Hello cat preparation family, I've been in this group for quite some time now and I tend to follow all the discussions, especially during this time of the year where you make arguably one of the most important decisions of your life, choosing a correct B school. I'm a senior from GLIM from back in the day, and I've been in touch with many recent alums that seek guidance from me concerning the further recourse of their journey. I saw the interim placement reports of GLIM, and I want to articulate a much more palatable version of the same ; let's decode it further shall we ?

• I personally know the person who got the highest package from this year's batch, he's from my hometown. Even he is awestruck with the numbers that have been flaunted on the website and the offer letter that he has signed.
• The point about new recruiters is true.
• They are claiming that they have placed over 90% of people, but in reality these include people who were on a sabbatical and they had to join their parent organisations after their course had end. So what they are doing is including these bunch of people in the placed category, but not including their post MBA salary in the calculation. This is because sabbatical peeps generally get much lower CTC's as compared what one can expect from campus. This year however, people who went back to their parent organisations have got a much higher salary as compared to a larger fraction of the cohort.
• GLIM advertises this as a list of participating companies, as many of them either ran away from campus after not knowing that a 1 year MBA could exist other than ISB, or they simply revoked their offers and fled. The list includes many companies that simply floated a JD and never bothered to show up, like Zopper, Neo Roots Design, Chola MS, Laxai Life sciences etc.
• They have simply cut pasted the placement statistics of the previous year by changing the headings. The top 75% didn't have a 18.3 LPA, it would at most be the top 10-15%.
• Most of the batch got anywhere between 8-15 LPA, with a significant portion of them oscillating around the lower end of the spectrum. This is true only when you don't consider the folks who are currently unplaced and unlooked after, then in that case the range would be between 0-15 LPA.
• The industry wide classification of placements is a blatant lie. NO ONE GOT PLACED IN STRATEGY CONSULTING UNLESS YOU CONSIDER ACCENTURE STRATEGY, which is barely a strategy consulting firm. Whatever consulting there is on campus is tech consulting. Strategy consulting roles didn't come to us 4-5 years before, it doesn't come now. That is because there is a serious positioning problem for great lakes where they inherently only get companies famous for analytics, and the Placement cell doesn't put in that extra effort to help change the positioning of the B school.
• Accenture, Delloite, Infosys and TCS did make the highest no. Of offers. This has been a main stay for many years now.
• No way in hell the average is 17.3 , it's gonna be somewhere between 14-15 based on the inputs of the outgoing batch students. The numbers never made sense back in the day, and it simply doesn't make sense today as well. Don't just use a pinch, take a bag of salt before you trust the placement reports of any B school in general, not just GLIM.
• I don't recall anyone getting a General Managerial role from campus, I might be wrong though someone from the current batch please correct me if you're seeing this.
• The worst part that I'm hearing that never happened during my time is that the placement cell are continuously calling the unplaced students and harassing them to opt out of the placement process. Many of them have genuinely not been given enough opportunities, and this was never the case with GLIM back in the day. The GLIM I knew was compassionate, and helpful. But with the recent change in management, things have sadly changed for the worse. I'm hearing things like management is calling up these unplaced students one by one, and playing divisive politics. People who don't want to comply, are being soft threatened by saying that either further opportunities won't be given to that student, or worse, their marksheet and other documents wouldn't be released from campus. The placement cell is digging their own grave, as such threats can be legally binding, and the person who is responsible for harassing these students and playing with their career can actually face jail time if the student chooses to go down the legal route. If the GLIM administration is seeing this, please don't destroy the career of so many kids who have come to y'all with hopes of kickstarting their career. I was actually proud of being a GLIM Alumnus for quite some time now, but recent incidents have compelled me to take a tougher stance w.r.t the matter. Don't do this, GLIM. Just Don't.

Feel free to add any more pointers. Many people won't say this, but I believe it's your duty to analyse both sides of the coin before you invest your hard earned money into an MBA program. Misinformation is a serious issue, and the only way we can combat this is by actually engaging with the alumnus, not by taking everything the placement cell has to say at face value. All the best for your upcoming B school journey guys.

I was contemplating between Air Canada and Saudi Airlines since they are similar in price but Saudi has 2 checked bags and free seat selection whereas Air Canada's flight has lower layover times but only 1 checked bag and extra $ for seat selection. I saw online that Air Canada offers complimentary alcohol on international flights though (mine is 20 hours). So based on that, I'm wondering what's the alcohol that I can get for free for Economy? Is it just beer & wine or can I do Vodka cran, Gin & coke, pina colada etc.?

