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usagirotten · 7 months

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Review: The Curse of Robert the Doll is simple but effective entertainment

The horror genre has had a great evolution over the years, subgenres have been born from it that have been liked by locals and strangers, we have talked about several of them, their stories, their protagonists, and what they have done and contributed to pop culture today. Without a doubt, a subgenre that has attracted a lot of attention is children's horror, which ranges from possessed infants, and sects, to toys and dolls. Chucky is the clearest example we have of this and its popularity since it was created and has also been a source of inspiration for several others including the popular Anabelle from the saga and universe of films based on the Warren marriage cases. All of this would not be possible if there were no real basis to tell these stories. One of the cases that has discreetly caused the most interest is that of Robert, a doll dressed as a sailor who since the beginning of the last century has been considered the ultimate toy. most haunted in the world. Movies, books, comics, and even podcasts have talked about this peculiar children's object, now a documentary has emerged that narrates its origins and helps us understand a little more about what it is and the curse of which people who do not have been victims. They have followed the rules when they have visited.

What is the Documentary movie about?

Considered the most haunted doll in the world, Robert the Doll lives behind glass in a museum in Key West, Florida, where every year thousands of visitors who do not follow his rules fall victim to a curse and suffer from serious illnesses, injuries, accidents, and even death, but what do they do to make Robert curse his victims? What evil entity lives inside this doll? This film is an exploration of what is presumed to be its true origin and its history since the first owners in 1905 and seeks to discover why this doll has caused horror to this day. The idea of making documentaries of this type sounds attractive, but the problem is the execution they have on the data that is supposedly true, the management of information tends to be in favor of one of the parties involved, and very few of them are the who risk telling something new, something that we do not know and that is in the popular domain. The documentary genre is as vast as horror but it is right here where the similarities between one and the other become more marked, there are some very good ones and others that are just a waste of time and resources that lead to nothing, that is why the latter whose veracity is called into question and as viewers we ask ourselves the question: What if everything we saw is true and what is not? The dolls and toys used for something that derives from the supernatural are nothing new but they have gained great popularity and interest with stories such as Annabelle and the Chucky film saga and television series, the stories and subplots that they have The substance varies according to its time and the audience it was aimed at, some reliably claim to be true and there is even evidence in psychophonies and videos. While Annabelle is a real doll who has been blamed for being the protagonist in some scary cases, the movies tend to take things to another level, first by exaggerating things and making them scarier than they really are and then by Becoming part of a more completely fictional saga and even change the order of its base events, Chucky is probably the most famous doll, possessed by a fictional serial killer who seeks a human host through a voodoo ritual gone wrong and which supposedly will give him eternal life. Throughout several very bad sequels, a reboot, and a television series, he has been included in much broader mythology and thus creating his universe, one that involves new characters such as his partner and love interest Tiffany with whom he even had a son, like this there are many examples of dolls or puppets that inhabit our world and that are supernatural, but there is one that is not so well known and it is the Robert doll that is on par with any of the aforementioned. Shock Docs is a television series that airs on Travel Channel and Discovery+ and within its documentary programs they have released a documentary titled "The Curse of Robert the Doll", its story is very similar to others that we already know, and what is described here. It aims to tell, in the form of testimonies and flashback recreations, its origin and how the supposed accidents, cases of bad luck, and deaths occurred that give rise to the legend of a curse that lasts to this day. The narrative sequence of the documentary is divided into 2 parts that alternate, one that is the most interesting is the one that recreates and talks about the history of the Otto family, residents of Key West in Florida, United States, and especially Robert the son. who was the first owner and friend of the doll, after bringing it from Germany as a birthday gift this toy not only became his playmate but little by little it took over the child's personality to the point of taking away his name and disturbing things, hence small subplots emerge based on the testimonies of those who have seen it, in general, it is about knowing the origin and what evil entities possess it. This narrative includes many generations of people, both those who have visited it and been victims as well as those who have had it and what they have faced, it is recognized that its director Brian Knappmiller and producers Allison Berkley, Joseph Freed, Brian Henson, Brian Knappmiller and Vince Raisa did everything blind, they know the legend but were never present in the museum making recordings simply because it is prohibited to do so, the recreation of the interiors is an exact copy of how it is today, the house that the Ottos occupied and that it has changed owners over the years is real.

When we see the jumps from the recreations to the testimonies it seems that we are seeing 2 completely different things, it is also necessary to recognize that the family history is its most interesting part which could well have been a feature film leaving out the weakest part, Each person who participates and who narrates what has happened to them is not so interesting and more so because they are telling us an origin that is constantly interrupted. What takes away much of the credibility of the documentary is the fact that it goes more towards the paranormal side that borders on the fantasy, while some think that everything is a setup charlatanry others believe that this is true, while in his story of recreation, we go from one or another unexpected shock to scandalous events that are very little credible, on the part of the people interviewed and who refer to them as potential victims of a curse do not provide any evidence to support their theory. This is where things transform and this goes from pretending to be a serious documentary to mere entertainment that borders on the morbid. As such, it is undeniable that it keeps us interested in each of the things that happen and we want to know the conclusion of everything. and that in reality there is not, we never know if the people who apologized were accepted and their lives returned to a new normal, nor are we told that no one for 118 years occurred to the idea of destroying it, burning it, cutting it, bury it, the only thing they do is lock it in closets or suitcases. Come on, you have to be very stupid to think and then act believing that if we lock this doll up nothing will happen to us, as a documentary they play a lot with the credibility of the story and the credibility that we as viewers have, the events that They should be more terrifying, they are only left with the assumption that something unintelligible is happening, the Robert doll is an exact recreation made by Jim Henson Creature Shop and we see how it has been worn down over the years until it has its current appearance. Tyler Bachman is in charge of the few but effective special effects that we see during 110 minutes that range from a child wearing a suit that simulates that the doll can move and walk around the house to the gestures he has on an expressionless face, Robert's personality is very particular and they emphasize it at every moment, something that is completely unnecessary if since we decided to watch the documentary we already know as an audience what we are getting into. As expected, this documentary is very soft for the topic it addresses, it is so risk-free that it falls into the comfort zone of just scaring for the sake of scaring, the part of the medium that talks about what has happened to the doll also has no verifiable basis, she deduces that it is not a possession but a portal to another dimension where there are souls trapped in it. As an origin, they say that an African-American nanny had an extramarital affair with Mr. Otto, from whom a girl was born who died under mysterious circumstances. This mother's sadness and anger is what triggers a curse in a voodoo rite she performs. The above is one of the most talked-about theories but also one of the most absurd and soap opera-like because let's see, a nanny has affairs with her employer, a daughter is born and no one notices if they live under the same roof? The fact that everything comes from a ritual that invokes demonic spirits falls into the typical Hollywood cliché to attract attention. There is more belief in the second theory that involves more that this doll, being brought from Germany without knowing how it was made, has a past. even more mysterious. What we know not from this documentary but from other previous media is that the protagonist is the boy Robert Eugene Otto, known by his nickname Gene, a member of a respectable and wealthy family, on his birthday Robert/Jean received a special gift from his grandfather, a sailor doll that he bought from the German company Steiff during a trip he made through the country, a large figure, approximately one meter, an expressionless face with a minimalist appearance, shiny black eyes, reddish hair and a grimace in the form of a smile that at first glance is disturbing.

Another thing that is said is that Jean's father was not known for having many friends and that it was the nanny who practiced and was very interested in black magic, religion, and voodoo that she placed a curse on the entire family. family through the doll in the purest dramatic style of, if I can't have a family neither can you. This is how strange things began to happen around them, relatives and the servants themselves heard the child talking to the doll, something that may seem natural and logical if it were not for the fact that another voice was also heard, a more distorted one. His parents were the first to discover that there was an unhealthy relationship between the boy and the doll, so much so that they treated him as if he were a human being. At night screams could be heard from the child's bedroom and on repeated occasions when the parents entered the room they only saw him sitting on the bed next to the Robert doll and a mess around him, some time later his other toys were gradually disappearing. Little by little, some had their heads cut off, others had their eyes gouged out, or Robert appeared in strange places where he had not been before. It is said that this boy spent hours with the real Robert The Doll, he slept next to him and they played, naturally, and as the years went by he grew up and moved to Chicago and New York to study art, wanting to be one of the most famous painters. famous and representative of his town, as an adult he had a very complex personality since he constantly competed with the success of his wife Annette Parker. When they returned to live in his childhood home, he was reunited with the doll. As the story goes, Gene's wife never agreed or sympathized with the doll which was now her husband's obsession and source of inspiration. The couple spent several decades in that house until Gene died in 1974 and then Annette's. Two years later while Robert spent most of this time locked in a suitcase in the attic, after this the house was sold to a woman named Myrtle Reuter and then to its current owner. In 1994 and after an incident that its owner had, the doll was donated to the East Martello Museum in Key West Florida, where and since then an atmosphere of historical terror has developed, it is currently behind glass, some visitors to the museum claim that This doll has caused misfortunes for not complying with the rules, which are: - When you are in front of the doll, tell it your name and introduce yourself. - Be polite and never disrespect him. - If you are going to take a photograph, ask permission first. - Say goodbye to him politely. The Museum receives hundreds of letters, notes, and emails of apology each year that are sent by tourists who decided to break the rules, to do this is perhaps to expect that the doll will grant them forgiveness and there are many others in their minority who ask that the doll be permanently removed from the museum to prevent ill-intentioned onlookers from continuing this chain of disasters. But it has not only been the curious who have been victims of this, there are also museum employees who tell of strange incidents that have happened to them with the doll, they say that on one occasion they received a visit from a team that wanted to record without permission. and the camera stopped working for no apparent reason in some of the videos that survived you can see Robert moving his legs, moving his head and even gesturing or the typical ones of the doll changing its pose even when it is locked, objects falling and They break, some others say that it has not happened or they have witnessed what supposedly happened. As expected, marketing has not missed the opportunity to benefit from this particular legend, there are guided tours of the museum as well as the sale of merchandising ranging from key chains, t-shirts, official photographs, and various books with the history to replicas of Robert that we can even get in special editions. The music composed by Ceiri Torjussen plays a very important role in this work and even more so in the recreations, this work is a mere tribute to all those easy horror films that with a couple of notes cause an effect on their audience. In conclusion, The Curse of Robert the Doll is a simple but effective entertainment that aims to be something more serious, and that only gives us the reference that there are other productions based on this story that have been more successful at the time. The Curse of Robert the Doll is now available on Prime Video and Discovery + platforms. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sc8yLhUU1ro Read the full article

#DiscoveryPlus #PrimeVideo #horror #must watch #review

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introvertguide · 3 years

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Chinatown (1974); AFI #21

The next movie that we reviewed was a very dark example of neo-noir film directed by Roman Polanski, Chinatown (1974). This film was a throwback to very dark crime thrillers that reflected the outlook of a Great Depression followed by world war. Polanski was experiencing a very dark period since he had just moved to America to get married and immediately lost his wife and unborn son in a horrific murder. The film was well received by critics and audiences, but it could not stand against the award winning juggernaut which was The Godfather Part 2. Polanski’s film was nominated for 11 Academy awards but only took one home for best original screenplay, a category that didn’t include The Godfather Part 2. It is hard to describe how incredibly down beat this film is without spoiling too early, so let me give the breakdown with the standard warning:

SPOILER ALERT!!! THIS IS A MURDER MYSTERY SO THE PLOT IS ABOUT TO BE WELL SPOILED!!! IF YOU WANT TO SEE THE FILM FIRST, NOW IS THE TIME TO STEP AWAY!!! COME BACK AFTER YOU SEE THE FILM!!!

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In 1937, a woman identifying herself as Evelyn Mulwray hires private investigator J. J. "Jake" Gittes (Jack Nicholson) to follow her husband, Hollis Mulwray, the chief engineer at the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power. Gittes tails him, hears him publicly refuse to create a new reservoir that would be unsafe, and shoots photographs of him with a young woman, which are published on the front page of the following day's paper. Back at his office, Gittes is confronted by a woman who informs him she is the real Evelyn Mulwray (Faye Dunaway) and that he can expect a lawsuit.

Realizing he was set up, Gittes assumes that Hollis Mulwray is the real target. Before he can question him, Lieutenant Lou Escobar fishes Mr. Mulwray, drowned, from a reservoir. Under retainer to Mrs. Mulwray, Gittes investigates with suspicions of murder and notices that although there is a drought, huge quantities of water are being released from the reservoir every night. Gittes is warned off by Water Department Security Chief Claude Mulvihill and a henchman (Roman Polanski) who slashes one of Gittes' nostrils. Back at his office, Gittes receives a call from Ida Sessions, who identifies herself as the imposter Mrs. Mulwray. She is afraid to identify her employer but tells Gittes to check the day's obituaries.

Gittes learns that Mulwray was once the business partner of Evelyn's wealthy father, Noah Cross (John Huston). Over lunch at his personal club, Cross warns Gittes that he does not understand the forces at work, and offers to double Gittes' fee to search for Mulwray's missing mistress. At the hall of records, Gittes discovers that much of the Northwest Valley has recently changed ownership. Investigating the valley, he is attacked by angry landowners who believe he is an agent of the water department attempting to force them out by sabotaging their water supply.

Gittes deduces that the water department is drying up the land so it can be bought at a reduced price and that Mulwray was murdered when he discovered the plan. He discovers that a recently deceased retirement home resident is one of the valley's new landowners and seemingly purchased the property a week after his death. Gittes and Evelyn bluff their way into the home and confirm that the real-estate deals were surreptitiously completed in the names of several of the home's residents. Their visit is interrupted by the suspicious retirement-home director, who has called Mulvihill.

After fleeing Mulvihill and his thugs, Gittes and Evelyn hide at Evelyn's house and sleep together. During the night, Evelyn gets a phone call and must leave suddenly; she warns Gittes that her father is dangerous. Gittes follows Evelyn's car to a house, where he spies her through the windows comforting Mulwray's mistress, Katherine. He accuses Evelyn of holding the woman against her will, but she says Katherine is her sister.

The next day, an anonymous call draws Gittes to Ida Sessions' apartment, where he finds her murdered and Escobar waiting for Gittes' arrival. Escobar tells him the coroner's report found salt water in Mulwray's lungs, indicating that he did not drown in the fresh water of the reservoir. Escobar suspects Evelyn of the murder and tells Gittes to produce her quickly. At Evelyn's mansion, Gittes finds her servants packing her things. He realizes her garden pond is salt water and discovers a pair of bifocals in it. He confronts Evelyn about Katherine, whom Evelyn now claims is her daughter. After Gittes slaps her (a lot), she tells him that Katherine is her sister and her daughter; her father raped her when she was 15. She says that the glasses are not Mulwray's, as he did not wear bifocals.

Gittes arranges for the women to flee to Mexico and instructs Evelyn to meet him at her butler's home in Chinatown. He summons Cross to the Mulwray home to settle their deal. Cross admits his intention to annex the Northwest Valley into the City of Los Angeles, then irrigate and develop it. Gittes accuses Cross of murdering Mulwray. Cross has Mulvihill take the bifocals at gunpoint, and they force Gittes to drive them to the women. When they reach the Chinatown address, the police are already there and detain Gittes. When Cross approaches Katherine, Evelyn shoots him in the arm and starts to drive away with Katherine. The police open fire, killing Evelyn. Cross clutches Katherine and leads her away, while Escobar orders Gittes released. Lawrence Walsh, one of Gittes' associates, tells him: "Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown."

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I really cannot emphasize how much of a bummer ending this film has. It is right up there (down there) with Sophie’s Choice. A man who pays to dump water so that he can purchase cheap farm land, kills his partner who threatens to tell, and rapes his own 15-year-old daughter is the antagonist. In the end, he is released to take custody of his young granddaughter without punishment after the police shoot the daughter that he raped. The investigator who tried to help and solved the mystery is left with no say and a slit nostril for his troubles. Polanski later said in interviews that he wanted to emphasize the futility of trying to find justice in Los Angeles. Both his life and this movie really proved that as a fact. It is funny that the screenwriter who won the academy award wanted Cross to die and Evelyn to live, but Polanski insisted and the dark tone is what pushed the award in their favor.

