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Rock Island 4-6-2 P31 class 4-6-2 coal burning Pacific steam locomotive # 873, is seen coupling to a commuter train in a yard area, ca late 1930's, Notice the engineer sitting on the cab window armrest in the backward position as the locomotive is being coupled to the commuter train. Notice too, the employee making the coupling. On the side of the cab is the locomotive P32 class number, along with the lettering, "Blue I Main Line."
The name of the photographer that captured this image on film is unknown. This photo came from my personal collection of Railroad images, however, this negative came from a friends personal collection.
Copyright Disclaimer under Section 107 of the Copyright Act of 1976, allowance is made for “fair use” for the purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.
LF02 PVA was quite a famous bus when it started its life, heralded as Arriva's "bus of the future", a strapline it even carried on its bodysides. With 2+1 seating, armrests, and overhead luggage racks, it was intended to show off features which may become commonplace in later years.
It started off at Arriva Midlands, as fleet number 2200. It attended Showbus in 2002: www.flickr.com/photos/33216596@N02/4488804240/ photo by Steven Hughes. Note the plug type doors and rabbit ear mirrors.
I can't remember the details of what it did next, but it was at Southern Counties' Guildford depot by at least 30 May 2004, when it appeared at Guildford rail station on the Aldershot & District running day, by now as fleet number 6200. Still with rabbit ears, it was nicknamed "big ears" at Guildford. It was renumbered 3730, and stayed at Guildford for a few years, regular on the 4, 34 and 100 - it was well suited as a spare for the Guildford park and ride - indeed re-numbered into the same sequence - although not technically the same type of bus as the Volvo B7RLE/Wright Eclipse Urbans used on the P&R, this is the unpopular B7L/Wright Eclipse Metro combination.
It did have plug doors at Guildford for some time, but I think it was Guildford who eventually changed them to normal ones. It was definitely Guildford who changed the mirrors for normal ones. Here's a photo of it in 2005 on the 34: www.flickr.com/photos/33650137@N05/6009192727/ photo by John Law.
Sadly, five years later, when the new 91 Enviros arrived at Guildford, Bus of the Future left, along with the remaining East Lancs Spryte Darts, to other parts of Southern Counties.
3730 went to Northfleet for a short while, even managing to operate the Fastrack service!
It wasn't long though before it was transferred to Shires and Essex, renumbered as 3890. It went to Aylesbury, who put LEDs in it. That's where I saw the bus in July 2009.
Since then, it has been repainted into interurban livery, and transferred to Stevenage.
Friarage Road, Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire.
To go along with the issue, here is the soundtrack for Issue 1 (and pretty much all of Blackest Night. So if you care to, you can listen to it before, during, or after the read.) I'll be doing this with a majority of the issues for Blackest Night, so I hope you can enjoy the various songs I've chosen! (Side note, any visuals can be ignored in the video links, only the music is being referenced.)
Blackest Night Main Theme - Beginning of the End
____________________
John closed the door of his apartment, turning the lock as he slipped off his black sneakers. The apartment was dimly lit, a single lamp left on, like he always left it. Even just a single light, it still made it feel like home; it made it feel like someone was waiting.
Slipping his overcoat off of his shoulders and tossing it onto the armrest of his couch, John took steps to the kitchen. The light of the refrigerator shined in the room as he reached for a can of Soder Cola.
Turning, ready to shut the door behind him, John completely froze. In the dim light of the lamp and refrigerators glow was a grey and black figure.
John eyed the figure, discerning key features of it. Loose tie, hair swept to the side, face puffy to the point of looking swollen…
The flakes of gold burned into its flesh at different places.
"T-Tommy…?" John whispered, his eyes unmoving from the target.
"S'wrong, Johnny?" Spoke the figure, an accent weaving his words, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. "Ya' look like yous' seen a ghost."
The can of Soder Cola fell to the floor, as a cackling laugh by the figure filled the room.
-^-
"Great work out there, you two," Hal commended, looking at both Simon and Jessica. "Stopping a fleet of pirates from getting into the Renols is no small feat."
The trio of Lanterns had finished an assault on a band of Thanagarian pirates, stopping them from robbing an outer rim medicinal center of it's supplies. Hal was called in to help secure the arrest, but the younger duo had already completed the mission.
"Hey, it's just another day of being a superhero, am I right?" Simon responded, folding his arms behind his head as he continued to fly through the stars.
Hal smiled slightly at Simon's enthusiasm, reminding him of his younger self, only a bit less self-centered.
"Being a superhero doesn't exclude you from praise though, Simon," reminded Hal as the heroes got closer to Oa.
"Yeah, I guess it just doesn't really matter to me, you know?" Simon explained. "As long as I do th-"
"Guys," Jessica called, causing Hal to turn his head. "Wh-what is that?"
When Hal looked forward, his eyes became saucers, blood running ice cold.
Oa. His second home, rebuilt after the destruction that came with Evil Star, was gone. In its place was darkness. Blackness covering every single inch of the planet.
"What is it?" Jessica asked, her head turned to Hal. Hal didn't respond, his eyes couldn't be removed from the sight in front of him.
"It's some kind of goo," Simon stated as he began to fly towards the planet. "Let's go che-"
"No."
Both the younger Lanterns' eyes fell on Hal, his face still carrying the shock it had moments ago.
"We need to get John and Guy, now."
-^-
"Tommy… how are you… I watched you die," John said with a quivering voice.
"Guess we don' all stay dead, yeah?" responded Tommy as he walked forward, spinning what looked to be a pocket knife in his hand, but the glow made John think otherwise.
John was frozen in place. His ring felt like it didn't exist, like any energy it had built up inside was gone.
Weightless, lifeless.
"I just… how?" John asked, watching as the man grew closer to him. As he left the shadow of the room, his features became more apparent. The torn bits of his shirt, his skin pale and grey. "How are you here?"
"People don't just die, Johnny, my boy," he explained, flicking the knife open. "There's a whole lotta shit after that can make ya' head spin."
"P-people… all people?" John asked, cautious nervousness overtaking his voice.
"Even 'da ones closest," Tommy said, the tip of the knife pressed against John's left pec, "to our hearts."
"I… don't… don't understand," John muttered, the feeling of the blade slowly breaking his skin stinging.
"You trust me, aye, Johnny?" Tommy asked, placing his other hand on John's shoulder. "Just shut 'ya eyes for me, and I'll fix all 'da pain.
"I'll help 'ya get back 'da one you'se want most."
The words racked through his brain. The words he was saying, they were lies. They had to be… be some type of trick.
But Tommy was dead. Tommy being here, standing in front of him… could someone else do it? Could he see her again?
"John," Katma called as she walked through the southern gardens of Mogo. John could hear the woman from his spot near the cliffside, her footsteps closing in on him.
"Hey," he spoke, not looking away from the sunset.
The woman took a seat next to him, curling up next to him. "Hey, too."
