#agatha vw

[infestedviscera]

#bones.txt #vanishing world #vocaloid maika #vocaloid #sleeping with the fishes #agatha vw

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Witches and Wizards Job 7-8

Around this point I actually read back and asked myself, "Is this moving too fast?" Then I remember the speed at which a Leverage episode actually moves and the kind of beating Harry usually picks up each book, and went, "Nah."

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SEVEN

The divide between magic and technology is a known quantity. Every wizard knows to stay away from most mechanical things; the more complex they are, the more likely they were to break. The more powerful the wizard, the quicker it was gonna happen. Even knowing these things, I hadn't realized how deep that boundary ran until I tried to find out anything about my prospective employers.

If it had been a magical entity, a spell, an artifact, between Bob and I we could have probably found out at least the basics, but Bob couldn't find out anything about the Leverage people. I wasn't crazy enough to try and scry something in Boston, never mind the range.

All I could tell was that Leverage was, apparently, a purely mundane affair. Based in Boston as they were I didn't doubt they'd run themselves into something other that the average human, but as the afternoon dragged on I began to realize I was going to have more luck finding out what, rather than getting any sort of information on whatever Deveraux and Ford actually had going on.

A smart man would have said no on principle. What little I could find out told me that if things had gotten so bad that an entirely non-magical outfit like Leverage had come looking for a wizard, then they were bad enough that walking away unscathed to enjoy that absurdly large paycheck was not guaranteed. Not even 50/50 odds.

But 50/50 was still better than no odds at all.

And I hadn't lied when I told Deveraux that I'm a curious man.

She'd written a number on the back of the card. Not a hotel, so they could have been anywhere. I eyed it while I called Butters and asked him to look after Mister while I was away. Then I called it.

"Harry." Deveraux actually sounded happy to hear me; it was refreshing.

"Train. The older the better," I told her. "That applies to any tech you want near me, too. Mouse comes with me."

"Yes, of course."

"The daily fee is… good." My voice cracked a bit despite my best attempt at sounding like it was not a holy-heck amount of money. I cleared it. "It's good. But I can't go longer than a week. One week and I'm coming back home, even if your problem's not solved."

"That's fine."

"And I need a basement."

"A b… A basement?"

"It's contained in case something bad happens."

"Ah." The fact she didn't ask questions told me containment was a common concern in both her line of work and mine. "Anything else?"

"I can't think of anything off the top of my head. I'm sure something will come up." Something did almost immediately. "A full briefing as soon as I'm there. No secrets, no lies. If I find out you've lied to me, I'll leave."

"We'll tell you as much as we know," she assured me, and I found myself believing her. "Welcome to the team, Harry."

It felt weird to be welcomed, to be made to feel as if I were part of a team that actually wanted me there. "When do you think you'll have everything ready?"

There was laughter in her tone. "When do you think you'll be packed?"

Three hours later I was at Union Station, being escorted off the oldest VW minibus in existence and onto a rail car that apparently I had all to myself, like something out of an Agatha Christie book. I'd packed Bob, my tools, a quick-spell kit, any books I thought might help, and a change of clothes. Mouse looked mournfully at me as the train began to move, and I couldn't blame him; it felt as if I were leaving a piece of myself behind.

I knew Chicago. It was home. I knew the people, the streets. I knew its seasons, its weather. I knew the hangouts of most of the dangerous creatures in it, both human and inhuman. I knew every layer of it, every mood, every current.

I knew very little about Boston except that it was a supernatural melting pot. Most creatures that crossed from the Old World or from Other Places and didn't come through the Nevernever landed in Boston; many stayed there, made lives there. There were inhuman families that were generations old, living side by side with the descendants of human immigrants. The divide between mortal and supernatural was as thin as my willpower in Boston.

Look, Deveraux had handed me a really big number.

The train never stopped. That struck me as weird, but then I'd never traveled first class on a train before, so I had no bar for normal. I tried to sleep, but the novelty of everything wore off a couple of hours into the trip, and panic began to settle in. What the hell was I doing? I was Chicago's wizard, not Boston's!

Well, it was done. The AC broke about halfway through the trip, but with the windows open I never even noticed. I got my books out and read, trying to give myself a crash course on the magical scene in Boston, so to speak. Mouse took over one of the windows and seemed to have forgiven me, head thrust out into the wind of our passage, jowls flapping and the plume of his tail wagging sedately. He scared the crap out of the one person I did see, a young man who brought me breakfast and lunch, somehow still warm.

