Englishman, Scholar, Complete Bastard. Remembering Rik Mayall.

Irreverent comedy is a British tradition. From the genre defining classics like Monty Python and Benny Hill to modern nutters like The League of Gentleman, the Brits have done it funnier and weirder than all the rest for some time.

Today, we've lost one of the greats in the field, a comedian par excellence, as well as a writer, producer, musician, father, husband, and award-winning star of stage and screens large and small, Rik Mayall.

When I was nine, I went to hang out at a friends house and watch TV, and he pulled out a videotape belonging to his father, that we weren't supposed to watch. It was foul, it was disgusting, and it was the funniest thing I had ever seen. It was Bottom Live 3. This was my introduction to the inimitable talents of Rik Mayall and Ade Edmondson, the best comedy duo since Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie.

These two had a stage relationship unlike any other. Two guys who knew each other so well, they can finish each others unscripted jokes, and make the moments when it all goes wrong funnier than anything written down could have been.

It was moments in Bottom Live 3, like the seagull, the secret hatch that didn't work, and that heckler so flawlessly dealt with, that made Rik Mayall my favorite comedian for most of my childhood.

Ah, but it's all toilet humor and fart jokes, you'd think I'd stop laughing at that kind of humor when I was grown right? No sir! When I was in high school I delved back further into the history of Rik and Ade, and found a wealth of funny to enjoy. The Young Ones became my favorite show in the world. Rik Mayall played Rick, the Cliff Richard obsessed Sociology student, and Ade was the inexplicably violent punk prodigy Vyvian, in a house full of failed college skivers. This was Ben Elton comedy at its absolute best. It was a chunk of 80s British culture that showed the opinions and concerns of 'The Kids' better than anything else, and had farting midget demons and exploding bricks and punk hamsters to boot.

The Young Ones was influential in being a part of who I was. One time in high school, my best friend and I spent weeks getting our costumes just right, so we could turn up at school dressed as our closest facsimiles of Vyvian and Rick respectively. He spent days sticking stars to a denim jacket and spiking his red hair and I drew an anarchy symbol on the back of an old blazer and stared at myself in the mirror trying to perfect the right Rik Mayall sneer. He kicked the door to our class in when we first arrived on that day and the entire class burst into laughter. Worth every moment of effort.

Rik Mayall's career was more than just a partnership though. The man had an incredible list of comedy feats under his ever expanding belt.

You can't be a fan of the seminal classic show Blackadder and not love his performance as Mad Tom or the perpetual scene stealer Flashheart. It's rare for anyone to steal the scene from comedy greats like Stephen Fry and Rowan Atkinson so thoroughly, but Mayall's Flash would manage it every time. (“Still worshiping God? Last I heard he started worshiping me!”)

Most well known of all his performances to American audiences, Mayall starred in the eponymous 90s comedy hit Drop Dead Fred. This one was a bloody corker, with Mayall as the imaginary friend every kid wanted. I personally found this film amongst a pile of old VHS tapes at a car boot sale when I was 12, and loved every minute of it. Mayall so energetically threw himself into this role that he drew many comparisons to American funny man of the time Jim Carrey.

Working with Ade again, their show Bottom took over where The Young Ones left off, only wittier, grosser, naughtier, and even funnier. The adventures of these two aging old bastards took us to new heights of British gross out comedy. The episode 'Hole', which found our protagonists Richie and Eddie stuck atop a deactivated ferris wheel, is one of the single funniest episodes of any comedy show I’ve ever seen. Cleverly using nothing but the single set for the duration, it's virtually the Samuel Beckett piece of gross-out comedy.

Bottom would be a cultural hit for over decade, lasting three series and five spin off stage shows that were quoted endlessly in colleges and universities around the country. Tailor-making each set to fill in jokes for every venue and location performed in, Rik and Ade worked the stage perhaps best of all. These were performances to watch over and over, the immense skill with which these shows were performed hidden in the effortlessness at which both of our boys did every little thing. Together, they battled flawed stage design, the contents of the script, and, as always, the crowd itself. Somehow, the two would always emerge triumphant. At the time I watched Bottom, I was in drama school myself, and could draw a lot of inspiration from the way any situation was handled by Rik and Ade: drop character only when it's funny, and never give your audience an inch on you.

Rik would suffer a quad bike accident in '98, leaving him in a coma and the public on the edge of their seats. Immediately upon regaining consciousness, our man allegedly accused the doctor: “So you're the bastard who keeps sticking needles into me.”

Regaining his strength from the accident in hospital, Rik would write the first draft of the Bottom movie: Guest House Paradiso, that would take Richie and Eddie to new heights of depravity, starring the likes of Simon Pegg, Bill Nighy and Vincent Cassel. I remember nights watching this towards the end of my time in high school, how “Feeeeb hello?” became the catchphrase of the year, and forever carrying the weight of knowing exactly what Rik Mayall looks like wearing nothing but a pair of women's spiked rubber underwear.

 

That wasn't the end of Rik's varied world of appearances of course, with roles in the likes of films such as British classic The Wind in the Willows, and, although due to editing never appearing in the final product, playing Peeves the Poltergeist in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. His voice was a focal part of all his performances, being instantly recognizable almost anywhere. He read audiobooks with a flair only he could manage, voiced every character in the hit Playstation game Hogs of War, was the eponymous Sod in How to be a Little Sod, and even turned up in the strangest places like an episode of SpongeBob Squarepants or getting eaten by Kirby in an old Nintendo ad. Mayall's presence in British culture was truly staggering.

First and foremost. He was one of us, one of the dirty everyday slobs who made it to the big time and was proud to be there. With a wife and three daughters, Mayall was the consummate family man, won a primetime Emmy for Outstanding Voice-over performance, and had his ugly mug in the Millennium Dome for millions to see as we clocked over into the new millennium. As in the name of his autobiography, 'Bigger than Hitler, Better than Christ.'

He certainly was.

My time as a fan of Rik Mayall's has lasted twenty years now. I go back and watch the old greats all the time. I introduce The Young Ones and Bottom to hordes of new people. I remember sitting back after a long day shooting a film in 2007, everyone on set exhausted, and putting on Bottom Live 3 and leaving everyone laughing. I wish I had gotten the chance to thank him for all the laughs over the years.

However, the last word on the man himself, can only be given by his comedy partner of so many years, Ade Edmondson:

“There were times when Rik and I were writing together that we almost died laughing. They were some of the most stupid, carefree days I ever had, and I feel privileged to have shared them with him. And now he's died for real. Without me. The selfish bastard.”

Movie review: The Amazing Spider-Man 2.

In this world gone mad, with Superhero movies bursting out of every studio with the force of freight trains every few weeks, it takes throwing your weight around to be noticed. A big villain, a big name, a major plotline from comic-book history, all these are things it takes to get the crowds coming back.
The latest installment of the titular web-slingers movie franchise is certainly no different, and packs no less than three classic Spidey villains into one film, with the promise of a whole bunch more soon to come. They had their work cut out for them making this one, that much is clear from the get go.

