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neonthewrite · 3 years

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Sleepover at Adrian's

It's time for the final prize from the 2021 Trust Contest! This is set in the A Little Bit of Family AU (DA) (Ao3), also known as the Adopt Oscar AU. It's just full of good feels and happy moments for itty bitty Oscar.

Charlie, Sawyer, and Elisabeth belong to @creatorofuniverses and she was consulted in the making of this story!

Reading time ~10mins

~~~

Oscar had a list. Lists helped him keep calm about otherwise stressful things, things with too many steps to count on his hand. Even exciting things could be overwhelming. His list was meant for one of the more exciting things.

"Hey bud, whatcha got there?" Sawyer's voice broke Oscar from his thoughts.

Osar held up the paper so Sawyer could see it. “Hi dad! It's my, it's my list for the sleepover! I gotta make sure I bring everything I need when I go visit Adrian!"

Sawyer scanned it, humming thoughtfully. “Looks good, kiddo, but you forgot one thing.”

"Huh?" Before Oscar could check his list again, Sawyer swept him up into a squeezing hug and planted a kiss on his cheek. Instead of concern, Oscar overflowed with giggles.

"Now you have everything," Sawyer announced.

Oscar had to calm down from his giggles to retort. "I didn't forget! I'm gопnа give hugs an’ kisses before I head out! Th- the list is for what I need in my bag!"

Sawyer gasped, playing up his realization. “Ohhhh, I gotcha. Then I guess this-" he kissed Oscar's cheek again, really smushing his face with the action, "-is just for fun. I gotta take what I can get before you head off with your auntie."

Oscar squirmed so he could wrap his arms around Sawyer's neck in an earnest little hug. As he did, Charlie returned from the storage room, where he'd been working off some nervous energy by tidying. Oscar waved at him.

"Mom! I finished makin' my list! Dad looked at it. I'm gonna have all the stuff for my sleepover!"

"Very good, love," Charlie said, making his way over. In some wordless communication, Sawyer handed Oscar off and gave Charlie's shoulder a gentle squeeze. Charlie grinned at Oscar. "You've gotten so good with your lists. Very responsible."

“I like having ‘em, just in case,” Oscar agreed. “Maybe I’ll have an idea for a list to make while I’m visitin’ Adrian.”

Charlie chuckled. “If you do, remember you can ask Adrian or your auntie for help with the spelling,” he reminded him.

“What am I spelling?” Elisabeth chimed in, causing both Charlie and Oscar to jolt in surprise. When Charlie turned, they found Elisabeth had come in via the storage room entrance, and she wore a teasing grin. Her bag, slung over her shoulder, was just as full as Oscar’s, no doubt due to her own list of necessary sleepover supplies.

Oscar giggled again as Charlie set him down. “My list! If I make a new one,” he explained. Then, he pointed at Elisabeth’s bag. “Did you make a list for your stuff too?”

Elisabeth shifted the bag on her shoulder. “I didn’t,” she admitted. “Guess I’ll need your help remembering everything tomorrow. Are you ready to go?”

Oscar looked over at his bag, which sat by the hacky sack chair. It bulged with a spare set of clothes, his pajamas, and some toys. His trusty teddy bear leaned against it, guarding his things. “My bag’s full,” Oscar assessed. “An’ my list is all checked.”

“It’s a start, poppet,” Elisabeth chuckled.

Oscar nodded, then turned to Charlie and Sawyer. “I promise to be good, an’ I’ll write you a letter, just like when I stay at auntie’s, okay?”

Charlie and Sawyer grinned, endeared as ever by their son’s dutiful insistence. Even with Charlie’s quiet worry about him being away for a night, they trusted Adrian and Elisabeth to look after him. They knelt down to pull him into a squeezing hug anyway, Charlie planting a kiss atop Oscar’s head. “We can’t wait to read it, love.”

“Have fun, kiddo,” Sawyer added, giving them both a squeeze.

Oscar giggled, but soon enough he’d gathered up his bag and his teddy bear, stuffing his folded up list in with the rest of his things. He took Elisabeth’s hand and they shared a grin before heading out.

His grip tightened on her hand as they left, nervous excitement settling in. He’d stayed at Elisabeth’s a couple times. He had fun in spite of his nerves for being away from home - he missed his bed and the familiar rooms that he’d helped his parents build.

This time, the plan was to spend some time with Adrian, their human (the friendliest human ever, if Oscar were to decide). Oscar hadn’t taken much convincing. He had fun with his art lessons with Adrian.

Still. He couldn’t have worked up the nerve to ask if Elisabeth hadn’t volunteered to come along.

“I-I wonder if we’ll surprise him,” Oscar mused; they were on the way to the living room entrance above the human’s desk. “Dad still surprises him sometimes.”

Elisabeth snickered. “Well we can certainly try,” she suggested. She gave him a playful grin and a light squeeze of his hand. “We’re quite sneaky, aren’t we, poppet?”

Oscar giggled and squeezed her hand right back. “Yeah,” he whispered. “W-we’ll try!”

At length, they found their way to a door leading onto a shelf above Adrian’s desk. Oscar and Elisabeth peeked out with the door open only a crack to survey the room. Even with a friendly human, they couldn’t ignore those habits. Humans were dangerous to them and the viri couldn’t forget that.

With a couple major exceptions, one of which sat at the desk absorbed in a sketchbook.

Adrian never paid much attention to the door up on the shelf - he had a cup of pencils in the way, and made an effort not to bother the viris' entrances. It made the perfect spot to catch him by surprise. Even after all this time, Sawyer could still sneak up on him.

Oscar reminded himself of those stories as he crept out into the open. He sent Elisabeth a conspiratorial grin over his shoulder, squeezed his teddy bear close for a beat, and then stepped around the pencil cup. "Hi, Adrian!"

Adrian tensed and his gaze whipped up to the shelf. A smile broke over his face. "Hey, you made it! Didn't even hear you come in!"

Oscar giggled. "Yeah! Me an’ auntie are sneaky just like dad. It's time for our sleepover to start! Whatcha drawing? A building?" He sat at the edge of the shelf and leaned forward for an upside down view of the sketchbook.

Adrian chuckled and turned the book around, angling it up so the viri could see it. A few pencil drawings of regular old household objects adorned the page. "No buildings today," he admitted. "It's good to practice all kinds of subjects."

Elisabeth joined Oscar on the edge of the shelf. “Those are lovely. Oscar's been practicing drawing all kinds of things too, haven't you, poppet?"

"Uh huh, I've been drawing made up flowers, an’ um, some animals, and I, I drew some clothes, too!" Oscar announced proudly.

Adrian nodded, everything in his expression encouraging. “That sounds great, Oscar. We should draw more tonight too. I’d like to see how your practice is going.”

Oscar grinned. He’d been counting on Adrian wanting to do an impromptu art session. His lessons were some of the most fun Oscar had. Adrian had all kinds of art supplies. “Yeah! We’ll make lots of fun pictures!” he declared.

Elisabeth chuckled. “What else do you plan to get up to?” she asked, leaning into Oscar to nudge him. “Does your list have an agenda on it?”

“Oh, um,” Oscar stammered. “I didn’t wanna, I didn’t think we needed to plan too much, auntie,” he admitted, some warmth growing in his cheeks. Truth be told, Oscar wasn’t fully sure what the options were. It would surely be different from the times he spent the night at his aunt’s.

Adrian came to his rescue. “That’s alright, we don’t need to worry about that like we do with lessons.” He turned his sketchbook around and closed it up as he spoke. “You’re here to hang out for the whole night, and that’s a lot more time to fill than just one art lesson. We’ll make it up as we go along,okay?”

“That sounds fun,” Oscar agreed. He looked up at Elisabeth hopefully. “Is that okay?”

Elisabeth laughed, then abruptly wrapped Oscar up in a hug. “Of course it’s okay, poppet, I was only teasing,” she assured him. “We’ll go with the flow, it’ll be fun! You just have to decide what you want to do first!”

Even with some of the pink lingering in his cheeks, Oscar laughed along with her. “I was, I was thinkin’, I did have an idea,” he stammered out. Looking at Adrian, he asked, “Could we, could we try hide and seek? I mean, out in the rooms instead of in the walls where I usually play? Auntie an’ mom used to play it when their humans were gone, but maybe it’d be fun to play hide and seek with our human!”

Adrian raised his eyebrows. “I bet it would be very different from your usual games,” he agreed. “We can definitely give it a try, so long as we all know the rules first.”

~~~

It didn’t take too much time for the three of them to work out the ground rules of their game. Adrian would wait in his bedroom for five minutes. Oscar and Elisabeth had that time to find a place somewhere in the living room to hide - they wouldn’t go into the hallway or the kitchen. After some thought, Oscar determined that he and Elisabeth would hide together. His teddy bear would keep watch from the shelf up on the desk; Oscar didn’t want to drop him out in the middle of the floor in all the excitement.

With their rules decided on, Adrian retreated to the other room, his phone ready with a timer. He promised he’d call out every minute that passed so they knew how much time they had left. Oscar practically buzzed with excitement.

“Careful, poppet,” Elisabeth warned, though there was an endeared chuckle coloring her voice as she hooked her climbing string to the edge of the desk. “Don’t get too antsy to climb your string!”

“I won’t,” Oscar promised, preparing his own hook and string with the yellow button tied to the end. “I’m just excited!”

True to his word, he was careful as they made their way down from the desk. The wide open room might make them nervous in any other apartment. Here, it was a safe expanse where the resident human would be mindful of them.

It was also full of good places to hide. Oscar scanned the whole room avidly as soon as his feet touched the carpeted floor. “Maybe the couch? O-or the bookshelf? What about the curtains?”

Elisabeth grinned. “All very good places,” she agreed. “It’s too bad we aren’t hiding in the kitchen, hmm? I could show you my trick with opening the drawer!”

Oscar nodded. He loved the stories of Elisabeth’s antics with Charlie when they were kids. It was a glimpse of a family history that Oscar was grateful every day to be a part of. “Maybe, um, maybe after this one,” he mused.

“Four minutes left!” echoed down the hallway from the bedroom, and Oscar jolted.

“Come on, auntie!” he insisted, grabbing her hand. “Let’s go hide under the couch!”

Elisabeth laughed and let him lead her across the floor. Oscar sent her a few glances over his shoulder, always sporting a mildly mischievous grin. They were going to make Adrian work hard to find them in their hiding spot for certain; Oscar could hardly wait for the reaction they would surely earn. Adrian hadn’t even called out the three minute mark before they ducked out of sight under the colossal furniture.

While Oscar had been content to merely hide under the couch, Elisabeth, slightly stooped under the low clearance, pointed up at one of the thin support struts that kept the whole thing more sturdy. It was in easy reach for her, and there was a narrow space between it and the lining under the couch. The two of them could easily slip into that space if they stayed lying down.

Oscar’s eyes widened and he nodded, silent even though the human was rooms away and couldn’t possibly hear them. He let Elisabeth hoist him up under his arms so he could reach, and soon had scrambled his way up onto the board. Elisabeth was close behind, wriggling into place . “Don’t let your legs hang over the side,” she teased, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Oscar snickered, keeping his voice as low as he could. “He’s gonna be so confused!”

“Ready or not, here I come!”

