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glimmerofawesome · 3 years

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This is Sam Kerr: A superstar with elite sport in her blood

In the white-walled hallway of the Kerr residence in Perth, Roxanne Kerr has a framed photo of the moment her daughter’s image was projected onto the sliding-shell roof tiles of the Sydney Opera House. In the darkness, the profile of an airborne Sam Kerr sails above the waters of Sydney Harbour, backlit by triangles of yellow and green to celebrate Australia’s successful World Cup 2023 bid.

“Your daughter’s on the Opera House — how is that?” says Roxanne, dreamily.

The family treasure it all the more because through it, they glimpse Sam as she was when, aged eight, she walked through some hills and decided that if the other kids were rolling down, the least she could manage was a backward tuck. “And she just taught herself,” says Roxanne. “It amazes me that she can still do it at her age. It shocked me. The first-ever time she did it for the Matildas, she didn’t land properly, but now that’s all people want to see.”

Yet her daughter is just like every other, in that she often neglects to keep her parents in the loop. Roxanne is used to seeing Sam stare back from banners in Australian shopping centres. Normal, too, are the texts from family and friends captioned: “Look who I’ve bumped into.” But the small matter of her springing from the side of the continent’s most iconic building slipped Sam’s mind, as did her international debut in Canberra in 2009.

“She loves us to travel and watch her games, but she doesn’t like a lot of fuss,” says Roxanne. “She didn’t even tell us that she was going to get a cap. She never tells me anything because she’s too embarrassed, too shy. I have a friend who cuts out every single newspaper article. She must have seen the Opera House on Facebook.”

Roxanne called Sam, who said, simply: “It’s nice, isn’t it, Mum?”

You wonder if Kerr Junior would describe winning the Champions League today (Sunday) in the same terms or if she’ll be able to muster any words at all given her manager at Chelsea, Emma Hayes, spent the hours after reaching the final in a haze of joyful tears.

Her itinerant career comprises a shower of titles from three continents, her spell at Chelsea — where she is understood to be earning £500,000 a year — providing more than half the silverware. Previously, she would play in the US over the summer and then, come October, return home to Australia to compete in the W-League. Success against Barcelona today would yield her sixth winners’ medal for Chelsea in 497 days, having made her debut on January 5, 2020. It would also make her the third Australian to play in a Champions League final, close to two years on from becoming the first to score a World Cup hat-trick. Fewer than five Australians have ever represented either senior Chelsea team.

Kerr (right) celebrates the Fran Kirby goal that sealed Chelsea’s 4-1 win over Bayern Munich and fired them into the Champions League final (Photo: Catherine Ivill/Getty Images)

From her car in Perth, where she has run on her lunch break, Roxanne tells The Athletic how she found out her daughter had signed for Chelsea. She and Sam’s grandmother, Coral, had flown to Chicago, where Kerr was racing towards the NWSL Golden Boot, and entered her apartment to see a blue Chelsea shirt. “And nobody was allowed to know because she didn’t want it out before Chelsea announced it,” she says. “I was very excited, because I love London. I thought I would have had four or five trips by now.”

Kerr’s arrival on UK shores garnered unprecedented media attention — photographers were docked at Heathrow to capture her wheeling her way through international arrivals and followed her all the way to the waiting black cab — and this season’s Women’s Super League Golden Boot has left her and Hayes vindicated after a tricky first few weeks; not that there was ever any real doubt she would come good, but only this season has Kerr been able to show us the full contents of her armoury.

“I’m so happy for her,” says Roxanne, “because she didn’t score in those first couple of games and she’s so used to scoring. Every time she spoke to me, it was about the cold — she really struggled with that. We watched every game and she was nearly there, but I could see that she was beating herself up a little bit.” Kerr’s mum doled out the usual pearls of wisdom: “You’re trying too hard and it will come.”

“She wasn’t putting away goals that she normally would do with the eyes closed. I think she was just so nervous. But once she got that first one, you knew that it would start happening because she gets a rhythm and a confidence, and she’s happy.”

On current form, a third Ballon d’Or nomination feels inevitable. Her closest rival is Chelsea team-mate Fran Kirby, though it is a stretch to say the pair are in competition, they have instead glided through the season with their irresistible glee and elan, combining for 52 of the club’s 120 goals.

The moment it clicked for Kerr was when, after months of being assisted by Kirby and a year on from her Chelsea debut, she was finally able to return the favour as her strike partner scored four against Reading in January. “From then on, I was like, ‘OK — this is going to become something now. I’m going to make it my goal to not only get goals off Fran, but to help her score’,” she said. “When we play fast football, no one can keep up with us.

“When you give the ball to Fran, you know you’re going to get it back. Whether I’m making a run to take a defender away or making a run to get the ball, it’s always easy to play with her because she’s so unselfish. I don’t even have to look. I just know that Fran’s going to be there. It looks telepathic.”

Perhaps they were fated to play together. Maybe there is an alternate universe in which Kirby and Kerr never met. It could easily have been this one; 14,528 km separate Kirby’s birthplace in Reading from Kerr’s in East Fremantle, Western Australia. Kerr might never have picked up a football — she began her sporting career, famously, as an Australian Rules player until the opportunities in that sport dried up for girls when she was 12 — were it not for a visit to her cousin’s house shortly after quitting her first love. She initially refused a trial for the state side. Roxanne recalls the coach telling the family Sam was the first person to ever say no to him.

A young Kerr adorns the programme for the 2006 Qantas National Youth Championships for Girls

Then there was the injury in 2015: a Lisfranc fracture, where the metatarsal bones are dislodged and the foot, to put it simply, falls apart. Or, in Roxanne’s words, the bones “spread like there’s no support. It really can be career-ending”.

It nearly was for Kerr, whose Olympics dream was left hanging by a thread. She had a plate fitted in her foot and the Australian Olympic Committee wanted her back for their Olympic qualifiers in Japan. Roxanne drove her to the local park and would “video her running so they can see how she was, and I could just tell that there was no way she was going to get there. She always says, ‘I don’t realise how much I love football until something like this happens’.” Kerr made it to the Olympics though, later saying: “I had many conversations crying on the phone to Mum, telling her I didn’t want to do it any more.”

And there is the fact that Sam might not have ended up in Australia at all had her ancestors not upped sticks decades before she was born.

Roxanne’s father hails from Cork in Ireland — born in 1931, he recently turned 90, making him the oldest of 101 (yes, 101) grandchildren — and her mother’s side are from England.

Kerr’s grandmother on her maternal side was the only child of six to be born in Australia as both families emigrated by ship — “It took forever and I suppose half of them were convicts,” says Roxanne — landing in Freemantle, near Perth, with a £10 stipend.

Many who made the journey to Australia in the early 20th century were British migrants seeking a more prosperous life in another part of the Empire. After the First World War, Australia sought to expand its population in the event of further conflict and its government offered assisted passage, jobs and land grants to potential arrivals.

“Fremantle is where the heart of football is,” Roxanne adds.

On Baal Street, Palmyra, tucked behind spindle-fingered trees, stands the russet silhouette of the Sunlight Bakery. It is a museum now, due to restoration by the local council circa 1988, and you wonder how many of those who walk between the shelves lined with pewter kettles and ersatz bread know it was run by Kerr’s great grandparents in its heyday.

“They used to deliver the bread by horse and cart,” says Roxanne. There is a photograph in the State Library of Western Australia of a horse, Barney, guiding a rickety cart with “Bakers” painted on one side in white. Roxanne’s father became a sheet metal worker, helping build the now-demolished railway lines along the south.

Roxanne’s great grandmother purchased huge plots of land and gave them to her 14 children as wedding presents. Back then, Roxanne’s parents were allowed to keep racehorses in their back garden. Her uncle, JJ Miller, won the 1966 Melbourne Cup — the country’s most famous horse race — on a horse called Galilee. Her cousin, David Neesham, represented Australia in water polo at three Olympics and was inducted into the Water Polo Australia Hall of Fame in 2010. Her other cousin, Danny, is 73 and still riding horses, making him, Roxanne claims, “the oldest jockey in Australia”. There are “probably about 10 Australia Rules footballers” in the family, Roxanne says, including her father, some uncles and her son Daniel — Sam’s brother, 10 years her senior. Her husband, too.

Maybe such a sprawling family — Roxanne is one of 10 children — was always, by the law of averages, bound to spawn some sporting talent. The introduction of Sam’s father, Roger, makes the gene pool more enviable still, and there can be few families, barring the Osmonds and the Jacksons, with as many Wikipedia pages between them.

Born in Calcutta, Roger’s English father was a featherweight boxer for Bengal and his Indian mother played basketball. India had just gained independence from British rule: Coral Kerr, his mother, worked for a British paint company and his father, an Anglo-Indian, on the railways. Amid the violence of India’s final partition, they moved to Australia. The original plan had been to move to Melbourne but doctors warned that Roger’s father would struggle with the cold. They arrived in Perth when Roger was 10.

His and Roxanne’s introduction was something of a meet-cute. “He lived around the corner from me and I was riding past on my bike and we had a little bit of an altercation because of his dog,” she recalls, “My friend said one day, ‘Would you like to come and meet these really nice people that just moved over here?’ and it was him. I’m like, ‘These are the people we had a fight with last week!’”

They flew Coral back to India for an Anglo-Indian reunion and learned that she’d had an ayah, or a nursemaid, as well as “someone to sweep the floor, someone to walk the children to school, someone to take the children at lunch. She got taken to work every day and came home and everything was done, so she never learned how to do anything”. Aged 28, Coral then arrived in Australia with no domestic skills. “She went to the butcher and she bought sausage meat to make mince curry,” says Roxanne.

Roxanne’s uncle Michael was a professional Aussie Rules footballer and Roger moved in opposite.

“He grabbed Roger and took him to football, and something clicked,” says Roxanne proudly. He played more than 100 times in seven years of professional football. The highs and lows of his playing, and later coaching, career informed Roxanne’s handling of Sam as her daughter’s career lurched from fledgling to its apogee.

“Once you get up there, people just want to knock you down, but we don’t take much notice of it,” says Roxanne. “I would say to someone, ‘You think it’s OK for us to criticise my son or my husband and my daughter, but if I said something about your child, you’d be upset. What’s the difference?’. ‘Oh, yours are professionals’.

“I don’t think it gets any easier or harder. You just learn more, that this is the way it is.”

The Kerr family, with Sam pictured left, dad Roger (back row, left), brother Daniel (back row, middle) mum Roxanne (front row, second from right) and grandmother Coral (right)

One needs a human touch to raise two children embedded in elite sport, especially when Roxanne was en route to New Zealand and received a phone call from a coach to say that Sam was out of sorts. She was missing her school ball for her training camp. By then, she had already missed so much, so the federation sent her home the next Friday and Roxanne drove her to town on Saturday to pick out her dress.

“It was hard at the beginning because they travelled so much,” she remembers. Kerr had travelled with the Australian national team since she was 13 and was in her late teens when she moved to New York, the family separated by an ocean, an equator, 18,690km and a 12-hour time difference.

“Parents used to say to me, ‘How do you do it? I cry when my son goes on school camps and your daughter’s going halfway across the world?’ I’m like, ‘Just something you do’. I worry but I’m never going to stop them living their dreams. Sam doesn’t worry much about anything but she reckons I start crying before we’re 20 minutes out from the airport. Every time she dropped me in America, she’d say, ‘Bring the tissues because Mum will be crying the whole way there’. But she doesn’t.”

The Kerrs have a routine for big games: time difference permitting, the family convene at Roxanne’s house and they watch Sam play over dinner, surrounded by their nephews and niece.

A first-leg deficit meant Chelsea had to score twice at Kingsmeadow against Bayern Munich to progress to this Champions League final. The second leg earlier this month was locked at 2-1, the only scoreline that would bring extra time, for 41 minutes. “I was like, ‘They have to score this many goals’,” says Roxanne. “I never thought they would. I was so nervous, and I’ll be like that on Sunday. I won’t be able to sleep.”

The final will be shown at 2.30am in the Kerrs’ part of Australia.

Roxanne has predicted a 3-1 Chelsea win in the Swedish city of Gothenburg, but she lives in dread of a penalty shootout. “I’ll probably get up at one o’clock and walk around for an hour and a half, waiting for the game,” she says. “They’ve done us proud just getting there but now you want them to go all the way. I’ll set my alarm and we’ll all get up and watch it.”

There will be few complaints, you feel, at the early start if Kerr and Chelsea become European champions tonight.

#sam kerr #chelsea women #chelsea fcw

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ratingtheframe · 3 years

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A strong performance from Rosamund Pike that we haven’t seen in years - I Care A Lot REVIEW

Bold and punchy, I Care A Lot has A LOT to offer including Rosamund Pike as a head strong and cutthroat entrepreneur with a questionable business adventure.

If someone were to ask me what my thoughts on Rosamund Pike are, I'd immediately drawn my attention to her performance in David Fincher’s Gone Girl as Amy Dunne; a vicious and vivacious sociopath who frames her husband for her own death. That was 7 years ago though and since then Rosamund Pike has had various other lead roles and TV appearances, playing Marie Curie in her biopic Radioactive (2019) and war correspondent Marie Colven in the Golden Globe Nominated picture A Private War (2018). Both roles were notable and had some significance in Pike’s ongoing career, however neither matched that of her latest role in this boldly told tale.

Marla Grayson is first introduced to us physically in a courtroom. I say physically as the film opens with an intriguing montage that’s plagued by an unnecessary V.O monologue from Marla. There are a few elements to this film that do more harm than good such as this V.O, but for now, Marla Grayson is in the midst of battling a man whose mother has been legally put into her care. Marla is cunning from the get go, her face framed with a sharply trimmed bob and lips lined with red lipstick. From the outsiders view, she appears sincere, loving even, talking well of her patient and the defendant’s mother that comes across as caring. Caring a lot in fact. The judge (Isiah Whitlock Jr.) sympathises with her, almost brandishing her as some saviour when surely the man would know what’s best for his own mother. But because Marla has a winning smile, perfect teeth and isn’t a man, the judge grants her full “custody” of the man’s mother.

This idea that Marla gets away with what she does because of who she is biologically, is highlighted after the ceremonial court hearing, when the man whose mother she’s taking care of bombards her on the street with vulgar threats. Marla remains grounded in this, almost too grounded for my liking as she spouts some on the nose dialogue about the man’s shame at losing to a woman. Though true, this moment could’ve been constructed in a more subtle way instead of referring directly to both their genitalia.

