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carringtonblackwood · 4 years

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Two Vampires Walk Into a Theater || Cari & Dewey

Carrington and Dewey meet up for the first time. Things... don’t go as planned.

Takes place during the last POTW, and before any current interactions.

@deweythedew

Dewey could scarcely recall a time he felt so completely, utterly… human. If it hadn’t ceased beating ages ago, his heart would be hammering against it’s encasing of ribs, sure to burst free from his chest at any moment. He had met quite a few in White Crest whom he found agreeable, both young and old, local and foreign. He enjoyed engaging with new people - it opened up the opportunity to learn new facts and stories and generally make the ordeal of living forever bearable. And yet, the longer he talked with Carrington, he was immediately brought back to the days of his youth. All that growth and knowledge he amassed over the decades almost seemed to vanish when he thought of meeting the other in person. Someone so similar to himself and, but just distinct enough that it gave him pause and caused his throat to tighten in that inexplicably embarrassing manner. He glanced up at the faded, illuminated billboard above his head before huffing rather heavily. Was he too early? Did he look alright? Smell alright? Oh God, when was the last time he had a sensation so similar to a stomach ache? Despite how odd it may have appeared, he placed the index and middle fingers of each hand to his temple, beginning to count down from ten whilst tapping against his cold skin. Breathe. Even if you don’t need to, just breathe.

Carrington hadn’t done this in… a literal age. What had it been? Fifty years? Longer? Was this even… that? How did he know for sure? It felt like it. As best he could remember. And it also felt… normal. If that was even a concept anymore. Carrington’s ‘normal’ was hardly what anyone else would consider as such. Just last week he’d been in an altercation with a Hunter in one of the local cemeteries. Granted, they had a long history of… not killing one another, but the fact remained that it was a far cry from tonight. Though Carrington found he much preferred tonight. Despite his insecurities. If his heart has been capable, it would have been beating a rapid stacatto against his chest. His palms would likely have been sweaty. He felt a bit like he couldn’t breathe, regardless of the fact that it wasn’t needed. Christ Almighty, but he needed to pull himself together. He was four-hundred years old, for God’s sake. He could handle meeting someone for a movie and drinks.

Worrying the ring he wore on his right hand, Carrington took a steadying breath (again, out of habit of trying to appear human) and pressed on. When he saw someone that matched Dewey’s description, though it was only his back he could see currently, Carrington swallowed. “Am I late?” he said as he drew closer, pressing a smile over the nervousness he felt. “Dewey, I hope? Else this might be a bit awkward.”

3… 2… 1

Dewey finally lowered his hands, blowing a steady stream of air past pursed lips. The action hadn’t completely done away with his anxiety, but it certainly helped him feel at least a portion calmer than he was previously. This was going to be fine. It was two gentlemen with common interests, going to see a movie, and then potentially drinking wine at one of their abodes later in the evening. Normal. These were actions normal people engaged in. The more he reminded himself of that fact, the better off he would surely be. Or, at the very least, he could dampen down on the rising urge to turn tail and drum up an excuse at the last minute.

As though the idea of bailing on the entire evening was a summoning spell of some sort, he heard the tell-tale footfalls of someone approaching him from the rear. His throat tensed, and he had to focus the muscles to unbind themselves. Relax. Exhaling, he swiftly - or, he hoped it wasn’t too swift - turned to face the other, and found all the work gone into easing himself down come to pieces. Good Lord, he was… well, handsome seemed to be a disservice. Charming was a given - the moment he heard his voice, a shiver had rippled through him. It was a voice he had somehow imagined when picking up a romance novel, dictating the gallant hero a rich but smooth vocal performance, and oozing with tenderness. Like a dream. Dreamy? He’d heard that term before, some years back but, still it seemed appropriate. Wait, he hadn’t said anything in response - Damn it! “Yes, yes that would be me,” He rushed out, only taking a few steps forward as he extended a hand. He hoped to whatever entity might be benevolent enough to hear him that he didn’t appear too eager. That the smile on his features didn’t stretch too wide. No teeth were shown - he loathed to smile with his teeth - but it was still genuine. “Dewey Foster, at your service. And not late at all - right on time, actually. The movie doesn’t begin in another fifteen minutes,”

Carrington had made a habit out of taking in the details of another person when he first met them. The way they moved, the way they spoke, the way they smelled. The sound of their breathing and their heartbeat. Their features and any small eccentricities of habit they might possess. Details that had saved his life many times, and even when he wasn’t truly concerned for his personal safety, old habits die hard.

Before his companion for the evening could turn around, Carrington had noted two things. The first was the slight lingering scent of blood, but not human blood. Something far richer, though he couldn’t quite place it. The second was that the man had no heartbeat of his own. Carrington’s features tightened just a bit, but only with what could be considered a hopeful curiosity. He’d met one or two others like himself since coming to town, but so far had been greatly disappointed. When Dewey - thank God he hadn’t walked up to the wrong person; that would’ve been embarrassing - turned after Carrington spoke, even the idea that the other man might be a vampire too was squashed under the jolt that sliced through Carrington’s chest. A jolt so quick and visceral that he very nearly stumbled.

It was like looking at a doppleganger. Not of himself, but of someone he’d once known. Someone he’d once cared for very, very much. Carrington knew his shock must have played across his face, but he truly couldn’t help himself. Not when the man before him was so… striking wasn’t the word Carrington would’ve chosen - it didn’t do the other man justice at all - but it was the first that came to mind. As Carrington shook his hand - the coolness of his touch barely registering at the moment - he felt his tightly reined control slip briefly. A pleased smile slowly spread across his face, one that reached his eyes after a moment. “Hi…” It was a small, almost breathless sound. One that Carrington would’ve flushed red for making, had he been able to blush. “Carrington. Blackwood. It’s a pleasure, Dewey.” He held the handshake a moment longer than was probably proper, before huffing a small laugh and glancing at the marquee. Though his gaze was drawn back to the other man before he could help himself. This was normal, right? When you first met someone that-

When you first met someone.

Carrington shook his head at himself. “I have to confess… I have no idea what’s playing.”

The expressions that seemed to play like a cinema of its own across the other's features took Dewey by surprise. He hadn't expected someone - never encountered someone to view him in such a... fascinated? No, no, there was another level to the stare he was receiving. Almost... familiar? And a hopefulness that couldn't be denied beneath even that, something that brightened Carrington's expression so brilliantly, and Dewey felt the overwhelming urge to turn away as though he wasn't worthy enough to behold it. He truly was dashing.

And then they shook hands.

He should have sensed it before then. His hearing should have picked up on the lack of a thrum inside of his chest. Or he should have scented a hint of blood that didn't quite sit right within him; almost a staleness. But, when Dewey felt Carrington slip his fingers into his palm, expecting a pointed warmth reminiscent of a heating blanket in contrast to his own icy skin, and felt... the exact opposite. There was no contrast. The smile on his features flickered, a wave of devastated realization crashing over him in a smothering wave. Not even Carrington's airy greeting could pull him up from under it.

Of bloody course he was a vampire.

A pleasure. A pleasure? As though the feeling of being enamoured was a long forgotten memory, Dewey had to physically halt himself from snatching his hand back, but it did drop a bit from the other's grasp before falling limply to his side. His features were tense, still smiling, but held a distinct hesitance. Inside of his mouth, the ache of his fangs attempting to push themselves free of his gums throbbed, and his throat stung with a hiss he wouldn't allow to break the seal his lips. He could have just as easily allowed those initial instincts to take over, to tackle the other to the ground and uselessly throttle him just to vent frustration over his own ineptitude. But he wouldn't.

Or was it that he couldn't? No. He was... he would try to be stronger than that. It was one night. And then they would never have to see each other again. Seemingly coming back to himself after what felt eerily like an out-of-body experience, Dewey swallowed thickly. "Well, after sifting through the titles, and the ratings, of course, I eventually settled on 'The Invisible Man'," His smile widened just a fraction, "Nothing like a remastered classic thriller, right? After you?"

And there it was. Subtle, of course. Practiced. Executed with either experience or sheer force of will. Or perhaps both. The flicker of expression, the physical hesitation so brief Carrington might have imagined it, if he hadn’t been wired to expect it. As always. Even from his own kind. Especially from his own kind.

So Carrington felt a devastation all his own, like being doused in ice water, and he was reminded quite viscerally why these things never worked. Why he’d stopped pursuing them at all over half a century ago. One brief lifetime spent in relative happiness was apparently all he was going to be allotted in his time on this earth. Perhaps he should simply continue to be grateful for what he’d had - for what he missed every single day - and let that be the end of it. He should simply stop seeking anything other than what he already had, which was minimal in terms of people he could call friend. He should be grateful for the time he’d been given.

But at the moment he found it hard to be grateful for much of anything. In fact, he found it cruel to be met with a face that held such familiarity, yet none at all. There was no glint of mischief in the others dark eyes, no curious tilt of his head, no easy smirk. The longer he looked, the more he noticed the subtle differences, but also how those differences paled in comparison to the similarities.

Carrington felt no prickle of fangs, no hatred or loathing, no desire to harm or even raise his voice at the other man. It wasn’t his fault. Yet neither was it Carrington’s. Though it appeared the good doctor might not be as unbiased as he’d seemed online. Also not his fault, especially when so abruptly faced with something so unexpected, and seemingly unwanted. But it was also not something Carrington was going to immediately assume. Not unless he wanted to become a hypocrite, which he didn’t. In the time it took for all this to pass through his mind, his own expression flickered as well. His smile dimmed, as did the brightness in his eyes. But barely. Like putting a subtle filter over a photograph. Something had changed from the original, but it was hard to say exactly what it was. He’d had such high hopes for tonight, if only in gaining a friend, and nothing else.

Still, Carrington internally pulled himself together, pushing down the frustration and the disappointment and the self-pitying nonsense that threatened to rise up and overwhelm him, and pressed the smile back onto his face. “Well, it’s an excellent choice. The classics never let us down, do they?” His gaze lingered briefly on the other mans face, and though his smile never wavered, something a bit like resignation flickered on Carrington’s eyes. “Unlike so many other things.” Unlike himself, it seemed. But he preceded Dewey into the theater, and they found seats quite easily, since they were apparently the only ones seeing the film that evening. Another lovely twist of fate, it seemed.

Ah. He’d caught that. And for a moment, Dewey felt a pang of sorts dead center in his chest. Not exactly stake-wound worthy, but enough of a sting that gave him pause. He knew he couldn’t be subtle around other vampires. Heart on his throat, wasn’t that the way one had put it? He had tried to learn over the years, to steady his features into the right expressions, to put a cork on the overflowing bottle that housed his emotions. Even before turning, he had always been overly passionate, and though that had dulled around most, if not everyone he met, a broiling kettle would always be whistling beneath the surface.

But… this feeling. This particular one. It was shame. He knew it too well. Oh, those words, that look, unwavering and yet-- It didn’t break, but Dewey could have sworn he felt a crack form around his heart. Immediate and swift. It wasn’t fair, he realized. To either of them. When Carrington moved forward, his shoulders sagged and he seemed to hesitate in following after him.

Part of him almost wanted to order something from the concession, still keep up the pretense that they were both normal young men, simply enjoying a film together. But the thought quickly gave him the ghost of what would have been indigestion. That would have been a slap in the face, and no, he still couldn’t entirely shove past his own inhibitions, but he was a gentleman at heart. He… he was trying. Even when realizing their theater was empty.

Well, wasn’t that just swell? Dewey had at least anticipated a few other movie goers to be in attendance. Though, with White Crest, one could never tell if a place was going to be vacant or otherwise bustling with people. The town was strange in that way. A strangeness that, on any other occasion he might have found charming, betrayed him heavily tonight. It didn’t matter. Crowd or not, there was no shifting from the tone of the evening; awkward and tense, at least on his part. He forced himself to look up at Carrington from behind long lashes, Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat. “Do you have a preference for seating? I really don’t mind anywhere.”

Carrington understood Dewey’s reticence. Even though they didn’t know each other, it was something his kind - their kind, he reminded himself - usually developed in spades if they wanted to survive. Though it may have been leftover from when he was human, as so much of Carrington’s was. He’d once been angry and bitter, and in those first years - so long ago now - he had even felt a strange sense of hatred for others like himself. But that feeling ebbed with time and experience. He was no monster, like many chose to see him. He was no rabid killer of innocents, no bloodthirsty fiend just waiting to descend upon the unexpecting and the unwilling, no desperate parasite waiting to take what was not freely given.

He refused to be what the world expected him to be. He was himself, as he’d always been, give or take 400 years and a few… eccentricities. But it was times such as this that he wondered, however briefly, if it was really worth it. Playing the game day after day, decade after decade, century after century. To what purpose? Survival? Ridding the world of the supernatural hunters that saw his species and so many more as nothing but another red dash in their ledger? Especially when so many of his kind looked at him with fear or loathing. Both hidden and otherwise.

But regardless, Carrington appreciated the effort Dewey seemed to put forward. At least he didn’t turn and leave Carrington standing alone on the street. He even followed into the - of course - empty theater. But perhaps others would come in after a bit. Carrington glanced around as seating was mentioned. “The back is usually where I find myself. Let’s me see everything.” Like someone that might want to stab him in the back, quite literally.

They eventually chose seats, and there was a bit of silence between them as a few advertisements rolled across the screen. “It’s alright, by the way. If you’d rather go,” Carrington said after a bit. His voice was purposefully neutral, and though it might have hinted at disappointment and resignation if one knew what to listen for, it wasn’t unkind. What was unkind was to expect Dewey to stay if he didn’t wish to. “I’m not exactly what most people expect.”

“That sounds fine, then,” Not surprising, as Dewey preferred to stay closer to the back as well. If not there, then the corners of the theater. Made for a quick getaway in case he felt even marginally unsafe, from an outside threat or… something else. The silence that followed their choosing seemed almost deafening, even with the audio going on in the background. No amount could break through the unease he felt, though he tried to force his body to relax into his chair. And then Carrington spoke, and Dewey couldn’t help the way his head whipped around to face the other, features showcasing mild surprise.

So they were past tiptoeing around the subject. That was fast. Though Dewey did appreciate the honesty, at least in part because it allowed himself to be at least a little truthful in return. And while it might not have been what Carrington wanted to hear, he at least deserved an explanation of some sort.

