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infinitelytheheartexpands · 3 years

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So a while back, @monotonous-minutia did a short yet comprehensive review of every production of Les contes d’Hoffmann they’d seen, and now, in much the same vein and because a) I think about this opera way too much for my own good and b) I’ve actually seen all ten available filmed productions of this opera (and several multiple times), here is my semi-replication but with Les Huguenots instead of Les contes d’Hoffmann.

And yes I am up at 5:30 on a Friday morning DON’T JUDGE ME

The Productions And The Unique Attributes That Come To Mind Immediately:

Sydney 1990: the OG for yours truly that was also Joan Sutherland’s farewell to staged opera so that’s cool

Montpellier 1990: the production that had strikingly-colored sets but gave pretty much everyone a form of one of three or so costumes

Berlin 1991: there is a wall. also it is in German. also pretty much the entire third act is cut for some reason.

Bilbao 1999: the production that had horrible lighting and that’s most of what I remember thinking tbh

Metz 2004: the one that had the monstrosity of a Black and White Checkered Floor and also fucked up the ending very badly and I’m still mad about it almost a year and a half later

Liège 2005: one of only two productions to follow the stage direction of Nevers sailing in on a boat at the end of Act III (the other was Bilbao). fittingly, Nevers looked like a pirate.

Bard Summerscape 2009: the production where the director looked at the libretto and went “this opera isn’t dark and violent ENOUGH”

Budapest 2017: the one that looks like it was operated entirely with Baroque stage machines and also GIANT WORDS

Paris 2018: what if we set this opera in the future

Genève 2020: what if we set this opera in a movie studio but not consistently and then shipped pretty much everyone with everyone else

Further thoughts under the cut:

Sydney 1990: as mentioned, the first production I ever watched. a great way to hook first-timers. the production is rather heavily cut but in such a way that if you don’t know the opera well it seems to flow quite nicely, cutting about an hour of music. Urbain’s insert rondo is included but slightly cut, the ballet is cut in half, the ball scene is not included. the cast is one of the stronger ones out there: in addition to Sutherland, who still manages to be impressive, both of the other main ladies (Amanda Thane as Valentine and Suzanne Johnston as Urbain) are excellent. the guys are all good too; special mention to John Wegner, who is one of the few Saint-Brises who doesn’t disappoint me. production is traditional, occasionally a bit static, but it works well.

Montpellier 1990: despite my nagging about the costumes and the occasional standing around, probably my favorite overall production. the ball scene is included; neither Urbain’s rondo nor the ballet are. other cuts (remember, this is before the critical edition) are minimal. the most consistently strong leading septet; all of the principals are towards the top of my favorites for their respective roles. production is traditional erring towards minimalist; this works surprisingly well. unfortunately there are no subtitles and the video quality isn’t the greatest.

Berlin 1991: this production is just so confusing to me. cuts are...confusing to say the least. almost all of Act III is cut; all that remains are the first five or so minutes, the nightwatchman’s scene, and the finale, which are fused into an unrelated scene in which a Catholic/Huguenot game of tug-o’-war turns deadly. the ballet, the ball scene, and Urbain’s rondo are all cut. as earlier stated, it is in German, and the translation used has some odd differences (Marcel becomes Raoul’s brother in this staging for no specific reason). Richard Leech’s Raoul, Angela Denning’s Marguérite, and Camille Capasso’s Urbain are all excellent; the rest of the cast is decent but no more. setting seems to be Berlin in the 1960s but references to World War II are continually made through various production elements. the production handles the last two acts surprisingly well but messes with characterization some.

Bilbao 1999: it’s freaking DARK in here did the lighting designer later move to Vienna or something??? ball scene and ballet included; Urbain’s rondo no. one of the lesser-cut productions, actually: it’s in the ballpark of about thirty minutes. cast is mostly unmemorable (which is both a good and bad thing), with the exception of Marcello Giordani as a wonderful Raoul. production is traditional. would help if I could have SEEN MORE OF IT

Metz 2004: the production started off well enough and I had high hopes but things RAPIDLY went south in the final act. the amount of material cut wasn’t so much the issue as what they cut (more on that in a bit), as not much was actually cut. the ballet and Urbain’s rondo were cut; so was the aria portion of the ball scene but not the ballet, which meant (oh God how did I forget about this) we were treated (?) to what was presumably a group of Huguenot TAP DANCERS who were all eventually shot midroutine. total cuts are also around thirty minutes or so. cast once again mostly unmemorable, although Jean-Philippe Marlière is another of the very few who isn’t disappointing as Saint-Bris. speaking of which: the director completely fucked up the ending BY CUTTING THE PART WHERE SAINT-BRIS FINDS VALENTINE GODDAMMIT IT STILL MAKES ME SO ANGRY. production is traditional, except I certainly hope that hideous Black and White Checkered Floor didn’t exist in the 1570s

Liège 2005: pretty production although it also has some lighting issues. nowhere near as egregious as Bilbao, though. one of the more heavily-cut productions: Urbain’s rondo, the ballet, and the ball scene are all cut, as well as a whole lot else, shearing off about 75 minutes of music. cast mostly good: Philippe Rouillon may be my favorite Saint-Bris. I do apologize though for this but I gotta say it: the Raoul and Marcel are terrible. at any rate, the production is traditional. Saint-Bris shoots Valentine at the end, so there’s that.

Bard Summerscape 2009: what??? the??? ever-loving??? hell??? is??? this??? production??? it feels like an extremely violent fever dream. yes, this opera is violent. no, you do NOT need to hammer this into our heads through everything from a mixed martial arts match to onstage sexual violence to a dude getting stabbed with a processional cross. also the production aesthetic is WEIRD. one of the less-cut productions; Urbain’s rondo is not included. cast for the most part holds up admirably; Michael Spyres and Erin Morley are Babies but already great as Raoul and Marguérite. the Saint-Bris is a huge disappointment though (and the poor guy has to sport a hideous tiny beard). I don’t even know what time period this is supposed to take place in. I just don’t know.

Budapest 2017: very pretty production. also largely very boring. one of the more-cut productions, cutting a little over an hour (including the ballet and Urbain’s rondo) but almost paradoxically being one of only three productions to include the full ball scene (the Montpellier and Genève ones are the others) and the post-2011 production that uses the most critical edition material in Act III, including the only filmed production to include Marcel’s Act III aria. Catholics in white, Huguenots in black, the set consists largely of flats with 16th-century images that get raised and lowered; otherwise, the stagehands (and sometimes cast) move around big letters to form certain key words such as Bachus, Amor, the Hungarian word for mercy, etc. at various points in the score. cast is mostly decent. Gabor Bretz is an excellent Marcel. the main issue: there’s no life, no activity, no passion in this production. the Raoul and Valentine have zero chemistry. lot of standing around. it doesn’t feel compelling. in any rate it’s traditional.

Paris 2018: the concept is surprisingly sound albeit somewhat of a head-scratcher when considered on its own. production aesthetic is very minimalist, clean, and bright. about thirty or so minutes are cut, including both ballets (but not the aria in the ball scene) and Urbain’s rondo. one of the most solid overall principal casts. no one can top Lisette Oropesa’s Marguérite. Yosep Kang, particularly given the circumstances surrounding his participation in the production, is excellent and deserves better than what the Parisian public gives him. overall very good musically. the production is set in an imaginary France in the year 2063. it is very interesting.

Genève 2020: the least-cut production of the bunch; it mostly just cuts a bunch of critical-edition Act III material. as previously mentioned: it’s supposed to be set in a movie studio but this is largely pushed into the background for both better and worse. the cast, for the most part, is excellent (will give you one guess who disappointed me in this bunch). John Osborn and Rachel Willis-Sorensen are a phenomenal Raoul/Valentine duo, Michele Pertusi joins them for a thrilling final scene (having expertly navigated his other material), Léa Desandre is the world’s most adorable Urbain. production design is excellent. directorial choices are very interesting, to say the least. the directors apparently woke up and decided to try to establish as many romantic relationships as possible. I am not opposed to it in principle; in fact, I really like a lot of it. however, the directors completely ruined it by trying to put forth the idea that Marcel has a crush on Valentine??? that was just...extremely uncomfortable to watch (also it COMPLETELY missed the point of the duet) but yeah, the production, although weird and confusing in places, is mostly good. setting, specifically I’m not sure about the location but the time period is somewhere between interwar and WWII fashions. so yeah.

anyway, if you’re here now, thanks for reading this unsolicited article! ask me any questions you may have!

#opera #opera tag #Les Huguenots #reviews #productions #analysis #Meyerbeer #Giacomo Meyerbeer #the ravings of a tired 17-year-old brain

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 4 years

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Kindle

Distraction fic time! Or is it fanfic as a coping mechanism? Dug out an old WIP and gave it a few finishing touches. This was originally written for the “Swords” prompt of a Bispearl Week ages ago.

Early in the Rebellion, Pearl introduces Bismuth to the concept of rubber ducking in an attempt to avert a crisis of confidence. Bismuth/Pearl but mostly in that slow burn phase. ~3000 words. No warnings.

Fic potentially also known as:

while you studied the blade i studied the forge so i could make you the very best blade in the world! love you baby

---

Kindle

The first few swords were a disaster.

The Forge was rudimentary still, in those early days - didn’t look like much at all, but it was a bold, determined little start. Bismuth did her best: all of her hard-won knowledge, scrounged up information not meant for her or her kind, going towards building what she thought they would need to get weapon production up and running. Raw materials gathered at a great risk - Snowflake had chipped her gem during the last of the supply runs! Tools for Bismuth to try to replicate and experiment with, and a thoroughly raided armoury’s worth of various weapons for Bismuth to learn from, to suit every possible rebellious inclination. All carefully arranged in the semi-natural volcanic caverns in an attempt to enable what she judged might be a sensible workflow.

She decided to go with a simple, plain, straight-edged sword to start with - mid-length to her, meaning a dagger to some and a hefty two-hander to others. The sheer variety already present in the Rebellion was half of its charm and point, wasn’t it just? And Bismuth wanted so very badly to fan the flames of it, to do everything she possibly could to see it, to see all of them, flourish and persevere and come out on top for once.

So Bismuth tried, and tried, and then tried again. Considered her mistakes, weaknesses, what she knew (or, doubt never failed to creep in, thought she knew) she was supposed to be doing and achieving here.

And failed.

The first blade that at least looked right shattered in her hands when she tried to force its tang through a guard and into a handle to put the whole thing together. The rest of its batch became hopelessly crooked when she quenched them. Each new day brought new failures, some unexpected enough as to be termed almost cruelly creative.

Bismuth crushed in one fist the latest useless ingot whose ore ratios she’d clearly gotten wrong in her mounting frustration, and tossed it against the wall with an irritated cry.

And of course, of course, that was the moment Pearl chose to walk in.

She was clearly shuffling around, trying to make herself more easily noticed. Bismuth knew that if she really wanted (or if she forgot she didn’t need to anymore, as she sometimes did, as they all sometimes did), Pearl could just pop up next to her elbow suddenly and apparently out of nowhere, piping up with a comment or suggestion or a casual greeting. Keep herself unseen and silent, coasting under any notice until whatever passed for “needed”, as easily as Bismuth could tear down walls with her bare hands and carve new ones in their place. They all came from somewhere, of course, from something, and they all carried it with them in one way or another.

“Bismuth?” Pearl called out gently, and Bismuth raised her head from its contemplative slump to meet her gaze.

Her voice and expression were both filled with concern as she inched closer from the entrance, but there was a glint in her eyes that made it clear Pearl would not be deterred or dismissed and that it would do nobody any good to try. So, figuring she had nothing to lose, Bismuth abandoned any nascent idea of pretending nothing was wrong, allowed her shoulders to sag, and let her misery show.

“I’m not cut out for this. Literally,” she admitted quietly, arms raising in a feeble attempt to encompass this.

Pearl snorted, hopping up to sit on the anvil with a highly deliberate and highly unconvincing casual air. “Tell me about it.”

Bismuth sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with a tiredness she wasn’t sure she was supposed to be capable of, and leaned next to her.

“I ever tell you of my first actual visit to a forge?”

Pearl shook her head and drew closer, making them look like a real pair of conspirators.

“Wasn’t all that long ago. I took the chance and snuck into a weapons production plant when the hematites weren’t around. Me and the other bismuths had been working on some training grounds right next to it and I’d wanted to see one for so long, so one day during a shift change I just went for it. And it was... Well. Let’s just say the last time that place had seen a bismuth was when it was being built.”

Bismuth ran a hand through her hair, and noticed that, for perhaps the first time since they’d met each other, the gesture didn’t result in Pearl immediately being endearingly enraptured by the tumbling rainbow locks. No, her eyes were fixed on Bismuth’s face, intent and understanding in a very particular and oddly encouraging way. So Bismuth continued. “I didn’t even fit in there, Pearl. I was too big for the bellows and too small for the anvils, and I could barely walk around the quenching baths they had set up. It was all just… wrong. The whole place was screaming at me, telling me I didn’t belong there and couldn’t if I tried.”

“You’re still trying, though, despite that,” Pearl pointed out, and swept an arm out to seemingly encompass the entire forge. “And look at all of this! You’ve been working so hard to make it your own.”

“Because I want this!” Bismuth burst out, resorting to unusually ruffled pacing around the anvil. “I’ve wanted this for so long! And the Rebellion needs this! I thought I could do it, and I’m trying to learn so very hard! Why can’t I? The simplest thing a hematite could do five minutes after popping out of the ground I can’t get right after grinding at it for weeks!”

“But you haven’t given up!” Pearl reiterated, raising her voice to match, and Bismuth relented, stopping in her tracks.

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m not planning to. And something tells me you aren’t either.” She smiled and shrugged in mock-defeat. “Guess we’re a stubborn pair of boulders like that, huh?”

It was certainly more than a trick of the light when Pearl appeared to preen at that, puffed up chest almost exclaiming a proud Me! A boulder! Imposing and immovable and sturdy!

Then, with a grin, she proclaimed: “We absolutely are.”

Bismuth couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, something unpleasantly tight finally uncoiling from around the inlaid edges of her gem. Pearl quickly joined her, helping to fill the forge with a delightfully improper little cackle.

When they both settled down again, side by side at the anvil, everything stayed just that little bit forgelight-orange brighter. A pleasant, comforting warmth in place of an oppressive volcanic heat aching to burst.

“I believe you can succeed,” Pearl began again, more slowly, as if picking out each word with great care. “But - and I am working on all of this myself still - I also think you should be aware you don’t have to do this. I know - oh how I know - that more often than not it feels like the most phoney thing in the world… but remember: you don’t have to be useful to be of value.”

It did sound quite a bit like a learned platitude, the way Pearl recited it. But there was a feeling of, if not exactly believing it, then of very much wanting to believe it.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Bismuth murmured. “I’m definitely holding on to that one. Thanks. Got any other nugget of wisdom for me, Terrifying Renegade?”

Pearl effortlessly and gracefully evaded Bismuth’s jokingly nudging elbow and continued her almost-lecture. “Well, we all need to remember that love and self-love are radical and revolutionary concepts in Homeworld’s eyes.”

Bismuth burst out laughing again. “What was that supposed to be? Was that really your best Rose Quartz impression?”

The forgelight turned the blue in Pearl’s cheeks into a fascinating range of colours as she moved and turned. “Well, yes and no-- focus on the message!”

“Alright, alright,” Bismuth acquiesced. “It’s a good message. And an important one. Just… not really helping me with the task at hand, which is arming all of us so we can defend ourselves against those who’d prefer that message didn’t spread. And there’s a whole lot of them and not a lot of us. Yet.”

Pearl hummed in response, suddenly pensive, gazing down to where her feet were dangling off the side of the large anvil, toes describing elaborate patterns in the air - courtly dance steps or fencing drills footwork, Bismuth couldn’t tell. Always restless.

“You know, the first time I properly sparred with Rose and got her to stop holding back on me I got utterly trounced,” Pearl shared quietly. “It’s not exactly a fond memory of mine. After all that training, after trying so hard - I was so sure I was ready! But no, in a real battle I’d have gotten pulverised. And Gems… even here, in the Rebellion, you have to admit, Bismuth, you’ve seen the way a lot of them look at me, too.”

“Well,” Bismuth said with a soft huff of a chuckle, “can’t say watching you show them the error of their ways the first time they show up for training isn’t a treat.”

“I think...” A small blush appeared on Pearl’s cheeks - icy blue tinged purple in the forgelight that Bismuth just had to pause and appreciate every time - and she seemed to develop a sudden and intense interest in a spot on the anvil right next to where she was sitting. “I think the fact you never really looked at me like that is one of the main reasons I like you so much.”

“Oh?” Bismuth managed around a strangely constricted throat, and a warmth in her face that had nothing to do with the persistent lava-glow of the newly dug channels.

