Lachlan Hornell - Then it isn't Donna

Then it isn't Donna

Bob Arctor doesn’t feel himself today. He didn’t feel himself yesterday either. Maybe cause he didn’t ball Donna after they gulped that fifth. Arctor needs to get the next thousand tabs of Death and he hasn’t seen Donna in two days. Or was it three. No. Two. Two thousand tabs. He needs to work his way up, find someone really worth taking down. That chick has some real groovy energy, Arctor thought; those summer brown eyes really give a beating…

Freck says our souls are putting on costumes when we sip our slow death. Souls are like ghostly apparitions, he says. Bob Arctor had seen a woman die and she didn’t breathe out any phantom spectre. Heads didn’t have souls. Donna might. All lost souls.

…to a guy like me. Bob Arctor remembers a conversation he had with Freck a day or two ago about souls. It doesn’t feel like a memory, it feels like someone is giving him a telling to. Like it’s all new information. Crosstalk? He’d told Freck he hoped souls were real cause maybe that meant someone is watching out for him.

Donna asks Arctor if he wants some more sticky, black hash.

            “Do you ever wonder who named it death?” Arctor can’t look at Donna. He is too far slushed, like an ice-drink deserted in the Nevada heat. Donna probably has relatives in Nevada; an overweight aunt and uncle who pop a D a day to lose weight. Well it used to be one a day. Nobody does one a day.

            “Some people do one a day, when they first start.” Donna replied.

            “When they first start?” He echoed.

            “Yeah, it doesn’t last long. No heads last long.” Donna looks down at the hash pipe. She can’t help but smile softly.

Did he say that out loud? I don’t like people talking for me, he thought. I don’t need a narrator to tell me I’m not doing a good job. But Donna is beautiful, funky, sweet. Can’t be blamed for needing a hug from her.

            “I don’t normally let people touch me, y’know? I do a lot of coke, not that brown, slick, slimy stuff, but the snow on the trees kinda stuff. The kind a real freak does after he shoots up with death. His eyes roll back and his sight glazes over, like a donut. You can’t see through a donut.”

Arctor laughs. His feet tingle as he puts them on the coffee table.

            “No, I’m serious, and don’t put your feet on my table, I ripped that from a truck and I don’t want them knowing it’s got scuff marks. The trees by the mountains have snow, I’m sure. I want to live there. In the snow.”

Arctor wants to kiss her. He thinks maybe he already has, but dreams and real life and nightmares aren’t much different. If I kiss her now maybe the dope will romance her away. And I can follow.

            “I want to kiss you, can I kiss you?”

            “I said I do a lot of coke, the snow and the trees y’know? I have to be careful; I’m not anyone’s dream girl. I really don’t pixie for anyone.”

Bob Arctor tries to smile, but his eyes don’t trust his mouth.

            “Yeah of course, of course. The trees, the mountains, the snow. The coke. The coke... Can I come? I like farms and animals and that kind of funk. We’ll bring our deaths and live until we die. We will make something of ourselves. Facere, to make.” Funny, I can’t remember how I know that.

He drinks some more tequila, almost dropping the bottle. I am slushed, that death was primo. Donna is primo with her kinky death.

            “You like flowers, right? The little blue ones?”

            “Yeah I’m a real romantic type, I bring the little blue flowers to all my chicks.” I don’t know what she’s talking about but I can’t help…

Arctor leans over and kisses her. Donna is open-mouthed and stoned, this is my dream. But it’s not a dream right? It’s not. That is Donna. Fred watches the screens and sees Arctor leave the room. Barris. Barris? Why is Barris in the room with Bob Arctor’s girl? Fred doesn’t believe it. Barris is the lying scum in Arctor’s house. Follows him around to slime all over his heart pieces. The slug dripping between the gaps of his toes. Bob Arctor doesn’t deserve this from his supposed friend. His cephalochromoscope too. Arctor is a good man. Fred watches Arctor return to the room. Jim Barris slinks away between Fred’s eyelashes, nowhere to be seen. Fred is confused, where is Barris? Where is Arctor? Where is Donna? Maybe I’m Donna.

… but play along.

Donna laughs in that dainty, depressing way.

I realise that now is the perfect time to kiss her. She is laughing; she thinks I’m a frolic, a jest, a sport, a whimsy. A real catch.