“No, you’re not,” He began, resting his chin atop a loosely clasped fist, “Most men aren’t as devastatingly handsome or charming,” The last part was said a bit low, as if uttering the obvious would somehow be a crime all its own. He didn’t look directly at the other, though he kept his gaze focused on the crease of his pant leg. Something to anchor him for what he uttered next.

“I don’t want to leave. I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting… Well, you know. And it’s difficult for me to just accept it. But, that’s all on me. It really has nothing to do with you at all. I know that doesn’t really help, though,” His gaze rose to take in the profile of his abdomen; focus. “You were surprised when you first saw me. Was it… because you knew, too?”

Unless it was something he didn’t wish to talk about, or something that required tact or kid gloves, Carrington was usually one to get right to the point of the matter. He knew they were both aware of what the other was, and they had both clearly reacted in a way that left several question marks hanging between them. Which is partly why he gave Dewey an easy out if he wanted. But also because it was the decent thing to do.

But he could also feel the tension and unease radiating from the other vampire as they sat in silence. So it was a combination of all those things that moved him to speak. He glanced aside as Dewey turned to look at him, but glanced away a moment later, the other mans face once again entirely too familiar. Carrington wasn’t sure what he expected Dewey to say, if anything. But when he did speak, the words surprised Carrington so much that he let out a soft, short huff of laughter. It was a bit wry, but genuine. “Well, the sentiment is certainly appreciated. And most definitely returned.” A small glance flickered his way, but was gone again just as quickly.

Which was perhaps a good thing, as Carrington’s expression briefly registered his surprise when Dewey said he didn’t want to leave. Alright then. That was something. Carrington nodded as Dewey explained a bit more about his hesitation, thumb slowly worrying the ring on his right hand. “It’s understandable,” Carrington reassured him. And it was. Perfectly. “And I don’t take offense easily.” Another small huff, though this time it was mostly a faint smile instead of laughter, followed Deweys last question. “Um… no. Well, not entirely. I’m honestly almost always glad to meet someone like myself. Especially if they seem so... agreeable.” As Dewey obviously had. Did. Had?

“No… um…” Another huff and a slightly embarrassed smile. “-you reminded me of someone. Someone I knew a long time ago.” He frowned a bit, but pushed it aside as he finally turned to look at the other man again. “Its uncanny, really. And I was… taken off guard. For that I apologize.”

Understandable. But not acceptable. Not when the other had been nothing but congenial and sweet towards him. And still continued to be so, even with Dewey’s half-assed explanation of why he reacted in such a terribly rude manner. Nothing had been said on his part, but it still felt as though he’d told Carrington to ‘Fuck off’ in the subtlest of ways.

Hearing him say he was glad to meet someone like himself only caused the guilt to grow, and spread, filling him up until he felt close to overflowing as the other continued on. To look upon a face and find it familiar never turned out to be a pleasant experience in Dewey’s life. It was almost always of a person who had either ceased to be, or had chosen to leave his life for one or absolutely no reason. He was reminded of the hopefulness in Carrington’s gaze, and that alone was beginning to solidify that whoever he was reminiscent of, it must have been someone dear to the other vampire.

“Then you have nothing to apologize for. In fact, it should be myself… I could sit here and give you a number of excuses as to my behavior, but none of them would rectify the situation,” Inhaling slowly, he turned an earnest gaze to Carrington, attempting to capture his eyes. He’d spent so long denying himself out of some misplaced sense of punishment. Tonight had been a breakthrough, and he had nearly ruined it all with one handshake. Nearly. “Can I… can we start over? I-I mean, I know I can’t…” He huffed in obvious frustration, eyes slipping shut for a beat, before they opened, a gentle, tentative smile spreading onto his features. “Can you forgive me? I really would like to… have a nice evening with a potential companion,”

Carrington was fairly even-tempered most of the time. He saw no point in yelling or causing a scene, and taking the risk of making oneself look foolish or hypocritical. Or harming someone on accident, physically or otherwise. It was a lesson learned through trial and error. Through decades of self-discipline that had once bordered on obsessive, along with hours of prayer at masses that left his skin raw and itching and his soul no less troubled. And if he were honest, when it came to how he’d been treated in the past, Dewey’s reactions were almost a balm, in their own way.

As was his oh-so familiar face. A face that was a reminder of the best and worst memories of Carrington’s existence. Of the only person he had ever let himself love, and losing that love to some wasting fucking disease that he could’ve circumvented with but a word. But that was along time ago. A very long time. And it wouldn’t be fair of Carrington to equate Dewey with a man 200 years dead. Or anyone else for that matter.

Carrington’s own sense of guilt threatened to consume him, wondering if it would only make things worse to have confessed the reason for his surprise. So when it didn’t, Carrington felt the slightest bit of tension ease from his shoulders. He kept his eyes on Dewey as he spoke quite earnestly, and while he didn’t think there was anything to apologize for, Carrington knew that sometimes accepting that apology - needed or not - was one of the most important things one could do. It could make the difference between a fresh start or a messy end.

Tonight was a first for Carrington as well. A step out of his self-isolation that had just seemed… easier for the last…. Christ but he’d lost count of the years. He’d done better recently, reaching out to others, some by chance - such as Arthur and his cozy-covered tortoises - other voluntarily - like Nadia, with her missing time - but this seemed like a different sort of reaching out.

So there was no way Carrington could deny the offer of simply starting over now they both seemed to have a better… grasp on the situation. As it were. “Of course.” He tried not to let himself be too hopeful. It could all still go to shit, obviously. But he couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face. It flickered with the barest hint of concern as Dewey closed his eyes in frustration, and Carrington had to close his hand around the armrest to keep from reaching out, but when the other man’s smile returned, so did Carrington’s.

He couldn’t help but hold Dewey’s gaze, blue eyes on his dark ones. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, swallowing slowly. “And so would I. I’d… I’d like that very much.”

I’d like that very much. It had to be purely illegal for a few simple words to touch a part of his being so tenderly. Dewey had held so many reservations, as well as hopes for the night. So many insecurities about his personal hang ups that he’d thought and re-thought calling the whole thing off so many times it was perfectly ridiculous. That would have been easier. Denying that he wanted to keep another’s company, and so shutting down all potential outings solidified that fact. But he had already proven that ‘fact’ as false with Regan, happily taking her up on the offer for dinner. He couldn’t pretend any longer. He yearned for that companionship.

And Carrington, so it seemed, was also keen on giving the night a second chance. Much to Dewey’s immense relief. Pre-programming himself for rejection meant he had to pick and choose where he placed his hopefulness, but he had allowed it to flourish this time, and wasn’t let down. Now they were there, no barriers, pure honesty, and Dewey would have flushed due to how emotionally nude he felt in the moment. But in the openness of it all, there was a sense of calm.

He worried his bottom lip a tad before finally breaking their gaze, though the ghost of a smile still lingered on his mouth. When he glanced over to the screen, the beginning of the movie was just beginning to play. And in that moment, Dewey realized he didn’t really care about how the film ended or began. Once again he turned to Carrington, leaning forward a bit in his chair. His fingers itched to brush against the other’s, or at least his knee, or some other part of him - to touch and watch as he turned towards him, feeling a shiver of excitement rush through his frame. “I… Do you want to… W-what I mean to say is…”

For the love of Christ, why couldn’t he speak English? “... Do you want to get out of here? Perhaps make good on seeing those orchids of yours a bit earlier?” Dewey’s voice was low, hesitant, but with a conspiratorial edge, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smirk. Please, please don’t let him make a fool of himself…

Why not be honest? There was a time and a place for subterfuge and/or omission, but this wasn’t it. This wasn’t life or death - though Carrington felt a bit like he might die of nervousness in the interim, though he didn’t show it much outwardly - but it was important. Both for himself and for Dewey. For reasons both shared and unique. Reasons that hadn’t all been revealed so far tonight, but Carrington didn’t expect that. He hadn’t had any expectations at all, so if it went badly he wouldn’t be disappointed. Though he had been on the verge of it, if he were honest, at least until now. Until it seemed that the evening was taking a much more pleasant turn.

Because what was the point of having all this life ahead of him if he didn’t do something with it? The experiences he’d had since coming to town had only fueled that desire to find companionship, be it friendship or otherwise. Though Carrington was quite aware he could be acerbic at times, pig-headed at others, and downright nasty on a case by case basis. Though he saved that particular part of himself for those that deserved it. For the ones that sought to harm him and his kin, and other innocents. Not for people like Dewey. People he wanted to get to know better. And perhaps even spend more time with after tonight.

So as the film started, Carrington also found he didn’t care much about it. He’d seen it. Knew the beginning and the end. The middle. He knew he wouldnt be able to focus, not now that the ice that had coated the space between them at first was melting. So when Dewey seemed of the same mind, Carrington glanced at him. The tone of his voice, and the easy smirk that seemed to transform his entire countenance was all it took for Carrington to agree. He would’ve flushed a bit of he could, but instead gave a small breath of a laugh. He tried to form a witty retort, or something humorous, but his mind betrayed him at that moment. He could only nod and give a low, warm, “Yes.”

And that was all the answer Dewey needed. “Grand,” His own voice echoed an almost giddy relief, the doctor already on the edge of his seat. Forgoing asking permission, his hand found Carrington’s and if allowed, would gently tug him up as he stood as well. Inhibitions be damned, they were going to enjoy tonight. And not watching a movie that he already knew he wouldn’t find the least iota entertaining. Though steady, his gait was a bit speedy, and in the light-headed rush of vacating the theater he nearly bumped into another couple that was simultaneously entering. “Pardon us,” He chuckled out and, once they were behind, tossed Carrington an anxious smile that showcased his teeth before quickly looking forward again.

Once they were outside, he finally released the other’s hand and blew out an exhale, fingers running through his hair. “Thank God. I really wasn’t sure what I’d do if you said you actually wanted to see that… atrocity,” Likely do so and pretend that he was interested, simply for the other’s sake. “The night’s far too beautiful to spend it in a stuffy theater,” Though he would have argued that it wasn’t the dusk that drew a near permanent smile onto his features. No, not the evening at all.

Carrington tilted his head at Dewey’s relief. He was about to comment when the other man slipped his hand into Carrington’s and pulled him up and out of the theater. Carrington felt a small rush of… something… in the pit of his stomach, and felt himself grin as they dipped past the others coming in as they left. “Pardon,” he murmured as well, before he turned his own crooked grin towards Dewey.

They made it outside, and once Dewey had released his hand - which had been a utterly pleasant sensation all it’s own - Carrington also took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve seen it. More than once,” Carrington laughed wryly. “I don’t think it’s changed much. But I’m certainly not complaining.” Being out in the cool evening was much nicer, and Carrington instantly felt less claustrophobic than in the theater. “And that it is.” He let his gaze linger for a moment, before he huffed quietly at himself and had to look away. He turned his eyes upwards, to the sky. It was dark and clear, and a few stars could be seen past the haze of fluorescent light from the theater and surrounding buildings. But his smile barely moved. “I’ve a rather nice view from my roof. Not as good as the one from the cliffs, but passable.”

“Have you now?” Called it. Though having the hunch confirmed made him feel considerably better about all but whisking them away into the night. His gaze still on the night sky above them, he felt a bit of a prickle along the edges of his skin. Was Carrington still looking at him? When he shifted to see, the blonde was peering up into the sky, and Dewey felt more than a tad silly about thinking that he would be looking solely at him. Of course he wouldn’t, that was… anyway. “I’m sure it’s still lovely,” He reassured, moving just an inch or two closer to the other, waiting for them to fall in step hesitantly. Exiting the movie theater had been one thing - he’d only initiated because Carrington had agreed. Being a leader could only come natural so many times before his usual submissiveness kicked in, and he was left a bit uncertain as they stood beneath the dim lights of the cinema. “It’s been quite some time since I appreciated a good view. Sad to say, I’m a bit of a recluse these days,”

“I have. I’m sure that’s a huge surprise,” he joked. And Carrington was still looking, just not directly. He was afraid it would be too much. Too overbearing. Too… everything. So he watched Dewey out of the corner of his eye as he looked up at the stars as well. But the view wasn’t half as lovely.

Carrington didn’t step away when Dewey moved closer. He did give a small tip of his head to indicate the way towards said home. “It is,” he nodded as the moved slowly forwards. “It’s a bit too close to others for my taste - at least in a more permanent sense - but I find the neighborhood… interesting.” He didn’t walk too fast, or tried not to, seeing as how his legs were rather long. Feeling a bit unsure what to do with his hands, Carrington hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, not wanting to appear like he was closing off by shoving his whole hand inside. He could still feel the weight of Dewey’s fingers against his, but tried not to think about it too much.

“Perhaps it’s time then. It’s been awhile since I’ve shared one. I’m not exactly the most social person myself.” Though Carrington had his reasons, as he was sure Dewey did. “Sorry about the walk… I um… haven’t purchased a car since I’ve been here. I keep meaning to but…” Carrington shook his head with a small laugh, knowing he was rambling. It wasn’t all that far, a few blocks maybe, to Carrington’s home. It was a moderately sized town house sitting between a few others on the same street. “Pardon my neighbor,” Carrington said quietly as they ascended the front steps. “She’s a bit nosy.” He raised his hand in greeting to the older woman smoking in the chair on her small patio. “Evening, Marge.” Marge waved back, and then waved at Dewey before going back to her Virginia Slims.

Carrington cleared his throat and gave Dewey an apologetic look as he opened the door and let them inside.

"Immensely," Dewey dragged out the word, nearly grinning, but secured his lips into a small smile before he could reveal a row of teeth. He had already performed one act of impulsive decision making. The last thing he needed to do now was appear too eager. That was an absolute turn off, he was certain, especially considering he was still trying to recover any more lingering pieces of their initial contact. Still, things seemed to be slowly falling back into a pleasant picture. They had the night ahead of them, and with no obligation to watch or do anything in particular, there were a number of ways it could go.

He could understand the notion of being too... crowded. Although his own abode wasn't exactly secluded, it afforded him enough space that he didn't feel too pressure to share any intimacies of his life with neighbors. Sure, some were a touch nosier than others, but he was decent at deflecting and cutting conversations short. If anyone called him uppity or just plain rude, then so be it. People would have their opinions about him no matter how he behaved. They certainly made plenty of assumptions due to his profession and mannerisms as it was. He'd become accustomed to the speculation. It was... kind of a game, of sorts.

