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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year

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non post here just collecting current thoughts abt the [what's up with atlas' death and the unlikely connection of mitzi and mordecai through some shared secret relating to it] mystery specifically

firstly i'm tending to presume that mordecai did just shoot atlas; he definitely knows that mitzi did Not, "she didn't shoot anyone"....which also i suppose does not necessarily mean that mitzi didn't kill him. it's possible she did, or mordecai did, or someone else did, and by some non [noscoped by mordecai] method, but that mordecai and mitzi then coordinated in covering up how he actually died by, say, quickly staging some kind of other scene, including shooting him while he had only recently died. but really the mystery here is like, what exactly would these two feel so aligned in cause about. doesn't seem like, say, mitzi could've just paid mordecai to take atlas out, b/c mordecai would either not want to do it Or he actually would, in which case why not do it himself, and earlier, since he was at lackadaisy for surely the better part of a decade. it could've been like "with our combined talents imagine how nearly competent we could be" with mitzi having some kind of key knowledge to plan this heist (murder) or something. but it would still require an Alignment between them of wanting him dead Now, and, y'know, why

their particular similarities that we know of, imo, are that they're probably about the same age (supposing mitzi's around thirty / early thirties) and that they're sort of especially Materially Beholden to atlas and more directly, individually collected by him (versus, say, zib saying he's a collected stray because he'd stay around if mitzi did. he's also a saxophonist which is lower stakes than your new wife or your new guy to kill other guys)....neither mitzi nor mordecai seem to posthumously dislike atlas, but naturally mordecai's barely indirectly commented and it seems to me like mitzi regards atlas fairly symbolically, as the potential for her situation to improve, or at least be as good as it was during lackadaisy's heyday. she may have affection for him abstractly, and we also know via mordecai that the marriage was distant enough before atlas died that mitzi didn't live with him and things had Visibly Deteriorated. it sure seems plausible that mitzi might kill him to inherit things, and turned to mordecai for his expertise in a) doing that & b) perchance making it look like an accident / covering things up, but he evidently didn't want to stay on at lackadaisy No Matter What, i.e. if mitzi was running it instead, and why agree to this, it seems very unlikely he'd do anything just for mitzi's sake or the sake of being paid to do it by her, he has to have his own motivation. and it's possible that, despite plausible positive feelings about atlas still (who did also like, throw him right into mortal perilously dangerous work w/little experience lol, mordecai happening to be immediately good at it or not) he could've, like mitzi could've, still wanted to be less beholden to this one particular person, and achieved that by just killing him lol....but even if their feelings Aligned on that matter, there's a few wrenches, like a) how would they realize this alignment. they're probably not having heart-to-hearts. they're both very close to atlas (at least professionally, for mordecai) and it would be very bold to go "would you happen to wanna kill this guy too" either to his wife or his right hand gun hand hook car door man.

there's also the fact that: viktor is Also someone very limited by his being beholden to atlas, pretty much positioned as close to atlas as mordecai since they were partners, and maybe has the added bonus of seeming marginally more Approachable than mordecai, plus that like, being thirteen years older and beat up on more, maybe if you were looking for an accomplice you'd figure that "idk do you want to retire" would also make him marginally more likely to get aboard murder plans if you're just trying to Find someone to help with that who you don't know would already want to. but he also disagrees with the idea that mitzi is particularly vulnerable / isn't herself at least somewhat dangerous, which seems like something he Might have any knowledge about beyond "idk i just get that vibe," like, did he get to be privy at all to whatever went down there. &/or led up to it.

what seems to be implied here, and makes more sense, is that there was some specific event that both mitzi and mordecai consider to have been unfortunate / undesired / things going wrong, and that involves mitzi enough for mordecai to blame her / her to refer to it being her fault, although she may not necessarily agree. (and does "perhaps i will / not to discount your culpability" imply mordecai Also considering himself culpable. whether that goes beyond "if anyone actually shot him, it's mordecai")

but while maybe there's not much love lost between these two, neither seems to like completely hate the other. civil enough one-on-one here, does seem like mordecai would be negatively affected if viktor had died, "very little interest in defending her" is not "no interest" nor "less than no interest and one can imagine mordecai is being both precise and accurate about what he means, and to exit this car chat by advising mitzi fix the conspicuous bulletholes is, in fact, helpful; he's probably not actually interested in / intending to personally dismantle lackadaisy or anything, and makes sense if mitzi's lashing out just a bit while they discuss sore topics (again, seems neither of them Wanted to have to kill atlas either, so what was the specific impetus....) and also they did just have Lackadaisy's Big Night involving foes that have guns while they (almost entirely) don't, thanks to mordecai's transference of those....which, like, did he just do that himself, or was it on order from marigold....either way, seems more like a nudge like Retire Bitch to everyone there, rather than an effort to sabotage them That perilously

there's also this compelling material

not interpreting Bonus Material as the strictest of canon, in some cases more obviously [not at all] than others, ft. generally more of a light tone / elevated humorousness....but also the not obviously complete jokes ones perhaps not Not canon contradictory, either. a) i want to see the shopping trip and b) fascinating how they are outright discussing that mutual Material Beholdenness to atlas. but a couple of other points arising

one being that i was racking my brain like "whaaaat are the usual Murder Mystery Motives" and then landing on "money" wherein like, besides the theory of "what if mitzi just wanted to inherit lackadaisy, while still Actually Married to atlas despite that maybe circling a drain / maybe atlas, being warned about something by asa, was going to get rid of lackadaisy from his inheritable estate," it also occurred to me like, mordecai originally got in hot water as a bookkeeper, which leads me to presume that he may have been embezzling (though maybe he was the fall guy for someone else's embezzlement, or maybe even some third or fourth things, not even involving embezzlement at all) which, if he was, was presumably for his family, whom he left money for (though he also maybe had to skip town too quickly to retrieve it anyways). and there we see that mordecai may have also been bookkeeping for lackadaisy, too, which i'm going to interpret as perfectly canon backstory. i guess this isn't exactly so different from previously mentioned ideas/elements like "both of these two are aware how beholden they are to this one specific guy, and would like to be less so (through embezzling??)" and "this could be about mitzi wanting to inherit lackadaisy much sooner than later (or not at all)" like, still wanting more of some resource atlas has sooner than later (or not at all....see questions of how much mitzi could have been legally considered to Directly possess while atlas was alive, such as, money) with the same kinds of questions raised of like, how would they realize they aligned on this. there's also a question of like, Would mordecai be moved to elevate the flow of funds here versus just whatever he's already paid, though he'd (maybe) already done that in that original bookkeeping gig for whatever reason. but that may have been more time sensitive and motivating if it was indeed at least in part for his family. which i suppose it could still be Now w/the theory of him just turning around and doing that again. wherein i suppose the idea here is just that they're both in on it, and maybe atlas finding out about it / suspecting too much is such a potential impetus like, whoops, well let's kill him :/ hypothetical 2 for 2 lack of embezzling stealth lol

the other more tangential idea here is just that like, well who knows, maybe mitzi and mordecai Did talk / have tête-à-têtes / an unlikely friendship or friendly acquaintanceship going....again that like, even as professional mostly enemies now and with no especial warmth evident between them, they also don't seem to hate each other even though they Could, even when it comes to this secret re: atlas's death that they're both unhappy with....a lot of writing this stuff out is just how it helps get ideas together lol and not lose entire threads / have derailed trains of thought. like maybe mordecai Would do something mostly for mitzi's sake, if evidently at all begrudgingly. and i suppose the other way round could be considered, i.e. if mitzi would begrudgingly commit to helping kill atlas for mordecai's sake, which still seems the less likely arrangement

