#fortunately the BBC secured for the part
Photo
The events of 6 December 1890 were neither preordained nor were they premeditated. Nothing that transpired on the day was inevitable or irreversible: participants chose to stay in character, and to act out their roles in what would eventually be described by biographers and historians as the Parnell Tragedy (Jules Abels, 1966).
Everyone at the time would have been aware of the historical significance of their actions, if not the long-term consequences - excluding of course, the one female member of the cast who could not possibly have known what she was doing. By dint of this congenital deficiency she would also quite naturally be blamed for causing "Ireland's misfortune." Simple and satisfying in terms of its mass market appeal, feminine impulsivity does little to explain the supposedly rational decisions taken by the men around her in the name of patriotism and political expediency - which far from producing an amenable solution served only to exacerbate the crisis. Whereas the exact circumstances and full cast of characters have faded over time the larger-than-life figure of Charles Stewart Parnell still towers over the events of 6 December 1890 as the one man who could have had it all - and lost it all.
Sixty-four years later, the Fall of Parnell inspired an episode of the BBC's "experimental" television series You Are There which set out to present the known historical facts, faithfully, but with an added dimension unique to the new medium: actors would impersonate the key personnel as in a conventional re-enactment. While going about their "business," however, they would be interviewed by modern television reporters. The curious anachronism underlined the artificiality of the concept; it meant the programme was deliberately drawing attention to itself which would have been an unwanted distraction, for You Are There it was the defining feature. Neither the programme nor its - fictitious - journalists were interested in the exploration of alternative histories or in-depth character studies: the point was to demonstrate the possibilities of "live" television, ironically, in a simulated setting. Fact and fiction are trading places as the reality of 1890 becomes the subject of a 1950s fantasy, and the medium of the future interrogates the evidence of the past. For the actors it would have been a challenge to navigate between imaginative portrayal of a fully formed human being and the faithful rendition of the intrinsically incomplete historical record.
The historical record states that Charles Stewart Parnell was born in 1846. The son of a Protestant Irish landowner and an American mother was not naturally predestined to champion the cause of destitute Catholic tenant farmers; indeed, nothing in his early life pointed to any such leanings. As an aristocratic country gentleman he had nothing to fear and everything to gain from the firm imperial rule exerted by the British Crown over the Island of Ireland.
And yet it was Parnell, the English-educated man of pedigree, who emerged as the voice of the starving rural population. Having decided to enter politics for reasons that are still unclear, he found his calling as the Westminster MP for County Meath not in the defence of privilege but in the vocal support - initially for land reform and then increasingly for Irish nationalism ("Home Rule"). Over the next five years Parnell gained a reputation and a following as a fiery orator back in Ireland and a force to be reckoned with in the House of Commons, where is name became synonymous with the new parliamentary tactic of "obstructionism." If the English politicians could not be moved to act in Ireland's interest Parnell vowed to meddle in English affairs. And meddle - or obstruct - he did. After a century of inaction and neglect, the Irish Question seemed relevant again, if only because its proponents made it impossible for English laws to be passed. Parnell seemed to thrive on his tactical manoeuvring which he was prepared to carry to painful extremes, on multiple occasions – including arrest and imprisonment, at the risk of damaging his already fragile state of health.
By 1880 Parnell controlled both the radical grassroots movement in Ireland and the parliamentary representation of Irish interests in London. The position made him a frequent dinner guest in the homes of friends and allies, where on several occasions he also enjoyed the hospitality of Mrs Katharine O'Shea, the English wife of a fellow Irish MP, who was sympathetic not only to the cause but to the man who personified the struggle. Mrs O’Shea had a discreet arrangement with her husband, Captain William “Willie” O’Shea, the Member for County Clare and Galway: their marriage would exist on paper only for the benefit of Willie’s career; while he conducted his business in London she would reside at their official family residence and entertain important visitors. Parnell would often stay as a guest of the family - to recuperate after gruelling campaigns in Ireland, was the official explanation given.
For the next ten years the couple conducted an illicit affair that produced four children and saw the singled-minded saboteur of the political system lead a double life away from Parliament and in the company of Katharine O’Shea. The relationship was not as one might assume a tempestuous whirlwind romance but a curiously claustrophobic still-life of Victorian domesticity - an alternate, self-contained reality where Parnell and his "Queenie" could act out their fantasy of living simply as husband and wife. Their apparent longing for simplicity may also help to explain the ease with which they expected to lead two entirely separate and parallel lives, apparently unaware of or unwilling to acknowledge the inherent paradox and inevitable complication.
In the political arena Parnell was for most of the 1880s an extremely effective manipulator of moods and opinions, always weighing and adjusting the demands of Irish nationalists against the calls for the use of force from the British press, the public, and its politicians. Anyone looking for a core belief or deeply held conviction would have been disappointed by the vagueness of Parnell's own stated aims - which he used to great advantage because it allowed him to gain the confidence of the British side and the respect of his own following. As a small but significant minority, the Irish (or Home Rule) Party under Parnell's skilful machinations was able to make demands in return for the votes it lent to either one of the two dominant forces in 19th century British politics: the Tory (Conservative) Party or the slightly more reform-oriented Liberal Party.
Parnell’s elusiveness became his trademark: the less he said in public, the fewer appearances he made in Parliament, the taller he grew in stature. In 1887 he was accused of having endorsed the murders of two British politicians in Dublin. When the alleged endorsement turned out to be a forgery two years later, the popular reaction was one of relief and renewed admiration for the noble freedom fighter who had been so horribly maligned. By 1889, it seemed as if nothing could go wrong for Charles Stewart Parnell.
Home Rule seemed within reach when, in May of 1889, Katharine O'Shea learned of the death of a wealthy aunt whose fortune she was to inherit. The additional funds would have been a welcome boost to Katharine's finances had it not been for her husband's unexpected interference. Captain William “Willie” O’Shea chose this moment to strike, possibly to exact revenge, more likely to improve his own pecuniary situation. And thus, Captain O'Shea went ahead and contested the will, citing his wife’s infidelity, and his intention to divorce her. Surprised but hardly alarmed, the lovers welcomed what they thought would be an opportunity for them to make their relationship official, the sooner the better.
From the very beginning their affair had been an open secret in political circles, but the Captain’s announcement put the fact of their adultery in the public domain. With their case not due in court for at least another twelve months (i.e. late 1890), Katharine and Parnell were powerless to stop the scandal from spreading, and their silence on the matter allowed grievances to fester. No public statement was ever published, nor did the couple make any public gesture of remorse. They did launch a half-hearted and unsuccessful counterclaim not to deny the adultery but to accuse Captain O’Shea of adultery as well, presumably to shame the Captain into withdrawing his allegation.
For an entire year the unresolved state of their private affairs overshadowed Parnell’s political battle; it affected his health and continued to corrode confidence among his allies in parliament and at home but most significantly among the ranks of the Liberal Party led by Prime Minister William Gladstone. Ironically, and with tragic consequences for Katharine and Parnell, the earliest and most vociferous condemnations came not from the Catholic Church (both Parnell and Katharine were Protestants) but from the other “Nonconformist” denominations outside the established Church of England, which was traditionally a preserve of the Tory (Conservative) Party. An influential group among the Nonconformists were Methodists, whose large working and middle-class following had found in Gladstone’s Liberal Party their political home.
When the divorce eventually came through in November 1890 (decree nisi), Parnell was branded a “convicted adulterer” but also won the legal right to marry Katharine after completion of the obligatory six-month waiting period (decree absolute). The salacious - and uncontested – testimony offered in the course of the trial was, however, fresh on the minds of his party colleagues who were meeting to decide on his future as party leader a mere fortnight after the court’s decision. Gladstone had already warned Irish MPs of the danger to their alliance, the implication being that the Liberal Party would lose the support of its Nonconformist base if it continued to cooperate with a “convicted adulterer.” The message was clear: Irish MPs had no hope of winning Home Rule with Parnell as their leader. They needed the good will and legislative might of a strong Liberal government - and Liberal voters had strong ideas about marriage and adultery. Gladstone did, in effect, issue an ultimatum to Irish parliamentarians: lose your leader or lose Ireland.
Party activists in Ireland meanwhile re-elected Parnell as leader of the Home Rule Party before news of the ultimatum reached their shores, creating an awkward situation which allowed Parnell to claim he had the backing of the party rank and file, while Gladstone faced the beginnings of a split in his own party over the very issue of Irish Home Rule.
Parnell promptly refused to stand down, declaring instead that he considered the matter of Mrs O’Shea’s divorce closed and that, far from being a friend of Ireland, Gladstone had betrayed their cause. Whether or not the accusation was based in fact [substance] hardly mattered in the greater scheme of things. It was Parnell's word against that of the Prime Minister, and a decision had to be made: should the Irish Home Rule Party defy Gladstone and keep Parnell as their charismatic leader, or should the convicted adulterer be deposed in return for English concessions?
On 6 December 1890, after seemingly endless negotiations, Irish parliamentarians convened another marathon session to break the deadlock without destroying the party, its leader, or their country. Obstacles proved insurmountable as Parnell himself chaired the meeting and overruled any motion calling for a vote. Members present at the meeting noted his increasingly autocratic behaviour with concern and were alarmed by the apparent disintegration of his mental and physical identity. What they were witnessing may have been, on one level, the self-evisceration of a disgraced politician, but the concrete struggle of the individual to control his own destiny, and the narrative about it, had gained additional layers of meaning that transcend literal explanations for Parnell's fate.
The extent to which he did control the mythology of his downfall as well as his subsequent (and posthumous) apotheosis is a fascinating subject for debate: was he drawing attention to the opposing forces behind his identity or trying to deflect attention away from his failure to reconcile the two when he claimed that Gladstone and the Liberals were the true enemies of the rightful Irish claim to self-determination? No longer was the crisis a moral dilemma but a question of national pride. The private transgression becomes an affair of state - no longer is it a moral dilemma but a question of national pride: if it was up to the English to dictate who is to be their leader, then Gladstone truly was the master of the Irish Party.
Parnell's rhetorical masterstroke elevated his imminent ouster as party leader to an affront of international proportions by blurring the very boundaries he had otherwise hoped to maintain between the private man and his public persona. It also drew an instant reaction from the assembled party colleagues. "Who is to be the mistress of the party?” put paid to Parnell's noble-minded aspirations and reminded those present once again of the sordid scandal and the root cause of their troubles. Unable to vote the party leader out of office, 44 of his fellow members stood up and left the room, 26 remained with Parnell. It is this moment You Are There chose to dramatize, for the sheer symbolism of the scene: the leader without majority, his party crippled for decades to come. The Liberal Prime Minister ruling unencumbered.
Parnell's story, the story of Ireland's struggle, could have ended here. Or it could have ended differently. If each of the protagonists had chosen a different course of action. Parnell, for his part, chose to fulfil what he must have thought of as his destiny: within hours of the party meeting that left him - it must be remembered - still nominally undefeated, he embarked on a tour of Ireland to speak at rallies and unite the crowds behind the candidates he chose to stand in by-elections. Any hopes of regaining the momentum lost in London were slim at best; the winter weather and Parnell's failing health reduced the schedule and, compounded by his ever more radical oratory, crowds became more difficult to control, and enthusiasm for the struggle was waning. But just as the chances of a concrete, real-life settlement were growing increasingly remote, the idea of the struggle captured the imagination of contemporary and subsequent generations, and Parnell became its idealized figurehead - not without considerable work from Parnell himself, who cultivated an air of steely nerves, superhuman strength, and emotional detachment in public while being fiercely protective of his privacy. The polar opposites that defined his existence, through their very incompatibility, presented an impossible conundrum: unable to reconcile the two, incapable of compromise, the Parnell machine was at a crisis point.
Campaigning in Ireland continued throughout the summer but none of the chosen candidates were victorious. Parnell and Katharine finally became a married couple on 25 June 1891, but their life together as husband and wife only lasted a little over three months and ended with Parnell’s death on 6 October 1891. They were both 45 years old at the time.
In poetic terms, Parnell had committed the ultimate sin of the tragic hero: to think of himself as indispensable. In the eyes of his supporters, and presumably his own, Parnell had become the personification of an idea, an idea that without him was thought to be non-viable. Parnell and Irish Home Rule were interchangeable; the means and the end had merged into one. Much like the fatal flaw carried by every tragic hero in the history of human endeavour, Parnell's hubris made him both unique and universal, gave him superhuman powers and made him vulnerable - not in a simple case of crime and punishment but in the pursuit of a noble mission that is ultimately larger than the man who has internalized it as his own.
To paraphrase Hilary Mantel, we tend to fictionalize those who can no longer speak for themselves; in Parnell's case there is perhaps a greater need than with many of his peers to interpret where we cannot explain, and to speculate were we cannot know.
Indeed, so strong was the sense even among contemporaries of a catastrophic derailment of their hopes and dreams, and so great the loss of confidence in the political process, it gave rise to an entire subgenre of historical fantasies indulging in mostly wishful thinking: what if Parnell's campaign had been successful and he had lived to see an independent Ireland? What if there had never been a scandal? What if we could turn the clock back far enough to prevent all bad things from happening? This being a male-centric scenario we easily move on to imagining the hero going about his business without "distractions," and what might have been if Parnell and Katharine O'Shea had never met. The further the fantasy travels back in time, however, the more it will be about erasure of the past rather than an extension of existing timelines. As a work of fiction, it may well be a legitimate subject for philosophical or even psychological enquiry that can provide a temporary reprieve from the struggle. It can never be the solution. [Part 2 of 2]
#Patrick McGoohan#Helen Shingler#were 26 and 35 years old respectively#when they portrayed Charles Stewart Parnell and Katharine O'Shea live on BBC TV#impossible casting by today's standards but in 1954#leading men were expected to cover a much wider age range#fortunately the BBC secured for the part#of the enigmatic giant of Irish nationalism#an actor whose heritage and disposition were an uncanny match#having played much older men on stage before as was indeed the practice in#repertory theatre and the tradition carried over into early television#interestingly the young talent that the new medium attracted in its experimental phase#later launched a televisual experiment of his very own in the pursuit of something#as elusive maybe as the source of Parnell's political ambition#whether it is life imitating art or patterns emerging in hindsight#we will interpret and fictionalize#compare and analyse to satisfy our own obsessions#because that is what this is really#who in their right mind would see shades of Parnell in Col Rumford#or the myth behind the man#for fleetstreetpauline always
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
‘I’ve starred in The Archers for 20 years but could never afford my own farm’
Fame & Fortune: The BBC actor on money mistakes, theatre hecklers, and his 20-year radio stint
Andrew Wincott, who plays Adam Macy on BBC Radio 4’s The Archers, joined the cast in 2003 (Credit: Gary Moyes/The Archers)
Andrew Wincott is an actor, best known for playing Adam in the BBC Radio 4 drama The Archers, which he joined 20 years ago. After studying English and then doing teacher training at Oxford, the 61-year-old taught for two years before going to Webber Douglas drama school, where fellow actors Hugh Bonneville and Rebecca Front were contemporaries.
He then worked on the regional theatre circuit, and later became a member of the BBC Radio Drama Company, before joining the cast of The Archers in 2003. The father of one lives in Clapham, south London.
How did your start in life affect your outlook on money?
My two brothers and I grew up in Oxfordshire where my parents ran a catering business.
But the 1970s were a difficult time for a lot of businesses, so after 10 years enjoying an idyllic life in the countryside, we moved into the flat above the restaurant and cake shop the family owned, Wincott’s, in Banbury.
Work always came first for my parents, so for a number of years we didn’t go away in the summer.
Did you receive pocket money?
Yes, and I spent it on Marvel comics, and later on albums like Pink Floyd's The Dark Side Of The Moon and Wish You Were Here, which I played endlessly in the mid-70s.
What was your first job?
After leaving school in 1978, before going to university, I worked at the Dragon Prep School in Oxford doing a variety of jobs, one of which involved keeping the headmaster’s drinks cupboard well-stocked, and serving gin and tonics at garden parties.
The G&Ts I poured were notoriously generous. Occasionally I even got to ‘sample’ the headmaster’s gin myself.
But my first proper acting job, which also secured my Equity card [a trade union for the performing arts], came after I gatecrashed an audition in 1987 and landed the part of Alec in Tess of the D’ Urbervilles at the Orchard Theatre Company in Barnstaple, which toured the West Country.
Wincott says starring in The Archers is like having ‘a second family’. Pictured here with Stephen Kennedy and Mairead McKinley (Credit: The Archers/David Burges)
How long did you work in regional theatre for? Was it lucrative?
The best part of a decade, appearing everywhere from Colchester to Perth, and Harrogate to Theatr Clwyd in Wales, doing both Shakespeare and modern plays, often playing leading roles.
