Yellow-belled Sapsuckers perch upright on trees like this Jamaican dogwood (Piscidia piscipula), leaning on their tails like other woodpeckers. They feed at sapwells—neat rows of shallow holes they drill in tree bark. They lap up the sugary sap along with any insects that may get caught there. Sapsuckers drum on trees and metal objects in a distinctive stuttering pattern.

 

Little Torch Key, Florida

A nice male Stuttering frog photographed on the Central coast.

Had great hopes for this location, but in the end, it became a confused mess in fading light. However, nice idea to take the steam train to the beach.

 

The bathers must have wondered what was happening as thirty-odd (odd) elderly men arrived wearing anoraks and sensible shoes in the tropical heat, and commenced to bark out 'pleasantries' such as "You're in the shot!".

 

The luxury Mount Lavinia hotel overwhelms the “B1a” class loco and train making its stuttering way back to Colombo from Galle.

 

Sri Lanka. February 2020. © David Hill

American postcard by Classico San Francisco, no. 233/01. Photo: Universal Pictures. Boris Karloff in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931).

 

British actor Boris Karloff (1887-1969) is one of the true icons of the Horror cinema. He portrayed Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and Son of Frankenstein (1939), which resulted in his immense popularity. In the following decades, he worked in countless Horror films, but also in other genres, both in Europe and Hollywood.

 

Boris Karloff was born William Henry Pratt in 1887 in London, England. Pratt himself stated that he was born in Dulwich, which is nearby in London. His parents were Edward John Pratt, Jr. and his third wife Eliza Sarah Millard. ‘Billy’ never knew his father. Edward Pratt had worked for the Indian Salt Revenue Service and had virtually abandoned his family in far-off England. Edward died when his son was still an infant and so Billy was raised by his mother. He was the youngest of nine children, and following his mother's death was brought up by his elder brothers and sisters. As a child, Billy performed each Christmas in plays staged by St. Mary Magdalene's Church. His first role was that of The Demon King in the pantomime Cinderella. Billy was bow-legged, had a lisp, and stuttered. He conquered his stutter, but not his lisp, which was noticeable throughout his career in the film industry. After his education at private schools, he attended King's College London where he took studies aimed at a career with the British Government's Consular Service. However, in 1909, the 22-year-old left university without graduating and sailed from Liverpool to Canada, where he worked as a farm labourer and did various odd itinerant jobs. In Canada, he began appearing in theatrical performances and chose the stage name Boris Karloff. Later, he claimed he chose ‘Boris’ because it sounded foreign and exotic, and that ‘Karloff’ was a family name. However, his daughter Sara Karloff publicly denied any knowledge of Slavic forebears, Karloff or otherwise. One reason for the name change was to prevent embarrassment to his family. He did not reunite with his family until he returned to Britain to make The Ghoul (T. Hayes Hunter, 1933), opposite Cedric Hardwicke. Karloff was distraught that his family would disapprove of his new, macabre claim to world fame. Instead, his brothers jostled for position around him and happily posed for publicity photographs. In 1911, Karloff joined the Jeanne Russell Company and later joined the Harry St. Clair Co. which performed in Minot, North Dakota, for a year in an opera house above a hardware store. While trying to establish his acting career, Karloff had to perform years of difficult manual labour in Canada and the U.S. to make ends meet. He was left with back problems from which he suffered for the rest of his life. In 1917, he arrived in Hollywood, where he went on to make dozens of silent films. Some of his first roles were in film serials, such as The Masked Rider (Aubrey M. Kennedy, 1919), in Chapter 2 of which he can be glimpsed onscreen for the first time, and The Hope Diamond Mystery (Stuart Paton, 1920). In these early roles, he was often cast as an exotic Arabian or Indian villain. Other silent films were The Deadlier Sex (Robert Thornby, 1920) with Blanche Sweet, Omar the Tentmaker (James Young, 1922), Dynamite Dan (Bruce Mitchell, 1924) and Tarzan and the Golden Lion (J.P. McGowan, 1927) in which James Pierce played Tarzan. In 1926 Karloff found a provocative role in The Bells (James Young, 1926), in which he played a sinister hypnotist opposite Lionel Barrymore. He worked with Barrymore again in his first sound film, the thriller The Unholy Night (Lionel Barrymore, 1929).

 

A key film which brought Boris Karloff recognition was The Criminal Code (Howard Hawks, 1931), a prison drama in which he reprised a dramatic part he had played on stage. With his characteristic short-cropped hair and menacing features, Karloff was a frightening sight to behold. Opposite Edward G. Robinson, Karloff played a key supporting part as an unethical newspaper reporter in Five Star Final (Mervyn LeRoy, 1931), a film about tabloid journalism which was nominated for the Oscar for Best Picture. Karloff's role as Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931), based on the classic Mary Shelley book, propelled him to stardom. Wikipedia: “The bulky costume with four-inch platform boots made it an arduous role but the costume and extensive makeup produced the classic image. The costume was a job in itself for Karloff with the shoes weighing 11 pounds (5 kg) each.” The aura of mystery surrounding Karloff was highlighted in the opening credits, as he was listed as simply "?." The film was a commercial and critical success for Universal, and Karloff was instantly established as a hot property in Hollywood. Universal Studios was quick to acquire ownership of the copyright to the makeup format for the Frankenstein monster that Jack P. Pierce had designed. A year later, Karloff played another iconic character, Imhotep in The Mummy (Karl Freund, 1932). The Old Dark House (James Whale, 1932) with Charles Laughton, and the starring role in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932) quickly followed. Steve Vertlieb at The Thunder Child: “Wonderfully kinky, the film co-starred young Myrna Loy as the intoxicating, yet sadistic Fah Lo See, Fu Manchu's sexually perverse daughter. Filmed before Hollywood's infamous production code, the film joyously escaped the later scrutiny of The Hayes Office, and remains a fascinating example of pre-code extravagance.” These films all confirmed Karloff's new-found stardom. Horror had become his primary genre, and he gave a string of lauded performances in 1930s Universal Horror films. Karloff reprised the role of Frankenstein's monster in two other films, the sensational Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935) and the less thrilling Son of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939), the latter also featuring Bela Lugosi. Steve Vertlieb about Bride of Frankenstein: “Whale delivered perhaps the greatest horror film of the decade and easily the most critically acclaimed rendition of Mary Shelley's novel ever released. The Bride of Frankenstein remains a work of sheer genius, a brilliantly conceived and realized take on loneliness, vanity, and madness. The cast of British character actors is simply superb.” While the long, creative partnership between Karloff and Lugosi never led to a close friendship, it produced some of the actors' most revered and enduring productions, beginning with The Black Cat (Edgar G. Ullmer, 1934). Follow-ups included The Raven (Lew Landers, 1935), the rarely seen, imaginative science fiction melodrama The Invisible Ray (Lambert Hillyer, 1936), and The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945). Karloff played a wide variety of roles in other genres besides Horror. He was memorably gunned down in a bowling alley in Howard Hawks' classic Scarface (1932) starring Paul Muni.. He played a religious First World War soldier in John Ford’s epic The Lost Patrol (1934) opposite Victor McLaglen. Between 1938 and 1940, Karloff starred in five films for Monogram Pictures, including Mr. Wong, Detective (William Nigh, 1938). During this period, he also starred with Basil Rathbone in Tower of London (Rowland V. Lee, 1939) as the murderous henchman of King Richard III, and with Margaret Lindsay in British Intelligence (Terry O. Morse, 1940). In 1944, he underwent a spinal operation to relieve his chronic arthritic condition.

 

Boris Karloff revisited the Frankenstein mythos in several later films, taking the starring role of the villainous Dr. Niemann in House of Frankenstein (Erle C. Kenton, 1944), in which the monster was played by Glenn Strange. He reprised the role of the ‘mad scientist’ in Frankenstein 1970 (Howard W. Koch, 1958) as Baron Victor von Frankenstein II, the grandson of the original creator. The finale reveals that the crippled Baron has given his face (i.e., Karloff's) to the monster. From 1945 to 1946, Boris Karloff appeared in three films for RKO produced by Val Lewton: Isle of the Dead (Mark Robson, 1945), The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945), and Bedlam (Mark Robson, 1946). Karloff had left Universal because he thought the Frankenstein franchise had run its course. Karloff was a frequent guest on radio programs. In 1949, he was the host and star of the radio and television anthology series Starring Boris Karloff. In 1950, he had his own weekly children's radio show in New York. He played children's music, told stories and riddles, and attracted many adult listeners as well. An enthusiastic performer, he returned to the Broadway stage in the original production of Arsenic and Old Lace (1941), in which he played a homicidal gangster enraged to be frequently mistaken for Karloff. In 1962, he reprised the role on television with Tony Randall and Tom Bosley. He also appeared as Captain Hook in the play Peter Pan with Jean Arthur. In 1955, he returned to the Broadway stage to portray the sympathetic Bishop Cauchon in Jean Anouilh's The Lark. Karloff regarded the production as the highlight of his long career. Julie Harris was his co-star as Joan of Arc in the celebrated play, recreated for live television in 1957 with Karloff, Harris and much of the original New York company intact. For his role, Karloff was nominated for a Tony Award. Karloff donned the monster make-up for the last time for a Halloween episode of the TV series Route 66 (1962), which also featured Peter Lorre and Lon Chaney, Jr. In the 1960s, Karloff appeared in several films for American International Pictures, including The Comedy of Terrors (Jacques Tourneur, 1963) with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre, The Raven (Roger Corman, 1963), The Terror (Roger Corman, 1963) with Jack Nicholson, and Die, Monster, Die! (Daniel Haller, 1965). Another project for American International release was the frightening Italian horror classic, I tre volti della paura/Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963), in which Karloff played a vampire with bone-chilling intensity. He also starred in British cult director Michael Reeves's second feature film, The Sorcerers (1966). He gained new popularity among the young generation when he narrated the animated TV film Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Chuck Jones, Ben Washam. 1966), and provided the voice of the Grinch. Karloff later received a Grammy Award for Best Recording For Children after the story was released as a record. Then he starred as a retired horror film actor in Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968), Steve Vertlieb: “Targets was a profoundly disturbing study of a young sniper holding a small Midwestern community, deep in the bible belt, terrifyingly at bay. The celebrated subplot concerned the philosophical dilemma of creating fanciful horrors on the screen, while the graphic, troubling reality was eclipsing the superficiality so tiredly repeated by Hollywood. Karloff co-starred, essentially as himself, an aged horror star named Byron Orlok, who wants simply to retire from the imagined horrors of a faded genre, only to come shockingly to grips with the depravity and genuine terror found on America's streets. Bogdanovich's first film as a director won praise from critics and audiences throughout the world community, and won its elder star the best, most respectful notices of his later career.”. In 1968, he played occult expert Professor Marsh in the British production Curse of the Crimson Altar (Vernon Sewell, 1968), which was the last Karloff film to be released during his lifetime. He ended his career by appearing in four low-budget Mexican horror films, which were released posthumously. While shooting his final films, Karloff suffered from emphysema. Only half of one lung was still functioning and he required oxygen between takes. he contracted bronchitis in 1968 and was hospitalized. In early 1969, he died of pneumonia at the King Edward VII Hospital, Midhurst, in Sussex, at the age of 81. Boris Karloff married five times and had one child, daughter Sara Karloff, by his fourth wife.

 

Sources: Steve Vertlieb (The Thunder Child), Wikipedia, and IMDb.

Sure enough, just as I reach the end of the mine shaft leading outside, my powers fail me, sending me crashing into the gravel in front of me. Owwh! I try flying, but no dice. No constructs either.. Strange.. Haven't had this happen before . I check on the pod kids, to make sure they're alright. Other then some being completely freaked out, they're fine. Can't say I blame them. Being stuck in a pod and getting experimented on. Nothing good comes from that. Hard to believe that was me once. Along with Detonator, and a few others. Honestly, it's still a lot for me to fully process. I take this time to call the public Archon number. Within a matter of minutes, there they are, dropping out of their jet. Archon ! It's a weird feeling, seeing them all face to face, especially after losing a key member of their team in Big Time. Titanic, Paragon, Brightstar, Shockwave, and a newer face that I don't quite recognize. Guess they've got a new member.

 

"He-y, thanks for coming! Record time too!" I say, stuttering throughout, clearly nervous. I mean, these are the cities biggest heroes, after all. I give them a brief rundown on everything I know of what went down here, with plenty of uhms, and likes throughout, trying to regain my thoughts. Of course I didn't say anything about my flashbacks. Wouldn't want them locking me away or something..

 

"You should probably head home. Thanks for the help and everything, but we've got this now." The newest member replies after my rundown is over.

 

"Yeah, about that.. Would I be able to get a ride? My uhm powers are kind of malfunctioning on me.." I say with a shrug. This causes Shockwave and newbie to chuckle.

 

"Right.. Hey Brightstar, this bloke here needs a ride home. Fly him home, alright? I'll send you the coordinates." By the way Shockwave phrased it, it was more of an order than a request. Rather than rolling her eyes like I thought she would, she just nodded, and smiled.