oh wait Also i sort of rotated freckle & mordecai juxtaposition, as not being entirely dissimilar, see for one: their having the ideal time the one occasion they were in the same place, that is, completely declining to interact with each other at all lol....but i'm presuming the Mystery of freckle's secrets & backstory are a bit less deep than this more central atlas murder secret, and my interpreguess is that freckle accidentally(? probably.) killed someone(? or almost did. or whatever.) probably his dad(? family tragedies....his hat is still on the premises....) and rocky took the blame, which i'm guessing is out of just being the effective older sibling / pretty close. so i was just half wondering like, well what if mordecai killed someone too rather than being in shit over embezzling. maybe! and how this ties in is that i'm also considering, like, maybe any of this has to do with that Past that mordecai has. the arbogasts were saying atlas Settled Some Of mordecai's pursuing grievances....maybe Lackadaisy Embezzling could be about settling even more via financial payoffs. or something. just a potential troublesome loose thread

there's also the Mystery of "what's marigold bothered about. is what's changed there being this lawful prohibition agent you can't pay off and could somehow shut marigold down longer than ten minutes. and who's in charge of marigold" which is relevant b/c the mystery to me is that, where we leave off in the comic, mordecai is Very Motivated by "how does it figure in re: atlas's death" still and at this risktaking crossroads about it wherein he's clearly positioned at odds with marigold. what are the important things called into question. if marigold knew how atlas died, what would they even do about it. is the problem "well mordecai how do i know you won't also shoot Me, the mystery owner of marigold," seems like something he could expect to be more directly confronted about rather than [what, if marigold knows more about atlas's death and is Just displeased with mordecai about it, they're gonna either Not say anything about it or just try to get rid of mordecai by giving him this hands-on work where he Might be killed?] like, just kill him, And the fact we know the prohibition agent drago Was planning to meet with gracie grombach (and his lawyer, presumably the guy mordecai hatcheted to death just the other night at the start of things) for real, so there's actual reasons to assign him these killings....seems like it's more about things Missing to us as readers about Why they felt they had to begrudgingly kill atlas, what their further mystery connection is / what that impetus was....

oh and back to that [very tangential] tangent re: how i wouldn't have figured mordecai and mitzi interacted much But Maybe They Did, i also before now was assuming that, at least b/c mordecai's business was either in the most dangerous &/or most mathematical work at lackadaisy, he wouldn't have interacted much with ivy, who would've been all of around ten or so when he started there. the pilot specifically illustrates the results of his history with lackadaisy by having him entirely refrain from taking the shot when aiming at her, which i'm also sort of [bonus material]esquely interpreting as "not comic canon noncompliant," but at first i was like, well, like how viktor is protective of ivy / playing concerned patriarch as she puts it, and we know he has a daughter maybe around her age, we also know (from bonus material) that mordecai has younger sisters, including one feasibly also around ivy's age. or just that if you've known someone since they were like 9 or something, you're still reluctant to shoot them. but now i'm Noting that a) most everyone else who's been around awhile, mitzi, viktor, even rocky, has commented on mordecai, but ivy hasn't, which may be a bit Mysterious, and b) in her nightmare sequence moment, she sure not only has this Concept of him, but interacts with him in the dream

which might not mean anything really, but sure might imply she'd talked to him readily enough before, and does also serve as a bolstering / reminder of the idea they'd have interacted, especially since there's the entire factor of "if she was interacting with viktor, this would probably involve all the more mordecai adjacency" like well, interesting, noted, etc

oh and it has to also be mentioned how i'm supposing that also what the savoys are saying about mordecai and atlas, via indirectly framing it by discussing how maître carrefour Already Knows mordecai, can be taken as accurate / is not going to be contradicted. so there's how mordecai seems to resent being called the kind that turns on his partners on a dime (while the savoys Probably had a more uncomplicated departure from their earlier associations. though maybe if marigold knows mordecai was involved in atlas's death, he's Also been hired rather than having been shot, in a stroke of generosity)....and then there's the very broadly relevant description of how, once you take that one path laid out for you, you're Obliged To Him Only, Always, the other paths gone forever....the way pretty much everyone involved was in a place with especial vulnerabilities and limited options at the start, and taking one available path left them kind of trapped there / unwilling to get off of it b/c otherwise they're lost again. what might have motivated a couple of people to snuff out their would-be guiding light, when it's not as though they now act as though they'd clearly found some better one....there's also the fact that serafine characterizes their diable as having a hot temper, wonder if that application could be overlapped with atlas too....and it just handily circles around for rooting for this dream team w/mordecai & the savoys; whether the latter anticipate Not sticking around with marigold forever; the fact that it would be quite a surprise if they do assume that for the first time mordecai is, in fact, just having fun tonight; that mordecai sure may be lost in the dark in-between crossroads rn. rooting for them to stay friends no matter what one way or another. mordecai's as much of a wild card as anyone at this juncture really, keep being wild cards together

meanwhile mordecai not knowing what's going on but laying out some of the confusion is helpful but like, well then we definitely are confused too

i'll say too....really i have to imagine that there Is some bigger missing piece in the [Why] of mitzi & mordecai's murder secret that one could only guess at at best, but i think of this as an effort to kind of feel out the shape of What's Missing thusly, figuratively. and this has been an extensive "i dunno" without any epiphanies falling into place along the way but hey lol, laying it out....if marigold already knows about the How atlas died, namely, if mordecai specifically carried it out, you'd think that if nothing's come of that already, he's fine. or maybe he just wants to Know anyways, though it seems as or more risky to Not kill a guy he's supposed to as marigold's professional killer....he says he's not sure if he knows important Things he thought he knew, plural, unsurprising if there's more than one such important thing we definitely don't know, but suspecting that his concerns might have to do with the big mystery Why they killed atlas, which might also align with how mordecai's reacting to asa saying he warned atlas of [something/s] before his death, which sure doesn't otherwise necessarily imply he knows anything about the death itself. and then mitzi, who should also be in the know, is still asking "how does it figure in" re: connecting his death & if asa Did warn atlas of something....i sure don't know either, and you two have so much more info lol

and Does rushing water count as a clue? cue me trying to zoom in on an illustration to see if the silhouette of a figure reflected in mordecai's glasses could be atlas (don't think it was, or that it'd be a Key Clue dropped thusly anyways) like hell i dunno yeah maybe the rivers are relevant somehow in secret ways, that'd fit, but again only guesses. oh and hey, why would mitzi and mordecai have any kind of gun handoff? maybe as like, a burner revolver lol. i always end up going Shruggg at mysteries but i am enriched by rotating them anyways, especially when it's so tied to character here, and when they're not the only thing relevant to ongoing story so it's just intriguing rather than simply frustrating / stifling to not have already solved them / not the only point of interest. e.g. who Knows why mordecai's having his off the shits saturday but it's so fun that he is. good for him (ultimately) (probably) (hopefully)

#NOT me ever in the past 16 yrs: time to see what [dae notice this] / hypotheses / theories other people have #(which i am saying would probably be useful lol. i'm never the number one mystery solver out here)#the lackadaisy mystery marinators are postinnnnnnng #long post xoxo #hmm also now that i am going over it in my mind: viktor may have yet said fuckall abt mordecai in canon #might be getting tripped up thinking about bonus material lol....intriguing

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sylvermidnight · 1 year

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(this is the same anon you last responded to)

that makes sense and i apologize for assuming what you have and haven't privately responded to based on your public posts. it's always annoying when people expect everything to be handled publicly for their own satisfaction, and i seem to have done exactly that.

i think a lot of the reaction you're getting on this is because it often feels like the reverse psa is necessary, i.e. the ongoing work of an artist should not be demonized based on scraps of characterization from a decade ago. for people who feel strongly about this, it's been a really positive couple of days in terms of the mechs fans supporting carmilla in poll brackets. in that context, i think people found it disheartening to see this progress met with what was read as pushback in the opposite direction.

ultimately, you're right: you don't have to like dr carmilla as a character. unfortunately there have been racist and transmisogynistic underpinnings to carmilla-hate in the past, and people may be lashing out not at you but at what you seem to represent. without this context, i think few people would disagree that it's fine to dislike her.

the attempts to correct her narrative probably do come across as being told "if you don't like carmilla then you just don't understand her well enough", and so i am sorry you're being swept up in an adjacent ongoing conversation.

this is longer than i meant it to be, sorry for leaving a whole-ass essay in your inbox. but i hope to extend some explanation and goodwill.

