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otherworldqueen · 4 years

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hihi i’m adina, i’m 22, and i play CETUS.

here is my super long bio if anybody actually wants to read it (it’s super long i’m so sorry). as i said in my app, there are a lot of assumed connections/pronouncs for the sake of expanding my interpretation of CETUS. but ofc, ALL THESE CONNECTIONS CAN BE RE-WRITTEN since I wouldn’t wanna godmod.

[ PART I ]

— 1980 —

He was born within a confinement of sterilized, white walls, with human men and women looming over a screaming mother in labor. A mutant was born, and though his mother’s trembling fingers reached for her precious baby, it was a doctor who first held him, dubbing him his first name: 0958.

It was his mother’s petrified screams, sweat pouring from a pale forehead, that convinced the doctor he would be more useful under the care of a mother rather than another doctor. She had begged and pleaded, even fighting against vaccinations that disciplined her until her speech was slow and heavy, powers negated. It was only when she agreed to a series of experiments after pointing out she was one of the first to have birthed a son within a testing facility, that her aching arms were allowed the comfort of her son.

There, 0958 found solace in her warm, weak limbs, lips eager for nutrition in the form of his mother’s milk. There, with tears streaking down his mother’s face, came his second name: Fin.

— 1988 —

To the countless doctors that came, saying and doing nothing other than jabbing him and his mother with needles, he remained to be 0958. However, to a desperate mother, he would always be Fin.

It didn’t take long for Fin to learn how to bare his fangs and sink dirty, jagged nails into the humans that entered their domain. His skin would bristle with every strange doctor, and he learned to growl, scream, and kick before he could talk. Each and every time, Fin would receive a backhand - but to the boy, it was just another red mark to add to the countless injection sites that littered his arms and legs. Threats of being separated from his mother would temporarily subdue him, the boy hissing as he was squeezed tightly by his mom.

She taught him love and patience amidst cruel humans who only tested on him in attempts to bring out dormant powers. “Never, never trust them, Finny,” she had always said. And he listened, believed with his whole heart, because when had she ever done him wrong? She was always the one to protect him, to fight every time they dragged the boy away for yet another round of “analysis” and “research.”

Fin learned to associate those words with pain in the form of needles, electric nodes, and the same fucking memory tests over and over again. But he gritted his teeth and sat through everything - the “0958,” the bullshit medical jargon - because at least he would end the day against the safety of his mother’s chest. Even through the strange liquids they pumped into his small body, even through the countless pints of blood they took, leaving him delirious and faint, Fin took the abuse.

— 1990 —

Until his mother was taken away, kicking and screaming.

He wished that he could remember his mother in any other light other than how he saw her that day; dark hair clung to her forehead, wretched wails cut short when she was slammed against the floor, body slumping, nails breaking against those dreaded, sanitized tiles.

Something snapped in him that day.

Fin believed that it had been a long time coming; there was only so much a 10-year old could handle, having been wound tight by countless experimentations. His anger and upset, having only been simmering beneath a defensive surface, blossomed into the powers that they so desperately wanted to awaken: destruction manipulation.

He had never been so happy than when he saw white tiles painted red, with countless corpses littering the floor. He couldn’t stop, overdosed on the strength that washed over him at the sight of fear across doctors’ faces before he so brutally snapped their necks. The building crumbled around him, and delicious screams echoed in the air. He deserved this, deserved the retribution after years upon years of mistreatment.

The boy didn’t stop, didn’t listen to any of their pleas for mercy. Had they shown him mercy when he needed it most, he hissed back, before a flick of his flat palm was enough for their insides to rupture. On this day, he was Cetus; a sign of misfortune to any who crossed him, a bad omen for any and all humans that stepped in his way.

“Never, never trust them, Finny,” his mother’s sweet voice echoed in a raging mind; the only light to guide him as the testing facility he grew up in perished in a sea of ash and rubble. Stumbling from a devastated location, Fin fell to his knees as tired lungs filled with smoke. There, the death of Fin was the beginning of his new life.

CENTAURUS was the one who had found him lying atop cracked pavement. When Fin had woken up on a strange couch, surrounded by pale, yellow walls, he panicked. At first glance, CENTAURUS seemed human, and Fin was enraged, shoving CENTAURUS against chipped paint, demanding for answers - all of which the stranger so graciously gave through a charming, lovely smile.

“I’m just like you,” he had said, before a hand came to brush against his face. A feeling of calm washed over the boy as he unknowingly fell victim to the sweet feeling of sensory deprivation. All of a sudden, the pain that he harbored had dulled, and yet his eyes filled with tears as he finally allowed himself to recall the unfortunate fate of his mother. It was CENTAURUS who held him all throughout that night, their bond forged from their shared, mutant connection.

“What is your name?” he had asked, so sweetly.

“...” how could he answer, when Fin only made him remember his mother, and 0958 was a label given to him by human doctors - the same ones who would never utter a single word after that night.

“I don’t know.” he whispered truthfully. And CENTAURUS smiled that beautiful smile - how could he ever feel bad?

“Alright, Buckshot.” It was a teasing name that etched heat into his heart, wedged into his memories even long after he had given himself a proper name; Axel.

[ PART II ]

— 2000 - 2010 —

They were inseparable ever since that day. Whenever CENTAURUS found himself at the mercy of wicked humans, Axel was the first to throw himself into the inferno, ripping up pavement and reducing everything to rubble if it guaranteed CENTAURUS' safety. He trusted them with his life, just as they trusted him with their own.

It was why, when CENTAURUS brought up Westchester, Axel was willing to follow.

“A safe place? For mutants?”

“Yes, Axel...this could be our new beginning.”

And a safe place it was indeed. When they arrived, Eric had been there to greet them personally. The welcoming environment and the immediate feeling of belonging brought a sense of community that Axel never had. It was clear that many held Eric in great respect - and Axel could feel the pull the man had with his handshake alone. Not one human breached the boundaries of Westchester, and yet, Axel couldn’t shake the feeling that Eric could do more than just keep peace.

This was everything him and CENTAURUS had dreamed of; a place where mutants like them would feel welcome. The peaceful smiles tossed Axel’s way, the friendly conversations….it should have been paradise. But for a man who had come out of the womb fighting, all he could feel was a restlessness that the community couldn’t satisfy. After all, how could the equality that Eric so often preached be achieved when “peace” did nothing to remove humans from their high chairs? How could Eric build an entire school for mutants to hone their powers, and encourage peace? If Eric wasn’t willing to bring mutants to their true potential, then Axel would.

When Axel went to the streets after months of being locked within Westchester, he felt invigorated. Who knew that it would take months of pure peace for Axel to realize that the streets of chaos was where he thrived.

Axel was alone in his first rally.

“Come on, buckshot, it’s dangerous…”

“What am I supposed to do? Sit around and twiddle my fucking thumbs and let mutants out there suffer?”

“It’s not your responsibility to save them.”

“You would rather they die?”

“That’s not what I said - ”

“You didn’t have to say it.”

Perhaps that should have been Axel’s first hint that CENTAURUS was never destined to be in his future; not when they were so willing to let mutants die for the sake of peace. But despite the crack in Axel’s heart, he went on with his rally. Axel yelled inspiring words until his throat grew hoarse, using his powers to force humans and mutants to listen when his voice no longer could.

One rally became two, more and more mutants joining his cause until he led mobs to wreak havoc down the streets. Some of these mutants included ORION, LIBRA, and CARINA, who turned out to be the family that Axel never knew he needed. They believed in his cause, believed in him, and were empowered by the justice that Axel sought to bring.

More often than not, Axel came out by the skin of his teeth, littered with bruises and bloodied limbs. But he never stopped, not even when humans begged for mercy, teeth knocked out of broken jaws (always in “self defense,” of course) - especially not when his fellow Horsemen were there to pick him up when CENTAURUS wasn’t. Every person that submitted only served to fuel Axel’s thirst for vengeance. In each human, Axel saw the cold glare of the doctors and nurses he grew up with - the same ones who treated him as less than.

It served them right to be on the other side of the spectrum for once.

With each escalated riot, with each parade that ended with destruction in his path, the further that CENTAURUS separated themselves from Axel. The smooth-sailing conversations and laughter turned to endless arguments and fights.

“You can barely even call yourself a fucking mutant if you’re not willing to stand up for them the way I do.”

“Don’t you dare say that. Just because I’m not willing to watch you kill yourself - ”

Axel only remembered a sea of red rage that mingled with heartbreak over arguing with his best friend.

“I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Axel, you’re barely even letting me talk - “

In the end, what were they even fighting over?

“You might as well just fucking say that you don’t care about me.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“You’re just as bad as those fucking humans.

“That’s not fair. I - you know what? I’m done.”

“What?”

“I’m done, Axel.”

In the end, was it even worth it?

Through the angry tears and the broken knuckles, Axel had to convince himself that it was. A metal heart, softened over the years for CENTAURUS now wrenched and pried apart, left to rust in the ever-brewing storm that followed CENTAURUS’ exit from Axel’s life.

But if CENTAURUS was going to leave him? Abandon him? Then fine.

He didn’t need them. If CENTAURUS wasn’t going to support him, then Axel didn’t need someone like them to slow him down.

[PART III]

— 2010 - NOW —

The HORSEMEN officially came together in 2010 as the parades and riots they hosted began to grow into an overwhelming size. There were many mutants who saw their cause for “equality for mutants,” and wanted to do more than just attend the occasional rally. Axel, ORION, LIBRA, and CARINA were so tightly knit that the founding creation of the HORSEMEN was natural.

Finally, their petition for equality had a symbol to showcase their passion. Not only did the image of the four HORSEMEN represent the community of mutant activists they had gathered over the years, but it also presented a beacon of hope for any and all mutants who were wronged by humans.

For years, Axel was content with the achievements they accomplished together as the HORSEMEN. They had made incredible strides promoting equality for mutants, and the idea that Axel not only was a part of it, but was elected leader for their organization, made a jaded heart tremble.

However, just like when he entered Westchester for the first time, it didn’t take long for Axel to want to strive for more. There was no reason to settle - not when they held immense power and sway right at the edge of their fingertips.

Carolyn gave Axel a new purpose in life.

From the moment Axel was called in to meet Carolyn, there was an immediate pull that the mutant never felt with Eric. This woman was headstrong, persuasive, and powerful. With one soothing word, she could calm the everlasting storm that raged within Axel’s mind.

