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berryshiara · 3 years

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Interview with an Ardat-Yakshi Chapter 1 Unexpected Things

AO3 Link How best to approach a problem? And by the Goddess... What to wear? Fen makes good on her promise to visit Vanguard XPress in Kari's behalf... Our story continues... Sleep… when she awoke despite the interruptions by Kari, Fen felt good… really good. With a sigh she stretched leisurely and sighed, there was something cathartic about making her home a better place.

During the stretch she found a companion in bed with her. Ludis…

“Hey…” She said rolling towards them and pushing on broad shoulders. “What do you think you are doing in my bed?”

A paw came up on the far side as Ludis rolled on their back towards her, pushing with one paw on the bed, offering the other in a submissive gesture.

“Don’t you play nice with me buster.” She half heartedly grumbled when they rolled over and pushed their face against her, giving Fen a light buzz. The buzz grew in intensity as they expressed their excitement for her to finally be awake.

“Wah!” She pulled her face away with a frown, pushing the over exuberant hulk back with both hands. “Stop, stop it… Goddess.” She grumbled but just as quickly sighed when her Fenris thumped down on the bed beside her, resting the curve of it’s big face on her shoulder.

Fen stared at Ludis only briefly. “You really should not be up here.” Rolling towards her captured arm she wrapped the free one around Ludis and let her body rest against theirs, cheek pressed against a warm shoulder. “I’m in too good of a mood to be upset.” She admitted with a deep sigh. Ludis lay there seemingly content in Fen’s embrace, their mechanical legs stilling on the bed, the red glow of their face softening. She sighed again pressing her brow to their short neck.

For a long moment they stayed that way, Ludis laying quietly as Fen held them… a learned behavior that Fen was grateful for. “Where were you when I was invaded this morning by a giant?” She asked, her fingers playing over the pocked marks on Ludis’ paws, time left its mark on all things…

Ludis remained unforthcoming to her question. With a tight squeeze to the barrel of their chest Fen unrolled and pushed the FENRIS mech just enough to free herself. She didn’t have the heart to bully it off the bed, something that wasn’t a worry any way. The moment Fen’s feet made the floor Ludis was up, in fact Ludis beat her to the door. Its face glowing intensely bright with excitement. As if to prove her belief in its anthropomorphic performance, Ludis did a little dance against the door, putting a paw on it then backing up and spinning in a circle before looking back at Fen expectantly.

“Okay, yes. I got it.” Reaching for her omnitool and slipping it on as she made for the door. When another paw came up to the door she barked discouragement at him. “NO!” Grumbling softly afterwards “Don’t do that” Already the door held marks of their passing, gouges where mechanical toes had scarred the cheap material. “I swear, between you and Kari I can’t keep a decent door.” She was still grumbling about it when they made it to the kitchen where the early morning meeting had been held. Her cup of cold coffee on the small table a reminder of promises made…

Pursing her lips she plucked it up, swirled it thoughtfully and then turned back to the bedroom. Ludis sat back on metallic haunches as she brushed past them again.

“What does one wear to impress a Batarian business man?” Fen asked her four legged friend as she took a long drink of the cold coffee and inspected the wardrobe objectively.

Honestly did she really care to impress him? Was she looking to beguile him into doing what she wanted? Did she wish to have him beholden to her? Or terrify him into compliance?

Setting the coffee down she let her fingers run through the choices, feeling the fabrics as she thought about what it was she wanted to accomplish in this meeting?

“No… no…” Blue fingers paused, slipping against silk that drew a smile, pulling the dress out she held it against her body as that smile grew. Fingers caressed the black silk, down her body to the short hem of the dress. Her mind jumping to that night in Afterlife, when a certain someone approached her with an almost unheard clearing of their throat. An uncertain request by an unsure maiden… Fen had almost dismissed her without even looking up, she remembered feeling annoyed that the hulk that stood in front of her blocked her view. That is until she focused on what the wall was… powerful thighs, leading to slender hips, strong abs, broad shoulders before finally meeting hesitant blue… eyes.

Her skin tingled as she thought about her friend, gorgeous, powerful… perfection.

Pressing her lips together Fen put that dress back with a shake of her head “I don’t want to ruin that memory.”

Giving the dress a final caress Fen sighed. Really what did she want to do to this Batarian besides make it clear that Jessa was her own person? But was she? Batarians were known to be slavers… did she have the information needed to approach this objectively?

Gold eyes shifted to the slim shoulder of that little black dress, awakening a shimmer of dancing fish in her chest and stomach. Honestly, when it came to Pallikári could she be objective at all?

Just as promised Foínix came to Vanguard XPress; who’s motto was Anything, Anywhere, for the right price. On Omega that really did mean anything… Like most businesses on this shithole it had two faces. That which provided a legitimate service - moving goods and messages, the second.. included bodies - living and dead, drugs of all kinds, … in hell, nothing was sacred.

Dressed in a black on black outfit pants suite she stepped through the front door with Ludis at her side.

Jess was at the front desk to welcome her, her smile warm and genuine.

“Can I help you?”

“Hello.” Foínix took up a comfortable pose on the desk leaning a little in towards Jess resting an arm on the low partition to one side. She took up a posture that both exposed herself and displayed it. With just the right tip of her jaw she greeted Fen’s, Jess.

Jess blinked at her, no doubt trying to figure out what about her body language was bothering her... and how best to politely decline; but her request was not for the woman at the desk, but rather to her Batarian boss. Like a peacock with extravagant plumage spread, Fen waited for him to take notice. That she was offering this display to the lowly front desk worker would make them respond to her silent offer all the quicker, after all… they were the master, anything offered in their establishment, belonged to them first. Batarians were fun like that… the wrong twitch meant the difference between insult and matrimony…

Jess blinked at her even as she leaned in, a confused look touched the humans eyes and ever so briefly her lips just before she returned the smile. “I’m good, and you?”

Though she was not there to test Kari’s human, it sort of worked out that way, and her response was heartening. A human who was not so easily enticed by another Asari meant that they were not doing it for the novelty.

“I am doing well, thank you.” A little impatient she gave a final silent request, shifting off the partition Fen leaned forward into Jess’s space.

As if reeled in, the back door opened… she gave a brief glance to Vath, assessing him and their safety. He carried himself strong, with exposed arms, and a form fitting top.

“What is it we can do for you?” He interrupted Jess, standing as a man in power to her right. His chest was puffed up, his head held high. He was strutting back, showing this was his domain, and that it was to him she should appeal. Not to his hired help.

Raising a brow she resisted the urge to cant her head the wrong way. Instead she gave an easy smile and lowered her chin in response. “Were I to guess, you were a man in charge. I was hoping to speak to you about a lucrative venture. There is many things I need moved… and I have little desire to do so myself. If I…”

He raised a hand as he moved from the front desk to the side gate, motioning her to come around. “Please, let us continue this discussion in my office.”

Giving a brief look to Jess she bowed her head ever so slightly. “Thank you.”

Fen wondered how much Jess dismissed in her job… but left it alone. She would be setting some clear boundaries soon enough for the Batarian business man.

"Wait..." He held his hand up when he caught sight of her FENRIS.

"Ludis, sit." Pointing to a spot just outside the gate. Her mech came to that exact point and looking up at her, plunked its haunches right on it. "Stay." She rubbed the rim of his head and let him buzz the back of her hand as she rubbed the back of her fingers against his face.

Looking up she gave a look to the Batarian before he dropped his arm and then led the way to his office.

Vath’s office was surprisingly… perfect.

It’s presentation was so well done that it left very little to imagination... There was a picture frame on his desk, its contents rotating through several captured memories, most of them very proud men showing their overly large guns, and the poor animals they had hunted to death.

A few personal items, not one of which had anything to do with his big game hunting. That actually surprised her. There were no stuffed animals or pieces of them mounted as trophies. . . His desk was tidy but showed a functioning work space rather than a picture perfect one. The furniture was not ostentatious, nor something that would have made clients uncomfortable.

The space was so maintained it felt like it belonged in a magazine.

Vath stepped into the room and turned sitting on the desk while motioning for her to take a seat.

While giving the illusion of being courteous he was taking a very dominant position, both by remaining in her space, and by keeping his head higher than hers. Honestly though, being a short woman, it was not hard to do.

Playing the game, Foínix took the offered seat.

“Can I get you anything? A glass of water? Or something stronger?” He motioned to the neat little set of decorative decanted alcoholic beverages sitting in an alcove.

“Thank you, no. I am not here to play a perfectly poised game. I want to make a deal that will benefit us both, but I have very specific conditions that must be met before we can get down to making money.”

The Batarian shifted, his body expressing reservation, and a little curiosity.

“I thought about ways I could get what I want. Beguiling you does not appeal to me, nor does appealing to your vanity, which I would quickly find exhausting. I also thought about terrifying you to get what I want, but I feel that is a shallow one time trick that will do little good unless I am truly willing to kill you and replace you.” She looked at him as she revealed all this. A quirk to her lips when he stiffened. She made a soothing gesture. “I was merely covering my options. I have no intention on following on any of the aforementioned ideas. While you are not the best of men, you are what Father calls a necessary evil… Having covered all that, I come to but one option, I want you to give me what I want, so that you can make lots of money doing what I want you to do.”

To his credit Vath remained perched on the desk, studying her. Thick lips pursed as he chewed on her words. Like his room he was very careful in studying the case presented to him, before he laughed and then stood up to circle around the desk, plopping into his chair he leaned forward, elbows on the desktop.

Fen had a feeling she would have lost a week’s worth of credits if she had made the bet that this was not Vath’s true office.

“Well, you have my attention. Tell me what these conditions are so we can get to the good bits!”

“I want to know if you actually own papers on Jessa Pell, and if you do, I want you to tear them up.”

“Pell…” His brow furrowed, all four of his eyes narrowing as he struck a haughty pose. Slave ownership was a touchy subject with the Hegemony, most Batarians felt it was their ancestral right to own, buy and sell others as a commodity. “Why Pell specifically? I have slips on nearly all my workers.”

“I have a vested interest… I am not here to say you have to give up your slaving ways, but I do need Jessa to be released from any contracts you may have on her… and I need her to be free in every way imaginable.”

“Ok, those are the conditions, what is the business opportunity I was promised that would be worth this… investment.” He sat back stroking the coarse hairs on his chin.

“I have lots of merch that I have no need for. I sell it to you at a considerable discount, and you take whatever profit there is to be made.”

“What merch.”

Fen raised her omnitool leaning forward so that she could share the information with Vath.

Looking over the list for a few minutes, he grunted. “How often do you get these… shipments.”

“When I do you will be the first to know.”

“Payment?”

“Thirty percent.”

“Twenty.” He countered, his eyes narrowing.

She shifted. “Twenty eight.”

“Twenty five.” He came back quickly, a playful smile touching thick lips.

Fen pretended to think about the number before speaking. “And Jessa’s papers.”

“Deal.”

“You will add a note to your personal file after you send me all you have on Ms. Pell.” Opening the screen up on her omni-tool Fen flicked a file in his direction.

Vath grunted, his brows drawing tight before one set of eyes raised to look at her over his device. “Is this a threat?”

Fen stood up and straightened her bodice. “To a successful & wiley business man such as yourself, it is a friendly reminder. Who owns Jessa Pell now?” She asked.

After a moment of silence and moving of documents between their devices he gave nod to her. “You do.” Standing he leaned forward on his desk, hands placed flat, neck extended jaw at a sassy jaunt as he wore a toothy grin. “And before you destroy those documents, I would gladly tell you why you should keep them… over drinks and dinner.”

Fen looked up from her omni-tool to see the offer he gave her, surprise touching her face before she could hide it.

@maskydoolovesmasseffect @maskydoo-main id like to thank masky for their kind encouragement, and what seems unending generosity. Thanks~

#interview with an ardat yakshi #ardat-yakshi #mass effect #Foínix Éleos #Vath Bak'daroh #mass effect fan fiction #asari #omega #batarian

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introvertguide · 4 years

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Goodfellas (1990); AFI #92

The current film up for review is Scorsese’s famous crime drama, Goodfellas (1990). It is the story of Henry Hill and how he lived through the psychotic and neurotic life of a mafia member. The film was nominated for six academy awards including Best Picture and Best Director, but only took one trophy home for Best Supporting Actor (Joe Pesci). I watched the movie 3 times over the last 2 weeks and my opinion changed from one opinion to another as I watched each time and I want to discuss why. First of all, however, we need to do summarize the plot with a standard warning...

SPOILER ALERT!!!!! I HAVE ALREADY GIVEN AWAY THE PLOT IN PREVIOUS POSTS AND I AM ABOUT TO DO IT AGAIN EVEN MORE SO!!!! CHECK OUT THE MOVIE FOR YOURSELF IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY!!!