 

"Sounds good."

 

"Wait, how do you even know-?" I give a look of confusion, as Shockwave gives me a sly smirk.

 

"Facial rec software in the visor. Not hard to pinpoint where ya live after that. Should defo consider getting yourself a helmet, or some goggles if you don't want people recognizing ya, mate. Assuming you keep getting yourself into trouble like this. Can't say we're too keen on that idea, but we can't be everywhere." Shockwave interrupts me mid sentence, the smirk still there, as he continues to talk with his thick Australian accent.

 

"That's not scary at all..." I say with a slight pause, before continuing. "But thanks, I appreciate the advice, and safe passage home!" It's then that Brightstar lifts me up into her arms, and flies off. Can't say this is how I was expecting the night to end, but there's no way I'm complaining.

 

--------------------------------------

It didn't take long for her to fly me home. I give a quick thank you, before she flies off. That's just great. Now all of Archon, not just the Judgement branch, knows who I am. In addition to Watchman, Detonator, Architect.. The list goes on. Wow, I'm really bad at this secret identity thing. Like Shockwave said, I really need to invest in some headgear. As I step through the front door, I notice my parents watching the news. No surprises here, there's already a report on Cooper's Landing's experiments. Dad turns around, and sees me walk in

 

"Where have you been?" He questions, noticing I'm in costume.

 

"Well, you're looking at it." I say, pointing to the TV.

 

"You were there? Why?" My mom pipes in.

 

"Recently, I've got these headaches, along with these occasional flashes. Still images, of things that at the time, I had no recollection of. One of which was of Cooper's Landing itself. I figured if I went down there, I'd get some answers. I didn't really want to bring it up, cause I knew it'd only cause you more grief."

 

"Of course we would be worried! You should have told us! That way we could've helped."

 

"Olivia, please.. Yelling at our boy won't do anything now... All that should matter right now is that our Andy is back." Is all my dad says, trying to console my mom. After a few seconds, he speaks up again. "So? Did you get any answers?"

 

"Thank you, dad. Yeah, I did. It all started with the time I went missing as a child." It's then I told them everything that I remembered from my repressed memories. How I was kidnapped, and experimented on by the Watchman, and his scientists. The greyish liquid, and how it was the source of my abilities. Project Beacon. How it all happened on Cooper's Landing, and that I was eventually saved by the man in the black and white costume. The story caught them off guard, and got them emotional. Which of course, got me emotional. They stood up, silent, and just pulled me into the group hug. We just stood there in silence, occasionally tearing up. As satisfying as it was to find the answers I've been looking for, it's even better getting to share in this moment with my parents. We finally know the full story of what happened. We can almost close that chapter of my life, and move forward. There's two questions that I still haven't gotten full answers to. Who is Detonator? And who is the Watchman? That's not even including the recent power malfunction either. It's a lot to think about, but I'll leave that for tomorrow. Right now, I need some sleep.

TW: This issue contains depictions of self-harm and drug addiction, as well as mentions of murder. Read with caution.

  

A tophat is thrown haphazardly beneath a bookshelf.

 

It’s been thirty minutes since the death of Alan Dell. The butterflies are gone, but the body is still there.

 

John paces in circles around the room. Zatanna is rolled up into a ball in the corner, rocking back and forth - she scratches the back of her neck, leaving marks so deep she’s close to bleeding.

 

“Jesus fuck… What to do… What to do…” John itches the stubble on his chin. “Whoever did this is a bloody asshole - we can’t call the cops, we’d be put on trial… We can’t send the body to a void, that’d just be discourteous… Shit! Bet the bastard gets off on it, this… Twisted, murderous, manipulative… Hey, you don’t think they’re watching us right now, do you?”

 

John stops pacing, turns to Zatanna - she’s silent, still rocking. He tilts his head, notices her scratching.

 

“Hey!” John rushes to her, kneels, slaps her hand way. “Stop that!”

 

She looks up, teeth clenched, and tears spilling from her ducts. She’s stopped rocking. She swiftly extends her wand toward her sweater, which is draped over a wooden chair. “Gnirb em eht etteragic!” The thin, two-toned cylinder that once sat in her pocket flies into her hand. She brings it to her lips. “Eting-“

 

John smacks the cigarette from her grasp, before clutching her upper-arm with one hand, and extending the index finger of his other - pointing it toward her face. “No.”

 

“You gave it to me,” Zatanna stutters.

 

“I know what I did, I wish I didn’t, and I’m sorry. Just… Take a deep breath, everything’s gonna be okay.” John sits at Zatanna’s left, with a grunt followed by a sigh. “Fuck. Not very good at this, am I?” He lights his own cigarette and blows it to the side opposite Zatanna, as to not let smoke get near her - that isn’t how smoke works, but she finds it thoughtful.

 

“Better than you used to be…” Zatanna wipes her eye, but the tears have not yet finished pouring. “Why do you stop me, but not yourself? From smoking.”

 

“I’m long dead. You’re not.”

 

“Hm,” she snickers. “Edgy.”

 

He snickers too. “Yeah.” he pauses. “Don’t think I ever told you, that I had lung cancer.”

 

Zatanna’s demeanour changes as she turns her head. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine - I did say ‘had’ - swindled the ol Prince of Darkness into curing it for me. But…” John’s smirk shifts straight. “Even after pleading, begging to not die, and getting what I wanted, I haven’t stopped feeling the same - like I’m at the brink of death at every moment… And I haven’t stopped smoking either, obviously. Dangerous habit, hard thing to beat.” The two make eye contact. “Without all the glitz, that’s my raw answer to your question: I don’t want you to go through what I’m never gonna stop going through. Ciggies don’t solve any problems - they’ve given me a fuckton - I’m just too far gone now.”

 

“That’s not true,” says Zatanna, after a pause - she’s still yet to finish crying, but past that, a classic glimmer of hope is back in her eyes. “It’s never too late. You could always go to a rehab, a therapist…” She pauses again. “Even a good friend can help a lot.”

 

“I guess.” John sighs. “Y’know, you really should heal yourself. Neck’s not lookin’ too great. You should say, uh… La… Laeh…” he waves a hand nonchalantly. “Whatever ‘heal myself’ is in backwards, you should say that.”

 

Instant silence, ridden with hope diminishment - like a yellow bird once flying, now shot in the wing.

 

“…It’s not your fault, what happened to Alan - if that is what’s on your mind” John assures.

 

Still silent, as she turns her head away.

 

“We did everything we could’ve done, Zee.”

 

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she mumbles.

 

“Hm?”

 

She turns back, with an exhale. “I said it doesn’t feel like it. Honestly, it feels like we caused this. I mean - we brought him here, tied him up in chains, forced him to answer questions, and then he just… Died! Right in front of us! Seems to me like we killed him - and really, what other explanation is there?”

 

“If it helps, I actually think I’ve got a pretty good theory about what happened. ‘Been piecing it together in the back of my mind - I’m getting pretty good at multitasking.”

 

“You’ve still been doing detective shit this whole time?”

 

“Yeah? I mean, your pain’s valid, ‘course, sorry again - but the longer we wait, more people out there are gonna die. Best we make use of the time we got.”

 

Zatanna pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fair point, I guess - what’s your theory?”

 

“Okay, so,” John quickly stands up, struts to the desk, grabs his briefcase before coming back to the wall and sitting back down. He opens the briefcase, quickly jots down the name ‘Delevingne’ with pen on a sticky note, and puts it beside the other sticky note phrases and police photographs on the case’s beige inside. “I bet Delevingne’s a front for an illegal operation, like, a black market, if you will, for sorcerous weaponry - which, would pro’lly make it the place the late Alan Dell first got his hands on the Enchantress artifact. Can’t say I have too much of a hunch when it comes to who might be running the biz, beyond it being the same wanker as Dell’s mysterious ‘family friend’ - who, is also the one that killed him! That’s the part I’m especially sure of, the timing just makes it obvious. And,” John stands up, walks toward Alan’s body. “I realize now there’s no way someone like that, some mystical lowlife, is watching us outright - bet they just put bugs on their buyers, heard one was was about to snitch, and then…” John hesitates at the notice of Zatanna’s frown. “…Well, you know the rest.” He takes a knee beside the corpse. “Cónrahuud,” a flashlight appears in his hand. He uses it for inspection. “Aha, yep, just as I suspected,” he tugs a circular, golden object from the roof of Alan’s mouth, and holds it up for Zatanna to see.

 

“What is that?”

 

“It’s called a ‘DITO’, or… ‘Dispos…itivo dI Tras...missione Ora’-”

 

“You mean ‘dispositivo di trasmissione orale’. ‘Oral transmission device’.”

 

“Ah, you know Italian?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“…Oh, right, right, yeah.”

 

“So, does this ‘DITO’ sorta act like a wire?” asks Zatanna, before casting a spell to cause a tissue to appear in her hand. She uses it to first wipe her eye, then her nose.

 

“Precisely! Ancient equivalent to a wire, with sorcerous properties and a shit name - I get it, it’s like ‘ditto’, but the acronym’s rubbish, and that’s not even mentioning the sexual connotation-”

 

“There has been a magic microphone in this room all night, listening to us talk about the case, and you’re not freaking out about that?”

 

“Well, you see: a DITO automatically shuts down once their wearer pops their clogs - or ‘kicks the bucket’, as ‘y’all’ say in ‘Murica-”

 

“Alright,” Zatanna puts her hand on her forehead, “thanks for letting me know, but I reaaaally don’t think this is the right time for jokes - especially ones about death.”

 

“Hm. I thought it might cheer you up, but my apologies.”

 

Zatanna stays in that facepalm position for a moment, her only movement being to use the tissue again - but, after a while, her eye opens. She looks to the briefcase on the floor. She picks it up, brings it to her lap, looks at the photographs - her eyes follow from image to image as she tries to think of ways to extend upon John’s theories. “Hmmm. Wait, I have an idea.” She reaches for her wand once again, points it at her bookshelf. “Gnirb em ehT aidepolcycnE fo suorecroS snopaeW dna seciveD, yrtne ytnewt-evif!” An encyclopedia flies to her grasp. She opens it, presses her wand against the first page. “Piks ot noitces D fo eht elbat fo stnetnoc!”

 

“With the miss of just one syllable, that ‘backwards magic’ of yours could completely backfire - yet it never does, least not when you use it. That won’t ever cease to amaze me.”

 

Zatanna smiles at John. “Thanks.” She looks back to the pages, parts some hair behind her ear to keep it from her eyes. “Okay… The Deception Sceptre… The Dial of Divination… Aha, DITO…”

 

“Got any new info?”

 

“‘The energy used to power a DITO is taken from the wearer… thus deactivation occurs once the device is no longer powered… deactivation cannot be reversed’, shit, there goes my idea.”

 

“You were gonna reactivate it and track the transmission’s other end, I’m guessing.”

 

“Mhm...” she continues reading.

 

John turns to an analog clock over the kitchen’s archway - it’s forty-six minutes past midnight, thus the first hour of October 30th. “Hey,” he turns to the opposite side of the room, at Zatanna’s bedroom door. “How’s about you get some rest?”

 

“But you said ‘the longer we wait, more people out there are gonna die’, and ‘best we make use of the time we got’-“

 

“We both said a lotta things, Zee. And we’re still human - humans need sleep. I’ll take the sofa, ‘kay?”

 

“Hm… Okay. Yeah. Might be a good idea.” Zatanna closes the book, puts it beside herself. She then casually points her wand between the grey sweater on the chair, the crimson long-sleeve draped underneath it, and the leopard print pajama pants that lay on the floor. “Hctiws ym sehtolc!” In a poof of rose coloured smoke, Zatanna’s clad once again in said sleepwear. She stands, enters her bedroom. She smiles slightly, past few rebel tears, at the poster above and beside her bed - the advertisement for her 2003 magic show. ‘Those were the days’, she thinks to herself, wishing things could revert to the way they were back then. She then lays down, pulls the duvet over herself. She rests her head on the pillow, one arm bent and beneath it. She closes her eyes, but they open again at the sound of light laughter. She sits up, sees John standing in the doorframe, admiring the same poster she was just looking at.

 

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

 

“Oh, I’m just reminiscing about the good ol’ days - y’know, John and Zee, the magic couple, duking it out with, I dunno, the Demons Three… Whatever happened? When did everything get so… Real?”

 

Zatanna stares blankly. It is now, upon hearing the words from his mouth, she’s hit with a realization: “I grew up, John.”

 

John’s pupils dilate. Then look to the corner. Then his lids half-close. He replies, “…right…”, and closes the door.

 

Zatanna lays back down, but on the other side of the door, John falls to the floorboards. His back is pressed against the wall as he takes another puff of his cigarette, only now beginning to cry.

Peter runs into Eddie Brock... "Hey, Parker. I saw you took pictures of that attack with 'The Shocker', hmm?" Eddie asks, with an angry expression... "Oh... Umm..." Peter stutters, worryingly smiling... Eddie suddenly grabs Peter's shirt... "Listen, kid. If this happens again... We're not friends anymore. Got it?" Eddie asks... "Y-...Yeah..! Sorry..." Peter states... Eddie drops Peter, before going upstairs, Peter going in the opposite direction.

