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drabbles-mc · 3 years

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Call Me Back

Bishop Losa x Reader

Request by my #1 Presidente fan @masterlistforimagines : Hiii, can I request “don’t you dare walk away” “call me now, it’s urgent” and “why do I even bother” with el Presidente (aka the only person I request for). I’m thinking maybe they were in an argument and he left mid argument to handle club shit. Maybe something important happens and that’s why there’s the whole call me back part. Like angst to fluff?

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: The prompts are from This Post in case anyone was curious! Also, I wanted to make it angsty but not tooooo too angsty because then my heart would be too sad haha. Hope you enjoy it!

Bish Tag: @sincerelyasomebody @sadeyesgf

Gif Credit: @sonsofeorl

You and Bishop were standing on opposite ends of your dining room table. You were leaning against the back of the chair on the very end, trying to keep your tears from falling. You hated that you were an angry crier. Bishop was standing at the opposite end, staring intently down at the surface of the table. He hated seeing you so upset, and when you’d start to cry that’s when his heart would really start to break.

“I didn’t think it was worth bothering you with,” his tone was level, which sometimes made it more infuriating to argue with him, “It wasn’t that big of a—”

“It was a big deal to me!” you snapped, a tear escaping and trickling down your cheek, “It fucking matters to me! I don’t understand why that isn’t enough of a reason to keep me in the loop. All it takes is one goddamn phone call, Obispo. I’m not asking for a hell of a lot.”

“And I’m telling you, that if I want to keep you safe I can’t always just,” his phone vibrated in his pocket and he paused to see who was calling. With a sigh he hit the reject button and went back to is discussion with you, “I can’t always afford to do that. We’ve had this conversation before, I don’t know why we have to keep having it.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you wipe the tears off of your cheeks, “So if I just decided to fuck off for a couple days and not communicate with you at all, you’re saying that you’d be okay with that? That wouldn’t set off any alarm bells for you?”

He shook his head, “It’s not the same, Y/N. You aren’t tied up with a goddamn cartel!”

“That’s all the more reason you should take the five seconds to send me a text so I know you’re at least alive and not dead in a fucking ditch somewhere.”

“What exactly do you want me to send you then, huh? Drop you a casual text saying that the drug run was successful and that we—” his phone went off again in his pocket and he huffed as he answered it, “What?!”

You shook your head and collapsed in the chair that you had been leaning against. Of course he would answer his phone in the middle of an argument. God forbid he get through one conversation with you without having to reprioritize.

“Fuck me,” he sighed, “Alright, I’m on my way. Stay put and don’t do anything stupid.”

You jaw dropped, “You’re kidding right? You’re not leaving right now.”

“It’s shit with the—”

“Shit with the club, yea, I know,” you shook your head, “You can’t just leave in the middle of this, Obispo. You can’t keep dodging this conversation.”

“I’m not dodging it,” he took his kutte off the chair and slid it on, “but the club needs me right now.”

“I need you right now!” you slammed your hand on the table.

He took a deep breath, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t you dare walk away,” your voice was quieter now, “For the love of god, Obispo.”

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” he stormed off and out the door. No goodbye, no I love you, nothing. That hurt more than him yelling.

You buried your face in your hands as the tears began to flow. It was half anger, half sadness fueling them now. You were constantly left feeling like you were being unrealistic with asking certain things of him, and also knowing that what you were asking for was the bare minimum. You cared about him too much to be alright with not knowing if he was safe. No matter how many times you tried to explain that to him, though, he never seemed to get it. Or maybe he did and just actively went out of his way not to get into it because he couldn’t offer you any comfort about it. If that was the case though, you reasoned, that was another discussion he should be having with you.

But you never got to discuss anything. Because there was always something going on with the club that would cut into it.

You wiped the tears off of your face and grabbed your purse and keys from the table. If he could leave, then so could you. You couldn’t keep sitting in the house feeling sad and lonely. You were done with that. If Bishop really wanted to talk to you, he could come and find you.

The radio was blasting and the roads were empty. You had no idea how long you had been driving for. You were all cried out though. You took a deep breath as you blindly dug around in your purse for your cigarettes and lighter. You were able to take one out of the pack and put it to your lips without taking your eyes off the road. Your fingers fumbled with the lighter for a moment before you glanced down just long enough to make sure you were going to safely light it.

You looked back up to the road and screamed, swerving your car to avoid hitting the coyote that was standing in the middle of the road. It scampered out of the way, getting out of the altercation unharmed, but you couldn’t stop yourself from swearing repeatedly as you realized that your car had dragged along the cement median, still there from the never-ending construction. You didn’t want to get out and look at the damage, but you knew that you had to.

You put your hazards on as you safely found a place to pull off the road. You grabbed your phone, turning the flashlight on so you could see what you were dealing with. Tears stung at your eyes again as you took in the damage. A good chunk of it was cosmetic, just scrapes and dents down the passenger side of the vehicle. But you had also busted your passenger-side headlight, and also ended up ripping off the side-view mirror as well. The car was drivable, but if you passed any cops there was no way they weren’t going to give you some kind of ticket.

Your original plan had been to make Bishop come and look for you, but that all went out the window. With a heavy sigh you called him. The line rang, and rang, and rang. No answer. He always had time to pick up for the club, but suddenly now his phone was out of reach. You rolled your eyes, trying not to let yet another wave of tears come cascading down your cheeks.

Your thumbs flew across your phone’s keyboard, “Call me now. It’s urgent” you hoped that maybe he just couldn’t answer a phone call, but maybe he’d have the time to spare a quick look at a text message. You weren’t one to bother him with “emergencies” that weren’t really emergencies. If you said you needed help, you meant it.

You gave it ten minutes before you sent a follow up message, “Forget it. Why do I even bother?”

You scrolled through your contacts until you landed on Chucky’s number. This wasn’t his problem, but you knew that he’d show up in a heartbeat to help you. You dialed and he picked up on the second ring.

“Y/N?”

“Hey, Chucky. I’m, I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s late and you’re probably dealing with your own shit right now, but I’m in a bit of a spot.”

“You know I would do anything for the First Lady of the club,” he sounded so earnest.

It made you smile and shake your head even if he couldn’t see you, “You’re sweet, Chucky. Are you still at the yard?”

“I’m just getting ready to leave. You called me at the perfectly fated moment.”

You chuckled despite the fact that you wanted to cry, “Something like that. I, uh, I banged up my car. I was wondering if you could meet me with the tow truck? I’ll owe you one for sure.”

“All you’ll ever owe me is company and good conversation.”

You laughed as you gave him the mile marker that you were closest to. The whole evening had been a shitshow but it was impossible to not feel a little lighter after talking to Chucky. You just hoped that it wouldn’t take him too long to get to you.

He got to you in about forty-five minutes, which was good time considering you had been driving for a while before all of this happened. He didn’t say a word as the two of you hooked your car up to the tow truck. That was one of the things you loved about Chucky—he didn’t ask a million questions. You hopped in so you were riding shotgun and you both began the ride back to the yard.

As promised, you kept a conversation going with him the entire time, and it almost made you forget about the chaos that had landed you in that truck with him. There was so much to Chucky that you wanted to know about. He was like the most interesting puzzle you’d ever encountered. He was always so kind to you, and you knew he did everything he could to help take care of the club. There weren’t many people who were as selfless and loyal as he was. You were glad to know him.

He drove through the gate to the yard and clubhouse. You let out a deep sigh when you saw Bishop sitting on the steps to the clubhouse. There was a cigarette in his hand and he was staring down at the ground, looking up only when he heard the truck roll onto the lot. He flicked away the last of his cigarette as he jogged over to meet the truck when Chucky put it in park.

“I figured that you would be able to get it off the truck and onto the lift tomorrow?” Chucky offered up as he stepped out of the truck, “Or one of the club?”

Bishop nodded, wanting to dismiss him quickly without being rude, “Yea we got it. Thank you, Chucky.”

“Glad to be of service,” he nodded to Bishop, “Have a good night, Presidente,” he turned back to you, “Despite the circumstances, I appreciate the company.”

You smiled at him, “You’re a good man, Chucky. Thank you.”

He smiled as he walked away, “I accept that.”

It was just you and Bishop on the lot. Everything was dark except for the street lights that shined into the compound. There was a considerable gap between the two of you. You were nervously fussing with your hair, not wanting to try and get into all of this shit with Bishop now. All you wanted to do was go home and go to sleep. The adrenaline was wearing off and all of the crying that you had been doing was exhausting.

