#got my soul absorbed by a tragically mid show

[azurevi]

3 halloween tales (cater, jade & vil)

This is really random, but the ssr cards for the halloween show have given me many au ideas, so here are my self-indulgent stories inspired by them. The Cater one is especially long because I got a lot of ideas about it. For the Vil one.. it's pretty disappointing how it turned out, but I hope it's not too bad. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS!

WARNINGS : death (all), mild mention of gore (cater), war + mild possessiveness + violence (jade) [let me know if there're more!]

the heart and its eternal weight

Cater is a cemetery caretaker. It isn't that he really loves it, but his father was one. He feels like it is only right to take after his steps.

He isn't into superstitions. Some people find distaste in his job, but it's something crucial for Cater. People, even after they're dead, should still be honored, and so deserve a hospitable place to rest. 

Everyday is a routine for him. Sometimes, though, the families of the passed talk to him about their stories and their emptiness once their loved ones are gone. Cater finds the beauty and softness in humans by hearing these stories, and it makes him even more dedicated to his job. 

It's natural to him, dying. His father was killed in an unintended accident, and sometimes it seems like his death could have been avoidable just as much as it was inevitable. He just wishes that he had had more time with him.

One of the lessons his father taught him about graveyard caretaking is to beware of ghosts. Those who recently died are more visible and intimate with the world of the living, and so they might appear before humans. Some are inhostile, of course, but there are malevolent ones.

Lore has it that some ghosts prey on hearts. It is said that the heart is the most important part of a human, as it is accountable for life, death and emotions. People believe that ghosts can be revived with a fresh, still-beating heart, and as a result the human giving up their heart will die in place of the ghost. Basically, the heart can also create ripples in the fabric of space-time.

Because of his job, he isn't all that popular among others, and he only has a few life-long close friends, his mother and sisters by him. So even if he has a crush on the most admirable person he's ever seen, he still won't make it known in fear of rejection. He figures that he still has time to figure it out.

And he's wrong. News about your tragic death spread around quickly like wildfire, and he's devastated. It feels wrong to even feel so, because he has never been acquainted with you in the first place.

Your body is buried in his cemetery, and a lot of people come to your funeral that day. Some of your family members are so heartbroken and pitiable, and so Cater offered to be their listener.

All he can hear is about the great work you've done, the care you put into everyone you met, the warmth that radiated off you while you were still alive. It breaks Cater how he's never had the privilege to know you, to experience all your graces with his own perspective.

One night, the moon is lit and hung up high in the sky, so close that it seems to be prying on Earth and the people roaming on it. Cater is patrolling with his lawnmower when he hears quiet and uncertain sobs.

He is creeped out, yes, but he's also curious. He's never seen a ghost before, and it could be a human for all he knows.

He's proved wrong once again, as he discovers your opaque body behind a giant tree. You are hugging their legs close to your chest, and a rotting hole's visible where your heart should be.

There's no way you can be hostile, and you certainly won't kill him for his heart, so Cater decides to approach you gently, tentatively, like you're smoke that will disperse the moment he intrudes.

To his surprise, you can hear him clearly, and even invite him to sit down with him. It's so bizarre -- a ghost asking for a conversation! But Cater doesn't mind as he pops down beside you. He notices how although you were no longer solid, it still feels like tense when his hand passes through you. Certainly it's because you've been dead not for long.

And so the two of you indulge in heartful conversations, and Cater finds himself regretting even more about how he never gathered the courage to go up to you. Mid-conversation you tell him about all the things that you wish you could've done and all the ideas you wished to spread.

Cater probably shouldn't have, but he is so absorbed in your ambitions and kindness that he offers to carry out all these great things for you. After numerous confirmations, you agree too to let him carry out your thoughts.

And so Cater works in his neighbourhood, sharing campaigns and donating, taking care of lost pets and cats and partaking in environment improvement. He's never felt so fulfilled before, and it's the first time he feels like he's genuinely making a difference in the world.

In times he's not representing you, he brings you up on the little hill behind the cemetery where the moon and stars are so close and vibrant, where they all dance in the dark ballroom and pulse in excitement of being seen. He wishes he could show you more hidden gems, but your spectral spirit cannot be too far away from your body. 

But it's enough.

A month passes and Cater notices subtle change in your behaviour as well as appearance, like how you're responding with less enthusiasm and how the hole in your chest is growing bigger. When he finally asks about it, he's told that ghosts generally only stay in the world of the living for 49 days, and their heart will rot away in this period. After that, they will have to go to the underworld, never be back again.

Cater is certainly shocked that the lore is more than a children's makeup story. He is well aware of the significance of the heart in relation to the soul and life. 

He asks if you'd like to have his heart instead, so bluntly and casually. You seem to return to their original intimate self when you refuse. 

"I'm already gone. It's you, the living, who should be making changes,"

So he pretends that you're not getting more and more unresponsive and less and less generous. He turns a blind eye against your wavering figure and how you can't be seen at all in the sun. He plays dumb when in reality, you're slipping away before his very own eyes, heart rotting away like nothing more than a fruit.

It hurts finally knowing and understanding someone and having to lose them. 

On the 48th day, you are already but a still, soulless shadow, leaning beside your gravestone and fresh, white flowers. Cater can still see you. Sometimes he thinks that you chose to be seen.

And he can't bear to see you go. To see your dreams go into flames, to watch such a pretty soul just - vanish.

So he gives you his heart. Alive and beating and sentimental. It doesn't even hurt a bit. 

You wake up immediately, your eyes glowing and body solidifying. 

"What have you done?" 

"What I can do to make a change,"

Time is starting to rewrite itself. Cater is going to die in your place. The space around you was warping and folding into itself, softly and rightly like a lullaby.

Just before you slip into darkness, you gather up a whole bunch of rose petals and desperately stuff them into the hole in Cater's chest, as if they can give him life in lieu of a heart, and you are sobbing and clinging onto his still warm arm, never wanting to let go.

It's all Cater wants, to save a wasted soul and to make a difference. 

And so he cradles your face, and leans in the moment everything goes black. When he wakes up again, he's weightless in the cemetery, where a bunch of well arranged roses lie on his buried body.

a melancholy specimen

To Jade, beauty needs to be preserved to be constant. It's just like flowers. They die away without proper care.

Just when he thinks he's seen all the beauties of the world and is getting bored of it, he meets you. A blooming flower sparkling in the bland, old boring world around it. He's immediately captivated - how a person can still manage to flourish in such a rotten world where everything is depressing and all man is for themselves!

You're the most elegant piece of art he's seen, and that's something considering that he owns a museum. Innocence lies in your eyes and bravery sings itself between your lips.

You find him just equally amusing -- gentlemanly, insightful and just a touch of flirtation. The two of you fall in love like Alice down the rabbit hole - amused and unstoppable, fascinated by the wonders evolving about.

But the world doesn't give a damn about love, nor do they understand your dreams of a bright future where everything is close to hearts. They call you both madness and nonsense.

"Their souls are tainted with war and sorrow. They are beyond the point of rescue. Victory and glory are all that can feed their ego,"

Jade is disappointed. War has gouged people's eyes out and filled them with wails and ash.

The two of you are the only stars in the night sky, still fighting for salvation, yearning for a better future where trees grow and flowers yearn for the sun. You promote and do your best to lift the veil of darkness off the world. 