First Previous Wiki
Ezeonwha was walking down a long hallway. The dry and plain painted walls and the pure white lighting of the lower levels of the 102nd Visitor Welcome Office helped to frame the dingy realities of those who could only afford these floors. Not even capable of having windows, these were for those who were the cheapest of the cheap or those who mingled with them. He'd passed several Guides on the way in, their claws echoing in the halls as a sign of authority in this lawless land.
Here, mediocrity was king, and he was a loyal servant. He drew his cloak closer about his neck, unwilling to reveal himself to those who weren't already equipped to see through it all. He was famous enough to be an abduction target if he let his guard down. This place was no exception, though Justicar tried to make them such. Too much security on the higher levels and too little on the lower levels. That was the way of things.
Another hallway, this one marked with bullet holes. Two contractors and a Guide were discussing the pricing of the fix project when he turned the corner. Their voices quieted to nothing, the stillness pressing down upon them with the same intensity as the false lighting. Ezeonwha clacked his jaws, giving them a low bow before continuing on his way. He saw the Guide's eyes light up with the sign of his implants getting a reading. It was another impromptu way of tracking via facial recognition, but it was an ancient practice.
Nothing was new about what the Guides did; only how many of them seemed to be on general patrol. Had Justicar hired more of them or actually done full conversions for all of them? Those arm cannons surely weren't cheap or ethical to insert into unwilling participants. And giving a victim a gun they couldn't be disarmed of was a very bad idea, even for Elders. And Justicar was better than most Elders when it came to abject stupidity. He'd likely only been dropped a few hundred times as a child versus the more likely Elder average of a few thousand.
Ezeonwha chuckled at his internal joke, heading deeper underground into the complex. He was going to a certain meeting, and it would be best not to be late. Even if the Guides tracked him, it wouldn't be negative. The group he had been approached by a few days ago wasn't a terror group. He'd looked them up. They dealt in 'freedom and liberation from all chains.'
The Eyes Of Liberty had focused upon Penny as their latest propaganda target and perhaps as a valuable ally in their fight against all tyranny. Though such a flowery message was likely steeped in idealism for the lower ranks, with more pragmatic and likely richer inner circle elites and leaders ensuring the pot would always simmer but never boil or grow cold. That was the way movements such as these managed to skirt the line between inaction and terrorism.
It was a dangerous thing to do. But these were dangerous times. If Penny left, he'd die. Someone with a grudge would kill him. It was a given, and he'd made peace with it now. He needed to get to work, to help others like him and those worse off, with just a small piece of the meager time he had left.
He was in the system as a friend of Penny, so little scrutiny would fall on him as he came and went. He had a new friend, one who was very interested in connecting to Penny.
The offer had come through his communicator, and he'd answered it given its interesting title. After a lengthy discussion about their goals for him and Penny, he'd agreed to at least have a meeting. He didn't tell them that he had a tracker from Phoebe, which would 'be impossible to miss' if things went badly. He knew the value he had, which was why one of the androids was also accompanying him under the guise of being a Sprilnav.
The android was 'walking' on all fours, its mechanical motion entirely silent. It was obscured by a wave of holograms and hard light holograms that would ensure that it wouldn't be considered suspicious beside him. His only guard was a capable one, and Phoebe had all the confidence of an AI who knew that the destruction of her android would only be an inconvenience for her.
Ezeonwha came to an unmarked door with a well-worn door frame. One knock. One pause. Two knocks. Another pause. Four knocks. He waited, and the door swung open. Eight Sprilnav greeted him warily but warmly, their eyes shifting to Phoebe.
The inside of the room was a dull red, coming from a pair of lights in the center of the ceiling that cast dark shadows near the edges. The whole room felt dark and dangerous, and the walls were lined with guns, computers, and several drones. Shelves and drawers were neatly stacked against the wall, as well as five couches and four double beds with ladder access to the top portions.
Bags of food rested atop a trash compactor unit, and the room service button on the inner side of the wall that Ezeonwha could see in the mirror was worn down to the raw metal. No paint jobs here, only grit and business. The room faintly smelled of body odor and assorted foods. Not entirely unpleasant, but also not what he'd expected from a group with sich a flamboyant name. Perhaps they worked in cell-based units. And that was another thing.
Minds were visible in the distance of the mindscape, but the people here were huddled together mentally. They appeared to be haphazard, but Ezeonwha recognized an old army-type defensive formation a mere step from each of their positions. They were more than they appeared. Though based on how their room looked, they probably weren't veterans, just decently trained.
As they walked through the doorway, a scanner activated. One of the Sprilnav, wearing a headset with numbers and letters swirling on the inner side of the visor, called out: "Phoebe android. Commando variant. Risk assessment: Certain Death. Ezeonwha. Carrying two pistols, one hidden in the pack on his left, and the other tucked inside a strap near the lower bottom of his chest."
That made them all pause, sizing each other up. Ezeonwha smiled nervously, failing terribly to break the building tension once again. His nerves started to get to him, but finally, Phoebe spoke. "Well, friends. I, for one, am happy to talk of the business of liberty. Tell us, what do you have in mind for my friend Ezeonwha?"
"It is not about him, AI. It is about the freedom all sentient beings deserve, and which we shall bring to the galaxy no matter if we are alive or dead."
"An honorable goal to strive toward," Phoebe said.
"Thank you. Your words are quite kind for your type."
"I didn't know I had one," Phoebe replied. "But thank you."
Ezeonwha turned his head toward the Sprilnav with all the fancy equipment.
"What is the best way for me and Penny to help in the fight?"
"The best way would be for you to start killing the gang leaders you come across. Barring that, have Penny ignore the graveyards, and continue freeing the slaves as she ought to. The dead have their freedom; the living need her work more."
"I agree with my companion," another of them said. "So far, Penny has done more for the fight for justice than any other on Justicar in generations, so it is a terrible thing to ask more, but we must ask. Even knowing the terrible toll it would have if she loses the Judgment, Sprilnav are at stake."
"People are at stake, you mean," Ezeonwha said. "There is no need to bring species into this."
"There would not be, but it is still a clear factor," another of them said, a female who looked more shifty in her gaze and demeanor. The Eyes of Liberty seemed like one of those groups with too much division.
"Do you disagree with each other often?" Ezeonwha asked innocently.
"Here and there," the tech guy said. "Not often enough to be a problem, and not when what matters is at stake."
"But that is the thing. How can you agree on when something that matters is a stake?"
"Is this a test?"
"Why would it be? Think of it as a genuine concern," Ezeonwha said. "To associate with your group, I have to be certain it will be resilient to change and risks escalating in the future. If the gangs cannot strike at Penny, they will pick the next best targets. Currently, that is me. If I associate with you in a way they can find out, and I assure you they will find out eventually, you all may be at risk as well. And your group's seemingly cell-based design also means large scale mobilization is difficult, ineffective, and risks severe coordination issues which cannot be quickly or safely remedied without changing core security features of it."
"You deduced all of that from context? You are smart, Ezeonwha. And have a good brain in your head. Everlasting knows we need one of those between all of us."
They all shared a laugh.
"I am not as young as I may look," Ezeonwha said. "Penny is not properly learned of the danger that faces us here. I am. The Underground will kill me when this is over. Do you want to die alongside me, all for your beliefs?"
Silence descended again. Ezeonwha kept the pressure on them when one of them stepped forward. "For freedom and liberty? Yes. I would die for that."
"As would I."
"And I."
They all declared the rest in orders that followed the patterns Ezeonwha was noticing. There were variances in their levels of belief and faith in their purpose. Each person had a different level of value difference, which meant that their lives would be worth more or less comparatively.
Cohesion was weaker, too. Not a full defector team, but likely pieces of several. Was that by design from a higher up leader, or was that just circumstance? Another thing to figure out later, that wasn't critical yet, but he would know before he truly went on any missions with them, if he did at all.
He suspected running messages to Penny would be the majority of their tasks. The quality of intelligence the Eyes of Liberty had offered was substantial. Perhaps enough for Penny to turn herself from a major annoyance to the gangs into an actual existential threat. With Justicar's swarming protection of the Fort Court and the 102nd Visitor Welcome Office, there was a limited amount of things that even the gangs could do. And if the rumors were correct, a Progenitor would be partaking in the trial.
"To be clear, if I join up with you, Phoebe would come too."
"Why would we let an AI join us?"
Phoebe smiled. "Without me, you'll die in this fight. You have trained for around 2000 days. You're acceptable combatants, as is Ezeonwha. But you are fighting in a city, and underneath it. You need to know how to keep a low profile. You need to know how to move through a crowd, get in and out. And you need to keep collateral damage to a zero, or the gangs will use you like they have others who had your purpose and were less careful to justify their 'protection' continuing. If you march in there and kill 50 slavers, if you kill a few slaves or a single bystander in the process, your credibility will be smeared. And frankly, with me on your team, you won't get blown up by an IED when you try clearing your first room in a fortress."
"IED?" One of them asked, while the rest digested her statement, going through various levels of offended looks.
"Your translator is too cheap. Improvised explosive device. Here, that can be old engines, reused oil, cracked plastic, frictional fuel bombs, circuit extruders, sodium splash grenades, as well as the more military style attacks they can pack, from small micro rockets all the way up to lower level fission or fusion bombs. Though if you're in a fight with those things involved, you're already dead."
"Why?"
"Because unless you're Elders, or holograms, a nuke will kill you whether you're right next to it or just inside the same shield. They concentrate the thermal pulse, so your bones would be ash before the pain hit your eyes."
"And what protection could you bring against that?"
"Telling you it's there before you start the attack. That is, if you listen to me. I value your lives over that of this android, but also I value Ezeonwha over all of you combined. I will not prevent him from doing this, but I will have you all know the risks involved."
"We are prepared, Phoebe. We have done much of the training you say, though we do not believe the gangs would plant explosive devices in their own fortresses. There is too much risk around that, with betrayals so common. However, the minefields we have scouted are easy to defeat with the right tactics. Perhaps you can give us a briefing on those, too?"
A challenge.
"I can, depending on how long you wish to do this for. But I have the stamina for either hours or weeks, depending on which you choose."
"What of your batteries?"
"They are of sufficient quality," Phoebe assured.
"I hope so."
Their tech guy nodded, more numbers flashing on his visor. Ezeonwha hoped he had a different way of display, like through an implant or something, for the missions in darker areas. The Underground was, by its name, not a place where much natural light was to be found. And the gangs controlled all the power systems in their territory. It was another part of the racket.
"Why aren't you guarding Penny?"
Phoebe's back straightened, a subconscious posture change to make her seem more confident. Ezeonwha caught the tactic for what it was, though without extensive knowledge of bipedal forms, it was less likely the surrounding Sprilnav knew it.
"Penny proved before a trillion eyes she's capable of fighting Elders, Progenitors, and a Dreadnaught Captain. Not to mention her immense power. I can shoot bullets, but she can literally snatch them out of the air and eat them. She has her own way of doing things, and it is a good way."
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Penny landed in the rubble and headed for the Vaquah with a trail of survivors behind her. Many of them, she could recognize the marks of slavery on, with numbers or brands on their skin or just the trauma crouching in their eyes dulled by the pain of a long life in a work camp. Penny went through the wreckage to the shield surrounding the rubble and the defining line between the rest of the city and the destruction. Several news drones flew above her.
More were arriving from various directions. The soft footsteps grew into a constant drumming sound, like a beating heart of doom. Penny marched with them, heading to the spaceport. A large medical operation there quickly rerouted many of its various branches to the most injured freed slaves.
Penny pressed her considerable psychic energy on the entire group, accelerating their healing, slowing bleeding, and generally repairing their bodies and cells from the trauma they'd suffered. But the cloud over their heads did not brighten. The atmosphere remained tense and mournful. Many of them had lost friends, family, and more. She had no right to ask them to feel any different.
She had freed them, that was all. They were not her servants. She was not their ruler.
Several of them came up to her, offering thanks in the small ways they could. Kind words. Attempts at hugs. Even offers of devout prayer and worship, which Penny respectfully declined. She knew, as did most of them, that veneration for her deeds was inevitable. She didn't want to be seen encouraging it at all, since this was a public place where many eyes were upon her.
She knew that it would be misconstrued as a threat if she did. Religions were some of the most major threats entrenched powers could face if not properly co-opted by the state to suit their needs. And here, the 'state' was a military dictatorship billions of years old, ripened with corruption, money, and the immortality of Elders sporting technology beyond any other in the galaxy.
The sky was blue with shields overhead. The Vaquah hung in the distance, its thrusters gently burning to keep it aloft. A trail of shuttles linked the massive ship with several spaceports, including this one. Penny watched the freed Sprilnav get on it one by one, promising themselves to a new life aboard her ship. Technically, they were citizens of the Autonomous Peoples' Stars.
That protection, Penny knew, was why the Vaquah and its innocent inhabitants were still intact. Elders already had hired mercenaries to attack it. They'd failed, thanks to Rimiaha and Penny, but also the defenses of Kashaunta's Grand Fleet when it was in higher orbit. Kashaunta, despite her willingness to use Penny as she would, also had a certain intelligence and empathy. It was highly selective, and only money and power seemed to flip that switch.
But Penny needed the Elder, and Kashaunta only had use for her as an asset. She palmed the new communicator Kashaunta had issued her after the last one's destruction. Kashaunta's hologram appeared. It looked around, noticing the news drones in the air.
"Not here."
"Where?"
"You will know."
In the mindscape, a Sprilnav appeared on Penny's layer. They felt odd to her, almost like the minds of certain humans high up in the hivemind's network. Penny greeted the Sprilnav warmly.
"Hello."
"Queen and Elder Kashaunta requests your presence on her flagship."
"Very well."
In reality, Penny looked around at the crowd. She waited until it dwindled to nothing, and then spoke.
"Displace."
Conceptual energy twisted, and she stood on Kashaunta's flagship, though nearer to the edge than she'd expected. The Elder was waiting for her in an outfit that looked much like pajamas, though they were under a few armor pieces that appeared anything but decorative. Now that Penny noticed it, it was the same sort of armor that Yasihaut had worn to their last encounter, which interfered with conceptual energy. The Sprilnav were highly advanced. She wondered just how far their technology could go. She'd heard mentions of some ships having artificial gravity, and of nanites and programmable matter. But nothing certain.
"Hmm," Kashaunta said, giving Penny a once over. "You have come back. Shall I assume you are still my ally?"
"Nervous, are we?"
"Nervous is what you should be, Penny. The Judgment is coming. Ten days. Indrafabar and Justicar will both be on the court as High Judges. That is not good for us at all. So I figured a bit of prudence was in order. I have thought long and hard about this, and with the great battles of our time so fast approaching, I figure it is time to mend our relationship before the chasm grows any wider."
Kashaunta motioned to a special looking sword sheath on her back. Slowly, she drew a sword. A Soul Blade. Penny began to draw up her armor.
"Oh, I am not wishing for a fight, Penny. I know the damage you could do, even in my sanctum in the sky. Tell me, do you know how Soul Blades are forged?"
"No."
"Good. And tell me, do you know why they draw so much power to swing, even for Elders and beings as capable as us?"