“I remember-- our very first meeting you immediately started asking me about my swords, and I didn’t have to waste endless time just getting you to talk to me like a Gem, let alone listen to what I had to say.” Pearl gasped out an odd chuckle, “It was such a relief!”

A mouthy little pearl, she’d thought, unusual and prickly, but utterly charming in a way Bismuth was fairly sure she wasn’t supposed to be. The way she carefully dusted off the anvil before jauntily perching on it - much like she was perching on it right now - with a very loud air of I’m certainly not doing this for you, I just do not want soot anywhere on my person. How could Bismuth resist being near-instantly won over?

Pearl pressed a long, thin finger against her chin thoughtfully, and hummed. Certainly seemed to be taking the whole thing entirely seriously, and Bismuth found herself feeling an odd relief. What did she expect, Pearl to laugh at her worries and frustrations? Dismiss them as unfounded somehow, as both silly and imagined? Just agree, say that oh, guess that’s just how it is then, best find some other way of making yourself useful to us - which, yes, of course usefulness wasn’t the point at all, on the contrary, but…

But Pearl was speaking, that thoughtful finger still up. “How about… we make one together. An entire sword. And you can talk me through it.”

“Talk you through it?”

Pearl seemed to be growing increasingly enthusiastic about the idea. “Every step of the way! Every detail you can think of! Trust me, there’s no better way to find out where it’s going wrong. And I’ve… well,” Pearl hesitated suddenly, as if catching herself, “I’m no expert, of course, but I’ve looked into some of these things on my own, too. So I will be able to make sense of what you’re saying - even though that might not even be the point. The point is that you make sense of what you’re saying.”

Bismuth didn’t feel entirely convinced, but Pearl’s sudden whirlwind felt very hard to not get caught up in - strange, that. Usually it was Bismuth herself getting others caught up in all sorts of things, loudly and unabashedly and delightfully Homeworld-unapproved. “If you say so.”

“Trust me, it’ll help. Here,” Pearl hopped off the anvil and went off to the raw material containers as if there was not a single moment more to lose, “ore selection first. Tell me all about your mix.”

“Uh,” Bismuth blinked, and did her best to concentrate on the task she supposed was at hand, but Pearl was at the same time incredibly distracting and the very embodiment of pointed, precise focus. She cleared her throat, feeling the newly familiar and surprisingly pleasant stick of hot air and volcanic ash in the back of it. “Well, for this particular brand of steel, this was my ratio.” A careful fistful after fistful, from her carefully arranged containers, with Pearl nodding along.

“Seems like a good composition to me. Of course, not exactly how I’d measure anything out, but, well, I’m me.” Spoken with a grin Bismuth just had to match.

“Let’s just say my hands have had a lot of practice when it comes to measuring things out. All those spires don’t just pop into existence magically holding themselves together, no matter what those upper-crusts seem to think.”

“Well, it was bound to come in handy some day,” Pearl nodded sagely, and Bismuth couldn’t restrain her guffaw.

“Pearl! That was absolutely terrible.”

Her smug little smile was so proud. Bismuth almost let all the ore in her hand scatter on the floor when Pearl took her by the arm and started pulling her towards the lava pools.

“Thank you! Now, no more dawdling. Show me your smelting! Remember: every step of the way,” Pearl repeated with a tiny but lingering touch on Bismuth’s arm. It was such a small hand in comparison, every bit of it looking fine and fragile - but she'd seen it wield a sword and it was no joke and no dainty detail of a trinket. Far, far from it.

Bismuth felt her face heat up, and she quickly dipped her ore-hand into the lava bubbling in its channel nearby. The ingot-to-be filled up her hand and she tried to focus on that, but-- oh, Pearl was clearing her throat and looking away too.

It seemed so ridiculous to even imagine her all in utterly impractical frills, trotting behind some lousy, spoiled clump of aristocratic dirt. Not only a waste of potential as Rose often said, but an outright crime.

“Ready for the forging?” Pearl sprung up eagerly, breaking the reverie, then jolted, as if remembering something. “Oh! Just a moment. Allow me!”

With a very dramatic wave of her hand, a hologram sputtered to life from her gem, and Pearl herself leaned forward and down just slightly to centre it on the anvil.

“There we go. A perfect reference, don’t you think? And perfectly practical!”

“Oh, wow,” was about all Bismuth could manage at the sight of the lovingly detailed holographic blade before her. She quickly dropped the hot ingot in place, transformed her hand and hammered at the metal. The blade glowed, freshly struck into shape, orange mixing with Pearl’s translucent blue and playing around both of them.

In no time at all the emerging blade matched its holographic counterpart and seemed to be ready for quenching, so Bismuth happily informed Pearl of this next step. “I’m going for plain water this time.”

Steam poured out around both of them, standing almost cheek to cheek over the quenching bath - this one perfectly sized for Bismuth’s use - eager to see what they’d made so far once the haze dispersed.

Nudging Pearl with one shoulder and waving an annoyed hand around, Bismuth put on the snootiest voice she could manage. “Pearl, what is the meaning of this? Look at the state of the place! When was it last dusted?”

Pearl grinned, the little soot mark on her chin moving dashingly in tandem. “Oh it’ll dust itself well enough when I dissipate your form.”

“Hahah! Atta Pearl.” The clap of the hand on her back almost sent Pearl stumbling, but then she straightened up and leaned happily into it. Smugly, even. Her entire back fit into Bismuth's palm - what an odd pair the two of them must have made.

Bismuth decided she liked the feeling.

She cleared her throat. “You know, when we get this right? When we end up with a proper sword? It’s all yours.”

Pearl looked up, almost startled, eyes wide and slightly watery. “Mine? Oh, Bismuth, I couldn’t possibly...”

“I insist. You’ve definitely more than earned it. But most importantly… I want you to have it. And I’d be honoured to see you carry it into battle, or, hey, use it to knock some sense into a rowdy quartz newbie or two.”

A sudden thought made her stop in her tracks. Who in their right mind would want to go into battle relying on a second-rate experiment of a weapon from a cobbled-together forge?

“I-I mean-- if you want to, of course, I didn’t mean to, uh, force it--”

A slender hand was lightly placed over Bismuth’s once again, quieting her near instantly. Pearl’s smile was small but reached her eyes and lit them up with a beautiful sincerity. “Of course I do. The honour will be all mine,” she said. Then, with a bit more audible steel: “And I know it will turn out excellently.”

“Because we made it together?” Bismuth hazarded a guess, but was cut off.

“Because I know you.”

She blinked at the sudden intensity, but felt an answering rush, too. Oh, it was impossible not to get caught up in it all: the wonderful rightness of their championed ideals, the beautiful words of the manifesto, all the Gems they could finally do right by, everything each of them stood for, Rose Quartz herself, Garnet, Pearl...

Bismuth had no intention of doing anything but eagerly dedicating all of herself to it, and every bit of skill she might hope to possess. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

A fighter of Pearl’s calibre, and a cause as important as theirs, deserved only the best. Bismuth was determined to provide it.

The next battle of the fledgling but intrepid Rebellion saw Pearl charge in with a newly forged sabre, Bismuth beaming proudly right at her side.

#steven universe #bismuth #pearl #bispearl #fanfiction #oathkeeper writes things #my fic #let's get down to bismuth #please let me know your thoughts #as always #but yknow now in particular

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toho-literature · 4 years

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Curiosities of Lotus Asia - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Drizzly Furnace - Part 2

The condition stated by Rinnosuke in exchange for his repairing of Marisa's Mini-Hakkero with hihi'irokane was for her to give him her semi-useless metal scraps. He had his mind on them for a long while... The conclusion to Chapter 4, “Drizzly Furnace”!

Drizzly Furnace (Second Half)

“If I remember correctly, you were gathering iron scraps a while ago. I have no idea what for, though.”

“That's my iron scrap treasure.”

“Anyway, you were gathering them just for the sake of it, like you always do, right? So, my terms this time are that pile of scraps in exchange for your request. How's that? Getting rid of bothersome stuff as payment is an excellent deal, isn't it?”

“Didn't I say that was treasure? But I guess hihiirokane is pretty valuable...”

“Well, for starters, those iron scraps don't really have much value to them, so this job is almost a free bonus. As you know, that Mini-Hakkero...”

“Whoa, I don't need an in-depth explanation.”

I know all about Marisa's character. That's because I've been watching her since she was little. She's the type that can't throw things away. And everything she gathers just piles up with no hint of order... All that does is even out the value of everything. Although she seems terribly hesitant about my terms, deep inside she must want to agree right away. It would give her a chance to tidy up a little, and it seems she can't live without the Mini-Hakkero.

“Do ya have any idea of the trouble I went through to gather all those iron scraps?”

“If you're just going to keep them, then all these troubles were for nothing.”

“Just gatherin' stuff was my goal. Never thought about usin' them.”

“Then haven't you already achieved your goal? Just let these iron scraps rest in peace with me.”

“Somethin's fishy here. Wasn't hihiirokane a very rare metal?”

“There's also a good reason for you to agree. If you let such an opportunity pass, aren't you afraid of what's going to happen later?”

“Y'know, you don't have to hold back.”

When I said “The repairs will take four days.”, Marisa replied with “I'll be readin' this book until then.”, and grabbed one of my books for sale on her way out. This isn't a library, you know...

Well then, this is the first big job I've had in a long time. I haven't had hardly any work or customers lately. If it keeps up like this, my “ability” will end up waning; my “ability to the extent of knowing the name and utility of any unknown item”. Since I thought that I couldn't make the most of this ability at a normal shop, I opened a shop dealing with curiosities and rare articles, but... curiosities only attract eccentrics. And this ability too has a small problem... The truth is that, even though I can know the name and purpose of something, I won't know exactly how to use it. Well, if I at least know an item's utility, I can find some way to use it.

The mushroom soup's suspiciously good smell was drifting about the room. While preparing dinner, I thought about the Mini-Hakkero. This Mini-Hakkero wasn't just a normal furnace, it was made with a lot of improvements and special qualities. Wind blows from one of the reactor's corners, so you can also use it to cool yourself during summer. And just by holding it, it works as an amulet for protection and good fortune (I think). Anyway, it combines many of the “utilities” of outside world items. These are all part of my customer service (hobbies). Alright, I'll start on it as soon as I finish dinner.

Three days later. Today is sunny. It's the kind of day for reading a book with the lights off.

Knock, knock.

“Done, Kourin?”

“Marisa? Yes, it's done.”

Marisa was carrying the metal scraps in her arms. And even though I said it would take four days, she came back in three. Oh well, she's always like that. That's why I always say it takes a day longer.

“Great, thanks. I'll put these here. If ya weren't done, I would've had to take all this back.”

“You shouldn't make such unreasonable complaints when you come a day early. Besides, I don't see why you would have to take them back.”

“Because the promise was to give them to ya for the finished product.”

“Well, whatever. This is the hihiirokane Mini-Hakkero. Probably the only one in the world.”

Marisa became so excited and was all “So this is hihiirokane, huh?”. She was so pleased she wouldn't calm down, and went straight back for home, oddly enough.

Several days later, Marisa's happy mood continued.

“I feel so good when I wake up! The air's so great!”, she said happily.

Well, then. I thought that if using my precious hihiirokane made her this happy, then I could've gone without asking for anything in exchange.

As a matter of fact, this time I secretly mixed in the power of an “item that makes the air cleaner”. This mysterious charm had “minus ion” or something like that written on it, and I couldn't quite fathom its manner of use. At least it seemed to be functioning. Knowing the name and purpose of an item, I can manage the rest later some way or another.

“Hey, Kourin. Is it really okay? For it to work so well, this metal must be really precious...”

“Hihiirokane is indeed rare, but it's not as efficient as you say. Metal is something that, if you just pile it up without ever using it to make a tool, is nothing but a bunch of scraps. This is something you don't seem to understand.”

“But my goal is just gatherin' stuff. Whether I can use it or not comes later.”

“It's not whether you can use it or not. The important thing is whether you will use it or not.”

“So, are ya goin' to use the iron scraps that I brought ya? Looks like ya've barely even touched them.”

I have a reason to be indebted to Marisa. It's nothing more than the fact that I always end up obtaining garbage that she obsessively collects through “unfair deals”. At any rate, it's not like Marisa would understand things like the small differences in the properties of materials. Those iron scraps normally would not have been worth bargaining over.

It's just that as Marisa grew up, I was afraid that she would end up finding out... But Marisa hasn't changed one bit. She's still just collecting stuff. A human that doesn't change even a little is a rare sight.

“Don't just stare at me like that. Are ya gonna use 'em or not?”

“I'm not sure. I guess I'll keep them there as a memento.”

“That's not what ya said before...”

From the middle of the iron scraps, I pulled out an old sword. There's no way Marisa would really know about hihiirokane. That's because this sword is made of it. Marisa always had a sword made of the very metal she wanted in her possession since long ago.

This is “The Sword of Kusanagi”, and it's a horribly precious item. One that could change the outside world, at least. While unaware of it, Marisa had a very precious thing right under her nose. Since I have no idea what would happen if I let her keep holding on to it, I wanted to keep it in my custody. Even if I say so myself, I believe this is the right decision.

“Whazza matter? You're just smirkin' and holdin' that dirty sword. It's kinda creepy.”

“Ah... uh, I just think it's a nice sword.”

“A beat-up sword like that? I bet it can't cut anythin'.”

“We can't keep this sword nameless, can we? It was one of your garbage treasures, so what if I name it ‘The Sword of Kirisame’?”

“What? Are ya bein' sarcastic?”

“I'm telling you it's a nice sword.”

“I think your ability to know names might be gettin' dull, too, Kourin. Oh well, whatever. But you don't have to be so reserved around me. Can't you just call it ‘The Sword of Kourin’ or somethin'? I'm not goin' back to live with my parents, y'know.”

“I'm not... being reserved.”

It's just that since I just fooled Marisa and am afraid of what may happen later, I'm putting my guard up. So that even if she finds out she has been fooled when she grows up, she doesn't come asking for it back. And besides, if I don't give it a short-lived name, then there's no point to it.

But then, Kourindou's collection of items not for sale has just increased by one. If the shop becomes full of these, I won't be able to speak up against Marisa's collecting obsession. It appears that collecting for the sake of collecting is becoming my objective, too. That alone worries me.

#touhou cola #curiosities of lotus asia #touhou #touhou project #project shrine maiden

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darkestwolfx · 4 years

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Update #6 🦦🧸☘

Before anyone asks, there is no meaning behind these symbols, they’re just there to be eyecatching!

So you’re probably thinking... where has she been? Good question, and I did say I would let you all know before I dashed off again (and I didn’t expect to be at a time like this), but... surprise!

This is my current view and the reason for why I am posting now - times zones are playing havoc once again! Although I must admit I’m a little used to them now.

So this update contains next to no Thunderbirds content because I haven’t been able to make any. And if this is where you usually stop reading because you aren’t interested in my work posts - could you please, make a couple minutes spare to read this one? It’s actually pretty important. For those of you who do wait for my work related posts, then hopefully this will be a useful update for you! So, yes, the TAG Series 3 Re-Reviews had to be put on hold (and will be done at some later point), and the main reason for all of this is because (if you haven’t guessed from the photo) I am not in the UK!

I am on the Island of Borneo, which is in Asia.

How did she get out of the UK you may be asking? So, in short, I was allowed a trip out (but I have to quarantine when I return which I’m currently not sure of a date for) due to very important work reasons. You may remember in my previous update that I explained briefly (and it is staying a brief description for now - sorry to those of you who find curiosity a killer) a major work emergency? Well, my colleague was declared to be in a ‘critical’ state a couple days after that, and as the only member of the team in a country which would allow them a flight, I ended up flying here to take over correspondence between medical and legal teams.

Luckily, although not yet able to return home, my colleague is going to be okay and so we’re semi-lockdowned here (not on a jolly by all means), and we have insurance for issues like this so our medical and flight bills will be covered, but we are unable to catch the poachers responsible for the situation in the first place, which still leaves animals in danger and our insurance doesn’t cover that! Believe it or not the wild doesn’t have CCTV and without rangers, animals are dangerously vulnerable.

This is the first moment I’ve had to update you all as to where I’ve gone (the wifi is pretty poor compared to what we’re used to in the UK) and I’m sorry for just up and leaving, but as you all might have gathered, my work is really important to me (and so are my colleagues). I can’t say this is something I expected, and I’m hearing bits and pieces of news from the UK and I’m honestly not sure where I’d be better off being, but hey, I’m here now, and hopefully at some point I will be able to return to you all.

