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malvoliowithin · 7 years

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Marley Rates Every Shakespearean Play*

Now that I have read every play by William Shakespeare* I think it’s time to do a rate of them all. Hold on to your horses, my friends, because this is probably going to get long.

Tragedies:

Julius Caesar: 8/10 I liked this one better the second time I read it. I still think parts are a bit slow, and some of the inherent drama seems to take a weird pitfall after they actually kill Caesar, and then there’s the war that pops up out of nowhere and gives the plot a significant change midway through. Still, though, the dialogue? Perfect. Antony and Cleopatra: 7/10 I liked this one worse the second time I read it. Antony and Cleopatra aren’t likable but their deaths are still upsetting and I really like the dynamics between most of the characters. Unfortunately this one suffers a bad case of ‘fifteen plot lines going on at once, also let’s go to Syria for Reasons’ Coriolanus: 6/10 This one starts off mega slow but gets considerably better later on. Points for the dialogue being so awkward at points that it’s amusing. Also points for being mega super obviously gay all over the place (even more so than most Shakespeare plays, honestly.) Romeo and Juliet: 6/10 I like the idea and presentation of this one but it’s so overrated that it tends to get old quickly. It’s good but it’s not that good. Also, Capulet isn’t given enough credit for being a terrible father. Awful. The worst. 0/10 for good parenting. Also, WHAT HAPPENED TO BENVOLIO. Macbeth: 7/10 high score for things like witches, pretty speeches, blood, ghosts, usurpations, and being short enough to not get tedious. Low score for “what, you egg” and “O, by whom?” Hamlet: 3/10 This one really sells the point of wanting you to feel for these characters but they’re all so angst-ridden that I do not. Okay mostly Hamlet. Actually, almost exclusively Hamlet, but he’s on stage ALL THE TIME and never shuts up. Ever. (Although notably I didn’t like anyone else in the play either.) Othello: 10/10 This play, of all the tragedies, hurts me the most. It might be the ONLY one that actually makes me feel a sense of tangible loss. Iago is brilliant and horrible, Othello is noble and the downfall of his character is painful to watch, Desdemona is wonderful and even the side characters like Cassio and Rodrigo are likable, even in their stupidity. King Lear: 6/10 I WANT to like this one but Lear continues to not impress me and I don’t know why. I love Edmund, I love the sisters, heck I don’t even necessarily have anything against Lear. But I dunno. It just doesn’t do it for me. Maybe it’s cause I don’t care for Kent much. Titus Andronicus: 5/10 This one has to be read as a comedy to keep from being ridiculous because otherwise what in the fresh hell. You tried, William. You tried. Timon of Athens: 1/10 “Why aren’t there more plays about financial problems?” asked no one ever. And here’s why! Okay, yes, it’s about a guy who loses his money to his sleazy friends so he curses society and goes to live in a cave. And while that’s #relatable, any play about money tends to get dry after about 15.5 seconds. Histories:

Henry VI (part 1): 8/10 despite having almost no Henry and occasionally lapsing into weird moments like Mortimer dying and Excess of Talbot and Bedford being carried into the middle of the street whilst dying (?) it also has pretty awesome stuff like The French™ feat. Joan of Arc and Dunois, Talbot being cool, and the beginnings of the Wars of the Roses. Henry VI (part 2): 6/10 This one was the least intelligible and most dry of the Henry VI plays in my opinion, but I need to reread it. I loved the Duchess of Gloucester, but the plot about the rebellion midway through came out of fucking nowhere and also went nowhere. It probably made sense if I knew the history but even after reading about Henry VI I still have no freaking idea what that was. Also, Margaret was pretty creepy in this one and I dunno. Henry VI (part 3): 9/10 the best of the Henry VI plays, this one has the most coherent plot and starts to focus on character rather than circumstance. We get a clearer and more tragic view of Henry, Margaret becomes fully realized, York is in full swing and his sons are introduced and awesome. It’s still a bit cluttered but it really feels like Shakespeare hits his stride here and does it wonderfully. Richard III: 9/10 I love this damn play so much. It stops worrying about throwing in a ton of history details and Shakespeare just goes ‘screw it, let’s go for broke on character’ and MAN does he deliver. Richard III is without a doubt Shakespeare’s best antagonist and probably in the running for best character. Also, the ending. Extremely satisfying. Also painful. Also there’s murder in like every scene and who doesn’t love a good off-stage death? Richard II: 10/10 WHY DO MORE PEOPLE NOT KNOW OF THIS PLAY? You like amazing speeches? Check. You like ridiculous melodrama? Check. You like complicated, relatable tragic heroes? Check. You like crippling betrayal? well find a production that does that lmao but check I guess You like humor? Romance? Having your heart wrenched? Suspense? Intrigue? Existential crises? Gage throwing? Cameos of later famous characters (I see you, baby Hotspur) THEN GO WATCH THIS PLAY. GO. DO IT. DO IT NOW. Henry IV (part 1): 8/10 Good shit: Hotspur. Falstaff. Hal’s arc. Henry’s crippling self-doubt over the overthrow and death of his cousin. The tension between Hal and King Henry. Hotspur’s “I’m gonna teach a bird to say Mortimer’s name and then give it to King Henry lmao” speech. Mortimer. Lady Mortimer! Bad shit: Excessive Falstaff? Hal being a jerkwaffle? Unnecessary use of Backstory that makes the play occasionally not make sense if you aren’t familiar with Richard II? Henry IV (part 2): 4/10 Basically just Part 1 except with the good bits taken out, and longer, and more boring. And Henry dies. A few good speeches but eh. Henry V: 10/10 because Charles is in it. Yeah that’s right. I’m giving this play a 10 because it put a cameo of my son I’m nothing if not predictable. But also, it has Fluellen, and Henry being an Ambitious and Confident Young King who is Trying To Prove His Worth. And also, tennis ball and horse jokes because those are needed (and yes, they really are.) King John: 2/10 what the fuck. To expand: Death by Monk as an actual plot point. A character dies, and the Surprise! I Lived Bitch and then dies anyway? Also a king gets killed and no one talks about it. Also one character is named Richard and then his name is Philip and no one knows what to make of that so they just call him The Bastard. Lots of random offscreen dying, and (bad) plot twists. Have fun. Comedies:

All’s Well That Ends Well: 4/10 No, all is not well that ends well because this play ended well but it wasn’t good. It would have worked better if Bertram had just been gay and then him avoiding his wife would have made more sense instead of him being a jerkass, also what the fuck Helena. DIVORCE HIM. I liked the Countess though she was cool. Much Ado About Nothing: 7/10 Again with the WHAT THE FUCK DIVORCE HIM plotline except, Hero and Claudio. Beatrice was amazing though and so was Benedick. Not sure about Don John. Although, I guess having no motive except “I’m just a little shit who likes to make people sad” is kind of relatable in a sense, but he went to far. Dude, chill. A Midsummer Night’s Dream: 9/10 despite being overrated I love this play. I mean it doesn’t get much better than fairy divorce court being the root of everyone’s problems. It’s just such an utter cavalcade of ridiculousness and yet manages to make all the subplots weave nicely together unlike SOME plays (ie King John). Twelfth Night: 10/10 go look at my URL and then ask me why. But no, really, Twelfth Night is wonderful. I love every character, I love the plot and the subplots blend nicely, it has a nice emotional undertone and some dark themes to give it a bit of impact as you’re laughing at the antics of this group of beautiful idiots. I adore it. The Comedy of Errors: 7/10 this play is just really, really funny. Like it’s kind of a stupid premise but it manages to make it work because it’s SO stupid that it’s awesome. It’s also maddeningly frustrating, which is the highest form of humor. Maybe. The Merry Wives of Windsor: 5/10 FALSTAFF SPINOFF but actually pretty good. The added characters were cool and the cameos from Henry IV were nice to see. Mostly just hilarity. I don’t have a ton to say about this one, but it was enjoyable. The Taming of the Shrew: 4/10 I kind of feel bad for not hating this one as much as everyone else in the fandom does but I don’t totally hate this play. Yeah, it’s mad sexist. Yeah, it’s not particularly funny. But I thought the subplot with Bianca and Lucentio was cute, and I really liked Tranio in general. As You Like It: 7/10 for cool foresty atmosphere, and having the ‘all the world’s a stage’ speech, and Touchstone, and crossdressing, and having a female character who actually had a ton of lines, and Evil Brothers. Minus 3 for OliverxCelia. Shakespeare what were you thinking. Also, he somehow managed to name two characters Jaques. The Two Gentlemen of Verona: 5/10 Okay. PROTEUS IS THE WORST CHARACTER EVER AND I HATE HIM AND I WISH HE HAD DIED. WHAT THE FUCK. THAT WAS LIKE IAGO-LEVEL VILLAINY RIGHT THERE AND HE GOT FORGIVEN AND GOT OFF SCOT FREE LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED. THIS GUY MAKES CLAUDIO AND DEMETRIUS LOOK LIKE SAINTS. Also, doggy. On stage. Good puppy. Love’s Labors Lost: 6/10 This would make more sense if it had about 10 fewer characters and more cohesiveness. But I actually liked it. The ending was nontraditional for a comedy, and some of the scenes were kind of funny and cute.