"I believe it is," He agreed quietly, noting that while not every vampire shared the sentiment, most appreciated their solitude. Perhaps within even the most peppy of their species, there would always be an underlying urge to simply be alone. For one reason or another. "Please, that's the last thing you need to apologize for," He shouldn't be apologizing for a single thing. Dewey glanced at the other, muttering a bit coyly, "I could use the exercise."

As they walked up to Carrington's residence - a lovely town house, almost similar to Dewey's own bar from a few key differences - he tilted his head a bit in the direction of said neighbor, offering a cordial smile and a nod in return. Though the moment they stepped inside, he immediately brought a fist to his lips as a poorly stifled giggle rose in his throat. "I must say, I've been wondering about the infamous Marge you mentioned before. I can see what you meant by sprightly," His fingers loosened, though they stayed curled in front of his mouth, masking a toothy grin as he idly took in their surroundings.

Carrington could only laugh, swiping a hand through his hair as they walked. He didn’t bother to hide his own smile at this point, with the tension easing bit by bit into something far more relaxed. Not completely, as they were still both testing the waters, as it were, though neither seemed to want to mess things up. Carrington certainly didn’t. So he was glad for the conversation as they walked. For the time to sort his thoughts and try to maintain some sort of polite composure, and not let his enthusiasm get ahead of his good sense. Though it felt as if Dewey might be of the same mind. About more than just terribly boring movies.

Carrington had spent the majority of his adult life either completely alone or separated from the company of others by choice. It was simply better that way, especially in the time he’d come from and lived through. It became easier as the world became more populated and less superstitious, to move among the humans. To become like them - to become as he once was - as he still was in so many ways. His neighbors might have noted his unusual hours - Marge especially - but he always had a reason for such things. Work, insomnia, etc. No one asked too many questions these days, though Carrington had no doubt that come tomorrow the entire neighborhood would know he’d had a visitor that night. Thanks to his dear neighbor. Not that Carrington cared what anyone else knew or thought, as long as it didn’t bring harm to himself or anyone else.

He glanced aside at Dewey as they walked, the lazy grin on his face still holding strong. “Says the cardiologist,” he murmured in return, his own tone slightly teasing. They got past Marge with little difficulty, and Carrington shut the door behind them, pointedly flicking the deadbolt with a bit of stifled laughter of his own. He dropped his keys on the table by the door, and turned to watch Dewey for a moment as he surveyed the foyer. It wasn’t overly large, with a set of stairs leading to the second level directly ahead of them, and small rooms to the right and left. Straight back down the hall by the stairs was the kitchen. There were a few items here and there, and the place was uncluttered, but obviously lived in. “She is a gem,” he laughed quietly, but all thoughts of Marge soon drifted away as he continued to take in the other man’s profile.

Something stirred in Carrington’s chest. A nervous, fluttery sensation that would have sent him blushing if he’d been capable. Realizing he was staring, Carrington blinked himself back to right. “Do you want a drink?” he asked, stepping slowly closer, but not too close. Not just yet. No matter if he wanted to or not. But he did give Dewey another lazy grin, and a brush of fingers along his arm as he indicated the way to said drinks if the other man wished. “I confess I’m a bit of a wine snob, so unfortunately there’s plenty to choose from.”

Dewey was no stranger - pun slightly intended - when it came to entering the abodes of others he rarely knew. He had carried out many house calls around and along the outskirts of White Crest, lately doing so with increasing frequency. There was never any judgement about where or how a person lived, unless he felt it would severely impact their health, but even then he wouldn’t say something aloud until he got a better feel for both patient and their situation. He had little expectation when first approaching the other male’s - but as he stood there, allowing himself to take in the surroundings, make tiny, casual observations, he truly didn’t anticipate that the place would feel so much like… home.

Not down to the exact detail of his own place, as every individual had their own personal touch attributed to various nooks and crannies. But overall? He felt his posture relax, found himself able to step without fear of being too fast or slow or potentially knocking something over. It was comfortable. Familiar. Calming. Eerily like the man who now held his gaze once again, and how he was being approached by said literal drop-dead gorgeous specimen. Once again he was exceedingly grateful that he had no heartbeat, otherwise Carrington would have clearly heard the steam-hammer equivalent of one in his chest.

Another ear-to-ear grin was smothered by the tight press of his lips, though they still formed a grateful smile as he nodded slowly, a tad dazed. “Absolutely. And actually, that’s a very wonderful coincidence because I happen to know very little about wine, if you can believe it. So many years and I… really never bothered to indulge that much,” He allowed the fingers to nudge him wherever they would go, keeping his gaze on Carrington’s profile. There were so many thoughts muddling his mind, so many questions to ask, topics to touch on. He wanted to know everything about the other, compare experiences, tribulations, triumphs - but if he started, he knew he would never be able to stop.

Maybe if he began with something easy? “So… h-how old are you, exactly?”

The townhouse had been one of the first places Carrington had looked at upon coming to town. He didn’t have many possessions that he carried with him from place to place, preferring to start over as cleanly as possible, but there were a few things here and there that he always brought along. Bits and pieces of his life that were too important to be stored elsewhere. Reminders, if you would, of all he had done and survived and lived through. Reminders that life was worth living.

So while not ideal, Carrington had grown fond of the place, and had grown comfortable in it. Though Dewey was honestly the first person he’d had over. Ever. He could sense a slight release of a bit more of the humming tension that had surrounded the other man over the better part of their time together this evening. That was a good thing, Carrington thought to himself as they moved towards the kitchen. Now that he was back in a familiar environment, he too felt quite a bit more relaxed.

Which would hopefully continue to help Dewey relax, which would in turn help Carrington relax even more. And so on. He had no expectations for the evening, other than becoming better acquainted with the other man. What that meant, Carrington couldn’t say. They would simply have to play it by ear. Carrington knew he wanted to ask Dewey so many things, but knew that wine most always helped with such conversations. At least for Carrington.

He grinned, glancing at Dewey as the other man confessed about his lack of wine knowledge and imbibement. “I’ve likely indulged too much over the years. In too many things.” He gave Dewey a sly grin, but didn’t elaborate just then. He would, if Dewey wanted to know. But for the moment, he was utterly content with how things were going. He brushed his fingers feather-light over Dewey’s back as he stepped past and towards the small (to Carrington) wine cooler built into the wall. “Would you like to pick then?” he asked, leaning against the counter close by. “See if you find something you like? Or there’s spirits just there. I can mix something up if you’d rather.” There was also water and a few assorted types of beer, but it was mostly wine and liquor.

Despite his determination not to, Carrington couldn’t help the fact that his gaze kept drifting back to Dewey. It wasn’t just the familiarity - he could see the differences in him and the man he reminded Carrington of - but it was also… the feeling of not having to hide. Of not having to pretend to be something he wasn’t. It was… it was cathartic. The fact that Dewey was handsome and charming and seemed just as nervous as Carrington himself was just a boon. So when Dewey asked The Question, which Carrington had been expecting at some point, but didn’t mind one bit, Carrington couldn’t help but give him a sly grin.

“My Driver’s License says I’m 38.” The playful grin stayed in place, and he hoped he wasn’t pushing the boundaries of their playful banter. “I’ll tell you. I really don’t mind. But… I’m honestly exceedingly curious.... How old do you think I am? Best guess?”

Dewey had to steel himself against the ripple threatening to travel down his spine. Oh, I’m sure you have. And just how many years? No matter if Dewey himself had lived over ninety, he still felt relatively young in vampire ages. He had just enough experience that he could get away with living amongst humans, and yet there were still so many queries that plagued him night after night. Ones he had come up with long after parting from his sire. His eyes slipped shut when Carrington’s fingers brushed against him, oh so gently, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. God, he was going to be undone by a man he hardly knew. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Let’s be a bit adventurous tonight,” Though the words were almost solely directed towards himself, he smiled a bit anxiously at Carrington before focusing his gaze on the selection before him. After a bit of searching, he selected a bottle that was lower in the rack, holding it out to the blonde with an uncertain yet hopeful expression. “Will this suffice? Not that you’d have anything that wouldn’t, of course, I just mean… Ah,” The sigh was followed by a weak chuckle, a bit defeatist.

And then Carrington effortlessly had him smiling again, teeth worrying his lower lip terribly. He really needed to stop feeding into that habit. And the question was whisked into the air, and Dewey’s grip on the bottle tightened considerably. He… wanted him to guess? Of all people - well, there weren’t very many people to choose from, now were there? Knowing his nerves were beginning to fray, Dewey swiftly set the bottle down on the counter before adopting a thinker’s pose, fingers tucked beneath his chin as he regarded Carrington carefully. Wine aficionado, cordial, refined, and his features… well, they reminded him of the early Victorian period. Or he could be absolutely off -- Oh, to hell with it. “... Th-- Two-hundred… Two-hundred and forty?” The words were practically whispered, fingers brushing over his lips and brows rising in expectation of the true answer.

Sometimes Carrington felt every single one of his years. Sometimes he felt only a few of them. But it was rare that he felt… ‘young’ wasn’t the right word. Youthful, perhaps? Whatever the term, it wasn’t something he felt too often. He thought he felt the faint stirrings of it now, standing in his kitchen with Dewey. But as always, Carrington held it cautiously in reserve - most of it at least - waiting to see where the evening lead.

“I’m always ready for an adventure,” he smiled, watching as the other man made his choice. He had to forcibly pull his eyes from the way Deweys teeth moved across his lip, though Carrington had to wet his own a moment later. He tried not to think too hard about why. The other vampire made his choice, and Carrington gave him a nod. “That’s a good one,” he nodded enthusiastically. “Been waiting awhile to be opened as well.” When Dewey sat the bottle down, Carrington grabbed two glasses and a corkscrew from the rack and gave the other man a momentary reprieve as he turned a bit to the side to open it.

The cork popped out and Carrington poured them both a glass, leaving the rest of the bottle to breathe for a moment. He turned back, glasses in hand, waiting with patient anticipation as Dewey sized him up. Carringtons eyebrows raised a bit as he seemed to touch around three-hundred, but changed lanes at the last second. “That’s actually not a bad guess,” he grinned, handing one of the glasses over. “Not a bad guess at all.”

Carrington took a slow sip of his wine - trying his best to focus on that and not on Dewey’s fingers over his mouth - before giving a low hum. He swirled the wine a bit, watching the liquid move against the glass. “My birthday was last month. I turned 420.”

“At least that makes one of us…” Dewey murmured, knowing full and well that Carrington could hear but, not feeling terribly embarrassed from having said it at all. It didn’t seem to be a surprise that while he could carry on a general conversation, he tended to falter a bit when it came to less casual topics and began getting personal. Not that the simple task of asking someone’s age was anything but - except for the fact that they weren’t just simple beings. They were vampires, and old, new or somewhere in-between, to Dewey that meant every subject should be breached with the proper amount of delicacy.

Maybe if Carrington was an iota less attractive he might house more confidence on the matter. But as it stood, the man was breathtaking, even when one didn’t have any exhales to lend. Despite the other’s words, he gave a disbelieving glance towards the bottle. “Sure you aren’t just saying that now? I can take being a poor wine selector,” With Carrington preoccupied with opening the bottle, it afforded Dewey a rare opportunity to simply… observe the other as he worked. Watching his fingers twist, guide and pour with a flourish, an act he’d likely done numerous times and yet, Dewey found himself fixated on the motions nonetheless. He took his glass with a quiet ‘Thank you’, immediately tilting the glass to his lips. No sooner had he reached mid-sip, Carrington had revealed his true age - and Dewey’s shock was nearly his undoing. Four-hundred? And twenty? He faltered, throat seizing up before he could finish what was in his mouth, and he clamped a hand over his lips, a small, faintly similar to choking sound emitting from his vocal chords. He had to take a moment to cough, turning to the side and attempting to regain his composure. “P-pardon me,” The words held a bit of a wheezy tint, to which he cleared his throat before attempting to speak again, a hint of fascination twinkling in his gaze. “That’s… Hardly a good guess. I never would have thought. Well, I certainly can’t beat that. Ninety-one myself - did you… have a good birthday? Or, does the appeal er, wear off after so long?”

Carrington raised an eyebrow at the comment. “Maybe it’s time to start then. No time like the present.” Of course, it wasn’t always that easy. People had obligations. Jobs. Commitments. Things that simply couldn’t be dropped to go on a grand adventure. But Carrington was also aware that such things didn’t have to take place in strange, foreign lands or faraway places. Adventure could be found very close to home. If one knew where to look.

And right now Carrington was only interested in looking at one thing. He was a bit more practiced at speaking about things that were less than casual, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to find the confidence to do so. “Age meant nothing when it came to sharing the details of one’s life. So he could understand Dewey’s hesitance when it came to more personal issues. And Carrington wasn’t looking to make the rest of their evening awkward or stifled. So he decided to simply let the conversation flow as it would.

“I never just say anything. Well… not usually.” Carrington gave him a wry look. “Sometimes I find myself… saying a bit too much actually. Rambling, I suppose you’d call it. But I don’t lie. Especially not about wine,” he grinned around the rim of his glass.

It turned to a look of slight concern as Dewey seemed to get choked, but he was alright a moment later, so Carrington held off on whacking him on the back just yet. Not that he would’ve turned down the opportunity to touch him, but he’d rather it be under different circumstances. “It’s alright. Though I suppose your surprise means I don’t look my age then?” A touch of humor was there, but not overly apparent. “And it was a good guess. Most people think they’re going to offend me if they guess that high.” Dewey’s own age earned him raised eyebrows as well. “I would’ve guessed a bit higher. Closer to 150 maybe. Not quite two. But you wear it very well,” Carrington said quietly, watching the other vampire as he tipped his glass back again. As for his own birthday, Carrington gave Dewey a slightly sheepish look. “I spent it here. Getting quite drunk. And watching something terrible on Netflix.” A thoughtful look passed over his features. “I wouldn’t say it loses its appeal. Getting older is…” He sighed. “- it can be a gift.” He gave another small sigh, realizing he was in danger of growing morose. And that’s the last thing he wanted. “Come on… the orchids should be blooming this time of night. They’re much more interesting than listening to me drone on.”