The two sat in silence, watching the sun lower itself. The sound of water flowing below them, wildlife causing ambient sounds.
"It's nice," John finally stated, "the sky, the atmosphere."
Katma nodded her head, "It almost reminds me of home… before…"
"Yeah… yeah I feel you," he responded, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
"I hope that one day, the war will end," she spoke softly, leaning her head against his chest. "I want to show you how beautiful Korugar can really be."
"Well, if you came from there," he started before turning his head to look at her, "it's no question about it."
Katma smiled, leaning in. John closed his eyes, his last sight being Katma bathed in the sunset's warm glow.
John's eyes slowly fell shut. Just like the day on Mogo. His last sight being Tommy, a harsh white light from the refrigerator illuminating him.
The sound of concrete and plaster being broken caused him to open his eyes. His kitchen table was gone, as well as the outer wall. His head turned to the inner wall to see Guy, fully suited up.
"Just in the nick of time, eh John?" Said Guy with a smirk, stepping in through the massive hole he had made.
"Wh-what going on?" John questioned blinking a few times, breaking from his trance.
"Your ring acting up again?" Guy asked, his brow raising in concern. "Hal sent out a message to us. It… it isn't good."
-^-
"John and Guy are both safe," Simon announced, looking at Jessica and Hal, "They're on their way to get Jade and Todd now."
Both Hal and Jessica breathed out a sigh at the news they were safe. The trio were currently at the Lantern Lair, Hal on his knees in the corner of the room, prying open a hidden vault.
"Guy also relayed that John was already attacked…"
Hal paused, turning to Simon. "Did he say who it was?"
Simon didn't speak for a moment, looking down to the ground, "Tommy…"
Hal closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. Tommy Kalmaku was his best friend. The first person he'd openly revealed his identity to. When he was killed by Goldface… Hal regretted not being there.
But John was there. John was forced to watch him die. To see his reanimated corpse… he hoped it was the worst of what's to come.
It could've been worse. It could've been…
The crack of the safe refocused his attention, the metal box now opened.
"So, what's inside?" Jessica asked, Peeking over Hal's shoulder.
"Something made by an old friend," Hal spoke, lifting up a projector-like device. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, the metal slightly rusted.
"Uh… are you sure it'll work?" Simon asked, an uneasy smile on his face.
"It better…".Hal responded, flipping the switch on the side of the machine.
A puff of smoke and dust burst from the vent of the machine, a glow of green shining from inside. Hal smiled at the success, allowing the device to fully boot online.
"So, Hal…" Jessica started, looking from the box to the older lantern, "can you explain… anything that's happening"
Hal sighed, looking down to the box.
"The Blackest Night… it's… it's a prophecy that signifies the end of life itself. The emotional spectrum is filled with all seven core emotions; willpower, fear, anger, love, compassion, avarice, and hope. Each of these emotions draw power from their emotional entities; Ion, Parallax, The Butcher, The Predator, Proselyte, Ophidian, and Adara. However, those are not all entities of the spectrum.
"Nekron is the entity of death itself, a creation of the Guardians of the Universe long before the Green Lantern Corps existed," Hal looked down to the ring on his finger. "The same way Oa has Ion's soul trapped inside of ours, Nekron is the power batter of Death… and anyone that gets a death ring becomes his hand's slave."
"His hand?" Simon asked, looking at Hal with curiosity in his eyes.
"Nekron… he isn't real… or, isn't anchored in this reality," Hal explained. "His soul can't control more than a single person, so it is prophesied to latch onto someone and corrupt them. Death's Hand."
"And Death's Hand… has been chosen…" Jessica concluded under her breath. "The dead are being risen."
Hal nodded, solemnly. "So then, what's this helping with?" Simon questioned, pointing to the box, which now was cycling between the glowing color.
"This… is an invention by Arin Sur, the most brilliant engineer I've ever met," Hal spoke, turning the dial on the machine. "It can detect the emotional entity most attached to a living organism."
"Scanning… Scanning… Simon Baz, Earth: Coast City, age 20, emotional alignment: Willpower"
"Woah…" Simon muttered, looking at Hal. "It can just do that?"
Hal once again twisted the dial, the projector displaying video footage of Batman and Robin in a car chase.
"Scanning… Scanning… Bruce Wayne, Earth: Gotham City, age 38, emotional alignment: Willpower."
"Bruce Wayne is…?" Simon questioned, his eyes widening.
"Okay, this is cool Hal, but what is going to help us with?" Jessica asked, a tinge of annoyance in her voice.
"I told you Nekron was the embodiment of death, but like the other emotions aside from Hope, which is experimental, it has an inverse.
"The One. An entity of Life itself," Hal started, twisting the knob once more, causing the machine's glow to become white. "The prophecy states it is the opposite of Nekron. The moment Death's Hand rises, Life's Light will shine."
The projector began to display an image, a teenage boy sat alone in a studio office. His right hand scribbled away on his drawing tablet while his left held the device down.
"Scanning… Scanning… Kyle Rayner, Earth: Coast City, age 16, emotional alignment: Life"
All three stared in awe at the boy as he reached for the bag of chips on the left of his desk.
"Uh… that's… um," said Simon at a loss for words. "He looks like he could be my kid."
"He's in Coast City?" asked Jessica. "Isn't it kinda odd all of us are from Coast City?"
"Not the time," Hal commanded with haste in his voice. "We need to get to him, now."
-^- Space Sector 666, Keshtar Belt -^-
Stood atop the Keshtar asteroid belt was William Hand, his right hand held up in a puppeteer-like fashion. On his right, curled into a ball with his hourglass between his stomach and knees was John Starr, the Time Commander. Jim Corrigan, the Spectre floated on his left.
"You were correct, Commander," Hand announced, his body unmoving. "The Green Lanterns of Earth do pose some semblance of an annoyance."
"I-i-i-it is as I f-f-foresaw," replied the man, his head looking up to Hand.
"You are pitiful, Commander," the Spectre chastised. "The power of gods is handed to you, and you cower in front of a poser."
"Oh, Spirit," Hand chuckled, "you should be the one to cower. Once the Blackest Night falls, you will be no more."
"The decimation of life can never occur," Corrigan countered. "You shall soon find this out, puppet."
"We shall see," Hand responded with a smile. "Commander, have you located the device?"
"Y-y-yes…"
"Bring it to me."
A vortex of black appeared next to the crouched man, a green gauntlet falling to the floor.
"Excellent…" Hand said, his other hand raising.
A black mist began to encompass the gauntlet causing the globe to rise in front of Hand.
"By my Black Hand, the dead… shall…"
In front of them, the gauntlet began to form a black, blood-like goo. Corrigan's eyes narrowed as the blackness formed a shape of a human.
"RISE!"
The goo began to form an outer shell, the facial features of a human forming along with clothing of black and grey. It's right hand, however, still was covered by the glove.
