{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront","title":"Ifrit.","subtitle":"Ifrit.","author":{"name":"Ifrit."},"link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"service.feed","type":"application\/x.atom+xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom","title":"Ifrit."}}],"updated":"2014-04-05T03:34:16Z","entry":[{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:21709","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/21709.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=21709"}}],"title":"Get your scavenging boots on","published":"2012-08-03T00:58:05Z","updated":"2012-08-03T00:58:05Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"<div style=\"text-align:center\"><img alt=\"\" border=\"0\" src=\"https:\/\/imgprx.livejournal.net\/f1146ad8df55187d5009b49f3ec5c131e2d95d90d6a7546dc2fce0faae763ecc\/P2WlxyVijxKgh2tr_8ZUWUMdsf-ah7h0jRvMSrdXhtGd5w3Zl823RkkpDQhjC0BzulBqkWWNdBtPNQBbmEkp_ksbkWHAadbUvQoetB9maA8:o34iVTIGnqdJTU7WrN77zA\" title=\"\" fetchpriority=\"high\" \/><\/div><div>Heyyyyy guys signal boosting here~ Just three days (closer to two now, really) until the <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-C     \"  data-ljuser=\"inceptiversary\" lj:user=\"inceptiversary\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/inceptiversary.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/community.png?v=556&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/inceptiversary.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>inceptiversary<\/b><\/a><\/span> <a href=\"http:\/\/inceptiversary.livejournal.com\/7365.html\" target=\"_blank\">scavenger hunt<\/a> goes live :D Sorry that I am constantly spamming you with this, but I gotta promote, man, don&#39;t hate. And there is nothing really happening in my life either (my tumblr can attest to this) so it&#39;s Inceptiversary&nbsp;Inceptiversary&nbsp;Inceptiversary all the way! At least it comes with obnoxiously colorful art? ANYWAY HOPE YOU&#39;VE GOT YOUR CALENDARS MARKED<\/div>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:21448","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/21448.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=21448"}}],"title":"SCAVENGER HUNT SO BE EXCITED","published":"2012-07-31T00:43:19Z","updated":"2012-08-03T00:56:48Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"<p style=\"text-align: center; \"><img alt=\"\" border=\"0\" src=\"https:\/\/imgprx.livejournal.net\/db4728a1d8d915e3c2445cfb10ca62e8236418a250a8d759b23e5323b7f20c0a\/P2WlxyVijxKgh2tr_8ZUWUMdsf-ah7h0jRvMSrdXhtGd5w3Zl823RkkpDQhjC0BzulBqkWrEdw1PG0JauUkp_ksbkWHAadbUvQoetB9maA8:V7UbK3DqwN8UNluAq3ippg\" title=\"\" fetchpriority=\"high\" \/><\/p><p>Going through Insearchtion withdrawal? Love creating low-pressure fanworks? Don&#39;t know what to do with all that YOUTH pent up inside yourself? Head on over to <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-C     \"  data-ljuser=\"inceptiversary\" lj:user=\"inceptiversary\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/inceptiversary.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/community.png?v=556&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/inceptiversary.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>inceptiversary<\/b><\/a><\/span><strong>&nbsp;on Aug 5<\/strong> to take part in a <strong>MINI SCAVENGER HUNT<\/strong> :D You will have 11 days to complete a list of 10 items, after which you can vote for your favorite submission for each item (don&#39;t worry if you can&#39;t participate in the hunt-- you can still vote!)<\/p><p>There are also PRETTY COOL PRIZES for the winners:<\/p><p><strong>1st place:<\/strong> a $20 gift card to Amazon (or any online retailer of your choice) AND a 3k fic<br \/><strong>2nd place:<\/strong> a 3k fic OR a customized layout including a banner<br \/><strong>3rd place:<\/strong> a 2k fic OR 3 custom icons OR 1 custom banner<br \/><strong>Judges&#39; choice:<\/strong> a 1k fic<\/p><p>The items list will go live on Aug 5, along with more information on nitty-gritty details like scoring policies and how to submit your entries. All scavenger hunt activities (except for occasional reminders) will be conducted on LJ, so don&#39;t forget to bookmark <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-C     \"  data-ljuser=\"inceptiversary\" lj:user=\"inceptiversary\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/inceptiversary.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/community.png?v=556&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/inceptiversary.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>inceptiversary<\/b><\/a><\/span> and check back on Aug 5!<\/p>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:21125","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/21125.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=21125"}}],"title":"It will become rapidly clear that (as usual) I have no idea what I am doing","published":"2012-05-22T12:02:36Z","updated":"2012-05-22T12:03:22Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"how to say hello"}},"content":"HIYOOOooo guys. I know that the last real post here was made eight months ago, and... this is not actually a post either... But at any rate, I am alive and doing well, even though man is school a time sink or <i>what?<\/i> It's like they actually expect you to BE A STUDENT when you are in school?? <i>MADNESS<\/i><br \/><br \/>So this is just to say that I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox, and also that there is a neonatal <a href=\"http:\/\/weatherfront.tumblr.com\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\">tumblr thing<\/a> thataway! Regrettably I seem to have more snippets than extended lengths of time on my hands, which doesn't work too well with LJ-based fandom activities, and I pretty much fucking suck at twitter forevermore, so tumblr it is. It won't be the sort of place where I attempt to, you know, ~build a presence~ or anything, I am not actually moving to tumblr fandom, I am just going to... dick around with a tumblr and do everything wrong :| I mean, I am using it primarily because it seems like it can be less of a commitment than LJ, so things that will probably not happen: 1. checking the dash regularly like I should, and 2. trawling around for cool things to reblog all the time-- BUT, if in my time at this journal you have seen me talk about things that you are also interested in, then now you know where you can find me making incoherent posts about our mutual loves!<br \/><br \/>Of course this doesn't mean that THIS LJ IS ABANDONED FOR ALL ETERNITY AND I WILL IGNORE ANY ATTEMPTS TO CONTACT ME, as always there are comment notifs (...although I have been known to leave things unanswered for months and months when school gets particularly troublesome...) and e-mail and whatnot, so all in all I guess this isn't a <i>moving<\/i> at all, it's just, like, that annoying neighbor who lives next door starts showing up outside the Circle K to deliver his unsolicited wackjob political opinions instead of blasting them out into the street from his house with a loudspeaker. And it's not really that he's sold his house or anything, and his cell phone number is still the same (though it is uncertain why you know his number to begin with), but now you just see him a lot more at the Circle K, and also his unsolicited political opinions are still pretty wackjob, except I guess in this case they aren't very wackjob at all, because my opinions are pretty boring.<br \/><br \/>So if you are into stuff like TV shows, video games, Inception, food, complaining about things that seem pretty trivial upon closer consideration, cats, and other stuff that the Internet is into, and also if you are really bored or masochistic, then come on over :D"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:19619","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/19619.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=19619"}}],"title":"If you can even call this a surfacing","published":"2011-09-19T01:54:01Z","updated":"2011-09-19T01:54:08Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"how to say hello"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}}],"content":"<center><br \/><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0003f0ta\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><\/center><br \/><br \/>(Look! It's The Bridge that Ariadne Built from Memory! :D)<br \/><br \/>Europe was amazing, dearest beloved friendslist! But Europe was two weeks ago-- since then, I've been back at school, trying my best not to drown under unholy amounts of work. Like... what is even this much reading, I don't understand...? This little bit of Sunday night is legit the first chance I've had to take a breath at all, Jesus Christ. I DON'T THINK THIS IS LEGAL<br \/><br \/>Maybe at some point of time in the near future I will have actually read <i>ahead<\/i> of class (haha, what a hilarious thought) but until then, I think that I am probably not going to be able to hang around LJ very much... Especially because I don't want to default out of the big bang, and I should really start doing something about that, even though the deadline is still a ways away :'( So if I am scarce, please know that I am shaking my fist at school with ten times your vehemence, and that I am reachable over e-mail! Otherwise I am doing very well-- the only reason I am locking this to comments is that I know I won't be able to resist semi-endless comment threads, but I still have several more articles to read until tomorrow dg;dhgklhkalg I... will survive... and you too, friendslist, be strong. &hearts;"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:19076","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/19076.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=19076"}}],"title":"Sometimes spaghetti likes to be alone","published":"2011-08-12T23:36:49Z","updated":"2011-08-13T03:41:43Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"writing is a product of anxiety"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"<b>1.<\/b> Today I want to start with a poll to which there are no right answers; in fact, the only wrong answer might be thinking that there IS a right answer, but I've been curious as to what the results would be like, in response to a poll such as this. I wish there were a way for a broader sample of fans to answer it-- and also, it might be interesting to compare ratio results from Inception fandom and those from other fandoms. Anyway, as it is, it's just a small poll for people who happen to stumble across it, but I'd love to know what you think...!<br \/><br \/>[ETA] I have realized that this poll is even worse than I initially thought it was-- ahahaha if you haven't answered it yet, please don't agonize over the answers, as it is too vague and ill-planned to measure or indicate anything significant XD<br \/><br \/><div><a href=\"https:\/\/www.livejournal.com\/poll\/?id=1769248\">View Poll: Ruthless radio buttons!<\/a><\/div><br \/><br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0003cyxg\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><\/center><br \/><br \/><b>2.<\/b> Look, crepuscular rays :D Actually they are kind of weaksauce, but they don't happen very often here, especially not during the daytime. I gotta take what I can get, you know. Who doesn't like crepuscular rays!<br \/><br \/><b>3.<\/b> Recent media intake of various kinds (things I liked a lot get a ~star~ next to them, oh the unbearable prestige):<br \/><br \/><ul><li>Captain America<br \/><br \/><li>Deathly Hallows take 2, Neville Longbottom and the <s>Heavy-Handed Speech<\/s> Crowning Moment of Awesome<br \/><br \/><li>The Good Wife*<br \/><blockquote>ALL OF IT. Of course, predictably enough, I love Eli Gold! But on the other hand, I feel like with the election storyline, the show sometimes forgot about its solid core, which is what made me fall in love with it in the first place-- that it's a story about women who recognize each other as fellow soldiers in a male-dominated world, not just the world of law but <i>the world,<\/i> and interact with each other in ways that are not always commendable or always cordial, but deeply different from the relationships they have with men. It's not a perfect show, of course, but no doubt I'll be eager to see what S3 brings *____*<\/blockquote><br \/><li>Suits<br \/><br \/><li>The Surrendered<br \/><br \/><li>Big Night*<br \/><blockquote>dklskhla;gh I have been trying to watch this movie for years now, and only managed to succeed this week. It was as glorious as I hoped it would be, god stories about food and people who are passionate about food are so irresistible. &hearts; <i>To eat good food is to be close to God.<\/i> And that scene where Phyllis and Gabriella talk outside! That has nothing to do with food but I loved it all the same.<\/blockquote><br \/><li>Midnight in Paris*<br \/><blockquote><i>\"If it's bad, I'll hate it because I hate bad writing. If it's good, I'll be envious and hate it all the more. [...] Writers are competitive.\"<\/i> - Hemingway. There's more to say about this movie, but in the end, all the rest of the film could be utter shit and I would still love it for those lines. (Haha, can you imagine how much of a fucking kick Woody Allen got out of writing for Hemingway?)<\/blockquote><br \/><li>G&ouml;del, Escher, Bach<br \/><blockquote><span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"keelain\" lj:user=\"keelain\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/keelain.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/keelain.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>keelain<\/b><\/a><\/span> and <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"jibrailis\" lj:user=\"jibrailis\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/jibrailis.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/jibrailis.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>jibrailis<\/b><\/a><\/span>, I DID IT :'( I READ THIS BOOK AND I FINISHED IT. GOD IS IT LONG OR WHAT? Here's the thing, though-- it's definitely interesting on a conceptual level, and it ties together a lot of very salient subjects (obviously math, art, and music, but you also find bits in it that are completely relevant to in-characterness and out-of-characterness in fic, authorial intention, Dune parallels, and Hofstadter's own uncontrollable anger at literary translation, lolol). But Jesus fucking Christ, there is such a fuckload of number theory in this book. If you enjoy number theory, it will feel like a wonderful extended orgasm; personally, I... don't enjoy number theory. But anyway, it is a book in part about recursion, of course there are hilarious unintentional tie-ins to Inception!<br \/><br \/><i>\"No telling how long [...] we were in Tumbolia. It could have been moments, hours, days-- even years.\"<\/i> This excerpt comes from a dialogue in which Achilles and the Tortoise keep going down further into stories within stories, and then after they've done that a couple times, they find themselves in a LABYRINTH.<br \/><br \/><i>There can be fantasies within fantasies, thrice-nested fantasies, and so on. This means there are all sorts of \"levels of reality\" [...] when you pop out of a fantasy-within-a-fantasy, you are in a \"realer\" world than you had been, but you are still one level away from the top.<\/i> THE TOP!<\/li><\/ul><br \/><b>4.<\/b> I'm not even sure what this is but it makes me happy to think of it l;ldkhg;lakhg<br \/><br \/><ul><li>Arthur with Ariadne<br \/><blockquote>\"Yes?\" asked Ariadne.<br \/>\"Yes,\" said Arthur.<\/blockquote><br \/><li>Arthur with Cobb<br \/><blockquote>\"Yes?\" asked Cobb.<br \/>\"Y-- n-- ugh, fine,\" said Arthur, \"yes.\"<\/blockquote><br \/><li>Arthur with Eames<br \/><blockquote>\"Yes?\" asked Eames.<br \/>\"No,\" lied Arthur.<\/blockquote><\/li><\/ul><br \/><b>5.<\/b> It occurs to me that I rather enjoy an Arthur who is like a graphic designer in the employment of the mob: deservingly well-paid, underappreciated, self-righteous, anal-retentive, style-conscious, nitpicky, frustrated, downtrodden, exhilaratingly close to death at any moment.<\/blockquote>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:17259","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/17259.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=17259"}}],"title":"Spin! [1\/2]","published":"2011-07-06T07:04:42Z","updated":"2012-12-08T01:47:25Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"auction fic"}},"content":"<b>Pairings:<\/b> Eames\/Arthur<br \/><b>Rating:<\/b> R<br \/><b>Word Count:<\/b> 21,000<br \/><b>Summary:<\/b> Political crisis managers AU. Arthur and Eames are operatives for rival presidential campaigns in a heated Democratic primary. Can they find love and happiness in spite of all the pies, Republicans, and publicity disasters in their way? Even in the face of the dreaded ELECTORAL COLLEGE SYSTEM? I DON'T KNOW! LET'S FIND OUT!<br \/><b>Notes:<\/b> <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-C     \"  data-ljuser=\"help_japan\" lj:user=\"help_japan\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/help-japan.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/community.png?v=556&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/help-japan.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>help_japan<\/b><\/a><\/span> fic for <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"nm973\" lj:user=\"nm973\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/nm973.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/nm973.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>nm973<\/b><\/a><\/span>. &hearts; A word to the wise, this is of course not how politics works, because politics is not a romantic comedy. I mean, I thought that it was a romantic comedy for Anthony Weiner and Huma Abedin at least, but we all know how that turned out. &gt;:| 2018 is clearly not a presidential election year, and do not by any means try to figure out what month it is as you are reading this fic, because it will not make sense and it will frustrate you. The WHCA dinner is in April! How can it be April if it just turned summer! WELL BECAUSE IT'S A ROMANTIC COMEDY ;___;<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0002g103\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>The rabbit-eared interns, eager and alert and endlessly underfoot, are the first to notice his return. It isn't as though he's making a secret of it; he's in too bad a mood to attempt civility, and the glass door wobbles wildly in its frame as he shoves it out of his way. He marches down the lobby of campaign headquarters, stirring a flurry of papers and low voices in his wake.<br \/><br \/>\"Coffee, sir?\" asks a bright young rabbit, one hand on the phone receiver.<br \/><br \/>\"First, don't ever call me that again,\" snaps Arthur. \"Second, why aren't you canvassing, who told you to stop-- and third, no, thank you, I had a cup on the way here, but it's kind of you to ask.\"<br \/><br \/>The staffers are drawn out of hiding one by one, like the sharp click of Arthur's shoes are pied piper music to their ears. They thrust sheaves of documents at him, poll results, finance records, schedules, anxiously offering him coffee and asking about his arm, <i>Is it all right, oh my god, should you even be here right now, you're an inspiration to all of us.<\/i> Their voices churn through Arthur's head, freshly released from the loving embrace of Vicodin. He has a massive headache, his arm is still broken and sore as hell, and his candidate is a fucking idiot.<br \/><br \/>He marches around a corner and his empty jacket sleeve catches on the edge of a venetian blind, jerking him back in place. An obliging staffer fumbles with it for him, so he manages a drawn smile before he says, \"Get back to work, deadweights,\" and yanks open the door to the inner sanctum.<br \/><br \/>\"Arthur,\" says Cobb, rising from his desk, \"I thought you were--\"<br \/><br \/>\"Please, sit down,\" says Arthur, and forcibly pushes Cobb back into the chair with his good arm. \"I'm going to say a few words to you, and if at any point you attempt to contradict me or look as though you are not listening, I am going to brain you with this plaster cast.\"<br \/><br \/>\"But I signed that plaster cast for you,\" says Cobb.<br \/><br \/>\"That was probably the high point of our relationship,\" says Arthur, \"because do you know what you did just two weeks later? Two weeks I leave this campaign alone, just two weeks, and what do you do? Tell me, Cobb, what did you do?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Please stop talking to me like I am a dog,\" says Cobb. \"This is about the Colbert thing, isn't it?\"<br \/><br \/>\"What else can it possibly be about?\" demands Arthur. \"Has the press been showing <i>anything<\/i> else today? You're not a talker, you shouldn't be doing any comedy shows at all, let alone the Colbert Report! What in the world possessed you? Jesus Christ, and I was the one high on Vicodin.\"<br \/><br \/>He reaches over the desk to the keyboard of Cobb's laptop, furiously typing in the URL of a news aggregate site. A headline leaps out of the screen in huge boldface letters: <i>Cobb Fumbles <\/i>Report<i> Appearance, Fumbles Primary Chances?<\/i> There's a long litany of a similar vein cascading down below the link, but Arthur clicks on the largest one.<br \/><br \/>\"First you talk to me like I'm a dog,\" says Cobb, \"and now you're going to rub my face in it.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Okay, look, I'm sorry,\" says Arthur. \"I didn't mean to treat you like a dog. I also didn't mean to yell at you. And I'm sorry for mentally calling you a fucking idiot. But I think that maybe you're not quite willing to accept the gravity of the situation here, and I'm hoping that maybe a repeat viewing of your performance will make the implications too clear to ignore. All right?\"<br \/><br \/>\"I don't <i>need<\/i> a--\" begins Cobb, but Arthur has already pressed play on the embedded video.<br \/><br \/>To thunderous applause and upbeat background music, Stephen Colbert jogs to his interview table, exchanging a row of high-fives with his audience. The camera cuts to Cobb, perched on the edge of his chair, grinning from ear to ear.<br \/><br \/>Colbert crosses his legs as he sits down, and narrows his eyes thoughtfully at Cobb.<br \/><br \/>\"You look somewhat familiar, sir,\" says Colbert, as the audience titters. \"I think I may have seen you on television.\"<br \/><br \/>\"That's strange,\" says Cobb, still grinning, \"I think I've also seen you on television.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Right there!\" exclaims Arthur, and pauses the video. \"You could have stopped right there and it would have been so good, Cobb. You're an ex-professor, nobody expects you to be funny, that would have done fine as a repartee. You could have given the rest of the interview straight.\"<br \/><br \/>\"I wasn't really trying to give the rest of the interview funny,\" says Cobb, sullen.