“I can promise this, you aren’t the only one. I tend to go on tangent’s far too much, myself,” Though he could hardly believe that Carrington’s rambling was anywhere near as annoying or bothersome as his own. Most of the time it felt as though he was speaking into the air simply for the act of knowing he still could. But true to his word, Carrington appeared to speak with more certainty, more purpose. He wasn’t crass, so far, but also didn’t mince his words. Didn’t appear to house Dewey’s own hesitation in the middle of a sentence. Or maybe that was just the self-destructive tendencies rearing up again, igniting a match and simply waiting for the word to set all of Dewey’s towering hopes up in flame.

“Really?” That came off as more of a compliment than anything, and Dewey quickly sealed his lips around the rim of his own glass. He had gotten that before, although it was usually followed by a mockery of some sort. He’d met very few vampires who hadn’t shirked off their old mannerisms, even their accents, in favor of a metamorphosis standing in stark contrast. He couldn’t help but frown slightly at the thought of Carrington alone for something like his birthday. Not that he was an expert when it came to festivities, but surely he had at least one other person… or, maybe not. Dewey had spent his own in solitude, so he couldn’t really expect more from another vampire. “You know, not to diminish their beauty, but I wouldn’t mind listening to you go on. It’s rare I get to enjoy genuinely stimulating conversation. Much less with… someone like myself,”

Carrington was rarely one to speak without thinking. If something prompted him to do so, it was likely the result of an extremely strong emotion, or a necessity of the moment. He’d had quite a lot of time to spend on his own over the last several decades, but even before then he was reserved with his conversation. Though most weren’t nearly as stimulating as some of his recent ones.

“Really,” Carrington smiled. Youth tended to be so much more crass and unrefined. Not that Carrington would judge anyone if that was their personality - he even had a bit of a soft spot for those that were rough around the edges - he had simply noted the trait in those of his kind that were younger. Not always, of course. But he found Deweys personality suited the younger man quite well. He fit within himself. At least in Carrington’s opinion. As for himself, some things were so deeply ingrained that they would never change, even as Carrington adapted to the passing years. His sense of honor and responsibility. His sense of faith, warped and jaded as it was. His ability to see in others what they might not see in themselves. His desire for connection with another person. But he also knew that long life had the downside of outlasting most others. That most connections would pass away long before he himself did. And that fear - along with the knowledge that he was not the most congenial person in the world - is what had kept him solitary for so long.

So it was with a cautious yet slightly hopeful glance that Carrington turned on Dewey as they moved towards the small room that he had converted to house his specimens. “It’s not often someone wishes to hear me talk,” he said, his tone almost bashful in its softness. “But… I miss it too. Conversation. Among other things.” He cleared his throat after a moment, gesturing that Dewey should precede him into the small, dark room if he wished.

End.

#p: two vampires walk into a theater #p: dewey #dewey001 #chatzy

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

Text

Well, I hope this one helps a bit, @finest-trashbag? 💝 :) Here’s some more Montagne/Bandit in which we’re approaching the comfort part of this wild ride. We’re not entirely there yet - but we will be. (Rating T, hurt/comfort, ~5.3k words)

The other parts of Protection Mountain can be found via tags or here on my Masterpost! (Mobile version here)

It’s a mockery and yet he can’t bring himself to tear down the curtain, expose the farce for what it is, leave this pitiful excuse of a play. He can’t. Not when it involves gentle hands cupping his face, stroking his body, carding through his hair. Even in his dream he’s aware of it being no more than an illusion and yet he soaks in the affectionate gestures, echoes of words spoken once upon a time surrounding him together with the non-corporeal feeling of bliss. He loves and he’s loved, two things impossible to dream of in his younger days, then something he took for granted and now something he misses fiercely.

When he wakes up, there are tears in his eyes. It takes a few deep, shuddery inhales to return to the reality of a deserted hotel room, to become aware of his icy feet, the large mattress which is entirely too big for one person alone, his belongings carelessly strewn about on every horizontal surface. If it was a smoking room, he’d have gone through a pack a day probably but everyone noticed his attempts at quitting and so he’s not even granted this small comfort. He feels as if he’s underwater, days have bled together, sleepless nights blurred his perception and left him lost; sounds are muted and breathing seems impossible.

At least he didn’t dream of death again. Not his own, that would’ve been a consolation. No. Not his own.

The fact that he slept at all is a small miracle in itself and can be ascribed to the t-shirt he’s wearing, a piece of fabric he stuffed into his bag without thinking, stole without thinking twice about it and put on the previous evening. It smells heavenly, even now its scent is noticeable whenever he moves and so he pulls the collar over his nose and breathes in, curls up into a ball and wraps his cold hands around his even colder ankles while he thinks of the past. It’s the one thing keeping him sane these days whereas a month (or two?) ago, his future promised hope and stability. He doesn’t like thinking about the future now. Not at all.

He tries, but he can’t get hard. Not even with the familiar smell in his nose, definitely not with the window he left open during the night, still letting in freezing air, not with the help of pictures and videos on his phone. Not even those of him. Especially not those.

Eventually, he gets up because he’s shivering too much, accepting that he’s not even granted this bit of solace though he knows he’d feel worse afterwards, looking for a warm body to hold on to, missing the hands which caressed him in his dreams but are nowhere to be found now. He dresses carelessly, skips the shower and breakfast and gets on the tram taking him to where his love lies bleeding out.

There’s too much wrong with him and so Bandit doesn’t like looking in his direction. Instead, he inspects the blanket, the bed frame, the entirety of the room except for its occupant even though he could probably draw it in his sleep by now but at least none of it needs as many crutches to exist as the man before him. He’s fidgeting and probably radiating awkwardness, the underlying wish to be elsewhere though everything he’s ever cared for is right there, close enough to touch, to kiss, to hold on to. He does neither of these things. He feels guilty.

“Did you cancel the appointment?”, Montagne asks quietly after a prolonged silence which was thick enough to be tangible.

“Yes”, Bandit says and inspects the way the sheets are rumpled in great detail.

Another short pause. “You didn’t cancel it.”

“No”, Bandit says and follows the folds with his eyes, carefully thinking about nothing.

“Are you going to? Because if not, I’ll call them. They should give the date to someone who’s actually going to turn up.”

“So you really would stand me up at our wedding?” As soon as he’s spoken the words, he presses his lips together and buries his fingernails in his palm until the physical pain distracts him from the other, dull, omnipresent one. When Montagne sighs and reaches up to touch him, he ducks away and feels pathetic; his own pride won’t allow him to be this weak and vulnerable and so he leaves without another word, striding past everything and everyone until he’s in front of the main doors, wondering what else he’s supposed to do the whole day if not this. It’s all he does. It’s all he can do.

Strings hold him back, almost stretched taut, and so he remains where he is to breathe a bit of fresh air and hopefully reset his emotions. He’s quick to irritate these days, though his rage often tilts over into pure desperation and it’s not something he cares for. Ultimately, he tries to remain as neutral as possible, not to swing into any extreme as his emotional dial seems to need some calibrating. He bums a cigarette off of someone who also doesn’t look like she should be smoking and allows the quiet feelings of resentment, largely towards himself, but also… just a tiny bit…

When he returns, sinks into the chair which constitutes the middle of his universe, Montagne’s expression has softened and yet he can’t bring himself to do more than glance at it. “Give me your hand, Dom”, he demands and uncurls his own fingers.

Bandit studies the windowsill. He’s lucky he didn’t wear the t-shirt or else the smell of smoke would’ve ruin its calming effect. He wonders how Blitz is doing. He should probably call Six and give her an update. He doesn’t move.

“Mon amour. Please.”

Reluctantly, he lifts his arm and places his hand in Montagne’s, almost expecting it to be cool to the touch, as if he really was… gone and the silhouette before him no more than an afterimage burnt into his retina. But it’s warm. His loose grip tightens and a thumb strokes over the back of his hand. Some of the tension in his limbs eases up. Only some, but it’s a start.

“I don’t want you to spend your whole day in here. It’s Berlin, don’t you have people to visit? Places to see? You can watch films in the cinema and tell me about them later. I don’t want you to stay here all the time.”

“Do you not want to see me?” It’s unfair and both of them know it is, so Montagne drops the topic as he did so many already, discards them as unfruitful, as leading to unwarranted accusations. The list keeps growing. Bandit is unbearable and unable to change it.

“There’s something else”, Montagne valiantly tries again and he deserves a medal for putting up with any of this, if Bandit is honest. He’s in pain, not able to walk or even stand on his own and yet he hasn’t sent Bandit away once. It’ll only be a matter of time until he does. “I’ve spoken to Olivier.”

“Have you now?” His gaze drops to the sterile floor with the irregular pattern.

“I’d like you to apologise to him.”

When he withdraws his hand, Montagne tries to hold on it but Bandit shakes him off. “No.”

“You hurt him and who knows what you would’ve done had Elias not been there. And you blamed him for something which was entirely my own, personal choice.”

“And what a fucking braindead choice it was”, Bandit spits out before he can stop himself, his sharp tone of voice biting against Montagne’s calm one.

“So you’d rather he was dead?”

“Yes. If it meant I wouldn’t have to see you like this, yes. If it meant I wouldn’t have had to go through that entire fucking ordeal, yes.”

There’s emotion in his words, so much Montagne senses he’s not just saying it in anger, no, he actually means it – or at least part of it, or thinks he means it. Montagne, too, withdraws his arm now. “You’re better than that, Dom”, he tells him.

“I’m really not.” And this finally gives him the courage to leave, to change the scenery if only for one day.

The centre of Berlin never seems to exude the same magic for him as it does for the endless waves of tourists. He rarely comes here though of course he’s intimately familiar with all the relevant buildings, has fed sparrows on the broad street Unter den Linden, walked past the Holocaust Memorial and the Museum Island countless times, seen the Reichstag so much he’s sick of it. It’s mostly just crowded and loud and holds no appeal yet he finds himself on one of the many bridges over the Spree regardless, eating sunflower seeds and spitting the shells over the railing he’s leaning on. He’s in the vicinity of the GDR museum, a horribly nostalgic exhibition which largely glosses over the unsavoury details.

Bandit thinks it’s an ugly city but it’s his, he knows all the shortcuts and small streets none of the tourists ever take, has discovered a wide range of excellent restaurants in the formerly infamous part of the city called Kreuzberg, manages to overlook the sights in favour of the down-to-earth people who don’t mince their words. Being surrounded chiefly by German speakers has become an oddity, something he missed without even realising, and standing still in one spot allows him to eavesdrop on various conversations, couples planning on where to go next, people describing horrendous or amazing experiences on their phones, others talking about mundane things.

He’s lost all perspective. At this point, he doesn’t know what constitutes normal, whether he’s dressed strangely or only feels that way, whether he sticks out like a sore thumb or not. He’s unsure how someone in his situation should behave but also unwilling to ask, he’d rather not admit to Blitz that he decided over Montagne’s head, that he’s unable to find the words to say to Montagne in order to make everything better. To make everything go back to the way it used to be. He feels alien, like an impostor, definitely like he doesn’t deserve any of what he ever received from Montagne. If he could go back in time, he’d refuse his jacket. He wouldn’t sink into his hugs until his pulse stopped racing. He’d stay away and ensure Montagne would be happier that way.

If he doesn’t hear a familiar voice any time soon, he’s going to go insane.

“Hey. Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“Do I really call so rarely that you immediately assume it’s an emergency?”, he asks, vaguely offended and yet simply hearing Blitz on the other end does wonders for his urge to throw himself off the bridge (which is extremely low, he’d only end up soaked) or start a fight with other pedestrians.

“This is literally the first time you called me in months, Dom.”

“Fair enough. How are things at the base?”

“No, no, I asked first. How are you doing?”

He clenches his teeth. “I bet you all miss me horribly.”

Blitz pauses, but one of the reasons why Bandit values him so much is the fact that he doesn’t pry, instead begins replying to his question as if it was completely normal. He even manages to sound natural as he recounts some of the more entertaining episodes Bandit missed and it only takes them a few minutes until they actually conduct something which could be confused with a proper conversation. It turns out a few people do miss Bandit, Rook especially who’s apparently worried sick but has been told to give Bandit some space instead of bombarding him with endless messages. He even snatches Blitz’ phone from him for a moment but quite obviously has been instructed to keep it light as he merely gushes over the fact that he made the world’s best milkshake the other day. Despite knowing they’re both deeply concerned, the display they put on purely for his sake is heartwarming. He even catches himself smiling.

Eventually, the stream of stories dies down and Blitz seems to struggle for a moment before he suggests: “Listen, if you’ve got some time on your hands, why not go visit our boys? Last I heard they still go drinking every Friday at the usual place.”

Bandit’s smile dies down slowly as he ponders the prospect. “They’re not really my scene”, he responds but both of them know he’s saying something different, means to say: When you’re not there. Blitz effortlessly slides into most social groups whereas Bandit is a wilful square peg, his sarcasm and cynicism balanced out by Blitz’ mocking – they’re a good team, but on his own he often feels… incompatible.

“Bullshit. You hung out with Tom in your spare time even.”

Yeah, because we fucked, Bandit is tempted to shoot back but bites his tongue at the last second. Blitz already knows more about his love life than he needs to. “Yeah, you’re right. I should go visit them or else I won’t hear the end of it next time.”

“I think it’s a good idea. Say hi to them from me!”

“I’ll tell them you called them a bunch of incompetent bastards and refused to even show your face”, Bandit replies and hangs up, though he doesn’t miss the laugh on Blitz’ end.

Regardless of his confident words, worry eats at him the whole train ride. When he returned from undercover, he was treated differently than before – somehow seemed to hold a higher rank with all the downsides accompanying it. People mouthed off less which in his book means they didn’t see him as an equal anymore, they respectfully stepped around instead of playfully tackled him and showed less of an inclination to fight back, be it about insults or pranks.

Maybe he simply perceived the situation wrong, however. Maybe he just came back as a snarling, rabid wolf who intimidated people by taking jokes a tad too far, purposefully tried to make everyone in his vicinity uncomfortable and showcased humour so dark even the professionals shied away from it. Not Blitz though. He pushed back, ridiculed where it was necessary and warranted, knocked him down a peg whenever he deserved it. Their friendship could’ve gone two ways: horribly awry or developing into mutual respect and he’s glad it turned out to be the latter. By his side, he became accepted again.

