This Woman's Work

When they finally came upon it, it didn't look like they had expected.

They'd argued for a moment after the clearing came into view between the trees. Low brick buildings surrounded by simple farmlands, old wooden fences. Maxim, his stocky build crouched into a squat, was the one to voice the opinion first.

"Where are the church grounds? The bell towers? The stained glass? This isn't it. Let's keep moving. Must be further up the hill somewhere."

Maxim's bassy voice carried on the wind, and sheep from the little farm raised their heads to peer off into the forest where the two thieves were crouching.

Li shook his head and gestured to Maxim to keep it down. The wiry little man narrowed his eyes and scanned the arrangement of buildings.

"It's not like that, this isn't a church, it's a convent, a nunnery. They keep it subtle."

Maxim snorted and coughed into his gloved hand. He examined his palm as if to see if anything that came out was worth his attention.

"You said they'd have something worthwhile up here."

"They do. The nuns have to pay for food and things don't they? And gold statues and stuff, right?" "

"Still don't look like no nunnery to me. Looks like dirt poor farmers. You brought us to the wrong place, Li, you turnip."

Li shrugged, squinting for movement among the buildings.

"Has to be it. Here, let's try something."

Li stood, and kicked about the forest floor for a moment.

"What you doin'?" Maxim grunted. Li bent and picked up an egg sized rock from among the pine needles and dirt.

Retrieving his sling from his belt, he placed the stone to it, and in a moment the sling was a blur around his head. Maxim may have been a more hands-on man himself, but he loved watching Li work.

With a neat arc, Li sent the rock flying across the clearing, into the side of a white wooden chicken coop. It gave a great crack that split the afternoon silence, and the screech of worried chickens could be heard clear to the two thieves.

"Now, we see who comes out to check. Five copper callans says they got a habit on and this is the right place."

"You're on."

There came a tinkling, and a glittery silver arrangement of chimes was disturbed as a door opened.

From the back of the building came a small figure. Walking barefoot to the chicken coop, the woman cooed softly to the panicked creatures. Maxim and Li looked at each other, and Maxim spread his hands in apology.

"We didn't shake on it."

The woman was wearing a long and severe black garment. Free of decoration or flair, and no adornment but for a rope tied about her waist. Above her rosy round, cherubic face, her hair was hidden entirely in a white wimple.

Li stood, hooking his thumbs into his leather belt, fingertips just brushing the edges of the daggers held on his thighs. Maxim took a pull at the heavy strap that held his war hammer, making sure it hung just right.

Whistling, the two thieves emerged from the trees and descended towards the monastery.

-

Sister Myer took another look over the months supplies and made a little note in the ledger. She spoke aloud as she walked down the line.

"Four bags, flour. Two crates, melons. One crate, beans."

She stopped and looked towards the door where young Sister Kinn had left to check on the chickens a moment before. The bobcats usually didn't bother them during the day, but Myer knew the novice wasn't afraid to stamp her feet and scare off the predators.

It had been suspiciously quiet for a moment longer than usual when Myer took a glance out one of the room's small windows to see young Sister Kinn standing talking to two men. Myer placed down her ledger and collected her skirts, to move at speed to the door.

The chimes on the door signaled her approach, and the smaller of the two men was already looking in her direction as Sister Myer turned the corner of the building and strode to the hutch. He was leaning over the low wooden fence, and smiling ear to ear.

His big friend, standing behind him and looking more muscle than man, had no clear expression that Myer could identify.

She saw their weapons immediately.

"Hello sirs," Myer said immediately as she reached Kinn's side. The young novice was wringing her hands in that way she did when Mother Ava reprimanded her, Myer gave her a reassuring nod.

"Hello yourself, sister." the little man said. He was a sharp looking young man, all edges and smiles, but Myer could see something awful in his countenance right away, "We were just having a nice little talk with your friend here. You ladies doing alright for yourselves up here eh?"

Sister Kinn gave a flustered nod.

"The good sirs say they're...they're passing travelers," the novice said. Myer nodded to her.

"Indeed, well we're always happy to help those in need here. Needing food or fresh water are you sirs? Maybe directions?" Myer asked, folding her hands in front of her hips.

The big man was peering with narrowed eyes over the convent and seemed to ignore Myer entirely. The smaller man neatly hopped over the fence, faster than Myer expected him to move, and strode with swinging hips towards her.

"Ooh, all sounds pretty good actually. Must have all sorts of supplies, up here in the forest, yeah? Your young friend here was telling us you rely on donations."

Myer nodded and looked to Kinn, who continued to wring her hands. Myer turned back to the man who now stood a few feet from her. He spread his hands, being sure that the multiple shining blades strapped in leather sheaths to his thighs were revealed.

"Well we're just kindly travelers, seeking our way through the forest. If you'd be so kind as to show us to where you keep your little donation box, we'll take it off your hands. You'll soon make it up selling your eggs and blessings and...what is it, needlepoint?"

Myer gave a bow, slowly.

"Of course, good sirs. I believe I understand. We'd be happy to assist," Myer placed a hand on Kinn's wrist, and spoke softly and clearly to her.

"Be a darling and go fetch Sister Thekkla would you?"

Sister Kinn looked confused.

"Surely Mother Ava would be..."

"Sister Thekkla will be able to best assist these good sirs, Sister Kinn." Myer spoke slower, enunciating sharply.

Kinn nodded, and quickly headed off around the building.

-

It was a moment in the quiet before Maxim noticed that the sound of hammering had stopped. There was something in the air, like a chill without a breeze, and he found himself rubbing the back of his neck to calm the little tingling hairs that were standing on end.

It wasn't until he turned to ask Li if he felt something weird that he realized they were being watched from across the yard.

The young nun they'd approached earlier, the round little one with the rosy red cheeks, she was pointing at them and keeping step behind a second figure. Maxim had his eyes on her earlier, that one. So young and pretty, no business being a nun. He could see the curves of her through that depressing robe and knew it was an awful waste.

But Maxim wasn't looking at that pretty one now, as he couldn't take his eyes from the gaze of the second woman who was now crossing the yard towards them. He tried to turn his gaze away, but found he couldn't. Frozen, looking into the staring eyes that were coming closer across the yard.

"Li..." Maxim said. His voice came out a little croaky, "Li what's that?"

Li looked up from his quiet staring match with the older nun, and turned to his friend.

"What's what you big..."

He trailed off as he saw the figure approaching them, now stepping barefoot over the grass a few yards away.

