Louisiana Governor open to temporary smoking ban in casinos

can you smoke in casinos in louisiana

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WATCH LIVE 2:30 PM Gov. Edwards COVID-19 Press Conference

LINKS TO WATCH

The summary is transcribed live, maybe paraphrased, and will contain spelling and grammatical errors until I am able to edit it once the press conference ends.

Summary

Dr. Gina Laguard of Regional Medical Director of Region 9 / Northshore
Giv. John Bel Edwards

Questions

Now that you won in court do you intend to crackdown, not he BBQ restaurant in Denham Springs?
Yes. We will share that information with you when it is appropriate.
When will that be?
When it is appropriate.
Do you think there will be leftover funding from the CARES Act or Business Grant Program in a time period that could keep the unemployment trust fund solvent?
I do not see in the portion of the CARES Act that we dedicated to local government. There is a certain amount, of the 1.8 billion we received it was my recommendation that 45% of the 1.8 billion be reserved for local government. The house went more or less with that, but then did fund $300 million for the Main Street program, and then a smaller allocation for Front Line Workers. We believe that will be completely exhausted and I do not know if money will be left in the Mainstreet Program. I haven't received a report yet and I think it would premature to guess. They will not begin to issue checks until Aug 15, and I do not know how many applications they received, nor how many qualify. We will know by the end of the month, and it could potentially be there at the end of the month. But even if it is there that money would not tie us over for very long. So the assistance we need in Phase 4 of the Coronavirus Relief that is currently being negotiated is critically important for us. We are communicating this with our Congressional Delegation and there have been a number of conversations with the Speaker discussing multiple ways we could replenish that trust fund. On August the 3rd we put $12 million dollars in the trust fund from taxes fro the quarter. It is just not enough to meet the demand with the claims we have.
Other states have banned smoking in casinos because they are concerned people are taking their masks on and off, has that been discussed here?
I believe that was first discussed in Louisiana as far as I know right now when you just brought it up. My first impression is that makes some sense, but I hate to think out loud because sometimes you get in trouble. I think New Orleans and East Baton Rouge may be the only places where smoking is banned in casinos. That is something I will give some consideration to, but I am not making an announcement today.
You've been hesitant to discuss football, have you had a discussion with their administration?
I have. I have had discussions with their athletic director and most people love LSU football but we have football programs across the state. I have had an opportunity to discuss with Scott Woodward, the LSU Athletic Director, and they are planning for multiple contingencies with what they will be able to do safely in regards to the number of people they can put in the stands for a football game. They do not know what that will look like yet, and I do not know what that will look like yet. Obviously you cannot wait to make that discussion until game day, we will meet with other schools to determine how far in advance they need to know. They are looking at ways to get people in and out of the stadium in and out of restrooms, receive concessions, without having people grouping together. Will need to see where we are in terms of the data to inform what we can safely do here in Louisiana when football resumes. The good news is we have some additional time because they backed up the return of the season.
A number of local bars are applying for temporarily conditional restaurant licenses so they can continue to operate and keep their doors open and a reduced capacity. Can you explain from a public health standpoint why a bar with a newly acquired temporary conditional restaurant license is safer than a bar that does not
Because they have to operate as a restaurant. All the rules that apply to restaurants today will apply to them in terms of the 50% occupancy limit, the need to social distance people who are not in the same household, more than 1/2 of the income must be derived from food sales and not alcohol sales. So they would function like a restaurant which would make them safer. Another indication of the efforts we are making is to allow as many of these bar owners as much flexibility as possible so we are not just leaving them the option of pick up or drive-thru sales. Or allowing them to have 2 video poker machines open if they had inside, but it also allows them to function as a restaurant if they are able to do that. They are receiving these permits very quickly so they can get into operation and realize some income as soon as possible. It will be safer because all of their patrons will have to be seated, to distance, and so forth... its something we are doing in an effort to allow as many of these establishments to remain open as possible, but to do so in a safe manner.
Is there a recommendation/protocol about how many cases college and university campuses can have without having to reduce people from campus?
They are working hard with the Department of Public Health and the CDC to work with education leaders both K-12 and higher education, to determine what to do when there is a case and if there are multiple cases and so forth. We can all assume there will be cases. You cannot have the cases we have across Louisiana, resume school, and not have some of these cases show up in your universities or K-12 schools. It really depends on how many cases, if they are in the same classroom, same dormitory, etc. All of these things are being looked at. I can tell you just recently our higher education community completed tabletop exercises, and a result of lessons learned there they have now gone back and revised their plans and will continue to do that as they learn from one another, and as guidance from the CDC changes.
Will you report data based on outbreaks/cases on educational campuses?
I don't know. I am not sure what means we have to capture that information, but certainly, what we have we will share. We are not going to hide it from anyone. Before I say yes I want to make sure we can capture that through the means we have in place to update you every day, or if additional things need to go into place. I do not know if it will be a situation where I ask you to direct those questions to the particular educational systems and universities while we report the universal numbers. We will get back to you on that.
Is there a point you will use your authority as governor to limit on-campus instruction
I do not intend to have to do that because we know K-12 are doing everything they can to deliver an education that goes along with CDC guidelines. So it is not something I believe I will have to do. Higher educational students, especially vulnerable, will do online or hybrid education. So with everything, they plan to do and oversee.... what they are doing came up they from the Department of Health in consolation with the CDC guidelines. So I do not believe it will be necessary for me to step in.
Shreveport reports its third death of MIS-C?
The medical community trying to determine if that is just what COVID looks like in certain kids, or whether it is a separate medical condition that is tangental to COVID. We've had a number of deaths, but not like the 4,000 from COVID from around the state. So we are obviously concerned about that. It is further evidence that children are not immune to this disease. They are much less likely to have a serious illness, but it does still happens. We see sometimes a young person will get COVID-19 and have a bad result even though there is no identifiable co-morbid condition. It is not the rule, it is very much the exception, but it is evidence that children are not immune. This is why we must make certain the kids are as safe as possible which is one of the reasons why the CDC guidelines are important --- that kids socially distance, have masks, do no co-mingle, they stick to their cohort. That this starts form the moment they get on the bus to the moment they get home. It is critically important we do this if we are going to get children safely back in the classroom.

Closing Remarks

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OBLIGATORY FILLER MATERIAL – Just take a hard left at Daeseong-dong…6

