Wishing You Well. (Quest Write Ups for Midmouth's Myco-Mess, Of Dice and Deceit, Moving Moorings, The Sending, The Burning Sands, Blasphemous Rumours, Monster Mash, Trouble in Wedding Town, and The Ruined City)
It has been awhile since I have wrote, I know. At first, I wrote to the Curator, as she is the one that we report to. Yet, her disdain for my writing has caused me to put off this task. Why bother if I would only face her derision? I thought this way until wise guildmates urged me to change my views. The Curator may not appreciate my words, but I do not mind writing them. And… there are others besides the Curator who would like to hear my thoughts, and adventures. So, to the Ashcoat family, I wish you well, and enclosed below are my adventures so far.
Midmouth's Myco-Mess
DM: Jacob S.
Players: Thomas S. (Nikola), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat), Ethan J. (Naeron), Peyton L. (Genevieve), Derek M. (Ice Sculpture), Nessa T. (Dill Picks)
Dear Zemai, I am aware of the fact that you enjoy festivals, and I believe you would enjoy the tale of the first quest I went on for the Mavros Guild.
It was a rather simple task, go to a town and handle a small problem during a festival. The town was called Midmouth, and they were celebrating a ritual for some goddess, although to be clear, I could not tell you which one. The lack of religious studies from being sent off at a young age may have caused an issue in this regard, I admit. After meeting with the organizers of the festival, they instructed us to take time and enjoy ourselves before delving into the sewers at night.
We followed their instructions to the best of our abilities, meeting a fortune teller. We stood around, learning about our fates and destiny, although I suppose some of my guildmates suspected it was. Well, the word is not appropriate to write in a formal letter to an Ashcoat. I, however, liked my fortune. The Lovers, it has a ring to it. Even if it may be silly, it gave me a flash of hope.
With another guildmate, I then went to a game of target practice. I suppose you would be interested in this series of events, Zemai. You said that I would make an excellent brother, had I ever been at the estate. And not to brag, but I do make a good big brother, in a way. I won a doll for a guildmate. Then, I used magic to change it into a better form. And then I snuck it into his bag. As a gift.
After a long day, we went into sewers to meet these disgusting diseased rats, handling them quickly. We found the source of the issues. They were Myconids, yet somehow were sapient, speaking to us in Common. I believed that instead of resorting to bloodshed, we could come to an arrangement, a deal of sorts. We snuck these Myconids to the Guild Hall’s basement, and that was the end of this quest, to be continued another day.
Of Dice and Deceit
DM: Kennon C.
Players: Ethan M. (Noizu), Alea H. (Hazel), Hunter M. (Oliver), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat)
I suppose of all people, you, Darwin, deserve an explanation of what went on in Kostroma. After all, I feared I may have caused your predicament. After careful reflection, I know this is not the case. Regardless, I owe you my apologies and my story. Knowing you as well as I do, I know you will find this story humorous.
My time in the Alchemist’s Guild has graciously given me the experience of being in Kostroma. However, not in this city. Krogstadt, as I recall correctly. An icy town just on a bay, gondolas all around. Of course, I changed my form, before the quest begun, into a plain man to avoid suspicion when possible. Our task required us to meet a rather… suspicious character owning a run-down casino. He explained that he intercepted a request for security at another casino, and that we were to do two jobs. Of course, we agreed to this. Double the payment sounded like an amazing idea, although… We would find out that things were not that simple.
He requested that we gather dirt while working to take down his competition. And as I recall correctly, he did not seem to care whether said dirt were true, but only that we give him something to work with. We then went to our second job, enforcing the rules of the casino and the owner. Over our time working, however, we decided that the owner was someone we did not want to screw over. He seemed to genuinely care about his employees, his business, his livelihood. Like a more notable version of the Curator. A close family. And yet, because we decided to play both sides, we ended up hurting him. During our time in the city, we were followed by an interesting pair distantly related to him, although we never found their intentions. And in the end, we fed false information back to our hirer, still getting payment from both. With some, it did not sit right. For me? Well. I took it. A deal is a deal, and a businessman would understand. There were questions left unanswered, as we delved into matters not our own. But for once, I was satisfied with the knowledge I received, against the Ashcoat ideals.
Moving Moorings
DM: Jacob S.
Players: Thomas S. (Nikola), Austin G. (Orville), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat), Declen P. (Oz), Brandon Q. (Ziggy), CJ J. (Naoise)
I suppose that eventually, someone complained enough to make this job necessary, forcing us to move the Myconids from their home in the Guild basement to a mountain a good distance away into a mountain’s cave. With the creatures acutely allergic to the sun, we travelled at night, maintaining a cover of darkness until nearly early morning, where we had to use a variety of methods to prevent harm to our clients.
After an uneventful walk, we found a cave, with quite the elaborate ruins, an intricate door blocking off the inner workings of the cave. One of the guildmates on this quest used an impressive amount of strength given his small body to break down the door. I suppose the ghouls in the cave did not like that, and they sprang forward to attack. In a strange circumstance, the shadows that are ever-present about me summoned a purple flame of great destruction, immolating their undead corpses to ash. Exploring further, we quite foolishly walked into a grand room, the doors behind us shutting, preventing any retreat. These hideous creatures, Bodaks attacking as my guildmates panicked. These monsters almost killed us all, with an aura of decay and pain. At one point, I fell unconscious, perhaps nearly dying completely, yet somehow, my guildmates were able to pull through, healing the downed party members after this battle. Stuck in the shoulder of one of the Bodaks was this cruel, malicious dagger, perhaps a source of great evil in the world. As you would expect, we took it back, trying to sell it without much success.
The Sending
DM: Jacob S.
Players: Ethan M. (Noizu), Nessa T. (Dill Picks), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat), Kennon C. (Zed), CJ J. (Naoise), Brandon Q. (Ziggy)
Apparently, I seem to get on an above average amount of quests relating to festivals or ceremonies. This time, we visited a small town near the ocean that was preparing for a ceremony called “The Sending”. However, this ceremony was delayed due to the attacks of some strange monster, only appearing at night. The Clerics in our party feared it may be divine retribution of some sort, although we quickly dismissed that notion. The beast at night was a type of basilisk, proving incredibly dangerous as it turned its victims to stone with a bite. Unfortunately, we would forget this information until in the midst of battle, of course at night.
One of the Guildmates found a small child who survived the attack, bringing him back to his parent. Quite heartwarming in a way, I will admit. After that day of search, rescue, and reconnaissance, we slept in a conjured tower, awaiting another attack.
And the one on watch at the mid of the night awoke us to the sight of this serpent, rampaging yet again as it claimed more lives. Quickly, we sprung into action. Yet this foe proved challenging, turning Dill into stone. You’d like Dill, Zemai. And I believe Zed almost drowned…
I… almost died again. Yes, that is true. No matter though, someone soon slayed the snake, and another Cleric brought Dill back from petrification.
The Burning Sands
DM: Jacob S.
Players: Ethan J. (Naeron), Will B. (Flake), Nathan G. (Teepimeek), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat), Josh D. (Beryl), Thomas S. (Nikola)
Our prowess of our guild soon stretched to Ashkiri, and our services were once again requested, this time to find a missing caravan deep in the desert. This quest brough back up unpleasant memories of what the Curator would say to me before she shipped me off to the Alchemist’s Guild. “The Desert is Deadly, anyone lost has perished.” That matter-of-fact tone rang true on this quest, as we would later discover in Qad Takun.
After some rather frivolous shopping, we made our way into the dunes, getting lost on the second day in a great sandstorm, something I did not miss from Arkheion. With us stumbling randomly in the dark dust, we soon encountered an ominous orb, vaguely conjuring a feeling of recognition in my mind as an evil creature rose to protect it. Perhaps most frighteningly, it could stop magic, the ever-present shadows about me put into a stasis as the monster stared deep into my very soul. Yet, luckily for us, there were archers who would pierce its hide with arrows until it finally fell. The horror did not end there, however, Nikola, another guildmate, had his arm wither away upon contact of this orb. We managed to destroy this insidious device with another strange weapon, yet that thought lingered in our minds… What was that orb doing here?
Blasphemous Rumours
DM: Thomas S.
Players: Lauren S. (Gani), Casimir B. (Dr. Faust), Nic R. (Gleich), Sarah M. (Ender), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat).
With the fall winds soon approaching, I found myself on another quest, travelling to Deerreach along with guildmates I was not too familiar with. Our missions always had a way to fix that, however, as even the quickest travel times gave us the opportunity to learn about each other.
Deerreach was a rather interesting city, and I am shocked I never visited it in my travels as a part of the Alchemist’s Guild. The most notable aspect was the mage’s college, yet it was not like any ordinary school I have seen. Corruption lay in every corner, and we were to be complicit to not cause a panic. What was the problem? Students coming back with strange alterations to themselves or disappearing outright. We were to be silent about this aspect, and despite my innermost objections, we were.
Instead, we thought ourselves as detectives, seeking out the source of the eldritch influence on this city. Some split to ask professors, others went to one of the temples nearby, while I and another guildmate went to the medical center to meet a victim. Upon meeting her, I realized I was out of my league. Yet, the knowledge proved tantalizing, as the Curator trained me in her limited time with me. “Knowledge above all else.”
A creature of absolute insanity approached me, gifting me temporary knowledge of the entire city’s layout. It was projected by the victim, and apparently, she learned to do this from a tutor. What sort of tutor dealt with aberrations such as these? I had to find out, not only for the job, but for my own sake, to learn about these shadows…
Our party reconvened, sharing crucial information, and with that, I knew where to go. We split once more, finding the source of these tutoring sessions after a rather… odd encounter with the clergy. I will not go into detail… The tutors were a pair of Chuuls, working for a long slumbering goddess I prepared to meet. Luckily, my guildmate stopped me, despite my annoyance at the time.
He and I convinced these Chuuls to stop working for a possible uncaring goddess, and to make their teachings official somehow. Somehow, this worked, giving a peaceful solution to what may have required bloodshed.
No. We did not inform the Headmaster of everything. He did not deserve to know.
Monster Mash
DM: Thomas S.
Players: Jacob S. (6B), Nessa T. (Dill), Nathan G. (Teepimeek), Declen P. (Oz), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat), Derek M. (Ice Sculpture)
Apparently, nothing normal can occur in the town of Deerreach, now monsters roamed about that required slaying. So, we sharpened our knives, prepared our spells, and prayed to the gods above this would be a normal fieldtrip. It was not.
Once again, we meet with perhaps the shadiest person to exist (yes even beating out the shadow sorcerer me), vaguely hinting at the fact these prowling creatures could have been created by a former professor. As usual, people were either dead or missing. As usual, we were to not cause a panic. As usual, we could not warn anyone.
Of course! Things cannot be this simple! Just kill some beasts, find the ‘Mad’ professor who did this. We instead met a strange herpetologist who kept these things as pets. Of course, he created them! He wanted us to instead weaken these creatures and promised loot. Like the mercenaries we were, we agreed to help him. I agreed because having someone like that against you is a fool’s play.
Yet the first monster liquified a girl in front of our very eyes, dragging her into the well to consume later. No amount of rage we took out on this thing would ease our fury. The herpetologist soon captured the weakened beast with a spell, instructing us that there would be more later to beat.
The next beast just ate sheep, thankfully. The fight was not difficult, and the former professor added a second, then third creature to his collection. The horrors were not over though, this hellish nightmare continued as we discovered the madman’s ultimate project, a snake… made of snakes. There is a reason I am drinking while writing this letter. Let me just take a moment to thank the Shadows for allowing me to shift the forms of foes and friends alike, as I changed one into a giant bipedal feathered reptile, and another to a giant crocodile. With that, they quickly nearly dispatched this failed experiment. The professor captured this one as well while I fought swarms of more snakes. Thank the Shadows for fireball…
Do not show this letter to the Curator, lest she tries to recruit someone as insane as her.
I still trust the insane ex-professor more than the Headmaster.
Trouble in Wedding Town
DM: Jacob S.
Players: CJ J. (Naoise), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat), Ethan J. (Kass), Hunter M. (Oliver), Alea H. (Hazel), Dylan H. (Dustorin)
At least this quest was to be happy, a marriage in Ashkiri. We were to be bodyguards as this was a politically controversial arrangement, and that is all that we were told. Yet the secretary seemed to know more than she let on, and the general atmosphere pointed to unease and unrest. In other news, water is wet. No one hires the guild for a simple quest.
The journey was long, as to be expected to a trip to Ashkiri. More specifically, Saar. I knew of this place, in fact, I believe it was not too far from Arkheion. Relatively speaking, of course. Once we arrived, we had time before the wedding begun. Some of our guildmates took initiative, scouting out reasons for our employment. I, however, relaxed, naïvely believing that this would be a normal day, with a normal wedding. When the moment of paranoia reached my mind, I took to the skies, learning of the city’s layout.
At the wedding, we all stood in different positions, the archer perched above, the druid and I in the seats, and others scattered about. Unfortunately, we would only know something is wrong until darkness moved across the area, a rather unfortunate look for me. The Cleric somehow already with the bride and groom… as we all rushed the scene.
The bride was poisoned, and we thought her dead. The darkness cleared and it was quite possibly the worst position all of us could be in: framed. No amount of convincing seemed to work, and the guards approached us with harmful intent. The Shadows reached out, gripping two of my guildmates with its talons and turning them into giant eagles. And as this happened, I instructed them to fly. We managed to escape with everyone, including the bride’s presumable corpse.
However, one cannot kill love this easily. She lived. We then explained the situation as she confessed her family was inflicted with a curse. One long, awkward walk later, we found our carriage driver.
So. If Saar falls into disarray or crumbles into dust soon, we may have had a hand in it.
The Ruined City
DM: Jacob S.
Players: Kat R. (Cynic), Ethan J. (Kass), CJ J. (Naoise), Thomas S. (Nikola), Declen P. (Oz), M.E. H. (Galileo Ashcoat)
Archelogy: a surprisingly dangerous field. At least this time we somewhat knew what we were getting into. Travelling to Kostroma, some of my guildmates were caught off guard by the cold, requiring new dress. Others took advantage of the long trip, Nikola, er, Doctor Ivanovich, crafting a surplus of magic items. I, instead, took the time to relax, study, and learn more about the Shadows that plague me so. I was not very successful… yet.
Soon, we were led to ruins by a pair of archaeologists. We told them to stay behind us as we encountered undead warforged. How is that possible, you might ask? We are not quite sure either, but they were unfortunately… sisters to a guildmate. We scoured for items that might belong to this guildmate now, coming back with several magic items.
Moving forward, we were attacked by dragon-like creatures, the archer making short work of both. The creatures seemed to gather around a cathedral, and yet again, we encountered one of those forsaken red orbs, with another, more frightening monster guarding it.
This battle would test our abilities to their fullest. I stood back and boosted my guildmates. To two of them, I blessed with speed, the Shadows enhancing their movements. Yet that was not even enough, our resources slowly flickering away like the flame on a short wick of the candle. As a last resort, once again, the Shadows came through. They siphoned energy from some parts of my magic reserves, gifting energy to others before it clicked what they wanted. And suddenly, the speed stopped, the guildmates falling into lethargy. I thought we were dead, my concentration breaking in a moment like this would prove fatal. Until somehow, two kings rise from the darkness. Lizard kings, but kings, nevertheless. And they finally defeated this monster.