There was some discussion about finding an actor that was willing to be the lead with a bandaged face or prosthetic injury for most of the movie. It was still all about face time and dialogue, so most lead actors didn’t want to cover up their face. Nicholson was not actually known for his good looks as much as other actors, so he was more willing to take on the role. Actually, it was Nicholson who wanted to work on a project with Polanski and suggested the script in the first place. Also, Nicholson really connected with Polanski at the time and was not afraid to play dark roles. Jon Huston was not as keen on the heavy pedophile incest role since he had a lovely young daughter of his own (actress Angelica Huston). It turned out to be a good choice for all the actors involved.

Something that came up during the viewing with my housemates was reactions to the scene when Jack Nicholson is slapping Faye Dunaway when she is admitting that the girl she visits is both her sister and her daughter. She keeps alternating between “she’s my sister” and “she’s my daughter” and each statement is punctuated with a slap in the face by Jack Nicholson. It is supposed to be deeply serious and a major reveal in the movie, but we were laughing so hard at the absurdity. It was truly unrealistic and more of a trope of film noir than anything else (slapping a hysterical woman). It truly was a throwback to 40s and 50s style Hollywood and some of the standards of film story telling at that time were a bit silly.

I have reviewed this move in more ways than I thought because I realized on this viewing that the video game L.A. Noir borrows very heavily from this film. So many aspects, from the locations to the situations to the soundtrack, were all put into the video game. I have spent many hours of my life playing through that game a number of times and I am shocked each time. I am curious if Rockstar Games had to pay any money to Roman Polanski for such a close similarity to the film? I tried to look it up but didn’t find anything, so probably not.

So should this film by on the AFI to 100? For sure. It is an Old Hollywood story about even older Hollywood. It stands out as one of the darkest endings that I have ever experienced. It has major star power and surrounded by amazing stories of Hollywood. Would I recommend it? I sure would. It is a great trip around old Hollywood with some of America’s greatest actors. I think just as interesting is the story of Roman Polanski (who I did an article on as well) and why his head space was so dark during the production of this film. Definitely worth a watch and a background deep dive.

#introvert #introverts #chinatown #jack nicholson #faye dunaway #roman polanski #movie review #top 100 #70s #Film Criticism

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things2mustdo · 3 years

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As you probably have heard in the news, earlier in August a Pennsylvania grand jury handed down a 1,356-page account of sexual abuse which involved around 1,000 kids and 300 priests during a period of approximately 70 years. It is another pedophilia scandal within the Catholic Church that adds up to their collection of countless other ones reported in recent years.

The commie pope��while on his two-day visit to Ireland—begged for forgiveness again, just the way he did in Chile back in January of this year.

You can notice how quick and scathing the mainstream media is to denounce these recurring events, after all we know who owns the MSM and the (real) Church has a long, well-known history of “anti-semitism” and resistance against the tentacles of globalism. I wish the media had the same commitment to inform the existence of other pedophile rings full of high-ranking people as well.

Is the problem of the church’s innumerous sexual abuse allegations really pedophilia? To me there is a deeper explanation for it, and that explanation is: homosexualism. 81% of the alleged victims are male and three-fourths of them are post-pubescent. As you guys are certainly aware of, the Church has a very big issue with homosexualism among its clergymen.

I have a theory for the high presence of gay men inside priesthood: until not long ago being gay was definitely not ok, homosexuals were not accepted as they are now, so they became priests.

The developed Western world of today encourages people to become gay, it applauds individuals for their gayness, but it wasn’t always like that. Now, try to imagine a closeted homosexual man living in the 50s, for example. What a better place to go than the Catholic seminary? People wouldn’t look you down, you wouldn’t have to get married, the place was filled with other young men (potential sexual partners) and that’s how the Church got corrupted by perverts.

Pedophilia x Homosexualism

One normie could argue “how homosexualism relates to pedophilia?” Any red-pilled person who has ever wondered what causes someone to become gay will notice that there is an undeniable link between pedophilia and homosexualism.

Let’s remember the occasion of Milo Yiannopolous’ resignation from Breitbart over comments which seemed to endorse sex between “younger men” and older men. Something that is—as he pointed out—extremely common among gay men. A 2009 report revealed that 74 percent of bisexuals had been sexually abused as children, I am pretty sure homosexuals follow the same numbers.

I won’t say homosexual behavior is exclusively caused by pedophilia because human (or animal) sexuality is a very complex topic which can certainly involve many variables. I just don’t buy that “born this way” hype, until this day not a single reliable proof of the existence of a gay gene or anything like it was discovered.

The Vatican once bought a £21 million apartment block above ‘Europe’s largest gay sauna’.

Pope Francis, a champion of the left-leaning agenda inside the Church, has been accused of covering up former Cardinal McCarrick’s abuse allegations (one of the many cases in Pennsylvania). The accusations were made by Carlo Vigano, a former Vatican ambassador to the US, and if it proves to be true–I am positive it is—that should result in pope Francis’ resignation. As a traditionalist Catholic myself I would be delighted with such an event.

Francis has already been complacent with other pedos before. One good example is the 2015 ‘Synod on the Family’ when the pope invited Godfried Danneels, a Belgium Cardinal convicted of covering up pedophiles in the 90s, to attend the meeting. Danneels is a hard-left priest that tries to push the Church ” liberal reformation” and admitted that he was part of a plot against (right-leaning) Pope Benedict and in favor of the election of leftie Francis.

To affirm that the Church’s gay/pedos are exclusively part of the left-wing priesthood would be too Manichean. I am sure there are tons of sick people who lean right also. But it can’t be denied that the liberals make up the vast majority of these issues involving sexual misconduct.

“Religious progressives”

For those who don’t know, the Catholic Church, just as any other political institution, is divided in factions that tend to be more liberal or orthodox. The liberation theology, for instance, is a movement created inside the Catholic Church (and some Protestant denominations) which aims to mix Christianity and Marxism.

Even if you are an agnostic don’t underestimate the influence they played in various regions such as Europe, Latin America and even New England. Brazilian Workers’ Party attributed their success to this movement and Unions.

Be wary of any religious leader that tries to push a liberalization of dogmas and traditions. Because all religions are intrinsically conservative according to their respective contexts, they establish doctrines that dictate sets of rules that must be followed properly in order to attain their objectives (whether is Salvation in Christianity or Nirvana in Buddhism). There are no (real) religions without their traditions.

Whenever you see liberal religious men doubt their characters. There is a good chance they don’t even bother with religion or spirituality, perhaps they are closeted atheist. What they do care about is the religious platform, which can offer various benefits such as large audiences, political influence, money and even sex.

Estimates of the number of gays in the priesthood are all over the lot, from 20 percent to 60 percent, although a Los Angeles Times poll in 2002 found only 15 percent of priests saying they were homosexual or “somewhere in between but more on the homosexual side.”

Every time pedo priests’ cases pop up in the MSM, secular people are very quick to point fingers and show their moral superiority, but they “forget” the existence of secular institutions that are way more sexually perverted than the “gayish” modern Church, such as Hollywood, the political and corporate world.

Real Church x Sissy Church

It is also important to notice that the Church was emasculated, an emasculation that took place during the process of secularization and establishment of liberal democracies across the Western world (e.g. French Revolution).

The Church had to be softened, becoming an institution that barely resembles the once powerful and great Church of the Crusades or the Inquisitions. This same phenom of emasculation can also happen in other secular institutions too, the Military, mainstream Music, Politics, Sports and even Boys Scouts. And it will only get worse as liberal-democratic globalism advances, so secular people: watch out!

St. Basil the Great, a 4th century bishop and Doctor of the Church, defended that gay/pedo priests should be publicly flogged. That was the (real) Church, not this sissy catholicism created after the Second Vatican Council (a modernist reform imposed in the Church from 1962 to 1965). A lot of things got bad in the 60s.

The (real) Church has a very important and vigorous story in the construction of the West. Always being a target to the globalists and that breed who rules the world, a clear obstacle to their goals.

Examples are many: Gabriel García Moreno, Catholic Equatorian president, who made a terrific job in a Confessional Equator and was killed by the Freemasons; Saint José Sanchez del Rio, who was killed by Mexican secular, freemason and leftist government with the support of the US, for refusing to abbandon his faith.

Inconvenient truths are ignored

The media only goes after what is convenient to their narrative, don’t expect them to expose Hollywood pedos nor the obvious link between pedo priests and homosexualism. The left has already pushed the normalization of pedophilia many times and I didn’t see the indignation of the MSM.

Late Vatican’s Chief Exorcist Gabriele Amorth once said, “The Devil resides in the Vatican and you can see the consequences”.

“The floor of hell is paved with the skulls of bishops”. – St. Athanasius

Read More: The Vatican Has Disgraced True Catholic Values

I have noticed that many people have been falsely conflating what comes out of the Vatican as Catholic. Thus it is my duty to present to the esteemed readers of this fine site the true teachings of the Church which stand, ever more so today, in stark opposition to the rot of cultural Marxism and the effeminacy of the Papal pretenders in Rome.

Vicar of Christ?

Church authorities are not legitimate

It is a dogma of the Catholic faith that the Church cannot substantially change. This means that the church cannot contradict nor change her teaching from what has always been universally taught or has been solemnly defined. Any one who claims to be Catholic and knowingly professes a faith which contradicts a teaching of the Church is considered to be a heretic and is considered to have a removed himself from the Church.

As St. Thomas states: “[one] who disbelieves [even] one article of faith does not have faith, either formed or unformed.” This is known as the unity of faith which means that all Catholics profess the same faith. Likewise it means that heretics cannot hold a clerical office in the Church. Thus if a heretic were to be elected even to the Papacy they could not be considered a legitimate Pontiff because a heretic has separated himself from the Church (source).

Would a real Pope bow to a religion declared false by the Church?

Simply put, you have to be Catholic to be Pope, and the absurdity of a heretic claiming the See of Peter is where we find ourselves today. For just as the institutions in the West have been infiltrated and seized by the enemy, likewise have the institutions of the Church been usurped by apostate forces. The hierarchy currently residing in the Vatican are not legitimate authorities and do not represent the perennial teaching of the Church. Therefore I have listed for your benefit the actual Church’s positions on some current areas of contention.

The only time Francis has ever smiled at a Crucifix

On Communism

The Catholic Church is vehemently opposed to communism. Without Pius XII valiant efforts, communism would have prevailed over postwar France and Italy. The Pope went so far as to issue the Decree against Communism in 1949 which excommunicated any Christian who professed communist doctrine.

Catholicism is the enemy of Marxism as it teaches that there can be no separation of Church and state, and an atheist government is immoral. Catholicism believes private property is a natural right going so far to say that depriving workers of their wages is a sin which cries to heaven for vengeance (compare that to our socialist tax code!).

On Migration and Culture

The current Muslim invasion of Europe would be met with the utmost resistance. It has always been the Church which has sought to safeguard Catholic Culture and in ages past has gone so far as to issue a call to arms against non-Catholics who have sought to destroy it.

Pope Urban II issued the Crusades and Pope Leo the great even went so far as to personally travel into the heart of the Hun army—to Attila himself—to deliver Rome from the sack that was to come. In 1571, St. Pope Pius V formed the Holy League that would go on to defeat the great Muslim Turkish Armada that was plaguing the Mediterranean.

“Then I pointed like so and told them where to take their cultural enrichment”

The tradition of the Church has been to unite the West against external non-christian threats in order to preserve Western Christian culture.

“The natural law enjoins us to love devotedly and to defend the country in which we were born, and in which we were brought up, so that every good citizen hesitates not to face death for his native land…. We are bound, then, to love dearly the country whence we have received the means of engagement this mortal life affords.” – Sapientia Christiana Encyclical Pope Leo XIII

On Abortion and Contraception

So what is the real teaching of the Church in regards to abortion and contraception? The teaching is any member who has an abortion or supports abortion is automatically excommunicated from the Church. That’s right: every single Democrat who claims to be Catholic is actually excommunicated, including Nancy Pelosi who likes to sanctimoniously drone how she is a good Catholic grandmother.

Contraception is also considered a mortal sin because it is an unnatural stoppage of life.

“Hence, after the sin of homicide whereby a human life already in existence is destroyed, this type of sin appears to take next place, for by it the generation of human nature is impeded.” -St. Thomas Aquinas.

I know this is unpopular with the readers, but the teaching is that those who engage in contraception have already committed murder in their heart. Contraception is what allows people to engage in recreational sex, because the natural end of sex has been set aside so too then has the institution of marriage, whose end is children.

Likewise, because we have committed murder in our hearts, we have become a petulant, immature, vain, and a sterile people similar to any other people who have taken the risk from reward or the consequences from pleasure. This is the most difficult pill to swallow.

On Feminism

The Church condemns feminism in the strongest terms. There cannot exist feminism without birth control.

“…any use whatsoever of matrimony exercised in such a way that the act is deliberately frustrated in its natural power to generate life is an offense against the law of God and of nature, and those who indulge in such are branded with the guilt of a grave sin.” -Pius XI Casti Cannubi

The Church asserts that Man is the head of the household and that a woman finds her vocation from being a good mother and housewife:

“This … does not deny or take away the liberty which fully belongs to the woman both in view of her dignity as a human person, and in view of her most noble office as wife and mother and companion; nor does it bid her obey her husband’s every request if not in harmony with right reason or with the dignity due to wife; … For if the man is the head, the woman is the heart, and as he occupies the chief place in ruling, so she may and ought to claim for herself the chief place in love.” -Ibid

The Pope has even gone so far as to condemn women’s suffrage:

“Woman can never be man’s equal and cannot therefore enjoy equal rights. Few women would ever desire to legislate, and those who did would only be classed as eccentrics.” -St. Pius X

On Pacifism

The Catholic Church is not simply just a religion of love and mercy. Christianity is not a weak religion, for our God is a God of Battles. Catholic Tradition encourages us to live our lives in the manner of our Lord Jesus who spoke of the struggle that his Church would have to endure.

“Do not think that I am come to send peace upon earth: I came not to send peace, but the sword.”-Mathew 10:34

Christians are not meant to sit idly as bystanders to the great struggle of good and evil in this world.

“For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood: but against principalities and power, against the rulers of the world of this darkness: against the spirits of wickedness in the high places.” -Ephesians 6:12

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buirbaby · 3 years

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The Wardens: The Far East

Rating: M + Mature content, language, and violence

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"We need to do something about your accent and name," Benjen remarked amidst the preparations. His comrade didn't say much as to where she was from and he hadn't pushed the envelope. They were anomalies, people who shouldn't exist, and whatever past life Tabitha had experienced, she was wary of sharing it. He wondered if she had been a mercenary or a thief, maybe a harlot? No, none of those quite fit. Her mannerisms, while gruff, bespoke the regiment of a soldier--more finely tuned than the majority of his own men and subordinates on the Wall. She had been a soldier, he did not doubt this, and she had the skill in hand to hand combat to prove it, utilizing a grappling technique he'd never seen before. Foreign was the only thing he thought when put the pieces of Flores together.

"What, there's no one in Essos who sounds like me?" Tabitha groused, rolling her attire in a compact and methodical manner--yet another militaristic trait. She placed the garments into her saddle bags and gave him a wry, but tempered look.

"Perhaps," Benjen relinquished, he was not exceptionally well traveled. The idea of going to Pentos made him nervous. A queer, brilliantly colored tropical paradise. The polar opposite of the home he'd grown up in. Tabitha's features would be much less noticeable than his own, but her accent and name would draw questions once they managed to gain an audience with the Targaryens. "But do you have any idea of where that would be?"

Tabitha sucked her teeth. "Fine. What do you think would fit? I don't look like a northerner," she pointed out.

"You could be Dornish or Rhoynish," Benjen proposed. "What languages do you speak?"

"Probably none that are useful. The True Tongue--what Fang speaks, a little High Valyrian, and un idioma que nunca has escuchado , " (a language you have never heard) she spoke in the last eloquently, the slipping of the language foreign and lofty, but he'd heard it from sailors.

"You speak Rhoynish," he realized.

Tabitha blinked. "Wha-Oh, well... I suppose then it's been decided for me. I could be a Dornish bastard, my mother is from Rhoynar. Which means I'll need a new name, Tabitha isn't exactly common," she paused her work to contemplate a name, but drew a blank. "Tabris? Taliya?"

"It's the name you're going to have to go by," Benjen chuckled.

"Oh, you're laughing now as if you're going to go by Benjen Stark," Tabitha snorted, reminding him that the Targaryens most definitely would not look favorably upon his name. "Fortunately for you, you've got fire eyes now, but you still look a bit too Stark."