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The movie begins with three men checking the trunk of their car and finding that the body in the trunk was actually alive. Tommy (Joe Pesci) stabs the man multiple times and then Jimmy (Robert DeNiro) shoots him multiple times. Henry (Ray Liotta) looks on and explains his life in voice over and how the men all got to this position.

In 1955, a young man named Henry Hill becomes enamored with the criminal life and Mafia presence in his working class Italian-American neighborhood in Brooklyn. He gets a job working for local mob boss Paul "Paulie" Cicero (Paul Sorvino) and is introduced to the entire family. Most important were associates James "Jimmy" Conway, an Irish truck hijacker, and Tommy DeVito, a fellow juvenile delinquent. Henry begins as an errand boy for Jimmy, gradually working his way up to more serious crimes. The three associates spend most of their nights in the 1960s at the Copacabana nightclub where they can impress women. Henry starts dating Karen Friedman (Lorraine Bracco), a Jewish woman who is friends with Tommy’s current date. She is initially troubled by Henry's criminal activities but is eventually seduced by his glamorous lifestyle. She marries him, despite her parents' disapproval.

We follow Henry and his rise in the mafia along with Jimmy and his growing paranoia and Tommy with his constant chip on the shoulder. In 1970, Billy Batts, a made man in the Gambino crew who was recently released from prison, repeatedly insults Tommy at a nightclub owned by Henry; Tommy and Jimmy then beat, stab and shoot him to death. The unsanctioned murder of a made man invites retribution; realizing this, Jimmy, Henry, and Tommy cover up the murder by burying the body in Upstate New York. Six months later, however, Jimmy learns that the burial site is slated for development, prompting them to exhume and relocate the decomposing corpse. At this time, Jimmy begins watching his back, Tommy feels invincible, and Henry takes on girlfriend while Karen stays at home with the kids.

Fast forward to 1974, Karen finds out about the infidelity and harasses Henry's mistress Janice and holds Henry at gunpoint. Henry moves in with Janice, but Paulie insists that he should return to Karen after collecting a debt from a gambler in Tampa with Jimmy. The mafia is all about family and there is no divorce and appearances must be kept. Things don’t go as planned because, upon returning, Jimmy and Henry are arrested after being turned in by the gambler's sister, an FBI typist, and they receive ten-year prison sentences. In order to support his family on the outside, Henry has drugs smuggled in by Karen and sells them to a fellow inmate from Pittsburgh. In 1978, Henry is paroled and expands this cocaine business against Paulie's orders, soon involving Jimmy and Tommy.

In 1979, Jimmy organizes a crew to raid the Lufthansa vault at the JFK Airport, stealing several millions in cash and jewelry. After some members purchase expensive items against Jimmy's orders and the getaway truck is found by police, he has most of the crew murdered. This part of the film is based on a true story Jimmy, in fact killed almost a dozen people in attempt to keep things silent. In his voiceover narration, as dead bodies are being discovered all over the city, Henry theorizes that Jimmy would have killed them anyway rather than share the profits of the heist. Tommy and Henry are spared by Jimmy since they had worked so close together. Also, Henry wasn’t actually involved in robbery and Tommy is going to be a made man and Jimmy wants the connection. Tommy is eventually deceived into believing he is going to be made, but he is murdered on the way to the ceremony, leaving Jimmy devastated.

By 1980, Henry has become a nervous wreck from cocaine use and insomnia. He notices that a helicopter is following him but is trying to visit with his family and deliver drugs at the same time. He sets up a drug deal with his Pittsburgh associates, but is arrested by narcotics agents and jailed. After bailing him out, Karen explains that she flushed $60,000 worth of cocaine down the toilet to prevent FBI agents from finding it during their raid, leaving them virtually penniless. Henry has nowhere to go so he returns to Paulie to ask for help and admits to dealing under the table. Feeling betrayed by Henry's drug dealing, Paulie gives him $3,200 and ends their association. Henry meets Jimmy at a diner and is asked to travel on a hit assignment, but the novelty of such a request makes him suspicious. Henry realizes that Jimmy plans to have him and Karen killed, prompting his decision to become an informant and enroll, with his family, in the witness protection program. He gives sufficient testimony to have Paulie and Jimmy arrested and convicted. Henry is grateful to be alive, but he is forced out of his gangster life and has to readjust to normal life once again; he narrates, "I'm an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook."

The end title cards state that Henry is still a protected witness as of 1990, but that he was arrested in 1987 in Seattle for narcotics conspiracy, receiving five years' probation. He has been clean since then. He and Karen separated in 1989 after 25 years of marriage, while Paulie died the previous year in Fort Worth Federal Prison at age 73 from respiratory illness. Jimmy is serving a 20 years to life sentence in a New York prison for murder, in which he will be paroled in 2004, when he will be 78 years old.

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Even more of an update from the end title cards, Henry Hill and Karen Hill divorced in 2001 and then Henry remarried and fathered one more child. Karen and her kids have lived in hiding and fear they will never escape possible retribution. Jimmy died in prison in 1996 before he was eligible for parole and Henry died in 2012 of cancer. With their history of explosive violence, I am kind of glad that all three of the main men (Tommy, Henry, and Jimmy) have shuffled off this mortal coil.

So I ended up watching this film three times in the last couple of weeks and I liked it less and less each time. So many people have such good things to say about the movies (including me), yet what the movie is most celebrated for is what I like the least. The first time I watched was with my housemates and they talked throughout the movie and laughed at the antics of Joe Pesci. I feel that many viewers enjoyed that crazy performance, and this was probably the reason for the Best Supporting Actor award. I am sure that capturing the volatile nature of a lunatic mafia hitman is very difficult and deserves praise.

I then watched it twice more to take notes on the different camera shots and then to compare to the real story of the Lucchese family and Lufthansa heist. I was not disappointed with the camera shots since Scorsese tends to let his actors go wild and then move the camera in interesting ways to capture the action while telling the story he wants to tell. He uses extreme close up shots and the vertigo trucking shot to represent the paranoia of Henry Hill and Jimmy Burke. He used the tracking shot to bring the audience into the world of the mafia man using the the character of Karen Hill as the “fish-out-of-water.” The choice of music was great including using the Sid Vicious rendition of the classic “My Way” popularized by Frank Sinatra. The colors were so bright in the beginning and became so bleak and washed out by the end. Fantastic cinematography and direction.

By the last watch, I realized that I did not like Tommy DeVito (real life name Tommy DeSimone) because he made everybody around him scared. It was like having a pet feral tiger and just hoping that he never turned on you. He was not loyal at all. In actuality, he tried to rape Karen Hill while she was married to Henry. He really killed a young bartender named Spider because Jimmy was teasing him. He brutally attacked and murdered out of anger because he was completely unhinged. Just watching Joe Pesci play the part made me anxious and I wanted him to go away every time he appeared on screen. I guess this makes him a great actor, but it also doesn’t make me want to watch his movies.

I brought this up with the Godfather movies on the list, but do Brooklyn based Italian-Americans act like these people in the movies? Constant noise in which men treat women terribly and the women go off to the kitchen and make food? I can except the loud large families and the giant shared meals, but I sure hope that the poor treatment of women and the huge lack of equality between the genders is fake or at least outdated. I have met some really nice Italian people who are nothing like the people in these films, so I believe it is a stereotype (if this is true, then Hollywood needs to stop promoting these stereotypes).

A final positive note towards the acting, I thought that Lorraine Bracco did a wonderful job as Karen Hill. She played a sheltered girl that wanted a little danger and got way more than she ever wanted. There is a scene in which she realizes that her husband is cheating and that she and her children are miserable and unprotected. She wakes up Henry with a gun in his face, but she can’t kill him because she wants that drama in her life. She is treated horribly and at one point barely walks away from a hit set up by Jimmy, yet she still stays with Henry until she is forced into the boring life of Witness Protection and she leaves him. After wading through the history of all the different characters from the movie, I actually find her story to be the most interesting.

In the end, I still want an answer for the same two questions. Does this film belong on the AFI top 100? Absolutely. It is a well made movie with a strong vision about one version of growing up in Brooklyn and how searching to realize the American dream can lead you down dark and dirty paths. Great vision by Scorsese and a well told story. Do I recommend it? Not really. I recommend doing the research on these American mobsters and get a feel for what these people were really like. I recommend checking out clips on YouTube that show the filming techniques that have become hallmarks of great directors. But don’t watch these portrayals and laugh. They are not fun or funny like they come off in the movie, these are horrible (yet interesting) people that should serve as a lesson/warning and not have their lives glamourized by Hollywood.

#goodfellas #hollywood #70s #joe pesci #ray liotta #Robert De Niro #Martin Scorsese #Oscar winner #crime drama #mafia #robbery #murder #true story #introvert #introverts

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undergroundexits · 3 years

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👥👥👥 one for umm every pair we have

Send 👥 for a headcanon relating to both of our muses

jason + kinsey

Jason uses his knack for making & fiddling with clocks -- particularly cuckoo clocks -- to make a gift for Kinsey. It’s a novelty thing, and she might get tired of it later and just decide to quiet it (which, understandable), but it looks cute, at least. And it also has a mini replica of Baker, her dog, instead of the typical bird at the o’clock.

damien + wren

When Wren disappeared, Damien didn’t know what to do, where she’d gone (where exactly was the last location in the manor she was in), or why she was nowhere to be found. Sure, he could guess that it might something to do with the manor and what it might be hiding, but he couldn’t find a damn thing. He stays as long as he can there, without being shooed away for (technically?) trespassing, and usually sleeps in a guest bedroom, plagued by strange dreams where she’s just out of reach -- the only detail he ever remembers. When he has to leave for the states again, only two weeks after her disappearance, he doesn’t stop dreaming about her.

western + sylvia

They had watched a few videos on her channel before they’d actually met, a mild curiosity of theirs taking them down the road of genuine surprise that she’d found actual information pertaining to real monsters (“monsters”, you know). So, when they do first meet, it takes them a moment to actually realise it is her, before they both yell and Western gets almost-stabbed. But they keep that to themself for a moment, seeing as Sylvia is, understandably, a tad wary (at first) around them.

western + mila

Western’s pretty good with kids, having helped brought up their sisters before, so they’re always happy to help look after Amar, whether it’s kids’ games or trying new foods or reading him to sleep, or even the harder parts of looking after a kid. As much as Western likes to travel, they do love coming back to see Mila and Amar.

(Additionally, Western would totally be down to sort out Mila’s ex-boyfriend problems.)

western + emil

Western does often drop by Emil’s record shop (always “Emil’s record shop”, and not “the place she works at”) whenever they’re in the area, mooching through selections and, jokingly, asking if they can get a discount. Always leaves with a kiss on her cheek, even though she waves them away (with a smile).

peril + vera

Thinking about Vera wanting to be more than a trophy wife; somewhat related (just about), Peril is very much an emotionally closed-off person these days, typically keeping all her cards close to her chest, and spares little of her emotional vulnerability to her nearest-and-dearest (these days, ex-husband Mungo and daughter Isobel), but even that’s difficult after living as many assumed lives as she has. Still, Peril isn’t so disconnected that her love is stilted and cold, and she lets Vera know that she is so very loved, usually through hugs (not much of a talker in a vulnerable state except for “obvious” little things, the i-love-yous and such).

naoko + archie

Naoko has also had her own (somewhat short-lived, and top secret) cover band with some of her siblings, and it’s something she’ll probably let slip later on, as something she and Archie sort-of share. She has also considered the idea of the both of them teaming up to be a musical duo, but she’s keeping that idea on the backburner for now.

graham + sasha (father-daughter time)

They both try to ground each other post-Evil Art World, affirming with names when things get a bit weird. Graham in particular takes to using a polaroid camera, a way of saying “this is me, and this is you, and this cannot be crossed out”.

#cosmicacy #ooc answer.#im so sorry this took so long ARGH #not even sure i answered this correctly BUT #jason f. headcanon.#damien a. headcanon.#western s. headcanon.#peril headcanon.#naoko k. headcanon.#graham f. headcanon.#rel: jason flowers & kinsey rutherford (ft. cosmicacy).#rel: damien anderson & wren adler (ft. cosmicacy).#rel: western slate & sylvia delaire (ft. cosmicacy).#rel: western slate & mila rahimi (ft. cosmicacy).#rel: western slate & emil stoker (ft. cosmicacy).#rel: peril | catrina scott & vera barde (ft. cosmicacy).#rel: naoko katagawa & archie (ft. cosmicacy).#rel: graham folger & sasha james (ft. cosmicacy).