~Scarecrow

Halloween 2 PJL

  

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Scarlet pulled up her glove to complete her costume as Jason stepped into the room using his hand to cover where she stood.

  

“You finished getting ready?” He asked. Smirking, Scarlet answered,

  

“Yes, I am.” Jason dropped his hand to see her costume and nodded while saying,

  

“Well, you look…” He searched for a word to say that wouldn’t directly give away his new affection for her before settling on, “…accurate.”

  

“Accurate?” Scarlet said with a laugh as she adjusted her boots and exited the room with Jason.

  

“Yeah, accurate. I mean, I never saw or read Watchmen but from the posters online…”

  

“You look great.” Scarlet said, cutting off Jason’s stuttering as she examined his Nite Owl costume.

  

“This old thing?” Jason asked, looking up and down his suit, “Found part of it in a trash can. It’s not the best or accurate but, you know.” As they spoke, John and Landon approached in their costumes causing Scarlet to burst into laughter.

  

“I couldn’t find that weird black thong Manhattan wears so this had to do.” John said as Jason raised his eyebrows while mouthing the word ‘bulge’ to Landon. The latter nodded before saying,

  

“I don’t think my voice is raspy enough for Rorschach.” Jason shrugged before asking,

  

“So…should we get this show on the road?” The group nodded as they all exited their hideout and joined a crowd of various boys and girls in different costumes.

  

“What is it with people dressing as supervillains?” Scarlet asked as they passed two children dressed as Sinestro and Captain Cold, “Doesn’t that put their egos into hyperdrive?”

  

“They’re a product as long as they’re out of the spotlight I guess,” Jason answered before stepping towards the first apartment and saying, “Trick or treat.” A man in a skeleton mask handed the group candy before Jason turned to Landon to ask, “How’s it going with the Sionis lead?”

  

“Alright,” Landon said as he made a ‘so-so’ gesture with his hand, “He’s just hired some kids called the Skull twins. Hear they’ll be pulling off a series of major heist in the next few months.”

  

“Any word on his connection with you-know-who?” Realizing Jason was referencing the Joker caused Landon’s heart to skip a beat in remembering exactly what the man meant to him.

  

“None. But Sionis is definitely hiding something. Something he knows about the clown.” Jason smiled,

  

“At least we have that.” All of a sudden, a figure leapt out from behind a row of bushes nearby, yelling,

  

“Boo!” Scarlet screamed, as she was the closest to the figure, prompting Jason to quickly retrieve his pistol and aim it at the new person’s head. It turned out they were just a kid in a costume, who immediately began to cry and run away as Jason lowered his weapon. In the rush of everything that had just happened, he had not noticed that his other hand had ended up wrapped in Scarlet’s, whose body was now pressed to his. Noticing this as well, she moved away slightly, but left her hand in Jason’s as John and Landon both whistled in between bouts of laughter. Jason and Scarlet continued to walk ahead of the group to the next apartment before the latter moved the former’s arm around her shoulder, bringing them close together again as they said,

  

“Happy Halloween Scarlet.”

  

“Happy Halloween Jason.”

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sorry that took much longer than I had anticipated (as I wrapped the first part of the special yesterday my friends showed up at my house and we ended up out and about until about midnight so it took until now to upload the last two parts). That being said, this will be the last Red Hood released for a little while (at least until Chris' Batman and my Robin catch up) because all of our stories need to be at the same time as this new arc starts for fear of spoilers. In the meantime, the last issue in the first volume of my Robin reboot will end tomorrow most likely and the second issue (which will lead directly into the end of the year event) will begin some time this week. I hope you enjoyed this and had a Happy and spoopy Halloween, but either way thanks for reading!

Overhead shot showing the printed floor tiles from Citizen Brick.

 

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

For More Photos, please visit my site...

 

www.rafiamar.com/reptiles-insects

I hadn't lowered the resolution before recording the video for this, so the low framerate and stuttering caused some issues.

"The moth stutters,

stares, voracious,

knots staying,

cloud, cloud.

Silhouette

of the cold,

bat,

tides,

relamps

pride,

cricket, cricket.

Night

lightnings,

fireworks

in a jar,

floods

its river

with an iris."

 

© 1999, George Mario Angel Quintero

From: Tentenelaire

Publisher: Editorial Párpado, Medellín, 2006

  

© Translation: 1999, George Mario Angel Quintero

   

- Thank you everyone for comments and 2880 views :D

   

Stuttering - The Friday Night Boys ♫

Great Horned Owls are nocturnal. You may see them at dusk sitting on fence posts or tree limbs at the edges of open areas, or flying across roads or fields with stiff, deep beats of their rounded wings. Their call is a deep, stuttering series of four to five hoots.

journey through my unconscious, semi-conscious and consciousness

hidden world of underneath with a deep wave of unique despair

 

Tuyll van Serooskerkenweg 17/07/2021 17h27

Bartje from Drenthe in Amsterdam South next to the Stadionweg in the street with the most impossible name: Van Tuyll van Serooskerkenweg. Written stuttering advanced!

Bartje Bartels is the main character in a series of Dutch books written by Anne de Vries from 1935 on.

In 1972 Willy van Hemert adapted the stories as a drama series for television. The series aired on the NCRV in seven episodes, beginning on December 26, 1972.

 

BARTJE [2019]

original by Suze Boschma-Berkhout (1922-1997)

 

ArtZuid

ARTZUID is an international large-scale sculpture exhibition which takes place every two years in Amsterdam.

ARTZUID was established in 2008.The initiative came from United Art Consult led by Cintha van Heeswijck. From 2009 on, the exhibition takes place every odd year in the monumental Art-Deco district in Amsterdam, designed in 1917 by Hendrik P. Berlage. ARTZUID sculpture route starts at the Museum Square in front of the Rijksmuseum and stretches for 2,5 kilometers south along the Minervalaan, the Apollolaan and Churchilllaan and finally up to the Station Zuid.

Over a period of 4 months, 60 sculptures of established and emerging artists form an eye-catching spectacle. The biennale is attended by the average number of visitors of 375,000.

ArtZuid 2021 is from 1 July to 17 October, under the direction of curator Ralph Keuning. [ Wikipedia ]

 

* GMC CCKW Maintenance/Recovery Truck

* GMC CCKW Dump Truck with M2A1 105mm Howitzer (latter reverse-engineered from Brickmania)

 

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

In case of technical problems (movies on flickr tend to stutter), just find a better copy at youtube.com - I'm dmaclego there as well.

 

About the mechanized Panther: it works but I would say the Tiger was a little better, for several reasons. First of all, front wheels drive may be a good idea in a real tank but not here. Secondly, front wheels in my Panther tend to slide, since they work outside of the tracks' grooves. The turret is another story - I had to restore the extra layer of plates, a sort of turntable, to reduce friction. The barrel, filled with metal axles, is quite heavy and only one stud connects the turret to the micromotor, so obviously it's not the toughest connection....

 

But still - as you can see, it works :) .

 

Edit: I have no idea why, but the movie was clipped by flickr. Youtube version is slightly longer.

 

Soundtrack // Bande-son: GREAT LAKE SWIMMERS ("Uncertian Country"): www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajm4eYcv5oU&t=5s

"Static in the frame, and with a stutter... Not in flight, on the road, on foot... Can’t reach it... UNCERTAIN COUNTRY... Uncertain country..;"

 

Sur la route menant de Timbaki à Agia Galini, sur le littoral sud du district régional de Réthymnon (Crète).

Mixophyes balbus. Dorrigo National Park, Dorrigo, NSW.

If the video stutters, click to pause, wait a few seconds and click again to resume playback.

I don't like peaches because they are fuzzy. Yarn falls into that same category... yuck.

Festination is the rapid stuttering walk that people with Parkinson's, like the prof, sometimes adopt, especially when stopping or turning corners. These new Birkenstocks make it harder to festinate and they discourage corns too. It's a pity they're more expensive since we left the EU.

 

uploaded with Uploader for Flickr for Android

American postcard by Zoetrope Images Ltd., Boston, no 432. Photo: Boris Karloff in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931).

 

British actor Boris Karloff (1887-1969) is one of the true icons of the Horror cinema. He portrayed Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and Son of Frankenstein (1939), which resulted in his immense popularity. In the following decades, he worked in countless Horror films, but also in other genres, both in Europe and Hollywood.

 

Boris Karloff was born William Henry Pratt in 1887 in London, England. Pratt himself stated that he was born in Dulwich, which is nearby in London. His parents were Edward John Pratt, Jr. and his third wife Eliza Sarah Millard. ‘Billy’ never knew his father. Edward Pratt had worked for the Indian Salt Revenue Service and had virtually abandoned his family in far-off England. Edward died when his son was still an infant and so Billy was raised by his mother. He was the youngest of nine children, and following his mother's death was brought up by his elder brothers and sisters. As a child, Billy performed each Christmas in plays staged by St. Mary Magdalene's Church. His first role was that of The Demon King in the pantomime Cinderella. Billy was bow-legged, had a lisp, and stuttered. He conquered his stutter, but not his lisp, which was noticeable throughout his career in the film industry. After his education at private schools, he attended King's College London where he took studies aimed at a career with the British Government's Consular Service. However, in 1909, the 22-year-old left university without graduating and sailed from Liverpool to Canada, where he worked as a farm labourer and did various odd itinerant jobs. In Canada, he began appearing in theatrical performances and chose the stage name Boris Karloff. Later, he claimed he chose ‘Boris’ because it sounded foreign and exotic, and that ‘Karloff’ was a family name. However, his daughter Sara Karloff publicly denied any knowledge of Slavic forebears, Karloff or otherwise. One reason for the name change was to prevent embarrassment to his family. He did not reunite with his family until he returned to Britain to make The Ghoul (T. Hayes Hunter, 1933), opposite Cedric Hardwicke. Karloff was distraught that his family would disapprove of his new, macabre claim to world fame. Instead, his brothers jostled for position around him and happily posed for publicity photographs. In 1911, Karloff joined the Jeanne Russell Company and later joined the Harry St. Clair Co. which performed in Minot, North Dakota, for a year in an opera house above a hardware store. While trying to establish his acting career, Karloff had to perform years of difficult manual labour in Canada and the U.S. to make ends meet. He was left with back problems from which he suffered for the rest of his life. In 1917, he arrived in Hollywood, where he went on to make dozens of silent films. Some of his first roles were in film serials, such as The Masked Rider (Aubrey M. Kennedy, 1919), in Chapter 2 of which he can be glimpsed onscreen for the first time, and The Hope Diamond Mystery (Stuart Paton, 1920). In these early roles, he was often cast as an exotic Arabian or Indian villain. Other silent films were The Deadlier Sex (Robert Thornby, 1920) with Blanche Sweet, Omar the Tentmaker (James Young, 1922), Dynamite Dan (Bruce Mitchell, 1924) and Tarzan and the Golden Lion (J.P. McGowan, 1927) in which James Pierce played Tarzan. In 1926 Karloff found a provocative role in The Bells (James Young, 1926), in which he played a sinister hypnotist opposite Lionel Barrymore. He worked with Barrymore again in his first sound film, the thriller The Unholy Night (Lionel Barrymore, 1929).