“I’m sorry about the car,” you finally broke the silence, “There was a coyote in the middle of the road and I didn’t want to hit it and I just—”

It seemed like it only took him all of two steps to close the gap between the two of you as he came and wrapped you in a hug. He squeezed you tighter than he had in a long time, with one arm wrapped around your waist and the other looped so that he was keeping your head pressed against his chest. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight, like he was trying to revel in how you felt in his arms.

“I don’t give a fuck about the car,” he mumbled into your hair as he peppered the top of your head with kisses,” he pulled back so he could look you over, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, “Yea. It really wasn’t that bad. It’s a lot of cosmetic damage. I’ll need a new headlight and mirror though,” you sighed, shaking your head, “Dumb fucking coyote.”

There was the smallest hint of a smile on his face, “I told you that no stray animal like that is worth wrecking the car over.”

“I didn’t wreck it. She’s just got…you know…some battle scars now.”

He shook his head as he pulled you into another hug. He tilted your chin up for a moment so that he could kiss your lips. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt into it for a moment, savoring the taste of him before he rested your head back against his chest again. His arms tightened around you again, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

You were smiling against his chest but you couldn’t help the words that came out of your mouth, “You woulda known sooner if you answered your fucking phone when I called.”

You felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed, “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“Did Chucky tell you he was coming to get me?”

Bishop nodded a smile quickly passing over his face as he said, “Barged in on Templo,” he gave you a pointed look, “Which is why I wasn’t answering my phone, by the way. And I would’ve gone with him but I didn’t know if you were still pissed off at me.”

“I’m not done being mad at you yet, Obispo,” you sighed against him, “But I would like to hit pause on this argument for now. I’m tired and I just want to go home with you.”

He scooped you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist as he held you, “I would really love it if you were done being mad at me, Amor,” he pressed his forehead against yours.

You rolled your eyes as he nuzzled his nose against yours, trying to be sweet enough to drop your anger, “Are you really trying to schmooze your way out of this argument?”

He walked, carrying you over to his bike. He set you down on your seat and gently cupped your face in his hand, “What if I’m trying to schmooze and I promise you that going forward I’ll work on being better at communicating with you?”

You smiled, leaning into the warmth emanating from his hand, “Alright, fine, I’ll allow it,” you kissed his palm, “But you’re on thin ice, Obispo.”

There was a small smirk on his face, “I always am,” he handed you his helmet, “So do I get to ask why your next call was Chucky? Why not one of the guys?”

You laughed, “Why? You jealous of Chucky?”

He smiled, shaking his head, “He is quite the charmer.”

You chuckled as you clipped the strap to his helmet, “He refers to me as the First Lady and it does wonders for my confidence.”

“Don’t let it go to your head too much, Y/N,” he tapped the top of his helmet, “Or this won’t even fit you anymore.”

“If it still fits you, I know I’ll be fine,” you smirked before letting out a laugh.

He shook his head at you before leaning in and giving you a kiss, “Always gotta have something smart to say, don’t you?”

“That’s why you love me.”

He got onto his bike, and you were still able to hear his laughter even though you were sitting behind him, “One of the many reasons, Amor.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #bishop losa #bishop x reader #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa x you #obispo losa #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa imagine #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #drabblesmc #five word prompt

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thegirlonpeetamellark · 3 years

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Christmas Break - Part 1

Surprise!! After a looong time away Court returns to Everlark fic world with a little holiday treat for everyone - enjoy! :)

Hi everyone. So 2020 has sucked. For me, the beginning of quarantine was actually a bit of a gift. Being home gave me the gift of time, something I haven’t had much of as my daughters (who were very little when I started writing in this fandom) have gotten older. While I never stopped writing, it was a struggle to find long enough chunks of time to get into a flow. I started writing again with earnest. Not all of it was my fanfiction; some of it was my original work. El keeps me posted on the humbling and kind asks she gets about my writing. I felt bad that despite my increased writing, I still wasn’t ready to update any WIPs. But I did remember a story I had started for the final holiday PiP that I was never able to get past the first page (due to lack of time that year) and to my surprise, it started flowing. I had every intention of finishing it and having El post it as a gift to this fandom. But once my school went “back” in October and hybrid learning started, that was it. My time was gone. And further, my family experienced the very sudden and non-Covid-related death of my aunt. So while I have nearly half of this story written, it’s not done. But it will be, very soon, since it is a one-shot. As with all my stories, it took on a life of its own and it needs more love. So what I have for the readers who have loyally followed me is the first part, the part that involves Christmas. It’s my hope to have a second part posted in a week or two, so that by the time that part posts, a final part is nearly done.

Thank you for your asks and your patience, and thank you to El, one of my favorite people in this world and the best thing my time in this fandom has given me. Thank you for your encouragement. Our friendship means the world to me.

Here’s to a better 2021. Love to you all. Court

Christmas Break

Fuck, not again, Peeta grouses as the opening notes of that insidious Mariah Carey song pipe through the loudspeaker. That’s the third time in the last two hours. He’s all for holiday spirit, but if he never hears this fucking song again it will be too soon.

Leaning his forehead against the cold pane of glass, he peers out of the fourth-story window into the darkened sky. When he had arrived at work a few hours ago, the snow had just been starting to fall; a slow, lazy tumble of flakes. Now it’s coming down in a tumultuous swirl. It figures Panem would finally see a white Christmas his first Christmas Eve on rotation in the emergency room. No doubt the weather is partially to blame for the crush of bodies crowding the waiting room tonight.

Peeta walks away from the window and opens the cabinet where he stashes his Clif bars. The economy-sized box looks suspiciously closer to empty than it did the other day. He’s heard complaints from other doctors and nurses that snacks are pilfered on a regular basis and was warned to label his own boxes. But he had forgone the warnings. If someone needed an energy bar badly enough to steal one, what was the $20 he had spent on them at Costco. He snags one and unwraps it.

He’s just raised it to his mouth when his Apple watch pings and his silenced cell phone pulses insistently against his thigh. Heaving a loud sigh, he sets down the energy bar and withdraws the phone from his pocket.

“Mom, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds,” he grits out. He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to confirm it’s her. She’s called twice already tonight, calls he’s ignored with good reason, but somehow his mother thinks a phone call from her trumps any actual emergencies her doctor son could be dealing with. Which, tonight, have been nonstop since his shift began at six.

“Please tell me you ate something,” she begins.

“I was just about to, when you called,” he replies. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes. It’s been utter chaos for the last four hours.”

“We missed you at dinner. I can’t remember the last Christmas Eve when I didn’t have all three of my boys together.” Peeta closes his eyes. All these years my mother has been gushing about having a doctor in the family, and yet she never stopped to consider the ramifications of actually having a doctor in the family, he thinks. Particularly its impact on holiday gatherings. She obviously hadn’t learned anything from this past Thanksgiving, as now, just a month later, she’s already dumping a fresh guilt trip on him for missing another family dinner.

She continues, “And Jackson and Maxwell were just devastated when they heard you weren’t coming, until I assured them they’d see you tomorrow. We will see you tomorrow, yes?”

Peeta suppresses another exasperated sigh and breaks off a chunk of the Clif bar. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” And though it’s childish, he crams the bar into his mouth and mumbles around it, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His chewing masks the sarcasm that weighs down the words.

“Excellent. We need an updated family portrait before Everly and Rye have to leave for her parents’ house.” Placated, his mother moves to ends the call, but not before getting in a less-than-subtle comment about how much she adores his brother Rye’s fiancée and how happy she is Rye is settling down.

Staring at the disconnected call flashing on the screen, Peeta tries not to let the remark get to him. Mostly because he knows it’s a lie. His mother has complained more than once about Everly and how she’s not good enough for Rye. Peeta knows the dig was directed at him. He hasn’t truly had a serious girlfriend since junior year of college; just a few casual relationships that barely qualified as relationships. He doesn’t know how his mother expects him to meet someone with the hours he keeps. And his father, for as close as they are, never seems willing to jump to Peeta’s defense.

Taking a deep breath to let his irritation suffuse, he jams his phone back in his pocket and scarfs down the rest of his pathetic dinner. All three bites of it. Then he uses the restroom, dutifully washes his hand, and stalks out of the staff lounge, his short break over.

As he strides up the corridor, he hears loud shouting coming from the ER waiting room.

“…should be asleep in her bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, but instead, we’re still here waiting for someone to take a look at her arm! It’s been over two hours! Don’t you people have any compassion? Or is Ebenezer Freaking Scrooge running this place tonight?”