"I have a few theories."
"I am sure you do," Kashaunta said. "But here is the thing. Soul Blades are typically weapons assigned to highly promising Elders, or even Progenitors. Filnatra, undisputed sword master that she is, can wield them as easily as breathing. If I were to swing this blade, there would be no drawback. Why?"
"Because you own that Soul Blade."
"Because this Soul Blade is mine. It is not just something I own. I own around seven or so more Soul Blades, with some weapons nearing their quality lying in my various vaults even now. You did not detect them, because I willed that not to be. I need you to understand this, Penny. You have power. You have might. But you are not invincible. My Soul Blade, if it struck you, would not cutely separate Nilnacrawla or Cardinality from you. Nor would your speeding space entity be able to block this blade with his flesh. If this cut you, it would release unending agony upon you before you exploded in a burst of burnt gore."
Penny sighed. "There is no need to threaten me. Allies do not threaten each other."
"But you do not see me as an ally. You see me as your means to get through the Judgment. You believe I see you as nothing more but a linear singularity maker, and perhaps a passing curiosity I'm backing on a whim. You neglect to imagine that there might be firmer reasons why I back you, and why more Elders are getting drawn into this conflict. You believe I am comfortable with showing you my more pragmatic and ruthless sides because I am comfortable with the fact that you cannot harm me. That you would not dare to do so, when you need my assistance so badly. That I might even be aiming to normalize my 'new' self with you."
"That is hardly my belief alone."
"Is it now."
Kashaunta grinned. There was no warmth in her gaze.
"Nilnacrawla," Kashaunta said. "Cardinality. Exile. Come out and show yourselves. You are being rude as guests."
Exile detached from Penny's head. He grew into the shifting array of fractals and shapes she was more familiar with. What had once grated on her eyes did so no longer. Kashaunta stared at the speeding space entity for ten seconds, then looked back up at Penny.
"He will not work on us. I will cover his form with holograms if he walks through my ship out of courtesy for my workers and crew, if he cannot."
"I am capable, Queen Kashaunta."
"You are quite knowledgable, aren't you?" Kashaunta mused, looking at him hungrily. "Oh, how I wonder what secrets you have in your head. How many of ours do you know?"
"I will not be taken as a hostage," Exile said.
"You will not because I decide not to," Kashaunta said. "Formally, our species are still at war. There is no treaty."
"The Sp'rkial'nova no longer exist."
"Yes, they do," Kashaunta said. "The name was discontinued for use regarding the lesser specimens we created. But I can assure you, Exile, if you wish to go by that name here, that we still do exist. I am a Sp'rkial'nova in the flesh. In the blood. In the mind. In the soul."
"Say what you will, Sprilnav. It changes nothing."
"On that I agree. Though our views on how things are may differ, and yours is wrong, your opinion is not valuable enough to matter."
She turned to Penny. She would have defended Exile, but he gave her a simple shake of his head area.
Nilnacrawla formed out of psychic energy in front of Penny. Cardi did the same beside her. Kashaunta tapped a claw on the ground. Tables and chairs appeared. A chef brought in food that looked passable and a few decent attempts at human cuisine.
"We do not have to eat, though I would expect that all of you at least sit at the table. We will discuss our grievances, and how to solve them before we proceed with the future. We shall first go to the matter of the Alliance. Penny, many in their number wish to establish contact with you. Do you agree to this? If so, I will add their communicator numbers to the translation program I have reserved for your personal use, in case your own device needs another sudden replacement."
"I agree."
"Good. A first step of diplomacy, I would say. Agreement. Now, Nilnacrawla, you look like you have something to say to me. What is it?"
"Free Meridia."
"Meridia was detonated by planet cracker during the 139th Sector 9 Border War. I am sorry more could not be done."
A cold draft of air rushed out of Nilnacrawla's nose. He glared at her. "You let them die."
"I did not. A Grand Fleet was defending that star system, and three came to lay siege. I am many things. A tactician, a queen, an Elder. But I am not a god. I cannot perform miracles. I evacuated 30 billion people from that world and its surrounding stations before the planet crackers hit it. 4 trillion more souls died in that blast. The best I can do is to offer an apology."
"That will never be enough for what you did. If you had never established your nation, they would still be alive."
"They would be slaves. Chattel slaves, not that cute little 'wage slavery' concept privileged people throw around. Perhaps I should remind you just how much darker that reality would have been for your female descendents, specifically. I am a brutal warlord, a dictator with an iron fist. But my claws do not squeeze nearly as tightly as I could. Metrics say that I could extract at least 370% more profit from my people if I simply enslaved them. But despite the shock this may bring to you all, I do have principles. The Autonomous Peoples' Stars are my people. My nation. My empire, if you think I'm imperialist. But I protect them as best I can."
Nilnacrawla's cold anger didn't lessen. Penny placed a calming hand on his front left thigh. He blinked. He let out a long, pained sigh. And he bowed his head to her. Not to Kashaunta, but to Penny.
"There is no need to be cruel."
"My language was accurate, Penny. He is a strong Elder. Everlasting knows he's stronger than most of these fools. Nilnacrawla was and is a hero of the Source war. I respect him enough not to mince words, or to give platitudes. Coddling is for babies. Nilnacrawla is far more mature."
Kashaunta turned to Cardi. "You have been remarkably silent in this, concept."
"I have."
"A wonderfully succinct statement. Perhaps you can shorten it further. But nevertheless, you and I will be working together with Penny much more in the near future. Rest assured, if you refuse to become more independent, you will be nothing more than a crutch for her to rely on before leaving her to fall when you are ripped away."
"When, Elder? I would like to think your protection is sufficient."
"I am sure the truth is quite the opposite, dear. I will now get to the point. Penny needs to move faster, and needs to break out of her shell. She needs to be pushed to do more. She has signed a binding treaty, which shows she is capable of more than barbarian aliens, as some Elders would call her. You, Cardinality, will help her be a high achiever. To do this, you need to learn more about your own history.
That is the theme of the year, after all. History. My history, Penny's history, Sprilnav history, and even Gaia's history, it would seem."
"Gaia? What do they have to do with all of this?" Penny asked.
"Oh, you don't need to worry about that."
"Excuse me? You don't get to decide that, Kashaunta. You will tell me. I refuse to be coddled, like you say. I demand the respect I am owed."
"You forget yourself, Penny."
"I remember myself, actually. I am all I need to be. I can become all I need if I must. You can hold your backing against me all you want, but you won't withdraw it. As you said, more binds you and I than mere money and ideology."
"And if you're wrong?"
"Then I've doomed my species and my nation to war, and this planet to the full power of my wrath."
"Wrath, Penny. Wrath. The Sprilnav have many words for anger, rage, hatred. There is the desire for vengeance, in varying degrees. There is that for justice, which does differ. And that for belonging. I know you believe you are standing up to me as a way to assert your own authority in this relationship of ours. You believe I see you as inferior, and will pull back my help when it is profitable for me. I will not offer you the consequences of what your words could mean.
You already know them, and that argument is as stale as your view on us Elders. I will say this once, Penny. You are the Champion of Humanity. The apex predator of your planet, the only one mostly in charge of an Alliance that does more than merely dream of overthrowing us. It is easy for me to say you are not a threat, though I do not ignore the threat you and your nation are trying to become. Gaia will be a part of your movement, but even my information is not entirely complete. I will not mislead you by claiming I know Gaia's link to this, just that there likely is one.
And I am not unreasonably petty. I am willing to put all our animosity behind us and start anew. Even if you are not willing to do the same, I am willing to make this work for us. You have more people to care for than just the Alliance, now. Do not forget them."
"A lot of words that mean nothing."
"Because you heard, but did not listen. Perhaps it will be easier this way, Penny. I want you to win."
"Explain."
"You wish to overthrow the current Sprilnav led order of the galaxy. Your path to that will likely be through mass slave revolt. A viable strategy that I could spread far beyond just this planet. And I actually agree with you. This Judgment, this utter insanity around the Alliance and your species has shown me the truth. The Elders as a class and a species cannot be trusted to rule any longer. We need new leaders. Better leaders."
"And yourself?"
"As the hypocrite that I am, and the power-hungry ruler of the Sprilnav, I would obviously exclude myself from that number. Let's be realistic. The Sprilnav will never accept a non-Elder ruler. If you wish to see what our insurgencies would be like, imagine the 2090s Struggles of Asia. Expand that to billions of planets, large and small. Countless ships and space stations. We have more collective ships than you have people. And as your military planners know, there is no such thing as an unarmed ship. Without us, without me, your plans are stillborn. Your galactic Alliance or whatever you make will fall to pieces without proper counseling. In essence, my offer to you, and you alone, is this. The galaxy, for the Sprilnav."
"Who backs your offer, with the power to give it?"
Progenitors Lecalicus and Nova appeared in the room.
"I back Kashaunta," Lecalicus wheezed.
"I observe her offer, and wish it a proper outcome," Nova said.
"Thank you, esteemed Progenitors," Kashaunta said, standing just to bow to them. Penny stared at Nova, balling her fists.
"There will be time for battle later," he said. "But not now. Hear out her request. She does not make it lightly."
The Progenitors disappeared.
"If I accept your offer, it will be on a written record."
"No. It will not be, because if that record is written, my nation will be facing war on all sides. A better idea would be for us to keep this under wraps."
"Perfect for betrayal," Nilnacrawla muttered.
"It would be, yes. But consider the second part of this situation, Nilncrawla. If word of this galactic offer, not just the Pact, were to get out, which is why two Progenitors who know the price of interference were called here, it would mean the deaths of Penny and all her kind. Or do you forget what rapidly approaches us?"
Nilnacrawla frowned. "I did. I apologize, Penny."
Kashaunta spoke up again.
"Penny. You believe I will betray you. So I make an offer of collateral. An offer so unbelievably sacred for us Elders that many would recoil at the mere thought of it. Now that you have signed a backed treaty, you are fully qualified."
Kashaunta grabbed her Soul Blade and presented it to Penny.
"What does this mean?"
"Nilnacrawla, tell her," Kashaunta said. "She will trust your mouth more than mine."
"Bonded Soul Blades are priceless artifacts," Nilnacrawla said. "To offer one to another is the ultimate gesture of trust and respect among many martial Sprilnav cultures. It can also allow for a mind bridge, a soul pact, or a proposal for marriage between two great houses, martial families, or Elders of great wealth and power. To offer this to a human... to anyone... is an ultimate sign of backing, and one of trust.
It is a sacrosanct honor, the absolute agreement of speaking truth and respect. The words I can use in any human language are insufficient to describe the weight of this honor. This gesture is one of absolute truth. Family lines with hatred going back millions of years would never dare to violate this honor."
"Only one Elder in history did so, one who once led a group known as the Stannic Resistance. He does so no longer. Penny Balica, Champion of Humanity... if there is nothing else I can give you to prove that I do really back you, there is this."
"...Just how low are my chances in the Judgment for you to resort to this?" Penny asked.
"They are not zero, but your battle with be incredibly difficult even with this boon of mine. The future of the galaxy, I now realize, hinges on the outcome of this. If we do not have enough trust, they will sniff it out, and we will fail."
So she had no choice. But as Nilncrawla continued to explain in her mind, Kashaunta was getting the worse side of the deal. Which meant she was throwing her backing behind Penny for real, beyond all reproach and retraction. Kashaunta, the most powerful Elder in the galaxy.
"And if I reject this gift, or your reasons for it?"
"Circumstances would demand that I kill you and then myself using this blade as a way to cut apart the dishonor, before my remains are dumped into a black hole to be forgotten forever. I would not do this."
"A dark and archaic custom," Penny said. She would have said more, but she looked at Nilnacrawla's face. He was clearly deeply uncomfortable. Her five words had shaken him more than anything she'd ever said to him before.
"You do not understand," Nilnacrawla said. "This is not something to joke or lie about. With a Soul Blade Pact in play, all else must cease. Right now, there is you, and there is her. Accept or decline. The choice, your only choice, is yours."
"How will this look to the Elders in the court? To the Sprilnav, and the people who back me?"
She could see how it would be a boon and a curse.
"You, and I," Kashaunta said. "The whole of the universe between us right now is you and I. No others exist until this one act is done. There will be trust or there will be death. No in between. No middle ground. The nature of this bond will be a Pact of Blades."
Conceptual energy swirled between them. Penny's natural translation, as part of the hivemind, failed for the first time ever. Her communicator likewise did not translate the words Kashaunta spoke.
"Eis nama kaste Penny Balica, sun lanci Dorima Kashaunta. Ko'ri, lanci nupa bes na Dorima'Pecunyanova. Sp'rkial'nova. Sun. Homo Sapiens."
The air grew thick with tension. It was not just emotional, either. Psychic and conceptual energy gathered. The mindscape started to distort as more and more eyes began to view Kashaunta and Penny. But all of them were Sprilnav eyes. All of them were Progenitors. Nova's appeared brightest and largest, nearly six times the size of the next largest pair. They stared at her, sending psychic and conceptual energy down upon her in waves that forced her and Kashaunta to kneel to the ground.
"I apologize for my earlier words," Penny said. "I should not have denigrated this."
Penny stood for an hour, deeply contemplating the Pact. If it was as Nilnacrawla was describing to her, it was a promise that Kashaunta would not break. If she was offering it at all, especially to Penny, it meant she had a level of trust in Penny's capability far above what Penny had previously thought. Apparently, there were even higher agreements than this that were possible, with this Pact being the lowest level of bond and considered unbreakable with the enforcement of consequences coming from the Progenitors themselves.
She thought of her place in Justicar and the wider universe. Hours passed like water. And then, by the end of it, after nearly 19 hours, Penny finally had decided. She gave a short nod to Kashaunta, who had been kneeling to Nova all this time.
Kashaunta gestured at the sword. "Tol, nopa shikai."
Nilnacrawla fed her a few suggestions on what she would need to say.
"I come to this Pact seeking peace, justice, and hope," Penny said. "And a promise not to betray one another, by lies or by treachery."
Nilnacrawla translated Kashaunta's next words to her.
"I come to this seeking trust, understanding, respect, and peace," Kashaunta said. "And a promise not to betray one another, by lies or by treachery. I make this Pact before the gods, those who equal them, and those who surpass them. I bind them to an oath of silence regarding this event, until I directly instruct them otherwise, in a state of a sound mind, body, and soul. Here, we shall step into a future that needs both of us, casting aside that which is unimportant to focus on the ultimate goals we have. I offer my Blade to Penny Balica, of species Homo Sapiens. In this way, we forge a new future, and walk a new path. I accept the Pact."
"I accept the Pact."
Nova and a hundred Progenitors descended. Nova grew larger, and Kashaunta knelt to him. Penny remained standing. His sharp teeth glittered in the light. He pressed his claws to Penny's chest, and to Kashaunta's chest.
"The Pact of Blades is made before the Progenitors. We agree to your vow of silence. The penalty of breaking it will be dismemberment and disposal into a black hole. Penny Balica, Engineer Kashaunta. To break this Pact without mutual agreement is to call down our collective wrath upon yourselves. You both have agreed, and are of sound mind, body, and soul. The Pact is forged. By sword, by word, by action. I, Nova, Everlasting, Lord of the Progenitors, King of all Sp'rkial'nova, Heir to the Mantle of Power, Heir to Narvravarana, Progenitor, Elder, and Sprilnav, declare the deed done, etched in time, space, and Reality."
They winked out of existence one by one, leaving Penny and Kashaunta alone, to ponder the future. Penny's thoughts turned to the Judgment, and her confidence she could win it began to waver. How much worse was this Judgment going to be than before?
Penny stared at Kashaunta's Soul Blade. With careful fingers, she took it. Kashaunta sat up, satisfied.
"Now we can begin. I shall compile all the news about you I can find, and we shall see how to address the questions the High Judges will ask. Now that you trust me, I cannot betray you."

