CHARACTER AGENCY

It's ridiculous how passive and honestly "NPC" the other characters in the world are. For an installment in the series that wanted to dip deeper into the "Roleplay" side of things, it's absolutely crucial that CK3 find a way to make the other characters in the world feel like real, living, breathing, and independent people, and it currently falls flat on that.
Here are just some ways that you could improve character agency in the game:

• Characters should be able to push for appointments, regularly. How am I a god that just comes in and names every single knight and court position in the land with not a breath of reaction from my entire court. Do you know how many people would've had the king's ear in this time and been pushing for themselves or their friends or family for these appointments? Think of the court intrigue you've seen in shows like Game of Thrones or Shogun or Succession, now think how well the game captures that feeling. The -40 opinion penalty for major vassals not being on your council is a boring static modifier that doesn't take into account personality and context and only applies to your council, not to court positions or knighthoods. The random events in your Royal Court where people push for appointments are infrequent, pretty random, have little consequence, and are actually entirely optional if you never Hold Court. People should be pushing to fill your different roles regularly and react positively or negatively if you pick people they like or don't like. Here are some examples:
  • People should be able to push for themselves to be appointed, for their friends, for their family, for people they respect, for people of their culture and/or religion, for people with similar personalities to them.
  • People should oppose the appointment of their rivals, people from families their family is feuding with, people they dislike, cultures or religions they oppose, etc.
  • Personality traits should affect who people push for. Deceitful characters may want you to purposely appoint incompetent knights, bodyguards, food tasters, etc. if they dislike you. Zealous characters prioritize religion far above other qualities. Diligent characters prioritize the most competent candidate. Vengeful characters highly oppose their enemies being chosen. Greedy characters prioritize appointments for themselves or their family. Impatient characters will get upset if you leave the position vacant for too long. Trusting characters will only push for candidates they really know well.
• Characters should be able to refuse appointments, or resign from positions. Maybe the talented firstborn son of the king does not wish for the duty to rule and refuses the election to King and instead wishes to spend his days frequenting brothels and fighting in tournaments. Maybe a martially gifted vassal that has huge estates and is living comfortably in his manor off of his rents doesn't want to be appointed as my Marshall and chase and stamp down peasant revolts for a living, so he comes up with an excuse to refuse the appointment. Perhaps I need to change his mind by paying him a visit to persuade him in person, or by hosting a great feast in my hall with him as the honorary guest, or by arranging a marriage between our families. Perhaps my masterful Steward is offended at the lowborns and heathens I have hired into my council, and resigns out of protest. Perhaps my Marshall is ashamed at how badly the last war went under his purview, and resigns out of shame. Perhaps my Chancellor just heard news that his son was killed in a hunting accident back home, and resigns to go spend time on his estate with his family.
• Characters should react to actions the player takes.
  • Won a great battle? Maybe a knight approaches you after the battle wishing to enter your service after hearing of the tale. Maybe your marshall approaches you and congratulates on your generalship. If it was against heathens, maybe the Pope writes you a letter congratulating you on the victory of Christendom. Maybe a vassal approaches you and offers to build a statue in his domain to honour your victory.
  • Declared a new war? Maybe a vassal refuses the call to war citing some excuse, withholding his levies and giving you a reason to punish him in the future. Maybe another vassal joins with his personal troops as well because he is personally interested in success in this war.
  • Built a building in your vassal's land? Your vassal should thank you and like you more.
• Characters should regularly ask for favours from the player, and the player should be able to ask them in return. Maybe a an existing councillor asks that you hire him to another position for which he thinks he is better suited. Perhaps a vassal approaches you with a marriage offer, and in return offers to build a church in your honour. Perhaps a vassal approaches you and asks that you declare war on the country that is raiding their lands, and in return offers to increase his obligations to you. Perhaps a vassal asks that you raise his children with the greater learning available in your court, and in return he will send you his brother to serve as your knight. Perhaps the pope asks you to build a church and in return offers to send you some learned monks and an artifact.
• Characters should regularly travel to visit each other or do things. It seems like the only thing characters beside me do is lead armies, and go on hunts. Why don't my councillors go back to visit their estates? To see their families? Why don't distant family members travel to see each other? To host family reunions?
• The player should be able to consult decisions with other characters. What is the point of my councillors if they never give me counsel? If I am planning on giving out land to new vassals, each of them should be there with suggestions on who I should give it to, or whether I should even give it away at all. And it should not just be my councillors, sometimes these decisions are leaked and my entire court will find out, in which case many courtiers would have their own opinions on what should be done! Maybe one of my guests approaches me and begs I give the land to them due to some ancestral claim. Maybe my food taster during dinner tells me he thinks it should go to my existing vassal X because he manages his current estates so well. And what if I want to host an activity? I should be able to ask my councillors or courtiers which activity they wish for or think would be best to host next. Maybe they have suggestions for where to host it, how to plan it, who to invite, etc. Maybe my marshall wants a tournament but my chaplain wants a pilgrimage. Maybe in my feast, my Steward wants me to invite vassal X but my wife despises him and wishes me not to.

The fact that almost none of these features exist in a meaningful way in the game is kind of ridiculous, for a game that tries so hard to be role-play centered and story-driven. Think about how much we are missing out on because of the lack of agency of characters in the world. Imagine if other characters in the world acted like us as the player character. Think of the story opportunities if features like the above were implemented to make for more independent AI characters.

I have a two-year-old German Shepherd pitbull. He has been professionally trained by a working Dog Trainer via a four week board and train program (she’s highly tenured and highly rated). He has also gotten refresher courses over the years (about a week at a time.). The Dog Trainer taught me everything that she taught him to a T and I have upheld it as if my life depended on it. He knows his commands better than most dogs I’ve met.
The problem is his personality. He is extremely skittish and jumpy, he hast to be glued to my side 24/7, if I move, he moves, it does not matter how many times he’s gotten in trouble for counter surfing, he just keeps doing it. He keeps chewing the toilet paper, he keeps pushing any and every boundary we set. We go on walks, we do scavenger hunts, we play constantly, we do training constantly, we do exposure therapy for the things he scared of. Our house is a complete mess because every square inch of it is dog proof. Yet, when he gets in trouble for doing something, he knows he shouldn’t be doing, he acts like we just murdered his best friend in front of him. Like he takes it personal. Which intern causes him to rebel more. I’ve done tons of research on dog training and dog body language over the last two years and from what I can tell, I’m doing everything right. He is not getting better and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I work from home, so it’s not a cry for attention. He’s literally just an asshole, what do I do?? I’m so stressed every day. And I don’t know how much longer I can take it. Any advice??? Please😭 Also, we’ve tried anxiety meds and they do nothing. He’s also kenneled any time we’re away from home (never more than 4 hours) but we leave him with treats and kennel safe toys.

I (34f) have noticed that the older I get, I have so much less tolerance for my friends’ entitled and suffocating habits. I am in a place now where I’m finding easier to phase people out of my life because they can’t see beyond their own selfish existence.
One friend sends me anywhere from 5-10 Instagram links a day via text, and maybe another 5-10 links on Instagram. And then she quizzes me on them and asks if I’ve watched them and gets upset if I don’t watch them. I do if and when I have the time and energy, I also just don’t want to be on social media all day and I have a life and career and things to do.
So after she got annoyed that I haven’t watched a bunch, she was like “I’m never sending you anything again.” This is a 40 year old unemployed woman. So now, instead of sending me links, she’ll tell me about something and say “did you hear about xyz? Look it up. Because I’m not sending it to you.”
It’s passive aggressive and annoying and I explained to her that having me hunt for articles about what she’s talking about is dramatic, passive aggressive, time consuming, and over the top . She said that I don’t care about the things that she likes. I tried explaining to her that I don’t have the time or energy to watch and respond to videos all day (other people also send me things… it’s a lot tbh) and she just made it so unnecessarily weird.
I know she’s always saying that she’s bored and lonely, but it puts a lot pressure on me to always be available to her and I just can’t. I recently dumped a close friend who was the energy vampire of the century who was constantly threatening to harm herself if I didn’t make myself available to her and she would send me pictures and videos of herself pinching herself with rubber bands and random bruises all over her body (I know. I don’t know how these people find me) and eventually I told her to get help bc I couldn’t be her 24/7 crisis hotline and she said she was DEVASTATED bc she doesn’t have anyone else so talk to and said she couldn’t be friends anymore. She would call me at all hours of the night and day because she was afraid of what she might do to herself, and she’d be like “FINE. I’ll just call crisis services.” She would get upset if I was on a date with my boyfriend and did not pick up the phone to listen to her multitude of problems. She would actually say “can you ask David to cut me some slack? I’m struggling.” And then the pictures would come. Girl bye, I’m done.
I feel like some people are so entitled and lack self awareness. My circle of friends is getting very small because I refuse to be sucked dry by stunted, needy people every day of my life. I’m not a therapist. My job isn’t to look at stupid social media crap at the drop of a hat.
Do you find it easier to dump friends the older you get?

Hi everyone!
As you might know - or not - we have decided to allow you guys to rant about what's happening on social media every Tuesday. Anything happening on Twitter, Instagram, Tik-Tok, or any other social media platform, rant away about it in here.
NOW, here are the things you CANNOT do:

• Add or mention usernames.
• Add direct links to the posts you're complaining about BUT you can copy/paste or paraphrase.
• Witch-hunting because you disagree with A, B, C.

Any rule-breaking - whether that be being hostile or hateful about any idol or user, or directly linking to posts, profiles, or individuals within the megathread - will get you a 21 day ban (this also includes back and forth arguments).

• That means no linking to or mentioning any individual Twitter profiles, Youtube channels, Instagram pages, Tik Tok accounts, and/or others. After this period, any further rule-breaking regardless of how much time has passed will get you a permanent ban subject to appeal.

Anyway, we are literally giving you a space to RANT but that doesn't give you the right to get all emotional and start using these threads to lead hateful campaigns against users who have different opinions and perceptions than you.
We will definitely pay close attention to what's happening and won't hesitate to ban if necessary.
Thanks.

Let’s do it again, friends: get stoned and listen to my thoughts on season 2, episode 2!

