Eight kinds of verbs
A community for discussions pertaining to the Norwegian language and for students of it.
2012.07.12 18:07 Resvore A community for discussions pertaining to the Norwegian language and for students of it.
A community focused on discussions related to the Norwegian language. It is also a place to discuss the language at large and for the kinds of submissions that elaborate on the reasons why we're interested in Norwegian. Everyone is welcome to join us! 🇳🇴
2014.03.16 05:12 Reno Nevada Subreddit
2024.05.18 23:29 The-Mr-E Walk Me Home: Dating a Monster Girl - Part 13 - Eyescraper
SYNOPSIS: Walking your OP monster girlfriend home is easy. No one messes with you. Getting back to your house on your own? That's the tricky part.
What's worse than an eldritch building? How 'bout a bigger one?
First Previous (See NEXT>> in comments)
Chapter Cover Art (From Mood Writing Sample)
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Norman took one look at the towering building to his left. Then he took off.
.
.
The new hunting cry boomed through his body. It was much louder than the first building’s, albeit shorter, like a tap on the shoulder from a titan proclaiming its presence to the world.
Of course, the tap of a titan could flatten a man.
Norman fell. His legs had simply stopped working. Jaws clenched, he forced his will into wobbly muscles. His palms slammed into the waterlogged street, stopping the fall. With a sharp push, he sprang back to his feet and ran on.
Norman yanked out the remaining two flash grenades on the go, strung them together, armed and drew back for a throw.
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.
.
That quick boom pounded through him. His fingers faltered. The flash grenades slipped from his grip and fell. He was still recovering from the sound when they went off at his feet. The nightsight filtered the flash, so he didn’t go blind. He’d gutted the flash grenade’s speakers, so he didn’t go deaf. The peeping building could deafen him all on its own … no, this wasn’t a peeping building. He’d slew a peeping building. They were small fries by comparison.
This was an eyescraper.
Tentacles the width of busses unsheathed from its sides. Even if he’d managed to launch the grenades and bathe it in smitelight, he suspected that wouldn’t be enough.
Norman sliced at its eyes with a focused beam. It barely flinched. Maybe if it got close enough, he could affect it a bit. By then, it would be too late.
Throbbing chuffs thundered from the monster. It sounded like a laugh.
Norman shot it a defiant glare. He bolted. Not fast enough. He could feel the giant closing in. So, he moved faster. Then faster, and still faster. His muscles blared their warnings. Rain lashed his face. He felt the air begin to resist his movements as he reached a speed at which it mattered. It was in his way, so he pushed through it too. No one was there to tell him he was moving far faster than any human known to history. All he cared about was hearing that thing fall behind him, and so it did. The tremours of its tremendous movements grew fainter.
At the end of the street, an apartment building came into view. Norman threw himself against it, climbing with the reckless abandon of a madman. He was halfway to the top.
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His grip went limp. He fell. Struck the ground. His head bounced. The world grew fu...z z y.
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“̸̼͔̖̜̫͍͚̊́̽͆̓̂̋̋͐̕Ģ̴̢͕͉̯̺̗̖͔͙̪͓̻̯̫̭̙̱͕̠̭̩̌M̸̨̧̘̟̹̖̻̲͍̭͓͉̰͙̦̣̜͉̻̎̅͗̇̈́̈̏͌̓̾̀̈̈́͜M̵̢̢̖̯̦͍͕̝̯̥̹̪̠̥̰̝̖̊͛̀̇͜!̵̢̡̡͚͕̘̟͕̥̦̪͆̈́̿͆!̴̛̹͈̜̥͔̬͎̪̩͚̦̯̟̘̩̰̳̍̑̂́̌͌̎́̒͋̽̿̑͌͝͝!̴̛̥͕̪͂̂̂̈̓͆͗̇̄̈́̌̅̎͂̕̚̕͝͠”̷̧̧̛̠̝̰̞̘͙̥̖͎̭̞̜̳̟̓͆̌̊̃̔́͒͋̇̈́͘̚͠͝ͅ
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Oh, right. There was a skyscraper running him down. To think he lived in a world where that made any sense. He rubbed his throbbing head. It was hard to think, though.
In two twos he jumped onto the side of the building and kept going up and up without breaking the momentum of the leap. Adrenaline had challenged gravity. Gravity lost. There was no pause to assess handholds. There was no rain stinging his face. In his mind, there was only ‘CLIMB, CLIMB, CLIMB!’ Crest the rooftop. ‘RUN, RUN, RUN!’ Descend the other side ‘JUMP!’ Gravity greedily reclaimed Norman, dragging him 4 storeys down at breakneck speed. He hit the ground in a parkour roll. Bruised a bone. Nearly fractured a shoulder. Wrenched his spine. Joints, muscle, ligaments almost popped. They didn’t.
He was running again.
Norman had never heard a building shred like paper. He’d never thought to wonder what it sounded like.
*( ( BMMM! ) ) ( ( BMM! ) ) ( ( BOOM! ) ) *
Those booms … was it the eyescraper’s tentacles breaking the sound barrier, or punching holes through the apartment building? Maybe both. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was tearing the building in two with the ease of one parting curtains. Buildings were not designed to be parted. Two became legions as the sundered building collapsed.
Norman rushed for an abandoned truck, slid beneath the trailer. Not quite fast enough. Most of the rubble didn’t reach him directly, but upon hitting the ground? It pulverised into a blast of cloud like a sandstorm. Hissing beneath the trailer, the dust stung at his ankles. He ignored it, racing for the truck’s cabin at the front. Perched on the step beneath the door, he braced as the dust raced beneath, around and above him. The cabin was his shield. He flinched to a duck when its windows shattered as the dust cloud blasted straight through them. The truck rocked and slid slightly, bombarded by wind and dust. It lurched as a chunk of debris finally reached it, crumpling the trailer like cheap foil.
Time to move.
Particles prickled Norman’s eyes, finding their way through the nightsight. He took a fresh glimpse of the path ahead before clouds of grey engulfed it all.
Memorised.
He dashed on. A split second later, the cabin was levelled under a larger slab of concrete. More sporadically thundered down around him. His eyes were squeezed shut, denying entry to any more particles. He scrambled through the street, dodging obstacles from memory. As for the concrete rainfall that couldn’t be seen? He had some prayers about that, but it probably came out like half-baked gibberish.
Norman chanced opening his eyes. They watered like crazy. At least most of the dust was gone. Behind him, the eyescraper’s menacing silhouette was picking through the rubble. Finally, an unblocked street was in sight. He rounded the corner.
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“̵̨̢̮͕̻̲̺́͠G̵̣̒́̓̽̅̊͘͝Ọ̷̝̣͓͙͔̀ͅͅǪ̷̜̺͚̲̯̭̈́̍͂͑̋̋̅͂̅́M̷̨̤̭͈̯̤͋̾̏̈̅̉̀̏͘M̵̡̢̙̱͌̊̓͒́͌Ḿ̸̳͗̀̀͐͒͗́͠ͅ!̷͍͉̣̪̫͙̳̲̤̎̀̾̅̈́̔̎̑͘͜͝͝!̴̨͈͖̘̖̅͛̋̽͠!̸͎̩͓̫̥̼̫̊”̵̫̗̞̣̝̃̅̕͘͜͜͝ͅ
.
Another peeping building, rumbling in from the new street. Alright. Straight it was.
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“̷̢̧̻̹͚͔̾G̵̳̭̾̃̎̍̌̂̈́̂͛͘M̶̧̠͇͔͚͉̮͈̰͒͊́̏̔̄̾̊͐̒͂͜M̸̳͓̋͋̔͑̔̔̕͝Ő̷͓̟̱̮͓̍̂̾̽̇͘͠Ô̸̧̫͉̮͚̥̥̯̈̾͋̅͂͘̚M̶̢̫̥̰̮̪͙̬̙̗̺̽͒͐͌̋̈̄͆͝M̴̢̧̧̛̗͔͓̫̭̳̱͑̉!̵̡̛̛͍̲̓̅̑̈́̿̏͘̕͠!̸̧̖͔̣̩̏́͋̀͛͂̏̀̇̑͐!̴̧͕̝̮̤̱͈̬͋”̸͓̉̈́̑̎͊̌
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Maybe not. A third building emerged from the rainfall ahead. All streets blocked. He glanced about. All alleys still blocked. This really was a hunting net, but this much energy for a tiny human? Predators weren’t usually like this.
He ran for the nearest building that wasn’t occupied by eldritch calamari.
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Norman came to. Rain poured against his face as he lay on his back. How long was he out? Why was it so cold? The atmosphere didn’t quite feel right. It didn’t look right either. Something about the colours, or subtle lack thereof. Everything seemed a bit desaturated. Norman sat up and coughed his lungs out, evicting a mix of dust and rain water collected in his slackly gaping mouth. Buildings towered above him on every side, a bit too close for comfort.
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“̸̮̼͍̻̯̲̹͓̬̻̓̍G̷̛̖̙̰̰̟̓Ḿ̸̧̨͊̊̔͒͌̆͆͘͠͝M̷̧̺̏̿̆͑͆͋̅͌̕͝G̵̰̺͇̺̯̲͇̠͖͂͜M̸̡̨͕̹̗̥̎͑́̾!̸͇͙͚̝̩͕̙̒!̵͙̬̮̪̏̍!̶͔̪͉̙̘̃̐̄͝”̶̡̡̥̫̻̝̜̫͙̩͛ͅ
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Oh, right, those weren’t just buildings.
Norman raised a finger, gesturing to wait. “Could you *kaff!* quit subwoofin’ at me for, like, ten seconds!”
“Plucky.̵͚͐͝ for all seasons I .̵̦̺͐̅see,” came a skin-crawling voice from behind him.
Norman swung back his smitelight. It barely moved half a foot, then it stopped. Rather, something stopped it. That ‘something’ was cold. So cold. His wrist felt the chill without even touching it.
Norman turned, slowly, so as not to trigger further attacks. He found himself looking up.
Eight feet tall. Dark grey skin. A grin that went a little too wide. Dagger teeth. An open-chested jacket, revealing sinewy muscles with luminous markings like tattoos. His ebony eyes bore penetrating white pupils. Of all his traits, the dreadlocks stood out most. They belonged in a nightmare, dancing through the air with a life of their own. Somehow, they looked blacker than black, absorbing every ray of light or heat that came their way. That icy chill in the air shifted with the movements of his dreadlocks. They seemed to drink life from the air itself. Norman almost found it hard to breathe. One dreadlock clutched Norman’s smitelight, only by the tip, but its grip was iron.
Norman stared the tall man down.
The nyctal’s grin grew by a smidgeon.
Taking a calculated risk, Norman released the smitelight. Perhaps a peace offering would do good.
“Good.̷̧͋͌̎̿ boy,” the tall man nodded, admiring the smitelight as the dreadlock rotated it. “Clever.̴̧̤̩͈͓̖͂ͅ toy.”
Norman noted an understated Jamaican accent in his voice.
More dreadlocks slithered across the smitelight, as if tasting its every nook and cranny.
Norman did his best to look casual as he scanned for an escape route. The eyescraper’s tentacles had wrapped around the street, fencing him in.
“Your fanbase has peculiar tastes,” purred the tall man.
Norman’s suspicious gaze flicked between the nyctal and the weapon. Finally, he reached out and took hold of the smitelight.
It crumbled in his fingers like ice-cold ashes. If not for the insulation gloves, he might have gotten frostbite.
The nyctal laughed.
Norman didn’t find it particularly amusing.
The tall man sauntered towards the eyescraper. Beyond it was a darkness even the nightsight had difficulty piercing. He beckoned Norman as if it were an afterthought.
“Please come in, .̵̭̻͌̓̂Norman.̶̲͕͇̅̑̚,” the nyctal instructed.
Norman stared stubbornly, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. He felt for his smartphone. It wasn’t there. When had he lost it?
Without looking back, the nyctal held up Norman’s phone. It disintegrated between his fingers as he rubbed them together.
Norman glared. At least the guy hadn’t pickpocketed deeply enough to find other things.
“Hey. To whom do I owe the … pleasure?” Norman almost had to push the last word through his teeth.
The nyctal stopped in the eyescraper’s doorframe. Shrouded in shadow, little could be seen of him, save the piercing white pupils peering out. Then the glint of his Cheshire grin.
“.̴̜͓̭̻̤̍̈́̆͑͑John Crow.̸̻̮̓̈́̏̓͘,” he answered, before receding into the darkness.
The eyescraper’s tentacles dragged in across the street, corralling Norman towards the building. With an exasperated groan, he trudged towards the main entrance.
“I want my bed,” grumbled Norman.
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Become a free member on Patreon to read Part 14, 'Sleeping Giant', early! It will be released there today or tomorrow. For the visual 'mood writing' version (previously called 'artitext') and more Caribbean sci-fi, become a paid member for only $3! See links in comments.
First Previous (See NEXT>> in comments)
submitted by The-Mr-E to HFY [link] [comments]
What's worse than an eldritch building? How 'bout a bigger one?
First Previous (See NEXT>> in comments)
Chapter Cover Art (From Mood Writing Sample)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Norman took one look at the towering building to his left. Then he took off.
.
.
“̷̵̵̷̶̷̶̶̸̶̶̸̴̡̛̮͉̹̪̼̙̤̲̤͔̗̮̥̣̜͓̟̞̃̔̈́̑̈̍͌̂̂̐̋͛̉̓G̵̶̸̷̴̸̵̵̴̶̸̷̸̴̶̨̢̧̞͈̠̜̳̪͎̬̜̱̫͚̝̩̑̒͐́͆̃̿̉̆̉̃̓̀̎̐͂̎̒̕̕͘͝͝Ǵ̷̷̷̴̸̸̷̷̷̷̵̨̢̞̥͓̰͖͙̰̝͖̩̺͍͎͉͌̽̂́͐̓̀͒̐͗́M̴̷̶̵̴̷̵̶̵̴̷̷̢̡̧̢̛̫̲͕͇̗̯͚̥͙͓͓̀̒͑͒̂̊̅̐͛̂̄͌̈̚͝M̴̷̶̵̴̷̷̶̷̬̼̭̗͍̺̳̩̱͍̂̄̾͂̔̽̇̀͝͝͝͠M̶̯̙̥͕̞̰̗̗͐̔!̸̞̞̬̼̖̩̈́̇͊͐̾͑͋̉!̷̧͈̘̬̆͑͝!̶̤̜̔̓̆̅̔͆͘͝”̸̨̧̼̭̫̒͜
.The new hunting cry boomed through his body. It was much louder than the first building’s, albeit shorter, like a tap on the shoulder from a titan proclaiming its presence to the world.
Of course, the tap of a titan could flatten a man.
Norman fell. His legs had simply stopped working. Jaws clenched, he forced his will into wobbly muscles. His palms slammed into the waterlogged street, stopping the fall. With a sharp push, he sprang back to his feet and ran on.
Norman yanked out the remaining two flash grenades on the go, strung them together, armed and drew back for a throw.
.
.
“̷̬̳̙̍̎̆G̴̥͇̥͔͕̫̈̀M̵̛͇̜͙͇̫͔̭̩̝̜̓̈̏̓̓̀͛̚͜͝͝M̷̩͈͉̘͙̿͌̃̽͂̃̏̏̓̾̈́͌̈́̉̅̄̉͘!̷̢̧̢̤͓̭̖̝̏̏̄̓̾̉̆͋͘͝!̵͍̱̼̮̯̺̲͙̖̮̗͓̻̓̊͂̒̔͐̎͘͘̚!̵̙͍̟̌͒̃͂̎͠”̶̡̛̠̱̭̞̹̟͉̒̎̎̂͂̐̈́̓̄̚̕
..
That quick boom pounded through him. His fingers faltered. The flash grenades slipped from his grip and fell. He was still recovering from the sound when they went off at his feet. The nightsight filtered the flash, so he didn’t go blind. He’d gutted the flash grenade’s speakers, so he didn’t go deaf. The peeping building could deafen him all on its own … no, this wasn’t a peeping building. He’d slew a peeping building. They were small fries by comparison.
This was an eyescraper.
Tentacles the width of busses unsheathed from its sides. Even if he’d managed to launch the grenades and bathe it in smitelight, he suspected that wouldn’t be enough.
Norman sliced at its eyes with a focused beam. It barely flinched. Maybe if it got close enough, he could affect it a bit. By then, it would be too late.
Throbbing chuffs thundered from the monster. It sounded like a laugh.
Norman shot it a defiant glare. He bolted. Not fast enough. He could feel the giant closing in. So, he moved faster. Then faster, and still faster. His muscles blared their warnings. Rain lashed his face. He felt the air begin to resist his movements as he reached a speed at which it mattered. It was in his way, so he pushed through it too. No one was there to tell him he was moving far faster than any human known to history. All he cared about was hearing that thing fall behind him, and so it did. The tremours of its tremendous movements grew fainter.
At the end of the street, an apartment building came into view. Norman threw himself against it, climbing with the reckless abandon of a madman. He was halfway to the top.
.
.
“̷̧̨̭̹̘̥̮͖̤̻̥̬̌̀͒̔͌̊̀̚͜͜͠Ǧ̶̨̨̧̺̘̰̗̘̥̝̗̦̩͖͎͋̈͑͐̒̽̉̔͛̾̒́̕ͅM̴̨̉́̾̉͂͆̔̿̀̃̇̎̍͆̂̽͗̔͘͠ͅM̷̝̻̱̆̍͜!̴̮̬̯̮̦̖́͂̆͋̿̇̎̄̄̅̂͑̎̀̕͘͝͝͝!̸̲͎̲̼̠̮̱͖̥̭̤̩͓̘̜͈̟̖̮̰̦͖̀̂͗͂̽̈́̋͌͂̐̓̈̕!̸̜̆̿̋̔̽̕”̷̢̦̜̰̼̳̝͓̆͗̈́̆̆̑̃̾͑̀͗͒͆́͐͒̈́̿̽̕̕͜
..
His grip went limp. He fell. Struck the ground. His head bounced. The world grew fu...z z y.
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_CHAT
- LEMMY.OUTA.HERE: (Stupse) Well, he ded.
- BAJANETTE11: ARN74, JUST GO AND FIND HIM!!!
- ARN74: HE DIDN’T SEND ME DE PIN! DIS BAAARE STRESS! NORMAN, YOU PUNK! YOU EMOTIONALLY INVESTED ME IN THIS CHANNEL! IF YOU DIE NOW I’M GONNA KILL YOU!
_CHAT
- ARN74: YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE AMY!!
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“̸̼͔̖̜̫͍͚̊́̽͆̓̂̋̋͐̕Ģ̴̢͕͉̯̺̗̖͔͙̪͓̻̯̫̭̙̱͕̠̭̩̌M̸̨̧̘̟̹̖̻̲͍̭͓͉̰͙̦̣̜͉̻̎̅͗̇̈́̈̏͌̓̾̀̈̈́͜M̵̢̢̖̯̦͍͕̝̯̥̹̪̠̥̰̝̖̊͛̀̇͜!̵̢̡̡͚͕̘̟͕̥̦̪͆̈́̿͆!̴̛̹͈̜̥͔̬͎̪̩͚̦̯̟̘̩̰̳̍̑̂́̌͌̎́̒͋̽̿̑͌͝͝!̴̛̥͕̪͂̂̂̈̓͆͗̇̄̈́̌̅̎͂̕̚̕͝͠”̷̧̧̛̠̝̰̞̘͙̥̖͎̭̞̜̳̟̓͆̌̊̃̔́͒͋̇̈́͘̚͠͝ͅ
.
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Oh, right. There was a skyscraper running him down. To think he lived in a world where that made any sense. He rubbed his throbbing head. It was hard to think, though.
_CHAT
- ARN74: TRY AN CLIMB DE TING OPPA!
In two twos he jumped onto the side of the building and kept going up and up without breaking the momentum of the leap. Adrenaline had challenged gravity. Gravity lost. There was no pause to assess handholds. There was no rain stinging his face. In his mind, there was only ‘CLIMB, CLIMB, CLIMB!’ Crest the rooftop. ‘RUN, RUN, RUN!’ Descend the other side ‘JUMP!’ Gravity greedily reclaimed Norman, dragging him 4 storeys down at breakneck speed. He hit the ground in a parkour roll. Bruised a bone. Nearly fractured a shoulder. Wrenched his spine. Joints, muscle, ligaments almost popped. They didn’t.
He was running again.
Norman had never heard a building shred like paper. He’d never thought to wonder what it sounded like.
*( ( BMMM! ) ) ( ( BMM! ) ) ( ( BOOM! ) ) *
SHHHHHRRRRRRMMMM!
Now he knew.Those booms … was it the eyescraper’s tentacles breaking the sound barrier, or punching holes through the apartment building? Maybe both. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was tearing the building in two with the ease of one parting curtains. Buildings were not designed to be parted. Two became legions as the sundered building collapsed.
Norman rushed for an abandoned truck, slid beneath the trailer. Not quite fast enough. Most of the rubble didn’t reach him directly, but upon hitting the ground? It pulverised into a blast of cloud like a sandstorm. Hissing beneath the trailer, the dust stung at his ankles. He ignored it, racing for the truck’s cabin at the front. Perched on the step beneath the door, he braced as the dust raced beneath, around and above him. The cabin was his shield. He flinched to a duck when its windows shattered as the dust cloud blasted straight through them. The truck rocked and slid slightly, bombarded by wind and dust. It lurched as a chunk of debris finally reached it, crumpling the trailer like cheap foil.
Time to move.
Particles prickled Norman’s eyes, finding their way through the nightsight. He took a fresh glimpse of the path ahead before clouds of grey engulfed it all.
Memorised.
He dashed on. A split second later, the cabin was levelled under a larger slab of concrete. More sporadically thundered down around him. His eyes were squeezed shut, denying entry to any more particles. He scrambled through the street, dodging obstacles from memory. As for the concrete rainfall that couldn’t be seen? He had some prayers about that, but it probably came out like half-baked gibberish.
Norman chanced opening his eyes. They watered like crazy. At least most of the dust was gone. Behind him, the eyescraper’s menacing silhouette was picking through the rubble. Finally, an unblocked street was in sight. He rounded the corner.
.
“̵̨̢̮͕̻̲̺́͠G̵̣̒́̓̽̅̊͘͝Ọ̷̝̣͓͙͔̀ͅͅǪ̷̜̺͚̲̯̭̈́̍͂͑̋̋̅͂̅́M̷̨̤̭͈̯̤͋̾̏̈̅̉̀̏͘M̵̡̢̙̱͌̊̓͒́͌Ḿ̸̳͗̀̀͐͒͗́͠ͅ!̷͍͉̣̪̫͙̳̲̤̎̀̾̅̈́̔̎̑͘͜͝͝!̴̨͈͖̘̖̅͛̋̽͠!̸͎̩͓̫̥̼̫̊”̵̫̗̞̣̝̃̅̕͘͜͜͝ͅ
.
Another peeping building, rumbling in from the new street. Alright. Straight it was.
.
“̷̢̧̻̹͚͔̾G̵̳̭̾̃̎̍̌̂̈́̂͛͘M̶̧̠͇͔͚͉̮͈̰͒͊́̏̔̄̾̊͐̒͂͜M̸̳͓̋͋̔͑̔̔̕͝Ő̷͓̟̱̮͓̍̂̾̽̇͘͠Ô̸̧̫͉̮͚̥̥̯̈̾͋̅͂͘̚M̶̢̫̥̰̮̪͙̬̙̗̺̽͒͐͌̋̈̄͆͝M̴̢̧̧̛̗͔͓̫̭̳̱͑̉!̵̡̛̛͍̲̓̅̑̈́̿̏͘̕͠!̸̧̖͔̣̩̏́͋̀͛͂̏̀̇̑͐!̴̧͕̝̮̤̱͈̬͋”̸͓̉̈́̑̎͊̌
.
Maybe not. A third building emerged from the rainfall ahead. All streets blocked. He glanced about. All alleys still blocked. This really was a hunting net, but this much energy for a tiny human? Predators weren’t usually like this.
He ran for the nearest building that wasn’t occupied by eldritch calamari.
( ( BOOMM! ) )
The eyescraper’s tentacle crossed his path. Its supersonic shockwave sent him flying..
.
.
.
.
.
Norman came to. Rain poured against his face as he lay on his back. How long was he out? Why was it so cold? The atmosphere didn’t quite feel right. It didn’t look right either. Something about the colours, or subtle lack thereof. Everything seemed a bit desaturated. Norman sat up and coughed his lungs out, evicting a mix of dust and rain water collected in his slackly gaping mouth. Buildings towered above him on every side, a bit too close for comfort.
.
