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a Transcript Post has occurred!

Okay so keeping everyone’s feedback from yesterday in mind I decided to give the transcript post a try. So for each update that has text or text that could possibly be hard to read I’ll make a separate post including just the dialogue, as presented in the comic. The transcript post will update at the same time as the comic updates, and will be included as a link at the bottom of each update. All transcript posts will be tagged with ‘fatal error comic text’.

I’m not going to arrange it by how the sentences ‘should’ be structured or translate what he says - this is just that everyone has a fair chance to be able to read exactly what he says and try to figure it out for themselves.

That way people who want to just strictly stick with the in-comic text can do just that, the people who need a bit more help can use it as a reference for some harder areas can do just that, and the people who want to guess and see if they were right can do just that as well!

Hopefully this is a good compromise and works out for generally everyone. If not, we’ll rehash and try something new. Thanks for being patient with me on this! I want this comic to be a good experience for all, and hopefully this helps in that endeavor.

With that being said, I’m going to go ahead and reblog last night’s update so people who haven’t seen it yet can see it with the transcript link as well. :)

Kushner Omitted Meeting With Russians on Security Clearance Forms
In applying for top-secret security clearance, Jared Kushner failed to mention having contacts with the Russian ambassador and the head of a state-owned bank.
By Jo Becker and Matthew Rosenberg

When Jared Kushner, President Trump’s son-in-law and senior adviser, sought the top-secret security clearance that would give him access to some of the nation’s most closely guarded secrets, he was required to disclose all encounters with foreign government officials over the last seven years.

But Mr. Kushner did not mention dozens of contacts with foreign leaders or officials in recent months. They include a December meeting with the Russian ambassador, Sergey I. Kislyak, and one with the head of a Russian state-owned bank, Vnesheconombank, arranged at Mr. Kislyak’s behest.

The omissions, which Mr. Kushner’s lawyer called an error, are particularly sensitive given the congressional and F.B.I. investigations into contacts between Russian officials and Trump associates. The Senate Intelligence Committee informed the White House weeks ago that, as part of its inquiry, it planned to question Mr. Kushner about the meetings he arranged with Mr. Kislyak, including the one with Sergey N. Gorkov, a graduate of Russia’s spy school who now heads Vnesheconombank.


Raj arranges himself in a more comfortable position, his whole demeanour relaxed and amiable, as if they are chatting on the couch in his living room. The unexpected sense of intimacy makes Audrey’s cheeks grow warm again.

Raj: The reason I’m sitting here now is that I trusted someone I shouldn’t have: My former lawyer and business partner, Clifford. But that was an error of judgement that I won’t ever make again. Let me give you some advice, my friend. Never trust a lawyer. Or a man who wears a tie with a short-sleeved shirt.

Audrey: Okay, fine. Can we talk about Naomi now? Because we only have an hour and-

Raj: Very nice bag, by the way. How much would that have cost? Around §3000?

Audrey’s bag cost §2990 at an upmarket Bridgeport boutique. She nods, impressed.

Raj: I know my luxury brands. But tell me, how can you afford §3000 handbags when your magazine is barely making enough money to keep you in teabags??

Audrey: I don’t know what you’re talking about. My magazine is doing very nicely. You must have a bad memory because you congratulated me on its success the last time I was here- 

Raj: I didn’t congratulate you on its success, if I recall. I congratulated you on being able to keep a physical magazine alive and thriving.

Audrey: I don’t understand the difference. But anyway, back to Naomi. It’s really important that-

Raj: Because your circulation isn’t thriving, is it? It’s dropping. Every month. That’s no reflection on the quality of your excellent publication, by the way. But print media is dying. It’s had its glory years.  You have to face facts.

Audrey: How do you know my circulation figures?

Raj: The prison library stocks a great variety of magazines, including The Bridgeport Arts Review. The most recent copy I could get my hands on was 4 months old. I also found another issue published a few months before that. As you know, the circulation figures for any magazine can always be found on the inside cover. The drop in circulation for The Bridgeport Arts Review in just a couple of months was alarming. And I imagine in 4 months figures would have dipped even further. I really don’t know how you manage to stay afloat. 

