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suburbantimewaster · 5 years

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This is a drawing done by Bear1037 of Candy and Chris in Return of the Greek Gods Book 1. This is when Chris, wanting to hire a private detective, reunites with an old friend.

Chris opened the door to find himself greeted to the smell of bourbon and tobacco ash. An orange tabby cuddled up on the cushion of a torn up couch. A small TV stood in front of that very couch and an end table stood to the left of it with an ashtray on top and a half-finished cigarette. Dirty dishes that looked like it's been weeks since they've seen any use filled the sink and the trashcan looked like it hadn't been taken out in days with more trash piled on the side of the counter it leaned on while a rat nibbled on a piece of garbage. A desk lay near the back wall, covered with an outdated computer and stacks of papers, and a dresser lay to the right of it covered with worn out books and toys. In the middle of the room stood a woman wearing nothing but a towel that outlined her small, yet firm, breasts and lack of curves, stopping at her thighs, putting her bed back into the wall.

"Chris," the woman said with an arrogant smirk. "Long time no see."

"Candy?" Chris said, hardly believing his eyes.

"In the flesh," she said, taking a quick look at the mud on Chris's Armani suit. "I see you had a run in with my previous client."

"Your previous client?" Chris asked shocked.

"Typical rich shallow fat guy wanting to know if his equally shallow trophy wife was cheating on him," Candy said with a scoff.

"So, you're the..." Chris began hesitantly.

"'Ugly bitch?'" Candy said, getting some clothes out of her dresser. "Yeah, that would be me."

Candy didn't really look ugly to Chris. Sure, Candy's chestnut brown hair looked as if it needed a good comb, dark circles rested under her almond shaped emerald eyes, her round porcelain face looked slightly sunken and her fingernails looked like they'd been carelessly clipped, but she didn't look ugly. If anything, Candy looked more unkempt, as if she were trying to bring back the 90s heroin chic fad. Chris was about to tell her so until another question popped into his mind.

"How did you know I ran into that guy?"

"Simple, there's mud on your suit, yet not a single speck of dirt on your shoes," Candy explained in a tone as if she was explaining to a kindergartener that one and one is two. "So, you tried to avoid the mud only for my previous big wig client to speed through it in the parking lot, ruining your expensive suit."

"You figured all that out just by looking at the mud stain?" Chris said in awe.

"Just like I figured out that you're a psychiatrist in your residency, you love steak, despite consuming it being against your religion, you were on the football team in high school, you come from money and you don't have a single ounce of common sense," Candy said as she let her towel drop to the ground, putting her bare and skinny body on display. "And you sexually prefer men to women."

"Really?" Chris scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "Tell me, who was that guy who just walked out?"

"Some guy I walked into when I was getting the mail," Candy said nonchalantly as she searched through piles of clothes in her dresser drawer.

"So, you don't know anything about this guy?" Chris asked, walking to the cat. "And you let him in your apartment? Sounds like you're the one who lacks common sense."

"I know that he's in his early 20s, just started Medical School, works part time as a pharmacy tech and has a dog," Candy said, as if these facts were obvious while continuing to search through her drawers.

"How do you even know—?" Chris began, reaching his hand out to pet the cat only for it to hiss and scratch his hand.

Chris pulled back and cried out in pain.

"Yeah, be careful with Shere Khan," Candy said, getting clothes out from her dresser. "He doesn't like strangers."

"Now you tell me," Chris said, looking at the fresh scar on his hand.

As Candy was getting dressed, Chris noticed that, despite her fit tone, she looked a little bit skinnier than she should be. He found himself torn between his concern for her well-being and his curiosity about her intelligence.

"Most of what you said about me is right," Chris told her. "But you already knew about some of it from high school."

"You want to know how I figured out the rest?" Candy said, putting on underwear and a bra. "It's simple, you wear expensive suits that, judging from how well they fit you, must be tailor made, and loafers, which may look good but are a hassle to walk in, especially here. You're wearing them in this neighborhood, meaning you care more about your appearance than you do your life. Your hands look like they've never seen a surgeon's table, you're too young to already have your doctorate and you're the first client I've had that doesn't call me a bitch or tell me to shut up, meaning you find me psychologically intriguing." Candy said, putting on a pair of black skinny jeans. "As for your sexual preference, most guys stare at my boobs or my butt and get a hard-on. You're looking at my stomach and you're worried about my weight."

"I can't help it, you look like you belong in an anorexic health group," Chris defended and then another worry entered his mind. "Wait a minute, you mean you've done this before... with other clients?"

"Depends on the circumstances," Candy said nonchalantly as she put on a blood red tank top.

"Look, I get that you're some Sherlock Holmes deduction master," Chris said, folding his arms over his chest. "But even you can't know everything about someone just by looking at them." Then he finally let his concern show. "I mean, what if you invited a serial killer, a rapist, or a common thief back to your apartment?"

"My deductions must be off, because I thought you were here to hire me for a case not lecture me on the way I live my life," Candy said, taking the half-finished cigarette off the ashtray and placing it in her mouth.

"Well, I'd think that, as you pointed out to me, considering the neighborhood you live in, you'd be a little more careful," Chris argued.

Candy took a knife from the sink and threw it at the rat nibbling on garbage. Chris took a good look at the weapon. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as Chris saw that it hit the parasitic rodent right in the middle, as if she knew exactly where to aim.

"You were saying?" Candy said with a satisfied smirk as she smoked her cigarette.

"Point taken," Chris said, defeated.

"Candy Marino, Private Investigator, at your service," Candy said, as if she was rehearsing lines for a play. "You name it, I'll solve it, and it better be worth my time."

"Considering this apartment, I doubt you can afford to be picky," Chris remarked, putting his hands in his pocket and looking around.

Candy jammed her finished cigarette on the ashtray, favoring Chris with a smirk. "You're right, I can't," she said. "But there are other ways to make a client feel cheated. Just ask the fat guy who ruined your suit."

"Yeah, what was that about?" Chris asked, and then looked at the pile of money on Candy's desk. "Never mind, I think I have a good idea."