"Oh, hello there." Li said quietly, his eyebrows raised in surprise. As the figure came to a stop just in front of her fellow sister, Li nodded slowly, "Well then. Where the hell did they find you?"

The figure was robed exactly as the other nuns at the convent. Simple blacks and whites, a featureless, slender robe and neat pinned wimple.

White eyes with no colour stared back at Li, chilling eyes that when peered into, appeared to have rectangular pupils that were uncomfortable to meet. Although covered from ankle to throat, it was clear that the woman's flesh was an icy blue. From just above her eyes, below the material of her simple habit, grew two great ridged horns. Black, twisting as they rose to point to the sky.

"Blessings be upon you, good sirs. I'm sister Thekkla. Welcome to our humble convent." The dark blue lips barely moved as she spoke, and her quiet voice had an unexpected, lyrical accent. The voice of the common folk of the valleys. "And to answer your question, the Hell they found me in has no power over me. I see only the kingdom of our almighty God."

The woman called Thekkla neatly folded her hands in front of her slim hips. Her fingers, and indeed her bare toes, were of a sickly purplish hue not dissimilar to frostbitten flesh. Maxim felt a sudden involuntary revulsion in his gut at the idea of being touched by those delicate fingers. He immediately imagined them clammy, cold. Fingers of the dead.

Maxim looked at Li, his broad features blank, unsure of himself. Li gave a shrug, but it didn't escape him that both the other nuns had subtly slipped back, putting Thekkla in front of them.

"My fellow servant of our Lord tells me you kind sirs were seeking to unfairly take donations that we'd received from selfless folk. Surely she's mistaken, and just misheard you fellows. Is that right?" Thekkla said, and smiled. Her teeth were as expected, sharp, wolf-like, but the smile that held them was honest, and encouraging. She nodded, to further enforce her words.

Maxim shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Li, this ain't right mate...." he said, and immediately Li raised a hand to jab a finger in his direction.

"No! No don't fall for this. This is farce. Look at them!" Li gestured to the three nuns, Thekkla standing impassively before the other two, her expression calm, her shoulders relaxed. Li could see the girlish frame beneath the black robes was not broad, and probably not even a third of Maxim's weight.

Li turned the accusing finger to Thekkla.

"Don't fall for it. They ain't got nothing. They wheel out this freak to try and scare us off. They're hiding something up here and I want it."

Li unlatched the leather holds on his belt, and in a dramatic flourish, produced one of his daggers, turning it over in his hand.

"Now stop playing me for a fool, and show me where the money is. Or I'll cut off your boring bloody dress and see if you got anything that catches my eye under there. Understand?" Li's voice was unwavering. Maxim looked back and forth between his friend and the nun in stunned silence.

Slowly, Thekkla lowered her eyes, and shook her head.

"May the words of my mouth and the dedication of my heart be acceptable in thy sight." She whispered. She gestured with a single fluttering hand for the other women to step back. They did so, immediately and without question.

Her eyes snapped back up to look at Li. The smile had dropped from her features.

"You seek to steal that which is not yours, and now make threats upon the purity of my body. You sir, have no place on holy ground."

Li produced a second knife, turning it effortlessly in his fingers in a practiced display of dexterity.

"You play nice, and we leave, and I don't have to do anything your god don't wanna have to see."

Thekkla calmly gave a tug on the plain silvery rope that bound her slim waist.

"My God sees all suffering there is to see. And I fear no threats. Nor bloodshed nor rape nor murder. There's only so much pain that can go on in the world at any one time." She gestured around them, at the convent. "It is our place, here, to take a little extra onto ourselves, so that other's pain might be lessened."

Thekkla spread her blue hands, her open palms displayed to Li and Maxim, and then slowly curled both into fists.

"My good sirs, you are about to ease the burden of many."

Thekkla's body moved like liquid, launching forward under Li's elbow even as he began to raise it to defend himself. Her slender arm reached out in a neat and accurate jab, slamming him in the gut with a closed fist so hard he was lifted entirely from his feet and deposited on his arse a full five feet away.

Li struggled to find his footing and fell back, heaving to suck in a breath. He gestured wildly at Maxim.

"Fuckin'..." he started, failing to get anything more out. Maxim's eyes were bulging from shock, and he hesitated, dumbfounded for a moment before he got his wits together enough to pull up his war hammer from the sling on his hip.

Before he could even move to the correct position to swing the thing, Thekkla was beside him. Her hip jammed into his groin with her full weight, and he felt her arm slip under his armpit and a great force was suddenly pulling him from his feet.

For a moment Maxim felt weightless, and then he hit the ground like he'd just been tipped off a horse. The upside-down view of the sky, coupled with the pain rushing up from his squashed balls forced a sudden wave of nausea to surge through him, and he gave a groan of pain and discomfort as a foot was placed against his chin.

Maxim tilted his head forward to see Thekkla looming over him, her bare foot held threateningly to his throat.

"Li, she hurt me Li." Maxim managed to croak, wincing in pain.

"I thank you for your charitable donation." Thekkla said.

Catching sight of movement in the corner of her eye, Thekkla snapped her head aside in time to see Li's arm raised and moving, and a blur above his shoulder.

Maxim watched as Li launched the projectile from his sling, and his eyes could barely follow as Thekkla rose into the air as quiet and graceful as a bird, her whole body turning sideways and spinning. The flying stone missed her turning body to crash against the chicken coop with a resounding echo.

Thekkla's robe flared out, and Maxim saw a flash of bare blue flesh as Thekkla spun, something silver was strapped tightly around her bare upper thigh

Thekkla completed her aerial rotation before returning to the ground, her feet coming down on Maxim and making him groan in pain once again as her robe neatly fell back into place. One of her hands landed neatly on the haft of his warhammer.

She dropped to a neat crouch, and immediately launched herself a few strides towards Li with a speed that was startling. Her pale eyes glaring, horns pointing, jutting out as if to gore the man.

Li fell into a crouch to ready his blades, and was met with Thekkla crouched similarly, one of her long legs outstretched, the other tightly coiled beneath her behind. One arm stretched out, the second held behind her back, her whole body still in perfect balance.

Li waved the point of his blade in her direction.

"Alright, you've made a very pretty point. You got a lot of free time up here, clearly. But I'm betting you never looked death in the face." Li asked.

Thekkla met his stare without expression, and calmly replied.

"Suffering does not come from death."

She swung her arm around her body, spinning her shoulders, and let her grip on the warhammer go at full tilt.

