan could be become a legislative reality--will be difficult under ideal circumstances and impossible if we can’t build high voltage transmission, power plants, and other necessary infrastructure in a timely manner.

I think the plan is very smart politically. It basically serves the function of the Green New Deal, as envisioned by the progressive wing of the party, but it is being employed for party unity. Labor and social justice advocates both have much they can be happy with.

As far as policy merits, I’m in a good mood right now so I’ll give it three stars out of five.

Current versus Advanced Nuclear

The Biden energy plan calls for R&D into advanced nuclear, among other things, but the only line about current generation nuclear is “It would also mean continuing to leverage the carbon-pollution free energy provided by existing sources like nuclear and hydropower...” so at least that should mean avoiding premature nuclear closures. What about building new nuclear power with existing technology?

Among nuclear advocates, this is a major point of debate. One view is that current nuclear technology is too expensive and so we need to develop new technologies, such as small modular reactors (allow for fast and standardized factory construction), sodium-cooled reactors (avoid the need for elaborate containment systems). Or maybe we should go straight for fusion. The second view is that we should push for an asston of nuclear construction, like the French did, and make it cheap by standardizing it and building up a strong workforce.

I confess some agnosticism on this debate but am leaning ever more toward the second camp. Early SMR cost estimates don’t look especially promising, nor do the hypothetical costings I have seen for Gen IV nuclear or fusion. My fear is that if the focus is too much on R&D for the next generation, we won’t solve the fundamental problems that plague the current generation. Furthermore, I would expect that building out a strong nuclear engineering workforce will accelerate the development of new technology. So it’s not like “current vs. advanced” is actually a dichotomous choice.

What actually is the problem that plagues the current generation? I don’t entirely know. But I suspect it is a combination of general megaproject management problems identified by Bent Flyvbjerg, overregulation, and an industry that has gotten lazy.

Construction Technology

Speaking of construction, TechCrunch has a profile this week of a company called Social Construct, founded by Ben Huh of Cheezburger fame. The goal is to use CAD and modular construction to lower construction costs. For decades the industry has been plagued by cost and productivity problems that greatly exceed most other industries.

I have been interested in this topic for a while now and see construction costs as a major weak link in any credible effort to address housing costs. There would be great, broad-based social value for developing tools for turning around productivity trends. My suspicion is that the major bottleneck the industry faces is fragmentation. Not until we start seeing some major vertical (and maybe horizontal as well) integration will we see better planning and the opportunity to employ building information modeling, modular construction, robotics, 3D printing, or whatever other high tech tools people imagine.

As for Social Construct, I hope they’re successful. I’m a fan of I Can Has Cheezburger, Huh’s other notable work. But recent past efforts to modernize the construction industry, such as Google X’s endeavors, Katerra, and Plant Prefab, for instance, have not (yet) turned the industry around.

Population Trends

There was a major new study in The Lancet this week which forecast a peak human population in 2064 and a decline to a world TFR of 1.7 by 2100. This dire (from my pronatalist perspective) forecast seems to me to be a better reflection of actual trends than the standard UN forecast, which does not envision a peak population until around the turn of the century.

I think the study should be taken as a wakeup call for policy makers to take falling fertility seriously. The paper itself focuses on adaptation and immigration as solutions, generally pouring cold water on pronatalist policies (ducking the question of where the migrants will come from if the whole world sees sub-replacement fertility).

As a forecast, I think the paper is a good reflection of mainstream understanding and functions well as a reference point. But I still see wildcards which are not well understood (at least not by me) and could, over the course of 80 years, result in a reality quite different from forecasts. It is hard to imagine that more countries will not adopt much more aggressive pronatalist policies, perhaps going as far as state-sponsored child rearing and ectogenesis, if they become sufficiently alarmed. Culture can change in ways that are not predictable and not the same as past changes. Sooner or later natural selection should become noticeable as a factor causing a fertility rebound.

Pesticides

I haven’t done as much new content lately as usual for Urban Cruise Ship, since I’ve been focused on this longer term social endeavors project and some other things that aren’t going online for a while, but I did draft up a section on pesticides (sans graphics). A few observations.

I found several estimates on the externalized damages of agricultural pesticides at $4-19/kg. The world uses about 3.5 million tons per year, so that’s about $14-66 billion of externalized damages per year. These kinds of numbers are always fuzzy (and previously I’ve seen some higher estimates), but orders of magnitude estimates help us rank environmental issues by seriousness. Annualized damages from climate change, nitrogen runoff, and deforestation are in the trillions each. Land use and biodiversity loss may each reach into the tens of trillions. Poor ocean management, water pollution, and ozone depletion are in the hundreds of billions. So pesticides may be an order of magnitude or more lower than these other issues.

The world hasn’t seen a peak in pesticide usage overall or per acre, but there may have been a peak in per calorie of food.

The value of pesticides in modern agriculture is indisputable. Without them yields would probably be about half of what we see. That would mean either a massive conversion to additional cropland, labor costs from working the land, or we wouldn’t be able to feed the world. But we may be overusing pesticides relative to the optimum. China in particular.

Integrated pest management is the solution I see most often as to how to cut pesticide usage. It’s a fairly broad term that encompasses a range of tactics to control pests. The main barrier to expanding IPM is that it requires specialized knowledge and training, so labor costs come into play. IPM may be a bit like recycling in that regard, where labor can substitute for environmental harm. But in a world of growing wealth, and urbanizing, peaking, and aging population, solutions that involve more labor are not very attractive. This is probably an area where advancements in precision agriculture will be important.