Moderator here.
I've seen a handful of posts today about the new Western Rise Voyager collection launching on Kickstarter. These posts have been removed under Rule 6, but I believe that it's a relevant discussion topic for the community, and there's clearly some interest.
While I typically don't want to see Kickstarter projects here, Western Rise is an established brand, not a new start up making a risky Kickstarter offer. They use Kickstarter to manage their major product launches.
Feel free to discuss thoughts on their new line of bags in this post.

Okay, I know they’re basic and boring and not “in” but I have been carrying the Longchamp Le Pliage nylon tote for 6 years. Long shoulder straps, medium size. Why? Because my husband gifted one to me once and it ended up being the most convenient bag (I placed an organizer inside) and since it’s nylon I’ve never felt guilty about throwing it in the back of my car, jamming it into a tiny cubby at work (restaurant and retail jobs), dragging jt to the beach, shoving it under an airplane seat, anything. It’s a good size, straps are great, it zips closed, and it travels well.
The downside is that I’ve gone through 2 because the dang corners rip. And I know they can be fixed once for free, that’s not my point. My point is that now I have a grown up (though work from home) job with grown up money and I want a grown up bag. But realistically I want something that has secure closure, long shoulder straps, and is still relatively the same size and under $500.
I know I could get the leather version of the same bag but I’m not sold on it. What other options do I have for upgrading my bag with a simple design, good for everyday and multipurpose use without being the size of a laptop bag or work bag? I don’t have kids so I don’t need a diaper bag size thing. I want a daily bag that I love that matches everything I wear without thinking about it. I’ll be more delicate with a higher quality bag but I would still like durability to be a factor if possible.