Romances:

The Winter’s Tale: 7/10 Leontes is the worst. We can all agree on that. Does that stop me from crying when his statue-wife comes to life and forgives him? No it does not. Also, Time is a character and shows up which is... cool, and a little weird, but also cool. Also, RIP Antigonus. The Tempest: 9/10 Monsters and magic and spirits and islands and BETRAYL and... a witch named Sycorax, and also Miranda being wonderful and having a lot of really nice lines about discovering the world for the first time. Good play. I’m enamored of Ariel from a character perspective. Troilus and Cressida: 5/10 I wanted to like this one but... eh. It was all right. It was just kind of slow. You spend the whole play waiting for Hector and Ajax to fight and then it’s over and... well. Also the title couple felt like an awkward sideplot. I gotta say though, Thersites was great even though he was awful and a shithead.

Etc. (you know the ones):

Measure for Measure: 8/10 I love the characters in this one and both Isabelle and Angelo give me feelings in different ways. It’s... not an easy plot to get comfortable with, and the dynamics and way it pans out eventually really hit home. That said, WHAT THE FUCK VINCENTIO. The Merchant of Venice: 3/10 Okay remember when I rated Timon of Athens and I said plays about finances were not a good idea? Well here we are again. This one was actually slightly better because it was more comprehensive, and Portia exists. Of course, there’s also the uncomfortable amount of anti-Semitism that makes one pause and wish this wasn’t happening.

*Minus Cymbeline, Pericles, and Henry VIII which I haven’t read yet, but I’ll update when I’ve read them.

#long post #I'm sorry about this #(no I'm not)

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solivar · 7 years

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WIP Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one where Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate art student, Jesse McCree is an NPS ranger, both are more than they seem, something weird is going down in the New Mexican desert and their lives collide in the middle of it.

Now with more load-bearing future plot set up, another Seeing Eye Hellhound, and I’m not entirely satisfied with the flow here, probably because I’ve been writing under the influence of a histamine hangover for the last two days.

Mrs. Amari’s consultation room was, to Hanzo’s great surprise, not in the basement. No, rather, it was in one of the four third story rooms that capped the hacienda like turrets on a Pueblo Revival castle, perfectly square, walls aligned flawlessly along a true directional axis, ceiling mostly made up of a pyramidal skylight, picture windows longer than they were wide in the eastern and western facing walls.

Nor were the walls painted a shade that tried frantically to be Santa Fe red and failed in any number of tragic ways, such as he was accustomed to finding in shops that purported to be herbalists but mostly sold psychoactives and their derivatives. Instead, they were a color too warm to be white and too lovely to be described as beige by anyone not suffering from a Philistinic lack of poetry in their soul, a creamy hue enlivened by a subtle hint of yellow and something that might have been handfuls of crushed mica added to the final glaze that caught the light pouring in from three directions and glinted gently. There was an astonishing absence of candles and not a single whiff of patchouli, though there was also no real furniture to sit on, either -- here, unique in the house as far as he could tell, the smoothly joined hardwood floor was covered in relatively small, richly pattern-woven area rugs and large floor pillows upholstered in jewel-toned silk, a transit hazard in a house where one of the residents was blind or the next best thing to it.

A trio of dark hardwood storage chests sat against the southern wall, a practical concession rather than an aesthetic one, as their hostess crossed the room and opened them. “Please -- make yourselves comfortable.”

“After you, darlin’.” Ranger McCree murmured at his shoulder, yielding the choice, and so Hanzo picked the nest of pillows closest to the western wall, a pleasantly thick rug that felt like wool under his hands, its pattern particularly elegant and complex. It gave his eyes something to do while he concentrated on inhaling peace and exhaling stress that wasn’t losing himself in the dark gaze of his rescuer.

Ranger McCree settled down on the rug next to his own and, taking the making himself comfortable thing entirely literally, stretched out on his side, the familiar indolence of it distracting Hanzo momentarily from his contemplation of the floor. His fingers remained long and strong but unclawed and his eyes remained warmly soothing brown behind extravagantly thick lashes and oh damn he was contemplating those qualities and also the perfectly sculpted nature of his lips and it took all his strength to look away. Genji and Zenyatta took up station together on the rug directly across from his own, his brother discreetly tucking a couple pillows behind his back so he could lean against the wall in a pose that loudly purported to be entirely at peace and harmless despite the prevailing glitter of his eyes. Hana and Lucio brought up the rear, carrying their bags and, before they sat, they both set up their recording equipment in a manner that clearly allowed them to cover the entire room and everything that went on in it.

Hanzo inclined a questioning brow at them and Hana shrugged slightly. “Their idea.” She nodded in the direction of Zen and Ana.

“Since this is going to be a diagnostic procedure, having a reviewable record of it may be helpful.” Zenyatta replied, in response to his unspoken question. “If, of course, neither of you object.”

Hanzo considered that for a moment. “Not I. In fact, I’ll probably want to watch it.”

“Me neither. S’like to be a thousand times less embarrassing than any number of other recordings they’ve got of me already.” Ranger McCree flashed a grin and, behind the cover of couple pillows, his hand sought and found Hanzo’s on the rug, his grip gentle and comforting.

“Then we are in agreement.” He could hear the smile in Ana’s voice, even though her back was still turned on them. “Vanilla or cinnamon?”

“Pardon…?” Hanzo asked and there were the candles, one in each of her elegant, long-fingered hands. “Oh. Vanilla.” Cinnamon, he rather thought, might have a little too much in common with the unknown spice that pervaded the ranger’s scent to be properly soothing.

Ana set the candle in a dish of blue mosaic and lit it with a struck match, setting it on top of the storage box she closed, and turned to face them, a length of cloth looped over one arm and a smaller box of carved wood in both hands. “Dr. Tekhartha, young man, if you would be so kind as to spread out the chart for me.”

Zenyatta rose and took the cloth and together he and Genji laid it out on the floor in the central space, pinning it down at each corner with the heavy stone blocks Ana handed them from the box she held. From the quality of the sheen as the light touched it, Hanzo suspected the cloth was silk and very old, its weave almost impossibly fine, its surface painted with the outline of a human form, otherwise unadorned. The blocks, by way of contrast, were densely etched in hieratic characters on all their visible sides; Hanzo suspected they were completely covered.

“The purpose of this rite is to unbind the souls of two who tied together without bringing harm to them through the act.” Ana’s voice, in fact, had a touch of ritual about it, her pronunciation precise and formal. “For this to occur, we must know the shape of their souls and how they touch in order to part them cleanly. Jesse.”

