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fuckprophecys · 5 years

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Writing prompt! "How many times have you attempted this?" "Too many, but I promise you I'm gonna get it this time." (Maybe hazel to Frank? Do whatever u want with it)

The day started pretty ordinary. It was the weekly wash day, so she spent about 2 hours washing her hair and putting them up in Bantu knots. She got all dressed up, helped some campers out with their morning chores, and had a light and fun breakfast. She even found herself some time to go meet her brother at their father’s temple to do some cleaning up.

That all drastically changed when she was making her way back to camp.

Hazel watched in complete and utter distress, holding back the urge to unravel a knot just so she could twirl the lock nervously between her fingers. It was only noon, the sun just starting to shimmer as the gleaming orb emerged from behind a morning cloud’s silver lining.

There, a few delicate paces beyond her, was Praetor Frank in his official's attire, sweating to the gods knees.

"How many times have you attempted this?" Her voice was gentle.

"Too many, but I promise you I'm gonna get it this time."

A gold nugget popped up at her feet as her head met her hands. Frank huffed, lifting up a large cardboard box with the Amazonian Smile on the side, and started trekking uphill.

She jumped a little, looking back up at him. With a small yelp, she scampered after him. Not caring if she kicked up dust or dirtied her shoes, she followed in his shadow.

“Frank! This isn’t going to work!”

“Yes it is, I’m making sure it will.”

Hazel tried to snatch the shiny gold scarf off the top of the box, but resulted in nearly tripping over her heels and smashing into Frank’s back.

Guess it’s a good thing he’s a very large and buff man, even if she ran into him he wouldn’t feel much of it.

“Come on Frank, think about what you’re doing.”

“Hazel I’ve got to do this.”

“It’s just one prom! You don’t have to go all out for-”

He shushed her.

“Yes I do. I must. It is my calling.”

Hazel watched him walk off down the path to the village, the pride on his shoulders nearly glittering in his Mars Strength aura and the sunlight. Soldiers from all cohorts - who were bustling about doing their midday chores - parted the way for him, then curiously followed in suit behind their leader. Some pulled out cell phones and did whatever magic they needed to access the video camera.

“This just really fluffles my chicken nuggets.” She huffed below her breath. “You don’t have to one up Reyna like this!”

No one responded to her.

Part of her wanted to save the day. Another part knew she couldn’t. A piece of her wanted to be there anyways, just to see if he can do it.

She huffed up her elegant pink hoop skirt and trekked after the rushing crowd.

The crowding stopped at the village line. Little Julia was giggling with delight as she took weapons left and right, Terminus scuffing in disapproval of people who sheepishly crossed the city limits while apologizing for the mess. The girl’s hair was a vibrant blue, no doubt meaning that she was back on track with her dream to become a powerful demigod of the ocean. Or, at least, pretending to be one. Her wooden sword was painted bronze at her side.

Hazel shoved her way through the crowd, using her skirt as a barrier between them and herself.

“Aunty Hazel!” Julia squealed with delight and bounced towards her, hair flaring out from their pigtails. “Aunty Hazel Aunty Hazel.”

Hazel didn’t remember how she got that title, much less when. It was delightful, though, so she waved at the little girl.

“Hey Julia, I’m just passing through. I don’t have my weapons, I’m a good girl and planned ahead.” She didn’t plan well, her sword was basically hiding in bush. She just didn’t want to be a burden.

“Good Job!” The little girl clapped and looked up at Terminus. For a statue, he looked very tired and agitated. Hazel offered a smile to him, and he nodded his head to the side.

Before leaving, Hazel gave Julia a tiny pink feather. Then she was off sprinting after Frank again.

She arrived just before he could set up everything. But it was still just a tad too late to stop him. The banner was already up, several bundles of flowers along the poles and carving a path in front of him. His attired changed, but only by colour.

Frank Zhang was shaking in excitement and nervousness, standing on the College Campus turf, surrounded by a lightly filled half circle crowd. Nearby, Reyna sat at a table sipping some hot chocolate. Hazel could also see Percy, watching from far off in the sidelines, his face stone blank. The universal Percy sign that he was holding back a laugh.

Hazel forced her way through the crowd, yet again using her hoop to her advantage.

Frank looked back to see her once again.

This time she offered a thumbs up. His face nearly lit up at this, and he went back to setting everything up.

A minute passed. Then two. Five. Ten.

Annabeth appeared in the distance, near her boyfriend, ushering someone with a blindfold. Hazel’s cheeks puffed up in attempted to hide a laugh. Frank stood up, the pride on his shoulders almost shimmering again. Or maybe the stripes were glowing, and she just couldn’t tell.

The crowd had started to thicken with people pooling in again. It seemed like the whole camp was there, holding its breath.

The blonde queen swiftly guided the blindfolded beauty to a spray painted X in the grass, then held up a quizzical thumbs up to Frank. The praetor took a deep breath and fixed his chest plate.

He held a thumbs up back at her.

With the crowd oozing with suspension, Annabeth took the blindfold off and jumped back as fast as she could.

“Michael Kahale, I have tried so many times to get this perfect before I asked… will you go to the Camp Jupiter Leader’s Prom with me?”

There was a moment of pure shock on the face of the Son of Venus, who was still wearing pajamas dotted with llamas in spacesuits. Then a beaming smile etched itself across his face.

“Of course!”

And the crowd erupted in cheers.

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missmarquin · 5 years

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A Rip in Time

A Yuri On Ice Star Trek Inspired AU by @missmarquin and @theangryuniverse.

Read on A03!

Prologue

There is a lot resting on my shoulders, here.

He could feel it, the weight of his father’s expectations. He had joined Starfleet to get away from his strict and traditional family, but what a stupid idea that had been. Admiral Nikiforov was one of the most renowned Commanders in the history of the organization, and the moment that his own name had been uttered on the roll call lists, all eyes had turned his way.

That was the moment that Victor had decided to show off, rather than coast through the Academy on a low radar. Brilliant, flamboyant, and incredibly gay, he let his talents speak for themselves. He graduated a year early, with grades that were far above par. He was a prodigy when it came to military tactics and planetary navigation, and several of his maneuvers already graced the pages of textbooks.