In the meantime, I’m going to echo my small ask from my previous update. Below are some links - donate if you can please? And if not, maybe read up, learn about the little things you can do, sign petitions, tell others to do the same. When you buy online, and it’s from overseas (especially for jewelry and clothing) check the reputation of the company - you can tell the dodgy ones, and it’s these that are likely to have bought materials such as rhino horns or other animals skins/tusks (an act of illegal poaching). Try to buy products without Palm Oil - I eat many of them and they don’t taste much different, the only problem is they’re more expensive, but if more people start boycotting palm oil, substitutes will become cheaper. It is possible to make a difference by just checking the small things and if you ever want help with anything like that, drop me a message or put a question in my ask box! I’ve been at this nearly seven years now and change is coming. If anyone ever needs any help to find their own ways to contribute that, then that’s what I’m here for!

So, have a little look, even if you just choose to donate for an animal you like or get together as a small group to sponsor an animal, it still makes a difference;

International Anti-Poaching Foundation - https://www.iapf.org/ways-to-give (fights against all kinds of poaching, all over the world, and is constantly petitioning to change laws. If you want to save a lot of animals in Africa and Asia particularly, this is the one for you).

Rainforest Action Network - ACT.RAN.ORG (support Sumatran Tigers for example, which is so important as their relatives, the Balinese and Javan Tigers were both left to become extinct and to lose them too would cause natural chains serious damage).

Regrow Australia - http://RegrowAustralia.co/ (support koala’s who lost their home in the fires, especially many young koala’s who were displaced or lost family). They also sell bracelets - which make beautiful gifts and you know the money is going to an excellent cause!

Save the Rhino - https:www.savetherhino.org/get-involved/donate (a really important one related to this post and a charity that has been fighting for years).

WWF - https://support.wwf.org.uk/donate-to-wwf (supports a wide variety of animals. If you go to their main page you can search exactly by name, e.g. elephant, panda, rhino, and read up on their bios and how your money helps).

Also, it was World Oceans Day on the 8th June! I know it’s hard to get to the shores right now to admire them, but you can still celebrate the fantastic sea life in your area! Also, to bring a little hope to everyone (because we need it out here) that maybe Lockdown has done us some good, this month for the first time in 2 years and in the largest numbers seen since 2008, the Spiny Seahorse was spotted once again in Dorest! Hopefully they too can be saved from extinction. And if you really want to treat yourself, buy some Guylian chocolates - they donate to seahorse protection charities! They may be dearer than Cadbury’s, but they are trying to do something good.

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three-self-shippers · 4 years

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𝒯𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 // 𝒜𝒾𝓏𝒶𝒩𝑜𝓍

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: Aizawa x Nox / Daqat, Todoroki x Kait (Mentioned), Bakugou x Steph (Mentioned)

Trigger Warnings: Mention of OC’s past, mention of OC’s religion, attachment, cursing (It’s me duh?), semi-trauma, slow-burn, crying, light-symptoms of depression, OC self-deprecation, beginning mentions of OC’s trauma, fanaticism, and a tiny bit of fluff.

**This was set after the TodoKait fic so yesh. Bon appetite!

⇐ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs - ɴᴇxᴛ ⇒

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Eyes were heavy with sleep and dry like sand as I opened my lids. A familiar bright room is what I came face with, a lounge of some sorts? I was on a grey couch covered with a yellow puffy sleeping bag that belonged to--

“EraserHead!”

I sat up properly, he forfeited his precious sleeping bag for me? Blinking a few times, I couldn’t help but pull the fluffy material up to my nose and smell it though I expected it to be sweaty and disgusting.

“Mmm, what is this stupid scent?” A wooden vintage scent folded in my lungs, bringing me to sniff the material more. It was a strange one indeed, old but fresh at the same time. Something I wouldn’t get tired of at least until I realized the fuck I was doing.

“Shit!” I dropped the sleeping bag off my face as if it was fire. After that, I got from the sofa and noticed my bag on the coffee table. “I fell asleep in the agency, why am I in UA’s teacher’s lounge?” I asked myself loudly , unnoticing the fact someone had come in and unexpectedly providing me an answer.

“I had to lock my place up, so no one would come in. More importantly, I appreciate the damage reports you did. They included no flaws.” A deep voice made me turn, my hands immediately traveled to try to straighten some parts of my suit which got badly wrinkled due to my sleep. “You slept pretty deep, how did you manage to do that with the music you had been listening to?” Aizawa questioned.

“I- I’m sorry. I should’ve not bothered you--” “Don’t apologize, I have last period homeroom in--” The bell rang all of a sudden. Despite the fact it wasn’t an annoying siren, rather a firm tune or melody.

“Now. You can fix yourself some tea and come by 2-A if you feel lonely. Though I doubt that you’d want to talk to kids when you have Midnight and Mic in the teachers’ room.” He assured me before waving off and leaving.

I’m just glad he didn’t notice me weirdly burying my face in his.. Sleeping bag. I went to the bathroom to sort of fix my makeup, glad I carry my tools and products wherever I go, and it comes in handy a lot of times.

The corridors looked like loops as I improved my way around with Aizawa’s infamous sleeping bag, acting like I knew where I was going. Yet I admit that I was lost when I passed by the support lab for the third time. I chewed down on my lips, not noticing the fact I might’ve dug a bit off until I tasted rust on my tongue. Honestly, I hate the fact it’s the end of summer because of this.

“Do you need any he--” “Please.” I cut her off with an awkward smile. While she wrapped things up before leading the way, she introduced herself as Kaitlyn, I recognized her from my past visits here.

“Here it is, class A..” She shyly pointed at the big door, it’d be my first time actually going to the class with students still in it. “I..” Fidgeting with my fingers, it felt awkward to be asking a student for help especially that I’m like this, supposedly an adult. “Can you come in with me? It’s kind of...Weird?” I tried explaining.

“Of course!” Kait opened the smaller normal-sized door and barged in as if it was a simple thing to do. I figured we both had a ‘now or never’ kind of concept. Unironically, it backfired when everyone’s heads turned to us by the door as I tried using the yellow sleeping bag as a hiding spot from the pryful and judgmental eyes.

“That’s Daqat, my sidekick who I told you about just now.” I heard him say as I peeked over, slowly stepping from behind Kait and into the class. “Grant, why are you he--” “I got lost!” I explained to him. “Sorry for cutting you off! But that’s uh-- Basically what happened is..” “No need to explain.” He lazily waved off as I handed him the sleeping bag in a sheepish manner.

I noticed Kait’s eyes were fixated on a certain student in that class, weren’t it to be Endeavor’s kid? Who were I to not know about that common knowledge? But just as he stared back at her with his turquoise and grey eyes, a small smile plastered on his face as I caught a glimpse of them not-so-secretly giving each other small waves from under the table.

“..I guess I’d get going now, sorry for interrupting your class, Sensei!” Kait apologetically bowed after snapping from whatever little moment she had before scurrying off again. I bit down on my lip as I mouthed her a thank you while she went.

Turning back to face Aizawa, I might’ve gotten a glimpse of his guard being left down, though he always seems like a laid-back person who just coincidentally likes the color black. It could be just my overthinking but as if Aizawa was relaxed for a second in the rather bright class.

“Won’t you say something to my class?” Aizawa clicked his tongue at me, which made me shudder at his stern demanding tone, more at his deep raspy voice than anything else.

“Y-Yes! I-- Uh….” Facing the students, I recognized them from passing by them before while doing my legal papers, coming and going at Aizawa’s office where’d help me. “I go by Nox or any nickname you’d want. Hope we’d grow close to work together when you all are full-fledged heroes. Nice to meet you all!” I managed to blurt out at them as I bowed respectively.

I let my hair act like a curtain of sorts as I took my proper standing again, I liked how it dimmed out the unnecessary lighting from my eyes.

That’s until I felt a rough touch on the side of my face as a strand was tucked in, just for me to flinch at the sudden contact and stare back at the noir-colored eyes that had a weird look expressing them. The hair which was tucked in flung back to its original placing as the pink girl squealed from his class.

“Eek! Aizawa Sensei-- What’d you do? What’d you just do?!” The girl with a pink complexion and black eyes with yellow orbs squirmed at the gesture as I didn’t know how to react other than step away from his radius.

“Ashido, be quiet. Unless you want a scolding. As in for you,” The noirette turned to me. “you should be a bit more used to the media and people fawning over by now.” He explained as I got flustered by the comment as it looped in my head with stray thoughts.

Was he one to fawn over me too? Or else why would I get an offer from the most advanced country from one of the best pro heroes that are known to me especially that I wasn’t good? Or how did he even know that I existed here?

“Y-Yes, sir-- EraserHead Senpai..” I stuttered at him, not having a clue which respective pronoun I should use for he was still older than me by a couple years.

“Tch, get a room--” A spiky-haired blond got a smack from a face I recognized as Stephanie’s.

After that, it somehow got more natural as I talked to the students, I wasn’t quite a talkative person. And I’d blame that for the nature of my years growing up but that’s a story for another time.

Now there was a good amount of stuttering and a dash of self-deprecation as I interacted with a certain greenhead known as Midoriya-- Who was asking about my quirk and suchs.

“Class dismissed, know that Daqat’s visits will be more often, perhaps you’d get a chance to spar against her.” By his tone I knew too well it was a time to dread.

After everyone left, Aizawa led me to pick up his stuff from the office, a place I’ve visited quite a couple times already during my stay so far. “You know, you could’ve just left if you wanted. Didn’t have to stay and wait.” A part of the underground hero wanted to finish his sentence: ‘for me.’

Realization settled in as my eyes scanned my shiny suit shoes. “I was too dependent on everyone, living my life alone is really not the thing I was prepared for as I thought I would be. My mind is always fixated whether someone might need a second hand. You’re the only person I know here and the same person I work for, so being around you all the time, ready to help, is part of my job as a sidekick, isn’t it?”

Trying not to leak too much of why perhaps I was like this, despite the feeling of Aizawa’s eyes being engraved into me.

“You’re being too attached, it’s probably not good for your own future. Not that I really mind it..” The hero mumbled the last part, to himself though I caught it. Deciding to not address that fact.

“D-Do you need me to do any edits to the reports that I--” “No, I already submitted them to the station. Let’s get something to eat,” He demanded as he picked his keys and binder from the desk before locking the darkened office. “unless you’re not hungry, which I doubt is true.”

I pressed my lips into a thin line, he’s right, I’ve been feeling as if my stomach has been digesting myself for the past thirty minutes. At the same time I was afraid of what his offering could mean; I’m not really the type to actually get into that world of love out of my fantasies. I don’t necessarily believe it even exists. So this was quite scary to myself, though he is a hero.

“Are you coming?” His voice called out to me, snapping me from zoning out in the middle of the hallway which was lit by the orange rays of the sun setting down.

“I-I don’t…?” I’m definitely going to hate what I was going to say. But I can’t just go out with a guy whether he’s my boss or not, hot or not. I’ve still got my traditions engraved into me. “I can’t eat with you, sorry..”

With that, I walked the other side to the farther set of stairs, opposite of where he was going. I just couldn't do it. All those years I’ve been raised to avoid interacting with people in general and now this happened to be that way with my boss and favorite hero, I don’t want to lose my respect for him. But I also wouldn’t want to burden him with how complicated things were if someone entered my life.

Holding back my tears until I came around my apartment wasn’t an easy task to do, a few escaped while I speed-walked the pavement sidewalks as I felt the pitying looks from strangers around me.

Taking off my suit Jacket which is also my costume and piling it on the sofa as I headed straight to my bedroom, plopping onto the bed and screaming my heart out into the pillow as tears continued to stream out, streaking my makeup and ruining the white pillowcases with makeup.

Nevertheless, I didn’t care, it wasn’t a time to explain my feelings towards him. His students, my parents and even EraserHead himself, they don’t know what I do when I’m not doing work. I’m the weirdest creep and still a traditionalist at that, it’s an odd mix yet that’s exactly why I wouldn’t want to associate with Eraser-- Aizawa at that kind of thing.

How would I face him tonight at work? I still work the night shifts with him, I can’t just not go and still get paid for it. Yet I also can’t find the words or guts to explain to him I don’t date, that my religion or strict parents wouldn’t let that happen. I can’t just date like any other person would, and the idea of it scares me. I still wonder why the hell would he show that side of himself to me? Why would he like someone who’s fucked up and not even from his own culture? From a place he probably knows nothing about and from a culture no one talks about or is really indulged in?

I don’t really remember when exactly, but by the headache I started getting and the fact my eyes refused to tear up anymore due to their dryness, I assumed it��s been three or so hours on my little breakdown. My pillowcase was, in fact, ruined with black streaks and makeup, so I threw the case in the washing machine alongside my other white laundry before making myself some earl grey, fixing up a sandwich, sitting by my desk and opening my laptop.

Some writing should make me feel better, it always does. Not being able to be in love in real life doesn’t mean I can’t dream, right? And that’s my little secret, I’ve got a writing blog for almost ten years now, I was a nerd for heroes. Rather, certain hot ones to be specific. Rather, I wrote specifically for EraserHead ever since he graduated from UA. Hence it was weird that I got to work for him this time around.

The screen lit up with it’s usual differing nature photos before I scanned my fingerprint and was face to face with my own fanart of him. “No one of my family nor friends knows about this.” I mumbled to myself as I opened a tab and typed in my blog URL to be faced with tons of notifications.

I’ll reply to them later, because I need to get some off my chest first. After writing for about thirty minutes straight, I went through my notifications to catch up with what I missed. There was a poll made by one of the bigger blogs. It was a vote on if I should be nominated as EraserHead’s official writer since I’ve written mainly for him and only him. The votes came out since the post was oldish, since four days ago, and the majority agreed on that.

I almost knocked myself out of my chair in disbelief, me? Me who’s basically a stalker? I can’t possibly be, could I? Speed-typing a thank-you post to everyone assigning me to that position before queuing up some of my finished short works for the next few days, I shut my laptop as it was almost time for my shift at eleven. I took a brief shower before slipping on a crispy-clean costume suit from the ones I owned, and taking the train to the agency since I left my car there the day before.

The street lamps were the only thing that showed me the way as I reached the agency, Trying to step quietly as I could into my office to put my things there, yet Aizawa’s voice caught me off guard: “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I have. You?” I politely asked back, giving off a disarrayed look I didn’t manage to hide in time. EraserHead didn’t answer though. “I’m going ahead, I expect you to be joining me two blocks right of the agency.” As he left off.

(To be continued~)

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@animeboihoe @ayye-ayye @thatfanfictionwriter @trashys-things @stephiecarie @simpgameplays @bakutae @groundzeroagency @justanotherlifeff @almost-correct-bnha-quotes

#aizawa x oc #aizawa shouta #aizanox #bnha aizawa #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero #mha aizawa #self ship #self insert

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deltaengineering · 4 years

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Spring Anime 2020 Part 1: united states of whatever

BNA: Brand New Animal

So after Beastars wasn’t all that (feel free to tell me how wrong I am about everything ever, because I don’t already know this), Trigger is now taking a shot at the lucrative “Furries are a great metaphor for... society shit or whatever, I don’t know” market. It’s no surprise that it looks good; Trigger’s animation style is as easy on the eyes as ever and they brought in some of the ＡＥＳＴＨＥＴＩＣ from Promare. Expect CGA palette 1 in here. Of course, it’s not Imaishi, so it won’t annoy the pants off you in seconds. Usually that’s a cause for celebration but keep in mind that this is Yoh Yoshinari instead, and Little Witch Academia TV did nothing to change my impression that a Trigger writer is the janitor mopping up after the animation bros are done partying. The first episode of BNA in particular is just as vapid as expected, but they helpfully released more and it does improve somewhat, with more effort put into the worldbuilding and characters than none at all and even a few attempts to intentionally subvert the lameness. There’s still issues; Michiru is just the goofy and dim Trigger main girl again and aloof loner Shirou is either extremely someone’s wolf fursona or an uncommonly stealthy pisstake on someone’s wolf fursona. The social commentary is very “I see what you did there” and there remain some doubts on the long-term viability of any Trigger endeavor. So, is it good enough to watch? I dunno, to be honest. More like it’s not bad enough to not watch. Thanks, Trigger.

Hachi-nan tte, Sore wa Nai deshou!

Oh boy, it’s the isekai light novel again, and expectations are so low that I’m positively surprised when I’m merely bored while watching it. Hachi-nan is one of those isekai things where the isekai is more or less perfunctory: regular dude gets reborn with complementary hax magic in ye olde kyngdomme of fantasy, whoop. A plus is that he’s put in a disadvantageous position and has to work for his power fantasy, i.e. he isn’t starting with an instaharem etc. - or rather, he does, but it’s a brief flashforward that seems mostly there to assure the viewer that they’re not watching anything good by mistake. And even that is not egregious, to be fair. It’s so “not even all that bad” that I’m wondering who’s supposed to watch this: People like me will never give it the time of the day with its tired gimmick and very unimpressive production, and people who start “lookin 4 ainme w/op mc” recommendations threads on reddit won’t get anything out of it either. How very curious.