But the sun doesn't understand either. War keeps going on and on, and people never have the time for aesthetic relaxations. It refuses to shed light on its pitiable humans.

"We should evacuate, Jade. They say a bomb is dropping tomorrow,"

Jade doesn't care and can't care. The most paramount thing is to open his eyes to the beauty of this world. He doesn't want to become one of those barbarous men, tasting dirt and blood on their tongue while they glorify violence and brutalness.

He stays behind while his neighbourhood dies away. You are the only ones yet to leave. 

"Please don't leave me, Y/N. You're the only light in my life,"

You can't bear to leave him, and so you stay. The bomb is dropped, and it's too close. Too hot. Too cruel, too inhumane. It ravages everything in its way, burning all the darkened things to the ash and bringing the only beauty left in this world with it.

Jade wails. Broken cries are engulfed by nearby explosions and the cackling of flames. Your soulless body lies amidst the destruction, just another wilted flower in the slit of a rock, deprived of water and sunlight.

He finally understands. Nothing can save the world anymore. It's gone way too far, and it will never recover from malevolence. All he can feel is pity for his world as his heart ache with spite.

Bandages around his hands, he wraps your corpse up completely, preserved underneath the layers. You will be his reminder that there was once a flower in this drought, an anchor keeping him from becoming one of those barbarians.

lifeless silhouette in the dark night

You can never recognize directions. You find yourself stumbling upon a seemingly inhabited mansion in the middle of the woods. Cold and bruised, you knock on its door.

Welcoming you is a tall man with blonde and lilac hair called Vil. His skin is unnaturally white, and his eyes seem to glow like orbs that eat your souls. But you are too tired to make notice of all these details, and he's kind enough to let you stay for the night.

He treats you with ravishing cuisine and a grand bedroom that was as grotesque as the rest of the house. Afterwards, he leaves you to rest, but not before warning you not to get out of the room post midnight.

You oblige- for the first half hour. Then you start to hear wails and footsteps that amplify and disappear. It's impossible to sleep.

The next morning, you confront Vil about it. He refuses to face the questions as he ushers you to get going, and so off you go.

You spend another day lost in the woods, then somehow come face to face with the mansion again. Vil is beyond shocked to see you, but then he breaks into a deep smile.

"It's almost as if you belong here,"

Weirdly enough, you could agree, There seemed to be an invisible force pulling you towards Vil. After dinner, he orders you not to leave the room again before making his leave.

Broken wails. Recurring footsteps. You can't bear it any longer, and you also wonder if Vil is aware of this. He properly is, and thus tells you to stay safe inside the room.

But dumb curiosity gets the best of you, and you open the door and step into the endless corridors.

The wails come from the host's room, where Vil is supposed to be. You're closing in when its door is suddenly flung open, and out runs a panting Vil.

"Vil? What are-"

His eyes are bloodshot and there's red stain in the corner of his mouth. Sweat dots his forehead. He looks disheveled and the complete opposite of how he was during dinner.

"You shouldn't be here. Get back - get back in!"

His voice booms in your skull, and you're running back to your room before you notice. 

It's another sleepless night.

To your luck, Vil doesn't wait for you to bring the incident up.

"Don't be creeped ou by it, please."

He seems very uneasy about it, but he's obstinate to give you an explanation.

Turns out that he is a vampire. One that has lived for 500 years and is waiting for his eventual death. He's seen everything in this world and lived through the best and worst of humanity. He understands people's fear about vampires, and so he resides in the remote part of the wood. He only ever drinks the blood of small animals that he hunt, and never has he once killed a man.

He knew nothing about what'd happen to him when he became a vampire. If he'd known about the repercussions, he'd never have become one in exchange of eternal beauty. Now he has to turn someone else into a vampire to end his immortality. It is only a cycle.

 Every night the moon rises and spills into his room, and he has to fight his urge to go out and taste the sweet blood of humans. 

There are times when he slips and loses control, but he always manages to get back to his senses. But it seems that your presence here in the mansion is awaking his desire to suck you dry.

You're bewildered to say the least, and frankly horrified. But at the same time you feel pity for him, for he is just a man who can't ever do anything as atrocious as hurting people.

And so you offer to end his suffering. Of course Vil disagrees. He just talked about how he never wanted to take a life, and now you're offering yourself to him? He'd never allow it.

But you're even more persistent. You keep staying in his mansion, and his sanity slips a little more every night. And you know that he's contemplating too, for he never tries to kick you out of his mansion.

"You deserve a rest, Vil. For your love and selflessness. For all the unspoken kindness you bestow on others. It is only fair that you get to rest,"

Vil has lived a life. He's but a mere walking corpse now, and a rest -- a sleep -- sounds just like what he needs.

And so he rests. Vil falls into a deep, serene sleep while you endure each and every dark night.

#twst x reader #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland #cater diamond #jade leech #vil schoenheit #sie writes #twisted wonderland imagines

[speaking-to-the-dead]

Vorhal the Mad

Sorena made her way towards the coast of Silverpine Forest upon receiving word from her companion, Drakuhl. There was little time wasted, the reagents that would be needed having already been prepared. Technically, she'd had OTHER plans with them, but... she'd worry about that later. As she came to stand beside her companion, she looked over the small grove in slow fashion, taking in the little details of the hidden location. 

"A quaint little spot," she murmured to the Amani. 

His response was low, a bit of  disdain lacing words. "Yeh, Ma'da. Why ya wan' dis one, is beyon' me. Ya got Drakuhl, ya don' be needin' anyone else." 

The Necromancer knew her Amani didn't want her raising others, at least not in the same fashion that she'd done him. Drakuhl was territorial, and given how much he'd hated her in the beginning of their companionship, to know that he didn't want to 'share' made her  feel all good and happy inside. She eyed him as her hand lifted, gently resting at his shoulder. "This is business, darling. Belicit wanted him for a reason, and since you managed to run her off, I might as well step into place. This is a game after all." 

He let out a sigh, eyes closing as he shrugged her hand away. "Do it, then. She still be 'round here, I think. Be quick." 

Sorena snorted as she lifted the satchel from around her body. "As quick as I can. You know it takes time." And while her companion stood guard, Sorena made her way down from the rocky cliff-side, and headed towards the small little headstone that was nestled between the various bushes against the tree. She eyed the site around where she was to work, emerald gaze taking in the various bushes that were thriving with life. Even a few mushrooms were scattered here and there. But... this wouldn't do. No. 

The satchel was set beside her, and she began to remove the decorative spaulders, along with the rest of her armor. The tunic came next, followed by the slitted skirt, and then the leather leggings beneath. Only once she was fully nude, did she step forward, and stood directly on the grave of the man known as Vorhal the Mad. Her hands moved out at waist level, palms facing towards the ground. The temperature in the surrounding area suddenly plummeted, and each breath came out as a puffy white cloud. 

Moments passed before her emerald eyes were swallowed by an inky black that took over the entire orb, and a sort of mist-like substance tickled at the palm of her hands, black in color. From her lips came an incantation that was barely audible. 

                              ((Keep reading below the cut for more!))