<br \/><br \/>The remaining minutes of the video clip proceed to contain the gems that drove Arthur halfway to apoplexy earlier on that morning; Cobb reaching out to shake Colbert's hand for just an adoring second too long, Cobb leaning forward on his elbows with a look of awe, Cobb gushing, <i>Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't catch that question, it's just-- I'm a big fan of this show, Mr. Colbert, a huge fan, since before I became senator, and it's such an honor for me to be here at the table where I've watched so many dignitaries and world leaders and innovators and humanitarians converse with you, and I never would have imagined that one day I too would have the privilege of sitting across from you and meeting you in the flesh and blood, I ought to tell you that when I used to teach economics, I would never miss a single episode, not if I was at a conference overseas, not if I had research proposals due the next morning, I would always, always catch your show, and I am not just saying that out of courtesy, Mr. Colbert, I truly mean it,<\/i> and the camera cutting to Colbert's genuinely astonished face over peals of audience laughter.<br \/><br \/>\"You made a complete and utter fool of yourself,\" says Arthur, attempting to cross his arms and wincing. \"You looked like a <i>schlub,<\/i> Cobb, you know that? You looked like he was your greatest hero, like you're some college student eating Cool Ranch Doritos by the handful at midnight in his boxers in front of his 16-inch common room television screen! Fishing Dorito crumbs out of the cracks in the couch during the commercial breaks!\"<br \/><br \/>\"That's oddly specific,\" says Cobb. \"Look, Arthur, don't you think that you're--\"<br \/><br \/>\"The screencaps of you getting the Colbert fist bump are <i>everywhere,<\/i>\" hisses Arthur. \"That's not presidential! You looked like you were going to declare him your running mate, for god's sake! Well, at least now you've locked up the disaffected youth vote -- except, of course, oh, wait -- <i>they don't vote.<\/i>\"<br \/><br \/>He sucks in a deep breath, bracing himself with one palm on Cobb's desk. The adrenaline is dulling the pain in his arm, but the monster headache and the suspiciously pre-ulcerous gnawing in his stomach are starting to exhaust him. He falls into one of the folding chairs lining the walls.<br \/><br \/>\"This is ridiculous,\" he says, letting his head hang. \"I can't fucking think. I need food or something.\"<br \/><br \/>Like manna from heaven, a salad drops into his lap. The halved cherry tomatoes glisten at him, technicolor crimson, nestled on beds of curling parmesan. <i>Succulent as the painted lips of a Rita Hayworth,<\/i> he thinks, and then, <i>what the fuck am I even saying.<\/i><br \/><br \/>Dazed, Arthur lifts the fork and guides it to his mouth. The sweet-salty dressing is a balm to his burning tongue. He nearly sobs at the sensation of relief that floods him, the crunch of arugula stalks between his teeth, and all at once he's ravenous for more. It's only after another hurried shovel or two that he remembers he hasn't thanked his benefactor yet.<br \/><br \/>He looks up, sees who it is, and promptly chokes on his mouthful of salad.<br \/><br \/>\"<i>What are you doing here,<\/i>\" he shouts. \"Cobb, <i>what is he doing here.<\/i>\"<br \/><br \/>\"I'm a spy,\" says Eames, proudly.<br \/><br \/>\"<i>I knew it,<\/i>\" yells Arthur.<br \/><br \/>\"Remember that party unity nation tour you suggested, before your accident?\" asks Cobb. \"We decided to go through with it. Eames is here to compare notes and draw up a mutual schedule.\"<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0002h9eg\" loading=\"lazy\"><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>Here is the beginning of the story:<br \/><br \/>Once upon a time, millions of years ago when dinosaurs roamed the Earth, Arthur was a legislative aide to an Illinois congressman. It was no one too fancy, no one too special, just an affable freshman-elect who happened to realize that he had room on his staff. By re-election season, Arthur was his legislative director.<br \/><br \/>\"Do you have any experience running campaigns?\" asked the congressman.<br \/><br \/>\"I've seen things,\" said Arthur, because the word <i>no<\/i> made him break out in hives.<br \/><br \/>This was normally how disasters happened, but fortunately for the congressman and for Arthur, it turned out that Arthur had a preternatural talent for keeping ships afloat. Like a tidy, trim little machine of war, their campaign quietly demolished the challengers and sailed on into the second term. Two years later, they sailed on into the third. It wasn't a hotly contested seat, and not very many people noticed.<br \/><br \/>Dominic Cobb, the junior senator from California, was one of them. He had Aspirations of a Certain Nature, and was intrigued by these deadly outfits that Arthur seemed to be fond of running. The relatively small size of Arthur's campaigns also appealed to him, as did their lack of much unnecessary flash and bang-- maybe it was his academic background, but for a man insane enough to run for President of the United States, Cobb was really dismally down to earth.<br \/><br \/>Arthur knew of him, and news traveled fast. He was waiting for the phone call when it came.<br \/><br \/>\"California is on the wrong end of the continent,\" he said, when Cobb had finished lurching through his offer. \"You'll need to relocate halfway, at the very least. Come to Chicago and we'll set up HQ here. It's an auspicious city.\"<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>Here is how the story became complicated:<br \/><br \/>They were expecting Mallorie Miles to enter the race, as did most everyone else, long before she scheduled her press conference in front of the Kansas Governor's Mansion. Cobb and Arthur were parked in front of the television screen with styrofoam containers of take-out lunch, counting down the minutes.<br \/><br \/>\"I prayed so hard that she wouldn't run,\" said Cobb.<br \/><br \/>\"Well, that wouldn't have worked,\" said Arthur. \"Doesn't she pray to the same god that you do?\"<br \/><br \/>The surprise wasn't anything to do with Miles (or Mal, just Mal, her preferred moniker). It was the man standing to her right, a rare new face in a somewhat incestuous arena of talent. He was tieless and rumpled and broad, his jacket creased at the elbows, a stubbled backdrop to the petite torpedo figure Mal cut in a lavender suit.<br \/><br \/>\"Who is that?\" asked Cobb.<br \/><br \/>\"I think he's chewing on a toothpick,\" said Arthur, horrified.<br \/><br \/>Eames was indeed chewing on a toothpick. However, he did not turn out to be Mal's brother, as Cobb had predicted-- or her boyfriend, as Arthur had assumed. Eames was Mal's campaign manager, plucked from the obscurity of some clerk's office somewhere in Maine. Despite his Maine driver's license and citizenship, he also had a befuddling posh British accent. Her choice made absolutely no sense to Cobb or Arthur, but then again, few things about Eames did.<br \/><br \/>\"Mark my words,\" said Arthur, \"if he's not dating her now, then it's just a matter of time.\"<br \/><br \/>\"That would completely collapse her bid,\" said Cobb.<br \/><br \/>\"She's unmarried, he's unmarried,\" said Arthur. \"Look at her, would he leave her alone? For that matter, look at him, would she leave him alone? I'm telling you, her wedding veil is going to be her funeral shroud.\"<br \/><br \/>\"You watch too many period dramas,\" said Cobb.<br \/><br \/>\"I know the love lives of men and women!\" said Arthur.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>Here is how Arthur thought the story was going to end:<br \/><br \/>There wasn't the slightest inkling of anything brewing between Mal and Eames, the contact between them easy but dry, and the press -- initially so curious -- gave up hounding after what seemed a distant amorous impossibility. Arthur was perplexed.<br \/><br \/>Instead of gossip and scandal, the Miles campaign produced a series of fantastic speeches and an irreproachable ad about Mal's breadth and depth of experience in foreign policy. Eames was all the more formidable for being unknown, and the spot was so clean and effective that Arthur felt the bottom drop out of his stomach when he saw it for the first time. Then he wondered why they hadn't aired it more, in every slice they could fit it, in every state they could.<br \/><br \/>And then he realized, during a mysterious two-day bout of tense radio silence from the Miles camp, that her campaign just didn't have the funds for it. For all of Mal's cool composure and Eames's deft hand at narrative, their operation lacked the bloodthirsty fundraising bite.<br \/><br \/><i>Ah,<\/i> thought Arthur. <i>Now I have you.<\/i><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>Here is how (to Arthur's dismay) the story continued:<br \/><br \/>Unfortunately, for all of Cobb's professorial likability and Arthur's skill at raking in cash, their own operation wasn't perfect, either. The two clear frontrunners of the primary were perennially neck-and-neck, and in their desperation to pull ahead, both campaigns started to chafe. Mal took to her town hall meetings with oblique jabs of derision in Cobb's direction; Cobb took to his with passive-aggressive charm and tried to wheedle the voters away from her.<br \/><br \/>After a plethora of dark insinuations and ambiguously phrased accusations, none of which did either camp permanent damage, the media was thoroughly astir and frothing at the mouth. In retrospect, Arthur prefers to gloss over these weeks as a dark and shameful period in his life. Both camps were perhaps moments away from commissioning some truly virulent attack ads when polls began to show a disconcerting trend-- both of their ratings dropped, dropped, and continued dropping.<br \/><br \/>\"Why?\" demanded Cobb. \"Are people switching parties or something? Has President Browning saved an orphan child from a burning building and somehow I missed it?\"<br \/><br \/>\"You know what I think it is,\" said Arthur, \"I think the voters are sick of the infighting. I think they want us to please lay the fuck off each other.\"<br \/><br \/>\"They want party unity?\" asked Cobb. \"Are you sure about this?\"<br \/><br \/>\"I think America just saved us from ourselves,\" said Arthur.<br \/><br \/>\"Seriously, Arthur,\" said Cobb. \"Stop watching period dramas.\"<br \/><br \/>They sent out a poll and the numbers came back. Arthur was right. In the hypothetical era of peaceful campaign, both candidates showed a marked improvement in nearly all qualities-- <i>decent<\/i> was up, <i>fair<\/i> was up, <i>reasonable<\/i> was up, <i>honest<\/i> was up, <i>loving<\/i> was up, <i>consistent<\/i> was up, <i>trustworthy<\/i> was up. Even <i>sense of humor<\/i> was up.<br \/><br \/>\"Some sort of extended publicity stunt would do it,\" Arthur said into the phone. \"Maybe a nationwide tour together, all the relevant events attended by both candidates, a bus ride across the country. A week of favorable optics and a message of solidarity for everyone. Doesn't that sound good?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Can you clarify something for me?\" asked Eames. \"Are we supposed to pay you for sharing the polling results?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Consider this the benevolence of a future victor,\" said Arthur.<br \/><br \/>\"You can really be quite hilarious sometimes,\" said Eames.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>And here is how the flashback ends:<br \/><br \/>The next day, mountain biking to his restless heart's content, Arthur attempted to gauge how much of Eames's statement had stemmed from scornful sarcasm. Just as he reached the conclusion that it must have been somewhere between 93 to 97 percent, most probably leaning toward the higher end of the range, his front wheel snagged on a tree branch.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0002k1q2\" loading=\"lazy\"><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>\"In the ambulance, I should have called you,\" Arthur tells Cobb. \"No matter what you do, Senator Cobb, don't go on the Colbert Report. Bequeath my meager savings to the DNC, tell them I was loyal until the very end. And <i>don't go on the Colbert Report.<\/i>\"<br \/><br \/>\"Are you honestly that worried about this?\" asks Cobb.<br \/><br \/>\"Didn't you see the headlines?\" asks Arthur, swallowing another forkful of salad. \"Or did I just imagine them in my delirium of pain?\"<br \/><br \/>\"For what it matters, my opinion is that Cobb is right,\" says Eames. \"You're just stressed from being kept out of the loop for two entire weeks, and now you want a crisis to manage. Unfortunately, this isn't one.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Is that good advice? How do I know you're not actually a spy?\" asks Arthur. \"Hold on, you didn't poison the salad, did you?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Look,\" says Eames, \"you remember when that video of Mal leaked, the one with the French accent?\"<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>This question from Eames seems to necessitate one last brief flashback, so here it is:<br \/><br \/>Mal had a penchant for donning accents, honed from years of mimicry and high school plays. Eames was nothing to scoff at, himself, and in moments of frustration they would blow off steam by quipping absurdities at each other while cycling through their dialectical repertoire (or so the Miles campaign claimed, ex post facto).<br \/><br \/>One thing about Mal that consistently tested terribly with voters leaning anywhere but hard left was her childhood spent in France. She had been a resident of Kansas since she was eleven years old, but everyone right of center appeared to be convinced that she was a Continental debutante come to set a powdered wig on every American pate and a macaron in every American pot.<br \/><br \/>When a cell phone video was leaked to the press, six-seconds of Mal saying <i>It is very difficult, Monsieur le Conseiller, this country will not allow me to wear the pantsuit<\/i> in a heavy French accent, the response was electric. Talking heads spouted steam from their ears. Headlines harped on the subject for weeks. Relevant news clips spawned three exasperated Moments of Zen, <i>Un-American in Paris<\/i> was one night's Word, and the hoopla raged on. Kristen Wiig put up her hair on SNL and played Mal in a well-received skit. Arthur sent Eames a flyer for spin class at a local Kansas gym.<br \/><br \/>\"It's a gesture of camaraderie,\" said Arthur.<br \/><br \/>\"Is the handwritten <i>SPIN HARDER<\/i> on the back also a message of camaraderie?\" asked Eames.<br \/><br \/>With her favorability ratings dipping nearly into the 30s, the Miles campaign found the golden angle over the weekend following SNL. First thing Monday morning, networks and blogs led with a handful of officially released photographs showing Mal at her campaign HQ, watching SNL and laughing with a paper bag of popcorn peeking out from behind a cushion. Later on that afternoon, an \"anonymous staffer\" provided for public consumption the full version of the original damaging video; a two-minute extravaganza of more than a dozen accents -- most of them American regional -- hilarious and witty and utterly disarming.<br \/><br \/><i>A dozen accents in a candid video and not a single potentially racial connotation,<\/i> thought Arthur in despair. <i>Was she genetically engineered to run for office?<\/i><br \/><br \/>The flyer for spin class returned in a manila envelope left on his desk, with <i>SPIN HARDER<\/i> crossed out and replaced with <i>DONE.<\/i><br \/><br \/>\"She's very talented,\" Arthur told Eames. \"She's wasting time in politics, help her look for an agent.\"<br \/><br \/>\"You know who else is also very good,\" said Eames, \"<i>I'm<\/i> also very good.\"<br \/><br \/>For a solid week after, Mal was ahead of Cobb in the polls. Arthur tore up the flyer into minuscule granular pieces and briefly considered eating them as a demonstration of grief.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>\"This is going to blow over,\" says Eames. \"You know it will-- and you won't even have to break your neck trying to package it, like we did. You caught a much better news cycle than ours.\"<br \/><br \/>\"There's that auto safety bill on the Hill,\" admits Arthur. \"Vote wrangling will probably turn dirty and draw some attention.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Not to mention the release of President Browning's tax statements from last year,\" says Cobb. \"He can't help being a rich bastard, but the press will have a fit anyway. Fischer-Morrow's bound to get dragged in, Robert Fischer's going to spend days backpedaling on everything, and maybe people will start paying some attention to <i>that<\/i> primary for a change.\"<br \/><br \/>\"The Republican primary isn't a race, it's a massacre,\" says Arthur. \"All the other candidates besides Fischer still have favorability ratings in the low single digits. He's going to eat them all for breakfast, the tax statements won't change that.\"<br \/><br \/>\"But the press attention will be off our back,\" says Cobb. \"Be sensible about this, Arthur. Is anyone going to be talking about this Colbert thing, a week from now?\"<br \/><br \/>\"If you manage it as a crisis, people will see it as a crisis,\" says Eames.<br \/><br \/>There's truth in that. Arthur looks down at the empty salad container on his lap, runs his nail across the plastic edge of its cover. His arm does hurt, but god, two weeks swimming in and out of a drug-induced haze, fretting every waking moment, sleeping with his Blackberry under his pillow, futilely hoping that someone would please think to bother him-- it might have been the worst two weeks of his entire life.<br \/><br \/>To leave, he needs to stand up and walk out of the building, but he knows he never could. Not when he's already here, lodged exactly where he belongs. In the midst of the tension, the strategy, phones ringing off the hook. Crisis or not, this is his campaign to run. Arthur snaps the container closed.<br \/><br \/>\"Thank you for the salad, Eames,\" he says, \"it was unethically delicious.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Hey, don't mention it,\" says Eames.<br \/><br \/>\"We want to do the Midwest alone at a later date,\" says Arthur. \"We require that the tour start in Illinois and work its way down into the South, then we will hit Florida and curve up along the Eastern Seaboard toward New Hampshire, where I presume you'll want to stop, unless you were thinking of dropping by your previous site of employment for a moment of nostalgia--\"<br \/><br \/>\"Slow down there, Ferret,\" says Eames, and grins. \"We require that the tour include the Midwestern states.\"<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0002pr77\" loading=\"lazy\"><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>Ariadne hardly gets out her <i>hello<\/i> before Arthur demands, \"What did you call me on your blog?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Whoa, all right,\" says Ariadne, \"I see we've decided to dispense with the pleasantries. Are we enemies now? I liked you a lot better when you were recuperating at home, you were much mellower then. Oh, Arthur, I believe in yesterday.\"<br \/><br \/>\"You know I'm in the office?\" asks Arthur. \"That was quick.\"<br \/><br \/>\"I got eyes on the street, Ferret,\" says Ariadne.<br \/><br \/>\"That! Why are you calling me that!\" yells Arthur. \"I resent that, the word <i>ferret<\/i> carries negative connotations, you're grievously misrepresenting me with the implication that I conduct my business in a furtive or devious manner--\"<br \/><br \/>\"Relax, I didn't even invent it,\" says Ariadne. \"Not to mention that everyone already assumes you guys conduct your business in a furtive and devious manner.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Other people have been calling me this?\" groans Arthur. \"Why would they single me out? Wait, is it my leave of absence, do they think I've weaseled my way out of the campaign? Do they think I fake-broke my arm?\"<br \/><br \/>\"No, they do not think that,\" says Ariadne. \"That bedrest really did a number on you, huh? You're unusually jittery today.\"<br \/><br \/>\"You're right,\" says Arthur, \"I have been finding myself raising my voice.\"<br \/><br \/>\"It probably has more to do with your physical appearance,\" says Ariadne. \"They just think, you know, that you're kind of sleek. Dark and sleek. In good shape.\"<br \/><br \/>\"...Ariadne,\" says Arthur, \"do you <i>like<\/i> me?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Please,\" says Ariadne, so immediately dismissive that Arthur is wounded despite himself. \"But maybe I should ask you what gym you go to, because that would boost my readership drastically. I should do a little gossip. Or process stories-- I should do process stories, shouldn't I? Yusuf does, people love them.\"<br \/><br \/>\"You should not do process stories,\" says Arthur, very firmly.<br \/><br \/>It's more than half his own distaste for them. They're hard to control, they stray from the message, and they humanize what needs to be perceived as a stainless clockwork mechanism, reducing his workshop to a cage of headless squabbling macaws. Process stories do him a grave disservice, when he tries so hard to keep his operation in order at all times.<br \/><br \/>But it's also that it stokes some spark of moral outrage in him, that two of the biggest names in the independent political blogging arena would choose to concern themselves with something as petty and counterproductive as process stories. It's already bad enough that Yusuf enjoys writing them, and complete overkill for Ariadne to give into the temptation as well.<br \/><br \/>\"I bet he gets more than half his traffic from his fluff and process pieces,\" says Ariadne. \"Why couldn't Eames have been my personal friend? That's where Yusuf gets all his gossip, isn't it, Eames loves stories like that.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Too bad you're stuck with me,\" says Arthur. \"Do you want the details on the national tour, or would you prefer to talk to Eames?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Don't be so resentful,\" says Ariadne. \"Right then, to start off with-- what states will the tour hit?\"<br \/><br \/>\"We're starting in Missouri and moving down into Texas,\" says Arthur. \"Then we'll make a series of stops through the Southern States, before turning north in Florida and visiting the states lining the East Coast. The tour will conclude in New Hampshire.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Any comments on why the West and Midwest are being overlooked?\" asks Ariadne.<br \/><br \/>\"Not if you ask it like that,\" says Arthur. \"The tour will include two joint town hall meetings in addition to numerous opportunities for both the candidates to directly express their respect and admiration for the Americans to whom we owe so much, the citizens who silently and lovingly serve their family and their community, those who -- in doing so -- serve the entire nation and make America the great country that it is.