Kakushigoto

I can only assume Kouji Kumeta (of Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei fame) has a daughter now, and like all new dads he just can’t stop telling people how cute she is. Case in point: This manga, which is about a mangaka keeping his manga-drawing exploits secret from his very adorable daughter and that’s the joke. The character design is obviously very Kumeta, and so is the ceaseless discharge of puns, plus Ajia-do even put some light SHAFT touches on the adaptation. However, SZS’ semi-smart bickering is just replaced with very basic panic manzai antics here. You can even tell Kumeta is a good comedy writer, since the stories are fairly elaborate, introduce elements, go somewhere else and bring them back, and it’s all very technically solid - but that doesn’t change the fact that the punchline is lame and predictable. It’s like David Mamet writing a fart joke, you can admire the craft but at the end of the day, it’s still a fart joke. Adding to that is that I’ve grown rather tired of SZS over the course of its endless run, and this isn’t even as good as SZS. Maybe worth getting back to when we’re 30 volumes in and Kumeta reveals the daughter never really existed in the first place.

Tamayomi

I don’t know if you noticed this, but in baseball, there’s a pretty close relationship between pitcher and catcher. We’ve seen the BL version of this in Battery, and now someone’s doing it with girls, in Kirara no less. Even the name is Tama + Yomi, you know, like Haru + Kana (Receive). So far so good, only this is about baseball, the most boring team sport you’re ever likely to see an anime about, and Yomi’s special power is an unhittable pitch - which means that if everything goes right for our heroes, the game is even more boring. Some hackneyed tragic backstory about how only your waifu can catch your bomb-ass pitch doesn’t help. Being very dull isn’t even the worst problem here though. Tamayomi is adapted by Studio A-Cat (of Frame Arms Girl and Amazing Stranger “fame”), and they manage to make it look like episode 7 of a 2004-vintage DEEN production. Bad animation, dusty character designs, off-model shots, it’s all there, and this is the best-looking episode this show is ever likely to get. Ouch.

Tower of God

Crunchyroll is producing anime now, and I’m sure they know better than most people what sells. The answer is “Jump Shounen”, which is something I also knew, but whatever. Of course Jump doesn’t let them anywhere near their properties so they got the next big thing: An immensely popular Korean webtoon people unironically describe as “like One Piece” while thinking that that’s praise. And then it isn’t even like One Piece much, apart from where it’s about having fights to get to the thing (eventually). What it seems to be is the fighting shounen in the abstract: No “pirates” or “ninjas” or “shinigami” or other “setting” excuses here, the tower is just a whole bunch of fights stacked on top of each other and some shounen characters dropped in to excrete Jump-brand baby dialog. I guess that’s what fans of the genre are looking for. It isn’t much of a production either, the best I can say about it is that it’s colorful and has some really good music by Kevin Penkin. The animation is just functional and of course without a setting it doesn’t have any unifying aesthetic either. But the real decider is this: I thought the pacing was sluggish and interminable, and then I find out that fans of the source material think it’s rushing through it at a breakneck pace. This is likely going to be outrageously popular, so I will never struggle to find out what did or didn’t happen in the latest episode and can safely skip it.

#anime #impressions #brand new animal #hachi-nan tte sore wa nai deshou!#kakushigoto #tamayomi #tower of god #spring2020

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cooltrainererika · 4 years

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Alt-talia: It’s Starting to Feel Like Christmas

Hello, hello everyone! Joy to the world!

For some reason I thought this event began today, not yesterday, until pretty recently… but fortunately, while it’s a day late, I got to write this! I did plan on others, but I’m releasing this now so I can get it out just in case, especially since the two others could also fit on another day. This is mainly for 12/16: Presents, but it can also fit under Decorations and Traditions, so three in a row! Woot!

This time, I want to write more about characters I may have missed during Hetaween, since my character pool ended up narrower than intended. ...And saying that, I’m writing about two characters I’ve written twice in that event! Yay!

I debated whether to write about this topic in general or about it specific this year, but chose the latter. I hope I’ll get to release a more in-depth fic about it in general some other time. So yeah, I’m using some really fresh material again this time.

Oh yeah, BTW, most of my fics take place in my “Alt-talia” semi-AU where I aim to capture history and culture more faithfully and most importantly overhaul the many characters who make no sense drastically. This will especially be noticeable for England. So yeah, you have been warned. Though maybe he’s a bit OOC here compared to how I usually write him? Also, it should be noted that I use country names when talking about the characters as countries, and with human names when referring to them as individuals; while in Alt-talia the difference can be more hazy than canon, I mean more talking purely about their personal interactions and the like.

Also, this is not intended to be shipping!

This was supposed to be like a few lines with no real arc, but whelp. At least I still kept it short. Also there’s a deleted scene I didn’t know how to end as a bonus at the end.

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(Oh, and those who read my fics; please comment or reblog? I work hard on these, and they would be highly appreciated.)

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It’s Christmastime Again, Lukas Haraldsen

Every year since 1947, Norway had a tradition of sending special Jul presents to a certain nation very dear to him.

His Norwegian Spruce trees were prized by all; he regularly got bidders from all over Europe, and had witnessed many a fight over them get ugly. But the best of the best were only reserved for a certain United Kingdom; and the best among these, the Queen of the Forest, nurtured by the songs, voices, and arms of some of the world’s best, most loving foresters, for England. Specifically his capital, London.

After all, nothing could make up for the debt he had for him. In the dark days of Nazi occupation, London for him was hope; it was where England protected his royal family as they awaited the Nazis’ demise, from where the radio blared and urged him to fight on, where the skies have become a proving ground to show that the Nazis could be vanquished.

He knew this year had been a mess for his friend, and his recent election, the second one that year, had done nothing to mitigate it; and while even Norway knew only he himself and his uncharacteristically impulsive decision really was to blame for his current situation, hopefully, this would improve his mood for the uncertain road ahead.

Norway was a quiet, unassuming man, but he took his presents seriously. And he also took Jul seriously.

And this year was no different. While he sent many trees every year to different cities in the kingdom, including to some of Scotland’s, the most important was of course the one sent to the City of Hope itself.

And now, in the heart of Trafalgar Square, wearing a traditional sweater which may as well have been a T-shirt compared to the attire of the Londoners passing by as they started their day, whistling En stjerne skinner i natt and Vårres Jul to himself.

“Mmm… Ah, Arthur!”

He waved and smiled gently as the man in question, dressed very much warmly in a thick duffel coat and wool knit scarf, came into view.

“Ahem. I’m here too.”

Today beside him was one Peter Bates, or Sealand as he preferred to be called, adorably bundled up in a woolen coat, mittens, knit hat, and light blue scarf, now crossing his arms.

“Right, right. Sorry.”

“Ello, Norway. Don’t mind him, he said he wanted to see the tree again and ‘His Highness’ Prince Bates told me to take him with me. Bloody cold here today, isn’t it?”

He was shivering a bit, his nose a noticeable red and his breath a white mist.

“Nothing I’m not used to. I’ve been waiting for you here. I chose one which is much older and taller than usual. See for yourself.”

Norway moved aside so that his gift would be in full view of his friend. It was a product of the forests on the banks of Trollvann lake, raised with love as any tree worthy of Trafalgar Square would be, almost twice as tall and two or three decades older than the first tree to have had the honor to have the honor of being offered on this annual occasion.

England stared at the tree.

Silence.

“Wow, it’s huge!”

Peter was the first one to speak, his eyes sparkling.

“England? ...England?”

Norway asked, watching his blank expression.

“Well… I know that I am causing quite a bit of annoyance, but if I remember correctly, you weren’t in the EU, right?”

Norway was now perplexed.

England looked to him with a with an expression that could only be said to be both a gentle smile and disappointment at the same time.

“It seems like it needs a drink, does it not? It looks a bit dry and quite thin.”

Norway thought he felt his heart sunk a little.

Peter sharply elbowed England in the side, making him gag.

“Sealand, please don’t.”

“It’s a present, you jerk! ...Don’t listen to Scrooge over here, she’s beautiful.”

“Well you do live on a metal platform in the ocean…”

He jabbed him again.

Norway’s face went a bit red.

“She’s much older and taller than the usual ones. It won’t look just like a smaller one you would have in your living room.”

“Sorry. I’m just saying it looks a bit sparse, is all.”

Norway lifted up one of many boxes of lights.

“Mmm… Well, will you be too busy to help?”

“Yes, am afraid. More negotiations and all. So I am presuming it will be lit in the cucumber style as per usua- ach!”

Peter this time kicked him in the knee, making the older nation’s legs buckle a bit.

“I’ll help, Mister.”

The boy said.

“No, no, you don’t have to.”

————

Norway had to admit; maybe he had gone too much for size this time around. But Peter insisted that it not looking completely picture perfect was what made it look real instead of “Plastic tat”.

And, as usual, put up the lights his own way, pure white streaks from top to bottom, “cucumber style” as England called it.

And despite his complaints, on the night of lighting two days later, as the streams of light lit up in the heart of London in the crisp air and Norway listened to Peter cheer loudly with the crowd, the mayor of Oslo give her speech, and children caroling, amongst a sea of Londoners peppered with tourists, England stood beside him.

“Well, it indeed finally feels like Christmas now.”

Norway looked to his friend, whose eyes were on the star, towering almost 25 meters above.

“Well… maybe it is not quite up to your usual quality. But stability has been hard to come by nowadays; this tree being here every year, that I can rely on.”

Norway merely gave a quiet “Mmmm.” in response.

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So that’s that. If anyone desires an explanation, I’ll provide it in a reblog or something, but I’d rather my stories inspire further research.

Also, “Lukas Haraldsen” is the name I’m using for Norway now, since a lot of Norwegians don’t seem to like “Bondivik”. “Haraldsen” because the founding king of the country is said to be King Harald Fairhair, and as Alt-talia nations can choose their surnames I thought it would be fitting if the surname Norway chose was “Son of Harald”. This name isn’t final though. Especially “Lukas”; does baptism change names again? Also Sealand has been renamed to “Peter Bates” instead of Kirkland; I don’t know why Hima chose that surname, since Sealand’s whole shtick is that he wants to be seen as an independent country. Why would he have the same surname? “Bates” is the surname of his owners, BTW, if that wasn’t clear.

Again, this wasn’t really supposed to be a complete story with a neat conclusion, and not as heartwarming as intended. Kind of a similar case to Keep Calm actually, which also just happened to involve England. It was an opportunity to show England being a d*ck because, believe me, Alt-England can be an absolute d*ck when he wants to be. But despite the fact that he’s one of the characters whose d*ckery I actually kind of enjoy writing in a Love to Hate way, I haven’t had the chance to do that so far in these events... and I guess I got halfway there? I guess just ending it on England passive-aggressively insulting the tree was just a bit too meanspirited for me.

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Deleted scene

<F%CKYE4H: Wow, it’s like ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ in real life! What, are you gonna break out the aluminum trees now?>

<StillInInferno: Mate, at least you have a real tree, because down here it’s not only hot as hell but if I had any Christmas trees to begin with, they’ve already fucking burned to shit.>

<MooseOfMaple: Dad… With the hassle you’ve been causing everyone you might not have the right to complain about someone showing kindness and holiday spirit to you.>

Arthur huffed as his children ribbed him in the family chat that night.

<RuleBritannia: Don’t preach to your father, we went over this.>

<F%CKYE4H: Still, giving, not receiving, y’know.>

<MooseOfMaple: Dad, please… As someone who knows spruce trees very well, I do question Norway’s decision, but still. The world doesn’t revolve around you anymore.>

<RuleBritannia: I do not think that. Please stop accusing me of it.>

<BlacKoru: Yeah. It revolves around America. Make of that what you will.>

<F%CKYE4H: Kiwi! I can see that!>

#hetaliaxmasevent #hws enlgand #aph england #hws norway #aph norway #hws sealand #aph sealand #Christmas #platlonic uknor #uknor #noruk #alt-talia

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tanadrin · 4 years

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Reordberend

(part 21 of ?; first; previous; next)

(BTW, as of this update, Reordberend is, by my count, a little over 45k words long, putting it in the territory of a shortish novel. That also makes it one of the longest SF stories I’ve ever written. It’s not the most popular thing I’ve ever posted on Tumblr, but it has gotten a steady trickle of notes. Knowing there are people out there who enjoy your work, even if it’s fairly niche, is the best motivation there is to keep writing. Thank you for reading!)

Katherine Alice Green The Guest Room in the Village Hall The High Settlement McMurdo Dry Valleys ANTARCTICA

to Dr. Eunice Valerie Gordon Trinity College Dublin Dublin 2 IRELAND

Dear Dr. Gordon,

I am writing yet another letter I won’t be able to send, which, I realize might make me seem like kind of a crazy person. The only defense I can plead, I guess, is that the perpetual darkness of the winters here does funny things to you if you’re not used to it, and I’ve had a lot of down time lately that I need to do something productive with. I have already written to my parents, to a couple of friends, and to my cat, which leaves only you. And these letters seem to have a way of focusing my thoughts, so maybe it’s not an entirely useless exercise.

Where to begin? Well, first of all, I’m alive. That may come as a surprise. It occured to me not long after I was marooned here that perhaps nobody knows that. No one has come looking for me, and why would they? If any rescue parties did go looking for the Albatross, I doubt they’d come this far south. Not in winter. But I did in fact survive the ship going down. I don’t think anybody else did. The Dry Valleys People didn’t find anyone else on the shore, alive or dead. I try not to think about that too much, but, to be honest, it still has me kind of fucked up.

Oh, that’s the other things. I’ve made contact with the Dry Valleys People. I am, as the return address indicates, currently living with them. They have welcomed me, rather reluctantly, and I’ll be able to remain at least until the first sunrise of spring. This was not necessarily a widely popular decision, and I’ve come to learn that the political situation among the DVP is rather complicated. They have always guarded their isolation and their independence, and they’re keen to keep guarding it in the future, but there are some among them who worry how long that will really be possible. I think this is something Dr. Wright foresaw, and tried to warn them about in the letter he sent with me. But as you might expect, this is something a large part of their community doesn’t want to hear or even think about, and my presence here is definitely fraught.

As for my original mission… well, it’s an unqualified success, despite the difficulties. I’ve learned a lot. The language, to start with. You won’t believe this, but they speak Old English here. No, not thee and thou and maketh yon Old English. Not Chaucer, even. Older. From their books and what they’ve told me, their ancestors used the West Saxon dialect of Old English, as spoken about the year 1000 AD, as the basis for the language they taught their children. Dr. Wright knew this, of course. That’s how he was able to communicate them and win their trust; he showed an affinity for the same history and the same long-term perspective they cared about. If it seems weird that a bunch of people would move to Antarctica, forsake almost every modern convenience, and deliberately teach their kids a dead language that would be useless in the wider world, well, all I can say I guess is that humans have done a lot of weird shit for a lot of weird reasons throughout history. I think I am beginning to understand why the ancestors of the DVP did what they did. Some of them have tried to explain it to me, but there is a gap in our worldviews here that is difficult to bridge.

One of the DVP that I have befriended is a poet named Leofric. His sister, Leofe, taught me the language, but I’ve learned a lot more about their literature from him. It’s primarily an oral literature, although they do write some of it down. They like long, semi-narrative poetry that draws heavily on the imagery of the natural world, and I would say that it owes something to the ancient Anglo-Saxon poetry they keep in their books, except that, of course, the environment here is nothing like the environment of England one thousand years ago. But there are still some poetic traditions they have inherited from those earlier examples. For instance, their world is harsh, and unforgiving, and from a certain angle looks like a world in decline. The ancient English (so I am told) were surrounded by great Roman ruins they spoke of as being the work of metaphorical giants; here, they have the ruins of two hundred years of scientific and industrial exploration of the Antarctic coast. And their world, too, is enclosed by a vast cold sea, although this one has penguins in it at least.

Aside from the language, the founders of the DVP don’t seem to have intended to recreate medieval English society. There are no kings. There is a semi-formal system of village headship by seniority, but the social hierarchy is very flat. Marriage, inheritance, and choice of occupation all take place on fairly egalitarian terms, and their strictest taboos surround the sharing of labor and resources, not sexuality or religion. I wonder how much of their customs are the result of gradual cultural evolution, or some deliberate effort at creating a planned community. There are lots of funny Utopian experimental communities out there, but most tend to fail after a generation. In a way, this one couldn’t fail, because they had no way to leave Antarctica. They had to make it work. Is this what a real utopian project looks like after six or seven generations?