Adrian’s voice stopped any further whispers. Soon enough, his gentle but unmistakable footsteps returned down the hall, slowing as he reached the living room. Adrian tended to move carefully even without knowing a pair of viri hid somewhere around, waiting for him to seek them out.

“You guys have a lot of options in here,” Adrian mused aloud, his voice somewhere overhead and muffled by the couch. Oscar heard the smile in his tone. “I might be looking for you all night. Past dinnertime, even!”

Oscar gasped, scandalized. Beside him, Elisabeth put her finger to her lips, though she looked like she wanted to giggle herself.

Adrian meandered around the room, occasionally moving a few things around on the shelf or coffee table. He took his time with it, and Oscar’s grin only grew. By the time the human crouched down to peer under furniture, Oscar had a hand over his mouth to hold back any giggles. He shared a glance with Elisabeth as Adrian’s gaze scanned under the couch, right past their hiding spot.

When Adrian was about to push himself back off the floor, Oscar finally gave in and released a giggle. Then, he squeaked when the human’s gaze returned, this time zeroing in on them. “Oh!” Oscar blurted, trying to duck back out of sight.

Elisabeth laughed too. “Ah, he found us, poppet! Guess we won’t miss dinner after all!”

Only half of Adrian’s face could really be seen from under the couch, but his amusement was clear. “I wouldn’t have let you miss dinner, Oscar, promise,” he said. “This is a very good hiding spot, though, I never would have noticed.”

“I got too many laughs in me,” Oscar admitted. Beside him, Elisabeth wriggled free of the support strut and hopped down. He let her help him down to the floor too. “But next time I’ll keep quiet! I got all my laughs out now.”

Adrian snickered. “I don’t mind if you laugh, it makes my job a lot easier,” he teased. “But we can get through plenty of games either way, and we won’t even miss out on dinner. Wanna try again?”

Oscar nodded eagerly. “We have time for at least a little more hiding and seeking.”

Elisabeth ruffled Oscar’s hair as the pair of them made their way back out from under the couch. “We have all the time in the world, poppet.”

#oscar #oscar the oc #adrian kennet #mywriting #guest characters #g/t #gt #g/t fluff #trust au

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andiandyandee · 4 years

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Chicanery- Preface

All Janus needs is someone to pay for his groceries and keep a roof over his head. A family is not in the plans.

Or Alternatively:

Logan And Patton have decided that this particular teenager is theirs, now.

“It is unfair to presume that this meeting will be ‘the one’, Patton.” Logan sighed gently at his husband, placing a hand on his knee. “I know you are excited, but we do not want to overwhelm them. Besides, out of all of the children we have met with, this one is the least likely to fit the nonsensical parameters you seem to have set. They are nearly six years older than the original ‘max-age’ you had mentioned, and beyond that, the social workers have said the child is not actively looking for an adoptive family so much as they are looking for a place to age out of the system.” Patton pouted.

“This feels like it’s going to be the one, Lo. Something about this one feels right.” Logan had heard that tone before when they had been looking for a house, when they picked a shade of paint for the bedroom, and when they had found the location for Patton’s bakery. Though he hadn’t been convinced before, he suddenly also felt like this was going to be the child they adopted, even if only because Patton was too stubborn to pick anyone else.

“Well, I suppose we should at the very least introduce ourselves to them before informing them that you’ve metaphorically called dibs,” Logan replied dryly. Patton just winked at him, sliding out of the car and dusting off his khakis.

The child they were meeting was just shy of 16 and had been in the system for the majority of their life. Their name was Janus, and they were apparently incredibly intelligent, both academically and emotionally, which had been why the Social worker had sent their file in the first place. Patton and Logan stepped in tandem into the meeting room, catching the first glimpse at Janus, who was leaning concerningly far back in their chair, black boots crossed and on the table, reading what appeared to be a well worn and well-loved copy of Oscar Wilde’s works, the title story being “The Importance of Being Earnest”.

“Hello, Mr. and Dr. Sanders,” Janus said without looking up from their book. They did lean back into a more normal sitting position, feet swinging back down to the floor and their hand reaching for a bookmark sitting next to them on the table. “My name is Janus. He/Him.” As he tucked the bookmark into the book, he glanced up at the two of them, a well-practiced smile on his lips. They had both seen his photo, so they weren’t surprised at the heterochromatic eyes scrutinizing them, but they both still straightened a bit at the gaze.

“My name is Logan, He/Him. This is my Husband, Patton.”

“I use He/ Him too! It’s nice to meet you, kiddo!”

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you. Please, sit. The social workers will be in soon, they went to get coffee and almost certainly got distracted,” Janus let out an airy laugh and gestured at the chairs in front of him. “I’m surprised that we’re meeting, actually. I’ve been told you tend to fister much younger children, often for quite a while. I don’t think I really fit your standard parameters.” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“You know about who we’ve fostered?”

“Yes, of course. Similarly to how you research the children you take in, I research potential foster homes. I have been in the system for a long time, Mr. Sanders. I know many of the children you’ve fostered, and I know you’ve helped place many of them with the families that eventually adopted them. I likely know just as much about you as you know about me.” Logan nodded appreciatively.

“It is intelligent to research the people’s homes you may be staying in. I am curious as to what you know, though. Neither Patton nor myself have much social media, so I don’t presume there’s much about us available online.”

“All nine of Patton’s research papers are available to read online, as well as the social media page for his bakery. Which is a very interesting shift, by the way. You simply must tell me how you went from being a Neurologist to a baker.” Patton smiled and nodded, and Janus looked back to Logan. “You have two decades worth of students who have posted about you on social media, and your brother has an active Twitter and Instagram in which he posts photos of you and tweets about your conversations occasionally. I also believe he may have a Tumblr but the website’s so long dead I cannot for the life of me figure out how to navigate it.” Janus smiled again, and this time Logan could see just a bit of smugness behind it. “You, Logan, are a faux no-nonsense Chemistry teacher who is in fact, very prone to nonsense. Your students adore you and you have been the jumping-off point of nearly 40 current STEM majors’ passions in science in the last 3 years alone. You, Patton, love puns and people, are an excellent baker, double majored in Neurology and Psychology, have a doctorate in both, and run an incredibly successful bakery which has three locations, that from current estimation pulls almost as much, if not more, than what you probably were making as a doctor. Based on meeting you I can assume Logan, you are slightly more socially awkward and make up for it by trying to put yourself out there more, and Patton, you’re clearly an introvert who tries very hard to be an extrovert. You’re wonderful people I’m sure, and you’re clearly looking to adopt a child as your own, but I, unfortunately, am not that child. I am not looking to be adopted, I just need somewhere I can set up a desk and a bed and a pair of noise-canceling headphones until I can leave for college and live on my own. If you are interested in fostering someone who will be willing to help in your bakery so I can build up some income, or if you are looking for someone to help with raising or taking care of younger wards, including feeding and helping with homework, I believe I would be an excellent addition to your dynamic.” Logan was a little startled at how formal the teenager had become, and it suddenly felt a lot more like a job interview than it did anything else. Patton glanced over at Logan, a bit of amusement twinkling in his eye.

“Well, kiddo, if you don’t want to be adopted that’s absolutely your choice, and we are of course willing to bring you into our home. We don’t currently have anyone else in the house, just us, but if you do want to work in the bakery we’re always looking for extra help in our main location! But you have a choice in this, you don’t just have to agree to live with us because you feel obligated. You won't hurt our feelings if it doesn’t feel like a good fit.” Janus gave Patton a coy smile.

“It seems an excellent fit to me.”

Tag List! @datfearlessfangirl @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking @holliberries

#sanders sides #Janus Sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #parent logicality #teen janus #foster system #A new Story?#Gasp

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certainglitterhologram · 4 years

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But like, even tho Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood couldn’t have kids, they’d still adopt

Percy just reminding their children non-stop about how important being a prefect was. (But he wasn’t snobby about it; he learned his lesson with Fred) And when the kid was about to be sent off to Hogwarts, saying that top grades were necessary, and “Please don’t fight a professor that turns out to have Lord Voldemort on the back of his head, okay?”

Oliver counteracting him and saying “I swear to god, try out for Quidditch! Yes, Phoebe, I know that first years aren’t allowed to try out, but they have to make an execption for you. You’re the most bloody brilliant beater i’ve ever SEEN, Phoebs! “ And somehow managing to come to all his kid’s games, with HUGE posters that say something like “CONQUER THEM OSCAR” and “BEAT THEM WITH THE BAT PHOEBE!”, not even bothering to rhyme.

Percy sitting next to Oliver with his head in his hands pulling him down and making sure he doesn’t jump out the stands when tiny, frail little Felicity scored the winning points of the game.

But, Oliver cheering so loud and yelling “THAT BEAST OF A CHASER IS MY DAUGHTER!” so probably freaking Beauxbatons could hear him. Running over to smother her in a hug, and leaving her a little embarassed, but thankful for her dad’s support.

Leo, a tall lanky third year, adoptive magical son of Percy and Oliver getting a howler, because he had pranked the whole school in the most hilarious was possible, leaving the Marauders in the afterlife impressed, as well as his Uncle Fred. It resulted in a month’s detention, but boy, was it worth it to him! You could catch snippets of the howler yelling “AUREILEO PAISLEY WOOD-” “A MONTH’S DETENTION, THAT’S MORE THAN OLIVER AND I GOT IN OUR WHOLE HOGWARTS EXPERIENCE COMBINED-”

And Oliver and the background just being like “But babe, I don’t remember a time you’ve ever broken the rules, and I was to preoccupied in Quidditch to bother breaking rules, so in all seriousness, Leo wasn’t up against much.”

The silence was there, but Leo could practically here, Percy’s world famous steely glare on Oliver . Before continuing to yell at Leo and ending with (in a normal talking voice) “But, not going to lie, that prank was hilarious, please tell me you used something that George invented, oh how I wish I was there.”

All the students in the Great Hall ceased their laughing and frowned at this turn of events, while Leo just grinned. Grinned so huge, before setting the pile of shredded paper that was once a howler aflame, then continuing to eat his bacon.

But, like, Perciver, guys! They’d be so fucking annoying, but so fucking cute!

#perciver #harry potter #harry potter next gen #harry potter next generation #Spur of the moment thing #percy weasley #oliver wood #quidditch #howlers #gay #lgbtq #so effing cute

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pilot-boi · 4 years

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Fall For Me: Chapter Two

The Fall

Heroic sacrifice looks good on paper. In practice, it’s much trickier to achieve.

AO3 LINK

“Head’s up!”

Nora landed smoothly, flipping the trigger on her hammer a few moments before her boots hit the crumbling stone. She caught her weight on her hands and continued the count, as Ren dropped down next to her. A few long heartbeats later, the crystal blew out and they matched stares as the aftershock washed down.

She gritted her teeth at the extra flickers of chill memory that danced under her thoughts, in reply to the shock of it, and she focused on Ren’s reassuringly steady face. Then the pressure released again, back to the almost familiar background horribleness, and she relaxed a bit. Ren nudged her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Always,” Nora nodded, a little more shakily than she would normally have done, and grinned. “Thanks, Renny.”

He held out a hand and she grasped it gratefully. They pulled each other back upright, and Nora glanced up at the stark shape of their now-empty second pillar. To give Weiss the credit, nothing like glyphs for a little boost when push came to shove. Even when the sickening corrupted feeling of this place was playing havoc with their Semblances and Aura.

