“I Was Apprentice To The Most Powerful Being In The Galaxy Once. I Was Destined To Become… So Much

Looking For an Illustration Artist

Searching for a bright eyed, sharp witted illustration artist who is willing to flex their creative abilities in an exciting opportunity for collaborative works.

Aim: To design 4 - 8 simple, black and white line art illustrations for a small range of published fan fiction short stories. (Mixed genres include film and TV series such as Joker (2019), The Witcher (2019), John Wick Series ect)

Design: Preferring artists inclined toward dark fantasy, vintage and/or horror with long sharp gothic style lines. Styles such as Brett Helquist, Iren Horrors, Paul Kidby, Gerald Brom <--- As inspirational sources, similarities not required.

Commission: Artists may be interested in using this opportunity to hone their skills and imagination by producing works as a creative exercise. Payment for work may be rendered in exchange for a short story to be produced of their choice, a range of arts and crafts including custom paper flowers, miniature charms, digital graphic design, custom icons, layouts, wallpapers ect. Otherwise funds can be exchanged via Ko-Fi or PayPal.

This advert is open to any and all artists regardless of your choice in medium. If you are interested and would like to know more, please contact me directly via the Ask link and provide a simple illustration with your introduction message. My Inbox is ALWAYS OPEN!  I look forward to working with you!

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Remember. Your. Roots.

It wasn’t just a puppy.

Christov stood rooted to the doorway as the young woman, he realized, his romantic rival past him. Taking the tender pup with her in her protective embrace. At a minimum he was delighted to see for himself that she had taken so intimately to the little dog in the few hours that they had been together. That was a relief. He'd worried that perhaps, in her delicate condition she might have thought to reject this responsibility, forcing them to return the baby dog  to its original owners. They would not have been pleased. Over the phone Hector had talked a good game to secure the pup from the breeders. Christov had stayed behind to shop for puppy goods with Ares whilst Tino and Hector had dressed in casual clothes and their most disarming smiles. Looking every bit the gushing puppy fanboys. The breeders weren't comfortable with Hector's tattoos until he got down on his knees and began to effortlessly love the bitch and sire whilst Tino almost wept at the beauty of each baby dog, also on his knees, allowing the pups to nip and tug at his clothes and hair. The breeders finally relented, formally signing baby Cerberus' birth and registration papers over to the young men with a strict list of care requirements and veterinary contacts. They were paid in cash and sent the boys away with the new baby dog after a tearful goodbye to the other dogs. They swore on their lives and mother's that the puppy would forever be a king in their home.

It wasn't until the owners looked to their transaction receipts that they saw the name whom the dog had been signed to and paled. 

'D'Antonio.'

Their concerns were obliterated. They were not about to refuse the sale of a dog to the Camorra. They crossed themselves and shut the door.

Even so, Christov stung under the burn of rejection. Handsome, well mannered and educated as he was, he had come from a relatively privileged upper middle class French/Italian family and was not accustomed to being stood down by women. As the eldest of three sons, he had been taught to love, cherish and respect women, for they were the bringers of life and completion. A man's ultimate pleasure. He'd not fully comprehended the depth of that statement until at last he had struck his 13th year and suddenly girls had become very interesting indeed. He'd always regretted that his first kiss had been stolen by a cheeky boy. His playground rival and neighborhood enemy that he would later go on to fight with over the affections of a pretty girl that lived down the lane. 

This memory was somewhat implanted deeply into his psyche and seemed to govern much of his ideologies on the affections of young ladies whom he kept as casual mistresses and returning companions to fulfill his carnal urges and then politely call the next cab home for. A mechanism he engineered to stop the pain of rejection that seemed to constantly plague him when it came to matters of love. This morning had been no different and affirmed that his reasoning was sound. Forming deep romantic ties with a lover in this line of work was a painful mistake. He preferred the tattoo needle to his most sensitive nerves than the slap and sting of agony that he was forced to negotiate through right now. 

"Lali, please... Wait up! Let me come with you at least?" He jogged after the dancer whom had made her way on rapid footfalls across the mosaic tile landing and was beginning her decent of the stairs. He realized in the peripheral of his heart that chasing the girl and whimpering like a kicked dog at her rejection was making him appear oppressive, needy and clingy. Qualities that no lady found particularly charming or fashionable anywhere in the world. And his profession with the Camorra had certainly seen him to be well traveled. 