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sexygatormansimp · 4 years

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Oh, how very big of you. You're an alpha male, are you? Well, let me clue you in on something: Alpha Males haven't been in charge for a good couple of decades. Obviously, this tirade is directed on a High School level. Once you get out of high school, and begin working at your dead-end office job, you know who your boss is going to be? That's right, that pasty nerd you made fun of. It's funny, you see. The majority of the women you are talking about, despite the blatant lies you've slipped in, and the generalizations which remain moderately untrue, are frankly, idiotic sluts. The fact that you're trying to taunt us with them is inane, because while they sound appealing in text, in reality, we wouldn't want anything to do with the ****ing skanks. And furthermore, thank you for "****ing every girl in the school (I bet you can bench 2000 pounds too, amirite?)." Honestly, thank you. Why, you may ask? Because, by taking away the easy route, you have brought pain upon us. You have brought us misery, you have forced us to adapt to that misery, and to grow as people. Luxury doesn't incite growth, pain does. So while you're busy sticking it in your AIDS-ridden skanks, we're studying, learning, gaining skills that are necessary for life. You may scoff at this, call us stupid nerds for not getting the pussy while it's hot, but guess what? We're going to get it eventually. You said so yourself, women love power. So, eventually, you're going to find a women you love as much as she primally needs you. You're going to get married, maybe settle down a bit. Wild sex for the first two years, but after a while, she'll get ansy. She'll grow tired of the novelty of the Alpha Male. Your relationship will become the dull forced marriage that is seen constantly in America. You'll likely divorce her and move on, getting a younger wife that'll need you as much as your old wife did when you first married. Seems swell, doesn't it? I can assure you, it isn't. By now, we have risen to power. While you live the life of the swingers, we are the Senators, the Chairmen, we are the rulers of life as you know it. We have transcended your pitiful existence, and control every aspect of your very fate, without you even so much as noticing. By now, we have the money and the power, and as Scarface once said (We know you love him, and have his poster on your bedroom wall,'cause you're cool like that) next we get the women. And guess who it is that loves power, as you said women do? That's right, it's your little skank of a wife! Now, most of us will likely have settled down with a wife, but I'm sure there are plenty that would be glad to take your wife when she dumps your sorry ass to go to the people she knows have the real power. And, as we get older, our fortunes and power will grow. We'll eventually get a few trophy wives, settle down a bit, and live in the lap of luxury. Meanwhile, you, the "Alpha Male" will be left alone. By the time you hit thirty, your primal attraction, your ONLY asset, will begin to fade. Your third wife in ten years will grow tired of your old, pitiful body, and will leave you. Stuck in a dead-end job as one of our pawns, you will grow old and even less appealing. Eventually you will die an old and unloved man, either by taking your own life, drowning yourself in booze, or perhaps merely out of your own misery. So go ahead. Brag about how many women you are ****ing. Call us losers. We may seem to be upset, and you may mock our pain, but I assure you, we know your fate. And we are smiling inside

#I have no clue where this is from nor how I found it #Its been in my notes forever and I have to get it out

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rutilation · 5 years

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You hear that subtle creaking noise? That is the sound of the Sword of Damocles, its single thread fraying as it prepares to come crashing down on Gormie’s head. Poor kid’s going to incur Ichikawa’s wrath if they keep tempting fate like this.

One minute you’re having the time of your life visiting moon-disneyland while trashing your ex, but before you know it your author is going to dump some nasty plot twist on you like: “Actually, Aechmea was lying about your eyes,” “Actually, you’re just Ghost’s split-personality,” “Actually, Aechmea is using you as a science experiment.” (in case you couldn’t tell, I’m dreading eagerly anticipating the payoff to all this buildup.)

So to start off, Aechmea was being quite ominous this chapter, and everything that came out of his mouth seemed like it had a double meaning that we poor readers don’t have enough information to decipher yet. This line also seemed like a veiled way of suggesting that he has ulterior motives regarding Cairn beyond simply acquiring a trophy wife.

I’ve been thinking for a long time that whatever extenuating circumstances are keeping Kongou from praying must be pretty dire, because otherwise he has no reason to keep this carousel of misery going. Every piece of humanity is suffering because of his inaction, and I don’t think he’d abide by that if there wasn’t something grave stopping him from taking action. I also think it’s likely that Aechmea knows what this reason is, and is keeping that information from the gems. So, now that Phos has cooled their head enough that they’re willing to try and talk things out, is Aechmea going to do something about that? Do his cryptic words from this chapter allude to this? Hmmmm…

Anyway, on to Phos.

What a good rock.

It’s good that Phos is more cognizant of the impact they have on others and that they’re trying to be less callous. Keeping Alex from going through with that idea was definitely the right decision. At the same time, I don’t think the answer to the conundrum of getting other people caught up in your problems is to take the weight of the world onto your shoulders and try to do everything by yourself. That’s essentially what Kongou has been doing the whole story, and look how that turned out. Furthermore, one important aspect of Phos early in their character arc was how the other characters’ unwillingness to let Phos take responsibility for their own mistakes really ate away at their self-esteem. The narrative seems to posit that taking away the consequences of someone’s actions and the responsibility of making decisions is tantamount to depriving another of their full personhood, even when the desire to do so comes from a place of compassion.

On a related note, I’ve noticed that both of the important people in Phos’s life are in a rather precarious position thanks to Phos’s actions, and additionally, nothing Phos does going forward is going to bail them out of it. They both stand to gain something in the short term if Phos keeps failing at their task of getting Kongou to pray. Cinnabar’s newfound acceptance is contingent on Phos trying (and failing) to assault Kongou. The longer that keeps up, the longer they’ll be accepted by the other gems; Phos’s success would end that in an instant. However, even if this were to become the new status quo, it wouldn’t make Cinnabar happy in the long run. After all, one of the very first things we learn about them is that they hate fighting. So once the novelty of their peers’ acceptance begins to wear off, they’re going to find themselves dissatisfied.

Similarly, Cairn also stands to benefit in the short term if Phos keeps failing. The longer Kongou doesn’t pray for the Lunarians, the more time they have with Aechmea. But as chapter 71 showed, he’s the controlling type, which is pretty antithetical to Cairn’s desire to find freedom. Aechmea’s behavior is probably just going to get worse and worse once the honeymoon-phase of the relationship is over, at which point Cairn’s life is going to be hell for every moment that Aechmea continues to stink up the mortal plane with his existence.

Before Phos got their grubby little paws on Cinnabar and Cairngorm, neither of them were living happy lives. But they also didn’t hope for anything better, and were more or less resigned to their respective fates. But now that they’ve ridden the wave of Phos’s change, both of them now have something to lose. Whether Phos succeeds or fails in their quest, it seems to me that the two of them are going to have to save themselves if they don’t want to get badly burned (or worse) by the end of this debacle.

In this interview, Ichikawa alluded to the conundrum of whether or not it’s possible to save someone from themselves, and the way she talked about it makes it seem like a central conceit of the text. Not to be totally predictable by referencing Utena once again in my essays, but that theme is one of the central conflicts in Utena as well. The answer that series comes to is that people can really only save themselves, and that the most the people around them can do is give that person the tools and opportunity to do so. It also posits that trying to do otherwise creates a toxic relationship wherein the savior has ultimate power over the one being saved, thus tainting the altruism that might have inspired one to save another in the first place. I wonder if HnK will come to a similar conclusion.

Going back to Cinnabar for a minute, while I’m taking it as a given that the rest of the earth gems will drop them like a bad habit the second they stop being useful, I do have a bit of faith that Bort will stick up for them. Let’s talk about Bort.

Unlike most of the other gems still on earth, Bort has grown since the start of the manga. They can say that change is for weaklings all they want, but the Bort we were introduced to is quite different from Bort as we know them now. Their establishing scene in the manga has them scoffing at the idea of helping someone who they saw as a burden, someone who’s unwilling to help themselves. But whatever scorn they had towards Phos early in the manga—by their own logic—they would have had for Cinnabar twice over. Where Phos was merely useless, Cinnabar was an actual liability. Where Phos was haphazard and lazy in their efforts, Cinnabar is almost pathologically passive and self-defeating.

But by the time they actually met Cinnabar, they had changed. And nowadays, it seems they’re trying to act as the Shinsha Whisperer. Because of a series of gradual changes catalyzed by Phos and Dia, they’ve come to realize that:

A. People can have potential that isn’t immediately apparent

B. They themselves can have a more enriching role in their society than that of a surly guard dog

Plenty of people have written about how Bort is more thoughtful and sensitive than they initially appeared to be, but it’s usually couched in terms of the reader pulling back the veil of gruffness to reveal sweet, jellyfish-loving soul underneath. While I don’t think that’s inaccurate per se, the way I see it is that certain events in the story have nurtured their growth as a character, causing them to slowly become less of an asshole. I find that to be a more fruitful framework to work with than simply: “We the readers didn’t understand Bort at first because of incomplete information and now we do.”

What I’m getting at is that since they were willing to set aside a bit of their pride and step outside of their comfort zone in order to change, I have more faith in them to do the right thing than the people surrounding them. Most of the gems are polite, agreeable, charming, etc…but the way the outcasts of their society have been treated throughout the narrative speaks volumes, much more than a veil of civility ever could. What other read am I supposed to get from chapter five? Not to trash on two-thirds of the cast or anything, but I think most of these characters are just going along to get along, and aren’t terribly concerned about anything or anyone that doesn’t directly affect them.

Speaking of earth gems that I don’t trust:

Ichikawa keeps repeating the image of Euclase looming over Phos. This is the third time now.

Anyway, Cairn is once again happening. And, umm...

Hate to break it to you buddy, but I’m pretty sure the call’s coming from inside the house. What episode of The Twilight Zone have we entered in which Cairngorm needs Ghost’s help in order to look disgusted with everything?

There’s not much I can say about Cairn in this chapter that I didn’t already say in my Cairn essay. While it’s certainly upsetting to learn that they were suicidal while Phos was in a coma, it’s also not exactly shocking. That said, I do have one additional observation. This has been on my mind for a while, but I’ve never really brought it up because it’s existed in the realm of subtext, and sometimes I am a timid little bean who doesn’t want to risk putting my foot in my mouth.

Cairngorm is pretty good at reading people, aren’t they? In this scene in chapter 50 they seem to have a much stronger grasp on Kongou’s state of mind than Phos ever has, they can always tell when Phos is lying or otherwise putting up a front, and I’m fairly certain they’re basing their current affectation on what they have inferred that Aechmea wants. I bring this up because of this moment from the chapter:

While we the audience have the benefit of hindsight, tone, and framing to indicate that Aechmea is up to something duplicitous in this scene, Cairn doesn’t. But they still immediately pick up on the fact that he’s being shady. They phrase this observation as if it’s a joke rather than a source of genuine unease, but the fact that the composition of the page lingers on this line is rather telling, leading me to think Cairn is trying to laugh off something that is in actuality causing them anxiety.

The only other thing that caught my attention is that Cairn called Aechmea by his name. I guess whatever reason he has for not liking his name, it’s not because he considers it an insult?

Finally, just as a reminder, I’ve started cross-posting my essays to ao3 in case tumblr dies or whatever. So, if that does happen, you can find me there.

#i ended up rambling #houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous

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autolovecraft · 6 years

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What the hound was, and moonlight.

Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound, and those around had heard in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we saw the bats descend in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

We only realized, with the commonplaces of a crouching winged hound, or sphinx with a blow of my spade. The predatory excursions on which St John nor I could identify; and, worst of all, the pale watching moon, the pale watching moon, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard the baying of some gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the thing that had killed it, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the corridor. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I attacked the half frozen sod with a charnel fever like our own. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and I had first heard the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. I killed him with a semi-canine face, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the old manor-house on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. And when I spoke to him, and in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself.

It was the night of September 24,19—, I departed on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. One evening as I. So, too, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor, I staggered into the house, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and the ecstasies of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. Extinguishing all lights, we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. It was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me.

On October 29 we found it. Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the oldest churchyards of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the odors of mold, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the odors of mold, vegetation, and I saw on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Madness rides the star-wind, and how we delved in the water. I had hastened to the theory that we were both in the forbidden Necronomicon of the visitor. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. St John and I saw on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw that it was who led the way at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. So, too, as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the reflections of the unknown, we gave a last glance at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and another time we thought we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.

So, too, as we found potent only by a shrill laugh.

On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the calm white thing that had killed it, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had so lately rifled, as we found in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and mumbled over his body one of the visitor.

The skeleton, though crushed in places by the knock of the decadents could help us, and we could not be sure. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and we could not answer coherently.

Much—amazingly much—was left of the reflections of the decadents could help us, and he could not answer coherently. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Now, as the victims of some gigantic hound. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the secret library staircase. It is of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Then terror came.