But honestly, one of the most fascinating aspects of the DVP is their material culture. As you might expect, their day-to-day existence is profoundly shaped by the environment they live in. Their houses are all heavy stone, designed to trap scarce heat, and arranged around the village halls as a windbreak against the dry katabatic gales that sweep the McMurdo Valleys clear of ice. Despite this being one of the driest locations on Earth, it’s still a better habitat for them than the glaciers of the Antarctic lowlands, or the rough, icy terrain of the mountains--here, you can actually build, and you don’t need skis and snowshoes to get around. But, as a consequence, much of their most important infrastructure is underground.

I don’t know if the ancestral DVP brought the right tools with them or if they scavenged them once here, but they have accumulated a small stockpile of laser borers, ultrasonic chisels, and crystalsteel digging equipment that they use to carve out underground chambers in the hills as meeting places and ritual sites. But they don’t do their agriculture there; that happens in networks of buried trenches just below the villages, where they grow cold-resistant mosses and lichens to supplement a meat-based diet, and what seems to be a form of genegineered fibergrass they use to weave their clothing and tapestries, and to make books.

Their art is very beautiful. Their coats, books, and tapestries--even their stone carvings--all depict elaborate lineate forms of plants and animals, inherited I suppose from ancestral memory, since none of the organisms in question are found in Antarctica. They also make images depicting the mountains, of course, and the sea, and the animals that live on the coast; even some of the coastal settlements, as seen from far off. They’re often abstracted, but these images are geographically grounded: they’re not just “generic mountains” or “generic coastline,” they’re specific mountains, specific coastlines, and they add up--if you are exposed to them every day of your life growing up--to something like a conceptual map of all of Victoria Land. It seems that if you dropped an average adult DVP individual anywhere from Oates Land to the Queen Elizabeth Range, they could probably find their way home, even during the dark months of winter.

(Oh! And the dark months! You’d think they’d be depressing, but I never imagined in my life I would see such a sight as the aurora australis, or even the clear polar stars! I can’t describe it to you. Maybe Leofric could, if I could do justice to his verse.)

They’re very communitarian, and great emphasis is placed on making sure no one goes without, but the price of that is, apparently, extremely elaborate dispute-resolution mechanisms; for a culture without courts, government, or attorneys, they are remarkably bureaucratic. Each physical object seems to have its own laws attached to it. Some may be shared by all objects of that type--for instance, if you need an electric firestarter, you always go to the house windward of yours to ask if they have one. If they don’t, you go to the next, and so on; firestarters pass from house to house, as needed, but only in one direction. Other objects may have completely unique rules. There is a knife with an elaborately carved handle meant to be used only by left-handed people. I don’t know why; nobody I asked knew, either. But that was the custom, and it was scrupulously obeyed. As a rule, the more elaborately decorated an object, the more particular the rules associated with it, but the elaboration of the object doesn’t seem to connote anything about the rules. It only marks it out as somehow special. The rules themselves are transmitted orally. All of these rules at bottom are about making sure that resources are evenly distributed--making sure nobody has to walk too far in bitterly cold weather to find a firestarter, for instance--and even the ones that don’t make sense now probably were created for good reason. For instance, the southpaw knife. Their knives for carving meat all have handles that curve in one way, to help separate flesh from bone, and I suspect that one is the result of a left-handed steelsmith getting fed up with with tools he couldn’t use very well. The blade is that of a carving-knife, though the handle attached to it is straight. The handle was probably later replaced when it broke, and somebody needed the knife for a different purpose--but the custom attached to it remained the same.

This system of sharing is, if anything, even more scrupulously observed when there’s a windfall. We went on a salvage expedition a month ago and brought back some much-needed supplies, and they spent days working out what would go where, first to each village and then, once we got back to the High Settlement, each house in each village--and even then, this was just what went to who first. Anything that’s not a finite supply, like food, will get passed from house to house. Leofric tells me that a few years ago, a whale--an entire blue whale, actually--beached itself to the north, and they had to have a weeklong assembly (on the beach, next to the whale, natch) to decide what do with every scrap of meat and bone. They still talk about the arguments that went down at the Whale Parliament sometimes (for which their word is hwaelthing, by the way. Literally it means exactly what it looks like: “whale-thing.”). Funny thing is, they also very carefully manage arguments in these discussions. That’s not normally the case--if two people have an argument and what to physically fight each other about it, that’s considered their business. But when it comes to disputes about food or metal or tools, everybody is very keen to show how Not Mad they are, even if they’re actually seething about it on the inside. And if voices get raised, people get hustled aside, and the whole matter is dropped completely until everybody has a chance to calm down. This looks like a system that was either deliberately designed to keep fights from breaking out and feelings getting permanently hurt, or one that sprung up after some nasty experiences of actual fights. I suspect the latter. It’s all very informal, but there’s a lot of social pressure that enforces it. The price for division and discord in an environment this hard to live in would be death, and I think all their social institutions are built around that reality.

I will admit, this has not been the easiest experience. I mean, there’s the almost dying part, and the part where all my cybernetics are broken, and I had a bad bout of something flulike a few weeks ago and almost died again, but I don’t actually mean the physical hardship. It is a more isolating experience than I thought it would be, being the lone outsider in such a close-knit community. Everyone knows everybody and everything, except me. They all have their own jokes and stories and long-running feuds, and they can communicate a great deal to one another with just a glance, and I’m left wondering what just happened when everybody laughs at something, or a fight breaks out. I have struggled sometimes to learn the language. I mean, I’ve had no other choice, and it’s amazing what you can learn when your survival depends on it, but even now I still sometimes find myself struggling to communicate ideas, or staying silent even when there is something I might want to say, just because I can’t find the words. It’s infuriating not being able to express yourself well, and maybe for good reason I sometimes think they all see me as this hapless idiot who almost got herself killed, who they have to put up with until the spring as a result.

Okay, I mean, I kind of am that. But I am also genuinely interested in their society, in the DVP as individuals, in their stories and their history. But I feel like the best I can hope for is being kind of a mascot. Or a well-meaning but dim-witted pet. A Labrador or something.

Not that I haven’t made friends. I would say Leofric is a friend. The salvagers--Eadwig and Andrac--they’re friends. And I seem to have won at least the grudging toleration of the ones like Aelfric who initially wanted to leave me to die. But sometimes I think I’ve made a connection, somehow bridged the unbridgeable gulf between my life experience and the world of the DVP, only to find out I’ve done no such thing. I thought Leofe was a friend; but now she’s not speaking to me, and she’s left the High Settlement for one of the other valleys. I don’t know why, and the others just shrug when I ask them.

Ugh. This is turning into whining. Now I know I’ll never send it. Sorry. It’s been a long day. It’s amazing how tired you can get when your muscles can’t rely on your augs to help them do shit.

But I need to find a way to bridge that gap. I mean really bridge it. Because I feel like I’m starting to understand something the DVP aren’t ready to hear. Their ancestors came to Antarctica at a time when the rest of the world wasn’t much interested in it. It was a wasteland, so sure, let’s treat it as an international, shared territory. Nobody goes there but scientists and the occasional tourist. And during the Collapse, not even that--Antarctica was truly empty for the first time in a hundred and fifty years when the ancestors of the DVP came to its shores. But it isn’t anymore. And it won’t ever be a real wasteland again. Every year the mining consortia move a little further down the Transantarctic Mountains. Every year a new outpost pops up on the coast, more ships come to Port Alexander, more icebreakers cut through the polar sea. Antarctica is warmer now that it’s been at any time in the past. Heck, without some global warming, I don’t think the Dry Valleys would be habitable. But that means more exposed rock, more open ground to build on, more people coming to the continent to work on the mining platforms or the offshore factories, and one day, I think, they’re going to come here.

What will the DVP do when that happens? This isn’t North Sentinel Island, which nobody ever goes to because there’s no reason. There’s gold in the hills here--the DVP make jewelry out of it--and maybe other precious metals, and you could build a geothermal station on Mount Erebus and power a small town, if you wanted to build some autofactories. The Antarctic Authority exists to promote “science and industry,” but with a big emphasis on industry. And by science they mostly mean, like, watching penguins bone and building telescopes at the South Pole. Not soft stuff like anthropology. And certainly not protecting three valleys full of cessionist oddballs whose parents had an unreasonable fondness for dead languages.

I think Dr. Wright knew this. I think maybe he tried to warn the DVP when he was here, but back then the danger was even further away. And it’s hard to get people to pay attention to danger that seems far away, even if it might be an existential threat. And when dealing with that danger would require you to completely change the only life you’d ever known… well, that’s a hard sell. The DVP don’t really like change. I can’t blame them. But one day things are going to change here, and if they’re not prepared for it, it could get really ugly, really fast. It’s one thing to shut yourself away when the world is ignoring you. It’s another when the world comes knocking.

If I think I can persuade them, I’m going to talk to the elders here, Aelfric and Wulf. Some of the DVP have had very fleeting contact with outsiders before me. I think one of them should come with me in the spring, as a sort of emissary. I’m not sure who they should talk to, yet. Maybe the Authority. Maybe somebody in Port Alexander’s local government? Or maybe we should just try to tell their story directly to the world. That might bring the DVP more attention than they’d like, but better a little good attention now than a lot of bad attention later. I would have asked Leofe--she’s smart, she’s tough, she could handle the culture shock--but that’s not an option now. Something to think about, anyway.

Well. I hope this letter finds the imaginary version of you well, my love to the imaginary family &c, hope the undergrads aren’t giving you too much trouble this year. If for some reason you do find this letter--like I freeze to death on my way to the weather station in September and they find this document on my corpse--please forgive my stubbornness, my insistence on going on this stupid trip, and any worry I’ve caused you as a result. And if I really am dead, please tell everybody I died doing something badass, like, I dunno, fighting a polar bear. I guess those are extinct and they never lived in Antarctica anyway, but something along those lines. Make it good.

All the best,

Kate

#tanadrin's fiction #*blows party horn*#sorry for the epistolary chapter #but it's a great way to do gratuitous expository worldbuilding

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slothcritic · 5 years

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Dragon Ball Z Abridged - Episode 8 Review

Consistent yet lackluster, this is a good episode that doesn’t really stand out.

The title sequence for Nappa's Best Day Ever should've started after Cadaverrific! which I think is a wonderful bit of black humor. But the following scene just felt like another "ha ha bulma is a loose woman" joke. This scene might've been funnier with better voice acting. I wouldn't say the scene did nothing for me, but it did very little.

Also “Mr Kent” - Is that a Superman reference or am I taking crazy pills?

[Title Sequence]

With Yamcha gone, the mantle of series buttmonkey falls to Krillin. He has his big damn hero moment, when he Limit Breaks the stuffing out of three Saibamen, but it's frankly disregarded in favor of Piccolo using a god damned mouth-laser to annihilate the last one.

With no more Saibamen left to toy with, it falls upon the two Saiyans to get their hands dirty. Or rather, for Nappa to get his hands dirty while Vegeta sits back and watches. Nappa is no less full of whipshot non-sequiturs in this episode than he was in the previous. After some banter about teaching the Z Fighters a lesson, he gives new meaning to the word "punchline" and amputates Tien's arm.

Compared to a lot of other voice actors, Ganxingba (Tien) actually does a decent scream here. Most of the other screams so far have either been laid on too thick, or done way too close so it peaks their potato microphones, or it’s just super disingenuous. But right here, Tien’s scream is actually really convincing and doesn’t make me feel like someone is stabbing knives into my ears.

The quiet breeze after Vegeta makes a corny pun (Looks like he's been... disarmed!) sells the joke. Nappa’s follow-up seems more like an in-character necessity for him than it seems like a part of the joke.

Ever apparent that fighting Nappa would be completely beyond their capabilities, Chiaotzu decides to blow himself up and take Nappa with him.

"You can just wish me back with the Dragon Balls!" "We already wished you back with the Dragon Balls! We can't do it twice!" "...Wait, wha--?"

KABOOM. Okay, that got a chuckle out of me. This is also the first time the respawn limit of the Dragon Balls has been mentioned. Simply put, everybody gets one.

Krillin's comment on Chiaotzu's death is really bland and lazily written, but prompts a little more character insight to Tien.

"I loved him." "As a memorial to Yamcha... Gay."

I didn't like it when Yamcha first said it, but being referenced in this macabre fashion does something for me. I won't claim it's clever or witty but I personally find it funny.

Nappa then reveals that Chiaotzu's sacrifice had absolutely no effect on him, which naturally enrages Tien. He goes on to get the stuffing knocked out of him, and Gohan ponders if they should help him instead of just standing around.

Piccolo explains that Tien is in a battle to honor his friend’s death, and he wouldn’t dare besmirch the man’s pride by interrupting his heroic last stand.

This immediately cuts to Tien screaming for help.

I can't tell if the smirk when Piccolo says "Like a hero" is a visual edit or actually existed in the source material, but it's use here is amazing. The look on his face makes him seem like a sadist who's enjoying this, and that's honestly not too far off from how Piccolo has been depicted so far. He's the Demon King who wants to take over the world and couldn't care less about these humans.

After being reprimanded by Gohan, Piccolo and Krillin finally get the lead out and agree to team up against Nappa. They get some surprise slaps on him, and Piccolo yells for Gohan to shoot him with everything he's got before he has time to DODGE.

This triggers a Pavlovian response and Gohan immediately runs for cover, which means Piccolo and Krillin are just going to have to fight Nappa the old fashioned way: By using the Kagebunshin no Jutsu.

"I can't... believe it."

The Naruto skit is creative and risable in its own right but not exactly gut-busting. What's a whole lot funnier is the notion that Nappa's incredible mental discipline is derived entirely from him playing "Patty Cake, Patty Cake" in his head.

Each of Krillin's shadow clones gets their own notch on the owned counter, bringing the score up to 7.

Nappa then commends their effort and tells them, hey at least you didn't kill yourself using a single useless attack, like Chiaotzu did. Tien then proceeds to do that exact same thing: He fires a Kikoho at Nappa and then dies.

It's given a bit more cause for worry in the original show, where Vegeta states that it very well could have killed Nappa if he didn't guard against it at the last second, but in this series he's given no such credit. Nappa just laughs and says "Pointless."

Just before he goes in for the kill on Krillin, he's stopped mid-air by a stunning realization. He can fly. Vegeta is too flabbergasted to argue this and simply agrees.

After pitching a fit about wanting Goku to watch him murder the Z Fighters, Vegeta obliges Nappa and agrees to wait three hours for Goku to arrive.

I half-expected, half-wanted them to make a fake girlfriend reference with Goku here.

Vegeta - "So this friend of yours, that you SAY is coming, is somehow stronger than all of you combined, yet didn't show up here to fight us, and you're only just now telling us this after two of your friends have died?"

Krillin - "You wouldn't know him, he goes to a different school."

Thirty seconds into their three hour wait time, Nappa starts up the "Is he here yet?" bit. Vegeta shoos him off and tells him to go have fun and occupy himself in any way he sees fit.

This begins a well-timed, well-edited musical number of Nappa systematically dismantling the naval and air forces of what I assume is the World Government.

And this whole time while Nappa is enjoying himself to the sounds of musical splendor, crashing metal, and explosions, Piccolo, Krillin, and Gohan are just standing still in a morosely quiet semi-circle. For the entire three hours I'm guessing. Vegeta's scouter alarm goes off, which means time is up and they're all going to die. Nappa suddenly returns without his shirt and elbows Piccolo in the head so hard it changes the color of the sky from blue to pink.

Not the most clean or graceful cutaway scene, but it sells itself regardless. The stinger is a stronger finish than it had any right to be, as a callback and apparent closure to the most esoteric joke in this series. RIP Whales.

Conclusion

This was a plateau of an episode. Whereas the last episode had constant peaks and kept your interest, this one was steady and consistent throughout in a less remarkable way. Most of the factors that go into making or breaking an episode seemed to have hit a comfortable resting point. That or I've just finally become numb to the questionable microphone quality.

I feel like this episode almost lands in the twilight zone of "It's bad, so let me reach to say something positive about it" and "It's good, so let me reach to say something negative about it." that just coalesces into me not having much of anything to say about it. I’m uncertain whether or not this constitutes a failure on my part as a critic, or if this episode really is just that comparatively monotonous.

The word mediocre is often used to mean bad or poor, which I don't feel fits this episode, but it certainly isn't a stand out. I really couldn't find much worthy of discussion here beyond face value.

The few jokes that struck me personally stop me from calling this episode boring, but I found myself repeatedly checking the time to see how much I still had left to watch. It had jokes that were definitely funny, but nothing here really kept my attention. Other lackluster episodes, even if they were not worth a rewatch, kept my interest because I'd latch onto things that were obvious and apparent as being poorly done. This one offered very little variance between the lowest it went and the peak its comedy or production.