“̸̮̼͍̻̯̲̹͓̬̻̓̍G̷̛̖̙̰̰̟̓Ḿ̸̧̨͊̊̔͒͌̆͆͘͠͝M̷̧̺̏̿̆͑͆͋̅͌̕͝G̵̰̺͇̺̯̲͇̠͖͂͜M̸̡̨͕̹̗̥̎͑́̾!̸͇͙͚̝̩͕̙̒!̵͙̬̮̪̏̍!̶͔̪͉̙̘̃̐̄͝”̶̡̡̥̫̻̝̜̫͙̩͛ͅ
.
Oh, right, those weren’t just buildings.
Norman raised a finger, gesturing to wait. “Could you *kaff!* quit subwoofin’ at me for, like, ten seconds!”
“Plucky.̵͚͐͝ for all seasons I .̵̦̺͐̅see,” came a skin-crawling voice from behind him.
Norman swung back his smitelight. It barely moved half a foot, then it stopped. Rather, something stopped it. That ‘something’ was cold. So cold. His wrist felt the chill without even touching it.
Norman turned, slowly, so as not to trigger further attacks. He found himself looking up.
Eight feet tall. Dark grey skin. A grin that went a little too wide. Dagger teeth. An open-chested jacket, revealing sinewy muscles with luminous markings like tattoos. His ebony eyes bore penetrating white pupils. Of all his traits, the dreadlocks stood out most. They belonged in a nightmare, dancing through the air with a life of their own. Somehow, they looked blacker than black, absorbing every ray of light or heat that came their way. That icy chill in the air shifted with the movements of his dreadlocks. They seemed to drink life from the air itself. Norman almost found it hard to breathe. One dreadlock clutched Norman’s smitelight, only by the tip, but its grip was iron.
Norman stared the tall man down.
The nyctal’s grin grew by a smidgeon.
Taking a calculated risk, Norman released the smitelight. Perhaps a peace offering would do good.
“Good.̷̧͋͌̎̿ boy,” the tall man nodded, admiring the smitelight as the dreadlock rotated it. “Clever.̴̧̤̩͈͓̖͂ͅ toy.”
Norman noted an understated Jamaican accent in his voice.
More dreadlocks slithered across the smitelight, as if tasting its every nook and cranny.
Norman did his best to look casual as he scanned for an escape route. The eyescraper’s tentacles had wrapped around the street, fencing him in.
_CHAT
- BAJANETTE11: 😳
- DARCIE222: okay, i’m back
- HARD-BACK-M8N: who you is again?
- DARCIE222: i left after the twilight angel sleep paralysis
- LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: And you’re back for more?
- DARCIE222: wonna know it impossible to stay away from a channel like dis
_CHAT
- DARCIE222: 😲 WHO IS THAT?!? AND WHY IS HE KIND OF …??? 😍
- MUNSTER-VERSER: I KNOW!!!
- BAJANETTE11: HE LIKE A VAMPIRE RASTA MAN! ❤❤❤
- ENTO_MOLLY: MOVE OVER MIGUEL O’HARA!! 😍🥰😘
- BAJANETTE11: NORMAN ASK FOR HE NUMBER!!!
- NORMAN: I HERE ABOUT TO DIE AND WONNA WANT HE PHONE NUMBER!?!
“Your fanbase has peculiar tastes,” purred the tall man.
_CHAT
- ENTO_MOLLY: 😳 Is … he talking about us? HE CAN SEE THE CHAT???
- DARCIE222: THE WAY HE SAID IT!!!
- DARCIE222: HBVJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJKL;K''
- LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Did she just pass out on the keyboard?
- LIKKLE-BOY: lol!
- ARN74: you’re simping. Norman’s about to die, and you’re simping
Norman’s suspicious gaze flicked between the nyctal and the weapon. Finally, he reached out and took hold of the smitelight.
It crumbled in his fingers like ice-cold ashes. If not for the insulation gloves, he might have gotten frostbite.
The nyctal laughed.
Norman didn’t find it particularly amusing.
The tall man sauntered towards the eyescraper. Beyond it was a darkness even the nightsight had difficulty piercing. He beckoned Norman as if it were an afterthought.
“Please come in, .̵̭̻͌̓̂Norman.̶̲͕͇̅̑̚,” the nyctal instructed.
Norman stared stubbornly, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. He felt for his smartphone. It wasn’t there. When had he lost it?
Without looking back, the nyctal held up Norman’s phone. It disintegrated between his fingers as he rubbed them together.
Norman glared. At least the guy hadn’t pickpocketed deeply enough to find other things.
“Hey. To whom do I owe the … pleasure?” Norman almost had to push the last word through his teeth.
The nyctal stopped in the eyescraper’s doorframe. Shrouded in shadow, little could be seen of him, save the piercing white pupils peering out. Then the glint of his Cheshire grin.
“.̴̜͓̭̻̤̍̈́̆͑͑John Crow.̸̻̮̓̈́̏̓͘,” he answered, before receding into the darkness.
The eyescraper’s tentacles dragged in across the street, corralling Norman towards the building. With an exasperated groan, he trudged towards the main entrance.
“I want my bed,” grumbled Norman.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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2024.05.18 22:33 JulianSkies Blackriver Cases - Season 10 “Days of Fury” - Episode 2 “Visiting Omen”
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The first couple of days were boring, as usual- Blackriver is a small town, and the worst that had happened was Nila and Kessa making a few wellness checks after worried calls from neighbors. A couple of people in denial, a few ashamed at their own violent outbursts and a stern warning to Tamm about painting others’ properties without asking first.
This morning, however, began with an all-hands meeting. There were no meeting rooms in the office, so they made do in the general workspace room, they all stood there at the center while Keya looked them over.
“We have received a report from a neighboring city about a convoy of protestors making its way to Blackriver” she describes without tone. At this point nobody bothers interrupting.
“This convoy is comprised of approximately four hundred and seventy eight individuals of multiple species, primarily human and venlil but with operationally relevant representations of the entire spectrum of size and mobility types” her paws are behind her back, her ears focused directly ahead, her eyes centered to keep the entire team on the core of her focus “They have crossed multiple cities already, generally engaging in verbal sparring with any figure of authority, parading signs and banners denouncing all manners of authorities as well as occasionally engaging in physical altercations with officers.”
“They are also known to engage in vandalism. Though primarily aimed at exterminator and police precincts as well as public offices, they have already caused considerable collateral to others they have identified as ‘collaborators’” there’s a single heartbeat of waiting for breath before she continues “They have, however, not shown to be an incredibly organized group or one with a clear goal and objective. The convoy appears to contain only extremely emotionally charged people with no clear overarching goal.”
“We are incapable of dealing with the situation should they turn aggressive, as such we will be simply maintaining watch and relocating the populace should they become a problem.” Then, she picks up her holopad and passes it to Lunek beside her “They can only follow one path with the entire convoy, the central street, therefore I have divided it into four sectors. One of each will be assigned to a sector.”
First her ears turn to the first target “Lunek, sector one at the entrance. As the most approachable member of the precinct your task is to give an initial image of harmlessness. Do not engage first, do not take initiative against them. Ensure the members of the herd in the area are warned of their approach. If they become aggressive, retreat and focus on the escape of the herd.”
She tilts her head a little bit, turning her ears the other way “Marik, sector two. Mostly the commercial area, your task is ostensive protection to lower the chances of them initiating aggression. Whereas protection of the herd is first priority your second priority is ensuring Tenve’s Hardware Store as well as Sunbreeze Meals and Watchful Café remain capable of providing anyone whose residences become damaged.” suddenly, she turns her head entirely to face Marik “Ostensive protection means dissuasion, ensure that they know they are not under threat and as long as those specific areas are not engaged, do not provoke”
Next in her line of fire is Santos “As our human officer you will be in sector three, nearby the precinct. They are liable to become most agitated in this area and your presence may serve to calm them. You are not to engage, if deemed necessary the precinct’s materials are considered expendable, do not attempt to stop them”
“Sector four, the exit of town, will be with me to ensure that they have fully left Blackriver and will not attempt to turn back” then she tilts her ears again “Aren, you will gear up with a CCG and remain out of view range, your task will be quick emergency response should the need arise.” she then points her tail at the last three officers “Vess, your task will be to inform the herd and ensure a clear path for the convoy while Nila and Kessa will gather all of our medical supplies and set a staging area out of the convoy’s range. Organize ambulance assistance from Striped Hill and Everrain”
Then, she turns her ears around to focus each one in turn “As any attempt at aggression will end only in negative consequences, and in order to reduce the apparent levels of threat you will be unarmed. The estimated time of arrival is a third of a claw, ready yourselves and be at your post in time. Dismissed.”
“Not sure if I like or I don’t that we had the cold bastard right now” Aren says, as soon as Keya had left the room “Maybe we should move in closer when the convoy gets to sector four?”
“Probably a good idea to be nearby” Santos adds with a sigh “They might take umbrage with her demeanor, hopefully they won’t be set off too hard.”
And with silent signs of agreement all of the officers of Blackriver depart for preparations. The first ones to leave the precinct are the ones in charge of support, the two girls set off early to find someone willing to permit usage of their lawn as a possible impromptu field hospital and a little while later Aren leaves with a heavy CCG.
Slowly, the clock ticks to the appointed claw… And soon enough, Lunek can see in the distance the incoming omen of people. At first a distant line in the horizon, slowly the dark mark on the road coalesces into distinct shapes, the shapes of hundreds of vehicles slowly rolling down the road.
When the first few get close to the initial buildings of the main street, the entire convoy slows down. Their process of preparation is seemingly laborious, each vehicle houses multiple people at a time, smaller cars full to the brim, flatbeds with more people on their cargo space than can safely be contained, even buses conscripted for the effort. They carry with them signs, flags, a multitude of symbols as they dismount their vehicles and start spreading out to fill the street.
They seem to naturally form two distinct yet highly mixed groups, at its most distinctive is the pack of humans who keep a good distance from each other. But they are not alone in this group as takkan, mazic, yotul, zurulian and even drilvar form this central group. But flowing around them, not avoiding their presence but never infringing in their space is the grey mass of venlil, packed tight together, and mixed in there adding color to the monochromatic flux are krakotl, tilfish, sulean, iftali, sivkit and even a seemingly very confused duerten.
And at the very core of the moving group are their vehicles, which gently start rolling forward again as the group starts moving. Lunek simply waits, silently, by the side of the road, his ears attentively swiveling from one side to the other, expression having given way to function. Before the first of the convoy even arrives close he turns to the side, making a pointing sign with his tail. A woman who had been watching from her yard flicks her right ear and runs back inside.
He continues to wait, scanning around at all times for the presence of… Anything. The street is empty of locals when the first visitors start to alight. The convoy is loud, their symbols carry a loudness of colors and their vehicles make as much noise as they can to draw attention, but those who walk seem content in allowing their tools to speak for them, for now. Lunek tries to make sense of the banners and signs, but the messages are disparate as the group- Some speak of injustices against their people, some speak of anger at invaders, some speak of betrayal.
“Fuck off, fireman!” comes the harsh bark of a human, causing Lunek to flinch. But flinch is all he does, he simply starts walking alongside the moving convoy.
The exterminator’s attention is drawn to the details of the few people he can distinguish amongst the mass. Something tickles at his pattern-recognition but he cannot quite ascertain what for a while, until a lightly limping mazic makes her way to the edge of the mass “Want to finish the job?!” she trumpets, her form towering over his.
“I’m just observing, ma’am.” Though the tremor of his voice is noticeable, he remains stoic. But her proximity makes him notice something about her body, marks in her wrists, neck and feet. Though mazic have powerful wrists and knuckles upon which they support the front half of their weight, her left wrist seems completely incapable of it, giving her a limp particular to a three-point walk. “To make sure there’s no impediment on your path” he notices the leathery skin around her left wrist is deeply blackened.
“Oh, ‘no impediment’ is that it? So everyone that lives here is an impediment?!” her voice booms.
“Ma’am” still, he does not yield nor does he break his pace following the convoy “We have not done anything other than inform our people of your presence…” for a half second all he hears is the sound of his own heart “We can’t do anything else.”
Those words, then, sealed his fate. The first shout to echo in his direction was a yotul howling “Yeah you’re useless!” and soon the avalanche came in multiple voices and languages “Can’t do shit!” “You’re just here to hurt people!” “Useless crap!” “Idiot!” and many more.
With every step and twitch the very average exterminator puts all of his focus on just being there. He lets himself cower a little bit, against the barrage it is difficult not to, but he continues to accompany. A few curious coats step out from their houses to watch, but the front of the convoy seems far too focused on the sole exterminator in view to bother anyone else.
A few steps ahead, an older venlil with a cane has moved the closest to the convoy as any watcher has up to now. Seeing her proximity to the increasingly rowdy crowd causes Lunek to speed up, quickly approaching her “Leva-”
But his words are stalled when she puts a paw on his shoulder, she gently puts her head against his for just a second “You’re doing good pup, keep at it” she mutters to him before breaking contact and turning around to walk back inside. He can spy her grandchildren looking on through the door. Lunek looks back at the still-shouting moving convoy, takes a deep breath, and continues to accompany them forward. A small pawful of them, however, seem to have fallen silent.
Once having reached the limit of his assigned zone, however, Lunek stops. He watches the convoy move forward, past the houses, now noisier than before. The initial hollering at him had turned into disjointed screams at some indistinct foe- Though the herd had been noticed of a foe, it was yet unaware of who, or what, said foe was. So for now it howled at the ineptitude of… Someone. And as the last of the convoy passes beyond the imaginary line of his duty, Lunek lets out a deep sigh and allows himself to sit down on the ground.
He stays there for a moment, without thought, simply letting the tension, confusion and fear permeate his body until a gentle paw touches his arm. He doesn’t need to look to identify it, he lets his lover use her strength to prop him up, raising him to his feet “Keina you shouldn’t-”
“Neighbor’s looking over Tiss” his wife wraps her arms and tail around him “I’m not leaving you alone.” she stays like that for a second, before breaking off “Do you need to go after them?”
“No”
Marik stalks through the sidewalk, moving with energy. His speed outpaces the movement of the convoy, his paws twitch to grasp at something that isn’t there and a deep and intense motion makes his short fur stand on end. He had let the convoy’s head move in front of him, simply standing still as he assessed as many as he could in the mass, and now he had begun to move towards the front again.
As he stalked forward he focused his sight on every member of the convoy that seemed of interest. A human whose clothes seemed suspiciously loose, a venlil whose movements were far too stiff, a gojid who kept his claws behind his back. He stared at each like they were his quarry, analyzing every piece of movement they made for threats, and yet aside from the challenge in the human’s gaze he saw no danger arise.
Tenve had closed his shop, so as the convoy moved forward Marik simply continued to follow along, scanning the crowd for threats. But the next point of interest arrives, and he rushes ahead placing himself in front of the only restaurant of the town. Sunbreeze Meals wasn’t a very common sort of restaurant, Blackriver did not have enough visitors for a normal restaurant to be profitable and was small enough most people had their meals at home, it most often served takeout for those farmers who’d spend so long in the field they would return home without the energy to feed themselves.
Sparing a look inside at the only five tables, Marik couldn’t keep a small thought away from his mind. How most who got their meals from Sunbreeze these days did so because they enjoyed the cooking rather than their need of work, ever since the sunspeck population has been brought under control and the maintenance of the fields had become much smaller. He feels the presence long before he can recognize what led him to feel it and turns to stare at a group of six that approach the entrance: Two humans, a tilfish, two gojids and a takkan had broken off from the convoy and approached the restaurant.
He traces his color band over each in turn, and they all bristle at his stare. One of the humans hesitates before continuing to walk inside, and Marik simply remains by the door with his arms crossed, left ear twisted as far back as he could to listen to the inside.
“What have you got here?”
“W-we mostly ha-have ready ma-made meals to go or- or- Or you can look over the menu”
“There’s no need to stutter, y’know”
“So-sorry-”
“Really, after everything y’all are still with this predator crap?”
The chimes on the door echo for the second time in sequence as Marik makes his way inside. The tilfish had started to lean over the counter while the other five had arrayed themselves behind her. They all turn their attention to him as he enters, including the venlil manning the counter. Marik keeps his gaze directly on the tilfish for a few uncomfortable seconds, before looking at the man behind the counter and making a simple sign with his tail, a short vertical bob with the tip and a slow horizontal swipe. It’s meaning simple: >Safe<.
After a few seconds someone else appears from the kitchen. The tall venlil carries a large stack of plastic boxes in his arms, all of them seemingly designed to attach to themselves so as to be carried with ease. He puts them down with a resounding crash on the counter, and opens up his voice with ice “Farmer’s Pots, good meal when you’re working and can’t go home.” With each word the owner of the restaurant and main cook comes closer and closer to the tilfish, until the last “Ten credits each.”
Nobody moves for a couple of seconds, and then one of the humans steps closer and brings a holopad over to the credit reader. There’s a noise indicating payment, and then the owner raises his head and tilts it to focus his favored eye and both of his ears at the man who paid “Now,” he shifts register in his voice and the language he speaks in “fuck off” he finishes.
With no small amount of surprise the group of six retrieve the stack of packaged meals, carefully walking out and back into the convoy. Marik stays behind for a moment “Didn’t know you spoke human”
“Pup’s enamored with their languages. Of course, first greek words he learns is swearing.”
Outside, Marik stalks further ahead to the next point of interest. He moves faster than the convoy, and has time to move in front of it. For a few meters the street is still clear as he arrives to find a group of people standing in front of the Watchful. Standing there were all of its employees, and even all of its regulars, twenty people total standing there as if they were having the most normal day. If not for their raised ears tracking every noise coming from down the street and their swaying tails swinging about like angry beasts.
One of them simply points his tail at the other side of the street as Marik comes closer, and the hunter doesn’t need a second command to understand the meaning. They have this, he has a less practical but just as important duty. He crosses the street quickly before the convoy starts coming closer, and heads towards the park.
As the regulars of the Watchful had feared, it took little time until a large group had broken off from the convoy. With the town on alert about the convoy they had found themselves bereft of prey and now this group had set out to find some, anyone who might be willing, or not, to listen to their grievances. And what is clearly a place designed for people to congregate looked most appetizing.
Marik shadowed the group as they moved through the park, but they were accompanied by nothing but silence. It wasn’t until they ran into the centerpiece of the park that he took initiative, stepping ahead of the group and simply… Standing there a distance away from the tree of many scions, between it and the group.
“What’s so important over there, fireman?” it was a venlil who asked, but his usage of an english word was not lost on Marik.
“A place you will respect” the exterminator has his arms crossed, the one good portion of his gaze set on the man who asked “This is a grave.”
Though the group that now prowled was large, those who heard were taken aback. One such, however, approaches closer. He was a venlil whose fur shifted between a soft, brownish color and a dirty white “A tradition of the tenets right? One of those family trees?” The man would have been distinctive in any other group due to his missing patches of fur around neck, wrists, even portions around his head. But such signs of long term damage were common in the convoy.
Interest. They had shown true interest, or at least one of them had. “No, but similar… The forgotten tree is a grave for the forgotten.” He felt like these people, at least the ones before him, could probably understand the meaning of this place “It is of no tradition. Someone, a long time ago, wanted to honor someone who was gone but whose name was not meant to be remembered. Someone who had disappeared in the system… So they borrowed on another’s tradition, and added a scion to this tree, with something in their memory. Others have done so similarly, until it became… A grave for the forgotten”
“Didn’t think you’d be worried about this kind of place” it’s a human that speaks up this time
“Our duty is to protect this town, what you think-” but Marik’s words are interrupted by that same venlil who had asked before. His demeanor suddenly shifts, his ears perk up and his entire body shifts forward for a moment. He hesitates, for a second everyone’s focus is on him, and then he runs towards the tree.
Marik follows behind, stopping just by the man’s side as he finds himself at the base of the tree. The man makes a direct line to somewhere, something he had found from the distance, as if it had called him. He finds a thick and heavy branch that had been bent down by the weight of its scions and memories, near its base and speaking of a memory left behind long ago is a braid of fur made of three colors, a dirty white, a soft brown and a dark grey, bound by the braids are two beads.
The man raises up a paw, but does not touch it. As if cradling it, he recites the words engraved in one of the beads “I will cross every star to return home” others have come closer to listen to the man’s hoarse voice “There will always be a home for you” he reads of the second one. The names on the beads have been scratched out. The man falls on his knees “S-she kept her promise and… I couldn’t keep mine…”
Marik steps back as he watches two others come closer to comfort the man. He looks as a few others approach with more caution, looking up at the tree with a bit more reverence than they had before. Then, he turns around and starts heading back towards the main street.
Gazing out as the convoy gains a new flux, some leave it as it passes to move towards the park while others leave the park to rejoin the convoy, Marik simply stays there at the side of the street looking as stern as he could. Though the noise of the convoy remains great, here in this portion it seems to die down a little. A thought crosses his mind as he turns an ear as far back as he can, a thought he can’t help but voice “I wonder how many are looking at their own graves…”
As the convoy progresses, Santos simply stands by the front of the precinct, hands in his pockets. He watches the convoy arrive, heart beating fast, constrained hands the only reason he hasn't started shaking quite yet. He starts tapping his right foot as he watches the first few people cross by without noticing what this place is yet, everyone knows where the precinct is, so aside from the words printed on the sign by the entrance there is no other marker of what this building’s purpose might be.
Of course, it is impossible for nobody to notice. The entire convoy seems to stop as soon as a zurulian riding on the shoulders of a human points a claw at the building and says something. A large group breaks away at the command, all of them holding disparate signs and messages. They turn on the building with enough roars that whatever they are attempting to transmit is lost on him.
Santos is thankful his hearing isn’t nearly as good as his coworkers’, as the cacophony is already overwhelming him. He changes stances slightly, taking his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms. This prompts a small group to turn their looks at him, the focus easily identifiable with the humans in their midst, focus which made the hair in the back of Santos’ neck stand on end. Living in this place had refined his sense of danger, but he didn’t need that to realize what could happen.
It was a group of five that approached, four humans and a venlil. “Didn’t think they’d be letting humans live out here in the boonies” said one of his kin.
Santos just shrugs “Got hired to work here. Honestly, rural folk get a needlessly bad reputation, most of the time they just don’t care as long as you’re not bothering them”
“Really? In my-”
Santos interrupts the man “Cut it out” there are many ways in which humans make themselves obvious, many of which are their eyes. Santos did understand the fear of them and why it was primal, it was not the fear of the eyes but the fear of attention, it was knowing you were under the scrutiny and judgment of another that set off that emotion. It was rarely the eyes that showed this attention for most species, but for humans it was, and the man’s clear gaze on his badge made the entire situation clear to him “Stop beating around the bush and say it already.”
Someone else is who speaks. The tall woman starts not with words, however, but by spitting on Santos’ uniform “You fucking traitor” her voice is both fierce and cold at the same time. A very emotional coldness.
“There we go” he sighs “Just… Move on. We’re not getting anything out of this conversation”
“Why?” It was the venlil in the group that started this time “These people hate you, they hate you for what you are! Why do you work for them?!”
Santos rubs his eyes and sighs “Because someone has to. Change only happens when you make it happen, simple as that”
“Change?!” another one of the humans howls “Do you think those people can change?! You know the truth, those fuckers have never done anything good!”
“You know, if you had read your history books…” Santos stares at the one who had just had their outburst “You’d remember that we once thought the very same about the police” there’s the sound of glass breaking, but he doesn’t reaction “And a lot of us still do”
The human staring him down shifts their gaze slightly at the broken window of the precinct, then back at Santos “A broken window is easy to fix” he shrugs “As I was saying. Same shit.” he crosses his arms again “There’s a role those people play, a role that needs to be played because it’s important. Different name, different problems, still the same shit. Gotta fix this, I’m doing my part” he then stares at the venlil in the group “You do yours. Simple as that.”
“Role?!” the venlil of the group steps closer “What role could they possibly have?! They only exist to hurt people!”
Santos steps back, and raises his eyes a little bit. Of course, the classics had shown themselves in this instance. With as many humans as there are in the crowd there were now quite a few objects in the air, most clearly aimed at the precinct behind him. Though given the failed arc of some of them it was clearly not just the humans indulging in such a tried and true method.
“I used to be a wildlife preserve ranger” Santos then focuses his gaze on the aggravated venlil “This is a frontier town, if you walk in the brushes with shorts you’ll walk out with your ankles numb. The athai out there are rather harmless, but they keep the sunspecks under control.” He takes another step back “Since coming here I’ve been pest control, had to catch an exotic animal set loose, investigated a murder, helped stop a child from taking her own life, stopped large scale fights, helped a dozen people avoid being arrested for self defense and helped break a fucking siege”
Santos cracks his knuckles “There’s roles. Jobs that need done and there is one fucking organization doing it all. That is a problem.” Then, he sighs and takes a few more steps to the side, offering indifference from this point on “There’s nothing I can say that would make you calm down.” he says one final time “Just make sure not to injure yourselves in the process, alright?” His words seemed to be enough to make the small group cease trying to interact, as the convoy had begun moving again. Though the one human who had called him a traitor gets one final parting shot at the precinct “Where the hell did you get an egg in this planet…” Santos says with a raised eyebrow as the projectile impacts the front door.