But it hadn’t been enough. His first assignment had been on his father’s ship, but the man had been so embarrassed by having a gay son, that he had requested Victor to be immediately transferred. Despite happening nearly eight years prior, it still stung.

And now, there he stood on deck three of the Beta Centauri Space Station. Staring out of the forcefield, towards the port where the USS Agape was currently docked. Crewman in spacesuits walked along the hull, making their last minute inspections before it set off. The ship was a prototype model, brand new and sleek, and never-been-flown.

And she was his. Victor had been gifted this amazing Command, marking his place in history as the youngest Starfleet Captain ever, at the age of twenty-seven.

“Did he bother to show up?” he asked, but the moment the question left his mouth, he already knew the answer. Eight years was a long time, but not long enough for a bitter old man to realize that his son wouldn’t ever bring home a girl.

“I sent the invite, as you asked,” another man responded, following it up with a sigh. Victor turned to look at Admiral Yakov Feltsman, his lips twisting into a knowing small, knowing smile.

“I didn’t expect much, honestly,” he replied. “Even making history isn’t good enough for that old fool.”

“Fool indeed,” Feltsman said, “but still technically a superior officer.” He didn’t really mean anything by it though, and Victor laughed.

“I think I get a pass this time, being his son and all.”

“He’d court martial you on the spot, if he heard such informality.”

“He’d court martial me for plenty of other things too, if he could have his way.” Silence stretched between them, and it didn’t take a genius to know exactly what Victor meant. Finally, he back back to look at the ship, and said, “I know that I deserve this. I don’t have to sit here and wonder, ‘Why me’. But I can’t help but wonder-- will I do her justice? Will I do my crew justice?”

The Admiral reached out, pressing a hand against his shoulder. “That’s a question that every Captain asks, and it’s not just the first time. Every Mission brings such a question, and it never gets easier.”

At that, Victor frowned. “If you’re trying to give me a pep talk, it isn’t working.”

“I’m not done,” Feltsman continued with. “It’s a good thing. Imagine if it did get easier? Captains would get sloppy, and when Command is sloppy, people die. It is a good thing to be confident, but it is more important to question yourself. It keeps you in check, and it keeps your crew safe.”

Victor had served on plenty of ships, and he had saved plenty of lives. But never before, had he been responsible for them. But he was the most confident person he knew, and despite his momentary apprehension, he would remain that way.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, reaching over to return the shoulder grasp, trying not to think of things that had happened before. There was nothing good about getting lost in his past. “We’re not going to war, or anything,” he finally finished with.

“That’s more your father’s style,” the Admiral said with a smirk.

Victor smirked back. “Now who’s breaking protocol, with all that informality?”

Feltsman just threw his head back, and laughed in response.

…..

How the fuck did I get here?

The question had been his constant mantra for the last four hours.

Initially, it had been what the fuck am I doing, as he stepped onto the small transport ship. Looking back at his mother, who should have been the concerned one. But she had looked excited for him instead, leaving him feeling like he was going to hurl.

Yuuri Katsuki didn’t do space.

He had graduated the Academy with flying colors, and he could crack complicated alien languages with little more than a few lines of dialogue and a decent set of headphones, but intergalactic space travel?

Absolutely the fuck not.

He was actually impressed with himself, now that he thought about it. He had only wanted hurl, the entire trip to the Space Station, but he hadn’t.

Yet. There was still plenty of time, and despite Beta Centauri being stationary, despite his feet firmly on the deck floor, and the gravitational control systems working to a perfect tee--

There was just so much that could go wrong. Space was dangerous. It was dangerous, deadly and worst of all, permanent. If you died in space, you stayed in space, where there was nothing else. And that freaked him out the most.

He had wanted a post on Earth, preferably. In the end, he would have taken any planet, really. He wanted his feet firmly on the ground, where you could stand nice and solid, and you couldn’t get blown out of the sky, careening to your death, or suffocating in space, or--

There he went again, thinking of the worst of things. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to settle himself.

Why the fuck am I here?

A slightly different question, with a slightly different answer. He had been posted to the USS Agape, and for whatever reason he had agreed. Clearly, he was sick.

Or insane.

And still not entirely convinced that he had made the right choice.

Someone stepped right next to him, dropping their bag onto the metal grate of the floor. “Seriously, what a beautiful ship, and she’s all ours!”

Yuuri winced slightly. There was literally nothing beautiful about that death trap sitting out there, and the idea of spending the next few years on there was slowly looking less and less appealing, and he--

He paused, taking a deep breath again. “Nishigori-san,” he said politely, as he turned to look at her. “I would appreciate it, if you wouldn’t remind me about my grave mistake of taking this assignment.”

Yuuko blinked back at him innocently, but he knew better. Finally, her lips curved into a smile. “At least you aren’t alone, you know. At least you have your best friend here.”

Best friend was pushing it, but he was incredibly fond of the woman, and her stupid husband. He had always been a bit of an outcast and a weird kid, and at the academy, they had looked right past that.

They also spoke Japanese, which was an instant comfort.

“It’ll be fine, Yuuri,” she said, opting to drop formality. She had always been casual around him, and he had always struggled with following suit. “I mean, you heard about who our Captain is, right?”

No, he hadn’t, and he told her as such. She looked at him dumbfounded. “I didn’t really read the brief,” he admitted. “I thought that if I did, I’d chicken out and well…” He cast a wary glance back towards the ship.

“You know, I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t passed out.” He was too, but he didn’t waste his time telling her that. She opened her mouth to continue. “Anyhow, we’re under the command of the illustrious Captain Victor Nikiforov. I could just about die, I do believe.”

That made Yuuri come to a full-stop. “Isn’t he the one that destroyed half a ship, with some crazy maneuver?”

Yuuko nodded enthusiastically. “He managed to survive on limited life support, while it took the fleet over two days to find him. Kind of amazing, yeah?”

“And isn’t he the one that the Riki Tiki Niki is named after?”

“I mean, it might be a ridiculous tactic, but it works. Apparently.”

Yuuri just stared at her, like she had lost her mind. It worked, sure, but only if you had a death wish, and didn’t mind being catapulted into dead space if it didn’t. Victor Nikiforov was famous for a million things, not limited to being insane.

