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jinxedpanda4life · 3 years

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Criminal Investigator AU HC

I would first like to start off by saying thank you to everyone.

I honestly did not expect the response I got to my Damirae Hospital AU HC list.

When I first woke up and checked tumblr ~13 hours after posting I had a holy shit moment.

I felt powerful, should I? Probably not.

But! Since I am noticing a lack of AUs in the fandom, whether on Tumblr, AO3 or FanFiction.net, whatever AU comes to my mind I shall jot down some hcs for!

Thank you all once again!

(Also trying format changes for easy reading)

(Also Also, I am thinking the story is less fluid but more episodic)

Let’s get started:

- So I’m thinking this is some FBI, SVU, and FBI BAU mixture or whatever. Basically all the great shows we know in love shoved together. From Bones to Criminal Minds and everything in between.

- Special Agent (Dr.) Raven Roth is a lead interrogator and is the resident psych consult.

She’s been educated in interrogation, behavioral science, psychology, forensic pathology, and criminology.

She has combat training (hand to hand), she carries (for her job) a gun and at all times has a knife/dagger on her person (people have stopped trying to figure out where she keeps them).

Her father was/is crime boss T. Trigon who is currently imprisoned.

Was born in the states but fled with her mother to Romania when she was a newborn.

When Trigon found them he killed Arella and took Raven, she was abut 9 - 10 years old.

She took her mother’s last name when she turned 18.

Knows two languages besides English; French, Romanian, Romani (various dialects but knows multiple), Greek and Latin

On more than one occasion some goon of her father’s tries to recruit her, every time she kicks their ass. (Damian was there for the most recent (he was still green though))

Lives by herself in a decent sized apartment, has a gun safe (gun safety is important!), a cat (Nevermore), and is a regular at a 24/7 bookstore &/ cafe

Can usually be found wearing some kind of jacket, sweater, cardigan

She once helped save some kids (Melvin, Tommy & Teether) and is now their surrogate aunt, she has photos of them at her desk @ work. (Damian assumes/ed that they were her kids)

She also, when she can, hangs out and babysits them on occasion.

Raven is part of a team consisting of Dick Grayson (unit leader), Kori Anders, Garfield Logan, Jaime Reyes, and very recently Damian Wayne

- Special Agent Damian Wayne is a lead investigator (he is still a bit fresh to the unit), translator, sniper and combat coordinator

He’s been educated in martial arts, explosives, hand to hand combat, close range combat, and combat (basically he knows how to kill you 9 ways to Sunday), also, behavioral science, computer science, criminology, linguistics and language.

He can easily translate (into English): Arabic, Mandarin Chinese, Russian, Hindi, Bengali, French, Polish, German, Spanish, Portuguese, he can also learn any language you put in front of him and know the basics within a day

(Having lived in many places around the world he needed to be able to speak and understand in order to survive) (wow dramatic much?)

His father is currently the director (or deputy director, whatever floats ya boat) of the FBI.

His mother was essentially a secret agent who worked for various agencies around the globe. (deceased)

His grandfather was the leader of a, um, well to be honest, terrorist agency. (deceased)

Was sent to live with his father when he was 15 (when his mother died) and has been in the states ever since

Lives alone, he has an upscale apartment that he truthfully spends little time in, has multiple locations in the home where various weapons are stored, his place has a very cold atmosphere

Is either in proper work attire or in work out clothing, there is no in between

Tries and fails not to take work home with him

He sees a therapist (who says he should probably try investing in relationships with the people at his job)

His only “friend” (he hates calling him that, more like close acquaintance) is Jonathan Kent who was in his class at the FBI Academy, Jon works in a white collar crime department in Metropolis

The only person he actually kind of sort of doesn’t dislike is in fact Raven Roth, she’s a no bull shit person, he likes that

He may know Grayson because of how he’s Bruce’s kind of son but it does not mean he likes him

He finds Logan annoying as all hell, even if he is somewhat useful

He picked a fight with Reyes first day and regretted it (he will never admit that), he respects him

Anders is overly friendly in his opinion, kind of acts like a secretary with all that positivity and grates his nerves, he tolerates her

(Unlike last time I am not going in detail about the rest of the team, this will be brief)

- Supervisory Special Agent Dick Grayson (Unit Chief) is basically Dick Grayson with a big fancy title but all the same skills

He is also obsessed with Slade Wilson and Red X (who is Jason in this)

- Supervisory Special Agent Kori Anders is a lead investigator and is also a go to for undercover work

- Special Agent Garfield Logan is a lead interrogator, is head of the unit’s K-9 unit and kind of has a thing for Roth (which she does not reciprocate)

- Special Agent Jaime Reyes is a tactical analyst, tech analyst and is head of the unit’s SWAT team, he does not do well with talking with people, or change

The Scarab is a computing program that Jaime created himself

STORY START:

- When Damian first joins the team there is another member, Special Agent Terra Markov, she is revealed as a sleeper agent but she aligns herself with the team and sadly is shot and killed in a fire fight

- A couple weeks after Agent Markov’s death everyone is talking about what they are doing for an upcoming holiday, Damian says probably nothing, Raven invites him to spend it with her and her “niece” and “nephews,” he declines

- About a day after the holiday Damian is home looking through case files when someone knocks on his door

-- It is Raven. He asks how she knew where he lived, she says she asked Dick, she also says that she knows how it feels to be alone and that he may be insufferable but it doesn’t mean he can’t have a friend

-- His response is saying he isn’t the kind to make friends with co workers

-- “I’m not asking to be your friend Damian, I am asking you to be his,” She reveals a small black great dane puppy “I know that other people aren’t really your thing, but having someone in your corner and waiting for you is always nice, even if it isn’t human.”

-- Damian invites her in, names the dog Titus and thanks her

-- “Just make sure no one tries to kidnap and kill you, we don’t need you to go full blown John Wick.” Damian has no idea who that is. Raven tells him it is an action movie series that he should watch. She leaves. He does watch them that night with Titus on his lap. (after having gone to the local pet supply store to get everything he needs) The action is inaccurate but he enjoyed the movies none the less, and decides that he probably would go into John Wick mode if someone hurt Titus.

- SA Roth and SA Wayne are sent to a high security federal prison to interrogate a prisoner, who refuses to speak

-- When they get into the interview room the prisoner does start to speak, but not in English and not in a language Damian is fluent in

-- Raven on the other hand immediately responds to the prisoner (shocking the prisoner and Damian) “He is speaking Romani though not the dialect of those overseas, he learned it here.”

-- Damian is fascinated by it and they are essentially switching roles the entire time

-- They leave having successfully interviewing the prisoner, and Raven leaves behind a written list of common words in Romani so that they can possibly communicate with the prisoner better

-- As soon as they are on the plane back Damian asks her a myriad of questions from “How many languages do you know?” to “When did you learn that?” and even “Are you a spy? Sleeper agent? Part of a terrorist cell?”

-- “Not as many as you, when I was a child, if I was part of any of that you wouldn’t be asking.” The rest of the trip is spent with her teaching him Romani and even some Romanian

- Dick & Kori eventually get together and after a while they break up. Kori takes some vacation time. At the same Dick has been temporarily reassigned to another unit.

-- Chaos ensues

-- Garfield thinks he should be the interim unit chief, Jaime thinks the same, as does, you guessed it, Damian (Raven doesn’t want to she is comfortable with her role on the team)

-- In the end they are assigned an interim unit chief, SSA Jason Todd, who usually works overseas on covert op missions (not gonna lie this could easily flow into a Jayrae thing)

-- Everyone kind of falls into line, except Damian, Damian doesn’t like him for two reasons

1) He doesn’t act serious about the job 24/7

2) He has been flirting and hitting on Raven the moment he stepped into their sector

-- Damian hates the names he gives her; “Little Bird,” “Sunshine,” “Princess,” “Rae,” (no one calls her Rae, not even Garfield, at least not after the incident) etc.