Starting at her feet, that beautifully soft, lush grass would begin to wither and die, turning from a vibrant green hue firm with life, to brittle and black, a shell of what it once was. In an outwards radius it continued, until the bushes all but withered away, shrinking in size as she continued to channel.

Sorena’s eyes opened as she lowered her hands and turned around. Even the large trunk of the tree had begun to rot away, leaving a blackened core there. Glancing up, she smirked, realizing she might want to work a bit faster, or risk the entire tree coming down on her since the foundation was all but dead now. But... that wasn't her focus. Instead, she moved back towards the satchel and withdrew a single vial, then carried the satchel towards the grave. One by one, various bones were removed and placed just so over the grave to replace those she knew he wouldn’t have.... a tragic thing, his death was, and gruesome at that. 

Stepping over the now rotted area of earth, she walked in a slow circle around the grave, sprinkling the combination of dusted reagents that ended up looking like blackend salt, making sure the entire circle was connected. Only then, did she kneel down at the foot of the grave within the circle, knees pressing into the deadened grass. Her arms came up slowly after the vial was discarded, over her head and out. As the Necromancer began to speak, the temperature plummeted even further, crystallizing the ground and causing her skin to just barely take on a touch of blue. Her lips were dark, and  those veins appeared stark against her pale flesh, black in color and snaking over her body, starting from the corners of her eyes.

The earth nearest her began to shake, began to tremble, and wisps of black, purple, and white began to form and dance through the air over the grave, sweeping around and colliding with one another as if a dance were being seen mid-air. The pebbles and dirt jumped and bounced as the remains of the body began to slowly be brought forward towards the surface. THANKFULLY, he wasn't in a coffin, because Sorena would have a bit of trouble! 

Moments later, she saw the fist sight of bone wiggle its way out of the earth like a magnet was drawing them forward. She was this magnet, yes. And a smile appeared at the Necromancer's face, though it was rigid, given the temperature. 

Almost done, she  thought to herself. 

Only when the entirety of his remains were brought up and shown to her, did she lower her arms, hands pressing into the earth on either side of his body. She leaned down, taking in that rotten stench of his body, face hovering over his sternum for a moment. Her tongue darted out, gliding over the rough surface of the bone slowly, until she flicked her gaze to his skeletal face. "You'll do nicely," she murmured softly to the corpse with a slight smile, then straightened. Sorena could  feel Drakuhl's gaze on her, his words slipping through her mind, and though she didn't respond, the woman snorted quietly. 

The necromancer moved to straddle him, and sat up but remained on her knees, left hand hovering over his sternum in the same spot she'd just licked, and her eyes suddenly flashed. She was a vision of power, that much she knew. Her skin was pale, creamy, with only a single mark on her shoulder marring the flesh, though it had been left there on design by her husband. Snaking out over her skin were blackened veins, making her look more like a wild animal than a simple Sin'dorei. Though she wasn't what one would consider to be 'curvy,' she still had those feminine curves against her otherwise toned body. Her hair was as black as her eyes at the moment, and a fierce expression was at her features, an intense focus as she channeled the power that she'd come to crave over the years. 

From her hand, that blackened 'mist' appeared, and began to pour from her palm to his sternum. Black and purple, that necrotic energy was manipulated and she began to breathe 'life' back into the bones below. This was the longest part of the process, and the most draining on the Necromancer. She had to search for his soul. HIS soul, not another’s. Sorena needed Vorhal, and wherever it was that his soul rested, he'd feel that pull, that force to move, to come to her as she beckoned him. 

Around the area, the sudden sound of cackling emanated from everywhere and no where at the same time. It was quite obvious to that laugh alone why he was called mad, his shrill laughter ringing brightly around the area. An oppressive force began to press down on the area as a light show of shadow and holy light danced above them. Higher up of the tree, a staff suddenly shot free from its confines and floats ten feet above their position. The manic cackling increased in intensity for a moment before dying down into dull chuckles of madness every now and then.

Her ears flicked and twitched as she heard that echoing of the cackled laughter. The wind picked up around them, icy gusts blowing through the once beautiful clearing. Drakuhl raised to his feet, eyes on the staff that appeared, and though he was ready to intervene if necessary, but or the moment he remained where he was, judgmental gaze on his mistress. 

Sorena didn't look away from the body, knowing she was so very close to bringing him back, and more power was poured into her channeling. Several  minutes later, there'd be an image burned into he sternum, the blackened outlines of a phoenix grasping a single black rose standing out against the ivory bone. Slowly, with her body slightly shaking from the effort, she scooted back to her original position. 

"Vorhal the Mad, I call your soul to be bound to the bones that once was a shell of your former person. I bind you to do the bidding and answer only to the powers of myself, Sorena Ama’rath, Mistress of the Dead, and Speaker of the Spirits. Come now back into this world as you once were, and serve me!" 

The words were yelled, power emanating with every syllable spoken. 

And then... only moments later... would those bones begin to tremble against the ground, the man having no choice but to appear.  

The cackle raised into a screeching. "KAHAHAHAHAHAHA YESSSSSS" as the staff from above absorbs the swirling light and shadow energy and blitzed down to the undead’s position, followed by bigger bits of tree that his staff tore from the tree. With a cacophony of bones jangling, his skeletal hand shot up and caught the staff just ahead of the pieces of tree. A barrier of light surrounded them that incinerated the splinters of wood as they made contact with it. With a mad giggle and a swoosh of air as the barrier dissolveed once again, the bones of Vorhal the mad stand with a flourish display, his grinning, misplaced Orcish skull coming to life with glowing yellow eyes. He gave a bow to the Sin’dorei, scrapping voice coming out, sounding like metal clashing against metal. "My Lady, Vorhal the mad serves again." His bones jangled as he cackles once more, his staff at his side.

Now, the important question.... What was it Belicit needed from him?

#rp scene #The Necromancer #Rituals

[starsailorstories]

The Grief Labor (in general and in SC)

The healer knew the child would be dead before she got there. It was why she’d knocked on the abbey’s doors. It was why she’d woken up the death priestesses and had them follow her lantern through the darkness and the snow. When they arrived the family were beyond speaking to; their mourning broke the windows; their bodies collapsed and rejoined the dark as though they could follow the child there. The priestesses washed her bones and covered them and said the prayers. They lit a candle that would stand where she had been for as long as her name was remembered, and began to depart. But at the door they stopped.

The eldest of the priestesses handed to the healer a basket, overflowing with thick skeins of thread. “You see that fence across the square?”

The healer nodded. It stretched from one side of the white-blanketed field to the other, marking the border between future fiber crops.

“Stay here for the night. In the morning, you tell the girl’s parents they should wrap it up from end to end in thread so that none of the wood shows through, and none of the threads cross over each other.”

“What will it help?” said the healer, who, for all her virtues, dealt in life.

“Nothing,” the priestess replied. “But it will make them wait until spring arrives, and then it will help them wait until spring is over. And maybe then, they’ll be ready to go on with something. But if they’re not, write us a letter, and we’ll send some more thread.”