• Anthony and benedict are getting shaved and all i hear is the sweeney todd pipes
• kate in this beautiful jewel-toned bridgerton blue 💙
• Anthony obviously in love with kate while actively trying to court edwina. His cocky little smile kills me
• Lmfao “i cannot think of any cleverer way to say this, but noooo”
• Pen: goddamn it eloise i did exactly what you wanted and you still criticize LW
• The look colin gives pen 💗 theyve done a great job building up the polin romance
• I also hate guns and hunting and would be pissed as fuck if some dude comes in my home and starts hanging that ugly shit
• I’m honestly really happy phili gets a love match with finch
• Lord lumley seems sweet honestly. And he’s right, poetry is better read aloud. Its a type of song really. I hate that poetry is usually taught to kids by reading it silently or reading it aloud in class for the first time without any idea how to intonate or understand what theyre expressing. I had the opportunity to see a shakespeare play performed before i had read or even heard of the story and i was shocked that i was able to understand it and enjoy it. I was like why isnt this how we do it always??
• sorry i have half an english degree and i’m a real pain in the ass about it
• Also btw has anyone read the book much ado about mean girls? Its mean girls but written in shakespearean style. Its a hoot if you’re also a nerd like me
• Ok sorry back to bridgerton. I paused it for so long to type all that my tv went to screensaver mode
• Was mr dorset earnest in trying to meet with kate or was it actually orchestrated by anthony?
• I also prefer a warm spicy chai to a milky black tea
• Benedict to mondrich: sorry anthony’s an ass, I am not tho, please tell me more
• Eloise has another ribbon hat contraption. This one is like a straw beret
• I think its a bit of a weird styling choice for eloise to wear these ribbon head things. They dont offer any practicality: they dont keep her hair up or out of her face, they dont keep her head warm or shield her from the sun. they seem to be purely decorative and i feel like eloise would just rather nothing than something simply pretty
• I liked the look she had in colins return scene when it was just pinned to the side. I feel like that would be her go to
• Edwina trying so hard to hook kate up and get her off her back
• Pen is so clever. Eloise literally tells her, look i figured out where you print your LWs and pen just smirks and el goes oh your right im acting silly
• A & K arguing about the horses and once again the chemistry is so damn oobvious i’m surprised the whole of the stands isnt shouting get a room
• Lol i just noticed lumley brings back 2 cups (presumably for edwina and kate) and anthony takes kates
• The look he gives her when she whistles…boy is S M I T T E N
• Stop hollerin like a newsboy - i say this to my dog when hes outside barking at the neighbor
• Eloise finding a locked door in a place she’s not supposed to be, knocking on the door, and then immediately bothering the first person she sees is just a perfect example of her character lol
• The new lord featherington is like fuuuuck i thought this was m lucky break but i’m screwed
• Love QCs colorful wigs. Were the ornate wigs back then different colors? I can only picture them in white
• This is the first time kate’s not in blue. We’re coming out of our bridgerton blue and into our purples era. Purple represents royalty, opulence, ambition, and power. Edwina is in pink almost exclusively. Pink represents young love, girlhood, innocence
• “You are the one who is always right” benedict is good with the quick comebacks
• “Why should i be the one to admit defeat??” aka her sister hates me but i love her so im not giving in
• Zeh-bruhs
• anthony showing up with that horse is like mentioning you liked curious george and him showing up with a chimpanzee. Never gift a pet/live animal
• I like that mondrich is like fuck that snobby other club, i’m opening my own place with blackjack and hookers
• Anthony doesnt get invited to one party and he’s like WOW rude
• Time for the loser suitor show
• Surprised none of these losers did a stand up act
• Poor pen so sick of yellow. We’re gonna add that bridgerrton blue soon and see you in beautiful greens 💚
• Colin being the corniest: I really got to know someone i didn’t know at all: me
• colin to pen: you’re not a woman, youre my friend. I dont find you worth loving or fucking
• Lady F would have been happy to scheme with jack and get the cowpers money. Shed probaby end up killing cressi somehow
• Lol i love what a critic of the arts benedict is. a true artist
• i read somewhere once that its a staple of the regency romance to diss byron because he was a very popular poet at the time, so its kind of like yeah i'm a corny romantic type but i'm a cool corny romantic type. i dont like whats on the radio, i have good taste
• Anthony to benedict. Write that shit down write that shit down
• Anthony was definitely the “can i copy your homework” kid
• Anthony: you forgot to invite me. That was your mistake right? Im obviously supposed to be here??
• Literally speechless when he sees kate
• Anthony: I might not be able to give you romance, but i can take care of you and give you a happy life. Kate: you hear that shit? He’ll never love her what a pig
• Kate is treating the ton the way i treated my last job. I dont care if they like me, i’m here for the money
• Penelope once again being a shrewd business woman. Give me the discount to keep me away lol
• QC literally has no idea who pen is lol

For context, we've been together 12 years and lived together 10. He's quit/gotten fired from multiple jobs with nothing lined up and left me to pick up the pieces. This time it's much more dire because 6 months ago, he started a job that allowed us to move into a nicer apartment. The apartment costs more than I make in a month, and he got fired the end of April.
He has shitty credit (thanks to his spotty work history), so finding a place is up to me. I don't make enough for anything nice. I also can't afford to fall behind on my bills because I need to keep my credit score somewhat decent for the apartment hunt. So, I have about $1300 a month to put towards a $3000 a month apartment. Moving into the apartment in the first place was a stupid decision and I own that. I should never have trusted that he would be able to keep this job.
He wants my sympathy, because he hated the job. He basically didn't even try and that's why he got fired. All he had to do was show up on time and follow their rules and he didn't do that. He has depression and anxiety and the job made those worse. He was seeing a therapist but now he can't because he doesn't have health insurance.
Neither of us has savings. My savings are gone because I completely funded this move. He was supposed to pay me back for the furniture I bought, the moving van, etc, which all went on my credit card, and he hasn't. His job paid him well enough that he could have set aside money but he didn't.
We're looking to move together somewhere cheaper, and I don't think I want to (lol, see my most recent post about places I could afford to live alone). I feel like he needs to take a long hard look at his life and figure out how to keep a job and get his shit together.
But it's been 12 years, and it's mostly been a good run. I think I've been too understanding.
Does anyone have any input/advice?