Continuing.
After the third pony keg of beer was delivered, it was decided that the next few days would be spent in the conference room discussing what we thought was the best way forward.
We wanted dry-erase boards so we could start taking detailed notes, even though I was well ahead of the curve in that regard. We instead ended up with some mobile elementary-school blackboards and a pile of grainy, sooty chalk.
Leave it to Dr. Cliff to go into a discourse on the genesis of chalk and its economic importance.
Bloody carbonate geologists.
Bloody White Cliffs.
We geologists need to punctuate their conversations with pictures, so these would suffice quite well.
At 1700 hours, the official end to the workday was called; we’d meet here again tomorrow. I’m not certain by whom, but it was readily agreed upon. We were more or less on our own until 1000 the next day. I needed to spend some time in my room with my notes and update a number of dossiers, field notebooks, and other items I was using as a running chronicle.
Several folks decided to invade one of the hotel’s restaurants for dinner. Some wanted to head to the casino, a couple wanted to get a massage, and others wanted to do what tourists are normally wont to do on the second day of being a foreigner in a foreign land.
I declined invitations to dinner and other activities, as I had a long writing session in front of me. I wanted to get this all in its proper place while the memories and notes were still fresh.
30 minutes later, in my room after a 25-minute wait for the elevator; I’m updating dossiers, creating several new ones, and updating my field notebooks. Suddenly, after an hour’s work, I notice something is amiss.
“I don’t have a drink or a cigar,” I said to the four walls. “This. Will. Not. Do.”
I was used to Happy Hour in Russia. Happy hour is slightly different; there are no ice cubes or orange-peel twists in the vodka. Also, it lasts all day.
I remedy that situation by finding and clipping a nice, oily oscuro cigar and digging the bourbon out from under my boxer-briefs in my dresser drawer. I heft the bottle and feel that it’s significantly lighter than when I left it last night. I happen to look in the trash can and spy the wrapper for a box of my festively colored Sobranie cigarettes I obtained back in Dubai.
“Hmmm”, I think, “It would appear that we have some light-fingered Cho Louies or No Louises around here. I’d best guard my supplies a little more securely.”
I move all my smokeables into one of my now emptied aluminum travel cases. They lock with the stoutest of combinations and it will be readily apparent if anyone is fucking with them.
I move some of my best booze into the pretty much worthless in-room safe. With a deft application of duct tape, I seal the safe. It may not be the most secure spot on the planet, but if anyone tries anything troublesome, they’ll leave an immediately recognizable record of what they were up to. It’s just too obvious; they’d have to be crazy to go in after anything inside there.
My money, keys, and passports are in the safe deposit box down in the lobby that the hotel supplies for visiting dignitaries. Even so, they let me keep my shit in one of them anyway.
That handled, I spend another hour writing like a madman. I suddenly realize I’m tired of all this and need a diversion as well as some food and, of course, drink.
30 minutes later, I’m down in the byzantine basement tunnels of the hotel. It’s crowded with hordes of Chinse tourists, and the casino is ground zero for the incredibly loud chatter.
I look in on the bowling alleys all three of them, and they’re full. The massage parlor is hopping, although I leave my name and they promise they will call over the PA when a suitable masseuse is available. Evidently, I ‘intimidate’ some of the more demure ones.
I wander over to the bar, now there’s a surprise, and see it’s packed to the rafters as well. I decide to wait for a seat to open up on Mahogany Ridge when there’s some gargling over the PA and a pair of Chinese nationals leave the bar in great haste.
I grab one of the two newly open seats, much to the chagrin of a couple of Oriental Unidentifiables (OU) who had their eye on them as well.
“Sorry, mate”, I said, “First come, first served. It’s the capitalist way.”
One of the pair grabs a seat and the other just stands there, looking annoyed unspent bullets in my direction. Forget that I’ve literally twice their size and could be an aberration as an angry American. They just order a couple of drinks, and content themselves in giving me dirty looks and probably say nasty things in their own indecipherable language about my national origin and familial heritage.
As if I gave the tiniest of rodental shits.
I fire up a cigar, as literally everyone else in the joint was smoking something more or less tobacco. However, there was a definite barnyard aroma, a regular Dairy Air, in the room. I think some of what was being smoked there was more bovine or equine in origin than botanical in nature.
With numerous hilarious attempts at Korean, pointing at a garishly photographed drinks menu, I was finally served a cold draft house steam porter and 100 milliliters of probably ersatz ‘Russian’ vodka, vintage late last Thursday. This bartender that could at least form some of the phonemes found in American English. A few. A definite few.
Since it all cost the equivalent of US$0.50, I really didn’t care.
Apparently vodka helps flowers last longer when they're dying. But you can put vodka in anything and it'll make it better.
Being a trained observer, I rather enjoy just sitting in any old bar, smoking my cigar, drinking my Yorshch, and watching people. I try and not be intrusive and I never eavesdrop, but I like to try and think of what strange set of circumstances brought us all here together in this place at this time. It gives me writing ideas, some of which I jot down in a notebook I always carry. It also gives me a good shot of nostalgia when I look back at something I wrote some 40 or so years ago.
Yeah, old habits do die hard.
I take a drag off my cigar and set it in the ashtray in front of me on the bar as I go to correct another egregious misspelling in my notebook. I have to immediately proofread what I wrote, or I’d never recall later what the fuck I was trying to convey; especially if it’s in a noisy, smoky, or murky milieu.
Quicker than a bunny fucks, Unidentifiable Oriental #1 (UO #1) deftly reaches over, snags my cigar, and helps himself to a few mouthy puffs.
I look at him, the empty ashtray directly in front of me, him again, and then UO #2.
Since I speak no real Oriental, much less Korean, language, and my Mandarin at this point is worse than laughable; I just point to the cigar, turn out my hands and shrug my shoulders in the international “What the actual fuck, dude?” gesture.
He just smiles a gappy, toothy, and snaggle-toothed at that, grin at me and makes a point of ensuring that I see him enjoying a few more drags on my own damned cigar.
Not able to contain myself any further, I venture a “What the fuck, chuckles? That’s not your fucking cigar.”
Like gasoline being tossed on a fire-ring full of embers, they both go unconditionally incoherently insane.
Yammering, chattering, jumping up and down, and getting right into my face. They wanted me to unquestionably understand that my few words of English insulted them far more than their filching of my $20 cigar.
OK, I’m pretty well trained in Hapkido; an oddly, given the present situation, hybrid Korean martial art. I’m at least 6 or 7 inches taller and who knows how many stone/kilos/pounds/Solar masses heavier than these two clowns. I could easily go all Gojira on their hapless asses and mop significant expanses of the floorboards with them.
Instead, I look around for the bartender. I figured since I was keeping him well supplied with Korean won via tips, and he spoke some English as well as perhaps whatever the fuck these characters were chattering; maybe he could get to the bottom of what was happening.
The bartender walks over and I ask him to ask the two unidentifiable twins why they stole my cigar.
He nods in agreement and goes on in whatever the fuck dialect was being used today by the pair.
“They say they wanted it. So they took it.” They ask, “What are you going to do about it?” the bartender relates.
I deftly reach inside my field vest, as everyone concerned ducks and covers.
I extract two fresh cigars; not a .454 Casull Magnum.
I give one cigar to the bartender and one to OU#2.
“With my compliments.” I pleasantly say.
I was well apprised of the fact that in certain places like this, the local authorities often approach foreigners with, for the lack of a better term, ‘Agents Provocateur’.
Like the Westboro Baptist “Church”, they try to get a rise out of you so you’ll lose your cool and either create a scene or take a poke at the miscreant. Then they have all the pretext they require to drag you to the local hoosegow, shake you down for every penny on your person, as well as any phones, notebooks, wallets, passports, cigars, cigarettes, etc.
Basically, they goad you into a fight, then drop the thousand-pound shit-hammer when you retaliate.
It’s all so parochial. So obviously clear as vodka; this elementary charade only raised a single eyebrow.
I’m not going to even raise my voice over a couple of cheap cigars that neither of them noticed I slipped them instead of the premium ones I was smoking.
Thus defeated, I asked the bartender to ask them if they liked the cigar.
“What do you think?” I asked in cordial English, “Too tightly rolled? Not caged enough? Too green?”
UO #2 slipped and said “It smells very good…” where he realizes he’s blown his cover.
“Yeah, I like it too.”, I replied, “So much so, I buy my own. What are your badge numbers, boys? I will be reporting this incident to Inspector P'aeng Yeong-Hwan, the head of security for the IUPGS conference to which I was invited as special scientific consultant.”
Of course, they immediately dummy up and feign illiteracy.
I say loudly and very clearly, “You bastards aren’t gonna get away with this. I mean, what is going on in this country when scumsuckers like you can get away with trying to sandbag a Doctor of Geological Sciences?”
I ask the bartender to translate, but alas, it was too late. They vamoosed when I turned to talk with the bartender.
They left so fast, they didn’t notice me snapping their pictures with my ancient but trusty Nokia 3310, revised edition, during our little chat. Even with a mere 2-megapixel picture, I have enough to show the North Korean leaders of the project to get an identification and make known my displeasure of being treated like some commoner or buffoon.
They left both my cigar and the one I gave them. The bartender tucked the cigar I gave him into his pocket and stared lustily at the two remaining on the bar.
“Take’em”, I said. I sure as fuck don’t want them. “Just a clean ashtray and a refill, if you would be so kind,” I say, as pleasantly as possible, considering the situation.
Both the unsmoked and my smoldering, as well as well-traveled, cigar disappear as quickly as minks rut. A clean, new ashtray, double beer and ‘vodka’ suddenly appear.
“No charge, Dr. Rock”, the bartender grins, as he shoves my erstwhile high-mileage cigar between his teeth.
“OK, fair enough.”, I say, “Spaseebah.”, and deposit a raft of won on the bar. The pile won’t be touched until after I leave in a few hours’ time.
“Stranger in a strange land.” I muse over a couple of further beers.
The call from the massage parlor never came, or it did and I couldn’t hear it over the clamor of the casino. I went up to the hotel’s Korean restaurant; had some salty soup, a sad, sad salad, and some form of funky fish, I think, for dinner. I retired that night in a slightly foul mood.
I called Es then the next morning and caught her before she retired. With a 14 hour difference between us, I was getting up at 0700 and she was getting ready to hit the hay at 2100.
I told her of the events of the day previous, and she was glad she wasn’t tagging along. She would have never accused the Korean geologists of being behind the times and would have probably bent the guy’s nose that swiped my cigar.
Agreed, that she’d probably be unimpressed with this place. I promised her that we’d go on a holiday when I returned from all this. It would be up to her to find out ‘where,’ and I’d supply the ‘when’ when I could.
Everything else was going along smoothly, more or less, on the home front, and I didn’t want to give the local listening-in federales too much to say grace over, so we said our parting admirations and rang off.
Shower, shower sunriser of real vodka and citrus, a quick brush and comb, and spiff of cargo shorts and new ghastly Hawaiian shirt; 30 minutes later, back down in the restaurant for the inevitable breakfast buffet.
After what some would consider breakfast and others would consider a vague attempt at nourishment, we reconvened in the conference room precisely at 1012.
Nothing like precision with this group.
We spend the next two days going over, in various groups, what we think would be required to set forth proper the quest for oil and gas in North Korea on track. Everyone got in on the act, and we advocated for that. We needed everyone’s input to make this happen. Or to even map a way forward to present to country officials. Those from the West on what was needed and those from the East to tell us what was available, and the combined wetware to make what needed to be done happen with what existed.
It took no small amount of doing, but we secured a set of maps that covered the entire country. We were watched very closely by the shiny suit squad that we did not copy, photograph or otherwise take any extraneous information from these sheets of infamy. All other maps in the country were intentionally skewed, with errors deliberately added in to confuse “interlopers, spies, or other personas non grata”.
I made a massive stink and told them that if we didn’t receive the unfuckered maps, aerial photographs and satellite imagery pronto, we’re packing up and leaving that afternoon.
“We don’t have time for monks resisting the carnival. We didn’t come here to try and guess if the maps are correct or if our remedies will actually work on maps that say one thing and reality says something else entirely.”
They hemmed and hawed, but as I made the announcement to all before lunch that if the real maps didn’t appear by the time we returned from tiffin, we’re gone.
And we take tiffin purty durn early round these parts, buckaroo.
No one was surprised as I when we returned and there were folio after folio of government-uncensored maps, photos, and imagery for our program. I guess they finally reasoned it would be a relatively good idea to begin to take us seriously.
We spent one whole day just going over our field geological apparatus. They had a good idea of how to use a direction-finder compass and Jacob’s staff to measure sections. However, they were totally flummoxed by our Brunton Compasses, GPS systems, curiously referred to as ‘position finders’, notebook mapping applications, and electronic data storage and retrieval systems.
Gad. It was like being back in the 1970s before PCs were a glimmer in IBM's corporate orbs.
We spent the next week working to bring our less fortunate colleagues up to, well, not date, but at least up to the brink of the 21st century. We explained that plate tectonics, continental drift, and the precession of the continents was accepted geoscientific principles, not some arcane Capitalist or Socialist plot to undermine the quality of science in the east.
Yep. It was that mindset we had to first conquer. I think we’ve made great headway in that direction today.
The next Chautauqua session had us split up into two separate groups. We decided in a fit of Cesarean inquiry to ‘divide and conquer’. There are two distinct milieus which are able to contain economic deposits of hydrocarbons: onshore and offshore.
Instead of attacking both head-on, we’d focus initially on the offshore domain. Once we had a good handle on what was going on under the East Korean Sea, the Huangai (Yellow) Sea and surreptitiously, the South Sea; we’d collaborate our findings and work to tie them in and extend them onshore.
The singular Phyongnam Basin is the one large depositional, sedimentological, and structural basin in North Korea. It is filled by the Joeson and Pyeongan Supergroups of sediments, which are Cambro-Ordovician and Permocarboniferous, respectively. These are good hunting grounds for oil and gas. Could be elephant–hunting country.
But before we could undertake that, we had to get ‘back to basics’. That is, we had to understand and delineate the ‘frame’ of the Korean Peninsula. In other words, we needed to figure out how and when the peninsula came into existence.
South Korea’s geology is much more complex, fortunately than that found in the North. There were nasty side comments that were due to the relative development not of the geology, but of the geologists who studied each country’s geology.
It was, perhaps, a mean way of characterizing the situation. But, unfortunately, it was also probably fairly accurate.
The Korean Peninsula is characterized by huge massifs, which are sections of a crust that are demarcated by faults or flexures. In the movement of the crust, a massif tends to retain its internal structure while being displaced as a whole. The term also refers to a group of mountains formed by such a structure. It’s basically one huge, semi-resilient rock.
The basement rocks of the Korean Peninsula consist of high-grade gneiss and schist, Paleoproterozoic Precambrian massifs, which formed in the early stage of Earth’s history. These rocks are unconformably overlain by metasedimentary rocks; schist, quartzite, marble, calcsilicate, and amphibolite, of the Middle to Late Proterozoic. The Korean Peninsula is floored by a collation of about five of these huge Precambrian massifs that acted like ‘microplates’ during the aggregation of the peninsula. These massifs consist of thick dolostone, metavolcanics, and schist, which were intruded by Paleoproterozoic granites.
These Paleoproterozoic metasedimentary and granitic rocks underwent repeated intracrustal differentiation, followed by the events of cratonization, i.e., regional metamorphism and igneous activity, at 1.9-1.8 Ga. Sediments deposited in the peripheral basins during the Mesoproterozoic and Neoproterozoic lead to stabilization as the basement of the peninsula.
These early depositional basins formed the locus of deposition that continued on from the Proterozoic through the Phanerozoic. There are at least three, perhaps four, depositional basins in the south which are delimited by structural zones, such as the South Korean Tectonic Line (SKTL), a huge zone of continental transform faults and forms the basis of boundary demarcation between the Okcheon and Taebaeksan basins.
The boundary between the Seochangri Formation of the Okcheon Basin and the Joseon Supergroup of the Taebaeksan Basin in the Bonghwajae area is a thrust (or reverse‐slip shear zone). This thrust is presumably a relay structure (i.e. a restraining bend) between two segments of a continental transform fault (the South Korean Tectonic Line or SKTL), along which the Okcheon Basin of the South China Craton was juxtaposed against the Taebaeksan Basin of the North China Craton during the Permian–Triassic suturing of the two cratons.
