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imagesofthegreatgull · 4 years

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Hybrid Rainbow

Joy has always been a rare and precious commodity. I would argue, though, that in the developed world (Wherever, exactly, that is), it has become somewhat less rare in recent times, as standards of living and education continue to go up. That’s an absurdly privileged thing to say, I realize, but I’m trying to start this thing as evenhandedly as I can. I understand about suffering and poverty; I’m reading A Tree Grows In Brooklyn right now, even! Okay, saying we’re closer now than ever to utopia is going to smack of ignorance no matter how you phrase it, but it also strikes me as undeniably true, in the grand scheme of things. I think most people--aside from the fascists--would refuse a one-way trip in a time machine to any previous era, or at the very least, would recognize that it wouldn’t improve much of anything for them. As unruly as our age is, it’s still probably the best one we’ve gotten thus far, and as the boot-heel of oppression starts to ever so slowly ease up its pressure on the necks of the long-suffering masses, the question has begun to enter into the collective consciousness: what is to be done with joy when it begins to fall, unbidden, into your life with something like abundance? What is to be done if moments of joy no longer must be pried with great effort and sacrifice from the rockface of life, but lie strewn liberally throughout our days, needing only the will and lack of embarrassment to seize them?

Thus far, the latter-day generations have faced up to this problem with decidedly mixed success. The idea that expecting anything other than the very worst leaves one vulnerable to the universe’s cruel whims has been stamped upon the human brain for centuries, and has left many sadly unable to recognize their own privilege (Which, by the way, is a big part of why a whole lotta white folks refuse to admit they have it better than anyone else and continue to dig their heels in against progress because to them it looks like cutting in line). It is still widely accepted that constantly finding joy and peace and purpose in one’s own life is the purview of children and children alone, that it is a naivete to be grown out of. We have the impulse always within us to be hard, to be warlike, to show the world that we’re not weak and frivolous but monsters to be feared, without emotions to be appealed to or ideals to be fallen short of.

Remedying this problem has turned out to be one of the primary functions of counterculture. If it is often unhelpful to simply look at the entire value system of one’s parents and say “Fuck that”, as it tends to foster a rather negative self-definition, still, if part of that value system is a deeply entrenched distrust of happiness, “Fuck that” may be exactly the response called for. The beauty of “Fuck that” is that it leaps past the slow loss of faith in something and arrives immediately at a flat rejection of it, and since much of the history of civilization has been bound up with blind faith in arbitrary and harmful things, the ability and the courage to flatly reject something, to give it no credit for however widely accepted it is but to dismiss it as bullshit from the ground up, is a step forward in human consciousness tantamount to the reinvention of the wheel.

The great irony of the end of the sixties is that all the hippies were miserable for no reason: they won. Rock n’ roll did change the world, it just didn’t immediately transform it on every level into an unrecognizable nirvana. For all the apparent emptiness of its utopian dreams, the basic thrust of the thing worked out just fine: that particular cat will never be put back into its bag, and those ideas are now out in the ether forever, always waiting for someone to find them and be inspired to change their own life and the lives of those around them for the better. The same goes for the punk rock revolution a few years later: they may not have brought the bastards down, but they did successfully bring personal liberation to a lot of people, and poured exactly as much gas on the fires of populism as they intended to. Culture, and in particular art and in particular music, cannot, unassisted, change the world, but it can change your world, and has been changing small worlds all over the frigging place at least since those mop-topped Brits set foot on American shores and probably since Johnny B. Goode learned to play guitar just like a-ringin’ a bell.

The thread can get lost, however. Culture is always a reflection of the people, and the people still spend a lot of their time bored, frustrated, and terrified of letting on that they have feelings about stuff. Young people especially, formerly the eternal pirate crew waving high the flags of “Liberty” and “Up Yours”, in recent times have often capitulated and resigned themselves to no more than a few stray moments of fun pilfered from the fortresses of the almighty Money Man-Kings, usually in the form of drugs, sex, and reckless self-endangerment. The cost of the hippies and the punks giving up their battles is that the counterculture lost its intellectual leadership, at least until the resurgence in political literacy in the 2010s. In the wasteland following the 70s, there were no John Lennons or Joe Strummers to look to for guidance; even the people who were elected to speak for their generation seemed adamant that there was fuck-all they could really say. Yeah, it’s nice to know that someone else feels stupid and contagious, but that’s not really a direction, is it? The generation-defining message Kurt Cobain and his peers sent out was “We’re all way too fucked up to do anything about anything”, and that introspective moodiness pervaded American underground rock music from the invention of hardcore at least all the way up to the moment Craig Finn watched The Last Waltz with Tad Kubler and said “Why aren’t there bands like this anymore?” and set out with rest of the Steadies in tow to remind everyone that music can save your immortal soul and that hey, that Springsteen guy was really onto something, headband and all, and together they all successfully ushered in the New Uncool and now we’ve got Patrick Stickles wailing that “If the weather’s as bad as the weatherman says, we’re in for a real mean storm!” and Brian Fallon admitting “I always kinda sorta wished I looked like Elvis” and everything’s great, except it’s not, everything’s fucked, but rock n’ roll is here to stay, come inside now it’s okay, and I’ll shake you, ooo-ooo-ooo.

The point of all this is my belief that even with the responsibility rock music has to provide cathartic outlets for dissatisfaction, is has an equal or greater responsibility to provide heroes. I think it’s time we all got over pretending that we’re better than the need for heroes, because we all insist on having them anyway, imperfect roses by any other name, and we’d do a hell of a lot better selecting them if we just admitted what we were after. We don’t just want particularly talented comrades, we want King Arthur, Robin Hood, Superman, Malcolm Reynolds. Damn it all, they don’t need to be perfect, they don’t even need to be all that great really, and yeah, Arthur dies, and Robin never gets Prince John, and Superman can’t save everyone, and the war’s over, we’re all just folk now, and John Lennon beat women and Van Morrison is a grumpy old fart and John Lydon’s a disgrace, but it’s the faith that counts. The faith that there’s something greater than ourselves that some people are more keyed into than others, and that whatever they can relay from that other side is what’ll see us through. All the best prophets are madmen, and madmen aren’t always romantic fools; sometimes they hurt people, or fail at crucial moments due to a compulsion they can’t control. Let he who is without sin etcetera, right? Why not cast aside realism and sincerely believe in something or someone, huh?

I believe in the Pillows. I don’t know hardly anything about them; my expertise of Japanese culture and history extends to the anime I’ve seen and that “History of Japan” YouTube video that made the rounds a while back. I can’t locate them within the Japanese music scene; all their western influences seem obvious to me, and the rest I know nothing about. They’re the only rock band from their country I’ve listened to any great amount of, I don’t speak the language they mostly sing in, I don’t even know their career very well. The particulars of any experiences they might have had that motivated them to make the art they make are not ones I could possibly share in, so, saying that I “Relate” to their work sounds a little preposterous. They ought to be a novelty to me, a band that clearly likes a lot of the same bands I do despite hailing from a foreign shore, marrying that shared music taste with a cultural identity I have nothing to do with, a small, nice upswing of globalism pleasing to my sense of universalism but not having any kind of quantifiable impact on me.

Yet I, like a good many other westerners, believe in the Pillows. I’m a little buster, and my eyes just watered as I wrote that. In fact, it’s likely because of the barriers of language and culture that exist between us that my belief in the Pillows is so strong. Pete Townshend, someone else I believe in, once opened a show by saying “You are very far away...but we will fucking reach you”, and though the Pillows are both geographically (At the moment) and culturally miles away from me, Lord strike me down if they don’t fucking reach me. They reach me in a way many of their American college rock peers, many of their biggest influences in fact, never have. Dinosaur Jr, Bob Mould, Sonic Youth, the Pixies, Nirvana--all these artists speak directly to the American adolescent experience, but though they have all moved me to one degree or another, none of them have produced a body of work I can so readily see myself in as that of the Pillows. Maybe it is the novelty of it, maybe I’m fooling myself and it is just my sense of universalism carrying me away, but there’s something I hear in the Pillows that I don’t hear in those bands, and though the obvious candidate for that thing would be the foreign tongue the majority of the lyrics are written in, when it comes down to it, I think that thing is joy.

Joy, to me, is the possibility glimpsed by rock n’ roll. Not hedonistic pleasure, not a sadistic glee over the outrage of authority figures, but real, true, open-hearted, “Freude, schöner Götterfunken/Tochter aus Elysium”--type joy. Buddy Holly had joy. The Beatles, The Who, the pre-fall Rod Stewart, they had joy. Springsteen’s got joy to spare. Those people have such profound love for their art and their audience that just the continual recognition of the fact that they have a guitar in their hands and they’re being allowed to play it is enough to make them ecstatic, and whenever they want to actually express something serious they have to get themselves under control to do it. Yet, whether it’s the unfashionability of those utopian dreams, or the simple fact that rock music has become accepted by mainstream culture and is now a commonplace, unremarkable thing, but half the people who have picked up an electric guitar for the past few decades don’t seem all that excited about it. From Kim Gordon snarling about how people go down to the store to buy some more and more and more and more, to Thom Yorke moaning about how he’s let down and hanging around, crushed like a bug in the ground, even up to Courtney Barnett asking how’s that for first impressions, this place seems depressing, it’s not really a given anymore, if it ever was, that people who make rock music are very joyful in what they do.

Of course, I’m not demanding that our artists be empty-headed fluff-factories; far from it. The Pillows write sad songs and angry songs same as everybody else. But the important thing is this: every song the Pillows play is played with an exuberance and abandon that is immediately striking, regardless of the emotional content of each song. Channelling that kind of revelry into rock music is both to my mind the initial purpose of the genre in the first place and something which has become so rare as to be remarkable. A veneer of detached cool, a howling ferocity, a whimpering woundedness--these have become the hallmarks of American rock music, and they are nowhere to be found in the Pillows.

At the same time, the Pillows are the very antithesis of artlessness. Joy of the caliber they deal in is more commonly found in folky rave-ups, a lack of musicianship giving way to trancelike festivity. But the Pillows are skilled song craftsmen like few others; their sound has evolved throughout the years, but they tend to settle in the neighborhood of power-pop, abounding in glorious hooks and surprising structures. A hundred unnecessary, perfect touches seem to exist in every song; a pause, a solo, a bassline, all deftly elevating the song into a perfect expression of something sublime, something that always--always--takes ahold of the musicians themselves and imbues their performances with power and purpose the likes of which most little busters can only dream of feeling. It should be testament enough to their brilliance that upon first listen to a song I never know what most of the lyrics mean, but whenever I look up a translation, they always turn out to be exactly what I felt they must be; their songs are so musically communicative that they all but lack the need for lyrics.

This dual nature is why I believe in the Pillows: by so utterly failing to neglect both the highest possibilities of musical composition as an unparalleled tool for capturing emotional nuance and the unrestrained id-like rush that is the province of rock n’ roll, they successfully attain the lofty realm that is--or ought to be--the goal of music in the first place. Never once is there a hint of straying into the realm of primitivism nor into overthought seriousness, and instead they locate themselves somehow exactly center on the scale between punk and prog, lacking the weaknesses and gaining the strengths of both. They make rock whole again by finally disproving the tenet initially laid out by their heroes, your heroes, and mine, The Beatles: the notion that growing up means having less fun. The viscerally exciting early work of The Beatles lacks any of the depth and vision displayed by their later records, but those records are so carefully and expertly crafted that they tend to lose spontaneity, and constantly second-guess themselves where the juvenilia they followed forged unselfconsciously ahead. That legendary career path has laid out a false dichotomy that every proceeding generation of kids with guitars has chosen between, save for the few who could see past it, the ones who heard the wildness in “Revolution” and the wisdom in “Twist and Shout” and realized that they were of a piece, were one and the same, not to be chosen between but embraced fully. Pete Townshend. Bruce Springsteen. Joe Strummer. David Byrne. Paul Westerberg. The Pillows. The real heroes are not those who champion one side or another but fight all their lives for peace between them, knowing that we have not yet begun to imagine what could be accomplished if that were made possible.

Just as they bypass the divide between what Patrick Stickles termed the Apollonian and Dionysian tendencies of rock (I prefer to think of the usual battle as being between the Dionysians and the Athenians, with the true devotees of Apollo being most of those heroes I keep referring to, except Dylan, who might be a Hermesian), so too do the Pillows bypass the Pacific frigging ocean. And the Atlantic, to boot. Their music quotes the Pixies and The Beatles directly, and obviously owes much to Nirvana and all their college rock predecessors who spent the entire 80s desperately stacking themselves until the doomed power trio could finally vault over the wall. Their first record is practically a tribute to XTC. They do speak a lot of English, too. I’m informed that much of western culture is seen as the epitome of coolness in Japan, which might explain their obsession with Baseball, and apparently sprinkling a bit of the Saxon tongue into the mix is far from uncommon in the music scene(s). Regardless, there is something ineffably touching to a distant fan in a foreign land about hearing Sawao Yamanaka spit “No surrender!” or exclaim “Just runner’s high!” It looks from here like a show of mutual effort to understand me as much as I’m trying to understand them. They’re generous enough to have already walked to the middle where they’re asking me to meet them, a middle where it doesn’t matter that I don’t have a suffix attached to my name or that they don’t wear shoes in houses. The invisible continent that all forward-thinking and sensitive people come to long for is where the Pillows are broadcasting from, because they’ve realized that its golden shores and spiraling cities are attainable. They’re attainable with joy, with the fundamentally rebellious act of refusing to let the fascists bring down even your globdamn day, because who the hell gave them that power other than us? I know enough about Japan and America to know that either one accusing the other of being imperialist and socially conservative to a fault is a fucking joke, and to know that we’ve done a lot more wrong to them than they’ll ever do to us and the presence of the Pillows amounts to a “We forgive you”, not an “I’m sorry”. Having watched a decent amount of anime, which is basically the result of Japan’s mind being blown by western media and then proceeding to show their love by often almost inadvertently surpassing their inspirations, I know that the only way to save our respective national souls and everybody else’s too is to put our knuckles down, have Jesus and Buddha shake hands like Kerouac tried to explain that they would anyway, and embrace each other’s dreams and passions and adopt them into our own.

It takes better people to inhabit that better world, and in case that sounds like fascist talk, I mean we’ve got to do better, not be better. It’s no physical imperfection that holds us back, nor a mental imperfection exactly, as we all have our own neuroses and if we expunge those then we’ll be kissing art and lot of other vital stuff goodbye. No, it’s our discomfort with ourselves, our world, our neighbors, our aliens, that keep us from seeing that crazy sunshine. If we can’t even acknowledge the greatness around us, that surplus of joy I mentioned a while back that we just seem to have no idea what to do with, then we have no hope of ever achieving further greatness, of ever quelling man’s inhumanity to man down to an inevitable fringe rather than the basic order of the world.

There was always more to do

Than just eat and work and screw

But now that there’s time at last to do those things, we’re still afraid to, afraid that we’ll come up empty, that the search for fulfillment leads only to disappointment, better to hang back and play it safe, better not to risk becoming one of those people I shake my head at and pity and will secretly envy until I die. It’s a new world, and we must learn to be new people. I believe in the Pillows because I believe they make excellent models for that new kind of person. The way they behave in the studio and on the stage is the way people behave when they’re truly free, and we’ve all been set free already or will be soon, so if we’re going to try and learn what the fuck is next from anyone, I think we might as well learn from the Pillows. At least, that’s one of the places we could get that insight. There’s a lot of art and a lot of philosophy and political theory to sift through to in order to put together a workable 21st century identity, and the Pillows are hardly the only people to have begun making the leap. But because of a silly thing like the size of the earth, the infinitesimal size of the earth even compared to the distance between us and the next rock we’re gonna try and get to, not everybody is getting their particular brand of free thought and action, and I happen to think that’s regrettable, and it’s my will as a free individual to rectify it as much as I can.

Writing about music really is worthless, isn’t it? I haven’t said jackshit about what the Pillows actually do other than to vaguely qualify their genre and temperament, and the only more useless thing I could do than not describing their songs would be to describe their songs. If you don’t hear the bracing weightlessness in “Blues Drive Monster”, or the aching nostalgia in “Patricia”, or the soul-bearing cry in “Hybrid Rainbow” then nothing I could write about those would be more effective than “Little Busters is a really good album.” The better primer might be Happy Bivouac, from a few years later; it has the melancholic rush of “Last Dinosaur”, the ascended teenybopper “Whoa, whoa, yeah” chorus in “Backseat Dog”, and the intro that should make it obvious immediately that you’re listening to one of the best songs ever recorded which opens “Funny Bunny”. Those two, Runners High, and Please, Mr. Lostman are the classic era, selections from the former three immortalized in their biggest claim to western fame, the FLCL soundtrack, a brilliant use of their music that could warrant an equally long piece. Before and after those four are periods of experimentation and discovery equally worth your time, not all of which I’m familiar with yet. See, now I’m just an incomplete Wikipedia article; it’d be equally worthless to expound upon the individual bandmates, on the pure yawp of Yamanaka’s vocals, on the passionate drumming of Yoshiaki Manabe and the supernaturally faultless lead guitar of Shinichiro Sato, or the contribution of founding bassist Kenji Ueda, which was so valued by the others that when he left he was never officially replaced (They’re so sweet). I’m not here to write an advertisement or a press-release, I don’t really even know why I’m here writing this, but I know that I believe in the Pillows, that they’re important, and that people should write about them. I’m being the change I want to see in the world, get it? That’s all we can be asked to do.

It occurs to me that people believed in Harvey Dent too, and that didn’t turn out so well. Hell, let’s leave the comic book pages behind, people believe in Donald Trump, they think he’s a hero, and that’s all going down in flames as I write this. Having heroes can be dangerous, but I still believe it’s not as dangerous as not having heroes. “Lesser of two evils” sounds an awful lot like one of those false dichotomies between fun and intelligence or between misery and foolishness I mentioned earlier, so, let’s call it a qualified good. I’m not much of a responsible world-citizen if my only effort towards bringing the planet together is spinning some sweet Japanese alt-rock tunes and bragging about how open-minded I am, but if I do ever end up doing anyone any good, then I’d consider it paying forward the good done to me by the Pillows, among others. They helped me form my identity as an artist (Read: functional human being) and they made my adolescence a lot easier. Actually, that’s a lie: my adolescence was (And continues to be) pretty easy already, and the Pillows reassured me that I wasn’t avoiding reality by feeling that. While American bands sang about the downsides of being a mallrat or a non-mallrat, the Pillows offered a vision of teenagedome much like my own, one that was grandly romantic, in which suffering wasn’t a cosmic stupidity but a trial with pathos and merit, and joy was not an occasional indulgence but a constant presence, whether it was lived in or lost and needing recovery.

That’s the old idea of youth, the youth of John Keats, the youth that makes the old miss it, makes it required that we explain to them that it’s still there, it never left, it’s a dream, a momentary affirmation, an attitude, a muttered curse word. So many of my peers, now no longer engaged in a constant race to stay out of the grave as their ancestors were, seemed intent on beating each other into their tombs, as if reaching walking death before their parents was the only way to outgrow them. There’s so much life just lying around and it’s just plain wasteful to let it lie in the sun and rust in the rain. There’s space enough to stretch, to not keep who you are awkwardly curled up inside yourself, to breathe the air and taste the wine and dig the brains of your fellow travelers in this loosely-defined circus. I found that space in the Pillows, having often suspected it was there, and while everyone is going to find that space in their own way--or not, still, tragically not--I have to think that experience was due in part to some innate and unique quality of the music itself, not just a complimentary sensibility contained within myself. The Pillows are free, and that makes them freeing, it’s easy as that. Their liberation is plain as day; it rings in every chord, every snare-hit, every harmony; it’s up to us ascertain what we can do in our own limited capacity to hoist ourselves up to their level and give some other folks a boost along the way and a hand to grab afterwards. It’s the gift that art gives us, and the Pillows just give it more freely than most is all, which is why I think the suggestion to listen to them is more than just a solid recommendation. Like the insistence on listening to The Beatles, or The Clash, or any of the others, it’s a plea to save your soul, to learn the language of tomorrow and drink the lifeblood of peace and love and piss and vinegar, or else you’ll be lost, lost, lost.

Can you feel? Can you feel that hybrid rainbow?

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defeatedbyamerechild · 4 years

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a dream i have

hello so uh ever since i was in to pokemon i had this day dream and still have it sometimes anyway it started as an idea for a fanmade evil pokemon team called team nightmare the leaders name is Draco Darknram (Dark-nin-ram) the admins names are Sebastian (male#1) , Prometheus (male#2) Claudia (female #1) and Torali (Tor -a-lie) the leader has a very young daughter by the name lisa who has powers like physic abilities , can read peoples minds can hear the voices of pokemon , is extremely intelligent , can control legendary pokemon and can make wild mean pokemon kind and loving anyway Draco found lisa being attacked and bullied by other people so Draco took and adopted young lisa and raised and loved her as his own and yes this character actually cares about his own child and team . now if ya wonderin what Draco and lisa look like lisa has long dark purple curly hair wears a light purple tube top and purpleish pink leggings with regular purple shoes has blue eyes wares glasses and she is six years old but act like a very mature adult now draco has medium blonde hair wears a black felt sweater like shirt with black leather pants and has a light black cape and very dark brown boots he is very handsome and very attractive and wares glasses like lisa now the admins Sebastian wears an all black tuxedo has very dark purple hair has black sun glasses , Prometheus has a spiked leather black jacket a dark grey tank top and purple boots and dark grey hair , claudia wares a black short coat with grey buttons wears a purple long dress and a black fedora and light grey high heels and a necklace with a purple heart ,and black hair Toralie wears an outfit kinda like the one lady gaga wears in the intro of poker face except its dark purple and the mask is black and has light grey hair now on to the grunts *for the females* ever seen lady gagas blue outfit that she wears in poker face* well you might have to watch the video to know what i am talking about* anyway they wear that which is dark purple they ware gray tights and black gloves and gray shoes they have long dark gray hair and they wear sliver sunglasses Now the males they wear the same lady gaga outfit thing except the bottom has shorts and instead of it being purple its black with purple tights they have black hair with grey shoes and wear dark grey sunglasses. now they are from the Sadoka region (sa -do -ka ) which is close to galar their hideout is a huge abandoned castle . anyway sorry this is super long but i understand if you say no but the reason im tellin ya bout this because i want to make a series where team nightmare team up with team rainbow rocket and well id make it myself its just that i’m not good at art so maybe you could help me make this series like a collab or something but if ye say no i understand but feel free to draw the characters if ye’d like of course ye don’t have to . thanks for reading :)

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Heya! Ok, first of all: this is really cool!

I also keep daydreaming a lot thinking about stories, but usually they are about characters that already exist, like the ones here in the blog, so it’s super amazing to me that you can actually think of all that just out of your imagination, specially with so much detail regarding the character’s clothes and hairs, their story, the relationships between them and etc.

I really like your descriptions and it seems to me that you have a color pallete going on there… with lots of purples and grays. That’s very nice! It totally sounds like something that could be canon in the games. Really, congratulations, because it’s very well-thought! And I have to add that I love the names Torali and Prometheus. I know Prometheus is from a Greek legend, but Torali is a name I’ve never heard before and I really liked it. ^^

Also, you don’t need to apologize for the long text, I always write gigantic chuncks of text myself, so who am I to complain? It’s fine. :) Thanks for sharing your ideas with me and the other followers, I’m sure others will enjoy it as well! :D

Now… uh… It’s kinda painful to me to say it, and I’m sorry about it, but I’ll have to refuse the offer of working with you on that project… Not because I didn’t like your idea or don’t feel like working with you on it, but because I’m currently pretty much overwhelmed by all the projects I have for my blog, and I really don’t think I’d be able to engage in another drawing-related project now… :/ I’m already working on my comics at a slower pace than I wish I could, and I’m trying to think about how to accelerate the process of drawing them so that I can post more often… I’m also creating some written content about the Villains and I have some drawing rewards for my patrons that I need to finish… As well as drawing stuff to keep my Instagram alive every now and then. And there are also my sideprojects that I make with my siblings: we make some comics about Sonic characters in my own language, and even though they are just something between me and my sibs, I don’t want to give up on this project and let them down. And I’m looking for a job because capitalism……. Oof.

So yeah… I��m sorry, really! But basically it would be very complicated to me right now, I don’t think I can handle another project, specially one involving another person, because that would be an even bigger responsibility to me and I wouldn’t wanna fail to deliver something I promised. Oh and… By the way, I’m pretty flattered that you asked my help with it, it means a lot to me as an artist! Thank you!

Anyway, congratulations again on all that, because it sounds really amazing! I hope you can find someone to work with you on that, and if you ever create some content with it, please do show me! ^^ Good luck! ♥

#collab #thanks #sorry #awesome #submission

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linernotesandseasons · 4 years

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My 19 Favorite Albums of 2019

2019 is coming to a close. The entire decade is coming to a close. This list has been an increasingly comforting exercise the last few years. I guess this will be the eighth annual version of the linernotesandseasons favorite albums of the year list! Crazy how time passes. So here are the collections of songs that I used to mark my personal time & space this year. The lyrics that I learned by heart & sang out in dark & dirty rock clubs. I also made a spotify playlist with two songs from each album if you’re interested in listening along as you read.

This year most of my writing focuses on when & why I fell in love with a specific album. Sometimes the history is important, building a base or connecting some threads, so when relevant, I have also included my history with when I fell in love with a specific artist. And finally, as has become more important to my music chasing brain in the last few years, why this artist or album is important to music right now. What they’re doing to leave a mark on the world, in whatever small space or way.

So without any further ado, here it is, in no particular order (unless you’re particularly knowledgable or fond of the english alphabet) my 19 (well actually 20 cuz freaking Big Thief put out two!) favorite albums of 2019. It’s been a pleasure.

BETTER OBLIVION COMMUNITY CENTER / Better Oblivion Community Center

Spring 2019 in Denver was cold & breezy, sunny & exciting. I had spun the Phoebe Bridgers/Conor Oberst match-made-in-indie-emo-sad-folk-heaven record once through, but in late March I made a game time (like I bought a day-of ticket off stubhub at 6pm!) decision to drive down from work and see their show at the Gothic on South Broadway. I’d been up since 7am the night (morning?) before, watching opening day baseball live from Japan (on March 20th?!). Ichiro’s final game and I was feeling maybe a little emotionally fragile already. But anyway… Better Oblivion Community Center’s live show (they call them meetings) has all the potential to come off as cheesy or contrived. A recorded voice welcomes you, self-help-cult style, and invites you to “celebrate sound & light” & “travel the well worn pathways,” because “we are one.” A mystical backdrop gives a hint of what you’re in for (I didn’t know what I was in for...) with letters at the top reading “It will end in tears.” The band is brilliant, loose, & fun. They play all the songs. They play “Lua,” “Bad Blood,” & “Easy/Lucky/Free” from the endlessly varied Bright Eyes catalog. They turn Phoebe’s “Funeral” into a punk blast. They cover The Replacements! They wear shades and sing a song from lawn chairs! The show feels effortlessly cool and I feel like I’m part of something special again. Music has a way of doing that.

The record is perfectly equal parts Phoebe & Conor. From the opening lines, where Phoebe takes control with “my telephone it doesn’t have a camera” sounding for all the world like a gloriously mopey “Smoke Signals Vol. 2″ to the way Oberst sings the first lines of ethereal closer “Dominoes” sounding 100% like Cassadaga-era Bright Eyes. If you know & love either, you should know the other now. Phoebe carries a torch from early 2000′s emo with a sad-at-heart, genius songwriting style that emphasizes pinpoint autobiographical lyrics, a cutting, (even humorous at times) wit, and a teenage, feminist, internet, millennial heart. Oberst for his part has kept up a steady output since Bright Eyes, and (at least lyrically) doesn’t seemed to have cheered up much. Better Oblivion Community Center’s self titled debut feels fresh & catchy. While there is definitely an aching sadness in the duo’s songwriting, light hearted moments abound, and the writing often points to getting older, all hard work & growth. There is the bouncing outro to “Sleepwalkin’” where their voices rise in unison singing “Acting insane, playing it safe, I wasn’t sold on that plan anyways. Feeling afraid of making a change.” Or in the bright, rolling verses of “My City” where they go looking for “little moments of purpose.” But the one song I kept going back to; the one I recorded to cassette tape and played on almost every drive home from work at 4am through April & May, is the bittersweet closer “Dominoes.” Ironically, this one is a Taylor Hollingsworth cover (I think that’s him adding the random, spooky voice overs) but Conor takes the lead on vocals, singing a mostly lonely, hopeless tale, until the last verse when Phoebe cuts in. She’s “carpooling to kingdom come, into the wild purgatory.” Encouraging us to “Experience a magic rainbow, all you gotta’ do is follow. & if you’re not feeling ready… There’s always tomorrow.”

“The world will not remember when we’re old & tired / We’ll be blowing on the embers of a little fire…”

BIG THIEF / U.F.O.F. & Two Hands

2019 was the year that I finally finally got really really into Big Thief. A band’s band known for their live show (I still have yet to see them live) their following seems equal parts cult-y and universal. How a band that sounds the way they do, made it almost to the top of the indie-rock world is an exciting & inviting mystery.

This year, for me, the catalyst was “Cattails.” Released at the beginning of April, this song struck me and stuck with me, making its way onto almost every mix I made last Spring, Summer, & Fall (including this one for my Mom!) A real song of the year contender (& my #1 most listened to song of 2019 on spotify!), “Cattails” is a melodic, driving, beautiful tune, that finds singer & front person Adrienne Lenker marking Time (”riding that train in late June”) & Space (”going back home to the great lakes”) with grace & depth. There is a sacredness & mysticism tied up in a lot of Lenker’s writing and she refers to her writing experience with “Cattails” saying…

“It was one of those electric, multicolored waves of connectivity just sweeping through my body. I stayed up late finishing the song and the next morning was stomping around playing it over & over again. We thought why not just record it … & when James and I were playing it felt like a little portal in the fabric had opened and we were just flying. Listening back to it makes me cry sometimes.”