-- (Little does Damian know, Jason and Raven have worked together before and are actually friends)

-- This all comes to a head when Damian and Jason are the only ones still in the office after a tiring case.

“You shouldn’t do that you know.”

“Do what? All I am doing right now is contemplating where Grayson keeps the liquor.”

“Call Raven all those names, she doesn’t like it.”

“Really? Because if you haven’t noticed she hasn’t exactly asked me to stop.”

“She gets uncomfortable, maybe not to the extent of asking you to stop, but she tenses up and her body language becomes slightly more agitated.”

“You seem to pay a lot of attention in how she reacts to thinks baby brat. Seems to me that you like her.”

“Of course I like her, she is a good friend and reliable teammate.”

“No, you like like her.”

“That presumption is juvenile.”

“But you don’t deny it.”

“Tch.”

-- If anything after that conversation Jason seems to doubled his advances. Which confuses both Damian and Raven. Damian because it is inappropriate and HR will be hearing about this. Raven because she was under the assumption that she and Jason were just friends. (Jason actually does have genuine intentions but is like 60% just egging Damian on)

-- Eventually (far too long for Damian’s tastes), both Dick and Kori return. At first it is sooooooo awkward. Like mom and dad divorced have shared custody but don’t hate each other but also cannot look each other in the eye. ((Was that a mouthful? Good)) No one can really look at each other the same? Though they do have a meeting to sort it out, get everything out in the open.

- Raven’s annual kidnapping/attempt to convert her/torture comes almost exactly one year after Damian joined the team (this is his 2nd time dealing with this)

-- This time Damian is prepared. By prepared I mean Raven doesn’t even leave her apartment before she is taken to safety.

“Damian what is going on?”

“Christmas came early this year that’s what.”

“Christmas? What in gods name are you talking about.”

“God has no dealings in this matter.”

“You do realize you are sounding like a bad action movie? It is not even 6 am and I am in your car going somewhere, I have had little to no sleep and I am barely dressed. What is going on?” Damian hadn’t payed attention to what clothing Raven was wearing. His mind was on one goal. Find Raven, keep Raven safe. His eyes glanced off the road enough to realize she was indeed not properly dressed. Her body was merely adorned with an oversized tee-shirt, tiny barely there shorts and a pair of fluffy socks.

“I apologize, it appears in my haste I did not leave you time to properly clothe yourself. As to why you are here, it seems your father and his people have shortened their waiting time this year from one year to a little more than ten months.” Ravens hands fisted her shirt. “This time I was prepared,” last time he was still new to everything, last time he made mistakes, this time there will be no mistakes. “Since our last encounter with your demon, so to speak, I have been setting in place precautions and safety measures to ensure Nevermore and yours’ safety. I have also been tracking the movements of his big players. If any came close I would mark it down. Multiple are entering the city at this moment. Seeing as you we taken last time I have made plans to ensure that will not happen again.” The car made a snap turn down an unfamiliar street pulling Raven from her clouded gaze.

“So I am going to be okay this time?” Her voice was faint and restraining against hope.

“You’re going to be okay.” His hand lightly held hers. Only to stop the shaking, they told themselves, only to make everything better. “Nevermore is with Titus at my place being watched by a friend of mine. I have already walked Grayson through everything we will not be expected at work this week, but we can work remotely.”

“We?”

“I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

-- ((Sorry for the blocks of text))

-- As Raven finds out they are at one of Damian’s safe houses. The one least likely to be tied to her. It is fully stocked with food, has security cameras and if needed weapons. The only problem is that the only clothes there are Damians.

“Thought of everything huh?”

“I was following their pattern, I expected to have more time to acquire clothing for you.” (he was looking away and blushing, you cannot tell me he wasn’t)

-- Raven just resigns herself to wearing Damian’s clothes, yes his brain does stop working for a hot second when he sees her in only his clothes.

-- All attempts to try and retrieve codename: Gem of Scath are foiled (like some good math)

-- So many bonding moments happen. Cuddling (pure accident *rolls eyes*), eating together, inside jokes, etc. At one point Damian answers her phone (he disabled and disconnected the tracer) to one of the mob guys after them.

“Hello?”

“You can hide the gem but we will find her.”

“I’m sorry, is there a jewel you are looking for? I don’t think I have and any jewels that I am coveting.”

“We know you are with her! It is but a matter of time until we collect her.”

“I hope you do eventually find whatever you are looking for sir, but I haven’t the slightest idea the gem you speak of. If you could give me a physical description? Is it a ruby, diamond, onyx? Is it round or more of a pear shape?”

“...”

“Well, I will look for it here, but I do not believe I possess what you speak of. Will you give me your number so I can call you back?” (The line cuts dead, and Raven can be seen laughing in the background, the phone was on speaker)

-- Once the team tracks down, arrests and interrogates all of the parties working for Trigon; Raven and Nevermore can go home. Though both are reluctant in their own way. Nevermore has grown attached to Titus, and Raven well Raven has feelings. Sadly, as Raven knows, feelings are dangerous to have in their line of work.

-- Look at Dick and Kori they were together and then they fell apart and the team almost imploded.

-- What about Trigon if he finds out about Damian and how she feels towards him? What kind of danger will he be in then?

-- Like all of her feelings Raven puts them in a box and locks the box away. Not just figuratively, in her safe there is a box with: post its, torn papers, journals, etc. That box has a lock on it. Whenever she has a new feeling that she cannot ignore, like her feelings towards Special Agent Wayne, she takes out the box and writes her feelings down. They can range from a single sentence to pages worth. (Her feelings towards Damian fill a small notebook she has on hand). Once she has written all of her feelings out she places them in the box, locks said box and then places the locked box in her safe, which she then locks.

-- Is this a healthy way to cope with her feelings? Maybe not. But, it is way better than how Damian deals with his. Violence. Also art but violence comes first.

- At this point both Damian and Raven have caught the feelings (highly contagious I hear), which makes this a little awkward and a little not awkward. For one everyone but Raven knows how Damian feels towards her. He does things for her and with her that no one else gets the privilege to.

-- To list a few:

--- He brings her tea whenever he gets himself coffee or tea

--- He talks to her about what he does outside of work, even about his kind of friend definitely not enemy, Jon.

--- They socialize outside of work. Watching bad movies (some of them are not that bad), going to the park with Titus (they once got Nevermore in a leash and walked her), meeting each other before and after work to get breakfast or dinner.

--- He doesn’t glare at her

--- He allows physical contact between the two

--- He worries about her (hello he created an entire plan so that she wouldn’t get kidnapped, with contingencies and everything, garfield would be lucky to get a plan)

--- His eyes light up when she talks, or enters a room, or you know exists in his vicinity

--- He actually smiles around her (Dick caught him smiling once at Raven and he though Damian was having a stroke)

-- Even though everyone knows Damian likes Raven, very few know that Raven likes Damian back. (this only includes; Kori, Dick, Jason, Titus, Nevermore, and Melvin) She does do certain things that give herself away just like Damian.

--The list:

--- When Damian gets frustrated or angry she puts a hand on his arm, or holds his hand

--- She laughs at things he does (light chuckles, or little giggles)

--- She will talk to him about his interests and actively tries to have conversations with him about things unrelated to work.

--- She blushes when he does something unexpected (like a compliment)((Mostly she tries to hide it until he isn’t looking at her))(((Kori has caught the blush before)))

-- Luckily for them it does not take some cliche ‘One suddenly becomes in danger and the other one saves them only to be close to death and then they admit their love for one another and promise to go on a date when the other is healed’ situation.

-- Damian actually asks Raven out after being tipped of by Jason and Dick that she may like him back. Damian finds out when they have days off at the same time and asks her while leaving work.

“Raven, you have this weekend off correct?”

“Yeah I do. I wasn’t planning on doing anything though. Did you have something in mind?”