Our story cold opens with some major history that will rub canon fans the wrong way, as the mysterious past of Peter Parker's science savvy parents is revealed amid a James Bond style crashing airplane battle over a tenuous internet connection. It may feel more like a tech-thriller than Spider-Man, but it beats opening on some tired old Uncle Ben stuff eh? The action really gets going full-force in scene two, as our hero swings into action against stock Russian terrorist, Aleksei Systevich. This entire encounter really is the old cartoon brought to life. Aleksei (played by a completely over-the-top Paul Giamatti) is as snarling and ridiculous as you can get playing a Russian killer, and Spider-Man is at his wise-crackling best from the first line. Caught stealing an armoured car full of plutonium isotopes, Aleksei is beaten and bested by Spider-Man in minutes, leaving us with a reminder of just how dexterous and strong this particular version of the hero really is.
Arriving late to his own graduation ceremony, Peter drops in to reintroduce us to his love interest, the ill-fated Gwen Stacy. The relationship between the two is blossoming, yet haunted by the specter of Gwen's father, killed in battle against a Welshman last movie. The foreboding stares of her father's ghost forces Peter to wedge a gap between the two, ending their relationship. It isn't wildly fun getting into the relationship between these two again. It's teen romance, we all know what it's like already, awful and terrible and full of headphones and pillow punching. What is far more fun is watching the developing villains go about their pre-villainous lives.
Manic, self-confidence deficient electrical engineer Max Dillon was rescued by Spider-Man in a happenstance encounter, and now talks to the hero in his miserable apartment when no one else is around. Max is both self obsessed and horribly afraid of social embarrassment, with obvious and severe abandonment issues, stumbling over his words trying to interact with anyone as he goes to his bottom of the ladder job at questionably evil megacorporation Oscorp. You know the character, you've seen him before. He may be played by a weird haired Jamie Foxx here, but he was played by a weird haired Jim Carrey before he became the Riddler in Batman Forever, and a weird haired Guy Pearce before he became Aldritch Killian in Iron Man 3. The stepped on and overlooked scientist, the unseen genius. Oh, one day, if only he had the chance. It doesn't take long for Max to stumble into a room filled with fizzing electrical wires and tanks full of electrical eels (no really) and go get himself done turned into his very own Dr Manhattan.

Now the fledgling Electro is an interesting character. The transformation doesn't force a personality change at first, leaving the awkward, needy character in a wildly powerful new body. With no knowledge of how to control himself, or indeed why everyone is looking at him as he comes to times square, his body inadvertently seeking the energy sources found there. His complex fixation with Spider-Man comes to fruition when he is forced to encounter his hero face to face.
When the world is focused on him, just for that one perfect moment, and everyone pays attention to him, he seems almost content. Then his hero arrives and tears all the attention away from him immediately. Worse, Spider-Man forgets Max's name. Electro comes alive.
Now Electro is by far the strongest villain of the film, and once he makes the transition from tired stereotype to full fledged bad guy, becomes one of the more exciting villains to appear in a recent film. His body moves with fluid electricity, swarming and moving over his translucent flesh, and his voice reverberates with a bassy distortion that is just wonderful. Even more distinctive, is the swelling music that follows the character through the film; A deep, rolling dubstep that not only sets the dread of his incredible power perfectly, but even moves and jumps in tone with the character on screen, making each of his scenes feel beautifully kinetic and bringing so much more to the atmosphere. The rest of the music in the film pales in comparison.
Spider-Mans confrontations with Electro are by far the film's most visually impressive sequences, the villains powers evolving through the course of the film from simple energy manipulation, to moving as a living current of electricity spiraling through the air in waves of blue and purple surges. It's gorgeous to watch, I just wish the changes in his personality were explored a little more as the film went on. He desires to take control of what is rightfully his by design, the city power grid, but once this is accomplished, we never really find out what goes through his mind. What would the sheltered, fearful little scientist become when endowed with such power? (and how did the transformation fix the gap in his teeth?) I would have enjoyed seeing Electro fleshed out more in the third act.
The third act devotes its time mainly to another, however. Young Harry Osborn makes his entrance early on in the film, a seemingly innocent yet dark young man returning to see the last moments of his dying father. Norman is bed ridden, twisted and dying from the same disease that courses through Harry's veins, and with a cryptic warning, passes his companies malevolent research onto his son. Thus beginning a subplot of intrigue within the Oscorp company, of plot and deceit from those that Harry is forced to trust upon taking his father's throne. Now Harry is a well done character here. The young Osborn is usually treated as ancillary to his father, but here the elder is done away with swiftly, establishing the deep disconnection the two share and complete lack of family trust, as well as give us a glimpse into this dark young man who once called Peter Parker friend. The two share a very real feeling moment where, after encountering one another after almost a decade of absence, they insult one another and laugh. Their friendship feels believable, and it's a moving development when Harry's illness requires him to obtain the blood of the newly famous Spider-Man. Connected to Spider-Man through is photography (sadly absent is J. Jonah Jameson in this one) Peter is forced to refuse Harry's pleas.  Harry is a dying young man, he's desperate; and to be betrayed by his only real friend in this world of hateful businessmen fighting him for control of his birthright, might be all it takes to knock him over the edge from desperation into insanity. Here returns the earlier established backstory of the Parker parents, and their dark relationship to Norman Osborn and his research. In a noir little mystery sequence Peter must follow the trail set by his father to a hidden lab beneath the city, to find a long abandoned lab his father left behind and unveil his secret research. Although filled with the only real link Peter has with his parents, this didn't seem to pay off all that much in the rest of the film, and actually seemed to further more to Harry's medical plotline than it did Peter's family strife.

The action and interplay between these two major villains is interesting, with Electro gaining control of his new powers and growing stronger, and Harry losing control of his company and growing weaker. Electro becomes the weapon which Harry uses to stab his way back into his empire. It's a shame these two characters only really have a couple scenes together, as it would have been interesting to see how they would interact later on in the films events.
As Spider-Man comes to a shattering showdown with Electro, containing a moment where Electro creates a replica of his leering face in the sparking ruins of a New York skyscraper that truly impressed me as a new super-villain classic, Harry is descending to his destiny in the vaults below Oscorp, where he is injected with the imperfect spider serum in last ditch effort to save his life.
Harry goes from 0 to Green Goblin in a matter of seconds, which may have been a bit fast in my opinion, the whole film going into the final waves of act 3 in very short order.
The two climactic battles with our villains coming one after the other was a little bit of an odd choice of pace, with Electro having been built up longer and simply more impressively than the Goblin, and he is done away with a little easily with Spider-Man's first solution to the problem. Gwen Stacy being courageous and running around in the midst of the explosive battle was also ridiculous at times to watch. She's talking to Spider-Man like he's just her average old boyfriend whilst he is literally being attacked by the highly explosive supervillain. Yes, we understand you're a strong, intellectual woman who can look after herself and solve problems, but get your head down in the line of fire bitch!
Speaking of Gwen, those in the audience who're fans of the story will know she's not seeing the end of this one. As Spider-Man battles the newly powered Harry, who does look brilliant in a very grotesque new take on the Green Goblin, Gwen's life hangs in a precarious balance. We're waiting for it to happen, and in a way that takes away from most of the threat in the rest of the fight.

Now Emma Stone isn't a bad actress, googly eyes and all, it's just that the character of Gwen Stacy just isn't great. She's too perfect, too intellectual, too successful. Her relationship with Peter is so picturesque in its ineffable romance that she really did have to die. The character of Peter Parker, and indeed any superhero, is most exciting when it is strained, when it is challenged and under assault. Remember Spider-Man 2? With poor Peter Parker losing everything in his life bit by bit, life raining crap on him day after day? He's at the brink of giving up everything before Doc Ock even turned up. It was compelling stuff, and the death of Gwen Stacy here, which was done well in a mix of both the classic comic book event and the creation of Venom; is a step on the trials this new Spider-Man has to face to become the hero he needs to be.
The film doesn't really wind down, it just gets going again, almost as if it's about to introduce another act. We are treated to a shameless introduction to the next story in the franchise, with the beaten and imprisoned Harry Osborn directing a mysterious benefactor to ready the experiments for a new group of supervillains. Just a few men, would it be a stretch to guess about six? How sinister.
The first of this crew is handed to us for the final scene, as Aleksei returns from his stint in prison, powered up in his tank-like Rhino mech and ready to claim his revenge on Spider-Man.
Rhino could have been scary and intimidating, but the way he's played here is just too comic-book to be so. He's fun, he's wacky, and the final clash leads us into the idea of Spider-Man routinely battling this sort of villain as his everyday occurrence. Some may say it's baiting for a sequel, but this kind of movie doesn't need to bait. It chooses to go out on a high note, a playful one, one that reminds us Spider-Man does this every day, and there will only be more of these guys coming. This film also subtly introduces us to the characters of Felicia Hardy and even Mr. Smythe; for those who remember the creator of the Spider Slayer robots in the animated series.
The Amazing Spider-Man 2 is a good film, it's fun, doesn't take itself too seriously most of the time, and when it does the melodrama doesn't overstay its welcome. Visually there are scenes that will stun you in here, and the movements and actions of the titular hero have never looked better. With great villains and solid performance by the protagonist, I'd say the franchise has been done a favor by this installment.