Arctor leans over and kisses her; full-blood, full-spirit. Donna is full-mouthed, stoned and furious.

            “I said you need to leave my body alone!” Donna is broken.

I reassess myself. This job really takes a toll on me. I hope the scanners see this clearly, because I can’t. Maybe they can spot my mistakes. Maybe they can spot me a dollar in a pinch. Barris said that the scanners are everywhere; the peace officers have eyes and ears from here to the horizon. Donna sees clearly but she can’t see me. I can’t see me.

Fred chuckles. A sad, lonely chuckle.

            “Y’know what? Fuck this and fuck you. I don’t need this. Bob Arctor is a good guy.” I say to her.

Donna looks confused, and like a damned straight, says, “I don’t need you either, you’re acting weird. A real headcase.”

I didn’t expect that, Donna is my girl. I walk out the door and slam ten deaths down Bob Arctor’s dry, swollen throat.

Damian Seeto: Tin Tin And The Mystery Of The Missing Film Script

Tin Tin was out in vacation in New Zealand meeting up with his favorite director Peter Jackson. Since Peter Jackson and Steven Spielberg both made a movie based upon Tin Tin last year, Peter Jackson wanted to talk to the budding reporter himself about the direction for the sequel.

Before Tin Tin and Peter Jackson could both discuss details on the upcoming second film, a phone call interrupted their meeting. It was pretty urgent as Peter Jackson had no hesitation in answering it. Tin Tin decided to play with Snowy outside in Peter Jackson’s “Shire-like” garden to pass the time until the phone call had ended. 30 long minutes went by and Peter Jackson was finally off the phone.

“Who called you and why was it so urgent?” Tin Tin questioned.

“It was Christopher Nolan and he’s not very happy”, Peter Jackson uttered.

“What’s the matter? Is he in danger?  asked Tin Tin.

“Well not quite in danger. He’s really angry that someone managed to break into his house and steal a top secret movie script he’s been working on”, Peter Jackson answered.

“What’s this got to do with you Mr. Jackson? Why didn’t Nolan call the proper authorities and let them deal with the stolen script?” Tin Tin said.

“Nolan didn’t want to alert the authorities as he was scared the media would get a hold of the story and turn the whole thing into a whole frenzy. He asked me if I knew someone that could help and I think you’re perfect for this type of job Tin Tin”, said Peter Jackson.

“Me? Are you sure I’m the right guy for this job”, Tin Tin said.

“Trust me, you are. I booked you a flight to Hollywood already. If anyone can solve this case, it is you Mr Tin Tin, said Peter Jackson.

Tin Tin left the humble abodes of New Zealand and went off to the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. Tin Tin had no clue where to start looking and decided to meet with Christopher Nolan himself. If anyone knew who might be responsible, why not ask the victim himself?

Nolan’s office was huge and was decorated with many of his past accolades. Sadly, no animals were allowed in the area and Snowy had to wait outside. Christopher Nolan entered the room with no emotion on his face.

“So you’re the guy Peter Jackson recommended to find my missing script? You look a little young for a job like this”, Christopher Nolan said sternly.

“Trust me, I doubted my ability too, although I’ve solved many cases before and have travelled all around the world”, Tin Tin defended himself.

Before Tin Tin could thank Nolan, Snowy was barking loudly outside. It’s the same type of bark he uses whenever he suspects trouble is brewing.

“Uhh…Mr Nolan I believe we might be in danger right now. Snowy is no ordinary dog and that bark was certainly not a cheerful one”, Tin Tin said.

Tin Tin thought quickly and locked Nolan into a nearby cupboard. Tin Tin then tried to disguise himself as the veteran director. He may look young, but it was nighttime and the intruder hopefully wouldn’t notice the difference. Tin Tin stepped outside to investigate and his keen ears heard that someone was definitely following him.

“Snowy!” Tin Tin cried.

Snowy immediately knew what was going on and bit the intruder’s butt. This allowed Tin Tin to tackle him into the ground. Tin Tin removed his hood and was shocked to find out it was none other than Taylor Kitsch - the main star of John Carter and Battleship.

“Are you here to eliminate Nolan to hide any leads to the people responsible for stealing his script?” Tin Tin questioned to Taylor Kitsch.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me this year? John Carter and Battleship were anticipated to be two of the biggest box office hits. Yet, audiences snubbed them in favour to watch other films. Now Hollywood casting directors aren’t offering me any more movie roles. I had to steal the Nolan’s script so I can have a chance to make the big time again”, Taylor Kitsch confessed.