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Send me off with something about Governor Miles,\" says Ariadne. \"Something about her as an individual.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Governor Miles has been nothing short of an absolute pleasure to work with in organizing the American Unity Tour,\" says Arthur. \"She has been fully cooperative, and my interactions with her have left me with no doubt of her commitment to this project. We are confident that she and Senator Cobb will keep their promise to the American people in seeing it through to the end.\"<br \/><br \/>\"But what about her sophisticated good looks?\" asks Ariadne. \"You want to kiss her? You want to marry her?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Yes,\" says Arthur. \"I also wish that she were my personal friend, instead of some pipsqueak blogger straight out of seventh grade who won't stop calling me names.\"<br \/><br \/>\"You cut like a knife, Arthur,\" says Ariadne. \"By the by, rewinding a little here, what did you trade her in exchange for those two town hall meetings? You know she'll come out on top if she engages Senator Cobb in debate, that's unquestionably her forte.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Off the record,\" says Arthur, \"she allowed us to hold private fundraisers during the course of the tour-- no more than three, that's the cap, but the public image turnover will be worth it.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Speaking of fundraisers,\" says Ariadne, \"did you hear Mayor Saito's statement today?\"<br \/><br \/>\"No, but I can guess well enough,\" says Arthur, feeling the joints of his spine pop back into place when he stretches. \"I'll deal with that tomorrow, even he's not really expecting a response from me, I don't think. By now it's just some sort of bizarre running joke.\"<br \/><br \/>\"It's still funny,\" says Ariadne. \"Have a good evening, Ferret.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Stay away from process stories, Dormouse,\" says Arthur.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0002q818\" loading=\"lazy\"><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>The <i>AmericanUnity DemocraticParty VoterReassurance PublicityBlitz NationTour&trade;<\/i>, as it uncharitably comes to be called on Ariadne's blog, kicks off in Jefferson City, Missouri. The joint press conference that starts the tour goes flawlessly, with a handshake photo op and a ceremonious ribbon-cutting in the parking lot where the discreet grey buses stand waiting.<br \/><br \/>Arthur drags his duffel bag and suitcase up to the storage compartment of his bus. Eames ought to be loading up his own luggage onto his own bus, but instead he just stands there looking amused, watching Arthur tug at his bags.<br \/><br \/>\"What are you doing?\" demands Arthur. \"Go get your things in, or we'll leave without you.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Can you handle all that weight by yourself, with your delicate shattered arms?\" asks Eames, blinking in mock innocence. \"You sure you don't need me to hang about in case you need an ambulance later on?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Please, don't hang about on my account,\" says Arthur, \"why don't you go fuck yourself instead?\"<br \/><br \/>The cast and sling have been off for a while, and it's not like he deserves the jab in the first place-- he broke his arm while mountain biking, in the pursuit of strenuous exercise. It's not like he got it caught in a revolving door or something, for god's sake. Arthur hurls his bags deep into the storage compartment of the bus, and then -- just for good measure -- he tears Eames's bags out of his hands, stomps over to the Miles campaign bus, and hurls them into the storage compartment there as well. The confounded look on Eames's face is immensely satisfying.<br \/><br \/>\"Right, that's,\" says Eames, as Arthur dusts his hands and glares at him, \"thank you, Arthur, that was very kind of you-- I think.\"<br \/><br \/>\"You're very welcome,\" says Arthur, and stomps back to the Cobb bus, swinging his muscular fucking athletic arms.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>The first town hall meeting is in Oklahoma, right off the bat. Inevitably it turns into a bit of a debate, though they keep it civil and silky smooth for the benefit of the audience and the press in attendance. They're mugging for the cameras. <i>You just watch us get along, yeah,<\/i> thinks Arthur, where he's leaning against the wall at the back of the room. He thinks Eames might be nervous because he won't stop fidgeting with his Blackberry, but then again, Eames is always fidgeting with something or another.<br \/><br \/>\"I thought that wasn't so bad,\" says Cobb, as the candidates are whisked back to the buses after a few moments of ropeline hand-pressing and meaningful eye contact. \"I didn't get completely creamed, to my own surprise.\"<br \/><br \/>\"No, you did well,\" says Arthur. \"It's pretty clear that you've got her on economic issues, especially on the legislative front, there's no question about that. We'll try to steer the dialogue in that direction, best as we can.\"<br \/><br \/>\"But Jesus, she's tough,\" says Cobb. \"It's a miracle I managed to make it out alive. Hey, what did you think about her responses to the FP questions?\"<br \/><br \/>\"It seemed like she was holding back a little, knowing what we do about her credentials,\" says Arthur. \"Maybe because of the whole French thing still. Watch out for that, she might decide otherwise and unleash it on you later on-- but overall, you did much better than expected. We might celebrate, timidly.\"<br \/><br \/>It turns out to be even more timid than planned, because halfway through the first glass of champagne, there's an urgent call from Ariadne about some sort of vague tip-off regarding Robert Fischer's personal life. Eventually she admits that it doesn't seem to lead anywhere, but by then both Cobb and Arthur are too wired to sit back down and drink. They watch a basketball game and yell too loudly.<br \/><br \/><i>Celebrated victory with steak dinner,<\/i> comes Eames's text message. <i>Delicious.<\/i><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>In Texas there is a pie-eating contest, because there's always a pie-eating contest somewhere. Cobb's lightly patterned shirt is just folksy enough hitched up to his elbows, and Mal is resplendent in her coral sheath dress. They laugh and gasp for breath, their faces smeared with whipped cream. The wide-open Texas air is hazy and golden around the edges. The optics are great.<br \/><br \/>\"The optics are great,\" says Eames, where he and Arthur stand watching them from beyond the ring of spectators. \"I am filled with an odd sense of pride, like I'm watching my own children stuff their faces with pie.\"<br \/><br \/>\"This could be the campaign brand right up to the general election,\" says Arthur. \"All you have to do is drop out, we're ready and willing to cut a VP deal with you. The Cobb\/Miles ticket. Think about it.\"<br \/><br \/>\"In your dreams,\" says Eames, and points a chiding finger at Arthur, one hand occupied by his slice of pumpkin pie.<br \/><br \/>Arthur doesn't hear the camera go off behind him, but later on his laptop back in the hotel room, he finds that a picture of Eames has been making the rounds along with the shots of the candidates. Yusuf's blog has the high-res image. In the picture, it looks like Eames is pointing and looking straight out of the frame, poised between the pumpkin pie and the foreshortened stump of his finger. He also looks like he's smiling, though Arthur didn't think Eames <i>was<\/i> smiling, when the photo was taken.<br \/><br \/><i>I'll stay on message if he'll stay on me,<\/i> says one of the myriad comments to the picture. Yusuf is moderating the comments section lately, and he's replied to it with a <i>Whoa, I know this guy outside of work, too much information!<\/i><br \/><br \/>Arthur is annoyed. He closes the browser with as emphatic a click as possible. Of course he's annoyed, he's right to be-- it's idle gossip. They're operatives, they're not supposed to have their pictures posted on blogs. People aren't supposed to know who they are. They aren't the news.<br \/><br \/><i>And what's with the comments, besides,<\/i> he thinks, slamming his laptop closed.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>A reporter thrusts a microphone into his face and asks, \"Arthur, the blogosphere has taken to calling you <i>The Ferret.<\/i> What are your thoughts on the nickname?\"<br \/><br \/>They're running late and they have to cross the Florida state border in half an hour to make it to the southern tip, so Arthur just says, \"Yeah, did you know that all my hair turns white in the winter,\" and keeps walking. \"That's when I masquerade as Anderson Cooper,\" he adds, absently, as he spots the buses and starts jogging.<br \/><br \/>It turns out to be a mixed blessing, because the press pool concludes that he's not bothered by the name, though his ability to distinguish between members of the weasel family leaves much to be desired. Disappointed and robbed of entertainment, they then proceed to spend several hours debating over what to arbitrarily christen him next.<br \/><br \/>That night, Arthur and Eames get rather drunk in West Palm Beach.<br \/><br \/>\"Why me? Why did I get hit by the shrapnel?\" asks Eames. \"And why <i>Foreign Aid?<\/i> Could they have possibly picked a worse attribute to focus on-- I have a sodding Maine driver's license, let it go already!\"<br \/><br \/>\"At least yours doesn't make you sound like a Dreamworks villain,\" says Arthur. \"What is the <i>Dark Genius,<\/i> why do they keep implying that there is something nefarious and unsavory about me? What did I ever do?\"<br \/><br \/>\"You are not unsavory,\" says Eames, woefully. \"You are perfectly savory, Arthur.\"<br \/><br \/>\"And you have a Maine driver's license,\" says Arthur, clinking their bottles together. <br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>Arthur drinks the day's first cup of coffee out of habit, the second cup out of a desperate attempt to squash his hangover, and the third cup when headquarters calls him on the bus to South Carolina with an SOS message about Robert Fischer.<br \/><br \/>\"It's <i>something,<\/i>\" says HQ, \"it's definitely not <i>nothing.<\/i>\"<br \/><br \/>\"But is it going to break?\" asks Arthur, clutching the phone to his ear and trying very hard to combat carsickness with sheer willpower. \"Ariadne called me about  this in Oklahoma, she said it looked like a dead end.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Not anymore,\" says HQ. \"Only, we still don't know <i>what<\/i> the something is. So far all the leads are coming through Nash, and he's refusing to disclose anything until the time seems right. It's working, for sure, the anticipation just keeps on building.\"<br \/><br \/>\"What a fucking asshole,\" says Arthur. \"All right, considering that it's Fischer, two-to-one it'll be something to do with his father or Browning's tax statements. Something financial. Draft a statement and sit on it, play to Senator Cobb's perceived strengths, keep in touch.\"<br \/><br \/>There is a Cobb fundraiser in South Carolina, but due to a combination of the Fischer suspense, the hangover, and the overdose of caffeine, Arthur is unable to attend. He spends the afternoon on the phone, facedown on his hotel bed, convinced of his imminent heart attack.<br \/><br \/>\"I hate Nash, I hate him so much,\" he groans to Ariadne. \"Is he even going to fucking source this shit, because that would be a welcome change.\"<br \/><br \/>\"I bet he just names his balls and attributes quotes to them,\" says Ariadne. \"Breaking story, Senator Cobb is a polygamist and he's secretly forming a private militia composed of his own illegitimate children! Exclusive details from Ted, my left nut.\"<br \/><br \/>There's a knock on Arthur's hotel door, and someone says, \"Excuse me, sorry to bother you, I'm one of the interns from the Miles campaign--\"<br \/><br \/>Who, as it turns out, is bringing him a sub sandwich and a can of Diet Coke. Arthur takes the plastic bag and squints at its contents suspiciously.<br \/><br \/>\"It's from Mr. Eames,\" says the intern. \"He told me to remind you that coffee has no nutritional value.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Ariadne, I-- I have to call you back,\" says Arthur. \"I think Eames is trying to poison me.\"<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>It breaks when they're in North Carolina. Arthur's phone has been ringing nonstop, buzzing in the background as he sits and stares at the television screen. He ought to answer, whether it's Ariadne or HQ -- maybe it's Cobb, though Cobb's out for lunch with Governor Miles and several members of the state legislature -- <i>has Cobb heard,<\/i> wonders Arthur, and turns up the volume.<br \/><br \/>He isn't even exactly sure how he feels. It's out of left field like a hammer to his skull, and maybe he ought to be elated, pumping his fists in victory, but really it just feels like he's dreaming. He scratches at his ankle with one socked foot, mouth slightly open as he stares. He would answer his phone, only he can't look away from the coverage. It's a dream, it's got to be a dream. In no conceivable reality of his would the opposition candidate in a presidential campaign be caught up in a bona fide <i>prostitute scandal.<\/i><br \/><br \/>Numbly, Arthur flips the channel to another 24-hour news network, where they've gathered a panel of pundits jaded enough to joke.<br \/><br \/>\"Not just any major party candidate, but Representative Fischer,\" one of them says. \"Good boy like that, how'd he know where to call for a prostitute? You wouldn't think he had it in him--\"<br \/><br \/>\"Let's be clear, she wasn't a prostitute,\" says someone else, \"she was an <i>escort,<\/i> the semantics are hugely important here--\"<br \/><br \/>On yet another channel, they're trying to make sense of the escort's official position, which is that there was no contact of a sexual nature at all between her and Fischer. That there was hardly <i>any<\/i> contact at all, other than a few minutes of hand-holding as an expression of commiseration.<br \/><br \/>\"She said they were just talking!\" the social column editor being interviewed sounds almost outraged. \"She said he hired her so that she could <i>listen<\/i> to him!\"<br \/><br \/>There are attempts to discuss whether light will finally be shed on the role of high-class escorts in the political arena (\"Tell you something, having seen what I have of Washington behind the scenes, I'll say that without the aid of an escort service--\"), whether it needs to become an issue at all (\"We're currently waging four wars on four different fronts, frankly I think that every second we spend covering a manufactured scandal--\"), and whether anyone has seen Fischer anywhere since the story went public (\"For all we know, he could be off in a hotel room right now crying to another call girl about how unfairly the media is treating him\").<br \/><br \/>There are screenshots of the front page of Nash's blog (\"EXCLUSIVE: FISCHER HIRES HOOKER\"), clips of the escort releasing her public statement (thin blonde hair, modest grey suit, \"He did not approach me at any time with any inappropriate requests\"), and Arthur's phone keeps ringing and ringing and ringing, the voice of the anchor onscreen rattling doggedly on (\"As our calls to the Fischer campaign headquarters in New Mexico remain unreturned, we would like to remind our viewers that they can join us on our official Twitter account for around-the-clock updates\"). The drone of his phone below, the drone of the anchor above, and Arthur wonders what stance they ought to take.<br \/><br \/>The high road: Senator Cobb will not be releasing any statements regarding the current controversy surrounding Representative Fischer, and would prefer to concentrate his efforts on making the American Unity Tour a success by continuing to listen to the voices of hardworking everyday citizens.<br \/><br \/>The muckraking opportunist: <i>She<\/i> says there was no sexual contact, but are we sure that she's the only one there is to ask? After all, Representative Fischer is the sole heir apparent to a multinational energy conglomerate-- surely someone in his privileged position must be accustomed to indulgence.<br \/><br \/>Morally upright with a mean streak: Representative Fischer hired an escort, don't you think that's all there really is to say about that?<br \/><br \/>\"Arthur,\" yells Eames's voice from the other side of the door, punctuated by a bout of frantic pounding. \"You're in, aren't you? Jesus Christ, what is even going on anymore-- will you open your damn door, Arthur?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Sorry, I got it,\" says Arthur, letting him in. \"So I assume you've heard the news?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Have I heard the news? Have <i>you<\/i> heard the news?\" asks Eames, bounding into the room. \"Where's the fridge, break open the minibar! Let's drink to a Democratic victory.\"<br \/><br \/>Arthur has only known him for a handful of agitated months -- uneasy allies at the best of times, bitter enemies at the worst of times -- and he's never exactly seen Eames upset. But even so, he's also never seen Eames this purely happy, beaming like this, like the sun's on his face. Eames opens all the cabinets below the television and finds nothing, so he rubs his hands together and goes searching in the hotel wardrobe.<br \/><br \/>\"Could this spell the end of the Republican presidency?\" asks the anchor onscreen.<br \/><br \/>\"Sing it,\" Eames shouts with his head inside the wardrobe. \"We need to be on the road in half an hour, don't we? I suppose we'll make do with beer-- here, catch.\"<br \/><br \/>Arthur does, and they settle at the foot of his bed, the television still chattering away. Eames can't hold himself still, drumming his fingers against the side of the beer can.<br \/><br \/>\"You really think so?\" asks Arthur, at last. \"You think this will break Fischer?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Half the country thinks he's an asshole for hiring an escort,\" says Eames, \"and the other half thinks he's a moron for not fucking her, if you'll excuse the-- look, <i>this<\/i> is big, now this is a real scandal, you know? We ought to be ashamed of ourselves, letting Fischer show us up like that.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Unmarried, not even dating, and he didn't break a single law,\" says Arthur. \"If they even figuratively persecute him for this, can you imagine the damage he could do by dragging the rest of Congress down along with him? Hiring escorts isn't a crime, never has been, they can't set a precedent like that.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Congress may have no choice but to take his side,\" says Eames, \"but the voting public--\"<br \/><br \/>\"That's just a matter of spin,\" says Arthur. \"So as long as he takes the right line, this will blow over, like most everything else. You don't think Fischer got this far without a reasonably talented PR team, do you?\"<br \/><br \/>Eames says nothing, only peers down at his feet. He's visibly deflated.<br \/><br \/>\"Though clearly they're nowhere near as talented as I am,\" says Arthur to lighten the mood, because he feels a little bit responsible. \"Or you, I guess,\" he adds.<br \/><br \/>\"High praise,\" says Eames, and sighs. \"Trust you to rain on my parade.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Yes, well,\" says Arthur. \"You can put your beer on my tab.\"<br \/><br \/>After some internal debate, he gives Eames what is intended to be a hearty pat on the shoulder. In his awkward hesitation it turns out more like he's brushing the lint off of his jacket or something, but Eames looks sidelong at him past the can of beer at his lips, and he seems to understand.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>\"Guess what Mayor Saito said,\" asks Cobb.<br \/><br \/>They're slumped in their bus seats racing toward Virginia, too worn out to make the effort of looking at each other while they converse. The tour is taking its inexorable toll on all of them. Any excitement brought on by the cross-country road trip or Fischer's fuck-up has ebbed away in time, and by now they feel tired and strangely, unshakably grimy, like only a shower taken at home could manage to wash away the weary buildup of dust.<br \/><br \/>\"Is this the set-up of a joke?\" asks Arthur. \"Wait, I think I know how it goes. Did he once again refrain from endorsing either you or Mal? And then did he once again try to scout me for his re-election campaign? Say what you will about the man, but he's extremely consistent.\"<br \/><br \/>\"You're not going to accept the offer, are you?\" asks Cobb. \"You couldn't possibly, we're kind of in the middle of doing something.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Cobb, please,\" says Arthur, \"insecurity is not a presidential trait. You know I'm going to turn it down, I've turned it down before. Like twenty times already.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Even after the election,\" says Cobb, \"I want you to stay on. I need you on my transition team, Arthur. And then I need you in the White House.\"<br \/><br \/>\"That's very touching, but don't jinx it,\" says Arthur. \"I'll draft my twenty-first refusal statement when we stop for today. Where are we going, again?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Virginia,\" says Cobb, after consulting the printed itinerary.<br \/><br \/>\"Right, Virginia,\" says Arthur. \"That's great.\"<br \/><br \/>\"So,\" says Cobb, \"where did we come from?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Fuck if I know,\" says Arthur. \"Where do any of us come from? Where do any of us go?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Cotton-eyed Joe,\" says Cobb.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>The second town hall meeting is in Virginia, where their tour buses become involved in some sort of ludicrous parking ticket fiasco and can't pick them up until an hour later. Arthur suggests procuring other forms of transportation, but Mal wants to use the down time to do an unscheduled meet-and-greet at a local supermarket.<br \/><br \/>\"It's not that far, anyway,\" Cobb tells Arthur. \"Just give us a call when the buses get here.\"<br \/><br \/>Arthur and Eames end up sitting at the curb like a pair of problem children from a 90s movie about peer pressure, while the staffers and interns and mill around on the sidewalk behind them, all of them craning their necks and watching the empty road.<br \/><br \/>\"I thought it went reasonably well, considering,\" says Arthur. \"Certainly better than the last town hall. Must have been all the EP talk.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Really?