Super Special Dooptacular Doop Special.

There are many heroes in the Marvel Universe.

Characters that have captured the imagination of millions across the globe since before the majority of us were born. Spider-Man, Iron Man, The Hulk, Captain America. To name only a tiny fraction of the many and varied heroes that provide everyone with excitement, entertainment, even inspiration in their everyday lives.

But is there one amongst the legions that shines brighter than the rest? A hero so great we can all aspire to emulate? One amongst the Avengers, Earths Mightiest heroes? Or the Fantastic Four? A team held together by family and love? Is there truly a hero grander than all the others?

No. Just kidding. This article is about Doop.

'But just who is this Doop?' I hear you blithely ask, Ignorant of the absurdity of your question.

Those who are in the know are painfully aware of the floating little green potato looking thing lurking around the pages of Marvel comics. Just look at that lovable little green blob.

He's been kicking around since 2001, a (one can only assume off the cuff) creation of Peter Milligan and Mike Allred in their run on X-Force. You see Joe Quesada had taken over at that point, and various comics were getting overhauls. With British talent Milligan (Penner of some truly classic 2000 AD stories) writing and Madman legend Allred with the pencils, the team that emerged from the duo would turn out to be one of the most surreal in Marvel's history. They would come to be known as the X-Statix.

So what we end up with are a bunch of self-obsessed and morally deficient young heroes with powers ranging from wholly useless to ridiculously specific. They would be killed off left and right, act like immature idiots, and generally be a irresponsible team, albeit one of the most interesting there's ever been. Through the swiftly changing roster, one of the only standbys of the team is their cameraman. Or cameraperson. This little floating green potato that looked a bit like a stop halfway between Slimer and Gary Busey.

You could be dooped into thinking he wasn't important, and although ever-present, he never actually does all that much. But if there was a soul behind the body of the X-Statix, it would be green and Doop shaped. He floats around, rarely doing much more that getting footage of the team going about their business and sneaking shots up the female team-members skirts, occasionally spouting dialogue in a nonsensical wingding that is apparently unintelligible. 

So what exactly are Doop's powers? Who the hell knows? They're super-dooper, how about that? At one time or another he's shown evidence of super strength and resilience, transforming and enlarging his body, dooplicating items, something that seems to resemble creating pocket dimensions in his own body, energy beams, and just plain weirdness like taking himself bodily apart with no physical limitation.

Doopseak remains an enigmatic secret buried far deeper than anything in a Dan Brown novel. In universe, everyone seems to understand it of course, leading to baffling comedy in the reactions to whatever it is the little guy is saying.

In a crossover event with the Avengers near the end of X-Statix's run, Doop is taken hostage by Russian terrorists and turned into an atomic superweapon. Captain America makes a vague reference to something called 'The Doop Project' in the final days of the Cold War. Could Doop possibly be of Soviet Origin? Who the hell knows, we never hear any more on the subject.

That covers literally all we ever really discover about Doop. There's some vague allusions to relatives at one point, but they remain an unsolved mystery. Through thick and thin, Doop remains the  most stalwart member of the team. They send him to deal with a trouble-making prospective member at one point, and Doop does the kid in with an axe. Holy shit, that's some brutal stuff, Doop. He's capable of all sorts of things, including being an ordained Anglican priest and engaging in apparent sexual relationships with She-Hulk and Madonna. He palled around with Wolverine on a noir-style detective romp for a couple of issues, and one time the little guy went toe-to-toe with the Mighty Thor in a confrontation so calamitous it awoke the sleeping Valkyries of Asgard.

So how do salacious tendencies, mystical dialogue, a dooplicitous nature and some incredibly poorly defined powers combine into a cult character shadowing the margins of the Marvel universe?

Who knows, but when the X-Statix had their comic canceled (A criminal travesty as far as I'm concerned), every team member was apparently done to death in the last issue. The issue is chiefly focusing on the more vocal heroes of course, and Doop is seen in the background in one frame, lying sprawled over a chair with a nasty stomach wound.

Could the blob be done in so easily? Was that the end for our hero? Doopsday?

No chance.

Other members of Marvel's creative team took notice of that little chap. In an unrelated comic, somewhere in the multiverse, a passing child might be seen clutching a familiar looking green doll. Jean Grey had an awfully distinctive blob of a keychain one time. In an issue of symbiotic hero Toxin's self titled comic, a scrawl of graffiti in the background proudly reads: Doop Lives.

Was the little blob becoming an almost Christ-like figure within the ethos of the Marvel universe? Not quite, but had he subtly infiltrated the lines between? Indoopitably.

A few years later Doop resurfaced, alive and well, a mysterious entity discovered deep in space speaking in an all too familiar tongue. He reappeared in the Marvel universe not with a bang, but with a whisper. A simple reemergence unquestioned by readers who knew Doop not. Among other things, Doop went on an utterly sdoopid kung-fu adventure with Iron Fist, acted as a criminal investigator to the mutants of Utopia (Driving his victim to tears with an interrogation comprised completely of questions about French cinema) and appeared in a mutant romance special that was truly weird.

Since then, Doop has been appearing in the pages of every mutant based comic there is, apparently having found employment with the Jean Grey School for Higher learning. You'll see him at a desk in front of students, sleeping through one of his own lecture periods, or eating doughnuts in the staff room. He seems to be doing well in the teaching profession. Of course, Doop's employment as staff is purely a front for the real job at the school, that of an undercover security professional, looking out for the safety of the students, and rooting out trouble at the heart of the problem. Logan can count on his old buddy Doop to do what needs gettin' done.

That about brings us up to speed. Marvel NOW is in full swing, and creeping up on us very soon for some strange reason that only the correct alignment of planets could possibly have allowed, Doop is getting his own little limited series. Set during the events of the massive mutant book crossover 'Battle of the Atom' Doop is getting his own slice of the center stage after all this time.

Screw The Avengers, go out and buy your kids (or wife, boyfriend, grandmother, etc) some Doop. They'll love you for it.

You said it man.

Comic Review: The Trial of Jean Grey.

Comic book crossovers can be a scary thing.

If you're a veteran comic book fan, you're used to it. The mass blender of characters and story lines that are thrust at you three or four times a year and mix up the stories and the bad guys. They're epic, they're fun.

If you're new to the comic book world of course, they may intimidate and frighten you. Who are these characters I know nothing about? Who are all these strange names on the covers? This new art is strange and unfamiliar! Why can't we just go back to the was it used to be?!

All it takes is a little getting used to, is all. Try to see it not so much as the literary clusterfuck it initially appears to be, and more like a sampler CD. One of those big ass ones you got for a few dollars that feature all sorts of stuff you've never heard before, but has that one track you really like. You have the comfort zone of the ones you know, can skim over the guys you aren't so keen on, and just might find something new you love, and go out and buy their record afterward. This is exactly what a comic book crossover event is like, so turn it up. Or open the page, Whatever.