Agglomerationists

Anton Howes discussed “the agglomerationists” in his newsletter this week. The idea that having more and better connected people fosters commerce and creates wealth is a thread that connects a range of policy views: pronatalism, urbanism, free trade, and free migration, for instance. This is something I have been thinking for a while and am grateful that Anton has articulated the concept better than I have.

One can take the agglomeration principle in a different direction though and see it as a challenge. In any system characterized by returns to scale, there is likely to be a diminishing returns problem, and I think we see plenty of evidence of this nowadays with stagnating productivity, high cost of urban living, and subreplacement fertility, for instance. It may be that the real agglomeration challenge is not to increase the scale of the economy so much as to develop less scale-dependent modes of production. I’m not sure if this goal is possible or desirable, but it would be good to be open minded.

[djevsmev]

Episode 6: Suspicions of a Stinker.

HELLO!

I hope you’re all keeping inside and keeping well.

Back when I started this blog, you may remember that my intention was to keep these shows fairly spontaneous, to avoid them being overly curated. Well, this episode is absolutely not that. In fairness, the record selections were around 80% - 90% my usual “if-I-stumble-across-it-and-like-the-look-of-it, it-gets-played” theory. However, once I’d picked about 9 records I realised this selection was potentially quite turd-heavy, so I thought I better put a couple of known quantities in there to try and balance it out a bit. I also tried to spread them out a bit so you shouldn’t have to tolerate more than 4mins of sonic disaster. Theoretically.

Also, it was only when I was time-stamping the tracks that there appears to be almost 8mins between tracks 8 & 9. Now track 8 is definitely not almost 8mins long song god knows what I’ve done there. the time stamps are wrong or there’s a sneaky gap somewhere. 

Still, maybe you could use the break to perhaps go to the loo or put the kettle on or something? The world is your oyster!

Let’s Begin!

BLACK LACE - AGADOO

I did warn you. You can’t say you weren’t warned. I remember dancing to this as a kid. I loved it. It probably goes without saying that it’s a bad record, but it’s become a by-word for awfulness and I wanted to hear it again to find out just how bad it is. I mean, I was googling it and it’s been voted the worst song of all time.

Frankly, that’s nonsense. It’s fine. I mean, terrible, but it’s not significantly more terrible than many songs. It’s a novelty record for god sake, and I would argue it’s pretty well produced: The brass sound excellent.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t some kind of hot take. It is far from a good record, it’s bad, but it’s Alan Partridge shrugging his shoulders at the meeting with Tony Hayers-bad, not the worst single of all time. 

And a cheery pineapple guy teaches you the dance moves which will keep your 5 year-old entertained for 4mins. (Or 12 if he makes you hear it 3 times on the trot. Ah, I think I see where the hatred may come from.)

ROXY MUSIC - VIRGINIA PLAIN

In saying that, Agadoo is still awful so I thought you better have a palette cleanser before we moved on. I saw this in a second hand shop somewhere and didn’t own it on any albums/compilations so for a couple of quid thought it was well worth a buy. And it is. Fact.

LOWGOLD - BEAUTY DIES YOUNG

I couldn’t remember anything about this before I put this on, and afterwords that fact didn’t surprise me. It’s just a little bit plodding, it doesn’t really go anywhere. It’s nice enough, I suppose, it just didn’t really grip me.

Talk about damming with faint praise. Sorry Lowgold. If any of you ever read this this, take into account the fact it’s coming from a guy that basically defended Black Lace a few paragraphs ago (Jesus, they’re called “Black Lace!” That’s something I’ve heard so many times I accept, but Black Lace? They thought that would be a good name. My word.) so what the hell does my opinion count for? SFA all.

TONY MARTIN - BARRIERS

This was the point I began to get worried about this episode. I’d noticed this a couple of Eps ago and liked the artwork so wanted to GIVE IT A SPIN. That’s what proper DJs like me call playing a record. But it was a rogue element, and we’d already had Agadoo, and Lowgold had proven a disappointment. Could this be a “triple-shitter” before we’d even hit track 5?

Thankfully, I really like it. It’s very New-Order-y but more upbeat, more pop-y. I wanted to find out more about Tony Martin but I can’t seem to find out anything. This was released on Barrier Records and according to Discogs it was the only thing he released, so I’m guessing it was a self-release and didn’t do well enough for him to be picked up, and god knows in the mid 80s it would cost a bomb to record and release a record yourself. Ah well, whatever happened, Tony Martin can be pleased with this. Good work.

LLOYD COLE AND THE COMMOTIONS - PERFECT SKIN

This isn’t a special “save the playlist” selection, it was part of the original 80% selection, but I did put it after Tony Martin so there was a cracker in case Barriers had been terrible (sorry to doubt you, Tony). Rather than saving the day, it’s resulted in a double 80s pop playlist sensation! And to think not 2 songs ago I was thinking of a triple-shitter! That seems so long ago.

This lockdown really messes with your sense of time.

Now listen to Lloyd Cole because it’s great

BIS - DETOUR

Speaking of great (proper journalism, this) I love this tune.

I first saw Bis when they did Kandy Pop on TOTP pops and though “Wow! This is blowing my mind! Why have they put this shit on the telly?” But I was young and an idiot. Sorry about that. The thing that really gets me about Bis, though, is how they seem to be able to turn their hand to anything. This is on the same album as Eurodisco, a total floor filling banger that seemed to come from nowhere, then Detour was released which is like some weird dirty noir tune, whilst still definitely a pop song. Talented people.

It’s also absolutely crucial to note that this song is in the Spirit Stick section of Bring It On, an absolute joy of a popcorn movie which, as long as you can look past a thankfully dated bit which would now rightly be considered sexual assault, still stands up. 

Now I write that, it’s quite a big caveat.