Regardless he persisted, hating himself a little. His dignity compromised and his heart aching. It only occurred to him then, that for his failure to comply with rules he had been dumped by two potential lovers each within hours of each other. What's more, he was powerless to put them behind his wheels because they were domestic and professional family. He realized then, as Lalienna refused to look at him, just how fucked he really was after all. A whip of anxiety began to strangle-hold the lungs in his very chest. The tension built, flooding his veins. He needed to do something that would stop him feeling so dejected and neglect the press of tears he was determined to deny. He had his pride after all and he would not allow the dancer to see him come apart over what he reasoned was a casual affair. She was not equal to the task of his self indulgent whining and he refused to give it to her. After all, the young woman had just made a shattering revelation when she agreed to abort her unborn child. He would push past his pain and jealousy and attend his number one duty first even if it irritated her. He would follow at her heel and protect. That was his natural born calling and he fell to it with pure muscle memory. 

"Hey, look I get it, okay? You've got every right to be pissed the off at me right now. I admit it. I fucked up. I didn't even think about what I was doing. I was just angry at him. Retaliating you know. He's not into me that way, he never fucking was and I asked him for sure. He told me, point blank. No. There's no compromise between us Lali, serious. Jesus, could you just stop for a sec? C'mon!" The dancer wasn't interested in listening. And the more he talked the more he realized he was starting to sound less like a daddy and more like a pathetic boy. She crossed the flights of stairs on decidedly rapid footfalls with the little pup in arms. At her approach to the garden doors, one of the maids, with her basket of fresh laundry, stood to the side and let the new house mistress pass, bowing her head in quiet reverence to the couple whom she heard the tattooed master speak briskly. Unfortunately the maid did not comprehend English so what was being said escaped her. She did catch a glance of the new puppy however and her young heart leapt in joy! Alas, the mistress did not appear happy so she thought it best to refrain from fraternizing and instead return to the laundry with her clean washing to begin her ironing.

Outside the Roman Autumn was magnificent. The air was crisp, clean and fresh. The sunlight shone a radiant warmth across the gardens that caught its fingers along the colour changing trees. The scent of Jasmine and Magnolia hung in the air an alluring perfume and the massive stone fountain with its tiered classical bowls was playing bird bath to a dozen doves that splashed happily in its waters, refreshing their feathers after their morning flights. Their cooing and flapping seemed to have caught Cerberus' attention, for he wiggled happily in his lady human's arms, waggling his little cropped tail offering the doves a tender series of gentle barks in greeting, hoping his mami would put him down to play with them. They were fun to chase!

Even so, Lalienna refused to make even a token gesture at acknowledging Christov who was feeling himself very displaced and rejected. He tried again at conversation, amazed that he was managing to keep the cracks out of his voice.

"You're right, I am an asshole. I didn't touch any of the shit they were snorting last night and I wasn't even drunk and I still picked a fight with the boss over you. He doesn't fuck around either, Lienna... Sure, he argues with us plenty but he's no push over. He's been as military trained as we are. I've seen him lay the smack down on Hector's ass more than once. He's given me a few good blows to the jaw just because I got mouthy at him. And trust me, if you think he's gonna treat you with kid gloves just because you're his lady, you got another thing comin'. Sure, he doesn't get so rough with the ladies but that doesn't mean what he'll do to you if you piss him off won't be worse. I can only protect you while you're in front of me, babe. When he has you alone, you're gonna need to handle yourself. So good luck. 'Cos I've watched his ass evolve over the past six years and I'm telling you, the boss is into some dark shit in bed. You're new the scene babe, but I know he gets filthy with girls. If he gave you a safeword, you'd better know how to use it. We've pulled bleeding flowers out of his hands before. He's not afraid to get into that shit if you'll let him."

What was he doing here? Saying these things? Was he trying to make a point? Make himself appear a dark knight by feeding the young woman information that he was already certain she knew at least a fraction of? Every time the breeze caught her hair, that scar on her neck was visible. He'd ask his boss if there was a way to organize for her to have that shit removed. Marking a woman with your initial was barbaric. Over an indiscretion? Really? What would Tino do to her if he found out she had visited his bed more than once. What would Tino do to him?

He didn't want to think about it.

So he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes noting he was on his third last one and would need to pick up another pack or bum a few from Tony later. He lit up and took to the nearest timber bench to watch over the pretty blonde girl and her puppy as the sunlight shone through her hair. He couldn't believe it. She was so angelic. Just standing there in the sun with the beauty of the garden surrounding her. The fountain at her back the puppy in her arms.  He put his head down and focused on his boots. The rips in his dark denim jeans. The burn of the smoke as it caressed his mouth and soothed his throat before he exhaled. He wasn't going to cry over this. He wasn't. He wasn't going to cry. Fuck. He was gonna cry. Wasn't he?