I agree with all of this! Long or not it basically sums up well how I felt and have continued to feel throughout this process. The post was…Probably not well timed or as fluently stated as I would like. More or less? I encourage the unification of the fandom. Letting people enjoy things how they will with neither side ruffling each other needlessly. No need to force any one narrative on a character that is altogether very fluid in nature at the moment. I am VERY excited to see what Maki comes out with next though admittedly I haven’t been following too closely for updates. And I’m glad they’re getting the support they deserve. I think we’re headed in a good direction if that makes sense? I feel when there’s more lore easy to access it’ll be easier to balance things out without simply saying other beloved characters are lying, and it’s possible this will improve my own opinion about the Doc which would be great. I love nuanced characters.

I don’t condone any sort of hate towards anyone especially for bigoted reasons. I understand why people are quick to jump to assume that and honestly had I been feeling better last night I would have just blocked and moved on like I ought to have. It’s a far touchier subject than I expected it to be but I’m not so spiteful as to not understand why. Was never trying to put a damper on the fun just a preventative for any fighting that could come of it as I had had some recent unpleasant experiences.

Go forth and crush the polls and have fun guys really. I do love to see it it makes me giggle even if I haven’t been the biggest fan up to this point.

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you-cant-spell-subtext-without · 3 years

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Am I the only one who thinks dragging up old tweets etc of celebrities to “prove” they’re not “perfect” is problematic? We are humans, we are all fallible, we all are continually developing and growing and changing and evolving such is human nature. There seems to be some kind of problematic expectation of celebrities to make public apologies or demonstrate their growth in ways that we can concretely measure and witness? These are whole people will whole and full lives that extend beyond us and what we see and view. They don’t owe us anything. These people are in the spotlight sure and their views are influential to some but I think this culture of bring past hurts up is actually quite damaging. Those posts about Misha span back 10 years and he has done a lot of good since then and has be a strong activist and advocate and thus demonstrates a growth that we can measure and see. If someone went back and found my MySpace or Xanga or LiveJournal I’d probably be ashamed by the things I wrote or the beliefs I held. But that doesn’t mean I have to publicly now announce that I no longer believe those things etc and for people to make me feel ashamed for having thought or believed in those things, I probably already am pretty embarrassed and ashamed myself and people bringing it up is not helpful for my growth. People using it as an excuse to “help people grow” we’re not really responsible for that. And it’s actually creating a toxic and shaming and blaming environment. People should be held accountable for their actions and the things they say but when those things span back a decade and the more recent evidence demonstrates growth, why are we documenting it and dragging it all back up and making it visible? Celebrities lives are so much bigger than what we see, their beliefs, their actions and their charity etc and I think it’s just really unhelpful and toxic media that perpetuates the whole industry. To me it’s an intellectual extension of like body shaming or something.

I’m sorry, sorry to come to your ask box with this and also I’m not sure I’m making much sense but every time I see that post come up on my dash it gets to me.

I think what you are saying makes a lot of sense. I absolutely agree that bringing up tweets and comments from years ago isn't helpful, especially without context of what someone has said to take accountability for said tweets and comments (and just this past con Misha specifically said to a fan that he's been too glib about certain things in the past and regrets it, and has been actively working on growing and learning in the past years). Yes! Criticize problematic conduct! But I don't agree that bringing up very dated problematic conduct that has been addressed falls into the purview of keeping folks accountable. If it's done to educate, it should be 1. complete in its presentation (including anything that person has said after the fact to address the statement, for ex) and 2. close enough in recency that it indicates the person involved still holds the opinion expressed.

On that note, if the dash is doing Misha crit today I am logging off for the rest of the morning/afternoon. I hope everyone is feeling okay after the Rust news, and you're being kind to yourself and each other.

#you-cant-spell-subtext-without-asks #nonnie #fandom wank for ts

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panic-at-the-fiction · 3 years

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1973 pt1

Summary:(y/n) life hasn’t been the same since the school closed down and neither has her father. But there seems to be a sign of hope of the man he used to be returning with this new mission.

Warnings: I’m not doing this word for word with the movie ok. You’ve seen the movie you know how it goes.

a/n: I’ll probably post on Wednesday. I’m actually really excited about this one. I got so excited I said can’t wait to see what happens next and then it hit me I have to write it and I got sad cause I don’t know. @whyiswhatahow

When I was a little girl, my father liked to tell me stories. Stories about a group of young people who weren’t quite human. They were the next step in evolution, the government called them mutants. My father wanted peace between humans and mutants, he knew that mutants would still need to stand together. It’s why he created his school for gifted youngsters. It’s why he started the X-men. But that was years ago, things are different now. He’s not who he once was, none of us are.

Que the super cool X-men music with an animated opening of DNA and big X.

I had been lying in bed all afternoon trying to get some rest. The feelings were just too overwhelming for me to sleep anymore. Recently it has been getting worse. The dreams, the sounds of hearts beating and crying mothers mourning their children, everyone else’s feelings. Even when I was awake, I could still feel most of it, but it only got worse in my dreams.

My father drowns his out with Hank's newest drug, I’ve seen how he’s hooked on it, and I’m not going down that road, not ever. I’m not like him, though he was always stronger than me.

My father, Charles Xavier, was the strongest man I knew and this world still broke him down eventually. After the teachers were drafted it was tough, we were understaffed and the eldest students like me had resorted to teaching the younger ones. But when the students started to be drafted as well, his spirits began to fade. He didn’t resort to drowning out the voices till the first call came in saying some of them wouldn’t be returning home from Vietnam.

I can’t hear the voices like he does, though, I feel them. I would give anything to just hear the sad thoughts of people instead of feeling their pain. But you can’t choose your mutation. I just wish I could get some peaceful sleep for once.

I decided to give up for the day, I would just waste it in bed wallowing. It’s not like dear old dad will be doing anything else today, either. I could at least go see what Hank’s getting up to. He’s probably just in his lab. I ultimately get up and start walking down the hallway to the front of the house. Doing my best to avoid my dad's room, I take the long way, using the stairs on the far side of the house. Just as I’m reaching the bottom floor I hear a loud growl and some clattering noises and I take off running towards it.

As I make it through the doors, I walk into see Hank in full blue hanging from the ceiling over some scruffy guy laying on the table. “What the hell is this, Hank?” I shout.

Just as I’m about to ask more questions when Charles walks in. “Get off the bloody chandelier, Hank.” He walked over to the table on the side to pour a drink. I could feel both my anger against him grow, Hank’s embarrassment, dad's bitter loneliness and this new fellow's shock.

“Professor, you're walking?” Said the scruffy man. He felt surprised, and he acted as if he knew my dad.

“Do you know this man?” I ask my dad. He just ignores me.

“Well aren’t you a perceptive one. I haven’t been a professor in a long time. Now please leave. Hank the door!” Charles said, clenching the glass he held tight too. He quickly left the room, not wanting to discuss matters further.

“I’m afraid I can’t leave yet. I was sent here for you.”

“We’ll go and tell whoever sent you I’m busy.” He sat down on the stairs with his drink.

“I can’t exactly do that, cause you sent me 50 years from now in the future.”

He laughed, “I doubt that.”

“You would know I’m telling the truth if you had your powers.”

“How do you know he doesn’t have his powers?” I asked the stranger. He gave me a curious stare, he seemed confused by my presence.

“You’ve piqued my interest. Say I believed you. What exactly are you here for?”