Keya stands by a large sign, the same one that welcomes you into Blackriver on one side and sees you out at the other, the official limit of the town. Her arms behind her back, her attention directly towards the front of the convoy as they march. Something gains the whole of her attention, the car in the front. Someone draws her focus, a human with a megaphone on top of the car. The man shouts words of encouragement at the people behind him with the megaphone before turning to his holopad, then he bends over downwards to discuss something with the driver.
She simply remains there, waiting for the convoy to pass. But instead of moving on out of the city, here the convoy stops completely. Keya observes as the further end of the convoy starts to slowly compact upon itself, and her ears pick up something “Alright everyone, start getting ready, next town over is more than a claw away, make sure you’ve left nothing behind” the words were not meant for her, nor for anyone too far. They come from the same man she had seen standing on top of the car, but he had now climbed down and was talking with a group of multiple species.
It is clear they have some degree of leadership, though the convoy does not stop cleanly nor does it begin to organize with alacrity they do respond to the group’s organization. So Keya keeps her focus on them as they point, wave and talk between themselves, others and devices. But at least one of them has noticed her attention, a gangly and light-skinned human with fire-red hair, the man that was atop the car. He starts walking in her direction, before turning around for one final set of commands as he walks backwards “And make sure the guys at the back got all the crap! We’re here to be heard, not to trash the city!” he says before turning back again to head towards her. A venlil with pure white fur erupts from inside the car he was riding, quickly dashing to his side as they notice where he was going.
In a few moments both have come up to her, the human looking down at her with the venlil bristles at his side “Saw anything interesting, fireman?”
“What are you doing here?”
“What? Isn’t it obvious?!” it was the venlil that roared a response “You saw all of it! You know what they’ve done to us! What they’ve done to everyone! And you still work for those brahking monsters! It’s like you’re thankful they made you a cripple!”
The human puts a hand on the venlil’s shoulder, calming her demeanor just a little bit “We’re here because honestly, we’re all too tired of being fucking ignored is what. So what the fuck are you gonna do?!”
“I have put the wrong emphasis” Keya says with her lack of tone. She can see the human shiver just a little bit “My task is to ensure the safety of this town. Your convoy is a danger. We have eight field-capable officers, we cannot ensure the safety of the residents against a group like yours. People will take actions for reasons, you have broadcast your reasons clearly. You have chosen this place for a reason which I cannot ascertain.”
She makes sure her ears are trained towards both the human and the venlil, an action which causes the venlil to cower behind her partner “We do not house government agencies. This is a farming town of little note. The local precinct is a simple precinct, we have no regulatory or command authority. The town population is approximately double that of the number of your convoy. We have no individuals of appreciable social or political reach. There is nothing in Blackriver of interest to people attempting to change government policy, nor have there been actions taken here that I can identify as being cause for retaliatory actions within the context of your message.”
“I must ensure this does not happen again and the only way of doing so is minimizing our attractivity as targets. A logical assumption of your choice of quarry would be a town with the presence of politicians, a large city with constant news coverage, cities housing important government agencies or those containing the Regional Firebases”
“So I ask again. What are you doing here?”
The two remain silent for a few seconds, before the human turns around with a mouth noise “Whatever, I don’t need to explain myself to someone that won’t listen. Come on!” he starts to stalk back towards the car, but stops once he notices his venlil companion wasn’t moving.
The snow-white venlil has their focus on Keya, who offers a simple low forward swipe of her tail, a sign to proceed. Still, the venlil seems frozen in place until the human comes back and grabs hold of their paw with a gentle touch. At which point both finally return to the convoy.
Keya remains at the side of the road, watching as the convoy readies itself again to leave. People get back inside cars, they hop on the back of trucks and load themselves into buses. She continues to watch as the convoy takes its time riding out, making their way out of the town.
Once it is finally gone, multiple footsteps sound behind her. When she turns around she meets her officers, having returned from their assigned positions “They have left. I expect your reports of what happened in each sector by the end of your shifts” she states plainly, before looking at Santos “They did not appear to have a specific reason for targeting Blackriver.” The question remains unspoken.
The human officer just shrugs “Sometimes, you don’t know what you’re doing. We’re just a little town, I doubt they even know what exactly they’re angry about.” He looks at the tail end of the convoy as it leaves “Town was probably just a place they felt safe going to.”
“D-do you think we might get more like that” Lunek says, at the back of the group.
“Who knows…” Santos sighs “But if human history applies anywhere here… This is just a sign of worse things to come”
[ [FIRST] [NEXT>]
And thus the omen passes by. Feelings, emotions of all sorts, without a plan or a reason other than just their own rage and distress.
Did any of these even know what they were doing? And how much worse can it be when they do?
submitted by JulianSkies to NatureofPredators [link] [comments]
Season 10 “Days of Fury” - Episode 2 “Visiting Omen”
He had hoped for a boring day. Boring days are good at work, and Santos was already expecting to not have many of them for a while.The first couple of days were boring, as usual- Blackriver is a small town, and the worst that had happened was Nila and Kessa making a few wellness checks after worried calls from neighbors. A couple of people in denial, a few ashamed at their own violent outbursts and a stern warning to Tamm about painting others’ properties without asking first.
This morning, however, began with an all-hands meeting. There were no meeting rooms in the office, so they made do in the general workspace room, they all stood there at the center while Keya looked them over.
“We have received a report from a neighboring city about a convoy of protestors making its way to Blackriver” she describes without tone. At this point nobody bothers interrupting.
“This convoy is comprised of approximately four hundred and seventy eight individuals of multiple species, primarily human and venlil but with operationally relevant representations of the entire spectrum of size and mobility types” her paws are behind her back, her ears focused directly ahead, her eyes centered to keep the entire team on the core of her focus “They have crossed multiple cities already, generally engaging in verbal sparring with any figure of authority, parading signs and banners denouncing all manners of authorities as well as occasionally engaging in physical altercations with officers.”
“They are also known to engage in vandalism. Though primarily aimed at exterminator and police precincts as well as public offices, they have already caused considerable collateral to others they have identified as ‘collaborators’” there’s a single heartbeat of waiting for breath before she continues “They have, however, not shown to be an incredibly organized group or one with a clear goal and objective. The convoy appears to contain only extremely emotionally charged people with no clear overarching goal.”
“We are incapable of dealing with the situation should they turn aggressive, as such we will be simply maintaining watch and relocating the populace should they become a problem.” Then, she picks up her holopad and passes it to Lunek beside her “They can only follow one path with the entire convoy, the central street, therefore I have divided it into four sectors. One of each will be assigned to a sector.”
First her ears turn to the first target “Lunek, sector one at the entrance. As the most approachable member of the precinct your task is to give an initial image of harmlessness. Do not engage first, do not take initiative against them. Ensure the members of the herd in the area are warned of their approach. If they become aggressive, retreat and focus on the escape of the herd.”
She tilts her head a little bit, turning her ears the other way “Marik, sector two. Mostly the commercial area, your task is ostensive protection to lower the chances of them initiating aggression. Whereas protection of the herd is first priority your second priority is ensuring Tenve’s Hardware Store as well as Sunbreeze Meals and Watchful Café remain capable of providing anyone whose residences become damaged.” suddenly, she turns her head entirely to face Marik “Ostensive protection means dissuasion, ensure that they know they are not under threat and as long as those specific areas are not engaged, do not provoke”
Next in her line of fire is Santos “As our human officer you will be in sector three, nearby the precinct. They are liable to become most agitated in this area and your presence may serve to calm them. You are not to engage, if deemed necessary the precinct’s materials are considered expendable, do not attempt to stop them”
“Sector four, the exit of town, will be with me to ensure that they have fully left Blackriver and will not attempt to turn back” then she tilts her ears again “Aren, you will gear up with a CCG and remain out of view range, your task will be quick emergency response should the need arise.” she then points her tail at the last three officers “Vess, your task will be to inform the herd and ensure a clear path for the convoy while Nila and Kessa will gather all of our medical supplies and set a staging area out of the convoy’s range. Organize ambulance assistance from Striped Hill and Everrain”
Then, she turns her ears around to focus each one in turn “As any attempt at aggression will end only in negative consequences, and in order to reduce the apparent levels of threat you will be unarmed. The estimated time of arrival is a third of a claw, ready yourselves and be at your post in time. Dismissed.”
“Not sure if I like or I don’t that we had the cold bastard right now” Aren says, as soon as Keya had left the room “Maybe we should move in closer when the convoy gets to sector four?”
“Probably a good idea to be nearby” Santos adds with a sigh “They might take umbrage with her demeanor, hopefully they won’t be set off too hard.”
And with silent signs of agreement all of the officers of Blackriver depart for preparations. The first ones to leave the precinct are the ones in charge of support, the two girls set off early to find someone willing to permit usage of their lawn as a possible impromptu field hospital and a little while later Aren leaves with a heavy CCG.
Slowly, the clock ticks to the appointed claw… And soon enough, Lunek can see in the distance the incoming omen of people. At first a distant line in the horizon, slowly the dark mark on the road coalesces into distinct shapes, the shapes of hundreds of vehicles slowly rolling down the road.
When the first few get close to the initial buildings of the main street, the entire convoy slows down. Their process of preparation is seemingly laborious, each vehicle houses multiple people at a time, smaller cars full to the brim, flatbeds with more people on their cargo space than can safely be contained, even buses conscripted for the effort. They carry with them signs, flags, a multitude of symbols as they dismount their vehicles and start spreading out to fill the street.
They seem to naturally form two distinct yet highly mixed groups, at its most distinctive is the pack of humans who keep a good distance from each other. But they are not alone in this group as takkan, mazic, yotul, zurulian and even drilvar form this central group. But flowing around them, not avoiding their presence but never infringing in their space is the grey mass of venlil, packed tight together, and mixed in there adding color to the monochromatic flux are krakotl, tilfish, sulean, iftali, sivkit and even a seemingly very confused duerten.
And at the very core of the moving group are their vehicles, which gently start rolling forward again as the group starts moving. Lunek simply waits, silently, by the side of the road, his ears attentively swiveling from one side to the other, expression having given way to function. Before the first of the convoy even arrives close he turns to the side, making a pointing sign with his tail. A woman who had been watching from her yard flicks her right ear and runs back inside.
He continues to wait, scanning around at all times for the presence of… Anything. The street is empty of locals when the first visitors start to alight. The convoy is loud, their symbols carry a loudness of colors and their vehicles make as much noise as they can to draw attention, but those who walk seem content in allowing their tools to speak for them, for now. Lunek tries to make sense of the banners and signs, but the messages are disparate as the group- Some speak of injustices against their people, some speak of anger at invaders, some speak of betrayal.
“Fuck off, fireman!” comes the harsh bark of a human, causing Lunek to flinch. But flinch is all he does, he simply starts walking alongside the moving convoy.
The exterminator’s attention is drawn to the details of the few people he can distinguish amongst the mass. Something tickles at his pattern-recognition but he cannot quite ascertain what for a while, until a lightly limping mazic makes her way to the edge of the mass “Want to finish the job?!” she trumpets, her form towering over his.
“I’m just observing, ma’am.” Though the tremor of his voice is noticeable, he remains stoic. But her proximity makes him notice something about her body, marks in her wrists, neck and feet. Though mazic have powerful wrists and knuckles upon which they support the front half of their weight, her left wrist seems completely incapable of it, giving her a limp particular to a three-point walk. “To make sure there’s no impediment on your path” he notices the leathery skin around her left wrist is deeply blackened.
“Oh, ‘no impediment’ is that it? So everyone that lives here is an impediment?!” her voice booms.
“Ma’am” still, he does not yield nor does he break his pace following the convoy “We have not done anything other than inform our people of your presence…” for a half second all he hears is the sound of his own heart “We can’t do anything else.”
Those words, then, sealed his fate. The first shout to echo in his direction was a yotul howling “Yeah you’re useless!” and soon the avalanche came in multiple voices and languages “Can’t do shit!” “You’re just here to hurt people!” “Useless crap!” “Idiot!” and many more.
With every step and twitch the very average exterminator puts all of his focus on just being there. He lets himself cower a little bit, against the barrage it is difficult not to, but he continues to accompany. A few curious coats step out from their houses to watch, but the front of the convoy seems far too focused on the sole exterminator in view to bother anyone else.
A few steps ahead, an older venlil with a cane has moved the closest to the convoy as any watcher has up to now. Seeing her proximity to the increasingly rowdy crowd causes Lunek to speed up, quickly approaching her “Leva-”
But his words are stalled when she puts a paw on his shoulder, she gently puts her head against his for just a second “You’re doing good pup, keep at it” she mutters to him before breaking contact and turning around to walk back inside. He can spy her grandchildren looking on through the door. Lunek looks back at the still-shouting moving convoy, takes a deep breath, and continues to accompany them forward. A small pawful of them, however, seem to have fallen silent.
Once having reached the limit of his assigned zone, however, Lunek stops. He watches the convoy move forward, past the houses, now noisier than before. The initial hollering at him had turned into disjointed screams at some indistinct foe- Though the herd had been noticed of a foe, it was yet unaware of who, or what, said foe was. So for now it howled at the ineptitude of… Someone. And as the last of the convoy passes beyond the imaginary line of his duty, Lunek lets out a deep sigh and allows himself to sit down on the ground.
He stays there for a moment, without thought, simply letting the tension, confusion and fear permeate his body until a gentle paw touches his arm. He doesn’t need to look to identify it, he lets his lover use her strength to prop him up, raising him to his feet “Keina you shouldn’t-”
“Neighbor’s looking over Tiss” his wife wraps her arms and tail around him “I’m not leaving you alone.” she stays like that for a second, before breaking off “Do you need to go after them?”
“No”
Marik stalks through the sidewalk, moving with energy. His speed outpaces the movement of the convoy, his paws twitch to grasp at something that isn’t there and a deep and intense motion makes his short fur stand on end. He had let the convoy’s head move in front of him, simply standing still as he assessed as many as he could in the mass, and now he had begun to move towards the front again.
As he stalked forward he focused his sight on every member of the convoy that seemed of interest. A human whose clothes seemed suspiciously loose, a venlil whose movements were far too stiff, a gojid who kept his claws behind his back. He stared at each like they were his quarry, analyzing every piece of movement they made for threats, and yet aside from the challenge in the human’s gaze he saw no danger arise.
Tenve had closed his shop, so as the convoy moved forward Marik simply continued to follow along, scanning the crowd for threats. But the next point of interest arrives, and he rushes ahead placing himself in front of the only restaurant of the town. Sunbreeze Meals wasn’t a very common sort of restaurant, Blackriver did not have enough visitors for a normal restaurant to be profitable and was small enough most people had their meals at home, it most often served takeout for those farmers who’d spend so long in the field they would return home without the energy to feed themselves.
Sparing a look inside at the only five tables, Marik couldn’t keep a small thought away from his mind. How most who got their meals from Sunbreeze these days did so because they enjoyed the cooking rather than their need of work, ever since the sunspeck population has been brought under control and the maintenance of the fields had become much smaller. He feels the presence long before he can recognize what led him to feel it and turns to stare at a group of six that approach the entrance: Two humans, a tilfish, two gojids and a takkan had broken off from the convoy and approached the restaurant.
He traces his color band over each in turn, and they all bristle at his stare. One of the humans hesitates before continuing to walk inside, and Marik simply remains by the door with his arms crossed, left ear twisted as far back as he could to listen to the inside.
“What have you got here?”
“W-we mostly ha-have ready ma-made meals to go or- or- Or you can look over the menu”
“There’s no need to stutter, y’know”
“So-sorry-”
“Really, after everything y’all are still with this predator crap?”
The chimes on the door echo for the second time in sequence as Marik makes his way inside. The tilfish had started to lean over the counter while the other five had arrayed themselves behind her. They all turn their attention to him as he enters, including the venlil manning the counter. Marik keeps his gaze directly on the tilfish for a few uncomfortable seconds, before looking at the man behind the counter and making a simple sign with his tail, a short vertical bob with the tip and a slow horizontal swipe. It’s meaning simple: >Safe<.
After a few seconds someone else appears from the kitchen. The tall venlil carries a large stack of plastic boxes in his arms, all of them seemingly designed to attach to themselves so as to be carried with ease. He puts them down with a resounding crash on the counter, and opens up his voice with ice “Farmer’s Pots, good meal when you’re working and can’t go home.” With each word the owner of the restaurant and main cook comes closer and closer to the tilfish, until the last “Ten credits each.”
Nobody moves for a couple of seconds, and then one of the humans steps closer and brings a holopad over to the credit reader. There’s a noise indicating payment, and then the owner raises his head and tilts it to focus his favored eye and both of his ears at the man who paid “Now,” he shifts register in his voice and the language he speaks in “fuck off” he finishes.
With no small amount of surprise the group of six retrieve the stack of packaged meals, carefully walking out and back into the convoy. Marik stays behind for a moment “Didn’t know you spoke human”
“Pup’s enamored with their languages. Of course, first greek words he learns is swearing.”
Outside, Marik stalks further ahead to the next point of interest. He moves faster than the convoy, and has time to move in front of it. For a few meters the street is still clear as he arrives to find a group of people standing in front of the Watchful. Standing there were all of its employees, and even all of its regulars, twenty people total standing there as if they were having the most normal day. If not for their raised ears tracking every noise coming from down the street and their swaying tails swinging about like angry beasts.
One of them simply points his tail at the other side of the street as Marik comes closer, and the hunter doesn’t need a second command to understand the meaning. They have this, he has a less practical but just as important duty. He crosses the street quickly before the convoy starts coming closer, and heads towards the park.
As the regulars of the Watchful had feared, it took little time until a large group had broken off from the convoy. With the town on alert about the convoy they had found themselves bereft of prey and now this group had set out to find some, anyone who might be willing, or not, to listen to their grievances. And what is clearly a place designed for people to congregate looked most appetizing.
Marik shadowed the group as they moved through the park, but they were accompanied by nothing but silence. It wasn’t until they ran into the centerpiece of the park that he took initiative, stepping ahead of the group and simply… Standing there a distance away from the tree of many scions, between it and the group.
“What’s so important over there, fireman?” it was a venlil who asked, but his usage of an english word was not lost on Marik.
“A place you will respect” the exterminator has his arms crossed, the one good portion of his gaze set on the man who asked “This is a grave.”
Though the group that now prowled was large, those who heard were taken aback. One such, however, approaches closer. He was a venlil whose fur shifted between a soft, brownish color and a dirty white “A tradition of the tenets right? One of those family trees?” The man would have been distinctive in any other group due to his missing patches of fur around neck, wrists, even portions around his head. But such signs of long term damage were common in the convoy.
Interest. They had shown true interest, or at least one of them had. “No, but similar… The forgotten tree is a grave for the forgotten.” He felt like these people, at least the ones before him, could probably understand the meaning of this place “It is of no tradition. Someone, a long time ago, wanted to honor someone who was gone but whose name was not meant to be remembered. Someone who had disappeared in the system… So they borrowed on another’s tradition, and added a scion to this tree, with something in their memory. Others have done so similarly, until it became… A grave for the forgotten”
“Didn’t think you’d be worried about this kind of place” it’s a human that speaks up this time
“Our duty is to protect this town, what you think-” but Marik’s words are interrupted by that same venlil who had asked before. His demeanor suddenly shifts, his ears perk up and his entire body shifts forward for a moment. He hesitates, for a second everyone’s focus is on him, and then he runs towards the tree.
Marik follows behind, stopping just by the man’s side as he finds himself at the base of the tree. The man makes a direct line to somewhere, something he had found from the distance, as if it had called him. He finds a thick and heavy branch that had been bent down by the weight of its scions and memories, near its base and speaking of a memory left behind long ago is a braid of fur made of three colors, a dirty white, a soft brown and a dark grey, bound by the braids are two beads.
The man raises up a paw, but does not touch it. As if cradling it, he recites the words engraved in one of the beads “I will cross every star to return home” others have come closer to listen to the man’s hoarse voice “There will always be a home for you” he reads of the second one. The names on the beads have been scratched out. The man falls on his knees “S-she kept her promise and… I couldn’t keep mine…”
Marik steps back as he watches two others come closer to comfort the man. He looks as a few others approach with more caution, looking up at the tree with a bit more reverence than they had before. Then, he turns around and starts heading back towards the main street.
Gazing out as the convoy gains a new flux, some leave it as it passes to move towards the park while others leave the park to rejoin the convoy, Marik simply stays there at the side of the street looking as stern as he could. Though the noise of the convoy remains great, here in this portion it seems to die down a little. A thought crosses his mind as he turns an ear as far back as he can, a thought he can’t help but voice “I wonder how many are looking at their own graves…”
As the convoy progresses, Santos simply stands by the front of the precinct, hands in his pockets. He watches the convoy arrive, heart beating fast, constrained hands the only reason he hasn't started shaking quite yet. He starts tapping his right foot as he watches the first few people cross by without noticing what this place is yet, everyone knows where the precinct is, so aside from the words printed on the sign by the entrance there is no other marker of what this building’s purpose might be.
Of course, it is impossible for nobody to notice. The entire convoy seems to stop as soon as a zurulian riding on the shoulders of a human points a claw at the building and says something. A large group breaks away at the command, all of them holding disparate signs and messages. They turn on the building with enough roars that whatever they are attempting to transmit is lost on him.
Santos is thankful his hearing isn’t nearly as good as his coworkers’, as the cacophony is already overwhelming him. He changes stances slightly, taking his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms. This prompts a small group to turn their looks at him, the focus easily identifiable with the humans in their midst, focus which made the hair in the back of Santos’ neck stand on end. Living in this place had refined his sense of danger, but he didn’t need that to realize what could happen.
It was a group of five that approached, four humans and a venlil. “Didn’t think they’d be letting humans live out here in the boonies” said one of his kin.
Santos just shrugs “Got hired to work here. Honestly, rural folk get a needlessly bad reputation, most of the time they just don’t care as long as you’re not bothering them”
“Really? In my-”
Santos interrupts the man “Cut it out” there are many ways in which humans make themselves obvious, many of which are their eyes. Santos did understand the fear of them and why it was primal, it was not the fear of the eyes but the fear of attention, it was knowing you were under the scrutiny and judgment of another that set off that emotion. It was rarely the eyes that showed this attention for most species, but for humans it was, and the man’s clear gaze on his badge made the entire situation clear to him “Stop beating around the bush and say it already.”
Someone else is who speaks. The tall woman starts not with words, however, but by spitting on Santos’ uniform “You fucking traitor” her voice is both fierce and cold at the same time. A very emotional coldness.
“There we go” he sighs “Just… Move on. We’re not getting anything out of this conversation”
“Why?” It was the venlil in the group that started this time “These people hate you, they hate you for what you are! Why do you work for them?!”
Santos rubs his eyes and sighs “Because someone has to. Change only happens when you make it happen, simple as that”
“Change?!” another one of the humans howls “Do you think those people can change?! You know the truth, those fuckers have never done anything good!”
“You know, if you had read your history books…” Santos stares at the one who had just had their outburst “You’d remember that we once thought the very same about the police” there’s the sound of glass breaking, but he doesn’t reaction “And a lot of us still do”
The human staring him down shifts their gaze slightly at the broken window of the precinct, then back at Santos “A broken window is easy to fix” he shrugs “As I was saying. Same shit.” he crosses his arms again “There’s a role those people play, a role that needs to be played because it’s important. Different name, different problems, still the same shit. Gotta fix this, I’m doing my part” he then stares at the venlil in the group “You do yours. Simple as that.”
“Role?!” the venlil of the group steps closer “What role could they possibly have?! They only exist to hurt people!”
Santos steps back, and raises his eyes a little bit. Of course, the classics had shown themselves in this instance. With as many humans as there are in the crowd there were now quite a few objects in the air, most clearly aimed at the precinct behind him. Though given the failed arc of some of them it was clearly not just the humans indulging in such a tried and true method.
“I used to be a wildlife preserve ranger” Santos then focuses his gaze on the aggravated venlil “This is a frontier town, if you walk in the brushes with shorts you’ll walk out with your ankles numb. The athai out there are rather harmless, but they keep the sunspecks under control.” He takes another step back “Since coming here I’ve been pest control, had to catch an exotic animal set loose, investigated a murder, helped stop a child from taking her own life, stopped large scale fights, helped a dozen people avoid being arrested for self defense and helped break a fucking siege”
Santos cracks his knuckles “There’s roles. Jobs that need done and there is one fucking organization doing it all. That is a problem.” Then, he sighs and takes a few more steps to the side, offering indifference from this point on “There’s nothing I can say that would make you calm down.” he says one final time “Just make sure not to injure yourselves in the process, alright?” His words seemed to be enough to make the small group cease trying to interact, as the convoy had begun moving again. Though the one human who had called him a traitor gets one final parting shot at the precinct “Where the hell did you get an egg in this planet…” Santos says with a raised eyebrow as the projectile impacts the front door.