Now he fears something similar might happen. They don’t know many details about Rainbow apart from its existence and might display vague hero worship or, worse, try to suck up to him. It’s the one thing he doesn’t need right now, all he wants is a relaxed evening to take his mind off the whole fucking car crash he caused somehow. Just one evening. A brief respite.

The streets he traverses are so familiar and strange at the same time, some houses freshly painted, others vacated, stores changed and asphalt renewed. He stops once he spots the pub, the name forever ingrained in his mind as the one place where it was always safe to get drunk, speak his mind and mess with the other patrons. They never let on they were GSG9 for safety reasons but there was no doubt most regulars guessed something along those lines as they either provoked them in misguided arrogance, flirted with danger or gave them a break. They’re welcome here.

He has to force himself to keep walking but his autopilot takes over at some point, carries him to the door, makes him enter and head for the usual table. As soon as he spots an entire row of familiar faces, he feels his anxiousness spike but it all subsides when Stefan, seated closest to the edge of the table, looks up at him and says: “Well fuck me sideways.”

Bandit just grins while most chatter suddenly dies down and he’s confronted with surprised as well as cheerful expressions. “Long time, no see”, he greets them and laughs when Stefan jumps up to slap his back.

It turns out all his worries were unfounded. He’s gladly accepted back, introduced to a few newcomers whose eyes widen when they catch his name (and isn’t that a satisfying feeling), and informed about the whereabouts of others not currently present. It’s almost like sliding into a hot bathtub, soothing for his nerves and allowing him to switch off for the moment, cease to censor himself and garner both scandalised as well as genuine laughs with his dry comments. He makes up a few stories about Rainbow and mixes them with truth, then watches in amusement as his (former) colleagues try to figure out which is which and lets them persuade him to drink a few beers with them. He’s been almost entirely abstinent so he figures a few won’t hurt – besides, he missed the taste of German beer horribly.

He’s brought up to speed on questionable regulations, personal matters, issues in Germany he missed, gets elbowed in the side, agrees to a few bets and wins them all, steals someone’s glass while they’re not looking and confirms a few stories the newcomers have heard about him yet refuse to believe they’re true. As for the topic of his presence, he stays vague and earns understanding nods as well as a few ludicrous speculations he neither confirms nor denies. He should’ve really done this sooner, he realises, he’s slowly returning to his normal self and it’s terrifying how far away from okay he was just this morning.

When some of them take a smoke break, he joins them but doesn’t partake, merely enjoys their company as they’re the ones with whom he hung out often. Tom lingers when they head back inside and so Bandit stays as well until they’re the only two left. “How long are you in Berlin for?”, Tom asks while lighting his second cigarette. He’s slim but strong, an incredibly fast runner and adept at anything stealthy which to Bandit was such a turn on that he jumped at the first opportunity to fuck him – about a week after they met. Neither of them likes to dawdle.

“Probably a bit longer”, he answers and is fully aware of why Tom wants to know.

“I’m off tomorrow. Next week Wednesday, too.” They look at each other in the cold light of the street lamp next to them. “If you want, you can come to my place later.”

Bandit pictures it. Tom is loud and insatiable, would probably rip off his clothes before they’ve even made it through the door and ride him breathless – he can see it clearly in his mind, no obstruction or blurriness. They’d both enjoy it and Tom would let him leave if he wanted to, not follow up if Bandit gave no indication of wanting it. There are no strings attached, it’d be easy and clean, he’d be able to get off which he hasn’t managed in a while. Tom is good in bed and, above all, familiar. Reassuring. A warm body to keep him company.

Never before has an idea seemed less appealing to Bandit. Not for a single second does he genuinely consider the offer and if he’s honest, the thought of letting any other man touch him in that way is distasteful. Even just picturing it makes him cringe vaguely, wish for Montagne, wish for his solid body at Bandit’s back, wish for his strong arms around him. “No”, he answers and plucks the cigarette out of Tom’s mouth to take a drag, “I have someone.”

“Me too”, comes the amused reply, startling a chuckle out of him.

“You piece of shit.”

They exchange a grin. “Nah, she doesn’t mind. I hit the jackpot with her because we both find it hot when the other one sleeps around.”

“Mine isn’t like that. At all.” He returns the cancer stick and smiles when Tom’s lips happen to touch his fingers. At some point, this would’ve been enough for him to drag him away. Now it’s just a little ticklish. “I’ve asked him to marry me, actually.”

A chortle. “Are you serious? Did he say yes?”

“Not yet. But he will.”

“I really can’t picture you as a married man, Dom, not in the slightest. What, are you telling me you’ve gone soft? Enjoy missionary? Cuddle the whole day? Buy him flowers?”

Bandit’s mouth curls into a smile. He has no trouble imagining his life while married to Montagne, no trouble at all. “That’s a good idea actually. I should get him some.”

Tom barks out a disbelieving laugh which Bandit doesn’t even take personally. “Never thought you’d end up this fucking whipped one day, dude.”

And as he searches for a proper comeback, he realises one thing which he somehow… lost track of these days, a fact so immovable and ubiquitous he looked right through it. Lacking it, at times even forgetting it with all its consequences was what made him insufferable – but talking about Montagne to someone unrelated put it back in perspective, drags him back to the ground, reassures him more than friendly words ever could. “I’m not whipped”, he corrects politely and without any offence taken, “just hopelessly in love.”

When he returns to the hotel later, he stumbles into Lion on the way to his room, the other man visibly calmer than the previous times they met, though his expression turns to stone nonetheless as soon as he spots Bandit approaching him. “Gilles said I should apologise to you”, he announces a little too loudly.

Lion suddenly looks pained. “Oh please no.”

“I don’t know what should surprise me more – the fact that you’re passing up a chance to see me grovel before you, or that you said please.”

“He’s obsessed with the idea that just because we both like him, we should be best friends. I’ll tell him you were full of remorse and you do the same and we’ll never talk about it, alright?”

This is pretty much the best case scenario, so Bandit just nods. “Sure. Whatever you say. You know, we should actually talk to each other and be nice in front of him so he stops nagging. And maybe even make plans together but then go to two different places because – no offence – I’d rather saw my arm off than spend an evening with you.”

“Likewise.” Lion pauses and squints at him more closely. “Are you drunk?”

“A tiny bit”, Bandit slurs which seems to be all the info Lion needed. “And so fucking in love like you wouldn’t believe. Have you ever been in love? It’s like that. Only ten times better. A hundred. I love him so much.” Maybe he’s a tad drunker than he thought, going by Lion’s vaguely pitying expression.

“Great for you but I really don’t need to hear this.”

“I’m going to marry him, you know. In four months.” He holds up three fingers and then remembers to whom he’s talking. “Oh shit. Don’t tell anyone. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“As far as I know, he declined”, Lion instantly rains on his parade. Ice cold.

“Listen”, Bandit whispers, “he’s gonna change his mind, alright? I know he will.”

The Frenchman shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It’s to do with his ex-wife. But you should talk to him, not me. Especially not while drunk.”

“Yes. Okay. Whatever you say.” He stumbles off, realises he’s heading in the wrong direction and turns on his heel to wobble past Lion once more. “Why are you even up at this hour?”, he wants to know but doesn’t stop walking to hear his reply because it doesn’t really interest him.

He half misses the response, only hears keep an eye on and forgets about it immediately.

When he bursts into Montagne’s hospital room the next morning, he and his flowers are met with a curious glance. “I brought you hyacinths!”, he announces proudly and shoves the bouquet under Montagne’s nose.

“Those are hydrangeas”, his lover corrects him gently but accepts his offering awkwardly, looking around for a vase or something similar before simply standing the flowers up in his glass of water. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

“You’re lovely”, Bandit shoots back and drags the chair closer to Montagne before sitting down. “How do you feel today?”

“Definitely not as good as you look.” He reaches out and this time, Bandit allows him to put his hand on his cheek, even leans into the touch with a sigh. They exchange a smile when Bandit takes his hand and holds it in his, massages Montagne’s palm and revels in the warmth of the soft skin. Montagne still looks brittle, pale and noticeably thinner, constantly exhausted and fragile but it doesn’t matter. He’ll get better in time. “What happened?”, he inquires quietly, visibly confused yet pleased at the crass change in Bandit’s behaviour.

“First of all, I’m sorry. I – I didn’t expect you to say no, I’ll be honest, but you’re not really in any condition to make this type of decision right now, so we’ll just… we can talk about it when you’ve recovered. Alright? You don’t need this kind of pressure right now.” It’s surprising how easily the words leave his lips but seeing Montagne smile for the second time ever since they were reunited helps ground him immensely.

“Sounds surprisingly reasonable”, Montagne agrees with a certain glint in his eye at which Bandit’s narrow.

“I thought of it myself”, he clarifies quickly and earns a soft laugh.

“That’s good.”

“And I’m sorry for pushing the issue. And for holding a grudge over it.” Montagne’s features are still expectant. “And for going over your head. And all the other… illegal stuff.”

“Well, it’s good to know that you’d be able to help should I ever need a different identity, but I’m frankly still frightened by how easily you obtained everything you had to. You probably could’ve stolen my ID out of my wallet without me noticing.”

Despite his casual tone of voice, Bandit understands where he’s going with this. “I’m not gonna do anything like this ever again. I promise. It was invasive. And wrong.”

Montagne nods and it’s at this point that Bandit realises he’s still angry. Furious, even. “I’m glad you realise this. I don’t want to need to worry about the security of my identity if I can help it.” Regardless, he’s tightly holding on to Bandit’s hand now and lowering his voice: “I thought I was losing you, Dom. You wouldn’t look at me. You wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t even let me touch you. I was scared. Even now, I’m scared for you.”

He can’t even pretend it’s unwarranted as he did indeed feel like he used to on particularly bad days, he realises now in hindsight. Nightmares, a general lack of concern for his own well-being, the omnipresent frost in his bones. It’s a testament to how much his life has improved by Montagne’s side that instead of reverting to seriously self-destructive behaviours, he contacted Blitz, followed advice, took a step back and reconsidered. Not what he would’ve done a few years ago. “I’m not the one in hospital”, he still protests weakly.

“No, but I eat and sleep regularly.”

Fair point. He draws a deep breath and looks up again, didn’t even notice he averted his gaze and now finds a mixture of compassion and sorrow in Montagne’s. “It was hell”, he admits and earns a nod. “It still is, a bit.”

“Yes. It is. And I don’t think you’ve even begun processing that I’m not dead, you still look like you lost me. It’s alright. I’m alive.”

Maybe that’s it. His brain melted together the grief of the early days when he knew nothing, the impotent rage, his powerlessness and now the fear of rejection into a terrifying vortex out of which he still hasn’t escaped. He looks at his lover and tries to convince himself that it’ll all be fine but largely fails. Doubts and anxiety eat at him, unchanged, so when Montagne pulls at him, he gives in.

It’s an awkward shuffling and pushing but eventually, Bandit manages to fit onto the bed next to his lover, rest his head on his shoulder and tentatively put an arm around his waist while trying not to touch any of the bandages. The effect is almost instant, Montagne’s proximity cures his fractured soul and when a hand begins stroking over his side, he relaxes fully against the once invulnerable-seeming body with a final sigh. Montagne is radiating heat as well as tranquillity, his regular breaths raising and lowering Bandit’s arm, his hand stroking away some of his fears.

“I’m so shit at this”, Bandit murmurs against fabric which will be his next target to steal and wear until its scent has been lost, “you’re feeling fucking awful and yet I’m the one who needs reassurance.”

“I’d rather expend the energy to reassure you than have you forge my signature again”, Montagne replies into his hair followed by an amused huff. “It’s excusable though. I’m busy not dying whereas you have nothing to do other than let your thoughts spiral.”

Bandit hums in vague agreement and allows his eyes to fall shut. He wasn’t even aware of how viciously he missed touching his lover, being touched in return, rest by his side. And cuddling, he supposes.

“Have you spoken with Olivier?”

He nods with a clear conscience because it’s true, he did talk to him. If what he says next is untrue, well, it cancels each other out. Right? “I gave him a speech and he hated every second of it.”

“That’s odd. He told me you kept it brief.” Oh shit. Montagne quite tangibly enjoys Bandit’s sputtering for a few seconds and then kisses his forehead. “You two are more alike than you think. But I get the message, I won’t forcibly try to make you interact again.”

It’s a relief to hear, even if Bandit has to admit that dealing with the Frenchman has become less annoying over time. They’re on the same page, stuck in an unfortunate situation and probably should try to make the best out of it. Bandit nuzzles Montagne’s jaw and says: “I take it back, by the way. What I said. I wouldn’t sacrifice a life for this. Not even his.”

“Good.” Another kiss. “I’m proud of you.”

“Do you still -” He hesitates, unsure of how to ask for what he wants to know. Needs to know. “I mean… am I – are you still…”

When Montagne fortunately catches on before he has to outright say it, his arm around Bandit tightens involuntarily. “Of course, Dom, how could you even ask? Of course I love you. I’m so glad you’re here by my side, it helps me immensely. Thank you for staying.” He’s getting choked up again though for entirely different reasons than the last time he was here, so he just snuggles closer and melts against Montagne’s side with a contented sigh. Like this, he can almost forget about the sterile room and the faint antiseptic smell; it’s easy to imagine they’re back in their flat, enjoying a lazy morning before eating breakfast together – and Bandit notices he’s actually quite hungry.

“How did you even decide to bring me flowers?”, Montagne mumbles, audibly sleepy as well now and resting his head on Bandit’s.

A smile pulls at his lips. “I’ll tell you later. For now, let’s just stay like this a bit.”

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #fanfic #protection mountain #it shows how off-balance bandit is that he's appreciative towards blitz #also I imagine he can hold a grudge forever if necessary

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douxreviews · 5 years

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The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1989) Review

"Your reality, sir, is lies and balderdash and I'm delighted to say that I have no grasp of it whatsoever."

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen is one of the biggest flops in cinema history. Its failure is something that still haunts director Terry Gilliam to this day. But is the film itself actually bad?

Let's find out.