“Um, yeah, heh, I was wondering if you would do me the pleasure of going to dinner with me tomorrow.” *Awkwardly rubs back of neck*

“Like a date or two friends going to dinner?” *Thinks she sounds harsh* “I am honestly fine with either since we are friends.” *nervous smile*

“Like a date if that is okay with you of course.”

“Yeah, yeah totally that is totally okay with me.” *Starts sounding like a teenage girl who only knows about 10 words, because she’s nervous*

“Good, I’ll be by your place around 1830, if that is okay?” *nerve central, the central nervous system could never*

“Yup that is totally fine with me.”

“Great.”

“Good.” The elevator opens in the knick of time.

“See you tomorrow evening Agent Roth. Have a good night.”

“You too, Agent Wayne, you too.”

-- When Damian does pick her up he feels like his brain is going to explode. She looks absolutely breathtaking. This is just like all the other times they’ve gone to dinner, except this restaurant is slightly fancier and they are on a date.

-- Raven feels as though all her emotions are leaking out at once, she has no idea what she is doing.

-- In the end they have a good time and decide to do it again. Damian does bring up that all of the breakfasts and dinners they regularly do could now be considered dates. Raven does not oppose that switch at all.

- Fast forward a handful of years (like 3?), Damian and Raven are moved in together (Nevermore and Titus are happy about this, they even allow the humans to adopt another pet, a cat named Alfred). Damian is now Supervisory Special Agent Wayne and is in charge of their unit. Raven has retired from field work and now works at the FBI academy and at Virginia State University. In about 6 months Damian is going to propose and Raven will say yes. Their wedding will be small but happy and full of life.

Once again I would like to thank everyone and all the support the previous post got.

Like last time if anything is disjointed, out of place or seems wrong, please go ahead and tell me. I have been working on this since the last one, but have finally had the time to finish it.

I hope the new year will bring us all some good. Possibly more head canons to come.

#damirae #Damian Wayne #raven #Rachel Roth #damian x raven #Teen Titans #Headcanon #How do tags work #dc #demonbirds

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ionizedyeast · 4 years

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Statement of Nelson Briar (pt. 2)

Title: 0181105 - Graduation Gift Part: 2/3

“Secondary statement of Nelson Briar, Head of Folklore and Legend Research of the Magnus Institute. A followup containing when he was first exposed to the Spiral.”

“Oh Jon, much better that time. See, now I’m not as inclined to only talk about how lovesick I was and still am. Now we can really start to get to the meaty bits, can’t we? Sorry, I sound a little overly excited this time, don’t I? I can’t really say it’s unexpected. The part about Michael and him leaving clues for me was only the tip of the iceberg. That story was really very simple. My romantic partner was consumed by the Spiral in Sannikov Land, and I started to lose my mind a little trying to find out what happened to him, only to land myself in the midst of the labyrinth as well!

But you see, now that you’ve added the bit about me being touched by the Spiral, you’ve given me the opportunity to go further back. To long before I met Michael. To long before I even began work for the Magnus Institute. Hell, even before the Usher Foundation. We get to go all the way back to my high school graduation when my grandmother gave me a book.

You know, I know Greek very well now. I spoke a little with my mother growing up. But I was never quite fluent in it. I know it rather well now. Part of my studies in university required me to study Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Arabic and a few other languages in order to appreciate what I was reading on a deeper level. So, when I started learning Greek properly, I should have noticed that Noris Andras was not the correct way to say the phrase ‘early man’ in Greek. That book should have been called something closer to Prooros Anthropos. But I only knew a bit of conversational Greek from my mother and my yiayia back when I received the book. Now, mind you -- my yiayia did not buy me Noris Andras, my fathers mother did. Old Scotch woman. Wouldn’t know the Greek language from a Greek salad.

My entire family knew I was going to start my undergraduate degree in classical literature. I had always been a fan of myths and legends and ancient stories. I had always been ambitious as a kid -- still am -- I almost chose Icarus as my name when I transitioned but well. My name’s very personal to me. I have my reasons for it. Icarus Briar just doesn’t have the right kind of ring to it. Anyways, fact of the matter. My grandmother on my fathers side wanted to send me off with a very special gift. Apparently she and my parents had been regularly scouting used bookshops and antique stores and old library sales to see if they could find me any especially rare books on the classics. It had been a tradition in my family since I was a child that I would always get a new book of classics to read. I’d always eagerly show my parents where myths would differentiate between publications and where names were spelled differently. Comparing and contrasting these differences was always a delight for me. It thrilled me. So when I opened my grandmothers wrapping on my graduation day and found what I can now say was an exceptionally beautiful book amidst the paper, I was over the moon. It was bound in leather that had been intricately detailed and tanned and bore in Greek letters the words Noris Andras. I knew individually what each word meant but I knew it to be grammatically incorrect. My mother and I briefly conversed over how it must have been a poor translation in Greek, sharing a laugh at my grandmothers expense, of course she had no idea. But it was truly a gorgeous book. It was old. I could smell the age of the pages, all brushed around the edges with gold leaf for a particularly lovely sheen. But its condition was stunning. We supposed there must have been a dialectical reason for the grammatical faux pas of the title, but either way, I was in love with this book. It felt like it belonged in my lap. If you asked anyone else in my family about the day I received that book, they would say it was just me, my parents and my grandmother sitting in our living room, eating appetizers as we waited for my cousins, aunts and uncles to arrive for my graduation party. But I’m the only one that will tell you that there were five of us in that room.

My brother was there too. My twin, but he had graduated early and had finished his first year at MIT. He was so proud of me, but anyone could tell you -- if they remembered this correctly -- that shortly after I opened Noris Andras and held the book upon my lap, my parents and grandmother were immediately fussing over my brother. My brother. . .the real Nelson Briar.

Nelson, the-the real Nelson, that is -- he was the star of the family. He was brilliant. Highly intelligent. Charming. Well liked by just about everyone. And he was my best friend. We both had lived a life of constantly lifting one another up, supporting each other and doing our best to be in each other’s court through all our struggles. But even through it all, my entire family always found his achievements far more impressive. He was going into engineering. He had graduated early. He had a 4.0 at the end of his first year. Nelson was perfect.

Now, I suppose you’re wondering, ‘So why did you choose his name when you transitioned. Isn’t that confusing.’ Well, it would be if there were still two of us. But I’m getting there, hold your horses Jon. As you no doubt have concluded by now -- Noris Andras was a Leitner. My grandmother found it in an antique bookstore covered in dust and filth and she’d brought it to a book restoration center to get it repaired. So that’s why it was so nicely maintained when I received it. After the graduation party was over, Nelson and I went up to our roof. Our bedroom at home had a stairwell that led to the roof and we’d often go up there in the summer together. While he was away at school I often went up there to smoke and think when I’d had especially long days. I had brought Noris Andras up with me because I was truly fascinated by it, and Nelson seems really interested as well. So he and I ended up flipping through it while we were on the roof, just fascinated by the content. The entire book was clearly written in Greek, but neither of us seemed to have much of a challenge reading it. Perhaps it was all very easy for us because of our occasional conversations with our mother, but Nelson told me, he had never seen my eyes light up while reading like I did while skimming that book.

It was filled with stories and legends I had never ever read before. Legends that I swore must have been lost to time. Or cultures that only had one written document in their entire community. I was astounded. There was nothing in those pages that even hinted at being a retelling of another story. They were all completely new to me.

Nelson left me to my reading and turned in for the night. Morning came and I was still on the roof. I had read almost the entire thing. And I felt like I knew secrets that no one else in the world knew. I felt like a god that morning. There were deities and demigods I had never heard the names of. Heroes with names that could be broken down into Forsaken Daydream in terms of its translation. Tales of growing women from tufts of their hair, who would grow and grow and become titans. I had a book in my possession with myths that were as old as civilization. And I was the sole keeper of these stories.