Curious, Peeta veers towards the reception desk, where his eyes land on the ranting woman. She’s young, probably no older than her mid-twenties, and in spite of the fact that her dark hair is spilling out of a messy braid and she’s not wearing any makeup, Peeta is immediately struck by her beauty. The rosy flush to her cheeks from her tirade actually makes her even prettier. She’s cradling a toddler and protectively shielding the little girl’s right arm. The toddler’s blonde head rests on her mother’s shoulder, her thumb wedged into her tiny pink mouth. Her left arm clutches a stuffed orange cat. She looks tired. Actually, both mother and daughter do.

“Miss, I understand your frustration, I really do,” the receptionist says calmly, her eyes cutting to Peeta as he stops by her side. He reads the name on the file on top of the stack, the next patient scheduled to be seen: MCMURPHY, JOSEPH. Clearly not the little girl in front of him.

“I don’t think you do!” the young mother cries, her eyes flashing steel. “She’s three, she’s in pain, and she’s scared. And what’s more, I’ve seen at least five people go ahead of us who came in after us!”

“That’s not how the emergency room works, miss,” the receptionist replies. She drums her fingertips on the desk, offering the young mother a tight smile.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the young mother adds, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. Discreetly, Peeta moves around the receptionist’s chair, scanning the desktop until he spies the stack of files for the patients awaiting admission. While the receptionist continues to give the young mother the run-around, he thumbs through the stack, searching. His eyes land on what he’s looking for: a date of birth. His lips tip up. Bingo. This has to be it: HAWTHORNE, IVY ANN.

At the exact second his hand snatches Ivy’s file from the pile and slips the other one in amongst the stack, the young mother’s eyes lock on his. Her gaze narrows. He can see the exhaustion all over her beautiful face. Her full lips twitch, her countenance suspicious as they stare at one another.

“Ivy Hawthorne?” Peeta taps the file he had extricated. An immediate flicker of relief lights the young mother’s mercury eyes, and that lush mouth breaks into a grateful, relieved smile. The receptionist’s neck snaps up. “I’ve got this,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for her to argue with him. It’s not protocol for Peeta to take a patient directly, but it’s also not blatantly against the rules. Sure, it might mean a little more work for him, but if it means he can get this little girl home sooner on Christmas Eve, it’s worth it.

He smiles at the little girl. “Ivy, I’m Doctor Mellark. I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?” She nods once but doesn’t lift her head from her mother’s shoulder. Peeta’s arm sweeps to the side, ushering the young mother and Ivy past the desk. He scans the hallway and spies a partially drawn curtain halfway up the corridor. He leads them to the available partition and close the curtain behind them. As he turns to face them, he nearly slams into the woman. She hasn’t moved, and her luminous grey eyes fasten to his. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but several seconds pass and she’s still quiet, still watching him. The silence starts to become uncomfortable. Peeta clears his throat.

“If you’d have a seat, please, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can hold her while I get some more information from you.”

The young woman’s lips part slightly, again appearing as if she wants to say something, but instead she shuffles forward and Peeta waits while she settles on the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly adjusting Ivy so she’s sitting sideways across her mother’s lap.

Peeta sinks down onto the stool and scoots towards the edge of the bed. This close he has a much better look at Ivy’s mother. She really is a beautiful young woman, and given how adorable Ivy is Peeta assumes her husband is probably also very attractive. He feels a twinge of jealousy. Lucky bastard. Pretty wife, cute kid…probably has a nice little house and a golden retriever too. Living the dream. His dream, if he allows himself to admit it to anyone but his mother. If he was being perfectly honest, he had always envisioned himself married by now.

“How old are you, Ivy?” he ask, even though he knows from her chart and her mother’s declaration that she’s three years old. She hesitates, and still clutching the stuffed cat, manages to display three fingers. Peeta smiles at her again.

“I have a nephew who is the exact same age as you are. He told me just last week that he’s a big boy now. Are you a big girl, Ivy?” He keeps his tone gentle, hoping it will put her at ease with him. She nods, her big blue eyes lightening imperceptibly. “I thought so. Can you be a big girl and tell me what happened to your arm?”

Her mother answers automatically, “She fell. I was only gone—” Peeta holds up his palm. He has the triage nurse’s initial assessment, so he knows Ivy’s arm is likely broken. What he doesn’t know is how the arm got broken. And those details he needs to try to get from Ivy herself. Kids her age always tell the truth when it comes to how they were injured, and unfortunately it’s part of Peeta’s job to make sure there isn’t a more sinister reason she’s in the E.R. tonight, no matter how sweet and innocent her mother appears. He’s already had a few encounters with suspected child abuse, though his gut tells him that isn’t the case with Ivy Hawthorne.

“Please. I would like Ivy to tell me how it happened.”

Something dangerous flints in Ivy’s mother’s now stormy grey eyes.

“She. Fell.” The words are curt, enunciated coolly, but her voice is soft and Peeta can tell she’s keeping her temper in check for the benefit of her daughter. Eyes still pinned to his, she inhales deeply. A second later, her shoulders relax. “Go ahead and tell the nice doctor how you hurt your arm,” she whispers, stroking Ivy’s curls.

“I was trying to see Santa,” Ivy replies, her tongue tripping in a lisp on the “S’s.”

“What do you mean by that?” he prompts her.

Ivy scrunches up her button nose. “I was trying to see up the chimney. ‘Cause the chimney at Aunt Katniss’s house is so skinny and Santa Claus is real fat and I don’t know how he’s gonna fit down it to bring me my presents!” Her blue eyes brim with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. Peeta reaches over and pats her knee.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetheart. Santa Claus is magic. He’ll get you your presents, no matter what the chimney looks like.” He exchanges a look with her mother.

“It was all my fault,” she says quietly. “I went in the kitchen, to get the cookies and milk—”

“And the carrots! For Rudolph and the other reindeer!” Ivy chimes in, her eyes shiny wet.

“I never should have left her alone, not even for a second. This is my fault. It’s my fault. She wouldn’t have slipped and fallen off the hearth if I had been watching her.” Guilt chokes her words, and it sounds as if she’s close to tears.

“Accidents happen, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Peeta says empathetically, “that’s why there are emergency rooms.” She presses her lips together, her brows knitting.

“It’s Everdeen,” she says quietly. Peeta drops his eyes to Ivy’s chart, and furrows his brows, his gaze wandering to the young woman’s left hand. No ring. A brief thrill curls through him at the thought that she’s single. Asshole, he immediately chides himself. So not what you should be thinking about right now. He scans the chart more carefully and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “but this lists Primrose Hawthorne as the mother, under the Parent/Guardian information, and a Rory Hawthorne as the father. I just assumed—”

She cuts him off. “Primrose Hawthorne was her mother. But I’m not Primrose Hawthorne. I’m Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. I’m her aunt. I should be listed as her primary emergency contact.” She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, they plead with his. Peeta glances down at Ivy, and then raises his eyes to Katniss again. The guilt that was clouding those silver irises a moment ago has dissipated, replaced with anguish. He doesn’t know what the full story is here, but he didn’t miss Katniss’s usage of the past tense in referring to Ivy’s mother. So he honors her silent appeal not to ask questions.

“Okay, Ivy, you fell, and you landed on your arm? I bet that hurt,” Peeta says to the little girl, but his gaze stays fastens on Katniss. She gives him the faintest smile and mouths, “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, the orthopedist informs Peeta that Ivy Hawthorne is ready for his approval to be discharged. Not wanting to keep her and her aunt waiting any later than necessary, he sets down the X-ray he had been studying, and heads back to where Ivy is.

Standing outside the curtain, he hears quiet singing. He draws back the curtain and sees Katniss seated on the bed, with Ivy nestled in her lap. A bright pink cast safely cocoons the girl’s arm. Her blonde head rests on Katniss’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her little body rises and falls with the deep breathing of sleep.

Katniss continues to sing, unaware of Peeta’s presence. He doesn’t recognize the tune she’s singing. It’s not a Christmas carol, at least not one he’s ever heard before, but he continues to listen, captivated by her voice. It’s soft and decidedly feminine, but there’s raspy undercurrent to it that gives him chills. It’s like the first sip of a rich, smoky bourbon.

Gingerly, he tiptoes towards the bed and stands before her for several more minutes, until Katniss finally lifts her eyes. She immediately stops singing. Peeta smiles and nods towards Ivy.

“Someone is worn out,” he whispers. Katniss’s lips twitch into a chagrinned smile.

“I’m sure the second we get home she’ll be wide awake and it’ll take forever to get her into bed. She was already amped up about Santa Claus before this.” She tips her head and gestures with her chin towards Ivy’s arm.

“Warm milk. With a little bit of cinnamon,” he suggests.

“Really?” Her eyes round. “Cinnamon? That really works?” Disbelief clouds her words. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I have no idea. No kids. And I’ve never had much trouble sleeping. I’m usually asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. But I’ve heard from a friend with a toddler that it does the trick.” He waits for her to say something—anything—in response, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is back on the sleeping toddler in her arms.