Money was minimal – I was paid about £160-£170 a week on my first acting job – but the Equity Touring allowance helped.
Regional theatre allowed me to hone my skills as an actor. Once, I was heckled by an inebriated audience member who loudly greeted every entrance I made in Tess with a cry of “Asshole!”.
However, you just have to stay focused. He was gone by the interval – probably back to the bar. This was in Falmouth, now affectionately rebranded among friends as “Foulmouth”!
Have you experienced any lean times as an actor?
It took me nine months to land my first proper acting job, and until then I was working on the fringe – just earning expenses, or profit sharing if I was lucky.
Most actors have good years and bad years. So you have to set aside money to see you through the lean spells, as well as save enough to pay your tax bill at the end of the year.
How did you land the part of Adam in The Archers?
I actually played a Danish agricultural student for a few months in the 1990s – but then, a decade or so later, I was invited to audition with a dozen other actors for the role of Adam at Pebble Mill in 2003.
I heard nothing for 10 days, but was then asked to come back for a recall [second audition] and was offered the role.
Now, it's like having a second family. This month I’ve been a cast regular for almost exactly 20 years. Providing you aren’t written out (or killed off), there’s a certain security.
Coincidentally, my mother grew up on a Home Farm [a key location in the radio drama] and went to the same school, although not at the same time, as Godfrey Baseley, who created The Archers.
Does The Archers pay enough for you to buy a farm of your own?
The cast only works on The Archers for about one week in the month – we record blocks of episodes several weeks ahead of transmission – and radio pays somewhere between theatre and television.
So I doubt it would pay for a farm in the UK, though it might eventually just pay for a small farmhouse in rural Andalucia, where I enjoy spending time.
So who knows? I might become a Spanish granjero and grow olives one day.
You also find time to record audiobooks and video games?
I’ve recorded hundreds of audiobooks and video games over the last 15 years or so. An audiobook takes days, if not weeks, to prepare and then record in studio.
I’ve voiced everything from The Wind in the Willows to Nineteen Eighty-Four and the classics of Flaubert.
But it's hard work for often little reward. It can be fun creating bizarre voices for elves, orks or extraterrestrials in fantasy books, but the concentration required when the red light is on is second to none.
It's just you, the words on the page and the voices in your imagination.
In addition to his role on the BBC’s longest-running drama, Wincott has recorded hundreds of audiobooks and video games. Pictured with Stephen Kennedy (Credit: BBC/PA)
Have you got a pension?
Yes, I took out an Equity pension through my union years ago and still pay into it. I also have a SIPP.
What’s been your best investment?
The investment I made in going to drama school in the mid-1980s. Doing that gave me classical training as an actor. I probably wouldn’t be in The Archers today without that.
Do you own a property?
Yes, a second floor, two-bedroom flat in a property in Clapham, south London, dating back to the 1900s. I bought it for £60,000 in 1991, though it’s now worth a considerable six-figure sum, I imagine.
It’s an excellent location for getting in and out of town.
Are you a spender or a saver?
Instinctively a saver. As an actor you never know what’s around the corner, and we know if we're working there will be tax to pay. Not to mention investing for the future.
What’s your greatest financial indulgence?
Every now and then, I'll spend a few days in southern Spain, specifically Las Alpujarras – the foothills of the Sierra Nevada – where I can recharge my batteries, or prepare a book for audio in tranquility. I'm learning Spanish now, too.
What has been your worst financial decision?
Buying into the Woodford Equity Investment Fund, as part of my SIPP.
Although Neil Woodford was considered a star fund manager, the fund collapsed and the administrator is now embroiled in collective litigation to recoup losses. Never a dull moment.
Do you donate to charity?
Yes, Art Fund, which facilitates the acquisition of artworks for the nation. Doing so also entitles you to half-price admission to special exhibitions, such as those at the Tate, the Courtauld or the National Gallery.
Do you plan to do a June Spencer (Peggy Archer) and still be in The Archers when you’re 100?
Who knows? The Archers is an extraordinary institution, part of our cultural fabric as a farming nation – it boasts such longevity, too.
Maybe my character will outlive me? I'd like to think he will… before the next generation takes over.
The Archers, Radio 4, weekdays at 7pm; Omnibus edition, Sundays at 10am
Source: The Telegraph
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
when is a vpn necessary
🔒🌍✨ Get 3 Months FREE VPN - Secure & Private Internet Access Worldwide! Click Here ✨🌍🔒
when is a vpn necessary
Privacy Protection
Privacy protection is a crucial aspect of our digital existence in today's interconnected world. Ensuring the privacy of personal information is essential to safeguarding individuals against potential threats such as identity theft, financial fraud, and unauthorized surveillance.
One fundamental way to protect privacy online is by utilizing secure and encrypted communication channels. This includes using Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) to establish private connections over the internet, protecting data from unauthorized access or monitoring by third parties.
Furthermore, practicing good password hygiene is vital for privacy protection. Creating unique and complex passwords for each online account can prevent unauthorized access and potential data breaches. Additionally, enabling multi-factor authentication adds an extra layer of security to prevent account breaches.
Another key aspect of privacy protection is being mindful of the information shared on social media platforms. Oversharing personal details can expose individuals to privacy risks, such as targeted advertising, phishing attacks, or identity theft. It is essential to review and adjust privacy settings on social media to control the information visible to others.
In conclusion, safeguarding privacy in the digital age requires proactive measures to protect personal information from potential threats. By utilizing secure communication channels, practicing good password hygiene, and being mindful of online activities, individuals can take control of their digital privacy and minimize the risk of unauthorized access or misuse of personal data. Prioritizing privacy protection is crucial in maintaining online security and promoting a safe digital environment for all users.
Bypassing Geographical Restrictions
Title: Unleashing the World Wide Web: Bypassing Geographical Restrictions
In today's interconnected digital landscape, accessing content from around the globe has become an integral part of daily life. However, geographical restrictions often hinder the seamless flow of information, limiting access to websites, streaming services, and other online platforms based on the user's location. Fortunately, there are various methods available to bypass these restrictions, empowering individuals to explore the vast expanse of the internet without boundaries.
Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) stand as one of the most popular and effective tools for circumventing geographical restrictions. By encrypting internet traffic and rerouting it through servers located in different regions, VPNs mask the user's actual location, thereby granting access to geo-blocked content. Whether it's streaming services like Netflix, Hulu, or BBC iPlayer, or accessing websites restricted in certain countries, VPNs offer a versatile solution for overcoming geographical barriers.
Proxy servers represent another avenue for bypassing geographical restrictions. Similar to VPNs, proxies act as intermediaries between the user and the internet, masking the user's IP address and enabling access to geo-blocked content. While proxies may not offer the same level of security and encryption as VPNs, they provide a simpler and often more cost-effective solution for accessing region-restricted content.
Additionally, Smart DNS services have gained popularity for their ability to bypass geographical restrictions without the need for encryption. By redirecting DNS queries through servers in different locations, Smart DNS services trick websites and streaming platforms into believing that the user is accessing content from an allowed region. This method is particularly useful for streaming high-definition content with minimal impact on internet speed.
In conclusion, bypassing geographical restrictions opens up a world of possibilities for internet users, allowing them to explore and enjoy content from diverse cultures and regions. Whether through VPNs, proxy servers, or Smart DNS services, individuals can navigate the digital landscape freely, transcending borders and accessing content without limitations.
Securing Public Wi-Fi Connections
Securing Public Wi-Fi Connections
Public Wi-Fi networks are convenient for staying connected while on the go, but they also come with significant security risks. Without proper precautions, your personal information could be vulnerable to hackers and other malicious actors. Here are some essential tips to help you secure your connection when using public Wi-Fi:
Use a Virtual Private Network (VPN): A VPN encrypts your internet traffic, making it much harder for hackers to intercept and decipher your data. Before connecting to any public Wi-Fi network, make sure to activate your VPN to create a secure tunnel between your device and the internet.
Avoid Sensitive Transactions: Refrain from conducting sensitive transactions, such as online banking or shopping, while connected to public Wi-Fi. If possible, wait until you're on a secure network or use your cellular data instead.
Keep Software Updated: Ensure that your device's operating system, antivirus software, and other applications are up to date with the latest security patches. This helps protect against known vulnerabilities that hackers could exploit to compromise your device.
Enable Firewall Protection: Activate the firewall on your device to monitor and control incoming and outgoing network traffic. Firewalls act as a barrier between your device and potential threats, adding an extra layer of security to your connection.
Disable Automatic Wi-Fi Connectivity: Turn off the feature that automatically connects your device to known Wi-Fi networks. While convenient, this feature can inadvertently connect you to malicious hotspots posing as legitimate networks.
By following these precautions, you can significantly reduce the risks associated with using public Wi-Fi networks. Remember to prioritize your online security and take proactive measures to safeguard your personal information whenever you connect to the internet outside of your home or office.
Anonymous Browsing
Anonymous browsing refers to the practice of navigating the internet while concealing one's identity and personal information from being tracked or monitored by websites and online entities. This practice is increasingly popular among individuals who value their privacy and seek to protect their online activities from being used for surveillance or targeted advertising purposes.
One common method of achieving anonymous browsing is through the use of virtual private networks (VPNs). VPNs create a secure and encrypted connection between a user's device and a remote server, effectively hiding the user's IP address and location from websites and network snoops. By routing their internet traffic through the VPN server, users can browse the web anonymously and protect their sensitive data from potential cyber threats.
Another popular tool for anonymous browsing is the Tor network, which operates by routing internet traffic through a series of volunteer-run servers to conceal the user's identity and location. Tor provides a high level of anonymity and resistance to network surveillance, making it a preferred choice for users seeking enhanced privacy and security online.
In addition to VPNs and the Tor network, browser extensions such as ad blockers, anti-tracking tools, and private browsing modes can also help enhance anonymity while surfing the web. By combining these tools and practices, individuals can enjoy a greater degree of privacy and control over their online presence, safeguarding their personal information from unauthorized access and ensuring a more secure browsing experience.
Evading Online Censorship
Evading Online Censorship
In a world where online censorship is a harsh reality, finding ways to access information freely has become crucial. Online censorship can limit access to essential information, suppress freedom of speech, and control the flow of information, ultimately hindering democratic values.
To evade online censorship, individuals can utilize various techniques and tools to access blocked websites and content. One common method is the use of Virtual Private Networks (VPNs). VPNs encrypt internet traffic and reroute it through servers in different locations, allowing users to bypass restrictions and access censored content. By masking the user's IP address, VPNs enable anonymous browsing and protect privacy online.
Another effective way to evade online censorship is through the use of the Tor browser. Tor routes internet traffic through a network of servers operated by volunteers worldwide, making it difficult to trace the user's online activity. This decentralized approach helps users bypass government restrictions and access blocked websites securely.
Furthermore, individuals can also use proxy servers to evade online censorship. Proxy servers act as intermediaries between the user and the internet, masking the user's IP address and enabling access to blocked content. However, it's essential to use reliable and secure proxy servers to ensure online safety and privacy.
In conclusion, evading online censorship is crucial for promoting freedom of information and speech in the digital age. By utilizing VPNs, Tor browsers, and proxy servers, individuals can bypass restrictions and access censored content securely. It is vital to stay informed about online censorship issues and take proactive measures to protect online freedom and privacy.
0 notes
Text
Rob Marshall: Senior Red Bull designer to join McLaren as technical director in 2024
Rob Marshall was chief designer for Red Bull Racing during their successive titles wins from 2010-2013
McLaren have recruited senior Red Bull designer Rob Marshall as part of their restructure aimed at turning around their fortunes in Formula 1.
Marshall has been a key member of Red Bull's design team for 17 years, most recently as chief engineering officer.
Team principal Andrea Stella said securing Marshall, 55, was a "fundamental step to aid the team's journey back to winning ways".
Marshall will join McLaren at the start of 2024.
His title will be technical director, engineering and design.
Marshall will be one of three designers all with the title technical director, responsible for different areas of the car, all reporting into Stella.
The others are Peter Prodromou on aerodynamics and former Ferrari designer David Sanchez on car concept and performance.
Prodromou has been with McLaren since 2014. Sanchez starts work at the same time as Marshall on 1 January next year.
McLaren's recruitment drive is part of a programme aimed at speeding up their journey back to competitiveness.
They made significant progress through 2019-21 after sinking to a low in 2018, which they ended with one of the two slowest cars on the grid.
But their progress stalled last year and has dropped back again in 2023, leading Stella and McLaren Racing chief executive officer Zak Brown to make major changes, most notably the departure of technical director James Key in March.
Marshall's recruitment is a major coup for the team, as he will bring with him insight into Red Bull's continuing ability to produce one of the fastest cars in F1.
Red Bull have dominated since new technical rules were introduced at the start of last season.
Stella said: "We are a team with the ambition of fighting for championships, but over the last couple of seasons we have not shown a steady upward trend from an on-track competitiveness point of view.
"Over the last few months, we have worked towards inverting this trend.
"The approach we have adopted is comprehensive and is based on strengthening the team from a people and expertise point of view, along with the ongoing projects to upgrade technology and infrastructure that will shortly come to fruition."
Red Bull team principal Christian Horner said: "Rob's work on the generation of cars that gave us four incredible championship doubles between 2010 and 2013 was truly outstanding.
"In the years since he has continued to be a key figure at the team and in 2016 took on the broader role of chief engineering officer which has seen him involved in other projects across the business. His influence will be missed."
McLaren are also investing in infrastructure, particularly with a new wind tunnel that comes on stream this year and which will be followed by a new simulator.
Within F1, McLaren's approach of having three parallel technical directors reporting into the team principal has been questioned - most teams have a single design lead with heads of department under them.
But Stella has insisted that the approach will work.
via BBC Sport - Formula 1 http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/
0 notes
Text
New Post has been published on All about business online
New Post has been published on http://yaroreviews.info/2023/05/mortgage-refused-for-hosting-ukrainian-refugees
Mortgage refused 'for hosting Ukrainian refugees'
Dominik Zaum
By Dan Whitworth
Money Box reporter, BBC Radio 4
Halifax has apologised for rejecting a customer’s mortgage application because the home owner is hosting two Ukrainian refugees.
Dominik Zaum and his family have had a mother and her young daughter staying with them in an annexe since June 2022.
When his mortgage came up for renewal, he applied for one with Halifax.
But Dominik was refused after Halifax said there was a risk he could rent out the space for commercial gain in the future.
“We were very surprised by this because we’ve never rented it out, we’re not renting it out now… and we have no intention of renting it out in the future,” he said.
Dominik has what he describes as a small “granny” flat attached to his house. It is one self-contained room with a kitchenette and a small bathroom accessed by its own door.
He is part of the Homes for Ukraine scheme which started just over a year ago to help rehome refugees who fled the country following Russia’s invasion in February 2022.
So far, according to government figures 153,000 Ukrainian refugees have arrived in the UK and research suggests most of them have stayed.
To help with the expense of housing refugees, hosts are provided with £350 per month for the first 12 months and £500 for each month after that point.
Like millions of other fixed-rate mortgage holders in the UK, Dominik’s loan was coming up for renewal this year so he decided to look around for a new deal.
And that’s when the trouble – and worry – started.
Halifax sent someone to value Dominik’s home.
He said: “We spoke directly with the valuer before, when he came and looked at our house.”
But Dominik said “When we contacted the Halifax through our broker they said they could not provide us with a mortgage because we were providing accommodation to a Ukrainian family and therefore there was a significant risk that we would rent out the room commercially in the future.”
Halifax has since apologised for “the confusion” after being contacted by Money Box and has offered Dominik a mortgage deal.
But Dominik claims the only reason Halifax backed down is because Money Box started to investigate. “We raised it twice with the Halifax through our mortgage broker and nothing changed,” he said.
“It is very unfortunate that it took Money Box to get a response.”
Halifax said it is “very sorry for the confusion” and is very supportive of the Homes for Ukraine scheme and that it wouldn’t decline a mortgage application on this basis.
“Having reviewed the application again, we’ve now issued an offer and the application will proceed as normal,” it said.
Getty Images
Halifax said the valuer did not appreciate the informal nature of the tenancy, and this was reflected in their report where they noted the property was unsuitable for these lending purposes and given a zero valuation.
Dominik said that he was worried that Halifax’s refusal could have been mirrored by the rest of the lending sector. “We did not know at the time if other banks might have reacted similarly,” he said.
“We have since secured a mortgage with another bank so, fortunately, it has not had any impact on our finances.”
He added: “Had we not been able to secure a new mortgage we would have moved from a fixed-term mortgage to a higher rate and cost us over £9,000 a year.”
The government has advised people who are hosting refugees through the Homes for Ukraine scheme to keep any interested parties informed.