Another crack of discharging Dust broke across the plain as she turned back, to where the third figure of their squad had set up a position behind a chunk of jutting rock. She was knelt down behind it, sword stabbed deep into the cracking stone with a snow white summoning glyph spinning around her.

Little wisps of plasma rose from the giant ethereal form of the knight, and there were smears of half evaporated darkness fading away from it’s sword. Weiss wasn’t even looking up at it though, her gaze fixed firmly on the battle raging above them. And the Grimm were getting very close.

The too-angular houndlike form of a Beowulf howled into existence a few feet away from Weiss’s distracted form. Growling furiously, its pitch black fur bristling as it lunged-

And it was hit in the face almost immediately by a bright pink shape. The creature and grenade broke apart in a scream, a shower of blackened steam a few bits of falling bone. Nora gave a whoop of triumph, punching the air, as her other arm sun Magnhild back into a hammer.

“Oh yeah, take that!” She caught Ren’s gaze again, and grinned a little sheepishly. “Taking the wins we can get today.”

“I can tell,” Ren said, smiling about as calmly as could be expected. Weiss drew her rapier from the stone and the knight dissipated, even as the heiress loaded her last round of Dust bullets into the hilt.

Nora started to reply, desperate to have some of that familiar reparte in this terrible situation, but her words died on her tongue as the roar came again. She swivelled, looping up towards the distant gleam of blazing eyes that were suddenly visible against the permanently red dusk of the sky.

Icy horror poured down her neck. They weren't finished yet?! She’d been keeping track of the other explosions, and they were only halfway done.

“Oh no,” she murmured and glanced around quickly, scanning the rest of the plain for the other towers. For their other friends. Yang and Blake, Jaune and Oscar, and Ren, Weiss, and herself.

Ruby was understandably occupied.

Ren and her assigned pillars had been fairly close together. Between the combination of Weiss’s summons, her own grenades, and the occasional lime bright shot from Ren’s pistols, they’d managed to keep the massing Grimm at bay rather effectively.

It helped that the monsters seemed to be confused by the multiple sources of detonation. They flocked this way and that as different towers went off. This, she knew, had been the plan. Cause so many sources of danger for the Grimm that they didn’t know where to go. At least it was going well so far.

There was certainly less appearing just behind them going on than they’d managed before. And she could swear she had seen at least one overshoot in its charge and vanish struggling into the tar pits whence it came.

Which meant that their most defensible place was backed up against the primordial ooze itself. Which was just great, naturally, but it was technically better than nothing when they were dashing between pillars.

But the next nearest pillar was back towards where the dragon was coming in from.

“Of course it is,” Nora muttered to herself, then stopped. Weiss gave a snarl behind her and spun the chamber of her rapier, unleashing another round of fire. But that wasn’t what was suddenly hammering for focus at the edge of Nora’s attention.

She squinted in through the haze of the air here. Something else was happening, just in front of the returning behemoth.

The scene resolved, with a suddenness of realisation that wrenched down through her in horrible succession as her insides lurched violently. She couldn’t see the grapple wire, too thin at this distance, but there was definitely a distant figure hanging partway between the next pillar and its canyon edges.

And nothing else here was white. Not that pearly white that she’d recognize even with her eyes closed. Dread bloomed, even ahead of the sickening surges of old darkness prompted by the ongoing roar, and Nora’s breath came up short.

“Jaune!”

She was running before she even realised she had started to move. Followed first by the surprised cry of her partner and from their friend, then the thuds of footfall as they came after her. She heard Weiss swear, heard the crack of gunfire going off somewhere behind her, and the squawking otherworldly screech of a Nevermore.

But they were running right on the edge of the central area now, and she could feel the wrongness to the air here, even beyond everything else wrong of this place.

The ground shuddered underfoot more than it should, and a few times she had to jump over narrow chasms that plunged into bubbling nothingness. Or worse, in some cases, when there was a glimmer of Grimm-eyed brightness beneath, right at the bottom edge of her vision.

But she wasn’t going to look down, wasn’t going to look away from that distant point of incorrectly pure white. So when the dragon burst out of the horizon, all wings and smoke and the horrible violet brilliance of a gaze like an alternate spectrum hell, she was looking right at it.

The too thin breath congealed in her throat, clamping her chest down on itself and she stumbled as she saw the creature sweep forward. Saw a beam of twisting light spear into it as it passed over the pillar. Saw the huge tail slice where Jaune’s line must be without even a pause. And she couldn’t even manage a cry as the suspended figure began to fall.

No. No, not here. Not like this-

And he stopped. He swung to slam hard into the side of the pillar, but he stopped. Hands grabbed Nora’s shoulders, pulled her back. She barely had time to realise how close the edge of one of the smaller chasms she had been, as Ren’s voice blurred around her and her own heartbeat hammered deafeningly in her ears.

The grapple was still attached. At one end. It was still attached.

Gods preserve her.

She straightened up, gripping Ren’s arm tightly in reply or reassurance, she wasn’t sure which, and they started running again. Towards where Weiss had veered away from their initial direction, skirting the edge of that pillar’s splintered canyon. She had headed for where Oscar’s distinct figure was now surrounded by a closing knot of Grimm.

Reactionary brilliant shooting stars from Weiss’s rapier tore holes the staff hadn’t managed to reach yet. And by the time the pair of them caught up, the rest of the attackers had been dispatched.

Oscar nodded to them grimly. The boy was pale under his freckles, bleeding in a few places as his Aura struggled to battle the oil slick magic of this place.

“Going about as well as ever,” he said, but there was strain under his voice. “Any one of you got a way to get him down?”

“I’ll fly up,” Weiss replied firmly, twirling her rapier, preparing to cast the glyphs necessary to complete the feat. Nora didn’t miss the way the heiress’s hands were shaking though, as she glanced up at where Jaune was pulling himself awkwardly back up onto the pillar top. “I can do this, just need a minute to concentrate. I think I know-”

“Look,” Ren cut in. “Your Aura is drained, and there is no guarantee that the connection will even last long enough to-”

His interruption failed as the crystal flared again, hurling a second brilliant ray out to where the dragon had spiralled upwards over the middle of the maelstrom sky. It was snapping and twisting at the red figure that was slicing desperately at it.

Closer to it not, Nora could hear the beam. It made a tearing glass screech that set her teeth on edge, and she winced as she ineffectively tried to shield her ears, and squinted up at the crystal.

She wasn’t sure exactly what the beams did. Heal the monster that used to be Salem or something, Jaune had suggested. But getting rid of them was a good idea even just to stop that noise.

Jaune was standing up now, backlit against the shivering light, and… What the hell was he…?

“Nora,” Osacr’s voice was tight as he followed her stare, to where the distant figure had adopted a braced stance, reaching towards the sword still strapped to his side after everything. “Nora, oh this is bad-!”

#rwby #nora valkyrie #lie ren #weiss schnee #oscar pine #jaune arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #mine #my writing #fall for me #chapter 2

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rhubarbplants · 4 years

Text

Renegades Secret santa fluff. No spoilers

Danna held out a baseball cap with a few folded pieces of paper. Nova reached in first and pulled out one of the crumped papers, and then she watched as the rest of her teammates pulled their secret santa names out, one by one. She didn’t want to open it yet, she would save it for later. She watched as people opened their cards. Ruby blushed and Oscar just looked confused. Danna was smirking and honestly Nova didn’t have a clue what the look on Adrian’s face meant. His brow was furrowed but he had a small smile.

“Ok” Danna said. “Keep quiet about who you have, don’t tell anyone, and don’t get anything lame.”

Someone in the Renegades had suggested a secret santa tradition a few years ago and it had been slowly adopted until it had gained the name: adopted, quasi official tradition. It was officially secret snowflake as to not make it religious but no one called it that. Even Nova, who was an adamant atheist, called it secret santa. Adrian escorted her up to her room in the tower. She was on probation so she couldn’t be alone outside her room, so Adrian and the team had taken it upon themselves to be the ones who ‘escorted’ her everywhere. She would have been annoyed if it hadn’t been for the way they almost make her forget how bad her situation actually was.

It was basically luck she wasn’t in jail right now but her mind zoomed around the memory of that day. Forgetting was easier.

“Good night” Nova said, Adrian leaned down to press a kiss to her lips, before saying

“Good night to you too, I love you.”

She closed the door behind her and open her paper. She sighed and put her face in her hands. This was going to be awkward. She get her laptop and pulled up google, she scoured amazon for two whole hours but nothing popped out at her. Everything was either to effortless or just not right. She sighed and closed her computer, walking to bed and throwing back the covers. It was hard to sleep that night, her mind was so focused on the gift she couldn’t sleep, not that it was an issue, but since her curfew was set she had found it a nice was to pass the time.

She spent the next day obsessing over finding the right thing. Nothing that would upset their tenuous relationship. She was scribbling her way through archive paperwork when it came to her. She rushed out and immediately got to work. She worked for hours on end making sure every little element was perfect.

A few days later the team gathered in the space in front of Max’s quarantine where he still lived most of the time. All the presents were wrapped and Danna started the exchange,

“Ok, so the person who gets a present has to give theirs, Nova can start.”

“Oh, ok” Nova wasn’t ready but she lifted the light blue box adjusting the ribbon, before handing it to Danna. She looked surprised that she was on the receiving end of the gift, but unraveled the bow and lifted the present out of the box. It was an aerosol spray can and Danna looked at Nova questioningly.

“Its a spray that will make your butterfly wings fireproof and waterproof without compromising flying ability.” Nova explained.

“Nova that’s amazing how did you come up with this.”

“Well, I kind of had a genius chemistry teacher.”

Danna jumped up and hugged Nova tightly, before sitting down again and handing her present to Ruby. She unwrapped in to see a giant geology book, once again hugs were exchanged and then it was Ruby's turn to give her present. She practically chucked the red and white wrapped rectangular package. Oscar caught it and started to unwrap it,

“You got me?” He asked,

“Yeah, it took me forever to find anything,” she said. Oscar pulled the gift out of the paper and smiled. It was a picture of Ruby and Oscar in the snow and the frame was made or carved red stone.

“I have so much crystal lying around, I figured I could make something out of it.”

“It’s great, really really great.” He said, enveloping Ruby in a hug. Oscar handed a small square package to Max who carefully took the paper of, making sure he didn’t rip it. He pulled out a pair of small metal figurines,

“What are they for?” He asked

“You can use your metal manipulation powers to make them move around, and they can live in your model Gatlon city.”

Max looked at them intensely and they began to walk their movements slow but fluid.

“Oh my god! This is the best thing ever!” He gave Oscar a hug and the figurines ran over to give him a hug too. “Ok, my turn now”. He tossed Adrian a sloppily wrapped package and Adrian started to rip the paper. He was halfway through when a regular looking pen slipped out. Adrian looked at Max questioningly and Danna gave him a disapproving look,

“I thought we said no lame gifts” Danna said,

“It’s not, it’s not.” Max reassured, “it’s super cool, it can turn in to any color you want just just have to name which ones.” Adrian’s confused look turned to excitement and he picked up the pen and said,

“Indigo.” Then scrawled a little cat doodle on the floor. It was in fact indigo, a perfect shade too, then he pulled the cat into existence. The kitten walked over to max and snuggled up to him.