Thank you, Shadows.

Since there was a lot of positive response to my comment on the KD thread about The Garden, I floated the idea of a thread, and you all asked for it, so here it is! Here at reddit, there can be a lot of LOL this (Knicks) and LOL that (Knicks again), and while MSG certainly has its own shortcomings to say the least, there is a true story to be told about the buildings and how it came to be where it is today.
Known as ‘The Worlds Most Famous Arena’, MSG played a direct roll in making sports in America what it is today, and while many people criticize the current incarnation of the building, most people don’t know the full story - or that the current one is actually the 4th version (and 3rd location) of the building. The college basketball history at MSG, which I won’t give away yet, is one of if not THE main reason we have our beloved NBA and professional basketball in general today. This is going to be a very long read, like, very very long. But I’m going to try and throw all the really juicy facts in there that I picked up along my years of research from working in the tour department. I thought of splitting it up, but I wanted this post to be a comprehensive history of The World’s Most Famous Arena!
If you’re only concerned with the history of the joint once basketball enters into the picture, skip to MSG III.
If you want the juicy details on the controversy of tearing down old Penn Station then skip to MSG IIII.
If you have any questions on anything or want me to elaborate on anything that I only mention briefly, please feel free to ask! MSG’s history is full of not only amazing moments, but vengeful murders, and a whole lot of sketchy stuff. This is the story of how a small train station on the north east corner of Madison Square Park eventually led to the demolition of an iconic NYC train station some 100 years later. It’s not on Madison Avenue, it’s not square, and it’s not a garden, but there is a good reason for all of this - or at least a good explanation - I promise!
MADISON SQUARE GARDEN I
Ironically, just how this story’s climax involves tearing an iconic train station down to build the current arena, the beginning starts in much the same way. Just with a significantly less iconic train station. In the mid 1800’s there was a small railroad depot on the north east corner of Madison Square Park, occupied by New York and Harlem Railroad on East 26th street and Madison Ave and owned by Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt. For those of you not familiar with the city (yes, we call it ‘the city’) that location is pretty central and throughout time has had a lot of important events happen there, which is a thread for another time. The park was named for president James Madison, just like the street, which was very common at the time. People loved that guy.
The railroad opened up another location you may have heard of, by the name of ‘Grand Central Station’ in 1871, therefor leaving the smaller rail depot on 26th street abandoned. After a few vacant years, the building was leased to PT Barnum, who converted it into what he called the ‘Great Roman Hippodrome’. This place was a big open air oval ‘arena’ where he did exactly what you’d expect. Circuses etc. What happens next is where things start getting interesting.
Then the building was leased to a band leader named Patrick Gilmore. Some historians in that field feel like Gilmore is a forgotten guy compared to the likes of John Phillips Sousa, who is really the only person we common modern folk recognize in terms of old timey band leaders. But Gilmore was a very important figure of his day. Gilmore purchased the building and…wait for it…called it Gilmore’s Concert GARDEN. ‘Garden’ was a semi-popular add on to entertainment centers in NY during that era, starting with what I can tell from my research when Castle Clinton (aka, the old fort turned venue turned place you buy your tickets to go out to the Statue of Liberty now) was converted into a venue called Castle garden in the 1820s.
The other notable contributions Gilmore made to The Garden are holding the first Westminster Kennel Club dog show, the longest running garden event obviously still held there today, and even doing the first boxing matches there. I always found this bit fascinating, because boxing matches were technically illegal at the time. He called them ‘illustrated lectures’ and as any good New Yorker trying to make a buck does, found a way around the rules and got away with it. This is a common theme within the history of The Garden as you will see.
The arena changed hands a few more times, first to an administrator with the dog show, who also started to do more sporty things like tennis and installing one of the first ‘indoor’ ice rinks in the US.
The building went back into Vanderbilt control when Commodore died, by his grandson William Vanderbilt. He was the one who decided, the ‘garden’ part was cool, but since it wasn’t leased by Gilmore anymore, he would rename it after the park which it shared a border. Hence the name, Madison Square Garden. He expanded the range of events that were held there including adding bicycle racing. This would be by far the most widely beloved event held at the Garden, including a long running race called ‘Six Days of New York’ where an insane SIX day bike race would be held. These were basically just endurance contests, with a single bicyclist doing as many laps as possible, they could sleep whenever and join back in whenever. This was all the rage, but also dangerous for not only the participants but the spectators. People who wanted to soak up all the action were easy targets for crooks who were also in attendance. These events were so popular nationwide however, that there is even a bicycle discipline called ‘Madison’ named after the OG garden.
The building however ran its course, because of its lack of roof and decaying infrastructure.
What I mean by decaying can probably best be summed up by the disaster which many people now a days don’t know of, when part of the building collapsed falling outward into the street and some of the roof also caving in with 800 people inside. Apparently it was chaos, and 20 something people were killed or injured. It’s pretty brutal, and if you want to know more about that incident you can read the newspaper article from the time here.
Vanderbilt sold the spot to who's who collection of rich white men. JP Morgan, Carnegie, Astor etc. So they decided to tear it down and build a new extremely extravagant arena on the same spot. They got renowned architect Stanford White (more on him later) and they demolished the building in 1889. After spending more than half a million dollars, MSG II was built.
Madison Square Garden II
By this point, MSG was still not the household name it would become in the future. This building was supposed to change that narrative, which is why these rich guys went all in on it. You’ll see, that they were maybe in over their heads. However, this might be the most fascinating of all the MSGs for several reasons.
Firstly, the building was extremely extravagant. That can not be overstated. I would encourage you all to just google pictures of the building, it was massive and you’ll see all the features I’m describing here. It featured a huge 32 story tall bell tower, which was good for the 2nd tallest building in the city at the time. The bellower was topped by a sculpture of the goddess Diana the huntress, which was sculpted by famous artist Augustus Saint-Gaudens, and was gilt in copper. They moved the statue not soon after, and you can see it today at the Philly Museum of art! It spun around in the wind, and their original brilliant idea was to have an actual cloth scarf draped on it, but since wind exists, it got blown away not too long after its installation.
Its main hall was the largest in the world. It had not only the main hall which sat 8,000 but just like today’s garden, had a small theater which sat 1200, and even another concert hall which sat 1500. Of course they also had the largest restaurant in the city, because why not. And because it is ‘The Garden’ they decided there should be a roof garden cabaret. They thought this would be a landmark the likes of central park, and it was certainly grandiose enough. They had the same kind of events that the first garden did, including sports, concerts, and all the random stuff they found fun before the invention of TV (not to mention radio, or at least the widespread broadcast of radio). But the problem was, the building was so damn extra, that they had a hard time making enough money to upkeep the place.
Now let’s talk about the architect. Stanford White is probably best remembered for designing the Triumphal arch in Washington square, but then closely followed by being murdered in his own building, MSG II, in a lovers quarrel. This was huge news at the time, and so was the trial that ensued, they called it ‘The Trial of The Century’. The building, being as ridiculous as it was, of course housed an apartment for White, and millionaire Harry Kendall Thaw was not too happy with White who apparently had an affair with his actress wife when she was 16. So he came through, and shot him dead in his own building. It’s all incredibly sketchy and simultaneously intriguing, involving major names of the day, which is probably why the trial was so juicy and gripping in the eyes of the general public.
Anyways, the building was ultimately a failure, and didn’t last very long in retrospect. Everyone knew what Madison Square Garden was, and it was a landmark from 1890-1926, but the building failed to live up to expectations, much less make money. A 36 year run is really nothing to write home about, especially with the illusions (or better yet delusions) of grandeur its rich owners had in mind. There were some important sporting events that happened there, but what would happen in the next building would be the reason The Garden is now known as, The Worlds most Famous Arena. Interestingly the building there today, the New York Life Insurance Company, was built on that plot directly after MSG II was demolished. They owned the mortgage on the building, so they just built their headquarters there. It’s an iconic building in its own right, and if you’re on the NE corner of the park, there’s a plaque on the building which notes that it was the location of the first 2 Gardens.
The only thing MSG still had was, well, the name. And in walked Tex Rickard, to seize an opportunity that proved to be golden.
Madison Square Garden III
If you’ve never heard of Tex Rickard, think PT Barnum, Don King, etc. He was the leading boxing (and more) promoter of the day, and was a very successful businessman, operating saloons, hotels, casinos, and the like. He was a country boy, born in Missouri and raised in Texas, but had a knack for business and promotion. Tex saw the opportunity to buy the name, and incorporated the ‘New Madison Square Garden Corporation’ in 1923. It was smart, although MSG II didn't make money, it was still a household name in NYC. The purpose was to build a less extravagant arena, but a place that would be iconic in its own right and host major sporting events, including NHL games. This is where MSG started to make a name for itself as a major player in venues, and eventually THE most famous arena in the world. So Tex bought a big block of land quite a bit of a ways away from the original site of The Garden, on 8th avenue between 49th and 50th street. He basically built a big box, designed by theater architect Thomas Lamb, at the cost of almost 5 million dollars and in a remarkable 249 days. I think it’s sufficient to say that ol’ Tex knew how to get things done. He had a bunch of rich backers, plenty of clout, and he threw his arena up in sharp contrast to the old garden. It did however have a very iconic marquee, and if you talk to anyone who was around at the time they will note that the marquee was the distinguishing feature of the building. The main draw originally was boxing, as that was Tex’s bag. They had major fights, and drew much larger crowds than the older gardens, mostly because they could cram almost 20,000 people in there. The site lines were apparently terrible, but by all accounts the energy that still haunts the current garden, was the main draw.
Then, hockey happened. This was the idea from the start, as fellow sports promoter Thomas Duggan had options on three expansion teams for the NHL, to be established in the US. One became the Bruins, and then one was arranged to be given to NYC’s most-celebrated prohibition bootlegger Bill Dwyer, who arranged with Tex to have the team play at MSG III. Tex had an agreement with the first team they started, The New York Americans, aka The Amerks (ever heard of them?), that they would be the only hockey team to ever play at The Garden. Although there was a clause in the contract that Tex claimed he would never exercise, that claimed if Tex and MSG ever made a bid for a team, the Amerks would support it. Tex kept his word for approximately one year, when due to the American’s success, he went out and got himself a hockey team. The tabloids dubbed this team Tex’s Rangers, an obvious play on words, and you can guess what that team that became today. The Rangers soon eclipsed the Amerks in success, and The Garden’s lore began to grow as the place to be in NYC.
One more note on Tex, and maybe the most important in my biased Knicks ‘no other arena is THE GARDEN’ mind. he started 7 other Madison Square Garden’s around the country. Including ‘Boston Madison Square Garden’ which as you may guess, became known as Boston Garden. Thats right Celtics fans, your building was named after ours. Thanks Tex, for unknowingly providing another iconic building, that the future inhabitants of your NYC building would lose in over and over again! Anyways…now is where basketball becomes the star - so you can all start paying attention!
At the time, nobody thought professional basketball was a viable way of making money. Rickard passed away in 1929, and during the great depression things stayed somewhat status quo, but also there were now a lot of days where the giant arena wasn’t being used at all. Then, in walked Ned Irish, a successful sports journalist who quit his job covering basketball games for the World-Telegram, to start promoting basketball games at MSG III. The Garden let him promote and hold games there, as long as he would just cover the rent, that’s how bad things were economically. To everyone’s pleasant surprise, the college games became a lot more financially successful than anyone had anticipated. Along with making money, these college games were probably the number one factor in growing the game nationwide in general. College ball became the marquee (pun intended) event at MSG III, especially the double headers. This was a time, before the infamous point shaving scandals, that NYC college basketball was a force in the college game. It’s hard to believe now, but teams like NYU and CCNY were the equivalent of today’s Duke and UNC. By 1946, they were selling out the arena, and the city (and country) had fallen in love with the game of basketball. The NIT was started during this time, and even the first televised basketball game happened there in the form of a Fordham-Pitt / Georgetown-NYU doubleheader. The previously mentioned point shaving scandal involving the NYC schools hamstrung Irish’s ability to put on marquee matchups at MSG III, as a lot of the major teams were banned from playing there, and the NCAA reduced its use of the arena as a result.
Ned, being the promoter genius that he was, saw the success of the college game, knew his limitations with that now, and thought…Why can’t we do this with professional athletes and start a league? There had technically been professional basketball being played at MSG III since its inception, but it was traveling teams like the original Celtics, which weren’t associated with a league. People just didn’t think there was enough money in it, or a means and arenas to have such a league. So with other owners of hockey arenas around the US (and Canada!) They started the NBA in 1946. It wasn’t instantly as popular as the college game as you may suspect, with the Knicks even having to play at the 69th (nice) regiment armory when a college game was on that took priority over the NBA. Ironically, the armory was a few blocks away from the original location of MSG I and II, on Lexington between 25th and 26th, it’s still there for those NYers who happen to walk by and notice the building.
There were other major nationally news worth events that happened at MSG III, including a host of politically themed ventures including both a packed Nazi rally (really, and people were NOT happy about it as you may imagine) and an anti-nazi rally. There are some very famous photos and press about the pro Nazi rally, which happened in 1939 and was organized by the ‘German American Bund’. As Nazi's were wont to do, they recorded the thing, and for what it's worth, its some of the best and most crisp footage of the old garden although the Nazi's really spoil it - Here are the receipts. If only they put their efforts into making beautiful videos of basketball games instead of hate. Too bad the guy who charged the stage didn't do any damage, and I hate to think of what they did to him. Anyways before I get too riled up, a few years later this group would be banned, but MSG certainly took some heat for allowing this to go down, and deservedly so. The tradition of MSG doing anything for a buck holds strong!
Probably the most noteworthy event ever held in that venue was also somewhat a political event. The most famous version of ‘Happy Birthday’ ever sung took place at JFK’s birthday party, sung of course by Marilyn Monroe, at MSG III. Most people probably had no idea where this took place, and it may be realistically the most famous moment from any of the incarnations of MSG.
Another one of my favorite stories from that time is when they had first built MSG III there was a boxer, who’s name escapes me but this is the NBA sub so you all don’t care, that didn’t realize there was a new venue, so he showed up at the site of MSG II only to see that it had been demolished. He scooted uptown as quickly as he could, and won his fight. There is a whole host of boxing history that went down there, but I won’t bore you all with the details, just go look it up if you’re interested! The boxing events most of you have heard of, such as The Fight of the Century, would happen at the building that stands today, MSG IIII.
Now, on to the controversy.
Madison Square Garden IIII (current arena)
This is all just fact, and I won’t get into my biased opinion on why or why not this was the right thing to do. I’m going to lay out the full controversy before I get into some fun facts about the current arena…So here goes…
Yes, there was an above ground Penn Station. It was thought of as one of the most iconic and beautiful landmarks in NYC. Look up some pictures, it’s very cool.