\" asks Eames. \"And here I was thinking that this one was all about the IR diplomacy, so naturally I assumed it went even better for us than last time-- that's funny. I mean, we can't both win the debate.\"<br \/><br \/>\"I'd fight you for it, but we're supposed to be getting along,\" says Arthur.<br \/><br \/>\"We have problems as it is,\" says Eames. \"Fischer's ratings are almost back.\"<br \/><br \/>The angle his team came up with was exactly what Arthur would have recommended; a hard stance to counter the perceived emotional weakness of hiring an escort to serve as agony aunt. Fischer was cool and insolent at his press conference, his smile full of fond pity, citing the hourly fee a typical psychiatrist might charge. <i>With rates like that,<\/i> he said, <i>do you really wonder why I talked to her instead?<\/i><br \/><br \/>\"Well,\" offers Arthur, \"he lost the psychiatrist vote.\"<br \/><br \/>\"What a tragedy,\" says Eames, glumly.<br \/><br \/>Arthur remembers the Eames that he opened his door to in North Carolina, that moment of bliss when Eames allowed himself to believe that things would be <i>easy<\/i> for once, that someone else would do just a little bit of their work for them. It was part of what made it so irresistible, this game, this bug they called politics-- constantly on your toes, wracking your brain, steeling your stomach. A full-contact sport.<br \/><br \/>But even just for a moment, if they couldn't find something to celebrate without trying to divine the consequences down the line. Eames striding into his room, looking for the minibar. <i>That was a nice smile, wasn't it,<\/i> thinks Arthur.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>Summer comes to rural New Jersey. Their rally is at a county fair, crowded thick with families and shaggy dogs and curious visitors from out of state. Mal participates in a hay roll with a staffer and an intrepid journalist, shoving their bale across the finish line to raucous cheering. She has bits of straw in her hair, charming and endlessly electable.<br \/><br \/>Cobb gives her a jocular high-five and a hug. <i>Good move,<\/i> Arthur mouths to him, and he gives Arthur a thumbs-up before he goes to fuss over the victor of the baby crawling race. Cobb has never been much for cooing at children, but he seems to be enjoying himself, laughing and feigning exertion when the baby's parents heft him into Cobb's arms.<br \/><br \/>He's doing an excellent job, and Arthur decides that he deserves a little unexpected kindness. The line for the ice cream truck stretches between the inflatable cow and the display rack of cheeses, and he's the only one there over four feet tall, towering above the children, unwieldy as a skyscraper. He asks for one pistachio cone, Cobb's inexplicable favorite, and a vanilla cone for himself.<br \/><br \/>Distracted by the sight of the inflatable cow stretching and jerking and swaying as kids bounce inside it, a cartoonish depiction of gastrointestinal warfare, Arthur doesn't notice that the man in the truck hands him a cone of raspberry ice cream along with the vanilla. He's on his way back to the far side of the fairground where Cobb is inspecting a row of patterned quilts, when a girl grabs at his knee.<br \/><br \/>\"You have my ice cream,\" she says. \"Raspberry.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Oh, I'm sorry,\" says Arthur, and feels like a monster. \"I didn't-- hey, I asked for pistachio, right?\"<br \/><br \/>\"You did,\" calls the man in the truck, \"that's the young lady's, my mistake.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Here you go, I apologize,\" says Arthur, stooping to hand her the cone. \"Careful, it's started melting already, sh-- I mean, shoot, oh no, there it goes.\"<br \/><br \/>A trickle of raspberry ice cream starts dripping into his palm and down his wrist. He needs the shirt for the dinner later that night; it's the only one he has left in a light-colored fabric and anything else still clean would clash with his tie, and he can't change the tie because then he would clash with Cobb, whose style advisors would throw a fit if they had to put together another ensemble just because Arthur somehow managed to get food all over himself.<br \/><br \/>Arthur twists his elbows like a double-jointed contortionist, trying to redirect the flow of the melting ice cream (now vanilla and pistachio) toward the ground instead of down the line of his arm. It doesn't work very well and also, it hurts like hell. He has a few near run-ins with children and nearly trips over a hapless whippet, but he makes it to Cobb in one piece.<br \/><br \/>Later, after the dinner and a long scalding shower, Arthur is just about ready to collapse when his phone starts ringing on the dresser. He puts Piers Morgan on mute, which is how he likes Piers Morgan best anyway, and takes the call.<br \/><br \/>\"Are you running for office or something?\" asks Ariadne. \"Why did you buy a little girl ice cream?\"<br \/><br \/>\"I didn't,\" says Arthur, \"it was the wrong order and I accidentally took hers, so I had to give it back to her-- god, are there pictures of me doing that? I must look like a fucking idiot, I felt like a fucking idiot. Like a hulking troll who steals ice cream from preschool children.\"<br \/><br \/>\"I wouldn't put it that way,\" says Ariadne.<br \/><br \/>\"I am not going to look at them,\" says Arthur, \"because I am a man of singular willpower. Also because I am terrified of confirming my fears regarding how stupid I must look in those pictures.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Hey, you're admitting to emotional vulnerability,\" says Ariadne, approvingly. \"Good progress, Dark Genius. It's almost like you're growing a heart beneath all those campaign badges and discreetly striped ties.\"<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>Cobb's eyes dart toward him, a quick flicker of apprehension. Arthur is immediately alert. Even as Cobb continues to nod and offer appropriate interjections of interest to the representatives of the Connecticut Agricultural Coalition, behind his back, he crooks a finger and motions frantically for help.<br \/><br \/>\"Senator,\" calls Arthur, \"I need to borrow you for a moment.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Now, Arthur?\" asks Cobb, amiably exasperated. \"I'm sorry, guys, it seems like my handler needs to yell at me about something or another. Excuse me-- I'll be right with you.\"<br \/><br \/>\"What is it,\" whispers Arthur, when Cobb has joined him out of earshot.<br \/><br \/>\"They're vegetable farmers,\" whispers Cobb. \"They're talking to me about vegetables.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Yes,\" says Arthur. \"Please get to the point.\"<br \/><br \/>\"When they're done talking,\" says Cobb, \"they're going to give me a chance to sample their wares.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Cobb,\" says Arthur, very patiently, \"is this about how you don't want to eat the vegetables?\"<br \/><br \/>\"There are <i>beets<\/i> there, Arthur!\" says Cobb. \"Raw beets! Raw heads of cabbage! I'm not going to complain about the brussels sprouts because that's just going to make me sound childish and petulant, but you understand that I am a grown man facing a very real and adult conundrum here. How do I avoid eating the vegetables without offending the farmers, Arthur? What do I do? Can't I be President without expanding my diet beyond cheeseburgers and Cool Whip?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Senator Cobb is ready for you now,\" Arthur calls to the farmers.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>It's just a short walk from the hotel to the elementary school, but security insists that the candidates be driven there. Mal tries to protest, because it's a gorgeous morning out, still cool this early and this far up north, the mist settling on their skin. Security denies her, politely.<br \/><br \/>Cobb and Mal are spending the whole morning at the school-- a tour, a question-and-answer session, then a photo op where they read <i>Miss Rumphius<\/i> together to a gaggle of students too young to be disgusted at being used. News is mercifully slow of late, and there's nothing particularly pressing for their campaign staff to do in their absence. Arthur and Eames decide to enjoy New Hampshire.<br \/><br \/>\"Maybe if the staffers see us loitering outside,\" says Eames, \"they'll try to have us arrested.\"<br \/><br \/>\"They probably have jurisdiction over this block,\" says Arthur. \"Scientifically, I've heard, any space immediately surrounding a Robert Fischer campaign base can be classified as an alternate reality. One in which any schmuck with the right pair of cheekbones can maintain a comfortable lead in the GOP primaries, despite his corporate ties and personal friendship with an extremely unpopular incumbent.\"<br \/><br \/>They sip at their drinks for a beat of silence, trying to angle themselves obliquely enough to avoid being spotted by the staffers working inside. Fischer's New Hampshire campaign outpost is on the first floor of an office building, huge windows like a showroom, his logo emblazoned on the glass doors.<br \/><br \/>\"It's a nice logo,\" says Eames.<br \/><br \/>\"It's a pinwheel,\" says Arthur. \"You don't think it's a little jejune?\"<br \/><br \/>\"Appropriately jejune,\" says Eames. \"He can't cut the Fischer name out of the Fischer-Morrow empire until his old man gives up the proverbial ghost, and Fischer senior would sooner see his son's presidential bid engulfed in flames than split up his life's work. That company always was his favorite child.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Blows to be Robert Fischer, in a way,\" says Arthur.<br \/><br \/>\"Oh, definitely,\" says Eames. \"You regularly get into screaming matches with your father in Australian restaurants, and the public's still convinced that you're just a puppet for him and the rest of big energy. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Well, someone out there loves him,\" says Arthur. \"Many someones, in fact, or his favorability ratings would indicate.\"<br \/><br \/>\"He's aiming for the general elections already,\" says Eames. \"Trying to siphon off the swing vote. Only, he knows that overtly taking a centrist position will weaken him in the primary, so he's letting his logo do the talking. I'm not evil, I'm not corporate, I'm not entertaining lobbyists from energy at my private summer mansion.\"<br \/><br \/>\"With a side order of turbine imagery for a little subliminal green messaging,\" says Arthur. \"Robert Fischer, the great eco-friendly Republican.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Also,\" says Eames, \"it's just a very aesthetically pleasing logo.\"<br \/><br \/>\"That's for sure,\" says Arthur. \"Better than either of ours, certainly. Sometimes I can't even tell ours apart. They're both sort of circular, with lots of swooshy blue vector stripes and a star pegged to it somewhere like someone was playing <i>pin the symbolism on the graphic identity.<\/i>\"<br \/><br \/>They ruminate on the consequences of having apparently hired the wrong firms to design for them, still outside in the New Hampshire morning, hunched in their respective campaign windbreakers. Arthur takes a thoughtful sip from his takeout coffee, his second cup of the day. Electioneering, in its essence, is the slow and tortuous process of replacing all the blood in his veins with caffeine. Beside him, Eames takes a long pull from his straw.<br \/><br \/>\"Wait,\" says Arthur, \"what the hell are you drinking?\"<br \/><br \/>\"A milkshake,\" says Eames.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>The last tour stop of all -- the absolutely final event before they can all pack up and board a plane to fly back home, return to a more sensible schedule not primarily dictated by the vastness of the American continent -- is a rally in Durham, New Hampshire. They make it to Cowell Stadium barely on time, and they all dash helter-skelter from the buses to the locker rooms, where the advance guard has set up an impromptu backstage dressing area. Arthur polishes off another cup of coffee and furiously leafs through Cobb's speech.<br \/><br \/>It's a good speech. They've taken to calling it the <i>Things We Have Forgotten<\/i> speech, after a crescendo refrain about the blessings and inevitable dangers of individualism. Cobb's set to go first, then Mal, with her own rousing call to compassion and solidarity (another good speech; Arthur has read and approved the text). He knows there's nothing for him to fix, but he has to occupy himself somehow, before a rally this large. His heart is going to leap straight out of his fucking ribcage.<br \/><br \/>\"What the fuck, Arthur,\" says Eames, alarmed, \"are you going to keel over? You're shaking like a leaf, Jesus Christ.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Caffeine,\" says Arthur. \"It happens.\"<br \/><br \/>\"Will you please relax, you are absolutely terrifying me right now,\" says Eames. \"Are you worried about the turnout? Is that what it is?\"<br \/><br \/>\"It's always about the turnout,\" says Arthur, the jitter in his voice giving him away. \"Yes, we had word in advance, they said the crowd looked good-- yes, we're only using half the stadium for seating, that's maybe four thousand, five thousand seats to fill at most-- but still, Eames, there's about a million things we could have done better-- we should have moved up all the events scheduled today, it's two hours after sundown, who wants to leave their house for a political rally when it's pitch black outside? Maybe publicity wasn't aggressive enough-- and it's <i>raining,<\/i> it's fucking raining, nobody is going to drive to Durham when it's raining at night--\"<br \/><br \/>There's a flurry of movement from behind them, where the makeup team has declared Cobb and Mal fit for the stage and good to go. Cobb hands Mal her jacket (cornflower blue, it matches his tie) and signals for Arthur.<br \/><br \/>\"Shit,\" says Arthur, \"okay.\"<br \/><br \/>The trek from the locker room to the stadium tunnel is like the goddamn green mile, and Eames keeps sneaking glances at him, like he's expecting Arthur to spontaneously combust from nerves. But Arthur manages; he puts one foot in front of the other, proud of Cobb's shoulders thrown back. Of the steel in Mal's smile when the PA system booms out their name and she takes Cobb's hand for the cameras.<br \/><br \/>It's hardly drizzling, really-- barely wet at all. And when all the lights in the stadium burst to life at once and blind them with their white-hot flare, the crowd thunders for them in place of the weather. Arthur blinks. Oh, the stands are full. The shouting, screaming, whooping, cheering, clapping, loving crowd. <i>Mallorie,<\/i> they're yelling, <i>Dominic.<\/i> The love is like a tidal wave, knocking him off his feet.<br \/><br \/>\"See,\" calls Eames above the roar, \"what were you worried about?\"<br \/><br \/>They can monitor the speech from inside, back in the locker room on folding chairs, but neither of them leave. The floodlights just seem to grow brighter and brighter. Arthur grips his Blackberry in his pocket, so tight he thinks he might shatter it, and tries to make out each precious reverberating word of Cobb's speech.<br \/><br \/>It's a good speech. When he's done, the crowd <i>erupts.<\/i> Launches to its feet like the seats have been set on fire, and the hollering, the whistling, the love-- Arthur feels it pour into his skin. <i>Thank you, Durham,<\/i> Cobb is saying, <i>thank you, New Hampshire, thank you.<\/i> Arthur draws in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the damp night air, with the applause, with the taste of fervor. He's lightheaded, drunk on love. <i>Take me into your arms,<\/i> he thinks. <i>Carry me to shore.<\/i><br \/><br \/>\"This is why I can't quit,\" he says, out loud. \"It's like-- you hear a crowd like that, and suddenly belief doesn't seem so dirty anymore. Everything hacks like us laugh at for most of the year -- the weight of history, the thrill of the future, promises and ideals -- nights like this, all of that feels <i>real.<\/i> Like it would almost be okay to believe in something, to expect something to come of our dreams.\"<br \/><br \/>He turns to Eames, because it seems very, very important to him that Eames understand this.<br \/><br \/>\"Like-- like it would be okay to just love someone,\" says Arthur, lost for any other words, rapt and helpless with just how much he means it.<br \/><br \/>Eames looks at him -- the floodlights only a faint glow where they're standing in the tunnel, the din of the crowd still drowning out the loudspeakers -- and nods.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/>[<a href=\"http:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/17560.html#cutid1\" target=\"_blank\">next part<\/a>]<a name='cutid1-end'><\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:16566","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/16566.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=16566"}}],"title":"Then practice losing farther, losing faster","published":"2011-06-30T12:51:39Z","updated":"2011-06-30T12:52:06Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}},"content":"From the first of January, 2011.<br \/><br \/><i>This is my new year's resolution: I am going to be less weird about writing. Fandom writing, most of all. I am going to be less weird about things like gift fics and sequels and auctions and memes. I am going to be less of a neurotic, or at least, I am going to stop making other people put up with my own insecurities. 2011 is my year of rehabilitation!<\/i><br \/><br \/>Halfway through the year and a long way left to go with this. I think I've gotten better, though, at least a little bit. I tried a fandom auction! Unfortunately -- and rather obviously -- I'm still making everybody put up with my insecurities, haha. But the year's only half gone. There's time. :D<br \/><br \/>For the latter half of the year: be freer. Enjoy fandom more. No one reads everything; no one comments on everything. Don't spread yourself too thin. Be good. It's okay if some days you opt for a book on the couch, if you spend three hours making a futile mess in the kitchen instead of hunching over your laptop. It's okay if you return home after a trip and decide to reacquaint yourself with the feel of your house instead of rushing to ?skip=200 on your friendspage. Be looser with words. Ward off mannerism with the means of a clove of garlic worn around your neck. Remember, this is a hobby. Be generous. Be loving. Before you get angry at something, try laughing it off first. Try it anyway. Ask, <i>what would your mother do,<\/i> then ignore the bit where she mocks your father for his incompetence. Take it slow. Take it light. Remember to be thankful. Eat more fruits and vegetables."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:15580","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/15580.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=15580"}}],"title":"A strange city, filled with strange people and strange noodles","published":"2011-06-14T23:07:57Z","updated":"2011-06-15T13:45:18Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"(Caveat, the subject line does not accurately describe Heidelberg in the slightest, but the phrase \"strange noodles\" will never fail to make me laugh dlkfha;lg thank you Kung Fu Panda 2) but ANYWAY, hi! I'm home! :D Has it really been almost two months since I last made one of these haphazard grab-bag entries?! Obviously that means it is time for me to inflict chaos upon your friendspage again... but because this post is just so incredibly all over the place, I am going to attempt to summarize the contents behind the cut as best as I can:<br \/><br \/>HEIDELBERG! THAT ONE STUPID INCEPTION DREAMSCAPE APP AGAIN! AE_MATCH! KOREAN TELEVISION! PONIES ARE STILL AWESOME! CARAMELLDANSEN LIKE IT'S 2008!<br \/><br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0001zbw5\" fetchpriority=\"high\">&nbsp;<img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0002069y\" loading=\"lazy\"><\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/><b>1.<\/b> Fucking amazing, you guys. I had so much fun. ;____; My ancient point-and-shoot started acting up on the morning I left for Germany, but thankfully the mercy of the elements and the natural gorgeousness of Heidelberg made the resulting pictures pretty fun to look at anyway! There are better pictures everywhere online so I'll just include these two, but Jesus Chrissst. &hearts; Apparently I also took like HUNDREDS of sky pictures, but can you blame me???<br \/><br \/><b>2.<\/b> So one morning as I was flopping around on the hotel bed trying to decide what to do that day, I absently booted up That Fucking Inception App, You Know Which One I'm Talking About, and nearly had a heart attack when it sent me to the SHARED DREAM. I MEAN <i>WHAT.<\/i> I thought I would never unlock it because the app is so <i>stupid,<\/i> surely everyone else in existence must have given up on using it by now? I just froze there, staring at the blinking \"2 shared dreamers\" tab above the main screen AND WONDERING WHO THE HELL ELSE IN HEIDELBERG WAS WASTING THEIR TIME FIDDLING AROUND WITH A PATHETIC FUCKING APP WHEN THEY COULD BE OUTSIDE ENJOYING THE BOUNTIES OF NATURE... but omg now the shared dream is unlocked! Even though the app doesn't seem to recognize Incheon as a legitimate airport and thus I couldn't unlock the airport dream <s>this app is racist!!<\/s><br \/><br \/><b>3.<\/b> Probably there's been plenty of pimping of <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-C     \"  data-ljuser=\"ae_match\" lj:user=\"ae_match\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/ae-match.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/community.png?v=556&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/ae-match.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>ae_match<\/b><\/a><\/span> in the meanwhile, right? :D I am Team Romance, but-- well, the reason we can ~bash each other~ in good fun is precisely because angst and romance aren't mutually exclusive categories. Saying that romance is the only way to write love or that angst is the only way to write conflict is absurd! That's like saying that crack is the only way to write humor. Anyway, we all know that these are nebulous categories with huge overlapping areas, and I am looking forward to annoying the hell out of everyone by posting a fucktillion 200-word tidbits every day! ...That having been said, EAT SHIT, TEAM ANGST<br \/><br \/><b>4.