I did some research, naturally. Tried searching the names of characters but nothing came up online. What I had was purely original and I was thrilled. And I needed to know if more of these stories existed. I searched Noris Andras online both in English and Greek and only found sources trying to correct my grammar. Nothing like this book existed and my pagan heart told me I had been blessed by Athena herself and she was bestowing knowledge on me that was too important for anyone else. Of course, Nelson thought I was out of my mind. He told me to call him when a story existed about a gorgon made of pillows would prey upon those who denied travelers blankets when staying anywhere as a guest. Or something to that extent. I told him I still had a small portion of the book left to read and I’d get back to him. Now, I don’t think it will come to any shock to you, of course, when I tell you the very next story in Noris Andras was just that. I stopped reading for a spell after seeing that. And I thought there was absolutely no way this would be the case. So I thought incredibly hard about another concept. Just something I conceived for shits and giggles. A transgender young man who could create his own myths and legends simply by willing them into existence. It was ego stroking but if my brother could pitch an idea to this book and for it to be on the very next page. Surely, I could do the same?

But the unfortunate part was. I was at the very end of the book. There was only about six or seven pages left, and I assumed it was an appendix covering terminology in the book. But as I would soon check. A story appeared on those final pages. It bore the name I had been using at the time -- Nigel -- and told a story of a young man who could weave stories in and out of reality. How he could simply will it and wish it and bring the stories he so desired into our world. And the story read like what my very heart had always wanted. A power to make fiction real. To make the mythology I had loved so very dear real.

And as I got to the bottom of the page, I saw the only English in the entire book. It was a small contract. It simply said: “Do you accept?” I wasn’t sure what to make of it. But as I had flipped to that page, I gave myself a paper cut. My blood dripped on the page and like invisible ink -- it vanished.

Any normal person would tell you this is abnormal. Blood doesn’t just vanish. But part of me just accepted that this was normal. And so I closed the book. My gut told me to simply close the book and leave it on my bed. And my gut also told me to make a wish. I made it simple. I wished for my shoes to be untied. I looked down. And the laces lay loose on either side of my foot. I could brush that off. Maybe they had always been untied. I made another wish. I wished for my bedroom door to open. And it did just that. Very well, my house had always been a little drafty. So I went a step further. I wished for Noris Andras to be back in my hands. And it was.

I don’t think I need to explain that I had discovered I had a new power thanks to this antique book. But it wasn’t something I could just tell anyone about or just indulge in. I didn’t know if it was something on a limited use factor. But I did know what it did was very, very real. And I suppose, I didn’t realize how dangerous it was until I used it for the wrong reason. As I mentioned before. I used to use the name Nigel. It was my preferred name back then and truthfully, I’m glad it’s not anymore. My dead name did not begin with an N and my parents were still calling me by my dead name at the time. I’d not yet come out to them, but I had come out to Nelson. Nelson was beyond supportive. Often would do whatever he could to help me feel comfortable in my own skin. Used my preferred name and pronouns in any situation he could without outting me to our parents.

I’m still not sure why I turned Noris Andras against him. I don’t even think I did it on purpose. But you know, they do tell you to be careful what you wish for. He didn’t out me to our parents. A friend of ours did. On accident. I don’t hold it against him. He thought I’d come out to our parents. Our parents were not exactly the most accepting. Sat on the couch listening to them tell me about how they weren’t going to cover my college expenses anymore. How I was going to work instead and pay for my own education if I wanted to go so badly. Whole slew of hurtful things. Nelson tried to diffuse the situation. He did his best. Until I just said aloud. “If you can’t stand me so much, then how about I just wish me and Nelson were one and the same.” I asked if they would prefer if they only had ever had one son. The perfect, wonderful, flawless Nelson. And just like that. It was my graduation party again. I was sitting on the couch. Noris Andras was in my lap. My mother kissed my forehead and told me “We’re so proud of you, Nelson. You’re going to do so wonderfully in college.”

Nelson was gone. Or rather. Nelson and I became the same person. Somehow. I looked down at Noris Andras. I opened it to the last page, and beneath the words “Do you accept?” was a name, written in the dark brown of dried blood -- Nelson Briar.

I was still trans, mind you. When the party ended, I went to my room -- it had always only been my room. One bed. One dresser. One desk. I stood in front of the mirror in just my underwear. I was in my binder. I examined myself. I didn’t look like Nelson. I still looked like me. But I was more mannish. I was on hormones. My wish, whatever that wish was. Gave me all the love and support my family had given Nelson -- but at the expense of his existence, as it were. I lived my life ever since then as Nelson. That’s who I am now. Kind of funny, isn’t it? The Distortion became Michael just as Nelson became me. Very juxtaposed.

I should add, in all my years of research, I never found another copy of Noris Andras. Nor did I ever find the other myths mentioned. I can only assume the people in these stories were also affected by the book as well. Maybe none of these stories are even from Greek mythology. Maybe they’re from another world altogether.

Oh, and before you ask. No, I don’t have Noris Andras anymore. If I did, MIchael would still be here. I would have wished him back ages ago. I caught him holding the book when we were sort-of-living-together. He asked me where I got the book and I told him it was something of a keepsake, but he wanted to borrow it. Naturally, I let him, thinking he was going to leave it in the apartment, but well, I have reason to believe he brought it to Gertrude and she disposed of it. If not it’s buried somewhere in the Institute. Either way. . .I don’t think I want it back. It’s not like it ever did me any favorites.

I believe that’s all I have time for, Jon -- I have a meeting to attend. Sort of. I think Peter’s still trying to tempt me back into the Lonely along with your boyfriend, but I’m going to have to tell him to sod off. I’ll be seeing you. I’m sure you’d love to hear the rest.”

#evan talks his ocs #the magnus ocs #nelsoncore

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thearrangment-phff · 5 years

Text

LXXI.

March 2019

“I know you don’t want to do this but Olympia and Gaelle resigned their position and Charlotte passed away... it’s time you find replacements for them,” spoke Christine.

“It’s too soon.”

“Belle I am the only one left. You need to replace at least Olympia and Gaelle and we can wait to find a replacement for Charlotte.”

Isabella hesitated, “Countess Antonia Holstein til Ledreborg and Princess Sophie of Hohenberg.”

“I will contact them as soon as possible but do you have backups in case they reject the position,” said Christine.

“No backups. It’s them or no one.”

“I’ll go call them up.”

Harry watched as Isabella attempted to play with her sons but the young woman had barely enough energy to get herself out of bed. Isabella had forsaken many engagements and even missed the 50th anniversary of the Prince of Wales investiture. Though she had a legitimate excuse, the Grand ducal family gathered in St. Michael church in Luxembourg City for a mass on the death of Alix, Princess of Ligne. Princess Alix had been her great-aunt and the Prince of Wales and the Queen understood Isabella had to process with death in February.

By the time the Commonwealth service came around Isabella had mustered enough energy to make it through the service then the other engagements that followed.

“I am very proud of you today,” said Harry.

“Why is that?” asked Isabella.

“Because you were able to get through this whole day and not go back to your room. It was a big accomplishment.”

“I guess.”

“I arranged for us to go to Austria to visit the jeweler and then to go to Switzerland to see Charlotte’s jewelry,” explained Harry.

“Thank you for making the arrangements.”

“It was more Christine’s doing since she spoke German. My French is not as strong as I think it is.”

Isabella asked him about his day in French. Harry answered in simple sentences so Isabella decided to make things more complicated for him. The conversation got longer and complex and Harry struggled to keep up. He forgot certain words and his articulation got bad at his sentences continued on.

“You have gotten better but you still sound too English,” said Isabella.

“Your accent seems to only have gotten thicker the longer I’ve known you,�� fought back Harry.

“Something has to remind the people that I am a foreigner in this country.”

“Is that the image your team has been going for? The foreign Duchess of Sussex?” asked Harry.