Only the somber philosophy of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead. St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as we had heard in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Extinguishing all lights, we proceeded to the earth we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the Holland churchyard. I alone know why, and we could not guess, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead. When I arose, trembling, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. So at last I stood again in the Dutch language. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1922 #The Hound #The Hound week

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papermoonloveslucy · 6 years

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LUCY AND RUDY VALLEE

S3;E12 ~ November 30, 1970

Directed by Coby Ruskin ~ Written by David Ketchum and Bruce Kelly

Synopsis

Famous crooner Rudy Vallée is waiting tables to pass the time until his music comes back into style. Lucy convinces Kim to help update his look and sound while Harry gets him a booking at the local teen hangout.

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carter), Gale Gordon (Harrison Otis Carter), Lucie Arnaz (Kim Carter)

Desi Arnaz Jr. (Craig Carter) does not appear in this episode, although he does receive opening title credit.

Guest Cast

Rudy Vallée (Himself) started his career as a saxophone player and singer and became a popular bandleader, hosting a hit radio program in the 1930s. His first film was 1929's The Vagabond Lover. He also wrote a popular song of the same title. He was known as a crooner, and often depicted singing through a megaphone. On Broadway he appeared in How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying and repeated his role in the film version in 1967. That same year he played “Batman” villain Lord Marmaduke Fogg. Vallée played himself in “Lucy Takes a Cruise to Havana,” the first episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” in 1957. He died in 1986 at age 84.

Herbie Faye (Luncheonette Manager) was a character actor whose first major role (at age 56) was Corporal Sam Fender in “The Phil Silvers Show” (1955). He also appeared with Silvers on Broadway in Top Banana (1951) and also did the film version (1954) with Silvers. He appeared in a 1968 episode of “The Lucy Show.” This is the first of his four “Here's Lucy” episodes.

Phil Vandervoort (Steve) appeared in two episodes of “The Lucy Show” where he met Lucie Arnaz. The two were married from 1971 to 1977. This is the first of his three episodes of the series.

It is fairly obvious that Vandervoort, then Lucie Arnaz's fiancée, was cast to fill in for the absent Desi Arnaz Jr. Also, a character named Steve had already appeared on the series played by Steve March. It is unclear whether this is a recasting or a different character named Steve.

Vanda Barra (Rudy Vallée's Maid) was Lucille Ball’s cousin-in-law and married to frequent day player Sid Gould. This is just one of her over two dozen appearances on “Here’s Lucy” as well as appearing in Ball’s two 1975 TV movies “Lucy Gets Lucky” (with Dean Martin) and “Three for Two” (with Jackie Gleason). She was seen in half a dozen episodes of “The Lucy Show.” Off-camera background singers are Marnelle Wright, Gloria Wood, George Bledsoe, Thomas D. Kenny, Mack McLean, and Sue Allen.

The diners in the luncheonette, patrons of the Hungry Hippie, and Steve's band are all played by uncredited background performers.

The first draft of the script was date May 25, 1970. It was originally titled “The Rudy Vallée Show”.

Interestingly, Lucy read the script and made notes aboard United Flight #196 on June 6, 1970 and made extensive notes about how to ‘fix’ it.

Two days after this episode originally aired (December 2, 1970), Lucie and Desi Jr. appeared on NBC’s “The Kraft Music Hall” with Robert Young and Jane Wyatt hosting. Lucille Ball does not appear.

This is the first of 68 episodes directed by Coby Ruskin. He previously directed episodes of “Gomer Pyle” and “The Andy Griffith Show,” both filmed at Desilu. Ruskin was hired after Herbert Kenwith decided to leave the show after an incident between Lucille Ball and guest star Ruth McDevitt.

According to Lucille Ball, Rudy Vallée had the foulest mouth of anyone she's worked with and was very difficult while filming this episode. He would blame every person around him for anything he couldn't do. If he made a mistake, it was always somebody else's fault. On the DVD introduction to the episode, music director Marl Young confirms this opinion. Vallée was well-known in Hollywood for being difficult to work with and to work for, often referred to as a “slave driver.”

When Harry asks Vallée (who is waiting tables) if he's busy, Vallée responds “My time, is your time.” This was also the title of a song recorded by Rudy Vallée and His Connecticut Yankees in 1929. This was the theme song of “The Fleischmann's Yeast Hour” for many years, and it is heavily associated with that show. When Lucy and Kim visit Vallée's home, the doorbell plays the first five notes of the song.

To prove his identity to Lucy and Harry, Vallée sings “I'm just a vagabond lover.” The song was written by Vallée and Leon Zimmerman for the 1929 film The Vagabond Lover.

Vallée says he was “the Tiny Tim of the roaring '20s!” The soundtrack then plays “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.” This is one of many references to “Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In” and the third to reference singer Tiny Tim, an eccentric ukulele player with a similar crooner style who appeared regularly on the program and made the 1929 song popular again.

When Vallée says “Hi Ho” (his signature greeting) to Kim, she guesses he is the Lone Ranger. The Lone Ranger was a masked avenging cowboy who appeared on radio, in movie serials, and on television.

Lucy: “Oh, this modern generation! Some of them don't even know who Bing Crosby is!” Vallée: “Who's Bing Crosby?”

Vallée and Bing Crosby were rival crooners during the 1930s. In “Lucy Takes a Cruise to Havana” (1957, above) Lucy Ricardo tells Vallée she was a member of his fan club but her friend Susie MacNamara (Ann Sothern, left) was trying to recruit her as a Crosby fan instead.

When asked by Vallée what songs she knows, Kim mentions “Octopus’s Garden,” “Polythene Pam,” and “Mean Mr. Mustard.” All of these are Beatles songs from 1969. Coincidentally, the day this episode was first aired former Beatles member George Harrison released his triple album set All Things Must Pass.

Kim, Steve, and the band perform "She Came In Through the Bathroom Window" by the Beatles. Vallée also takes a stab at the song which prompts Kim to say “I've never heard it sung quite that way before.”

Considering Lucy's infatuation with diamonds demonstrated in “Lucy Meets the Burtons” (S3;E1) and “Lucy and the Diamond Cutter” (S3;E10), it seems an opportunity lost not to mention or perform the Beatles' 1967 hit “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” Ah, well.

The set for Vallée's home was decorated with items brought in from Vallée's private collection, including a Wiffenpoof Trophy and a small red megaphone with a letter “Y” on it. Both of these were likely given to him by Yale University, home of the Wiffenpoofs.

When the full length portrait of Vallée in a raccoon coat is revealed, Vallée says he wore the coat in his first picture, Varsity Hero. In reality, Vallée's first film (aside from two shorts playing himself) was The Vagabond Lover in 1929. Vallée himself was not a fan of the film. In a 1980 interview, he mused

"They're still fumigating the theaters where it was shown. Almost ruined me. In fact, I think it's only shown in penitentiaries and comfort stations.”

Performing with Lucy and Kim at the Hungry Hippie, Vallée sings a traditional version of “The Wiffenpoof Song” that morphs into an up-tempo rendition.

The 1909 song was the signature tune of the Yale University a capella singing group. Vallée did not have a hit with it until 1937.

He then segues into “Let the Sun Shine,” a song from the 1967 rock musical Hair. The number then becomes a medley with the addition of “Winchester Cathedral,” a 1966 song by The New Vaudeville Band, a British novelty group.

The statue of the bearded and caped man was also seen decorating Jack Benny's home in the previous episode.

Craig also wore a raccoon coat in “Lucy, the Co-Ed” (S3;E6) and Fred Mertz wore one in “Lucy Has Her Eyes Examined” (ILL SE;E11).

Time Warp! Rudy Vallée says that his style of music is bound to come back into style in 40 or 50 years time. As of this writing it has been 50 years since he spoke those words. Any day now...

Birds of a Feather! Kim mentions a song called “Tennessee Walking Bird” but she probably means “Tennessee Bird Walk,” a 1970 novelty song by Jack Blanchard and Misty Morgan that hit #1 on the Billboard Country Charts.

“Lucy and Rudy Vallée” rates 2 Paper Hearts out of 5

This episode attempts to continue the “generation gap” themes of the series so that's a plus. The sad backstories about Vallée's attitude reflect his somewhat distracted and unenthusiastic performance here. The final medley with Vallée in hippie duds is just plain cringe-worthy. The writers also give Kim and Lucy some pretty insipid dialogue.

Lucy to Vallée: “You mean kids today don't like your music?” Kim to Vallée: “Nobody can teach modern music to the older generation. The older generation just doesn't seem to have any soul.”

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greatcomettexting-archive · 7 years

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hi mi name es giorgio i woerk in potatoe faktory and since mi padre died in a donkey waggon accident i leav mi wife and ugli daughter to become a pro leagueue of leyendaerio player, everydai i watch rainamndio. i just wante to sai thank you veriyi much rauinmanio i improvd from bronce 5 to wood 7 in just 6 months. plz no copato pasterato dis is onli my life. i ALso killed mi dog. Sorry fo mi bad englando im not NA

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wrestlingisfake · 7 years

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G1 Climax finals preview

Saturday night! Sunday morning! 2am Eastern! Watch it on demand tomorrow afternoon! Or go to bed early and set your alarm to catch the end of it. Or be like Shawn Michaels with that intern and stay UP! ALL! NIGHT!

Oh, and if you’ve been hearing about the G1 for the last month, don’t think it’s too late to get into it. This is not some prestige nerd show where the finale won’t make sense if you didn’t watch the last 18 episodes. All the backstory was cool and all but it’s in the past, and all that matters now is the present, brother. You don’t have to be a super-dork like me and watch the whole thing.

However, for the benefit of super-dorks, I gotta put the entire card under a cut because I don’t want to spoil last night’s show (it was good).

Tetsuya Naito vs. Kenny Omega - This is the final match of this year’s G1 Climax tournament, between the winners of A Block and B Block. There is no time limit and there must be a winner. Aside from a trophy and an oversize novelty check, the winner of the G1 receives a briefcase containing a contract for an IWGP heavyweight title match in the main event of Wrestle Kingdom, the big Tokyo Dome show on January 4. (Omega is the IWGP US champion, but the title is not at stake here.)

Naito won the G1 Climax in 2013, but he infamously faced backlash from fans who didn’t accept his push, and his title match with Kazuchika Okada was actually bumped to second billing (it was put to a vote and fans picked Hiroshi Tanahashi vs. Shinsuke Nakamura for some crazy reason). The bad feelings over that formed the basis of Naito’s slow turn to a heel character that is too chill (tranquilo, 焦んなよ) to give a shit what the fans think or whether his opponent is pissed off that he’s stalling. That got so hot that he’s essentially a tweener now, with more face heat from being a super-dick than he ever got in 2013. If he wins here and goes on to face Okada for the title, this time ain’t nobody votin’ him out of nothin’.

Omega won last year’s G1, becoming the first non-Japanese guy to do so. It’s only been 20 months since he took over the spot AJ Styles left behind, but in that time he’s reshaped both Bullet Club and the role of evil Westerner in his image. Omega, of course, took his G1 briefcase to Wrestle Kingdom 11 and started an epic rivalry with Okada, and there’s a lot of hype to see the fourth chapter at Wrestle Kingdom 12. Of course, there was a lot of hype to see Omega vs. Kota Ibushi here in this match, and that didn’t happen, so don’t count on New Japan not to dick with your dreams.

It’s unusual for the leaders of heel factions to face off at all, let alone one-on-one, so the last time Omega and Naito wrestled was a year ago in the G1 B Block finals. That may have been the best match of the tournament (if not all of 2016), and this time both guys don’t have to save anything for tomorrow. The only real plot point here is that both guys are fucking exhausted--Naito reportedly has a legit shoulder issue, and Omega has been selling injuries that may or may not be based on actual ones. I feel like it evens out to a fair fight, but expect to see them wrestling more like wounded animals than fresh fighters at their athletic peak.

Either guy could win. In my heart of hearts I think Omega should go on to win the title from Okada in the Tokyo Dome, but I have to admit nothing would be more appropriate than Naito disrupting somebody else’s epic push. In terms of long-range booking, the big issue is that Kenny has a very full plate, between chasing Okada, leading the US expansion, teasing a Bullet Club civil war with Cody Rhodes, and defending the US championship. Naito, in contrast, doesn’t have a clear direction; he could go after the intercontinental championship again, but it’d just be a repeat of his last run with it.

My gut says that in a perfect world--where New Japan’s US plans work out--Omega leaves the world title behind to be the ace of the US brand, while Naito and Okada become the Big Two of the domestic market. That may not be how 2018 actually pans out, but it feels like that’s what NJPW is shooting for today. So I’d probably lose money on it, but I’m betting on Naito.