In 1959, Graham-Paige bought a 40% stake in MSG for $4 million. Then, in 1960, Graham-Paige president Irving Felt (old NYers will recognize the name, the Felt Forum, which was the original name for the theater under the arena floor) bought the right to Penn Station. The idea was always that he would tear the old station down, and build the sports complex. The Pennsylvania Railroad company sold the air rights to the property because passenger traffic was on the decline after WW2, and they weren’t making enough money to upkeep the station. I’m sure the Penn Railroad company wasn’t too keen on tearing the building down, but Felt made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. In exchange for the rights of a building they couldn’t support anymore, the Penn Railroad company got a brand new, smaller station completely below the street at no cost, and also a 25% stake in the new MSG complex. That probably worked out ok for them. People tried to save the old station, as it was a beautiful and a lot of people were outraged that the city would let this happen. At the end of the day, the city voted to demolish the building in 1963. A lot went into this, it was simply too much for the railroad company to upkeep, and like I said, they got a pretty great offer. Also, they had at first optioned the air rights to William Zeckendorf in 1954, and he had some plans which would reconfigure the train station into several different things including a ‘world trade center’ and a ‘Palace of Progress’. These things didn’t come to pass, again, this was a MASSIVE building. Now it should be noted, if NYC wanted to save the building, they could have saved the building. It would not have been cheap, but they could have done it. However the city thought that since it was originally intended to be a ‘cost-effective and functional piece of the city’s infrastructure’ it was now mostly just a ‘monument to the past’. Pretty cold, but the city had a history of destroying historic buildings to build even more historic ones. A lot of the criticism from people after MSG4 was built, was that this was not the case in this instance, as opposed to say - tearing down the original Waldorf-Astoria to put up the Empire State Building. That one in retrospect, doesn’t have as much contention. The city thought they were being ‘progressive’ and from what I can gather, people didn’t believe they were actually going to tear the building down until they actually started doing it. When they actually started tearing it down, it sparked international outrage. As another user pointed out on the other thread, this led to the establishment of the NYC landmarks preservation commission, which did in fact save Grand Central from demolition in 1968. So that’s a silver lining to all of this. NYC didn’t step up to save the old Penn Station, but its demolition was not in vain. The outrage that it caused has surely saved plenty of other historic buildings from their demise. Like I said, I’m not trying to say it was right or wrong, this post is simply to state the facts on what happened and why it all happened.
(((I realize that I may have been typing hastily and drunk when I responded with why the old landmark Penn Station building was torn down for the new MSG. Admittedly, my timeline was slightly off, as the ‘no property tax’ thing happened afterwards to keep the Knicks / Rangers / MSG in the city. I went back into my research and wanted to make sure I explained what happened 100% accurately. Even though nobody disputed this in the thread, my post may have been confusing and the timeline in my head was a bit skewed, as I said the threat of moving to NJ was a factor in them originally tearing the train station down. This was the reason for the property tax cut, but not the original demo of the train station, as you've just read. I wanted to make sure the accurate story was told. So this should clear up the timeline, and why and when things happened the way they did.)))
The next big controversy is what I had a little mixed up in my original post, as I clumped it together with the original controversy, and that is the threat of the teams moving to New Jersey. This did happen and this is where it gets very, very, VERY sketchy.
In 1982, when Gulf and Western owned MSG, they threatened to move the teams to NJ, as the Giants and Jets had done, and also the Devils although they didn’t come from Manhattan. NJ had proven a more than viable option for professional sports teams, as it was just a short train ride away to the new Meadowlands Sports Complex. The Garden was in need of renovation, so they made then mayor Ed Koch an ultimatum - give us a tax break to help us renovate the arena and add the new fangled luxury boxes that all the newer arenas had. That led to a full property tax exemption for the next 10 years.
Koch ‘didn’t realize’ that no one put in a sunset date for the tax exemption. Some think he confused the clause that stated the teams would be locked in for at least 10 more years, for a clause that said the tax exemption would only last for 10 more years. The first part of that is true, so interestingly enough the Knicks and Rangers are not allowed to play home games anywhere else but MSG, or they would break the agreement, so things like the NHL winter classic that the Rangers play in, even if in NY they have to be the away team. Knicks in London? Away team. Not that those teams would give up a home games worth of revenue, but still they technically have to be the away team. So the garden has saved somewhere around half a billion dollars, yes BILLION dollars in property tax payments. It’s around $50 Million now, and although there have been bills, most notably in 2014 to try and get this changed, so far it’s fallen on deaf ears.
The argument against this is pretty plain to see, the Knicks and the Rangers are the most profitable teams in their respective sports, and that they don’t need this tax break. Let’s make one thing clear, Jim Dolan definitely does NOT need the tax break. Everyone has to pay property taxes. Except, Dolan and MSG. It’s a hard pill to swallow, even as the most diehard Knicks fan. The City Council almost unanimously voted to take it to state legislature in 2014, which has authority over the cities tax rules. There is sketchy stuff all through this, like state assembly leader at the time Sheldon Silver having his daughter and one of his former top aides on MSG payroll. Oh yeah, Sheldon Silver was convicted of federal fraud and extortion charges sometime after that focused on large payments that Silver received for years from Goldberg & Iryami, a law firm that specialized in seeking reductions of New York City real estate taxes for real estate developers. Silver was alleged to have persuaded developers who had business with the state to use the firm, which in turn generated $700,000 in referral fees to Silver. Totally not sketchy at all.
Here’s where it stands today, as controversy will be back to a fever pitch in a few years.
In 2013, the NYC council voted unanimously to give MSG a ten year permit, as opposed to their current agreement which gave them operating rights in perpetuity. This means that MSG’s operating permit is up in 2023. Penn Station is in dire need of renovation. Like, more-so than the Knicks are in need of talent. Dolan also spent a couple billion on renovating the arena into the state of the art facility it is today. He’s not planning on moving it. If the city wants Dolan to move the garden so they can renovate the station, it would be massively complicated, and the city would be forced to offer huge subsidies to get MSG out of the way. So chances are, everything goes on, status quo. Now I will say, from my time receiving internal emails at MSG, Dolan does not want a fight with the city. They realize that there can potentially be a compromise here. Also, he has a ton of money, and politicians tend to respond to that.
One thing that is a step in the right direction, is the massive building across 8th avenue, the iconic post office, which just like the old Penn Station has gone largely unused but BECAUSE of Penn Stations demolition has been protected itself from demolition. It has already begun to be repurposed for the train station, and by 2021 they are supposed to finish the construction on the inside to a huge, new, modern train hub. This will do a lot honestly in reducing the congestion in the old underground station.
The other internal rumblings, were that Dolan was going to let them build into the theater. Cuomo actually announced this plan, which would leave the arena intact. I will explain the layout of the current building later, but underneath the arena floor up on the 5th floor, sits the 2nd largest theater in all of NYC. In my time there it was being used less and less, mostly because the garden also owns Radio City and The Beacon theater, which are much nicer venues. There have been iconic events down in the theater also, including many NBA drafts, and some epic Eddie Murphy stand up specials, but it is in need of renovation. It is the only area that they didn’t touch during the renovation, because the thought process is that they’d just be competing with themselves in Radio and The Beacon. So The idea is that Dolan will throw the city a bone, and let them build up into the theater, in exchange for keeping the status quo, which would give Penn a much larger footprint. Admittedly, I’m not sure what progress has gone into this plan, and if the Amtrak plan for the post office has changed any of that. Basically, we’re just going to have to wait until 2023 to see what the future really holds for MSG, but knowing a bit about NYC politics, I wouldn’t count on anything changing.
Ok, now that that’s all out of the way, lets talk about the fun side of MSG4, if it hasn’t already left too sour of a taste in your collective mouths.
The new building is actually a pretty fascinating piece of architecture in its own right. Some people think the facade is ugly, and that’s fair, but the inner workings are pretty cool. Charles Luckman was the architect, and he also designed the Forum out in LA, owned now by MSG as well. In my opinion, the most fascinating part of the structure is the cable system which supports it. 48 cables connect from the outer circumference of the building, meeting at the middle in a center tension ring. This allows the arena to not have visual support beams, like the arenas before it all boasted. No visual beams means better sight lines, and less obstructions. This is a cool article from the time about it if you care to know more about the actual construction. If you’re ever at The Garden, look for little circular plaques on the wall, numbered 1-48. These mark where the cables line up in the arena, and security can actually use these to dictate where they are in the building. You’ll probably never notice them, unless you’re looking for them.
The other cool thing about the roof, is that if you look closely you’ll see that the actual ceiling which sits between the cables, you’ll see that it has tiny holes all through it. Thats because the ceiling is designed to absorb sound, its filled with sound absorption material so when the sound passes through the holes it helps deaden the room. Usually arenas are the worst place to see a concert, and the general rule of thumb is - the bigger the room, the louder and boomier it will be. It’s certainly not as good sounding as a smaller concert venue but it is better than any arena you’ll find. As opposed to oracle arena, which has a concrete ceiling meant to amplify sound for sporting events etc. Which makes it even more impressive how loud it gets in there, despite the ceilings best efforts.
When the building was built there was a 48 lane bowling alley, an art gallery, a hall of fame, and a 501 seat cinema. Thats right, a 48 lane bowling alley. It closed in the 80s, but had a lot of bowling events including some sort of bowling TV show apparently. I haven’t been able to confirm this, but this was what I was told by a reliable source! Someone older than myself can probably speak to that.
Unlike most arenas, the arena floor of MSG is actually 5 floors above street level, which allows for the theater underneath the arena floor.
Although the Felt Forum Theater at Madison Square Garden doesn’t have as many events as it used to, they still have events and even at the same time that there are events going on up in the main arena. When I was working there, we had plenty of instances where there were crazy concerts or games going on upstairs, and other events going on in the theater. You would have never known the other was going on, and there is no sound transmitted from one venue to the other. Also if you’re familiar with the theater, the rumor is the lights (probably its defining characteristic) that pattern the theater ceiling, equates exactly to the number of seats in the theater. I never was bored enough to count, so that’ll just have to be a rumor for now!
The floor of the arena itself is pretty cool, and if you’re not familiar with how these multi-sport arenas work, the ice lives underneath the court all through hockey and basketball season. It’s pretty remarkable to watch the ice crew make the ice, and pretty sad when it gets melted. The fun fact here is, not only can they switch over in under 3 hours from one sport to the other, but they WILL do it and have to do it several times a year to do a Knicks and Rangers home game on the same day. All four sides of the arena have expandable seating, think high school gym, which allows for almost 2 thousand more seats during Knicks games as opposed to rangers games. They cover the ice with a fiberglass/plastic compound material, and then the floor fits together like a giant puzzle over top of the material. This current material has been used since the renovation, and the ridiculous thing is before the new material, supposedly they had to melt the ice once during the season - to accommodate for the longest running event in MSG history, the dog show. Apparently the dogs could sense the ice! I wasn’t there at that time, but that was what I was told was the scenario.
Another ridiculous thing is seeing them set up for professional bull riding. It’s insane, they bring in literally 20 something dump trucks of dirt and they do a ‘running of the bulls’ where all the bulls run up the ramp that goes to the street, and into their pens. It’s probably the wildest thing you’ll see being set up there, and also leaves the arena smelling like, well, you know, for several weeks. Not as bad as it smells after Phish comes through for NYE, and no I’m not talking about reefer. That would be one thing, but it just smells…grimy.
As much as we all collectively have some disdain for James Dolan, it hasn’t been all bad. He has hosted 3 of the biggest benifit concerts of all time, for 9/11, Katrina, and Sandy. All the proceeds from these shows went towards victim relief. But what people don’t realize is that the first ever benefit concert happened at MSG, in George Harrison’s ‘The Concert For Bangladesh’.
As for the new renovation, they really did a nice job in a lot of ways. It took 3 years, from 2011-13. First of all, if you’ve never sat on the bridge for a game, do it. It’s truly a one of a kind view. If you’re not familiar with the bridge, they are 2 suspended walkways that were added during the renovation, with several rows of seating that stretch across the arena. One side is the ‘Media bridge’ where there are TV’s with full cable, all kinds of plugs for laptops and internet and all that. They will sell tickets to this side when it’s a game that the media isn’t hogging the whole thing. I like hanging up there during games because there are advanced stats on some of the channels, anything you would need to be covering the game from a journalistic perspective, so it’s pretty cool. Also that’s where the radio, and the hockey TV broadcast booths are, since the vantage point is better up there for hockey than on the glass.
Pro tip - sometimes on stub hub or wherever, those seats can be cheaper than the ones further back not on the bridge. This is because they’re the ‘300’ level, where as the seats all the way up on the sides are the 200 level. However there really isn’t a bad seat in the house. And there are bars INSIDE the seating area, so if you’re up in the top of the 200’s, you can hit the bar without ever leaving the arena bowl and missing a single second of that can’t miss Knicks basketball. The 400 level is cool too, that’s the blue seats, which were the original color of all the 400 level seats.
Back in the day, when there were paper tickets, the seats in the different levels were different colors, and the tickets for those seats would be the same color as your seats!
The suite situation is very insane now a days. There are the event level suites, which are 20 suites located literally on the arena floor, underneath the seating. They have no view of the game, but they come with 8 seats each right in the first few rows. It’s the best of both worlds, so you’ll see the first few rows CLEAR OUT during half time to go into their little luxury caves. There are also suites all through the mid level of the arena, and then a 3rd level of suites up on the 9th floor, facing the stage.
There are also luxury clubs, including the Delta Club, which if you’ve never had a ticket with access to it, and can afford it - I highly recommend it. Everything (minus alcohol of course!) is free, and the food is honestly ridiculous. Further down the hall and down the stairs is the JP Morgan club (throwback!) where an even more elite club (closest 100 or so seats) can hang out. And even more so, there is a place called ‘suite 200’. I never knew about this until I worked there. You can only go there if you’re invited, which means you’re very famous. For some reason, my keycard had access to this, and I explored it a few times. It’s ridiculous. Original trophies, huge original paintings, etc.
Speaking of trophies - everyone used to ask me where the Knicks championship trophies are - and the truth is, back when the Knicks won it was so long ago, that the NBA trophy was like the Stanley cup and changed hands every year. So…no Knicks championship trophies. However if you go to MSG you’ll notice the defining moments collection, the top moments in MSG history that line the walls of the 2 main concourses. There is one dedicated to the 1970 championship, and it has the eastern conference trophy in it. Now this I can confirm is true - if you examine the trophy you’ll notice that the little basketball player on top is a different hue than the rest of the trophy. That’s because apparently when they were compiling these displays a few years ago, they found the trophy in storage with the basketball man broken off the top of it, so they had to replace it. That’s why you can visibly tell that there is a difference between him and the rest of the trophy, if you really examine it.
Obviously there have been so many huge events at The Garden, I don’t really need to get into that here.
Also if you ever get the chance, visit the 9th floor where the signature suites are located. The coolest memorabilia in the building is up there, including one of those signed 50 greatest lithographs, Patrick Ewing and Wayne Gretzky’s locker, and even the statue of Joe Gans, a legendary African American boxer. This statue has the patina pretty much gone from his outstretched left arm is it was tradition for boxers to tap gloves with Joe for good luck before they took the ring. Now it sits up there, right next to the scale that was in use during the time of the fight of the century featuring Frazier and Ali. They also have an old school ice resurfacer up there, which is pretty cool.