Watching her stare tenderly at her niece causes something unexpected to claw at Peeta’s chest and he’s overwhelmed by a fierce compulsion to want to keep her here, to get to know more about her. It’s been a long time since he felt this kind of instant attraction to a woman. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances?

“Are we all done, doctor?”

Peeta startles from his thoughts and offers Katniss an apologetic smile.

“Yes, sorry. You are good to go as soon as you sign here—” He holds the clipboard at an angle, to allow her to sign without having to disturb Ivy, “and here.” He flips the sheet back to the second page and she scrawls her name across the line there, too. Normally a nurse would go over discharge papers and protocol with patients, but Peeta had taken it upon himself to grab Ivy’s. He needed to spend every possible minute in Katniss’s presence.

Once the release forms are complete, he review the plan for Ivy’s follow-up care, including how to manage any pain she has and when she’ll need to return to have the cast removed. Katniss listens attentively.

When he’s finished, she stands up slowly, her movements tentative so as not to jostle Ivy. A sigh parts the little girl’s lips and she stirs, but she remains asleep. God, she’s cute, Peeta thinks.

“Thank you, Dr. Mellark,” Katniss says softly. “For everything. I know what you did…” She falters. “I mean, I know we, ah, weren’t next, and ah…” Peeta waves a hand dismissively, sensing her discomfort with his hijacking of the queued patients.

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Little girls should be home on Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa.” He echoes Katniss’s earlier words. “I hope he’s good to her.”

He doesn’t miss the forlorn expression that flits across Katniss’s face as she glances down at her sleeping niece.

“He can’t bring her what she wants most, but he’ll try,” she murmurs and moves towards the open curtain. Just before she steps out into the hall, she pauses and turns to face Peeta.

“Merry Christmas,” she adds.

“Merry Christmas,” he concurs. With a faint smile, she steps around the curtain. It rustles in her wake and resettles. Peeta exhales and slumps against the wall, regret washing through him, followed by a stronger wave of sadness at seeing Katniss go. If it hadn’t been for Ivy, he might have concocted some kind of delay to keep Katniss here longer, found some excuse to pry more information out of her. Like if she’s single. A surge of adrenaline spikes in his blood. He can’t let her go this easily.

He bolts out into the corridor, scanning the bustling hallway for any sign of Katniss and Ivy, but they’ve vanished. Disappointed, his shoulders slump as he trudges towards the nurses’ station to hand off Ivy’s file.

It’s probably best, a nagging little voice inside him taunts, and he reluctantly concedes that it probably is. As much as he’d love to finally shut his mother up and find a woman that he’d want to spend more than a night with, it’s not fair to subject one to the kind of schedule he has to keep. New doctors are low-man-on-the-totem-pole. He’s had mostly graveyard shifts and he’s often on call. It’s his dream to have a pediatric practice, but he’s well aware that he’ll have to toil for a couple of years to get on track to make that dream a reality.

A few minutes later, en route to his next examination, Peeta spies Johanna, one of the triage nurses, coming out of the room Ivy had occupied. His eyes immediately narrow when his gaze lands on her left arm.

“Was that in there?” He motions towards the vacated room and then nods towards the stuffed cat Johanna has wedged under her armpit.

“What, the cat? Yeah. It must have fallen under the bed. I’ll take it to the station, in case someone comes back to claim it.”

Ivy’s cherubic little face flashes in Peeta’s mind. He remember how fiercely she had been clutching that cat, and how she had reluctantly agreed to put it down when it had been time for Delly, another one of the triage nurses, to take her for X-rays.

Peeta’s pulse quickens and he immediately thrusts his hand towards Johanna. “I’ll take it,” he says impulsively. She wrinkles her nose and cocks her head, her hazel eyes intensely scrutinizing him. Though they have a casual friendship, Johanna is far too insightful for her own good. Peeta doesn’t really need her questioning his motives for taking possession of the toy.

“The little girl it belongs to goes to preschool with Max. I’ll make sure he takes it to her after the holiday break.” Fuck, that lie flew off his tongue so easily he almost believes it himself. Johanna shrugs and tosses Peeta the cat.

“Suit yourself. One less thing to overflow the Lost and Found.” She strides past him and disappears into Triage 6. He stares down at the stuffed animal. His heart skips another beat and a slow smile tugs at his mouth.

~*~*~*~

Stifling another yawn, Peeta squints at the numbers above the garage. He’s definitely in the right place. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, glancing at the clock on the navigation system. It’s quarter after nine. Early, but not obscenely so. When his shift had ended at six am, he had driven home and fought the urge to crawl into bed; instead, he grabbed a quick shower and freshened up. True, part of him hadn’t wanted to see Katniss Everdeen again looking like the bedraggled, exhausted mess he was at the end of a rotation, and also true, he was going to have to clean up before he’s due at his parents’ house at one. But he also knew he couldn’t really have shown up at Katniss’s house at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, even if he suspects Ivy likely had her up by then. He recalls, with a wistful smile, that Christmas morning was the one morning he and his brothers were always awake before his father. It was only a question of which Mellark brother was going to be the first to rouse the others. Him being the youngest, it was usually him, he admits with a wider grin.

He quietly exits his car, careful not to slam the door, and gingerly steps across the icy driveway. He pauses at the un-shoveled front walk, where a pristine blanket of snow blocks his path. “Shit,” he whispers, gritting his teeth as he takes the first step. His foot plunges into the deep drift, up to nearly his calf. He braces himself and takes a huge step, hoping to eat up the distance in a few long strides. Fortunately, it’s not a long front walk. He reaches the also un-shoveled front steps and carefully ascends them. He contemplates ringing the doorbell, but instead raps his knuckles against the door. His breath pipes out in white plumes and he rubs his palms together for warmth as he waits.

No one comes to the door, at least not immediately. Peeta lifts his fist again, but just before his knuckles can connect with the wood again, the front door opens a crack and he’s suddenly looking at Katniss. Those silver eyes round almost comically as recognition lights them.

“D-Doctor Mellark? Wh-what are you….”

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” he begins. “I thought Ivy would be missing this.” He smiles and holds up the stuffed cat.

Katniss stares at him, her lips parting faintly, and shock and confusion war on her pretty face. But then her grey eyes darken with what Peeta can only describe as restrained fury.

She opens the door fully and glares at him.

“You had Ivy’s cat?” she accuses.

“Uh…yeah…” he stammers, his own confusion welling. Why is she so angry? “My nephew…he has a bear. Otis. Can’t sleep without that thing. I thought if Ivy is anything like Max…well, she’d be missing this.” He holds the cat out to Katniss. She snatches it so violently that she stumbles backwards. Peeta is equally jarred, but his jolt is from the very brief brush of Katniss’s fingers against his when she had grabbed the toy.

But Katniss gives him no time to revel in the feeling.

“So this is why no one at the hospital had a goddamned clue what I was talking about when I called there looking for this cat an hour ago!” she spits.

Shit, Peeta thinks, an uneasy feeling clawing its way into his gut.

“Why the fuck—” He can’t help but notice her slight hesitation before she lobs the obscenity at him. “—would you take my niece’s cat? Is this something normal people do?” She’s shivering visibly as she rants, a clear consequence of stepping onto her front porch wearing nothing but green plaid pajama pants and a threadbare black Henley shirt.

“I….I…” He shakes his head. He’s not even sure how to defend his actions. He can’t very well tell her his ulterior motives in bringing the stuffed cat back to her niece. Not now. He definitely fucked this up.

“I was just trying to be nice. That I’d save you a trip on Christmas morning,” he finishes lamely.

Katniss’s nostrils flare and her jaw flexes. “Christmas morning,” she mutters, just barely audible over the clattering of her teeth. “Did it occur to you, Dr. Mellark, that I might be looking for Ivy’s cat and I might call the hospital looking for this cat?” She shakes the toy in his face. “And did it occur to you that, in spite of all the toys she had just opened, Ivy might be bawling and throwing a fit because Buttercup was missing?”

Buttercup, he has to assume, is the stuffed cat.

She pauses, as if waiting for him to defend himself, but all he can do is swallow against the lump crowding his throat.

So she continues, “They made me think I was crazy—but not until after they left me on hold for 20 minutes while I tried to calm a wailing toddler. And then they said there was no toy matching this description in the Lost and Found. And that’s because you had it!” Her eyes are a maelstrom now, but he notices that an edge of frustration has crept into her furious tone.

