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Breaking down the comics: A New Past (Vol 3, Issue 1-3)

Marc Spector: Moon Knight Vol 3

So this follows right after the OG run. We left behind Moench and Zelenetz.

Now we run into a new group of writers and artists.

Writers:

Chuck Dixon, Mike Baron, Howard Mackie, J.M. DeMatteis, Al Milgrom, and Bruce Jones

Artists:

Sal Velluto, Bill Reinhold, Russ Heath, Mark Bagley, Ron Garney, J.J. Birch, and Denys Cowan.

A whole group of names that aren't that common place. Which is a pity because they did an alright job!

When you look at the Omnibus, you also get a content warning!

"This content contains Depictions of racism, sexual assault and suicide. Reader discretion is advised. If you are struggling with thoughts of suicide, or are worried about a friend or loved one, please reach out to a counselor or someone you trust or Dial 988 for the suicide and crisis lifeline."

A bit of history: The crisis line was created in January 2005.

Since the first Marc Spector story came out in June 1989, it's safe to say this is a late Marvel addition. Hidden in moderate font on the credits page. This Omnibus book was published in 2023. A lot of new books that contain old content contain these new warnings.

I highly respect the Marvel publishers for the singular reason that when they re-released older content, they recognized the problems in them and rather than correct, censor, or hide them, they kept it as a piece of history and slapped a content warning on there.

ANOTHER interesting fact, when looking at the Omnibus, you get to see the dates. This series of Moon Knight ran from June 1989 through 1994.

It was ongoing and takes place after the West Coast Avengers, which technically took place directly after Zelenetz left, but I'm going to skip over that for now.

I doubt very much I will really cover West Coast Avengers (1987-1989, starting with issue #21 and ending with Issue #41). I might touch on it a bit later, but I was never really a fan. Plus he mostly just kinda pops in silently in the background with most of them.

Now, this was an interesting time in the comics. The early 90s saw things take a drastic turn towards EXTREME. The 90s were a new target audience, a new decade, and the world was changing.

The cold war came to an end at the end of 1991, but the Gulf War started in 1990.

Comics were suddenly competing with and trying to get a foot in on Television, which was suddenly a household thing and latch-key kids wanted something to hold their attention.

Now, the Marc Spector series has recently been released in Omnibus volumes. Vol 1 holds issues 1-34 with excerpts from Amazing Spider-Man #353-358 and specials including 'Divided We Fall'

Terry Kavanagh kicks off with Omnibus Vol 2 and that name should start to look more familiar. He worked on Spider-Man for a long time and X-men along with Avengers, Iron Man, and a lot of big crossovers.

Vol 2 holds Issues 25-60, a Moon Knight special, more Spider-Man crossover "Web of Spider-Man #93-94, and some Moon Knight from 1998-1999! (The Omnibus comes out this March 5th, 2024 if you're a collector!) Since it's not out yet, I'm going to be starting with Vol 1 for now.

What's interesting is that the series 'Marc Spector' ends with Marc's 'death'.

So what happens to Moon Knight after that? The king himself, Moench returns to resurrect Marc Spector for a second time in a 4 issue special.

In fact, Moench returns for the whole Moon Knight Vol 4 and 5 (1998-1999) mini series, each one 4 issues long.

Things had to be fixed after how it all ended, after all.

I'll cover the Moench specials later.

I’ll be honest. I’ve been putting off the 90s runs. The 90s were not exactly my cup of tea when it came to Marvel comics. I was more of a Batman fan (with a few notable exceptions). But as I’ve mentioned many times… My memory is pretty shit so maybe I’ll get into it and be happily surprised and enjoy myself more than I think I will.

So let’s get into it!

Let's start with Issue #1!

Marc Spector: Moon Knight. Issue #1: New Moon.

Written by Charles Dixon

Art by Sal Velluto

We open on Long Island. We see someone doing a 3am diaper run and stopping at an ATM first.

Two thugs sit in a car on the corner waiting. They spot the poor sleepy dad and decide he'd make a nice cash grab.

They hold him up at gun point and demand he take out the max.

Well... One holds him at gun point. The other rips the door off the man's car for some reason.

Hey look, It's our man!

Now, remember, Moon Knight has been out of New York for a while with the West Coast Avengers. We're picking up here right after he left them.

Moon Knight casts his shadow on the villains.

"You boys forget your bank cards?"

"It's a ghost!"

"I've been away too long. You guys don't even recognize me."

"It ain't no ghost, Rocket scientist. But he's gonna be one."

Title card: NEW MOON. Beginning a new series chronicling the adventures of Marc Spector.

You know, the art here really brings to mind early Sienkiewicz Moon Knight. The dramatic leap that leaves his ass out. The awkward stances, the action kicks, the clenched fists... Maybe the poses are a LITTLE more awkward than Bill gave Marc credit for, but I'm loving the clean lines and shading.

Plus, Do I spy a crescent dart upgrade!?

Marc quips “After all of the high-powered weirdos I fought with the West Coast Avengers… It's good to be back on home turf kicking the rear ends of a few AVERAGE lowlifes!"

Marc has always loved beating on common thugs. He so often fights supernatural brutal muscle bound villains. When he gets a casual robbery, he’s almost giddy.

Notice I’m saying Marc here a lot.

When Moon Knight joined the Avengers on the West Coast, we did not see any sign of Jake or Steven. We know from the OG run that Jake doesn’t leave New York. And I suspect that Steven has never played well with the Avengers or team ups of that sort.

Perhaps we had Moon Knight as himself, but it’s clear from the title of this series that we’re going to be getting Marc Spector himself and the writers that will be working on this are most likely not comfortable working with Friendly and Loving Jake and Generous and glitzy Steven. Of course the wild and extreme early 90s is going to focus on Marc. And thus we start down the LONG and drawn out Moon Knight tradition of forgetting that he has DID with other Alters and not just Schizophrenia with a ‘pretend’ identity crisis.

But I’m going to take this down a different path and we’re going to look at this as Marc falling into the trap of his usual denial and trying to get his life together by holding front so hard that you’d have to literally pry it out of his cold dead fingers (ha ha, we’ll get to that later).

Anyways, back to the comic. The thugs are subdued and the poor sleepy dad man thanks him "You're Moonbeam, aren't you?"

"Moon KNIGHT, pal. I have been out of New York too long."

Marc ties up the thugs and tells the guy to wait there for the cups. He radioed ahead to them before he dropped in.

The chopper arrives and Marc gets on the ladder and takes off with the most awkward:

"There they are now. Take it easy, Citizen." and he salutes.

Yeah.... It's Marc. Without a doubt... No one could be that awkward but Marc...

On the chopper, Frenchie has also taken note of the moment.

"'Take it easy, Citizen?'"

"Aw, lighten up, Frenchie."

Marc takes off the mask and relaxes back next to Frenchie in a really weirdly designed chopper that looks more like a hover car than anything... But sure. Upgrades!

"Y'know, Frenchie... I think the guy I saved down there was more afraid of me than those hoods."

"Is that not the reason for the costume?"

"Sure. But I don't want the innocent to fear me."

"The innocent will fear you most of all."

"I should have shaved. This mask chafes my face something awful."

Marc...

It is very nice to see them actually talking, though. You never got to see Marc and Frenchie actually be the friends they were supposed to be. And Marc is never more relaxed than when he's with Frenchie and they can talk about the past without worry.

"Crime fighting doesn't seem to suit you these days, frenchie."

"It is a waste of our talents, Marc. We could have easily strafed those dogs out of existence."

"We're not mercenaries anymore. We can't just make things up as we go along. We've got rules in this country, m'man."

"Then I do not like the rules."

"Live it or live with it, Frenchie."

Now this is interesting because this is the first time that we really get a feel for what Frenchie thinks of all of this superhero business.

We know Frenchie was a Legionnaire, we know he was a very GOOD mercenary that helped recruit Marc in the first place, and that his talents are with vehicles.

We also know that Frenchie had strong opinions on the work he took (as seen in the very first issue when he came to Marc to complain about Bushman's sketchy business).

But Frenchie ALSO was very attached to Marc and followed him without question.

So here we have Frenchie noting that picking on thugs is far below what they are both capable of.

Just an interesting tidbit.

Another interesting tidbit is that we see the Mooncopter landing back at Grand Mansion and Marc notes that he was able to buy it back after returning from West Coast Avengers.

"At TWICE the amount you sold it for, Marc."

"You're on my case tonight, Frenchie."

We get a little map of where the mansion is on Long Island and that the current Market Value is $5,890,000. Which.... In today's currency is: $14,649,807.50 today!!!!!!

Here’s a pretty cool design of the mansion with fun facts!

Now what's interesting is that we see Marc returning to an empty mansion. Just him and Frenchie. No Marlene. No Samules the Butler or Nedda the cook.

The phone rings from an unlisted number and when he answers, no one says anything.

Angrily, he hangs up and we get a view of a woman on the other line saying "He's home. We got the right number."

This explains why we are getting blueprints of the moonchopper and the mansion and map of Long Island. Someone's looking for Marc.

Marc does Marc things and wanders the mansion a bit and starts talking to the Khonshu statue.

It's time for the Marc Spector Recap of how he became Moon Knight! (remember, this is issue #1 so it's a good place for new readers to pick up a new comic. You'll often find recaps and deep character introductions in 1st issues.)

"Past four in the morning and all the sane people are in bed. It's all YOUR fault, Khonshu. You got me into this. God of the moon, taker of vengeance.

Actually I got me into this when I hooked up with that crazy Bushman back in my mercenary days. Now THERE was a prime psycho.

Killing is a part of any war, but Bushman got off on it. I tagged along until he killed Dr. Peter Alraune, an American archaeologist, and it looked like his daughter was next.

I helped Marlene escape and then challenged Bushman in hand to hand combat. Not one of my brighter ideas.

He left me for dead and he was just about right! Somehow I managed to make it to the digs that the doctor was trying to protect... The Shrine of Khonshu.

Marlene tells me I 'Died' there and was revived by the spirit of Khonshu.

I wrapped myself in Khonshu's shroud and, from that night on, I took on the mantle of Moon Knight."

Oh Marc... You would tell it like that.

Marc heads up stairs to bed (tossing his cape on the stairs as he goes) and when he enters his room someone jumps at him.

Marc fends them off, elbowing them and then flipping them onto the bed.

Oh hey! It's Marlene!

And she's already half undressed. Welcome to the 90s!

"You play a little rough, cowboy. I think you broke one of my nails."

"What did you expect sneaking in here like that?"

"Well, there was no one home. I thought I'd surprise you."

"Mission accomplished, Baby."

"Not so easy the way you have this place wired. But my sneaking skills needed a workout anyway, so...I thought I'd come see you. It's been so long, and I thought I'd take a chance..."

And the two goof off a bit then we have implied hanky-panky as the scene cuts away.

I have well known mixed feelings about Marlene. And with Marc now running the show, it's interesting that she'd come back, considering her feelings on Marc vs. Steven. More interesting that he left her behind.

We cut to Manhattan and find two guys in Hawaiian shirts at a large computer terminal (gotta love those 1980s thick monitors). They're celebrating because:

"We got this Moon Knight guy blued, stewed and tattooed! We know more about him than he knows about himself, Tector!

Yuh done good, little brother. You worked some real magic with that keyboard. Our bossman is gonna be so proud."

And the boss steps in, asking if they have found him yet.

"Tector's digging up more data on his home security system. So far it looks like a hummer! Bet the Kremlin in Russia ain't got so fine a wire job, boss."

And we pan out to find the boss:

Alright, he’s upped his style and given himself a new title. I appreciate the new look. They kept it authentic to the original Bushman and also added in their own artistic style and I dig it. Not sure about the new outfit, but who am I to tell our delusional bad guy how to dress?

"I want projections on the best way to approach Moon Knight. I want his weaknesses exposed to me. This information is vital to my nation's security, Lyle. You will have it by morning."

Good to see he's still absolutely obsessed with Marc.

And that since we are starting Marc Spector Issue 1, we are going back to the original with Marc's own personal villain, Bushman.

I have a lot to say about Bushman, and I'll save it for the end. So stick around!

Back at Spector Mansion...

It actually says "Spector Mansion."

Another interesting detail because the OG ALWAYS called it Grant Mansion.

Marlene wakes up to find Marc working out in his gym.

"You know, Marc, I'm kind of surprised you're still doing the Moon Knight thing."

"You have a problem with that, Marlene?"

"Why do you do it?"

"I want to do like that dog says on TV. 'Take a bite out of crime'."

(Scruff McGruff. You were a weird part of my childhood).

They argue about letting the police do the work and Marc argues that the police can't be everywhere and do everything.

(That style though.)

"You used to fight a more noble battle."

"I was a Mercenary, for cryin' out loud."

"Don't play the cynic with me. You weren't in it for the cash. If you were you wouldn't have pitched in on the losing side so often."

"I LIKE long odds."

"You're impossible!"

"And YOU are getting more like Frenchie. I get the feeling I'm outnumbered around here."

This is an interesting conversation we keep getting here from both Marlene and Frenchie. That they think he was better as a Mercenary but he argues that his Mercenary work was not good for him.

Marc says he's starving but that he gave the cook the week off.

Marlene asks how Nedda is.

"Oh, I retired her to my condo in Boca Raton. I never go there anyway. Chloe's the new cook."

"What's she like?"

"Not terribly attractive. She's older than Moses and has a mustache that Frenchie's jealous of."

"Marc, you're terrible."

And then Chloe walks in unexpectedly.

(Alright. It’s going to be like that. Welcome to the 90s.)

Yep.

Down in the chopper area, we find Marc now working on the chopper for once.

Come to think of it, in the OG, it was ALWAYS Frenchie up working on the chopper. But then again, it was always Steven at the mansion. Now that Marc is out and about, he's the one tinkering about.

"YOu're working down here late, Marc. Didn't I see Marlene earlier?"

"Sure did, Frenchie. We have resumed our stormy relationship. She got an eyeful of Chloe and I sent her packing off to the mall with my goldcard to smooth things over."

"Americans... You fight with your women because you don't know how to love them."

Ah, Frenchie...

They are interrupted by a frantic call on the radio from Marlene. She's driving on the highway and she's "Under attack"!

I am pleased that the writers remembered that Marlene knows how to handle herself. She was trained by Marc, after all. She can shoot, fight, and drive. She’s no damsel in distress.

Marc shows up and finds the car empty. He attacks the remaining gun-men and demands to know where Marlene is.

"Spector, are you STILL parading about in that ridiculous costume?"

"You're one to talk about taste in clothes, Bushman."

"Amusing, Spector, you always were a glub one."

Bushman holds Marlene at knife point (Speaking of damsel in distress) and demands that Marc meet up with him later tonight to find out what his demands are.

He then shoots one of his own men just to prove the point that he's still a vicious cold blooded killer, then he drives off in a classy car with Marlene.

Marc is...less than happy about this.

"You're a dead man, Bushman. You just don't know it yet."

TO BE CONTINUED.

I’m not going to make you wait. Here you go!

Marc Spector, Moon Knight: Issue #2: Hunter’s Moon.

Written by: Charles Dixon

Art by: Sal Velluto

Alright, Apparently Spider-Man is going to be in this one. This is going to be interesting.

We open back up in Manhattan.

We got three nerdy looking guys on a roof across from the Excelsior (Fancy hotel) with a telescope spying on the guests.

While fighting over the 'scope, they happen to catch a glimpse of 'a ghost'.

Yeah, he's being real sneaky there.

So there he is... at the Embassy of the Republic of Burunda. This is Bushman's new country that he has made himself 'President' of.

Marc notes the place looks pretty well armored and guarded. He has Frenchie up in the sky as usual.

"I'm WAY behind on my current events. I didn't know that Bushman had set himself up as the strongman in Burunda."

"I saw it on sixty minutes. Forgot to tell you."

Frenchie suggests waiting for Bushman to call and tell him what he wants, since they aren't even sure if Bushman has Marlene in the embassy.

Marc says Bushman enjoys always having the edge, including diplomatic immunity. There's no way he's going to wait.

Hey look, the tech brothers from before are back!

They have caught sight of Moon Knight on their CCTV cams.

Bushman decides to send Marc a message.