The huge weapon shot towards Li, and it didn't take much of his considerable skill to weave aside, twisting his body like a dancer to avoid the projectile. It flew a little too high, and Li watched as it sailed over his shoulder to crash into a tree, taking a chunk of bark off with it.

Li had not found firm footing in time to react when he realized he'd been tricked. Thekkla leaped so silently that all he heard was the rustle of her robe before her knee connected with his chin.

Li crashed to the ground, his blades fallen to the dirt floor of the yard.

Thekkla stood, hands neatly folded in front of her hips. Only the slightly increased depth of her breathing betrayed any suggestion of her actions.

Maxim climbed to his feet with a groan and, cupping his balls in pain, ambled over towards his friend.

"We...we're very sorry to have bothered you ladies, I mean sisters... here today."

"Do please collect your friend." Thekkla said, watching Maxim through lidded eyes.

Maxim bent to pick up the limp body of Li, wondering if his friend's jaw was broken and how he'd explain to Li when he regained consciousness that he'd had his arse kicked by a nun.

"I'll remind the kind sirs that we here depend on the charity and selflessness of strangers," Thekkla said.

Maxim stared at her for a moment, before reaching into the pocket of his jacket.

"Oh...well I um. I got a few copper bits here."

Maxim held out his hand, and Thekkla reached to take the coins. Just for a moment her fingertips brushed his, and all the awful dread came right back. Cold as ice.

"We thank for your generosity, kind sirs. Do please be careful when descending the mountain." The simple smile on her lips was the last thing Maxim saw as he turned, and, holding Li in his arms, began to walk away.

The hair on the back of his neck tingled, and Maxim didn't look back, only trod a little faster, feeling the white eyes of the nun on him every step.

-

Thekkla realized she was smiling, and forced the expression down. She felt the surge of excitement still swelling in her gut, and tried to force it too under control. She'd wanted to hurt them so much more.

She exhaled softly as voices whispered behind her, and Thekkla turned to see her two fellow sisters, and the watchful eyes of Mother Ava looking to her.

"Thank you for you work today Sister Thekkla." Mother Ava said. The wizened old woman's expression as always, perpetually unreadable. "The roof of the barn is progressing well, you can continue the work tomorrow at sunrise after your morning duties.

Thekkla bowed low.

"Yes Mother."

"For now, you have other responsibilities to your order."

"Of course, Mother."

-

Thekkla closed the door of her little room and took in the quiet for the moment.

Nothing lay within but bare walls, a stone cot with no blankets or pillow, and a simple wooden stool.

Thekkla removed her robe and wimple, and placed them upon the stool, folded neatly. She wore only the sharpened metal clasp around her thigh, each silvery link inscribed minutely with the words of her God. Her Holy Symbol. The constant discomfort of its tight grip was subtly reassuring.

Her blue skin chill in the evening light from the tiny window, Thekkla knelt, and removed the switch from below her cot. It was brown leather, firm and simple. Thekkla had made this one herself when her previous one had worn out.

The many scars that crisscrossed her bare back still ached from the morning.

"May the words of my mouth and the dedication of my heart be acceptable in thy sight."

She began.

Movie Review: The Man Who Killed Don Quixote.

It's not often we get a good old fashioned cursed film these days. 

Probably no film of recent decades has had a production nightmare quite like Terry Gilliam's long suffering Don Quixote epic. It's taken the man 25 years to finally bring the Man of La Mancha to the big screen, and certainly if Gilliam were to look back at where he began his masterpiece, it would look quite different than what he somehow ended up with after all that time.

Toby is a young and hopeful American filmmaker touring Spain, seeking the perfect cast for his indie interpretation of Don Quixote. Finding the perfect rustic little Spanish village and choosing his cast from the folk that live there, Toby encounters Javier. An aged cobbler with a distinctive face, perfect for the title role. Javier is no actor, and a hopeless Don Quixote at first, but soon the joy of the role overtakes the man, and brings a taste of success to Toby and his little epic. 

A decade later, Toby is the golden child of big budget high fashion advertising, and shooting his latest commercial in the Spanish countryside. Realizing his proximity to the old shooting ground of his past, he escapes the hectic set in search of some inspiration from his former indie years. The old streets are the same, the people aging or passed away. When he unexpectedly runs into the ancient Javier, Toby discovers that the cobbler has been trapped living the true life of Don Quixote ever since.  

Recognizing his long lost squire 'Sancho' immediately, 'Don Quixote' drags the confused young director into the wilds of rural Spain, seeking monsters to battle, maidens to rescue, and the return of the lost age of Chivalry. Believe it or not, they find it.

While The Man Who Killed Don Quixote may take a while to get to the 'Gilliam-esque' elements of the tale, it's a wild ride when it does get there. The valiant knight and his hapless squire take a twisting road through their adventures, with startling changes in mood and style only a moment away at any turn. Set against an ever changing backdrop of the Spanish countryside, through windmill filled mountains, sleepy hamlets from the 14th century and medieval castles filled with carnival revelers, Don Quixote and young Sancho encounter the best and worst of humanity. The lines between what is real and dream, fantasy and reality, become hard to discern, and our hero's adventure soars through heights of slapstick comedy at one moment, to the depths of deep sadness the next. 

Just as Quixote himself is lost in his world of make believe chivalry, the tale forces us to peer through this lens alongside him. After a while the evil giants and cruel wizards of the dream places of La Mancha are more likable than the detestable individuals in the world of the real. Foreign investors flashing money and dropping slurs around the Spanish locals, womanizing businessmen and philandering wives, all number among the real world monsters, and soon enough even Toby begins to question why he would wish to return. 

Taking the expected weirdness of a Gilliam movie all aside, we are left with two really quite brilliant performances here. There's a multitude of characters crossing the paths of our heroes, but it truly is Quixote and Sancho themselves that absolutely shine. 

Adam Driver gives us a Toby that is so out of his depth in the world of the fearless Don Quixote, with a constant refusal to accept the realities of the impossible situations he is cast into in the role of Sancho Panza. He's the perfect straight man against the endlessly excitable Don Quixote, acting almost as a personified audience reaction at times, and his modern sanchismos are a joy throughout the adventure. 

Our titular hero, the chivalrous holy warrior Don Quixote, is so well portrayed by Gilliam legend Jonathan Pryce, with so much laughter and conviction and genuine love in his every delivery that he is a constant thrill to watch.

I am so in love with this playful, nuanced performance that I could watch Pryce's Don Quixote in ten more films. The labor of love in this sprawling tale is no more clear than in the heart shown by the Man of La Mancha himself. 