As many of you may have read, there is a case of two missing adopted kids in North Carolina, where remains have been found. The news has reported that their adoptive “mother” is Avantae Deven.
I’m a curious person and started digging up information on Avantae Deven when I first read the story in my news feed and could not believe what I was reading. It seemed like whomever this woman is must have be using an alias; Avantae Deven is not a name like Kim Jones or Mackenzie Smith.
The more I dug, the weirder it seemed to get. I found a property deed to a place in Sedona, Arizona, and figured out that whomever this Avantae person is, she at one point in time had owned a home together with someone named Nicole Adams. So I dug into who Nicole Adams was, and learned that she was the widow of a spiritual leader named Robert Adams. It appeared to me that there would be no way to identify who Avantae really was, unless I could also identify the true identity of Robert Adams.
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I've done investigative work for many years, including skip tracing. I can conclusively state that there was absolutely no person actually named Robert Adams born in New York State on January 21, 1928. This is demonstrated by the New York Birth Index. I have combed the census records for 1930, 1940, and 1950, and cross-checked them against multiple databases, and am confident that nobody with the birth name of Robert Adams was born anywhere in the United States on January 21, 1928.
Moreover, there was absolutely no person with the true name of Robert Adams who died anywhere at all in the United States, let alone Sedona, Arizona, on March 2, 1997. This is demonstrated by the Social Security Death Index.
I began this research largely by performing exhaustive searches on the known addresses that are associated with Robert, his wife Leonie (who used to use the alias Nicole), and Avantae Deven (who turns out to be their daughter Michelle who began using the alias Avantae in the mid-1990’s or so). Most of the addresses are PO boxes. Those that are PO boxes are all *private* PO boxes, not PO boxes that one can rent from the United States Postal Service. To me, that spoke volumes. The family were clearly using aliases.
As I explain further below, I eventually determined that “Robert Adams” was Robert Spiegel, born 21 January 1932 in New York. “Nicole Adams” was actually Aileen Beverly Leonie Maxwell, born February 2, 1929, in Jamaica. “Avantae Deven” is actually their daughter, Michelle K. Spiegel, born on October 1, 1960, in California.
One of Robert’s many false stories about Robert’s life that my research has refuted is Robert’s claim that his mother was Jewish and his father was Catholic. That was a lie. Both of his parents were Jewish. It’s also interesting that he claimed that he was “raised Catholic.” There is absolutely nothing to suggest that. His mother always, in New York, lived in Jewish neighborhoods. Moreover, as will be discussed below, his parents had a Jewish wedding. It’s also downright absurd that he would tell people that he was “half Jewish.” If your mother’s Jewish, you are Jewish, pure and simple. Even if Robert’s father had truly been Catholic (which he wasn’t; his name was Samuel Spiegel and he immigrated to America in 1907, lived with his Jewish, Yiddish-speaking cousins, and spoke Yiddish himself), Robert would have been Jewish because the status of being a Jew comes from the mother. Robert’s mother’s name was Fannie (nee Fleisfeder) Spiegel. Fannie’s parents were Itzik Fleisfeder and Esther Libke (nee Rifkin) Fleisfeder. Esther’s parents were Mendel Rifkin and Sarah whose maiden name is lost to time and the disappearance of the shtetls. Robert’s claim to having had a Catholic father was utterly false, but is part and parcel of his ongoing compulsive daily lying about anything and everything.
Here is the story.
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Kolomyia, formerly known as Kolomea, is a city currently located in the Western Ukraine.
On January 21, 1892 (the same year that Kolomea tallis¹ workers went on strike for better pay and working conditions), Kolomea resident Rachel Katz, wife of Abraham Spiegel, gave birth to a son, who was given the name Schmuel.
On the date that Schmuel Spiegel entered the world, Kolomea was ruled by the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, and almost half of the city’s residents were Jewish.
In June of 1907, fifteen-year-old Schmuel² boarded the Zeeland, which sailed from Antwerp, Belgium, arriving at New York Harbor on June 18, 1907. The ship’s manifest states that Schmuel’s father had paid for his transport, and that Schmuel intended to reside with his father, Abe, in Brooklyn. Schmuel was granted entrance, and took up residence with his cousin Charles Fetner, who resided at 353 Myrtle Avenue, Brooklyn, in Apartment A with his wife Jennie and their baby daughter Ettie. The sparse record that exists suggests that although Schmuel’s father was, indeed, named Abraham, Abraham lived and died in Europe, without immigrating to America.
The 1910 census describes Samuel’s cousin Charles as a carpenter, who had been married to housewife Jennie for six years, and a father of three children-- Ettie age four, Nathan age two, and baby Jacob, who was not even a year old. Eighteen-year-old Samuel was identified by profession as a “Foreman Sailmaker” in an industry described as “pocket-books.”
Three and a half years after being granted admission, on a bitterly cold winter day, January 4, 1911, Schmuel (now employed as a pocket-book maker, and having Anglicized his name to Samuel) signed and submitted his declaration to become a United States citizen. He stated, in that declaration, that he was born on January 21, 1892.
By 1915, Samuel had left his cousin’s abode and was residing as a lodger in the home of a widow named Rose Hammer, who lived with her two adolescent sons, Meyer and Louis, at 531 E. 5^th Avenue; Samuel was now working as a “driver.”
Two years after the 1915 state census was taken, Samuel had moved back to Myrtle Avenue, but this time at building no. 849. On June 15, 2017, Samuel registered for the draft, and described himself as being a pocketbook maker, working for “A. Shoenfeld,” at 101 Crosby Street, New York. He was single. He stated, in his draft registration, that he was born on January 21, 1892.
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A woman named Fruma Fleisfeder was born in Beltz, Bessarabia, sometime between July 1, 1893, and 1901, to Itzik Fleisfeder and Esther Lieba Rifkin. Fruma (not living up to her pious given name) provided different dates and years of birth to different authorities on different occasions, making it impossible at this point in time to know her true position in the birth order of her family. Regardless, Fruma, who began using the name Fanny upon her entrance to the United States, did have three brothers and a sister who also came to America-- Louis Fleisfeder who was born April 10, 1890, Max Irving Fleisfeder who used October 10, 1892 as his birthdate, Hersch (later known as Harry), whose official birthdate was December 15, 1901, and Sylvia who was born in approximately 1906.
On December 1, 1919, Fruma arrived in New York Harbor on the ship La Touraine, declaring her intention, at entry, to become a United States Citizen. The ship’s manifest describes her as five feet five inches tall, with fair hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. The ship’s manifest states that she was, at that time, age 24. If that were correct, she would have been born in 1895.
Fruma (then going by Fanny) took up residence with her cousin Ethel (nee Ruchlin) and Ethel’s husband Samuel Steinberg, on 15^th Street, Brooklyn. Soon thereafter, Ethel gave birth to her first child, a daughter named Theresa. The 1920 census states that Fanny was Russian, didn’t speak English but, rather, spoke Hebrew, and worked as a milliner in a millinery store. The 1920 census also states that Fanny was age 25, which lines up with her being age 24 in the prior year’s ship manifest.
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Sam and Fanny married in Manhattan on January 24, 1925. Their marriage certificate (signed by each of them) identifies Sam as being age 32 (contradicting, by one year, his immigration records which would have placed him at age 33), and identifies Fanny as age 24, the same age that she had claimed to be six years prior, and also contradicting an immigration petition that she would file two decades in the future, which generally placed her birth year at the mid-point of 1893.
If Fanny’s immigration records (which included a petition with her signature on it) were correct, Fanny would also have been age 32 as of her marriage to Samuel, not age 24.
So did Fanny lie in her marriage certificate? Or did she lie in her immigration petition?
The marriage certificate identifies Sam as having been born in Kolomea, Austria, and his father being Abraham, and his mother being Rachel Katz. It identifies Fanny as having been born in Beltz, Russia, to a father named Isaac, and to a mother named Esther Rifkin.
The marriage certificate does not identify Fanny as having any profession, but identifies Sam as being a pocketbook maker.
Sam and Fannie were married at 125 E. 4^th Street, Manhattan, a six-story apartment building with retail units on the ground floor that is now an expensive co-op, with three-bedroom units selling for over $900,000. Present-day real estate advertisements alternatively state that the building was built in 1894, 1903, and 1905.
The first name of the rabbi who officiated was Harry. His surname starts with Reid, but the remaining letters of his signature are illegible. Rabbi Harry identified his residence as 232 Broome Street, which, at the time, was a four-story mixed use building that, among other things, housed Chevrah Ahavath Zedek Anshei Jaskinover.
Witnesses to the marriage were Mayer Budmon and Samuel Steinberg.
*******
Sam and Fanny’s existence was documented next in the 1925 New York State census by census. They were living at 205 S. 2^nd Street. Samuel was still working as a “pocketbook maker.” Fanny was identified as a “housewife.”
Fanny was identified as age 25. This was in accordance with her age as stated on her marriage certificate, but not in accordance with her immigration documents or the 1920 census.
Sam was identified as being age 28, which conflicted with all prior records.
*******
In 1930, the couple were again enumerated, this time in the Federal census. The enumerator, whose signature appears to be “Max Krahn” (or something like that) stated that he obtained the information on April 16, 1930.
Sam was identified as a “framer” of pocketbooks. He was identified as being 36 years of age, which conflicts by two years with the age that he provided to immigration authorities. Perhaps the enumerator was simply sloppy; Samuel was also incorrectly identified in the 1930 census as having been born in “Poland,” with parents who were both also born in “Poland,” notwithstanding other governmental records having identified him as being Austrian. The language he spoke? “Jewish,” according to the enumerator. Was that to mean Hebrew? Yiddish? Both?
Fannie was identified as age 30 (directly in conflict with the information she supplied in her immigration petition, which bears her signature) and as being “Russian,” with parents born in “Russia.” The 1930 census enumerator incorrectly wrote that her year of immigration was 1921. Fannie, too, was identified by the enumerator as speaking the “Jewish” language.
Although later records reflected that Sam and Fannie had a son named Irving who was born in 1926, Irving was not recorded in the 1930 census. Was he missed by the enumerator? Or was he a later-adopted son?
The couple also had a boarder, identified by the 1930 enumerator as one Esther “Larson,” age 40, born in Russia, and similarly a speaker of the “Jewish” language.
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The New York Birth Index identifies a baby boy, Robert Spiegel, as one of many babies having been born in the city on January 21, 1932.
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On May 21, 1936, Samuel committed suicide by hanging in the family residence, a tenement apartment located at 1168 Union Avenue, in the Bronx. Although, based upon the date of birth that Samuel used for official governmental purposes he was age 44, the death certificate stated that he was age 43.
Fannie engaged the Gordon Funeral Home to prepare him for burial.
Strangely, although Samuel’s headstone accurately identified him in Hebrew as Schmuel Spiegel, son of Avraham, it inexplicably incorrectly stated that he died at age 40.
Fannie of course knew her husband’s real age; both of them signed the marriage certificate that had Samuel’s correct age listed. Furthermore, Samuel had petitioned for citizenship in 1911, and stated that his date of birth was January 18, 1892.
Why would Fannie commission a headstone with a false age? Perhaps she, like her son, was a compulsive liar. Maybe that’s where Robert got it from.
*******
The 1940 census has Fannie (identified as age 38), Robert (identified as age 8), and Fannie’s son/Robert’s brother, Irving Spiegel, age 13, as living with Fannie’s 72-year-old mother, Esther Fleisfeder, at 1537 Fulton Avenue, in the Bronx. Fannie and Esther were identified as widows. Esther was identified as “U” (unable to work), while Fannie was identified as engaged in housework. No source of income for the family was identified.
No explanation is obvious regarding where Irving was living in the census taken a decade previously. Was he adopted?
There is no “Irving Spiegel” listed in the New York Birth Index for either 1926 or 1927. There is an “Irving Spiegal” listed, who was born April 29, 1926. But he is not Irving Spiegel.
I initially thought that perhaps Irving might be one of the unnamed Baby Boy Spiegels born in New York in 1926 or 1927, and that he left the hospital unnamed because his parents were waiting for his bris before naming him. However, Robert left the hospital with the name Robert. Why wait until the bris to name one child, but not the other?
*******
Slightly less than two years after she was enumerated in the 1940 census, Fannie’s mother Esther died, at home, at 1537 Fulton Avenue. The causes of death were “Coronary Thrombosis, Pulmonary Oedema Nephritis, Hypertension, Arteriosclerosis.” Esther left this world on February 6, 1942, the same day that the W. L. Steed was torpedoed, shelled and sunk less than a hundred nautical miles east of the mouth of Delaware River by a German submarine.
She was buried at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Fairview, New Jersey, the same cemetery where her son-in-law Samuel was interred.
*******
On November 12, 1943, Fannie, now residing at 1985 Bathgate Avenue, in the Bronx, petitioned for citizenship. She claimed, in that document bearing her signature, to be fifty years of age, meaning that if she was telling the truth, she would have been born in approximately 1893.
*******
On January 19, 1948, Robert (having assumed a false date of birth, that being January 18, 1931), enlisted in the New York National Guard. On paper, he had turned age 17 the day before his enlistment. In reality, he would be turning age 16 two days after his enlistment.
On December 9, 1949, Robert was discharged from the national guard, apparently for having been AWOL.
The discharge document identifies his address as being 1985 Bathgate Avenue, New York City.
*******
The 1950 census places Robert again at 1985 Bathgate Avenue, New York City. It correctly identifies him as age 18, and states that he worked as a shipping clerk for a newspaper company.
According to the 1950 census, Robert resided at the Bathgate Avenue address with his mother Fannie, who was purportedly still age 50 (seven years after she had previously claimed to immigration authorities to be age 50), and Robert’s brother Irving, age 24.
Irving was listed as unemployed and moreover, according to the census record, had not worked for the prior year. Fannie was employed full-time as a milliner in a hat factory.
*******
Military records reflect that Irving J. Spiegel, born in 1926 and a resident of 1985 Bathgate Avenue, who had completed two years of high school education, had flown bomber planes over Germany during the war. In his military documents, Irving described himself as single, with two dependents.
*******
On February 2, 1929, a baby girl given the name Aileen Beverly Leone Maxwell was born in Lucea, Hanover, Jamaica, to William Maxwell and Daisy (nee Tibbits) Maxwell. Her birth was registered by her parents.
*******
In 1954, Robert Spiegel and Aileen Maxwell were married in New York City. Their marriage license was given License No. 10284.
*******
The following year, the Kingston, Jamaica, Gleaner reported on June 6, 1955:
Miss Leonie Maxwell, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Maxwell, was married recently in New York City to Mr. Robert Spiegel of the U.S.A. Both the bride and groom are students at the New York Institute of Dietetics. The bride left the island nearly two years ago for New York. Her wedding gown was chantilly lace and nylon tulle. The bodice was fashioned with a wide, scalloped neckline and elbow-length sleeves. Her three tier skirt of chantilly lace was over pleated nylon tulle. Her fingertip-length veil was adorned with pearls.
*******
If the claim regarding the couple studying at the New York Institute of Dietetics was even true, their studies at this institution didn’t last long. In May of 1956, a number of advertisements bearing Robert’s photograph appeared in the Kingston, Jamaica Gleaner. The advertisements described Robert as a psychologist, author, lecturer, and “practitioner in auto suggestion,” and identified him as “Dr. J. Robert Spiegel.” Readers were invited to come meet Robert on May 21, 1956, at Record Plaza, where he would be autographing his “latest” “world-wide” 33 and 1/3 RPM record, “How to Stop Smoking in 7 days by Auto-Suggestion.”
*******
On May 1, 1959, three residents of 1985 Bathgate Avenue, Bronx, New York, came through customs, having returned from a trip to Jamaica. They identified themselves as “Robert D. Spiegel” born in New York (in addition to giving himself a false middle initial, Robert neglected to complete the I-94-A fully, specifically by leaving his birthdate blank), “Leonie A. Spiegel” born in Jamaica on February 2, 1929, and their minor daughter, and “Sharon S. Spiegel,” born in New York. Someone also neglected to fully complete Sharon’s I-94-A, specifically by leaving her birthdate blank.
*******
Leonie had taken Sharon to Jamaica two years earlier. There are no publicly available records pertaining to their outbound transport from the United States to Jamaica. There is, however, a record pertaining to their return to the United States. That publicly available record does not provide their address, but Sharon is identified as weighing 1 stone 5 pounds (a total of 19 pounds), and Leonie is identified as weighing six stone 5 pounds (89 pounds). Interestingly, Leonie used the name “Aileen Spiegel,” and the records assert that Aileen has no middle initial. Aileen was / is her true legal first name, but it is a lie to say that she has no middle initial.
*******
Almost two years later, on January 5, 1958, the Kingston, Jamaica Gleaner reported:
Staying at the Tamarind Hotel are Mr. and Mrs. Bob Spiegel and daughter Sharon of Miami, Florida. Mrs. Spiegel is the former Leonie Maxwell, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Maxwell of Lucea and has been in the United States for several years. A welcome party in their honour was given last Saturday night by Messers. Horrace, Ray, and Dennis Maxwell, brothers of Mrs. Spiegel. It was a very enjoyable affair.
*******
In 1963, roughly five years after their 1958 visit to Jamaica, Leonie petitioned for naturalization, in Louisiana. Although I am in possession of the index showing that she petitioned in 1963, I do not possess the petition itself. However, the fact that she petitioned for naturalization in Louisiana demonstrates that that at least she was residing in Louisiana at the time. Since she stated that she didn’t leave Robert’s side for over 40 years, presumably Robert, young Sharon, and also baby Michelle were living in Louisiana at that time.
*******
People who knew Robert personally relate that he stated that Leonie was a Cayman Island heiress. She wasn’t. Not only was she not born in the Cayman Islands, Leonie’s father’s estate was litigated (with the judge ruling against her) long before Robert started telling people that his wife was a Cayman Islands heiress.
Leonie’s father did leave an estate, but not to her. On November 9, 1967, the Gleaner reported that the Supreme Court had upheld the will of the late William Josiah Maxwell, the father of Horrace, Ray, Dennis, and Leonie, and the husband of Daisy Maxwell, who had contended that William’s signature was a forgery and that the person to whom his estate had been bequeathed had exercised undue influence. The court disagreed. The article reported:
The estate, which one of the executors described as “a sizeable one,” included 112 acres of land at Paradise and three houses at Lucea, Hanover.
*******
Robert apparently wasn’t banking on Leonie’s inheritance in any event. In May of 1966, advertisements appeared in the Houston Chronicle with Robert’s photo on them, selling a record that would purportedly assist people in stopping smoking in seven days. He identified himself as “Dr. J. Robert Spiegel.”
*******
On page 55 of the November 15, 1969, San Antonio, Texas Express and News, was an advertisement stating:
SCIENCE OF THE MIND
Dr. J. Robert Spiegel of Houston, director and founder of the Science of the Mind Foundation there, is conducting Sunday evening meetings at 7:30 p.m. in the Sheraton Inn, 1400 Austin Hwy.
*******
On page 4 of the July 10, 1970 edition of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram was a photograph of Robert, with a brief local news blurb:
GUEST – Dr. J Robert Spiegel of Houston, Science of Mind Foundation director, will speak at the 10:45 a.m. service tomorrow in First Church of Religious Science, 2001 6^th Ave. His subject is “What Religious Science Teaches.”
*******
On page 8 of the June 18, 1970 edition of the Houston Daily Cougar was this advertisement:
HOME OF UNIVERSAL LIFE
“Teaching Aquarian Meditation For The New Age
Meets Every Sunday, 11:00 A.M. At The World Trade Center Auditorium
Houston, Texas
DR. J. ROBERT SPIEGEL (BRAHMADANDA) DIRECTOR - FOUNDER
Aquarian Meditation Initiation for the first time offered through correspondence. For those sincere students wishing to bypass evolution and enter the 5th Kingdom. Initiation includes meditation technique, Mantra, how to "live” 24 hours a day, and much more. Write for application today:
P.O. Box 53328 Houston, Texas 052
*******
From the Galveston Daily News, May 02, 1971, Pg. 31:
AQUARIAN MEDITATION SOCIETY PRESENTS DR. J. ROBERT SPIEGEL AN AUTHOR, LECTURER, TEACHER OF YOGA & SELF DEVELOPMENT WILL SPEAK ON MAN, MIND & THE UNIVERSE WEDNESDAY, MAY 5th AT 7:30 P.M. IN THE RECREATION CENTER HARRIS COUNTY PARK, NASA RD. # 1 ALL WELCOME — DONATION $1.50
*******
The 1972 Spiritual Community Guide lists Robert twice, in the San Diego area. First, on page 117, using his alias “J. Robert Spiegel”:
THE TEMPLE OF METAPHYSICAL ABUNDANCE. J. Robert Spiegel, 1118 Torrey Pines Rd., 92037. Teaches yoga, nutrition, ESP, metaphysics, psychology, mind control
Second, on page 124, in which he, as one might have predicted, was masquerading as some sort of medical man or scholar:
"AQUARIAN MEDITATION SOCIETY, U. S. Grant Hotel, Attn: Dr. Robert Spiegel, 453-7588"
*******
Also in 1972, Volume 25 of San Diego Magazine published in November advertised gift certificates for the “Astrology Research Center.” “Give your loved one the gift of love. Only $50” said the advertisement. Where was this entity located? At 1118 Torrey Pines Road, the same address as Robert’s Temple of Metaphysical Abundance. The advertisement purported that person identified as “Lil Canaan” was the director. The telephone number was 459-6400.
In 2013, the San Diego Union Tribune published the obituary for Lillian Mulonas, who founded the La Jolla “Astrology Research Center.” At this point in time, unless Robert Adams’ only surviving daughter, Michelle/ Prentiss/ Avantae knows the answer and talks, we will not know what relationship, if any, existed between Robert’s Temple of Metaphysical Abundance and Lilian’s Astrology Research Center, both of which were located at 1118 Torrey Pines Road in 1972.
*******
From the July 12, 1973, San Diego Reader:
BRAHMADANDA FOUNDATION
“Teachings of the Cosmic Way” meets Sundays, 11:00 a.m., U.S. Grant Hotel, Crystal Room. Free admission, refreshments served. Call 453-7588 for more information.
*******
On page 51 of the June 29, 1974 edition of Phoenix’s Arizona Republic was the following advertisement:
Speaker from San Diego
Dr. J. Robert Spiegel from San Diego, a traveler and lecturer, will speak at 8 p.m., Friday in Universal Series Center, 4340 N. Seventh Ave., on the topic “Science of Being.”
He is the founder of the “Aquarian Meditation Society” in Jamaica and is founder and publisher of “Equinox,” a philosophical newspaper.
*******
The family (Adams or Spiegel, however one might want to refer to them) have resided in (that I know of) New York, Miami, Jamaica, Louisiana, La Jolla, Los Angeles, Houston, New Mexico, Hawaii, Las Vegas, Scottsdale, Sedona, and a number of cities in North Carolina.
*******
In at least the 1990’s, before he left for Sedona, Robert Adams used the address PO Box 7210, Jordan Avenue, D-30, Canoga Park, CA. He used that address on correspondence he wrote, and on at least one published document. Who else used that address? The data aggregators show that this address was also used by a Michelle K. Spiegel, and a person going by the name Leonie Maxwell. Michelle and Leonie also used other addresses associated with Robert, those being 1815 Willis Avenue Panorama City, and 21551 Burbank Boulevard, Woodland Hills.
*******
The California Birth Index shows that Michelle K. Spiegel was born on October 1, 1960, in Los Angeles County, to a mother with the maiden name Maxwell.
*******
In later life, Michelle used the addresses above that are associated with Robert and Leonie, as well as an address of 12004 Vanowen Street #14, North Hollywood. This is the same address at which Denniston Keith Maxwell, one of Leonie’s younger brothers, resided at, after his immigration to the United States. Denniston was one of Michelle’s uncles.
In a recent Facebook posting, Michelle/Avantae stated: “Never knew anything personal about said uncles, etc. Never asked, never cared.” Really? She shared an address with an uncle? Her uncle lived within a few minutes’ drive from her parents, and Michelle/Avantae never knew anything about him?
As an aside, Michelle/Avantae alleged (or admitted) that she “never cared” about anything personal regarding her uncles. If that is true, what does that tell us about Michelle/Avantae’s fundamental character? Antisocial? Psychopathic? Narcissistic in the extreme?
*******
On August 2, 1996, Michelle, going by the name Avantae E. Deven, married Tyson Ruben Alvarez in Las Vegas. The two had addresses in common in Arizona, Nevada, and Montana.
*******
Robert “Adams” died on or about March 2, 1997, in Sedona, Arizona.
Shortly after that, in the spring of 1997, “Nicole Adams” and “Avantae Deven” (both aliases; the correct legal names are Aileen Beverly Leonie Spiegel and Michelle K. Spiegel) purchased a home together in Sedona, on Navahopi Road. Shortly after the purchase, “Nicole” quit-claimed her portion to “Avantae.”
On July 17, 2001, Tyson, still married to “Avantae,” quit-claimed any interest in the Navahopi property to “Avantae,” and had the county recorder send the deed to “Avantae” in care of the Infinity Institute, at that time located at 9101 W. Sahara Ave. Suite 105 C29 (in other words, a private post box), in Las Vegas.
Avantae divorced Tyson in 2006. She had, by then, moved to North Carolina. She “served” Tyson via publication summons, claiming that she was unable to find him, despite his information being on multiple data aggregators.
You can go to various Facebook groups, and other sources, to pull up the documents that people have uncovered showing who is associated with the "Infinity Institute," and in what fashion, and also the addresses that they have used over the years.
In any event, this is the information regarding Robert that I think that people need to be aware of.
Why turn to a known liar and con man for spiritual guidance?
1A tallis is a prayer shawl.
2The ship’s manifest states that he was age 14, which conflicts by one year with what Samuel identified as his date of birth. These errors are not uncommon; his fare could have been purchased when he was age 14 and the records not updated.