Before Tin Tin could retort, Christopher Nolan came out of the closet (literally) to witness who the intruder was. Christopher Nolan knew seemed to know exactly what was going on.

“Let me guess, you stole this film script in hopes of securing a part in my upcoming Justice League movie. I know you aren’t working alone. Some Hollywood director promised you a part in it if he managed to get the script as well. I suppose this director sent you here to kill me am I right? guessed Christopher Nolan.  

“Yes, you’re right”, cowered Taylor Kitsch.

Tin Tin was baffled by Nolan’s knowledge. Now it was time to reveal who the director was that orchestrated the plan to steal the script all along…
“So who is the director that wanted you to steal the script?” Tin Tin and Christopher Nolan shouted in unison.

“I…it was P….”, Taylor Kitsch uttered before a bullet went through his chest instantly killing him.

Snowy gave chase to the shadowy perpetrator but it was too late. A car was already waiting for him and it
sped off into the darkness before both Tin Tin and Nolan could see it.

“Damn, Taylor Kitsch was our only lead and now he is dead. Whoever this person is still has my script!” Nolan snarled.

“Well we have one clue right? If Taylor Kitsch was telling the truth, we will just have to interrogate every person starting with a “P” in Hollywood”, suggested Tin Tin.

Nolan applauded Tin Tin’s determination. Nolan suggested it was best he stayed home for his own safety. He told Tin Tin to attend a pre-Academy Awards party that was happening tomorrow. Maybe Tin Tin could catch this person there…

Meanwhile back in New Zealand, Peter Jackson is reading over a new film script he just obtained. How he got it didn’t matter. As long as he backs lots of money from it, he doesn’t care. As long as Tin Tin trusts him and is on a wild goose chase over in Hollywood, Peter Jackson can relax that nobody can pinpoint that it was he that stole Nolan’s script all along!

Ends in a cliffhanger...

Fanfic: Two Truths and a Lie [Julie]

It was brutal. Sand, dirt, flecks of metal infiltrated my every pore and scratched me from within. Taste of earth lingered in my mouth as I swallowed dry air through the worn scrap of black muslin cloth that hid my face. My chest rose rapidly as shallow breaths entered my haggard body, puffs of sand danced in front of my eyes. I shut my lips stained with oxidized blood. Slowly, I picked up the M107 LRSR .50 calibers lying by my foot, quietly making my way to the edge of the crates.

What the hell am I doing here echoed in my mind as I crouched low, waiting for the prey. I was in some forsaken warehouse in a deserted forest just outside of Iron Town with a simple task of taking out a transporter and taking back a box that was stolen from the guardians. All in a day’s work for someone like me. A professional hunter whose services go to the ones who can afford it. What a joke of a life scoffed my conscience. Every time. Every damn time. What kind of pro killer wrestles with her own conscience every time she’s on the job? I was pretty sure there’s only one. Despite all this, I was good at what I do and have never failed. So why was it that that I was lying in dirt with my eyes behind the scope swearing in my head? It’s that guy they hired, the opposing team’s ace player. I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of the guy’s face.

Sure, I was told that someone really good was hired to protect the transporter but I heard that every mission. Too cocky my subconscious spat. Being in the business of having people’s blood on my hands for such a long time, every thought was directed solely at the task. It didn’t matter who I was up against as long as I get it all done by the allocated time.

That guy. He moved as if he could read my mind. Like he knew what I was going to do before I could even think of it. Three steps ahead for each of mine. It was like a lethal dance. It was certainly lively with plenty of metal confetti. Swift. Graceful. It took my breath away attempting to catch up. I felt like a silly girl in the arms of a debonair whirling aimlessly. Oh so you like him now?! was my horrified thought’s words. This guy was good. An artist of bullets and his canvas was the body.

Thirty minutes just before I found herself face down in the dirt, snaking my way behind the stack of dilapidate crates; I was calmly sitting in the quiet mezzanine looking up at the rotting roof with a flask of whisky perched on my hip belt, playing with trivial thoughts in my mind as Moro, the boss, confirmed her orders to me on the satellite phone. “Take back what’s Eboshi stole from us,” she begun. “The content of that box is very important and must not reach Iron Town. Return it to us and our land will be saved.” Immediately after, Moro hung up. With the approaching sounds of engines, my hand automatically dropped the phone and moved to the sniper beside me and the rest of me followed in position the moment my senses picked up the target.