The sun had just set when the train pulled into the Back Bay. I could feel the air buzzing all around me with an imperceptible, invisible charge, the ambient energy of hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of supernatural creatures crackling against my senses. I felt both supercharged and itchy, and Mouse shook himself furiously when we finally made it off the rail car.

There was a man waiting for me on the concourse. He was tremendously solid, the sort of build I used to wish for when I was young, heavy muscle under a worn leather jacket, faded blue jeans and comfortable curb-stomper boots. He had long, very fine brown hair and oddly guileless blue eyes. He had stubble matching mine and he straightened up from his lazy slouch with the ease of someone perfectly at peace with the world around him.

I couldn't see the bulge of a gun anywhere, but I was pretty sure this was Leverage's heavy hitter.

Then he grinned at me, and his whole face lit up, and I thought maybe I was wrong. "Dresden?"

"That's me," I admitted.

He offered his hand without hesitation. "Eliot Spencer. Eliot's fine. Sorry to drag you so far from home."

This man was a walking contradiction. His hands told me I was right. His attitude told me I was wrong. He was the nicest, friendliest man with violence as his main occupation that I'd ever met up to that point in my life. He meant every word of his apology. He was sizing me up for threats.

Belatedly, I realized that Boston was literally supercharging me. My senses, both magical and normal, were trying to run away with me. I had nothing else at the moment; I clung to the hand Eliot Spencer offered, to the strength in it. "Oh, you didn't, not really. Too curious for my own good. Give me a second, would you?"

"You ok, man?"

"Just a little… drunk on the night air," I said, knowing how that had to sound to him.

I was not expecting the change that went over him. It was seamless, instantaneous. One moment Eliot Spencer was welcoming me to his home like a ray of sunshine; the next he was all deadly intent, a sort of quiet, intangible menace radiating from him like the darkest light. "A problem?" he asked mildly.

It told me two things; one, that I was right after all and two, that whatever had brought me to Boston was big enough to have this calm, steady man on a hair-trigger. "No, it's…. Boston's busy. Boston's real busy when it comes to magic. It hangs in the air, makes it thick, and it's giving me a head rush."

"Chicago's not like that?"

"No. The Lake grounds it. Water's good for that."

"I could take you by the Charles if it would help - hey!" And just like that the ray of sunshine was back when Mouse came trotting back from wherever he'd gone to take care of his business. Eliot dropped down to a crouch. "Who's this, Mouse, I think?"

"Yeah. Just watch out, he's not always -" Mouse, tail a blur, charged the Leverage man with a delighted huff and proceeded to lick anything Eliot didn't vigilantly protect, making him chuckle. Well. That was new. And good news for me. "Friendly. He was also a lot smaller when he was a puppy."

Eliot straightened up, rubbing Mouse's head with rough affection. My dog looked blissful, tongue lolling to one side. "Bait-and-switched you, huh."

"It might've been, if he'd given me any choice in the matter."

"He's big for a Tibetan Mastiff," Eliot pointed out. "Wrong color, too."

"He's not. He's a Tibetan Temple Mastiff."

Again that brief pause. Eliot looked down at Mouse. Mouse looked up at him.

The Leverage man grinned again and rubbed Mouse's ears. "Eh, he looks dog enough for me. Anyway. If you're feeling better, let's get you settled. I rented a van."

"Cars get temperamental with me around."

"Dresden, if you can break down a u-Haul, I'll believe you're a wizard no further questions. Where's your luggage?"

EIGHT

Apparently the Leverage people weren't unfamiliar with what happened when you put magic too close to tech. I was put up in their 'temporary' quarters, a small house a lick away from their actual place of business, a loft over a bar by the incredibly Irish name of John McRory's Place.

The house was nice. It had a fenced yard that Mouse promptly claimed as his own and a finished basement that I promptly claimed as my own. The bedroom looked suspiciously like someone had ordered it directly from a catalog, sheets and all. The only other rooms that were accessible were one bathroom and the living room, which had been set up as a meeting area of sorts. The kitchen was empty. The other rooms were full of crates.

There was dinner from the pub waiting for me that night, and a phone in a manila envelope. I offered to share my beer with Eliot; the phone died with a sad little squawk before we finished it.