“Tell me, CETUS...Westchester wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

“Of course it wasn’t.” Axel still remembered the way his nose wrinkled at the question. “To think that I would sit around, wading in serenity that may not even last - it’s a waste of my abilities.”

“Yes...it is.” she had laughed, and it was as smooth as silk the moment it hit his ears. “I’ve seen what you’ve done with your...HORSEMEN. You are an impressive young man who would benefit from the help that I can give you.”

“...”

“...you desire what is best for your HORSEMEN, do you not?”

“Yes. Of course I do. I want equality - ”

“Oh, CETUS,” that honeyed laughter yet again, “I know you desire more than that.”

And how could Axel argue when Carolyn echoed the words he didn’t want to voice? For a while, there was a niggling dissatisfaction with fighting for equality among humans. After all, how could mutants be equal when they were so much more powerful? Axel’s fingers twitched in anticipation at Carolyn’s words, a dark need for more allowing itself to bloom to the surface of his eyes.

Those sharp nails came to scrape gently across Axel’s bangs, and he leaned into her clawed touch. An old, dusty memory flickered; one of his mother whispering soothing words into his ear, long nails coming to brush dark hair away from his eyes.

“I can give you what you want and more, CETUS.”

If Carolyn’s alluring presence wasn’t enough for Axel to fall under the charm of the Hellfire Club, then her promise of power was. Not everyone shared his opinion, and it didn’t take long for his HORSEMEN to doubt that Carolyn and the Hellfire Club truly had their best interests in mind. But Axel was engulfed in the enticing flames of hellfire, blinded by the power and the money that began rolling in as a result of Carolyn’s intervention. With the influence of the Hellfire Club behind him, Axel could finally, finally live to his true potential. He was born to destroy, and the club only encouraged the use of his mutant powers. Their sponsorship allowed Axel to gorge himself on the weaknesses of humans with no end in sight to his rampage.

Of course, no one - especially not Axel - was expecting to lose Carina the way they did.

It was devastating. Axel remembered being overwhelmed, gashes littering his arms as he did his best to protect the mutants in the rally. He remembered the distance beeping - a familiar sound he didn’t realize was a bomb until Carina had leaped to her death.

Axel barely had time to mourn, wrestling with the immediate tears and heartbreak as he took the rest of the HORSEMEN to safety. He remembered dragging LIBRA and ORION away from Carina’s remains, and when they found refuge in their headquarters, it was then, and only then, that Axel allowed himself to succumb to the agony brought on by the loss of Carina. His metal heart cracked under the pressure, but it wasn’t long for a blazing desperation for justice to lick his wounds clean.

Never would he let a human get a one-up on his kind again.

Eric’s disappearance, as unfortunate as it was, means that Axel has his hands full with taking care of his HORSEMEN. Panic is rampant among his people, and he is using every ounce of will to make a show of strength. Axel is empowered by the Headmaster’s disappearance, using it as an opportunity to recruit new members and expand upon his organization. He refuses to succumb to the insanity that surrounds him - though Axel is unaware that he already is by turning to Carolyn and the Hellfire Club to satisfy his endless greed for justice. With his mentor on one hand and his HORSEMEN family on the other, only time will tell if Axel will be able to make the inevitable choice or snap under the pressure of being torn in two.

#ooc #bio

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spiffyworks · 5 years

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Artist’s Software Surfing P1 - Sketching

SSSo recently, after finishing (an admittedly long-overdue) a piece, I decided to download a trial of the new Corel Painter 2019. I hadn’t used Painter since my old DeviantArt days (circa 2005) and wanted to see how it felt with more digital art-veteran hands. Loaded it up, started sketching my default doodle-muse and wow, that “Real 2B” pencil feels great. I loved it so much, and wondered why.

That’s the story that is spawning this weird personal series of Software Surfing. I wanted to write little notes to future-me on how it felt using my favorite sketching tools in each program I have, and after the sixth one I thought it might be a good idea to check out inking, colouring, painting, etc. and writing those down as well.

So I’m writing this series for myself, but making it available in case anyone else can benefit as well. Thanks for sticking with the intro, let’s get into it.

Artist’s Software Surfing P1 - Sketching Artist’s Software Surfing P2 - Inking Artist’s Software Surfing P3 - Colouring Artist’s Software Surfing P4 - Painting

There are many ways to sketch, but this is specifically the classic “pencil” or “drawing” form using the tools with the program’s default settings.

As an introduction, this is my doodle-muse, Cloey. She was my first original character, and though I don’t usually share my anthro art on here (I know that’s not everyone’s thing) I do have a separate blog for that stuff that you can find here if you’re so inclined. If you’re familiar with Artgerm (and you should be), she’s basically my Pepper.

Corel Painter’s “Real 2B”:

The one that started it all. The pencil just GLIDES, and I’ve always loved when you can tilt a pencil tool and it will shade just like tilting a real-life pencil. The only thing I want from a program now is to be able to bind touch to blenders so I can use my finger to smudge-blend the scribbling. (I tried drawing that fist so many times /fume)

Likes: Tilt functionality, line width variance, stroke speed, eraser Dislikes: Rebinding Rotate Canvas tool was a pain. I like Shift+Space, and that key combo is reflected in the shortcut panel, but it just continued to pan. Never worked for me, and rotating or flipping the page quickly is crucial for my sketching process. Also sometimes if I quickly resize the eraser and mash it down to use, it won’t detect any input.

Photoshop, Kyle Webster’s “2B” & “Animator Pencil”:

**Disclaimer** Firstly, I’ve used Photoshop for over 15 years now, and it’s a great digital art tool, but for drawing and painting I find it’s sorely lacking. It’s slow, expensive, and unintuitive. That being said, there are some things this program does exclusive to others so I’m still clinging to it (desperately) and while I would definitely recommend something else for budding digital artists, I have to supplement my misgivings by purchasing additional plugins and tools, such as the famed Kyle T Webster’s Ultimate Megapack for Photoshop (

which is now complementary with Photoshop CC, damnit

). Unless otherwise noted, all the brushes I use in Photoshop will be from that pack. **End Disclaimer**

Following off the heels of Corel, I remembered messing around with another “2B” (which btw is my personal favorite traditional pencil to sketch with) in Kyle Webster’s Drawing Box in Photoshop. It felt a bit similar, but with no tilt functionality and it really lacked the chunky-thickness (a scientific term) I enjoyed with Painter’s pencil. I switched to my favorite (and the favorite of MANY digital artists btw) his “Animator’s Pencil”. So chunky, but the ability to shade lightly... It’s really a fun brush to use for sketching digitally. Still one of my absolute favorites.

Animator Pencil Likes: Line width variance, texture fills in and scales perfectly Dislikes: It’s a photoshop exclusive, a program that for some reason you can’t bind shortcuts to whatever you please, takes forever to load, and WAY too often suffers input lag while drawing. Also no tilt shading, :’( aw

Paintstorm’s “Textured Pencil” & “Pencil Tilt”

As a bit of an aside, I love Paintstorm, Paintstorm is what got me back into digital drawing and painting after doing 3D and game design for 7 years. I bought it for the very low price of entry (2 licenses for $30) and was impressed by its ability to customize literally anything in the program. You can create your own tool/brush boxes, bind any shortcut to any key combination, and every single brush tool adjustment comes with the most customization control of any program I’ve come across since Photoshop set the bar way back in the day. Out of the box a lot of the basic brushes have that old OpenCanvas or PaintTool Sai feel, but more recently they’ve added some very textured default brushes you can play around with. It’s also hands-down the FASTEST program I’ve ever worked in. I highly recommend giving it a try, it’s great for learning and experimentation. I grew a lot working in Paintstorm.

The Textured Pencil is a fun sketching brush, you can get as think or thick as you’d want and it keeps a clean outline. The Pencil Tilt really blew my mind the first time I used it. YOU CAN SHADE! It was the first time I had ever seen a program do that. The tilt has a great texture, fantastic control, and gets just as dark as you’d need. I’d recommend using them both, the Textured Pencil for a cleaner sketch, and the Pencil Tilt for something more expressive or loose.

Krita’s Ink-Tilt & “Sketch”:

I’ll be honest, I have almost no experience in Krita despite having downloaded and given it a try back in 2014. It was a hell of a time to figure out how to rebind my usual shortcuts (flip horz, rotate canvas). I couldn’t even rebind colour grab/eyedropper. Yikes. I opened up the “Sketching” brush box and there were only two options, made worse as one was a sketch pen... That lacked the flexibility of ballpoint.

First I grabbed the pencil dubbed “Sketch” and was bewildered why the size of the circle was so large compared to the mark it made. Very confusing. Feeling intimidated, I abandoned it immediately to try out the “ink_tilt” (which by the way there’s no tilt functionality??) and hated it. I reluctantly went back to the pencil and just started trying to make marks. Wow. It’s weird, but surprisingly fun. You have to be willing to relinquish a LOT of control, but the shapes the brush makes while moving and tilting during a stroke can yield some really interesting and suggestive shapes. I would say great for early concepting or making something really loose and expressive. Fun to play with, but not really practical.

Clip Studio Paint’s Real Pencil & Rough Pencil

I’ve been wholly immersed in CSP since I purchased the program back in late 2016. It goes on sale often, so you can pick up a nice fully featured program for ~$35. I’d had my eye on it for a while and still really want to get into self-publishing comics, so I picked it up, bought a couple of brush packs for it (it’s pretty lacking in default painting tools) and I’ve been illustrating in it ever since. The brush creation isn’t as fun as Paintstorm, but brushes are quite customizable. I usually like to use the “Rough Pencil” if I want just a little texture and line variance, or the “Darker Pencil” for something cleaner. Trying to be different, I just jotted out a couple heads in ones I don’t normally use, the Real Pencil and Design Pencil. The Real Pencil has a lot of texture, but for some reason in CSP the textures don’t seem to scale with the brush, so I tend to avoid using it in most cases. I hate the design pencil, I just could never get dark enough. I guess that’s probably the point, though.

Well, that definitely wraps this digest up. I feel refreshed after trying out a lot of new digital sketching brushes. I was really reminded of how much I enjoyed drawing in Paintstorm. I hope someone other than me found this useful or otherwise inspiring! Sometimes, especially if you’re stuck in some art blockage, it’s a good idea to try something new, and for me digitally that’s hopping programs and trying new brushes.

I’m thinking about doing inks, colours, and painting at some point. Let me know if anyone’s interested in those! I’m planning on doing some for myself eventually, but I might expedite a post if anyone is interested. o/ Take it easy, y’all.