  

The Trial of Jean Grey is the first crossover involving Marvel's biggest property, The X-Men, and it's newest (But swiftly rising star) property The Guardians of the Galaxy. Only a little one, three books of each completes the entire story. It's not unusual for crossover events to involve characters or books that are a little under the radar and mix them with the big leagues, as of course it's a good way to introduce people to a book they may not have picked up before. It's no coincidence that the Guardians just happen to be crossing over with the X-Men six months before their big budget movie comes out of course, you gotta introduce people somehow. It's similar to what they did at the start of this latest Guardians run, having Iron Man amongst the team for a trial run, a sort of viewpoint character, an everyday (comparatively) human amongst these spacefaring pirate nutters. It helps that a few members of the Guardians can out-flirt and out-wisecrack Tony Stark or Bobby Drake at every turn, Rocket Raccoon is a hilarious character and he's been particularly enjoyably written into this crossover event.

Now I came into this crossover from the opposite side of how most will. I follow the Guardians, and getting back into X-Men again was a strange feeling for me. They were my team back in the 90's and it's strange to see how much the characters have aged as I have. The series is All-New X-Men in particular I should point out, the concept of which is that the original X-Men from the teams beginnings in an idyllic superhero group under the tutelage of Professor X, have been pulled out of time and to the present, where the rebellious Cyclops is leading rogue mutants against his old comrades in a post Charles Xavier world.

Pretty heavy concept to swallow, I know, but it's a hell of a lot of fun to see.

Of course where most people will be learning is in the other team. The Guardians of the Galaxy, led by cocky American Star-Lord, will be new to many readers. They haven't been involved in too much heavy plot dragging them down yet, so it's easy to jump into getting to know the team, from gun-loving weapons specialist Rocket Raccoon (Yes, he's a raccoon), to smoky female melee combat expert Gamora. The teams latest member, Angela, might take a little more salt to accept, as she is a fresh addition to the Marvel universe, created by Neil Gaiman and recognizable character from the popular comic book Spawn. Yes, THAT Angela.

The crossover is a little unforgiving in that if you only really want to pick up your book out of the two, you're out of luck. The two books trade the crossover in chapters, so you'll be entirely out of half the story if you're only reading one. It's all in with this one.

I for one didn't mind picking up All-New X-Men and giving it a chance, it got me back into enjoying a few characters I didn't even realize I had been missing for a while. The relationships between young Jean and Scott is charming and brings you back a little to an earlier time of comic heroes. That's when they're from of course, and they pull it off well.

 

The story itself that all these heroes are mixed up in? Heavy stuff. This is a Jean Grey prior to the Phoenix force, long before her power grows and she becomes a danger to herself and others. The Jean from this universe never had the chance to stand trial for her crimes, on the account of being long dead of course, so when an intergalactic tribunal, lead by classic X-Men foe the Gladiator, kidnaps Jean to face trial for her future self's crimes as the Phoenix, the young X-Men are dragged along for the ride as the Guardians of the Galaxy take the plucky group into the stars to rescue Jean Grey.

 

 

Now some characters are more important than others in all this. It's a lot to juggle essentially having ten main characters to throw around, and you may find your favorite getting lost in the clash.

The focal characters between the teams: Jean Grey, Star-Lord, Scott Summers, are fully fleshed out, having their whole range of emotions on show, but I could count the lines said by Drax or Angel on one hand. X-23 seems to appear out of nowhere five books in. There is also the threat, as with far too many crossovers, of simply having too many characters! Mixing the members of X-Men and the Guardians should be enough already, but then the Starjammers turn up, intergalactic pirates with a heroic streak and a family tie to the X-Men, and it starts to get a little packed in there. There is a panel of everyone sat in the Guardians spaceship filled with so much spandex and weird coloured skin it looks like a convention in there.  It's an enjoyable mashup though, the dialogue between the teams is great, and the sardonic wit of Rocket and the stone-cold sexy of Gamora plays well with personalities as strong as those of the hyper-intellectual Beast or over-excitable Ice Man. The hamburger scene is just....great.

 

The story as a whole, is solid. Simple even. Physics-bending moral dilemma aside, It's a rescue story. Jean Grey is held imprisoned by the Gladiator and his men, seeking her to not only face punishment for crimes she has yet to commit, but to atone emotionally for them as well. Gladiator's stubbornness and seeming cruelty makes him a strong villain, and his incredible physical capabilities make him a solid match for both teams put together as it is. It's a shame there really is only one brief confrontation with all the characters present, as the story does pass an awful lot of time with the getting-there as opposed to the rescue in actuality. When the inevitable showdown does come to pass, it's over a little quickly, but is off-the-page huge of course.

 

Gladiator should know that messing with time isn't always so easy, and the resolution of the story looks like it could have some lasting consequences for the X-Men. Jean Grey theorizes her emotional state has been pushed beyond the point her previous self ever was, and that maybe the Phoenix force will effect her differently this time around. Her all-new (and all-naked!) new form is nothing wildly unexpected, but it does at least show us that this Jean we haven't seen the best of yet. Even the ever amicable Cyclops, already thrashed into subservience by the events of his own book, steps up at the end and makes a decision that could hugely change the story on his end.

 

 

As for the Guardians, sadly there isn't so much to say for this story really making a change to them. Apart from Star-Lord getting a little more-than-just-friends with Kitty Pryde, no major friendships are established or developed. The whole thing is definitely much more about the X-Men that it is our space heroes. The more you think about it, the more you need to ask: 'Did the Guardians really need to be there?' Are they just in this story for the sake of a crossover? The interplay is great fun, but could these two comics have gone their separate ways without forcing the readers to buy both? If there are further reaching ramifications for the Guardians resulting from this story, I will be surprised.

All in all, I for one did enjoy the thing. For a big fan of the Guardians of the Galaxy, it did a great job of reminding me how much I used to like the X-Men too. It even gave me the nudge to pick up a few more of the past books of their new series and enjoy them too. The Guardians and the X-Men, although wildly different teams, fit well together, and perhaps we'll see more of how they work together in the future. There was a lot unsaid at the end of this story, both happy and grave, and I hope we see these characters develop further to establish themselves in the vastness of the Marvel universe.

Movie Review: Only Lovers Left Alive

It's been a long time since I've seen a vampire movie.
In my younger years they were my bread and butter, really. I had dozens upon dozens in my collection, genre spanning, from classics to contemporary. Then something seemed to happen to them, perhaps heralded by Interview with the Vampire as the last great one, when it all started to turn sour. The terrible tumble into Underworld and Twilight where characters became an endless parade of personality deficient posers and plots became poorly executed Vampire: The Masquerade rip offs.
One by one these turkeys would be rolled out and I'd avoid every one.
I'd thought the vampire film was dead.

Ah but that was always the bloodsuckers favorite trick wasn't it? Turns out the Vampire film had only been staked. Lying dormant, in wait. With Jim Jarmusch's moody little romance, Only Lovers Left Alive, the Vampire film may have opened bloodshot eyes unto the night once more.

 

 

I don't even really need to say much about the story in Only Lovers Left Alive, and this is because the story per se really isn't all that vital. Sure, it is the story of a pair of eternal lovers, separated from one other's company for a period of time unknown, returning into one another's lives once again. But this story is really secondary to character, in the end that simplicity is what makes this film as beautiful as it is. Adam and Eve and each other, and that's all that matters. Many of the vampire tropes of old have been largely done away with here, and replaced with new, interesting aspects of the world we thought we'd seen so many times before, giving the whole thing both the element of tradition about it, as well as a breath of things unseen in the genre.

I would say there are only truly three characters in Only Lovers Left Alive. Eve, the elder vampire living in the pale stone streets of North Africa, played wonderfully by a white haired Tilda Swinton composed entirely of legs and cheekbones. Adam, her sullen and introspective lover far away in the USA, played by the gaunt and dark haired Tom Hiddleston, surrounded by his musical obsession and the streets of the city that hides him.