Nope. Not today amigo. Not in front of a girl. Rule number one. Never let a woman see you cry. It made you look weak. Girls didn't respect weakness. They only kissed the boys in the playground that could protect them against bullies. So he worked out, tripled his protein intake, bulked muscle, covered himself in imposing tattoos, dressed sharp, talked a hot game and pretended he was a classy motherfucker. When in truth he was just a kid pretending to be a German Shepherd. He liked being treated like an attack dog. He liked pretending he was hers. But now he was unwanted. His boss didn't want him and his lady didn't want him either.

This juice wasn't worth the squeeze.

So he got pissed off instead and changed gears.

"Hey... Lienna, you listening to me?" She flipped him off. Bitch. He sucked down a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose, like a dragon.

"Hey!" He snapped. Showing his teeth. "Show me a little respect, eh? I'm willing to get smacked around because of you. The least you can do is show me some fuckin' courtesy and look at my face when I'm talkin' to you, lady. Damn! Didn't those White Women teach you any manners?" Oooh dear, he shouldn't have gone that far. He was pissed off, he didn't care.

"'Cos I met your mom babe, Judeth. Yeah, she's a real lady. And I don't think she'd be too impressed if she saw her daughter acting this way to her employer's colleagues. And another thing," He got up and crossed the garden to stand beside her.

"Apologies and forgiveness ain't worth shit if you spit it out just because you think that's what the other person wants to hear. They don't. I don't. I want you real. Always real. As real as you get when you're praying to God while I'm eating your pussy. That's the kind of real I expect from you. Even when you're in the right and I'm in the wrong and I'm asking for forgiveness because I had the balls to front and tell you I fucked up. So we're done here. 'Kay? Done. I'm gonna cut you slack because what you're going through right now, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy but don't think for a minute than I'm not hurting for you, because I am. And I'm sorry for kissing your boyfriend last night. He told me, you thought he came to fuck me. Ha! No way man! Not in my wildest dreams and I had a few. Pfft, whatever. I'm done being your dog for today. You're a big girl, you can handle yourself. You sure as fuck pussy whipped the boss. I'm out. You need me, baby girl, you know where the find me. I'm the third bedroom on the left of the forth floor. Follow the music. And take care of that baby dog too. He's into you almost as much as I am."

Pissed off, he turned on his heel, spat at the ground and stalked away, crushing his cigarette against the stone goddess as he passed and taking the butt with him. He wasn't into littering in his own house.

He knew what he wanted now. If she came back to their wager, and he'd show her that video. He'd tie her down to a chair first. Let her feel the taste of velvet rope about her wrists. He'd fix a spreader bar to her ankles and watch her drip as he'd pull off her lace with his teeth and deny her the touch to her throbbing womanhood that he'd know she'd need. Complete sensory denial. That would fuck her over. Nothing torments a woman more than denied orgasm compounded by furious sexual stimulation. He'd snap that book out of her grasp too and read to her the most intensely erotic passages. He'd make her watch while he stroked himself and tasted his own cum leaving her crying in denial. When she finally broke down and admitted he'd won and begged for release both from her bonds and her need for climax, he'd charge her for it. Four hundred gold coins. That was top class money for a male escort in the underworld. Just to sell your soul with him for one night.

God he was a cunt. Why was he so possessed of this idea? Jesus, she'd just lost a baby and he hadn't even asked her about it yet. She wasn't in the mood. It didn't matter. He made his way across the garden path leaving the beauty of the Roman afternoon behind. Maids rushed out of his way. He pinched one on the ass. Cheeky. The girl yelped and blushed furiously dropping her eyes to his predatory smirk. Marcus met him on his way down to the garage, pulling on a dark blue t-shirt over his head and brushing out his hair with his fingers.

"Hey bro, wanna take the Ducati for a ride?"

"Yeah buddy, let's go hit up the Lombardi's, see if they got any work for us." Christov murmured, dropping his cigarette butt into the ashtray upon the work table before stalking over to the sleek and ruinously expensive Italian sports bike in candy-apple red. He mounted it with a purr. Mmh, it felt good to have this much power between his legs. Marcus took one look at his friend and colleague, mounted on that motorbike and looking stung. He knew instantly that something was wrong. And he guessed at what it was.

"Rough morning bro?"

