Luanne could tell Jewel about how she sounded kind of pretentious, saying she could do something - implying she wasn't gonna do it - and then doing it in the same sentence.
But that would be mean. And cruel, since this whole show was probably the only thing Jewel had left to hold on to. She was just a scared teenager on TV, same as everyone else. Except she'd killed ten people. But it was really kind of hard for Luanne to hold that against her as a person.
So she wasn't gonna do that.
Her frown leveled back out into a straight line.
...
"Or you could tell me something you don't think I already believe."
The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living
(multishot / pm for entry thread hybrid thing i guess (I'm a diva and i have THINGS to DO and if you impede them ill CRY!))
-
MurderWeasel
- Posts: 3449
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:56 am
- Team Affiliation: Jewel's Leviathans
A moment of quiet consideration.
"Alright.
"I hope you make it. Personally, I mean. I'm pulling for you."
"Alright.
"I hope you make it. Personally, I mean. I'm pulling for you."
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Wham Yubeesling
- Posts: 1257
- Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 9:15 pm
- Location: there is a man standing behind you
- Team Affiliation: Stephanie's Buccaneers
- Contact:
"..."
She blinked.
"I hope you two make it too. I hope... I hope you can find a way out. Of all this."
...
"And, um, if you're financially dependent on, um, you know, this, let me know and I can send you some money. To help you get out, I mean. And if I die here, um, I mean, I guess you'll have to talk to Noreen about it."
...
She looked down at the ground.
"I guess I should probably get to work now."
She blinked.
"I hope you two make it too. I hope... I hope you can find a way out. Of all this."
...
"And, um, if you're financially dependent on, um, you know, this, let me know and I can send you some money. To help you get out, I mean. And if I die here, um, I mean, I guess you'll have to talk to Noreen about it."
...
She looked down at the ground.
"I guess I should probably get to work now."
She sighed.
Getting started was always the hardest part of anything she did.
She wandered over to a nearby overturned pool chair and reached into one of the four daypacks clustered together behind it. She pulled out a bottle of whiskey. And then she opened it with her bare hands.
And then she downed the whole thing.
...
"Okay."
She reached into the same backpack, and pulled out a sextant this time.
Getting started was always the hardest part of anything she did.
She wandered over to a nearby overturned pool chair and reached into one of the four daypacks clustered together behind it. She pulled out a bottle of whiskey. And then she opened it with her bare hands.
And then she downed the whole thing.
...
"Okay."
She reached into the same backpack, and pulled out a sextant this time.
Luanne Grasset sat on the ground, holding a pair of medkit tweezers, the ends of which just barely fit into the groove indented on the little itty-bitty screw holding the scope onto the main body of the sextant.
"Okay, so, um fun art fact: The Mona Lisa's worth $870 million. That's the insurance payout if it gets set on fire or something."
In her other hand, she held the sextant steady against the ground. She began twisting the screw clockwise.
"..."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"I know, I said on Twitter, I know I said some dumb stuff about the commodification of art. I didn't mean it, I was venting about something."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"Really, I think art's been a commodity for as long as art's been around. Or at least it's always been a status symbol, I mean. It was a way for people to go like, hey, look at me, I'm vain, I can spend money on paintings of myself and my friends, and I can still afford to eat while doing it. I'm better than you."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"And so they commissioned art. The Mona Lisa was a commission."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"So yeah. Art's always been a status symbol. But I think there's been a change in which part of the art is the status symbol, now that anyone can go and commission a portrait of themselves and have it be artistically valid."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"People are going, well, hey, I'm rich, I can buy so many pictures of myself, but that family over there in government housing also has pictures of themselves, and that threatens my ego and my need to gatekeep, so I'm going to buy something nobody else can have. And so now the status symbol isn't just art, but historically significant art."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"So now they're like, haha, I can look at this thing that should be in a museum, and nobody else can look at it unless I say so."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"And I think that's really kind of pretty fucking messed up."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"It's not like they're buying art to support the arts. And they aren't buying art so they can look at it. They're buying art so that they can think about themselves looking at the art."
She stopped twisting the screw clockwise. Then, she squinted. And she frowned.
"Oh that's embarrassing," she muttered under her breath.