"That's gonna make things hard," he admitted wryly, examining the dead screen of the phone. "I take it a bluetooth's out of the question?"

"The more parts to it, the quicker it goes."

I saw him get very thoughtful. "What about size? The bigger it is?"

"How big are we talking about?" I asked mildly, sensing a chance to finally get some information as to what had brought me to Boston.

"TV screen," Eliot answered without hesitation, then spread his arms. "Yay big."

"What were you doing at the time?"

"Trying to get a composite from a bunch of blurry pictures."

"What happened?"

"It cracked." He grinned wryly. "Top to bottom. We took that thing out to the recycling in two halves." His jovial mood faded. "I don't like the look on your face right now, Dresden."

"You shouldn't." I was trying to think of creatures that could shatter a screen like that, with just their image, without actually being there. It was a short list; it was also a very scary list. "It wasn't anything else, it had to be the picture?"

"The man who works our tech is the best, hands-down. His equipment doesn't blow up like that without a good reason," Eliot said calmly, then put his hands up. "Wait, no, I'm supposed to let you rest tonight. You're gonna hear all this tomorrow morning anyway."

"I did nothing but sleep on the train ride," I told him. I won't lie, it felt nice to know the Leverage outfit, whatever their business might be, gave enough of a damn to give me the night to myself. Most people who hire me for that kind of money expected 24-7 service, never mind what kind of shape I might be in at the end of the day. "Tell me what you can."

He gave me one of the few measuring looks I've ever gotten that didn't have my harm at heart before he made a decision and tipped his head toward the pub. "Come on."

"Mouse, watch the place." Mouse flopped in front of the door and settled down with a yawn.

The front of the pub was roaring, but we came in from the back. Eliot knocked softly on a door, poked his head in and murmured something to someone in there. I caught a faint whiff of something sweet, almost like licorice - probably a storage room, and a bottle of liquor had broken and been cleaned up. Eliot got his answer; he closed the door and we moved on. He peeked out into the main floor and called out something I couldn't hear over the noise of the crowd before heading to a pair of elevator doors.

I stopped walking. "Uh…"

He paused, turned, and led me to the stairs, grinning. "You know, I don't even think about most of this stuff. Tech's embedded so deep into our lives."

"I just wish for a hot water heater that didn't break in under a week," I told him.

"Yikes."

"Yup."

"Just keep your distance from Hardison's tech," Eliot warned me as he led me into a vast, elegant little loft. The bare brick walls had paintings on them that looked… modern. Expensive. I didn't know enough about art back then to appreciate what they were. A spiral staircase led up to what was probably a bedroom, and behind it was a typical modern kitchen. Most of the open space was taken up by a very modern, very sleek meeting room sort of setup, a wall full of screens and a small curve of desks before it. "He's still sore about those screens."

"Screens? More than one?"

"Yeah, a second one a day after -"

A young woman came flying into the loft. "Where is he? Where's the wizard?"

"Parker, don't -"

She whirled and faced me, and immediately made a face. "Aren't you supposed to have a white bushy beard?"

"Not for another couple hundred years."

I hadn't expected my quip to bring her up short, but it did. She seemed to really think about it, and it gave me a chance to examine her. She was young, wiry, blonde, pretty. She had the same kind of intensity Karrin had, but her focus seemed to change from minute to minute.

"Oh. I didn't think about that. There have to be young wizards to get old wizards."

"Parker." Eliot sighed.

"No robes?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Fancy spell books?"

"I do have one of those."

"Can I see it?"

"Parker, let the man catch his breath." Sophie Deveraux looked cozy and elegant and beautiful in a flowing blue blouse and a shimmering gray skirt. She beamed at me and I felt warm and fuzzy. Look, I'm man enough to admit it, I'm a sucker for a pretty lady, particularly one that doesn't want me dead. "Harry."

"Miss Deveraux."

"Just Sophie, Harry, please. Are you sure you wouldn't rather wait?"

"I'm good. I got all my rest in the train ride. Boston's full of energy, and it's making me buzzed, I rather put some of it to work, get it out of my system -"

"Why do you carry a stick?"

I whipped around. Parker had my wand in her hands.

Hell's Bells, I'd never even felt the theft. My wand, and I would have never known she'd gone for it if she hadn't said something.