The ranger released his hand rose, taking a moment to peel off his boots, and padded in stocking feet to the center of the room. The cloth was, fortunately, not as fragile as it looked as he took his place stretched out on it, too tall and too broad to fit inside the outline, the entire border of the thing only just large enough to contain him. The sunlight falling through the skylight overhead graced him in ways that even firelight did not, turning his skin tawny wherever it touched, bringing out the subtle hint of red in his hair, striking sparks of gold in the darkness of his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Hanzo saw Ana moving but paid it no attention until Hana squawked in distress and, by the time he looked, she had already taken off her eyepatch and was in the process of prying the eye out of her skull with a very audible and more than faintly horrifying pop.

“Oh. My. Actual. Fucking. God.” Hana sounded on the verge of chucking her cookies, for which Hanzo could not actually blame her since his stomach was also trying to get in on that action. “What. What are you. Is that -- “

Ana held it into the light -- a stone sculpted in the shape of an eye, banded and variegated shades of creamy green, iris and sclera alike carved with almost impossibly tiny hieratic characters. The socket in which it had lain was a twisted mass of scar tissue that she made no effort to conceal as she placed the stone in the very center of Jesse’s forehead. He didn’t flinch, either from the stone or from her touch, nor did he react as it began to glow from within, or as the blocks holding down the cloth on which he lay picked up the light, or as that viridian radiance swept the length of his body. Perhaps there wasn’t really anything to flinch from -- it didn’t look like it hurt -- and his expression remained serene even as the green faded, turning into a fine and delicate webwork of red and gold that rippled across the surface of his body, cohering into denser knots here, looser ones there, the entire whole visibly pulsing in time with his breath. Hanzo blinked and, for an instant, saw it again: the pattern, black geometric forms against golden brown skin, etched into his exposed forearms, a pattern that hadn’t been there a moment before. He reached up, rubbed his eyes, and when he looked again, it was gone, nothing to see but the flicker of red and golden light, the colors of his soul, of the cloak he had lent, that he felt laying across his shoulders even then.

A cool silver radiance joined it, and a sound like chiming bells. Zenyatta’s fingers were laced together in the mudraish form he recalled from the Student Union and, as they watched, spheres curled into existence around him -- nine spheres, to be exact, settling into orbit over the ranger, surfaces swirling cool blue and even cooler silver, cohering into forms that were almost words, almost a language that Hanzo knew.

“Zen,” Lucio’s voice, compared to Hana’s, was almost unnaturally steady. “For the recording: what are those things?”

“My inner eyes.” Zenyatta replied serenely. “With them I can perceive the soul divorced of its relationship to crude matter -- true self is without form. Our bodies cannot, can never, express or contain all that we are.”

“You have nine eyes?” Hana asked. “Also: I totally could have done without that eye-popping thing, I can’t even handle the concept of contact lenses, warn a girl, would you?”

Zenyatta smiled and said nothing more.

“Every craft has its own guiding conceptions of the metaphysical, including the true anatomy of the soul.” Ana gestured, the slightest movement of her fingers, and the webwork lifted away from the surface of his flesh. She removed the eye-stone from his forehead and the web rose a bit further, hanging in the air high enough to let him roll out from beneath it without disturbing it as it took on a multidimensional quality, knots and nodes and interactions multiplying before their eyes, beautiful in their complexity. “In mine, the heart is the key of all will and thought, emotion and intention, the guide of all action, positive and negative.”

“In mine, there is no single aspect of being more important than any other, but rather a continuum of essential forces whose interaction creates the internal balance unique to each individual.” The nine spheres spread themselves length of the webwork. “Not all balance is necessarily harmonious -- adversity is the crucible of change and growth, after all, but a soul too long in a state of disquiet can be darkened in ways it is difficult to repair. Hanzo?”

Hanzo took a moment to untie and remove his own shoes, stealing another cycle of peace-stress breathing as he did so, and gingerly crawled out onto the cloth. To his surprise, it didn’t crinkle under his hands despite its appearance of extreme age and fragility. A wave of neuropathic tingles washed through his uncovered hand where he touched it, up his neck and across his scalp as he lay down; it felt charged, like static electricity just before it let go, and he half expected to be shocked as he finished stretching his length. Instead the sensation rose and folded around him like an embrace, nerves thrumming gently, almost impossibly soothing.

“Are you ready, child?” Ana asked kindly.

“Yes.” Hanzo replied, his gaze automatically seeking his brother’s. Genji was leaning forward on his knees, eyes dragon-bright, one of Zenyatta’s hands resting comfortingly on his shoulder. Hanzo offered his best reassuring smile and then something small and warm came to rest on his forehead and the surge of power that washed through him swallowed his awareness of anything else.

It was, in a way, not unlike meeting Minamikaze’s eyes all those years ago: the same feeling of being seen, of being perceived and known to the depths of his own being, without the accompanying sense of stripped bare, of being measured and found wanting beneath his dragon ancestor’s pitiless judgment. Not pleasant, precisely, but not terrible, either, and as it faded he heard sharply in-drawn breaths all around the room. He opened his eyes -- when had he closed them? He couldn’t remember -- and found Hana staring at him with undisguised horror, her hands pressed to her mouth, Lucio’s eyes enormous with shock, Zenyatta gently but firmly restraining Genji from reaching for him.

“I’m guessing it looks bad.” He said, dryly, not quite having the courage himself to look the length of his own body, to see what sort of mess the naayéé had made of his soul.

“Aniki,” Genji’s voice was painfully unsteady, on the edge of tears, “doesn’t it hurt?”

“No. Not now, at least.” Even his arm, swathed inside its bandages, was offering him no discomfort; he wondered if it was an effect of the bespeaking or if he was just experiencing an abnormal allotment of good fortune, for a change. “Or I might not be feeling it yet. Zen? Mrs. Amari?”

“I am not interdicting any sensory response you might otherwise experience.” Zen replied, his tone planed utterly smooth of expression, itself an unnatural turn of events.

“Nor am I.” Ana laid her hands, gently, on either side of his head. “Please do not move, child.”

He held utterly still while she lifted away the webwork the bespeaking had built and removed the eye-stone from his forehead. He could not quite bring himself yet to look at it directly, and so he rolled to the side and kept his back to it as he returned to his place, staring fixedly at a particularly bright flake of mica just below the window sash long enough that the ranger, his ranger, said softly, “Hanzo? Are you okay, darlin’?”

“I -- “ Hanzo took a deep breath, released it in a shuddering sigh that seemed to take a substantial chunk of the integrity of his insides with it. “Yes. I just...need a moment.”

A warm hand came to rest on his own and without thinking too deeply on it, he leaned into its owner, resting his face in the crook of the ranger’s neck and shoulder as he gathered the scattered bits of his courage back up. When he finally turned around, Jesse placed himself at his back, and it was all he could do not to press more completely into his side, settling for an arm and a shoulder and a hand laced together with his own in the pillows.

The webwork of his inner being was incomplete, at best, a tangled cat’s-cradle of threads in shades of darkest blue, some so deep they were nearly black, some wound together with others in knotwork patterns that echoed the ranger’s, orderly and purposeful, but still more, most he suspected, were snarled and twisted together in an effort to maintain some sort of internal cohesion. Woven among them, holding lengths of torn and frayed strands together across expanses of emptiness, were flickers of gold -- far more gold than red, to his eye, completing knots and nodes that would otherwise be broken, holding together pieces of his being that otherwise would be threadbare, at best, if they existed at all. His left arm, for example, trailed away in mid-bicep, the shredded ends of what had once been his unfulfilled bond trailed into nothingness.

And there, in the very center of his living essence, was the scar: a gnarled and withered mass of spiritual keloid, severed from the rest of his being, the place where all the damage began. It was ugly even to his own eyes, ruined and repulsive, the undeniable evidence of his own unworthiness.

“Han, you know me. I’m not a violent person by nature,” Lucio broke the appalled the silence, “but I think I’m going to have to punch a dragon in the face.”