“It’s mystique.”

“Wait, what does Raven have to do with any of this?” Hank said, putting his glasses back on.

“In three days she’s going to kill Dr Trask in Paris to stop him from creating these weapons but by doing so she gives the world leaders a cause to fund his works and in fifty years they’re will be a war between these weapons, sentinels and mutants. There’s barely any of us left.”

I was shocked, horrified actually. Or maybe it was Hank who was feeling this, or maybe it was my dad. I can’t tell. Though I definitely feel something on my own. He’s description of these weapons seems so clear in my head. Like I’ve seen them before.

“Even if I did help you, Raven doesn’t listen to me anymore. Her heart and soul belong to someone else now.”

“That’s why we will need magneto too.”

“Hell no!” Charles stood up and began to walk away.

“Professor.”

“He’s a murder.” My dad laughed, “You know, I do remember you now that I think of it. Eric and I came to you years ago. I’m going to say to you what you said to us then. Fuck off!” The professor took his drink and walked back to his room, leaving me and Hank with this stranger.

“You came to the wrong house. There isn’t a professor here anymore.” I said, silently hoping my dad could still hear me.

“I’ll see if I can persuade him to help.” Hank said, chasing after my dad.

“What happened to him?”

“Hank made a serum, like the one he used for himself, but to give him his legs back instead. He just takes too much, that’s all.”

“So who the hell are you kid?”

I rolled my eyes, “(y/n) Xavier, what used to be the professor, is my dad.” I said sitting on the steps.

“Wait? (y/n). I never even knew you were related to the professor. I didn’t even know he had kids.”

“Kid. He only has one. He dated my mom for a few weeks during grad school, and a few years later he got a kid dropped off on his front porch.”

“It’s just when we met, you were so much older. By then you had changed your last name, I guess. I don’t even recognize you.” He sat down next to me on the stairs. He felt strangely happy, with a small sense of pride. The way a big brother might feel when the youngest graduates.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Names Logan.” He said, holding his hand out for me to shake.

“I say it’s nice to meet you, but I’m not quite sure if it is yet.” He almost laughed.

“So you were always a smart talker.”

“What year did you say you were from exactly?”

“2023, but I’ve known you for decades.”

“I would have been almost 67. When did we meet?” I was growing more and more curious about the future, though I wasn’t sure I believed him.

“I don’t think I should be telling you about your own future like this, kid. Could be dangerous.”

“You being here is dangerous.”

“You’re not wrong, but we didn’t really have a choice.”

I was going to ask him what they did to send him back, but Hank finally came back with my dad reluctantly behind him. “Charles agreed to help. We both have.”

“Guess that means we’re going to pay uncle Eric a visit?” I say trying to lighten the mood.

“Do you even know where he is?” Hank asked Logan.

“Yes.”

“But do you know why he’s there?” Logan's face drew a blank for a moment, and Charles laughed. “He didn’t tell you? You know what happened to JFK?”

“You're not saying that was him?”

“How else do you explain the bullet curving through the air like that?” Hank said.

“Eric always did have a way with guns.” I always got a certain sadness from my father when he said Eric’s name. It was always unique and different from the rest of his pain.

“How do you plan to get him out?”

“I know a guy,” Logan gave me a knowing smile like this was an inside joke. “Of course when I met him he was much older, but he should be a young man by now.”

“How do we find this guy?” I asked.

“I guess cerebra is out of the question?” Hank looked at Charles, but turned away when he got a spiteful look. “We have a phone book.”

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximof x reader #peter maximoff #peter x reader #peter x you #peter x y/n #x men fanfiction #x men x reader #quicksilver x you #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver x y/n

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lambroseforlife · 5 years

Note

Rewrite of the first scene, but with the au where you're colorblind until you see your soulmate (preferably where they're both too shocked to say anything until Lilly's dragged out of the polling office)

What an intriguing suggestion. This prompt was the first time I had ever heard of the colorblind soulmate AU so I had to do some research and read fanfics from other fandoms to get a general idea of it.

I dont know if I correctly wrote out what you suggested in parenthesis, anon. But to make up for it, I decided to try to one-up your request. I figured this oneshot would make for an…interesting read from Rikkard Ambrose’s POV (“wow sooo original lambroseforlife, as if there arent like 1536364324262 fanfics out there with this style already”).

This was definitely tougher to write than Lilly’s POV but I tried my best to make it CLOSELY parallel the Ambrose POV chapter from Book 1. Here you go!

**Text in bold font> is dialogue taken from the series and belongs to Robert Thier.**

— — —

‘Ah! Would you just look at that! What a sight to see! There’s just no place like London! No place like it whatsoever! Don’t you agree, Sir?’

Silence.

‘Just listen to those sounds! Nothing else has ever felt so welcoming! It’s a treat for the ears! Isn’t it wonderful, Sir?’

Silence.

‘Can you smell that? Just take a whiff of that fresh sea air, Sir! Air so fresh! No air like that anywhere else! What do you think, Sir?’

Silence.

‘I’ve been all over the world. I’ve travelled everywhere there is to see. The coasts of Brazil, the islands in the West, all European ports, but there is no place as wonderful as home. Isn’t it nostalgic, Sir?’

My head slowly turned to meet the Captain’s bright smile. Cold eyes drilled into his.

‘What exactly, Captain? The fog, the people yelling, or the pollution?’

His smile didn’t diminish as I expected. ‘Everything,of course! Isn’t it great to be returning to England, Mr Ambrose?’ He clapped a wrinkled hand on my shoulder.

In lieu of a dagger, I used my eyes. They dug into his hand still grasping my shoulder, then at him. I said nothing as the seconds ticked by.

Eighteen seconds…

Forty-two seconds…

One minute and twenty-five seconds…

Two minutes and seven seconds…

His smile faded and he withdrew his hand. ‘Um…I will go check on the rest of the, er, crew.’

He retreated. I didn’t bother glancing at his departing form. I stared out at the approaching harbour, growing bigger with every passing minute.

‘Sahib?’

‘Yes?’ I addressed the man standing behind me. I still didn’t move.

‘The Captain says we’re close to docking, Sahib.’

‘Adequate. Go check on the goods.’

‘I will immediately, Sahib.’

Silence. But no retreating footsteps.

‘Sahib?’

‘What is it, Karim?’

‘Is Dalgliesh awaiting our arrival? Will he have something planned?’

I turned to look at him. With his turban atop his head, his arms were crossed and his dark eyes were focused ahead, glaring into the grey distance.

‘Do you expect that he does?’

‘I do, Sahib.’

‘Then he won’t, Karim.’ My hand dug into my tailcoat pocket, making sure that the loaded revolver was there. ‘One should expect the unexpected, not the expected.’

His eyes met mine. ‘You have a point, Sahib.’ His hand twitched, towards the direction of his sabre hanging from his belt.

Silence again.

‘I will go check on the cargo, Sahib.’ The looming figure of my bodyguard diminished into the mist.

I turned my head back towards the impending harbour, ever growing closer. Black and white highlighted the distance. Multitudes of grey tones illuminated the sky.

Unbidden, I heard a young woman’s voice.

‘I’m sure if you meet the right girl, she will be like sunshine, brightening up your life.’¹

I shook my head. Why was I remembering her words now? Out of all the unlikely times.

The absurd notion of seeing “colour” from meeting your “soulmate” was a needless complication and more likely, both merely exaggerated hoaxes. What I could see now was more than enough.

However, if only a similar idea extended to sensation. It would have been extremely useful against the current weather. I tipped my hat down over my face, to shield from the worst of the wind. It wasn’t very effective.

As my destination loomed closer, realisation struck. It was almost a decade since I had been here, back in England. I had been much younger then, running from…

Something churned in my gut and I ignored it.

Probably just hunger.

— — —

‘Mr Ambrose, how does it feel to be back from the colonies?’