“Being an immigrant is nothing to be ashamed of, whether it be voluntary or involuntary migration everyone has a right to be who they are and live where they want or need to. Although I have an advantage more than others because I am a white woman and was a Catholic for a time.”

“Sometimes the things that come out of your mouth cease to... I don’t even know what to say. I mean it, I forget who you are before this arrangement and I shouldn’t. You are an amazing woman, and everyone else should recognize that more. Including me,” added Harry.

“Thank you but I’m not that amazing. There are actually amazing people who have come as far as I did and have had much larger and longer obstacles in life. They are the real amazing people.”

“Even humble.”

“Not humble, just aware of my privilege in life and what I can do to even the playing field for the descendants of the people my family murdered and displaced,” replied Isabella.

-----

On March 15, 2019, two white supremacists murdered dozens of Muslims in New Zealand in a coordinated terrorist attack. When Isabella heard of these massacres, she thought she needed to do more than release a statement. Very few times had royals gone to places like that, and paid their respects. Isabella immediately flew to New Zealand wearing a hijab to stand in solidarity with the Muslim population of New Zealand and of the Commonwealth.

While her act of solidarity was met with some praise, there was intense backlash saying Isabella was accepting of terrorism and the Muslim Brotherhood. She ignored the articles and the ugly slurs being yelled at her during her stay in New Zealand and when she went back to London after the bombing. She cared for the murdered people, the ones in the past, present, and the future who would fall victim to Islamophobia across the world.

Isabella even talked to people in private in Arabic which of course surprised a lot of people. She had been taking lessons every once in a while, and while her Arabic wasn’t always the right dialect and she mispronounced some things, the gesture was what made people care. Isabella cared for a majority of people no matter their religion, skin color, or sexual orientation. She had learned that history repeats itself, and she was going to make sure the atrocities her family committed over the centuries would not happen again.

She hugged and talked with family members of the victim alongside Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern. When Mangu-Kaha –Black Power- performed a Haka to honor those who had fallen, Isabella was moved to tears. Then school children performed an improvised Haka, Isabella watched in tears students mourning in the most beautiful way. In a moment of caring for nothing else more than the people in front of her and she had consoled a weeping woman.

“You were very brave to come at a time like this,” complimented the Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern.

“Not brave, not at all. They are the ones who are brave,” replied Isabella.

“Most royals just write a paragraph on how sorry they are and yet you flew on a plane halfway across the world. Why?”

“When I was younger, I finally understood what my name meant. I was named after my ancestor Queen Isabel of Castile but more importantly, I was a Habsburg. There was pride, but shame quickly followed. My family murdered and displaced hundreds of millions of people since the beginning of time. I thought that I should help people listen to the voices of those who were silenced by my family,” explained Isabella.

“So guilt is what drives you?”

“Justice. I use my privilege to uplift others. It is the least I could do especially when I benefit from the system that is designed to keep others down.”

“You speak like a politician,” smiled the Prime Minister.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in political science with a master’s in global affairs from Yale University. I worked for the United Nations before my marriage. I am much more than a Duke’s wife.”

“I am no longer accepting the thing I cannot change. I am changing the things I cannot accept,” quoted the Prime Minister.

“I wrote one of my papers for grad school on her book Women, Culture & Politics. My professor wasn’t too pleased with my political views. Or the simple fact that I acknowledged oppression.”

“I would have never guessed you are into reading Davis.”

“You cannot change any society unless you take responsibility for it unless you see yourself as belonging to it and responsible for changing it,” quoted Isabella.

“I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know who that is from.”

“Raya Dunayevskaya, a former secretary of Trotsky and Marxist feminist. I did my thesis on the correlation of American women with a lot of help from her book Rosa Luxemburg, Women's Liberation, and Marx's Philosophy of Revolution.”

“I would love to read it someday. It’s quite fascinating that... well, you seem to be a socialist.”

“I married into the British Royal Family, politically I am nothing. I am a tool to be used and push aside when need be,” smiled Isabella.

“You really are a politician at heart.”

“I am simply a product of my heart’s desire.”

“I will be going to the homes of the families who lost someone. I would like you to join me. I will also be going to pray with them and I think they would appreciate knowing you are there and you care.”

“I would never reject such an offer,” replied Isabella.

“I know that I have called for New Zealand independence in the past and while I still believe in what I said, but if there were more people like you then perhaps the world wouldn’t be the way it is.”

“Thank you but you and I both know that I am a hypocrite in that area. I don’t practice what I preach or else I would have simply lived as Isabella von Habsburg until the day I died not married into the British monarchy.”

-----

A couple of days after the New Zealand terrorist attack, Isabella traveled in Madrid, Spain for the opening of the 28th Harvard World Model United Nations. She smiled for the cameras and talked in Spanish for a majority of her time in Spain earning respect from a great number of people. She even joked around with some of the participating schools when she went around asking them questions.

Meanwhile, William had gone to New Zealand to pay his respects but the situation wasn’t the same. He wasn’t met with the same respect that Isabella had received. When the members of the United Nations applauded Isabella’s grief and need to help but Williams’s visit was intentionally left out of their comments. Isabella’s had slowly been taking over international engagements that were usurping William’s will to show he would be a good future king.

But there was also a sense of betrayal. Isabella’s former ladies-in-waiting Countess Olympia was engaged to Jean-Christophe, Prince Napoleon. While Isabella was well aware of their long relationship, the simple fact that Olympia refused to tell her was a devastating blow to Isabella. She had assumed their friendship had made them closer but it didn’t. She smiled for the cameras in Spain even as she felt deceived.

“Your Royal Highness, where did you go to college?”

“Yale University,” answered Isabella, earning some unique responses.

“Did you apply to Harvard?” asked another student.

“No I did not. Yale and Georgetown University were the only American universities that I applied to.”

“What did you major in?”

“Political Science with a concentration in history for my Bachelor’s degree then Global Affairs for my masters,” answered Isabella.

“Do you ever want to get your doctorates?”

“Not at the moment and in all honesty, I never really thought about getting my doctorates, getting my masters was more of a whim than anything else, but I do not regret it.”

-----

“You have a plane to catch for the Special Olympics. Tessy and Paul Louis are also attending,” spoke Christine.

“Paul Louis? Why on earth is he going?”

“On behalf of the Luxembourg family. He is going to be taking over some foreign engagements that no one else can make it to,” answered Christine.

“Does this mean he will be taking on more engagements in Luxembourg too?”

“Well with Guillaume, Stephanie, Alexandra, Louis, Felix, and Claire living abroad. It was said that Paul Louis, Leopold, and Charlotte will be taking over some things for them.”

“You don’t think that they are preparing them for something bigger, right?” asked Isabella.

“I don’t know where you are getting at.”

“I... never mind. It doesn’t make sense,” Ignored Isabella.

“How would you like for us to go about these next couple of days considering the closing ceremony is soon?” asked Christine.

“Tell Emily that I want to be with my cousin as much as possible and never to put me with Tessy. I don’t have the energy to be nice to her right now.”

“You still haven’t forgiven her have you?”

“No! Nor will I ever! Louis can act all nice but I can’t. It was one thing to tell Louis to stop doing what he loves, then she convinces him to move to London which he hates, and then she asks for money in the divorce knowing full well the people of Luxembourg are the ones who will be forced to pay for her income. If she cared for Luxembourg or her sons then she would give Louis custody and let them live in Luxembourg!” ranted Isabella.

“I’ll be sure to relay the message to Emily.”

Isabella had to fly to the United Arab Emirates and when she got off the plain she was met with dozens of photographers and her younger cousin, Prince Paul Louis of Nassau.

“I’ve missed you!” smiled Isabella.

“I can barely hug you Belle,” laughed Paul Louis.

“Well I am 7 months pregnant.”

“Come on, we have so much to talk about. We’re meeting with the Luxembourgish and Belgian teams later. I wanted to have time with you first.”

Isabella hugged her cousin again before walking to a car close by. Paul Louis opened the car door for her and Isabella heard the screams of the photographers around her. The two enjoyed a quiet lunch before heading to continue working.