I'm a new player with a mono-Imaginary team, and I was thinking Sunday could be Imaginary/Erudition since there's no Imaginary/Erudition character yet (I feel like Screwllum's gonna be the first of that mix though). Erudition fits with Sunday's character since he's knowledgeable and he has a penchant for research.
Imaginary makes sense since he was in what basically amounts to Imagination Dreamland Theme Park, and he was doing a lot of Imagineering stuff inside the Grand Theater.
However, Nihility (debuffing) could also fit him, since he rejected the Path of Harmony (buffing).
He directly clashed with the ideals of characters who synced with Harmony (i.e. the Trailblazer, the Nameless squad, Robin, and everyone else involved in the power-of-friendship sequence); being a Nihility character would give him further poetic contrast with Robin in terms of characterization and gameplay.
Story-wise, he was already inflicting debuffs on people. He "debuffed" Aventurine with a death curse, causing Aventurine extreme pain and intense hallucinations.
And imprisoning millions of people in a forever dream, basically robbing them of free will, and putting their reality on stasis...is arguably putting a debuff on those people, in a similar way to how Kafka's "Dominate" is a debuff.
So Sunday could have mind control, mental/emotional pain, dream trapping, and/or hallucinations as his unique debuffs if his kit is Nihility. His abilities might revolve around causing enemies to confuse their allies as enemies, or cause DoT via psychically shocking enemies with nightmarish hallucinations.
Emotion-wise, Sunday could be having an existential crisis after his all the Oak family's effort, scheming, and planning were all for nothing in the end.
He dedicated his whole life to Order, he attained godlike power, and he almost ascended to an Aeon...only for it all to brought down to zero.
His disillusionment with Order, and going from godlike being to back to being a mortal...could make him emotionally aligned with Nihility.
Finally, we can look at the pattern of new character releases for a clue:

1. ⚡ Acheron - Nihility
2. 🧠 Aventurine - Preservation
3. 👊🏻 Robin - Harmony
4. 👊🏻 Boothill - The Hunt
5. 🔥 Sam/Firefly - Destruction
6. ⚛️ Jade - Erudition
7. ❓???? - Abundance
8. ❓???? - Nihility

Assuming he's releasing on 2.5 and this pattern holds, he's either Abundance or Nihility. Maybe Ice or Wind if Mihoyo's not spamming elements.
Mihoyo has a Male/Imaginary/Yang, Female/Quantum/Yin pattern going on, so it would be interesting if Sunday breaks the pattern by being the first male Quantum.
Whatever the case, whatever his element or Path, Sunday will be on my team. Sunday will be ours. Sunday will become our Everyday.
Praise Sunday, and may Sunday become Everyday.
(All that said, I'd like to know what you all think Sunday's Path and Element will be, while we're all waiting for leaks).

My wife and I have been together for 15 years and through it all I have seen her get screwed over by women friends time and time again. She has a good heart, wants to help everyone and has nothing but good things to say about everyone. Yet her choice of friends somehow always turn out being chaotic trauma dumpsters filled with envy and jealousy.
For context, the ex-BFF in this story (we’ll call her Sarah since that’s what autocorrected when I typed “aitah”) and her have been friends since childhood. Sarah had a rough childhood and my wife’s family always took her in, took her on vacations and they were inseparable for many years. At times in HS, they had their falling outs of course and so on every 4-6 years after HS. Something would come up, Sarah would say something mean to my wife and they’d not talk for a year. Then, she’d come back in to her life. My wife rationalizes this as a friendship cycle which I would agree with except for the patterns and toxicity Sarah exhibits in her own life as well as others. She tends to gossip about others, has made some questionable decisions in her own marriage and most everything she complains or bitches about is purely conjecture and projection. She loves to stick a knife in your back and twist it as hard as she can when she’s feeling vindictive and many of her old peer group have many unkind things to say about her unbeknownst to her. Yet, my wife likes to see the best in people as well as being someone who can be influenced out of fear or intimidation (which Sarah has done many times).
Sarah’s attributes:
— Demonstrates deep seated resentment and jealousy towards my wife. Wife is kind, a complete bombshell and comes from a generous family. Sarah attempts to control her, makes lewd comments about her breast being too big and then gets breast implants herself, do as I say, not as I do mentality.
—Infidelity and the communication for the desire to leave her husband many times over.
—Sends my wife novels complaining about her relationship, co-workers and friends expecting full support and attention to her concerns; wife can’t get her to reciprocate about simple conversation, vent about her stresses taking care of our autistic children and the loneliness she feels just wanting friends.
—Throws her psychology degree and her accomplishments in my wife’s face when my wife is just trying to vent about her day, boasting of freedom and date nights (no kids)
—Boasts about going to their friends places for the weekend that is close to us (we live 3.5hrs a part) and taking trips, but never committing or trying to make an effort to see my wife for any meetups (or cancelling when we head down to my in-laws where they live).
I could go on, but I’ll continue with the situation….
(Philosophical conflict that I’m thinking about breaking out of spite)
My wife and I have been through hell and back in our lives. And out of each situation we overcome, I’ve stressed to her over time that situation dumping personal information about us to others will, over time, create a confirmation bias with her audience. I’ve seen it a million times in real life, on Reddit, everywhere. When there is a personal connection (friends) between two or more people, a singular narrative seen through the lens of one person is taken as the end all/be all truth and bad advice and information is suggested. So while you and your SO have worked out whatever issue you had and moved on, you can bet your ass the friend(s) you anger dumped on have indexed the instance in their databases, recollecting it when they need a topical punching bag in conversation amongst others and to slowly start suggesting relationship advice out of the resentment they feel by proxy from temporary issues you have since reconciled.
Unless it’s detrimental to your life, children’s lives or is a legal matter, I’m a staunch believer in people working out their marital issues amicably, peacefully and privately.
(Mother’s Day Drama) We are enjoying Mother’s Day. My boys and I are pampering mom, taking all duties off of her bc damnit she deserves it. Wish it was an entire weekend.
After cleaning, taking the kids out to get some cookies and then getting ready to make her dinner, she comes walking into the room, eyes red, crying and saying “I lost my best friend again”. She then proceeded to show me a one message text blaming my wife for something that she never clarified. It was cryptic stating: “I know what you were hoping I would never find out. Someone told me the desperate stuff you attempted even though we are such good friends, right”. It goes on to say that this why karma has come so hard for her in her life and she’ll pray for her. Sarah didn’t write anything else, blocked her on everything and just cut her out of her life like nothing. My wife is devastated and we still don’t know the full story of what she heard, just that it was something from high school 20+ years ago! And apparently she heard it earlier and waited until Mother’s Day to contact my wife.
Now y’all, you must understand, my wife and I have access to each other’s digital footprint on everything and have absolutely zero to hide from one another. I’m in IT and deal mainly with security and ethical hacking. I can say unequivocally that my wife has not stepped out or done anything, whatsoever. Furthermore, the text mentioned “Karma coming so hard for her” and the only thing she is referring to with this statement is us having children on the spectrum with in being more severe than the others, and not having “normal” children. And come to find out, this is some rumor Sarah heard from a mutual childhood friend about my wife back in HIGHSCHOOL and it wasn’t even true. Yet, she has the audacity to contact my wife on Mother’s Day and acts so righteous, tearing my wife’s world apart.
I literally want to download all of the text messages about her coworkers she talked shit about, her husband she didn’t want to be with and the drugging she does and send it to the school where she works and her husband anonymously to make her experience her own karma for the pain, anguish and loneliness she’s put my wife through on Mother’s Day and for the past 15 years. I most likely won’t, but shit, this woman has some bad juju coming her way. AITAH for feeling this way?
P.S. Please leave some comments of hope and inspiration for my wife so I can show her the world is still a good place filled with good people outside of her old childhood friends that are toxic AF.