In the late Proterozoic, sedimentation was initiated in basins of the Korean Peninsula, accompanied by deposition of siliciclastic and volcaniclastic sediments as well as carbonates. The massifs were submerged in the Early Paleozoic during a greenhouse period, forming a shallow marine platform and associated environments.
The Cambrian-Ordovician succession unconformably overlies Precambrian granite gneiss. It consists of mixed carbonate-siliciclastic rocks of sandstone, shale, and shallow-marine carbonates. Sedimentation was initiated in the Early Cambrian with a global rise in sea level on the stable craton of the Sino-Korean Block.
There was a major break in sedimentation during the Silurian and Devonian periods in the entire platform. During the Carboniferous to early Triassic, sedimentation was resumed in coastal plain and swamp environments with progradation of deltas.
Major tectonic events were initiated in the Triassic when the South China Block collided with the Sino-Korean Block. The eastern part of the Sino-Korean Block rotated clockwise and moved southward relative to the South China Block along the SKTL.
In the Middle-Late Jurassic, orthogonal subduction of the paleo-Pacific plate under the Asian continent caused compression and thrust deformation. A number of piggyback basins formed along the thrust faults in the east of the SKTL. At the same time, the entire peninsula was prevailed by granite batholiths, especially along the northeast-southwest-trending tectonic belt.
In the Cretaceous Period, the paleo-Pacific Plate subducted northward under the Asian continent, forming numerous extensional (left-lateral strike-slip) basins in the southern part of the peninsula and the Yellow Sea. A large back-arc basin was initiated in the southeastern part.
In the Paleogene, both the volcanic arc and the back-arc basin ceased to develop, as volcanic activities shifted eastward, accompanied by a rollback of the subduction of the Pacific plate. In the Miocene, pull-apart (right-lateral) basins formed in the eastern continental margin.
The Korea Plateau experienced continental rifting accompanied by extensive volcanism during the extensional opening of the southern offshore basin. It subsided more than 1000 m below sea level.
So, as South Korea was mix- mastered by a half-a-billion years’ worth of structural tectonism, which created several depositional basins quite capable of generating and storing economic quantities of oil and gas, the scene to the north was much more quiescent.
The North was composed, from south to north, of the relict Imjingang Belt, which was an old back-arc basin between the Gyeonggi Massif to the south and the Nagrim Massif to the north. It is a paleo-subduction zone, full of volcanics, volcaniclastics and other non-hydrocarbon bearing rocks. It was mashed and metamorphosed, and basically forms a convenient boundary between the complex geology of the South and the more relaxed geology of the North.
Heading north, we come across the Pyeongnam Basin, the only North Korean basin thus far defined that could contain hydrocarbons. Further north is the huge Nangrim Massif. It’s a huge block of igneous and metamorphic rocks that weather very nicely and form some spectacular scenery, but from an oil and gas economic outlook are worthless.
Offshore North Korea, there are two possible petroliferous basins. The offshore West Korea Bay Basin and East Sea Basin, along with five onshore basins could be offering exploration potential. At least ten exploration wells have been drilled in the West Sea, with some showing “good oil shows” along with the identification of a number of potential reservoirs.
The West Sea potentially has oil and has reportedly flowed oil at reasonable rates from at least two exploration wells when they were drilled and tested in the 1980s. Meanwhile, the East Sea has seen Russian exploration efforts previously including the drilling of two wells, both of which reportedly encountered encouraging shows of oil and gas.
Onshore, there has been little exploration to date, apart from efforts by the Korean Oil Exploration Corporation and also recently by Mongolia’s HBOil JSC (HBO). Among five main onshore sedimentary sub-basins, the largest is south of the capital; while unconfirmed reports point to a 1-trillion-cubic-foot (tcf) discovery in 2002.
Historically DPRK was thought to consist of five under-explored geological basins, the
• Pyongyang,
• Zaeryong,
• Anju-Onchon,
• Gilju-Myongchon and
• Sinuiju, Basins.
These basins are all located more or less along the coast, rather than inland. This also points to a certain degree of geological aptitude; as it’s much easier to explore along the more populated coast than it is to venture inland. There may be more hiding in the interior of the country, it’s just that no one’s looked as of yet. That’s difficult. Exploring along the coast is much easier.
With 3 basins supposedly proven to have working petroleum systems; 22 wells have been drilled and the majority are said to have encountered hydrocarbons with some wells testing production at 75 barrels of oil per day of light sweet crude oil. This has yet to be documented or confirmed by the Korea Oil Exploration Corp (KOEC), North Korea’s state-run oil company.
Yeah, our work was definitely cut out for us.
It was decided that a series of excursions offshore in one of the few remaining seaworthy, which was a real judgment call, KOEC seismic boats would be appropriate. The one we received use of was an old, decommissioned Chamsuri-class patrol boat, one Chamsuri-215(참수리-215), PKMR-215 in particular.
It had been basically stripped to the gunwales and completely retrofitted as a seismic acquisition and recording vessel. It had been renamed: “조선 민주주의 인민 공화국 영광” or “Glory of Democratic People's Republic of Korea Science”.
In reality, it was an aging rust-bucket piece of shit that might have possibly seen better days but wasn’t letting on. All the military nonsense, except the powder magazine, had been removed and a new superstructure consisting of slap-dash hunks of poorly-welded low-carbon, cold-rolled steel were erected to form a pilothouse in the area where the bridge once existed. They also built, extra haphazardly, a shooter’s room, galley, cold and wet storage areas, recording room, and storage of tapes and the extra bits and pieces needed for a none-too-extended stay on the sea. It was, being charitable, almost utilitarian.
They could not make their own water, so trip times were limited to about three days in length. Besides, they didn’t really have a hot galley, so it was cold, canned Chinese chow for the next 72 hours. They had a couple of fairly sturdy yardarms with heavy winches to handle the towed seismic arrays of geophones, which were of ancient heritage and showed it. These were probably appropriated back in the 80s or perhaps earlier when they first thought about opening their waters for seismic exploration.
They ‘borrowed’ most of the sensing and recording equipment back then from oilfield service companies and simply forgot to return it once finished. Since they burned that bridge so glowingly, they couldn’t get parts nor service when things failed. Being delicate seismic sensing and recording equipment, fail they did.
So, we had to use what was leftover, or what DPRK industries could cobble together, or what could be salvaged from salt-water drenched recording equipment that hadn’t been too heavily cared for over the span of the last 50 years.
We weren’t terribly optimistic.
So, we load the good ship ‘Rorrypop’, as Viv christened the thing, and head out to the wilds of the Yellow Sea. It was an abbreviated foreign crew, as there was really nothing other than upchuck and curse me soundly for insisting the non-geophysical scientists came along.
Aboard were the two geophysicists, naturally; Volna and Activ. I was there stick-handling the logistics and hoping to help out with the geophysical signal source explosives.
Morse and Cliff, the two other geologists accompanied us on the trip, and Dax decided to go with me as he figured I’d have access to the best booze no matter where we went.
The remainder of the team, the geochemists, Erlan and Ivan, the geomechanic, Iskren, the PT, Joon, and the two REs, Viv and Grako, remained behind onshore at the hotel. They set forth cataloging what data was available; from what sources, it’s vintage, veracity, and usefulness.
Augean tasks, both. Not as fecaliferous as Hercules’ jobs, but still, they held their own rations of shit for each sub-team.
Heading seaward, the Yellow Sea extends by about 960 km (600 mi) from north to south and about 700 km (430 mi) from east to west; it has an area of approximately 380,000 km2 (150,000 mi2) and a volume of about 17,000 km3 (4,100 mi3).[4] Its depth is only 44 m (144 ft) on average, with a maximum of 152 m (499 ft). The sea is a flooded section of the continental shelf that formed during the Late Pleistocene (some 10,000 years ago) as sea levels rose 120 m (390 ft) to their current levels. The depth gradually increases from north to south. The sea bottom and shores are dominated by sand and silt brought by the rivers through the Bohai Sea and the Yalu River. These deposits, together with sand storms are responsible for the yellowish color of the water referenced in the sea's name.
Being shallow, the Yellow Sea is more perturbed by the frequent seasonal storms of the region. The area has cold, dry winters with strong northerly monsoons blowing from late November to April. I was told that the summers are wet and warm with frequent typhoons between June and October; but now all we had to contend with were swelling seas, spraying saltwater, waggling waves, and a shivering, shimmying ship.
All the navigation, communications and other shiply duties were being handled by both members of the DPRK Coast Guard Auxiliary, mostly older guys who were of great and high humorous jest; and an actual pleasure to be around. They were like their scientific cadre on this cruise, basically a political ‘give a shit’ attitude, and a desire to get the job done, smoke the American’s cigars and drink as much as we could get away with.
The scientific portion of the cruise was being undertaken by students of the various universities and members of the North Korean national oil company. The demeanors of these characters ranged from extremely earnest and stringently North Korean politically correct in the students and academicians, to a more relaxed ‘yeah, let’s just get the fucking job done so we can have a lot of drinks’ sort of view of the older members of the DPRK scientific team.
It was a fun admixture of cultures, ages, professions, and behaviors.
Oh, forgive me for forgetting to mention our ‘guides’, or handlers. They were also chosen, nay, ordered to come along. Landlubbers all, they were less than thrilled with the assignment and inevitable seasickness; which seemed endemic to those of Oriental extraction on the cruise. However, our guides did enjoy drinking. As we learned that alcohol is a central part of Korean culture, and they encouraged us to socialize with them when the time was appropriate.
Or, not appropriate, as I was being denounced by one of the geophysical students after only a few hours into our very first day. Hell, we weren’t even in the Yellow Sea proper. We started here at Pyongyang, down the Taedong River, over the Giva Dam, through Pushover, across Shmoeland, to the stronghold of Shmoe; into the very belly of the frothing Yellow Sea.
Most everyone, other than the foreign elements on board, were either making the trip in the bowels of the ship; nursing and cursing seasickness; or by rail, doing exactly the same thing.
“Chum it over the side, ya’ blinkered mucker!”, I admonished one bottle-greenish national. “This ain’t the Captain‘s mess, Chuckles. You have to clean up your own spew!”
I was reveling in getting back out on the water and regaining my sea legs. I never get seasick.
Never.
Ever.
Be it a seismic vessel in the heaving Arctic Ocean, a pirogue in the swamps of Louisiana, my cousin’s fishin’ johnboat back in northern Baja Canada, a US nuclear submarine under the permanent pack ice of the North Pole, or VLCC in the Straits of Somaliland; I just don’t get seasick.
Airsick? Nah. Carsick? Nope. Ready to puke in a Hind-20 over the Caspian Sea during a strong local thunderstorm? Close, but no cigar.
So, I’m doing a Titanic scene recreation. Up in the very bow of the craft, standing in stark defiance of the gusting winds and blowing salt spray, smoking a huge cigar, and totting out of one of my emergency flasks while trying to hang on to my Stetson. I am also endeavoring to remain upright, field vest and really, really ghastly Hawaiian shirt billowing in the breeze.
I’m not certain if it was the cigar smoke, the wind-whipped beard, and hair, the give a fuck attitude, or the flapping of the Hawaiian shirt to which the little local geophysicist objected. But he was pissed. Olive-green with seasickness, rubber-kneed but still standing a good social-distance away, reading me the riot act in high-pitched Korean.
As I usually do in such delicate situations, I just smile and wave. Show them I’m mostly harmless and they either cool down or get pissed off even more and stomp off in disgust.
Either one was a winning situation for me in my book.
So, I return to doing my ship’s figurehead imitation and revel in the wind, spray, and feeling of really being booming. Sure, some might complain of the cold, but not me, the sting of the salt-spray or the windburn; but I eschew what most people enjoy as ‘normal weather’. I live for pushing the boundaries. I love rough weather and situations that thrust the edge of the envelope further past normalcy.
Besides, we were still in sight of land. Hell, if everything went south at this very minute, one could practically walk back to shore. I can hardly wait to see what these wigglers will do if a night storm comes up when were 100 or more kilometers from land.
The boat’s thrumming heavily from both the thrust of the Soviet-era diesel engines and the craft’s bludgeoning its way through the waves. Most hull designs are so the ship will ‘cut’ through the surface waters. This craft’s flattened trihedral hull design didn’t so much ‘cut’, as ‘slam’ it’s way through. The boat would then crash up one side and smash down the other of each large wave we encountered. The boat would shudder whole, adding a new note of resonance along with the monotonous one-note song of the aged Russian diesels.
The spray would fly, the boat would convulse, time would seem to freeze until we bashed into the next wave. The captain of the vessel took his orders very seriously. “Get to coordinates XXX and YYY by the most expedient means possible.” If that meant charging, full-throttle into the teeth of the oncoming monsoon-force wind while we were traversing the worst kelp jungle I’ve seen this side of the Sargasso Sea; well, piss on it, full steam ahead.
“Fuck it”, I thought, “Not my pony, not my show. Let’s see how this plays out.” While I light a new cigar and search for Emergency Flask #2.
After I’d been upbraided by the geophysical student for transgressions still unknown, Cliff and Dax wander out to ask me what the hell I was up to.
“Have you gone completely barmy?”, Cliff asked. “It’s a full gale out here and you’re standing in the teeth of it like it was a warm, sunny Sunday in Piccadilly.”
“Nope, not at all”, I replied, “Just reveling in the delights of an angry atmosphere.”
“He’s nuts, I told you”, Dax smirked, “He’d go anywhere and do anything to have a cigar.”
“Not just a cigar, me old mucker”, I smiled and waved my second emergency flack under his nose.
“Figures”, they both respond in unison.
Dax departs and returns mere seconds later with paper Dixie-style cups he liberated from the ship’s one head. We are going to do our very best to extend the lifetime of the onboard water supply for our scientific and military friends. I pour them each a cup full.
“Whoa, Doc”, that’s gotta be 100 milliliters!” Cliff objects.
“As the Siberian saying goes: One hundred versts, roughly a hundred miles, is no distance. A hundred rubles isn't worthwhile money. And a hundred grams of vodka just makes you thirsty. Prosit!” I say in reply.
We retire to the overhang on the fantail of the boat. It’s a sunshade and keeps the worst of the weather out for the lightweights on the cruise. I decided we’d withdraw there to keep these Dominionites out of the worst of the wind and sea spray.
“Rock”, Cliff notes, “You are a complete throwback. You do not belong here in the 21st century. You need to find a way back to the Calabrian and ride herd on the continental Neanderthals. Give them the gift of distilling and tobacco agriculture, and you’d reframe the world.”
Dax agrees, but notes if I do find a way back, he and Cliff would be selected against.
“Good point”, Cliff agrees. “Rock, stay here. We need your expertise now more than ever. Plus your ready supply of strong drink and cigars.”
“Glad to know that I’m truly appreciated around these parts.” I chuckled slightly acridly.
“Ah, Rock. Buck up. You know we’re only takin’ a piss.” Cliff says.
“Aim it starboard. Don’t want it blowin’ all over the seismic gear”, I reply, laughingly.
The trip continued, and I found a not-bolted-to-the-deck chair and moved it outside under the shade back by the boat’s fantail. I refreshed my emergency flasks and replenished my cigar supply. I’m not about to sit inside and listen to the wails and gnashing of teeth of the landlubber crowd, the patter and timor of the geophysical throng as they titter and argue about array design, nor the military hut-hutting all over the fucking boat.
A couple of times, one or more of our ‘handlers’ would venture out as I had the only supply of readily available smokeables and drinkables. Oh, we had food, lots of beer, soju, some knock-off vodka, and some of that faux homebrew bourbon for later once the workday was declared over; but for now, I was the one and only dispensary.
We’d have some random chats while they screwed up their courage to ask me for a smoke or a tot of drink. I brought several bundles of really cheap-ass cigars for just such occasions; besides, I figured one of my Camacho triple-maduros would have them chumming for the remainder of the trip. I had also many, many cartons of Sobranie pastel-colored cigarettes, and many more cartons of knock-off Marlboros I bought at the duty-free when we hit town.
It was chucklingly funny to see these harsh, military, no-nonsense characters walking their duty beats smoking pastel green, lavender, and mauve cigarettes.
We got bogged down a couple of times when one or more of the ship’s twin screws fouled with kelp as we tried to put some distance between us and the shore. Each time, one really dejected low-ranking young Coast Guard character would go over the side with a rope around his waist and a knife in his hand to free the props. I was going to object as this was moronically dangerous; but, again, not my pony, not my show. This called for full proper tethering and SCUBA gear.
They had neither aboard.
Welcome to the wonders of a centrally planned economy.
To be continued.
submitted by Rocknocker to Rocknocker [link] [comments]