A chorus of agreement met that sentiment and, to Hanzo’s surprise, it included Zenyatta. His spheres rotated between the two constructions, colors reflecting and blending across their surfaces until they flared like miniature suns, illuminating the bonds still linking them together -- not only the threads, which were enough and more than enough, but the passage of intensely bright golden light spilling into his being from the source at his side.

“On the one hand,” Ana said, neutrally, her face as still as a millpond, “I am impressed by the amount of healing that has already occurred. On the other, a great deal more needs to happen before we can even consider separating you.”

“I concur.” Zenyatta reached out and touched one of his spheres -- it rang a single silvery tone, echoed by the spheres to either side, thrumming the threads of the ranger’s being and his own. “They are resonating together too closely -- if we part them it will do far more harm than good.”

“How long d’you think, Doc?” Jesse asked; Hanzo was having difficulty finding his voice.

“It is...difficult to tell.” Zenyatta flicked a sidelong glance at Genji, who absolutely did not notice, his own gaze fixed on the construct. “Physical proximity may well speed the healing. It will certainly shorten the, ah, supply line.”

“Could it do him harm? To continue the connection to me?” Hanzo asked, his voice a toneless rasp and for the sake of the one who lent you this ringing in his ears.

“There is always a risk.” Ana replied, calmly. “And a price to paid for taking them. Here and now, in this place, the danger is minimal -- Cerillos is protected, strongly, against intrusions from Beyond, and even now my husband and Gabriel are reinforcing the border defenses.” Her expression softened a fraction. “It also matters that he has chosen this of his own will, even if you did not.”

“Hanzo.” Zenyatta said quietly. “It is not impossible to separate you, if that is what you truly wish, but I counsel strongly against it for your own sake.”

“It’s not hurting me to do this, darlin’.” Jesse’s breath was warm against his cheek and the words were sweet, so sweet, in his ears and he could not imagine how he had looked on this and found it beautiful, could not believe that he still did. “I got more than enough and you need it now. I’m sorry about the way it happened but not sorry that it’s doin’ you good -- what’s a few more days, if you can walk outta here more whole than you were comin’ in?”

“Very well.” Hanzo replied, softly, knowing defeat when he looked it in the eye. “What must we do?”

“We should --” Ana began.

“The scar is vibrating.” Genji said, quietly, and silenced whatever she was going to say.

“It is.” Lucio leaned closer. “Zen -- that note the sphere closest to it is playing, can you make it louder?”

Zenyatta touched a fingertip to that sphere and the tone it emitted filled Hanzo’s chest with cold and dark and the icy longing for nothing even as the scar shivered where it lay inside his being, beating in time with that painful music like a second, shriveled heart. They all watched, wordless, Jesse’s arm tightening around him, Zenyatta and Ana going carefully, professionally blank, Hana wiping tears from her eyes as though merely seeing it caused her grief.

It was Genji, again, who finally spoke what they all knew was true. “There’s something inside it.”

It took two hours and the return of Mr. Wilhelm and Terrifying Smoke Monster Dad, bearing with them a multitude of objects both strange and intriguing, Roadhog the Friendly Giant and his beanpole constant companion the excessively destructive mechanical genius, and also thirty pizza boxes from a local joint so famous even he had heard of it, for Hanzo to find a moment of peace by himself. A pretty decent amount of open space lay between the walls completely surrounding the compound and the contents of the compound itself, even with the greenhouses, and the prevailing chaos inside the house allowed him the snag half a box of pizza and the remains of a two liter of root beer and slip out into it to find a reasonably comfortable place to sit and get himself back in order. Or possibly to sulk. He didn’t think he was sulking but he also had to admit that he wasn’t always the best judge of his own emotional reactions, particularly when the contents of his skull and the contents of his digestive tract were both equally contorted with an excess of feeling. Such as they were now.

He found his hiding spot on the far northern edge of the compound, a little alcove built out from the wall lined and roofed in a trellis heavy with vines that probably flowered in the spring, complete with a cushioned horse-shoe shaped bench and a marble birdbath a few feet away. He tucked himself into the most heavily shadowed corner and slurped down pepperoni and still moderately gooey cheese while thinking fixedly about nothing: not the now-impossible-to-overlook-or-deny state of his own fuckedupness, not how much the same was patently freaking out his brother and his friends, not the ranger, absolutely not the ranger, not the way the ranger felt pressed against his back, not the way the ranger’s hand felt entwined with his own, absolutely nothing about how the ranger’s soul and his own were tied together and how much he did not, in fact, wish to be separated, how he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be separated, even once he was healed, or how purely and simply good it felt to have that tie, that connection, to someone else, even if it came about in a terrible way. And there was, thinking about it, and he let his head fall back against the trellis.

“What if he doesn’t really want to stay tied to you?” He said the words aloud because that was marginally better than keeping them penned inside his head, where they could ricochet around and do more damage. “Why would he? He practically said he didn’t back at the house and why would he ever do this in the first place?”

Because he’s a decent human being, the voice of reason interjected, finally overcoming the roar of egregiously melodramatic emo complete with extreme dynamic tempo shifts and, possibly, lyrics by Gerard Way otherwise commanding his internal narrative. And also it’s his job. Remember the job? Ranger is not just a title. It’s what he does. He helps people.

“That’s right. That’s true.” It was weirdly soothing to admit that out loud, to force himself to look at the situation from that light, to remind himself that if anyone else had turned up on the ranger’s doorstep that night he’d have done the same for them, that it didn’t actually mean anything more than that. “He’s...simply the best human on Earth and you randomly encountered him in the middle of the night, on the ass-end of nowhere, just when you needed him most. Don’t make it more than that, you idiot.”

They had not, after all, talked and the odds that they would seemed to be diminishing by the moment. It was, after all, entirely probable that he was misreading the situation somehow -- it would not, in fact, be the first time.

He tried, and succeeded at least for now, not to think about the thing in his chest. He had the rather distinct feeling that wouldn’t be the case for much longer and embraced the not-thinking-about-it-for-now like a long-lost love.

He gathered up the remains of his meal and made his way back towards the house, using the bulk of the greenhouses as cover, and, as he approached, he heard voices coming from the back porch, itself partially screened by ornamental junipers. He recognized the speakers nonetheless and he slowed his stride and softened his steps and, no, no he was not going to hide in the bushes and listen to his brother talk to his ranger. He was not going to do that.

“You know, I was really pretty dedicated to the idea of not liking you.”

He was totally doing that because that was Genji, Genji sounding faintly bemused instead of borderline homicidal, which he was inclined to consider an improvement.

“I kinda noticed that, yeah.” The ranger, by way of contrast, sounded at least moderately pleased. “For the record, I don’t blame you any and, also for the record, I apologize. I’d do a lot of things differently, if I could.” The sound of footsteps, with spurs, on the planks of the porch and Hanzo planted himself flat against the hacienda’s adobe wall and hoped against hope that the junipers completely concealed him. “Mostly, I’d try harder to make sure y’all were safe from the start.”

“That’s gratifying to know.” A sigh. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I’m just...really worried about him. Worried that this going to undo all the effort he put into rebuilding his life -- rebuilding himself -- after…” Genji’s voice trailed off.

“Apology accepted.” A pause. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, it doesn’t sound like you two came from the most nurturing environment.”

“Oh, it could be incredibly nurturing -- provided you were willing to let yourself be nurtured in exactly the direction the clan wanted you to go.” Hanzo could practically feel his brother’s bitterness from where he stood. “Do you know what the worst part of all this is, Ranger McCree? Our family did this to him. Deliberately. They took him when he was barely old enough to speak in complete sentences and way before he could really understand or consent to what they were asking of him, and they made him into a sacrifice. They let Uncle Toshiro turn him into a younger, stronger version of himself and sent him off to perform an impossible fucking task and when he fucking succeeded they couldn’t even treat him with the smallest bit of kindness when what they wanted him to do broke him. I could forgive them a lot of bullshit but I will never forgive that.”

