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charmed-henry · 3 years

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Baby There’s a Shark in the Water | Candenrose feat. Bruce

Date: 5/17/21 Trigger Warnings: references to drowning, blood, head trauma, general violence @thehuntress-rose @i-want-candy @brucewhite

Candace goes for a swim, Bruce goes for a snack, and Henrose goes Baywatch

HENRY

Finally, finally, Henry was going to relax and have a beach day. Things were going surprisingly well. The wedding, introducing Ashleigh to his family, finals, the fae situation, sure, it could be better, but it could be a lot worse. And so, in his favorite swim trunks and sunglasses, Henry was just slathering on some sunscreen when he heard some splashing in the water and the alarm bells started going off in his head again.

No, he was overreacting. He and Eric hadn’t found anything when they went exploring.

Still, he glanced at Rose. “You’d think the lifeguards would do their jobs a little better, right?” he pointed out, trying not to look too worried.

ROSE:

Yes, Rose agreed to hang out at the beach with Henry with the intention to relax. And yes, she knew it wouldn't last long with her particular company. Still, she remained unbothered by the thinly veiled anxiety in Henry’s voice. She took the sunscreen from him and used some on herself. Rose was only concerned with the horrible tan lines she’d get from her high neck bikini top today. No one could fall overboard, so why worry?

“You seem to be pretty good at it, why don’t you do their job then?” Rose suggested in jest, peering over her red sunglasses. “I’m joking. Don’t actually go all BayWatch on me. You need to relax. There are no man eating sharks in the lake.”

She didn’t know how ironic those words would be later that day.

HENRY:

Henry rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried about man-eating sharks. I’m just saying…” Henry trailed off. He didn’t know what he was just saying, to be honest. If he and Eric hadn’t found anything, what was there to worry about here?

He was being paranoid. As usual. He needed to relax and enjoy the day. Henry leaned back on the chair and closed his eyes, pulling the shades back over his eyes.

Nope. The splashing was bothering him. And then, cutting through the regular beach noise, a shriek. Henry sat straight up and threw his sunglasses off. “I’m going over there. Rose, back me up!”

ROSE:

Rose sat up straight. She heard the sharp rising of a scream above all the chatter and waves and splashing too. It was then she realized she was going to eat her words. Man eating shark or not, trouble seemed to follow the people in organizations made to stop it. Immediately she was in work mode. Protect, attack, obey orders.

“Got it!” She pulled her hair back as she stood up, ready to dive into the action. She scanned the shore line for the origin of the shriek. And then another sounded. And another. “There!” she nodded and began to run over, feet kicking up sand and water licking her ankles. “Is that..?”

Candace? Candace and blood? What was going on here?

CANDACE: The weather had decided to warm up on this particular saturday in mid-May. When a few girls from Candace’s major asked if she wanted to go to the lake, she said yes. Not because she particularly liked these girls--they were fine and everything...they just didn’t have a lot in common--but because a day at the lake sounded perfect. Finals were starting soon and Candace really needed a zen day before that happened because she had felt her focus slipping with everything else going on.

So, to the lake she went.

And it was a nice day. The sun was baking down on her and the water was the perfect temperature. Maybe a little cool, but on her floatie, she was perfectly relaxed. Her body was half in the water, arms wrapped around the inflatable tube that her friend was sitting on. With her legs, she was lazily directing them about the lake as they sipped on cold beers that someone had brought in a cooler.

If asked later, Candace would not be able to tell you what she was talking about, but for now, they were all just idly chatting. One of the dumb boys splashed water at them and they retaliated with squeals of playful displeasure.

A lovely, normal day at the lake...

BRUCE

Bruce was going on thirteen days vegetarian. The last time he got hungry, he demolished an entire bag of frozen shrimp alone in his room, like an animal. He stared at it afterward, the ripped plastic remains of the bag reminding him horribly of the carcasses of the live sea creatures the researchers used to bring him in the lab, and vowed that he was done for real this time. The more he practiced, surely, the better he would get at this.

He didn’t get better. He got worse. It started with getting shaky and distracted, then incurably hungry, then a pull toward the water. Then there was a full moon, and Bruce didn’t sleep as well, flashbacks and memories keeping him up at night, and he started fantasizing about fish at all hours. Bruce promised himself he would stay away from the lake during that beach party, but only a few days after, he found himself at the lake.

It was so risky. There were people everywhere. But Bruce wasn’t thinking right, and the next thing he knew, he was in the water, in his merman form, prowling around the bottom of the lake. Not the same as the ocean, not by a mile, but enough to call forth his instincts.

He smelled it from across the lake. A tiny drop of blood. And before Bruce could stop or reason with himself or try any of those tactics he had taught himself, he was zipping across the lake, his instincts taking over. He was hungry. He needed to eat, by any means necessary.

Bruce followed the smell to a pair of girls sitting in inner tubes. One of them had a small papercut, the one with red hair, and without thinking, Bruce sprang out of the water and sank his sharp teeth into the girl’s leg.

CANDACE “Ugh, Greg!” Candace grouched in the direction of the boy who had splashed them, “you made me cut my finger!”

The wound was sharp and bleeding but shallow. She must have sliced it on the seam of the inner tube when she jerked away from the splashing water.

Scowling at the asshole, she dipped her hand in the water, rinsing the cut out.

“Ew, Candace! This water is so gross.”

“It’s not that bad, actually. I’ve seen worse.” Growing up around the Great Lakes meant trips there on family vacations and being around a million gross tourists. Candace was not really an outdoorsy kind of girl, but a little lake water didn’t phase her much.

Candace didn’t think twice about it. To the point where, later, she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint that as the moment she became a target.

It all happened very quickly after that.

At first, all it was was a tug. As if someone had dove beneath them and grabbed her around the waist. Probably Greg because he was an asshole like that.

“Candy,” huffed her friend, who was almost dislodged from her tube. And then, more forcefully: “Oh my god, Candy!” as a bubble of red water burst at her side.

“What?”

The first shriek was not Candace’s. It was her friend’s as Candace was torn off the inner tube and pulled into the water. She gasped as soon as she went under, filling her lungs with lake water. Disoriented, she twisted slightly, but that only made the pain in her leg pronounced. It shot up her thigh and into her hip and her nails instinctively clawed at the dark shape in the water as she screamed.

HENRY: As they jogged over to the shoreline, Henry was about to start bragging about how his intuition never lied and people should really listen to him more when he saw the source of the shouting. Candace. And, launching itself at her, some sort of sea creature?

Henry wished Eric were here, because he would know exactly what to do. Henry hadn’t brought his weapons with him today, but maybe the beach umbrella could work. “Hold on!” Henry shouted, then ran back to where the umbrella and chairs were set up and ripped the umbrella out of the ground, not really caring if he looked ridiculous. He ran back over to the water and brandished the umbrella and its pointy tip. “Get away from her!” Henry warned.

ROSE:

Unfortunately for Rose, she was more of a head first approach kind of gal. She didn’t need a weapon; she was a weapon. The huntress ran forth into the shallows and truly saw the scene for what it was. A grey creature had latched onto Candace’s leg. It was dragging her under. Rose grabbed the redhead in an attempt to keep her head above the water.

Without thinking, Rose kicked it in its side. It wasn’t too hard considering the water slowed her down. She tried to pull Candace away from its teeth, despite the screaming. If she pulled too hard more damage would be done to the damsel. It was on her to get free. Rose could hold off this beast, but only for a few moments.

“Henry! Hurry it up!” She overestimated herself, they needed a weapon.

CANDACE: Time had lost all sense of meaning to Candace.

Her lungs were burning, deprived of oxygen and full of lake water. If she didn’t die of blood loss, she was most definitely gonna die from drowning. In fact, she could even die of a pulmonary enema if she survived this. Or have brain damage. Or organ damage. At the very least, she could develop an infection. She watched too many medical shows, apparently, if this is what she was thinking about before she died.

Because she was pretty sure that was what was going to happen. She was completely unaware that there was anyone trying to rescue her.

When her head surfaced, due to Rose grabbing her under the arm and pulling—Candace didn’t even register that was what was happening. She kept thrashing on instinct, clawing at Rose as if she was an attacker too. Trying to use her to stay afloat above the water as she coughed and gasped for air—dunking Rose under the water instead.

HENRY

If only Eric were here. If only Henry had paid more attention in the lessons about mercreatures. Maybe this was some horrible kind of irony, that he had been so indignant about people valuing his family’s specialty but should have considered others to the same level of threat. He knew there might be creatures in the lake. Why hadn’t Henry been more vigilant?