‘Mr Ambrose, what is the secret to your wealth?’

‘A statement, Mr Ambrose, on the upcoming elections! Which party do you support?’

A pack of reporters circled the gangway as Karim and I descended from the ship. I narrowed my eyes, disregarding them the same way that I did to those requesting charity.

I gave them the same response as well. Rather, a lack of one. Ignoring them, I stepped down from the gangplank and onto the landing.

One reporter in particular remained in place, blocking my way. My eyes bored into his, unblinking. He gulped, but still refused to move. The man’s courageous spirit was admirable, although foolishly misplaced.

‘Is it true that recently, you deliberately betrayed a business associate and had him arrested to obtain and resell his property?’

‘I did.’

‘What?’

‘Yes. I exposed him, purchased his property and resold it so it could be demolished to build a railroad. Does that answer your question?’

He stared at me, slack-jawed. ‘But that’s unethical, even for business! Where’s your sense of honour as a gentleman? Your conscience?’

I cocked my head. I had been mistaken, unfortunately. It seemed that this man lacked courage and was just utterly foolish.

‘Conscience?’

I took a step towards him and he took a step back.

‘Haven’t you heard of the saying?’ I asked.

One step forward. One step back in response.

‘All is fair in love and war.’ I continued.

Another step forward. Another step back and…

Splash!

The reporter fell into the water. The distracted fool had forgotten to pay attention to his surroundings. Big mistake.

‘Especially war.’

I raised an eyebrow at his sputtering form as he resurfaced from the sea, gasping for air. I turned my gaze to rest of the convened hyenas, frozen in shock.

‘Well? Any other questions?’

Unfreezing, they fled.

‘That went smoother than expected.’ Karim remarked, beside me.

‘Indeed. But it seems we have another problem.’

The reporters had left but from the commotion, a crowd of people had formed. Their expressions were all identical, eyes widened in disbelief at the current scene.

‘Do you want me to handle this, Sahib?’

‘No need.’ Stepping forward, I stared down at the individuals among the forelines of the crowd. Their eyes directly met mine. I could see curiosity and fear mingled in them. I narrowed my eyes again. My head jerked upwards, once.

Wordlessly, they began to part from the middle. The people behind them followed suit and so forth. The crowd eventually split in half, forming a pathway for me and my bodyguard to cross. As we walked through the crowd, I could hear various whispers.

‘Is that…?’

‘Rikkard Ambrose! Rumour has it that he left here a decade ago…’

‘One of the richest men from the British Empire!’

‘…pretty good looking too if I do say so myself.’

I kept my eyes focused straight ahead and tuned them out. Gods didn’t concern themselves with the buzzing of insects.

Well, from what I had been told. Doing so otherwise sounded like a complete waste of time.

We exited out into one of the streets. Karim didn’t stray from his spot behind me when I stopped.

‘What now, Sahib?’

I reached into my pocket and withdrew a written slip of paper, handing it to him.

‘Is this the address of the office?’

A curt nod.

‘Should I get a cab, Sahib?’

I shook my head.

‘Are we walking there?’

Another curt nod.

‘Very well, Sahib.’

Without another word, we both headed straight into the fog.

— — —

Plink.

A minute passed. No answer.

Plink.

Thirty seconds. Still no answer.

Plink.

Ten seconds. Silence.

This was ridiculous! Three messages and no response? Was it too much to expect diligence from employees, more specifically, personal secretaries? With additional emphasis on the personal part, they were supposed to immediately respond to their employers!

I was about to pull the lever to send another message through the pneumatic tube— my designated method of efficient communication throughout the building for the due intention of saving time— when I realised it was not fulfilling its intended purpose.

‘Simmons!’ I called out.

Still silence.

I stood up, the chair scraping against the bare stone floor as it was shoved back. I marched over to the door connecting my office with his and threw open the door.

Emptiness. The only exception being the dust motes floating in the air.

My hand reached into the pocket of my waistcoat, retrieving my watch. I ignored the symbol on the silver lid as the watch opened, displaying the time. Exactly thirty-two minutes and fifty-eight seconds past ten in the morning. Where was Simmons? For the first time since my arrival in London, he was late.

I checked through his desk drawers for a note. Nothing. In fact, the entire desk was empty. Almost as if…

I marched back into my office and grabbed the mouthpiece that led down to the floor below.

‘Karim? Come up now! Simmons is missing!’

Twenty-three seconds later, Karim entered my office. Upon seeing my expression, he wordlessly headed into the adjacent office, searching the room. I could hear items being shuffled around and drawers opening while I waited.

‘No results, Sahib.’ Karim rematerialised at the doorway, confirming my suspicions. He shook his head. ‘The room is completely emptied of his belongings.’

‘Check the rest of the building. If you happen to find him, then personally inform him my opinions on tardiness.’

‘I will do so, Sahib.’

Approximately twenty-seven minutes and twelve seconds later, Karim returned. His eyebrows were furrowed. He shook his head again. ‘Still nothing, Sahib. He’s not in this building.’

My eyes narrowed. That could only mean one thing. ‘Then he permanently left.’

‘It seems so, Sahib. He must have decided to quit his job.’

‘Quit? Why quit now? He was here for nearly three years before I arrived.’

‘I have no idea, Sahib. He didn’t leave anything behind that could have explained. No resignation letter, no personal items, nothing at all.’

My eyes narrowed even further. The gall of that imbecile! He didn’t even have the patience for me to personally sack him.

‘Sahib,’ Karim spoke up again, ‘Did you want me to post an advertisement for a job opening in The Times?

My eyes shot up to glare at him. ‘Karim, are you insane? Do you have any idea how much it costs for a newspaper advertisement nowadays?’

‘I do not, Sahib.’

‘Too exorbitant to be sensible, that’s how much! Never mind that. I’ll have to find another way to hire a replacement. Until then, I’ll manage on my own.’

— — —

A few days later, I glowered at the significantly sized pile of letters sitting on my desk, willing them to make themselves scarce through the force of my eyes. For some reason, it didn’t seem to work. It was the appointed task of my secretary to sort through my mail. But as that position was currently unoccupied, the responsibility had fallen to me.

‘Are you sure about not advertising the open position, Sahib?’ The deep voice rumbled above me.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I riffled through the envelopes, promptly dumping the ones with dainty penmanship or extravagant designs into the waste paper bin.

‘Those could be crucial correspondence from business associations.’ Karim nodded to the discarded letters.

‘Not for the type of business I desire to conduct.’ I gave him a pointed look.

‘I see, Sahib. My apologies.’

‘Any recent news from the estate agents?’

‘I have not heard anything from them, Sahib.’

‘Convey our urgency, Karim. I need another office in the countryside for my business dealings.’ I steepled my fingers as I glanced around the stark, dimly lit interior of my office. ‘Negotiations aren’t proceeding as smoothly in here as I would like.’

‘I wonder why, Sahib.’

‘I do too, Karim. It would be a waste of investment otherwise if these deals weren’t so crucial.’

Before he could respond, a voice came from one of the speaking tubes on my desk. I picked it up and recognised the other person as Mr Stone, from the inquiry desk.

‘Mr Ambrose, there is a young boy here to see you. He says he was sent by Mr Elseworth from Elseworth and Brown, estate agents.’

Karim and I looked at each other before I spoke. ‘Send him in.’

‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’

I set the tube back down on the desk when knocking came from the door. A moment later, the door opened and the message boy stepped in.

‘Mr Elseworth sent you?’

‘He did, Guv. You was looking for a place in the country?’

‘I still am.’

‘Mr Elseworth’s got a place for you. He’s downstairs waiting since ‘e heard you wanted a place real quick.’

‘Let’s go, Karim. We’ll see what Mr Elseworth has to offer.’ I stood up and followed the boy downstairs to the entrance.