My wife and I use the Huckleberry app to track our baby's sleep periods. Although the free version of the app allows you to view a number of sleep-related metrics, I also wanted to see whether his longest nightly sleep stretches were getting longer over time. Therefore, I created a Python project that reads in data from Huckleberry (or a separate custom .csv file); analyzes its sleep information; and then produces a number of visualizations.
The project's readme has instructions on using the code to track your own baby's sleep data. It's released under the open-source MIT license, so you are welcome to use and modify it for free.
Personally, I've found that running the code and viewing its output helps reassure me that our baby is making progress with sleep, even if he seems to have some setbacks now and then! I hope you'll find it useful as well in evaluating the effectiveness of your sleep training approach.
(Note: The sample data shown within the project is completely made up using another Python script, and is not meant to reflect normal sleep patterns in infants.)

My wife and I use the Huckleberry app to track our baby's sleep periods. Although the free version of the app allows you to view a number of sleep-related metrics, I also wanted to see whether his longest nightly sleep stretches were getting longer over time. Therefore, I created a Python project that reads in data from Huckleberry (or a separate custom .csv file); analyzes its sleep information; and then produces a number of visualizations.
The project's readme has instructions on using the code to track your own baby's sleep data. It's released under the open-source MIT license, so you are welcome to use and modify it for free.
Personally, I've found that running the code and viewing its output helps reassure me that our baby is making progress with sleep, even if he seems to have some setbacks now and then! I hope you'll find it useful as well in evaluating the effectiveness of your sleep training approach.
(Note: The sample data shown within the project is completely made up using another Python script, and is not meant to reflect normal sleep patterns in infants.)

(24F) From winning academic competitions in high school, to ranking 11th in a class of 1000 without trying (felt like a sham), to scoring a 1510 on my SAT with a vague idea of what would be on it prior to sitting, to graduating magna cum laude with a B.S. in mathematics, minors in French and economics, and research and leadership roles under my belt (while balancing a bad 🍃 habit), etc., I can confidently say that academic success came with ease. I’ve been working to save up for grad school. Thus far, I’m doing well in my job. I’m taking on new projects, all of which lie outside of my immediate job description. I’m taking over the roles of my superiors when they’re out. Good stuff.
But OH MY GOD. Off paper, I’m a mess. Typing this out, I see 7 fast food bags from the past couple of months sitting in my immediate vicinity. Grocery bags litter the floor. There’s a month + old tortilla chip bag right in front of me. I’m not sure when I last showered. I have months of unopened mail piling up on my table. Dirty dishes get reused throughout the week. I don’t eat nearly enough. The only things I’m good about doing habitually are brushing my teeth, flossing, and doing laundry. I have been struggling to study for exam FM (sitting in august) because I don’t find it interesting. I am supposed to be studying in the small amount of free time I have before and after work (or cleaning, quite frankly), but I’ve been writing a blog about the American tendency toward political extremism in recent years.
I was diagnosed at 21, and recently resumed medication (took me 1.5 years to see a doctor). With medication, studying has become easier, and I can SEE all of my immediate issues with cleanliness. But I can’t force myself to DO anything about it. I was told I’d be a lawyer, engineer, doctor, etc., but I’m living like a guy who spends all of his time on 4chan and pisses in Mountain Dew bottles.
Please tell me I’m not alone.

My locker (which had a lock on it) was broken into today at the Brock gym change rooms around 6-8pm. Even though it was locked, they took my cash and card info and rummaged through EVERYTHING in my locker and bag. DO NOT TRUST ANYTHING IN THAT LOCKER ROOM!! I reported it to campus security but that can’t do anything unless it’s a pattern. Also if the person that stole my stuff is reading this, I hope you sleep well at night taking the last money I had to my name and my and my cat’s food for the next week and a half. When I’m starving, I’ll be thinking about this.

One of the area where, IMO, the tv show has done the biggest disservice compared to both the book and Japan History, is the way Blackthorn was systematically downplayed. Because of that, these forums are full of tv show fans rightfully puzzled at some of the tv show internal logic. Why would Toranaga ally himself with just another Gaigin? Why did the real life counterpart to Blackthorn, Wiliam Adams, became a trusted advisor for Tokugawa Ieyasu (Toranaga's counterpart in History) if he was just another sailor?
To rectify this perception, I'd like to share with you these small excerpt from the book, explaining to the reader the importance and immense knowledge of Pilots in Europan 1600s :
​

He knew they were all afraid of him, even the Captain-General, and that most hated him. But that was normal, for it was the pilot who commanded at sea; it was he who set the course and ran the ship, he who brought them from port to port.
Any voyage today was dangerous because the few navigational charts that existed were so vague as to be useless. And there was absolutely no way to fix longitude. “Find how to fix longitude and you’re the richest man in the world,” his old teacher, Alban Caradoc, had said. Out of sight of land you’re always lost, lad.” Caradoc had paused and shaken his head sadly at him as always. “You’re lost, lad. Unless …”
“Unless you have a rutter!” Blackthorne had shouted happily, knowing that he had learned his lessons well. He was thirteen then and had already been apprenticed a year to Alban Caradoc, pilot and shipwright, who had become the father he had lost, who had never beaten him but taught him and the other boys the secrets of shipbuilding and the intimate way of the sea.
A rutter was a small book containing the detailed observation of a pilot who had been there before. It recorded magnetic compass courses between ports and capes, headlands and channels. It noted the sounding and depths and color of the water and the nature of the seabed. It set down the how we got there and how we got back: how many days on a special tack, the pattern of the wind, when it blew and from where, what currents to expect and from where; the time of storms and the time of fair winds; where to careen the ship and where to water; where there were friends and where foes; shoals, reefs, tides, havens; at best, everything necessary for a safe voyage.
But a rutter was only as good as the pilot who wrote it, the scribe who hand-copied it, the very rare printer who printed it, or the scholar who translated it. A rutter could therefore contain errors. Even deliberate ones. A pilot never knew for certain until he had been there himself. At least once.
At sea the pilot was leader, sole guide, and final arbiter of the ship and her crew. Alone he commanded from the quarterdeck.

​
The book also explains that Pilots were raised as apprentice by another pilot master, working for them for at least 12 years to learn the trade:

"You’re apprenticed for twelve years. You’ve ten more to go and then you’re free. But until that time, until 1588, you’ll learn how to build ships and how to command them—you’ll obey Alban Caradoc, Master Shipwright and Pilot and Member of Trinity House, or you’ll never have a license. And if you don’t have a license, you’ll never pilot any ship in English waters, you’ll never command the quarterdeck of any English ship in any waters because that was good King Harry’s law, God rest his soul."

So no, despite the tv show attempt at depicting Blackthorn as just another sailor, he was actually an incredibly gifted pilot, speaking 5 languages (dutch,portuguese, Spanish and Latin in addition to English), with a huge knowledge of history, politics, navigation, religion, war, trade, shipbuilding and the leader of the expedition of 5 ships with a total of 460 men that sailed for Magellan's pass and of which one ship and a mere 16 men arrived to shipwreck in Japan.

I’ve wanted a Cricut for years, and my best friend's bachelorette trip to Montreal was the perfect excuse to finally make the plunge (plus a helpful redditor on this page who alerted me to a super sale on Explore 2 machines that Target had last month!). Since it's in Montreal, I tried to add French touches, with the overall theme being ribbons, pearls, bubbles, etc.
Used Cricut Explore 2 to make the projects in these pictures: Hangover recovery kit, wine charms on tags cut/drawn using Cricut, HTV for custom koozies, letter sign (will punch holes to hang from string), and shadow text monograms on permanent vinyl for personalized pool bags.
I learned a lot on this project through a TON of trial and error on each of these projects, so please feel free to AMA! Materials used below.
Hangover Kit: Siser Easyweed Vinyl, bags from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BGQRC6JR?psc=1&ref=ppx_yo2ov_dt_b_product_details
Wine Charm Tags: 110lb card stock, and a 1pt black marker to draw (but left it on the fine point pen setting to keep the text thin.
Koozies: Siser Easyweed HTV, neoprene koozies from Amazon (quality was good not great, might try a different brand next time: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07S9LZH1L?psc=1&ref=ppx_yo2ov_dt_b_product_details
Letter sign: Cut two layers and pasted together, one on 110lb white cardstock base, and one on 275g gold cardstock: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CRYYJ4JW?psc=1&ref=ppx_yo2ov_dt_b_product_details
Pool bags: Siser Easyweed Permanent Vinyl, on Waterproof Mesh Zipper Bags from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09Z2JKGQC?psc=1&ref=ppx_yo2ov_dt_b_product_details

I just bagged up a bunch and gave them to my flock. They loved them, and it was a joy to watch them run around and chase each other for em. Free protein treats!