But there was no time for Henry’s typical cycle of worry and regret and guilt. He had to get into action. Rose was tough and she was a good fighter, but he didn’t want her fighting this thing alone, especially unarmed. Not that an umbrella was much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.

“GET AWAY FROM THEM!” Henry cried, letting the terror and rage at seeing two of his closest friends in harm’s way fuel him. The Order always emphasized the importance of being detached from a situation, to focus on the skills and training that would carry you through to victory, but Henry was finding that being emotionally invested was its own kind of weapon.

As Rose tried to pull Candace away from the creature, it tried to lunge again, giving Henry the opening to slam the umbrella against the creature’s head with a sickening thunk. The creature cried out in pain, a high-pitched, strangled kind of cry. For a moment, Henry felt a twinge of guilt, but then he saw Candace thrashing in the water and, his sense of protectiveness renewed, hit the creature again.

ROSE:

Rose yelped and flailed into the water. She kept her grip on the girl but lost her footing. Candace fighting against her was not a part of her improvised plan. Getting dragged under the surface wasn’t either so Rose got a mouthful of lake water. A bitter side of her thought, ‘if I knew this was going to be so much trouble, I would have let her drown…’ But Rose knew her dedication to saving people would always outweigh her self preservation. The thrill she felt hunting, and even now, underwater and at the mercy of magic she didn’t understand… it always outweighed self preservation.

The blonde resurfaced with her charge. Sputtering and spitting out murky liquid, Rose coughed out, “CANDACE. Stop struggling and swim!” Sure, her leg is a bit out of commission, but she had Rose to support her. Candace would be okay. The huntress’ presence guarantees it.

She tried again to pull the girl back to safety. This time the creature no longer latched on and is otherwise occupied with Henry.

BRUCE:

Deep-water merfolk have an evolutionary instinct that snaps them out of a feeding frenzy when things get too dangerous.When they sustain a certain level of injury to the head or to sensitive organs, they go into survival mode, and the need to find food is secondary to the need to find shelter and a place to tend to one’s wounds. At the lab, Bruce’s life got a lot worse when the researchers discovered this fact.

So the blow to the head was almost familiar. By the second one, Bruce dipped below the surface of the water, and that was when the situation revealed itself in full to him. What he had done. He had attacked an innocent girl in the lake, like a monster, and now this boy was trying to kill him with an umbrella. Horrible, creeping guilt took over, but Bruce couldn’t stay around here any longer pondering his actions. He had to make it to safety.

Bruce poked his head above the surface one more time, surveying the sickening scene, confusion and fear showing on his face. But he only had a few seconds before the boy with the umbrella raised the weapon high above his head, and Bruce knew what was coming next. He ducked back under the water and sped off toward the deepest part of the lake, his head ringing with the pain of the hits and the million thoughts he had running through his head.

He couldn’t stay here forever. Bruce knew they would come looking for him. But for now, this felt safe, the darker, cooler water that reminded him of home.

What would the agents say if they found out? Would they give up on him, decide he was a hopeless case and lock him up? Even if not, Bruce knew their confusion and disappointment would be unbearable.

Hating his horrible appetite, Bruce easily captured a few trout and ate them, and then changed back into his human form, leaving the lake on the far side near the forest. He wandered there for a while before he made it back to his apartment, dripping wet and looking dejected.

CANDACE: Candace was not the only one screaming. The lake had just recently opened, which meant that tons of people had flocked to it on their weekend. Just like Candace and her friends had. Just like Rose and Henry had. Everyone was on their way out of the water now, people shouting for help. People shouting about sharks and monsters and all sorts of things. In the distance, there was already the sound of sirens wailing too. The benefits of such a small town meant help was never too far away.

Candace wasn’t paying attention to any of that, though. She was only aware of the pounding of her own heart and the sound of the water as she and the monster struggled.

All of the sudden, it was like a weight had been lifted as the creature let go. In its place, Candace felt the burn of her wounds as they started to bleed. Her panicked splashing only made it worse, but she couldn’t think. There was only blinding terror.

It was Rose shouting her name that finally snapped Candace out of her panic, but only enough to stop her from thrashing. She kicked feebly with her good leg, adrenaline (adrenaline is released by the adrenal glands) still coursing through her body, terrified that whatever had attacked her was still lurking in the murky water, ready for round two.

The next thing she knew, she was being dragged onto land, the sand scraping against her back. She looked down to see the blood as it stained the ground around her and felt her heart rate tick up again. Every movement caused more to pour from the wound.

“What the—“ she started and then leaned over to cough up water. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

HENRY

The creature swam away. As Rose pulled Candace to shore, Henry tried to chase after it, swinging the umbrella widely, but despite Henry’s attempts at least to render the creature unconscious, it still managed to get away. Another failure. Another loose thread. Henry had saved Candace, but there was still a dangerous sea monster on the loose, and once it tended to its wounds, it would be back and hungry for revenge.

Wait.

Candace.

Henry whipped around to see her lying on the shore, sputtering and shouting as the wound on her leg bled onto the sand. Something tightened in Henry’s chest-- anger, fear, guilt, maybe, that he hadn’t been able to prevent this from happening. And something else, too. The realization that if things had gone differently, Henry might have lost Candace forever, and the last things they might have said to each other would have been those vicious text messages.

That thought was even more terrifying than any sea monster. Through fights and breakups, Candace was still Henry’s friend, and seeing her like this reminded him of that. He couldn’t believe he had wasted so much time refusing to speak to her when something like this could have happened any moment.

Of course, though, there were more pressing things to attend to. Henry splashed out of the water, rushing to Candace’s side. There was already a small crowd gathered. “Everyone, back away!” Henry shouted. “Has someone called 999?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, though. What was more important was that Candace was bleeding. Henry knew from Order training to apply pressure to the wound and try to stop the bleeding. He glanced at Candace, and the look of fear on her face seized him with a fresh wave of panic. One thing at a time. He turned to Rose. “Can you stay with her while I go get something to stop the bleeding?”

ROSE:

As soon as they reached the sand Rose stumbled over the tangle of limbs and tried to wave away the bystanders swarming. Candace was in shock and the crowd only made things worse. It must have been some sight to see some random college students save a girl from a lake monster, but this wasn’t a TV drama. The attention overwhelmed her, Rose was a covert operation kind of huntress. Her heart was racing just as fast as the girl’s who was attacked. She couldn’t face them. So she focused on the task at hand. First aid was second nature to the girl, she’d self administered plenty of times before. The trail of blood leading up to a sputtering Candace was being licked away by the small waves and Rose nodded to Henry only half processing what he said.

“I got her,” the wounds weren’t too deep, but this would hurt. Rose took both of her hands and wrapped them around the bite marks, applying even force. She hoped Candace was too distracted by everything else to really feel it or fight her anymore. “Candace, you’re in shock. You’re only gonna bleed more if you panic. Can you take a slow deep breath for me? Like this.” In and out. Nice and slow. Most of the people Rose had taken care of had been veterans of injuries like this. But this was just a girl, she was probably terrified so she did her best to calm her.

“Henry is getting more help. You’re gonna be okay. Just lay back and breathe slow.” She kept her gaze on Candace, really trying to be a comfort.

CANDACE: Candace was, vaguely, aware she was in shock. There was a part of Candace’s brain that knew what to do. She had had a summer job as a lifeguard at a lake near Dansville. Granted, there wasn’t really protocol for an animal attack (is that what this had been? she wasn’t totally sure.) But, Candace also had a fascination with how the body worked. The different chemicals and functions. And she knew too much blood loss, combined with the chilly water, would lead to hypothermia and shock.

The shock was probably more serious than the hypothermia, but both together was definitely an even bigger problem. It’d be that combo, not the blood loss, that would cause significant damage.And if that didn’t take her out, an infection probably would.

Taking deep breaths wasn’t going to help. Well, it would get oxygen to her organs which would be shutting down soon if nothing changed; but in the long run: deep breaths were gonna do shit and she was probably just going to die.

She couldn’t say any of this, though. Her lips were numb and tinged blue. Her heartbeat was a staccato in her chest: fast, fast, slow. She was nauseous and weak, feeling both faint and dizzy.

Falling back onto her elbows, she flopped onto the ground. Like a fish the shark or...whatever...had probably thought she was. The panic was still making her heart race and her thoughts were jumbled: random scientific facts, interspersed with spikes of worry for her brother and Ferb (were they okay? Were they here? She couldn’t remember), thoughts of her dog, and also: Vanessa is going to make so much fun of me for this.