[Images: 1. quotation from the novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, which reads ‘Joe was deflated. The surge of triumph he felt when he finished a story was always fleeting, and seemed to grow briefer with every job. This time it had lasted about a minute and a half before turning to shame and frustration. The Escapist was an impossible champion, ludicrous and above all imaginary, fighting a war that could never be won. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. He was wasting his time. “Idiot,” he said, wiping at his eyes with the back of an arm.’ 2. quotation from the Winchester Mystery House website, which reads ‘Shortly after her husband’s death, Sarah left their home in New Haven, CT and moved out west to San Jose, CA. There, she bought an eight-room farmhouse and began what could only be described as the world’s longest home renovation, stopping only when Sarah passed on September 5, 1922.’]

“Grief labor,” enshegoa in Ashtivan, is a worldbuilding concept I created from a concept I’d noticed in literature, history, and the lives of people I met and heard about. On Ashtiva, ancestor worship is a fairly worldwide phenomenon (the species only having spread over their world relatively recently in the scope of their history), and death and grieving are usually not shied away from; but in the case of particularly sudden or tragic deaths, the local spiritual leaders will usually give homework--an easy and low-stakes but time consuming project designed both to give bereaved people a reason to keep getting up in the morning and to allow time for contemplation and working through emotions. 

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay quote up there is from a passage I was reading and rereading a whole lot while developing Lux’s character. It’s not an example of a grief labor exactly, but it deals with the attempt to cope with a reality in which you feel helpless via a proxy task, specifically a storytelling task.

Originally, before I made more decisions about her backstory and also just realized I did not have time to do all the research that it would take, Lux’s unofficial, self-imposed, slightly maladaptive grief labor was going to be borrowed from another recluse of the Californian hills: Sarah Winchester, who was famously directed by a medium to always be building a house in order to appease the spirits of all those killed by her husband’s invention, the Winchester rifle. This intrigued me because it had a strong element of penance and attempted reparation, emotionally, but obviously fell short of both because of its self-absorbed nature. What would today be equivalent to a $70 million fortune was poured into an architecture of suffering, with halls and stairways literally going nowhere, instead of turning outward where the real healing from the acts being repented was needed. This struck me as being a pained and twisted version of the Ashtivan philosophy of building your soul into your designs and creations.

Eventually, via the influence of Chabon’s novel and my own life--plus the absolute delight of hitting on the idea of connect Lux’s experience on earth with the lesbian pulp writers of the mid 20th century--led me to decide that her project would actually be writing, and writing that specifically addressed the places in her own life narrative where she felt helpless to change the ending. But I’m trying to keep the sense of the stagnant architecture of suffering. In a lot of ways the little house on the mountainside is the opposite of the starship wrecked at the peak. From the first sentence of vol. 1 Lux is being pushed to take what she learned there out the door.

#just in case first off: #child death tw #death tw #sweet chariot #writing #process

[ma-bien-aimee]

A Farewell Rondeau

“It’s hopeless now There is no turning back The agony of a man who picked a rose A bottle of wine Ceaseless rain The agony only worsens Yet, the Seine flows as usual today”

If I could pick one episode from the anime to show to someone unfamiliar with The Rose of Versailles, it would be episode 20, “Fersen, A Farewell Rondeau.” It has got everything I love about the series. It is tragic, poignant, romantic and oh so heart-rending. It features all four main characters almost equally and it is charged with so much emotion, all of which is conveyed through clever dialogue, beautiful pan-out scenes and soul-stirring music.

On this page, I will walk you through the episode, similar to what I did with the pilot episode, with a few comments here and there about the events that take place. If you are new to the Rose of Versailles, I hope that my comments encourage you to give this remarkable anime a go. If you are familiar with the series and this episode, I would very much like to hear what you thought of it in the comments.

Disclaimer: The anime scripts have been taken from the subtitles in the North American DVD release by Right Stuf, via Nozomi Entertainment. The script and stills are featured here only for the purpose of providing insight into the subject matter I am attempting to analyse in this post.

***

The episode starts off with Marie-Antoinette and Fersen locked in a passionate embrace at dawn. Their midnight tryst has come to an end as the day breaks. Fersen tells a teary-eyed Marie-Antoinette not to cry, as seeing her tears will make him wander in a living hell until they meet again. He says that he only wants to see her smile, resembling a spring breeze. At that, Marie-Antoinette manages a weak smile. The lovers reluctantly let go of each other for the day. The pain of their forbidden love seems to have become too much to bear for both of them.

Fersen, looking tormented, slowly rides his horse among hordes of sheep put out to grass in early morning. He is headed straight for the Jarjayes manor, as the audience will later understand. In the next scene, he is seen completely absorbed in practicing sword fighting with Oscar. Perched at the bottom of the stairs, André watches them practice as he pensively munches on an apple.

After the practice, Oscar, André and Fersen are having tea in the manor’s morning room in front of large French windows. Fersen stretches his arms and says that there was nothing in particular that he wished to talk about and that he just felt in the mood for breaking sweat. He thanks Oscar for the practice and prepares to leave, kindly declining her offer to stay for dinner. Although Fersen seems cheerful enough, he is obviously not his talkative self. Just then, seeing André still munching on his apple, he asks him to take him to a cheap bar in Paris sometime. The audience is given to understand that Fersen is in search of ways to distract himself.

After Fersen has left, André flings an apple at Oscar, which she catches in mid air. He tells her that with all the scandal surrounding Fersen, he wouldn’t last five minutes in a cheap bar in Paris before being thrown out. Then he grabs another apple and bites into it. Not saying a word, Oscar simply lifts up her apple to eat it.

Later back in the morning room, Oscar is seen looking out from the window, as André distractedly throws an apple in the air and catches it repeatedly. He tells Oscar that he has never seen Fersen like that before and adds: “He seemed tormented, no matter what he did. But on the other hand, he had to try... If his love is that tormenting, why did he get so involved? What's so hard about loving and being loved? There are plenty of loves that can't even be confessed in this world.”

This is a quality of André that I really like. He’s not taciturn like Oscar. He explains things. He thinks aloud. Really, the whole plot of The Rose of Versailles makes more sense after André comments on whatever is happening at a particular moment.

Here is my take on what he means to say here: “It is as if whatever he [Fersen] is doing is tormenting him, yet he can’t seem to stop doing it either. If this love is making him suffer so much, why did he get entangled in it in the first place? Why must everything about loving and being loved be so difficult? As for the kind of love that cannot even be confessed, there are so many.” It is more or less the same as what the subtitles say, but more clearly expressed, at least for me.

The bit about how there are plenty of loves that cannot even be confessed strikes a chord for both André and Oscar. But André doesn’t say it in a suggestive way to make Oscar see that he is in love with her. He simply states it as a mere fact like he was thinking aloud, which tells me that he has no intention of making his feelings known to her, or that he was trying to deliberately get a rise out of Oscar. But she doesn’t know that André’s words were directed at himself too. So, she takes it personally and reacts.

Oscar suddenly turns and tells André to get his sword ready and meet her at the back garden. By the time he arrives, Oscar is already warming up for practice, slicing the air with each swing of her sword. She warns him that she won’t go easy on him. André says that it is fine by him. Then, more slowly, he says to himself that he wasn’t planning on holding back either. Awash in the colours of sunset, the two engage in a fierce sword fight to let out their frustration born out of love that they cannot even confess. André tells Oscar in his mind to forget about Fersen. He, then, takes it back, saying instead: “No, I want you to forget him... Please...”