THE SIMPSONS - DO THE BARTMAN (7” HOUSE MIX)

Little did I know when I was popping those little gold stickers on my records that the line “If you can do the Bart you’re bad, like Michael Jackson” would date so very badly. To be honest, even if I could have predicted the future, I was in such a hurry that I didn’t have time to think at all. But that story’s for another time.

To avoid any thoughts that I may be using “bad” in the colloquial sense, let me say that this is not a good record. The B-side is the “album” version and now I try to remember, I think I might have listened to that side when I put it on. This A side has got some weird harmony effect on the vocal or something. You can understand why it was done though. They had to try and exploit the new, lucrative House scene that was kicking off across the country. Can you imagine if somebody had dropped the original mix right after Voodoo Ray? They would have looked like bloody idiots.

AFRIKA BAMBAATAA & THE GODFATHER OF SOUL JAMES BROWN - UNITY pt 1

I look at this record and what do I want? I want James Brown making funky noises and squeaks, and want Afrikaa Bambaataa shouting at me in a terrifying way, both of them doing it on the theme of coming together in the name of peace. This is exactly what I get. Great stuff. I don’t know a huge amount of James Brown stuff but I reckon Bambaataa’s sampled one of his famous records here because it sounds familiar. Someone with a far better musical knowledge than me can keep me right.

Part 1 was the A-side, 2 was on the B-side but you’re not getting that because I’m a filthy tease. Apparently if you bought the 12″ there were 6 parts! Wooft! You may think that’s excessive, but discrimination and prejudice is a big and complicated issue. It was lucky for us that TGOS soul took the decision to end it.

“Nuclear war is definitely out”

DIRE STRAITS - ROMEO AND JULIET

If it’s any consolation to Bis, at the same age I didn’t like Kandy Pop, I would have hated any and all Dire Straits. Loved them as a young kid, then in my mind they would have become literally everything that’s wrong with rock music, and now I think they’re great again. Teenage me could be a right arsehole. I mean, 20-something and 30-something me also had/has it in him to be a right arsehole (he writes a music blog while referring to himself in the 3rd person), but just not in reference to Dire Straits.

I love this song. It’s wonderful. It’s a little clichéd now but I don’t care. It’s lovely. And if I could get my guitar to sound like Knopfler’s on that tiny solo in the outro, I’d be delighted.

GLEN CAMPBELL - RHINESTONE COWBOY

If you’re looking for a record that will improve a potentially dodgy playlist, you can’t go far wrong with this banger.

What a f**king tune.

VARIOUS ARTISTS - FEED THE WORLD

Like Agadoo, this is the 2nd track that I knew, definitely, would be bad. It’s the B-side to Do They Know It’s Christmas? And from memory was a selection of celebrities giving spoken-word messages. I wanted to hear it as I thought this has got to be a car crash. I thought I better stick it at the end, though, so you can just give up if the thought of this makes you want to peel off your own skin.

It’s not quite as bad as I thought/hoped. Though there are some classics - trying to get a probably coked up Holly Johnson to say something without giggling and McCartney being at his most inappropriate upbeat McCartney are my personal favourites.

You may notice that I don’t have the legendary Peter Blake cover. Apparently when my mum went to buy this from Savacentre in Edinburgh at the behest of me and my sister, the vinyl had been printed, but such was the rush to get them in the shops, the sleeves hadn’t been finished yet. It was literally years before I realised it was supposed to have not just a cover, but one by a famous artist.

I decided to decorate it by attempting to add a transfer from a bubblegum. Unfortunately it didn’t quite take as I’d have liked, but the artistic intent was there.

Peter Blake’s a big pile of poo.

Savacentre’s notorious Hard Goods section

And that’s it. I think that could have been a lot worse and we’ve all got through pretty much unscathed. If anything, I think we’ve learned to have faith in Glen Campbell.

Keep safe.x

[puttingfingerstokeys]

the shambling deceased

Nanowrimo day 23 Featuring an unnamed narrator Post-apocalyptic setting, zombies Zombies, death, body horror Finished and unedited

Human olfactory senses are not meant to become accustomed to the sweet stink of death. I don’t care how many television programs you have consumed over the years, where the heroes don’t notice the shambling threat until it is far too late. If the noises these revenants make are not enough to alert the characters in the show, surely the stench of rot and decay would catch their attention, right? Depending on the dramatic needs of the program, it may or it may not. But I am here to tell you, point blank, that the dead—they stink. They stink bad. They stink worse than the ugliest most odious smell you have ever experienced, bar none. A skunk cannot compare to the smell of death, though it certainly tries. The smell permeates, sticks, clings, and drags on you until you are well away from it.

And if the dead are the pursuing kind, rather than the sort who lays on the ground like a corpse really ought to do? Well, you do the math. They are not what anyone might call “quick”, but if the wind is right, the smell will do you in but good. It is rot, decay, and wrong. The smell is actually alarming, if you can believe that. Trust me when I say this: you never want to experience it if it is at all avoidable. Most people, in their lifetimes, smell death once or twice, usually when an animal has gotten itself up under their home and done the indecent thing, dying there to stink up the house and the surrounding area. They always seem to do this on hot days, too—it’s in rather poor form. Regardless, this stench only mimics what the shambling dead bring with them when they rove through an area.

That they move in herds is something the old shows used to get right, at least. I genuinely have no idea what, precisely, attracts them, though I think it might be sound. The dead, you see, don’t have lung capacity; their vocal flaps are generally decayed beyond use as it is soft tissue and, as a result, are unable to produce sounds like the groans you might think they would make.