Scowling, he inquired, "What do you mean?"

"Grow your beard out and cut your hair shorter. You can't go by Benjen Stark. Daenerys is young and impressionable, we can win her over. Viserys on the other hand is a malicious brat who will spew poison into her ears. We cannot reveal your true name until we're established and Viserys is gone."

"Hm, I was assuming we were going to ride in on our griffins and give the girl wedding presents. That isn't the plan?" Benjen quipped, eliciting a frown from the woman.

"Never reveal your full hand," Tabitha sniffed. "We are going to be stopping in Braavos first. Hopefully, I can pick up the language a bit more before we get to Pentos. It's a bastardized version of High Valyrian, but it'll be useful either way. Dothraki more so if I could..." Pausing she narrowed her eyes at him again. "Stop evading the subject, Stark. You need to pick a name too. How well do you know Jorah Mormont?"

Sucking in air between his teeth, he obliged. "I know him enough. Saw him in Winterfell a few times when I was young, but not much since I joined the Watch. I know he was exiled for slave trade. He probably will not recognize me-"

"Unless you make it obvious," Tabitha interjected, jerking a finger in his direction. "I know how you Starks are and you better not glare openly at this man. As much as you distrust him, you can't be obvious about it."

Benjen suppressed a sigh, but knew that she was right. Jorah Mormont could get them killed if he discovered who he was. The flaming irises--more gold than orange--would make him unlike a Stark, but all it took was some well placed knowledge and a snarky jab to begin unraveling the aliases they were building. Tact had never been necessary in his line of work. He dealt in truths, honor, and by the posting he had. Now, he had none of that and if Tabitha was going by a bastard name, it was wise that he did as well. He might've been the better warrior, but Tabitha knew more about politics-a cursed game he'd never wanted to play.

"I'll think of a name," he grimaced, continuing to store his supplies. "What is your plan for gaining an audience with Magister Illyrio?"

"I'll send ravens in Braavos," Tabitha told him. "We'll spend a fortnight there so I can establish my contact in King's Landing. There's a good friend of Magister Illyrio who'd like more eyes and I think I have the right information to convince him to place a bet on us. The relics we're taking with us will sell for a high amount of coin, we'll be able to afford the necessary supplies and a gift for Daenerys after we depart for Pentos."

Thank the Old Gods that she had a plan, because his only one really had been arriving on griffin back and Torrhen wasn't large enough yet. "Who is this contact?"

Tabitha paused, lips curling in that same, wicked manner that sent a chill down his spine. The female looked exceptionally roguish and dangerous, the fire in her eyes dancing brightly. "Varys."

The Spider: a name he'd wished had not fallen from her lips or that he'd not asked at all. He had to trust Tabitha to be clever enough to fool the eunuch, but the rumors surrounding the man were abysmal. He was the keeper of secrets for a reason and the fact that the Spider had interest in the Targaryens to begin with spelled ill for the Starks. He was walking into a dragon's den without as much of a piece or armor or weapon to defend himself. Everything in his body rejected this idea, wishing for nothing more but to return to the simplicity of being First Ranger. But he could not. This second life came with a price and he had to play the game of thrones in order to save his family.

"Don't look so pale," Tabitha scolded, diverting her attention to the bags she'd finished packing. "I'll do my best to find a way to save your family. We have to start by changing Daenerys' perception on them... but your brother is a kinder man than King Robert. He is the one who speaks against assassinating her."

Those words were meant to be comforting, but Benjen was still anxious.

"I wish the king never asked Ned to go south," he muttered.

"Me too, but what we can do is earn a friend. Petyr Baelish is behind the fall of House Stark and his most staunch enemy is Varys."

"Why is that?"

"Baelish wants power. Varys wants what is best for the kingdom, regardless of who rules, as long as the common folk are treated justly. Anything we can feed Varys will help make him more powerful before Baelish's plans come to fruition will help the Starks. Varys likes the Starks," Tabitha explained, but sighed deeply afterward. "Unfortunately, your elder brother is naive and surrounded by enemies. He's also distrustful of Varys and more inclined toward Baelish, which is his first mistake. I'll make certain that mistake isn't repeated."

"How? We can't speak or write about the future."

"No, but I can write cryptically enough that all Varys will have to do is unwravel the riddles. He's clever."

"If Robert sits the throne now, why would he be looking toward the next monarch?"

"Because Robert is fat and a drunk. His health is failing. Joffrey and the Lannisters will inherit, which will begin the demise of Westeros. Having other options available is precedent, especially given the Crown's surmounting debt, circling lions, and the thin line they're riding with the favor of the commonfolk. That can all turn on a dime and Joffrey does not make a good king," Tabitha explained.

"Given what I saw at Winterfell, I'm not surprised."

"You have no idea what a tyrant he'll become. He's sick in the head," she tapped her brow. "Hopefully, we can avoid some of his wrath, but I doubt we'll be able to stop King Robert from dying."

"If we can save Ned and the girls-"

"I'll try," Tabitha insisted firmly. "But this all starts in Braavos. We need to do our part beside Daenerys to gain her favor."

Trying was all he could ask, considering he knew the true fate that awaited them all. For all that they knew, their own fate was not written in any visions or words that they'd witnessed. He did not fear for his own life, but for those he knew were going to be cut short if he failed. But to save some, wouldn't that come at the cost of others?

Benjen had never been to Braavos, but he had heard of the legendary Free City. Balerion had coasted far above the famed Titan of Braavos, bringing them out to a rural location miles outside the city to land unnoticed. The pair of griffins would remain out in the countryside until summoned. The larger seemed thankful not to be saddled with two adults, allowing for their supplies to be retrieved before he huffed and took off into the sky with a much lighter burden. No where he'd been had ever been as sprawling as Braavos. So choked full of buildings that trees were nonexistent, unless purposely planted in the more prestigious areas of the grey city. A plethora of languages were spoken between the canals, many of which he could not identify. Tabitha, now Taliya Sand, a traveling sellsword and linguist, picked out between the Braavosi and found a Rhonyish sailor to garner directions from.

The weather was not too hot, which he savored now, fully aware in Pentos it'd grow warmer and the Dothraki Sea would be unbearable. Wary eyes traced the streets, noticing the flamboyant colors that many bravos wore, proclaiming their profession lest any other swordsman wish to challenge them. Otherwise, most other locals dressed in muted tones of grey, purple, and dark blues. Songs floated like gondolas through the canals. Art and courtesanship prized greatly within every part of the city that they roamed. To him, it was florid, but not unbearably so. He'd trust a Braavosi before any southerner.

Within the Purple Harbor, the stretching market boasted magnificent goods ranging from Lyseni lace, desert gemstones, to Arbor Wine. There were few foreigners selling goods in this area, as only Braavosi ships were able to dock in this part of the harbor. However, Taliya made due, haggling over the rare treasures that had been preserved in the Roost. Shadowskins, golden chalices encrusted with garnets, antique daggers, fine armor that hadn't suited either of them. It had all been dead weight, things they could not carry forever, and the armor seemed to garner the most attention aside from the shadowskins. Benjen had no idea what they were saying, but the merchant before them was raving, tracing the finely hewn details and glancing up, trying to contain his delight as not to overpay for the work of art.

No sooner were their pockets heavy with Braavosi coin, did Taliya insist that they turn in for the night before darkness fell and they became open invitations for duels as they had swords buckled to their belts. They had passed a few fine establishments, but she took him aback by leaving the Purple Harbor and approaching the religious sector of the city. A large bridge led to another island, a temple of red stone looming before them. Upon the great square tower was an iron brazier as wide as the roof, containing a great fire.

To him, it was still difficult to acknowledge that his 'gods' had not saved him and that he was now in the service of the Lord of Light. A god he was not very familiar with and probably would have never cared for if not for the new life breathed within him. Part of him wished he'd died, resigning the simplicity and lack of responsibility as peace, but knew he'd not be able to save his kin had he not been given this chance.

The temple was grand, embellished with scones, braziers, and fire to emphasize the importance within the religion. It was not as decadent as any of the Septs, but was purposeful in its design. Red was an overarching theme, the priests and priestesses milling around dressed in crimson robes. Burning hearts were depicted on banners hanging from the walls, the sigil of the red god. A female paused, drinking them in, before a crisp smile broke across the plane of her features.

"Greetings," she knew they were not local, as evident by their faces.

"We seek lodgings while we are staying within the city," Taliya started, reaching toward the gloves that obscured her hands.

Benjen expected that the priestess might chuckle and direct them toward an inn. What temple would host strangers? Yet, the priestess paused, glancing between them, before watching as Taliya removed her glove and turned her palm over to reveal the Mark of the Warden. A burn emblazoned upon her left hand, just as Benjen had on his.

The priestess did not falter, but her smile broadened. "Yes, there are quarters we can afford to spare for such esteemed guests. The Lord of Light shines upon both of your faces, Wardens."

He was shocked, but why? The Lord of Light had brought them back as champions for his cause, why wouldn't those who served him know of the secret order? Returning her glove, Taliya gave a stout nod and followed closely behind the priestess.

"I must admit, I am surprised to see holy warriors. My name is Oresha and I am in your service for as long as you intend on staying," the priestess introduced, folding her hands into her sleeves as she led them through the halls and deeper into the enormous building as more braziers were lit for the evening fires.

"Then you will know that we cannot speak of our holy mission," Taliya rebuffed, not unkindly.

"As is the way," Oresha acknowledged, unbothered by this proclamation. "We know our duty to the swords of the Lord."

The main chamber led deeper into a monastery where the priests and priestesses dwelled, including those that were still in training. Night was an active period of time for the Red Temple, as prayers would be said as the shadows snuck in, whispering of the terrors that hid within them. Oresha turned a hall and entered an area with many doors, a few crimson garbed figures going in and out of rooms as they passed by. At the end of the hallway, Oresha unlocked a door, revealing a simple room with a set of dual beds. There was nothing ornate or remarkable about it. A fireplace, a brazier, a chest at the foot of each bed, and desks. It appeared to be intended for those living in the monastery and a roommate, but sufficed perfectly for the pair.

"Is there anything I can have sent to you while you settle in?" Oresha inquired.

"Books on Dothraki and High Valyrian," Taliya asserted immediately, putting her things down on the desk. "Parchment, ink... Do you have a rookery here?"

"Yes, of course."

"Very well, I'll require any ravens that fly to King's Landing and trusted contacts in the city that can deliver the letters."

"I shall send the requested materials with a meal to this room," Oresha complied. "I shall always need to send word to Volantis and the High Priest."

Taliya pursed her lips, but gave a nod. "Very well, as long as we are not made outside the walls of the temple."

"We are aware that the Wardens must work under discreet circumstances. You are the secret flames that weave the Lord's will, not heralds," Oresha retorted.

"Thank you, that will be all," Taliya closed the conversation and Oresha took her dismissal.

"How did you know that they'd take us in?" Benjen inquired after the door had shut and a few moments had passed from Oresha's departure.

"Fang," Taliya informed him. "He hinted that the Red Temples would be our greatest resource. Seems he was right. We can trust them. They're fanatics, incredibly devoted to the prophecy of Azor Ahai. With the amount of coin we were carrying too, even the nicest establishment in Braavos would have posed risk. We already drew a few eyes today."

"We could utilize the Iron Bank," Benjen suggested.

"Trust me, considering how much things were in the market, it'll be easy to spend a good portion on a wedding gift," Taliya snorted.

"And you're going to learn Dothraki and High Valyrian in a fortnight?" Benjen inquired, finally setting his belongings down, mildly amused by the woman's ambition.

"I'm going to learn as much as I can, unless you'd like to take that burden, Ben," she emphasized his name, shaking her head at his choice. "How many languages do you know?"

He'd chosen Ben River. It was a common first name and with his shorter hair, beard growing in, and golden eyes--he doubted even Jorah Mormont would connect the dots given the years since either had seen one another. He'd been little more than a boy playing at being a man when he'd seen Mormont. "Hm, you're rather clever with languages. I wouldn't wish to encroach upon your expertise."

"Oh no, you're going to learn," Taliya insisted haughtily. "Maybe not Rhoynish, but you're a stick in the mud if you don't at least understand the dialect of Valyrian most of Essos uses and Dothraki."

He chuckled at her decisiveness, but knew she was right. He didn't understand anyone and that made him anxious. Relying only on common was a severe disability, especially if they had to be clever. Better that people thought him a stupid Westerosi bastard and it turned out he spoke enough of the other languages to follow along. "Enlighten me, wise maester."

Taliya rolled her eyes, jerked out the chair to the desk, and sat down. Just as he was her mentor in swordsplay, she had subjects to school him on. Despite her typical lack of decorum (with him, at least), she was rather perceptive and cunning. Perhaps her harsh, serpentine personality hinted at this, but he originally thought the woman lacked poise. Obviously, he'd been wrong. She only lacked it when there was no need for a facade and between him, a fellow warden, she did not guard herself. He was thankful for that, uncertain how he would have handled his Wardenship is not for a companion who was polar in nature to him. The Lord of Light had intentionally paired them, each stronger in different fields, and somehow aware that they wouldn't be at one another's throats. Perhaps the fact that Taliya was a woman had a hand in his relaxed nature around her or her courage when facing down the Other.

Despite how much the woman could bark, she was true, a trait rarely witnessed in this world. People were fickle, oathbreakers, and more willing to protect their own hide than to buckle down and remain steadfast to a cause.

While a learned man, languages were complex. Over the simple dinner they had been provided, his mind spun as she tried to impress Dothraki on him first as she learned herself. Her own ramblings, she seemed to make sense of it, but he was stuck on the harsh annunciations. Valyrian, he'd heard a few words of before, and found that it was a bit easier to follow. Still, it would be a long time before he was fluent in either. He turned in relatively early, aching from their journey, while Taliya bowed over the desk and began writing letters.

Come morning, he was astonished to find her asleep at the desk, face pressed to the parchment and candle nothing but a stump of wax with no light. Throwing his leg over his bed, he crept up to see that she'd written numerous drafts and that her handwriting was quite atrocious. However, as he pulled out a sheet, his eyes coasted over the content that flowed like rivers of prose. Ambiguous and had nothing at all to do with their plight. How would Varys be able to understand them?

"Not the hibiscus-" Taliya muttered, jolting up, a piece of parchment sticking to her face as she moved. "Oh. Is it morning already?"

"You spent all night writing this?" Ben waved the work, unimpressed.

"Takes a while to create a code and cipher," Taliya groaned, rubbing her neck, peeling off the parchment from her face to reveal a mess of equations and a more deliberately spaced version of the letter he now held. "Look, this is the key which will be sent a few days after the first letter-" she turned the page over and showed him an alphanumeric mess, launching into an explanation on how certain letters within different words corresponded to others and could be utilized to spell out entirely different sentences. The process by which she broke it down was complex, but without the cipher, the letter would just appear to be a gilded exchange about traveling through Essos from a friend.

"And you think he'll be able to crack this without a full explanation from you?" Ben inquired thoughtfully, enthralled with her diligence to get this done immediately. He hadn't considered the letter being intercepted or read by another, but perhaps that was his own naivity of King's Landing and the inner workings of politics. Until they secured a better mode of communication with Varys, it was best to adhere to a code to draw no attention from anyone who might spy the letter before the master of whispers.

"We'll find out. If not, we're going to have a fun time trying to get into the wedding," she chuckled, standing up from her seat. "Shit, I really need to lay down though. Go out into the city if you'd like, but I need a couple of hours."

He wasn't really keen on the idea of going out into Braavos without a translator, but also knew there were few moments where either of them really got to be alone. Securing a small portion of Braavosi coins, he departed from the dormitory. Where the temple had been aflame with activity overnight, it had simmered down to a quiet lull as he passed a few priests and priestesses who gave curt bows of their head, but spoke no greetings. Word had spread like wildfire and yet, as requested, they were discreet.

Sunrise on the city illuminated the grey stone with a warm, amber haze, refracting off the water in the canals and basking the people. There was still a lot to take in, bustle, and queerly speaking people, but Ben tried to relax. Courtesans milled around openly, smiling at passing men, including himself. Some rode on ornate pleasure barges and unlike those in Westeros, were treated like nobility and with care. His eyes did not linger long, but Ben puzzled about the fact that he was no longer bound to his oaths as a man of the Night's Watch.