There it was. Just as I was told. The complacent caravan of black sedans spearheaded and tailed by two tanks was slowly driving, just about to drive past where I was aiming from. Get the box then get out. And everyone seemed to be making my job so easy.

One by one, I shot at the occupants of the vehicles from their open windows. No one can really blame having open windows at that heat. I certainly wouldn’t. I would have probably done the same thing. A low, quiet whistle passed through my lightly parched lips as I mouthed “easy pickings”. Screeching and the sounds of metals colliding and folding on each other filled the air along with groans of agony from the occupants of the dilapidated caravan as they reach death. There were even a few little explosions.

With a swig of whisky and rifle in hand, I slid down from where I was perched with ease and moved towards the container with swagger of a job well done.

As my hand reached for the box inside a heavily armored flaming car, a familiar clink filled my ears. I raised my weapon just as fast towards the source of the sound.

▬▬▬
But in the end, instead of a quick, quiet afternoon of gunfire in the humid forest, I was caught with no escape behind the accursed crates. I weighed my options and thought this was probably the best I could do at this point.

“H-HEY!” I shouted. “I’m coming out! Don’t shoot!”

Slowly, the head of my rifle silently emerged followed by my foot and a leg and thigh and then rest of me. I inched my way out and stopped from the other side of targeted car which crashed into half of the crates earlier. If I was quick enough, I thought, I’d be able to reach in to the opened door on my side and drag out the box we all sought after.

A soft but firm “Don’t even think about it,” came from the man who stood barely a meter away from me.

I let out a comical smile as I held the sniper with one arm. Like I said, three moves ahead, sighed my own mind. However, I couldn’t help but look my opponent up and down as my own mind contradicted itself.

“Well, damn. You look nice”, was the first thing that came out of my mouth.

Indeed, the man looked nice. He was very tidy for someone who’d been running around and shooting a girl for the last half an hour or so. The slick, black suit on him was obviously tailored, much like his own weapon. I was pretty sure I saw that gun in the latest issue of Guns & Ammos. If we had met at a different place at a different time, I thought, I might have enjoyed his company.

Cautious fingers slithered down to my side as I reached for my flask, “If I’m gonna die here now anyway,” I breathed out after taking a deep drink. “You might as well tell me your name”.

The man stood silent for a moment, reluctant to answer. He kept his gun’s aim square at my head the whole time as I continued to drink. I kept a close eye on him from the corner of my flask as his mouth slowly opened a few times as if calculating every possible consequence his words might bring.

Ultimately he replied, “Ashitaka”.

“Never heard that name before,” I ate most of my words as I took the last drop of my drink.

Quickly, I tossed away my flask and grabbed the box. But not as quick as Ashitaka’s bullets that went flying to the package in my arms. The flesh wounds from the bullets stung enough that made me drop the load I was carrying.

The impact with the floor caused the box to shatter, and its content along with it. A long string of clicks followed by strong wailing filled the dry air. Where the box had shatter stood a child with golden hair, tears streaming down its face with a cry that can shatter glass. Both Ashitaka and I were left stunned and alarmed as we inched towards the third entity. The moment we got close enough to the child, it has decreased its crying to a stifled sob.

With giant, tear filled eyes, it looked at both Ashitaka and I with quivering lips and babbled “Maaa maaa! Paaa paaa!”

▬▬▬
“And this is the origins of Kodama,” said the silver haired twins in unison with a clearly mocking smile that exposed their fangs and widened eyes as they slowly strolled down the path near an abandoned warehouse. “That’s why San became even more of an alcoholic and Ashitaka likes to go away for a long, long time”.

“NOOOOOO! LIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!!” screamed Kodama as he fled ahead filled with tears from the lush forest outside of what was Iron Town where his uncles Taro and Jiro were telling him of the story of when he was born.

Taro and Jiro simply laughed in the distance as Kodama ran away and cried.

