Saturday, 30 June 2012


The same theatre, the same less-than-stellar expectations, but I walked off with so much more from The Avengers than from Brave. So here's my blog post/review. (On a Saturday. I know. I'm terrible.)

So, how was Brave?
In short: it was alright. Gorgeous design, landscapes, and atmosphere. But to tell the truth, it was riddled with cliches. A princess (oh no) that doesn't like being ladylike (oh no) and is rejecting the suitors that her parents have arranged for her (oh no). She also likes to shoot arrows, because archery is awesome.
Wait, but have I not seen this a thousand times? Now, before Pixar, I'd never heard a story about superheros with family issues, or self centred cars, or the day jobs of the monsters that live in your closet, or a fish that has lost his son and will swim around the world to get him back, tailed by another fish that has short-term memory loss. I'd never even heard about a father and a grandfather who took the littlest in their family to sweep the stars on the moon! (referencing the beautiful little short, "La Luna", shown before the feature film).
But I do know about that princess who hated being ladylike and proved she was just as good as the boys, in the end.

Brave's plotline was slightly predictable, and though the film was lovely and I’m dead jealous of Merida’s hair, it wasn’t exactly the absolute brilliance and freshness that Pixar normally turns out, you know?

Sorry to say, but going with Celtic-y Scottish-y stories about square pegs in round holes that defy their destiny against a beautifully animated backdrop, Dreamworks did it far better two years ago with How To Train Your Dragon.

Still, I'm glad I saw it. With scenes that were genuinely a bit creepy, laugh-out-loud comedy, and art to die for, it wasn't for nothing. But what carries a movie is its character, and the fresh story they live.

And Merida wasn't brave enough to stray into uncharted storytelling land very often.

Monday, 25 June 2012

What Doctor Who Has Taught Me

So - I missed two blog posts. Yeah. *hangs head in shame* And with all the new lovely followers. On the subject of followers, new and old: guys, don't be shy, comments are one of my favourite things in the world. If any of you have something to say on the subjects of which I speak, I wanna know what you're thinking. Sometimes it feels like just me and Lostariel, lol. It's okay, though, I'm not pressuring anyone. It's all good! Really, it is.

What have I been doing? Well, on Wednesday, I started a blog post really late at night, but I made the mistake of starting to write about the Doctor Who episode "The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit" at midnight. I hate to admit it, but I just creeped myself out, so I went to bed. And then on Friday, I was in Seattle with my dad. We went on a road trip.



All rise for the subject of today's post.

Worth. Doctor Who, if it's taught me one thing, has taught me this.

See, the theme of Doctor Who is this. No matter where you're from, no matter who you are, no matter how broken or average or useless or mean or ugly, you mean something, you are special, and you could save the world.

Ugh, there are so many thoughts crowding in my head, I can't think. The thing is, Doctor Who is a light. It's secular, it slips in its dirty jokes and its moralism, but in the end, Doctor Who has important messages and even more important themes running subconsciously through it.
Yes, totally subconsciously. It is impossible to believe in evolution and carry that worldview all the way through - it is. See, the Doctor claims to believe in evolution. But then he is a completely contradictory character: if evolution is true, then survival of the fittest is also a truth, and what is the Doctor doing saving people, defending the earth when it's too weak to defend itself? The Doctor is practicing something that stems from God and God alone: he is self-sacrificing, giving of himself to save weak human beings (when he is clearly part of a superior race). You can't deny that the Doctor lives out a worldview different than the one he claims. Not just different: directly opposed. There is no way a consistent believer in evolution could look at a little chid with dyslexia, and, instead of writing him off as a deficient quirk of nature when the kid admits this problem, bend down to his level, and say warmly, "Oh, that's okay, I can't make a decent meringue."

And in living this out, the Doctor has taught me worth.

That people are worth it, and that the monsters are worth it.

D'you ever just see someone - someone who's just doing nothing, not impacting anything in any visible way, sitting on their couch, doing their routine - and do you ever just feel contempt for them? Like they're not worth it? Like, "So, what are you doing for the world?" Of course, it's silly, because really, what difference am I making right now? But that was me - and is me. I tell you, though, it got so much less when the Doctor took my hand and showed me. Showed me that a temp worker can be the most important woman in the universe, that a medical student can rock the cosmos, that an unemployed teenager can make all the difference in the world.
"You don't have to own the universe, just see it."
The Doctor showed me, with that line, and with his life, that it's nice to be big and grand, but you don't have to own the universe. You can just be a normal person, just seeing it. That the "just seeing it" people are impacting things in their own way. That they're all made in the same image, and that is a Holy image.