“The cat is my thank you note.” He said, smiling as the cat nuzzled Max’s leg. Then Nova realized she was the only one who hadn’t gotten a present, which meant Adrian was the one who had gotten her. Adrian’s present was going to be for her. He picked up a large rolled up piece of paper with a big blue bow. She unfurled the poster and saw a star map like the one she had on her desk. Her heart sank and Adrian must have seen the look on her face because he said,

“Look closer.” She did and noticed that some of the labels were different. A few constellations had different names.

Fornax, ‘The Furnace’ was labeled with Oscars name, which made Nova laugh. Pictor, ‘The Painter’ was Adrian, Ruby was Mars and Danna’s name was by a butterfly cluster. Max is by a black hole which is a dry kind of humor but the fact that he wears the charm now takes the edge off the joke, and she knows that Adrian would never make a joke that would actually hurt Max’s feelings. Nova was searching the poster for her name and when she found it, she gasped. Her name is printed in white bolded letters right under the constellation Perseus. The Hero. One last label pops out at Nova, just as she’s about to roll up the star chart. It simply said, Us. She took a closer look and saw it was by the constellation Argo. The crew of heroes who had become like a family over the course of their quest. Adrian was right about that, when she looked at the people around her that was what she saw. Not a team or colleagues or even friends. These were her family. Her stood and hugged Adrian, then pulled the rest of them in. She hadn’t felt this loved for years, but it felt perfect.

#marissa meyer #renegades #adrian everhart #nova artino #max everhart #oscar silva #ruby tucker #danna bell #no spoilers

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ronniesshoes · 6 years

Text

Keep Yourself Alive

It’s ten past nine, Tuesday evening, and despite the meeting having begun not twenty minutes ago, the table is a right mess already; littered with old magazines and library books he doubts will be returned anytime soon, Freddie’s sketches and scribbles, Roger’s Macbook, and a knocked over jar of glitter that was already there when Brian got home. He supposes Roger and John might have something to do with it, because there’s a fair amount of glitter in the bassist’s hair, and a speck just beneath Roger’s left eye.

“Okay, so, stagewear,” Freddie says, holding up his index finger as if about to start counting, and Brian, having been designated as scribe, starts scribbling, “and, no matter if we get signed or not, ideas on how to promote the next album. Personally I think we might as well go full glam, because as of now it seems like we are unsure of what’s going on ourselves. Anything else?”

John’s eyes drift towards the ceiling, and Roger, brow furrowed, is drumming a pen against his thigh. Brian reaches out to stop him.

“Well?”

“The website is still not up and running,” Roger begins slowly, having now begun to draw small triangles on the thigh of his jeans, “and we should probably talk about who’s in charge of social media as well, because as of now, the few people who actually write to us may never get back a reply.”

Freddie nods. “Right, yes, the banner is almost done, and you’re right about social media. Brian, what about your friend, what’s his name?”

“Daniel. He promised to get back to me before next week,” he says, making a mental note to do a follow up tomorrow.

“Good. Let’s start with stagewear, shall we?”

Brian drops his head in hand, attempting to hide his smile. Dressing his band for concerts and photo shoots is no doubt one of Freddie’s favourite pastimes, right up with researching Oscar Wilde and trying to persuade them to get another cat.

“I like these,” John says, holding up two of Freddie’s sketches of different batwing costumes which he has been examining, “on you two, at least. I’m thinking it would look really good on stage.”

“I looked at some of Zandra Rhodes’ designs,” Freddie says, reaching for one of the books, “obviously she does a lot with colour, but look at this wedding dress, for example. Imagine very large sleeves with pleats like that, how great a visual effect we could achieve. I’m sure I could ask Mary to make something like that.”

“I think it’s great, it goes well with the whole black and white theme we’ve got going,” Roger says.

“So we’re keeping that?”

“Didn’t they wear lots of colours back then?” Brian wonders aloud, trying to recall the pictures Roger and Freddie have shown him on various occations.

“They did, but to be perfectly honest, things like coloured satin and sequins and the like looks rather cheap to me,” Freddie says with distaste.

“Basically we’re taking the best of glam and ignoring the things we don’t like,” Roger says, tipping his chair back.

“Yes, but what I don’t understand is why we haven't had a glam revival yet,” Freddie says, sitting up straighter, “today’s rock scene is so ... insipid; really, it’s the perfect time to spice it up a bit of flamboyance, to provoke and to provide a bit of fun in a time where music has sounded pretty much the same for the past three decades. And, I mean, I understand the importance of the movement back in the 70s, but most of the performers who dressed up and did the whole androgynous thing were straight men, and now we have the opportunity to create a space where actual queer artists can express themselves. I mean, how often do you hear someone like Jobriath mentioned?”

Despite the rhetorical question, Roger shrugs, expression bemused. John purses his lips.

“So obviously we’ll have to find a new drummer,” Brian says, lazily adding to his stick figure portrait of only drummer present, already wearing a hat atop significantly longer locks and dressed in a tutu.

Roger opens his mouth to retort, but Freddie is quicker. “Don’t worry, dear, a dash of glitter and a haircut like Brian Connolly, and no one will notice!”

That comment makes John snorts into the crook of his elbow, and Roger looks like he's not sure whether to feel indignant or to laugh.

“The token straight,” Brian continues with a sigh, merely laughing when Roger socks him in the arm. Ziggy, disturbed by the commotion, hops down from the armchair he’s been sleeping in for the past hours, and starts rubbing his head against Freddie’s leg until the singer starts petting him.

“We can’t really go fully glam with short hair, though,” John points out, and they all fall silent, exchanging tentative glances.

“I suppose it’s not uncommon to see guys with long hair anymore,” Roger says after a while, “I do have a some trouble imagining it, though.”

He’s not the only one; every long haired guy Brian can recall seeing has been a whole other type, one he doubts any of them fits, especially not if they are going to adopt the glam style, which in and of itself is way out of Brian’s comfort zone. It may be less of a trouble for Freddie, who already owns a fair few pieces from that era, and generally dresses more or less glam already, if perhaps a bit more subtly, and Roger, who gladly lets Freddie dress him, and whose style spans from pretentious art kid to burnt out rock n’ roll star to a walking Adidas ad, and that despite not having engaged in any kind of sports since leaving Cornwall as far as Brian is aware.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Freddie says, “we should give it a go.”

“As long as I’m allowed to keep my hair as it is,” Brian says, suppressing a grimace at the thought of himself with long hair.

“What, no! If we’re all growing our hair out, you’ll have to do it as well,” Roger protests.

“Not with curly hair," he says, going for patience but finding it hard to, "I’ll end up with an afro, and I doubt that’s the look we’re trying to achieve.”

“It looked fine on Bolan!”

“Don’t know who he is, and it doesn’t matter anyway, I won’t do it,” he says, ignoring Roger’s outraged expression. He reaches for his Mac, punches the keyboard buttons, and shoves the screen into Brian’s face, showing a pretty faced guitarist who indeed works both long and curly hair.

“See?” Roger urges, a slightly manic expression on his face, “and Jimmy Page! You practically drool every time you see a picture of him, how can you doubt that curls and long hair don’t go together?”

“I would’ve phrased it differently, but I have to agree with Roger, dear, almost everyone wore their hair long in the 70s, and no doubt it will look good on you, too.”

“John and Freddie have curly hair as well, you know,” Roger offers, like he’s being helpful.

“Not the same,” he says, but when even John’s usually neutral expression shifts just slightly enough to convey his opinion on the matter, Brian knows he's lost. “All right, fine. I’ll complain, though, and if it looks stupid, I’ll cut it short again.”

He pointedly ignores the way Roger’s face fills with glee and Freddie looks pleased, opting instead to exchange glances with John, who merely lifts one eyebrow a fraction, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Right,” he says, looking down at his notepad, “promotion?”

“Yes, right,” Freddie says, pausing for a second as if about to reveal some no doubt grand, but probably a bit mad, idea, a slightly worrying glint in his eyes, “I’m thinking a nude photo shoot for—”

“You’re thinking a what?” Brian interrupts, certain he’s heard wrong. Roger also looks uncertain, John plain uncomfortable.

“A nude photo shoot, of course,” Freddie repeats, like it’s no big deal.

Brian hides his face in his hands, wondering not for the first time how he's survived living with these maniacs for this long.

“I think Stones did that for Sticky Fingers though,” Roger says, and Brian looks up to see him already tapping on his keyboard.

“What?” Freddie exclaims, looking mildly outraged, “let me see.”

“No, sorry, it’s only Mick,” he replies, handing his laptop to Freddie, “I remembered it as all of them.”

“Well, I’m thinking more along the lines of Performance, now you mention him. Only less hippie and more stylish, you know.”

“We still haven’t seen it, Fred,” Brian says, because it’s not the first time Freddie has referred to a weird art film, and especially Performance he has talked about a lot for a movie he claims to hate.

“You don’t have to,” Freddie says dismissively, “you wouldn’t like it anyway, but here, look.” He turns the laptop so they can all see the picture of Mick Jagger, seemingly naked, reclining on a large bed. A moment later, Roger gets up and disappears into the kitchen.

“I want us all in the nude, sprawled on a large bed with expensive sheets and a bottle of champagne,” Freddie continues, raising his voice enough for Roger to hear.

“So just an ordinary day, then?” Roger asks as he return with more beers, making John laugh and Freddie hide his teeth.

“And why exactly is it that we have to be naked for this to be glam?” he asks after a moment. John, newly-brought beer can to his lips, shoots him a glance, and Brian thinks he looks relieved.

“It’s provocative, and that’s all I’m about, dear, you know that. God knows that it shouldn’t be, but here we are. Obviously you don’t have to be naked, it just has to look like you are.”

"Fred, I don't—"

“Oh, I know, Fleetwood Mac definitely had a picture taken where they were all in bed,” Roger interrupts.

“Roger,” Freddie says, tone saccharine, but when the drummer turns to look at him, he chucks a piece of crumbled up paper at him, “shut up.”

“But we’re trying to sell music, Fred, not ourselves,” Brian tries to reason, “I know you want us to be outrageous, but to be honest I can’t really see the point.”

“Of course we’re trying to sell ourselves,” Roger says, looking up from where he’s been inspecting the tattoo on his right wrist, “that’s the whole point, isn’t it? I mean, no one’s asking you to get your cock out on stage, but I agree with Freddie that it’s possible to do this with taste. Personally I think it’s a good idea.”

“You just want an excuse to show off,” Brian grumbles, annoyed that the two of them always gang up on him, “like we don’t see more than enough of you already.”

“Brian,” Freddie warns.

“I don’t— what are you talking about?”

“Forget it,” he says, working hard to keep his voice level, “if you really want to, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Well,” Roger says after a beat, looking uncertain, “what do you think, John?”

“The four of us sprawled naked on a big bed might be a bit much,” he allows, “but I don’t see anything wrong with having pictures taken from the waist and up, for example. It comes down to the photographer as well. Did you have anyone in mind, Fred?”

“I thought maybe Tim, he’s been doing lots of weird art films lately, I’m sure he would be happy to do it if he’s not busy.”

Brian nods along with the others and quickly scans the bullets on his pad. “Should we keep our music on Soundcloud or extend it to Youtube as well? We all know Roger’s opinion on the matter, but what do you two say?