Although separated by half the Earth, the two never feel entirely separate, like they could have been on the other sides of the same room all along. Eve will dance to the instruments played by Adam's hands. Adam may lay dormant on his couch, awakening at the same time Eve opens her eyes on her lavish bed. They feel each other at all times. When they actually communicate with one another through the powers of  modern technology, they act like they'd spoken not five minutes ago. The worlds in their eyes are both worlds of obsession, both for each other of course, and for their massive passions. Adam with his instruments, filling his crowded city apartment, and Eve with her towers of books filling every corner of her wide rooms.

Only two characters of course. Indeed Adam may have Ian, the helpful music fan who brings him instruments by order and arranges the sale of Adam's music in mysterious unmarked LP form, and Eve has her adoring old friend Marlow, who she sits in bars with discussing literature and arguing historical events. These are just extensions of the environment, in my opinion, faces to colour the atmosphere. The real characters there are the dark streets of Detroit, and the pale stone of Tangier, respectively. The locations are so much a part of our two lovers that it reveals a huge part of them, their moods, their outlook. We get the feeling they have chosen these dwellings after centuries of travelling for very personal reasons.

Adam is often driving his car through the looming, strangely claustrophobic world of Detroit. Endless empty streets yawn back at him, abandoned factories and apartments stretching out in all direction. It is lonely, dark, devoid of life. Above all it seems hopeless. Adam in turn is overwhelmed with emptiness in his life. Trying to fill it with his music only does so much, and the darkness keeps coming back to him in the end.

Tangier, on the other hand, and the white haired vampiress that chose it as her haunt, is another world. Although she only walks the streets at night, Eve strolls through lit streets, past music and people and young lovers. She sits herself in bars and watches the other patrons drink, talk, smoke. She smiles at it all and takes in the life and hope, and it flows out of her in return. Eve always has a positive view on life, even after all this time.

Still only two characters, I know. The third character takes this film above the norm for the genre in a way that made me take notice of Jarmusch's skill as a director. Music is rarely used well in film. Unless you're a Tarantino, or a Lynch, someone who uses music as a force as powerful as the imagery on screen, then the music is considered secondary.
Only Lovers Left Alive has a score so memorable, so enjoyable, and so utterly fitting to the world it fills, that is the third character that fills the places between our two lovers. Written and performed by Jozef Van Wissem and Jarmusch's musical project SQÜRL, it is a score so full of dark and light, sadness and joy, that it gives so much more to the two very different worlds our lovers live in, yet is consistent enough to remind them that they are nothing without one another, that they are still together, no matter how far apart.

Only Lovers Left Alive need not be remembered as a Vampire film, but treasured as a romance. There is the element of darkness to be expected from a film about creatures of the night, but also so much of the depth of love shared between our protagonists. What these two characters truly are is insignificant compared to what they mean to one another, and the moments that they share are something beautiful to behold.

Movie Review: Non-Stop

Now I didn't realize this was a plane movie going in. I should have paid more attention to the posters and the oh so subtle title. It's a good premise for a mystery, a flight. All the characters trapped together, no-one coming or going. It could almost imitate Poe's classic locked door mystery if pulled off just right. Non-Stop didn't quite turn out that movie, but what I got instead was a hell of a lot of fun anyway.

Non-Stop may come off at first as a dark, broody thriller. We spend our first few moments with Liam Neeson's grizzled Air Marshall in his car, on a dreary gray morning, as planes descend in slow motion. As he pours himself a double whiskey into a Styrofoam cup and swirls it with a toothbrush it feels like we're watching film noir.

It's a good setup for the start of a mystery, the airport. Everyone is going somewhere, and all the characters our boy checks out on his way to the departure lounge will play a part somehow. We're already sizing up different personalities we encounter as he smokes by the drop-off point and washes his face in the restroom. Little single-serving friend encounters we all have in airports, or indeed train stations or docks, that give you a glimpse into someone's life. The talkative yuppie, the overtired white collar worker... The more investigative amongst the viewers are already trying to guess the villain, of course. It's fun to try in this one actually, they do a damn good job of misdirection. The departure lounge is a seething mass of faces and looks, suspicious glances and warm smiles. Each character we'll inevitably see more of in the film is shown in both good light and bad in the same setting from one shot to the next. You really don't know who the inevitable troublemaker will turn out to be by the time the plane is in the air and the tension starts to mount.

As someone with a marked distaste for flying, I'll say Non-Stop did the perfect job of reminding me what it feels like to take off in one of those big ugly boats. The gut-churning slow grind as the wheels kick into motion, some dodgy redhead to your left trying to start a conversation. The waitress forgetting your order. The lurch as the plane leaves terra and some asshole starts texting you about how he's going to kill a passenger every twenty minutes until you arrange for him to be paid one-hundred fifty million dollars. We've all been there. How our man handles his situation is where the movie shines, and goes from Touch of Evil to Con Air in a few crazy twists.

Bill, our plucky but troubled Air Marshall, is not the suave sophisticate we've seen in these sort of films recently. 'The Bourne Transatlantic' this is not. He sneaks to the bathrooms to smoke and drink and think about Ireland as soon as the plane takes off, and his investigation into the killer on board starts off wonkily at best. It's a closed cabin, how difficult can it be? His text message exchanges with the hidden enemy float across the screen like an airborne Sherlock and this is done enjoyably enough to never make it feel repetitive, or even time-killing. The film moves so slowly in places it actually feels like real-time, but never becomes boring. Non-Stop manages to snag that clever Casino Royale tension of keeping you on edge when nothing is actually happening on screen for some time.

It all goes to shit fast though, and the bone-crunching punch up in the 3x3 airplane bathroom reminds you this is Liam 'Wolfpuncher' Neeson we're dealing with here after all. The fight scenes are well choreographed, fast paced, cramped and exactly like what you expect it would be to start one mid-cabin. For a moment there, after Bill makes an ugly mistake costing a life, we are really dunked in his headspace and forced to wonder is our man a little unhinged? Will we have THAT twist? Little time to puzzle it out, as the flight full of passengers quickly descends into confusion and anger. Bill and his quickly recruited posse of mystery solvers have to find out who is sending the messages before any more casualties come up with no leads.

If you're starting to think our man Bill must be speculating to himself a little too much, he has a few sidekicks on board to loosen up the tension. A cute too-smart-for-her-job stewardess always willing to help, and a kooky at first glance redhead packing an unnecessarily dark and convoluted backstory. Neither of these relationships felt quite real, with suspicions falling all over ever moment. It's good to have a range of possible suspects, but I don't believe anyone will really consider the villain to turn out to be any of Bill's sidekicks for too long. Not when there's all those lingering red-herring shots on the bald tough guy in coach to think about anyway. The third of Bill's unlucky Bat-gang is our Co-pilot who I felt we should have seen more of in the first and second act, before he has a chance to shine.

The glimpses into the various other souls aboard are some of the film's highlights though. Bill is in virtually every scene, so it does feel a welcome respite when we see someone else speculating on the mystery for a moment. We meet an NYPD agent on leave, the urban youth, a young woman out philandering. Vast stereotypes one and all, but entertaining ones nonetheless. The fears of the common man against national security, and the inherent lies therein, are explored. It's good to see that show through in what is essentially a light hearted movie. There's serious business to touch on with the TSA's bewildering security measures, and we're reminded when the passengers don't simply trust the Air Marshall because he's the authority on board. He is confronted, he is caught on tape, passengers don't take him at face value. It's actually realistic in this respect. He has to use every trick in his book, and watching Bill's sudden transformation into 'cop-mode' when one of his sidekicks shows some spine was hilarious.