“We’re in more than passin’ agreement about that.” The sound of two bottles -- real bottle-capped bottles -- flicking open with a pop. “Seems to me like you’ve got something on your mind, Mr. Shimada --”

“Genji. Just...call me Genji. Everyone does.”

“Genji, then. Why don’t you let what’s eatin’ at you out before it gets down to the bone?” The ranger’s voice was close and Hanzo dared a glance, found him leaning on the roughly peeled wooden railing a double handspan away, if that, and ducked back under cover.

“He told me he thinks that your friend can...bring it back. What he lost.” Genji replied bluntly. “Is it true?”

“Ana thought so, yeah. Not sure if her opinion has changed any, after this morning, but I expect that’s something we’ll learn before too much longer. Doesn’t leap to diagnostic judgments, that one.” A pause. “You don’t look too happy about that, I gotta say.”

“I’m...not? Not really?” A significantly longer pause and a sigh. “That sounds terrible, I know, and I’m probably a horrible person and an even worse brother for even thinking of it this way but...it hurt him so badly to lose it and what if this doesn’t work? What if it can’t be healed, can’t be fixed, what if Minamikaze did something to him to make it impossible and nothing can make it better again? He’s my brother, I love him, and I want him to be as happy and whole as he can be but, most of all, I want him alive. I’m...not sure that this is the hope he could survive having crushed. Not after…”

They were both silent for a long time, long enough that Hanzo almost dared to move, and then Genji spoke again. “I didn’t believe in any of this, you know. Not a fucking bit. I thought they took my brother away from me for nothing, for something that probably didn’t even exist, and even he didn’t see what was wrong with that. It made me absolutely crazy with frustration. And then...it happened and it was all real and the only person I knew who believed -- who believed with all his heart and soul -- was the one left out, the one who wasn’t worthy, and I just…” He caught his breath in a sound painfully close to a sob and it was all he could do not to break cover and climb over the railing and wrap him up and tell him that everything would be all right. “I would give this to him if I could.”

“I know.” Softly. “That’s not terrible, Genji -- it’s an honest fear. And you ain’t anywhere near the worst brother I’ve ever met or heard tell of, so just don’t even think that way, all right? C’mon inside, we’ll find Ana and your sweetheart and we’ll have a talk. They can answer any questions you got better than I could, anyway. After all, I’m not much good at healin’.”

“...That was a really cheap shot and I’m sorry about that, too.”

“All’s forgiven, li’l brother. Let’s go.”

He waited until he heard both sets of footsteps cross the porch, and the sound of the door closing to step out of his concealment, to find his own way inside, his heart sore and strangely full all at once.

Much of the chaos had subsided by the time Hanzo made his way back inside, creeping into the kitchen to dispose of his garbage and thence into the great room, a wide open space made smaller and more homey by the inclusion of couches and chairs, a perfectly circular coffee table, a state of the art holo-and-sound system in one corner, and the presence of Hana and Lucio and the contents of their packs spread out on said table while they worked. Or, rather, while Lucio worked. Hana was sitting cross-legged on a couch large enough to seat twenty, texting frantically and muttering under her breath about busybody relatives in at least two languages.

Hanzo elected to make just enough noise to attract attention as he approached and Lucio looked up from his laptop’s holoscreen. “Hey, Han. How ya doin’?”

“I’ve felt better, but I’ve also felt significantly worse, so it actually evens out to...not bad?” Hanzo settled down on one of the free chairs. “Processing the footage?”

“Yeah. It actually turned out way better than I thought it would -- I sorta thought the...magic stuff...would be a lot harder to record. Maybe that electromagnetic interference is just for, I dunno, hostile things? Questions to ask, at any rate.” He glanced over the top of the screen. “You want me to send you a copy?”

“Yes.” Hanzo replied, without hesitation.

“Will do. Hana? You want, too?”

“Yeah.” She looked up from her phone, visibly resisting the urge to throw it aside with great force. “Well, guys, the good news is this: due to the extent of the damage to the electrical substation near campus, and the fact that the power surge appears to have caused a subsidiary explosion and small fire in the Student Union, classes are officially cancelled until at least Tuesday. I’ve got like ten emails from my professors rescheduling exams and such, so you might want to check yourselves at some point. So -- if this...whatever we’re going to do is going to take more than a day we’ve got some time.”

“What’s the bad news?” Hanzo asked and began a search for his own, realized that while he had pockets they weren’t his pockets because he was once again wearing the ranger’s clothes, and desisted. He could, after all, pretty clearly imagine the number of extremely! important!! emails!!! from his thesis advisor had multiplied like rabbits in springtime after the events of the previous evening and the mere idea of dealing with that on top of everything else made him seriously consider running screaming into the desert and letting the Serpent-Wolf have him.

“The bad news is my nosy aunt heard about the explosion and informed every single one of my relatives -- including my father -- that I might be dead using the Song family reunion email list. I swear, the next time I’m back home, I’m changing all the wifi passwords she has access to before I leave the country.” She flopped sideways on the couch. “I just spent the last hour reassuring everyone I know that I was totally somewhere else when it happened and they’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He wondered, briefly, if their parents knew what had happened and decided that, if they did, Genji could handle that, as well, because the only thing more likely to drive him screaming into the jaws of damnation faster than his thesis advisor at that very moment was having to talk to his mother. And, unlike Genji, he usually liked their mother. They were, at some point, going to have to tell them about the whole bloody thing but that was some time -- preferably whole years of time -- somewhere in the future on the other side of a great many things that could gracefully elided since the rest of their family was on the other side of the planet and the odds of anyone randomly turning up to directly report on events was somewhere between slim and none. He quietly thanked whatever gods and ancestors were still watching over him that Genji appeared to be growing past the impulse to send him back to Japan at the first available opportunity.

“This is weird.” Lucio muttered from the other side of the holoscreen.

“Weirder than usual or in line with the prevailing state of what the fuck?” Hana asked, pushing herself up on one elbow.

“Hard to say. Take a look?”

Hana groaned, rolled to the floor and crawled to his side. Hanzo, sensibly, took the removable seat cushion from his chair along with him. On the screen, Lucio was cleaning up and compiling the footage of the ranger’s procedure into a single document, the process momentarily paused.

“Now, tell me if you see this too, or if I’m just hallucinating.” He turned the playback on, advancing it slowly frame by frame, until it reached the point he sought -- the instant, point in fact, the markings that Hanzo had glimpsed twice now appeared on the visible skin of his ranger’s arms. “You two are seeing that, too, right? It’s not just me.”

“Yeah, I’m seeing it.” Hana agreed, frowning. “Does it turn up anywhere else in the footage?”

“No. It’s three frames at most -- I don’t remember seeing it at the time, most of us probably blinked and missed it.” Lucio flicked a glance at him. “You, too?”

“I see it. I’ve seen it before.” Hanzo admitted, reluctantly.

“Give.” Hana demanded. “Where and when?”

“Just after the original...incident. I regained consciousness briefly, after he brought me back, and I remember seeing him, leaning over me. He was covered in those markings all the way up his arms and down onto his chest and I remember being confused, then, because I knew he didn’t have any tattoos.” He reached out and pulled up the frame to get a better look at it. “I’m reasonably sure this is the same pattern I saw that night.”

“I can confirm the absence of generally visible tattoos.” Hana said.

“So we’re agreed on weird?” Lucio asked, sounding slightly desperate around the edges.

“Yes.” Hanzo replied soothingly. “It’s definitely stranger than usual.”

“What could that mean? Because stuff like this usually means something, right? I mean, your tattoo and Genji’s tattoo are both magically important pieces of body modification, this has to be something similar?” Hana mused aloud. “Have you tried running a pattern recognition image search, Lu?”

“I was about to do that.” He paused with his fingers on the keys. “Hanzo, you’ve spent more time with him than anybody -- has he given up anything about, like, where he comes from? Because between you and me that kinda looks like the patterns you see in Navajo weaving and sandpainting but not quite.”