The one thing that gets under my skin (Sorry for the long post)

This is my first time posting on reddit ever so please be kind. I never really felt the urge to post and mostly saw everyone's posts on here and really resonated with everyone's posts. I have never had a guest get under my skin but last night a guest finally did and I kind of needed to vent. Any feedback would be appreciated.
I am a supervisor at a property in Las Vegas. We will call it Night Inn for discretion's sake. It is 2 star property with a casino in it and it alright for what it is but I like working there. I have handled many guests with many of our clientele being of the night life kind, truckers and people who are looking to experience Vegas without needing the bells and whistles to enjoy it.
I always look to make a connection with the guests and get to know them. This was how I was trained and fairly often it is sighted as the reason people remember me. The property is fairly dated and smells heavily of smoke. To add to this we have $100 security deposit and a $18.13 resort fee people often times don't want to pay. This often times lead to understandably irritable guests that we have to have to please. This will include making jokes, answering questions, offering suggestions (much like a concierges as we do not have one), and many other things. I was born in the south (Louisiana) and was raised on a southern upbringing and I end up doing this as if it was second nature.
The night was very busy as always but it started to wind down. A young man and his father walked in to get their rooms for the night. I cracked a joke to lighten the mood which seemed alright and they started the check in process by handing me a paper from a third party company. I took it, the younger man's credit card and their ID's and started the process while I started using my southern charm. Things took a turn when I informed them when I asked for the $100 deposit per room totaling $200. The younger gentleman expression changed.
He angrily said "That's bullshit, show me where it says that and I will pay it". I then proceed to take the paper from the third party and flip it over and politely circle the portion saying it. He angrily starts to fish out his wallet for his other credit card saying that it would not be able to cover it. I then shortly there after had to break the news to him that our motel style room was booked to capacity and with how late they were checking in the rooms would be close but not next to each other. One would be on top of the other essentially but close to a staircase. This again angered him.
His father then took over and attempted to take care of it and said he would cover it. I explained to him how it worked and it explained in detail that he would get the money back. After it seemed like the mood had lighten I addressed the dad and asked what brought them to Vegas. He starts saying that they were passing through and going to a wedding to which his son was getting married. (Not the one checking in) I proceed to ask a couple of more general questions just to keep it going till it came time to be finished. I handed the keys to them and they left and I figured that would be the end of it.
5 minutes later they both show up and say the keys are not working. This is a common occurrence as our keys are very confusing for every guest and it happens often. I asked the guest if he put it in a certain way showing the wrong way to put them in. He adamantly proclaimed "Yes!". I politely explained that it is a common occurrence and showed him that it goes the other way. Before I even got to finish my sentence he started getting defensive. To head it off I explained that I had no problem resetting his keys, however, and that I would have our casino security escort him and help him and his dad to the room. I also told him to keep it away from phones and electronic devices and as well as magnetic pieces as this could wipe them. He took them and politely I introduced him to my officer and sent them on their way. Again this is common and I was fine was this.
As I began to start straightening up my bucket from the busy night he comes back up and I gave a puzzled look. I asked if everything alright at which point he said that it was but that he wants to talk to my manager. At this point I am dumbstruck. He begins to grill me and I am filled with questions. I explain to him that both the HM and the AHM have left for the night and the Casino Manager On Duty would be the one to answer his questions. He then starts saying that I purposely broke his keys (not possible with saflok) as they did not work the first time then they worked when my security guard helped him thinking I sabotage him. He then asked if I had seen his shirt. This is where things take a turn.
He then prominently points out that he is a GM of the resort prominently displayed on his shirt and says that if I had done this at his property I would have been fired. He says that I was asking very invasive questions about my guests. (This being the first time I have ever been told that) I told him that it was the way I was trained and that I was from Louisiana and that is how I was raised. He then tells me that he is from West Virginia and that he is more southern then me and that this is not how southern people are. This befuddles me to say the least. He then asks if I sabotaged his keys. I said "I don't believe so". This is mostly because nothing in this world is ever guaranteed in my book but I can promise you I didn't. He proceeds to take this as evidence that I did and proceeds to berate me about it. I finally had to radio my manager asking for his location because if I stuck around any longer I am not sure what may have slipped out. When my manager showed up and slipped to the back and had to cool off. This is a first for me to be honest. I have been frustrated or annoyed with guests sure but this was something different.
Edit: As to give more of the aftermath as to not leave you all hanging I wanted to give you an edit. The manager I have is a cool guy who has an old big burly biker appearance (also did security for Harley Davidson for years) who knows my demeanor as well as as heard many other people's satisfactory reviews of my service. He knows first hand how I treat my guests and knows how I operate even though he is casino and I am in the hotel.
While I am in the back and cooling down I can hear them talking and the young guy meets him and is slightly taken back by his appearance. He treads a little lighter but continues his list of grievances. He skips the part with the keys completely and only talks about the check in portion. The manager just seems to listen and says that he has heard the complaints and discipline me accordingly.
After the patron leaves he slips back to talk to me. I spring up from my chair and before I can say anything he chuckles. He starts cracking jokes with me and starts cooling me off completely. He then says that he isn't going to discipline me and he knows the guy was blowing smoke up his (explicitive) and to just write a report to my official managers so that in case anything does come of it they would know. When I followed up with my managers the next day they knew nothing of it.
submitted by Archer6281 to TalesFromTheFrontDesk [link] [comments]