"Dumped. Twice." Was all Christov offered as he thumbed the keyfob in his pocket that rolled out the mechanical garage doors, opening to the steep drive way and the Roman streets below.

Beside him Marcus put on his leather jacket and handed his friend his cycle helmet without a word before also mounting his own monstrous black bike. The roar of Italian engines exploded to life. Both men revved their engines, getting high off the purr of precision sports engineering. Like great mechanical beasts. Steel horses. Guns, bullets and steel knives honed to dangerous edges rested in their travel cases fixed to the bike's rears. These boys were headed to the Lombardi's precinct. Even though they were on a week's vacation and business didn't have to be considered. They wanted to blow off a little steam. And if fucking up the Lombardi's ring was the way they were gonna get it, then so be it.

The garage doors closed behind them. Marcus and Christov took off down the winding Roman road.

|||

Back within the estate, Hector had was just drying off as he came out of the pool. He'd pulled on some sleek cotton pants in white and was wiping the last of the water from his hair as he followed the path around the manicured gardens past the stone angels toward the sound of a very excited puppy making its best attempts to sound imposing as it shouted at a flock of doves in the fountain bowls that were not going to give the little creature any attention. The sunlight sparkled off the young woman's hair. And her eyes through troubled were as beautiful as jewels. She was radiant to behold!  

"Lali! Ciao bella! How you doin' baby girl? Oh God! Look at him! He's gorgeous! Do you love him babe? You given him a name yet?" Hector called as he padded over on confident strides. His shoulder was still mending after the attack the young woman had bestowed upon him. But now, rather than feel the sting of irritation, he was proud for every time it ached. It mean that their latest guard, his Lalienna (for that is what he thought of her in private, as his little sister) had a very large set of balls that complimented Ares' skills extremely well. He made to kiss the young woman's forehead but earned a protective series of yelps from the puppy until he melted and gave the little dog his fingers to smell. The pup nipped him excitedly. Tiny little razor sharp teeth that made Hector cry out.

"Ow! Ow! Geez! Settle down, baby boy! It's okay! It's me! Uncle Hector! Remember? We picked your little butt up this morning, ha ha ha! Oh, there we go. You like me now, eh?" The puppy reverted to arfing at Hector with a wag of his tiny cropped tail, approving of the scent of the man that he now remembered was the first human outside of his family to lift him from his pack. That was alright then. He didn't mind this boy human. He was the one that smelled warm. A protector. Big and strong. That's what Cerberus wanted to grow up as. But for now, he'd chomp anything that came near his mami! He arfed happily. He wanted to play with the doves.

"Put him down a little babe, let him run around. The garden's are fully gated in solid steel. No gaps anywhere. There's nowhere for him to run out of. He'll be fine."

The sunlight caught Hector's wheat blonde hair and the muscle across his chest, playing off the tattoos on his skin as the droplets of water gathered down his chest. He was handsome in the way of a solider with a gentle heart was handsome. But he'd seen the trouble in the young woman's eyes. And he knew she was suffering. So he asked quietly flicking his eyes over his shoulders to make sure they were out of earshot of anyone that was important.

"Hey baby... Talk to me. How've you been keeping? Are you okay?"  

“Cerberus!” He loved it! The name rolled off his tongue with his Italian accent. He tried the name a few more times.

“Cerberus, Cerberus… Baby Cerbs… A baby… Oh Lali, congratulations Mami, amore mio, you’re the proud mother of a darling baby boy! I’m so happy for you amore! God… look at me, I’m crying!”

He couldn’t help himself. His eyes flooded as he looked at his prospective wife and their furry child. His heart was singing, and breaking… Fuck… Fuck… He wanted to get her a ring. He wanted to make it official.

Cool it.

Cool off.

It hasn’t even been three months yet. It had taken him four years before he finally proposed to Marissa. He wasn’t ready to rush something so important with Lalienna. But he was Italian, hot-blooded, impulsive, and she was holding a furry son. Loving him. He was praising himself. This had been his idea had’t it? Oh… yeah… No it wasn’t. It was Hector’s.  But it didn’t matter. He wanted to make her happy.

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Joker || Fracture

Readers Please Note: Joker || Fracture may contain spoilers for the film. Read at your own discretion.

|| FOUR ||

Three months, two weeks and four days.

