"hey bob dylan did u trash my room again??"
"the answer my friend is blowin in the wind"
"fuck u bob after our lease is up ur on ur own"
|—||Emily’s comeback to being accused of “decadance” and one of the instances where she’s kind of my mouthpiece but oh well???|
This is in “The Cruelest Month”. The whole group is about to go into what could rightly be called a battle—it’s technically a retrieval and evacuation mission in a town that’s already under attack, but that’s about as close as they get to battle, so. EBW’s just taken a bullet and absorbed a massive radiation dose, both of which were meant (well, the radioactive storm drain was just there, but he was right on the edge and he’d have fallen into it when the bullet hit if she hadn’t pushed him off) for a longtime friend and crewmate. The thing hasn’t even started yet, this was pre-emptive sniper fire; and already she’s in awful pain and staring down a quickly-shrinking chance of survival the longer she goes without treatment. The group is, understandably, both upset and somewhat rallied by these facts—the bullet that wounded her was clearly fired with malicious intent; the sniper aimed for a vital organ and waited until her target was positioned to get the brunt of a known radiation deposit. She could be forgiven for just croaking out something along the lines of “avenge me” and letting everyone whip themselves into a murderous frenzy while she laid down on the sidelines and took some modicum of care of herself. But that just isn’t the kind of hero she is.
Instead she struggles to her feet, pulls out her guitar, and plays “Innerspace,” which first of all is an instrumental and second of all is about the least battle-ready song I can think of. She’s deliberately talking them down from the frenzy of vengeful feeling. And over her playing she gives this little micro-speech in which she vows to fight alongside them to whatever degree she safely can, admits her weakness and her mortality, and tells them how much she loves them.
I guess what I’m saying is, it’s somehow both a really big development/turning point for her, and a perfect example of what she’s always been at the same time.
I’d had it be a thing that Ryon Anagke & some other important people loyal to the Society and the time travel establishment also play piano/other instruments and there were even cool scenes surrounding that but then I decided it was really irrelevant if they did because music & art are forces of liberation and honestly if you’re trying to be an artist and still serve an oppressive establishment you’re doing it wrong no one can serve two masters and especially in this universe music is the language of the free
So I didn’t think it was necessary whether they did or not and also I’d hate for it to look like I was trying to make it look like EBW fighting for very basic rights and respect was “not so different” or whatever from the ambitions of people who’d had everything handed to them and were actively exploiting others I’ll leave that to the entire fucking rest of the internet
I always have so much trouble with imagining Somerset Wandlebury’s accent
Because here’s the thing—his parents are a British scientist who lived in the Indo-British province of East Punjab (i.e., right next to Pakistan) and an Indian time traveler from 40th-century Mumbai. This means the langauges he’d be familiar with would be 20th century English, Punjabi, & probably Hindi, and then 40th century Marathi and/or ‘Bambaiya’ (the Mumbai-specific colloquial version of Hindi that’s known today)
What kind of accent does that amount to? I don’t know. In my head his accent is always either British, identical to the accent of the only person I know semi-well who can speak Hindi (this person has an AMERICAN accent, is the issue—it’s just that his parents are from India and he speaks Hindi at home so it’s like there’s just TRACES of that accent), or Bengali, which I only know the sound of because I’ve watched the Bengali movie Pather Panchali a bunch of times (first for a school project and then just because I love it)
HELP ME I’M SO IGNORANT
of shadow I have brought back to you:
this decay, this hope, this mouthful
of dirt, this poetry.
|—||Margaret Atwood, Mushrooms (excerpt)|