Raj smiles at her. Her stomach feels like it does when she’s on a plane that is experiencing unexpected turbulence.  

Raj: Would you like to try and explain it to me?

goldcaught  asked:

kc + ‘you’re a famous critic and I’m a server and I get so nervous that I trip and spill the dish all over you’ au

As a Sommelier in a Michelin star restaurant, she was practically trained to spot the revered Michelin critics. 

The European restaurants were obsessed with Michelin star ratings. One star meant you were good. Two stars, and you were reaching for greatness. Three stars made your restaurant the place to be. 

There were so many things that Michelin reviewers took into consideration when they dined at your restaurant. If the host or hostess didn’t quite nail the greeting? Points deducted. If the wine wasn’t quite right on that particular evening? Another point gone. And god forbid if the produce wasn’t fresh, the chicken or duck wasn’t cooked to absolute perfection, or if the pain au chocolat wasn’t chocolatey enough. 

Michelin critics could make or break your restaurant. Just as they could be responsible for bumping you up to another star, they could just as easily take one away. She’d heard horror stories of three and two star restaurants being stripped of one of their stars, which was embarrassing enough in and of itself. 

The thing is though, they were incredibly hard to spot. There was a whole lot of mystery surrounding Michelin critics. They weren’t allowed to talk to journalists, they weren’t allowed to reveal themselves to restaurants, and they were even encouraged to not disclose their line of work to their family and friends, just in case someone boasted about it and they were inadvertently exposed. 

It was all very cloak and dagger, and a bit pretentious, but the restaurants relied so much on the ratings. 

She’d worked as a sommelier in a three star restaurant, and although the pay had been absolutely fantastic, her boss was the epitome of ‘arrogant french bastard’. And although she’d fallen in love with Paris, she felt like she was stuck in a rut. 

She’d upped and moved to London, and had immediately found work in a one star restaurant. It had been a definite pay cut, but she was still earning a very comfortable wage that afforded her an apartment in one of the nicer areas in London. And she genuinely liked the head chef, Enzo Augustine. 

Right now, they were gunning for a second star, and the owner of the restaurant, Alaric Saltzman, was pretty confident that they could get it. 

She spots the chauffeured Mercedes Benz pull up just as Stefan comes to join her at the window. Stefan Salvatore was the best server this side of the Thames, and knew exactly how to strike the balance between polite and teasing. And honestly, their guests loved him. 

In fact, Stefan had been singled out in their last Michelin star review, the first time they’d ever been awarded a star. Alaric had done whatever he could to keep Stefan around, including bumping up his pay dramatically. It really did pay to be good at your job. 

Stefan would never have left anyway, he genuinely enjoyed working at the restaurant and interacting with the customers.

“What do you think? Definitely a critic?” Stefan tilts his head to the side, peeking through the lace curtains at the tall, blonde, broad shouldered man dressed impeccably in a slate grey shirt with a black tie. 

“Michelin for sure.” Caroline replies in a whisper as they both nod to each other and head towards the battle stations. 

They have this routine down to a fine art by now. Stefan goes to warn the hostess on duty at the door, Bonnie. Thankfully Bonnie is one of their best, and always impeccably groomed with a smile ready for any customers. The other girl doesn’t even seem phased. 

In turn, Caroline heads towards the kitchen to warn Enzo and the rest of his crew currently on duty. She pokes her head into the door, Enzo furiously cutting up vegetables in preparation for a main dish for someone. 

“Code red handsome. Just about to walk through the door.” She calls towards Enzo, who looks up at her and gives her a quick wink. 

“Thanks gorgeous. We won’t let you down.”

Likewise, the kitchen staff continue on with their tasks like nothing had even happened. Chaos in a kitchen was never a good thing, and if you were the type to crack under pressure you could pretty much just pack up and go home. 

She returns to the main dining room just in time to see Stefan lead the critic towards the best table in the house, subtly removing the ‘reserved’ sign before the critic can catch onto the fact that he’s been seated at someone else’s table.

Stefan would no doubt have some alternative plan up his sleeve, otherwise he would never have risked it. 