Artist’s Software Surfing P1 - Sketching Artist’s Software Surfing P2 - Inking Artist’s Software Surfing P3 - Colouring Artist’s Software Surfing P4 - Painting

#process #sketching #software #guide

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tokyoteddywolf · 7 years

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Fishy Feathers Chapter One

FUCK YEAH I ACTUALLY GOT IT DONE!!!!!!! :D Here, have some cute baby Avian Lance and Mer Pidge! Aka Chick Lance and Guppy Pidge, for now. :3 ————————————— She hated thunderstorms. She didn’t like how they made the waves all out of control and rough. Her mother trilled worriedly as the sky darkened and the waves started turning choppy. They had been playing around in one of the rock formations near the coast, the rest of the pod in deeper waters, when her father called a warning about the incoming storm. She whimpered and clung to her mother, her guppy tail not exactly strong enough yet to swim through tough currents like the ones sweeping through the area.

Without warning, a huge wave came out of nowhere and slammed down on her, knocking her grip off of her mother’s fin and sweeping her away. She screamed in fright, her mother’s loud panicked calls fading as she vanished with the wave.

…………………………………………………

Lance whimpered, looking around the trees and cringing as another raindrop landed on his nose. He didn’t mean to fall from the nest! He just wanted to see that pretty bluebird again! The sky was still dark, the sun not quite risen yet, the storm fading into the distance with the occasional rumble of thunder. He didn’t know how to get back into the nest, his oversized brown and tan wings not quite able to lift him yet, so he stayed on the ground, sad and scared little chirps echoing from his throat.

His Mama was asleep with his siblings, his Papa out on a flight to the nearest human city to buy food. So nobody would notice him until they woke up. He folded his wings around his body clumsily, still not quite used to using them yet. He was only six, still a hatchling. He wouldn’t start flying lessons until he was at least ten or twelve. More droplets splattered his wings, and he huffed irritably. He figured there had to be a drier spot to sit and wait, so he got up and marched determinedly through the forest in search of a warmer and less drippy place.

He stopped at a hill of rocks that tumbled down to a beach, eyes wide. A huge body of water lapped at the white sandy ground and boulders, smooth and rough and his inner chick wanted to climb all over it! Chirping excitedly, he scrambled down the hillside, yelping when he tripped and landed face first into the sand, oversized wings flapping awkwardly in an attempt to stop his fall. He sat up, brushing grains of gritty sand from his cheeks and rubbing his nose with a soft whine of pain.

His head whipped up suddenly. He could have sworn someone had just gasped… getting to his feet, he shuffled forward in the direction of the noise, soft, inquisitive little chirps leaking from his mouth. His Mama always said to chirp before he talked, that way he could get attention on him when he spoke to an adult or stranger. There was a pause, and then something mimicked his chirps back! It didn’t sound like any kind of chirp Lance had ever heard before, it was kinda hollow and higher pitched than his own. Squeaky, like a baby pigeon. He clambered over the rocks to the source of the sound and…

He stared, star struck. Big golden brown eyes stared back, a soft pink mouth full of sharp teeth dropping open in surprise as the pale skinned, green scaled mermaid noticed the goofy, fluffy brown and tan speckled wings on his back. Realization registered to both children, and Lance shrieked and ducked back behind the boulders while the mermaid did the same, curling up into a scaly ball with fins flared and covering her non scaly torso.

After a few minutes of nothing happening, Lance peeked back over the rocks and scanned the ball of green fins warily. Mama had always said that an Avian who got too close to a Mer was sure to be dragged into the sea and drowned. But… then again, Mama said that the Mer were huge and vicious and would attack fearlessly… so why was this one so small? Smaller than him, actually? And… scared? Of him? Why? Plus the fact that she was several yards away from the water, and the rocks looked painful to lay on… and one of her fins, the webbed one on her lower back and further down was bleeding along the base, like something had tried to pull it off. He crawled over, carefully, because he was pretty sure this shaking ball of fish scales couldn’t hurt him right now, plus he couldn’t just stand by and watch her suffer! She probably had a family waiting for her, missing her!

He let out a soft, warning peep before he pressed his palm against the fin covering her face. It wasn’t slimy at all, actually kind of like the really fine spider silk his Mama bought for a dress once, super soft and smooth. The fin pulled back, and the mermaid was staring at him again. Lance offered a reassuring smile. “Um, hi! Are you okay?” He spoke up for the first time that day, words instead of bird sounds. It seemed to startle the guppy girl, because she clicked softly in surprise.

"So, uh, I’ve never met a Mer before, but you look kinda… dry? Do you need anything?” He asked, tilting his head and shuffling his wings nervously. Her eyes followed the movement before she swallowed thickly and blinked back tears. “Wah-der. ’M drai. Owie.” She whimpered, still too young to form proper words but trying to convey the message anyways. Lance recognized the babble as toddler talk, his little brother spoke in it currently. Which meant this Mer was at least two or three years younger than him. “Wah… der? Oh! Water! Okay! I’ll get you to the water then! Um… but first we should bandage your fin… I know!” Lance reached behind his back and tugged at the strings tying his shirt together, the design keeping his front covered and his wings free.

Tugging off the thin fabric, he started tearing it into strips. “Wha’ birdy doin’?” The little mermaid whispered, confused. Lance smiled. “Makin’ a bandaid! Hold still, ‘kay?” He reassured the younger creature, clumsily tying the fabric strips around the damaged fin. He tied it off tightly, so it wouldn’t slip off, and brushed some sand off of the guppy girl’s tail. “Okay, how’s that?” He asked, the mermaid blinking and wiggling her fin experimentally. “Owie bedder!” She squealed happily, propping herself up on her hands to stare to the bandaged fin.

Lance preened, proud of his work. “Okay, let’s get you to the water! I’m gonna hafta carry you though, ‘kay?” The Mer nodded, and Lance wriggled his arms under her body, grunting as he somehow managed to pick her up into a princess carry. “For a small girl you sure are heavy!” He yelped, staggering down the rocks and boulders to the waters edge. She let out an indignant, offended, squeaky pigeon chirp and smacked his cheek with a webbed hand, pouting. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just not used to carrying smaller people with tails. All my siblings have wings you kno- AAAAH!” He cut himself off with a startled screech as he slipped on a particularly wet rock and fell forwards into the shallows of the sea, the mermaid sent flying before she plopped into deeper waters.

She surfaced quickly, worried about the fluffy winged boy, and promptly burst out laughing. High pitched, joyful, amused chirruping trills of mirth practically leapt out of her mouth as she took in the sight of the shocked and soggy birdy boy in the water on his hands and knees, wings puffed up in surprise. Lance blinked and sat back on his knees in the water, still a little stunned. It was wet, yeah, but a different kind of wet. Salty and moving and warm and almost alive somehow. And… he loved it! He made an excited little chirp and spread his large wings wide, sweeping them low and getting them wet. The pigeon chirping mermaid swept closer, still making those happy little giggles, and splashed him with more salty water. His face lit up and he splashed her back, laughing. This was so much different from the rain! The ocean seemed to play with them too, small waves crashing into him when he went too far out and pushing him back to shore, tugging lightly at his shorts and wings, splashing him and getting him thoroughly soaked as he chased the little mermaid around excitedly.

A few hours later the sun was fully up, and he was resting against a boulder with his wings and everything under his waist completely submerged, leaning against his new Mer pal. “So… I never learned your name, by the way?” He asked the tired out guppy next to him, and she hummed quietly. “Mom named me-” a series of clicks and squeaks followed her words, and Lance blinked. “-bu’ my Word name is Kadie.” The mermaid finished, smiling. Lance thought a moment. “Katie? Mm… doesn’t suit you. But Pidge does! Can I call you Pidge?” Lance asked, tilting his head towards her in order to gauge her reaction. Katie’s face lit up. “Like a birdy?” Lance nodded. “When you chirp, you sound like a baby pigeon. So, Pidge!” The newly dubbed Mer clapped her hands excitedly. “Pidge! Pidge! I’m Pidge!” She cried, absolutely thrilled with the nickname.

"I’m Lance! And you’re Pidge!” Lance introduced, Pidge grinning enthusiastically. “Lance! Fluffy birdy Lance!” She cooed, and Lance giggled. The happy fun time was interrupted by distant, loud, trilling calls from Pidge’s pod. Lance perked up at the sound of his Mama calling his name nearby. “Aww…. I gotta go home now…” Lance pouted, Pidge drooping as well. “Play 'morrow?” She asked the Avian boy, splashing him lightly again. Lance stood up and stretched. “Yeah! Course we can! But it has to be a secret okay? Nobody can know, they’d separate us.” He made a shushing sign with his hand, Pidge mimicking the signal. “Mhm! Nobody know!” She giggled, as her pod called again. “Bye Pidge! I’ll see you tomorrow!” He said, wading onto the beach as his fishy friend waved goodbye before diving into deeper waters.

…………………………………………………

Pidge pulled the shirt bandage off of her fin, swimming towards her mother. She was instantly engulfed in a crowd of worried pod members, her mother squeezing her tight and clicking furiously about how worried she’d been while her father and brother pressed in close, Matt examining her scabbed up fin. “Where have you been? We’ve all been worried sick!” The pod leader, Alfor, scolded her lightly, and she played with her fingers nervously. “Beached!” She shot back defensively, and gasps of horror echoed through the pod.

Many times a young beached Mer was either killed by drying out or by being killed because of another species looking for easy prey, as guppies hadn’t developed the shifting ability yet. The shifting ability allowed Mer to go on land, but only after puberty hit, around twelve years of age. The first time was pretty painful, and they resembled humans, which is why it was used as a last resort when beached.

Alfor softened instantly. “At least you made it to the water in time… I think you should stay in the cove until you’ve healed, alright?” Pidge nodded, already planning how to sneak out to see her feathery friend on land.

………………………………..

"Goodness Lance, you’re soaked! What where you doing out there, playing in the lake? And where is your shirt!?” His Mama berated him as she flew him up to the nest, his siblings already crowding around and chirping with questions. “Mama! I told you! My shirt ripped when I fell from the tree and I’m all wet 'cuz I fell into a big puddle!” He complained as she fussed over him, ruffling his hair with a towel and drying him off before she bundled him up in warm clothes and blankets, constantly checking for a fever.

His Mama sighed in exasperation. “My little chick, you’re too curious for your own good! Next time you fall from the tree, you climb the branches or wait for someone to come get you, understand? No more of this wandering off!” She scolded him, and he huffed quietly as she started working on drying out his wings.