“And now Ivy doesn’t have it. So thank you. Thank you very much, Dr. Mellark. Merry Christmas.” And before Peeta can release the breath he’s been holding during her outburst and plead his case, she whirls around, her disheveled braid lancing through the air like a whip, and slams the door behind her. Stunned, Peeta can only stare at the wreath on the door as he processes what just happened.

What. The. Fuck.

Heart pounding, gut churning, Peeta retreats to his car. He takes a few minutes to absorb the shock of his encounter with Katniss, his mind reeling through the accusations she made. He never would have expected her to react like this. So much for any shot with Katniss Everdeen.

He finally gathers his composure and navigates out of her complex. As he drives, his mind continues replaying Katniss’s words over and over, and he finds one thing nags at him.

And now Ivy doesn’t have it.

Those words don’t make much sense to him. He just gave the stuffed animal back to Katniss. She can give it back to Ivy. She’ll have it now. In her wrath, Katniss just wasn’t being rational, he decides.

But her words continue to haunt him off and on for the rest of the day. Along with persistent images of Katniss that further torment him. She is never far from his conscious thoughts. As he sits down next to the fireplace in his parents’ house with a tumbler of scotch to exchange gifts with his brothers and his nephews, he finds himself wondering who Katniss is celebrating with. Ivy, obviously. But does she have other family?

By the time the Mellarks all settle around the table for dinner, he’s conjured up the notion that Katniss may not be married, but she surely has a devoted boyfriend who is showering her with gifts at this very moment. Her mood is infinitely better than what Peeta witnessed earlier. She’s probably dressed nice for him, and he’s sitting around her dining room table with Katniss and Ivy, like a makeshift family.

His mother’s irritation is palpable when she has to command his attention twice to try and draw him into the discussion centered on Rye’s upcoming wedding. Peeta murmurs the apology he knows she expects and feigns his dutiful brotherly interest for Rye’s benefit the remainder of the meal. But a dull ache has taken up residence in the center of his chest and he realizes just how badly he wants what his brothers have.

He just won’t be having it with Katniss Everdeen.

#everlark #the hunger games #everlark fanfiction #court81981

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spanishskulduggery · 4 years

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Behind the Translation - “The Blue Lion House”

The Blue Lion House - La Casa del León Azul

There are a couple things I wanted to point out before totally beginning talking about the character introductions here.

First is that the Blue Lion’s route is known as Luna Añil which is the way they translated “Azure Moon”. Literally, Luna Añil is “Indigo Moon”. My guess is that they did it because azul is “blue” and is the closest word to “azure” in English, but there was already the “blue lions”.

The next point is something I’ll probably repeat for the other houses, but something I’ve noticed is that in Spanish when talking about surnames or what noble house someone comes from, they use de. For example, in the Blue Lions he says el barón de Dominic or el conde de Galatea while in English it’s “Baron Dominic” and “Count Galatea”.

The reason for this is that it was quite common in European society to have some kind of “nobiliary particle” which are things like de or von or other particles that mean “of”. What’s interesting (and easier to understand) is that many of the territories in Fodlan are where the certain families are situated... so there is a Dominic territory and a Galatea territory. It’s both a toponym [a name derived from a place], but also used to show specifically from what noble house someone is from. Other characters (mostly the commoners) don’t have these nobiliary particles because you wouldn’t expect them to.

Another fun historical nod is that “Holy Kingdom of Faerghus” is translates as el Sacro Reino de Faerghus. If you ever see the word sacro in Spanish it’s typically when you’re talking about el Sacro Imperio Romano “the Holy Roman Empire”, so that’s a nice touch

- - - - -

Dimitri

“You want to know more about me? Forgive me... It isn’t easy to improvise to talk about oneself. [something like “it isn’t easy to talk about oneself without preparation”]

Let’s say that my life has not been an easy road. I hope that doesn’t influence your opinion of me, but it it does I would understand.”

Personal Ability [Habilidad característica which is like “characteristic ability” or “unique skill”] - “Royal Lineage” - The unit gains 20% more experience.

[fuese is more common in Spain nowadays but that’s imperfect subjunctive; “if it were so/thus, I would understand” is sort of how it sounds]

- - -

Dedue

“Dedue comes from the Duscur region and has been working faithfully in my service for four years.

Despite his taciturn appearance, when you talk to him you’ll realize that he’s a pleasant and good-hearted young man.”

Personal Skill - “Loyal Squire” - If the unit does not act and uses the “Wait” option, grants Defense +4 for 1 turn.

- - -

Felix [I guess they’re treating it as a loanword but I did expect Félix with the accent mark]

“Felix is the heir of House Fraldarius. He might seem somewhat caustic [lit. “acid/acidic”] with his words, but deep down, he’s kind.

He is always looking to go up against [lit. “measure himself against”] capable rivals. Why don’t you compete [probably “spar”] with him some time?”

Personal Ability - “Lone Wolf” - If the unit does not fight with a battalion, or if it [the battalion] does not have any troops, +5 to damage inflicted

- - -

Ashe

“He’s the adoptive son of Lord Lonato, from the castle Gaspard, but I understand [lit. “I have understood”, something like “I have come to understand” or “I have it on good authority”] that he comes from a commoner family.

Seldom have I met anyone as driven [lit. “applied” or “earnest”]. I know he will attend classes with great enthusiasm.”

Personal Skill - “Locksmith” - Allows the unit to open doors and chests without needing keys.

- - -

Sylvain

“He’s the heir of House Gautier. He goes out of his way for his friends, although that said...

He’s an incorrigible seducer. Every day I talk with him about the matter, but my words seem to fall on deaf ears.”

[The word in English Dimitri uses is “skirt-chaser” which would be something like persiguefaldas so not totally applicable. I understand why they didn’t go for calling him a Don Juan but still, “seducer” feels maybe not right?]

Personal Skill - “Gynephilia” - If there’s an allied female unit adjacent, +2 to damage inflicted and -2 to damage suffered.

[Probably the funniest translation; in English it’s “philanderer” which I would say is more like mujeriego “womanizer”. But ginefilia is literally “attraction to women”, so it just sounds like his skill is “I LOVE WOMEN”]

- - -

Mercedes

“I understand that she comes from a noble family in the Empire, but that, by the whims of fate, she came to rest [lit. “came to a stop”] in the Kingdom.

Although she may seem carefree, the truth is that she’s tremendously friendly and worries about everyone.”

[Maybe the most flowery translation so far, los avatares del destino is often like “the whims of fate” or “a series of coincidences”, but more literally it’s “the avatars of destiny” or “the arbiters of fate”.]

Personal Ability - “Live to serve” - Upon using white magic to heal an ally, the unit recovers the same number of HP.

[PV is HP; literally puntos de vida or “life points”]

- - -

Annette

“Annette is the niece of the Baron of Dominic. She is very good at her studies [lit. “her studies suit her well”]; not for nothing, she earned extraordinary grades/marks in the school of magic.

She’s always in a good mood and is very hardworking, but sometimes she displays a certain awkwardness/clumsiness. Last night, without getting too much into it, she caused an explosion in the kitchen.”

[In English it’s “Royal School of Sorcery” which would be something like la Escuela/Academia Real de Hechicería... it sounds somehow more ordinary in Spanish like she was just at “magic school”]

Personal Ability - “Perseverance” - When powering up an ally, grants Strength +4.

[potenciarse is understood here as the translation for “rally”, but literally it’s “to grant power to”. Also Fue is understood as the abbreviation for Fuerza “strength”]

- - -

Ingrid

“Ingrid is the daughter of the Count of Galatea and childhood friend of Felix, Sylvain and myself.*

She is [lit. “she has to do with” or “she embodies”] a very resolute and earnest young woman, with very solid moral values. She has more leadership qualities than many knights.**”

**In English it’s “she’s more knightly than most knights” which I would personally have translated as ella es más caballeresca que la mayoría de los caballeros, or tiene más de caballero que la mayoría de los caballeros.

Personal Ability - “Lady Knight” - Grants Damage+3 and Hit+5 in gambits.