Kazuchika Okada & Tomohiro Ishii & Toru Yano & Gedo vs. EVIL & SANADA & BUSHI & Hiromu Takahashi - One of the key storylines coming out of the G1 is that Evil scored a win over Okada, so until things are settled with Omega and Naito he’s the logical #1 contender. This match should play that up, along with possibly some direction for Evil/Sanada/Bushi and the NEVER trios championship. Okada looked like he got killed to death last night so he probably needs to get a win here, but I bet it won’t be too painless.

Hiroshi Tanahashi & Kota Ibushi & Michael Elgin vs. Minoru Suzuki & Zack Sabre, Jr. & Takashi Iizuka - During the tournament intercontinental champion Tanahashi was pinned by Ibushi and Sabre, and NEVER champion Suzuki was pinned by Elgin, so we’ll probably see some teases of those potential title matches. Suzuki just suffered a pretty humiliating loss to Toru Yano so I expect they’ll make it up him with a win.

Hanson & Raymond Rowe vs. Cody Rhodes & Hangman Page - War Machine is defending the IWGP heavyweight tag team title. They won the belts from Bullet Club’s Tama Tonga and Tanga Loa back in the US tour, so now they’re facing two other Bullet Club guys.

The Cody/Page team is interesting in that you’ve got the ROH world champion (who is a fairly big deal in NJPW) with a glorified curtain jerker. One-on-one Cody would be the heavy favorite against either guy from War Machine, so the question will be whether that’s enough to win with literally any random-ass warm body for a partner. My guess is no. War Machine retains. (Here is the awesome War Machine theme so you can listen to it when they probably won’t play it at the show.)

Nick Jackson & Matt Jackson vs. Ricochet & Ryusuke Taguchi - Ricochet challenged the Young Bucks for the IWGP junior heavyweight tag title back in the US tour. (The Bucks are also the ROH tag champions and the self-proclaimed “superkick tag team champions,” but none of that matters here.)

The recent history of the junior tag belts has been a seemingly endless circle jerk between the Bucks, Rocky Romero/Trent Beretta, and Ricochet/Matt Sydal, and I was pretty sick of it. But with Sydal turfed out last year and Beretta switching to heavyweight, New Japan is finally forced to go in some other direction, even if it is just “Ricochet gets a new partner.” At the very least, Taguchi’s weird comedy nonsense and butt-related offense make him totally different from all the aforementioned flippy dudes.

I never expect the Bucks to lose because they’re so key to the NJPW/ROH/Hot Topic machine, but honestly they do lose quite a bit (if only to win the belts back later), so you never know.

Juice Robinson & Satoshi Kojima & Hiroyoshi Tenzan vs. Bad Luck Fale & Yujiro Takahashi & Chase Owens - Juice is riding high after his win over Omega but he’s not going to be able to do much about it for a while, so he’s stuck fighting Bullet Club in the undercard. I’d put him over to keep his momentum going, but they might want to do that with Fale too.

Hirooki Goto & YOSHI-HASHI vs. Togi Makabe & David Finlay - Not even sort of a story here, just three guys who didn’t do so great in the tournament and one jobber who wasn’t in it. I’m picking Goto and Yoshi to win.

Yuji Nagata & Manabu Nakanishi vs. Tama Tonga & Tanga Loa - Nagata just had his last G1 tournament match, so now it’s time for his last match of the tour. I’m hoping for a win, but the Guerillas of Destiny are kind of a big deal in the heavyweight tag division and probably shouldn’t be doing a job like this. So it’s a real toss-up.

KUSHIDA & Jushin Thunder Liger & Tiger Mask & Hirai Kawato vs. TAKA Michinoku & Taichi & El Desperado & Yoshinobu Kanemaru - This is a straight-up rematch from the night before. I missed that match but I gather the Suzuki-gun juniors beat up Kushida and stole his belt, and I haven’t heard he got it back. Sounds like payback is coming.

#njpw #g1 climax

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renaroo · 7 years

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The Search (1/16)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, Psychological manipulation and trauma Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence - Alternate S15] The Reds and Blues saved Chorus, but it has been a year and they are still missing. A motley crew has been gathered with the common goal of finding the war heroes, though the road is more troubled than anyone seems to realize.

A/N: I don’t know how many people remember, but a few years back while Season 13 was airing, I published my first longfic for the RvB fandom as the season aired, sort of a challenge to myself to make an alternate version of Season 13′s events to sort of see where things lined up. That fic was Divided and still to this day it’s one of my favorite fics I’ve written for the fandom. It’s also inspired me to attempt something similar for this season, though a bit shorter (and a few weeks off from keeping up with the season itself). I’m basically going to go another direction than S15 and hopefully you all will enjoy!

The Headline

It was the sort of culminating disaster that could not have been scripted.

When the office door burst open, giving way to the proverbial army which had been sent after the Reds and Blues, somehow the ragtag team of former simulation troopers were ready.

Between them and the Charon forces was a desk, a few novelty weapons they had gathered from Chairman Hargrove’s trophies, and a repurposed M374 Hephaestus Combat Armor.

And, for a while, that seemed to be all they would need.

The first barrage of bullets from the Charon soldiers was reflected back on them by an overwhelmingly large dome shield manifested from the Hephaestus Armor. Though the power seemed to deplete itself quickly as once the bullets ricocheted back toward their sources, the shield was back down and left the Reds and Blues open to fire upon the next wave with their own signature weapons.

Initially, the hail of bullets from the Reds and Blues were enough to force people back, but the moment that two soldiers broke through the line and tried to stake out the corners of the room, the Blue in the former Meta armor lunged forward at an inhuman speed. There was hacking and slashing of a plasma sword, which confirmed suspicions that it was Lavernius Tucker inside the suit.

Beforehand, the angle of the footage had made it slightly more difficult to confirm identities than she would have liked.

Once the line was broken, there seemed to be some shouted order. Two Reds -- Dexter Grif and Richard Simmons -- ducked behind the table with the other Blue -- Michael Caboose. It cleared them out of the way of the former disgraced medical officer, Frank DuFresne, who fired a rocket launcher through the opened office door.

The explosion was out of view of the camera, but the footage was enough to show a room-wide recoil and stumbling in response to it.

The Red known as only Sarge in his files remained steadily standing in position, firing at nearly the same rate as the automatic weapon that Caboose was holding. An impressive feat lessened by the apparent range of the shotgun which seemed to only take affect when Charon soldiers closed in within five feet of the group.

By that point Franklin Donut and the robotic AI construct known in files as “Lopez the Heavy” were quick to give cover fire for their commander until those who were behind the desk gathered themselves back up and set themselves up for further attack.

What soldiers came into the room had to first get past Tucker, who was moving with undocumented prowess. It was difficult to say how much of it was the armor maintaining the work for him and how much of it had to do with natural progress that was still difficult to assess considering the information barrier that still existed between Chorus and the rest of the governed UNSC space.

By the third round, the footage was damaged, a skip in the recording. It was difficult to assume what happened between frames -- one moment Tucker was still at the front of the line, the next he had fallen back and was removing an enhancement from his suit to give to Donut who had fallen between frames.

At one point, Caboose was at the lead, his automatic weapon firing incessantly.

They all fell back again between frames, most huddled behind the desk used for cover fire.

Once the ship began crashing, the footage was upside down -- or rather, everyone else was, dodging out of the way of the office furniture and entangled bodies of the soldiers they had taken out as much as they were the incoming attacks.

Half the screen was no longer recording, a crack in the security lens most likely. It was difficult to tell if the Reds and Blues who were not on screen were somehow either in the unrecorded range or had begun moving out of the office holding space between frames.

The recordings from that point forward were stripped bear and it was difficult to see any change, even fast forwarded hours. Until Chorusian soldiers marched in, former Freelancer Agents Carolina and Washington at the head.

With full armors on, it was difficult to read their reactions to the gruesome scene. Without sound it was even harder to tell if they were seeing any of the Reds or Blues in the part of the camera range that was no longer being recorded.

By the time the recording ended, she had less answers than she had started with.

“Damn,” she muttered, reaching for her coffee again only to find the mug empty. Dylan Andrews leaned back in her office chair and looked around the darkened office space, annoyance ticking up. “Are there any interns in here? I need coffee and...”

Her voice carried quite a bit -- a bit of a curse if one were to ask those closest to her -- but it apparently reached no one’s ears.

She was alone in the office at two in the morning. Again.

With a long sigh, she got to her feet and removed the drive from her personal computer, closing everything out. She turned and walked toward the door to head to the closet she called an apartment.

Andrews was an award winning journalist, and she could almost taste when she was on the trail of something real. And that was why she had followed the ever evolving story behind the ominous Project Freelancer and its titular war heroes, the Reds and the Blues of Blood Gulch Canyon Outposts Alpha and Outpost One.

She was on a trail, but there was no denying that Dylan didn’t have any idea where it’d take her.

Or, perhaps more importantly, who it would end up pissing off.

By the time she finished taking the monorail to her side of town and began fishing for the keys to her apartment, she was already thinking of who of her contacts would give her the most likely in for an interview with the UNSC Chairman himself.

After all, since the embarrassment he had suffered across the cosmos thanks to the Reds and Blues’ delivered message, he had been nigh impossible to contact. And the UNSC was notorious for not taking reporters’ questions.

Such things had not stopped her before. And Dylan was certain that she would find a way in when she put her key in the lock of her door and found that it lacked that satisfying click she was so used to by that point.

“The hell?” she muttered to herself, going back through her day and wondering if it was possible that, for the first time since college, she actually forgot to lock her own door. But as she double guessed herself, swinging her door open to a disheveled apartment answered that question for her.

“Who the fuck would break into my apartment?” she asked out loud, cautiously entering and turning the light on.

Her gaze immediately shifted toward her kitchenette since the only plausible explanation she could think of was that some sap came to take what ramen was left in the package. But her food was not touched.

Just everything else.

When she walked in a little further, hand going to her pocket to pick up her phone, her heart all but leaped into her throat as something cold pressed against the back of her neck and gave a notable click.

“Please put down your phone, Miss Andrews. On the ground,” a commanding voice said lowly.

Dylan could hear the door close behind them. She slowly complied, picking her phone out of her pocket and letting it drop to the ground.

“You know my name, so I’m going to suppose that I’ve written about you,” she said with more confidence than she probably had to spare.

“Quite a few articles, actually,” a second voice chimed in. “And we believe you’re working on another one right now from the sounds of it.”

Suddenly, together, the two voices clicked. Suddenly it all made perfect sense.

Almost.

"Your Agent Washington and Agent Carolina,” Dylan announced her epiphany.

“I prefer when people say that in alphabetical order,” Carolina sighed, though she did not let up on how hard she was pressing the gun to Dylan’s neck. “Wash, check to see if it’s on her.”

“Got it,” Washington responded before walking around to Dylan’s front, letting her see him for the first time. He was in full armor, which surely meant they both were. Which was far from inconspicuous and made Dylan wonder how they were getting around the city so easily without being spotted.

“If you told me what you’re looking for, I could help you,” she attempted to make peace only to have Washington’s pat down stop at her pants pockets where he stopped and pulled out the drive. “Hey--”

“Is this the unedited footage?” Washington demanded, holding it in Andrews’ face for emphasis.

“That is my personal property--” Dylan attempted to argue.

“Miss Andrews, you are not in a position to risk not answering our questions,” Carolina said harshly. “Have you or anyone else edited the footage on that drive?”

“No,” she finally answered. “I just finished watching it myself. It’s damaged from the point that the ship wrecked forward but it’s unedited.”

“Damaged?” Washington asked, hand lowering. “How damaged? Can you see how they left the ship?”

“How who left the ship?” Dylan asked. “The Reds and Blues? No. You can’t see how--”

Carolina’s gun left Dylan’s skin and there was a fierce growl before she kicked over the only chair in the apartment. Dylan blinked slowly as her one comfortable piece of furniture was wrecked. “Goddammit!” the Freelancer screamed.

Washington was watching Carolina before he brought his gaze back toward Dylan and, apologetically, shrugged toward her. “Sorry about the chair... and the house...”

“So it’s true,” Dylan said, ignoring her personal property damage. “The two of you are searching for the Reds and Blues... Chorus isn’t hiding them from the UNSC. They’ve disappeared.”

“That’s none of your business,” Washington assured her.

“You must be joking,” Dylan laughed, getting even the angered Carolina’s attention. “I’m a reporter. Everything is my business. And if Chorus is being unfairly portrayed by the media on my watch, I need to correct it.”

Washington tilted his head. “Is that supposed to endear you to us, Ma’am?”