Her heart rate started slowing and she shivered once or twice. “What happened?” she murmured, not even sure if anyone could hear her over the crowd murmuring and the sound of sirens drawing ever closer.

HENRY There were moments when being trained to handle this specific thing was actually counterproductive. Because Henry’s first thought was that he could grab his shirt, or maybe tear some fabric off of the umbrella if it really came to that, and create a makeshift bandage. And then he spotted the lifeguard on duty, who was already heading in the direction of the scene. Right. Modern medicine. Actual authorities.

Ha. Authorities. Authorities who couldn’t even do the one thing in their job description!

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Henry blurted out. What he had meant to say was that he needed a bandage and something to clean the wound, and maybe some water for Candace to drink, but Henry’s mind flashed again to the image of Candace bleeding on the shore and his face grew hot and red with anger. “You had one job, didn’t you keep everyone safe from god-knows-what in that lake and look what’s happened! That is my friend--” Henry’s throat tightened and he realized he had let his emotions take over far too much.

The lifeguard, a gangly teenager with bad acne and a painful sunburn covering his shoulders, blinked at Henry, looking terrified. It was May-- the lake had just opened-- it was very possible this was his first day on the job. Henry coughed awkwardly. “Er, I mean-- have you got the first aid kit?”

The lifeguard nodded and held up the plastic case.

“What’s your name?” Henry demanded.

“Kevin.”

Henry grabbed his arm and marched him over to the scene. “This is Kevin. He’s got the first aid supplies.” Henry lowered his voice and turned to Rose. “How is she doing?”

ROSE:

Rose heard Candace mumble something, but didn’t have the heart to ask her to repeat herself. “It’s okay, you’re gonna be fine,” she repeated, sounding more like a broken record than a comfort.

Henry was off yelling at some guy who looked like he was in shock too while Rose held steady on the wound. The sirens were getting louder. That’s all she had to focus on, not the foreign bubbling of fear in her chest. Why was she scared? The threat was gone and help was on the way. The waves in the lake died down, but waves of panic built up in Rose. Her hands were the only thing keeping Candace from slipping into unconsciousness… and they weren’t doing a great job.

Her partner arrived back with the ‘lifeguard’, some job he was doing, and Rose looked him up and down. “Do you really think, Kevin, is qualified to use that? She’ll be fine when real help gets here.” She didn’t mean to snap at Henry. But he, of all people, knew how she felt right now.

She was scared.

And then help arrived. A paramedic put a hand on Rose’s shoulder, calmly and cooly moving her away. Still, she held on. “You did a great job. You kids probably saved your friend’s life, but we got it from here. Okay? You can let go now, Miss.”

Another medic came and removed Rose more forcefully and they got to work. She stood away from the scene and stared down at her open palms. Seeing her own hands bloody was nothing new to the huntress, but the slight tremor was.

#i'm so excited about how this turned out :')#baby there's a shark in the water #shark attack #bruce #candace #rose

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #6- Rung Has a Friggin’ Day

It’s time for therapy.

Finally.

It turns out that Ratchet didn’t forget about Fortress Maximus’ acts of extreme violence in all the chaos that was last issue, and requested that Fort Max get set up with some mandatory counseling. Of course, because it’s been about a week in Fort Max-time since Garrus 9 went down, he’s not exactly thrilled to talk about what happened. And who can blame him? Garrus 9 sucked big time for everyone involved, even Overlord.

Fort Max claims to not remember what happened- he’s lying, and we’re treated to a flashback that sort of justifies his fib- and Rung suggests they get Chromedome involved, which seems perhaps a bit unethical? To just rip traumatic memories that may or may not be repressed out of a guy’s head? Like, I’m not super well-versed in psychiatry, but that seems a little off.

Rung, in an attempt to make Fort Max feel a little safer, tells him that Overlord- though he doesn’t say his name, because triggering Fort Max could literally get people killed- was neutralized about as efficiently as possible for their species.

I can’t believe Cybertron has a better veteran healthcare system than the United States.

Enough of Fortress Maximus’ impending implosion, it’s time for bar shenanigans!

Over at Swerve’s, Trailbreaker is proving to be completely incapable of keeping his drink in his glass, as Chromedome participates in a game where he has to guess who’s transforming into their alt-mode, based purely on the sound. He gets it in one, and everyone loses their shit. Chromedome, never one to hype himself, takes the opportunity to instead build Rewind up, because he just loves him that much.

Fortress Maximus gets brought up, and while Trailbreaker thinks the guy’s a little overrated, the others have heard about what happened on Delphi, and proceed to learn the wrong lesson from the whole thing. Tailgate enters the scene, after a rousing study session with everyone’s favorite giant neurotic.

Tailgate, you fool! It’ll be another 41 issues before Cyclonus is ready to even acknowledge his feelings!

It’s good to know that Tailgate doesn’t hold any grudges over the info dump Rewind gave him the other day. Also, that table looks like a nightmare to clean.

Ultra Magnus walks in, looking about as cheery as he possibly can considering who he is, promptly arrests Swerve for running the bar without taking bureaucracy into account, and whisks the little jabber jaw away in handcuffs, practically carrying him off by the scruff like a kitten.

Fort Max enters the room, having decided to grab a drink after the ordeal that is mandatory therapy.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a day on the Lost Light without something going just a little screwy.

This is a typical Wednesday for Pipes.

Fort Max proceeds to wreck several robots, seemingly at random, though he somehow manages to not actually kill any of them. Intentional or not? We still have several pages of this issue to get through, hold your horses! All will be revealed in time.

Which brings us to now. Fort Max has locked himself in Rung’s office, alongside Rung and the poor sap who was unlucky enough to have had an appointment when the big guy showed up. Rodimus and Drift are trying to figure out just what the hell to do with this current situation. Magnus enters, having just set Swerve up with his punishment, and berates Rodimus for letting Fort Max run around with a gun, as if 90% of the crew doesn’t also have massive weapons literally built into their bodies.

Blaster gets a video feed from one of the surveillance cameras going, and we get a good look at just how fucked this whole thing has become, because as it turns out, Rung’s appointment for this time slot was none other than Whirl, instigator extraordinaire, and being stabbed by some ship piping has done absolutely nothing to slow his suicidal roll.

That gun is positively ridiculous. Where were you even KEEPING that thing, Max?

It only takes a couple of face-mashings with the barrel of the BFG to get Whirl to back off, accomplishing what Rung simply cannot, because Whirl doesn’t play by the rules of anyone who values their life in any capacity. You’d think it’d take more than that to shut him up, but Whirl’s head is made of plot, so it’s a bit delicate.

Rung spots the camera, and decides to make himself useful by providing audio to this whole debacle, by way of his microphone thumb.

Now, a hostage situation just isn’t complete without some sort of demand in exchange for the safety of said hostages, and Fort Max has quite the doozy for Rodimus: he wants to go back to Cybertron, so he can confront Prowl on the slow response to the hell that was Garrus 9. Max was trapped there for over three years before the Wreckers came along, and it’s still pretty fresh for him because of the coma letting him skip a lot of time he could have spent healing.

Pro-tip: when handling a hostage situation, don’t get into a screaming match with the dude who’s about to shoot the only mental health specialist your race has ever managed to produce. Blaster gets it.

Rung is many things, but is no actor, as is made apparent by him holding his microphone thumb-bound hand in the most fucking conspicuous way possible. Fort Max notices- because how could he not?- and relieves Rung of this terrible burden.

Rung is really regretting not minoring in theatre right about now.

Hours later in the medibay, First Aid is proving to have gone mad with power, as he maintains some dangerously high snark levels while keeping the victims of Fort Max’s spree stable. Ratchet, whose hands are still Pharma-blue, is starting to piece together the reasoning behind who got shot.

That’s right, Fort Max was embarrassed that he showed up with the same color paint as all these guys, and tried to kill them to keep his fashion faux pas to a minimum.

Back in Rung’s office, Whirl’s dropped all pretense due to sheer boredom, and straight-up asks Fort Max to just get it over with and shoot them both. Having his thumb ripped off has made Rung a bit snippy, and he snaps at Whirl for the quip, before Max decides that he’s actually rather interested in just what Whirl’s appointment was going to cover. Rung tries to stymie this line of questioning, but he really ought to know not to get in the way of the plot progression at this point.

Whirl does decide to spill his beans, if only after Rung gets the obscenely large barrel of Max’s obscenely large gun pressed to one whole side of his face.