“I’ve made a mistake,” he said, breathing faster. “This was a mistake, I can’t… Nishigori-san, I can’t do this--”

He felt two hands press against his shoulders, turning him to face her. “If you say what I think you’re going to say, I won’t hesitate to slap you. Seriously Yuuri, you haven’t worked your ass off to get anywhere but here.”

“Why couldn’t I have been stationed on a planetary outpost? That would be nice, and most of all safe.”

“And useless. Yuuri, this is an exploratory mission. A Xenolinguist of your caliber is necessary.”

“There are plenty of others to choose from,” he said, his throat feeling dry. But she shot him an unconvinced look. “Right?”

“Like I said, Yuuri,” she said, slinging her arm around his shoulder, and motioning to the ship. “You won’t be alone. Takeshi and I will be here with you, every step of the way.”

“More like making sure that I step onto that damn ship,” he muttered.

“Damn right.”

Yuuri sighed and pulled away from her, before leaning over and picking up Yuuko’s bag, and handing it to her. “Then let’s go, before I actually change my mind.”

I’m crazy, he thought, as they left the corner and headed towards the gate. I’m absolutely, fucking crazy, and I will regret this the rest of his life.

Yuuri decided that he could live with the regret.

He just had to survive space first.

…..

I’m tired of all these fucking ships. I’m tired of rules, and captains, and missions that I won’t ever finish.

Six ships. That’s how many ships Yuri Plisetsky had served on, within the span of a year. And he was tired of being kicked off of one, and immediately thrown onto another. The USS Agape would be no exception, he was sure.

He couldn’t help that authority pissed him off. It wasn’t his fault that Starfleet Captains were rigid, unfunny jerks, who couldn’t take a fucking joke. Or you know, something as simple as a suggestion.

Then again, his idea of a suggestion, usually consisted of blowing off an order entirely in favor of a different direction. Sometimes, those directions worked.

But most of the time, he was just some punk who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

This ship was different than the last, smaller and sleeker in design. And brand-spanking new, from what he had heard, not even broken-in. Different, than his usual assignment. When Starfleet had realized that he had no intention on listening to authority, they had started stationing him on clunkers. Part of him wondered if they were just sick of him.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He frowned, as distant memories of a mother who didn’t give a shit surfaced, before swapping to a much preferable one of his grandfather. He had told his mother he wanted to soar through the skies, and she had laughed, saying that the idea was ridiculous. Which was ironic, coming from a dancer that was way past her prime. But then he mentioned it to his grandfather Nikolai, who had only ruffled his hair and told him that he would need better grades for that.

Guess which parent he had listened too?

But it hadn’t been easy. Starfleet Academy was built upon rule after rule, classes and grades, and an overall sense of superiority that had pissed him the fuck off for years. The moment he had turned eighteen, had been the best moment of his life.

And then his first position had been a miserable disaster. And then the next… and the next… and the--

This would be the seventh time, he would try to do this whole thing called responsibility, and quite frankly, he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Suddenly, the bag hanging on his shoulder felt heavy, and not because of his belongings within it.

“They said that he asked for you personally,” Kenjirou Minami said from next to him. They weren’t friends, and they barely knew each other, but Yuri recognized his face well enough to remember having classes with him at the academy.

“Who?”

Kenjirou blinked, like he was surprised that he had offered to grace him with words. Yuri reminded himself to make these the last words that he ever said to the man. “Captain Nikiforov, of course.”

It was Yuri’s turn to pause and think. Finally, he blurted, “Why the fuck would he do that?”

The other man shrugged. “Not a clue,” he said, before turning and heading towards the gate.

Yuri hated the way that he followed after him, like a pet cat.

….

I super didn’t design this engine to actually be built.

Really, Otabek Altin hadn’t.

It had started out with mindless tinkering about with temporal mathematics, which had led to theories. He loved theories, and he just had to write them down, and so he did like always. It looked like gibberish to just about anyone except him, and there was literally no credibility to it, aside from the fact that Otabek was a literal genius when it came to these kinds of things.

But then his sister had found the stupid doodle he had made, covered in tons of equations, and she just had the brilliant idea to turn it into Starfleet.

And they had just had the brilliant idea to think that it actually might just work.

Sure, he liked to build engines. He liked the way that tools felt in his hands, and the way that oil and grease stuck to his skin. It was therapeutic, pulling things apart and putting them back together, in the warm heat of the engine room.

He hadn’t meant to design such a thing, and he certainly hadn’t ever planned to build it.

Otabek had met with Starfleet though, despite being a lowly engineer that only fixed warp drives. They had decided to task him with building this ridiculous engine that he had theorized, offering him as many grants and personnel that it would take.

Three years later, and it worked.

Well, at least it had in tests. Moving an entire ship was another matter, and while they had run test drives for months, throwing an entire crew aboard and calling it a mission was something else entirely. And he wasn’t sure that he wanted that responsibility.

He didn’t do people really, he only got along with engines and his sister Maya-- and that was only because they were twins. He had never liked serving on starships, and after having a team of scientists and engineers forced to work with him for several years straight…

Well, he wanted some alone time. And it didn’t look like he was going to get any.

He had to admit though, the USS Agape was just as impressive looking, as the first time he had seen her, for her initial testing.

Maya leaned against him, waiting a long moment before saying, “You know, if you think any harder, you just might break your face.” He didn’t warrant that with a response, prompting her to frown slightly. “Really, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“The first time we took this engine on a test run, the Temporal Warp Drive blew out half of the ship’s hull.”

He eyebrows rose high and she let out a low whistle. “You told me that the first test hadn’t gone well, but damn Beka.”

“The second time we tested it, the engine imploded instead, throwing half of the ship into a space-time rift that had been ripped into the atmosphere. It took nearly three days to close it, and make sure nothing was damaged beyond repair.”

“And…?”

“The USS Eros was immediately decommissioned, and this one was built.”

Maya hummed lightly at that. “You’ve never been a worry-wart, Beka,” she chastised.

“Even if the Agape has been through extensive testing, that was with a skeleton crew. This time around there’s not ten people, there’s a hundred.” He pointed to her. “Even civilians.”

“And think of the future, when this engine works out perfectly. You’ll have literally changed space travel!”

“If, not when.”

“No,” Maya hissed, “when.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him shrewdly. “This isn’t about the ship at all, is it?”

“I want to go home, and I want to work on my bike.”