The critic obviously knows right away what he wants, and orders without even looking at the menu. Stefan doesn’t even bother with a pad, committing it all to memory and coming over to her station to relay it all to her. 

As  sommelier, her job is to know wine. The training for it was intense, and costed alot of money but the payoff was worth it in the end. Her salary was on par with an executive chef at a five star restaurant, her knowledge with how wine and food played off each other’s flavours unparalleled. 

She stops just to the side of the table and offers a respectful nod, just as she’d been taught. 

“Good evening sir and welcome to La Pleine Lune. We hope you enjoy your experience with us tonight. My colleague has passed your menu choices onto me and I hope I can assist with pairing a wine to your meal?”

The critic nods once, sitting back in his chair and waiting for her to proceed. She usually doesn’t notice faces as such, but this one is jumping out at her. 

Perhaps it’s because he’s so gorgeous. 

Shit. Focus Caroline. A lot was at stake here. 

“With the salad, I would suggest a Pinot Noir to begin with. We have a beautiful blend from the Burgundy region that we recently acquired.”

Pinot Noir was an untraditional choice to be sure, but she just knew that it would be the perfect complement to the amazing salad that Enzo was currently preparing in the kitchen. 

The critic raises his eyebrows at this, but she’s confident in her choices. 

“For the main, the duck will be exquisite with the shiraz from the wine regions of Mudgee in Australia. It’s delightfully smooth in texture and the taste is divine.”

“And for the dessert?” The critic asks, looking slightly impressed at her choices so far. She tries not to let it get to her head. 

“It’s a surprise, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it all the same.” 

The critic looks surprised by this, but instead nods once in agreement. 

“I’ll leave it in your no doubt capable hands.”

Perfect. She pastes on a warm smile, one that could smooth over any hairy situation, and a smile that had served her well on many occasions. 

“Very well then sir, I will return momentarily with the first selection.” 

The wine cellar downstairs is state of the art, temperature controlled, and one of the most expansive in London. They had everything from Shiraz to Chardonnay to Champagne to Sauvignon Blanc. Their wine cellar was legendary, and it was her turf. 

She returns with the first glass just as Stefan is approaching with the salad. As per their usual protocol she lets Stefan set down the meal first before she approaches with the wine so as not to overwhelm the critic. 

She’s not sure what happens next, because she’s done this approach a thousand times over the course of her career. Stefan later swears that her foot got caught on something, but that couldn’t have been it. 

It’s with an impending sense of horror that she watches the glass tip sideways on her tray in slow motion, the wine splashing out of the glass and onto the jacket of a Michelin star critic. 

Fuck she was so fired. 

She freezes for a moment as his eyes meet hers, lips curling up into an amused smile at his no doubt deer caught in the headlights expression. 

“I am so sorry.” She manages to choke out as Stefan whips the serving cloth from over his shoulder, motioning towards the sleeve of the man’s jacket. 

Stefan dabs it down quickly, eyes flicking towards her with a quick glance. She takes the time to hurry to the kitchen discarding her tray and picking up another one as Enzo gives her a sympathetic smile. 

It takes next to no time to pour another glass, and she takes her time as she moves towards the critic, who looks fairly relaxed despite everything. 

“Forgive me sir for my error. Of course, we’ll arrange to have your jacket put through dry cleaning.” She apologises as she carefully places the wine glass to the left of his plate, topping up the glass with the bottle this time. 

“Thankyou Caroline.” The critic glances at her dismissively, and she takes the hint. 


“It’ll be fine gorgeous, believe me. Alaric is not going to fire you because you spilt some wine on a customer.” Enzo slings his arm around her shoulder as they mount the back steps of the restaurant to the employee entrance. 

“But he was a Michelin star critic!” She practically wails as Enzo pulls the door open for her. “That was our one shot for the year. Oh god what if we lost it instead?” She drops her voice to a whisper as Enzo rolls his eyes. 

“Then we’ll get it back. It’s nothing we can’t handle gorgeous, you know that.” 

Alaric is waiting for them, arms crossed as he motions towards his office. 