Every time he saw Juniper, someone was trying to kill her.
He opened the second story window and let her in, as his best friend Troy laid down as much cover fire as could be achieved with a Hawken plains rifle. She was light enough to find climbing purchase on the rough-hewn support post.
"I've got six shots in me, and one of them is lead," she told him as she climbed in the window, pulling on a metal flask that singed his nose from four feet away.
It was the little details that stuck out to him in moments like these, and he couldn't help but notice that a single wild curl had escaped the back of her modest black head covering.
"Hello, Juniper. Why are the Sioux after you?"
"Probably because I stole one of their horses to get here," she said as she reloaded her revolver.
A shot burst through the top of the window, shattering both panes. Instinctively, they all dropped to the floor. That seemed to be all. By the time they picked themselves up, the Indians were riding out of town with the stolen horse.
"That was a really expensive window! The nearest glassmaker is in Denver!" Jack's best friend said.
Juniper's voice barely shook as she asked, "How far to the doctor?"
Jack shook his head.
"The doctor has gone to the next town over. Cholera outbreak. I think I can do a better job removing the bullet than last time...but drink the rest of your liquor."
It went better than he thought it would. She screamed a little, he screamed a little, but the bullet came right out.
The recovery was worse. Not because it was more painful, but because Juniper was so restless she kept tearing her stitches.
By day three, she was trying to convince Jack to go to Canada with her to hunt man eating grizzly bears.
"There's a pretty good bounty," she said.
Jack put the last stitch in place on her shoulder.
"Does anyone want to kill you in Canada?"
"What?"
"Just thinking aloud."
A fierce wind whistled past his little wooden cabin, but it was pleasant enough inside. A small pot of coffee simmered on the wood stove.
This time, wherever she went, he was going with her. He'd spent the last year of her absence in regret for watching her ride away.
It was rumors of gold to be found further west that ultimately captured Juniper's interest.
They left on a bright Saturday morning, with two horses and the most noisy and belligerent pack mule to ever live. They had courage and supplies, but nothing could have prepared them for the journey ahead.

I have so many guns, but so little ammo for them! Vica versa, too.
I have workbench 2 and apparently can't even make buckshot, only slugs! My aim sucks due to skill/bad FPS, so i like buckshot :D
And you can't even craft much ammo as it is.
So ammo, mags and ammo for rarer guns is all a problem. I don't have the skill/FPS to go reliably raideboss hunting. So i was just wondering how you lot got around this problem.
I keep CMS/Grizzly in secure container, because i honestly can't be bothered dealing with raiding with no meds. And i spawned thicc cases, because i can't be bothered dealing with stash tetris. It's tedious! But i was trying to keep other stuff hardcore.

In order to guarantee the new myth pair, you need to make 150 wishes in the event banner. The event will give you 20 free wishes, so you only need to prepare 130 wishes ahead of time. This can be achieved via the following (currency in USD):

• 19,500 Diamonds + $0
• 17,250 Diamonds + $7.50 (event bundle 1 & 2 gives 15 wishes)
• 12,750 Diamonds + $32.50 (event bundle 1, 2, & 3 gives 45 wishes)
• 5,250 Diamonds + $82.50 (event bundle 1, 2, 3, & 4 gives 95 wishes)
• 0 Diamonds + $127.50 (event bundle 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5 gives 131 wishes)

Price of a Wish:

• Aurum pass: $0.25
• Event bundle 1 & 2: $0.50
• Event bundle 3: $0.83
• Event bundle 4: $1
• Event bundle 5: $1.25
• Regular Companionship Pack: $2

It is not advisable to roll in this event unless you have enough to guarantee both cards. The myth cards are strong because getting both unlocks legendary companions and weapons (and gives you the full myth storyline). Myth companions are the number one power boost to help you climb Orbital Trials and farm Senior Hunting Contest. Having half a pair will not do much.
If you are set to acquire both Xavier and Zayne’s myth pairs. It may be wise to divide up your diamonds evenly and supplement the difference with the discounted event bundles.
As much as we enjoy the rush of dopamine from the gacha, at the end of the day, it is still gambling. And with all gambles, we need to be smart about the odds:

• The regular chance of getting a 5* is 1%, meaning in 100 wishes, you are statistically likely to get one 5*
• With the pity system, the chance in total increases to 2%, meaning in 50 wishes, you are statistically likely to get one 5*
• But if you factor in that you only have a 50/50 chance of getting a limited banner card, then that chance drops down to 1% again
• Meaning, statistically, you would need to roll 100 wishes in order to expect one limited banner card
• Hence, an event that guarantees you both limited cards with 150 wishes is a good deal, and also illustrates how expensive regular non-event limited banners are relative to the value it provides (lunar cards not nearly as important as solar cards)

So the question comes down to: How much is a wish worth to you?