The End

Che Crawford Fanfiction

(Dragon by chevsy)

Shards crumbled from the cliffs above, causing Ged to duck his head and protect his eyes. The other men were all fast climbers. He supposed they’d been training for this; little it would do to help them once they got inside. His fingers scrambled for holds, grating his skin, as he pushed to keep up. He could have shifted and flown into the mountain, but he needed to save his power for later. The biggest threat was not the climb.
The day wore on, the sun was high, and soon Ged lost sight of the other men. They had made it into the mountain. He stilled himself, and could hear the screams coming from deep inside. This would be the last year the village conned young men into sacrificing themselves. Ged promised himself that.
Deep booms and roars could be heard now, mixed with the chilling screams. And loud cracks from blocks of stone flying down to the ground beneath him. The mountain itself seemed to be warming, expanding,... breaking.
Ged was still too far from the entrance, but he had to get in now.
Summoning energy, he slapped a flat palm firmly against the rock in front of him. It tumbled inward, leaving a gaping hole for him to climb through.

Into the lair of the dragon.

“Travel. This time without a shadow pushing you onwards. See what you can learn when you have the time,” his master Ogion had urged him gently.
Ged had entered the village that morning to find a flurry of colours, smells, and people singing, dancing, and shuffling their way closer to the foot of the mountain. A stall vendor managed to convince Ged to buy a dragon printed cloth in exchange for information. The festival was to celebrate the brave young men who entered the mountain through the opening that showed itself only once a year. They would then take on the dragon, trying to steal it’s power, and if victorious, come back as the saviour of the village. Vast riches and honor were promised to the hero that defeated it. Although so far, none had.
When Ged asked the vendor what happened if no one went up, the man couldn’t meet his eye, and he mumbled something about the dragon coming out to feast on villagers.
That’s when Ged saw it for what it really was. A glorified sacrificial festival.
What Ged didn’t see coming was that the cloth marked him as one of the participants. He took it in stride though. He would end this.

He didn’t need to create light. When the blast of hot air cleared, Ged saw that entire parts of the cave were glowing with a deep red heat. Flames licked along the cracks of the walls. Everywhere that hadn’t been touched recently was scorched black with old fire.
And all of this reflected back onto the scales of grotesque, curling, serpent creature, currently winding it’s way between rocks and feasting on village men.
It was fierce, but young. Ged dropped through the hole.
The hot air currents caught him with the help of his magic. He let himself land gently onto the dragon’s back between two black spikes. He grabbed one tightly for support. The dragon was too busy blowing fireballs at fleeing men to notice.
The dragon had a wild look in it’s eyes. It was unlike anything Ged had seen before in the usually intelligent dragons. He knew that this time, he wasn’t going to be able to talk the beast out of eating villagers. He would have to end it.
There were several men still alive. Most of them were now unsuccessfully looking for ways out, drawing attention to themselves. Except one man Ged noticed, whose eyes were gleaming with fierce determination. He stood perfectly still between two slivers of rock. It was like he wasn’t even breathing. Was he waiting for his moment? These men had little to use against a dragon. Ged wanted to call out to the man to please stop, but that would draw attention to them both.
The dragon had spotted another victim against the cave wall, and raised his claws to strike him down. That’s when Ged saw the bronzed ring on one of it’s talons, and that’s when the determined man between the slivers of rock made his move.
Ged watched the man sprint across the burning floor and jump, catching the ring and pulling it off the claw of the dragon.
The next moment was full of confusion. Beneath Ged, the dragon turned to ashes, crumbling to the floor. He landed among them, instantly dazed and blackened. The man who had the ring, looked down at it in awe, and slipped it onto his finger.
His skin started to lump and pulse. A wave of scales shivered down his body, and all at once he burst into a twin of the ashen dragon.
He rounded on Ged.
The same wild look flashed in the new dragon’s eyes, and Ged knew this was no longer the man; there would again be no talking to him.
Luckily Ged guessed what would happen next, and dive rolled out of the way. The stoney floor where he had been standing burst alight with molten flame, spat by the dragon. The ground quickly smoldered out. Ged hissed in pain as he got to his feet. A flame had caught his robe, scorching his skin and he hurriedly patted it out.
The dragon clicked it’s serpent tongue, delighted at it’s new trick. It proceeded to fire inferno after inferno Ged’s way. But it’s aim was off, it was new to this after all. Ged glanced around for a quick way stop it, ducking and dodging the molten rock explosions. The dragon’s aim was getting better, fast.
A fireball landed in front of Ged, throwing him onto his back. He blinked. The cave’s roof came into focus, and he saw several large stalactites. Convenient. It was extremely surprising that they hadn’t fallen already. All they needed was a little persuasion.
He called to the rising air currents, urging them to throw themselves at the hanging spikes. They rounded the cave, again and again, slamming into the rocks.
And then the stalactites fell.
When the dust cleared, all was eerily silent. Three men crawled out from their hiding places, standing in quiet awe beside the unmoving dragon.
Ged stood and brushed himself off. He ripped his robe, wincing at the burns on his arm, and used the cloth to pry the ring off the dead dragon. He was careful not to touch the metal, in case he too was urged to put it on. And he wrapped it up tightly as the dragon crumbled to ashes.
“Go back to your village and tell them they’re safe,” he said quietly.
It was finally time to shift. He flew the ring out to the deepest part of the ocean and dropped it.