"Spector must be discouraged from coming near the embassy again. He must meet my demands without question. Is that CLear, Mister Glitch?"

While Marc tries to track someone leaving the Embassy, Bushman sends his personal bodyguards after him.

HEY. Remember the warning at the top of this collected run? The one about racism and other things?

He puts up a fight, telling Frenchie to stay on the guy leaving the embassy.

Marc puts up a fight and jumps around building to building until he gets ahead.

Spider-man happens to be swinging by and notices Marc's group.

"Now there's something you don't see everyday... A bunch of guys dressed like Tarzan extras running into central park after midnight."

Spider-man follows and good ol' Peter Parker takes out the camera to catch some shots of Moon Knight in action.

"They seem to be after the one in the cape. Might as well take some pictures to sell to the paper. This guy sure doesn't need MY help. Say "Cheese" everybody."

Marc takes out the last of the group and continues his chase.

"Moon Knight, huh? I thought he was in California. Well, off to the darkroom. And thanks for the help with the rent, Moonie!"

And Spider-man heads out.

(I've talked about 'special guest appearances' in comics before. It's a big show to get people to buy and read the comic and try to convince new fans to come in. You're lucky if they are in the comic for half a page.)

Marc is back on the tail of the guy and he meets up with him.

He tells the guy they need to talk and then...He knocks him out with knockout gas. Wh...Why?

Maybe the guy wanted to talk? Why are you knocking out and kidnapping a guy before you even find out if he has the info you need?!

....Back at the Embassy, we find Marlene is inside and not happy.

People forget that while Marc has a grudge and hate of Bushman, Marlene is the one whose father was killed by him.

He tells Marlene that he's a man of the people, HIS people, and unfortunately his people are very poor. It seems he expects Marc to fix that situation.

Back to Marc and his poor decision making skills...

We find the man he's kidnapped waking up... and dangling upside down from the moon chopper.

Not going to lie, his little wave in that first panel is sending me.

So it seems Bushman wants ten million dollars. Lemme just get the conversion calculator out: $25,456,099.59.

Yeah. I'd want that much too.

"He wants it in one week or he'll chop the girl to pieces."

"And where am I supposed to get Ten Mill?"

"Find a way! The General knows you've got the money!"

"I don't like what you had to say, Buddy. Have a nice fall."

And Marc pushes him out of the chopper.

Lucky for the man, Frenchie had bought the chopper down and the man only falls a couple feet.

He tells the man to tell Bushman that he'll be in touch.

Next up? Marc goes to see his accountant!

"You don't have ten million bucks lying around in 'sacks' somewhere."

LOL Marc...

"Your money's tied up in real estate and business interests and your art collection."

"So SELL some of the paintings. Sell some of my business interests."

"What wuld you like me to do? Hang a garage sale sign on the mailbox? 'Picasso for sale, CHEAP'? And as far as your business interests go, they're just that: INTERESTS. You have partners in these ventures that you would HURT by liquidating in a big hurry--Not to mention the employees."

Steven is in there having a FIT right now.

I'm dying right now because I was JUST talking to someone about how clever Steven was with their money and how Marc has no idea what he's doing with money and probably took two days to lose it all in the current run. I’d like to amend my statement to say he’d lose it in two hours.

"I don't know what you need the money for, it can't be anything Kosher, Marc. But we just can't swing it."

Marc apologizes for losing his temper. The accountant leaves and he tells Frenchie the bad news. "I'm what they call cash poor."

Oh Marc... Is... Is that a Khonshu bust on his desk? Wh...

"That's the bad news. The good news is that we get to do this MY way."

Marc...

"And this time I go alone."

Back at the Embassy, we see a "Empire Cable commercial repair" truck pull up. A guy gets out and goes up to the gate.

Oh no. Is he doing what I think he's doing?

MARC.

The guard says he can't let anyone in without varifying first. The General is busy and doesn't want to be disturbed so "I will call your company."

So he calls the number on the truck, which would not verify anything if this was a guy trying to sneak in. But what's logic for you?

And GUESS WHAT. The number goes to Frenchie putting on an accent.

He verifies the job and sends the cable repair guy in with another guard.

Once inside, Marc knocks out the guard with chloroform (Why does he had so much chloroform?) and rushes off, leaving the body in the middle of the floor.

And the tech brothers sure as heck notice a strange guy running around on the CCTV cameras.

They call the front gate and have a thing or two to say about a 'cable repair guy'.

Marc starts just opening random doors looking for Marlene.

A couple of guards spot him and Marc knocks them out. So much for his disguise.

Back in Moon Knight attire, he runs down the hall. The tech guys decide to take off. They know a bad fight when they see one coming.

Marc continues his quest of opening EVERY door he finds while yelling "MARLENE!"

SIGH. Marc… This is why you need Steven and Jake. Just putting that out there.

So Marc beats up all the big buff gym boys.

I appreciate that they at one point get the upper hand and pin him down while beating him and Marc just goes "You'll have to do better than that" after taking a few hard hits.

Marc really does not treat the body well.

He asks the last guy where Marlene is before knocking him out.

He busts in so hard that I’m tempted to count it on my “jumps through window” tally.

(Look at this dramatic idiot. This is the biggest wet cat yowling energy I’ve ever seen.)

SO he busts in and is met with a SAW-esque situation with Bushman on TV.

Bushman tells him he had to fly back to his homeland on urgent business and he's taken Marlene with him.

TO BE CONTINUED.

At the end of the issue we have a "Let's meet the team" afterward and we get to learn a little about the new group working on Moon Knight.

It's very brief. Mostly it's just how old they are, if they are married or have kids, and a few previous comic names they have worked on.

I'm going to be frank with you here. If you've been reading my other reviews, you have an idea on what's been going on in Marvel during this time and WHY Moench isn't writing Moon Knight at this time.

Marvel comics had just had a huge upheaval of all their major writers and artists due to disagreements with the editor in chief. So these are a lot of young guys that are coming in off of low name comics.

ALSO none of them talk about why or how they got placed into the Moon Knight run.

So my big question is why don't you think of these guys when you think of Moon Knight? I can name SO MANY writers and artists from may different runs that were amazing or terrible. Or even just mid. But these guys? Not even a blip on my chart.

Clearly Chuck Dixon had Moon Knight for more than just a guest writer or special.

Doing a little background look into him, he was best known for Punisher and DC comics like Batman, Nightwing, and Robin in the 1990s and 2000s.

He got his start in the big leagues with Conan and worked his way up to Marc Spector: Moon Knight. After that, he started on Punisher and Punisher war Journal. DC got their mits on him and he became "DC's most prolific Batman writer in the 1990s".

So yeah... Despite working on Moon Knight 1989-1992 for 25 issues... He just isn't a big name for the comic.

And honestly, the Marc Spector Moon Knight run was often considered very MID. Not outright terrible, but very directionless. It existed and left very little impact on the series.

I'll give it credit that it DID at least keep the series going and allow it to reboot again later instead of just disappearing forever. So thank you for that!

But… I remember that Zelenetz had an interview where he talked about where he had wanted to take Moon Knight after Vol 2 ended, but he was no longer on the project. Now I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had been allowed to keep going.

ANYWAYS… What issue are we on?

Marc Spector, Moon Knight: Issue #3: Butcher’s Moon

Written by: Charles Dixon

Art by: Sal Velluto

Oh boy. Where’s that Content Warning able? I have a feeling this is about to get dicey.

WOW. Right out the gate!

Alright so... We see an airport and someone is going through customs.

We are now in Burunda.

And a very uh... characture... fellow... asks to see this guy's passport.

It's CLEARLY Marc in a disguise. He has a European UK Passport and is claiming to be Ian Waller, a photo journalist from Manchester sent to take pictures of how the country is doing under the new General leader Bushman.

The customs officer keeps his passport, telling him that he will get it back when he leaves. (Not a good sign.)

The town is "Freedomtown" and ....

I'm going to make you squint at this picture.

You got a clearly poor country depicted under the rule of a tyrant that rules through fear and violence.

You got a car with the word "TAXI" spray painted on the side. He claims to be the only taxi in the country.

Then you have several children running after the 'photojournalist' yelling "White man rich? White man have dollar?"

Then on the corner you have what's clearly supposed to be a hooker and her pimp not too far away, though it's cleverly disguised as a bus stop and can be argued otherwise. Then you got homeless guys and bags of trash... There's a lot going on here. It's like a Where's Waldo of stereotypical poor African country depiction.

He gets in the taxi and the driver takes off.

"Driver? I didn't give you a destination."

"Only ONE destination, Sah. Only ONE Hotel."

(I am grinning at the idea of Marc putting on a fake Manchester Accent. Thank you Steven Grant MCU. He actually says "I guess it is, innit?" and I'm so happy).

The 'photojournalist' goes to take a picture of some military group and the Taxi driver smacks his camera down.

"No! NO picture without permission, Sah."

How very North Korea of you.

The Journalist gets to the hotel and starts to unpack.

Would you look at that? It's Marc Spector in disguise! (Another mustache) He vows that once it gets dark he's going to go looking for Marlene and also take care of Bushman.

We head over to the Presidential Palace.

Out front we see a truck arrive full of people and a bunch of guards with guns offloading them.

And in the back of the palace there is a large pool. So of course we see Marlene out for a swim in a tiny bikini. Getting back to the basics.

She gets out of the pool and Bushman offers her a robe. They exchange a few quips.

"What's your game, Bushman? What made you want to settle down and rule your own personal dungheap?"

"I Feel compassion for my people. This WAS my homeland. The Tribe my family belonged to once ruled this land frm end to end until the Europeans deposed them. Now I rule. I am like a warming sun shining on my people. I am like the rain that nourishes the soil."

"I can think of another thing that nourishes the soil, General. And you're full of it."

While they talk, they are interrupted by gunfire.

"You do amuse me. You find my ways harsh. I see them as direct. As sole ruler of Burunda, I face no opposition, no Bureaucracy. I am free to deal with my nation's problems efficiently."

We cut to another panel where we see soldiers with smoking guns and a pile of dead bodies of men young and old.

"Problems such as aids. I have found a cure for aids."

HISTORY TIME:

Alright. There is a LOT going on in that last panel. A LOT of history. A LOT of politics. a LOT of terrible things.

This comic came out in 1989. We are at the height of the Aids pandemic. I'm not going to get deeply into it, but if you have questions please feel free to ask. In America, it was seen strictly as a Homosexual disease and the people afflicted were written off, forgotten, and left to die alone and scared. In Africa, many places saw Aids as a sin-ful or taboo disease and they were cast out of their villages or outright killed.

It was a disease that wiped out a generation of homosexual men and is the reason why there are so few older gays for younger people to learn from. It's... It's a whole thing and there are papers and books and documentaries on it.

What I find interesting in relation to THIS comic in particular...

We are in 1989, it's still killing gay men and a lot of people saw this as a good thing. The way this panel is done is to show how terrible this is. It brings humanity to the aids victims and shows that killing them is NOT a solution and is a terrible thing. ALSO considering the Marvel editor in chief that caused a lot of writers to leave was intensely homophobic, this may have been a sneaky jab.

Take my word for it, there is a LOT going on.

It's a beautifully sad panel. I'm not going to show it because it has dead bodies and depicts extreme violence and is just too depressing.

Back to the comic!

Marlene yells at Bushman, demanding to be let go.

Bushman says that "Spector will come for you. He loves you more than he will ever admit to you, I know him. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants."

Back at the hotel we see a bunch of guards knocking on the 'photo journalist's' door.

They go inside only to find him gone!

Up on the roof, we have Moon Knight holding a bow and arrow set.

"Nobody in sight. Bushman probably has a curfew around here. Boy, is he strict. Hope nobody asks for my hall pass."

I must say that the colorist really did a fantastic job on the night time shading and moon light glow. It's just very pretty.

He climbs a bell tower to get a good view of the area and finds a military compound with a large fuel truck.

Marc, of course, gets a bright idea for a diversion.

One of the guards near the truck pulls out a cigaret and asks for a light. A note says "Translated from Domi, a local tribal dialect"

"I got your light, Pal." Marc says just before he lets loose an arrow.

What I love about this is that Marc understands him. Implying that Marc understands the dialect. This is why he's such a good mercinary. He isn't just good at killing and fighting. He was amazing at learning everything about the places he went, including the language.

The arrow hits the truck and BLAAAAAAAAAAM.

Oh look at that. An Ammunition storehouse.

Yeah, he blows that one up too. He's having a good time.

"That should keep their eyes off the rooflines and their minds off ME for a while."

We find Bushman in his private office wathing a women's fighting match.

Someone interrupts him to tell him that the supply depot has exploded and injured many men, but somehow not killed anyone.

"He is here." Bushman smiles.

If you will think back to issue 1 of Moon Knight, Marc did the exact same thing when he came back from the dead and was sneaking back into the dig site. He blew up a truck to cause a distraction.

I'm starting to think Marc might be a bit of a pyro.

"We now head Several Hundred Miles South" where a bunch of men are sitting around a camp fire near a helicopter.

And here we see Frenchie walking up. He starts in French, saying hello and asking if they speak French. Then English.

"I want to buy your helicopter."

"You are saying WHAT?"

"The Huey. I want to buy your Huey."

They laugh a little, thinking he is joking until Frenchie pulls out a suitcase full of money.

....Now... I'd like to point out that Frenchie did just as much work as Marc, possibly more, and got paid a lot. He never really did much with it... He probably has a lot saved up. He ALSO probably had Steven invest for him. I would not be surprised if Frenchie is richer than Marc.

So he takes off with the chopper and tosses behind the money.

Back in town, we see the soldiers running around looking for Moon Knight.

Up high, we see Moon Knight walking across the power lines towards the palace.

He sneaks inside and takes out a guard.

Elsewhere, we see two soldiers moving to retrieve Marlene for Bushman.

They hear the shower running and go to get her (and take a peek). She opens the curtain and reveals she's in her bathing suit and ready to fight. She sprays one guy with hot water in the face then kicks the other guard.

She manages to steal a fifle and takes off. "This is what Bushman calls an army? I might not even need this rifle."

Marc is having a similar thought.

Bullets fly all over as he runs down a hall.

"These guys can't be this bad at marksmanship by accident. It's more like they're just chasing me somewhere. If it's closer to Bushman, then I'm happy to oblige."

WINDOW! WINDOW! WE HAVE A WINDOW!

Now, let me just say, I do love the Bushman design in this. This is how he SHOULD be. Not whatever that was that Bemis gave us.

"Do you see this sword? It is the traditional weapon of my people."

"Thanks for showing me the family silverware, Bushman. But I'm here for the woman."

"Some things never change. You always did use snappy banter when you were most nervous, Spector. Defeat me and the woman's yours."

Marc asks why Bushman became obsessed with him.

"You represent everything I hate. A mercenary making his fortune from the miseries of the third world."

"Cut the bull! You made millions and never cared where the money came from as long as you could spend it. I may have been a mercenary, but you were a butcher! I never shot anyone who wasn't pointing a gun at me."

"It was just such softness that always got you in trouble!"

They start the battle. Marc with his nun-chucks snaps takes their swings. Bushman draws first blood when he slices through Marc's mask.

"It's not who bleeds first. It's who's left standing!"

Another slice cuts into Marc's side, but he's had worse.

Marc kicks him in the chest then smashes his face with the palm of his hand.

Marc goes full ...Marc... on Bushman, fists and blows. It's his fighting style to take hits and keep going.

Marc gets the upper hand and demands to know where Marlene is.

Bushman calls out to his men to shoot Marc.

"They shoot me, they hit you too!" Marc reminds him.

But then bullets rain down around them, snapping Bushman's sword in two.

And Frenchie comes in with the chopper.

"Through playing the hero yet, Marc?"

"Good to hear your voice, Frenchie. Put her down as close as you can. This place is HOT."

Marlene wants to know why she can't just shoot Bushman and end it.

Marc tells her not to. He fails to give her any good reason other than that they need to get out of there quickly.

I have theories about this that I'll discuss in a moment.

Marc releases Bushman as soon as they start to take off.

"You walk away this time, General. THIS time!"

Frenchie opens fire, scattering the men to prevent them from trying to shoot them down.