As our adventure into the skies with Marshall Bill winds into the third act, the film does really come into its own. The techno-babble is fun, the quirky passengers are diverse and enjoyable to watch. Our villain is well hidden, enjoyably played, with some very interesting motives that could very well push buttons in certain circles. Can a national tragedy that the American people are very sensitive about be used for a villain to self-justify his motives? There's a darkness there that I haven't seen explored in film before, one that shows some courage on behalf of the writers to try for, even if it may touch on delicate subjects for some viewers. When the film devolves into all out action for it's last hurrah, it is well played, well executed and great fun to watch. It doesn't overstay it's welcome either, it's over in a flash of fun and almost super heroism on the part of the tough ol' Air Marshall. There's a ticking clock, there's guns blazing, there's even a few dangerously corny one liners thrown around. It rounds up to a finale that isn't forced, just fitting. (And a long shot on Neeson's smiling face that is truly spine-chilling to behold. Is that what he looks like when he flirts? Mother of God...)

I don't know if Non-Stop was intended to be as funny as it is. It has action moments bordering on Pierce Brosnan Era James Bond, and moments of pure comedy gold mixed into the dialogue. Although it has a enjoyable action movie basis with a solid mystery subplot, it doesn't take itself too seriously, and doesn't overstay its welcome in any of these areas. For a genre stale with repetition and a seriousness that is awfully out of character, Non-Stop feels like a welcome return to form to an era of playful action movies, with big heroes, crazy shootouts, and silent comedy from a stony faced hero.

The Fourth Wind

There was something in the wind that night; Babette could smell it on the air. 

The higher she climbed the more she was certain of it. The claws on her long limbs left scuffs in the bark as she pulled herself up the tree. Were anyone accompanying her, she'd have left them below. None had the speed to follow her, she practically skipped up the last few branches. Her arms were so deceptively slender as she tugged her weight up hand over hand. 

Babette had always explored. Right from the first, she couldn't stop herself. 

The memories were dim now but she remembered a place where she had explored all day, finding passageways just large enough to squeeze through or holes to crawl into, giggling in the dark for hours while Rachel called for her. 

Rachel, the wizened, dark haired woman who had played mother to Babette for so long. Rachel wouldn't be searching anymore. No more would she come looking for the little red haired girl who used to hide. 

Babette couldn't put her finger on when, the years passed so quickly to her, but it had seemed that all of a sudden Rachel was having to look up to scold her. Her lanky frame was so tall now, so fast, so strong.

Reaching the heights of the tree, Babette stuck her head up as high as she could stretch, bony shoulders raised and pointy little breasts stuck out.

She breathed in. 

Something was there. She wanted it so badly that she was scared of fooling herself, but she knew it, something strange was in the forest. Her long red hair was blowing in all directions, sending the twigs and leaves gathered in it falling to the Earth below. 

Babette let her eyes close, those big almond eyes that saw more than one world, and let herself breathe. Her heart was hammering with excitement and exertion. She tried to calm it, but couldn't. She'd knew she'd never focus enough like this. 

She slid back down to sit on a branch and propped herself up, staring out into the darkness of the forest. The silence descended. Every little chirp and hum of the creatures around her, she heard. It was all so familiar. She had heard it all before. She waited for the smell to come again, the smell of something new approaching. 

She caught herself trying to will it to come again and stopped. Inside, she was alight with energy, screaming with exuberance for something to happen.

Waiting atop the tree, the stillness soaked in. A sadness began to creep over Babette. 

Just another night like the all the others? She didn't know if she could endure another. 

The long return to the sad hovel she called home, the stares of the others huddled in the dark. She couldn't stand it. All this time waiting for the change she anticipated, her heart would burst in her chest if she honestly thought that it would never come.

Lylesburg had told her she was a fool. That she was still a child. 

He told her that everything was in her head and that's where it should stay. Only the Baptizer could know the path ahead, and the great head had not spoken in years. Always his words were to wait, to hold, to hide. 

In the years since the exile, they had done nothing but hide. 

Babette didn't need to hide anymore, she had done enough in her youth, she had grown tired of it. Hiding in the dark was a child's game. 

Babette had grown tired of many things in the last few years, but nothing upset her more than having to hide again. She didn't need to. Babette could run, gods could she run. Those long pale legs of hers carried her quick and as quiet as the wind, and if anything ever caught up with her she had teeth and claws to bare. 

Babette was not afraid. Not like Rachel and Lylesburg always were. 

Babette wondered if she was the only one who knew that it was not their kind's way to fear the night. While the others crept and shivered and whispered, Babette ran, and climbed, and looked, and saw.

Now she was calm. She could almost feel it coming. 

The forest air on her skin was less cool, the sounds of the night's inhabitants around her fading. When she opened her eyes would it be the forest out there? Or would it be the other world? The things she saw there she could drink like water. She saw faces, heard noises and voices. She watched the others and it felt warm and fun and so good. She could curl up in it, sometimes, when the winds went her way and she felt a rush of senses not her own. 

People laughing and fighting and fucking and crying. Babette had a hundred second hand eyes and ears and fingertips to see and hear and feel through. 

Compared to the worlds she saw and knew, Lylesburg knew nothing. 

Babette smiled as she opened her eyes and the forest spread out before her. She knew so much. Babette had clever ears. She heard the others as they huddled in their homes, talking, sobbing, arguing. Over and over she heard Rachel and Lylesburg speak of the next move, the next step towards a new home. Another pointless journey to another temporary home. When he thought he was alone in his little room, Babette heard Lylesburg asking his questions of the wrapped shape always by his side. The same questions he'd asked for years. 

'Where do we go from here?' 'Why haven't we heard from him?'

Then, quietly, more hushed and whispered than the others, 'Have I failed you?'.

The breeze up there whistled in Babette's ears, her senses awakening.

The horizon was muddy with the coming dawn. Babette's eyes watered at the slightest glimmer of it. She had come so far tonight, it would be a tight run back, chased by the dawn. She began to drop through the branches, trailing leaves and pines down around her. Her pale flesh, hidden by nothing but freckles, scratched red with irritation from the bark. She dropped onto the cold dirt ground with barely a sound.

For a heartbeat she listened, watched. Heard nothing, saw nothing.

Babette took one last glance behind her and then she was moving, long legs taking her in loping strides, balls of her feet barely touching the ground. 

The pads of her feet were thick with callouses, but still they ached. She had a half hour at most to return to the place the tribe had settled.

The tribe. The remains of what was once the tribe.

Years ago there were halls, there were chapels and homes and lives being lived. There had been so many. After the exile, of what once thrived there remained only debris. Every time, going back to them, was a reminder of the fear. She hated being there, but there they would remain until Lylesburg, in his wisdom, decided it was time to move on again in his endless self-imposed exile.

Would the next inevitable exodus take them to a real home? Babette didn't think so.

Only one could truly lead them home. Babette knew. It was rare now, but sometimes the face she saw, the voice she heard, was his. She took a deep breath, took the smell on the four winds and inhaled in deep, filling herself with promise.

She ran.

-

In the years of exile, The Tribe had lived in worse.

It was a loose circle of five wooden huts in a clearing. Held a few feet off sun baked ground by rotting stairs, erected decades ago for some long forgotten event. 

A small greeting booth sat facing out into the forest, its glass front smashed in, floor littered with trash. Empty plastic pamphlet holders were screwed to each and every door, whatever gospel they once preached a mystery. 

Peeling yellow paint still stuck to the walls, windows with their glass long smashed out now draped with sacking and black bin bags. A few of the huts had skylights to let light pool on the rotting brown carpet. 

The largest two huts, containing waiting rooms attached to tiny offices, had broken ceiling fans instead. The snapped blades hanging down from the center of the rooms like some giant dead insect.

Only one hut still had a little balcony intact. A shabby construction facing the forest, nails protruding from the hand rest. A ratty tarpaulin formed an awning, flapping in the breeze.

Rachel stood solemnly upon the balcony and stared out, watching the red light of dawn begin to bleed over. 

Every dawn she found herself there. Rachel didn't sleep. 