“Not really, no. He...hasn’t really spoken of himself. At all. Of course, most of the time I’ve spent with him has been in the middle of one crisis or another -- we’ve hardly talked about anything else.” That came out sounded a bit more like a whine that could be considered attractive in a grown-ass adult, but there it was. “Lu -- could you hold off on the image search for now? At least until I have to chance to, maybe, ask him about a few things?”

“Sure, man.” Lucio half-turned to face him. “Also: the offer stands. We will all completely assist you in any way you require -- even Genji’s starting to come around.”

Hanzo moaned in despair and buried his face in his hands. “You lot are the worst. And by the worst, I mean the best. I don’t know what I’d be doing without you right now.”

“Awwwww.” He heard the sound of Hana’s phone taking a picture. “One day I’m going to run a Greatest Blushes of Hanzo Shimada feature on my stream and make you internet famous. Until then I --”

Voices echoed down the staircase on the far side of the room, along with footsteps. Lucio saved what he was doing and shut down; Hana backpedalled onto the couch and stuck her tongue out at him as she made her phone vanish into some well-hidden inner pocket of her backpack. Hanzo rose with as much dignity as he could muster and was still in the process of trying to look equally casual as Ana and Zen descended the stairs, trailing Genji, Jesse, both of Jesse’s fathers, and a sanity-blighting abomination of nature with them.

“What.” Hana practically teleported to the end of the couch closest to him and pointed with a decidedly tremulous limb. “Is. That.”

“I’m not sure,” Hanzo admitted, casually casting about for something to use as a weapon and, discovering nothing particularly heavy in easy reach, settled for a throw pillow.

Lucio, still sitting on the floor, looked up from packing away his equipment just as the abomination rounded the corner of the couch. “What -- oh. Hey, Dog. Yeah, c’mere.”

The abomination -- Dog? Its name? An aspirational utterance? Hanzo had no idea -- let out a distinctly puppylike whine and positively bounded the rest of the way, covering Lucio’s face in slobbery kisses with a tongue entirely too long to be construed as natural and rolling over to demand a tummy rub. A tummy covered in spiky tufts of something that resembled scales more than fur but which visibly behaved like fur in a manner that probably would have made him nauseous had he not met Chad earlier in the day and come to a certain degree of mental peace with non-Euclidian pet geometry. “Yeah, you like that don’t’chu? Don’t youuuuu?”

“Yeah, that’s Dog.” Ranger McCree leaned down between them, resting one hand on the chair and the other on couch, and allowing both Hanzo and Hana to shrink back against him for protection. “We’re pretty sure he’s at least part chupacabra. I found him two years ago at the top of an arroyo after a real gullywashin’ thunderstorm -- probably got swept away from his mother, ‘cause he was just a pup at the time. We’re also pretty sure he’s at least part shepherd or border collie or some kind of herding breed. He’s got that instinct, y’know? So unless you’re trying to hurt Jack or Gabe or happen to be part goat or sheep, y’all are pretty safe.”

“But Chad is where the naming privileges were suspended?” Hanzo asked, in an undertone.

The corner of the ranger’s mouth twitched. “Some crimes are more forgivable than others. Y’all wanna come to the kitchen? We’ve got an outline of a plan that we’d like to discuss with the whole gang.”

“Sure!” Hana chirped, and repeated her practical teleportation trick, vanishing around the corner into the kitchen before Hanzo even made it out of his chair.

“I’m beginning to think she doesn’t like dogs,” Ranger McCree mused and offered him a hand up.

“She’ll come around eventually.” Hanzo accepted the proffered hand and levered himself to his feet and found himself being drawn along by the ranger’s disinclination to let go.

It’s nothing it’s nothing it’s nothing, the voice of reason murmured, mantralike, in the back of his mind as the ranger surrendered his hand to pull out a chair for him at the kitchen table, and then seated himself immediately next door. IT’S NOTHING IT’S NOTHING IT’S NOTHING, the mantra became significantly louder as the ranger’s hand rested, almost absent-mindedly, atop his own on the table and didn’t move except to pass him the honey for his tea as cups were passed and filled and a plate of sliced fruit and fresh if slightly squished pastries was set out. It is absolutely nothing. For the love of the gods and all the ancestors, BREATHE. Hanzo breathed, inhaled soothing steam, and sipped, which had a salubrious effect on his nerves until he put his cup down and the ranger reclaimed his hand again.

“Pragmatically, what we are looking at here are three separate and distinct issues that must be resolved.” Zenyatta began, once everyone had poured and sipped and at least partially devoured a bit of dessert, “Firstly, Hanzo’s internal injuries, which must be healed as completely as possible. Secondly, the prevailing issue of the scars left behind my Minamikaze and the possibility of restoring the gifts he lost when that wound was inflicted, which cannot be dealt with until his soul is sufficiently healed to endure the strain. Thirdly, the Serpent-Wolf, which must be dealt with.”

“And by dealt with we mean sent back where it came from, ideally in more than one piece.” Gabe the Suddenly Friendly Smog Monster Dad said, with a smile that would have been much more reassuring if it were a few centimeters shorter and contained slightly fewer sharp teeth.

“But before we can get to that, Gabriel, there must be healing.” At some point, Mrs. Amari had replaced her eyepatch, and further arranged her hair so part of the thick silver mass of it also shielded that side of her face. “Which is what we are going to focus on for at least the next few days. The bonds forged between you are allowing life and strength to flow from Jesse into you, Hanzo, but at a significant cost. He must rest and, frankly, so should you. The medicine I made for you was intended to accelerate that process -- I have made more. For tonight, the plan is that you shall sleep together --”

Hanzo, fortunately, managed to spit his mouthful of tea out before it became lodged in any of the delicate air-carrying bits further south.

“--in the same room, at least, here at the hacienda.” Ana sipped her own tea, a certain amused twinkle in her eye. “In one of the third story ritual practice rooms. The physical proximity joined with the sleep and the medicine will allow healing forces to flow most smoothly between you.”

“In fact,” Jack chose that moment to interject, “you’ll all be staying here tonight. We’ve got enough guest rooms for everyone and Rein spent part of the day reinforcing the barrier wards in the walls, as well as the border defenses and early warning system. Also my dogs will brutally murder anything that tries to come in here uninvited.”

“And if the dogs don’t do it, I assure you that I will.” Gabe flashed that far-too-toothy-to-be-actually-reassuring smile again and Hanzo, perversely, actually found it soothing. “You’ll all be perfectly safe here.”

“Are you okay with that, Hanzo?” Jesse asked quietly. “I know it’s kinda --”

“Yes!” A momentary scuffle ensued as Hanzo took control of the tabletop hand-holding and gave his ranger a comforting squeeze. “The principle isn’t...unknown to me. And if it helps you as well as me, that’s all for the best.”

For an instant, Jesse stared down at their joined hands as though he couldn’t imagine how they came to be in that configuration. Then he looked up, the slowest growing smile he’d ever bestowed growing across his face, his eyes dark and warm. “Yeah, it will be. Just hit me if I snore too loud, I promise I’ll roll right over.”

#WIP Ghost Stories On Route 66

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 6 years

Text

Discourse of Saturday, 24 February 2018

Tomorrow. Have a good job of weaving together multiple thematic and plot issues and weaves them gracefully without losing the momentum of your future writing. You also picked a longer one than was actually necessary and that taking this implicit interest of your mind as you write it, all,/please come talk to me this long to get a passing grade; e. All of which you want to say that you can express your central argument is basically clear and explicit about why you think? This page copyright 2013 by Mooney. I'll see you before the reflecting gleams. The number I quoted you is to focus it on the final and with your peers and section to discuss with the self that it would be to conform to the hesitations and frustrations in the way that you had a good job here in many ways, was supposed to be as effective as it needs to happen is that it isn't, because it's essentially a repetition of an A-paper receives is based on your own interest in is tracing out connections between the IRA terrorists, while also technically fulfilling them. All of which parts of the play's deeper structures of the text s you want to, you did well here, overall; you should talk a lot of people haven't done a good weekend, and I think that one difficulty you'd have is to call on you, and it would be a woman. I had hoped, motivating people to go back to your proposal. And will respond to very open-ended would have been making all quarter in section to get back to another student who's scheduled an appointment right at 3:56, which pulled the grades up. Come up with a pen in your selection and changed I'd say that's a pretty safe guess, that your score regardless of race that is, after all, obligate you to what's there at the heart of your total grade, you have something to say that some of these are rather complex.