“It might be easier to share new songs on Facebook,” John says, “it looks neater with actual videos, but unless we keep it up to date and reply when people comment it just looks unprofessional and has the potential to do more harm than good.”

“John is right, and Roger mentioned it earlier as well, we need become better at checking up on social media,” Freddie agrees.

Brian caps and uncaps his pen. “Any volunteers?”

“As long as you check up on it once in awhile as well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind too much,” Roger offers.

“Great,” Freddie says, “now, does everyone have an outfit for the concert at King's College?”

“I don’t,” John says. Brian dips a finger in some of the glitter still on the table and carefully inspects it.

“Come down to the stall Friday, we’ll find you something,” Freddie promises. “Roger, I’ve seen yours already, Brian? Not gonna show up in one of those awful shirts, are you? I age ten years every time you wear one in public.”

Brian rolls his eyes, about to say a thing or two about some of the singer’s more outlandish clothes, but he holds his tongue. “No, Fred.”

He looks at his notepad again. “So I’ll call Daniel, Freddie will talk to Tim, Roger is responsible for social media, and John ... please turn it down a notch with Bonnie Tyler while you shower. It’s a bit disconcerting.”

“I’ll try to keep it down,” John offers, a smile tugging on his lips when Roger lets out a snort of laughter.

"If that's all, I'm off to bed," Freddie says, pushes his chair back, and stands. He pauses for a moment, looks at the table, and adds, "I hope this mess is gone tomorrow", before he disappears into their bedroom, Ziggy close on his heels.

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

It’s completely dark outside when he stumbles out of bed some hours later, half asleep still, but he barely registers it, his only thought revolving around the pressure on his bladder. It takes lots of fumbling before he finds the light switch, and when he does, the sudden light is too bright, and he has to screw his eyes shut again. He somehow succeeds in shoving down his pyjama bottoms and pushing up the toilet seat without ever opening his eyes, but he doesn’t trust himself enough to have a go at it and end up missing the bowl, and so he tentatively opens one eye, inwardly cursing himself for drinking those extra beers.

It is as he’s making his way back that he notices faint noises coming from the living room, and despite his desire to get back to bed as quickly as possible, he stops to push open the door to blearily peek in. Roger is there—or at least his blond head of messy hair is—huddled up in a corner of the couch watching A Clockwork Orange for the umpteenth time. Brian steps into the room, and Roger turns, startled by the creak of the floorboards, before his face quickly morphs into a smile.

“Why aren't you in bed?” he asks, and Brian waves a hand towards the bathroom with a grunt, too tired to form a proper sentence. Roger seems to understand, but there’s an amused smile playing on his lips. He decides to ignore it, and instead sinks onto the couch, his whole body melting into the soft, worn cushions.

He thinks about staying here for a while, because the couch really is soft, and conveniently enough he’s already sitting on it, whereas his bed is in another room, and now his eyes are falling shut anyway. If only he had something to support his head on, because the back rest really is too low and, weird, it never struck him how bony it feels, not at all like the rest of it, and ...

“Wanna lie down?” At the sound of Roger’s voice he looks up, and, wow, he has got a lot of hair. Finally registering the question, he lifts his head from where it appears to have settled on Roger’s shoulder, and nods, once, before shifting back to lie down with his head in the drummer’s lap. Only for a moment, though, then he is going back to bed. Said moment passes, and then Roger's hand comes down to thread through his hair, and no, he is definitely okay with staying here. For a while he tries to focus on the movie, but his eyes are heavy and stinging and keep falling shut. The scenes from the movie are in his head, created by memory and sounds, and even though Roger's thigh could've been softer, there are certainly less comfortable places to rest. If only it wasn't so cold, he thinks, and he really does want to open his eyes and go back to bed, it’s just so, so far away. Roger shifts underneath him then and removes his hand, and Brian tries to communicate his displeasure with a small noise in the back of his throat. A moment later, something warm and soft is draped over his body, and Roger's hand returns, lightly massaging his scalp with calloused fingertips. A minute or less, for sure, later, and Roger's voice, soft and gentle albeit somewhat distant, sounds, and then he's manipulated into first sitting up and then standing, and with the blanket around his shoulders he is dimly aware of the fact that he is being lead into his room, too dazed to even realise he is walking, before he falls into bed with a warm sort of gratefulness. ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

The next morning, early but not too early in case he’s sleeping in, he calls Daniel. Brian doesn’t actually know the guy, except that he attends the same course as Brian, and that he has a knack for setting up websites. He has been very sweet and helpful about it all, but they haven’t even discussed a price yet, and the whole thing makes Brian stressed and unsure and a bit nauseous. When he gets the answering machine, it’s with equal measures of relief and exasperation that he throws his phone on his bed and gathers his books to finish his assigned readings. The kitchen is blissfully quiet, Freddie having left half an hour ago and John and Roger most certainly not up yet. It’s with some envy that he thinks of this, because his body is stiff and heavy from lack of sleep, but before readings and phone calls and his afternoon lecture are well over, he can’t justify going back to bed.

Two hours later and halfway done, he is just contemplating whether to take a break when the door at the far end of the living room opens and the rhythm section appears, both bleary-eyed in bare legs and jumpers and with their hair mussed from sleep, John wearing two different socks as usual and Roger only wearing one. “Good morning,” Roger says around a yawn, even though it’s closer to noon. Still, they’re up unusually early considering. “Morning,” he replies, “you’re up early.” “The bloody neighbours started having sex again,” Roger complains, flicking on the kettle and reaching for two cups. “They’re pensioners,” John explains, “suppose they don’t hear very well.” “They could at least close the window. It’s november, bloody freezing anyway,” Roger says, dumping tea bags into the cups, “can barely look them in the eye when I meet them. You want tea as well?” “Please,” he says, handing over his empty mug before returning to his work. “Do you actually colour code your stuff?” Roger asks a while later, so close to his ear it makes him jump. “It’s what I imagine Freddie does because he thinks it looks pretty.” “He does,” John confirms. “I don’t do it because it looks pretty, I do it because it helps me stay organized. You should try it sometime,” he says pointedly. “What, being organized?” Roger yawns, “nah, never works. I find comfort in chaos.” “Unless you’re late and can’t find your earphones,” John says, filling up a bowl with granola until it’s almost overflowing. “Or your phone,” Brian adds. “Okay, but everyone loses their phone once in awhile, that doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly where every other thing in my room is.” “Under your bed,” John says. “Exactly,” Roger says, pointing his spoon at John like he’s the one who really gets it. Which he probably is, because he’s not much better. He tries to return to his readings once again, but the two of them together make for a pretty big distraction, even when he does his best to stay out of the conversation. He picks up the tea Roger made him and reads the same line over and over again until his head is swimming and he starts thinking about everything on his to-do list. “Are you up for practise later?” John asks around a spoonful of granola, pulling him from his thoughts. “Sure,” he says, and dies a little inside. It's when they've finally buggered off that he realises just how tense he's feeling. He rolls his neck and shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension, but it only serves to make him even more aware of the stiffness. He idly wonders if a good, long wank is what he needs, but quickly decides that hoping to be left alone long enough is unrealistic. He doesn't fancy doing it in the shower, his body not responding to being naked the same way it does when he's in bed, but unless Roger has a lecture, even a few hours alone very unlikely to happen. John and Freddie both work Wednesdays, so it's practically the only day of the week where there’s a slight chance he can get some time for himself, but most often the drummer is there to keep him company. And it’s not as if he doesn’t like to spend time with him, but he really is not at all like Roger who thrives off company, and sometimes all that socialising is a bit much. Sighing, he packs up his stuff, saves his notes for the thirteenth time, and closes his laptop. He drains the rest of tea, long gone cold now, and allows himself a minute to just sit. He tries one of Freddie’s meditation techniques, but immediately feels stupid and stops. It would just be his luck for John or Roger to walk in on him. As it happens, Roger does have a lecture, and appears again half an hour later, smartly dressed which means the girl he fancies is going to be there, grabs a bottle of juice from the fridge, and hangs around for a good five minutes to chat. “Didn’t you have a lecture?” he hints when it becomes clear that Roger has lost all track of time during his not particularly asked for review on the new Roger Waters album. Roger stops mid-sentence, lets out a laugh, and puts on his shoes, waving at him before disappearing outside. Appreciating the near-silence immensely, Brian goes back to brainstorming his next paper. John appears again a while after to make another cup of tea, but he doesn't strike up conversation, and for the next half an hour, Brian manages to fill three pages in his notebook. Satisfied with his work, he puts it away and mentally goes through the rest of his tasks. There's that phone call again, which he supposes he can't really put off any longer, and afterwards there's lunch, and then he thinks he should be able to squeeze in a wank before he leaves for uni. “Right, I’m off,” John announces, patting his coat pockets, “see you later.” “See you. Have a nice shift!” John thanks him and leaves, and Brian is left alone. No point in putting it off any longer. He walks back to his room to get his phone and lies back on his bed, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Daniel’s number. While waiting for him to pick up, Brian eyes wander to the large poster of a deliciously sweaty Jimmy Page on the opposite wall. He thumbs at the hem of his trousers, his own cold fingers making him shiver when he brushes against the bare skin of his stomach. “Hello?” Daniel says, and Brian almost drops his phone, guiltily snatching his hand away. “Hi, uhm, hi,” he says, immediately feeling stupid, “sorry to bother you, but you never called me back, and—” “Right, yes, sorry about that. It’s just about done, I thought we could look over it after the lecture today if you’re not busy?” “No, that would be great, thank you.” “Alright, Brian, see you in a couple of hours.” “Yeah, alright. Bye!” Embarrassed by his lack of social skills, he finds that he’s not particularly horny anymore, and so deems it to be too much work. Glancing at his watch, he finds that he still has an hour to kill before leaving for class, and so he retreats to the studio and picks up his guitar, relaxing properly for the first time that day. ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

“Yes, mum— No, I told you today is not so good,” he says, phone pressed against his ear as he steps up the stairs from the Tube, “but I don’t work Saturday, how’s that?”

“The Parkers are visiting, dear, I told you so the last time we spoke,” mum says.

“Right, sorry—”

“Are you sure you can’t come by today? Surely the guys won’t be cross with you for skipping band practise this once, I imagine they have mums who miss them, too.”

“It’s not just band practise,” he says, weaving through the crowd and wishing he was home already, “and I can’t skip, mum, I already agreed— hold on.”

He passes a group of construction workers drilling, and returns to the phonecall.

“What about tomorrow? I finish work early.”

He will have to move a few things around, and stay up after practise to rewrite his lecture notes, but there’s that.

“Oh yes,” mum thrills, “how’s it going with, what’s his name?”

“Louis,” he says, narrowly avoiding bumping into an old woman, “and it’s going fine. But mum—”

“Louis, that’s right. You know, I talked to Deborah, and I told her you started tutoring recently, and she’s looking for someone to help her son with maths, and I told her that I’m sure you’d love to, but she’d have to call you herself to make an arrangement, so I gave her your number, and—”

“Mum,” he says, unable to keep the slightly whiny tone from his voice, “I appreciate you trying to set me up with more work, but I’ve got enough on my plate as it is, and I’m not sure I have the time.”

“Of course, dear, but you know it would really help them a lot, and it’s only twenty minutes by the Underground.”