 

A key film which brought Boris Karloff recognition was The Criminal Code (Howard Hawks, 1931), a prison drama in which he reprised a dramatic part he had played on stage. With his characteristic short-cropped hair and menacing features, Karloff was a frightening sight to behold. Opposite Edward G. Robinson, Karloff played a key supporting part as an unethical newspaper reporter in Five Star Final (Mervyn LeRoy, 1931), a film about tabloid journalism which was nominated for the Oscar for Best Picture. Karloff's role as Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931), based on the classic Mary Shelley book, propelled him to stardom. Wikipedia: “The bulky costume with four-inch platform boots made it an arduous role but the costume and extensive makeup produced the classic image. The costume was a job in itself for Karloff with the shoes weighing 11 pounds (5 kg) each.” The aura of mystery surrounding Karloff was highlighted in the opening credits, as he was listed as simply "?." The film was a commercial and critical success for Universal, and Karloff was instantly established as a hot property in Hollywood. Universal Studios was quick to acquire ownership of the copyright to the makeup format for the Frankenstein monster that Jack P. Pierce had designed. A year later, Karloff played another iconic character, Imhotep in The Mummy (Karl Freund, 1932). The Old Dark House (James Whale, 1932) with Charles Laughton, and the starring role in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932) quickly followed. Steve Vertlieb at The Thunder Child: “Wonderfully kinky, the film co-starred young Myrna Loy as the intoxicating, yet sadistic Fah Lo See, Fu Manchu's sexually perverse daughter. Filmed before Hollywood's infamous production code, the film joyously escaped the later scrutiny of The Hayes Office, and remains a fascinating example of pre-code extravagance.” These films all confirmed Karloff's new-found stardom. Horror had become his primary genre, and he gave a string of lauded performances in 1930s Universal Horror films. Karloff reprised the role of Frankenstein's monster in two other films, the sensational Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935) and the less thrilling Son of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939), the latter also featuring Bela Lugosi. Steve Vertlieb about Bride of Frankenstein: “Whale delivered perhaps the greatest horror film of the decade and easily the most critically acclaimed rendition of Mary Shelley's novel ever released. The Bride of Frankenstein remains a work of sheer genius, a brilliantly conceived and realized take on loneliness, vanity, and madness. The cast of British character actors is simply superb.” While the long, creative partnership between Karloff and Lugosi never led to a close friendship, it produced some of the actors' most revered and enduring productions, beginning with The Black Cat (Edgar G. Ullmer, 1934). Follow-ups included The Raven (Lew Landers, 1935), the rarely seen, imaginative science fiction melodrama The Invisible Ray (Lambert Hillyer, 1936), and The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945). Karloff played a wide variety of roles in other genres besides Horror. He was memorably gunned down in a bowling alley in Howard Hawks' classic Scarface (1932) starring Paul Muni. He played a religious First World War soldier in John Ford’s epic The Lost Patrol (1934) opposite Victor McLaglen. Between 1938 and 1940, Karloff starred in five films for Monogram Pictures, including Mr. Wong, Detective (William Nigh, 1938). During this period, he also starred with Basil Rathbone in Tower of London (Rowland V. Lee, 1939) as the murderous henchman of King Richard III, and with Margaret Lindsay in British Intelligence (Terry O. Morse, 1940). In 1944, he underwent a spinal operation to relieve his chronic arthritic condition.

 

Boris Karloff revisited the Frankenstein mythos in several later films, taking the starring role of the villainous Dr. Niemann in House of Frankenstein (Erle C. Kenton, 1944), in which the monster was played by Glenn Strange. He reprised the role of the ‘mad scientist’ in Frankenstein 1970 (Howard W. Koch, 1958) as Baron Victor von Frankenstein II, the grandson of the original creator. The finale reveals that the crippled Baron has given his face (i.e., Karloff's) to the monster. From 1945 to 1946, Boris Karloff appeared in three films for RKO produced by Val Lewton: Isle of the Dead (Mark Robson, 1945), The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945), and Bedlam (Mark Robson, 1946). Karloff had left Universal because he thought the Frankenstein franchise had run its course. Karloff was a frequent guest on radio programs. In 1949, he was the host and star of the radio and television anthology series Starring Boris Karloff. In 1950, he had his own weekly children's radio show in New York. He played children's music, told stories and riddles, and attracted many adult listeners as well. An enthusiastic performer, he returned to the Broadway stage in the original production of Arsenic and Old Lace (1941), in which he played a homicidal gangster enraged to be frequently mistaken for Karloff. In 1962, he reprised the role on television with Tony Randall and Tom Bosley. He also appeared as Captain Hook in the play Peter Pan with Jean Arthur. In 1955, he returned to the Broadway stage to portray the sympathetic Bishop Cauchon in Jean Anouilh's The Lark. Karloff regarded the production as the highlight of his long career. Julie Harris was his co-star as Joan of Arc in the celebrated play, recreated for live television in 1957 with Karloff, Harris and much of the original New York company intact. For his role, Karloff was nominated for a Tony Award. Karloff donned the monster make-up for the last time for a Halloween episode of the TV series Route 66 (1962), which also featured Peter Lorre and Lon Chaney, Jr. In the 1960s, Karloff appeared in several films for American International Pictures, including The Comedy of Terrors (Jacques Tourneur, 1963) with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre, The Raven (Roger Corman, 1963), The Terror (Roger Corman, 1963) with Jack Nicholson, and Die, Monster, Die! (Daniel Haller, 1965). Another project for American International release was the frightening Italian horror classic, I tre volti della paura/Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963), in which Karloff played a vampire with bone-chilling intensity. He also starred in British cult director Michael Reeves's second feature film, The Sorcerers (1966). He gained new popularity among the young generation when he narrated the animated TV film Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Chuck Jones, Ben Washam. 1966), and provided the voice of the Grinch. Karloff later received a Grammy Award for Best Recording For Children after the story was released as a record. Then he starred as a retired horror film actor in Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968), Steve Vertlieb: “Targets was a profoundly disturbing study of a young sniper holding a small Midwestern community, deep in the bible belt, terrifyingly at bay. The celebrated subplot concerned the philosophical dilemma of creating fanciful horrors on the screen, while the graphic, troubling reality was eclipsing the superficiality so tiredly repeated by Hollywood. Karloff co-starred, essentially as himself, an aged horror star named Byron Orlok, who wants simply to retire from the imagined horrors of a faded genre, only to come shockingly to grips with the depravity and genuine terror found on America's streets. Bogdanovich's first film as a director won praise from critics and audiences throughout the world community, and won its elder star the best, most respectful notices of his later career.”. In 1968, he played occult expert Professor Marsh in the British production Curse of the Crimson Altar (Vernon Sewell, 1968), which was the last Karloff film to be released during his lifetime. He ended his career by appearing in four low-budget Mexican horror films, which were released posthumously. While shooting his final films, Karloff suffered from emphysema. Only half of one lung was still functioning and he required oxygen between takes. he contracted bronchitis in 1968 and was hospitalized. In early 1969, he died of pneumonia at the King Edward VII Hospital, Midhurst, in Sussex, at the age of 81. Boris Karloff married five times and had one child, daughter Sara Karloff, by his fourth wife.

 

Sources: Steve Vertlieb (The Thunder Child), Wikipedia, and IMDb.

Girl kept padlocked in leg braces as part of a psychology experiment - by Angela Fox, inspired by a tale written by Garth Toyntanen (INSTITUTIONALISED volume 3) toyntanen.blogspot.co.uk/ note the padlocks used to secure the leg braces and the card marked "stutterer" hanging around the girl's neck.

 

Here psychological pressure is going to be applied in an attempt to deliberately induce stammering as part of a residential experimental psychology study the poor thing has been fooled into volunteering for. In the background can be seen a spiral device used for hypnotherapy by the psychologist in charge.

 

More of Angela Fox's artwork can be found on Garth Toyntanen's website beyondthebarredwindow.weebly.com/ and her books on LULU, for example www.lulu.com/shop/angela-fox/the-wardress/ebook/product-2...

 

A junction of copings provide the basis for a multiple exposure.

 

Hand-held nine frame ICM multiple exposure. Frames exposed in a short sharp upward sweep, following the line in the left of the frame. Big amends in Lightroom.

 

ChunkaChunkaChunka at Pelcomb Portraits.

Family Gathering - #AlleyBoys - Teddy, Diamond, Victor, Radical, Stutters, and Bruce #GritStreet #Chicago

From the initial sneaky 'sly' twitch (that stutter) on, the crowd were mesmerised.

 

Jarry needed to scoot over.

Vintage playing card.

 

British actor Boris Karloff (1887-1969) is one of the true icons of the Horror cinema. He portrayed Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935), and Son of Frankenstein (1939), which resulted in his immense popularity. In the following decades he worked in countless Horror films, but also in other genres, both in Europe and Hollywood.

 

Boris Karloff was born as William Henry Pratt in 1887 in London, England. Pratt himself stated that he was born in Dulwich, which is nearby in London. His parents were Edward John Pratt, Jr. and his third wife Eliza Sarah Millard. ‘Billy’never knew his father. Edward Pratt had worked for the Indian Salt Revenue Service, and had virtually abandoned his family in far off England. Edward died when his son was still an infant and so Billy was raised by his mother. He was the youngest of nine children, and following his mother's death was brought up by his elder brothers and sisters. As a child, Billy performed each Christmas in plays staged by St. Mary Magdalene's Church. His first role was that of The Demon King in the pantomime Cinderella. Billy was bow-legged, had a lisp, and stuttered. He conquered his stutter, but not his lisp, which was noticeable throughout his career in the film industry. After his education at private schools, he attended King's College London where he took studies aimed at a career with the British Government's Consular Service. However, in 1909, the 22-years-old left university without graduating and sailed from Liverpool to Canada, where he worked as a farm labourer and did various odd itinerant jobs. In Canada, he began appearing in theatrical performances, and chose the stage name Boris Karloff. Later, he claimed he chose ‘Boris’ because it sounded foreign and exotic, and that ‘Karloff’ was a family name. However, his daughter Sara Karloff publicly denied any knowledge of Slavic forebears, Karloff or otherwise. One reason for the name change was to prevent embarrassment to his family. He did not reunite with his family until he returned to Britain to make The Ghoul (T. Hayes Hunter, 1933), opposite Cedric Hardwicke. Karloff was extremely worried that his family would disapprove of his new, macabre claim to world fame. Instead, his brothers jostled for position around him and happily posed for publicity photographs. In 1911, Karloff joined the Jeanne Russell Company and later joined the Harry St. Clair Co. that performed in Minot, North Dakota, for a year in an opera house above a hardware store. Whilst he was trying to establish his acting career, Karloff had to perform years of difficult manual labour in Canada and the U.S. in order to make ends meet. He was left with back problems from which he suffered for the rest of his life. In 1917, he arrived in Hollywood, where he went on to make dozens of silent films. Some of his first roles were in film serials, such as The Masked Rider (Aubrey M. Kennedy, 1919), in Chapter 2 of which he can be glimpsed onscreen for the first time, and The Hope Diamond Mystery (Stuart Paton, 1920). In these early roles, he was often cast as an exotic Arabian or Indian villain. Other silent films were The Deadlier Sex (Robert Thornby, 1920) with Blanche Sweet, Omar the Tentmaker (James Young, 1922), Dynamite Dan (Bruce Mitchell, 1924) and Tarzan and the Golden Lion (J.P. McGowan, 1927) in which James Pierce played Tarzan. In 1926 Karloff found a provocative role in The Bells (James Young, 1926), in which he played a sinister hypnotist opposite Lionel Barrymore. He worked with Barrymore again in his first sound film, the thriller The Unholy Night (Lionel Barrymore, 1929).

 

A key film which brought Boris Karloff recognition was The Criminal Code (Howard Hawks, 1931), a prison drama in which he reprised a dramatic part he had played on stage. With his characteristic short-cropped hair and menacing features, Karloff was a frightening sight to behold. Opposite Edward G. Robinson, Karloff played a key supporting part as an unethical newspaper reporter in Five Star Final (Mervyn LeRoy, 1931), a film about tabloid journalism which was nominated for the Oscar for Best Picture. Karloff's role as Frankenstein's monster in Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931), based on the classic Mary Shelley book, propelled him to stardom. Wikipedia: “The bulky costume with four-inch platform boots made it an arduous role but the costume and extensive makeup produced the classic image. The costume was a job in itself for Karloff with the shoes weighing 11 pounds (5 kg) each.” The aura of mystery surrounding Karloff was highlighted in the opening credits, as he was listed as simply "?." The film was a commercial and critical success for Universal, and Karloff was instantly established as a hot property in Hollywood. Universal Studios was quick to acquire ownership of the copyright to the makeup format for the Frankenstein monster that Jack P. Pierce had designed. A year later, Karloff played another iconic character, Imhotep in The Mummy (Karl Freund, 1932). The Old Dark House (James Whale, 1932) with Charles Laughton, and the starring role in MGM’s The Mask of Fu Manchu (Charles Brabin, 1932) quickly followed. Steve Vertlieb at The Thunder Child: “Wonderfully kinky, the film co-starred young Myrna Loy as the intoxicating, yet sadistic Fah Lo See, Fu Manchu's sexually perverse daughter. Filmed prior to Hollywood's infamous production code, the film joyously escaped the later scrutiny of The Hayes Office, and remains a fascinating example of pre-code extravagance.” These films all confirmed Karloff's new-found stardom. Horror had become his primary genre, and he gave a string of lauded performances in 1930s Universal Horror films. Karloff reprised the role of Frankenstein's monster in two other films, the sensational Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935) and the less thrilling Son of Frankenstein (Rowland V. Lee, 1939), the latter also featuring Bela Lugosi. Steve Vertlieb about Bride oif Frankenstein: “Whale delivered perhaps the greatest horror film of the decade and easily the most critically acclaimed rendition of Mary Shelley's novel ever released. The Bride of Frankenstein remains a work of sheer genius, a brilliantly conceived and realized take on loneliness, vanity, and madness. The cast of British character actors is simply superb.” While the long, creative partnership between Karloff and Lugosi never led to a close friendship, it produced some of the actors' most revered and enduring productions, beginning with The Black Cat (Edgar G. Ullmer, 1934). Follow-ups included The Raven (Lew Landers, 1935), the rarely seen, imaginative science fiction melodrama The Invisible Ray (Lambert Hillyer, 1936), and The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945). Karloff played a wide variety of roles in other genres besides Horror. He was memorably gunned down in a bowling alley in Howard Hawks' classic Scarface (1932) starring Paul Muni.. He played a religious First World War soldier in John Ford’s epic The Lost Patrol (1934) opposite Victor McLaglen. Between 1938 and 1940, Karloff starred in five films for Monogram Pictures, including Mr. Wong, Detective (William Nigh, 1938). During this period, he also starred with Basil Rathbone in Tower of London (Rowland V. Lee, 1939) as the murderous henchman of King Richard III, and with Margaret Lindsay in British Intelligence (Terry O. Morse, 1940). In 1944, he underwent a spinal operation to relieve his chronic arthritic condition.