He had warned Jon Snow of speaking away his freedoms, including enjoying a woman, at such a young age. Ben knew what he had missed, especially after he'd learned of men going down into the Gift to purchase time with harlots to sate their thirst. There had been a time, before the Night's Watch, where he had known women and what he was giving away. But as a Stark, he'd known his place in protecting the kingdom and supporting his brother from the Wall. It was easier for Ned if Ben had no claim, nor had he ever yearned for the title as Warden of the North.

Whatever oaths he had to uphold with the Lord of Light, he suspected given the fact he did not recall them meant that there were no such clauses as refraining from giving in to carnal desires. Yet, as he espied the comely faces of the women dressed in vibrant silks, he felt nothing. Perhaps because he did not know them, lacking rapport or trust, a rather bad taste situating in the back of his throat at the idea of paying for services. But this was Braavos and while he had a disliking for it, the city revelled in their differences from his home.

Ben followed his nose, finding himself breakfast amongst the stands, freshly baked sweet bread and a hot tea to enjoy by the canals. The city still sprawled before him, beckoning to be explored. Despite his wariness for the urban setting, he curiousity got the better of him. He was a ranger, an explorer in his own right. Be this a foreign city, his legs took him through the bridged paths, between the islands, and amongst the shifting colors and faces. Few paid him heed aside from a few smiling escorts, but he'd simply continued onwards, careful to evade shady alleys and remained on the main roads.

A couple of hours turned into the better part of the afternoon, as he'd managed to get himself turned around, searching for the path back to the Red Temple. After finding someone who was willing to give him directions in common, he returned to find that Taliya was awake, the desk was void of the scattered parchment, and she was pawing through the language books. Her dedication was admirable, but he wondered how she could remain holed up in the stuffy room when there was so much to explore.

"Think the priests will mind if we use their courtyard for sparring?" Ben proposed wolfishly.

"We're Wardens, they'll let us do anything short of murdering them all if it's the Lord of Light's will," Taliya smirked.

They kept to the strict schedule of a fortnight in Braavos. As Taliya had jested, there was substance to the claim that the Red Priests would do anything for them. Part of Taliya's plan for Daenerys' wedding went hand in hand with R'hllor and claiming to be religious ambassadors and warriors entering into servitude on the blessed wedding-as was the will of their God. The temple parted with crimson garments for them, burnishing their armor, making certain they had plenty of coin and food for the journey to Pentos. He had not thought that he would have missed the little griffin during their separation, but as they left behind the watery city and trekked back out into the countryside where they'd started in Essos, he found his heart brimming with joy as the griffins touched down and reunited with them.

While Torrhen had grown a bit over the weeks, it was still not enough to ride him. Balerion groused, but in good nature, butting playfully into Taliya as she tried to secure the saddle bags to him, tail swishing around like a cat ready to play. Each passing moment brought them closer to the beginning of their first mission and to say that Ben was anxious was an understatement. What if Jorah recognized him? What if their invitation to the wedding was not solidified and they failed? His doubts and worries did not seem to affect his partner in the same manner. She was difficult to read and aloof, her pensive expression the only inkling that she might be worried about what Pentos had in store for them.

He had to trust in their mission, but his Dothraki was poor and his Valyrian rough. For all he knew, he'd be the fool on the Pentoshi promenade. Even the skills of his companion would not save him from his own ignorance. Gods, the north was so much less complex, even with the Others lurking north of the Wall.

They arrived in the city with a few days to spare before the wedding, allotting them time to get gifts and top of their supplies. Where Braavos had been grey, mild, and riddled with more canals than streets, Pentos was warm, made of many bricked buildings and walled estates akin to miniature castles, and filled with brightly hued residents. Westeros seemed bleak by comparison and Ben was sweltering in his thin doublet, armor, and trousers. While a warm, salty breeze often blew up from the port, the high walls of the golden city often denied them of the luxury of feeling its reprieve.

While the colors of the Wardens had been dark blue and grey, they traded the typical hues of their regal to that of the Lord of Light. Before dawn on the day of the wedding, Ben had settled his wardrobe and his attire. He'd spent the better part of the night polishing his cuirass, emblazoned with the heraldry of the Warden griffin on silvered steel. He did not possess a full suit, only the breastplate, thankful that it was light. The doublet beneath was provided by the temple in Braavos, a deep, garnet red that looked almost black, threads glistening in the sunlight.

His trousers were of a loose fit, as not to make him sweat excessively on the desert plains, though he knew there would be no avoiding it. He had not been crafted to be in Essos. He was a Stark, ice and iron, not heat and fire. The shiny black boots were finer than he would have typically chosen, accustomed to the sublime and mundane as a man of the Watch. What he wore now was a little 'much' for him. Taliya assured him that it was simple, but it still felt rather decadent.

He need only remind himself of the gem hues across the city to feel less excessive. After all, there were men who dyed their beards strange colors and forked them with oils.

Taliya was much more at home in the city than he was. Over the weeks her complexion had warmed to a rich olive, which complimented the tones she wore. That morning, the woman wore a pair of slitted harem pants in a deep, vibrant crimson. An ensemble of gold and cred sashes by her waist secured Fate to her hip, before a thick leather cuirass was fitted carefully over her torso, wrapped beneath sashes that matched the trousers, encompassing her collar and neck and fluttering behind her in scarves. While he knew she had gloves to meet the tight sleeves at her elbows, she had foregone them for the wedding, revealing intricate scrawlings of black and colored ink on her left arm.

Ben had never seen tattoos so ornate or detailed, leaving yet another layer of curiosities surrounded the woman. But as he gazed at her, he had no doubt that she was Dornish, wearing the sunset as she sat astride the dappled gelding that she'd purchased for their journey. Until the dragons were born, they could not introduce the griffins and had to have their own horses to accompany the Dothraki with. Each shuffle of the horse revealed the warm skin of her smooth legs and Ben felt himself watching a little longer than was polite. It was the first time he'd really seen more of the discreet Warden since the beginning of their partnership.

Both of their horses wore blankets with the flaming hearts of R'hllor, pressed to the flanks so that people knew they were embassies of the red god. The wedding was to be held outside of the city, the khalasar so enormous that the city was wary of what the festivities might do inside the walls, given their lack of military protection. Thus, it was to be conducted outside the golden walls and within a field where the Dothraki had made a temporary camp. Running through the lines of Dothraki he did remember, he prayed to any god that would listen that he wouldn't make a fool of himself.

Their trip out of the city and toward the allotted field paused when they noticed an elaborate poliquin gilded with so much golden paint that Benjen was quite certain it could've fed the entire north for a year during winter. Taliya spared him a glance, giving him a quick nod, before nudging her gelding forward to approach the throng of plump Unsullied that were carrying it. With a click, the shutter slipped open and within they could see the greasy face of a very fat man. The man from the visions: Illyrio Mopatis.

"Ah, you must be the swords of R'hllor," he greeted in a honey sweet voice, stroking his yellowed beard that was greasy enough to paint pictures on canvas.

"May the Lord of Light smile on you, Magister," Taliya replied courteously, a staunch difference from the woman he was acquainted with. Still this was not groveling, she spoke as a soldier might to an officer, cordial and polite. "I believe a mutual friend of ours told of our coming from Braavos."

"Yes, yes he did. I am quite surprised that the R'hllor would be so interested in this union," Illyrio simpered.

"The Lord of Light works in mysterious ways. We do not question his will," Ben broke in, earning a careful, but impressed glance from Taliya.

"Hm, indeed. There are not many Westerosi who follow the Lord of Light. Given your accent, my lady, you must be from Dorne."

"I am," she conceded simply, but her voice fell flat as she did not smile or lean into the flattering tone which the man spoke with. "And there are not many Westerosi on this side of the Narrow Sea, yet here we are. The paths in which we led to get here were but the will of the Lord... It seems as if it'll be a fine morning for a wedding."

"Tell me, my lady, have you ever been to a Dothraki wedding?" Illyrio inquired lightly.

" Vo, vosma anha shillolat anha tikh allayafi me ," (No, but I believe I will enjoy it) Taliya retorted, the magister's brows shooting up. "Sorry, my Dothraki is still a bit rough, but I believe it'll get better."

"Our friend said you were clever, but I was not aware you were a linguist," Illyrio remarked.

"I'm a bit more gifted in scholarly pursuits than my companion, but he could best me with a sword any day. Perhaps the Lord of Light was aware of this when he made his partners," Taliya concluded before drawing her horse a few paces away. "We shall reconvene with you at the wedding. The night is dark and full of terrors."

"Farewell," Illyrio watched as they departed, skirting past his poliquin and down the beaten path that led to the sprawling plains where a city's worth of Dothraki were dwelling.

"Shit, I need something to sniff, that man smelled awful-" Taliya complained, rubbing her nose as they broke into a small pocket of solitude. "Could you smell it? Even the perfume didn't hide his reek-"

"No, I wasn't close enough," Ben admitted thankfully. "Who knew you could be so well-mannered."

Her infamous temper flared, eyes narrowing at him, as she opened her mouth to lash at him like a viper, "A side of me you'll never have the luxury of knowing."

He barked a laugh. "If you were being polite to me, I'd suspect death was near and the Lord of Light tasked you with killing me."

"Is it that uncharacteristic? I can be nice when I choose to," Taliya grumbled, drawing in a shimmering gold scarf.

"No one here knows you, so to them, they'd be none the wiser," he pointed out.

"But you know," she gave him a sideways glance, a devilish light playing in her fiery eyes.

"I know," he agreed, tucking away a smirk. Months of being beside her, with only her company aside from the griffins (not to include Fang's sporadic appearances), he thought he knew Taliya well enough. Still, despite all that he knew, he knew little of her history or who she was.

Abruptly, the woman reigned in her horse and dropped from the saddle in a puff of dust. Bending down, she retrieved a dagger and began hacking up a shrub of multicolored flowers, assembling a bouquet with a throng of tall grass to tie it together.

"For the princess?" he puzzled, aware that they'd already purchased excellent gifts for the girl. What good would flowers do?

"Mhm," she got back on the saddle. "Would you believe me if I told you I was a gardener in my past life?"

Benjen chuckled, but then realized she was utterly serious. A gardener?

#game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #reincarnation insert #added lore #freeform #the ability to change the future but with a twist #BAMF female OC #benjen stark #buirbaby writes #the wardens

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lonelypond · 3 years

Text

A Coffeeshop Christmas Carol, Ch. 5

NicoMaki, Love Live, 2.2K, 5/?

Summary: Auditions can be messy.

And We Begin

Nico needed things to go smoothly this morning. So she should have skipped the coffeeshop. But Nico also liked a little verbal skirmish to warm her up before any big project and Nozomi was always good for that. So Nico had stopped in for coffee, the bucket size, and the scone of the day, saffron ginger apricot, a rare flavor. And the usual side of harassment.

Actually, Nico thought, leaning against the refrigerator case, waiting for Nozomi to pack up her to go order, this wasn’t harassment. Nozomi’s tone lacked confidence. Nico’s big sister senses pinged. But with Nozomi, Nico had curiosity, but no sympathy.

Nozomi was holding the coffee just out of Nico’s reach, “Have your staff meetings here and I’ll supply the drinks, free.”

Nico knew she looked smug, “What do you need Nico to do?”

Nozomi seemed furtive, but then met Nico’s glance, “I just want to make sure you’re not torturing poor Maki. She sits here and tears her hair out over your script. You must have written terrible things.”

Nico noted the information, unasked for, that Maki came here with Nico’s script, and went back to her interrogation, “So it’s not Maki...Eli, you want Nico to drag Eli in here.”

Nozomi frowned, “She hasn’t come in for Cheat Day yet. And she seems so worried when I…”

“Stalk her?”

Nozomi smacked Nico’s hand, “I saw her at the library a couple of days ago. She was frowning a lot.”

“I think that’s a dancer thing.”

Nozomi acknowledged that possibility with a head tilt, “Just come here for a meeting. One meeting.”

“Nico will consider it.”

“I’ll text you the next time Maki’s here.” Nozomi jumped to a conclusion.

Nico didn’t appreciate it. “Nico needs Maki near a piano.”

“Ooohh…”

Nico’s snarl stopped Nozomi’s tease.

“My auditions.” Nico glanced at her wrist, “are in an hour. And then Nico will be working crazy hours to stage a holiday show. Nico won’t have time for coffee, conversation, or anything else.”

Nozomi put her hands together, pleading. “One meeting, Nico, that’s all I ask. I’ll owe you.”

“Maybe. And maybe don’t drool so much over Umi when we’re here.” Nico grabbed her coffee and the goodie bag and headed out the door.

###

Kasumi’s phone exploded. Her favorite song. So a friend, Kasumi grabbed the phone.

“Good morning, cutie. Kasumin is here for you.”

“Kasumi?” Shizuku’s voice sounded worried, “It’s 9:05. Why aren’t you here half an hour ahead of your appointment?”

“It can’t be 9:05. Kasumin’s alarm was set for…” no, Kasumi realized, she’d set her phone for 7 p.m. and not changed the alarm...she hadn’t worked last night so she could be fresh for the auditions and now she was going to be a bit too fresh for auditions.

“I bought you a breakfast bar. Hurry here.”

“Kasumin thought Shizuko would be happy her biggest competition…”

“It’s not a competition if you don’t make it here. I’ll ask Professor Yazawa if you can…”

“No, Shizuko, you can’t do that. I don’t want Nico to know about me sleeping late; it won’t look good. And Kasumin always looks good. Kasumin will be there in ten minutes.”

Kasumi ended the call. Shizuku frowned at her phone. Asking for more time would be the safe, sensible option, but Kasumi preferred the riskier option of rushing to save face. How impulsive. Shizuku would have to chide Kasumi after their auditions, where Shizuku would prove that careful preparation beat impulsive charm.

###

Nozomi found herself watching for blonde heads. It was annoying. There would be a perfectly charming, perfectly cute flirting opportunity in front of her and a flash of gold would catch her eye, distracting her. Could she really want to see Eli that much?

###

Done. Maki pushed back from the piano, closing her eyes as she sighed and slid the pencil through her hair, to rest next to her ear. The dance for Fezziwig’s party had been easy enough. Take an English traditional song and punch it up. She’d glanced at the script. Fezziwig had a DJ not a fiddler in Nico’s version so Maki tossed in some synth loops. No lyrics so it wouldn’t help Nico at auditions, but Nico hadn’t specified anything beyond “finish a song by breakfast” so Maki was covered. Sun was up. What time were auditions? Were they a morning thing? Would Nico be at the theatre. Maki could run in, drop off the song, and then crash for a nap at her studio. She’d have to double check her calendar and make sure there were no appointments for the rest of the morning. Maki already knew the musicians she’d be working with for A Christmas Carol, so no auditions were necessary. She’d have to get them together in the next couple of days.

Her phone pinged. Hanayo.

H: Free for lunch?

M: I’ll probably be sleeping through it.

H: Free for breakfast?

M: What’s up?

H: Your mom.

M: Ignore her.

H: She’s worried about you. So is Rin.

M: Rin is not a parent. She needs a new hobby.

H: o(-_-;*)

M: I have to drop off a song for auditions.

H: Dinner tomorrow?

M: Maybe. I have a lot of work to do.

H: Let me know.

M: Okay.

Work. It wasn’t an excuse. It was a gift. A lifeline. A blessing. Music. Music Maki, the resident composer, had to write. Music to be offered to artists. Music Maki wanted to write. Not classes she was attending to meet family expectations. Or someone else’s hospital she was on track to take over. Music was what had led her even the few steps out of the Omine induced gloom. Music had saved her, Maki having dived in to express the ENTIRE depth of what she was feeling, and discovering that music would support her, embrace her with an atmosphere that would give her life and breath even on her darkest nights, in a way that medicine never could. And then Hanayo had nudged her into applying for this new program and music was the only thing Maki HAD to talk to anyone about and there were hours, almost days, when Maki wasn’t thinking about the embarrassed, sick feeling in her stomach when she struggled to figure out which signals she’d missed, which conversations had ended too soon, which couches she should have slid a little further down. Now, whenever there was someone in the room, the piano was there too, a loyal friend and partner and a way to express all the questions that would ease her struggle while not demanding direct answers from anyone who heard. Maybe one or two listeners had been attuned enough to pick up Maki’s mood, but the conversations were always about the music, never about what had prompted the choice. So Maki could proudly claim a safe zone as she recovered life after heartbreak and medical school.