I guess that might be one thing the television would have had right, about not being able to hear them, except those ambulating corpses would always moan and snarl and make all kinds of animalistic sounds. It was as if they were begging to be discovered. Real ones are hardly apex predators, but at the very least, they do not alert their prey of an incoming attack via audible means. It would really be embarrassing to be killed by a loud, stinky corpse.

It is still incredibly unclear what exactly animates these things. They do not appear to have normal blood flow or brain function; nothing beats or moves and they are decidedly lukewarm. Something is still firing up in their rotten noggins, but it certainly is not what you would call “proper” function. It seems to drive them toward the base urge to feed. I don’t think their bodies process the flesh they consume, however. The stuff probably sits in their guts and ferments—that’s where you get the explosive ones. We haven’t really bothered naming them anything fancy or cutesy. They’re shambling, bloated corpses and honestly, flippant as this commentary has been, there is absolutely jack shit all that’s funny about seeing once-living humans reduced to … that.

They cannot help it. There is no malice in them. There is nothing in them. They are husks, which is as good a name as any. Zombie has always sounded kind of silly to me, even if the implications are always fairly dark and dire. Husks better describes the hollowness of them, I think. So “the undead” or “the infected” work, but “husk” is a better term, given that we do not actually know if they are infected with anything or how they got that way and when you call something undead, it makes the thing somehow spookier than it has to be, lending it some sort of power. We should not fear these things. We need to dispose of them quickly; it is the absolute least we can do.

As far as corpses go, they are just as brittle and easily-perforated as what you might expect a half-decayed corpse to be. The hardest part, to be perfectly honest, is the clothing. Most people did not turn whilst also happening to be nude, unfortunately. Piercing clothes with a stick or any other blunt instrument is a lot tougher than the television shows always made it seem. You are best off with a machete or even a bat. Cutting off brain function stops ambulation. I… do not know if it stops brain function entirely unless the brain is vaporized. No one seems inclined to hang around husk-infested areas long enough to find out.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I was (partially) wrong about the events of a so-called “zombie apocalypse”. I had always theorized (during slow times at my job, mostly) that no society with known zombie-based media could fall victim to the idiotic happenings of your average zombie show, that the zombies could not last much longer than a few months, at most in, for example, a densely populated city, but that in the country, the problem would be solved within a week. There is simply more space way out in the boonies to see things like that coming—people are more armed, too, and not necessarily even with firearms. I am referring, of course, to basic farm implements: pitchforks, shovels, a literal tractor, splitting mauls, axes, actual logs—I could go on.

I was foolish, thinking it would be easy to simply go out and strike down things which had formerly been human, because I would know that they were not. What they don’t usually show in zombie shows—or didn’t; I doubt anyone will ever produce another, assuming we get to that point—is that when someone is freshly dead, they still look… human. Not just humanoid, mind you, but like a sick human being.

Okay, so remember when I said the husks don’t make noise? The old ones don’t, that’s true. But the fresh ones… sometimes it feels as if they are trying to communicate in some way. It definitely is not the growling-hissing sound you get from a movie or whatever. It feels like speaking to a person with a severe speech impediment, who is also deaf, and has some combination of Alzheimer’s and dementia. That is to say, you are not speaking with them, so much as listening. I have no idea what they are trying to say and I have only seen a fresh one a few times; thankfully, by the time they reach our home base, they have deteriorated thoroughly enough that there isn’t any more of that half-talking thing. It gives me the shivers even considering it. Do they consider what they are doing? Can they feel it? What part of them is left—if any?

I am one of those people who hopes that whatever they feel is rudimentary, pure instinct, that there is nothing of the soul who was once occupying the body—yet another decent reason to call them “husks”, rather than zombies.

They are chilling to behold, more than any George Romero film could attempt to portray. As a matter of course, anyone who has ever owned a zombie film or series has tossed it summarily out into the gutter, so to speak—though in some cases, literally. I have genuinely witnessed people with whole collections, tossing them out into our now-defunct trash bins. The gesture seems more symbolic than anything else; the only garbage truck I have seen in the area is the one the former “rogue garbage man” (a story for another time) had used to make his living, except this thing was ass-over-teakettle in a swamp. Whether it was a group of husks or just some of the run-to-riot wildlife in the area that drove him off the road, I guess I’ll never know.

The village I call home is a small place, a five-by-five mile square with probably five hundred people, total. The cop shop doubles as the library and town hall, if that gives you any idea of the scale of things. We have a four-way which is the biggest attraction in town and isn’t even a stop—traffic on the old highway zooms right on through. We have the essentials, a bar, a hardware, a convenience store and two churches, one Catholic, the other non-denominational, the church equivalent of “Original” and “Spicy”. I’m not entirely sure which one is which, but since the Catholics serve wine, I’m going with Original Recipe—they’re the ones who own the one graveyard in town, which I am pleased to say has expelled none of its residents. It probably isn’t feasible to rise from your grave when you are encased in cement and filled with formaldehyde. Who knew that our uncomfortably Egyptian burial practices would come in handy? There are a few cross streets here and there, but they either lead to dead-ends or a twisted mass of nonsense roads that curve and twist and transform into other roads as they hit county lines.

Everything that is not a house or trailer is a field, woods, a swamp, or some combination of the two.

For having so much farmland, however, there are very few farms. In recent years, times have been tough on anything that is not a massive, factory farm and, needless to say, anything called a “village” does not have the consumer base or, likely, the location to support such a thing. The government has been doing what it does best: making it hard on the little guy. I wish I could tell you it was because of this regime or that, red or blue, but to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure the agenda changes much across the aisle—not where regulatory licensure is concerned, anyway. Farmers just cannot keep up with government subsidization if they aren’t an approved recipient and then they lose their farms, plain and simple. It isn’t the best explanation, nor is it a terribly sympathetic one; don’t think me cold for this, but I recognize that there is plenty about the world I cannot change and, when the dead are walking, you quickly learn which battles to fight, which passions to chase, and which issues to leave behind in the dust of a previous age. I’ve shaken that particular blend of mud from my shoes.