What I love about this is that Marc is still the chaotic, bad decision making, single man army, and utter goof he has always been and will continue to be when written well. He has a strange but endearing sense of humor and he does not take it well when those close to him are at risk.

So this story done, let’s address a few things!

In this introduction to the new series, you’ll notice a lot of people are missing.

Where’s Gena, Crawley, Samules, Nedda, Jake, and Steven? Why is this Marc Spector in title and the Spector Mansion? Why is Marlene suddenly addressing him as Marc and okay with dating Marc when she’s previously hated Marc and only wanted to be with Steven?

No one addressed their DID better than Moench. With Moench out of the picture, who was very forward thinking in terms of this mental illness and its depictions for its time, we are now at the mercy of people who have not done their research and who have not kept up with the evolution of mental illness. We are now at the mercy of writers that follow Hollywood depictions. Sure, Moench based it off of Hollywood at first, but somehow, this man was in touch with modern issues, accurate depictions of DID, PTSD, depression, dissociation… He had a gift.

With the upheaval at Marvel, they were more reliant on the reader and what the statistics told them readers wanted. Readers of the early 90s apparently wanted ACTION and HOT BABES and MANLY MEN. So guess what? Marc’s in charge and the others? They are going to be lucky to get any screen time. We’re going to start seeing more references to Marc ‘pretending to be other people’ and more references to Marc as being closer to Schizophrenia or ‘crazy’ than DID (or Multiple Personality Disorder, as it was known by at the time).

And all those side characters? We’ve already seen that Nedda has been retired. Samules? Also probably retired and replaced by Chloe up there in her bikini.

Gena? In the last run, Gena was talking a lot about leaving. She’d been through a lot and she, perhaps, was the first victim of being too close to them. She was beloved by Jake and she acted as a kind and nurturing voice with him. She brought out the best in him and he loved her boys like a doting uncle. And she was the first to get hurt.

So will we see Gena in this run? We’ll have to wait and see.

What about Crawley? An eccentric and useful man to Jake and Moon Knight. Here’s the deal on Crawley. Moench wrote him with such a unique way of speaking that other writers found it difficult to keep it going with him. Even his personality was pretty unique. So we aren’t going to see a whole lot of Crawley either, and he may change in how we see him.

Now for Jake and Steven? In Moench’s run, Marc took the back seat. From this point on in Moon Knight history, Marc is going to sit front and center and the other two are going to be passing fancies. Perhaps I’ll make a different analysis on this later. What DOES happen is that we are going to start seeing more of WHO Marc Spector really is, and not just what Steven and Jake see. (He's kind of a goofy idiot with severe self loathing).

Bushman: I think I talked about this before, but in case I didn’t or you haven’t read it yet, here we go again (for the first time?).

Bushman was never meant to be the BIG BAD. He was the catalyst. When Marlene asks Bushman why he’s obsessed with Marc, Bushman notes that he created Marc’s need to become Moon Knight.

In reality, he is the one that ‘killed’ Marc, which did take him to Khonshu’s temple and this made him take the shroud and become Moon Knight. He’s also the one that made Marc realize he had a conflicted code of ethics and morals.

But when it comes to Bushman, Marc does not see him as ‘the big bad’. He sees a frustrating man that has an unhealthy obsession with him and often causes him stress.

And we’ve seen time and time again that Bushman does not stand up to Marc’s fighting abilities. It’s why Bushman obsesses with him. He feels like Marc was just some random guy he found and somehow Marc is better than him. And while Bushman has set out to be the best, Marc doesn’t care. Marc just IS good at what he does.

So why do fans and writers see Bushman appear and go “OHHH” and get excited?

Because Bushman represents who Marc could have been. Bushman is a representation of Marc’s past. The violence, the killing, the coldbloodedness. He’s everything Marc was becoming but still fought against. Bushman is Marc’s inner struggle. He is what Marc rebels against but still turns to time and time again.

When Marc spirals, he spirals with the image of Bushman. He was never that bad. He was never seen as being as ‘good’ as Bushman because he would not let himself become that far gone. But as Moon Knight, they have proven to be better.

Of course then you have the writers that just have a thing for Bushman because he’s ‘badass’ (Looking at you Bemis) and don’t know how to utilize him properly.

Anyways! This was the start of “Marc Spector: Moon Knight”. What do you think so far?

I’m going to be taking these in batches and not one at a time. So expect longer posts when I get to them! (Unless you have a special single issue that deserves more time).

…this was a long post.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #Analyzing the comics #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Marlene Alraune #Bushman #I'm back!#That was a longer break than I intended but things happened

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mortemoppetere · 6 months

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TIMING: pre-goo LOCATION: the old axis investigations PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: regan tries to convince emilio to get his assistant to back off her case. emilio is predictably uncooperative CONTENT: unsanitary tw

Once Regan passed the third ash stain on the carpet on the way into Axis, she stopped counting. At least the windows were new and relatively clean; they were probably the nicest thing about this building Emilio chose to call home, and he had her to thank for it (though he never would). The man thought Siobhan liked him. And regardless if that were true, Regan suspected that being the object of Siobhan’s affection was a lethal game. What she had done to Gael was bad enough. Though Regan couldn’t say she cared about the PI as much as her acquaintance, she was not prepared to have anyone else injured on her behalf. Even if, at night, when it was quiet and dark and desired felt more like dreams than willful failures, she could admit to herself that she did not want to go back.

What good did it do?

Regan gave the door a brisk knock and then pushed herself inside. It might have been a home but it was also a business, and she was here for business. Emilio looked tired and smelled bad, like sewage. Regan’s nose wrinkled. She had assumed the smell had been the sewers the last time they’d seen each other, but maybe the man was simply malodorous. “Hello, Cortez. As we have discussed online, you are dropping the case.” She eyed the patchy couch and ultimately decided not to sit on furniture that was probably dragged out of a dumpster. But she frowned, knowing she was sentencing both of them to some unpleasantness with the statement. “I am not leaving until you do.”

It was a slow day, so he’d sent Nora home. After all, there was no reason for her to stick around when there was nothing for her to do, and he knew she’d be far happier out terrorizing the townsfolk than she was sitting upside down on his couch, reading posts from the internet aloud. When the knock on the door sounded, he spent a moment wondering if he might have sent her home too early. When the door opened and Dr. Kavanagh stepped inside, he wondered if he ought to text Nora and have her come back. After all, there were few people she seemed to enjoy messing with more than Regan, and it seemed almost cruel to deny her such an opportunity.

Emilio eyed Regan as she placed herself in the center of the room, glancing at the sofa before seemingly deciding she’d rather stand. Emilio leaned back in his desk chair, blinking slowly at her as his mind processed her words. It always took a moment longer to translate Kavanagh’s words in his mind than it did for other people, mostly because she seemed incredibly fond of using as many syllables as possible. “I think I already told you I’m not dropping it,” he replied, “but I don’t mind saying it again. I’m not dropping it.” Mostly for Nora’s sake. It was clear that she’d latched on to this particular case, and Emilio wouldn’t force her to let it go. He couldn’t. If he tried, she’d likely pursue it on her own, and that would end poorly, he knew. So… it was what it was. He crossed his arms over his chest as Kavanagh insisted she wasn’t leaving. “All right. Guess you’re staying, then. You want a beer or something?”

The welcome was warmer than Regan wanted. Emilio was supposed to just see her, decide this wasn’t worth the hassle, and drop the case without argument. Instead, the man stubbornly dug his heels in, and that didn’t bode well for this being a quick conversation or simple matter. There was a reason beyond a financial incentive that kept hooks in him. Regan suspected she knew what it was, who it was. “A beer? Please.” She paused, realizing how the remark could be interpreted. “That means certainly not.” He could act like he didn’t mind her there, but two could play at this game. Rather than sitting, Regan paced across the room, weaving around mysterious carpet stains. “I don’t think you want me here.” Her voice was low, a threat, though not one with any teeth to it. “Is this all for the ham child’s benefit? I don’t think you care. So it must be for her. She doesn’t understand what will become of you if you continue with this case, but I do.”

She decided that, yes, she would actually try to scare him. He knew enough to be scared. So Regan summoned her asfís bháis, her eyes filling with inky black as she took in the room as death guided her senses. There was a scream – near but distant in time, years ago, at least. She pricked her head in focus. A thud followed, stiff, practically by her feet. And when Regan looked down, a deep, red puddle of blood seemed to bloom across the carpet as if from some hidden spring. Someone had died here, and she could feel it as a caress across her skin – and even better that it should come in handy for her now. She met Emilio’s eyes. “I hear a scream. I see blood, spreading across your floor.” She waited a moment for dramatic effect, then let her eyes fade back to their normal blue, death’s images folding themselves away again, just beyond her perception. “Drop the case.”

For a moment, he did misunderstand, mistaking her ‘please’ as a request for him to actually get her a beer. It caught him off guard for a moment… largely because he didn’t actually have any beer. Emilio was more prone to the harder alcohols, with whiskey instead of beer lining his kitchen. It was almost a relief when she clarified that, no, she didn’t want a beer. She wanted him to drop the case. And he had no intention of doing that. Maybe it had started for Nora, and maybe it was holding firm because Emilio liked little more than being a nuisance to someone, but he could admit that there was more to it than that, too. Someone was attempting to force Kavanagh to go somewhere she didn’t want to go so that other people could force her to be someone she didn’t want to be. Maybe there was some part of Emilio that understood that just a little. “I don’t want you here,” he confirmed, “but you don’t want to be here, either. Between the two of us, I think I’ve got the easier job here. I just have to sit in my apartment. You’ll give in before I do.”

She began to walk around, and Emilio watched her with some interest. She was definitely doing… something. He didn’t know nearly enough about banshees or fae in general to understand what it meant when her eyes turned black, and he leaned forward a little, head tilting slightly. She looked at him, and as she spoke, he tensed. There was a split second where the shitty apartment morphed into a living room in Mexico, a moment where he was somewhere else a long time ago. Moments like that happened often, for Emilio. He’d never been able to figure out how to stop them. “I don’t know how you know about that,” he said, voice tight, “but it’s fucking low coming in here and using that shit against me. A fucking kid?” He was seething now but, unfortunately for Regan, the ploy had the opposite of her desired effect. “I’m not doing shit that you want me to do. Vete a la chingada. I’m not dropping anything.”

A kid? What was he talking about? Regan’s forehead scrunched at the comment, and she was perturbed by his lack of fear. Instead, his voice had an angry edge; she hadn’t expected that. “What kid? I have no clue what you’re referring to,” Regan said, crossing her arms, “but if you don’t drop the case, I might have to do some further investigating.” Had the scream she’d heard, the blood that had seeped beneath the floorboards, come from a child? She didn’t think so. If not here, then were they on Emilio’s conscience? Interesting.

Low. She did not think she had been low. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be. What was stopping her from screaming until Emilio’s willpower was deafened? From breaking every window, every light, until the value of replacing such things was greater than the value of the case? Regan knew the answer. She did not like it. Weakness. The thought was infuriating, which only shamed her more. Threats were all she had to stand on, but when it came to carrying them out in full, her resolve was poor. One thing seemed rather obvious now, though: he more or less knew what she was, or at least that she was not human. Judging by his response in the sewers, he might have even known more. Regan looked him in the eyes, his heated anger meeting her freezing gaze. “I can make my presence intolerable to you, if I haven’t already succeeded at that. 85 Decibels can be quite bothersome. That’s about the volume of a blender. 120 is an ambulance siren. 150 is a shotgun, which can result in hearing loss, though really any sound above 110 decibels can cause some immediate damage. Do you have a preference?” Though considering Emilio wasn’t fazed by his assistant threatening to shoot his kneecaps, Regan had to wonder if this had any chance of working.

She seemed… confused, almost. As if Emilio’s anger was unwarranted, unexpected. It didn’t make any kind of sense. Hadn’t anger been what she was going for? Wasn’t it what she’d intended, with her black eyes and her dark reminder of blood seeping into the living room floor? She must have wanted to piss him off, otherwise she wouldn’t bring up things she had no business knowing about. “Cut the shit,” he snarled, angrier now by her denial. “I don’t know how you know about that, but you’re not using it as a goddamn weapon. If you think you can use her to get me to do what you want, you’re — You’re a lot more fucked up than I thought. Fuck dropping the case. I’ll keep on it just to piss you off.”

He held her gaze, fire burning behind his eyes. Did he believe her? She’d been willing to bring up his dead daughter — a subject he was so tight-lipped about that she shouldn’t have known about it at all, unless whatever she’d done with those blackened eyes had somehow revealed it to her — in order to make him back down. In comparison, he considered releasing a scream that might deafen him to be a far kinder fate. He also found he cared less than he ought to. It wasn’t about Nora anymore, wasn’t about that feeling in his chest that made him think he might understand a piece of Kavanagh’s struggle. It was rage driving him now. And Emilio had always been so much better at rage than he was at anything else. “Sure,” he said, “go for it. Kind of ruins your whole ‘I want you to drop this case so you don’t get hurt by a scream’ thing, but that’s all right. Think I can do this just as well without being able to hear shit. Might be nice not having to listen to people talk. So, let’s hear it. Go ahead and yell. I’m going to do what I’m going to do either way.”

There was something there, something big, and Regan suspected that if she looked hard enough, she would see it. But whatever it was, Emilio seemed to think she already knew. If he was so angry, why was he resolute on digging his heels in and keeping her there? Stubborn amadán. “Your temper is embarrassing,” Regan said, arms crossed as her eyes flicked around the dirty office. His temper wasn’t the only thing that was embarrassing. “If you’re so emotionally encumbered by my presence, you could just drop the case so I leave, you know.” His anger radiated, and she did want to press on it, pry his skull cap off and dig around inside, but that was unlikely to be in her favor. Incensing him could be helpful; driving him into a rage, less so. She needed him to be able to see reason and how pointless all of this was, how easy it would be to send her off. If he was blinded by emotion, he would fail to see it.

And, unfortunately, he called her on her bluff.

Regan grumbled in disgust as she sat down on the stained, beaten couch that smelled of mothballs. “Fine. I won’t scream at you, for now. I want you to be able to hear your resolve being worn down, anyway” Not that she was ever going to scream. Her grandmother would have had no compunctions about it. Maybe she would still make a crack or two in the windows if needed. “So what should we discuss? I could tell you about the latest gastric emptying I did in great detail. The decedent ate rice as his last meal. The texture was exquisite. Or maybe you’d prefer I talk about the qualities of an ideal turtleneck for the next couple of hours.” Regan shrugged, leaning back on the disgusting couch. She’d take a good shower tonight. “Your time is more precious than mine. How would you like to fill your remaining hours?”

Of all the things that might have served to embarrass Emilio, his temper had never been one of them. It burned hot, sure, and often got him into far more trouble than he was looking to get into, but it also saved his ass enough to be worth it. His mother often considered rage to be the only useful emotion housed in Emilio’s chest. Rage could be honed, could be sharpened like a knife. Rage turned grief into a weapon, ensuring that Emilio was never unarmed. “If you’re so bothered by my emotions, you know where the door is,” he shot back stubbornly. He wouldn’t give in now, if only because she so clearly wanted him to. Most things Emilio did these days were out of spite. He had little else to cling to.

His expression turned smug as she relented, confirming his suspicion that she had no real intention of screaming him deaf. It hadn’t been as much a gamble as it seemed. Kavanagh wasn’t the type to resort to such things, and Emilio knew it. “Don’t think I’ll be hearing that.” Even if it was a thing a person could hear, Emilio’s resolve tended to be pretty strong… even when it shouldn’t be. Leaning back, Emilio opened the desk drawer and produced a bottle from within, setting it onto the desk and popping off the top. “Yeah? That’s great.” He was a hard man to disgust, if that was what she was trying to do; if years of winding up covered in viscera of various beasts hadn’t strengthened the force of his stomach, fatherhood would have done it. You couldn’t imagine the things babies were capable of producing until you were wiping them off on your jeans. “You hoping to annoy me into giving up? You know who I’ve got working for me, don’t you? Get lots of ‘being annoyed’ already.” He had experience with this sort of thing. She’d have to try a lot harder.