It turns out Whirl has depths to him, or at least he did, once upon a time. Before he got booted out of the Wreckers, before he was even in the Wreckers, he created as opposed to destroyed. More specifically, he was a watchmaker, good enough to find an audience in the time of Functionist Cybertron. Now, because he’s a helicopter, the guys up top weren’t too jazzed about Whirl not doing what he’d “been born to do,” on top of not giving them any of his sweet watch money, and decided to start fucking up his life to get him back in line. They started with tearing his shop to the ground.

But we’ll get to what the hell empurata is in a few issues.

Also, while Whirl’s been sharing his backstory, Rung managed to grab his model ship from off the floor.

I’m not sure how he managed to get ahold of his model without making a giant clumsy scene either, considering that’s his thumbless hand.

Rung, because he’s a clever man, is staring super hard at the camera and making kind of a weird face as he taps on the little windows of his model ship, signaling to Rodimus and crew to see what they can do with the windows outside of his office. He’s got three real big ones that let you see out- or in- the whole room. Rodimus makes a call, and we get a proper understanding of what Chromedome meant when he said Rewind was outside.

No kidding.

Rewind and Swerve are on rivet replacement duty, using rivet guns nearly as big as they are. Swerve’s passing the time idly chatting, because that’s his whole deal.

Knowing Swerve, that’s probably a joke, but given what we learn a few issues after this, on how exactly Cybertron handles those who don’t fall in line, I can’t help but wonder…

Okay, we know why Swerve’s out here, but what’s Rewind’s deal?

You remember those data discs Red Alert mentioned last issue, the ones Rewind was begging Chromedome to help him find? The ones he got from Swindle at the start of the series? Yeah, turns out those were chock-full of video footage of people dying.

Rodimus didn’t like the fact that Rewind had brought snuff films onto the Lost Light, and now here he is. We don’t get an explanation as to why he wanted the films in the first place, though he does integrate that it isn’t a pleasurable thing to watch. Rodimus calls, interrupting the conversation, and asks Rewind to take a walk.

Returning to the office, we find that Whirl’s really pouring it out now, giving us his whole life story.

Rung’s reaction here is equal parts sweet and sad. It’s like he’s never had a fucking friend in his entire life. Rung seems terribly lonely.

We also get the answer as to what exactly Whirl did to get kicked out of the Wreckers- he tried to mercy-kill Springer. After the events of Last Stand, Fort Max wasn’t the only one in a coma, and Whirl saw the writing on the wall in terms of Springer’s chances of recovery. He tried to put the guy out of his misery, but was caught and kicked to the curb before that could happen.

And that’s about where he stops. You know, if it weren’t for the whole “being held at gunpoint” thing, this would have been an amazing therapy session! Whirl really opened himself up today, I’m proud of him.

Fort Max realizes that the ship hasn’t turned around to head back to Cybertron, and that’s about the point where he decides it’s time to make good on his threat. Whirl volunteers as tribute, as Swerve and Rewind peek through the window, ready to enact the next phase of Rodimus’ plan.

Rung tries to deescalate, with Whirl reescalating in equal measures, because he is actively and violently suicidal at this point, bringing us to a standstill in negotiations as Ratchet finally gets ahold of Rodimus to tell him something very important.

Ratchet’s sussed out the central pin in this pegboard of PTSD, and it’s Overlord. Every guy Fort Max put in the ICU looked at least somewhat like that lippy bastard. Rung comes to a similar conclusion on his end, claiming that Fort Max is acting out because he went through hell at Overlord’s hand, and wants payback.

Outside the office, Rewind is lining up to shoot Fort Max with his rivet gun, though he has his reservations.

It’s a special kind of love that makes you want your husband to support you through sniping a guy five times bigger than you.

Rewind’s lining up the shot, when Fort Max moves behind a pillar. Time for Plan B.

Rodimus, you can’t just SAY that to him, he’s a married man.

Whirl’s egging Fort Max on, his eye flaring out in a way that one might consider to be crying, though if you asked him he’d absolutely deny it. Then Garrus 9 pays everyone a little visit, by way of Rewind’s camera projecting on the wall. This freezes Fort Max in his tracks, because of course it would. That shit’s terrifying. He breaks down, falling to the floor in a heap.

I suppose this is one way to handle a hostage situation. Rodimus, not wanting to take any chances, orders Swerve to take the shot anyway.

Safe to say, Swerve wasn’t top of his class at the military academy.

As Fort Max mourns the loss of Rung, Whirl yanks that pipe that’s been stabbed into his belly for the last several hours out, and returns the favor, getting Max right in the chest.

Shit.

All those fucking therapy appointments are going to have to be rescheduled. There are over 200 robots on this ship.

I sure hope Rung had a secretary to handle all that.

Later on, after the messy stuff’s been dealt with, Rodimus and Drift have a chat about Red Alert, and how he’s developing a potential to be a liability. As they talk, Red Alert is shown to be ripping the drill arm off that guy who got eaten by the quantum engine and using it to dig into the floor where he heard that super-slow voice. What does he find? I hope it’s treasure!

...That’s not treasure.

Hey, Rung?

Rung?

Buddy, I think someone might’ve been fibbing when they said that.

Nobody tell Fort Max about this.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 6 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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plasma-paints · 5 years

Text

Okay, Theory Time!

This is going to be really long, so to spare people I’m going to put pretty much all of this under the cut, but it involves time and space and the fact that we might have had this all wrong from the start. Also, probably best if you watch part 4 of Observation first.

Alright, so Sean not so subtly implied that the egos are in fact from different universes. The universes intersecting for a short period of time before separating again would explain why the egos tend to come and go in our timeline. A good example of this in popular media is The Convergence from Thor: Dark World. At minimum two universes, or points in space in the movie, overlap and thus matter/energy can pass between unhindered. Being in the centre of one of these anomalies would technically allow you to be in multiple universes at once. (I like to imagine bubbles mixed with a Venn Diagram for visualization.)

So pretty simple, the universes intertwine, someone passes through, boom their in our reality for a while. Except, these kinds of anomalies are stereotypically spacially specific, so if one were to enter into one and then leave its area of effect, they may not return to their original universe. Essentially, they’d be stuck, albeit temporarily if they can find another anomaly. This is what I imagine has happened to each of the egos.

It can explain away a lot of things:

-Jackieboy-man’s and Marvin’s abilities - Dr. Schneep’s strange medical practises (at least in this universe) -JJ’s inability to speak -Chase being able to stand in for Jack

It could also be used to explain Anti in a similar fashion, just another universe’s version, but I don’t think that’s quite the case. Anti, unlike the rest, is different. That much has been made obvious by the fact that he’s the only seemingly knowledgable one. He seems to understand what’s going on intimately. “Time is broken.” This indicates that the universes aren’t necessarily colliding at the same relative time, let alone space, but the more interesting fact is that he knows that they should be. ‘Broken’ implies that he is aware of a time when time flowed properly, possibly without the universes intersecting at all. A state of order so to speak.

Anti though is the epitome of chaos, so why does he of all the egos know what order looked like? I mean he bounces throughout space and time, bounces around space within dimensions, and doesn’t appear to have a physical form of his own. There’s absolutely nothing orderly about him. So why is he the omnipotent ego? For that exact reason. He’s unstable, unlike the others, he’s unable to remain anywhere outside of an anomaly. For whatever reason, he can’t leave. So he’s been stuck who knows how long, getting glimpses of multiple realities and eventually he must have just put it together. For him, time is the most broken, phasing between universes at an almost imperceivable pace... He, for lack of a better word, glitches.

Now the real question is why? What happened to result in this instability? Why are universes, that for all extensive purposes should remain separated, bouncing around and into each other like billiard balls?

The simplest answer: Someone fucked up, and they fucked up badly.

My thoughts are that it was one of two individuals who caused this cascade failure of the multiverse: Anti... Or Sean. The narrative, as I see it anyway, can only make sense if one of them or both of them is to blame. Why else would Anti continue to appear back in this universe, harassing the egos who also end up in this reality?

Anti makes a lot of sense, as he’s like the focal point of the chaos, the epicentre. He’s the antithesis of order and seems to only want to bring down everyone with him. He makes for a stereotypical evil entity.

The story becomes more interesting if it’s Sean though, that tipped the balance. He wouldn’t even have to know he did it, an everyday action that this version of himself wasn’t supposed to do perhaps...

***Everything under this point is a potential partial timeline/plot theory***

I’m purely speculating now, but possibly that action was making a youtube channel. (I’ll come back to this.)