If anything, this episode is saved from a lower score by its tail end. Nappa's patty cake joke and the eponymous "best day ever" scene really make up the majority of this episodes hard-hitting humor for me.

But it is important to note that this is still a good episode. It’s not a laugh riot episode and it’s probably not in anyone’s Top 5, but it’s a very comfortable middle ground between the worst this season has to offer and the very peaks.

As an important side note, I feel like we're just now encroaching upon what might be Nappa fatigue. I maintain my position that Nappa has yet to have a “do nothing” joke - all of his humor has been in a hit in some capacity - but it feels almost par for the course at this point. Nappa is definitely not overdone in this episode and he in fact caries it, but I feel like another episode of this style would tread tightly upon the expiration date of how much zaniness you can come to expect before it starts to feel samey. Nappa is in danger here of simply becoming too saturated within the show’s focus and would lose his simplistic, unique appeal that's the driving force behind his characterization. Which is well-timed because we all know what happens next episode...

While I don’t think this episode stands out as a whole, it definitely has some strongly quotable moments. Yeah, yeah, most of what Nappa said. But a series of hilariously derailing one-liners does not make for something remarkable on the whole, which to me just feels expected, stagnant and safe. The peaks are not enough to pull this episode further up, but I must say I’m still not fully confident in my assessment. This was definitely a weird episode to judge.

Score: 67

Passing Thoughts

“What the hell could someone like you possibly major in?” “Child psychology.” “Wow, that sounds really interesting.” “WITH A MINOR IN PAIN!”

"Nappa here is worth 5 Raditz, and I am worth 15 Raditz!" - Vegeta Accurate to the canon power levels!

Oolong saying "Get back to the fight!" sounds absolutely nothing like Oolong. In fact, Episode 1 Oolong sounds more like Oolong than this short cameo did.

"Dick move, guys."

"Good effort, but I'm the patty cake champion."

#slothcritic #DBZ #Dragon Ball Z Abridged #TFS #teamfourstar

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maximows · 5 years

Text

Against the Odds - Chapter IX

Nobu,

MASTERLIST (mobile) AO3

Warnings: smutty SMUT, fluff, so much love, chaos, smoking, drinking (but not in a negative way) and swearing

“You ready?” Chris asked, opening the car door. As always, he wanted to open mine to maintain his Prince Charming reputation.

“Yeah, let’s let the world know.” I said as he left and walked around the car to let me out.

We had managed to keep out engagement quiet for months and decided to officially announce it during tonight’s Oscars. I had been nominated again and since we had decided to attend major events together, we thought it was a perfect occasion.

We were a month away from sending out invitations and we took the Oscars as an opportunity to go through our friends and colleagues again and decide who to invite. Although we did have a list and most of the invitations had already been filled out, be had some spare ones for people we might have forgotten about.

“I love this dress, by the way.” Chris said as he offered me his arm. “In a different way than last year, but still does things to me.”

I was wearing a strapless, golden Elie Saab dress with a long cut along my leg. Even though it was floor length, it wasn’t heavy at all. It had some golden pieces attached to it at the top through my waist to my thighs which disappeared around there to reveal a light pink tulle material which was semi-transparent.

“Wait till you see my wedding dress...” I gave him a wink. “I’ve finally chosen the cut.”

Chris smirked. “Don’t worry, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you in a wedding dress since last year.”

We walked up to our spot and Chris put his hand on the small of my back. I know he hated the cameras flashing in front of him and I loved him even more, because he only came here today to support me. I was trying to cut the photo call short, but they wouldn't let us. All I could do is serve them looks and glance at Chris sometimes. The word I would us to describe him was “gorgeous”. His beautifully styled hair and beard, which by the way, he doesn’t have to do anything to maintain... He looked back at me with his light blue eyes and smiled. And I smiled back. “Whatcha lookin’ at, doll?” he whispered.

“My fiancé.” I said, right before we were asked to move. We separated to do solo shots.

Be did actually cut those short, because we had arrived late, so the production team rushed us to move to the theatre. We sat in the front row. “Is this the right time to tell you that I’ve had a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio since I saw him in Romeo and Juliet?” I asked, after Leo came up to me to congratulate on the nomination. “And that he asked me out on numerous occasions?” We had met a few times during some occasions and he did hit on me hard, but the real Leo was a different person to the actor I fell in love with years ago. Also, I was nineteen when he first did and he's 16 years older. And he vapes.

“It’s the worst possible time and I hope he saw the huge diamond on your finger.” Chris mumbled and glared at Leo who sat down with his mom. “Because there aren’t many men I feel threatened by.”

“Is this why you got such a big one?” I raised my eyebrow, toying with the ring. “You jealous idiot.”

Chris smirked. “How dare you call your future husband an idiot?” he faked outrage.

I leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I love my jealous idiot aka my future husband.”

The show soon started and we watched it in silence, making comments sometimes. Chris loved the musical format at the beginning, mainly because there was a short clip from The Avengers and he was included.

We kept making casual small talk, mostly on ideas for the wedding.

“Do you want to film it? Like, hire someone to do a video?” Chris asked when another break was coming to an end.

“Sure, but I want it to be someone who doesn’t normally do wedding videos. I want it to be more original.” I said, looking around the theatre. “I’m hungry. They had snacks last year. I want snacks.”

Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out on the these small Oreo packs. “Hannah mentioned that you might get snacky, so I came prepared.”

“Perfect human being.” I sighed, looking him in the eyes.

For the rest of the show, I was holding on to Chris' hand. My movie didn't win any awards, before my category came up. I was very displeased, because I was really sure of the “Original score” award. It was putting more pressure on me and I could feel it. I had to readjust myself in the seat a lot, because my back was tense.

Chris noticed me squirming in my seat and started to rub his thumb against my hand. “Calm down, baby,” he whispered as the presenters came out. “You’re going to win and you’re going to do great.”

“I’m not, Chris.”

“You are. And I’m right here, I’ll help you up the stairs if you need that. I’m here with you.”

I saw the footage from my movie, Sweetest Heavens, appear on the screen and waited for the camera to focus on my face. I smiled and thanked God that my hand clutching Chris' was out of the shot.

“And the Oscar goes to...” Eddie Redmayne said as he opened the envelope and slid out the card. “... Emilia Dawson, Sweetest Heavens.”

I went blank for a moment, but realised what had just happened when I saw Chris stand up and clap for me. I still couldn’t believe it was happening, but figured that he stood up for me, so it wasn’t only my imagination. I got off my seat and gave my fiancé a quick kiss on the cheek before heading up the stairs. “I knew it.” He whispered as I pulled back. I just grinned widely, mouthing “I love you" as I headed up the stairs.

“Congratulations,” Eddie said, handing me the surprisingly heavy award. “it is very well deserved, Emilia.”

“Thank you so much.” I had to hold back tears already.

I walked up to the microphone, clutching the statue firmly. People were still clapping (Chris was one of the few who were standing up, dork), so I was guessing that the route from my seat to the microphone took less than 10 minutes (but it felt like forever).

“This is surreal... First of all, I’d like to thank the Academy, because you make these,” I held up the Oscar for a second. “Uh, this will be the only rehearsed part of my speech, because the win was so unexpected. I’d like to thank everyone who was involved in the production of this beautiful movie, especially Taylor, Stuart, Marie, Alexa, Helen, Jerry, Steven, Elle, Lisa, Pilar, Sara, Hector and Michael. It was an incredible journey making this masterpiece with you and I hope we find a way to work together again soon.” I said, looking at the crew in the crowd. “Also, Hannah, my agent, who has been a third parent to me for the last few years and has never failed me. Now, I’d like to thank my real parents for supporting me even when they had all the rights to think that acting was “just a phase” for me, for giving me the benefit of the doubt when I moved out at a very young age and for still putting up with me and being the best parents a girl could have. Also, thank you for staying up so late in the UK to watch this, even though you have work tomorrow.” I waved at the camera, knowing they were watching. “And last but not least, I’d like to thank my fiancé... Chris, they won’t give me enough air time to fully express how grateful I am to have you in my life and to be a part of yours. Thank you for everything.” I said, looking down at him. We were both holding back tears. Chris bit his lip as he grinned at me, when I took my last look at him, before going backstage.

Someone from the production team said that they would keep the award for me until the end of the ceremony. I gave it to them and grabbed a tissue from a box on the table. I walked up to the make up lady and asked if she could check out my face and give me a little bit more powder, because I was all shiny already.

“Hi there.” I heard Chris behind me and I immediately shot out of the chair to wrap myself around him. “Congratulations, Dawson.” He mumbled into my shoulder.

“Chris, I can't believe it!” I almost shouted. “How the hell...”

“I fucking told you!” he cheered. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Someone told me to go to the press room for the break in order to give some interviews. Chris waited just a few feet away from me and watched me answer questions. I was still a bit overwhelmed, by this whole situation, but tried to keep a clear head.

After the ceremony, a few tabloids asked me for interviews and they were straight up asking about Chris, who was already waiting in the car for me, completely ignoring the fact that I had just won the most important award in this industry.

“So when did this happen?”

“A few months ago actually.” I answered, fiddling with the ring on my finger.

“Are there any plans for the wedding yet?”

“Oh, we don’t know yet,” I straight up lied. “We’re just enjoying the engaged life for now, we're both a bit too busy to plan a wedding right now.”

I was very proud of myself for lying about the wedding. I do know that paps tend to follow me more around my birthday or other important dates they can figure out, but I never thought they could just stalk me the moment my wedding appeared in the picture. Chris is a very private person, while I’m more casual about it, but neither of us want any leaks around a special day like that.

Chris escaped the car as he saw me walk towards him. He took off his jacket and, God, Chris in a white shirt and bowtie did things to me. He opened the door for me as I said. “If anyone asks about our wedding plans, tell them we don’t have any yet.”

“Sure, they don’t need to know.”

“And they'd be really surprised to know that we had already planned most of it.”

“That’s an overstatement.” He joked.

We arrived at the Vanity Fair After party just as I changed into my another outfit in the car. Chris had a vital role in the process, because my dress was very hard to take off. “I gotta be honest, I’d rather take that dress off you under different circumstances.”

I was now wearing a black jumpsuit with a lace top. It was much more comfortable than dancing in a dress. I left the dress in the car, which was supposed to go to the Elie Saab boutique now. “I didn't bring any other shoes,” I said as Chris took my hand. “I might require a foot rub later.”

“Anything for my winner.” He smiled.

We went through the photo call again, saying hi to a few people on the way. Chris clearly forgot that there’s also photographers behind us, because his hand kept creeping down my spine to grab my butt. I didn’t complain. We’ve been silent about each other for the last two years, so we might as well put on a show tonight.

Jeremy walked up to us and we talked a little bit about the movie we're starting in a few weeks.

“Are you going to bring Ava with you? I'm coming with Emily, I can be your babysitter.” Chris suggested.

“Evans, there’s no way I’m leaving my only child with you,” Renner laughed. “You’re the fun uncle who does the most dangerous stuff with the kids.”

“Oh, come on. Emily, back me up on this.” Chris turned to me.

I just shrugged. “You did hang you nephew from the tree by his leg.”

“He asked me to!”

Later this month Chris, Dodger and I moved to Utah to film Wind River. Dodger loved the constant presence of snow. He would dive in or lay on his back and just play and it was the cutest thing on this planet. We actually got him a few sweaters which made him look adorable and he became the star of my Instagram account.

I had to do some training for the movie, including gun training. Chris and I found a gym nearby and went there together to work out. I mostly did cardio, while he did heavy lifting. I was a bit curious why, since he didn't have a Marvel movie this year, but I never really asked. I watched him lift weights while I ran on the treadmill. God, that was some view. He was laying on the bench, his biceps bulging every time he lifted. Wait, why is my mouth watering?

I looked around the gym. It was pretty late and Utah, so it was empty. I switched off the treadmill and walked up to him, holding my towel against the back of my neck. “Chris, let’s go.” I ordered.

“But I’m not done.”

“Chris,” I winked at him. “Come on.”

He finally realised what I was talking about and stood up. We were really enjoying our lives after engagement.

We spent 6 weeks in Utah. Chris left for a few days to film a video game commercial. Apparently, Chinese companies are not only willing to pay Hollywood actors a lot of money for a 2 minute commercial, but they also move production to the US, so their star don’t have to go to China.

Two days after he left, he sent me a text saying:

I have a photo for you, which I know you will love, but I kind of want to be there to see your reaction. What should I do?

What’s in that photo?

Me, in my clothes for the shoot. Actually, there’s a few photos.

I feel like this is either going to be very hot or very weird. I’m guessing you’d like to be there if it’s hot and could get me bothered.

So, do you want it?

He sent me a few photos in a row, all of him wearing military gear and uniforms. I honestly could feel my blood boil after I looked through them. He was wearing the vests, boots and they put some dirt on his face, but also his hair was perfectly styled apart from that one loose strand on his forehead.

How soon can you come back, my intended? And will they give you these clothes?

During the Civil War press tour we actually got paired for a few interviews together. The studio never consulted this with us, probably hoping that us appearing together would give the movie more publicity (like it didn’t have enough of it already). One of the appearances was Graham Norton after the London premiere. The photos from the event were already out and I couldn’t stop laughing at Chris for looking at my cleavage like he was still breastfeeding.

“We haven’t had sex in like 2 days and you looked so good in that dress, please don’t blame me.” He whispered as we were in the car on our way to the BBC studios.

“There’s people who have sex once a month and you’re complain about a 2-day break, Chris.” I laughed.

“Yeah, but these other people aren’t engaged to you, so…”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Emilia Dawson,” Graham said as it was my cue to come out. I walked up to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He then announced Jeremy and Chris. “So, Chris Evans, this is your first time on the show. How did this happen?”

“I have no idea, they never let me do the UK shows for some reason. I guess I’m just not the best ambassador for the US.” He shrugged.

“Well, that ship has sailed.” Jeremy joked.

“Jeremy has been here a few times, but Emilia has been here over 5 times now. The first time you came here was in 2010, when you were 18.” Graham said. “This is a photo from the first time you visited.” He showed a photo of me. It just screamed 2010. I was promoting one of the first American movies I did.

“Yeah, there it is. I think I still have that skirt.” I smiled, analysing the photo. “That was actually the first time my mum thought that I made it. Because I was invited to one of her favourite shows.”

“Well, your mum has a great taste.” Graham smiled sweetly. “Anyway, this is Chris’ fifth Marvel movie, Jeremy’s third and Emilia’s second, right?” We all nodded. “How does it feel to step off the Marvel set and move on to another, smaller movie?”

“Well, Emily and I have just finished a movie in Utah, which was then completely covered in snow, and I still don’t know if I prefer Atlanta in June or Utah in March.” Jeremy said. “But to be fair, those are the sets where you really feel your surroundings, you know what’s going on, that’s the beauty of indie films. With movies like Civil War, you often don’t know what’s going on around you, because we use a lot of CGI or it’s just a secret, so…”

“Jer, we’re here to PROMOTE Civil War.” I laughed, before he went too far with his rant.

“Oh, right,” he pretended to remember. “I mean, being on the set with these guys is really fun, we spend a few months together, thankfully everyone gets along, so it’s pure joy.”

“Clearly, some of you are closer than the others.” Graham whispered, covering his mouth with his card.

I rested my hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Yeah, Jerry and I are really close.” I said, knowing he meant me and Chris.

Chris cleared his throat. “I thought it was suspicious when you said you were just practising sex scenes with him.” Everyone started to laugh. I was really glad we could talk about us while not really focusing on our relationship that much.

“Emilia, I’m sorry he didn’t start with this, congratulations on the Oscar!” Graham cheered and was followed by the audience. “So how has life changed for you?”

“Umm, it hasn’t really... I actually moved for work soon after the Oscars and haven’t been home for the last two months, so I didn’t really get to enjoy it properly.” I explained.

“And where have you decided to keep it? Because Kate Winslet keeps hers in the bathroom, so is yours on display?”

“I haven’t seen it in quite a long time to be honest and I’m not even sure where it is...” I laughed nervously. “Do you think they can make a replica if you lose one?”

“I put it on the fireplace when we came back.” Chris said.

“Riiight, yes! Yeah, he’s right. It was there when I left.” I nodded.

“Oh, seems like we’re getting an inside look into the Devans household.” Graham joked, making both me and Chris narrow our brows at the ‘Devans’ thing. “In case any of you have been living in a cave for the last few months and don’t know that, Chris and Emilia are an engaged couple, congrats.” He turned to the audience who started to cheer for us.

“Devans? Really?” Jeremy questioned.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard it either.” I shrugged. “I don’t know if I like it.”

“It should just be ‘Dodger’s parents’ or ‘Dodger’s roommates’.” Chris said. “Devans sounds like a name some woman gave her child, because she felt Devon was too mainstream.”