It is so sweet, but also so sad not to mention incredibly romantic, that André can’t bring himself to get angry at Oscar, because he knows that she can’t help her feelings, just as he can’t help loving her. Empathy is the modern word to use here. However, The Rose of Versailles vocabulary would call forth something like “an ever-transcending knowledge bridging the hearts of these two souls who are so close, yet at the same time so far away from one another.” That sounds like something that the narrator would say over some dramatic music, as the camera pans out for commercial break!

A note on apples: As far as I am concerned, this is the first episode that André’s apples make an appearance. Since he spends a lot of time in the stables, he must grab a few for himself and Oscar, after he has fed the horses. I mentioned every single instance they are shown here for fun, not because I think the apple actually symbolises anything important in the series like roses. It is important to note that it is a recurrent element only in the anime. For this reason, I have observed that fans of the manga often pick up on it. I don’t know if the producers of the series intended the apple to be a symbol for anything in particular. It could be, though. For one thing, the apple seems to appear whenever Fersen is involved in a scene featuring Oscar and André.

The audience is taken to the poverty-stricken streets of Paris. A stray dog is feeding her litter in a filthy corner. Huddled figures, trying to get warm by a single candle, are drinking the “one measly drink” they get in exchange for a whole day’s work. A crippled troubadour plays a sad tune on his concertina and talks in poetry about the life of the people at the other extreme: The poor and the hungry couldn’t care less about the love affair between the queen and her lover.

Meanwhile, a luncheon is held by Marie-Antoinette in the gardens of Versailles. The nobles are gossiping about the queen’s love affair and are eager to see the evidence of it in action. Marie-Antoinette arrives and bids welcome to all the guests. She momentarily catches Fersen’s eye, but deliberately turns away to the dismay of the expectant nobles. In her mind, she promises to meet him at Le Temple de l'Amour that night.

Later, Oscar is summoned to the queen’s chambers. As she enters the room, Marie-Antoinette dismisses her maids until there is only the two of them left. Oscar waits for the queen to speak only to see tears well up in her eyes. Marie-Antoinette covers her face with her hands and shamefully asks Oscar, her only true ally amid the gossiping nobles, to convey a message to “him”. She tells her that she cannot make it to their rendezvous that night, because she forgot about the king’s guests that she has to entertain. She pleads with Oscar, saying, “Please say yes! If you don't, I won't be able to raise my face and look at you.” Oscar takes her hands in hers and tells her, “Please raise your face. How could I ever refuse Your Majesty's request?”

Oscar and Marie-Antoinette are two drastically different women, sharing a rare friendship. Sure, they don’t always understand each other or seek each other’s company to spend time, but they trust each other unfailingly. In this scene, Marie-Antoinette is so relieved and so happy when Oscar accepts to deliver her message. And Oscar is, well, obviously not thrilled about the prospect, but she chooses to be there for her friend. She sees how lonely she is, how she has no other 'foul-weather friends.' Plus, in this instance, she understands how the queen feels.

With a doleful look on her face, Oscar leaves the queen’s side. A flock of feeding pigeons take off, as she slowly walks through the courtyard to her horse. Clueless, André asks her what the queen wanted. Oscar gets on her horse without answering and quickly rides away. André tries to catch up with her, curiously asking about what has happened. Oscar tells him to go home without her. Later, she arrives at an isolated place near a river and gets off her horse, her back facing the setting sun. Now that she is on her own, she gives voice to her thoughts:

“Your Majesty. With all due respect, I must offer you my opinion. Have you forgotten your position as Queen, Mother of France? Asking a lowly subject like me for a favour while covering your face, as though you were a sinner... I understand your pain. However, Your Majesty...! You have your position to consider!”

Tears stream down her face, as she sinks on the ground. These are the scolding words that she can’t bring herself to say to the queen, because of what she mournfully tells herself next:

“Stop it, Oscar... What is there to say to those who love each other...?”

Oscar finds herself in a quandary. On the one hand, seeing Marie-Antoinette’s loneliness amidst all the nobles taking delight in spreading rumours about her illicit affair, she feels sorry for her and wants to be there for her to help ease her suffering. Actually, she does more than feel sorry for her. She relates to the queen’s feelings. She says, “I understand your pain,”—the pain of not being able to help loving someone.

On the other hand, Oscar doesn’t want to get involved, because she is not a ‘neutral party’ vis-à-vis the affair between Fersen and Marie-Antoinette. The person she cannot help loving is none other than the queen’s lover, whom she is asked to deliver a private message to.

A note on Oscar’s scolding words to the queen: In the manga, Marie-Antoinette does receive a scolding from Oscar. She, then, inadvertently plays a role in Oscar’s confrontation with her “woman’s heart” when Oscar realises that she has fallen in love with Fersen the way a woman falls in love with a man.

It is after nightfall and the rain is pouring down. Oscar, drenched from head to toe, arrives on horseback at Fersen’s residence. Fersen is surprised to find her at his doorstep at a seemingly unusual hour. Without taking shelter from the rain, Oscar stoically delivers Marie-Antoinette’s message and adds that the queen is looking forward to seeing him at the ball next week. Fersen thanks her, apparently at a loss to say anything else. There is a moment’s silence when Oscar looks at him with a forlorn expression. Then she turns her horse around and leaves with a mere “See you then” to Fersen, who shouts after her to come and rest inside until the rain stops to no avail.

It obviously breaks Oscar’s heart to deliver a message to Fersen from his lover. After all, could there be a more solid evidence of their affair? Not that Oscar had any doubts. Yet, she still does it—she does the favour the queen asked of her. Out of her sense of duty, surely, but rather because she envies them their love. Somewhere amid her sorrow, she is happy for Fersen and Marie-Antoinette for having found love, because that is what she doesn’t have. Oscar, too, is in love, but her love isn’t reciprocated. She must think it wonderfully unique to be loved in return by one’s beloved. So, instead of giving in to jealousy and sabotaging their relationship (that’s what Jeanne would have done), Oscar gives their friendship its due, although it hurts to do so.

Oscar gallops away under the rain. A caped figure on a chestnut horse races towards her from the opposite direction. Oscar lifts up her head to see André, carrying a spare cape. “You shouldn’t be out in the rain like this!” he yells at her, trying to make his voice heard over the din of the downpour. He catches up with Oscar and throws the cape at her, managing to drape it around her shoulders. Pleasantly surprised, Oscar smiles gratefully at him and André smiles back. Together, they ride home.

Gotta love André... Here’s probably what happened off-screen after Oscar told him to go back home without her: André went back home, worried about where Oscar ran off to and why she was upset. As he waited for her to come back, it started to rain. So, he decided to go out looking for her and grabbed a spare cape, knowing that she only had her uniform on. Given Oscar’s curt answers and sorrowful expression before she left, André’s uncanny perceptiveness must have led him to conclude that whatever Oscar went to do had something to do with Fersen. Hence, he rode towards the direction of Fersen’s residence in the hopes of finding her there. Bingo!

A week later, the weather seems to have improved little. In a rainy afternoon, the troubadour recites a poem over a sorrowful tune that reflects the wretched state of Fersen’s thoughts. Sitting on an armchair near the window at his residence, Fersen seems mentally exhausted over constantly thinking and trying to find a way out of this love affair that is inevitably headed for doom. A maid intrudes in his thoughts, asking him what he would like to wear for the ball in the evening. He dismisses her by saying that he will decide later.