<\/b> Okay I know that exactly none of you will care about this because it is Korean entertainment television, but I just needed to write this out somewhere because it is sort of a momentous event for me. Lee So-Ra -- grand-dame, neurotic, the good witch -- left <i>I Am a Singer<\/i> last week. (I could talk forever about that show, about how it is the single most extravagantly public display of professional anxiety that I have ever seen anywhere in my life, about its potential, its missteps, its organic evolution, but... that would get too long.) Ughhh I love Lee So-Ra so much. I have had legit screaming fights with my mother on this subject, haha. I'm going to link to a video here if only so that I can come back to watch it when I want to; it's her cover of BoA's <i>No. 1<\/i>, and in my opinion one of the top five performances so far on a show that regularly provides those elusive moments of pure television magic. You tend to forget that <i>No. 1<\/i> is  <a href=\"http:\/\/www.twitvid.com\/9ZFQF\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\">essentially a song about a girl and her moon<\/a>-- and she reminds us of that, I think. Turning the moon back into a symbol of occult femininity et cetera et cetera okay I am just going to move on now.<br \/><br \/><b>5.<\/b> HERE IS A REALLY GOOD IDEA: <a href=\"http:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Motherless_Brooklyn\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\"><i>MOTHERLESS PONYVILLE.<\/i><\/a> Princess Celestia is the head of a \"detective agency\" made up of aimless young ponies from Ponyville! After she is mysteriously assassinated, Pinkie Pie and the rest of Celestia's Girls must work to find out who is behind the murder of their mentor-- only, it seems that Celestia's Girls are also being picked off, one by one! D: Can Pinkie Pie beat the clock and solve this crime before it's too late for her? Can the reader manage to navigate the mazes of Pinkie Pie's psyche and escape the narrative unscathed? WHAT A GOOD IDEA. 8DDDD<br \/><br \/><b>6.<\/b> Hey you know what though, as long as I am linking to videos, WHY NOT EMBED THIS ONE. You've probably seen it already, but then that begs the question, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT IT SOONER.<br \/><br \/><br \/><center><lj-embed id=\"19\" \/><\/center><br \/><br \/>I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT MY FAVORITE PART OF THAT IS. WAIT NO NEVER MIND, I KNOW WHAT MY FAVORITE PART IS, YOU CAN PROBABLY TELL WHEN YOU GET TO IT. AS MUCH AS I LOVE ARIADNE... <i>LOOK AT ARTHUR'S FACE.<\/i> I MEAN. HONESTLY. *_______*"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:14875","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/14875.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=14875"}}],"title":"I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and we'd all eat it and be happy","published":"2011-05-02T03:21:03Z","updated":"2011-05-02T03:36:54Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"how to say hello"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}}],"content":"Life has taken a turn for the hectic lately. It's not the bad sort of hectic, not at all-- just a flurry of family bonding activities, receiving visitors, spring shopping, and exam season for my tutees (that last bit is probably a bad sort of hectic for <i>them,<\/i> though).<br \/><br \/>But it does mean that I might be a bit scarce from LJ until maybe later on this week. Why does it seem like my journal is increasingly just a place for me to make excuses for why I will not be around. ;____; I should be reading my way through the reverse bang fics, catching up with comments, pouring my heart out all over <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"ohfreckle\" lj:user=\"ohfreckle\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/ohfreckle.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/ohfreckle.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>ohfreckle<\/b><\/a><a class=\"i-ljuser-badge i-ljuser-badge--pro\" data-badge-type=\"pro\" data-placement=\"bottom\" data-pro-badge data-pro-badge-type=\"1\" data-is-raw hidden href=\"#\"><span class=\"i-ljuser-badge__icon\"><svg class=\"svgicon\" width=\"25\" height=\"16\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" viewBox=\"0 0 33 24\"><path fill-rule=\"evenodd\" d=\"M19.326 11.95c0 2.01 1.47 3.45 3.48 3.45 2.02 0 3.49-1.44 3.49-3.45 0-2.01-1.47-3.45-3.49-3.45-2.01 0-3.48 1.44-3.48 3.45Zm5.51 0c0 1.24-.8 2.19-2.03 2.19-1.23 0-2.02-.95-2.02-2.19 0-1.25.79-2.19 2.02-2.19s2.03.94 2.03 2.19ZM7.92 15.28H6.5V8.61h3.12c1.45 0 2.24.98 2.24 2.15 0 1.16-.8 2.15-2.24 2.15h-1.7v2.37Zm1.51-3.62c.56 0 .98-.35.98-.9 0-.56-.42-.9-.98-.9H7.92v1.8h1.51ZM18.3802 15.28h-1.63l-1.31-2.37h-1.04v2.37h-1.42V8.61h3.12c1.39 0 2.24.91 2.24 2.15 0 1.18-.74 1.81-1.46 1.98l1.5 2.54Zm-2.49-3.62c.57 0 1-.34 1-.9s-.43-.9-1-.9h-1.49v1.8h1.49Z\" clip-rule=\"evenodd\"\/><path fill-rule=\"evenodd\" d=\"M2 8c0-2.20914 1.79086-4 4-4h20.5c2.2091 0 4 1.79086 4 4v7.9c0 2.2091-1.7909 4-4 4H6c-2.20914 0-4-1.7909-4-4V8Zm4-2.5h20.5C27.8807 5.5 29 6.61929 29 8v7.9c0 1.3807-1.1193 2.5-2.5 2.5H6c-1.38071 0-2.5-1.1193-2.5-2.5V8c0-1.38071 1.11929-2.5 2.5-2.5Z\" clip-rule=\"evenodd\"\/><\/svg><\/span><\/a><\/span>'s <a href=\"http:\/\/ohfreckle.livejournal.com\/203710.html\" target=\"_blank\">love meme<\/a>, but I have to be off (again!) in an hour or so and I'm still, just so-- still choked up and so very verklempt from reading the comments there. Thank you so much for hosting it, Alex. &hearts;<br \/><br \/>I suppose, all of my past fandoms have had the common denominator that the canon revolved around some form of idealism. Probably that applies to most fandoms out there, no matter what exactly the idealism strives for-- personal ambition, freedom, equality, friendship, loyalty, peace. But it's odd that on some level, even considering that it's a heist movie, Inception is almost completely devoid of that sort of noble intention; there's a push on Cobb's part toward family and the acceptance of loss, but we're left more or less in the dark as to whether the other characters even have a sense of a higher calling at all.<br \/><br \/>But I've been so used to characters and stories already imbued with that relentless drive toward an overarching goal, that I didn't know how to talk or write about Arthur and Eames in the context of canon without assuming that they had something to work toward, other than a paycheck and a cushy safe house to weather the heat in. In retrospect, I guess there were (and are) a lot of options-- stability, curiosity, a homecoming like Cobb's. I don't know what necessarily made me start in that particular direction, and I still think that all the other options are every bit as valid and interesting (including the possibility that they <i>don't<\/i> have a grand purpose), but what I've enjoyed writing the most is the thought that for Arthur and Eames, their higher calling is to each other.<br \/><br \/>I know that in some ways, it makes my fics formulaic; pretty much everything can be summed up as <i>How Arthur and Eames Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Each Other,<\/i> ahahaha. XD It's almost always the problems they create for themselves that stand in their way, and they always barrel through and overcome it, in the end. Everything comes down to an <i>It's okay,<\/i> whether it's death or misunderstanding or pride they need to push aside. It's like I feel that there's a checklist somewhere out there -- \"ALL THE REASONS WHY ARTHUR AND EAMES CAN NEVER BE TOGETHER &gt;:|\" and I want to cross each reason out as being untenable in the face of Arthur and Eames's dogged insistence on being together.<br \/><br \/>Formulaic and sappy and more than a little bit stupid, sure, but there's something about it that reminds me of my favorite thing about this fandom. We have a pretty interesting canon with plenty of room to explore, and Christopher Nolan's hiring practices are proving to be delightfully incestuous. But the biggest reason behind this closed-canon movie fandom still being immensely active-- isn't that the sense of community that we have? Isn't it that no matter what we're gushing over, what new publicity stills are released, what new trailers are leaked, we know that we have each other to gush <i>with?<\/i><br \/><br \/>I've never been in any fandom even remotely like this one, and it's all thanks to you. What I should be doing is going back to Alex's love meme and rubbing my tear-stained face all over everyone, but god, what a time for life to kick in. So this post is a terrible cop-out, when what I want to do is hug and tell each one of you that I love you, everyone on the meme, everyone who has ever left a review for any work in this fandom, everyone who has seen or read or heard anything produced by this fandom, everyone who has never said a word but enjoyed what they stumbled across, everyone whose names we don't know yet, everyone who doesn't even own an LJ, everyone who has ever thought that they would like to be in this fandom, because you are, and you make it what it is.<br \/><br \/>I am short of words, emotionally constipated, and misanthropic in a way that is not very cool, but-- right now, the only thing I really need to say is, I love you so much. What are the right closing words for something as messy as this? <i>May each and every one of us always give the devil his due? Be excellent to each other? Friendship is magic?<\/i><br \/><br \/>Maybe all of the above. Thanks for these wild nine months (and many more to come)."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:13392","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/13392.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=13392"}}],"title":"M\u00e9tro, porno, dodo","published":"2011-04-21T00:16:41Z","updated":"2011-04-21T00:16:55Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"a poem in one-syllable verse"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"<b>1.<\/b> Regrettably, this entry begins on a tacky note, er-- <a href=\"http:\/\/tornadobelt.livejournal.com\/5947.html\" target=\"_blank\">I wrote fic.<\/a> How gauche, I know, it's not like it's a commentfic hiding out somewhere hard to find. orz But apparently the post didn't show up on some people's friendspages \/ LJ alerts, so... you know... if you are really really bored at any point in the future, there... it is... OKAY NOW ONTO LESS AWKWARD THINGS<br \/><br \/><b>2.<\/b> I finished SPRING CLEANING my room, omg guys it was amazing, it took seven hours and now my room is the cleanest it has ever been, minus the first two years of its existence when I didn't really live in it. *____* I would show you before-and-after pictures, except now it is too late to take before pictures, but trust you me, it is a marvel to behold! All the books that didn't fit on my shelf are now neatly stacked by publisher-- I don't have very many books, but my bookshelf is really tiny and mostly taken up with empty CD cases and old notebooks and WAY TOO MANY THINGS BY DUMAS OH MY GOD WHY DID I EVER THINK I WOULD READ LOUISE DE LA VALLIERE?!<br \/><br \/><b>3.<\/b> Smooth segue to which, after finishing Wuthering Heights in a long-overdue fit of rage and frustration and desperate, exasperated laughter, I have decided to procrastinate on more useful reading by going back to The Three Musketeers. I can't help it, that series is still my trashy happy place, where by \"series\" I mean \"The Three Musketeers, and maybe Porthos' death scene from Iron Mask when I am feeling particularly masochistic\". Guess which one my favorite musketeer is-- HINT, I am fond of ruthless, fastidious, unlikable, slutty, unintentionally hilarious assholes with dark hair who claim to like vegetables but then display anger toward them. &hearts;<br \/><br \/><b>4.<\/b> HERE IS A REALLY GOOD IDEA FOR AN INCEPTION AU: EAMES IS A DENTIST. ARTHUR IS NITROUS OXIDE.<br \/><br \/><b>5.<\/b> All right, that was for a given value of \"good\"... and for a loose definition of \"idea\"... but I think the scariest part of it all is that somehow, Arthur being the dentist and Eames being nitrous oxide seemed to MAKE TOO MUCH SENSE. It would involve Arthur darkly muttering \"After a while, it becomes the only way you <i>can<\/i> laugh,\" and then huffing the fuck out of Eames.<br \/><br \/><b>6.<\/b> I feel that this entry should have pictures of some sort or another, so please excuse the following specimen. (I would have nail polish pictures, but I'm giving my nails a couple weeks' break right now!) The cherry blossoms lining the river near my house were in full bloom a few days ago, so I went and took a long walk, and it was FUCKING GORGEOUS, Jesus fucking Christ. I wish I could have taken better pictures, but I don't really know how, and my camera is slightly wonky with outdoor lighting and made everything a shade of blue-grey so I had to fiddle with the colors in Photoshop, I am a cheat. :'(<br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0001s9xy\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><\/center><br \/><b>7.<\/b> And later on this afternoon, I'm going back to the river to pick artemisia! Lololol that makes me sound like some sort of eco-friendly Child of the Alps who prances over valleys with goats and can name wild birds by the sound of their songs, but no, generally I fail at nature. It is just that artemisias grow everywhere so even I know what they look like, and I really really really really really want to make and eat this (oh, I should have just used this stolen and obviously superior picture to fill the quota for this post!)<br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0001tkkw\" loading=\"lazy\"><\/center><br \/>I know that it doesn't LOOK like the most appetizing thing ever, but... THAT IS MISLEADING. omg KOREAN FOOD, NEVER LEAVE ME my mouth is watering just thinking about itttt ;____;<br \/><br \/><b>8.<\/b> THE NEXT PERSON TO REFER TO MY NEW DEFAULT ICON IN A DISPARAGING MANNER <i>WILL<\/i> BE HANGED<a name='cutid1-end'><\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:11345","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/11345.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=11345"}}],"title":"Here I am wasting your time again","published":"2011-03-24T00:51:05Z","updated":"2011-03-24T00:51:58Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"<div><a href=\"https:\/\/www.livejournal.com\/poll\/?id=1721747\">View Poll: So important<\/a><\/div><br \/><br \/>...HA HA HA. THIS IS WHAT PASSES FOR FUNNY ON THIS JOURNAL. Actually I really wanted to do the second verse too (Arthur gets up early and stays up late! Arthur has uninterrupted prosperity! Arthur uses a machete to cut through red tape, et cetera!) and also I didn't really want to change \"skirt\" to \"fuse\" but... that mental image is just too distracting for a weekday.<br \/><br \/><br \/>A friend of mine who recently got a job at [consulting firm name here] was gossiping about people she puts up with at work. She had a long rant about twenty-nine-year-old men; about how terrifyingly condescending they can be to women just a couple years younger than they are, because at twenty-nine they think they've seen everything, that they've experienced the world, that they're grown-ups. <i>But at twenty-nine,<\/i> she said, <i>they're still just boys.<\/i> The psychological effects of spending stretches of your life in time-dilated dreamspace aside (is Arthur at twenty-nine really twenty-nine at all?), she then did a short impression of one of those guys talking to her, and I couldn't help but hear her entire spiel in the tone of voice Arthur might take toward Ariadne. Keep me out of the job market for now, please, I need to retain at least <i>some<\/i> fantasies about twenty-nine-year-olds.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0001pr2z\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>Waiting for <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"ohfreckle\" lj:user=\"ohfreckle\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/ohfreckle.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/ohfreckle.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>ohfreckle<\/b><\/a><a class=\"i-ljuser-badge i-ljuser-badge--pro\" data-badge-type=\"pro\" data-placement=\"bottom\" data-pro-badge data-pro-badge-type=\"1\" data-is-raw hidden href=\"#\"><span class=\"i-ljuser-badge__icon\"><svg class=\"svgicon\" width=\"25\" height=\"16\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" viewBox=\"0 0 33 24\"><path fill-rule=\"evenodd\" d=\"M19.326 11.95c0 2.01 1.47 3.45 3.48 3.45 2.02 0 3.49-1.44 3.49-3.45 0-2.01-1.47-3.45-3.49-3.45-2.01 0-3.48 1.44-3.48 3.45Zm5.51 0c0 1.24-.8 2.19-2.03 2.19-1.23 0-2.02-.95-2.02-2.19 0-1.25.79-2.19 2.02-2.19s2.03.94 2.03 2.19ZM7.92 15.28H6.5V8.61h3.12c1.45 0 2.24.98 2.24 2.15 0 1.16-.8 2.15-2.24 2.15h-1.7v2.37Zm1.51-3.62c.56 0 .98-.35.98-.9 0-.56-.42-.9-.98-.9H7.92v1.8h1.51ZM18.3802 15.28h-1.63l-1.31-2.37h-1.04v2.37h-1.42V8.61h3.12c1.39 0 2.24.91 2.24 2.15 0 1.18-.74 1.81-1.46 1.98l1.5 2.54Zm-2.49-3.62c.57 0 1-.34 1-.9s-.43-.9-1-.9h-1.49v1.8h1.49Z\" clip-rule=\"evenodd\"\/><path fill-rule=\"evenodd\" d=\"M2 8c0-2.20914 1.79086-4 4-4h20.5c2.2091 0 4 1.79086 4 4v7.9c0 2.2091-1.7909 4-4 4H6c-2.20914 0-4-1.7909-4-4V8Zm4-2.5h20.5C27.8807 5.5 29 6.61929 29 8v7.9c0 1.3807-1.1193 2.5-2.5 2.5H6c-1.38071 0-2.5-1.1193-2.5-2.5V8c0-1.38071 1.11929-2.5 2.5-2.5Z\" clip-rule=\"evenodd\"\/><\/svg><\/span><\/a><\/span> to get back online, China Glaze For Audrey! One of those colors that everyone talks about, that I didn't actually have until very recently. For some reason the lighting turned out fucking terrible when I took the picture, and then I couldn't get the color of the polish to look right on the screen :'( but it's a really really pretty shade, honest! I JUST SUCK AT PHOTOGRAPHY."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:10983","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/10983.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=10983"}}],"title":"Quick post!","published":"2011-03-14T00:37:15Z","updated":"2011-03-14T00:39:14Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"<center><a href=\"http:\/\/community.livejournal.com\/help_japan\" target=\"_blank\"><img src=\"https:\/\/img.photobucket.com\/albums\/v329\/liesakimoto\/jpb\/banner3.jpg\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><\/a><\/center><br \/><br \/>My thread is over <a href=\"http:\/\/community.livejournal.com\/help_japan\/2978.html?thread=273570#t273570\" target=\"_blank\">this way.<\/a> It almost seems so futile in the face of everything still affecting Japan, but perhaps even this is better than nothing. Anyway, hope that all of you and your loved ones are safe. &hearts;<br \/><br \/>To thank you for your attention: Arthur the creeper voyeur with certain sexual proclivities and Eames the tragic artist slob, courtesy of est em. WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT IT'S AN ORIGINAL STORY? 100% OF ALL RESPONDENTS POLLED AGREE THAT IT'S ALREADY AN INCEPTION AU. LOOK AT THE WAY HE HOLDS THOSE BINOCULARS.<br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0001k1q1\" loading=\"lazy\"><\/center>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:10111","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/10111.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=10111"}}],"title":"Persephone, welcome to a thawing land","published":"2011-02-25T00:36:56Z","updated":"2014-04-05T03:34:16Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"hitch this to your buggy and ride it"}}],"content":"God knows when and where I caught this cold, but it's a pretty awful one, and it's laying me out for a bit. I thought it would be better by today but no such luck! I'm guzzling down water and taking vitamins and whatnot, but it might be time for two more aspirin and crawling back into bed, haha. But regardless, life has been pretty kind-- here are some of the things that made me happy this week *____*<br \/><br \/><ul><li><span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-deleted  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"sirona_gs\" lj:user=\"sirona_gs\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/sirona-gs.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/sirona-gs.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>sirona_gs<\/b><\/a><\/span> is writing Arthur-is-a-magical-chef fic! It is so awesome, so much awesomer than anything I could have imagined, and <a href=\"http:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/9127.html?thread=605095#t605095\" target=\"_blank\">it is right over here<\/a> for your reading pleasure. Neve is a goddess.<br \/><br \/><li><span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"jibrailis\" lj:user=\"jibrailis\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/jibrailis.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/jibrailis.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>jibrailis<\/b><\/a><\/span> continues making the world a safer place through shameless and scorching <a href=\"http:\/\/jibrailis.livejournal.com\/78850.html\" target=\"_blank\">Little House on the Prairie porn.<\/a> Speaking of which, I ended up making a tag for it here, because it is apparently where I go when I am not coherent enough to write actual Inception fic, haha. No thanks to <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"two_if_by_sea\" lj:user=\"two_if_by_sea\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/two-if-by-sea.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/two-if-by-sea.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>two_if_by_sea<\/b><\/a><\/span>. Explode THIS boiler, asshole.<br \/><br \/><li>Everything about <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"pyrimidine\" lj:user=\"pyrimidine\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/pyrimidine.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/pyrimidine.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>pyrimidine<\/b><\/a><\/span> &hearts; &hearts; &hearts;<br \/><br \/><li>This conversation with my mother regarding a potential blind date:<br \/><blockquote><b>ME:<\/b> But he's just not that hot!<br \/><b>MOTHER:<\/b> Will you stop being so obsessed with the physical, what are you, some sort of pervert? Try being more like me, try being attracted to what's inside a person-- for example, I have felt stirrings of love for an average-looking postal worker--<br \/><b>ME:<\/b> ...Wait, wait, who is this postal worker...<br \/><b>MOTHER:<\/b> Don't change the subject.<br \/><b>ME:<\/b> No, I think <i>this is the subject now.<\/i><\/blockquote><br \/><li>BUT WHO IS THAT POSTAL WORKER?!<\/li><\/ul><br \/><br \/><font size=\"5\"><i>Spring<\/i><\/font><br \/><br \/>\u201cManly,\u201d says Cap, \u201cwhat\u2019s your favorite food?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cThat\u2019s a difficult question,\u201d says Almanzo. \u201cProbably apples, I guess.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201c...Must you be such a horse <i>all<\/i> the time,\u201d asks Cap.<br \/><br \/>\u201cWell, what about you?\u201d asks Almanzo. \u201cWhat\u2019s your favorite food?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201c<i>Pie,<\/i>\u201d says Cap. \u201cDeep blueberry pie, with handfuls of fresh, juicy blueberries on top, the kind where the filling oozes out onto the plate when you take your knife and cut right into-- no, wait, there\u2019s pumpkin pie, pumpkin pie with spices, I do love a good slice of pumpkin pie... Then again, what about rhubarb pie with plenty of sugar... with ice cream... oh, I <i>love<\/i> ice cream, that\u2019s got to be my favorite. Except for maybe sopping up the last bit of maple syrup with bites of pancake, that\u2019s really second to none-- or, you know, candy-- how could I forget candy, because honestly, candy is--\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cOkay,\u201d says Almanzo. \u201cStop.