 

Boris Karloff revisited the Frankenstein mythos in several later films, taking the starring role of the villainous Dr. Niemann in House of Frankenstein (Erle C. Kenton, 1944), in which the monster was played by Glenn Strange. He reprised the role of the ‘mad scientist’ in Frankenstein 1970 (Howard W. Koch, 1958) as Baron Victor von Frankenstein II, the grandson of the original creator. The finale reveals that the crippled Baron has given his own face (i.e., Karloff's) to the monster. From 1945 to 1946, Boris Karloff appeared in three films for RKO produced by Val Lewton: Isle of the Dead (Mark Robson, 1945), The Body Snatcher (Robert Wise, 1945), and Bedlam (Mark Robson, 1946). Karloff had left Universal because he thought the Frankenstein franchise had run its course. Karloff was a frequent guest on radio programs. In 1949, he was the host and star of the radio and television anthology series Starring Boris Karloff. In 1950, he had his own weekly children's radio show in New York. He played children's music and told stories and riddles, and attracted many adult listeners as well. An enthusiastic performer, he returned to the Broadway stage in the original production of Arsenic and Old Lace (1941), in which he played a homicidal gangster enraged to be frequently mistaken for Karloff. In 1962, he reprised the role on television with Tony Randall and Tom Bosley. He also appeared as Captain Hook in the play Peter Pan with Jean Arthur. In 1955, he returned to the Broadway stage to portray the sympathetic Bishop Cauchon in Jean Anouilh's The Lark. Karloff regarded the production as the highlight of his long career. Julie Harris was his co-star as Joan of Arc in the celebrated play, recreated for live television in 1957 with Karloff, Harris and much of the original New York company intact. For his role, Karloff was nominated for a Tony Award. Karloff donned the monster make-up for the last time for a Halloween episode of the TV series Route 66 (1962), which also featured Peter Lorre and Lon Chaney, Jr. In the 1960s, Karloff appeared in several films for American International Pictures, including The Comedy of Terrors (Jacques Tourneur, 1963) with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre, The Raven (Roger Corman, 1963), The Terror (Roger Corman, 1963) with Jack Nicholson, and Die, Monster, Die! (Daniel Haller, 1965). Another project for American International release was the frightening Italian horror classic, I tre volti della paura/Black Sabbath (Mario Bava, 1963), in which Karloff played a vampire with bone chilling intensity. He also starred in British cult director Michael Reeves's second feature film, The Sorcerers (1966). He gained new popularity among a young generation when he narrated the animated TV film Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Chuck Jones, Ben Washam. 1966), and provided the voice of the Grinch. Karloff later received a Grammy Award for Best Recording For Children after the story was released as a record. Then he starred as a retired horror film actor in Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968), Steve Vertlieb: “Targets was a profoundly disturbing study of a young sniper holding a small Midwestern community, deep in the bible belt, terrifyingly at bay. The celebrated subplot concerned the philosophical dilemma of creating fanciful horrors on the screen, while graphic, troubling reality was eclipsing the superficiality so tiredly repeated by Hollywood. Karloff co-starred, essentially as himself, an aged horror star named Byron Orlok, who wants simply to retire from the imagined horrors of a faded genre, only to come shockingly to grips with the depravity and genuine terror found on America's streets. Bogdanovich's first film as a director won praise from critics and audiences throughout the world community, and won its elder star the best, most respectful notices of his later career.”. In 1968, he played occult expert Professor Marsh in the British production Curse of the Crimson Altar (Vernon Sewell, 1968), which was the last Karloff film to be released during his lifetime. He ended his career by appearing in four low-budget Mexican horror films, which were released posthumously. While shooting his final films, Karloff suffered from emphysema. Only half of one lung was still functioning and he required oxygen between takes. he contracted bronchitis in 1968 and was hospitalized. Early 1969, he died of pneumonia at the King Edward VII Hospital, Midhurst, in Sussex, at the age of 81. Boris Karloff married five times and had one child, daughter Sara Karloff, by his fourth wife.

 

Sources: Steve Vertlieb (The Thunder Child), Wikipedia, and IMDb.

Ya, I’m like a supahero when it comes to lovin’

Ya, I pack a punch back it up Batman and Robin

U stutter ‘n stutter,

‘N stu, stu, stu, stutterin’

I can’t the sound comin’ outta ur mumblin’

 

Gunnin’, we’ve just begannin’

We’re young and I’ll tell ya somethin’

Imma bad bitch chick outta Marvel flick

Watch me as I as I ninja back side flip it

"Forgive me if I st-stutter from all of the clutter in my head. Cause I could fall asleep in those eyes, like a water bed."

 

- Self

The Advanced Stacker PLUS can be used for much more than Star Trails. This is a Matt Molloy inspired stack of exposures during sunset stacked using Long Streaks mode. If you want to get a copy of the Photoshop plugin see advancedstackerplus.com

 

Look carefully and you'll see how I suffered from not having my intervalometer handy.

 

This is about 100 shots taken at 10 second intervals. All were f/11 ISO 160, 1/160th of a second.

This is part of my "Ancient Cult" series.

 

On a moonless night, in a black and nameless dungeon, a solitary candle holds back the reeking abyss by the pallor of its stuttering flame, and the Cult summons its old gods once more into this world.

 

Gear used: Olympus E-600 mounted with an M Zuiko ED 14-42mm lens, Olympus OM-D E-M5 mounted with an M Zuiko 45mm/f1.8 lens, and all editing, assembly, and post-production work carried out in GIMP.

Today, one flew by. I wrote this poem. Just read this article:

www.audubon.org/magazine/may-june-2013/roseate-spoonbills...

And discovered my dock, always above water for 30 years, under a foot of water. I fear what is coming. Seems like we have gone beyond a tipping point.

 

Dear Lone Roseate Spoonbill

 

While I rested on my porch, you flew by

Very low, in the Key Largo sky.

I read that your babies, while born alive

With the waters so high, can not survive.

I discover that my dock is now a foot under water.

Paddle in hand, my thoughts start to stutter.

Oh spoonbill, we find our fates tied together

You were almost lost once, for only a feather.

Now, here we stand, at the edge of the world,

And we find, that the gentle bay waters are hurled

Here and there, filling in what once was land

Changing the map, now crumpled in my hand.

We humans have thoroughly created a mess.

I am so sorry. More, and more, is never less.

  

Taken 12/6/14, uploaded, 11/23/15, ar72 crp3 CETC Dfn untitled-6714-Edit-Edit-Edit-Edit.tif

Let's hope this one doesn't get cut as some other movs I uploaded in the past. And doesn't stutter.

But if it does, here's YouTube link to the same video file: www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6PXHiAAHjY

  

Read the write-up on The Brothers Brick.

A stunning adult male Stuttering frog photographed on the Mid-north coast, NSW.

mp3.zing.vn/mp3/nghe-bai-hat/Stuttering-Fefe-Dobson.IW6FU...

Final Fantasy XV Windows Edition

NVIDIA Ansel

 

Pushing the boundaries running this game with only 4GB in ram. Stutters just a lil bit, but still epic graphics

Made for SWFactions on Eurobricks.

www.eurobricks.com/forum/index.php?/forums/topic/180827-j...

 

Captured by pirates! While searching for the natives of Imynusoph, our trio are beset upon by the cavalier Colonel Corbett's callous rogues! The murderous pirates and their flamboyant leader drag our heroes to their camp, where intrigue abounds!

  

Clod blinked against the harsh light streaming in from above. His hands were shackled. It wasn’t the worst situation he’d been in, he thought. Then, to his surprise, his next thoughts were about his two companions. He hoped they were alright. It would be a million years before he’d admit it.

The sergeant called “Slyfoot” stood in the darkness a few feet away. He could feel the man watching him, disturbingly calm. Precise.

“Look at you,” he sneered. “A treasure hunter. Ha! I believed Klatoonians to be nothing but pirates and scum.”

It was a struggle to form words, but Clod couldn’t give up the opportunity for a zinger. “Look how the…tables have turned.”

He almost immediately regretted it. The droid administered a searing shock to his ribs that sent his limbs convulsing. His skin burned. He shouted, and for a moment, he panicked.

“Such wit. No more of that, I think,” he heard Slyfoot say. “You should put your words to better use, like securing a release for you and your companions. All you must do is tell me what it was you were searching for.”

“Fat chance—Augh!” Another shock. More horrible pain.

Slyfoot stepped into the light. He slowly shook his head.

“’Fat chance’, you say? On the contrary, Mr. Clod,” he said, and a smile crept onto his face. “I quite like my odds.”

      

“Tea or Caf, Professor?” offered Colonel Corbett, busying himself with a gleaming pot and an ion heater.

“O-Oh, tea, I suppose.”

The Colonel looked up at him, a pleasant expression on his face. “I see you appreciate my décor!”

Floon had been staring at some of the trophies scattered about; horns, hides, huge eggs, droid parts, scraps of clothing. Some from beasts, others from treasure hunters who’d come before.

“Why…yes! It’s very…eclectic. Er, thank you again for having me, Colonel.”

“Of course, of course! I must say, I’ve positively chuffed about you being here. An academy man! On Imynusoph! Chandrila, you say?”

“Er, yes. I had, er, tenure at the Chandrila Academy.”

“Ha! Chandrila! A professor from Chandrila makes my acquaintance here, of all places. Who would have thought it would happen? Certainly not me! I admit it! Please, make yourself comfortable, my questions are bound to be numerous.”

The Neimodian professor looked nervously around the tent. One of the pirates loitered at the door. Floon felt that he should do some great act of bravery, try to free Mr. Clod and Ms. Rigo, but he didn’t know where he would even start.

“Professor?”

The question shook Floon from his thoughts. “Oh, y-yes?”

Colonel Corbett smiled. “You don’t look very comfortable. Come, you’re in good company. I am a man of learning and intelligence myself.”

“Why, o-of course!” said Floon. Unable to muster a relaxed smile, he summoned a polite grimace.

The Colonel frowned. “Professor, I brought you here that we might engage in riveting conversation! Without conversation, I have no reason to bring you here rather than lock you up in our brig. Do you understand?”

Floon did, but he was not very good at staying calm when faced with threats. He knew all too well what the murderous pirates might do if the Colonel permitted. With a great amount of sweating and stuttering, he apologized. “I’m…m-most…s-sorry, Colonel. Most s-sorry. Let us…er…converse, s-shall we?”

“Very good, very good!” said the Colonel, settling in and looking at the professor expectantly. “Well then, let us get down to, as they say, brass tacks. I want to hear everything you know about the giant birds of Imynusoph! I expect I’ll be quite fascinated!”

“Er, yes…” mumbled Floon. “Quite.”

       

“Let go of me, you idiots!” Kitsa did her best to break her restraints through sheer will, but no dice. She settled for whacking one of her captors instead, sending him reeling with a broken nose. She couldn’t believe how lucky her aim was. And finally, something for her story!

“Let the Stud take care of her! I don’t want to get kicked again,” whined one of the pirates. The others parted, allowing the largest one, the one with the bandolier and the AT-AT driver helmet, to step towards her. He was enormous, at least 6’8”, and not what you’d call ‘lanky’. There was no chance she’d make a dent against this guy. He settled one giant hand on her shoulder, and he steered her away.

She muttered threats as they walked through the Imperial camp, shooting glances around to take in everything she was seeing. They had left the treeline onto an open savannah. The camp had clearly been an Imperial outpost, but now was all ramshackle and bolted together to keep out the wildlife. There was a junkyard of impounded vehicles that caught her attention. Most of them were scrap, but one airspeeder, red-and-white, looked intact. She took note of this for later.

She eyed the pirate. He was a muscular guy, that was for sure. Where was he taking her? A pit of gundarks, or an interrogation chamber?

Neither, it turned out. She was escorted to a quiet corner of the pirate camp, a breeze-blown tent with foliage breaking in overhead and enshrouding the space.

“You can stay here,” said the big pirate.

She scoffed. “What are you, good cop? And what’s this place, the torture waiting room?”

“It’s, well,” the pirate hesitated. “No, it’s just a tent. I had a wife when we came here. This used to be hers. Thought you’d like it more than a cage, but if I’m wrong…”

That was unexpected. She turned and sized him up suspiciously, but there wasn’t much to observe in the blank stare of the helmet’s facemask. “A wife, huh? What happened to her? Your pirate buddies shoot her?”

“You think they’d get past me? Nah, not in a million years,” he chuckled, but his tone turned somber. “No, one day she went out to get clean water, our purifier was broken, and one of the jungle beasts came out of the trees. She couldn’t get away fast enough. Her blaster misfired. That’s all it took.”