It would tie a lot of things together actually, and it would finally give Anti a proper motive. He just wants this to be over. “I’m tired of playing pretend, fucking circles!” Who knows how long it’s been for him? How many different attempts he’s made at fixing this, only to fail over, and over, and over? How many plans he’s tried? How many of them we’ve seen? Think about how calmly he said, “Time is broken.” This time around was different from his usual overzealousness. Possibly because it was one of his first attempts at reaching out, asking for help, hoping that somehow, someone else would put together the pieces and end his torment.

It’s odd and fascinating because this entire time we might have been framing him as a villain because of what we witnessed first - the violence, the threats, the manipulation- that we missed the overall message: “Help me.”

If time isn’t flowing the same for him as it is for us, he could have been trapped in this in-between state for countless lifetimes: “I am eternal.” Being torn apart and stitched back together a billion times a second everywhere and nowhere, “always there, always watching.” Frantically he puts in information wherever he can: glitches, video tags, titles, social media, in those brief moments when he occupies our reality once more. He’s figured out that this universe is the problem, we’re the epicentre of a catastrophe beyond the comprehension of everyone but him. He tries, and he tries, and he tries to get someone to notice him. He becomes more knowledgable as time goes on, finds tricks to staying more stable, gathering allies from alternate realities (like those from the overnight watch), manipulating universes so that they intersect at the right places, puppeteering on a cosmic scale.

Nothing ever works perfectly though, so he also becomes increasingly desperate. No one else is putting the pieces together, bringing his nightmare to an end. Suffering endlessly until he finally snaps, coming to a single conclusion. In order for this hell to end, he has to kill the person who started it all: our Sean. Time doesn’t matter to him after all, so all of the attempts we’ve witnessed are his end game. Perhaps he mistakenly took Chase for Sean due to him crossing universes and manipulated him into ending his own life (Chase’s power hour.) Another time he appeared while Sean was dying, and tried to disable the surgeon working on him (Kill Jacksepticeye.) He partially succeeds, and Sean’s in a coma.

Here’s where to channel comes in. If it’s the error that needs to be corrected, it explains why Anti’s so obsessed with us, the community. He may think that maybe that too would be enough, that if the channel dies, it’s the same thing as Sean dying, the mistake ceases to be. Except, even with Sean out of commission, the channel lives on. The other egos, primarily Chase it would seem, taking over to keep things running while Schneep tends to Sean.

None of the Egos stuck in our reality have worked Anti’s situation out, obviously, all they see is another version of themselves actively trying to kill them all and so they band together. Realizing that these other realities’ versions of himself were actively interfering in his plans, he moved on to eliminate them from the equation too. Possibly he thought blackmail would suffice for Chase, so he took his kids. Instead of just sabotaging Schneep’s surgery in kill Jacksepticeye, he moves to try to choke him dead instead. An unending cycle of attempts to rid himself of Sean, of the stupid little thing that has caused him unending pain and infuriation.

Except... It does end. I’ve felt rather adamant that Say Goodbye is not the first major appearance of Anti from his perspective, but the last. Time goes by, Anti grows stronger and picks a time and place to focus on: October 2016. In order to focus himself there, he creates a sort of beacon whenever he happens to glitch through. “You all said my name,” for the first major time in our timeline, a call throughout time and space, “kept me inside.” We gave him a tether to one spot long enough to act out his plan. “This is all your fault! Too long! [You should have] listen[ed] to me!” We never put the pieces together, we took too long, so he had to resort to killing Sean.“You all made this happen! You could have stopped this, but you just watched as this happened!” He’s angry with us because if we had put the pieces together we could have ended his suffering earlier as well as saved Sean. “Now, he’s gone forever.” It’s over, it’s done, Sean’s dead, Anti presumably goes back to whatever reality he was from, and time and space fix themselves. We don’t know this though, because we still have to live out our failure in a paradoxical timeline that once everything is back in balance should cease to exist, no longer serving a purpose. So it’s literally the last chance to, “Say goodbye.” Not just to Sean, nor Anti, but to our universe itself.

But that’s just a theory, a meta-theory. Thanks for reading!

@therealjacksepticeye

#jacksepticeye #therealjacksepticeye #antisepticeye #jse egos #jse theory #mayhem 2.0 #dismay2019 #theory #jacksepticeye egos #multiverse #timelines #space and time and stuff #more pieces kept falling into place

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vausemania · 6 years

Note

vauseman s7 theories and hopes. love your blog

Hey, thanks for the kind words about my blog ;)

Re: Vauseman wishes for s7....I almost want to break it down into Realistic Hopes and Unrealistic Wishes (e.g. Piper and Alex on a gorgeous beach in Cambodia with their baby between them lol). Realistically, I want lots of scenes of them /together/. My very favourite Alex and Piper scenes are those when they're together--their chemistry these past six seasons has been nothing short of miraculous, and I think Laura and Taylor elevate their (already-high) level of acting when they’re in scenes together. I also think scenes with just Alex and Piper in them allow them to be their true selves...and that kind of emotionalhonesty has been, well, just beautiful to watch :) More specifically, I'd love for their s7 scenes to be both present-day /and/ flashbacks. I hope for (and fully expect) several prison visitation scenes. As tough as it will be to see Alex and Piper separated by a pane of glass, I still want to see them together. I'd love to see at least two flashbacks of Vauseman Phase I----e,g, domestic/sexy (or domestic *and* sexy;) Vauseman, and aflashback of Piper meeting Diane. Re: Piper post-release....I want to see her using her prison experience (and the wisdom she gained from it) to help others still incarcerated. I fully expect this will happen and will be in the form of a biographical book she writes, since (a) Piper actually mentioned wanting to do this in s6 and (b) Piper Kerman did it.. I'm really looking forward to seeing Piper on the outside and how she adjusts to her newfound freedom. I honestly can't predict what's going to happen vis-a-vis her relationship with her parents. Unrealistically, I'd hope for them both to accept Piper for who she is, to fully accept Alex as their new daughter-in-law, andto generally not try to convert Piper back into the Nice Blonde Lady she was pre-prison. I think that's too much to hope for, esp since Bill Chapman hung up on Piper when she told him about getting engaged to Alex. As much a surprise as it was in s5, I predict Carol Chapman will continue to support Piper and her decision to choose Alex as her life partner. I'm hoping Piper has at least one scene with Polly (their dynamic was always fun to watch) but NOT Larry. If Piper and Larry get back together, my screams will be heard around the planet . Larry serves no purpose now, so there is no reason to waste valuable screen time on him. I doubt Piper and Polly will restart the soap business but I do want them to repair at least some of their friendship.

Now, what about Alex? I only left her 'til the end of my long-ass answer to your 'ask' because I think her storyline is the hardest to predict. A year ago, I predicted that the show would end with Alex picking up Piper from Litchfield after her release (to mirror how s1 begins with Piper being driven to Litchfield to begin her prison sentence). Obviously my prediction was wayyyyy off lol, but it was predicated on Alex being released early due to her re-testifying against Kubra...something that can still happen in s7. The fact that Kubra wasn't mentioned *at all* in s6 makes me wonder what the hell the writers are going to do with that massive loose end. Also, the footage of Piscatella breaking Alex's arm seemed like an important plot point at the time... but it wasn't brought up in s6 in terms of proof of CO violence or even some kind of leverage for Alex getting an early release due to the assault (or some other form of compensation/consideration). Hell, that footage wasn't even used as a way of letting Kubra know that Alex was still alive. I think Kubra (or one of his minions) will crop up in s7 though, because he's been The Big Bad in Vauseman's life basically since Alex testified against him in s2. Re: Alex in prison in s7---well, obviously I hope she's both physically unharmed and psychologically undamaged being separated from the love of her life :/ I think she'll lay low, read a lot of books lol, and generally try her best to avoid getting caught up in any gang activity or illegal shit. The only problem is that that's kinda of boring for a lot of viewers (not me!) to watch... so the writers will likely try to get her involved in something that threatens to extend her prison sentence. Badison might become the new head of the Carol’s gang and we know she likes working with Alex, so that's probably where that threat will come from. I’m hoping that Litchfield's minimum security camp will be rebuilt, so the inmates from there could return and not have to deal with the nastier stuff that went on in Max.Unfortunately, I don't think they're going back there (from a practical point of view) because they built a whole new set for s6's Max prison. Lastly, I'd really, really love for the show to end with a Vauseman real-world wedding and honeymoon (heh), Kubra out of the picture permanently and of no threat to the Vause-Chapmans, Alex completing her university degree (which she worked on while in prison), Piper's book a huge success, leading to a public outcry for prison reform. Oh, and for her and Alex to live happily ever after :D

Omg this reply seemed a lot shorter when I typed it out in Word lol. Thanks for the 'ask'!