"Really, what do you think happened?" Candy asked with her hand on her hip, as if she was talking to a high-school kid that wanted to give their opinion on The Great Gatsby.

"He paid you to find out if his wife was having an affair," Chris began, pointing to the money pile on Candy's desk. "You took his money and said that she was cheating on him with the pool boy."

"Why the pool boy?" Candy asked.

"Classic cliché," Chris said, shrugging his shoulders. "A woman marries a man for money, finds herself to be unsatisfied and has an affair with the help, particularly the pool boy."

"Yeah, you would know," Candy said without the slightest bit of tact. "Except I said it was his gardener."

Chris fists clenched at Candy's statement but he kept his anger at bay.

"Still, quite impressive," Candy said gesturing as if it was no big deal. Though, for her, it probably wasn't. "For an amateur."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Chris said sardonically. "So, was I right?"

"The usual, ugly guy gets rich and marries a beautiful trophy wife with as much personality as he's got, which is absolutely none," Candy said, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the coffee table. "He thinks, eventually, she'll fall in love with his 'inner beauty' while he's off drinking, gambling and banging hookers. Then, his wife has an affair with the hot gardener and he gets mad at his 'shallow' wife." Candy put the cigarette in her mouth. "Then he comes in here, demanding the truth and expects me to sympathize with him and his hypocritical double standard." Candy grabbed a lighter and lit the cancer stick. "So, yeah, I'd say you were right on the money."

"Thanks, I think," Chris said, looking distastefully at the cigarette Candy recently lit. "Though, maybe you could've been a bit more tactful." He suggested and, hoping that he didn't offend her, quickly added. "If you don't mind me saying."

"I'm paid to find the truth, not to listen to people whine," Candy said, taking a puff. "Enough about a rich guy with delusions. Why are you here?"

"Well—"

"No, don't tell me," Candy said, her eyes filling up with wonder. "You've been having dreams about living in a simpler time of shepherds and tribesmen. Back when people believed in the pagan gods and sacrificed goats and sheep to them. You see shadows of your life, only it's not your life!" Candy made gestures as if she was telling a story around the campfire. "During the day, you go about your life, feeling this ominous presence looming over you. Is it a ghost? You wonder, or is a past life finally catching up to you?"

All Chris could do was stare at Candy as she recited the tale like a child coming up with a new playtime story. However, after she treated him like an ignorant child, it was amusing to see Candy acting like an imaginative one.

"Hate to destroy your fantasy, but that's not why I came," Chris said proudly.

"No, but you didn't deny it was happening," Candy defended, looking outside the window with the cigarette in her hand. "So, what did you come to me about?"

"Actually, it wasn't a problem I was facing," Chris explained slowly. "It's a problem with my dad's hospital."

"Don't care about that," Candy said, folding her arms under her chest. "Just want to know what the case is and it better be something good, like a murder."

Chris nervously laughed.

"I was serious," Candy stated coldly.

"Well, it's more of a hacker case," Chris began hesitantly as Candy put on her socks. "At least, I think it is."

"Why?"

"For the past three weeks, patients have been prescribed medications they're allergic to," Chris explained. "My dad thinks it might be incompetent doctors but, each time he asks them about it, they always claim that they didn't file for that medication."

"So, you're thinking cybercrime," Candy concluded while putting on her boots. "And you want me to find the hacker."

"I think it's a possibility," Chris admitted. "It wouldn't be the first time a hospital got hacked."

"You got that right," Candy said as she grabbed her black leather jacket hanging on a nearby chair. "Look up the hospital on your phone."

Chris only blinked. "Does this mean you're taking the case?" he asked.

"No, I'm due for a gynecology check up and I thought I'd change hospitals," Candy said sarcastically.

Even with Candy's more... abrasive behavior, Chris couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, I really appreciate that you're willing to help me out even with our... troubled past."

"Wow, self-centered much?" Candy said as she grabbed her keys.

Okay, so she wasn't doing this out of the goodness of her heart. In fact, he was starting to wonder if Candy's heart shrunk to the size of a pea since he last saw her. However, he did promise his dad a detective and, when she said she was the best of the best, she wasn't exaggerating her talents.

"So, we're taking your car?" Chris asked as he searched for the hospital on his GPS.

"Unless you'd rather ruin yours," Candy said, putting her jacket on.

"Good point," Chris said, looking at his filthy suit and wondering if Candy would let him stop at the Tailor's.

Candy opened the door and beckoned Chris to get a move on, but all he could do was stand there bewildered. "Come on!" she said to him impatiently. "What are you waiting for, a formal invitation?"

"We haven't seen each other since high school," Chris pointed out.

Candy gave an irritated sigh. "Yeah, your point?"

"So, don't you want to catch up?" Chris asked her, feeling angry and hurt at the same time. "Find out what we've been up to since we last saw each other?"

"You want to play catch up, we'll do it in the car," Candy told him harshly. "And, if you don't get moving, I'm leaving without you."

"All right, I'm coming," Chris conceded, following Candy out the door.

I hope I don't live to regret this.

#commission #deviantart #original characters #original fiction #candy marino #chris patel #return of the greek gods #mystery #detective fiction #private detective

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aheartofwood · 7 years

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the king arthur movie is SO BAD, guys.

imagine a baby and a kitten got together and tried to edit a movie with only the vaguest idea of arthurian legend based on the backs of the VHS of the disney version and also the lion king for some reason, and also the barest idea of how human brains can accept and understand editing and narrative. imagine a pretty good video game opening for 2001, but watched thru the haze of a really strenuous flu and it’s rented and ancient and was chewed up by at least two dogs so it’s glitching a lot. imagine a knight’s tale……………Reimagined™ (needlessly) by a team of randos who only speak italian and their ideas are being translated by jen from the IT crowd in that one episode where she pretends she can speak italian. imagine a movie with a budget of four dollars (except the budget was HUGE). imagine an opium dream within a dream of robert downey jr’s 2009 sherlock holmes where jude law becomes a boring, leathery king who has a bad habit of constantly sacrificing the silent women he supposedly loves to an undulating pile of lovecraftian horror water ladies that live in his shame toilet in his penis tower basement ONLY to super saiyan into a really bad DnD dude with a motorcycle-insignia-metal skull head and the torso of two The Rocks smashed together (sorry, The Rock) instead of (a much better) watson. imagine eragon, but somehow exceedingly, fremdschamenly, schadenfreudingly worse. not many things get both german expressions, in a gleefully terrible adverb form at that, but this movie——oh, THIS movie——-deserves them.