I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
“Fuck,” I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Ray’s case started at two o’clock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.” I’d wanted to tell Angela about Ray’s case, and how I was sorry that I hadn’t wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then I’d gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. She’d slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didn’t realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, “I fucked up,” I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Rowe’s office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
“I’m a goddamn genius,” I said as I strolled into the older man’s office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaron’s office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that he’d been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
“What have you done now?” he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
“I’m a genius,” I said.
“Oh dear. Have a seat.”
“No really, I am. I’m a genius. I got this case that everyone says you can’t win, but I’m gonna win it, and when I do, I’m gonna look like a genius.” Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
“Whenever you tell me you’re a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think you’re going to win by genius alone.”
“Let me tell you why I’m a goddamn genius.” With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
“Tell me why you’re a genius,” Cecil-Rowe said, “while I pour us a coffee.” He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. “Speak,” he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Co’s motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Ray’s place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Ray’s story to full effect.
“Obviously Ray is dead on arrival,” he said, “but I guess this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to win.”
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didn’t have the desired effect. “I told ya I’m a genius, Mr. C,” cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
“You can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.”
“No way,” I said, “not a chance. I got this thing won hands down. I’m gonna kick ass in court today and--”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if you don’t have evidence?”
“What?”
“Evidence, Calledinthe9os. It’s what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.”
“But I’m gonna win without proof. I don’t need proof. The argument I’m gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--” Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
“Stop right there. I know what’s coming. You’re going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.”
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didn’t have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didn’t have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
“You got it,” I said, “judicial notice all the way.”
“You’re going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you don’t need proof.”
“Exactly,” I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
“If that’s true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?”
“Oh, I said,”I didn’t think of that.”
“It is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. It’s just too risky.”
“But how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?”
“Worry about that after you leave my office. I can’t help you with that. What I want to know, is why you’re doing this at the last minute.”
“What makes you think I’m doing this at the last minute?”
“Because you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If you’d opened this case a bit earlier, you’ve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. You’ve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.” Cecil-Rowe didn’t extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
“My idiot cousin Ray’s been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wife’s mad at me, and if I don’t win this case, I’m dead. Plus her dad’s mad at me too and --” My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angela’s anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
“Yes?” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Sorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?”
“You have a problem that’s worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You don’t have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.”
“Exactly. How do I get paid? That’s the problem.” I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldn’t spend it on me. Instead, he’d go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that he’d lost.
“Now that’s a problem I can solve,” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Really? ‘Cause I can’t see a way around it. I think I’m gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.” Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
“You may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, you’ll win pretty good.”
“How? Ray’s a deadbeat. Tapped out.”
“But is he desperate?”
“Totally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, he’s taking family money with him, and he’ll be the black sheep forever.”
“And he’s using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?’
“Like no shit. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I’m like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.”
“Never fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.” He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. “Fill in the blanks, and have him sign.”
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. “Holy shit. If he signs this, he’s almost my slave.”
“Close, but not quite” Cecil-Rowe said, “the Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"”. It’s the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.” Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
“Awesome, Mr. C. I’ll call you from Commercial Court when we’re done.”
“Commercial Court?” he said.
“Yeah, Commercial Court.”
“This just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, you’ll get savaged.”
“That’s what happened to Ray when--”
“Take notes, young apprentice,” he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didn’t have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Ray’s restaurant. No answer. Then I called Ray’s house. I expected to get Ray’s wife, but the man himself answered.
“You’re not at work. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Sy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.”
“You gotta fax machine at home?” He did, and asked why.
“I’m taking your case, but only if you sign the paper I’m about to send and fax it back.” I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“Sorry, Mrs. M, but I’m in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.”
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Not here?”
“He’s on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s the club?”
“He’s walking there,” she said, and pointed down the street.
“Thanks.” I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an “Opening Soon” sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
“Hey, Dr. M,” I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didn’t see me, not at first.
“It’s me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.” He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
“Is something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?”
“No, no not at all, sorry to scare you, it’s nothing like that. I need your help.”
“Oh.” He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
“Listen, I really need your help.”
“And I really need to get to a bridge game.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ray.” That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than he’d been the night before.
“Did you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Ray’s case?”
“I mean it,” I said, “I can win Ray’s case. I can prove it in a few words.”
“Prove it, then.” So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
“I understand,” he said, “you’ve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.”
“I want to win Ray’s case, but I don’t have any proof of what I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to prove that two plus two is four.”
“This, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.”
“I can’t do that. I didn’t witness anything.”
“As my witness. My expert witness.” Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
“My bridge partner won’t be very happy,” he said.
“But Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--”
“Very well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.”
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
“I’m so happy that you made things up with my father,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“My mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.”
“He’s with me right now,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To court. Going to court to win Ray’s case for him.”
“And you brought my father with you to watch?” She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. “That’s a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, I’m sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dad’s a bit too sensitive and--”
“Sorry, Angela, your dad’s not coming to watch me.”
“Why is he with you, then?”
“He’s my witness,” I said.
“What?”
“His expert witness,” Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wife’s anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
“Look,’ I said, “I promise you that--” And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. I’d learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
“I’m going to steal that move,” Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
“Commercial Court is an exclusive club,” Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, “the legal playground of the rich and powerful. They’ll know instantly that you’re not one of them.” And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
“First time in Commercial Court?” he said, eyeing my robes. “You know you don’t have to be robed in Commercial Court.” In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
“You’re here on the Sy-Co case?” a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
“Just got retained,” I said.
“You know there’s no adjournments, right? We don’t do adjournments in Commercial Court. I’m just trying to be helpful, because I don’t think you've been here before. You know you don’t have to be robed, right?
“So I heard.”
“So where’s your material? You haven’t served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?”
“I gotta witness,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s no viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.”
“We’ll see what the judge says.” There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judge’s chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasn’t wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
“Commercial Court’s not like other courts,” Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a man’s business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
“You don’t need robes in Commercial Court,” the judge said to me.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.
“What case are you on?”
I told him.
“He’s filed no responding materials,” my opponent said, “nothing at all.”
“I’m just vetting the list,” the judge said, “I’ll circle back to you two in a few minutes.” I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
“Back to you,” the judge said, addressing my opponent, “I thought this was an uncontested matter. That’s what your confirmation sheet said.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but I didn’t know until I got here that the case was defended.”
“I got retained at the last minute,” I said, “barely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But I’m ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.”
Opposing counsel was on her feet. “That’s not how things are done in Commercial Court,” she said, “or any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (that’s what they make lawyers call each other in court, ‘my friend,’ even though you might hate the other guy’s guts),” the lawyer said, “my friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, he’s taken us totally by surprise.”
“I’m sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,” I said, “but then consider, it’s my client’s livelihood that’s at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewu’s business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, I’d like to call evidence.”
The judge didn’t consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
“How long will your witness take, counsel?”
“In chief, ten minutes.” I’d practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
“We’ve got about two hours,” the judge said, “but I want to be fair to you and your client. Let’s take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.”
When everyone came back, the junior’s boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so that’s the title I’ll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. “If you’re calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.” His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that they’d thought of a way to one up me.
Except that they’d done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
“Just a few questions,” I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
“This serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and there’s no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and that’s in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.”
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
“Have a look at that map in your affidavit,” I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
“What do you notice about this map?”
“That it’s accurate,” the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
“You will notice that the map is flat,” I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
“Of course it’s flat. That’s what maps are. Maps are flat.”
“But the earth is round,” I said, “or more properly, a sphere.” Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“What you’ll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earth’s curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.”
“But that can’t be by very much.”
“In this case, by just over twenty meters,” Dr. M said from the back of the court.
“That’s my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.” I didn’t actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But I’m not going to use the real names of my family here, so I’ll just keep calling him Dr. M. “Dr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.”

• * * *

It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. M’s mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
“I’m not going to reserve, and I don’t think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. I’ll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, I”ll be back to render my decision.” He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judge’s chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. “Fill in the blanks, and sign,” I said.
Dr. M’s head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
“What’s this?” Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
“Minutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then we’re done.” Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
“You know your client’s going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we don’t have much time.”
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winner’s legal fees. That’s the way it’s been since forever, and I think it’s a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Ray’s costs, and Ray’s costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
I’ll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasn’t a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something I’d actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success I’d had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
“Add a zero,” I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. “I know what’s going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.” The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, it’s an old story. It’s how some franchise companies make money. “Your client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Ray’s gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people you’ve fucked.”
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
“We get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They don’t have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.”
“It’s true that Ray doesn’t have jack shit,” I said, “not a pot to piss in, but he’s my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesn’t have money, he’s got me. Ray’s family, and for Ray, I’ll sue you guys for free. Hell, I’ll even pay the expenses. Plus I’m gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, ‘cause juries--”
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
“You’ll have to initial the change,” I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
“Don’t forget,” I said the moment his pen stopped moving, “for the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” the Head said.
“Not if you want the settlement to stay in place. I’ll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.”