#alex vause #piper chapman #vauseman #orange is the new black #oitnb #s7 wishes #s7 predictions #drowingabovewaterx #ask

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aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: The Flag-Smashers’ Marvel Legacy

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This article contains The Falcon and the Winter Soldier spoilers.

We still don’t know how much of an antagonist John Walker – the new Captain America – will be on The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. So far, Wyatt Russell’s Walker seems like a guy trying to do the right thing, and a decent enough fella, although his final interaction with Sam and Bucky at the end of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier episode 2 hints at a darker side. Still, he isn’t what we would exactly call a villain

And while we do know that Helmut Zemo will be popping up in the next episode, right now the biggest threat is the Flag-Smashers, a terrorist group who feel that Earth was better in-between Thanos snapping out half of the population and Hulk snapping them back in. The existence of a pro-Thanos terrorist group does make me wonder if Zemo’s trademark purple sock mask is going to be explained as a way to honor the big bad who “made the world a better place” and also stomped the Avengers, but that’s another story.

Of course, like Walker, it seems like the MCU Flag-Smashers are far from traditional villains, as well. The second episode went out of its way to paint its core members in a somewhat more sympathetic light than what we had seen the week before. And, truth be told, they’re far more sympathetic on screen than the Marvel Comics villain they were based on ever was on the page.

The Flag-Smashers are based on two sides of the same concept. There was Flag-Smasher (singular) who had the same mission statement (more or less) as the MCU team, and there was also Flag-Smasher’s personal army, ULTIMATUM (The Underground Liberated Totally Integrated Mobile Army To Unite Mankind). But since ULTIMATUM really is just a team of “Flag-Smashers” when you get right down to it, this makes sense.

Who is Flag-Smasher?

Flag-Smasher was introduced in Captain America #312, part of the legendary Mark Gruenwald run, with Paul Neary on art. The original Flag-Smasher was named Karl Morgenthau, who wanted to abolish nationalist symbols as well as boundaries. He made his first public appearance during a Captain America speech. He went a little too intense with the intro by flying his aircraft through a window and screaming, “DEATH TO AMERICA!” with guns blazing. This probably hurt his message of downplaying patriotism and removing borders for the betterment of togetherness, since people just responded to his rants with, “Go back to Russia, ya commie!”

Either way, being a jacked guy with a gun and a mace wasn’t much of a match for a super-soldier, so Cap kicked his ass and told everyone that there’s nothing wrong with loving your country.

In his second comics appearance, Flag-Smasher made up for his lack of brute strength by introducing ULTIMATUM. The story also showed that despite his claims that he was working for a better world, he definitely lacked Steve Rogers’ moral fiber. Cap went out of his way to save Flag-Smasher’s life, risking freezing to death himself, and Flag-Smasher refused to return the favor when given the opportunity. Even when he was being removed on a stretcher in the final panel, Flag-Smasher was calling Cap out as an idiot for allowing him to live.

Regardless, Flag-Smasher at least quietly respected Rogers. When he realized that ULTIMATUM was secretly being funded by the Red Skull and how that made him a hypocrite, Flag-Smasher wanted to team up with Cap to help stop the Skull’s plans. Instead, he ran into the John Walker Captain America and was once again disgusted with the United States government for creating such a concept.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Episode 2: New Marvel Characters Explained

By Kirsten Howard

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Zemo Notebook Clues Explained

By Kirsten Howard

Flag-Smasher became a bit of a plug-and-play Marvel villain after that, taking on the likes of Moon Knight, the Punisher, and Ghost Rider. Citizen V (not the interesting one or the other interesting one, but the generic one) came to Morgenthau to offer him a better way. As a reward for helping him with some information, Citizen V gave ULTIMATUM their own country, Rumekistan. He hoped that instead of using violence, Flag-Smasher and his kind could help drive towards unity through practicing what they preached and see it catch on through generations.

It ultimately didn’t work. ULTIMATUM’s fascist values made Rumekistan a horrible place to live. As one soldier put it, discarding a ruling class is easy enough, but becoming one is the challenge. Under the orders of Cable, Domino assassinated Morgenthau so Cable could take over and let the country reach its potential.

The Second Flag-Smasher

Guy Thierrault took over as Flag-Smasher after that and once again became a plug-and-play villain for pretty much any hero to take on. That is, until he made an enemy out of Deadpool, who was in a really, really protective mood due to the discovery that he had a daughter to raise. To make a long story short, after seeing Deadpool take out the entirety of ULTIMATUM, Agent Phil Coulson excused himself so he could go increase Deadpool’s threat level in the SHIELD database.

That was basically the end of ULTIMATUM outside of a situation, fittingly enough, when Sam Wilson was Captain America. Steve Rogers was also Captain America, but this was during that dumb “he’s been HYDRA all along for reals, okay not really, but we’re going to insist he was anyway” phase and he had a Flag-Smasher life model decoy oppose the two Caps in order to push HYDRA’s secret agenda.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

On The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Erin Kellyman is playing Karli Morgenthau and it turns out that she and her core group of Flag-Smashers have somehow been enhanced to super soldier power levels, possibly through a bootleg version of the same super soldier serum that turned Steve Rogers into Captain America.

The name change of the group from ULTIMATUM to Flag-Smashers is a good thing, too. ULTIMATUM not only invokes the name of one of the worst Marvel comics ever (don’t get me started), but the soldiers were always faceless throwaway fodder. Flag-Smasher himself was never too interesting as a character on his own, but the misguided ideals made him worth keeping around. Spread that into a group and you have something, especially with how nuanced the MCU approach to them appears to be.

Though I am a little disappointed that the members of this group don’t look like Space Ghost.

The post The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: The Flag-Smashers’ Marvel Legacy appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3fhiScf

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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storiesbybrian · 7 years

Text

Jane, His Wife (September, 2014)

Paul is about to miss his plane. A viable excuse is right up his ass, a cannaboid suppository purchased as a kind of reward after a very contentious meeting. He could probably amuse his boss into forgiving him for not even making it to the airport with a straightforward account of his inability to resist grabbing something from a shelf labeled “Edibles and Anables”and then, being on such an impulsive roll, marching straight from the register to the unisex bathroom where he pretended to defecate but really went ahead and dented his anal virginity right there in the dispensary, higher than Robert Mitchum before the water from the fake shit flush finished swirling. But the real reason Paul’s flight takes off without him is a girl he used to know. He thinks her name is Sonja.

Emerging from the bathroom, more of a man/less of a man, too confused to know which codes to honor at the moment, Paul bumped into a guy engrosssed in his smartphone. He was very muscular, with a barcode tattooed on the back of his bald head, and he wore a coat, tie and acid washed jeans. Ironic or resolutely earnest, again Paul couldn’t decipher. So, before manners or fear could stop him, Paul peaked at the phone screen, hoping it might give him a better sense of what this guy was all about. And there she was, holding a baby, grinning unabashedly at the semi-well-dressed man and telling him something about a movie she was almost finished watching. Over the past 25 years, Paul had imagined seeing Sonja again many times, but never in fulfillment of Jetsonian prophecy by the bathroom at a legal weed emporium.

Paul remembers her name as evoking kerchiefs and ice skating, so maybe it’s really Brigitte or Helena. Theirs had been one of those acquaintances that advanced too rapidly to ask for a reminder without compromising the probability of sex, especially since she made a big point of knowing his name, shoehorning it into nearly everything she told him. And then, after what had happened, the mutual acquaintance that had introduced them never mentioned her again and Paul was not about to ask after “your friend, you know, that depressed girl with the ungainly feet and Jupiter spot on her eyeball?” Those feet. They seemed to be clutching something delicate, or maybe she was just trying to make them seem smaller. Anyway, Paul follows her husband out of the dispensary, knowing he has to call work, and his own spouse, and no surer what to say to either of them than how to broach a conversation with a stranger whose physique and pants might imply a penchant for violence.

Paul follows Mr. Sonja across Rainier Avenue to Chinook Beach Park. This must be where most recreational customers go to light up as now, with one acid washed leg draped over the other, far less threatening seated than upright, the bar code-necked man rolls himself a blunt. For a moment, Paul is afraid of being mistaken for some kind of moocher who hangs around the parking lot waiting for someone to come out and offer him a puff. But just about any misrepresentation, no matter how unflattering, would be preferable to who Paul really is to the mother of this guy’s child.