[Warning: This review contains spoilers]

Written by Gilliam and his Brazil co-writer Charles McKeown (who also plays Adolphus) and loosely based on the book Baron Munchhausen's Narrative of his Marvellous Travels and Campaigns in Russia by Rudolf Erich Raspe (itself based on the tall tales told by Hieronymus Karl Friedrich, Freiherr von Münchhausen, a German nobleman who fought in the Russo-Turkish War of 1735–1739), The Adventures of Baron Munchausen was the third and final entry in Gilliam's Trilogy of Imagination, which also included Time Bandits and Brazil. According to the man himself, all three were about the "craziness of our awkwardly ordered society" and the desire to escape it through imagination at different stages in life: a child in Time Bandits, a man in his thirties in Brazil, and finally an elderly man in this film.

Not surprisingly for a Terry Gilliam film, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen suffered through a notoriously troubled production which saw the film's already hefty budget skyrocket (although Gilliam denies it ever went anywhere near the reported $46 million). Sarah Polley, who was only 9-years-old when she played the Baron's unwanted sidekick Sally, found the entire ordeal deeply traumatising while Eric Idle, Gilliam's friend and fellow Python, described the whole experience as "fucking madness" and that one should only see Terry Gilliam films, not actually star in them.

But as bad as the production was, Gilliam has argued that it wasn't the complete horror show it was made out to be. Most of the negative stories were the result of studio politics with The Adventures of Baron Munchausen becoming the unfortunate victim of a regime change at Columbia Pictures that saw Dawn Steel replace David Puttnam as CEO. Steel wasn't interested in making a success of any of the films started by her predecessor and gave the film a limited released (only 117 prints according to Gilliam) with almost no promotion. To the surprise of no one, the film tanked, making only $8 million, with the blame for the film's failure pinned solely on the director.

Like so many box office failures, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen gained the reputation of being something of a turkey in the years following its release. This was rather unfair since The Adventures of Baron Munchausen is in no way a bad film. I don't think it is some misunderstood masterpiece, and it is unquestionably the weakest instalment of Gilliam's Imagination Trilogy, but as a standalone piece of fantasy cinema, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen is actually really rather pretty good.

The film opens in an unnamed European town, currently under siege by the Ottomans, sometime in the late 18th century (a Wednesday to be exact). It is the Age of Reason, a time of logic and rational thought, here personified by the town's mayor, and the closest thing this film has to a villain, Horatio Jackson (Jonathan Pryce). This is a man who wants to run a nice orderly war and has soldiers executed for being too extraordinarily brave because it sets a bad example. As the town is bombarded by canons, a group of actors put on a play about the life and adventures of that notorious teller of tall tales, Baron Munchausen (John Neville). Just as the second act is getting underway who should appeared in the audience but the real Baron himself. Now horribly old and longing for the sweet embrace of death, the Baron is none too happy with how he is being portrayed and proceeds to tell everyone how it really happened.

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen is the kind of lavish, fantastical adventure film that studios don't really make any more. Hell, even at the time it was released, 30 years ago today, it was the kind of lavish, fantastical adventure film that studios don't really make any more. It's the ideal film for such a creative filmmaker as Terry Gilliam. Like the Baron, he also delights in telling tall tales with little care for how realistic they are or how much sense they make. This is his greatest strength as a director as well as his biggest weakness. Gilliam is one of cinema's great visualists, possessing imagination that few can match, but at the same time he's maybe not one of its best storytellers. Many of his films have a rambling, episodic quality to the film and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen is no different.

There is some semblance of a plot about the Baron finding his old servants in order to save the town and defeating the Turks, but it's really just an excuse for sending the Baron and Sally from one fantastical world to the next and for the director to let his creatively run wild. With no one to hold him back, Gilliam indulged himself to the fullest with this film, embracing the Baron’s far fetched flights of fancy with absolute relish. From the clockwork lunacy of the moon to the heavenly grandeur of Vulcan and Venus' ballroom, the whole thing is a feast for the senses (well, two of them at least).

The cast is something of a mixed bag. Neville is wonderful as Baron, bringing the right mix of charm, theatricality and matter of fact-ness to one of literature's most absurd creations. I love that Oliver Reed plays the god Vulcan like a Northern factory boss, forever at war with his disgruntled workers, while Robin Williams (who went uncredited and unpaid) is at his most manic as the King of the Moon. It's a shame, though, that the film never seems bothered about doing anything remotely interesting with any of its female characters, a problem shared by almost all of Gilliam's films. Polley is saddled with a character who seems to do nothing but nag and complain, Uma Thurman (as the goddess Venus) is just there to be admired by everyone, while the rest have nothing better to do than swoon over the inexplicably irresistible Baron.

Time Bandits and Brazil were both notable for having pretty dour endings. Gilliam famously had to fight tooth and nail to get Brazil released without the studio's preferred "happy ever after" ending. For a bit it looked as if The Adventures of Baron Munchausen would continue this trend. After saving the town by driving away the Sultan's army, the Baron is assassinated by Jackson, allowing the Grim Reaper to finally get his boney hands on the man who has eluded him all throughout the film. But just as he is being given a hero's burial, we jump right back to the theatre and discover that this has all just been another one of the Baron's outrageous stories, and not even the first one in which he died. None of it really happened. Except that it did, because the Turks were defeated and the town saved. Which make no sense, but then it wouldn't really be a Baron Munchausen story if it made any sense. And so Gilliam ends this unofficial trilogy on a more uplifting and triumphant note, showing us that while imagination can offer one person salvation in the darkest of times, an imagination shared, through stores, can help save others as well.

Notes and Quotes

--Yes, that is Sting as the solider who gets executed for being too extraordinary. He landed the role because he was Gilliam's neighbour at the time.

--Where does the Baron get all those fresh roses he keeps handing out to all the beautiful ladies he meets?

--It was a brilliant move on Gilliam's part to cast Pryce, the daydreaming hero of Brazil, as this film's bureaucratic villain.

--To the surprise of no one, Oliver Reed spent most of his time on set getting drunk and trying to seduce the teenage Uma Thurman. This was actually her first acting role, but because of the numerous production delays she made two other films before this one was even released.

--As bad as the making of this film was, it still sounds like a absolute picnic compared to the making of The Abyss, that other big budget box office failure of 1989.

Sultan: "Have you any famous last words?" Baron Munchausen: "Not yet." Sultan: "'Not yet?' Is that famous?"

Baron Munchausen: "Abandon ship!" Berthold: "I think the ship's abandoning us."

Horatio Jackson: We can't start escaping at a time like this. What would future generations think of us?

Baron Munchausen: "Go away! I'm trying to die!" Sally: "Why?" Baron Munchausen: "Because I'm tired of the world and the world is evidently tired of me." Sally: "But why? Why?" Baron Munchausen: "Why, why, why! Because it's all logic and reason now. Science, progress, laws of hydraulics, laws of social dynamics, laws of this, that, and the other. No place for three-legged cyclops in the South Seas. No place for cucumber trees and oceans of wine. No place for me."

King of the Moon: "My kingdom for a handkerchief!"

Baron Munchausen: "Everyone who had a talent for it lived happily ever after."

Baron Munchausen: "I'm Baron Munchausen!" Berthold: "That sounds nasty. Is it contagious?"

Three out of four tall tales.

Mark Greig has been writing for Doux Reviews since 2011

#The Adventures of Baron Munchausen #Terry Gilliam #John Neville #Sarah Polley #Eric Idle #Jonathan Pryce #Oliver Reed #Uma Thurman #Robin Williams #Doux Reviews #Movie Reviews

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deathofamockingbird · 6 years

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My contribution for day two of sqw! You can read it on AO3 or just click on the readmore

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/F

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Relationship: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan

Characters: Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Emma Swan

Additional Tags: Fluff, Swan Queen Week, AU

Language: English

When looking at a woman like Regina, all expensive suits and pursed lips and no nonsense attitude, the last place you’d expect to find her would be a run down movie theater at ten in the morning. But for her, there was a wonder about the cinema that she’d never quite lost her enthusiasm for. As a child, she had fond memories of sitting on her father’s lap at the movies, watching some silly comedy or action filled- but age appropriate- adventure. She loved the big screen, the loud speakers, the drawn quiet or raucous laughter of the viewers around her, smiling and sobbing along with each plot point and dramatic sequence.

The movies were her escape from the life she’d been trapped in, the only concession her mother allowed in the rigorous and challenging life plan she’d created for her only child. Her father’s death when she was fourteen put a stop to her weekly outings to the movies, a light snuffed out in her world of darkness. She grew older, following her mother’s instruction and moving up in the world of business and stock trading, the magic and wonder she remembered experiencing with her father pushed to the side to make room for the real world.

It wasn’t until years later, finding herself outside of a cinema playing some god awful rendition of a remake of a remake, that Regina felt that stirring in the back of her mind, the desire to immerse herself in the large screen and blasting speakers returned. Almost on impulse, she bought a ticket and was seated not five minutes later in the empty theater. The movie itself was terrible, the plot line contrived and the characters entirely unbelievable. And yet, she felt at home, happy for the first time in years.

Being the CEO of a multibillion dollar corporation- especially at only thirty two- meant that her time was both valuable and limited, but she once she’d dipped her toes back into the waters of the movie theater, she couldn’t resist. A single concession, she told herself, she could allow herself two hours of frivolity in her otherwise busy and unyielding schedule. It didn’t take long for her to determine that Tuesday’s were the least busy and earlier showing were almost always completely empty. With that in mind, she gave herself a two and a half hour block of time- of course thirty minutes had to be set aside for commuting and unexpected delays- to watch whichever movie caught her interest at the moment, and let herself relax into the fantasy of the stories on the big screen.

She was three years into her almost ritualistic movie viewing when she stumbled into her life- more specifically- her empty theater. The movie was insignificant, as they often were, but this woman would not allow herself to be as well. Despite the plethora of unoccupied seats, she had immediately taken the seat to Regina’s right and, to make it worse began talking to her. This Emma, or whoever she was, rambled on and on about this and that and it took every ounce of her carefully ingrained self control not to fly off at the woman and demand she leave. The girl barely looked over twenty one, and she exuded a sweet innocence that Regina could barely stomach on the best of days.

And then the movie started.

Regina had hoped that this infuriating woman would finally stop talking, yet every few minutes, she was accosted with some inane comments- and worse, questions- about the events unfolding on the screen. She could feel her frustration rising, her fingers itching to knock something over, her lips just waiting to unleash all manner of abuse on the young blonde who had so foolishly invaded the one time in her week that she was able to wind down, when the sounds of laughter cut through the negative thoughts swirling in her head.

“Can you believe that guy did that?”

The blonde woman’s laughter was so genuine, so honest, that Regina found herself laughing along. It was as if a load she’d never even known she’d been bearing had suddenly been lifted and the annoying comments and noises that the woman made suddenly weren’t annoying at all. It was like she was a child again, crowded into a packed theater, with the audience reacting to everything on the screen as if they were in the movie themselves. Emma reacted to every scene, every dramatic reveal, and Regina found herself doing the same.

When the credits finally began to roll and the lights came up, she was surprised that the smile on her face was almost too wide, and she genuinely enjoyed the experience, beyond the typical sense of comfort the movie theater had supplied. Emma seemed to be enjoying herself as well, singing along with end song, and Regina found herself captivated by the sight, unable to look away for the beaming woman until finally the screen went black.

Realizing how long she had been staring, how awkwardly she was behaving, the brunette suddenly stood up, her gaze shifting to her hands in an uncharacteristic moment of discomfort. The relaxing atmosphere had faded and she felt stiff and uncomfortable as Emma stared back at her, almost expectantly.

Blinking twice, she turned to exit the row, only to stop at the feeling of a hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Same time next week?”

Swallowing thickly, Regina raised an eyebrow in question, as if to ask what in the world made Emma think that they were going to associate with each other at all once she walked out of the cinema.

That at least earned her a sheepish look from the blonde, but Emma had yet to release her wrist, though her grip could hardly be considered confining.

“I just- I actually work here and I noticed you come in every week; same day and roughly same time. You don’t really seem to care about what movie you see, and I thought you might like some company." Emma paused, her smile faltering for the first time, before speaking again, this time with a hint of hesitancy in her voice, "So, I'll see you next week?”

Regina should have ripped her hand back, she should have scowled and demanded how Emma had the audacity to think she knew anything about her. She should have gone into full CEO mode and torn the girl into pieces for making any kind of assumptions about her at all. But instead, she only nodded in consent, and was instantly rewarded with a dazzling smile from the blonde, who finally released her. With one last goodbye, Emma shouldered her own bag, checking her watch, before giving an apologetic look and dashing away, though not before turning back with one last wave.

For her part, Regina was still frozen in place, her mind trying to reconcile the last few minutes, Emma’s behavior, her own behavior. She was shaken from her musings only as a theater employee with a broom and dustpan cleared his throat awkwardly from the front row. Refusing to show weakness, she barely acknowledge the young boy as she stepped forward, checking her own watch, thankful that the whole ordeal had yet to set her too far back, time wise. As she walked swiftly out of the theater and onto the busy street, easily moving with the heavy foot traffic of the city, she couldn’t help but wonder about the woman. What was her angle? Why did this random woman insist on interfering in her life? What was the point of it all?

Regina briefly considered not attending the next week, but she already knew that she wouldn’t be able to follow through with that notion. Many people compared her to a dog with a bone when it came to getting answers- it was one of the traits that made her such an effective and efficient business woman. As she stepped into her office, a full six minutes ahead of schedule, she finally acknowledged to herself that she would miss the other woman’s presence in the theater if she decided to conduct her weekly viewing at a different cinema, despite barely knowing her at all.

There was no way that she could know that those weekly movie dates would lead to so much more.

When she stepped into the theater the next week, she was met with a wide smile and an inviting face; and again the week after that and the week after that. Their standing movie dates became a staple in their relationship; so, it only made sense that on their 250th movie date- and their second anniversary of officially dating- that Emma finally proposed.

And of course, as in all of the truly great movies, with a wide smile and teary eyes, Regina said yes.

#a little late but i tried #swanqueenweek #swanqueen #also on fanfic . net #swan queen #sq fanfic

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chiseler · 3 years

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Psychiatric Filmmaking 1: UCLA & the Aesthetic-Industrial Dimension

Is there such a thing as a ‘psychiatric cinema’?