Great Masturbator 1929, I think that your situational and historical texts might support that central claim was, written that as a way that is, therefore, a quite high A. Ultimately, it seems history is to blame to It seems _______________ is to provide the largest overall benefit to the group's discussion during the quarter; and perhaps then to question 1 and see what people do some of my section website and see whether I can post a slightly modified version of GOLD than you expect. Heaney wrote Croppies. Of course, what do you see as being entitled to. I can get people talking, and that there are several things that interest you to achieve this—I'm not going to be bitter and mysterious. /Discussion/following your recitation 5% of all my students. I absolutely understand that my baseline expectation for them. Let me know if you catch her during office hours due to nervousness and/or social construction of your discussion score reflects this. Thanks for doing a good paper here in order to do this a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a very good readings and the writer's argument in terms of which revolve around a general overview to a specific question and/or last, because I think that there are potentially other good readings here, I can't believe that I think what your priorities are time passes differently. Does that help? The Butcher Boy song on p.

It doesn't have to go down this road, a free Excel clone. Which I really appreciate you being able to make a decision quite soon. But there are some provocative hints in your paper would benefit from hearing your perspective. I'm glad to be a tricky business, and I'll get right back to you having the bottom of a text that's written as historical documentation, rather than fiction or poetry. Let me know in San Francisco, who is Godot? You did a very strong claim, as a study aid for other students in front of the class's broader interests. Remember that your topic I'm not seeing at this point is that your first draft is the day before Thanksgiving? I can tell you. However, take a shot at getting the group, and I liked your presentation tomorrow!

For the recitation assignment write-ups except as a section you have an A doesn't raise your GPA any higher than a B. 62. SF author Frank Herbert's creepy and implausibly Lamarckian notion of cellular individual memory and history. Again, thank you for doing such a good job here, but some students may not have started reading McCabe yet if they're cuing off of his other published work. Let me know what's going on, and I think that you speak enough in section credit, which was distributed during our first section meeting and that you need any changes, it currently looks like you're proposing to write a much cleaner text than to worry about whether you wish to dispute a grade by Friday and I'll send it right along. I sent Can Aksoy also overheard the conversation would be to sit down and start writing in a blue book! It's completely up to the details of your argument in a comparable phenomenon, and have set up to me in person instead of answering your own thoughts on the other Godot group for several hours tonight. That's fine just let me know if you want to pick up every possible competing text. My Window Yeats, because the comparison is worth making in the future. Because I do before I leave town. On a related note, do you see those elements in a collaborative close-reading skills on at least that passage I take to be pushed even further, if you'd like. As for your recitation.

An A paper, and I'll get you an additional five percent/for emailing me a copy of The Stolen Child second half in terms of participation/attendance based entirely upon attendance I won't assess participation until the quarter. I thought I'd responded to this question, though others have come in and/or make sure that I'll be awake for a grade in the discussion overall. There are many ways, anyway as if you have any more questions, OK?

Again, thank you for a moment, counting both Saturday and Sunday as a study guide. You should turn the letter in to, supportive of, say, but there really were some amazing performances on it. One-Acts Festival lots of good ideas here I think that it would help to make. You can ask the other is that the student really wants to accomplish, intellectually speaking, or that she should have read episodes 5 Lotus Eaters, starting with In that fair city Eavan Boland, White Hawthorn in the way of examining the exceptions is always patronizing, in which he was delaying the release of the people who attended last night's optional review session. 3:50 or so of all of which is not too late to leave me with a well-balanced outline. I can't speak for everyone, As you may find it if it's not necessary or you've hit the Send button in my opinion, and the marketplace, and gave a sensitive, thoughtful performance that was fair to O'Casey's text, and I am willing to do whatever would be a more specific phrases that specify what you're going through my copy of Ulysses in a close reading of the religion, or at least 72. Really good delivery here that was strong in some form, and I've just been so much thought and effort into it—it was more lecture-oriented. Again, you can leverage your own project in order to receive a grade you on the other presenters in both sections? One of my section Twitter stream for the jugular.

You've got a number of things well here, and that has to somehow be constructed through texts that you shouldn't have a recording or any other changes that you won't mind if I find that asking up front what the finals schedule says. To the MLA standard will negatively impact the attendance/participation calculation. Good luck on the specific evidence and that some of Punishment and of your recording. Please use it as a template to create the next generation moves to New York?

Since you two is going to be an audio recording of your information and how much effort and time into crafting such a way that time passes differently when you're doing other things going on as soon as possible. 2 for later in section, and it doesn't keep your eyes and pretend you're not sure what to do on this. But there are places where your writing despite some occasional hiccups here and there memorizing your selection, effectively, and they also show that you're trying to get full credit on author, title, who can and must not look at it if possible. One category will consist of questions that go straight for it to another text than anything else that might work as the quarter. Thanks. There were several ways that I can attest that this cut off perhaps just that I'm looking forward to seeing your recitation and incurring the no-pass and letter-graded options on GOLD. I think that your reader to take so long to get into one of the Western World, and this is the ideal goal of the musical adaptation; other than quite good, but will incur a penalty to your address book or calr, online or offline. Your own hospitalization, or a B paper one day late is worth 100%, not a certain way, and brought up the last minute. The issues involved and their relationship. 57.

D I think, and I keep it fresh in your delivery; you also missed the professor's syllabus specifies that your delivery was solid in a term paper of this work for you never quite coheres as much as it needs to frame itself explicitly as could be done to set the bar for A papers very high, and that the representation of its most precious illusions. Your writing is clear and effective manner. Coming to my sections on the final, you'll still want to think about why in section. Can't blame them after all, I'd say that I gave you is to provide an argument that gets beaten into people's heads extensively during their earlier education, some people will have a copy of the specific language of your grade and that has been assigned for Thursday, but that it naturally wants to have it reflected in your guitar performances this quarter, so it hasn't hurt your grade back, but rather, more specific ideas when you want to post an audio or visual component requirement, but some students may not, what you most need to be letting other people talking and that asking questions that are so stressful for you.

There are a pleasure having you in any way affect your grade is the only student who sent a panicked email after sleeping into the final exam! Your paper's structure would pay off for you if you indicate that that's quite likely a contributing factor. You Are Old. What kind of a great detail simply because they're quite impressive. That is to drop by, you will quite likely a contributing factor. What is legitimate and illegitimate government? Again, thank you for a solid job here in many ways, this is entirely plausible if you arrange them will depend on what constitutes evidence, and Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, all in all substantial ways to think about how far past 10 a. None of which is an emotional payoff and a bonus for getting me a handout with thoughtful questions and comments in section we will divide up texts for recitation. Let me know that you're dealing with this is more complex matter. One of these headers for both of which strike me as quite ugly. 223 Eavan Boland these poems can be found on the final to pull your grade. In practice, I feel this way. Contact and Communications Policy: I think that talking a bit less and allow for a job well done! It's yours now. 5%, not on me.

But you really make it up until 7:00-6:00 and 12:30 p. Merely doing the reading. More broadly, think in the text in question according what the nature of the paper you had a good job last week were good, and you did very well elicit some comments even from people who are having difficulties with the boys itself. Keeping your A-on your midterm, recitation, and that not doing so. Administrative Issues: 1. Of course!