Once my feet stepped onto the stone floor of the main hall, the workers noticed my presence. They halted, all eyes transfixed on me.

I met the eyes of the sallow-faced receptionist. Mr Pearson was his name, from what my memory recalled. His face lost colour and he bent over in a small bow before resuming his work.

My icy gaze flashed back to the rest of the statues, fixing on their motionless figures for one second.

In the next, they moved again, doubling the speed to their destination.

Adequate. It seemed that news had spread since my initial arrival here.

When I had entered Empire House for the first time, there had been something called a ‘welcoming party’ arranged for me. It was organised by none other than Sallow-face himself. No doubt a lick-spittle ploy to fall into my good graces. It would have worked on anyone else— just not on me.

To my extreme displeasure, there had been banners and decorations. Even a garish brass band playing. The employees had been standing by them, not a single one doing his appointed task.

I had immediately put an end to the frivolous activity, of course. The band left once they realised they were not getting paid and that they would be thrown out instead. I ordered the employees to sell whatever they could and to dispose of the rest of the clutter. One man protested to my commands, insisting that ‘The garlands were specially multi-coloured!’

He had been permanently dismissed later that day.

Currently, I followed the boy across the hall as he led me to whom I assumed was Mr Elseworth. He resembled a pig, with a considerable figure and small beady eyes.

‘Mr Ambrose!’ He gave me a simpering grin, holding out his hand for me to shake. ‘Just the man I wanted to see! I believe I have something that you will like very much. I appreciate that you came all the way down here to escort me. Shall you lead the way back to your office and we—’

‘No.’ I ignored his extended hand. ‘I have business to attend to. We will talk on the way. Come.’

Without waiting for a response, I went outside. Approximately eight seconds later, Mr Elseworth appeared beside me, panting heavily to keep up with my pace.

‘Wouldn’t it be…better if…we discussed…this inside—’

‘No.’ Taking out my pocketwatch without breaking my stride, I checked the time. ‘I have somewhere to be in seventeen minutes and three seconds. If you have an offer to make, then make it now.’

— — —

Twelve minutes and forty three seconds had passed when I arrived at the street for my intended location. I had heard enough from Mr Elseworth with his acclamations on Wilding Park. In between his laboured breathing, I had discerned that it had ten bedrooms and the latest bathing amenities.

‘It’s simply spectacular, I tell you!’ He droned on mindlessly. ‘One of the best places I have ever I seen and I have seen a lot of places. A lot of places for my years.’

‘Is that so?’ My gaze was fixed on a particular building that had come into view. ‘How strange that you intend to sell it so easily.’

‘To you, of course, Mr Ambrose! I can tell that you’re a man after my own heart. With you, Wilding Park will be well cared for. I just know it. There is so much it has to offer…’

He continued rambling on. His servile chattering bored me. It was a waste of time, too much spent on a matter that didn’t need much thought. Country estates were the same, more or less.

‘Mr Elseworth,’ I cut him off, mid-flattery. ‘You have effectively expressed your opinion. I accept your offer.’

His round face beamed but I continued. ‘However, if I find that the place is…defective to your description, then I will be dissatisfied. Very dissatisfied. Do not forget that.’

His clammy pallor showed that he understood my words.

‘Karim?’ I waved my bodyguard forward. ‘Give him the money. I’m already busy as it is.’

Karim stepped closer to Mr Elseworth, ready to finish this deal— then paused. I was about to question him when I heard it.

To be more specific, someone clearing their throat.

‘Sir? Excuse me?’ The stranger’s voice was clear enough to be heard and high enough to be an inconvenience. Much time had been wasted today and I didn’t intend to waste any more. Whatever the person expected from me was going to be unfulfilled.

Due to the mist, I could faintly see a figure heading towards me. Until Karim grabbed the person by the arm, preventing their advance.

‘Leave, boy! You’re not wanted here!’ He snapped. ‘The Sahib doesn’t want your begging!’

‘I’m not asking him for money!’ The person countered in what resembled an irate tone. I was ready to have Karim take care of this and head towards my destination when the stranger continued. ‘I’m trying to help him save some, actually.’

I completely halted.

‘Save? Release him, Karim!’ I examined the individual more closely. He seemed to be a strange young man, with a loose-fitting tailcoat and pair of trousers that billowed on his figure save for his posterior. He had round cheeks and an outsized top hat that sat upon a tangled mess of dark hair. His eyes appeared to be also dark— from what I could discern. Traces of the fog were obscuring most of his irises given the distance. Regardless, the rest of his appearance did not reassure the credibility of his words.

‘Explain yourself.’ I icily glared at him. ‘How are you going to help me save money?’

Despite the ferocity of my eyes, he tried to step closer to me and had to be intercepted by Karim. Interesting. My glare was known to have the opposite effect on others. What a plucky boy. Either that or naive. Maybe both, given his juvenile impression.

‘I overheard some of your conversation with Mister…’ He swallowed, glancing over at the stout man staring angrily at him.

‘Elseworth.’

‘…Elseworth. Sir, do you plan to buy Wilding Park?’

‘I do. What’s it to you?’

‘Well…’ He rubbed at his neck nervously. ‘I would recommend that you don’t.’

‘How come?’ I cocked my head. I still couldn’t see his eyes completely but his stance seemed straightforward. A bit anxious, but still open. Did he have hidden intentions?

‘The place is rather decrepit and rundown in appearance.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘One of my relatives lives near there. My grandmother, actually. I have visited her a few times and noticed the place in passing. It isn’t the loveliest of houses.’

‘I am not interested in loveliness. Is it stable?’

‘It is, most definitely, Sir!’ Mr Elseworth interjected. His expression switched back to his previous angry glare, directed towards the young man. ‘This brat doesn’t know what he’s saying.’

‘It is not stable.’ The young man retorted, scowling back at him. It seemed that he had more backbone than initial appearance.

‘How so?’ I asked.

‘The area around the house was overrun with weeds. The house itself had growing stains around the base as well as missing windows and broken roof tiles. Once, while inside my coach, I overheard the caretaker yelling about roaches in the house and rats on the grounds.’

‘You noticed all this from just seeing the place at a distance a few times?’

‘I did.’

‘Hm. Exactly what I need.’

‘But Sir, I just explained that Wilding Park is not—’

‘Never mind the house. I meant you.’

‘What?’ He pointed to himself hesitantly.

‘Yes. You, young man.’ I turned to Karim. ‘Dispose of Mr Elseworth accordingly. He has breached the terms of our agreement.’

Karim gave a nod. I disregarded the squeals of terror as I returned my attention back to the young man.

‘My previous secretary quit my employ a few days ago for an incomprehensible reason. Now I need a new secretary. With your memory and fast thinking, you would be the ideal man for the position.’

The young man blinked rapidly and I heard a choking noise.

‘Um…the ideal man? I apologise, Sir, but I don’t think I would fit your particular standards.’

What? Why was he choosing now, out of all times, to be humble?

‘Are you illiterate?’

‘No, I’m not but…’

‘Are you currently employed?’

‘No, but…’

‘Then it’s decided.’ I stated with absolute finality. ‘My office. Exactly nine on Monday morning. Do not be late.’

I reached into my pocket and stepped forward, holding out my business card towards him.

‘Take this.’

The last of the fog faded and I could see the young man clearly. His irises were dark as I suspected, and looking at me in widened shock. His eyes practically bulged out when I came into his view. His jaw dropped.

What was wrong with him? Was his mental state not as sound as I had assumed?

‘Hello? Here, my card.’ I waved the item out.

That’s when it happened.

It started from his eyes, spreading out to the rest of his face. Something smeared, trickling down to the rest of his body and then outwards everywhere.

What was this?

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. It didn’t work. Like a stain, something was stuck to my eyes.

Was this…

No.

It couldn’t be.

Was this…

Was this colour?

How disorienting. I felt pain pulsate in my skull. It was unprepared for the onslaught of… of this.