Are you part of the Homes for Ukraine scheme and hosting a family, or know someone who is, have you had any problems like Dominik? Email us your stories to [email protected]
You can hear more on this story on BBC Radio 4’s Money Box podcast available shortly after broadcast by clicking here.
Follow Money Box and Dan on Twitter
Related Topics
Russia-Ukraine war
Mortgages
Ukraine
More on this story
Mother fears homelessness as refugee scheme ends
22 February
The refugees making a living after fleeing Ukraine
10 April
0 notes
Text
Wednesday, June 8, 2022
Pessimism about the economy and the nation
(WSJ) Americans are deeply pessimistic about the U.S. economy and view the nation as sharply divided over its most important values, according to a new Wall Street Journal-NORC Poll. The findings are from a Journal survey conducted with NORC at the University of Chicago, a nonpartisan research organization that measures social attitudes. The survey found Americans in a sour mood and registering some of the highest levels of economic dissatisfaction in years. The pessimism extended beyond the current economy to include doubts about the nation’s political system, its role as a global leader and its ability to help most people achieve the American dream. Data point: Just over one quarter of respondents, 27%, said they have a good chance of improving their standard of living—a 20-point drop from last year—while just under half of respondents, 46%, said they don’t.
U.S. bars Cuba, Venezuela from Americas summit; Mexican leader sits out
(Reuters) The White House on Monday excluded Cuba, Venezuela and Nicaragua from the U.S.-hosted Summit of the Americas this week, prompting Mexico’s president to make good on a threat to skip the event because all countries in the Western Hemisphere were not invited. The boycott by Mexican President Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador and some other leaders could diminish the relevance of the summit in Los Angeles, where the United States aims to address regional migration and economic challenges. “There can’t be a Summit of the Americas if not all countries of the American continent are taking part,” Lopez Obrador said. Lopez Obrador’s absence from the gathering, which Biden is due to open on Wednesday, raises questions about summit discussions focused on curbing migration at the U.S. southern border, a priority for Biden, and could be a diplomatic embarrassment for the United States.
As Britons thank Queen Elizabeth for 70 years, monarchy looks to future
(Reuters) While millions watched the Platinum Jubilee festivities to thank Queen Elizabeth and reflect on her 70 years on the British throne, for the monarchy itself, the four-day celebrations have also very much been about looking to the future. From parades in London and a party outside Buckingham Palace to a Service of Thanksgiving, many in Britain have been paying affectionate tributes to a 96-year-old who has reigned longer than any of her predecessors in 1,000 years. But the queen’s absence at many of the Jubilee events because of health issues meant the celebration of her reign provided a focus on the next monarchs, her son Prince Charles and his son William. Royal biographer Robert Lacey, the historical consultant to Netflix’s hugely popular TV drama “The Crown”, said the queen was laying the ground for what comes next. Journalist Tina Brown, a longtime observer of the British royalty, also said Elizabeth had been focused on succession. “Her feelings and her sentiments right now are all about estate planning for the monarchy,” she told BBC TV. “Her only care right now is that things should be put in a good order for Charles and that everything can be done to make his reign easier.”
From landslide win to no-confidence vote
(Washington Post) The sudden rise of Boris Johnson once baffled political analysts. But the quick reversal of his political fortune could be even more jaw-dropping. Dismissed as the clown prince of British politics for decades, Johnson secured an enormous parliamentary majority for his Conservative Party after calling an early general election in December 2019. Less than three years later, Johnson faced a vote of no confidence from his own party, with former allies saying his behavior in several scandals “insults the electorate.” Though he survived the vote of no confidence, 148 out of 359 Conservative MPs voted against him. A string of rowdy, lockdown-breaking parties at Downing Street during the coronavirus pandemic served as the chief problem for Johnson, long known as a raconteur and rabble-rouser. But there is also more general discontent with Johnson’s leadership, which has been compounded by other woes in Britain. Many commentators do not expect Johnson to still be in office by the time of the next general election—which legally must take place before Jan. 24, 2025.
Ukraine’s training problem
(NYT) President Vladimir Putin, angered by the impending arrival in Ukraine of long-range missiles from the West, warned that Moscow might hit other Ukrainian targets if the shipments continued. But Ukraine also faces another problem with its newfound Western arms shipments: Many of the donated weapons are much more sophisticated than what the Ukrainians are used to. That conundrum has already posed a challenge on the frontline. Exhibit A: The JIM LR range finder, which uses laser technology to see targets at night and determine their distance and GPS coordinates. The JIM LR would be just what the Ukrainian soldiers needed to target Russian artillery positions—if only they knew how to use it. Some fellow soldiers did learn enough to operate it, but then rotated out, leaving the unit with, essentially, a very expensive paper weight. “I have been trying to learn how to use it by reading the manual in English and using Google Translate to understand it,” Sergeant Dmytro Pysanka said. Analysts say that providing weapons without sufficient training risks repeating the United States’ failed approach in Afghanistan, where it supplied the Afghan military with equipment that couldn’t be maintained without massive logistical support. “Ukrainians are eager to employ Western equipment, but it requires training to maintain,” said Michael Kofman, the director of Russian studies at C.N.A., a research institute in Arlington, Va.
Ukrainian wheat
(NYT) Before Putin’s invasion, Ukraine’s grain production accounted for 10% of global wheat exports. But Russia has bombed, blockaded and plundered their neighbor’s grain production capacity to such an extent that there are dire forecasts of increased hunger and spiking food prices around the world. The U.S. warned that the Kremlin is trying to profit from that plunder by selling stolen wheat to drought-stricken countries in Africa. That warning reinforced President Zelensky’s accusations that since February, Russia has stolen some 500,000 tons of Ukrainian wheat worth $100 million. Much of it was trucked to ports in Russia-controlled Crimea, then transferred to ships, including some under Western sanctions. In mid-May the State Department alerted 14 countries that three Russian cargo ships had left ports near Ukraine laden with “stolen Ukrainian grain.” The African countries are in a desperate situation—they have to pick between risking benefiting from possible war crimes and displeasing a powerful Western ally, or refusing cheap food when hundreds of thousands of people are starving.
Guerrilla Attacks Signal Rising Resistance to Russian Occupation
(NYT) The Kremlin-backed mayor of the Ukrainian town of Enerhodar was standing on his mother’s porch when a powerful blast struck, leaving him critically wounded. A week later, about 75 miles away, a car packed with explosives rocked the office of another Russian-appointed official in the occupied southern city of Melitopol. In a rarity, both Ukrainian and Russian officials confirmed the blasts, which struck deep inside Russian-controlled territory. And both explosions appeared to be the work of what analysts say is a growing partisan resistance movement—one fueled by increasingly brutal Russian repression and worsening humanitarian conditions. By their very nature, the clandestine activities of any insurgency are murky and often impossible to verify independently. It is as much in the interest of Ukrainians to play up talk of rebellion as it is for Russians to play it down. But the explosion that injured the Enerhodar mayor, Andrei Shevchik, is one of more than a dozen high-profile attacks in recent weeks that analysts say indicate increased partisan activity aimed at Russian occupation forces in the Kherson and Zaporizka regions of southern Ukraine. In the past month, Ukrainian partisans claim, insurgents have attacked Russian trains and killed dozens of Russian soldiers, as well as supporting the Ukrainian military’s counterattacks. Their claims are impossible to independently verify. Alexander Motyl, a historian and Ukraine expert at Rutgers University, has scoured publicly available statements about possible insurgent activity. He said that the data suggests it is growing.
Millions looted from Afghan government during Taliban takeover
(Washington Post) Tens of millions of dollars disappeared from Afghan government bank accounts during the Taliban takeover in August, according to a U.S. government watchdog report released Monday, the latest in a series detailing the collapse of the Afghan government and its military. The assessment by the Special Inspector General for Afghanistan Reconstruction, or SIGAR, examined allegations that Afghan government officials took tens of millions of dollars with them as they fled the country. Former Afghan president Ashraf Ghani was accused of loading millions of dollars onto the helicopters that he and his close aides used to flee Kabul as Taliban fighters entered the city. SIGAR found the theft of millions by Ghani “unlikely” but said the former president did leave with some cash, adding that “evidence indicates that this number did not exceed $1 million and may have been closer in value to $500,000.” The report quotes one former senior official who fled with Ghani on the helicopters stating, “everyone had $5,000 to $10,000 in their pockets. … No one had millions.” Among the reasons SIGAR found it unlikely Ghani stole millions as he fled the country are details of his final hours in the palace. SIGAR determined Ghani’s departure was sudden, not leaving the leader or his aides time to collect the cash.
Japan to open to tourists after two years but only with masks, insurance, guides
(Reuters) Foreign tourists visiting Japan will be required to wear masks, take out private medical insurance and be chaperoned throughout their stay, the government said on Tuesday, as it plans a gradual opening from two years of COVID-19 restrictions. Only visitors on package tours will be allowed in during the first phase of reopening, from June 10, the Japan Tourism Agency (JTA) said, adding that travel agency guides accompanying visitors will have to ensure they wear their masks. Japan has imposed some of the strictest border controls in the world over the course of the pandemic, banning the entry of almost all non-residents.
US, S. Korea fly 20 fighter jets amid N. Korea tensions
(AP) The South Korean and U.S. militaries flew 20 fighter jets over waters off South Korea’s western coast Tuesday in a continued show of force as a senior U.S. official warned of a forceful response if North Korea goes ahead with its first nuclear test explosion in nearly five years. South Korea’s Joint Chiefs of Staff said the air demonstration involved 16 South Korean planes—including F-35A stealth fighters—and four U.S. F-16 fighter jets and was aimed at demonstrating their ability to swiftly respond to North Korean provocations. The flight came a day after the allies fired eight surface-to-surface missiles into South Korea’s eastern waters to match a weekend missile display by North Korea, which fired the same number of weapons from multiple locations Sunday in what was likely its biggest single-day testing event.
Israeli nationalists wage battle against Palestinian flag
(AP) It’s not a bomb or a gun or a rocket. The latest threat identified by Israel is the Palestinian flag. Recent weeks have seen a furor by nationalists over the waving of the red, white, green and black flag by Palestinians in Israel and in Israeli-annexed east Jerusalem. Yet the fracas over the flag tells a broader story about how much hopes for peace with the Palestinians have diminished and about the stature of the fifth of Israelis who are Palestinian. They for long have been viewed as a fifth column because of their solidarity with the Palestinian cause. Palestinian citizens of Israel see the campaign against the flag as another affront to their national identity and their rights as a minority in the majority Jewish state. “The Palestinian flag reminds Israelis that there is another nation here and some people don’t want to see another nation here,” said Jafar Farah, who heads Mossawa, an advocacy group promoting greater rights for Palestinian citizens of Israel. Palestinian citizens have carved a life for themselves in Israeli society, reaching the highest echelons in various spheres, including health, education and public service. But Palestinians in Israel are generally poorer and less educated than Jewish Israelis and they have long suffered discrimination in housing, government funding and public works.
0 notes
Text
Internet/life update...
So, UH.
Someone decided to detonate an RV in my city on Christmas Day, in front of an AT&T (an ISP, phone provider for those outside the States/Canada) hub building. It knocked out landlines, emergency service call centers (911), internet services, cell phone services (including calls, texts, and mobile data). This affected middle Tennessee, and as far north as Louisville, Kentucky and as far south as parts of Alabama. The FBI and local law enforcement have found a suspect and even found DNA evidence of the suspect’s remains in the blast. You can read more about the incident here at the BBC. Fortunately no one else was killed, and only several people were hospitalized but not for severe injuries.
I’ve managed to piggyback off another ISP’s hotspot using my dad’s login (with his permission) but it’s spotty. It also appears that at least by now, cell phone service has been restored, but not wireless internet services just yet.
Long story short is: I’m fine, my family members are fine. I’m more or less just frustrated because I’m working remotely now, and at least a third of the office (according to my supervisors, I emailed them yesterday) is without secure internet access. I have tomorrow (Monday) off, but Tuesday... that’s another story.
At any rate, I don’t want anyone to worry! I’m fine, my cats are fine, and it’s just... weird. It’s so bizarre.
I’m trying to finish up the Georgian set, and will likely have it up either tonight or tomorrow!!
I hope you all continue to stay safe and have an excellent final week of this terrible, terrible year.
x
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
V4VELINDRE IS OUT AND THE REVIEWS ARE IN!
V4Velindre was released on the 1st of October to rave reviews and excellent sales, with the album raising £1,147 for Velindre Cancer Centre on its very first day. A large part of the album’s success must surely be down to the support of music critics, national and local radio stations all across the UK, and even into Europe, North America and South Africa. You can add to that sum by downloading the album from https://v4velindre.bandcamp.com/releases
Here are some of the albums key supporters -
John Harris
John Rhys Harris (born 1969) is a British journalist, writer and critic. He is the author of The Last Party: Britpop, Blair and the Demise of English Rock (2003); So Now Who Do We Vote For?, which examined the 2005 UK general election; a 2006 behind-the-scenes look at the production of Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon; and Hail! Hail! Rock'n'Roll (2009). His articles have appeared in Select, Q, Mojo, Shindig!, Rolling Stone, Classic Rock, The Independent, the New Statesman, The Times and The Guardian.
John was been incredibly engaged with V4Velindre, calling it a ’brilliant and lovingly compiled album’ and then consistently tweeting and retweeting on its behalf. He has also secured an article on the album in a forthcoming issue of https://thenewcue.substack.com/about.
Adam Walton https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b0079gnt
The Adam Walton Show is broadcast on Saturday nights, and you can hear the likes of Sun Ra, Fairport Convention, Big Black, War and Westlife, all rubbing shoulders with the finest new Welsh musical talent.
Adam's the resident DJ and occasional promoter at Telford's Warehouse in Chester and he enjoys computer programming when he's not mowing down legions of newbies during an online Quake III frag-fest.
Perhaps it is these 'geek-oid' tendencies that drew him inexorably to presenting Radio Wales' science and technology show Science Cafe.
Adam is the author of On Making Music, a guide for bands and artistes on how to make music and how get it out into the public domain, and also produces The Janice Long Show for BBC Radio Wales.
Adam was playing music from V4Velindre as early as the 18th of September and has continued to support the album on and off air. Last Saturday, he played three tracks and talked about the fundraising nature of the album. He has called V4Velindre ‘a great album’.
John Kennedy https://www.radiox.co.uk/radio/shows-presenters/xposure/
John Kennedy is a British DJ and radio presenter and podcast host, best known for his longstanding role as the host of the music show X-Posure on Radio X and for the music podcast Tape Notes. X-Posure is currently broadcast on Friday and Saturday nights from 11pm to 2am. The show introduces music from up-and-coming artists primarily, although not exclusively, from alternative and indie styles, and regularly includes live sessions and interviews. Over the years the show has featured a huge range of artists and Kennedy has been credited with discovering countless musicians who have gone on to find success, including the likes of Adele, The xx, Razorlight, Kate Nash, The Ting Tings, The Futureheads, Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip and Mumford & Sons. The Independent described the show as one of the "most eclectic...on British radio".
John has featured V4Velindre on his renowned show X-Posure on a number of occasions - last Saturday’s show featured a triple header of tracks and a lengthy chat about the fundraising aspect of the album - he even spelt out the name for those considering downloading it. There was a significant uptake on Sunday morning, which I 100% put down to John and Adam playing tracks the night before. John has called V4Velindre ‘an amazing overview of various musical styles’.
Dr Art Jipson
I was fortunate to be interviewed by Dr Jipson for the popular music course he teaches at the University of Dayton, Ohio, a couple of years back. Although an Associate Professor in Sociology, Dr Jipson is also the host of the Tuesday Afternoon Alternative broadcasting at https://udayton.edu/studev/leadership/involvement/student-life/org-radio.php
It is a show which Dr J is proud to say concentrates largely on the local music scene in Dayton, but which also takes the occasional detour, in the name of authentic music, further afield. Dr J played a fistful of tracks from V4Velindre, as well as talking at length about the fundraising aspect of the album. He also generously penned the piece below for his blog
https://yourtuesdayafternoonalternative.com/2021/10/05/v4velindre-a-collection-with-heart-and-purpose/
Pete Paphides
Pete Paphides started his career in music journalism at Melody Maker before going on to write for Time Out, the Guardian, Mojo, Q, Observer Music Monthly and The Times, where he spent five years as their Chief Music Critic. He has made several music documentaries for BBC Radio 4, including ‘Lost Albums’, ‘Follow-Up Albums’ and the New York Radio Festival Gold Award-winning ‘The Songs of Molly Drake’. Over the years, he has been a regular contributor to BBC Four music documentaries and he also made two series of Vinyl Revival for BBC 6 Music. Since 2015, he has hosted a weekly music show for Soho Radio and in 2020, Quercus published his first book, a memoir about childhood and music entitled ‘Broken Greek’. The book has been warmly received and was featured as BBC Radio 4’s Book Of The Week in May. ‘Broken Greek’ has since been optioned by Andrew Eaton (The Crown, 24-Hour Party People) for a television series.