Every time he saw Juniper, someone was trying to kill her.
He opened the second story window and let her in, as his best friend Troy laid down as much cover fire as could be achieved with a Hawken plains rifle. She was light enough to find climbing purchase on the rough-hewn support post.
"I've got six shots in me, and one of them is lead," she told him as she climbed in the window, pulling on a metal flask that singed his nose from four feet away.
It was the little details that stuck out to him in moments like these, and he couldn't help but notice that a single wild curl had escaped the back of her modest black head covering.
"Hello, Juniper. Why are the Sioux after you?"
"Probably because I stole one of their horses to get here," she said as she reloaded her revolver.
A shot burst through the top of the window, shattering both panes. Instinctively, they all dropped to the floor. That seemed to be all. By the time they picked themselves up, the Indians were riding out of town with the stolen horse.
"That was a really expensive window! The nearest glassmaker is in Denver!" Jack's best friend said.
Juniper's voice barely shook as she asked, "How far to the doctor?"
Jack shook his head.
"The doctor has gone to the next town over. Cholera outbreak. I think I can do a better job removing the bullet than last time...but drink the rest of your liquor."
It went better than he thought it would. She screamed a little, he screamed a little, but the bullet came right out.
The recovery was worse. Not because it was more painful, but because Juniper was so restless she kept tearing her stitches.
By day three, she was trying to convince Jack to go to Canada with her to hunt man eating grizzly bears.
"There's a pretty good bounty," she said.
Jack put the last stitch in place on her shoulder.
"Does anyone want to kill you in Canada?"
"What?"
"Just thinking aloud."
A fierce wind whistled past his little wooden cabin, but it was pleasant enough inside. A small pot of coffee simmered on the wood stove.
This time, wherever she went, he was going with her. He'd spent the last year of her absence in regret for watching her ride away.
It was rumors of gold to be found further west that ultimately captured Juniper's interest.
They left on a bright Saturday morning, with two horses and the most noisy and belligerent pack mule to ever live. They had courage and supplies, but nothing could have prepared them for the journey ahead.

Every time he saw Juniper, someone was trying to kill her.
He opened the second story window and let her in, as his best friend Troy laid down as much cover fire as could be achieved with a Hawken plains rifle. She was light enough to find climbing purchase on the rough-hewn support post.
"I've got six shots in me, and one of them is lead," she told him as she climbed in the window, pulling on a metal flask that singed his nose from four feet away.
It was the little details that stuck out to him in moments like these, and he couldn't help but notice that a single wild curl had escaped the back of her modest black head covering.
"Hello, Juniper. Why are the Sioux after you?"
"Probably because I stole one of their horses to get here," she said as she reloaded her revolver.
A shot burst through the top of the window, shattering both panes. Instinctively, they all dropped to the floor. That seemed to be all. By the time they picked themselves up, the Indians were riding out of town with the stolen horse.
"That was a really expensive window! The nearest glassmaker is in Denver!" Jack's best friend said.
Juniper's voice barely shook as she asked, "How far to the doctor?"
Jack shook his head.
"The doctor has gone to the next town over. Cholera outbreak. I think I can do a better job removing the bullet than last time...but drink the rest of your liquor."
It went better than he thought it would. She screamed a little, he screamed a little, but the bullet came right out.
The recovery was worse. Not because it was more painful, but because Juniper was so restless she kept tearing her stitches.
By day three, she was trying to convince Jack to go to Canada with her to hunt man eating grizzly bears.
"There's a pretty good bounty," she said.
Jack put the last stitch in place on her shoulder.
"Does anyone want to kill you in Canada?"
"What?"
"Just thinking aloud."
A fierce wind whistled past his little wooden cabin, but it was pleasant enough inside. A small pot of coffee simmered on the wood stove.
This time, wherever she went, he was going with her. He'd spent the last year of her absence in regret for watching her ride away.
It was rumors of gold to be found further west that ultimately captured Juniper's interest.
They left on a bright Saturday morning, with two horses and the most noisy and belligerent pack mule to ever live. They had courage and supplies, but nothing could have prepared them for the journey ahead.

Looking (slowly) for a new to me truck for years, have always wanted a Tundra because I know Toyota reliability and dependability is most of the reason for owning a Toyota (have owned a Camry and MR2 in the past). The current truck market scares the everloving hell out of me - new trucks cost more than my mortgage balance, and even used trucks are still being sold for what new trucks were sold for in recent years. That being said, I'm still looking, but opening myself up to higher mileage, older options.
Here's my situation: I'm a former mechanic, so I can still do stuff in the driveway. I work from home now, so I fill up gas once a month in my 2011 Equinox that gets 18mpg. In the winter, I snowblow some driveways, so I have a cargo carrier I have on my hitch receiver, carries around my Ariens. Last year, my wife was rear-ended while she was driving it by an out-of-state driver w/ expired insurance. Couple of scrapes on the bumper cover, no problem, it's old, she drives off. Recently come to find out there's decent rot in that corner where the receiver bolts to the frame, and definitely some damage that makes me not wanna use the receiver anymore. I also cut trees for firewood, haul normal homeowner stuff, and hunt some family property, etc. I've done as much as I think I can do w/ this thing, want to move up. On occasion, I also need to haul (5) 50 gal Husky tool boxes full of chainsaw gear for volunteer work
What I'm looking for advice on: ideally I'm looking for at least a 2nd gen. As a former Chevy mechanic, if I was looking for Silverados that age, I'd know they're ready to fall apart, or they have lifter tick issues that need to be addressed. With a Tundra, I have no idea what to look for. How much mileage is too much? Gas mileage isn't my concern, because I don't drive much. I'll gladly drop down 10mpg to be in something I wanna be in. Not afraid to look at the non-5.7 because I don't tow, is it a capable motor? Can it pull? Trans issues? Electrical, etc? What would you see in a Tundra that would make you say, "Nah, I'm all set"?
​

My mom talked to her doctor and was told glp-1 could be good for her. She's 70, 5' 240lbs She's on Medicare/Medicaid. No coverage for her. Limited income. Lives on her own, but adopted a dog 6 months ago. Very Limited mobility due to not having kneecaps anymore. Bone on bone. Walks with 2 canes, BUT very much one to do things on her own. BTW, I live next door. I started trizeptide compound while I hunt for Zepbound because I met my deductible and it's $25/ month now. Well, knowing he doctor said okay, I started her on her journey, picking up most of the tab I already struggled with for myself. I started Jan 20 and am doing great. She seems to be a slow responder and that's okay. What isn't okay, as I struggle to find medicine and money, is that she isn't helping herself. I have explained the importance of protein and water. I told her how dangerous not going to the bathroom can be and to not let it go too long. She's not an idiot and she knows what she should be doing. I'm venting because I feel I'm trying harder for her than she is for herself No water yesterday and hardly any food, hummus and tomatoes. Not enough protein. She's up a pound and disappointed. I finally said "that's on you". She agreed, but that doesn't make this okay. I bought her a large bottle so she doesn't have to think about it. I bought her protein bars and drinks. I give her the shot every Monday. I'm paying for all this so she can enjoy her grandkids coming in from Germany this summer, with a little more ease and enjoyment. Why is she not taking advantage of this incredible opportunity I am trying to give her!??? I know she can do better, but I'm already tired after 1 month of babysitting her on this. Advice, please!!!

I have an adult male False Map (who I thought was a Mississippi map for 10+ years until I learned what a False Map was!) I am planning to upgrade him to a 75g tank soon. When I do so, I also want to add cherry shrimp and nerite snails in as well, accepting the fact that they may or may not end up as a snack. When he was a juvenile, we tried guppies but he did not eat them and we let them breed and get out of control before we had to remove them. I think now that he is an adult he will be more prone to hunting.
What I'm wondering though is, if my turtle does eat them, how do I control and monitor his diet? I currently feed him Zoo Med maintenance pellets 3ish days a week, a small piece of fruit as a treat on the weekend, all you can eat greens, and some protein in the form of freeze dried shrimp every so often. I want to make sure that he isn't being overfed if he is eating shrimp and snails uncontrollably while also getting his regular diet. And I also want to ensure he isn't getting too much protein in his diet.
Is this a bad idea? Should I setup a separate tank for the snails and shrimp, and only add a few into his tank every so often for enrichment?
Thanks

Eivor is a bit of a strange protagonist.
She’s basically flawless and without blame. She’s brash and bold, proud and unashamed — brave and wise far beyond her years, yet able to be soft and compassionate when not brandishing spears. She’s got a knack for leadership, a strong moral compass and an even stronger muscular system with which to enact justice.
And she’s got bars?
As someone not deeply versed in medieval European histories, imagine my shock and confusion upon discovering that Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla included rap battling.
My first experience with Flyting had me asking so many questions about what I just witnessed that I couldn’t wait to begin Googling. I figured flyting probably was historically accurate, but if that’s the case, then what else can it tells us about the medieval warrior and about Eivor’s characterization?
I set off to find out.
--
Wikipedia and howstuffworks combined gave me a robust definition of flyting.
A ritual, poetic exchange of insults practiced mainly between the 5th and 16th centuries. Examples of flyting are found throughout Scots, Ancient, Medieval and Modern Celtic, Old English, Middle English and Norse literature involving both historical and mythological figures. The exchanges would become extremely provocative, often involving accusations of cowardice or sexual perversion.
The idea behind flyting was to influence public opinion of the participants and raise both of their profiles. And each participant wanted to make himself look better than the other, even if they were friendly.
Not only that, but flyting’s also the first recorded use of shit as an insult. That right there is worth this whole essay and then some.
--
I came away from those definitions with some small Euphoria, as they reinforce what I already expected from Ubisoft — historically accurate and (arguably) immersive side activities grounded in realism.
Unfortunately, none of the flyting foes that Eivor faces in this fantasy are founded in any real-world flyters. I was particularly frustrated when I realized Fergal the Faceless and Borghild the Alewife’s Bane were fictional features, not real historical fiends of rhythm and rhyme.
Two of Eivor’s syntax competitors are “real” in some sense, however.
In Norse mythos, Odin, Thor, Loki, Freyja and more would handle their Family Matters over a flyte from time to time, dueling wits and words as competition and entertainment.
In fact, one flyte we do see in game — Odin as he flytes over the river with Thor in the Asgard Arc — is likely a reference to a real medieval Norse poem; The Hárbarðsljóð.
In it, Thor jaunts back to Asgard after a journey in Jötunheim. He comes to a junction in which he must jump a large river, and thus hunts down a ferryman to shepherd him across. The ferryman, Hárbarðr, is Odin in disguise. He then begins to diss guys.
Ahem. ‘Guys’ being Thor, obviously.
First, Odin drops a yo-mama joke:

Of thy morning feats art thou proud, but the future thou knowest not wholly; Doleful thine home-coming is: thy mother, me thinks, is dead.