"You and I both know, don't we Rose - the Doctor is worth the monsters."
Yes, he is, a thousand times, and so is life. Life is worth the monsters. And so we see written in the Bible. Romans 8:18 says "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us." The darkness, it doesn't last, and it's pushing through it, resisting it, that brings the reward.

So, yes, that's what God has shown me through Doctor Who.

Monday, 18 June 2012


No one can accuse me of being a girly-girl. I'm planning on getting the terrible pink of my walls covered in a nice coat of dark blue. My favourite show consists of a lot of blowing up stuff and food for the mind between alien attacks. Look at my name! I've only met one other girl "Micah". My hair is as short as a guy's, and I admit to getting excited over a Starwars Ultimate Guide today. I'm ambitious, and I don't think about anything in life being harder for me because I'm a girl - in fact, I absolutely hate it when people say girls are worse at something than boys, if the thing in question isn't physical.
Yeah, but.

France, 1789. A war is raging, ripping a country apart. The blood-soaked people fight under a banner  that bears an inspiring trio of words: "Liberty, equality, fraternity". But the people's push for that equality is tragic - thousands of innocents are slaughtered in the lust for it.
What are we losing in our grasp at equality?

Women aren't treated very well, are they? Anywhere. In the East you have them ground underfoot, in the West, you have them smudged out of existence.
No, seriously.
Chances to express ourselves, write, make art, discover math and science, to love, to make changes to the world, and to serve our God in huge ways - fantastic. Right, I love that.
Abandoning motherhood, starving our bodies into shapes as closely resembling men as possible - armed with disrespect, disregarding the knights who come to rescue us, because we're too in love with the tower. Laughing in the face of what chivalry they still offer.

All in the pursuit of equality.

Equality isn't sameness.

The culture is pushing women out of the mould they've always been in. Well and good? No. No, not really. Not at all, actually. Okay, I don't care if you like skateboarding and you're a girl. I don't care if you like to paint and you're a boy. It doesn't matter. But I do care if the women are leading their families. If they're not submitting to their husbands. If they're taking off and leaving their children to be raised by schools and daycares. If they're killing their babies - before and after the children are conceived - 'cause they want lifestyle.

Yeah, I'm for women's rights. Define women's rights. I want girls who can be girls, and not copies of men.

What about men? This makes me even angrier, believe it or not. Men are weakening. They can't lead anymore. They're not where they were meant to be. There are lovely guys who still do their part, but notice the trend, especially in television, where the weak, passive father is ruled by the disrespectful mother. And anything else is called sexism. Men don't even treat themselves right.

It makes me want to cry - so, girls have to be men and men have to be nothing, and that's the only thing that can be, because anything else isn't equality?
Misunderstanding of the word 'equality'.

I, for one, want a leader. I want to be a helper. I was made to be a helper. That doesn't mean I can't have dreams. But I was born a girl, and I want to be one.

{I do, of course, generalise. There are many exceptions, good and bad, to all stereotypes mentioned here.}

Saturday, 16 June 2012


So, I saw Macbeth. In our city, we have this lovely group who do Shakespeare in an outdoor tent environment. They have a proper stage and everything, but the back of the huge tent is open and the mountains and sea here serve as a backdrop. They're called Bard on the Beach.
It was pretty fantastic. However, the actors were yelling a lot of the time - I felt like it wasn't subtle enough. I blame this on a few things. One, the internet has turned me into a critic. Two, I have the most fantastic audio production of stories from Shakespeare ever. The actors are absolutely perfect and it all sounds so gorgeous. So I was expecting a lot. Three, I was repeating a lot of the lines over in my head, but executed by my dream cast for the play. Which is comprised of a lot of British, world-class actors. So what can you do? It was awesome, and I had a great time with my grandma, who treated me to it.
And we had sushi, which is heaven for the taste buds.
And of course, it was fantastic to be in the city.
Now I smell like sand, because of walking along the beach before the performance.
And I'm sunburned.
And earlier today I went boating with some good friends, and discussed writing, character development, and life questions, such as our opinions of BBC's Robin Hood and Whether "The God Complex" Is An Amazing Doctor Who Episode Or Not (which it is).
And presently I'm going to go mix and match the options of watching Doctor Who, writing, Tumbling too much, and drawing a poster for Macbeth starring a Doctor Who actor. God Willing, of course, because Tumblr might swallow all the time if I let it conquer me.
But it can't defeat my purposes until Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane Hill.