Pete has described the album as ‘A magnificent anthology’ and has tweeted and retweeted his opinion that people should buy it. The fact that I have been able lead tweets and press releases with quotes from Adam, John Harris, John Kennedy and Pete has made a massive difference as to how the album has been received.
There have been radio stations from all over playing the album. Starting locally: https://www.gtfm.co.uk/ interviewd me in the run up to the 1st of October and played songs on the day, while others to have played tracks are Montreal’s
https://soundcloud.com/thepressuredrop
https://www.mixcloud.com/Defaoite_D/wheres-me-jumper-show-51-270921-with-defaoite_d-for-indie-rocks radio/
https://www.mixcloud.com/paperlion/
https://jdsplaylist.wixsite.com/radio
https://brumradio.com/adrian-goldberg/
The Shend at https://www.totallyradio.com/
https://sleradio.com/
https://www.radiolantau.com/programmes/programme-schedule.html
http://novumfm.de/?page_id=98
Plus many, many more.
There have been many reviews too -
https://fromthemargins.co.uk/
https://www.walesartsreview.org/v4velindre-fundraising-album/
https://janglepophub.home.blog/2021/10/03/v4velindre-by-v4velindre-various-artists/
https://eclecticmusiclover.com/2021/09/23/new-compilation-album-v4velindre-to-raise-funds-for-welsh-cancer-center/
https://www.fifty3.net/single-post/fifty3-fridays-for-one-night-only
https://www.fifty3.net/single-post/fifty3-fridays-saving-the-world-one-song-at-a-time
https://www.fifty3.net/single-post/fifty3-fridays-saving-the-world-one-song-at-a-time
https://www.theafter8show.com/About.html
https://shoutout.wix.com/so/63NmmiYdM?languageTag=en#/main
https://www.isthismusic.com/v4velindre-various-artists
1 note
·
View note
Text
Jack the Clown Canon Lore Rant
- This is all Official Horror Nights Confirmed Canon -
Jack Schmidt the Clown’s Complete Storyline/Lore.
“You see I had a bit of a difficult childhood. My parents wanted a clown for a child so they bought me noses, and big shoes, and big hair. And the children taunted me, they used to tease me, and now it’s my turn!” - Jack the Clown, 2000
Back Lore [Pre-2000]
Jack Schmidt was born as John “Jack” Schmidt to two inmates within in Shadybrook Rest Home and Sanitarium (Shadybrook Asylum) along with his brother Eddie in the late 1800’s/early 1900's. Not much is known about Jack's childhood in official canon, however it's highly implied that was he raised solely within Shadybrook Asylum until the fateful day when young Jack made plans to run away and escape the asylum, knowingly unable to bring his brother along and seemingly not caring.
He escaped his no doubt highly abusive family whom resided as patients of the asylum and “ran away to join the circus”, leaving behind his younger brother, Eddie. This is why Jack and Eddie are not on good terms.
Once free from the horrific conditions of Shadybrook, Jack found a traveling carnival titled Dr.Oddfellow’s Carnival Of Thrills, led by the titular ringmaster himself Dr.Oddfellow. Jack joined the traveling carnival and happily worked as a dancing entertainment clown for years. That is until all that aggression and resentment came back when children who attended the carnival began taunting him again. Underneath the greasepaint and clown nose, he was a twisted murderer. He was wanted for the abduction and disappearance of several small children throughout the Southern states. Police officials and the F.B.I. soon caught on that the missing children followed a pattern that led them closer and closer to the traveling freak show.
On Halloween 1920, the police were closing in on the Clown killer. Fearing capture, Jack revealed his sinister secret to Dr. Oddfellow in the hopes of possible concealment. The doctor, himself wanted by the police for the accidental death of several patrons in a freak circus accident years earlier under a different name, was not sympathetic to Jack’s cause. He quickly admonished him for potentially bringing the police down upon the entire band of miscreants. He asked Jack to show him what he had done with the bodies of the children. Jack revealed the bodies of thirteen children hidden in the confines of three small trunks that were kept in his traveling coach.
Fearing the worst, Dr. Oddfellow had Jack murdered. Using his enchanted Cane of Souls, Oddfellow killed Jack and locked his body away in a large prop Jack in The Box type box. Dr.Oddfellow and his gang of carnies had Jack’s body and box hidden within the traveling carnival’s House of Horrors as an exhibit, along with the bodies of the children.
Years later, the Carnival was sold by Dr. Oddfellow, and the various dark rides and exhibits were split and sent to various owners around the states, including the House of Horrors and its grisly secret.
Sixty years later, in the Fall of 1980, a television crew from the BBC was documenting the great Dark Rides of America. They journeyed throughout the eastern seaboard looking for forgotten carnival rides and attractions and stumbled upon the House of Horrors as it sat abandoned in a Louisiana junkyard.The crew asked permission to film the interior, and pried open the doors of the forgotten relic to step inside. The smell of decay was overpowering as the bright camera light illuminated the darkened corridors. Moving past the faded walls and hanging fabric, the smell began to increase. The cameraman wretched as he panned his camera towards a series of trunks. Behind the trunks was a large wooden box stenciled like a children’s toy. One letter filled each side of the box, J-A-C-K.
The cameraman steadied his camera as the host of the show investigated the box. He found a large crank on the side of the box and turned it. It started to move with some resistance, but after a few twists, it freely moved in a clockwise rotation. A clanky musical melody played out as the host turned it. Suddenly, however, the Music stopped and wouldn’t start again with his continued rotations. The camera light suddenly died, and then the crank rotated a few spins on its own. The top of the box flew open and a form sprung out. Affixed to a giant spring was the decomposing body of Jack Schmidt.
After a thorough police investigation, the bodies of the thirteen children as well as the body of Jack were shipped to the local Louisiana coroner’s office for further examination. Around midnight on Halloween 1980, the van carrying the body and box of Jack disappeared into the Louisiana swamp in a freak accident.
Later that week, the bodies of the BBC cameraman and host were found as the victims of a grisly and unsolved murder. Throughout the following years, urban legend retellings of the tale started, with a corresponding story about the decomposing body of Jack killing again. The legend states that Jack is searching for Dr. Oddfellow, in a thirst for vengeance. The legend also states that Jack will reward anyone who releases him from his toy tomb by turning the crank with a very special surprise.
2000
In 2000, Universal Studios bought the old props from the decayed House of Horrors, including what was sold as the box that Jack was trapped in for so many years. Apparently, some poor fool tried to test this claim, and Jack was unleashed on the unsuspecting Halloween Horror Nights guests for the first (but certainly not the last) time. Jack’s presence lingered in some form or fashion throughout the years.
2001
Jack returned to lead the event in 2001, after the real world tragety of 9/11 left the season horror event having to water down their previous plans. The year ran more or less like a re-run so there's not much to go off of here in terms of anything being added to Jack's official canon lore storyline.
2004
Jack was seen in the Horror Night Nightmares house, but we’re gonna emit this from lore because it wasn’t included as part of his lore or storyline and his presence was most probably just a nod to horror nights past and referencing the now familiar icon.
2005
Jack is seen in the Rat Run maze, but we’re gonna emit this from lore because it wasn’t included as part of his lore or storyline and his presence was most probably just a nod to horror nights past and referencing the now familiar icon as well as foreshadowing the next year’s event theme.
2006
Summoned by Darkness, Jack (along with other Icons of the era) ushered in the Halloween Horror Night’s Sweet Sixteen celebration where he ruled alongside of Albert Caine, Paulo Ravinski, and Elsa Strict. However Jack was soon caught by the authorities prior to the event's opening and committed to the place of his birth, Shadybrook Asylum For The Criminally Insane, an institution that had suffered an inmate escape a few years earlier. As an interesting side note, we see that during this time Jack was attempting to write letters to his brother Eddie, whoever they were all returned to sender unopened, implying Eddie's resentment for his brother was still very much present.
Though often isolated in the Maximum Security Ward, Jack’s mere presence seemed to have an adverse effect on the unstable population, who started emulating the crazed clown, much to the staff’s dismay. Eventually, the inmates started a mass riot, gruesomely tortured the hospital staff, and put Jack in charge of the facility. During the chaos, Jack found records that his former boss and murderer, Dr Oddfellow, was still alive (but presumably now a very old man since he had been on the job since the 1920s) and running a small traveling carnival.
Jack left Shadybrook, traveling to the depravity of Dr. Oddfellow’s Dark Carnival and Emporium. In the dark of night, Jack stalked into the tents and took his long-overdue vengeance.When he emerged, he was changed.
During incarceration, Jack got a taste of what it was like to run the show, and he desired to be the ringmaster of his own carnival. He dressed himself in the bright red coat and boots of a proper Ringmaster. He also adorned himself with a crude top hat and terrible trinkets of his liking. He completed the transformation with Dr. Oddfellow’s prized possession (which also presumably what kept Oddfellow alive and in motion for 80 years): a silver-headed Cane of Souls.
Putting the Carnival on hiatus, Jack spent the next few months traveling the world to find the right sideshow acts for his deadly Carnival of Carnage. He gathered a plethora of monsters, mutants, madmen and maniacs, many with egos nearly as large as his own, luring them with promises of fame, fortune, showbusiness, and plenty of fresh victims.
2007
After nearly a year of preparation, Ringmaster Jack opened his dark Carnival of Carnage in Orlando, Florida. With his new female sidekick, and heavily implied romantic interest, Chance at his side. It's assumed in canon that after the event ended that the carnival packed up and left town with Jack still leading as ringmaster.
2009
Jack is seen alongside a few other previous icons and characters in the last few nights' pop up scarezone but we’re gonna emit this from lore because it wasn’t even an official scarezone and their presence probably didn’t reflect any actual lore aside from 'hey these beloved characters are here, yay’.
2010
For HHN XX, Jack, along with the other past icons, had risen up the ranks to become one of the five Harolds of Fear (Lord Adaru) himself. His desire to wreak havoc had truly earned him the title known as “Chaos”. It is heavily implied in a scrapped backstory that Jack, along with the other Harolds, were raised from the dead to partake in HHN XX. While this albeit scrapped part of the canon lore reflects in the other icons that year more so, Jack and Chance both do not seem anymore undead than previously seen at the 2007 event and are both still seemingly working their carnival as one of Jack's fortune teller booths referenced from the '07 event commercial is seen within the scarezone in 2010, although a bit updated with new antique carnival decor.
2012
Jack is revealed to be a Morphan via the official Halloween Horror Nights website.
2014
On Halloween of 2014, the last day of Halloween Horror Nights 24, a package was sent out by Universal to various media outfits, which contained a bloodspotted letter, closed with a wax seal marked with an “S”. Inside the letter was a small flash drive, marked with a white thumbprint and sealed over a strand of orange hair. On the flashdrive was a short clip thanking fans for attending that year’s event. Near the end of the clip, the screen begins to flash with images of Jack laughing while a broken down music box plays Pop Goes The Weasel in the background.
2015
Jack was back with his fellow Harolds, Icons, carnies, and of course Chance, to wreak havoc and chaos upon Horror Nights once again. Seemingly drunk with power, Jack decided he wanted his spotlight back from his former master, Fear, and successfully created a sort of cult around himself, called “Jack’s Maniacs”. With his ego in full swing, he committed himself to prove he was better than Fear, believing himself to be Horror Nights incarnate, and decided to prove that to everyone by expanding and improving on his Carnival of Carnage by making it more terrifying than ever.
After the conclusion of the event, in November 2015 it was revealed that Jack and Chance were detained by authorities, with Jack sealed away back into his box, and Chance being committed to Shadybrook Asylum.
2016 - ???
It is currently unknown in canon what became of Jack’s Box after Chance broke out of Shadybrook, but most likely the romantically obsessed clown queen of carnage has it kept safe in her own possession.
While Jack memorabilia has been seen as fan fair easter eggs scattered in different houses and scarezones, we’re going to omit this from lore for now unless/until more of his storyline get’s revealed in future years that may explain that.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I will be updating this master post in the coming years as Jack’s storyline continues with future HHN events!
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Wet Sugar” [Part 1 of 30]
Summary:
Erik Stevens has fully embraced his new identity as Killmonger and infiltrated a mercenary group with ties to Ulysses Klaue. Invited to St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands to meet for the first time, Klaue is impressed with Erik, unaware that the man before him is the son of Prince N'Jobu Udaku, a man he betrayed on a failed mission in Wakanda years ago.
Erik ingratiates himself to Klaue and is found to be a useful member of the new mercenary team the black market arms dealer and smuggler is putting together.
As a reward for hard and profitable work for him, Ulysses allows Erik to stay a summer at his stash/safe house to keep a close eye on some stolen artifacts hidden there. Erik uses that time to hatch the long term plan of using Klaue to gain access to Wakanda, however, he becomes distracted by Klaue's housekeeper who allows Erik glimpses into a possible different life he could have if he ever let go of his plans for revenge...
For mature audiences only. NSFW.
C.W.: Some violence in the beginning.
Please let me know what you think, share/reblog/etc. Off to get the next update up and ready!
"Bad man, nuh talk, West London me walk
No bad vibes in mi yard, or yuh hear di ting back (boom)
Gyally dem ah call, see the money and the car
Celly ah ring off, rum-rum, haffi start, ya hear me?
Mi buss ah Champ' and then they watch we, ya hear me?
Mi have di liquor and di big tree, ya hear me?
No commotion in my circle
Potent herb and a sweet, sweet girl
Take you 'round the world
No-no-no bad vibes in my yard, hmm
Inna my yard, inna my yard, inna my yard…"
Goldlink – "Yard"
What's past is prologue…
Ulysses Klaue had heard rumors of a large hoard of ancient gold coins worth €4 million hidden inside Assyrian-era giant winged bulls. The entire cache of five-foot statues themselves could not be transported nor disguised because of their weight and size, but some of the heads were removed and sold on the black market. Dating back 3,000 years, they were a hot commodity after the destruction of the Mosul Museum in Iraq. Klaue knew this because he had buyers salivating for a chance to procure the heads. And some of those heads had coins hidden in them. It was why he found himself standing now in front of a tall young Black man, American, with gold slugs on his two bottom canines, and a mop of neatly braided locs.
Klaue stared at the intel he had on his field computer.
"You're saying the statues we're looking for are gone already?" Klaue asked.
"ISIL already transported all that shit."
Wide-legged stance, protective ballistic body armor draped over an impressive build, his hands holding an AR-15 pointed right at Klaue's head, this man was in control of the situation. He had five other men from his team standing behind him backing him up with their weapons drawn too. Serious beefy looking men who would shoot if their leader even blinked. The red dot on Klaue's chest was a polite way of letting him know there were snipers on his ass too.
"Stand down," Klaue ordered his men behind him. A rough motley crew of six international soldiers of fortune.
"Alhusul ealaa al'ashya' alkhasat bihim," the Black man said.
Men that Klaue and his team didn't even know were behind them materialized like ghosts, snatching up their weapons and frisking them for more.
"Is this necessary?" Klaue asked as a thick-set mercenary felt on his balls and behind his back squeezing his ass.
"Gotta be thorough in this bitch."
Klaue smirked.
"May I ask who I have the pleasure of getting my nuts tweaked by?" Klaue said.
The man rolled his tongue along his bottom teeth, the gold slugs shining in the sunset. He nodded his head to his team to round Klaue's men up. Once the men were secured and a non-threat, the man lowered his weapon. His dark brown eyes were razor sharp and they regarded Klaue with calculated verve.
"Killmonger."
###
The oldest profession in the world was prostitution.
The second…killers for hire.
Of course, there were kinder more veiled names for mercenaries nowadays:
Soldiers of Fortune.
Private Military Contractors.
Professional Hired Fighters.
Dogs of War.
But Erik "Killmonger" Stevens knew what it was. Murder Incorporated—monetized madness.
The business of war was to keep a perpetual cycle of conflict all over the world so fat cats could make their coins under the guise of professional conflict management. If his mother were still alive, she would say what she always said around her women friends and his very own father…men were trash.
And she was right.
Unfortunately, she gave birth to a son who had to maneuver among the garbage so that he could fulfill his destiny. A destiny of revenge. A making right of what had been wrong for so long.
On the days that he did have downtime and could sit and do nothing at all, Erik would catch a news report or some ticker tape lede on the bottom of C-SPAN, CNN, MSNBC, or the BBC—just about any global news outlet—and catch glimpses of his final endgame. T'Chaka Udaku.
A king.
An elder statesmen.
A blood relative.
A lifelong enemy.