Arthur had been keeping a log of the passing time in the staff sign-in book where he was taught to autograph his name and the date for every morning as he clocked in and every evening before clocking out. The theatre director, the enigmatic and somewhat eccentric Lauretta Styl proved to be a regimented woman who ran her staff both cast and crew strictly, but fairly.  With the exception of the performance personnel, theatre crew were worked on a two week rotating roster over a nine hour day. Staff began at either 7AM, 9AM or 11AM and worked through to 4PM, 6PM or 8PM respectively. They were afforded an hour’s lunch break, unpaid and two coffee breaks spaced evenly throughout their shifts ensuring the floors were never kept unmanned and always evenly staffed.

Arthur’s first fortnight in the theatre saw him on the 9AM shift and he was mindful to take an early bus into town to avoid being late. The weekend leading up his first Monday on duty found him to be a veritable ball of kinetic excitement. He could hardly sit still his anticipation was so great.  That evening after the interview, found him bolting home on jubilant footfalls. A new sense of purpose filled him. Opportunity did wonders for a man’s self-confidence. Divesting himself of keys and coat, he called for his mother who was reading in the warm lamplight of the living room. She fixed her son with a cursory glance and nodded approvingly. He furnished her with every detail he could recall, bustling into the kitchen, intent on cooking a celebratory dinner. He’d make pasta sauce from scratch tonight!

“This is why I named you, Happy.” Penny murmured fondly as she sat upon a stool at their kitchen counter drinking sweet, hot tea and watching her son chop onions and sing to himself contentedly.

“Are they going to pay your better at this new job?”

“I dunno, Ma. It’s not right to ask about money during the interview. I’m sure it’ll be okay. We’ve always gotten by before even when things were tight. You should see this place, Ma, really. They have these beautiful purple curtains and gold fittings on the ceilings. They’re so high! You’d strain your neck looking up. And the stage is beautiful. The lady who runs the place, Lauretta, she said one day I might be able to perform on it, with my comedy act.”

“You’ll have to write some better jokes then. Something funny.” Penny replied absently. A shockingly loud clatter jolted her abruptly upright. Her son dropped the cooking knife he was handling to the sink.

“Jesus, Happy, do you have to be so clumsy? And loud? And did you check the letter box on your way up? I’m waiting for a letter.”

“They are funny.” Arthur murmured indistinctly beneath his breath. His voice quiet and his gaze unfocused upon the middle-distance. His elation deflating as suddenly as it had swelled. Penny’s ears were sharp though.

“What?”

“I said no, Ma. There wasn’t any letters today. There never is.”

“Oh… Well, I’m going to watch some television for a while, leave you to cook in peace.”

He waited for a few moments. Listening to the shuffling slippered foot-falls of his mother as she groaned, rising from her seat and padding away.

Through the kitchen window and across the street, Arthur’s sight fell upon his neighbor’s drab, old brick building. His kitchen window regrettably afforded a view of the neighbor’s living room on occasion when the curtains weren’t drawn.

The tenants were never of any interest to him directly. There was something impolite about looking into their living room. For his sake as much as theirs he sought to avert his gaze or draw the kitchen curtains whilst he cooked.

What drew his attention on this night was their great ginger tom cat with white paws and striking yellow eyes. The animal wore a red collar with a tiny silver bell around its neck and perched regally atop the window sill, watching him. Seemingly never moving. He’d lept upon the peeling sill at some point during the conversation with his mother and proceeded to lick at his left paw watching Arthur with feline interest all the while. He wondered at the cat’s name.

Come Monday morning, Arthur made sure he was at the stage door early. Martha answered his knock and offered him a polite compliment over his neat attire for which he was grateful. He’d spent the night before agonizing over the state of his wardrobe, ensuring his shirt was ironed and his shoes were polished. He wished he had a better bag rather than his worn brown leather satchel. It would do however. He made certain he had copies of his resume and ID in his wallet. Money was tight this week, he’d have to eat when he got home. Just as well, he couldn’t stomach anything right now. He was far too nervous. 

“Pleased to have you, dear. Follow me to the break room. There are lockers were you can put your belongings and the coffee and tea is complimentary. You can help yourself before your shift starts. We take turns bringing in fresh milk. I’ll mark your name on the roster pinned to the fridge door. Mind you don’t forget it when it’s your turn hmm?” Martha began briskly as she lead Arthur around the box office, up a stair well, into a corridor and out into a large and airy breakout room with unfurnished windows that looked down into the bustling city below. The stage manager checked her watch and continued.

“Now, be mindful of the time. Laura’s called a meeting downstairs in front of the stage at 9am sharp. Take care you’re not late. She’s very particular about punctuality and famous for keeping us honest about it. I expect she’ll be wanting to introduce you to your crew mates formally and assign you some duties, you follow?”

