Escape:   the wedding plans

As the sun tried desperately to make an appearance outside, Claire dragged herself up the stairs to her flat after her shift. It was a busy night filled with drunken revelers from some rather overzealous Burns’ celebrations. Her entire evening consisted of cuts, scraps, and broken bones from fights.  She passed by Jamie’s flat, and continued upstairs.  

The night shift meant sleeping in her own bed, and then waking in time to get ready before Jamie got home from work.  They would eat and spend time together before she went in for the second of her back-to-back night shifts.  

She unlocked the door and dropped her bag to the floor, her mind focused on what she could eat before she fell into bed.    

She heard the crinkle of the paper before she saw it.  Looking down she noticed the large manila envelope she had stepped on.  Picking it up, she saw her name typed on the front. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.  No postage, no return address, nor any corporate logo.  

She set it down on the counter with a promise to look at it later.  

Fed, rested and showered, she’d forgotten all about the mail until she was ready to leave and head down to Jamie’s. She had her bag over her shoulder, her coat in her arms and made a mental note to grab an umbrella on the way out as the sky had turned ominous.  Going back in to grab her keys from the counter, the brown envelope caught her attention again.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, and ripped the flap using her key as a letter opener.  She balanced everything she was carrying and wrestled the thick batch of papers out of the envelope.  

It all fell to the floor when she realized what she was reading.  It couldn’t be

The impending storm finally hit and the sky opened up.  The thunder exploded overhead and let loose a torrent of rain.  She looked towards the window as the fat drops clanged off the fire escape and hammered the glass panes in an aggressive fury that echoed the pounding in her head.  Lightening cracked and split the sky as the pain of betrayal split her heart.

Gathering her wits about her like she did in the face of an emergency at the hospital Claire took deep breaths.  She prioritized.  She checked the time, put the papers back in the envelope and tucked it into her bag.  She put on her coat.  She locked up after herself.  

And in her despair, she forgot the umbrella.

“Aye, man, it will be good to see ye, too! Take care.”  Jamie hung up the phone from touching base with his friend John, a fellow whisky distiller.  They each had an entry in the International Whisky Competition and were making plans to get together for dinner at the event.  As he spun his chair around to hang up, he saw her in the doorway.

She was soaking wet.  Her curls were drenched into separate ringlets, the water pouring from each tip. Her eyes were unfocused.  Her face was pale and taut.  Her spine stood ramrod straight.  

Willie stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder at Jamie.  Jamie could tell by Willie’s expression that he had no idea what she was doing there, or what was wrong.

“Claire.”  He rose from his chair slowly.  “Claire, mo graidh.  What’s wrong?”

Claire flinched at the affectionate term.  In response she just reached into her bag and pulled out a manila envelope.  The top half of it was wet where the rain had dripped into her open bag. The bottom half was dry.  She held it out to him, hand shaking.  

She was scaring him. Claire’s usual glass face was gone, replaced by a mask. He couldn’t read her at all. That envelope could contain anything.  The results of a medical test.  A rejection letter from one of the med schools to which she had applied.  A severance package from the hospital.  So many things went through his mind.  He struggled to pull the papers out from the dampness.  

He never expected what he saw.  Never.

“You could have said something, Jamie.”  Her voice was quiet. Sad. Broken.

“Claire.”  He could feel the panic rising.  “Claire, I didna do this!”

“Claire,” Willie said, with a gentle hand on her elbow. “Here, give me yer bag.” He gently took the weight of it in his hand as Claire uncurled her fingers from the straps.  He set the bag off to the side, and led her to a straight-backed chair by the wall.  “Let’s have yer coat, too, aye?  It’s wet.”

“No.”  Claire was firm.  “I can’t stay.  I’m on my way to work.”

That catapulted Jamie into action.  He strode around his desk, picked up the phone and jabbed out a number.  Then he barked, “Janet.  My office. Now.”  

“Here, Claire.  Somethin’ to warm ye.”  A hot mug was pressed into her hand and she wrapped her palms around the heat of it, hoping that it would reach her soul.  The noise of voices buzzed around her and bodies swirled into motion.  She took a sip, and coughed a bit at the strong coffee laced with whisky.

From her vantage point standing in the corner Claire took in the scene.  Jenny had arrived and was gesturing wildly, shaking her head and glancing over towards her.  She now had the offending document in her hand.  Claire knew Jenny was protective of her brother, but she’d thought they had forged a bond over the Christmas holidays at Lallybroch.  Perhaps she was wrong.  