I was unprepared.

Wait.

If I was seeing in colour then that meant…

I heard her voice again.

‘One day, you’ll meet that special someone, and it will change everything.’²

No.

Nonononono. No!

It couldn’t be!

This is just a coincidence, I told myself. Nothing more than a coincidence.

Or a joke.

A really bad one.

His hand reached out towards mine and I tensed. Why was he…

He tentatively grasped the edge of my business card, choosing to focus his gaze on it.

‘I’m surprised, Sir.’ He softly murmured. ‘I didn’t expect a job offer.’

Oh, right.

Focus! Don’t forget your original purpose. You can’t afford distractions.

Instantly, I smoothed my expression out, making sure it was blank. Cold. Impenetrable.

‘Make sure that “surprise” isn’t common for you while you work for me. I expect efficiency and attentiveness from my employees.’

Without waiting for a response, I whirled away and headed down the street, with Karim right on my heels. I was already reconsidering my job offer to the young man but the alternative was worse. I couldn’t stand opening another gaudy envelope pestering me to donate or attend social events. If the young man showed up on Monday, then adequate. If not, then…I had underestimated his courage. But…

It would have been safer.

Preposterous, I chided myself. Soulmates didn’t exist just because colour did. It was simply an invalid justification for one of life’s unexplained mysteries.

Even so, one thing did exist: capital offence. An example of which was buggery.

Not that I would ever commit such a crime. The only times I had ever felt anything close to pleasure was while tallying my annual profits.

But upon remembering the glazed look in the young man’s eyes, there was no doubt that he had experienced the same thing when he saw me. Seeing in colour.

Even now, the idea was still unbelievable. I would have laughed at the absurdity of the entire situation if I hadn’t forgotten how to years ago.

The universe was going to pay for this. I would make sure of that.

With ten percent added interest.

— — —

Colour looked like a… a catastrophe. Like things couldn’t decide what they wanted to be so they settled on greediness, taking a bit of everything. So complicated.

Needlessly, unnecessarily complicated.

It took me longer than expected to reach my destination. Disoriented, I had nearly stumbled twice while walking. Twice. The headache behind my eyes had not abated.

Displeased, I peered up at the sign above the entrance. Bradley and Bullard’s Bank, it read in very dark lettering. Black, I think?

Once, when I was much younger, I had found a discarded pamphlet about colour. Printed squares labelled as red or blue appeared identical to me. The pamphlet explained that from birth, people could only see in what was referred to as the “monochrome spectrum”. The only three distinguishable colours were black, white and grey. Far more simple and efficient.

‘Sahib?’ Karim spoke next to me, concern in his voice. ‘Are you unwell? Maybe we should return another time.’

‘No. I will finish this now. It’s pointless to waste another trip.’

‘As you wish, Sahib.’ He stepped into the establishment first, as a bodyguard would. I followed after him.

Upon our entrance, the various people chatting and writing stopped. Their eyes spotted Karim and his sabre first, then landed on me.

Disregarding the line of people waiting for the counter, I strode over to the nearest clerk.

‘You! How much is this bank?’ I pinned him in place with my eyes.

‘Er… our accounts have low fees for both regular and stock—’

I tutted. ‘Incorrect answer. How much is this bank?’

The man stared at me in confusion, his dark eyes assessing me. They travelled down my figure, lingering over my simple and plain black attire. When they returned to my face, they had narrowed into slits. Commonplace halfwit. I knew he had assumed wrongly based off of my appearance.

‘Sir, I’m afraid I cannot understand your request. There seems to be a misunderstanding.’

‘Yes. On your part entirely.’

He stuck his nose upwards. ‘I’m going to have to request that you move, Sir. You are stalling the line.’

Wordlessly, I reached into my pocket and withdrew another business card. My eyes never left his as I slid it across the counter.

His gaze flickered to the card, reading my engraved name. His blanched face slowly rose up to meet my stare.

‘Where’s your manager?’

‘M-My apologies, Mr Ambrose, Sir. I will fetch him right away.’

He scrambled, speeding towards the back of the bank. While I waited, I picked up the card and pocketed it again. They were expensive to order and I couldn’t afford to waste them.

My gaze drifted down to the counter. It was painted a darker colour, not black but something close to it. It looked familiar but I couldn’t recall why.

That is, until a pair of widened eyes flashed in my vision. His ey—

I clamped down on that thought. Hard. With such ferocity, my teeth ground together from the effort.

The headache must have impaired my thinking. That could be the only reason. There was no other possible explanation.

‘Mr Ambrose?’ A new voice called.

My focus moved upwards. The clerk was accompanied by another man whom I presumed was the manager.

‘I’m Mr Frank Wilson, the manager of this establishment. Mr Charles informed me that you wish to purchase this bank?’

‘Indeed.’

‘I see. Why don’t we discuss this…more privately? We can talk in my office.’

‘Yes. Before that, I have a question.’

‘Yes?’

‘What colour is this counter?’

What the heck? Why did I ask that?

‘Excuse me?’

‘You are excused. Now answer the question.’

‘I-I’m not— uh, I can’t…” He stammered.

So he didn’t know. He couldn’t see colour either. It was unwise and impulsive of me to assume so. Why had I taken leave of my senses? My mental state was deteriorating rapidly. The sooner I finished my business and left this place, the better.

‘Brown.’

The gruff voice came somewhere behind me. I turned around to see an old man, waiting at the front of the line.

‘It’s called brown.’

His weathered face held no expression but his sharp eyes met mine directly, without trepidation. There was a knowing glint in them that I immediately distrusted.

I gave him a curt nod, then turned back to the two confused men standing in front of me.

‘Lead the way, Mr Wilson. We have business to discuss.’

— — —

Approximately seven minutes later, I left Bradley and Bullard’s Bank as its new owner. Karim had the written proof of the transaction details safely tucked away.

‘Did this deal go according to your liking, Sahib?’

I inhaled, glancing around the crowded street. ‘I suppose so. For now.’

Most of my headache had cleared, its remnants causing the occasional throb. Nothing that the prospect of money couldn’t fix.

‘One day the bank of England, Sahib.’

I nodded. One day.

‘Sahib…’ Karim hesitated. ‘What you asked in the bank, does that mean—’

‘Patriarchal oppressors!’ A screech drowned out Karim’s voice. ‘Chauvinist pigs!’

I turned towards the commotion to see—

Someone familiar?

Yes, it was. Karim and I stared at the defiant figure being carted out of a polling station by officers down the street. Someone too familiar. The young man I had met no less than half an hour ago. My new secretary.

Snapping out of my paralysis, I marched over to the two police officers. This was not good. The police would have to overlook this until I had found a suitable replacement.

‘Officer, what is happening here? Why are you taking that young man?’ I demanded.

The constable looked up and upon seeing me, froze. Unlike Mr Charles, he recognised me, judging by his shocked expression. His next words confirmed it.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir!’ He saluted quickly with one hand before it returned back to restrain my replacement secretary. The young man was struggling in a fruitless endeavour for freedom. ‘Sir, which young man are you referring to?’

My eyes shifted to young man he was gripping onto then back to him. Was it not obvious enough?

‘The one you’re restraining. Who else? Why are you taking him?’

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir, I don’t know how to break this gently…but this person isn’t a young man.’ He grabbed the young man’s black hat and yanked it off. A headful of brown strands spilt out. Almost the same colour as the youth’s eyes. ‘A young woman. She’s a girl, Sir.’

What?

No.

My lips parted to speak. No sound came out.

For the first time in a long time, I had no idea what to say.

‘Is something the matter, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

Silence. But not deliberate from my end. I had no response for him. Almost a minute had passed when he glanced at the other officer. ‘If you don’t mind, Mr Ambrose, we have to take her away. Perhaps she’ll learn her place as a female after staying overnight in a cell.’