My family is one of the fortunate few who had a “hobby” farm before this whole thing went down. I don’t know who decided to call it that, but this thing is no hobby. It is absolutely, without question, a full-time job taking care of the animals. We have the staples, chickens and hogs, like you would expect in the rural Midwest, but rather than cows, my family long ago elected to raise, breed, milk, and butcher goats. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, my friend; goat is good eating. The milk is creamy, the cheese is exquisite, and they are friendly, mid-sized beasts who can be pushed and pulled where you need them to go. Sometimes, we lament not having at least one cow, but upon reflection, the sheer size of any bovine is enough to stop that thought quickly; they eat a ton and if they do not want to cooperate, they simply won’t. There is little a human can do without a cattle prod (or dogs) and we’re fresh out.

We are fresh out of cattle prods, that is, not dogs. We have dogs. Everyone around here has at least one dog. It’s just something you do in the country. You have dogs. We have four, actually, and right now, they make for excellent guards, alerting us to the presence of the undead with quiet barks—we call them “low-commitment”, because it isn’t a full-on bark, but it’s loud enough to let us know something is up. It’s as if the dogs understand that the dead are attracted to sounds. Now, if a human being wanders by the fence, the dogs go all out. They’re really the epitome of “a bark worse than their bite”, but nobody else knows that, so they keep the riff-raff out. By riff-raff, I mean drifters, thieves, those who are not committed to survival by hard work, but by capitalizing on the work of others. Around here, there are plenty—or there were. Needless to say, that behavior does not win you many friends during a crisis like this one. My family is generous, but we are not soft, nor stupid. Telling the good from the bad has never been difficult for us… or the dogs, actually.

So there you have it… “hobby” farm with doggy security system. We have ham, goat, and chicken a-plenty; we have eggs, milk, and cheese. We are very well-outfitted for this “apocalypse”, if you want to call it that. I think it might be a bit overblown, but nobody asked me, did they? There are plenty of people and families out there who were not so fortunate. It did not take long to realize how well-positioned we were (and still are) to survive and even to thrive in these new dark ages. Oh, but I guess I got ahead of myself again—or maybe behind… again. You probably aren’t here for logistics or whatever. You probably saw the opening monologue and thought “shit, she’s going to spill it all; we’re going to get a real juicy story”. You want to know how it started, or at the very least, how it started for me, don’t you? Well, strap in. This is a long one.

[newnowknowhow]

What I should have said to my little brother on his wedding day...

I don’t know when this first occurred, but I experience a palpable amount of distress and anxiety whenever my cell phone rings. Blame it on the day and age we live in. I’ve become accustomed to quick, informal communication coming in the form of a text messages. Scratch that. It’s more accurate to say that I’ve become accustomed to almost all remote communication to come in the form of text messaging (much to my parents’ chagrin). Consequently, I regard phone calls as harbingers of terrible news, things too terrible to be expressed electronically.

(Not sure why my mind immediately expects horrible “big news” and not just “big news,” positive or negative.)

So that explains my initial thought when my brother texted the following:

“Can I call?”

Fuck. This can’t be good.

Immediately equating a phone call to bad news is a nonsensical reaction to something that should excite and hearten me. I mean, it’s my brother, one of my favorite people on the planet, someone I think about and wish I could talk to just about every day.

But it’s my default response to phone-call stimuli.

That night, like with 99.9 percent of the phone calls I get, the communication wasn’t dire. I missed the phone call, but I later found out — via text message, thank you very much — that my brother was phoning me to ask me something very important.

“It’s not that serious,” my brother texted, perhaps intuiting his big brother’s neuroses following the request to actually have a person-to-person voice conversation with his sibling.

“That Best Man slot is yours,” he wrote. “But would you be up for being the officiant? You’d be doing it with Erica’s sister. You can totally say ‘no.’”

Of course I wasn’t going to say “no.” I could think of no greater honor than to do that for my brother and Erica, then my soon-to-be sister-in-law.

The request relieved me of the time-honored tradition at the post-wedding reception, the Best Man Toast, which is often part comedy roast, part heartfelt appreciation of the newly minted married man (and, by extension, his new wife). I wasn’t sure I could pull that off. I view that gig as one of the key cogs in the wedding wheel, a component that probably doesn’t make or break the day, but certainly something that can go a long way to making the day even more memorable for the couple and their guests.

Too much pressure.

Officiating the wedding though? Piece of cake. From the moment my brother asked me to do it, right up until when Rachel, Erica’s big sister, and I walked down the aisle to begin our officiant duties, I never experienced a single worry about speaking in front of the wedding guests or fumbling over any part of the ceremony. The sheer pride in being asked to participate in that way tamped down any chance nerves would get the better of me.

But in the day or two before the wedding, I did begin to feel uneasy. While I was spared the Best Man Toast, which my brother’s best friend, Jared, knocked out of the park, my brother and sister-in-law reserved a portion of the wedding ceremony for me and Rachel to address them directly. When I first learned they intended for this to be part of the ceremony, I still wasn’t worried. I looked at this task as something wholly different than the Best Man Toast, more sobering than silly, more poignant than punchlines. We were instructed that we could make these speeches to our respective siblings whatever we wanted them to be.

And it was that “freedom” that caused the first bit of anxiety.

There were literally 100 ways I could have approached what I was going to say. I was nearly 5 when my brother was born, but the reality is that I can’t remember life without him. We slept in the same room until he was about 16 or so. I know that guy better than I know anyone else in the world.