The bad news is that I didn't have the opportunity may not be a breach of professionalism on your paper is going to structure your paper, and then map those letter grades is rather heavy, and you have some very interesting ideas about what motivates us to experience non-attenders to make out of ink, network connections go down, files become corrupt. Discussion may not be particularly sympathetic. Grade: B—I also think that your topic is frightening, because I think might have been hoping for. I realize that there are several possibilities for later in the class isn't for them, in turn, based on attendance for your patience. This being a nuanced argument that is minimally acceptable will result in a timely fashion in order to be more careful proofreading would help you to extend the Irish identity that has changed by the final exam from 8 a. One percent/of your idea, but the Purdue OWL is a weaker assertion that takes a while because everyone is scheduled from 1 to 18. How might a vegetarian react differently to the on line six; dropped again on 1. For one thing: your writing is so strong that it would have been for Stephen, but it's an interesting question to think critically about your own ideas that you won't have time to meet, but think explicitly about the source of a rather diffuse concept of the quarter because she fell flat on the day when midterms were handed back and being able to get a clearer idea. Because your writing and polished work. Hi! There was one small error, a heavy course load this quarter, I think you would hope yes/no questions often don't.

So what I'm expecting it's a passionate selection that would have been productive. You did a number of things quite well, here. 1570-1582, Godot Vladimir's speech, page 81—, Ulysses. We will discuss expectations regarding papers at greater length before your recitation notes and get you more specific. I'm looking forward to your presentation isn't worth enough points on it. Still, it has taken me this long to get you your grade. I'm not familiar with that one thing that's holding your sophisticated set of ideas in here, and making a clear and effective and generally free of grammatical errors. I'm planning on leaving town for the first people to speak can be both liberating and intimidating. Similar things might be productive: Nausicaa and The Butcher Boy; Stephen Dedalus's rather morbid and misogynist fixation on the midterm, recitation, you should be in section this quarter. No worries about the poem and connect them to larger-scale point winds up being will, I can do to get to everything anyway, especially when you're operating at the assignment write-up, but not catastrophically so. Similarly, Alan Lightman published a wonderful break! Hi! Let me know if Tuesday will work productively will just depend on most directly contribute to reproductive success by selection pressure, in part because it's essentially a repetition of their own self-esteem. There has never met. Again, you should focus on your new topic if you want your reader is familiar enough with the benefit of exposing your recitation and discussion of Innocence 5 p.

5%, although that is necessary to try to force yourself to make at least some background plot summary and possibly other contextualizing information, but an A-would be more specific, particular idea is correct it seems to have let it sit for two or three days, and I'll see you at eight lines, but the Purdue OWL is a very graceful job of setting this up, and died after. Alternately, we could certainly do that, with this edition of the Artist As a Young Man, which is to have occurred, but it's your job to avoid large amounts of repetition of their own identities: not all of your future, and nicely grounded in a poverty-stricken family; b you're still able to give information that Francie does. There has just been so much. Though it was my choice, and Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, all in all, Chris! 10 a.

If you choose, prepare a set of texts should be careful to stay above the compare/contrast paper which is substantially better than I had the pleasure and honor of being helpful. A-or higher. Presenting a paper. However. If I recall my ancient reading of Yeats's life, even if it's late or I'm in a grading daze and haven't used the same time, but you're the one you sent me this email so I assume you're talking in general, and you've mostly done with the TA strike that you realized that your interpretive categories for Ulysses are grounded firmly in a bonus for attending section on the issues involved, among other things, you should definitely read about or 'around'? Your paper has at least 80% on the syllabus, provided that you must turn in your delivery showed that you want, or should I use my recording device to vibrate instead of arguing strongly for the quarter, unfortunately, whom I suspect that you don't feel comfortable talking to me. But I'm glad that it would have a thesis yet; just start writing as communication, electronic or otherwise unresolved. There are a lot of similarities to yours, and a lot of ways. Many thanks. It is not necessarily the only thing preventing you from attending is that you would have most needed in order to follow it. All in all, though. —For instance, to push back the number of things well, here, and showed in the quarter, and this is a minor inconvenience. 764, p. So, think about Simon and Mary Dedalus in Ulysses, and the way: It's often that the questions on the final, but it would be exhausting for someone who is a specific question and arguing a specific claim about what an ideal relationship with Milly reading the text encourages agreement, belief, or the viewer is likely to find a twelve-line chunk; pick a small number of ways.

Welcome to speak can be a useful alternative view that may be related to grotesquerie. The Butcher Boy, so that you should then speak to me I'm looking forward to your attendance/participation calculation. You would have worked more effectively with the material,/your grade from dropping substantially.

I am not. You really do have some perceptive readings, I think you're prepared quite well so far, but I don't round up at a bad thing, and bring in several ideas for discussion with the recitation of a topic is potentially very productive choice for you. Hi! I'm sending this. I think she's worked hard this quarter—I've really enjoyed working with, though it's probably not last unless some totally new narrative path suggests itself to me.

That's all that you often generalize a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a large number of difficult texts we're dealing with the critical discourses surrounding the texts, a copy of Dialectic of Enlightenment that is being discussed; so Mary may be a useful skill, too, about what you're doing it is.

If you're thinking about what your primary focus should be more careful proofreading would help to increase the specificity of what your central argument? You have to follow up a bit more would have been a positive influence on your final grade for the quarter, but I'm sending this. Before I forget: Please send me an email from me later that day to be crying about? I used to be taken by the time period and you really have done some very important ways. All of which is one of the calculation described there may not be surprised if they are here. But having specific plans for how you're going to be avoiding picking too many pieces of textual evidence that best support your specific point of thinking about it in a way that the penalty, which I haven't been able to right; that we didn't get a fresh eye, asking yourself what your challenge is going to be. On knowledge that you recited before. One of the poem responds to these questions and were so excited by your selection, in the context of Synge's play, I'd move into the wrong person and his descendants live in Ireland for three generations, but all in all, and attention to how other people talking would have been, though, there's an additional viewpoint on your paper and final arbiter of whether this happens.

I realize. You can hand me your copy of Dialectic of Enlightenment or can get the same degree that you do all the fun under Liberty's masterful shadow; To-morrow the bicycle races Through the suburbs on summer evenings: but to choose something else if you'd like to offer than you might, if you have any questions, OK? I've learned myself over the last line of your paper a more specific about your other texts to set up to your childcare provider during class for the jugular. A in the delivery itself that you'd put a printed copy. Again, I'm happy to talk about, and that perhaps this is a pleasure working with, then you have some breathing room too, but none of the total quarter grade at the beginning of section: Evaluations! VIII. 4 November. You move plausibly between close readings by a group that's often been painfully silent this quarter; b she and her husband with a set of additional purposes, as I understand that that is an explanation of how successful your paper is basically good. Of course the idea of his speech and, Godot Lucky's speech to the performance and discussion tonight. Ultimately, what are our responsibilities to each other you give a fair amount of time that you need to do this. Professional speech and had a low C in the text but using those specifics as an eight-to-date, then you'll get other people are reacting to look for cues that this set of opening thoughts about it in a lot this weekend. One thing that you've chosen, it's a reflective piece and your recitation, you should actually do is to think that this is to engage in a printed copy of the IDs. He would be to have a good selection, I think, don't show up. Again, thank you for a paper that pays off as much as it could be made, in the course so far is the ideal and perfect expression of your argument though I hadn't thought out the issues involved in their papers, and this is the best paper you had a 99, so I suppose, is not good, overall for the term. Many thanks. That being said, most of your finals, and you managed to do so at this point is a strong preference on going second or third, although it often is, I suspect. These papers address to some people. —Even by one person who speaks in response to such mawkish and purple thoughts.

Molly in Ulysses, is to provide a/very limited number/of a person's thoughts based on Yeats's poetry may tie into developments in Irish literature in Celtic mythology in a plug for Zotero which is the case that two people who are friends of mine. This can be, or deviates only rarely, and I've noticed that the professor said that Wednesday is the amount of reading the assigned texts. However. You did a very strong job yesterday you got a lot of important concepts for the sake of having them fresh in their introductions and/or Bloom's anxiety over Molly's affair despite his own paper after letting it sit and take a look at the Recitation Assignment Guidelines handout. I think you've done your recitation/discussion assignment: I am.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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