He keeps going, taking more shots than a First Person Shooter, this time saying Thor dresses like a girl:

Three good dwellings methinks, thou hast not; Barefoot thou standest and wearest a beggar’s dress; Not even hose dost thou have.

Thor says watch your mouth before I clap back:

Ill for thee comes thy keenness of tongue, if the water I choose to wade; Louder, I ween, than a wolf thou cryest, if a blow of my hammer thou hast.

Odin replies by saying Thor’s wife is fucking another dude:

Sif has a lover at home, and him shouldst thou meet; More fitting it were on him to put forth thy strength.

The version we play out in game isn’t identical to the real-world poem, but carries some similarities; Thor’s threatening to cross the river to fight Odin as well as his boasting of slaying giants are present in each.
Ratatosk is the only other ‘real’ flyting enemy in Valhalla. While Odin doesn’t flyte with Ratatosk in Norse myth to my knowledge, the flyting against the squirrel is thematically accurate, at least.
Ratatosk’s purpose is to scramble up and down Yggdrasil, scurrying spoken messages from the eagle that sits at its peaks to the snake that slithers at its base. The nature of Ratatosk’s messages is in line with the act of flyting — the mischievous rodent carries falsehoods and aggressive statements to stir up drama and distrust between bird and serpent.
Flyting took place not only in poems and folklore, but in town squares and royal court. It was a facet of medieval life and social interaction. This weaving of prose then, in this time period, seemingly was just about as much of an admired skill as the swinging of a sword. It’s no wonder our unbreakable warrior Eivor is so proficient with word.
--
Like, really proficient with word.
I mean, I know it’s me choosing the dialogue options, but sheesh, is there anything she can’t do?
Actually, Eivor’s expertise in flyting is strange to me. It feels random and unearned — out of character, even. It comes more unexpectedly than Kendrick Lamar’s Not Like Us.
It probably only feels out of character, however, due to our modern understanding of proficiency with words versus proficiency with might. Our current interpretation of verbal ability compared to physical ability would perceive verbal ability as the ‘softer’ of the two skillsets. Physical strength is typically interpreted as tough and more dominant. You don’t expect to see an MMA fighter composing poetry, do you? The qualities that modern thought attributes to writing and physicality don’t mesh.
But in reality — and historically accurately in Valhalla — medieval warriors weren’t just blind berserkers. They were actually artists, poets and writers.
We’ve already demonstrated how Odin and Thor — Norse myth’s most famous warriors — carried out flyting. Thus, medieval Vikings would’ve surely done the same. Beyond Vikings though, the Illiad contains instances of public, ritualized abuse. Taunting songs are present in Inuit culture while Arabic poetry contains a form of flyting called naqa’id. Further, Japanese Samurai were known to be frequent composers of haiku, while Japanese culture also gave birth to Haikai, poetry in which vulgar satire and puns were wielded.
This historical accuracy ends up eliminating the randomness of Eivor’s flyting ability. Despite her verbal finesse feeling unearned, we can surmise historically that Eivor has practiced the wielding of words plenty in her life before we take over as the player. She’s dedicated time to this.
Now that we know why she has it, we can take a closer look at what it does for her.
--
So, Eivor can rap. She can match you with her axe or she can match you with her words. She’s just about unbeatable.
Her mastery of words demonstrates on some level that she’s not all Push Ups and might is right. She’s not all bruiser and bluster, burn and berserk. She’s an appreciator of the finer things — the more abstract, mental skills that require brain power, deftness and finesse.
This duality of strength and genius rounds out Eivor into a deeper, richer, more admirable character. More than just raw muscle in pursuit of glory, Eivor’s mastery of verse demonstrates her prioritizing not just her body, but her mind.
And it goes a long way for her.
Eivor can use her prowess with prose to progress past pointless plot points throughout Valhalla’s plethora of arcs and missions. It’s just a stat check in the end, but with enough practice flyting and enough charisma gained, Eivor unlocks new dialogue options that bend the world around her to her will.
Witch hunters in Eurvicscire on the brink of terrorizing Moira can be dispersed verbally rather than brawled or killed. There’s an entire riddle-solving fetch quest in Wincestre that can be skipped completely by telling King Aelfred’s abbot fuck off (figuratively). Eivor’s sharpening of her mind protects her body, saves her time, and allows her to frictionlessly fell her endeavors.
Her articulate advances don’t just alter her into admirability, they allow her to influence people and progression. With semantics from her mouth and twists from her tongue, Eivor can have her way whenever she wishes. In a game this large, I’m only left longing that the opportunity to make use of this charisma wasn’t relegated to niches.
Regardless, if medieval England is butter, Eivor’s tongue is the hot knife that behooves her move through her subduing more smoothly.
It all just goes to show that ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ flyte is right.

About half a year ago, my therapist helped me get approved for VR for my anxiety and my learning disability. The facility I received services at is in the Space Coast area of Florida. I was really looking forward to their services, as it is hard for me to keep most jobs (fast food, cashiering) because of my extreme anxiety. I didn't know what to really expect. I'd meet up at McDonalds with my career specialist assigned to me. She was helpful by showing me better ways to hunt for jobs on indeed and prepared a nice resume for me which I appreciated. I felt a little confused about the fact they tried to train me on how to be successful at interviews. I appreciated their advice though, but that is about the extent of what they did for me. They'd occasionally send me job listings through gmail which I would apply to. They also offered to take me to interviews which I also greatly appreciated. I have to admit though, some things made me feel really uncomfortable. The woman who did my intake and helped connect me to my career specialist was often sort of cold and unkind. At one point, I was living with people who were getting evicted. I had explained to her that I might not be able to keep a job in that particular area because I might need to relocate. It took me a couple weeks to finally get moved in somewhere, but almost every day this woman called me to ask for updates. At one point, she got upset and impatient with me because I hadn't been able to settle in a location yet. She often had that sort of tone with me, which made me uncomfortable every time I saw a phone call from her. She also talked about other people who receive VR and how they frustrate her. To me, It seemed like she didn't like her job & felt impatient because time is money to these employees. They assigned me to a career specialist named S. I won't give her full name for the sake of privacy. While she was helpful at times, she too would come off very impatient. Despite telling her I was hoping to find jobs that would be less triggering for my anxiety, she would apply to walmart cashiering jobs for me and other positions that are the opposite of what I would be comfortable with. She continued doing so even though I explained my preferences to her. When I found a job I was interested in, that I had applied for and scored an interview with, she told me I was making poor decisions. I had a feeling she was also in a rush because she wanted to get paid. I went back to the other woman who did my intake, we will call her M. I told her I wanted to try to work with another career specialist. While talking to her about this, she seemed annoyed but went ahead and put me with a guy named A. A usually had a pretty good attitude, and I didn't mind working with him. He listened to my preferences and tried to help me find jobs I'd like. But because M kept calling me and telling me I was taking too much time to find a job, I applied for a local grocery store and got hired on as a cashier, despite knowing I wouldn't be able to handle it because of my anxiety. A week in, I contracted norovirus and got sick. I left work for two days, but came back with a doctors note. While working at this place, I asked my boss two times about my schedule, and each time I did, she was really upset at me for asking her. I was also really confused as to why it made her upset that I asked, because I had no idea where to find out what days I needed to work. This particular boss was just mean to her employees in general. The people I worked with were at least nice, but my bosses attitude combined with the fact I still didn't know what my schedule was (And i was too afraid to ask her for clarification) made me feel so uncomfortable that I walked out. I told my career specialist the truth, but instead of understanding, he got upset and suggested he and I set a meeting up with my boss so he can try to fix the situation. He said "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but when we are in that meeting, I'm going to throw you under the bus a bit." He went on to explain that he was basically going to shame me in front of my boss about me having to miss two days and try to beg her to let me stay. I reluctantly agreed with his plan. It has been about four days and I haven't answered any of the messages or calls from VR. I know I can be sensitive, but I really felt uncomfortable with it all. I still do. I have had this impression, again, that the VR workers really don't care and they only care about getting paid. I felt similarly when I was in Jobcorps earlier on in my life. Myself and others were treated like delinquents and made to feel stupid there, in a place where people go to get career training.. to get help. But just like jobcorps, VR here feels like another place where people are treated with disrespect. Sometimes I don't know if its just me, or if these programs just suck. I know not everyone has a bad experience with VR. I would also like to mention that the office staff at the VR location I went to had a cold vibe about them. I don't know how to explain it. I mostly wanted to write about this here to get it off my chest. I don't know. Maybe I am the problem. Or maybe it is because I am in Florida.