###

“Hey, Eli.” Nico knocked peremptorily on the doorframe of Eli’s studio. She was surprised to find it open. Eli was staring at herself in the mirror, one arm sweeping to the side.

“Hi Nico.” Eli completed the movement, then pirouetted to face Nico.

“Pretty. Put that in the program.”

“Working on it.” Eli grinned and grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off her face, “Don’t you have auditions?”

“In 10 minutes. Nico’s excellent support staff is signing actors in and handing out music. Everything is under control.”

“So you stopped by to say hi?” Sure Nico was friendly, but that seemed...inefficient, Eli decided that was the correct adjective.

Nico shook her head, “No time for that. We need to have a meeting and Nozomi’s bugging me to have it at the coffeeshop.” Nico stared at Eli for a long minute. “You haven’t stopped by so Nozomi wants Nico to do her a favor.” Another long pause as Nico watched Eli’s face for any reaction, “We can do it in Nico’s office instead. Or Maki’s studio. Nico’s going to spend more time in that part of campus. It’s pretty.”

Eli’s pulse rate had picked up, matching the pace of the sudden spout of internal dialogue in her brain. Nozomi asked Nico for a favor. And that favor involved Eli. Who hadn’t stopped by the coffeeshop. But maybe wanted to. And maybe Nozomi wanted her to. And maybe that was…

“Eli?”

“Okay.”

“Okay? So you’re good for the coffeeshop?” Eli nodded and Nico continued, “Great. Nico will see if Maki’s free tomorrow afternoon.”

“Great.” Eli’s voice splintered.

Nico looked exasperated, “Nozomi’s a little too nosy for Nico, but she’s a good friend.”

She must be, Eli thought, if Nico stopped by on the morning of auditions. To make sure that Eli was okay with it. Eli’s mood brightened. It had been a lonely fall, but maybe with winter, there would be more company.

“Thanks for checking though, Nico.”

Nico shrugged, “We have to watch out for each other.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Nico snorted, “But you might want to wear some puffy layers over your leotard for protection.”

###

Center stage, all eyes on her. Where Kasumin belonged. Kasumi glanced at the script in her hand. To play Scrooge? Sure, it was a cute Scrooge, and a singing Scrooge, but wouldn’t it be better to be Kasumin? Kasumi could feel herself frowning and her audience’s attention slipping. Focus. Get back into it. Take that frown and make it Scrooge’s frown. Answer Marley’s question.

"Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

And don’t think about food. Kasumi resisted her sudden urge to kick herself. Sleeping late, leaving no time for breakfast was never a winning strategy. Having Shizuku standing there reading Marley lines looking like a person who’d slept well, had time for breakfast, and enjoyed being insufferably smug about it just highlighted Kasumi’s mistakes.

But there was still the song. Nobody could out sing Kasumi. Not even Shizuko.

###

Maki froze, halfway through the door to the theatre. Two actors were on stage, one with fair hair, one with dark. And the Scrooge-Marley duet was suddenly alive, the dance, the history, the concern...everything Maki had put in the music. Not two actors onstage, but Scrooge and Marley, their relationship, only hinted at, found in every note of Maki’s score. She had made it gay. And it worked. At least with these two actors.

They stopped and Maki applauded, enthusiastically. And suddenly Nico had erupted from the front row, spinning, a glare on her face, “What the he…” She saw Maki and stopped, was that a groan Maki heard. Nico turned back to the stage, “Kasumi, Shizuku, thanks. Roles will be posted in two days.”

The two girls were whispering together onstage, openly staring at Maki. Neither of them were familiar to her, although Maki had not met all the music students but with voices like that, surely they were at least minoring in Voice.

“Nico will be right back.” And then Nico was there, dragging Maki out of the theatre, as a blonde student with a clipboard who’d been sitting next to Nico giggled.

“What are you doing here? And you can’t applaud like that. This is auditions. No one’s been cast yet.”

“But they’re perfect.”

“That’s not how it works. And you haven’t seen the rest of the auditionees. You just can’t hand the parts to the first two people you hear.”

Maki frowned, thinking back, “I thought you believed in serendipity. I walk into the theatre, hear two students who are actually putting everything I wrote into my duet, what else do you…”

“A lot, Maki. You’re new to this so Nico is being…” did Nico just grind her teeth, “tolerant of your ignorance, but Scrooge has to interact with a lot of characters as well as be reliable and Nakasu rushed in late. And it’s Nico’s duet.”

Maki ignored the question of duet ownership. “Sleeping late isn’t a character flaw…”

Nico threw up a hand, inhaled deeply, and dropped her tone to serious, but a whisper, “Nico is the director, Nico is making the casting choices, Maki is directing the ensemble.” Nico pointed at Maki, speaking slowly, “Maki picks musicians.” The finger swivelled, “Nico picks actors. I don’t want your help with that. Got it?”

Maki nodded, mood deflated.

“Why are you here?”

Maki pulled the score sheets out of her pocket, “New song. 24 hour break from nagging.”

Nico skimmed the pages. “Fezziwig’s dance. Seriously? It’s all instruments. You’re cheating.”

“You didn’t specify.” Maki winked.

A long stare, Nico’s arms crossed, “Nico will be much more precise about what she wants from now on.”

Maki nodded, “No misunderstandings.”

“No misunderstandings.” Nico closed her eyes, sighing, “Please talk to someone about how plays in rehearsal work. Try Umi. Nico is too busy.”

“All right.” Maki yawned.

“You stayed up all night?”

Maki nodded.

“Dumb.” Nico spun Maki around and pushed her down the hall, “Go get some sleep. We have a meeting with Eli tomorrow afternoon. Nico will text you details later.”

“Cool.”

Maki and Nico were both surprised by the enthusiasm in Maki’s voice. Maybe her Christmas miracle had come early, Nico mused. Maki just hummed the duet happily as she walked, thinking about busy days filled with new music and no time to remember past fails.

A/N: Happy birthday, Maki. Was thinking about writing something new, but my inner Maki mostly wants this year's Christmas jam to progress. So here we go.

#NicoMaki #NozoEli #ShizuKasu #RinPana #Yazawa Nico #Nishikino Maki #love live #Ayase Eli #Tojo Nozomi #Nakasu Kasumi #Osaka Shizuku #Koizumi Hanayo #Christmas #happy birthday maki #Coffeeshop Christmas Carol

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arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

In the third decade of the 21st century, the Social Register still exists, there are still debutante balls, polo and lacrosse are still patrician sports, and old money families still summer at Newport. But these are fossil relics of an older class system. The rising ruling class in America is found in every major city in every region. Membership in it depends on having the right diplomas—and the right beliefs.

To observers of the American class system in the 21st century, the common conflation of social class with income is a source of amusement as well as frustration. Depending on how you slice and dice the population, you can come up with as many income classes as you like—four classes with 25%, or the 99% against the 1%, or the 99.99% against the 0.01%. In the United States, as in most advanced societies, class tends to be a compound of income, wealth, education, ethnicity, religion, and race, in various proportions. There has never been a society in which the ruling class consisted merely of a basket of random rich people.

Progressives who equate class with money naturally fall into the mistake of thinking you can reduce class differences by sending lower-income people cash—in the form of a universal basic income, for example. Meanwhile, populists on the right tend to imagine that the United States was much more egalitarian, within the white majority itself, than it really was, whether in the 1950s or the 1850s.

Both sides miss the real story of the evolution of the American class system in the last half century toward the consolidation of a national ruling class—a development which is unprecedented in U.S. history. That’s because, from the American Revolution until the late 20th century, the American elite was divided among regional oligarchies. It is only in the last generation that these regional patriciates have been absorbed into a single, increasingly homogeneous national oligarchy, with the same accent, manners, values, and educational backgrounds from Boston to Austin and San Francisco to New York and Atlanta. This is a truly epochal development.

In living memory, every major city in the United States had its own old money families with their own clubs and their own rituals and their own social and economic networks. Often the money was not very old, going back to a real estate killing or a mining fortune or an oil strike a generation or two before. Even so, the heirs and heiresses set themselves up as a local aristocracy. Like other aristocracies, these urban patricians renewed their bloodlines and bank accounts by admitting new money, once the parvenus had served probation and assimilated the values of the local patriciate.

…

In short, for two centuries there was a double competition among regional American oligarchies. On the one hand, the local notables, particularly those from the newly settled regions, had to prove they were not backward bumpkins, but were just as up-to-date with regard to European fashions as the patricians in New York and Boston and Philadelphia. On the other hand, some of them dreamed that the city they ran, whether it was Atlanta or Milwaukee, would become the Athens or Renaissance Florence of North America, and favored local writers, poets, and artists, as long as their work was in fashionable styles and did not inspire seditious thoughts among the local masses. The subnational blocs of New Englanders, Southerners, and Midwesterners fought to control the federal government in order to promote their regional economic interests.

The status of Harvard and Yale as prestigious national rather than regional universities is relatively recent. A few generations ago, it was assumed that the sons of the local gentry (this was before coeducation began in the 1960s and 1970s) would remain in the area and rise to high office in local and state business, politics, and philanthropy—goals that were best served if they attended a local elite college and joined the right fraternity, rather than being educated in some other part of the country. College was about upper-class socialization, not learning, which is why parochial patricians favored regional colleges and universities. If your family was in the local social register, that was much more important than whether you went to an Ivy League college or a local college or no college at all.

American patricians of earlier generations would have been surprised that rich people, many of them celebrities, would scheme and bribe university officers to get their children into a few top universities. Scheming to get into the right local “society” club—now that would have made sense.

Upper-class women were the chief enforcers of local “society.” Anybody who thinks that women are somehow naturally more generous and egalitarian than men has never encountered a doyenne of high society. Mrs. Astor’s 400 families in New York had their counterparts throughout the United States, from the Mainline elite in Philadelphia to the Highland Park set in Dallas.

…

The egalitarianism of the American frontier is greatly exaggerated. Some of the myth comes from European tourists like Alexis de Tocqueville, Harriet Martineau, and Dickens. For ideological reasons or just for entertainment, they played up how classless and vulgar Americans were for audiences back in Europe. On their trips they mostly encountered the wealthy and educated, who might have been informal by the standards of British dukes or French royalty, but who were hardly yeoman farmers. If these famous tourists had spent their time in slave cabins, immigrant tenements, miners camps, and cowboy bunkhouses, they might have gotten a different sense of how egalitarian America actually was. Elite Americans might have been more likely than elite Brits to smile politely when dealing with working-class people, but they were no more likely to welcome them into the family.

…

White poverty in the United States today is concentrated in greater Appalachia, because the Scots Irish settlers, often illiterate squatters, were priced out of other areas and ended up in the hills of Appalachia, the Ozarks, and the Texas Hill Country. As soon as the affluent discover the scenic views in those areas, they will be forced to move once more, just as old-stock families are already being priced out of the Texas Hill Country by rich refugees from California, bringing with them their cultural heritage of trophy wineries and boutiques, New Age spirituality and organic cuisines.

…

In short, a historical narrative which describes a fall from the yeoman democracy of an imagined American past to the plutocracy and technocracy of today is fundamentally wrong. While American society was not formally aristocratic it was hierarchical and class-ridden from the beginning—not to mention racist and ethnically biased. What’s new today is that these highly exclusive local urban patriciates are in the process of being absorbed into the first truly national ruling class in American history—which is a good thing in some ways, and a bad thing in others.

Compared with previous American elites, the emerging American oligarchy is open and meritocratic and free of most glaring forms of racial and ethnic bias. As recently as the 1970s, an acquaintance of mine who worked for a major Northeastern bank had to disguise the fact of his Irish ancestry from the bank’s WASP partners. No longer. Elite banks and businesses are desperate to prove their commitment to diversity. At the moment Wall Street and Silicon Valley are disproportionately white and Asian American, but this reflects the relatively low socioeconomic status of many Black and Hispanic Americans, a status shared by the Scots Irish white poor in greater Appalachia (who are left out of “diversity and inclusion” efforts because of their “white privilege”). Immigrants from Africa and South America (as opposed to Mexico and Central America) tend to be from professional class backgrounds and to be better educated and more affluent than white Americans on average—which explains why Harvard uses rich African immigrants to meet its informal Black quota, although the purpose of affirmative action was supposed to be to help the American descendants of slaves (ADOS). According to Pew, the richest groups in the United States by religion are Episcopalian, Jewish, and Hindu (wealthy “seculars” may be disproportionately East Asian American, though the data on this point is not clear).

Membership in the multiracial, post-ethnic national overclass depends chiefly on graduation with a diploma—preferably a graduate or professional degree—from an Ivy League school or a selective state university, which makes the Ivy League the new social register. But a diploma from the Ivy League or a top-ranked state university by itself is not sufficient for admission to the new national overclass. Like all ruling classes, the new American overclass uses cues like dialect, religion, and values to distinguish insiders from outsiders.

Dialect. You may have been at the top of your class in Harvard business school, but if you pronounce thirty-third “toidy-toid” or have a Southern drawl, you might consider speech therapy.

Religion. You may have edited the Yale Law Review, but if you tell interviewers that you recently accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior, or fondle a rosary during the interview, don’t expect a job at a prestige firm.

Values. This is the trickiest test, because the ruling class is constantly changing its shibboleths—in order to distinguish true members of the inner circle from vulgar impostors who are trying to break into the elite. A decade ago, as a member of the American overclass you could get away with saying, along with Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, “I believe that marriage is between a man and a woman, but I strongly support civil unions for gay men and lesbians.” In 2020 you are expected to say, “I strongly support trans rights.” You will flunk the interview if you start going on about civil unions.

More and more Americans are figuring out that “wokeness” functions in the new, centralized American elite as a device to exclude working-class Americans of all races, along with backward remnants of the old regional elites. In effect, the new national oligarchy changes the codes and the passwords every six months or so, and notifies its members through the universities and the prestige media and Twitter. America’s working-class majority of all races pays far less attention than the elite to the media, and is highly unlikely to have a kid at Harvard or Yale to clue them in. And non-college-educated Americans spend very little time on Facebook and Twitter, the latter of which they are unlikely to be able to identify—which, among other things, proves the idiocy of the “Russiagate” theory that Vladimir Putin brainwashed white working-class Americans into voting for Trump by memes in social media which they are the least likely American voters to see.

Constantly replacing old terms with new terms known only to the oligarchs is a brilliant strategy of social exclusion. The rationale is supposed to be that this shows greater respect for particular groups. But there was no grassroots working-class movement among Black Americans demanding the use of “enslaved persons” instead of “slaves” and the overwhelming majority of Americans of Latin American descent—a wildly homogenizing category created by the U.S. Census Bureau—reject the weird term “Latinx.” Woke speech is simply a ruling-class dialect, which must be updated frequently to keep the lower orders from breaking the code and successfully imitating their betters.

Mrs. Astor would approve.

#ivy league #history #american history #read the whole thing #tablet magazine #michael lind #iron law of oligarchy #there are always lords and peasants

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skvaderarts · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth Chapter 14: Affirmation

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fourteen: Affirmation

Note: Sorry this chapter is a few hours late! I live in that part of Texas where all the bullshit is going on with the power. Woke up the morning to a $50 electric bill FOR ONE NIGHT. My apartment is only 1100 square feet. The bill was $12 the day before that. Let that one sink in. But anyway, this is one of my favorite chapters so far! Very exciting stuff! I hope you like it!

-~-

A gifted storyteller is capable of drawing their audience in. They are adept at holding a certain level of intrigue and suspense, forcing their audience to pay attention, lest they miss something crucial and ruin the experience for themselves. An inexperienced or lesser storyteller bored their audience or drove them away, serving as nothing more than a momentary distraction from the usual pace of their everyday lives. But under this very specific set of circumstances, no one present was sure where to place the experience they’d just suffered through.

Each of them felt a great sense of conflict deep within themselves as they considered each and every word that they’d just heard. It was a strange and unsettling course of action, one that made them desire to do nothing more than curl up and withdraw from the subject at hand. They believed every word that they’d just heard, but they couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing, especially when it came to the subject of the story that they had just been told. The fact that he was both the narrator and the main focus of the experience meant that it was entirely believable, but completely unfathomable, like a destiny nightmare that none of them wanted to look in the face. That would make it too real; give it too much power over them. But regardless of their stance on the matter, it had happened, and it did affect all of them to some varying degree.