There's my little update for today! Thanks for tuning in. This has been Silly Songs With Larry.

Wednesday, 13 June 2012

Harry Potter

Yeah, last summer was a traumatic time. Sobbing my eyes out - because Snape - I exited the theatre, plastic wand in hand. Mischief Managed. Over forever. And it really was that sad.
But then came Doctor Who. Sherlock. Loki. The Hunger Games. Fanfiction. Tumblr. Facebook.
And I figured that these things were just as good (if not better) than Harry Potter.
Yesterday, I re-watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire for the first time in many moons.

Guys, I was wrong.

Okay, Doctor Who, Sherlock, the Hunger Games, and Loki's movies have their goods and their bads, their strengths and their weaknesses. I'm sure there are places where they're all stronger than Harry Potter.
Eh, I can discuss that later. It'd take too long.

Anyway, besides the pure nostalgia that attacked me in waves of bittersweet beauty, I loved the movie because I've learned a lot about writing since I watched Harry Potter last. Or maybe it's that stepping back for a while has cleared my mind. But the thing that I was just gushing over for the length of the movie was the characterisation. I hadn't noticed it before, but -

JK Rowling, you blow my mind.

Well, I can't give out awards for the way the movie handled it, but the film woke up my memory of the book, and that floored me. Harry Potter is what it is not because of fascinatingly detailed setting. Not because of its brilliant school atmosphere.
Harry Potter is a series about characters.

The characters in Harry Potter are so human. All of them have unglamorous moments. They go to the ball with complete strangers because it is awkward to go alone. They get crushes that don't go anywhere, and disastrous dates to end those crushes. The best of friends fight. And all their flaws could be found in an everyday shopper at your local supermarket. It's so simple - and yet so effective. I sobbed at the end of a chapter in HP4 when Harry and Ron fight and don't talk to each other. So simple but so real.
JK Rowling, I think, treats the ones in her story as people, and not as characters, because they're real. Their flaws aren't cut and dried, or black and white. They're grey and blurred and everyone as insecure as we are. They could walk off the page, because they have as many bumps, bruises, embarrassing moments, disappointments, and zits as we do, as any teen does. They make rude jokes as they get older. They angst. No character's above this, too - Dumbledore is really brought down in the last book, with some shady past. Even the most trusted are mistrusted sometimes, and there's often just cause.
The bad guys have motivation, too. Snape isn't just this bat lurking around, because we find out that his acidity has a source. People get old. People die. Families yell at each other while guests stand by awkwardly. None of it feels misplaced, because no one is a Mary Sue, and everyone has things that don't work out for them.
And yet these people are called upon to do the extraordinary, and by their humanness, they show us that we can do it, too.

I wish to God - and that is by no means taking His name in vain - that I could write characters like JK Rowling can. 'Cause I haven't explained well enough, here, how well she does what she does.

Monday, 11 June 2012

In Which I Publicly Shame Myself And Use Too Many Gifs

Lostariel - Zoe (because somewhere deep down in me, that'll be your name forever ;) - I owe you a serious apology.
I'm re-reading my How to Train Your Dragon 2 fanfiction.

I think I might have to check myself into a hospital. How you still have a smidge of respect for me after reading that beats me. Oh, help. I can't even -

Look, I don't want to be one of those people who complains about their work when everyone else thinks it's great - and who do this because they secretly like the work and are looking for affirmation. I'm NOT doing that right now. I'm not going to utterly slam the thing - there were a couple of saveable moments and descriptions that filed under the 'okay' section. But I honestly have never, EVER read a fanfiction as utterly cheesy as that HTTYD one that is sitting under my profile name. No exaggeration.

Ah, Lostariel, I owe you a ton of my ability to actually write about people who are minimally in-character. Thank you for sticking with me through all those horror stories of mangled English.

Gosh, I can't believe I'm doing this, but, uh, I do want to make this post mildly entertaining for you guys, so I'll give you my least favourite part of the story. Because I'm insane. And, truth is, I do like making fun of bad writing. It's a pleasure similar to reading the reviews that detail why Twilight is not even worth the paper it takes to print.
I've never  been brave enough to actually share the crap I wrote, though.
When we're done, we'll pretend it never happened, 'kay?