What we begin to establish is Marla’s business adventures as a woman who virtually cons the elderly out of their assets and forces them into care homes with high monthly bills. Once they’re imprisoned in these homes, Marla and her sidekick Fran (Eiza González) cash in on everything her clients own. Now despite the horror of such an act, it's extremely hard to dislike Marla and the way in which she conducts her business, which in itself is horrific seeing as she exploits the elderly with zero conscience. And that’s also the reason why Marla has been able to get away with so much, practically building an entire empire off the backs of those who can be manipulated the easiest. She’s successful in her work until she decides to prey on Jennifer (two time Oscar winner Dianne Weist) a seemingly independent and healthy woman until Marla brands her unfit to take care of herself, using a phoney doctor to prove it who advises the court that Jennifer be taken into Marla’s care. Jennifer is what Marla labels a cherry, someone who’s very rich, without any family or friends who could intervene or vouch for her. Marla decides to take her pick but clearly hasn’t done her homework as a few days later when Fran is redecorating Jennifer’s home, an unknown man comes knocking on the door to pick up Jennifer.

Turns out Jennifer isn’t as lonely as Marla thinks and the decision to force Jennifer into her care has disastrous consequences. Marla goes from thinking Jennifer is a cherry to learning that she’s a spider’s web, with attachments not only to a real family but also the Russian Mafia. Her son (Peter Dinklage) not only wants his mother out of Marla’s care but also for someone to pay for putting her there in the first place...

I Care A Lot started off terrifically. Rosamund Pike certainly controlled the playing field, scoring frequently in her performance as calculated and cold. It was a refreshing reminder of her role in Gone Girl whilst also allowing us to appreciate Pike as a stand alone actor who approaches her roles with ingenuity and flare. Her and González made a great on screen pairing and did a great deal in trying to tell this story with patience and truth. However, the on the nose dialogue that kept making a frequent appearance and the way the story lost itself by the end were two grating parts to this film. Not only that, but the film's finale felt rushed and out of tune to the rest of the story and setting that first gave us the film. There was certainly a huge genre flip by the end of the film that hadn’t been set up properly and if anything, left me rolling my eyes. It's a shame to say seeing as the performances of all actors in this film were truthful and grounded, despite the majority of the story being structured in an unsatisfactory way. An abundance of cliches that fall into action genres withheld the film’s potential and had me placing it in the box of films that aren’t worth watching. I praise the film’s well written, three dimensional characters and stylistic storytelling however the story itself lacked refinement and authenticity.

Rosamund Pike didn’t disappoint in I Care A Lot and had me caring a lot about her, just not the rest of the film.

I Care A Lot is available to watch on Amazon Prime now,

#i care a lot #rosamund pike #peter dinklage #eiza gonzalez #amazon prime video #new movies #movies 2021 #cinema #movie reviews

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introvertguide · 3 years

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The Apartment (1960); AFI #80

The next film on the list that we reviewed was the one of the last black and white films to win best picture, The Apartment (1960). The film actually held the title of last B&W Best Picture winner for 50 years until The Artist came along in in 2011. Along with Best Picture, the film was nominated for 10 Oscars and won Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Art Direction, and Best Editing. The film also won Best Picture from the Golden Globes, the BAFTAs, the Director’s Guild Awards, and the Critic’s Circle Awards. Truly a great synthesis of acting, directing, cinematography, music, and story, this movie is one of the lesser known greatest films of all time. I have more to say about this film, but I want to go over the story in all of its excellence. But first...

SPOILER ALERT!!! THIS COMEDY HAS LEGITIMATE SURPRISES AND SUBJECT MATTER THAT WOULDN’T FLY TODAY!!! TRULY A GREAT FILM THAT NEEDS TO BE SEEN!!! I STRONGLY SUGGEST WATCHING IT INSTEAD OF JUST READING THE STORY LINE!!!

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An opening run of establishing shots with a voice over by the main character lets the audience know that he is a drone accountant at a giant firm with little chance to move up in the world. C.C. Baxter (Jack Lemmon) is a lonely office drudge at a national insurance corporation in New York City. He has lucked out and found a way to leverage his home in order to climb the corporate ladder. Baxter allows four company managers to take turns borrowing his Upper West Side apartment for their extramarital liaisons, which he manages with a detailed schedule. Baxter has not seen any movement, but he is constantly offered the promise of a promotion since he is a “team player.”

One of the serious down sides of this ploy is that his apartment is in constant use and the bosses are making a mess and drinking all his liquor. C.C. has no place to go some nights so he stays and works late. Because C.C. is constantly going in and out and people can hear women in his apartment, he is starting to develop a different kind of reputation with the other tenants. While unable to enter his own apartment when it is in use, his neighbors assume that their neighbor is a playboy bringing home a different woman every night.

C.C. is able to get glowing performance reports from his four managers and he is able to submit them to the personnel director, Jeff D. Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray), in hope of a promotion. Sheldrake promises to promote him, but demands that he also receive use of the apartment for his own affairs, beginning that night. As compensation for such short notice, he gives Baxter two theater tickets to The Music Man. After work, C.C. asks Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine), an elevator operator in the office building, to go to the musical with him. She agrees but goes first to meet with a "former fling," who turns out to be Sheldrake, and let him know there will be no more meetings. When Sheldrake dissuades her from breaking up with him and promising to divorce his wife for her, they go to the apartment as poor Baxter waits forlornly outside the theater.

Later, at the company's raucous Christmas party (there is dancing on the tables and the lamest strip tease of all time), Fran is told by Miss Olsen (Edie Adams), Sheldrake's secretary, that Sheldrake has also had affairs with her and other women employees. Later at Baxter’s apartment, Fran confronts Sheldrake with his lies. Sheldrake maintains that he genuinely loves her, but that he has no intention of splitting up with his wife. He then leaves to return to his suburban family as usual and Fran is so depressed that she finds sleeping pills in the apartment bathroom and attempts suicide.

Baxter learns through finding a dropped hand mirror that Fran is the woman Sheldrake has been taking to his apartment, so he goes to a bar and lets himself be picked up by a married woman. When they arrive at his apartment, he is shocked to find Fran in his bed, seemingly dead. He sends his pick-up away and enlists the help of his neighbor, Dr. Dreyfuss (Jack Krushen), to revive Fran without notifying the authorities. I should not laugh, but it is pretty funny that the doctor goes straight to slapping Fran in the face to wake her up. The actors did not hold back; he is slapping her in the face really hard, so much so that you can tell her cheeks are reddening even in black and white. Baxter makes Dreyfuss believe that he was the cause of the incident and, scolding his neighbor for his apparent philandering, Dreyfuss advises him to "be a mensch, a human being."

As Fran spends two days recuperating in the apartment, C.C. takes care of her, and a bond develops between them, especially after he confesses to having attempted suicide himself over unrequited feelings for a woman who now sends him a fruitcake every Christmas. While they play a game of gin rummy, Fran reveals that she has always suffered bad luck in her love life. As Baxter prepares a romantic dinner, one of the managers arrives with a woman. Although Baxter persuades them to leave, the manager recognizes Fran and informs his colleagues. Later confronted by Fran's brother-in-law, Karl Matuschka, who is looking for her, the managers direct Karl to the apartment out of jealousy. At the apartment, Karl's anger at Fran for her behavior is deflected by Baxter, who again takes responsibility. Karl punches C.C. (and interviews with Lemmon revealed that the punch did land), but when Fran kisses him for protecting her, he just smiles and says it "didn't hurt a bit."

Sheldrake learns that Miss Olsen told Fran about his affairs, so he makes the poor choice of firing the woman who knows of all his dealings, and she retaliates by meeting with Sheldrake's wife, who promptly throws her husband out. Sheldrake believes that this situation just makes it easier to pursue his affair with Fran. Having promoted C.C. to an even higher position, which also gives him a key to the executive washroom, Sheldrake expects Baxter to loan out his apartment yet again. Baxter gives him back the washroom key instead, proclaiming that he has decided to become a mensch, and quits the firm.

That night at a New Year's Eve party, Sheldrake indignantly tells Fran what happened. Realizing she is in love with Baxter, Fran abandons Sheldrake and runs to the apartment. At the door, she hears what sounds like a gunshot. Fearing that Baxter has attempted suicide again, she frantically pounds on the door. Baxter answers, holding a bottle of champagne whose cork he had just popped in celebration of his plan to start anew. As the two settle down to resume their gin rummy game, Fran tells C.C. that she is now free too. When he asks about Sheldrake, she replies, "We'll send him a fruitcake every Christmas." He declares his love for her, and she replies, "Shut up and deal."

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This film is one of the most praised movies of all time, but it is not one of the most generally well known. This is probably due to the subject matter, although It’s A Wonderful Life also deals with suicide and is one of the America’s most popular family films. The problem is most likely that extra marital affairs by big company management as a normal thing was highly frowned upon. With the whole #MeToo movement, it seems that this kind of philandering culture might very well have been a known problem for decades. A movie based around the premise that office managers need a nice place to have sex with secretaries and elevator girls would not have been acceptable under the Hays Code. This is also the second film on the AFI list where Fred MacMurray plays a bad guy before being the understanding patriarch on My Three Sons and the first person honored as a Disney Legend in 1987. Fun fact, MacMurray was an uncredited extra in a film called Girls Gone Wild in 1929.

Billy Wilder knew that this was going to be a divisive film due to content, but he also had the confidence that everything would work out following the massive success of his previous film, Some Like It Hot. Wilder had considered a film based on adultery back in the 1940s but was unable to get funding at the time due to the Hays Code. The film was also based on a real life Hollywood drama in which an agent was shot by a producer over an affair (in which a low level employee apartment was used) as well as a friend of a co-writer who returned home to a dead ex-girlfriend following a break-up.

It is amazing to think that this film is described as a comedy. There are office politics in which mid-level managers use local celeb status to take advantage of their subordinates. There are half a dozen cheating husbands that string along their affairs. There are characters so hurt that they would rather die than deal with what is done with them. There are raging parties at work where everyone gets massively drunk and dance on the desks. Women are treated like objects that either need to be protected with violence or thrown away. And yet the film is legitimately fun with characters that are worth rooting for.

Some of the success rides on the fabulous acting of Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine and the witty dialogue written by I.A.L. Diamond. In fact, the dialogue and limited characters feels a lot like a stage play, which come to fruition in the form of Promises, Promises on Broadway by Burt Bacharach, Hal David, and Neil Simon. Dealing with real sets and locations, however, resulted in some colds and sickness since the actors were really out in the New York snow. Some other realism in the film came from both lead actors taking blows for the film: Shirley MacLaine got proper slapped by the doctor and Jack Lemmon was really punched by the brother-in-law.

A stand out aspect for me in this film which I talk up quite a bit is the cinematography. I have used many screen grabs from the film and used them as my avatar. I identify with the feeling of being used for something which made a mid manager look good while allowing them to do bad things. In fact, I am sure that everyone has felt like a Baxter at some point, and it is great to see him stand up for himself. Here are a couple of screen grabs (besides the top photo above) that I have used:

That lonely man in the middle of countless empty desks, that look of frustration when others are using your things to live a better life than you, and that time that love makes utility become fun and gadgets seem pretentious. It is very easy for me to get lost in how much I love this film. It has been far and away my favorite find from the AFI Top 100 between when I first saw the film in 2014 and now.

So, should the film be on the top 100 list? It has the awards and the history along with being a fantastic film. Of course it belongs on the list. Would I recommend it? Yes. This film is the type that makes people like me want to go through lists like this. I had never heard of the film in 2014 and it floored me how good it was. Each time I watch I appreciate it more, and the whole film project becomes well worth my time and effort. This film is so good, it affirms my life choices. I invite and implore you to check it out for yourself.

#the apartment #jack lemmon #shirley maclaine #best picture #black and white #classic hollywood #cinematography #introvert #introverts #award winner #classic film #60s #comedy #billy wilder #perfect movies

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incorrectr27quotes · 4 years

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Wondering at what point in their relationship that tsuna started calling reborn by his real name 🥺 (i love that everyone seems to agree that it's renato sinclair haha)

Sorry, this is so late!｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

I wonder the same. (´；ω；`)

I like to think it just happens one late night, after a near-death experience in which Reborn got injured and it was really emotionally exhausting.

Like Tsuna saying to an unconscious Reborn, “I know you are strong. But that doesn’t make you any less human.” He takes a shaky breath, “You don’t need me babying you, of course. But I can’t stand the sight of you getting hurt to the point of ending bedridden, even if it’s temporary.”

And here he takes Reborn’s hand in one of his, and with the other he sweeps his thumb under Reborn’s eye, the cut he got on his temple trying to protect Tsuna from being crushed to death under a crumbling building.

“You are a part of me now, Renato.” Tsuna murmurs, like a secret. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” Like a prayer. “I don’t want to live without you.”

Or,

The morning after New Year’s celebration, where sometimes there’s a period of quietness and peace even when people are awake.

It’s a lazy day after a hectic week of preparations and they can finally take a break, even if it’s for a limited time. They’re basking in the afterglow of a successful, chaotic celebration with their loved ones, and they’re satiated, happy.

They’re lounging in bed and for once Reborn isn’t nagging Tsuna to get up early, not even because it way past noon, and Tsuna isn’t being a little shit about Reborn burying his cold hands under his sleep shirt. Instead he giggles as his stomach spasms, whines, “Reborn!” in an annoyed tone that has no real heat behind it, so of course Reborn doesn’t listen.

Instead he grins into Tsuna’s throat, digs his fingers into Tsuna’s ribs with just enough pressure to border this side of painful, but he’s gentle, playful. “Yes, Tesoro?” he says innocently, and Tsuna knows he’s full of shit.

“Stop it,” Tsuna chides, but aside from squirming, he doesn’t make to move. Reborn hums, nods solemnly like he’s taking Tsuna’s words seriously, and the pressure eases. Only to come full force, from belly to ribs to armpits, just before Tsuna can sigh in relief, making him screech. “Noooo,” Tsuna can barely get out between laughs. “Renato, stop!” And Reborn does, albeit slowly.

He’s silent as Tsuna recovers his breath, too still as the exhilaration in Tsuna’s insides settles into giddiness. And when Tsuna turns his head to look at him, he finds Reborn already staring at him, intent, eyes intense but tender, and lips lifted in a small, soft smile.

“What?” Tsuna asks, smiling in return. He can’t help it; Reborn has always had that effect on him.

“Nothing,” Reborn says. He just gazes at Tsuna.