So how do you encapsulate all of that, all of the love and admiration and happiness that simply the thought of my brother conjures, into what might be a three-minute speech?

I did the best I could that day, and I got a lot of compliments on my remarks. But I wasn’t happy, largely because I fouled up the execution. I didn’t mind what I wrote, but I didn’t want to simply read from my notebook. So I tried my best to think less about every word I wrote down and more about the sentiments I wanted to express — basically, I made the choice to read as little of what I’d written as possible. I found out quickly this is a terrible idea when you finish writing a speech only 10 minutes before it’s to be delivered.

At some point I just felt like the whole thing got away from me, and I didn’t exactly say everything I wanted to say or how I wanted to say it.

So I’m going to do that now. A good portion of this comes from what I wrote to say that day. Other big chunks are taken from stabs at writing the speech in the days leading up to the ceremony. There’s a “Hamilton” reference, which I know my brother and his wife would have enjoyed since they love the show so much. But I felt silly using it the way I wanted to use it. I felt silly about a good deal of the initial thoughts on how to approach this. Hopefully, he and Erica won’t think this Wedding Address Redux is silly. I’m only doing it because I love them both dearly.

This is what I should have said:

"I have a really vivid recollection of when Mom told me she was pregnant with you. Two things from that night stand out in my memory. The first: I remember running to tell Dad the news because, well, I thought it was information he needed to know. At four years old, I had no clue that Dad probably got the news long before Mom shared it with me.

"The second thing I remember was being suddenly filled with a sense of purpose — as much as a four-year-old can be have a sense of purpose. I was going to be a 'big brother,' This was a big deal. No clue why I had this onset of accountability for someone I hadn’t met yet. Maybe I had friends who either had or were older siblings. Its genesis really doesn’t matter. I had four years of wisdom and experience to pass on. I planned to be your guru, your mentor, the No I.D. to your Kanye.

"It didn’t take long to figure out that Zahir McGhee needed no mentor. Or at least you didn’t want one. Four-and-a-half years of knowledge to pass on? 'Nah, I’m good, homey' is the phrase I would use to describe your feelings about the guiding hand of your big brother…or anyone for that matter. Reflecting back on our childhood, more than a few squabbles were rooted in one of the following: you not doing something the way I thought you should (this was definitely more of a 'me' issue), and/or you reveling in not behaving or thinking the way I thought you should through taunts and the ever-effective repetition of the same word or phrases over and over. And over.

"If I wanted to keep my sanity, the plan to be the wise, old-sage big brother went out the window. Fine. I had another job as your big brother, and that was to keep you safe. Certainly, I knew that meant helping ensure your physical safety. I’ve been in probably six physical confrontations in my life (with other people, not you), and three of them involved you in some way. That’s not a complaint or a dig at all. Comes with the territory of having a mouthy little brother.

"Beyond feeling obligated to protect your physical safety I also found myself being concerned about your emotional well-being. I love you. I never want you to be disappointed or discouraged. Because of that I harbored the hope that you would model one behavior of mine over all others: my uncanny ability to play it safe.. I have always been fairly risk-averse, not surprising for someone who lives by the watchword 'Expect the worst; hope for the best.' Think of me as Aaron Burr. You are Alexander Hamilton. Me, safe and keenly aware of risk in just about every moment of life. You, brilliant, brash, and unafraid to do what you feel is the right thing in life no matter the consequences. It’s sometimes made me uneasy seeing you make bold decisions and take chances. I remember trying to poo-poo your plans to try out for the basketball team at Camden Catholic. Not because I didn’t believe in your ability. I just didn’t want you to endure the disappointment of not making it.

"Of course, like nearly everything you try, you put your head down, went to work, and you made the team. I imagine that same mentality led you to tackle graduate school at the University of Miami. And you crushed that, so, what the heck, why not film school at Southern Cal so you could one day work in the very stable and predictable entertainment business? All the while, your big brother was watching your high-wire act from down below, ready to break your fall if you ever fell.

"That’s part of the reason I continue to harbor the fantasy of one day living next door to you, or at least living in the same city as you. I’d worry less if we got to see each other or talk more often than we do currently. It’s easier to have your back, physically or emotionally, when I’m more proximate to your location.

"While I still think that’s a lovely idea, I’ve thought less about rushing to the 'left coast' after Erica came into your life. Aside from being smart and funny and sweet and a rollicking good time no matter the situation, your soon-to-be wife has an ability to calm and comfort you. I see a peace in you, less chaos, less drama. It’s something I’ve always wanted for you, and something I hoped you got from our relationship. I certainly take a great deal of comfort in knowing you have a true ride-or-die chick. And I don’t mind giving up my seat as President of the Zahir McGhee Fan Club to someone as wonderful as Erica.

"Love both of you so much."

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If You Thought Game Of Thrones Felt Off, You’re Not Wrong

Game Of Thrones just finished its seventh season and lots of people didn’t like it and it’s still basically the best thing on the television, so …. Huh. I guess, pick up the pace lesser television shows? Maybe make time for some frigging dragons or at least a eunuch, NCIS.

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If you follow The Internet, you’ll know that people had a few issues with this most recent season of GOT, most notably the sudden introduction of hyperspace travel to what had previously been a gritty, realistic world. Characters would lunge back and forth across the continent within the span of an episode or two, and while the producers were careful to avoid discussing the length of time that passed between scenes, meaning it was all maybe technically possible, it didn’t feel great. In fact, the pacing of the entire season felt like it had accelerated way too much.