Dark black hair, a pale grey tone for skin. A black sweater like shirt with silver armor plating, grey pants and black boots. Around his shoulders was a long black cape with a high black collar.
"You have been gifted by Death's Hand," Hand spoke, lowering his arms.
"It is time you pay your home a visit."
Dora reluctantly agreed to pose for a minute or two :-)
This chair is part of a lounge suite we bought in 1983 at the World of Leather in the UK. It has had the seats re upholstered, the armrests have new leather, and it is in great shape for its age.
== My Alibi==
"Hey, folks," a new, squeaky voiced arrival swung the door open and lumbered down the steps.
The short man’s entrance was met with an enthusiastic "Jumbo!" from the bar patrons.
Smiling at the welcome, Jumbo trotted across the bustling bar and sat down beside James Carter at his usual stool by the counter. Carter slackened the strap of his hefty mail bag and slapped his friend across the back.
Without missing a beat, Leonard Fiasco manoeuvred past the Turtle, and slid a glass of the Ant-Man’s favourite beer his way.
As he did so, his eyes met with waitress Celia Smith who blushed and quickly looked down.
"Oh, Len, what are we doing?" she asked him.
Fiasco’s jaw slackened. The question had caught him by surprise. Something was wrong. He kept wiping the counter, his hand stuck in a clockwise motion. My Alibi was burned to the ground. Carson and Carter were dead. Turtle was currently a baby. Celia Smith ditched him for Bruce Wayne back in junior high. And... And... And... There was a ringing in his head like there was an audience just beyond the north wall. A north wall, which for some strange reason, his eyes would wander past. Like something was there that didn’t want to be seen.
"End the simulation."
==Arkham Asylum==
Crane’s gnarled hand grasped the armrest of his wheelchair, a curled lip concealed behind layers of stitched burlap. As they observed Fiasco, a variation of the Cheers theme began playing. Billings grinned at Crane proudly, but catching his eye, swallowed, and turned the cassette off.
"There’s... There was a good bit coming up," he assured Scarecrow.
Crane looked at him, his lip curled. "I think you misunderstand the assignment, Mr Billings. They are supposed to believe in the simulation."
"He did-"
"Oh? Reminding Fiasco of Carson’s death?"
"He fit the archetype-" Billings began.
"I don’t want an archetype. I don’t want tropes. Or clichés. I want an authentic glimpse into a better life. One we can tear down and destroy this man utterly. Run the simulation again. No Jumbo Carson. And no... wooden Indian in the doorway."
"Hey, I never met this Smith girl, she could look like Shelley Long-"
"Enough. Run the simulation again."
It wasn’t a suggestion, but a command. That much was clear. And Dellbert Billings had been in this business long enough to know when it was time to argue, and when it was time to shut up.
"No matter," Crane’s nose wrinkled, smelling the liquor on Billings’ breath. "How is our other subject?" he asked.
Billings breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Crane didn't intend to kill him just this yet. "Let me show you-"
As he took hold of the handles of the wheelchair, Crane slapped his hand away. So much for that goodwill...
"I am no helpless babe, Mr Billings. I do not require your assistance," he scowled, gripping the wheels himself, and trundling forwards.
"Uh, see, Joker was insistent, Scarecrow. Didn’t want you, uh, 'Trundling off the edge of a cliff.'"
"I would be so lucky..." Crane mused, as his arms slumped down to his sides, allowing Billings to cart him off in the direction of the second observation room: Jeremiah Arkham was standing in the center, the cramped cell transformed into a sprawling auditorium. He was on stage, accepting a Nobel Prize for his strides in bettering the world's understanding of Mental Health, in curing all the sick and unhinged that had plagued this city for all these years. And he was smiling, blissfully unaware of the two monsters observing him from behind the glass. No, he didn't have the capacity to fight the simulation; his weeks of torture at the clown's hand had made sure of that.
"See? Fine," Billings spoke, taking another swig from his hip flask.
"A pity."
"I don't know about that, he’s a valuable hostage," Billings shrugged. "No matter how things turn out, the cops aren’t gonna risk one of their own."
"One of their own? The fascist fools in the police department wave their badges and guns around in the air, begging to be taken seriously. But Jeremiah Arkham is, was, different. His family’s legacy was tarnished by a mad dog and a doctor stricken by the same madness he had built this institution to tame. So, when he graduated medical school, he aimed to do what Amadeus could not, what Sharp, Young, Cavendish and all the other supposed academics failed to do: To tame the untameable. Not for profit, but for the greater good. And look... Just look at what that has cost him. His freedom. His sanity, perhaps. The pity, Mr Billings, is that he failed. Failed to resist your illusions when a lowly bartender, a parasite, a lowlife with a gimmick saw through your mind games. Gotham grinds most into the ground, but none fare worse than the idealists who actually delude themselves into believing that they can make a difference. It consumed Dent. It consumed Grange. And so too will it consume Doctor Jeremiah Arkham."
A crackle of lightning signified Zoom's arrival, standing between the two men, his red eyes darting between them. "The Joooooker wantsto seeeeeeee you," he raised an arm at Scarecrow.
"Oh, very well..." Crane resigned himself. "We wouldn't want to disappoint him..."
===Gotham City===
Garfield Lynns rang the doorbell and took a step back, ushering his companions to stand behind him in case things got ugly. There was a faint tapping of footsteps from within, and then the handle turned; a tall, red-haired woman had answered the bell; she had a glass of wine in one hand and was dressed in a stretched-out t-shirt which came to a rest at her knees and read 'This Mom is on Fire.'
"Oh," her nose crinkled, as she looked down at the group shuffling by the porch. "I thought you were dead."
"Hey, Clair. Missed you," Gar spoke. Behind him, Needham nodded politely while Joey dragged his feet across the ground, avoiding eye contact. Jenna picked at a freckle on the bottom of her elbow.
"Well, that sucks all the fun out of teasing you. Come in," she replied, ushering Gar inside and rolling her eyes at the sorry-looking lot trailing behind him. "Josie’s upstairs, I just put her to bed ten minutes ago."
"Alright, good," Gar nodded. As Jenna stepped forward, Clair placed her arm across the doorframe, blocking her way.
"Jenna," she said coldly, her orange eyes fixed on her. The glass of wine in her other hand bubbled.
"Clair," Jenna answered equally stiffly, standing on her tip-toes to match Volcana's height.
"Let her through, Clair," Gar called back tiredly.
Clair ignored him at first, her eyes shining with an amber glow, but ultimately, she relented, moving her slender arm aside.
Jenna slid past her cautiously and caught up with Gar, resting her head on his shoulder and muttering in his ear. "That woman is a sociopath by the way. You do know that right?"
"I am aware," Gar smiled softly. "How do you think I got these?" he asked, gesturing to the dry patches of cracked, burnt skin across his face and scalp.
"She didn’t…" Jenna gasped. She looked back; Clair was waving at her, taunting her.