In a rare moment, Kitsa didn’t know what to say.

The pirate took a deep breath, then said, “So if you were thinking of running, I wouldn’t.”

“Sure,” she nodded, collecting herself. “Sorry about your wife. Thanks for the tent.”

“No problem,” said the pirate. He then stood there awkwardly for a moment, before asking, “So, uh, you, uh, some kind of reporter?”

Kitsa lit up. “I sure am, Galactic Gazette.”

The man swayed on his feet, coughing uncomfortably. “What’s, uh, what’s going on out there? In the galaxy? Rebels gone, yet? We heard we had another Death Star.”

Kitsa stared at the emotionless facemask for a moment. Of course, it made sense. When was the last time they would’ve heard any news?

Her story was really heating up.

She smiled and deflected the question. “What’s your name?”

“Deksen. They call me ‘the Stud’. What’s your name, uh, miss?”

“Kitsa Rigo,” she answered smartly. “What do you say about sitting for an interview with me, Deksen? In return, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

The pirate said nothing for a moment. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. “I guess that’d be alright. We don’t exactly get much press on Imynusoph. I suppose you can tell the galaxy about our bravery.”

Kitsa sat on the medical bed, her pen poised. “So, Deksen, what’s it been like for you, out here?”

The pirate set his gun to the side and took a deep breath.

“Well…” he began.

     

Another shock, another burn, another stab. Harnaby Clod struggled in the interrogation gurney, his mouth full of spit. He couldn’t take much more of this. He felt like his mind was slipping through his fingers, jolted free by every prod from the droid. Karfing droid. He’d smash that droid to bits if he ever got out of this.

Another stab of a needle. His vision swam. He’d get out of this, right? Could he?

“Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you know,” Slyfoot said, walking around him. “I’d love to see you dead, believe me. Who will remember you if you’re gone? Some dog-faced lunatic on the edge of the galaxy, no one important. No accomplishments, no fealty, nothing of note. Another dead alien.”

“You…don’t…know…mersh.”

“Hm, perhaps. But tell me…am I wrong, Mr. Clod?”

The dark room blinked in and out of existence before Clod’s eyes. He felt his tongue go limp. His heart felt like it was drying up.

The sergeant watched him, smiling cruelly. “Alright, I’ll get it out of the Neimodian, then. Good bye, Mr.-“

“Waitsh, waitsh!” Clod gasped. “Ah’ll tell yoush…”

Slyfoot brightened. “Indeed, Mr. Clod? If you tell me, as I’ve said, this can all end.”

He couldn’t do this anymore. What was he thinking?

He wasn’t. Anything to stop this. Karf this place.

“Ah’ll…ah’ll…tell yoush anything…” he wheezed.

Slyfoot straightened his cap. “Very good, Mr. Clod. Go on then.” He leaned in, until his face dominated Clod’s view. Slyfoot tried to manage his own expectations, but he couldn’t suppress his excitement. He looked down at the drooling Klatoonian.

“Mr. Clod,” he said. “Is the treasure…real?”

       

“Wow!” muttered Kitsa, scribbling in her notebook.

“That’s just how it is out here. It’s made the other pirates what they are. It’s made me…” he shrugged. “Changed.”

“That’s really…tough! I’m so sorry you’ve had to suffer through this place.”

“Hm, I’ve been lucky…I think. But what about you, Ms. Rigo?” asked the pirate called Deksen.

“M-Me?”

He leaned in attentively. “How does a woman such as you find yourself in a place like this?”

Even with the facemask in the way, Rigo felt his gaze on her face. She frowned.

“Well, I work for the Gazette.”

He tilted his head. “Because you wish to tell stories?”

“Because I want to…” she paused before answering. “I want to make others see the truth.”

Deksen nodded slowly. He was impressed by the honesty of her answer. “Will you tell me more?”

In a strange moment, the both of them felt the softening in their spirits take its full course, and they entirely let down their guards. Kitsa avoided his gaze, but launched into a treatise on how it was she ended up here, the absurdity of the situation, and how she hoped she might get something out of it anyway because while she was here there was no one investigating the Ubrikkian corporation and something had to be done soon because those poor Duros in the factories had no one standing up for them, and if no one else was going to take Ubrikkian to task, she sure as shaft would.

Deksen listened quietly, occasionally asking questions or affirming how Kitsa felt. Eventually she had completed her story. She took a deep breath, which she had expended whilst going on about her passions.

Deksen folded his hands. “Your spirit…moves me.”

“Oh!” said Kitsa, not sure how to respond. She felt her cheeks burn, and said quietly, “Thanks for listening.”

“And thank you for talking.”

She laughed. “You’d be a much better editor than the one I’ve got. Getting him to listen is a full time job.”

A breeze blew through the tent, carrying the sounds of harsh laughter from where the other pirates were getting into the brew. Far off, Kitsa heard a howl of pain that made her skin crawl and her mind turn towards her lost companions.

After a moment of silence, she looked into Deksen’s facemask. It was a risk, could she trust an ex-stormtrooper-turned-pirate? Strangely, she felt that she could trust him more than almost anyone she’d met. This disturbed her in a profound way, but she didn’t have time to dwell on her emotions. She had to take action.

“Deksen, I need to get out of here.”

“Yes, you do.” His shoulders slumped as he prepared himself for the choice he was making. His life would never be the same after this. “And yes, before you ask; I will help you.”

Kitsa sighed with relief, but there was no time to waste. They had to get down to business. “Alright, here’s what I was thinking. Tell me if it makes sense…”

       

“Spiritual creatures, you say?”

Colonel Corbett stroked his moustache, listening to what Professor Floon had to say with a most attentive mind.

“Well, y-yes. Regarded as spiritual creatures by…” Floon kept himself from revealing the natives at only the last moment. “…by all who visit this planet, I’ve heard.”

It was all Floon could do to keep the existence of the native tribes a secret. Apparently these pirates had no clue they might still be around.

“Fascinating! And you say the wingspan…”

The words tumbled out of Floon like a brook. His trepidation could not dampen his excitement. “No one has seen it in millennia, but I do not lie when I say,” he leaned in, saying conspiratorially, “it is said to be three men across!”

Corbett rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Incredible! Simply incredible. Say, Professor, I know you count yourself among the squeamish, but do you suppose that shooting down a bird of spiritual importance grants a hunter more, how do you say, ‘bragging rights’?”

Floon raised an eyeridge and stared. “Are…are you…joking, sir?”

“I assure you, I am not!” said Corbett, jabbing the desk with his finger. “A hunter such as myself has precious little time for jokes, what with so much glory left unobtained. You’re the closest thing in the galaxy to an expert, Professor. Do you believe killing such a creature would grant me more glory?”

Floon watched the officer nervously. His eyes were eager, his face covered in sweat. The heat was dull and damp in the shade of the tent, the kind of environment Floon had been born into. Very much a comfort zone.

The professor summoned up all his courage, swelling up his chest in rather an alarming way. Corbett’s eyes widened.

“No!” squeaked Floon.

Corbett was puzzled. “…’No’?”

“No!” Floon stood his ground. “How can you talk of killing a creature such as this? For all your talk about appreciating great beasts, you end their magnificent lives with such…relish!” He licked his lipless mouth, his words sputtering and cracking as adrenaline shot through him. He’d never confronted anyone in his life. Certainly not anyone who was willing to kill him. “I don’t mind saying that it is…despicable! Yes, despicable!”

Colonel Corbett, who had initially been very surprised, now furrowed his brow. When he spoke, his tone was dark. “Professor…I’m not used to being talked to in such a-”

“Indeed, indeed!” squawked Floon, suddenly desperate to turn his situation around. “But nor are you used to talking to your intellectual equal, as you have said! This is true, yes?”

Corbett considered it. “Yes, it is true,” he admitted.

“Then please, hear my words, as another man of learning! These creatures are not for killing, they are for studying! For conserving! For…loving! Please, take my offer of friendship and understand I mean you no ill will. I only wish to see a force such as yourself used for…better things!”

Colonel Corbett looked bothered. He had never thought of it in such terms before. Professor Floon breathed heavily, waiting in silence, heart hammering, hoping for a reaction that spared his life.

Finally, the Colonel’s expression softened, and he began to speak. “Professor, I—“

“Colonel Corbett!” came a voice from the tent’s opening. Floon, uncharacteristically, cursed in his head. His heart sank.

“How dare you interrupt me? I said, very clearly I thought, that no one was to interrupt!”

The pirate at the opening was the huge, shirtless one, with the AT-AT driver’s helmet. “But it’s the others, sir, they’ve broken out!”

The moment had passed, Corbett’s mind was on other things. He grabbed his cap and marched towards the entrance. “Well then! Wait here with the Professor, we must hunt them down!”

Corbett marched toward the tent flap, where he was promptly whacked in the head with a blaster handle, and fell flat on his back. He lay there, hair mussed, tongue out, and unconscious.

“Oh my goodness!” cried Floon.

“Quiet, Professor! It’s just me, Kitsa. Ms. Rigo.”

Indeed it was. The reporter came ducking in, blaster in hand. The large pirate stood guard while she knelt down to rummage in Corbett’s holster.

“What-what is going on? Who is this abnormally large man at the door?” asked Floon, who’s voice dropped to an anxious whisper as he added, “Is he not one of the pirates?”

Kitsa pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Huh? Oh, that’s Deksen,” she explained simply. “He’s gonna help us escape.”

The pirate named Deksen raised a hand in casual greeting.

“O-Oh, how do you do?” Floon replied weakly, and he tipped his hat on instinct. “You are…very big!”

“I get that a lot,” came Deksen’s reply, filtered through his helmet.

“He is, isn’t he?” Kitsa grinned.

“Y-Yes—hold on; escape, you said?” squeaked Floon, who’s brain was beginning to catch up at last.

“Yes, escape,” she repeated firmly, looking him in the eye. “But we have to go now, understand? Otherwise we’ll die?”

Floon withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at his face. “O-Oh, my. This is all rather a lot. And so sudden…”

“Yes, it is. We still have to save Clod, against my better judgement.”

“S-Save…Clod, you say?” said Floon, wilting with every word, and very close to fainting.

Kitsa smiled wryly and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, Professor,” she said, and she handed him the Colonel’s blaster before turning to leave. Deksen made to follow her.

Floon went after them, but before reaching the tent’s exit he spun around awkwardly to address his host.

“I’m…very sorry for all this,” he said to Corbett’s unconscious body. “It really w-was lovely meeting you.”

Floon felt it was polite for one to wait to be excused, but Corbett did not reply.

Thus, with a great deal of stumbling and nervous mumbling, the professor hurried to catch up with the others.

     

“And the natives,” said Slyfoot with relish. “You said you’ve met them before, is that true?”

“Yesh,” spat Clod. He eyed the interrogation droid floating a foot away, its red receptor blinking, prod extended towards him.

“Then you could lead us to them. You will lead me to them.”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? They found me the first time. I don’t know how to find them now!”

Slyfoot waved a hand dismissively. “Well, no matter. They asked you to return, I’m sure they’ll show up to you soon.”

Clod wished he could wipe his mouth where he’d drooled after one of the many electroshocks. It was starting to chape. “…Thought you…were gonna let us go?” he groaned.

Slyfoot laughed. “Really? You did? I didn’t take you for a fool. No, Mr. Clod. You’ll stay in this luxury for many days to com--I said I wanted no interruptions!”

Light had flooded the room from the now-open door. He heard a blaster go off, and a red bolt smashed into the interrogation droid, knocking it to the ground.

“Pardon me!” said Professor Floon, turning the gun on Slyfoot. The pirate sergeant raised his hands in surrender. “I nearly forgot something on my way out!”

“P-professor?” slurred Clod, craning his neck to see. “I can’t believe it.”

“That’s right, it’s me! I’ve come to rescue you, Mr. Clod.”

Clod groaned with relief. He hadn’t expected this in a million years. “You gotta get me out of here, doc.”

“Indeed!” said the Professor, who prodded Slyfoot with his pistol until he gave up the key to the bindings.

“Nice entry."

Floon seemed pleased. “Thank you! I am honored by the compliment, especially from someone as…daring-do as yourself! I practiced on the way here.”

“It paid off. Now…” he stretched and groaned his weary, burnt muscles. Then he turned towards Slyfoot, who held to his dignity even while fear seeped in the cracks. Weakened though he was, the Klatoonian was dangerous. He proved this to Slyfoot by knocking him to the floor with a right hook.

“Jerk. Wish I had more time.”

“We really must go, Rigo is waiting! She found a way out!”

Clod looked at the Professor and raised an eyebrow. “You already saved her?”

“Saved her?” replied the professor, leading him into the daylight. “Why, it was her who saved me!”

“You’re kidding!”

“I am not kidding, Mr. Clod! I assure you, I am entirely serious!”

  

They caught up with Kitsa and Deksen at the camp’s boneyard, where ship and vehicle carcasses formed a monument to the pirates’ past conquests.