Arthur nodded his head yes. He’d been listening intently as he followed Martha and her rapid footsteps to a row of tidy grey and white lockers that were set against the wall on the opposite end of the room. To Arthur’s surprise, number 11 had been assigned to him, his name written neatly upon a white label in black marker pressed upon the locker door. 

“This one’s for you, Arthur. You’ll need to bring your own padlock but I’ll loan you this one for today.” Said Martha producing a small mail lock and its key from her jacket pocket. Arthur took the lock in hand, nodding his thanks. Martha continued her preamble intently,

“Now, if you bring your lunch, make sure you label it clearly when you put it in the fridge, food will mysteriously disappear otherwise. And where possible, don’t keep clothes or shoes in your locker over the weekend. Take them home to be aired and laundered save you copping unwanted flack.” 

“Sure. I mean, of course, Mrs?”

“Martha, is perfectly alright, dear. You’ll find most staff will tolerate a first name. But be mindful, some of the actors are sensitive whilst performing or rehearsing. It’s best to keep out of their way. And for heaven’s sake don’t let yourself be caught near the women’s dressing rooms unless you’re expressly asked or you’ll catch hell for it, clear?”

“Crystal clear, Martha. Thank you. For everything, really.” Replied Arthur quietly. His gratitude welling in his eyes. He offered a docile, slightly lop-sided smile.

“Well, see if you make it through the first fortnight before giving me any thanks. Stage front in fifteen dear, yes? Ciao for now.”

And just so, Martha bustled away on a brisk footfalls, adjusting a pen in her tightly rolled bun, leaving Arthur to his own devices in the empty break room. A number of round timber tables and chairs waited quietly giving the room the impression of an unoccupied café.

With little left to do, Arthur set about putting his satchel away in his new locker, helping himself to some instant coffee and lighting up another cigarette to pass the time. Once the clock above the door read five to nine, he was quick to leave the large breakroom behind, retracting his steps downstairs until he came to the open theatre doors where a congregation of some fifteen people were standing at the foot of the stage.

Martha was among them, speaking hurriedly with Lauretta who seemed to acknowledge what was being said and taking notes on a clip board.

Oh, she was splendid today. Dressed in fitted, black high-waisted slacks and a peach blouse. Her sleeves rolled back and her hair gathered in a French braid. Around her stood an array of staff dressed in various states of uniformed workwear. Arthur gathered his wits and strode in what he hoped was a confident fashion to Lauretta’s shoulder.

She turned fixing him with a dazzling smile.

“And here he is. Alright, everyone!” The theatre director clapped her hands sharply, the crowd quieted and listened.

“For months now you’ve told me this production has taken a toll on each of you. I thank you for patience. As it stands, I’d like to introduce you all to our latest crew member, progressive comedian and practiced harlequin, formally of Ha Ha’s Entertainment, Mr. Arthur Fleck.”

All at once a dozen smiling faces broke into hoots and hollers. A round of applause was had and Arthur offered a heartfelt smile. A little shy beneath the heat of so much fresh attention.

“Hey, welcome aboard buddy!” Called a particularly sharp dressed young man. African American, lanky of limb and distinctly possessing the style of a pop-star.

“You’re gonna love it here. Hey, you wanna see your future? Look at that guy over there. That’s Greg, he’s what we all gotta look forward to lookin’ like, even the ladies, yeaooow!”  

This seemed to draw laughs from the gathering, even from the unfortunate Greg who was weighty, balding and sucking on a partially lit Cuban cigar. He waved off the sly remark with good humor.

“Enough from you Freddie, you’ll give Arthur the wrong impression.” Lauretta corrected playfully before continuing.

“Now, Arthur will join us as a stage hand over the next two weeks, shadowing Freddie and Fay respectively. I ask you all mind your manners and be patient whilst he learns the ropes. Stagecraft takes time to come into, but if we can work collaboratively we’ll find opening week to our musical runs a great deal smoother.”

The next twenty minutes were spent exchanging handshakes whilst Lauretta introduced Arthur to each of the theatre staff individually. Freddie was finally introduced as the theatre manager, holder of all the keys. Whilst Fay, a sharp eyed, pretty brunette advised she was the stage assistant and understudy to Martha.