Alone with his thoughts again, Fersen sees Marie-Antoinette in his mind’s eye, looking beautiful and fresh as ever. The image blurs to be replaced by Oscar’s, drenched under the rain, looking serious as usual but also a little sad. Fersen asks her in his mind, “What do you think I should do, Oscar François?” Then his mind wanders to the opportunistic printers of Paris, hawking their obscene illustrations and stories featuring the queen and himself to curious onlookers. Some are mortified by the illustrations, while some howl with lewd laughter. Besides bringing shame to the royal family of France, this illicit love affair has become the laughing stock of the common folk.

There is a knock on the door. This time his butler interrupts Fersen’s thoughts to tell him that a message has just arrived from Sweden, announcing that a classmate of Fersen from university passed away while fighting for the independence war in America. The narrator explains to the audience that meanwhile a war was being waged across the Atlantic Ocean to win independence from England and that France was recruiting soldiers for the Expeditionary Forces to fight against the English in America.

Meanwhile at the Jarjayes manor, André is preparing the carriage in the stables. Oscar appears at the door. Here’s the dialogue that ensues:

OSCAR

André, there's no need to ready the carriage. I'm not going to the ball tonight. If anyone asks, I'm bedridden with a fever. Understand?

[Oscar turns to leave. André calls after her rather loudly, and…]

ANDRE

Oscar!

[…manages to stop Oscar mid-stride.]

OSCAR

Don't shout. You'll scare the horses.

ANDRE

Tonight is the grand ball, where almost all the prominent nobles will be in attendance. If the heir to the Jarjayes family and the Regiment Commander of the Royal Guards, Oscar François de Jarjayes, isn't in attendance, something out of order is bound to happen, I think.

[Oscar abruptly turns around.]

OSCAR

I can't bear it, especially because it's the grand ball! Lady Antoinette will be the target of countless snide remarks and the people's vulgar stares. I can't bear to see her like that.

ANDRE

That's exactly why you should go, don't you think? You're the only one Lady Antoinette can depend on. Most likely, Fersen, as well.

[Oops… André said the f-word.]

OSCAR

I want no part of it! Their business is theirs. Not mine.

[Oscar turns to André, her raised hands clenched in fists.]

OSCAR

What do you expect me to do?! Slay the insolent gossipers?! Blind the eyes of those who stare?!

[André, not in the least cowed by Oscar’s indignation, preserves his good humour.]

ANDRE

There's an idea for you. Let's give it a shot.

[Oscar’s fists shake not with anger, but with laughter this time, as she chuckles to herself.]

This scene features one of the best dialogues between Oscar and André. In fact, they are having a fairly straightforward and not-so-memorable conversation. But still, from Oscar’s casual remark about the horses, to André’s spontaneous jest at the end, everything about it is so sweet, so endearing...

From her outburst, the audience is given to understand that Oscar naturally resents at having to be involved in the love affair between Fersen and Marie-Antoinette. At the same time, she knows that André is right. With the gossip surrounding the love affair running rampant, an event of this size is prone to an “out of order” accident ending with irrevocable damage to Marie-Antoinette and Fersen’s reputations. It is highly probable that her interference will be necessary.

It is unfair on Oscar that she must intervene to salvage someone else’s reputation—in fact, everything about this whole situation is unfair. But just imagine that she ends up not going to the ball: The inevitable happens in her absence and the scandal surrounding the queen’s love affair only gets worse. If that were the case, Oscar would be devastated. Not only would she have slacked her duties, but she would also have failed to be there for her two friends when they needed her.

As for André, he can see that Oscar is trying to spare herself further heartbreak by avoiding her duties—a semi-conscious decision that she will most likely regret later. So, he reminds her of her station and responsibilities. Then, more softly, he appeals to her on a more personal level, pointing out that the unfortunate lovers are relying on her as a friend. Oscar will perhaps feel better if she doesn’t go to the ball, but she won’t stop loving Fersen and Fersen will not love her back. There is nothing anyone can do to change that. André will at least spare her regret, if he can’t spare her heartbreak. With that joke at the end that actually makes Oscar smile, he gently gives her the push she needs to get back on track in his adorable good-humoured way.

Notice how André gets nothing out of this. Being the saint that he is, he has (yet again) led Oscar to do the right thing for her own sake only. As a matter of fact, he has just ensured that she goes to a ball where she will be seeing more of Fersen. It has always struck me as odd how he doesn’t refrain from mentioning Fersen—though, he is not so ‘cool’ about it in the manga. He does it at least three times in this episode only. One would expect a love-stricken man to avoid bringing up the love interest of his beloved.

The much anticipated and dreaded ball has begun. The nobles are constantly in the lookout for catching stolen glances, lingering touches and whispered endearments exchanged between the secret lovers to fuel their gossip further. But after speaking with André, Oscar has something in mind to make sure that they leave the ball disappointed. She arrives at the palace, wearing her dress uniform for the first time. As she descends the stairs of her carriage, André takes in her appearance and tells her that she looks splendid. Oscar walks past him, ignoring his compliment completely. After all, she has got a tough job at hand.

Perhaps Oscar has never cared overmuch about how she looked, but she can be very cold sometimes, especially towards André. Though here, one should probably cut her some slack because, beneath all the splendour of her dress uniform, she must be really stressed about this potential ‘save the day’ mission. André, for one, doesn’t mind her coldness. No, that’s the wrong way of putting it. He doesn’t take it personally—he never has. From the way he keeps staring at her in awe after she passes by him, it is apparent that he is not expecting a “thank you” from Oscar. André simply gives without expecting anything in return.

Oscar enters the ballroom, looking dashing in her blue and white dress uniform. Everyone in attendance is mesmerised by her appearance. As the audience gathers from the conversation between two ladies, the fact that Oscar has donned a dress uniform means that she will be dancing. Marie-Antoinette, looking as delighted as everyone else by Oscar’s unexpected finery, walks toward her. Oscar bows on one knee before the queen.

MARIE-ANTOINETTE

Oscar, to what new wind do we owe this pleasant surprise tonight? You've never cared to dance before.

OSCAR

With all due respect, the wind blows from the west and also from the east.

[The queen is amused by her protector’s witty answer, however formally given. She laughs coyly and asks the question everybody is dying to ask.]

MARIE-ANTOINETTE

Will your dance partner be a man? Or will it be a woman?

[Oscar replies in the same formal tone of voice:]

OSCAR

Whatever you wish, Your Majesty.

[Marie-Antoinette nods. Head still bowed, Oscar rivets her gaze on the queen with a knowing expression. Marie-Antoinette extends her hand and Oscar stands up, taking her hand in hers. Then, in a voice that only the queen can hear, she tells her this:]

OSCAR

However, please allow me to be your only partner tonight.

[As understanding dawns on her at last, Marie-Antoinette breaks into a grateful smile.]

MARIE-ANTOINETTE

Very well.

The two begin waltzing before the entire crowd of guests. The nobles are enchanted by their grace and beauty—it is a magnificent sight to behold. All eyes are on them, including Fersen’s, who silently raises his glass in toast to the dancing couple, drains its contents and leaves the ballroom. Disaster averted.