“He’s fine,” said Kitsa, in response to the alarmed look on Clod’s face. “His name is Deksen, he’s helping us.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Deksen, voice filtered through his helmet.

“Sure, sure. A pleasure,” muttered Clod. “Listen, I told that creepy imp about the natives.”

Kitsa and Floon looked at him with dismay.

“It wasn’t exactly by choice,” grumbled Clod, but he avoided their gaze. “I’m betting they didn’t torture either of you.”

They answered by way of silence.

“Of course not,” he grunted. “Who else here has a face like a Corellian hound?”

“Ahem...I cannot imagine what you went through in that little room, so I cannot blame you for anything you’ve done,” said Floon seriously. “Besides…I let slip quite a lot about the wildlife to the Colonel, and I was under no compulsion besides a foolish enthusiasm for my subject! Oh, how moronic of me. I’m far worse than you, Mr. Clod. Fear no condemnation from us.”

Clod looked at him with something approaching humility and gratitude.

“I didn’t tell anyone anything,” said Kitsa. “Except about myself.”

“Their knowledge simply means we must make greater haste to find the natives first. And with the skills and talents of us three, I find our chances encouraging!”

Kitsa gestured to their soon-to-be-stolen ride. “Especially with this thing.”

Clod hurried forward to look at what she’d found. Underneath a tarp sat a small, aged red-and-white craft. Barely enough space for two people. “What is this, an Incom? Tiny, isn’t it?”

“Who cares who built it?” she replied shortly. “It’s an Airspeeder. Deksen says it’ll still fly.”

Deksen shrugged. “We use it for scout missions.

“Wait," Clod frowned. "We can’t leave yet.”

Kitsa threw up her hands. “Why not?”

“Hat."

“Oh, for karf’s sake--I got your hat, here. Can’t believe you’d get us killed over your hat.”

“My hat! You’re alright, Rigo.”

 

Deksen cleared his throat. “You three should climb in, you don’t have a lot of time.”

They threw their things in the speeder. Clod clambered into the pilot’s seat and brushed some crumbs off the controls. He checked various switches and toggles with an air of familiarity. Floon crammed himself into the back.

Kitsa was last to get in. She turned and threw herself at Deksen, hugging him awkwardly. She didn’t hug many people. Were you supposed to do it so forcefully? Fortunately, Deksen didn't seem to mind. He folded her gently in his massive arms.

“Thank you. I wish you could come with us.”

His tone carried a smile she couldn’t see through his facemask.

“It was good to meet you. I’ll see you again.”

“And you’ll be okay? The other pirates won’t…”

He put a calming hand on her shoulder. “You think they could?”

“Miss Rigo!” called the professor from the speeder. “I’m quite nervous waiting in here! I wouldn’t say anything, except that my muttering has made Mr. Clod angry.”

The two shared a chuckle. Kitsa smiled sadly and let go of him. She clambered into the airspeeder with the others, where she discovered it was a much tighter fit than she’d expected. Once she’d negotiated space with Floon, she leaned against the window and gave Deksen a final wave.

The pirate waved back.

  

“Whoof. He’s ripped, huh?” she said wistfully.

“Ripped?” Floon squeaked. “I’d say his shirt is beyond ripped, madam! There’s hardly a shirt there at all!”

The speeder was humming to life, the way any vehicle does that’s taken some battering. A warm, clanky kind of hum.

“Alright,” said Clod from the front. “Off to find the natives?”

“Before the pirates do!” said Kitsa.

“Oh my! A race against pirates, for the good of knowledge and sentient life!” flushed Floon. “It’s all rather exciting, isn’t it?”

 

This is a 6 exposure merge in Aurora HDR software.

 

I love how the stars are captured in this shot. I had to manually time the brackets to allow for interruptions for the people who were constantly walking by. This resulted in the stars moving across the sky in a stuttered pattern because of the delayed shots in the bracket.

 

You can set up your brackets to expose for a longer time at a diminished sensor sensitivity, but you can't get around the people carrying light up objects through your shot, hence the manual bracket timing requirement for this series of shots.

Made for SWFactions on Eurobricks.

www.eurobricks.com/forum/index.php?/forums/topic/180827-j...

 

Captured by pirates! While searching for the natives of Imynusoph, our trio are beset upon by the cavalier Colonel Corbett's callous rogues! The murderous pirates and their flamboyant leader drag our heroes to their camp, where intrigue abounds!

  

Clod blinked against the harsh light streaming in from above. His hands were shackled. It wasn’t the worst situation he’d been in, he thought. Then, to his surprise, his next thoughts were about his two companions. He hoped they were alright. It would be a million years before he’d admit it.

The sergeant called “Slyfoot” stood in the darkness a few feet away. He could feel the man watching him, disturbingly calm. Precise.

“Look at you,” he sneered. “A treasure hunter. Ha! I believed Klatoonians to be nothing but pirates and scum.”

It was a struggle to form words, but Clod couldn’t give up the opportunity for a zinger. “Look how the…tables have turned.”

He almost immediately regretted it. The droid administered a searing shock to his ribs that sent his limbs convulsing. His skin burned. He shouted, and for a moment, he panicked.

“Such wit. No more of that, I think,” he heard Slyfoot say. “You should put your words to better use, like securing a release for you and your companions. All you must do is tell me what it was you were searching for.”

“Fat chance—Augh!” Another shock. More horrible pain.

Slyfoot stepped into the light. He slowly shook his head.

“’Fat chance’, you say? On the contrary, Mr. Clod,” he said, and a smile crept onto his face. “I quite like my odds.”

      

“Tea or Caf, Professor?” offered Colonel Corbett, busying himself with a gleaming pot and an ion heater.

“O-Oh, tea, I suppose.”

The Colonel looked up at him, a pleasant expression on his face. “I see you appreciate my décor!”

Floon had been staring at some of the trophies scattered about; horns, hides, huge eggs, droid parts, scraps of clothing. Some from beasts, others from treasure hunters who’d come before.

“Why…yes! It’s very…eclectic. Er, thank you again for having me, Colonel.”

“Of course, of course! I must say, I’ve positively chuffed about you being here. An academy man! On Imynusoph! Chandrila, you say?”

“Er, yes. I had, er, tenure at the Chandrila Academy.”

“Ha! Chandrila! A professor from Chandrila makes my acquaintance here, of all places. Who would have thought it would happen? Certainly not me! I admit it! Please, make yourself comfortable, my questions are bound to be numerous.”

The Neimodian professor looked nervously around the tent. One of the pirates loitered at the door. Floon felt that he should do some great act of bravery, try to free Mr. Clod and Ms. Rigo, but he didn’t know where he would even start.

“Professor?”

The question shook Floon from his thoughts. “Oh, y-yes?”

Colonel Corbett smiled. “You don’t look very comfortable. Come, you’re in good company. I am a man of learning and intelligence myself.”

“Why, o-of course!” said Floon. Unable to muster a relaxed smile, he summoned a polite grimace.

The Colonel frowned. “Professor, I brought you here that we might engage in riveting conversation! Without conversation, I have no reason to bring you here rather than lock you up in our brig. Do you understand?”

Floon did, but he was not very good at staying calm when faced with threats. He knew all too well what the murderous pirates might do if the Colonel permitted. With a great amount of sweating and stuttering, he apologized. “I’m…m-most…s-sorry, Colonel. Most s-sorry. Let us…er…converse, s-shall we?”

“Very good, very good!” said the Colonel, settling in and looking at the professor expectantly. “Well then, let us get down to, as they say, brass tacks. I want to hear everything you know about the giant birds of Imynusoph! I expect I’ll be quite fascinated!”

“Er, yes…” mumbled Floon. “Quite.”

       

“Let go of me, you idiots!” Kitsa did her best to break her restraints through sheer will, but no dice. She settled for whacking one of her captors instead, sending him reeling with a broken nose. She couldn’t believe how lucky her aim was. And finally, something for her story!

“Let the Stud take care of her! I don’t want to get kicked again,” whined one of the pirates. The others parted, allowing the largest one, the one with the bandolier and the AT-AT driver helmet, to step towards her. He was enormous, at least 6’8”, and not what you’d call ‘lanky’. There was no chance she’d make a dent against this guy. He settled one giant hand on her shoulder, and he steered her away.

She muttered threats as they walked through the Imperial camp, shooting glances around to take in everything she was seeing. They had left the treeline onto an open savannah. The camp had clearly been an Imperial outpost, but now was all ramshackle and bolted together to keep out the wildlife. There was a junkyard of impounded vehicles that caught her attention. Most of them were scrap, but one airspeeder, red-and-white, looked intact. She took note of this for later.

She eyed the pirate. He was a muscular guy, that was for sure. Where was he taking her? A pit of gundarks, or an interrogation chamber?

Neither, it turned out. She was escorted to a quiet corner of the pirate camp, a breeze-blown tent with foliage breaking in overhead and enshrouding the space.

“You can stay here,” said the big pirate.

She scoffed. “What are you, good cop? And what’s this place, the torture waiting room?”

“It’s, well,” the pirate hesitated. “No, it’s just a tent. I had a wife when we came here. This used to be hers. Thought you’d like it more than a cage, but if I’m wrong…”

That was unexpected. She turned and sized him up suspiciously, but there wasn’t much to observe in the blank stare of the helmet’s facemask. “A wife, huh? What happened to her? Your pirate buddies shoot her?”

“You think they’d get past me? Nah, not in a million years,” he chuckled, but his tone turned somber. “No, one day she went out to get clean water, our purifier was broken, and one of the jungle beasts came out of the trees. She couldn’t get away fast enough. Her blaster misfired. That’s all it took.”

In a rare moment, Kitsa didn’t know what to say.

The pirate took a deep breath, then said, “So if you were thinking of running, I wouldn’t.”

“Sure,” she nodded, collecting herself. “Sorry about your wife. Thanks for the tent.”

“No problem,” said the pirate. He then stood there awkwardly for a moment, before asking, “So, uh, you, uh, some kind of reporter?”

Kitsa lit up. “I sure am, Galactic Gazette.”

The man swayed on his feet, coughing uncomfortably. “What’s, uh, what’s going on out there? In the galaxy? Rebels gone, yet? We heard we had another Death Star.”

Kitsa stared at the emotionless facemask for a moment. Of course, it made sense. When was the last time they would’ve heard any news?

Her story was really heating up.

She smiled and deflected the question. “What’s your name?”

“Deksen. They call me ‘the Stud’. What’s your name, uh, miss?”

“Kitsa Rigo,” she answered smartly. “What do you say about sitting for an interview with me, Deksen? In return, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

The pirate said nothing for a moment. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. “I guess that’d be alright. We don’t exactly get much press on Imynusoph. I suppose you can tell the galaxy about our bravery.”

Kitsa sat on the medical bed, her pen poised. “So, Deksen, what’s it been like for you, out here?”

The pirate set his gun to the side and took a deep breath.

“Well…” he began.

     

Another shock, another burn, another stab. Harnaby Clod struggled in the interrogation gurney, his mouth full of spit. He couldn’t take much more of this. He felt like his mind was slipping through his fingers, jolted free by every prod from the droid. Karfing droid. He’d smash that droid to bits if he ever got out of this.

Another stab of a needle. His vision swam. He’d get out of this, right? Could he?

“Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you know,” Slyfoot said, walking around him. “I’d love to see you dead, believe me. Who will remember you if you’re gone? Some dog-faced lunatic on the edge of the galaxy, no one important. No accomplishments, no fealty, nothing of note. Another dead alien.”

“You…don’t…know…mersh.”

“Hm, perhaps. But tell me…am I wrong, Mr. Clod?”

The dark room blinked in and out of existence before Clod’s eyes. He felt his tongue go limp. His heart felt like it was drying up.

The sergeant watched him, smiling cruelly. “Alright, I’ll get it out of the Neimodian, then. Good bye, Mr.-“

“Waitsh, waitsh!” Clod gasped. “Ah’ll tell yoush…”

Slyfoot brightened. “Indeed, Mr. Clod? If you tell me, as I’ve said, this can all end.”

He couldn’t do this anymore. What was he thinking?

He wasn’t. Anything to stop this. Karf this place.

“Ah’ll…ah’ll…tell yoush anything…” he wheezed.

Slyfoot straightened his cap. “Very good, Mr. Clod. Go on then.” He leaned in, until his face dominated Clod’s view. Slyfoot tried to manage his own expectations, but he couldn’t suppress his excitement. He looked down at the drooling Klatoonian.

“Mr. Clod,” he said. “Is the treasure…real?”

       

“Wow!” muttered Kitsa, scribbling in her notebook.

“That’s just how it is out here. It’s made the other pirates what they are. It’s made me…” he shrugged. “Changed.”

“That’s really…tough! I’m so sorry you’ve had to suffer through this place.”

“Hm, I’ve been lucky…I think. But what about you, Ms. Rigo?” asked the pirate called Deksen.

“M-Me?”

He leaned in attentively. “How does a woman such as you find yourself in a place like this?”

Even with the facemask in the way, Rigo felt his gaze on her face. She frowned.