Now to figure out how to get to the beach tomorrow…

—————————– Chapter one is done and I am taking a nap, goodnight- ugh- *flops onto bed and sleeps instantly* (The Shance comes into play later, I just wanna focus on the Pidge and Lance sibling dynamic for now ;3)

#Fishy Feathers AU #my notepad holds more than you'd think #Pidge and Lance BrOTP #Avian Lance #Mer Pidge #voltron #my writing

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pocket-anon · 7 years

Text

A Fairytale Beginning (6/9)

OMG, you guys, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I took this long to get this chapter out. This 8k monster gave me serious grief with the writing and re-writing and overthinking and gnashing of teeth it took to get it to this point. Fair warning, I’m going on my 4th day of sleeping less than 5 hours a night, so there may be a little clean-up of typos and wording going on later. A million thanks to @katie-dub for being my sounding board for the diner scene, to @i-know-how-you-kiss for letting me whine to her repeatedly about how badly this chapter was kicking my butt, and to the rest of you for waiting so very patiently with nothing but supportive words. XOXO

Find it on AO3 and FFN. Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: Killian Jones, the notorious Captain Hook, has been on a quest to kill the Dark One and avenge the death of his first love for over one hundred fifty years. But when he crosses the Evil Queen, he’s magically transported to New York City, a strange land full of fascinating wonders, the foremost of which is Emma Swan, a cynical single mother with no time for fairy tales, real or imagined. A Captain Swan Enchanted AU. (Captain Swan modern AU, Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance & Adventure. Rated T.)

Tags as requested: @timetravelingpotatoast, @piratesails, @storybrookeswans, @optomisticgirl

Emma waits until Granny returns with matching plates brimming with grilled cheese cut into triangles and piles of golden onion rings. She flashes a muted smile of thanks at the older woman, and Granny gives them a subtle smirk as she sets a glass ketchup bottle directly between their plates and disappears.

Emma snatches the bottle up by the neck and twists off the cap while she gathers her thoughts, unsure how much she wants to reveal. Killian watches her shake out a dollop onto her plate and then accepts the bottle when she hands it to him, studying it before proceeding to mimic her with an adorable amount of caution.

A tiny smile tugs at Emma’s mouth, but she briskly turns back to the matter at hand and clears her throat. As always, the first onion ring she touches is just shy of too hot to touch and just greasy enough to be tempting, and she dips it with a little sigh. “Walsh proposed,” she says quietly, taking a bite to give herself an excuse not to say anything else immediately.

The ketchup bottle pauses in midair, and she doesn’t need to see Killian’s face to know that he’s frowning when he sets it down with a soft thunk. “I see,” he says, sounding politely interested.

Emma keeps her eyes fixed on her plate as she eats. “Yesterday. Just before I met you and Henry at the library.”

Killian hesitates, as though trying to read her. “And you didn’t say yes?” he risks casually.

She glances up for a second at the tempting cakes and pies on display in a Plexiglas case sitting across from them before her gaze falls back to her food, her lashes brushing her cheeks. “I didn’t say no.”

He waits for her to continue, forearms braced on either side of his plate, his food yet untouched.

Emma heaves a deep sigh and tucks a loose lock of hair over her ear. “I don’t have a great track record with men,” she admits, her gaze rotating toward the ceiling, “But…” She closes her eyes and scrunches up her face as she tries to figure out how to explain herself without showing too much of her hand. “Things were… rough… back when I had Henry, and I’ve worked really hard to be able to give him a normal, stable life with a home and a family,” she says haltingly, playing in the ketchup with her half-eaten onion ring. “And now I have Walsh, and he’s great, and this is supposed to be the dream, right? “ she asks, her voice growing earnest, "To have a nice guy want to marry you and be a dad to your kid?” She chuckles bitterly. “Only a crazy person would hesitate.”

Killian processes her words, his brow furrowed, a finger poking at one of his onion rings before picking it up to examine it. “He didn’t seem displeased this morning,” he points out, taking an experimental bite and then going back for more.

She laughs dryly. “Of course he didn’t,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Because he’s perfect like that.” The annoyance in her tone is poorly disguised.

Killian dares to grin. “You don’t like that he’s perfect?”

“I just said I was crazy.” She shoves the remainder of her onion ring vindictively into her cheek, chews, and swallows. “And the worst part is that Walsh knows that. He knows what a train wreck I am in relationships. But he’s just so patient. He never gets mad or worked up over anything.”

Killian hums. “And that bothers you?”

Emma pauses. “A little,” she decides, her brow wrinkling.

“Why?”

She bites her lip and blinks down at her plate, deep in thought. “I… I don’t know.” She toys with another onion ring and sighs. “Maybe because it proves he deserves better than me.”

Killian snorts, and she looks up at him sharply. “I realize we haven’t known each other long, Swan, but I seriously doubt that,” he says. “You may have been abandoned and suffer from a serious lack of trust, but you’re still a bloody brilliant woman.” He smiles quietly before looking away. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Emma flushes only a little at the compliment, instead shifting on her stool so she’s angled to face him, one elbow braced on the counter. “Who said anything about being abandoned?” she asks coolly, suspicion creeping into her voice.

He shrugs. “You’re something of an open book,” he tells her, popping another onion ring into his mouth.

“Am I?” she challenges.

He hums low in affirmation. “I’m spent many years in Neverland, home of the Lost Boys. They all share the same look in their eyes,” he says, tipping his head toward her and meeting her gaze shrewdly. “The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

Emma scrutinizes him back, desperately seeking a hint of dishonesty and, as always, finding none. Her heart pounds. Who the hell is this guy? And, weird fantasies aside, how is it that he seems to get inside her head so effortlessly? She’s worked hard to maintain her emotional armor, to build up her protective façade, and he just waltzes in and looks straight through it like it’s not there. “Yeah, well,” she turns away, perturbed, “My world ain’t Neverland.” She seizes a half-sandwich and tucks in, grateful when he doesn’t push the topic further and allows her to at least make a lame attempt to hide behind her grilled cheese.

Killian follows suit, sounding an indecent groan of approval as he contemplates the taste of the buttery, toasted bread and warm, gooey cheese. He makes quick work of it, boyishly wolfing his sandwich down with the enthusiasm of a starving prisoner of war.

Emma watches him eat, helpless to suppress a small, amused grin as he swallows his last bite and sweeps his thumb along the corner of his mouth to brush away a few errant crumbs that linger there in his scruff. “Good?” she asks.

“Mm.” He wipes his fingers on a paper napkin. “This realm does some excellent things with food.” He reaches for his coffee, his face splitting into a smile as the mug nears his lips. “Between that and the company, it’s quite the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he remarks with a wink.

There it is again – his uncanny ability to make her feel both gratified and self-conscious as a school girl. She chuffs, her cheeks pinking as she bemoans his stupidly attractive face and her stomach flips for the hundredth time. Truthfully, she’d spent as much time last night trying to banish her unwanted thoughts about Killian as she had freaking out about Walsh. Not that she’d mention that. To anyone. Ever.

Emma coughs weakly. “So. Fair is fair,” she announces, raising what remains of her grilled cheese to her mouth. “Now you know why I was up. It’s your turn.”

A tiny wrinkle mars the spot between his eyes, his jovial demeanor fading. “As you wish, love.” He dips his head in acknowledgement. “But allow me one more question.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” she chuckles with a little shake of her head, taking a bite.

“You don’t have to answer it.”

Emma pauses mid-chew and gives him a perplexed glance. He stares back at her calmly, and she swallows. “Fine.”

He taps a finger thoughtfully on the counter. “Could it be that the fact your man never gets upset bothers you because you want to know that he thinks your relationship is worth fighting for?”

That’s… that’s… Emma slowly crumples up her napkin and drops it on her plate. That’s… not crazy. She frowns, actually taken by how not-crazy it sounds. How could a man who knows so little of her have come up with such a plausible explanation so quickly? Walsh sometimes jokes that she’s his great enigma, but Killian… nothing about her seems to confuse him. Or deter him from saying things that make her heart flutter. “I… I think we’ve established that I’m terrible at knowing what I want,” she reminds him with a nervous laugh.

“Well, I know what you want,” Granny volunteers, walking up and pulling the apple pie out of the display case without waiting for an answer. “You want pie.” She shuttles their empty plates away and reaches for clean plates and silverware.

Emma gives a relieved chuckle, grateful for the distraction. There’s no doubt that Granny has been eavesdropping on their entire conversation – the woman’s ability to hear every word spoken in her diner is almost preternatural. “How do you know?”

“Because you, my dear, love my pie,” Granny points out matter-of-factly, not bothering to look up as she dishes up two pieces.

“You’ve also looked at that pie no less than five times since we sat down, Swan,” Killian adds with a knowing smile.

Emma swivels her head toward him incredulously.

Granny grins and hands them both plates, catching Emma’s eye and then shooting a pointed look at Killian with an expression that screams, “I told you so.”

Is the whole world conspiring to make her life more complicated? “Thanks, Yenta,” Emma says flatly, arcing an eyebrow at her traitorous old friend.

“Mm-hmm.” Granny hums triumphantly and walks away, completely unrepentant.

Emma gives a long-suffering sigh and shakes her head, reaching for her fork. “Anyway,” she says, “I believe it was your turn.” She glances down at the sleeve that hides Killian’s tattoo and then back up at him as she puts the first piece of dessert in her mouth.

Killian’s grin dissipates like smoke, the laughter leaving his eyes. He nods. “Very well.” He taps the golden, flaky, sugar-crusted surface of his pie with the tines of his fork. “Milah,” he says grimly, “Was the woman I loved.” A small, sad smile pulls at his lips. “She was beautiful and passionate and curious…” his voice grows nostalgic, “And I invited her to come see the world with me the first time we met.” He pauses a beat, lost in his thoughts, before he sucks in a breath and his thick eyebrows lift with regret. “But she had a husband,” he continues, his back straightening, “and a son, and she did the honorable thing and stayed with them.”

There’s the clink of metal on ceramic as he stabs the pie with his fork. “Her marriage, however, was not a happy one, and in the end, she was so miserable that she begged me to take her away.” He shrugs helplessly. “I was in love with her. How could I refuse?” He hazards a glance at Emma, his eyes shining with bittersweet memories. “I taught her how to survive out at sea, made her my first in command, and we sailed the world as I had promised. We had nearly ten years together aboard my ship, and they passed like a dream.”