“How is everything been going? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” started Isabella.

“Fine. Uni is going great and when I have time, uncle Henri asked me to things like this. I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to come here,” answered Paul Louis.

“I was with Elisabeth a couple months ago in Wales she told me something interesting things.”

“I was hoping you weren’t going to bring that up,” laughed Paul Louis.

“Well I am. Explain.”

“I am... sort of dating Zita. Nothing too serious and your... Charlotte of Murat she told me that is was better if I break up with Zita and ask Elisabeth on a date.”

“Did she tell you why?” asked Isabella.

“Not really, she told me that you were in London, Guillaume and Felix had Luxembourg, and we should follow in your footsteps. It was all very weird and she didn’t seem to be making sense half the time.”

“Marriage,” whispered Isabella.

“Marriage? I am barely 20, I’m not going to get married.”

Isabella was worried Paul Louis would talk about her arrangement to others, “No, no, I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about my marriage.”

“Charlotte still wasn’t making any sense.”

“I think what Charlotte was saying... marry someone who isn’t like you. Marry someone for love who brings you out your comfort zone and brings you happiness,” added Isabella.

“That doesn’t sound like Charlotte, but I guess.”

“What about uni? How is that going?” asked Isabella, trying to change the subject.

“I was thinking about going to the states in the fall just to try it out. Alexandre, you remember him, he goes to USC and he’ll help me get settled over there,” explained Paul Louis.

“California? Why not Georgetown or Yale?” asked Isabella.

“I don’t think I could get into either of those,” laughed Paul Louis.

“I didn’t either and I did.”

“Yes but you are you. I remember how you were trying to get those perfect grades and I’m okay with what I’m doing right now,” fought Paul Louis.

“Okay. If you ever need help, I hope you know you can call me up. I still have some friends in the states that will be more than happy to help you too.”

-----

One of the larger events of the month was Rise Stand Speak Up. Isabella’s aun, Maria Teresa, The Grand Duchess of Luxembourg, had helped create the international conference committed to ending sexual violence in fragile environments was initiated by the Grand Duchess together with the Dr. Denis Mukwege Foundation and We are NOT Weapons of War (WWoW), supported by the Women’s Forum for the Economy & Society and the Luxembourg Government.

The whole of the Luxembourg Grand Ducal Family attended the conference and attended forums on behalf of the Grand Ducal Family. Isabella and her cousins supported their aunt and the women who were apart of the panel. The stories from people all over the world had brought Isabella to tears, but also reminded her why she wanted to help people in the first place.

Isabella talked with her aunt about how she started the panel and conference. She spoke with her cousins and decided they should work together on a project. Isabella had ideas but her pregnancy would cause some delay in anything she wanted to do.

------

April 2019

“No one really warned me about pushing a child out of my sensitive bits,” argued Luisa Maria.

“Trust me, I understand more than anyone,” laughed Isabella.

“And the blood! There’s so much blood! Why is there so much blood?!” yelled Luisa in disbelief.

“I think they don’t tell you about all the weird things about being pregnant so you can have more children.”

“And the stitching! So many stitches I rather risk my organs falling out of my body,” yelled Luisa.

“Careful. Get too angry you might pee yourself a little bit,” warned Isabella.

“We passed that a long time ago. Also, everyone jokes about peeing themselves a little bit, but no one ever tells you it is more than just a little bit.”

“We can talk about this forever Luisa. You haven’t even told us the name of the baby!”

“This beautiful, most amazing baby in the world-” started Alexander, Isabella’s brother.

“Is Baudouin Carl Henri Philippe Jean Christoph of Austria,” finished Maria Luisa.

“Also 11th in line to the Belgian throne,” added Yolande, Isabella and Alexander’s grandmother who had been staying away from Luisa in fear of overcrowding the new mother.

“Yes he is in the line of succession but Baudouin is too far done anyways.”

“Does it ever come up that half of everyone in line to the Belgian throne is a Habsburg? It has to bother someone, right?” asked Isabella.

“If it does then no one can say anything now. I was born a Habsburg, I married and Habsburg and my children will be Habsburgs... oh god, that sort of sounds disgusting, doesn’t it?” asked Luisa at the end.

“Normal for us, but probably incestuous for others,” replied Isabella.

Luisa had laughed a bit, “Do you think uncle Baudouin would happy that I named my first born after him?” asked Luisa.

“Of course he would. He loved you all very much and would be honored,” scolded Yolande from the corner of the room.

Hours passed and one by one everyone left the room. Marie Astrid had pulled aside Isabella and Harry with just a touch on their shoulders.

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

“It’s your grandfather. He’s been sick the past couple of days. Your uncle Henri has some doctors at Berg saying it’s a minor cold and it will pass but at his age, I am worried Belle!” explained Marie Astrid.

“Is there something I can do?”

“I’ll be going to Luxembourg after Luisa is okay. I need you to be on call Belle.”

“Mama I give birth next month!” argued Isabella.

“That’s still enough time between now and then!”

“Are you hiding something? You wouldn't worry me like this is if was not serious,” wondered Isabella.

“You are the only grandchild far away. I want to you to be with your grandfather god forbid if he passes soon.”

“Louis is London with me and Alexandra is in Edinburgh... they’re in Luxembourg aren’t they?”

“For some engagements, that’s all,” answered Marie Astrid.

“Please give me a number of 1 being not serious to 10 which is basically dying,” begged Isabella.

“I couldn’t give you a number even if I wanted too. Your uncles gave me vague details with clean instructions to be in Luxembourg after the birth of Alexander and Luisa’s child.”

“Please keep me updated because I don't know if I can go to Luxembourg at all until after the birth of this little one.”

“Of course Belle,” smiled Marie Astrid.

#PHFF #prince harry fanfiction #prince harry fanfic #royal fanfiction #royal fanfic #fanfiction #Prince Harry

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firstpuffin · 5 years

Text

Using language choices to point towards a certain image.

-Note (08th of February)= So I received the feedback for the assessment I wrote this about and I appear to have the First and Second - orders incorrect. The First-order would appear to be a connection between the feature in question and a group; the Second-order is this connection plus assumptions or ideology. I don’t know if I got that wrong in this article which suggests that I still don’t understand it properly.

I wanted my readers to go into this piece being aware that the content is... maybe incorrect.

I’m gonna cheat with this upload, sorry.

First of all, to get you interested, Indexing is a means of how we construct our self-image and interpret other people’s personas via how they dress, act or speak. It is quite closely connected to stereotyping. Naturally I will be primarily focusing on how people speak, accents and dialects, as that is what I am studying, but you can’t talk about Indexing without focusing on a few areas.

So how am I cheating?

I’ve got an assessment coming up on something called Indexing and I was hesitant to spend time on a personal, non-professional and non-academic blog when I had this to do. The assessment should really be my priority, especially as I have another assessment that I really don’t want to do, and I have a eulogy to write. So I’m kinda busy and was seriously considering not uploading, but then I realised that I could combine my goals.

So I’m gonna write this article on Indexing and hope I don’t plagiarise myself. Two birds, one stone (or scone) and all that.

So where do I start with this? I think an example would help me learn so I’ll do that.

There is a particular variable common in British English called the “glottal-stop” and that is basically when we don’t say the T sound in words like butter. It becomes something like “buh-er”. It’s often considered to be lazy because it is not “propa’ English” and because we aren’t moving our mouths enough to make the T sound. Try it. Say butter, or better or, ironically, glottal and don’t let your teeth meet. After the initial consonant, keep your mouth open.

Congratulations, you are speaking British English.

So what does this variant of the T sound actually say about the speaker? Well practically speaking, it is less likely to occur during careful or formal speech so it is likely that if you hear the glottal-stop then the speaker is being informal. There is no semantic, or dictionary, meaning in a glottal-stop so the meaning is pragmatic (practical). That is “First-order Indexing”.