Something in my face clued Sophie and Eliot that things had gone very badly, very quickly. "Parker!" Sophie cried out.

With all the care of someone handling live explosives, Eliot closed a hand over the 'stick'. "We are trying," he told her, sticking to his calm demeanor like tar, "to make a good impression, Parker."

"Oh, fine. Should I give everything else back?"

I took the quickest stock of my person I'd ever taken in my life. Immediately I found another thing missing that I would have never thought could be taken from me without my notice. How in the hell -!

"Yes!" Sophie told her firmly.

"Well, he didn't have anything interesting anyways," Parker put out her hand with my wallet on it.

And my shield bracelet.

Eliot offered me my wand back, looking sheepish. "Sorry, man."

"I just - how?" Seriously. Never mind the theft, everything was coming back to me, nothing was broken, no one was hurt, I just wanted to know how she'd done it.

"Parker is the best in the world," Sophie said, somehow managing to convey warm pride and icy disapproval all in one. Parker squirmed uncertainly. "She should also bear in mind that as of now you're part of our team, and we don't pickpocket teammates."

Parker held strong under the tone of disapproval longer than I would have. "Sorry," she muttered with ill grace.

"No harm no foul if you teach me how to do it."

She grinned, just a little. "Deal."

"Also, where should I stand so I'm as far away from anything tech-y as possible?"

"Right there." Nathan Ford had arrived, and the mask was off. He still looked vaguely friendly, a little rumpled, somewhat distracted. But there was nothing hiding the ruthless ice in his eyes anymore, or the deep mistrust in the gaze he leveled at me. I was in his world, in his domain, I was his employee. The carrot had done her job, the stick didn't have to mind his manners anymore. "Right there's fine, mister Dresden."

Ford passed everyone by and moved to the kitchen to find himself, apparently, some coffee. "Where's Hardison?"

"He said he wanted to take a few more pictures of the cylinder we found at the museum," Eliot told him. "He's in the storage room."

"What cylinder?" Something was bugging me. It wasn't big, at least not big enough to pin it down, but it was there, nagging at the back of my mind like a toothache after too much sugar.

"There was an issue at the Isabella Gardner Museum," Sophie told me. "Someone tampered with the fire suppression system. They attached some kind of homemade cylinder to the system and it started pumping something out in the air, some sort of perfume." She shrugged lightly. "We don't know why, there was no need for it."

"Perfume?"

"Yes. Fernflower."

I was running the next moment, going on a guess and a prayer. The guess was that the closed door was the storage room. The prayer was that I wouldn't be too late.

The moment I hit the bottom floor a faint reek of sweet, rotten candy and burning flowers made me reel back, coughing, my lungs burning. I could definitely smell the fernflower; worse, I could also smell night's breath. This was some deep, deep magic. Deep and old. Someone had cooked up a Burning Witchwell, and Leverage had blundered right into it. Only luck had kept any of them from being magically inclined, but that luck had run out with the fernflower.

Eliot was right behind me, and he threw a hand over his face. He snatched a bunch of cloth napkins from a nearby shelf and shoved them at me. "What is that?!"

I ran on and shoved the door open to the storage room. There was a man kneeling on the floor before a table, wheezing. The fernflower fumes burned my eyes and I actually heard my skin hiss on contact with the night's breath, but I was running on Boston air. I was so charged up I barely registered any pain.

"Venti, ventum!" I shouted. Wind poured into the storage room. Everything went flying off the shelves. I felt my magic careen out of control, as supercharged as I was, and fought to bring it back under control. I didn't want to wreck the room, I just wanted to get the man to safety, away from the fumes.

"Hardison!" Eliot had already dashed past me, catching the man. He was lanky, lean, deceptively muscled, possibly an inch or so taller than me. His skin was very dark and it had gone blotchy where the night's breath had had time to settle down and sink in. He slurred something unintelligible and squinted intently at me; I couldn't even begin to imagine what he was seeing.

"Dresden?!" Eliot asked, spitting his own hair out of his mouth.

"Go, get him out!"

He didn't question me. I could have danced a happy jig at that show of trust. I backed out of the room; I was one step past the doorway when helpful hands slammed the door shut. "Does the ventilation system here connect to the pub?"

"No, it goes straight out," Ford replied.