After his first bite of pie, he clears his throat. "And then her husband found us,“ he says, his countenance darkening like a thunderhead. “But by then he was no longer a man. He’d been transformed into a being we call the Dark One, an immortal of immense magical power.” Deep creases appear on Killian’s brow. “I tried to protect her. I asked her to hide when I went to face him, but it was easy for him to overwhelm me, and when he threatened my life, Milah tried to strike a deal with him to spare it. In the end, he killed her – ripped her heart out and crushed it right in front of my eyes. And then he took my hand.” His voice is dangerously low now. He inhales slowly, steadying himself, his expression stony when he looks back up at Emma’s horrified face. “Pain is terrible, Swan, but sometimes it gives us purpose. I’ve spent a century and a half seeking revenge on the demon. I made my deal with the Evil Queen for the magic compass so that I’d have a way to locate the one weapon that can kill him.”

Emma’s eyes pinch warily. “Did you say ‘a century and a half’?”

“The magic of Neverland keeps its inhabitants from growing old,” he says with a grave smile. “And I was there at Pan’s mercy for a very, very long time.”

She fidgets in her seat. Convinced as she should be that the world Killian describes does not exist, none of this new information ought to give her any pause, really. But there’s still something incredibly unnerving about how easily he talks about his imaginary life - something about having this young, handsome, intelligent, charming man tell her that he’s over one hundred and fifty years old in the same tone he’d use to casually inform her of the time of day - that she finds increasingly sad. A little part of her has wondered from the start whether it could all be true, but the more time she spends with Killian, the more she wishes she could believe him and the more disappointed she is that she can’t.

Emma gives herself a mental shake and forces herself back to reality. She’s well-versed in disappointment. There’s nothing to do but move on. She wonders if she can get Killian to share something useful that will help her search for Milah’s obituary or death certificate, help her find the real woman behind his story. “Did Milah have a last name?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “No. Last names are not common in the region she was from.”

She tries again. “And her husband?” she asks. "What was his name? You know…“ she hesitates awkwardly, "Before.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” he growls, the word a quiet curse on his tongue.

Seriously? “Seriously?” She blanches. “The little guy who turns straw into gold and steals babies?”

Killian laughs so harshly that, for a moment, she has no trouble imagining him as a dreaded pirate captain, as Hook. “That barely scratches the surface, love. Whatever your stories say about Rumpelstiltskin, I seriously doubt they chronicle the extent of his dark deeds.”

Emma falls quiet for a bit, chasing the last few pie crumbs around the plate with her fork. Her mind is a muddle of confused thoughts, but one in particular begins to eat at her. “So, you’re telling me you’ve spent… all this time… wanting nothing but vengeance?” she asks at last.

Killian answers with a bereaved smile. “Everyone needs a dream, Swan. And Milah’s gone. What other dream do have I left?”

The way his blue eyes swim with mournful acceptance pulls at her heart, and he looks very different without the swagger and confident cheerfulness he normally exudes. Maybe she’s not the only one to wear armor. “That sounds like a lonely way to live,” she says quietly.

He seems surprised by her insight, the last vestiges of anger melting out of his expression as he blinks and licks his lips. “Aye.”

The vulnerability in his voice chips away at her self-control. Against her better judgment, she tentatively reaches out and gives his forearm a small squeeze. She hears his breath hitch ever so slightly at her touch, sees his eyebrows skyrocket, and for a moment she panics that she’s gone too far. Then his muscles relax beneath her fingers, and a look of solemn gratitude creeps over his face. Emma’s mouth crooks upward in return, and, his delusions aside, she starts to wonder if his miraculous ability to read her is simply a matter of one lost soul recognizing another.

* * *

The gemologist’s laboratory is a fifteen minute walk from Granny’s. Killian strides eagerly beside her as she leads him to 5th Avenue, passing half a dozen storefronts filled with jewels. Emma notices his awe as they pass each brightly-lit display full of sparkling stones. “They call this the Diamond District,” she informs him.

“No doubt why.” He imagines what his crew would do if confronted with so much temptation and shakes his head. “How do they protect themselves from thieves?”

Emma arches an eyebrow at him. “Getting ideas?”

He chuckles. “Hardly, Swan. Merely professional interest. When you work with other pirates, protecting one’s loot is as important as being able to acquire it in the first place.”

She rolls her eyes. “They have detailed security systems – motion detectors, advanced safes, surveillance cameras, you name it,” she explains. “Successful robberies from stores like these are few and far between.” Emma snorts. “Honestly, the biggest thefts that happen in this city are committed by bankers on Wall Street. Power and corruption is kind of a classic combo.”

Killian hums resentfully. “Now that is a concept I understand all too well.”

Though the building Emma takes him to is ornamented and grand and towers above most of the others on the block, inside, the office of the appraiser is a relatively small, much more modest-looking space characterized by utilitarian surfaces in white and gray. They enter a small waiting area, and Emma points Killian toward a handful of cushioned chairs along one wall. He obliges and watches her approach the woman seated behind the tall counter opposite him.

“Hi,” she says, “We have an appointment? Emma Swan.”

The woman gives a courteous nod and murmurs that someone will be right with them. Emma retreats to the chair next to him, unzipping her jacket and crossing her legs restlessly. Glancing sideways, she plucks a glossy booklet off the small table next to her and begins to leaf through it, only to come across an article about engagement rings that prompts her to toss the booklet back down and shift uncomfortably in her seat.

As though her discomfort is catching, Killian’s knee begins to bob. He swallows and forces it to still. He’s being ridiculous. He shouldn’t care about Emma’s relationship. It’s none of his bloody business, after all. No matter how high his regard for her, she’s only a friend, a passing acquaintance. Her past, whatever the details, has clearly left her world-weary and skittish, and he sees nothing surprising about her hesitation to accept Walsh’s proposal. He sighs inwardly. There’s no doubt in his mind that Walsh is getting the better end of the deal, but Emma’s boyfriend seems a decent man nevertheless, and Killian cannot fault her desire for a stable father figure in Henry’s life. She’s trying to do right by her son, and he deeply respects that. Gods help him, it’s more than his father ever did for him and more than he and Milah ever managed to accomplish for Baelfire.

Milah. His gut twists with guilt. He’s thought of her infrequently since his arrival in New York, preoccupied as he’s been with Emma and Henry and the marvels of this place. After countless nights staring out across the waves or up at the beams above his berth wondering if he’ll ever be able to truly let her go, if there will ever be a time in his life when her face won’t haunt him, this, this feels like the closest he’s ever gotten. But as much as he’s resented being held captive so long by her memory and the ache of missing her, it occurs to him now that gaining his freedom probably means allowing the last piece of her (and a big piece of himself) to die. Apprehension floods his chest. He wonders what moving on would do to his thirst for vengeance. After everything he’s done to pursue the bloody Dark One, could he find it in himself to simply give up his mission? What would be his purpose then? He glances sadly at Emma. What other dream does he have left, indeed?

A weighty-looking gray door hung with the seal of the Gemological Appraisal Laboratory of America swings open at one end of the waiting area, and short, stout man appears. He has a mop of wiry silver hair that sticks up in places, a bulbous nose, and large ears, and he wears a mossy green sweatervest. “Emma Swan?”

Emma pops out of her seat, and Killian follows.

The little man smiles up at her and shakes her hand. “Hal Johanson. Come on back.”

He leads them to an office with a wide desk laden with devices. Killian recognizes a computer similar to Emma’s sitting next to a tall, odd-looking contraption with dual eyepieces. A giant lamp on a long, jointed metal arm is also present next to the computer, and officious documents line the walls. The nearest to him is emblazoned with the words “New York University” and confers Halstein Johanson with a Doctorate in Mineralogy (whatever that means).

Emma, too glances, at the wall hangings. “That’s a lot of diplomas and certificates,” she chuckles. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were over-qualified.”

Hal smiles, settling himself into the seat behind his desk and motioning for them to assume the chairs opposite him. “I’m a retired mineralogy professor, but retirement was boring, so I do this part-time now.” He shrugs cheerfully, taking an audible sip from a coffee mug that features a photo of him and a little copper-haired girl making silly faces and labels him “World’s Best Grand-Pabbie.” “What can I say? I love rocks.”

Emma’s mouth quirks into a charmed smile.

“Speaking of which,” he continues, “I believe you have one for me to look at?”

“Aye.” Killian pulls the Sea Star out and passes it across the desk.

Hal’s dark eyes grow round as dinner plates. “Holy…” His lips part in bewilderment, bushy eyebrows knitting together as he stares down at the gem in his hand and then up at them.

Emma tenses and sits forward in her seat. “Do you think it’s real?” she asks.

The old man holds the jewel so close to his nose that his eyes nearly cross and turns it slowly around, examining it from every angle. “Very,” he mutters at length, nodding eagerly. “Where did you get this?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Killian can see Emma pale, and he takes her look of misgiving as a hint that he should avoid telling the tale of his battle with the sea hag. He offers Hal an easy smile. “It was in an underwater cave,” he replies lightly.

“Where? Australia?” Hal scoots his chair over to the device with dual eyepieces and presses a switch on one side. A small but very intense light shines to life in the center of the machine, bathing a square black platform below in its glow. The professor glances at Killian questioningly before setting the opal down on the platform and leaning forward to peer down through the lenses.

Killian turns his head to Emma, who manages a subtle nod. “Uh, indeed.”

Hal adjusts a few knobs and whistles low. “This is the most amazing opal I’ve ever seen in person,” he breathes. “I can see why you’d think it might be synthetic, as big as it is,” he continues without lifting his gaze, “But this is most certainly the real thing.” The corners of his eyes pinch with joy. “Just gorgeous. Look at this play of color… And the brilliance… Lovely floral pattern…” He sighs elatedly. “I need a few more minutes to be sure, but there don’t even appear to be any faults in it.”

“Faults?” Emma echoes.

“Em, imperfections,” he clarifies, shifting the stone slightly on the platform to examine another section. “Cracks, patches where the color is missing, gray or brown lines running across the surface, that sort of thing.”

Killian leans forward. “It can crack?” he asks, his face growing intent.

“Oh, yes.” Hal’s head bobs. “Opals are more fragile than most gemstones,” he explains, shifting the jewel again. “They have about the same hardness as glass. It doesn’t take much to scratch or damage them. You have to take some care.” He pauses his evaluation long enough to fix them with a stern look. “You must avoid abrasive cleaners or chemicals. And you must never, ever put this in one of those ultrasonic jewelry cleaners. A crack in a stone such as this wouldn’t just dramatically decrease its value, it’d be a travesty,” he shudders.