“Liar,” Tsuna laughs breathily. He cradles Reborn’s face, thumb sweeping his cheekbone.

Reborn closes his eyes, content. He drapes an arm around Tsuna’s waist and pulls him close. His other hand circles Tsuna’s wrist loosely, his own thumb right on the back of Tsuna’s hand.

“You called me Renato,” he finally admits after a peaceful moment.

Tsuna stills at that, and Reborn tightens his hold slightly, because even though he doesn’t think Tsuna will withdraw, it’s instinct to want to prevent it in any case.

He needn’t worry. Tsuna resumes his ministrations soon enough, humming in acknowledgement.

“I did, didn’t I?” he says, amber eyes dancing with affection. He leans down to kiss Reborn’s forehead, and Reborn kisses his jaw in turn. “My Renato.”

And he says it reverently, like it’s a treasure, and with so much love it should scare Reborn, should activate his flight instinct, and yet.

The hardest thing Reborn thought he would ever have to do, if he ever did, is to surrender himself to another, to fall for them and trust them to catch him.

And yet.

Loving Tsuna, it turns out, is the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Or,

Reborn looks both ways before making his way down the hallway.

“Renato Sinclair.”

Reborn almost jumps out of his skin.

Busted! a voice that sounds annoyingly like Skull says in the back of his head.

He frunces his lips and retraces the two steps he barely made past the kitchen.

Tsuna is waiting for him, sitting on the counter, arms crossed and legs joined at the ankle.

“Well?” his little Sky raises an eyebrow.

Reborn sighs. He extends his arms, looks down at himself, at the bodily fluids splattered over his suit.

“Fuck it,” he smiles in defeat, and walks towards his love.

Tsuna beams. “Come kiss me you fool.”

“Watch it,” Reborn warns, but there’s no heat behind it.

Tsuna laughs against his lips, wrapping his arms around Reborn’s shoulders, unmindful of the blood. “You know better than to arrive after a long mission and not kiss me immediately after crossing that door.”

Reborn huffs a laugh against Tsuna’s mouth. “Yeah, I do.”

Or,

“Oh, Renato,” Tsuna sighs dramatically, posing the back of a hand to his forehead. “My Renato.”

“Ozora,” Reborn drapes himself all over Verde’s fainting couch. “My Sora.”

“You two are so extra,” Skull says after chugging a vial of something bright, neon pink.

“I personally appreciate Reborn learning Japanese names to accompany puns adequately,” Fon comments from his place over by the desk, sitting on the rug with I-Pin between his legs, where he’s feeding her little bits of gyoza with some forceps for lack of chopsticks.

“Please get out of my lab,” Verde says without inflection.

“Our temporary kitchen, darling,” Skull bats his lashes at him.

“I didn’t tell Fran to practice his illusions inside the house, did I?” Verde looks very pointedly at Viper.

Ze bares zir teeth at him playfully. Zir eyes fall to Verde’s lap, where a small bundle snores quietly. “I’m not the only one wrapped around a little finger.”

Skull laughs and leans in to kiss Verde, and at Colonnello’s noise of disgust, he laughs harder once Tsuna and Reborn start making out obnoxiously to annoy him.

As if Colonnello wasn’t playing with Lal’s hair where she has her head on his lap.

#i hope these drabbles can make up for the time it took me to answer <3 #p.s. Renato is one of the things the fandom as a whole did right #r27 #vs #a-girl-with-a-ponytail #rainbow ask #flame up; background!

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kamotoshi · 3 years

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so here we are on day 2 of what I thought was gonna be a week long break bc I had an epiphany that I suddenly felt the desire to share! so if you wanna read maybe like settle in bc I kinda wrote a lot (but is that new? no)

my brain! she doesn’t understand how to like... take something she likes and just enjoy it. everything always has to be a project or a task to be finished or a goal to reach. I’ve never been like hey my name’s fran and I like writing fanfiction! it’s always been hey my name’s fran and I like writing fanfiction so I'm gonna force myself to constantly come up with fic ideas and push out content bc I must be a workhorse and I don’t understand that not everything has to be methodical and meticulously planned and perfect!

I literally took writing (something I enjoy) and turned it into work (something I very much do not enjoy) all bc of this restless brain of mine and my extremely present anxiety that almost requires that I do something to prevent a crisis like every second of the damn day. I'm v tired of agonizing over both what I am doing and what I'm not doing. it’s exhausting when you’re already waiting for the time when you can go back to bed again the instant you get up lol

so I’m just gonna change my perspective here! I'm gonna try to stop guilting myself for every wip that sits without any additional progress being made, and for each one I knock off the list bc I'm just not that into it anymore. I'm gonna try to stop telling myself I HAVE to make content in order to make y’all happy. I'm gonna try to silence the little negative voice that always pops into my head each time I read or see something great that says “damn what happened with you, huh?” I'm gonna stop trying to measure my success by how many followers I have or how much work I do bc this is literally FOR FUN and it’s something I do IN MY FREE TIME bc it’s meant to be ENJOYABLE.

and! I'm gonna stop takin this blog so damn seriously! like shit! if I'm here, I'm here and I'm chattin/writin, and if I'm not, I'm not! who tf do I think I am like damn!!! we’re all just out here! doing our own things! goin for it! doin that! it’s all good! (like we really owe each other nothing in the grand scheme of it all if we're bein 100% honest here)

anyway I went thru a similar revelation with the whole notes crisis (in which notes became another success metric for me) but now I dont give a rat’s ass which is saying A LOT (bc I'm secretly an attention whore. maybe not as secretly as I think tho). I write my fics and I send em out into the cyberspace to be free bc as long as I enjoyed it then we’re good! and the whole reason I'm here in the first place is to share things in the hopes that maybe someone else likes it too! whatever happens happens! bc I sure as hell know I'll go back and gas myself up on somethin that only got like five notes!!

the productivity loop that I am stuck in (as well as many other members of society) is seriously powerful. and I know it’s gonna take a LOT of effort on my part to wrestle the controllers to my life away from bully! fran who’s stubborn and angry like the lil bull she is, but! I have hope bc I'm at least willing to try.

so, after I've just said I aint gotta explain shit to nobody, here I am explaining my shit to y’all *head in hands* BUT I'm writing this bc I felt like it, bc I'm ready to hold myself accountable, and just to put things into perspective for a sec. if you read this far I'll say “damn you must kinda like me huh 🥺” at the risk of sounding like the dude who says “in the shower? without me?”

with that being said, I'll be around when I'm around! come to my inbox whenever you want, I keep extra pillows and blankets and s'mores-building kits in there for whenever y’all wanna camp. I'm hoping my blog can continue to be a positive space for everyone to sit back and watch me clown myself unapologetically 😌 thank you for comin to my ted talk

#fran's ramblin #click the read more for a rant lmfao #I really popped off #but to be fair there's been a lot on my mind that I really wanted to just get off my chest #like I literally feel so much better now that ive written this #idc who reads it I'm just happy it was said #and that my brain has now registered the fact that we are going to switch to a more positive mindset #*or try to at least #anyway daily reminder I love yall #and I'm still gonna figure out how tf to actually maintain a queue for the sake of my sanity #tw anxiety

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flickwatches · 3 years

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Toronto vs Vancouver: Civil War

I decided to follow an Overwatch league on here for the season. I wanted to avoid a team with too many favorite players, a top tier team, and an APAC team (I gotta sleep). I thought about Vancouver, Boston, maybe even Houston. Boston released Soon, pissed me off. Third Impact 7k buyout leaks with Vancouver came out but I let it slide. I like too many players on Houston and I stopped believing in them. But than I saw Toronto and its rebuild. KDG, Heesu, Sado, Na1st, Michelle, and Lastro. Power pieces on an unproven team that wants to be good. I didn’t know which team to choose still so I let the first game of the season for Vancouver and Toronto decide who I would pick.

Vancouver Pros:

I love Dalton. Dude has been grinding for a very long time and deserves every bit of success he has earned. Huge fan of Teru from O2 Blast. Even bigger fan of FRDWNR for surviving this long. Dude is a nut. I still remember Frdwnr winning the Second Wind 1v1 tournament. Roolf is a veteran. Fire gets a chance to be the main main support. Linkzr rebirth on a team in need of firepower.

Vancouver Cons:

I’ll keep it short, Shredlock is a weakness (I hope he improves) but I really don’t want to be writing about Shredlock the entire season. Also the Org is scummy. Cut Runaway. The official original #1 Fan Favorite Runaway. How you release the most loved team in the history of Overwatch. And when you wanted to start small you wouldn’t pay out a small 7k buyout for all of Third Impact. Sigh.

Toronto Pros:

After trying to build a team from scratch. After trying fan favorite local talent. You invested money in proven coaches and players. The org wants to win. The org wants there fans to be happy. Toronto is trying to do good things. Shoutout to Karq, Agilities, and Fran for being content creators for Toronto. Now lets list the roster.

Aztac

Ansoonjae

Lastro

Sado

Beast

Michelle

Na1st

Logix

Heesu(god)

Will get more into each player later on but I just wanted to list them as Pros for now.

Toronto Cons:

I miss Agilities and Surefour. I wish the pandemic didn’t exist so I could consider traveling to there local events even though it would be quite a drive for me. I don’t have a lot of cons they seem to be willing to invest in the team. Could of done more for the last 2 rosters and staff. They struggled to keep it together last 2 seasons.

The Battle:

Vancouver vs Toronto. The Battle for Canada. The Battle for my love (and hate). I can’t keep avoiding this. I knew Heesu mite be special this season when he was playing over Carpe at the end of last season. I knew how good Na1st was on Fusin Uni back in the day. Happy to see him in OWL. Sado is a veteran and looks much better on a non-contender for best team in OWL. Michelle got perma benched on Seoul for some reason. Logix is good and great when its online play.

Wow, ok. I’m just talking about how amazing the Toronto roster is.

Map 1: Busan

I want to point out that Shredlock didn’t look that bad on Wrecking Ball. Toronto looked strong. Heesu started to showcase his future Role Star level of play. Toronto dominated the meta Rush and Dive plays. Vancouver struggled with objective priority. Which player would be responsible with contesting the Objective. When playing Wrecking Ball and Tracer usually one of them is responsible for touching point. This problem showed thruout the entire match. At one point neither Shredlock (Ball) or Dalton (Tracer) touched point while Na1st (Tracer) was capping. Forcing Linkzr to roll onto point to contest the cap. Forcing FRDWNR to peel for Linkzr which left Roolf alone as Zen. Toronto contested point and in the same motion turned onto the suddenly lonely Zen and killed him. While Shredlock and Dalton only attacked the Toronto backline. Toronto traded faster and more efficiently. While taking point control.

Toronto hard dominated Vancouver first map.

Map 2: Eichenwalde

If Vancouver was your average team the timebank they created on defense would of made the map winnable. But Toronto is obviously better than Vancouver (especially at Rush). And dying efficiently isn’t enough to win. Vancouver at least show cased its ability to lose fights and start the next fight well. They played as a team. Toronto at one point spawn camped Vancouver so long during Streets that the payload rolled back to first point. The Castors coining the phrase “Touch the payload challenge”.

Toronto walked away with this win even if they were forced to walk a little slower than expected.

Map 3: Watchpoint Gibraltar

Some people would say Toronto threw this map by playing its bench but KDG and the coaching staff wanted to make sure every player got to play first game. They put out Heesu, Logix, Beast, Michelle, Aztac, and Lastro this map.

This was obviously Vancouver’s best map. Double Bubble meta with no Rush. Linkzr had more power over the map as hitscan on high ground. The biggest factor was the payload almost getting to the end of Shuttle phase forcefully making Vancouver play the objective correctly.

Both Frontlines played the Double Bubble positions and cooldowns very well. A lot of great plays and team fights broke down correctly for both teams. Winstons making correct jumps, getting the bubbles, using there own bubbles correctly. Solid cleave and good primals. Zaryas played really well and Anas supported extremely well. The DPS had a field day with how well fights went for both teams.

Titans played there best and won there first map of the season. Even Shredlock looked good.

Map 4: Hanamura

Look at us, playing a map 4. Vancouver looked like they had a chance. They didn’t.

Hanamura was hard Rush vs Rush. Toronto was good at Rush and Vancouver was bad at Rush. FRDWNR tried really hard to hold it down but with no Cooldowns and too far away they eventually C9′d the match away.

Toronto played the Meta better and had the better team. Don’t be surprised if Toronto is a top 5 team in the West this season.

Conclusion:

Hello Toronto. Hello Defiant. And most importantly, Hello Heesu. I cannot wait to watch every Toronto game this season. Heesu and Na1st look strong. Lastro is still great. Big fan of Beast even if everyone else is down on him. Logix will get his chances on certain maps and metas. I hope they commit to this team and staff long term in Toronto. Not sure which jersey I’ll be buying this season. I’m not sure what the Defiant catchphrase is but Lets Get Rebellious or something.

PS Its 5am and I’m about to watch APAC. Sorry for any mistakes.