the letters of the opening credits roll (or creep?) across the screen. the kerning is bad. all the T’s have a phallic, buffylike, sword motif going on and it renders the names unreadable. the colors and the blurry shots look like something out of monty python. again, who hired this editor? who watched this movie, kissed their fingertips like an italian grandma, and gently set this eldritch horror adrift on the tides of eternity to be received with fear and loathing by millions of human eyes? the elephants from lord of the rings attack the bridge from legend of zelda, and that red flamey eye guy from eragon (mordred, for some reason, in a shake n bake wig) ?? or possibly from inkheart?? is defeated. remember, we know nothing about these characters. feel nothing for them. and the trend continues. katie mcgrath appears, of course, in her standard and splendid emerald green, and then immediately dies. none of the shots in the first 20 minutes of the movie match up, we go from scenes with several people to ultra close ups of faces—-it’s like the “mmmm whatcha say” SNL skit, but serious. the movie continues to not know if it’s playing itself seriously or if it knows how bad it truly is (how bad me be?)

finally we get ONE establishing shot of a sweeping wall (maybe? the camera never stays still enough to tell) and the audience (five people) grounds ourselves, sort of. we get a whip-fast, but not whip-smart, super evolution of arthur’s childhood, in which he shoves coins into a wall (see kids!!! if u just put YR COINS IN YR WALLS instead of BUYING GODDAMN AVOCADOS, U COULD HAVE A CASTLE!!!!) and hearkens back to his character in pacific rim, bc he’s just a scrappy, vaguely appropriative white guy that loves 2 fight stuff. oh, his mom is killed when he’s young ofc. charlie hunnam eventually fucks off to the island w the sword in the sort-of stone (none of the physics makes sense in this movie?? the sword in the stone dropped into a lake, but is now in a chasm on a different island which shows no sign of the ruins of arthur’s childhood town?? in the final fight scene, charlie hunnam is several floors up from scythe-y jude law, but then suddenly they’re fighting on the top of saruman’s tower scuse me at the whipping sea-level, then suddenly BACK IN THE TOWER bc i guess it wasn’t destroyed????? bc then it gets destroyed again??) of course, charlie hunnam is the One Man who can Grip the penis sword, even though in an interesting turn of events, They are Testing Everyone by shipping them in boats to the island (this seems like an egregious waste of resources). charlie hunnam got in this unfortch sitch bc i forgot, but the guy who put him on the boat chuckled darkly and said he was “”””getting on a different boat””””, but like, doesn’t everyone end up there?? it had the air of the DMV, on purpose, so why was this a threat? how did he avoid it for so long? are there that many people in the kingdom??? also, if i was him i’d straight up pretend i couldn’t lift it tbh and come back for it when They were getting donuts. oh, another inkheart thing—the BLONDE MOM SURVIVES (!!!??? somehow???? unexplained? she had a HOLE THRU HER BODY??) and maybe has memory loss or something and spends her days being somehow indispensable to jude law despite doing nothing but moving a plate.

i cannot explain the rest of the plot, because i do not understand it. charlie hunnam just EXPERIENCES things with a world-weary, almost kingly worldliness, despite flashing in between being an innocent farm boy who doesn’t wanna do anything and a self-assured wisecracking hustler. there are some good jokes about boring white dude names in a medieval setting, and no more humor forever is allowed in this movie or any movies ever again. a chris parnell lookalike with a hat says he can shoot 75 yards but not 175, then shoots 175 with absolutely no introduction/buildup/continuance/jokes and spends the rest of the film as robin hood. there are some other dudes?????? more women (the brothel ladies that rescue arthur from the river ((not unlike….the prince of egypt…..)) are killed to further manpain, including lucy, who is Special for an unexplained reason. jude law murders his daughter (i guess???), who has a russian name and a tendency to sit around and stroke birds and stare sappily out the window (i feel u, johanna). everyone is wearing medieval versions of suits. there are many iterations of snake, ranging from economy-sized snake to a Giant Fuckmaster Snake Mother. at least five cloaks are cast off. eric bana becomes a literal rock. everything has the vague, shuddering feeling of an improv show where everyone wants the final word/bit. there is grit, there is dirt, there is snake blood, and there is clanking. so much clanking. charlie hunnam is bravely hurling one-liners but no one is listening. what is the sound of only one hand on excalibur???? apparently not as powerful as…………T W O hands on excalibur.

the editing continues to be bizarre. they keep trying to do the inception thing where they talk about the plan while showing the plan, therefore (in inception, correctly) allowing us to get to the good parts, but there ARE NO GOOD PARTS or even parts at all and they don’t fully commit to the dang method anyway. the shining light of the film, an unnamed mage woman with good bone structure and sweet harem pants (and who COULD have at least been set up as morwen but was not) who can possess animals and also make a lot of dust fly around behind her, becomes charlie hunnam’s spiritual guide?? sort of?? maybe love interest??? she seems to have no interest in him or inhabiting the worldly narrative/plane of this movie. i do not blame her. anyway, she’s got the eagles from LOTR on her side. she dopes the shit out of charlie hunnam (again, why) with a literal snake and he solves his daddy/uncle issues (line @ jude law: “”””you created me”””””) in an incomprehensible nonlinear part of the narrative (she was captured, but i guess jude law let her go before hunnam got to the castle???? bc he’s Not So Bad After All? bc he was bored? eating a sandwich? fuck idk so she could have met him in the middle of fuck knows? i mean if they have medieval lyft or medieval twitter DMing or something??) also, he may or may not have gone to a ””””””DARK””””””””island, but he did NOT solve his daddy issues there. he did, however, fight some rodents of unusual size from the princess bride.

ok that is all the energy i have; this movie has sapped me, i am nothing in the great maw of its terribleness. other stuff happens. we have a happy ending, with 4/6ths of the Round Table built (literally and figuratively), and some Vikings conceding to charlie hunnam for no other reason than he’s a bro, i guess. line: how do u scam money out of a viking? u talk to them. SEE MILLENNIALS ALL U HAVE TO DO IS TALK AND PPL GIVE U MONEY or be born the true heir to the throne of (fake england).

the worst part is that i don’t understand how jude law, who is 44, looks the same the entire movie and watches as charlie hunnam, who is 37, grows up and eventually challenges him. eric bana, who is 48, doubtlessly had fictional charlie hunnam arthur at like 27-35, making jude law the same age in that fiction. i guess men can just ???? play any age????????? forever??????? honorable mentions: the soundtrack, jude law’s eyeshadow, and the preview for atomic blonde.