[LORE] King Mario and Friends in "No Harm, No Fowl - Prologue"

Toothenny Beach, Coast Guard Lands
Naval Seaport 003
10 years ago
For some reason, when the nations of the world were reestablishing themselves, there were two organizations that rose back from the dead to govern its people: the US Department of Agriculture and the US Coast Guard. Of all the nations and departments and citizen-based communities in the USA, those were the two that were deemed worthy by some higher power to lead the people to success.
Or some attempt at success.
As it stands, those nations don't exist anymore. They've gone off to join the ranks of obscure nations whose relics will eventually join el Dorado's museums in one way or another. But that's the far future. This particular part of the story takes place 10 years ago during the final days of the Coast Guard. Built on the ruins of Louisiana and Mississippi, the shaky ground the government stood on (literally) served as a sort of forewarning to the issues they'd have to face only a few years after its establishment. While historians from el Dorado would have issues pointing to concrete reasons as to why the government institution would fall into ruin, the geographic location and lack of posts detailed instructions from their leaders couldn't have been a positive development. Stemming from that logic is the issue of resource allocation as the months went on. No explicit leadership probably meant resources couldn't get to the most vulnerable populations, thus creating some kind of frenzy to hoard instead of to invest.
Regardless of the reasons, many citizens found themselves facing something of an exodus as their fellow neighbors left everything (nothing) behind. What would they find on the horizon? Something better than what they had now, hopefully.
Samuel Sanders was only 15 when he remembered his own exodus from the chaotic island. While people were leaving at a steady stream for a while, it started to get worse when the country started staggering to a bloody civil war between civilian and splintered government groups.
He could remember the shouts his parents threw at one another, which had long replaced the hopeful and optimistic tones they shared over the diner table. And no matter how much they released their anger, their plates of food started getting smaller and the shouts only got louder. Even the food started to become more bland and grey as if to reflect the environment surrounding them. Normally Mrs. Sander's food would be flavorful and homely, as it was made from recipes passed down generation to generation. But the world around them had manage to take away the spirit of his food and family.
Samuel couldn't remember all of it but he did remember the day it all went lopsided for his own family.
It was early in the morning when he heard his father's loud booming voice just outside his house. He was telling some men that he had already paid protection for the month and it wasn't fair for 'them' to demand more when they were already pressed for cash. After a few more moments of arguing, a gun shot rang out and he heard his mother give off the most guttural scream he had ever heard. Samuel thought he knew what screaming was like already. He was wrong.
"Is there anyone else in this shack you call a house?" He heard one of the raiders outside ask. Followed by a loud echoing slap. "I asked you a fucking question."
"No! There's no one else in this house. You've taken everything from me now please leave."
"Well... not everything." Another gunshot. Definitely not the last one of the day but the final nail in the coffin for Samuel.
"You didn't have to do that you know. Now we can't collect anything from this house anymore."
"Yeah well. Tough luck."
"Now what?"
"Burn it. Let the cinders show anyone else in this block what happens if they try to make some stupid heroic stand."
"Dude, she's still alive." Sure enough, Samuel could hear the faint coughs and ragged breathing of his mom downstairs. The house was made of flimsy wooden material, sure, but her final breaths were so loud.
"Okay, great. Doesn't change my mind. Either you waste another bullet on her or burn her alive. Take your pick."
"Eh. Bullets are becoming more expensive."
"Smart man."
Samuel didn't dare to move until he saw the smoke rising up from above and the boots march away onto some other unfortunate soul. He couldn't cry. He didn't know how to. In just a few seconds that day, his entire life had been taken from him. Not even seeing the corpse of his dad and fading figure of his mom could make him emotionally react.
In the future, he would spend hours, days in mourning. The tears that would strike his face would age him quickly in the years to come. But right then and there, in that slowly burning living room, he could do nothing except place his mom's head in his lap as he sat down.
"Sammy. Sammy I am so sorry. Your father and I wanted so much for you. B-but now we can't."
"You tried. Every day you tried. And I'm not mad about that."
"Sammy, my son. Listen to me. Y-you have no special powers. You do not come from a line of special people... And there are no fantastic treasures you are owed. Cough. But all I can give you is something that not many of us were ever given. All I can give you is a clean slate. You are owed nothing. And you owe nothing to no one. All I can give is the promise that your future is yours. Over there," She pointed a shaky finger to the sink's cupboard. "Look in there."
Samuel already knew what was in there. His mom's recipes. Most of them were originals but a few were perfect replicas his mom made to preserve their instructions. Handed down from generation to generation, since the time of the Confederacy, these meals were a staple in the Sanders family. He knew he'd inherit them one day... but he didn't think it would be in these circumstances.
The boy looked back at his mom, hoping to hear a few more concluding words... but no. That was it. She held tightly to her husband as she too passed on to the next world. And Samuel was alone.
Aside from the crying and random memories of endless blue seas, Samuel didn't remember all too much of what happened in the following months. He knew he quickly ran around his burning home trying to get a few supplies for... whatever laid ahead. He also vaguely remembers jumping from ship to ship, trying to do whatever job was needed to earn his keep. That's how it was day in and day out for almost 5 years.
And then it seemed as though his fate would change again when his current trader's ship was docked in what used to be Mexico. He didn't mean to overheard the conversation between the two drunkards on the pier. But there he was, listening in.
"Wait, so the capital of this place and the country down south are named the same thing?"
"Yeah man. It's confusing. You think they'd change the name up but it's not like anyone is gonna go down there soon."
"Fuckin' pirates, am I right? I wonder how com they haven't tried to ransack it."
"This capital of that swamp Kingdom?"
"The swamp Kingdom. Just like in old times, right? A whole Kingdom made of gold. If it wasn't for the pirates blocking the way, I would do it myself."
"Anyone you know ever been there?"
"Nope. Hey maybe I'll be the first!"
"Please. The Spaniards couldn't find it the first time. You can't even find your ass with two hands and a map. You think you'll find el Dorado this time?"
El Dorado. A name and a dream that would haunt Samuel until he stepped foot on the lands of that Kingdom. After asking around out of pure curiosity, Samuel learned that (people weren't good at geography, constantly confusing the two el Dorados and) the 'swamp Kingdom to the south' was as much mythical as it was real. No one could agree on anything except for the fact that it had to be wealthy if it was run by a King and it called itseld 'el Dorado'. Streets paved with gold. Riches beyond anyone's imagination. Surely it was those damn pirates that were blocking the way for the golden allure of el Dorado to ensnare any fortune seekers. Hell, Guadalupe's cousin's best friend went looking for the treasure but he never came back. Pirates probably. At least that's what he was told.
After countless years of mourning and moping and doing whatever he could without much direction, Samuel got a small spark of determination in his mind. It was a small one, but it was a spark all the same. This was something he wanted to do. This was something exciting and full of promise that he would achieve on his own.
His mom was right. He owed no one anything and his life was what he made of it. And damn it, he was going to make the most of it by visiting el Dorado and claiming its riches.
Samuel was 25 when he finally reached the shores of el Dorado. Through more ship jumping and saving up money and building up connections, he finally was able to step foot on those fabled lands he had only heard rumors about.
Imagine his disappointment when he actually looked around and saw one of the most subpar nations he had ever seen. Hell, he even remembered the US Coast Guard being more developed than this in its final days. The streets were paved with dirt and the only semblance of civilization he saw were rail tracks that occasionally chugged along an ethanol tankard to its destination. There were a few curious stops he made on his way to the capital. The University of the Andes in Merida. The 'electric Casino' in Libertad. The overglorified and tacky fake-gold plated 'mansions' in the Bari National Park.
This wasn't the Kingdom of Gold. This was a scrappy land with second-hand people who served as little more than a living curio shop.
And Samuel nearly lost his mind with the revelation. Damn these people. Damn these lands. And you know what? Damn his mom, who put him on this sense of purpose. The only issue with creating a 'name for yourself' with nothing is just that: you have nothing. Samuel then spent the next days going back from the capital to the 'golden coast' in the Northwest part of the country. This place had so utterly dissapointed him and there was nothing else for him to do.
And his plan was to leave these lands behind. Forget about them. Never come back.
Until he came across the same issue unplanned (American) tourists do when they reach the end of their vacation: he had run out of money. His whole plan was to use the last of his funds to get here and make a name for himself. Now all he wanted to do was leave. But he couldn't.
Furious at the world, himself, his parents, and the dirt road he was traveling on, he took a moment to compose himself and think of something.
Alright. He needed to leave this God-forsaken country and he needed to do it quickly. Money. How would he get money quickly? Shoe-shining? No. Selling himself on the street? No, because apparently this wonderland of crazy people had unionized their prostitutes thanks to some woman named Ms. Dolly.
What could he- grumble. In all the excitement of getting out of there, Samuel realized he was hungry. And as his stomach decided to demonstrate the mating calls of a humpback whale, he found himself in a market in Valledupar. Yet another random, pointless city in this pointless country of excess and poverty.
He only had a few pieces of raw gold left in his pocket. He weighed his options but realized he didn't have enough to get off this land anyway. So with a shrug, he went about getting ingredients for a meal. Not just something bland or foreign like the arepas these people were selling. No, he wanted something homecooked and he would finally have the opportunity to use his family's recipe. Despite the highs and lows (mostly lows) of his life, Samuel still had a few things he took from home 10 years ago. The recipe was one such example.
It only took 30 minutes of haggling and understanding accents, but sure enough, he was sitting down with a hearty quantity of food he was ready to dig in. How he managed to find the spices his mom used was beyond him. But he wasn't ready to question a miracle.
He was, however, ready to question the two men standing in front of him.
"Can I help you two gentlemen?"
"You have a weird accent. But you don't look white. Are you half something? Native? Black?"
Samuel shrugged. "I'm not from here."
"Oh, okay."
"... I ask again. What do you two want?"
"Oh right. Well, we just came out here for a lunch break. And we couldn't help but smell the food you made. How much?"
"Excuse me?"
"How much for the food?"
Samuel looked around and realized that he had started eating on a vendor's table. There were no signs around his stall but based on the accidental way he laid out his spread, it definitely looked like he was trying to sell his food to the public.
And he already had two customers.
"Uhh..."
"We'll pay you. How much do you want?"
Samuel didn't know much about the economy of el Dorado but he knew the amount they were handing him was more than enough to cover the cost of the raw ingredients. He was about to shrug them off before he had a very random and intrusive thought. "That will be a fine amount, fellas." He looked at the large plate of chicken and sides he had cooked up and started... thinking. Maybe... just maybe his mom had been right after all. He absentmindedly patted the side of his satchel and the gears in his head stared winding ever so slightly. "I think we've got a deal, gentlemen..."
submitted by ChanelPourHomicide to PostWorldPowers [link] [comments]