\u201d<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><font size=\"5\"><i>Summer<\/i><\/font><br \/><br \/>Cap turns the bundle over in his hands, and looks at Almanzo suspiciously.<br \/><br \/>\u201cI don\u2019t know what this is,\u201d says Cap.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou should open it,\u201d says Almanzo. \u201cI spent a lot of time on it, you know-- happy birthday.\u201d<br \/><br \/>He really <i>did<\/i> spend a lot of time on it. Royal had been decidedly difficult, laughing in his face when Almanzo had asked him to teach him how to whittle. Then once Royal had realized he was serious, Almanzo still had to hide away the fruits of his endeavor, sneaking in a few minutes every day to work on it all summer long. Lying there in the shredded nest of tissue paper, it\u2019s every bit the masterpiece he intended it to be-- thick and solid, polished to a dark gloss, modeled perfectly after his own penis.<br \/><br \/>Cap dangles it distastefully from his fingers.<br \/><br \/>\u201cWhat,\u201d says Almanzo, \u201cyou don\u2019t like it?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cI don\u2019t know, it\u2019s a bit...\u201d Cap trails off. \u201cI mean, I appreciate the effort, Manly. But here\u2019s the thing-- I\u2019ve heard that there\u2019s this cobbler in Minnesota who makes these out of leather, and Laura and Nellie say that the way the stitches feel when you push them into yourself--\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201c<i>Where do you learn these things,<\/i>\u201d asks Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>\u201cSchool, Manly,\u201d says Cap. \u201cEducation is important.\u201d<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><font size=\"5\"><i>Fall<\/i><\/font><br \/><br \/>In October, an entire wheel of cheese goes missing, and that\u2019s the last straw. Almanzo can\u2019t even keep track of what\u2019s been stolen so far; cured ham, jars and jars of all kinds of preserves.<br \/><br \/>But he jumps out one night at the sound of hushed footsteps moving through his pantry, and he\u2019s as startled as the thief is, when he sees that it\u2019s Cap.<br \/><br \/>\u201cIt was you?\u201d he asks, dumbfounded. \u201cYou\u2019ve been raiding my pantry?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cI\u2019m so sorry,\u201d says Cap, links of sausage spilling out of his arms. \u201cIt\u2019s just that we\u2019ve been so hungry, my entire family-- what with the terrible harvest this year, and no one bringing in any money aside from what little our crops can get-- we\u2019ve been living on bits of old bread boiled in rainwater--\u201d<br \/><br \/>This is not even remotely true. Almanzo knows the Garlands had an excellent crop, with enough tomatoes to spare, and that Cap\u2019s sister is busy teaching in a town down south. But Cap puts the sausages back on the shelf and drops to his knees, brushing his hand across the front of Almanzo\u2019s trousers.<br \/><br \/>\u201cJust please don\u2019t take me to the law, Mr. Wilder,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019ll do anything.\u201d<br \/><br \/>He licks his lips slowly, mouth lush and wet in the moonlight. <i>This is slightly odd,<\/i> thinks Almanzo as Cap takes him down his throat, <i>but a farmer never complains.<\/i><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><font size=\"5\"><i>Winter<\/i><\/font><br \/><br \/>Nellie gathers her coat a little closer against the chill. Recess is only fifteen minutes long, and she\u2019ll have to hurry. But the ground has finally iced over, and she <i>does<\/i> so want to go sleighing behind Almanzo Wilder\u2019s beautiful horses. Taking a little time to ask him privately would be worth it.<br \/><br \/>She tiptoes inside the feed store, where the front room is empty and unlit. But there are sounds coming from the back, and she raises a hand to knock-- when a loud moan cuts through the door.<br \/><br \/>\u201cManly,\u201d comes a desperate voice -- Nellie recognizes it as Cap Garland\u2019s -- \u201cGod, oh, <i>Manly--<\/i>\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cTell me what you want,\u201d and that\u2019s Almanzo Wilder, dark and low, thrilling through her.<br \/><br \/>\u201cPUT YOUR BIG HARD STALLION COCK IN ME,\u201d shouts Cap, \u201cYOU STUD.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Nellie\u2019s hand falls to her side.<br \/><br \/>\u201cMANLY, I WANT TO BEAR YOUR CHILDREN,\u201d shouts Cap, \u201cIMPREGNATE ME WITH STURDY FILLIES WE CAN BREED FOR A YEAR OR TWO AND SELL OUT EAST AT THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS APIECE--\u201d<br \/><br \/>Nellie walks all the way back to the schoolhouse and sits back down at her desk, very pale.<br \/><br \/>\u201cWhy, Nellie!\u201d says Laura when she sees her. \u201cWhatever is the matter? Are you ill?\u201d<br \/><br \/>Cap Garland bounds in through the door, flushed and grinning.<br \/><br \/>\u201cHello, girls,\u201d he says. \u201cWant some candy?\u201d<br \/><br \/><i>That\u2019s what it was,<\/i> thinks Nellie as tears flood her eyes. <i>That\u2019s what he was doing! It was for the candy-- candy for us--<\/i><br \/><br \/>\u201cOh,\u201d she chokes out, \u201cCappie, you shouldn\u2019t have.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Mary Power glares at her, but Mary Power, <i>Mary Power doesn\u2019t know.<\/i>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:9670","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/9670.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=9670"}}],"title":"Possibly this post does not deserve a title","published":"2011-02-16T00:26:55Z","updated":"2013-10-05T03:24:31Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"writing is a product of anxiety"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"hitch this to your buggy and ride it"}}],"content":"This is Little House on the Prairie fic. Er... specifically, it's from the latter books, though-- from The Long Winter onwards. <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"jibrailis\" lj:user=\"jibrailis\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/jibrailis.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/jibrailis.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>jibrailis<\/b><\/a><\/span> and <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-deleted  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"helenvalentine\" lj:user=\"helenvalentine\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/helenvalentine.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/helenvalentine.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>helenvalentine<\/b><\/a><\/span> I am looking at you. &hearts; I didn't want to post this on the fic journal because I didn't want to bother people by cluttering up their friendspages with LITTLE HOUSE PORN, but hopefully, friendslist, you are more used to dealing with me and my stupid entries... and tons of porn have been written about much less appropriate subjects than a pair of nineteen-year-old boys, come on... <small>please don't hate me. ;____;<\/small><br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><i><font size=\"5\">A Prairie Home Companion<\/font><br \/>4,000 words<br \/>Almanzo\/Cap<\/i><br \/>Mostly based on the books, though with a little real-life history scattered throughout, like the uncertainty regarding Almanzo and Cap's ages, and Cap's eventual untimely death at twenty-six. So many anachronisms!<br \/><br \/>Highlight for notes and spoilers: <font color=\"white\">I think that any story set in a pastoral setting has the potential to embody the traditional pastoral conflict, the movement from homosociality or homoeroticism to heterosexual union. So I think it's not really that Laura is Almanzo's beard, or that he doesn't love her; it runs deeper than that, because this push toward heterosexual union is almost inevitable in a pastoral narrative, and Almanzo is mostly just balking at the thought of being unable to buck it. But the oppression runs both ways, of course, because the stubborn impulse to retain homosociality comes at the cost of silencing women-- which is why Laura has no lines, though she probably said some very saucy things to very many people... [\/blather]<\/font><br \/><br \/>All the world must be moving out west. Royal\u2019s is still the only feed store in town, but all summer long, family after family wanders into De Smet and settles the claims they\u2019ve held down.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou just watch,\u201d says Royal, \u201cthis will be a city yet-- we\u2019ll do good business here.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Almanzo doesn\u2019t care much for Royal\u2019s notions of business, only loves Dakota Territory for the endlessness of it. There\u2019s nothing like a flat land for breaking horses. He leans against the screen of their door and watches Royal whittle his handful of wood down to nothing, amusing themselves with the trickle of passersby down Main Street.<br \/><br \/>A lady bustles past, glances at them from beneath her bonnet, and exchanges a nod with Royal.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou know her?\u201d asks Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>\u201cNew teacher,\u201d says Royal. \u201cMiss Florence Garland, I helped her down at Loftus\u2019 yesterday. There\u2019s a fella knows how to drive a bargain, I figure he\u2019ll burn for it, but if I don\u2019t envy him his flinty heart. She\u2019s at that new prairie shanty with a brother your age, I hear. Guess that\u2019s him.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Behind her, a boy comes hurrying down the path, carrying a stack of kitchenware piled atop a bundle of linen. He spots them looking and perks up in recognition, turning toward them. His load sways precariously as he makes his way up the steps.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou must be the Wilders,\u201d he says. \u201cFlorence says you did her a good turn at the grocer\u2019s yesterday, thank you.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cIt was nothing,\u201d says Royal. \u201cGlad to help. I\u2019m Roy Wilder, and this is my brother Almanzo.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cCap Garland,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s good to meet you, Roy.\u201d And then he cranes his head around the pots and pans, and says, \u201cManzo.\u201d<br \/><br \/>It\u2019s just that Cap has his back to the midday sun, glinting savage off the copper, and Almanzo can\u2019t really make out the look on his face from the shade. Almanzo is just wary, that\u2019s all; people are right to be, out in the Territory. Wary of lanky, loose-limbed boys with golden hair and funny names.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou can call me Wilder,\u201d says Almanzo, like he needs to keep Cap at bay. Like fencing out a wolf.<br \/><br \/>\u201cOkay,\u201d says Cap, and smiles.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>The difference is that wolves know where they\u2019re not welcome. They can smell your gunpowder, the clumsy bear-traps you beckon them into. Slinking friendless in circles around the trace of your sheep in the grass.<br \/><br \/>It\u2019s the foxes that squeeze themselves past the pens and the bolted gates, digging holes and dodging bullets just to sink their little teeth into a pullet\u2019s throat. It\u2019s always the foxes you have to watch out for.<br \/><br \/>There\u2019s a rainstorm catches them unprepared, and Almanzo barely makes it inside, the rain lashing down in droves as soon as he slams the door behind him.<br \/><br \/>\u201cClouds out of nowhere,\u201d says Royal, looking moodily out the window of their shanty. \u201cThat\u2019s all the work for today, if it doesn\u2019t let up. And just when I was about to head out.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cNever mind,\u201d says Almanzo. \u201cSome summer rain\u2019s good news.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Almost like he\u2019s being laughed at, a flurry of knocks sound on the door just then. Royal and Almanzo exchange a brief look. The knocking turns to pounding, and a voice calls, \u201cDon\u2019t let a body drown on land.\u201d<br \/><br \/>When Almanzo pulls the door open, it\u2019s Cap standing there, shivering. He\u2019s soaked to the bone and gasping for breath. All his clothes are plastered to him, hair drenched against his forehead.<br \/><br \/>\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, Manzo,\u201d says Royal, \u201cwill you let him in?\u201d<br \/><br \/>Dumbly, Almanzo steps aside. Royal snatches the muslin straight off their table and whisks Cap indoors, where he dabs the cloth through his hair, wipes away the water streaming into his face.<br \/><br \/>\u201c--didn\u2019t see it coming,\u201d Cap is saying, blue-lipped and shaky, \u201cand I would have had to cut through the Slough to get back home, but in this weather--\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cWhat are you waiting around for?\u201d Royal demands, gesturing at Almanzo. \u201cGet him something to change into, start a fire, make yourself useful.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Naturally, Royal takes to Cap. For a younger brother, Almanzo has never been much to fuss over, thankless and sullen at the implication that he wouldn\u2019t do perfectly well on his own. But Cap laps up the attention when it\u2019s offered him, and besides, he\u2019s shrewd. The shopkeeper in Royal likes that.<br \/><br \/>Royal decides he can\u2019t let a guest out without feeding him first, and he rummages about the kitchen, trying to scrounge up a couple buckwheat pancakes. When Almanzo turns back from the fire, Cap is peeling himself out of his shirt, the line of his back a long, wet curve.<br \/><br \/>\u201cI can do the pancakes,\u201d Almanzo tells Royal, desperately unsure of where to look. \u201cI\u2019m better at them, anyway.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cDon\u2019t be rude,\u201d says Royal. \u201cKeep Cap company, you\u2019re the same age. You ought to make friends.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Almanzo hangs around the stove until he\u2019s reasonably sure that Cap is done changing. When he tiptoes back out, Cap is sitting in front of the fireplace, looking into the burning straw like there\u2019s something worth watching there. Almanzo shuffles a bit, and sits himself down next to Cap, resigned to small talk.<br \/><br \/>But whether it\u2019s because Cap is exhausted, or because Almanzo is so clearly not a conversationalist, it never happens. Almanzo joins him in silently watching the fire, and Cap\u2019s toes are bare beneath the hem of his borrowed trousers, shirtsleeves falling halfway over his hands. Royal\u2019s hand-me-downs. They\u2019re a bit large even for Almanzo, but Cap is swimming in them. He\u2019s a farmer, not skinny, but there\u2019s a young quickness to his body, like it hasn\u2019t quite started filling out yet.<br \/><br \/>Suddenly guilty, Almanzo darts a glance at Cap\u2019s face, just to make sure he hasn\u2019t been caught staring. But Cap\u2019s head is drooping in the warmth of the fire, sun-bleached eyelashes fluttering closed.<br \/><br \/>Almanzo looks into the fire, and when Cap\u2019s head slides onto his shoulder, he shifts a little nearer. It would be awful manners to let a sleeping guest fall to the floor. The sound of the rain, the sizzle of pancakes on the griddle.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>Cap\u2019s not so bad after all. He\u2019s a hard worker, and Almanzo thinks, nobody who is a hard worker can really be bad. It doesn\u2019t hurt that Cap seems to be attached to <i>him,<\/i> though Heaven only knows why.<br \/><br \/>They grow closer through the fall, when Cap comes by their fields every so often to lend them a hand, and he and Royal help the Garlands move into town for the winter. Cap\u2019s easy to get used to, once Almanzo starts. He\u2019s eager but never underfoot, reckless but not foolhardy. When Almanzo makes one of his sombre attempts at a joke, Cap\u2019s eyes go wide, then he grins and his teeth are even and sharp.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou have some humor in you, Wilder,\u201d he says, and touches him lightly on the shoulder as he passes. It\u2019s a quick, fleeting thing, but Almanzo feels like he\u2019s been scalded. He wonders if Cap notices him rubbing at the spot through his shirt.<br \/><br \/>So when the Hard Winter hits and the rumors of seed wheat start wafting through De Smet, there\u2019s no one else he\u2019d rather go with than Cap. Well, there\u2019s probably no one else in town who would go at all. But when Almanzo asks him, he hesitates.<br \/><br \/>\u201cForget it,\u201d says Almanzo, irritated. \u201cI can make the trip alone.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cNo, wait, let me come with you,\u201d says Cap. \u201cIt\u2019s just that-- I\u2019m just really glad you asked, you know.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Almanzo feels the back of his neck begin to prickle with an unaccountable itch, and he says, \u201cIt\u2019s not a picnic. It\u2019s twenty miles out south with hardly any markers, and chances are, we\u2019ll get caught in a blizzard and lose our way back.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cYeah,\u201d says Cap, almost shyly. \u201cThank you for taking me.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Later, in front of Loftus\u2019 store with their sleds heavy with grain and the storm starting to whip them, it\u2019s half the excitement of victory that makes Almanzo lean in toward Cap and kiss him. Their breath is frozen on their lips and Almanzo can hardly feel the touch at all, but Cap nearly drops the reins to his buckskin.<br \/><br \/>\u201cWilder,\u201d he says, \u201cwhat was--\u201d<br \/><br \/>He brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, and in the thin light through the storefront window, he looks so terribly young. Like he\u2019s been taken apart and peered into.<br \/><br \/>\u201cJust how old are you, anyway,\u201d says Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>Cap blinks, and the moment is over; he\u2019s back to himself again, grinning as he swings up onto the horse.<br \/><br \/>\u201cI could ask you the same thing,\u201d he says. \u201cHomesteader.\u201d<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>The spring comes against all odds, and by then Almanzo calls himself twenty-two. Cap calls himself twenty. It\u2019s too late in the season for strenuous work, but the Wilders have their store and their seed wheat and their horses, so Almanzo isn\u2019t worried.<br \/><br \/>In the checker rooms at the drugstore there\u2019s talk about a Fourth of July buggy race, and he can\u2019t shake the thought from his mind, addicted to the rush of triumph now. When Almanzo tells Cap about it, his whole face lights up, and that seals the deal.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou don\u2019t even <i>own<\/i> a buggy,\u201d says Cap, delighted.<br \/><br \/>\u201cPrince and Lady will beat any team in town,\u201d says Almanzo. \u201cEven with a whole house hitched behind them.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cSo what\u2019re you talking to me for,\u201d asks Cap, and props his feet up on the bale of hay. The grass smells sweet all around them, and Almanzo drinks in the insolent stretch of Cap\u2019s legs, his trousers tight around his hips.<br \/><br \/>\u201cThey still need exercise,\u201d says Almanzo, and Cap licks his lips.<br \/><br \/>Making their way at suppertime back to the Wilders\u2019 shanty at a trot, Almanzo pulls Lady up beside Prince, and hands Cap the lit cigar. Cap makes sure to curl his fingers around Almanzo\u2019s as he takes it, and his cheeks hollow obscenely when he inhales.<br \/><br \/>\u201cCome here,\u201d says Cap, and leans off of Prince, resting his weight on the hand he puts on Lady\u2019s back.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou\u2019ll break your neck,\u201d says Almanzo, but Cap shakes his head and takes another drag, and presses his mouth against Almanzo\u2019s.<br \/><br \/>The smoke is dusky in their throats, and Cap opens so easily into him. It\u2019s a better cigar than he would have bought, won at checkers, but Almanzo wonders what Cap tastes like beneath it. Even after the wisps of smoke have drifted away, he keeps chasing the flick of Cap\u2019s tongue, into the soft heat of his mouth.<br \/><br \/>Cap pokes the cigar back between Almanzo\u2019s teeth, his eyes bright. The sun\u2019s starting to dip. Almanzo runs his hand through the mess of Cap\u2019s hair, still washed pale from the summer past.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou like my hair?\u201d asks Cap. \u201cThat\u2019s a surprise. Turns out your tastes are really nothing unusual.\u201d<br \/><br \/>But it\u2019s not the same, is what Almanzo wants to tell him. That he\u2019s never trailed after blonde boys or girls before, that he likes Cap\u2019s hair best when it\u2019s an overgrown shock of white against the tanned nape of his neck. <i>It doesn\u2019t make you look like a doll, your hair,<\/i> is what Almanzo would say, if he were fonder of words. <i>It makes you look like lightning.<\/i><br \/><br \/>He gives Prince a sharp pat on the rump, and the horse breaks into a gallop. Cap clutches to the reins and shoots Almanzo a dirty look over his shoulder.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>Almanzo walks in through the doors of the drugstore. He\u2019s greeted with cheers and toasts, and then with an armful of Cap Garland.<br \/><br \/>\u201cCome upstairs,\u201d says Cap, low into his ear, under the roar of men offering their congratulations. \u201cLet\u2019s celebrate.\u201d<br \/><br \/><i>With a peddler\u2019s cart!<\/i> people are shouting at him, and <i>What\u2019ll you take for those Morgans,<\/i> and Almanzo wades through the crowd laughing and apologizing, <i>Nothing, folks, won\u2019t part with them for any price.<\/i> Cap\u2019s grip is firm around his wrist, leading him up the stairs.<br \/><br \/>Spirits are too high for checkers, and the room upstairs is empty, dark with all the lamps carried down to the men in the drugstore. Cap wedges a chair beneath the doorknob, grabs at Almanzo\u2019s collar, and kisses him.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou did it,\u201d he whispers fervently, \u201cfive dollars and the talk of the whole town.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cDid you doubt me?\u201d asks Almanzo, and tips his hat. Cap yanks it away from him and throws it into a corner.