Killian nods slowly, not understanding all of the words the man is using, but getting the general idea. He swallows, a wisp of hope rising within him. The stone is prone to scratching and cracking, just like glass, and while scratching or cracking the stone is a far cry from destroying it, the news still bodes well.

“Now,” Hal says, pushing his chair back from the desk. “I suppose we should get to the information you really want.” He smiles knowingly and pulls the Sea Star out from his machine. “Let’s figure out what this beauty is worth, shall we?” He hefts it in his hand, his face shining with excitement. “I wager this stone weighs…” his eyes narrow, “250 carats. Give or take.” He sets the Star atop a small machine with a round metallic surface and presses a button, crowing triumphantly as a number appears in a small window. “257.8! My stars!” The little man cackles with delight, reaching for a pen and scratching out a calculation on a piece of paper.

Killian forces a wooden smile. As a pirate, the monetary value of the stone would ordinarily be the only thing he’d care about. But he already knows what the Sea Star is truly worth – thousands of innocent lives – and even he is willing to recognize that no amount of treasure is worth that cost.

Hal completes his scribbles and taps the tip of his pen to the paper resolutely, his expression euphoric. He retrieves the opal from the scale and stares at it dreamily, a happy sigh escaping his lips as he holds the paper out to Killian between the fingers of his other hand. “If you’re feeling generous, a piece like this really belongs in a museum. You could consider loaning it out,” he tells them, climbing to his feet. “Allow me to take some pictures and type up the official appraisal, and you two will be ready to go.”

Killian voices his thanks as he grasps the slip. Hal turns and gets to work while Emma leans over to get a look at the paper. Killian can hear her sharp intake of air, and her wide green eyes stare in disbelief at the large figure underlined at the bottom.

$39,500

* * *

It’s real. It’s really real. Emma’s mouth goes dry when the gemologist proclaims Killian’s stone to be the genuine article. Not since he produced the little satchel of gold last night has she felt so confused about who this man claims to be. A handsome man with oddly detailed delusions and a pirate costume is one thing, but a man with those things who also rides a horse, fights like a bar room brawler, and carries tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of gold and precious stones in his pockets? Henry’s voice rings in her ears:

You know there’s something to this.

As she and Killian ride the elevator back down to street level, Emma takes one last look at the official appraisal document before folding it up and stuffing it back into the envelope.

Killian eyes her with concern. “Are you alright, love? You seem vexed.”

“Hmm?” She does her best to wipe the dazed look off her face. “Oh. No. I’m fine.” She hopes the small smile she offers him is convincing. She can tell by the doubt in his eyes that it’s not, but he doesn’t press her.

For once, she’s relieved when her cell phone rings, though her stomach drops when she sees Walsh’s name on the display. The elevator doors part, and she leads the way through the lobby toward the main entrance, trying to camouflage her impatience as she puts the phone to her ear. “Hi.”

“Hi, honey. I’m glad I caught you. Is this a bad time?”

As stressed out as she is, she manages a tiny smile for Killian when he strides ahead to pull the door open for her. “No, it’s fine. What’s up?”

“Okay, so, I’m an idiot, and I locked my keys in the car,” Walsh says, sounding chagrined. “You’re, um, you’re good with locks, and I thought you might know what to do.”

Emma’s heart stutters. Walsh knows she can pick locks, but she’s successfully kept her ability to break into cars (and her history of stealing a certain yellow bug way back when) under wraps. “Uh…” Her face contorts into a conflicted mask and she winces, biting the bullet as she and Killian cross the street to the parking garage where they left her car this morning. “Yeah. Yeah, I can get it open for you.”

“You can? You’re the best.” Her boyfriend’s voice rings with relief. “Sorry. I would call Triple A, but I don’t know how long they’d keep me waiting, and I left a catalog in the back seat that I really need for a client meeting at four-thirty.”

“No, no,” she says, frowning as she dismisses his apology, “Um, it’s fine.” She glances with uncertainty at Killian, chewing on her lip at the prospect of another possible Killian/Walsh encounter before pulling the phone away from her ear for a split second to check the time on the screen. “Is half an hour okay? We’re just finishing up downtown.”

“We?”

Emma mentally recoils. “Uh, yeah,” she replies, doing her best to affect nonchalance. “I had to look into something for Killian, so we’re in Midtown.”

“Oh.” He sounds slightly put-out. “Well, yeah, half an hour is fine. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Sure. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Emma disconnects and stares at her phone with a huff. “Guess we’re making a detour,” she mutters.

“What’s the trouble?” Killian asks, reading her reluctance. He reaches toward the call buttons for the parking garage elevator with his outstretched index finger and looks to her for confirmation before jabbing the “up” arrow and grinning at the way it lights. The weight of Emma’s anxiety momentarily lifts as she tries to suppress an entertained smile. The man talks about hunting demons and has a hook for a hand, but he gets the same amount of enjoyment from pressing an elevator button as a three year-old.

Her reaction only causes his grin to widen, and it’s obvious he knows how charming he is as he stands there and beams, looking proud of himself for having made her smile. Emma feels a flush rising in her cheeks, and she ducks her head hurriedly to try to hide the beginnings of a dopey grin. “Um, Walsh accidentally locked himself out of his car, and he needs help getting the door open.”

The elevator arrives with a ding, and he motions for her to go first, as always. “You keep a key to his car?”

She trods inside and turns around, thrusting her hands into her pockets while he moves to stand beside her. “Not exactly.”

Killian indicates the correct floor button with a questioning glance, and she nods and watches him press it with a flourish, his look of satisfaction only slightly more restrained this time. The elevator whirs into action, and he turns to her, awaiting further explanation.

“I’m… good with locks,” she admits.

A scandalous smile spreads across his face, and she forces herself to look away before she mirrors his expression or begins to contemplate how well he pulls off the sexy bad-boy vibe.

“I knew there was a little pirate in you, Swan,” he announces proudly.

She chuffs, gaze falling to the toes of her boots while she tries to ignore the entirely inappropriate flutter of pride in her chest. “Yeah, well, seeing as how breaking into places is generally frowned upon by the authorities, it’s not something I like to advertise,” she says, “even if it does come in handy for work sometimes.”

He chuckles knowingly, and she doesn’t miss the admiration in his eye as she exits the elevator and hastens toward the Bug.

Emma gives an exaggerated sigh and rolls her eyes, the side of her mouth twitching. “Come on.”

* * *

Emma’s beau, it turns out, owns a furniture store. Killian is unsure whether to be amused or disgusted that such an exciting woman is paired with a man with such a mundane livelihood.

Emma guides the Bug into a parking lot at the rear of the shop and pulls into an empty space. She gives him the side-eye as she cuts the engine. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay here while I take care of this, can I?”

“And miss the chance to watch you work, Swan?” he scoffs, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. “Never. Besides, I should think that our little adventure this morning would have earned me some credit.”

She huffs. “Fine. Just… behave.”

They climb out of the Bug, and Killian throws her a wink over the top of the car. “No need to worry about me. I’m always a gentleman.”

“Except for the whole pirate thing.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, darling.”

He waggles his eyebrows and grins at the little chuckle that escapes her as she slips around to the front of her vehicle and pops open the boot. Instead of her first aid kid, this time she retrieves a long flat strip of metal with two small cutouts on one end that make it bear some resemblance to a key.

Killian cranes his neck to get a better look. “What’s that then?”

“A tool of the trade,” she answers, her eyes flashing cool admonishment in a way he shouldn’t find beguiling, but does. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Emma marches over to a dark green car parked in a spot labeled “Employees Only” and, using both hands, guides the metal down along the driver’s window and into the door. Her brow furrows in concentration, and he watches, fascinated, as she positions her tool by feel. A few seconds later, she jerks up on it with a satisfied grunt, and the metal pulls free. The car door opens easily when she tugs on the handle, and Killian chuckles.

“Brilliant,” he declares with approval.

Despite Emma’s clear effort to ignore his compliment, he catches the subtle look of gratification that ghosts across her face while she runs her tool back over to the Bug. When she returns, she braces one knee on Walsh’s driver’s seat and ducks into the car with a little sigh in order to fish out a set of keys laying haphazardly on the passenger side. The move leaves him blinking rapidly at her shapely backside for a second, and as impure thoughts of Emma Swan being bent over for other reasons flare to life in his imagination, Killian chastises himself by clenching his fist until his wound screams in protest.

Thankfully, Emma appears oblivious to his torment as she withdraws from the car and pushes a button on the inside of the driver’s door. The whole vehicle resonates with a dull mechanical click, and she hauls open the door to the back seat to pull out a thick book with the picture of a sitting room on the cover. ��Mission accomplished,” she sighs, giving it a little wave.

Like its owner, the inside of the store is completely agreeable, with furniture pieces arranged in tidy vignettes throughout. Soft instrumental music plays from somewhere overhead to help create a tranquil ambience that Killian supposes must put customers in the mood to buy beds and sofas and other creature comforts. It strikes him as a terribly dull vocation, working in a place like this, but he supposes that regardless of his thoughts on the matter, if Emma really wants someone who embodies the quiet, stable life, she’s hit the nail on the head with Oscar Walsh.

“Emma!”

They look up to see the man himself coming toward them and grinning ear to ear. Emma smiles and holds the book out to him, her eyes widening a bit with surprise when he pulls her close and steals a quick kiss.

Walsh beams. “You’re a life-saver.”

Killian glances away, trying to ignore the way his gut twists at the sight of Emma kissing her boyfriend and inwardly snorting at the idea that this bloody amazing woman who spent her morning capturing a dangerous criminal instead finds praise for her ability to retrieve a furniture catalog.

Emma chuffs. “It’s nothing,” she says, handing over the car keys.

Walsh glances over at Killian and does a double-take, his mouth falling open and his eyes lingering on the hook. “Wow. That’s quite the, um…” he gestures up and down, “outfit.”

Killian straightens and cocks his head back, hand on his belt while he considers whether to take offense. His thoughts are interrupted by a female voice that comes from behind him.

“Ozzie? There’s a call for you from the warehouse. They need clarification on tomorrow’s shipment.”

Killian and Emma turn to see a pretty woman with blonde hair pinned elegantly atop her head and a sweet smile gracefully threading a path through a cluster of settees as she hastens toward them in a sleek white dress. Killian blinks. Though she carries herself with a very different air – demure and understated where Emma is straightforward and biting – the physical resemblance between the two women is striking.

Walsh flashes the woman a warm smile. “Okay.” He looks between the woman and Emma and gives a small start, as if remembering his manners. “Oh, Linda, this is Emma. Emma, this is Linda, my assistant manager.”