In truth, U.F.O.F. (the last f stands for “friend,” a way of humanizing the foreign) is a gorgeous record. Soft & gentle, full of songs about the constant tussle between things known & unknown. A real headphones-on-an-airplane record. And then, out of nowhere, Big Thief announced that they had a second (!) record on the way in the Fall. A dirt & earth twin for U.F.O.F., a special surprise gift for their burgeoning fan base. They announced Two Hands with the vicious single “Not,” a song very unlike “Cattails.” A brooding, ravenous rock song that made me remember why I love unhinged, well-written, unafraid rock & roll music. Another song of the year contender. If you’ve followed this blog the last few months, my well thought out comments to “Not” were “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh shit” & “oh my holy shit.” to the live version! But it was actually the second track on Two Hands that solidified Big Thief’s greatness for me. “Forgotten Eyes” is sonically similar to “Cattails” and rides the same effortless rhythm, driven by Lenker’s repeating guitar riff and James Krivchenia’s consistently impressive drumming. The riff seems to fall in & out magically, and the writing bookends “Cattails” with lyrics that speak to both a great pain & a great universal truth. While she wanders through homelessness & death, Lenker reflects beautifully on the life cycle we (& our planet, & maybe everything?) are all going through.

“Forgotten dance is the one left at birth / Forgotten plants in the fossils of earth / & they’ve long passed but they are no less the dirt / Of the common soil keeping us dry & warm / The wound has no direction / Everybody needs a home & deserves protection…”

BLACK BELT EAGLE SCOUT / At the Party With My Brown Friends

After finding Black Belt Eagle Scout’s debut album late last year, I soundtracked many a dusk, dawn, or midnight drive with her swirling vocals & entrancing guitar, usually in the cold & dark, through the early part of 2019. It made my 2018 favorites list, and her Larimer Lounge show in May was a highlight. I guess it makes sense then, that I didn’t truly fall for her sophomore album At the Party With My Brown Friends (released in August) until it got cold in November and I was able to take it out for some dark, snowy drives. Moody & serious at times, Black Belt Eagle Scout sounds every bit like the gray Pacific Northwest where front person Katherine Paul (KP) hails from. The lyrics are simple, repeating phrases, full of deep, important ideas. Family & friends. People & land. There are bursts of guitar coming out of rewarding slow builds, shredd-y, rhythmic, & melodic. Also, all the instruments on ATPWMBF are played by KP, and the drumming is fucking fantastic.

I have some sort of longer form writing building somewhere in the back of my mind about listening to music in cars, and both Black Belt Eagle Scout albums are perfect examples for that. I have always loved the feeling of having roads (highways or simply long straight dirt back roads) & music to listen to. In high school, we would sometimes get in the car simply to drive & listen to music (small town life ya know?) and I still relish any chance I get to take new (or old & long loved) songs & albums on road trips or just commutes around town. The time to sit with the songs, to focus on nothing but the words & melodies, instruments & voices, & the pull of the road, mystical & magical. Black Belt Eagle Scout’s songs have been a calming companion on a lot of drives over the last year, and I recommend you taking them out on a spin of your own. Drive to that coffee shop that’s 30 minutes away that you’ve been wanting to go to, drive out of town just to drive, alone with your thoughts & the road. You just might learn something about yourself.

“& I wake up / I love you / Screaming loudly / Screaming softly too / Am I here? / My heart dreams…”

BON IVER / i,i

Bon Iver is a long time favorite and if you’ve followed this blog at all, you know how much I love his albums and how much Justin Vernon’s Eaux Claires festival has helped shaped my musical timeline. Seeing 22, A Million (the record that precedes i,i) live in Wisconsin by the river for the first time, was something special. That record made my 2016 favorites list, but until this year, until i,i, my story of the music felt very insular. Special & secret for me, confined to very specific times & places. Only to make me feel certain things. It’s why I was hesitant to buy a ticket to see the Red Rocks show last September. Or why I questioned streaming the album early while I was on vacation in Holden Beach, North Carolina. I thought the songs were only meant to carry me back to the river, back to Wisconsin, back to the Summer. Back to a very specific, special place in my heart. But thanks to the wonders of spotify, and the Bon Iver crew just up and releasing the album a week early under the simple & generous guise of “wanting folks to have the album & learn the songs before the tour!!” I obliged and… YESSSS that’s how you do an album release in 2019! I had the album in my headphones as I ran and sweated on the beach in North Carolina, letting brand new songs transport me thousands of miles away.

i,i is a gloriously weird, perfected mess of a hit indie record. It’s everything I wanted the next chapter of the Bon Iver story to be. It feels personal & widescreen. Little moments stretched out and shared with family & friends. Lyrics about growth & hard work & life (& a few WTFs, it’s Bon Iver after all!) The gang’s all here again (the massive crew that worked on the album are all pictured on the record’s gloriously, weird inside gatefold!) recorded from Vernon’s home (April) base in Wisconsin, to Sonic Ranch in west Texas (also pictured in the liner notes) walking distance from our southern border. The sounds are all here again too. There are hints of For Emma’s Winter falsetto folk in the gorgeous acoustic guitar of “Marion.” There are the industrial swells & stomps, bleeps & bloops of bi, bi’s Spring in the warbling, green grass, warmth of “Holyfields.” Then there is the distortion, the choppy samples of 22, in the jigsaw glory of “iMi,” the way it starts & stops, all choruses & voices, real & programmed. Threads of new songs tied up with threads from long, long ago. There is a fullness to i,i, a generosity, a true front to back album, with hits & new favorites sprinkled everywhere. The second half blooms with the charging folk of “Salem” & “Faith” and the contentedness of closer “RABi.” These are songs that I will love for years to come. These songs make me happy. They make me think. They make me want to share them with friends. They make me want to work on relationships. Songs about life. Songs about true, unconditional friendship. As Justin said way back in 2015, when my journey with the Bon Iver story began “The story is history, nothing more. Only the music can rise anew. & it is gone as soon as it is sung. & so we sing again…” I am soo soo happy to sing again, with songs anew.

“Living in a lonesome way / Had me looking other ways / Cuz I am lost here again / But on a bright Fall morning I’m with it / I stood a little within it…”

EARTHGANG / Mirrorland

EARTHGANG’s major label debut Mirrorland comes in hot & dancing, a hip hop duo with a true tribute to Southern culture, and a whole world encapsulated in 14 tracks. My personal introduction to the EARTHGANG universe, came courtesy of a dusk till dark dance fest at Denver’s Underground Music Showcase on South Broadway back in sweaty July. Their energy was infectious, their stories hilarious, & their songs stuck in my head. Specifically the Young Thug featuring “Proud Of U,” a song that carries enthusiasm & positivity through to the end. Other standouts include colorful, bouncing opener “LaLa Challenge,” & the squealing horns of Atlanta hot spot, name dropping “Wings.” A concept album of sorts Mirrorland references “The Wiz” as a jumping off point saying,

“We thought about how, if we’re going to make a project sonically to rival The Wiz, we got to create another world for people to imagine & go to. You know when Dorothy got swept away and she met the Munchkins? That was such a beautiful thing. You could see Quincy Jones on the piano, just playing away. It’s really colorful. It’s really dangerous. It’s really trippy. It’s literally Freaknik Atlanta in the summertime—folks riding around in cars with big rims with paint on their faces.”

EARTHGANG was formed in 2008 by high school buddies Johnny Venus & Doctur Doc in Atlanta, GA. It’s impossible to ignore Outkast comparisons and for their part, EARTHGANG does their best to keep up the Southern hip hop tradition. Mixing in bits of soul, blues, & jazz, Mirrorland plays like an homage, a soundtrack to the South. A real reminder that the album is not dead. These songs sound best played together. Also, that the hip hop group, or duo, is not dead. And finally, that touring and playing live shows is most definitely not dead. I probably still wouldn’t have heard about EARTHGANG if it wasn’t for their primo UMS slot (at the same Import Mechanics stage where Leikeli47 & Kiltro played!) and infectiously positive live show. Speaking of their live show, see y’all at Cervantes on February 3!

“One time, one time for your baby moms / Two time for the hand in the candy jar / Holy Ghost showed up in my favorite thong / Three times in the car for the way we are / Another white man scared, another black man dead / Another rich man war, another red man bled / I been writing this album down way too long / When I drop my shit, pray it hit the toilet like lala, lalalalala...”

FRUIT BATS / Gold Past Life

In the Autumn of 2013, my coworker Cassandra Disney at Mile High Organics played me “When You Love Somebody” by Fruit Bats (had that song already been out for 10 years in 2013?!) on one of her early morning work mixes, and I immediately put it on one of my favorite (if embarrassingly bro-folk heavy) mixes I have ever made myself. Discovering a weird/cool indie band in the vein of all my other loves (Band of Horses, The Shins, Modest Mouse, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, etc…) but more underground (!) was hipster heaven. I subsequently forgot about Fruit Bats for awhile, but was reminded with their graceful “comeback” album Absolute Loser in 2016. Although that one missed my favorites list, it gradually became a constant road trip companion; from the mountains of Colorado, through the great American Southwest, and even on some epic Mexican back roads. All alt-country, lost 70′s AM radio classics, and wistful, witty, & wise writing about highways and scenery. A true classic.

I was therefore super excited for Gold Past Life (Fruit Bats’s seventh album?!) to drop on Merge Records this Summer, and fell in love pretty quickly on a late afternoon drive across the high road between Taos and Santa Fe, New Mexico back in late June. Swirling guitar, bouncy piano. and Eric D. Johnson’s piercing, clear, impassioned vocals. Fruit Bats sound timeless & effervescent. Upbeat guitar rock with some weird twists, and Johnson’s consistently bittersweet, humorous, & big hearted lyrics. Growing up, growing older, & grinning a wry smile at a golden world. After catching back to back beautiful Fruit Bats shows in Fort Collins & here in Denver at the Bluebird this September, these folks are the real deal. Long live touring bands, long live seventh albums, long live music marking time & space! Here’s to many more Fruit Bats albums, Gold Past Life will be car stereo classic for awhile.

“Still waiting around for some mystical shift in the winds / So honey please, don’t go just yet / Cigarette fingers, a shake in the knees / A bit blue, kind of tired, but not broken… Anticipating a magical bend in the road / So hang on, take it slow / Your go bag is packed & your hangover gone / Another dawn at the edge of the known world…”

HISS GOLDEN MESSENGER / Terms of Surrender

Durham, North Carolina’s Hiss Golden Messenger (folklorist, family man, & singer-songwriter MC Taylor & revolving crew) have become something of a mainstay on this music blog & in my car’s cd player over the last five years. I picked up a used (!), advance (!) copy of Lateness of Dancers in the $1 bin at a record store in Seattle, Washington. after having been passed a burned copy of his 2010 solo album Bad Debt by an old coworker. Lateness ended up on my 2014 favorites list. Two years later, Heart Like A Levee made my 2016 list, and the next year, Hallelujah Anyhow was one of my favorites of 2017! I referred to the songs on Hallelujah as Hiss “building a repertoire, creating a legacy.” This may seem like quite a bit of superfluous backstory, but believe me, it is essential to the story, a journal of the journey. Geographic art for a topographic heart if you will. But anyway, Terms of Surrender…

The title is cryptic, referencing (as Taylor puts it “what we are prepared to sacrifice in order to live the lives that we think we want”) and the songs are deep (& growing deeper) & timeless. Not so much timeless in the way Yola’s songs sound timeless (skip down a few albums on this list to read about Yola!) but timeless in the way the songs seem to seep their way into my bones and stay for years. Terms burst on the scene with the release of the first single “I Need a Teacher” back in stormy June. With bright, rolling guitar stabs courtesy of The National’s Aaron Dessner (whose upstate New York recording studio was home for the Terms recording sessions), “Teacher” is about “the search for infallible guidance in an ever-changing universe.” but it is also about everyday work. Dedicated every night of the tour to all the teachers in the room, a political statement wrapped up in the seemingly obvious sentiment of “Defend Public Schools.” See what I mean? Timeless songs written for the here & now. “Bright Direction” & “My Wing” are reminiscent of Hallelujah’s “Jenny” & “Darkness.” a 1-2 punch of driving, drifting major key numbers, written from a hillside in Virginia, high on mushrooms. They contain multitudes. With a murky middle (Brad Cook gets funky on “Old Enough to Wonder Why” & “Cat’s Eye Blue”) & the already canonical Hiss’ live fav “Happy Birthday Baby,” the back half of Terms spreads out the Hiss’ sound in new ways. New live favorite, the nostalgic “Down at the Uptown,” had me googling maps of San Francisco to find the mythical Uptown bar where Taylor first heard Patti Smith’s Horses.

In late October, Hiss played an absolutely glorious three night run at little Globe Hall over in Globeville, just Southeast of where Interstate 70 meets Interstate 25. I went to all three shows. The shows were special & career spanning; from “Jesus Shot Me in the Head,” to Dead covers (& a Jesus & Mary Chain cover!) to all the Terms songs. I spent the Saturday afternoon before show #2, walking around the disappearing & rapidly gentrifying neighborhood in & around Globeville (& drifting across the highway into Sunnyside) listening to Terms of Surrender on my headphones. Thinking about the things I’m willing to sacrifice, thinking about the life I want, what are my Terms? After all, “It’s a real live world & I wanna live in it.”

“Something drove me crazy / Love had me lazy / Backwards won’t get me to my destination / Move me in some bright direction / Looking to be captured, looking for my freedom / Oh, dreams will come to get you / So careful what you’re wishing / Your family might correct you / Your heart might take a pounding / Make sure you take a picture…”

JUNE JONES / Diana

I can’t remember where I first heard of June Jones, but I’d like to think it was from one of my many Australian music friends (thanks Camp Cope, Julia Jacklin, Middle Kids, Courtney Barnett, Gang of Youths etc…!) The music community is a wonderful thing. June’s songs can be hard to explain, but Diana is an epic album that burns with a steady, stately drama. Most of the songs ride swelling synths and measured, 80’s sounding drums and center around June’s unique, emotive voice and head turning lyrics. Jones had fronted the Australian rock band Two Steps on the Water and written songs on the guitar for many years, but it’s pretty clear from listening to the writing and sound on Diana that these songs were meant for piano, synth, and a solo album. Her own writing. Her own words.

The album begins with the brooding “Rome From Afar” and the opening line “I got drunk again last night & I fell down outside the bathroom at my little sister’s party.” It then follows a dancing bass line into an apocalyptic nightmare of a world ending. “Meryl” is a gorgeous, autobiographical (?) song, an ode to “complicated” hard working women everywhere. There are parts of Diana that nod to it being a break up album, like in the gorgeously melancholic “Boulder Falling Slow” (”I am a boulder falling slow / You’re a magnificent spiderweb”) but I have been viewing it as just a complex, everyday life album. Jones lets her magnificent voice trail slowly over seemingly uncomfortable or awkward topics that she strives to make… not so. Sorry Alex Cameron, your “eating your ass like an oyster” line in “Miami Memory” is only the second best “eating ass” line this year after Jones’ “Look at You Go!” Her voice often belies the emotion in her lyrics, she works it up & down, and lets it stretch out over words, like in lonely closer “Sixteen Horses,” but she also sounds almost matter of fact at times. There is a moment in the piano led “Thorn” where she glibly throws “Have you seen the moon tonight? No, me neither, who cares about the moon when everything is dying?” over an understated horn trill. Everything is dying after all, but I want June Jones to sing it to me like an Australian Lana Del Rey or Matt Berninger. Trust me, you’ll be hearing more about June Jones in the coming years. Watch out.

“I haven’t thought too much about family / Ain’t got no husband or a couple of kids / I’ve spent 26 years in this office / I said goodbye to my relationships a long time ago / What does the mayor of a small town heart do after she retires?”

JUSTIN PETER KINKEL-SCHUSTER / Take Heart, Take Care

My long time music friend Adam over at songsfortheday had been trying to tell me about Justin Peter Kinkel-Schuster for quite a few mixes with songs I loved from his 2016 release Constant Stranger. But it somehow wasn’t until I needed Take Heart, Take Care, that Schuster’s work hit me right. It didn’t feel like a light at the end of the tunnel, but more like a light in the tunnel, something lasting, a collection of songs lifting up & out towards a light. As Schuster wrote upon it’s release…

“Here, I’ve fumbled my way, as always, and of necessity, into a collection of songs that hold a light to the joys & comforts of life not given up on, those that appear over time as we are looking elsewhere, to surprise & delight us when we need them most. Sure, it’s me, so there are glimpses of and nods to the dark, but the dark is not winning anymore. I simply mean to acknowledge its presence. To me, that’s the most fundamental job of songs, of stories, of all art — to be allies, friends, companions, when we need them most and it’s my hope that these songs can do that work in a world that seems to need it. If you are lucky enough to have something good to say, say it. Please. We’ll thank each other, now & later.”

So i guess it’s that second part that I have found solace in through my 20′s and into my 30′s. That songs (and stories & all art, but songs & albums seem to be my thing) can be allies, friends, & companions, and that sometimes (like Hanif Abdurraqib wrote in his brilliant collection of essays “They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us”)…

“If you believe, as I do, that a blessing is a brief breath to take in that doesn’t taste of whatever is holding you under: say I Speak To God In Public and mean more than just in his house, or mean more than just next to people who might also speak to God in public, or say God and mean whatever has kept you alive when so many other things have failed to.“

Take Heart, Take Care is a straightforward, well written, indie rock album. The songs ring true with light & darkness, an uplifting take on growing older and finding “Plenty Wonder” still to be found in the world. Schuster played the Hi-Dive on South Broadway in November, the last show on the Take Heart tour. A show I had bought tickets for months in advance, and I found myself in a crowd of maybe 15 people, celebrating the songs of Take Heart, Take Care. Listening to a writer with something good to say. Trying all in our own way to hold our own. I have a feeling I’ll keep these songs with me for awhile.

“Time is the mender / Whose strange mechanics yet untold / Bid us rise entwined together / So take heart, take care / Be true but beware / & honey we need not be scared…”

KARA JACKSON / A Song for Every Chamber of the Heart

In only 10 minutes & 42 seconds, Kara Jackson creates an intimate, magical world with just her voice and a guitar on her debut EP A Song for Every Chamber of the Heart. Four intricate & intentional songs, none longer than three minutes, finger picked slowly & methodically, Jackson balances a poetic, whimsical wandering with a steely focus on the craft of songwriting. These are the bones of songs, played honest & upfront, with no adornment. There is room for Jackson’s lyrics to really shine, all aching & wistful, yet practical. Like the way she balances “I have a crush, I have an ache” with “I know that love’s just a pain in the ass” in the bittersweet “Crush.” Her songs buzz with a youthful energy & teen angst. Wise beyond their years, finding their way in the world. As a songwriter and a poet, Jackson writes about race, activism, social justice, self, bodies, & humanity.

At 20 (!) years old, Chicago’s Jackson is... oh also a poet. The 2019 National Youth Poet Laureate (!) in fact, and it was her absolutely breathtaking writing about being a teenager that first caught my attention. She quotes Gwendolyn Brooks (pulitzer prize winning American poet) in her Ted Talk saying “write what’s under your nose.” She says that Brooks took the mundane and put it on a pedestal. That she understood there are “poems in train cars, poems on front lawns, & poems in microwaves & tea kettles.” An almost obligation to celebrate the ordinary. Ordinary folks celebrating similar ordinary folks. It’s the way that John Darnielle howls on The Mountain Goats song “Werewolf Gimmick” (track nine on 2015′s Beat the Champ) about “nameless bodies in unremembered rooms.” In his prerelease essay for Merge Records, music writer Joseph Fink wrote that the entire career of The Mountain Goats has been about “giving names to nameless bodies and remembering unremembered rooms.” and what a worthy cause that is. That thought has stuck with me for years and I have always loved the specificity of it. Whether it is Darnielle resurrecting historical characters real or fictional, or the way Lady Lamb (keep reading a few more albums down!) celebrates the specifics of her friends & family, in all the messy details. Written in song, remembered forever. It is also essential that all cultures have artists who look like them and think like them, as the ones doing the remembering. It’s why it’s so important that Kara Jackson is the one doing the remembering for young black girls. The same way Eve Ewing did for her, and Gwendolyn Brooks did before that. I can appreciate the magic of the remembering, but I need to let them be the ones to tell the stories. Oh, speaking of appreciating, I bugged Jackson enough on social media and got a handmade PHYSICAL copy of the EP that I’m hanging onto forever cuz it’s probably gonna be like the next original pressing of Bon Iver’s For Emma! Thanks Kara!

“Don’t take my pillowcase, that's my place to be alone / Don’t take my lamp from me, it helps me read about places I don’t know / Don’t take a lot for me to be on my own...”

KILTRO / Creatures of Habit

My end of the year albums list usually has at least one local Denver band. The Lumineers way back in 2012, Gregory Alan Isakov & Covenhoven in 2013, Nathaniel Rateliff, Covenhoven (again!), & The Yawpers in 2015, Nina de Freitas in 2017 (hey Nina & the Hold Tight, new album in 2020 please?!), and Izcalli last year. Kiltro is a part Coloradan, part Chilean folk band that have been putting on one of my favorite live shows around town this year. The brainchild of Chris Bowers-Castillo, a native Coloradan who spent time growing up in Valparaiso, Chile, Kiltro is named after the Spanish word “Quiltro” meaning a mixed breed dog. A dog that Kiltro has taken for their logo. In their own way, Kiltro is a mix breed; both in the way they mix the sounds of South America with the folk music of North America, and also the way they mix organic, acoustic instrumentation, with electronic, looping sounds and effects pedals. Their live show is a masterclass in layers, with Bowers-Castillo adding loops of guitar rhythms (sometimes simply bare hands slapping beats on the top of the guitar) to steady bass & drums, until the songs swell & build into dramatic crescendos and almost EDM-influenced drops. The extended intros & outros are my favorite parts of their songs and the live versions (from their sweaty 2pm UMS dance party, to Lulu’s Downstairs in Manitou Springs) have stirred hearts & feet alike with dancing not usually found in the Colorado “indie-hipster” scene. Keep an eye on these guys and maybe come out to Larimer Lounge in January and witness the dance party for yourself!

“Somewhere down the bank where the dogs go / Por la calle que te lleva a Curicó / & down the beach, where no others can find / Ni por agua, piso, coche, ni avión...”

LADY LAMB / Even in the Tremor

As I have been writing this year’s favorites list, I’m realizing that so many of the albums I loved & learned, came hand in hand with experiencing the artist, and specifically that new album, live. Lady Lamb released Even in the Tremor, her masterful & moving third album, way back in April, and I had a Spring-y three weeks to learn all her intricate, visceral lyrics to sing back at her Larimer Lounge stop in Denver on the Deep Love tour. Maine by way of Brooklyn’s (by way of a bunch of other places) Aly Spaltro has always written songs for Lady Lamb like her hair’s on fire. Wailing & gasping about blood & guts & death over spiraling electric guitar, there is a realness to her writing that reminds me of the east coast emo I grew up on. But for all the blood red gore & messy heartbreak that colors much of the Lady Lamb discography, there is a light hearted tenderness as well. Tremor has songs written for & about friends, lovers, parents, & god. Quirky opener “Little Flaws” is a first-dance-worthy love song, while personal favorites “Strange Maneuvers” & “Emily” are odes to platonic friendships, mental health, & growing up. In the same way I wrote about Kara Jackson celebrating the ordinary, Lady Lamb has always celebrated specifics of people, time & space. Tremor’s characters are Spaltro’s real life people (Emily, Shervin, Kurt (Kurtie Bear), Isaac, & her Mom), and the places (the diner, the batting cage, Templehof Park, Midtown, Berlin, Montreal, Madrid, a fast food joint, the stage of a church, someplace upstate, Lavanderia & Graham Ave) are specific, varied, & globe spanning. Her stories are autobiographical and rewarding and the music is stirring, singer-songwriter rock & roll with some punch behind it. She is one of my favorite modern writers for her ability to not just tell a story, but to find wonder in the small things and to celebrate the ordinary. Like she tells Shervin, minutes before “Emily” closes the album on a gorgeous, uplifting high note, “No photographic artifact, but here is something better than that.”

“There’s a picture that I found, my first car in the falling snow / Seems like yesterday I drove down into low tide / & Isaac snapped a polaroid of me pretending I was sinking, pressed against the glass pleading / I misplaced it but I’m looking... / When we are young, if only we could see beyond our fears where we are free / When we are lonely if only we could know that in our stillness we are growing... / All the portraits we collected, while we were running around in the desert / We were trying to seem fulfilled to rewrite our New York City narratives / But Emily we were utterly dejected / We took turns crying on the passenger side of America / Too clouded to be empowered by towering Redwoods... / When did we lose the ancient truths? / Is it what we’re born bending our bodies toward?...”

LIZZO / Cuz I Love You

For much of 2019, Lizzo could be heard playing everywhere. The 31 year old Minnesotan’s third full length album Cuz I Love You, came out in April, after a busy three years of huge singles, consistent touring, & building a repertoire of songs capable of headlining arenas. When Lizzo finally exploded these last few years, it has been fun watching the whole world embrace her uptempo, bold, self-love anthems, and hearing them blaring from open Subaru windows in Cap HIll, from balconies & rooftops in uptown, and on the lips of countless joggers & bikers, loving themselves in the Denver Summer sun. I know for my part, I took Lizzo with me to the beaches of North Carolina & through the Southern mountains of Colorado, dancing, singing, & gleefully giggling along. Bottom line, the songs on Cuz I Love You are FUN! You try not to crack a smile as Lizzo romps through “Never been in love before, what the fuck are fucking feelings yo?” on the bouncing, brassy, vocal led, track one title track MOMENT. Or the way she makes up the word “accessorary” on the spot (“my ass is not an accessorary”) and then fires back with “Yeah, I said it, accessorary!” Lizzo has been an outspoken supporter of our generation’s version of the self-love, body positivity movement, and has put her money (and body) where her mouth is, inspiring legions of teens & twenty somethings to do the same. “Soulmate” is a loner anthem that finds Lizzo belting “True love ain’t something you can buy yourself / True love finally happens when you’re by yourself / So if you by yourself, then go and buy yourself another round from the bottle on the higher shelf.” The soulful slowdown “Jerome” is about being the bigger person and ending a relationship that isn’t working. Lizzo manages to actually address her own issues, focus on the work she needs to do (“I’m trying to be patient & patience takes practice.”) and still absolutely belt a singalong chorus that rhymes Jerome with “take your ass home.” Also, the deluxe version of Cuz I Love You tacks on three previous Lizzo singles that hadn’t found an album home. Those singles? “Boys,” “Truth Hurts,” & “Water Me.” Three songs totaling almost 555 MILLION plays on Spotify. With apologies to Ariana Grande & Billie Eilish (Billie see ya in a few months at the Pepsi Center!) Lizzo is the biggest superstar that I want on this list. And she 100% deserves every bit of it.

“If I’m shinin’ everybody gonna’ shine...”

ORVILLE PECK / pony

There is an appealing, theatrical quality to the dramatic country songs on Orville Peck’s debut record Pony. I spent my high school years growing up in small town Western Colorado so country music has been embedded in my brain since I was 11. I’ve gone through so many phases of loving it, hating it, loving it ironically, nostalgically, hating it for it’s sound, cheesiness, backwards politics, etc... But with Pony; these are true country songs written by a gay, masked cowboy anti-hero from.. Toronto? Maybe? Who is Orville Peck?!?! It’s like all the best parts of “country” music came together. And the mask? The fringe? All the packaging & theatrics? It makes it fun. Part Bowie, part Coheed & Cambria, part Grace Jones, part Ghost, part Brandon Flowers. Hollywood meets Vegas meets Carson City.

When I listen to Orville Peck’s songs it brings together so many feelings from my youth. From country radio & boxes of old country cds, to the dramatic side of theatre, play acting on a stage, dress-up, halloween, cowboys, loneliness, & the open road. From the tumbleweed roll & mournfully powerful coyote howl of opener “Dead of Night,” to the shoegaze rumble, autumn ride of “Winds Change.” Peck’s lyrics are honest & heartfelt, drawing on sweeping, western imagery, & idolizing the classic country ideal... the cowboy. Music marks time & place and Peck makes sure to reference the cities along his highway songs. Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Carson City, Kansas, a veritable Rand McNally road map of the American West. In the same manner as both Black Belt Eagle Scout albums, Fruit Bats, & Caroline Rose from last year, it wasn’t until a highway drive that I truly fell in love with Pony. It was a brilliant November sunset & still warm, but windy & changing, and we knew we had to hustle to beat the snow back to Denver. Highway 159 from the Southern Colorado border through Costilla County, on the way towards Fort Garland & then Walsenburg. Purple & Orange out the window to my left, Winter on it’s way. Peck’s songs sang with a heartache... a loss. a rhinestone loneliness that country finds a way to revel in. When “Kansas (Remembers Me Now)” statics out like a long lost FM radio. When “Hope to Die” fake ends at 3:30 and instead key change pivots like a washed-up Broadway starlet, shooting her shot on a dusty jukebox. When “Nothing Fades Like the Light” draws its last, peaceful breath, closing Pony like the last light of that November sunset. Thanks Orville, this one’s a classic.

“Fell in love with a rider / Dirt king, black crown / Six months on a knucklehead hog / I like him best when he's not around / He gets me high, oh, big sky... Fell in love with a boxer / Stayed awake all year / Heartbreak is a warm sensation / When the only feeling that you know is fear / I don't know why, oh, big sky...”