To fully bring the terror of the situation to bear, I ask you all to remember to remember this cute and socially awkward kid, below right.

If you haven't seen him in his film, then you seriously need to. So sweet and touching. But Hiccup's certainly not capable of ever, in a million years, saying anything remotely close to this speech - and yes, he does indeed get eloquent enough to speak in third person:

[telling his girlfriend about his true heritage (as if that wasn't cliche enough)]
"Astrid, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third is a half-breed hybrid infused with enemy blood. he's your nightmares come to life in one of your friends. He's going to battle with his relatives. He's stained and corrupted by the royal line of Thornburg. Kenna Nadderslayer is his flesh and blood, his cousin, and Peaeye Nadderslayer is his uncle, his mother's brother.
Why did Toothless choose me, when I was so filthy? Why was I destined to be the Dragon-Viking peacemaker when my family so freely sheds the blood of each of these races? I don't know. But even if you never care for me again, and try to forget about me as soon as I leave you, don't tell anyone else of my heritage. But if you choose to abandon me, do so, and I'll harbour no ill feelings toward you - I hate the Thornburgians as much as you do."
I looked at her.
She was trembling, and a tear shivered on her eyelash, about to fall.
She looked down, and traced something in the ground with her finger.
"So, do you hate me to your bones, Astrid Hofferson?" I asked softly.
She looked up at me, shaking her head slowly. "You can doubt that the stars are fire! You can doubt that the sun movess! You can even beleive truth itself to be a liar! But there's one thing you should never doubt, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third."
[kissing ensues]

Oh my Rassilon - Shakespeare. What was I doing, writing Hamlet into a headstrong, self-driven girl?

This freaking used to be my favourite part.

#physically ill

Saturday, 9 June 2012

Isn't It Beautiful

Isn't it beautiful-
I know it can be terrible. I know it can be used, like everything, to sow evil in the land.
But forget, for a moment, and think.
Isn't it gorgeous that no one cares.
We're souls. Souls floating around and meeting each other. Faceless souls.
And this means that race and colour lose their potency. That no one cares if you're a bit overweight. Scars don't show. Neither does that terrible haircut. Doesn't matter if you're deaf, unable to speak, or paralysed.
Look terrible when you cry? Cry all you want, because you're just a soul crying. No one will shun you because those clothes are hand-me-down. If you're burned, blemished, disabled, inept. Simply ugly.
Well, we can't see.
Gorgeous? Carry yourself like a queen? Hottest hair ever? Work out just to look good?
Sorry. You're just a soul and your body is made of dust. No one can see the dust.
Souls are made of starlight.
Only starlight shines through the dark that we've made, here. The vacuum of cyberspace.

Isn't it beautiful that here, on the internet, a dangerous place, full of ruffians and wolves and ice, full of distractions and tripwires - isn't it beautiful that we can stay in the light, walking with friends, our feet never touching the ground. Like flying.
(Except it's sitting on a chair).

I know there are the ups and the downs, the trues and the falses of this. Yesses and nos. Flaws.

But if you have a brain and you speak to others of equal brainage, and you both let that little grey man fill in for you in the profile picture meeting -
Well, no one cares that you're Asian or European or American. If you speak with an accent. If you stutter.

We're ambassadors. Distance and difference don't keep us apart.

Thursday, 7 June 2012

My Favourite Villain

-spoilers for Thor, Harry Potter, Sherlock, and Doctor Who-

He only ever wanted that one simple thing. But the search for it destroyed him. He went too far, and maybe he was always willing to go too far. A loveless life, a violent death with few mourners to remember him. Suicide, in fact (really, what was the point of living anymore?). The outcast, the black sheep, the liar, the lonely. So many lives on his hands. The people who were just like him were killed (or hunted) with even more viciousness than the numberless innocent dead. Feared and hated.
The stuff of legend.

But what's his name? Well, I'm not going to say it. It's hidden, so to speak. I mean, you don't just go SAYING that name. Someone has to force you to use it, doesn't he?

And when they do...

They're crying. "TELL ME!" (And the word is weary. Laufeyson, you tell him.)

Confused. "Could you write it down?" (And, well, you can't spell it. "Voldemort. Don't make me say it again.")