I suspect this was caused by the increasing gap in progress between the show and the books. While the first five seasons were based on the books and the sixth was based on what were probably fairly detailed notes from George R.R. Martin on the book currently in progress, everything past that (i.e. this season) seems to have been based on a fairly loose outline Martin has for the overarching plot of the show. And instead of filling that in with more politics or delightful weddings or fucking Dorne, the producers have evidently just shot from high point to high point. An increase in the pacing was probably necessary and welcome (fuck Dorne), but this past season it felt like they took things a little too far. We live in a world where The Hobbit was turned into a nine-hour movie. They probably had some time to show a few more conversations on boats.

But there’s a deeper problem at work here, something which is causing a disquieting sensation that the show seems broken now. No, not just the latest incest plot, that’s fine, fuck your aunts all you want, Cracked’s position on that has always been clear. No, what’s really happening is we are seeing a collision between two immutable laws of fiction which have lived side by side within the show for years. Recent events have forced these two laws into conflict with each other, and it’s the fallout from this collision which is making everything feel so weird now.

The laws are:

Realistic Stories Have To Kill Off Major Characters

What was the first major plot point of Game Of Thrones that made you realize something special was going on? The prostitutes? It was the prostitutes for you? Ok, sure. You do you.

Because for most other people it was the death of Ned Stark. For the first several episodes of Game Of Thrones, Ned Stark was clearly established as the primary protagonist. He was brave and honorable and had nice kids and a cool wife and he did what he thought was right. And about midway through the season, when he was taken prisoner by the villainous Lannisters, everyone familiar with fiction began quietly, even subconsciously, wondering how Ned Stark was going to get out of this one.

And then he got his head chopped off.

Holy shit! Clearly this was a different type of show entirely, and Martin would return to this blood-filled well again and again, brutally killing off major characters at weddings across the continent.

The reason this worked was that, as surprising as it was, it was still realistic and believable. Political machinations and assassinations and open warfare result in people dying, so we can’t be too surprised when it happens to major players. Large portions of Game Of Thrones are inspired by real history, which — spoiler — has a fatality rate of around 100 percent. Look at the War Of The Roses (which several elements of Game Of Thrones are based on.) That little conflict saw dozens of Edwards and Richards die each year, major players each one. A plausible depiction of that kind of conflict has to have major characters die. It’d look ridiculous without it.

And now one question. Answer it as quickly as you can. On Game Of Thrones, who was the last major protagonist to die?

The uh … hmmm. Is it Hodor? It’s Hodor, isn’t it? Is that major enough? He was certainly a big character. Not really major though, and it was quite a while ago.

Let’s talk about the second immutable rule of fiction at work here.

Traditional Stories Can’t Kill Off Major Characters

The whole point of a story is to read about interesting people doing interesting things. It’s more satisfying if we know something about the people doing amazing things — we don’t want to hear that some chump elf dropped the One Ring in Mt. Doom, because his army fought its way there and he was just the closest one to the precipice. We want to read about Sam and Frodo doing it, because we’d followed those characters and their discussions about potatoes for a long time. If we’d followed the chump elf for a thousand pages, that might be different. He’d be our hero, and we’d know a lot more about him, and we’d delight in seeing how he had finally become the chump he was always destined to become.

One big side-effect of this law is that if we follow a character for hundreds of pages, they will fairly predictably go on to do interesting things. It’s essentially a corollary to Chekhov’s Gun; if a character is introduced in the first act, they’ll have to do something by the third act. Readers pick up on this too; we know when characters are important and can often even predict what they’ll do long before they do it. The coward will become brave, the hero and romantic interest will kiss, the guy with a chainsaw for an arm will be killed with his own chainsaw. And when that hasn’t happened yet, no matter what dire situations our heroes find themselves in, we don’t feel like they’re in real peril. It’s called plot armor, and it’s the reason people found it so surprising when Ned Stark died. He was our hero! He had to do … something. Right?

This is probably why we haven’t had any major characters on the show die in a while now. They all have a role to play in the final season of the show.

Ok, so what? What’s the problem? You want Bran to die or something? Well, yes, but there’s more.

Game Of Thrones Combines Both These Type Of Stories

In Game Of Thrones, everything south of the wall can be airily summed up as “humans fucking each other over.” It’s a realistic political story, which generally follows the first law discussed above. Using examples from history, Martin was able to create beloved characters and hated villains and kill them off more or less whenever he wanted, because that’s what happens in a “humans fucking each other over” story.

North of the wall, we have a very different kind of story, something a lot closer to a traditional fantasy epic, in this case the “humans fighting ice-zombies” trope that lies at the core of 90 percent of the stories you’ve ever been told. It’s no coincidence that this story never blended in too much with the story south of the wall. Characters from each side didn’t cross back and forth or interact much with each other at all. Every now and then someone might send a raven to the other story, and the other story would read it and laugh and throw the raven in the garbage. (Is that how the ravens worked? I don’t think we’ve ever seen the details.) And this story north of the wall is following those rules of fiction which apply to traditional stories. Characters can die, but not the main ones; we need those around to deliver the ultimate blow at the end of the story to make that ultimate blow actually feel meaningful.

Now the two stories are merging, and suddenly it’s clear that all the vulnerable people in the gritty political back-stabaganza we had come to love and fear for, are actually heroes in an epic fantasy, immune to death until the very last pages. Think of all the improbable nonsense we’ve had to sit through this season. Jaime getting tackled off a horse instead of incinerated. Theon escaping death for the twentieth goddamned time. Arya and Sansa overcoming Littlefinger’s schemes with hilarious ease. And most damningly, seven named characters marching into the wilderness on the dumbest mission ever conceived, running into impossible, overwhelming danger, and six of them walking out. This is not the same show we started watching; Ned Stark would have died a dozen times over on that mission, and lost several thousand sons in the process.