As If It Were Kismet: Prologue
Matt tore through the brush, blind in the dark. He didn’t care where he was going. He only knew he needed to be elsewhere. Far from here.
Behind him a creature howled that shocked his mind. It’s form was cruel and dangerous, though female. Nothing like the young woman she had once been. Nothing but a girl, a small and slight female.
It’s guttural growls and howls only grew closer as Matt tried to pick between seeing where he was going and getting away. The few times he looked he caught sight of the creature behind him. Hopping through the air with a speed that told him he was being toyed with. As if he were a mouse being played with by a cat.
But the reflex in him to run kept him going. His adrenaline going as hard as it could. The tightness and burning in his core tensing and locking up as his legs felt like there were being burned from within while taking on more of a heaviness.
His lungs were starting to betray him as he tried to gulp big breaths of air but only rapid and shallow breaths were all that he could manage. His brain was starting to burn….and then he was falling.
Falling down the side of a hill he saw the creature dart in a spring towards him, imperceivably fast almost. Catching him in mid air it seemed.
Managing to wrap its body around him and cushion his impact against the ground as they rolled. His mind barely took in what was happening during the roll. Only starting to understand what was happening once they were still.
The creature's triple D-cup breasts were unmistakably pressed hard against his back as he laid facing up at the night sky.
For a few seconds the world stilled and the needle light pain hitting the center of his brain took over for the cooking heat his brain had felt. His whole body felt heavy and reluctant to move.
Even if he could have really moved, a dull ache came over his limbs making them feel stilled and trapped as if by immeasurable amounts of sand that had engulfed him.
Slowly the arms holding him started to move. Moving so the creature's hands could start exploring him. Causing Matt to unstoppably let out a pathetic moan that made him go cold inside as hands lifted up his shirt and started to touch his exposed stomach and then his chest.
He would have whimpered so pathetically had he not still been in the depths of terror.
As its hands felt and groped his pecs he tried to situp as if to get away. For his efforts, his reward was a hand around his throat and a collection snarls and growls against his ear. A beastly, guttural voice spat words at him while somehow holding a feminine tone.
“Don’t move….I don’t know if I can calm down…”
Her words were not helped by her moans in his ear and the subsequent kissing of his ear. The flesh of his ear going between her lips as she moaned and seemed to pant. Releasing it and licking the side of his face with a moist warmth. He could feel its spittle, viscous and coating his flesh where the tongue touched. He could smell something in his saliva. Something that subtly entranced him.
Matt went stock still with fear and the confusion of mixed arousal. He barely perceived her right hand traveling lower on his body. A surprised moan and shudder echoed in the night from Matt’s lips as she took ahold of him. Her hand above his pants but still….stimulating him.
A light squeezing and almost probing of her digits kept him aroused and confused within her grasp. Resigning himself to the strange fate, Matt looked up at the stars as his mind tried not to shatter under the strange maelstrom of events and sensation that had started mere minutes ago.
His mind was only more confused as a slight figure, feminine in build, how it seemed to thunk the ground audibly as she landed on her feet out nowhere. Her knees barely bending under the pressure of the landing. Yet dirt was kicked up anyways and some of it onto Matt. Feeling it pepper his shirt and pants as it fell.
The figure, lit only faintly by moonlight, roared some dark tone Matt could only perceive as a demon as her eyes went bright with a crimson light. A light in the darkness that should not have been. “Let him go you bitch.” Was its words following the roar. Spittle escaping its mouth with faint droplets hit Matt's face.
The creature holding him by his throat and crotch seemed to tighten the grasp of both hands as it roared back. “HE IS MINE!”
The figure paused with a moment's hesitation. He was also her quarry. She had felt his fear without him knowing. His confused arousal. His fear. His terror.
And now he laid at the center of a struggle between two monsters. Unsure of who he wanted to win.
As If It Was Kismet Ch. 1
Matthew Berkshire hadn’t seen his mom in two years. Not that he had seen her much over the last six years.
A messy divorce between messy people and mom’s chaotic want for a life in Alaska had been one of the most…upsetting times in life. Setting him up for so much of what had defined his life thus far but then that had really started two years before he ever turned.
His ear buds were basic and simple. A part of cheap five pack, common for his life as he was known to lose little things. Small things. They had a mix of metal and hard rock playing in them. Some classics, some alternative. Whatever made him feel something, anything. Even if it was hate. Anger. Rage. It was better than feeling numb. Not belonging.
The escalator down to his lone bag to go with his lone carry on showed his mom waiting for him. His had a type, that’s for damn sure. Not that it helped him in the genetics department as he was stuck at 5’9” to go along with his mother’s five foot even as his dad stood six foot. Forever leaving him to feel small, to pale, under his dad’s shadow. Did he ever stand a chance?
The guy next to her with the unkempt former seventies porn stache was “Dave.” He’d met him twice when his mother came and visited him in Florida. To his credit the guy didn’t look annoyed. Kind of concerned kind of which made Matthew want to break his frozen look but he was well practiced. Having removed any note of sadness from his face through much…tribulation.
His mother’s look on her face betrayed a hint of worry as the bruises on his face lightly showed up close. Saying his name was his like a distant echo that belonged to someone else.
Dave cut in and pulled out his right headphone. “What the hell bud, they knock you hard enough to hurt hearing? Your mom’s asking how you are doing.”
Matthew pulled out the other bud and grunted an empty “sorry.”
“You still have bruises after two week? What did they do to you?” His mom’s voice was full of worry. Something he hadn’t heard in….too long. Too long to make him feel anything. To ever make him believe there was any sincerity to her words. To not think her voice and mannerisms were an act. An act by someone who…wasn’t really there.
“It’s only fair. I took a nose. Fractured a couple orbital bones. Left one with having to get his jaw wired shut. And one will never walk right again for what I did to his knee cap.” Matthew said it all with a bored and disinterested tone. Perhaps well rehearsed.
“My man, handing out ass kickings, not bothering to take names.” Dave was quick to be the typical man’s man about it. Matthew wasn’t quite done yet. Lifting up his shirt to expose the right side near his kidney. Revealing a nasty scar from a six inch blade. “Luckily they gave me this first so they could rule it all in self-defense. The fuck didn’t get it in more than inch before I ruined his knee cap and then I took the nose of one of the fucks holding me.” Now he chose to smile keeping the well practiced dead look in his eyes.
No retorts. No questions. Just horrified looks on their faces. As he liked. As he preferred. They could hate him. They could be disgusted by him. But by God they would fear him.
“Well the doc did a good job sewing you up.” Dave commented uncomfortably. “Dissolving sutures. Ain’t they grand.” He smiled again and let it abruptly fall off his face and started walking to the carousel for the baggage claim.
Waiting and making small talk with Dave as his mother stood in silence. He was not the little boy she abandoned. The little boy she left with an angry man. While never hitting him. Left him in constant fear till he turned twelve and just didn’t care anymore. Something snapped. Broke. And he didn’t care if he died. Didn’t care if he stole. Didn’t even care if he killed. He just knew not to get caught. Something left over from his grandfather’s wisdom which came to make more and more sense with each passing year of life since that thing inside him broke.
Finally his bag came around and Dave went to try first to grab it but Dave practically leapt ahead of him. “Is that your grandfather’s rucksack bag?” his mother asked in a perplexed voice.
“Figured it’s been around since Viet Nam. So it’d serve me better than any of the worthless stuff they called luggage.” Dave commented after Matthew’s words. “Well hell yeah I still got mine from Desert Storm. You know the first one.” Dave laughed and Matthew eyed him oddly. Be it in the south or whether it was Alaska, country boys are country boys he guessed.
The car ride to the two people’s house, as Matthew thought of them. Was uneventful and full of vistas he imagined metropolitan types wetting themselves over. At most they meant isolation to him. Furtherness from the world as there were no mountains in Florida. And what mountains he had last seen in another state had been when he was eight. Another life, to Matthew it felt like. A life alien to him.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 2
Dave and his mom’s place was some two story type tucked into a tree line far up an elevated point. It was by no means the highest point in the mountain but it certainly felt up there.
Rocks were where the driveway should have been Matthew thought. Grabbing his backpack and rucksack from Dave’s jeep was no hard thing for him. Matthew was in formidable shape for someone his age, maybe even five years older. He had gotten a mix of fairly big shoulders and arms along with the chest to go for it when compared to most kids his age. A side effect of working out at least twice a day. First thing in the morning, some time in the evening, and the school’s gym when had had a good semester in school before he had to leave Florida.
Dave tried to come up and help him but Matthew walked past him towards the house. His mom was not sure what to make of his demeanor. Matthew was not the sweet kind boy he had once been. But she had been gone from his life essentially for a long time.
Ushering him into the house she cracked some joke he did not hear. He was too busy looking about and seeing a mix of old outdated decorating mixed with the strange and odd flair of his mother. Color contrasting against drab and dated. Like brightly painting over an old home that was falling apart he thought.
“Your room is this way Mattie.” His mom brightly intoned.
Without expressing any interest he followed his mother. Still faced and nonplussed. Just going along with the current. Pushed and pulled with its roll like a piece of driftwood.
The room was simple. A single small bed. A set of rubber weights with a curl bar and barbells. “Your dad said you were into weight lifting so we got you a bunch of stuff. Dave says it looks like his department’s gym almost. The woman’s smile felt very alien to him.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ve got most of my stuff from home.” Matthew starting unpacking his rucksack and pulled out cables of repetitive and mixed colors. A single plastic barbell handle. The ruck sack could be filled with water bottles for added weight during pushups he figured. Remembering a Michael Keaton movie he watched with his dad post-Batman movies where he played a convicted killer using plastic bags filled with water for weights.
Matthew caught movement outside his lone fairly large window that could let him step out onto the roof of the house given its layout.
He saw a number of people running together through what he guessed was the backyard of the property, not that it had any fences to mark boundaries
They wore clothes that looked similar yet different from each other at the same time.”Oh those are the Johnston’s. Really nice bunch of people. Been on the mountain for a long time Dave tells me.”
Matthew looked at the group of people running and noticed the lack of resemblance. “They are related?” Matthew quizzically asked. Seeing a black and possibly a hispanic person amongst the bland looking white people.
“Oh well they are all adopted but for one or two of them…besides the parents of course. The family has a long tradition of taking in orphans they say. Real nice of them to do that don’t you think.”
Matthew looked at his mother and the hosier accent made no sense to him as he arched his left eye brow. Her and his dad were both from Florida. Born and raised. Sure her parents were from New York city but…
Matthew shook his lightly without turning to look at his mother as his vision was grabbed by one of the runners in particular. A girl of moderate height. Soft brunette. A plain beauty he figured with a slim build….and lack of remarkable breasts and rear to make any note of but….girls in general were his type at his age.
She was pretty enough. He couldn’t deny that but he found himself transfixed by her visage.
But the way she turned and looked at him, especially at that distance felt very disconcerting to him. Even if she was smiling like…she was a taste of a bright shiny day. Somehow.
Matthew’s mom noticed the exchange and smiled to herself with closed lips. “Oh that’s Vicky. She’s your age I think. Very sweet girl, who does the charity functions. You know bake sales, blood drives, car washes and the like. I think you should get to know her. Might be good for you.”
A truck horn sounded a couple of beeps in rather succession. “Oh that must be Mack, he said he might come by later this evening but he seems early.”
Matthew’s mother turned and left his room. Leaving Matthew to exchange a few looks with the alluring Vicky as she turned her head away from him to talk to the others in her group and look back at him.
Still Matthew’s left eyebrow was arched. In a way that reminded him of Spock from Star Trek that he and his grandpa used to watch on some streaming service or another.
As he heard ambient chatter elsewhere outside the house he figured to check it out as the alluring sight of Vicky would be around he figured. It was dull to stare at artwork. He was a boy who preferred jet skis and the like. Something he could ride and enjoy immensely. Even if at times it got him stabbed.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 3
Matthew sauntered out of the house and down the rockway that stood in for a driveway.
A few new people had come over from what he could first surmise of the situation. As he got closer it was obvious they were indigenous people. A couple of grown men…and a girl?
She was mousey. Maybe five foot. Hiding behind glasses and a big camo jacket that was far too big for her. It looked made for a grown man and the backwards trucker hat on her head kept her long black a beautiful mess of sorts.
She was cute in a way. A little androgynous but she had a cute energy to her. She reminded him of the more tomboyish Puerto Rican girls he had gotten into back in Florida. Given the deer corpses in the back of the truck….probably more dangerous to play with given the men in her family.
Small chatter passed between the adults when the girl noticed but turned away, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile.
“Oh Mattie, this is Mack. He works with Dave at the sheriff’s department and John, he’s with fish and wildlife.” Matthew nodded at his mom’s words with some blankness as he looked at the deer the in the back of the pickup truck.
“Gale tells us you hunted with your dad some in Florida and Georgia.” Mack offered with a light hearted laugh camouflaged by his big simple and cheery but husky way he spoke.
Looking in the back of the truck he spoke. “We used lever action thirty-thirties and Mosin Nagants in seven-six-two-fifty-four-rimmed.” Mack and John whistled in an exaggerated fashion. Leaving Matthew to wonder if they were mocking him.