Yelling. "The name! Now! The name!" (And it comes out with a scream of pain. "Moriarty!")

And laughing. "Use my name." (And you whisper it. "Master. Please.")

Yeah, yeah, I stretched it a bit for some characters. Loki wasn't asking Odin for his name when he screamed "Tell me," but goodness the dramatic effect is beautiful. And, well, I wouldn't say Voldemort's death was suicide, strictly. Hey, it was his own curse.
But look at how similar they all are! And then there are parallels between individual villains - from the list and throughout history (fact and fiction). Let's go into this some more, I love this. Because it doesn't get old, and that's the beauty of it.

A gorgeous facet of some villains is that they hate their own kind. Hate them! Why? Because they hate themselves. And I'm not talking their own species, though that can happen - Loki wanted to take out his entire birth planet (I guess that's what you'd call it? A planet you were born on, but got adopted from? Galactic foster kids, enlighten me). But think about Voldemort and his lust for racial purity within Wizardkind. So he murdered Muggle-born witches and wizards. But of what birth was he, in the end? A Muggle and a half-squib. Real pure, there, Tom. Who did Moriarty most want to bring down? Well, the detective who would one day shake the criminal's hand and identify them both as the same man. Likewise the Master and the Doctor.
And what about Hitler? People say he was part Jewish, is that true? Even if it isn't, he didn't have blonde hair and blue eyes.

What about that old self-inflicted death? Voldy's curse rebound, like I mentioned, along with Moriarty's own bullet and Loki letting go and falling into space (though, of course, he only stayed dead 'till after the credits. But don't let me get started on that scene or incessant fangirling will occur). Oh, yeah, and the Master's refusal to regenerate in "Last of the Time Lords" and throwing himself into the Time Lock with the Time Lords in "The End of Time" (that's a lot of "time").

And the name? Loki's true heritage was hidden. Voldemort was more commonly known as "You Know Who" or "He Who Must Not Be Named" throughout the Potter series. Moriarty's name had to be wrung out of the serial killer in "A Study in Pink." And the Master has to prompt the Doctor to use his name twice.

Oh, yeah, and whichever evil dude he is, he's got a British accent.

Caaan't forget that one.

(Come on, Wales is part of Great Britian).

I find it really, really interesting to see the similarities between all these villains. And a pretty awesome guide to crafting a memorable antagonist, too - also, it shows stereotypes to maybe break. Anyone spotted any other parallels? Who did you think I was talking about when I started with the opening paragraph - like, which villain jumped to your mind?


Hey, I just finished this post
And this is crazy
But off-subjectly, I got a Tumblr
So follow me maybe

Monday, 4 June 2012

Happy For Deep People

Short, abrupt post ahead. You have been warned.


"What's so good about sad?" "It's happy ... for deep people."

That's a hard quote to use. Because it goes, "Hey, guys, guess what, I'm deep!" But doesn't everyone have a grain of deepness? Somewhere? Isn't it a human trait? Doesn't everyone have a moment when they  hear a poem, read a book, watch a movie, or listen to a song, and suddenly see another world?
Almost touch something outside of themselves?

Most people, I think.

We go to see tragedies, and we shiver while Hamlet battles himself - Shakespeare still sells.
We listen to that song that drips with nostalgia - and again. And again.
We list "The Old Man and the Sea" as a masterpiece, and would secretly never get Hemingway to change the way he wrote it, even though it breaks our hearts.
And we re-watch The Reichenbach Fall.

What is that? What makes us find that vein of gold in the rock of old, sad things?

Really - I don't know.

My train of thought apparently falls off its rails before it even reaches the signpost that says "Profundity station: 100 miles", but what can I say? It's my last school-haunted Monday night of the year and my brain is a little bit fried. I have some deadlines to make and some books to read. Thanks for stopping by, though!

Hey, and could you tell me: what, actually, do you like me to post about? Because I look at the hits I get on various blog posts, and, for the life of me, I can't figure out the connection between the highest ones. Seriously, just tell me, I don't care what you say. I'm here for my readers, right?

Thanks again!

Friday, 1 June 2012

Exam Essay

Here's a little something I wrote for a question on my exam study guide. Don't worry, I didn't actually turn it in - the question I'm answering didn't end up being on the actual test.
What WAS the question? It had to do with the inventor of Communism, the writer of "Pilgrim's Progress", and this French thinker who had some strong ideas about how people should interact with government. And it also had to do with all these guys discussing the US Constitution over lunch.