#Overwatch League #Toronto Defiant #Vancouver Titans #Overwatch #Esports

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whoregaylorenzo · 6 months

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they're really making it sound like fabio was some random kid they picked off the street and not a moto2 winner 😭

#pls...#fran watches building success

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truthaliar · 4 years

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aiiiiiiight so here’s a post about mental health representation in media; or in other words: my mental health and apparently, the umbrella academy.

ps i am in no way, shape or form a mental health professional - this is just retelling an experience i had

sooo okay i was talking to my therapist. i’m gonna paraphrase this but basically she was like ‘do you watch umbrella academy’ and i was like ‘yea my friends are trying to figure out who is who in my friend group’ and it basically went ‘oh did they put you as diego? good, let’s talk about your hero complex.’

now to clarify i’m not typically like super open about it, but i have ptsd & anxiety. my panic disorder is mostly controlled at this point (ie i can now pinpoint triggers). a few weeks ago i finally told my mom i had ptsd after several years and she just responded, ‘i know.’

anyway, i ended up learning that there’s peer reviewed articles about umbrella academy in psychiatric journals, highlighting the show’s potential as a mental health tool. also i never really saw myself in any of tua characters but vaguely recognized my obsession w/ justice in diego, and also saw myself in five’s caffeine addiction. so the fact that a medical person... saw diego - weirds me out a little. more on that in a sec.

so my therapist, i guess let’s call her fran, said that diego’s behavior & habits are tied to his inability to introspect and manage his own emotions so he externalizes & fixates on justice, this external thing that has clear, logical right & wrong, something that he can take into his own hands bc he feels that the system is broken. it’s easier for him to focus on that than on fixing himself.

to be clear she said it’s fairly common for ppl in diff branches of medicine to feel this way to a degree; you’re trained to be more detached from your emotions so it’s not unusual to (slightly-moderately) go either the diego route or the luther route if you begin to lose it (and hopefully not the five route cuz that’s a whole diff story). of course these are extremes (and she said i have parallels to diego, not that i have anywhere near his level of hero complex)

even still when she said that -- it hit different. like when my friends cast each other, it’s something we’ve been doing for years right? it’s just fun, and yea you often poke fun at yourself/each other in the process -- but it’s not the same as a professional saying ‘look at this extreme characterization of what could happen if you don’t take a step back‘. honestly my response was, ‘wow that doesn’t seem healthy.’

so the diego route is feeling like the system has failed you. therefore you want to act against or destroy the system that let you down, that didn’t care about you, that didn’t nurture you, and build something better -- on your own because the whole damn thing is unjust and it isn’t fair. the emotion you use to cope with is anger. and to build a new system you need people to back you. to get people to back you, you need to save them. kill the system, fix the broken. you might think you’re doing it on your own, but your success is still contingent on there being problems to solve.

the luther route -- based on my understanding bc she didn’t think i did this -- is more adhering yourself to the system and saying ‘good or bad, it’s by wedding myself to the system through which i will succeed, and i must be important because the system let me in to begin with.’

ofc any person can begin to display traits of any of those characters or of multiple characters, and to repeat they’re all in rough shape. and just bc she implied those are the two fairly common ways to feel in doesn’t mean you can’t be a klaus or a vanya or an allison or whoever you see similarities with.. like that’s the point. everyone responds to trauma differently. and it’s also a one-size fits all. she didn’t mean to and i do not mean to represent the siblings as perfect representations -- only that it does happen to match my behavior.

fran told me that to snap out of the hero complex, at least sometimes, you have to be able to separate yourself from the injustice that surrounds you n understand that people aren’t helpless and you are not here to save everyone. bc first of all - that’s a lot of fuckin’ work and second of all - that’s kinda rude to assume that people can’t fix their own problems. and unless they ask us for help, it’s our job to let them. after all, i’d be pissed if someone thought i needed saving.

so then comes the part i struggle with which is detaching yourself from the work you inevitably choose that focuses on solving problems. i’m shit at it; i’m always fucking problem-solving. i can’t turn it off. i can’t make it stop. and it carries over from my youth bc i felt like i was the only person that could see the solutions to the very real problems in my life. like diego, i’d zoom in and fixate (helloooo jfk plotline) and try to do something about it. turns out i got pretty good at this, and that spurred my career path. i never wanted to see myself as the victim. ever. even after i endured certain traumas that i don’t want to disclose. in my mind, i was never broken. the situations were just injust; and i couldn’t fix... the people, but maybe i could fix the situations.

so what did justice look like to me? i love my family, so i mostly focused on my career - something i could undoubtedly shape on my own. developed a list of people whose jobs i wanted to steal. out of revenge, feeling i could bring justice to the field by bringing my mindset to the table. sound vaguely familiar?

also probably not the healthiest fictional character to relate to. worse still, even arya was able to let go of her vindictive streak at the end of the day (at least in the show) -- something i am still working on. (also probably a good time for a reminder that the plan is to get good enough in my field to ‘steal jobs’ so that i can mold the field into what i want it to be, not actually physically hurt people). i did take up fencing tho.

soooo now it’s 2020. and i’m 28. and something important happened.

i was talking with my mentor and as we were chatting i realized that there is a job out there that i want. and not because i want to steal it out of a sense of ‘revenge’ -- but because i really like that person’s job. that i could see myself in that position because i love what it entails. and i think it’s the first time i ever saw that.

in eight months of constant therapy, i’ve realized that i do have a dream vet school; i do have a dream job; that my life is more than just trying to fix the world.

complexes don’t go away overnight and i kept things purposely vague - i’ll always have a little bit of ‘save the world’ in me.

but i can now say that tech school finishes in 10 months. it’ll be over in less than a year. i submit my vet school app in a week, with a much more refined & steady focus. i’m kind of ready to pursue happiness again. i’m much more confident that i’ll get where i want to be.

and whatever ya know? i’ll figure it out as i go

but tada there’s the story of my therapist seeing me in diego hargreeves, what the fuck.

#about me #personal #do not reblog pls #mostly doing this for myself #cuz fran says i need to work on my vulnerability #bleh #and also i'm curious if anyone has had similar experiences w using tua as a reference for mental health #i think you'd really have to be a certain personality to be chill with it bc i can see it being a sensitive topic for a lot of people

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khrsecretvalentine · 5 years

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KHR Summer Exchange 2019 for @khrkin

Notes: KHR Secret Summer Holidays 2019! For Fran (@khrkin), who asked for terrible comedy and found-family (and 1827, which I unfortunately didn’t manage, sorry ;o;).

From @kyogre-blue to @khrkin

~.~.~

The Special Investigation, Containment, and Discipline Committee, Namimori branch, was supposed to investigate, contain and punish supernatural crimes — hauntings, possessions, curses, use of magic in illegal affairs, as well as monster attacks. Ghostbusters, pseudo government version, basically. Sawada Tsunayoshi, terrified out of his mind, had received a full course of training on all those things during new hire orientation… the “orientation” that was just a shaky home-made video and a powerpoint slide with clipart zooming onto the screen.

Anyway, apparently all those scary things did exist.

However, dealing with them… was not what they actually did, day to day. In his three months at the Committee, Tsuna hadn’t seen a single supernatural thing outside of his coworkers.

He had seen a distressingly high number of stalkers, serial killers and scammers though.

“Don’t worry, Tsuna-kun!” Sasagawa Kyoko, the secretary, receptionist and nanny of the team, comforted him when he tried to bring up the subject. “It’s summer now, and we’ll have more real work. Summer is the season for seances and ghost stories, after all. That’ll stir up the spirits. Lots of people going exploring too, in all kinds of places, waking up all kinds of things… I’m sure it’ll pick up soon!”

That wasn’t comforting.

…Let’s start at the beginning.

Sawada Tsunayoshi, also known as Dame Tsuna, age 18, had completely bombed every university entrance exam he’d taken — as expected. His middle school crush Kyoko found him crying behind the school building on graduation day, completely without future prospects. With the kindness that had made him fall for her in the first place, she gave him her handkerchief and listened to his sobbed complaints.

“It’s okay, Tsuna-kun,” she said, after he calmed down. “I know a place that’s always looking for people!”

That place was the Special Investigation, Containment, and Discipline Committee, Namimori branch.

Kyoko and her brother Ryohei had been recruited after they ended up involved in a supernatural incident. It wasn’t a kind of “you know about us, so now you must join” thing. They could have forgotten all about it and gone home to their normal lives. Although the Committee did not have anything as nice as actual memory alteration, they did have a substance that could blur recent memories, which was given to most witnesses.

Ryohei refused. Punching ghosts or whatever was apparently too exciting. And Kyoko followed his lead.

Frankly speaking, Tsuna hadn’t really believed in this stuff. He figured that this was the designated ‘loser’ group that was changed with wild goose chases and hoaxes — someone had to deal with the citizens calling in hauntings and such, after all, even if it all turned out to be squeaky windows and leaking pipes in the end.

Most importantly, it was a job that didn’t care about his qualifications and didn’t require any competence test. As long as he could escape being an unemployed waste upon society, Tsuna would take anything.

He… did not expect his boss to beat him up on the first day, or one of his coworkers to have a shape-shifting bamboo sword that could cut through sheets of solid steel. Or the weird foreign kid, who might have been a coworker but Tsuna wasn’t sure, to be able to generate lightning out of nowhere. Or his other, other coworker who may or may not have been possessed.

But it was still a job. Tsuna would take anything, including all that.

The current job market was scarier than any ghost.

…Probably. Final judgement pending actually seeing a ghost.

~.~.~

Just as Kyoko said, summer was the season of ghost stories and seances. What this meant was that the police, the fire department and sometimes even government agencies that didn’t like naming themselves would transfer over cases from concerned citizens who were absolutely sure they were being haunted by the spirit of their great-grandfather, a jilted office lady who hung herself at the abandoned building a block over, or a famous serial killer. (Why did people like trying to call up the ghost of Jack the Ripper so much anyway?)

Kyoko and Yamamoto, the only two employees with basic social skills, were on the phone without rest, using their friendliest, most soothing voices. Meanwhile, Tsuna and Ryohei were given links to videos of exorcism ceremonies and some very realistic looking Shinto priest robes, sewn up by their intern Haru. Thus equipped, they became… con artists on a government salary.

Gokudera had also been offered a costume, but he insisted on trying to prove the concerned citizens’ worries unfounded through the power of science — even if Gokudera’s idea of science included “energy fields” that could not be detected by modern instruments, which left “imprints” that carried an “echo of the deceased’s biopatterns” blah blah, and other things that sounded no less creepy than just calling it a haunting.

Gokudera’s success rate dropped to an all new low, along with his salary.

It was the usual combination of dumb job and crazy coworkers, just in sweltering heat.

And then, Tsuna tried to perform an… exorcism (scam) at the new Nonohana Building downtown.

The building had been suffering from a number of creepy rumors, which came to a head when several bored employees had a few too many drinks after working overtime, did a seance (of course), and then ended up in the hospital one by one after mysterious accidents (of course).

“Na-mo-ta-mo-ra-su-ro…” Tsuna chanted pure nonsense while walking through the motions roughly approximating an exorcism. The paper ropes at the end of his stick rustled as he swung it back and forth. Nearby, the building owner and several other figures in business suits watched with expressions ranging from worry to desperate hope to outright boredom. One of them was filming with her cellphone. Tsuna sweated a little more than usual, under the heavy priest robes.

Thankfully, he didn’t trip this time — that was always hard to explain away.

The air felt a little strange, as Tsuna knelt and completed the fake exorcism. And his stick — currently serving as a scam prop with paper ropes tied onto it, but in actuality a collapsible nightstick he had been given as self-defense weapon — was almost uncomfortably hot in his hand. It made him hesitate and get up only slowly.

Before he could lift his head, the nearby peanut gallery gasped collectively. When Tsuna looked at them, they were all staring at something on the high wall of the lobby, behind the reception desk.

Tsuna turned.

“Hiiiiieeee—!”

There was dark red, blood-like substance flowing down the smooth surface of the wall. There was no indication where the hopefully-not-blood came from, as it seemingly appeared out of nowhere several dozen feet up. It didn’t flow straight down like a proper rust stain either. The red smears thickened and thinned, and curved — into what looked entirely too much like writing.

PAY

—It said.

“M-Mr. Sawada!” the building owner whimpered. “Wh-what…”

Tsuna also did not know what. With trembling hands, he fumbled through his robes and pulled out his cellphone, hitting the speed-dial for the office.

The call did not go through. What came from the speaker was instead an almost cliche horror movie mix of sounds — a screech, static, and a long moan-like clicking. The screen flickered and showed Tsuna’s wallpaper, only to glitch and twist until there was something like the shadow of a screaming face among the pixels.

Tsuna wanted to pass out. He really, really wanted to pass out.

His terrified shrieking — as well as that of the gathered businessmen — was drowned out by the clatter of the storm shutters descending across all the lobby windows. The suited clients, er, concerned citizens scattered, running in several directions in a futile bid to find some way out of the lobby that was suddenly in lockdown. Tsuna’s legs trembled too much to follow them.

It was suddenly the real deal?! Unfair! Illegal!!

…Hauntings were, in fact, illegal. They had rules about them. Tsuna couldn’t remember them now, but they were definitely in the rulebook. (He had thought it was kind of funny at the time, but he definitely couldn’t laugh about it anymore.)

“Mr. Sawada! Mr. Sawada, do something!” one of the suits wailed, suddenly grabbing onto him.

Do something? Like what?!

The lights flickered disconcertingly, taking on a red glow. There was the sound of static and an air raid siren echoing across the lobby, almost loud enough to drown out the sobbing and the screaming.

Between the half-light, darkness, and eerie red backlight, a figure appeared near the blocked off doors. Shapeless under a swathing cloak, it turned slowly toward those that had been pawing hopelessly at the shutters, prompting a new round of screaming.

Now, there was even a… ghost? Grim reaper?

Tsuna was so terrified that he mostly just felt numb.

Some of the other businessmen had been frantically pounding the elevator button up, and their prayers were unexpectedly answered. With a quiet ding that was almost drowned out by the chaos — why were there sounds of thunder?! — the thick doors slid open, and blessed, pale light flooded out of the elevator cabin.

Everyone who hadn’t been standing by the elevator rushed toward it. Those that had been already there tumbled inside like knocked over bowling pins. The suit who had been clinging to Tsuna followed suit, dropping him like last season’s designer boots and sprinting toward the salvation elevator with a speed that belied his impressive salaryman drinking belly.

Naturally, Tsuna very much wanted to follow. But when he tried to do so, still staring fixedly at the cloaked apparition slowly approaching, the hem of Haru’s carefully sewn robes tangled his legs.

With a yelp, he splattered across the polished floor. His attempts to either scramble to his feet or just scramble away on all fours were impeded by those same robes, leaving Tsuna faceplanting a few more times. The cloaked figure approached slowly but unrelentingly.

“Hiiiieee—! S-s-stay away!” Tsuna squealed.

In pure, mind-numbing panic, he threw his baton at it.

What happened next could only be considered an act of providence, proof of the divine — or that the universe had a terrible sense of humor. Tsuna’s aim was and had always been atrocious. He really couldn’t even hit the broad side of a gym.

And yet, with a dull thud, the nightstick planted solidly into the center of the ominous figure’s hooded… head? It bounced off and clattered away somewhere in the shadows, but Tsuna had no mind to care about that.

Along with the ability to aim, he also lacked any sort of arm strength, so logically, getting hit by something he threw should have not been worth noting. But the cloaked figure swayed and, unbelievably, toppled over into a heap of fabric and… limbs?

Legs in jeans and sneakers, completely normal-looking arms… With the cloak bunched up carelessly, the true nature of the ‘menacing figure’ was revealed.

The lights were still flickering, there was still a horror movie soundtrack of noises echoing through the lobby, and the exits were still all blocked. But Tsuna didn’t have the mood to ‘appreciate’ that any longer. Slowly and carefully crawling over, he used two fingers to pull back the hood of the cloak. Beneath was… the face of a completely ordinary young man, maybe a couple years older than Tsuna.