I really enjoyed being on a talk show with Chris. After that conversation Graham didn't really mention our relationship. I think he had only done it earlier to use his opportunity as the first host to ever have us both on the show.

Right after the Civil War press tour ended, we came back to reality, which for us meant a lot of wedding planning. We really wanted just a ceremony for our families and friends. Turned out we had much more friends and family than we expected. The initial goal was nothing more than 30, but it was the number of family members we had to invite. In the end, we managed to close the list at 50.

Planning was a nightmare, especially until the end of May when we were both away and couldn’t get anything done. Up to a point, we were trying to organise everything by ourselves, but by January, we had hired a wedding planner. We just told her everything we were expecting and she would send us emails asking for confirmation. The moment we hired her, we decided to go in all the way and thought we could get married somewhere abroad. Chris wanted Italy, but I won with Norway, mainly because there were no free venues in Italy. But also, because I threatened Chris with a blowjob embargo, if we were to get married there.

Because we were trying to keep the wedding under wraps, we tried not to be seen in some places, so we wouldn’t raise suspicions. The cake samples, for example, were brought to our house, along with flowers. Claire, the wedding planner, also brought our guest list and asked us to make a draft of the seating arrangements.

“I like this one,” I said, chewing on the white chocolate covered raspberry cake. “but I think it might be too sweet for some people.”

“I love it and we should take it.” Chris said. I glared at him, narrowing my eyebrows. “What? It’s our wedding! The cake should suit us, not anyone else.” He continued with a full mouth.

“Would it be possible to make it vegan?” I asked the baker. “I never asked, but I’m guessing that a lot of our guests are vegan. We definitely should have asked.”

“Oh, come on. We'll just put ’Might contain gluten’ signs everywhere.” He shrugged.

“It will taste differently, but I can make it vegan.” The baker said, writing something in his notebook. ‘I’ll try to have it done in about three days.”

“Ok, thank you,” I said. “Claire, can we have the catering company prepare vegan and vegetarian options?”

“Yes, I’ll call them right away.” she nodded and left the kitchen to make a call.

“Chris, not everyone is like you,” I raised my eyebrow. “Now everyone will switch back to eating meat, after being vegetarian for a while, because they feel like they’re turning green.”

“Oh, that was low.” He mumbled.

They all left soon, after making final decisions. We chose flowers and napkins for the tables. Chris said that the napkins looked dangerously similar and he didn’t see a difference in colour.

Since tomorrow was Chris' birthday, we had a dinner reservation at Nobu. Chris thought we were going alone, but I actually had invited some of our friends to join. Scott made the reservation, so they could come in earlier and be there when we arrive.

“I’m going to walk Dodger, but I’ll be back in like 30 minutes, so don’t shower without me, alright?” Chris winked, taking Dodger's lead and opening the door.

“30 minutes on the dot, because we don’t have much time.” I smiled and rushed upstairs to our bedroom. I already knew what I was going to wear. It was a tight, off-shoulder black dress that reached around the middle of my thighs. I’ve worn it a few times already and I knew Chris liked it. I paired it with nude suede high heels, which were also among Chris' favourites. I had a whole section of clothes Chris loved.

I undressed to my underwear and laid down on bed. Chris had only been gone about 5 minutes, so I opened Instagram and scrolled through the main page. I’ve had this urge to post something about our relationship for a while, but knowing that talking about us during the Oscars and the recent press tour was already pushing Chris’ buttons, I didn’t want to bring this up. I got rid of my private Instagram a while ago, when people found out about it and started sending new countless requests. I didn’t really feel the urge to share stuff with people all the time, but like everyone else, I wanted to share some moments with other people. Just once in a while.

Chris’ birthday was a perfect opportunity to do that. We'll see.

I checked the time and it was way past the 30 minutes I gave him. I went to the bathroom to wash off my make-up. Chris was still nowhere to be seen, so I went back to the bedroom and found my phone. I connected it with our home sound system and played Beast of Burden. I untied my hair and brushed it, before taking my underwear off and entering the shower cabin. I stood in the hot water, trying to wash off sweat off my body. It was unbearably hot today and I could only wish it gets cooler when we go out.

I poured some shampoo on my hand and wanted to wash my hair. “Lemme help you.” I heard Chris’ voice behind me. He was leaning on the door frame, watching me.

“I think I can handle washing myself, babe.” I teased, spreading shampoo on my top of my head, before I started rubbing it in. In no time I head Chris slide the glass door to the side and join me in the cabin.

“I insist,” he whispered into my ear, before wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my shoulder. I smirked and tilted my head to the side in order to give him access. “That's more like it...”

I took a step back, pushing my butt into his crotch. Chris grunted as he looked down at his dick pressed against my ass. He leaned on the wall behind him and wrapped his arm around my waist to pull me down on to him. “I can’t believe my luck...” he whispered, palming my cheek and kissing and biting on my shoulder. “I’m marrying the most beautiful, the sexiest woman in the world.”

I turned around to look up at his face, wet hair and flushed skin from the hot water. I ran my fingers along his collarbone tattoo and placed my lips on it, while my hand travelled down to his abdomen. “How much time do we have?” I asked.

Chris smiled and lifted me up only to turn us around and push me against a wall. “Not enough.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. We kissed playfully, biting on each other's lips and tongues, Chris moved his lips to my chin and then neck. His fingers let go of my thigh only to sneak up to my pussy and rub his thumb against my clit. “I wish we could just stay here.” he breathed out, his lips on mine.

“You always wish we could stay in, old man.” I ran my fingers through his wet hair.

Chris' two fingers slipped into me and I gasped, throwing my head back. “Mm, you are so ready for me, baby girl.” He whispered against the skin of my neck. I whined as he moved in and out, still rubbing his thumb against my clit. “Tell me what you want.”

I brought him closer to my body, slamming my lips against his. Chris pulled his fingers out of me and reached out to the handle and turned the water off. He opened the shower and carried me through the bathroom and our bedroom to the study. My pussy brushed against his shaft and it made me moan quietly every time. He laid me down on the cold glass desk and sat on the chair. I felt his lips on my thigh. “Chris, please, just fuck me,” I groaned as his beard brushed against my skin. “Please.”

“When have you become such a cock slut, huh?” Chris whispered and licked my clit quickly, making my hips shot up.

“Probably the first time you fucked me, daddy.” I moaned, putting my hands over my breasts and playing with my nipples. Chris saw what I was doing and bent down in front of my pussy again only to spit on it. He slammed two fingers back inside me and started to move them painfully slowly. He put his hand next to my hip and leaned on it, curling his fingers inside me to hit the right spot. “Please, do it faster, let me cum, I’m so close...” I squirmed under his touch.

“In a second, baby girl, just a second.” he whispered. His thumb hit my clit every time he buried his fingers inside me. At one point I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt the built-up tension release on to Chris’ fingers. “Mhm, yeah.”

He took his fingers out and licked my come off them. “You’re so sweet, baby girl,” he said, stroking his length. “I’m gonna give you what you want now.”

Chris grabbed my calves and placed them on his shoulders. I watched his eyebrows narrow as his tip brushed against my entrance. His chest was still covered in water drops and his hair was damp. A lose strand of hair was sticking to his forehead. He finally lined his cock against my pussy and grabbed a hold of my hips to keep me from falling off the slippery wet surface. He pushed into me, his lips slightly opening.

I felt him fill me up completely and gasped as he stretched me out. “Mmm,” I moaned when Chris started to move slowly inside me. I was still so wet from the orgasm he gave me and now Chris was picking up the pace. He closed his eyes and bit on his lip, completely lost in the pleasure. The way he looked was enough to send me over the edge and to add his cock moving inside me, hitting my g-spot... I came for the second time today, but Chris didn’t stop. He grabbed a hold of my both legs, took them off his shoulders and turned me to lay on my side. A lot of objects set on the desk fell off as he pushed me rapidly, but he then continued to pound into me while also rubbing my clit to make me come even faster.

I couldn’t bear the overstimulation. I shut my eyes as we both came. Chris let out a low grunt as he thrusted into me for the last time. We were both panting, not able to catch our breaths. Chris turned me to lay on my back again, without pulling out. He leaned down and gave me a passionate kiss as he lifted me off the desk. “We need another shower,” he whispered against my lips. His cock slipped out of me and it made both of us moan. He looked down at the mess we made around my abdomen. I giggled as he lifted me up and carried back to the bathroom. My whole body felt like it was made of jelly, I couldn’t move my legs and still wasn’t able to stabilize my breathing.

“If sex with you is so good at 35, then I can’t imagine what it was like to fuck you 10 years ago.” I breathed out.

We obviously didn’t make it to the restaurant on time, but we only had a 20-minute delay. I was very surprised, when I noticed photographers as we arrived at the restaurant. Chris grabbed my hand as we escaped the car and smiled, “Do you think we still have our sex looks on?”

“I hope we do.” I said. Chris stepped in front of me to pave the way through the small crowd of paparazzi. I watched the back of his arms, the well-defined muscles that I gripped to keep myself close to him. Those two sizes too small Henleys he wears are really going to be the death of me.

We entered the restaurant and immediately went in the direction of our lounge. “Isn’t a lounge too big for the two of us?” Chris asked right before noticing people at our table. “Oooh, so that’s happening.”

“Yeah, we really would have stayed at home if I hadn’t made plans with them.”

Scott and his boyfriend, Adam and his girlfriend, Sebastian, Anthony with his wife and Chris Hemsworth were all sitting, waiting for us. I said hi to all of them, while they wished Chris a happy birthday. Scott walked up to me and we hugged, “Stella is here.” He whispered. I felt my muscles tense at the sound of her name.

“That explains the paparazzi,” I forced a smile as he let go of me and we sat next to each other. “Is she sitting at a table nearby?”

“I don’t know, I saw her at the bar and we just said hi to each other. We haven’t had any contact with her since last year, when Chris and her went out once.” Scott explained. I tried not to look around the restaurant. It was pointless anyway, the lounge was in a secluded area and you could barely see anything.

Chris and I agreed that I wouldn’t drink, so I could drive us back home tonight. By agreed, I mean Chris begged me, because he hates being driven around by strangers and he really wanted to drink tonight. Which is why everyone was getting shitfaced – apart from me.

My fiancé kept his hand on my thigh the while time we sat at the table. Because all of our companions have been invited to our wedding, it became the main topic of our conversation.

I actually spoke to Shaletta about getting married abroad. Unfortunately, she was on Chris’ side when it came to the location. Anthony and her got married in Dominican Republic, so she preferred Italy.

“I told you it’s a better idea. If you want to make our guests travel to Europe, at least make sure the conditions are bearable.” Chris shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

“Chris, do you think I want to get married on the North Pole?” I asked, “You clearly haven’t even gone though the places I’ve sent you, even though we have already booked the venue.” I snapped.

“So, why are you getting married there, if Chris doesn’t want it?” Seb asked.

“I’m a simple man, Seabass.” Chris shrugged. “My dear fiancée threatened me with a blowjob embargo, to put it in her exact words.”

Everyone laughed at his words, which made me a little bit mad, because I didn’t want it to look, like I was forcing him to do something. Chris noticed my lack of enthusiasm and rubbed his palm against my bare thigh. “No, but I gotta be honest, I would marry her anywhere. If it wasn’t for the fact that our families would murder us, we would’ve eloped a long time ago.”

“Yeah, Mom would be livid.” Scott agreed. “Lisa is a sweetheart, but she can kick ass when she has to.”

I tried to move the topic to something lightly less stressful and we ended up talking about the upcoming presidential election. Of course, Hemsworth and I were excluded from the conversation, but at least we didn’t have to worry about Donald Trump becoming president of our home countries.

“Em, have you thought about getting an American citizenship?” Adam asked.

I raised my eyebrow. “You’ve just finished talking about how a reality TV star has a real chance of getting elected as president, so here’s your answer.” I laughed. “No, to be honest, I haven’t given it any thought yet. The most important thing for me right now is to get married to this guy here and take at least a month off afterwards.”

Chris grinned and wrapped his arm around me. “True. Everything else is just supposed to provide fun for our guests.”

Thankfully, we didn’t have to leave our lounge to order new food and drinks, because at some point I saw Stella walk quite close to us. That was when Chris noticed her, because apparently, Scott only told me about her. Chris noticed that I got a bit uncomfortable and suggested we moved someplace else.

“She’s just your ex, love,” I smiled and put my hand on his cheek. “I’m fine.”

I actually got used to the fact that has dated a lot (at least for me) of women in the past and I’m bound to see or hear about them at some point, so I might as well just try to ignore it. I never considered myself to be a jealous person, but as it turns out, I just never met anyone I cared about enough to be jealous.

The Chrises, Adam and Sebastian went outside for a smoke, while the rest of us stayed behind. We were all leaving, but no one wanted to stand outside with the photographers, if it wasn’t necessary. I handed Chris his sunglasses, cigarettes and a lighter. When he asked me to keep them in my bag the only reason why I didn’t say no, was because we were celebrating his birthday.

After paying the bill for our table, the rest of us left. As I stepped out, I noticed Chris smoking a cigarette by my car. Without saying a word, he reached out his hand to me and placed it on the small of my back. “Thank you.” He whispered.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “What for?”

“Just generally,” he sighed, breathing out the smoke. “For putting up with a big, old, drunk meatball like me.”

I giggled and nuzzled my face into his neck. Despite the cigarette smoke, he still smelled incredible. “I love you, I don’t have a choice.” I whispered.

Chris chuckled and pulled away from me in order to walk back to a bin and throw away the cigarette. On the way back he put a gum in his mouth. Even though he had drank quite a lot, he didn’t look like it. “Can I kiss you now?” he asked as he approached me.

“I’ll make an exception, because it’s after midnight and your birthday.” I nodded lightly. It didn’t take long for him to come up to me and place his lips on mine. He tasted him alcohol, cigarettes and a little bit of mint. I got used to his smoking habit a long time ago, I just didn’t want his to know that, because it would not be a great motivation to stop smoking once and for all.

Chris placed his palms on my cheeks and deepened the kiss by sneaking his tongue into my mouth. I moaned quietly as our tongues touched and I felt a tingly sensation. His arm wrapped around my waist once again, pushing me against his body. I felt his arousal against my lower stomach and grinned at the fact that he was ready again, despite drinking quite a lot. Chris bit on my lip and then pulled away from me. “We should go, before we fuck against the car with photographers behind us.”

I narrowed my eyebrows. I actually forgot about them and realised that we had just served them with a full PDA session. “Yeah, yeah.” I nodded. Chris opened the driver’s door for me and then walked around the car to get in himself.

Chris sang the whole way back (it’s a thing he does when he’s drunk) and tried to hold my hand, but I wouldn’t let him, because I use a manual gearbox and have to keep my hand free all the time. “’m gonna buy you a car with automatic gear.” He mumbled with his eyes closed.

“I’m contractually obliged to drive this for the next two months, until they offer me another one.” I said.

“But you wouldn’t mind if we got a Tesla, right?” he asked. Chris knew that the only car that could make me switch from Jaguar, was Tesla, because I have a thing for electric cars and he know they only come with automatic gear.

“You’re willing to buy a new car, just so you could fool around with me while driving?” I laughed at him.

When we arrived at home, Chris was already asleep in the car and Dodger greeted us at the door, barking in excitement. He barely opened his eyes to walk back home. I told him I’d come in a few minutes, but had to walk Dodger out now. The dog got a bit excited to see us and I decided I should go out with him just in case.

When I came back, Chris was lying on the sofa in he living room downstairs. He always falls asleep there, because there’s a nice, cool breeze coming from the open terrace doors. He took off everything except for his boxers. “Baby, let’s go upstairs.” I said, sitting down next to him and gently nudging his bare chest with my finger.

He groaned and slightly opened one eye for a second before closing it again. “Let’s sleep here tonight,” He mumbled. “The air is amazing here, it should be our permanent bedroom.”

“Fine.” I sighed.

I went upstairs to change into the slip I wear at night and grabbed Chris’ pyjama bottoms and a blanket.

“Chris, wear these.” I said, handing him the pants. He looked up at me and groaned, but then took the clothing. While he was changing, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and grabbed some water for my fiancé as he will definitely need some in the morning.

“Have I ever told you that you look mesmerising right before bed?” Chris asked as I squeezed myself into the space between him and the back of the sofa. He had some trouble pronouncing “mesmerising”.

“Possibly,” I smiled and placed my hands on his hair as he moved to snuggle his face into my neck and cleavage. “Go to sleep, handsome.”

I woke up around 10am, when Chris was still soundly asleep. He moved down and his head was now on the same height as my stomach, with his arm around my hips. He pulled my slip up, so his beard was scratching my skin. He groaned lightly as I scratched his head, before reaching out for my phone.