Big brown eyes were set deep in bloodshot sockets, as if she were perpetually moments away from tears. She went to the stairs, looking where she stepped to avoid piercing her foot on another naked nail. What was a mother without a home for her children? Rachel was mother to so many.

She carried on, stepping slowly down the creaking steps and towards the forest, listening.

Rachel wished the girl was still small enough to pull behind her skirts. This was no life.

Rachel tugged her dresses tighter, not out of the morning chill, but as reassurance against the horrors in her head. The long black dresses she wore concealed her from throat to heel, the ghost white flesh of her skin looking like damp paper in the early light.

It came then, through the forest ahead. On four massive paws it trod, stealth abandoned in favor of speed. The thing crashed towards Rachel, and the woman let the tense air caught in her throat out in a sigh of relief.

The thing seemed part cat, part ape. 

A coat of coarse red fur covered it in places, the rest of its flesh bare and scorched like a sunburn. The face of a gargoyle leered, eyes bulging from its skull and protruding snout filled with angled teeth. It came to a thunderous halt before Rachel and looked up at the dark haired woman. Rachel's expression was fierce, torn between welcoming relief and scolding anger. The beast sulked by her into the shadow of the awning. It slumped to the ground, exhausted. Slowly, the thing began to change.

It always started with the hair, the red coat seeming to recede into flesh, up the beast's shoulders and thighs. Patches of pale skin appearing on legs and spine. Then the muscles began to loosen, become soft, lose definition. The skin of the thing looked liquid, bone and tissue rearranging itself. Arms lost width and strength, becoming slender again. Great paws stretching into thin fingers, nails caked in dirt from the forest floor.

Those big bulging eyes became smaller, but only a little.

Soon enough Babette stared up at Rachel, breathing through her teeth, fighting to find her voice.

“I'm sorry,” She croaked. The voice was harsh and strained, something inside her not quite completely free of the beast yet.

Rachel looked down at the gangly teenager while she could, for as soon as the girl stood she would have to crane her neck. A mother needed height to give the right impression.

“One day, I will stand here watching the sun rise,” Rachel began. Her voice was soft, quiet, “It will fill the world with light, the birds will take wing and all the flowers will come alive, and you will not have returned. Because you will have grown old, and learned nothing.”

Babette came to her feet then, brushing herself off. Her eyes were watering as the sky brightened.

“I'm sorry,” She repeated, her human voice returned. She shaded her eyes and looked to the door.

“Too old for these games,” Rachel chided, and turned her back on the girl. She uncoiled one of the many scarves that hung around her throat, and offered it to the girl.

“Cover yourself.” Rachel ordered.

The door opened with a crack, and Rachel stepped inside. 

Babette trailed a few steps behind, quick fingers tying the scarf into place around her hips. Once more she felt the sting of mother's words to a scolded child.

The door jam had been kicked in at shin level and splinters of wood stood out, Babette had to tug the door closed with a grunt before the loose metal latch caught hold and the door clicked into place. The room within was silent, air still cool from the night. 

Within hours it would be thick and unbearably hot. Babette willed the day to pass soon, for night to come and explorations to continue.

A few of the huts had mattresses, this one was without. Babette's corner was piled with blankets and pillows, sunlight barred from entry by various makeshift defenses over the windows.

Other members of the tribe would be out and roused soon, those among them that could tolerate the sun, enjoying the warmth and the light. The extended family of the breed that had lived and traveled together for so long. 

Babette remembered so many faces, so many that no longer numbered among the dozen or so individuals that were left following Lylesburg. None were truly fraternal to Babette of course, no real blood flowed between the breed. Among the tribe there were souls old enough to be Babette's ancestors. Even Rachel, who looked no older than a woman gracefully traversing her forties was decades older than she appeared.

While the others bathed in the warmth of day, Babette and Rachel had no choice but to sweat in their oven of a dwelling and tolerate the company of one another.

And the company of Mr Lylesburg, of course.

The door to the office stood still and closed. Lylesburg would be within, as always. The old one could tolerate the sunlight, but he barely left the little office anymore.

When Babette realized Rachel was making her way to the door her gut clenched. Not again. His rants, his lectures, his stale wisdom.

“Come,” Rachel said.

If she could have, Babette would have opened the door and left. But she was trapped already. Shunned with burning light from the world outside into the hut she would remain trapped in all day. She wanted to cry or scream or tear at the walls.

Instead she could do nothing. She rubbed at her eyes and went to the door. The old man welcomed her in.

Lylesburg sat cross legged upon a ragged carpet, the office shady and untouched by dawn. His face was hidden in gloom, his long hair held behind his head in a simple ponytail. His shirt was long, sleeves hanging to his knuckles. The hem was ragged and loose, the colour had the appearance of once being something other than the ghostly bleached white it was now. 

The exposed flesh around his neck was red and raw from his constant scratching with uneven fingernails. He did it now, the moment Babette stepped in.

Scratch scratch.

Babette hated the noise so much she wrinkled her nose before she could stop herself. 

Lylesburg ceased his nervous scratching and wiped his hands on his knee. The man's pale fingers twitched helplessly in search of a cigarette. He'd been out for days now. Always the first thing Lylesburg wanted every time they neared civilization.

“It's morning, child,” he said. 

Babette couldn't quite tell if he was meeting her gaze or looking elsewhere. Lylesburg always seemed preoccupied, staring into space, or at the shape kept rolled protectively in a white shroud in the corner behind him. 

The room smelled slightly, a soft scent of burning. Lylesburg always seemed to be burning something. Candles, incense. Trying to keep some faint memory of former tradition alive.

“Sit,” he said. His scabby hand flicked out with an impatient gesture.

She knelt, hands on her thighs. The white shape in the corner of the room lingered in Babette's peripheral vision. The first finger on her left hand automatically touched her breast, over her heart, and the tip of her tongue. The respectful gesture was not repeated by Lylesburg.

He seemed small when he sat like that, cross legged and curled in on himself. Everything about the imposing aura of the man had waned in the time since the exile. Babette saw through the man, saw the shake in his hands that he blamed on addiction. 

Faith had visibly drained out of Lylesburg like his very blood.

Lylesburg sat there now, picking at the hem of his shirt, and spoke. His voice could still carry weight when he wished it, old wisdom and years in his place had made him a man unaccustomed to arguing.

“Every night you leave. You run like a rabbit away from us and you leave. And every dawn at daybreak you come scurrying back, chased by the light, to hide again.”

Babette opened her mouth to speak, to tell Lylesburg she had no choice. She was silenced with a raised finger before speech could come.

“You are young. I know this Babette, don't think I'm so old I forget youth entirely. But you are not stupid.”

He flattened the palm of his hand, indicating the floor before him. Babette went from her kneel to a cross legged position. Supplicant, subservient. She stared at the floor between them, red curls hanging over her eyes. The lessons of the old man had worn thin over the years.

“Babette, child. I know you seek answers, but you will not find them in the forest. As you did not find them in the mountains, you did not find them in the fields, and you certainly did not find them in the city, when I had to put myself, and all of the family who travel with us, at great risk, to come and find you. The questions you have are internal, child. Seek within yourself, as I have told you before. Learn your place here. Talk to Rachel, she is nanny to the tribes gathered with us. Speak with the old ones, with the quiet ones. You may be young, as I have said, but I believe you know much of the world.”

More than you. Babette thought to herself. You hide in your gloom and you know nothing.

Lylesburg continued.

“But regardless of what you think you know, know this. I lead here as a man who seeks a home for his people. I seek the safety for our tribe. I seek for the good of all of us. I am on your side, child.”

“Yes,” Babette replied. She didn't look up

“Then why do you resist me so, child? Where do you go all night? What is it you search for?”

“Nothing, I just got lost. I didn't mean to be so late.”

The lie hung in the air for a moment. Babette listened to Lylesburg breathing. There was a quiet wheeze there that hadn't been there a few months ago. Babette wondered if others could hear it. 