You can argue that maybe this would all be better if Martin had written the details himself, that’d he’d gloss over or write around the improbabilities we’d seen this season. But the fundamental conflict between these two stories would still be there. We have important, previously very vulnerable characters who now for narrative reasons cannot die. No matter how well it’s done, everything about that type of story is going to feel at least a bit weird.

I’ll still watch the last season, though. So will you. What other socially acceptable venue do we have for watching aunt sex?

Chris Bucholz is a Cracked columnist and plans to die in the first act of whatever story he’s in. As the author of the amazing novels, Freeze/Thaw and Severance he thinks you should definitely go buy both of those now. Join him on Facebook or Twitter.

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Disney’s Wartime Propaganda Shorts - 1943

Der Fuehrer's Face - 1943

“In time of war, it's typical, sometimes even useful, to demonise your enemy.”

“Caricatures and jokes, not always in the best taste, rise to the forefront, as it's our way of relieving aggression.” - Leonard Maltin

The enemy is presented as a stupid, comedic forces being fat, short or absurdly thin.

The world of 'Nutzi-land' is all swastika shaped, topiary bushes, clouds

Since by this point in time Donald would have been a popular character within the Disney media, seeing him at the mercy of the Nazis and being kicked around and hurt would instantly garner sympathy from the audience for Donald and his plight, as well as create disgust at the Nazis in the animation (as well as at large)

Donald's living conditions are quite dire. Having to use a saw to cut bread. He is kicked around by the soldiers forcing him to work, with knives to his back.

Donald is forced to work on a production line. The factory is presented as looming, tall and threatening looking. The buildings are a mix of black and grey, with a hostile red sky.

“Is this not wonderful? Is not our Fuhrer glorious?” - the situation presented shows the audience otherwise

Donald mutters a mark of discontent and is immediately held at knifepoint

“Through the kindness of the Fuhrer comes the vacation with pay.” - it's just a painting of the holiday location. Shows the lies that are being told within Nutziland and by extension Nazi Germany.

Donald is worked to insanity. He daydreams a sequence where the shells and Nazi imagery matches his madness.

Donald wakes up, safe and sound and in America. He is appreciative of the fact he has his American lifestyle compared to that of 'Nutziland'

The short ends with a caricature of Hitler having a tomato hurled at him. The tomato splats red and dripping red tomato forms the words 'The End', almost like a mock assassination.

--

Reason and Emotion - 1943

A mostly innocuous short film which turns into propaganda towards the end

The short proposes that people are controlled by two cores, Emotion (designed as a caveman) and Reason (designed as a businessman)

Emotion starts to fight against Reason when hearing rumours about the war. Just as he's about to hit Reason with the control wheel, the narrator steps in

“That's right Emotion. Push Reason out of the way. That's great! Fine! For Hitler. … That master rabble-rouser destroyed Reason by praying upon the weakness of Emotion with fear, sympathy, pride and hate.”

This suggests that not keeping level-headed will lead to giving Hitler more power.

A caricature of Hitler is shown at a pulpit. He speaks in nonsensical meaningless gibberish peppered with the occasional German word. He is also designed with pointed animalistic teeth and pointed claws and a floppy fringe that keeps flapping into his face. He is placed against a red swastika background. This makes him look threatening and villainous while still looking pathetic.

--

Education for Death - 1943

Takes a more serious tone compared to the previous two shorts. The characters are all fairly realistically proportioned and significantly less cartoony than Donald Duck or the Emotion and Reason cast. While there is a brief comedic break in the portrayal of a ‘fairy tale’ reimagined with Hitler, this short is nowhere near as humourous or with as an upbeat ending as the previous two.

Focusing on how a child is corrupted into being a Nazi soldier. Doesn’t actually vilify the child, keeps the child sympathetic (gets ill, feels sorry for the rabbit in class rather than hate the rabbit, gets into trouble for that) up until he gets conditioned into becoming a ‘good Nazi’. Feels quite different in tone for actually giving a bit of a sympathetic portrayal to the enemy while making the workings of the enemy truly shocking and something to hate.

More realistic palettes, with hostile greys, sterile whites, and a lot of red. All the characters speak proper German rather than English with broken German accents (Der Fuhrer’s Face) or gibberish (Reason and Emotion)

The first scene is darkly lit, with the family and the officer appearing in silhouette. The officer towers above the family and dominates the shot he’s in.

The fairy tale segment presents the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty, placing Democracy as the wicked witch, Hitler as the prince and Germany as the sleeping beauty. - bashes German propaganda, Hitler ‘saving’ Germany from democracy

This is defused with the caricature of Hitler being a comedically pathetic character, with weak and flimsy looking limbs, speaking in gibberish and being dominated by the size of the German woman. For a split second, he forms devil horns and turns red in the face. Comparing Hitler to the devil, making it clear that the enemy is evil whilst also pathetic for an American audience.

“The world belongs to the strong, and the brutal. The rabbit is a coward and deserves to die, they spit on the rabbit... nice kids.” - the narrator translates what the children are saying and they dryly voices his own opinion on their response. Shows that the children lack innocence

The following sequence is bathed in black and red. A montage of destruction, books are set on fire, buildings are vandalised and burn.

The music grows intense with trumpets and a stomping drumbeat to match the pacing of the marching

“The grim years of regimentation have done their work.. now he’s a good Nazi.”

Somber ending, the marching soldiers fade into being a line of graves.

This short feels more designed to instill fear with its serious tone and the nature the subject matter is presented through the choice of imagery. Also to create concern at the methods of brainwashing deployed in Nazi Germany at the time.