The "over lunch" bit was the bit that stuck with me.

-This is pure(ish) parody. No disrespect was aimed at any of the historical characters involved, and the changes that they brought about in history are held with due regard.
-The author does not like Twilight. No french fries (or chips) were harmed in the making of this essay.
-I have no idea what I'm doing. I just wrote this. I'll probably hate it later.

The debate is heated: three amazing philosophical minds bump against one another, fighting fanatically, each advocating their position with fire. They sit in McDonald's, burgers long since finished. Karl is in the swivelly chair, kicking the outdated Hamburgler cartoon on the wall when his turns reach the point of stoppage furthermost to the right.
It takes a great stretch of time, in which the set of children playing in the PlayPlace changes at least thrice, but John wins the other two over eventually. Karl and J.J. sit defeated - Bella does, in the end, belong with Jacob.
Trying to pick up the ruined pieces of  his worldview, J.J. changes the subject.
“Another Coke, anyone?” He says weakly.
“Indeed,” John says. “I am parched. But no need to trouble yourselves: I shall pay.” He takes out his wallet, and something falls out. He doesn't seem to notice, intent as he is upon the McDonald’s Coke machine, and heads off before either man sitting at the table can alert him to the fallen slip of paper.
J.J. picks it up and unfolds it. In swirling italics along the top, the words “The United States Constitution” are printed.
He reads interestedly, but his expression grows sour and he puts down the paper.
“Well,” he says, “Frankly, I am a bit disgusted.”
Karl picks it up. “Why?”
“Well,” J.J. says, “The citizens are in a position where they do not gather to rule themselves. The government has its hands in most everything that the general public should be controlling.”
“Really?” Karl says absently, buried in the crinkled yellow paper.
“Really,” J.J. says, as if he himself is just coming around to the fact that he is not making this up. “There is overmuch room for private business. The General Will is merely represented. Representatives this, representatives that. It is not the general will anymore. It has become something else. It is England all over again: I weep for this system. Have they not read my writings? Why does no one ever read my writings? They are only as free as their bloody representatives deign to make them!” He knocks over a paper ketchup cup with a french fry, his hands are trembling so. “And that is no freedom! It is a shell! It is a void! The people go about their daily business and are completely uninvolved in their government. They only meet in forums to discuss entertainment! They do not even meet in these forums! They simply stay inside and meet through magic! I weep! I weep.” He puts his head in his hands.
Karl chews a chicken finger thoughtfully. “Sorry, old chap?” he says, looking up from the Constitution finally.
“The government is not run by the General Will,” J.J. wails. “The people are not half as involved in it as they should be.”
“My dear fellow,” Karl says, almost breaking the fourth wall with his Britshness (he is, after all, German). “You have it completely backwards. Don’t you see - with a larger amount of government control, most of this hassle, hustle and bustle would be taken out of the country? Things could be completely fair, shared equally among the people. That, my friend, is the only way to run a peaceful nation.”
“That would never work.” A vein begins to throb in J.J.’s temple. “It would suppress the General Will.”
“Is the General Will even good for the people?” Karl says. “I think not. Do you not realize that the government knows the best?”
J.J. is struck speechless. “What?” He eventually says, through his speechlessness.
“The government,” Karl says, cool as a submarine in arctic waters, “Knows better than the people. People are unruly. People do not know what is best for themselves.”
“You know nothing!” J.J. says, standing up, now. “How can you be so deceived?”
John comes up with a tray of drinks. “Are you two alright?” He says.
“Tell this imbecile that something is wrong with this document,” J.J. says, handing the Constitution to John and indicating Karl.
Karl studies his nails, quite at ease. “I think you will find the imbecile is Jean-Jaques here,” he says.
John looks concerned, and looks the document over. Karl and J.J. stare each other down, sipping their soda pops without breaking the gaze.
“Yes,” John says, after a long and simmering pause. “There is something quite wrong here.”
Karl and J.J. begin chewing their straws with impatience.
“This is not the document I meant to get,” John says. “I was meant to receive a theological study on 21st century issues.” He looks up, not registering the frustration on Karl and J.J.’s faces. “The time traveller that gave me access to his library swimming pool must have mixed up the files, or my name isn’t John Bunyan.”