“Oh, Madam President, isn’t that your youngest?” the suit, who had clung to Tsuna and then heartlessly abandoned him, had come back and peered over his shoulder with interest.

Tsuna had a truly annoying premonition.

In a while, they would indeed confirm that this young man was the building owner’s youngest son, skilled with computers and going through a rebellious phase. Since this building was quite modern, everything was controlled through electronic systems. Painting something invisible on the wall to leave an outline for the rust-colored liquid to fill was also simple, if you were creative. He had apparently planned to lock all the executives, their assistants and Tsuna in the elevators for a while to give them a good scare, then let them out without too much harm.

So basically, a horror-themed family dispute, the kind of thing no one even wanted the cops to be involved in, much less some dubious government committee.

…There were actual hauntings, zombie outbreaks, and monster attacks out there. Tsuna had been assured of this point.

However, this was not one of them.

~.~.~

It was late night, and the Committee office had been slowly emptying. Even Kyoko was already packing up. Before heading out, she stopped by Tsuna’s desk, where he was mournfully pecking away at a report regarding the latest joke of an incident.

He was mourning his overworked brain, his lost youth and innocent dreams, and also his sore eyes from staring at the computer screen for so long. At least this incident had been minor enough that only Deputy Chief Kusakabe would be checking his report, not the actual Chief. Reports to the Chief had to be written with a brush.

“Don’t stay too late, Tsuna-kun,” Kyoko said, patting his shoulder kindly. “You can finish in the morning.”

“Deputy Chief said it has to be in his inbox first thing tomorrow,” Tsuna said gloomily.

Kyoko’s lips pursed disapprovingly. “For such a minor incident? He’s just giving you a hard time because you’re new,” she said, huffing. “We should make a complaint!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tsuna assured her quickly. “It’s just so that I learn the ropes!” He appreciated Kyoko’s willingness to stand up for him — truly worthy of his first crush — but this level of… what couldn’t even be called hazing wasn’t even worth mentioning, for someone who had been thoroughly bullied all through his school years. This was just actually doing his work, not having his shoes hidden or his books torn up or anything like that.

“…Well, okay,” Kyoko conceded after a moment. “But tell me if it gets too much, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow!”

Once she had stepped into the elevator, drops sliding shut behind her, Tsuna let his waving hand drop and slumped in his not very comfortable office chair with a groan.

He had always received abysmal scores in composition, but this was far from Tsuna’s first time writing a mission report, so it wasn’t like he didn’t know what to do. Even if there remained a 50-50 chance that Deputy Chief Kusakabe would send it back to him for corrections, that was still an improvement over his previous 4 out of 5 returned as unacceptable.

Tsuna was really just dragging his feet and procrastinating too much, partly out of embarrassment. He had actually gotten caught up in that prank and believed it. None of the others would have fallen for it, he bet. But mostly, it was taking so long out of boredom. Writing reports… was really boring.

Sighing, he sat up and went back to typing.

Half of the lights in the office had automatically turned off once the motion sensors no longer picked up anyone around. With almost all staff done for the day, the only sounds were the clicking of keys from Tsuna’s desk — and muffled cursing from Gokudera’s, where he was supposed to be working on his own report, along with a formal apology to the owner of the construction site he’d blow up instead of ‘exorcising’.

Tsuna had already been almost done anyway, and once the main recounting of events was done, the more formulaic closing sections came to him with the ease of practice.

His head snapped up in surprise at the sound of an office chair skittering back. Not his chair — Gokudera’s.

His coworker stalked around the row of desks with a scowl and a slouch that any delinquent would have been proud of. With the Chief absent, Gokudera had even dared to wear his regulation black suit unbuttoned, with his tie pulled loose. Frankly speaking, he terrified Tsuna only slightly less than Chief Hibari and Chrome in one of her kufufu moods, so Tsuna made every effort to remain very still, in hopes of being overlooked.

No such luck. It was precisely his desk that Gokudera shambled his way over to, and when Tsuna failed to look at him in a timely manner, he kicked snappishly at the legs of his chair.

“Hey, new kid!” Gokudera barked.

“Y-yes!” Tsuna spun around, spine ramrod straight and his gaze somewhere to the left of Gokudera’s head.

Unexpectedly, a phone was thrust at him, making Tsuna fumble as he tried to take it, missed, and finally clutched it in his sweaty paws. “This is… my phone?” he realized. How did Gokudera manage to get it? Tsuna thought he might have left it on his desk, or maybe in his bag, or… Well, he wasn’t sure where he’d left it, but he hadn’t handed it over.

“Getting hacked by some amateur, that’s just embarrassing,” Gokudera grumbled. Sticking out his lower lip in a way that was probably meant to be intimidating but would be more sullen to anyone except Tsuna, he looked off somewhere to the side and rubbed the back of his neck. “I put in some actual security for yah. And a couple sensors for fluctuations in od, in case you finally manage to run into some actual deviations in ambient true energy.”

“Like a ghost sensor?” Tsuna guessed, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else Gokudera could be talking about.

“Don’t call it something so unscientific!”

“Hiieee! Yes! Yes!” Tsuna squeaked, ducking his head and trying to hide behind his newly modified phone as Gokudera snapped at him.

Clicking his tongue irritably, Gokudera turned and shambled away, perhaps back to his own report and apology letter that were still waiting for him. He was exceptionally brilliant, Tsuna was aware, so a few updates to a phone wouldn’t take him long, but the fact that he had taken the time to do it…

Tsuna smiled down into his lap, fiddling with the device.

“Th… thank you, Gokudera-kun,” he mumbled.

His didn’t have the guts to raise his voice, but in the quiet, empty office, there was no doubt Gokudera heard him.

~.~.~

Sasagawa Ryohei and Yamamoto Takeshi returned the next day, making the office much livelier. Ryohei had been on helping look into recurring disappearances of hikers on the ominously named Death Mountain, while Yamamoto had been sent to the beach regarding a supposed sea monster attack.

Both of those definitely sounded like better assignments, so it was no wonder the more senior agents snatched them up. …That being said, Tsuna was aware that his pathetic stamina and physical capabilities wouldn’t have been up to running around in the mountains, or even out in full sun on the beach. Ryohei and Yamamoto, being sports club types, were far more suited to those kinds of missions.

“So was it a real one this time?” Kyoko asked when she stopped by her brother’s desk that morning. Since it wasn’t a private sort of conversation, naturally everyone listened in.

“Nah,” Ryohei waved one hand wrapped up in bandages like always. “They all just kept getting lost to the extreme. Only thing out there was piles of beer bottles. I made a few groups help cleanup, and since they all made it back, everyone calmed down about the place.”

Kyoko laughed, bright and cheerful. Tsuna, two desks away, sighed. Typical for their office, really.

Pushing off from his desk, Yamamoto rolled over in his chair. He spun around to face them smoothly and said with a grin, “Mine was real.”

“Oh!” Kyoko gasped excitedly, and even Gokudera, who detested Yamamoto fiercely, leaned closer to listen in.

Yamamoto’s smile widened as he began to narrate. “There really was a sea monster, tentacles and everything. It was a kind of mutant octonus thing, but also with lobster pincers. It swallowed a bunch of people and a few boats, and when it spit them out, they were covered with goo… very gross.”

“Mutation? From pollution? Radiation?” Gokudera muttered to himself.

“It’s good that it spit them out,” Kyoko said. “Were they okay?”

“Oh yeah, they were fine,” Yamamoto said. “I mean, grossed out, but fine. It turns out… somebody dropped an ice cream cone into the water, and it really liked the taste, so it was looking for more. Once it figured out where to look, it mostly just kept eating ice cream trucks…”

Kyoko laughed again, but Tsuna could only groan internally and palm his face.

Really? A real life monster, and it just… wanted ice cream? Why was his job like this? Why was the world like this? Ice cream?! What about the hunger for human flesh! What about revenge against mankind! What about invasion of the sea dwellers! Manga had lied to him!!

Even when the monsters were real, the cases were still ridiculous.

…Well, at least he was getting paid. The benefits were also good.

Their gossip time came to an abrupt end as Yamamoto spotted something behind them and quickly sat up straight, his expression serious and professional. A quick glance confirmed — it was Deputy Chief Kusakabe, coming over from Chrome’s… office, or maybe cell, Tsuna wasn’t clear. In the presence of an authority figure, everyone quickly turned to their desks and computers, trying to project an image of productivity and focus.

Their attempts weren’t very good, but Kusakabe didn’t seem to notice. He wasn’t like the Chief anyway. Although he was certainly stern, he had always been patient with Tsuna’s many, many, many screw ups.

Trailing behind him was Chrome. Tsuna blinked in surprise — it was rare for her to leave her area.

“Sasagawa,” the Deputy Chief called out. “Your status?”

“Yes! I’m extremely good!” Ryohei sounded off without hesitation. “Ready to go any time!”

Kusakabe nodded. “Good, then come along,” he said. “The rest of you, don’t take any cases today. Stay at the office and hold down the fort. I will contact you if the situation changes.”

He didn’t explain what that meant, walking off quickly with Chrome and Ryohei in tow. When the Deputy Chief’s figure vanished into the elevator, Tsuna glanced at the others. “W… what situation?” he wondered. “What was that all about?”

“Are you dumb? There must be something big going down, if the Deputy’s taking Dokuro out,” Gokudera said snappishly.

“Sounds like it,” Yamamoto agreed, somewhat pensively. Agreeing with Gokudera earned him a sharp glare. “And we’re on standby, so I guess we should be ready to help, if it comes to that.”

The earlier cheerful gossip mood had all but dissipated, and everyone began to turn back to their tasks with a lingering sense of tension, even as Kyoko quietly wondered whether to let Lambo know. Tsuna cursed internally. With the current state of things, Deputy Chief Kusakabe had almost certainly had no time to read his report. If he’d know it would be like this, he wouldn’t have bothered staying late yesterday to finish it!

~.~.~

The weather recently had been sunny and very suitable for summer, but by afternoon, thick gray clouds had overtaken the sky and wind battered in strong gusts against the windows. Although it was still early, typhoon season had begun.

After lunch, Kyoko read out the weather forecast. “Meteorologists were taken off guard by the sudden appearance of the storm front rolling onto the Kanto coast…” she said distractedly, her eyes skimming the text on her screen. “Expected to make landfall around sunset… Category is not yet determined… I’d say we should head home a little early to make sure we’re not caught out in the storm, but with the way things are… what should we do?”

The Special Investigation, Containment, and Discipline Committee, Namimori branch, wasn’t a large group to begin with. With the Chief, the Deputy Chief and even Ryohei out, everyone left was about the same age and with little difference in seniority. When it came to making a decision, they could only exchange uncertain looks, no one willing to take on the responsibility.

After about a minute of silence, Kyoko accepted that there would be no answer. “Okay,” she said. “Deputy Chief didn’t say we needed to stay late, and we don’t have a night shift to begin with, so let’s have one person stay until closing, and everyone else can head home early. Who lives closest?”

Ah, Kyoko-chan really was amazing, Tsuna thought.

“Probably me,” he volunteered. “I can stay.”

It was summer, so it wasn’t like sunset was at all close to the normal end of business. It would be windy, but he’d make it home fine.

…Or so Tsuna told himself while foolishly smiling at Kyoko. Things like logic and actual thinking were not involved.

Since meteorologists had completely failed to predict this storm coming in at all, why did he think they’d be able to predict when it would arrive? By five PM, it was so dark out that the few passing cars needed headlights, even hours away from sunset. The sky was a roiling gunmetal gray. When Tsuna stepped outside, he was nearly blown off his feet by a gust of wind, and his backpack was shoved up so hard that it hit the back of his head.

Stumbling along with a series of yelps lost on the wind, he managed to grab hold of a lamp post and clung for dear life.

There was no one else out on the streets, because every other person in Namimori had more sense than Tsuna. Aaah, why did Kyoko-chan’s smile have to be so cute and wonderful? Why did he have to go and try to act all reliable? Bemoaning his own foolishness, Tsuna squinted against the wind and tried to get his bearings. There was nothing to do but hug the buildings and stagger off in the direction of the train station.

However, Tsuna only made it a block over before a hand clamped onto his shoulder and he was suddenly dragged into a narrow alley between buildings.

“Hiiiiee! Take my wallet! Take my bag! Take anything, just don’t kill me!” he started begging immediately, throwing his arms over his head and cringing away.

But the presumed mugger, or maybe human trafficker, or maybe serial killer made no demands and didn’t hit him. After several long moments of silence, Tsuna dared to peek out, trembling.

What greeted him was infinitely more terrifying than a petty crook. Or a human trafficker. Or a serial killer.

It was his boss.

“Ch-Ch-Chief!” Tsuna stuttered helplessly.

Hibari Kyoya stared at him with the same blank coffin face as always, somehow still faintly exuding an aura of violence and murder. Unlike usual, his suit jacket was missing, and his tie was askew. He was also soaked, even though it hadn’t started raining yet.

“Phone,” Hibari ordered sharply. As Tsuna scrambled to obey, he added, “Call Kusakabe.”

“Y-yes! Right away, sir!” Tsuna blurted out, fumbling as he went through his pockets. Where had he put it? Oh, he better not have lost it. He’d be losing his life next…

Fortunately, his work phone turned up before Chief Hibari could lose his temper and give him another beating that was precisely short of putting him in the hospital. This was, Tsuna felt distantly aware, completely illegal and abuse of an innocent subordinate. But even Deputy Chief Kusakabe had just said it was “training,” and since Tsuna only saw the Chief once a month at most, it was still preferable to… shudder, returning to the job market.

It was only with his phone in hand that Tsuna realized it was continually beeping and vibrating as some kind of alarm went off. Given the juvenile punk font of the notification on his screen, Tsuna could guess this was Gokudera’s ghost sensing app.

He couldn’t tell how its metrics are supposed to work, but the weird typeset certainly looked threatening. It was also annoyingly hard to dismiss.

“J-just a moment, sir!” Tsuna squeaked, darting a nervous glance at Hibari.

The Chief was no longer paying him any mind. Hibari’s attention was on the main street outside their little back alley, and his expression was subtly furrowed. “Hurry up,” he ordered shortly, lifting up one of his tonfas. The other was notably absent, along with his belt and one of his cufflinks. “It’s here.”

…What was?

Down the street, a manhole cover was suddenly thrown into the air as a geyser of water burst up from underground. Then another, and another, and another, geysers burst up one after another, moving down the street — toward them.