“Well, I work for the Gazette.”

He tilted his head. “Because you wish to tell stories?”

“Because I want to…” she paused before answering. “I want to make others see the truth.”

Deksen nodded slowly. He was impressed by the honesty of her answer. “Will you tell me more?”

In a strange moment, the both of them felt the softening in their spirits take its full course, and they entirely let down their guards. Kitsa avoided his gaze, but launched into a treatise on how it was she ended up here, the absurdity of the situation, and how she hoped she might get something out of it anyway because while she was here there was no one investigating the Ubrikkian corporation and something had to be done soon because those poor Duros in the factories had no one standing up for them, and if no one else was going to take Ubrikkian to task, she sure as shaft would.

Deksen listened quietly, occasionally asking questions or affirming how Kitsa felt. Eventually she had completed her story. She took a deep breath, which she had expended whilst going on about her passions.

Deksen folded his hands. “Your spirit…moves me.”

“Oh!” said Kitsa, not sure how to respond. She felt her cheeks burn, and said quietly, “Thanks for listening.”

“And thank you for talking.”

She laughed. “You’d be a much better editor than the one I’ve got. Getting him to listen is a full time job.”

A breeze blew through the tent, carrying the sounds of harsh laughter from where the other pirates were getting into the brew. Far off, Kitsa heard a howl of pain that made her skin crawl and her mind turn towards her lost companions.

After a moment of silence, she looked into Deksen’s facemask. It was a risk, could she trust an ex-stormtrooper-turned-pirate? Strangely, she felt that she could trust him more than almost anyone she’d met. This disturbed her in a profound way, but she didn’t have time to dwell on her emotions. She had to take action.

“Deksen, I need to get out of here.”

“Yes, you do.” His shoulders slumped as he prepared himself for the choice he was making. His life would never be the same after this. “And yes, before you ask; I will help you.”

Kitsa sighed with relief, but there was no time to waste. They had to get down to business. “Alright, here’s what I was thinking. Tell me if it makes sense…”

       

“Spiritual creatures, you say?”

Colonel Corbett stroked his moustache, listening to what Professor Floon had to say with a most attentive mind.

“Well, y-yes. Regarded as spiritual creatures by…” Floon kept himself from revealing the natives at only the last moment. “…by all who visit this planet, I’ve heard.”

It was all Floon could do to keep the existence of the native tribes a secret. Apparently these pirates had no clue they might still be around.

“Fascinating! And you say the wingspan…”

The words tumbled out of Floon like a brook. His trepidation could not dampen his excitement. “No one has seen it in millennia, but I do not lie when I say,” he leaned in, saying conspiratorially, “it is said to be three men across!”

Corbett rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Incredible! Simply incredible. Say, Professor, I know you count yourself among the squeamish, but do you suppose that shooting down a bird of spiritual importance grants a hunter more, how do you say, ‘bragging rights’?”

Floon raised an eyeridge and stared. “Are…are you…joking, sir?”

“I assure you, I am not!” said Corbett, jabbing the desk with his finger. “A hunter such as myself has precious little time for jokes, what with so much glory left unobtained. You’re the closest thing in the galaxy to an expert, Professor. Do you believe killing such a creature would grant me more glory?”

Floon watched the officer nervously. His eyes were eager, his face covered in sweat. The heat was dull and damp in the shade of the tent, the kind of environment Floon had been born into. Very much a comfort zone.

The professor summoned up all his courage, swelling up his chest in rather an alarming way. Corbett’s eyes widened.

“No!” squeaked Floon.

Corbett was puzzled. “…’No’?”

“No!” Floon stood his ground. “How can you talk of killing a creature such as this? For all your talk about appreciating great beasts, you end their magnificent lives with such…relish!” He licked his lipless mouth, his words sputtering and cracking as adrenaline shot through him. He’d never confronted anyone in his life. Certainly not anyone who was willing to kill him. “I don’t mind saying that it is…despicable! Yes, despicable!”

Colonel Corbett, who had initially been very surprised, now furrowed his brow. When he spoke, his tone was dark. “Professor…I’m not used to being talked to in such a-”

“Indeed, indeed!” squawked Floon, suddenly desperate to turn his situation around. “But nor are you used to talking to your intellectual equal, as you have said! This is true, yes?”

Corbett considered it. “Yes, it is true,” he admitted.

“Then please, hear my words, as another man of learning! These creatures are not for killing, they are for studying! For conserving! For…loving! Please, take my offer of friendship and understand I mean you no ill will. I only wish to see a force such as yourself used for…better things!”

Colonel Corbett looked bothered. He had never thought of it in such terms before. Professor Floon breathed heavily, waiting in silence, heart hammering, hoping for a reaction that spared his life.

Finally, the Colonel’s expression softened, and he began to speak. “Professor, I—“

“Colonel Corbett!” came a voice from the tent’s opening. Floon, uncharacteristically, cursed in his head. His heart sank.

“How dare you interrupt me? I said, very clearly I thought, that no one was to interrupt!”

The pirate at the opening was the huge, shirtless one, with the AT-AT driver’s helmet. “But it’s the others, sir, they’ve broken out!”

The moment had passed, Corbett’s mind was on other things. He grabbed his cap and marched towards the entrance. “Well then! Wait here with the Professor, we must hunt them down!”

Corbett marched toward the tent flap, where he was promptly whacked in the head with a blaster handle, and fell flat on his back. He lay there, hair mussed, tongue out, and unconscious.

“Oh my goodness!” cried Floon.

“Quiet, Professor! It’s just me, Kitsa. Ms. Rigo.”

Indeed it was. The reporter came ducking in, blaster in hand. The large pirate stood guard while she knelt down to rummage in Corbett’s holster.

“What-what is going on? Who is this abnormally large man at the door?” asked Floon, who’s voice dropped to an anxious whisper as he added, “Is he not one of the pirates?”

Kitsa pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Huh? Oh, that’s Deksen,” she explained simply. “He’s gonna help us escape.”

The pirate named Deksen raised a hand in casual greeting.

“O-Oh, how do you do?” Floon replied weakly, and he tipped his hat on instinct. “You are…very big!”

“I get that a lot,” came Deksen’s reply, filtered through his helmet.

“He is, isn’t he?” Kitsa grinned.

“Y-Yes—hold on; escape, you said?” squeaked Floon, who’s brain was beginning to catch up at last.

“Yes, escape,” she repeated firmly, looking him in the eye. “But we have to go now, understand? Otherwise we’ll die?”

Floon withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at his face. “O-Oh, my. This is all rather a lot. And so sudden…”

“Yes, it is. We still have to save Clod, against my better judgement.”

“S-Save…Clod, you say?” said Floon, wilting with every word, and very close to fainting.

Kitsa smiled wryly and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, Professor,” she said, and she handed him the Colonel’s blaster before turning to leave. Deksen made to follow her.

Floon went after them, but before reaching the tent’s exit he spun around awkwardly to address his host.

“I’m…very sorry for all this,” he said to Corbett’s unconscious body. “It really w-was lovely meeting you.”

Floon felt it was polite for one to wait to be excused, but Corbett did not reply.

Thus, with a great deal of stumbling and nervous mumbling, the professor hurried to catch up with the others.

     

“And the natives,” said Slyfoot with relish. “You said you’ve met them before, is that true?”

“Yesh,” spat Clod. He eyed the interrogation droid floating a foot away, its red receptor blinking, prod extended towards him.

“Then you could lead us to them. You will lead me to them.”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? They found me the first time. I don’t know how to find them now!”

Slyfoot waved a hand dismissively. “Well, no matter. They asked you to return, I’m sure they’ll show up to you soon.”

Clod wished he could wipe his mouth where he’d drooled after one of the many electroshocks. It was starting to chape. “…Thought you…were gonna let us go?” he groaned.

Slyfoot laughed. “Really? You did? I didn’t take you for a fool. No, Mr. Clod. You’ll stay in this luxury for many days to com--I said I wanted no interruptions!”

Light had flooded the room from the now-open door. He heard a blaster go off, and a red bolt smashed into the interrogation droid, knocking it to the ground.

“Pardon me!” said Professor Floon, turning the gun on Slyfoot. The pirate sergeant raised his hands in surrender. “I nearly forgot something on my way out!”

“P-professor?” slurred Clod, craning his neck to see. “I can’t believe it.”

“That’s right, it’s me! I’ve come to rescue you, Mr. Clod.”

Clod groaned with relief. He hadn’t expected this in a million years. “You gotta get me out of here, doc.”

“Indeed!” said the Professor, who prodded Slyfoot with his pistol until he gave up the key to the bindings.

“Nice entry."

Floon seemed pleased. “Thank you! I am honored by the compliment, especially from someone as…daring-do as yourself! I practiced on the way here.”

“It paid off. Now…” he stretched and groaned his weary, burnt muscles. Then he turned towards Slyfoot, who held to his dignity even while fear seeped in the cracks. Weakened though he was, the Klatoonian was dangerous. He proved this to Slyfoot by knocking him to the floor with a right hook.

“Jerk. Wish I had more time.”

“We really must go, Rigo is waiting! She found a way out!”

Clod looked at the Professor and raised an eyebrow. “You already saved her?”

“Saved her?” replied the professor, leading him into the daylight. “Why, it was her who saved me!”

“You’re kidding!”

“I am not kidding, Mr. Clod! I assure you, I am entirely serious!”

  

They caught up with Kitsa and Deksen at the camp’s boneyard, where ship and vehicle carcasses formed a monument to the pirates’ past conquests.

“He’s fine,” said Kitsa, in response to the alarmed look on Clod’s face. “His name is Deksen, he’s helping us.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Deksen, voice filtered through his helmet.

“Sure, sure. A pleasure,” muttered Clod. “Listen, I told that creepy imp about the natives.”

Kitsa and Floon looked at him with dismay.

“It wasn’t exactly by choice,” grumbled Clod, but he avoided their gaze. “I’m betting they didn’t torture either of you.”

They answered by way of silence.

“Of course not,” he grunted. “Who else here has a face like a Corellian hound?”

“Ahem...I cannot imagine what you went through in that little room, so I cannot blame you for anything you’ve done,” said Floon seriously. “Besides…I let slip quite a lot about the wildlife to the Colonel, and I was under no compulsion besides a foolish enthusiasm for my subject! Oh, how moronic of me. I’m far worse than you, Mr. Clod. Fear no condemnation from us.”

Clod looked at him with something approaching humility and gratitude.

“I didn’t tell anyone anything,” said Kitsa. “Except about myself.”

“Their knowledge simply means we must make greater haste to find the natives first. And with the skills and talents of us three, I find our chances encouraging!”

Kitsa gestured to their soon-to-be-stolen ride. “Especially with this thing.”

Clod hurried forward to look at what she’d found. Underneath a tarp sat a small, aged red-and-white craft. Barely enough space for two people. “What is this, an Incom? Tiny, isn’t it?”

“Who cares who built it?” she replied shortly. “It’s an Airspeeder. Deksen says it’ll still fly.”

Deksen shrugged. “We use it for scout missions.

“Wait," Clod frowned. "We can’t leave yet.”

Kitsa threw up her hands. “Why not?”

“Hat."

“Oh, for karf’s sake--I got your hat, here. Can’t believe you’d get us killed over your hat.”

“My hat! You’re alright, Rigo.”

 

Deksen cleared his throat. “You three should climb in, you don’t have a lot of time.”

They threw their things in the speeder. Clod clambered into the pilot’s seat and brushed some crumbs off the controls. He checked various switches and toggles with an air of familiarity. Floon crammed himself into the back.

Kitsa was last to get in. She turned and threw herself at Deksen, hugging him awkwardly. She didn’t hug many people. Were you supposed to do it so forcefully? Fortunately, Deksen didn't seem to mind. He folded her gently in his massive arms.

“Thank you. I wish you could come with us.”

His tone carried a smile she couldn’t see through his facemask.

“It was good to meet you. I’ll see you again.”

“And you’ll be okay? The other pirates won’t…”

He put a calming hand on her shoulder. “You think they could?”

“Miss Rigo!” called the professor from the speeder. “I’m quite nervous waiting in here! I wouldn’t say anything, except that my muttering has made Mr. Clod angry.”

The two shared a chuckle. Kitsa smiled sadly and let go of him. She clambered into the airspeeder with the others, where she discovered it was a much tighter fit than she’d expected. Once she’d negotiated space with Floon, she leaned against the window and gave Deksen a final wave.

The pirate waved back.

  

“Whoof. He’s ripped, huh?” she said wistfully.

“Ripped?” Floon squeaked. “I’d say his shirt is beyond ripped, madam! There’s hardly a shirt there at all!”

The speeder was humming to life, the way any vehicle does that’s taken some battering. A warm, clanky kind of hum.

“Alright,” said Clod from the front. “Off to find the natives?”

“Before the pirates do!” said Kitsa.

“Oh my! A race against pirates, for the good of knowledge and sentient life!” flushed Floon. “It’s all rather exciting, isn’t it?”