RAPSODY / Eve

Rapsody’s third album Eve is a masterclass on rap music, and the Snow Hill, North Carolina rapper sounds relaxed & loose, while still staying focused & on topic with an album that reads as, as Rapsody herself puts it “a love letter to all black women including myself.” She is at the top of her game right now, and these songs cement Rapsody as one of the premier rappers in an exciting field of rap talent both young & old.

Each track on the album is dedicated to one of Rapsody’s personal heroes, and I am going to focus these words & my research for Eve (besides listening to it nonstop, which I’m currently doing now!) on those black women. Track one is for Nina Simone (”without Nina there’s no Lauryn Hill, & without Lauryn Hill there’s no Rapsody.”) and features critically important verses about black heritage & culture over Nina’s terrifying & sobering classic “Strange Fruit.” Rapsody is recognizing her legacy and the importance of heritage, but she is clearly claiming her spot in that bloodline. “Cleo” preaches standing up for yourself over a Phil Collins sample (between Cleo & Lucy Dacus, “In the Air Tonight” is getting some serious love this year!) and is named after Queen Latifah’s character in the 1996 movie “Set it Off.” From there Rapsody recognizes artists (Aaliyah), philanthropists (Oprah & Michelle Obama), actresses (Whoopi), athletes (Serena Williams & Ibtihaj Muhammed), writers (Maya Angelou & Reyna Biddy), models (Iman & Tyra Banks), and historical figures & activists (Hatshepsut, Myrlie Evers-Williams, Sojourner Truth, & Afeni Shakur). Bottom line, ALL of these women are essential google material (you’re reading this on your phone or laptop, google and give yourself a five minute refresher if there’s anyone you don’t already know!) While you’re at it, google the lyrics for Eve (and Jamila Woods’ equally incredible, equally name dropping LEGACY! LEGACY!) and listen along. This is an important time capsule document for Rapsody and it’s just a damn good rap album.

“I am Nina & Roberta, the one you love but ain't heard of / Got my middle finger up like Pac after attempted murder / Failed to kill me, it's still me, woke up singing Shirley Murdock / As we lay these edges down, brown women, we so perfect...”

SABA LOU / Novum Ovum

When I listen to Saba Lou’s intoxicating sophomore album Novum Ovum, I am transported to somewhere magical & different. Maybe older, maybe out of place & time. Everything about Novum feels… classic. From the dusty, record-store-bin-find look of the out of focus cover photo, to the laidback natural way Saba Lou seems to dance along on top of a rollicking house band lifted from the 70’s. There are elements of surf rock, shoegaze, late night soul, and classic rock & roll on Ovum, but it is all driven by the singular writing & vocals of Saba Lou. In the liner notes of the record, a note can be found, claiming that this album is meant to be from the future. 2286 to be exact! Is a concept album?! Is it actually from the future & delivered to us by a time traveling band of Germans?!! Does it have songs about Star Trek??!! Maybe, mayyyybeee... & YES!

Yet to turn 20 (!), Saba Lou is a German born singer songwriter who has been making & releasing music since she was literally six years old! Novum Ovum is Latin for “the new egg” and features a hot four piece full band, and wonderfully fleshed out songs that bounce and swing with palpable energy. The lyrics span an awesomely wide spectrum from endometriosis pain (the title track obv) to a Star Trek mindmeld tune sung from the perspective of Gracie the pregnant whale (closer “Humpback in Time”)!! All in all, Saba Lou is an absolutely electric songwriter and her youthfulness & fervor are contagious. It’s the reason I love making this list every year, and what makes discovering new music so exciting. Can’t wait for the next one!

“A brick wall around your placenta / Cut them all off from her mother blood / The hounds call for appassionata / A phoenetic paste for the fetal bud...”

SHARON VAN ETTEN / Remind Me Tomorrow

Over the last few years I started the practice of making a draft favorite albums list in January and adding albums throughout the year, as I fall in love with them. This way I don’t forget the ones I loved in January & February, the ones that got me through the backend of the Winter. I’m able to track my year in music as it develops, a sort of captain’s log. A living, personal journal using music to mark time & space as I sprint my way through another increasingly faster, increasingly chaotic year. Sometimes, scrolling through the list acts as a comfort. “That album only came out this year?! OK, this year isn’t moving too fast, that feels like forevvverrrr ago!” Sometimes it helps to show me how much I’ve grown, how much an album has meant, or has helped with my mental & emotional growth. This year, the very first album I added to that list, the very first album that I fell hard & holy hell in love with... was Sharon Van Etten’s Remind Me Tomorrow.

A blast of energy. A weird synthy, pulsing red & blue darkness. Simultaneously club-y & indie rock vibey. Van Etten’s fifth album is supposedly written from a place of contentment. A marriage, a child, a life & happiness discovered. Less desperation, more introspection. I hear in her voice & words, how taking care of yourself, how striving to be your best self, can bring out the most powerful, most emotional art. She also isn’t afraid to let her voice go and I think her vocal performances are what truly take Tomorrow to another level. “Memorial Day” rides a haunting vocal loop & tumbles in nearly wordless, glimmering vowels, all ethereal magnificence. The chorus of the brooding “Jupiter 4″ spirals upwards & then rollercoasters, a late night drunken banger. But at the heart of Remind Me Tomorrow sits one of my songs of the year, one of my songs of the decade, “Seventeen.” I had heard it first live, way back in October 2018 in the rain in the mountains at Red Rocks. I got tipsy & wrote about it the day it came out, January 8, 2019, after a long, cold stretch working the night shift. This album & especially this song will stay with me for a long time. Sharon has taught me to keep working on myself. To look back in fondness. To think about how, with hard work, how much joy & peace & comfort await in my coming years. But she also taught me to lean into emotions. To embrace the ache of memories and the bittersweetness of growing up. Thanks for making this album Sharon.

“Downtown hotspot, halfway up the street / I used to be free, I used to be 17 / Follow my shadow around your corner / I used to be 17, now you're just like me / Down beneath the ashes & stone / Sure of what I've lived and have known / I see you so uncomfortably alone / I wish I could show you how much you've grown...”

TIM BAKER / Forever Overhead

I have a special feeling tied to the collection of intimate, swirling songs Tim Baker released this year from Canada. Forever Overhead carries a certain small town holiness, recognizable to those who grew up in small towns , but specific to his own personal, north-north-eastern-eastern “small” town, St Johns, in Newfoundland & Labrador, Canada. Growing up on the farthest coast of the Atlantic on the tippy, tippy point of Canada (seriously google it!), Baker fronted emo band Hey Rosetta! for four albums until striking out this Spring on his own with Arts & Crafts Records. There is a very Springsteen-esque bent to the way he writes about growing up somewhere (as someone) small & wanting to be somewhere very big and exciting. He captures the bittersweetness of growing up so perfectly. From the teenage romantic feelings in swaying opener “Dance” & the rousing “Mirrors,” to the friends & bars & singing found in the melancholic “Spirit” and the absolute hit “All Hands.” The latter is the core of the album, a bright, rhythmic guitar number that builds & swells with voices & instrumentation to a few huge, singalong choruses. A real song of the year contender. Baker isn’t afraid to let the songs go on journeys on Forever Overhead and they rarely finish where they begin. Horns & handclaps burst in at points, celebratory & fearless. The sexual tension of “Strange River” is lightened with a false start and a “sorry. In ‘D’” followed by a belly laugh, before restarting. The light & dark are present throughout Overhead and listening to these songs remind me of growing up. I feel like I’m being given a secret glance into Baker’s youth and the parts that mirror mine make me want to lift my voice in unison with those that understand. Sometimes small collections of well written & well played songs can do that, and to me... it’s sacred. Hopefully I get a chance to visit St Johns someday, and if I do, these songs will be playing as my soundtrack.

“A boy in bed, all the windows wide / You can hear the hot rods running from the light / From the light, into the dark / That's all I wanted in my cousin's car / To listen to the wind & to the lead guitars / & feel the reckless running of your heart / Now is that gone or does that all remain? / Can I go back and have it all again? / Well now I know it, where I'm going / I'm going back behind the river / I'm going back behind the rain / Cuz no matter where you're heading / You end up where you’ve been...”

YOLA / Walk Through Fire

It’s clear from the first minute & 30 seconds of Yola’s debut full-length Walk Through Fire, that this album is destined to be an all-time classic. She comes in slow & wistful with “wish I knew what you were wishing for...” over a soft wash of cymbals and mournful country-soul guitar. Then one minute in, her voice swells to gigantic proportions, seeming to lift the song right off the page, carried into another stratosphere, timeless & magnetic. That “Faraway Look” in your eyes.

From there, Yola (36 year old Yolanda Quartey from Bristol, England) takes her commanding voice through bluesy, fiddle-led country (”It Ain’t Easier” & the title track), and laid back soul (”Shady Grove” & “Deep Blue Dream”). Personal fav “Ride Out In The Country” became a backroads, summer anthem for me this year on multiple trips through Southern & Western Colorado. Through it all, her voice booms, whispers, & rocks gently, propelling the songs forward with warmth & light. Her lyrics are full of both dreamy memories & work-a-day stories about the challenges of life. It was fun this year to have different friends & family members get into Yola at different times, getting texts like “have you heard of YOLA??!!” Sharing songs, & collections of songs (like the ones on Walk Through Fire) is what makes making this list every year so fun, and I’m always excited to see what new, life-long favorites I will discover. See you in a couple months at the Bluebird Theater on Colfax here in Denver Yola!! Can’t wait!

“A little shady grove / A memory long ago / A tale too old to know the ending / I gave it all away / It takes my breath away...”

#yola #tim baker #Sharon Van Etten #saba lou #Rapsody #orville peck #lizzo #lady lamb #kiltro #kara jackson #june jones #hiss golden messenger #fruit bats #earthgang #bon iver #black belt eagle scout #big thief #better oblivion community center #justin peter kinkel-schuster

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madboxwithagirl · 5 years

Text

The Nightmare Before Christmas

Author’s Note: This was never supposed to be a Christmas story, but it somehow ended up becoming one anyway. Don’t worry, I have a true Christmas story coming up after the 25th, so stay tuned for that. I apologize for any and all typos in this story. My finger is broken and it was difficult to type this out. I also didn’t have a beta reader for this. Please inform me of any errors so I can fix them!

Prompt: This was inspired by Early Sunsets Over Monroeville by My Chemical Romance and the video game Left 4 Dead 2.

Summary: For some reason, the Doctor wasn’t a fan of Christmas. Hoping to get him into the holiday spirit, you go shopping for presents together. When things start to go downhill quickly, you find out why he doesn’t like the Christmas season.

Warnings: Death, dead bodies, blood, guns, zombies, people changing into zombies, injuries, heavy angst

Words: 4,221

“I can’t believe you wrapped me into this,” the Doctor pouted as you looked through a rack of clothing, looking for a nice sweater to give as a Christmas gift to a friend.

“Did you just make a gift wrapping pun?” you smirked, knowing that he hadn’t meant to do so. You weren’t one to pass up a good pun, however. He groaned, annoyed with himself.

“Stop it, you,” he scolded, waggling his finger at you as if you were a small child. “We could be absolutely anywhere else in the universe doing absolutely whatever we wanted, and you chose to go Christmas shopping in a mall on a planet inhabited by humans? C’mon, wouldn’t you rather go to a planet that has rainbow snow? Because I can take you there, you know. Each color tastes different! There’s strawberry, cookie dough, we can’t forget banana, mint, orange…” You rolled your eyes as he rambled on, talking about the vast amounts of snow flavors, like it was the most interesting thing in the universe.

“Doctor,” you interrupted as you pulled away from the clothing rack, sweater in hand. “I get that humans aren’t the most interesting creatures to you, but it’s nice for me to be around my own kind every now and again. Plus, we’re not even on Earth! I kept that in mind when I asked to come here!” You bumped his shoulder with your own, trying to get him to smile. “Listen, after we’re done here, we can go and taste test different snow flavors, alright?” He glanced over, noticing the warm look in your eyes. He sighed and nodded his head in agreement, a small curve appearing on his lips. He just couldn’t say no to you.

“Fine, you win. But! Don’t you think that we’re going to stay there for only a little while. We’re staying until we’ve tried every flavor possible.”

“Even pear?”

“…Except for pear.” You laughed loudly, noting the scowl that had replaced his smile. How he despised pears. You were still chuckling by the time you made it to the register to pay for your items. Bags in hand, you and the Doctor made your way back out into the busy mall. It was Christmas Eve on the planet. Frantic shoppers rushed through the stores, looking for last-minute gifts for their loves ones. Even there, people were still very poor planners. You hadn’t meant to land on such a hectic day, but with the Doctor piloting, you never made it exactly where you wanted to go. Deciding to head to one of the many department stores, you turned right and began walking.

“So tell me, Scrooge, why are you so adamant on keeping me from my Christmas shopping?” you asked as you slipped through the crowd. He had never been huge on the holiday during the time that you had known him. You had tried more times than were really necessary to get him to enjoy the season. Snowball fights, decorating Christmas trees, cookie baking, and even hot cocoa weren’t enough to bring him around. He seemed adamant on avoiding any and all Christmas cheer.

“Nothing good ever happens during Christmastime. I’m certain I’ve told you about my last regeneration. And about those murderous Christmas trees.” You let out a laugh, finding some humor in his misfortune.

“Alright, dying and having near-death experiences at Christmas aren’t exactly at the top of my list of fun holiday activities, but you’ve had those experiences loads of times. It’s just coincidence that some of them have happened during Christmas. I mean, I’m sure you’ve had plenty of run-ins with death on, say, May 27th!” You linked your arm with his as you kept walking, hoping to offer him some comfort. “You’re only remembering those specific times because they were at signifiant times. They’re just coincidences, nothing more.” His eyes traveled towards you, a reassuring smile gracing your face. His head bobbed in agreement.

“Yes, nothing more than just mere coincidences. Speaking of coincidences, did you know that on May 27th, John I of England and Alexander III of Russia were both crowned? Well, several years apart, of course. And Malcolm IV became the King of Scotland! Again, not on the exact same day, but on May 27th nonetheless. And…” You shook your head as he started to ramble yet again. He could talk for hours without stopping if no one intervened.

As luck would have it, it wasn’t someone who intervened, but something.

Horrified screams rang throughout the space, people running towards the exits as fast as their legs could take them. Confused murmurs broke out around you, no one knowing what was happening. Then gunshots rang out, some trying to take matters into their own hands. The pop! pop! pop! of the guns forced them to stop questioning and instead try to escape as well. Your eyes meant with the Doctor’s, knowing that whatever was going on was going to have to be stopped by the both of you. As people ran away from the impending danger, you and the Doctor ran towards it like you always did.

What you saw next made your stomach churn, the bile rising in your throat. You skidded to a halt and dropped your bags in shock, taking in the terrifying sight. There, in front of you, were four humanoid creatures kneeling down and feeding on the flesh of dead shoppers. Their skin was a sickly, faded green, some falling off in different places. One of them had an eye missing, the red socket sticking out amongst the pale. Some lay beside the carnage, bullet holes in their heads; the targets of the previous gunshots.

“Zombies…” you breathed out, watching the scene unfold. You felt the Doctor’s hand against your back, the man trying to comfort you and pull you out of your trance. You screamed and leapt forward, scared that the touch had been from one of the changed humans. The pale beings jerked their heads up at the sound, wanting to find the source. As their eyes found you, they rose slowly. You felt the Doctor’s hand grab your own and pull you away as the zombies rapidly charged at you, ready for their next kill.

“Keep running and do not look back!” he yelled, dragging you through the last straggling patrons. You followed his orders, too worried that if you stopped, they would catch you and cause the same cruel fate as their last victims. “We need to find some shelter and wait this out. It’s safer that way,” he said as he tugged you towards a seemingly abandoned department store. Despite him being unable to see the action, you just nodded in agreement, too scared to say anything.

Then, you spotted it. On the ground, directly in the path of your escape, was a pistol. Opting not to think about the gun’s owner and their fate, you placed all of your focus on grabbing it as you ran by. You knew that in your situation, it was better safe than sorry. The Doctor’s sonic was useful, but it was no firearm. As you quickly approached, you leaned down, aiming your hand towards the object.

“Wait, what are you do-“ You grasped at the gun, knowing that it was your one and only chance. Your fingers touched the barrel, fireworks going off in your head. You were doing it! You were going to protect yourself and the Doctor and you were going to make it though the apocalypse just fine! Then, without warning, you were jerked away from the pistol.

“No!” you cried out, turning back to watch the gun get further and further away. “No!” you yelled again, but this time out of anger. You dragged your feet into the floor to the best of your ability and pulled your hand as hard as you could, effectively slipping out of the Doctor’s tight grasp. You heard him yell out your name, panic in his voice, but you ignored him. You had to get that gun. You hurried back towards the weapon, aware that the group of zombies were close. You dove forwards, arms and fingers outstretched. Once more, you felt the cool surface of the pistol beneath your fingertips, this time getting a firm grip on it.

You had no time to celebrate your victory, the zombies having caught up to you. Your heart raced in your chest, the realization of your mistake catching up to you. You heard a strangled voice scream your name, the sound nearly being drowned out by the beat of your heart. On impulse, you raised your arms up, holding on tightly to the weapon in your shaking hands. Four shots rang out, followed by four soft thuds on the linoleum floors. You took in rugged breaths, adrenaline running through your system. The zombies lay dead in front of you, blood oozing onto the floor.

You felt a rough tug on your shoulders and then you were running again, the Doctor pulling you into the store. Doing a quick once-over to be certain there were no undead beings within, he let go of your hand and found the gates used at closing time, pulling them shut. He sonicked them and checked their durability, making sure that nothing could get in. Once he was certain that it was secure and safe, he turned to you, anger in his eyes.

“What were you thinking!?” he roared, stalking towards you. In that moment, you found yourself more afraid of him than of the zombies. “You could have been killed! Or worse, you could have turned into one of them. And for what? A gun?” You backed up, the Doctor’s wrath nearly making you cower in fear.

“It’s to keep us safe! Didn’t you see me kill the ones who were chasing us?” you argued back, trying to appear strong.

“And what if the gun hadn’t had any bullets? Or if you had missed? It would have been over for you! I…I could have lost you…” Your shoulders dropped as the anger left his body. You knew that he was right. What you did was stupid, but in the heat of the moment, you hadn’t been thinking of anything except finding a way to keep you both safe. In doing so, you very well could have lost your life or caused him to lose his. You jumped as you heard rattling against the gates followed by low moans. The creatures were trying to get to you, luckily to no avail. You winced, knowing that the harsh noises of the gun drew them to you.

His jaw tightened at the sound, knowing that had he waited only a few extra moments, they would have made it to you. You sighed as you looked at the Doctor, knowing that once you made it back to the TARDIS, you would be scolded even further. Until then, you reasoned, you could at least try to lessen the blow. You willed your legs to move, beginning to walk towards your friend to comfort him and apologize.

Without warning, you heard a raspy cry and felt something grab ahold of you. The gunshots and your shouts had drawn one out of hiding, the beast hungering for fresh meat. A new shot of adrenaline soared through your veins as you tried to fight the zombie off. The Doctor, a look of fear covering his face, rushed towards you, ready to aid you in your battle. You called out in both shock and panic as you felt a pinch on your shoulder. Before it could cause more damage, you raised your hand, gun still held tightly, and sent a bullet straight through its skull. Its hands slipped off of you as it fell to the floor, dead. You instantly felt a new set of hands on you, these ones pulling you into a tight embrace, ignoring the blood and brains that coated you.

“Are you alright!? Are you hurt!?” He pushed you back and looked you over, trying to assess the damage. He held your shoulders and looked you in the eye so intensely that you wanted to shy away. “I need you to be honest with me. Did it bite you?” You had never seen him look so serious in all of your time traveling with him, but underneath that seriousness was an intense uneasiness. You wanted to say no just to ease his nerves, but you couldn’t do that to him. Even if you did lie, he knew you better than you knew the back of your own hand. He would have known if you weren’t being truthful.

“I…I really don’t know. I felt something on the back of my shoulder, but…” He wasted no time turning you around and lifting your shirt up, not bothering to ask for permission. You heard a sharp intake of air and nearly inaudible whispers of denial. You heard him fumble around in his pockets for a moment before hearing the sound of his sonic, the device scanning you. “Doctor? Is everything alright?” you asked, knowing, somewhere deep down, that no, it wasn’t alright. He put the screwdriver away, pulled your shirt back down, and turned you back around, this time at a much slower pace. When you met his eyes, you held back a sob. The look he held told it all.

You had been bitten.

“Here, c’mon.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, hand resting on the bite. He pushed you forward, keeping an eye out for any other lurking zombies. You were shaking violently, unsure if it was from nerves, the bite, or both. You could feel him shaking too, the Time Lord afraid of what was to come. He guided you to one of the store’s large display beds, hastily rearranging the pillows for you. He helped you climb onto the soft mattress and get as comfortable as possible. You expected him to join you, hoping that he would attempt to comfort you. Instead, he paced back and forth in front of you, muttering to himself. You eventually leaned forward and clasped onto his sleeve, forcing him to stop and look at you. You gulped, the look on his face showing complete helplessness.

“Doctor?…Am…Am I going to be okay?” you whispered out, unable to make yourself speak louder. The Doctor just looked at you, his eyes moving over your face as if he was trying to take in every last detail. Unshed tears threatened to spill over and rush down his cheeks, the man trying his hardest to keep them from doing so. His body was rigid, tension spread throughout. You swallowed, noting his actions. “Doctor, please…” He shook his head and placed a hand over the one holding onto his suit.

“I’m so sorry.” The breath caught in your throat, all attempts to allow air into your lungs ending in failure. You finally placed the gun down next to you, the weapon having been held tightly throughout the whole ordeal. You raised the hand up in front of you, examining it for any changes. Your skin, already, was beginning to turn into the diseased green of the monsters that had caused the whole situation. The Doctor’s other hand grabbed ahold of it, trying to give you all the comfort he could offer. Your eyes shot back over to his, trying to ignore the pain in them.

“No. There has to be something. There has to be. The TARDIS. She must have something in the med-bay. Right?” You knew that the chances were slim, but you refused to accept that you were doomed. The Doctor always had a way. He could fix it. He could make you all nice and healthy again and then you would be off on more crazy adventures, narrowly escaping death’s grasp again and again and again. He squeezed his eyes closed and detached his hands from yours, wrapping his arms around your shaking form instead. He whispered apologies into your ear, his warm tears falling onto your neck.

You clawed at his back, trying to prevent there being any space between you both. Your face was buried into his chest, the feel of his twin hearts beating wildly noticeable beneath his clothing. He was mortified at the events that had lead to that point and of the events that would follow.

He was losing you, and he wasn’t ready.

You pulled him into the bed with you, the Doctor allowing himself to lay with you and hold you close. In that moment, all you wanted was comfort from the most important person in your life. You pressed your ear against his chest and closed your eyes, his hearts being one of the most beautiful sounds in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, knowing that if you hadn’t stopped for the gun, you wouldn’t have drawn the attention of the zombie that had bitten you. You both would have been more alert, so it wouldn’t have snuck up on you. You would have been on your way back to the TARDIS. Once there, you would have gone elsewhere, perhaps the planet with the multitude of snow flavors. Maybe you should have gone there in the first place. You had begged him to come Christmas shopping with you, desperately hoping that he would start to enjoy Christmas if he just had the right experiences. Tears started to soak the fabric of his suit, leaking through until they touched his skin, making him shiver.

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I forced you here and now I’m going to-“ You couldn’t say the word, a sob taking its place instead. You were either going to die or turn into one of the undead. You didn’t know which was worse. Instead of going home and spending Christmas with loved ones or staying in the TARDIS and spending it with the Doctor, you were going to lose your life.

“Do you know why I hate Christmas?” a broken voice asked, tearing you away from your thoughts. You pulled away and looked up at the Doctor, his tear-filled eyes closed tightly.

“What? I thought it was because of the trees and regeneration?” you replied, confused by his question. He took a deep breath, willing himself to speak about one of the biggest reasons as to why he didn’t like the holiday.

“As you know, you are not my first companion. I’ve had many before you, all of whom left me in various ways; some willingly and some by means outside out their or my control. But I’ve never told you about the few almost-companions. After Martha left me to continue her life on Earth, I met another woman almost right away. Her name was Astrid.” His arms squeezed you tighter, the appendages holding you like a vice, too scared to let go. “She was a waitress on a space-cruise ship replica of the Titanic. Just as it always is with me, trouble wasn’t too far behind. We, of course, attempted to fend off the impending doom.” Tears finally began to appear on his cheeks, the liquid falling into his sideburns. He angrily wiped them away.

“We were going to travel together, her and I, as soon as everything was taken care of on the ship. It was her dream to explore the universe, a dream that I could have easily fulfilled if…if she hadn’t…” He trailed off, knowing that you could put the pieces together. He let his tears fall freely, no longer caring. “It was Christmas. Since then, I’ve had no desire to celebrate or partake in any Christmas traditions. Too many terrible things have happened during those days. And now…” He opened his eyes and let them fall onto your face, causing him to breathe out a pained “Rassilon.” Your pupils were dilated and your skin was completely the wrong color.

You didn’t have much time left.

“Doctor,” you rasped out, your voice having changed as well, “I shouldn’t have-“

“No. Stop that.” He looked deeply into your eyes, taking them in for what was going to be one of the final times. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t honest with you when I should have been. I could have taken us somewhere else. I-“ That time, you cut him off.

“Stop it, Doctor!” you croaked. “You always blame yourself whenever something bad happens. Some things are just out of your control. This was just bad luck? It’s just coincidence, like May 27th, right?” No matter who’s fault it was, you didn’t want him wallowing after it was all over. If it was his fault, you didn’t want him believing so. He had been through enough. He didn’t need more.

Your eyes widened as you felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to latch your teeth into the Doctor’s flesh. With all the strength you could muster, you pushed him as far away from you as you could, wanting to distance yourself from him. You couldn’t let him share the same fate as you. He tried to crawl back towards you, wanting to examine you.

“No!” you wailed. “Don’t come any closer! I won’t be able to control myself!” You looked at him in despair, knowing that you were coming down to the final minutes. You were turning into one of them, and nothing could be done to stop it. Unless… You looked down next to you, the discarded firearm still where you had left it. You picked it up in your shaky hands and checked to see how much ammo was left in it. There was a single bullet remaining. You inhaled deeply, knowing what had to be done. “Doctor.”

“No.” You locked gazes, the agony in his old, tear-filled eyes prominent. “No, I won’t do it. Not to you.” Your face was filled with despair, knowing that if he didn’t, you would turn. Tears fell quickly onto the bed’s comforter, the fabric darkening.

“Please Doctor,’ you sobbed. “I don’t want to become one of them. Please, please, please.” The Time Lord shook his head, closed his eyes, and bared his teeth, angry at whatever god or gods had lead him to that point. He didn’t have it in him to take your life, but he couldn’t let you turn into a monster. The options tormented him, tearing him into tiny, little pieces. He wanted to block out your pleas for him to end your life, but he knew that there was only one way. He looked back up at you, misery coating his entire being as he made his choice.

He could never say no to you.

“Fine.” You swallowed and leaned over, placing the gun near him before leaning back, desperately fighting against the desire to sink your teeth into his skin. He picked the gun up, hating the feel of it in his hands. His chest hurt with every breath he took and with every beat his hearts made. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. It should have never ended like this,” he breathed out, knowing that no amount of apologies could make up for what had happened and for what he was about to do.

“Please don’t blame yourself,” you replied through gritted teeth, fighting the change. Even so, you gave him the biggest smile you could make. “I wouldn’t trade any of this away, really. I enjoyed traveling with you. Thank you for giving me the most amazing time of my life. I…I love you, Doctor.” All at once, his hearts stopped in their places and his lungs couldn’t bring any air in or out. No no no no no. You couldn’t say that to him, not as he was about to end your life. Trying to break him away from his thoughts, you weakly called out to him to no avail. He didn’t want to do it, he couldn't do it, he just couldn’t.

“Doctor!” A deafening, throaty voice called out his name and he was suddenly charged at, your teeth bared and ready to strike. With no time to think, he raised the gun towards your head and pulled the trigger, the sound ringing in his ears. Your body slumped down onto the bed, no life within it. His eyes were wide as they looked over your sickly body, blood pouring out onto the bedcovers. He dropped the gun on the floor, the clattering not even registering in his brain.

Ignoring the blood and brains, the Doctor scooped you up into his arms and lay back down, replicating the position that you were both in before. He held you close, your body quickly growing cold. He cried, thinking about your final words. “I love you. Doctor.” It wasn’t a surprise to him, not really. He knew that you held intense feelings for him, but you had never admitted them. He never expected you to come clean, and he certainly never expected you to tell him on your deathbed. Clutching onto you, he lay in the bed, hearing the zombies at the gate trying but failing to get to him. He didn’t care if they got through. In fact, he almost wished that they did so he could be with you.

For the Doctor loved you too.

#doctor who x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #the doctor x reader #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who christmas fanfiction #angst #reader death #reader insert #10th doctor #tenth doctor #doctor who #gender neutral reader #zombies #songfic

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swhurtcomfort · 6 years

Note

I don’t know if you guys are comfortable with this topic, but could you write something where Obi-Wan starts self-harming after the events of the phantom menace, and Anakin walks in on him?

Hi anon, this is a grey area of my comfort zone as a writer but I gave it a try. If this fic isn’t what you were hoping for, try submitting another prompt when Leslie comes back so maybe she can write you something.

tw non-graphic self-destructive behavior (not cutting) under the readmore; tw complicated grief

Be brave don’t look back be brave don’t look back

Master Kenobi comes home from his mission. He’s limping a bit and hides his face from Anakin, disappearing into the sonic without a word.

When he emerges, he is walking more normally, and he has something smeared on his face to cover up the black eye.

“Get dressed—casual robes will do,” he says to Anakin. “We are going downtown for supper.”