“Together, we’re your ‘A’ team, my man.  Get ready, because we’re gonna work you to the bone.” Freddie began, shaking Arthur’s hand with a dazzling smile. Arthur could not help but feel this young man reminded him strongly of the pop star, Prince. He moved with musical grace and had a habit of adding a “yeeoow” to the end of his sentences when making a humorous quip.

“Don’t let him scare you off, Arthur, can we call you Art, or Artie? And what size shirt do you wear? We’ll have to work out some uniform shirts for you now that you’re part of the crew.” Fay announced, gesturing for Freddie to give them some space. Arthur could not help but smile radiantly. His other employers and colleagues were never so welcoming.

“Artie is fine,” He replied finally, “and I wear a medium dress shirt, if that helps any.”

Fay made a note in her log book signaling a thumbs up as Lauretta once again clapped sharply and drew the attention of her team. For the next few minutes she took feedback about the state of the up-coming production, making notes and giving a great deal many directions. Arthur stood by, smiling and noting how pretty her small drop pearl earrings were and the way the rest of the team seemed content if not a little stressed. She addressed each problem and complaint individually and earnestly. The team seemed at their ease around her. In time the crew dispersed to their individual tasks in groups of twos and threes.

“Freddie, I’m going to borrow Arthur a minute. I’ll send him backstage with you shortly.”

“You got it boss lady!” Freddie exclaimed, turning smoothly and strutting away in time with a melody in his head.

The theatre crew finally out of ear-shot, Lauretta turned to Arthur with her characteristic warm smile.

“So, how are we holding up, so far? All good?”

“Oh, yeah! I haven’t done anything for you yet. I’ll work very hard though.” Arthur replied sincerely.

“It’s not about working hard so much as it is about working smart. Relying on your team mates to support you and more than anything, not taking anything personally. You’ll see staff lose their temper more than once and sometimes it may appear directed toward you. It shouldn’t be. But if it is, remember, you’re in your rights to just shake it off and move onto the next task. We’re something of a family here, Arthur. Working a forty hour week means you’ll spend more time with us than you will your own flesh and blood. It’s important that you’re at your ease, even when you’re not. No matter what state you’re in or how busy we all look, I am here to listen to you.”

This sentiment seemed to bring some profound change to Arthur’s features. His smile slipped and his eyes began to sting. He looked away a moment, fumbling for his cigarettes as he whispered,

“Thank you. Really.”

“Of course.” She replied, reaching out her hand to caress his arm gently. Arthur’s smile returned, he lit up, breathed in deeply and exhaled sharply.

“Now, Arthur, I hope you don’t think this too forward of me, but, about your condition. I was giving it some thought over the weekend and I wanted to get your impression. Would you prefer I have a quiet word with the staff just to alert them or would you rather speak to them of your own accord during the breaks and such? What would make you most comfortable?”

Arthur coughed sharply, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Oh, please, I’m sorry, I hope you don’t think I’m being rude?” Lauretta continued, concerned she’d said something off-key.

“No, no, not at all. I just got on with my cards in the past. I prefer to not draw attention to it if that’s okay with you, ma’am?” Arthur responded quietly.

“Of course, by all means. I just thought, if everyone was on the same page from the get go, it would make it easier for you. If people know what to expect.” Arthur’s eyes seemed to harden as he nodded, taking another pull of his cigarette and blowing the smoke sharply out of the corner of his mouth. Lauretta couldn’t help but feel she’d somehow overstepped herself.

“We just want you to feel comfortable, that’s all. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to find me. I’m almost always upstairs in the office. Have a great day ahead Arthur, I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Thank you, Lauretta. I appreciate it.” Arthur returned.

“Laura’s fine.”

“Laura then.” Answered Arthur with a smile.

The remainder of the day seemed to fly. Arthur diligently shadowed Freddie with a myriad of tasks. He was given a new pen, note book and clip board where he scribbled a range of instructions as he was toured around the theatre. After morning coffee break, Fay rushed to find him before he left the break room with a new walkie-talkie and a microphone head set in hand.

“Here you go honey, you’re on channel eighteen with stage hands. Push this button to call all crew and flick this switch to mute your mic. Try keep radio noise to a minimum during rehearsals. Actors lose their shit when they’re in the zone.” She punctuated the last word by gesturing inverted commas into the air, earning a laugh from Arthur who stifled himself by coughing. He wasn’t about to risk an attack in front of everyone in on his first day. He’d control this. He had to. Instead he thanked her and clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt whilst Fay rushed off taking an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter on her way out.