Meanwhile, what about Paul’s more pressing concerns, like the personal and professional upheaval he causes by being here instead of home in two hours? And in an irony he feels like he has to be very still to keep straight, Paul notes that he is drumming up excuses for the homefront to delay his encounter with a sartorial schizophrenic, while he very well could have mistaken the visage on the guy’s smartphone and set off in pursuit of resolution 25 years in the making to put off the stresses inherent in maintaining all of the routines he is forsaking to be here. Like he’s avoiding returning to the life he’s now invoking to avoid further avoidment.

He pulls out his own phone and starts dialing Anna Lyza’s mobile number. Her name is not symbolic coincidence, just the product of really strange parents. Paul has made vague allusions to a girl he traumatized in college, but never told Anna Lyza the full story of his day with Sonja. And to go into it now would sound like he was lying to cover for something far more nefarious than a digital goose chase.

So Paul needs to lie to his wife, tell half truths to his boss and come completely clean to this weirdly dressed stranger on a bench. Great, let’s talk to the very strong guy who has good reason to hate you. While he’s high. Paul starts repocketing his phone when it rings. It’s Dan.

“Hello?”

“Paul! So glad I caught you!”

“Oh hi Dan.”

“Listen! Can you talk?”

“To you?”

“Funny. Look, at the meeting earlier today? Jordy said he licenses all of his material through Quatre Saisons? Not true, my man.”

“So we don’t want to…?”

“Dude doesn’t license any of his stuff!”

“Like it’s all-?”

“Open-Sourced! So why were we about to shell out 2nd round funding for free shit?”

“Because you said-“

“Ehnhnhnhnhnh! I didn’t say shit Paul. You said we needed to deal with the Franco-Vivaldi fuckers.”

“Well…”

“Alright, whatever. We’ll talk about this when you get back.”

“Yeah well-“

“Hey Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“Dude, you sound higher than me right now.”

Paul hangs up the phone and rubs his head, appearing far more stressed than he actually is. Sure enough, he gets Sonja’s husband’s attention from the next bench over. Paul gives him his best hangdog and the guy smiles and offers him the blunt. So phase one initiated, but Paul’s resorting to manipulation to make progress toward amends for 25 year-old emotional abuse makes the whole thing feel tarnished before it even gets off the ground.

“Thanks man.”

The guy nods, then thinks better of silence. “Hey, what’d you get in there bro?” His voice is raspy.

Paul takes a deep breath and points to his ass.

“No shit!”

“Not right now.” It gets a laugh.

“So gimme that back, yo. You’re already baked!”

Paul nods enthusiastically. “Appreciate the company though.”

Either the guy will accept the friendly overture or reject it and maybe get suspicious. If the suspicion can manifest itself in a way he’s supposed to notice, Paul will flash his wedding ring and broach the topic of spouses (though the irony of grousing about being married to women as a way to tell men you are not gay is not lost on Paul). But the guy just blanks out and it occurs to Paul that people can say “bro” without awkwardness and still have gaping social deficiencies. In fact, how many times has Paul mistaken one or two words for more comprehensive coolness? He needs to restructure his entire socio-evaluative process but now is not the time. Or is that more personal procrastination and cowardice? Why not now?

“Nice here,” Paul tries.

“You ain’t from Seattle?”

“San Francisco.”

“City by the Bay. Nice bro!”

Paul nods. Briefly he considers just asking the guy what his wife’s name is. But he can only see it seeming like he’s got a jacket lining full of hot watches for sale. And maybe the guy’s impression of Paul is still unformed enough that coming across as sleazy and awkward himself will not seem out of character, and might even arouse compassion. Like maybe the guy will assume that Paul’s life is so pathetic that sharing the details of his own will seem charitable. But that’s a stretch, even between two stoned strangers.

“Been there? I mean do you live in Seattle? Actually I don’t know what to ask.”

The guy laughs and slaps Paul on the back. It hurts.

“I like you, bro. Name’s Paul.”

“No way! That’s my name too!”

“Bullshit!”

Paul pulls out his driver’s license. The whole time he has been trying to seize the opportunity to bestow an apology whose due is old enough to rent a car, he has assumed that Sonja relegated their afternoon together to some minor episode that never bore recounting to anybody. And before he can consider otherwise, his ID makes Acid Washed Paul potentially angry.

“Did you go to Boulder bro?”

It would be easy to say no, catch another flight and try to smooth everything over back home. But Paul can not chalk all of the other things he’s neglecting to be here up to larkishness.

“Yes.”

“This might sound fucked up, but I know who you are.”

“I saw you FaceTiming with her. I was hoping…”

Paul clamps a hand on Paul’s shoulder and squeezes cruelly. Paul tries to squirm out of it but the grip is too tight. With the other hand Paul holds the blunt close like a paintbrush.

Paul has never been in this much physical danger. He thinks that if he had, or anyone had ever hurt him very badly, he might not carry as much guilt around. As the ember glows an inch from his face, black trees past it swaying by the water, he realizes that maybe he wants to get burned. That rather than explaining to Sonja that he enjoyed being kind to her when she expected cruelty, but then couldn’t help switching to contempt when she started expecting or even demanding kindness after only knowing him for two hours, it might be more satisfying to all parties concerned if her husband damaged him permanently and then brought pictures of it home to his dear sweet wife as sort of a trophy, first prize in the KarmaBall League.

“I wanted…”

Acid Washed Paul’s eyes narrow, but the ember bobbles and his threat of burning seems to recede. Paul almost starts crying and wishes that he would.

“I wanted to apologize to her. She’s… She’s told you what happened?”

“You know what she says? She says it was like you lifted her up to the greatest view she’d ever seen, and then you kicked her lower than she’d been before you’d ever met. She didn’t even wanna know anybody else named Paul, much less marry me! You know she’d just gone back to school after a suicide attempt.”

“No. I didn’t know that. I really didn’t!”

“And it’s stayed with you too, huh?”

Paul nods.

Paul stubs out the blunt and unholsters his phone, weighing it in his hand.

“Well this is a buzzkill.”

Paul tries to maintain eye contact and now he does begin to cry. To his shame, it’s probably out of relief that he escaped a mangling.

“Jesus. You need a drink more ‘n me!”

“I don’t drink.”

“What?”

“I quit when I turned 40.”

“Like W.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Well, he is disciplined I guess.”

They go to a coffee shop that serves beer. Paul seems to know several people there, though Paul can not tell how highly they regard him.

Paul gets a pint of something dark and frothy. Paul has Earl Grey tea.

“Is she… happy?”

“Who Anna?”

Paul rocks back in his seat. All this time he had her name wrong but meanwhile married someone else with the same name. And of course so did she. He thinks it’s a coincidence that shouldn’t mean much, but worries again that dismissiveness is tantamount to cowardice. Paul does not know anything else about Paul. If Paul shares more information, the coincidence will gain the freight of expectations and make the whole thing look like some time bomb detonating at the altar. But he cops out and sits on it, pretending he knew Sonja was Anna all along, and that her San Francisco counterpart is named something other than Anna Lyza.

“I mean… If you’re askin’ how guilty are you supposed to feel, I can tell you that plenty of dudes have done her way worse than you managed in one afternoon.”

“But, well, do you know all their names too?”

“Oh yeah. All named Paul. Every last one of ‘em!”

Inhalant Paul looks bewildered for a moment, then cracks up loud enough for dozens of faces haunted by laptops to stare at him. He can not stop laughing. The faces plead for quiet. Rectal Paul is not sure whether to laugh along, stay mired in the horror that seized him when he thought Paul was serious, or take the spectral freelancers’ side and admonish Paul to simmer down. He sips his tea without committing to anything.

“Man, I don’t even think she remembers every one’s name. And trust me, it ain’t like I ain’t done my share of damage too. But I’ve stuck around so��”

“I really would like to apologize to her.”

“Yeah that probably works for you bro, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea on her end. Mad hormonal since the baby.”

“I hear that! We have a two year-old.”

“Tell me it gets easier.”

“It does. I mean, you get to start sleeping through the night again. But that’s right around the same time they learn to move on their own so there’s more chasing ‘em around, instinctively covering every table corner with your hand.”

Paul does not ask Paul any follow ups, how old, how masculine, any others. Paul is relieved by this. If Paul were generous enough to be curious, he would occupy the high road more imposingly. But being all about his own deal, Paul does not have to cede as much moral leverage for his past sins.