Master Kenobi gets injured on more missions than not. In lieu of the six-month solo assignment that a newly-made knight would traditionally be given, the Council sends him on shorter, more frequent missions so that he can be in the Temple with Anakin most of the time. Anakin hates that things have to be done differently to accommodate him, just another problem he’s created.

Anakin isn’t sure what to tell his classmates when they ask him about Master Kenobi, their eyes full of jealousy and sometimes malice. What’s it like being trained by the Sith-Slayer? He doesn’t think he’s supposed to tell them that Master Kenobi is unpredictable, sometimes friendly, sometimes aloof. And he knows he’s not supposed to tell them about the constant injuries, or the bloodstained robes that he tries to scrub clean in the sink rather than take them to the quartermaster. Or the fact that four months after the funeral, Master Kenobi still sleeps on the sofa rather than in the bed that was previously Master Qui-Gon’s.

Anakin gets dressed and follows Master Kenobi down to the hovertrain platform in silence. Anakin is painfully aware that Master Kenobi hadn’t really wanted a padawan in the first place, but he likes to think that things are improving between them. Master Kenobi is teaching him Shii-Cho so he doesn’t have to take Master Yoda’s class in a room full of 4-year-olds. They laugh and kid around sometimes. It’s just that other times, Master Kenobi comes home bloodied and bruised and they can’t seem to talk about it. Time passes painfully slow on the tram ride.

When they arrive at the diner, Dexter Jettster isn’t fooled by whatever he’s painted his face with. “Quite the shiner you’ve got there, my boy,” he thunders, grabbing Master Kenobi’s shoulder roughly and offering Anakin a smile.

“You know which booth. I’ll come and join ‘ya if I can catch a break.”

Obi-Wan leads the way to their usual seats. He’s still too quiet and seems distracted, even though Dex’s food is his favorite treat. At the end of their meal Dex asks Anakin into the back kitchen under some pretext about some spare parts from old kitchen droids.

“Listen, kiddo,” the Besalisk says once the kitchen door swings shut behind them. “Your master, he’s not acting right. Even considering all that’s happened.”Anakin averts his eyes and takes a half a step back, just another instinct he hasn’t unlearned from his previous life. He doesn’t want to get in trouble. He’s still very aware that Obi-Wan is the only thing standing between him and the Council, so he can’t screw things up between them.“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me nothin’. But Anakin?”

Anakin’s head snaps up.

“There’s a healer at the Temple, sweet girl, goes by Bant. If our Ben needs help—even if he tells you he don’t—give her a call, alright? It’s alright to tell somebody if he’s worryin’ you. Go to your healer’s wing and ask for Bant.”

“I know Healer Eerin,” says Anakin quietly.

“Well, there you go.” Dex’s gentle smile reaches the corners of his eyes. He claps Anakin on the shoulder a little too hard. “It’s a bad job, poor Jinn, poor Kenobi. Shouldn’t be for someone your age to worry about, but somebody oughta keep an eye on him.”

Anakin agrees, shoulders this silent and awkward responsibility that he doesn’t quite understand.

Dex’s warning is timely; the following week is a rough one. Obi-Wan sleeps too much and eats too little, and barely pays attention to Anakin at all. It makes Anakin dreadfully homesick, mixed with a guilty wish that Qui-Gon were here to train him. He’s pretty sure Qui-Gon wouldn’t have stood him up for sparring practice and left him waiting in the dojo for hours.

Anakin comes home and lets himself in, crabby and feeling sorry for himself. A drop of blood on the hallway floor catches his eye.

Anakin treads lightly to the open ‘fresher door, and sees Obi-Wan kneeling on the floor in front of the med kit. He is dabbing bacta on the corner of his blackened eye.

Obi-Wan leans forward and shrugs out of his shirt, and it’s all Anakin can do not to gasp.

Obi-Wan carefully examines the mottled flesh that spans from his hip halfway up his rib cage in a rainbow of colors. The horrendous bruise sprawls at the edges into the outlines of blood vessels. Obi-Wan lays a hand over the injury and presses experimentally.

He grimaces while applying more pressure. There’s a sudden hitch of his breath.

Anakin swallows hard, sickened by what he is watching. He feels a wave of guilt for intruding on something so intimate and private, watching Obi-Wan explore the hurts all over his body with cruel fingertips, prodding and picking at the injuries as though the pain of them were a relief.

Anakin starts to suspect that some of these injuries were avoidable. He’s known slaves who possessed the same tendencies. They weren’t as easy to spot as those who inflicted wounds by their own hand, but they were the dejected folks who disobeyed and acted out, and didn’t seem to mind the beatings it earned them. An outsider might think they were simply strong-willed or foolish, but Anakin could recognize hopelessness when he saw it.

He sees the same look on Obi-Wan’s face, as if the pain is deserved, as if it brings him some sense of rightness. A wave of repulsion crashes over Anakin. He slips back through the hallway and out the front door. He thinks about Dex’s advice again.

His feet take him to the healer’s wing, but by the time he gets there he still hasn’t decided what to say. A padawan greets him in the lobby.

“I need to see Healer Eerin, please,” he squeaks.

“She’s in an appointment. Do you need medical attention?”

Anakin swallows hard. He is starting to feel like this was a bad idea. What if he gets Obi-Wan in trouble? What if Obi-Wan gets angry with him?

“It has to be Healer Eerin,” he stammers. “Master Kenobi—he—well, Dex said…”

Anakin is starting to panic. The junior healer leans over the desk. “Take a deep breath. If Knight Kenobi is injured, he might have asked you to fetch Bant because she is his friend, but another healer will still be able to help him. Is that what happened, padawan?”

“No!” Anakin’s stomach churns. He’s not sure if Master Kenobi is going to get in trouble for what he’s doing, but he’s obviously been trying to hide it. Anakin’s not a tattletale…but Dex said it was okay to tell Bant even if Obi-Wan said no. He doesn’t think Dex would have told him to do something bad, but then again, Dex isn’t a Jedi so maybe he doesn’t understand the rules. Everything is too confusing.

“Does anyone need a healer right now?” the boy behind the desk tries to get his attention again.

“No!” Anakin says quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, don’t, please,”

“Alright,” the junior healer looks thoroughly confused. “How about I just leave Bant a note, and have her comm Knight Kenobi in an hour?”

Anakin agrees before he takes off at a run.

Jacosta Nu is not particularly happy to see him sprinting through her doors, so he slows his pace to a respectable walk. He weaves through rows and rows of archived datafiles and finds his preferred hiding spot, a narrow cranny between two tall shelves, hidden by a row of force-sensitive ferns. It’s just right for someone his size, and impenetrable to anyone bigger. He used to come here a lot in the first few weeks, to avoid the mutual embarrassment of overhearing Master Kenobi’s crying. It’s comforting to have a place in the Temple that no one else knows about.

Anakin pulls his knees up to his chest and braces his feet against the flat side of a shelf. It’s oddly comforting to be so snug. He takes deep breaths. Be brave don’t look back be brave don’t look back

He lets out a few silent tears, and contemplates his options. Weighs the likelihood that Master Kenobi will find out he almost told and be cross with him. Weighs the likelihood that the Council will find out anyway and take Anakin away from him, or something equally horrifying. Wonders if Master Kenobi is going to be okay.

Anakin’s not sure how long he stays there, taking deep breaths. Probably a few hours at least. He falls asleep there and wakes up feeling worse.

The fronds of the oversized plant rustle. “Hi, Anakin,” whispers a voice.

Anakin’s head shoots up as he wipes the tear tracks from his face. “Master Siri?”

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Siri Tachi assures him. “Come on out of there, it’s past your bedtime.”

Anakin obeys, wondering suddenly why Master Kenobi wasn’t the one to fetch him.

“Is—”

“Everything’s fine,” says Siri quietly. “You’ll see.”

Anakin thinks a bit as he walks. “Master Siri, how did you find me?”

Siri laughs. “Jacosta said you weren’t the first little padawan she’s known to take a liking to those ferns.”

Anakin almost says something when they reach the level where he and Obi-Wan live. Master Kenobi never entertains and Anakin isn’t allowed to invite people over either – he suspects it’s to hide the fact that Master Kenobi still hasn’t cleaned out Qui-Gon’s room.

Obi-Wan’s not going to like it if Siri barges in, but before Anakin can say anything, the door is sliding open.

The scene that greets him inside is a complete shock. Master Kenobi sits in the center of the sofa, flanked on either side by Bant Eerin and Mace Windu, each with a hand at his back. Dexter is hovering near an armchair beside a green-eyed woman whom Anakin has never met.

Anakin and Obi-Wan make eye contact, then look away. Anakin can tell that he knows—knows what Anakin saw. That he’s wondering what Anakin thinks of him now. That a childish part deep down in Anakin isn’t sure of the answer.

“Anakin, it’s alright,” Obi-Wan manages hoarsely.

“You’re not angry, Master?” Anakin barely whispers.

“What?” he asks. Mace’s hand shifts higher on Obi-Wan’s back. Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Anakin, I’m sorry.”

Anakin nods and presses himself up against the wall.

“I’ll make you a deal, Obi-Wan,” says Bant quietly. “I’ll sneak some supplies from the Halls and patch you up here if you let me set you up an appointment with Raina.”

“I don’t think I need a Mind Healer,” Obi-Wan mumbles.

Bant shrugs.

“I’d take that deal if I were you, Obi-Wan,” says Mace with a rare note of humor. “If you make us take you to the Halls, Vokara will have some choice words about those bruises.”

“There’s no shame in it, kiddo,” says Dex sagely.

Anakin doesn’t know whose face to look at. He’s thankful no one seems to be paying attention to him.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan sighs.

Bant nods and rises to go fetch her medical supplies.

“We all miss him too,” says the girl sitting next to Dex. “If you want our help tomorrow, all you have to do is comm.”

“Thanks, Astri.”

“But if not, that’s alright too,” Dex adds. “Sometimes you gotta have your space. But we’ll just be here in a few clicks if you ever need.”

As they begin to take their leave, Obi-Wan beckons Anakin to him.

“Mace and Bant are coming over tomorrow morning,” he says slowly, as if the words were a great effort. “And we’re going to clean Qui-Gon’s room.”

Anakin glances towards the bedroom door, the one that they never open. He realizes he can’t remember the last time he heard Master Kenobi say Qui-Gon’s name out loud.

“If you would like to help, you can skip your morning class. It’s up to you,” he continues. He lays a hand on Anakin’s arm, almost gingerly.

Anakin doesn’t react either way, still watching nervously.

“I haven’t been myself,” Obi-Wan half-whispers. “Things are going to get better. I’ll be a better master to you.”

“You’re a good master,” says Anakin quickly.

Bant returns with her pockets full of bacta, gauze and painkillers. “Let’s try the kitchen table, Obi,” she says in a business-like tone. “Wouldn’t want to get blood on your sofa.”

Mace takes that as his cue to leave. Obi-Wan politely indicates that Anakin should go get ready for bed.

As he’s brushing his teeth, Anakin can hear the muffled sound of their lowered voices in the kitchen. It’s somehow a weight off his back, knowing that there’s a grown-up taking care of Master Kenobi. He hadn’t realized how heavy those secrets were while he was carrying them.

Master Qui-Gon’s presence is still missing in their home, something that should be there but isn’t, an empty hole that aches. And perhaps he always will be. But Anakin falls asleep with Obi-Wan’s promise echoing in his ears, that things are going to get better.

#obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #hurt/comfort #ft the Obi-Wan Kenobi Emotional Support Task Force #which Bant is founder and CEO of #post tpm #tw self harm mention #grief #sw fanfic #tw complicated grief #not graphic but some self destructive behavior under the cut fyi #angst with a happy ending #anon #mpost

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xxhanachanxx · 6 years

Text

When it comes to shipping, am I the only person that’s like a die-hard fan for a ship yet my mind is not screaming that it needs to be canon? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for people wanting to see their two favorite fictional characters together as a couple; but then again I’m down with whether or not a creator/developer of a film, show, video game, book, etc. can confirm that a couple is canon. Though even if I can find that adorable, let me stick with any other aspects that I want to see in various outlets aside from romance. Or what I find better, for a fictional character I still want to think about portraying them as the way they’re originally portrayed. Sure that I understand that there are AU’s or any form of alternative just so we can make up anything about our precious OTP. Even though I’m all for anyone doing AU’s, sometimes I can’t help but to think that it would corrupt my head; but I’d like to do an AU one day! I’m usually a shipper that doesn’t think that my favorite pairings are the “oh-so perfect OTP and they need to be together forever”, because even for having a ship I do have other shippings that would involve the same character! So, this would probably be the longest text post I’ve ever wrote but at the same time a lot needs to be put down. And with some of the pairings that I will mention, maybe you would be familiar, maybe I’ll not mention your favorite OTP, but do take my conception in consideration!

So my first ship that I’m going to begin with talking about will be Moana x Ariel (or MoAriel). Do I ship them a lot? Well, I’m more in between with they could be great gfs or just best friends, but the way I see it is that they make great ocean buddies! So I cannot deny they’re cute! Do I want them to be canon? No, and here’s where I say that even if MoAriel is cute I still want my mind to be on the right path where I want to portray Moana and Ariel as the way they were originally portrayed in Moana and The Little Mermaid. For Ariel, I still need to keep in mind that she has Eric and Melody (idfc if I’m mentioning the shit sequel, it was one of my favorite direct-to sequels growing up k bye). I also like seeing Ariel and Eric together! Now with Moana, I just think she’s too good for a man and I’m not even headcanoning that she’s lesbian either. While we’re in the topic with the Disney Princesses as all of the news is spilling for Ralph Breaks The Internet, and as an avid LGBT supporter myself, it’s times that I couldn’t take a few people seriously to where they say that Merida, Elsa, Mulan, and many others are lesbian or bi. NOW DON’T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY! I’m all for seeing anything LGBT-related in animation, but sometimes I get a bit iffy on that issue with what will kids think of when they see it. I mean I understand that some people would say that it would mess the kids’ minds up. All I can think for now is that if I were to have kids, I would probably teach them about gay marriage not at a young age but maybe when they get older. I guess I’m that one LGBT supporter who can’t stand some of the SJWs… but hey, if people want to headcanon that they’re gay, well they can do them. I won’t stop them for that. Like for Merida, I’d still think she’s better off without a man but I won’t headcanon about her sexuality. For Elsa, like I get that people want her to be lesbian for the Frozen sequel, but I’d prefer wanting to know about the premise of the sequel more. And with Mulan, okay I get it that her outfit is dope and I’m all for her modern outfit. But I can’t have the mindset screaming “OMFG MULAN’S BI!” I believe that she’s a strong female warrior, and even I can’t help to think that she and Shang are great together! Okay now to get back and wrap up with MoAriel, I will say huge kudos for the shippers for making that happen. Like I can’t deny that it’s an amazing crossover between the land and the sea.

Alright, so another ship I’d like to talk about, and another same-sex ship, will be TwiDash (Twilight Sparkle x Rainbow Dash from MLP:FiM). Oh hey look, Imma throwback to one of my all-time favorite OTPs especially I happen to watch some of the old episodes again! Now let’s get to those 2 questions again: do I ship them a lot? I pretty much do, especially the fact that they happen to be my favorite ponies out of the Mane 6! Do I want them to be canon? No, and it’s not because that I think they should end up with stallions instead (and apparently, I don’t want to have those pairings be canon either!). Obviously RD is one of Twilight’s best friends, so I’d rather stick with whatever chemistry they have for each other! So because I have to bring up the fact that I also have pairings of Twilight and Rainbow with stallions, here’s what I need to say about that: Of course having TwiDash as one of my MLP OTPs, I happen to like SoarinDash and FlashLight (that’s Flash Sentry x Twilight Sparkle just to clarify in case if anyone gets mistaken for literally a flashlight; and yes, I like Flash try me bitch). And as a same-sex shipper, I’m not one for giving another character shit for getting in the way of the same-sex couples that I like. So as a TwiDash fan, I really don’t give flak on Flash if he were to get in the way (and Soarin’ too, I guess). Not even to mention that not only that I’ve had it with the Flash hate, it frustrates me to see some bronies/pegasisters making attack/kill art of him (I do have a vivid memory of seeing an art piece of Flash getting attacked by Trixie just bc the artist likes Twixie.). I mean I get that Flash doesn’t have that much character development (human or pony; in fact I’m more of a pony Flash x pony Twi shipper) aside from appearing near Twilight or Sunset Shimmer to where a lot of people scream “gary-stu” or “waifu stealer”, but I will say that I think Flash deserves better. Now I know saying this as a FlashLight shipper in where they don’t really interact with each other that much, I really couldn’t help myself thinking how cute they are together though. But then again, there’s more to MLP:FiM than just shippings! So to get back and wrap up with TwiDash, sure there’s nothing wrong with having other shippings with one of the same characters! Though at the same time, and just like I mentioned from my previous statement with MoAriel, I’m not headcanoning Twilight or Rainbow’s sexualities at all. So I’ll just let my imagination flow to wherever the hell it wants!

Okay let’s get into another of my favorite ship, and this time it’s a hetero ship, ShadAmy! Yay, time for another throwback to one of my favorite Sonic ships! Though I will get into a later topic that’s kinda like the topic with me as a TwiDash fan and not giving Flash a lot of shit for being in the way. So onto the same two questions: do I ship them a lot? I think shipping Shadow and Amy together was sudden, bc I was a huge SonAmy fan back then (and I still do ship SonAmy don’t worry) and wasn’t really fond with Shadow until to this day. I guess after seeing fan art of ShadAmy, it led me to start shipping them. Do I want them to be canon? Probably not, and it’s not that I think that Amy should be with Sonic (and as an SonAmy fan, I could care less whether or not it’s canon, and if anyone screams at me that it is canon and I can’t change anything about it, leave.); and I don’t think that Shadow and Amy have a huge chemistry with each other (even if they only interacted with each other twice in Sonic Adventure 2). Now here’s the part in where I say that as a ShadAmy fan, I’m not one for giving shit on Sonic or have to make him the bad guy just bc he keeps running away from Amy. And even if I’m more into Shadow than Sonic (I promise y’all I’m not like one of those Shadow fangirls…), that doesn’t mean I won’t stop loving Sonic! And playing the games of that blue blur will always hold a special place in my heart! So what conclusion do I have for ShadAmy? Nothing probably. But no matter what I’m okay with whoever I want to ship with Amy. ShadAmy? SonAmy? I really don’t care!

Now since the pairings that I’ve mentioned so far happen to be my favorite OTPs, let’s take this next topic with talking about a NOTP. And who will I be talking about next? Enter Victor x Emily from Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride. As much as I enjoyed this masterpiece of a Tim Burton film, apparently having to think about this does grind my gears. So onto the questions again: do I ship them a lot? I’ve already stated that they’re not my cup of tea. Do I want them to be canon- okay um yeah let’s get right into that! I guess ever since I first saw the film back then, when I saw the ending scene with Emily turning into butterflies and then Victor and Victoria embraced my mind screamed, “welp, at least Victor and Victoria have each other now”. But at the same time it did sadden me to see Emily go away like that, yet then again Victor has freed her from the memories of pain and shit she’d been through with Barkis. So where am I going with this? Oh yes y’all, I actually like Victor x Victoria. And no, it’s not that I think Victor x Emily is necrophiliac. Pretty much, I’ve had it with everyone talking shit about Victoria all bc she was in the way between Victor and Emily. Tbh I could go on and on talking about defending Victoria, but to keep it a bit short it wasn’t her fault for interrupting the wedding; in fact, that can be saved for a later time. Now before I wrap up, and as I mentioned since the beginning, I’m all for alternatives or “what-ifs” made by Victor x Emily fans but at the same time we gotta accept the fact that the ending of Corpse Bride is just the way it is. Get used to it. Emily had her own happy ending.

Alrighty then, I’ll be taking this last topic discussing about WildeHopps just before I wrap this whole post up! Ah yes, our favorite fox-bunny duo; yet I do have some tweaks with what I think about them for the near future.. But anyway, let’s get into the questions one last time: do I ship them a lot? Now for anyone that have followed me for my Zootopia shenanigans, I do need to say that it seemed sudden of me shipping them out of nowhere. Like sure I can’t deny that Nick and Judy have a great chemistry, but there’s more to the film than just the shipping (or any romance outlet for that matter). I guess I should say that after seeing the film and looking at the fan art of the two, it led me to start shipping them! Do I want them to be canon? Okay see, this is where I get iffy about it bc even if Disney confirmed that they’re canon (or at least that’s what I heard) I still think that Nick and Judy need to start off as best friends first and then we shall see what will happen in the future if there were to be a sequel. So yeah, I think I’m that one person who had to cool off from seeing the ending bc yeah it’s cute but I don’t think I’ll be falling for it sorry! Friends? Couple? Again, these two have chemistry and that’s all that matters to me! So for now, I’m in both platonic and romantic sides of their relationship. And even though having this thought never occurring in my head, I don’t want to think about giving in for them to have their own mate by the same species. But hey, if y’all want to ship Nick with a vixen and Judy with another rabbit I ain’t stopping ya! Which would somewhat lead me to talking about how Judy would be shipped with Jack Savage (quick fyi for those who don’t know him, he’s a deleted character that was the main protagonist of the early version of the film); while I may not be into SavageHopps that much (and this is pretty much the same thing with my TwiDash and ShadAmy topics..), but damn some of y’all are salty on him for trying to “steal” Judy from Nick. If people want to like Jack, let them. If people want to ship SavageHopps, let them! I mean hey, he’s got Skye (who’s another deleted character during the early process) and I’m all for SavageSkye y’all! Okay, yeah I know I brought them out of nowhere as this topic is supposed to be about Nick and Judy but at the same time I kinda had to bring that out there haha. Like I said we shall see where will their future will take them, and we can have our imaginations flow wherever the hell they go!

So that wraps up with what I have to say with shippings! Thank you guys for taking your time reading this~ ❤️

#Personal #Shipping #Rant #Essay #Ramble #THIS WAS THE LONGEST I'VE WROTE TBH #Probably not use any of the characters/ships in the hashtags until I feel comfortable about it.

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tenroseforeverandever · 6 years

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Dear Father Christmas Chapter 6: 24th December, 2021

MASTERPOST

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: Rose is beyond frustrated when the children’s creative intelligence results in an explosion of melted candy canes.

Notes: As always, my thanks to my darling betas mrsbertucci and @rose--nebula for offering their unstinting support and insightful comments. ((((hugs, ladies))))

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. A reminder that I am using the prompts very much out of order, but I intend to use them all. The prompt I used today was Candy Canes.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2021

Dear Father Christmas,

Ooooooh, some days I just want to tear my hair out. Today, in case you couldn’t guess, is one of them. It was completely mad! The Doctor aggroed (full Oncoming Bah Humbug), the TARDIS is in a snit, the children are in solitary lock-up until the foreseeable future (imposed by aggro-Doctor), and I have candy cane melted into my hair. The smell of burned sugar is everywhere! And on top of all that we’re expected at Mum and Dad’s in a few hours for Christmas Eve, and I’m not even sure we can pilot the TARDIS in her current state. We’ve been travelling this past week, so Mum suggested we could stay at the mansion overnight tonight and open pressies with them Christmas morning. Honestly I just want to go to bed and stay there for a very, very long time.

Even though it’s completely against everything me and the Doctor agreed on, this is one of those days when it’s really tempting to consider cheating a little with the timelines and stealing a few hours to give us a chance to get it together. It’ll never happen, but it’s sure nice to think about.

Actually, the whole of autumn has been a bit of a challenge, if I’m being completely honest. We decided to do try something new this year. When the school year began in September, we enrolled Hope at her own age level to help her to socialize (that’s another story! Let’s just say, some attitude adjustment was necessary.) That meant taking the TARDIS out on the weekends to explore and educate the children, Doctor-style, which was lovely. But, it also meant the two kiddies left at home during the week whilst Hope was at school weren’t having their intelligence challenged as much as would be considered ideal… for them. It’s a constant battle trying to keep on top of them to figure out what they’ll get into next.

I don’t quite remember why we didn’t enroll them in the Torchwood Nursery… Some nonsense about me needing to be home to do the school-run, morning and afternoon, and since they had each other for company, they might as well stay home too and drive me mental while they were at it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Santa, it was a mutual decision between me and the Doctor. We talked it over and decided since he’s enjoying working in the Torchwood labs so much, he should keep doing it, and he relieves me whenever I really need it. It’s just some days I find myself questioning my life choices...

Anyway, the upshot of it is, this past week, we thought we’d give ourselves a nice break. We took Hope out of school a week early for a few days of hols before settling back to Earth-life over Christmas. It started out great, exploring cave life on Naotol-ri-Pibol one day and observing the process of the Grand Canyon gradually forming over eons from the TARDIS doors the next. (That little trick always floors me: to have the TARDIS hover in one point in space, but move through time, so the evolution of the planet plays out like a time-lapse film before your eyes! Brilliant!) But our final stop, yesterday, was the absolute best Christmas planet in either universe: 63rd Century Yultidia! I know, I know, the name is cheesier than my mum’s festive nutty cheese ball, but it sure makes up for it in many wonderful ways.

You’d love Yultidia, Santa, for a chance to get away. It’s completely impractical and over-the-top, not at all suited for building toys, but still everything’s decked out in Christmas cheer. And there’s so much to do: reindeer-pulled sleigh rides (not that that’s anything special for you), shops, carnivals and amusement parks, ice skating, sledding, and all kinds of other winter sports. There’s brilliant, posh hotels and restaurants, the ultimate hot chocolate, and the most wonderful spas… ever! You can guess where I spent most of my time. You and Mrs. Claus should come and treat yourselves to a post-Christmas massage some year. You deserve it!

(I could bloody use another massage, myself, right about now.)

So, while I was enjoying my day at the spa, the Doctor and the brood went exploring. They went snow tubing and they each got to ride a reindeer. And then they went shopping…

Hope, being the most diplomatic of them all (and not just because she’s the eldest… it’s just her nature) convinced her pushover of a Daddy (she has him wound around every single one of her little fingers) to allow the three of them to buy, in addition to a soft toy each, Christmas decorations to add to Gran and Grandad’s setup this year. Of course they chose the tackiest, most garish multicoloured garland possible. Now I’m not talking about tinsel-garland, yeah. I’m talking about fake metallic tree branches in every shade of the rainbow and then some. A bit naff. Not that Mum would mind one little bit. Even though she’s gone a bit posh, living in luxury these last few years, she could never be accused of being particularly sophisticated in her decorating tastes. And besides if her grandkids want something, her grandkids get it.

They also bought a huge box of candy canes to hang from the garland, and no doubt from other places as well, given the quantity of them. I’m not quite sure what the Doctor had been thinking, allowing them to buy so many. Probably thinking with his sweet tooth instead of his brain.

Anyway, they picked me up from the spa, and we all went to a restaurant to have our tea. Soooo good! They have Christmas Chips! I can’t begin to explain the flavour. Gooorgeous! So after enjoying some hot chocolate and mince pies for dessert we all headed back to the TARDIS. Me and the Doctor left the three kids to play in the console room. They were looking all innocent, oohing and awing over their purchases and plotting where they would hang everything when they got to the mansion. Basically, they seemed content, so we headed down to the family room to watch some Scrooge. Biggest mistake ever… but we wouldn’t know that until this afternoon.

In retrospect, we should have known. The three of them were being awfully quiet for children who were “playing”, but we were just so happy to have a quiet evening to snuggle together, we didn’t want to jinx it. When the movie was over, I went to get them ready for bed. They had already tidied up the garland and candy canes, and Wilf was nodding off, hugging his new stuffie reindeer. I got them all into a bath to wash the glitter off them, then into their new Christmas jimjams and straight to bed. Nothing seemed amiss. Same this morning when I made banana pancakes in Christmas shapes for breakfast, although there was rather a little too much chatter about them getting to see Father Christmas (you!) hiding pressies under the tree this year.

We decided to spend a little longer on Yultidia. They all wanted me to go tubing with them! So much bloody fun! Then we had lunch and bought a pile of Christmas goodies for Mum, Dad, and Tony, and gifts for Hope’s teachers and the folks at Torchwood. They’d get them a little late, but that’s okay. I know you’re thinking “time machine”, Santa, but remember, me and the Doctor agreed not to cheat with the timelines, and anyway, those sweets are worth the wait.

We all bundled back into the TARDIS, and got ready to go: the kids were all buckled in and squirming, so excited to show Gran the garland. The Doctor did his usual dance around the console switching switches and pushing buttons, and I followed behind, making sure everything was set just right, then both of us once again. I know it sounds tedious, but these days… safety first!

Then, the Doctor’s running his hands through his hair and telling me “Something doesn’t feel quite right. Something’s off. I just can’t put my finger on it.” And as he’s fishing for his sonic, I can’t help but see our three little angels giving each other guilty looks and biting their little lower lips. And all I can think is “Oh, bloody hell…”

Next thing I hear is the buzz of the sonic, then a violent rumbling coming from the candy cane box under the console, and I’m throwing myself between it and the children as fast as I can. Flames come shooting out of the box, and the Doctor’s just standing there gawping and saying “What?” over and over. I mean, at this point, Doctor, does it matter?

Suddenly the whole thing explodes, bits of melted and burning candy cane go soaring around the console room, sticking to everything. And believe me, hot candy cane burns are not to be taken lightly. The stuff was everywhere, in our hair, on our clothes (the kids had managed to come out of it with only a little stickiness, thank goodness.) But, worst of all, some of the molten sweet had seeped into the TARDIS controls.

The Doctor lost it. Completely lost it. I could see he was scared shitless. Things could have been so much worse, and he was over-reacting as a result. Like I said earlier, he put the kids in solitary time-out rooms. They were blubbering and apologizing and begging. At least Hope and Charlie were. Poor Wilfred, was just sobbing and sucking his thumb, really frightened and not quite realizing why his Daddy was so angry.