Erik's body would coil tight and hot when he let his mind imagine the day he would be in the presence of his Uncle. He foresaw the moment he would pull back the thick flesh of his bottom lip, the glowing blue vibram tattoo his father gave him as a child embedded deep in the skin of his inner mouth.
He ached to show the ring his father had left for him dangling around his neck, ached to taste and feed on the moment he would reveal all to King T'Chaka, unveil his birthright, and then snap the old man's neck with his bare hands, appreciating the feel of vertebrae cracking and twisting beneath his powerful calloused fingers. Or maybe he would fashion panther claws for himself and rip the man's heart out through his chest. Erik relished the thought. He would bring down—no…eradicate—he would eradicate the old House of Udaku, destroy T'Chaka's bloodline branch and take the throne of Wakanda for himself. A new sun would set on the golden city of Birnin Zana, the place of his father's birth.
Erik was his father's son, but he was also his mother's child, and Califia Stevens didn't raise no simpering punk. He was taught to be a soldier the moment he fell out of his mother's womb. The war he was going to rage was groomed by all of the things that happened in his life and all the things he was learning while biding his time in the ranks of private armies. Sitting back in the cut, gathering new skills and Intel, moving closer to finding the man he needed to get him into Wakanda: Ulysses Klaue. A man who sat at the top of his kill list for right now.
Erik sat crossed-legged overlooking a sand berm keeping watch for a particular caravan of armored S.U.V.s to traverse their path. The sun was making its way to a sluggish sunset, and his military-issue sunglasses protected his tired eyes. He hadn't slept in forty-eight hours and the job he was meant to complete was only halfway finished.
Earlier in the day, his crack team of fifteen men pulled off a bold daytime robbery of highly-sought after Assyrian gold coins. Disguised as U.N. peace-keepers dedicated to preserving artifacts, Erik was the only American on the removal team. He was tasked with masquerading as an art historian since the Canadians with them couldn't sound like authentic Londoners. The non-prescription glasses he wore and the crisp British accent he perfected allowed him to dupe a few Iraqi guards, especially with his fluency with Arabic and his thoughtful acknowledgment of Jumu'ah, the Friday prayers.
While Erik pretended to sit aside respectfully on an offered prayer rug in the midst of an isolated bunker holding the goods they sought, his phony U.N. gear a bit too tight, the guards thanked him for respecting their time in contemplation of Allah. The beneficent. The merciful. Moments later they were tied up and blind-folded left shackled together in the interior of the ravaged bunker that hid the last of the priceless winged bull statues that were hidden for their protection. Erik did let them finish their prayers though.
Time wasn't wasted, what needed to be found was found and bagged up, the heavy weight of the gold bending the backs of five men carting it out onto phony U.N. Jeeps. On the wings of hummingbirds as his great-grandmother used to say when it came to speed and efficiency. An expert strategist and obsessive pre-planner, Erik facilitated the logistics and implementation of the entire operation. They had to be gone before dusk as the heavy hitters from various political factions began to roam. The dry heat was fucking exhausting, made breathing laborious, and the lack of sleep was messing with Erik's focus. His men were ready to dip, but he had to wait, had to take the chance that the man he was scouting for would show.
"Killmonger."
Tahir, the one man Erik considered as close of a so-called friend with the work that he did, stood next to him, his AK-47 resting on his hip, his tan and black shemagh covering his neck and head. Erik glanced up, his own shemagh twisting around his neck tight. He loosened it.
"We should probably leave while it is still quiet."
"Nah. We got time." Gruff and brusque. That's how Erik kept it with the men.
Tahir placed his left hand on his hip and glanced behind him. He was always the one sent to question Erik. The rest were afraid of him, afraid of his quick temper. Afraid of the self-inflicted keloid scars that covered most of his upper body.
Erik looked past Tahir, could see the only other two Iraqis, Amit, and Wassef eyeing him from their sniper positions. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, the Greek, the Egyptian, the two Jordanians, the Russian and the three Canadians. The rest were hidden with their two Mi-17's a quarter of a mile away among the bullet-ridden wreckage of left behind helicopters from failed wars inflicted by the U.S. military.
"We have the gold. Let's go get paid and have some drinks. We can be in Lebanon in a few hours, I know some pretty girls, some nice clubs…"
"We'll wait. I need to see if this dude shows," Erik said, softening his tone with Tahir.
"You should eat something."
"Later," Erik whispered as he saw the approach of the caravan he was looking for.
###
A smart mercenary always checked out their target before any engagement. Someone on Klaue's team didn't do their homework and Erik had the man in his crosshairs. Klaue was shorter and ruddier than he thought the man would be. His reputation seemed larger than life, but the reality was a bit of a disappointment. Little dick energy all the way around. He was also slipping because Erik knew for a fact that some of his men tipped Erik's team off to the coins in the abandoned bunker. Getting past I.E.D's, insurgents, and American PMC checkpoints, Klaue's people looked pretty sorry in front of their main man being plucked by Erik.
"Listen, Killmonger. We'll just be on our way. No harm, no foul," Klaue said as he sat on the ground looking up at Erik.
No harm no foul. Yeah, right. Klaue would take any opening to put a bullet in Erik's head, and in the dome of whoever allowed this clusterfuck on his side.
"We just came for statues," Klaue said.
"With what? Three S.U.V.s? You can't even fit the head of one statue in those. Come again."
Klaue's eyes grew suspicious. Just as Erik expected.
"We have the coins," Erik said.
Klaue let his head drop down and he chuckled, his gold-rimmed teeth glinting. The snake had to come up with a plan fast.
The rat-a-tat-tat-tat sound of machine gun fire in the distance caught Erik's attention. Time was up. It was time to set the trap for this man. Erik knelt down.
Takka takka!
The gunfire was ticking closer.
"Just take the fucking coins and let us go."
An AR-15 near him and Klaue wasn't even flinching. The sweat on his forehead was just from the heat. Erik flipped his weapon behind him.
"I don't give a fuck about those coins. My boss does. But I'm here for something more valuable and it's not here." Erik kept his voice low enough so that only Klaue could hear him.
Klaue's eyes observed him with keen curiosity.
Erik dipped closer to Klaue's ear lobe, making his own men nervous. Erik's sour breath warmed Klaue's ear.
"I'm looking for vibranium," Erik said. He sat back on his haunches and tapped the man's prosthetic left arm that was bound tight. Erik wasn't taking any chances. He was well aware that the arm was a dangerous weapon. Klaue could easily wipe them out, but he was a pursuer of information, and more than illicit goods, useful intel was golden. This bitch was squirming on the hook. None of these motherfuckers around them knew what vibranium was.
"Who are you?" Klaue said, his voice sounding like it was in awe.
"The stash that was supposed to be here isn't. I don't know who got to it first, but it wasn't you or me—"
SSssss-BLAM!
The RPG came in fast and destroyed the first S.U.V. in Klaue's entourage.
Erik's men returned fire for cover as Tahir radioed for their choppers to extract them and the gold. Erik grabbed Klaue by his collar and hoisted him up to his feet. Tahir threw a yellow smoke grenade and stood in front of Erik and Klaue.
The hard whop-whop sounds of their Mi-17s surrounded them as Wassef and Amit slung their RPGs on their shoulders and returned rocket grenades to buy them time. The first chopper landed and their surly Canadian side gunner Wally G rolled the chopper door open and waved for them frantically.
"We got incoming from the north," Wally G yelled.
Erik's men quickly loaded their bounty of gold and split up to enter both choppers for the extraction.
"Move your asses!" Wally G screamed.
Erik yanked on the handcuffed and rope-bound Klaue and dragged him over to the first Mi-17 and threw him in.
"Let's go!" Erik yelled propping his AR-15 in position to help protect his side gunners on the chopper. His return fire bought Tahir more time to move.
Amit fired one last RPG to protect Klaue's men. Erik sent most over to the second chopper, and once Amit jumped aboard the first Mi-17, Erik waved his arm and their pilot Elias took off.
A sizeable enemy force swept into where they once stood. The chopper Erik was on was picking up fire from everywhere. Erik shot back from the open door and he could hear Elias bitching from the cockpit.
"Why the fuck did you have us wait?" Elias screeched.
"Just fly the fucking bird!" Erik shouted while still returning fire.
A stream of fuel ran down the inside of the chopper’s windscreen.
"Fuck!" Elias yelled, "One of my feed tanks is out!"
"Jesus Christ!" a man screamed.
Erik looked back into the rear of the chopper, two of Klaue's men had been hit, the screams of the wounded mixing in with the rapid-fire babble of Erik's men trying to figure out their next move. They were outnumbered by the men on the ground and the number of vehicles chasing after the limping Mi-17.
They were spilling volumes of fuel.
"Stop fucking shooting!" Erik cried out. All he needed was for one of their bullets to ricochet and spark the fuel vapors filling up the chopper. They could explode in mid-air.
"I gotta put her down, Killmonger!"
Erik moved to the cockpit and grabbed the radio.
"Banks! Banks! We gotta find a clear LZ. We've been hit!"
"Dammit, Killmonger!" Banks fired back with crackled intensity through the radio speaker.
Erik and the others felt the sudden drop and swoop of the chopper as Elias did his best to make a soft landing.
Night had fallen and Erik's men disembarked with Klaue's men. Through it all, Klaue was cool as a cucumber, watching Erik's every move. Tahir, eased over to Erik, his eyes watching the horizon as vehicle lights traced them in the distance.
"Too many of us, we all won't fit," Tahir grumbled.
"I'll make it work," Erik hissed, his eyes thwarted by the flash and hiss of an enemy RPG.
"Incoming!" Tahir screamed, and the grenade blew up a mere two hundred feet from them tossing dark sand into the air.
The second chopper pilot, Banks, landed and they loaded up. They were more than the number of bodies allowed based on the flight manual. Erik pulled Klaue up by his arms.
"Crunching numbers time. Who do you fuck with and who did you dirty?" Erik asked.
"Killmonger!" Banks yelled.
The enemy was getting closer.
Klaue glared at his men, his eyes going to the three that Erik already knew played him. Erik gave a cruel sneer and cut Klaue loose from the rope that bound his arms.
"See ya!" Erik said giving Tahir a head nod. The men were pushed out of the chopper.
"Klaue!" one of them screamed.
"Let's go!" Erik shouted to Banks.
The Mi-17 lifted up and Klaue's traitorous men flailed their arms begging to be taken.
Erik heard the sharp hiss and loud explosion of an RPG down below.
He already knew those men were in bloody pieces now. His eyes glanced over at Klaue who was stuffed between two of his henchmen. Erik's boys watched them like hawks, but Erik wasn't worried about them trying anything. Their lives had been saved. If Erik and his crew weren't there, they would've been killed by turncoats. Gold coins were probably the last things on their minds as the Mi-17 dipped and swooped amid rocket grenades.
The chopper headed toward a remote airstrip.
Erik stared at Tahir and grabbed at his stomach.
"Yo, I'm hungry as fuck."
###
The mid-morning American Airlines flight touched down at the Cyril E. King Airport with a soft bounce. Walking down the ramp and onto the tarmac, the wet heat engulfed Erik's face. He wore a light cream-collared linen long-sleeve shirt and loose jeans. He always kept his arms covered when he traveled, his keloid markings too much of a distraction in public. His two large bags were waiting for him at guest services. His flight from Miami had been delayed because of tropical storm weather, but for some strange reason, his luggage went out on an earlier flight.
He saw one of Klaue's men holding a handwritten sign with his name on it. Killmonger. Erik waved and carried his things to the tall Black man with the clean-shaven face and dark mocha skin.
"I'm Polk," the man said. Polk was dressed in comfortable basketball shorts, a plain white t-shirt and slip on sandals. Vacation gear.
They shared a handshake and Erik followed him out to a nice burgundy Mazda S.U.V. idling with another burly man in the driver's seat.
"That's Huntsman," Polk said helping Erik put his suitcases in the trunk.
Huntsman regarded Erik cooly, his pale white skin sunburned and overly pink in spots as Erik stepped into the back of the Mazda.
"Welcome to the team," Huntsman said and Erik picked up the Afrikaans accent in his voice.
"Thanks," Erik said.
"You hungry? We can grab something on the way to the house," Polk said as he stared back at Erik from the passenger seat.
"Nah, I'm good," Erik said.
Erik had to orient himself to the driving once he realized St. Thomas residents drove on the left side like the English.
"We have our own cook, so if you do get hungry later, she can whip something up for you," Polk said. Erik nodded, his eyes watching the crowd of cars jammed on the two-lane road leading away from the airport.
The scenery eventually swept past as they drove into Charlotte Amalie. Erik saw the port dock that housed the large cruise ships, floating cities on the way up into the hills.
"You ever been to the islands before?" Polk asked.
"Nah. Never found the time," Erik said still staring out of the window.
St. Thomas was not very big, only thirty-two square miles. In about twenty minutes the car was already crawling into an area of hills that elevated them. Erik noticed quite a few green and multi-colored iguanas lounging in the street and meandering on the sides of the road.
"Harmless," Polk said when he noticed Erik staring at them, "they are everywhere. Think of them as the squirrels of the island."
Erik nodded.
"We're here," Huntsman said.
The Mazda entered a guarded gate. Once it was opened and they drove through, Erik realized they were actually on a compound that had a grouping of houses. They parked in front of the main house. Polk helped Erik with his things.
"I'll walk him down to our area," Polk said.
Erik rolled his heaviest suitcase and trailed Polk as they made their way down a path blooming with colorful foliage and crawling with more iguanas. One large iguana blocked their path and Erik looked at the regal creature. It was blue and pink in the face with a mottled pink and brown body that had what looked like green plant-like growths on it. It hissed and Polk had them walk around it with a wide berth.
"Harmless, but a bit of an attitude sometimes," Polk said.
Erik chuckled and soon found himself entering a tastefully furnished house.
"You can have the room on the right. When we get full, we usually have to bunk with people, but this first week there are only eight of us here, so plenty of room and privacy.
Erik nodded.
"I'll let you get settled. Meet us at the front house around 1 p.m.? Klaue will want to see you for lunch."
Erik nodded and Polk left him alone.
The room assigned to Erik was nice and airy. He opened the window across from his bed to bring in the fresh island air. Unpacking slowly and methodically, he organized his space and was happy that he had his own bathroom.
He took a quick shower to wash away the flight and travel sweat from his body. He touched the two new keloid scars under the waterproof bandage that his cousin Marisol helped place on his lower back the month before. They were healing, slowly, the itch and scarring pain still present. Lately, he had been flying to Sao Paulo Brazil more often, and Marisol was not happy to perform the scarring ritual for him anymore, especially when his visits brought her pain because they were short-lived, often only for two or three days and then he was gone to the next assignment. She knew what the marks were for. She had one on her own side hip that he helped put there for her.
He allowed the water to run over his locs and then tilted his head back, letting the cool liquid drench his beard. He was tired and antsy at the same time. He had to be very careful in the lion's den.
"What are you doing down here?"
The melodious voice startled him, it was so close to the small frosted window he cracked open in the bathroom, and he turned to try and see who was speaking.
Erik was about to answer, but then he realized the person wasn't talking to him at all but to someone else outside.
"What I tell you 'bout coming down here? Don't look at me like that. You stay up above. Hear me now?"
The woman's island voice was sweet, lyrical almost, and had the fussy quality that reminded him of his great-grandmother when she was fussing with his mother. Whoever she was addressing didn't answer.
"Jerome! You hear me. Get yourself back up top. Now!"
Erik heard the stomping of feet.
"What are you doin' making all this noise?"
Another woman's voice joined the first.
"Jerome. His wife and alla his pickney up at the front house waiting on him. And he's down here being nosey. Get!"
"Gyal! Leave that thing alone. Him no listen to all that shrillness comin' from your mouth. Like he'll understand you—"
"They understand me. When I told him to move his ass from the driveway before that devil man ran him over, you seen how fast he move. Him know what I say. Right, Jerome?"
Erik dried off and tried to get dressed in fresh clothes fast when he heard a knock on the front door.
"Inside," the voice of the second woman greeted him kindly.
Erik pulled on a pair of black sweats and opened the front door.
An older woman with graying neat plaits stared at his chest. The scars startled her.
"Sorry," she said averting her eyes. Her hands carried clean beach towels and sunblock.
"It's cool," Erik said. His eyes swept past her looking for the person he heard moments before.
"I'm Miss Leona. I do the cooking and help take care of the property. I came down to ask if you had any food allergies."
"No, I can eat anything."
"Good," she said, her eyes focusing on his face. The graying hair didn't seem to match her youthful face and big bright white teeth.
"Just so you know, bathroom etiquette is simple. If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down. Use the bottled water for drinking, and all laundry can be done at the front house in the laundry room down below. There's a little apartment down there. Just drop the things you need to be cleaned in the laundry bag—"
"I can do my own laundry," Erik said.