“Right,” he says. Twenty minutes to the station, and then he has to walk for twenty more to get to their house if memory serves him well. “I’ll think about, but I really can’t promise anything.”

“Oh, she’ll be thrilled,” mum says.

“Bri?” someone calls, and he spins around to see John a few blocks down.

He waves at him and says to mum, “how was tomorrow for you? I can probably be there around five-ish, is that alright?”

“Five is perfect. Dad will be happy to see you, I know he has quite a lot to talk to you about. In fact—”

“No, Mum, sorry, but John’s here, I really have to go now. Please tell dad I said hi, and then I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

“See you tomorrow. Tell John hello from me!”

“I will,” he says, just as John catches up with him, “bye, mum!”

“Wanted you to skip practise?” John guesses as Brian lets out a sigh.

“Like always,” he says, smiling in spite of himself. “How was work?”

“It was all right,” John says mildly, “did you talk to that Daniel?”

“Yes, he showed me how to set it up and everything, it looks really good,” he says, following John up the stairs to the flat.

“Seems like everything’s coming together then,” John replies, opening the door to the flat and the music coming from inside.

It’s Roger singing and playing Don’t Play Your Rock and Roll, which Brian has only ever heard him sing in the shower, and that only once or twice. “It’s not half bad,” he says genuinely, toeing off his shoes.

“What’s more baffling,” John says, not sounding baffled at all, “is how the two of them manage to play all three instruments at once.”

Brian is surprised to discover he is right - it’s a slightly stripped down version of the original, but never mind that, he already has trouble wrapping his head around the fact that they indeed are playing both drums, guitar, and bass. “How are they doing that?”

John shrugs and pushes his boots to the side with his foot. He’s wearing a sock patterned with pink octopuses, Brian notices. The other has The Great Wave off Kanagawa on it.

He follows John into the living room just as the door to the studio opens and Roger comes bouncing out, waving the drumsticks still in his hands. “Oi, there you are! Thought I heard you!”

“How did you—” he begins, but then Freddie and Tim both appear, Tim with John’s bass hanging from around his neck, and the pieces fall into place.

“Tim! How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Just stopped by to pick up the drinks dispenser.“ He looks at John, “I hope it’s okay I borrowed your bass.”

“Of course,” John says, dodging Roger’s attempt at putting his arms around him. “Roger, stop, you’re all sweaty.”

“Tim,” Roger says, dragging out his name, “this is our new and better bass player, Deacon John. John Deacon. Deaky.”

“I know, Roger,” Tim replies with great patience, “I’ve known him for two years.”

This apparently strikes Roger as terribly funny, because he starts laughing so hard that no sound comes out and John has to hold him upright, all the while trying his best not to smile.

“Who let him have sugar?” Brian asks, watching with slight worry as Roger gasps for breath.

“Tesco had a 3 for 2 offer on all sweets,” Freddie replies, and knowing Roger’s absolute weakness for Tesco offers and sugar in general, Brian thinks this explains it very well.

Roger, seemingly able to breathe again, brightly offers to get the last bag to share, but luckily, everyone reclines.

“I was actually about to leave,” Tim says, “did you want me to have a look at your ideas for a photo shoot before I go?”

“That would be great,” Brian says, “Fred?”

“Right, yes,” he begins, before launching into a detailed description of his idea, one that impossibly enough involves even more nudity than the night before. He opens the door to their bedroom, and they all follow him inside. “I’m thinking my bed,” he says, gesturing to his god-awful rococo bed, “it’s as big as Brian’s but much nicer.”

“I see,” Tim says, tone neutral.

Roger, now looking bored, and clearly on the way down from his sugar rush, looks like he is strongly considering lying down on either bed. Brian takes a step to the side, blocking his own.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time the next couple of weeks, but things slow down quite a bit for me after the 1st,” Tim says, “I’ll get back to you, yeah?”

Hugs and claps on the back are exchanged then, and soon after Tim leaves with the drinks dispenser in hand, and another promise to stay in touch.

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ Thursday morning sees Brian waking slowly, reluctantly, stirred from sleep by melancholic piano play he instantly recognises but doesn't remember. Eyes still closed, his attention is stubbornly focused on the warmth of his covers, the way his sleep-heavy body merely exist in this warm cocoon that is his bed. When he finally opens one eye—the song he now recognises as Für Elise still playing— Freddie is sitting in his bed, looking sleepy rather than tired, and lets the music play instead of turning the alarm off right away.

"Good morning," he says, and Brian's murmured remark gets lost somewhere between his lips and pillow. "It's nice, this, isn't it?" Freddie continues, wriggling out of his pyjamas and turning down the heat before reaching up to crack the window open. Brian pulls his duvet tighter around him. "Better than his 5th, definitely," he says, watching as Freddie rummages through his closet, "or that awful one, Rossini I think it was." Freddie's sudden interest in classical music and insistence to use a new piece every day for his alarm the past month has at times been trying, and while some of it is quite nice, Brian is unable to enjoy any kind of music before breakfast and two cups of coffee, and that's no matter how great a masterpiece it supposedly is. Freddie laughs. "Never seen you up so fast." He grimaces. "'m not a morning person." Nine months of living together, and it still seems necessary to point out ever so often. He envies John and Roger at times, because their sleeping arrangement seems to work quite well. While Freddie is in the shower, Brian lies in bed, face buried in his pillow, torn between getting up and go about the day, and staying in his bed, the internal struggle an as important part of his day as his morning coffee and Freddie's shower first thing in the morning. At last he gets up, albeit reluctantly, and if only to shut the window. Throwing on a warm sweater, he heads into the living room. John and Roger are there, still playing Mario Kart by the looks—and sounds—of it, just like they did when he went to bed last night. There's a crumbled bag of Walker's crisps under the sofa, and John is chewing on a strawberry lance, a concentrated look on his face. “Morning,” he greets. Receiving no answer, he tries instead, “have any of you fed the cat?” “I think Freddie did,” Roger replies distractedly, before letting out a shout of “bastard!" Brian checks Ziggy’s bowl and puts on the kettle, leaning against the counter while idly watching the other two play. "So who's winning?" he asks, already knowing the answer. "Not Roger," John says, face arranged in a carefully blank expression, but there's a smile in his voice, which breaks onto his face when Roger elbows him in the side. "Did you eat at all?" he asks, looking through the cupboard in search of coffee. "A bag of Cheese and Onion," Roger replies before throwing his whole body to the left to avoid crashing into another player. "Maybe you should get some sleep," he suggests, blowing at his tea. "I just need to win, just one more time." John keeps quiet, and races past the goal line. While waiting for the water to boil, Brian takes out his phone to check his university email. There’s a new one from one of his favourite professors, but he rarely ever writes emails. Curious, he opens it, leaning back against the counter while waiting for it to load. He glances at John and Roger who is finally turning off the TV, and when he looks at his screen again, a rather long mail has appeared. He scans the contents of it rather quickly, at once filled with excitement and quite a bit of nausea. “Fuck,” he whispers, just as Freddie enters the room, dressed in a kimono and drying his hair with a towel. “You alright, dear? You look terribly pale.” “No, I—” he begins, dimly aware of John and Roger turning to peer curiously at him as well, “my professor, he wants me to be a part of a team going to Tenerife.”

#i forgot i was supposed to post it this week hah #but that means two chapters in less than a week #i also couldn't come up with a summary but if anyone's dying to write one for me i'll include it

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mrmichaelchadler · 6 years

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Alternative Stakes: Debra Granik on Leave No Trace

“I always think that my assignment is to seek out stories that are experienced by people who don't get the ticket for Easy Street.”

This is what writer/director Debra Granik tells me one afternoon in New York, when we settle down to talk about “Leave No Trace”—a quietly aching, lyrical film that tells the story of a father and his young teenage daughter, living off-the-grid away from the eyes and ears of the authorities. Granik’s articulated artistic focus on insular people living on the fringes of society won’t come as a surprise to anyone who’s seen her previous films like “Down to the Bone” and the Oscar-nominated Ozark tale, “Winter’s Bone,” which famously introduced Jennifer Lawrence to the world. The filmmaker expressly isn’t interested in stories that revolve around characters that have everything or are out to seek wealth. “I am interested in the lives of everyday, ordinary Americans,” she explains. “The struggle to have a living wage doesn't come easy. You're ready to work, you want it, you seek it … but it's not like it's just given to you. For whole swaths of people, that map of ‘come along this way, come to college, do this and that,’ isn't offered. It’s a big country, you know?”

“Leave No Trace” is picturesquely set amid the bright and wet landscapes of the Pacific Northwest. The aforementioned father and daughter, Will and Tom (played by Ben Foster and the terrific newcomer Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie, respectively), are based on a real-life family that was first discovered by author Peter Rock in a brief newspaper article. Rock then turned their account into his novel, My Abandonment, filling in many of the blanks the way he imagined them. Then the book came Granik’s way, and she and her co-writer Anne Rosellini further massaged it for screen, imagining their own version of the true story. “There were two producers that had optioned the book, which was published by 2004,” Granik recalls. “And they held it for a while looking for someone to direct. It was a good time for both of us. [My creative screenwriting partner] Anne Rosellini and I read the book and really responded. You play the whole book in your mind's movie screen first: tall trees, moss that was described ... It felt like it was going to be very photogenic and that there would be a lot of texture with reflective surfaces. It was all going to be things that the camera will love.”

A seemingly small film with a big scope, “Leave No Trace” poses deep questions about the veteran experience in America, societal conformism and even responsible parenting. While the individual experiences of two voluntary outcasts trying to survive on their own terms clash with a system not exactly designed to tolerate them, they come at odds with one another, too. A veteran struggling with PTSD, Will tries to do his best as a father despite his personal psychological troubles, and raises Tom not only with practical knowledge, but also through a firm sense of moral code. Meanwhile, Tom finds herself at a guilt-ridden crossroads: on one hand, she wants to be with and support her father. On the other, she craves the simple but safe comforts of a settled-existence.

Granik calls the daily perils of the unconventional lifestyle, adopted by Will and Tom, “alternative stakes.” “I want to be part of a movement that helps re-establish that stakes can be more diverse,” she reflects.

I know you've made a documentary, “Stray Dog,” since “Winter’s Bone,” but still, it’s been eight years since your last narrative feature. What took so long? We really missed you.

Thank you. Right after “Winter's Bone,” I had a feature project that I was very interested in and I did a lot of research for it. (Not “Stray Dog”; another film that I'm finishing now.) The narrative script was about a person’s journey after incarceration—they tried to live in a way that keeps them out of jail. But things happen that they get caught up in the same life style and go back to jail. I want to ask, “When does someone not go back to jail?” We know that story; we know how people get caught back up in the criminal justice system, but what we don't know is how people get out, and stay out.

It turned out; it was better suited for documentary. Narrative can tell a sort of more streamlined, cogent story. But “cogent” doesn't allow for all the ands. [There are] a lot of ways that people feel very frustrated with that process and they stick it out. And they withstand setbacks. Who knows how they keep their faith, but they do make it over to the other side. The time that it takes to make the feature is really contingent on the feature being sort of almost ready-made—so coming to a book is more ready-made. You at least have the story that someone sorted out.