“Why work on a bike, when you could change history?”

Otabek to sighed, before looking at her. “I never wanted to change history, Maya. You made that decision for me.” When she had turned over his work to his commanding officer.

She leaned forward and patted his chest. “Which is why I’m here,” she said sweetly. “I take responsibility for my actions.”

“You’ve always wanted to own a lounge aboard a starship. This isn’t a punishment for you, it’s your damn dream. What was it you used to say? All Starfleet and no play, makes Maya very bored?”

She pulled back with a grunt. “Not everyone is an anti-social technophile of a hermit, who would rather grease up an engine, instead of a woman, if you know what I mean.”

“Maya--”

“You know Beka, I was only thinking of you. I was tired of seeing you mope around your garage--”

“I don’t mope--”

“--covered in who knows what. You’re an engineering genius, made top marks at Starfleet and could have your pick of a Command, and what do you do? You tinker with engines all day in a dirty jumpsuit, and you let that rank go to waste. You’re worth so much more, Beka.”

Otabek sighed. “It’s not about worth, Maya. I like fixing engines. I like working alone. I prefer it.”

Maya only shook her head, tutting at him. “What a waste,” she said with humor. And then she left him, heading for the gate. Otabek sighed again, this time dragging his hand down his face.

New goal-- get to the ship, find the engine room, never leave.

When put that way, it didn’t sound so bad.

#Yurionice #Yuri on ice #Fanfiction #Yuri On Ice Fanfiction #victor nikiforov #yuuri katsuki #otabek altin #Yuri Plisetsky #Star Trek AU #gays in space #victor x yuuri #Otayuri

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timelxrd-victorious · 6 years

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The Vortex Diaries || Lives Among the Dead

“Reminder: The Library has been breached. Others are coming,” the node said in a male voice as the Doctor and xir companion Donna Noble eyed the doorway to the room they were currently in. “Reminder: The Library has been breached. Others are coming.”

The door burst open (or blew up) in a flash of white light. The Doctor’s eyes could pick up more details about the six newcomers that stepped through than Donna’s: Gallifreyan eyes were incredibly precise and could see into the ultraviolet spectrum. Xe could see that all six of them were wearing spacesuits, the hoods tinted dark. But beyond that…

One of the spacesuited intruders—presumably the leader—strode ahead of the others and walked right up to the Doctor and Donna. Seconds later the polarizing filter was adjusted, allowing the two of them to see her face. Middle-aged, Caucasian, female. Presumably human or humanoid.

She smiled, her gaze fixed only on the Doctor. “Hello, sweetie.”

Xe frowned, reached out with xir time senses. The Doctor knew xe had never seen her before in any previous incarnation and… odd. There was something off about her, something… Ah, well, it didn’t matter.

“Get out,” the Doctor snapped.

“Doctor,” Donna protested quietly.

Xe ignored her and eyed the other members of the strange woman’s team. “All of you. Turn around, get back in your rocket and fly away. Tell your grandchildren you came to the Library and lived. They won’t believe you.”

“Pop your helmets, everyone. We've got breathers,” the woman said instead. For the next few seconds there were hisses as the team released the latches that kept their helmets in place and took them off.

“How do you know they're not androids?” a dark-skinned woman asked.

“Because I’ve dated androids. They’re rubbish.”

“Who is this?” a balding man in what appeared to be his late forties demanded once he caught sight of the Doctor and Donna. He turned to the bushy-haired team leader. “You said we were the only expedition. I paid for exclusives.”

“I lied,” she said, “I’m always lying. Bound to be others.”

“Miss Evangelista, I want to see the contracts,” the older human said.

The bushy-haired woman’s attention was still on the Doctor and Donna. “You came through the north door, yeah? How was that, much damage?”

“Please, just leave,” xe said. “I'm asking you seriously and properly, just leave.” Xe paused as something suddenly clicked. “Hang on. Did you say expedition?”

“My expedition,” said the middle-aged man. “I funded it.”

Xe frowned. “Oh, you're not, are you? Tell me you're not archaeologists.”

“Got a problem with archaeologists?”

Xe looked at the female leader in exasperation. “I'm a time traveler. I point and laugh at archaeologists.” Xe wasn’t just a time traveler, of course, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Ah.” She smiled and held out her hand. “Professor River Song, archaeologist.”

Xe shook her offered hand, just to be polite. “River Song, lovely name.” Good, now try to get her to leave. “As you're leaving, and you're leaving now, you need to set up a quarantine beacon. Code wall the planet, the whole planet. Nobody comes here, not ever again. Not one living thing, not here, not ever. Stop right there. What's your name?”

“Anita,” a confused darker-skinned woman replied.

“Anita, stay out of the shadows. Not a foot, not a finger in the shadows till you're safely back in your ship. Goes for all of you. Stay in the light. Find a nice, bright spot and just stand. If you understand me, look very, very scared.”

None of them looked very frightened.

“No, bit more scared than that.”

That just got xem a pout and puppy-dog eyes from Miss Evangelista, the presumably pretty brunette with makeup. To be sure, xe brushed lightly against their minds and then withdrew. “Okay, do for now.” Xir gaze shifted to another male on the team. “You. Who are you?”

“Er, Dave.”

“Okay, Dave.”

“Oh, well, Other Dave,” he quickly explained, rambling, “because that’s Proper Dave the pilot, he was the first Dave, so when we—”

The Doctor ignored his babbling and, gripping his arm, led him over to the hallway. “Other Dave, the way you came, does it look the same as before?”

“Yeah. Oh, it's a bit darker.”

“How much darker?”

“Oh, like I could see where we came through just like a moment ago. I can’t now.”

“Seal up this door,” the Doctor ordered. “We'll find another way out.”

Xe turned to join the rest of the team. A few minutes later, during which both xe and Donna had torn up contracts and xe talked about the Vashta Nerada and formed a plan, xe heard River barking out orders.

“Pretty boy, you’re with me. Step into my office.”

Xe ignored her, intent on studying the shadows —and making sure xir own was able to pass for humanoid. Satisfied, xe went over to help Dave with the terminal console.

“Pretty boy. With me, I said.” River sounded slightly irritated now, but xe couldn’t figure out why.

Then it clicked. “Ooh.” Xe turned, pointing a finger at xir chest. “I’m pretty boy?”