“W-what the…” Tsuna muttered, staring in shock. The phone in his hand blared an alarm, louder and louder.

Water was flooding down the street, crashing against the buildings and sweeping away anything that had been left outside. But as the wave rushed past their alley, Chief Hibari inexplicably… lifted his tonfa and struck out at it.

The force of his blow parted the water halfway across the street, revealing the asphalt and the painted lanes — and making Tsuna’s eyebrows climb in shock and some horror. He’d known their Chief was strong, but this was just shounen anime levels of ridiculous. Thank goodness he’d apparently held back when beating up Tsuna. Thank you, Chief, you’re so merciful!

Something moaned unhappily, and waves twisted around to bear down on Hibari.

Great. So it was a water monster.

Hahaha… ha…

Frantically, Tsuna pounded on his phone screen. He could barely tear his eyes away from the spectacle of his boss fighting a wall of water that continually reformed under his devastating attacks, but somehow he finally managed to hit the contacts and the Deputy Chief’s entry.

“This is Kusa—”

“Sir! Sir! Sir! Chief is here! And fighting! And water!” Tsuna wailed without waiting for Kusakabe to greet him.

“We’ll be right there,” Kusakabe said with an unnatural degree of calm. Presumably, they could track his phone’s GPS to fight out where ‘here’ was.

Tsuna did not pay this or the end of the call any mind. Screeching, he threw himself aside just in time to avoid a lashing water tentacle that struck down the alley. The heavy industrial dumpster which took the hit in his stead was dented into a rough V and was thrown free of where it had been chained down.

This was it, the real deal. A real monster or supernatural phenomenon or ghost or whatever. Tsuna’s internal whining about his boring con artist job had finally been answered.

And now he was going to die for it.

But before the next water whip could turn Tsuna into another rough V shape, Hibari forcefully punted him aside. …Well, no. Despite the pain, all his organs were still intact, so it wasn’t that forceful, really. Ah, Chief, so merciful…

“Useless!” Hibari barked, but he didn’t have the attention to spare for the glaring that usually accompanied such a pronouncement. Although he was still fighting with relentless intensity, even a useless wimp like Tsuna could see that he was being forced back step by step.

Distantly, he considered drawing his own weapon, but really, what good would it do?

And in the middle of the chaos, it began to rain.

It came down suddenly and heavily, almost blinding Tsuna. And even though the volume of water added shouldn’t have made any difference yet, the wave blocking the alleyway and advancing on Hibari swelled and reared up.

‘Oh no,’ Tsuna thought, just before it crashed down over both of them, completely disregarding Hibari’s last attack.

Blub, blub, blub — a few bubbles sprang free before Tsuna managed to clamp his mouth shut. The underwater currents sent him spinning head over heels, and he was vaguely surprised that he hadn’t been thrown into any of the buildings. The alley had been narrow, after all, and despite having lost his bearings, he thought that he had already floated quite a ways. When he tried to pry his eyes open, he couldn’t see anything at all.

A pale hand shot out of the dark water and grabbed hold of his jacket collar.

It was Hibari. He glared at Tsuna, then twisted — and somehow, in defiance of all laws of physics, hurled him away. Before Tsuna knew what was happening, he shot out from beneath the surface and crashed onto a ledge a couple stories up. Rain was pelting down in full now, driven by gusting winds. Rolling onto his hands and knees, Tsuna scrambled up to the edge and looked down at the flood water that ran along the streets.

“Ch… Chief!” he called out. “Chief!!”

He needed to do something! But he couldn’t do anything! Tsuna wailed helplessly.

With an ear-splitting screech, a car skidded around the corner down the street. It sent sheets of water flying, making Tsuna realize with some surprise that the flooding was not nearly as high as he had expected. It was only just above a person’s knees. Even accounting for a strong current, how in the world could Hibari have been swept away…?

Right. Supernatural monster thing.

Even before the large black car had jerked to a stop, the rear door was flung open and Chrome, looking tiny and delicate as always, jumped out onto the rainy street. A long trident appeared in her hand — Tsuna felt sure she hadn’t been carrying it inside the car, since how could she have moved so smoothly with it? And then, just as she landed on the wet asphalt, Chrome… turned into a man.

Okay.

Twirling the trident over his head, guy-Chrome (??) slammed its tail into the pavement, and a shockwave rippled out all the way down the street.

The rain was sent flying. The water was sent flying. Tsuna was sent flying, barely managing to stay on his ledge — the fall was the kind that killed normal people.

There was a long silence as even the storm was momentarily halted.

Then, something landed on top of Tsuna’s head with a wet plunk and bounced off. It wasn’t rain. Left wiggling helplessly on the ledge was a single ordinary goldfish.

It wasn’t single for long. A veritable torrent of goldfish soon followed it down, covering the entire street in piles of flopping little bodies. The largest pile stirred, and Hibari rose up out of it, looking particularly murderous and also entirely too threatening for someone with fish in his hair.

“Kufufufu,” guy-Chrome laughed mockingly. “No need to thank me, ‘Chief’. How could I possibly leave you to struggle on your own with just your meager power? Kufufu…”

Tsuna’s first thought that guy-Chrome clearly wanted to die very much, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Without giving Hibari a chance to brutally murder him, guy-Chrome swiftly turned back into normal Chrome, his creepy laughter still echoing in the air. Chrome looked at the Chief wide-eyed, clutching the trident’s shaft to her chest.

Hibari, waist-deep in goldfish and under the pleading stare of a cute girl, gritted his teeth and, kicking his way free, stalked toward Kusakabe, who had emerged from the large black car’s driver’s seat.

“Deal with this,” he ordered Kusakabe, passing by Chrome without a look at her and stepping into the still open rear door of the car. The car door slammed shut behind him.

Then, it opened again, and Ryohei was unceremoniously flug out, followed by another slam.

Wordlessly, Kusakabe pulled out his cellphone and began to make arrangements.

Clearing his throat, Tsuna called out, “Um… Excuse me? Could someone… help me get down?”

~.~.~

The next day, the Chief did not come in and the Deputy Chief was away as well, probably handling some kind of cleanup and explanations to their superiors. Regardless, the office gossip circle reconvened with impunity.

“It’s so sad,” Kyoko sighed. “Those poor fish… I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to look at those festival stalls the same way again.”

It turned out that the water monster, which drew in a storm and flooded several locations across Namimori, had been created out of the accumulated resentment of all the goldfish that had been flushed down toilets over the years. Many of them had come from the summer festivals and the traditional dish scooping booths. Kids and couples and who knows who else would win themselves a goldfish in a bag, only to realize they didn’t actually want one after they got home.

So down the toilet the fish would go, and its little resentful goldfish spirit would haunt the sewers, schooling together with its countless wronged brethren. Until they had enough to make an entire monster.

Tsuna didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Hahaha… yeah, same,” Yamamoto agreed. “I’m just sad I missed it. But hey, good on Sawada for having his first real encounter, huh? So how was it? Exciting?”

“Uh… I wouldn’t really call it that,” Tsuna said. “Did you think it was exciting, when you had your first, uh, encounter?”

“Yeah! It was great!” Yamamoto said, laughing.

Uncharitably, Tsuna enforced the ‘crazy adrenaline junky’ label in his mind. He’d suspected as much. After all, Yamamoto was good looking, popular, and talented. Why else would he stay at this kind of job?

“Did you even do anything?” Gokudera asked dubiously.

“I… called Deputy Chief Kusakabe?” Tsuna said, thinking for a moment. “I think Chief lost his own phone, so we had to use mine.”

“That’s good!” Kyoko encouraged. “The first I went out on a case I just got kidnapped…” She laughed self-deprecatingly.

Feeling daring after facing death by monster the day before, Tsuna patted her on the shoulder and offered her a smile in return. “Let’s work hard,” he suggested.

“Yeah!” Kyoko agreed brightly.

The warm glowey feeling of camaraderie sustained Tsuna through the day and writing this time’s incident report, which was more nerve-wracking than usual, given the need to avoid putting anything that might make the Chief look not absolutely terrifying and invincible. Tsuna felt he did pretty good at that, so it was utterly unfair that the Chief appeared anyway, as if summoned by the mere thought of him.

Instead of striding straight from the elevator to his office like usual, looking neither left nor right as if his minions, er, employees didn’t even exist — which was how both sides preferred it — Hibari paused mid-step and took a sharp turn, heading for Tsuna’s desk.

Tsuna watched him approach in mute shock. So did everyone else. It was only when Hibari came to a stop slightly further than necessary from him that Kyoko, Yamamoto, Gokudera and Ryohei remembered to snap their heads away and furiously pretend to be busy and not eavesdropping with their ears pricked.

Naturally, Tsuna wanted to turn away too, but he didn’t dare. Jumping to his feet, back ramrod straight, he saluted instead. “Ch-Chief!"

He also didn’t dare to ask what Hibari wanted.

The silence stretched on.

”…You,“ Hibari said finally.

"Yes!” Tsuna sweated intensely.

“Are you quitting?"

The question was blunt and simple, but also so unexpected that Tsuna only stared at his boss in confusing. "Am I being fired…?” he wondered.

“No,” Hibari said.

“Um,” Tsuna said. “Then… also no…?”

The Chief pinned him with an unreadable (terrifying) look for far too long, before finally nodding sharply. “Good,” he allowed. It was glowing praise for Hibari, and Tsuna had no idea what to do with it. Turning on his heel, his boss strode away just as abruptly as he had come, leaving Tsuna feeling like he’d managed to escape death — as usual.

“Great job, Tsuna-kun!” Kyoko said, giving him a thumbs up. He returned it numbly.

“Yeah, great job! You didn’t ditch like the last three new guys!” Yamamoto said. Rolling over, he threw an arm over Tsuna’s shoulders. “Now you’re one of us for real!”

…Oh! Was that what it had been about?

Well, it was true that a normal person would have probably run away screaming after their first encounter with a real supernatural being. Probably, the Committee had lost many recruits that way. Tsuna also… somewhat wanted to run away.

But the hazard pay was very high.

And, frankly, the monster was still better than a job interview. At least it didn’t stare into his soul and demand, in various ways without pause, that he justify his place in society and his right to exist.

Even though it was equal parts ridiculous and terrifying… he thought he just might like this job.

~.~.~

#kyogre-blue #khr #khr!#katekyo hitman reborn!#hitman reborn #Katekyoshi Hitman Reborn #gift #exchange #summer #holidays #story #fanart #fanfiction #drabble #vongola #submission

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alcheminary · 5 years

Photo

uhhhhh yeaaaaaah I’ve got an order for some edwin featuring parental roy and riza, hold the royai?

merry new year, @bifullmetal, I’m your secret santa for 2018!! I’m sorry this is late, I was held up by some travel plans that popped off a little earlier than I thought they would

you asked for basically anything, so my plan going in here was to deliver a wintery and modern spin on the classic mermaid au fic. of course it ran away from me, so now you get a wip of a fic, and that just seems like a bum present so I draw art to make up for that, and gosh dude I just hope you like it

thanks to @fullmetalsecretsanta for putting this event together for 2018, you guys are awesome, for sure

anyway, here’s a sneak peek at the first chapter!

(edit: sorry for the extra late posting, I saved this to my drafts again on accident which is kind of the most embarrassing mistake I could possibly make)

“The Sea Bleeds Blue” Chapter 1 (prototype)

“... the man is reported to have been under the influence of alcohol during the time of his encounter…”

The tiny little TV blares throughout the house from its perch on the kitchen counter, a feat much more impressive in possibly any other structure that isn’t a cramped beach house. Like, seriously cramped. The kind of cramped where you can barely lay flat across the floor without hitting a wall.

It’s not like Winry Rockbell hates her grandma’s beach house. In a way, she gets it. You get older, your health starts to go, the warm weather is easy on your joints and the air is just so much easier to breathe compared to city smog. And everyone else your age has the same idea, too. When you have a nest egg and no other obligations, why not? Why not just live at the beach, wake up every morning to the soothing ebb of waves, sip your coffee on a porch overlooking the scenery, be a family vacation destination in and of yourself, and just wait to die?

That’s her whole bugbear with the thing actually, now that she thinks about it. People come to the beach to die.

She blinks hard, reaches for her wire cutters, and tries not to think about it much more than that.

“... officials like park ranger Jean Havoc however say the injuries are more likely to have been caused by a particularly territorial sea lion,” the newscaster on the TV continues, her voice tinny and distorted by the on-board speakers. Honestly, she could fix those if Gran would let her...

“He might’ve been feedin’ ‘em, harassin’ ‘em… Sea lions ain’t known to be gracious about their personal space, so all it takes is one loud, persistent jerkwad to ruin their whole day. Heck, mine too! Hahaha.”

“The man was admitted to the hospital this morning, and is expected to make a full recovery…”

Paninya scoffs, loud enough to startle Winry just as she’s threading the headlight through its socket. Luckily a less delicate part of this process. “Sea lion my butt. I’ve bounced frisbees off those things and they haven’t moved.”

She pauses as she considers that image. “Please tell me you don’t make field goals out of sea lions on purpose.”

“Of course not! They’re just… big. And bouncy. And all over? You can’t go down the boardwalk without tripping on them. Like, seriously, is there like a sea lion sanctuary nearby or something? Don’t they migrate?” Paninya asks, her nose scrunching up.

“Uh, I think Mr. Hughes might—”

“No, wait, that’s beside the point,” she interrupts. “And the point here is that I’m not buying what that park ranger is selling.” Her deep brown eyes watch Winry expectantly.

Winry puts down the wires she was futzing with and turns to give her a long-suffering smile, resigning herself to the next few minutes being completely unproductive. “Alright, detective, give me the scoop. What’s really going on in Brightly Cove?”

Paninya always gets this wild grin on her face when she does this. The corner of her smile lifts up just so, her eyes glint, and she squares her shoulders like she’s the hardboiled crime noir star the situation needs.

“Okay, so,” she starts, “You saw the gashes on the guy, right?”

Winry shrugs. “A little bit.”

“Okay, well, they’re completely inconsistent with a sea lion attack. We’d be looking for bites and puncture wounds, and he got approximately uhh, NONE of those. So either sea lions have mutated to have razor sharp claws in the past week, or it wasn’t a sea lion and the park ranger is bullshitting us to cover up what it REALLY was.”

“Right, I’m following so far.”

“So, let’s set the scene.” She stands up to stalk around the incredibly small kitchen table toward Winry. “You’re a dumb tourist that came to the beach in the winter. You’ve brought a brand new jet ski with you, completely oblivious that the water is way too cold for that right now. Because you’re a dumb tourist.”