Second-order Indexing involves the listener’s interpretation. As I said, this variant is common in British English so you may assume that the speaker is English and that they are lazy for speaking like that, even if they are neither. This is where Indexing crosses over into stereotyping.

And then there is the “higher-order”, a name which disagrees with me because it doesn’t follow the established order. Shouldn’t it be Third-order? Whatever.

Higher-order Indexing is also known as “wine talk” which will also work as an example. This higher-order refers to the conscious effort of using technical words and jargon to portray an image. For example, by using the terminology usually reserved for wine tasters a speaker will attempt to be seen as the well-bred, educated sort of person who knows about wine.

Let me try again; a lot of people across the world know about the BBC accent which is considered the posh, “proper” way of speaking. It was common in the past where BBC presenters would use this accent and you wouldn’t hear a glottal-stop anywhere. By using this BBC accent, the presenters were putting over an image of a proper and well-educated Englishman (or woman, I don’t believe we have a unisex term). Chances are they would go home and speak a more common accent, stopping glottals (unofficial terminology, don’t mimic this) and dropping H’s.

In case that wasn’t clear, people will choose words and accents to put across a particular image, like playing at being medieval knights and saying “thee”, “thou” and “art”. And we do the same outside of language all of the time: a man shaves his head to be practical; we see a man with a shaven head and you may think he’s a thug; if your friend wants to look like a thug then he may shave his hair.

This is a simplistic explanation, but I want to imagine this man is wearing a suit. Suddenly he’s not a thug but maybe a professional, too busy to deal with hair. Give him a studded leather jacket and he’s suddenly dangerous again.

Now imagine a woman with a shaven head and what do you think? It may be outdated but she is likely neither threatening nor professional. You may even think that she’s fighting cancer or something similar.

We do this all the time with language and often don’t even know it.

Now this isn’t to say that a glottal-stop equals a British speaker, other languages appear to use them too, but should a glottal-stop appear in the English language, with examples of h-dropping (not saying H like “ ’ouse” instead of “house”) and longer vowel sounds then you might safely assume they are speaking with a Cockney accent rather than speaking Arabic (which apparently has glottal-stops). The skinhead with studs in his jacket, or the bald man in a suit. It’s everything together that works to index a specific image rather than the one thing on its own.

I feel that I should point out that the interpretations of these things are not necessarily correct. A bald man in studded leather is no more likely to be violent than a bald man in a suit; dropping the H in words isn’t necessarily lazy or a sign of poor-education; the point is that it is how people interpret these signs.

All of this Indexing is a part of semiotics, which is basically the study of signs and symbols in communication. Words are symbols as are clothes and accessories. I don’t always do so, but I like to dress smart: dress shirts, ties and blazers. I don’t always wear these, in part because dressing formally in informal situations is a fantastic way of creating space between people and heaven knows I have a hard-enough time communicating.

I also have a Pokémon wallet because I value the series from my childhood. I am fully aware that big and rare words actually make you look dumb, with stupid people using big words to try and look smart (higher-order Indexing, remember?) but I also love words so I’m torn between my passion and not looking like a pretentious prick.

-I went through my cringy “intellectual fedora” phase roughly a decade ago and learned from it-

This is all indexing, which is all semiotics. Fascinating. I tell you, I’ve had three modules this semester, and I’ve only enjoyed this one.

The thing about university is that you can’t just talk out of your rear-end or copy what your lecturer has told you, you need real academic sources, not cool puffin themed blogs, and you need to have read enough of them that when you cite them you can be sure that they say what you say they say. Unfortunately, a lot of academics seem to write for some perverse masturbatory reason rather than to actually explain their ideas and reading their essays can be hell.

I have to take out all of the extra words just to remember how many of the sentences began.

Still, the higher-order Indexicality that I spoke of came from Michael Silverstein’s 2003 paper, although I can’t find out where the first two orders came from. Was it Silverstein? Was it William Labov who writes just as confusingly as Silverstein? If I am to go by how Moore and Podesva (2009) explain it then it is all Silverstein, but not only does Labov have his own, similar three-step method but someone called Blommaert has come up with something they call Order of Indexicality and I don’t think they are the same. Why so confusing?

Still, that ramble has four papers that I could cite and there’s more considering the same authors revisit their own theories later.

So at this point I’ve finished writing my assessment and don’t have a whole lot else to add. Indexing is fascinating and I’m still a long way from understanding it all. I keep finding myself wishing that I had chose a purely English Language course rather then a Joint Honours, so then I would have more time to focus on what I’m learning.

Ah well. I have nothing left to say. Maybe not very professional to end like this but hey, I’m not a professional.

#first puffin #english language #indexing #indexical order #sociology #sociolinguistics #Michael Silverstein #words #language #semiotics #accents #dialect #thosetagswilldofornow

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aftaabmagazine · 5 years

Text

A Magical Conversation with Rebabnawaz Larry Porter

By Farhad Azad

From the April-June 2000 issue of Afghan Magazine | Lemar - Aftaab

vimeo

Larry Porter's CD, The Magical Rebab of Larry Porter, is truly captivating. Porter has mastered the rebab to perfection with his noted style. Without a doubt, he is one of the best rebab players of his generation. I had the privilege to converse with Larry Porter.

Farhad Azad: What inspired you to study Afghan music?

Larry Porter: I have been a musician all my life. I began piano lessons at the age of 6 and had instruction in European classical music for seven years. As a teenager, I began teaching myself jazz and at the age of 20 decided to drop my studies of math and science and devote my life to music. In 1973 at the age of 22, I went to Germany for the first time and worked as a jazz pianist. At this time, through friends and various recordings, I became intensely interested in Arabic, Central Asian and Indian music and increasingly disillusioned with the unbridled commercialism of the music industry in the West. I wondered what role music played in other cultures.nMy curiousity became so great, that in 1976 I set out overland from Munich with a backpack bound for India. For one year I traveled through Eastern Europe, Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India. I listened to all the music I could along the way.B ut when I arrived in Herat, after crossing the border from Iran, I was especially fascinated by the world I encountered there. I felt I had arrived in a land where the music still truly reflects the soul of the people. I heard great vocalists on the street and in tea houses. In Kabul, one could hear Logari music playing all day long, and I enjoyed the incredible way the musicians play together very much. I often went to the Istanbul Restaurant in Shar-i-Nao to hear a great rebab player named Mohammed Sarwar. I wonder what happened to him. I began to get familiar with the different folk rhythms and learned to sing a few folk tunes. I decided I had to get deeper into this music.

Farhad Azad: Why did you choose to study the rebab?

Larry Porter: I was particularly captivated by the sound of the rebab. It had something magical for me. I think this comes about from the combination of both soft and hard aspects of the sound. There is a certain mellowness stemming from the gut (nylon) playing strings and the wonderful resonance of the sympathetic strings. On the other hand, there is a percussiveness produced by the rapid-fire picking technique and the sound bouncing off the goatskin. This built-in tension is rather unique to rebab. I wanted to find a teacher. Looking back, I realize I was extremely lucky in this respect. I met a very friendly student named Daud who offered to take me to the master, Ustad Mohammed Omar! One day we went to his house in Kharabat, and Ustad Omar agreed to take me on as a student. He found me an instrument and we had a lesson every other day because I knew that visa restrictions would limit my stay. We worked exclusively on ragas in the Afghan classical style which he did so much to perfect. This was great training and represented a solid foundation on which I could continue to build over the years, despite the relatively short period of time I was with him. I recently discovered that Daud, whom I had lost contact with for the past 24 years, lives in Cologne, Germany and is a very good rebab and sarod player.

Farhad Azad: What memories do you have of Herat and its artists and musicians?