“Yes!” Donna caught herself, looked surprised at what she’d just admitted. “Ooh, that came out a bit quick.”

“Pretty?”

Donna shrugged. “Meh.”

The Doctor copied her motion and walked over to River Song. As xe neared her, xe noticed she was taking out what looked like a battered blue diary from her backpack. The cover had eight squares on it, and the shade of blue reminded xem of the TARDIS. “Thanks,” she said.

Xe frowned, confused. “What for?”

“The usual. For coming when I call.”

“Oh, that was you?”

“You’re doing a very good job, acting like you don’t know me. I’m assuming there’s a reason.”

“A fairly good one, actually.”

“Okay, shall we do diaries, then?” River asked, reaching for the book and beginning to flip through its pages. “Where are we this time? Er, going by your face, I'd say it's early days for you, yeah? So, er, crash of the Byzantium. Have we done that yet?” At xir blank look, she added, “Obviously ringing no bells. Right. Oh, picnic at Asgard. Have we done Asgard yet?” Another blank look. “Obviously not. Blimey, very early days, then. Whoo, life with a time traveller. Never knew it could be such hard work.”

She stopped suddenly, looked deep into xir eyes, xir face. “Look at you. Oh, you're young.”

Annoyance glinted in xir eyes. “I’m really not, you know.” I’m over 6,500 years old.

“No, but you are,” River insisted. “Your eyes. You’re younger than I’ve ever seen you.”

At last, she’d let something slip. Even so, xir eyebrows narrowed. “You've seen me before, then?”

River placed a hand on xir cheek. Xe was still fuzzy at reading human facial expressions, but she seemed… sad, upset. “Doctor, please tell me you know who I am.”

Xe couldn’t. Cool, questioning brown eyes looked into hers. “Who are you?”

Their conversation was broken by what sounded like a ringing phone, and the Doctor pushed the mystery of River Song to the back of xir mind.

“That was, that was horrible,” Donna said, her voice shaking as she stared at what remained of Miss Evangelista’s body—a skeleton inside a suit. “That was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.”

The Doctor knew xe should comfort xir companion, but Professor River Song spoke first: “No. It’s just a freak of technology. But whatever did this to her, whatever killed her, I’d a word with that.”

Xe said nothing, then: “I’ll introduce you.”

Back in the main room, xe crouched down in front of a cluster of shadows. “I’m going to need a packed lunch.”

“Hang on,” River said, moving over to her bag and starting to rummage through it. Xe stood, and xir gaze followed her.

“What’s in that book?” the Doctor asked.

“Spoilers.”

“Who are you?”

“Professor River Song. University of—” She definitely seemed cagey now.

“To me,” xe finished, cutting her off. “Who are you to me?”

“Again, spoilers.” Irritation flashed through xem, but xe shoved it aside as she handed xem a tin box. “Chicken and a bit of salad. Knock yourself out.”

Xe took the box in one hand and a torch in the other. “Right, you lot.” Xe tossed the flashlight into the air, caught it as it spun without looking. “Let’s all meet the Vashta Nerada.”

While the Doctor was searching the shadows for Vashta Nerada, his redheaded companion went over to River.

“You travel with him, don’t you?” the bushy-haired archaeologist asked. “The Doctor, you travel with him.”

“What of it?”

River paused, heard the Doctor asking Proper Dave to move over by the water cooler before answering.

“You know him, don’t you?” Donna fired off another question before River could answer her first.

“Oh God, do I know that man.” River couldn’t keep the wistful note from her voice. “We go way back, that man and me. Just not this far back.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“He hasn't met me yet. I sent him a message, but it went wrong. It arrived too early. This is the Doctor in the days before he knew me. And he looks at me, he looks right through me and it shouldn’t kill me, but it does.”

“What are you talking about? Are you just talking rubbish?” Donna hissed. “Do you know him, or don’t you?”

Then her gaze flicked over to the Doctor, and she stiffened. “He said to count the shadows, yeah?”

River frowned slightly. “Yes. Why?”

Donna tilted her head in the direction of the Doctor’s shadow. “Did you ever notice that when you traveled with him?”

River’s frown deepened in confusion, but she turned her gaze on the Doctor’s shadow… and blinked in surprise. For a moment it looked as though there was something else in his shadow—not another shadow altogether, but another arm… or maybe a tentacle? Another tentacle shadow joined the first.

Both women blinked, and the extra limbs were gone.

“What the hell?” River muttered.

Donna glanced at her. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Donna! Quiet!” the Doctor snapped. “I’m working.”

“Sorry,” she muttered.

Something clicked in River’s brain. “Donna. You’re Donna. Donna Noble.”

“Yeah.” Donna suddenly sounded suspicious. “Why?”

River decided to tell her the truth—or part of the truth, anyway. “I do know the Doctor, but in the future. His personal future.”

“So why don’t you know me? Where am I in the future?”

It was a reasonable question and one River would have asked herself if she’d been in Donna’s position.

“Okay, got a live one!” The Doctor’s voice cut into River and Donna’s conversation, and River forced herself to focus on the Vashta Nerada… and what was up with the Doctor’s shadow.

She’d never noticed the invisible extra limbs when she’d traveled with his future incarnation. Right now, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know if they’d always been there—and if her Doctor had been keeping far too many secrets from her.

The Doctor’s keen sense of hearing—far better than that of humans—had easily been able to pick up Donna and River’s conversation about xem. Xe bit back the familiar flash of irritation that occurred whenever someone referred to xem as a man or with male pronouns. I’m not a man! xe wanted to snap. I’m not even human. How long does it take to get that through your thick skulls?

Xe allowed xemself a short hiss of annoyance, felt timelines shimmer and possibilities shift. Then xe made a quick note to take better care of xir appearance—xe had to appear fully humanoid—and not long after xe was explaining to the remaining crew and Donna about the Vashta Nerada after tossing the chicken leg into the live swarm and seeing it reduced to bone within milliseconds.

“So what do we do?” River asked.

The Doctor tilted xir head as xe considered her question. “Daleks, aim for the eyestalk. Sontarans, back of the neck. Vashta Nerada…” Xe turned, looked up at her. “Run. Just run.”

“Run? Run where?”