Well, I’m sure there’s a ton that I left out - If you made it this far, you’re a champ.
TL;DR - Boston Garden was originally called Boston Madison Square Garden and was named after the arena in NY. There is only one 'The Garden' and it's super duper important. ;)
Edit - I should have mentioned wrestling. It’s intimately tied to MSG, but really deserves its own thread and I have no more characters!

The results are in for Match 12.
“Well, now, that was a treat, wasn’t it? Alright, everyone, get ready for the main event! Bursting into the lane, ready for her adoring fans, give it up loud and clear for… TD/MD!”
The crowd went wild, then, as the star emerged, wearing a brightly-shining silver top dotted in acciaccatura symbols, blue shorts and long silver and black socks on her right and left legs accentuating the graceful form of TD/MD. Her eyes, already discolored so drastically from one another, were accentuated with asymmetric eyeshadow, gray and blue, blue dots of makeup underneath the latter left eye, and as she emerged, her left hand, clad in a blue glove with a black line through its center, stretched towards the crowd, her right in a silvery glistening glove moving towards the black headphones around her neck, blue acciaccatura symbols on either outside as other musical symbols, smaller, less prominent, dotted the rest of the thing. There was an obvious extravagance in the outfit made more impressive by its components being relatively simple: a t-shirt, shorts, socks, shoes, and gloves, really.
“Whoa, talk about a tough act to follow… And that’s coming from me!” Metra Doria laughed lightly, having emerged to an immensely lively, astonished, applauding audience, applauding the avant-garde show which had led up to her. “Sound’s Garden, am I right? The people this place attracts are some of the most interesting performers I have ever known, and what we all just witnessed, I think, is a perfect preamble, a summation of everything we should aspire to be, of the power to move hearts and souls that music can have! I seriously feel like I need to give the best damn concert of my life now just to be worthy of headlining here… And of course, I can’t play everything alone. Before we start, let’s hear it for my backing band!”
“My bassist, Stella Starlight, my drummer, Scott Sundquist, annnnd…” Melodically, that ‘and’ trailed until one of the stagehands from before, clad now in a totally new outfit, emerged. “Luna, on the synth!” With the band introduced to cheers, TD/MD, then, sat before a piano which the rest of the stagehands had moved onstage while the crowd’s eyes were on the star, and a cloud of smoke in their path. “So, Los Fortuna, are! You! Ready?!”
The first of many songs that night began.
In the chaos of these two disparate teams, both quite surprised by the realization of who they would be sharing their stages with, their independent plans, nonetheless, blended together seamlessly to tell classical comedies of ancient kings and heroes, of fighting and rejecting a tragic end, a bizarre prog rock gymnastic live weapons show tale of the human spirit at its finest.
It was often that, thanks to the mishaps of the manager Thutmose, the acts before TD/MD went down in memetic legend, the stuff people spoke about often both on social media and in shady, smoky backrooms. Usually, however, they were spoken of as disasters saved by her star performance, to the point where some wondered if it was on purpose to hype her up more at some poor bastard’s extent.
That night, however, a certain performance pierced the hearts of the crowd and brought about complete adoration, even matching the attention of the headliner. As her own show, grand, perfect, putting a tear in the eye of the man who sat beside Tigran Sins in a special box, drew to a close, and the crowd called for an encore, TD/MD spoke into the microphone. “Alright, Los Fortuna, I think I definitely have time for one more song, but… I haven’t forgotten who you were all cheering for earlier. In the time it’s taken, we’ve already seen to it… I’m going to welcome some people back on the stage to join me for this!” Directing her hand stage left, she declared, “‘Nureyev,’ Admiral Pineapples ‘Orpheus,’ ‘Hades,’ and all the best stagehands in the world, get back up here, the whole of you! Let’s close the night off in the best way possible!”
The winner is Everyone, with a score of 79!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Masters of Funky Action	16-14	There were a record number of tie votes this match, but in the end, just barely, MFA pulled ahead in popularity by a singular vote.
Quality	Judecca Highrollers	27-29	Reasoning
JoJolity	Tie	27-27	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10

After the show, Metra asked the quartet to wait for her outside her green room so they might speak in private as she dressed back down into more casual getup, the four of them and manager Thutmose conversing outside all throughout.
“That was legendary,” Rudolf said first, “feel like we really moved hearts out here tonight!”
“Even if only for a little while…” Admiral Pineapples agreed, looking over the Highrollers. “It was very nice to work with you, even under such strange circumstances.”
“Tens of thousands… It’s still surreal,” Alexis added, “they were cheering for us almost as hard as they were for TD/MD… And I heard they usually end up laughing off the act right before the big headliner?”
Cybil simply allowed a smug smile. “I was advocating for you, Alexis, so of course I knew you would defeat such superstitions…” And then, she offered the manager a frown. “Mr. Thutmose. I hope now you’ve learned a lesson about fooling around with people. It is only because we were so amazing that you still have your job right now.”
“How humble…” Thutmose answered, chuckling nervously and running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go straight now… I didn’t realize how much this was upsetting Metra, either-”
“Thutmose, my boy,” a self-important voice said, announcing his presence an instant before his garish demeanor could assault the eyes of the hangers-around. Tigran Sins, in his gold-yellow checkered suit, approached, that muscular brunette right hand of his, Fox, close by, a sort of warmth on his still quite intimidating face, “you really do know how to pick ‘em. Miss Antoine, Mr. Pavlova, Admiral, and Alexis, you were… I must say, almost sort of in the league of our star.”
“Not even close, really,” Fox answered, stepping forward then, a massive bouquet in his hands, a vinyl tucked neatly under his arm, “anyway, Thutmose, let us through. We need to speak with her now… That show was her greatest yet, and she needs to hear it personally from-”
“TD/MD isn’t seeing anyone else tonight,” Thutmose answered, the young man standing firmer now, though all four of his companions noticed that he seemed to be shaking. “She’s exhausted after her show, and already needs to make time for others…” He moved to yoink the flowers out of his hands. “I’ll give these to her on your behalf, though, and tell her who it’s from… But she won’t be seeing you.”
Like that, the warm demeanor on the intimidating-looking man’s face grew tenser again, and even Tigran seemed to grow frustrated as well, answering next, “are you certain she can’t make time? Fox really needs to speak with her in person.”
“Hey, hey, you heard the twink,” Rudolf interjected, stepping in now (“Twink..?” “Yep!”), raising a bathrobe-covered arm, “let’s keep things excellent here and not freak the poor lady out. I hear she’s got a perfect pitch, ya know, so she’s gonna hear it if we’re ruinin’ her night!”
Fox folded his arms, Tigran himself looking contemplative, almost stressed, before his accompaniment turned away, seemingly aware of the numbers on the meek man’s side. “Next time, then.”
The pair left, and like that, Thutmose nearly collapsed into the wall, exhaling. “I just defied Tigran to his face… Hhehhhh…” He shook his head. “She should be ready by now. I’m gonna go burn these flowers… Maybe start online shopping for walking sticks, ‘cuz I feel like my kneecaps are gonna notice this…”
A voice called from the inside, seemingly concurring with the manager’s point. “Coast clear? Alright, come in!”
The four entered, seeing Metra sitting there casually in a black hoodie, more fit for the cool evening, with blue sweatpants covered in silver spirals, relaxing into her chair and nursing a bottle of some sports drink with the label peeled away idly. “You four have all shown me pretty definitely what you stand for tonight… You’re cool. I think I can trust you. Have a seat, alright? Let’s hang out, chat a bit. I don’t think I need to tell you there’s a lot in Sound’s Garden that needs talking-about.”
For interested parties, as of this going up, there is still a day left to vote in a match between masters of lawful bastard and chaotic bastard energies, both vying to get the other thrown out of a resort.
Scenario:
A former speakeasy in Hotel Delmano - North Island, Downtown Los Fortuna. Late morning
The Baker Street Rat Pack had a good few ideas to advance forward juggling in their heads, now that the city’s issues were rapidly beginning to juggle themselves more and more.
North Island PD was still more aggressive under the galvanizing rhetoric of Council Chairman March, none of which seemed to be stopping the serial killer who ran rampant in the region, the districts west of the Wormwood seemed a hotbed of wars between gangs, unions, and the bulk of ODIN’s security forces, and that wasn’t even getting into issues which the BSRP had no relation to, but were indeed aware of.
The matter most currently relevant to Cy Syntheta, however, was listening to the concerns and fleeting research of Peter “Treagon” Bequasimodo.
“I just don’t get it,” Peter said to them, looking fleetingly at his laptop. “I can’t use my Stand to get out of the city, and now I try to use it to look into this ‘Institute’ here, and can't get into there either. It’s like… They have some sort of Stand User Firewall, in simple, un-hacker terms.”
Cy had been sitting and chatting with the self-styled treasonous vegan, having been of the mind of late to actually do something useful, and remembering the hacktivist had been hot on somebody, something or another’s trail. “So you have a clue as to what that ‘from the Institute, Oh No,’ thing meant?”
“Better than a clue,” Peter answered, “turns out it literally wasn’t even a riddle. Just a straightforward signoff.” Like that, he stylishly spun his laptop around on a nearby surface, stopping it as the screen faced Cy. “Look for yourself.”

• Pezzetti di Cavallo (55, M) - Professor and Representative of School of Law, Chief Prosecutor
• CaraMel Dansen (26, F) - Notable Alumnus and Representative of School of Culinary Arts, Acclaimed Confectioner
• Million Dollars (37, F) - Professor of Economics, Representative of School of Business, Multimedia Producer
• Willard Drankwater (108, M) - Professor of Chemistry, Representative of School of Medicine, Nobel Laureate, Oldest Man in Los Fortuna
• Theodore Lloyd (35, M) - Dean and Representative of Arts College, Former Adjunct Professor
• Oh No (Age Unknown, M) - Head and Representative of the Midnight Sun Parapsychological Research Institute
• Venus York (47, Other) - Professor of Sociology at College of Social Sciences

“This is…” Cy was catching on quickly. “The ‘University Board’ of Midnight Sun? Hell, I knew they were kind of a big deal, but looking over these names back and forth…”
“Yep,” Peter answered, “and these are the basics I could dig up on most of them… This No guy, though, other than existing? Practically a ghost. Apparently sometimes doesn’t even show for meetings in person.”
“And we have definite signs this guy knows about people’s Stand abilities, and hangs out with that ‘Golden Sins’ guy you punched out? ‘Parapsychological Research,’ too… Sounds like Stands without outright saying Stands.”
“Think I might have to go physical again,” Peter answered, “if an agent of Neoliberal Academia is on us, we gotta know their intention. With those types you never know if they’re with you or gonna sell you out. Think I was gonna start by checking out some Institute libraries.”
“Wait,” Cy answered in turn, “you say they know about you and you’ve been trying to break in already… Then it might be too much heat on you to storm the castle. Let me take care of it.”
“Oh, man, really? That’s super cool of you, Cy. If you find anything, I owe you one.”
“Don’t think of it like I’m being nice to you for its own sake,” the assassin answered, “this is something that affects me, too, especially if we screw it up, and a physical infiltration is the kind of thing I’m more suited for than you… Though I will remember what you just offered.”
Midnight Sun University Town - A Street Decked out for Pride
Raymond “Ray” Delwyn Shimizu, meanwhile, had discovered similar information to Cy under what can be called vastly different circumstances: rather than suspicious, experience and perspective had taught him to have a cautiously optimistic approach to the clear power over the Metropolitan area the University Board held.
To the Speedwagon Foundation, this Parapsychological Research Facility has always been an enigma, since it’s always been a risk to send many operatives to Los Fortuna, but I have a ‘feeling…’ A ‘feeling’ that tells me they are not going to be so dissimilar to us. I can’t help but wonder, then, like how my team is dealing with Cairo now, if SKADE can’t have its ‘talents’ assisted by some University grants and allianceship as well… Our ‘contact’ within ODIN didn’t have a bad word to say about them, so it likely won’t cause trouble with them, either.
But first, Raymond knew, he could not simply walk blindly into such an alliance, much like his team had needed first to figure this Cairo out a bit more before adding their resources to their mission. A place worth starting to do such homework, then, would be in the records of their little research institute.
As he walked along, Raymond soon passed by a frankly adorable-looking building, a sign out front of the place reading in bubbly letters: ‘CaraMel’s Confection & Bakery’
To that end, then, he thought, oh, tempting… Maybe I’ll stop by on the way back from the library, bring donuts or weird candies or something back to the gang. I have to imagine they’re delicious… Peering through the window, he saw the place absolutely bustling, loaded with the kind of crowd that speaks to waiting nearly an hour in line, and more going in. Urgh, and maybe there’ll be less of a line by then.
After thinking that to himself, then, Raymond continued onwards, still making sure to eye every little oddity and incongruity of the area he could. Peaceful as the college town largely seemed, strange phenomena that could only amount to Stand usage also felt especially concentrated, even compared to the rest of this city.
I’ve heard rumors of all number of notorious members of the Stand underworld in the region, and I’m sure I’m not the only one out here seeking this library out… or the one with the worst of intentions for it.
Midnight Sun Parapsychological Institute Research Library - 1F Lobby
Much to Raymond’s surprise, the place seemed… A pretty ordinary research library, all things considered. He hadn’t gotten terribly far in yet, of course, but then again, he didn’t really know what he was expecting.
A receptionist with braided dark-red hair, round, spiraling glasses, and a blue vest over a short-sleeved black button-up sat at the front desk, guarding his way from a pair of doors behind him. Off to one side, gated from entry, sat a stairwell, visibly enticing, yet with a sign before it very overtly communicating: NO PUBLIC ENTRANCE.
Ah, well, he could at least get an idea by looking around what sort of face they were willing to show anyone who entered.
“Erm… S-sir?” The young woman at the entrance asked, seeming intimidated by his tall form. “Did you need to find something in particular? I’m, uh, I mean we… We’re not, uh.” She blinked. “What did you want again?”
The sight practically made Ray roll his eyes, but he was able to let through a straightforward, “I didn’t say, actually…” Crap, he hadn’t thought this far, either. Of course a place like this would want to know why people were looking into it. Still, though, Ray was nothing if not smooth and even-faced, and in the span of the time between that ‘actually’ and opening his mouth again, he had thought convincingly of what wasn’t a lie, but didn’t actually say much of anything either. “I want to look into some cases this Institute has worked for this city. This is a pretty big place, and I know it’s a storied institution, so I thought I should get acquainted with some of them.”
“R-right! Of course! So nothing in particular? Okay, cool..! I’m, uh… P-please, don’t hesitate at all if you need me…” The young woman pressed a button by her desk, and the doors clicked, unlocking from this side. As Ray began towards it, though, he was interrupted. “Oh, and one more thing!”
He could practically see the ‘menacings’ emanating off of her, those adorable glasses practically shining as she spoke more clearly now. “There are two types of research library… Ones which only allow ‘reference,’ and ones which allow ‘lending’ to guests. We’re not a lending library, so don’t let us catch you taking anything out of here… Do you understand me, sir?”