#long post #king arthur #i love arthurian legend okay #and honestly i loved this movie #from hate springs love

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hotforwalt · 7 years

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WWTD 095 - The Great Mouse Detective: Animated Rodent Movies

Disney's The Great Mouse Detective is something of an anomaly in the scope of movies we typically watch on We Want The D. On the one hand, it's made up almost entirely of conventional tropes - either from the animated Disney canon, the tales of Sherlock Holmes, or from the vast catalog of animated films about mice and other rodents. On the other hand, considering it came out in the 1980s, its also a breath of fresh air when compared to its other contemporaries from the House of Mouse. The animation is good (for the 80s), the story isn't too dark (for the 80s), the voice acting is above average (for the 80s) thanks in no small part to Vincent Price. The end result is a movie that is largely enjoyable, but still has a fair share of baffling choices and moments for our hosts to pick over.

Download the episode.

#we want the d #podcast #disney #movies #comedy

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perkoform · 7 years

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By Izaak E. Wolfe

PUPILS OF THE ALCHEMIST- Preface Authors Note: “Life is for those of us whom are already dead, and if you comprehend this notion, then you too must be stuck in the ‘ether’. In unison, many of your pseudo-peers may at once begin to nod their heads, attempting to hurry along whatever point it is that you’re trying to make, because using their own thoughts is usually too mentally taxing. Following an obligatory smile with a nod whilst sprouting gleaming pleasantries such as “oh yeah, I know exactly what you mean!” with not a thought in their skull but what they’re having for lunch. Autonomous white Rabbits full of hollow, all essentially doppelgangers: Clones cut from the same cookie-cutter cloth of which Lewis Carroll pulled the wool over Alice's eyes. The very same rodents that are oft caught ‘running late’ wasting precious seconds digging holes until they fall asleep in one, killing time until they drop. You will come to know them well. The kind of under prepared, over opinionated personalities that might read through every book in an entire library just to get to the end of every sentence, staring through ripe meaning and symbolic psychic puzzles, not to ponder, or provoke thought, and certainly not to explore the realms of scribes and oracles in a place that can never be defined: understanding words merely as distractions, the kind of mind that would buy a bar napkin if it were leather-bound just so they could say they've got it on their bookshelf. These are the dreamers. They rarely, if ever, awaken. I for one, have always been of the opinion that when free from the burden of earthly interruptions the human brain starts to unlock dream like visionary experiences, Deja Voo and insights far more significant in nature and depth than what can be found tossing and turning, blurred by the restrictions of ‘sleep’. " Charles Luna Foxx 2016