Regan was sure several hours had passed. She didn’t dare check her phone because doing so might betray that she was, in fact, looking forward to getting out of here. She usually enjoyed these topics, but Emilio had a way of sucking all of the joy out of a room like some reverse bladder, or human perianal fistula. She was probably no better. But she knew how to appreciate death’s intricate work.

“And that was… every type of skin tag,” Regan said, concluding what had at least been a full-length lecture. She had quickly learned that Emilio had a strong constitution. He would not be disgusted into a loss, so she needed to bore him instead. And what was more boring than the next topic she had in mind? “I think you would enjoy hearing about the billing system we use at the morgue,” she said, pushing through the twisting pain in her gut from the lie (worth it). “Not for the autopsies, of course; those are free for the next of kin unless they’re requesting a private one. But for the supplies. Do you know many gloves I go through in a day? A week?” She gave Emilio a studying glance. Was he really going to sit through this? Surely he had to be on the verge of calling it a day, right? But, no, there was probably another bottle stashed in there… or twenty.

It wasn’t hard to tune her out, really. Half the time, the challenge for Emilio was to actually listen to people as they spoke rather than allowing himself to zone out as his mind wandered. He went through most of his life catching… every other word people said to him, if that. So turning the town’s banshee medical examiner into a white noise machine wasn’t a very hard thing to do. He shuffled through his papers as she spoke, reading up on case files. If anything, he felt as though he was getting more done with the soundtrack.

He finished up with the case he was reviewing around the same time she finished up with her lecture. Humming thoughtfully, he shoved the papers together and folded the corners down, then dropped them on the floor beside his desk. Not the best organization system, but it worked for him. With that done, he got to his feet. He glanced over to Kavanagh, only just realizing that she’d started in on something else. “Grabbing another drink,” he told her, holding up the empty whiskey bottle he’d finished off towards the end of her last lecture. “Don’t let me stop you. Tell me all about the… You said gloves? Can’t wait.” Maybe he’d text Nora, let her come by to enjoy the show. Kavanagh would like that.

As he walked into the kitchen, Perro made his presence known. Emilio nodded. Right. She’d been going a few hours, hadn’t she? The dog needed to go out. But would doing that mean forfeiting this… whatever this was? Emilio wasn’t really clear on the rules. “Hey,” he called back into the living room, “my dog’s gotta piss.”The intricate details of how to request an order of new nitrile gloves through Maine’s ME system’s archaic online supply store didn’t even seem to be boring Emilio. Actually, Regan wasn’t sure he caught a single word of it. Somehow, he was able to maintain focus on whatever papers he was looking at. Case-related, probably. And then there was that stupid bottle. Just to be petty, Regan pitched a screech at it – swift and controlled – shattering the empty one as he went to replace it anyway. So much for her earlier threats. Forget his ears; she didn’t even have it in her to get his paperwork sopping wet. She looked at the shattered glass and then at him, defiantly. “Forget the child. She’s too young to have any idea what she’s getting involved in. You know better… or you should, anyway.”

The dog, of course. It kept trying to nose her, probably smelling decomposition, and she squirmed away from its muzzle. Regan did not care for live animals, but she did not want the dog to suffer for its owner’s foolishness, and this place was biohazard enough without adding dog urine to the noxious mix. “Fine.” Regan said, (gladly) rising to her feet. The couch threatened to swallow her. It was not even comfortable. but didn’t want to give her up all the same. She swiped her hands over her coat like that would effectively clear them of whatever grime had transferred onto them. “But don’t think you’re going to be rid of me this way. I’m coming with you. You will not even get a break. You’re not leaving my sight until you tell me you’re dropping the case.”

Worm Row smelled rancid half the time, but it was a literal breath of fresh air outside compared to the fetid stench of the building itself. The little dog skipped along with its owner, and Regan followed suit… not skipping. How long did it take this creature to urinate? Regan turned to her own thoughts instead, though she kept coming back to how much of a waste of time this might be. She needed to find a way to hurry things along. Get him to break. “Perhaps I have been going about this the wrong way. You don’t grow bored and you are not easily revolted.” But Emilio’s emotions were exploitable, so long as she didn’t push him too far like earlier. Anyone’s were, Cliodhna would have reminded her. Such human things. “Your dog would be distraught if Siobhan murdered you.” She thought for a moment, unsure if she could really say dogs had such feelings. “It would at least be wondering where supper is. How sad your dog would likely value your life more than you value it.”

His bottle shattered, and it didn’t take a detective to figure out what had caused it. He shot Regan a deadpan look, brow shooting up. What was the point of that? The expression seemed to ask. The bottle was already empty. No whiskey was spilled. If she were trying to kill him with flying glass, it was a bad plan. None of the glass had even touched him. It was just on his desk. “Try telling her that,” he said, grabbing the garbage can beside the desk and sweeping the glass into it. “She gets involved where she wants. She wants to be involved here. Better for me to work it with her than to let her do it alone, no?” There was no doubt in his mind that, if he dropped the case the way Regan wanted him to, Nora would continue to pursue it on her own. That was part of the ‘knowing better,’ wasn’t it?

Kavanagh didn’t argue as he announced his intention to take the dog out, though Emilio wouldn’t have cared if she did. The dog needed to piss, he was taking the dog to piss. It wasn’t like the doctor would physically stop him; the most she could do to deter him was threaten to stay in his apartment, which he didn’t really care about. There were few things, in fact, that Emilio did care about, these days. Perro just happened to be one of them. He clipped the leash to the dog’s harness, glancing over as Kavanagh stood. “Great,” he said dryly. “You can get a tour of the neighborhood. You’ll love it.” She wouldn’t. No one loved Worm Row, not even Emilio. But, hey, maybe it’d be shitty enough for her to leave him alone. Or maybe Jeff would stab him. That’d probably give him a break.

Out on the street, Emilio let Perro sniff around as he always did, searching for something Emilio didn’t understand to choose where to use the bathroom. Emilio flipped through his phone, half-listening as Kavanagh started in on another rant. “Friend would take him,” he said absently, tapping out a message on the phone and not looking up at Kavanagh as he spoke. Teddy or Wynne or Arden or someone would probably make off with Perro if Siobhan murdered him — which he didn’t think she’d do. Killing him wouldn’t solve Siobhan’s issue; he figured she knew that. “Perro values my life because he’s a dog. Dogs are stupid. Not a good argument. Got a better one?”

There was some validity to what Emilio was saying, which was a jarring thought to have skittering through her mind. The ham child’s determination was something fierce; Regan knew little about her, but that had been obvious even from their first interaction. Without Emilio’s oversight – however flimsy it was – would the child pursue Siobhan on her own? Would Siobhan harm a child? Regan didn’t know the answer and that needled at her. Over the last several years, her morality had been one of considering the greater good; how many animals needed to die for her to not be a danger? Was the good she could do, the patients she could help, worth all of that? What did telling someone of their impending death do for them? Was it better to extinguish the rest of what remained of Regan Kavanagh by returning to Saol Eile, or try to kindle what still occasionally flickered? Her grandmother had answers to all of these questions, but they rotted inside of Regan’s stomach like clinging bile. She grew silent as she followed Emilio – the first time she had really stopped speaking in the last several hours.

Most people didn’t refer to their animals as stupid. Regan never had any pets herself, but she was confident about that, and her thoughts turned to Jade and how fondly she spoke of the cat, Lullaby. “You’re stifling your affection, but I’ll allow it. I don’t need to see that.” Besides, she was still distracted. Regan wished she could simply encourage both Emilio and the child to preserve their own lives, but now she wasn’t sure how possible that was. “You have no control over her? You could stop paying her. Stop employing her. You’re the adult.” She was of course speaking of the ham child. Regan cut him an even look, for perhaps the first time. “Look, you understand more about this than I initially thought. I don’t know why you don’t value your life, but I think you value hers.”

She went quiet, and Emilio let the silence remain untouched between them. He didn’t mind the talking — in fact, he preferred to have something to distract him from the minefield that existed within the confines of his own mind — but Kavanagh had been going nonstop for a while now and it was a little nice to have some reprieve from that. The silence was never going to be a lasting thing; Kavanagh was stubborn, and she knew what she wanted. Emilio respected that, even if he himself was far too stubborn to budge. It was a classic conundrum, an unmovable object and an unstoppable force. Neither of them would win in the end; there was no real scenario in which no one suffered any negative consequences. Emilio was pretty sure they both knew that.

He shrugged as she spoke again, not denying it. He did have affection for the dog, as stupid as it might be. There was an empty place in his chest that had existed for years now, and Perro was the first living thing that had filled it. It was a little sad, he knew, but Emilio loved the damn dog. And, though he wouldn’t say it for both their sakes, he loved Nora, too. “I don’t pay her,” he replied. “She doesn’t want money, she says. Which means even if I fired her, she’d keep doing what she’s doing. The kid’s going to do what the kid’s going to do, with or without me there. If I’m there, I can try to make sure she doesn’t get hurt doing it. But if I’m not there? Who looks out for her then? She’s got no one else.” He knew it was by design. Nora distanced herself from people the same way Emilio did. But she deserved protection, and he’d give it to her. “I’m doing this because I value her life. Because the only way I can keep her safe is to get into this shit with her and watch her back. She’s doing it either way. I’m just making sure she’s not doing it alone. You have to see that that’s better.”

The child was living in a crypt and didn’t want money. Foolish. Maybe she just didn’t know what money could be used for. Her socialization had obviously been stunted – something Regan could relate to, though she wouldn’t admit it. After hours of talking about nothing substantial and trying to twist Emilio’s arm to get him to back off, she had finally converged on a realization, something they had in common. That could be used.

As the dog urinated on someone’s flowers, she spoke up. “I’m willing to make a deal with you.” Regan chewed on the thought, permutations of wording flying through her mind. Cliodhna was far better at this than she was, but she at least wasn’t terrible at it. The rare domain of her training that didn’t elicit such harshness from her grandmother. “I will leave you and won’t intervene in your investigation if you do your best to keep the ham child away from direct altercation with Siobhan or others like us who… may later involve themselves. Doing your best means you will lay down your life to prevent it. You will lay down your dog’s life, if you must.” Her voice went grave. A woman walking some kind of large hound passed by, shooting the two of them a strange look. Regan didn’t spare her a glance. “You’ll hear no more on the matter from me. But that doesn’t mean I’ll help, by the way. I’ve already reached an agreement with Siobhan.” The admission made her lungs twist inside of her chest, and she wormed her hands inside of her coat pockets. Her eyes flicked down before meeting Emilio’s. “What do you think? You know what you would be agreeing to. I don’t need to inform you of that.”

A deal? Emilio’s eyes narrowed, though he was careful to keep his gaze on Perro. He knew less about fae than he knew about the undead, but his long-lasting friendship with Rhett had ensured that he wasn’t clueless. He might not understand the extent of what Regan was — banshee was little more than a word to him, with only the barest of basic details within the realm of his understanding — but he was pretty sure that they were just as capable of binds as other fae. If he agreed to Kavanagh’s deal, he knew it wouldn’t just be words.

But he also knew that she’d be bound to it, too. He knew that you could make good use out of things like this sometimes, could get more than you gave. He mulled over the deal, the wording. It was too tight, he decided. The consequences could be too dire. He didn’t want to risk his life — or Perro’s, for that matter — to control Nora. Not when most of her life had seen her controlled in ways she didn’t want. “How about this,” he amended, taking a step forward as Perro continued down the sidewalk. “If you stay away from my investigations — all of them, unless I ask for your help — I’ll do what I can, within reason, to convince the kid to stay away from Siobhan. Within reason means no one’s laying down any lives.” Convincing Nora would be difficult, but it certainly felt better than the idea of trying to force her.

The idea seemed to intrigue Emilio, and his paces slowed. Regan trailed next to him, careful not to trip over the stubby little dog that seemed to be overflowing with urine. To her surprise, he did not shoot down the idea. But he didn’t seem to immediately accept it, either. She wasn’t sure she’d seen this type of quiet contemplation from him before; it was like a couple lobes of his brain were getting dusted off. Regan shook her head, turning him down faster. “No. I will not promise that. You need to specify which investigations – specifically those surrounding my case. I will not bar myself from being involved in all of them. You at least defined ‘within reason,’ and I can agree to that.” She lifted her hands in a dismissive shrug. “Or we don’t proceed. I have plenty more to talk about. The deaths of children who poke their noses where they don’t belong, perhaps. Numerous in this town.” And Emilio, as she’d learned, could not seem to tolerate the thought of dead children. “Or I could read some literature out loud. The blood issue of JAMA just came out.”

There was another issue, too. “And you will have to phrase that as a promise or oath.” Either he didn’t know as much as she thought he did, or he assumed more prowess than was capable of her. Or he was simply drafting it out at this point. Cliodhna could have already twisted the strings of his words into something to her advantage, but Regan’s abilities were – as always, it seemed – lackluster.

They had looped back to Emilio’s dilapidated building and Regan suppressed a shudder at the thought of going back inside. She could already feel the must crawling up her nasal cavity. She wasn’t sure if there was a compromise here, but that JAMA issue in her bag looked pretty hefty, and she did not want to think about sleeping on that couch.

Naturally, Kavanagh wouldn’t accept his amendments without some revisions of her own. Emilio would have been surprised if she had. She was smart, he knew. Smarter than he’d admit to thinking she was. He considered her offer, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. For a moment, he wanted to argue, but… She threatened to go on some rant about dead kids, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. He could take a lot of shit. He was good at tuning it out, skilled in pretending not to care about any of it. But that? That would threaten to send him into a hole so fucking deep, he might not be able to climb out of it. He might not have understood the shadows in his mind, but he knew they were there. He knew not to go walking into them if he could help it.

Schooling his features so that none of this was obvious, he shrugged. “All right,” he agreed. He made a note of her instruction — he had to phrase it a certain way. Rhett had always made it seem as though fae could twist your words into a noose even if they weren’t specific. Was that his brother’s paranoia, or were banshees somehow different than other fae? Or was it just this banshee? There was an itch in the back of his mind, a hunger to know, but he pushed it back. Questioning it was likely to make Kavanagh uneasy, and there was no telling how she’d react to that. Emilio didn’t particularly want to replace his windows again.

“I promise,” he said carefully, “that if you stay away from my investigations that don’t involve you, I will try to convince my assistant to back off your… thing with Siobhan. That work?”

Emilio trying his best was acceptable; being barred from involving herself in his investigations was not. Regan shook her head, her expression firm. That wasn’t ideal for her, either, but maybe there were other avenues to shake the ham child away from this. “I can’t agree to that blanket condition. Some of your investigations might hold relevance beyond what you think involves me directly.” She paused, the light catching her eyes. “Or they may just pique my interest.” Was that worth more than mitigating some of the risk Siobhan presented to them? Possibly. Especially with the lack of definitive prevention baked into this promise.

Outside of Emilio’s building, Regan looked up at the windows – the new ones that had needed to be installed. She made sure he noticed her doing it. Finally, she met his eyes. “Go on. I’m right behind you.”

#kadavernagh #regan: stinky stalemate #wickedswriting #unsanitary tw

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vanoincidence · 10 months

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Zoo Blues || Van & Regan

TIMING: a few weeks ago, before the current potw. LOCATION: the zoo. PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: van and regan go to the zoo :) CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a.

Van stood next to the sign, hands beneath her chin, presenting herself as if a flower. It’d been a long time since she’d come to the zoo, and though she hadn’t anticipated going with Dr. Kavanagh of all people, she decided she would do anything for the bit. She couldn’t back down now. What if it had been a test? As much as Van would have rather stayed home and burrowed beneath her blankets some more, she’d told somebody she was going to do something, so now she had to do it. She walked over to the woman who had agreed to take hers and Regan’s photo on her phone and grabbed her phone gratefully. She turned to Dr. Kavanagh with a big smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Do you want to see?” Dr. Kavanagh had just sort of… stood there, but that didn’t matter. She wanted this to be like a real trip to the zoo, no matter how unhinged the decision to go had truly been. She’d only met Dr. Kavanagh once, but she’d been nice enough, and she was a doctor! Knew animals! She could probably tell Van about everything she pointed out. That was what…. doctors did, right?