One of the things I really love about “Leave No Trace” is the way you handle the stakes the father and daughter are up against. I saw this as a pretty high-stakes survival story about people who could even die. While you opt-in for a consistently peaceful, serene feeling visually, the stakes are always there.

Well I love that you can process and even assign that. I share your feeling—stakes don't have to be the barrel of a gun pressed against someone's head. Stakes don't have to be the threat of being harmed by the violence of another person. You're right. Stakes are, how do you keep your body temperature from reaching a dangerous place if you've gotten wet, or where are you going to go? If your life was working and you were trying to be undetected by society, and then they say, "We need you to come back, you need to be able to come back in," and you feel as though you can't. That's high-stakes; especially if you've got someone else that you're responsible for. So I do really love other people's stories that have those (I don't know what we want to call them) alternative stakes. It’s not the threat of a high jinx crime or someone going into the inner sanctums of the banking system.

It’s something more primal.

Yeah. As we've pyramid-ized so many things; the algorithm has forced us into a really thin line. I think we used to have a big pie of what stakes could be. Social realism was always about the stakes of everyday life. In many countries, the issues around the end of agrarian life and tradition [exist]. [As in,] what does it mean to send people from a village to their first corporate jobs? What does it mean to go from a non-mechanized everyday life to a very mechanized one? Those are diverse stakes. But our appetite got reduced. We're like gladiator culture now; we like one stake. We've gone full circle and I think we probably do it every hundred years or something. It's so tiring.

Perhaps there is an element of escapism in the stakes we choose to care about in big budget entertainment now. But then I see a film like yours and I feel you're grounding us back to our core.

It's true—rent is a stake, right? At the end of every month, there's a huge amount of people that need to worry about whether they've got enough money to stretch to get what they need. Losing your job, whether it’s a working class job or a high finance job, those are big stakes. So whether Spider-Man loses the rope [or not] ... I agree, I think that's an easier stake to comprehend. Is he going to get there or not? Is he really falling or will he be able to stop his fall on the balcony on floor 80? It is true, we want the stakes to be so far away. Probably at the end of the month, people want the stakes to be really about whether he is going to be able to jump on a moving train or not.

How did you dip your toes into that region in the Pacific Northwest, get to know the communities and then marry your experience with what was already in the book?

Research is always the extremely fun part because you're not filming yet. I mean that really passionately. You're allowed to explore, take a lot of pictures, meet people, and ask questions. You're not looking at your clock and trying to figure out, "Are we going to make the day?" You find different routes. Someone says, "Oh yeah, just five minutes from here is the town where the teenagers have a Bunny Club." Veterans who are willing to speak to you might look at your script and be able to say, "I really think it might go more like this," or, "This is something that I remember someone saying to me.”

It's funny, the author [of the book] and I took a similar approach. The things that were itemized or described with some precision in this very brief article that appeared in the paper (when the-real life family was discovered), didn't give much. And so [the author] used every bit of that in his book and I then stayed very close to what he did in the first third of his book. He imagined what happened to them, and I imagined what happened to them slightly differently. I spoke to him and I said, (because in the book we deviate dramatically—in the book the father dies in a very grizzly way), "I'm wondering what would happen if the father lives after he's injured," And he said, "You should follow that thought, because this version is just my version. If it's not completely making sense in your head, you should at least run the story like that once, do a draft where he lives and see what happens." And I did that. Anne and I thought it was a very strong way to look at their decision to part. It wasn't because he died. They have to make that decision.

I love that you took that direction. The greatest sign of love to me is being brave enough to allow your loved one their freedom.

It’s very hard, yes. It’s like taking a bullet sometimes.

And Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie, in the role of that young person craving her own path, is phenomenal. There's something really raw and unadulterated about her. How did you find her?

Thom is from New Zealand, born and raised there. And she taped her own audition and sent it to the casting directors we were working with. Initially I said, "It's out of the question, she's from New Zealand. It's a low budget film, we can't even bring her here." But the more we kept casting, the more her audition stuck. I kept going back to it. We met and we said, "Can we call her at least?" So we had several Skype calls, and I loved what she had to say about the book and the screenplay. She had a lot of rich thoughts. And she seemed like she hadn't been in the fray of New York and LA yet. And so she did seem un-jaded; not very urban. She's filming two things now. So she is already [busy]; her schedule is booking up really quickly.

Did you have Ben Foster in mind as the father, as you were writing it? He has a certain presence and look; really quiet, but with a lot brewing underneath.

I left that really open. I was really concentrating on the information I was getting from inspirational sources to kind of understand that character. As we started to get serious about someone who could fill those shoes, I was very impressed with what Ben had done; specifically related to sensitive research and portrayals of veterans, of people who had been involved in combat. And I liked his work very much in Oren Moverman's film, “The Messenger.” I felt that Ben would bring a complexity. But then I thought this is also a really fresh, new kind of role for him. So the discussions were very positive with him. I realized that he had a great interest in the material, in non-conforming lifestyles. He was interested in what it would be like to opt-out a little bit from the digital era.

I can definitely see that about him.

Yeah. Ben was about to be a father, his first. And so I think he was very open to Thom leading the way on that part. They had a lot of tasks to do, which was really helpful. They had to really pass each other, do things with each other, like make fire work. She really had to get those things prepared, feather the sticks. And their food and their sustenance really rely on them being a team. So they did this very immersive rehearsal together for two days, with a primitive skills instructor.

And they both really admired her. She was extremely excellent at what she does. And they got their first knives and learned how to use them really well. The skills teacher taught them about five or six things she carefully selected that they could do in a shorter time, and then perform on screen. And I think that brought them together in a really great way. They critiqued each other and they were very aware of how they were doing.

There are moments between them that anchor their relationship in believable and relatable truths. One happens early on in the movie—she finds this little charm or piece of jewelry and he says, "Okay, if it’s still here when we get back, you can take it. That’s fair."

That incident, or that little moment, was described in the book. But I did really like it because I thought it was very true to a teen person who would know that park very well. And I did like that in Peter's book, the father definitely has systems and wants to make a systematic way of living. He wants to have rules, he wants to have ethics, and he wants to feel that he is doing right by his daughter. It's maybe an old-school way of teen parenting. But of course, she's not a saint, she has mischief is in her. And I wanted to be able to show that. In that moment, it gave us the opportunity to be able to show all those things.

My other favorite scene is the one with the bees and beehive handler. Being that intimate with something that can but doesn’t want to harm you felt very in synch with the themes of the film, both poetically and philosophically.

The beekeeper is a very passionate beekeeper. There are many of them. That's another thing that is like, the devotional dancers, or like people that run these agricultural clubs. Beekeeping is one of these things that you find in every state, every place. And this was the Pacific North-west version—there is something very spiritual about it. In real life, she was playing herself. And when we were rehearsing, she said to me that she thought Thom could handle the bees. She thought, many people can't. You have to be very calm to hold them because they need to feel safe; they can't feel like you're going to crush them. The only time they would ever sting, as she says, is when they feel that you're going to kill them. So they sting in self-defense.

So I said, "Thom, how do you feel?" And she said, "I want to do it." And then I said, "Well, I've got to call your parents. Because there are a lot of insurance issues, the production can't let you do it.” It would have to be something that you want to do and that your parents consent to. And she really liked Susan, the beekeeper. She went a couple of times to Susan's own home, where she keeps her own hives. And they practiced and they looked at it and Susan explained to her how to proceed. So it wasn’t any kind of complicated stunt.

In a lot of ways, “Leave No Trace” is a pretty political film, maybe quietly so. You deal with issues around veterans, the hardships or everyday Americans, the living-off-the-grid and from-the-land attitude, and so on.

Most stories will actually have some kind of political resonance. And then even if we don't plan on it, we'll bring that to [the table], right? We'll bring assumptions about someone's race or their ethnicity on screen. I like to create stories where I'm not foreclosing the option to consider in an open-minded way. One of my jobs as a storyteller, in the way that I self-describe my job, is to engender some kind of consideration or empathy; to ask some questions that at least make you motivated to want to understand another person. Something about what they've lived through, what they think about.

So I was trying to make sure that we're surrounding [Will] with a few questions from a brochure, from a psychiatric test [about PTSD]. Things that made us wonder about him, and of course by extension, what might have happened to him; what might befall him. And similarly for his daughter, when the social workers are asking her certain things, it gives us a chance to ask not just what we would want for the characters. It's an interesting, complex process.

There is now an improved sense of support in the industry for female driven stories and female filmmakers. I'm wondering if, when you compare your experience as a director since “Winter's Bone” to today, you feel a sense of renewed hope that things might get easier for women.

Oh, I do. I do feel very optimistic. I think that we're now seeing the statistical [evidences]. In the ‘90s when many film schools decided to have parity, the film class would have 50% women, 50% men. Now a couple of decades later, we've started to see that that made a difference. The amount of women that are permitted to be in the academic setting, or the training program, then are going to come out and start performing their art, or executing their skills. You know you plant the tree, and many years later, the tree is standing and up there and ready to be in the forest.

So I think that that alone is one element. And the other: all the cultural shifts that have to happen. Culture just gets so stale. “Time's Up” is a really great phrase. To vote we had to say, "Time's up". People of color have to say, "Time's up" [to] this country’s hideous legacy. Time's up on a lot of practices that perpetuate these legacies. What I hope you hold the torch for just as a journalist and as a writer and thinker (I want to just give you this really positive feedback); I think you're on to something that I've not really heard any other journalist be able to pinpoint: what's the pie and the stakes? How many stakes do we acknowledge as worthy?

So we [need to] have a space and culture that can take [existential stakes] that are not committed through violence. Like we said, someone can be at risk for many different reasons. So I think until our appetite for stakes broadens back out again, we're going to have a problem. There are women who make [genre] films, but statistically they are I think in the minority. Stakes of a lot of other women [is what] I'm interested in. And those are hopefully being highlighted and becoming more relevant and more front and center in today's society, where the conversation seems to be shifting. It's not just about gender. It's about our appetite for what we consider worthy to care about.

To read Susan Wloszczyna's interview with Ben Foster about "Leave No Trace," click here

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lorrainecparker · 7 years

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Cine Gear Expo: Three Cameras

Canon, Panasonic, and Sony all used Cine Gear Expo 2017 as the event to anchor their announcements of new cine-oriented cameras. What they revealed says much about where the industry is going, and when they revealed it speaks to the growing importance of Cine Gear as an industry show.

Canon C200 & C200B

C200 side panel. Yeah, you hang a decent lens on it, it gets nose-heavy.

Canon revealed the C200 and C200B a few days early on May 31st—and it’s clear they laid the groundwork some time prior to that. Jon Fauer (as usual) had with all facts and a good set of photos ready to roll, and Elliot Smith was good to go with a hands-on review. Erik Naso pondered whether the C200s are good upgrades for C100 and C300 users, and why. On the day Cine Gear opened, Andy Stout delved further in the new CinemaRaw Light codec, and of course Canon already has a set of C200 white papers available.

CFast card slot on the left, dual SD slots in the rear.

From the top: two XLR inputs, SDI out, headphone / USB ports, RJ-45 networking port, DC IN. On the side: HDMI.