The production of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote may indeed have been cursed, but what has arrived is a film that is wide in scope and grand in nature. It has the tenuous grasp on the real that we expect from Terry Gilliam, but is stood on more solid ground than you might at first expect, with touching moments, and perhaps an element of reflection from the mind of filmmaker looking back on what he started with so long ago.

Movie Review: Suspiria.

Suspiria is a difficult movie to critique. 

Among the desaturated streets of post war Berlin, a young woman arrives at her trusted psychologists office, raving of a witches coven, dark forces and of being watched. At the same time, a lost American finds her way into the halls of the highly exclusive Markos school of Dance. 

The elderly psychologist seeks answers in the delusions of his patient, and the young dancer seeks her place in a world she has always felt astray in. Nothing will ever be the same for either of them. 

Suspiria takes its time period and setting very seriously, and I don't think I've ever seen a period film that captured the setting so perfectly. The impeccable costuming and flawless set design of the broken and conflicted city of Berlin create a supremely atmospheric scene, so convincing that it would be easy to mistake it for a genuine 70's film were it not for the crisp HD.

The sweeping zooms and harsh cinematography work in perfect tandem with the films erratic and unpredictable editing. Scenes that do not match, that aren't set in the same place, without even the same subtext, are weaved directly together without managing to stumble the pacing. 

Suspiria can be exhausting to watch. It can be disturbing and sickening. It is intense, with a gripping and passionate heartbeat from start to finish. Slow moments are filled with coiled tension and quiet dread. When it lets loose, Suspiria contains sequences of such absolute uncaged grotesquery that it's authentic fodder for tales of unfortunates passing out in the very movie theater.

Suspiria is built on the shoulders of beautiful performances, with multiple fantastic character performances, especially within the ranks of the school faculty. Tilda Swinton delivers a twistedly nuanced and haunted turn as the stone faced dance instructor Madame Blanc. It is a film of beautiful monsters, and the multi-faceted Tilda is clearly paragon among them.

With a running time creeping over the two and a half hour mark, Suspiria is an investment not to be taken lightly. The intensity doesn't give up until the last dog dies, and it is not a comfortable or playful watch. It is a dark, moody, and uncompromisingly uncomfortable experience. If you have the mettle, Suspiria is a unique horror experience that deserves indulgence.

Live Show: Twin Temple at the Ace Theater

The carving above the doors entering the upper levels of the Theater at Ace Hotel reads 'Forever O Lord Thy Word is Settled in Heaven'.  Within the looming and classically designed downtown theater, angels are to be found in flight on the walls, and the cavernous central theater has something of a cathedral feeling to its design.

It's extremely appropriate, as tonight Twin Temple are inviting those in attendance to take part in one of their unique ritual experiences.

A lot of the crowd aren't familiar with Twin Temple, Alexandra and Zachary. Who, for the last few years have brought their surprising new evolution of classic Doo Wap Surf Rock to Los Angeles venues. Perhaps the crowd aren't sure what they're in for.

When the two figures take the stage, dressed in sharp blacks before a Satanic altar featuring a skull and goblet, the crowd isn't sure how to react at first. Some are disturbed. Alexandra welcomes one and all to the ritual they'll be performing tonight, and is happy to explain a little for the uninitiated. Twin Temple proudly represent Satanism, openly rejecting racism and bigotry, and inviting all to share in their message of love, sex, and indulgence. Their music isn't what you might expect at first glance, and people are looking at one another in surprise.

Live on stage, Twin Temple do not disappoint, with an upbeat backing band featuring a saxophone player and a pair of sultry back up singers, it's quite the spectacle. Zachary is a deft hand with lead guitar, playing the sharp fingered signature style of the genre with echoes of Ramones-style rock influences, and Alexandra's voice is clear and carries the room with or without the aid of a microphone. With wickedly playful lyrics and a mellow crooning that rivals classic Nancy Sinatra, she holds a joyful control of the stage.

Supporting bands don't get a lot of attention. Usually people arrive late and talk through the supporting band to wait for the headliner to come on. Twin Temple, with their theatrical ritual dressing and passionate show, are attention grabbing. Alexandra clearly enjoys talking to the audience, involving and unnerving them equally. This is a performance that simply doesn't fade into the background, it's an experience.

Outside after the show, I heard multiple attendees discussing Twin Temple.

One girl asked her friend, "I really liked them...Am I evil now?"

Another guy I passed was in the middle of trying to explain Satanism to the group he was with, "Oh it's not about like Satan at all...it's more about, like, the perception of it..."

I think that these kind of new questions, these discussions people weren't expecting to have, are exactly what the Twin Temple are eager to coax people into asking each other, and themselves.

Twin Temple are a live show worth seeing. The Devil loves some good tunes. You may learn something about yourself, because the Devil just loves some experimentation. You may even be outraged, and of course, that's what the Devil loves the most.

Movie Review: Deadpool 2

Our first outing following the adventures of the Merc with the Mouth, Wade Wilson AKA Deadpool, trailblazed the world of R-rated superhero films, proving you could do it bigger and better if you do it for adults. From the moment we start Deadpool 2, we are back for more of the same.

Settling down with his girlfriend Vanessa, Wade is living a life split between extreme violence and starting a family. Wade finds that something is lacking in his world, and begins to seek a change of pace, and when a trainee outing with the X-Men leads Wade to encounter an overweight kid with incredible mutant powers and a serious anger control issue, Wade embarks on a journey to discover what it is he's really missing.

It's violent, it's crass, it's bloody, but most importantly, Deadpool 2 is simply funnier than the first one.

The jokes hit harder, the deliveries are perfect, and every character has moments to shine. Wade's signature fourth wall breaking observations are better timed than ever, especially when sharing scenes with the perfectly straight faced Cable, and some well placed unexpected cameos are used to devastatingly hilarious effect.

Where Deadpool's first cinematic outing gave us a hard R rating in almost every way it could, Deadpool 2 takes a touch more subtle approach, believe it or not. There's still a huge amount of violence, but with a few notable exceptions, most of the damage is inflicted upon the indestructible titular merc himself.

Whereas the first Deadpool had heavy sub-genre elements of horror, Deadpool 2 orients itself around family. It's surprising, and it's actually pretty heartfelt at times. What makes the dramatic undercurrents really work is the balance board job that's been pulled off with the writing here. The comedy doesn't get in the way of the emotion, and vice versa. In many places they enhance each other unexpectedly.