The evening came too soon. Arthur’s head was swimming with instructions. He’d managed to make notes of his latest directions and did a great deal of shifting, pushing and carrying of stage equipment on Freddie’s direction. The two men seemed to get on well and Freddie showed a sincere interest in asking a great deal many questions about Arthur’s personal interests that he took great pleasure in answering. Arthur was relieved come the end of the day. He’d found a friend in Freddie and Fay and looked forward to telling his mother all about it.

Come six o’clock, Lauretta found her way to the break room where she shook hands with the staff preparing to leave for the day, wishing them all the best and thanking them for their hard work. The same courtesy was applied to Arthur whom she lingered near a moment, whilst he made to take his satchel from his locker.

“Thank you, Arthur, for all your hard work today. I know there’s an awful lot to take in so quickly but your crew mates have nothing but praise for you. I’m thankful to have you in our team.”

“I’m grateful to be given the chance, honestly. It’s been a pleasure today. Are my papers okay?” Arthur replied with a questioning smile.

“Yes, they’re well in order. You can expect to pick up your first pay-cheque from my office next week. Now, go home and get some rest. Let’s see you back on deck bright and early tomorrow. Fay will have arranged some new crew shirts for you by the time you arrive.”

This was his chance. Arthur stepped forward,

“Laura, before I go, could you hold this for me?” He produced from his pocket an oversized match box and handed it to the director. She took it slowly with some trepidation.

“Arthur, this is not one of those prank boxes where if I open it I’ll be hit in the face with something, will I?”

“Haha! No, nothing like that, open it, go on.” Arthur urged, his eyes shining intently.

“Uh, okay.” Deft slender fingers gently pushed the large matchbox open to reveal within its depths a tiny pink rose bud.

“Oh how pretty!” She exclaimed lifting the flower gently and holding it to the light. Arthur furrowed his brows and clicked his tongue in exaggerated annoyance.

“Tsk, that’s not right at all. These boxes can be so unpredictable. Are you sure there’s nothing else in there?”

Perplexed, Lauretta opened out the match box fully affirming to Arthur that it was indeed empty

“May I?” He asked gently, taking the little rose bud from the lady’s fingers and shutting it back into the confines of the match box.

“Now, maybe if you blow on it, like a birthday candle?” Enchanted, Lauretta played along taking the box back into her waiting hands and blowing against it gently.

“Now try.” Arthur prompted. Nodding, the theatre director slid the match box open for a second time gasping with childlike surprise when within, where the tiny rose bud once lay was her light blue handkerchief folded into a neat little square.  With a gasp she lifted the cloth free of the matchbox looking up with stunned joy. The little rose bud was nowhere to be seen.

“Arthur! That’s remarkable! What a charming trick!” She gasped exuberantly.

“I’m glad you like it.” He breathed, deeply relieved and gently taking the box from her hand.

“Really Arthur, give yourself a little time to settle into your new role, then we’re going to have to talk about organizing some sort of show time on the side for you. How does that sound?”

“Oh! Wonderful, truly! Thank you!” Arthur exclaimed brightly.  

He left work that day and took the bus home in high spirits. He may have had little to offer, but his determination to succeed was great. He was tired now. Tired from a day’s solid physical and mental labor. He hoped to shower and maybe eat something. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so hard to sleep tonight. He began to plan his next visit to Pogo’s that weekend on the bus ride home. He still wasn’t able to get a seat. But it didn’t matter so much now. He’d have a lot to tell his mother when he got home.

He’d made Lauretta smile.

Fracture 1 | Fracture 2 | Fracture 3

There’s no going back. Ever.

There are some places you go when you cannot rest.

When you lose the one you love.

They say your soul crosses over to the other side. What comes back is a shadow.

What comes back cannot be bought or sold. It cannot be burned or drowned.

But he came back for love. For vengeance.

And she gave him the last gold coin.

JW. Blood of The Raven King.

New Chapter Coming Sunday.

Two Thrones

“Wear a dress.” He told her.

She was hot and cold at once. The way he made her feel, with just the sound of his voice.

And she knew the time would come when they’d take it all from her. It’s not that she didn’t welcome the change. It’s that she feared the cost was more than she was prepared to pay.

Two Thrones reared to her left and right.

One held by the Prince of Rome, the other by the Knight of the Underworld.

How could she refuse them?

They’d cut her vein into a wine glass and watched her grow cold.

She could read between the lines with their fangs in her throat.

Nothing was at it seemed.

She put on her battle dress and prepared for war.

Dinner is Served

"No matter who comes...."

- John Wick - Various Artists