After the kids were settled, the Doctor gingerly ran his sonic over the TARDIS console and deemed it would be hours before she’d be ready to fly again. She just grumbled and dimmed her lights. I wonder if she would enjoy a nice spa treatment…?

Anyway, the Doctor just went down to interrogate the little hooligans, so I’m taking the time to record my letter to you now.

Holy crap! Hang on just a minute, Santa! Now, that plonker is crowing away to the kids about how brilliant they are. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, he is! And they’re all laughing and talking some bloody technobabble language I swear they all made up. I’ll make them laugh, all right! I’ll be right back. Looks like Mummy Scrooge is going to have to step in after all.

--ooOoo--

I’m back! Honestly, that man is such a pushover! If I hadn’t stepped in… The brood may be little but they’re definitely smart enough to learn that they have to be held accountable for their actions. I saw their faces when Daddy thought there was something wrong, and they knew it was probably their doing. So accountability! No matter how clever their little invention was!

So, right now, they’re giving the TARDIS her “day at the spa”. They damaged her, and they can fix her up again. They’re polishing and buffing her, and the Doctor is helping them take apart the damaged bits and they’re all putting them back together. The Doctor’s even letting Hope use his sonic for the really stuck-on candy, and the TARDIS is humming in appreciation. My lovely, baby TARDIS. She’s such an important part of our family and it doesn’t hurt for us to remember that once in a while.

In case you’re wondering, it turns out the little inventors were devising a surveillance system to watch for you coming down the chimney. They had rigged each and every candy cane with miniature cameras they found in one of their father’s storage cabinets. (To answer the burning question that must be on your mind: no, I don’t know why he had them. I think it must have been from when Hope was small and he wanted to be able to keep an eye on her everywhere she went.) Anyway, long story short, they rigged them up incorrectly (they were a bit dodgy to begin with, mind) using some wiring they had pinched from under the TARDIS console that was completely incompatible. So, when the Doctor activated his sonic, he ended up reversing the polarity of the neutron flow (or some rubbish like that) and BLAM! Candy cane fireworks!

All I can say, is thank goodness we found out about it before we got to Mum and Dad’s. Can you just imagine Mum’s reaction to having peppermint-scented goo all over her living room? Blimey, what a nightmare that would have been!

Well, it’s time for everyone to get bathed and dressed again (right into their jimjams, I’m thinking.) Then off to the mansion to put up some rather naff garland (minus the candy canes!), hang some stockings, and as it’s been a very long day, a quick tea and off to bed.

Happy Christmas! Love to all, Santa. And here’s hoping you don’t encounter any exploding candy canes on your travels tonight!

love, Rose

#doctorroseprompts #kid fic #tentoo x rose #christmas fic #christmas fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #family #love #romance #ficandchips #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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lordsintacks · 4 years

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Musical Smorgasbord 10/23/2019 Plastic Factory, Imaike Nagoya, Aichi Photos by Matt Chima Review by Travis Finch

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Imaike may seem like just another neighborhood to the layman, but after enough nights on the town in Nagoya, one would find that it is actually a thriving district littered with spots for frequent live music and other arts. Plastic Factory is one of these gems that attracts the bold and the weird, artists and fans alike. If you visit more than once, you’re bound to see a recurring face because Plastic Factory is usually a good time that brings people back for more.

Sometimes Plastic Factory is a packed house where you can’t see someone on the other side of the room. This Saturday night had a little more intimate setting however. That’s not at all a polite way of saying no one was there. It was still full of roaring applause and other forms of exclamation. I simply mean this show had more of the atmosphere of a house show or a big group of friends watching each other take turns on instruments in a garage. Human Name and Masattack’s Steven Stringer harped on this sentiment when he opened the night by stating “Welcome to Musical Smorgasbord, where we have more cables on stage than we know what to do with.”

HNAMA is a two-man act that can be described as “very experimental.” Their sound involves a lot of live looping guitar riffs and vocals. Looping would become a running theme in the night. At one point the audience could feel the different layers pulsating over one another in a barrage of sonic unfamiliarity. I use the word, “unfamiliarity,” because the music began to feel unpredictable. It definitely wasn’t contrived or anything like that. I heard an audience member say at this point, “I feel like I’m on LSD right now.” I hope the duo wouldn’t be offended by my calling their music “weird,” but I feel like that’s what they’re going for anyways. Beck and Captain Beefheart at the weirdest points in their careers would be intrigued.

The next act was another two-man band referred to as “Futsū No Banana.” If your Japanese is no good, it means “Ordinary Banana.” They were the only instrumental band of the night and this set had a real garage rock vibe to it. I could actually imagine it going over well in a park *cough cough.* The riffs and drums were solid, but the in between banter was also a plus. By request, they finished the set with the early 90’s Power Rangers theme song, but couldn’t quite finish the tune, gave up towards the end, and laughed it off as good sports. It was a funny moment for everyone.

The two male pair acts were then followed by two solo female artists. The first of which was the dazzling Aichi queen of cabaret, May Chu Chu メイチュチュ. She is a multi-talented artist who can be seen belting out tunes with her rockabilly band or hosting a wide range of respectable events with a sharp edge of wit and humor. Tonight she was flying solo on the mic with only the help of a phone hooked up to the PA. Her acts always involve crowd participation and one memorable moment of the night consisted of May Chu Chu assigning different factions of the crowd to each sing a single word of the chorus in Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.”

The following female artist was truly a unique and creative individual named Rishao who composes the most interesting atmospheric songs with a keyboard, sampler, and other surprising instruments that she would loop live on the spot. As it was my second time seeing her perform, an audience member asked me what Rishao’s sound is like while she was setting up. I started by saying, “it’s electronic,” and the other person asked “Like EDM?” “No, not quite.” I tried to find comparisons but couldn’t. “Have you heard of Crystal Castles? Wait, it’s not like that. You know Portishead? No, nevermind. It’s like Bjork. Actually, not really. Com Truise….what am I saying?” The truth is Rishao’s sound doesn’t give the impression that it’s influenced by anything. It seems like a pure artistic representation of one’s self. I can’t describe it any better than that. Rishao is Rishao and you have to experience it yourself to get what I’m talking about.

Minus Rishao, the other acts all followed with second sets. Futsū no Banana delivered a much more satisfying second set filled with post-rock guitar grooves, building tension on the drums, and overall a more complete sense of songwriting. There was even a metal track aptly titled, “Heavy.” Not to take anything away from the songs in the first set, this is just the time that they really shined. May Chu Chu took the stage again and performed a hilarious music bit teaching colors of the rainbow with a medley of iconic pop culture numbers involving lyrics that the use red, yellow, etc. I won’t spoil the act if you haven’t seen it, but I was thrilled for an excuse to chant a certain gothic metal band from the 90’s. Human Name and Masattack closed out the night by hypnotizing the crowd with more sounds from another realm and overall this show was a very enjoyable evening between friends and musicians.

Special thank you to Heinz Senn for keeping open such a wonderful space for artists and fans alike to frequent.

Head over to Human Name and Masattack's Facebook page for music and upcoming shows: https://www.facebook.com/humanname/?hc_location=ufi

You can catch Futsū no Banana on their free park tour at Sakae Plaza, Shimozono Park, Shirakawa Park, Tsurumai Park, and Meijo Park on December 7th. Don't miss May Chu Chu as well as some other local acts on December 20th at Bemondsey Arms. Make sure to listen to Rishao’s otherworldly music on Spotify at: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5TBc2GgVHNTiYKwBJ1LDmV

#musical smorgasborg #rishao #may chu chu #futsuu no banana #human name and masattack #live #indielectronica #plastic factory #imaike #Nagoya #Japan #local

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wendip-week · 7 years

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Blessing 2

OK, jumping the gun a little, but I’ll be busy tomorrow. This is a follow-up to “Blessing” and responds to the 5-1 prompt.

-William Easley

(August 31, 2017)

“Mabel,” Dipper asked early on the morning of their eighteenth birthday, “can I borrow your car?”

“Nope!” she chirped brightly. “But I’ll drive you to Wendy’s house!”

“Uh … I want to … ask Manly Dan something.”

“Yup! So, you might need a driver to get you to the hospital.” Mabel had gone retro—a new version of her rainbow sweater, and her hair band in a matching red—and they set out right after an early breakfast.

It was only seven o'clock, but Manly Dan was an early riser. “Git them trees before they’re full awake,” was his motto.

Gravity Falls was already stirring on that Thursday morning—a morning that threatened rain later, with low gray clouds. Mabel’s graduation present, a new Chevy Sonic (bright red, stick shift, a compromise because Mabel had requested a BMW M6, a wee bit pricey), took the curves well, though Dipper had to grip the edge of his seat from time to time.

“Off to college next month,” Mabel said. “So—you and Wendy are gonna room together, I guess?”

“Married couples do,” Dipper said between clenched teeth.

“Set the date?”

“Today.”

“No freakin’ way!”

“Yeah—squirrel! Squirrel! That was close. Just a civil ceremony, to make it legal. Then on September 15, we’ll have the church ceremony and you’ll be—”

“Maid of Honor! Yes!”

Wendy was waiting on the porch of the Corduroy house. She hugged both Mabel and Dipper. “Happy birthday, you guys! I now pronounce you technically adults. Mortgages and weight control forever!”

“Is, is your dad—?”

“In the living room, dude. Mabes, let me drive your car for a little ride with you?”

“Sure! Here’s the keys. Try not to hit any wildlife!”

Manly Dan glowered at him. “Well. Finally come around, did you?”

“Yes—yes, sir. I love Wendy, and she’s agreed to marry me. I—I—we—I—”

“Spit it out!”

Dipper gulped, feeling like a twelve-year-old again. “I want to ask your blessing on our marriage!”

For many seconds, Manly Dan just glared at him. “You think you’re man enough for my baby girl?”

Taking a deep breath, Dipper said, “If I’m not, I’ll die trying to be.”

Manly Dan cracked his knuckles. “Here’s the deal. Let’s put you to the test. Six, in fact. You fail ‘em, you can’t marry my daughter. You pass three, I’ll give my OK.”

Dipper clenched his jaw. “You’re ten times stronger than I am, and I know the kind of test you’ll put me to. Let’s say if I pass one, you’ll give us your blessing.”

“One. OK. I hope you know what you’re up against.”

“I think I’ll find out.”

The two trees were of identical girth. Manly Dan said “Ready, set, go!”

Their axes flew. Dipper had learned a little about tree chopping from Wendy—but Dan’s muscles and expertise had deep roots. Chips flew from his tree like sawdust from a buzz saw. When he yelled, “Timber!” and his tree crashed to the floor of the forest, Dipper had cut maybe a tenth of the way into the trunk of his own tree.

“One down,” Dan said with a fierce grin. “I’ll finish that one for ya. We don’t have all day.”

Dipper had seen Wendy do this a dozen times—loop the belt around the trunk, walk yourself up, quickly relocate the belt, repeat. Tree climbing, easy-peasy.

He got up five feet, lost two while repositioning the belt. Up ten, lost two more. Up fifteen—

“Two down!” Dan yelled from the crown of the tree. “You aint’ doin’ so well, sonny boy!”

“Let’s do something I’m good at,” Dipper suggested.

“Like what?”

“Math.”

Dan grinned. “How many board feet of timber are in that first tree I cut? We’ll measure it and calculate.”

Maybe if Dipper had ever heard of the term “board feet” he might have stood a chance. As it was—

“I got 2500,” Dan said. “Halfway through, and you ain’t come up a winner yet. You want to check my figures?”

“No, I’m sure you’re right,” Dipper said with a sigh.

“Three to go, son. You want to go through with this?”

“Sir,” Dipper said, “I’ll see it out. But if I fail every single one and you don’t give us your blessing—you know we’re still going to be married.”

“That so?”

“It’s so.”

They drove to the lake, to the place where back in July the lumbermen had thrown their get-together. In the pen a waterlogged, well, log, still floated. “Log rollin’,” Dan said. “I know you seen us do this. First one to fall in the water loses.”

For the first time that morning, Dipper gave Dan a run for his money. His track experience had given him speed and agility, and they were as important as sheer bulk and strength.

Forward, reverse, canny stop, leap, faster, slower—the log revolved in the water as the two struggled to stay on it.

And then something went wrong. Dipper’s foot slipped on the slimy log. Dan reached down and plucked him out of the water.

“Down to two, boy.”

At least Dan lent Dipper some of his son’s old clothes, though Dipper did not feel at home, really, in flannel shirt and overalls. Next was—the hatchet toss.

Dan had a target set up out back. “My baby girl,” he said, “can get five in the circle every time. Let me show you how.”

It was almost like a juggling trick. Dan held four hatchets in his left hand, one in his right, and onetwothreefourfive he threw, shifted another, threw again, and all five were in the air practically simultaneously. With solid-sounding thwacks! they embedded themselves in the wood and stuck there quivering.

Dipper … didn’t have the knack. The very first one hit handle-first and bounced off. In the end, he managed to get one hatchet to stick, and it was outside the circle.

“I got my doubts about you,” Dan said. “One chance left.”

“Next?” Dipper asked grimly.

Dan grinned at him. “Arm wrasslin’.”

“So …” Wendy said suspiciously, “Dad let you win?”

“Not exactly,” Dipper said. “We sat down at the table, got into position—he had to sit way back because his arms are so much longer—and when he said, ‘I’ll count to three, and then we go,’ I interrupted his count. I said, 'Sir, I just want you to know why I think I’m man enough. When I was thirteen years old, I slept with Wendy.’”

Wendy and Mabel both gasped.

Dipper shrugged. “He was so shocked that I think he was paralyzed for a second. That was when I slammed his fist down on the table and then, real quickly, explained that we just fell asleep watching TV on the floor in the Shack that New Year’s, and nothing happened.”

“And—you’re not a ghost, are you?” Mabel asked. “He didn’t kill you?”

“No. He laughed. He clapped me on the shoulder so hard I think I have a mild sprain. He said, 'That’s what I was waiting for, boy! I know you got the Pines smarts. Listen, I want me some good strong, smart grandkids from you and my daughter. You get to work on that soon.’”

Wendy blushed. “That’s my dad!”

“But,” Dipper said, “he also told me he was just funning with me. He was going to give us his blessing anyway.”

“Well-p,” Mabel said, “that’s one down. Now for Mom and Dad.”

“Two down,” Wendy said.

“Say what?” Mabel asked.

Dipper chuckled. “We’ll tell you,” he said, “when you’re older.”

#wendip #5+1 #Wendy Corduroy #Dipper Pines #Gravity Falls #WenDipWeek #fanfic #older!Wendip #submission #5plus1

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crusherthedoctor · 7 years

Text

Sonic & Tails: Beyond the Stars - Prologue

Prologue: All Is As It Seems...?

"...zzz..."

"Sonic."

"...zzz...zzz..."

"Sonic..."

"Zzz... zzz... zzz..."

"Hey. Sonic."

"Urgh... what?"

"We're nearly here."

"Oh! Great!"

Awakening from his deep slumber... on the wing of the Tornado... Sonic the Hedgehog slowly opened his eyes and wiped them, and when he could see more clearly, he was dazzled by what he saw.

The sea below their flight was just as faintly green as it was blue, making for a shimmering spectacle of colour. But what was up ahead, what the ocean surrounded, was even greater: An island of truly impressive size and scope. Far larger than South, Westside, and possibly even Angel Island. All sorts of sights and geography could be seen to the naked eye even from afar. And though you couldn't tell by looking at it from the side, if you looked at it from above, you would notice it's shape was perfectly circular, like a smooth gemstone.

This island, known to the world at large as Viridonia, was where Sonic and his best friend Tails were planning to take a well-needed vacation. Saving the world is hard work, and after all the trials these two have faced, you couldn't say they didn't deserve it. But is it possible that malicious intentions could come along to make a mess of their intended vacation time...?

Well... we'll get to that when we get to that.

"Looks stunning, doesn't it?" Sonic asked out loud, with a massive grin on his face.

"It sure does," answered Tails with a smile, as he took in the pleasant view. "I've heard great things about this place, but seeing it is another story. I can't even begin to think of where to start with somewhere so big!"

"We have all the time in the world for that, so what's the rush?" He glanced at the island once again, this time with a more thoughtful expression. "I just hope there's no trouble from Eggman this time around. We never get a break from him, do we?"

"Actually," Tails pointed out with a raised finger. "You told me there was no Eggman in those books that were lent to you. Well, technically there was a guy who looked like Eggman in the first one, but..."

"Alright, don't get technical with me," Sonic poked his tongue out in light jest. He then motioned towards the ground. "Okay Tails, we're getting real close, let's find a spot to land."

"Right away," the fox obeyed, before adding "And uh... don't worry, I made sure to install the landing gear this time."

"Oh. Nice."

------

They landed on an empty stretch of sand by the sea, having made sure they wouldn't land in a place that would cause too much interference. The little beach was peppered with turquoise rocks that looked and shined like real gems, and the sand itself was more white than it was yellow. Despite being by the sea, the town nearby had a very modern, yet elegant appearance. As Tails spent a little more time fiddling around with the Tornado, Sonic wasted no time in admiring the setting.

"Heh heh... just look at all this," Sonic said to himself as he marveled at the environment, hands on his hips. He was definitely liking the look of his vacation spot. "So much to see, so much to do. And it's just me and Tails."

"~Soniiiiiic!~"

"And... Amy?"

Sonic turned to his right to find none other than Amy Rose, who was currently sprinting over to him with a big grin. Her younger friend, Cream, was tagging along behind her.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Amy beamed. Her tail was unashamedly wagging away in excitement.

"Oh uh, hey Amy..." Sonic muttered out of surprise. Not disappointment, or annoyance, just surprise. "Didn't know you'd be here... why ARE you here?"

"Isn't it obvious? We wanted to go on a vacation of our own! And we just HAD to come here when we read all about it." She looked over to Cream, who simply nodded. "We haven't seen much of the place yet, but there's no hurry, right?"

Sonic looked over at Cream, as if he was expecting something from her.

"She's telling the truth, Mr. Sonic," the rabbit assured.

"Okay, good."

"Huh? What do you mean?" The pink hedgehog frowned as she crossed her arms. "You didn't think I just followed you here like some creepy weirdo, did you?"

"NO. No. Of course not. I'm sure you wouldn’t do that... not intentionally."

"Good! We didn't know you would be here, but what a great turn of events that you are! Maybe we can discover the Rainbow Paradise together... and find the perfect spot for the two of us, hmm?" She winked playfully, complete with a little spin.

"...Maybe. Maybe. We'll see," Sonic said in a very neutral manner, although he couldn't help but smirk at his friend's ever present determination. As he walked off to see how Tails was doing, Amy turned and noticed that Cream looked uncomfortable despite the lack of any apparent danger.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Amy asked out of concern. "You still feeling a little anxious?"

The rabbit just nodded silently. Her hands were mildly fidgeting.

"Well, that's okay, you know." She put her hand on Cream's shoulder. "But your mother wouldn't have let you come with me if she felt it would be a bad idea... although then again... she didn't mind you taking on evil monsters... or evil robots..." She shook her head and hoped her friend didn't hear that part. "This is meant to be a good time for both of us, Cream. It's why I brought you along, after all."

"I know, and I appreciate that very much, Amy," the girl thanked her politely. "Maybe I could have a little look around... but I won't go too far away from you, okay?"

"I know you won't," Amy smiled.

Meanwhile, Sonic was busy pondering to himself. "Rainbow Paradise... Rainbow Paradise... never heard of it. Sounds made up. You ever heard of it, Tails?"

"Heard of what?" asked the fox as he was in the middle of reading the guidebook he had about Viridonia's sights and spots.

"The Rainbow Paradise."

"Nope, new to me. Sounds made up."

"Yeah, I thought that too."

"You said that too."

"Hey now, you better not be poking fun at my habit to babble again." The Blue Blur raised an eyebrow jokingly.

"My bad. But you do the same thing with me when I do that."

"Yeah, that's true."

And they both had a hearty laugh together.

------

ADVENTURE FIELD: Lime Shores

Welcome to the first hub of the game. There are quite a few hubs in the game, but for obvious reasons this is the only one you can play around in for the time being. Things might be very humble and not particularly intense so far, but fear not, that'll all change soon enough. This doesn't count as a spoiler, because it should be blatantly obvious that something's gonna happen, otherwise there wouldn’t be a story. You can probably guess who will be responsible for it too. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Lime Shores covers both the town and the beach it's next to. As mentioned before, the beach has plenty of rocks that might as well be gemstones from the way they look and shine, and the sand is very light in colour. The town on the other hand is very reminiscent of England. More specifically, Birmingham, Solihull, and Stratford-upon-Avon. A perfect blend of old and modern architecture all around, and a very humble yet proud atmosphere all around. (And classy lamp posts everywhere!)

Right now, you can't really do too much aside from talking with the locals. Said locals will be all too eager to tell you such interesting facts like:

"Oh my god! You're Sonic the Hedgehog!"

"I can't believe Sonic the Hedgehog is here!"

"SONIC! SONIC! ...I don't know who you are, but everyone else seems to be excited, so I should be too! SONIC! SONIC!"

Yeah, they're all very hyped up about the hero showing up in their area. Maybe they'll be a little more helpful and informative later on once they've calmed down.

So what to do for the time being? Head over to the beach where Tails is, and you'll discover that for whatever reason - maybe he read the script ahead of time - he's set up a Virtual Reality training system, not unlike the one he used with Emerl all those years ago. Talk to him, and he'll ask if you want to work on your moves for a bit. Don't be fooled by this setup. Unlike most tutorials within the story, you're NOT forced to do it if you don't want to. If you say No, the story will go on ahead, and you won't have missed out on anything. No worries. No tedium. No problem!

But for the purpose of this... hypothetical guide, let's pretend that you said Yes so that we can go over the tutorial anyway. Don't worry. It's not long.

------

ZONE 0: Light Speed Simulation

Note that when you start, you're given the option to pick between Sonic or Tails. Like in Sonic Rush Adventure, you can pick between characters whenever you want for each act or boss. Very convenient.

This one-act zone takes the form of a neon grid in a pitch black area. Most of the grid is blue, but certain parts of the architecture - such as loops, and crates for you to destroy - are green in order to help you recognise them more clearly. There's even some pools of water, but because this is just a simulation, you never run out of air for this one. (Of course, you are helpfully reminded that you won't be so lucky when it's time to face real water.) Amusingly enough though, the infamous countdown still ticks away in this area, but when it reaches zero... nothing happens, and your character remains completely dumbfounded for a second.

This tutorial does not require you to go through certain motions in a specific order. Nor does anyone tell you what to do. This is nothing more than one big playground for you to get your teeth into at your own leisure. There's no end to the zone either, it only ends when you choose to quit.

The controls of Sonic and Tails are for the most part identical to their Sonic Adventure incarnations. But there are a few key differences:

• Sonic is a good deal faster than Tails, even though the latter is still legitimately fast in his own right.

• Tails is able to keep flying for a longer period of time compared to how long he could fly in Sonic Adventure.

• Sonic keeps his ability to Parkour from Sonic Lost World, in addition to his ability to wall jump from various 3D games. Although in this case, the latter takes a page from Super Mario 64, in that the wall jump is only activated when you actually jump against a wall, as opposed to just randomly locking onto the wall after a homing attack.

• Like in the 2D games, Tails is able to swim in water, but his swimming speed is a little faster in this game, more reminiscent of the underwater charging in Spyro 2 and 3, aka the best 3D swimming mechanics that have ever set foot on this earth. But Tails still needs air bubbles like Sonic, so keep that in mind if you’re too deep to swim to the surface.

• Due to there being no Adventure-esque upgrades in this game, Tails’ Tail Spin attack reaches a middle ground here, in that he can spin infinitely for a select period of time before stopping. But don’t worry, the tired out period doesn’t last for a long time, so there won’t be any annoying situations like enemies hitting you repeatedly whilst you’re unable to react.

When you feel you've had enough of fooling around here, proceed to quit at the pause menu, and the story will continue immediately.

------

In an effort to get herself acquainted with where she'll be staying for the next few days, Cream had wandered into a nearby forest, accompanied by her loyal pet, Cheese. She took her time looking around, making sure she didn't get too lost in the place. The forest reminded her very heavily of the one she had went through a long time ago with Amy and her other friend, Big. Various fruits of peculiar size could be seen on the trees, and even though it was clearly daytime, fireflies could be seen lighting the place up. The young rabbit was impressed with the scene, an innocent smile having planted itself on her face the whole time.

"It's so pretty, isn't it Cheese?" The Chao nodded. "Maybe it was a little silly of me to get tense. It's just a new experience for us, you know? I wonder if Amy would like to see this... Maybe Mr. Sonic would like it too?"

"Like he would care what YOU think!"

"Huh?"

Right on cue, a small gang appeared on the scene, and it was without a doubt the most stereotypical gang of hoodlums you had ever seen. They were all roughly the same height, and they looked to be within a similar age group as Sonic. There were four of these blatant wrong'uns in total: a panther, a lime gecko, a grey rat, and a light blue falcon. The panther was wearing a black tuxedo, the gecko was wearing a purple zoot suit, the rat a brown trenchcoat, and the falcon a white fedora.

They looked incredibly goofy, but they were still intimidating enough in the eyes of young Cream.

"This is Sonic the Hedgehog you're talking about!" the panther said incredulously. "The world famous hedgehog! He doesn't have time for little brats like you!"

"Yeah!" The falcon shouted in agreement, flapping his wings.

"What...What do you mean?" Cream asked, with a hint of upset.

"He means..." the gecko started, in a slightly indecipherable accent. "You are... lacking in importance... for someone like... the hedgehog."

"Yeah!" The falcon agreed again, flapping his wings again too.

"That's not true..." Cream muttered fearfully, as she slowly took a few steps back. As if by instinct, she covered Cheese with her hands to protect him. "Mr. Sonic cares about all of his friends..."

"Yessss! For publicity!" The rat cackled in a completely over-the-top manner, complete with clasped fingers. "You're a blip on the radar to him! And so is everyone else! People like him only care about themsssselves!"

"Yeah!" Once more from the falcon, complete with the flapping of his wings. It became abundantly clear that the falcon had absolutely nothing to add to this already ridiculous discussion.

"Why are you guys saying this? None of that is true! Mr. Sonic does care!" The poor rabbit was getting into a panic.

"Because it's true!" The panther took a step closer to Cream. "Anyone with a brain can see what a world-renowned superstar truly thinks of weak, helpless, useless little girls like you..."

Cream looked like she was ready to cry, even as her grip on Cheese grew tighter. She only just got here, and already she was having a scary time. She took another step back, but the panther took another step forward. Though Cream could have very easily taken care of these guys like nobody’s business through the awesome power of her pet Chao, she was too distraught by their slander to consider the thought. But just when the rest of them started taking a few steps forward themselves, as if to overwhelm the rabbit all the more, a brand new voice emerged out of nowhere. A low yet feminine one.

"You guys stink."

The four members immediately looked around in surprise at the new voice that had joined the conversation. They searched and glanced for where the voice came from, and their expressions indicated a sense of familiarity. After a few unsuccessful moments of searching out the source, the source decided to reveal itself instead.

Emerging from the shadows was a female figure, her fur a gentle light green, and her eyes a cool brown. She appeared to be older than anyone in the gang. She was wearing a light tank top, trousers, a pair of knee-high boots that were completely flat at the heels, a pair of gloves that reached up to her elbows, a headscarf atop her head, and a bandana scarf covering the lower half of her face. With the exception of her brown trousers, all of her clothes were blue, three different shades used in total.

It wasn't immediately obvious at first glance, but you could tell from her lengthy tail, and her equally lengthy ponytail, that the young woman was meant to be a horse. You could also tell from the look of dread on the gang's face that they've seen this person before. But what caught Cream's attention the most was the way the woman was walking over to them. It was very... slow. Deliberate. Almost meticulous, even. She didn't understand why the woman was walking like that, but before she could think more about it, the gang was already talking to her. The latter simply stood there, calmly, with one hand on her hip.

"Uh, hey there!" The panther swaggered about in an obvious attempt to save face. "How ya doing? We were just giving the kid a warm welcome, we thought you'd like to join us?"

"No thanks. I don't greet people by making them doubt themselves. Least of all young children." She held her nose high as a sign of disapproval, not that you could see it due to her bandana obscuring it. "This is the most pathetic thing I've seen out of you yet. You lot are becoming parodies of yourselves by the day. What reason do you have for spending your time putting down this girl?"

"Well... you see..." the gecko reasoned, his eyes darting left and right. "It was... the boss... He wanted to... give our regards... to the newcomers."

"By threatening them."

The rat grinned sheepishly as he cowered away. "Some people have a rocky exterior?"

"Haven't heard that justification before." Her right hand held up her left elbow as she rested her head on her left hand. Her eyes indicated a sense of fatigue. "Don't bother with the excuses. I'm going to ensure that none of you ruffians cause a disturbance for our visitors. This is not up for debate. And that guy you speak so highly of? He does care about his friends, inside and out. What he doesn't care for is people who spend their time causing trouble and making a complete imbecile out of themselves." She sarcastically waved a finger at the group. "Kinda like you guys, right?"

"Yeah!" The falcon shouted yet again, to which the other three members glared at him. The falcon just shrugged.

"Ha, a bit of common sense from one of you at least." The woman made a fluttery shooing gesture. "Now away with you, please. It's rude to pester visitors like a bad smell."

Without a single argument, all four members of the gang bolted out of the forest like their lives depended on it. The woman stood there for a few seconds with a stone-cold stare, making sure they were definitely out of the picture. All the while, Cream wondered to herself why the gang had been rendered so easily skittish when the woman had made no indication from either her tone or her body language that she was going to attack them.

The horse turned to her right to face the rabbit. As she walked up to her, Cream still felt nervous and intimidated, something that the horse sensed right away. So, very slowly and carefully, she knelt down so that she was equal to Cream's level of height, and after a few further seconds of examining the girl, the woman lowered her bandana to reveal the rest of her face. Despite the blocky facial structure you would expect for a horse, the face of this one was instead a lot rounder and softer.