V had always possessed a certain gift for speech, despite the fact that he wasn’t a man of many words. His tone, cantor, and temperament combined with a keen intellect and a nearly flawless combination of memory and repertoire meant that he was perhaps the most engaging person that they currently knew to talk to. But that entire combination became the absolute worst thing that someone could experience the moment that V decided that he needed to get the traumas of his past off of his chest and into the open air. After all, V was exceptionally strong-willed in regards to his emotions. When something affected him deeply, it tended to be negative, and it was almost certainly beyond the scope of what any of them wanted to know about. But if he was willing to give them a glimpse into his world, then they wanted to take the opportunity to peer inside and take in every bit of information that they could.

None of them really knew what to say when he seemed to reach the end of his horrifying tale of sadness and pain. Every word that he’d spoken had carried such a strong hint of anguish, terror, or apprehension that it made it physically unnerving to listen to, but as much as they now wished that they could take back the experience, they were grateful that he’d decided to share it with them. It put a lot of things into context that none of them had been able to understand before, and despite the fact that certain aspects of his life would now haunt them for the rest of time, they felt better for knowing them.

Was it possible to be grateful to someone for telling you something that you’d have been happy going your entire life without knowing? Because if it was, then they were. But if they weren’t, then would that make them too immature to comprehend the suffering of someone so near and dear to them? Was it selfish to desire ignorance while assuming that they were strong and powerful and possessed the necessary strength and tenacity to recon with such an experience, but simply chose not to in order to spare themselves the suffering that one who deemed himself weaker than them had already survived? Was that entire line of thinking too philosophical for a matter that was both so very complicated but oh so simple? None of them could say anything at the moment, so they didn’t say anything. They simply waited to be sure that V was either done talking, or that he was waiting for them to say something, anything to break up the tense silence that had settled across the snow like a blanket soaked in glue.

And after a while of waiting in silence, totally unsure as to what to do next, Vergil decided to break the silence between them. He’d never been one to follow the lead of others, and he sure wasn’t going to start now. And as far as the concept of taking the time to feel the weight of his words upon those who he’d directed them towards, he didn’t feel he had the time to waste. A direct approach was required in a situation like this, especially when there were so many questions that had been raised during his time speaking that could dissipate from his psyche like so much fog after a storm as a result of his prolonged wait. He had felt an intense desire to not interrupt V, owning to the fact that he feared that if he was stopped, he would love his nerve and decide that he didn’t’ wish to speak on such matters after all. But now that he was at least somewhat sure that his eldest son was done talking for the time being, he was ready to start asking questions. Best to catch him before his threshold for conversation was exceeded and he shut down like an engine in disrepair.

“...You said that you desired to pick a random direction and leave. Why?” Vergil adjusted his posture in his seat, his head coming to rest against his palm as his elbow planted itself firmly in the arm of the chair and the devil slayer in blue crossed his legs. It was all that he could do for the time being to placate the murderous rage that he felt brewing in the very back of his subconscious. Never had he desired to end the lives of so many people that he’d never met before. “And for that matter, where did your travels take you after that? Was the end result desirable?”

The young while haired summoner in black afforded himself a moment to ponder his father’s question before responding, unsure as to what to say. On its surface, it was a simple enough question. Vergil had no way of knowing how deep the answer had the potential of going. And it was a good question at that. It seemed that his father desired to simply take what had happened as an unwavering fact and build off of that, taking the time to let his mind settle before venturing forward. He believed him and didn’t seem to desire to question his motivations for doing anything that he’d done, respecting his capacity to make his own decisions. Or maybe even respecting the decisions themselves. He couldn’t be sure just yet. But there was a part of V that couldn’t help but wonder what Vergil might do with the information afforded to him now that he had so much time on his hands.

“It was something that I was accustomed to by that point. Something familiar when nothing else was. I’d spend the better part of my youth going back and forth to new and unknown places in the hope of a better outcome. But I learned quickly that while many things changed as you went from place to place, people largely stayed the same. And the problems that came with them only reset to start anew.” V grew silent, his eyes wandering across the room towards Nero. He sat quietly on the couch towards the right corner, twiddling his thumbs in complacent horror as though what he’d just heard had probably changed him in some profound way, or at had at least his perception of his older sibling in a substantial way. It was a stark contrast to Dante, whose uncharacteristic silence, thoughtful posture, and calm atmosphere mirrored his older twin’s in a way that was as fascinating as it was unsettling. V didn’t know what to make of it. “As for the end result of this particular expedition… well, it led me directly to you. It took a few years, but the result was worthwhile, I think. I was lucky enough to be taken under the wing of a group of outcasts, and I spent a substantial amount of time traveling and performing with them, only to end up in Redgrave City the night that you happened upon me. I was out for a walk when we happened upon one another on that street corner, and everything that has happened since has been nothing short of extraordinary. And harrowing. Especially that.”

The Darkslayer tilted his head to the side, leaning back slightly. “I take it that you do not remember much of what occurred that night, then. Perhaps that is for the best. The end result was, as we all seem to agree, undesirable. Though it was never my intention for my actions to lead to the consequences that they did, they did so regardless.” He seemed to consider his next statement for a moment before speaking, V’s retelling of his farrowing ordeal weighing on him in a way that he was not accustomed to. Oh, how things would have been different should he have been there. How the tables could have turned in their favor. But despite his best intentions, Vergil was more than aware of the fact that there was little that could be done about what’s he’d missed in his past. There was, however, a substantial amount that he could, and would do now. “Saddling you with a death sentence as soon as I discovered that you were alive after all was as far afield from what I intended as it could possibly be, but it happened anyway. Things never seem to go according to my plans. But I can only imagine that that may be due to my pension for creating them without taking every variable into account, and for not having all of the relevant information in the first place.”

Dante felt tempted to point out that Vergil had essentially just apologized to V, but he decided to leave the matter be. There would be time enough later. For now, he was going to take in the scene before him and silently contemplate his overall role in the situation. Though to say that the same part of him that felt somewhat responsible for Nero’s suffering as a child didn’t yearn to have been able to do something more for V would be a lie. Financially unstable as he was and always had been, he would have taken them both in without a second’s pause if given the opportunity. They would have all benefited greatly from having someone, anyone to call family. At least biologically.

V seemed to take his father’s words to heart. He’d been in situations of his own that lent themselves to the same vicious pattern of failure, regret, and sacrifice. It was what had led him to become the person that he now was. But he didn’t know Vergil’d particular brand of suffering, and he hoped that he never would. Although he could be mistaken, he was willing to believe that there was a part of Vergil that did in fact long for the time in their lives that he’s missed out on. The Darkslayer didn’t come off to him as the kind of person to willingly walk away from something so integral to him. Maybe it was time to get to the heart of the matter. After all, things couldn’t really get any more uncomfortable, could they?

“The vast majority of us do not plan for or wish for the consequences of our actions to play out in the way that they do, father, but that does not change the fact that we must account for them, accommodate them, and answer for them regardless of our desire to do so.” V crossed his arms loosely, making eye contact with Vergil in a way that unnerved both him and everyone else present. Something had shifted in V’s demeanor, and it was evident to anyone who spared a look at him. It was as if a certain level of inhibition had fallen away from him and he felt the freedom to say something that he’d always wanted to; the confidence to be heard and understood. “If I could have planned out every little detail of my life, it would have played out significantly different. I would not have spent my youth bounced back and forth between numerous orphanages. I would never have voluntarily chosen to be able to see the things that I was able to see. And I most certainly wouldn’t have undergone the extensive and invasive mental evaluations that I was forced to undergo out of the fear that I might actually be as insane as everyone around me seemed to collectively assume I was. But unfortunately, that is now how things went. But I can say for sure that I am done running from them. Whether I face them down or flee for my life, I will still have to do battle with them, so I might as well face my fate on my own terms.”

Nero and Dante gave one another a surprised look, the eldest of the two shaking his head as if he were physically trying to shake off how surprised he was. His eyes widened slightly as his eyebrows raised, seemingly taken by surprise as he lingered on the gravity of what V had just said to his father. As far as V’s normally sedate and polite tone and manner of speaking went, he’s essentially just put Vergil in his place and given him a piece of his mind, and the eldest Son of Sparda hadn’t said anything to correct him. Perhaps he was just impressed with the nerve he’d just demonstrated? Or perhaps it was something more substantial? It was hard to say when it came to his older twin.

Vergil leaned forward, giving V an unflinching piercing look as he seemed to dwell on his words. He half expected V to flinch or turn away, but he didn’t, and there was a part of him that was admittedly genuinely impressed by his eldest son’s sudden shift in tone. Something had seemingly clicked for him that hadn’t before, and it was evident for anyone present to see. For lack of a better way of putting it, after recalling such a harrowing experience, V just seemed utterly done with being at the mercy of his enemies, and it was time that he did something about that.

But there more to his statement than that, at least from where Vergil stood. V had just done something that he was confident that his son had never done before. He’d addressed him as just that: his father. In all the time that they’d spoken prior to that moment, V had been, for the most part at least, nothing but polite and upfront with him, but he’d never said anything that indicated to him that he was willing to verbally claim him as his father. And at that moment, he’d finally done so. Vergil hadn’t realized how much he needed one of his children to do that in a sincere way. Nero had called him as much before, but this was different in some way. There was no anger behind the abjection; no ulterior motive or thinly veiled layer of something secondary. No, it was just as simple as that. As simple as a son addressing his father as exactly that in a moment that told him that he was indeed making some headway with his sons. And as far as Vergil was concerned, he didn’t think that it was possible for him to be more internally pleased about that revelation than he already was. And although he hid it well, there was a part of him that was deeply touched by something that simple. For the first time in a long time, Vergil didn’t know how to take a statement that had been given to him at face value, and it was an incredible thing to behold.

“You have something you want to ask, don’t you? I can tell. Come out with it then. You’ve come this far in regards to expressing your desires. Why stop now? What is it that you truly wish to ask me? Because I can tell that there is indeed something that you desire to make known, and we only have so much time.” Vergil broke eye contact with V for a moment to turn his attention to Dante, his intention to speak with both of them clear. It seemed that his message was something universal between the four of them, a topic that none of them wished to approach, but were going to have to at some point. “It could be substantially less world-ending than you might imagine. Take it from someone who is less… adept at doing so when it actually counts.”

Dante didn’t miss his identical twin’s message. Neither did Nero or V for that matter. Though they were all equally taken aback by it, they were willing to absorb the context of it and accept that there was some truth to it. They did in fact all need to find a way to express their true thoughts and intentions more clearly with one another than they had been, regardless of the strides they’d made so far in regards to improving their communication with one another. Going forward, this was their chance to do something meaningful. They needed to seize it.

V looked at Vergil for a moment, his posture and overall demeanor softening significantly as he suddenly looked tired. It was different from how he usually seemed when he was in such a state, more emotional than physical. Talking about what occurred had drained him in a way that he was not accustomed to, and it showed, but he knew better than to simply give in and allow his inhibitions to get the better of him. Maybe he should just ask as his father had suggested? At this point, what could it hurt?

“I want to know why you didn’t know I was alive. And I want to know why I’m able to see the things that I can see. I’m willing to believe that it is… abnormal for a child to be able to do what I was able to do, even by the standards of our family.” V went quiet for a moment, blinking rapidly for a moment as he suddenly felt a rush of emotion that he couldn’t’ quiet place. “And I want to know if you would have come looking for us if you had known. What you would have done.”

The demon slayer in blue’s posture changed slightly. It was something that Dante picked up on more than the rest of them did, something that Vergil didn’t generally do. Even under the most extreme circumstances, Vergil never slumped, not even a little. Or at least, he’d never seen his twin brother do so. It was almost unnatural how such a small thing unnerved him. A quick look in Nero’s direction was all it took to see that he was watching the situation intently, seemingly invested in Vergil’s answer. Dante repressed the urge to sigh in discomfort. The stakes were high this time.

“Please. Don’t’ say something you’d normally say for once, Vergil. Just this once. This really isn’t the time to do that to them. Put them down gently if you have to. I don’t think that they are in the mood for that right now. Even if it’s the honest truth.”

Much to his surprise, Vergil looked over at him for a moment. It was as though Vergil had heard his younger twin’s thoughts. While his facial expression was largely unreadable, they both seemed to know at that moment what Vergil was going to say, it made them equally uncomfortable. Vergil, because he knew the truth, and Dante because he was almost certain that he didn’t want to. Nothing in the blue devil’s life was ever simple or good in that kind of way, and something told him that there would be repercussions for this one.

“Bold of you to assume that I didn’t look for you, V. I did. For countless hours in countless places until every just started to blend together into an amalgamation of all the ground I’d already tread before then. During the pursuit of what I’d lost, hopelessness set in and brought the bitterness that I’ve carried with me for so long with it.” Vergil paused for a moment, his eyes drifting over to Nero. This was not the kind of conversation that he could leave his youngest son out of, no matter how much he wanted to. There was no delicate way to put what he needed to say. All he could do was hope that they took it the way he meant it, and not in the way that they were entitled to. But that was their prerogative and their privilege, if one could even call it that. “And then somehow I looked up and I was in Fortuna. And I met her. And then I arrived in Redgrave City a lifetime later only to find that perhaps the only time I truly allowed my grief to consume me that the very person who had sought to comfort me in such a state had been left in a truly regrettable state as a result. And so had the result of our one fleeting night of passion.”

Vergil realized quickly that neither V nor Nero were truly able to take in the severity of what Vergil had just implied, or the fact that he’d been so open and honest with them about something he had tried so hard to keep buried deep within himself. A heavy sigh betrayed his true emotions, as did the sad, sly smirk that ghosted his face for the fleeting moment that he’d been unable to contain it.

“I find it almost genuinely ironic that I managed to get myself into this situation twice without realizing it. I never considered myself unintelligent, by my actions certainly lend to that conclusion. Much as the horror of my existence has led to the trauma and pain that paved the dark path that I walked in solitude for the majority of my life, the regret I have caused and have left behind has been all that I have left in my wake.” He faced them all, accustomed to even attempting what he was doing at that moment. Vergil wasn’t entirely sure he recognized the actions that he was taking as his own, but he accepted the reality and the truth behind them nonetheless. This was long overdue, even if it was something that he truly didn’t know how to reckon with. But V’s words about the reality of taking responsibility for the consequences of one’s actions had resonated with him, and he could no longer deny that. “It is almost humbling how much I truly regret the depth of the suffering I’ve caused, and for that… I am sorry. There is more that I could have done that I did not, and I can only hope that it brings you some small measure of satisfaction knowing that it will eternally haunt me.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Nero shook his head, a troubled look on his face. He couldn’t even begin to put into words how Vergil’s confession affected him, but he still felt the need to get something off of his chest. He had a lot of questions, but he knew he’d get to the root of them eventually. For now, he needed to say something that he now realized he’d needed to say for a long time, and he just hoped that it wasn’t too late. The things he’d experienced that day had affected him deeply in ways that he could never have imagined when they’d boarded the train to Lucia’s house. It was enough to physically give him whiplash.

“No, that doesn’t bring us satisfaction. Were not sadists. I mean, you might be but… More suffering isn’t going to bring any of us that. I’m pretty sure we’re all tapped out by now.” The short white-haired devil hunter sighed, unsure as to how to take the number of eyes that were on him at that moment. He wasn’t shy, but that didn’t make this any less awkward. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one accustomed to him being this serious. “Look just… fix it, okay? We both know you can. All of us do. You just fucking suck at forgiving yourself for literally anything you do, and it really shows. Stop kicking your own ass so hard, and start fixing the shit you broke in the first place. That’s our job. Nothing’s gonna change otherwise, ya know?”

Both V and Dante looked Nero up and down for a moment as though he’d been replaced by another individual that they didn’t recognize. While they shared his sentiments, they were still shocked to hear Nero be the voice of reason among them during such a heavy conversation. Maybe they had written him off too soon as a lost cause in that regard. Vergil nodded in agreement, a single barely noticeable gesture that carried a weight that he himself wasn’t entirely privy to. He would try as he had done with everything else that he had committed himself to in the past. It was all he could do. And he could only hope that it would be enough.

Just as they were attempting to figure out where they needed to go from there, the door swung open with a surprising amount of force to reveal none other than Nico. She was covered in a grey substance that looked like dust or ash, and a look of both shock and excitement adorned her face. She was practically jumping up and down in glee at whatever she’d just seen that had led to her returning so suddenly. The four of them shared an apprehensive look before turning to see what had captivated her in such an intense manner.