Xe said something about exit teleports, Donna mentioned the little shop, and Proper Dave started to head towards the little shop when the Doctor noticed something off and said something that made everyone else’s blood in the room run cold:

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry—but you’ve got two shadows.”

“So, what’s the plan?” River asked. “Do we have a plan?”

“Your screwdriver looks exactly like mine.” Xe eyed her with suspicion.

“Yeah. You gave it to me.”

“I don’t give my screwdriver to anyone.”

“I’m not anyone.”

“Who are you?”

River didn’t respond.

“Donna Noble has left the library. Donna Noble has been saved.”

River cut a square hole in the wall with her gun and nearly fell through the hole with the Doctor close behind her. “OK, we've got a clear spot. In, in, in! Right in the centre. In the middle of the light, quickly. Don't let your shadows cross. Doctor.”

“I’m doing it.” Xe couldn’t help it if xe sounded testy. Xir annoyance and frustration was beginning to boil over—if this expedition team hadn’t stepped foot in the Library, it would have just been xem and Donna and there would have been far less casualties.

“There's no lights here. Sunset's coming. We can’t stay long. Have you found a live one?”

“Maybe. It's getting harder to tell. What’s wrong with you?” xe asked xir sonic screwdriver.

“We’re going to need a chicken leg. Who’s got a chicken leg?” The remaining Dave handed the professor a chicken leg. “Thanks, Dave.”

She tossed the chicken into the shadows; like before, it became bone before it hit the ground.

“Okay. Okay, we’ve got a hot one. Watch your feet.” River began moving in a slow semi-circle.

“They won’t attack until there’s enough of them. But they've got our scent now. They’re coming,” the Doctor informed what was left of the team.

“Oh, yeah,” Other Dave said sarcastically. Then, in an undertone to River: “Who is he? You haven’t even told us. You just expect us to trust him?”

“He’s the Doctor,” River replied.

“And who is the Doctor?” Lux demanded.

“The only story you’ll ever tell, if you survive him.”

“You say he’s your friend,” Anita said, “but he doesn’t even know who you are.”

“Listen, all you need to know is this: I’d trust that man to the end of the universe. And actually, we’ve been.”

“He doesn’t act as though he trusts you,” Anita muttered to River.

“Yeah, there’s a tiny problem,” the archaeologist hissed in an undertone. “He hasn’t met me yet.”

The Doctor paused in scanning the shadows, whipped xir head around to face the small group. “I’m not a man,” xe snapped, xir gaze focusing on River. “And I’ve been to the end of the universe. You weren’t there.”

Even though River had admitted that their timelines were out-of-sync, she still looked shocked—or so the Doctor thought, anyway. Even now, after all this time, xe still had trouble determining human expressions—sight was a secondary sense for xem; humans’ telepathic abilities were practically non-existent.

Lux, Anita, and Other Dave blinked. “So… are you a woman, then?” Lux asked.

“No,” the Doctor said coolly and turned away, focusing again on scanning the shadows for Vashta Nerada.

River stepped up next to xem. “What’s wrong with it?”

“There’s a signal coming from somewhere, interfering with it.” Xe adjusted the settings on xir screwdriver, couldn’t help but extend xir time senses and seek out all the possible outcomes of this conversation.

“Then use the red settings,” River suggested.

Xe looked at her with a mixture of incredulity and what are you talking about? “It doesn’t have a red setting.”

“Well, use the dampers.”

“It doesn’t have dampers.”

She held up a bronze-colored sonic screwdriver. “It will do one day.”

Xe stared at her screwdriver before taking it and eyeing her suspiciously. “So, sometime in the future, I just give you my screwdriver.”

“Yeah.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I didn’t pluck it from your cold, dead hands if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“And I know that because?”

“Listen to me,” River insisted. “You’ve lost your friend. You’re angry. I understand. But you need to be less emotional, Doctor, right now.”

Xe stared at her in bewilderment. “Less emotional? I’m not emotional! And I’m not angry, I’m annoyed.”

River ignored that. “There are five people in this room still alive. Focus on that. Dear God, you’re hard work young.”

Xir annoyance spilled over in an irritated snarl that reverberated throughout time. “Young? Who are you?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Lux snapped. “Look at the pair of you. We're all going to die right here, and you're just squabbling like an old married couple.”

The Doctor looked at River in surprise, then back at Lux. Annoyance was beginning to spill over into anger—and xe was at the edge of xir limit with maintaining xir humanoid appearance. “Married? I don’t even know her!”

Xir multidimensional limbs—tentacles—twitched, stirred; xir shadow morphed, became less humanoid and bipedal. Xe was distantly aware of horrified gasps as the team noticed the changes to xir shadow, but the Doctor didn’t care.

“Doctor,” River said, “one day I’m going to be someone that you trust completely, but I can’t wait for you to find that out. So I’m going to prove it to you. And I’m sorry. I’m really very sorry.”

“So am I.” Not really. Xir voice and eyes were cold as xe brought xir hands up to her temples. Before River could react or comprehend what xe was doing, xe pushed inside her mind.

Xir mind was a howling, gaping void—too much, too vast, alien. River winced, gasped in pain as xe stripped her very flimsy mental defenses bare.

“Y-you’re in my mind,” she gasped out. “Doctor, it-it hurts.”

“Good.” Xe was beyond caring if xe hurt her or not. All that mattered was finding out the information xe wanted.

When xe finally broke the connection, River stared at xem with wide, frightened eyes. “What are you? You’re—you’re not—”

“No. I’m not. You’d do well to remember it.” Xe stepped away from her, turned to face the rest of the team even as River snatched back her sonic screwdriver from xem.

“What the hell was that?!” Lux demanded.

The Doctor didn’t respond. Instead xe went on about xir screwdriver and how it was very difficult to interfere with it. Somewhere between the resulting conversation and catching a glimpse of Donna, Anita informed them she had two shadows.

Then zombie Dave caught up to them, and what remained of the group ran for it.

While attempting to talk to the swarm, Other Dave became a zombie as well.

Just as well, really.

The Vashta Nerada were doing the Doctor’s job for xem.

Night had fallen, and River and what remained of her team were in yet another round reading room. Professor Song was busy checking the shadows with her sonic.

“You know,” she said almost to herself, “it’s funny. I keep wishing the Doctor was here.”