Larry Porter: One memory of Herat stands out particularly vivid in my mind. I was sitting in a tea house one evening, one of those nice big rooms with rugs and cushions on the floor. Some musicians were playing harmonium and and drums, and a 10-year-old boy came in and began to sing. Not only did he have a beautiful voice, but he sang with incredible soul and maturity. I was completely taken by his performance. How could a child sing with such abandon and intensity? In talking to him afterwards, I found out he was an orphan and survived by just sleeping and eating here and there. I often think about the directness and innocence of that musical experience and how far away it is from the runaway commercialism of the Western music world.

Farhad Azad: What was Kharabat like in the mid 1970s?

Larry Porter: I loved taking the bus to the old city in Kabul and walking to Ustad Omar's house in Kharabat. The bus would leave me off basically at the entrance to the old city and I immediatley found myself in a different world. There were dirt streets thick with flies lined with open shops where the shopkeepers sat crosslegged on raised platforms. There was always a lot of life and activity. I remember the only two rebab-makers in Kabul had their shops on the first street I walked down. They were across the street from each other and I believe one of them was named Gul Mohammed.

Farhad Azad: Describe your first encounter with Ustad Omar?

Larry Porter: The first time I took this walk with my friend, we were looking for Ustad Omar's house, not knowing for sure where it was. I was astounded by how well-known and revered he was by virtually everyone. Anyone we asked knew exactly where he lived, and as we got closer, people even knew if he was home or not and what time he'd be home! When we finally found him home, he lead us into his music room, which had nothing more than an Afghan rug and his instruments in the corners. I was always fond of this tradition in Persia and Afghanistan of having a peaceful room with a carpet in the house devoid of clutter. He had many people around him and I think they were curious about this American interested in Afghan music. After he agreed to take me on as a student, it was time to find an instrument. I imagined I would have to look for one myself, but Ustad Omar simply sent off one of his attendants, and after ten minutes he came back with a rebab. After trying it out and disapproving of it, the process was repeated until he found one he approved of. I bought it for the equivalent of $40. I still have this rebab and recently had it fixed up with a new skin and new bridge.

Farhad Azad: As a young man, what was it like living in Kabul and studying in Kharabat under Ustad M. Omar?

Larry Porter: It was a great experience going to his music room every other day. Ustad Omar did not speak English, but my Persian [Dari] was good enough to get through the lessons. I found him to be a gentle and friendly man. His eyes would light up whenever he talked about the concert he played with Zakir Hussain in Seattle. Apparently, he really enjoyed traveling to America and sharing his music with the people there. Unfortunately, as far as I know, the Seattle concert was the only time he did that. Sometimes he would laugh and talk about how one day we would sit on a stage somewhere in America and play the rag Gujri Todi together. The first lessons, of course, dealt mainly with instrumental technique. We usually sat on the floor, each with a rebab in hand (I got to play his large concert rebab). He then began giving me material from his classical repertoire, compositions in various ragas and talas. He would dictate these to me in sargam (vocal syllables). Each composition had 4 parts: astayi, antara, boog and sanchayi. This form is reminiscent of the ancient vocal style of dhrupad. He would also give me variations called peltas, which would be in double time. In general, there is not much improvisation in this style, rather the music derives its excitement from endless rhythmic variations of the melody, which are percisely matched by the drums.

Farhad Azad: You mentioned that you learned folk songs; did you learn to speak the local dialect and can you still sing those songs that you learned?

Larry Porter: During this time I also heard a lot of folk and popular music and felt very drawn to it. I did learn to sing a few Dari songs. I think the first one taught to me was Anor Daane Ne Dara (The Pomegranate Has No Seeds). I began to play these songs on the rebab. There's a certain magic to these deceptively simple melodies. They can possess an amazing depth and power, considering their simplicity especially relative to the complexities of Western music. This actually allows them to enter other dimensions that Western music with its ever-changing tonic has trouble reaching. In any case, the folk music became a great love of mine and still is. I have lost my ability to speak the language after 23 years of not using it, but I do try to research titles and lyrics of songs I play, so I at least know what they're about.

Farhad Azad: Did you also study Logari music?

Larry Porter: The Logari bands were the closest thing in Afghanistan to jazz bands. There was usually vocal, rebab, tanbur, harmonium and dhol and sometimes other instruments. The degree of interplay among the musicians in this music is unbelievable and a joy to hear. While I haven't myself played in a band like that, I have been very influenced by this interplay and other aspects of Logari, for example, the way of speeding up the tempo to reach a sort of ecstatic state, and then punctuating it with an off-beat ending. There's also a certain freedom as to where the music is going next and always the freedom to change rhythms (time signatures).

Farhad Azad: In your marvelous CD, The Magical Rebab of Larry Porter, you have selected two Afghan folk songs: Sakhijan Mayrawi and Naziko Naz Ko; why did you select these two in particular?

Larry Porter: The original purpose of the CD was to document the music Franc Menusan and I had been playing every weekend at the Taste Of India restaurant in Greenwich Village in New York City. We had worked up a sizable repertoire of Afghan songs, Hindi film tunes, Punjabi songs, ghazals, and some classical pieces. It is interesting how Afghan folk music has in part influenced Hindi film music, and conversely how Hindi film songs have been adapted and sometimes given new words by Afghan musicians. Franc is a wonderful sitar player and a master of Hindustani music but plays many other instruments. On the tabla, he has a remarkable affinity for the rhythms of Afghan music. In the studio, we recorded a sampling of our repertoire and picked the best takes. Sakhijan Mayrawi in pashtu tal (the typical 7-beat rhythm I'm very fond of playing) is a melody I had heard from different sources, including an instrumental recording and a recording by Ustad Netu. It has a beautiful swing to it and can be played at a fairly brisk tempo, which we do at the end of the take._ Naziko Naz Ko_ is also in pashtu tal but much slower. It has a very evocative melody in the scale we would call harmonic minor in the West and makes beautiful use of the major third (shuddh ga), something which is quite common in Afghan folk music. I learned this arrangement from a recording by Ustad Omar. I somehow lost this recording a long time ago, but remembered the arrangement.

Farhad Azad: You also have selected Yarak-e Ma by the late Ahmad Zahir; why did you make this selection?

Larry Porter: I hadn't listened so much to Ahmad Zahir until my Afghan friends in New York turned me on to some recordings of his. It took me a while to get used to the sound of the guitar in this kind of music. The bass lines and chords give the music somewhat of a Western flavor and I like his trumpet player [Ustad Nangalai]. But he was a great singer, a true pop singer and crooner like Sinatra was in America, and I grew to like his songs, many of which I learned to play on the rebab. Yarak-e Ma is one of my favorites and one we played a lot at the restaurant.

Farhad Azad: Do you plan to release any more of your rebab recordings?

Larry Porter: I do plan to release more rebab recordings. The project which interests me most is to compose and record music for rebab and piano together, to combine everything I know about jazz and Western music with everything I know about Afghan, Central Asian and Indian music. It is of utmost importance to me that an actual transformation takes place in this fusion and not just a layering. I hear this music as having its own integrity different than the mere sum of its parts. I think the greatest contribution I can make is to use what I've learned about various music traditions in a creative way. I've already written many pieces in this direction and am currently looking for a record company interested in this project. I also have the idea of releasing some music on a web site which I'd like to set up.

Farhad Azad: Anything else you would like to add?

Larry Porter: I would also like to continue playing rebab with tabla and to further develop what we were doing on the CD, which is a style of improvising over songs, a way of playing folk tunes but using elements of classical improvisation to bridge the different sections. I enjoy the fact that this way of playing was able to grow naturally out of working together every week. It is in many ways similar (not surprisingly, I suppose) to the jazz approach to a standard song. One thing not represented on the CD are pieces I composed for the rebab in the Afghan style. I started writing this kind of rebab music in Kabul already and would like to record it with tabla someday. I also want to continue to expand my repertoire of Afghan music, which I do mostly through recordings but also through friends and people I meet. For as much as I want to create something new with my music, I also long to remain immersed in a tradition which has cast a lifelong spell over me.