"You okay there?" asked the horse in a comforting tone.

"I... think so, yeah," the rabbit replied shyly. "I'm sorry if I caused a lot of trouble. I could have gotten Cheese to handle it, but it didn’t occur to me. But thank you for defending me, Miss... Miss..."

"Lutrudis," the woman answered for her. "The name's Lutrudis. And you didn't cause any bother at all. Those guys have had a history of doing nonsense like that. They like to fool around with everyone for reasons I don't quite understand. I'm just glad I arrived in time before things got out of hand." She took Cream's hand and covered it gently with her own, indicating to Cream that she had no reason to feel afraid of this person. "Are your friends a fair distance away from here?"

"No, they aren't. They were at the town the last time I saw them." Cream looked left and right, with a worried expression. "But I think I've gotten lost in this forest after all. I didn't mean to go too far away... Oh, I should have stayed with Amy..."

"I can take you back to your friends if you want," Lutrudis offered.

"Would that be okay?" Cream asked. "Because I don't want to waste your time..."

"You wouldn't be wasting my time, sweetie." She smiled warmly. "I've got little better to do anyway. Your friends wouldn't want anything to happen to you, right? And neither would I."

Cream looked at Cheese, who in turn glanced at Lutrudis, as if he were silently coming to his own conclusions on whether she could be trusted. He nodded, and the girl felt at ease. "Okay... If you’re sure that would be alright, Miss Lutrudis."

"You don't need to be so formal with me, Cream," the woman assured, still smiling. "Just Lutrudis will do." She slowly raised herself back up, every bit as careful as she was when kneeling down. And as she did this, Cream had a question to ask.

"How do you know my name? We've never met before... And you've never met Mr. Sonic before, have you? So how do you know about him?"

"Well, you guys are heroes, aren't you? Of course I know about you all. Doesn't take long for the word of heroics to spread." She held Cream's hand, and they began to walk ahead. As they walked, Cream felt more relaxed around the horse, as did Cheese. But not long later, another question popped up in the rabbit's mind.

"Miss Lutrudis?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't mean this in a bad way, but... why are you so careful with your movement? The way you walk, and crouch, and..."

"Heh, so you did notice it then." Lutrudis lightly chuckled as she looked down at Cream. She looked as though she wanted to add something, but the words weren't quite reaching her mouth. Eventually, she returned to looking ahead.

"I'll explain when we get back. I can demonstrate it more that way."

"Okay then." Cream then proceeded to beam brightly. "My friends are really nice, you know. I'm sure you'll like them! And I think they’ll like you too!"

Lutrudis simply chuckled once more.

------

NEXT TIME: The game properly begins! And the first zone ain't your typical Green Hill... but not your typical City Escape either...

#Sonic & Tails: Beyond the Stars #Crusher's Fanfiction #Sonic the Hedgehog

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little-miss-carol-stott · 5 years

Text

Doctor Who/Phillip K. Dick Adaptation Part 1: Make The Moon My Home

So a few months ago I decided to start adapting Philip K. Dick’s Ubik, but as a Doctor Who episode, and then expanding from there. I hope to make about ten parts altogether, but I’ll see how it goes. I am about a quarter of the way through part 2, so that should be up in a few weeks to a few months, depending on school and work, etc. Enjoy.

NOTE: Desk with an upper-case 'D' is the device, and desk with a lower-case 'd' is the usual meaning of the word.

EXT. - RIVER SONG'S HOUSE; GARDEN

River and the Doctor are sitting outside in a small suburban garden on a sunny day. It is covered with a variety of plants, along with a small table and chairs. Both the Doctor and River are smoking cigarettes. The Doctor is also drinking a cup of coffee, River a glass of red wine. There is also a small bowl of potato chips and a plate with a sliced cake on it on the table.

RIVER Thin air?

DOCTOR Yup.

RIVER A corpse? Just like that? Gone?

DOCTOR Yup.

RIVER Fuck off!

DOCTOR If it's of any consolation, I am just as confused as you are.

RIVER So tell me the story. What happened?

DOCTOR I already told you.

RIVER From the very beginning. Context and all.

INT. - TARDIS

DOCTOR (VO) Well, I was in my TARDIS, and I got a strange reading.

Something starts bleeping on the console. The Doctor goes over to the source of the noise and looks at it, confused.

DOCTOR (VO) And so I followed it.

EXT. - RIVER SONG'S HOUSE; GARDEN

RIVER Very you. No surprises there. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Anyway, continue.

EXT. - SCUNTHORPE; TERRACES

The TARDIS materializes and the Doctor steps out. She looks rather bemused, but wanders off.

DOCTOR (VO) Anyway, I tracked it to this county fair in Scunthorpe in the early twenty-first century. Twenty-thirty, I'd say.

EXT. - SCUNTHORPE; COUNTY FAIR

A field with a number of stalls, with people buying various items from it. The Doctor goes up to one selling various cakes and the like, and has a realisation.

DOCTOR (VO)(Cont'd) And I saw this stall with cakes and brownies and shit, and went up to it. Noticed a microwave. And I've just gotten a new console, so I just put it up to that.

We see the Doctor buying a few brownies and a slice of cake, and chatting to the saleswoman.

DOCTOR (VO)(Cont'd) Plus, microwaves fuck with my sonic.

EXT. - RIVER SONG'S HOUSE; GARDEN

RIVER So what has this got to do with the dead body?

DOCTOR Well, the level of the alert in the TARDIS did seem a bit high for just a microwave.

EXT. - SCUNTHORPE; HIGH STREET

We see the Doctor walking around the middle of Scunthorpe, scanning the odd building.

DOCTOR (VO)(Cont'd) So I decided to have a little nosey around, but found nothing too special.

EXT. - SCUNTHORPE; GARAGES

A small back street, with closed garages either side. We see the Doctor gleefully walking down the street, eating a slice of cake.

DOCTOR (VO)(Cont'd) But then, as I was walking through some garages back to my TARDIS, I smelled something off.

She wrinkles her forehead in confusion, looks up, and sniffs.

DOCTOR (VO)(Cont'd) Like rotting meat.

She walks further down the street, eventually covering her mouth from the smell.

DOCTOR (VO)(Cont'd) And I got to this one that smelled so bad I just had to open it.

She sonics a garage door and lifts it.

EXT. - RIVER SONG'S HOUSE; GARDEN

RIVER And you found this vanishing dead body? Are you sure it was a body? A human body?

DOCTOR All I got was where it teleported off to. Whatever it was--

INT. - SCUNTHORPE; GARAGE

We see the Doctor slowly walking towards the body, with her hand over her mouth.

DOCTOR (VO)(Cont'd) It was certainly off.

The body is shrouded in smoke, and then disappears in a flash of light.

Opening credits.

INT. - LONDON; LECTURE HALL

Commodore Travers (Harvey Keitel?) is standing on a clear podium in a futuristic lecture hall, facing a large, seated audience.

TRAVERS Friends, this is clean-up time and we're discounting all out silent, electric Ubiks by this much money.

Travers points to a screen, and a slide comes up, with several facts and figures.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Yes, we're throwing away the bluebook. And remember; every Ubik on our lot has been used only as directed.

We turn to see The Master in a large tank, with a metal cap on her head, floating. Applause.

INT. - MOONBASE; TRAVER'S OFFICES.

A small beige office with no windows, and nothing too exciting, apart from a plant in the corner of the room, and a cheap metal desk with an old PC on top, and Travers sitting behind it. Joseph (Peter Wight?), the chief security guard knocks on the ajar door.

JOSEPH Commodore? Sorry to bother you.

TRAVERS What? I have rather enough work to do as it is. All those fire alarms are usually just glitches. You do realise that you don't have to report them to me every time, don't you?

JOSEPH No, it's not that. Let me show you.

Joseph turns on the video screen on the other side of the room.

JOSEPH (Cont'd) We have this news from one of our inertials.

TRAVERS Let me look.

Travers turns and faces a large screen behind him, while Joseph fiddles with the remote.

JOSEPH Our Ms Dorn reported it; as you may recall, she had followed him to Green River, Utah, where -

TRAVERS (sleepy) Who? I can't keep in mind at all times which inertials are following what telepath or precognicient.

He smooths down his grey hair.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Skip the rest and tell me which of Hollis' people is missing now.

JOSEPH S. Dole Melipone.

TRAVERS What? Melipone's gone? You're shitting me!

JOSEPH I shit you not. Edie Dorn and two other inertials followed him to a motel named the Bonds of Erotic Polymorphic Experience.

TRAVERS (Scoffs) I'm sorry, come again?

Joseph laughs nervously, and takes a sharp intake of breath.

JOSEPH It's a subsurface structure catering to businessmen and their hookers who don't want to be entertained. Edie and her colleagues didn't think he was active, but just to be on the safe side we had one of our own surveillance agents, Mrs. G. G. Anderson go in and track him. Anderson found a found a scramble pattern surrounding all of Melipone's activity, so she couldn't do anything; he therefore went back to Topeka, Kansas, where she's currently scouting out a new possibility.

Travers lights a cigarette, and is clearly now more awake and attentive.

TRAVERS You're sure it was Melipone? By what I've heard, nobody seems to know what he looks like; he must use a different physiognomic template every month. What about his field?

JOSEPH We asked Sandra Archer to go in there and run tests on the magnitude and minitude of the field being generated there at the Bonds of Erotic Polymorphic Experience Motel. Archer says it registered, at its height, 68.2 units of telepathic aura, which only Melipone, among all the known telepaths, can produce. So that's where we stuck Melipone's ident-flag on the map. And now he - it - is gone.

TRAVERS Did you look on the floor? Behind the map?

JOSEPH It's gone electronically. The man it represents is no longer on Earth or, as far as we can make out, on a colony world either.

TRAVERS I'll consult my wife.

JOSEPH It's the middle of the night. The moratoriums are closed now.

TRAVERS (With a grimacing smile) Not in Switzerland. Goodnight.

INT. - MORATORIUM LOUNGE

A late middle-aged man (David Sedaris?) in nearly opaque round glasses, a tabby-fur blazer, and pointed yellow shoes; Herbert Schoenheit von Vogelsang; sits down behind a clerical desk at the beginning of his shift. A young woman (Zoë Sugg?) walks up to the desk with a small piece of paper in his hand.

HERB Yes, ma'am, I'll take your stub personally.

ZOË It's an elderly lady, about eighty, very small and wizened. My grandmother.

HERB Your code is 3054039-B. I will only be a moment.

Herb walks off into one of the corridors.

INT. - RIVER SONG'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM

River is playing with the front camera of her smartphone with the Doctor.

RIVER So if you just press that...

She presses a button...

RIVER (Cont'd) And you open your mouth...

The Doctor opens her mouth. We now see things from the camera's perspective - River has turned on the rainbow-mouth filter, and a cartoon rainbow is coming out of the Doctor's mouth. The Doctor lets out a quick scream, cups her mouth with her hands, and along with River, starts to laugh hysterically.

RIVER (Cont'd) And look at this one!

River changes the filter.

DOCTOR Awwh. Hon, before I forget, that dead body story.

RIVER Oh, must we?

DOCTOR The whole reason I told you that is because I need you to do me a favor.

The Doctor starts writing on a piece of paper.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) I need you to go over to the Time Lords.

RIVER You're asking me to go all the way to Gallifrey?

DOCTOR No. A bunch of time lords set up camp in an office in Shoreditch. I need you to go over there and ask them to keep an eye on me. I traced that body to a prudence organization, which is an unbelievably high risk. If anything goes wrong, which it probably will, I need them to step in.

RIVER Are you sure you want to do this?

DOCTOR I need to.

The Doctor hands River the piece of paper.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) This is the address. As far as I know, a few of my mates are there, so they'll know who I am.

RIVER All Time Lords know who YOU are, Doctor.

The Doctor turns to leave.

RIVER (Cont'd) Doctor?

DOCTOR Yes?

RIVER Stay safe. You know how risky this is.

DOCTOR I'll try.

The Doctor runs up to River and hugs her.

INT. - MORATORIUM CORRIDOR

Herb finds a tank with a withered elderly lady (Helen Mirren?) - it's her. He opens a panel to the right of the tank. The small screen says '15 days'.

HERB Shit.

Herb turns on his portable radio.

HERB (Cont'd) Dave, patient 3054039-B. She only has 15 days left of her half-life, should I give permission for visitors?

DAVE (OC) Yeah, sure. Go ahead. She hasn't had any yet, no?

HERB No, this one's the first. Her grandchild.

DAVE (OC) Took their time. Have you checked her cephalic?

HERB About to do that now. See you around, okay?

DAVE (OC) Yeah, see ya.

Herb takes out his smartphone and puts it up against the glass of the tank. He then taps a certain point of the screen several times and in quick succession. From the speaker of the smartphone, a faint voice;

GRANDMOTHER ...and then Tillie sprained her ankle and we never thought it'd heal; she was so foolish about it, wanting to start walking immediately...

The smartphone lights up green. Herb takes his it off of the tank, closes the app, and puts it back in his pocket.

HERB Good, good.

INT. - MORATORIUM LOUNGE

Herb enters, and walks over to Zoë.

HERB (Cont'd) She's ready

INT. - MORATORIUM CORRIDOR

Herb and Zoe walk up to the Grandmother's tank.

ZOË You checked her out, did you?

HERB Personally. Functioning perfectly.

Herb flicks a series of switches, then steps back.

HERB (Cont'd) Happy Resurrection Day, Sir. Do you know how to work the tank?

ZOË Yes, thank you.

Herbert walks off. Zoe seats herself in front of the tank.

ZOË (Cont'd) Flora, dear, can you hear me? I think I can hear you already. Flora?

INT. - MORATORIUM CORRIDOR 2

The TARDIS lands in the corridor. The Doctor exits the TARDIS, and looks around. She then walks down the corridor, and sees the tanks, full of a water-like jelly, all with different bodies inside them. We get to the end of the corridor, and see Missy, unconscious, floating.

DOCTOR Oh, I am so sorry.

The Doctor puts her hand on the tank, as if to comfort her. She tears up.

INT. - MORATORIUM LOUNGE

The Doctor covertly enters the moratorium, and takes a seat in the waiting area. She then notices Herbert behind the desk, and strides up to him.

DOCTOR Hi I - what does this place do, exactly?

Herbert looks at her, confused.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) Stupid question, I know. Just want to be absolutely clear.

HERB No question is a stupid question, madam. We revive the... dearly departed, to the point where you can talk to them, in a state of half-life. A way for friends and relatives to say goodbye, if they haven't already had the chance.

DOCTOR Oh, I see. Thank you. I believe an old friend of mine is here. She's lived a while, so might be a little frail. I wonder if you could take a moment to check her over. I'd really appreciate it. Maybe even allowing me to talk to her.

HERB Certainly. What's her name?

DOCTOR Missy. Or the Master. Could be down as either.

HERB I'll be with you in a moment. Take a seat.

DOCTOR May I come with you, if it isn't too much trouble?

HERB Of course.

DOCTOR I'll try not to get in the way.

INT. - MORATORIUM CORRIDOR 2

Herbert and The Doctor walk to the end of the corridor. He checks the half-life - 50 days.

HERB Came just in time. Less than two months of her half-life to go.

He gets out the smartphone, and repeats the earlier action. We start to hear Missy's voice.

MASTER ...you know as well as I do that this man does not fear death. I want him to suffer a much worse punishment. Look, my skill and cunning has brought about this war which will make you the masters of the galaxy. Leave him with me, and let him see the result of that war. Let him see the galaxy in ruins. Let him see the planet Earth, that he loves so much, in ruins, then exterminate him...

As with last time, the smartphone lights up green. The Doctor chuckles, while Herbert has gone sheet white. She puts her hands on his shoulders to comfort him.

DOCTOR Draconia. Years ago, that. Surprised she remembers it at all. I can only barely. That's all in the past now, I guess. She has a good heart, really. May not seem like it, I know. Where did you find her?

HERB She was found on the doomed Mondas colony ship. Brought in by someone only known to us as Nardole.

DOCTOR Well of course it was.

HERB Nice chap. Said that he would have sent her to Testimony, but here at the Beloved Brethren Moratorium seemed more - fitting.

DOCTOR May I have a few minutes?

HERB Of course. Take a seat. Just put these headphones on -

He points to a pair of large headphones hanging from a small metal rod. The Doctor sits.

HERB (Cont'd) And speak into this microphone, so she can hear you.

He then points to a small microphone sticking out from under the window of the tank, reaching to the mouth of the now seated Doctor.

DOCTOR Thank you.

SALLY (OC) Mr. Von Vogelsang; sorry to break in to your meditation, but a customer wishes you to assist him in revving up his relative.

HERB I'm almost done dealing with one right now, Sally. Who is it?

SALLY (OC) The customer is Commodore Travers, all the way here from the North American Confederation.

HERB Thank you Sally. I'll be with you soon. (To Doctor) I'll leave you two alone. Happy Resurrection Day, Ma'am.

DOCTOR Thank you. Happy Resurrection Day to you too. (Aside to herself, unheard to Herb) Whatever that means.

She puts the headphones on, and prepares to speak.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) Missy, it's me. The Doctor. (A lump in her throat)

Missy's voice slowly fades in.

MASTER ...once the great empires destroy each other, I ask... Doctor?

A teary-eyed smile comes across the Doctor's face.

INT. - MORATORIUM LOUNGE

Herb enters to Travers standing, waiting in the lounge.

TRAVERS How is Ella? Ready to be cranked up for a talk? She's only twenty; she ought to be in better shape than you or me.

Travers chuckles, and then places his hand on Herb's back, and guides him to the corridor.

INT. - MORATORIUM CORRIDOR

HERB You have not been here for a while, Commodore.

TRAVERS This is a moment of importance, Mr. von Vogelsang. We, my associates and myself, are in a line of business that surpasses all rational understanding. I'm not at liberty to make disclosures at this time, but we consider matters at present to be ominous but not however hopeless. Despair is not indicated - not by any means. Where's Ella?

Travers halts, and glances rapidly about.

HERB I'll bring her from the corridors to the consultation lounge for you. Do you have your numbered claim-check, Commodore Travers?

TRAVERS God, no, I lost it months ago. But you know who my wife is; you can find her. Ella Runciter, about twenty. Brown hair and eyes.

He looks around him, impatiently.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Where did you put the lounge? It used to be located where I could find it.

Herb gets on his radio.

HERB Sally, show the Commodore to the consultation lounge. We're in Corridor 20, near tank 398.

SALLY (OC) I'm 'round the corner. I'll be there in a sec.

A short while later, a young American girl (Selena Gomez?), in square glasses, a sweater and slacks, with a brunette bob, comes round the corner.

SALLY (Cont'd) Commodore, how very nice to meet you. With me.

TRAVERS Thank you.

SALLY Just over here, sir.

Travers looks into the lounge.

TRAVERS It's gotten full. I can't talk to Ella in there.

Travers walks up to Herbert, and again puts his hand on his shoulder.

TRAVERS Isn't there a more private sanctum for confidential communications? What I have to discuss with Ella my wife is not a matter which we at Runciter Associates are ready at this time to reveal to the world

HERB We could do it in these corridors, and if that isn't confidential enough, we can possibly bring her to our offices. Sally?

SALLY With me, sir.

She looks wearily at Herb as she leads Travers away.

HERB (Mutters) Don't!

Sally puts her hands up while she scoffs.

INT. - MORATORIUM CORRIDOR 2

The Doctor is still sitting in front of the Master's tank.

DOCTOR So where exactly are we?

MASTER Switzerland. Near a sweet little village about two hours outside of Geneva. Gruyères, I think it's called.

DOCTOR Oh, yes, I remember reading about this place. It looks more innovative than I first thought. Although, there is one thing that I haven't quite worked out about this place. Yes, moratorium, converting brain waves into speech, humans kept in a state of half-life, all expected from this time period. My question is this - how did they manage to keep a Time Lord in half-life? Especially with this technology, by the looks of it, it's only capable of supporting human life.

MASTER It keeps me going. They give me a nice little shock in one of my hearts every so often.

DOCTOR But what about the other heart? Must be uncomfortable, and that's understatement.

MASTER Yes, it is rather claustrophobic. But the Wi-Fi's good. Keeps my mind off of it all. I'm actually binge watching Call The Midwife at the moment. You'd like it, Ms Optimist.

DOCTOR Watched every season. Loved it. Hold on - if I just...

MASTER You've worked it out, haven't you?

DOCTOR (together with the Master) Reverse the polarity of the neutron flow.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) Exactly.

She sonics a panel on the side of the tank, and then one of the edges. The front of the tank opens like a door. The Master exits the tank via a clear forcefield. The Master stumbles a little, and they gently take hold of each other by the shoulders.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) Easy, now. There we go. Good as new.

MASTER Alarms?

DOCTOR Bitch - you really think I am that stupid?

MASTER Yes. Anyway, what now?

DOCTOR I want to have a look around this place...

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; ZÜRICH

A dark, wooden room with an old desk opposite to a pair of large double door. Light seeps in through some dusty windows. In the corner of the room sits a vintage TV, which Travers passively watches from his desk.

TELEVISION (OC) The best way to ask for beer is to sing out Ubik. Made from select hops, choice water, slow-aged for perfect flavour, Ubik is the nation's number-one choice in beer. Made only in Cleveland.

Armed security guards dressed fully in dark armour open the doors, and hold them open while Herbert wheels in a tank, similar to the ones seen in the corridor earlier. Ella Runciter is in this one, a thin twenty-year-old woman with long black hair, and black mascara and lipstick, and dark clothing. Travers grumbles as he fiddles around with the earphones.

TRAVERS Isn't there are a more comfortable or more natural version of this?

HERB No, that is the only model we have.

Travers glares at Herbert.

HERB (Cont'd) It seems everything is set up. Are you familiar with the system, Commodore?

TRAVERS Yes, of course I am. Now, I'd rather you'd leave. All of what me and Ella are about to discuss is confidential.

HERB Of course, sir.

Herbert leaves the room. Travers now speaks into the microphone.

TRAVERS Hi, Ella.

ELLA (OC) Oh, hello, Glen. What - how much time has passed?

TRAVERS Couple years.

ELLA (OC) Tell me what's going on.

TRAVERS Aw, Christ, everything's going to pieces, the whole organization. That's why I'm here; you wanted to be brought into major policy-planning decisions, and God knows we need that now, a new policy, or anyhow a revamping of our scout structure.

ELLA (OC) I was dreaming, I saw a smoky red light, a horrible light. And yet I kept moving toward it. I couldn't stop.

TRAVERS Yeah, the Bardo Thödol, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, tells about that. You remember reading that; the doctors made you read it when you were - well - dying.

ELLA (OC) The red light is bad, isn't it?

TRAVERS Yeah, you want to avoid it.

Travers clears his throat.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Listen, Ella, we've got problems. You feel up to hearing about it? I mean, I don't want to overtax you or anything; just say if you're too tired or if there's something else you want to discuss.

ELLA (OC) It's so weird. I think I've been dreaming all this time, since you last talked to me. Is it really two years? Do you know, Glen, what I think? I think that other people who are around me - we seem to be progressively growing together. A lot of my dreams aren't about me at all. Sometimes I'm a man and sometimes I'm a little boy; sometimes I'm an old fat woman with varicose veins...and I'm in places I've never seen, doing things that make no sense.

TRAVERS Well, like they say, you're heading for a new womb to be born out of. And that smoky red light - that's a bad womb; you don't want to go that way. That's a humiliating, low sort of womb. You're probably anticipating your next life, or whatever it is.

He puts his head in his hands and groans.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Oh, I feel foolish talking like that. You should know - normally I have no theological conventions, but this whole system has made theologians out of all of us. Hey, let me tell you what's happened, what made me come here and bother you. S. Dole Melipone has dropped out of sight.

ELLA (OC) Who or what is an S. Dole Melipone? There can't be any such thing.

Ella laughs warmly. Travers' spine trembles. He hasn't heard that laugh in over ten years.

TRAVERS Maybe you've forgotten.

ELLA (OC) I haven't forgotten; I wouldn't forget an S. Dole Melipone. Is it like a hobbit?

TRAVERS It's Raymond Hollis' top telepath. We've has at least one inertial sticking close to him ever since G. G. Ashwood first scouted him, a year and a half ago. We never lose Melipone; we can't afford to. Melipone can, when necessary, generate twice the psychic field of any other Hollis employee. And Melipone is only one of a whole string of Hollis people who've disappeared - anyhow, disappeared as far as we're concerned. As far as all prudence organizations in the Society can make out. So I thought, Hell, I'll go ask Ella what's up and what we should do. Like you specified in your will - remember?

ELLA (OC) I remember. Step up your ads on TV. Warn people. Tell them...

TRAVERS This bores you.

ELLA (OC) No. I - are they all telepaths?

TRAVERS Telepaths and precognicients mostly. They're nowhere on Earth; I know that. We've got a dozen inactive inertials with nothing to do because the Psychics they've been nullifying aren't around, and what worries me even more, a lot more, is that requests for anti-psychics have dropped - which you would expect, given that so many Psychics are missing. But I know they're on one single project; I mean, I believe. Anyhow, I'm sure of it; somebody's hired the bunch of them, but only Hollis knows who it is or where it is. Or that's what it's all about.

Silence. Travers leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair.

ELLA (OC) Tell me what this Melipone person is like.

TRAVERS A screwball.

ELLA (OC) Working for money? Or out of conviction? I always feel wary about that, when they have that psychic mystique, that sense of purpose and cosmic identity. Like that awful Sarapis had; remember him?

TRAVERS Sarapis isn't around anymore. Hollis allegedly bumped him off because he connived to set up his own outfit in competition with Hollis. One of his precogs tipped Hollis off. Melipone is much tougher on us than Sarapis was. When he's hot it takes three inertials to balance his field, and there's no profit in that; we collect - or did collect - the same fee we get with one inertial. Because the Society has a rate schedule now which we're bound by. As near as we can tell, Melipone is a money-Psychic. Does that make you feel better? Is that less bad? Ella?

Silence

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Hey, hello there, Ella, can you hear me? Is something wrong?

A young boy's voice (Cameron Boyce?) comes on the line.

JORY (OC) My name is Jory.

Travers starts to panic.

TRAVERS Get off the line, I was talking to my wife Ella; where'd you come from?

JORY (OC) I am Jory, and no one talks to me. I'd like to visit with you for a while, mister, if that's okay with you. What's your name?

TRAVERS I want my wife, Mrs Ella Runciter; I paid to talk to her, and that's who I want to talk to, not you.

JORY (OC) I know Mrs Runciter, she talks to me, but it isn't the same as somebody like you talking to me, somebody in the world. Mrs Runciter is here where we are; it doesn't count because she doesn't know any more than we do. What year is it, mister? Did they send that big ship to Proxima? I'm very interested in that; maybe you can tell me. And if you want, I can tell Mrs Rincoter later on. Okay?

Travers removes the pair of headphones, and runs out of his office.

INT. - CORRIDOR

Travers eventually finds Herbert, stops running, and starts to pant.

HERB Is something the matter, Commodore? Can I assist you?

TRAVERS I've got something coming in over the wire, instead of Ella. Damn you guys and your shoddy business practices; this shouldn't happen, and what does it mean?

Herbert starts to walk toward Travers' offices, and Travers follows.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) If I ran my business this way...

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; ZÜRICH

HERB Did the individual identify himself?

TRAVERS Yeah, he called himself Jory

Herbert frowns.

HERB That would be Jory Miller. I believe he's located next to your wife. In the bin.

TRAVERS But I can see it's Ella!

HERB After prolonged proximity, there is occasionally a mutual osmosis, a suffusion between the mentalities of half-lifers. Jory Miller's cephalic activity is particularly good; your wife's is not. That makes for an unfortunately one-way passage of passage of protophasons.

TRAVERS Can you correct it? Get that thing out of my wife's mind and get her back - that's your job!

HERB If this condition persists your money will be returned to you.

TRAVERS Who cares about the money? Fuck the money! If you don't get this Jory person off the line, I'll sue you!

Herbert places his smartphone against the glass of the tank and put the pair of headphones on.

HERB (To Jory) Phase out Jory, that's a good boy. (To Travers) Jory passed at fifteen; that's why he has so much vitality. Actually this has happened before; Jory has shown up several times where he shouldn't be. (To Jory) This is very unfair of you, Jory; Mr Runciter has come a long way to talk to his wife. Don't dim her signal, Jory; that's not nice (Pause) I know her signal is weak.

TRAVERS What'd he say? Will he get out of there and let me talk to Ella?

HERB There is nothing Jory can do. Think of two AM radio transmitters, one close by but limited to only five-hundred watts of operating power. Then another far off, but on the same or nearly the same frequency, and utilizing five-thousand watts. When night comes -

TRAVERS And night has come. At least for Ella.

HERB When we return her to the bin, we won't install her near Jory again. In fact, if you're agreeable as to paying the somewhat larger monthly fee, we can place her in a high-grade isolated chamber with walls coated and reinforced with Teflon-26 so as to inhibit any hetero-psychic infusion - from Jory or anyone else.

TRAVERS Isn't it too late?

HERB She may return. Once Jory phases out. Plus anyone else who may have gotten into her because of her weakened state. She's accessible to almost anyone. She may not like being isolated, Commodore. We keep the containers - the caskets, as they're called by the lay public - close together for a reason. Wandering through one another's mind those in half-life the only -

TRAVERS Put her in solitary right now. Better she be isolated than not exist at all.

HERB She exists, she merely can't contact you. There's a difference.

TRAVERS A metaphysical difference which means nothing to me.

HERB I will put her in isolation, but I think you're right; it's too late. Jory has permeated her permanently, to some extent at least. I'm sorry.