She started twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"And really, I mean, they aren't buying the art. They're buying the name attached. The brand, I guess. The only difference between looking at a $870 million genuine Mona Lisa and a really good forgery worth $200 is that when you look at the original, you're thinking about the symbolic weight society places on it."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"You invest in the divinity of the masterpiece."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"I guess I could talk about how that makes NFTs the logical conclusion of the art industrial complex, but I'm not gonna."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Instead I'm gonna talk about the top ten most expensive paintings ever sold."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"A da Vinci, a de Kooning, a Cézanne, a Gauguin, a Pollock, a Klimt, a Rothko, a Rembrandt, a Picasso, and a Modigliani."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"I'll be the one to point out they're all dead white men."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"They were all sold during the last decade."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Three female nudes, no male nudes."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Only two of the ten were bought by museums."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Another two of the ten were bought by a guy named Dmitry Rybolovlev. He was also the seller for another one of the top ten. I don't like him. I think he's like a drug baron, but with culture instead of drugs."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Three were bought by the state of Qatar, and nobody's really sure what they're doing with them? Nobody's seen the paintings publicly since they were bought. I hope they're just making a surprise public museum or something, but they're being weird about it."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
The screw slipped out, and the scope clinked to the ground. Luanne flinched a little, because she hadn't been expecting it.
"...
"...
"Okay, so that's, um, step one done."
"Okay, so, um fun art fact: The Mona Lisa's worth $870 million. That's the insurance payout if it gets set on fire or something."
In her other hand, she held the sextant steady against the ground. She began twisting the screw clockwise.
"..."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"I know, I said on Twitter, I know I said some dumb stuff about the commodification of art. I didn't mean it, I was venting about something."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"Really, I think art's been a commodity for as long as art's been around. Or at least it's always been a status symbol, I mean. It was a way for people to go like, hey, look at me, I'm vain, I can spend money on paintings of myself and my friends, and I can still afford to eat while doing it. I'm better than you."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"And so they commissioned art. The Mona Lisa was a commission."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"So yeah. Art's always been a status symbol. But I think there's been a change in which part of the art is the status symbol, now that anyone can go and commission a portrait of themselves and have it be artistically valid."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"People are going, well, hey, I'm rich, I can buy so many pictures of myself, but that family over there in government housing also has pictures of themselves, and that threatens my ego and my need to gatekeep, so I'm going to buy something nobody else can have. And so now the status symbol isn't just art, but historically significant art."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"So now they're like, haha, I can look at this thing that should be in a museum, and nobody else can look at it unless I say so."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"And I think that's really kind of pretty fucking messed up."
She continued twisting the screw clockwise.
"It's not like they're buying art to support the arts. And they aren't buying art so they can look at it. They're buying art so that they can think about themselves looking at the art."
She stopped twisting the screw clockwise. Then, she squinted. And she frowned.
"Oh that's embarrassing," she muttered under her breath.
She started twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"And really, I mean, they aren't buying the art. They're buying the name attached. The brand, I guess. The only difference between looking at a $870 million genuine Mona Lisa and a really good forgery worth $200 is that when you look at the original, you're thinking about the symbolic weight society places on it."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"You invest in the divinity of the masterpiece."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"I guess I could talk about how that makes NFTs the logical conclusion of the art industrial complex, but I'm not gonna."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Instead I'm gonna talk about the top ten most expensive paintings ever sold."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"A da Vinci, a de Kooning, a Cézanne, a Gauguin, a Pollock, a Klimt, a Rothko, a Rembrandt, a Picasso, and a Modigliani."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"I'll be the one to point out they're all dead white men."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"They were all sold during the last decade."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Three female nudes, no male nudes."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Only two of the ten were bought by museums."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Another two of the ten were bought by a guy named Dmitry Rybolovlev. He was also the seller for another one of the top ten. I don't like him. I think he's like a drug baron, but with culture instead of drugs."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
"Three were bought by the state of Qatar, and nobody's really sure what they're doing with them? Nobody's seen the paintings publicly since they were bought. I hope they're just making a surprise public museum or something, but they're being weird about it."
She continued twisting the screw counterclockwise.
The screw slipped out, and the scope clinked to the ground. Luanne flinched a little, because she hadn't been expecting it.
"...
"...
"Okay, so that's, um, step one done."
She kneeled next to Kurt or Zach, and pulled her bandana up higher around her neck, so that it was no longer covering the cameras planted in her collar.
Then she pointed an unlit flashlight at the dead boy on the ground. Her POV camera focused on the dull steel ring around his neck.
"Okay, so, um, check this out."
She flicked the light on, illuminating a dark black band running around the middle of his collar. She flicked the light off, and the band disappeared. She flicked the light on, and it reappeared. She flicked it off, and it disappeared.
"That's gotta be on purpose; that you can see it in light, right?"
She sat down.
"Pippi's notebook says it's plastic."
She scooched over to the sextant scope.
"And, okay, so, um these things," she pointed at the big complicated hunk of metal she'd detached the scope from, "nobody freaking knows how to use these, right? What kid would know enough about the stars or whatever to be able to use one? Nobody. But they gave them to everyone, instead of compasses. And to me it seems like a lot of hassle to, like, go and buy a bunch of septants or whatever these are, if they serve literally no purpose to anyone.