The bottom of the ocean would have been preferable to the zoo. At least there might be some interesting bones or remains down there. Maybe a whale fall. But Regan had not inadvertently agreed to go to the bottom of the ocean. And now, standing in front of a stranger snapping a photo of her and Van, her grin so wide it took up half her face, Regan decided that being one of her own patients at the morgue would have also been preferable. “No.” Regan said in response. She didn’t want to see the photo of her standing stiffly there in her coat, scowling, while children with balloons traipsed through the background. “Just tell me where you would like to go, what you would like to see, and we will make that our first and last stop.”

There were so many people here. So many ticking timebombs, marching closer toward death with each step, and they didn’t even know it. She studied the elderly, the sneezing children, and shied away from getting too close. Her grandmother had forced her into places like this in the name of training, and while Regan had managed to swallow back the occasional scream, she didn’t have a batting rate of one hundred. The hospital was too much. The hospice, far too much. The zoo in a town with a skyrocketing death rate? Well, that remained to be seen. They wouldn’t be here long, she told herself.

As an ostrich poked its head through the nearby chain link enclosure, Regan shivered. She wasn’t fond of animals, not while they were alive. Or maybe she just didn’t trust herself near them. Whatever the case, it was easier to think of them as objects, denying them their ability to feel pain or emotion, much like herself. Van, though, seemed to like them. Maybe she had been visiting Aneurysm in her spare time. Regan shifted uneasily in her coat and pointed in the other direction, away from the ostrich. “There are fewer people in that direction, over by the…” What animal was it? She saw a sign. “...Worms.” Okay, she had some questions. But the thin crowd was appealing.

Dr. Kavanagh didn’t seem too pleased to be at the zoo, but if she didn’t want to go, she wouldn’t have said yes. Van didn’t typically care what adults thought about her, anyway. This was like Emilio, only to a different degree. Dr. Kavanagh had at least helped her with her hay problem! All Emilio had done was slap cheese out of her hand and make her drink out of his pot of coffee. She frowned slightly at the memory before looking over to Dr. Kavanagh who waved away the offer to see the photo. She gave it one more look before shoving her phone into her pocket.

It probably wasn’t a great idea to go somewhere crowded, but she couldn’t back down from an invitation, not when it was with an adult who Van knew would want to be doing literally anything else. She could bet that if it were Gael, he would have jumped at the chance. But then that’d make her efforts useless; this was to test boundaries and limits to see what an adult might do for her. Gael would probably do anything, if she asked nice enough. Because he was nice. She didn’t like that he was so nice. She liked it better when adults were mean and weren’t trying to take care of her. Dr. Kavanagh probably didn’t care about her at all. It was better that way.

“I’d like to see some tigers, if there are any here.” She looked around before her gaze fell on the ostrich that was snapping its beak through the fence. At Dr. Kavanagh’s suggestion, Van’s gaze followed her outstretched finger. “You want to see the worms?” Maybe she should photoshop Dr. Kavanagh’s face onto the Alaskan Bullworm photo like she had Owen and Emilio. That would be funny. But something told her that the woman wouldn’t really appreciate it. “Sure, we can go and see the worms.” Even if the worms that were dropping out of trees across the common were terrifying. “What kinds of worms do you think they have?” She folded her hands together, looking up at Dr. Kavanagh as they walked. Just before the exhibit, there was a stall selling cotton candy. “Should we get some?” She looked over at Dr. Kavanagh briefly before deciding for herself. She pulled out her duct tape wallet and forked over the cash before coming away with a bright blue and pink mount of whipped sugar. “Do you want any?”

Regan squinted into the enclosure, unable to see anything at first. But there, in the center, were a few earthworms wriggling through the dirt. A child pulled down on his mother’s arm and pointed excitedly at the worms. “Yes, I see dear,” the mother said, seemingly trying to concentrate on the animals herself without the distraction of the child. Regan shook her head in annoyance and turned to Van, but she was gone. “Van?” Regan called out. “Where did you –oh.” There she was. And with cotton candy? “Um, no, no, that’s alright. You know those are all sugar, right? With some food coloring. And who knows where the vendor’s hands have been.” It was a bit hypocritical seeing as she had somewhat of a sweet tooth herself, but Van didn’t need to know that. She inhaled a deep breath, letting it sit in her lungs for a moment, and then slowly drew it out. No urge to scream. And getting away from the crowd had helped. But everyone wanted to see the tigers. She had to be ready.

She slipped her hands inside of the thick pockets of her coat to obscure the fact her nails had dug pits into her palms. “They just have regular earthworms in here, I think. I don’t understand why. They have plenty of animals people would pay to see. Maybe they’re trying to pad out their inventory.” She gave the worms another glance and still didn’t get it. But then, she didn’t really get the appeal of zoos in the first place. Why go to a zoo when there are natural history museums with the same beasts after death had done its part? “But, uh, let’s go see the tigers. And then we can leave, right? Is that the only reason you wanted to come here? The tigers?” She allowed herself a glimmer of hope. One animal and they’d be done. A sign offered some helpful guidance, with an arrow pointed down the main pathway and images of animals floating around it: tigers, elephants, flamingos, and what looked like a mole.

“Yeah, I know. But the blue always tastes like blue even if it doesn’t taste like blue. You know?” This was something that Van was adamant about. Red flavor usually sucked, no matter what it was supposed to taste like, and blue flavor always ruled. Pink was … somewhere in the middle. But the comment about the vendor’s hands made Van frown. She looked at her sugary snack and then looked back up to Dr. Kavanagh before shrugging, breaking off a wad of the cotton candy and shoving it into her mouth. She had eaten worse things.

“Just earthworms…” Those were the ones people kept talking about helped decay dead things. She wondered if they’d visited– No. She wouldn’t think about a family of earthworms visiting her parents six feet under. She refused, actually. Van inhaled sharply, not realizing she had slightly mirrored Dr. Kavanagh in doing so. She looked over her cotton candy to the worm exhibit, gaze traveling over the glass terrariums. All she could see from where she stood was dirt. That wasn’t very fun. Dr. Kavanagh had asked her a question. She pulled her attention away from the worms and looked at the white haired woman expectantly, as if hoping she would repeat what she had said. She had drank two red bulls before coming out today, it should have been enough, but she still found exhaustion had its hold on her.

She ran through the possibilities of what the doctor had asked her and she nodded, figuring that might be the safest bet. Shit. What if Dr. Kavanagh had asked her to go on one of the kiddie coasters they had across the zoo? But after observing her company for a moment, something deep down told her that was not the case. Van took another wad of the cotton candy and shoved it into her mouth, wiping her sticky fingers off on the napkin that was wrapped around the paper cone. As they walked, Van found her attention stretching thin– it jumped from one animal to the next, all the while sight set on the sign that advised tigers were ahead. Excitement burrowed itself into her, and for a moment, she felt a bit like a kid again. It was weird, considering how awkward this encounter was. But it felt like a regular zoo trip. “I think they’re over there!” She pointed at the farside of the walkway where a giant plastic tiger was on its hind legs, paws outstretched and mouth open. “I think if I were an animal I’d want to be a tiger, but really I think that I’d just be…” She didn’t know what she’d be. “What would I be? And what would you be, Dr. Kavanagh?” Maybe conversation would erase some of the unease the other wore on her features– and it was a nice distraction for herself, too.

“An animal in the zoo?” Regan’s lips sank at the thought of being gawked at all day, every day. She preferred being a wallflower, unnoticed by all except those engaging her in intelligent conversation. Unfortunately, the screaming and the wings scoffed at her desire to be invisible. She also, for unrelated reasons, didn’t care to spare much thought to live animals. It was easiest that way. She nudged the thought away. “We are what we are,” she explained, finding Van’s desire to be a tiger both childish and distasteful. “What makes you so discontent?” Cliodhna would have agreed that humans were inferior to tigers, but she also knew that humans weren’t aware of their inferiority. So shouldn’t Van have been content and stupid? Or perhaps that wasn’t even the point of this mental exercise. Regan pushed the thought away and let herself be tugged along by Van, whose attention snapped from one animal to the next. One enclosure up ahead had throngs of people around it, little children leaning against the glass and adults snapping their cameras at whatever was inside. Regan tilted her head in curiosity, and the nearby sign answered her question. “The tigers are over here,” she pointed, “though I don’t know how much of a view you’ll get with all of these people around.” So many people…

Something lurched inside her, a shadow creeping through her gut, making her pause. She stood, staring at the crowd. It was nothing. Nerves. Regan shook her head and looked at Van. Just in case. “Let’s be quick about it, alright?”

“Oh, you like Kesha too?” Van wasn’t sure if Dr. Kavanagh actually liked Kesha, or if she’d come up with the explanation on her own. Maybe she would take a test later, and take it for her companion, too. She could probably DM the results, right? She looked around their surroundings, gaze searching for the stripes of the tiger. At Dr. Kavanagh’s question, Van shrugged. “Not discontented, just think that being a tiger would be like, super cool.” She’d be big, and people would be afraid of her. Then again, people were already afraid of her. Those who knew, at least. There were a lot of people and it made Van’s skin itch. She didn’t particularly like the idea of pushing into a crowd of people to get a good look. Maybe they could swing around later. She wasn’t sure if Dr. Kavanagh would last that long.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder at her puffer coated companion and nodded. Wasn’t she a little warm in that? Van tried to crane her neck to get a view of the tiger, but it seemed to be laying against the glass based off of the shrieks of delight from the guests ahead of them. Disappointment shrouded her and she turned around to look at Dr. Kavanagh. “I don’t think we’ll see it, we can go see the…” She squinted at the sign with the arrow pointing out of the small caved exhibit. “It looks like anteaters are that way. I thought they did this regionally?” She shrugged, slightly miffed by the lack of tiger sighting, before making the decision to head forth into the next exhibit, only looking slightly over her shoulder to see if Dr. Kavanagh had changed her mind about the cotton candy she offered once again.

She was giving up. Van was giving up. Something snapped to life inside Regan. “No. You were excited to see the tigers. As inconsequential as that is, you paid money to come here and you are entitled to see them.” She wasn’t sure why she cared. There weren’t many things she cared about, really. But this seemed an injustice, and Van had really wanted to go here, hadn’t she? Her lifespan was short. She should have tigers. And then they could leave. Regan wrapped her hand around Van’s shoulder to anchor her so she didn’t run off to see the anteaters just yet. “Follow me. I will get us closer.” She wasn’t even sure what she intended to do; she wasn’t about to push children out of the way. But maybe the crowd would part in response to the oddity of her coat.

As they got closer to the crowd, she had a flush of lightheadedness. She waved it away as weak nerves. Shameful. Not to be dwelled upon now. She would answer for it later. Regan tried to wedge the two of them closer to the glass. “Excuse me. This child must see the tigers.” People were, indeed, giving her a strange look and wide berth. And as something twisted deep within her gut and brought a chill to her skin, those confused eyes on her started growing mixed with… something that resembled concern. It was the fierce pressure that whipped up in her lungs that forced her recognition. Regan froze and tried to hide her need to bowl over.

She knew, instinctively, that this was the pivotal moment. Stay, and let the force inside her swell into an explosive wail, or back away and let it sizzle out in her lungs before it could even ignite. If she got far enough away, and quickly enough, she wouldn’t need to endure swallowing the scream back. But she was also rapidly losing her ability to focus on anything other than clamping her mouth shut. She turned to Van, humiliating desperation in her eyes. She muttered between the flaring of her lungs. “I need to get out of here right now.” She could only hope Van had enough of the tigers by now.

Van did not bother to hide the disappointment of Dr. Kavanagh not asking her who Kesha was, or verifying that she was a fan. Instead, her zoo companion must have mistaken her discontentment over that for the tigers, though if Van were being honest, that was only a little bit of it. She blinked at the pale-haired woman and allowed herself to be directed into the throng of people, keeping her elbows tucked in so that she didn’t accidentally jab anyone in the process.

Dr. Kavanagh was speaking, something about a child– OH, she was the child. Van waved at the woman that gave them both a look. The urge to explain that she was twenty died at the back of her throat because as soon as she opened her mouth to squawk it out, a tiger’s tail slapped against the glass. Van’s eyes grew wide and she shoved forward, her cotton candy pressed as closely against her chest to avoid hitting anyone (or the glass) with it. Van pressed her face against the glass, pointing at the tigers, only to look behind her at Dr. Kavanagh who looked like she was about to blow chunks. Gross. Oh god, was she afraid of people, too? She’d forgotten her own discomfort by Dr. Kavangh’s insistence that she needed to see the tigers.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She wasn’t childish enough to insist that they stay. This was just a zoo and it would always be here. She didn’t know Dr. Kavanagh well, but she figured that when a doctor said she needed to leave, she needed to leave. Maybe she had a burrito for lunch and was afraid of farting in front of everyone, Van didn’t know. But she’d been there. “Okay.” Van shoved a woman out of the way– the same one who looked at her with the knowledge of her not being a child. “She’s a doctor and you need to move.” Van forced herself (and her anxiety) down, knocking into somebody else. The cotton candy went abandoned, being trampled on by toddlers as they mimicked the way Van had been pressed against the glass only moments before.

Van followed Dr. Kavanagh out of the exhibit– cave no more, and adjusted the strap of her backpack as she leaned against a fence that was a decent enough distance from any other patrons. Dr. Kavanagh was still a few feet away from her now. She didn’t look any better. Concern twisted Van’s expression. “Are you…?” She was a doctor, so if something was wrong, obviously she’d know it, right? “Do you need water?”

Van somehow cleared the way, tiny though she was. And it helped. Regan only needed to focus on not screaming. She didn’t need to weave through an uncooperative crowd. But even as they moved away from the epicenter, there were still so many people. Walking past. Pushing up against exhibits. Every one of them felt like they could light the fuse to her bomb. Whoever had spurred this, she couldn’t tell. She gave up the right to know when she’d scrambled away, and slowly, the sensation of knowing doom slid between her fingers like the last grains in a fistful of sand.

Regan shook her head vigorously. No water. Well, she didn’t need it. But it probably would have been nice. No one had ever offered her water like that before. Her hands were sweaty and it was so hot under the coat, and she still didn’t trust herself to open her mouth, not here. Regan tugged at Van’s arm and pointed toward the exit gate. Only once they started heading in that direction and the crowd thinned around them did Regan open her mouth and take a series of fast, shallow breaths. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I get – sometimes, the crowds – it’s difficult to explain. It’s a medical condition. It is not anxiety. I don’t get anxious. I have no anxiety.” Her stomach complained at the bold lie. She wanted to kick herself. But even Cliodhna would have called this a success. She went somewhere teeming with people and prevented a scream. The failure, then, was her feeling any way about it at all. Relief was no better than guilt, and a strange mix of both flooded her. She looked at Van, who had done an admirable job helping, but Regan never should have needed assistance from a child. From anyone. “At least tell me you saw the tiger.”

Dr. Kavanagh said she didn’t want water and Van felt the helplessness roll over her. She wasn’t sure what else to do. For once, it was nice being on the other side of this– the side of things where somebody was trying to hold it together, where she wasn’t the one trying to hold it together. It was different than normal, she wasn’t sure how to approach it. And then Dr. Kavanagh explained it wasn’t anxiety. Maybe the heat, then? Or maybe Dr. Kavanagh didn’t want her to know she had anxiety. Van couldn’t really understand that, anxiety was a normal thing. Loads of people had it, but who was she to say that a doctor definitely had it if she was saying she didn’t?

Van focused her attention on Dr. Kavanagh, noticing that the coat was tightly snug against her neck, zipped all the way up. It was possible that it was heat exhaustion, even if it wasn’t all that warm to begin with. All of the people did make it a little sweatier. At least Dr. Kavanagh hadn’t ripped ass in front of a crowd. At her question, Van nodded. “Yeah, I saw it.” She stuck her hands into her front pockets, thumbs sticking awkwardly out as the rest of her fingers dug into the fabric and old paperclips. “Are you actually okay?” She noticed now, the lack of cotton candy. Dammit. “We can go if you want. You don’t…. look great.” She untucked one hand, motioning towards herself, “I say that as someone who’s like, always crying and always anxious. It’s okay to be those things, even if you’re like, not.” She eased into a smile and looked back towards the crowds. She’d been so distracted by the impromptu trip that she hadn’t managed to focus on her own anxieties. It was a weird thing, to be concerned with something else that took precedence. “We can definitely go, we can get water. You look like you need water, so let’s go get water.” Before Dr. Kavanagh could object, she motioned in the direction of one of the carts outside of the zoo. Even though it’d been a short trip to the zoo, at least she’d gone at all, and for the most part, she had a good time, even if a little odd.