🌧✨ Reddit Dragula - S3 Meet The Monsters | Part One ✨🌧

As a pre-conceived warning, this MTM will not be as good as last seasons. Due to my own mistake, I should’ve been more specific on it being more of a look description so I could have free range on the episode writing, however these girls and the other ones coming in the next part SLAYED for their first times, and honestly they’ll make this part good themselves. I apologise.
[START]
“What did you see?”
The sudden opening of the first scene occurs, appearing with a booming lightning strike sound, the constant loud splatter of rain drops pouring from the pewter clouds above can also be heard within the storm. The camera panned from the near trees, outwards into the clearing, where a drenched woman small of stature huddles within a blanket next to a police officer, residing next to the camp fire which had clearly extinguished due to the weather; the relentless amount of opaque, thick smog rising and intoxicating the air. She trembles and shakes in the cold night, shook up from something she had seen. The police officer near her leans further in, patting her back, the tense music continuing to crescendo.
“I saw Ev-evi-evita.”
A close up of a mixture of rain and tears rolling off her jawline happens, then the camera suddenly switching to the policeman's frowning face.
“Ok, this girls clearly done drugs. Just take her somewhere, to her home, whatever.”
The man scratches the rubble upon his jaw, and then stares into the distance of the forest, thinking that he saw a dark silhouette moving around, shaking his head and getting into his car, slamming the door in disappointment. One more lightning strike occurs, the intense, blindening blue blast of lightning covering the screen, transitioning into the new scene.
Las Vegas
11:00 PM
“Back, back, back here again. Spinning the wheel one more time.”
The camera pans through the streams of posh, upper class people in formal attire, treading over the crimson velvet floors and leaving behind their footprints. Fantasia can be seen, back in the same spot of last season, before a casino table in which rests the same wheel used from last season, each quarter reading the name of a final four queen. She also wore the same dress from the last time she stood in the spot. Her large, talon-like, royal blue fake nails come into view as she grabs onto the spin wheel, spinning it and watching it slow down. Vibrations emit from her phone, Fantasia looking down as she sighs and reluctantly answering the call, disrupting her attention to the spinning wheel. Whatever it landed on was blurred out as she turned, and awaits to hear the unknown voice on the call.
“Who died? Have I been sent home yet? Oh no what’s the twist? Wait, I don’t want to know, what is it?” She practically yells down the phone, eyeing up those who walked past her and gave her the evils.
The scene cuts to Fantasia rushing to her car, stumbling in her heels, gripping onto the cold handle and swinging the door open, throwing herself in. She ends the phone call, sighing, and then drives down the strip and out into the dessert. The roaring exhaust on the vintage car emitted vast sounds waves and smoke, whipping up the sand into whirlwinds and suffocating the air that lacked any moisture. The night sky was dawned upon her, with a slight red cast as the sun went down, continuing to drive faster as she looked at the time within her car. She eventually leaves the dessert scene, and finds herself pulling out of a police station, rushing into the doors whilst pushing past people and peering around for the sheriff's office.
“What did you see?”
She drops heavily onto the chair next to the woman who was found earlier, rushing her on for an answer.
“No, I don’t care about the cross dressing pedo, and yes you’re scarred by my stunning face, but a faster answer please. I don’t have all day, not all of us work on the same brain speed of… myself.”
“I saw a dark area, I’m not sure where it was. Almost like an empty room. And there were these monsters…”
The scene fades out, transitioning to another one which shows what she saw. A dark empty area, from what we can presume a room, was shown, only lit by a far flickering bulb in the distance, the only sound is of the faulty electrics and loose wires about the room, occasionally emitting sparks. Faint footsteps echoed off the wall, but coming from no sure direction, the camera spinning slowly until it focuses on a series of unknown figures.
The room was, well, as bright as you could expect an abandoned warehouse-y place to be, with walls as dark as the minds of those that entered it, and a thin veil of dust and mist that intermingled as it fell from the damp, mold-encrusted ceiling. Ava Adore slowly stepped into the light, her platforms scraping against the cold concrete floor. Her outfit was fairly simple-she wore a short, neatly-cut bob wig that just scraped her chin, green face paint dripping down her mouth in some semblance of vomit. Her eyeshadow was an acid-bright yellow and her lips a shade of pink in a similar brightness. Her t-shirt was black with neon pink writing declaring the words "Vomit gore", and her skirt was a similar shade of yellow to her eyes, a skintight PVC material. Her leg attire was quite similar in its simplicity, black fishnets with fake blood dripping down from her thighs in a crude simulation of menstruation. She gave the camera a disinterested stare with her white contacts, as if she felt almost a disdain for her situation. The dark scene fades into a confessional.
[AVA | archdukelidl]: Ugh, I'm Ava Adore, I'm, like, 22? and I'm from the west midlands. Or whichever trash bag you pull me out of after a night of partying. Seriously, I've ended up in some wild places. My drag style is best described in two words: Party filth. Like, acid neon, puke and death. As you can probably tell from my outfit. I don't think it fits into the typical conventions of filth drag but I'll go with it. I like to experiment with horror stuff occasionally too. I would say my drag is out-of-the-box but that just sounds cocky, right? Oh, wait, who gives a fuck? Yeah, it's out of the box. If you can even find a box big enough to fit my fat ass. I have high hopes for myself, like, I don't expect to win, but I expect to put up a damn fight and I will cut a bitch with my fake nails if I have to. But winning would be cool so I'm not gonna do that, because that's like a disqualifiable offence, yeah? I got my drag name from a song by the Smashing Pumpkins, even though their music isn't really what filth is about. I just thought it sounded like a classy name. And I am the absolute opposite of that shit! Anyway, laters! I gotta go find some shit to drink.
“How many others did you see?”
The scene of her vision continues, Fantasias voice heard in the background as she continues to question the girl for answers.
The room was dark, thick smoke covers the room as a dark shadow appears through the smog. Anita walks in, one hand on her mask, the other stretched out in a claw-like fashion. She appears in a beaked mask, akin to those worn by the plague doctors during the black plague. The base of the full black mask is made of metal and the beak is made of hard leather, with clear glass on the eyeholes. She is wearing a red leather sex harness as a top with bare chest. The straps of the harness form a crisscross across her chest and the “straps” are thick enough to cover her nipples. She is wearing a pair of flare pants with feather ruffles on the sides that move beautifully with every step she takes. A rope belt with skulls is wrapped around her waist, with the excess dangling on her left side. She is also wearing an 8-inch black stiletto heel with a chunky front portion. Anita has on black leg warmers made of feathers on her forearms over a black latex wrist-length glove underneath. She accessorizes the look with a necklace with 5 skulls spaced out around it and dangling skull earrings. She is wearing a grey thick dread wig with smaller skulls in it. As Anita walks through the smoke, she takes off the mask, revealing red tribal markings on her forehead, with 2 pointed stripes painted downwards underneath her eyes, perpendicular to her lips. She has on a strong dark smokey eye and no brows, with a strong black lip. Her body and right arm also has matching red tribal markings. To complete the look, she is wearing blackout lenses to add intensity. On her back, she is wearing a rusty copper-colored cage, held by chains like a drawstring bag, with a mystery item in it. As she walks to the center, she twists and squirms as if being possessed by a demon. Once she hits the marking, she stands straight and silent, before turning around to release the black crow in her cage. She laughs maniacally as she watches her crow fly around the room, a symbol of her releasing her evil into the atmosphere.
After the camera focuses on the individual, it slowly fades back into the confessional scene.
[ANITA | passingpeaches ]: Sup whores. My name’s Anita Dragname and I am 25 years old from sunny Singapore. My drag is polished, wicked and gagworthy. I signed up to Reddit Dragula 3 cause I’ve had a taste of competing in RDR1 Remastered and thought I could give this a shot too. Some of my looks on that season have been said to be “very Dragula” by the other girls, so why not? I think out of the 3 elements of Dragula, I resemble Horror the most as I’m always turning spooks, stunting creepy.
The questioning continues to be heard, as another figure can be saw in the distance, beside Anita who had just appeared in the light.
“The werent only two, there were lots. Have you ever just saw something and it’s scarred you?”
“Yeah, I saw RDR2.”
“They kept appearing, it was so odd.”
The dark figure moves closer and closer.
Catheterina steps out covered in dirt, head to toe. She begins by standing with her feet far apart and her arms straight out by her sides so you can take in all of her filthy glory. Her dark auburn hair is large and in charge, extremely unkempt and poofy. The hair is waist length, with the top of the wig beginning six inches above her head. Upon closer inspection, you can see that there are dead roaches all throughout her hair. Her lipstick is chocolate brown, with a smudge on her upper lip to the left to give the impression that she’s been eating dirty ass. Her eye-shadow is bright green and each in the shape of a leaf, with a line coming out of each of her eye-lines to appear as a stem. To top it off, she has a roach pasted on her forehead with two worms coming out of each side to appear as a headband. On her extended arms is a brown garter snake, wrapped around her neck and both of her arms. On her left hand it’s rearing its’ ugly head, fully alive and well, with the snake’s body ending on Catheterina’s right hand. Her chest is covered with a tassel of leaves formed in the shape of a butterfly, with two brown leaves arranged vertically across the sternum, and crumpled up orange leaves to form the breasts. She has a belt that is also made of green leaves with two twigs sticking out at each side, holding up her knee-length, upside-down-cone-shaped skirt that is made of tiny twigs and sticks and slants downwards to the point that it sticks out five inches from her knees, still leaving see through areas. She steps forward with her arms still spread out, but then raises her right hand and begins pulling the dead roaches out of her hair, until she sticks out her right hand to show the handful of six roaches, and then eats them one by one like a bunch of M&M’s. The next handful she grabs, she smushes them on her right cheek, wiping the trails of their bodies across her face and then licking up the remnants. She pulls a worm off her forehead and it begins to swirl around. She lets it through one of the holes in her skirt to crawl up her urethra, with her mouth wide open in shock and pleasure at what she’d just done. For her finale, she unwraps the snake from her arms and allows it to hang around her neck for a bit, before bringing it up to her face and allowing it to lick her. She returns the favor by deep-throating its’ head before pulling it back out, still bobbing its’ head.
[CATHETERINA | asiaoharasdragrace]: I’m Catheterina Dick, named after the hopes that my outfits will make you cringe harder than my drag name and like I tell all my male suitors, I’m 18. I’m from Louisiana. Considering no one would recognize the name of my actual town, I’ll just go with New Orleans. It’s like my home away from home because there’s smelly homeless people everywhere so I fit right in. If I had to describe my drag in 3 words, mental illness manifestation. Kidding, sort of, but really I’d say campy, grungy, and trashy. I signed up for this because I need the online validation I don’t get in real life. Jk, but in all honesty I’ve been following these interactive seasons for a while, and Dragula allows you more freedom to be crazy and nasty and shocking, so I figured this was my opportunity to take the nightmares I’ve been having as long as I can remember and bring them to life- on Reddit. I easily resemble filth the most. I’m literally down for anything. This look only scratched the surface of how gross I am. I will drink piss and swallow whole live frogs and chop off toes if that gets me the Reddit Dragula crown. Hell, I’ll still do it anyways.
“Ew, that one sounded gross. Let me guess, there was another one?”
As the exposed queens disappear, the continuation of the sound of footsteps occurs, getting closer and closer, the camera occasionally flickering off and on.
Sue stepped out into the light with a pure air of elegance, embodying the jazz singers of days gone. When she looked in the lense you felt the whiff of whisky and regret hit you. When she twirled and the slit came up on that velvet gown it was as if she was sex herself. Candid, yet with ulterior motives behind it. She pulled a stiff cigar from her bodice, but rather than putting it to her mouth she put it to her neck, seemingly inhaled and then released the fumes through her mouth. The years of sin in the city and vice had made physical differences to her body. Rather than letting it be a catalyst for improvement she simply used it to show how little she cared. Her arm began to jitter, and she ripped off her glove revealing an IV bag of yellow liquid attached to her arm. Her hand began to contort into an assortment of glamorous poses, showing it to be in her nature to keep it beautiful. She pulled out a bottle of red wine from under her dress titled “Jesus juice, tastes like the end of the road”. She yanked out the cork and began drowning her arm in the juice, attempting to get it into where the IV had rested. She needed into her bloodstream, and the way she shook the bottle to get the liquid in was near visceral. Exhausted from the ordeal she fell to the ground, pulling her glove back up above her elbow in an attempt to be seductive, before giving up on this wish (as she likely did with many others in her life), and dragged her makeup while grabbing the cross laden below the throat cavity and saying some short prayers
[SUE PERB | HashtagDeathSplat]: I am Sue Perb, short for Susan Perb and longer for Susanne Perb, I am from The United Kingdom and I’m whatever age you want me to be. Sue is unexpected, polished and pristine. She serves you glamour with a twist. She’ll give you always a simple silhouette but always with a trick up her sleeve. It’s always polished and neat before it all inevitably goes to shit when she destroys the floor. I always try to embody a glamour and a beauty in what I do, and I use that as my way to present the other aspects. I signed up to Dragula to win a motherfucking crown and do something creative with my vacation.
“I mean, they weren’t all females. There was one that appeared quite masculine too.”
“Not a straight right?”
“I don’t know.”
Another daunting silhouette can be seen, as the light flickers Sue disappears from view, whilst the unknown person walks towards the lens.
The king emerged from the darkness of the room, a flash of light coming from the miners helmet he is wearing. Cobwebs cling to the yellow helmet as the dim headlamp flickers. His face is sunken in, the makeup creating deep dark circles under his eyes and sharp, jutting edges of his face. His chin has a smattering amount of dark brown stubble, which is contrasted by his intensely thick brown eyebrows. His face is an ashen gray color with short dirty blonde hair sweeping down to partially shade his eyes, which are blue. His overalls are a dark faded green color, they cling to his body, revealing a thin, wiry frame, and they are covered in dust and cobwebs. He is bare chested underneath the overalls, with the rest of his body painted similar to his face: gray and skeletal. There is a huge tear in the side of his overalls, caused by a large chunk of rock embedded into his side, with blood seeping through at a slow rate. His heavy, black combat boots drag and kick up dust as he shuffles forward deliberately, clutching a spray-painted gray sunflower close to his chest.
[INDIGO CHILD | cloudess15]: Hey, I’m Indigo Child, also known as cloudess15, and I’m 26, which means I’m past my biological prime and my cells are slowly dying. I’m a punk ghoul from the Twin Cities and my drag can best be described as undead, cynical, and comical. I definitely represent horror the best because there is nothing more terrifying than a butch who knows how to do makeup. I decided to do this competition to further develop my drag aesthetic. Let the Purple Reign begin!
The office scene returns, where Fantasia can be seen frowning at the girl whilst she describes what she saw.
“Portia, girl, come on. Please don’t tell me you’re having a relapse from your drug look on the Coachella challenge.”
Suddenly the woman, now known as Portia, snaps out of her depressing mood, turning red as she watches Fantasia rub her head in disappointment.
“It’s not my fault. It got me the win, so why wouldn’t I try again for the finale?”
“Just continue, tell me the others.”
It snaps back to the dark room.
A very tall and very pale figure steps into the doorway. In the half light, all that is visible is the soaring swoop of a skyscraper pompadour, and the glowing ash of a lit cigarette. She exhales the smoke in a perfect circle and steps forward. Razor sharp cheekbones adorned with metallic silver contour draw your attention up to golden brown eyes framed with lengthy spiked lashes. There is a sparkling viscous substance smudged around the eye and delicately spilling down her cheeks. How much of it is silicone glitter versus actual blood is anybody's guess. Her nails are certainly long enough to have scratched somebody's eyes out. Her fur bomber coat is as blood red as her hair, but the artfully slashed sequined chiffon strands underneath it could only be called a shirt by the blind or the generous. The only thing keeping the top half of the outfit from disintegrating is an elaborately woven double wide obi style belt made from sex shop cock rings and bits of old denim. Silver latex high waisted leggings hug a booty that tests the limits of the concept of 4 way stretch, and the surprisingly long and slender legs that carry it are encased in a red latex thigh high boot that matches the hair and the coat. She takes the last drag of her cigarette (stained with remnants of lacquered red lipstick), and crushes it under her stiletto heel in a manner that borders on niche pornography.
[ANGIE APATHY | msmonochrome]: Hello uglies! I'm Angie Apathy, old enough to know better, but young enough to still do it anyway. I'm born and bred in New York City, a place so dirty that my last subway ride was probably filthier that all of last season's runways put together. If I had to describe my drag in 3 words, they would be grungy grindhouse sexbot. I can switch from Fellini to Fulci at the drop of a hat, and bring a Dragula style celluloid cocktail of glamour and horror to the competition, with a dash of kink fueled filth thrown in. As a new face, these other girls might not give me much credit. That's fine, as I prefer to get the cash up front. Why Dragula Season 3? Apathy is nothing more than a fancy word for having not a single fuck left to give, and I am here to snatch the crown away from the tired masses of H.P Lovecraft fanfic and queens who still think blood capsule residue dribbling down their chin with some butcher shop entrails is super spooky.
The faulty light bulb flickers once again, Angie fading from view, replaced by one more dark silhouette that falters in the distance, stumbling towards the ambience of light.
A diadem of black tendrils sat proudly upon her grey skin. The cords intertwined themselves in a complicated manner, tying into thick webs that formed a netting. Only two of the crown's cords were not fitting in this order, instead, hanging loosely upon each side of her face. Her skin was grey, the shadows battling each other upon her visage. Her lips were basked in a deep plum color, with a single drop of blood staining them. Her cheekbones were high, strangely and disgustingly high. Erathelle stares down with her white contact lenses. There was only white in her pupils, the tones of violet and grey that danced around her eyelids being the only drop of color present. Where her eyebrows should have been, another pair of eyes were drawn. They were angular, thin, sharp, staring directly at the camera. Her gown went up to her neck. The lace of it was black, delicate, and torn into several spots, leaving her skin exposed around the shoulders and collarbones. Her abdomen resembled an insectoid carapace, having a series of blunt spine-like structures erupting around her stomach and down to her hips, where the dress falls down into a mermaid cut that hugged her legs tightly, spinning about as she walked. There were long threads of linen that hanged from her hands and diadem, swathing in the wind as she walked. Erathelle brought up a single finger to her lips. Pressing hardly upon her skin with her dark, fake nail, she would cut down in a single swipe as a thin droplet of blood crashed down upon her chin. The goddess Arachne had been dormant for too long - and now, she grows hungry.
[ERATHELLE | cuntaliefondant]: My drag name is Erathelle, but you can call me Era for short. It comes from my religious name. I am a Wiccan priest, and I go by "Erastis". So I took "Era", and added "thelle", because I love French sounding shit and there you have it. I am eighteen years of age. Fresh out the womb, right? I’m from Romania, where all the vampires and gypsies come from. Hide your drag from me, I'm gonna steal it. My drag in three words would be blasphemous, obscene, foul. A girl after your own heart. I think I embody horror the most. I think my purpose as a monster is to defile, and I really can't put it in better words. Everything I touch turns into a horrifying, ugly, repulsive mess.
Fading back to the scene in which Portia and Fantasia sat opposing one another, they both pause for a second and think.
“So, you’ve basically cast S3 for me through a drug trip?” Fantasia quieries her, confused but also thankful at the same time.
“Well, if you want them monsters on the cast then yeah, I guess so. What about the other 6?”
“I’ll go to wherever you imagined, you must’ve been there in the past anyway and find the others. Thanks, you’ve finally been useful for once.” She pats Portia on the back as she rises, heading to the door. “Write that damn finale submission already too, whore.”
She hurries out of the police station, in disgust with the toxic fumes that arose from the severe amounts of men smoking cigarettes, coughing as she regains balance on the slippery steps and gets back into her car. Pulling out a raggedy map from the cabinet, she opens it up and looks down at where she’s meant to be driving.
“I don’t even know how to work maps.”
She scans her finger over certain circled locations, such as one labelled ‘ancient chapel’, even one in Mexico, sighing.
“I’ll just go north.”
Fantasia presses down onto the acceleration pedal, switching on the radio and Euthanasias rap begins to play as the car storms off into the distance, disappearing from view.
[END]
Yet again, I apologise for the quality of the episode. Episode one will make up for it, and just a thank you to each queen in this part and the upcoming one for doing so well and actually making this worth reading.
submitted by bbukrpdr to RDRInteractiveSeason [link] [comments]