Leona nodded and handed him the towels and sunblock.
"We have a pool at the middle house, and if you prefer sea water, there's a path by the pool that leads down to the private beach area. The water is very warm this season, and stays warm into the night."
Leona allowed her eyes to flit across his chest as she regarded his scars again.
"Is that…is that a condition? Do you need any creams or ointments? I can bring some—"
"I'm good. Thank you for asking."
"I don't mean to stare Mr. Killmonger. I have a nephew that has some tissue damage on his back, and it looks like that."
"No worries."
"I will leave you be then—"
"Who was the person you were talking to a minute ago? I heard someone else and she was talking to someone…Jerome?"
Leona laughed and pointed behind her.
"That was just Yani, my niece. She helps me out around here. She was just chatting with him."
Leona pointed and Erik saw the rainbow-colored iguana perched on a small tree in front of the house.
Erik smiled.
"I thought she was really talking to someone."
"Oh, she was. She and Jerome have a history together. She's known him since he was a baby. He doesn't listen to anyone but her."
"He's a big dude."
"Yes. But he won't bother you if you don't bother him. Get Yani if he does give you trouble."
"Will do. Thanks. How many houses are on the property?"
"Three. Mr. Klaue stays in the house down below. The two other houses are for his…men."
"Okay. Thanks Miss Leona."
"You're welcome. I will see you at lunch then? Mr. Klaue likes a late lunch, so I usually have things prepared by 1:30. Today will be a light sesame salad with salmon."
"Any local fish?"
"Sometimes. Mr. Klaue has me ship in things when he wants them. See you at lunch!"
Leona left him, and he was left standing in front of Jerome who watched him with wary eyes from his place in the tree.
"Don't make me call Yani on your ass," he said glaring at the iguana.
Erik finished dressing in a short-sleeved soccer shirt. He laced up a pair of New Balance sneakers and took a walk around the property.
He walked around the small pool that was only six feet deep and found the trail that led down to the beach. If Leona hadn't told him there was a path near the pool, he would never have found it. As it was, he felt secretive slipping down the hill and working his way to the sounds of open water.
"Whoa," he sighed when he finally found the entrance to a breathtaking sight. Clear water with soft sugary white sand and a beautiful view of an isolated smaller island further out in the sea. The sun beat down on him and he looked around to see if there was anyone else around. No one. It was quiet and hidden by part of a cove that had rock structures that curved away from where Erik stood. There were no other footprints or signs of any other human presence.
The water called to him.
Erik looked around again, then slipped off his shoes, pants, underwear and shirt. What a way to start his first day in paradise. He splashed into the water and it felt like he was crawling into the womb of life, the warmth cradling his tired limbs.
Paradise.
The place where he would plot against Klaue. Right in his own home.
###
Yani Galiber was always fussing with Jerome.
Ever since she rescued him from his first car accident as a baby when one of Klaue's drivers ran over his tail seven years previous. She had been fourteen and devastated, thinking her little friend would die. But then his tail grew back and she had been fussing with him ever since.
She was sent by her Aunt Leona to check the water cistern on Klaue's main house where he stayed. Sometimes an iguana would fall in and clog the waterway, and the man had been asking about water pressure. She made a point to check the roof gutters that helped collect water in case there was plant refuse or some other detritus stuck up there. When she ran into Jerome on the way back up, she noticed cuts on his skin. He must've been fighting the other male iguana that had moved into his territory. Unlike most of the iguanas around the property, Jerome was a drama queen and started trouble with other iguanas that weren't his children or mates, and sometimes he went after humans he didn't like.
After leaving her Aunt with Jerome, she headed back to the front house to grab a soda before her Aunt had her helping with lunch. She thought she may have time use her breast pump in private to fix her baby daughter Sydette's bottles for the evening when she had to go to work at her night job as a hostess at Havana Blue, a beach-front restaurant in the main part of Charlotte Amalie. Her cousin Monice would pick her up by 2:30 and drop her off at her Aunt Leona's apartment where she would spend time with Sydette before handing her over to her other cousin Twyla who would watch Sydette until Yani made it home to sleep. And depending on how busy Klaue kept her Aunt, Yani would travel back and forth to help work at the compound.
Yani cobbled together a life and set her sights on saving enough money to attend nursing school since her university plans of becoming a doctor had been derailed with the birth of her daughter. It was still a touchy subject with her parents who had allowed her to take a year off after she graduated high school to follow the crazy dream she had with her then-boyfriend Chez who was going to be the biggest rapper from St. Thomas after he was signed to a small record company in Miami.
Yani had sung background vocals for him around island clubs there and when they island hopped to Puerto Rico or Jamaica and as far as Trinidad. Chez was supposed to make it big and pay for Yani's education, but a year after graduating, Yani fell pregnant, she broke up with Chez, he lost the record contract due to a failed single not charting anywhere, and she was stuck living with her cousin and Aunt because she couldn't afford anywhere on her own and her parents didn't want the stigma in their home among her younger sisters. She was the tainted oldest child who had thrown her life away by having a baby with a SoundCloud level struggle rapper. For shame.
Her baby girl Sydette was a joy, but Yani found it difficult to nurse a baby and still try and nurse a medical career of some kind. A nurse was about as high as she could go now, and she set her sights on getting into the nursing college of her choice the following year. She just needed to get her money right to help take care of Sydette and tuition.
Klaue's compound was a way to make good money, especially when he had a lot of people there. Her Aunt Leona always made sure to pull her in to work for the under the table cash. Klaue paid well. The more men there, the more they made.
Yani and her Aunt were fully aware that Klaue was into some nefarious dealings. Even though he owned two jewelry stores, one in Charlotte Amalie, and one on St. John island, they were just legal fronts for some bad guy stuff. Leona didn't think they were drug dealers, but they did sell something illegal. Did something that required a private compound and sometimes armed guards when Klaue was gone. But as long as the money was good and they stayed out of the way when not needed, Yani had no problem working there. Her Aunt had been doing it for twelve years.
Yani took some time to slip into a bedroom in the front house with her breast pump. She filled three bottles and put them in a plastic bag inside the kitchen freezer to take home later for Sydette. Bottles made, she helped prepare lunch with her Aunt. All the houses were clean and prepped for Klaue's people, so Yani enjoyed the respite.
"What time are they eating, Auntie?"
"Mr. Klaue said around 1:30."
Yani washed her hands in the kitchen sink. She sneaked a nectarine from a bowl on the dining table.
"That's for the guests."
"They won't miss one piece of fruit."
"Where you goin'?"
"The beach—"
"Don't stay down there all day, Yani—"
"Just a quick dip. I promise."
"I'll need your help putting things out—"
"I'll be back. Quick, quick…" she said flouncing out of sight.
###
The path was a tiny sanctuary.
It felt like she was traveling into a secret garden.
Even though she grew up around water all her life, was nicknamed The Mermaid because of her love for it and knew practically every bay and cove on the island, there was something special about this small patch of land that led to this particular little private beach. Private only because the topography made it difficult for small boats to get to and tourists to walk without having to climb some terrain.
Klaue wasn't a swimmer, not all that much anyway, and his men never came down this way, so it was hers. Yaniland.
She ate the nectarine and began pulling her top off when she halted, fruit dangling between her teeth.
Someone was in her private paradise.
A man was swimming in her water.
She felt vexed until she walked closer.
He was floating naked on his back oblivious to her gawking at him full of irritation. He was spoiling her space. She pulled the fruit from her mouth.
"Hey! You out there! What are you doin' here?"
The man dunked under the crystal waters and when he came back up, he shook loose locs around the crown of his head.
Yani shielded her eyes.
"You talking to me?" he asked.
"You see anyone else here?"
"Why you so salty? You don't even know me, Ma!"
"Ma? You call me your mother? Do I look like your mother to you?"
"Relax Steve Irwin—"
"What you call me?"
"You the one talking to the iguana?"
"What iguana?"
"Earlier, up at the middle house…Jerome."
Yani scrunched up her face.
"How you know I talked to Jerome?"
"I was in the house. I'm the new guy."
"Killmonger?"
"Yeah."
"Who told you to come down here?"
"Your Aunt."
Yani sucked her teeth. It was loud enough for him to hear and he laughed at her.
"Is this your private beach?"
"No," she said folding her arms across her chest.
"Then I can swim here."
He moved in closer until the water was at his waist.
There were bumps all over his chest and waist, but none below…
Lookie.
His privates were distorted a bit from the sun's angle hitting the water, but she could see it closer. She felt her eyes fuse in her skull. She was staring at a naked man she didn't know.
"Were you planning on getting in? I can leave if you want some privacy."
"I was, but you can stay in…"
He looked down at himself then back at her.
"I'll leave—"
"Wait!"
Yani stepped back and her nectarine fell out of her hand.
"I don't want to make this weird for you. I'll leave first so you can swim or put your clothes on."
"Close your eyes. You walked all the way down here to enjoy yourself. I'll put on my stuff and let you have at it."
Yani closed her eyes and she heard the splash of water as the man left the sea.
"All good now," he said.
When she opened her eyes, he had his sweatpants on and held his shirt and shoes in his hands.
"Yani?" he asked.
"Yeah…"
She felt her voice die in her throat when she saw his bottom canines between his lips. She wasn't shy about staring at his scars. He was much taller than her.
Killmonger.
This was the man Klaue was bragging on the last two days. The man that Polk and Huntsman grumbled about at the dinner the previous night. It seemed Killmonger had favor with Klaue and those two brutes didn't like it so much. Yani had heard Huntsman call the man an ursurper. She expected to see some piggish white man with swine-like features and dragon fire spewing from his mouth. The only unsettling thing about him was the keloid scars. And only because they didn't look random at all nor accidental.
"You not hot wearing that on your head?" he asked.
Yani touched the top of her head. She still had her beanie on from earlier in the day. It had been cold that morning when she arrived. She wore a dark Naruto t-shirt and baggy orange sweats and just because he mentioned her head cover, she suddenly felt overheated wearing so much clothing on the beach. The heat was beating her down. She needed to be in the water. But she needed him to leave because she too liked to swim nude. But now that he knew about this place, she would probably have to change the times she came down. And she most definitely couldn't swim naked again while he was here. He was ruining everything.
She pulled her beanie off. Her scalp was grateful, her short buzz cut allowing the heat to toast the dyed blonde hair on her head.
"I'll go check on Jerome," he said.
Up close his voice had a playful raspy quality to it. His gold slugs peeked at her again when he smiled. He had dimples like her Sydette.
"Oh!" she said.
She wanted to grab her breasts when she felt her nipples leaking suddenly.
"What?" he asked, his face looking curious.
"I forgot something!"
She took off running back up to the front house clutching at her chest.
Leona was clearing space on the dining table for the lunch meal when Yani ran in.
"What's going on?"
"My titties are leaking."
"You're not wearing that special padded bra I bought for you? I got you four of those to help with that.
"I forgot," Yani called from the bathroom. She wiped down her nipples and stuffed tissue inside her bra to soak up anything else that decided to express itself from her tits. She couldn't wait for Sydette to be done with breastfeeding so her titty milk could dry up.
She walked out of the bathroom to find her Aunt talking to Killmonger and she felt her nipples acting up again. The tissue would have to work miracles.
Watching Killmonger converse she noticed how giddy her Aunt was acting with him. He was sweet with her, asking questions about the island, about her, what she did when she didn't work at the house. Before she knew it, lunch was ready and Killmonger was helping Leona bring the food to the table. Now he was taking over her job.
The other men arrived and Yani joined her Aunt in the kitchen to stay out of their way. Klaue sat at the head of the table with Killmonger by his side, and when she heard the new man speak again, she realized that her tits were reacting to his voice, her milk was leaking again. Only her baby could do that to her sometimes when she cried or needed something.
What the hell was this man doing to her?
She pressed her fingers against her nipples to push the tissue paper closer to her tips.
Who was he?
###
Smooth sun-kissed brown skin. Lips plump. Eyes big and bright. Eyebrows dark and thick.
Yani favored her Aunt and Erik found himself staring at her while he ate lunch with the men and Klaue.
One minute she was making him feel like he didn't belong in her space and the next he was watching her run away from him, her thick ass cheeks bouncing and making him think thoughts he had put aside. He hadn't been with a woman for about three months and quite frankly, hadn't missed the company because of all the work he had been doing. Once he hooked Klaue into his orbit, all Erik could think about was Wakanda and waiting for the perfect time to move on the East African nation.
She was young. This girl, Yani. Probably in her twenties. Mouthy. He liked that. Saw him naked and didn't give a fuck. Until he came closer to her. Then she became modest, probably for his sake and hers. A young woman like her around some treacherous men, she had to be careful.
He wasn't the only one peeping her in the kitchen at lunch. Huntsman was clocking her also. This bothered Erik. So openly wanton.
She was covered up looking like some skater punk he could see on any street corner back home, but she had some curves that strained against the sweatpants. Waist tight probably from swimming a lot. Full breasts. It was the blonde hair that made her dark eyebrows pop. Right now, those eyebrows were furrowed and she was looking right at him. Like she was still mad he had trespassed on her world. The girl who spoke affectionately to iguanas like they were human and yelled at him like he was a big lizard. Erik gave her a grin and she cut her eyes to look at her Aunt who was washing dishes.
By the time lunch was over, Yani was reaching into a refrigerator and grabbing a plastic bag and leaving the house for the day.
The rest of the day was a period of rest and acclimation.
Klaue didn't want to talk shop until the next day, and Erik was happy he could just wander the secure compound. He spotted security cameras everywhere. He learned that each house could be locked down from the inside and secured easily. Klaue called the estate "Our Lady's Manor", naming it after Leona who Klaue affectionately referred to as "My Lady" every chance he got. Leona didn't seem to mind, and she got on well with Klaue in that practiced way that Black people had when in the employ of white people. Klaue may have thought they were close, like family even by the way he fawned over her, but Leona was about her job and getting her work done as expeditiously as possible without getting in anyone's way. Friendly but distant. Smart woman. Klaue was not to be trusted. The presence of guns and ammo didn't faze her or Yani. Money was money.
Erik looked for Yani at dinner and she wasn't around for it. Gone for the rest of the night he assumed. He didn't want to ask Leona about her, afraid of making the older woman suspicious of him for asking about her young niece. He just wanted to let her know that he would be going to the beach early in the morning so that she could have her own personal beach time.
Erik slept well in his new room after smoking some decent herb that Polk gave him to tune out. When his alarm went off at five in the morning, he slipped into some light blue swim trunks and walked barefoot at dawn to the beach.
Body rested, mind clear and sharp, he felt like the wind had been punched out of him when he saw Yani in the water already.
Naked.
Water pearled down her cinnamon brown skin as if she wore diamonds in the early morning waves. Her hips flared out showcasing the beauty of her round posterior that flexed as she poured water over her head.
Once, when he was a child, Erik's mother had taken him to carnival in Sao Paulo and while standing next to his play cousin Marisol and holding his father's hand, Erik saw Yemanjá dancing on a float, the drums of Candomblé pounding in his ears, his little hips moving in time to the rhythm. He thought the woman on the float dressed in gauzy blue scarves was a real Goddess and his mother gently corrected him and explained that she was a representation. That first sensation, the tangible feeling of his heart bursting wide open to make room for the orixá of the sea had stayed with him for a long time. That woman long ago may have been a false divinity, and he could be forgiven for making the mistake with the eyes of a child. But he was a man now, and the being before him splashing in the warm sea was real and divine. Black deities were real. She was in front of him. Yemanjá. He had to be near her.
He shucked his trunks and took his time approaching her.
She dived under the water and he felt that his heart would break if she didn't come back up, wouldn't be surprised at all if she didn't return to the surface, but he needed to see her eyes, needed to make sure she was real.
He stopped short when a small wave crashed into his chest and he allowed himself to be swept with it.
Yani popped back to the surface wiping her hand over her face. She didn't jump or cry out when she saw him wading in the water, didn't try to shield her breasts or the neatly clipped bikini area of her sex, her vulva pouty and rounded, the split between her legs making his dick jump. She was a true ethereal vision and the reverence in his eyes must've stalled any thoughts she may have had of him being a weirdo coming for her.
"Killmonger," she said with no trepidation in her voice, "I see this is going to be a problem, no?"
"Erik," he whispered, trying to find his own voice, "my name is Erik."