At least one thing had gone right today: Van had seen the tiger. Though it seemed like the girl barely even cared. Her eyes were on Regan. And even though they’d made their way out of the crowd and the scream had been snipped before it could bloom, the way Van was looking at her made her feel as though the world was closing in on her all over again. She felt small and out of control. It was an insult, and Van could never understand that. A banshee should never be looked at with such pity. Cliodhna would have given Van a demonstration on why. Regan, however, was too weak-willed. She wasn’t going to passively accept the insult, though. “I am not anxious and I do not cry,” she stated, trying to keep it from coming out as a hiss as her eyes narrowed. “This is completely unrelated to whatever repellant things are felt by –” She gestured vaguely to the people sightseeing at the zoo. Van was included in that. “Them.” She gave Van a clear-eyed look. “I am better.” Whether she meant better than everyone else, or feeling better, would be left to Van’s interpretation.

Regan's pride still refused to allow her to accept the water. She waved off Van's offer with a dismissive gesture. "I don't need it," she muttered, her voice tinged with stubbornness. She was determined to maintain her facade of self-reliance, even if it meant denying herself something as basic as water. And especially when coming from the hands of a human child. "You have seen the tigers. We saw the worms. Let's just go," she said, her tone curt. She turned to head towards the exit, her coat snug around her like a sweaty but protective barrier, keeping any hint of vulnerability buried underneath.

It was like that time at the stables when Dr. Kavanagh snapped beneath the weight of something that she could not see. Whatever demons this doctor was fighting, Van was pretty sure she wanted no part. She had offered comfort in her own way– asking if she was okay, telling her they could get water, and both were denied. The look in Dr. Kavanagh’s eye was a confusing one, but not one that she didn’t understand at its core. She’d done something wrong, something annoying as she always had. It wasn’t a big deal. Couldn’t be. This was a doctor who took her to the zoo to make sure she saw some tigers, nothing else.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better already. That was quick.” Whether it was that or something else, she didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask more questions on the matter. It looked like Dr. Kavanagh was becoming passively annoyed with her, even if it didn’t actually show in her expression. She watched as the older woman turned on her heel, stalking the rest of the way out of the zoo. Van’s frown deepened and she shrugged, despite the doctor not being able to see her. “Hey, do you think an apple would make you feel better? You know, ‘cause an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but you’re a doctor and so that–” She cut herself off, clearing her throat. “The worms and the tigers were cool, so yeah, we can go.” And she followed Dr. Kavanagh out, her own anxieties left behind her, for at least one day.

#para: zoo blues #para: regan #wickedswriting

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xenonmoon · 1 year

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Ok, brief thoughts on the infamous Bendis run (warning: it's heavily subjective)

... I didn't mind it honestly. But it's more complex than that

Yeah it was a bad Moon Knight run alright, but it wasn't a horrible read.

Pros:

I really enjoyed how the dialogues were written

all characters (except Marc) are fairly solid and with their own role and agency in the story

The overarching story is nice honestly? Not exactly top tier but it has its own consistency over the whole run

Despite being called "crazy" a number of times from different characters, Marc uses his uhhhh condition at his own advantage in the plot, it's not portrayed as some sort of throwaway quirk with no relevancy or worse, something to hide / be ashamed of / a deterrent / that makes him dangerous (If we ignore the later issues at least. My mind keeps refusing to acknowledge those). Hits a bit closer to the original concept on this point (but on this alone, and only a bit. Honestly it felt like fresh air after that amount of issues in which he exhibited nothing out of ordinary but they kept referring him as crazy / psychopath / psycho / whatever). It's not exactly a point since it's still bad rep (even for schizospec), let's just say 0.25.

Art is good honestly I liked that

Cons:

The dialogue is very dense and it slows the pacing A LOT. It's like as if the plot couldn't go forward if there were no characters around discussing it. Banters are funny alright but the plot could've gone on even without them sometimes. Reading it as it came out must've been a torture

Characters (included but not limited to the avengers- I don't think they can be called as alters at this point? But Them) chew away a lot from Moon Knight, basically having a ton of charisma and relevancy on the plot while he comes off as some sort of empty shell or, at best, white glue keeping all of them together but basically being nothing on his own. In a story full of decent and solid characters, Marc is barely one.

I think Bendis wanted each of the avengers be some sort of metaphor for different points of view or approaches but being pre-established and very famous characters they are pretty hard if not almost impossible to identify with what they're supposed to represent in the narrative and not as... well, themselves - making the radical change in his disorder a disastrous one for (ironically) Moon Knight's identity as a character, as now depends on a mosaic of characteristics borrowed from other characters with their own identities (narratively speaking) and autonomy rather than its own, or with very very little of its own to make up for it.

(ok last two points are kinda related I admit it)

I don't think there really was any need to change how his condition worked? The only thing I can think of is trying to make him "conform" to forms of "being crazy" considered more acceptable, sort of like as if DID was too weird to be believed as true? But this is something only the author himself can confirm / deny to be his original intent, if it's true - dude that'd be ableist as hell

This is what I could come up on the spot at least. I still think Kavanagh is truly the king of the bottom list so far and most of Twitter fans complaining about this run being a horrible abomination are overreacting a weee bit.

Still bad, but... not the worst thing MK writers have cooked for this character.

#moon knight #moon knight comics #moon knight 2011 #bendis run #xenon reacts #final review #q tag

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iheartgracie · 2 years

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shannon lynch and johnny kavanagh quotes in binding 13

“She's threatened by you," he said gruffly. "Her reaction to you is based on jealousy."

"Threatened by me?" I shook my head. "Why?"

"Because you're beautiful," he stated, causing my cheeks to flush a deep shade of pink.

A boy had never called me beautiful before. Not like this. Not with such forwardness. Not with such sincerity. Johnny said it, though, and my heart was flapping around in my chest like a demented, caged bird, fighting to escape.

He cleared his throat then, looking slightly uncomfortable, and for a moment I thought he was about to take the compliment back, but then he steeled his features, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and whispered, "Inside and out.”

"So, you do trust me."

The shrug I gave him was a helpless one because that's exactly how I felt in this moment: disarmed and utterly helpless.

"Words, Shannon. I need the words."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me why you trust me."

"Because when I'm with you, I feel..."

"You feel?"

"Safe, okay? When you're around, I feel safe."

"Because you are,”

“Shannon, look at me."

I shook my head, refusing his request. I couldn’t. It was too much. He was far too much.

"Look at me," he repeated, tone soft and coaxing.

When I made no move to oblige, Johnny tipped my chin up with his hand, forcing our gazes to lock, blue eyes burning holes in mine.

"You. Are. Safe,”

“Johnny hesitated for a moment and then said, "Because I care."

"Why?"

"I just do." He shrugged helplessly. "I can't help it.”

“For fuck's sake," Johnny groaned, dropping his hand. "Not another bleeding quiz."

I chuckled at his reaction.

"What's funny?" he asked, smirking at me. "Don’t tell me you actually enjoy these things?"

I enjoy being with you.

"I'm on the winning team," I teased, nudging his shoulder with mine. "Of course, I'm enjoying this.”

“Johnny caught my hand and pulled me back to face him.

"You'll come home with me tonight?" he asked gruffly, eyes burning with heat, as he fiddled with that rogue strand of hair of mine. "You still want to do that?"

"Yeah," I whispered, stepping closer, unable to resist the urge to knot my fingers in his shirt. "I do."

"Shannon, I'm so…" He exhaled a sharp breath and shook his head. "Tonight." His hand moved from my hair to cup my cheek. "We'll talk tonight."

"Okay, Johnny," I breathed, leaning my cheek into his large palm.

Without another word, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead. And then he turned around and walked away. Reeling, I watched him until he disappeared into the clubhouse and then I walked back to my friends. Confused was an understatement for how I was feeling. The sheer depth of my feelings for him was unhealthy. The adoration, the lust, the downright infatuation I had for him…it was insanity. I had never felt this much. I had never felt so consumed.”

“I didn’t bother denying it anymore. There was no point. I had never felt this much for another person in my entire life.”

“If Gibsie hadn't come over, I would have kissed her. I knew I would have. I already knew what those lips felt like. I wanted so badly to taste them again. I would taste them again. I was starving for her and everything she was. Every part of her. Inside and out. I wanted to fight all her battles. I wanted to give her all her smiles and make her laugh and snatch her away from the rest of the world and keep her all to myself. I just wanted her. For keeps. I knew that was incredibly selfish of me, and I knew that I was probably going to end up fucking up everything and breaking her heart, but the problem was, my heart was involved, too. I needed to talk to her tonight because I needed to lay it out there. I couldn’t go another day without getting it off my chest. Months of wanting, lusting, and pining after her had left me at a point where I couldn’t see straight anymore. Because I had caught feelings for Shannon. Huge fucking feelings. Permanent ones.”

“But I already felt like I was drowning with her. That's how consumed I was in this girl. That's how much I loved her.”

“Can you stay with me?"

My feet stopped and my heart sped up.

I turned back to look at him. "Huh?"

"Please," Johnny croaked out. "I don’t want to be on my own."

My heart constricted tightly in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

"I can go and get Gibsie?" I offered weakly.

Johnny shook his head. "I only want you."

I knew I should leave. I should walk out of this room and take my seat on the bus. It would be the right thing to do. The sensible thing. But I wouldn’t. Because I couldn’t leave him.”

“It's okay," I promised, taking his big hand in mine. "You're going to be okay."

Johnny stiffened, but didn’t pull his hand from mine. I didn’t let go either. I just pulled his hand onto my lap and held on tightly.”

“Let me see you," I instructed softly. Keeping my right hand wrapped around his, I used my left to reach over and turn his chin. "Those fuckers," I grumbled, eyeing the purple bruising on the side of his cheek, and that cut above his brow that was once again clotting. "Your poor face."

Johnny chuckled then.

"What's funny?" I asked, thrilled to hear that sound come out of him.

"It's weird to hear you say fucker," he explained with a weary smile.

"I'm quite partial to cursing, you know," I told him, desperately trying to distract him from his pain.

"No, you're not," he replied gruffly, too clever for his own good. "You're just saying that to distract me."

"Is it working?"

He nodded stiffly. "Don’t stop.”

“Why are you sorry?" I breathed, trembling from head to toe.

He cupped my cheek with his free hand and tilted my chin up.

"Because I shouldn’t do this," he whispered.

And then he kissed me.”

“Are you okay?" I breathed against his lips as I held onto his shoulders.

"Just keep kissing me," he strangled out. "I want you so much."

"You do?"

"So fucking much,”

“Am I doing it right?" I breathed against his lips, feeling achingly aware of my inexperience.

"More than right," he assured me, claiming my mouth once again.

"This is my first kiss," I moaned against his lips.

"You're fucking perfect,”

#shannon lynch #johnny kavanagh #johnnyshannon quotes #johnnyshannon #binding13 #binding 13 #boysoftommen

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kadavernagh · 1 year

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Everything and More || Regan & Jonas

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Bread Cemetery PARTIES: Regan and Jonas SUMMARY: After a heated online debate about the trustworthiness of everything bagels, and Jonas's reassurance in the quality of the ones at his bakery, Regan comes to see for herself. Seems like the perfect time for a possessed bagel.

Regan was willing to chalk this strange talk about dead parakeets up to the hysteria that always seemed to be sweeping the town. But this “Bread Cemetery” seemed worth investigating. Something about people going there to look for ghosts, or… well, she could hardly make sense of what the young man was saying. But it had “cemetery” in the name. At least there was that. And as much as Regan preferred to stay out of local shops – out of sight, really – the thought of a plain bagel was not to be denied. Entering the bakery, nothing really looked out of the ordinary – the place had a rustic feel to it, and there was someone behind the register who looked like they were standing on a stool. For whatever reason, a chill jumped between her vertebrae. Cold, maybe. “Hello?” Regan asked, as if she didn’t already have his attention. “I’m looking to purchase one plain bagel. I’ve heard they’re praise-worthy.” She peered into the display case, admiring the more ornate pastries. “Something sweet, too, perhaps.”

Jonas had been up on a stool in order to reach the top display rack on the counter. It was filled with muffins of different types from blueberry to chocolate chip to corn bread. He smiled as he noticed a customer come in, stepping down from the stool to get a better look at her lips. “A plain bagel and something sweet.” He stood with a hand on his hip, the other was tapping his chin as he thought. “How about a slice of coffee cake?” His hands moved while he spoke and there was a sign on the display case explaining that one of the employees was deaf and might not hear you when you come in. He was glad he had been facing the stranger when she walked in, Lil wasn’t here and if the woman had taken a bad attitude with him for not immediately paying attention he wasn’t sure how he’d handle it.

He couldn’t help but blame Jacob for it. No matter what he did to try and appease his father the man always managed to find something to yell at him about. Jonas found that even after being away from the man for so long he still froze whenever someone started yelling at him. However this woman seemed nice and he quickly tugged a plain bagel from the back of the row, sipping it into a paper bag, “Um despite its name coffee cake can go well with tea. If you prefer that in the morning.” He paused beside the coffee cake to wait and see if it was to the woman’s liking. He didn’t seem to notice the soft rustling coming from where he was just standing.

It had been alarming for Regan to learn that her sweet tooth was a characteristic shared by most of the others. Every occasion in Saol Eile was marked with the sweetest of pastries and coffee that was more parts sugar than anything else. And despite knowing the importance of nutrition, the importance of excellent oral hygiene, she just couldn’t help herself at times. A coffee cake sounded pleasant enough, and it only seemed fair to purchase something after occupying someone’s time.

But there was something unusual about how the boy spoke, and when Regan saw how he was gesturing and read the sign on the counter, the pieces clicked together. Could he hear her at all? Or did he need to lip read? The extra attention and scrutiny paid to her face was a little uncomfortable, but Regan made sure she faced his direction when she spoke. “You must be Jonas. We discussed bagels online; I am Dr. Kavanagh. The coffee cake and the plain bagel will be all for now, I think. Th–” The thanks died on her tongue. The others practically removed thank yous from their vocabulary, but now, back in the real world, the temptation to express courtesy returned to her. “I appreciate it. It smells… pleasant in here.”

“That’s because of me. I smell incredible. Come sniff me.”

A voice came from inside of the display case, and Regan jumped. She didn’t see anyone in there, down there, wherever. Had Jonas somehow thrown his voice? “Was that you? I’m not going to come sniff you.” She wrinkled her nose. Why was he so strange?

“I’m glad you think so we have a fresh batch of bread-” Jonas was cut off by a strange voice coming from down the counter. His eyes widened a little when he noticed a bagel pressed against the display glass, a faint blue glow was coming off of it as it spoke. It seemed to be rolling towards them, seeds falling off the top as it slid against the glass. Jonas flicked his eyes back over to Regan as he noticed her lips moving, “You heard that too? It was not me asking you to sniff me. Why would I do that?” The young man seemed a little more caught up with the fact Regan would think him such a person, now worried about how weird he must come off to the stranger for her to assume he would ask her to do such a thing.

He knew his voice probably sounded a little weird but that wasn’t something he could help, really why would he ask such a thing? He seemed to deflate his whole mood going downhill as he casually bagged the coffee cake slice in its own paper bag. If this woman got upset over the flavors of an everything bagel he doubted she would want her plain bagel to taste like the topping on the coffee cake. He was only brought out of his despair when he remembered the Everything Bagel making its way towards them. Jonas set Regan’s order on the counter and went to reach for the bag of salt on his hip only to find it wasn’t there.

“What do you mean, did I hear that?” Regan asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “And I don’t know why you would ask me to sniff you. That’s your business, not mine. Well, I suppose it is mine now. It’s really a strange request to ask of your patrons.” She didn’t like the annoyance edging into her voice, not one bit. She clenched her nails into her palm, a sharp bite of a reminder to bridle her irritation. This was not a situation where it would be permissible. Simply interact with the human and don’t forget its place. A gnat can do little to a lion. But a flea…

“You’re not gonna sniff me? Not even one whiff? I could be your everything.”