The end.

Le Guinn, U. (1993; 1968).  A Wizard of Earthsea. In The Earthsea Quartet  (pp.13-167). London: Penguin. 

Isaac Devenport FanFiction

Tintin and the Double Kate

The red carpet cascaded down the steps of The British Museum, surrounded by journalist, police officers, and gushing well-wishers hoping to catch a glimpse of the royal sweethearts. The newly married Prince and Princess had just made their way inside to attend an annual charity ball.

Inside, the royal couple, dressed to the nines, make their way ‘round the pillared hall, admiring priceless artefacts, and making small talk with politicians, film stars, and models. One of the many gentlemen in black ties glances shiftily in each direction before sliding off into a neighboring corridor.

“Everything’s in place, just as planned.” The man speaks into the phone retrieved from his tuxedo jacket.

“OK, we’re a-go.” He replied to the voice on the other end, before hanging up.

The man jumps when he turns. A lean woman, with stringy blonde hair, stands in the shadow of a marble pillar. He panics, had she heard his conversation? The blonde woman holds an unlit cigarette between her pouted lips.

“Cigarette?” She offers, motioning the box in his direction.

Her face coming into light, the man recognizes the model, and to breathes again.

“No,” he grunts back, “there’s no smoking in here.” Leaving the model, he walks back the way he came.

                                                                                               

Meanwhile a media van, one of many that night, pulls up outside the museum. The royal limousine’s route now blocked, a police officer approaches the van’s window.

“Excuse me, you can’t park here. Move along please.”

The driver sticks his head out, “Oh sorry officer, be gone in a sec.”

Satisfied, the officer walks away. Glancing back, the officer watches the man jump out the driver’s door and sprint off. “Hey! Stop!” The officer began, just before he was knocked to the ground.

The van exploded, engulfing the royal motorcade in a fireball, and blowing all those around of their feet.

Inside the museum alarms immediately sounded. Bodyguards rush to the royal couple’s side, pushing them in the direction of safety. They bolt down a side corridor, the armed guards receiving instructions from their ear pieces. The primary motorcade had been compromised, switch to protocol B.

Darting across a courtyard, the bodyguards are forced to throw themselves across the Prince and Princess, as masked assailants burst from the windows above, showering them with glass. Recovering too slowly, the bodyguards attempt to fire but are taken out first. Grabbing the Princess, the attackers make off into a waiting van, leaving the Prince and his bodyguards lying in the cobbled yard.

                                                                                                *

Tintin awoke with a long yawn, out stretching his arms. Sitting up, he glanced out the window of his London hotel, “Another wet day, ae boy?” He spoke to the white fluffy mess curled up at the foot of the bed, Snowy. Tintin pulled on a robe over his blue pyjamas and a pair of hotel provided slippers, and then made his way across the room. Opening the room door, breakfast and a newspaper was found waiting as per arranged. Tintin picked up the tray, leaving Snowy to bring in the paper, and sat down at a small table beside the window to enjoy his traditional English breakfast.

Midway through his eggs, Snowy began barking at his feet. “What is it boy?”

Snowing stood next to unrolled morning paper, nudging it towards Tintin.

“Ok, ok, I’ll have a look. Now let’s see what all your fuss is abou... OH NO!” Tintin sprung from his chair, startling Snowy. Across the front page of the paper was a large picture of the Princess, teary eyed, with a masked gunman standing over her. An accompanying headline read ‘Take-y Kate-y: Princess Kidnapped in Attack on British Museum.’