“…crystal clear.” This girl is a Stand User… For a moment, I almost let it slip my mind where I am.
“Great!” She said, back to her somewhat nervous, bubbly demeanor. “Oh, and, uh… Don’t make too much noise either, ‘kay? I won’t be able to tell, because these walls are soundproofed, but we can’t be held accountable for what happens if you get other library patrons angry..!”
There, she sounded more honest, even a touch exasperated to Raymond, as if exactly that had happened too many times to count, and she was resigned to it happening again. “I understand.”
Curious as he stepped in, Raymond tested the door… Seemed it did, at least, open from the inside, so no fire hazard or Stand trap there even if it was locked externally. The library interior was hardly bustling, per se, but there were, regardless, a few faces about, all of whom struck Raymond as people it might or might not be a worthwhile idea to fuck with, including but not limited to a tall, balding, androgynous figure with an eyepatch over their forehead, a very average-looking young woman in a purple beret, a red-clad teenager in an aviator hat with a feather plume, round glasses, and long facial features, a tall twentysomething in too many coats with hair like a palm tree, a balding, dark-haired, bespectacled, bearded figure in a stupid black cap and loosely-worn red tie with simultaneously an utterly unhinged and utterly vacant look in his eye, and a blond, stubbly-haired twenty-something six-foot-something in sunglasses and a vest with shoulder sections that wriggled down his arms.
Raymond thought little of the colorful characters around as he went to start picking out some reference material to sit at a desk with, but as he did, he happened to glance across the aisle, seeing there someone who he definitely knew was probably trouble: a short-haired, taller-than-him, androgynous blond with chin-length, face-covering bangs, which had an almost plastic sheen to them. They wore a form-fitting crop-top, shoulder-length cloak, jorts, leggings, and an armful of plastic bands.
No way… I’ve heard of this person before! The foundation says that Cy Syntheta is a ruthless sellsword who’ll work any job. What could a person like that want in a place like this? Who are you doing research for? I smell trouble here… I’m going to need to apprehend them, dead or alive, before someone gets seriously hurt. I must say, as a swordsman myself, though, I’m almost excited… Almost.
Cy Syntheta, minutes ago, had received a similar spiel for a similar non-explanation of their intentions, though theirs even vaguer, given the fact that the assassin was entering fully prepared to find information which led them to view the Institute as some sort of enemy. Their hunt for information about the hotel they occupied had led to a fascinatingly thorough history of its paranormal and criminal oddities, but nothing which referenced any of them.
Nothing written about Heartache Casino where you’d expect, except a very brief mention of an assault from an ancient king when they tried to display some kind of ancient slab in the early 2010s… Nothing about us, either, when we know they definitely have something on us. Ugh. Is that on the more confidential floors..? Maybe I do need to start figuring out how to break in… And then, a moment later, their head perked up with a realization. There’s eyes on me… Someone is watching me right now, and close.
Their head, then, darted across the aisles, and directly across from them stood a tall, broad-looking figure glancing their way with a clear, sneering suspicion. Everything about this guy screamed ‘fed,’ or at least something adjacent.
Looks like my reputation has caught up to me again… Well, that’s just great. I’m gonna need to take this guy out then… How annoying. Hopefully, all these other guys stay out of it so I can get back to what I was doing.
OPEN THE-
Shhh!
Open the game…
Location: A public floor of the Midnight Sun Parapsychological Research Institute Library. The area here is 32 by 32 meters with each tile being 2 by 2 meters. Players are represented by their tokens with Raymond on the center left and Cy on the center right.
The purple rectangles are bookshelves that are each around 2 meters tall. The brown rectangles are desks complete with chairs and lighting. The green circle is the help and resources desk. The plus signs are computer desks and the cone shapes on the bottom sides of the map are printers.
Goal: RETIRE your opponent!
Additional Information: They’re minding their own business, but the Institute Library is sparsely populated with a number of Stand Users among the general civilians. If you make too much noise or actively try to involve them in your fight, they’ll kick your ass, and you will be RETIRED. If you try to trick them into thinking your opponent is antagonizing them by using your own abilities to somehow try to make them look bad, they’ll kick your ass, and you will be RETIRED.
On the other hand, though, as long as you’re not actively aiming for them, even the non-stand users in this area are pretty savvy people to be actively researching here in the middle of a fight; chumps, cowards, and charlatans will have already fled before they’re in any danger, leaving only people who know the score. They can generally reliably avoid being hurt, and as long as you aren’t too loud, will not under any circumstances besides aforementioned loss conditions use their various Stands to kick your ass.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
Baker Street Rat Pack	Cy Syntheta	“My name is ‘Kira Yoshikage.’ I can’t remember when or how I died… but one thing I can say is I feel certain I will not go to Heaven.” This parapsychological research library has some truly morbid, fascinating stories from which to draw inspiration. Take creative inspiration from paranormal knowledge in the basis and techniques of your strategy!
Sharp Lookers	Raymond “Ray” Delwyn Shimizu	“I saw a book, seemingly unpopular, titled ‘The Elephant Who Lost His Nose.’ I thought to myself… Now why in the world would he lose his nose?” You’ve found your way to an absolutely fascinating source of unusual parapsychological knowledge, and as an agent of SKADE and of the Foundation alike, you aren’t going to take this opportunity for granted. Take creative inspiration from paranormal knowledge in the basis and techniques of your strategy!

Link to the Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
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Parts: 2
​
There’s a place located far out in the roaming wilderness of Midwest America that is the gathering place for all kinds of beings, both supernatural and not. They flock to the establishment seeking nourishment, servitude, power, or just entertainment. The mad and the desperate, the downtrodden and the elite. All of them welcome in equal measure to gamble life, limb, soul, and eternity on a roll of the dice, a flip of the card, or a spin on the roulette in the Grand Paradiso. A casino unlike any other.
One that I have been working at for the better part of the past year or so. The things I’ve seen…the things I’ve done…they changed me. And that change was more than just skin deep. Allow me to start at the beginning. When my life had been given a new purpose, to serve the Grand Paradiso.
​
“You reckon this bitch gonna go for all that much. With how much Leon’s broken her in, she ain’t much a looker anymore.”
A man’s grimy voice spat out words in this all-encompassing darkness that surrounded me, the blood-soaked blindfold blocking out my vision.
“Not half as much as I’d have gotten had that fuckin’ mongrel kept it in his pants. Didn’t I tell you to keep an eye on him, probably fuckin’ paid you off, right?” Another voice spoke up, this one sounding younger.
Beneath me, I could feel cold metal against my skin. My hands and legs bound together with zip-ties and the scent of blood filling my nostrils. The taste of wool on my tongue from the gag wrapped around my mouth.
“Ah…ya know it was an honest mistake. I jus’ went to take a piss. Shit happened is all.”
I tried to move my body, but every inch of it was in pain. Bruises and cigarette burns marred most of my body. I could run my tongue along the empty gap where a couple teeth used to be.
“Sure it did. You’re a real fuckin’ retard, you know that? Be happy she isn’t dead, you dumb fuck, hope you know this shit’s coming out of your cut.”
“That’s unfair now-” “Shut it! Be glad I’m paying you at all.”
Footsteps approached me, each step causing an echo to reverberate off the walls. The footsteps came to a stop right in front of me, and I felt a shoe touch my cheek and gently lift my head off the ground.
“Naomi…look at you now... can’t lie makes me happy seeing you on that side of the auction. Bet you’re feeling real miserable about not paying the boss his dues now, aren’t you? Don’t worry, though, as you know, he always gets his money. One way or another. Now then, sweetheart, it’s showtime. Try to be a little presentable for the good folks out there, huh?”
Suddenly whatever I was laying on started moving, the sounds of rusty wheels creaking as I was being forced towards some unknown destination. A door opened, and I could hear the indistinct chatter of a crowd of people over the creaking of the wheels. Soon I came to a stop, and the blindfold was taken off.
Light flooded my vision, and I immediately shut my eyes to stop the searing pain inflicted on my retinas. Squinting, I tried to look around and locate the sources of the voices but couldn’t make out much in the darkness beyond the stage I was on. Just the shifting shapes of silhouettes.
“Is this some kind of joke!? No one gonna pay a dime for this broad!” A voice yelled out from the crowd. “Yeah, who wants damaged goods! Bring out the next one already and quit wasting my time!”
“Now ladies and gentlemen calm down. Because of the condition of the property, the starting price will be adjusted. And I assure you besides the physical injuries they are healthy.” A new voice echoed over a set of loudspeakers. Looking to my right, I saw a well-dressed man holding a microphone and standing behind a small wooden podium.
“Now! We’ll start the bidding at one-thousand dollars. Any takers?!” The auctioneer’s voice boomed over the speakers as green circular lights with numbers on them began flashing out from the darkness.
I recognized them for what they were, scum with too much money on their hands trying to purchase humans. How many men and women had I led to this exact position, I wonder. I never thought that I’d eventually become one of the items. I’d have laughed about it had that gag not prevented me from doing so.
“We got one thousand, how about two thousand!? Two thousand! Three thousand, do I see four?”
Karma, I guess you could call it. Lord knows I’ve done my fair share of repugnant shit. Stuff was just now finally starting to come around for me, it seems. Not like I cared that much at the time. I was already a corpse on the inside. Cold, dead, emotionless. The only saving grace of my miserable existence being the soothing sensation of a needle in my veins.
“Nine thousand! Fifteen seems we might have a bit of a battle here on this one.” Suddenly a light lit up, showing an exorbitant number. “One-hundred thousand! Anyone else?!” The trash in the crowd began to chatter amongst each other louder. I was almost a little impressed someone wanted to spend that much on me. Then another light shined out from the darkness.
“Two-hundred and fifty thousand!”
“Quarter of a million for this garbage?!” “What a fucking dumbass!”
“Sold to number thirteen! Thank you all for participating! Now moving on to our next item.”
I was rolled off of the stage and thrown into this tiny damp room somewhere in the back corridors of the auction house. There was only a dim lightbulb, barely illuminating the small room with concrete walls, floor, and ceiling. Water dripped down from the ceiling, I felt it hitting my back as I laid there. Slowly I slid myself over to the wall and sat against it, my eyes trained on the door. Awaiting whatever fate was going to be looming for me outside this tiny room.
After what felt like hours, the door unlocked and swung open. Standing on the other side was a woman dressed in the attire of someone I’d expect to be a dealer at some Vegas casino table. She looked down at me with these cold, unfeeling eyes. She tossed some clothes in front of me and undid the zip-ties around my wrists and ankles.
“Get dressed.” The woman said curtly. I removed the gag from my mouth and tossed it aside, rubbing the skin on my wrists where the zip-ties had dug in and left marks. “Now. I’m not in the mood to wait.”
With a sigh, I picked up the clothes and started putting them on. They were a little oversized but felt better than wearing nothing at all. After I finished getting dressed, the woman exited the room and motioned her head for me to follow her. I had to admit she had a lot of trust in her, not even tying up my hands.
“You’d do well not to try anything stupid. I don’t have the patience for that.” The woman said. It was almost like she could read my mind.
“Just want me to be a good girl, huh? You got a name?” I asked, joining the woman out in the corridor.
“I didn’t buy you for you to ask questions.” The woman said. I shrugged.
“Not like I give a shit what you spent your money for.” I answered. A vague smile came across the woman’s face.
“That’s quite the attitude you have. You can call me Beatrix. Come along then.” The woman began walking down the corridor, and I followed after her.
“Not gonna ask my name?”
“I already know all about you, Naomi Straya. You’re a heroin-addicted gun for hire. That you find men reprehensible. That the first person you killed was a man who paid your mother to have sex with you. That you have a penchant for writing poetry and that you tried to commit suicide eight separate times the same way, yet never followed through with it. And that the woman you loved overdosed in your apartment bathtub two months ago. Every detail of your life, from the last meal you ate to how you got all those injuries, I know.”
I was at a loss for words at how nonchalantly the words flowed from Beatrix’s mouth. And at how correct she was about each thing she said. It shouldn’t have been possible that someone could know so much about me. It was crazy…insane even, yet she didn’t hesitate at all in her recollection of those events in my life.
“Wondering how I know all that? Don’t worry, it really doesn’t matter. Me knowing all of this information is going to be one of the least unsettling things you’re going to experience over these next coming months. If you manage to stick around that long...”
I followed Beatrix out to her car, she opened the passenger side door for me. Looking around the parking lot and out towards the surrounding trees, I wondered if I should make a run for the forest. Every instinct in my body told me to get as far away from this woman as I could, yet I couldn’t stop myself from shambling over to her. I hadn’t felt fear in a long time…but something about Beatrix sent shivers down my spine. Seeing that gentle smile on her face, I could tell she realized that too.
Once I was sitting inside the vehicle, Beatrix swung the door shut and made her way around to the driver’s side. She slid the key into the ignition, and we slowly pulled out onto the road. Driving through the pitch-black darkness of the woods with nothing to light the way except for the headlights.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, trying hard to dull the unease in my voice.
“You enjoy gambling, don’t you, Mrs. Straya?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Everything, my dear. Humans make gambles every day, whether they realize it or not. They gamble on getting that new job, they gamble on pursuing love, they gamble on their health, their education. So much of life is up to chance when you think about it. Then, of course, there is gambling for wealth. Like those thousands of dollars you gambled away to the man that led you to become nothing more than a piece of meat. To be treated any way your employer will see fit.”
“I have no intention of becoming somebody’s property, so whoever paid all that cash for me can go fuck himself.”
Beatrix let out a malicious giggle. “You don’t have any choice in the matter. Why haven’t you tried to run away yet, Naomi? You’ve been untied this whole time, why not try and crash the car, or jump out. Nothing is stopping you from escaping, so why are you still here sitting in that seat?”
She was right…why the fuck was I just sitting here? It made no sense even causing the car to crash shouldn’t have been something that I’d have been afraid of. For some reason, whenever the thought came up to try something, this unbearable dread consumed me. I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything. The moment I would go to try something, my body would lock up.
“There are things at work here beyond understanding. That free will you had have you wondered if it was ever really there? Naomi, you’re soon going to be where you belong. You’re new home and where you will work until the establishment no longer requires you.” Beatrix said.
The trees surrounding the road gave way to a clearing, and in front of us, a colossal building towered above the landscape. All across the structure were hundreds of lights and long stretches of rows and rows of illuminated windows. At the center of the building was a large sign that read “Grand Paradiso Casino.” A casino? Out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere? I was confident that there was no place like this around the area at all. I knew it like the back of my hand, there was no way I would miss something so huge. How the fuck was it here?
“Welcome to your new home.” Beatrix said, bringing the car to a stop at the entrance pavilion of the casino. The two of us exited the car, and she handed the keys to the valet who was waiting just next to the doors.
“Come along now, dear.”