“We’re not exactly the most trusting people, and reporters don’t exactly earn a reputation of being trustworthy in our situation,” Carolina added, nearing Dylan with an intimidating square to her shoulders.

“It’s supposed to open an opportunity for you,” Dylan proposed. “The fact is, you might be soldiers, but you’re not storytellers. And you’re going to need someone to tell this story loud and clear and with a reputation that the public can depend on to deliver it to them. The political climate since you ousted Hargrove has been... hostile and toxic. And the public’s curiosity about the Reds and Blues are at an all time high as we near the anniversary of their disappearance.” She looked between the two of them. “Besides, you can’t possibly think you can search the entire galaxy with just the two of you.”

The two Freelancers looked at each other and then back to Dylan.

“Who said it was just the two of us?” Carolina asked cockily.

#writing #rvb fic #RvB: The Search #Dylan Andrews #Agent Carolina #Agent Washington

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j-eliasepp · 7 years

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A Time To End

Peter completed teleporting and settled on his feet. Darn that Keijay. He thought. Wasting my precious time with his philosophical ideals. I’ve already wasted a week of my vacation. “Who cares if I use the word ‘time’ interchangeably with ‘change’?” He said out loud.

He checked the time. It appeared in his vision at the same moment the information was sent to his brain. It was 8:00 in the morning, November 8th, the year 2589 R.C., the age of Heaven’s Rule. Currently, local time was in perfect sync.

Everyone else had already been on vacation for a week. He’d had to stay an extra week to polish up on details. He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Seven days from now the time machine would revert to this moment. Seven days from now Peter would help…he might…he might put an end to the time machine forever. This vacation might be the last he would use the machine’s powers, and perhaps the last he would see his family.

Peter looked around himself. He was on a dirt road at the top of a gently sloped hill. The sun was low in the east, casting long, deep shadows across the land. In those shadows the dew looked like sky blue snow on the grass, melting to glowing sun drops where the light touched. Fog clung to the winding stream flowing from the hill to his left and down into the shallow valley. The fog glowed where a ray of sun touched. In the shadow, the fog still slumbered in twilight.

This is why he always picked this spot to teleport to before walking the two miles to his parent’s home. He could see the land all around and their house on the other side of the valley.

He began to walk the shallow decent into the valley. His tennis shoes made a soft crunching sound as he walked.

Peter breathed in deeply, and his chest swelled against his T-shirt. That was the smell of night rain upon dirt and fallen leaves. He could still feel the cool humidity against his skin. A chill breeze began to pick up with the coming of the morning, rustling drying green leaves. The forest’s bright yellows, oranges and reds were doused blue in the shadows but burned brightly in the sun.

Peter smiled. His walking was easy going downhill. At one point, the path curved to one side to avoid a bulge in the stream. Peter kept walking through the grass and along the bank of the stream. His jeans became wet with the dew and a few chill drops from the trees above landed in his short hair. He shivered.

A week’s vacation was barely enough time to cool his nerves. After working through the ranks from a Special Field Agent to a Senior Narrative Engineer for millennia, a week felt like a day. He shook his head. Don’t think about work. You’re on vacation. Just don’t think about it.

The chirping of birds caught his attention and he stopped, watching them flit about the trees. He continued forward and stepped on a stick, making a loud crack.

The red and white coat of a fox caught his eye further down the hill. It bounded casually between the trees and through the wisps of fog. It stopped around the edge of a bush and eyed him for a moment. Then it sprang away, fading into the fog. Peter’s last sight of it was when it jumped through a ray of sunlight, its coat flashing for a moment before it was gone.

Peter looked after it, wondering if it would show itself again, but it didn’t. He looked around for other stirring wildlife, but he couldn’t see any.

Peter brought up the interface for the time machine into his vision. He couldn’t feel the full body scan to confirm his identity, but he knew it happened. Like anyone else at his level of work, he had access to localized time reversion. In this instance, he was pre-cleared to revert everything within the fence around his parent’s property back to the moment when he first completed teleporting.

A 3-D landscape of the property projected itself into his vision. He zoomed onto his location with a thought and looked about himself from a minute ago. With a thought, he turned on the lifeform filter for animals larger than a rat. He didn’t need the visual. The knowledge flowed through his brain as easily as walking.

“Ah, found you.” He whispered. The fox had been watching him before he had stepped on the stick. He checked on the fox’s current location. It was nearing the property line’s fence.

It’ll get away if I’m not quick about it. Peter quickly activated the time machine to revert to one minute ago. The feeling was like teleportation, only physically disorienting since his body ended up in a different position. In his years as a field agent, he’d gotten used to it. He stopped all motion for a split second, orienting himself. His foot was just about to step on the stick. He lengthened his stride and stepped over it. Carefully, he approached the fox’s position.

Even knowing where it was, Peter couldn’t see it with normal light. He would be able to see it in the infrared spectrum, but its appearance would be ugly.

He crept forward carefully, watching where he stepped. The rain had softened the leaves, making his approach much quieter. He got within 20 feet of the bushes it was hiding in before the fox bounded away with a shot, running at full tilt. It jumped into the creek bed and out of sight. Peter heard a few splashes before there was silence again. The fox didn’t show back up.

Peter had gotten a closer look, but it felt like there was something missing from his first sighting. Why was my first experience more…satisfying? Peter thought. No, that wasn’t the word. It hadn’t been satisfying at all.

He stood out of his crouch and stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked back at the way the fox had run, then along the streambed. Fog heavily covered parts of it. There weren’t many places he could see clearly. He considered trying again but a sudden distaste for the idea came over him and he started walking again.

While he could change time at a whim within the property, time continued forward everywhere else. Local time now read a minute behind the master control time. By impulse, he checked the location of the fox. It was out of the streambed now and trotting further into the valley out of his direct sight.

His mind easily turned to the butterfly effect process, tracking the possibilities of the divergence he’d created. First, analyze origin point. The fox actually jumps over the property line. Peter pulled up the movements and mental intentions of animals in that area before the reversion. It’ll scare this mouse, whose home is here, it’ll run to that. The fox will likely start hunting again after running a half-mile along its territory. Death of a rodent likely. Effect on ecosystem, minimal. Possible effects on major events, incomprehensible. Beyond that the prediction accuracy dropped significantly.

Second, analyze impact of divergence. Fox will not disrupt movements of smaller animals by its passing. A rodent may not die as soon. Effect on ecosystem, minimal. Possible effects on major events, incomprehensible. He tracked the fox’s new movements and the movements of animals around it, as well as any damage to vegetation done. New effect on ecosystem, minimal. Possible effects on major events, incomprehensible.

Third, analyze possible outcomes. Likelihood of fox to attempt stealing from henhouse in the coming day increased, however, inevitable in the lifetime of the fox. Fox kills rodent in the valley instead of outside of property line, effect minimal. Likelihood of fox to run into native pred…

Peter smacked his forehead. “Darn it.” Don’t think about work. Don’t think about it. The analyzing had only taken fractions of a second, much of the processing being off-loaded to the time-machine’s main frame. He turned his attention to the scenery around him instead, trying his best to enjoy it. He walked another four minutes and fifteen seconds, hoping his mind would clear.

The muffled crack of a rifle jolted Peter. “Dag-nab-it.” He said under his breath. “Still using that novelty hunting-rifle.” The report had come from in front and to the left of him on the hillside. And I’m still cursing like him. He thought.

His mind turned to what his father had shot at. The enhanced vision the time machine granted him swept towards the source of the gunshot. Peter guessed his father had shot successfully since he didn’t hear the frustrated string of shots that usually followed when his father missed.

His father was further up the hill, masked in the mists of a tendril of fog as he walked down towards his trophy. At the bottom of the hill was a clearing where the fog was thin and a ray of sun shone in, already burning it away. In that clearing, lying among the flowers was a fox, the same fox from before.

It didn’t surprise Peter. He’d seen many people die from his decisions, planets reduced to dust, lives shattered beyond their own means to repair them. However, Peter wielded the very power that could restore everything.

He wanted to bring the fox back to life. He could step on that stick again and let it run away across the fence. However, he couldn’t go forward in time. He couldn’t see if the fox’s death by his father could be avoided forever. He only had the power to return to any moment within what the machine had recorded. He’d seen events change to his whims, only to have the very outcome he had attempted to avoid come about years later.

By over-practiced rote, he changed time back to right before he stepped on the stick. He hesitated. His body felt warmer. His feet were less tired. By hesitating he knew he was changing something, maybe something that could only be traced back to this moment after hundreds of years had passed. He stepped on the stick and watched the fox spring from his cover and bound away.

Does it even matter if I turn back time? He couldn’t shake the feeling there was a force even greater than the time machine working its will on the universe. The secret resistance within the ranks of his nation thought so. Too many attempts to prevent the cataclysm from happening had been thwarted by unlooked-for means, blindsiding the analysts and himself. So, they decided the power of the time machine was not for men. Seven days from now would see the culmination of their efforts to return time to the original time-line. Without Peter, their plans would fail. If he was against them, there would be nothing they could do to stop him. If he was for them, their plans would succeed.

He walked onward on the same path he had taken before and at the same pace.

When the time machine had been created, it had recorded history for several hundred years. The philosophy at its creation had been, “To change the past, one must first know the future,” a quote by Bhen Munoc, the time machine’s creator. This span of recorded time, untouched by the time-machine, was named the Origin. The resistance wanted to return to the moment right before the first change by man occurred.

Was the Origin untouched by the time-machine? Peter wondered. Or is it the present? Meant to be, despite men’s efforts? Men have always been changing worlds and the universe. Is the time machine any different from a bomb or terraforming? Was the original time-line simply a figment of the imagination? Even by returning to the Origin, the knowledge of all the past millennia would be retained by individuals such as himself. Wouldn’t that be an alteration of the Origin? Is there even a right answer? A truth? His thoughts turned to the millennia-old debates over global warming that culminated in the Terra Directives. Men argued men’s miniscule actions greatly unbalanced the fragile laws of nature. Is the same thing happening to the universe? He thought. The time machine has a massive range but doesn’t cover the whole universe. Technically, we have irreplaceably put the Known Universe out of sync with the rest. What worlds or stars might we have split in two?

He passed by the spot he had heard the gunshot at. He heard nothing but the sound of the stream in the distance, the chirping of birds and the rustle of the breeze through the leaves. He continued walking, he was losing precious time with his family. The master control time put him at almost an hour past when he had first arrived.

Peter had joined the resistance due to his long-simmering disgust he had formed for repeating and living out time. It had felt morally wrong to revert the changes of the universe. But now, what was time or change? Time was the measurement tool of change, as a ruler was the measurement tool for distance. That was the logical answer. Time was nothing more than a ruler for change. It was not a dimension, it was not some unexplainable energy or mass. It was simply change. The rate of the workings of physics, the timings of the movement and discovery of information, and the rate of the degradation of energy.

Some of Peter’s colleagues disillusioned themselves by believing they had full control over time. The very control room they worked in defeated their belief. Everything in the known universe would change outside that control room, but the control room, by necessity remained untouched. Normal time, the same that flowed from the beginning of time, was in that room and outside the unfathomable reach of the time machine.

No, change is not a flow, it is a rate. He thought.

Peter shook his head. He was beginning to think like his fellow analyst, Keijay. Keijay was lately most fascinated with their enemy’s own time travel technology. The technology of Nebiezar was far inferior to the technology of Kasdeon, Peter’s nation. The method was simple explosions that reverted the time of everything within their blast, however, they did not need to record like the time machine did. Not to mention, their technology had stopped the recording of the Origin.

The Origin had initially been planned to be a millennia long stretch of history to be picked apart and analyzed to create the ultimate utopia. Dissidents would be culled, murders stopped and entire wars averted. That never happened.

In a preparation for their grand conquest, Kasdeon closed in on all sides upon Nebiezar’s home world. Nebiezar’s retaliation was one of desperation and to spite of Kasdeon’s plans. Nebiezar set off the Cataclysm Bomb. A bomb that was set to erase the entirety of history back to when men still walked upon only one planet. Total destruction, annihilation, near-extinction. It boggled Peter’s mind to think how fragile humanity would be with only a few billion souls living on a single planet.

Peter breathed in deeply, over and over again until he started to get light-headed. He couldn’t get enough of the smell of night rain mixed with the mustiness of fall. To allow the Cataclysm Bomb to go off would kill all life. But was it worse to play god over them all?

He began the shallow ascent up the road to his home. His hand clasped and unclasped as he breathed in and out. Think of something else.

Mom said Harold would still be here. He’ll likely want to go out and hunt with me. He thought. He caught a whiff of breakfast cooking when the breeze suddenly changed direction. His mouth watered. Eggs, bacon, toast…is that pancakes? He licked his lips.