Linda’s dark blue eyes light with recognition. “Oh, you’re Emma!” She shifts the clipboard she carries to her left hand and reaches forward to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Emma returns her smile, looking slightly embarrassed. “You too.”

“I’ve got to take this,” Walsh says apologetically, giving Emma’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he heads off. “Back in a sec.”

Linda turns her attention to Killian, sizing him up with great interest. “Hi.”

He grins back. “Hello, lass.”

Emma clears her throat. “This is Killian,” she says hastily. “He’s a friend.”

“On your way to a Halloween party?” Linda studies his black leather enthusiastically. “You make an amazing pirate.”

Killian executes a courtly bow at the waist. “Why thank you,” he chuckles, meeting Emma’s slightly strained expression with a wink. “I do try.”

Linda turns to Emma. “I hear Ozzie talked you into the costume ball tomorrow.”

Killian’s ears perk up, and he tilts his head, one eyebrow inching upward as Emma buries her hands into her back pockets and gives a polite little laugh.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Are you going?” Linda asks Killian.

“I must admit this is the first I’ve heard of it, lass,” he says modestly.

She hugs her clipboard to her chest. “Oh, it’s really lovely. It’s the Storybook Costume Ball down at the Woolworth Building. All the proceeds go to a charity that buys books for hospitalized kids,” she gushes. “Do you dance?”

Killian chuckles modestly and scratches the back of his head. “On rare occasion.” He shrugs lightly at Emma in response to the way she narrows one eye at him in surprise.

“Would you care to go with me?” Linda’s eyebrows angle upward. “I mean, not to be forward or anything. Just as dance partners. I was supposed to go with a friend, but he’s come down with the flu and can’t now, and I’ve been looking forward to it all year, and you,” she waves her hand in his direction appreciatively, “you’ve already got the perfect costume and everything.”

Killian hesitates. The thought of spending an evening watching Emma and Walsh arm-in-arm at a ball makes his insides churn, but Linda’s lovely face begins to falter at his lack of an immediate answer, and he finds he hasn’t the heart to say no. Liam always did tease him about having a soft spot for damsels in distress. He gives her a reassuring nod and a gentlemanly smile. “I would be happy to.”

Her face brightens immediately. “Really? Oh that’s wonderful!” She turns to Emma. “Perhaps the four of us could go together.”

“Uh…” The grin on Emma’s face is at odds with the tension Killian sees in her shoulders. “Sure.”

Walsh returns, striding up to Emma’s side and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Sorry about that,” he says breathlessly. “What’d I miss?”

“Killian’s agreed to stand in as my date for the ball,” Linda reports excitedly. “And we were thinking perhaps the four of us could ride together.”

“Oh!” Walsh’s expression is momentarily unreadable. “Um, that’d be fine, honey, right?” He glances at Killian before gazing down at Emma.

“Yeah.” Emma flashes her boyfriend a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes but which seems to placate him nonetheless. “Sounds good.”

* * *

The car doors slam in quick succession as Emma and Killian settle themselves back in the Bug, and she heaves a small sigh, inserting the key into the ignition and turning over the engine.

“Swan?” Killian eyes her from the passenger seat. “Are you alright?”

She preoccupies herself with backing the Bug out of the space, craning her head over her shoulder. “Sure. Fine,” she replies brusquely.

A line appears across his forehead. “Should I not have said yes?” he asks, peering at her curiously. “Do you not want me to attend?”

“No! No.” She shakes her head, desperately wishing the brew of unidentified emotions roiling inside her would disappear so she would know she was telling the truth. She makes a show of checking her surroundings while putting the Bug through a three-point turn, twisting in her seat to avoid the intensity of his gaze. “It’s fine. It was nice of you to agree to go with her.”

She can see him nod slowly in the corner of her eye as she pulls up to the street and checks for oncoming traffic.

“Do you not want to go?” he guesses.

“I…” she merges on to the street and points them toward home, “I just don’t understand the big deal with these things,” she says. It feels like a safe confession. “I mean, I know it’s supposed to be fun and romantic and whatever, but it’s just a night out in a poofy, ridiculous dress and shoes that are going to kill my feet while I try not to step on Walsh’s toes.”

Killian chuckles as she slows to a stop at a red light. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he concedes. “Why agree to it in the first place then?”

Emma tips her head back a bit against her headrest and sighs. “Walsh thought it sounded like fun, and I felt guilty about saying no,” she explains wearily, giving him a rueful sideways glance. “He shouldn’t have to miss out just because I’m not into romance.”

Killian hums, and she tries to ignore the slight tingle the sound sends down her spine. “Or maybe you just haven’t figured out what you find romantic,” he muses. “Romance isn’t about fancy balls and pretty gowns, Swan.”

Her brow wrinkles as she shoots him a dubious look. “First the true love thing, and now you’re schooling me on romance?” she observes wryly.

He shrugs, dimples showing.

The light turns green, and she focuses back on the road, lip between her teeth. “Fine,” she says at last, the word wrenching free from her. “I’ll bite. What’s it about?”

She hears him take a deep breath. “I think,” he says slowly, “it’s about feeling special.” His tone turns almost shy. “It’s about letting someone convince you that your happiness matters.”

Emma tries to tamp down the warm flush that blooms in her cheeks while his words sink in. “That’s all?”

“That can be everything,” he murmurs. He shifts a little in his seat and clears his throat, his tone normalizing. “Don’t aspire to be like every other woman in the room, Swan. The things that make you different,” he says, turning his head away to stare out the passenger window, “are the things that make you exceptional.”

Emma glances over at him with wide eyes and looks back at the road ahead of her, glad that he doesn’t see how she swallows her heart back down and hastily blinks away her reaction to his sentiment.

Henry is camped out on the sofa playing video games when they arrive home. He perks up at the sound of the door and whips his head around, Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader freezing mid-battle on the TV. “Hi! Where’d you go?”

“To catch a villain, lad,” Killian calls cheerfully, following Emma over the threshold and pressing the door shut behind them. He holds his hook aloft to her. “Shall I take this downstairs?”

She pauses as she shrugs out of her jacket, her gaze flitting between the steel and his face. There’s almost no contemplation before she rolls her eyes. “No, I guess it’s fine.” She finishes tugging her arm out of the sleeve and thrusts her jacket over a coat hook, trying to ignore the way a genuine smile brightens his face. Emma hastily dips her head and hides the tiny grin tugging at her lips behind the veil of her hair as she leans forward to draw her gun from her waistband and goes to secure it in the safe. “Just try not to scratch the furniture, okay?”

“Did you get the bad guy?” Henry asks eagerly.

“Indeed we did.” Killian comes over and settles himself on the sofa with a satisfied sigh. He gestures toward the frozen image on the flat screen. “What are you doing?”

Henry unpauses the game and resumes his fight to the death. “Getting the bad guy,” he smirks.

Killian stares, fascinated by the animated carnage as the two characters on screen slash and parry with their brightly colored weapons.

“It’s a game,” Henry elaborates, his eyes fixed and hands jerking the controller back and forth.

Killian arches an eyebrow and as he watches Henry’s fingers unleash an onslaught on the little plastic buttons. “You call this swordplay?” he asks, nodding toward the controller.

“Not swords. Light sabers,” Henry corrects. “But basically the same thing.”

Killian shakes his head, bemused. “You do realize real sword fighting requires actual skills, don’t you?”

Emma swings the picture back over the safe and turns to see Henry finally triumph over the Dark Side with a little whoop. He sets the controller next to him and turns to Killian. “Hey, it took me two weeks to beat that level,” he points out with a sniff. “Trust me, there were serious skills involved.” He ignores Killian’s snort and cranes his neck toward Emma. “Can we go now?”

Furrows crease Emma’s forehead. “Go where?”

“Uh, pizza at Marco’s? It’s Friday?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows and clearly indulging her lapse in memory.

“Oh.” Emma feels sheepish at having completely forgotten. “Right.”

Friday nights out at the neighborhood pizzeria have become a thing for them over the last year, a kind of mother-son date night. Henry loves the chance to stuff himself with a quality Brooklyn pie and play the “super retro” arcade-style games Marco keeps in the back, and Emma likes the idea of carving out some time each week to make sure she’s staying in tune with her kid as he plunges headfirst into adolescence.

Henry saves his game, switches off the TV, and hops up from the sofa. “Great. Come on, Killian.”

Killian straightens in his seat and throws a questioning look first at Henry and then at Emma.

Emma briefly considers the alternatives – canceling Friday pizza or leaving a hungry Killian to his own devices in her kitchen – before sighing and consenting with a weak smile and a tip of her head toward the door. “Wanna go?”

He beams and climbs to his feet. “Indeed. I go where you lead, Swan,” he says amiably, his smile growing brighter when she colors a little. “Just one thing. What’s pizza?”

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Places Dramaturgy: Romy Nordlinger @ Edfringe 2017

** ROMY NORDLINGER’S PLACES – THE STORY OF THE MOST FAMOUS BROADWAY AND SILENT FILM STAR YOU’VE PROBABLY NEVER HEARD OF - ALLA NAZIMOVA - TO HAVE ITS WORLD PREMIERE AT 59E59 THEATERS as part of EAST OF EDINBURGH BEFORE TRAVELING TO EDINBURGH FRINGE **

NEW YORK, NY (June 13, 2017)

Yonder Window Theatre Company and

Parity Productions are thrilled to announce that writer/performer Romy Nordlinger’s Places is among the selected performances for this year’s East to Edinburgh at 59E59 Theaters.

At the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Places is playing at the New Town Theatre (Venue 7).

The performance dates are August 3rd -14th and 16th -27th at 5 pm.

Places will play 6 performances in July before traveling to Edinburgh, Scotland for the 2017 Fringe Festival where it will have 25 performances over the month of August (4th - 27th).

Places, a tour-de-force one-actor multimedia show, tells the story of Alla Nazimova, the rule-breaking lesbian Broadway and Hollywood legend. From a Jewish immigrant fleeing Tsarist Russia to Hollywood’s first female director and producer, Nazimova was a trailblazer who wouldn’t be silenced.

What was the inspiration for this performance?

I was performing a short piece that I wrote about Alla Nazimova in a collection of pieces about great actresses from our past who might otherwise be forgotten. I was absolutely awestruck by Nazimova, her character, her harrowing and triumphant story and her amazing accomplishments.

She was at one time the highest paid actress in Hollywood’s silent movies and had a Broadway theatre named after her. She was also the first female writer, director and producer in Hollywood.