A complete guide to the rest of Season 4 (Spoilers)

Hello Everyone!
There's been a lot of talk and discussion lately about bold predictions for the next few episodes, and I thought I'd put in my two cents. A LOT of this will contain spoilers for the rest of the season, although nothing major. That being said, let's get into it.
The Facts
There's a lot of information out there that a lot of people might not know (yet). Season 4 is about to pick up in its intensity. First and foremost, there's the episode titles for the remainder of the season. I'll list them out down below, and go back to them a little later in this post.
Better Call Saul's 4th season contains 10 episodes in total, episodes that haven't aired yet have been italicized.
  1. Smoke
  2. Breathe
  3. Something Beautiful
  4. Talk
  5. Quite a Ride
  6. Piñata
  7. Something Stupid
  8. Coushatta
  9. Wiedersehen
  10. Winner
Now this may not be anything new, but there are some things I don't think have been noticed yet, which I'll get into later...
There are a few new characters confirmed to show up in these upcoming episodes. The first of which, is Lalo. If the name sounds a little familiar, it's because Saul mentioned it in Breaking Bad during this scene. Lalo is played by actor Tony Dalton. Sadly, we won't get to meet him this week, as he isn't credited until the episode Coushatta. We DO know that his storyline involves both Nacho (Ignacio from the clip) and Hector (shown in this teaser image here). We don't know a whole lot about Lalo, but one thing we do know, is that he also gets himself involved with Gus, thanks to this interview here (at 1:00 in), thanks to Giancarlo Esposito saying "He does a great job trying to fool me, Lalo. He does a great job". So it'll be interesting to see how that plays out.
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The second new character showing up is Casper, played by Actor Stefan Kapicic, known most for his role in Deadpool as the voice of Colossus. The good news is, IMDb credits him appearing in Piñata, Something Stupid, Coushatta, and Wiedersehen... but not in Winner. I don't recall any mention of Casper in Breaking Bad, so we'll have to see where he fits into the story. IMDb does mention that he's fluent in many other languages, one of them being German.
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One I'm looking forward to, the third new character coming to the show is Kai. Kai will be played by German actor Ben Bela Böhm. Like Casper, he appears in all the upcoming episodes, except for Winner. This leads me to believe that Kai and Casper will be connected somehow, possibly having some German connection. My theory is that they are both higher ups working in the German division of Madrigal Electromotive (more on this later).
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Finally, the fourth new character I found is Sebastian, played by Jilon VanOver. Like Casper and Kai, he also appears in the upcoming episodes, except for Winner. I really do think these three are all connected one way or another. Only time will tell. One thing I think is worth noting, is his name, Sebastian. As u/RaiderOfALostTusken points out in his post from about a year ago, there have been a few references to St. Sebastian, a Christian Martyr commonly depicted as being shot with arrows while tied to a tree, being rescued and healed, and then later murdered for his beliefs. Perhaps this Sebastian will meet the same fate.
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A Closer Look at the Episodes
Looking at the names of the different episodes, we can already start to see a few key things I'd like to point out.
All in all, I'm excited for this season, fantastic work by everyone involved. Hands down my favorite show on TV right now. Hope you all thought this was at least somewhat interesting to read, I know it was kind of a lot. Thanks for sticking through it if you did and reading the entire thing, Here's a cute picture of a dog if you managed to make it to the end. Thanks :D
submitted by REDDIT-Nerdcat to betterCallSaul [link] [comments]

The Downward Spiral of Henry Collins

Henry Collins was just a freshman from the University of Chicago when he committed suicide. Before he died, he was under a lot of pressure from his family, his friends, his girlfriend, his professors, his therapist, his guardian angel (yes, he was a devout Roman Catholic), his acquaintances, his guidance counselor, his lawyer, the person he was supposed to give his next year dorm payment to, his Spanish teacher, the entire registry office of his college, the dean of his college, the people following his YouTube account, the people following his Instagram account… The list goes on. But I’ll leave it at that for the meantime. I have been granted the duty of offering a biographical testimony as to what happened in Henry’s life before the nightmare known as PayPal whipped him into domestication and turned him into the laughing stock of their board meetings, but also a central heated topic of debate between clients, stockbrokers, interns, managers, assistants, executives, and secretaries.One of these interns, an SSRI-fiend named Cody Williams, whose bags under his eyes seemed to represent his volatile mental state, said that “the story of Henry Collin’s life gave mine meaning. We were always excited what would happen to him next. I always thought he was elect-from-God to experience this pain to sort of purify the human race of it’s sins.
In other words, he was a Messianic figure, but in a way that sort of turns our sadness and grief into amusement at his expense.” The razzmatazz began when Henry’s father decided to send a large amount of funds so that he could pay off the fee for his housing next year. He had then been living in a not so shabby perhaps even exclusive domicile where he spent most of his days doing what a regular college student usually did: study, sleep, have a coffee, write things in his diary, pray to God, talk to his friends, play football, scroll through his Facebook feed, after he was done scrolling through his Facebook feed he would then scroll his Twitter feed…There was an obligatory urgency as to which he did these things, he wouldn’t consider them a part of his routine, but he knew from then on there was an ominous deterministic element he had cruelly been subjected to.
He didn’t know where that ominous feeling came from, in fact, he knew he should probably to talk to his therapist Lily about it but he hesitated. Lily, despite all her charming good looks, had always presented him with the most artificial solutions to problems. Lily presented her solutions in a way that made it seem like she was ‘troubleshooting’ Henry’s problems. In other words, she wasn’t very original, and sometimes Henry suspected she would Google some of the issues Henry was dealing with to see if other therapists might have encountered similar problems.Of course, this might’ve just been a symptom of that monkey in Henry’s back; the one which would whisper that cruel word: determinism. Henry had an anthropology teacher which went on and on about it, and it was partially the reason he had stopped attending most of the classes. He talked to his therapist about his fear and she diagnosed Henry with autism. “I don’t think you can express your emotions very well, therefore we can now conclude you’re autistic.”
When the diagnosis came back to Henry’s father, he was furious and decided that was the last time Henry would see that therapist ever again. He asked for a refund to which she replied: “Settle that with my lawyer.” This would be the first of many injustices in Henry’s life.Henry believed he had a fear of lacking free will, and he believed the fear controlled him at a physiological level. Even though he was a devout Catholic, he was also a doubting thomas. He had started reading about the Scurvhamites which he blamed Thomas Pynchon for introducing him to. Eternal death was reserved to those who didn’t accept the doctrine. He had thought about converting but just chalked his skepticism as being part of ‘the fear’. When ‘the fear’ came, it would make his teeth grind, and his pores would sweat blood like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsamane. What lay deep beneath his unconscious processes… Oh, I feel almost guilty for using that phrase… Once you said the word ‘unconscious’ he would do a double take and start heaving like an asthmatic. Besides these eccentric conditions, he was a good kid.One serene Tuesday he received a notification from PayPal saying that they had froze his account. During this point in his life, Henry had been on medication prescribed to him by his new therapist, a man named Dr. John, or as he was known in the streets, ‘the gris gris man’. Before I go in depth about the PayPal notification, it is necessary to discuss the relationship between Henry and the gris gris man. Dr. John had taught Henry the art of self-medication, and bestowed him his own street name - ‘The Night Tripper.’
Henry felt a figuratively sacred aura about his newly appointed name. This is where he also was introduced to New Orleans voodoo - a deterministic move which might have just sealed his non-Scurvhamitic fate.In the sweaty bayous of Louisiana, Dr. John’s eyes would dilate; and in a Delphic trance he would speak in tongues to poor old Henry, who suddenly started to become fascinated with the gris gris merchant. Dr. John said he was an interesting patient with a sad fate, and he wasn’t far off. The thing is Henry wasn’t the same when he turned into the Night Tripper. He became removed and distant. His girlfriend would often grow worried since he wouldn’t reply to her texts. She suspected there were other women in Henry’s life. But the truth was Henry was merely under the gris gris man’s effervescent spell.One night, Dr. John called Henry on FaceTime to his surprise. “You did something embarrassing a while ago.” said the doctor. Henry; under the influence of psilocybin and jimson weed he had obtain from a client of the doctor’s, started to grow confused, his search for self-discovery had been halted. The ‘fear’ bubbled in his chest and sizzled, and then with every progressing gnawing instant, he realized the fear became associated with a burning flame - like the symbol of the Holy Ghost. It hit him - he had finally understood what his schizophrenic uncle had meant when he asked many years ago why he had stopped painting: “The fire…” He said. And that was all he said. Dr. John seemed amused with Henry. “Take care of yourself.” he said, but Henry didn’t know if he meant it or not, he didn’t know if the doctor was simply cunning or doing his trademark business of mystification or speaking incomprehensibly or sincerely being understanding to Henry’s condition.
Henry didn’t think he was ever meant to understand the gris gris man’s motives. “There is no touch. Why is no one touching me? I’m so lonely…” muttered Henry to himself. He lay there on his bed, trapped inside his four-by-four cell in the dead of the night, with no words of his consolation from his parents; who were asleep. Or from his girlfriend; who was also sleep. Henry didn’t want to risk calling her and telling her about the concoction the doctor had cooked up for him. No. That was a huge no no. A shiver arcs it’s way down the crevices of his spine. He needs to figure out if the world is real now. Nobody can help him do that.The following morning he awoke groggy from the night before. He resumed his daily responsibilities, such as fixing his blog, writing papers for school, and going to class discussions. In the afternoon, he resumed his reading of ‘The Magus’ by John Fowles, drawing parallels from the rich hypnotist/mastermind of illusions Maurice Conchis to the gris gris man, except he understood that Conchis was more precise and surgical with his psychological diagnostics, and the narrator, a rather intellectual but excessively promiscuous character, had been the victim. He is psychoanalytically defined as having a ‘partially resolved Oedipal complex, where the initial loss of maternal protection due to an authoritarian relationship with his father lead him to develop unhealthy coping mechanisms such as adopting the whole ‘rebel without a cause’ image, and also seeking out isolation as a means for his sexual predatory exploits and also situations where he must be ‘forced to rebel’.”
But this act of rebellion is a castrated one wherein the narrator (Nicholas Urfe) is compared to a ‘drone’ which lacks the innovation or the creativity to justify said rebellion.Henry’s father that day had been frustrated with him since the funds which were stuck in his PayPal account were frozen, and he was told that he wasn’t assertive enough to properly deal with the situation independently. This was a big blow to Henry’s ego. He knew there were other ways of dealing with the situation, but then he realized that perhaps his desire for handling the situation differently was just his own way of avoiding that lack of assertiveness. He often has thoughts of being emasculated by his peers, his brother, and his father. This probably would later contribute to a stasis he would soon fall under the influence of; a stasis of seesawing sexuality, and one that would make him undefinable to his peers. He knew little about his peers aside from the fact that they drank, smoked, and capitalized on college girls with low self-esteem. Henry also received an email later that day. It was from PayPal. “I regret to inform you that we can not accept the proof of address provided because no issue date appears on it. Provide us with a document that shows a date of issue. We accept a copy of the following documents:-Invoices for public services (landline and mobile phone, medical insurance, gas, water, electricity, etc.) -Bank or card statements -Working life report- Certificate or registration-Hard copy of the payroll
We do not accept: -Commercial bills -Partial documents Note: The document must include your full name and address as they are registered in your PayPal account. The document must show the date of issue, which must be more than 12 months old and must be legible in its entirety.” Henry didn’t think of this email as that of a big deal.
He was just sloppy enough to grab the nearest bank envelope on his desk and take a picture of the bank letter - thinking this passed as a ‘bank/card statement’. Obviously, the date of issue was necessary, so he opened his desk drawer and looked for a thick brown envelope which had his bank contract inside. He skimmed through a couple pages of terms of service jargon and took a picture of a page which had his address, the date of issue, and his full name. He then uploaded the picture to his PayPal account so that whoever was responsible of moderating personal documents could verify it.“Neurotics and lunatics…” he thought, thinking he ought to write a story about their anal fascination of detail. But then he realized how awful that sounded, he had written thousands of lines filled with words before, now his ideas were like frenetic flies that would flee once you tried to swat at them, he thought about those lines… An absurd fascination for the cryptic and absurd. He remembered again Nicholas Urfe’s diagnosis - “The normal cultural life pattern of the type: excessive respect for iconoclastic avant-garde art, contempt for tradition, paranosic sympathy with fellow rebels and nonconformers in conflict with frequent depressive and persecutory phases in work and personal relationships.”
He entertained the idea of the sadistic researchers in the novel as being entities of his subconscious manifesting themselves through text, as if he had stumbled upon someone’s own intimate personal secret. One of the characters in his past stories was a lunatic gunman who was ravaged by an innate love for his biographer; who happened to be a narcissist obsessed with coming up with the rawest, most visceral revelation of the human character known to man. But the underlying irony of it all stuck out like a sore thumb. He had the unique idea of having the gunman speak in aphorisms, while the biographer clings zealously to the sheer beauty of the fragmentary figments of the gunman’s imagination.He also began experimenting with a technique known as ‘surface realism’, which was a way of playing tricks on the reader by leading them to think that a fragment or portion of the story consists almost exclusively of the real, and these portions have the power to imprison reality within their concrete and seemingly absolute descriptions.
But then the reader learns that there are actually multiple mythical realities, but these are myths disguised as reality from the surface, and this is emphasized by the matter-of-fact description of the narrator, which gives the reader the sense that he or she is potentially not of a lucid state of mind, or perhaps even that there is a truth which the narrator hasn’t managed to fully grasp, and maybe not even a truth, but a subliminal detail.One ought to take advantage of discrepancies between what the reader is capable of assuming and trace the discrepancies to form an anamorphic image. Since the plot is a living thing; an organism that is conscious and breathes. We must assume that these discrepancies are actually connected like the organs of a body. The reliability of the narrative fixation on the real or the imaginary - which can also be said to represent another aspect of reality, is essential in setting the tone of the hazy infinities of surface realism. Also, the question of whether surface realism is a satirical label or not is a prime example of this unexplored genre. It is as they say - “The social chameleon of literary genres. ”Besides narration, there is also the unreliability presented by the idiosyncrasies and state of mind of the character, the reader must simply approach the text at face value in order for the fantasy to begin, there is a time where genius must become extinct and parasitic (in the sense of convolution and clicheness), allegories must defy reality completely and shit on the painfully mundane.
Novelty will always establish and constitute its own respectable domain. The gris gris man had once said that the tendency to resolve ambiguities and textual inconsistencies by scholars only ensure confusion, the reader is lead into a room filled with mirrors and mirrors reflecting complexity - but complexity is entropy - and entropy is indirect information.He had made it very clear that information was the plaything of the mind, a product of its dialed fine tuning, processing quantum bits and collapsing wave functions… Some believe the reader absorbs more by actively taking part in the novel and playing an invisible role; that of the spectator. “Without being aware of it the reader can relate in a humanistic level based on his or her own limitations to the norms of the characters. When such a symbiosis takes place, distinct similarities are observed between one’s identity and that of the roles the characters actively take part in. There is richness and substance to be found in ambiguity and perhaps even subdued interpretations, for what we overlook at face value when we fail to grasp the innate simplicity of complexity, is a mirror attempting to reflect infinity in a nutshell. This may all sound very understandably delusional. Yet in delusion - there is that profoundness; that superfluousness of perception.
But let’s get back to Henry’s problems; one of them being meeting Dr. John in the bar of a casino downtown from where he lived. It was the dead of the afternoon and this was the time security would come and patrol; usually on the lookout for the gris gris man himself, having been previously convicted of vehicle theft, assault, public nudity, and the alleged abduction of a teenage bartender. Although, one reporter claims that the abduction barely fazed the regulars in the Smokey Joe Tavern. Why? Well, according to one of those present during the scene of the crime, the disinterested chatter persisted when a frantic struggle was occurring somewhere in the kitchen, there were plates crashing on the floor, trays, utensils… and then the sound of incomprehensible machinery humming, affirming the futility of everyone around to even be bothered enough to call the cops until about an hour later. I think it was the manager who came around that time too asking where his bartender was. When the news broke that he was abducted, he couldn’t fathom why the crowd were so unconcerned, maybe they were just drunk… he must’ve thought. He slept a few hours that night, disgusted with himself, he called his doctor up to sedate him and he was given a couple Halcion.
He woke up the next morning with a recurring bout of constipation that persisted all throughout the day, and the afternoon memory haze, probably due to the sedatives, had prevented him from recalling the name he was given by one of the bar hounds. And then he realized he hadn’t even cared to recall names from ten years ago, from his high school, they were dead ends of broken memories, cotton buds already nipped. At least once or twice these apparitions of thought would resurface, it was a residue of his youth perhaps, maybe he was sapped and finally overwhelmed by the present. While dancing with the weightlessness, the buoyancy of youth, and the remnants of its wonderful feasts, he ought to bear that mask to forget about the weight of a lifetime pulling him toward the waiting room.The waiting room was a terrible place. A place where Dr. John brought most of the men and women he abducted. From bars, hotels, motels, bus stops, kiosks, beaches... Little did Henry know he was about to be lead there himself, he was already briefly straddling between two worlds; the insidious cancer inside and the tea-softened biscuit bones outside.
Chapter 2 -- coming never.
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Piper and Joi Season 1