“Once more, I’m not going to sniff you,” Regan said firmly, with less expressiveness than before, “though it does smell like fresh bread in here.” Jonas was right about that. And, Regan noticed, he seemed to be staring at the bagels in the display shelves. “Is this about our bagel disagreement? Because I stand by what I said.” She pulled out her wallet, eyeing the pleasantly crinkly paper bags with her food in them. “It’s best to start your day off with something predictable.” But Jonas wasn’t done, it seemed. “Did you bleach all the color out of your face when you did your hair?” And how did he speak while not even perceptibly opening his mouth? Her frown deepened, and she froze with the cash in her hand. “My hair and face are not your concern. If I were you, I would be more concerned with how ephemeral your life is. Gone in the blink of an eye.” It was a threat with no teeth, not truly intended to evoke fear, but it was the truth stated plainly.

“I am sorry but I am not the one asking you.” Jonas gestured towards the bagel behind the glass, “I uh well I know this will sound weird but there is a ghost in the bagel. If um you don’t mind waiting for a second I can get some salt to make it leave.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to do a seance in front of Regan or talk to a pervert of a bagel that was making him look like one as well. His voice was still a little down as he spoke knowing this was probably going to make him seem more strange but it was hard to deny that the bagel which was moving on its own was weird. The only problem now was that Blue was resting in his shadow at the moment and if he went into the backroom to get salt she would have to come out. He wasn’t sure how a woman who was yelling at him for something an everything bagel was spouting out would handle a dog behind the counter. Sure Blue did not shed but Regan didn’t know that.

“Please stop asking her to sniff you, it is very inap-” Jonas was cut off by the insult the bagel threw out at Regan. Was the bagel trying to neg her since she ignored its first advances? He sighed when Regan threw out a threat towards him, he could understand the anger the bagel was incredibly rude he was just wishing it wasn’t being directed at him.

“A ghost in the bagel. That’s the oldest excuse in the book.” …Right? Regan didn’t have a lot of experience with this type of harassment. She predominantly dealt with angry next of kin who spat in her face or voiced their denial straight at her, and none of them gave excuses about ghost bagels. The others, though, loved to talk about ghosts. As if they were real. And while in Saol Eile, Regan had seen a few things she couldn’t explain, which she could only chalk up to her brain not being quite right since the trauma she endured. Referring to those inexplicable apparitions as ghosts was not a concession she was willing to make.

Finally, she looked down at the everything bagel, and waggled at her, shaking off some of its seasoning. How was it – were strings attached? Just what was Jonas doing here? “I don’t think giving the bagel more seasoning is going to accomplish anything,” she said, tired, “How about you simply take my money?” Regan pushed the dollar bills on the counter and grabbed her bag of food, crinkling it between her fingers. So maybe she was a little tense. “I’m full of onions, and you know what they do? They make people cry.” The bagel gave a harder waggle and seemed to be floating upward, out of the display. Regan’s grip on the bag tightened. “Jonas, this is not funny. I’m leaving your store a bad review.”

Was it? Jonas had never heard that excuse before until right now and it really wasn’t so much of an excuse as just the truth. Sure he was used to people calling him a fraud and denying that ghosts exist, but never when one was actively working in front of them. Regan was working on a level of doubt that was surprising even him at this point. He was stressed, and when Regan mentioned leaving a bad review he could feel his eyes start to water. An embarrassing trait he didn’t like to admit was how easily he cried when stress built up. A side effect of having lived with his father that he never was able to shake.

“The salt will um it will - “ He could feel his cheeks getting wet and lifted his sleeve to dab at his eyes. Gosh this was embarrassing. “It will dispel the ghost.” His voice wavered as he tried to explain. He started to sniffle and was doing his best not to break down in front of the woman. Blue finally sensing something was wrong, pulled herself from slumber and out of his shadow to see just why Jonas was crying. “I swear I am not doing that.” Blue tilted her head at her boy, his voice sounded more off than normal and she licked his cheek. It was easy for the massive dog to reach. He reached out one hand to pet his best friend, hoping her form was enough to break line of sight with Regan so he could try to stop the tears falling from his eyes. Blue looked around to fully access the situation, noticing the bagel now hovering above the counter and the woman standing behind it clutching some paper bags. Her ears went flat as she stared at the stranger trying to figure out if it was her or the bagel that had upset Jonas so much.

The wet twinkle in Jonas’s eyes disgusted Regan. Such display of emotion was beneath her, but, she remembered, Jonas was something else. Or rather, she was. Regan kept herself from recoiling and simply turned her chin up. She could only hear it getting worse. The clogged sniffle of a nose and wavering of his voice made that tiny pit form somewhere deep inside of her, and she slowly faced Jonas. Indeed, he had shiny trails of tears beneath his eyes. Gross. She’d take flaccid, post-mortem eyeballs instead, any day. “It’s just a stupid prank.” Regan offered, firmly, only realizing as she said it that it was an attempt to make Jonas feel better. No. To appease. She could reframe it to herself, justify it.

Even through Jonas’s tears, and even as he seemed distracted by his own feet, he managed to do that weird voice again. And spoke about himself in 3rd person. “He cries alllll the time. A total crybaby. Lady, do you know how many times a day he has to dry off the floors in this place? He could salt all of the pastries with his tears!” The bump bump against the case happened again, and when Regan looked, the everything bagel was pushing against the glass. She froze. Gave Jonas a hard look. A really hard look. For a moment, she swore she saw a dog next to him – a huge, dark beast with pointy ears that tenderly pushed its muzzle right against Jonas’s side. Unhygienic, and she wasn’t sure how she missed it, but it was clear there was no way he was physically manipulating the bagel.

Regan’s eyes flashed toward the bagel again, and now she could see what wasn’t apparent before; it was surrounded by some kind of swirling miasma. Was it… rotting? Was that the issue? Was it growing some kind of hallucinogenic mold? The bagel seemed to go as still as she was when she looked straight at it. Regan blinked. The aura of filth was gone. “You – you need to clean better in here. That’s the problem.” “I told you, he cleans constantly. It’s all the tears. And do you know what’s even worse than a dog peeing urine? A dog peeing–” “Stop.” Regan hissed, more frustrated than she typically allowed herself, but not enough to be swept away by the fleeting emotion. “That bagel,” she pointed, “has an entire ecosystem of mold and bacteria and who-knows-what-else growing on it. It’s probably hiding in the seasoning. That’s why they can’t be trusted. Personally, I would throw it out and not sell everything bagels in the future.” She paused, her eyes drifting to the empty spot by Jonas’s side, where a dog had been moments before. “And your dog was too close to the food, in my opinion.” With a shallow sigh, she made eye contact with Jonas, trying to feign some of the kindness she knew once lived within her during moments like this. But she had barely seen a single tear in years. Even next of kin rarely got more than a watery smile from her. “There’s no reason to cry. One moldy bagel – I’m sure it happens to all bakeries. Maybe it’s utterly unremarkable. As long as it’s removed and precautions are taken.”

Jonas couldn’t see what Regan was saying due to the fact he was looking at his feet though he could hear the bagel just fine and despite himself could feel his cheek flushing even more. He pressed his sleeved hands against his eyes in an attempt to get the waterworks to stop but his tear ducts just wouldn’t comply. “I am sorry I do not mean to cry. Things have been stressful lately.” He had no idea if the words coming out were intelligible against the wavering he could feel happening. He tried his best to see through the watery mess to see what new excuse Regan had for the bagel’s rude words.

He wasn’t sure if it was worth trying to correct her anymore, the woman was clearly one to stay in denial. If Jonas had been in a better mental state he probably would have just smiled and seen her out but with the recent people following him, his family missing, Lil getting too busy to really hang out and having to run two family businesses he was in no state to just simply let things go. “There is no mold, I keep the bakery very clean.” He wasn’t sure what could be worse than a dog peeing urine but he was glad Regan cut the bagel off. “I am sorry the bagel is being weird with you here. Please do not write a bad review.” He doubted every bakery had a haunted bagel slandering them and making weird advances towards their customers. He also realized just how pathetic he was sounding at this moment.

Blue finally decided enough was enough, she shoved her head into the case taking hold of the bagel before jumping over the counter and shoving it in the woman’s pocket. Seeing the bagel was secure, she grabbed at Regan’s sleeve and doing her best to lead the woman out of her bakery. Jonas didn’t bother trying to stop the big dog, just wanting this awful encounter to be over.

Galen, more crying. Why couldn’t they all just contain themselves like any respectable banshee? Because they weren’t banshees. Regan sighed. “You don’t need to apologize for crying. You’re only human.” She could barely understand what else he was saying, and it wasn’t because of his deafness, but the tearful gargling in his voice. Something about the bagel being weird, an apology, and did she mishear him saying the place was very clean? It obviously wasn’t. Regan tore her purchase away from the counter and decided it was past time to leave. All of this over a bagel.

“Oh boohoo–” The voice came from the display again, and it was just as quickly silenced in the muzzle of the same huge, black dog from before. It leapt over the counter, big as a bear but graceful as a deer, and before Regan could protest she had the dog’s gross wet nose in the pocket of her sweater, and its teeth around her sleeve. “Get your dog off of me!” She hiss through gritted teeth, knowing that one misplaced emotion, one syllable too harsh, and the dog could end up splattered against the bakery walls. “Now. Get it off. It shouldn’t even be h–”

But she was already outside, pushed to the stairs, with the door slammed unceremoniously behind her. By a dog of all things. And from inside of her pocket, there was a gravely, bagel-y voice.

“That furball took a bite out of me.”

#writing #everything and more #c jonas

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nanshe-of-nina · 2 years

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Me name is Frankie Kavanagh; in Ireland I do dwell It’s of a family curse I sing the truth to you I’ll tell A Banshee does appear to us a harbinger of death A warning that soon one of us will draw their final breath

It was a dark and stormy night no moon to light the sky I wasn’t more than four or five when first I heard her cry A wailing lamentation that filled me with the fright And in the morning was told your Grandad died last night

Perhaps it’s just the wind that's whistling round the window pane Or maybe it was thunder or the rhythm of the rain The old ones say an omen and death won't be denied The devil’s out of a-hunting when you hear the Banshee’s Cry Oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh Oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh

She comes to warn the family that death is creeping near Her eyes are red from crying as she sheds her bitter tears A woman of the fairy folk she sings in mournful tones And if you heard her keening it would chill you to the bone

Perhaps it’s just the wind that’s whistling round the window pane Or maybe it was thunder or the rhythm of the rain The old ones say an omen and death won’t be denied The devil’s out of a-hunting when you hear the Banshee’s Cry Oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh Oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh

To hear the banshee howling is to make your blood run cold Knowing that the devil's come to claim another soul The family are all gone now; I’m the last you see And every night I wait in dread to hear her cry for me

Perhaps it’s just the wind that's whistling round the window pane Or maybe it was thunder or the rhythm of the rain The old ones say an omen and death won’t be denied The devil’s out of a-hunting when you hear the Banshee's Cry Oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh Oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh

#the banshee's cry #the irish rovers #irish folk music #folk music #music

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yestolerancepro · 8 months

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I can't beleve this. Don't people know the rules surounding guide dogs by now clearly not.

#bbc news website #Guide dogs #Disability

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mariocki · 5 years

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Singles' Night (Thames, 1984)

"Shall we go?"

"I'd like to, Jackie, but it's... its the children."

"But they're with your mother."

"I know, but she can't stand them."

#Singles' Night #Singles #1984 #Classic TV #Single play #Eric Chappell #Jean warr #Robin nedwell #Angela Richards #john kavanagh #Jane Carr #Patricia brake #Doug Fisher #Michael Lees #Denis gilmore #Jane bough #As far as I understand it this was shot in 83 as part of the first set of Storyboard pilots #For whatever reason it wasn't shown under the storyboard banner and surfaced the following year as a standalone play #Although ironically this would spawn a series (the name simplified to Singles) and would have taken the number of successful pilots in #Storyboard #Storyboard to seven. This is a lot of fun. Certainly its the most straightforwardly funny of the storyboard plays #Even if it.. Isn't.. A Storyboard play. Whatever. I'm getting confused.#It doesn't however feel like it comes from 1984. It feels a good decade older but then that's probably because it's written by Eric Chappel #Best known for Rising Damp of course but I think it's fair to say most of his later sitcoms felt a bit trapped in the 70s (Duty Free and #Home to Roost for eg. altho both quite fun also feel very very old fashioned for the years in which they were made). But his script here is #Sharp and witty and with some wonderful characters sketched in; Nedwell as the aging lothario is a highlight and Jane Carr and Angela #Richards both get a lot of laughs. Sadly I don't think any of them returned for the series but then it did take until 88 for the full show #To materialise. Oh and as its set in a singles disco this has the best soundtrack of any TV play I've seen lately. Much groove.

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theoconway · 3 years

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𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑 ; 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝒷𝓇𝒶𝓇𝓎 ›› 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 .

the sun had barely made it above the horizon when the runner had appeared with cheeks flushed & chest heaving . as if he’d run the whole way from kavanagh manor that sat bearing down over killadavan on the OPPOSITE side of the town to the stables . theo certainly wouldn’t put it past any ONE of them to force the kid , who didn’t look any older than 10 , to run the whole way . it wasn’t as if they hadn’t all rolled into town in cars that looked as if they’d just come straight off the assembly line . he’d told himself them coming back was for the better , it made their plans easier — & maybe most importantly , it meant the reapers had begun to threaten henry kavanagh’s reign — but seeing them , seeing HIM roll into town as if the past TWENTY years had never happened , & being able to see the distant lights filtered by the trees that stood guard around their manor from the front porch of his mother’s cottage it was enough for a small part of him to wish they’d all simply leave killadavan & NEVER return . then , maybe , both side’s hands would remained stained instead of DRENCHED in red . but the kavanagh’s weren’t going anywhere & from the scribbled , brief note etched upon the letter , he’d only taken once the kid had accepted a couple of pounds offered , it seemed HE was going to be helping root out the issues that had brought them all back . or at least that’s what he ASSUMED , why else would he have been invited up to the manor ? it had never happened before . the nearest he’d gotten to seeing inside was a peek through the windows when charlie had dared him to break in when they’d only been young boys . but the pitch black windows he’d peered through all those years ago were now basked in the late morning sun as he hopped off from the back of the lorry with a gaze that didn’t quite know where to land . the muscle at the corner of his jaw twitched — MORE MONEY THAN SENSE . but gone were the days were he could get away with hardening at the thought of the kavanagh’s . he was about to step right into the mouth of the beast & if he was going to make it out alive he couldn’t let his personal feelings get the better of him . he had a JOB to do . it just wasn’t the one the kavanagh’s thought they were about to give him .