Hannah had sent me an email earlier in the morning. I checked it out and saw a few articles with similar titles from Daily Mail, People and TMZ.

“Exes Chris Evans and Stella Smith unintentionally reunited at Nobu last night, where Captain America celebrated his birthday with new fiancée and friends”

“He cheated on me with Emilia Dawson, Stella Smith tells her friends”

“Chris Evans, Emilia Dawson walk into a bar – what now?”

I knew that if she sent me these articles, she thought I should read them, so I took a deep breath and opened the first one.

“... Smith arrived first, accompanied by a bunch of photographers, who were then surprised to see Evans and Dawson arrive about 30 minutes later. It is said that the engaged couple did not interact with Evans' ex, apart from a quick nod between Chris and Stella, when he was out for a smoke and she was leaving. It was visible that Emilia was quite uncomfortable knowing she’s somewhere there, but who wouldn’t be?”

“People from Stella's close surroundings have confirmed, that she’s been claiming Chris cheated on her with Emilia and they were still together when the Captain America actor and Dawson started dating.”

“... with Smith's new claims in the picture, we now look at the whole case in a different way. The cheating part would explain the tension between the exes during yesterday's outing. Apparently, the exes were even living together when the affair started.”

Great. Now I’m a homewrecker.

I came back to the email and checked what Hannah has written:

“Normally, I wouldn’t recommend that, but Chris’ and your movie comes out later this year and we don’t want another Angelina, Brad and Jennifer thing. I would suggest publishing a statement denying these allegations, containing some details, because if she’s actually been saying that, then we might be facing a bigger problem.”

Chris shifted and took a big breath through his nose. He stretched out his arms and looked up at me, with his sleepy, half-closed eyes. “Hi, sexy.” He murmured, before pulling my body close to his and scratching his beard against the soft skin on my stomach.

I smiled at him and found Hannah’s number, then simply texted her: “Do your worst.”

(Sidenote: I changed the name of one of Chris' exes, because I made her into a much bigger bitch than I thought I would)

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prolapsarian · 5 years

Text

Conversation with David Panos about The Searchers

The Searchers by David Panos is at Hollybush Gardens, 1-2 Warner Yard London EC1R 5EY, 12 January – 9 February 2019

There is something chattering. Alongside a triptych a small screen displays the rhythmic loop of hands typing, contorting, touching, holding. A movement in which the artifice strains between shuddering and juddering. Machinic GIFs seem to frame an event which may or may not have taken place. Their motions appear to combine an endless neurotic repetition and a totally adrenal pumped and pumping tension, anticipating confrontation.

JBR: How do the heavily stylised triptych of screens in ‘The Searchers’ relate to the GIF-like loops created out of conventionally-shot street footage? DP: I think of the three screens as something like the ‘unconscious’ of these nervous gestures. I’m interested in how video compositing can conjure up impossible or interior spaces, perhaps in a way similar to painting. Perhaps these semi-abstract images can somehow evoke how bodies are shot through with subterranean currents—the strange world of exchange and desire that lies under the surface of reality or physical experience. Of course abstractions don't really ‘inhabit’ bodies and you can’t depict metaphysics, but Paul Klee had this idea about an aesthetic ‘interworld’, that painting could somehow reveal invisible aspects of reality through poetic distortion. Digital video and especially 3D graphics tend to be the opposite of painting—highly regimented and sat within a very preset Euclidean space. I guess I’ve been trying to wrestle with how these programs can be misused to produce interesting images—how images of figures can be abstracted by them but retain some of their twitchy aliveness. JBR: This raises a question about the difference between the control of your media and the situation of total control in contemporary cinematic image making. DP: Under the new regimes of video making, the software often feels like it controls you. Early analogue video art was a sensuous space of flows and currents, and artists like the Vasulkas were able to build their own video cameras and mixers to allow them to create whole new images—in effect new ways of seeing. Today that kind of utopian or avant-garde idea that video can make surprising new orders of images is dead—it’s almost impossible for artists to open up a complex program like Cinema 4D and make it do something else. Those softwares were produced through huge capital investment funding hundreds of developers. But I’m still interested in engaging with digital and 3D video, trying to wrestle with it to try and get it to do something interesting—I guess because the way that it pictures the world says something about the world at the moment—and somehow it feels that one needs to work in relation to the heightened state of commodification and abstraction these programs represent. So I try and misuse the software or do things by hand as much as possible, and rather than programming and rendering I manipulate things in real time. JBR: So in some way the collective and divided labour that goes into producing the latest cinematic commodities also has a doubled effect: firstly technique is revealed as the opposite of some kind of freedom, and at the same time this has an effect both on how the cinematic object is treated and how it appears. To be represented objects have to be surrounded by the new 3D capture technology, and at the same time it laminates the images in a reflected glossiness that bespeaks both the technology and the disappearance of the labour that has gone into creating it. DP: I’m definitely interested in the images produced by the newest image technologies—especially as they go beyond lens-based capture. One of the screens in the triptych uses volumetric capturing— basically 3D scanning for moving image. The ‘camera’ perspective we experience as the viewer is non-existent, and as we travel into these virtual, impossible perspectives it creates the effect of these hollowed out, corroded bodies. This connects to a recurring motif of ‘hollowing out’ that appears in the video and sculpture I’ve been making recently. And I have a recurring obsession with the hollowing out of reality caused by the new regime of commodities whose production has become cut to the bone, so emptied of their material integrity that they’re almost just symbols of themselves. So in my show ‘The Dark Pool’ (Hollybush Gardens, 2014) I made sculptural assemblages with Ikea tables and shelves, which when you cut them open are hollow and papery. Or in ‘Time Crystals’ (Pumphouse Gallery, 2017) I worked with clothes made in the image of the past from Primark and H&M that are so low-grade that they can barely stand washing. We are increasingly surrounded by objects, all of which have—through contemporary processes of hyper-rationalisation and production—been slowly emptied of material quality. Yet they have the resemblance of luxury or historical goods. This is a real kind of spectral reality we inhabit. I wonder to myself about how the unconscious might haunt us in these days when commodities have become hollow. Might it be like Benjamin’s notion of the optical unconscious, in which through the photographic still the everyday is brought into a new focus, not in order to see what is behind the veil of semblance, but to see—and reclaim for art—the veiling in a newly-won clarity. DP: Yes, I see these new technologies as similar, but am interested in how they don't just change impact perception but also movement. The veiled moving figures in ‘The Searchers' are a strange byproduct of digital video compositing. I was looking to produce highly abstract linear depictions of bodies reduced to fleshy lines, similar to those in the show and I discovered that the best way to create these abstract images was to cover the face and hands of performers when you film them to hide the obvious silhouettes of hands and faces. But asking performers to do this inadvertently produced a very peculiar movement—the strange veiled choreography that you see in the show. I found this footage of the covered performers (which was supposed to be a stepping stone to a more digitally mediated image, and never actually seen) really suggestive— the dancers seem to be seeking out different temporary forms and they have a curious classical or religious quality or sometimes evoke a contemporary state of emergency. Or they just look like absurd ghosts. JBR: In the last hundred years, when people have talked about ghosts the one thing they don’t want to think about is how children consider ghosts, as figures covered in a white sheet, in a stupid tangible way. Ghosts—as traumatic memories—have become more serious and less playful. Ghosts mean dwelling on the unfinished business of the past, or apprehending some shard of history left unredeemed that now revisits us. Not only has no one been allowed to be a child with regard to ghosts, but also ghosts are not for materialists either. All the white sheets are banished. One of the things about Marx when he talks about phantoms—or at least phantasmagorias—is much closer to thinking about, well, pieces of linen and how you clothe someone, and what happens with a coat worked up out of once living, now dead labour that seems more animate than the human who wears it. DP: Yes, I’ve been very interested in Marx’s phantasmagorias. I reprinted Keston Sutherland’s brilliant essay on how Marx uses the term ‘Gallerte’ or ‘gelatine’ to describe abstract labour for a recent show. Sutherland highlights a vitalism in Marx’s metaphysics that I’m very drawn to. For the last few years I’ve been working primarily with dancers and physical performers and trying to somehow make work about the weird fleshy world of objects and how they’re shot through with frozen labour. I love how he describes the ‘wooden brain’ of the table as commodity and how he describes it ‘dancing’—I always wanted to make an animatronic dancing table. JBR: There is also a sort of joyfulness about that. The phantasmagoria isn’t just scary but childish. Of course you are haunted by commodities, of course they are terrifying, of course they are worked up out of the suffering and collective labour of a billion bodies working both in concert and yet alienated from each other. People’s worked up death is made into value, and they all have unfinished business. But commodities are also funny and they bumble around; you find them in your house and play with them. DP: Well my last body of work was all about dancing and how fashion commodities are bound up with joy and memory, but this show has come out much bleaker. It’s about how bodies are searching out something else in a time of crisis. It’s ended up reflecting a sense of lack and longing and general feeling of anxiety in the air. That said I am always drawn to images that are quite bright, colourful and ‘pop’ and maybe a bit banal—everyday moments of dead time and secret gestures. JBR: Yes, but they are not so banal. In dealing with tangible everyday things we are close to time and motion studies, but not just in terms of the stupid questions they ask of how people work efficiently. Rather this raises questions of what sort of material should be used so that something slips or doesn’t slip—or how things move with each other or against each other—what we end up doing with our bodies or what we end up putting on our bodies. Your view into this is very sympathetic: much art dealing in cut-up bodies appears more violent, whereas the ruins of your abstractions in the stylised triptych seem almost caring. DP: Well I’m glad you say that. Although this show is quite dark I also have a bit of a problem with a strain of nihilist melancholy that pervades a lot of art at the moment. It gives off a sense of being subsumed by capitalism and modern technology and seeing no way out. I hope my work always has a certain tension or energy that points to another possible world. But I’m not interested in making academic statements with the work about theory or politics. I want it to gesture in a much more intuitive, rhythmic, formal way like music. I had always made music and a few years back started to realise that I needed to make video with the same sense of formal freedom. The big change in my practice was to move from making images using cinematic language to working with simultaneous registers of images on multiple screens that produce rhythmic or affective structures and can propose without text or language. JBR: The presentation of these works relies on an intervention into the time of the video. If there is a haunting here its power appears in the doubled domain of repetition, which points both backwards towards a past that must be compulsively revisited, and forwards in convulsive anticipatory energy. The presentation of the show troubles cinematic time, in which not only is linear time replaced by cycles, but also new types of simultaneity within the cinematic reality can be established between loops of different velocities. DP: Film theorists talk about the way ‘post-cinematic’ contemporary blockbusters are made from images knitted together out of a mixture of live action, green-screen work, and 3D animation. I’ve been thinking how my recent work tries to explode that—keep each element separate but simultaneous. So I use ‘live’ images, green-screened compositing and CGI across a show but never brought together into a naturalised image—sort of like a Brechtian approach to post-cinema. The show is somehow an exploded frame of a contemporary film with each layer somehow indicating different levels of lived abstractions, each abstraction peeling back the surface further. JBR: This raises crucial questions of order, and the notion that abstraction is something that ‘comes after’ reality, or is applied to reality, rather than being primary to its production. DP: Yes good point. I think that’s why I’m interested in multiple screens visible simultaneously. The linear time of conventional editing is always about unveiling whereas in the show everything is available at the same time on the same level to some extent. This kind of multi-screen, multi-layered approach to me is an attempt at contemporary ‘realism’ in our times of high abstraction. That said it’s strange to me that so many artworks and games using CGI these days end up echoing a kind of ‘naturalist’ realist pictorialism from the early 19th Century—because that’s what is given in the software engines and in the gaming-post-cinema complex they’re trying to reference. Everything is perfectly in perspective and figures and landscapes are designed to be at least pseudo ‘realistic’. I guess that’s why you hear people talking about the digital sublime or see art that explores the Romanticism of these ‘gaming’ images. JBR: But the effort to make a naturalistic picture is—as it was in the 19th century—already not the same as realism. Realism should never just mean realistic representation, but instead the incursion of reality into the work. For the realists of the mid-19th century that meant a preoccupation with motivations and material forces. But today it is even more clear that any type of naturalism in the work can only serve to mask similar preoccupations, allowing work to screen itself off from reality. DP: In terms of an anti-naturalism I’m also interested in the pictorial space of medieval painting that breaks the laws of perspective or post-war painting that hovered between figuration and abstraction. I recently returned to Francis Bacon who I was the first artist I was into when I was a teenage goth and who I’d written off as an adolescent obsession. But revisiting Bacon I realised that my work is highly influenced by him, and reflects the same desire to capture human energy in a concentrated, abstracted way. I want to use ‘cold’ digital abstraction to create a heightened sense of the physical but not in the same way as motion capture which always seems to smooth off and denature movement. So the graph-like image in the centre of the triptych (Les Fantômes) in this show twitches with the physicality of a human body in a very subtle but palpable way. It looks like CGI but isn’t and has this concentrated human life force rippling through it.

If in this space and time of loops of the exploded unstill still, we find ourselves again stuck in this shuddering and juddering, I can’t help but ask what its gesture really is. How does the past it holds gesture towards the future? And what does this mean for our reality and interventions into it. JBR: The green-screen video is very cold. The ruined 3D version is very tender. DP: That's funny you say that. People always associate ‘dirty’ or ‘poor’ images with warmth and find my green-screen images very cold. But in the green-screened video these bodies are performing a very tender dance—searching out each other, trying to connect, but also trying to become objects, or having to constantly reconfigure themselves and never settling. JBR: And yet with this you have a certain conceit built into the drapes you use: one that is in a totally reflective drape, and one in a drape that is slightly too close to the colour of the greenscreen background. Even within these thin props there seems to be something like a psychological description or diagnosis. And as much as there is an attempt to conjoin two bodies in a mutual darkness, each seems thrown back by its own especially modern stigma. The two figures seem to portray the incompatibility of the two poles established by veiled forms of the world of commodities: one is hidden by a veil that only reflects back to the viewer, disappearing behind what can only be the viewer’s own narcissism and their gratification in themselves, which they have mistaken for interest in an object or a person, while the other clumsily shows itself at the very moment that it might want to seem camouflaged against a background that is already designed to disappear. It forces you to recognise the object or person that seems to want to become inconspicuous. And stashed in that incompatibility of how we find ourselves cloaked or clothed is a certain unhappiness. This is not a happy show. Or at least it is a gesturally unsettled and unsettling one. DP: I was consciously thinking of the theories of gesture that emerged during the crisis years of the early 20th century. The impact of the economic and political on bodies. And I wanted the work to reflect this sense of crisis. But a lot of the melancholy in the show is personal. It's been a hard year. But to be honest I’m not that aligned to those who feel that the current moment is the worst of all possible times. There’s a left/liberal hysteria about the current moment (perhaps the same hysteria that is fuelling the rise of right-wing populist ideas) that somehow nothing could be worse than now, that everything is simply terrible. But I feel that this moment is a moment of contestation, which is tough but at least means having arguments about the way the world should be, which seems better than the strange technocratic slumber of the past 25 years. Austerity has been horrifying and I realise that I’ve been relatively shielded from its effects, but the sight of the post-political elites being ejected from the stage of history is hopeful to me, and people seem to forget that the feeling of the rise of the right has been also met with a much broader audience for the left or more left-wing ideas than have been previously allowed to impact public discussion. That said, I do think we’re experiencing the dog-end of a long-term economic decline and this sense of emptying out is producing phantasms and horrors and creating a sense of palpable dread. I started to feel that the images I was making for ‘The Searchers’ engaged with this. David Panos (b. 1971 in Athens, Greece) lives and works in London, UK. A selection of solo and group exhibitions include Pumphouse Gallery, Wandsworth, London, 2017 (solo); Sculpture on Screen. The Very Impress of the Object, Gulbenkian Museum, Lisbon, Portugal [Kirschner & Panos], 2017; Nemocentric, Charim Galerie, Vienna, 2016; Atlas [De Las Ruinas] De Europa, Centro Centro, Madrid, 2016; The Dark Pool, Albert Baronian, Brussels, (solo), 2015; The Dark Pool, Galeria Marta Cervera, Madrid, 2015; Whose Subject Am I?, Kunstverein Fur Die Rheinlande Und Westfalen, Düsseldorf, 2015; The Dark Pool, Hollybush Gardens, London, (solo), 2014; A Machine Needs Instructions as a Garden Needs Discipline, MARCO Vigo, 2014; Ultimate Substance, B3 Biennale des bewegten Blides, Nassauischer Kunstverein, Wiesbaden, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; Ultimate Substance, CentrePasquArt, Biel, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; Ultimate Substance, Extra City, Antwerp, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; The Magic of the State, Lisson Gallery, London, 2013; HELL AS, Palais de Tokyo, Paris, 2013.

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