[lit. tácticas is “tactics” but it’s the translation of the term “gambits” in this game]

#Spanish #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #blue lions #language #languages #learning Spanish

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sensationalrp · 5 years

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as promised, here are our final five member groups! these ones are based on more classic films. but round off our ten member groups. your character doesn’t have to slot into any of these perfectly, especially if you feel as if your character falls in between two of them. so honestly, you can pick based on whether you like the film or the colour. we don’t mind. they’re just outlines for you guys!

there’s lots more previews and exciting things coming your way, so stay tuned!

silence of the lambs

CALCULATING, COARSE, ORGANISED

you choose your words carefully. they are like bullets on your tongue ready to fire. you are considerate, every thought and movement carefully planned to ensure you are always on the top. sometimes it may seem like you don’t care, but in actual fact for some of you, you almost care too much. you care about how you are perceived, you want to be perfect, the best, and sometimes you break down when you cant manage that. you can be quite abrasive, seem disinterested in others problems. you are self indulgent, always talking about your problems, yet, when you need to be, you can be loyal. fiercely so, protective over those you love and those you care about. you’d fight to the death for them. even for those who didn't ask for it.

character parallels: hannibal lecter (hannibal), cersei lannister (game of thrones), paris gellar (gilmore girls), klaus mikkaelson (the originals), elliot anderson (mr robot), sheldon cooper (the big bang theory), spencer hastings (pretty little liars)

shakespeare in love

ROMANTIC, EARNEST, OLD FASHIONED

you dream big. its intoxicating, you want the world and you want to give the world to those you love. you have a big heart and you want to give every piece of it away and you try to, you are determined to. you believe in tradition, in the man proposing to the woman, to getting flowers on valentines day and going to church on sundays. you wildly, passionately dream of love. you day dream about it, wonder whether you will ever achieve it. your dreams are powerful things and sometimes, they are your only focus, your biggest dream, however, is to fall in love, to be in love and to provide for your family. you work hard, as hard as you can. your work ethic is enviable, you never stop. you make great employees, quietly getting on with it.

character parallels: caroline forbes (the vampire diaries), kara danvers (supergirl), betty cooper (riverdale), dean forrester (gilmore girls), karolina dean (the runaways), phoebe halliwell (charmed), jack pearson (this is us)

titanic

DRAMATIC, EMOTIONAL, UNPREDICTABLE

you live for dramatics, centre stage, lights on you. you are driven by your emotions and they can get the better of you. they lead you, and you follow them. no matter what dark hole they send you to. you trust your gut above all else. it barely ever fails you, you think. you have a tendency to do whatever the hell you want, especially when it involves being spontaneous. you don’t like to plan, you like to do. reading instructions is not the kind of thing you’re interested in. some of you thrive on conflict, on being the centre of drama, you like to believe your life is tragic and you are a firm believer in being the protagonist of your own story. you are your own hero, you don't need anyone to save you.

character parallels: eleanor shellstrop (the good place), rebecca bunch (crazy ex girlfriend), hanna marin (pretty little liars), izzie stevens (grey’s anatomy), janis ian (mean girls), kurt hummel (glee), draco malfoy (harry potter)

casablanca

DARING, ENIGMATIC, PERSUASIVE

you can’t help but take risks, it’s in your blood. you want to know the truth, you are determined and you’ll do anything to do it. your self preservation is second to your determination to get to the bottom of something or finding that next adrenaline rush. you may find you jumping headfirst out of an aeroplane or in the wild, living off nature just for the thrill. some of you get that thrill from your work, just the feeling of stepping on set or in the recording studio, starting a new project. you are passionate about what you do and when you speak, people listen to you. you are a commanding presence, made to lead and people listen to you. you can be calming, cool, easy to be around, everyone’s friend.

character parallels: jughead jones (riverdale), veronica mars (veronica mars), meredith grey (grey’s anatomy), robb stark (game of thrones), alex danvers (supergirl), sirius black (harry potter), allison delaurentis (pretty little liars)

gone with the wind

MATURE, POLITE, GENTLE

you are the voice of reason in any room you walk into, careful, calm, soft. you’re intelligent, but you don’t boost about it, you are more likely to quietly let others get the credit while you do all the work. you can be indecisive at times, but mostly you just step back and let others do what suits them. you are maternal, caring, you care wildly about what people thing, but you don’t want to let it on. you listen to all sides of an argument rationally before forming an opinion and you consider the needs of others in everything that you do. you may not be a middle child, but you are often a mediator between other big personalities around you. you’re a judge, you have a quiet power that people respect but you never command the presence, you are usually happy to let others lead, but you do guide. guide them to the right answers, inform them of their mistakes. you are respected. people look to you for advice and guidance and you hold that power with a stern responsibility.

character parallels: piper halliwell (charmed), rory gilmore (gilmore girls), loras tyrell (game of thrones), bran stark (game of thrones), emily fields (pretty little liars), chidi anagonye (the good place), amy santiago (brooklyn nine nine), mon-el (supergirl), toni topaz (riverdale)

#preview #sensationalrp

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themastercylinder · 5 years

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After BLACK CHRISTMAS came BREAKING POINT (20th Century), a big budget “WALKING TALL clone” starring Bo Svenson and Robert Culp that Bob describes as “the only film I had made up to that point I view as unsuccessful.” Alas, to film critics of the day, contemptuous of horror and other “exploitation” fare, it was the only of his films at that time worth praising.

SUMMARY

It is England in the Autumn of 1888 and Queen Victoria still rules over the British Empire. Sherlock Holmes (Christopher Plummer) the legendary private detective and his loyal companion and chronicler, the earnest Dr. Watson (James Mason), are enjoying an opulent first night at the opera in London’s fashionable West End. Meanwhile, in the squalid jungle of the East End of London, a prostitute is being horribly murdered. The dreaded killer, commonly known as Jack the Ripper for the gruesome manner in which he mutilates the bodies of his victims, has struck again. The sickly miasma of fear is as palpable as the autumn fogs which envelop the slums. The forces of law and order seem powerless to stop the savage butchery. Holmes is approached by shadowy figures to take on the case. Although Police Inspectors Foxborough (David Hemmings) and Lestrade ( Frank Finlay) more than welcome his assistance, Sir Charles Warren (Anthony Quayle), the Commissioner of Police from Scotland Yard, actively does not.

The master criminologist is guided in his pursuit of justice, through the seamy Victorian underworld, to the psychic Robert Lees (Donald Sutherland) who fearfully points him in another direction. Holmes and Watson, constantly in danger for their lives and liberty, become not only the grand masters but also the pawns in this lethal game of hide and seek. They search out and are found by the hapless Mary Kelly (Susan Clark), a girl of the streets, whose only crime is the knowledge of a fatal secret, which she will protect at all costs. She in turn leads them to Annie Crook (Genevieve Bujold), a servant who made the mistake of marrying above her station, whom even the illustrious detective cannot protect from herself.

The hunters and the hunted stealthily move through the mist-shrouded maze of Whitechapel’s cobblestone streets where every shadow instills fear. Watson is violently attacked by, and Holmes at last comes face to face with, the Ripper. As he inexorably unravels the mystery, Holmes crosses swords with Lord Salisbury (John Gielgud), the Prime Minister of England, and finds himself threatened by the macabre power of a secret society and the all-pervasive, long reaching might of the Establishment. He is challenged by no ordinary murderer but one with influential and determined friends and what he has to stop.

MURDER BY DECREE, from left: James Mason as Dr. Watson, Frank Finlay, Christopher Plummer as Sherlock Holmes, 1979, © Avco Embassy/courtesy Everett Collection

DEVELOPMENT

The idea of Sherlock Holmes tackling the Ripper case is hardly a new idea now, nor was it in 1978 when Bob Clark (Co-producer, story and director) started piecing together his story for Murder by Decree. This is first and foremost a Ripper film rather than a Holmes film as Holmes simply provides the vehicle for telling the story. We had last seen Holmes tackle the Ripper in the 1965 film A Study in Terror which featured John Neville as Holmes. In an odd twist, two actors from the previous film, one as the same character, would also appear in the new one. That version, as satisfying as it was, didn’t actually take into account much of the popular Ripper mythology that had sprung up around the unsolved case.

The script, based partially on the findings of a BBC docu-drama called Jack the Ripper (1973 TV series), while fictional, was meticulous in its research, down to the names, places, and even the grape stem clue found at the scene of one of the actual slayings. DECREE offers up the theory that Big Bad Jack was not a random psycho but a government stoolie covering up the marital indiscretions of The Royal Family.

By 1978, the theory, much expanded on in Stephen Knight’s 1976 book Jack the Ripper: The Final Solution had made its mark and ridiculous conspiracy theories involving the Freemasons and the Royal family were a hotly debated topic. Apparently, Clark and scriptwriter John Hopkins (Z Cars, The Offence), felt that having Holmes rooted in a true historical case would add a certain depth to the characters. They were determined to create a more fully realized personality for Holmes. Giving him a greater level of emotion.

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Lobby Cards

“I first came up with the idea of the film when I heard about that very first theory printed by a British journalist saying the Duke of Clarence was the killer. I thought, what an incredible notion for a movie. That theory was soon discredited and the theories that we’re following are much later ones. I really didn’t want to make a film to prove any history, I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m just doing a “what if” history. That’s why I brought Sherlock Holmes into it, who is a semi-fictional character. He’s not real, but so many think he is. By bringing him into the story, we’re saying in effect that we’re not claiming this is fact.” Director Bob Clark asserts.