One of the flaws in Deadpool's prior film was a near total lack of sub-plots, and a general feel of undeveloped side characters. Everyone took a second fiddle to Wade.
While Wade himself is bigger, more complex, and definitely as lovable as ever here, Deadpool 2 flourishes in the  notion of the team. Old favorites return, bigger and better, and a whole host of new faces make an appearance. There's a lot to love in the new cast, and if you're a fan of the comics, there's some deep cuts here for you that will be well received. X-Force really do get the movie treatment they've always rightfully deserved.

Cable is a character long absent from the big screen, and Brolin has fun with the steely-eyed foil to Wade's wisecracking, although his gun-toting action scenes don't quite hold up against Deadpool's martial arts intensity. With the deadpan delivery of most of the rest of the cast, it's also fun to have a character who speaks as fast and as sharply as Wade, and Zazie Beetz's intense Domino is a witty and immensely likable addition, as well as it being pleasantly surprisingly that she's not introduced as a love interest.

You could accuse Deadpool 2 of a similar pitfall of its predecessor, with no villains that really have the caliber to match that of the heroes. There's a few great confrontation set-pieces, but the bad guys just aren't as enjoyable as they could be.

The whole film has a frenetic pace, and keeps it up through most of the run time. Quicker on the draw and with a clearer act structure than its predecessor, the film travels fast, from a gritty maximum security mutant prison to high speed car chases, from Blind Al's living room to the X-Mansion, the world around Wade and his allies is fleshed out, lived in and lively.

There's more to Deadpool this time around, it's not just his story, it's a whole cast of characters playing their part. It's a lot of fun to enjoy, and it feels a little like we're not done with the story of Wade Wilson just yet.

Southern Promises (A Cerce Stormbringer story)

"First trip to the saunas Madame Stormbringer?"

Cerce cringed in disgust, her hand fishing on her belt for her coin purse. 

"Ugh, Gods. Please, just Cerce, and yes. Always wanted to," she said, her halberd standing on the floor and resting in the crook of her elbow. The massive bladed head almost touched the low wooden ceiling, and the slim doorways made Cerce duck on reflex. 

"Well, we're marvelously happy to have you here, Miss," the perky attendant continued. She was a foot shorter than Cerce, with deep olive skin. Her clothing was immaculate, but the perpetual humidity that gave the bathhouse their dreamy state left the girl's hair a frizzy mess. 

"Would you like one of our private rooms, or will you be enjoying the communal booths?" 

"Private, please, that would be lovely," Cerce nodded. 

The girl turned around a small stone tablet bearing chiseled markings, and Cerce squinted at it.

"Are those prices or temperatures?" she asked in shock. The girl nodded warmly and gestured to the entrance behind her. 

"The private rooms are complete with massage and oil treatments, applied by our finest specialists, of a gender of your choice!"

Cerce flicked the coins in her purse around, seeing if any of them might spontaneously duplicate.

"You know what, I'm not much for the hands on treatment, show me to the public rooms."

"Of course!" 

The tiny hallways were a mix of marble and dark wood, low and without windows in any direction, which Cerce found simultaneously both warmly inviting and disconcertingly claustrophobic. The air began to thicken with moisture, Cerce's flesh already warming to the touch of sweat, and by the time they came to the women's dressing room, it was a toasty temperature that was almost soporific. 

"Nothing is to be taken in with you, so I am obligated to remind you. Please no clothing, personal items or..." the girl eyed Cerce's belt and signature halberd warily, "...bladed objects in the rooms."

Cerce smirked and nodded. 

"I wasn't planning on shaving in there." With a twist of her wrist, Cerce spun the shaft of her halberd, the huge head swinging a perfect rotation before snapping still in Cerce's grip. The girl gave a nervous laugh and backed away. 

"Well we're very pleased to have you Madame... Miss." She gave a low bow and was gone through the mist. 

Cerce exhaled slowly. Relearning the shallow breathing necessary not to cough and splutter in the humidity. The heat was a warm comfort, but her clothes were already getting uncomfortably present, and she unstrapped and slipped out of her boots and shirt quickly. 

Placing her things in one of the room's many little wooden cabinets, she glanced around for somewhere to put her halberd. Finding none, she eventually slid it upright behind the corner cabinets, the glinting blade mostly obscured by polished wood. She nodded proudly at her clever concealment of a major magical artifact in a public bath house, and slipped out of her remaining clothes and undergarments. The towels were reassuringly warm, but their petite design didn't have women of Cerce's build in mind. She wrapped it around her chest to find it hanging barely to her navel. She decided instead to simply hold it. 

Cerce's feet were silent on the stone floors as she trod lightly to the sauna rooms, at the corner she briefly stopped and shook out her hands, wringing the sudden anxiety of public nudity out of her fingertips. 

"You always wanted to do this. All the beautiful people do this. It's good for the muscles," Cerce whispered to herself, the same mantra that had got her the whole walk there in the first place. 

Cerce stepped into the labyrinthine saunas, and smiled.

It was a beautiful interior, elegant stonework decorating the floors and ceilings, fabulous filigree in every corner. Cerce strode down the centre aisle, passing doorways on both sides.

Wide baths stood in the center of each room, steam billowing from them as women of all shapes, colours and races lounged in them like forest nymphs. 

There were wider rooms with smoothly carved wooden benches to sit or lie on, rows of hot coals in the center on metal trays with coiling legs. The air was so thick with steam in these rooms that the occupants were almost hidden from view. Women were chatting, laughing, some even snoozing. The atmosphere was dreamlike, verging on surreal. 

Cerce momentarily stood before a lean Dusk Elf with a shaven head, emerging from within one of the rooms, who unashamedly gazed at Cerce's figure from ankles to eyeballs, and then liberally in between. She had the most sultry eyes Cerce had ever seen, and Cerce moved on, blushing red with surprise and flattery. 

She noticed a few girls whispering, one even pointing, as she strode through the steam. She stood taller than most of the women within the saunas, her green skin stood out, but it was hardly surprising, Nadyr were a rare sight anywhere in this part of the country. A lot of the women here tended to the litheness of the rich youth or the pillowy curves of older women, but Cerce didn't see any others with her build. 

Not many warriors hereabouts, needless to say. Perhaps she should try the men's saunas instead.

Settling on a room near the back of the hallway, where the air was its thickest and the rooms less populated, Cerce stretched her towel onto a low bench and slithered down upon it. The heat was luxurious, so completely enveloping and tangible that it was practically womb-like. 