Chapter One

“The Heart that told no tales..” My smirk falls flat to molten hell. Disturbed by signs of life, I gasped to earth. “Ughh…” The phone was ringing. You can bet I was ignoring it. My breath smelt like I had spent Valentine’s Day French kissing an ashtray. Finding my own feet stumbling like a rigid rag-doll off my favorite chair; a heavy head was snatched from swollen hands. Temples pounding, Teeth grinding: Last night is stuck on that damned black-box flight recorder… Here, renegade neuro-terrorist’s commit espionage against their own life source. Receptor sites planning to pull the plug on grey matter that is the only thing integrating them with awareness. They will stop at nothing to destroy any and all traces of the last 24 hours. Direct orders from suits in the cerebral cortex were to “swipe magnets on the audio tapes”. Perhaps in the grip of some advanced interrogation, these sadistic rhetorical sabotage methods employed by our hideous obligatory enemies are indeed working, using some of the most effective tools of self-destruction that our hedonistic Universe has to offer, such as Amphetamines and Tennessee Whisky. Memory pulls a blank, and a glance around the study leads me to a solitary conclusion; this hangover is only just beginning to show its putrid mug shot. The stiff neck and near total absence of writing on the pile of pages beneath my jaw seems to indicate that I passed out colder than a corpse in the Arctic. It would not take the likes of “Sherlock Holmes” to conclude that I was neck deep in the narcissistic floodwaters of Moonshine misery, with not a bridge left to burn in my hearts splintered drought. After countless hours awake at the writing desk, with a brain so sore and sorry it all but caved in to intoxicant fueled hibernation: The empty bottle of Jack adjacent to my puddle of drool confirming this hypothesis. I greet today with a smile. A smile so big and fake that hopefully it conceals my gnawing sense of spite for all existence, or at least my dental plan. When I see the light it never hesitates to scorch my prying eyes, so I still wonder why people stare at shiny things like headlights to a frozen deer. Head spinning. Reeking of liquor, don’t know up from left on a compass, so bed ways is right ways right now. In a sloth like manner, I half tiptoe as if my own shadows footsteps were going to stamp out any hope that may be hiding, still virgin to the stench of bitter fate, in the far off shadows of a distant peaceful galaxy. So I tear the blinds shut, eat some sleeping pills, and before I could even say “fuck off world." BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP Slamming my fist against the ‘snooze’ button, I hissed as if there was someone listening: “..YOU KNOW I AM AWAKE YOU SADISTIC TIME KEEPING BEATBOX! Ughh!!”. With my face buried into my pillow, I try and think of one reason why I should get back out of bed. Whiskey is certainly not one of them. If I didn’t have college, I swear to GOD I would have thrown that fucking alarm clock out the window. I must admit, I became extremely depressed and aimless after the death of my father, and even though it was up to me to become the life blood of the family butcher shop (pun intended), I decided to shut the place down. I can barely get to sleep at night, especially not to wake up at 4 30 every morning to chop up bits of flesh and bone, elbow deep in entrails before midday. I couldn’t do it, and after the Dean tuned from a clockwork intellectual to madder than a fuckin’ hatter overnight... I’ve only been attending classes where the new girl sits opposite me. The rest of my lectures I frequently skip to “study” in the dark corners of the universities extensively cluttered library. It is more than coincidence that I have taken up a few of the classes that this enigmatic temptress frequents. From day one, it was apparent that she has an obsessive thirst to master any and all of the subjects she chose, with the outcome or topic seemingly being of a lesser importance to her than that of the process itself. So it was Anatomy, Biology, Chemistry, Taxidermy, Psychology, Latin, Surrealist Art, even the optional extracurricular sessions such as Cryptography and Journalism, 5 days a week. I don’t know why I didn’t drop out and get a job in the town Abattoir, the pay is good, and I don’t have a weak stomach. But I’m glad that I don’t live in that meat hook reality. Not wanting to miss a second of her company, even though we were strangers, I had a cold shower, got dressed, and hurried to the University, with a terrible headache, but the promise of a new day was not yet lost. I was haphazardly piecing together a port-folio, and I look up and our eyes met, and quickly flicked back to our “work”. There it came, and oh my, this was the first time I had heard her voice, and at once I was drowning in Ambrosia honey from the swarming beehive of my mind. “Hello” The beautiful stranger was smiling at me. “Have you seen the golden scarab??” she inquired under her breath, looking almost as if she had asked me the time… “..Oh I.. I.. Uh…I beg your Pardon?” She repeated once more, barely above a whisper. “Have you seen the Golden Scarab?” her eyes locked firmly onto mine. Unsure what she was referring to, shaking my head, “Sorry.” She blurted “Oh never mind. I was making an in joke, ha, I thought you reminded me of someone.. I’m mistaken.. How terribly rude.. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Veruka.” “Miss Veruka Luxx, I can assure you, it’s a pleasure to be met. I’m Arthur Lilly.” I replied, but she was already lost in her workbook, writing fiercely. I could read paragraphs from the corner of my eye, from where I was sitting. The paragraphs were describing in full an artistic process, subconscious snapshots, perhaps an indulgent outburst praising the randomness embraced by the paper game, “consequences”. The “Exquisite Corpse” method was used by William Burroughs and many before him. I overheard her mumbling, something about synchronicity, and something in a language I failed to recognize, whilst preparing a short film required for an assessment. My contribution was just footage of life-prisoners from Alcatraz, back before the rock was broken and became yet another unkempt piece of tourist crap floating in the San Francisco Harbor, I thought it was intriguing, In between 1943 and 1945 surgeons experimented on the murderers of murderers, the rapists of rapists, Lobotomizing the prisoners and then put half of the test subjects in isolation with food and water and half in a cell with a wilting rose in a vase and no drinking water. The lobotomized inmates with food and water refused to eat or drink or sleep until they died, using all conscious energy to claw at the walls.