I followed Beatrix inside of the casino and found myself standing in the middle of this grandiose gambling hall. Giant crystal chandeliers hung down from the ceiling, brightly illuminating the room. Masterfully crafted sculptures of figures I didn’t recognize overlooked the hall, jutting out from columns around the room. Not all of the sculptures look like…people either. Some depicted things that seemed inhuman and monster-like…others I’m not sure I could convey properly with words. An elegant pattern stretched out across the carpet floor, and this elegance extended to all of the gambling tables that were scattered across the hall.
The gambling hall was packed with people, both those filling up the tables and servers going around, taking orders for food and beverages. Something I noticed about a few of the people here was that their attire didn’t match up with the high-class aesthetic of the casino. Some were just wearing casual clothes, while others looked like they only had rags to wear.
There was something else wrong with the place. There were a number of people who looked to be missing bits and pieces of their bodies. Fingers, eyes, ears, whole hands or arms. Stationed at the few of the tables were these devices that looked more fit for a torture chamber. They certainly weren’t typical implements you’d see at your average gambling table. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t beginning to feel enticed by this place, with all of its oddities, and I couldn’t help but feel intrigued.
“I’ll take you to the employee quarters. It’s a bit of a walk, stay close and try not to get lost out here.” Beatrix said.
“Fuck! No! Just stay back! I ain’t losing you hear me!” A man jumped out of his chair in front of Beatrix and I. Pulling a handgun out from under his jacket, as the chair bounced across the carpet. The surrounding area in the hall got silent as everyone looked over at the commotion. No one looked afraid of what was unfolding, they were either uncomfortable, uncaring, or showed some curious interest in what was happening.
“It’s just one finger, bud. You don’t gotta get so upset.” One of the other patrons sitting at the table remarked with a grin.
“Sir, you already lost. Now payment is due. You should also be aware firearms are forbidden in the gambling hall.” The dealer at the table turned towards the man, looking him straight in the eye, not flinching at all with a gun aimed at his head. It was clear the guy had nerves of steel, he’d probably been in this situation a few times by the looks of things.
“I don’t care! Just stay the fuck away from me!” The man yelled, his finger shaking on the trigger.
The dealer took a step towards the man, and a shot echoed throughout the hall. The bullet pierced through the dealer’s forehead and ripped out the back of his skull. He stumbled back a step before glaring at the man. The hole in his head slowly closing up. The man’s mouth went agape as he proceeded to unload a couple of more shots into the dealer with no results.
“Sir, it is time for you to pay your debt.” The dealer said, his voice monotone.
I hadn’t noticed it, but two absurdly hulking security guards had appeared on either side of the man. The guards each had a cloth mask covering their entire heads, it was almost like a sack, with this deliberately stitched pattern of spirals etched into each of them. Beneath the fabric of the masks, I could see this undulating movement of something pressing against the cloth. It didn’t look like there were any eyeholes on the sacks, so I had to wonder how it was they were even able to see.
Upon noticing the guards, the man tried to turn his gun on them. He didn’t manage to get one shot off before one of the guards grabbed his arm, and a sickening snap was heard. The man dropped the gun to the floor as he was unceremoniously dragged away deeper into the hall, all the while screaming and pleading to those around for help. There was no sympathy to be had though, as everyone else just ignored him, or laughed at the man’s pain.
The dealer took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the blood from his face and got back to running the game at his table.
“Shall we continue on then?” Beatrix said, moving forward.
X

Continuing...
“I say that you’re way the fuck out of line, Chuckles. Are you an educated, experienced, fully licensed and internationally renowned master blaster?” I asked.
“No, but…” he tried to continue.
“But nothing, Scooter.” I said, “What, other than your insane xenophobia and nationalism, causes you to come to such unfounded, not to say stupid, conclusions?”
He looked down at the deck. Evidently, he was not used to being challenged in such a manner. He realized he walked face-first into a metaphorical wood chipper.
“I’m waiting for your answer, pally.” I continued.
Still nothing. He was either deep in thought or ill at ease from newly soggy undergarments.
“Want to know why I chose what I did? Fine, meet back here in 15 damn minutes.”
He looks at me with a most perplexed, and ignorant, look on his face.
“Dax, Cliff? I need you.” I say.
We go back to the weapons locker and I explain my idea.
“Let’s load a case of typical, TYPICAL Chinese-made dynamite. Then let’s load a case of American C-4. Be very careful with that leaky Chinese shit. Wait one. I’ll do it if you want and you can handle the C-4.” I say.
“Ah, Rock; yeah. We’d appreciate it. You being the Pro from Dover, after all.” Cliff agrees.
“No worries”, I say, “I got this. You make me up a nice, tightly packed case of C-4. For demonstration purposes.”
I find a near-empty case of dynamite and begin to judiciously fill the thing with random samples of shitty and leaky Chinese manufactured and Korean not-too-well-cared-for dynamite.
This stuff was so incredibly shitty and poorly manufactured that even when leaking and nasty, it was nowhere near as dangerous as its Western counterpart. It was loaded with so much and many interstitials, like sawdust, diatomaceous earth, literal horseshit, and shredded newspaper, the nitro denatured itself to some degree as it oozed out.
Plus, in the non-climate controlled weapons locker; the high humidity, salt air, and poor circulation from the small open grate facing the sea, the nitro had desensitized somewhat and evaporated. It left only sticky, thin, fly-ridden films rather than the usual ‘waiting for a good reason to explode’ puddles.
It was in no way as twitchy as that locker back in Nevada. Oh, but be assured, it was still a shit show.
If I really wanted to, I could blow myself, this boat and all occupants into the next dimension rather easily, but it was nothing like that old locker back in that disused Nevada mine. I still needed to be scrupulously careful as there could potentially be puddles of the pale yellow, viscous liquid explody stuff, instead of the thin films I was mostly finding.
Either way, it required caution and judiciousness.
Nitro’s twitchy as fuck and the last thing I need is a dropped nail, blasting cap, or hunk of the rotten box falling into an errant nitro wet patch…
Extra attention was exercised.
Dax and Cliff are halfway through, and I’m still picking through the leaky, smelly bundles.
“Next time”, I mused to myself, “I‘m writing in a ‘Handling fucked-up explosives”-clause in my contract. No matter how much I’m being paid for this, it ain’t enough…”
We find a couple of expendable, dry-rotted ‘life preserver’ floaty-rings, upon which we secure both cases of explosives. They’re tethered with a rope and primed with a number of blasting caps.
I let the head local Korean crank examine both to ensure that I’m not trying to pull a fast one.
He did not notice the 3-pound bag of Tannerite (an impact-actuated explosive) I snuck in the middle of the box of Chinese TNT.
“Now. Satisfied that they’re equal?” I asked. “Nothing fishy here. Just dynamite in bundles, with caps. Then, over here, C-4 blocks with cap. OK?”
He was satisfied; but only after letting a couple of the shiny suit squad check as well.
“Well”, I smirked,” So much for your ‘covert observation’, asshole.” This guy was DPRK secret service or equivalent.
“Holy cold-pack cheese-food product fuck”, I cogitate, “They are so goddamned suspicious”.
I ask Dax to go over to the pilothouse and borrow the mauled AK-47 I saw hanging on the bulkhead there. They keep it for run-ins with cranky sharks, walruses, and lovesick blue-footed boobies evidently.
“OK, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll float each out, and I‘ll trail with demolition wire. Once we’re a few hundred meters out, you can press the big, shiny, green button and detonate your dynamite. I even used 6 blasting caps, to give each bundle its own. You saw that. We green?” I ask.
He was, although suspicious of what I had in mind. He agreed although he refused to use my terminology, the stodgy prick.
So float away the dynamite case we did.
The case of Chinese dynamite floated out and away from the boat, leaving an oily slick in its wake. As it got to around 200-225 meters or so, I requested a rendition of the Korean version of the Safety Dance, as it was just too fucking hilarious to watch.
Once completed, I handed Doubting Korean Thomas the detonator.
“Your turn, Tweedles”, I said, “Hit the button to spark off your “much-better-than-the-West’s” Oriental dynamite.”
He grabbed the detonator, gnashed a tooth in my direction, and mashed down on the big, shiny, green button with a vengeance.
PFftt! PAH-foof! fuff
There was a cheery little pop, a puff of acrid smoke, and not much else.
Let it be said from the onset that I just selected examples of the Oriental manufactured dynamite at random. I didn’t look for the worst or leakiest. Though truthfully I really didn’t have much too choice in the matter.
“You! You swindled me! You knew the dynamite wouldn’t explode! Somehow you knew it!!” he swore in my general direction.
“Try it again”, I said after retrieving the detonator and doing a quick re-wire to another bank of blasting caps.
“Gumeong-e bul!” [“Fire in the hole!”].
MASH goes the big, shiny, green button anew.
Pfffft!” *Pop. Poooof! Piffle. Blerp.
Nothing but a cute little pop, a poof, and a few acrid puffs of smoke.
He was crestfallen.
He had taken on the Motherfucking Pro from Dover in a necessarily explosive subject, with inevitably disastrous results.
I asked if anyone here was weapons trained. A couple of Coasties raised their hands.
“And you are? “ I asked the closest one.
“Lt. P'an Tae-Hyun, Sir”, as he snaps a snappy salute.
“Groovy.”, I reply and retrieve the AK from Dax.
“Can you squeeze off a couple of shots and hit that floating box of dynamite?” I asked.
“Yes, sir!” he replied, smiling.
“OK then”, I replied and turned to the crowd.
“Dynamite is usually pretty stable stuff and won’t detonate without a blasting cap or impulse source. A bullet will most certainly not detonate it. However, I’ve stuck in 3 pounds, imperial, of Tannerite, which is a type of binary explosive used for targeting. Tannerite will most definitely and energetically explode when impacted by a high-velocity bullet. I think we can agree that an AK-47 round is high-velocity?” I asked.
There were nods and a buzz of general agreement.
“Now, there’s the better part of a case of unexploded dynamite out there. That’s what we in the business call very, very fucking dangerous. Now those three pounds of Tannerite should vaporize everything within a 10-meter radius if it detonates as designed. Agreed?” I asked.
Again, there were nods and a buzz of general agreement.
“Lieutenant P'an?” I asked, “At your discretion. Fire at will. Or the dynamite case, as it were.”
He nodded. He walked over to the furthest point on the stern, checked to see everyone was back and out of harm’s way, as he was a consummate professional. He futzed around with the old AK for a bit and took a shot.
It was low and outside.
“Ball one”, I snickered.
“Sights are off. Not any problems.” He remarked.
The next round found its mark. The Tannerite exploded adeptly.
It threw sticks of unexploded Chinese dynamite over a 20-meter radius. They each sank into the briny deep leaving only an oily spot to mark their entry and eventual watery grave.
The top of the case of dynamite was blown off, but the floaty ring remained. We reeled it back in to find a few more scorched, but unexploded, sticks of fine Oriental manufacture explosive on the bottom of the case.
These were motherfuckingly dangerous. Cantankerous dynamite has no place on a ship.
I remarked, however, that this would be no problem. Dax and Cliff brought up the case of C-4, which I had wired with one single blasting cap and booster.
We had Korean Doubting Thomas and his shiny suit buddies give it the once over to ensure I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one.
He agreed, it was nothing but C-4 as advertised.
One of the more expendable Coasties jumped down on the stern transom-rack which is just above the waterline on the back of the boat. He wired the two rings together and set them adrift, tethered by a good nylon rope with my nasty, silky demolition wires trailing.
Dax was working the rope and I was handling the spool of demolition wire. I had a good 350 meters of the stuff on the spool and wasn’t about to return a single centimeter.
Old habits and all.
As they floated away, Mr. Kwan asked if we’d like a bit of refreshment, as, gosh, it sure was dusty out here today.
Of course, we agreed in unison.
Good old Mr. Kwan.
So, we’re unspooling our lines slowly, drinking our end of the day refreshers, smoking cigars, and watching our Oriental colleagues getting antsier every minute.
I knew what a case of C-4 was going to do when detonated. It would be one hell of a show.
I was so confident with my design I had Lt. P’ay return the AK to the pilothouse. Wouldn’t work here anyways if the C-4 failed to detonate.
But that’s not going to happen.
Dr. Pro from Dover Rocknocker has spoken.
Finally, I’m almost out of demolition wire, and Dax has tied off the tether.
I motion over to Herr Doubting Thomas and hand him the detonator.
“For ye of little faith”, I smiled, recalling the entreaty that even Satan quotes the Bible for his own nefarious uses.
But first, an encore of the Korean Safety Dance. They're guaranteed to raise a smile.
I look to the character fumbling with the detonator.
“At your convenience, good sir”, I say, dripping insincerity.
“Gumeong-e bul!” [“Fire in the hole!”]. Mash goes the big, shiny, green button.
KA-MOTHERING-FUCKINGLY-HUGE-BOOM!
Even over 300 meters away, every one of us not only saw but felt that shock wave. It was like a solid Savate kick to the chest. The boat even rocked a bit in appreciation.
I smile, retrieved the detonator, safe it, and reply: “And that is the singular reason why I used good old American manufacture C-4 as a sonic seismic source rather than shitty, leaky Oriental dynamite. Any further questions?”
He shook his head in agreement, bowed slightly in my direction, slunk away, and that was the very last we ever saw of Mr. Korean Doubting Thomas.
The Captain saw and felt the detonation. He put the boat in park, actually, he handed it over to the sub-pilot for station keeping and came back to the fantail.
He wanted to know if we were now officially finished with our project.
We maintained that we were and it had come off very, very successfully; in no small degree because of his boat handling abilities.
He came over to me and shanghaied one of the translators.
“Doctor Stone?” he asked.
“Hrmph. Close enough.” I smiled.
“May I be first to congratulate your team. In eight sorties, you and your teams are the first to fulfill mission parameters. I am pleased to say that this will go on all our permanent records. It will mean bonuses for all present. I salute you.” And does with a naval flourish.
“No shit? Well, thanks, Cap”, I reply, “But I’m just the den mother for this special education class. Without them, and all their hard work, it’d never have happened.”
“I knew you would say this”, he smiled, “You are leader of men. We see that. You are teacher, but also not afraid to work. You should do this more often. Use your education and experience to train and teach others.” He says, shaking my hand.
Now it’s time for me to wonder. Did he hear of my offer back home? I don’t think he did, I’ve been playing those cards very close to the vest, as it were. I am now officially confused and bebothered.
But, since I don’t believe in anything, much less coincidence, I’m going to chalk it up to happenstance and just gratefully consider the source.
He asks that we wait here and he’ll return forthwith.
“On a boat this size, there are not too many places we can sneak off to…” I chuckle.
He returns with a very, very old bottle of something quite unidentifiable since it appears to be lacking a label. He yells something in official Korean and suddenly, a tray with little, itty-bitty demitasse-style glasses appear along with some smoked fish, I think, nibbles of some kind.
He pours a dram for all present. No one dares take as much as a preemptory sniff until he’s finished with the ceremony.
Everyone thusly charged, he begins a toast.
“Shoo-buddy”, I think, “I’ve been down this road before.”
It was quick, succinct, brief, and laudatory.
According to him, we had ‘hung the moon’.
I liked this style of toasting. Left more time to drink and for camaraderie.