Letting her gaze run down over her body, Cerce smirked inwardly to herself. This was a new experience for her. Her father had been very clear since she was a little girl that there's only two times a women needs to be naked. One is when she's bathing. The other she'd apparently never need to think about and that was the end of that. If he'd known she swam nude in the lake outside town he'd have given her the hiding of a lifetime. 

Cerce found herself sliding down in the seat, her long legs stretched out before her, her arms lying palms up on the wood beside her. She'd got the familiar hang of the shallow breathing, and was sleepily closing her eyes. She let the warmth of the room hold her, felt it soak into her pores, her hard muscles.

Maybe they were right, she could do with relaxing more often.

She wasn't sure how long she was there in that realm between waking and dreaming. For a moment she felt like she must have been asleep, and just for a second she thought she was back in the heady atmosphere of her fathers forge. It was a heartwarming thought.

Cerce roused somewhat at the movement of a woman nearby. She cracked an eyelid to observe her dark skin, like a shadow in the steam, as the woman added more water to the coals.

"Oh, your skin is just beautiful..." the woman murmured as she sat back down a few feet away. Cerce smiled and whispered a thanks. Cerce's pale green skin always got a mixed bag of reactions, and this was a pleasant one.

When next she spoke, the woman's voice had changed direction.

"And your hair, oh I feel so plain between you. Such a vibrant colour...oh and it's natural! How lovely," the woman cooed.

The voice that came back from the depths of the steam had an accent Cerce couldn't place.

"My father...named me after a pretty flower. Said my hair was just the same colour..."

Cerce felt an awful chill deep in her gut at that, and she cracked an eyelid to look across the room.

The steam obscured the other woman at first, but as Cerce's eyes adjusted fraction by fraction, she began to see the slim figure sat across the room. Long legs, pale as a corpse, bony hips, a skinny waist taut with muscle. The aforementioned hair was a shock of bright purple, collar and cuffs.

Cerce's blood ran cold as she looked into the yellow eyes that mirrored her shock and recognition.

Protiya.

Cerce started at the sight of the assassin, jerking up in surprise, and inadvertently took in a huge breath of hot air that gave her a coughing fit. The girl sitting across the way jerked her bony shoulders forward, bared her teeth and hissed. The girl's arms straightened, planting her palms flat on the seat, and with a serpentine roll, Protiya lifted her behind, her knees kicking up and extending her legs, launching her feet with her entire weight behind them into the metal coal tray in the center of the room.

With a spray of blazing red that lit the room, searing coals showered the seat, scorching Cerce's skin and sending the other woman present scampering for the safety of the hallway.

Cerce brushed the coals from her flesh and rushed forward like a bull, smashing the small assassin up against the wall and bringing her fist back with a snap to strike at the girl's face.

Protiya wriggled out of Cerce's weight, her head slipping below Cerce's incoming strike, her clenched fist hitting the wall and smashing a chunk from the woodwork behind.

Protiya shoved out with her shoulder into Cerce's gut and pushed her back, Cerce dancing backwards, attempting to avoid the steaming chunks of coal that littered the floor.

Cerce looked at the floor a glance too long, and the assassin came forward, jabbing her sharp little fists into Cerce's gut, crashing up under her ribcage. The girl was small, and light, but hit fast and accurately, and Cerce roared as she swung her fist backhanded at the girl's head. Protiya ducked back and weaved just out of the Stormbringer's reach, her purple hair bobbing.

Cerce had pictured fighting naked a lot. There was something otherwordly and glamorous about the naked woman warriors of legend. Cerce had envisioned spinning and striking smoothly and fiercely, free of restriction.

Turns out, it wasn't anything like she'd pictured. She felt far more aware of her nudity than she had imagined, was significantly less graceful than even if she had half her gear on, and without being held in an appropriate garment, Cerce's tits seemed like they were good for nothing but getting her killed.

Protiya didn't have any of the awkwardness about her that Cerce felt. The girl held herself in a tight combat pose, her cold eyes alert and weighing Cerce up for weakness. Cerce had never seen the assassin robed in anything less than her full armour, her body covered in claws and blades. To get in close with Protiya was a death sentence, the girl was practically made of knives. In Cerce's experience, combat with Protiya was a perpetual game of keep away to stay from brutal blades. Naked, it was another story. 

The assassin was a slight girl, younger than Cerce, and lighter by no insignificant amount. The girl had rakish limbs, long and deft, and a body made of hard angles. Her hipbones were jutting edges angled around a flat stomach. The girl had scars, much like Cerce did. No real winners like Cerce's neck though; Protiya was instead covered in innumerable little cuts and marks on her deathly pale skin. The lack of serious scars gave the strong impression that no one had ever stuck the girl worse than the most glancing of blows.

Protiya spun, her whole body twisting, kicking up at head height with ease, and Cerce fell backwards across the seat as she bent to avoid the flying heel. Cerce gave a screech and twisted frantically as her behind came into contact with the spilled coals. Her knees came down hard on the marble ground as she lurched away from the searing rocks, and she looked up in time to see Protiya disappear at speed down the hall.

Cerce roared and gained her footing, rubbing her burned arse with the heel of her hand. Her blood was pumping, throbbing in her ears, and the dreamlike qualities of the sauna had turned her battle energy into an almost drunken rage. She knew the assassin was no match for her without her numerous blades, and women screamed and darted out of the way, clutching towels or hands about their bodies, as Cerce thundered into the hallway and sprinted after the assassin with long loping steps.

The girl was fast, and a damn sight more nimble than Cerce was. Coming to the changing rooms, Protiya made a neat and clean leap over the low chairs one by one and twisted to her side as she ran to slip through the thin doorway leading towards the lobby without the slightest hesitation. When Cerce came to the same room, she vaulted the first bench and overshot the second by a foot, stumbling and smashing her shoulder against the wall with a thud that shook the room. Cerce's eyes darted around the room for her equipment, but the drunken feeling refused to leave her head. She rubbed her eyes. There was a shriek from the entrance hall; Cerce knew she had seconds to catch up or lose the assassin, never getting another chance to catch Protiya unarmed. Cerce took a deep breath and made the questionable decision to follow with what she had on.

The girl who had greeted Cerce was cowering in the corner of the entrance lobby as Cerce thundered by and leapt out the front entrance of the saunas into the glaring light of day. The sun pierced her eyes like fire, and Cerce found herself momentarily blinded, but soon got her bearings when the noise of voices raised in alarm reached her ears. Cerce spun and darted in the direction of the commotion, her bare feet warm on the cobbled stone streets of The Foul Mouth's market district.