Winry takes the cue. “I’m a savvy tourist because I’ve arrived when no one is here and none of the shops are open! Locals LOVE my business! Sure hope nothing happens to me without any lifeguards!”

“You’re out on the water when you get caught… in a current! Waves come and pummel you towards the shore, one by one! Before you know it you’re smashed up against the rocks, no shore to save you. You’re stuck.”

She musters the most dramatic slump over the back of the chair that she can manage. “Woe is the fate of a tourist such as I.”

“But wait!” Paninya raises a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from some kind of indoor sun. “What’s that coming toward you? It couldn’t be, is it a person, come to save you in your darkest hour? But then it comes closer, and you realize fate has never been so kind… because there, in the distance… is…“ She leans in close to Winry with a grave look.

“Is…?”

“Bigfoot with a machete.”

“Bigfoot with a—?!” Winry sputters, pushing Paninya away as she absolutely howls with laughter. “Your idea of a more likely culprit than a sea lion is Bigfoot with a machete?!”

“Uh, yeah?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Come on Winry. The gashes. The rocks. The collectible shot glass he leaves at the scene of every crime. It’s totally Bigfoot’s m.o.”

Winry turns back to the mess of robotics on the table. “I’m done with you. Completely done. I’m kicking you out.”

“What? Noooo, come oooon, I’ve got nothing else to do today! I’m gonna be so bored, Winry, pleeease,” Paninya whines, flopping bonelessly onto the table with her best puppy-dog eyes. Winry is mostly unaffected.

“Why not just go hang out with Lan Fan?” she asks. “She puts up with you way more than I do.”

“Can’t. She’s out with her grandpa ‘scoring sweet holiday deals’ at the outlets.” The complaint comes with air quotes. “Besides, you’ve been talking about how cool this project is gonna be for like, mooonths. I can’t miss it after that kind of hype.”

“I have kind of been taunting you with it, haven’t I?” Winry sighs, curling a loose wire around her finger. “Tell you what. If you can be quiet and not so… Paninya the amazing living distraction on me, then I’ll let you come with me later to do the experiment.” Paninya’s whole disposition perks up like a labradoodle. “But! That means no distractions.”

“Aye captain, no distractions,” Paninya promises with a little salute.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Several hours in that ramshackle beach house kitchen, crammed around a table and dutifully trying to keep potato chip crumbs from invading her whole zone (which, to Paninya’s credit, does not technically count as a distraction), and it’s finally complete. Just in time for low tide, too. The thing she’s been dreaming of doing for months, the senior project that will launch her college applications from drab to fab, the thing that will get her out of this backwater beach town for good...

“Okay, so. No more secrets. Tell me what your project is, Win,” Paninya demands, handing her a roll up cord out of the backpack they brought with them. Winry beams at her.

“Wwwweeell, do you remember those guys from like, San Fran who started building an aquatic robot to explore a hole that was rumored to have treasure at the bottom?”

Paninya pulls out a half-eaten bag of Ruffles from the backpack. “No, but that sounds completely rad. Is that your project? Oh shit, are we gonna find treasure?”

“Probably not,” Winry casually admits, ignoring the way Paninya deflates. “But the robot, yeah. The one they built was a world-wide collaboration across the internet. They had a goal, and people would test their builds by building one of their own, tweak it, and report their findings on those tweaks. It was super cool.”

“Yeah, cool for nerds maybe…” Paninya mumbles around a chip.

“SO,” she presses on, “I built one of my own. With some tweaks. You know, in the spirit of the thing. Now I just need to test it out, record my success, and write a whole essay on it.”

“Which is why we’re in the spooky cave that you can only get to at low tide and has a mysterious bottomless pit in it? So you can see if your ‘bot dives or fries?”

“Yep!” Winry answers cheerfully. “And why not just use Ling’s pool to do this instead? My legs don’t get good traction in here. I almost slipped earlier. I almost died.”

“Because Ling’s pool isn’t saltwater, and you’re fine.”

“Wow. Cold. Is this what a shitload of free time your senior year does to you, or is it just the overachieving itself?”

“Both,” Winry chirps, and plugs the cord into the tablet. She moves to plug in the other end into the robot itself, but frowns. The waterproof chassis doesn’t look right, like it settled in transport, skewing the whole design just slightly enough that it kind of worries her. Just that tiny bit of pressure on the cable could knock it out with the right bump, or damage the whole port.

Oh well. That’s why a scout’s always prepared, right? She pulls a knife out of her pocket and carefully shaves the plastic away to make room. And just like that, the plug fits like a charm. Nice and snug.

She turns to Paninya, and nods. “It’s show time.”

“Wait, waaaait,” Paninya stops her, waving a cheese-dusted hand around as the other reaches into the backpack. “It’s bad luck to sail a ship without a name. Got one?”

“Uh… I’ve just been calling it Divebot mark 1?” she offers.

Paninya stops digging through the supplies to stare. “Come on, Win. I’ve taught you to ‘yes and’ better than that.”

“Ugh, fine, okay. Um… Divey Jones?”

“Better.” Paninya reveals a can of ginger ale, and at Winry’s own disbelieving stare, shrugs. “It’s not like I have champagne, dude. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Gently, Winry eases the newly christened Divey Jones into the pool of water in front of them at the same time Paninya starts vigorously shaking the can. It floats on top of the surface, gently bobbing, and Winry tosses a grin at Paninya. First success: buoyancy. Next: video feed.

She boots up the tablet, jailbroken to run an open framework because nobody wants you to sandbox their stuff anymore, and opens the custom app she programmed just for this project. One part video capture, one part robot controller. It saved her the parts cost of making a controller, but also? It’s just a little more impressive for whoever looks over her work. Look, she can engineer hardware and software!

When the window prompt comes up to sync the devices, she starts to get jittery. It was one thing to test out at the house, where everything seemed to work just fine, but this was it. This was what either made her winter break a vacation or a mad dash to troubleshoot whatever could have possibly gone wrong in her schematics. The only thing separating her from either possibility was the flip of a switch.

She picks Divey back up from the water, turns it over, and flips it from “off” to “on”.

Immediately, it begins whirring to life, humming in her hand as the battery does its work. She picks up the tablet and pulls out a notepad lined with little squares to check off as she goes through the boot up process: Video feed online? Check. Headlights? Check. A quick figure eight around the little pool confirms that the fins and motors are working, and she checks that off as well.

It’s time for the big moment. She and Paninya nod at each other.

She deflates the swim bladder a little bit, and as Divey Jones begins to sink into the black abyss, Paninya opens the can of ginger ale to a satisfying arc of spray across the cavern, whooping and laughing at the mess it makes. “Bon voyage!!” she calls down the hole, and Winry shakes her head, smiling and turning her attention to guiding the robot on its way.

The “bottomless pit” is an old volcanic magma tube of some sort, five feet in diameter at the top but quickly narrowing as you go down, and filled with water that pours into the cave at every high tide. The cave that contains it is only accessible on foot during low tide, and you have to be careful not to get caught in the cave during high tide. There’s a ton of warnings on a sign outside that attempt to dissuade tourists from trying to camp out in it, and for good reason.

She got stuck in here at high tide once, when she was a kid. Blacked out and woke up to an ambulance and her grandma freaking out. Couldn’t step foot into the place for a few years after that, partly because of trauma, and partly because the park rangers have tightened up their watch on the place ever since.

So. She and Paninya aren’t really supposed to be here. But, you know. It’s for science.

Paninya leans her head on Winry’s shoulder and watches the video feed on the tablet, the only indicator of where the robot is now that it’s turned a corner out of sight. She presses a chip to Winry’s lips, who mindlessly opens her mouth to accept it she’s so focused.

“How deep is this thing, anyway?” Paninya asks after a few more moments of watching video of dark gray rock walls float by.

“Hopefully less than fifty feet? The cable isn’t any longer than that.”

“Yeah, and you’re almost out of rope,” Paninya observes, looking at the coil beside them that grows thinner and thinner as the robot dives onward. “So now might be a good time to say you see the bottom.”

“Well, I don’t see anythi… wait.” Winry leans forward, bringing the tablet screen up to her face, her brow furrowing. There’s a small irregularity in the tunnels further down where it opens up a bit more. It’s like… what it looks like when an octopus camouflages itself against a rock. But the video on Divey’s tiny little camera is so grainy… and it looks so, so much bigger than an octopus.

Paninya leans in closer. “What? What do you see?”

“I… don’t know?” she answers honestly, and then something really startles her. “Oh fuck, it moved. It just moved—”

“What moved? Where am I looking?”

“Right here!” She points at the screen, at the tiny mass of pixels that is growing and changing and moving, even as the robot sits still, and she doesn’t know what it is. A thought occurs somewhere in her head that maybe she should start backing Divey up, but before she can do anything the mass surges forward in a terrifying blur and the feed cuts to static.

“Divey, no!!” Paninya squeals, and Winry nearly tosses the tablet across the room. But she’s cool. She keeps her cool. She’s smarter than to throw away the one thing containing most of the several past months of work.

“What the hell could…” She stops, the zippy sound of cord sliding across rock catching her off guard. That pitiful coil of cord that was slowly disappearing into the abyss with Divey is disappearing so much faster now, and with the tablet still connected to it.

“Winry, Winry Winry Winry, the tablet, you’ve gotta let go of the tablet—” Paninya babbles, scrambling to get onto her feet, and Winry doesn’t even think this time. She fumbles for the knife at her side, and in one swift motion, severs the line, just in time for the newly frayed end to get sucked into the hole like spaghetti.

Her mouth is dry as she looks up at Paninya.

“Run.”

#fullmetalsecretsanta #fullmetalsecretsanta2018 #fmasecretsanta2018 #edwin #fma #fullmetal alchemist #au #mermaid au #feat. me #edward elric #winry rockbell #genuinely very sorry about how late this is dude #art

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oscopelabs · 5 years

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Jonathan Demme’s ‘A Master Builder’ and the Elusive Magic of Bringing Stage to Screen by Tina Hassannia

Criterion’s three-film box-set of the works of Wallace Shawn and Andre Gregory—My Dinner With Andre, Uncle Vanya, and A Master Builder—features several supplements, including an interview between the theater artists and writer Fran Lebowitz. She makes a frank confession: “I don’t like watching theater.” Gregory, a man who’s spent his entire life in the theater, says he feels the same way.

Lebowitz explains that she loves to be drawn into a good film or novel, but, with the exception of Shawn’s work, she’s never experienced the same with theater. She’s not alone. While theater may not exactly be a dying art form, it was long ago upstaged by cinema and television as our de-facto entertainment, and our appreciation for it has dwindled in kind. Theater requires us to suspend disbelief that we’re watching mere make believe, more forcefully than film, which benefits from a metaphysical distance from the viewer. Why sit through 2-3 hours of physical artifice just to see actors move through the spectrum of human emotion when there are so many easier and supposedly better options?

Those lucky enough to have witnessed really good theater know this a philistine’s line of thinking, but even so, its cultural relevance is tightly bound to its usurper, cinema: film adaptations of plays are usually better known than famous productions. (Consider the populist understanding of A Streetcar Named Desire without Marlon Brando—it doesn’t exist.) But adaptations are in essence, films, not theater. Transmitting the visceral pleasures of actual theater is nigh-impossible. If you’ve ever made the mistake of watching a recorded stage performance, you know you’re missing an essential thing privy to members of the audience. No matter the quality of the performance or camerawork, filming a play cheapens the experience. Theatricality is transmogrified into an over-exaggerated mess onscreen. The chemistry unique to each performer and audience, which gives birth to an atmospheric energy that changes with every performance, is lost.

A Master Builder director Jonathan Demme tries to describe a similar sentiment in another Criterion supplement, an interview between himself, Shawn, Gregory, and critic David Edelstein. Having seen the duo’s final production of A Master Builder —which Demme calls “literally spell-binding” and “very emotionally intense”— the director chronicles in the interview his experience watching Gregory watch the play. Having finished his part as Brovik, Gregory joined the audience, but, according to Demme, appeared to subconsciously direct the performers as if through an “energy field.”

“I remember seeing his face responding to everything that was going on there and feeling the connection,” he says. Edelstein follows up with questions, as what he’s hearing sounds too “woo woo”: Were the performers looking at Gregory? Was he in their peripheral vision? … What, exactly? It’s not Demme’s fault he can’t eloquently explain the phenomenon, because words rarely do the experience of live theatre justice. It’s an inexplicable sensation that can only be experienced to be understood.

Filmmakers sometimes struggle adapting plays for the screen. Those who succeed understand the key differences between the artforms. They preserve the essence of story and drama, the play’s unique blueprint. They subtly reframe the story to be told more visually. And they honor the reality that plays are usually verbose in nature. Results have varied in quality from baffling (August: Osage County) to transcendent (Amadeus). But the outcome is usually more accomplished in the literary appreciation of theatre—say, a modern or unique interpretation of a classic text, like Orson Welles’ Macbeth—than the emulation of that woo-woo theatre magic.

And then there’s Demme. The director took on Shawn and Gregory’s third film collaboration. A Master Builder is dedicated to Louis Malle, who brought to life the actors’ long-form conversation My Dinner With Andre and their modern interpretation of Anton Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya. Demme was a perfect replacement for Malle, as they share a visual intimacy in their work. Demme also benefits from a swirling chain in his aesthetic DNA: an unparalleled gift in recording live performance that sometimes makes you feel like you’re really there, really present, inhaling the performers’ energy.

In his concert films, including the masterpiece Stop Making Sense, Demme captures both spectacle and the musicians’ shamanistic force. In Swimming in Cambodia, a kind of filmed play, for lack of a better term, it feels as if you really are watching Spalding Gray’s affecting one-man show. Demme relies on close-ups to get us as close as possible to the performer, but maintains a respectful distance. Instead of trying to direct the performers to be more naturalistic for the screen, he blends himself into their forcefield. Perhaps this is why Demme is able to transform Shawn and Gregory’s take on Henrik Ibsen’s play into something simultaneously cinematic and theatrical. The humanistic, democratic POV that Demme often brings to his work nearly elides his personal perspective, thus allowing the viewer to virtually breathe in the full depth of the performer’s space and energy.