"Then just put some…" The borrowed energy from the Boston ambiance ran out. I felt pain creep up over any part of me not covered by fabric. "Put some…"

"Sophie, put some towels at the bottom," Ford's voice was full of calm, focused competency. "Parker, go tell the front of house no one is to come into this room until one of us says otherwise. Eliot." There was a pause. "Dresden, is a hospital going to help either of you?"

"He's fine." Oh, that was Ford's shoulder under my arm, holding me up. When had that happened? "Unless he's got magic, he's just drunk. Sort of."

"And you?"

"I'm a little blistered." I was a little more than blistered, but I had the advantage of knowing the damage wasn't real. "No hospital. A bath."

"Alright. Let's get you and Hardison up to the loft, then."

I wasn't in any shape to argue. I got shoved under a spray of miraculously hot water. Someone peeled my clothes off. At some point I realized I trusted only two people in the loft, and one of them was helping undress me. "Wash your hands," I told Eliot. "Wash the clothes."

"Can we burn them?"

"Don't burn my clothes, I didn't bring any more." I stared at him suspiciously; well, there was only one person I trusted anymore. "Tell Parker to watch my things."

Eliot offered a sound of deeply amused disbelief. Somewhere nearby a man's voice was tunelessly singing what sounded like a church song. "Drunk?"

"Intox… Intec… Sort of. Fernflower gives you magic. See things. Talk to animals. Sorta thing. But it's eph… emph…. It fades quick. You gotta lace it with… other stuff. It It wasn't the weapon, the night's breath was."

"Night's breath?"

"Old plant. Burns up magic. Night's breath was fire. Fernflower was gasoline. 's called a… a Burning Witchwell."

"You aren't breathing right, man."

"Fake. I'll be fine when my…. when my magic comes back. Easy, in this place."

"Fake damage." At that Eliot did look disbelieving. "Hurt's hurt."

"Particularly if you believe in it," I shot back, then put my head up to the spray of hot water. "Oh, that feels good."

I heard Eliot snort in amusement. "Well, enjoy it while you can. Haven't blown up this heater."

"Give me a chance, I just got here."

#leverage #nathan ford #alec hardison #sophie devereaux #eliot spencer #parker #the dresden files #harry dresden #crossover #my writing #fanfiction #urban fantasy #mild violence

[wandagatha-incorrect-quotes]

Darcy: Why is Wanda crying?

Agatha: She took a "which avenger are you?" quiz.

Monica: And?

Wanda, sobbing in the background: I DON'T WANT TO BE IRONMAN!

#agatha harkness #mcu #wanda maximoff #vw #agatha x wanda #wanda x agatha #marvel #wandavision #wandavision incorrect quotes #marvel incorrect quotes #mcu incorrect quotes

[buckys-metal-arm]

My favorite thing about the most recent reveal in WV is that Agatha Harkness canonically tried to help Wanda get Robot dick in the first episode

#wandavision #wandavision spoilers #vw spoilers #agatha harkness #Agatha: yes I'm evil yes I will help you bang your sentient roomba ~we exist~ #Agatha harkness wants Wanda to f u c k

[strawberrymomhat]

I’m probably gonna have to sell my car

#I’m so sad #I love her so much #her name is Agatha she’s a black vw bug #and I love her #she’s a part of me #but she needs a repair #and the part alone costs $830 #so I’m probably gonna have to sell her for half of what I bought her for #and commute to work using my moms car #because I’m an unpaid intern #so fuck me I guess #god #I’m gonna miss her so much #I literally would drive her for a decade #it’s only been 8 months #it’s not fair I don’t get more time w her #I’m sorry guys I just feel so heartbroken #I’ve been ugly crying in my room bc nobody is home #I can’t ask my parent to pay for it #and all the money I have saved is going to my loans #I mean the only way I keep her is if I start an only fans #and I honestly might be that desperate #we’ll see I guess #shut up erin

[alina-vanille]

Pietro/Peter WV theory...

Okay, so here is a theory I came up with - what if fake-Pietro in VW is actually a real Pietro/Peter from another universe (the x-men one, I guess) and Agatha pulled him from his own world into the universe of MCU to confuse Wanda, mess with her mind, maybe get some sort of information from her. 

As we could see from the “Agatha All Along”, Peter was glowing purple with Agatha’s magic when he came up to Wanda’s door, which make me think he was acting against his own will and under Agatha’s persuasion. Therefore all his shadiness was the product of Agatha controlling him.

