We’re a team, Mac. You don’t go committing a crime without your partner in crime. Besides, if I’d been with you, we probably wouldn’t have been caught. I could have stood at the door and made wild bird sounds or something when the cops came back. And if we did get caught, our mug shots would look fabulous.
Haven Archives: Diary entries from Humphrey Crocker, 1605.
April 10, 1605
Easter luncheon today at church was a strange affair. I thought the biscuits
dry, but palpable with enough butter, others no. Beverly Barnes and Elliot
Merkle choked on theirs, and were hacking away with a ferocious cough. Poor manners
I was mistaken to think. But soon I realised that what I thought to be crumbs
were, in truth, clods of earth. Pebbles and rocks, and even a fleck of Fool’s
Gold I thought I spied were heaved from their chests, they couldn’t draw breath
without expelling a clod of dirt. The banquet table buckled under the muck’s
weight, and all the Easter finery became muted to shades of brown. When the
affliction spread to those nearby, from the windows to the garden was seen to
be blocked with piles of earth. I excused myself to find the source
responsible, I tore my trousers as I climbed onto the roof, for all doors were
barricaded. From my perch I saw a widow standing beneath the apple tree, just
at the edge of the cemetery. At her foot was a grave marker, freshly carved for
her husband. She spoke of him, and her conflicted desire to be reunited with
him in Heaven, yet her fear of being trapped underground. No words of mine
could console her rather, made it worse, and as she was elderly and would like
succumb to disease in the winter, I silenced her fears and then went and
unburied my friends.
June 18, 1605
Lord, pardon my sins. Little David Williams, nephew to Solomon
Williams of the Williams Apothecary, was today received into Heaven. Let me
remember with grief the hand I played in his death. It had been a week past the
child had accepted Christ into his heart. Never had I seen the light of God
shine so bright through eyes beneath a brow still wet from the service. His
knees became bruised from hours spent in supplication, and his prayers, once
sung in a child’s rhyme, became impassioned. Things began to happen as
consequence to his pleas, some were joyous, his sister, crippled since birth,
was found dancing in the garden, withered crops were revived with an unseasonal
shower. Other occurrences were malign, I do not wish to put in words the
horrible fate of the disfavoured schoolmaster, and hope to forget the piercing
cries of the jailed men in the pillory as it burned to the ground in fire
summoned from Hell. Am I always to be the grand enemy of goodness? The coffin,
I was distressed to see, could be lifted by Solomon alone. Thy blessing be upon
me. For my hand, I desire to loath and abhor myself.
August 25, 1605
There were two brothers met today at the fair that had been
at difference for months. The source for their discord I did not enquire, but
doubt not the anger with which they fought. We were readying ourselves to drag them away
from the gathering, for the children appeared frightened, but a young woman,
whom I recognised to be the half-breed daughter of a townsman and an Indian
woman, approached them with extended hand. Had I no experience with Worriments,
I would have been like to suspect some Indian witchery at play, for the two
men, who had disputed with such passion a moment before, embraced. All day I
followed this woman around the fair and watched as her touch settled arguments,
calmed crying babes and soothed harried mothers. In her wake she left a sea of
calm, but when I caught a look in close proximity as she took cider at the
Morris’ tent I saw her hands clenched tight around the flask, knuckles white,
shaking. A kind word I spoke to her, and she very near threw the flask still
full of cider in her anger at being disturbed. I thought it best to leave her
alone, so I took up with Friend Paulson at the gaming tents. I blame myself
for the spilled blood. The music and festivities in the fair took my mind from
my duty, and it is with a heavy heart that I record the death of two children,
slaughtered at the hand of a mad woman who had taken into herself so much anger
she knew not how to restrain it. The fair was ended and the prizes for cattle
remain unrewarded, for none felt in a festive mood. I write this now from the
Morris’ tent, for they have given me as much cider as my thirst could demand.
October 19, 1605
Trouble today at Friend Paulson’s farm. John, a weedy man on
year three of indentured service, wore through his woollen coat, I doubt the
rag had ever seen a wash. The jackanapes had no hesitation in preeing the cloak
of Friend Paulson, would he let his master freeze? The clothes make the man, and
that I have seen to be truth. In Friend Paulson’s good coat, John took it to
think that it were he should give the orders, that he should dine in the house,
that he should bed Friend Paulson’s wife. To see that toad so larded in such
finery, and believing himself to be master of Paulson’s fine estate would be
comical, were it not poisonous. It was next the bawdy washerwoman who claimed
to be Friend Paulson, then it was the cook, who once had served me a most
atrocious stew, who wanted to be served at the head of the table. When I
arrived at Friend Paulson’s, there were no less than ten servants who claimed
to welcome me to “their” home, John was still the most adamant, wrapped in that
coat, and would not leave. He did not recognise reason, and when he removed “his”
weapon from the mantle to chase me off of “his” property, well, I regret not my
actions to return Friend Paulson as rightful master.
Has anyone else ever been surfing through someone else’s blog and they have all sorts of neat stuff that you’re all about, so you keep on scrolling down only to realize that they have endless scrolling turned on so that after a while your computer can’t handle it anymore? Videos stop loading, gifs slow to a crawl, it won’t let you like or reblog anything anymore, and just scrolling by itself becomes jittery and spastic or freezes all together?
It’s like your computer is trying to gently let you know you’re digging too deep and kinda being a creep.
Shepard missed Liara. It didn’t matter that she could hear the Shadow Broker’s soft footfalls following behind her as they crept through the Mars archives, or that she could glance over her shoulder any time and stare right into the asari’s crystal blue eyes. Shepard missed the soft, shy woman whom she’d met at a different Prothean archive years ago, whose eyes had shone whenever she was presented with a new artifact or vision, who rambled on and on about whatever she was currently studying in that hushed, lilting voice of hers then blushed violet when Shepard smiled at her enthusiasm. The Liara who had first confessed her attraction to Shepard like a teenage schoolgirl, wringing her hands and staring at the floor, who had taken the death of her only known parent with the grace that Shepard could only imagine belonged to a queen, the Liara whose kisses felt like butterflies fluttering over Shepard’s skin. The Liara she’d known back when everything was simple, everything was good, when they both believed nothing could ever come between them.
I just got around to checking the last modified date for the Emmys url for the HLV script, and:
So that line spoiling the whole secret sister reveal really has been sitting there as is online LITERALLY FOR YEARS.
It does look though like the script has successfully stayed under the radar from civilians until we found it a few days ago though - wayback only archived it for the first time on the 2nd.
But I still don’t get why they would publish for anybody’s eyes at all that particular version of the script years before that ‘big reveal’ if it really were ‘the’ big spoiler about where the show is ultimately headed.
IMDB is closing the message boards. Prepare for a lot more asks, your blog has been mentioned as an alternative ;)
That’s a shame. I went through a period of mourning when the TWoP (Television Without Pity, for those unfamiliar with the acronym, was a thriving website that had message boards and hilarious recaps for all kinds of shows and I looked forward to their S2-3 recaps every week) boards closed a few years ago (though luckily the archives survive – can anyone try to find me among the Homeland boards?)… and then I found Tumblr.