Keya stands by a large sign, the same one that welcomes you into Blackriver on one side and sees you out at the other, the official limit of the town. Her arms behind her back, her attention directly towards the front of the convoy as they march. Something gains the whole of her attention, the car in the front. Someone draws her focus, a human with a megaphone on top of the car. The man shouts words of encouragement at the people behind him with the megaphone before turning to his holopad, then he bends over downwards to discuss something with the driver.
She simply remains there, waiting for the convoy to pass. But instead of moving on out of the city, here the convoy stops completely. Keya observes as the further end of the convoy starts to slowly compact upon itself, and her ears pick up something “Alright everyone, start getting ready, next town over is more than a claw away, make sure you’ve left nothing behind” the words were not meant for her, nor for anyone too far. They come from the same man she had seen standing on top of the car, but he had now climbed down and was talking with a group of multiple species.
It is clear they have some degree of leadership, though the convoy does not stop cleanly nor does it begin to organize with alacrity they do respond to the group’s organization. So Keya keeps her focus on them as they point, wave and talk between themselves, others and devices. But at least one of them has noticed her attention, a gangly and light-skinned human with fire-red hair, the man that was atop the car. He starts walking in her direction, before turning around for one final set of commands as he walks backwards “And make sure the guys at the back got all the crap! We’re here to be heard, not to trash the city!” he says before turning back again to head towards her. A venlil with pure white fur erupts from inside the car he was riding, quickly dashing to his side as they notice where he was going.
In a few moments both have come up to her, the human looking down at her with the venlil bristles at his side “Saw anything interesting, fireman?”
“What are you doing here?”
“What? Isn’t it obvious?!” it was the venlil that roared a response “You saw all of it! You know what they’ve done to us! What they’ve done to everyone! And you still work for those brahking monsters! It’s like you’re thankful they made you a cripple!”
The human puts a hand on the venlil’s shoulder, calming her demeanor just a little bit “We’re here because honestly, we’re all too tired of being fucking ignored is what. So what the fuck are you gonna do?!”
“I have put the wrong emphasis” Keya says with her lack of tone. She can see the human shiver just a little bit “My task is to ensure the safety of this town. Your convoy is a danger. We have eight field-capable officers, we cannot ensure the safety of the residents against a group like yours. People will take actions for reasons, you have broadcast your reasons clearly. You have chosen this place for a reason which I cannot ascertain.”
She makes sure her ears are trained towards both the human and the venlil, an action which causes the venlil to cower behind her partner “We do not house government agencies. This is a farming town of little note. The local precinct is a simple precinct, we have no regulatory or command authority. The town population is approximately double that of the number of your convoy. We have no individuals of appreciable social or political reach. There is nothing in Blackriver of interest to people attempting to change government policy, nor have there been actions taken here that I can identify as being cause for retaliatory actions within the context of your message.”
“I must ensure this does not happen again and the only way of doing so is minimizing our attractivity as targets. A logical assumption of your choice of quarry would be a town with the presence of politicians, a large city with constant news coverage, cities housing important government agencies or those containing the Regional Firebases”
“So I ask again. What are you doing here?”
The two remain silent for a few seconds, before the human turns around with a mouth noise “Whatever, I don’t need to explain myself to someone that won’t listen. Come on!” he starts to stalk back towards the car, but stops once he notices his venlil companion wasn’t moving.
The snow-white venlil has their focus on Keya, who offers a simple low forward swipe of her tail, a sign to proceed. Still, the venlil seems frozen in place until the human comes back and grabs hold of their paw with a gentle touch. At which point both finally return to the convoy.
Keya remains at the side of the road, watching as the convoy readies itself again to leave. People get back inside cars, they hop on the back of trucks and load themselves into buses. She continues to watch as the convoy takes its time riding out, making their way out of the town.
Once it is finally gone, multiple footsteps sound behind her. When she turns around she meets her officers, having returned from their assigned positions “They have left. I expect your reports of what happened in each sector by the end of your shifts” she states plainly, before looking at Santos “They did not appear to have a specific reason for targeting Blackriver.” The question remains unspoken.
The human officer just shrugs “Sometimes, you don’t know what you’re doing. We’re just a little town, I doubt they even know what exactly they’re angry about.” He looks at the tail end of the convoy as it leaves “Town was probably just a place they felt safe going to.”
“D-do you think we might get more like that” Lunek says, at the back of the group.
“Who knows…” Santos sighs “But if human history applies anywhere here… This is just a sign of worse things to come”
And thus the omen passes by. Feelings, emotions of all sorts, without a plan or a reason other than just their own rage and distress.
Did any of these even know what they were doing? And how much worse can it be when they do?
2024.05.18 22:28 lawrencedun2002 Here's how a makeup artist from Springfield collaborated with Gypsy Rose Blanchard in LA
 | Alexis Oakley has done makeup for Emma Stone, Paris Hilton, Demi Lovato, and Kris Jenner, but her work has never garnered as much attention as when she "glammed" Gypsy Rose Blanchard two weeks ago. submitted by lawrencedun2002 to thegrbcase [link] [comments] Oakley, a Springfield native, met with the newfound celebrity May 1, when Blanchard was in Los Angeles for a red carpet event promoting her new Lifetime docuseries, "Gypsy Rose: Life After Lock Up." Oakley met Blanchard in her hotel room, where she did her makeup and the two created social media content together. Oakley and Blanchard had about two hours to do hair and makeup and one hour to create social media photos and videos. They also stopped in a nearby Sephora for about an hour to shop together. Oakley has posted more than nine videos on her TikTok and Instagram from the collaboration, which have garnered more than 70 million impressions, she said. She also gained more than 250,000 followers on TikTok, almost overnight. As of Wednesday, Oakley has more than 490,600 followers on TikTok. "I've never gained so many followers from anyone before," Oakley told the News-Leader on Wednesday. "Obviously, I've worked with traditional celebrities ... and a tag can help my career, for sure, but the Gypsy Rose Effect is unlike anything." Connecting with Gypsy The collaboration began back in December 2023, a few days after Blanchard was released from the Chillicothe Correctional Center, where she served an eight-year sentence for conspiring to kill her mother Clauddine "Dee Dee" Blanchard" with her then-boyfriend Nick Godejohn in 2015. Blanchard was released from prison Dec. 28 and on Dec. 30, Oakley posted a TikTok video of her setting up her makeup kit with the caption, "Clearing my schedule in case Gypsy Rose wants glam." The video was a part of a trend where TikTokers made videos of them "clearing their schedules" to do specific activities with Blanchard. As of Wednesday, Oakley's video had more than 454,200 views. Though the video garnered more engagement than her other content, Oakley said she didn't think much of it. However, she was genuinely interested in doing Blanchard's makeup. "After that, I saw that she was doing press in New York and getting her hair and makeup done and I was like, 'Okay, she's about to start being a glam girl, how can I get my name in there?'" Oakley recalled. "I DMed (direct messaged) her a million times (on Instagram), but obviously she wasn't seeing anything because I think she got 12 million followers overnight." Oakley decided to take it a step further and began sifting through the list of accounts Blanchard followed on Instagram, which at the time was about 100. "I was just looking for someone who was maybe a manager, publicist or friend," Oakley continued. "I ended up finding a few girls who worked on the Lifetime team and DMed them and said, 'Oh my gosh, I saw Gypsy is doing press. How can I glam her? Can you connect me? Who should I reach out to?' and they were like, 'Oh my gosh, we actually saw your TikTok.'" In January, Lifetime aired a six-episode docuseries called "The Prison Confessions of Gypsy Rose Blanchard," which chronicled the history of Blanchard's case and some of her life in prison. After connecting with members of Lifetime, it was about four months before Oakley heard from them again, which she said is typical when working with celebrities. Then out of nowhere Oakley received the call: Are you available? Gypsy is coming to Los Angeles. Four hours and a lasting friendship According to Oakley, Blanchard was only in Los Angeles for about 24 hours. Ahead of the Lifetime red carpet event, Blanchard visited Santa Monica Pier — it was her first time seeing the ocean — and did some staple California activities, like trying In-N-Out Burger. Then, Blanchard and Oakley met up for hair and makeup in Blanchard's hotel room. "We just connected right away," Oakley said of Blanchard. "I filmed the entire process, which I typically try to do with my clients ... She was so sweet, such an easy client and just so excited to learn about makeup and just asking questions the entire time: 'What's this product? How do you apply this? Why are you putting it there? What does this do? Have I been doing this wrong?' (She) was very, very eager to learn, which is so fun for me." During hair and makeup, Oakley learned that Blanchard had never been to a Sephora, so she asked Blanchard's team if they would have enough time to run by a nearby mall. Fortunately, they were able to work it into her schedule. The two bought an array of makeup products, including moisturizer, foundation and concealer, blush, mascara, eyebrow pencils and lip liner. "It was just so sweet and it honestly made me so emotional taking her as she'd never been before, she's 32 years old and doesn't really know how to do her makeup," Oakley said. "Watching her light up when I would tell her about certain products ... was just really, really cool." Since Blanchard's visit to Los Angeles, Oakley said the two have been texting back and forth daily. And while nothing is confirmed, Oakley said Blanchard told her that she would like for her to do her makeup for her wedding, when that day comes. Getting started and what's next Oakley got her start doing prom and bridal makeup in her parent's basement in high school, but she knew she was interested in more sophisticated work. A few weeks after graduating from New Covenant Academy in 2016, Oakley moved to Los Angeles at the age of 18. Upon arriving, she enrolled at Make-Up Designory, a five-month professional make-up training program. "Two days before I graduated Make-Up Designory, I landed a job as an assistant for a really huge celebrity makeup artist. That was kind of that moment for me where I was like, 'Okay, I think this is supposed to be what I do." The makeup artist was Rachel Goodwin, who has worked with Emma Stone, Laura Dern, Jennifer Lawrence, Zendaya and countless other A-list celebrities. Oakley said she spent about four years working as an assistant for various celebrity makeup artists before establishing herself independently. The first two celebrities she worked with on her own were Paris Hilton and Jessica Alba, both in the same week. More recently, Oakley has enjoyed collaborating with social media content creators including Tanya Mongeau, Trisha Paytas and Brianna LaPaglia. When it comes to Oakley's relationship with Blanchard, she said she hopes to stay in contact and do her makeup anytime she's in Los Angeles. As for future clients, Oakley said her dream celebrity that she would like to work with is Hailey Bieber. She also hopes to host more in-person events like meet-and-greets and masterclasses. |
2024.05.18 22:12 FlahtheWhip What Word Power* would you want if you lived in my world, Pulcherri?
*name is wip
In my world Pulcherri, everyone is born with powers based around one random word related to one of their parents' Word. For example, if a parent's Word is Space, their child's Word could be related to spatial concepts, like the word Time (spacetime) OR related to outer space, like Star. As for the powers, what the person can do has to make sense with their Word, and it always starts as just one thing the person can and at a very weak level. As a different example, Emotion, would start as just willingly changing one's own emotions. It would then grow to change and sense others' emotions. And since the story for the webcomic will have a shounen anime angle, I'll throw in stuff like turning emotions into energy for attacks or manifest them as weapons like big ass swords (because anime). If you guys don't understand, I'll throw in more examples. I based all of these off Epithet Erased's magic system.
If I could choose, I'd choose words like Imagination, Fantasy, Creativity/Creation, Art, Magic, or Fiction.
CLARIFICATION 1: Almost forgot. Certain kinds of words are not eligible. Pronouns, determiners, adverbs, proper nouns, and conjunctions are not eligible. Verbs that are not dynamic or stative are not eligible. Adjectives that are not descriptive, attributive, or participial are not eligible.
CLARIFICATION 2: Eligible words have to be in the collective public's understanding, and STAY there, meaning words that no one uses or understands anymore will no longer be eligible. This includes extinct languages.
CLARIFICATION 3: (Gonna have to do this a lot since I left out a lot of stuff) Everyone has different words, it's just everyone's Word is related to their parent's. If a word has multiple meanings, you get powers related to ALL of its meanings. Two people can't have the same word (at least in the same language, might change that), so powers related to its meanings can't be split among two or more people.
submitted by FlahtheWhip to worldbuilding [link] [comments]
In my world Pulcherri, everyone is born with powers based around one random word related to one of their parents' Word. For example, if a parent's Word is Space, their child's Word could be related to spatial concepts, like the word Time (spacetime) OR related to outer space, like Star. As for the powers, what the person can do has to make sense with their Word, and it always starts as just one thing the person can and at a very weak level. As a different example, Emotion, would start as just willingly changing one's own emotions. It would then grow to change and sense others' emotions. And since the story for the webcomic will have a shounen anime angle, I'll throw in stuff like turning emotions into energy for attacks or manifest them as weapons like big ass swords (because anime). If you guys don't understand, I'll throw in more examples. I based all of these off Epithet Erased's magic system.
If I could choose, I'd choose words like Imagination, Fantasy, Creativity/Creation, Art, Magic, or Fiction.
CLARIFICATION 1: Almost forgot. Certain kinds of words are not eligible. Pronouns, determiners, adverbs, proper nouns, and conjunctions are not eligible. Verbs that are not dynamic or stative are not eligible. Adjectives that are not descriptive, attributive, or participial are not eligible.
CLARIFICATION 2: Eligible words have to be in the collective public's understanding, and STAY there, meaning words that no one uses or understands anymore will no longer be eligible. This includes extinct languages.
CLARIFICATION 3: (Gonna have to do this a lot since I left out a lot of stuff) Everyone has different words, it's just everyone's Word is related to their parent's. If a word has multiple meanings, you get powers related to ALL of its meanings. Two people can't have the same word (at least in the same language, might change that), so powers related to its meanings can't be split among two or more people.
2024.05.18 21:53 superhoffy Wanna hear KGLW banger after banger? It's not possible to boil gizzard down to fewer than 27 tracks and I'll fight anyone that disagrees!
So I've now finally listened to all KGLW albums enough to feel like I can be sure of my favourite songs. I made a playlist of my top 27 tracks, which was a painful enough process in itself given the number of bangers I had to leave out. My initial goal was to make a top ten, but it just hurts way too much to go that far. My process was as follows:
For those who don't have Spotify the full list is: Candles, Magma, The Land Before Timeland, Hypertension, Astroturf, Iron Lung, The Garden Goblin, Work This Time, Am I in Heaven?, Slow Jam I, Trapdoor, Rattlesnake, Open Water, Catching Smoke, Eyes Like the Sky, Tezeta, Crumbling Castle, Inner Cell, Mars for the Rich, Oddlife, O.N.E., Static Electricity, Motor Spirit, Gila Monster, Nuclear Fusion, The Silver Cord, Gilgamesh.
submitted by superhoffy to KGLW [link] [comments]
- First I added to my Spotify the KGLW playlist of all albums from 12BB to TSC that another redditor kindly added on this sub. Unfortunately, I cannot find the original post and therefore cannot credit this kind soul for their fantastic efforts. Having a playlist like this saves me from loading the entire, huge discography of KGLW every time I want to listen to them on Spotify, for which I'm really grateful as it's saved me loads of time. The playlist is here.
- Next, using this list, I decided to make a playlist of KGLW songs that I like. It has 91 songs and is nearly eight hours long! You can check it out here.
- Finally I copied this playlist into a new one and then proceeded to (excruciatingly) delete those songs which I felt can't make it into my top ten. Almost instantly, I realised it's just not within the laws of nature to get the number down as low as ten and aimed for 20. Then 25. I settled on 27 and will not budge from this number! The rich, juicy final reduction is here.
For those who don't have Spotify the full list is: Candles, Magma, The Land Before Timeland, Hypertension, Astroturf, Iron Lung, The Garden Goblin, Work This Time, Am I in Heaven?, Slow Jam I, Trapdoor, Rattlesnake, Open Water, Catching Smoke, Eyes Like the Sky, Tezeta, Crumbling Castle, Inner Cell, Mars for the Rich, Oddlife, O.N.E., Static Electricity, Motor Spirit, Gila Monster, Nuclear Fusion, The Silver Cord, Gilgamesh.
2024.05.18 21:25 Spooker0 The Next Line Will Hold (Human Military Advisors)
Location: Defense Line Husky, Datsot-3
POV: Motsotaer, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Pack Member)The shrieking whistle of incoming artillery shell was among the most terrifying noises known to living beings.
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew. Boom. Boom. Boom.
But it meant you were still alive.
Pack Member Motsotaer wondered if the poor pups in the forward trenches heard them coming as the enemy high explosive pounded into their lines.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
One of their anti-aircraft concrete bunkers took a direct hit; its roof collapsed on itself with a loud crumble.
Grass Eater artillery was voluminous, destructive, but scariest of all, it was incredibly precise. Their intelligence assets in orbit knew all, saw all. Their kill chains were short. Once they saw you, they would call it in, and the remainder of your life was measured in minutes and seconds.
There was nothing vegetarian about the efficient and bloodthirsty way the long-eared Grass Eaters fought, and the numerous intelligent predator species they’d exterminated on their way to Datsot… some of those tales gave even Motsotaer nightmares.
The defenders of Datsot had no choice. No choice but to defend their homes against the psychotic enemies pounding their lines to bits. And the ones who remained had learned the hard lessons of war, either through experience earned by blood or via the process of not-so-natural selection.
Motsotaer clutched his rifle against his chest as he laid in his own shallow hole, eyes closed. If the end was going to come for him, there was nothing else he could do but huddle in his freshly-dug grave.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The blasts continued walking across the defense lines, undoubtedly killing scores of his comrades. But he accompanied each shockwave with a sigh of relief; they let him know that he was still alive. Still breathing.
One final rumble. And then there was silence across the battlefield.
Motsotaer waited a minute before he peeked out — another lesson that smart defenders of Datsot had discovered the hard way. A couple brave medics were already on the move, their shouts left and right, pulling bodies and the groaning injured alike out of the rubble aftermath of the shelling.
With a grunt, he pulled himself out of his hole, rushing towards the neighboring anti-air bunker. The concrete roof had collapsed, but he could still hear cries from the dark. He squeezed through the cluttered entrance.
It was a mess on the inside. The lights were all gone. Scattered sandbags. It smelled like blood and death, and he pushed aside the still body of a Head Pack Leader he only knew of, only to find the corpse of yet another Pack Member, her limbs sprawled in an unnatural position.
“Anyone still alive in here?” he asked in the dark as his eyes adjusted. “Hello?”
There were a series of loud coughs. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“Pack Leader Nidvid!” he shouted as he recognized the familiar shrill voice. “Keep talking! Where are you?”
“Here. I’m here. Help me up.”
As she continued to cough, he had the sense to fish a flashlight out of his pocket, fumbling around until he found the on button. As the light activated, he could see Nidvid half-buried in the dirt, her lower limbs trapped beneath some sand from the broken sandbags.
“Pack Leader!” He got onto his front paws and started digging. “Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so,” she shook her head in the dim lighting as she experimentally wriggled her legs. “Here, I think I’m loose. Help me up.”
Motsotaer grasped her under her arms, and with a heavy grunt, pulled her out of the dirt.
“Whew,” she said, checking her body again for wounds. Nidvid looked around at the other bodies splayed in the bunker. “Oh no… Head Pack Leader…”
“That was a close one. I can’t believe you lived through that!”
“Yeah, me neither… Wait a second,” Nidvid said as she began rummaging through a pile of rubble near the Head Pack Leader’s body. “The radio…”
“What are you looking for?” he asked as he aimed his flashlight towards where she was looking.
“Oh no, no, no…” her voice trailed off as she picked up the device she’d been looking for. “Our hardline communicator…” It was clearly broken from the strike, its shell perforated with a hundred holes and its connection to the landline severed. In disgust, Nidvid threw it back to the ground.
“What uh— what did you need that for?” Motsotaer asked. “Were we supposed to tell them we were being attacked?”
“No… It was— before the strike, we got a high priority order.”
“A high priority order?”
Nidvid recalled, “There’s a special platoon in our salient… We were supposed to get an important message to them!”
“Special platoon?” Motsotaer asked. “Are you okay, Nidvid?”
“Yes, yes,” the Pack leader replied, visibly distraught. “They only had a physical line to us because they’re supposed to be keeping in the dark. Emissions control or something like that so they can activate the flying machine swarm in time. They said this was life and death and our whole defense line hinges on it!”
“Emissions control? Flying machines? Pack Leader, we should get you to a medic,” he said skeptically.
“No! Motsotaer, this is important. We need to get the message to them now. They’re only a couple kilometers south from our position. If we run over to their position now, it might not yet be—”
He looked up at her face in alarm. “Run to another position? Outside the trench line?”
“Yes! We have to go!” she said, as she peeked out of the concrete bunker towards the barren zone ahead of the trenches. “Now! Before they start their offensive.”
Motsotaer began to protest, “But that’s no creature’s land. If we get spotted by their troops, we’ll be hunted down by the Grass Eaters ships in orbit…”
She was insistent, “Pack Member Motsotaer, get it together. We still have a job to do. Are you with me or are you going to sit here and die like a coward to the long-ears?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, straightening up. Death or not, he was no coward. “I mean… I’m with you.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
With a grunt, she leapt out of the trenches and jogged south, keeping to the defensive side of it for the modicum of cover it provided, and Motsotaer quickly followed. As they sprinted away from the tattered defenses, they ran into a thick tree line that hopefully provided them with some concealment from the Grass Eater ships above.
After a couple more minutes of running in the forest, Motsotaer started to tire and pant. He weighed his burning lung and how embarrassed he’d be if he complained. Luckily for his ego, Nidvid gestured for them to stop after another minute and tossed him her canteen. “Take a break before we get going.”
He chugged as much water as he could in a single swig, and returned the canteen to Nidvid. He gasped out, “How much further, Pack Leader?”
“About one more kilometer south,” she said, aiming her snout up at the treetops. “I recognize the smell of this area.”
“What’s this even about? The message… what was it?”
Nidvid exercised her limbs. “That Grass Eater artillery strike… it was to prepare for their offensive on our lines. They’ve gathered an armored division on the other side of that,” she pointed out into the barren fields beyond the trees. “We have an hour at most before they roll over us.”
“An armored division?!” Motsotaer squeaked. The enemy’s Longclaws — their armored vehicles — were legendary. They could kill from kilometers away. And their thick shells protected them against all but the most powerful artillery in the Federation’s arsenal. He’d never seen one of them personally. If he had, he suspected he wouldn’t be alive to tell anyone about it. “What can we do against a Grass Eater armored division?”
“That’s why we have to get to the special platoon,” Nidvid replied. She pointed in the southern direction, “You ready? Let’s go.”
They galloped for a few more minutes. Motsotaer’s limbs tired and his breaths shallowed as his lung burnt. As he was contemplating whether to ask for another break, Nidvid pointed at a shape in the distance. “There, that’s their position!”
He squinted at it. It was not easy to see, but buried in the tree line was what looked like a bunch of out-of-place branches and leaves over a small vehicle. Buoyed by the anticipation of the end of the marathon, he managed to keep up with Nidvid’s pace.
As they approached, there was a loud shout.
“Hi-yah! Stop!”
They halted their steps and looked for the source of the voice.
“Not one more paw step, deserter! This is a restricted area! Turn around or you’ll be shot!”
Motsotaer looked up at the voice hidden up in the branches. After a moment, with some help from his nose, he found the yeller. It was a short, stout middle-aged male with strange-looking green and brown paint smeared all over his fur and face. He had a rifle aimed squarely at the duo.
“Don’t shoot!” Nidvid yelled back. “We’re runners. We’ve got an important message! For your platoon commander.”
The male in the tree looked suspiciously at them as he leapt down. He lowered his rifle, but didn’t seem any less on guard. “A message?”
“Yes, we’ve got an urgent message for Special Platoon Commander Graunsa. Take us to him right now!”
He sized the two of them up. After a moment, he said slowly, “I am Graunsa. Why are you here, and what is the message?”
Nidvid recovered some of her breath and explained, “The Grass Eaters hit us hard with an artillery strike. Our Head Pack Leader is dead. Our landline is gone. We ran all the way over from our lines north of you.”
Graunsa nodded and gestured for her to continue.
“The Grass Eater armored offensive is about to start. They’re moving into position and ready to go, and there’s a special message embedded—”
“Wait a second,” Graunsa interrupted. “Give me the special message exactly, without omission or your own interpretations.”
“Yes, Platoon Commander,” Nidvid nodded. “The message is: bunny water carriers are in play, red-five-zero-eight; come out of the dark and introduce yourself. Authorization is three-three-greyhound.”
Graunsa looked thoughtful for a moment as he pondered it.
“What does the message mean?” Motsotaer whispered at Nidvid.
“I have no idea,” she shrugged, whispering back. “The Head Pack Leader just told me to memorize it.”
The platoon commander seemed to have made up his mind. “Alright, that seems legitimate. Thanks for the message.” He turned around to leave.