“We need to have a chat Caroline.”

She shoulders her bag with a resigned sigh and steps towards the office, sinking down into a chair in front of Alaric’s desk. Alaric looks stern as he locks the door behind them, and she can’t help but swear under her breath. 

“How was last night Caroline?” Alaric begins pleasantly enough as she finally raises her head to meet his eyes. 

“Not fantastic. I fucked up, and I’m so sorry if we lose a star because of it, and please fire me because I will take all of the heat if you’d like me to.”

Alaric looks confused. 

“Caroline what on Earth are you talking about?”

“Alaric I’m pretty sure I spilt white wine on a Michelin star critic last night.” She drops her voice low, still mortified even recounting the event. 

Alaric stares at her for a long moment before he smiles. 

“Well you obviously did something right, because he gave us another star. We obviously cant’ make it public until the new guide is released next month, but he was impressed with how everything went last night.” 

She stares at him. 

“But I spilt wine on him!” She exclaims. 

Alaric hands her a piece of paper. 

“Read the report for yourself if you don’t believe me.” 

It’s with an increasing sense of disbelief that she scans her eyes over the neatly typed page. 

Congratulations on your second star and please give thanks to Stefan Salvatore and Lorenzo Augustine for their wonderful service and meal respectively. 

However, the standout for me was your Sommelier, Caroline Forbes. She completely kept her cool despite a rather unfortunate incident, and more than made up for it in the next two courses. Her knowledge of wine is absolutely incredible, and I couldn’t fault any of her decisions, a rare quality to have. 

She is worth every penny you pay her, and I encourage you to continue to keep her on in this capacity. The current team you have may very well be enough to elevate you to a third star. 

She slides the piece of paper back over to Alaric before launching herself at her boss with a squeal. 

“Alaric, two stars, that’s amazing! Oh my god I was so worried you were going to fire me.” 

Alaric looks at her incredulously as he ruffles her hair playfully. 

“Please. Even if you had lost us a star there’s no way in hell I’d let you walk out that door, you’re the best at what you do, no competition. Oh he also had this couriered over. Looks pretty expensive if you ask me.”

Alaric hands her a postage box, and he just chuckles from behind her as she retreats to the staff quarters, mouthing a quick ‘two stars’ to Enzo in the kitchen before shutting the door behind her. 

The box contains a rare bottle of Shiraz from the Beaujolais region in France, and she has to admire his good taste, whoever this critic may be. There’s a slip of paper in the box with the wine, and she unfolds it carefully. 

Congratulations on your success. Perhaps we might be able to share this bottle over dinner one night?


P.S- If you say yes I can never come back to your restaurant in the capacity of my job again. 

He’s left his number as well as his name, and she doesn’t hesitate to text him back. 


To Artists Who’ve Ever Had a Bad Con [Geekonomicon 2015]

It’s Saturday at comic con. Friday didn’t go as well as you imagined. You got up this morning believing that today would be better. It has to be, right? You’ve heard good things about this con. You want to be excited, you want to make people smile. You want to meet cosplayers and talk to people about your work and sell some things. 

You have it in your head that you’d at least like to break even, but hey; profit would be even better. 

But as each person passes your table pretending to be on their phone, or giving the all-important second-long glance without slowing down, or not looking at you at all. You’re invisible. The hours grow long and silent, and you wonder: what’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with my work? Am I really that bad? 

I’ve been at my table before, holding back tears and doubting I’ll ever be a real artist. Who am I kidding, right? After all, if my work was worth anything, surely people who actually stop and look.

Here’s a truth, artist: it’s not you. Sometimes it’s the con.

I spent my weekend feeling utterly miserable about myself and my artwork. And Saturday night I realized something. It wasn’t me. It was the con. Now, I don’t know the full behind-the-scenes story. But I do know my subjective experience at Geekonomicon 2015 was the worst I’ve ever had at any comic convention. 

I don’t say that lightly, to smear anyone, or to complain for the sake of complaining.

I feel like not saying anything about this experience would be a disservice to my fellow artists and creators. Hopefully something positive can be gleaned from it this note.

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