…The other half, refused to watch the rose die, every time the thorns were bare and the petals fell, wilted, the inmates burst into a fit of grief, crying their eyes out until their tears found the cuttings…. and the rose returned to vibrant health, bringing a smile to their face, and that, right there, soppy bullshit aside, the prisoners with roses managed to see the flower through its cycle, like clockwork, when those petals returned, those inmates were found dead with a smile on their face. I liked the contrast, but spliced the footage poorly and overdubbed readings from the novel “The Diving Bell and The Butterfly.” Everyone in class was looking through the projection screen behind me with a thousand yard stare, and “Thank you Mr. Lilly. Now Mr. West, Your presentation is up next.” Mr. Peaslee boomed from his desk as I returned to my seat. My eyes were back on the strange Veruka as my new accomplice lent forwards and said softly, “Alcatraz Island has some incredible wildlife, but that rose is one of the rarest in the world….. One of.” I nodded, “There are some divine books on all kinds of sacred ornamental plants in the Vulshwaltz wildlife section, I have to return some after class and choose my reading for the week. Perhaps you would like to join?” I said, as charmingly as possible. She looked me right in the eye “Really?!” she said with a wicked grin. “I’ve not been too welcomed by the other students… I’ve been so lost while trying to get to know the Campus that the Library has thus far been untraceable! I need a new friend who can show me around actually..” Veruka laughed, I was transfixed by lust and just as I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could stumble over even one syllable, the bell rang out and class had been dismissed. “Oh, what!? You haven’t seen the Vulshwaltz Library at all yet!?” “No! I hear it’s like a literary maze though. I’d be delighted to get lost in the ‘History’ section with you anytime you like! If you’ve got no plans for lunch, you could even take me there right now, Mr. Arthur.” Her smile was intoxicating. I grabbed my school satchel, and we walked towards the door. “Well Miss. Luxx, only a fool could refuse such an honest request! Right this way my friend.” And with that, we walked down the corridor. Her pupils were gleaming behind her glasses, but for a second as they caught the light, In my mind, a golden scarabs reflection, scurried away. We stood still for a second as we exited the halls and I took great delight in Veruka’s excitement as it was her first time in this room, seeing hundreds and thousands of books, billions of pieces of peculiar information bursting at the seams. Dusty, leather-bound manuscripts, with instructions to decipher every language and symbol that is of use to mankind and even a few hundred pages of thus far indecipherable ancient tongues or perhaps the quotes of modern day secret societies, encrypted in plain sight. There are countless impressive Libraries in the World, But there’s only one of the “Vulshwaltz Vaults”. The lights hang down from the ceiling in glass flowers, downward like Belladonna Atropa flowers. I’m not sure if the “Deadly Lampshades” are there because of the irony, that old saying that everyone who works in a Library goes “mad as a Hatter”, or simply because the architects of our massive University had some, dare I say, questionable influences? “oh my goodness! Those Nightshade light fixtures are something out of Bella Lugosi’s wet dreams! Ahah!” Miss Luxx grinned in astonishment. “One almost wishes they were real, except for the fact that we would all be dead!” A cold, stern voice hissed back “They ARE real” the voice continued “and you ARE dead precious.” Of course, I knew this voice to be our very own, very proud, and equally VERY strange Librarian, Mrs. Nancy N. Escher LaTrisk. “I’m sorry?” Veruka said slowly. “The Flowers are real. They’re as real as any other lampshades, don’t you know?” Explained Mrs. LaTrisk, taking a sip of her tea “and you must be dead my dear! The last of Mr. Peaslees’s students never got to see graduation because they were all bored to death!” she said, turning the hourglass on the desk in front of her upside-down. “Mr. Arthur Lilly! I was under the impression your mother taught you manners!” Mrs LaTrisk was smiling at me. “OH! Of course! This is my new classmate and I’d have to say I’d take her as a friend over most of the chaps, Miss Veruka Luxx! I see you’ve spotted our humble Librarian, Mrs. LaTrisk!-“ “My name is Nancy Neri Escher LaTrisk, The boys call me Mrs. LaTrisk, But you can call me Nancy darlin’, Seeing as I’ll be calling you by your first” There was an awkward silence, at which point Mrs. LaTrisk drank some tea and exclaimed “anyway, Busy busy, always work to be done..” and she turned her attention to a copy of ‘Hidden Faces’. “oh yes, Mr. Lilly, your order arrived yesterday. It’s on my desk next to the typewriter” A brown paper satchel contained my new copy of ‘The Strange case of Dr. Jeckll and Mr. Hyde’. “Magnificent! Gracious Mrs. LaTrisk” “Righto, Well.. my oh my.. strange woman. Arthur, Is there anywhere we could sit and talk in private?” Miss Luxx blinked rapidly as a cool breeze swept through the room. As we walked deeper and deeper into the cacophonous life sized maze that Mrs. LaTrisk refers to as the “Bermuda of Books”, we found ourselves indeed lost in the history section. Veruka was pointing out a small window in the wall; she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small gold telescope, and beckoned me to have a look, directing my gaze to a plume of smoke funnelling out of a chimney in the most beautiful house on mount Titan. “Exquisite telescope Miss. Luxx, Where did you get it?” I said, intrigued. “Oh this is one of the smaller ones; I have a collection of telescopes in my study.” She looked through the eyepiece “I like to keep the fireplace on while I’m at Vulshwaltz so when I get back all tired it feels like home.” “That’s where you live?” my jaw dropped. “You live in a mansion?” “My grandfather’s in hospital so I’m taking care of the property. You should come and have a few drinks with me tonight. Otherwise it’s just me, the animals, and a big empty house...”