PRE-PRODUCTION

Fictional 19th century detective Sherlock Holmes and real life 1800s psycho Jack the Ripper have been paired in film before, in 1956’s A STUDY IN TERROR and in Paul Naschy’s 1972 effort 7 MURDERS FOR SCOTLAND YARD (EL DESTRIPADOR DE LONDRES), but these films had no part in the development of MURDER BY DECREE, originally called “Saucy Jack Meets Sherlock Holmes’. “I had loved the old Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce Holmes and Watson films,” he relays, “and was intrigued by the concept of them meeting Jack the Ripper. A book had just been written about the true identity of the Ripper that I had read a review of. And the film’s concept was one my Canadian horror movie backers could easily grasp.”

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Production Stills

CASTING

Clark described his choice and reasoning in casting Plummer and Mason. “The relationship between the two men appealed to me deeply. This is a passionate and caring Holmes; I wanted to get through his traditional reserve. I have aimed for a humanizing of the characters. First of all, we were looking for two men who really do have a relationship between them. Although I loved the Basil Rathbone – Nigel Bruce teaming, what I didn’t like was Holmes continually patronizing Watson without really enjoying him as much as he should. With Christopher, we’ve gone for a very warm, vital Holmes, a man who cares very passionately. Any Holmes up to now would never have a tear in his eye. Well, Christopher does in this, and when he sees some wrenching or pathetic things, it moves him. Conan Doyle’s Holmes was a very intellectual, brilliant egotistical man. We’ve kept that ego, that’s still there. Christopher has depth and strength, he has brilliant flashes. He’s currently the most Holmesian of all actors around. And it’s that kind of cold aristocratic Plummer that we’re playing against in this picture. We’re going very much against what has been Chris’s image and I think it will surprise and please a lot of people. James has created a much more intelligent Watson, still a bit of a fustian old soldier type, because the movie Watson is invariably that image. But James is not stupid, his character has got a good sense of humor. He’s pretty quick on the uptake yet he remains a step behind Holmes at all times naturally. But he has center stage himself several times, he does some pretty good sleuthing on his own and he’s never befuddled or patronized by Holmes. He’s much more perceptive, which I think is a necessary updating.”

“I have approached the character of Watson as an intelligent friend of Holmes. He is often portrayed as a bumbling joker but he was supposed to be a medical doctor and Holmes would never have shared his life with an idiot.” – James Mason on the playing Dr Watson

Christopher Plummer also comments on the script’s approach to Holmes: “It gives Holmes the opportunity to be human. It’s easy to play him as supercilious, rather snobbish, but that’s not what I intended to do. I hope people like him the way I play him.” James Mason adds his comments on the subject of the good Doctor and his relationship with Holmes, “I am supremely suited to the role of Dr. Watson because it is a part that is completely within my range. I don’t see Watson as a buffoon. I think he was dependable, full of common sense, discipline and dignity. Holmes on the other hand was rather weird. Watson needed sterling qualities to be with him. Holmes daily behavioral pattern was that of a rather strange individual. “

“I don’t think anybody will ever get tired of Sherlock Holmes. I don’t think the public will ever let him die just as they wouldn’t let Conan Doyle kill him.” – Christopher Plummer

While Murder By Decree is not a Canadian production, (it is actually an Ambassador Films Production produced in cooperation with the Canadian Film Development Corporation and Famous Players Ltd. and released by Avco Embassy Pictures Corp) it did however utilize a number of Canadian stars alongside the lead in key roles. Amongst them are Donald Sutherland as the psychic Robert Lees, Genevieve Bujold as Annie Crook, Susan Clark as Mary Kelly and Chris Wiggins as Dr. Hardy. All of which handle their performances admirably. Rounding out the cast are UK actors Anthony Quayle as Sir Charles Warren (who played a radical doctor in A Study in Terror), David Hemmings as Inspector Foxborough, Sir John Gielgud as the Prime Minister Lord Salisbury and Frank Finlay as Inspector Lestrade (reprising his role from the A Study in Terror). It is a stunning cast in every way, and likely the most star-studded of any Holmes production to date.

Interview with Director Bob Clark

How did Murder by Decree come together?

CLARK: That I generated myself. I came up with the story, and brought the production together.

When MURDER BY DECREE was first announced, it was under the title SHERLOCK HOLMES AND SAUCY JACK. What made you change the title ?

CLARK: Everyone hated that title. In England, even though that’s what he was called at the time, it has a slightly comic meaning. In the States, no one had any idea what it meant, which I actually considered to be a plus because they would have to ask. MURDER BY DECREE gives just enough away and it does invoke a response.

Why did you choose John Hopkins to write the script ?

CLARK: We had to have an English writer seeing as the film was produced under an Anglo-Canadian pact. It was either John or Anthony Shaffer, but I met John in New York and I liked him-and as it turned out we had a great rapport. There were six re-writes in all as we kept changing the story. I first came up with the story when I heard about the theory that the Ripper was the Duke of Clarence. But that theory was soon discredited and the theories that we followed are later ones. Jack the Ripper is not the whole point behind the plot, but who is trying to hinder Holmes’ investigation. Radicals and Socialists are helping him, Monarchist organizations are trying to stop him and a couple of secret societies are involved, all, I must add, based on facts. It is more an adventure/intrigue than horror. The horror story evolves into a CHINATOWN or Watergate situation. There won’t be much blood as we’re going in for terror. Actually there is very rarely any blood in my films, even though people don’t believe that. People love murder mysteries and this will be subtler than most. After BLACK CHRISTMAS I was offered a lot of films along the same lines. I was going to do a film for Warner’s, PREY, a John Carpenter script, but it was cancelled due to casting problems.

Are you familiar with a film called A STUDY IN TERROR, directed by James Hill in 1964? It has a theme similar to MURDER BY DECREE.

CLARK: I didn’t even realize it had existed until I found out Frank Finley had been in it. I’d heard it was an above-average film, but when I saw it by and large I was quite disappointed. It has not stood the test of time. The techniques were very Hammer and obviously someone had pretensions for it to aim higher than that. I’m told the director left the film due to the fact that he was told he would have a lot of money to do it, but ultimately he didn’t and he had to compromise. It clearly belongs in the genre and does not rise above it.

What about the move from low budget features to the larger budgets you have now?

CLARK: Well, it’s still the same pressure. All it means really is you have higher paid stars and more value goes up on the screen. It isn’t hard at all. Our designer has done an incredible job on the sets, they add even more production value than I could ever possibly calculate. We have done as much location as you can in modern day London. We had to build the East End docks as they no longer exist in the Victorian state.

What about working with such an impressive cast ?

CLARK: Well, I spent time with Plummer and Mason as I thought I’d be awed when shooting began, but they expect to be directed and I’m delighted to be the one who has to direct them. I first wanted either Olivier or Mason to portray Watson but I can only say that it is for the good of the film that James agreed to do it. I thought of Peter O’Toole originally for Holmes, and he was scheduled, but it was one of those questions of timing. Chris Plummer was my second choice, and he is superb at putting across all the warmth and concern I envisioned for the character. Each one of the actors contributed to the final good of the film. Bujold is the best young actress working today. She is astonishing, and what she does here is really memorable. David Hemmings is a terrific actor and he is getting much better with age. Finlay gets great mileage out of a small role. Susan Clark manages a fabulous Irish accent-and what more can you say about working with Gielgud ? It was a joy. Films are ultimately about people, people who give off sparks, and these actors give off something more than that.

Were there any ego problems during filming?

CLARK: God no, everyone was just great. James Mason—what can you say about him? He was a perfect gentleman, and a marvelous actor.

You drew your best reviews for Murder by Decree, but the film really didn’t catch on at the box office. Any idea why?

CLARK: I don’t know, to tell the truth, I didn’t think much about it. It’s a great film. I quite rightly regard it as my best work, my biggest triumph so far.

Since Murder by Decree, you haven’t done anything even remotely close to the horror genre. Why is that?

CLARK: I wanted to move on. I’d done horror films. Still, I’m glad I did horror films. They’re the greatest training in the world. Making horror films requires a great deal of editing discipline and attention to rhythm. I think some of my early films are my best work. I’ve no regrets.