"She did. I was all fixed up until Clair Selton came back into my life."
"I mean, I know Drury said, but I thought-"
"He’s being overdramatic, dear. It was all very consensual," Clair rolled her eyes at her.
As Joey climbed up the steps, he turned back to face Needham.
"You not coming?" he asked, perturbed.
"Nah, I should probably check in with Bats... Someone needs to explain... that," Needham stated. "Don't worry, I’ll let Brown know you’re safe. Or safe enough," he gestured to the doorway.
Joey nodded back, and followed the rest of the group inside.
Shortly afterwards, the trio were escorted into the living room. As they settled down on the suspiciously up-market furniture, Gar frowned, noting a still-attached price tag, and a sticker which read 'Display Only.' Jenna, tapped his knee affectionately, and rose to her feet. “I'll be right back," she promised, although there was a peculiar unease to her words. "I just need to hit the shower.”
"It’s upstairs," Clair gestured.
As she departed, Joey took her place at Gar's side, nudging his friend's ribs playfully (and forgetting that he had broken them not so long ago). "Psst, Gar, that sounds like your cue."
"Huh?" Gar grunted in response.
"Look, I’m no Blake, but seems to me like 'Hit the shower' is girl talk for, y’know, an invitation."
"Rigger… She’s hitting the shower, to wash off the blood of her last boyfriend."
Joey's playful smile faded. "Oh. I thought those were freckles."
"In her hair?"
~-~
The Misfits approached the Waterworks: a foreboding structure of rusted metal pipes and stone arches overlooking the Gotham Reservoir. The other members of the party kept their distance, while Sharpe marched towards the entrance and chapped the golden, dragon-shaped door knocker against the tall wooden door. There was a sound of shuffling from within, then the door creaked open, revealing the fearsome, hooded visage of Shiro Ito. The doctor was holding a wax candle, which sat on a round metal tray, illuminating his reptilian eyes.
"Montgomery?" Ito answered, his eyes softening as he recognised his late-night caller. “What brings you by so late? If you are looking for Cynthia, then I am afraid to say that she is in her room, no doubt gossiping with her friends; you know how children are... I was just about to watch my programme on the television.”
"Yeah, Doc, I figured," Sharpe nodded. In actuality, looking for ‘Cynthia’ was the last thing he wanted to do. "Thing is, my friends and I need a place to crash. Normally, you know, I’d just take them to my place, which is pretty bitchin’ by the way, but it’s only got the two bedrooms, and after the night I’ve had, I really don’t feel like sharing a duvet with Condom King."
"Montgomery, you know how I feel about your profanity…" Ito chided him.
"Shit, yeah, I forgot," Sharpe swore, already taking a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket. "To make matters worse, a friend of mine, Blake; maybe you’ll remember him; he was the guy possessed by King of Cats before Gramps. And if you don’t, then you probably have Alzheimer’s. Which is fine and all, you are a hundred and y’look great on it, scales and all! But it’s probably worth mentioning at your next physical."
"You are rambling, Montgomery."
"Right- Anyway, he got stabbed. Another friend of mine, more an associate, acquaintance, to be honest, also got stabbed. What’re the odds? Well, pretty high given our line of work, I guess... You’ve met him too, I think. He’s called Ten. Cause of his fingers. ‘Course, most people have ten fingers but his are freakier... ahem Basically, I’d really appreciate it if you could help a guy out."
Ito mulled over Sharpe’s request, then looked down. "Montgomery, what happened to your trousers?" he asked, gesturing to his ripped jeans.
Sharpe’s brow furrowed. "My pants? That’s just the style!"
"No no no," Ito shook his head. "This won’t do at all. Please, allow me to stitch them for you."
The Dragon King placed his arm around Sharpe’s back, and before he could utter a single word of protest, he was escorted inside, the door closing behind them.
The minutes passed, and although the rest of the Misfits continued to wait patiently, Chuck was more skeptical, wondering if perhaps Sharpe had abandoned them, having been led astray by the Dragon King’s promises of freshly baked muffins and a warm bubblebath. A further two minutes later however, his fears were disproven, as the door opened once again, and Sharpe called out to them:
"It’s cool, you can come in!" he assured them, standing in the doorway, his cheeks a deep red. Incidentally, he wasn't wearing any pants, exposing his white underpants adorned with red and black suits.
Not privy to Ito's earlier offer, the Misfits approached the entrance tentatively, as their minds ran wild with speculation. Initially silent, Mayo addressed the elephant in the room with his usual tact. "Chancer, where are your pants?"
"Hey, let's not judge him," Blake determined, sticking up for his friend. "Who hasn't greased a few palms here and there?"
"Somehow, I doubt that his palms were the only things greased," Kuttler murmured dryly, as the group entered the building.
==Arkham Asylum==
"Among the suspects arrested tonight was former Gotham mayor, Drury Walker. In addition to tonight’s skirmish, Walker faces charges for his attack on the GCPD earlier this summer. Additionally, Abner Krill, for his complacency in the Arkham City disaster, and Ted Carson for the shootout in Gotham General have also been apprehended, alongside the notorious Calendar Man, who is believed to be the mastermind behind the attack.
Walker, known by some as The Killer Moth, is reportedly cooperating with authorities to-"
A boxing glove attached to a metal spring smashed through the TV screen, then retracted into the barrel of The Joker’s oversized gag gun.
"No," the clown stated, an uncharacteristic scowl stretching across his pale face. "The story can’t end like this: Not yet. There are so many loose threads! Incomplete character arcs! And it won’t. Not if I (and our readers) have anything to say about it!"
"Bah!" Crane scoffed, no stranger to the clown's odd tangents. "I grow tired of these games, Joker. You know as well as I that Zolomon could eliminate every one of those Misfits in one swoop. And yet, you sacrificed my Fearless formula so, what? The Calendar Man could feel included? Well now, we have no formula, no Polka Dot Man and not an ounce of progress made on your little pet project. Now, is the time to act.
Think! We have an opportunity here, to bring this city to its knees, and you are squandering it all over an irrational infatuation with Killer Moth! Have you considered the avenues that Billings’ illusion technology can open? The new wave of nightmares that we can craft for our victims?"
A fresh smile broke across the clown's face, as he strutted over to his wheelchair-bound accomplice.
"Tut tut tut... You’re still so narrow minded, Johnny Boy. Fear this, fear that... It's rather like you're fearful of trying something new!" Joker teased, tussling Crane's hat playfully.
"Theeeeeeee prooooofesssssssooooor hasavalid point," Zoom interjected, his arms folded.
"Thank you," Crane nodded appreciatively.
"ButIhave noooooo interest inconquestor reeeeeeeevenge. Walker isthe taaaaaaaarget. Andright nooooooow Waaaaaaaalker isonthe edge. Hecanbe moooooooulded intothis wooooooorld’s greatest heeeeeeeero oritsvilest villain, buttheother Misfits are a distraaaaaaaaction fromthat goaaaaaaaal. Andthatgoal caaaaaan onlybe birthed from traaaaaaagedy."