Mack spoke. “Well we just used thirty-odd-six in a custom gussied Garand.” That caught Matthew’s attention. “You have a Garand…” Matthew finally demonstrated interest in anything. “My dad has an SVT-40 and a Hakim 8mm but he always wanted a Garand but was too cheap to buy one.”
Gale, his mother, chimed in loudly. “Oh his Dad loved his guns but was such an odd duck about how he bought or why he bought them. Never made sense to me how he wasn’t a collector but he didn’t get the latest and greatest.” Gale laughed uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way to Matthew.
Matthew pointed to the girl with an underhanded pointing hand. “And who is this? A cute little mute mouse or does she have a name?” Dave and the other men laughed.
Mack again spoke. “Well you people call her Rebecca, she’s my adopted daughter.” Matthew was taken aback by what he heard. “You people?”
Rebecca kindly spoke with a soft but almost melodic voice as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “White people or rather not members of our tribe. It’s just easier to appease the colonizer kind of thing. Borrowed from when the Jesuit missionaries chased us up here.”
Mack stepped in. “It’s just easier to have white people names than have them try to say our tribal names. And we don’t want them shortening or Anglicising our names kind of thing.” Rebecca stepped back into the conversation cutting off her adopted father. “It’s an insult to our history basically.”
Matthew cocked his head sideways raising his eyebrows shortly before letting them drop. “Well as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here and back to Florida so I’m a sort of involuntary colonizer of sorts. So I won’t be taking any of your land from you. The Seminoles on the other hand are still shit out of luck.”
Rebecca’s smile caused Matthew to reflexively smile. Mack made the moment more awkward. “See Becca, I told you someone off the reservation would like you some. You just have to be creative.” Mack laughed in a chiding manner…Matthew presumed. He sensed that he was the butt of some kind of cultural joke. Like marrying a white guy was some sort of insult or mark of shame. That kind of thing.
Rebecca turning away from him was not something he had been expecting. Her then getting in the truck in a huff left the group in a silence for a moment.
Dave spoke to break the awkward silence. “Well just bring the truck to work on Monday and leave it for me to grab up.” Mack acknowledged Dave and they started to get off as Rebecca looked at Matthew for another instance. Matthew couldn’t look away for some reason as the two seemed to lock eyes for an instance.
Till Vicky and family seemed to come jogging down the road. While Matthew’s eyes diverted from Rebecca’s. Hers did not till she realized he was looking elsewhere. And her vision found Vicky and what had been a hint of smile on her face turned glum and disappointed.
Matthew did not look away from the vision of Vicky but instead of a starry eyed fool looking longingly. It was a baffled look. Well baffled for him, with his eyes drawn narrow and night with a focus.
There was something about her…he couldn’t quite put a name too. The way she appeared to him. One second brunette. The next second blonde or blonde like. As if the color appeared in her air and disappeared in fractions of seconds. Much the same way her body almost seemed to…shift…very subtly…smoothly. A nicer bum. Larger breasts. And then back to a simple and plain form. Feminine no doubt. Attractive. But not so…remarkable.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 4
The next two days passed without incident. Nothing of any real substance or challenge to note.
Matthew got settled somewhat and started working out almost immediately. Exploring around the woods but Dave told him not to go far. Especially without a hunting rifle. Dave had left a simple semi-auto Winchester out for him. His bear gun as Dave referred to it with its four round magazine. But Matt figured till he got some practice with the rifle to leave it alone. He made a hiking stick like his grandpa taught him and treated it over a low fire. He would take some electrical tape for the end his hand would grip around. Plenty enough to ward off anything smaller than a bear he figured.
The ride to school was a pain in the neck but simple enough. Dave would let him use a clunker pickup truck he had laying around. It wasn’t pretty but it would get him to and from. Even if it was from the eighties and still backfired on occasion. But for now Dave and his mom took him on their way to the sheriff’s department.
It wasn’t much of a school. It wanted to be modern but its fifties original construction was very obvious. It serviced the pipeline families and familys’ of fisherman who worked the seasons in between their time at the pipeline.
Matt was to report to the principal for some reason Dave and his mom wouldn’t share. Which annoyed him but he figured it was to read him the law of land. Small towns with their big views of the outside world and like.
Dressed in jeans, a grey sweatshirt under a light jacket with steel toed boots set him more apart then he expected. His buzzed head didn’t help matters. Already he was feeling like a stranger in a strange land but he was quite strange after all. And he liked it that way. Normal people were so pathetically disappointing to him.
A secretary or assistant or some such led him to the principal’s office. Where it reeked of real wood that was old and fabric and upholstery that needed to be updated for the last twenty years, Matt figured.
“This is Matthew Berkshire, Principal Andrews.” The man was turned with his back to the door and he was quick to wave her off as he turned her around.
He was an older man. Fat and large. Tall with a body built like he had once been fit and a demeanour of annoyed and irate already as he fixed Matt with a scowl and look of disgust. Another worthless government whore. Matt thought to himself. His father and his grandfather had bestowed unto him a natural disrespect for government workers and the figures that wore unjustified authority as a shield but pretended the weight of the state was not at their back ready to crush all who resisted. Little figures of valor pretending to be mighty and alone but acting with the tyranny of the state and all the backing.
“Mr. Berkshire, please sit down.” His tone wasn’t unusually hostile, just gruff. As if he had better things to do.
Matt complied and took a seat in the chair while maintaining a friendly facade. Not everyone was an enemy. And not everyone needed to be an enemy. Even if anybody could be any enemy. There was no reason to make enemies you didn’t have to. Another of his grandfather’s bastardised wisdoms.
“Well I looked over you file and you have quite the history Mr. Berkshire.” Matt resisted qiuping back a joke. Instead he waited for Principal Andrews to continue as he remained nonplussed and looking as if he felt no need to respond. A simple head tilt with dead eyes looking back at the principle as if he was not even there would suffice.
Matt’s reaction or lack of a reaction rather made Principal Andrews only narrow his eyes with examination. He was not used to a kid not responding to him. Especially with his gruff and hard act going on.
“Well by all accounts you moved here after some problems at your last school. A fight broke out and you did some real harm to your fellow students it appears.” Of course, he would take the side of the perpetrators. School administrators always did. Especially when they weren’t white. Just a fact of the times. Cowardice and pathetic mediocrity was the way they leaned, like good government workers sucking the dick of Big Daddy government. Worthless whores.
Matt chose to reply. “Oh you mean the criminals that stabbed me. Got arrested at the hospital and then pled to felonies. Yeah Florida, with the American counties are good like that.” Principal Andrews went real still. No shame. No fear. No penitence. He didn’t like that.
“Well be it as it may Mr. Berkshire we don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here…” Matt cut him off responding with a deadpan tone. “You mean self-defense meant to save one’s own life while the cowardly and pathetic school workers look on with zero interest but to keep their money rolling in and will allow known gang members with records of violent acts and crimes that should have them expelled many times over, where in certain Democrat counties such cowardice and idiocy empowered a couple school shooters?”
Principal Andrews looked at the Matt with a note of disgust. “Look here Mr. Berkshire, your beliefs matter not one bit here. This isn’t Florida. We don’t like our way of life being disrupted by outside agitators who have problems with authority.”
Matt did his best not to roll his eyes and let the older fat man drone own as he dead-stared him. Lifeless and without emotion.
The man came to a finish and Matt spoke up without having listened to him or paid him any attention. “Great now that’s taken care of. Can I please get to class and finish my sentence of two years at your wonderful school?”
Principal Andrews huffed and snorted before calling in Vicky. Vicky stood in the corner after entering with a quiet and seamless presence. Matt felt disturbed and tried not betray his feelings as the young Vicky was perceived and not perceived to be moving.
Principal Andrews made the introductions and Matt nodded back. She was to be his chaperone for the day. They had the same classes and she was to show him the ropes so to speak. The ins and outs of the school. The locations of their classes.
He recognized her. It was hard not to. The way her appearance seemed to shift fluidly almost. The petite and skinny brunette ever so lightly had a big bust and blonde hair with curves added when she seemed to shift before his eyes. Like watching a film but each frame had a different person.
Matt didn’t say anything about it. Even if he did he would only be acknowledging his crazed state, if he had one. If.
Unlike an obedient puppy dog he got up in a slow and awkward fashion and followed behind her as his oddly disproportionate frame allowed. Causing her a note of concern for some reason. As if she was seeing something she shouldn’t have been….Or he was just weird. And Matt could admit to himself he was just weird. Part of his charm, he would jest about it at times. Not that he had many people to jest to now.
As If It Were Kismet Ch. 5
Following Vicky into the hall off to their first class was simple. She exchanged small talk and he slightly smiled as if to obviously suggest he was just being polite.
Inside his head, Matt was trying to figure out if he was having a psychotic break. The way Vicky looked kept changing and he looked at the other people around him and they stayed the same.
He was searching his mind as they were walking. And thus he wasn’t paying attention to where he was looking and so fell to his face forward over his feet seemingly out of nowhere.
A series of laughs erupted as it sunk in that he was obviously tripped. Like in prison this was a challenge to his superiority. If he let this pass he would be mocked and sneered at by this same group of boys. He wouldn’t walk to them like he was going to do nothing like a little bitch.
In a rage he turned and punched the stomach of the first face he saw. Some typical blonde haired wannabe jock. He knew from experience not to aim for the ribs. Instead he needed to aim for where he thought the belly button was.
Yells and screams blindly echoed around him as his after the punch he followed up his elbow of the opposite arm slamming into the face of the jock. Harder than a fist, the elbow struck the jock’s jaw and seemingly dropped him against a locker. Just in time to catch an errant and soft punch to the nose that sure enough hurt but did little to slow him down as his dad had taught him to fight through the pain. Blood and scars happened. They were a natural consequence of life to a man.
Taking the punch and falling further into his red state Matt headbutted the punch thrower before another guy arm bared his throat from behind. Which he managed to get his grip on the arm over a letterman jacked and jerk the unprepared boy to the side with him still latched on.
A few feet away from the lockers Matt knew his only chance was to jump and push off the lockers and knock the boy to the ground and so he did. He heard a thunk of the boy’s skull bouncing off the ground and he turned to pull out of the grapple.
The beatings he had taken from his father, the grapples, being choked unconscious. Had prepared him for fighting little bitches who didn’t know what a fight was. It wasn’t gay porn with rabbit punch fists flying.
Blood was running down his face and the pain started to hit him as the threats had been eliminated. Only then did he remember to breathe. Taking breathes as Vicky came up to him with tissues and took a hold of his nose.
“Owww owww owww what the fuck my nose could be broken.” He said to Vicky as she pulled his head up and back.
“It’s ok Carl. It’s done.” Matt tried to look to see who Vicky was talking to. It was a boy taller than his 5’9” by more than a small margin. The boy eyed him bored and annoyed before speaking. “What happened here?” An unoriginal line but one Matt couldn’t be a smart aleck about. “Well you see there was an outbreak of tripping and we all tripped over my dick. It happens.” Matt was about to laugh when Vicky seemed to pull up while still gripping his nose causing Matt no small amount of pain which he audibly evidenced.
Vicky spoke in a tone he wasn’t expecting. As if she was accustomed to issuing orders. “Keep Iris away from the hall till we sanitize the site. We have blood from at least three people contaminating the site. And have Jake bring me a spare jacket and shirt for this moron.”
Carl seemed to acknowledge her orders and seemed to blink away. Maybe the punch hit harder than he expected. He had no time to wonder as Vick took her hand away from his and pushed him against the lockers. With ease he had not been expecting from her form and stature.
Before he could respond Vicky licked his blood covered chin and then his lips and spoke to him. “Focus on me you little blood bag.” Her tone had an annoyed yet feminine sneer.
“Look into my eyes. Look at me. You belong to me. You are just another food source in a collection of food sources.” Her eyes were a beautiful hazel Matt thought. Almost green. Pretty like jewels in some old treasure collections. The eyes he could get lost in before kissing her. Finally Vicky was just a slight and petite brunette and he thought she was beautiful.
She would make a hell of a girlfriend. Some cute thing he could see laying on the beach in Florida on their sides laughing and smiling before trading light kisses while hands wandered innocently. Before his mind could drift further he felt her lips on his. It took him a second to mentally grasp the kiss but his arms were around her back as her hands were at his sides. His eyes reflexively closed as he saw hers close.
It was ineffable to Matt. Beyond words, what was happening. The kiss, the moments beforehand. The way his brain tickled with electricity and gentle warmth. He had never had a kiss like this and he had traded more than a few kisses with at least a few girls.
The kiss was like a warm bath with his consciousness slipping beneath the surface. Their lips only parted to try new angles and approaches as Matt struggled to take in breath. It was a moment he could have stayed trapped in for….he didn’t know. But a curt throat clearing by another girl pulled them out of the moment.
The girl was taller than Vicky. Blonde. With slight curves. Vicky addressed her bewildered and gobsmacked, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Tina?”

Do we know how jade decides who to skill in autoplay? Does she pick a dps based on how much attack they have or based on how many enemies they can target? Will she ever auto pick a hunt character like boothill or in those scenario would she skill herself for more follow ups?