Piper and Joi Season 1
Season 1 starts out opens with a small toy globe on Ezra's floor. We see footsteps walking in the backroom in a hallway. It’s Joi. She is picking up laundry off the hallway floor. She finally walks into the room and steps onto the toy globe and breaks it. She falls to the floor. A conversation between Joi and Ezra takes place about waking up for school and her being late for her first day at her new job. While she’s picking up his laundry and kicking his toys under his bed. The room he has is small. There is a plastic bag covering the window, holes in the wall. It’s a run down house. We have a scene of Joi putting clothes on Ezra. Joi is pulling him out of the house and sends him off to school saying text me when you get there.
Kiersey Clemons as Joi
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Joi/Ezra’s story
Joi comes from a rough family. Joi was kicked out of high school for fighting. Street fighting and self defense. Joi was dedicated to fighting after she saw someone go after her younger brother Ezra. When she was 16 she ran away with Ezra. That’s her story starting at the beginning of the season. She is like the actual main character. Her story unfold over 3 seasons. Joi is more of the realistic character. While you could call her serious character, I’m writing her as if she was waking up in the Saints Row universe for the first time and her reactions to everything and how she learns to embrace/deal with it. Joi means business, unforgiving and ruthless. And fun when it’s time for play. Ezra’s character is really the only innocent thing around. He knows a few moves to protect himself, but vulnerable nonetheless. Ezra is the hero of his own story. He wants the best for his sister Joi.
We see Joi arrive at this very tall office building in downtown Los Angeles, she is late. She goes into this underground part where she is greeted by officer Jimbo of Ultor Special Security (Masko agents).
https://preview.redd.it/7l0t1f3o74631.png?width=300&format=png&auto=webp&s=aa9fdef2c5fbca85d085570632fb58fc64091650
Jimbo Schlemmer’s character is head of Ultor security. He is a bully to anyone beneath him, but a kiss-ass to his superior.
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Masako Agents
Ultor was a major company. Over the course of several years between then and now, they branched into other industries and became the most influential corporation in the nation. In addition to clothing, their business interests include real estate development, power utilities, cell phones, pharmaceuticals, packaged food, casinos, weapons manufacturing at The Pyramid and radio stations. In the process, Ultor became a major, powerhouse corporation with its own private army, and they extended their power, reach, and influence into almost every aspect of Government including the FBI. At the moment, all operations are ran by Eric Gryphon. Ultor merged with the 3rd Street Saints, a street gang, to create the "Saints/Ultor Media Group”. Making the street gang protected and untouchable. It also made them into celebrities with brand deals and reality TV shows.
Joi apologizes for being late. They exchange some words and Jimbo gives her an Ultor uniform designed for men because hers hasn't “arrived” yet. She is handed a very big gun with a strap so she doesn’t drop it and the gun misfires.
She is reminded that they are protecting CEO of Ultor, Eric Gryphon. They're worried that an assassination attempt will be made against him at some point that day, that’s why the Masko agents are there. The Ultor family was Dane Vogel, Dexter Jackson, and Eric Gryphon. Dane was assassinated, Dex was involved in shady business and fled. Eric gryphon is all that is left and he is worried that Dex will try to take him out somehow, wouldn't be the first time he has tried to do that. Joi is assigned to the top floor where Eric’s office is. Before she heads up she asks to run to the bathroom quickly. Jimbo says make it quick.
When Joi gets to the bathroom she enters the stall, She takes off her large gun and hangs it on the coat hanger on the inside of the stall door. She looks at the toilet, it’s a very futuristic style toilet. Sensors, rotating toilet seat cover with sanitized coating, she stares at it for a second. Joi says I didn’t think toilets needed improvements. She goes to pull her pants down but remembers it's a man’s one piece coverall with a small zipper on the crotch. She realizes she would have to take her entire suit off to go to the bathroom. Joi tries to reach the zipper on her back when she is greeted with a knock on the stall next to hers. She hears a voice asking for toilet paper. She reaches and gives her some. The voice asks jokingly Who wears gloves in the bathroom? Joi shoots a fake laugh because that’s a really weird thing to say, she tries once more to get her back zipper down when she is radioed to hurry up and get upstairs. She gives up and leaves the stall.
The woman in the stall next to her bumps into her leaving her stall. They both apologize. They greet one another, her name is Piper. Joi tries to shake Piper’s hand but Piper was like You’re still wearing the gloves. Joi said she didn’t go because she couldn’t get the suit off. The two briefly converse, Joi says she’s working for Ultor special security, Piper accuses her for working for a corrupt businesses who has a shady history. Joi reassures her that that’s all propaganda, even if it was real that she only works for them. Joi is radioed again to head upstairs. Piper asks if she is protecting the Eric Gryphon. Joi says yeah. Piper says “I better get going too, I’ll see you up there.” Piper leaves the bathroom. Joi picks up her gun and follows but notices the bathroom door is locked. Piper had locked it from behind her.
What follows is a tracking shot from behind whilst she listens to music. Piper is walking and picks up this heavy case and walks toward the elevator. Piper setups an automated turret in the elevator and pushes the top floor button and the one two floors before it. She exits the elevator two floors before its final stop. Piper pulls out her gun and fires it into the air, this is to draw out the Masko agents to cover the elevator. She proceeds up the stairs and when the elevator doors open the turret takes out the Masko agents waiting at the elevator door. Piper then goes into Eric Gryphon’s office and takes out the remaining Ultor. Kicks Eric off his office chair and holds him at gunpoint. Eric says, “Whatever Dex is paying you, I’ll triple it”. She says “I’m not working with Dex. I’m killing you to draw him out”.
We then cut back to Joi in the bathroom. She hears screaming outside the door and so she takes her gun and shoots out the bathroom door. She sees the pandemonium around her in the lobby. Joi is confronted by Jimbo and she told him she knows who the shooter is and that she was locked in the bathroom. Jimbo scolds her and says that if we lose Eric, she will be held accountable. They hear on their radio the shooter is in Eric Gryphon’s office. Joi and Jimbo make their way to the elevator and call it down to them. When the door opens up she sees the turret before it starts firing at her and jumps out of the way. Jimbo is struck in his vest and knocked back. They both get to cover behind a pillar with the gun firing almost through it. The shooting stops.
Jimbo: Where did this girl get an automated turret?
Joi: It’s Ultor property. You’re the head of security, Where DID she get it, Jimbo?
Jimbo: Are you implying I had something to do with this? Why would I kill the guy that signs my checks?
Joi: We gotta get upstairs. But we're stuck here. Those bullets will rip up apart. See what they did to this pillar? Wait, how are you still alive? You got shot in the chest. Thought these vests were made of kevlar.
Jimbo: Of course not. Your’s is kevlar. Mines way stronger. Mine is made of this special fiber that is 25 times stronger than kevlar.
Joi: Great...
Joi smiles and grabs Jimbo and uses him as a human shield to get to the turret and throws Jimbo at the turret knocking it down. Joi rips out the power supply from the turret. Jimbo is knocked out cold in the elevator. Joi rides the elevator to the top floor. She walks past all the dead Ultor Masako Agents and walks into the office and Piper is standing In front of Eric who is still on the ground. Joi and Piper see each other. She’s eating food and says “Better not have broke my gun”
Joi: Piper, you need stand down and move away from Eric.
Piper: Oh he’s already dead. (She reveals the dead body)
Joi: Why?
Piper: Cuz he smelled like Old Spice and cigarettes. I told you already. Ultor is a shady company. And Eric Gryphon here is no stranger to shady shit.
Joi: You're working for Dex?
Piper: No. But I did him a big favor by taking out greasy for him. Now he’s got no reason to hide. (Piper takes a few steps toward Joi) I can tell you everything you want to know about all of this if you come with -
Joi: DON'T MOVE! (sounds of moaning comes from the elevator. Jimbo is waking up)
Piper: How’s your boy doing? He get hit?
Joi: Not exactly. I used his body as cover to take out your turret.
Piper: Dammmmmn
Joi: (walks directly up to Piper with a gun right between her eyes) Now stand down.
Piper looks behind Joi and sees Jimbo gun in hand starting to fire. Piper disarms Joi and knocks her out of the way of being shot. Piper shoots out the window behind her and jumps out of the window and onto a ledge where there is a conveniently placed parachute and parachutes down to the ground. Jimbo runs up to the window and looks down. Piper’s parachute has a middle finger on it.
Joi: Eric was already dead when I got up here.
(Jimbo stares down at the ground)
Joi: We were too late, Jimbo.
(Jimbo’s breathing increases heavily)
Joi: I tried to get her to stand down and-
(Jimbo turns to look at Joi and slowly lifts his gun and points it at her with pure anger on his face)
Right at that moment, the FBI come into the office and deescalate the situation. The FBI is lead by agents Troy Bradshaw and Carmen Costa. They take her statement and Troy says they’ll be in touch. Joi goes to Jimbo to apologize, Jimbo punches her in the face and pushes Joi to the ground.
Jimbo: The only reason you’re alive is so that the FBI could take your statement, but if they hadn't come to save your ass I’m not sure you’d be breathing right now!
(Joi looks at Troy and Carmen for help)
Jimbo: WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT THEM FOR? You think they care about what happens to you? Ultor funds the FBI, they're not gonna protect you!
Jimbo: You better watch your back, Joi. If I ever see you again I won’t hesitate.
Joi angered by this, tracks down Piper to a warehouse. Piper is waiting for her there. Joi upon seeing Piper tries to shoot her. Piper knocks the gun out of her hand and the two have a brawl. Piper has an enthusiastic smile on her face during the fight and enjoys it. During this fight we see a lot of the warehouse Piper is staying at. Troy bursts in and stops the fighting. Joi is confused as to why Troy isn’t arresting her. Piper says that she and Troy are working together to hunt down Dex. Troy breaks it down for her that Piper isn't working with the FBI. Troy confesses to being a corrupt FBI agent. Piper wants revenge and Troy wants job security.
​
Nichole Gonzalez as Piper
Piper’s origin story
Piper was raised by her parents who were apart of Los Carnales gang in Stilwater Michigan. Piper has had to kill others since a young age. As she got older, she started to kill with her parents as a sort of bonding experiment. Piper didn't go to school. She's not even a legal person, she's been off the grid since she was born. Her parents worried that if the Carnales ever were to fall that their daughter would be taken away from her. So she legally doesn't exist. Once the mayoral candidate of stillwater was blown up on the ship, Ultor started to round up all remaining gang activity in Stilwater to their newly renovated and illegal prison called the Pyramid. Piper’s parents struck a deal with Ultor that they would become Masko agents/assassins and so that they could still see their daughter. But they were always off on missions to see their daughter anyway. Piper spent a lot of nights alone. Once Dex left Ultor, concerned he was to release company secrets, like the illegal Pyramid prison for gang members, Ultor sent Piper’s parents to take him out. Piper's Parents miss their shot in an assassination attempt on his birthday. But dex sends his thugs to kill them. Piper now alone in the world has nowhere to go. FBI raid her house where piper was living while her parents were away. We see the newly hired FBI agent Troy Bradshaw finds her and makes her a deal to do the dirty work that the he wasn’t allowed to do for the FBI in exchange for amnesty and sanctuary.
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Michael Rappaport as Troy Bradshaw
Troy’s story prior to first season
Used to roll with the Saints. But all the while he was an undercover cop. Then he became chief of police after a mayoral candidate the current chief of police were both murdered. Troy then becomes an FBI agent after he offered the job for exemplary work as Chief of Police. Troy has difficulty choosing a side. He is very much corrupt, but he's not so sure that’s necessarily a bad thing. He feels guilty that he kept a mass murder alive on life support, but that was his best friend. He’s often unsure of what call to make. When he heard that Ultor was going to send a troublesome young lady whose parents were ex criminals to the Pyramid. He found an excuse to pick a side while remaining loyal to his past. Troy hides Piper from Ultor and offers her a home. Uses his FBI connections to keep Piper off the grid in exchange Piper has to do Troy’s dirty corrupt work. Including taking out drug lords, going undercover to take out high level targets. Troy gets word from his FBI connections that Dex is making his way to Los Angeles for meeting with a new national crime kingpin. Troy and Piper are more than eager to take him out once and for all.
Troy says “Dex is gonna be hard to take down, we’re gonna need all the help we can get. You took down a turret, that’s not nothing”. Joi reluctantly agrees as she needs to make rent and feed herself and Ezra.
📷📷
Donald Glover as Dex
Dex’s story prior to the first season
Dex fled Stilwater once Ultor and the Saints were hunting him down. He ended up overseas for a while, Europe, Africa, Asia. But always moving around. He did wind up in Steelport in the USA for his birthday party. Why? Who cares. His birthday party was crashed by an ambush of snipers a mile out. By Ultor agents code named Cypher (Piper’s parents) unfortunately they missed their target Dex. Dex sends his people to locate the shooters and they take both of them out. Dex flees the country once more. Now he hears that the last remaining member of the Ultor family, Eric Gryphon, has been assassinated and he is also offered a new job working for The New Saints again but with the intent to kill the current leaders of the original Saints. The original Saints were becoming icons and ultor was to be entirely lead by new management now. Dex assumed he was off the hook. He forgot about two loose ends he's now faced with. Troy Bradshaw and Piper.
Joi heads back home to find Ezra sitting on the couch watching TV.
Ezra: You’re late. I made 19 bowls of cereal because I couldn't figure out the oven.
Joi: (Smiles) But I see you managed.
Ezra: Did you know you can’t drink a gallon of milk in an hour without yakking everywhere?
Joi: I did not know that. Is that what happened with you?
Ezra: Yeah. Bowl number 15 was rough.
Joi: (Laughs) Then why did you keep eating?
Ezra: I told you I couldn’t figure out the oven and you promised me pizza!
Joi: I did didn’t I? Tell you what tomorrow after work I’ll bring you home some Chicken Bazooms from Freckle Bitch’s.
​
Yes. There will be a restaurant called Freckle Bitch’s. It’s kind of funny.
Ezra: DEAL!
(Joi sits on the couch and watches TV with Ezra)
Ezra: You gonna keep your job this time?
Joi: You know it’s real encouraging when even your brother doesn’t believe in you
Ezra: I’m just saying, we got bills to pay.
Joi: I have bills to pay. You contribute very little. Besides it’s hard to find work as a high school dropout.
Ezra: Maybe I should drop out.
Joi: No, that’s the one thing you do contribute with. Speaking of which it’s a school night.
Ezra: Sooo
Joi: So get to bed. I don’t want another morning like today to happen again.
Ezra skips off to bed and we see Joi by herself on the couch. She looks at some bills that say overdue and she exhales and says “What am I getting myself into here” That’s the first episode of season 1.
Later in the season, we would see Joi find love and start dating Marcel.
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Lakeith Stanfield as Marcel
Marcel’s character is from New Orleans Louisiana who may have had a normal life growing up but is never explained. He is a damaged emotional soul, but always smiles and tries to help others. He at heart is a good person. And will always do what he believes is the right thing. Marcel doesn’t share his past often. He doesn’t talk about it as he sees it of no relevance. At times, Marcel has a hot head and loses his cool at very small things. Apologetic about his actions but sees no issues with his outbursts. Marcel uses his charm to his advantage to stay unsuspected. Marcel is easily manipulated.
Marcel and Joi would become really close. Marcel offers to look after Ezra while Joi is at “work”. Joi doesn’t tell Marcel what she does for work out of fear he might turn her into the police as she is technically a criminal. We never see or hear of a past tense version of Marcel. Anytime anyone brings up something about his past, the subject is changed. For this character, we would use many visual styles to give the audience trust issues upon seeing this man. Even though he seems fine and remains so throughout Season 1.
Later we see Joi arriving back at Piper’s warehouse with Troy. The abandoned warehouse has lots of stolen merchandise in it. But Piper tries to make it very homey. Piper figures that if she could ever have a normal life one day, that she would like to pursue interior design and being a building architect. We see this as she is trying to build a spiral staircase throughout the first season. It’s visual metaphor for taking things one step at a time.
Joi wants the plan for taking out Dex. Piper informs her that there is no plan. And that she really has no leads. Only that Troy got a tip from Kinzie.
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Natalie Lander as Kenzie
Kinzie’s character is a super hacker and works directly through Troy. She is very intelligent and suffers from a personality disorder. Kinzie may come across as awkward. She isn’t loyal to the FBI, only computers. She doesn’t need to ask for your WiFi password, she has that already and all your personal files. Very personal files.
Troy: Kinzie said there is going to be a package delivered to the docks next tonight which is a problem because the FBI must have gotten the leak the same time we did and they’ve secured the docks.
Joi: Okay so what?
Troy: So it means that if the FBI gets Dex he outs me for being a corrupt FBI agent. Then Kenzie, Piper and I get sent to the Pyramid.
Joi: Oh my gosh you believe in that Pyramid nonsense too? It’s not real its all a bunch of bullshit.
Piper: It’s not bullshit. The Pyramid is very real. It’s a prison for people like us with gang ties.
Joi: What goes on there?
Piper: Real intense shit. It’s a modern Auschwitz.
Troy: Yes. And if Dex goes to the FBI, we’re all going. Ezra included.
Joi: Why would Dex want to go to the FBI, wouldn’t confessing get him sent to the pyramid?
Troy: No. Dex was the lead designer on the Pyramid. He oversaw experiments as head of security.
Joi: Wait... Jimbo Schlemmer is head of security now. You think he’s in charge of the Pyramid now??
Troy: Probably.
Joi: Okay! Ezra and I are SO moving, he knows where I live. Oh my god Ezra is at school I have to go get him!
Troy: Take it easy. I’ll get someone to watch him while he’s at school. Someone I trust. (picks up the phone to make the call)
Piper: You guys can stay here. This warehouse is big enough for all of us.
Joi: Thank you but it won’t be permamate. It’s not exactly cozy here.
Piper: Not yet. But we’re getting there.
Piper: Listen Joi, Dex isn’t a good man. Ultor wants him dead. The Saints want him dead. We want him dead. The FBI wants what he knows.
Joi: If everyone wants him dead why is he coming back?
Piper: I personally think he’s coming back for some ass. But Don Self here thinks there's someone else offering him a job and protection.
Troy: Ezra is safe. And yes. Dex wouldn’t come back unless safety was promised. He’s a real prick but he’s smarter than that, it’s a working theory.
They would find out that Dex was re joining the “3rd Street Saints”. Lead by someone called Lady Ranja. Dex and her were to be lovers and crime bosses and are going to take out the current leader of the Saints as they are no longer “fit leaders” to lead the gang.
They organize a plan to intercept Dex at the docks with the help of Kinzie. Kinzie informs the FBI at the Dock that Dex would be coming in VIA air. And he would be landing at LAX soon. Some of the FBI leave. Piper and Joi stealth knock out the remaining FBI agents at the docks. The plan goes sideways when The Saints show up shooting at Piper and Joi. Troy, on coms, says to fall back. Joi finds a sniper and goes to try take out Dex. Piper stops her. Piper informs Joi that they need to capture him first, make sure he hasn’t told anyone anything about Troy or the FBI. Otherwise this is all for nothing. Troy says to follow Dex and The Saints. The Saints take him to a penthouse in LA. Kinzie hacks the cameras surrounding the place dismissing the girls.
Piper and Joi head to a Freckle Bitch’s drive through to pick up food for Ezra. They sit behind a car that is taking forever ordering their food. Piper honks the horn and the people ahead of them poke their heads out of the car and look at Piper and Joi. Here we would see a very nice cameo by CJ, Ryder, Sweet and Big Smoke from Grand Theft Auto in the middle of Big Smoke ordering the famous Big smoke order.
​
https://preview.redd.it/e7tmd7cvc4631.png?width=350&format=png&auto=webp&s=c023fc0ff48e2048128c9f9f2cacbde3d3eff326
Piper and Big smoke exchange some very funny banter screaming at each other. Neither of them exit the car.
Later in the season we would meet the other characters like Carmen Costa, Zade, Trick, Asha, Gat, and Lady Ranja
Carmen Costa’s character works very closely with Troy. Carmen is a reserved and business-like. Carmen isn't aware Troy a corrupt agent but she trusts Troy dearly.
Carmen and Troy have a close relationship as they are partners together in the FBI. Troy secretly has feelings for Carmen. Throughout the first season, we would see her be suspicious of Troy. Time and time again she questions his loyalty. But she still trusts him, at least with most things.
​
Golshifteh Farahani as Zade
Zade’s character is a woman of few words. Others are almost empathetic towards her because she constantly looks as if she's lost a war. A skilled fighter with a sword and can rip you and half before you realize you're on her bad side. She is also new to the FBI and no one knows anything about her. Very cautious of her surroundings. Zade is a character that seems to know everything. While new to the FBI, she is incredibly smart. Zade figures out Troy’s corruption before he even has a chance to lie to her about it. Zade doesn’t report him as she is constantly aware of what he is up to.
Zade is a character that seems to know everything. While new to the FBI, she is incredibly smart. Zade figures out Troy’s corruption before he even has a chance to lie to her about it. Zade doesn’t report him as she is constantly aware of what he is up to.
​
Hannah John-Kamen as Asha
Asha’s character is a member of MI-6 and acts as a liaison for the CIA and FBI. She’s a rare military-trained badass. Asha believes being personal isn't professional. Her reasoning for being uptight and uncaring is the feeling she has to put her personal feelings aside to complete the mission. View everything from the eyes of God. However, in truth, she cares deeply, but is afraid to show it lest it puts others at risk.
Asha has her own means of getting information. She often gets private intel from someone called “R4gn0r0k”. Asha is invited by the FBI and Ultor to investigate the assination of Eric Gryphon alongside Troy. Asha knows that Troy is hiding something and is lying to her. Asha gets information from her leak “R4gn0r0k” that Troy and Kenzie had direct involvement in the death of Eric Gryphon. Asha goes to Jimbo with this information. Jimbo calls for both of their arrests and that are both to be sent to the Pyramid. R4gn0r0k offers Asha another deal that Kenzie is “accidentally” misplaced and is sent to R4gn0r0k’s place instead in exchange for continued intel. Asha agrees.
​
Blake Webber as Trick
Trick’s character Works with the FBI, but not officially. He is an old street tough that outs criminal activity in LA. He is a classic over the top white boy who wants to be black, down to his big white boy afro.
​
Daniel Dae Kim as Johnny Gat
Johnny Gat’s character is a brash, sarcastic, hot-headed, self-righteous, trigger-happy man. He is of Eastern Asian heritage. Johnny has been seen as a stereotypical gung-ho like gangster and has absolutely no sympathy toward those he kills. He also has a habit of cheating death in the past as he survived being shot in the knee by a shotgun and stabbed in the stomach with a sword, and has taken out many gang members and cops by himself.
Gat does come in towards the end of the season and gets his very own very fun episode with Zade. Zade threatens to blackmail Troy for corruption unless he follows her on a special important mission to save Johnny Gat. Troy doesn’t want to save Johnny because they were in the Saints together and Get thinks Troy betrayed the saints so he tried assassinate Troy. But they go anyway. They sneak on a plane. The plane is calm at first until a hailstorm of bullets fly around as Johnny Gat is shooting his way to take control of the plane. Zade orders Piper, Joi, and Troy not to assist and to stay hidden on the plane. Gat notices them hiding and starts shooting at them. It takes Piper and Joi to try hold johnny down. But Gat overpowers them and throws them to the side. Gat knocks out Troy with a single punch. On the com, we hear “Johnny Were about to Jump”. Gat gets up and says “Right on I’ll see you in Stil-” Johnny gat is cut off by a group of gang member on the plane shooting at Johnny. He jumps out of the way. Then Zade shows up and takes her sword out and cuts through the gang members like butter. The leader of this gang barricades himself in the planes cockpit. He shakes the plane. Johnny manages to kick open the cockpit door and knock out the gang leader. Jonny starts to after Troy and Zade stops him and explains that they’re here to rescue him… more on this episode will be revalved later.
​
Beyoncé Knowles-Carter as Lady Ranja
Lady Ranja’s character is very beautiful and ambitious. She is elegant and confident, more uptown than downtown, very dangerous and a master manipulator. She is a rouge member of the Saints who wants to overthrow the current leader of the Saints and lead them in a new direction. as she isn't satisfied where the Saints are headed. Ranja is very skilled in hand to hand combat and wields a big heavy sword.
The season ends with an action sequence on a highway out of California. Dex is attempting to flee Los Angeles via a Semi. The reason he leaves is because Lady Ranja turned him into Ultor. Lady Ranja figured since the information on Troy got to Ultor, Dex served his purpose and was no longer needed. By turning Dex in, Ultor would turn a blind eye to any criminal activity Lady Ranja did. Troy is arrested by Ultor and sent to The Pyramid. Asha (The MI6 agent) has been onto Troy and Kenzie throughout the first season. Asha managed to get a leak that revealed Troy as a corrupt agent and some… personal files from Kinzie that also got her in trouble. Unlike Troy, Kinzie never made it to the Pyramid. She is presumed dead.
The chase scene see’s Piper pursuing Dex on a Go Cart and Joi on a stolen motorcycle. Joi hops her bike and leaps onto the back trailer of the Semi and scales to the front on the semi. The scene ends with the semi crashing and Dex trying to fight the two girls simultaneously. He does kock Joi out cold. Piper gets the best of him and takes him down. Piper chooses not to kill Dex. Instead she forgives him for having her parents killed. Piper wakes up Joi and calls Ultor. Jimbo and Piper speak. They make a deal that Ultor takes Dex and Piper, Joi, Ezra leave the United States. Jimbo agrees. Piper wakes up Joi. They go get Ezra and Marcel and leave to Europe.
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