After Wanda blasted him with her magic, Agatha knew that Wanda was no longer going to see him as her brother and released Peter from her spell.

And when he sneaked up to Monica at Agatha’s house with “Snoopers gonna snoop” it wasn’t to stop her - he was actually trying to do a little snooping of his own, not stop Monica.

What if this Pietro is actual real Peter from another universe, who’s going to help Monica to free Wanda and then fight Agatha and Hayward together?

I just think it would actually be so great if Wanda got to actually have her brother (even if it’s not really “her” Pietro) back and keep Vision with her. Wanda deserves happiness and I hope that this is how it’s going to go.

#wandavision #wanda maximoff #vision #monica rambeau #pietro maximoff #agatha harkness

[aspiestvmusings]

So many thoughts,

...so little time & energy to write them all down. 

But man, did WandaVisions latest episode deliver, again, in a big way. 

Seriously: all the awards to Elizbeth Olsen, Paul Bettany, Kathryn Hahn, and the whole cast & crew. The writers! The...everyone. This show is not just acted, and done well, but also written well. It really sets a new standard for all other TV...

I try to not post spoilers on the first da(s), but one day soon, before the finale,  will start posting more spoilery images (probably also parallels & details I’ve noticed on the show), and sharing more of my thoughts, reactions, and theories...

But for now, just two thoughts: 

Wanda/Tony parallels

There are parallels between Wanda’s & Tony’s stories. Both lost their parents & both were affected by the event. Both had grief. And for both the event lead to “decisions” In AoU Wanda read Tony’s mind, but she didn’t have to put any horror image into his heaad...they were alredy there. He was alreaady crippled with is own self doubt, trauma, etc. Agatha did the same to Wanda in WV ep 8 kinda after she “read her mind”. As she said Wanda was so consumed by her grief and self doubt that she believed all her tricks (Fietro). 

Though some see their stories were differently (blaming Tony for what happened to her, I’ve never been sure the weapons and the attack were his doing. Obadiah was a sneaky bastard affter all But for me Tony’s MCU journey has meant that he’s “redeemed” himself. He was always the one who felt most guilty about the harm he had unintentionally caused before he became good... Wanda & Lagos, anyone?... and his worst fear was not saving everyone else... He could not change the past, but he changed the future.)

They both tapped into their potential after the loss, and “captivity time”. They both have the “superhero complex” - they wanna save lives, and they both have huge guilt when they make mistakes/don’t succeed. Also..they both have in a way “seen the future” (have visions of what’s to come). They both, in a way, carry the weight of the world & their “power” (what tehy can do) on their shoulders...self-doubting themselves (should I use my power? will it do moregoro or harm?)

Both are seen as being dangerous & “not good”. Both misunderstood...in ways. Both have avoided dealing with their grief, loss, and mental health issues (Tony after “new york”). And though they have explored trauma & grief through other characters (Thor in Avengers 4, Clint in A4), somehow this show has made me see many parallels between Tonys & Wanda’s stories & journeys. 

Wanda/Monica parallels

Wanda’s & Monica’s stories in WV are similar. They both were snapped & blipped. They both lost their loved one during the event/lost 5 years. Both lost their loved one..twice....in a way. 

Monica was ready to lose her mom, and just before the Snap she seemed to get better...only for her to wake up “20 minutes later” to find out her mom has really died... 

And Wanda lost Vision (she had to destroy him), only to see Thanos reverse it & kill him himself. Then she was dusted, and when she returned she did not find him (then she went to the endgame fight right way, then Tony’s funeral...) and no time to process any of her own biggest loss... which leads us to VW...just days after...

They both are grieving, and they both now have superpowers. And they both seemed to be “depressed” and not caring about their own life (though I am still unsure about Wanda’s mental state really...). Monica returns to work...fast, she feels connected to Wanda, cause she “recognizes” the grief she’s feeling, and she does not hesitate to risk her own life to return to the hex...to help her. 

#MCU #SPOILER #WandaVision #WandaVision spoilers #WandaVisionSpoilers #Wanda Maximoff #Wanda #Tony #Tony Stark #Monica #PARALLELS #TEXT POST #MY THOUGHTS #Monica Rambeau #Wanda Vision

[henryatkinsfmp1]

Director Comparison 2

This time it’s Wes Anderson. Before I start I just want to ask, does Wes Anderson look a bit like Jesse Eisenberg when he played Lex Luther in ‘Batman V. Superman’ to you?