“The Doctor is here, isn’t he?” Anita asked. “He is coming back, right?”

River swallowed before looking over at Anita, still shaken by the experience of having the Doctor rummaging around inside her head without consent. He’d said he wasn’t a man but she didn’t know what else to call him—it. Whatever. But what had been inside her mind… She suppressed a shudder.

The Doctor wasn’t human, had never been human—she’d known that, but somehow she hadn’t realized just how inhuman he actually was. His mind—and she still couldn’t stop thinking about him in male pronouns—had been so dark, ancient… a howling void that she could have lost herself in if she’d had any desire to step inside (which she hadn’t). Then there was the Doctor’s shadow shifting shape… becoming less bipedal before rearranging itself back into a human form…

“You know when you see a photograph of someone you know, but it's from years before you knew them. and it’s like they’re not quite finished,” River said to Anita. It was the closest analogy she could think of to what she was feeling. “They’re not done yet. Well, yes, the Doctor’s here. He came when I called, just like he always does. But not my Doctor. Now my Doctor, I’ve seen whole armies turn and run away. And he’d just swagger off back to his TARDIS and open the doors with a snap of his fingers. The Doctor in the TARDIS. Next stop, everywhere.”

“Spoilers.” The Doctor’s hard tone ringing out in the silence had both River and Anita jumping in surprise.

The Time Lord slid down the short staircase and hopped over a desk to stand in front of River. “Nobody can open a TARDIS by snapping their fingers. It doesn't work like that.”

“It does for the Doctor.”

Xe had walked past her and turned back as xe snarled, “I am the Doctor.”

River avoided xir gaze. “Yeah. Someday.”

Xe only scoffed and moved on.

“Mister Lux, with me. Anita, if he dies, I'll kill him!”

“What about the Vashta Nerada?” Anita asked once River and Mr. Lux had left.

“These are their forests. I’m going to seal Charlotte inside her little world, take everybody else away. The shadows can swarm to their hearts’ content.”

“So you think they’re just going to let us go?”

“Best offer they're going to get.”

“You’re going to make ’em an offer?”

“They’d better take it, because right now, I’m finding it very hard to make any kind of offer at all. You know what? I really liked Anita. She was brave, even when she was crying. And she never gave in. And you ate her.”

Xe cleared her visor, revealed the skull that had slumped against the clear material.

“But I’m going to let that pass, just as long as you let them pass.”

“How long have you known?”

“I counted the shadows. You only have one now. She’s nearly gone. Be kind.”

“These are our forests. We are not kind.”

“I’m giving you back your forests, but you are giving me them. You are letting them go.”

“These are our forests. They are our meat.”

Shadows stretched out from Vashta Nerada Anita towards the Doctor.

Xe whirled around, xir voice a low growl: “Don’t play games with me. You just killed someone I liked. That is not a safe place to stand. I’m the Doctor, and you’re in the biggest library in the universe.” Xe paused. “Look me up.”

Xir hold over xir third-dimensional form loosened, let xir other traits—that of xir true appearance—come free. Xe was tired of being and acting human, and now there were no other humans around.

Xir form rippled, shifted—a glitch in reality. Tentacles and things that should not be on a human body became visible only for a moment, then disappeared.

The shadows withdrew rapidly, stayed long enough to deliver the message (“You have one day.”) and then vanished.

River Song died less than an hour later.

Donna Noble returned, but it made no difference—the Doctor could see that xe would have to make her forget within months.

It wasn’t really xir fault.

Even if the Vashta Nerada hadn’t been there, xe would have had no other choice.

#time traveling archaeologist ( River Song )#the most important woman in all of creation ( Donna Noble )#The Vortex Diaries ( Writing. )

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thegloober · 6 years

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A Bread Factory, Part One: For the Sake of Gold

[Editor’s Note: This is a review of Part One of “A Bread Factory,” a matched set of films about an arts center’s effect on a small town in upstate New York, written and directed by Patrick Wang (“In the Family“). Although each part stands alone and can be enjoyed separately, they are meant to be seen together. For a review of Part Two, click here.]

Patrick Wang’s “A Bread Factory Part One: For the Sake of Gold” is half of a matched set of movies that comprises the most original filmgoing experience of the year. Part Two is subtitled “Walk with Me a While.” Each runs two hours. The halves are meant to be shown back-to-back in a theater with an intermission, but you can watch them independently and come away feeling that you’ve seen a complete work. Any way you watch it, “A Bread Factory” is a wildly ambitious yet self-effacing epic about a place and its people, written, directed and acted in the spirit of Robert Altman (“Nashville“), Richard Linklater (“Bernie“) and Edward Yang (“Yi Yi“)—muralists who paint on wide canvases, yet still treat each character as individuals worthy of their own portraits.

Part One introduces the fictional upstate New York town of Checkford, a place as vivid as Grover’s Corners, Deadwood or Maycomb. The central location is the eponymous arts center, headquartered in a converted bread factory. For forty years the place has been run by its founders, Dorothea (Tyne Daly) and her partner Greta (Elizabeth Henry). Dorothea is a tough, passionate administrator and stage director who doesn’t suffer fools. Greta is a soft-spoken, reflective, Finland-born actress who tries to rein her partner in when she’s about to lose her cool.

That’s been happening more often recently. A bigger, glitzier arts facility just opened on the other side of Checkford. It serves up flamboyant and shallow work that’s steeped in 1990s conceptual art cliches, shuts the brain down instead of engaging it, and seems designed to pull in tourists and send them home with tote bags and t-shirts. Most of the work is produced or approved by a couple of gimmicky and very successful Chinese performance artists known as May Ray (Janet Hseih and George Young).

May Ray pipe prerecorded laughter and applause through public address systems to override the crowd’s responses. They dress in outrageous costumes, including a set of retro spacesuits with tiny action figure versions of themselves dangling in front of their faceplates. They are their own logos, branding all they touch. They like to draw the audience into cutesy stunts (like “walking in another person’s shoes,” which are fashioned from hats) that momentarily thrill or amuse, then serve up banalities disguised as wisdom (like “falling is a part of walking”) so that patrons go home knowing not only that they’ve seen Real Art, but what it was supposed to mean. This is a sharp contrast to The Bread Factory, which books some out-of-towners and the occasional big name, but is mainly fueled by local work that’s steeped in a classical liberal arts tradition, and created by local artists for local audiences in a relationship that’s more reciprocal and open-ended, an exchange of traditions and values.