From Baker Street To Whitechapel – Recreation of Victorian England and its people

Not only is the cast of a high caliber, the production itself is remarkable. Elstree Studios was home to the construction of a vast complex of streets, cobbled alleyways, a square and a courtyard as well as the busy thoroughfare of Whitechapel’s main street. At the time, this was the largest set ever built, taking 100 men over 8 weeks to construct, in England on a studio sound stage. 4,000 square feet of cobblestones were laid in sheets each three feet by one and a half feet, made of reinforced concrete. 30 molds were made from which two batches were produced daily, taking 6 men 30 days to manufacture, using 20 tons of cement and 150 tons of sand. And finally, stale fruit and vegetables were blended with Fuller’s earth, combined with manure and then strewn along the cobbled streets. Three different types of brick were cast for the buildings and 5,000 sheets were made, each being 6 by 5 feet. 10 men spent eight weeks casting the 150, 000 square feet of bricks and tacking them to the walls. Responsible for the concept and execution of the set was Production Designer Harry Pottle, who ensured that every detail was authentic to the period, from unique tin match boxes to a lily decorated urn visible in an Undertakers window.

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Set Design Drawing by Harry Pottle for Murder By Decree, 1978

Meanwhile, at Shepperton Studios, on their largest sound stage, an authentic recreation of the London docks was erected, complete with a river Thames flowing by. This set took 50 men two months to construct. A 100-foot wharf was made from Victorian railway ties. To recreate the murky look of the Thames, a tank, 120’ wide by 90’ long was built requiring 36 hours to fill with half a million gallons of water. All because Bob Clark was insistent on total authenticity.

“We were trying to get a flavor of the London of Gustave Dore. But he was about 30 years to early for us, we studied his drawings and engravings then updated our interpretation.” – Production Designer Harry Pottle

The effort appears worthwhile on screen when combined with actual location shooting. Along with the aforementioned Royal Academy and Wyndham’s Theater were locations which included Clink Street in the East End of London, the Royal Naval College at Greenwich for a recreation of Park Lane and finally the exterior of 221B Baker Street was actually a quiet backwater stretch of Barton Street. It is an impressive picture particularly as it was made on a total budget of $5,000,000.

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Assassinio su Commissione Italian Lobby Cards

The attention to detail extended right through costuming and makeup as well. For a change, the prostitute victims of the Ripper were actually of the right age and dressed as the ragged drabs that they were. Unfortunately, the usual gaff of having Holmes wearing a deerstalker hat while in the city is committed throughout the film. He is also saddled with a rather improbable pipe. Sadly, these appear to be necessities of Holmesian filmmaking life, as producers and directors seem to think that the general viewing audience expects the stereotype to identify the character. Christopher Plummer comments on the look of Holmes in the film “I had my hair streaked to make him warmer looking. In the Sidney Paget drawings he had slicked down hair, very sinister looking. If the audience don’t like you, you’re dead. Unfortunately, he has that costume he is identified with. Hamlet can come on in brown velvet – Holmes has to wear that damn hat and pipe.”

When production wrapped, the makeup department presented Plummer with a Snoopy doll dressed as Holmes complete with a weighted knitted scarf.

James Mason demonstrating the present day art of using a buttonhook. The photograph was taken in 1979 outside Elstree Studios where he was filming the Sherlock Holmes mystery ‘Murder by Decree’. Mr. Mason, in his role as Dr. Watson, used a steel fold-over buttonhook to fasten his boots.

POST PRODUCTION

Interview with Score Composer Paul Zaza

Murder by Decree has your classy signature sound. What you and Carl cooked up was very different there from Black Christmas, that collection of atonal sounds and discordant effects.

PAUL ZAZA: Well, Murder by Decree was anything but Black Christmas. It was Sherlock Holmes. It was 1888. Whitechapel, London. It needed real music. Acoustic music. To put an electronic score on that would have been all wrong.

So at that point, Bob Clark knew you from Carl’s work on Black Christmas?

ZAZA: Yes. He was totally cool with both Carl and myself working on Murder by Decree. His attitude was, “You guys figure it out. Just don’t screw it up.” Bob’s head was much more into what angle he was going shoot James Mason and Christopher Plummer when they’re coming down in the carriage. Or what lens he’d use on the camera when Jack the Ripper is chasing them…that’s what he was worried about.

So you hired a full orchestra?

ZAZA: Yes. We went to London and hired the Royal Philharmonic. I was scared shitless. This was the biggest thing I’d ever done. You know, I was a kid in my twenties, standing there and conducting the Royal Phil. I had it all written out – and I crossed my T’s and dotted my I’s and thought, “This should work.” You never know until you put the baton down and you hear the first bar played. I had the big producers from New York in there, and Bob Clark. There were ninety musicians out there and the pressure was on. But I put the baton down and we conducted the first cue – and it was absolutely glorious. It was just beautiful.

It’s probably the most beautiful of all the Zaza scores we listened to as we prepped for this interview. It has a breadth of scope to it. In particular, the music for the closing credits – a theme of sorts for Annie (Genevieve Bujold) in the film – that’s a wonderful piece.

ZAZA: Thank you. Yes, it’s really one of the best things I’ve done. And of course, it’s one of the best films Bob ever did.

Is Murder by Decree one of your proudest achievements as a film composer?

ZAZA: I think so. It’s a score that’s very pure and it works. It was one of the few films in which almost everything that I wrote got used. They didn’t change it much. In almost every other film, when the directors and the producers start to get “creative” – they really butcher it up and slice and dice it into tiny pieces. They’ll have a favorite cue and they’ll end up using it twenty-five times in the film.

But Murder by Decree pretty much plays the way I wrote it. That’s a symbol of how good it is.

ZAZA: It’s also a symbol of how times have changed. Back then, if something worked and it was good, you just went with it. Whereas now, it’s filmmaking by committee. You get these boards of directors micro managing, everybody has a say in the music.

You won the Genie Award (the Canadian version of the Oscar) for Best Score for Murder. What was that like? Did it open doors for you?

ZAZA: Canada is a funny place. If this were an Academy Award, my phone would have been ringing off the hook for the next ten years. The Canadian film industry has a very strange attitude. Their attitude is “Oh, he’s too expensive now. We’d better not call him.”

Really?

ZAZA: Yeah, in fact…I probably noticed that my phone got real quiet after I won the Genie Award and I couldn’t figure out why. But I still managed to drum up some work.

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Promotional Artwork

Cast

Sherlock Holmes – Christopher Plummer

Dr. Watson – James Mason

Robert Lees – Donald Sutherland

Annie Crook – Genevieve Bujold

Inspector Foxborough – David Hemmings

Mary Kelly – Susan Clark

Sir Charles Warren – Anthony Quayle

Lord Salisbury – Sir John Gielgud

Inspector Lestrade – Frank Finlay

Dr. Hardy – Chris Wiggins

Mrs. Lees – Tedde Moore

William Slade – Peter Jonfield

Sir Thomas Spivey – Roy Lansford

Carrie – Catherine Kessler

Henry Matthews – Geoffrey Russell

Makins – Roy Pember

Elizabeth Stride – June Brown

Catherine Eddowes – Hilary Sesta

Crew

Executive Producer – Len Herberman

Co – Producer – Rene Dupont

Co – Producer/Director – Bob Clark

Director of Photography – Reg Morris

Screenplay – John Hopkins

Production Manager – John Davis

Production Designer – Harry Pottle

1st Assistant Director – Ariel Levy

Costume Designer – Judy Moorcroft

Sound Mixer – John Mitchell

Camera Operator – Jimmy Turrell

Continuity – Marjorie Lavelly

Chief Makeup Artist – Peter Robb-King

Chief Hairdresser – Colin Jamison

Editor – Stanley Cole

Wardrobe Supervisor – Ron Beck

Construction Manager – Ken Pattenden

Property Master – Andy Andrews

Gaffer – Maurice Gillett

Special Effects Supervisor – Michael Albrechtson

Production Assistant – Marilyn Clarke

Casting Director – Irene Lamb

Production Accountant – Andy Birmingham

Still Photographer – Graham Attwood

Unit Publicist – Linda Levy ( Fred Hift Associates)

Music – Paul Zaza/Carl Zittrer

REFERENCES and SOURCES

https://sherlockholmesof221b.blogspot.com/2016/06/murder-by-decree-sherlock-holmes-hunts.html

http://www.bakerstreetdozen.com

Horror Fan 40

http://www.terrortrap.com/interviews/paulzaza/

Bob Clark Director Profile Part Five After BLACK CHRISTMAS came BREAKING POINT (20th Century), a big budget “WALKING TALL clone” starring Bo Svenson and Robert Culp that Bob describes as “the only film I had made up to that point I view as unsuccessful.” Alas, to film critics of the day, contemptuous of horror and other “exploitation” fare, it was the only of his films at that time worth praising.

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