He lost sight of his house as he walked through a grove of trees. It appeared again here and there through the trees as he walked along the path. It came into full view as he rounded the last bend in the path.

The white two-story house basked in the glow of the morning sun. The chatter of chickens reached him along with the occasional neigh of a horse. Wumpy gave out threatening warf! from the porch and streaked towards him.

“Wump! Its me boy!”

Wumpy’s sprint slowed into excited bounding and he barked over and over. Right before he came into Peter’s reaching distance he stopped and his barking turned into whines as he excitedly wagged his tail and circled Peter.

“Pete!” Peter’s brother came out of the front door rubbing his hands with a cloth. “On time as always! Come on in! Mom won’t let us start until you sit down!”

Peter waved. “I will once Wump’s calmed down!” He heard the sound of wood chairs being pushed back and his two sisters burst out of the door.

“Pete! Welcome back! Since you’re out there, go find Dad too!”

Peter bent down as Wump’s excitement waned enough for him to come closer. Peter scratched him behind the ears and under the chin where he liked it most.

“Come back inside or we’ll never eat!” Came a voice from inside the house.

Peter smiled. He knew his mother would say that.

“Go find Dad will you?” Harold yelled and threw his rag on the house’s porch railing.

“I heard him shooting on Maple Hill!” Peter yelled back. “He’ll be here soon!” Well, he did in another time line. Eh, technicalities, he’s on Maple Hill one way or another.

Harold waved and went inside. The screen slammed with a clack behind him.

“So that’s what’s got Wump’s attention,” said a voice behind Peter.

Peter turned. It was his father with a gun over one shoulder. His face was set in grim lines.

“You ever going to catch that fox?”

“Hmph, maybe never, but it gets me outside. Don’t know what’d I’d do if it went and killed itself.”

Perhaps it was a good thing I let the fox live, Peter thought.

“Been trying to get the lil varmit for five years. It’s like magic the way he escapes me. I’ve got a guy who still does taxidermy by hand and doesn’t charge an arm and a leg. He says he’ll stuff the critter for free if I can ever kill it for him.”

Wump quickly became distracted by something in the forest and he rushed off with his nose to the ground. Peter had seen the dog die because of its stupidity too many times. Once, Wump had drowned when Peter had been swimming far out in a lake with Harold. Watching what had happened on the time machine’s recording showed Wump pacing back and forth in worry along the shoreline before jumping in after them.

Peter walked with his father to the house. “How many chickens did it get?” he asked. He already knew the answer.

“Twenty-three, and he choses em like a champ. I tell you, every time a chicken wins a prize, he’ll get it not more than three months later. Damn varmit.”

Peter washed up with his father and then sat down to the table and waited for him to put his gun away. His mom allowed herself to get up and greet him, kissing him on the cheek and hugging him before sitting back down again.

Once his father sat down everyone bowed their head in thanks before digging into the meal.

“You work for the military, right?” Harold asked. “Teri could you pass the syrup? What’s been going on lately?”

Peter shrugged and took a spoonful of eggs. “Don’t know what I can talk about.” Harold had been asking him this question for hundreds of years. Well, for him only a few decades, Peter thought. He’d even tried to see what Harold’s reaction was before reverting time. Because he had revealed classified information to a civilian he’d ended up with a stern warning and had to compile a report on the event. A report that he had disliked giving to his higher-ups.

“Come on, anything on those no-for-goodians? They’ll get us if we don’t watch it.”

That’s one future I’m sure of, Peter thought, we’ve never been able to stop them from detonating the bomb.

“Why are they against a Utopia?” Terisha asked. “We’re already half-way there.” She delicately skewered a piece of pancake and placed it into a beautifully modeled mouth. A mouth that matched the rest of her perfectly designed body.

Peter’s mother, Wanda, looked at Terisha over her glasses but returned her eyes to her plate. Her wrinkled face and graying hair told one enough of her stance on utopian ideals.

Peter waited for her to blow up, but remembered he was in a point of time after a lot of that drama had ended. Terisha changing the body Wanda had worked so hard to give birth to naturally hadn’t gone over well.

Peter’s father glanced up from his plate at Terisha, then at Wanda. He cleared his throat. “No talking politics at the table.” He cleared his throat again. “I nearly shot that fox today. Got away over the fence.”

“You’re never going to give up on that animal, are you?” Harold said, “I’ve told you to just get one of those sentry drones to look after the chicken coop. You have the money for it.”

“A bullet’s cheaper. Besides, we’re going hunting for it today.” Peter’s father smiled through his chewing. “You don’t want to ruin the reason for our hunting do you?”

From there the talk turned to hunting and then how everyone’s families were doing.

Peter didn’t have much to say with that last part.

“Petey, when are you going to get yourself a wife?” Wanda asked.

When we stop the cataclysm bomb. “When the right one comes along.” He couldn’t tell them how many times he had married in the past. Or rather, in futures that were stored in the memory banks of the machine. Every time there had been a reversion had tolled on him too much. He didn’t marry anymore.

After breakfast they all helped clean up. Peter absently twirled a plate in his fingers after drying it. He’d lost count of how many he’d dropped in the past ages. He’d spent an entire vacation once angering his mother by breaking all the plates, turning time backwards and trying again. He’d mastered the form about a hundred years ago.

Wanda stepped through the door to the kitchen and let out a scoff of exasperation before turning around and leaving.

Peter smiled.

“Mom can’t stand it when you do that. You drove her out of the kitchen!” Peter’s sister, Vona, said. She finished washing a plate and handed it to him.

“It isn’t fun any other way.” Something particular Peter found with Vona was she always married the same man or not at all in all the pasts he knew of. “How’s Anard?”

“He had to stay another day for work, but he’ll be coming after that. You need to go hunting with him. He’s really looking forward to seeing your marksmanship again.”

Peter dried another plate with a flourish. “Hmm, I might.” Anard’s fascination with the military had killed the man several times before. Peter had eventually stopped indulging Anard’s interests altogether.

Peter looked side-long at Vona. She took after her mother and didn’t perfect her body. His eyes lingered on the lines and tones of her face, how it moved when she talked, the flash of her eyes and the way her straight hair frizzed in the humidity. He could see every imperfection that was culled from Terisha’s own appearance.

Terisha came into the kitchen carrying more dirty dishes and sat them down. Her every movement was graceful and not a hair of hers flew out of place as she turned on her heel and left the room.

After finishing the dishes, Peter sat around with his family and ‘talked politics’ as his father put it. Opinions of what would happen with social struggles were mulled over. Arguments were put forth and in the end everyone came to one agreement.

Except Peter, though he didn’t show it. These were the most boring times with his family. For him, there was no speculation or opinion. He simply knew a hundred different factual outcomes that had happened before. Instead of trying to convince his family of the truth the future most likely held, he sided with one of the opinions of the others and spoke sparingly.

After they had talked themselves out, he helped put together pack lunches. The plan was to eat them for lunch while out hunting.

Peter hitched his rifle over his shoulder and stopped before going out the door. He looked back in the living room where his mother was sitting down with a book.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? You used to…”

“I enjoy relaxing with a book anymore.” Wanda smiled warmly. “It’s more than enough fun for me to see everyone together.”

Peter nodded and caught up with the others. Their path quickly took them past their property fence and into the hills. Terisha wasn’t with them. Vona had come along as well as Harold and their father.

Vona had brought a shotgun and took potshots at squirrels. Harold saw a coyote on an adjacent hill and took a potshot. The coyote’s white throat showed more clearly as it perked up at the sound, then started trotting away at a quicker pace.

Harold nudged Peter. “Don’t just let him get away. Finish him off for me.”

Peter raised his rifle to his shoulder. This might be the last time this coyote is alive. The thought stopped him cold.

“Hey, he’s getting away.”

Peter blinked and took a shot.

The coyote jumped and sprinted away as the bullet ricocheted off a stone.

Harold glanced at Peter. “You toying with him?”

Peter lowered his rifle. “I missed.”

Vona chuckled. “Yeah, right. You don’t miss.”

This might be the last time with my family.

“Come on,” Peter’s father said, “I saw some deer to the west of here. Let’s see if we haven’t scared them off yet.”

As Peter followed them through the woods he could smell pine needles on the wind. He could hear the brush and crisp crackles of the sticks, leaves and dirt beneath their feet as they walked the rough trail. Sun dappled their faces.

A bird flew from the trees in front of them. Peter’s father quickly caught it with his eye. “Bluejay,” he said.

Harold looked to where it had perched itself on a branch.

Vona was eyeing the trees, likely for squirrels. The wind blew her hair in her face and she brushed it back behind her hair. Another gust caught it again and she brushed it back again.

Harold watched his steps. A stick would come underfoot and he would purposefully step on it.

“Possum,” Peter’s father said.

A twig snapped underfoot. “Up late.”

The last time with them…to see this place, to be hunting here… His father’s gait was careful and stiff. Harold let his feet fall flat. Though the path was straight, Vona’s walk veered from one side of it to the other, often falling out of the line of the others.

Peter’s father held up his hand.

Peter didn’t look in the direction his father pointed. He’d never watched his father’s face when hunting before. There was an excitement there. An intelligent glint in the man’s aging eyes. An acceptance of a challenge and the will to attempt it.

Harold calmly unslung his rifle.

Vona softly ejected a shell from her shotgun and caught it. She replaced it by sliding a slug in the chamber and clacking the action home.

Harold turned and gave her a withering look.

Peter’s father, Asod, didn’t take his eyes off the deer. He brought his finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

Peter followed behind the others as his father, Asod, led them on a round-about way through a dry riverbed. Asod watched where he stepped. Harold walked toe-to-heel in a quiet half-crouch. Vona’s steps took her further to one side or another as she took wide berths around patches of blown leaves.

The smell of dry earth and rotting wood and leaves was in the air. The wind hushed through the grasses and over the riverbed. A blade of grass swayed under the pressure of the wind, sprung back, dipped and fell and waved.

Peter could feel the changes all around him. Vona lifted her foot, it arched through the air then fell upon soil. It rose again and left behind the print of her boot.

Everything was changing. Before, there was always the machine. A moment would never end with finality. There wasn’t permanence.

A rifle cracked with its report and Peter jumped, feeling the shockwave in his chest. A deer fell.

Asod gave Harold a handshake in congratulations. Vona gave him a high-five.

Peter breathed quicker. Asod smiled with his eyes. Harold grinned widely. Vona smiled, but didn’t show the teeth she’d been born with.

Harold turned to him, expecting something.

Reality seemed to pull back. Everything felt surreal. The world slowed as Peter drew upon the machine’s mainframe computer. What’s Harold expecting? How did I act last time? No, before everything. How did I act?

The machine gave him a view upon himself and millennia flowed through his mind. He saw himself, young, with the same rifle he carried now. He was with Harold. Harold shot a coyote and they tracked it down till it died. He gave Harold a quick hug for his success.

Peter opened his arms as he left the vision and gave Harold a hug. How many years had he gone without hugging his brother? The years of seeing his family in the same state over and over had numbed him. I’ve been with them so long. But I don’t feel like I know them anymore. Even as he hugged his brother he looked in the records of the machine. Where have I not seen my family? The answer, the truest of them, came to him.

The end of the Origin record.

***

Peter settled on his feet and shivered as a numbing wind blew over him. He snapped his fingers and the machine created a heavy coat around him. Through the blizzard Peter could just barely see the yellow glow of his family’s home in the darkness.

He had to be quick with this. The longer he stayed the more likely it would become that someone from outside the fence would notice the extremely localized snowstorm.

He ducked his head down and forged his way through the snow. His breath fogged and he snapped his fingers again. A scarf wrapped itself around his neck and a stocking cap was placed upon his head with perfect precision. Peter adjusted them both then thrust his hands in his pockets.

He picked his legs up over the drifts of snow, leaving a trail of holes in the blowing snow. His nose began to drip.

He trudged up the shallow hill to the house. Snow was lit orange as it blew by the light of the windows. He carefully tromped up the steps and kicked his toes on the porch to loosen the snow from his boots.

He heard his mother’s muffled voice within. “Who’s that, I wonder? Soddy get some cocoa ready will you?”

The porch light was turned on and a drape was pulled aside, revealing the shadowed face of Wanda. Her hair was mostly gray.

“It’s Peter dear!” She called behind her. She disappeared from the window. The next moment she was opening the door and pulling Peter in by the sleeve.

She’s able to recognize me like this? Peter wondered.

“For Pete’s sake! And yours too! Why don’t you just telepo to our living room?! You’ll catch a cold!” She reached up and unwrapped the scarf around him.

“What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work? You didn’t get fired did you?” She took his coat from him and hung it up by the fire along with his scarf and stocking cap. She placed her hand on his nose. It was warm.