Side grip with joystick, Fn button, dial control

The side grip uses a standard ARRI rosette for easy accessorizing

C200 LCD with buttons and joystick

There’s been a lot of discussion about this $6000–$7500 4K camcorder (the lower price is for an EVF-less, body-only C200B; the higher price includes EVF, LCD, top handle, and side grip). Many are distressed that the camera records only 8-bit 4:2:0 MP4 files to SD cards and DCI 4K Cinema Raw Light to CFast cards: the former is felt to be too lightweight for “serious” work while the latter is not cheap: a 64GB FCFast card will be consumed in a mere five minutes at 23.98 fps. (Gripers will be somewhat mollified by the promise of a future firmware upgrade to add XF-AVC recording, which offers 10 bits and/or 4:2:2 or even 4:4:4 sampling in its various flavors, though I don’t know which flavors the C200s will offer.)

People often grumble when Canon releases a new camera, whether in the EOS or Cinema EOS lines, usually saying (a) it’s too expensive for what it does, (b) it’s not pushing the envelope nearly as much as it should, and/or (c) they’ve completely misunderstood the market and built something nobody wants or needs. And yet, somehow, whatever overpriced, under-specced, missed-the-market camera Canon announces goes on to lead a happy and productive life. I think the C200/C200B will follow the same course.

I had a chat with Canon’s Paul Hawxhurst about point (c): who did they build this camera for? His answer was quite specific, though I’ve paraphrased it a bit: the C200 is for the C100 shooters who need an affordable, practical camera for their mundane day gigs, but want to step up their game on special projects. Plain, boring old 8-bit 4:2:0 MP4 will handle the long recording times and manageable file sizes needed for corporate talking heads, explainer videos, and the like, while Cinema Raw Light provides the grading flexibility and image quality for higher-end work—and it’s still more manageable and affordable than hanging an external recorder off the back.

While a 64 GB card may be consumed in 5 minutes, you can get cards up to half a Terabyte in capacity, for about 40 minutes of continuous recording time. And yes, CFast cards are expensive, but they’re like film magazines, not film loads: they’re reusable containers, not expendables.

And, he said with his snarky hat on, if you’re already spending too much money on an “overpriced” Canon, why are you fussing about “overpriced” CFast cards? Remember when P2 cards came out? Or SxS? Or XQD? All new, fast media are annoyingly expensive. True, CFast isn’t that “new” any more, but there’s a global NAND flash shortage at the moment, and even commodity SSDs have suffered rising prices in recent months. Take a deep breath, buy some “digital mags” that’ll last the life of the camera or beyond, and get on with life.

Like many of the commentariat, I was a bit puzzled by the C200s when I first saw the specs and the pricing. But the more I thought about it, the more I think Canon knows exactly what it’s doing. The camera marks a further refinement and streamlining of the physical package, and the capabilities and price slot it neatly between the C100 Mk II and the C300 Mk II. The C200 may not make a lot of sense to “outsiders”, but those in the Canon camp—a somewhat hermetic society, like Apple or Leica users—are likely to adopt it with the same enthusiasm as they have other Cinema EOS cameras.

Note that all the bits ‘n’ pieces needed to make the $7500 C200 out of the $6000 C200B can be ordered a la carte, with the exception of the pigtail EVF. If you want the EVF, you’ll need to buy the C200; you can’t add that EVF to the C200B at a later date.

My only serious complaint is that the C200s employ the standard bayonet mount for the EF lenses, rather than the far superior breech-lock / positive-locking EF mount on the C500 and C700. Bayonet-mounted lenses can flex and wobble on the body, which they are wont to do once you hook up a follow-focus or drive motor; this is a sadly missed opportunity to continue the trend that Canon already started towards making a more stable EF attachment for cine uses.

The C200s are scheduled to ship in August.

Panasonic AU-EVA1

Panasonic tantalized crowds with a mockup of the AU-EVA1 under a cloth at NAB 2017; at Cine Gear Expo two mockups were unveiled: one under glass, and one in the hands of the indefatigable Mitch Gross.

Mitch Gross and the AU-EVA1

Mitch and his mockup attracted heavy crowds. I was his first interview at 10am; when I walked past at closing time, he was still at it—a security guard had to come over and threaten to throw him out so the show could close.

The AU-EVA1 is (or will be) a 5.7K, Super35mm camcorder with an EF mount recording 10-bit 4:2:2 to SD cards. While codec speeds ‘n’ feeds weren’t being discussed, take a look at what the DC-GH5 and the DVX-200 can do, and you’ll likely have a pretty good idea.

Like its larger VariCam stablemates, the EVA1 will have a dual-native-ISO readout (exact values TBD), V-Log and V-Gamut, and, with a future firmware update, raw output to external recorders. The camera will capture 4K at up to 60P and 2K at up to 240p. The button layout on the side panel is vaguely VariCam-ish, and Mitch says that the menus will likely have a VariCam-like flavor to them, too. One thing not carried over from the VariCam, I’m told, will be the long reboot times!

At $8000 or less, the EVA is aimed at the gap between the VariCam LT and the GH5:

(from Panasonic’s EVA website)

Why 5.7K? The EVA is a Bayer-pattern single-chip camcorder, and like all such beasties the “honest” pixel resolution of the debayered sensor is a fraction of the raw pixel count. If we go by the rule of thumb that a good deBayer yields a final luma resolution of about 80% of the raw pixel count, 5K will give you a proper 4K image. If we’re lucky, some of that extra .7K might be used to provide “lookaround” outside the active image area, so we can see mike booms and light stands before they show up in picture.

The EVA1’s 5.7K sensor

EVA1 side panel

EVA1: LCD can mount on either side at the back of the handle. Or pull the handle off and mount it to one of the top-plate sockets.

EVA1 has dual SD slots, takes DVX-style batteries or 7–12VDC power

Rotating side grip with control dial and function buttons

The units at Cine Gear Expo were weighted mockups, so the heft of the models was close to the 2.65 lb / 1.2 kg weight of the final product.

The cameras will have 2-, 4-, and 6-stop internal ND filters, electrically driven, along with a retractable IR filter on a second filter wheel.

The EVA1 will output 4K over both HDMI and SDI, and will feed both outputs simultaneously. There’s no eye-level EVF; you can fit a third-party loupe to the LCD, or use something like the Gratical if you prefer. Having both HDMI and SDI active means you can sacrifice one for an EVF and still have the other output for an external monitor/recorder or to feed video village.

An EF mount is the standard—and only—lens mount. Sadly, unlike the one on the VariCam LT, it’s a twist-on bayonet style, not the rigid and robust positive-lock version.

EVA1s are scheduled to ship in Fall 2017. More info at Panasonic’s EVA1 webpage.

Sony Next-Gen CineAlta Camera

Sony held a small press briefing hidden deep in the bowels of the Marathon Building before publicly announcing their next-generation CineAlta camera in the Paramount Theater.

Peter Crithary ran though the basics: Sony has has 17 years of experience in the cine world, and the F65 won a Scientific and Engineering Oscar in February. Sony’s Digital Motion Picture Centers exist in Hollywood, Pinewood Studios on the UK, Beijing, and Mumbai; these are places for industry pros to learn about and work with Sony gear, and for Sony to learn from industry folks. Sony also holds focus groups to have industry folks talk directly with design engineers (I’ve had the pleasure of doing this a few years ago), and they’ll take big-name DPs to Japan for intensive discussions—in the case of the current project, Claudio Miranda was involved.

And the current project? A complete, new, from-the-ground-up development of the next-generation CineAlta camera:

Full-frame, 36x24mm sensor. Sony agrees with Panavision that full-frame will be the feature format of the future. And it’s not just those with cameras to sell that say this; I’ve spoken with a number of thoughtful and perceptive DPs who agree that full-frame, a.k.a. large-format, offers greater “dimensionality, roundness, and separation of elements” than S35mm. One DP told me that the larger formats render images more the way we see them, while smaller sensors flatten the space too much.

“Lens agnostic”, implying flexible cropping for S35mm or other formats. When Geoff Boyle said he’s used to calling for a 40mm and knowing what that looks like (on 4-perf 35mm film), Peter nodded and said, “not a problem”.

4K 4×3 anamorphic is a specific target; the sensor will have at least that much resolution. Sony says that they have “very consistent feedback” that 4K 4×3 anamorphic was Something They Need To Do. (I even overheard mutterings—which I didn’t confirm—that “4K 4×3 anamorphic” applies to a S35mm-format crop. Make of that what you will.)

“Much wider latitude than anything we’ve had before”.

Wider color gamut.

All-new design: this isn’t a reworked F65 or F55 or anything else.

And yet: the same familiar workflow: 16-bit raw, X-OCN, XAVC. (Much approval voiced by the crowd at this.)

Sensor is “very far along”.

Existing cameras remain in the lineup. The next-gen camera supplements them, it does not replace them.

Sony is not ready to discuss lens mounts or recording media yet.

Release is planned for “early 2018”. Price TBD. When asked if there would be something to see at IBC in September, Peter said that IBC “may be a target” and there would definitely be more information then.

“Stay tuned.”

So What?

The three different announcements reflect three trends in the cine-camera industry: larger formats, resolution agnosticism, and high dynamic range / wide color gamut imaging.

Larger formats: various larger-than-S35mm sensors, mostly from RED, have been cropping up (pun intended) for several years now.

The RED-sensor-based Panavision Millenium DXL and ARRI Alexa 65 have legitimized the resurgence of large-format more than a bunch of aggro bad-boy biker-gang revolutionaries could (grin), and it doesn’t hurt that we’re now seeing large-format cine glass becoming increasingly available.

That the EVA1 uses a S35mm sensor instead of a four-thirds sensor as the GH5 and DVX-200 do is another indicator: size matters. I know a bunch of folks were disappointed that the EVA1 isn’t a direct follow-on to the AF-100/AF-101 MFT cine camera (hint: look at the GH5 instead), but S35mm was the right choice: while many (myself included) appreciate MFT as a perfect Goldilocks compromise between one-man-band live focusability and cinematic shallow depth of field, we’re in the minority.

Resolution agnosticism: scanning formats matched to broadcast or exhibition resolutions made sense in analog and early digital days, when memory was expensive, high-res sensors were difficult, and resampling framestores cost an arm and a leg. Nowadays there’s increasingly less reason to shoot what you screen, or to capture the same image you record. Shoot more pixels, and you can downsize for sharpness and detail, or have room to zoom in, pan ‘n’ scan, or stabilize the image in post. The EVA1 does this in a small way with its 5.7K sensor for a 4K image, downsampling in camera for higher quality. Sony’s announcement that their full-frame camera will be “lens agnostic” seems a clear indication that it’ll have plenty of pixels to play with, allowing for high-res images even with at least a S35mm crop factor.

HDR / WCG: all these cameras are firmly aimed at a high-dynamic range, wide color gamut future. Of course you’ll be able to capture log images at 10 bits or higher and/or record or output a raw image.

It’s interesting is that all three of these camera announcements were timed to synchronize with Cine Gear Expo, not NAB or IBC. It seems there’s a growing sense that NAB and IBC are too big and diffuse to be the best venue for cine-style gear rollouts; smaller, more focused shows like Cine Gear Expo and CINEC are the places and times to make a big noise in the industry. More power, then, to Cine Gear Expo and CINEC, and all the more reason to attend… or at least to keep an ear to the ground when they’re happening.

Disclosure: There is no material relationship between me and any of the companies mentioned. None of ’em paid me to write about ’em or offered any blandishments to do so.

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