‘ mr. kavanagh should be down in a minute , mr —- . ’ the butler’s words trailed off as his eyes glanced over theo . a gesture that may have caused another to bulk , but only spread a smile across his lips , “ conway . but you can just call me , theo . ” the WINK may have been far too much but watching the butler’s features shift as a hmpf had been expressed before he’d turned on his heel leaving him be , it had been ENTIRELY worth it . though it was surprising that he was allowed to linger there in the entrance hall alone & UNATTENDED . for a family that had a group breathing down their neck , they hardly had any protection set up . apart from the quiet groan of the floorboard beneath his feet silence was the only thing that met him . how easy would it be to go & find henry & end it all here & now ? but the thought was gone as quick as it came , replaced with a far better idea . one that wouldn’t get him KILLED — at least not just yet . he lingered out in the entrance , waiting for some kind of signal that james — the kavanagh that had invited . no , ORDERED him here — was on his way to collect him like some school boy waiting for his parents but nothing . eyes darted about the foyer , checking the landing of the second floor once more , before he took a step sidewards towards one of the many hallways that led away from the centre of the house . they were ALL back — bar the eldest daughter & the second son’s family — so she had to be somewhere here . where EXACTLY though was a whole different story . the house was like a bloody maze with walls of ornate wood carvings instead of bushes & almost every door lay closed to him . not even HE was impulsive enough to dare to open one in fears of what he found behind it . but as he was beginning to give up on his useless mission , a slither of late morning sun brightened the dimly lit dark timber flooring by the window at the end of the hall & drew him back in like a moth to a flame .

the toe of a scuffed boot stepped into the light as he angled his head to give easier access to a single eye to peer through the crack in the door . BOOKS . a whole wall of them . a flare of anger filled his chest . here sat a whole library & just down below them sat a school that could hardly afford the supplies needed for each student . but just as he began to draw away , unable to stomach even a second longer , movement shifted just at the edges of what his limited line of sight allowed . halting any further movement . it seemed LUCK was on his side today . he’d only ever seen her from a distance & in the photographs that had been provided so he knew just who EXACTLY he was meant to be targeting . but there was no denying that the figure that moved across his line of sight was lucille kavanagh . the youngest daughter of henry kavanagh . & the key to everything . a check was taken down each sides of the hallway , making sure that there were no footsteps approaching or voices filtering all the way from the foyer he’d been left stranded in , before he stepped forwards . fingers lifted to press against the smooth surface of the door , pushing it back to widen the crack & revealing the girl that was the sole occupant of the room . his hand dropped to his side as his gaze settled upon the two braids that met to cascade down her back , melting in the rest of loose blonde . it was one thing to SEEK HER OUT , but it was whole DIFFERENT thing to linger soundlessly & unnoticed . so he broke the quiet that hung in the room with a gentle clearing of his throat & a voice that had no business being in a house as GRAND as this one , “ sorry ‘bout the intrusion — reckon i’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere back there . ”

#𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 / theo + lucille

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creeping-shadow-heralds-storms · 3 years

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When the church doors open, only white people will be allowed inside.

That’s the message the Asatru Folk Assembly in Murdock, Minnesota, is sending after being granted a conditional use permit to open a church there and practice its pre-Christian religion that originated in northern Europe.

The Southern Poverty Law Center describes Asatru Folk Assembly as a “neo-Volkisch hate group” that couches “their bigotry in baseless claims of bloodlines grounding the superiority of one’s white identity.”

Many residents call them a white supremacist or white separatist group, but church members deny it.

“It’s ironic the city council didn’t want to commit discrimination against the church, but the church is discriminating against Blacks," said Abigail Suiter, 33, of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. "It’s very telling of where the priority is and whose lives matter.”

“They could have said the whole area has become residential, we don’t want churches in a residential area because it’s incompatible with our comprehensive plan," said David Schultz, a constitutional law professor at the University of Minnesota, " ... because at that point they’re not making a decision based upon the viewpoint or content of speech."

Laurence H. Tribe, a constitutional law professor at Harvard University, said the council might have been able to prevent the private sale of the property, had it known about it, through laws focused on forbidding racial discrimination in property transactions.

“No institution that proposes to exclude people on account of race is allowed to run an operation in the state of Minnesota,” Tribe said.

Kavanagh said he stands by the council vote "for legal reasons only."

“The biggest thing people don’t understand is, because we’ve approved this permit, all of a sudden everyone feels this town is racist, and that isn’t the case,” he said. “Just because we voted yes doesn’t mean we’re racist.”

I believe the Nazi’s used a similar excuse, “Oh we didn’t want to commit racist atrocities and genocide we were Ordered to do so there was nothing we could do”😭

This man and these people had a choice and he chose to do the wrong action, the easiest option over doing the right thing

This country has a long history of placing white privilege and needs over and at the cost of people of color, Equally long is the US government’s tradition of ignoring it, sweeping it under the rug or whitewashing it into propaganda [Thanksgiving] if it receives any acknowledgment at all, if it’s taught at all in school

#us news #news #usa #minnesota #poc lives matter #white privilege

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savannah-lim · 3 years

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Hell’s Dell’s || Savannah & Marley

Timing: Current Parties: @savannah-lim and @detectivedreameater Location: Dell’s Tavern Content: Panic (Mara fear gas), Clowns (Vague description), Head Trauma

Savannah had needed to process so much during her time in White Crest that sometimes she forgot to sit back and take a deep and careful examination of it. She was almost used to the town to the point of desensitisation, which alone should have frightened her. What had begun as a simple missing persons investigation into Agent Sterling had turned into an exploration of an entirely new world, one she didn’t want to give up entirely too easily. If she was honest, maybe that’s why she hadn’t submitted a final report on Agent Sterling’s case yet, why she kept finding more cases to dive into. If anything had managed to shock her recently, it had been the Dullahan. Stryder had known all about it, explained it away as something all White Cresters should know about, and even managed to defend her excitement about seeing it in a way Savannah understood on a deep and personal level. If not for that explanation, Savannah wasn’t sure she’d have invited Stryder out for drinks at all. “What are you having?” she asked as they found a booth, taking off her jacket and folding it neatly beside her.

Savannah Lim was a mystery to Marley. She had watched the destruction of the Dullahan, watched Marley fawn over him-- listened to her explain what was going on, and she’d still invited Marley out for a drink. And, more importantly, not reported her. Marley should have been more concerned about citizens when they were being attacked, but she just couldn’t help it-- the pull of their fear was too good to pass up. It was like she’d been hypnotized, realy. But here she was now, standing outside of Dell’s, heading in to get a drink with a normal human FBI agent who believed in the supernatural somehow. And she wanted to talk about creepy things. How could Marley pass that up? “Tequila lime,” she answered, removing her own jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair. “So...how’re you liking White Crest so far?”

"Tequila Lime?" Savannah repeated, considering that as an option before nodding. She usually didn't dive right into the spirits, but what the hell. It sounded good. "We'll get two of those. There's a Dutch beer that tastes like Tequila. It sounds awful, but it's actually really good. I wonder if they have it." It probably said a lot about her that most of her socialising involved alcohol. "Would you think I was crazy if I said I actually like it?" she answered, but then again, considering her last conversation with Marley, she figured her tolerance for someone enjoying the dark and bizarre was pretty high. "It's never boring. There's always something interesting to explore. The trade-off is that it's terrifying." She shrugged. "Did you always live here, or did you move here?"

“I’m a simple girl with simple tastes,” Marley shrugged, even though nothing in that statement was true. “There is? Huh, that sounds like just my type of beer.” She wasn’t normally a big beer drinker-- it wasn’t worth it, seeing as it took too much beer to get her even a little buzzed-- but she’d make an exception for one that tasted like tequila. If it tasted good enough, she’d have to tell Anita about it. The thought twisted something in her stomach and she furrowed her brow, focusing back on Savannah. “What? Oh-- yeah. Nope, never a boring day here. Especially in our line of work,” she played idly with the napkin on the table in front of her, “And no, you’re not crazy. I like it here, too, because of that reason. Or, well-- I used to.” And maybe she still did, but lately the town had taken more from her than it had given, and it still left an empty feeling in her gut. “I moved here about five years ago. I used to be in New York. Worked for the NYPD for a little bit before I got transferred to Albany of all places. It was so boring there, so one day I just...moved.” She took the drink gratefully when the waiter returned with their refreshments and took a long sip. “What made you join the FBI? That’s a pretty dedicated career.”

"Whatever makes you happy," Savannah answered. She didn't think it particularly mattered what someone's preferred drink was unless they were sipping on the blood or orphans or something. In White Crest, that was probably someone’s dietary requirement. “I’ll ask at the bar if they have it after this round.” But as much as she enjoyed alcohol, this wasn’t what they’d come here to talk about. Savannah’s interest had been piqued by their encounter with the Dullahan, and in Savannah’s world, that simply meant she had to find out more. “I like puzzles,” she answered in response to Marley’s question. “I like solving things. I liked crime shows. The X-Files came out when I was in college. My parents always expected me to go into something traditional and professional and I didn’t want to be a doctor or an accountant. So, here we are.” She sipped her drink, looking across the booth at Marley. “What about you? Judging by what you said at the restaurant before, I think we have something similar in us that just makes us tick.”

Marley perked up a bit at Savannah’s answer. She loved puzzles as well. Any kind, actually. She loved jigsaw puzzles and puzzle boxes and mystery games and escape rooms. Except, lately, they’d begun to frustrate her. She couldn’t concentrate enough to figure them out, she no longer had the patience to deal with them. Still, the thought of having someone else to do them with piqued her interest. “Oh, god, me too. So much. I watched all those true crime shows as a kid and read about the shit all the time. All the other kids thought it was too gruesome or whatever, but I loved it.” Unlike she’d ever loved anything else. Was it just because of her species, or would she love these stories even without it? Knowing Savannah did, and knowing she was human, gave Marley that small hope that maybe it would still be true. “X-Files wasn’t just my mystery awakening, it’s also when I realized I liked both boys and girls. Oh, the things I’d do for Dana Scully,” she sighed wistfully, stirring the ice in her drink. “I think we do, too. I don’t often meet a lot of people who are into the macabre the way I am.”

Savannah couldn’t hold in her laugh, a dry but good-natured one. “Oh, the true crime shows. Don’t get me started. My mom thought I was a troubled child because of how often she caught me in the middle of some documentary about Jack The Ripper or The Zodiac Killer.” In hindsight, they were probably too mature for her at the age she’d started watching them, but even as a child, it was fascinating to her. “Oh, you’re bisexual too?” Savannah said. They had a great deal in common, it seemed, and Savannah found herself glad she’d reserved judgement. “I think Scully and Mulder were my ideal threesome,” she snickered. “Hell, maybe still are.” She lifted her drink giving Marley a small toast. “You ever meet Kavanagh when was still a Medical Examiner? She’s the closest I’ve come to finding someone who approaches these topics in a similar way in this town.”

“My favorites were the cold case files and the ones about the weird, little known serial killers,” Marley pointed out, “or the FBI’s top most wanted.” Even the other mara in her community had found her obsession with the macabre morbid. A lot of them found it rather disturbing, even, which she’d never understood-- they were creatures of fear, how could they really find anything that morbid? “Actually, I’m pan,” she pointed out, stirring her drink. “But yeah. Unfortunately,” she chuckled back, shaking her head. She knew she had more attraction to women than men, but she couldn’t deny the fact that she was attracted to some men. “See, I love me a good lay in bed, but I’ve never been one for threesomes. I prefer having the other person all to myself. Guess that’s a possessive thing or something.” Or it was the foster kid in her who grew up with no possessions of her own. She sat back a little, folding her arms. “You mean Kadaver? Yeah, I’ve met her,” she grumbled, “if by ‘approaching’ you mean completely denying, then sure, yeah-- she’s close.”

“Do you like Unsolved Mysteries?” Savannah asked, diving easily into the conversation. “Oh, Netflix has a new series coming out about The Yorkshire Ripper. It’s a British Case from the seventies.” She gave a small nod, correcting herself. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess you could say I am as well. I’m just old. That label wasn’t as well-known when I was coming to terms with my sexuality. I just go with what I’m used to.” Apparently, they were already getting candid tonight. “I usually have a few more drinks in me before things get this personal,” she snickered. She’d meant the threesome comment more glib, less literal, but she let the conversation move along. It didn’t seem like Marley had any fondness for Regan, but Savannah supposed she wasn’t everyone’s taste. “I just mean that she’s very blunt, direct, discusses dark topics very matter-of-factly. Some people don’t like that.” Savannah must have been the strange one, because she found it refreshing. Regan was someone she didn’t have to try and be ‘normal’ with. “Was it just living here that made you believe in the less traditional explanations of the things that happen here, or something specific?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Marley nodded, enjoying the ease with which she could slide into this conversation. It was relaxing and didn’t require a lot of effort, something she was finding harder and harder to do the more her mind slipped from her. She took another long sip of her drink and felt a little wave of dizziness come over her, but she blinked it away. “No worries. I”m kinda iffy on labels but when people ask that’s usually what I say,” she shrugged, rubbing her eyes under her glasses. “I don’t think you’re that much older than me, are you?” She tapped her glass. “Oh, uh-- if this is too personal, we can talk about something else. I’m just sorta--” she waved her hand in the air-- “desensitised to this stuff.” The topic circled back to Kavanagh and Marley frowned, choosing not to respond, just nodding simply. But Savannah’s last question threw her for a small loop-- what did she do here? Did she tell her the truth, that Marley wasn’t human and had known about most of this stuff for most of her life? Or did she lie and keep her secret to herself? Was Savannah dangerous? Or could she trust her? Marley swallowed, reached up to rub her eyes again. “Well, it’s kind of complicated--” she started, but when she looked up, she sucked in a breath as her eyes locked with Savannah’s and her abilities transformed the booth around them into Savannah’s worst fears.

“How old are you? What, thirty-five? I’ve got ten years on you. That’s long enough for there to be at least a little cultural difference,” Savannah answered. “Oh. I’m not--it doesn’t bother me. I just wasn’t expecting it.” Her parents’ jaws would have hit the ground if they’d known she was talking about threesomes in a public space with an almost-stranger. She was looking forward to the answer to her question about how Marley had come to know about the supernatural, but it never came. It started with her mother appearing in the booth with them, ranting about how much of a failure she was. Savannah stared at her, looking back to Marley. “Can you--sorry, can you see her…?” she asked, as more faces appeared around the table; her father, her siblings, her ex, each proceeding to angrily and aggressively tell her of all her failings. “Stop it. Can you--can you just shut up?!” Savannah’s heart was beating faster. They were laughing at her, their features contorting unpleasantly and cartoonishly, exaggerated into impossible shapes, their skin tone being replaced by clown make-up, their laughter being replaced by maniacal cackling. “STOP!”

Marley felt her blood turn to ice as the fear from Savannah began to fill her up. It was intoxicating. She didn’t want to stop. The world around them fell away and all that they were left with were distorted faces and angry voices. Everything turned black and white. Savannah’s heart was racing, Marley could hear it. It echoed all around them. Her fear consuming them both. How long had it been since she’d properly fed like this? She didn’t want to stop. But then, a voice cut through her mind. It ricocheted all around her head and broke the glass in her mind. STOP! Marley fell backwards from the darkness and suddenly she saw Deirdre, writhing on the ground below her. And then it was Lydia, and then it was every other person she’d tortured like this. She blinked, but the visions wouldn’t go away. Savannah’s fears sat next to them in the booth. “I--” she stuttered, threw her sunglasses off and pressed her palms to her eyes. “I’m sorry! I’m trying, I’m sorry!” She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to hurt people like this anymore.

Savannah didn't even know she was talking to Marley. She just yelled at the unknown entities around them who were flooding her system with panic and dread. Her whole body was somehow hot and cold at the same time. People around them were starting to stare, chatter amongst themselves. Plates shattered as a server dropped them to the ground in shock. "What are you doing?!" She demanded, breathing rapid and palms coated in sweat as she tried to swat the apparitions away. Marley was doing this. She didn’t know how, but she was too terrified to think clearly. Her heart hammered so rapidly that it hurt. “Get off me!”

Stop it, stop it, she needed to stop it. Marley pressed her palms hard enough into her eyes to feel pain, nails digging into the sides of her head. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” she shouted at herself, shaking her head. They needed to get out of there. She needed to get out of there. People were staring, she could hear them whispering. She spun in her spot to try and look around and suddenly more people were screaming. Inhaling sharply, Marley stood from the booth and stumbled out. “I’m sorry!” she stuttered at Savannah, reaching out for her. But the other woman was shouting at her and looking at her with those eyes-- those terrified, painful eyes. Marley swallowed thickly and looked away. “I-- fuck. I’m sorry, I’ll leave, I’m--” she turned quickly and slammed into someone, one of the waiters that had come over to check on them. He looked down into her eyes and suddenly he was crumbling to the ground as well. Marley backed away into the table, knocking over her glass. She didn’t want this. She’d never wanted this. She turned-- and she ran.

Savannah had no idea what was happening. She hadn’t known Marley had been the one doing this until she’d answered her, but Savannah was too busy panicking to register what that meant. People were staring, watching the poor woman freak out over something they couldn’t see, or perhaps being confronted with their own deepest fears suddenly and without explanation. Marley just kept apologizing, over and over, and Savannah could barely comprehend the words. The visions vanished, almost as soon as they’d appeared, leaving Savannah clutching her chest. “M-Marley--?” she tried to ask, but the other woman was gone. “What… what the hell?”

#paras #with: marley

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