The market was filled with people, and the gap left in the crowds by the fleeing assassin was clear as day. Faces were turning in confusion, and excited or fearful conversation turned to shock as the naked Nadyr sprinted by, arms pumping, green skin bright in the sun. Faces flew by, jaws hanging open in surprise or open mouthed appreciation.

Cerce saw the assassin up ahead, her pale flesh catching the sun. Protiya chanced a look back over her shoulder, and her face hardened when she saw the pursuit. With a leap, Protiya vaulted onto the side of a small market stall, bounced up above to the low overhang, and began hopping from the wooden constructions with light, quick skips. A portly proprietor stepped out into the center of the street to yell after the girl, and Cerce collided into him so forcefully that he and the pot he carried was sent flying to the ground feet away. Cerce dodged the shattered shards of the pot and continued on, trying not to lose her momentum. She vaulted a low cart of dried meats without looking and crashed through three Orc women in elegant robes, sending them flying.

Cerce gave a yell, both out of anger and warning to anyone else who felt like standing in the middle of the causeway this morning. The crowd split, and over the flat ground ahead, Cerce's long legs gained ground.

A long market stall with hanging furs displayed from wooden posts lay at the corner of the marketplace, and Protiya leaped to it, readying herself for a running jump onto the high walls of the closest stone construction. Cerce saw the girl brace to jump, and threw herself full force into the support beam of the fur stall. The temporary construction crumpled immediately, furs falling, and the assassin tumbling with it.

Cerce came at the assassin as Protiya fought to extricate herself from the ruin of the stall, and the Nadyr timed it well. She stretched back with one arm, and brought it forward right as she came within arm's reach with the purple haired girl.

Her fist took Protiya in the ribs like a sledgehammer, and the girl was taken fully off her feet to land on her bare arse in the center of the causeway, winded and clutching at her gut. Cerce launched a kick at the girl's head, but Protiya flipped herself to her front and then to her feet in a swift sweep of her legs.

They faced each other for a moment then, Protiya in a low crouch, her arms spread wide, Cerce standing straight and tall, fists balled at her sides.

There was silence in the crowd, people staring in eager anticipation. Cerce's fingers hurt, her cheeks hot with anger.

"You killed my friend," Cerce said. It didn't come out as an accusation. It came out as a sad statement, the emotion bubbling up behind it threatening to spill out of Cerce's eyes.

Protiya shrugged, a darkly unconcerned smile on her face. Her yellow eyes were darting around, from Cerce's gaze to the area immediately around, seeking assistance, something to use. When her eyes met Cerce's they lingered there for a while, and the women stared at each other. The assassin slowly spread her arms, her palms spread as if in supplication, she bowed forward ever so slightly, and with a swift jerk of her hips, fell forward onto her knees, grabbing up a splintered piece of timber and swinging it around at Cerce's head.

Cerce was ready for her; she raised her left arm, and the wood cracked painfully across her forearm, splintering into pieces as it connected. Cerce's right arm came forward, and the girl tried to lean back, but Cerce's reach was too great. Protiya squawked as she found herself gripped by the throat and lifted from her feet.

The muscles in Cerce's shoulder were tight with strain as she lifted the girl higher, raising her kicking feet further from the ground. Protiya's arms lashed out, but her nails came a few inches too short to reach Cerce's eyes. Her skinny legs kicked out, striking ineffectively at the green thighs and hips that stood sentinel in the ruins of the marketplace.

"Without your knives, you're just a little girl," Cerce whispered. She pulled back her fist once more, and watched as Protiya's eyes stared back at her. Suddenly the yellow orbs darted across Cerce's shoulder.

Cerce turned in time to see the three guardsmen rushing at her. She went to yell at them, and felt her whole weight shift. Protiya flipped her legs up Cerce's arm, her thighs locking around Cerce's neck, and sending both of them crashing to the ground.

The guards were yelling for the women to cease the commotion, and clamored over with their shields up and hands on the hilts of their swords. Protiya brought her elbow down hard on Cerce's shoulder, eliciting a yell of pain, and extracted herself from the Nadyr's grip.

In a blink the assassin was up and to her feet, her knuckles cracked across the face of the nearest guard, sending him to the ground clutching his bleeding nose.

Cerce fought to her knees, and found herself forced back down under the weight of the two guards that piled down onto her. The chill of polished steel crushed the air from her lungs, and the guard that shoved himself into her face was yelling at her not to struggle.

"DON'T LET HER GET..." Cerce snarled, before an armoured knee found her gut and winded her. Her face was shoved into the ground under the hard metal elbow of a guard, and she glimpsed Protiya darting away, a ghostly naked form disappearing into the alleys.

Cerce cursed silently to herself, and suddenly felt the energy fall from her limbs. The bloodlust dropped, and all at once her entire body ached. 

-

They'd held her there on the ground for some time, the guardsmen. Cerce had tried to raise her voice to ask questions more than once, but had given up when she'd been shouted at to keep quiet. It was a while longer before there was a sharp exchange of words between the guards, and they straightened up to attention. 

Shambling to a seated position, Cerce watched a very worn but very well polished pair of boots step into place before her. The toe on the left gave a few slow taps. 

"Cerce," came the voice of the boot's owner. 

Cerce cursed, it had to have been him. Who else? 

"Hello Wib," Cerce said, and looked up into the face of the captain of the guard.

He stood before her, tall and straight. One arm was at his side, while the other cradled his rolled green captain's cape. With two fingers, he made a little motion for her to stand. Cerce slowly rose, her arms awkwardly crossed to conceal her body.

"You smashed three stores in the market," Wib said. Much like the rest of him, Wib Revan's voice was not unpleasant in any way, but for some reason nothing about it put Cerce at ease.

"Yes," she nodded, her eyes on the floor. Her bare feet were covered in dust. 

"You, and I say this literally, ran over an Orc diplomat and her entourage, on their peace tour from Redroov Mountain." 

Cerce's mouth stretched wide into an apologetic cringe. 

"...yes...?" 

"You are completely naked in the center of my town."  

"Look, Wib, I..." Cerce began, exasperated. Wib stamped his boot so hard and so fast it made her flinch. 

"You will address me as Captain Revan, Cerce. You are hereby under arrest for noise disturbance, assault, damage to merchandise, destruction of private property, destruction of city property, and public indecency. Put your hands on your head."

Cerce gave him a withering stare. 

"You heard," Wib said. Cerce exhaled noisily through her nose as she removed her hands from her front to place them atop her head.There was a multitude of remarks from the gathered onlookers, about equally disparaging and exalting in flavor. Cerce looked for it, but not even the ghost of a smile touched the Captain's face. 