Dorothea and Greta learn that the town is taking of cutting their educational subsidy— which lets them teach Chatford children and teenagers, thus training a new generations of artists and patrons, and provides the core of their monthly nut—and give to the newcomers, who overmatch them in every area except parking. Suddenly they have to think like tacticians, brainstorming a plan to convince a majority of the city council to leave things as they are.

The new facility’s administrator, Karl (Trevor St. John), is a formidable adversary. He presents himself as a calm, bland, middle manager-type, but he’s smart and ruthless. He’s the kind of guy who’ll reply to a journalist’s carefully researched questions by asking why she’s resorting to personal attacks. Karl has shady funding connections, and seems to have already bought off half the school board. He even tries to strong-arm Dorothea into backing down from the impending board fight by threatening to report The Bread Factory to the state for hiring a felon (albeit one whose conviction was reversed) and employing children (actually volunteers who are being thoughtfully mentored by the staff).

Dorothea and Greta’s strategizing and politicking is intercut with scenes of the couple workshopping a new production of the Greek tragedy “Hecuba,” directed by Dorothea, translated by a scholar named Elsa (Nana Victor) who shyly declines to call herself a writer, and co-starring Greta and a grand old English actor known as Sir Walter (the late, great Brian Murray, in his last performance).

Around this core group, Wang spins a constellation of supporting players. Some have stories that intersect with (and comment upon) the main action. Others get one juicy scene or bit, then recede into the chorus. An embittered indie filmmaker named Jordan (Janeane Garofalo) loathes the boring, predictable questions of adults (“What was your budget?”), but roars to life when guest-teaching young children. One of her pupils is so inspired by Jordan’s blistering rant about the importance of passion in art that he goes home and upbraids his own mother for not cooking chicken like she means it. A school union representative named Jason (James Marsters) is secretly comparing notes with a city council member named Mavis (Nan-Lyn Nelson) who happens to be his girlfriend. Sandra, a woman with an operatic voice (played by opera singer Martina Arroyo), loves to watch plays being rehearsed. She regales strangers with stories about her late husband, who wrote appliance manuals (“He told me, ‘Sandra, more people read me than Faulkner”).

The aforementioned journalist, Jan (Glynnis O’Connor), is also the local newspaper’s editor and only employee. She keeps the tradition of an independent Fourth Estate alive from a windowless basement office. Jan is currently mentoring a teenage intern named Max (Zachary Style), who’s in love with a local library assistant named Teresa (Jessica Pimintel), who’s also acting in “Hecuba,” a production that will eventually be reviewed by a retired Pulitzer-prizewinning critic and scholar named Jean-Marc (Philip Kerr), who’s been been getting the silent treatment from Sir Walter since he panned one of performances fifty years ago.

“A Bread Factory” is about a lot of things. One is the challenge of succeeding as an artist in a market economy when you have knowledge, enthusiasm, and the loyalty of a core audience, but no money or connections to speak of, and a stubborn determination to let the work speak for itself rather than constantly hyping it. The David and Goliath dynamic between the two facilities is reminiscent of the conflict between Italian restaurants in the classic American 1950s period comedy “Big Night.” One restaurant is run by a showboat who gives the people what they want: spaghetti and meatballs with red sauce, checkered tablecloths, accordion music, and sudden bursts of flame. The other restaurant specializes in Northern Italian food unfamiliar to 1950s Americans, cooked by a uncompromising chef who wants to give every diner a surprising and authentic experience, and would rather brood in his kitchen than put on a show. You can guess which place makes money.

Beyond that, “A Bread Factory” is an idealistic statement about the importance of art in everyday life. It’s about how a scene from a play or a line from a poem can cast a new light on your problems or dreams, maybe put a whole new frame around your life, your community, and the culture and nation that helped shape you. A big part of Dorothea’s frustration—brilliantly communicated by Daly, in a performance that sums up everything that makes her such a treasure—comes from having to explain any of this in the first place. She’s old enough to remember when Americans of all social classes thought of art as a birthright, as integral to life in an advanced democracy as well-funded public schools.

A major subtext in all the scenes that involve Dorothea, Greta, Karl and May Ray is the way a capitalist economy encourages the public to think of all art as just another product, forcing independent creative artists to package and present themselves like rock-star entrepreneurs, even if they don’t have the temperament for it; and how the postwar tradition of publicly funded art and art education in America has withered in the last 30 years, to the point where many people hear the word “art” and think “decadence” or “indulgence” or “a thing that taxes shouldn’t fund.”

“You must have seen rough times before,” a board member tells Dorothea. “Honestly,” she says, “I’ve never seen it worse.” Her pessimism is independently echoed by Jean-Marc, who says of the arts facility, “They once baked bread here, but now we live in an age of crumbs. But what they make of these crumbs is miraculous, and we are lucky to have them.”

This is my favorite film of the year by far—and when I say “film,” singular, I’m referring to both halves of “A Bread Factory,” because they flow together in the mind. As of this writing, I’ve seen both parts three times. With each viewing, I notice new things and am more moved by the characters, who are unique and eccentric in the way that real people are, but written and acted with the economy and directness that distinguishes characters in well-constructed plays or short stories—ones where the storytellers know what they want to say and how best to say it.

Readers should know going in that this is not a film (or pair of films) that you can half-watch while looking at your phone. You have to give yourself over to the story, characters and atmosphere with an open mind and heart, and be a peace with the fact that the movie is going to throw you into the middle of scenes without immediately spelling out who everyone is, and what, exactly, you’re looking at. Wang takes his sweet time setting up a moment, and the punchlines in comedic scenes are as likely to be visual as verbal (as when the camera stays fixed on Jordan as she sits in a theater where her movie is about to be screened, asking the projectionist to run different parts of it to check the picture and sound; finally, the camera pans up to reveal that the projectionist is an eleven-year old boy).

To paraphrase a friend who’s a minister as well as a film buff, this is the kind of movie where Mohammed goes to the mountain, not the other way around. But the journey is worth it. This film is miraculous, and we are lucky to have it.

Source: https://bloghyped.com/a-bread-factory-part-one-for-the-sake-of-gold/

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