[Part 1]
[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
Tag List:
@fonville-designs @soufcakmistress @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514 @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling
youtube
#wet sugar#killmonger#erik stevens#njadaka#black panther#killmonger fanfiction#killmonger fanfic#erik stevens fanfiction#erik stevens fanfic#black panther fanfiction#black panther fanfic#klaue#ullysses klaue#t'challa#t'chaka#killmonger smut#black panther smut#killmonger imagine#erik killmonger#tony stark#wakandacon#erik killmonger imagine#erik killmonger x oc
186 notes
·
View notes
Photo
A bit of what you Dancy
The Evening Standard (11.20.2002 ) By Emily Sheffield
In the opening scene of Daniel Deronda, a major BBC adaptation of George Eliot's last novel, the buxom heroine of the story, Gwendoline Harleth (played by Romola Garai), is distracted from her game of roulette by the intense gaze of a handsome youth. She remarks to her companion: "He seems not like young men in general." It is a fitting introduction, not only to Eliot's angelic hero, Deronda, but to Hugh Dancy, the 27-year-old actor who plays him.
In no sense could you compare Dancy to the average British male. The gene pool was not just kind to him, but positively sycophantic. He is not only physically delicious, but also clever (he got a 2:1 at Oxford), and effortlessly affable. He's a man both charmed and charming.
It is no wonder that Dallas Smith, his agent, who also looks after Catherine McCormack and Kate Winslet, made the rare decision to sign the unknown 23-year-old without seeing him perform. At the time Dancy was making a poor job of being a waiter in Julie's Bar, the celebrity Notting Hill restaurant. A customer had given him the telephone number of a well-known casting agent, who in turn passed him onto Smith. Within a month, Dancy had secured his first TV role in Lynda La Plante's highly successful drama, Trial and Retribution II.
The work hasn't stopped since: he was Helen Baxendale's energetic lover in Cold Feet, then an amorous aristo in Madame Bovary. Last year Hollywood came calling when he was cast as a medic in Ridley's Scott's war-epic, Black Hawk Down. And now, with the lead as the emotionally intense Deronda, his future among Britain's A-list of actors is assured.
It is the kind of good fortune that will inevitably inspire envy among his peers. "I'm just lucky," Dancy insists, rather sheepishly. "Any working actor is." Dancy's cheeks are pink - I can't tell if he's embarrassed by the attention, or flushed from the shower he's just leapt from. He arrived 30 minutes late for our interview, dashing into his PR's office, damp curls still stuck to his forehead, casually dressed in tight black T-shirt and jeans.
It is easy to see why he has so many female fans. Even his teeth are perfect and his voice a seductive growl. He prompted arch feminist Germaine Greer to rave on Newsnight Review last week: "I think he's gorgeous. I just wish that he had fewer clothes on and did more rowing." Despite the obvious advantages his looks have given him, Dancy visibly cringes when asked about being labelled a sex symbol.
"Yes, it's there but it has got nothing to do with me," he shrugs. The inevitable comparisons to Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice have already been drawn. "Deronda is a moral hero, not a dashing hero," Dancy insists, shifting in his chair. "He's nothing like Darcy. The most dashing thing I do is jump into the river to save Mirah [Lapidth]. Deronda wants to be good; he's angelic, and I don't think that's traditionally considered sexy." His shirt, though, does get decidedly damp.
No doubt his close knowledge of the text will have impressed the casting agents at the BBC, not just his foppish dark hair: Dancy had studied Eliot as part of his literature degree.
"Ironically, I remember thinking that Deronda would make a great three-part television drama," he adds. He chose university over drama school because, as both of his parents were academics, "there was really no other option". He says his father, a professor at Reading University, is a useless critic, vaguely remarking after seeing his son for the first time on TV: 'You have a very singular walk.' "I still don't know what he meant," he laughs. "I'm sure I don't have a funny walk."
After finishing Deronda in July, he went to Dublin to begin filming Ella Enchanted, a modern take on Cinderella. Naturally, Dancy plays Prince Charming. He is returning to Ireland this week for the wrap party. From Sunday, he will be unemployed and has decided to take a well-earned break, and spend some of his newly-earned money.
"My American agent wants me to return to Los Angeles but I've planned a holiday - an incredible riding trip in Argentina with my brother."
#hugh dancy#magazine#interview hugh dancy#photo hugh dancy#mine edit photo#I don't know what picture the article had#this picture is my choice#mine
79 notes
·
View notes
Text
The problem with performing
When I told a few friends in the entertainment industry I was going to write this piece, they begged me not to post it. They all agreed with what I wanted to say but desperately tried to persuade me I had to ‘play the game’ and under no circumstances criticise those who might be in a position to give me a job.
However, I found myself in an unfortunate yet unique position. After the last 4 years and through no fault of my own, I’m utterly toxic so can speak out with no consequences. After all, I can’t get more unemployable! If I was willing to play tedious games, I’d still be on television, have regular auditions and a career. Now I’ve been permanently deprived of those and am no longer willing to work with people I don’t trust, there’s nothing to keep me quiet or compliant. That rules out large swathes of opportunities but so what?
Smiling sweetly while being dismissed as a worthless commodity is something performers endure every day. The simple fact is, if you’re not willing to toe the line and do what’s expected, there are countless others who will. My response is, and always has been, screw that! The performance arts aren’t jobs, they’re callings. From a very early age, we all knew what we wanted to be and that fire only grew more intense. Of course there are sacrifices to be made but a line has to be drawn somewhere. I personally don’t believe that integrity and personal ethics are worth giving up for a dream.
Please understand that is only my view and I don’t in any way diminish those who strive tirelessly to succeed. Decisions have to be made and weighed up against such incredibly fine margins that distinctions become blurred. I’ve made my choices but each to his or her own.
I spoke out and criticised the BBC for the lack of same sex representation and racism. I lost my job because of it and was subjected to a smear campaign of lies in the national press. The implicit threat was, we pay you so do as you’re told. That’s a price very few people would be able or willing to pay and ultimately, I couldn’t afford it either. I lost everything because I didn’t shut up as was demanded of me. Honestly though, I don’t regret it.
Actors are treated with utter disdain. The recent interview with Mena Massoud in which he revealed he hadn’t had a single audition since Aladdin is a case in point. If the lead in a billion dollar movie is struggling to be seen, what chance does anyone else have? I have an impressive and award nominated CV but 4 auditions in 5 years speak for themselves and yet I’m still relatively lucky. Thousands of others are in far worse positions.
Recently there has been a campaign to persuade casting directors and producers to let auditioning performers know if they haven’t been successful. Hanging around, waiting and hoping to hear about a role is not only frustrating, it causes people to miss out on other opportunities. A bulk email would take 5 minutes and allay a lot of fears but such a simple courtesy seems beneath a lot of people. We don’t need an apology or meticulous dissection of our technique. Just a quick ‘Sorry, not this time’ is all that’s required!
My worst experience, and there have been more than I care to remember, was a few years ago when I was called in for the national tour of Rent. I was sent 3 songs and dialogue for an audition 4 days later. I worked hard and managed to learn it all, travelling to London the night before to prepare. The next morning I had a singing lesson to warm up and set off up Tottenham Court Road. Literally as I was about to knock on the door, I received a text saying the producer had changed his mind and didn’t think I was right for the role. After all that effort, they wouldn’t even allow me 5 minutes to show what I could do. I was incensed so emailed him back expressing my disappointment and asking where I should send the invoice for my time and expenditure. He replied with indignant pomposity saying that was the way things were and if that’s how I was going to be, he was glad he didn’t have to work with me but I sent him the bill anyway.
Of course this damaged my reputation with him and many others he spoke to but the fact he considered it completely acceptable to treat hard working professionals in such a manner was unforgivable. You may not want to work with me but I assure you, the feeling’s more than mutual. As actors, all we want is a chance. If we’re not good enough, fine but at least give us a few moments to try and impress you.
I’ve burnt my bridges with a lot of industry professionals because I’m strong willed (or arrogant, depending on which side of the desk you’re sitting) but I’ve never once wished I’d kept my mouth tightly closed and my opinions to myself. I’m nothing if not brutally honest and direct. No doubt that attitude has cost me a lot of roles.
A casting director who’d rather give a job to someone who’s become available from another production rather than sit through 3 days of auditions because the pay’s the same either way. A producer who consistently advertises jobs without pay because he’ll still be inundated with eager young things desperate for their break. A director who rehearses for 10 days then cuts your role to the bare minimum in order to give himself a big scene (and yes, this happened to me in panto in Clacton) Playwrights who promise you a script then go back on their word expecting you’ll bend over backwards to assure them it’s all fine. If nobody has to face any consequences, where is the incentive to change?
Too often, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. Although thankfully no longer as common as it once was, it’s also not what you know but who you’re willing to sleep with. I wish that this wasn’t true but I can say from personal experience and stories from others that it most certainly is.
Potentially the most harmful barrier is the competition, very little of it healthy, between artists themselves. This rarely produces a buoyant environment of support for each other. It’s always been a case of how can I knock the other person down rather than raising myself up? I can reluctantly understand why this would be the case when trying to secure an audition but it happens all too frequently when there’s no direct or obvious rivalry. The whole industry seems to be predicated on survival of the fittest, so talent and kindness are often reduced to irrelevancies. I truly believe most performers are caring and encouraging but they’re battered down by a system that’s relentless and ruthless. The fact may very well be that I’m not good or obedient enough to succeed as an actor and those who are clever and subtle enough manipulate the system to their own advantage are the ones who will make it big. I honestly congratulate them as they’re better and more skilled than I ever will be.
We are taught there are standards to be upheld such as unrealistic body image or heteronormativity and these have been immensely damaging in the past. Fortunately, at least in this aspect, times are changing. I’ve been honoured to work with some amazing and nurturing people who’ve actively fostered workplaces of support and inclusivity. I hope these very positive models will soon represent the rule over the above examples rather than the exception.
The problem is, drama schools are churning out increased numbers of students every year. They’re not taught how to cope in the outside world and find themselves ill equipped to vie for a finite number of jobs. The vast majority hold down multiple jobs just for a brief glimpse of their dreams. The time between sinking into debt during drama school and having to give it all up in order to live is probably only 3 or 4 years. That’s an cruelly narrow window to achieve something they’ve been yearning after for decades. The harsh reality is, most will never have a professional contract and will all too soon have to give up in order to survive. Surely casting directors and producers can appreciate that and at least give a few more chances to a few more desperate people?
I know these aren’t popular opinions but I believe them to be the truth. I refuse to play those ridiculous games pretending everything’s fine and not making waves with anyone with the power to employ me. I’m under no illusion that this article will obliterate any slim chance I had of ever working again so that gives me a free pass to call out what I believe to be wrong with the industry I love. Only when we come together in respect will we move forward in solidarity and strength. Performing is one of the very toughest communities to be a part of so I beg you, please, treat everyone in it with consideration and they’ll do the same in return.
We all deserve that.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
A New Vampyre (Part 1) - a fanfiction from the BBC mini-series Dracula
I do not own the rights to the show and all characters are copyright to its creators. This is merely for fun as a fan of Dracula and The Vampyre by underrated writer John Polidori.
It could have been the sound of the pelicans in the distance or the smell of sulfur that prevailed in the air as Ruthven washed up upon shore in the early hours of dusk. That first breath...it was everything as he opened his eyes to the horizon before him. How long had it been and how did he end up off the ship? Endless questions swirled in his head but were in the background as one objective maintain the spotlight. Something he had never felt before in his body. A hunger. It coincided with a pounding headache that reverberated through all of his muscles. It felt like a weight he bore as he tried to stand up. His tongue salivated as he was almost drooling in a haze. Just for one taste. Nothing else mattered to him which for a moment made him tremendously depressed. His love for Adisa...he considered him stronger than he could have ever been and maybe that’s why he threw it all away. A chance to be something he could have complete control over without social constraints which started at the mercy of...Dracula.
“I will drain you dry,” he whispered into Ruthven’s ear as he laid motionless on the cabin floor. In his last moments, he turned to his own bringer of death.
“I know...I know I am worth nothing...But I beg you to take a chance.”
Completely drenched in a dying man’s blood and flesh, Dracula burst out into hysterical laughter. He continued, holding his side and smiling at a confused Ruthven. It would have been an opportune time to find something to defend himself but he could barely move, anxiety on high.
“My good man, why on earth would I do that? You ruined my chance at obtaining esoteric knowledge that most human beings are stupid to care about. Even though I may eat you parasites, at least I allow your lives to live on within me. I don’t waste my food. So give me one reason,” he proclaimed to Ruthven.
What could he possibly offer a 400-year-old monster who held his life within his fingers?
“Give me a new life...as you are...as you said...you will inherit my fortune from Dorabella. We can say that I died. When you are wealthy, I will meet you in England and I will be your humble servant..I have learned and will continue to do so...” It was the best he could do with moments left.
Dracula sat in the pool of blood that surrounded the two of them for a few brief seconds, pondering the idea. His fondness for Jonathan was so short lived after Budapest. A bride that could have been one of his best. What could this vain, weak human have for him? With the body count of the ship rising and the unknown of a new country on the forefront, it was something he could try.
“I can tell you are close...The boy won’t bother you. If I do this and you cross me, I will put your head on a stake so you can watch your body burn. Do you understand?” He crawled over to Ruthven, climbing on top of his body and arched his back.
“Yes...partner.”
That last word lingered as Ruthven was able to stand and began to walk across the sand, hearing it crunch against his feet. His desires were answered as he saw a young man working on a docked sailboat, illuminated by an oil lamp, across the way. The man appeared to be of some Mediterranean descent as the flame’s light kissed his olive skin with black tresses of hair held back by a white ribbon in the darkness. He appeared to be lower class with clothing covered in a day’s work of sweat and dirt. Not that it would bother him in that moment.
“Are you all right, sir?” Ruthven didn’t realize that he had tred his path to his first meal so quickly as the Boatman spoke to him within arm’s reach.
“I...I was thrown overboard on a ship...I feel I am a bit perplexed.”
“Oh yes! I saw it explode in the distance. We sent for help and there should be a crew to see for survivors. Praise the Lord that you survived!” The man’s voice was warm and it only enticed him more to which he closed his eyes to savor it.
“Yes...I shall praise him...”
When he opened his eyes, the Boatman fell back against the hull of the vessel behind him and began to shake. The whites of Ruthvan’s eyes had turned red to which he smiled, looking up at the night’s blanket of stars. Out of his mouth sprouted a set of sharped canines, curved that protruded over his lips. He moved his right index finger across the tips of them and sighed in delight. A newfound instinct kicked in and he lunged at the man before him, sinking his jaws into his throat. This was better than any orgasm he had ever felt. When it had to be secret as he clenched his pillows and held his lungs from letting out a moan as he spent a night with Adisa. Or when he was a teenager, Ruthven’s father took him to a Chinese opium den. Nothing. Nothing at all could compare to the exquisite taste that filled every ventricle of his body at this very period of time that he was able to secure. And he drank and drank and drank until he felt the Boatman’s heart stop which he let his body drop once it faded away.
It had to begin this way.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Secret Relationship (4) Masterlist
Links Last Checked: September 12th, 2022
part one, part two, part three. part five
Black Hearts and Heroes (ao3) - the_unwritten_ruler
Summary: Being a superhero is never easy, especially when you spend your spare time hooking up with the city’s biggest supervillain. While Phil is focusing all his attention on Dan, an even bigger threat is rising in the background, one which will force the unlikely couple to work together and open up to the public about what they really think of each other.
Blue-eyed Hottie - helloanonymouswriter
Summary: Everyday after school the ‘Blue-eyed Hottie’ stands outside and waits then gets a text before leaving again. Everyone in school fancies him and wonders who texts him every time.
click, click, post (ao3) - orphan_account
Summary: drip drip dripped in gold
quick quick quick let's go
kiss me and take off your clothes
knew you were perfect after the first kiss
took a deep breath like ooh
Cold Ash (ao3) - iihappydaysii
Summary: A year after his wife’s death from tuberculosis, a brokenhearted Dan moves from London with his three young daughters to a cottage in the countryside. There, he meets the eccentric and enigmatic Phil Lester who makes him feel things he thought he’d never feel again, and certainly not for a man.
Get Out And Live (ao3) - daydreamsago
Summary: November 1925.
I built a home/ for you/ for me (ao3) - phan_on_the_nx_01
Summary: On one summer's day, the Howells bore a son. He was two years younger than the second son of the Lester’s, a one Philip Michael, and was to be trained to be the boy’s valet. He was named Daniel James Howell. A week later, the Durhams had a screaming baby daughter. Mrs Durham was nasty, scheming woman who knew of the Lester estates great fortune and set about securing an engagement to the youngest Lester for her daughter. The Lester’s resisted Mrs Durham advancements, intent that Philip would choose his partner for love.
Even if that love was between Philip and his servant, Daniel.
But this story begins when Daniel began his first day as Philip’s valet.