“Oh, for fucks sake! What the hell did you do this time, Nico?! We don’t live here!” Nero started before Nico hushed him, pointing over her shoulder towards something out of sight behind her. A resounding boom that carried both a strange sonic tone and a defining shake followed closely behind as if he’d triggered it just by willing it into existence. Now she had their attention. How had they not noticed that something more was going on? Had they been that focused on V’s retelling of his tragic and harrowing ordeal?

“Listen here, shit for brains. That is why I’m here.” She turned back towards the open door, gesturing for the four of them to follow her. “Get off your buts, grab your weapons, and follow me. You’ve got to see this!”

The baffled descendants of the Dark Knight Sparda all looked at one another before silently objecting in some way shape or form and then obliging her. At the very least, they needed to see what she was talking about. And by the sounds of that boom, it sure as hell was something. One could only hope that it was worth their time. And Nico rarely disappointed them.

-~-

Phew! That was an awful lot, wasn’t it! I like these long chapters though. And I especially like writing them after I have to deal with stupid stuff. Serves as a great distraction from the reality of the fact that I still live in this capitalistic hellhole. But that’s neither here nor there. I hope to see you in the comics! And as always, I hope you had a good day! I’ve had a few people use the form already, but I’d love it if you went and checked it out! I’ve compiled quite the list! See you in the comment section! Bye-bye!

#V #Vergil #Dante #Nero #Devil May Cry #Hiraeth #Vitale #Post Devil May Cry 5 #Fanfiction #Devil May Cry Fanfiction #DMC #DMCV

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crescentgames272 · 3 years

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What do each part do for a gaming pc

Unforgettable Moments In Gaming Part 3

It really is time to recognize the finest gaming blogs of the year. EDIT:I made use of to watch the Feedback video over at G4 just about every week, but it is gone down hill the last couple of occasions I watched it and now that Adam Sessler isn't on it and they have that girl from IGN that every person hates in each and every episode I just cannot be bothered to watch it any far more. Nevertheless worth going back and watching some of the older ones though. Klepic applied to be on that show and back then in the early days was when it was the very best. Back when they in fact talked about gaming news with some semblance of intellect as an alternative of just gushing about what ever game they are told is cool this week.

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rwby-redux · 4 years

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Deconstruction

Worldbuilding: Semblances II

Last time in Part I, we analyzed the failings of Semblances from a meta perspective. Now we’re going to look at them within the context of the actual show. Before we begin, let’s revisit that list of basic traits that are universally shared by Semblances.

A Semblance draws upon Aura as its source of power. When this fuel is depleted, a person can no longer use their Semblance, and must wait for their Aura to regenerate before it can be used again.

The specific ability or nature of one’s Semblance is alleged to be an expression of the user’s personality/character/soul.

Overuse of a Semblance can adversely affect a person and cause physical side effects, such as fatigue, headaches, or fainting.

Semblances can interact with Dust in such a way that their skills are augmented, resulting in the temporary acquisition of new subskills or secondary characteristics.

Through training and regular usage, Semblances can gradually become stronger or more advanced.

The intensity of certain emotions, such as stress, panic, despair, or rage, can cause a person to subconsciously activate their Semblance.

This refresher will be important as we go more in-depth. At the very least, it’ll save you the hassle of having to jump back and forth between tabs.

Limitations of Semblances

Recall point one. If your first instinct is to say, surely having a limited amount of Aura is a good limitation for Semblances, then you’d be forgiven for thinking that. In theory, it makes sense: a power based on a finite energy source does seem like a pretty significant drawback. My main issue with this being a credible limitation for Semblances is that we, the audience, have no way to gauge Aura depletion over time. And by extension, neither do our characters. In the first three Volumes, students used specialized monitors (usually on their scrolls) to keep tabs on Aura over the course of a sparring match. Not only do I like this because it’s a clever visual aid for relaying information to the audience, but also because it conveys clear worldbuilding information: characters don’t seem to have a way of innately sensing when their Aura is low. This idea seems to be reinforced again in V7.E3 - “Ace Operatives.” In the opening scene, Clover reminds RWBY and JN_R that their scrolls have been upgraded with Atlas tech, and they shouldn’t forget to use them. That line of dialogue is accompanied by Blake consulting her scroll for her teammates’ Aura levels. To my knowledge, there’s nothing in the canon that suggests characters can sense or feel when their Aura level drops, or how far away it is from depletion.

Having to rely on scrolls to monitor their Aura would be an excellent limitation to impose on an otherwise limitless superpower. Not only would it require the characters to constantly monitor their Aura, but it could introduce realistic problems. Like what would happen if a character’s scroll was lost, or destroyed, or its batteries died? How would that affect the character’s behavior in regards to Aura-related tasks? Great idea, right?

Now here comes the kicker: we don’t see any evidence of this in the show. When Team RNJR was traveling through Anima, none of them discussed having to find a village to recharge their scrolls. It’s not as if the trees have outlets that they can conveniently plug their scrolls into. Similarly, none of the characters from Volume 3 onward consult their scroll during fights to see where their Aura levels are at. You don’t see characters changing fighting styles midway through a fight in order to conserve what little Aura they have left. You don’t see characters minimizing the use of their Semblance in favor of more efficient tactics.

That’s why limited Aura doesn’t seem like a believable limitation for Semblances—not for a lack of possibility, but for a lack of execution. If characters made more of a fuss about it on-screen, I could buy it. But apart from one or two throw-away lines, characters don’t seem to pay attention to how Aura depletion affects Semblance usage, and by extension, they don’t adjust or change their tactics during combat to compensate for it.

Bear in mind that this discussion has only touched upon general limitations. We haven’t even addressed Semblance-specific limitations yet. Can Marcus Black only steal one Semblance at a time? Can Sun only make a certain number of clones at once? If Yang doesn’t eventually release the energy that she’s stored up, does it backfire on her? Is Pyrrha limited to only one type of magnetism, like ferromagnetism, or can she use more than one type? If Robyn uses her Semblance on someone who’s stating an incorrect fact, but they believe that fact to be true, then does it indicate that the person is lying? Does Hazel’s Semblance allow him to bypass/negate his Aura’s healing factor in order to stab Dust into his body?

And on and on it goes. A combination of vague or poorly-established mechanics for Semblances, coupled with the wide variety of Semblances, makes it impossible to predict what could be a hindrance for our characters down the road. This in turn creates a lack of stakes—how can we, the audience, be invested in the dangers that the cast faces, when we don’t know if those dangers are credible in the first place?

Active versus Passive Semblances

Usually when a character reveals information, it’s meant to answer questions, not create more of them. Such was the case when Qrow revealed his Semblance to Team RNJR for the first time—he brings misfortune, or rather, causes people (and objects in the nearby vicinity) to be blighted by bad luck via the manipulation of probability. Qrow is our introduction to passive Semblances, a term which, if I’m being honest, I’m not even entirely sure is canon. Someone’ll need to correct me on that, but for now “passive Semblance” will do. Because we have precious little information on the topic, I’m going to be relying on direct quotes.

Qrow: My Semblance isn't like most—it's not exactly something I do. It's always there, whether I like it or not. I bring misfortune. [1]

This passage tells us two different things: (1) passive Semblances are always active, and (2) passive Semblances can’t be controlled.

You can already see the problems with introducing a new concept this late in the game, because this new information clashes with what (few) previously-established rules we already have: Do passive Semblances require Aura? If Qrow’s Aura is depleted, will his Semblance continue to run, or will it become unusable like everyone else’s?

This ambiguity becomes even more frustrating when we acquire more information a little over a year later:

“It's not necessarily constantly running, it's more that it randomly spikes to cause unfortunate situations. If he chooses to amplify it in a fight, then yes, it does cost him.” [2]

Now we’re being told that that his Semblance isn’t “always there,” that Qrow can control it to an extent, and that his Semblance only depletes his Aura when he chooses to amplify it. Here we have an example of the character in the show being directly contradicted by one of the show’s creators. This implies that either they didn’t do a good enough job explaining passive Semblances the first time around, or they changed things after the episode aired. It isn’t just a he said/she said issue, either—Semblances requiring Aura is one of RWBY’s core mechanics for its pseudo-magic system, and by having a character whose Semblance breaks that cardinal rule, it makes the writing more difficult to believe or trust in terms of what’s canon versus what’s a retcon; what’s a subplot versus what’s a plothole. It doesn’t help when we get even more contradictory information from later episodes:

Qrow: I wouldn’t thank me. My Semblance brings misfortune. Sometimes I can’t keep it under control. [3]

I’m sorry, I thought we just established that Qrow can only amplify his Semblance. Now you’re telling us that he can partially suppress it too? Either he can’t control it at all, he can amplify it, or he can sometimes suppress its effects. Make up your damn mind.

The effects of his Semblance can be as minor as a coffee spill or as dire as a collapsing building… [4]

No! Stop it! Knocking over a Starbucks latte is not the same thing as demolishing a fucking building.

How is Qrow’s Semblance able to do something as insanely energy-demanding as toppling infrastructure without expending any Aura? How does his Semblance locate or prioritize variables in the environment to exploit/sabotage? Like, if there’s a mouse hanging out near some sort of Dust-powered generator in the building, does his Semblance send out subliminal messaging that convinces the mouse to chew through an electrical wire and cause the generator to explode?

Look, I refuse to believe that spilling a cup of coffee is somehow equal to setting off a stick of TNT or taking a wrecking ball to the side of a skyscraper. It doesn’t make any sense, which means that you have to provide a proper explanation for how it works. Because otherwise you’re going to be left with an audience that assumes Qrow’s Semblance is powered by (a) plot convenience, or (b) rats.

This—all of this, right here—is my issue with passive Semblances. (And don’t even get me started on Clover’s.)

Semblance Discovery, Auratic Plasticity

Did you notice the fancy scientific-sounding term in the heading?

Ooh. Auratic plasticity. That sounds official. You’re probably wondering where that term came from. A scene from Volume 5 you haven’t re-watched in a while (not that I can blame you). A World of Remnant episode, perhaps? Maybe it’s from one of the comics, or the director’s commentary on a DVD, or even an AMA on Reddit?

To answer your question: it didn’t come from any of those. Auratic plasticity is a term I coined exclusively for the Redux. Specifically, for talking about what goes behind discovering a person’s Semblance, and what factors are at play when that Semblance takes on its unique form.

Before we can talk about Auratic plasticity, however, we need to talk about all the ways someone discovers their Semblance. It can vary wildly from person to person. For some, their Semblance unlocks randomly while doing everyday run-of-the-mill things. As alluded to by Taiyang in V4.E9 - “Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back,” Yang’s Semblance activated while she was getting a haircut. For others, it can be the byproduct of training, extreme stress, or an otherwise fatal encounter. [5] In rare instances, Semblances can be hereditary, thus removing any ambiguity of what that person’s Semblance will be when it first activates.

The reason why I bring any of this up is because RWBY’s official stance is that Semblances “generally reflect the wielder’s personality.” [6] If Semblances were generally tied to the personality of the wielder, then it would fail to account for the correlation between the circumstance that triggered the Semblance to manifest, and the resulting Semblance expression.

Let me give you a few examples.

Adaptive Semblance: Nora’s Semblance was unlocked when she was struck by lightning. Consider the fact that her Semblance allows her to absorb electricity without taking any damage from the electric current. Rather than her Semblance being tied to her personality, Nora’s is likely a case of an adaptive Semblance—as in, her circumstances required a very specific Semblance in order to survive the 10,000 amperes running through her body. Instead of her soul generating a Semblance tied to her personality, it prioritized generating a Semblance that would help her survive an immediate and life-threatening scenario.

Innate Semblance: Ruby’s Semblance was discovered one day while training. If we’re to assume that there weren’t any dangerous circumstances factoring into that training session, it’s likely that her soul generated a Semblance that was in fact tied to an aspect of her personality. In this case, her superspeed is a projection of her enthusiasm and hyperactive zeal, and her tendency to prioritize others’ wellbeing over her own, trying to figuratively (and in this case, literally) reach them before they’re harmed.

Hereditary Semblance: Weiss and Winter, and (presumably) Whitley, Willow, and Nicholas all share the glyph-based Semblance unique to the Schnee lineage. The confirmation of their Semblance being explicitly hereditary contradicts the idea that Semblances are an expression of one’s personality. If we go by that logic, it implies that—what, their personalities are all the same? They have no individuality? I’m sorry, but that’s just dumb.

This is why Semblance discovery is important, and why the canon should have paid more attention to developing it. There’s pretty compelling evidence for a person’s Semblance being tied to multiple factors apart from their “personality.” I know that I’m digressing here a bit, but the main reason why I bring up this correlation isn’t just because it clarifies inconsistencies with the canon. It also presents an opportunity to enrich the lore of the show.

In the Redux, Auratic plasticity is the ability of the soul to generate a Semblance based on either an immutable personality trait (innate), a scenario-specific survival method (adaptive), or a “genetic” trait that’s repeatedly selected for due to its inherent fitness (inherited). These three categories are determined by a value called hierarchical prioritization—basically, it’s the soul’s ability to decide what Semblance-trigger gets precedence. I’ll get into more detail when I start the Amendment, but it felt important to clarify my intentions early, so I could justify writing 700 words on why Semblance discovery is important.

Adverse Effects of Using Semblances

Unlike Limitations, which focuses on what a Semblance can or can’t do, Adverse Effects deals with the negative repercussions/consequences of using a Semblance.

Or in RWBY’s case, a lack thereof.

(For the moment, let’s set aside the magic/not magic discourse and acknowledge that yes, in the traditional sense, Aura, Semblances, and Dust are part of RWBY’s magic system, the same way bending is part of A:TLA’s.)

When designing a magic system, you’ve got to balance it. Otherwise, the system contains powers that are vaguely-defined, OP, and bereft of any costs.

One way to implement a system of checks and balances is by giving that system a cost for using it. In RWBY’s case, the only “cost” experienced by characters is physical fatigue whenever they overextend themselves. But in the grand scheme of things it’s not really a detrimental consequence, in part because of how infrequently exhaustion is viewed as a legitimate threat. Seriously. When was the last time you saw the main cast fail because they overdid it while using their Semblances? It just doesn’t happen.

One way you could implement a cost is by tying Semblance usage to a physical demand. According an article by Julia Belluz, Winter Olympic athletes consume anywhere between 1,300 - 2,500 and 4,000 - 7,000 calories on average per day.

It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to apply this to RWBY. Given the high-intensity acrobatics the characters perform on the regular, it would make sense that strenuous physical activity, coupled with Semblance usage, would create costs in the form of caloric needs. Maybe that’s an issue Team RNJR needs to deal with while backpacking across Anima. Is food a top priority for them? Do they have to restrict Semblance usage when running low on rations? Does the group ever have to hunt or forage for food to meet the energy demands of fighting Grimm?

Not only does this balance out Semblances, but it opens the door for potential worldbuilding. Is “Huntsman” ever used as a euphemism for “glutton”? Do all-you-can-eat buffets ban Huntsmen from their establishments? Do Huntsmen have a reputation for being less picky about food options? In places that use trade-and-barter systems, are Huntsmen willing to accept food as payment instead of lien?

I think that’s more or less everything I wanted to say about Semblances. I have a few unrelated nitpicks, but I can save those for another time. This post is already longer than I intended it to be.

[1] Volume 4, Episode 8: “A Much Needed Talk.”

[2] Shawcross, Kerry. “CRWBY AMA.” Reddit interview. February 12, 2018. [https://www.reddit.com/r/RWBY/comments/7x3w4s/crwby_ama_w_miles_luna_kerry_shawcross_and_paula/du5bpdm/?context=3]

[3] Volume 7, Episode 3: “Ace Operatives.”

[4] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 94.

[5] Volume 5, Episode 4: “Lighting the Fire.”

[6] Wallace, Daniel. The World of RWBY: The Official Companion. VIZ Media LLC, 2019, page 39.

#deconstruction #worldbuilding #writing #semblances

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coll2mitts · 4 years

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#67 Muppets Most Wanted (2014)

"We're sorry, Kermit. We're sorry we didn't notice you were missing. We're sorry we didn't tell you often enough how much you mean to all of us. We're sorry we ever took you for granted. But, that’s never going to happen again... Kermit, we convinced ourselves that evil frog was you because he gave us what we thought we wanted. When what we really wanted... What we really needed... Was you, Kermit. The actual, real you."