Shawn plays Master Builder Solness, a narcissistic aging architect who won’t allow his associates Brovik (Gregory) and his younger son Ragnar (Jeff Biehl) to build anything on their own. Tensions in Solness’ personal and professional life are a direct consequence of his tight reign over his company. Suddenly a mysterious nymph-like woman named Hilde (Lisa Joyce) visits the Solness estates, and their past history is one of many contradictions the play teasingly weaves into its narrative. Through the course of their labyrinthine conversation, the viewer understands how Solness views his selfish actions, the traumatizing effect they’ve had on his loved ones, and his deceptively innocent explanation, simply imagining his success into existence.

Ibsen’s original The Master Builder is a difficult play to mount and even more trying to comprehend, full of delightful contradictions that produce different interpretations. One understanding—supported by Shawn and Gregory’s modern adaptation—is that Hilde is an imaginary figure in Solness’ death fantasy, a chance for him to reckon with his many mistakes. Shawn and Gregory crystallize Ibsen’s ambiguous magical realism into something more obvious, turning the typically physically robust Solness, who self-deprecates about his inner “trolls,” into someone who actually resembles one. (No offense to Mr. Shawn). It’s clearly intentional. He’s on his deathbed but then suddenly dashes into a spry man upon Hilde’s introduction. Their conversations are all a dream, despite seeming real. Occasionally the film interrupts their garrulous chemistry to show a more liminal headspace that very well could be reality: we hear beeping monitors and frantic nurses trying to save the comatose Solness, but all we see are Demme’s signature mobile establishing shots of trees and the architect’s many buildings.

In A Master Builder, Demme gives the actors sufficient room to block their minimal but lustful action. The beautiful interior architecture provides an elegant and visually interesting complement to what is essentially a chamber drama, that most notoriously difficult kind of story to film. Demme toned down the actors’ acting so that it was suitable for the screen, as film tends to capture every minute facial twitch and shift in body language. But the actors retain a good portion of their theatricality, as it’s the play they’d been rehearsing and performing for many years. This is a rare feat in film adaptation: the preservation of theatre’s intensity and magic that piques curiosity in Ibsen’s strange little play.

The Master Builder thrives or dies on the dynamic between the actors who play Solness and Hilde; their immediate palpable chemistry is imperative to intrigue the viewer. So much of the play focuses on these two strangers oversharing personal details, a conversation that delves deeper and deeper into personal, vulnerable territory. It only makes sense for the viewer to know why these two people seemed “destined” to meet again, why we want to hear them speak at length, and with such intensity. The use of close-ups to capture Hilde’s wild-eyed fascination for her master builder, her hunger evident through body language, all seems outlandish for a long while until she reveals details of their shared history that Solness conveniently forgot. It sounds tedious but the pace is dramatic given the ugliness of their past. Until then, the viewer remains bewildered why a young, ambitious and confident woman would ever be so openly smitten by a troll.

Shawn and Gregory downplay an integral component of the story, however, to suit their “death fantasy” interpretation, for better or worse: in Ibsen’s original, it is pretty obvious Solness physically handled the 12-year-old Hilde in some inappropriate manner (according to her, he, all but a stranger to this child, kissed her on the mouth, called her a princess, and promised to build her a castle in ten years). It’s a conversation that is more grounded in the original and treated more lightly and ambiguously in this version. A practical, psychologically grounded interpretation of the original might conclude Hilde’s pursuit of her abuser is a trauma bond she never recovered from, with the “princess in the castle” fantasy carrying her through adolescence into young adulthood and here we are, ten years to the day, Hilde having found her master builder at last, so he can deliver on his promise.

But the film suggests a different understanding: here, Hilde is not so much a real character with baggage guiding her actions as she is a fantastical figure in Solness’ final reckoning with his id. While Ibsen appears to have written Hilde as something of a wild child (and there is symbolic value pointedly repeated in dialogue about her stay in the Solness residence’s empty “children’s rooms,” her presence also representing Solness’ guilt about his deceased children), Shawn and Gregory’s maximalist interpretation has Hilde literally wearing a childlike outfit. These outlandish aesthetic choices, while more acceptable in theatre, veer into ludicrousness in the subtler frame of the camera, but Demme’s setup elegantly frames it for magical realism—a form that some people have intuited was Ibsen’s real objective with The Master Builder.

One reason why this play remains a lesser produced work by the Norwegian playwright is its baffling complexity. Its many contradictions don’t offer any satisfying interpretation. One way to cut through the bullshit for a theater artist—especially one responsible for bringing it to the masses via film—is to hint heavily at their interpretation without directly spelling it out. That approach works best for two-dimensional, captured film. Otherwise the viewer may find A Master Builder, no matter how refined and well-filmed, an obfuscated maze to walk through. There’s just enough realism to make us question whether or not we are watching reality or a death fantasy. In either case, it’s a fascinating exploration of a narcissistic mind, and a gem of a play granted wider access through the medium of film.

#a master builder #the master builder #wallace shawn #andre gregory #jonathan demme #architecture #Louis Malle #swimming in cambodia #stop making sense #film #independent film #film writing #film essay #fran lebowitz #Oscilloscope Laboratories #O-Scope Labs #Beastie Boys #Adam Yauch #musings

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tere706 · 5 years

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Love is Blind Chpt 7

(I’m just... gonna leave this here and run for the hills while I can. Okay?

Okay.

Words: 1743)

Despite Eddie’s protests, Venom had taken Liz out for a swing around the city the next night. It wasn’t that Eddie had a problem with Venom and Liz spending time together… it was just the heights. Liz had been laughing so hard she struggled to breathe. She seemed to have no fear of the wild experience, trusting Venom completely. Venom had taken her to the top of a building toward the end. He sat at the edge of the roof and held Liz on his lap, arms holding her close to his chest. Venom rested his head on top of hers, staring out at the lights of the city.

“WE WISH YOU COULD SHARE THIS SIGHT, LITTLE BIRD. IT IS SPECIAL TO US.”

Liz stroked her hands up along his arms holding her. “Other people get to share this sight, but I’m the one who is being cuddled by San Fran’s Demon.” While her words had been teasing, her tone had been tender.

Convincing Venom not to spend the night with Liz had been… a struggle.

The symbiote was attracted to the young woman and saw no reason not to claim a human he saw as his own. Eddie had to remind him that human courtship was more complicated. He didn’t want to screw this up. And yes, maybe Eddie was a touch jealous still. But at least he and V could talk about it now.

Eddie’s second hangout, DATE, hangout with Liz had also been a huge success. He’d brought over food for them to share. This time she hadn’t been half dead from going to a gym and they’d stayed longer to chat. Eddie had been curious about her work. Turned out Liz worked as a part time writer and worked with counseling troubled youth. She used Dragon NaturallySpeaking to control her computer and convert speech to text. Most of Liz’s work with troubled youth was via phone calls, though she also did in office meetings for some cases.

And yes, Eddie did get to see her tattoos.

The first was a quote that spiraled down her left side: “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision”. Liz explained that Helen Keller was an inspiration for her and a reminder that others have it more difficult than she did. Eddie and Venom had been fascinated by the shivers and goosebumps that rose when Eddie trailed a finger along the quote. Still, Eddie had been firm with Venom about being a gentleman. He wasn’t going to take advantage of Liz.

The other was a small flower high on her left shoulder. Liz had gotten that one after her mother’s death. It had been her favorite flower. She had explained that while she couldn’t see the tattoos, they still memorialized important things in her life.

Venom had spent the whole time either whining about not being allowed to come out and talk with Liz or berating Eddie for not making a move.

THIS IS WHY WE DIDN’T WIN ANNE BACK.

Shut up, V.

“We should take you out next time. You can pick a restaurant.” Eddie had offered as he got ready to leave.

Liz gave him an exasperated smile. “Yeah. That sounds nice, Eddie.”

KISS HER.

“Good night.”

PUSSY.

“YOU ARE AN IDIOT, EDDIE. SHE WANTED YOU. SHE WANTS US.” Venom leapt from the roof and landed on the side of the apartment building with his claws dug into the brickwork.

I value the relationship I’m building with Liz. She’s a person, not a thing. And you’d better behave yourself.

Venom snorted and opened the window, squeezing through to enter Liz’s apartment. He wanted to take her on another swing through the city at night. “WE ARE TIRED OF B-“ He suddenly broke off, tongue lashing in the air. A low snarl bubbled up from his chest.

What is it?!

“AN INTRUDER.”

Shit.

“A MALE INTRUDER.”

Oh. SHIT.

Nothing looked disturbed, in fact the apartment was quiet. Venom’s head snapped to the side when they heard a soft thump. The bedroom door opened to reveal Liz, dressed in an oversized t-shirt.

“Ven? That you?”

He snarled again and moved toward Liz, following the offending scent. “WHO?”

“What? Ven?” Liz looked puzzled, twitching her head from side to side as she followed his motion.

Venom pushed past her, eyes narrowed as he prowled into her bedroom. Here too. The scent of the intruder male was here too. Rage boiled in his blood as he slowly turned toward Liz. Faintly, he could hear Eddie demanding answers as well.

“What the hell is going on, Venom?!” Gone was the confusion, replaced by indignation and growing anger on her face. As though she did not know why he would be angry with her.

“WHO IS HE?”

“What are you-“

Venom leapt forward and slammed Liz back against the hallway wall. Her breath left in a huff as her back impacted the wall. His hand was pressed into her collarbone, pressing in on her as his claws began to prick through the thin material of the shit.

“WHO IS HE?!” Venom roared into her face, spittle flying. She went very still, hurt and confused more than scared. “WHO IS THE MAN YOU LET INTO YOUR DEN?!”

“The man I-“ Her words came out in a gasp, it must have been difficult to breathe with him pressing into her chest. “The nurse?!” Liz squeaked, indignant.

“NURSE?” Venom eased up the pressure of his hand, caught off guard by her strange response.

Christ, Venom! Stop! You’re hurting her!!

Liz shoved against Venom’s chest angrily, an effort he found amusing rather than insulting. “Yes, the nurse! I told you and Eddie I was getting a new visiting nurse! What the fuck is your problem?!”

Not an intruder. Not a rival for his little bird. Venom didn’t like the thought of another male invading the den, but it was a professional. Not a threat. His anger cooled, warming to a possessiveness.

OURS.

Shit, V, n-

Venom grabbed at Liz’s jaw, tilting her face up toward his own. Her mouth parted in surprise before his tongue slid in. Finally, he was getting a good taste of his little bird. Venom explored her mouth, curling his tongue around hers. He only pulled away when she wriggled uncomfortably and pushed against his chest again.

He rumbled, stroking his thumb along her bottom lip as she gasped for breath.

Venom! What the literal fuck, dude?! You attack her and then force yourself on her?!

“EDDIE SAYS WE PUSHED TOO FAR.”

“Tell Eddie to shut up.” Liz’s voice, a little hoarse, was like music to Venom. She reached up for his face, trying to pull him back down.

TOLD YOU SO.

Well damn.

Venom was happy to oblige Liz, lowering his head and sliding his tongue back into her mouth. She eagerly sucked on it, giving a pleasing moan. Her arms curled around his neck while she stood on tip toes.

A low, contented rumble left Venom. He grabbed at the back of Liz’s thighs, lifting her up and against himself. Venom tightened his hold on her until he would almost have hurt her.

His little bird suddenly pulled her head back, panting. “Hold on.” She gasped out, moving her hands to his shoulders.

“WE ARE HOLDING ON.” Venom whispered, stroking his tongue up her neck to her ear.

Liz squirmed suddenly and gasped. “Stop. I meant stop! Ven, we need to talk.”

Venom huffed out an annoyed breath. “WHY MAKE THIS COMPLICATED? WE DON’T NEED TO TALK.”

“Yes. We do.” She slapped his shoulder for emphasis. “All three of us. Like adults. It’s not just you and me, Venom. And we have to talk about safety.”

“YOU HUMANS FIND WAYS TO RUIN EVERYTHING. WE BOTH WANT YOU. AND WE WILL KEEP YOU SAFE.”

Liz gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “No, idiot. Safe sex. And I’d rather have the discussion with you and Eddie now rather than figure things out afterwards. I value you both of you too much to mess this up.”

Venom made a frustrated sound and carried Liz into the living room. He gently set her down onto the couch. “WE HURT YOU…” He lightly touched a spot of blood on the front of her shirt from his claws.

“I forgive you. It’s barely a scratch. Eddie. Now.”

Venom flowed back, releasing Eddie and remaining in his ‘floating noodle head’ form, as Eddie liked to call it.

“So, Liz, how’s your evening going?” Eddie asked with a weak chuckle.

Liz snorted and smiled, patting the couch next to her. “It’ll be better if we can finish this talk quickly and get back to business.”

Eddie cautiously sat down, watching her closely. “Look, if you want V, I won’t get in the way. I want you both to be happy. You don’t have to-“

“Oh, shut up, Eddie. Don’t be a self-sacrificing prick. Unless I miss my mark, you want me too. And I’m fine with that. I care about you and Ven. Whatever we have… it doesn’t need a name. Why can’t we just be together and be happy?” Liz asked quickly, reaching out to touch his leg.

“Well, when you make it sound that easy…”

“WE TOLD YOU, YOU MAKE THINGS TOO COMPLICATED.” Venom complained.

Liz laughed softly, turning her head slightly toward Venom’s voice. “I won’t lie, my concern was that… it would be awkward for you guys.”

“WE LOVE EDDIE. WE LOVE OUR LITTLE BIRD. SIMPLE.”

Liz paused and leaned back suddenly. “Oh. Oh, are you and Eddie…”

“Yeah, so, we share everything. V has been with me through a lot. I’ve no idea what to call our relationship, but it works for us.” Eddie felt warmth spread through his chest. Love and acceptance from his symbiote along with pride for his honesty.

“That’s hot.”

Eddie burst out into laughter at her simple, flat response. “Yeah, it is. And about safety, don’t worry. V can make sure it’s safe for us. All three of us.”

“My, my. How very useful.” Liz grinned, shifting to lean closer to Eddie. “I think that concludes the necessity of talking?”

Eddie felt Venom surge around him. They saw Liz shiver in surprise as they changed under her hands. Venom stroked one hand down her back to gently cup her ass, just barely covered by the hem of the shirt.

“GOOD. THEN WE HAVE FIRST DIBS.”

(Holy shit. I have to write smut next chapter.

Fuck.

Also, consent and communication is important, people! @inumorph, @dark-night-sky-99, @liadreyar-dragneel)

#love is blind #venom x reader #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock | venom x reader #symbrock #pulled a fast one on you there #possessive venom #inumorph #dark-night-sky-99 #liadreyar-dragneel

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