The first film was ‘Moonrise Kingdom’. 

First item of agenda, there are no moonrises in ‘Moonrise Kingdom’.

This film features our 2 main characters. Sam and Suzy. Both are what I like to compare to as angsty teens. Although I’m not sure what their ages are. I say this because of their way of independence from their parents. Both sneak out and see each other in their relationship to kiss and... stuff. To me this sounds like teenagers from the 70s or 80s. Something like that. Something like the teenagers who left home because they were fed up with their parents trying to control them all them time when they really just want to travel around on motorcycles, minis or VW Camper-vans independently. Watch ‘Quadrophenia’. You’ll catch my drift.

In the couples escapade to love each other, they get married and are hunted down by their parents and the scouts who Sam abruptly left. Things get hectic. Not crazy but hectic. A dog gets shot, it ends with a massive flood and a standoff on a church spire all before it truly ends with the start of a new Equilibrium where every bodies happy.

Out of the 3 Wes Anderson films I’ve ever seen (the 2 listed films and ‘Fantastic Mr.Fox’), ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ is by far my favourite.

To begin with, the film starts with so many flashbacks I could swear that we would end up witnessing the birth of Christ at any moment. First a girl reads a book flashbacking to the author reading the books intro aloud and introducing the story. The author flashbacks again to himself in his prime visiting an old Budapest Hotel. After explaining how he met the current owner of the Hotel we get yet another flashback telling the story of the current owner of the Hotel when he started off when the Hotel was in its prime as a Busboy, ‘Zero’.

Legal issues occur when a woman close to the owner of the Hotel dies and gives to him a priceless painting. The woman's family has a few scummy visitors who kill numerous people with evidence that the Hotel owner indeed inherited the painting and those murders gets the owner arrested. Everything turns out fine.

Before I get to comparing the 2 movies there’s a particular frame from the movie that I love above all else in the movie:

I’ve seen this kind of imagery in Art Deco art such as in mystery novels or the like. Something a bit like this could be found in the ‘Agatha Christie’s Poirot’ intro on the TV show, but the fact that Wes Anderson was able to pull off such a beautifully artistic frame like this makes this film one of my favourites instantly.

I’ll end my talk about ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ with making a comment on why I adore this film. It’s what the story talks about outside of the main storyline. The film revolves around a building. Once a proud and buzzing establishment now degraded to what can only compare to an abandoned cabin in the snowy storm. You can imagine it in its prime and then see what’s left of it. A charm can be felt to think about how great it was and how quiet it has become because of its forgotteness (Don’t judge me, it’s a word now).

Wes Andersons flicks, stand out from the crowd. You can always tell if it’s a Wes Anderson movie from its cinematography and how all the lines are performed by the actors. Wes has some kind of... addiction to symmetry as every film he’s done has about 80% of it with something dead centred in the frame. Before looking into Wes Anderson I thought that Stanely Kubrick was a stickler for perfection from what I heard about him filming scenes over and over and over and over again to reach that perfection but Wes Andersons movies seem to achieve this easily.

The lines, however, are a different story. Alot of the time they come to me as almost monotone and devoid of personality as if to always be set to formal as a default. This isn’t the case for every scene. Case in point:

Although I’d say that ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ has more personality than ‘Moonrise Kingdom’ since its vibrant pastel colours and memorable characters stand on its own better than Sam and Suzy. I can’t recall anyone else worth bringing up from that film other than the bully from the scouts who rivals Sam or Bill Murray... because its Bill Murray, I’ll always remember him if he’s in a movie.

[agatha-abstinent]

Tag 908/ Betriebsausflugsgruppe beim Frühstück

Zerknautschte Gesichter. Körper, die merklich noch mit dem Alkoholabbau kämpfen. Der Alkohol von gestern Nacht. Über Kölsch reden sie und über "die vielen Kurzen". Zwei Männer an einem Vierertisch des Frühstückssaals im Hotel wollen nicht mit zur Stadtrundfahrt, lieber eher nach Hause. Hoch im Norden, wie ihr Dialekt bei den Tischgesprächen verrät. Und nach einer Welle des Ekels vor restalkoholisierten, verkaterten, dummwitzelnden Männern, einer Welle des Verurteilens kommt in mir die Erinnerung zurück. Die Erinnerung an meinen letzten Betriebsausflug, an dessen ersten Abend ich mich noch zurückhalten konnte beim Trinken. Am zweiten Abend passierte das, was eigentlich immer passieren musste, wenn es ohne Ende Alkohol gab. Wenn ich nichts dafür bezahlen musste. Wenn immer nachgeschenkt wurde. Wenn ich mich immer bedienen konnte. Wenn ich immer wieder bestellen durfte. Wenn...