~-~
"Excuse me, Doctor Ito," Chuck asked. "Is there a toilet?"
"Of course," Ito nodded, pointing his wooden spoon in the direction of the farthest hallway. "Third door down."
At the ISA headquarters, Thomas Blake was watching the news broadcast on the Dragon King's television; an old, unsightly thing that didn't seem to have been replaced since the 1960s. Behind him, Mayo was helping Ito stir a pot of sauce on the equally outdated stovetop.
As Julian's mugshot appeared on the screen, he raised his glass, as though to honour his old friend. "Notorious..." he repeated glumly. "You finally got your wish, didn't you Jules..."
He took a gulp of his drink, and immediately spat it out, drenching the table in crimson liquid. “Dude, is this blood?!” he glared at Ito. All eyes were on the Dragon King now, who shrugged dismissively:
"You said you were thirsty."
"Not for blood!" Blake countered.
"Ah. My Cynthia is a fussy eater too."
~-~
"In other news, four bodies were recovered from a Sionis Industries facility in South Gotham. Commissioner James Gordon held a press conference earlier today."
"It is believed that this particular warehouse was being used as a staging area for a rival gang working to take over the False Face Society. Of the four bodies recovered tonight, three were high profile inmates at Blackgate Penitentiary. The fourth, a man we have identified as Henry Ferris, is believed to have been the ringleader of this attempted coup. It is our suspicion that the Black Mask, the current head of the Society, uncovered Ferris’ scheme and sent a hit squad to eliminate him."
"Here, I made you some tea," Clair announced, placing down a tray of three steaming mugs on the coffee table beside Gar and Joey.
Wise to Volcana's tricks, Gar swatted Joey’s hand away. “Don’t drink it, Rigger," he warned before tilting his head towards Clair. "Did you heat it with your hands again?" he asked, throwing her an accusative glare.
"Maybe," was Clair's response.
"You know that burns the ceramics. And our insides… Just use a kettle."
"The kettle takes too long," she shrugged.
"Like thirty seconds at most," Gar began to argue, only to be struck by a sudden realisation. "You don’t heat the showers yourself, do you?"
"Gar, do I really strike you as the kind of person that would mutilate your current girlfriend?" Clair teased.
Gar looked at her askance.
"Yes…?" Joey asked. "Absolutely, yes."
"Lord, I’m kidding," Clair pouted. "I’m not a monster."
==ISA Headquarters==
Chuck opened the second door, and as he stepped through, it was as though he had been transported to another world, and in some respects, he had been; the room seemed to go on for miles and miles and the walls were all painted in hues of greys. It was like Kansas, from the Wizard of Oz film; all swirling shadows and black masses, and it felt like he was being watched by a thousand eyes.
"Good evening," a voice spoke from the darkness. It was surprisingly eloquent; the accent was English, but old English, like a nobleman's or a duke's, or an aristocrat's. Its' owner, was standing several yards away, denoted by the slight glint from their sunglasses and the hint of a tall top hat. They appeared to be holding a white cup and saucer; the only things not caked in darkness.
"I was... looking for the toilet," Chuck spoke, the words finally finding him.
"Third door on the right. Thank you kindly," the voice instructed him. "It wouldn't do to get lost. Not in this dreadful place."
~-~
Blake wiped his mouth, and looked up from the table: Ito’s daughter, Cindy Burman, was awake now, and with her were three other girls her age, all dressed in baggy clothing that could almost be mistaken for prison uniforms, if not for their bright pink colouring.
"Speak of the Devil-Child," Sharpe sniggered.
"Cynthia? You should be sleeping," Ito stated, cocking his head to one side.
"Urgh, don’t we have any food in this house?" the girl complained, ignoring her father’s queries, as she opened the cupboard beside him and started raking through it.
"There is a carton of ice cream in the freezer," Ito relented.
"What, where you keep the severed heads?"
"I am well organised, Cynthia. The risk of cross contamination is minimal."
"You’re embarrassing me!" the girl squealed petulantly. "Let's go, gang, I'll order us a pizza since daddy clearly doesn't care if I starve!" Cindy exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in protest, and kicking the trashcan on her way out.
"Ahh, teenagers," Ito spoke wistfully. "To be seventeen again..."
"Uh, dude, I don’t think those girls are here willingly," Blake tapped Sharpe on the shoulder, leaning in closely so that Ito would not overhear them.
"Nah, come on!" he snorted. "It’s Ito, he’s cool."
"Is he... Is he going to turn them into lizards?" Bridget asked, as she too looked over at the girls with increasing concern.
"Dragons, babe. And only if they force his hand," Sharpe shrugged.
Not convinced, Blake raised his shirt up, and ran his finger across his fully healed knife wound. "Yeah, well, I don’t think my skin’s supposed to turn green like that."
Kuttler, rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by the Misfits' irreverent attitude. "Very well, if no one else will ask it, then I will: What do you intend to do with her?" he asked. The Misfits each turned to look at Bridget, who sat isolated at the end of the table.
"She saved my life," Ten vouched for her. "I would have bled out in those service tunnels if not for her."
"Yeah, but no offense, Ten, you’ll latch onto anyone who can stop you bleeding for a while," Sharpe countered.
"I actually take quite a bit of offense to that."
"And when next you’re stabbed, I’ll have you indebted to me with some gauze and a couple of bandages."
"Don’t worry," Bridget shook her head. "I’m not staying long. I... can’t. I have to pick up a few things from Uncle Jacob, after that I’m leaving town. For good." But even so, she sounded unsure.
"Where will you go?" Mayo asked.
"Doesn't matter. I just... need to be away from this city for a while. Away from the Carsons and Walkers of the world."
Ten scraped his chair along the floor and placed it at her side. "Perhaps it’s not my place... Perhaps, god forbid, Chancer is right, and I do just have a dependency, a complex, but you did save me. And when you defied your father, when you kept that virus out of his reach, even if it was just for a moment, I believe you saved us all."
Bridget scoffed, dismissing Reardon's revisionist account. "I didn’t save anyone... Hayden messed with my mind, took the vial."
"And moments before, Julian Day dug an axe into my shoulder and took that same vial from me. At the end of the day, he was stopped, and you helped. You want to know why I have faith in you? Because faith... Faith is all I am. And I believe it’s all part of a bigger picture. His picture. You might not think that’s the case, but you did make a difference tonight. In fact, I believe you still can. If you stay with us, if you put up with us: it’s going to be hard, it’s going to be, quite frankly exasperating, but it will be worth it in the end."
He offered Bridget a prosthetic hand. His mouth was dry in anticipation, worried about what she might say or do. But after a moment's hesitation, after weighing her options, she took it, and shook it firmly. It wasn't just a gesture, no, she understood Ten's offer and what it represented; it was a way to clear the board, and finally do something right. And just like that, all those past grievances; the fights... The Arkham Moth, the Society, Chronos... it was all settled with a handshake.