The project thus finished, as we were running out of potables, especially freshwater, victuals, and toilet paper; we were headed back to base. That is, back to the hotel to see what our comrades who chose to stay onshore had developed.
But, that was going to be for another day. First, we needed to chug our way back to port, both literally and figuratively.
Ahem.
Before which, though, there were some housekeeping and paperwork chores. Dax, Cliff, and I did a quick reconnaissance of the explosives locker and created a ‘used’ manifest; which all three of us signed.
They may be officious, they may be obtrusive, but damn, they certainly love their goddamned paperwork over here.
We gave copies to the head shiny suit, one for the Captain, and we retained copies for our records. Along with notes that we expended two rounds from the pilothouse AK, as we were trying to out-officious these officious paper-pushers.
We made certain the keys were returned and logged in the proper logbooks and the explosives locker was locked securely, solidly, and soundly. Before which, we policed up the weapons locker and actually offered to the gods of the briny deep, quite the quantity of unsafe, leaky dynamite, and other ordinance that was more a disaster waiting to happen rather than inventory.
Seawater would neutralize the nasties and in the case of anything metallic, it’d be gone within a fortnight. and the phosphates might provide some nice fertilizer for some lucky passing Cnidarians. We were in water of near 45 fathoms. This stuff would never hurt another living thing.
The Captain was very pleased that we had taken that task upon ourselves. He wasn’t allowed to do anything about what was in the locker, but he was responsible for it and keeping the wrong people out of it. I commented that was a fairly stupid way of handling things, and he mentioned that he’d appreciate it if I made an official note of it to the powers that be once we go feet-dry, i.e., get back to shore.
I assured him we most certainly would.
From then on, all we had to do was putt-putt our way back to port.
It was going to take some hours and we’d end up berthing during the wee hours. This would not be a problem as our bus and driver would be waiting for us no matter what the time. He would briskly and without fanfare, return us to our hotel.
That we were actually looking forward to bunking back in the old hotel sort of gave one an idea of the Spartan arrangements we had endured for the last three days.
Most of the Westerners groused and complained in a humorous manner. Hell, it was only three bloody days. Some of our Oriental friends were so totally aghast they vowed to lodge formal complaints once they returned to dry land.
Landlubbers.
Odd that once we hit the beach, they all scattered to the four winds and not a single letter nor either a peep of protest was ever forthcoming.
Yes, this is an intensely weird place.
We wandered down the gangplank, cigars a-fume, and drinks recently and for one last time, refreshed by Mr. Kwan. The shiny suit squad was supervising the offloaded of the seismic data we had collected and had seen it soundly sealed and concealed in the very living bowels of the bus. It was to return with us to the hotel, where we’d demand a receipt. Then it would be off to the ‘Technological Center” on Scientific Street for processing.
They assured us that they’d handle that themselves. Evidently we were good enough to acquire the data, but not good enough to see the finished product.
Ack, Volna, and Ivan chuckled.
“OK, you pirates. What did you do?” I asked
“They can try with all their might. But without the decryption key, they’ll spend years processing encoded compressed nonsense.” They snickered. “We did offer to come and help set up the decryption for the decompression of the raw data, but they said they could handle it themselves. Oh, well. We tried. Seriously, we did.” Ack and Volna snickered.
“Well, keep it handy in case they come to their senses before we get out of here,” I said.
“Always our intention, Herr Denmother”, Volna chuckles.
“Oh, you heard that?” I snickered quietly.
Back at the hotel, the majority of us sent our sea-gear to our rooms via the on-site laundry. That being settled, the majority of us retired to the catacombs of the basement.
We needed strong drink, decent, non-tinned food, and seats that didn’t slop around every time you sat down.
Well, with the acquisition of our sea legs, two out of three wasn’t bad.
Since the hour was much too late, I decide that tomorrow, well, later today, would be a day of R&R for everyone.
Moreover, I was informed that tomorrow would be the “Day of the Sun” celebration, the insanely earnest celebration birth anniversary of Kim Il-sung, founder and Eternal President of North Korea. It’s supposed to be some sort of big, hairy nationwide deal. But aside from a couple of small posters, we heard little and knew less about the holiday and its celebration.
Everyone’s being even more uncharacteristically low key. It’s odd like there’s something weird going on here.
“What? Something weird and covert and sneaky going on in Best Korea? Pshaw, you old fart. You’re letting the paranoids get to you!”, I mused to myself.
This place will do that to you after a while.
I asked the front desk to place a note that made the rest of today a day of R&R in everyone’s mailbox. After another cigar, some decent prawn stir-fry, and a couple-twelve really stiff drinks, we were all ready to invade the land of Nod for a few hours.
I went downstairs for a drink, a nosh, and a smoke. I ran out of NK won as we tend to use them in Western Expat high-stakes poker games, so I needed to trade some of my weird Middle Eastern currency for weird Best Korea currency.
I was used to the 900:1 won:US dollar (equivalent) trade-off, but after cashing in the equivalent of US$500 in Middle Eastern dinero, I walked off with 650,000 won, not 450,000.
“Pardon me, Ms. Cashier”, I said to the nice little local woman behind the bird-cage security wires, “I do think you gave me too much.”
She took my stack, re-counted it, and proclaimed it correct.
“I thought the exchange rate was 900 to the dollar?” I asked.
“No”, she remarked, “Now 1,336.”
“Any idea what’s causing the fluctuations?” I asked.
She just smiled and shook her head ‘no’. I smiled back and tipped her 50 UAE dirhams for the information.
“Weird. Now what?” I mused.
Little did I know…
The next morning dawned dim and early as there some sort of something going on outside.
Oh, yes, it was ‘The Day of the Sun’ celebration. I discovered it was is an annual public holiday in North Korea celebrating the birth anniversary of Kim Il-sung, founder, and Eternal President and local Poobah-in-Charge of North Korea. It is the most important national holiday in the country, and is considered to be the North Korean pseudo-secular equivalent of Christmas.
“Well,” I thought to myself, “I picked a damn good day to call for an R&R break.”
Then I found out, why no one told us about any of this is still unknown, that the next two days after the holiday would also be considered a holiday.
Come to find out, there are all sorts of intrusive, inconvenient, and wholly unnecessary nonsense that accompany these high holy days here in Best Korea. There are exhibitions, fireworks, song and dance events, athletics competitions, idea seminars: “Think about it!”, and visits to places connected with Kim Il-sung's life, including his birthplace in Mangyongdae.
Shops close, the hotel televisions block any other ‘programming’ and show only ‘special’ movies. Either ridiculously fake documentaries on the life of the also ever so ronrey Kim Il-sung or movies he especially enjoyed. People parade to his statue on Mansu Hill to deposit flowers; later in the day, it resembled a pollinated glacier.
There’s general obviously forced elation, all of which is extraordinarily strained and appears fake. People are trucked by the groaning busload to the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun where the dead maniac lies in state.
“Fuck this”, I said in the exact spirit of international amity, “I’m going to the bar.”
I go downstairs to the basement bar, and even though it’s a high holy day, it’s open early. It didn’t used to be open until the afternoon, but since we’ve arrived, they have adjusted their hours for us.
They have also doubled their daily receipts. So they’ve got that going for them, which is nice.
One of my favorite barkeeps was station keeping that morning. I greeted him in the usual style and expressed to Mr. Ho Gun the best holiday wishes.
“Hi! Ho!”, I said, “Annyeonghaseyo”, which comes out ‘Annie young eez-yo!’ in my Baja Canuckian dialect.
Mr. Ho laughs at my attempt at Korean, but he does appreciate the effort.
“Doctor Rock”, he says, “Dawn greetings. You will drink what?”
Nice and direct, I like that.
“Ye’ ken Greenland Coffee, me ol’ mucker?” I asked in a swirl of different dizzying dialects.
Koran confounds me, so I thought I’d return the favor.
“No, but I’m sure it’s coffee with some of your usual high-proof liquors, correct?” he smiles as I hand him a nice, oily Oscuro cigar.
“For Best Most Happy Returns: Day of the Sun”, I said, waggling the stogie, as I hand it over.
“However, you are correct. Normally, ‘authentic’ Greenland Coffee is a paltry 1/3rd ounce each of Whiskey, Kahlua, and Grand Marnier with excess coffee. Well, I don’t cotton to those liquors or measures. So my Greenland Coffee recipe, really from Greenland, by the way, is Siku Vodka, or any other high-octane vodka, as long as it’s premium. Then Immiak, which is Greenland’s version of Jagermeister, so let’s just go with Jager. Then finish it off with a shot of Tia Maria or Kahlua, if available. Oh, yes, then hot coffee. Silly me, almost forgot…” I conclude.
“And measures?” Mr. Ho asked.
“Whatever fills the cup”, I replied, in a bastardization of an old Russian toast.
“OK, how about a 35 mils (~1 ounce) stiff shot each booze, then hot coffee to fill your mug? With a chilled vodka chaser, as per usual?” He asks.
“Make it so, Mr. Ho,” I say. “No whipped cream or crème liqueurs, please. I’m lactose intolerant, and, well, no one wants to hear that…”
He laughs and whips together a very nice morning sunriser.
It’s a real day off.
In a very, very weird land.
It’s Festival outside and I stayed up most of the night calling people back in the world, creating and updating dossiers, doing explosives-tracking paperwork, worrying over logistics, and how and when the fuck we’re going to eventually get out of here.
Fuck it, double front. I’m doing my ‘people watch’, perched high on Mahogany Ridge. I’m taking, for the first time since, hell, I left the Middle East, some real downtime.
I figured I deserved it.
I was the only one at the bar, but after a short time, there were festival-goers who infiltrated down into the hotel's subterranean catacombs. They didn’t know of the bar’s recently expanded hours and when they saw me sitting high up on Mahogany Ridge, smoking my ubiquitous cigar, they rejoiced.
Obligatory Festival and alcohol! Better than beer and power tools.
In the Baja Canada time-honored tradition, I have a pile of the local currency sitting on the bar. At the new exchange rate of 1,386 won to the dollar, I’m making out like a bandit.
Drinks here are cheap, really cheap, to begin with. With this fluctuation in exchange rates, which I figured reflected the holiday, I was flush. In the chips. Well-heeled. I've got a lot of what it takes to get along.
So, I was feeling magnanimous. I was tipping people very well.
“Paper?” one local asked.
“Sure. How much for a week-old English version of the Daily Worker’s Manifest and Pork Belly Futures Digest? 100 won? Here’s 1,000. Keep the change.”
Not wanting to become over-caffeinated, I switched from Greenland Coffees after a couple to my usual potato juice and citrus concoction. Each one came in a tall, frosted gimlet glass, a very nice touch, and was expertly made my Mr. Ho after I showed him once when we first arrived.
Each one, with the current exchange rate, was about 500 won; an exorbitant sum for any local. It was about US$0.40 for me. I bought several for people who bellied up to the bar and tried to engage me in conversation.
I was used to handing out business cards, hell, one never knew where contacts could lead; and not receiving one in return.
Today, I collected four new business cards; two from various European ex-pats, and two from locals.
I guess Festival! time brings out the best and least paranoid in people.
It’s only 1000 hours in the AM and people here are already seriously lubricated.
This will be a fun few days.
I decided to get a rather tall drink in one of my 100-ounce Kum-n-Go travel cups. With all the hoo-ha going on around here, I haven’t seen a handler, translator, or guide since we got off the boat. I decide with all the shenanigans and goings-on around the place on this festival day, no one would give me nor my wardrobe a second look if I were to venture outdoors for a walkabout.
Besides, we’re on a bloody island. It’s not like I can go too damned far.
So, quicker than a bunny fucks, I get my drink, fire up a cigar, and walk around the lobby of the hotel. There are the usual comings and goings of tourists, local workers, the security forces, and all that allied tat.
I wait until a tour bus pulls up and all eyes are somewhere besides me.
Pfft! And I’m standing outside the hotel, looking at all the sights.
Which, truth be told, weren’t much.
Yanggak Island is a slovenly-manicured island with shrubberies, tracks, trails, and assorted support buildings. The river is basically hidden behind stunted shrubs and nevergreens, and the remains of the defunct golf course. There’s a stadium on the island, which was thronging with festival-goers today. I don’t know what sport, if any, they play there, and didn’t care enough to ask anyone.
There was a cinema hall, which was currently empty and looking in need of some dire repair. There’s some sort of Chinese health complex in the process of being built or torn down, it was hard to tell which. Needless to say, the scenery paled almost immediately.
I did, after a concerted effort, find a small platform that overlooked the Taedong River. It was a very nice little observation platform with a couple of new-Tudor-esque electrical replica gas lights and two concrete benches where a weary traveler could sit and just watch the river.
So I did.
I was interested in the fish of the river, and wondered if any of the locals did any fishing; or if it was forbidden, as are so many ‘proletariat’ activities are in town.
I did see a few locals, huddled out of plain sight, down by the shores of the river fishing with long, 10 meter, reel-less poles. In Britain, they would call this type of fishing ‘noodling’.
I didn’t see them catch anything, but in the bar later, I spoke with a local who told me that they catch various species of fish here. These include Asian Aroana, Blue Guppy, Catfish, Crab, Eel, Halibut, Hucho Perryi, Octopus, Orange Guppy, Pacific Flying Squid, Rainbow Trout, Salmon, and Tuna.
I’m not saying my informant was lying or embroidering the tale, but from the nasty condition of the river, I think Coney Island Whitefish, Cotton River Horse, Dumpster Trout, and Bugle-Mouthed Salmon would be the more common species.
I had enough perambulation and even though I wasn’t given the least look, I felt a bit uncomfortable out here. That unfiltered sun and equally unfiltered air. After that, I wandered back to the hotel and went to enter to go to my room.
“HALT! Who goes there?” some door guard yelled at me.
“An American tourista who was out on a walk”, I replied.
“Impossible!”, he replied, “Tourists are not allowed out without their guides.”
“Look, Herr Mac”, I said, “I’m Dr. Rocknocker, and I am an invited Western Petroleum Scientist with the UN special-invited group here to evaluate the country’s oil and gas potential.”
“You are not allowed.” He replied loudly.
“My good man”, I replied, equally loudly, "Not allowed? Not allowed? I’m a geologist, I’m allowed everywhere.”
With that, I grab the handle of the ornate door, take a slurp out of my drink, and sally forth into the hotel.
Of course, he goes non-linear. He follows me and is making all sorts of bad noise. He is almost literally dancing around me, pointing, and exclaiming that I’m not allowed.
Then, he made a bit of a mistake.
He grabbed my arm.
Really, really poor career move.
I switched my drink to my left hand and executed a pretty spiffy opposite-side wrist grab on the noisy little nerf herder.
He was so shocked by this turn of events, he went slightly white and was rendered mute for a short time.
I frog marched the little irritant up to the front desk and asked the head clerk there to explain to my captive audience who I was and why I was here.
The clerk smiled and gave the character whom I was dragging around a quick background on the guy who was currently holding him captive. When I heard “닥터 락 노커” [dagteo lag nokeo, “Dr. Rocknocker”], I dropped this guy’s hand and just took a few steps back.