Motsotaer shouted behind him, “Wait, what are we supposed to do now?”
Graunsa turned around. “I don’t know. I’m not your commanding officer.” He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t recommend going back to your lines though. Might not be there when you get back…”
“What?!”
“You can’t just leave us! Where else are we supposed to go?” Nidvid asked.
Graunsa seemed to contemplate the question for a few heartbeats and sighed, “You said you’re from the position up north?”
“Yup,” they replied in unison.
“And you’re a spotter, Pack Member?” he asked, looking at the rank and position patch on Motsotaer’s chest.
“Yes.”
Graunsa relented. “Fine. We might find a use for you. Get into the bunker… before the Grass Eaters in orbit see us dawdling out here.”
“What? Where?”
The officer pointed at a patch of dark green leaves on the forest floor. As they approached it, he grasped a latch and lifted it to reveal a ladder. The three of them descended into the darkness and Graunsa secured it behind them. With a quiet swoosh, a lamp mounted on the wall lit up to reveal a small hallway leading to a heavy-looking door.
Graunsa knocked on it twice. He turned around and looked at Motsotaer and Nidvid. “What you’re about to see in here is of the highest secrecy level of the Malgeir Federation. If you tell anyone what you see in here, you will be executed for treason. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Platoon Commander.”
“Swear it, on your honor.”
“We swear,” they replied in unison, their voices infused with growing excitement.
“Good enough for me.”
The heavy steel door swung open, showing a room that was vastly different from what its primitive exterior suggested. It resembled a command center far more than a field base, and Motsotaer felt a blast of cold air conditioning in his face as he passed the door threshold.
At the front, a main screen showed a map of the defensive lines in the sector. Facing it, two rows of sleek, new computer screens lit up the dark. Their operators worked busily at their controls, and only a couple faces looked their way in mild interest as they entered.
“What is this—” Motsotaer started to ask. Nidvid grasped his shoulder and shushed him.
Graunsa cleared his throat. Several faces looked towards him in anticipation. “Platoon, we just got the message. Activate the FTL handshake and authenticate us in the network.”
“Yes, sir.” A young-looking communication officer near the front operated a few controls on her console. “I’ve got the advisors on the line.”
Motsotaer read his nametag: Gassin. She was a Gamma Leader, much higher ranked than he, but she looked not a day over twenty. He noted that many of the people in the room sported high-ranking insignias despite their apparent youth.
“On screen,” Graunsa ordered.
A communication window appeared on the main screen, streaming video of someone in a jet-black EVA suit.
Motsotaer stiffened. It was obvious that the subject was alien; at around 1.7 or 1.8 meters, it was far too tall for being a Malgeir. Too small for a Granti. And from the side profile of the suit, it didn’t bulge nearly enough for the tails that the Malgeir’s Schpriss neighbors were known for. A strange new species of aliens.
From the blackened visor, it was obvious that whoever that was… it was the reason for all this tight secrecy.
“Special Platoon Commander Graunsa,” it transmitted in perfect Malgeirish. The alien was either a trained-from-birth Federation Channel One newscaster with a perfectly inoffensive accent, or its translator was far better than anything the Malgeir themselves had invented. “This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”
Graunsa stepped up to address the screen directly, “Yes, advisor. Our fire support platoon is ready for tasking.”
“Excellent. Transmitting the first batch of targets in your sector now.”
A series of symbols scrolled onto the screen, showing a number of coordinates.
“We’re getting the enemy positions now,” Gassin exclaimed.
Graunsa turned to her and nodded his appreciation, “Sixteen armored targets. Weapons free.”
“Yes, sir. Programming the sequence.”
A camera on the main screen activated, remotely showing a small hole with some machinery in it dug a few hundred meters away just at the edge of the tree line.
“Launching flying machine swarm!”
As Motsotaer watched, a thicket of metal erupted from the hole in a blur, roaring into the sky.
The main screen was replaced by a four-by-four of windows of black and white images. It took him a couple seconds to realize that he was looking at the battlefield from above. The Malgeir had rotary wing, airplanes, and jet — some were even armed, but they were usually much bigger. And their air assets had been grounded since the early days of the battle for Datsot when the enemy took the orbits.
Not these tiny devices though.
He focused on one of the sixteen windows.
The ground sped past below the camera’s vision, tree line after tree line, the flying machine seemed to know where it was going by itself: Motsotaer looked at the other occupants in the room. None of them seemed to be directly controlling it.
He stiffened.
Is this controlled by a thinking machine?
“We’re getting in range of the target coordinates, Platoon Commander,” Gassin updated the room a few minutes later.
As if on cue, the flying machines flew higher, and the trees on the ground grew smaller, as if further away. Until…
“Targets identified!” Gassin reported with excitement in her voice.
As an infantry spotter, Motsotaer had been trained — barely — to identify enemy armored vehicles. As in, he’d been given a cheatsheet containing the silhouettes of the different types of vehicles the enemy drove. But even he couldn’t tell at this distance what the white-hot smudges on the screen were.
The machine had no such issues though.
Several red boxes materialized on the screen, clearly marking several enemy vehicles in the thermal imagery and adorning them with detailed information.
The one Motsotaer was watching said:
Hostile vehicle, Longclaw MK4 (top armor: ~25mm), 4.2 km.
No hostile EW detected.
Without additional prompting, the flying machines raced in towards their targets, each recognizing a different one as its final destination. Afraid to blink, Motsotaer stared intently at one of the video streams.
A new line of text appeared at the top of the screen:
ETA 20 seconds.
It counted down the seconds, number by number.
The enemy Longclaw got larger and larger until… the screen went black, replaced by static. As he looked around, the other windows were similarly replaced with static one-by-one.
Motsotaer frowned, wondering where the videos had gone.
Then, it hit him. The flying machines were on one-way trips.
The sixteen windows disappeared, and another one appeared, showing the enemy assembly area from a much higher perspective. And instead of the vehicles he expected, he counted sixteen burning wrecks, the black smoke from their flames reaching up into the sky in columns.
“Targets destroyed, Commander,” Gassin said. Several of the officers in the room looked at each other excitedly, but their celebration was muted.
Graunsa nodded. “Call our advisors again.”
The alien appeared on the screen again. “Excellent work, Platoon Commander. We’re assessing the lines and getting the second batch of targets to you now.”
“Understood.”
As the new target coordinates scrolled onto the main screen, Gassin didn’t need additional prompting, “Launching flying machines!”
Another sixteen of them flashed out from the pre-dug position. Another sixteen windows appeared on the screen, replacing the odd-looking aliens’ video.
“Wait a minute,” the aliens’ voice cut into the quiet hum of the control room’s operation. “Switch back to the high-altitude drone. Something’s happening.”
The main screen’s image was replaced by the previous camera looking down at enemy lines. There was a flurry of activity in the enemy base area. Numerous dots representing the ground troops moved to-and-fro. And worryingly, the red squares that surrounded enemy armor began appearing en masse as enemy Longclaws drove out of their covered positions into the open.
Dozens of them.
Then, hundreds. And more appeared every second.
“What’s going on?” Graunsa asked, his voice reflecting Motsotaer’s worry.
The alien took a minute to get back to him, its black helmeted face filling up the screen again. “They’re attacking. They don’t know what hit them in the last strike. But they must have realized that they’re not safe in their assembly area, and they’re doing the only thing they can… We estimate they’ll get to your first lines in thirty minutes.”
“Can we stop them?” Graunsa asked. “We can—”
The alien looked directly into the video. “Not sixteen drones at a time. And if you launch the whole swarm at once, it’ll reflect enough signal for them to sniff out where you are with their counter-battery radars and take you out from orbit.”
Graunsa swallowed. “That’s— that’s— The machines can fly themselves without us, right?”
The alien didn’t say anything for a few heartbeats. “Theoretically, yes. But even if you evacuate your position now, your people won’t get out of range from the orbital strike they’ll call in.”
“I understand. Feed us the enemy targets.”
“Delta Leader, we can’t ask you to—”
“I said, feed us the enemy targets,” Graunsa insisted.
Quietly, hundreds of coordinate pairs filed onto the main screen. Graunsa looked at the faces of the young officers under his command. Dozens of them. He turned around to look at his two guests. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s the right choice,” Nidvid replied, shrugging.
Motsotaer nodded at him.
“I know,” Graunsa said, turning back to the main screen. “Just doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Sir, we’re ready to launch,” Gassin reported.
“Weapons free. Release everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ground shook and rumbled, hundreds of flying machines leaving their canisters for the sky. They were close enough to hear the outgoing buzzing as the munitions launched. This time, more and more windows filled up the screen with the visuals of the outgoing flying machines — hundreds of them, and Motsotaer was surprised that the computers could even handle it all.
The visage of the alien returned to their screen. It said calmly, “Enemy orbital launch spotted. Multiple launches. High yield. Missiles incoming to your location, ETA twelve minutes.”
“Understood, advisor.”
“Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
“What’s going on?” Longclaw Commander Slurskoch sat up in his turret cupola as the sirens rang loud through the hull.
“We’re under artillery attack!” his Controller yelled back at him through the roaring startup sequence of the turbine anti-grav engines. “The Lesser Predators… they’ve got some kind of new weapon! Took out a whole battalion’s worth of Longclaws in the 194!”
“But we’re not ready!” his Driver complained. “Our artillery is supposed to pound them for another hour before we—”
Slurskoch shook his head as he checked the friendly force tracker on his screen. “Doesn’t matter! If they’ve got some new weapon, we can’t sit still while we get pounded to bits by whatever they have. We gotta get out there. Hurry it up!”
It took them another two minutes to fully warm up the engines, and with a roar, the Longclaw burst out of its camouflaged emplacement, kicking up a curtain of dirt in front of it.
“Let’s go! Go! Go!” Slurskoch yelled as his lagging Longclaw joined the armored formation already on the move.
The Controller spoke with one of her ears in the radio, “Their artillery just launched… something at us. We’ve pinpointed their location, and orbital support is on its way.”
His Gunner whooped twice, and Slurskoch nodded silently in agreement. That’d flatten those carnivorous abominations where they stood. He drew a few symbols and circles on the digital battlemap as the Longclaws drove toward the enemy lines. “Gunner, watch those potential trench lines in front of us,” he instructed. “Their anti-armor may not look scary on paper, but their infantry can always get a lucky hit in.”
Slurskoch was taught in training that it was better to overestimate the enemy than underestimate them. Luckily, the predators usually fell below expectations, which was why the Dominion controlled the orbits of Datsot now and not them.
His Controller frowned at something in her radio, “They’re saying something about the enemy artillery… The engineers at the base assessed the strike aftermath. There’s something strange in the rubble. The attack was more precise than anything we’d ever seen.”
“What does that mean?” Slurskoch asked in confusion.
“The sensor officer in charge of the assembly area has taken full responsibility. They didn’t see the incoming at all. Higher ups are speculating that the Lesser Predators have a new weapon in their arsenal.”
“The predators made new weapons?” Slurskoch snorted. “Useful ones? That’ll be a first. Well, whatever it is, maybe our Design Bureau will get a good look at it when we finally cleanse this planet of their filth. Make our next battle a little easier when we have to take their home planet.”
His Gunner agreed, “And then, the Prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
The Driver, in his open hatch, looked up at the cloud of them flying over the enemy lines. “Looks like it. A nice juicy feast for them in the coming battle. The irony of the barbaric carnivores being eaten by themselves.”
A few thousand years ago, winged predators would have curdled the blood of any natural-born Znosian. On the original plains of Znos, they were one of the most dangerous threats a lone Znosian faced. Now, that fear had been completely bred out of the gene pool, replaced with contempt for predatory primitivism, the courage to face them in battle, and the drive to exterminate them all.
Curious, Slurskoch stared up into the cloud of winged predators with his Longclaw commander optics. He frowned.
One of them shimmered.
Shimmered.
He zoomed in.
Then, he saw a metallic glint. His whiskers tightened.
“That’s— those aren’t winged predators,” he barely made out in shock. “Incoming!”
“Huh?” his Driver asked, craning his head up to look at the dark shapes in the distance.
“Get inside! Secure the hatch!” Slurskoch shouted at him.
His Driver was not very good at thinking on his own, but he had been bred to follow direct orders without question. He ducked into his seat, quickly securing the hatch above him close with trained claws.
He barely secured the Longclaw as other commanders began yelling out similar instructions on their radios.
“Incoming!” his Controller advised, about ten seconds later than necessary. “Enemy… artillery?!”
“Gunner!” Slurskoch gestured in the general direction of the sky.
“I can’t get a shot on them. They’re too high up!” she screamed back at him.
A trio of air defense vehicles next to him opened up with their six barrels towards the sky, lines of bright tracers stabbing out at the dark swarm. He saw one of the… flying machines hit and fall out of the sky. Then another.
It wasn’t enough.
As Slurskoch’s optics tracked the incoming, he saw them dive. They were fast, and they flew erratic patterns, almost organically, like actual winged beasts. If he hadn’t had that specific fear bred out of his bloodline hundreds of years ago, he would have been frozen in shock. Instead, he yelled out, “Brace! Brace!”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The world exploded around his Longclaw.
Through his friendly force tracker, Slurskoch watched an entire battalion disappear off the map on his right flank, and two Longclaws in his line of sight brewed up in massive fireballs, throwing their turrets into the sky as their plasma ammunition detonated. One of the anti-air vehicles brewed up next to his, splattering its parts against his hull.
His Driver drove for all he was worth, ducking and weaving in the open field. So did the other Longclaws. Some deployed curtains of smoke in front of them in desperation.
None of it seemed to help.
The shockwaves hit his Longclaw in quick succession, knocking him around the armored cabin and rattling his teeth.
Boom. Boom.
More Longclaws exploded. Many more. They were disappearing off his screen faster than the software could update the signals. He closed his eyes waiting for the end.
It didn’t come.
It was hard for Slurskoch to tell when the last Longclaw near them was hit. His hearing organs must have been damaged some time during the attack. His auditory senses ringed as they returned to normal, recovering when his Controller shook him with a paw on his shoulder. “—Five Whiskers! Five Whiskers!”
“What is it?” he snapped, keeping the quivering out of his voice.
“We’re alone in our company, and I can’t contact the six whiskers! And I’ve been trying to reach battalion without success!”
“Try the regiment commander!” he yelled out against the noise of the anti-grav engine.
“Can’t reach them either!”
“What about division headquarters?!”
“I think division’s gone, sir!”
“What?!”
“Nobody there has been responding. All I’ve got is a seven whiskers in the reserve infantry division behind us! They’re saying they see black smoke in the direction of our division field command!”
“What in the Prophecy? How is that possible?!”
“What do we do, Five Whiskers?”
Slurskoch had been trained for a wide variety of combat scenarios and contingencies, including losing his immediate superiors, losing most of his unit, and losing his communication link to command. But he’d never been trained for all of those combined at once. That was just not something predators were supposed to be able to do to you.
He fell back to the next best thing.
“What’s the combat computer say?” he asked.
His Controller operated the controls on her console, and after half a minute of querying, she replied, reading off the instructions, “Absent orders, continue the attack. Maybe we can push through.”
“What? Did it take our losses into account?” he protested as he checked the battlemap. Of the nearly five hundred Longclaws that had pushed out of the assembly area, only a quarter remained. At most. Some of the signals on the map were flagging themselves as mobility or mission killed.
She shrugged, “It did. That’s what it says.”
He squinted at her screen. That was indeed what it said.
Slurskoch thought for a moment, sighed, and bowed in prayer, “Our lives were forfeited the day we left our hatchling pools.”
The other crew members all did the same, lowering their heads to mutter the familiar mantra.
That ritual out of the way, he drew up to his full height of 1 meter and mustered all the confidence he could into his voice, “Attack! Attack! Attack!”
The command center watched glumly as the hundred or so surviving Grass Eater Longclaws emerged from the wrecks of their comrades and slowly resumed their charge across the open toward the defense lines.
The flying machines had gotten a lot of them. Quite a few disabled too. And they were disorganized from the loss of their command. Yet they still charged. Diminished as their numbers were, they rolled towards the battered defensive lines with psychotic determination.
We’ve failed.
Graunsa sat down heavily into his chair. He brought up his communication console, connecting it to the advisor network.
The alien appeared on the screen, and though he couldn’t see its face, he could hear the sympathy in its translated voice, “You’ve done all you can, Special Platoon Commander.”
“It wasn’t enough,” he said, shaking his ears sadly. “They’re going to break through our line. Our infantry can’t stop them.”
It tilted its head. “I wouldn’t count them out completely, Delta Leader. They might. They might not. But your next defensive line certainly will hold them. The city behind you will be held.”
“Tracking enemy orbit-to-ground. ETA three minutes,” Gassin reported quietly from next to him.
Graunsa sighed. He looked at the alien, “I think I understand your people now, advisor.”
“You… do?”
“Yeah, at first, when we were picked for this mission, I wondered why your people were doing this.”
“Doing this?” the alien asked, seeming confused.
“Helping us. The weapons. The equipment. The training. The targeting. It was all in secret, but you didn’t have to do it. The other species around us didn’t do it. The Schpriss…” Graunsa snorted, “The long-tails can’t even find it in their spines to send us field rations. I thought your species… your people were just generous. Or perhaps you simply enjoyed the craft of war, being so adept at it.”
“Are we… not?”
“Those reasons may be part of it,” he conceded. “But more importantly, I think your people understand one thing the other species don’t… that we might stop the enemy here. Or we might not.”
“We didn’t set you up to fail, if that’s what you think—”
“But the next defensive line certainly will hold them,” Graunsa said, staring the alien in the eye. “You will hold them. Isn’t that right?”
It sighed. “I would be lying if that wasn’t part of the strategic equation. Our star systems are indeed next in line — sometime in the next decade or two, probably — if these bloodthirsty Buns conquered your Federation. That harsh astropolitical realism. But there’s something else too.”
“Is there?”
“Yes,” it nodded its head firmly in a familiar manner. “Yes, there is. We aren’t a particularly long-sighted species, Graunsa. We can plan, yes, but wars are fought by true believers. People don’t sign up to put their lives on the line for a hypothetical, potential invasion of our Republic twenty years in the future. They— we signed up for this because we truly believe what’s happening to your people… it shouldn’t happen to anyone, ever.”
Graunsa looked at the helmeted head for a while, then nodded. “I believe you, advisor.”
“I’m sorry this didn’t pan out, Graunsa. If I could, I’d be down there with you. We’d have made them pay for this.”
Graunsa smiled. “I believe you about that too. Thank you, advisor, whatever your name is.”
“You may call me Kara,” it said simply. A deft snap of its paws — he hadn’t noticed how soft its claws were before — and it released a latch on its helmet with a hiss. Lifting it from its head, it revealed a soft, smooth face without much fur except a bundle of long, brown strands on its scalp tied up in a neat spherical shape. Its hazel forward-facing eyes stared at him with the empathy that only other predators were capable of, filling him with mild relief. “Don’t tell anyone though,” it joked lightly, mirroring his smile back at him.
You’re not as ugly as I thought you’d be. Not nearly.
Graunsa’s grin widened at the thought. He put it out of his mind. “Ah. One last thing, advisor— Kara.”
“Yes?”
His mind drifted to his cubs at home. Perhaps they were still alive. He chose to believe that. “Our people’s clans and packs…”
“We’ll let them know,” she interrupted him softly. “And when the information quarantine is lifted, we’ll let your clans and packs know what you did here — everything.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Gassin sat down next to him, “Delta Leader, enemy missiles incoming. ETA thirty seconds, they’re entering—” She stopped her report and stared at the unmasked alien on his screen with equal parts wonder and sadness.
“Take a closer look, Gassin,” he ordered softly. “That… that is who will avenge us.”
On screen, the alien put its gloved paw up to its temple, forming a stiff triangle with its arm in a recognizable salute. “It was an honor, Graunsa.”
Graunsa returned it crisply, letting a primitive fire shine through his face. “Happy hunting, Kara.”
Location: Atlas Naval Command, Luna
POV: “Kara”, Terran Reconnaissance OfficeKara watched solemnly as the green signal blinked off the battlemap. She closed her eyes for a moment in silent prayer for the fallen.
Beep. Beep.
Another light on her console blinked urgently for her attention. Four thousand kilometers from the previous one. The war raged on — day and night — across four continents on the besieged planet. Fifty light years from the Republic, its defenders’ sweat, tears, and blood lined the fields and valleys of the beautiful blue sphere not so different from her own. Tens of millions of them: many who she knew would not see the end of this war.
They didn’t all know it, and some might not have cared, but fifty light years away, someone recorded their names, and someone felt a pang of loss for their sacrifice. In the cold, dark forest of the galaxy, somebody heard their trees fall.
Kara collected her thoughts, adjusted the bun in her hair, and lowered the tinted EVA helmet over her face once more.
She cleared her throat as she glanced at the screen and activated the microphone in her helmet, “Special Platoon Commander Treiriu. This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”
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Thanks for reading my story! This is a standalone chapter in my Grass Eaters story, meant to be enjoyable all on its own. If you're interested in more of my writing, please do subscribe to the update waffle bot or check out the rest of the universe in Grass Eaters.(Grass Eaters posts every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We are closing in on the end of Book 1.)
2024.05.18 20:45 Obvious_Outsider Character Analysis: Rean Schwarzer (How do I Feel About Rean?)
This post contains spoilers from CS1-Reverie, including Reverie’s post-game content.
Disclaimer: The analysis portion of the Background section contains discussion of mental illness. I am not an expert in mental health, or any health field for that matter. I’m just a guy applying his own perception, lived experiences, and surface-level knowledge to interpreting Rean’s arc. I probably don’t even need to be making this disclaimer, but I felt like it.
Last year, I made this post asking how the members of this sub felt about Cold Steel’s protagonist: the one and only Rean Schwarzer. I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of engagement it got, as well as the diversity of opinion expressed in the comments. There were those who loved him, those who were neutral on him, and a few who just couldn’t stand him. At the time, I had just finished CS2, so there was a ton about Rean I wasn’t privy to. However, now that I’ve played Reverie and am fully caught up with the first half of the series, I have a much fuller picture of him. Since so many of you were kind enough to offer up your takes on Rean back then, I figured I’d express my own thoughts on him in the form of a proper analysis. Without further ado, let’s begin!
Although Rean’s new family was loving and supportive, his new life was not without struggle. The boy’s sudden, mysterious appearance in the Schwarzer household made the family - particularly Teo - the subject of gossip and controversy among other nobles. Some believed Rean was Teo’s illegitimate child, while others openly lambasted Teo for his willingness to potentially allow a commoner into the nobility’s ranks. Teo essentially became an outcast among his noble peers, his family’s name tarnished by rumor. Rean, for his part, came to believe he was at fault for this situation, and the subsequent guilt would plague him for many years.
Rean’s self-worth was further challenged by another, more personal problem that arose during his childhood. At age nine, Rean watched an unknown monster attack his younger sister, Elise, and the stress caused an innate “ogre power” within him to manifest. Rean fell into a blind rage, savagely killing the monster. When he returned to his senses, Rean was traumatized by the scene he had left behind, and by the discovery of this new, violent side of him he could not control.
Two years later, Rean became an apprentice of the legendary swordsman Yun Ka-fai, founder of the Eight Leaves One Blade school, hoping to learn how to control his ogre powers. Despite showing great promise as a swordsman, Rean was unable to develop control over his ogre power, and Yun was eventually forced to cut short Rean’s training for unrelated reasons. Although the beginner-rank Rean continued to train on his own, the damage to his psyche was too deep-seated for him to fix alone. He believed he was nothing but a burden and a monster, undeserving of love or happiness. This guilt and self-loathing spurred him to always put others’ needs and well-being above his own, believing himself less important than anyone else. This self-sacrificial behavior became a recurring problem for Rean over the course of his adolescence and early adulthood.
In S.1204, at age 17, Rean enrolled at the prestigious Thors Military Academy in eastern Erebonia. He, along with eight others, became part of Class VII, Thors’s first socially integrated graduating class. Although he still struggled with low self-worth, Rean thrived in this new environment, quickly befriending his classmates and discovering his natural-born ability as a leader. By this time, Rean’s real father, Giliath Osborne, had become Chancellor of Erebonia and was being targeted for death by the Imperial Liberation Front - an anti-Osborne terrorist group. The ILF was a recurring presence in Class VII’s lives during their first school year, and the two groups clashed frequently. At the end of the year, Rean’s life took a dramatic turn when he unexpectedly became the Awakener for the Divine Knight Valimar before watching the ILF - led by his friend Crow Armbrust - seemingly assassinate Osborne and spark a nationwide civil war. Thors came under siege by Crow shortly thereafter, and in the chaos, Rean was forcibly separated from his classmates.