TRAVERS So am I.

INT. - MORATORIUM CORRIDOR 2

MASTER I also want to see how in hell they could support a Time Lord.

An alarm starts to sound.

MASTER (Cont'd) I thought you disabled the alarm.

DOCTOR So did I!

Two armed guards run in and point guns at the Doctor and Master.

GUARD 1 Oi! You! Hands in the air!

GUARD 2 Which one of you is the half-life?

The first guard is holding a small round device in his free hand.

DOCTOR What the fuck are you two on about?

GUARD 2 Language!

GUARD 1 It's the ugly bitch in the victorian dress.

MASTER How dare you!

GUARD 1 Should I?

GUARD 2 Best thing to do.

The first guard shoots the Master point-blank. He then speaks into his radio.

GUARD 1 All right, call off the alarm. All's been dealt with.

The second guard point his gun at the Doctor.

GUARD 2 Did you let the halfer out?

The Doctor is speechless.

GUARD 1 Nah, she's too pretty to do something like that!

The guards walk away, joking and laughing. The Doctor cries out in pain.

DOCTOR Shit, shit, shit. (Shouting) Someone call an ambulance! Please!

MASTER Here we go again.

DOCTOR Regenerate, come on, how hard can it be?

The Master attempts to get up again, but is clearly struggling to even sit up straight.

MASTER It isn't a matter of refusal. No, not this time.

She coughs and splutters.

DOCTOR Focus on yourself. Try and stay calm.

The Master laughs.

MASTER Like you.

DOCTOR You're gonna be alright.

Both the Doctor and the Master start to cry.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) I know, I know.

Sandra (Reese Blutstein?) walks by and stops.

SANDRA Oh, god...

DOCTOR Call an ambulance, please.

Sandra takes out her phone and dials.

SANDRA I have someone here. I think a half-life. Must have gotten out of her tank.

The Master looks at the Doctor, and smiles, while Sandra is still on the phone.

MASTER Hey, you.

She starts to sob.

DOCTOR Hey.

MASTER Sorry for everything I must've put you through.

She starts to hyperventilate.

MASTER (Cont'd) Don't blame you. For hating me. If Susan or Jenny had brought someone like me home I'd be well disappointed.

DOCTOR That's ridiculous. You're my best friend and I couldn't be more glad. And you care, you care and that's all that matters.

MASTER I do care.

DOCTOR Love you. You're going to be fine.

SANDRA You will. Hang in there.

MASTER You know what this reminds me of?

DOCTOR What?

MASTER San Francisco.

DOCTOR Wait - I thought that was New York!

MASTER No, no, that was when the Monk put that bull on the top floor of the Chrysler building. What a fun day.

DOCTOR You can talk. I was hungover for a week. But yes, it was fun. When were you thinking of?

MASTER 1999. New Years Eve. You got shot by that gang.

DOCTOR Got to know the bloke they meant to kill. Nice guy. Made a killer burger.

MASTER I used the body of some financial executive. Poor human. Might try that again. See what I can do

DOCTOR I don't think that'll work a third time, sweetie.

MASTER Used up my nine lives. In all honesty, if I was to lose one of us, I'm glad it was me.

DOCTOR Don't say that. You're not gonna leave me. Not now.

MASTER Not now, not ever. I've never seen you cry like this since our rabbit died. You can put me in the garden.

DOCTOR You're good. How can you joke?

MASTER Yeah, you're right. I am good.

She gasps for air, then sighs. We then see her eyes roll back into her head, foams at the mouth, skin goes pale, and her eyelids flutter and close. Glowing regeneration energy slowly seeps out of her open mouth.

SANDRA (To operator) I think she's gone.

DOCTOR No. No. No, no, no, no, no!

INT. - SANDRA'S APARTMENT - KITCHEN

Late at night. A small and pathetic kitchen, only with the essentials -fridge, countertop, and stove, with a small table in the middle of it all, with a few old chairs surrounding it. Sandra wearily walks into her kitchen in a pinstripe pyjama top and underwear, and sits at her kitchen table. She is clearly hungover. Sandra then opens up a holographic screen on her desk - known as a 'Desk', and brings up a video.

FIONA BRUCE What could Stanton Mick, the reclusive, interplanetary known speculator and financer, be up to? This is what the business community asked itself as rumour leaked out of Whitehall that the dashing but peculiar industrial magnate, who once offered to build free of charge a fleet by which Israel could colonize and make fertile otherwise desert areas of Mars, had asked for and may possibly receive a staggering and unprecedented loan of -

Sandra leans forward and starts to fiddle with her Desk.

SANDRA Stupid Desk. This isn't gossip. Today I want to hear about which TV star is sleeping with whose drug-addicted wife.

While Sandra was talking, another young woman (Chloë Grace Moretz?) walks in. She is around the same age as Sandra, and in similar clothing. Except she is taller, and has long, flowing, blonde hair. She is clearly lethargic, but still has the energy to warmly wrap her arms around Sandra.

ALICE Sandy, hon, what are you doing up? It's three in the fucking morning.

SANDRA Had a bit too much to drink with the boys. Can't get a wink.

ALICE Why can't you take a soporific?

SANDRA I'm out.

Alice sits down next to her.

ALICE Didn't you just get a new pack?

SANDRA They're out due to 'my own oral greed', as Dr. Daniels puts it.

ALICE But out nevertheless. And by law you can't get more until Tuesday.

SANDRA Tuesday. Two more long days.

DESK (OC) Setting filter for - 'Low gossip'

LORRAINE (OC) Accosted by a cutpurse in a fancy New New York after-hours mole the other night -

Sandra lies down and puts her head on Alice's lap.

LORRAINE (OC)(Cont'd) Lola Herzberg-Wright bounced a swift right jab off the chops of the do-badder which sent him reeling on to the table where King Egon Groat of Sweden and an unidentified woman with astonishingly large -

The Desk lights up green, with a message saying 'DOOR ALERT'. Underneath, three options - 'Accept', 'Talk', and 'Decline'. Sandra groans and presses 'Talk'. The screen goes from green to a glowing white dot, the size of a tennis ball.

SANDRA Who is it?

ANDERSON (OC)(Middle-aged, female) I know it's early, Sandra, but I just hit town. Major Anderson here; I've got a firm prospect that I snared in Topeka - I read this one as magnificent and I want your confirmation before I lay the pitch in Travers' lap. Anyhow, he's in Switzerland.

SANDRA I don't have my test equipment in the apartment.

ANDERSON (OC) I'll shoot over to the shop and pick it up for you.

ALICE It's not at the shop. It's in my car. I didn't get around to unloading it last night.

Sandra shoots Alice a dirty look

ALICE (Cont'd) Can't it wait until after nine?

ANDERSON (OC) Dearie, this is a sweet number, a walking symposium of miracles that'll curl the needles of your gauges and, in addition, give new life to the firm, which it badly needs. And furthermore -

SANDRA It's an anti what? Telepath?

ANDERSON (OC) I'll lay it on you right out in front, I don't know. Listen, Sandra. This is confidential, this particular one. I can't stand down here at the gate gum-flapping away out loud; somebody might overhear. In fact I'm already picking up the thoughts of some nosey shit in a ground level apartment; he -

SANDRA Okay. Once started, your relentless monologues can't be aborted anyhow; I might as well listen. Give me five minutes to get dressed and find out if I've got any coffee in the apartment anywhere. (to Alice) Let her in while I'm making myself up.

ALICE If I must.

SANDRA (Sarcastically) Yes. You must. (Laughing) Love you.

Sandra kisses Alice on the cheek and walks off. Alice fiddles around with the screen, and Anderson walks in soon afterwards. Anderson (Pam St. Clement?) is an average-height woman, in her late sixties or early seventies, with white hair, a pink velvet shirt-dress, large earrings, and heavy mascara and eyeshadow. She sits down at the kitchen table, and turns to Alice.

ANDERSON You'll like her. Although, as it happens, she's the daughter of a -

ALICE Her? Our apartment's unfit to be seen; we're behind in our payments to the clean-up robots - they haven't been inside here in two weeks -

ANDERSON I'll ask her if she cares.

ALICE Don't ask her. I - we care. I'll ask Sandy to test her out down at the shop, on Traver's time.

ANDERSON I checked her thought processes. She doesn't care.

Sandra walks into the kitchen in a black and white jumpsuit.

SANDRA I've heard what you two were talking about from the next room. How old is this woman? She's likely to be only a child, knowing you lot.

ALICE I heard a lot of new inertials are children. Makes sense.

ANDERSON How old are you dear? You're nineteen, Sandra. And you, Alice you're - twenty.

ALICE Well, that shot that.

SANDRA Give me until nine.

ANDERSON Too late.

SANDRA Okay, eight. (Pause and a sigh.) If I work fast, and if I miss both coffee and breakfast, I could probably effect a tidy apartment by then.

ALICE At least it seems worth trying.

SANDRA Do we have a vacuum cleaner?

Alice gets up and checks the cupboard.

ALICE Uh - no.

SANDRA A broom?

ALICE No, again.

Anderson smirks.

ANDERSON Oh, dear. I'll give you some privacy.

She then stands up and leaves the apartment.

ALICE Well, that's me off to bed, if that's okay with you.

SANDRA Sure, go ahead. See you tomorrow.

Alice goes back into the bedroom. Sandra opens her desk again, and pulls up a keypad. She dials in the number 214, and a scruffy looking man (Woody Harrelson?) soon appears.

SANDRA Listen, I'm now in a position to divert some of my funds in the direction of settling my bill vis-à-vis your clean-up robots. I'd like them up here right now to go over my apartment. I'll pay the full and entire bill when they're finished.

MAINTENANCE DEP. Ma'am, you'll pay your full and entire bill before they start.

SANDRA I'll charge my overdue bill against my Triangular Magic Key. That will transfer the obligation out of your jurisdiction; on your books it'll show as total restitution.

MAINTENANCE DEP. Plus fines, plus penalties.

SANDRA I'll charge those against my Heart-Shaped -

MAINTENANCE DEP. Ms Archer, the Ferris and Brockman Retail Credit Auditing and Analysis Agency has published a special flyer on you. Our receptor slot received it yesterday and it remains fresh in our minds. Since July you've dropped from a triple G status creditwise to quadruple G. Our department - in fact this entire conapt building - is now programmed against an extension of services and/or credit to such pathetic anomalies such as yourself, ma'am. Regarding you, everything must be handled on a basic-cash subfloor. In fact, you'll be on a basic-cash subfloor for the rest of your life. In fact -

Sandra hangs up. We then cut to her running around her apartment, putting away unnecessary items such as dirty dishes and old magazines. We then cut to her sitting on a windowsill with a cup of coffee, as the sun is rising. Out of the window is the skyline of a city; skyscrapers, office buildings, and the like. Alice comes into the room in a green dress.

ALICE Hey, you.

SANDRA Hey. (Pause) I might get a second job; part-time. Just for a while. I need to catch up on some bills.

ALICE Honey, no. I barely get to see you with you at that job with Travers, with an extra job -

SANDRA Alice, it's only for a couple of weeks. Just to raise my credit score.

ALICE That maintenance shit is a cheat.

SANDRA Tell me something new.

There's a pause. Alice puts her arms around Sandra, and rests her chin on Sandra's shoulder.

ALICE Look, honey, I need to get to work. It's the day of the kids' assembly at the school, so I can't take the day off. You going to work?

Sandra shakes her head.

SANDRA Travers gave me the day off to deal with Anderson's inertial. I'll do some job searching after if I have time.

ALICE Okay. I'll see you this evening, then?

SANDRA Yeah. See you. Bye.

ALICE Bye.

Alice kisses Sandra on the cheek, and leaves. Anderson and the girl (Ariana Grande?) enters soon afterwards.

ANDERSON This is Pat. Never mind her last name. Pat, this is the company's highly skilled, first-line electrical type tester.

PATRICIA Is it you that's electrical? Or your tests?

SANDRA We trade off. Sit down, have a cup of actual coffee.

Patricia sits down at the kitchen table.

PATRICIA Such luxury. How can you afford real coffee, Ms Archer?

ANDERSON Sandra gets paid a hell of a lot. The firm couldn't operate without her.

Anderson takes a cigarette out of Sandra's dispenser.

SANDRA Put it back. I'm almost out and I used up my last green ration stamp on the coffee.

ANDERSON I paid for the door.

Anderson offers one to Patricia. She refuses.

ANDERSON (Cont'd) Sandra puts on an act, pay no attention. Like look how she keeps her place. Shows she's creative, all geniuses live like this. Where's your test equipment, Sandra? We're wasting time.

SANDRA You're dressed oddly.

PATRICIA I maintain the subsurface vidphones lines at the Topeka Kibbutz. Only women can hold jobs involving manual labor at that particular kibbutz.

SANDRA That inscription on your arm, that tattoo; is that Hebrew?

PATRICIA Latin.

Patricia gets up and looks around the apartment.

PATRICIA (Cont'd) I've never seen an apartment so cluttered with rubbish. Don't you have a mistress?

ANDERSON These electrical-expert types have no time for tarra-tiddle. Listen, Archer, this girl's parents work for Ray Hollis. Is they knew she was here they'd give her a frontal lobotomy.

SANDRA (To Patricia) They don't know you have a counter-talent?

Patricia shakes her head.

PATRICIA No. I didn't really understand it either until your scout sat me down in the kibbutz cafeteria and told me. Maybe it's true.

She shrugs.

PATRICIA (Cont'd) Maybe not. She said you could show me objective proof of it, with your testing battery.

SANDRA How would you feel if the tests show that you have it?

PATRICIA It seems so - negative. I don't do anything; I don't move objects or turn stones into bread or give birth without impregnation or reverse the illness process in sick people. Or read minds. Or look into the future - not even common talents like that. I just negate someone else's ability. It seems - stultifying.

SANDRA As a survival factor for the human race, it's as useful as the psychic factors. Especially for us norms.

With a sharpie, Sandra draws the following on the wooden table.

SANDRA (Cont'd) The anti-psychic factor is a natural restoration of ecological balance. An insect learns to fly, so another builds a web to trap him. Is that the same as no flight? Clams developed hard hard shells to protect them; therefore, birds learn to fly the clam up high in the air and drop him on a rock. In a sense, you're a life form preying on the psychics, and the psychics are life forms that prey on the norms. That makes you a friend of the so-called 'Norm class'. Balance, the full circle, predator and prey. It appears to be an eternal system; and, frankly, I can't see how it could be improved.

PATRICIA I might be considered a traitor.

SANDRA Does it bother you?

PATRICIA It bothers me that people will feel hostile toward me. But I guess you can't live very long without arousing hostility; you can't please everybody, because people want different things. Please one and you displease another.

SANDRA What is your anti-talent?

PATRICIA It's hard to explain.

ANDERSON Like I say, it's unique; I've never heard of it before.

SANDRA Which psychic talent does it contract?

PATRICIA Precognicient, I guess.

Patricia looks to Anderson, who still has a smirk of enthusiasm.

PATRICIA (Cont'd) Your scout Ms Anderson explained it to me. I knew I did something funny; I've always had these strange periods in my life, starting in my sixth year. I never told my parents, because I sensed that it would displease them.

SANDRA Are they precogs?

PATRICIA Yes.

SANDRA Yes, it would have displeased them. But if you used it around them even once - they would have known. Didn't they suspect? Didn't you interfere with their ability?

PATRICIA I - I think I did interfere but they didn't know it.

SANDRA Let me explain how the anti-precog generally functions.

She gets her sharpie out again.

SANDRA (Cont'd) Functions, in fact, in every case we know of. The precog sees a variety of futures, laid out side by side like cells in a beehive.

ANDERSON For him one has greater luminosity, and this he picks. Once he has picked it the anti-precog can do nothing.

SANDRA The anti-precog has to be present when the precog is in the process of deciding, not after. The anti-precog makes all futures seem equally real to the precog; he aborts all his talent to choose at all. A precog is instantly aware when an anti-precog is nearby because his entire relationship to the future is altered. In the case of telepaths a similar impairment -

Anderson sits down.

ANDERSON She goes back in time.

Sandra glares at Anderson, while Anderson savours the moment.

ANDERSON (Cont'd) Back in time, the precog affected by her still sees one predominant future; like I said, the one luminous possibility. And he chooses it, and he's right. But why is it right? Why is it luminous? Because this girl -

She shrugs in Patricia's direction.

ANDERSON (Cont'd) Pat controls the future; that one luminous possibility is luminous because she's gone into the past and changed the precog; he's affected without knowing it and his talent seems to work, whereas it really doesn't. So that's one advantage of her anti-talent over other anti-precog talents. The other - and greater - is that she can cancel out the precog's decision after he's made it. She can enter the situation later on, and this problem has always hung us up, as you know; if we didn't get in there from the start we couldn't do anything. In a way, we never could truly abort the precog ability as we've done with the others; right? Hasn't that been a weak link in our services?

SANDRA Interesting.

ANDERSON Hell - 'interesting'? This is the greatest anti-talent to emerge thus far!

PATRICIA (In a low voice, apologetically) I don't go back in time. I do something, but Ms Anderson has built it all up out of proportion to reality.

ANDERSON I can read your mind. I know you can change the past; you've done it.

PATRICIA I can change the past but I don't go into the past; I don't time-travel, as you want your tester to think.

SANDRA How do you change the past?

PATRICIA I think about it. One specific aspect of it, such as one incident, or something somebody said. Or a little thing that happened that I wish hadn't happened. The first time I did it, as a child -

Anderson sighs

ANDERSON When she was six years old, living in Detroit, with her parents of course, she broke a ceramic antique statue that her father treasured.

SANDRA Didn't your father foresee it, with his precog ability?

PATRICIA He foresaw it, and he punished me a week before I broke the statue. But he said it was inevitable; you know the precog talent. They can foresee but they can't change anything. Then after the statue did break - after I broke it, I should say - I brooded about it, and I thought about that week before it broke when I didn't get any dessert at dinner and had to go to bed before five p.m. I thought, Christ - or whatever a kid says - isn't there some way these unfortunate events can be averted?

ANDERSON Your father's precog ability didn't seem very spectacular to you, did it?

PATRICIA Not really, since he couldn't alter events; I still feel that way, a sort of contempt. I spent a month trying to will the damn statue back into one piece; in my mind I kept going back to before it broke, imagining what it had looked like ... which was awful. And then one morning when I got up - I even dreamed about it at night - there it stood. At it used to be.

Patricia leans towards Sandra.

PATRICIA (Cont'd) But neither of my parents noticed anything. It seemed perfectly normal to them that the statue was in one piece; they thought it had always been in one piece. I was the only one who remembered.

Sandra offers a cigarette to Patricia, who accepts it, and lights up.

SANDRA I'll go get my test equipment from the car.

Anderson tries to open the door.

HOUSE (OC) Five cents, please.

SANDRA (To Anderson) Pay the door.

ANDERSON What? But I found her, the bounty is mine. I spent almost ten days tracing the field to her; I -

SANDRA I can't test her with your field present, as you well know. Talent and anti-talent fields deform each other; if they didn't we wouldn't be in this line of business.

She leans out her hand waiting for change as Anderson gets to her feet.

SANDRA (Cont'd) And you can leave me a couple of nickles, too. So she and I can get out of here.

PATRICIA I have change in my purse.

SANDRA This is different.

She hands a nickel to Sandra, and the door opens.

ANDERSON I don't have any more nickles, I can't get out.

Sandra and Patricia turn around and look at Anderson. She sighs and storms out.

ANDERSON (Cont'd) You sure shot me down. Both of you. I discovered her. This is a cutthroat business when -

The door slams shut behind her.

PATRICIA When her enthusiasm goes, there isn't much left of her.

SANDRA She's okay. Anyhow, she did her part. Now -

PATRICIA Now it's your turn, so to speak. May I take off my boots?

SANDRA Sure.

PATRICIA A shower?

SANDRA A quarter. (Pause) It costs a quarter.

PATRICIA At the kibbutz everything is free.

Sandra is shocked.

SANDRA Free? That's not economically feasible. How can it operate on that basis? For more than a month?

PATRICIA Our salaries are paid in and we're credited with having done our job. The aggregate of our earnings underwrites the kibbutz as a whole. Actually, the Topeka Kibbutz has shown a profit for several years; we, as a group, are putting in more than we're taking out.

Her shirt is suddenly off, however we do not see her taking it off.

SANDRA Are you sure you want to do that? Take off your clothes, I mean?

PATRICIA You don't remember?

SANDRA Remember what?

PATRICIA My not taking off my clothes. In another present, you didn't like that very much, and so I eradicated that; hence this.

Patricia stands up.

SANDRA What did I do when you didn't take off your clothes? Refuse to test you?

PATRICIA You mumbled something about Ms Anderson having overrated my anti-talent.

SANDRA I don't work that way; I don't do that.

Patricia bends down and rummages through her blouse and hands Sandra a folded piece of paper.

PATRICIA Here. From the previous present; the one I abolished.

SANDRA Anti-psychic field generated - inadequate. Below standard throughout. No value against precog ratings now in existence.

We now see the sheet of paper - a stamp mark underneath the analysis saying 'DO NOT HIRE'. She refolds it and returns it to Patricia, who returns it to her blouse.

PATRICIA Do you need to test me? After seeing that?

SANDRA I have a regular procedure, six indices which -

PATRICIA You're a little, debt-stricken, ineffective bureaucrat who can't even scrape together enough coins to pay her door to let her out of her apartment.

SANDRA This is a bad spot right now. I'll be back on my feet financially any day now. I can get a loan. From the firm, if necessary.

She walks over to the coffee machine.

SANDRA (Cont'd) Cream? Sugar?

PATRICIA Cream.

Sandra tries to open the fridge.

HOUSE Ten cents, please. Five cents for opening my door; five cents for the cream.

SANDRA It isn't cream; it's plain milk. Just this one time, I swear to God I'll pay you back. Tonight.

PATRICIA Here.

She slides a dime across the table toward Sandra.

PATRICIA (Cont'd) At least you have your partner. You really have failed, haven't you? I knew it when Ms Anderson -

SANDRA It isn't always like this.

PATRICIA Do you want me to bail you out of your problems?

She puts her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

PATRICIA (Cont'd) You know I can. Sit down and write out your evaluation report on me. Forget the tests. My talent is unique anyway; you can't measure the field I produce - it's in the past and you're testing me in the present, which simply takes place as an automatic consequence. Do you agree?

SANDRA Let me see that evaluation sheet you have in your blouse. I want to look at it one more time. Before I decide.

Patricia brings Sandra the piece of paper, and Sandra sits down.

SANDRA (Cont'd) My writing, yes, it's true.

She returns the piece of paper, then takes a fresh piece of similar paper. Sandra then writes 'Has unbelievable power. Anti-psychic field unique in scope. Can probably negate any assembly of precogs imaginable'. She then writes two crosses underneath, and underlines both of them. Patricia is standing behind Sandra.

PATRICIA What do the two underlined crosses mean?

SANDRA Hire her. At whatever cost required.

PATRICIA Thank you.

Patricia picks up a bag, takes out a stuffed envelope, and hands it to Sandra.

PATRICIA (Cont'd) This will help you with expenses. I couldn't give it to you earlier, before you made your official evaluation of me. You would have cancelled very nearly everything and you would have gone to your grave thinking I had bribed you. Ultimately you would have even decided I had no counter-talent.

Patricia carries on undressing, while Sandra, without noticing Patricia, signs the paper. Patricia then makes her way to the bathroom.

PATRICIA (Cont'd) When can I move my things in here? I consider it mine as of now, since I've already paid you what must be virtually the entire month's rent.

SANDRA Anytime.

Patricia enters the bathroom. Sandra then quickly writes in the bottom right-hand corner of the page 'PTO', flips over the piece of paper, and writes in small writing 'Watch this person. She is a hazard to the firm. She is dangerous'. She then folds it up, puts the piece of paper in an envelope, and puts it in Patricia's bag.

HOUSE (OC) Fifty cents, please. Before turning on the water.

Patricia runs back into the kitchen and reaches fifty cents out of her purse, and then runs back to the bathroom. Afterwards, Sandra opens up her Desk, opens her contact list, selects Alice, and turns the volume down to 25%.

INT. - LIMOUSINE, NEW YORK CITY

Travers is sitting in a limousine, driving through a rainy New York City, with a small television playing in the background.

TELEVISION Wild new Ubik salad dressing, not Italian, not French, but an entirely new and different taste treat that's waking up the world. Wake up to Ubik and be wild! Safe when taken as directed.

Travers looks out of the rain splattered window.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK

The next day.

An office very similar to Travers' office in Zurich. In this office, however, there is a large flat screen television in the left hand corner of the room. A call comes in on the television, the call ID reading 'Public Relations'. Tamish (Turk Pipkin?)

TRAVERS Tamish - I've only just got back from Zürich. I conferred with Ella there.

TAMISH Very good, Commodore Travers. Look we -

A knock at the door.

TRAVERS Hold on. Come in.

A man (Rory Cochrane?) with stubble and black, stringy hair knocks on the door, and cautiosly enters - Charles Freck.

FRECK Commodore.

TRAVERS What do you want, Freck?

Freck itches his arms and what little beard he has.

FRECK Apologies, sir. I had no other choice but to bother you.

TRAVERS Okay, Freck, what is it?

FRECK A new client, Commodore. I think you should see her.

Travers gestures toward the television.

TRAVERS As soon as I'm off the phone.

He turns to the television.

TRAVERS (Cont'd)(to Tamish) How often do our ads run on prime-time TV planetwide? Still once every third hour?

TAMISH Not quite that, Commodore. Over the course of a full day, prudence ads apppear on an average of once every third hour per UHF channel, but the cost of prime time -

TRAVERS I want them to appear every hour. Ella thinks that would be better. (To Freck) Freck, sit down.

Freck does so.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) (To Freck) You know that recent Supreme Court ruling where one spouse can legally murder the other if they can prove that the other wouldn't under any circumstances give the first a divorce?

FRECK Yes, the so called -

TRAVERS I don't care what it's called. (To Tamish) What matters is that we have a TV ad made up on that already. (To Freck) How does that go? I'm trying to remember it.

FRECK There's this man, an ex-husband, being tried. First comes a shot of the jury, then the judge, then a pan-up on the prosecuting attorney cross-examining the ex-husband. He says 'It would seem, sir, that your wife -'

TRAVERS That's right.

TAMISH Is it not the assumption, however, that the missing Psychics are at work, as a group, for one of the large investment houses? Seeing as how this is probably so, perhaps we should stress one of our business-establishment comercials. Do you perhaps recall this one, Commodore? It shows a husband home from his job at the end of the day; he still is suited up. He seats himself wearily on the living room couch, next to his wife, starts to take off one of his gauntlets, then hunches over, frowns and says 'Gosh, Jill, I wish I knew what's been wrong with me lately. Sometimes, with greater frequency almost every day, the least little remark at the office makes me think that, well, somebody's reading my mind!'. Then she says, 'If you're worried about that, why don't we contact our nearest prudence organisation? They'll lease us an intertial at prices easy on our budget, and then you'll feel like your old self again!'. Then this great smile appears on his face and he says 'Why, this nagging feeling is already -'

FRECK Please, Commodore Travers.

TRAVERS (To Tamish) I'll talk to you later, Tamish. Anyhow, get hold of the networks and start our material on the hourbasis I outlined.

He hangs up the phone, and turns to Freck.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) I went all the way to Switzerland, and had Ella roused, to get that information, that advice.

Freck walks to the door, and pops his head outside.

FRECK (To Wright) Commodore Travers is free, Ms Wright.

Freck leaves, while a tall, blonde woman (Robin Wright?) in her mid-late forties enters.

TRAVERS Ah, Ms Wright. I can't give you too much time; maybe you should just get to the point. What's the problem?

WRIGHT We're having a little trouble with telepaths. We think so but we're not sure. We maintain a telepath of our own - one we know about and who's supposed to circulate among our employees. If he comes across any Psychics, telepaths or precogs of any kind, he's supposed to report to my principal. Late last week he made such a report. We have an evaluation, done by a private firm, on the capacities of the various prudence agencies. Yours is rated foremost.

TRAVERS I know that.

We see a folder labelled 'Evaluation' on Travers' desk.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) How many telepaths did your man pick up? More than one?

WRIGHT Two at least.

TRAVERS Possibly more?

WRIGHT Possibly.

TRAVERS Here is how we operate. First we measure the psychic field objectively, so we can tell what we're dealing with. That generally takes from one week to ten days, depending on -

WRIGHT My employer wants you to move in your intertials right away, without the time-consuming and expensive formality of making tests.

TRAVERS We wouldn't know how many inertials to bring in. Or what kind. Or where to station them. Defusing a psychic operation has to be done on a systematic basis; we can't wave a magic wand or spray toxic fumes into corners. We have to balance Hollis' people individual by individual, an anti-talent for every talent. If Hollis has gotten into your operation he's done it the same way; psychic by psychic. One gets into the personnel department, hires another; that person sets up a department or takes charge of a department and requisitions a couple more...sometimes it takes them months. We can't undo in twenty-four hours what they've constructed over a long period of time. Big-time psychic activity is like a mosaic; they can't afford to be impatient, and neither can we.

WRIGHT My employer is impatient.

TRAVERS I'll talk to him. Who is he and what's his his number?

WRIGHT You'll deal through me.

TRAVERS Maybe I won't deal at all. Why won't you tell me who you represent?

He presses a covert button on the bottom of his desk, and Nina (Jen Brister?) comes in through a rear door, nods to Travers, and then goes back in to the back room.

WRIGHT You're hidebound; all we are asking for is speed. And we're only asking for that because we have to have it. I can tell you this much; our operation which they've infested isn't on Earth. From the standpoint of potential yield, as well as from an investment standpoint, it's our primary project. My principal has put all his negotiable assets in to it. Nobody is supposed to know about it. The greatest shock to us, in finding telepaths on this site -

TRAVERS Excuse me.