She took another sip of the coffee.  Dimly her brain registered the alcohol, but it seemed to give her the liquid courage she needed to stand her ground.  She really didn’t care what anyone had to say.

Until a voice she didn’t recognize announced his presence.

“I did it.”

Claire turned to see an elderly man, not very tall, with an obvious disability, standing in the doorway.  He had a commanding voice, one that seemed to bring everyone to heel.  They all looked at him, open-mouthed.  The man surveyed the room, his eyes stopping at Claire.

“Ah.  Ye must be Miss Beauchamp.”  He hobbled towards her, hand outstretched.  “I’m Colum MacKenzie.  I am Jamie and Jenny’s eldest uncle. Their mother was my sister.”

Automatic reflex had Claire shaking his hand.  She stared into the dove-gray eyes that reflected a man of confidence, and intelligence, with a shrewdness that made him intimidating despite his stature.  He was sizing her up, taking her measure.  She held her own, and met his gaze.  In meeting that gaze she realized that deep in those eyes was also a man who lived with chronic pain. He was much shorter than his relatives, but that had to be due to what Claire mentally diagnosed as Pycnodysostosis.  It was such a rare disease, and Claire had never encountered it before.  

“I see I’ve caused some upset.” He nodded at Claire in a deferential manner. Then turned to Jamie and continued, “But I did it at the request of someone else.”

punk–kenobi reblogged your photo:@awkwardanakin LOL OMG REMEMBER THIS?!  For the…#WHY DOES OBI-WAN WRITE LIKE THAT THOUGH#HIS E’S ARE ATROCIOUS#The worst part is I can totally see him having shit handwriting

LOL YES. I’m willing to buy that he had kinda crappy handwriting. 

Honestly, the handwriting is one of the best parts of the book and I am DYING that they all, INCLUDING SIDIOUS WHO DREW HIS OWN PERSONAL EMBLEM, signed the inside cover like this is a yearbook or something. 

Also why does Luke write his name like it’s a corporate logo? And why does Anakin who probably never had formal schooling until becoming a Jedi at age 9 have the Galaxy’s Fanciest Signature? Someone’s been signing a lot of Chosen One 8x10 glossy autograph photos, I guess. Obi-Wan must have been jealous of his handwriting. 

Also LOL @ Qui-Gon and the green pen. And Sidious with the red one. Can’t even let an ink color just be an ink color can we guys. 


The unique Pepsi Concorde.

In 1996, Pepsi struck a deal with Air France to promote their re-branding and new corporate logo, so an Aérospatiale-BAC Concorde, tail number F-BTSD (affectionately referred to as “Sierra Delta”) was painted in their colors as the high point of a massive marketing campaign. 

Due to the heat generated by Mach +2 flight, Concordes were supposed to keep an almost all-white livery, so this new blue one forced pilots to stay at Mach 1.7 so the plane would not experience problems.  

The Pepsi colors only lasted for 16 charted flights, after which the aircraft returned to her regular schedule in her old white livery, the amount payed for this stunt remaining secret.

Logotipo Terrassa Ink

Terrassa Ink es un salón de tattoo que cuenta con diferentes artistas, cada uno especializado en su estilo, ofreciendo así un trabajo excelente sea cual sea la temática del tatuaje: new school old school, kawaii, puntillismo, realismo, etc. También disponen de un sistema de eliminación de tatuajes.

Hemos desarrollado el logotipo corporativo basándonos en una de las ilustraciones que caracterizan tanto al local como a sus propietarios, reflejando, de este modo, toda su identidad en la marca del negocio. 


An examination of art and capitalism; of expression and function; of personal and corporate.

Logo+Art is an offshoot of my Mag+Art Project. Inspired by Swoosh Art Tumblr  and Sandrine Nugue’s Male/Female.

Apple + The Son of Man by René Magritte
Barbie + Portrait of Simonetta Vespucci by Piero di Cosimo
British Petroleum + Three Sunflowers by Vincent Van Gogh
CBS Television + The Desperate Man (Self-Portrait) by Gustave Courbet
Ferrari + Napoleon Crossing the Alps by Jacques-Louis David
National Aeronautics and Space Administration + The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh
National Basketball Association + Gladiators by Leon-Maxime Faivre
Puma + Scout Attacked by a Tiger by Henri Rousseau
Shell + The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli
Starbucks + Self-portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird by Frida Kahlo

Blue is the favorite color of all people. It’s nature’s color for water and sky, but is rarely found in fruits and vegetables. Today, blue is embraced as the color of heaven and authority, denim jeans and corporate logos. It is cold, wet, and slow as compared to red’s warmth, fire, and intensity.