Chuck re-entered, a phone in his hand, and perhaps a little paler than he had been when he had left. "That was Eric; Gar and Joey got Jenna. They're all safe; they'll be staying at Volcana's for the time being. Did I miss something-?"
"That's funny. Thought you said they were safe," Sharpe smirked.
Camera: Cosina Voigtlander Bessa R3M
Lens: KMZ 50mm f1.5 Jupiter 3
Film: Fuji Neopan 100
Developer: Xtol
Scanner: Epson V600
Photoshop: Curves, Healing Brush (spotting)
Cropping: None
LF02 PVA was quite a famous bus when it started its life, heralded as Arriva's "bus of the future", a strapline it even carried on its bodysides. With 2+1 seating, armrests, and overhead luggage racks, it was intended to show off features which may become commonplace in later years.
It started off at Arriva Midlands, as fleet number 2200. It attended Showbus in 2002: www.flickr.com/photos/33216596@N02/4488804240/ photo by Steven Hughes. Note the plug type doors and rabbit ear mirrors.
I can't remember the details of what it did next, but it was at Southern Counties' Guildford depot by at least 30 May 2004, when it appeared at Guildford rail station on the Aldershot & District running day, by now as fleet number 6200. Still with rabbit ears, it was nicknamed "big ears" at Guildford. It was renumbered 3730, and stayed at Guildford for a few years, regular on the 4, 34 and 100 - it was well suited as a spare for the Guildford park and ride - indeed re-numbered into the same sequence - although not technically the same type of bus as the Volvo B7RLE/Wright Eclipse Urbans used on the P&R, this is the unpopular B7L/Wright Eclipse Metro combination.
It did have plug doors at Guildford for some time, but I think it was Guildford who eventually changed them to normal ones. It was definitely Guildford who changed the mirrors for normal ones. Here's a photo of it in 2005 on the 34: www.flickr.com/photos/33650137@N05/6009192727/ photo by John Law.
Sadly, five years later, when the new 91 Enviros arrived at Guildford, Bus of the Future left, along with the remaining East Lancs Spryte Darts, to other parts of Southern Counties.
3730 went to Northfleet for a short while, even managing to operate the Fastrack service!
It wasn't long though before it was transferred to Shires and Essex, renumbered as 3890. It went to Aylesbury, who put LEDs in it. That's where I saw the bus in July 2009.
Since then, it has been repainted into interurban livery, and transferred to Stevenage.
Aylesbury bus station, Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire.
Yellow Mama at Holman Prison death chambers
On April 8, 1927, Horace DeVaughan, was the first person to be electrocuted in the "Yellow Mama" at the old walled Kilby Prison in Montgomery.
Shortly thereafter on April 23, W. Virgil Murphy, was also electrocuted.
The story of the Yellow Mama is interesting.
Edward Mason, a cabinetmaker from London, England, received a 12 to 60 year sentence for burglary and grand larceny in Mobile.
Mason worked in the woodworking shop at Kilby making picture frames, cradles and baskets.
With several impending executions drawing nearer, the Board of Administration-Convict Department needed the means to carry out the capital sentences.
In November of 1926, Mason agreed to make the chair.
He made a squat sturdy chair with flat armrests and an adjustable head rest from some maple wood and oak.
It took Mason six days to finish the Yellow Mama.
As the story goes, Governor Graves gave Mason a month's furlough from prison for making the chair as had been previously agreed.
Mason left and was never seen again.
The chair and equipment was valued at $2,983.96.
The Yellow Mama is currently housed at the Holman Correctional Facility near Atmore Alabama. Lethal injection is also administered at Holman.
It typically cost approximately a gallon of gas to run the generator for testing the circuits and the actual execution.
This in addition to overtime incurred by attending officers before, during, and after the execution.
For a list of those executed, please visit the Alabama Department of Corrections website.
Finally got round to my first Lilahless :( walk. Went along the Thames path from Henley towards Marlow. Spotted this seatless bench and it seemed to echo my thoughts - something's missing.
I used two Bliss prints here along with Riley Blake's Red Gingham.
blogged
duringquiettime.blogspot.com/2011/06/more-armrest-pincush...
LF02 PVA was quite a famous bus when it started its life, heralded as Arriva's "bus of the future", a strapline it even carried on its bodysides. With 2+1 seating, armrests, and overhead luggage racks, it was intended to show off features which may become commonplace in later years.
It started off at Arriva Midlands, as fleet number 2200. It attended Showbus in 2002: www.flickr.com/photos/33216596@N02/4488804240/ photo by Steven Hughes. Note the plug type doors and rabbit ear mirrors.
I can't remember the details of what it did next, but it was at Southern Counties' Guildford depot by at least 30 May 2004, when it appeared at Guildford rail station on the Aldershot & District running day, by now as fleet number 6200. Still with rabbit ears, it was nicknamed "big ears" at Guildford. It was renumbered 3730, and stayed at Guildford for a few years, regular on the 4, 34 and 100 - it was well suited as a spare for the Guildford park and ride - indeed re-numbered into the same sequence - although not technically the same type of bus as the Volvo B7RLE/Wright Eclipse Urbans used on the P&R, this is the unpopular B7L/Wright Eclipse Metro combination.
It did have plug doors at Guildford for some time, but I think it was Guildford who eventually changed them to normal ones. It was definitely Guildford who changed the mirrors for normal ones. Here's a photo of it in 2005 on the 34: www.flickr.com/photos/33650137@N05/6009192727/ photo by John Law.
Sadly, five years later, when the new 91 Enviros arrived at Guildford, Bus of the Future left, along with the remaining East Lancs Spryte Darts, to other parts of Southern Counties.
3730 went to Northfleet for a short while, even managing to operate the Fastrack service!
It wasn't long though before it was transferred to Shires and Essex, renumbered as 3890. It went to Aylesbury, who put LEDs in it. That's where I saw the bus in July 2009.
Since then, it has been repainted into interurban livery, and transferred to Stevenage.
Aylesbury bus station, Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire.
The name Mazda Savanna (sometimes incorrectly spelled "Savannah") was used on the rotary-powered model sold in Japan, as a coupe, sedan, and wagon. Internationally it was called the Mazda RX-3. It was smaller and sportier than its brother, the Capella Rotary/RX-2, and was largely identical to its conventional inline-four donor model, the Mazda Grand Familia. It was available from September 1971 through 1978 in Super Deluxe coupé, Deluxe sedan, and station wagon forms. The Super Deluxe coupé was heavier (884 kg vs 864 kg) and carried an optional body stripe, clock, rear defogger and the centre console/high armrest and collapsible steering column. Sold from 1972 through 1978 in the United States, the RX-3 version was extremely successful.