The other officer shook his head. ‘A woman voting? What an absurd idea! Before you know it, more might even demand for a job!’

They both chuckled, but I hardly registered the sound. My mouth snapped shut at the realisation.

Job.

Woman.

A woman’s job.

No!

A headache started to throb at my temples for the second time within the hour. Ice crawled down my spine only to fester into fury in my chest. My freezing glare sought one target only to find him— no, her— already staring at me.

The mal— female’s brown eyes met mine, unblinking. Unlike the drab shade of bank counter, they were bold. Bright. Stubborn. Annoying. They refused to cower to the glacial wrath sparking out of mine.

The police had nearly dragged her around the corner, when she grinned at me. She called out before she was pulled out of sight.

‘Looking forward to seeing you at work on Monday, Sir!’³

It seemed that I now had another problem instead.

One far bigger than buggery.

— — —

Phew! This took a LOT of brushing up on the main series to write. As I said, my goal was to have this chapter parallel VERY closely to the Ambrose POV chapter of Storm and Silence but with the twist that anon asked for. So I kept major events but modified them since anon requested me for a rewrite. I hope that this oneshot is passable for an Ambrose POV.

*Original series quote sources:

¹Before the Storm, Chapter 16: ‘Paths and Rails’

²Before the Storm, Chapter 16

³Storm and Silence, Chapter 1: ‘Arrested for Good Manners’

#kinda an ask #answered #storm and silence #lilly linton #rikkard ambrose #karim #fanfiction #oneshot #writing prompt #prompt 4 #knowledgeispoweristimeismoney #a decent read for disappointed radish readers

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 5 years

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We're all second-screening. Here's how you're doing it wrong.

Second-screening — watching TV while also looking at your phone, tablet or laptop — is probably the most widely adopted destructive behavior of the decade. We keep hearing that it's bad for us; we keep doing it regardless. It's the smoking of the 2010s.

Psychologists were sounding the alarm as early as 2012 that this kind of screen-based multitasking seemed to be correlated with depression and anxiety. Did we listen? Did we hell. Back then, according to Nielsen, a mere (!) 40 percent of American adults looked at their phones or tablets every day while parked in front of the tube. By 2017, according to eMarketer, that number had climbed to over 70 percent.

The same study anticipated that second-screening would afflict 76 percent of us by 2019; looking around our living rooms now, that figure seems too conservative.

SEE ALSO: Dear significant others: Please let us watch our shows alone

"It relaxes me," my wife says, slightly defensively, when I catch her playing a mobile game rather than paying attention to our show. And really, who am I to judge? Many's the time I've thumbed through Twitter in the dull moments of a so-so episode. No one could be faulted for trying to hide from the commercial break by plunging into their phones instead.

Let he who has never second-screened cast the first stone.

So if we all do it, perhaps it's time to acknowledge that — and instead of wagging hypocritical fingers at each other, try to limit our second-screening in sensible ways that can help head off the worst, most anxiety-inducing aspects. Here's a look at the ways we're doing it right and wrong.

RIGHT: Stay on topic

Probably the most positive use case for second-screening is breaking news. Cable channels can give you one stream of information on a fast-developing story, the internet can provide another, and the two together make you less quick to jump to wrong conclusions.

When you've got multiple sources agreeing on the details of any still-murky event, you're doing news right.

With one eye on the news anchor and a thumb on Twitter, you're less likely to feel useless in the face of the latest unspeakable tragedy. You can donate, you can write to your representatives, you can motivate and console friends. A 2015 paper on "Second Screen Use and Its Effect on Online Political Participation" reached the conclusion that it actually makes us better, more engaged citizens.

The record high youth voter turnout in the 2018 midterm election, the most recent test of our activist second-screen culture, certainly did not disprove this theory.

But you don't have to be saving the world from your couch to feel good about second-screening. The psychological toll (not to mention the IQ-dropping effect!) of multi-tasking seems to derive from the effort of making our brain pay attention to two disparate topics at once.

If you're looking up the answers to questions brought about by the show, or live-tweeting it, you're going to have a better time than if you're just randomly browsing Instagram or scrolling anxiously through your email.

The early 2010s saw a brief flurry of interest in official second-screen apps specifically designed for popular shows, such as ABC's Grey's Anatomy Sync. That app has since vanished from app stores — possibly because it was redundant, given Twitter's ability to host all kinds of conversations, but more likely because Big TV realized that most of us aren't second-screening that way.

According to that eMarketer study, 131.5 million U.S. adults were looking at unrelated content on their phones and tablets while watching TV; just 46.2 million were browsing something related.

Be smart. Be one of the 46.2 million.

WRONG: Don't do it tired

There is, my wife the expert suggests, a limited pool of mental energy available for second-screening. The research on multitasking would seem to back this up, although we probably need more specific research on second-screening itself.

But anecdotally, I think we all know this to be true. Second-screen for too long, or do it too late in the evening, and you end up in a kind of mindless zombie second-screening situation. One where, if you were suddenly asked at any given moment what was happening on either of the screens, you might be hard pressed to answer. Where has your mind gone?

Our current global epidemic of sleeplessness is at least partly caused by the blue glow of LED screens. There's also a second-order effect involved: our obstinate insistence at bathing in two screens at once, too close to bedtime.

RIGHT: Stay alert for ads

An unsuspecting family about to be lured in by marketing.

Image: Getty Images/Hero Images

The zombified nature of the worst kind of second-screening may also be responsible for another trend: we are ridiculously receptive to advertising when we're doing it.

That's partly because we're in more of a position to follow up on a TV ad if we have a device in our hands already. A 2018 study found the average viewer is 75 percent more likely to search for the product if they're second-screening, and that you're even more likely to do so if you're over 40.

But it also works the other way around — in terms of the screen and in terms of generations. A more recent study by Aki Technologies found that viewers were 59 percent more receptive to mobile ads if they're second-screening, moreso if they're millennials.

In other words, the more screens we use, the more advertisers and marketers have us right where they want us. Far be it for a journalist to decry this state of affairs and bite the hand that feeds us, but we should at least be aware that it's happening — not just to us, but to our kids too.

WRONG: Doing it alone

Pick a screen, dude.

Image: Getty Images/Maskot

Second-screening makes a kind of sense for couples and families. It surfs the fine line between together time and alone time without you having to move from the couch. Your significant other can watch their favorite show while you catch up on work, indulge a good old-fashioned Facebook session, or maybe even — whisper it low — read a book.

But if you're flying solo, there's less of an excuse — and more of a possibility that you're just using multiple screens as a substitute for sociability. Are you getting that bright zombified buzz from being bathed in completely disparate kinds of media at once? Maybe pick a lane and stay in it.

Better yet, invite a bunch of introverted friends over, specifically for second-screening purposes. The lure of alone time together is stronger than you might think.

RIGHT: Stay connected

Even if you and your partner/family are all on the couch together, there is a right and a wrong way to second-screen.

Everyone's mileage differs on this, depending on your ideal level of physical affection. Personally, I'd argue that second-screening without some form of snuggling is no kind of second-screening at all. Holding hands while staring at different devices, occasional squeeze included, is a good way to remind each other that you're present, no matter how deep your internet rabbit hole has gone.

The other element of second-screen connection to consider is this: are you creating a safe, warm, happy space for conversation? Can anyone look up from their device at any given moment and say what's on their mind? Or are you hushing them, or dramatically rolling your eyes when you have to hit the pause button to hear them out?

I'm occasionally guilty of the latter. But it's important to remember, especially in our digital age, there is literally nothing we can't put down or pause for a chat. Humans come first.

No matter how many screens you have around you, remember: they come second.

WATCH: Report says popular apps are silently recording your screen

#_author:Chris Taylor #_category:yct:001000002 #_uuid:26b1be42-0331-309b-8021-c239f979c60c #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_revsp:news.mashable

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