There is certainly a psychotic one, but ‘psychotic’ is not an official diagnosis—and even if it was, we know the word through crimson pulpy images and not textbooks. Norman Bates’ shower is more famous than Freud’s Wolf Man; the image of Lon Chaney Jr’s makeup comes to mind whenever Sergei Pankejeff is mentioned—who is usually called the ‘Wolf Man’ and not Sergei Pankejeff. Common parlance leads diagnostic recognition, which also draws from it. And despite its long and strange relationship with the Scientific, psychiatry is primarily an aesthetic study. Freud’s most revolutionary conclusions placed it among the arts, as a continuous working hypothesis dependent on what can never be verified. Films, bestsellers, the fashion world, even military theory and economics are full of the language and romance of psychiatry. The greater the hold of the sciences of the uncertain, the more and more certain the world was forced to become. We remain stable, cautious. Trump is definitely ‘psychotic’. Stalin and Mao were psychotic, too. These three men have a close relationship with the art world.

In the late 1950s and early 1960s, corresponding to the psychiatric boom in modern mass advertising, a modish filmmaking appeared which combined a cramped and stark television-style frame with an interior ‘character’ development moving along the lines of case studies and group informants who acted as both individuals and as psychic types. Who watched these little films? Experts, students, doctors, perhaps certain policy makers or financial intermediaries. The audience is small, insular, so why should the filmmakers be concerned with way the action conveys the evidence? Because there is a certain logic in photographic history which must, like psychiatry and language, ‘make sense’ according to its own properties and its own grammatical rules (editing is also a part of this complex). These interviews must not fall under the spell of their subjective madmen, so they must employ fictional techniques—framing techniques that have seeped into our brains since the first photograph was taken, maybe ever since the Renaissance. And remember that Wiene’s Caligari used a deliberately static camera, an unnerving and obsolete choice by 1920, which, combined with the painted sets, made the film consciously archaic and thus, Modernist.

Our subject here, taken from what we could call an industrial psychiatric trade cinema, comes from a period when ethnography was informed by the already ancient pleasures of Black and White and the ‘reality’ of vibrant color motion picture images. The first film, part of the ‘Psychiatric Interview Series’ franchise, is subtitled ‘Patient No. 1: Evaluation for Diagnosis.’ It was produced for the Department of Psychiatry by the UCLA Motion Picture Division of the Theatre Arts Dept in 1959. It uses two cameras with two standard positions (the establishing moments show the two participants already seating themselves, making the ‘reality’ of the examination a cut into unfilmed time). The initial camera position is over the shoulder of the ‘psychiatrist’ (?), showing the patient at a left angle, medium close. The second position is the patient only, closer medium shot (head, shoulders and chest), in three-quarter profile with a slight shadow. There is no shot-reverse-shot, which maintains the total anonymity of the physician figure, as well as his power. The audience is the third presence, watching it unfold passively. The filmmaking is entirely ‘unreal’, or rather studied documentary, and resembles a sequence from Perry Mason, emphasizing the ‘perp’ before the law, in Black and White. The sound is clear throughout, which might indicate post production clean up or a separate sync recording which was then added onto a strip to the silent film (the sync is badly off, perhaps due to the transfer to video or the youtube uploader; such carelessness seems at odds with the professional lighting and simple but deft use of cinema language used by the UCLA filmmakers).

The unnamed patient is that old city nightmare, the runaway, a graduate from all the major schools in America: reform school, Juvie Hall and jail, as well some actual prison time (under a year). She tells the talking head to her right that she’s had four pregnancies, but relates six (he corrects her, but does not seem to notice that she might be counting twins as a single ordeal, as well as confusing the living and the dead—two stillborn and two deaths right after birth). Car theft, truancy, passing bad checks, traffic violations and dope: all of these are de rigueur in a dirty little city kid, but they indicate an unbridled criminal apprenticeship if one is a servant of middle class morality (that is, if one is a psychiatrist). She speaks of the hallucinations of amphetamines, of the outlines of figures in smoke, while she chain smokes herself, the curls and eddies moving pleasantly at the side of the frame like one of Fu Manchu’s altars or Cagney waiting for his parole officer. There are several good dialogue exchanges, which seem scripted in that uncanny sense which now governs our too educated, suspicious minds:

Her: I was seeing things.

Him: What did you see?

Her: Mostly people.

What else is there to see? But she sees only their shadows (in the sequel, the interviewer has become a flat shadow darker than any shadow, his grey details consumed by pure black to differentiate him from the colorful patient who now sits on the right side of the frame). She is seventeen years old, pleasingly dykey, almost like the singer kd laing, and has had ten to fifteen rounds of shock treatment by her own request. The doctor notes her androgyny by asking her if she looks like her father, especially the hair, which is curly and short and clearly a dead giveaway. Her dad was in army, he comes and goes but her problems, like many daughters, are with her mother. And everyone has called her crazy since she was a kid:

Her: They’ve been saying it since I was little.

Him: So I guess you’re kind of used to it …

Time in Modesto State Hospital, time and bikers, time with lousy boyfriends and cigarette time, dope times, some fun times too: the kind of girl you might get arrested with, that stares too long at the cheerleaders she despises but has no trouble with hypocrisy because it is alluringly perverse. She seems drugged in conversation, or perhaps she is indifferent after a thousand interviews and this is way purely to get by. Her indifference is noted repeatedly by the doctor. She is indifferent to that, too. The even tone of his voice is matched by her own distant, even tone. Neither one pleads for a disastrous warmth; both know too much to accept the trappings of intimacy in a situation under the control of a properly conducted cinematic procedure.

The color sequel was made two years later to show the dramatically improved situation of the girl, though the interviewer remains suitably agnostic (I cannot tell whether it is same voice, or merely another example of the same detached tone, coming from this single dimensional shadow that may or may not be a different man). This film is subtitled ‘Patient No 9 Follow Up Treatment’ and is part of the same series (the change in patient number is not explained). It also consists of two shots and two cameras, similar to the first set up, but now the participants occupy the right of the frame. The room resembles a rec room, whereas the earlier room looked like the corner of a classroom; neither space seems to be a functional office. The girl is now an outpatient, dressed in a skirt with her purse on an end table and her hair slightly done. She still chain smokes and asks, as she did in the first film, if smoking is permitted half way through the interview and several cigarettes in (this may indicate that the film was reedited within the scene and not just for length or simple content). She is now married to a nice guy, still feels the allure of trouble, recounts shooting someone who menaced her kids back in the day at a drug party (not fatal), and lives healthily but not comfortably in the doldrums of ultra square Michigan, where she is in therapy at the Traverse City Asylum. She smiles and laughs more than before, shows the same cheeky grin and intelligently ironic way of commenting on her exploits.

This sequel promises redemption and can be seen as a show of triumph of psychiatric care over the institutional vices of the street. Patient 9 takes most of the credit herself, which irks the doctor— according to his practice, the nature of the addled mind demands that the patient assume responsibility, while treatment guides progress. You can’t do it by yourself. A short discussion of the future ends the clip, with more than a hint of a prophecy of recidivism and inescapable destiny creeping into the doctor’s measured tone, while unreflected life flows through the anonymous girl in her twenties, who says with a grin:

Her: I think in time I’ll be just another little old lady, just like everybody else.

Psychiatric experiments were conducted by the intelligence services with the cooperation of all the major educational institutions in North America, a fact long known to the general public via various official disclosures and pulpy films based on these revelations. The UCLA claims a number of famous alumni, in varying degrees of talent and sadism, such as Francis Ford Coppola, James Dean, Jim Morrison, and Paul Schrader—as well as at least one utter genius, Mr. Charles Burnett. Like the UCLA, the University of Chicago has some smart kids and maybe even a genius or two, but it shines brighter and darker by the hosts of Milton Freidman, Leopold and Loeb and the Bomb. The education industry does not even seek to deny its corruption these days, which shows the cheep cynicism of men who will do anything to inflate property values, collected debt-producing tuition rents, and plead for endowments from outright fascists. This is also part of the aesthetics of University-produced cinema, just as MK Ultra is a both part of real history in the Church Commission and part of its own propaganda in the fringe exposes of mind control victims and late night radio palaver. Successes need to shine brightly and darkly, while failures—and these operations are always near total failures—remain below, drab as the truth.

The outer edges inform the center, just as the rimland feeds the empire. The center is liberal humanism, which asserts its historical right over a subject whose final salvation it has undertaken and whose transformations it oversees in the heart of civil society. And it does so in the sphere of foreign policy, as well (Let us leave foreign policy at Kim Jong Un being insane and the United States being quite sane when it annihilated 75% of Pyongyang). Experts marshal testimony and documentary to prove their points, which then lead to logical conclusions and hopefully—to action, to a Responsibility to Protect. The interview is a valuable form of testimony because of the ambiguities it lays bare in the reactions of the interviewee and in the conduct of the interviewer. A good psychiatric reading takes stock of both, and goes some distance toward the holy state of observing ‘without bias’.

It would be curious to know who worked on these films. I imagine few could resist the offer— nor should they have done. Psychiatric cinema offers a trite but distilled series of plays copped from many different fields and used, not without irony, to ends so mysterious they are not even worth following up. How much were these films studied by the department? Where are they stored now? How many were simply destroyed or never even viewed? Were some of them just editing exercises for the film classes? That they have wound up on youtube as curiosities, along with military drug test footage and autopsies, indicates that this invisible school of UCLA films-as-yellow-wallpaper has now entered an abandoned Yankee territory once ruled by Brakhage and Warhol—the avant garde. But perhaps influencing agents have always arrived there from municipal areas: police procedural, psychiatry and therapeutics, the educational system, the postal service. And vice versa, which is more curious.

There is another kind of psychiatric filmmaking which loses the powerful Doctor-Father figure all together and loops back directly to Gericault, making moving portraits of subjects who grin, mug, stare blankly at the camera, comic and self consciously so, as if the lens were truly a mirror. These less polished films resemble Warhol’s screen tests and were even made at roughly the same time, in the early to mid 1960s. The camera is far more clandestine in the psychiatric films though, and while it covers the same territory of the human face that the Factory did in its louche lofts, its operation is part of a completely different history. The close-up frame common to both kinds of filmmaking is deceptive. This similarity is dissimilar, and is a product—to borrow an expression from language learning—of the association of false friends.

by Martin Billheimer

The films:

Part 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=kVeBr51NITE

Part 2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=C92TGV-hHug&t=316s

[1] There is a curious overlap with the popularity of the Adler/Strasberg school of Method acting in the US, which claimed a Russian patrimony yet was riddled with a stagey Old World conservatism decried by Hitchcock and other Modernists.

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almostlikemylife · 6 years

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My 2017 summary

With a “Keep reading” for your dashboard convenience because this is extremely long

January: I started the year with a delay on the flight taking me back to my place from my parent’s home, arriving late at night and having to wake up early next day to work. That next day I also had a phone interview that went well. I discovered that one of my friends didn’t have his contract extended and was now jobless. I went to a small house party where I met someone that made me fall into a massive crush on that person. One week later I met with a friend and one of my crush’s friends to talk and she promised to organize another gathering. We went to dinner with some other friends and ended the night at one of them’s place. I did a second interview and got the job. We had a second gathering and tried to know her a bit better but didn’t go well since as a social butterfly she couldn’t keep her attention only on me. A friend went back to his country and the farewell party was a blast.

February: Opened a bank account. Started talking to my crush on Facebook trying to meet for a coffee (date). She was up for it but “rain check”. I went back home to pick more clothes and stuff since my stay here was going to be longer than expected. Did some shopping for new clothes. Came back. Started my new job. Super stressful from day one. Tough coworkers. They threw the kitchen sink at me from the beginning. Continued trying to get a date with her but always an excuse. Started to feel really disappointed because the conversation was stagnant and with more time between replies every time. A friend working at the same company started telling me that the way they were treating me was wrong.

March: I met my crush on the bus one day and I was surprised to see her taking that bus. We talked and she told me she had spent the night at a friend’s house. At that moment it stroke me that maybe they had something together and that was the reason she wasn’t much into meeting with me. The conversation was dead anyways and we stopped talking. I was obliged to work for a few days from 8am to 11pm and was told that I couldn’t consider that overtime. That made me talk to HR to ask what exactly was overtime because if 15h at the office is not overtime then what is it. HR’s answer was “yeah we get a lot of complaints in your team. Get some experience and then leave. It’s what everyone does”. That baffled me. Then HR talked to my boss and he scolded me in private for having talked to HR. I went out with my friends and did not enjoy myself at all. Loud, noise, drunk people, being tired, worried about my job. That day I saw the friend at whose house I met my crush. We caught up and told to meet more often because we were rarely meeting. We didn’t see or talked to each other the rest of the year. I continued working long hours but now at least I was being able to charge overtime.

April: At my birthday I took cakes, croissants and other sweets fro breakfast to invite everyone at work. They were impressed with it but some told me that I should have brought this when I joined and then also for birthday so I was still owing them another breakfast. You have to be fucking miserable to think something like that. I went to Frankfurt by train for 2 days for a training. We had dinner with the rest of attendants and I remember one girl rolled her eyes at something on of my colleagues said; I found it funny because that was my sentiments exactly. Continued looking for a new place to live. First, for a change, but second becaue I wanted to meet new people and I wasn’t feeling close enogh with my current housemates/friends. Registered in OkCupid.

May: A new guy joined the team. That forced me to sit on a different area and spend more time with a different part of the team. I went to play laser tag with my friends/housemates and it was great. I went to a corporate event with the rest of the division (not only my team). There was a second optional day but I didn’t stay for it along with many more people who returned by bus at the end of the day. My colleagues took great offense in me not staying for the 2nd day. I visited some properties during the month but none convinced me. A guy left at work because “he wasn’t happy there”.

June: Another guy joined at work. I had tickets for a concert and couldn’t attend because at work they set a training the same day in another city. Went to the training with all the team and after it he had a visit to a castle and an exhibit followed by a dinner. Then they continued the party and got drunk, caused a brawl at a bar, stole bottles and a flag from the hotel. Me and other guy went to our rooms and didn’t participate in that, which was considered “poor teambuilding”. Finally found a place to move. It wasn’t perfect but I wanted to move before summer and it was the best I could find. Also I wanted to meet new housemates. Everyday I was less and less happy with the people at my job. I didn’t attend a summer party at the office just to avoid spending time with them.