It originally used a 10A rotary engine like the Mazda Familia Rotary Coupe/Mazda R100, but US cars shared the larger 12A engine from the RX-2. Performance-wise the 10A RX-3 was not able to match the RX-2 with 12A. With a weight-to-power ratio of 10.9 kg per kW compared to the RX-2's 9.9 kg per kW, the RX-3 was slower. The 12A RX-3 wasn't able to match the RX-2 with 12A either, despite its lighter weight. The smaller engined version has the internal model code S102, while the larger one is known as the S124.
In Japan, the installation of a rotary engine gave Japanese buyers a financial advantage when it came time to pay the annual road tax in that they bought a car that was more powerful than a traditional inline engine, but without having the penalty for having an engine in the higher 1.5 litre tax bracket.
Racing
The Savanna/RX-3 was the next Mazda racing entry, following up the success of the Cosmo and Familia Rotary. The Savanna debuted with a win at the September, 1971 "Fuji 500" race.
The cars battled with Nissan's Skyline on the Japanese Grand Prix in 1972, winning the touring car category there and preventing the GT-R from winning 50 consecutive races. The cars continued to be competitive, claiming over 100 victories in 1976, and continue in club racing today.
In Australia the RX-3 proved very successful both on and off the race track. One of many RX-3s racing in the 1975 Bathurst 1000 caused more than a worried look after placing fifth outright and 1st in its class for the second consecutive year after its initial class win in 1974. The RX-3 dominated the class C in 1975 holding 4 of the top 5 positions.
In North America, the RX-3 had much success in SCCA and IMSA competition. Many RX-3s are still competing and one in particular is the SCCA Super Production car driven by Irish driver John Cummins. The RX3 was replaced with the Mazda RX-7
[Text from Wikipedia]
This Lego miniland scale Mazda RX3 GT Racing Type has been created for Flickr LUGNuts' 97th Build Challenge, titled - 'Our First Wheels' - a challenge to recreate, in Lego, a vehicle that we have owned as a toy or model.
Why is it here?
Many moons ago. Actually, many, many moons ago, when I was a young lad, I was in an organisation called 'The Boys' Brigade', a Christian youth organisation. In many ways it was much like the Scouts. As part of the learning structure we did activities like plastic model making. In this one particular year, we were to build model WW!! aeroplanes, and, as an award for producing the model showing the highest skills, I was awarded a model car kit - the RX3 Racer, including an internal clock-wound engine.
Unfortunately, I never built the model, and also can' recall what ever happened to the model.
The interesting connection is that one of the senior boys, who by this stage was old enough to drive, owned a rather intensely driven RX3 Coupe of his own - no doubt influencing the prize model.
I think I even remember his name - Lincoln Gill. One of the other older boys in his year level or thereabouts trained as an engineer, and was involved in the pre-release Australian engineering for Toyota Australia.
late 14th century ; armrest shows part of an angel musician ; Samson riding a lion, dog & cockatrice as supporters
Date: April 28th
Time: 6:00 p.m.
all I need is a moment group.
Not-so-good lighting + "Cinema Scope" effect on Picnik = suckkyyyy grainy ickyness. Sorreh bout that :/
Took this right before I had to take pictures of the school play for the school newspaper...
Our theatre holds a lot of memories for me cause I've been involved in plays and variety shows and stuff. So that's what the title is referring to :)
Current song stuck in my head:
Fame - Lady Gaga.
Explored; highest position = #327. Thankyouthankyouthankyouuu :)
added armrests / grips and improved backrest. now he has an easier time to get out when he wants to walk.
in-story, he builds his mobility devices himself based on his preferences and experiments.
FUN FACT: many if not most wheelchair users need their wheelchair part-time for a variety of reasons. lots of people can walk some but not much or not all the time.
A trick photograph of a Maiko (Apprentice Geisha) in two different poses. On the left-hand side of the image she is seated on a Zabuton (floor cushion) with one arm leaning on a Kyosoku (arm rest) and the other holding a Kiseru (tobacco pipe) with a Tobako-bon (smoking box) on the floor in front of her, wearing a Michiyuki (coat with a square neckline). While on the right-hand side of the image she is dressed for an Odori (dance) in the traditional clothes of a Maiko, a Hikizuri (trailing kimono) and a Darari Obi (dangling sash).
CDV, around 1872
Photographer: Kalmár & Becske (Kalmár Péter & Becske Antal), Wien/Vienna, Austria
(Peter Kalmár was the exclusive photographer of Budapest Opera House)
Veszprém, Hungary
Kaszinó utca 52.
a Havlicsek-féle házban
"1ső Ferencz Joszef magyar Király ő felsége által elismerésel kitüntetve 1872" "1ső Vilmos német császár ő felsége által jutalommal kitüntetve 1871"
Becske Antal önállóan is működött Bécsben és Kalmár Péterrel együtt is (ő cs. kir. udv. fényképész és a budapesti Operaház hivatalos fényképésze volt).
Hello Partner! It's been a while since my last sneak peek. I hope you like this and will want it hanging around your sewing space! :) I made it using two fabulous tutorials! The pincushion ~ Amy's {During Quiet Time} Armrest Pincushion tutorial {those are pockets on the hexagon panels}! The basket ~ Elizabeth Hartman's Sew Mama Sew armrest pincushion tutorial! {The basket turned out a bit bigger than I wanted, and it looks kind of gigantic in the picture} This is the front.... what do you think? :)
Something going on on an armrest - Choirstalls carving - - There are 3 early-15c misericords, along with eighteen c 1881 ones placed during the church restoration by George Gilbert Scott Jr. at the expense of the vicar, Ven. Archdeacon Balston,, - Church of All Saints, Bakewell, Derbyshire
The armrest on my guest chair I always use for this when I test an new lens
Sharp, fast and light
The wide maximum aperture of the lens allows the photographer to record at relatively fast shutter speeds, even in low light conditions. This makes the EF 135mm f / 2.0L USM the ideal optics for those who photograph indoor sports. Despite the advanced specification, the lens is relatively light and weighs only 750 g.
"A Queerification" by Regie Cabico
queer me
shift me
transgress me
tell my students i’m gay
tell chick fil a i’m queer
tell the new york times i’m straight
tell the mail man i’m a lesbian
tell american airlines
i don’t know what my gender is
like me
liking you
like summer blockbuster armrest dates
armrest cinematic love
elbow to forearm in the dark
humor me queerly
fill me with laughter
make me high with queer gas
decompress me from centuries of spanish inquisition
& self-righteous judgment
Local bus in Ajijic, Mexico. Reclining seats, armrests, virtually no leg room. Bone jarring ride because of cobblestone streets in disrepair. Costs about 30 cents a ride. Drivers are amazing. They can thread a bus through narrow streets with parked cars.