Sprawling the paper out, Tintin quickly read through all the pages. Further in were pictures, one of the burnt out shell of a limousine, another, the Princess smiling with a slender blonde woman.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Tintin exclaimed as he turned another page. A picture was printed of two identical investigators taking part in the case, Thomson and Thompson.

“If anyone can solve this case, it’s Thomson and Thompson.” He told Snowy

Putting the paper down, and continuing his breakfast, Snowy, again, began to bark.

“Quiet boy.”

But Snowy continued and starting pawing at Tintin’s leg.

“No, I’m sorry boy. We can’t help with the case. This is far too big for us. They have the royal guard, police, plus Thomson and Thompson, to deal with this.”

Snowy put his head between his front paws, sighing.

“I know you just want to help”, Tintin laid his hand on Snowy’s head, “But there will be plenty of mysteries for us to solve back home. That is if we make our flight! Gosh! Look at the time boy, and I haven’t even packed!”

On the bedside table, the telephone sprang to life. “Wonder who that could be?” Tintin asked before picking up the receiver on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Tintin? This is Colonel Yorkshire here.”

“Oh, Colonel Yorkshire, it’s good to hear from you.”

“Thank you Tintin, but I’m terribly afraid this isn’t a social call. As I’m sure you’ve heard, the Princess was kidnapped last night, and we’re in overdrive here at the palace trying to find a lead.”

Yes, it’s terrible news. But I don’t see where I come into the picture, Colonel.”

“Well, since I’m head of Her Majesty’s Royal Guard, it’s my duty to make sure I have all the best men on the job. So I need your help investigating this outrageous act.”

“Well sir, I’m honoured that you asked. But I don’t see how I can help. They have all of Britain’s police and military searching, and well, I’m just a journalist!”

“I know Tintin, but I trust you, and… there’s something else. But  I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, so come to the palace and we’ll chat then.”

 “Well ok, Colonel, but I can’t promise I’ll be much help.”

“I’ll send a car. Thank you Tintin.”

Ten minutes later Tintin and Snowy walked out the lobby doors, and hoped into an awaiting silver saloon. In no time the car was making its way through the gilded gates of The Royal Palace, and pulling up to a small, yet grand, side door. A uniformed guard opened the saloon’s door, allowing the pair onto the palace steps. Snowy stopped just before going inside. Confused, he steered blankly as a small brown dog, nose in air, was carried past on a velvet pillow.

“Now don’t get any ideas boy.” Tintin chuckled.

The Colonel’s office was a great panelled room, with Persian carpets and tall windows overlooking the gardens. In the centre sat a large oak desk littered with various maps and blueprints.

“Ah, Tintin my man,” Colonel Yorkshire entered through double doors, “thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“No trouble at all, Colonel. Now what is it that I can help you with?”

“Well, as I’ve mentioned, the Princess has been taken…”

“Yes terrible business. Thank goodness no one has been killed.”

“But, see that’s the problem.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow, Colonel.”

“When the assailants took the Princess, they shot her bodyguards and His Highness, the Prince. But they shot them with tranquilizer darts, not bullets.”

“Why not kill the guards if you’re going to take the Princess hostage?” Tintin queried.

“Exactly! It doesn’t make sense. All evidence suggests these men are highly trained and extremely dangerous. Highly trained men don’t use sleeping darts. They kill.”

A knock came at the door, followed by an officer needing the Colonel. The Colonel excused himself, leaving Tintin to browse over evidence.

Photographs from the previous evening were pinned to a bulletin board, names from the guest list under each. In the corner were three small screens playing security footage from the museum. Tintin fast-forwarded till the screen read 10 minutes before the attack, and began to watch.

Some time passed, allowing Tintin to re-watch the scene several times over, before the Colonel re-joined him.

“Sorry about that Tintin.”

“I quite understand Colonel. I can only imagine how busy you must….There! Stop the tape!” Tintin shouted, bustling past the Colonel back to the screens.

“There! See?” Tintin pointed out a man in black tie who looked side to side, before disappearing out of the rotating camera’s range.

“Why that’s just one of the Queen’s personal attendants. They often attend royal functions.” The Colonel explained.  

“Yes, but look at the blonde woman in the black dress. She’s next to that man most of the night. Then look” Tintin points at the screen, a minute after the man walks off, the woman slips out a side door.