One month later, Rean awoke in the Eisengard Mountain Range outside his adopted hometown, Ymir. Now armed with Valimar’s power, Rean rendezvoused with his family and set out to reunite Class VII. Although he succeeded, Rean was later captured by the Noble Alliance and was held captive alongside Erebonian princess Alfin Reise Arnor. With Alfin’s encouragement, Rean freed the two of them using his ogre powers and rejoined Class VII onboard the imperial family’s airship Courageous. Thanks to Alfin and his bond with his classmates, Rean learned to stop fearing his ogre powers and started opening up more to those closest to him. Using the Courageous, Class VII successfully led a mission to retake Thors before ultimately confronting the Noble Alliance’s leader, Duke Cayenne, and stopping his plan to use the Infernal Castle to win the war. At the same time, new drama entered Rean’s life: Shortly after stopping Duke Cayenne’s plan, Crow unexpectedly died and Osborne was revealed to still be alive - and Rean’s real father. Rean, for his part, was formally recognized by the imperial government for his role in ending the war and became a national hero. This was, however, merely a ploy to pressure Rean into obeying Osborne’s wishes, and it succeeded, as Rean subsequently became an operative in Erebonia’s conquest of Crossbell. It was during this time that he became acquainted with Crossbell Special Support Section leader Lloyd Bannings.After Crossbell’s annexation, Rean fought in the Northern War, which resulted in Erebonia annexing North Ambria. He partook in the siege of Haliask, where he fought archaisms using Valimar. During this stretch of the war, Rean lost control of his ogre powers and was rendered unconscious for three days. As a result, he once again lost faith in his ability to control himself, and swore off the use of his ogre power.
In April S.1206, roughly 1.5 years after the civil war’s end, Rean started a job as instructor of a “new Class VII” at Thors’s new branch campus in western Erebonia. At the branch campus, Rean bonded with his students and fellow faculty while also taking on assignments from the imperial government. It was also during this time that Osborne’s plan to trigger the Great Twilight started unfolding, causing Rean, his students, and his comrades to regularly butt heads with jaegers, Ouroboros, and powerful cryptids. Ultimately, however, Osborne outmaneuvered all attempts by Rean, Olivert, and others to stop him; the Courageous was destroyed by a bomb with Olivert still onboard, Rean’s forces were spread thin through various battles, and Rean himself was forced to watch as Millium Orion was killed and turned into a Sword of the End. Finally at his wit’s end, Rean suffered a mental breakdown and was consumed by his ogre powers, causing him to violently trigger the Great Twilight himself before being taken captive by Osborne and Ishmelga.
After a short period of captivity, Rean was freed by Class VII and their allies. He, along with the SSS and the Liberl Bracer Guild, declined to become part of Musse Egret’s Operation Mille Mirage, instead choosing to oppose Osborne their own way. Rean, as Valimar’s Awakener, decided to partake in the Rivalries to reform the Great One, in hopes of defeating Ishmelga’s curse. He gradually defeated and absorbed power from the other Awakeners until, finally, during Operation Jormungandr, he defeated Osborne and Ishmelga, becoming the pilot of a corrupted Great One. It is at this time when two different futures unfolded: In one, Rean flew the Great One beyond Zemuria’s atmosphere to remove Ishmelga from the continent. In the other, Rean used the power of the Holy Beast of Earth to give Ishmelga’s curse a corporeal form, allowing him and his friends to destroy it. It was this latter future that became Zemuria’s reality, while the former remained hypothetical and unrealized.
Many months after Ishmelga’s defeat, in S.1207, Rean became involved in the incident involving Crossbell and Elysium. While combating enemy forces in the Nord Highlands, Rean started undergoing assimilation with Ishmelga-Rean, an alternate version of himself created by Elysium based on the unrealized timeline from when Ishmelga was first beaten. Later, during the final confrontation with Ishmelga-Rean, the real Rean saw visions of his other self’s sacrifice and finally grasped the devastating effects his past martyr-like behavior had on those he loved. He vowed to make a change before eliminating Ishmelga-Rean, stopping the assimilation.
Sometime after the clash with Elysium, Rean visited Longlai in eastern Calvard with his family, secretly hoping to track down Yun while there. Instead, he encountered members of the Ikaruga jaeger corps, who informed him that Yun was not in Longlai before departing. Rean has since contented himself with his current life as a Thors instructor, sensing that the next incident to befall Zemuria will involve not him, but an entirely different group of heroes.
Analysis: From even a cursory glance at Rean’s story, it is clear he endured much distress and trauma at a young age, and in my view, the result was deep-seated mental illness - namely depression. I am not a psychologist, but I would wager that the violent manner in which his five year-old self lost his home, his mother, and, almost, his own life, was horrific enough for his mind to block all memory of that period as a defense mechanism. This would help explain how Rean did not remember his real parentage until his encounter with Osborne in CS2 jogged his memory. Further stressing Rean were the controversies surrounding his adoption, which were not at all his fault but still interpreted as such by him, and the sudden, gory manner in which he learned of his ogre power. With such a potent combination of stressors burdening his young mind, it is no surprise to me that it took Rean such a long time to overcome his feelings of guilt and worthlessness. He was saddled with depression during the most formative period of his life, and like any mental illness, depression cannot be overcome with just one or two instances of positive reinforcement. It is often something people have to live with for many years, with periods of relative difficulty and relative ease. Looking at it this way, it makes sense for Rean’s arc to have taken as long as it did.
Side note: Obviously, Rean’s story is not the most realistic depiction of depression in fiction, but the manner in which it unfolds and is presented is still enough for me to take it seriously as a journey of struggling with mental health. When Rean receives support or encouragement from his friends and family, it helps in the short-term, but does little to erode the larger problem because that simply isn’t enough. Further, Rean’s progress is not linear, but is marked with occasional setbacks: In CS2, he finally learns to stop fearing his ogre power, but in CS3, we see that he is still vulnerable to losing control of it, and he does so during the Northern War and in the finale of that game. He receives a pendant (“meds?”) and training (“therapy?”) to control said power in CS3, but he still struggles with it. In CS4’s “bad” ending, even after everything he has gone through, Rean falls back into his old habits of self-sacrifice, because that’s how “baked-in” his problems are; he doesn’t even see the issue because he’s lived that way for so long. It is CS3’s finale that is the most striking part of Rean’s journey to me: In my eyes, it is the same as Rean having a mental breakdown, too overcome by his own emotional turmoil to control himself. He becomes consumed by his own demons, literally and figuratively, and it takes the collective effort of his loved ones in CS4 to bring him back to stability.
It is also fitting that Rean’s big turning point - the moment in Reverie where he sees the pain his martyr-esque behavior causes others - is as dramatic as the instances that facilitated Rean’s internal struggle to begin with. What I particularly appreciate about this chunk of Rean’s arc is that it is presented as Rean finally realizing the change he needs to make, rather than him being instantly cured of his ailments. It is simply him resolving to change his outlook on himself and his relationships, and that feels more grounded to me than any alternative route the writers could have taken.
Rean is also extraordinarily perceptive thanks to his Unclouded Eye technique, which he learned from Yun Ka-fai. This allows him to set aside any preconceived notions or prejudices he may have and accurately discern a person’s true nature. His training also allows him to notice things others may not, such as objects moving at high speed or unseen people/creatures in his vicinity. At the same time, there are things he struggles to pick up on, namely when it comes to others’ feelings regarding him. Rean often fumbles when it comes to romantic/intimate interactions with the girls in his life, either unintentionally flustering them or failing to understand how deep their feelings run. Rean also fails to understand how his martyr behavior hurts those he cares about, despite numerous incidents ending with people refusing to abandon him and calling him out for perceived recklessness.
Analysis: One thing I’ve always appreciated about Rean is that, despite his serious personal problems, he never comes off as whiny, annoying, cringe, etc. He knows how to compartmentalize and portray an air of confidence and amicability; I would attribute this to his noble upbringing, as we see similar behavior in other noble characters like Laura and Jusis. His natural ability as a speaker and leader are reminiscent of Osborne’s, as is his penchant for self-sacrificial behavior; Osborne was, after all, willing to bond with Ishmelga, literally give his heart to his son, and turn himself into a villain for the sake of his people.
There are considerable differences between Rean and the three protagonists who preceded him. He is almost the antithesis of Estelle: She is lively, spontaneous, and unafraid to open up to others emotionally, Rean is more reserved and measured, and is initially guarded, though he does learn to express himself over time. While he does share similar backstory details to Kevin, their outward personalities are starkly different, with Kevin being suave and laid-back and Rean being more serious and passive. As for Lloyd, while Rean does share his kindness, perception, and leadership ability, the two do have their differences as well. Lloyd’s arc is about starting from nothing and overcoming barriers, gaining strength along the way. He is driven by a commitment to justice and a zealous patriotic spirit. Rean, on the other hand, starts out with great power at a young age but struggles to control it, making his journey more internal and personal than Lloyd’s. Additionally, his fighting spirit comes not from burning passion, but from steely nerve and trust in his companions. And, of course, he is not morally gray like his successor, Van.
submitted by Obvious_Outsider to Falcom [link] [comments]
Disclaimer: The analysis portion of the Background section contains discussion of mental illness. I am not an expert in mental health, or any health field for that matter. I’m just a guy applying his own perception, lived experiences, and surface-level knowledge to interpreting Rean’s arc. I probably don’t even need to be making this disclaimer, but I felt like it.
Last year, I made this post asking how the members of this sub felt about Cold Steel’s protagonist: the one and only Rean Schwarzer. I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of engagement it got, as well as the diversity of opinion expressed in the comments. There were those who loved him, those who were neutral on him, and a few who just couldn’t stand him. At the time, I had just finished CS2, so there was a ton about Rean I wasn’t privy to. However, now that I’ve played Reverie and am fully caught up with the first half of the series, I have a much fuller picture of him. Since so many of you were kind enough to offer up your takes on Rean back then, I figured I’d express my own thoughts on him in the form of a proper analysis. Without further ado, let’s begin!
Background
Rean Schwarzer (born Rean Osborne) is the main protagonist of Trails of Cold Steel I, II, III, and IV, as well as one of the three main protagonists of Trails into Reverie. He was born in S.1187 to Erebonian commoners Brigadier General Giliath and Kasia Osborne. Rean’s father was a brilliant leader and strategist, but his commoner status made him an enemy of the military’s nobles. This led to Giliath’s home being attacked by jaegers when Rean was five, resulting in Kasia’s death and Rean’s heart being punctured by shrapnel. In a desperate bid to save his son’s life, Giliath made a deal with Ishmelga, the Ebon Knight, to become its Awakener and used its power to transplant his own heart into Rean’s body. Due to his deal with Ishmelga, Giliath was forced to give up custody of Rean, entrusting him to the care of Baron Teo Schwarzer. As a result, “Rean Osborne,” the son of a commoner military officer, became “Rean Schwarzer,” the adopted son of a minor noble family.Although Rean’s new family was loving and supportive, his new life was not without struggle. The boy’s sudden, mysterious appearance in the Schwarzer household made the family - particularly Teo - the subject of gossip and controversy among other nobles. Some believed Rean was Teo’s illegitimate child, while others openly lambasted Teo for his willingness to potentially allow a commoner into the nobility’s ranks. Teo essentially became an outcast among his noble peers, his family’s name tarnished by rumor. Rean, for his part, came to believe he was at fault for this situation, and the subsequent guilt would plague him for many years.
Rean’s self-worth was further challenged by another, more personal problem that arose during his childhood. At age nine, Rean watched an unknown monster attack his younger sister, Elise, and the stress caused an innate “ogre power” within him to manifest. Rean fell into a blind rage, savagely killing the monster. When he returned to his senses, Rean was traumatized by the scene he had left behind, and by the discovery of this new, violent side of him he could not control.
Two years later, Rean became an apprentice of the legendary swordsman Yun Ka-fai, founder of the Eight Leaves One Blade school, hoping to learn how to control his ogre powers. Despite showing great promise as a swordsman, Rean was unable to develop control over his ogre power, and Yun was eventually forced to cut short Rean’s training for unrelated reasons. Although the beginner-rank Rean continued to train on his own, the damage to his psyche was too deep-seated for him to fix alone. He believed he was nothing but a burden and a monster, undeserving of love or happiness. This guilt and self-loathing spurred him to always put others’ needs and well-being above his own, believing himself less important than anyone else. This self-sacrificial behavior became a recurring problem for Rean over the course of his adolescence and early adulthood.
In S.1204, at age 17, Rean enrolled at the prestigious Thors Military Academy in eastern Erebonia. He, along with eight others, became part of Class VII, Thors’s first socially integrated graduating class. Although he still struggled with low self-worth, Rean thrived in this new environment, quickly befriending his classmates and discovering his natural-born ability as a leader. By this time, Rean’s real father, Giliath Osborne, had become Chancellor of Erebonia and was being targeted for death by the Imperial Liberation Front - an anti-Osborne terrorist group. The ILF was a recurring presence in Class VII’s lives during their first school year, and the two groups clashed frequently. At the end of the year, Rean’s life took a dramatic turn when he unexpectedly became the Awakener for the Divine Knight Valimar before watching the ILF - led by his friend Crow Armbrust - seemingly assassinate Osborne and spark a nationwide civil war. Thors came under siege by Crow shortly thereafter, and in the chaos, Rean was forcibly separated from his classmates.
One month later, Rean awoke in the Eisengard Mountain Range outside his adopted hometown, Ymir. Now armed with Valimar’s power, Rean rendezvoused with his family and set out to reunite Class VII. Although he succeeded, Rean was later captured by the Noble Alliance and was held captive alongside Erebonian princess Alfin Reise Arnor. With Alfin’s encouragement, Rean freed the two of them using his ogre powers and rejoined Class VII onboard the imperial family’s airship Courageous. Thanks to Alfin and his bond with his classmates, Rean learned to stop fearing his ogre powers and started opening up more to those closest to him. Using the Courageous, Class VII successfully led a mission to retake Thors before ultimately confronting the Noble Alliance’s leader, Duke Cayenne, and stopping his plan to use the Infernal Castle to win the war. At the same time, new drama entered Rean’s life: Shortly after stopping Duke Cayenne’s plan, Crow unexpectedly died and Osborne was revealed to still be alive - and Rean’s real father. Rean, for his part, was formally recognized by the imperial government for his role in ending the war and became a national hero. This was, however, merely a ploy to pressure Rean into obeying Osborne’s wishes, and it succeeded, as Rean subsequently became an operative in Erebonia’s conquest of Crossbell. It was during this time that he became acquainted with Crossbell Special Support Section leader Lloyd Bannings.After Crossbell’s annexation, Rean fought in the Northern War, which resulted in Erebonia annexing North Ambria. He partook in the siege of Haliask, where he fought archaisms using Valimar. During this stretch of the war, Rean lost control of his ogre powers and was rendered unconscious for three days. As a result, he once again lost faith in his ability to control himself, and swore off the use of his ogre power.
In April S.1206, roughly 1.5 years after the civil war’s end, Rean started a job as instructor of a “new Class VII” at Thors’s new branch campus in western Erebonia. At the branch campus, Rean bonded with his students and fellow faculty while also taking on assignments from the imperial government. It was also during this time that Osborne’s plan to trigger the Great Twilight started unfolding, causing Rean, his students, and his comrades to regularly butt heads with jaegers, Ouroboros, and powerful cryptids. Ultimately, however, Osborne outmaneuvered all attempts by Rean, Olivert, and others to stop him; the Courageous was destroyed by a bomb with Olivert still onboard, Rean’s forces were spread thin through various battles, and Rean himself was forced to watch as Millium Orion was killed and turned into a Sword of the End. Finally at his wit’s end, Rean suffered a mental breakdown and was consumed by his ogre powers, causing him to violently trigger the Great Twilight himself before being taken captive by Osborne and Ishmelga.
After a short period of captivity, Rean was freed by Class VII and their allies. He, along with the SSS and the Liberl Bracer Guild, declined to become part of Musse Egret’s Operation Mille Mirage, instead choosing to oppose Osborne their own way. Rean, as Valimar’s Awakener, decided to partake in the Rivalries to reform the Great One, in hopes of defeating Ishmelga’s curse. He gradually defeated and absorbed power from the other Awakeners until, finally, during Operation Jormungandr, he defeated Osborne and Ishmelga, becoming the pilot of a corrupted Great One. It is at this time when two different futures unfolded: In one, Rean flew the Great One beyond Zemuria’s atmosphere to remove Ishmelga from the continent. In the other, Rean used the power of the Holy Beast of Earth to give Ishmelga’s curse a corporeal form, allowing him and his friends to destroy it. It was this latter future that became Zemuria’s reality, while the former remained hypothetical and unrealized.
Many months after Ishmelga’s defeat, in S.1207, Rean became involved in the incident involving Crossbell and Elysium. While combating enemy forces in the Nord Highlands, Rean started undergoing assimilation with Ishmelga-Rean, an alternate version of himself created by Elysium based on the unrealized timeline from when Ishmelga was first beaten. Later, during the final confrontation with Ishmelga-Rean, the real Rean saw visions of his other self’s sacrifice and finally grasped the devastating effects his past martyr-like behavior had on those he loved. He vowed to make a change before eliminating Ishmelga-Rean, stopping the assimilation.
Sometime after the clash with Elysium, Rean visited Longlai in eastern Calvard with his family, secretly hoping to track down Yun while there. Instead, he encountered members of the Ikaruga jaeger corps, who informed him that Yun was not in Longlai before departing. Rean has since contented himself with his current life as a Thors instructor, sensing that the next incident to befall Zemuria will involve not him, but an entirely different group of heroes.
Analysis: From even a cursory glance at Rean’s story, it is clear he endured much distress and trauma at a young age, and in my view, the result was deep-seated mental illness - namely depression. I am not a psychologist, but I would wager that the violent manner in which his five year-old self lost his home, his mother, and, almost, his own life, was horrific enough for his mind to block all memory of that period as a defense mechanism. This would help explain how Rean did not remember his real parentage until his encounter with Osborne in CS2 jogged his memory. Further stressing Rean were the controversies surrounding his adoption, which were not at all his fault but still interpreted as such by him, and the sudden, gory manner in which he learned of his ogre power. With such a potent combination of stressors burdening his young mind, it is no surprise to me that it took Rean such a long time to overcome his feelings of guilt and worthlessness. He was saddled with depression during the most formative period of his life, and like any mental illness, depression cannot be overcome with just one or two instances of positive reinforcement. It is often something people have to live with for many years, with periods of relative difficulty and relative ease. Looking at it this way, it makes sense for Rean’s arc to have taken as long as it did.
Side note: Obviously, Rean’s story is not the most realistic depiction of depression in fiction, but the manner in which it unfolds and is presented is still enough for me to take it seriously as a journey of struggling with mental health. When Rean receives support or encouragement from his friends and family, it helps in the short-term, but does little to erode the larger problem because that simply isn’t enough. Further, Rean’s progress is not linear, but is marked with occasional setbacks: In CS2, he finally learns to stop fearing his ogre power, but in CS3, we see that he is still vulnerable to losing control of it, and he does so during the Northern War and in the finale of that game. He receives a pendant (“meds?”) and training (“therapy?”) to control said power in CS3, but he still struggles with it. In CS4’s “bad” ending, even after everything he has gone through, Rean falls back into his old habits of self-sacrifice, because that’s how “baked-in” his problems are; he doesn’t even see the issue because he’s lived that way for so long. It is CS3’s finale that is the most striking part of Rean’s journey to me: In my eyes, it is the same as Rean having a mental breakdown, too overcome by his own emotional turmoil to control himself. He becomes consumed by his own demons, literally and figuratively, and it takes the collective effort of his loved ones in CS4 to bring him back to stability.
It is also fitting that Rean’s big turning point - the moment in Reverie where he sees the pain his martyr-esque behavior causes others - is as dramatic as the instances that facilitated Rean’s internal struggle to begin with. What I particularly appreciate about this chunk of Rean’s arc is that it is presented as Rean finally realizing the change he needs to make, rather than him being instantly cured of his ailments. It is simply him resolving to change his outlook on himself and his relationships, and that feels more grounded to me than any alternative route the writers could have taken.
Personality
Rean is a kind, courageous, selfless individual who greatly cares about those around him. Despite his own low self-esteem, he is a gifted speaker and possesses the spirit of a natural-born leader. It is this charisma that quickly made him the de facto leader of Class VII, as he often served as an intermediary for the interpersonal clashes between his other classmates (see: Machias/Jusis and Fie/Laura). He often goes out of his way to help his peers solve problems or make their lives easier. This behavior is propelled by his own feelings of worthlessness, which causes his generosity to often escalate to self-sacrificial activity. On the occasions when Rean is unable to help someone, he often feels guilty, even if the problem at hand was not his fault or was out of his control (examples include his inability to stop Vulcan and Crow from dying in CS2).Rean is also extraordinarily perceptive thanks to his Unclouded Eye technique, which he learned from Yun Ka-fai. This allows him to set aside any preconceived notions or prejudices he may have and accurately discern a person’s true nature. His training also allows him to notice things others may not, such as objects moving at high speed or unseen people/creatures in his vicinity. At the same time, there are things he struggles to pick up on, namely when it comes to others’ feelings regarding him. Rean often fumbles when it comes to romantic/intimate interactions with the girls in his life, either unintentionally flustering them or failing to understand how deep their feelings run. Rean also fails to understand how his martyr behavior hurts those he cares about, despite numerous incidents ending with people refusing to abandon him and calling him out for perceived recklessness.
Analysis: One thing I’ve always appreciated about Rean is that, despite his serious personal problems, he never comes off as whiny, annoying, cringe, etc. He knows how to compartmentalize and portray an air of confidence and amicability; I would attribute this to his noble upbringing, as we see similar behavior in other noble characters like Laura and Jusis. His natural ability as a speaker and leader are reminiscent of Osborne’s, as is his penchant for self-sacrificial behavior; Osborne was, after all, willing to bond with Ishmelga, literally give his heart to his son, and turn himself into a villain for the sake of his people.
There are considerable differences between Rean and the three protagonists who preceded him. He is almost the antithesis of Estelle: She is lively, spontaneous, and unafraid to open up to others emotionally, Rean is more reserved and measured, and is initially guarded, though he does learn to express himself over time. While he does share similar backstory details to Kevin, their outward personalities are starkly different, with Kevin being suave and laid-back and Rean being more serious and passive. As for Lloyd, while Rean does share his kindness, perception, and leadership ability, the two do have their differences as well. Lloyd’s arc is about starting from nothing and overcoming barriers, gaining strength along the way. He is driven by a commitment to justice and a zealous patriotic spirit. Rean, on the other hand, starts out with great power at a young age but struggles to control it, making his journey more internal and personal than Lloyd’s. Additionally, his fighting spirit comes not from burning passion, but from steely nerve and trust in his companions. And, of course, he is not morally gray like his successor, Van.
Relationships
Due to the sheer number of people Rean becomes involved with, I will only address his more notable relationships. Many will be in clusters, with only a select few individuals receiving their own entries.- Old Class VII: Old Class VII is Rean’s core friend group through the entire Cold Steel arc. They are the ones who fight by his side during the arc’s major events, including the Erebonian civil war, the Great Twilight, and more. Although Emma Millstein was class president during their student years, Rean gradually becomes Old Class VII’s’ de facto leader in the field due to his good rapport with all its members and his role in helping them bond with each other. By the end of CS1, he is very much the proverbial glue that holds Old Class VII together, and Rean executes this role flawlessly in CS2 by bringing their scattered members back together again. Despite his love for his classmates, Rean largely hesitates to seek them out for emotional support due to his low self-worth, and it isn’t until he sees their heartbroken reactions to his “death” in Reverie when he realizes how much he means to them.
- New Class VII: Rean is New Class VII’s teacher at Thors’s branch campus starting in CS3. Over the course of the game and its sequels, he forms a unique bond with each of his five students: A father-like figure for Altina, a tough-love mentor for Ash, a source of confidence for Kurt, a role model for Juna and… uh… maybe I shouldn’t discuss Musse. Anyway, the wisdom Rean imparts on New Class VII helps them all mature into capable young adults, particularly Juna, who essentially fills Rean’s shoes in CS4 Chapter 1 and leads the charge to rescue him from Osborne.
- Schwarzer family: Rean’s adopted parents and sister. Rean cares deeply about the Schwarzers, to the point where seeing them being physically threatened causes his ogre powers to manifest uncontrollably in CS1-2. At the same time, despite having the Schwarzer’s unconditional love and support, Rean feels like a significant burden to them for much of his young life, particularly to Teo. This matter is eventually settled by the end of CS2. There is also the matter of Elise, his younger sister, who develops feelings for him as they age (writing that did not sit well with me at all, but the show must go on…). Rean, for his part, is exceptionally protective of Elise until she finally rebuffs this part of him in Reverie, arguing that she is strong enough to take care of herself.