Chapter two

-Perpetual Vermin in the Illusion of Time and Space- “Le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau.“ I fumbled for notepad, attempting to look as if I were paying attention. The lecture was nearly over, and the bell would allow our dismissal from class no doubt very soon. I sat watching the clock hands go sloooowwwwllllyyy around from the corner of my vision, scribbling on my page a crescent moon, and the more I scribbled, it seemed the lecture were as if I was listening to it from a great distance. The blood drained out of my head, the ceiling pushed towards the sky, along with a room full my peers rendered brain-dead while the tables where they sat began to stretch and contort like a perpetually elongating hallway. A half a minute could last two million years.. Perish the thought. Sometimes I wonder just what exactly Salvador Dali mind had the persistence to remember behind his wild eyes as they observed a slice of camembert cheese melting in the sun. I glance quizzically at the empty chair to my right, “where in the hell is she?” I wondered. Her absence made me oddly uncomfortable. The divine and peculiar Veruka Luxx been my best friend for more than year now, but she remains as much of an enigma as when I first came to know her. Veruka and I, one could rightfully assume, shared a peculiar fascination in what would be most certainly considered taboo by the majority of our society. Veruka has a profound affection for Taxidermy, stuffed and preserved animal corpses, not to mention her absurd obsession for the languages and customs of ancient and lost civilisations. Our interest in all living creatures was naturally mirrored by our fascination for the “process of death”, the afterlife, the before life, and the possibility to reanimate the corpses of the deceased shortly after dying, using a customised injectable solution. We had killed, maimed and also reanimated the bodies of several rabbits, stray cats, rats, and guinea pigs, some even with promising results if the subjects managed to survive the process of animation for more than a few minutes. We have been a tad over absorbed in our little projects recently, and the nature of these experiments warranted my cause for concern. Luxx and I spent nearly all of our spare time engaged in “Staring at the bottom of the fountain of youth”… Yes, I suppose that’s one way to phrase it. Among other things her devotion to the subject of reanimating a multitude of deceased creatures knew no bounds, which fuelled my fascination and desires to assist her secret studies and to cover our trails all the more, from anyone whom might happen to have otherwise stumbled across our secret laboratory. Both Veruka and I were honorary students at the Vulshwaltz University in the town of Atlas, a rather expensive college, with infinite halls, chandeliers, libraries, top of the line science equipment (which we had slowly constructed our laboratory from, one beaker at a time, considering we were so trusted by Dean Allen Halsley himself, that he authorized us to stay behind to clean, autoclave and pack away every single piece of glassware unattended after classes, and the school had so many resources they didn’t appear to even ponder all the bits and pieces of “written off” laboratory hardware that the faculties staff would immediately replace.) Between the windowpanes were the endless paintings spaced perfectly evenly across the tall walls of the corridors, depicting everything from the Salem witch trials, The sun god Ra making his rounds in the minds of Egyptian painters and sculptors, and more typical of a white collar institution, images of decadent Kings and Queens from centuries otherwise mostly forgotten (all of them remarkably pale or blood red in the face, It often bemuses Luxx and myself to liken King Henry VIII’s face to that of a plump tomato ripe to burst. God awful inbred monarchy.) I look up from my scribbling, and she’s standing right next to me snickering at my absent mindedness, I wonder how long she had been standing there? The classroom is completely empty, and the clock tells me that the bell rang out about 15 minutes ago.. “Ground Control to Major Tom!?” She said with a smirk. “It’s time to go” “Where on earth have you been!” I croaked, flustered. “You scared the shit out of me, I thought something must’ve gone wrong” “Well” Luxx rolled her eyes, for a moment I could see my pupils reflecting back at me in hers, and a shiver went up my spine. “I’ve finally tracked down a recently deceased Human subject on which we can test my new formula.. Grab your things.” Her smile was both unsettling and comforting. We cleaned the science room, we cleaned the condenser, separatory funnels, catalyst reaction vessels, test tubes and various beakers, and using the key that the Dean entrusted us with, we opened the Haz-Chem safe, removed a couple of necessary precursors and once the classroom was packed up and tidy, Miss Luxx steered my attention to her unusually playful state of mind. We soaked in the evening as we began heading home bound, the place I had come to know as home, our humble abode, a sprawling property which Luxx was taking care of for her grandfather while he was in hospital. From the dust to the trees which touched the clouds, to the house that we had been using to conceal our gruesome experiments on deceased creatures which we would catch and put to death before attempted reanimation of their cadavers, sometimes yielding no result, sometimes a few unnatural flinches and as with most of our more “fortunate” incidents the creatures would turn rabid and rip their own bodies to pieces, after attacking anything in sight… But we pushed on, Luxx insisted that it was a simple matter of getting the right blend of synthetic compounds into the next formula, and something told me she was right. We left Vulshwaltz by foot, and with every step, the sun would sink deeper into the horizon, until at last we scaled the base of the mountain. It wasn’t long at all before I could see 54 rue du Chateau. The finest piece of architectural indulgence on the whole of the mountain, I bet her grandfather must’ve been proud, having built it by hand, brick by brick, brushstroke by brushstroke. Obviously, it was both mine and Veruka’s favorite place in all of Atlas, except for the Cemetery and the Library at Vulshwaltz. Overcome by dizziness, I was quick to catch my breath but for a peculiar moment, I almost thought these feelings of Deja Voo were rising to my attention as a hint that maybe this, right now, could all be just a dream. Then I remembered that even nightmares are more inviting than what lays in wait. As Miss Luxx explained what would be our plans for the evening, I unpacked our bags and polished a new glass beaker I had stolen for the lab. We headed upstairs for the attic, and my dear friend grabbed a spoon from the kitchen. Like ruby wine in flickers of the moonlight, I watched her lips tremble as she spoke. She weighed out precisely a quarter gram (250 milligrams to be exact) of our new silky powder and mixed it up. Luxx jabbed the needle in my arm and pulled back red, as I volunteered to Ginny pig our new batch of Amphetamine Salts. Suddenly I could feel a lightning storm pounding through my temples, as all of the blood rushed to my head, Luxx gave me a sickly smile, there was no denying we were both high as all fuck and I could not follow most of what she was saying because she was talking so fast and her eyes were utterly intoxicating. She stopped speaking mid-sentence, seemingly out of nowhere grabbing me by the neck and before I could blink she had pushed me up into the corner of the Attic, and with an incredible lust, our lips locked, and tongues entwined. My heart must have skipped a seismic thud, for this is the first time we stepped beyond the boundary of friends, and essentially the first time I had seen Luxx’s passion flare up for anything that still had a heartbeat. “Well, that certainly got your attention. Hah!” She smiled. I was breathless. “Work first, fun later, Hmm?” She looked me up and down. With that, she turned on her heels and took me to the false wall we had fitted in-between the cluttered, dusty Attic, and the hidden door to our surgical laboratory. She opened it and flicked the lights, revealing a lifeless figure stretched out on a long white table. Luxx, I could tell, was getting terribly nervous about something. The recently deceased human subject that Veruka had acquired was a frail old woman, whose face was extremely pale and the shade of blue that her lips had turned indicated that she had been dead since at least this morning. “Well well well! This is charming Luxx! Just fucking charming!” I mocked. The smell of necrotizing flesh was already near unbearable. “And what the fuck happened to her I wonder??” Luxx cleared her throat, “Well, hmm. It has been a long day indeed. Her family live not a great distance from here, I’ve known her son Edward for many years. As I was picking through my books before our late afternoon science class, studying the lineage of Queen Nefertiti when all of a sudden there were tremors on my doorstep accompanied by the deranged howling of what I