Basically, Oscar makes a spectacle. She makes sure that the nobles have something else to talk about other than the queen’s love affair when they leave the ball. It is a sacrifice in more than aspect. The fact that she dislikes being the centre of attention due to her appearance being the least of it. Locking her feelings away, Oscar has yet again become involved in Fersen and Marie-Antoinette’s relationship in some way. But at the end, she has achieved her goal neatly and cleverly: She has ensured that the two are not seen together throughout the night.

Mission accomplished, Oscar is riding in her carriage on her way home as dawn breaks. Some distance away on the river bank (the same river bank that Oscar previously came seeking solitude), a man appears out of the early morning mist and signals the carriage to stop. André pulls on the reins—it’s Fersen. Oscar solemnly listens, as Fersen thanks her for showing up to the ball in a dress uniform, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to refrain from asking the queen for a dance. He tells her that he would end up dragging Marie-Antoinette into another scandal instead of being more considerate of their delicate situation.

A fish jumps out of the water, as a sad music begins playing in the background. Oscar continues to listen to Fersen without comment. He tells her that he should never have let his love become romantic, because it caused his beloved to suffer so much. Facing the rising sun on the horizon, he says that there is only one thing he can do: “I choose to be a coward in her eyes! Oscar, I'm going to run away. I'm sorry, but I must! To a far off place, thousands of miles away!”

It is apparent that Fersen trusts Oscar completely from the way he bares his soul to her in all sincerity. However, it must be very difficult for Oscar to hear the man she loves talk about the depth of his love for another woman. She suffers it silently, stoically.

Thousands of miles way? Oscar’s eyes grow larger, as she tries to understand what Fersen could mean by that. But before she can say anything, Fersen tells her, “Please take care of Lady Antoinette!” and runs off. Oscar makes to follow him, asking where he is going, but he disappears into his carriage and rides away.

It turns out that Fersen is going to America to fight in the independence war. Oscar and André are back in the Jarjayes manor, having tea in the morning room. Similar to when they were discussing Fersen previously, Oscar is standing by the window, looking out in the distance, while André is sitting at the table. “The Expeditionary Force is departing today. Aren't you going to see him off?” he asks her. Oscar doesn’t answer. She takes a sip from her cup of tea.

Meanwhile in Versailles, a messenger is briefing Marie-Antoinette on the details of Fersen’s departure. With tears streaming down her face, the queen tells the messenger to convey to Fersen that she wishes him glory in the battlefield and a safe return.

The Expeditionary Force is marching on the streets of Paris to the cheering of the crowds. Fersen, dressed in the uniform of the Swedish Light Dragoons, rides his horse along the troops. He momentarily looks back, as if expecting to see a familiar face come to see him off. But there is no one there.

Why doesn’t Oscar go to see Fersen off? Because she can’t bring herself to say goodbye to him obviously. Knowing that Fersen might not come back alive from the war, it would be too difficult to mask her true feelings like she normally does when she is with him.

When faced with a strong emotion, Oscar’s first instinct is to suppress it. Except for anger. She seems to have no problem expressing her anger, because, well, it is permissible for a man to express anger, right? But here, the emotion in question is love. The kind of romantic love a woman feels for a man. Oscar hasn’t yet made her peace with the idea that she is entitled to feel such kind of emotion for a man.

Back in the morning room, André is watching Oscar with a grim expression. She has still not answered his earlier question. As if frozen in time, she is standing by the window, gazing out into nothing. The half-drunk tea in her hand is growing cold. André gives up at last. Apparently having decided to leave her alone, he says in a weary tone of voice, “Oh, shoot... I just remembered, I have to change the horses' shoes today.” He slowly stands up to leave, not even bothering to feign panic. He casts one last look at Oscar, standing still as a statue, and walks out of the room. The camera zooms into Oscar’s face. Alone at last, a single tear rolls down her cheek, as she says, “Don’t die, Fersen.”

The End

This is the second episode directed by Osamu Dezaki in the series and marks a turning point in the story. The characters become more mature and the plot gets more sombre, more serious. For instance, take the troubadour, who authors the poem featured at the beginning of this post. I am guessing that he is one of Dezaki’s additions to the series, because this is the first episode he appears in the anime and he isn’t featured in the manga at all. Personally, I find the second half of the series more enjoyable, and I think the fans generally agree on this assessment. As for this episode, I always liked it, but I didn’t use to feel like watching it over and over again like episodes 25, 28 and 37. I admit that I recently discovered how great it truly is. What do you think?

A note on the title of the episode: Is it Rondo, Rondeau or Rinbu? The episode’s title is translated in the North American DVD release as “Fersen, A Farewell Rondeau.” The dictionary tells me that rondeau is “a poem of ten or thirteen lines with only two rhymes throughout and with the opening words used twice as a refrain” and that rondo is “a musical form with a recurring leading theme”—obviously derived from the former. The episode’s title in Japanese is “Fersen, nagori no rinbu” (フェルゼン名残りの輪舞). “Rinbu” means “round dance; dancing in a circle .” However, the furikana (a sort of guide for how the word is intended to be read) for “rinbu” is given as “rondo” (ロンド).

So, we’ve got a poem1, a musical form2 and a dance3 with a repeating1, recurring2 and revolving3 rhyme1, theme2 and movement3. What they all have in common is the idea of something having a circular, repeating pattern or motion. Perhaps the troubadour is reciting a rondeau? Or maybe Fersen’s relationship with Marie-Antoinette is intended to be shown as a sort of never-ending “dance” that moves in circles? In a way, it’s ironic because they don’t get to dance in the episode thanks to Oscar’s intervention. But this is the second time that Fersen abruptly leaves France to end his relationship with the queen for both their sakes. So, there is a pattern here: He arrives in Versailles, has a torrid love affair with the queen, causes scandal in the court and flees. Only to start it all over again.

#rose of versailles #lady oscar #berusaiyu no bara #episode 20 #hans axel von fersen #marie-antoinette #oscar françois de jarjayes #andré grandier #a farewell rondeau #anime #analysis #versailles no bara

[markwatkinsconsumerguide]

Consumer Guide / No.75 / with singer-songwriter, Bronwen Exter.

MW : Introduce me to the band…

BE : I'll list them in order of how long we've been playing music together:

Jennifer Middaugh - Vocal harmonies. Before a song is even done I know I can't sing it without her. Sometimes I write harmony lines explicitly, and sometimes she comes up with them. Jen is a BFF, I always let her order the sushi because she knows how to do so in a completely decadent way. She can sing circles around me. We met around 2000 at the Cosmic Joke Collective in NYC hosted by our Parisian friend, Mary Noelle Dana, or maybe at the off Broadway show De La Guarda. Our first collaboration was ‘Willow Weep For Me’. We ducked off at a loft party on the Lower East Side to put it together as a surprise that turned out to be an unforgettable collaboration, still going strong.

Michael Stark - Piano and Organ. In 2009, Jen and Mike and I spent a whole July night until daybreak making a recording of my song, ‘Junkyard’. Around dawn, by the time we were using beer bottle percussion and heavy chains for ambiance on the track, all the files were lost. It was so tragically funny we've been playing together ever since. Mike has all the charts to all my songs on the same old ragged pieces of paper. I make up chords and he names them and interprets them for everyone else. He knows my music inside and out, in some cases better than I do.