Music has been playing continuously, though a specific song comes on before Paul notices. It is a classic rock anthem that Paul’s high school classmates used to sing along with and quote in yearbooks while he felt alienated for cherishing the knowledge that the song was the musical equivalent of shit past its expiration date. But now he smiles and feels the urge to sing along, nearly certain that Paul will join right in.

Before the verse drives up to the chorus, a giant hand tries to pry the coffee shop’s roof from the top of its walls. Everything quakes. Coffee cups chit and shatter. The song keeps playing. Nobody wants to be the one to shriek. The giant hand can not separate the roof from the walls. The quaking stops for a moment, then the giant hand punches through the roof, smashing into a pinball machine. It tries to shake the plaster and glass out of its wounded knuckles. It has a wedding ring that knocks people down.

Paul and Paul look up through the hole in the building. Giant Anna glares down at them, raising her foot til it blocks out the light.

Paul says, “Holy shit that’s my wife!”

Paul thinks with so many people under threat of imminent smushing, he might have pretended otherwise. But in his final moment before Anna grounds him and everyone else there into the carpeting, he envies Paul’s lack of guile.

#Jane His Wife #Weed #Seattle #Regret #Harm #giant #Short Story #Fiction #Shuman

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rashir · 5 years

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“Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Who is the Most Anti-Semitic of All”?

Very recently, a dear friend of mine directed me to an interview on “60 Minutes” between Michael Wallace and self-proclaimed messiah of the black peoples on a global scale, Louis Farrakhan. Taking into consideration that this was screened about 23 years ago, I have always known that Farrakhan was as narcissistic as Trump is, if not even more so. It’s hard not to notice how he speaks of himself highly and in the 3rd person quite often. What I find surprising is that during this interview he sugar-coated many things (i.e. reconciliation, there are bad Jews and good Jews, bad Muslims, and good Muslims, etc.). I suppose that being the true narcissist that he is, he thinks that he’s smarter than most people, especially Jews and that we’d warm up to his sweet talking, albeit deceptive rhetoric. To be frank, I’m sure many a misguided left-wing Jewish person would. He believes himself to be the sole advocate and leader of the black people in the US and even on a global scale. Unlike many black radical or reactionary leaders, he’s very articulate and probably the most charismatic of them all. Leaders like Sharpton, Jackson, Maddox, the list is long, speak publicly as if they are in some black church in the south or in Harlem where their audience speaks the same dialect. Even though Sharpton has improved, he still speaks as if he barely made it past the 11th grade. Not Farrakhan, His manner of speech is very attractive, intelligible, and intriguing. Any black person from many walks of life would get hooked, especially from the inner city. He’s also very relatable. He was raised by a single mother. He doesn’t know much at all about his father. He and his family struggled financially while he was growing up. He’s also very talented. He’s an excellent violinist and doesn’t have a bad voice. As a matter of fact, he’s so talented, that he strongly considered going into show business. Yet when he had his first encounter with Elijah Muhammad, that all changed. Infatuated with the then newly formed Nation of Islam, Louis Eugene Walcott converted and became known as Louis X, and then eventually changing his name to Louis Farrakhan, devoting himself to this version of Islam and dedicating his life to it. Over the years, he’d speak to black American crowds without a filter, letting them know that it’s OK to hate, especially if the hatred is directed to the white man.

Regarding the Jews, his mad obsession is very plain. Think about it – how many Rabbis on Shabbat spend more than a fraction of a second discussing Farrakhan or the Nation of Islam? I can count on 0 hands. He and the Nation of Islam are about as relevant as the mite clinging to a dust ball. Jewish congregations throughout North America and the rest of the world boast scientists, lawyers, CEOs, CFOs, CIOs, doctors, CPAs, dentists, engineers of all types, don’t forget the Nobel Prize winners for the sciences, even an actor or 2 (ahem). Many a convert to the nation of Islam converted while, guess where? Incarcerated. Yup – grads from Sing Sing, Rikers, whatever have joined mosques shouting Farrakhan throughout N.America. Nobody knows that better than he does. He’s not only madly obsessed with Jews, but his hatred also stems from his deep jealousy of Jews.

The question remains – why should Jews throughout North America, if not the world be at all concerned? After all, many people of all backgrounds simply ignore him and just don’t take him seriously. Well, isn’t that interesting? In Germany during the mid to late 1920s, people had the same attitude towards a homely, lonesome unsuccessful, self-proclaimed fine artist from Austria, who was also raised by a struggling single mother as his father died when he was just 13 years old. He may have been a loser in art school and more than likely was not popular with the ladies when he was a teenager, but did he have the art of rhetoric down pat. His words hypnotized and mesmerized the masses on a grandiose scale, very similar to what Farrakhan does today. People need to understand, how do monumental tragedies such as the Holocaust begin? Do they begin with ruthless beatings and murder straight away? No. They begin with something a lot more simple than that. They begin with words. They begin with articles in the local newspaper seasoned with the age-old anti-Semitic jargon. The next step comes with speeches in front of small crowds, which lead to speeches in front of larger and then even larger crowds. It’s all very subtle and it’s very easy to ignore. In Farrakhan’s case, he’s become a celebrity. His interviews and televised speeches are accepted warmly by many of his supporters. At the funeral of the Queen of Soul herself, Aretha Franklin, Farrakhan wasn’t only an invited guest; he was seated at the dais with other dignitaries including former President Bill Clinton. What was worse? Nobody seemed to care. Big time, loud-mouthed liberals like Whoopi Goldberg were seated in the audience and didn’t seem phased at all. With all credit due to former President Clinton, he did seem very uncomfortable up there just two seats away from him. The leader of the Women’s March, Tamika Mallory, when interviewed about Farrakhan’s racist and anti-Semitic remarks, tends to downplay and even ignore the questions. She has even gotten flustered and frustrated because she sees nothing wrong with him. She doesn’t understand why his views against Jews (whether she agrees or disagrees with them) would be at all relevant. At best, Mallory has stated that “she doesn’t agree with everything that Minister Farrakhan states”, yet at the same time, she aligns herself with him and enjoys a close mentor/student relationship with him. Needless to say, Mallory has to yet to have criticized her beloved mentor for his blatantly ugly anti-Semitic jargon.

It has become very common to read in publications or to watch on television. Since anti-Israel propaganda is now a common thread on the left and especially the far left, the misguided and very ignorant Jewish person from that camp joins in the songs and mirth of those who “have nothing against Jews, but have a lot against Zionism”. Not only is this a mockery against the Jewish people as a whole, yet, even more so, it is used against Jews, Judaism and of course, Israel.

There is always someone who pushes the envelope. It begins with shaming on social media, then verbal abuse in public. Before you know it, it leads to outright assault. In recent years, anti-Semitic violence has increased dramatically throughout Europe and the Americas. In the streets of New York City, which has been a haven for Jews for well over a century, Jews have been harassed and attacked. The most recent horror, the massacre in a Conservative synagogue in Pittsburgh back in October 2018, where 11 people were murdered by Robert Gregory Bowers, a white supremacist, as a result of the culmination of race-baiting that is now commonplace amongst enemies of Jews on the right and on the left. One could argue that Bowers is not a follower of Farrakhan and has a completely different agenda. Yet when Farrakhan openly admits that he’s “not an anti-Semite, yet an anti-termite”, one knows his basic intention as people wish to get rid of termites. Farrakhan isn’t sugar-coating these terms. He’s outright serious. These type of rhetoric leads to only one thing, and it’s to bring his hatred to the next level. The problem is, people still turn a blind eye and try to rationalize and belittle their actions. When people compare what is happening today with threats of boycotts against Israel as well as verbal harassment and even assaults on University campuses and in public throughout the world to pre-Nazi and Nazi Germany, we get labeled as either paranoid, over-dramatic and exaggerating. Unfortunately, anybody with half a brain can see what’s coming. What’s even more unfortunate, intelligent people still don’t see it and go as far as even refusing to see it.

One thing for sure, somebody has to publicly stand up against him and shame him dramatically in front of millions. Making a fool out of him is the first step, yet in all these years, nobody has. Is it out of fear? Perhaps. Yet it will only get worse if something is not done. I don’t want to write a book about this gorilla with speech, (my apologies to all gorillas in captivity and in the bush) but, again, who will step up and put this sack of human waste in his place in front of millions?

#anti-semitism #nationofislam louisfarrakhan racism hate

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