<br \/><br \/>They\u2019re stuck upstairs in an empty room, nothing but bare furniture scattered around the floor, so Almanzo bends Cap over a table and works him open bit by bit. It\u2019s infinitely, painfully slow, and maybe it\u2019s something he ought to have expected, but Cap is <i>loud.<\/i><br \/><br \/>\u201cWilder,\u201d he gasps when Almanzo fits a third finger inside him. \u201c<i>Yes,<\/i> oh--\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cWill you keep it down,\u201d says Almanzo, and means for it to sound soothing. Cap only moans and presses back against him, back arching like a wildcat.<br \/><br \/>By the time Almanzo pushes himself inside, Cap is a whimpering, writhing mess, all of his skin hot to the touch. Cap is struggling to hold himself still, but there are tiny tremors running down his back, and Almanzo thinks of him stepping out of the rain, naked in the firelight. He slips his hand in under Cap\u2019s shirt, splays his palm out over the dip of his spine. Cap flinches, biting down on a broken little sound.<br \/><br \/>His hips hitch in surprise when Almanzo starts to move in him, and Almanzo is almost certain that the noises he\u2019s making are going to carry downstairs. God, it sends his blood rushing, Cap moaning under him, sweet and utterly wrecked. But he doesn\u2019t want the crowd to grow suspicious, climbing up to investigate.<br \/><br \/>\u201cSorry,\u201d he says, \u201cI have to,\u201d and he stifles Cap\u2019s mouth.<br \/><br \/>\u201cOh, God-- <i>oh,<\/i>\u201d Cap pants against his hand, like he can\u2019t help himself, his breath hot and damp. \u201cWilder, <i>please,<\/i> yes--\u201d<br \/><br \/>He clings to Almanzo\u2019s hand with his, desperate and unsteady, as Almanzo drives deep into him. Cap\u2019s a sweet boy, isn\u2019t he, and it almost makes Almanzo want to be cruel, the way Cap takes him so willingly into the heat of his body. He rocks him a little rougher up against the table, and Cap goes so unbearably tight around him, teeth biting into the meat of his hand.<br \/><br \/>\u201cDo you like that?\u201d he asks, and Cap whines in answer, his eyes wet in the slivers of light through the floorboards.<br \/><br \/>In the end, one hand digging into Cap\u2019s hips hard enough to bruise, Almanzo thrusts into him with a vicious edge he might regret, only Cap never complains-- just shudders beautifully and takes him and takes him and takes him, never refusing him a single thing.<br \/><br \/>\u201cManzo,\u201d he sobs, muffled against his palm. \u201cGod, Manzo--\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cCap,\u201d says Almanzo, and doesn\u2019t correct him.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>When they all move back to town, Cap visits him at the back of the store like he\u2019s coming home. Almanzo enjoys stealing time alone with Cap, days when Royal does the chores in the stable, Cap\u2019s hair spilling out on the floor before the fire.<br \/><br \/>At twenty-one -- if he is that -- Cap is old enough to leave school, but he seems to be in no hurry. Maybe it\u2019s his sister the schoolteacher, but then, isn\u2019t Almanzo\u2019s? Cap doesn\u2019t miss a day, though sometimes he cuts it very close to tardy, sneaking past the feed store for a sly kiss or two.<br \/><br \/>The day that Almanzo watches the boys at school pull all the girls down Main Street in a sled, Cap comes back laughing, shaking out bits of ice from his clothes. Royal\u2019s out in the stable, and Almanzo lets Cap take him into his mouth, warming quick around him.<br \/><br \/>\u201cSaw you were sledding today,\u201d Almanzo says later, buttoning himself back up.<br \/><br \/>\u201cThere\u2019s one of the girls I think has it bad for me,\u201d says Cap, offhandedly. \u201cYou\u2019ll know her father-- the Ingalls girl.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou\u2019re modest as always,\u201d says Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>\u201cShe does, though,\u201d says Cap. \u201cShe\u2019s all right, but me, I\u2019m more of a-- you know Mary Power? The tailor\u2019s daughter? I like her sort better.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cWhat sort is that,\u201d asks Almanzo, and keeps his voice level.<br \/><br \/>\u201cTall, dark,\u201d says Cap. \u201cNot much for talking, but steady as a rock.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Cap looks at him, lips curling into a winning smile. Almanzo swallows and looks away.<br \/><br \/>\u201cBut you\u2019d like Laura best,\u201d says Cap. \u201cYou like a bit of fire. Headstrong, feral things.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cWhat makes you so sure?\u201d scoffs Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>Cap stretches out on his stomach next to him, laying his head in the crook of one arm.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou like me, don\u2019t you,\u201d he says, and it\u2019s not really a question. Almanzo thinks of Cap tugging the sled down Main Street, running in the winter wind, the flush high on his cheeks.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>In the middle of the revival meeting, Cap nudges him with an elbow and says, \u201cThat\u2019s her, Manzo, that\u2019s Laura Ingalls.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Almanzo follows the tilt of his chin, but the girl has whipped her head around toward the front again. From the back where they sit, she looks small, surrounded by her family. The organ begins to play.<br \/><br \/>\u201cDid you catch her looking at me,\u201d whispers Cap.<br \/><br \/>\u201cSing the hymn, you damn heathen,\u201d says Almanzo, and Cap laughs.<br \/><br \/>When families start to leave, all the boys and men in the back stand to let them pass. In the shuffle and press of people, Almanzo stumbles, and Cap is gone when he straightens up. He looks everywhere for tufts of summer-sun hair, but he can\u2019t find him. It occurs to Almanzo that Cap might have disappeared on purpose, and he tries to remember that girl\u2019s name, the tailor\u2019s daughter.<br \/><br \/>The crowd sweeps him into the aisle, and he finds himself pushed into step beside Laura Ingalls, who is barely fifteen but straight-backed. With a sudden vengeful spite, he touches the sleeve of her coat.<br \/><br \/>\u201cMay I see you home?\u201d he asks.<br \/><br \/>She startles, at that, and her eyes flicker past him like she\u2019s expecting someone else. <i>She was looking at Cap,<\/i> he thinks. <i>He was right.<\/i><br \/><br \/>But when he says goodbye and trudges into the back of the feed store, Cap is there with Royal, with a plate of ham in his hand.<br \/><br \/>\u201cBaching it may be lonely work,\u201d says Cap, \u201cbut at least you\u2019re free to do as you please.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cWhere were you?\u201d asks Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>\u201cOh,\u201d says Cap, \u201cwere you looking for me?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cDon\u2019t play that,\u201d snaps Almanzo, and Royal looks back at him in surprise.<br \/><br \/>\u201cWho\u2019d you walk back with?\u201d asks Cap.<br \/><br \/>\u201cLaura Ingalls,\u201d says Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>Cap\u2019s face softens when he hears it, and he says, \u201cIsn\u2019t she a perfect devil?\u201d<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>Cap starts to make a habit of it, disappearing after the School Exhibition, after church. Laura Ingalls is a good sport, letting Almanzo take her home every time he shows up at her side, looking confused at where he\u2019s ended up.<br \/><br \/>When a week goes by without Cap in the back room of the feed store, Almanzo asks Royal, \u201cWhere\u2019d Cap go?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cHe\u2019s in his own house, where he lives,\u201d says Royal. \u201cAre you visiting him?\u201d<br \/><br \/>Almanzo falters; there\u2019s no reason why he shouldn\u2019t, but that it seems the wrong way round. At any rate, if Cap wants nothing to do with him, Almanzo isn\u2019t about to force him into his company.<br \/><br \/>He sees Cap just once before the spring, when he\u2019s setting out to bring Laura Ingalls back to De Smet on a Friday at forty below zero. He\u2019s frowning at the thermometer outside Fuller\u2019s Hardware, when something brushes past his back. Almanzo turns to look, and when the door to Fuller\u2019s swings open, the light from inside glows over Cap\u2019s face, half hidden inside his muffler.<br \/><br \/>\u201cCap,\u201d Almanzo blurts out, all his resolution forgotten, \u201cwhere\u2019ve you--\u201d<br \/><br \/>Cap tugs down the edge of his muffler, his breath wispy whorls of steam. Almanzo turns warm and thinks that everything is going to be all right, that Cap is going to explain everything, and be in the back room for him when the cutter gets back home.<br \/><br \/>Instead, Cap just says, \u201cYou\u2019re making her wait.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cGod damn it,\u201d snarls Almanzo, wrenches the doorknob away from Cap, and mashes their mouths together. For a moment, it\u2019s like nothing has changed-- Cap\u2019s lips moving against his, achingly familiar.<br \/><br \/>But then Cap murmurs, \u201cNo, Manzo,\u201d half to himself, and \u201cI can\u2019t, sorry, I can\u2019t.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cWhat are you <i>doing?<\/i>\u201d demands Almanzo. \u201cWhy can\u2019t you?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou should go,\u201d says Cap, and pulls the door open like running away. \u201cGod hates a coward.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Almanzo stands there a long while after the door has closed, shaking in place, not giving a damn what God hates and doesn\u2019t hate. <i>He hates the liars and traitors too,<\/i> he would shout after him, but of course, Cap never promised him anything.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>Cap shows up at his door in May, like he\u2019s been there all along.<br \/><br \/>\u201cI heard you were breaking colts,\u201d he says. \u201cDo you need a hand? Want to hitch them to your buggy? Take me riding.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Almanzo pulls his hand back, meaning to punch him, but ends up managing nothing but a tight, quiet hug. Cap rests his cheek against Almanzo\u2019s shoulder.<br \/><br \/>Skip and Barnum are a pair of ill-behaved horrors, and it\u2019s more than work enough just to get them hitched, the red wheels of the buggy bouncing as they rear and kick out. Cap scampers up onto the driver\u2019s seat, but Almanzo shoos him toward the back.<br \/><br \/>\u201cMaybe next time,\u201d says Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou don\u2019t give me enough credit,\u201d says Cap, and crosses his legs in a mock huff.<br \/><br \/>They go rattling on across the aimless expanse of the prairie, on and off roads, down to Lake Henry. By the time they arrive, Almanzo\u2019s arms are numb with the straining, and he\u2019s glad to lash the horses to a hitching post and slide off the buggy. Cap sweeps handfuls of early berries off the bushes as they stroll, and his mouth is sweet when Almanzo pushes him down into the grass.<br \/><br \/>Cap\u2019s hair is beginning to pale again. Almanzo licks the salt off of his skin, and Cap hooks his heels behind Almanzo\u2019s back, pulling him in closer. There\u2019s no one out for miles, and Cap can be as loud as he likes, begging and gasping incoherently when Almanzo fills him.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou know,\u201d Almanzo says afterwards, \u201cthere isn\u2019t a man in town who\u2019d ride behind these colts except you.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cExcept me,\u201d says Cap, \u201cand Laura Ingalls.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cLaura Ingalls,\u201d says Almanzo, angrily, towering over Cap when he sits up. \u201cAlways Laura Ingalls, Laura Ingalls. What is it with you, anyhow? What do you mean by it?\u201d<br \/><br \/>Cap doesn\u2019t answer, just throws an arm over his eyes.<br \/><br \/>\u201cIt\u2019s bright out,\u201d he says. \u201cDefinitely spring.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cGod hates a coward,\u201d Almanzo tells him.<br \/><br \/>\u201cHe does,\u201d says Cap, \u201cbut it\u2019s always hard, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cWhat is?\u201d asks Almanzo.<br \/><br \/>\u201cWeaning a foal, Wilder,\u201d says Cap. \u201cIt\u2019s hard for everyone.\u201d<br \/><br \/>And he slides his arm off his face, narrowing his eyes against the sun. When he smiles, the full heat of it is meant for Almanzo, and that\u2019s when Almanzo knows that it\u2019s the last time. He thinks of the dimples in Laura\u2019s seamstress hands -- what a ring would look like nestled into the grooves of her fingers -- and he wants to scream.<br \/><br \/><br \/><br \/><center>+<\/center><br \/><br \/><br \/>Once, on the precipice of the Hard Winter, Cap Garland stood in the frosted fields and tilted his head up toward the sky. Above him, all the geese in Dakota were flying south, leaving the ponds barren. Cap shaded his eyes to watch them pass.<br \/><br \/><i>If only we were all so brave,<\/i> he thought. <i>If only we could all flee from perishing things with the courage to never look back.<\/i>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:9127","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/9127.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=9127"}}],"title":"Why can't everything be this length","published":"2011-02-09T12:36:59Z","updated":"2011-02-09T13:15:41Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"fics that will never be written"}},"content":"<b>Snippets from fics that will never be written, part 5:<\/b><br \/><br \/><blockquote>Tucked into the heart of this city is a restaurant.<br \/><br \/>The awning hangs low over the sidewalk, the single slit of a window. The brick walls are welcoming and the light glows warm, but it\u2019s too small and too quiet to draw any attention, lost in the maze of alleys as it is. The door is painted red, a palm-sized sign at eye level.<br \/><br \/><i>Sehnsucht,<\/i> it says.<br \/><br \/>Inside, Arthur turns from the stove, gripping the edges of a bowl with a dry dishrag.<br \/><br \/>\u201cCareful, Ariadne,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s hot.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Ariadne looks up from her textbook, pushes it aside to make room for the bowl. She leans in closer on her bar stool. The tiny room is already sweet with the smell of chowder, thick and creamy, but she inches her nose over the bowl anyway, and breathes in.<br \/><br \/>\u201cGod, yes,\u201d she says, fervent. \u201cThank you, Arthur. I just-- I really needed this.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cMy pleasure,\u201d says Arthur. He hands her a spoon. \u201cI hope you enjoy it as much as last time.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cI know I will, it smells just as good,\u201d she says. \u201cExactly the way it should be, heavy on the potatoes. I can taste that hint of bacon already-- you\u2019re a godsend, Arthur, honestly. I don\u2019t know how I would have made it through school if Dana hadn\u2019t told me about this place.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cHow is Dana doing?\u201d asks Arthur, wiping his hands, resting his elbows on the counter.<br \/><br \/>\u201cMuch better without that asshole in her life,\u201d says Ariadne. \u201cYou know, she still talks about it sometimes, that first time she came in here still raw from the break-up and you made her hiyayakko. When she came back to the room that evening, she said that your hiyayakko, it tasted like-- sorry, I can\u2019t wait for this to cool, it smells too good--\u201d<br \/><br \/>She stirs her spoon in the steaming clam chowder, and mouths the coating of soup. She closes her eyes, sagging a little in her seat, letting the taste fill her.<br \/><br \/>\u201cJust like home,\u201d she says. \u201cThat\u2019s what Dana said.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cI\u2019m glad,\u201d says Arthur, and his lips soften into a smile. \u201cI remember you cried quite a bit, the first time you were here.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cI feel like crying right now,\u201d says Ariadne. \u201cI don\u2019t know how you do it-- it tastes like every winter night I remember from home, when the sun would start to set before five and the boats would come in, and it was dark out already when the whole house began to smell like my mother\u2019s cooking. Like this chowder. Oh, no, I <i>am<\/i> going to cry.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cHey, it\u2019s okay,\u201d Arthur tells her, voice pitched to a conspiratory whisper. \u201cMost everyone does, in here.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cHow do you do it?\u201d she asks, sniffling. \u201cIs it magic?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou know,\u201d says Arthur, \u201cmaybe it is.\u201d<br \/><br \/>The bell on the inside of the door chimes, and they raise their eyes to see a man stumble in. There\u2019s a bruise on his cheek under the dust of stubble, and a rim of dried blood at his collar. He scratches at the back of his head, and the sleeve of his jacket flaps open, a long jagged cut down its length.<br \/><br \/>\u201cSorry,\u201d he says, \u201care you open?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cYes, but we don\u2019t serve drinks here,\u201d says Arthur. \u201cWe\u2019re a restaurant, despite what it looks like.\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cI know,\u201d says the stranger, British by the sound of him. He pulls up a stool at the far end of the bar.<br \/><br \/>\u201cWere you looking for something in specific?\u201d Arthur asks the man, arms crossed.<br \/><br \/>\u201cNo, I just heard,\u201d he says, rubbing at the crusted blood on his jaw, \u201cI heard you were in the business of comforting weary hearts.\u201d<br \/><br \/>Arthur quirks an eyebrow, at that. He taps his elbow thoughtfully, then wets a clean dishrag, wringing it out before handing it to the man.<br \/><br \/>\u201cYou can probably tell, but-- thank you,\u201d he says, dabbing at his chin, \u201cI\u2019m a long way from home right now.\u201d<br \/><br \/>He holds up a hand for Ariadne in greeting, and Ariadne nods, but curls a protective arm around her bowl of chowder just to be safe.<br \/><br \/>\u201cI have ale in the back,\u201d says Arthur. \u201cCare for a pint while you wait?\u201d<br \/><br \/>\u201cI thought you didn\u2019t-- yeah, alright,\u201d he says. \u201cThat\u2019ll be just the thing.\u201d<br \/><br \/><i>Oh, it will,<\/i> Ariadne thinks, as they watch Arthur disappear into the pantry. <i>You don\u2019t even know it yet.<\/i><\/blockquote><br \/><br \/>Grant Achatz of Alinea, the chef who couldn\u2019t taste, who welcomed each sensation back to his tongue as slowly as his hair grew back, on his creation \u201cPheasant with Shallot, Cider, Burning Oak Leaves\u201d: <i>This was one of our most popular bites that we ever served,<\/i> he says. <i>Not only is it visually beautiful and quite delicious, it takes you back home.<\/i> When it first appeared on the tasting menu, a room full of diners wept at the reminder. I think that\u2019s what food is."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:8791","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/8791.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=8791"}}],"title":"\"But in dog years I'm only three and a half\"","published":"2011-01-30T01:07:47Z","updated":"2011-01-30T01:08:59Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"big big bang bang"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"writing is a product of anxiety"}}],"content":"It feels like a cowardly sort of hit-and-run (though actually, is there any other sort of hit-and-run...) but now that my big bang is posted (I'm sorry about all the cross-posting), I'm going to go off on a mini family vacation! Just a couple days. It's because nobody in my family has anything to do or anyone to visit for the Lunar New Year, haha. XD <i>What is wrong with you, family?!<\/i><br \/><br \/>Anyway -- speaking of the big bang -- I just wanted to say that despite massive indications to the contrary, I do not work for the South Korean Board of Tourism flkdj;aj;rle;r It's just that I wasn't (and I'm still not!) used to writing anything very much over 5K, so I tried to ease myself into it by working with things I liked to read about. But then it just turned into a noisy rendition of THESE ARE SOME OF MY FAVORITE THINGS. It's like, Enjoy Seoul? Yeah! Enjoy Arthur getting fingered in the bathtub? Yeah! Enjoy Arthur getting mauled? SURE! Have half-baked fantasies about Gemini!Eames versus Cancer!Eames? MENTION IT! Love the default kerning for Cambria? USE IT FOR EVERYTHING! Oh my god.<br \/><br \/>I think that any fic, any story, is mostly about what the reader brings to it, more than anything planned beforehand. But to me as just one person, unimbued with anything as fallacious and weighty as authorial intention-- I think that maybe, this story is about the hope of having time and space enough. The happiness of knowing that all your wrong turns and missed exits are nothing important in the light of something larger-- that against the backdrop of years' worth of memories and new chances, all our stupidity is just a pinch of salt thrown into the ocean. The relief of knowing that we can turn to something bigger than we can comprehend.<br \/><br \/>Well, I should gradually finish packing, but I wanted to include this song in this post. It's called \"Puppy\", by The Black Skirts, one of the biggest Korean independent rock bands. Maybe it's that I just automatically jump at the mention of twenty-nine years of age in any song (\"Slow Show\") but you know how sometimes there are a jumble of songs and quotes and films that you draw from when you write something, borrowing atmosphere or motif or impact? I thought of this song a lot during the past few months, as you can tell by the lyrics.<br \/><br \/><center><iframe title=\"YouTube video player\" class=\"\" type=\"text\/html\" width=\"425\" height=\"349\" src=\"\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/hfmzS7-ANPY?wmode=opaque\" frameborder=\"0\" allowfullscreen=\"allowFullScreen\"><\/iframe><br \/><br \/>Time will stop at twenty-nine<br \/>Is what my friends told me<br \/>Oh, I know, but even when I was nineteen<br \/>I never wanted to turn twenty<br \/><br \/>This thing that wags when I'm glad to see you<br \/>I don't think that's my tail<br \/>Love is what starts down below<br \/>And makes its way up your spine<br \/><br \/><i>If your lights are blinking and you're running low<br \/>Come on get filled up<br \/>So you can drive away<br \/>With my love.<\/i><\/center>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:8110","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/8110.