Travers gets up, and walks to the office door.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) I'll find out how many people we have about the place who are available for use in this connection.

Travers exits, shutting the office door behind him.

INT. - NINA'S OFFICE

A modern office; modern pastel-coloured fabrics chairs, sofas and beanbags dotted around, with wooden coffee tables next to them, and with Apple Macs on top of the coffee tables. Nina is alone, sitting on one of the beanbags, working on one of the Macs. Travers enters, and wearily sits down on one of the chairs, with a heavy sigh.

TRAVERS Find out who she represents, and then find out how high they'll go.

NINA Sure thing. Anything else?

TRAVERS Reserve a place for us at a café or restaurant once you're done. A nice one.

NINA I recently went to a nice place on Lafayette Street.

TRAVERS Is it cheap?

NINA Compared to everything else in Manhattan, I'd say so.

TRAVERS Screaming babies?

NINA Not when I was there.

TRAVERS Great, give them a call.

He turns to a desk sticking out of the wall, with a coffee machine, mini milk cartons, sugar and sweetener sachets, a pot of ready-made coffee, teabags, porcelain mugs, and a kettle. He lazily points to it, and turns to Nina.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Do you mind?

NINA Sure, help yourself. You are my boss, mind.

TRAVERS That's true.

He boils the kettle, makes himself a coffee with milk and sugar. Travers then carries the cup over to a window, and sits on the windowsill. He looks out of the window at the New York skyline, and lets out a sigh.

EXT. - MONTAGUE STREET

Golden regeneration energy comes down from the sky, and gathers in to a translucent cobra on the outer wall of one of the apartments, and slips through one of the windows.

INT. - BEDROOM

A regular teenagers/young person's bedroom. A young woman (Lily Collins?) is lying on a bed, fast asleep. The translucent cobra slides across the wall, nearer and nearer to the girl. The girl's mouth is forced open, and the cobra goes through. As this happens, she starts seizing. After a few seconds, she calms down, and eventually sits up - her eyes are black. She looks to the side a little bit, and smirks. She is now the new Master.

EXT. - FRANKLIN STREET, EARLY EVENING

Travers and Wright are walking down Franklin Street. Travers is in a trenchcoat and fedora, and Wright is in a jumpsuit. Wright is also wearing a removable cast around his wrist.

TRAVERS Does it still hurt?

Wright nods.

WRIGHT It can't be that bad, though, as it hurt right away. If it is really bad, it doesn't hurt. The adrenaline, and all.

TRAVERS You should see my wife's cooking. That hurts right away.

WRIGHT I'll be sure to avoid it like the plague.

TRAVERS You do surprise me, Miss Wright.

WRIGHT Robin, please.

TRAVERS Robin, sorry. Usually you are too cautious. The Catholics know of only one way to settle their differences.

WRIGHT Times are difficult enough for them here, without you provoking further quarrels.

We see the Master, in her new body, looking at Travers and Wright, eventually following them. She is wearing a classic victorian night gown.

TRAVERS I? Oh, come, be fair. Paris hates our kind. It would do anything it can to provoke us.

WRIGHT You must control your temper, Travers. As Locke says, it is imperative that we keep the peace at this time.

TRAVERS Back to business, if telepaths have gotten in to our operation, then you have to face up to and accept the realization that the operation per se is no longer secret. Independent of any specific technical info they've picked up. So why not tell me what the project is?

Wright hesitates.

WRIGHT I don't know what the project is.

TRAVERS Or where it is?

WRIGHT (Shake of the head) No.

TRAVERS Do you know who your employer is?

WRIGHT I work for a subsidiary firm which he financially controls; I know who my imediate employer is - that's a Mr Shepard Howard - but I've never been told whom Mr Howard represents.

EXT. - LAFAYETTE STREET, EARLY EVENING

They turn on to Lafayette Street. Travers glances behind him, and the Master dashes in to the Canal Street (6) subway station. He brushes it off.

TRAVERS If we supply you with the inertials you need, will we know where they are being sent?

WRIGHT Probably not.

TRAVERS Suppose we never get them back.

WRIGHT Why wouldn't you get them back? After they've decontaminated our operation -

TRAVERS Hollis' men have been known to kill inertials sent out to negate them. It's my responsibility to see that my people are protected; I can't do that if I don't know where they are.

EXT. - BALTHAZAR RESTAURANT

Travers and Wright start to enter the restaurant. Wright enters, but Travers pauses outside, as Nina's voice comes over the earpiece.

NINA (OC) Travers? It's Nina.

TRAVERS Took your time. Sit rep?

NINA (OC) Miss Wright represents Stanton Mick. She is his confidential assisstant.

INT. - NINA'S OFFICE

Nina is sitting on one of the beanbags, sitting in front of a coffee table and a laptop, with a headset on her heat.

NINA (Cont'd) There is no one named Shepard Howard. The project under discussion exists primarily on Luna; it has to do with Techprise, Mick's research facilities, the controlling stock of which Miss Wright keeps her name.

EXT. - BALTHAZAR RESTAURANT

NINA (Cont'd)(OC) She does not know any technical details; no scientific evaluations or memos or progress reports are ever available to her by Mr Mick, and she resents this enormously. From Mick's staff, however, she has picked up a general idea of the nature of the project.

INT. - NINA'S OFFICE

NINA (Cont'd) Assuming that her second-hand knowledge is accurate, the Lunar project involves a radical, new, low-cost interstellar drive system, approaching the velocity of light, which could be leased to every moderately affluent political or ethnological group. Mick's idea seems to be that the drive system will make colonization feasible on a mass basic understructure.

EXT. - BALTHAZAR RESTAURANT

NINA (Cont'd)(OC) And hence no longer a monopoly of specific governments.

Nina clicks off. Travers enters the restaurant.

INT. - BALTHAZAR RESTAURANT

Travers enters and sits down across from Wright, who has already sat down. He pauses, in thought.

WRIGHT What are you thinking?

TRAVERS I'm wondering if you can afford our services. Since I have no test data to go on, I can only estimate how many inertials you'll need... but it may run as high as forty.

WRIGHT Forty? That's quite a few...

TRAVERS The more we make use of, the sooner we can get the job done. Since you're in a hurry, we'll move them all in at one time. If you are authorized to sign a work contract in the name of your employer, and you can come up with a retainer now, we could probably accomplish this within seventy-two hours.

INT. - NINA'S OFFICE

NINA (Speaking in to microphone) As owner of Techprise she is fully bonded. She can legally obligate her firm up to and including its total worth. Right now she is calculating how much this would be, if converted on today's market... (Pause) Several billion postcreds, she has decided. But she doesn't want to do this; she doesn't like the ides of committing herself to both a contract and a retainer.

INT. - BALTHAZAR RESTAURANT

NINA (Cont'd)(OC) She would prefer Mick's attorneys do that, even if it means several day's delay.

Pause. Travers looks uncomfortable.

NINA (Cont'd)(OC) She has an intuition that you know - or have guessed - whom she represents. And she's afraid you'll up your fee accordingly.

INT. - NINA'S OFFICE

NINA (Cont'd) Mick knows his reputation. He considers himself the world's greatest mark. So he negotiates in this manner: through someone and some firm as a front. On the other hand, they want as many inertials as they can get. And they're resigned to that being enormously expensive.

INT. - BALTHAZAR RESTAURANT

Travers takes out a pad of paper and a sharpie, and starts writing.

TRAVERS Forty inertials. Let's see. Six times fifty times three. Times forty. I wonder who paid to put his employees in the middle of your project.

WRIGHT It really doesn't really matter, does it? What matters is that they're there.

TRAVERS Sometimes one never finds out. But as you say - it's the same as when ants find their way in to your kitchen. You don't ask why they're there; you just begin the job of getting them back out.

He finishes his calculations and breathes a sigh of despair. Wright also takes a look, and looks up in shock. She stands, up, ready to leave.

WRIGHT I'll - have to think it over. Do you know if there is a payphone near here? Where I can possibly call Mr Howard?

TRAVERS It's rare for any prudence organization to have that many inertials available at one time. If you wait, the situation will change. So if you want them you better act.

WRIGHT And you really think that it would take that many inertials?

TRAVERS Take a look at this.

He takes out an iPad, and Wright sits back down. Travers fiddles around with the iPad, and then hands it over to Wright.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) This shows the location of our inertials plus the inertials from other prudence organizations. In addition to that it shows - or tries to show - the location of all of Hollis' psychics. I know now where they are. I'll send this to you over the nets. You can stay here and meditate. There is a vidphone over there -

He points to a corner of the restaurant, and stands up.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Hopefully, no one will bother you. I'll be back in my office.

Travers makes his way out of the restaurant, and Wright makes her way to the vidphone.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK - OUTER OFFICE

Back in Traver's offices, Freck is sitting behind a curved mahogany desk. Across from the desk, there are a series of magazines on top of wooden coffee tables, next to leather chairs, and sitting in two of them is Patricia and a hungover Sandra. Patricia is dressed in a long black dress, and Sandra is in a loose-fitting tee shirt and dungarees, while holding a large cup of coffee. Travers enters, having just come back from his dinner with Wright.

TRAVERS Freck, type up a work contract specifying forty -

He notices Patricia and Sandra.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) I gather Anderson is back from Topeka.

SANDRA This is Patricia. Dunno her last name.

Travers sits next to Patricia.

TRAVERS Anti-what?

PATRICIA Anti-Ketogenesis.

TRAVERS What's that mean?

PATRICIA The prevention of ketosis as by the the administration of glucose.

TRAVERS (To Sandra) Explain.

SANDRA Give Travers your test sheet.

Patricia hands over the yellow A4 sheet to Travers, who duly reads it.

TRAVERS Amazing score. Is she really this good?

He glances at the back, and then up to Sandra.

SANDRA She's the best so far.

TRAVERS Come in to my office.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK

Travers enters his office, where the vidphone is ringing.

TRAVERS (To Sandra and Patricia) Sit down. Gimme a minute while I answer this.

He takes a seat behind his desk, and Sandra and Patricia sit across from him. Travers then presses a button on his desk, and Wright's face appears on the TV screen.

WRIGHT I phoned Mr Howard. He has now given me my instructions. Mr Howard would like the formal arrangments made right away.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK - OUTER OFFICE

Back in the waiting room, muffles voices bleeds from Travers' offices. We see the Master has already sat down on one of the leather seats, reading one of the magazines. The Doctor enters, and leans her elbows on Freck's desk.

DOCTOR (To Freck) Hi, can I make an appointemt with the manager here?

FRECK Travers?

DOCTOR Yes, thank you.

FRECK He'll be free in about an hour or so. Take a seat.

The Doctor sits down next to the Master, and starts reading a magazine. The Master turns to the Doctor, eyes still jet black. The Doctor looks up, and notices the Masters eyes. The Master puts her fingers up to the Doctor's temples. A small stream of regeneration energy flows from the Master's eyes to the Doctor's. The Master then presses her lips up against the Doctor.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK

WRIGHT So may we go ahead now? I've already acquainted you with the urgency, the time factor. (To Sandra and Patricia) Do you two mind waiting? My business with Travers is of a priority nature.

TRAVERS You'll have to wait, Wright.

WRIGHT I can tell you exactly, Commodore Travers, how many inertials we intend to take. Mr Howard feels he can make an adequate determination of our needs, of our problems.

TRAVERS How many?

WRIGHT Eleven.

TRAVERS I'll sign the contract in a little while. As soon as I'm free.

Travers hangs up.

TRAVERS (Cont'd)(To Sandra and Patricia) They'll never make it. With eleven. Or fifteen. Or twenty. Especially with S. Dole Melipone on the other side. This is, as I assumed, the potential trainee that Anderson scouted in Topeka? And you believe we should hire her? Both you and Anderson agree? Then we'll hire her, naturally. Nobody has managed to tell me yet, which of the psychic talents she counters.

SANDRA Freck says you flew to Zürich. What did Ella suggest?

TRAVERS More ads on TV. Every hour. (He speaks into a dictaphone) Draw up an agreement of employment between ourselves and a Jane Doe; specify the starting salary that we and the union agreed on last December; specify -

PATRICIA What is the starting salary?

TRAVERS I don't even know what you can do.

SANDRA It's precognicient. But in a different way.

TRAVERS (To Sandra) Is she ready to go to work? Or is this one we have to train and work with and wait for? We've got almost forty idle inertials and and we're hiring another; forty less, I suppose, eleven. Thirty idle employees, all drawing ful scale while they sit around with their thumbs in their thumbs in their noses. I don't know, Sandy; I really don't. Maybe we ought to fire our scouts. Anyway, I think I've found the rest if Hollis' psychics. I'll tell you about it later. (Into dictaphone) Specify that we can discharge this Jane Doe without notice, without severance pay or compensation of any kind; nor is she elegible, for the first ninety days, for pension, health, or sick-pay benifits. (To Pat) Starting salary, in all cases, begins at four hundred credits per month, figuring on twenty hours a week. And you'll have to join a union. The Mine, Mill, and Smelter-workers Union; they're the one that signed up all the prudence-organization employees three years ago. I have no control over that.

PATRICIA I get more maintaining vidphone relays at the Topeka Kibbutz. Your scout Major Anderson said -

TRAVERS Our scouts lie, and, in addition, we're mot legally bound by anything they say. No prudence organization is.

Freck walks in with the typed out agreement.

FRECK Here you go, sir.

TRAVERS Thank you, Freck. (To Sandra and Patricia) I have a twenty-year old wife in cold-pac. A beautiful woman who when she talks to me gets pushed out of the way by some kid named Jory, and then I'm talking to him, not her. Ella frozen in half-life and dimming out - and that battered crone for my secretary that I have to look at all day long.

PATRICIA I'll sign.

INT. - ASHILDR'S HOUSE - BEDROOM

A bedroom on the large side, red-maroon walls, littered with retro furniture. Ashildr is lying in her bed, with a metal skull cap on her head. Wires are coming out of the metal cap, leading in to the wall. A small, old, television is leaking muffled voices from the corner of the room.

TELEVISION (OC) Can't make the frug contest because||your stomach is upset? Fix yourself some Ubik! Ubik drops you back in the thick of things fast. Taken as directed, Ubik speeds relief to head and stomach. Remember; Ubik is only seconds away. Avoid prolonged use. The voices from the television starts to glitch as we fade in to the next scene.

DREAM STATE

Ashildr is walking across a white, desolate plane in a black suit, with a red shirt under her jacket. A man, Matt, in an three-piece suit is standing a few yards in front of her, at a slight angle, so we can just see a hateful expression on his face. He speaks with a distorted female child's voice.

MATT I can't be myself while you're around.

ASHILDR Perhaps your definition of your self-system lacks authentic boundaries. You've erected a precarious structure of personality on unconscious factors over which you have no control. That's why you feel threatened by me. This clearly makes the man nervous.

MATT Aren't you an employee of a prudence organization?

ASHILDR And you work for Hollis. If you're the stupendous talent you claim to be, you can tell that by reading my mind.

MATT I can't read anybody's mind, my talent is gone. I'll let you talk to my brother, Bill. Here, Bill; talk to this lady. Do you like this lady?

A man with puffy grey hair, in a olive t-shirt and khaki shorts materialises. He also speaks with a distorted child's voice.

BILL I like her fine because I'm a precognicient and she doesn't postscript me. 'I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, cheated of feature by dissembling nature' - how does it go, Matt?

MATT 'Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time into this breathing world, scarce half made up'

BILL Oh, yes. I remember. 'And that so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me as I halt by them.' From Richard the Third.

ASHILDR What does all of this mean?

Both the brothers give wide grins, and now speak in even more distorted voices.

MATT It means that we are going to kill you.

INT. - ASHILDR'S HOUSE - BEDROOM

A distant ringing of Ashildr's desk wakes her up. She gets up, lethargic, and slowly walks from her bedroom in to her living room.

INT. - ASHILDR'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM

The hologram-screen says 'Travers' in clear text, with green and red phone logos underneath. She presses the green.

ASHILDR Travers. Has a job turned up for me?

TRAVERS (OC) Ash, I'm glad I caught you. A group is forming under Sandra Archer's and my direction; eleven in all, a major work assignment for those we choose. We've been examining everyone's history. Sandra thinks yours looks good, and I tend to agree. How long will it take you to get down here?

ASHILDR For this one will I be living -

TRAVERS Yes, you'll have to pack. We're supposed to be packed and ready to go at all times; that's a rule I don't ever want broken, especially in a case like this where there's a time factor.

ASHILDR I am packed. I'll be at the New York office in fifteen minutes. All I have to do is leave a note for my husband, who's at work.

TRAVERS Well, okay. I'll see you soon.

Ashildr hangs up, and sits down on her bed. We see flashbacks of the dream she had.

ASHILDR But I've never read Richard the Third. How would I know poetry I've never read?

Uneasy, she hurriedly gets dressed.

INT. - TRAVERS OFFICES; NEW YORK

Travers is still sitting behind his desk. He presses a button on his intercom.

TRAVERS Make a bounty check, Freck. Payable to Major Anderson, for one-hundred postcreds.

FRECK (OC) Yes, Mr. Travers.

Anderson enters, and starts pacing around the office.

TRAVERS Sandra Archer can't seem to tell me what the Jane Doe does.

ANDERSON Sandra can be a real cunt.

TRAVERS How come she, this Pat, can travel back in time, and no one else can? I'll bet this talent isn't new; you scouts probably just missed noticing it up until now. Anyhow, it's not logical for a prudence organization to hire her; it's a talent, not an anti-talent. We deal in -

ANDERSON As I explained, and as Sandra indicated on the test report, it aborts the precogs out of business.

TRAVERS But that's only a side-effect. Sandra thinks she's dangerous. I don't know why.

ANDERSON Did you ask her why?

TRAVERS She mumbles, the way she always does. Sandra never has reasons, just hunches. On the other hand, she wants to include her in the Mick operation. Ask Sandra to come in here so we can see if we've got our group of eleven set up.

He rearranges paperwork on his desk, and checks his watch.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) They should be arriving about now. I'm going to tell Sandra to her face she's crazy to include this Pat Conley girl if she's so dangerous. Wouldn't you say, Anderson?

ANDERSON She's got a thing going with Pat.

TRAVERS What sort of thing?

ANDERSON A sexual understanding.

TRAVERS Sandra has no sexual understanding. Nina read her mind the other day and she's too poor even to -

Travers breaks off, as Freck walks in with a folder marked 'Bounty Check'.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) I know why Sandra wants her along on the Mick operation. So she can keep an eye on her. She's going too; Sandra's going to measure the psychic field despite what the client stipulated. We have to know what we're up against. Thank you, Freck.

He waves Freck away, and holds a check out to Anderson, who accepts it.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Supose we don't measure the psychic field and it turns out to be too intense for our inertials? Who gets blamed?

ANDERSON We do.

TRAVERS I told them eleven wasn't enough. We're supplying our best; we're doing the best we can. After all, getting Stanton Mick's patronage is a matter of great importantce to us. Amazing, that someone as wealthy and powerful as Mick could be so shortsighted, so goddamned miserly. Freck, is Sandra out there? Sandra Archer?

FRECK Ms Archer is in the outer office with a number of other people.

TRAVERS How many other people, Freck? Ten or eleven?

FRECK I'd say about that many, sir. Give or take one or two.

TRAVERS That's the group. I want to see them, all of them, before they leave for Luna. Send them in.

Freck leaves.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) We know that as individuals they perform well. It's all down here on paper. But how about together? How great a polyencephalic counter-field will they generate together? Ask yourself that, Anderson. That is the question to ask.

ANDERSON I guess time will tell.

TRAVERS I've been in this business a long time. This is my contribution to conteporary civilization.

ANDERSON That puts it well. You're a policeman guarding human privacy.

TRAVERS You know what Ray Hollis says about us? He says that we are trying to turn the clock back.

The inertials start to fill up the office. Travers spots Ashildr, as she walks in.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) You made good time, Ash. You had less time than anybody else, as I notified you last. Some of you, I know. You, Ms Dorn; Ms Archer and I chose you because of your top-notch activity vis-à-vis S. Dole Melipone, whom you eventually lost through no fault of your own.

DORN Thank you, Travers. It is good to be part of this new undertaking.

TRAVERS Which one of you is Al Hammond?

A tall, black man in a leather jacket raises his hand.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) I've never met you before. You rate the highest among our anti-precogs. I should, of course, have gotten around to meeting you sooner. How many of the rest of you are anti-precog?

Three other hands go up.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) The four of you will undoubtedly get a great bloop out of meeting and working with Major Anderson's most recent discovery, who aborts precogs on a new basis. Perhaps Miss Conley herself will describe it to us.

EXT. - FIFTH AVENUE

Travers is standing outside a rare-coin store, looking through a window. He then suddenly shakes his head, as if he is waking up from a trance.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) What the fuck?

He then comes to a realization, and clenches his eyes shut.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Oh, shit. It's gone. Everything I built up.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK

Travers opens his eyes again. He is sitting across from Sandra and Pat, and Anderson is sitting Other than those four, the office is empty. Travers looks around, dazed and confused.

SANDRA Travers, I'd like you to meet Patricia Conley.

PATRICIA How nice to be introduced to you at last, Commodore.

Sandra pauses, and looks down at the floor for a moment.

SANDRA I can't put my finger on it but things are different.

PATRICIA Nothing is different.

SANDRA Everything is different. You must have gone back in time and put us on a different track; of course I can't prove it and I can't really specify the changes - at least not yet--

TRAVERS Please, no domestic quarreling on my time.

SANDRA 'Domestic Quarreling'?

TRAVERS Anyhow, to continue, we must each ask ourselves why Stanton Mick took his business to a prudence organization other than ours. Logically, we should have gotten the contract; we're the finest in the business and we're located in New York, where Mick generally prefers to deal. Do you have any theory, Mrs Conley?

PATRICIA Do you really want to know, Mr Runciter?

TRAVERS Ye, I'd very much like to know.

PATRICIA I did it.

TRAVERS How?

PATRICIA With my talent.

TRAVERS What talent? You don't have a talent; you're Sandra Archer's wife.

ANDERSON Pat, you only came in to here to meet Sandra, Travers, and me for lunch.

TRAVERS Have you measured it? I mean, that's your job. You sound as if you have; you sound sure of yourself.

SANDRA I'm not sure of myself. Something's wrong. I'll get my test gear.

TRAVERS Oh, come on Sandy. If your wife has a talent or an anti-talent you would have measured it by now.

He presses a button on his desk.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Nina, do we have a file on Mrs Patricia Archer?

PATRICIA Conley. Patricia Conley.

SANDRA What is wrong with you?

Pat turns to Sandra, and smirks.

SANDRA (Cont'd) Oh, no. Fuck you.

NINA (OC) On a Miss Patricia Conley we have two items; an initial report by Major Anderson, and then test findings by Ms Archer.

Travers Desk pops up with the two mentioned documents shown.

TRAVERS Sandra, you better look at this; come here.

PATRICIA I know what it reads, "Unbelievable power Anti-psi field unique in scope." Can probably -

TRAVERS We did get the Mick contract. I had a group if eleven inertials in here, and then I suggested to her -

SANDRA That she show the group what she could do. So she did. She did exactly that. And my evaluation was right.

Sandra smirks, and laughs.

SANDRA (Cont'd) My own wife.

PATRICIA Yeah, I'm not your wife. Changed that, too. Do you want it back the way it was? With no changes, not even in details? That won't show your inertials much. On the other hand, they're unaware...unless some of them have retaines a vestigial memory has Sandra has. By now, though, it should have phased out.

TRAVERS I'd like the Mick contract back; that much, at least.

Anderson puffs on a cigarette.

ANDERSON When I scout them, I scout them.

TRAVERS Yes, you really bring in the talent.

FRECK (OC) A group of your inertials are waiting to see you, Commodore; they say you sent for them in connection with a new joint work project. Are you free to see them?

TRAVERS Send them in.

Patricia holds the back of her hand up to Sandra.

PATRICIA I'll keep the ring.

SANDRA I think you're forgetting.

PATRICIA What, that you're taken by that bitch, Alice? Give me a break.

SANDRA How dare you!

PATRICIA I'll have you know that on a different time track you had me pick this very ring out.

Sandra, speechless, turns to Travers, who is gathering paperwork.

SANDRA Couldn't you just slap her sometimes?

TRAVERS I barely know her.

INT. - TARDIS

The Doctor wakes up on the floor of her TARDIS. She suddenly sits up with a sharp intake of breath.

DOCTOR What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

We have a flashback of the Master's recent quazi-regeneration. Another sharp intake of breath.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) Oh no you don't. No way.

She stands up and starts running around her console, pressing buttons, pushing levers.

DOCTOR (Cont'd) Don't you dare, mate. Don't you fucking dare. Not under my watch.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK

The inertials have again filled up Travers' office, and are all talking, making a racket. Travers is looking at a clipboard and ticking off people's names with one of those yellow pencils.

TRAVERS Edie Dorn; yes you're here. Hammond? Okay, Hammond. Ashildr?

ASHILDR I made it as quickly as I could. You didn't give me much time, Travers.

TRAVERS Hmm. John Ild? Yes, good. Francesca?

FRANCESCA During the last few minutes, Travers, while we waited in your outer office, mysterious voices appeared to me and told me things.

TRAVERS You're Francesca?

FRANCESCA I am; I have always been; I will always be. May I tell you what the voices revealed to me?

TRAVERS Possibly later.

Traver goes on to the next document on his clipboard with a large sigh.

FRANCESCA It must be said!

TRAVERS All right, we'll take a break for a couple of minutes.

Everyone, with the exception of Travers, Sandra, and Francesca spills in to the outer office. Travers opens a draw and swallows a pill with a glass of water. He then turns to Sandra and shrugs.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) Let's hear what the voices revealed to you, Francesca.

FRANCESCA Someone, just now, moved us, all of us, in to another world. We inhabited it, lived in it, as citizens of it, and then a vast, all-encompassing spiritual angecy restored us to this, our rightful universe.

SANDRA That would be Pat. Pat Conley. She just joined the firm today.

Travers rolles his eyes and walks out in to the outer ofice.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK - OUTER OFFICE

All the intertials are in the outer offices, chatting. The Dotor enters, soon by the Master. The Doctor turns to the Master, shakes her head, mouthing the word 'No'. The Master promptly smirks. The Doctor walks up to the Master.

DOCTOR Whatever you're thinking --

MASTER Don't worry! I'll be such a good girl.

DOCTOR That sounded sarcastic.

MASTER Whether or not that was sarcasm is for me to know and for you to find out.

DOCTOR You still going with Missy?

MASTER No. Too camp. This body is not really the campy type.

Travers peeks his head through the door.

TRAVERS Tito Apostos? You're here?

A bald man in gold lamé trousers and a handlebar moustache (Jamie Hyneman?) nods his head. Travers walks out further with a clipboard.

TITO I'm an anti-animator.

TRAVERS (to Sandra) The only one we use. I wonder if we'll need him; maybe we should subsitute another anti-telepath - the more of those the better.

SANDRA We have to cover everything, since we don't know what we're getting ourselves into.

TRAVERS I guess so. Okay, Wendy Wright? Goh yes, good. Sammy Mundo?

A brief pause. The Doctor then runs up to Travers and flashes her psychic paper at Travers.

DOCTOR That's me. Sammy Mundo. Short for Samantha.

TRAVERS Okay; that leaves Fred Zafsky.

MASTER Right you are. How about that?

The Master takes out an object from her bra that looks similar to the Doctor's psychic paper, and shows it to Travers.

TRAVERS Christ. Well, we have to include at least one anti-parakineticist, to be safe. And you're it, by the looks of it.

The Doctor takes the Master to the side.

DOCTOR What was that?

MASTER What?

DOCTOR The psychic paper! Where the fuck did you get that from?

MASTER I have my ways, sweetie. Come on, let's watch the show.

DOCTOR Don't you ever fucking call me sweetie.

On the other side of the room...

TRAVERS That's the group, plus you and me. Any last minute changes you want to make?

SANDRA I'm satisfied.

TRAVERS You suppose this bunch of inertials is the best combination we can come up with?

SANDRA Yes

TRAVERS And it's good enought to take on Hollis' Psychics?

SANDRA Yes.

Tito walks up to Travers and Sandra.

ASHILDR Ms Archer, may I have a second of your time?

TRAVERS I'll leave you two alone.

Travers walks in to his main office.

SANDRA May I help you, Tito?

ASHILDR Could I discuss an experience I had late last night?

SANDRA If this is of a sexual nature, I really can't help. My expertise is better in the -- female department. Sorry.

ASHILDR No, it's not that. In a hypnagogic state I seem to have contacted one, or possibly two, of Mr Hollis' people - a telepath evidently operating in conjunction with one of their precognicients. Do you think I should tell Travers? Do you think it is of impotance?

Sandra pauses, looks out in to the crowd, and sighs.

SANDRA No. I'd let it go if I were you.

Travers enters the outer office again with a piece of paper. He puts his hand up in the air, and waves it.

TRAVERS (With a raised voice) Excuse me, everyone. Everyone?

The room quietens down.

TRAVERS (Normal tone)(Cont'd) Ladies and gentlemen, we're taking for Luna, you eleven inertials, Sandra Archer and myself, and our client's representative, Miss Robin Wright; fourteen of us in all. We'll use our own ship.

Travers glances at his piece of paper. And then his watch.

TRAVERS (Cont'd) It's three-thirty now. Pratfall II will take off from the main roof field at four.

He snaps his watch shut, folds up the piece of paper, and returns it to his pocket. He then leads Sandra in to his office, and shuts the door behind him.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK

SANDRA Well, Travers, we are in this for better or worse. I wish we had a resident precognicient who could take a look ahead for us.

INT. - TRAVERS' OFFICES; NEW YORK - OUTER OFFICE

The Master looks out at the small crowd preparing, smirking; like she knows something more.

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