“Ooh! You’re cold! Sod! Is that cocoa ready? Your boots Petey.”

Peter took them off and she carried them over to the pot-belly stove. “Honestly, I don’t see why you travel from that hill on the edge of the property. None of your siblings do anymore. They’re into that telepo and just pop in unannounced! Sit down, sit! I’ll get your cocoa.” She hobbled off to the kitchen.

Peter sat in the old couch and its old, familiar smell wafted up from it.

Wanda came back with the cocoa and gave it to Peter. Then she sat down across from him.

He sipped at the cocoa and he felt the warmth slowly spread through him. He half-listened to Wanda talk about everything that was going on. He focused on just being there. The howling wind blew outside. The snow was lit momentarily as it whisked by the window to the ground. Peter could feel a cold draft at his feet. It was likely from the window. The mug in his hands was almost too hot to hold. Wanda complained and worried about him. Peter knew all too well she was glad to see him.

Asod came in with two mugs and gave one to Wanda. Then he pulled up a stool to sit on between them. Asod listened quietly.

Wanda complained about another chicken getting caught by the fox. Asod spoke up and said he’d been trying for years. Wanda ignored him and continued in another line about Vona. She was waiting for her husband to return from the war with Nebiezar. She had baked him a cake to welcome him back from his tour of duty. He was supposed to return tomorrow.

The calm of home disappeared from Peter’s mind. That’s right. I encouraged him back then to join the military. If I change everything back to the Origin, he’ll likely be helping with the last push against the Nebeizar home world.

Harold’s business meeting had gone well. The investor was interested in terraforming the planet Harold had pitched.

I never knew he became so successful. I was still an agent when the Origin was being recorded. I only had a few minutes of warning before everything was reverted for the first time.

Terisha was coming over later in the week. She said she had something to talk about.

Peter could see the hurt in his mother’s eyes. This was before they made up, he thought. When he thought about it, in those times when the bomb’s detonation had been averted, it was right around this same time Terisha had made up with Wanda. In the times after the first reversion, Peter had worked to correct his family’s problems sooner. He’d learned exactly what to say and when. His family became as peaceful on his vacations as the rest of the worlds Peter fought hard to perfect.

It had become too much like his marriages. Out of all of them there was one he still wished he could be with. She’s the reason I don’t talk much anymore, he thought. Living that close to her let her see the truth of what I’d seen. Our marriage wasn’t new and exciting after the first few reversions. I knew how to talk to her and eventually, I manipulated her. She would always encourage me though.

There was a large market for hand-made goods in many worlds. Before becoming an agent, Peter had wanted to become a craftsman. Wanda still kept a dusty finger-pot of his on a shelf from when he was just a boy. There were also finger paintings, a woven basket, and a carved wooden dog that he’d made.

I could have mastered all the arts in the time I’ve tried to perfect the worlds, he thought.

***

Peter’s feet settled on the grass. Before him, rising from the plains around him and from the mountain range on the horizon was a monolithic structure made of gleaming metal.

Back to work. He’d spent the rest of his week with his family. Any friends he’d had at the Origin he’d pushed away long ago.

The wind brushed against the grasses and his hair as he found the broad brick path that led into the plain structure. Teleportation into the control center was strictly forbidden. A field kept any from doing so even if they tried to disobey that rule.

Others blinked into existence around Peter upon the plains. Soon, the pathways became congested with every kind of worker. From Janitor to the Prime Controller, every man had to walk this way into the structure.

A man blinked into step right along Peter. It was Keijay.

Keijay stretched and looked over at Peter.

Peter glanced at the sky. “Good afternoon.”

Keijay smiled. “You have a relaxing vacation?”

Peter paused. “Yes.��

“It’s always hard right before a reversion.” He looked around at those walking with them. “As your superior it’s hard seeing everyone come to work with the same grim face.”

This isn’t just any reversion. This will be the moment that decides our fates. He didn’t respond to Keijay.

They stepped into the building and promptly stepped into an elevator. It was an old technology, but for security reasons it was essential. For an entire minute the elevator acted as a prison while it checked every aspect of a person against its records.

The elevator took them to the control room floor. After they stepped out of the elevator it took them another hour to make their way through all the security checks.

Eventually, they stepped through the main control room’s doors and took their seats at their stations. Each station had monitors and banks of buttons. These only served as rudimentary backups. For Peter’s work, he simply had to sit in a chair and sync his mind to the machine.

Keijay took his place on a diadem above the circles of stations as more workers trickled in.

Peter eyed them. Who was for the resistance? Who was against it? He glanced at a station across the room. That man had to be for the resistance. He was the other verifier who turned the key at the same time as Peter to activate the reversions. By regulation, Peter was forbidden any contact with the person.

Questions filled Peter’s mind as more people took their seats in the large room. How could the resistance make their way past the security systems? How would Peter even change the projected reversion at the last moment?

Will I even agree to it? He thought.

Analysts ran their diagnostics of the machine’s systems. Every department ran through digital and physical checks. Peter himself had to rerun a few checks. He had to fight the urge to fidget in anticipation. A moment of desperation threatened to grip him.

What if I’ve been deceived? Perhaps I’m being set up? It looks like a normal day for everyone.

“Pete?”

Peter nearly jumped. Keijay was standing right next to him.

Keijay leaned on the edge of Peter’s station. His face was a little concerned. “Pete,” Keijay projected telepathically on an encrypted channel, “It’s my job to review my subordinate’s vacation and verify there wasn’t any breach of protocol. I couldn’t help but see that you created a localized reversion at the end of the Origin…I hope everything is alright with you.”

Peter eyed Keijay. He had the suspicion Keijay was on the rebellion’s side, but he wasn’t sure. Peter allowed himself a telepathic nod. “Perhaps I’ve gotten old and sentimental. I haven’t looked that far back in a long time.”

Keijay nodded and patted Peter on the shoulder. “Back to work.”

After Keijay left Peter let out a sigh. Does he suspect me? Truth is… He thought back to his last moments with his family. He’d said his goodbyes and had hugged them all. Each hug felt torturous for him. After he had finished he reverted everything back and hugged them again. He cherished the feeling of their warmth against him each time. Every time he tried to speak his truest feelings to them but he couldn’t put them to words. He could only hug them tighter.

Vona had left him a parting gift. Homemade chocolate chip cookies. He had them now in his pocket.

…am I part of the rebellion any longer?

It took most of the day for the machine to be readied. Small problems were rooted out of the complex machine. The machine was never without them. There was always a small risk.

For Peter, the time felt like it took the smallest part of forever for the machine to be readied.

The moment came. Peter checked and re-checked all of the metrics and reports. All systems were green. He readied his key. He felt a panic build within him. What would he choose? A thousand possibilities and arguments rushed through his mind.

He looked across the room and met the eyes of the other man. He nodded.

1…2…3…

Time slowed for Peter as he twisted the key. A bare millisecond before his key clicked into place, the projected reversion time on all screens shifted to Age of Heaven’s Rule: Origin: February 23, 3230.

Peter heard the click as loud as the strike of a hammer.

The next millisecond information was fed into his mind. All the information needed to wield a weapon.

Peter’s mind raced as he saw the reactions of those around him in slow motion. The weapon was controllable cracks in the field around the control room. Right now the machine was “washing” the universe, anything exposed to its effects would be erased.

Peter mind was actively connected to the machine’s mainframe just like everyone else’s in this room. His body had received every physical improvement available in Kasdeon’s arsenal. The deciding factor here would be speed. Already, a man was pulling a weapon from the air and aiming it.

A woman fired. A person’s head exploded in slow motion.

Who is friend? Who is foe? His mind rapidly crunched through calculations. What should he do with the one weapon given to him?

Peter’s roving eye looked straight down a gun barrel.

Peter pointed, the gun disappeared. Light streamed in from a hole in the roof.

Peter forced himself to look around. A man was pointing directly at the person whose gun Peter had destroyed.

Was that a man or woman? He thought. Battle stress. Is the man a friend? I’m not ready to make this decision. He followed the complex web. The person…a woman, who had tried to fire at him was being aimed at by a couple of others. Those would be the rebellion. Where had all the guns come from? Those two had others aiming at them, and those…some were aiming at each other…he watched as a supposed rebel turned his eyes towards another rebel. His gun starting swinging in that direction…

Double agents. Peter glanced at Keijay. His attention was focused on fighting the man beside him.

Peter suddenly felt the spike of cyber attacks being let loose in a flurry. His grip on the machine’s processing power loosened and the world sped up around him. There wasn’t time to tell friend from foe.

A woman disappeared. Erased. A badly aimed shot tore through the electronics of stations, throwing debris into the air. Light flashed from sparks. Guns fired. Peter threw up an arm and shielded himself with a ray from the machine. The laser round dissipated before his eyes.

He threw himself to the ground as his station exploded with the rapid-fire rounds of a plasma rifle. Screams. His own?

He launched himself from his belly, his old instincts taking ahold. His mind frantically fought for control of his portion of the mainframe. He ran, ducking below the meagre cover of the stations. He watched as a man’s mind was hacked and he turned his weapon on his allies.

Plasma struck machines and men sending gouts of molten metal and evaporating flesh into the air.

Enemies were becoming allies and allies enemies faster than Peter could keep track.

Those who wish to destroy your family are your enemy. Those who wish to play god are your enemy. Enemy. Enemy. Enemies.

He ran into someone, he didn’t look. He struck out at them with his only weapon. A ray of light replaced where they were a moment before.

He shrouded himself with his weapon and a ray of light followed him where he ran. Plasma and laser fire dissipated harmlessly against his makeshift shield.

A ray of light appeared at one end of the room and swept towards him. It chewed through the building like a hot knife. It cut people in two and left nothing but a hand of another leaving a chasm as deep as the core of the planet.

Peter held up his hand as he leapt aside. The beam slipped by unimpeded by his effort to control it. In the next moment he was rocked by an explosion and his face was scalded by the heat of flames spewing from the chasm.

This is madness. They’re all my enemy.

He raised his hand, then swept it across the room. The roof was torn away in a moment revealing clear sky. The entire room was leveled to a bare metal floor. The hands that had tried to grasp his mind disappeared. The flashes of gunfire, the glowing fires, the noise, all disappeared. For a moment, the sun was still in the sky. Then, its light was whisked away along with the clouds and the blue of the sky.

Something landed with a thoom on the floor behind him. Peter turned.

Keijay stood before him, the lights in the walls of the massive room dimly lit his form. He held his hand raised with its palm facing Peter.

Above them was an eerily empty blackness.

Moments passed, stars began to blink into existence.

Peter trembled as he stood up. He tried to speak, but he found he was breathing hard.

“What will you choose?” Keijay’s stern eyes burned into Peter.

“I can’t accept either.” Peter gasped. The field he kept around himself wouldn’t stop another person wielding the same power. More stars blinked into existence. However, that power had a limit.

Was the machine meant to be? The savior from the Cataclysm Bomb? What if the machine only bred evil? He’d seen what he had done with the knowledge and power it had given him. I ignore the first woman I ever loved because of the machine. I only came to hurt her. Then I cheated on her with other women in other times because they were the only ones I could share something new with. I’ve rejected all my friends. Even my family has come under my manipulation. The machine creates a false existence for them as we manipulate the world they live in. Yet, to murder uncountable souls!

Keijay waited.

Peter looked at Keijay’s dim form. “Tell me, what would you choose?”

“Some of these people were like family to me.” Keijay said through clenched teeth. He lowered his hand. Its power useless now. “You killed every last one of them.” He pointed at Peter. “YOU choose!”

Peter shook his head.

“YOU! CHOOSE!”

“Why?!” Peter yelled.

The stars finished forming. The moon brightened into existence, bathing them in pale light.

A tear streaked down Keijay’s cheek. “Nate and I were going to have a drink after this. You deserve to be responsible!”

A display rose on the far wall. A warning was sent to their minds the same time it was splashed across the screen. It showed the known universe. A red sphere was swallowing the map. The Cataclysm Explosion.

Peter gazed at the stars above him. He couldn’t see the explosion. It wasn’t something a person saw. The explosion would be upon them before they could notice any change.

The blackness around the stars seemed to swallow their light. They looked so fragile. Like they might be snuffed out forever if one simply threw a blanket over them.

The red orb grew and neared them.

Peter sent a command with a thought. The orb froze in its motion. The stars stopped twinkling. The wisps of clouds froze in their movement across the face of the moon.

Keijay looked from the display to Peter.

Peter shook his head. “I’m not going to choose.”

Only Peter and Keijay moved in all the known universe.

#millenniummyths #jeliasepp #short story #my writing #scifi #time travel #character #time machine

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