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=8110"}}],"title":"This post ends on a vaguely disgusting simile","published":"2011-01-19T00:45:27Z","updated":"2011-01-19T00:45:48Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"Unfortunately, most of my friends blame unsteady hands and get monthly memberships to nail salons instead of doing the job themselves-- so their nails always end up looking better than mine, but it also means that they are not very useful to geek out about polish with. Which is why I am extra excited when we talk about it on LJ! So here is a picture, I painted my nails :D<br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/00019rw0\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><\/center><br \/>This is one coat of Deborah Lippmann Boom Boom Pow over Sinful Colors Black on Black. Surprisingly enough, the Sinful Colors is one of the best solid blacks I've ever seen-- it's completely opaque in one medium-thickness coat! On the other hand, it is not surprising at all that the Deborah Lippman is TO DIE FOR. The picture doesn't show it very well, but there is so much micro-glitter that I think one coat is plenty, even two is a little too heavy for my taste. It is so pretty that I can't handle it *____* I got Boom Boom Pow because I like gold in the winter, but I really want some of the others from this collection as well, oh my god.<br \/><br \/>On a completely different note, through a series of lucky accidents, I have found myself in possession of an iPod Touch. If you have any sort of device that can download apps, then I hope for your sake that you're using the official Inception app-- or, as <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-P     \"  data-ljuser=\"just_a_boy\" lj:user=\"just_a_boy\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/just-a-boy.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/userinfo_v8.png?v=17080&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/just-a-boy.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>just_a_boy<\/b><\/a><\/span> said, THERE WILL BE TROUBLE BETWEEN US. It purportedly mixes in noises from your environment with music from the film, creating a ~brand new soundscape~ but really it is mostly useless and just very pretty to look at, haha. However, it is also utterly hilarious. There is the matter of the Travelling Dream, which you can't unlock on an iPod unless you have a magical wireless connection that travels with you in a moving vehicle, and then there are the awkwardly incorporated movie quotes (\"Listen how nothing in your dreamworld sounds how it normally does. Our dreams feel real while we're in them. It's only when we wake up that we realise something was actually strange\") but my <i>absolute favorite thing<\/i> about the app has to be this:<br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/00018ees\" loading=\"lazy\"><\/center><br \/>YOU NEED TO BE PHYSICALLY IN AFRICA IN ORDER TO BE ABLE TO UNLOCK THIS DREAM LD;NFLKEJK;RNKFEJLR; SERIOUSLY THOUGH APP, DO WE NEED TO HAVE A LITTLE TALK ABOUT UNREALISTIC EXPECTATIONS<br \/><br \/>Overall, real life has been pretty calm! I am spending most of my time just making and eating food. XD I keep meaning to write something, but it feels weird to really get down to it with the big bang posting looming so close. Kind of like trying to stuff something down a pipe that's already clogged. Well, there's no real hurry, is there?"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:7104","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/7104.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=7104"}}],"title":"Click and save a lost soul","published":"2011-01-13T01:43:32Z","updated":"2011-01-13T01:44:14Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"writing is a product of anxiety"}},"content":"Hi hello there! How are you!<br \/><br \/>I think I need some help. For two weeks I've been waffling back and forth on what to write. I mean, theoretically it should be as easy as just picking one and writing it, what is so difficult about that, but I keep thinking a little about one story and then moving onto another and then moving onto another, and I haven't written a word of anything yet. :(<br \/><br \/>One involves Arthur going down to limbo to fish Eames out, only they've ~broken up~ kind of recently and things are pretty tense between them ohohoho. One involves Mal, it is sort of a Mal genfic, about all the shit she has to put up with (this sounds like humor but it's not!). And one involves Arthur being hot for Eames's cock 24\/7 (this sounds like PWP and... it is.) I think eventually I will end up writing all of them, but I don't know what to concentrate on first!<br \/><br \/>While we are at polls and polling, I was also wondering about what to post on this journal, so it would be great if you could help me on that too. *___* And don't worry about choosing the \"don't post more\" option, it's not supposed to be the rude answer or anything, I mean some of you do have enormous friendslists and really don't need more entries clogging it up.<br \/><br \/>RADIO BUTTONS FOR ACTUAL RESULTS AHOY<br \/><br \/><div><a href=\"https:\/\/www.livejournal.com\/poll\/?id=1667386\">View Poll: This indecision's bugging me (esta indecisi\u00f3n me molesta)<\/a><\/div><br \/><br \/>HEY IS IT TIME TO PAINT MY NAILS, I THINK IT IS"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:6711","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/6711.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=6711"}}],"title":"As it falls away, you realize you have been fighting through years","published":"2011-01-01T03:10:48Z","updated":"2011-01-01T03:12:38Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"writing is a product of anxiety"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"Happy New Year, everyone! :D<br \/><br \/><b>1.<\/b> I've finally stopped traveling, and am now warmly and safely ensconced at home. 2011! It's not so weighty as 2010 nor anywhere near as neat, but it's the Year of the Rabbit and that does seem to mean something for us, Class of the Births of 1987. What have we become since twelve years ago-- do we like all the ways in which we've changed? I guess it being the end of the year (and having a lot of idle time to spend in transit) has made me reflective, or something like that. I've never really done new year's resolutions before, but this seems like as good a year to start as any.<br \/><br \/><b>2.<\/b> Here is something that my mother says to me very often: <i>You need to stop taking everything so personally. When I said \"There were well-dressed girls at the airport\", it didn't mean \"You look like crap right now and you will always look like crap\". (All right, let's be fair, you do look like crap right now but that's neither here nor there.) Where do you get that negativity from, anyway? It's your father. It's his blood. I'm not like that, you know-- I'm able to take things at face value, and besides which, all criticism is constructive to me. Would that you were more like me where it matters.<\/i><br \/><br \/><b>3.<\/b> The thing is, well, I have a bit of a complex about writing. I think it may be due to a few different reasons; standardized testing scores, certain comments about my stuff that have been made by people whose opinions I value, some things that happened at graduation, my parents' attitude toward my endeavors. My father's blood, reading hostility and disgust into the empty spaces between words.<br \/><br \/><b>4.<\/b> And maybe it really is about how we were raised, after all. Talking about yourself was something dirty, and being proud of yourself was a shameful indulgence. <i>You can't say that you're good at something unless you know that you're the absolute best.<\/i> Wasn't that terrible advice? All it ever got us in the end was a generation of children unable to fill out college applications without cringing; unable to boast of our own achievements, except in all the ways that didn't count (I still make a mean plate of scrambled eggs; I still consider myself an excellent Minesweeper player).<br \/><br \/><b>5.<\/b> In December, I visited some of my old college professors. Here is something that one of them said: <i>Don't be a neurotic. It's neither amusing nor flattering, unless you are Woody Allen.<\/i> I asked, <i>But how do you stop obsessing?<\/i> and she said, <i>The same way we learn to let anything go; tell yourself, it's not so important, and believe it.<\/i> It's not so important if people dislike your writing (you can be a good writer, despite that). It's not so important if you're a bad writer (you can be a good person, despite that).<br \/><br \/><b>6.<\/b> Here is something else that she said: <i>The sinking nausea we feel when we think of our own writing isn't really because we suck. It's that we're afraid of not being able to become better.<\/i><br \/><br \/><b>7.<\/b> I am not a very likable person, especially when it comes to writing. I am too frustrated, too anxious, too afraid, too indecisive, too bitter, too snide, too selfish. I'm not the nice one, or the clever one, or the confident one. Too much my father's daughter, perhaps. But maybe -- this year -- I can at least try to be better in what ways that I can.<br \/><br \/><b>8.<\/b> This is my new year's resolution: I am going to be less weird about writing. Fandom writing, most of all. I am going to be less weird about things like gift fics and sequels and auctions and memes. I am going to be less of a neurotic, or at least, I am going to stop making other people put up with my own insecurities. 2011 is my year of rehabilitation!<br \/><br \/><b>9.<\/b> I WILL ALSO EAT MORE FRUITS AND VEGETABLES."},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:5779","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/5779.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=5779"}}],"title":"The Internet, so strange and new","published":"2010-12-01T05:57:48Z","updated":"2010-12-01T05:57:57Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}},"content":"Hello! :D How are you doing?<br \/><br \/>Since my last post... not much has happened, haha. I've managed to acquire a temporary laptop, but I've been pretty swamped with schoolwork. :( I've checked my friendslist a little bit and tried to keep up with comments, but fic reading (and writing) has been more or less impossible, unfortunately. It seems like the backlog is going to get even larger, because I'm leaving for a trip in a couple days! By the time I get back -- late December -- I will have two months' worth of fics to read, haha, that is simultaneously really amazing and also a bit terrifying. The trip is going to be fun, but you know, I'm also sad about all the fandom stuff I'll be missing.<br \/><br \/>Because I'll be away for so long, and because I've been waiting for December <i>forever,<\/i> this post kind of feels like something I'm making at the end of the year. So I just wanted to say thank you to you guys-- friendslist-- it doesn't matter if we don't share a fandom right now, you are still amazingly cool and I am so glad that I met you. Thank you so much for making this year wonderful. &hearts;<br \/><br \/><small>(Do I overuse ASCII hearts... possibly. I was scrolling through the front page of this journal and it was like HEARTS! HEARTS! HEARTS! ALL OVER THE PLACE!! flkej;af)<\/small><br \/><br \/>And thank you to everyone in Inception fandom-- thank you for making this fandom <i>exist.<\/i> We are so huge, I've never been so awed and intimidated by a fandom before, but-- I love that we are this large. I love that we are always discovering each other and getting to know each other. And I think it's also the fandom that I've learned the most in, about writing and interacting and enjoying. It's been a wild couple months, and I hope we can keep having fun together for a long time to come. :') Hey. Stay warm. (Southern Hemisphere, stay cool!)"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:5396","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/5396.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=5396"}}],"title":"WHAT","published":"2010-11-11T06:29:17Z","updated":"2011-03-03T06:24:09Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}},"content":"Ten minutes ago, I dropped my laptop!! ...So I... I think I am going to have to be on an... extra-intense hiatus, hahaha... Oh, god, I am sort of laughing because there is nothing else I can do at the moment, at least I am very lucky since there is a family computer and nothing too pressing has been lost (though I may be wrong on this point, watch me wake up in the middle of the night in a panic because I've just remembered something I haven't backed up XD)<br \/><br \/>But anyway, I hope you are doing well-- &hearts; I will be back sooner than later!"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:5282","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/5282.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=5282"}}],"title":"For a little bit","published":"2010-10-22T03:01:29Z","updated":"2010-10-22T03:01:36Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}},"content":"Hello! :D<br \/><br \/>This is a short post to say that because of academic woes, I think I will be going on a ~hiatus~, haha. It's temporary, of course, and I will still be <a href=\"http:\/\/www.formspring.me\/weatherfront\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\">over on Formspring<\/a>, posting backlogs on <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-C     \"  data-ljuser=\"tornadobelt\" lj:user=\"tornadobelt\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/tornadobelt.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/community.png?v=556&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/tornadobelt.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>tornadobelt<\/b><\/a><\/span>, and reading most everything, but... if it happens that I do not comment on your post, please remember that I STILL DO LOVE YOU ;___; &hearts; Oh, and also a hiatus on writing, that too, but hey.<br \/><br \/>It seems like the academic woe thing is going to be a <i>long<\/i> process, so I am really not sure when the hiatus is scheduled to end (definitely by the end of the year, but that seems like forever away!) -- but we will see! I am still here, only a little quieter.<br \/><br \/><small>(And if I've made commitments to you with regard to writing, please don't worry, those are totally separate from the hiatus and I will keep them!)<\/small><br \/><br \/><font size=\"5\"><b>[ETA] Most importantly though, <a href=\"http:\/\/www.southparkstudios.com\/full-episodes\/s14e10-insheeption\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\">here<\/a> is an episode of South Park you should watch immediately.<\/b><\/font><br \/><br \/>Here is a relevantly cropped screencap to help you decide.<br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0000k4hb\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><\/center><br \/><br \/>THE ATTENTION TO DETAIL IS flela;fnlkejr; EAMES'S FLASH GOLD WRISTWATCH"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:4706","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/4706.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=4706"}}],"title":"Been waiting for this chill in the air","published":"2010-10-08T08:20:45Z","updated":"2010-10-08T08:22:56Z","category":[{"@attributes":{"term":"writing is a product of anxiety"}},{"@attributes":{"term":"the tag for everything else"}}],"content":"<b>1.<\/b> I stood very close to Zach Condon once. I wanted to ask him, <i>Zach, how does one become free?<\/i> because I knew that he had the answer. But I didn't ask, because I knew that he would gloat.<br \/><br \/><b>2.<\/b> Autumn is here and I've been waiting for it all year. Blazers, tights, wool, scarves, cool-weather accessories, cool-weather nail polish, cool-weather foods! I am so happy. *____* I got out my autumn-winter bag and stuffed the spring-summer one back into my closet, and then I painted my nails. I didn't have time for any nail art or gradations of color, but it still felt awesome!<br \/><br \/><center><img src=\"https:\/\/pics.livejournal.com\/weatherfront\/pic\/0000h2cp\" fetchpriority=\"high\"><\/center><br \/><br \/>I call this GREIGE LIKE IT'S 2009. XD It is hard to tell what colors they are (especially because cameras seem to switch colors around from one picture to the next, what is with that!) but they are OPI You Don't Know Jacques and Orly Country Club Khaki. My fingers kind of look like <i>tree roots<\/i> in the picture on the left, oh, god, hahaha.<br \/><br \/><b>3.<\/b> I have never met a polyglot who-- wait, let's not offend the polyglots. I think probably, I have just met all the wrong ones. (Do you consider yourself a polyglot?)<br \/><br \/><b>4.<\/b> I started writing a post about Michael Caine's quote on the ending of Inception, and then I stopped writing to read it over, and I was mortified at how incredibly pretentious it sounded. It was very embarrassing. :( <small>But if you like talking about Todorov's theory of the five-stage narrative structure or Barthes's structuralist codes, please tell me things, I want to listen...!<\/small><br \/><br \/><b>5.<\/b> Here is the thing you've forgotten: nobody can be loved by everyone.<br \/><br \/><b>6.<\/b> Here is the thing you wish weren't true: nobody can be loved by everyone.<br \/><br \/><b>7.<\/b> The moment I was sold on Arthur\/Eames was when in Mombasa, Cobb sat down across the table from Eames, and the light lit the side of Eames's face as he said, \"Arthur?\" And in that instant I clenched my hands there in the theater and I thought, <i>I ship it.<\/i> So you see what the rest of the movie must have been like for me. (Like being <i>vindicated.<\/i>)<a name='cutid1-end'><\/a>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:4251","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/4251.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=4251"}}],"title":"Jaclyn Yuan is our new hero","published":"2010-09-11T12:16:42Z","updated":"2011-03-04T02:12:51Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"arthur stabs his salad"}},"content":"<a href=\"http:\/\/www.endearinglycreepy.com\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"nofollow\"><center>WWW.ENDEARINGLYCREEPY.COM<\/center><\/a><br \/><br \/>What you want to do is head on over to the \"store\" section and buy the hell out of that shirt that she made. You see that shirt? <i>You want it.<\/i> I know there are factors working against this, I know you are trying to save up some money for once, I know that AA shirts fit terribly, and of course if your finances are tight, the most important thing is for you to take care of yourself and your essentials!<br \/><br \/>However, if you do have $35 to spare, you should buy it buy it and buy it, because Jaclyn Yuan deserves to have your money. And we deserve to have a fandom secret handshake. Look at that design! She got turned down by, like, a thousand printers, and that makes sense, because look at that detail! That is not a level of detail created by someone who lacks love!<br \/><br \/>I think that maybe I am going to eat cereal for the next month or so.<br \/><br \/>Think of strolling down the street, seeing someone wearing that shirt, and shouting, YOU'RE THE MOST FUN I'VE EVER HAD PHYSICALLY WITH MY CLOTHES ON! And then getting arrested! Or... then getting drunk with said person and ending up in a bloody fistfight over whether Arthur's last name is Darling or not! <i>It's everything you've ever wanted.<\/i><br \/><br \/><s>Maybe they'll talk about Earl with you.<\/s>"},{"id":"urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:weatherfront:3722","link":[{"@attributes":{"rel":"alternate","type":"text\/html","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/3722.html"}},{"@attributes":{"rel":"self","type":"text\/xml","href":"https:\/\/weatherfront.livejournal.com\/data\/atom\/?itemid=3722"}}],"title":"A side note","published":"2010-09-10T02:36:33Z","updated":"2010-09-10T02:37:04Z","category":{"@attributes":{"term":"writing is a product of anxiety"}},"content":"Writing is always so closely tied to anxiety, I think. What comes before the writing, what happens during the writing, and what's left after the writing is done-- I feel like all of it is about anxiety! So whenever I considered making a writing journal or a masterlist or anything of that sort, I've always come up with too many cons that seemed to outweigh the pros, because the anxiety of change was too much to wade through.<br \/><br \/>But then I realized that a lot of the cons were just selfish concerns masquerading under the guise of something pretending to be more noble. I was wondering, <i>Wouldn't making a journal seem like I thought highly enough of my stuff to put it somewhere separate, wouldn't it be like presuming that there is an audience that wants to see it,<\/i> but-- really, I think what it boils down to is-- worrying about whether something is an ego trip or not is the biggest ego trip in and of itself. Where you're constantly considering yourself, contemplating yourself, in the light of your own gaze and in the gazes of others, always asking what it means to be yourself, yourself, yourself. And I think what really humble people do, what all of you do, is the right thing; to just quietly make something, a list, a journal, to post things there, and to not cause a dramatic scene about it all.<br \/><br \/>So in the end, I had to tell myself, <i>This is not about you or your agony!<\/i> Because it really isn't. It's just a journal like the million other journals on LJ. And I think that if it makes life more convenient for one single person, if one single person spends a couple minutes being diverted from their boredom, then that's pro enough to outweigh the self-obsessed cons I've been coming up with all this while. It's at <span  class=\"ljuser  i-ljuser  i-ljuser-type-C     \"  data-ljuser=\"tornadobelt\" lj:user=\"tornadobelt\" ><a href=\"https:\/\/tornadobelt.livejournal.com\/profile\/\"  target=\"_self\"  class=\"i-ljuser-profile\" ><img  class=\"i-ljuser-userhead\"  src=\"https:\/\/l-stat.livejournal.net\/img\/community.png?v=556&v=915\" \/><\/a><a href=\"https:\/\/tornadobelt.livejournal.com\/\" class=\"i-ljuser-username\"   target=\"_self\"   ><b>tornadobelt<\/b><\/a><\/span>-- it's a community, not a journal, really, haha. But communities are easier to post to, aren't they!<br \/><br \/>This journal will still be exactly what it was before. I know that the posts are largely uninteresting and not a lick better than the stuff that will get gradually posted on the other one-- and if you would like to defriend this one because the fics will be on the other one, then please don't hesitate or worry about it at all! I feel like using the word \"friend\" for LJ always makes it seem like such an emotional thing to add and remove users from your list, but it doesn't have to be, does it? Seriously, even though you are always free to \"defriend\" me on any day, this is a good impetus for it! I know that it doesn't mean that you hate every fiber of my being! Or-- even if you do, that defriending isn't necessarily the way you choose to show it, haha.<br \/><br \/>I think it is difficult to be constant."}]}