• * * *

“What’s this?” my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after I’d driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
“It’s an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,” I said, “although no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--”
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
“My mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.”
“Yup,” I said. I had certainly done that. I’d made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when he’d heard those words.
“And you won Ray’s case, too. But my mom didn’t know how, and I don’t know how you did it either.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight,” I said.
“But we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a baby’s coming.”
I passed her the envelope that I’d received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say “oh my god,” to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
“Does this mean we can buy a house?” The money wouldn’t be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but I’ll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
“I think so,” I said.

I thought of someone getting hit by a car, in the parking lot the other day. The next day my mom informed did I hear about the accident in the parking lot someone got hit.
And I thought about Kate Upton yesterday as well. And now there is a news article I saw today that said Kate Upton is back.
I'm not sure if this relates to solipsism.
But let's put it this way, everyone else is just a actor in your world your reality. Maybe the other people are real, but a copy that exist in your reality.
Much like when we dream, those who you dreams of are not real, but oddly enough that is solipsism in action. Only your mind is sure to be exist in the dream state not the people in your dreams.
There is this other term called Somber.
Which means people have their own lives at are just as complicated and so on.
So like what is somber and what is not? Could be a way to describe it debunked solipsism.
The other thing is my brain just likes to recognize patterns so it just that, that's happening.
But I I did study rational thinking and we just need to pose a experiment to test the theories in having.
Basically I'm supposing what I say comes true. Well more so it manifest in a way.
But I dont intentionally think these things I feel to say them and say it.
But idk
Money will be found soon.
So cuz I said that money will be found soon. Not by me or could be by me but to someone it will occur.
Where I'm getting at is I thought this all before
But the difference to now is the fact my mom told me if a incident that happen that I thought about a day prior.
So I'm stating that what you say can influence reality around you.
And if you know anything about quantum mechanics nothing is determined until measured it say observed.
So you very well exist and not exist at the same time which does happen. It's called superposition.
If I were to say how this happens is thoughts do control us.
Meaning not like thinking in words but thought power is what moves your fingers and legs.
But also perceptions and fears do triggers responses that are body acts out due to its instincts.
I do think the body and mind is different.
Your body is capable of much more than the mind gives the body credit for.
The other thing that needs to be addressed is free will and religion.
Religion makes us think we are special. But thinking as we do, is what makes us special, apes are capable of sign language and so on as well.
What is to be experience by other creatures should be brought into question.
I'm glad to be born a human.
But we are animals, when it's cold we cuddle blankets we procreate just the same and so on but we do have higher faculty of thought it's apparent but also not
Many experiements on rats or mice, does show up in society. It's quite interesting.
They did a population experiment and mice created social groups, much like we have now.
Umm actually maybe it's not just my mind exist
But natures of things do exist that is not clear mathematical science or physics
For instance emotions are present in many other creatures not just humans
They are clearly observed and are real.cats being scared can clearly be observed
But I guess is the mind of others real beyond their natures?
But idk
We are more alike than we are different.
Hmm
Much like how doormats exist and are often dictated by others telling them what to do and so on.
Maybe there is spiritual ether that dictates others. And that's the solipsism I was describing.
It's kind of like I'm saying I'm god, technically if I say let their be rain. Even as a joke and unexpected rainfall happens in your city or on the news somewhere
Then maybe I am god and you are a actor in my world.
I'm joking.
All in all it's just probabilities and pattern recognition that's happening by that I mean it you play chess, often a experience player is thinking 12 moves ahead, to checkmate you.
So like if you don't think considerably about the future and what you do and know everything will feel like a coincidence. But there is a law of nature by that I mean reasonable probablity if you jump off a cliff you will die if it's to high up.
So it's not expectful to thinks people will be jumping off cliffs.
The other thing is creative minds create movies false worlda and so on, and only a midnight that is exist should be able to do such a thing.
The other thing Is societies have influences, modern world people do die by heart attacks because of all the fast food we eat
That would happen less if food was healthier.

So, having found my way back to the wars after a long hiatus that has seen the fragmentation of my lance, the death of our war master and the birth of my children who wish to fight the clan scum along side Dad I have found myself in a somewhat unique'ish situation.
In the intervening decades I went and got myself trained as a 2d/3d draftsman and somehow acquired the skills and tools necessary to create sprawling environments.
The rub comes that we, my lance and I, were never into tabletop or miniatures, it was all hex graphing notebooks, tokens and "your imagination". And so, I am somewhat lacking in how do hexmaps "do".
So with a hex being 30m flat to flat, that yeilds ~780m² (technically 779.4229 but I'm willing to chalk it up to metrology error) per hex; the physics of a battlemech sharing a hex with infantry and mechanized infantry, armor and artillery etc makes sense: they are where the legs aren't but how many fit in a hex? Not like a breaching stack but how do we handle two friendly mechs transiting a hex, say the mouth of a canyon.
Next up, unlike our bubble verse timeline where we developed rectilinear architectural and grid based Cartesian mapping systems, I have to only assume that in the BT bubble, they developed a hexalinear system because why else would there be hexagonal natural features (unless of course the whole hexagonal water thing IS true?!?) and hexagonal building systems etc. I cannot see a system where 30m wide roads are the norm so do you all just develop a "square" urban/suburban/industrial space and lay a hex grid over it?
To tie this all together I have the capacity to do civil drafting in Autocad in 2d from a plan view, add elevation isolines and do some elevation extrusion to create actual terrain and/or create a simplified land form with a corresponding elevation profile, say a long run of valley flanked by hills and plains. Additionally, an urban system is simple enough to do on a NY grid, DC radian grid or even an old world grape bunch plan. Biome can likewise be shown via hatch patterns & colors and the whole thing could be displayed simply with iso lines for elevations on an E sheet.
Many jumps in the past I found that a number of coworkers were involved with the SCA and we did some work together which culminated in the preparation of a D&D hex map in plywood scaled to their miniatures and using model railroad trees etc. it was a mountain with valleys and some plains with forests all fitted to a folding ping-pong table. I'd love to do something like that again but I don't have free access to a cnc router and a growing pile of off fall anymore, I can schedule and pay for it but baby steps, gotta see how deep the lads wish to go first.

When it comes to relationships, facing an abusive ex can stir up a mix of emotions. Even though they may have mistreated you emotionally or otherwise, there's often a lingering sense that they still have something to offer outside of romance. Maybe they have skills or connections that could be beneficial for things like finding a job or navigating other areas of life that aren't related to dating. So, the idea of staying friends with them might cross your mind. After all, if there's no romantic involvement, what's the harm, right?
What should you do if your abusive ex wants to be friends? Do you just say yes, become friends again, and start talking every day?
The answer is always no. There's no other option, especially if someone hurt you or crossed your boundaries during your relationship. Just because the relationship is over doesn't mean they won't do it again. It's still the same person, just in a different context. The best thing to do when moving on from a relationship is to forget about them first. Clinging to them only keeps you stuck in the past. If you keep in touch, it's easy to slip back into old habits, like flirting. So, if someone asks to be your friend, just say no or block them and focus on yourself. Even if you agree to be friends, they won't truly be there for you like a real friend would be.
A friend is someone you trust, but you know you can't trust that person. So, what's the point of being friends with them? In reality, your authentic self doesn't truly want to be friends with them. But sometimes, you might cling to the idea of friendship because you fear missing them or hold onto hope that they'll change. This hope often leads to a common scenario: believing that by staying close, you can monitor their change and possibly reconcile.
It never works out that way. In fact, the more you cling to them, the more you hurt yourself, making it easier for them to draw you back into the same unhealthy cycle. Yes, you may feel lonely, and the relationship might have caused you to isolate from friends, but your ex, especially if they were abusive, shouldn't be the person you are considering as a friend. Instead, it's crucial to let go, say no, or block them. Don't entertain any opportunities they present because they'll likely continue to manipulate and control you. They'll see that you're still available as a fallback if their other relationships fail, and that's not a position you want to be in.
If you agree to be "friends," they'll likely manipulate you. You might end up being their emotional support when things aren't going well for them. Feeling sympathetic, you might open your door and let them back into your life. They're aware of your weaknesses and vulnerabilities, making it hard for you to keep them away.
If you're truly considering being friends with them, make sure you've done the necessary work first. That means understanding your own boundaries and healing from past wounds and negative beliefs about yourself. Once you've achieved that, you'll approach all your relationships from a place of wholeness, not from a sense of lacking or fear.
Note from the Author
If you’re ready and you’d like my help with healing, finding peace in life and breaking free from these toxic patterns, then you can book a FREE BREAKTHROUGH CALL with me HERE. Happy healing 💙💙. Feel free to share and comment! Use this information with caution, it comes from my own thoughts & bias, experiences and research😊.