One of the best Solo's around. Leather coach style seats and armrests inside, however, lacks a number of bells with just 1 at the front and 1 near the back
Niles Caulder, as we all should know by now, is not a firm believer in God. Any sort of God, for that matter. Nor does he believe in any kind of afterlife – be that heaven, hell, purgatory, or anything else in between. But time can do strange things to even the greatest of men, and doubt is a dangerous tool – one that’s power is greatly outweighed by its convenience to wield. As he slumps down into his moth-eaten armchair, still picking at a frayed patch of fabric on its armrest, and gazes out into the soon to be full studio auditorium, he considers his next best course of action with cautious deliberation. He decides that he is willing to either: believe this is in fact hell, call it a day and accept his ultimate fate. Or, believe that there perhaps is a God, and if so request that he drops by sometime so he can ask him why this sort of chicanery is allowed to continue and if he’d be so kind as to stop it.
He lets out a deep sigh and wonders how he could ever possibly believe either of these options to be the truth. That bloody Eric Morden.
Suddenly a welcome but unwanted noise fills the air, and Niles stares out contemptuously as the make-believe audience materialize to watch his make-believe life in this make-believe prison that’s come to be his home. He sinks deeper into his chair and grits his teeth. His theme music plays to rapturous applause and seconds later there comes a sudden but fully expected knock at the door.
Niles: Sod off. I’m not in the mood.
The audience chuckle away as the door swings open.
Dubrovny: Ding dong! Dubrovny here!
Dubrovny saunters onto the set, mercifully sans saxophone. The audience perform their usual, monotonous clapping routine as Dubrovny settles himself by the armchair and beams at Niles.
Dubrovny: Morning Niles! How are we this fine day?
Niles: I was just thinking how much I would enjoy it if you were to be impaled.
Dubrovny: Oh dear, that’s no fun! What’s got you in a grump?
Niles grimaces and pinches his nose. He remains silent.
Dubrovny: Come on now, you can tell little old me.
Dubrovny leans into Niles with a disgustingly pleasant smile on his face. Niles looks him dead in the eyes, brow firmly furrowed.
Niles: How long have I been here?
Dubrovny frowns and chuckles to himself. Niles looks out at the audience and notices barely any of them are smiling. Good, let them be annoyed.
Dubrovny: You don’t know?
Niles pulls his gaze away from the bored, watching faces and stares at Dubrovny.
Niles: Obviously not.
Dubrovny chuckles again and scratches his head.
Dubrovny: Well, I mean, a few days. Why?
Dubrovny notices Niles’ melancholy expression and bumps him on the shoulder with a playful fist.
Dubrovny: Come now, don’t be all down in the dumps! There’s so much happiness in the world. Look, watch this!
Dubrovny turns away from Niles, takes a few steps and trips himself over. The tiring audience break out into ecstatic laughter as Dubrovny pats himself down with a chuckle. The laughing fades and he goes back over to Niles.
Dubrovny: Never gets old, that one.
He shakes his head and smiles to himself.
Dubrovny: You know, if it makes you feel any better, I have actually been having a little trouble myself.
Niles: And how exactly would that make me feel any better?
Dubrovny ignores him and continues.
Dubrovny: Yes, trouble indeed. I trust you remember-
He winks at Niles.
Dubrovny: -My secret little project? The Atom-Ray?
Niles stares at him blankly for a few moments. Dubrovny nods excitedly at him like a demonic child.
Niles: Oh, I’m sorry. You were expecting an answer?
Dubrovny sighs.
Dubrovny: Come now Niles! There’s no need for all this hostility!
Niles is silent.
Dubrovny: I’ve been quite down in the dumps at the moment, and I have to be honest old chap, you really aren’t making me feel much better!
He crosses his arms in a huff and turns for the door. The audience let out a sigh of sympathy as Niles grimaces.
Niles: Wait.
Dubrovny pauses, hand on the doorknob, as an idea flashes across Niles’ mind.
Niles: What’s wrong with it?
Dubrovny slowly turns and unfolds his arms. He treads slowly back over to the couch and looks at Niles.
Dubrovny: Promise you’ll listen?
Niles discreetly grits his teeth.
Niles: I promise.
Dubrovny: Alrighty then.
Dubrovny squats down to Niles’ level and looks around suspiciously for listening ears. Niles notices the audience all leaning in excitedly and snorts quietly to himself as Dubrovny passes them over and takes a breath.
Dubrovny: Well, it’s… to be honest, it isn’t working.
Niles: Oh?
Dubrovny: I’ve got the helmet built, but when testing it I keep running into damn snags! Just yesterday it reduced next door’s dog into nothing more than a hunk of barbequed meat!
Niles: I wasn’t aware next door had a dog. Or that there was a next door, to be frank.
Dubrovny: Well they don’t have one anymore!
Niles strokes his beard in an attempt to hide a growing smile. He pretends to think for a while, gazing off into thin air, before looking over at Dubrovny.
Niles: Maybe I could have a look at it.
Dubrovny smiles excitedly.
Dubrovny: You would?
Niles: Oh, but of course!
He smiles insincerely.
Niles: Anything for the pursuit of science.
Dubrovny stands, hands on his hips. He takes a moment and sighs.
Dubrovny: Well, I don’t know.
Niles: I’m sorry?
Dubrovny: Well, it is a remarkably sensitive piece of equipment. I’d need you to promise you’ll be immensely careful.
Niles: Cross my heart.
He senses reluctance creeping over Dubrovny and leans in.
Niles: I’ll be ever so quick; you have my word. Just give it a quick once-over. You’ll be surprised what a fresh pair of eyes can do.
Dubrovny remains silent.
Niles: Jonathan, I will have it working wonders. Please, I insist.
Dubrovny: Well, if you insist…
He jumps to his feet and pats Niles excitedly on the shoulder.
Dubrovny: It’s a deal!
The audience break out into applause and Dubrovny squeals gleefully.
Dubrovny: I’ll pop it round tomorrow!
Niles drops his shoulders and sighs disappointedly.
Niles: And how long will that be?
Dubrovny: Haha! You do make me laugh, Caulder. Tomorrow morning, first thing!
Dubrovny turns on the spot with a new found energy and heads for the door.
Niles: Oh, one last thing.
Dubrovny turns.
Dubrovny: Yes?
Niles: You couldn’t be a lamb and bring that salt back, could you? All your talk of cod and chips the other day has got me feeling frightfully peckish.
Dubrovny: Of course my good man! Anything for my science-buddy!
And before Niles can say anything else, Dubrovny opens the door and disappears. The audience burst into their courteous applause that makes Niles’ face cringe and blood boil. Niles gives them one last look before the show finishes and smirks proudly to himself, as if every lightbulb in the room was a dirty joke only he could hear.
Niles: And you can all stop smiling, too.
Their clapping slows and they eye him suspiciously as the studio lights start to dim and the end music commences. Niles leans back in his chair, intertwines his fingers and smiles to himself, absorbed by an idea slowly blooming in his mind.