After The Muppets, I was fully prepared to eat my own shoes instead of watch this movie. My only motivation was the light at the end of the tunnel. Much like the Genie at the end of Aladdin, I would have fulfilled my end of the bargain and finally be freed from having to watch any more Muppet movies ever again. But something unlikely happened... They began The Muppets Most Wanted admitting their fans at the end of The Muppets were paid extras. They were transparent about a sequel being a not-as-good cash grab. The opening number was referential to the original sequel, The Great Muppet Caper, but the lyrics were self-aware, self-deprecating and peak Muppet.

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I’ll even go on record as liking this movie a great deal. I was able to forgive the product placement, the obligatory Disney references, the pop songs, and the 7000 cameos because this movie felt like... an apology? Like they had watched the last movie and realized it was hollow, and the spirit of Kermit was steamrolled by their desperation to emotionally connect to the audience.

True to Muppet fashion, their opening number states the stakes of the movie, Ricky Gervais (...ugh) approaches The Muppets with the idea of managing them during a World Tour. Kermit, being a level-headed frog, is hesitant to sign with someone named Dominic Badguy, and doesn’t want to rush into something new without establishing a proper show beforehand. Striking while the iron is hot with your new IP is not enough of a reason to rush out a project.

Kermit is eventually persuaded to hire Dominic, but books a series of smaller venues to ease them into the swing of things.

“Looks like they put the reviews up early!” “Yeah, or is that the suggestion box?”

The Muppets are disappointed by this, and are easily swayed by Dominic to bet big and rent extremely large venues under the assumption they will sell out their shows and make the money back. Kermit is against this at first (voting for “just giving up” instead of “believing in themselves”), but he goes along with the group because he was outnumbered. The content of the show is also a point of contention, as Kermit suggests they play to their strengths, because if the show isn’t successful, they might not have jobs after the tour. This concern is also brushed off, as Dominic tells Gonzo sure, bulls running around the stage sounds like a great idea, the magnetic bomb-attractor vest will be a useful invention, and Miss Piggy should be singing 4 or 5 Celine Dion classics a night.

While Kermit is disappointed, Dominic tells him to take a walk in East Berlin to clear his mind. We then find out this is a setup to kidnap Kermit and send him to a Siberian Gulag so Dominic and the The Most Dangerous Frog in the World can schedule The Muppets to perform in venues directly next to museums that hold clues and trinkets that will assist them in stealing the Crown Jewels.

Much like The Great Muppet Caper, this movie revolves around case of mistaken identity between bad frog Constantine and good frog Kermit, with their only differentiating feature being a mole on Constantine’s face. After Kermit is kidnapped, Constantine assumes his identity, and although Constantine has a Russian accent and speaks in Muppet one-liners, he’s covered his mole in green grease paint, so the cast has no idea anything is amiss.

As artifacts go missing, Sam Eagle from the CIA and Jean Pierre Napoleon from Interpol are on the case! They dislike each other at first, as everything Sam Eagle does is comically overstated and American, while everything Jean Pierre does is comically understated and European. They gradually come to respect each other, connect the dots, and determine The Muppets... are too stupid to perform a series of heists.

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Meanwhile, Kermit is having a hard time acclimating to prison life. Nadja, the prison warden, played Tina Fey (with a really terrible accent, which I can’t tell is supposed to be terrible as a gag, or it just is?) thwarts all his attempts to escape. Kermit grows to accept he is stuck in the Gulag and his friends are not going to come and rescue him. To distract him, Nadja puts him in charge of the annual lighthearted Gulag Review, and Kermit’s practice with wrangling the Muppets make him perfect for the job of wrangling hardened criminals, like The Prison King (Jemaine Clement), Big Papa (Ray Liotta) and Danny Trejo (Danny Trejo).

Walter is suspicious something strange is going on with their tour, because he seems to be the only Muppet with critical thinking skills. He shadows Dominic and finds him bribing Robert Crawley to post good reviews of “The Muppet Show” and pay people to put butts in seats. When Walter informs Fozzie, he laments they didn’t think of doing that before, but when Walter suggests that Constantine may have replaced Kermit...

They strike out to find Kermit so he can restore order to this entire debacle, but he’s now neck deep in Gulag Review rehearsals. Even when his friends show up and convince him he needs to leave, Nadja is hesitant to let him go because she’s formed a mild attachment to him.

They stage a breakout during one of the Gulag Review musical numbers, which just happens to be about working in a coal mine, equip with pick axes that dig everyone out of the prison and to safety.

While they were gone, Miss Piggy begins to suspect something is off with “Kermit”, especially since he seemed OK with Fozzie and Walter leaving the show. In an attempt to pacify her, “Kermit” escalates his affection toward her until it, of course, all culminates in a wedding between Bad Frog and Miss Piggy, even though the last time the Real Kermit spoke with her, they got in a massive fight about her obsession with planning a wedding when he hadn’t even proposed yet. "Kermit” also books The Tower of London as the wedding venue, so Dominic can use the artifacts they’ve stolen to steal the Crown Jewels while everyone else is distracted.

The wedding does not go as planned, though, as Good Frog Kermit shows up and prevents Miss Piggy from marrying the wrong guy. Upon being found out, Constantine decides to drop one more Muppet one-liner before blowing the place to smithereens. Much like Chekhov’s gun, Professor Honeydew’s magnetic bomb-attractor vest aids the Muppets in discovering that Miss Piggy’s engagement ring IS the bomb, and Beaker, who is wearing the vest, is launched out the window, saving The Muppets and all their wedding guests.

Dominic and Constantine try to get away in a helicopter, but Piggy kicks the shit out of Constantine, because again, Piggy’s violence solves every problem in the Muppet universe. With the bad guys captured, the Muppets apologize to Kermit for ignoring his concerns about the tour, and not noticing he was gone. The decide to continue the tour, but first, they will play the Siberian Gulag as a favor to Nadja.

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And the big climax at the end... fireworks. In the shape of the Muppets.

The original songs are excellent again, because Bret McKenzie is excellent. They do have a few non-original songs, but they aid the plot this time instead of just being included for whatever fucking reason (with one notable exception, as there is no excuse for “Moves like Jagger”). The Gulag review auditions used these the best, because seeing a prison full of men sing “End of the Road” is fairly comical, and is only topped by the entire reenactment of A Chorus Line’s “I Hope I Get It”, including a costume change that involves “Gulag” crop-tops.

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The best hybrid of pop references and original jams is “Something So Right”, which actually made me cry, until Celine Dion appeared and hammed it up. Her diva energy in this movie was just perfect - I loved seeing her and Miss Piggy belt out a song while Rowlf was playing a grand piano.

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Speaking of cameos, I feel like they service the movie a lot better than The Muppets. Everyone outside of the celebrity guests on the tour were playing some sort of part, instead of just showing up and answering a phone and talking about how famous they are. Josh Groban sang from inside a metal box several times, and you only see his face for maybe 2 seconds at the end of the movie, which make it clear he just wanted to be involved. Seeing Ray Liotta and Danny Trejo singing and dancing so earnestly made me roll my eyes again at the thought of Sarah Silverman handing Amy Adams a menu and Selena Gomez telling Kermit doesn’t even know who the Muppets are.

The guests on stage were utilized well, with Christoph Waltz dancing the waltz in Berlin, Saoirse Ronan dancing a ballet in Dublin, and Salma Hayek, who is famously Mexican, getting run over by bulls in Madrid. At least the Macarena is from Spain... lord help them.

The Muppet spirit of Muppets Most Wanted is so drastically different than The Muppets to me, and I’m trying to pinpoint why that is. Perhaps it was shifting the focus to the Muppets themselves in the story instead of attention being pulled to Walter and his brother and his brother’s girlfriend’s story arc. Or maybe it was because the plot of this movie was referential to the previous Muppet movies, instead of reusing sections of the plot of the older movies to fill out the runtime. Or maybe it was because this movie was fun, instead of the miserable time everyone in The Muppets was having, crushed under the weight of their potential failure. Or maybe it was because they didn’t end this movie hoisting the Walt Disney puppet over their shoulders while an entire street of people cheer on their new corporate overlord. Whatever it is, this movie is leaps and bounds better than the other.

This concludes Muppet Week! I have consumed more Muppet content in the last few months than I have in my entire life. The Muppets are cherished for a reason, with their ability to ride the line between comedy and emotional sincerity. Their film catalog has increasingly skewed more family-friendly as time has gone on, and they certainly have leaned more toward comedy instead of Gonzo quietly singing about dreams on the side of the road. I haven’t watched either reboot television show yet, and I need a break from Muppet content for a while, so I’ll hold off on my opinions there. But, I love The Muppets, and I hope Disney continues to honor Jim Henson’s legacy with their work.

And with that, I’ll leave you with Kermit and Dolly Parton singing “Everyday People” on The Dolly Show, because I so badly wanted to include this somewhere and didn’t have the opportunity.

#unwarranted opinion #100 best musical movies of all time rotten tomatoes

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animebw · 4 years

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Binge-Watching: Haibane Renmei, Episodes 4-6

In which I consider why this show’s pacing feels so slow to me, I muse over the many questions raised, and the numbing status quo is finally shaken up.

Where’s the Beef?

I’ve talked a lot about pacing while writing for this blog. It’s one of the most difficult aspects of storytelling to figure out, and it’s one of the most critical aspects of storytelling to get right if you want to keep your audience’s attention. What determines whether or not a story has good pacing? How can a show as languid and aimless as Mushishi keep my utmost attention for twenty six episodic adventures without much in the way of connective tissue, while a show as brisk and fast-moving as, say, Tower of God can feel like a bit of a slog to get through? Clearly, there’s no obvious delineation between too fast or too slow. So how do you determine what constitutes a well-paced story? Well, over countless hours of watching anime, the conclusion I’ve come to is that the speed of the plot is far less important than the speed of new information. Most stories are built on change, and the best way to keep your audience invested is to keep a steady stream of changes to the overall experience. This can be revealing new information about the plot, introducing new characters who forge new relationships with previously existing characters, exploring new settings, diving into new ideas, or even just telling new jokes that haven’t been told before. It’s through newness that investment is built, because it tells your audience that they haven’t gotten everything out of your story that they possibly could yet. There’s still more to discover, more to surprise, more to add to the overall experience and make it even richer. As long as you’ve always got something new to offer, and as long as what you’re offering is still good, you’d be amazed how patient an audience can be.

So when it comes to Haibane Renmei, the reason it’s kinda boring me isn’t that it’s a slow-moving story without much obvious plot direction. The reason it’s kinda boring me is that it’s slow in dishing out any semblance of newness. Much like Rakka, I feel adrift on aimless wings, wandering this static, unchanging world and wondering what meaning I can find in it. Which, you know, if the intent was to get us in Rakka’s headspace, mission accomplished, but there’s just so damn little for me to latch onto here. What little new information we’re getting about the world is the one point of genuine interest, and even then it’s spread and far between. Every episode is the same muffled blanket of heavy atmosphere over the same drab, washed-out locations, populated by the same aimless characters who so far don’t have any real arcs to speak of, going through the motions of everyday life without anything in the way of variety. So unless you’re the kind of person who values slipping into a contemplative trance through tone and atmosphere alone- which I am most definitely not- this is a slow-burn that just burns way too slowly. I’m hungry and eager to eat this stew you’re offering, show, but you’re not doing yourself any favors by cooking it on the lowest power setting. At some point, I’m just gonna give up and order pizza because it’s taking so damn long.

Between Worlds

That said, it’s a point in this show’s favor that despite my aggravation with its sluggish pace, I’m still interested to find out exactly what’s going on. If nothing else, I remain a slut for mystical, half-explained dream logic worldbuilding, and Haibane Renmei’s slowly unraveling mythology scratches a very Wolf’s Rain itch I’ve been missing for a while. There’s just so much inherent fascination in the symbols and iconography it’s playing with that I can’t help but get swept up in trying to parse it all. Case in point? Literally everything about the crow motif. Crows are scavengers, rooting around dumpsters without a place in this society, but they’re also free. They can soar above the walls that box everyone else in, seeing what the world outside this confinement looks like and bringing back trinkets of what lies beyond. The Haibane might have wings, but they remain firmly bound to the earth, made to carry on this uneasy servitude so as to not feel indebted to the town. Their charcoal wings can’t carry them anywhere; the black wings of the crows, however, can soar to the ends of the earth and back. There’s even a haunting little suggestion in the way Kana talks about why they chase the crows off: ”If we give them a place to feel comfortable, they might never fly again.” The only reason the crows are so free is because they cast off all obligations, going where the wind takes them and foregoing the attachments of the earth below. Beholden to no one and nothing, they have no place to call their home, forever listless and wandering. In comparison, the Haibane are expected to find their place in society, becoming part of the social contract of mutual support that keeps communities together. In surrendering their freedom, they gain community, as do all the humans who similarly promise never to venture outside their walls.

There’s a very afterlife-y feel to all this, and I don’t just say that because of the angelic imagery. This town is a place where people are reborn into spiritual beings, leaving all traces of their previous life behind them. It’s a holding place they’re expected to settle into, surrendering the autonomy they once had in life in subservience to a set of customs enscribed by some unknown figure of power. Everything they do, from the work they perform to the clothes they wear, is no longer their own; it’s all tied to the human residents, forcing them to forge connections that keep them bound in place. If you try to escape, like Reki apparently once did, you’re punished and stripped away from the people you tried to escape with (Side note, what was that thing Reki did where she made her ex’s wings and halo appear? Can Haibane hide their angelic traits? If so, why was this guy hiding them?). You can dream of the outside, for sure, but as Nemu’s coworker pleasantly opines, ”A dream’s only beautiful because it remains a dream.” It’s a fantasy that can never become real, existing only in imagination and flights of fancy. And yet, Rakka’s dreams keep turning back again and again to the crows. The symbols of freedom from responsibility and shackles, the birds who fly so far above all obligations that they can never call any place home. Her mind is fixed on them like a splinter she can’t quite pull out. Part of her isn’t happy with simply finding her place. Part of her wants to see what’s beyond those walls.

Part of her wants to be free.

Taking Flight

And as it turns out, there’s a kind of freedom waiting for her after all. Because at some point in a Haibane’s life, they are called away from their burdens and lifted out of this lonely little town. Sooner or later, they all pass on, taking flight and leaving their halos dark and cold behind them. And just like that, Kuu is gone, before we even really have a chance to know her. She’s gone somewhere far away, somewhere beyond these walls, somewhere she can never return from and her friends will likely never see her again. And after so long lolling about adrift in a numbing white sea, the world of Haibane Renmei suddenly delivers its biggest, most important, most striking bit of newness yet. The stakes are raised, the questions are amplified, and the monotonous ambiguity is stabbed with a red-hot spike of chaos. What causes these symbolic deaths? What did Kuu mean by saying that Rakka contributed to the fulfillment that brought about his passing? How is this going to affect how Rakka sees herself and her place in this world? Who else has Reki been left behind by, and what scars has that left on her? What does it mean, truly, to be a Haibane? If these questions were whispered in the background before, there’s no drowning out the noise they make now. And something tells me this show’s second half is going to have some fascinating answers in store.

Odds and Ends

-”WAKE UP!” akdhakjsdh okay Kana’s great

-Okay, pulling her by her halo was a great touch. Give me more of these characters interacting and butting heads, it’s working wonders.

-Kana choking down breakfast was great. She’s such a disaster.

-”Don’t talk, you’ll bite your tongue!” I LOVE HER

-”Who’d buy a watch from a non-punctual clockmaker?” I mean, fair enough.

-Aw, he let her repair it himself! He’s a good egg.

-”Thank you for the advice. On how to frame a parent’s thoughts.” Yeah, it must be weird to be born fully aware of who and where you are. No other babies can lay claim to that pleasure.

-Alright, if there’s any accuracy in this creation myth, painting the Haibane as God’s mistake that he decided to roll with regardless is... interesting. And the town floating somewhere neither on land or sea it interesting too.

-”How long is it gonna keep ringing?” klsjdkfjskdjfskd

-This house is just not giving her any good rooms, is it?

Hopefully the second half will give me more interesting things to talk about. See you next time!

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #haibane renmei #charcoal feather federation

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