Matthew Saccuccimorano - Drums. Matt produced my second record, ‘Junkyard’, when we were a trio with a different drummer, (beloved Dana Billings). Matt is grouchy and loveable. He has the coolest family and smartest, most talented kids in the world. When Dana got too busy with another band he is in, I was really excited for the silver lining of bringing Matt into the band. He loves to rehearse, and he brings a production sensibility to rehearsals. In return, I sometimes bring him cookies. We both love loud drums, though we have completely different definitions of what loud drums are.

John Young - Electric and Upright Bass. Jen and I have also known John for almost 20 years. He plays in the cult NYC band Spottiswoode and His Enemies, one of our all time favorite acts and influences. John loves coffee, and John is great at talking. He definitely comes across as extremely smart, and I suspect he actually is.

Jason Shegogue - Guitar and Lap Steel. As Matt says, every single thing Jason plays sounds like a record. Jason collects old gear and never makes fun of my guitar playing. He is awfully nurturing, for being so good.

Venissa Santi - Vocal harmonies. Venissa learned two full sets of Jen's parts last spring because of a late conflict Jen had with our local release show, which speaks to her chops. Like Jen, she sings jazz in her own band. Once that show was done, once she had written her own parts to some new songs, once we heard the way we could all do three part harmonies, once we realized how fun she is in a band, once we realized splitting a couple hundred bucks seven ways is just about like splitting it six and nobody really cares anyway, she had to stay.

MW : Tell me about your new album…

BE : We recorded ‘Snakeskin, There’ at Old Soul Studios in Catskill, NY, where I made my first record ‘Elevator Ride’ in 2005. Kenny Siegal produced and recorded. It is available digitally on all the usual places, and physically through CD Baby or directly from me, in person.

The title comes from a lyric in track 3: ‘The Creature That You Knew’. The song is about a snake or, rather, the fact that I kept finding a snakeskin at my doorstep and it kind of freaked me out, but then I took inspiration thinking about metamorphosis and personal growth, how much better I liked myself living in a little house in the middle of nowhere than I had when I lived in NYC. At the same time, the bridge of the song is nostalgic for Paris musically and lyrically, and all the trappings of a more cosmopolitan life, so there's something unresolved in it.

The lyrics on this record come roughly half from dreams and half from stark life in Upstate NY, married and a new mom. There was a rawness to the time I wrote it, a lot of raw love. It's not an album of lullabies - I've also been called dreamy in the past, and I like to think that the dreaminess of these songs is more like when you wake up, can't shake it, and go, what the F was that?!

There are a couple singles, too - ‘Shapeshifter’ and ‘The Chase’, which is a three minute rock song. I wrote ‘The Chase’ with my wife Rachel on a picnic blanket. It's about the lure of the bad ex we all have.

MW : From your website, you seem to like PIE CHARTS?!  What were your best subjects at school, and how did you actually get on with mathematics?!!

BE : I am terrible at math. I love history, and I love literature. The pie charts were a joke, but there’s way too little opportunity to not take yourself seriously promoting music, so I went with it.

I was fascinated with the idea of how transparent my songwriting could get if I challenged myself to be more clear and specific, thematically. Along the same lines as trying not to write songs in A minor, when I made the pie charts I was trying to check myself for cliches. The charts represent the songwriting before the current release (when I realized I made mention of bones too often). The batch of songs before that were too frequently set on a road in America. Making pie charts has nothing to do with being good at math - I enjoy basic math from time to time, for sure, but that's it. 

My best subject in school was politics. I am endlessly fascinated with how power works, the intersection between legal and social change, theory and practice. I will never get over reading history - how human and flawed, multilayered, sordid and utterly engaging it is ; and literature is in its own category. The writers and poets I love are everything to me.  

MW : Do you have any superstitions?

BE : I try not to have, so no, not that I can think of. Knock on wood! I think I am superstitious about having superstitions. I worry that if I think that way, bad things will happen as a result. I try to operate with a balance of reason and faith. The world is scary enough without being superstitious.

MW : What’s the best slice of luck you’ve had so far?

BE: Two sons, hands down.

MW :  What’s downtown Ithaca, NY usually like in Winter?

BE : Winter lasts about six months and downtown gets deserted. There is already a foot of snow outside and it’s only mid-November, so it looks like winter came a month early this year and in my soul it has already lost its charm. 

I wrote ‘In My Room’, track #4 on the new record, looking out at my blooming crab-apple tree getting covered in a massive snowstorm in April. For six months, downtown Ithaca and its people try to make the best of it. The rest of the year we've got it made, humidity notwithstanding. 

This city rests on the land of the Cayuga, and any season reveals this land's utter beauty and majesty - glacial hills and lakes and gorges. A cold six months requires resilience and builds character, but it is often spectacularly beautiful. A story about last winter: my band played a winter residency at our favorite club downtown, Casita del Polaris, and each installment featured a calamity: my lost voice, the mayor telling everyone to stay off the roads, our bass player breaking his leg, etc. I dragged myself to each show, because we had rehearsed our faces off to learn my whole catalog - three two-hour, all original different sets of music, none of which with songs from the new record. It felt crazy to go out in the cold, and I think the shows were on Thursdays, too.

Here’s the fundamental thing I learned last year about downtown Ithaca in winter : when you show up for art, throw energy into it with abandon for no good reason other than trying to make music for the sake of the sound, people show up to bear witness. I loved that residency. 

MW : How is it for arts & culture?

BE : Ithaca has lovely, thriving, collaborative, multiple arts scenes - independent, national, underground, highbrow, it’s a good little town for being so isolated. Ithaca is a college town, so if you are willing to brave that scene you can absorb the arts and culture it brings. When I was growing up I was always up on those hills - I got to meet Vladimir Ashkenazi, and Mstislav Rostropovich - I played violin and sang in the Children's choir. 

When I moved back to town ten years ago, I was blown away by all the bands and songwriters. It's a small enough city that I now consider many of the people I admired good friends and collaborators ; and there is a whole other layer of independent, younger artists through the “Ithaca Underground” that will always be cooler than me - for that I am thankful. 

Ithaca is great in how these layers tend to cross pollinate, too. I can think of lots of examples. 

MW : What was the last book, cd, film you bought/saw?

BE : With two small kids we really don’t get out much, but the last movie I saw in the theater was ‘Black Panther’ and damn that was good. I read all the time, currently ‘Team of Rivals’ about Abraham Lincoln.

At home we are collecting records - other than supporting musician friends and collaborators, the last record I loved completely was ‘Capacity’ by Big Thief.

MW : How will you / do you (usually) celebrate Christmas?

BE : With family, as you might expect, but my favorite holidays are Thanksgiving and the Winter Solstice. I love remembering all the descant lines to all my favorite Christmas carols, so if there is an opportunity to attend a midnight mass and sing those, I do. I appreciate this time of year as alternately decadent and reflective.

MW :  Plans for 2019?

BE: Keep writing songs and other things - poems, essays, whatever. I am in a steady, long-game phase--raising small children, trying to do so with love and integrity. I keep the things that sustain me going, including creativity, but I am also going underground a bit after the release of this record. I am listening for what songs want to be written next, eager to hear them.

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© Mark Watkins / November 2018