presumed to be a badly injured German Shepherd. I rushed outside to find the howling was coming from an old woman writhing gruesomely in the mud on my driveway.” Shaking her head, Miss Luxx beckoned for one of my cigarettes. “I recognized the unfortunate Witch as Edwards mother, phoned his uncle immediately to alert him of the situation and ask if I could be of any medical help, as she was by now curled up twitching on my porch, grasping for dear life. He told me that she has been slowly going mad for years and by his voice… Well I could tell it had been driving him to drink, because he was slurring his concerns and at the same time attempting to hit on me. So as the family could not contact a competent doctor because of the particularly fatal strain of Flu that’s becoming somewhat of an epidemic in town recently, and screaming and delusional as she was when she arrived, the old woman appeared to assume an almost catatonic state of consciousness all in a matter of minutes, at the same time I could hear snoring on the other end of the receiver so I furiously hung up and carried her inside to my guest room, soon she was fast asleep after seemingly having made a miraculous recovery from her primitive psychotic episode.” With the upbeat melancholic chirp of a pessimist, I butted in “….And then?????” with an eyebrow raised above a bloodthirsty smirk, almost puzzled by my own sincerest solemn sarcasms, Luxx sighed “Her son Edward was suddenly knocking at the window, he said nothing except that he would stay by her side no matter what… Knowing I could trust Edward not to snoop around the house, I was beginning to ready myself for the back to Vulshwaltz, because I just needed your comforting presence after the intensely unexpected chain of events, by now I knew I was too late for class, but that was the lowest of my priorities. The incident seemed to reach an almost level of calm, but at that exact moment, the phone rang just as I was leaving home…. all I could hear was static noise and maniacal laughing in the earpiece….. Shrugging it off, I hung up just as Edward eerily called to me from the guest room. He emerged looking as though he had already long since mourned for his dear mother’s sanity, almost with a sigh of relief he said softly that she had just then passed in her sleep. I hid my smile behind gritted teeth… Mentioning that his uncle has already drunk away his inheritance, Edward also happened to mention, to my utter delight, that her final will declared that after death, her corpse was to be donated for the purposes of science, and because Edward has been a close neighbor for years, it goes without saying that he had already become well aware of my overachieving at University, The backlog of Anatomical Knowledge that propelled my status from a nerdy exchange student to an ‘Honorary’ Teachers Pet, not even mentioning the Deans trust in my ‘responsibilities’, …anyway, you can guess that it wasn’t very long at all before I had convinced Edward to go home to try and get some rest. He said his farewells under the impression that I had already arranged a hearse to Vulshwaltz’s medical research facility…. But after he left, I just hauled the lifeless bitch upstairs and rushed into town to find you so that we may finally take our experiments to the next frontier of reanimation…. To bring about the strange state of existence known as “Life” back to a completely rigid, non-responsive, breathless human cadaver…… “ The lovely Veruka Luxx burst out into hysterical laughter, unable to wipe the smirk off her divine face. Slightly disturbed, and still unable to stop thinking about Luxx’s soft and tender lips, all the while trying desperately to ignore the smell of the dead woman whom we were about to attempt to bring back from the spirit realm, to once again, in some post-mortal fashion, walk among the Taxpaying, Booze-Addled piles of flesh and bone, most commonly recognized as the “Living”. Apart from not being much good for conversation, the main difference between that of the “deceased persons” and of their more animated, opinionated, compulsively breeding counterparts, the “Living persons”, is simple. One has completed their cycle and has joined the “Land of the Dead” for the rest of eternity, while the other is still absorbed in the comparatively temporary distractions of day to day humdrum human emotions; From Serenity to Fear, From Kinship to Solitude. How fucking poetic. I’m to sober for this. Too much is never enough… My thoughts were racing. The air seemed to be getting thicker… “Hmm… The body’s whereabouts shouldn’t arouse any suspicion as long as no-one else in Atlas knows about her death, and provided her family doesn’t speak to anyone regarding her disposal requests” I said hastily “which I imagine they would not have any need to mention as a casual conversation topic to anyone of importance…. then we’re in the clear… Quick thinking by the way, my darling.. Any fresher and you could skin the fat off her and sell it down the butchers as offal.” I scoffed. Smiling dryly in acknowledgement, her eyes met mine and then looked quickly down at the tip of a .3 ml syringe that she had filled to the brim with a concentrated solution of her new “embalming concentrate” as we had deemed them), and I began preparing a large vein on the side of the woman’s neck for injection, as the solution had to enter the blood stream as CLOSE to the brain as possible. Luxx impatiently yet precisely performed the injection while I checked the cadaver for any vital signs of life. We waited for an hour, and Luxx mixed and injected more solutions into the subjects’ neck relentlessly. Just as we were preparing to admit failure, call it a night, and throw her corpse into the incinerator, without a seconds notice the old woman’s eyes darted open WIDE, and she let out the most ear-drum piercing blood curdling screams, wailing and screeching imaginable, far too unearthly for any human to possibly conjure the sound in their most depraved nightmares, let alone the breathless lungs of the dearly departed. Suddenly the undead subject stood up, froze stiff again, and fell on the floor with several liters of blood rapidly gushing out of her eyes, nose, mouth and ears. I gasped, unable to muster a word, and was frozen with fear. Luxx just shook her head, rolled her eyes and groaned with failure, she snapped. “Fuck.. Fuck.. Fuck… I think perhaps next time we should wait, at least another hour, before re administering the formula. I’ll put the incinerator on so we can dispose of her remains quickly.” Luxx leaned toward me and kissed me on the cheek. I stood, bewildered, horrified, and shivering. “Oh.. What a waste” I blurted, Naturally questioning my beautiful associates mental stability, but as my faith in her was still unshaken by the gruesome occurrence, I began to question my own sanity… As Veruka turned up the furnace to its highest setting, near 2000 degrees Fahrenheit, she hummed along to an unknown yet strangely familiar tune, and the impromptu cremation of our elderly lab-rat was complete…… not much is left of that wrecked atrocity save a red hot pile of ashes. Attempting to appear un-phased by the evening’s festivities, I mopped up ankle deep pools of fresh human blood from our laboratory floor, as thoughts of what consequences lay in wait for us if we were ever to be caught grew steadily more grim and unavoidable, all the while, Luxx’s near total and complete disregard for such consequences proceeded to add entire Galaxies of increasing volatility to the already crumbled fault-lines of rationality and common sense… I was trapped aboard a sinking ship of her obsessions, pulling me into an Ocean of demise that was overflowing with my own poisoned curiosity’s, and it would be Veruka herself, who unwittingly sealed my fate with a kiss…. Run, Rabbit, Run… Because when you’re walking such a very fine tightrope of morality, whilst attempting to survive on a steady diet of endless hedonism, there is simply no time to slow down.. On that note, Veruka and I sat by the fireplace, drinking tea into the morning. Something I can’t shake about the look in the old bats eyes, embedded into my memory, will forever gnaw at me. I’ve seen that soul sucking glare before. For a second I was lost in the void of her pupils, the cry of the storm, and as I looked out from the old woman’s vacant stare, I actually was looking up at myself the moment blood poured from her every orifice. I was shocked, trembling, sweating, and whiter than a sheet. Looked as if I’d seen a ghost, a fucking Kodak moment... With every second, it seemed further in the past, until all I saw was my drug-devouring Morticia Addams, My Venomous Vixen…. Veruka was snuggling up next to me on the rug in front of her fireplace, and I feel her jab another shot of speed into my arm…. No warning…!?!??!!!!!! ….my vision trembles wildly…. Before I could even think, she is laughing and taking off her dress. Always an ice-cold intellectual machine; a vixen, brunette, green eyes and spectacles…. Even with a frozen heart like hers, I’d still be willing to bet my life that she could keep me warm in Hell…..

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