A trailblazer who was incredibly outspoken and openly bisexual, her mansion on Sunset Boulevard coined ‘The Garden Of Allah” became the watering hole for the great luminaries of literature and the performing arts such as F. Scott Fitzgerald and Greta Garbo and a haven for intellectual liberty and freedom. It also was the setting in which the term the ‘Sewing Circle’ was born; an acronym for her all women’s lesbian gatherings. Where did her story go?

Why was she virtually erased from the history books and how could we forget such a giant? In writing my solo show about Nazimova, I was determined to set the record straight and to tell her magnificent story. We are all the stories we tell and an artist is only dead when the last person to remember them dies.

Is performance still a good space for the public discussion of ideas?

To me theatre will always be the most powerful of all medias. The immediacy of being together in one room at one time and sharing our humanness, our stories, is a transformative experience. I’m not saying theatre is always good, but the very act of assembling together and telling our stories live is cathartic.

Abstract ideas and news are very important of course, but in theatre one is able to feel, to empathize, and most importantly to share the human condition out loud and together. In our increasingly polarizing society, theatre is more important than ever – telling our stories out loud and live.

How did you become interested in making performance?

I am interested in the human condition. I feel less alone when I can express my feelings, and hear other’s feelings expressed. I feel most alive when I write, when I act. This propels me to make performances – the sharing part of it.

Is there any particular approach to the making of the show?

I read everything about Nazimova that I possibly could. Watched her movies, read her journals, looked at her pictures. I isolated quotes that she’d said that particularly struck me, moved me, and made me feel that I understood her.

In the end, her story is an amalgam of herself and myself. As she was not here to interview, her story is told through the lens of my perspective.

Does the show fit with your usual productions?

I’ve primarily been an actress in my life and in the past six years began writing plays. The productions of the plays I’ve had are vastly different. This story is unique as it is a solo voice and it is multimedia. The characters I am writing about dictate the landscape of the play.

What do you hope that the audience will experience?

I hope the audience feels hope. I hope they feel less alone knowing that others long before them have triumphed over adversity, have spoken their truths, and have found strength even when they’ve been beaten down. I hope they feel jazzed to be alive knowing that every day is a chance to begin anew.

What strategies did you consider towards shaping this audience experience?

I wanted the audience to see this not as a ‘museum’ piece but a piece that was very relevant today. Nazimova was fighting the things in the 19th century and early 20th century that we are still fighting today, but alone and without a twitter account: sexism, racism, homophobia, ageism. I made sure to juxtapose her life through the lens of her being an all seeing ghost who is able to peer into the life of the 21st century and reflect on the past and present simultaneously.

As Nazimova says, “By opening our eyes to the past, we are better able to see our present.” I also wanted to include the cinematic look of her life with the multimedia elements of the play. As she was a film star and director and so much of her life was on screen, it was vital to use the same mediums to tell her story – the story and visions that were brushed under the rug because they were so ahead of her time.

Nordlinger’s solo performance reimagines one of the most daring and censored artists of the 20th century who tells it like it was… and still is.

Long before innovative and outspoken performers such as Madonna and Lady Gaga, the world was enamored of Nazimova.

“Telling Alla Nazimova’s story is relevant now more than ever as we face a new age of civil liberties being under attack, a backlash against women, against the LGBTQ community, and against immigrants. If Nazimova could have faced those kinds of obstacles and still flourished, then it gives me faith that we can do the same,” says director and co-developer Katie McHugh adds, “If we could call the voices of our past to come back and speak to us, Nazimova would be on the top of the list. What is happening now in our world is an opportunity to listen to the predecessors who paved the way for us as we strive for equality. ”

Nazimova was born Adelaide Yakovlevna Leventon, the daughter of an abusive father. Facing persecution for her Jewish heritage and having lived in foster homes, she finally found her true home with the Moscow Art Theatre and Stanislavsky. She adopted the name Alla Nazimova and became a major star in Moscow and Europe before fleeing to America in 1905. Her Broadway premiere in November 1906 was in the title role of Hedda Gabler. Nazimova became a major success and box office draw, helping to launch the careers of Ibsen, Strindberg, and Chekhov as well as inspire the careers of others including Tennessee Williams.

Nazimova was open about her sexual preference, often to the chagrin of the New York entertainment establishment. She ultimately fled to Hollywood where, by 1917, she wielded considerable power and became the highest paid actress there. Not to be beaten by the ‘boys club,’ she formed her own production company—Nazimova Productions—to become the first female producer, director, and writer in Hollywood. Her production of ‘Salome,’ helmed by an all-gay cast, ushered in the birth of art cinema. But the homosexual themes and experimental filmmaking proved too forward for the 1920s, leading her to a reputation as box office poison and to her artistic demise.

At Nazzy’s mansion on 8080 Sunset Boulevard - dubbed the “Garden of Allah” - she hosted parties frequented by such luminaries as F. Scott Fitzgerald, Marlene Dietrich, Dorothy Parker, and Tennessee Williams. There she created her all women’s “sewing circle,” a term she coined to describe her infamous meetings of lesbian and bisexual actresses in Hollywood. Eventually, with the public and studios turning against her, Nazimova had no choice but to turn her Garden Of Allah into hotels and was eventually forced into obscurity. Her contributions to the film industry have since been recognized with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Places is a co-production between Yonder Window Theatre Company and Parity Productions and is made possible in part by the support of Jack Sharkey.

RomyNordlinger (Actor/Playwright) Selected credits: “Edna Hoffman” (VO role) in Florence Foster Jenkins dir. Stephen Frears, WOMG and The Ruthless Spectator (Web Series), Lancelot by Steven Fechter (The Woodsman) of which she is also in pre-production for the feature film & “A Separation”. Co & Guest starring roles on Law & Order CI (Officer Talbor), All My Children, Gotham, One Life To Live, plus numerous indie films. Selected theatre: "Rose"/ Shakespeare's Slave @ Clurman with Resonance Ensemble; Between Here and There @ New Perspectives; The Woman On The Bridge workshop dir. Ludovica Villar-Hauser; January dir Lorca Peress/Multi Stages, R Culture by Cecilia Copeland @ IRT, Stage Struck helmed by Mari Lyn Henry and The Society For The Preservation Of Theatrical History @ Snapple Theatre, The Players Club, Metropolitan Playhouse. Regional credits include Actors Theatre of Louisville, Wilma, Fleetwood Stage, Emelin. Playwriting credits include Liptshick @ FringeNYC , The Feeling Part with LoNyLa & The Playwriting Collective, Broadville @ Manhattan Theatre Source & her solo show Sex and Sealing Wax @ MITF. Romy is also an audiobook narrator and voice-over artist with over 200 titles to her credit as well as numerous international voice-over spots. Romy has also been a theatre-teaching artist for the past 15 years working with underserved communities in every borough of New York City. Member of The League Of Professional Theatre Women. Member of NY Madness, Resonance Theatre Ensemble, Flux Sundays and The Playwrights Gallery. B.F.A University Of Arts.

Katie McHugh (Director) is a New York-based director, teacher and producer of theatre with an MFA in Directing from The New School for Drama. She is the Founding Director of the Southeastern Teen Shakespeare Company, Co-Founder of the Teen Shakespeare Conservatory at the Actors Movement Studio, and Artistic Director of Yonder Window Theatre Company. Katie is an award-winning director who specializes in devised and experimental theatre. Selected New York directing credits: Euripides’ Medea at the New School for Drama’s New Visions Festival, and The List by Jennifer Tremblay in the New York International Fringe Festival 2012 (Winner of Overall Excellence in a Solo Performance). The List was chosen to perform internationally in the first Mexican Fringe Festival of San Miguel de Allende. After directing her second production in Mexico in February of 2015, Waiting for Goddreau preceded by Shut up Kathleen, Katie was named an Artistic Ambassador of the Mexican Fringe Festival San Miguel. She spent two months last winter in Mexico working on the third annual Fringe Festival as well as co-producing Enemy, an adaptation of Ibsen’s Enemy of the People directed by Emmy award winner, Dorothy Lyman at the San Miguel Playhouse Theatre. Her new theatre company, Yonder Window, made its maiden voyage this year with a multidisciplinary, multi-cultural, bi-lingual international production called The Dream Project, premiering at Muv arte, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. Katie is a five-time director for the Writopia World Wide Plays Festival sponsored by David Letterman, as well as a regular guest director with the NYU dramatic writing program. She also runs a program for young actors focused on auditioning for college called the Audition Prep Intensive and is a member of the League of Professional Theatre Women. http://ift.tt/2suSmD6

On Places, Adam Burns is the creative force behind the graphic and video elements. Nick T. Moore is the sound designer and composer. Places is production managed by Tamara Geisler and assistant directed by Jason Beckmann.

Yonder Window Theatre Company is a New York-based theater company focused on platforms for cultural conversations and exchange. Committed to connecting with artists around the world, each production is inspired by a specific culture. Stories are explored through workshops and laboratories, where artists can begin to experiment with their talents and ideas. Upcoming productions: The House on Poe Street by Fengar Gael, 14th Street Y, October 2017 and The Dream Project, Mexico 2018.

Parity Productions is the theatre company with a dual mission to create new work while ensuring that all its productions are comprised of at least 50% women and transgender directors, designers, and playwrights. The company has several lauded advocacy platforms specifically aimed at creating more opportunities for women and transgender artists. Upcoming productions: Teresa Lotz's She Calls Me Firefly and Gregory Murphy’s Household Words.

The Drama Desk Award-winning 59E59 is dedicated to bringing the best new work from around the country and across the world to premiere in New York. Their annual East to Edinburgh highlights North American companies and productions before they make the journey across the pond in the closest thing to Festival Fringe this side of the Atlantic.

Civil Disobedience is an international producing team and the on-the-ground producers of Places in Edinburgh. With a passion for ensuring that world-class acts find their place in the UK market and internationally, Civil Disobedience brings the finest talent from around the world to global stages, arts festivals, and events.

Places will run at 59E59 Theater (59 East 59th Street, between Park and Madison Avenues) on Friday, July 21st at 8:30 pm; Saturday, July 22nd at 6:30 pm; Sunday, July 23rd at 4:30 pm; Friday, July 28th at 8:30 pm; Saturday, July 29th at 8:30 pm; and Sunday, July 30th at 4:30 pm.

from the vileblog http://ift.tt/2rZW9oB

#Theatre #Blogger #visual art #Edinburgh Fringe #Experimental Critique

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