“30 seconds after she returns, the bomb goes off!” Tintin furthered, “and she’s holding something small in her hand, a controller?”

“Tintin, that woman is one of the world’s top models. Why would a world famous model plant a bomb and kidnap a royal? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Tintin trailed off.

“Regardless Tintin, we need your help. Something is quite off about this kidnapping. So I need those I can count on.”

“Well you can count on me Colonel!”

“Ah excellent!” The Colonel gave Tintin a hearty slap on the back

“Now we’ll get copies of all this,” he motioned to the piles of evidence, “sent over to you. But for now I must say farewell, pressing matters an all.”

“Of course Colonel, and thank you.”

“Oh, and Tintin, keep this hush hush. We don’t know how many we can trust in times like these.”

“I understand. Goodbye.”

Back in the comfy silver saloon, Tintin made his way back to the hotel, still unable to throw the image of the model and the object in her hand, from his mind. “We’ve certainly got our work cut out for us this time, Snowy.”

Snowy barked in response, happy to be on the case.

End.

Weeks 11 & 12- Reality TV (Kirsty)

How has the documentary genre influenced reality TV and how it presents the ‘real’?

Reality television has drawn from many aspects of the three types of documentary discussed in the classes, direct cinema, cinema verite, and free cinema. In many shows we see on tv today there is interviewing of subjects, for example in Jersey Shore, American Idol, The Amazing Race, subjects are usually seated and describe aspects of what is going on in the show or in the case of American Idol and X Factor the contestants are asked questions by the presenter. Music is also used to enhance the theatricality of reality shows. The reason why they are so popular is because of the ‘real’ drama they portray, and music aids in this portrayal, whether sad, dramatic or triumphant. Cinematography is also a major aspect of documentary used in reality tv. Usually we see either a handheld camera effect of a fly on the wall effect. Both aim to enhance the reality of the situations. The handheld technique means that the audience can see the subject as though they are actually present. The fly on the wall technique gives the effect of being able to watch subject in secret while still being in the setting. Jersey Shore makes use of both aspects of cinematography where the housemates are followed outside of the house by handheld cameras, while when they are in the house cameras view them in the fly on the wall technique.

While these techniques used from the documentary genre to make reality shows appear ‘real’ the issue I have is with the content. There are a number of shows where the drama is scripted or in the case of game shows or performance shows, results can be changed at the discretion of producers etc. Can shows like Keeping Up With the Kardashians or Jersey Shore be labelled as reality television when they are only given the impression of being seemingly real to the audience? Yes there are shows that don’t do this but the issue is that the most popular of reality shows aren’t actually real, or in my opinion they aren’t :P.

Weeks 9&10- Cult TV (Kirsty)

In what way is Buffy influenced by the romantic gothic tradition? Yet how does Buffy also provide a contemporary critique of this tradition?

Gothic romance stories can be described as a romance that deals with desolate and mysterious and grotesque events (The Free Dictionary be Farlex). There is always terror and mystery which usually has something to do with the supernatural and a heroine who is forced to choose between two male characters of opposite personalities. Buffy covers all these aspects with mystery involved in each episode, right from the first. In the pilot episode Welcome to Hellmouth, a stake falls from Buffy’s bag, making the audience immediately wonder just who or what she is. She is approached by a mysterious guy who gives her snippets of information about just what might be going on in Sunnydale. The element of terror is of course provided by the presence of vampires. Though not shown in the first episode Buffy is faced with romance throughout the series with characters like Angel and Spike.
While portraying many of the traditions of gothic horror, Buffy still provides a modern take. While most traditional gothic romances are set in dark, scary places, Buffy’s setting is a seemingly innocent town, and while the series shows a number of terrifying places as settings of scenes, a more realistic perspective is provided by having it in Sunnydale. The character of Buffy herself is also a challenge to the traditions of gothic romance. While there is always a female heroine, the usual characteristics are unlike Buffy’s who is portrayed a strong (physically and mentally), no nonsense woman and she usually seems quite certain of her actions, even though they may turn out poorly.

Features of gothic romance novels. (n.d.). Retrieved October 22, from      http://www.articlesbase.com/book-reviews-articles/features-of-gothic-romance-novels-710412.html

Gothic romance.(n.d.). Retrieved October 22, 2012, from             http://www.thefreedictionary.com/Gothic+romance