“Come and sit before me irritated. Wrinkle you nose in disgust if you must. Disrespect me if you feel the need to do so. But do not sit there before me and lie to me, girl. I have known you since you were a tiny little helpless thing, mewling in the darkness. Don't think you can lie to me.”

Scratch scratch.

“Now. Where have you been tonight, child? And speak truth. I'm not too old to punish you.”

Babette stared at Lylesburg under her knotted eyebrows, teeth gnawing at the soft insides of her cheeks. Lylesburg coughed. Babette began.

“I smell something on the wind. Something new. Or... something old. I don't know. Something familiar.”

“All you need is here, child. We are all here,” Lylesburg opened his arms in what was clearly intended as a welcoming gesture. Babette saw it as arms closing around her, clutching, holding her still.

“We're not all here, are we?” she asked. Her tone was almost teasing. Lylesburg didn't miss it.

“What?” he snapped.

“We're dying here,” Babette continued, her hands clenched into fists resting knuckle first on the ground before her, “We're hiding here in the shadows between the cracks and we're dying here!”

“When it is time to move again, I will know, child. Why must you persist?”

“Because you'll never lead us home! Only he can! We must seek him, we must seek word from Cabal!”

Lylesburg was on his feet in an instant, his voice thunderous.

“Do not speak his name before me, how dare you?” He advanced upon Babette so fast she braced herself to be struck.

Lylesburg did not raise his hand, only stood there, his gloom seeming to fill the room inch by inch as he spoke.

“He is not here for you, I am. He did not lead us free of the fires, I did. He took what was offered, stole his blessings, and disappeared. He seeks us not!”

Babette looked up at Lylesburg. She wanted to scream back at him, to stand and roar and tell him the winds had changed, damn his arrogance, and see the hurt in his eyes when she reminded him that the baptizer had chosen another. She held her tongue.

Lylesburg seemed to become aware of himself all of a sudden. The gloom waned around him. He dropped to his knees. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper.

“He seeks us not, child. We are abandoned. Do not waste your hopes upon Cabal. We will thrive without him.”

Babette remained silent.

As Babette stepped, head hung, from Lylesburg's room, Rachel rose to touch her. Just a simple, reassuring hand upon the girl's shoulder. Babette nodded a silent thank you and went to her corner. 

The sheets were cool for the moment, but soon they would warm up as the sun began to rise. The oppressive heat would then swell, and Babette would be trapped. 

She curled into her blankets and shut her eyes to the world around her.

-

Babette pulled her knees up and curled her arms around them. She had slept poorly. Tears were in her eyes.

She wasn't cold. She wasn't afraid. 

She was surrounded by kin that she had traveled with for her entire life, and was completely alone.

It couldn't go on. Another day of it and she would simply expire. 

This world wasn't hers. It was too quiet, it was too empty. So full of sorrow and loss. 

But what had she lost? She didn't really know. Nothing she couldn't find again, she supposed.

She closed her eyes. The other world flooded over her. 

She existed in it, huddled there, the feelings pulling her in, womb-like. It was a voice this time, a man's voice. Hard and strong, full of anger and energy. She didn't know whose ears she heard through, whose senses she vicariously stole for a few moments. A flutter of emotion and tears came. This wasn't her world either.

She wouldn't open her eyes yet. She wasn't ready to go back. Babette wanted to stay where she was. She hung there, between worlds, with neither offering a place for her. There had to be another world for her. All the dreams couldn't be for nothing.

Babette opened her eyes. There would be a world between, and it would be hers. She knew that Lylesburg could not take her there. She rose. Rachel was too slow to stop her.

Babette stepped into Lylesburg's room, tossing the door open. The old one was scratching at his neck, peering out the window. He turned suddenly and looked at the girl before him.

Babette was naked. Tall, lanky. Her hair hung in dirty curls around her shoulders. Freckles coloured the white skin over nose, breasts, and thighs. Her hands hung limp at her sides. Wide eyes reflected the light from a small row of candles as she stared back at Lylesburg.

“Child, for his sake. I've had enough of you for one night,” He said, irritated.

Babette ignored him. She looked to the shape. The one in the corner, wrapped and silent. The old man stepped into her line of sight.

“Remove yourself, girl.”

Lylesburg opened his mouth to speak again, but must have seen something in her eyes. The beast behind the girl's face peering out. 

He raised a hand to protect himself, but her claws came up too fast. Sharp little razors that parted old flesh. Lylesburg fell, crying out a shapeless word.

Blood streamed from where she had cut deep, one frail arm twitching in pain.

The majesty that surrounded the man fled like so many scuttling bugs. Babette looked down at him. Lylesburg's face was the face of any scared old man. Red rimmed, watery eyes stared out in fear and shock.

“Child,” he croaked, barely a whisper. She towered over him. She was always called the child, but Babette had grown.

“I'm not a child. You are not fit to lead,” Babette said. Lylesburg raised his arms to ward off another strike, but none came. He looked across his shoulder in entreaty, but the shape in the corner remained silent.

When he saw her moving towards the wrapped bundle, Lylesburg immediately became frantic.

“No! Babette, you can't!” he screamed, clawing at the floor beneath him.

She stood. The bundle in her arms was the size of a child, but it seemed to weight nothing.

Wrapped tightly and neatly within the white cloth, Babette could feel a stirring. Not movement, but consciousness. 

Awareness. 

A comforting warmth fed into her lungs, breathed in through her nostrils and her mouth. The taste of ozone on her tongue. Her heart beat faster, lit with energy. In her arms she held the world.

Lylesburg stared at her in horror.

“How dare you?” he asked. His eyes were red with tears as Babette stepped over him, the bundle in her arms like a babe in swaddling clothes.

Lylesburg screamed after her in denial and rage. She left him lying on the floor there, in his blood.

Rachel blocked the door as Babette approached it. The woman's expression an unreadable mask. Her eyes seemed to search Babette's face, looking for something.

Slowly, Rachel stepped aside, leaving the door open and yawning into the fresh night.

“Find him,” she whispered.

Babette wanted to say something to the woman she called mother, but had no words to do so. She smiled, and in a flurry was gone into the night.

Babette felt the gazes of the tribe upon her as she left the building. The bundle in her arms was shapeless, but unmistakable. She began to walk towards the forest.

Shouts were raised, even a cry of horror. A voice begged for someone to stop her.

Babette forced herself not to look back, not to look at any of the faces belonging to the only family she had ever known. 

The strength that flowed through her from the bundle gave her drive, and cause and love and power all in a flood of emotion so great she wanted to fly.

I am not abandoning you. I am saving all of us.

She began to run. Had anyone been chasing, they couldn't catch her.

Gods, Babette could run.

-

Lylesburg was upon the floor, staring down at the droplets of his own blood, as Rachel entered. When she looked down upon him he glared daggers at her.

“This is your fault,” he said. Rachel stared back through the accusation, her expression the same as ever. Lylesburg fought to raise himself to his elbows.

“She's mad. The girl is crazed, Rachel. Curb her. We must reclaim Him. Insane,” the old man's words were flowing together, becoming mutterings. He held out his hands for help.

Rachel came towards him.

“She's right,” Rachel said. Lylesburg gaped, shocked.

“Rachel...” he began.

“You have lost your right to lead,” her expression remained unchanged as she dropped down over him.

Rachel's hands tightened around Lylesburg's throat.

-

Babette followed the winds. 

The stink was back. She followed it without thought. She seemed never to tire, her legs driven by an energy far beyond her own flesh.

Somewhere in the back of her head was a link, a link to someone important. A thread to the one fit to lead. A hope. A life. A world between. She'd heard his name whispered in the darkness, she'd vicariously felt his fingertips on her flesh, tasted his kiss.

Babette pulled the bundle closer to her breast, cradling it tight. 

To it, she whispered.

“Take me to him.”