"Unless.
"You know how you can burn stuff with direct light and a magnifying glass, right?
"Well, the scopes have lenses like a magnifying glass. And that part of the collar is designed so that you can only see it in direct light."
She picked the scope up, holding it for her collar camera to see.
"And I know we have Zippo lighters or whatever, but the clues don't point to the lighters. And I don't want to have burning plastic dripping onto my hand. So they're the backup plan.
"I don't think we have to, like, burn the plastic or whatever. But I know that when you heat stuff up, it expands. Thermal stress I think sounds like the right word for it. So I think with enough heat and repetition, I might be able to get it to crack open a bit where the metal and the plastic connect. Because they'll expand at different speeds, right?
"And Pippi says the whole collar explodes. I'm not sure if that's true, I couldn't look at that dead guy in the shop boat. But she said it in her book. So that means the explosives are all the way through the collar. Which I hope means they'll be easy to identify, and um, take out. Or at least disable.
"Because we don't need to get the collars off. The collars don't kill you. The explosives in them do. So the explosives are the problem. And trying to remove the whole collar seems like a waste of time to me."
...
"Now, it's nighttime, so that means I'm stuck using a flashlight for this. Instead of the sun, I mean. And I'm not sure if the flashlights are gonna be strong enough. But I guess I've got to try, since that's the only thing I can do right now."
...
"Just gotta get the lens out of the scope first."
She pulled her bandana back down.
Then she pointed an unlit flashlight at the dead boy on the ground. Her POV camera focused on the dull steel ring around his neck.
"Okay, so, um, check this out."
She flicked the light on, illuminating a dark black band running around the middle of his collar. She flicked the light off, and the band disappeared. She flicked the light on, and it reappeared. She flicked it off, and it disappeared.
"That's gotta be on purpose; that you can see it in light, right?"
She sat down.
"Pippi's notebook says it's plastic."
She scooched over to the sextant scope.
"And, okay, so, um these things," she pointed at the big complicated hunk of metal she'd detached the scope from, "nobody freaking knows how to use these, right? What kid would know enough about the stars or whatever to be able to use one? Nobody. But they gave them to everyone, instead of compasses. And to me it seems like a lot of hassle to, like, go and buy a bunch of septants or whatever these are, if they serve literally no purpose to anyone.
"Unless.
"You know how you can burn stuff with direct light and a magnifying glass, right?
"Well, the scopes have lenses like a magnifying glass. And that part of the collar is designed so that you can only see it in direct light."
She picked the scope up, holding it for her collar camera to see.
"And I know we have Zippo lighters or whatever, but the clues don't point to the lighters. And I don't want to have burning plastic dripping onto my hand. So they're the backup plan.
"I don't think we have to, like, burn the plastic or whatever. But I know that when you heat stuff up, it expands. Thermal stress I think sounds like the right word for it. So I think with enough heat and repetition, I might be able to get it to crack open a bit where the metal and the plastic connect. Because they'll expand at different speeds, right?
"And Pippi says the whole collar explodes. I'm not sure if that's true, I couldn't look at that dead guy in the shop boat. But she said it in her book. So that means the explosives are all the way through the collar. Which I hope means they'll be easy to identify, and um, take out. Or at least disable.
"Because we don't need to get the collars off. The collars don't kill you. The explosives in them do. So the explosives are the problem. And trying to remove the whole collar seems like a waste of time to me."
...
"Now, it's nighttime, so that means I'm stuck using a flashlight for this. Instead of the sun, I mean. And I'm not sure if the flashlights are gonna be strong enough. But I guess I've got to try, since that's the only thing I can do right now."
...
"Just gotta get the lens out of the scope first."
She pulled her bandana back down.
She stood, holding the crab scepter raised in the air above the scope.
She brought the scepter down upon the scope, which promptly shot sideways into the wall.
For a few seconds she just stood there, silent and wide-eyed like she was in a crime scene. Then she dragged herself over to where the scope now lay. And then she whacked it with the crab stick again. And then again.
And that time it finally broke open.
She brought the scepter down upon the scope, which promptly shot sideways into the wall.
For a few seconds she just stood there, silent and wide-eyed like she was in a crime scene. Then she dragged herself over to where the scope now lay. And then she whacked it with the crab stick again. And then again.
And that time it finally broke open.
Eventually she managed to get the lens out offscreen.
Luanne sat in front of two parallel vacuum-sealed subway sandwich bags. Inside, they held tuna sandwiches, meaning that opening them after three or so days of marinating in their own heat juices would be a little bit like opening a body bag misplaced by the Miami-Dade County coroner during a particularly soupy July. Anyways, Luanne was changing the subject. She thought it was kind of funny that the producers had given them a roll of mint-flavored livesavers because all the other food they'd been given would make their breath smell really bad.