One of the guardsmen at Cerce's back gave an appreciative whistle, but the look that Revan shot the man was positively chilling. 

Wib stepped forward and wrapped Cerce from collarbone to thigh in his captain's cape, its gleaming emerald shone. 

"Thanks," Cerce muttered.

Wib gripped her arms and pulled them down tightly behind her. He gestured down the street ahead of them.

"Don't thank me, Cerce, I'm taking you to prison." 

-

Six hours later, as Cerce sat in her cell watching the moon rise through the barred window, she heard familiar boots coming down the hall. 

Wib strode up to the bars of the holding cell, and stood looking at Cerce in silence for a moment.

"The...other woman involved in the incident this afternoon. You called her Protiya?"

Cerce nodded slowly. "She's the assassin that killed the Marquis in Zenance last year, and the Duke's daughter in Truronia, the one with the jewels? And...Alton Hart."

"Who?"

Cerce sighed. "No-one. He was no-one."

Wib didn't nod, just made a brief incline of his brow to show he'd heard.

"If that's true, it's a shame she escaped. But she's not an inconspicuous individual, the guardsmen shall be looking for her from now on."

"Good luck with that," Cerce snorted. "So what's going to happen to me, Wib?"

The captain of the guard motioned for the gate to be opened. 

Wib met Cerce with a steely gaze as she stood to meet him. In his arms were a pile of black, purple, and blue that made up Cerce's boots, skirt, shirt, and all assorted accoutrements.

"I myself, don't understand it," Wib began. His handsome face looked Cerce over, and he seemed to be truly considering his words. "You are a foreigner, a troublemaker, a rare species many find frightening. You carry around the very weapon that we were told stories about to scare us as children."

He offered her the pile of clothes, Cerce took them and held them to her chest. She made no move to don them yet. 

"Yet the people of the Foul Mouth love you, Cerce Stormbringer. Every one of the store owners I spoke to denied you had any fault in the escapades today. One insisted you were doing your duty protecting them." 

Cerce shrugged, genuinely stunned.

"I offered the Orc emissary to have her clothing replaced at our cost, but instead I found a woman quite thrilled that she'd seen you in action. It appears your story has traveled."

Cerce hadn't even traveled half the distance north to the craggy peaks of Redroov Mountain. 

"You come with a legend, Cerce. It's not just the halberd, it's you." Wib sighed. He turned, and with a gesture sent his men off down the hall. 

"Dress, and be out of here. The weapon is where you left it. One of my men tried to lift it out of the corner and it fell on him. He was trapped under it for fifteen minutes."

Wib stared into space for a moment, then strode off, leaving Cerce alone.

She donned her clothing quickly, slipping on her boots and belting her skirt on. By the time Cerce strode down the halls and into the front office of the city guard, Cerce stood straighter, taller, and was quite ready to forget the events of the afternoon.

Wib Revan was seated at a low desk in the entrance room, a wooden cup of milk on his desk before him, and an open ledger in his hands.

"Sixteen men arrested at the docks over counterfeit coins, three men and an Orc in custody over on Cowie street regarding illegal scrumpy brewing, and the Stormbringer with her undercoat out in the middle of the market district." Wib looked up at Cerce with a raised eyebrow. "Not awful for a summer day in the Foul Mouth really."

A guardsman popped his head through the door and called to the captain.

"Your wife is here sir, shall I?"

Wib waved him in without looking up.

"Yes, yes, let her in." Wib placed down the ledger and looked up at Cerce as a willowy form in a flowing floor length red dress filed in.

Cerce's eyes widened a little, as the woman strode over to Wib and without comment, began massaging his shoulders.

"Glad you're okay, sweetheart," Wib said to the woman, reaching up to his shoulder to touch her black skinned hand. Wib gestured at Cerce with a casual flick of his hand.

"You're off the hook for now, Stormbringer. But stay out of the market district for at least a week. You want to chase assassins, you call the city guard. Is that clear?"

Cerce nodded slowly, trying to avoid the gaze of the familiar Dusk Elf with the shaven head and sultry eyes that stood over her husband, her pleasant smile shining across the room at Cerce.

-

Two helmeted guards parted to let Cerce leave, watching as she stepped out of the guard office and into the afternoon light of the Foul Mouth. They waited till she was out of earshot.

"I thought she'd have a tail."

"I was just about to say that."

"You see the fur on her? Like one of them long haired cats!"

"Like silk. Wouldn't mind giving that a pet."

"Not half."

They watched the passers by in the street for a moment, sweating in their armour.

"I don't think we're gonna have another day like that for quite some time."

The other guard nodded sadly, and they watched the tall white haired head of the Stormbringer disappear into the afternoon.

Comic Review: Infidel

Horror is a genre that has, for a long time now, found itself in desperate need of a shot in the arm. For a better part of the last twenty years, western horror has simmered with lukewarm novels, predictable cliche-ridden movies and that period where they just remade everything the far east had made the year before. Horror was dying, and didn't look like there was much of a way out.

However, in recent times we're seeing an unexpected sub-genre growing that could save horror as a whole. The emergence of ethnic horror in the public eye is a much needed breath of fresh air, and is introducing wildly new and unexplored viewpoints to the genre. Films like Get Out give us terror from an angle never before seen on the silver screen, and comics like Pornsak Pichetshote's new Infidel, continues in this exciting new branching out of a once tired genre.

Infidel tells the story of a young American Muslim woman living in an apartment seemingly filled with the grisly echoes of murderous hate crimes. The shadow of awful events lingers within her nightmares, and these demonic visitations seem to begin leaking into waking life.

Infidel explores not only the supernatural terrors, but shows us the true fears of the world this young woman is now a part of. The suspicious stares of neighbors hide unspoken words, and what could be a loving family is cracked by the echoes of old prejudices never forgotten. In Infidel, seemingly benevolent faces hide terrible secrets, and it seems whatever haunts this young woman is just around the corner at any moment.

Infidel has an atmospheric first issue, with a lot of thorough attention to character found therein. It's an unnerving experience in horror, with both a slow burn uneasy feeling to its pages as well as boasting a few panels that are truly ghoulish to behold. I'm excited to see where our protagonist is taken, and what awful secrets she uncovers in the shadows of her apartment, as well as the shadows of the family she finds herself a part of.

Written by Pornsak Pichetshote, with art by Aaron Campbell and Jose Villarruba, Infidel #1 is out now.