Am Morgen nach dem zweiten Abend der Firmenreise ging es mir schlecht. So schlecht, dass ich es nicht verbergen konnte. Weder vor meiner befreundeten Kollegin auf dem Hotelzimmer, noch vor den anderen Kollegen, den Chefs.

Weil Agatha zu viel getrunken hatte, musste alles umorganisiert werden mit den Fahrgemeinschaften. Ich fühlte mich nicht in der Lage, zur besprochenen Uhrzeit den für mich eingeplanten Platz im VW-Bus einzunehmen. Alle wussten Bescheid. Agatha ist kotzübel. Sie fährt später mit Kathie, statt mit Chrissi. Und ich versuchte das wirklich bei dieser Kathie auf der Rückbank. Da im Audi war auf dem Beifahrersitz die einzige Kollegin, von der alle wussten, dass sie häufig viel trinkt. Von der auch ich manchmal morgens noch die Gin Tonic-Fahne im Büro roch. Die Kollegin, die viel feierte, aber anders als ich, immer unter Menschen. Die knüpfte trinkend noch Kontakte, pflegte sie, die vertrug die Trinkmengen noch besser, die kam verkatert, manchmal verspätet, aber sie war nie krank. Deren Leistungen litten nicht unter dem Alkoholkonsum wie die meinen allmählich.

Ich stieg ein in den Audi, aber wie das so ist, wenn man voll-, teil-, oder restalkoholisiert Auto fährt, wie das dutzende Male war, wenn Mutti mich von Partys abholte: Mir wurde extremst übel und die setzen mich am Dorfbahnhof ab.

Allein, verloren, unter den Alkoholkonsumfolgen, unter meiner Grenzenlosigkeit, meinem Kontrollverlust beim Trinken leidend, stand ich am Bahnhofschalter und musste erfahren, dass hier nur alle eineinhalb Stunden ein Zug kommt. Und ich tuckerte irgendwann in einer Regionalbahn in die nächstgelegene Großstadt, aus der Mutti mich abholen würde, mich, über 30, immer noch, immer wieder, eine Mutter, die mir in ihrer Hilflosigkeit helfen wollte, aber damit sehr oft die Spitzen des Leides, die Spitzen der Alkoholkonsumfolgen genommen hat.

Ich habe damals, im April 2013, selbstverständlich nicht geahnt, dass ich im April 2014 eine gescheiterte Alkoholentzugsbehandlung hinter mir haben werde. Ich habe aus diesen furchtbaren Stunden im Hotelzimmer, auf der Toilette, am Bahnhof keine Konsequenzen gezogen. Wenn überhaupt, höchstens die, mir unter Kollegen nicht so bald wieder einen Absturz erlauben zu können.

Ich habe das erst Freitag in Meeting erzählt: Ich konnte irgendwann nicht mehr unter Menschen trinken. Nicht mit Bekannten, nicht mit Kollegen. Ich konnte irgendwann nicht mehr nicht lange bleiben, wenn um mich herum getrunken wurde. Ich musste Veranstaltungen, Geburtstage und auch z.B. die Weihnachtsfeier 2013 für meine und deren Verhältnisse früh - nach eins, zwei Stunden - verlassen, um meine Alkoholmenge auf meine Alkoholtrinkweise in meinem Zuhause unbeobachtet in mich zu befördern. Ich war 2013 extrem gefangen in meinem Suchtverhalten. Ich war alkoholabhängig. Ich musste jeden Tag trinken.

Aber dass ich Alkoholikerin war, bin und bleibe, verstand ich erst, nachdem ich gefühlt mehr als ein Schwimmbad voll Wein noch hatte trinken müssen.

#Erinnerungen #Saufzeit #Suchtverlauf #Alkoholabhängigkeit #Kontrollverlust #Alkoholvergiftung #Co-Abhängigkeit #Krankheitseinsicht