After a minute or two, he comes over, very, very abashed. He apologizes as he wasn’t told that any Americans were allowed outside the hotel.
I told him ‘No problem’, as I really didn’t have any special permission and didn’t want to get the guy into any trouble. I offered him a cigar, which he refused, but he readily accepted the half-pack of Sobranie pastel cigarettes I had in the pocket of my Hawaiian shirt.
I decided from that point to just stay inside the hotel to smoke, drink, and avoid any further Imperial entanglements.
I wandered on down to the casino because I was bored and it was unusually quiet. Too hepped-up to sleep, too tired to work, it was that odd interarea between “should I be giving a fuck” and “who the fuck cares?”
Leaving the basement, I wandered around the ground floor, just taking in the sights, and looking at the “Festival Specials” at the hotel shops.
I found an empty, unlocked conference room that looked inviting. About two dozen chairs, a large wooden table, TV monitors, and a southern view of the city from slightly above ground level.
I walked in like I owned the place, as it is always monumentally easier to get forgiveness than permission, sat down at the head of the table, propped my feet up, found an ashtray, and began playing with the remote to see what was available.
Evidently, these rooms were available for rent by various factions, cadres, and other sorts of like-minded individuals. However, whoever was here last forgot to re-set the filters on the satellite television.
There was real the BBC, real-time. There was German TV, Russian TV, Japanese TV, and even some American TV; all the best of the absolutely prohibited hit parade.
I shut it down and left immediately. I went to find my comrades. They simply had to see this.
I located Dax first, as he was losing won at a rapid rate down at the basement casino. He said he’d spread the word to any of the team members down in the tunnels and we’d meet at Conference Room #1.
I had taken the precaution before leaving to move the “Occupied/Unoccupied” placard to indicate it was in use and that if you hadn’t reserved the room, you’d do best to stay the fuck out.
I waited the obligatory 20 minutes for the elevator and went up to ‘our’ floor.
I knocked on all the doors where I knew they were occupied by our occupants. I found a few of our team and informed them that if they were so inclined, there would be an unannounced, impromptu, and wholly illicit meeting down in Conference room number 1; complete with refreshments and real, uncensored television. They all agreed and said they’d rouse the rest of our team on the floor.
I was feeling so brazen, that when I went down to the ground floor, I stopped at the front desk and ordered lunch and drinks for my team in Conference Room #1.
“Oh, sir”, the desk clerk responded, “We don’t have any reservations today for Conference Room #1.”
“Well”, I replied, “We are in there and if it wasn’t reserved, how would that have happened? The room would have been marked as unavailable, which it clearly was not; as it was open and available and we are now occupying it. Therefore, it wasn’t marked unavailable so it must have been available; not unavailable as you postulate. It’s almost a simple example of the single equation theory of universal containment. So we are meeting there now and requiring refreshments. It’s simply a logical progression of the facts of the matter.”
“You are, of course, correct”, she immediately responded, distracted by all the Festival goings-on in the hotel, “Now, you said you’d like to order 4 dozen assorted meat and cheese sandwiches, two cases of beer, and a mixed case of bottled liquor?”
“Yes”, I replied, “You see, it’s only going to be a brief meeting. I’ll also need ice, carbonated and non-carbonated mixers, sliced citrus fruit, and an on-call bartender if you have one available.”
“Oh, yes sir,”, she replied, “That will be immediately arranged. Anything else?”
“Yes”, I replied, “I’ll need about a dozen ashtrays, of the larger variety. Also, I am going to leave explicit instructions with you to disseminate to hotel staff that we are not to be disturbed. This is a very high-level meeting of the scientists of the IUPG. We will be discussing, umm, ‘sensitive information’”.
I used the international ‘don’t-even-think-of-bothering-us’ buzzword to let her know were being very serious indeed.
“Oh, yes sir”, she stiffened.
“Marvelous”, I said and slipped her 1000 won for her troubles. All sighs of nervousness instantly disappeared.
“Excellent. Excellent service.”, I said, rubbing both hands together most Mr. Burnsly.
I go over to the conference room and see that our order has begun to already arrive. Have to hand it to them, you call for room service and you get room service. Especially if you’re well known around the hotel to be free with imported cigars, pastel cigarettes, and lavish tips.
One by one, my teammates filtered in. There was everyone from out earlier pleasure cruise, and most of the force that remained back in the hotel to prepare the paperwork for our ground assault.
Cigars, cigarettes, and pipes were lit. Sandwiches consumed and drinks were downed. After everyone had a chance to see their home-town, or at least home-county, version of the news, I decided that it would indeed be a good time to have a bit of a meeting. It was going nuts outside with the Festival, and as long as we were in here, we were being left alone.
After the obligatory facilities break, I returned from a 40-minute round trip to my room to get a couple of my field notebooks. I wanted a record of the proceedings, no matter how spur-of-the-moment.
When I returned, I thought the room looked a bit spare. I did a quick headcount and I noted we were missing someone. I glanced through my notes and saw that our Bulgarian geomechanic, Dr. Iskren Dragomirov Dinev, or ‘Iskren’ was not present.
“Hey, guys”, I asked aloud, “Anyone seen Iskren lately?”
There was a brief conclave and the answer was a solid negative.
I called the front desk and got his room number. I asked them to ring his room for me. His room phone rang and rang and rang, but no answer.
“Who last saw Iskren?” I asked the assembled crew.
The Finnish PT, Joon, recalls drinking with him at the casino the night before last. He seemed normally jovial as was normal for him.
“Anyone else? Or since?” I asked.
Again, the answer was negative.
“Something’s not right”, I thought, my rock sense was tingling. “Dax, Cliff, you’re with me.”
We all left, stopped by the front desk, and asked for medical assistance. We explained where we were going and the sudden absence of our Bulgarian friend. We expressed deep concern.
25 minutes later, Dax, Cliff, me, the hotel security chief, and hotel doctor were standing outside Iskren’s room. We had pounded on the door for a good 3 minutes. He certainly wasn’t in the shower.
No answer.
“Fuck this. Open it”, I said.
“Under whose authority?” the chief of hotel security asked.
“Mine. Dr. Rocknocker. I’m the team leader of the IUPG crew. Do it.” I said.
The door was laboriously opened, as both door bolt locks had to be breached. The room was dark, silent, and entirely unnerving. In the gloom, it appeared that there was a human form, unmoving, on the bed.
“I’m a rock Doctor. I think we need a medical doctor here.” I said to the hotel sawbones.
The hotel doctor went in without switching on the lights nor touching anything. He examined the mound on the bed. Apparently, it wasn’t a pile of dirty laundry.
“Was the occupant of this room a large Caucasian male, approximately 60-65 years of age?” He asked.
“Yes”, we all answered together.
“I’m afraid he’s dead.” The doctor replied.
Dax looked at Cliff who looked at me. In unison, all that was heard was a tripartite:
“Oh…fuck.”
To be continued...

Friday, November 22nd, 2020:

• Goodwill of Southern New England Fantasy of Lights, November 15 - December 31 Fantasy of Lights, presented by Goodwill of Southern New England has become a holiday tradition for thousands of families. This bright and colorful light display illuminates Lighthouse Point Park in New Haven, Connecticut for the 25th year this holiday season. Fantasy of Lights opens on Friday, November 15, and runs through Tuesday, December 31st. The park opens nightly at 5:00 pm and is open until 9:00 pm Sundays through Thursdays and until 10:00pm on Fridays and Saturdays. $10, Lighthouse Point Park, 2 Lighthouse Road New Haven, CT
• Holiday Exhibit Tour: "Toys, Trains, and Magnificent Trees: Illuminating Christmas at the Mansion" November 20, 2019 - January 5, 2020 The Lockwood-Mathews Mansion Museum kicks off the holiday season with a new exhibition entitled, Toys, Trains and Magnificent Trees: Illuminating Christmas at the Mansion. The exhibit, curated by Trustee Mimi Findlay and the LMMM Curatorial Committee will capture the enchantment of the holiday season, with glamorous tree displays, while paying special tribute to the sesquicentennial of the Transcontinental Railroad. Toy trains will be displayed under the tree in the Museum’s Library to mark the railroad’s anniversary and highlight LeGrand Lockwood‘s invention known as the Palace Car. Vintage toy trains on display are from the LMMM Permanent Collection as well as on loan from the Wilton Historical Society.T Times vary, $15 Lockwood-Mathews Mansion Museum, 295 West Ave. Norwalk, CT
• The Price is Right Live hosted by Todd Newton, November 20th through November 23rd. The Price Is Right Live™ is the hit interactive stage show that gives eligible individuals the chance to hear their names called and “Come On Down” to win. Prizes may include appliances, vacations and possibly a new car! Play classic games just like on television’s longest running and most popular game show…from Plinko™ to Cliffhangers™ to The Big Wheel™ and even the fabulous Showcase. Playing to near sold-out audiences for more than 14 years, the Price Is Right Live™ has entertained millions of guests and given away more than 12 million dollars in cash and prizes.T Times vary, $30 Fox Theater at Foxwoods, Mashantucket CT
• "Don Juan", November 5 - 23 A world premiere translation and adaptation Don Juan by Molière. Meet the legendary Don Juan as you’ve never seen him in this darkly comic take on a classic tale. Wherever he goes, the notorious seducer and antihero leaves behind a trail of broken hearts and society scandals, relying on his trusty sidekick, Sganarelle, to clean up his unruly messes. When an unearthly visitor arrives, Don Juan may finally be forced to confront his wicked ways. Sex, politics, religion — nothing is sacred in Molière’s brilliant comedy. Times Vary, tickets start at $30 Westport Country Playhouse, 25 Powers Court Westport, CT
• 17th Annual Festival of Trees, November 22 - 24 Come one, come all! Meet us under the Dome! Catch the excitement at the 17th annual Festival of Trees to benefit Ann’s Place at the Danbury Sports Dome for a weekend filled with live events. Start your weekend on a high note! Don’t miss the Mistletoe and Martinis party from 6:30 p.m.-10:30 p.m. on Friday night. Sip delicious specialty drinks and join us in a tribute toast to Waterworks and The Benefactors Society, our amazing 2019 honorees. Groove to Rob Fried and Band Central’s Rock and Soul Review with some celebrated musicians while sampling savory dishes from Some Things Fishy. Don’t miss the stunning hand-crafted mahogany bar and elegant footed tub on auction and raffles too! 10am-4pm, General admission $10, seniors $5, children (under 3) free. Danbury Sports Dome, 25 Shelter Rock Lane Danbury, CT
• "A Good Old Fashioned Redneck Country Christmas", November 22 - December 21 What if the three wise men weren’t really all that wise? What if they were just three ordinary guys, avoiding conflicts at home, who happened upon the greatest story ever told? It’s gonna take a Christmas miracle to get these redneck families back together! Thank God one just came to town! Sprinkle in a little redneck humor, and you have a smash hit! 8:00pm, $35 Connecticut Cabaret Theatre, 31 Webster Square Rd. Berlin, CT
• Rent, November 22 - November 24 Rent: The Musical will be held at the Shubert Theater in New Haven from November 22nd through November 24th Want to go behind the scenes and meet the cast of RENT? On November 22nd, the Shubert is offering a free preview behind the scenes. RSVP Now! In 1996, an original rock musical by a little-known composer opened on Broadway… and forever changed the landscape of American theatre. Two decades later, Jonathan Larson’s RENT continues to speak loudly and defiantly to audiences across generations and all over the world. And now, this Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award-winning masterpiece continues its vibrant 20th anniversary touring production. Time vary, $44-114 Shubert Theater, 247 College Street New Haven, CT
• Jay Leno, November 22nd Acclaimed TV late night show host, admired stand-up comedian, best-selling children’s book author, much-in-demand corporate speaker, lovable TV and movie voice-over artist, pioneering car builder and mechanic, and philanthropist…it’s no wonder that Jay Leno is widely characterized as “the hardest working man in show business.” Jay Leno’s late night television ratings domination included more than two decades of “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” winning every consecutive quarter of his hosting over the past 19 years.. After resuming hosting the 11:35 PM program following its one-time interruption,, he made it once again the consistent and uninterrupted ratings leader for late night, once again leading all of the ensuing quarters handily, under the supervision throughout of executive producer Debbie Vickers. the process, he has been honored by the Television Academy with an Emmy for “Outstanding Comedy, Variety or Music Series.” “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno” has also taken home the trophy for “Favorite Late Night Show” in the annual TV Guide Awards determined by voting viewers, and he was recently installed in the Television Academy's Broadcast Hall of Fame. 8pm, $42-85 Grand Theater at Foxwoods, Mashantucket CT
• National Symphony Orchestra of Ukraine, November 22 One of the finest symphony orchestras in Eastern Europe, the Grammy-nominated National Symphony Orchestra of Ukraine (NSOU) will perform American Rhapsody, composed by UConn 2019 Grammy Award-winner Kenneth Fuchs, the Brahms Double Concerto and Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 6. Joining the over 100 musician-ensemble will be UConn soloists Solomiya Ivakhiv on violin and Sophie Shao on cello. The audience will delight in this celebratory showcase of UConn music faculty. 7pm, $15-45 Jorgensen Center for the Performing Arts, 2132 Hillside Rd. Storrs, CT

Saturday, November 23rd, 2020

• Beerfest: Battle of the Brews, November 23 How about a beer? Beerfest is back at Foxwoods Resort Casino and we want you to come and have fun with us! This year we're upping the ante and naming the Beerfest Champion decided by YOU! Enjoy live music, games and food available for purchase. 21+ Upgrade to VIP admission to get in at 3 p.m., access to the Game Day Lounge, $5 food vouchers, and a T-Shirt! Game day Lounge, VIP only: cigars for purchase, premium beer flights for purchase, table seating, and college football. 4pm, $20-60 Foxwood Resort Casino, 350 Trolley Line Blvd., Mashantucket, CT
• "Sleigh Bells Ring" Christmas Fair, November 23 This much anticipated holiday event features a Country Store with homemade jams, pickles, salsa and many unique gifts for family and friends! Shop early for handmade Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls, hand knit items, fresh evergreen baskets, clothes for American Girl dolls, Christmas tree skirts, and homemade apple pies and holiday baked goods. A "Take-A-Chance" booth features great prizes; beautiful quilt raffle! Photos with Santa. Lunch includes homemade clam chowder, baked potatoes, hearty stew and chili! Over 40 talented crafters on the premises. Handicapped accessible. 9am-3pm, $FREE St. Maurice Church, 32 Hebron Rd. Bolton, CT
• ELM CITY BREW FEST, November 23rd America boasts more than 6000 craft breweries today, including more than 60 right here in Connecticut, producing renowned ales, lagers, porters and stouts... in fact, every style of beer known to the world. College Street Music Hall presents the 5th annual Elm City Brew Festival, bringing together nearly 65 of these talented artisans on November 23rd to showcase their talents. Craft beer aficionados will be able to sample many of the nearly 225 brews showcased, while discussing beer with the brewers and reps. Popular, casual food offerings will be available. 1pm - 5pm, $45 Advance; $50 door; $10 designated driver; $60 VIP College Street Music Hall, 238 College St. New Haven, CT