- Crow Armbrust: If any one member of Class VII, new or old, deserves an individual mention, it is unquestionably Crow. Crow and Rean share a unique, dynamic relationship that evolves considerably over the four Cold Steel games. In the beginning, Crow is Rean’s rival and superior in many ways. He is older, more cunning, and a stronger Awakener than Rean (at least when piloting Ordine). But over time, Rean gains strength and confidence, which allows him to beat Crow in CS2, and then defeat him again in CS4, at which point he essentially becomes Crow's lord and retainer by sparing his life.
- The two are very much foils for one another, with similarities and differences: Both are young men who are descended from political leaders (who were themselves bitter enemies). Both are Awakeners guided by witches - Crow by the mighty Vita and Rean by the fledgling Emma and Celine. At the same time they are almost total opposites as people, with Crow being cocky, deceptive, and rebellious, while Rean is modest, honest, and upstanding. Even their hair colors contrast! In that sense, Crow also serves as a benchmark for Rean's growth, as their relationship roles essentially switch in CS4, with Rean gaining dominance over Crow.
- Yun Ka-fai: Because there is still much mystery surrounding Yun Ka-fai, it is difficult to dissect him in the context of this write-up. However, we do know that Rean was Yun's last discipline - the last of four. Rean also receives correspondence from Yun at various points in the story, largely to give life updates and confer higher ranks onto Rean (Is this the Trails equivalent of Zoom classes? No, wait, they have actual tech for that…). From the content of his letters, Yun seems to think highly of Rean as both a person and a swordsman. Despite not being present for Rean's final few years of training, Yun understands Rean's journey intimately, to the point where he feels comfortable making Rean a Divine Blade through a proxy in CS4. This begs questions: How does Yun know so much? Does he possess some form of the Unclouded Eye that lets him detect such things in his students? Is he basically Yoda? Or is someone watching Rean on Yun's behalf? Furthermore, in his letter to Rean in CS3, he says he will impart his final teachings onto Rean “when” they meet again. This might be reading too much into it, but Yun seems quite confident he will see Rean again. My guess is that Yun has something planned, if not for Rean, then for all of his disciples. And I suspect that that plan was part of why Yun chose to promote Rean to Divine Blade when he did. The timing, right before the final battle at the Duatha de Danann, is too convenient for me to ignore. Either Yun wanted to help Rean reach peak form in time, or he had some other motive. Or both.
- Giliath Osborne: Osborne is Rean's biological father. Despite coming off as callous at first, it becomes clear in CS4 and Reverie that Osborne truly loved his son and was willing to sacrifice everything for him, including his heart (literally) and his humanity. Rean inherited a number of traits from Osborne, including his charisma, leadership ability, flawed selflessness, and strength of spirit. The two share an innate need to put others’ happiness over their own, albeit for different reasons, and both suffered in silence for years because of it. This is part of why, despite having the same goal, Rean and Osborne both fought each other with all they had during the final Rivalry: Neither wanted to see the other inherit the curse's full power, Osborne because he didn't want to see Rean suffer any longer and Rean because he essentially accepted that he was the curse's Sacrifice. After CS4, Rean learns more about Osborne's inner thoughts and motives, developing a deep admiration for his father and a desire to make his sacrifice worthwhile.
- Lloyd Bannings: Lloyd and Rean are quite comparable. They are the main protagonists of their respective arcs, both are leaders in their own right, both embody aspects of the “dense male protagonist” trope, and both are overall kind, perceptive (outside of romance), overall heroic young men. But like Crow, Lloyd is a foil for Rean, and this is apparent from their very first meeting, in CS2's Divertissement. Lloyd and Rean's circumstances were polar opposites: Lloyd was a vigilante, relegated to the shadows, with only a skeleton crew for support, while Rean was an Erebonian national hero with a Divine Knight and the full power of his country behind him. At the same time, Rean had no agency during this time, as he had been manipulated by Osborne into accepting such status and becoming part of a reprehensible operation. Lloyd, on the other hand, was a free agent, uncompromising in his ideals and fighting tirelessly for true justice. In short, Lloyd was powerless but free, while Rean was powerful but trapped. In that moment, it is obvious that Rean respected Lloyd's convictions and may have even envied him. Fortunately for the two, they find themselves on the same side in CS4 and a proper friendship between the two forms.
- Patrick Hyarms: Patrick and Rean’s relationship had an uneasy start. Although Patrick initially tried to ingratiate himself with Rean, he was rebuffed due to his elitist attitude towards commoners and other non-nobles. Patrick was quick to change his disposition towards Rean, treating him with disgust due to his unknown origins and lack of noble blood. After being humiliated by Rean and the other non-noble men of Class VII, Patrick starts to reassess his mindset and eventually becomes more accepting of non-nobles. This, in turn, leads to Rean and Patrick becoming friends, and in CS3, the two are shown to be trusted partners in certain areas. The friendship is somewhat complicated by Patrick’s romantic interest in Elise, of whom Rean is especially protective.
Future
As a main series protagonist, Rean is basically guaranteed to return in a future game. Whether or not he will be playable or have a significant role in said game is difficult to ascertain, but given his lengthy period of stardom in the Cold Steel games and Trails’s treatment of other past protagonists, my guess is that he will take more of a side role. Since Rean was looking for Yun Ka-fai after Reverie, and Yun is set to appear in Kai no Kiseki, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Rean in that game at all - at least in flashback form. Failing that, Rean will surely appear in or close to the series finale. Of this I am certain.Misc. Notes/Commentary
- Funnily enough, Rean’s final struggle with his powers in CS3-4 reminds me somewhat of the finale of Steven Universe Future, which similarly ends with the protagonist losing control of his powers and turning into a raging monster. It is only through the love and reassurance of Steven’s friends and family that he is able to return to normal, and like Rean, he is not necessarily “cured” of anything; he simply has a newfound resolve to get better.
- For those curious: I did not include discussion of Rean’s “harem” in this analysis because I do not see it as a core part of his character. The dating sim aspect of the Cold Steel games is just a silly fanservice gimmick and has no bearing on Rean’s growth or development. While it might have indirectly limited the interpersonal relationships the female characters of CS could form with other males, it did not have a similar effect on Rean.
- Ftr, I romanced Alisa in CS2 and Sara in CS4.
- Rean’s two big “power of friendship” moments in the series - unlocking Spirit Unification in CS2’s Intermission and snapping out of his ogre rage in CS4’s Fragments chapter - both involve him being faced with a golden crystal which symbolizes his many loving relationships. This is a minor detail, but I do appreciate the parallels at work here.
2024.05.18 19:35 King-Owl-House Bridgerton’s Jessica Madsen Beats the Villain Edit Vulture Devon Ivie
 | submitted by King-Owl-House to PeriodDramas [link] [comments] “She’s alone. She doesn’t have another sibling who shares her family experience — she’s never had somebody to confide in or talk with.” Photo: Liam Daniel/Netflix Like the loose swan in Hot Fuzz, Cressida Cowper and her long, slender neck have been gliding through ballrooms, wreaking havoc while trying to find a mate, for three seasons of Bridgerton. At first, the well-dressed pain in the ass seemed destined to be the show’s ultimate villain, honking at everyone while edging closer to spinsterhood with each failed year of marriage. But, as this current season reveals, our girl’s got some unpleasant emotional baggage that helps us better understand why she acts like this. Jessica Madsen’s character is the product of familial circumstances: an icy mother and unforgiving father who have no other children on which to fixate and have probably never said the words “I love you” to their daughter. “Getting away from her family is something that she really, really wants to do,” Madsen says. “And the only way she can do that is by marrying someone.” Thanks to a new friend, though, Cressida begins to change her self-described “unkind” ways a little bit at a time. She and Eloise (Claudia Jessie) bond during a summer in the countryside, a relationship which continues back in London at the season’s various promenades and balls. Madsen believes their friendship, while unexpected, is genuine and one of the best things to happen to the insulated Cressida. It might even be transformative. “You have to be confident and in a safe place to be open,” she explains, “and it’s not safe around her apart from when she’s with Eloise.” One of my favorite TV tropes is “let’s humanize this bitch.” Now that we’re privy to the circumstances around Cressida’s personal life, did it align with what you had assumed? In some ways it did, and in some ways I had wonderful surprises. I remember stepping onto the set of the Cowper house for the first time like, Whoa. It really sunk in what was going on with her. I thought her house was going to be quite lavish, bright, and filled with velvet. I felt the seriousness of the situation. Both women in the house are controlled by a man. That was a wonderful contrast to what we’ve seen of the Cowpers the first two seasons, where they’re out and about and looking amazing and dressed in the best fabrics. There’s a sadness to their reality. It’s a heavy atmosphere. I believe Cressida describes her house as a mausoleum. We see her nursery and bedroom in the second half of the season, too, and they’re very dark and heavy spaces. It was a cool thing to see on Bridgerton, because, well, Queen Charlotte had some heaviness and reality to the darker side of things, and now we see that weight with the Cowpers. It reflects the time. These women were limited in what they could do and who they could be in life, and we see that in the family. I feel very sorry that she’s gone through this. I’m grateful there’s less of that in today’s world. We see a lot of large families in the show’s universe; the Bridgertons have eight siblings and the Featheringtons have three. How does being an only child affect the way Cressida’s parents see her? She’s alone. She doesn’t have another sibling who shares her family experience — she’s never had somebody to confide in or talk with. She doesn’t have any warmth with her parents. She grew up with coldness, hence why she’s cold to others. I do have other siblings, but they’re much, much older than me. I essentially grew up as an only child. I understood Cressida’s world when it came to that. But I had an awful lot of friends around me and I was very lucky. There’s a lot of silence around her, so she’s not great at engaging with debutantes. You’re a product of your environment and sadly that’s what she has become up until this point. She puts on a sharp mask because a mask keeps her safe. She starts to shift because Eloise gives her so much kindness, and she feels safe. It’s not a shameful space. I think Cressida has a lot of shame, and when we hold shame, we can’t face ourselves or give ourselves grace, so we fight back. We don’t know how else to protect ourselves. What does she feel ashamed of? Any step she takes that’s a wrong step in her mother’s eyes makes her feel shameful of herself. Like, she failed her mom. Even that short moment in the second episode, we see a young lady bow in front of the queen and Cressida’s mom says, “If your bow had been lower and better, you might be married now.” You carry that. I didn’t do the thing I was supposed to do. You want to please your parents. We grow up and they’re our main caregivers. We want to please them because that’s how we survive — by having their love. It’s a toxic environment for her to be in. Her sense of self has come from her mom and dad’s expectations. She’s really focused on trying to do the best for herself and what they would be happy with. She hasn’t thought much about herself and what she can do. We see her start to think about herself more with the friendship she has with Eloise, which shows she has the hope to start questioning things. When Lord Debling says, “I’m not fond of my family,” she’s like, Oh, wow! It’s a turn-on! A total turn-on. Let’s go! I can find someone who feels the same way I do! It’s an opportunity for Cressida to find somebody where she can be happier. That excites her and that’s what Lord Debling represents. My life can actually be different. I don’t think she has a full understanding of what love really is, because she’s never seen love between her parents. Love isn’t necessarily in her vocabulary. She grows a love for Eloise as a friend, so hopefully, in her future, there’s a chance for her to find love. Why do you think she’s had such a difficult time finding a husband? She’s not genuine. She’s going by the book and putting on a front in the first two seasons. Her mom’s in her ear all the time, metaphorically and literally. She’s following and performing that narrative, and not opening up herself and properly connecting with people because of it. There’s a fault in her way of connecting until she has this friendship with Eloise. If Cressida had this type of friendship years ago, I’d like to think she’d be in a completely different place. Bridgerton often presents romantic relationships in the dichotomy of head versus heart, but friendships aren’t allotted the same level of analysis. Cressida admits to Eloise that it’s been a greater challenge, even above romance, for her to find female friends. It’s true. As it progresses, things happen between them, but I find their friendship to be a genuine one. These girls are pitted against each other because they’re in a race to find a husband. They’re racing each other for the win. This is Cressida’s third season out because she hasn’t come close to winning. We see more and more weight put on these girls as time goes on. They’re in competition with each other, which is a really hard place to be. If you think you’re in a competition with someone else, it’s hard to have a friendship. That goes for any day and age. Women need to open up and connect with each other and be on each other’s sides. Does Cressida even want to marry? Is she secretly self-sabotaging? She wants to marry because that’s what she sees as the next step in life. You grow up, you marry, and that’s how it is. She hasn’t questioned any other options like Eloise and Penelope have. All she knows is what her mom has fed her into believing is the right step for her. When she does marry, it opens up a new world for her. She’ll get out of her house. That’s the first step: Get me out! She doesn’t want to end up with someone who’s her father’s friend, but she wants to get out. With Lord Debling, she sees she could find someone who’s like-minded. Where does Cressida sit on the spectrum of villains for you? Is that a fair characterization? I’ve always loved a villain. Look at the Disney villains. Give me Cruella de Vil or the witch in Snow White any day. They’re fascinating characters. But Cressida isn’t a villain in my eyes by any means. She’s a young girl trying to do her best with very limited information about life and a difficult childhood. She’s doing her best with the blueprint she’s given. It’s so complex what Bridgerton has done — I mean, there’s always movement with Cressida and she fluctuates; her sharpness and softness is part of her character. This season we’ve caught her during a time when she’s letting go of her toughness, that exterior is melting away, and she’s opening up. There’s a huge vulnerability under there. She’s struggling to balance the two. Cressida has some of the most rigid and strangely contoured clothes on the show. Were you given deeper meaning to her sartorial preferences? They’re amazing costumes and bring her to life. Putting them on is such a gift. They have a beautiful structure this season. We see her in this very dark house with a pink dress and roses around her neck, but she still has a sadness to her. I found the juxtaposition quite funny. Did you notice how she has beautiful coats this season? She’s maturing and getting older. I always envied Adjoa Andoh’s coats, and Cressida finally got to wear some. I felt like she’s coming into being a woman, growing up, and developing in a cool way. That’s shown in the clothes. I kept the corset this season because I love it. A lot of people didn’t wear corsets this time around, but for Cressida, I feel like she is a corset. She gave me a lot to work with. That’s a lovely analogy. She totally is. She’s a corset for herself, she’s corseted by her family, and society is a huge corset for all of the women on the show. The neck corset was spectacular. You know Zara will be producing a knock-off in a few weeks. Why stop there? Go couture. John Galliano. https://www.vulture.com/article/bridgerton-jessica-madsen-cressida-eloise-friendship-lord-debling.html |
2024.05.18 18:53 fnsjlkfas241 How may Indo-European branches are there *actually*?
There's currently eight - four extremely widespread ones (Indo-Iranian, Germanic, Balto-Slavic, Italic), and four small ones (Hellenic, Armenian, Celtic, Albanian). Two extinct branches are typically counted - Tocharian and Anatolian (although counting Anatolian as one branch rather than 3 or 4 seems kind of arbitrary). So that's 10.
But then there's also a few scattered IE languages not considered part of that list: Phrygian, Dacian, etc.
So is there a consensus on the numbelist of distinct Indo-European branches?
submitted by fnsjlkfas241 to IndoEuropean [link] [comments]
But then there's also a few scattered IE languages not considered part of that list: Phrygian, Dacian, etc.
So is there a consensus on the numbelist of distinct Indo-European branches?
2024.05.18 16:42 Klutzy_Newspaper_879 Dreadwolf Writing and Narrative Team [SPOILERS ALL]
Current:
Patrick Weekes, Lead Writer: Writers Mass Effect: They wrote several side quests, including Citadel: Family Matter and Presidium Prophet.
Additional Design Dragon Age: Origins
Writers Mass Effect 2 and Writers and Manager on Lair of the Shadow Broker: They co-wrote Miranda, and I believe also Garrus, co-wrote Liara during LOTSB. They wrote Tali, paraphrased Thane's romance dialogue, and contributed writing to other characters. They also contributed to the ending content for the game.
Senior Writer Mass Effect 3: Alongside John Dombrow, they assisted Lead Writer Mac Walters in managing the rest of the writing team. They co-wrote From Ashes and served as Senior Writer for Leviathan. They were also the Senior Writer Manager, working with John Dombrow as a co-lead (Basically) on Citadel. They wrote Kasumi, Tali, Mordin, Jack, Traynor, Joker, and Jondum Bau, and co-wrote Legion. Additionally, They wrote Liara's conversation with Matriarch Aethyta and Priority Eden Prime. They co-wrote Priority: Tuchanka and wrote Priority: Rannoch.
Senior Writer Inquisition, Lead Writer Jaws of Hakkon, Consultant The Descent, Lead Writer Trespasser: They wrote The Bull's Chargers, Cole, Krem, The Iron Bull, Solas, and Svarah Sun Hair. They also wrote the majority of Here Lies the Abyss.
Lead Writer Canceled Project Joplin DA4
Dragon Age Finaling Team Mass Effect Andromeda: Wrote several note texts.
Short stories: Dragon Slayers, Glass Beads, I Am Looking for a Book..., Why the Elders Bare Their Throats, When She Grows a Soul, Injure the Corners, Release the Knot, Shepard Off-Duty and Unleashing the Flyers of L
Comics: They co-wrote the story for Mass Effect Homeworlds #2 with Mac Walters.
Books: They are the writer of the Rogues of the Republic Trilogy, which consists of The Palace Job, The Prophecy Con, and The Paladin Caper. They also wrote Dragon Age: The Masked Empire and contributed to The World of Thedas Volume 2. Additionally, they served as both writer and editor for Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, writing Three Trees to Midnight and The Dread Wolf Take You. They also wrote the novel Feeder.
John Epler, Franchise Creative Director since January 2022, formerly Narrative director until December 2021:
Prior to joining Bioware, he spent several years volunteering for various fan sites and dabbling in the modding community for various games.
QA Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood
Term Testers Dragon Age: Origins and Cinematic Designers for Witch Hunt
QA Story Team Mass Effect 2, additional QA on Normandy Crash Site, Zaeed - The Price of Revenge, Firewalker Pack, Kasumi - Stolen Memory, and Overlord.
Cinematic Designers Dragon Age II, Cinematic Designer The Exiled Prince, Cinematic Designers on Legacy and Mark of the Assassin
Cinematic Designers Dragon Age: Inquisition, Lead Cinematic Designer on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Working with the animation team, he worked to remove the race-gating on Iron Bull's romance
Dragon Age Finaling Team Mass Effect Andromeda
Animation Systems Designers/Storyboard Supervisor for Anthem
Executive Producers Dragon Age: Absolution
Books: Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote The Horror of Hormak and Half Up Front
Sylvia Feketekuty, Senior Writer:
Writers Lair of the Shadow Broker: Wrote Feron and Glyph, wrote Liara from the beginning of the DLC until the scene after the defeat of the Shadow Broker, and wrote a few lines of her dialogue after that.
Writers Mass Effect 3, also the Resurgence, Rebellion, Earth, Retaliation, and Reckoning Multiplayer Expansions: Wrote Glyph, Liara, and Samara. Also, she wrote the final version of Kallini: Ardat-Yakshi Monastery, wrote Rannoch: Admiral Koris and Geth Fighter squadrons, contributed to much of the content on the Citadel, including various quests, the refund guy, and various other background material. she also co-wrote Legion.
Writers Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Wrote Josephine, Champions of the Just, and the final versions of Before the Dawn and Under Her Skin.
Writers/Narrative Designers Anthem
Short Stories: The Flame Eternal
Comics: She co-wrote the story for Mass Effect Homeworlds #4 with Mac Walters.
Books: Writers The World of Thedas Volume 1-2, Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote Down Among the Dead Men and Luck in the Gardens
Sheryl Chee, Senior Writer:
Writers Dragon Age: Origins, also co-writer for The Stone Prisoner, Return to Ostagar, and Awakening, and the writer of Golems of Amgarrak. Writers Witch Hunt, Wrote Cullen, Dog, Leliana and Wynne, as well as Oghren, Sigrun, and Velanna during Awakening. Also wrote the Magi Origin, Broken Circle, and the Urn of Sacred Ashes.
Writers Dragon Age II, also on Legacy and Mark of the Assassin: Wrote Isabela and All That Remains
Writers Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser and writer for the Multiplayer: Wrote Blackwall, Leliana and the multiplayer characters
Writers Mass Effect Andromeda: Wrote Vetra and Suvi
Writers/Narrative Designers Anthem: Wrote Mathias
Short Stories: Isabela, Minrathous Shadows
Books: Writers The World of Thedas Volume 1-2
Brianne Battye, Senior Writer:
Assistant Writer Leviathan credited as Additional Design
Writers Citadel
Writers Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Wrote Cullen
Writers/Narrative Designers Anthem
Short Stories: The Next One, Won't Know When and Each Minute Closer
Books: Writers The World of Thedas Volume 2, Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote Hunger and The Streets of Minrathous, and the writer of wholehearted (poetry collection)
Poems: Short Poems
Former:
Lukas Kristjanson, Senior Writer until September 2023 laid off:
Lead Writer Baldur's Gate and the Tales of the Sword Coast expansion: Wrote Minsc, Jaheira, much of the main story and main campaign, and many of the side quests Also contributed manual editing and compilation.
Writers MDK 2
Designers and core design team for Baldur's Gate II: Shadows of Amn and additional design on Throne of Bhaal: Wrote Jon Irenicus and also contributed manual writing/editing.
Designers, Core Design Team, Manual Writers and additional programming on Neverwinter Nights
Designers Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic: Wrote parts of Taris, Manaan, and Korriban, much of Tatooine and Kashyyyk, and also contributed manual writing.
Lead Writer, later Co-Lead on Jade Empire.
Writers Mass Effect: Wrote Kaidan and Joker, co-wrote Kirrahe, wrote Feros, and co-wrote Virmire.
Writers Dragon Age: Origins, and the Writer of Leliana's Song: Co-wrote A Paragon of Her Kind
Writers Mass Effect 2: Wrote Jacob and Joker, contributed writing to other characters, wrote Joker's Mission on the Normandy, contributed to the game's ending, and advised Dusty Everman in the writing of the non-companion NPCs on the Normandy.
Writers Dragon Age II, also on Legacy and Mark of the Assassin: Wrote Arishok, Aveline and Carver
Senior Writer Dragon Age: Inquisition: Wrote Sera, In Your Heart, and several codex entries.
Writers Mass Effect: Andromeda: Wrote Liam
Comics: Co-wrote the Baldur's Gate promotional comic.
Short Stories: Aveline and As We Fly
Books: Writers The World of Thedas Volume 1-2, Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote Callback and Genitivi Dies in the End
John Dombrow, Senior Writer left in August of 2023:
Writer Universe at War: Earth Assault
Petroglyoph Studio staff on Panzer General: Allied Assault
Writer Overlord
Senior Writer Mass Effect 3: Alongside Patrick Weekes, he assisted Lead Writer Mac Walters in managing the rest of the writing team. He co-wrote From Ashes and served as Supervising Writer for Leviathan. He were also the Senior Writer Manager, working with Patrick Weekes a co-lead (Basically) on Citadel. He wrote Wrex, Garrus, Javik, Padok Wiks, Wreav, Eve, and Victus. He also wrote Liara during From Ashes and contributed writing to Kai Leng and The Illusive Man. He wrote Priority: Sur'Kesh, co-wrote Priority Tuchanka, and wrote Priority Thessia. Additionally, he developed the initial Grissom Academy mission and wrote the first draft. He also edited Garrus and Javik.
Senior Writer Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea
Writer Telltale's Game of Thrones Episode 3 and additional writing on two of the other episodes
Writer and associate producer Mytheon
Writers and later co-lead for Mass Effect: Andromeda following the departure of original lead writer Chris Schlerf: Wrote Prologue Hyperion, Planetside, and the Salarian Ark Mission.
Senior WriteNarrative Designer Anthem
Short stories: Ruins of Reality
Comics: He co-wrote the story for Mass Effect Homeworlds #3 with Mac Walters and the story for Mass Effect Discovery
Books: Oversaw the development of the Andromeda novels.
Films: Production Assistant Sliver, Writer Control Factor, Screenwriter Deadly Swarm
Writer and developer The Sixth Extinction (Unproduced
Writer original screenplay The Hills Run Red
Films: Production Assistant Sliver, Writer Control Factor, co-screenwriter Deadly Swarm. Also, writer and developer The Sixth Extinction (Unproduced). Additionally, wrote the original screenplay for The Hills Run Red.
Left to go join Sucker Punch Productions as a Senior Writer
Mary Kirby, Senior Writer until September 2023 laid off:
Writers Dragon Age: Origins: Wrote Cauthrien, Sten, Loghain, much of the Qunari lore and the Chant of Light, and most of the Landsmeet.