It’s All Fun And Games (Until You Get Blackmailed) - dxnhowell
Summary: Dan and Phil are in a relationship, but everybody at school thinks they hate each other. In order to have a fun date night, Dan and Phil travel out of town so nobody recognizes them. They think they’re safe, but are they?
Libertadores (Liberators) - dansphlevels
Summary: The current conflict in Venezuela told through the eyes of two boys who are not supposed to be in love, not supposed to protest, and not supposed to fight. But they do anyways.
Since We Came Here Together (ao3) - kay_okay
Summary: "Happy birthday, Dan."
Dan feels the words come out of Phil’s mouth, and he reaches to pull it against his own again, and again, and again. He loses track of time and vaguely, in some far-away, rational corner of his muddled mind thinks they’ve both been away from the group too long.
“Get me out of here,” he breaks apart and begs, warm and insistent into Phil’s open mouth.
Summer of Love (ao3) - developerdaniel
Summary: aka the fic where its 1967, the summer of love, and dan and phil are so in love no matter how wrong it is in the public’s eye for man to lay with man and the two boys can’t ever get enough of each other behind closed doors.
The Cat’s Out Of The Bag - adayinthelifeofphan
Summary: Cat had been vlogging VidCon for days now, trying to capture every moment. She’d already made a few videos and a few vines and already had them posted on YouTube and Twitter, excited for what her fans were gonna say.
The Pianist Everyone Is Talking About… Is My Husband (ao3) - natigail
Summary: YouTuber pianist Daniel James Howell is thrown into mainstream media’s awareness with the release of his first album. Phil works at BBC Radio 1, who increasingly play Dan’s songs more and more often, and he couldn’t be prouder of his husband. However, no one knows that Dan and Phil are married as they have chosen to keep their relationship private.
By accident, Phil is thrust into his husband’s fandom when his colleagues learn that he likes the pianist. Phil isn’t sure how to tell everyone that he’s actually married to the guy everyone is either praising or swooning over.
What You Said - two-british-nerds15
Summary: Phil can’t handle having to hide his relationship with Dan anymore, therefore losing Dan’s trust. Angst ensues.
Who’s That Boy? - dxnhowell
Summary: Dan Howell is the shy, loser kid who nobody notices unless they’re picking on him. Nobody cares about him until they find out that he’s dating a mystery older boy on a motorbike, named Phil Lester.
#phanfictioncatalogue#phanfiction#phanfic#phan#masterlists#au#secretrelationship#secretrelationship masterlist
56 notes
·
View notes
Photo
“when I ask you about your first love i am always secretly hoping that you will say your own name. now, wouldn’t that be beautiful – to above else have a heart that was proud of itself.”
BASIC INFORMATION
Full name: Marlene McKinnon
Pronunciation:
Nickname(s): Mars, Mack, Lena
Birthdate: 05/27/89
Age: 30
Zodiac: Gemini
Gender: Female
Pronouns: she/her
Romantic orientation: Lesbian
Sexual orientation: Lesbian
Nationality: British
Ethnicity: Japanese on her mother’s side, Irish and English on her father’s side
Current location: London
Living conditions: Living in the moment!
BACKGROUND
Birthplace: London
Hometown: Wiltshire, England
Social Class: Middle, formerly upper
Educational achievements: Graduated secondary school with honors
Father: Brian McKinnon was a smalltime character actor and BBC show runner infamous for his divisive, often politically incorrect dark comedies. Although his personality found popularity within the small niche of cynics and unsuccessful satirists, having his wife’s career overshadow his own tore away at his insecruties. These frustrations were never explicitly expressed, but glimmers of his envy more often than not took form through the mean-spirited “jokes” and the occasional arguments he subjected his wife and child to. He passed away in 2008 after a year-long battle with pancreatic cancer. He once claimed that his biggest dream was to play James Bond. Up until his death, this statement was believed to be part of his comedy routine. It was not.
Mother: Midori McKinnon (nee Iizuka) born into family of wealthy hotel owners who’d moved to London for better business prospects. Their wealth gave her access to the theatre world, where she slowly and steadily thrived, landing supporting roles in West End productions of Miss Saigon, Les Miserables, and Jesus Christ Superstar, in addition to her occasional stints at the Globe Theatre. By her mid-to late thirties, her career made a breakthrough in Hollywood, where she gained international renown for her grace, beauty, and intelligence. However, the poise she carried herself with did not translate as well off-camera, as she was subject to bouts of deep melancholy, stemming from an allegedly troubled childhood, a dissatisfaction with her marriage and her later estrangement from her daughter, and a family history of mental illness. She took the world by surprise when she took her own life at the young age of 45. Today, her performance as Ophelia in a 1991 production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet is considered legendary. Her biggest dream was also to play James Bond.
Sibling(s): None
Birth order: Only child
Pets: Two cats, Vita and Virginia, and a St. Bernard named Samus
Previous relationships: Alecto Carrow, TBD
Arrests: 3
Prison time: None
OCCUPATION AND INCOME
Current occupation: Bar owner
Dream occupation: Wife of a lesbian Alpaca breeder
Past job(s): Prior to opening a bar, she was a saleslady at Lush.
Spending habits: Mostly thrifty, but occasionally makes large transactions for things she sees as investments for her business.
In debt?: Yes
Most valuable possession: Sentimentally? Her copy of Matilda, which was the first novel she ever read.
SKILLS AND ABILITIES
Physical strength: Average
Speed: Average
Intelligence: Above Average
Accuracy: Average
Agility: Average
Stamina: Average
Teamwork: Prefers to work alone, as her issues with authority mostly get in the way.
Talents/hobbies: With over eleven years of vocal training and the fortune of having a musical actress for a mother, Marlene can sing surprisingly well, boasting a four-octave mezzo-soprano range. She doesn’t tell anyone about it, because she likes surprising people at karaoke nights.
Shortcomings: Fears vulnerability and commitment, has a tendency to appear frivolous due to her cheeky demeanor, occasionally self-destructive
Languages spoken: English, some Japanese.
Drive?: Yes
Jump-start a car?: No
Change a flat tyre?: Yes
Ride a bicycle?: Yes
Swim?: Yes
Play an instrument?: Yes
Play chess?: No
Braid hair?: Yes
Tie a tie?: Yes.
Pick a lock?: Yes
Cook?: Debatable
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE AND CHARACTERISTICS
Faceclaim: Sonoya Mizuno
Eye colour: Brown
Hair colour: Black
Hair type/style/length: Long, sleek, and straight
Glasses/contacts?: Yes
Dominant hand: Left
Height: 5′7
Weight: 56 kg
Build: Lean and fit
Exercise habits: Weekly gym visits, jogging regularly
Skin tone: Fair
Tattoos: Butterfly with shadow ( Right shoulder, 2007 ), Moon cycle band ( Left arm, 2007 ), Velociraptor skull ( Right hand, 2008 ), Pterodactyl skeleton ( Chest, 2009 ), Apatosaurus skeleton ( Left leg, 2010 ), Spiderweb ( Elbow, 2010 ), Van Gogh skull smoking ( Collarbone, 2011 ), Floral sleeve ( Right arm, 2012 ), Floral design ( Neck, 2012 ), Marlene Dietrich smoking ( Right arm, 2013 ), Semicolon ( Left wrist, 2015 ), Band-aid ( Above the heart, 2016 ), “It’s chaos. Be kind.” ( Above the left elbow crease, 2016 ), The Star and The Moon tarot cards ( Left arm, 2017 ), Junji Ito comic panel ( Upper back, 2017 ), Phoenix ( Thigh, 2018 )
Piercings: Outer conch, labret, and brow
Marks/scars: None
Clothing style: Casual, monochromatic. Not a big fan of dresses or shorts.
Allergies: None
Diet: Mostly, but not exclusively vegetarian
Physical ailments: TERRIBLE period cramps
PSYCHOLOGY
MBTI type: INFP - A (64% introverted, 66% intuiive, 57% feeling, 69% prospecting)
Enneagram type: Type 9
Moral Alignment: Chaotic neutral
Temperament: Sanguine
Element: Water
Emotional stability: Marlene appears to be stable on the surface, but her repressed feelings of guilt, anger and grief over her broken relationship with her mother still linger within, making her prone to bouts of extreme despondency.
Introvert or Extrovert?: Introvert
Obsession(s): The Leaky Bucket will know when Marlene is on her period because on the first two days, the pub’s radio will exclusively play a single female artist’s discography on repeat. Last month, it was Mitski. The month before, it was Regina Spektor. On a month she denies existed, it was Taylor Swift.
Compulsion(s): Humor as a coping mechanism, repressing negative feelings, self-awareness without self-improvement
Phobia(s): None
Addiction(s): Nicotine
Drug use: When she was younger
Alcohol use: Occasionally
Prone to violence?: No
Prone to crying?: On her monthly cycle, yes.
Believe in love at first sight?: Yes, but to her, this is very, very rare.
MANNERISMS
Accent: English, London dialect
Speech quirks: None
Hobbies: Casual video gaming, interior design, music curation
Habits: Sitting on surfaces that aren’t meant to be sat on, smoking
Nervous ticks: Lip biting, staring at the ground, blinking, diverting the subject with crass humor
Drives/motivations: Maintaining her current lifestyle.
Fears: Cockroaches
Sense of humour?: Almost anything goes. Puns are her guilty pleasure, though she won’t admit it. Prefers subtle humor over loud, straightforward jokes, but either is fine. Enjoys vulgarity. Loves banter.
Do they curse often?: Moderately.
FAVOURITES
Animal: Wolf
Beverage: Bubble tea
Book: Mr. Penumbra’s 24 Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan
Colour: Red
Food: Pork dumplings
Flower: Plumeria
Gem: Emerald
Mode of transportation: Train
Scent: Petrichor
Sport: Gymnastics
Weather: Sunny & breezy
Vacation destination: Reykjavík
ATTITUDES
Greatest dream: Slow life. She aspires for nothing more than a peaceful existence with a person who understands her and her values.
Greatest fear: the Duolingo Owl
Most at ease when: Curating playlists for the Leaky Bucket
Least as ease when: Somebody ( namely, certain Black family cousins ) threatens the security of her bar.
Worst possible thing that could happen: For the Order to dismantle, or lose their ideals
Biggest achievement: The Leaky Bucket!
Biggest regret: Not reaching out to her mother before it was too late.
#i don't know how to improve the quality of tumblr photos and at this point im too afraid to ask#edits.#about.#penumbrafeed
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
State of Play (and the state of Australia’s press freedom)
This week I got to thinking (insert Carrie Bradshaw voice here) about one of my favourite television shows, ‘State of Play’. I try to rewatch it every three to six months, scheduling it in like a dental check-up. There is in fact a big screen adaptation of the same story, starring a then-hot Ben Affleck and Eternal Queen of the World Rachel McAdams that came out in 2009, but I’m here to talk about the BBC originale.
I’ll skimp on the plot bc it twists and turns more than my stomach after I’ve had full dairy milk, but here’s the main thrust: a young kid gets shot on the streets of London the same morning as a young political researcher falls (or gets pushed hmmm) under a train. They’re connected by a single phone call. The researcher is discovered to be having an affair with her boss, who happens to be an MP. A conspiracy is introduced that may involve all of them, the British govt and a shady oil company. Enter stage left the scruffy maverick journalist and his team trying to find the truth. Have I whetted your appetite yet?
Now here’s the reason this particular series was floating around in my subconscious. On Monday multiple Australian newspapers ran redacted articles and documents on their covers, as part of a campaign called Your Right To Know. They were all heavily edited and asking the same question: ’When government keeps the truth from you, what are they covering up?’, as well as my personal favourite ‘News restrictions. Secrecy. Jail terms for journalists and whistleblowers. It couldn’t happen in Australia? It’s happening now.’ This exact same thing happens in State of Play. Now this isn’t by any means a political website (lol, blog) and I’m not here to make it one, but hopefully we can all agree that press suppression is Bad, and holding the govt to account, plus questioning their decision-making and actions is Good. We all know the govt (and practically all govts around the world) do some Questionable Things. Things that we don’t, and probably won’t know about for a number of years, if ever. Despite whatever political beliefs you subscribe to, when it comes to govt cover ups I dare u to try watching the masterpiece of cinema ‘Enemy of the State’ and come out of it not being slightly paranoid and mad about the unknown powers our or any political authority may have.
But getting back to the current issue. Since 2002, there have been 75 pieces of federal legislation have been introduced, intending to protect the public from national security threats but their purpose is essentially to stop the public from knowing what the Federal Government is doing. Journalists are being targeted, raided and silenced. We all know press suppression always starts before the really bad shit hits the fan.
To cap off the dystopian nightmare our country is falling into, new research has revealed 87 per cent of Australians value a free and transparent democracy only 37 per cent believe this is happening in Australia today. Love!! this!! for!! us!!
The issue of press freedom is constantly raised in State of Play, over 15 years ago. Fortunately British reporters are more protected than they are here in Australia where they have no constitutional safeguards, while in the UK journos are protected under the Human Rights Act. They're not perfect but it’s a more than our own country has done.
A scene plays out in State of Play which is what I’m sure (I mean, hopefully) went down in the newsrooms of the Sydney Morning Herald, Daily Telegraph and countless others earlier this week - an editor runs a redacted front page calling attention to a huge issue - in this case Bill Nighy’s superb Cameron Foster is targeting the UK govt over their dealings w an oil company. He runs the headline ‘The story we can’t show you. Because Westminster have gagged us. Ask U-Ex Oil why. Ask your MP why.’ It’s a deafening threat to their foes in Westminster and basically a declaration: whether you try to bury the story or not, there’s no way it’s not getting out. Later we see the final story being printed and delivered, uncensored to readers - a victory for the fourth estate’s triumph over government might.
The show was written by Paul Abbott, who has his own fascinating and tragic backstory and directed by the man who helmed the last four Harry Potter films (and two spin-offs), David Yates.
Beyond the plot, the series tackles issues of class, race (a black kid is killed in the opening scene and subsequently profiled as a drug user despite there being no evidence to support the theory), and adultery, (don’t get me goddamn started on this sub-plot) while examining the personal repercussions that come with reporters - or anyone finding a story and sticking to their guns on it. That’s not to mention characters becoming completely desensitised to the death and destruction that follow them. One of the most fascinating exchanges in the series is between a police officer and a reporter. One refers to the events around them as a case, with real lives and people involved, the other a story that has a deadline, damn the consequences. It’s clear then the price for exposing the worst of humanity is to lose some of your own.
John Simm is our leading man, the aforementioned scruffy journalist Cal McAffrey. Boardwalk Empire’s - or Nanny McPhee and Trainspotting depending on your vintage - Kelly McDonald is his fellow lead reporter Della, seemingly the everywoman among the occasional madness, and she has a special place in my heart due to her large number of denim jackets.
I’d like to also acknowledge to the excellent supporting characters beginning w James McAvoy who gives a spectacularly smarmy yet hot - despite a terrible wardrobe - performance as a journo working for a rival paper who then joins the team. Amelia Bullmore and Benedict Wong round out the main gang of reporters as Westminster correspondents Helen Prager and Pete Cheng. David Morrissey plays the perpetually sad and wounded politician Stephen Collins who is an absolute puzzle. Special mention to Bill Nighy as their editor-in-chief who says things like ‘I’m the sceptical one, so don’t push it Tonto’ and ‘bring us a bottle of red and four glasses’ when confronted with a piece of incriminating evidence. Another shining star is Liz the newsroom intern who is too good to describe here but is possibly the best part of the entire series and gets away with the best lines (excluding ‘ole Bill).
I kept an article that talked about State of Play and other smilier films and series on my cork board for about seven years, till the paper got yellowed and fragile. It described the tactics the journos in State of Play use as ’..Like a road map of the horrors of modern British journalism: phone-tapping, withholding evidence, more lies than the News of the World. And these are done by the good guys; the people they go after are murderers.’
In short: I’m never going to be able to describe all the ways I love this show, but for now I say: watch it. Watch it for six hours of absolutely cracking television, the character arcs, the terrible 2003 fashion choices, for Bill Nighy, for young James McAvoy. But most of all watch it bc you’ll see what’s going on right now reflected in every action and every scene. When characters are arrested in their newsroom, intimidated by both politician and policemen alike think of what’s going on rn in our dang country. When Cal protects his anonymous sources remember that Australia’s shield laws are still quite limited the it comes to preventing journalists from being charged over naming confidential informants. And most of all when the team are pressured into dropping the story by the higher-ups, think of the blacked out papers we all picked up on Monday morning when our press agencies decided to ask ‘what are they covering up?’
As Cameron says ‘Big day. Big story. Big hitters.’
1 note
·
View note
Last Seen Blogs
dentalprodsblog-blog
Untitled
reber-covington
REBER COVINGTON
whiteredeyes34
Good or Great
mrwavellswaps
MrWavellSwaps