Okay.
She was really really lucky that nobody had come to the pool since the stuff at the ballroom. Like, honestly, she was a sitting duck here. If Anthony'd decided to come back for a round two once everyone else had left, like, she'd have been dead for sure.
...
She flicked the flashlight on, and placed it on the ground between the sandwiches, pointing it at the dead boy's collar. The sandwiches were there to hold it in place and make sure it didn't roll around because of, like, the ocean, and stuff.
"..."
She picked up the scope lens and held it between the flashlight and the dead boy's collar, focusing the light on the seam where the plastic and steel met.
Okay.
She was really really lucky that nobody had come to the pool since the stuff at the ballroom. Like, honestly, she was a sitting duck here. If Anthony'd decided to come back for a round two once everyone else had left, like, she'd have been dead for sure.
...
She flicked the flashlight on, and placed it on the ground between the sandwiches, pointing it at the dead boy's collar. The sandwiches were there to hold it in place and make sure it didn't roll around because of, like, the ocean, and stuff.
"..."
She picked up the scope lens and held it between the flashlight and the dead boy's collar, focusing the light on the seam where the plastic and steel met.
"Raphael was a plagiarist."
Luanne hadn't moved, and was still focusing the light on the same place. Nothing had happened yet. Nothing at all. And she was currently talking about art to keep herself from passing out.
"He plagiarized the Mona Lisa. He gave her blonde hair and put a unicorn in her lap for some reason. It's true, look it up."
"...
"Rembrandt's wife was dying from tuberculosis, and he cheated on her with her nurse.
"Caravaggio killed a guy.
"Degas was an anti-Semite. And a misogynist. And maybe a pedophile.
"Egon Schiele was one too.
"Gustav Klimt just kinda roamed around in the forest like a cryptid. People called him the 'Forest Demon'.
"Don't get me started on Picasso.
"Dali got kicked out of the surrealists for refusing to denounce fascism.
"Andre Derain was buddy-buddy with the Nazis during the occupation of France.
"Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns socially ostracized Andy Warhol because he was gay. And they were too, but they were closeted, and Warhol wasn't. And Warhol hadn't gotten popular yet, so."
Luanne briefly looked up at the moon, and then back down at the collar.
"Warhol and Rauschenberg both have drawings etched into this little tablet on the surface of the moon. It's also got four other artworks on it. But ones that I'm talking about are the ones by Warhol and Rauschenberg. Rauschenberg's is just, like, a line, I dunno."
She smiled to herself.
"And - this is after he got big - Warhol drew a cartoon, um," she hesitated, "um, a cartoon penis next to it. And I like to think that was his way of getting back at Rauschenberg."
...
"My hand hurts."
Luanne hadn't moved, and was still focusing the light on the same place. Nothing had happened yet. Nothing at all. And she was currently talking about art to keep herself from passing out.
"He plagiarized the Mona Lisa. He gave her blonde hair and put a unicorn in her lap for some reason. It's true, look it up."
"...
"Rembrandt's wife was dying from tuberculosis, and he cheated on her with her nurse.
"Caravaggio killed a guy.
"Degas was an anti-Semite. And a misogynist. And maybe a pedophile.
"Egon Schiele was one too.
"Gustav Klimt just kinda roamed around in the forest like a cryptid. People called him the 'Forest Demon'.
"Don't get me started on Picasso.
"Dali got kicked out of the surrealists for refusing to denounce fascism.
"Andre Derain was buddy-buddy with the Nazis during the occupation of France.
"Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns socially ostracized Andy Warhol because he was gay. And they were too, but they were closeted, and Warhol wasn't. And Warhol hadn't gotten popular yet, so."
Luanne briefly looked up at the moon, and then back down at the collar.
"Warhol and Rauschenberg both have drawings etched into this little tablet on the surface of the moon. It's also got four other artworks on it. But ones that I'm talking about are the ones by Warhol and Rauschenberg. Rauschenberg's is just, like, a line, I dunno."
She smiled to herself.
"And - this is after he got big - Warhol drew a cartoon, um," she hesitated, "um, a cartoon penis next to it. And I like to think that was his way of getting back at Rauschenberg."
...
"My hand hurts."
An hour and a half passed.
Still nothing.
"Okay, I think, I'm, um, I'm gonna call it there.
"I'm gonna try to get some sleep, I guess. And then tomorrow I'll see if the sun works."
"Okay, I think, I'm, um, I'm gonna call it there.
"I'm gonna try to get some sleep, I guess. And then tomorrow I'll see if the sun works."