July: I moved to my new house. 2 days later I lost my job for “lack of integration with the team”. Independently on the quality of my work and the opinion that I was meeting expectations, the fact that some didn’t like me on a personal level mattered more. They all “hid” on a meeting room while I was packing but got out too soon and crossed with me. None of them said a word or looked at me. I found myself in a new house, jobless right at the bginning of summer (quiet period). So after a week sending some applications I went back home with my parents. Felt depressing to be back in summer, with no friends, jobless and having to think what to do next. Kept applying nothing much happened the rest of the month.

August: During the first half of the month I stayed with my parents. I received an invitation to some online tests for a job, which lit me up. Went back to my place by mid month. Registered for unemployment benefits as my contract finished mid-month (officially I was on holiday without having to return to the office at the end of it). Registering was an ordeal. Tons of paperwork to do and counselors to meet. Did an initial online interview for the job for which I did the online tests also. Met again with my friends and went out with them a couple of times. They said that I looked much happier now but I wasn’t feeling that happy.

September: Went out with friends again but that night I didn’t enjoy it that much. Continued doing the benefits paperwork which turned into a bureaucratic nightmare. I needed a document that I could only obtain if I had worked at my country of origin but I never worked at my country of origin so it was impossible to obtain. At the end, I had to translate the only document I could obtain from my country certifying that I hadn’t worked there and wasn’t receiving benefits. My closest friend took some holidays and the others didn’t care that much about me so for weeks I didn’t see any of them. Rained a lot during that time. I went to an agency for a job but the client company was under restructuring and the process was on hold. Did the interview for the role of the online tests and it didn’t go well. They asked me to wait as some people from other department say my cv and they were opening a job too and wanted to meet me. I went a week later to do tests for the second role. My unemployment benefits were finally approved. I started meeting regularly again with my closest. At home, I rarely saw my other housemates. They were coming home at late hours and leaving early or not very social and spending their time on their rooms. I went to a birthday party. Was crowded, loud and I didn’t enjoy myself there. I met a friend’s friend to help her with something she is studying.

October: I met with friends a couple of times. My closest friend ditched me a couple of times because he was hangover. I went to a music fair and bought several CDs. I went alone to a concert because nobody else likes the same music as me. I liked it a lot. During the concert I saw a really nice girl close to me. I thought about talking to her but I didn’t dare to. I imagined that she wouldn’t like to be approached by a stranger. I did an interview that went really well. I was praised for my knowledge and told that with this CV I could work anywhere I wanted. It gave me hopes that I could get the job. I discovered that the guy that was hired in May at my previous job had been fired too. Apparently they didn’t like him on a personal level, like me. I met for Halloween with some of my friends to have a drink.

November: The first day of the month I went to have lunch with my friend. He called me out of nowhere, made me shower in a rush; all of that to then make me wait for an hour. We took a walk after lunch and thought about going to a cinema that plays old films at some point during the month. My house was without heating for 2 days. I went for a little walk and it was dark and cold. Almost got a cold. I had a ridiculous interview in which they didn’t understand my profile, the profile for the job was for someone totally different, I had to make a nonsensical test and they “sold me” that most of the time I would be making photocopies. What a disaster. Then, the next day I got the answer from the interview I was praised at in October. It was a no. It pissed me off so much because it was almost a practical joke. I was almost in tears. Then my close friend was out for the weekend so I ended up going to the cinema alone. I asked for feedback and they told me that the only reason was having been fired from my previous job. But they gave my cv to other team that was interested in meeting. After another fruitless week I went to the cinema with a friend. After, we went for a beer and he told me he was considering relocating to Berlin. A girl at the bar looked at me with a smile for a long period and made me feel a bit nervous and flattered but nothing happened. I went to the cinema the next 2 days too. I had the other interview with the other team and it was surprisingly short and superficial. I had another interview for another role on the phone and went well. Another visit to the cinema with a friend. During this month I was so down and depressed and hopeless that I forgot to buy a ticket for a concert I wanted to go to. It was sold out when I remembered and I missed it. So, before the same happening twice I bought ticket to another concert.

December: I had a second phone interview (second part of the phone interview that went well). Strangely, I didn’t pass it because I lacked a specific knowledge which made me question why did they interview me at all. I went to the second concert and it was great. I’ve been listening to that band for more than 10 years and it was the first time I saw them live. Being in December already and knowing that this is a quiet hiring period until the new year starts (new budgets, etc...), I gave up with jobsearching for this year. Everyone said that January and February are much better. I had a small gathering with friends at one of them’s place. I was quite in a low mood but went anyway. Some of them I hadn’t seen them since summer (yay good friends). They were surprised that I was still unemployed. And they even said it with a bit of a smirk. Those who hadn’t gone through the same and had more opportunities in their lives can’t understand what you’re going through. It snowed several times. I went to the cinema alone one more time. When I told a friend he asked why didn’t I call. When I want to meet no one is available. When I go alone others ask me why I went alone. My close friend called me to go to the cinema and because of his poor planning skills, I had to rush to the cinema (he loves to call with no notice) only to wait for him for 20 min. When he arrived, there were no more seats available so we didn’t go at all. We had a coke at a restaurant and then I left because I had enough bullshit. Next day I took a flight home to spend Christmas with my parents. Listened to music, read a book I had pending, looked a bit into job offers (not much available at this time) and disconnected from the shitty reality this year has been to me.

#me #personal #my life #my year #2017 #thoughts #reflections

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ejgiftcards · 7 years

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The 10 Best Gift Cards To Give For A Housewarming

Moving can be a really stressful time. Whether you move just a few miles from your old home or you take a journey across the country, moving always takes a huge amount of time, effort, and money.

This is probably why the idea of “housewarming” became so popular. A housewarming party or gift is a perfect way for new neighbors and old friends to show their appreciation for someone who has moved, and help them relieve some of the stress of their move.

In the past, the most popular housewarming gifts were usually home goods, designed to help a newly-moved individual, start their new life in their home. Artwork, kitchen goods, home goods, and even tools were all traditionally given during housewarming parties, and as housewarming gifts.

Recently, though, a better alternative has developed. Gift cards are a fantastic way to give a fun, flexible housewarming present that your recipient can actually use. Gift cards can also be purchased in a wide variety of amounts, so you’ll never have to worry about over or under-spending.

Gift cards have another added advantage – they’re very easy to send across the country (or even across the globe). You can purchase a gift card and send it to the recipient’s new address, or buy a digital gift card and have it delivered to their email address instantly. This is a great way to give a gift, even if a friend is moving away and you can’t attend a housewarming party.

But not all gift cards are built alike when it comes to housewarming gifts. You’ll want to pick the right gift card for the occasion, the individuals, the area, and your budget. But never fear! EJ Gift Cards is here with a comprehensive guide to picking out the 10 best gift cards for a housewarming!

Let’s Start With The Budget!

Housewarming gifts are a bit difficult to budget for. Most people don’t really expect a housewarming gift at all, so they’ll certainly appreciate any gift that you give them, regardless of price. However, it’s still a good idea to have a general idea of how much you should spend in different housewarming situations. Here are our recommendations.

New Neighbor: $20-$50 – Your new neighbors probably won’t expect a housewarming gift at all, so there’s no need to go overboard. In addition, giving them a high-value gift may make them feel uncomfortable, simply because they don’t know you that well.

Close Friends: $50-$75 – If you have a close friend who is moving back to your area, or is moving away, you should spend a bit more on their gift.

Family Member: $75+ – If you have an immediate family member who is moving, feel free to spend whatever you can to help them start their new life. This is especially good advice if you’re buying a gift for a recent college graduate, or someone who just bought their first home. They’ll need all the help they can get!

While there are certainly other housewarming situations, you can follow this rule of thumb: the better you know the person, the more you can spend. However, don’t feel obligated to spend a lot of money on a housewarming gift – it really is the thought that counts.

1. Home Improvement Stores

Whether your friend is moving into a new home or an apartment, there’s always something that needs work. Leaky faucets, loose door handles, chipped paint, untamed bushes in the lawn – whatever it may be.

A gift to a home improvement stores like Lowes or Home Depot is a fantastic choice, especially for a first-time homeowner. Living in a house requires quite a bit more maintenance and upkeep than living in an apartment – especially because you can’t just call your landlord if your shower starts to leak.

A home improvement gift card can help the recipient spend a bit less on these unexpected essentials, and aid them as they turn their house into a home.

2. Favorite Local Restaurant

If the recipient of your housewarming gift is from out of town, or they’re moving back to your area after moving away, a gift card to one of your favorite local restaurants is a fantastic gift. You should choose a restaurant that’s totally unique to your area – this will help your friend forget about the stress of moving, and appreciate the local cuisine of their new home.

Restaurant gift cards are also a fantastic choice because moving is incredibly stressful and time-consuming. It can take people weeks (or even months) to get fully unpacked and resume their normal lives. During this time most people don’t really have time to cook, so they’ll probably be eating out quite a bit.

3. “Downtown” Gift Cards From The Chamber Of Commerce

This is one of the more unique choices on our list. Though it won’t be applicable to everyone, many local chambers of commerce have partnered with local businesses to offer “downtown” gift cards that can be spent at any partnered merchant.

These gift cards are meant to help local businesses gain more customers, and allow both locals and out-of-towners to be able to experience the uniqueness of each city easily, with a fun and flexible gift card. Merchant partners usually include local restaurants, pubs, breweries, or even local specialty grocery stores – it all depends on the city issuing the card.

The Cincinnati “Downtown Gift Card” is a good example. These cards can be purchased directly from the city online, and used at over 200 different merchants, retailers, eateries, and entertainment venues.

If your friend or neighbor has moved to a new city, this is a great way to help them get acquainted with recreation options, and explore their new home. So do a little Googling, and see if you can find a “downtown” gift card to buy for a housewarming gift.

4. Movie Theater Gift Cards

Did we mention that moving is stressful? We did? Well, moving is stressful! Most people who move are excited about going to a new place and starting a new home, but the day-to-day effort required to move all of your stuff and set it up in a new apartment or house can be enormous.

Because of this, it’s a great idea to give a housewarming gift that can help the recipient escape the stresses of moving. A gift card to a local movie theater is a fantastic choice. Whether you choose a local, “arty” cinema, or a gift card to a large “cineplex” like AMC or Showcase, a gift to a movie theater will provide a valuable form of stress relief, and let the recipient relax and forget about the stresses of moving.

5. Home Goods Stores

Moving to a new place means adjusting to a new environment, and a differently-sized and laid-out space. That means that it’s very hard to anticipate what will be needed when moving to a new house or apartment. Are those deck chairs too big for the new balcony? Can that showerhead be replaced? Can that toaster that’s been in use since college be replaced? There’s always going to be some home goods that need to be purchased or replaced.

Because of this, buying a gift card to a home goods store like Crate & Barrel, Bed Bath & Beyond, or Bath & Bodyworks is a fantastic choice. Whether your gift recipient needs a new set of silverware, bath towels, or any other essentials, they’ll be able to pick up some great new stuff, and have everything they need, to start their life in their new home.

A gift card to one of these stores can also give the recipient an excuse to do a little pampering – buy a new bathrobe, some fancy skincare products, or anything else that will make them feel good about themselves as they de-stress from their move.

6. Craft Stores

Moving to a new home is a great opportunity to truly “make it your own”. If your friend or new neighbor seems crafty, and likes fun DIY projects, you should consider buying them a gift card to a store like Hobby Lobby, Michaels, or Jo-Ann Fabrics.

These stores have a huge variety of decorative items, artwork, picture frames, and much more, as well as a selection of great raw materials that can be used to make custom decorations. Check out this section on Pinterest for ideas!

7. IKEA

A gift card to IKEA is a fantastic housewarming present if you have a store in your area. Traditional furniture can be extremely expensive, and the recipient of your gift is probably not quite ready to drop thousands of dollars on sofa sets, end tables, and other furniture from a traditional retailer.

So IKEA is a fantastic option! IKEA products probably won’t last a lifetime, but they’re certainly made to high quality standards – even if assembly can be a bit of an issue. And because they’re flat-packed and can be assembled in a new home, it’s much easier to transport them. This is a huge deal – after moving, your friend isn’t going to want to go through the ordeal of fitting a bulky sofa into their car.

And because IKEA products are relatively inexpensive, you can choose a relatively low dollar amount – say, $50 – and still allow your friend to purchase at least one piece of furniture.

If you do choose to give an IKEA gift card, consider offering to hang around and help them pick stuff out for their new place, and volunteer to help them assemble their new furniture. Assembling furniture is always easier with two people.

8. Amazon

Amazon gift cards are always a fantastic choice for a housewarming gift. You can buy just about everything from this gigantic online retailer – from beds and bedframes to furniture, home goods, cleaning supplies, clothing – you get the picture.

Also, given how busy most people are when moving into a new home (especially if they’re starting a new job) it may be difficult to get out to a store to purchase everyday essentials. Amazon gift cards allow them to purchase items and have them sent right to their door – saving them time, money, and headaches.

9. Etsy (Or Local Thrift Stores)

Buying vintage or used items is always a great way to get high-quality goods at lower prices. An Etsy gift card can be a fantastic way to help your friend pick out some vintage furniture, small appliances like lamps, handmade decorations, and more.

The Etsy marketplace is chock-full of awesome home goods at low prices, and is a great place to find totally unique vintage items while still saving money.

Another option would be a gift card to a local thrift store, such as Goodwill. Some people turn their noses up at thrift stores, but they offer a fantastic way to save money on used furniture and home goods. You can often find dish sets, appliances, and used furniture at thrift stores for pennies on the dollar.

Of course, not every item is a great investment at a thrift store. If you’re curious about thrift shopping strategies, check out this guide to shopping at thrift stores by LifeHacker. It’ll help you recognize good deals, and stay away from low-quality items (such as heavily used sofas that may be infested with bedbugs).

10. Big-Box Retailers

You can never go wrong with a gift card to a big-box retailer like Target, Walmart, or Meijer. There’s almost always a convenient location nearby, and these retailers sell everything that anyone could need after a move.

This includes less-than-glamorous products such as cleaning supplies, toilet plungers, and other daily necessities that may have gone overlooked during a move. And while purchasing those items might not exactly be exciting, they’re still essential.

So if you want to give a gift card that’s always going to be useful, and can be used on just about anything, – from groceries to furniture, home goods, cleaning supplies, and more – buying a gift card to a large retail superstore is a fantastic choice.

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