Writers Dragon Age II, also on Legacy and Mark of the Assassin: Wrote Merrill and Varric
Writers Star Wars: The Old Republic: Wrote the companion conversations for Fideltin Rusk
Writers for Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Wrote Varric, Vivienne, and In Hushed Whispers
Writers/Narrative Designers Anthem: Wrote Max
Short Stories: Merrill, Varric and The Wake
Books: Writers and editors The World of Thedas Volume 1, writers Volume 2, Writer for Dragon Age: Hard in Hightown
Courtney Woods, Writer left in February of 2020:
Prior to joining Bioware, she worked as an Editorial Intern at DC Comics for 3 months and as a Contributing Writer at Newsarama where She specialized in video game journalism, including previewing and reviewing video games and related projects. She provided written and photographic coverage of pop culture conventions such as Star Wars Celebration V, New York Comic-Con 2010, and E3 2011
Community Coordinators Star Wars: The Old Republic also on the Rise of the Hutt Cartel and Galactic Starfighter expansions. Lead Community Coordinator on Galactic Strongholds and Shadow of Revan. Writers on Knights of the Fallen Empire
Co-writer The Descent
Writers Mass Effect: Andromeda: Wrote Lexi, Reyes and much of Kadara
Senior WriteNarrative Designer Anthem
Books: Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote The Wigmaker Job and Eight Little Talons. She also contributed to the Development of the Mass Effect Andromeda: Nexus Uprising Novel
Left to work on the Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic as the Lead writer left in September of 2022
Currently a Senior Writer as Sucker Punch Productions
Arone Le Bray, Narrative Quality DesigneAnalyst left in April of 2021:
Contact Testers Jade Empire: Special Edition
QA Term Testers Mass Effect
QA Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood
QA Analysts Dragon Age: Origins
QA Story Team Lead Mass Effect 2, additional QA on Normandy Crash Site, QA Zaeed - The Price of Revenge, additional QA Firewalker Pack, QA Kasumi - Stolen Memory, and Lair of the Shadow Broker.
Additional QA Star Wars: The Old Republic
Content Analysts Mass Effect 3
Analysts Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser
Analysts Mass Effect: Andromeda
Analysts Anthem
Books: Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote An Old Crow's Old Tricks
Theatre: Founders Basic Acid Theatre company. Director and an Actor in Finer Noble Gases, Writer and Director of Occupied.
Left to join THE CHINESE ROOM LTD as a Narrative Designer on Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines 2. Currently serving as a Principal Narrative Designer on the game.
FormeUnknown:
Alexis Kennedy, Freelance Writer:
Founder and former CEO Failbetter Games Left in August of 2016
Original developer and lead writer Fallen London
Creative Director Tales of Fallen London: The Silver Tree
Creative Director Machine Cares!
Creative Director Dragon Age: The Last Court
Creative director, lead writer and Designers Sunless Sea
Co-founder Weather Factory
Writer and Designers Stellaris: Horizon Signal
Writer, designer, and coders for Cultist Simulator and its DLC."
Initial Concept Sunless Skies
Writer and Designer Book of Hours
He also worked on an unspecified research and development project with Telltale Games
In August 2019, he was accused of harassment by Meg Jayanth and Olivia Wood, a writer at Failbetter. Bioware has cut all ties with him.
Unknown
Ben Gelinas, Consultant:
Prior to joining Bioware, he worked as a staff writer for Guelph Mercury, Multimedia Reporter for The Waterloo Region Record, Crime Writer, and later Arts Writer for the Edmonton Journal, and as a Freelance Journalist.
Writing Special Thanks Mark of the Assassin
Editors and Additional Design for Mass Effect 3 and From Ashes. Editors on Leviathan and Citadel. He collaborated with the programmers to design the games Kinect voice command system
Editors Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Product owner for the game journal
Editors on Star Wars: The Old Republic: Knights of the Fallen Empire and Knights of the Eternal Throne
Editors and Writers Mass Effect: Andromeda: Some writing for Drack and additional story content.
Founder Copychaser Games Inc.
Writer and Designer Speed Dating For Ghosts
Game Design Instructor Sheridan College Jan 2018 - Apr 2018
Narrative Designers Control, Co-writer Control Expansion 1 - The Foundation."
Writers Gotham Knights
Writer and Designer Times and Galaxy
He is also working on a game about sleep paralysis
Books: Lead Writer and co-project Lead The World of Thedas Volumes 1-2, contributed an essay to Shy: An Anthology, Writer The Art of Dragon Age: Inquisition, worked on the English language version of The Legend of Zelda Encyclopedia, and wrote BioWare: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development. He also contributed to the Development of the Mass Effect Andromeda: Nexus Uprising Novel
submitted by Klutzy_Newspaper_879 to dragonage [link] [comments]
Patrick Weekes, Lead Writer: Writers Mass Effect: They wrote several side quests, including Citadel: Family Matter and Presidium Prophet.
Additional Design Dragon Age: Origins
Writers Mass Effect 2 and Writers and Manager on Lair of the Shadow Broker: They co-wrote Miranda, and I believe also Garrus, co-wrote Liara during LOTSB. They wrote Tali, paraphrased Thane's romance dialogue, and contributed writing to other characters. They also contributed to the ending content for the game.
Senior Writer Mass Effect 3: Alongside John Dombrow, they assisted Lead Writer Mac Walters in managing the rest of the writing team. They co-wrote From Ashes and served as Senior Writer for Leviathan. They were also the Senior Writer Manager, working with John Dombrow as a co-lead (Basically) on Citadel. They wrote Kasumi, Tali, Mordin, Jack, Traynor, Joker, and Jondum Bau, and co-wrote Legion. Additionally, They wrote Liara's conversation with Matriarch Aethyta and Priority Eden Prime. They co-wrote Priority: Tuchanka and wrote Priority: Rannoch.
Senior Writer Inquisition, Lead Writer Jaws of Hakkon, Consultant The Descent, Lead Writer Trespasser: They wrote The Bull's Chargers, Cole, Krem, The Iron Bull, Solas, and Svarah Sun Hair. They also wrote the majority of Here Lies the Abyss.
Lead Writer Canceled Project Joplin DA4
Dragon Age Finaling Team Mass Effect Andromeda: Wrote several note texts.
Short stories: Dragon Slayers, Glass Beads, I Am Looking for a Book..., Why the Elders Bare Their Throats, When She Grows a Soul, Injure the Corners, Release the Knot, Shepard Off-Duty and Unleashing the Flyers of L
Comics: They co-wrote the story for Mass Effect Homeworlds #2 with Mac Walters.
Books: They are the writer of the Rogues of the Republic Trilogy, which consists of The Palace Job, The Prophecy Con, and The Paladin Caper. They also wrote Dragon Age: The Masked Empire and contributed to The World of Thedas Volume 2. Additionally, they served as both writer and editor for Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, writing Three Trees to Midnight and The Dread Wolf Take You. They also wrote the novel Feeder.
John Epler, Franchise Creative Director since January 2022, formerly Narrative director until December 2021:
Prior to joining Bioware, he spent several years volunteering for various fan sites and dabbling in the modding community for various games.
QA Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood
Term Testers Dragon Age: Origins and Cinematic Designers for Witch Hunt
QA Story Team Mass Effect 2, additional QA on Normandy Crash Site, Zaeed - The Price of Revenge, Firewalker Pack, Kasumi - Stolen Memory, and Overlord.
Cinematic Designers Dragon Age II, Cinematic Designer The Exiled Prince, Cinematic Designers on Legacy and Mark of the Assassin
Cinematic Designers Dragon Age: Inquisition, Lead Cinematic Designer on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Working with the animation team, he worked to remove the race-gating on Iron Bull's romance
Dragon Age Finaling Team Mass Effect Andromeda
Animation Systems Designers/Storyboard Supervisor for Anthem
Executive Producers Dragon Age: Absolution
Books: Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote The Horror of Hormak and Half Up Front
Sylvia Feketekuty, Senior Writer:
Writers Lair of the Shadow Broker: Wrote Feron and Glyph, wrote Liara from the beginning of the DLC until the scene after the defeat of the Shadow Broker, and wrote a few lines of her dialogue after that.
Writers Mass Effect 3, also the Resurgence, Rebellion, Earth, Retaliation, and Reckoning Multiplayer Expansions: Wrote Glyph, Liara, and Samara. Also, she wrote the final version of Kallini: Ardat-Yakshi Monastery, wrote Rannoch: Admiral Koris and Geth Fighter squadrons, contributed to much of the content on the Citadel, including various quests, the refund guy, and various other background material. she also co-wrote Legion.
Writers Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Wrote Josephine, Champions of the Just, and the final versions of Before the Dawn and Under Her Skin.
Writers/Narrative Designers Anthem
Short Stories: The Flame Eternal
Comics: She co-wrote the story for Mass Effect Homeworlds #4 with Mac Walters.
Books: Writers The World of Thedas Volume 1-2, Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote Down Among the Dead Men and Luck in the Gardens
Sheryl Chee, Senior Writer:
Writers Dragon Age: Origins, also co-writer for The Stone Prisoner, Return to Ostagar, and Awakening, and the writer of Golems of Amgarrak. Writers Witch Hunt, Wrote Cullen, Dog, Leliana and Wynne, as well as Oghren, Sigrun, and Velanna during Awakening. Also wrote the Magi Origin, Broken Circle, and the Urn of Sacred Ashes.
Writers Dragon Age II, also on Legacy and Mark of the Assassin: Wrote Isabela and All That Remains
Writers Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser and writer for the Multiplayer: Wrote Blackwall, Leliana and the multiplayer characters
Writers Mass Effect Andromeda: Wrote Vetra and Suvi
Writers/Narrative Designers Anthem: Wrote Mathias
Short Stories: Isabela, Minrathous Shadows
Books: Writers The World of Thedas Volume 1-2
Brianne Battye, Senior Writer:
Assistant Writer Leviathan credited as Additional Design
Writers Citadel
Writers Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Wrote Cullen
Writers/Narrative Designers Anthem
Short Stories: The Next One, Won't Know When and Each Minute Closer
Books: Writers The World of Thedas Volume 2, Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote Hunger and The Streets of Minrathous, and the writer of wholehearted (poetry collection)
Poems: Short Poems
Former:
Lukas Kristjanson, Senior Writer until September 2023 laid off:
Lead Writer Baldur's Gate and the Tales of the Sword Coast expansion: Wrote Minsc, Jaheira, much of the main story and main campaign, and many of the side quests Also contributed manual editing and compilation.
Writers MDK 2
Designers and core design team for Baldur's Gate II: Shadows of Amn and additional design on Throne of Bhaal: Wrote Jon Irenicus and also contributed manual writing/editing.
Designers, Core Design Team, Manual Writers and additional programming on Neverwinter Nights
Designers Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic: Wrote parts of Taris, Manaan, and Korriban, much of Tatooine and Kashyyyk, and also contributed manual writing.
Lead Writer, later Co-Lead on Jade Empire.
Writers Mass Effect: Wrote Kaidan and Joker, co-wrote Kirrahe, wrote Feros, and co-wrote Virmire.
Writers Dragon Age: Origins, and the Writer of Leliana's Song: Co-wrote A Paragon of Her Kind
Writers Mass Effect 2: Wrote Jacob and Joker, contributed writing to other characters, wrote Joker's Mission on the Normandy, contributed to the game's ending, and advised Dusty Everman in the writing of the non-companion NPCs on the Normandy.
Writers Dragon Age II, also on Legacy and Mark of the Assassin: Wrote Arishok, Aveline and Carver
Senior Writer Dragon Age: Inquisition: Wrote Sera, In Your Heart, and several codex entries.
Writers Mass Effect: Andromeda: Wrote Liam
Comics: Co-wrote the Baldur's Gate promotional comic.
Short Stories: Aveline and As We Fly
Books: Writers The World of Thedas Volume 1-2, Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote Callback and Genitivi Dies in the End
John Dombrow, Senior Writer left in August of 2023:
Writer Universe at War: Earth Assault
Petroglyoph Studio staff on Panzer General: Allied Assault
Writer Overlord
Senior Writer Mass Effect 3: Alongside Patrick Weekes, he assisted Lead Writer Mac Walters in managing the rest of the writing team. He co-wrote From Ashes and served as Supervising Writer for Leviathan. He were also the Senior Writer Manager, working with Patrick Weekes a co-lead (Basically) on Citadel. He wrote Wrex, Garrus, Javik, Padok Wiks, Wreav, Eve, and Victus. He also wrote Liara during From Ashes and contributed writing to Kai Leng and The Illusive Man. He wrote Priority: Sur'Kesh, co-wrote Priority Tuchanka, and wrote Priority Thessia. Additionally, he developed the initial Grissom Academy mission and wrote the first draft. He also edited Garrus and Javik.
Senior Writer Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea
Writer Telltale's Game of Thrones Episode 3 and additional writing on two of the other episodes
Writer and associate producer Mytheon
Writers and later co-lead for Mass Effect: Andromeda following the departure of original lead writer Chris Schlerf: Wrote Prologue Hyperion, Planetside, and the Salarian Ark Mission.
Senior WriteNarrative Designer Anthem
Short stories: Ruins of Reality
Comics: He co-wrote the story for Mass Effect Homeworlds #3 with Mac Walters and the story for Mass Effect Discovery
Books: Oversaw the development of the Andromeda novels.
Films: Production Assistant Sliver, Writer Control Factor, Screenwriter Deadly Swarm
Writer and developer The Sixth Extinction (Unproduced
Writer original screenplay The Hills Run Red
Films: Production Assistant Sliver, Writer Control Factor, co-screenwriter Deadly Swarm. Also, writer and developer The Sixth Extinction (Unproduced). Additionally, wrote the original screenplay for The Hills Run Red.
Left to go join Sucker Punch Productions as a Senior Writer
Mary Kirby, Senior Writer until September 2023 laid off:
Writers Dragon Age: Origins: Wrote Cauthrien, Sten, Loghain, much of the Qunari lore and the Chant of Light, and most of the Landsmeet.
Writers Dragon Age II, also on Legacy and Mark of the Assassin: Wrote Merrill and Varric
Writers Star Wars: The Old Republic: Wrote the companion conversations for Fideltin Rusk
Writers for Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Wrote Varric, Vivienne, and In Hushed Whispers
Writers/Narrative Designers Anthem: Wrote Max
Short Stories: Merrill, Varric and The Wake
Books: Writers and editors The World of Thedas Volume 1, writers Volume 2, Writer for Dragon Age: Hard in Hightown
Courtney Woods, Writer left in February of 2020:
Prior to joining Bioware, she worked as an Editorial Intern at DC Comics for 3 months and as a Contributing Writer at Newsarama where She specialized in video game journalism, including previewing and reviewing video games and related projects. She provided written and photographic coverage of pop culture conventions such as Star Wars Celebration V, New York Comic-Con 2010, and E3 2011
Community Coordinators Star Wars: The Old Republic also on the Rise of the Hutt Cartel and Galactic Starfighter expansions. Lead Community Coordinator on Galactic Strongholds and Shadow of Revan. Writers on Knights of the Fallen Empire
Co-writer The Descent
Writers Mass Effect: Andromeda: Wrote Lexi, Reyes and much of Kadara
Senior WriteNarrative Designer Anthem
Books: Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote The Wigmaker Job and Eight Little Talons. She also contributed to the Development of the Mass Effect Andromeda: Nexus Uprising Novel
Left to work on the Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic as the Lead writer left in September of 2022
Currently a Senior Writer as Sucker Punch Productions
Arone Le Bray, Narrative Quality DesigneAnalyst left in April of 2021:
Contact Testers Jade Empire: Special Edition
QA Term Testers Mass Effect
QA Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood
QA Analysts Dragon Age: Origins
QA Story Team Lead Mass Effect 2, additional QA on Normandy Crash Site, QA Zaeed - The Price of Revenge, additional QA Firewalker Pack, QA Kasumi - Stolen Memory, and Lair of the Shadow Broker.
Additional QA Star Wars: The Old Republic
Content Analysts Mass Effect 3
Analysts Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser
Analysts Mass Effect: Andromeda
Analysts Anthem
Books: Writers Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights, wrote An Old Crow's Old Tricks
Theatre: Founders Basic Acid Theatre company. Director and an Actor in Finer Noble Gases, Writer and Director of Occupied.
Left to join THE CHINESE ROOM LTD as a Narrative Designer on Vampire: The Masquerade - Bloodlines 2. Currently serving as a Principal Narrative Designer on the game.
FormeUnknown:
Alexis Kennedy, Freelance Writer:
Founder and former CEO Failbetter Games Left in August of 2016
Original developer and lead writer Fallen London
Creative Director Tales of Fallen London: The Silver Tree
Creative Director Machine Cares!
Creative Director Dragon Age: The Last Court
Creative director, lead writer and Designers Sunless Sea
Co-founder Weather Factory
Writer and Designers Stellaris: Horizon Signal
Writer, designer, and coders for Cultist Simulator and its DLC."
Initial Concept Sunless Skies
Writer and Designer Book of Hours
He also worked on an unspecified research and development project with Telltale Games
In August 2019, he was accused of harassment by Meg Jayanth and Olivia Wood, a writer at Failbetter. Bioware has cut all ties with him.
Unknown
Ben Gelinas, Consultant:
Prior to joining Bioware, he worked as a staff writer for Guelph Mercury, Multimedia Reporter for The Waterloo Region Record, Crime Writer, and later Arts Writer for the Edmonton Journal, and as a Freelance Journalist.
Writing Special Thanks Mark of the Assassin
Editors and Additional Design for Mass Effect 3 and From Ashes. Editors on Leviathan and Citadel. He collaborated with the programmers to design the games Kinect voice command system
Editors Dragon Age: Inquisition, also on Jaws of Hakkon and Trespasser: Product owner for the game journal
Editors on Star Wars: The Old Republic: Knights of the Fallen Empire and Knights of the Eternal Throne
Editors and Writers Mass Effect: Andromeda: Some writing for Drack and additional story content.
Founder Copychaser Games Inc.
Writer and Designer Speed Dating For Ghosts
Game Design Instructor Sheridan College Jan 2018 - Apr 2018
Narrative Designers Control, Co-writer Control Expansion 1 - The Foundation."
Writers Gotham Knights
Writer and Designer Times and Galaxy
He is also working on a game about sleep paralysis
Books: Lead Writer and co-project Lead The World of Thedas Volumes 1-2, contributed an essay to Shy: An Anthology, Writer The Art of Dragon Age: Inquisition, worked on the English language version of The Legend of Zelda Encyclopedia, and wrote BioWare: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development. He also contributed to the Development of the Mass Effect Andromeda: Nexus Uprising Novel
2024.05.18 15:38 Watercolorcupcake What Really Happened Between Jin Wei and Wei Jin?
In The Great Divide the Gan Jin’s (the stuffy, clean tribe) and the Zhang’s (the lazy, slob tribe) have a 100 year feud over their respective clan leaders Jin Wei and Wei Jin. The Gan Jin’s tell Katara that Wei Jin was tasked with the job of taking the sacred orb from a gate in the east to a gate in the west as part of a redemption ritual. They claim that, as he neared the western gate, Jin Wei was assaulted by a thief, the Zhang Wei Jin, who stole the orb out of greed. The Zhangs, on the other hand, tell Sokka that their ancestor, Wei Jin, found Jin Wei passed out on the ground near the western gate. Wei Jin stopped to help the man and was told about the redemption ritual and the orb's importance. Rejecting assistance, Jin Wei asked Wei Jin to take the orb back to his tribe, which Wei Jin did. Upon arriving at the Gan Jin's village, however, Jin Wei's tribe arrested him for stealing the orb and imprisoned him for twenty years. The episode is concluded by Aang telling them that he knew Jin Wei and Wei Jin back 100 years ago and was there when the incident happened. He notes that a lot of confusion rose in regards to the details of the story. The men had not been enemies, but eight-year-old twin brothers, who played a game called "Redemption", clarifying that the sacred orb was just a regular ball they played with and the gates the respective goals. As Jin Wei was running with the ball, he fell, fumbling the ball in the process; Wei Jin recovered it and started running to the other end of the field, though stepped out of bounds and was put in the penalty box for two minutes, not twenty years. He concludes his story by pointing out that while Wei Jin was "kind of a slob" and Jin Wei was "a little stuffy", they respected each other's differences enough to share the same playing field. At the end of the episode, Aang confesses to Sokka and Katara that he made it all up, so since none of that was true, what do you actually think happened? All theories and headcanons welcomed!
submitted by Watercolorcupcake to Avatarthelastairbende [link] [comments]
2024.05.18 15:25 IranRPCV Devotional for May 18th by Sally Gabriel
2 Peter 1:5-7 “And beside this, giving all diligence, add to your faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge;
And to knowledge temperance; and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness; And to godliness brotherly kindness;”
Our faith grows as we become intentional in living a life of obedience to God’s commandments. When Jesus was asked what is the great commandment, he responded that loving God with all our heart, soul, and mind was at the top. (Mark 12:28-31) He went on to say that the second great commandment is to love our neighbor as ourselves.
When we love God with all we’ve got, we should automatically love our neighbor. However, it doesn’t always come easily.
As we address brotherly kindness, I want to talk about love as a verb. Too often people think in terms of love being a noun. They go with their “feelings.” Love can be a noun. It is often something you feel. But it is what you do before that feeling surfaces that really matters. That’s where love as an action verb needs to appear.
When we add brotherly kindness to godliness we are truly being more reverent and our worship of God moves from the sanctuary of the Lord’s house into our everyday lives. Our worship becomes more real and more meaningful.
1 John 4:20 tells us, “If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar:” To not show brotherly love is to negate any time we spend praying and singing God’s praises.
Think about that. It’s powerful. Brotherly love doesn’t say you need to agree with the other person and how they look, act, talk, or think. You and I must love everyone and treat them with God’s love and kindness.
It’s the concept of the Golden Rule. "Do to others as you would have them do to you.” (Luke 6:31) Too often people simply give back what they get. If they receive love then they will love, however if hurt, prejudices, anger, etc is dealt to them, they dish it back and everyone loses. That’s not God’s wishes.
Today, choose to grow your faith by intentionally showing brotherly love toward everyone you meet. Be blessed to be a blessing.
🙏Father, thank you for loving me unconditionally and for loving everyone else the same way. Help me to also love as you love and to accept each person I meet with your love and brotherly kindness. Wherever your spirit leads today, help me to be fully awake and ready to respond in love. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen. 🙏
submitted by IranRPCV to CommunityOfChrist [link] [comments]
And to knowledge temperance; and to temperance patience; and to patience godliness; And to godliness brotherly kindness;”
Our faith grows as we become intentional in living a life of obedience to God’s commandments. When Jesus was asked what is the great commandment, he responded that loving God with all our heart, soul, and mind was at the top. (Mark 12:28-31) He went on to say that the second great commandment is to love our neighbor as ourselves.
When we love God with all we’ve got, we should automatically love our neighbor. However, it doesn’t always come easily.
As we address brotherly kindness, I want to talk about love as a verb. Too often people think in terms of love being a noun. They go with their “feelings.” Love can be a noun. It is often something you feel. But it is what you do before that feeling surfaces that really matters. That’s where love as an action verb needs to appear.
When we add brotherly kindness to godliness we are truly being more reverent and our worship of God moves from the sanctuary of the Lord’s house into our everyday lives. Our worship becomes more real and more meaningful.
1 John 4:20 tells us, “If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar:” To not show brotherly love is to negate any time we spend praying and singing God’s praises.
Think about that. It’s powerful. Brotherly love doesn’t say you need to agree with the other person and how they look, act, talk, or think. You and I must love everyone and treat them with God’s love and kindness.
It’s the concept of the Golden Rule. "Do to others as you would have them do to you.” (Luke 6:31) Too often people simply give back what they get. If they receive love then they will love, however if hurt, prejudices, anger, etc is dealt to them, they dish it back and everyone loses. That’s not God’s wishes.
Today, choose to grow your faith by intentionally showing brotherly love toward everyone you meet. Be blessed to be a blessing.
🙏Father, thank you for loving me unconditionally and for loving everyone else the same way. Help me to also love as you love and to accept each person I meet with your love and brotherly kindness. Wherever your spirit leads today, help me to be fully awake and ready to respond in love. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen. 🙏
2024.05.18 14:36 ILikeNeurons Rape is so much more common than people think, and the police response (or lack thereof) is a large part of that
By their own admission, roughly 6% of unincarcerated American men are rapists, and the authors acknowledge that their methods will have led to an underestimate. Higher estimates are closer to 14%.
That comes out to somewhere between 1 in 17 and 1 in 7 unincarcerated men in America being rapists, with a cluster of studies showing about 1 in 8.
The numbers can't really be explained away by small sizes, as sample sizes can be quite large, and statistical tests of proportionality show even the best case scenario, looking at the study that the authors acknowledge is an underestimate, the 99% confidence interval shows it's at least as bad as 1 in 20, which is nowhere near where most people think it is. People will go through all kinds of mental gymnastics to convince themselves it's not that bad, or it's not that bad anymore (in fact, it's arguably getting worse). But the reality is, most of us know a rapist, we just don't always know who they are (and sometimes, they don't even know, because they're experts at rationalizing their own behavior).
Knowing those numbers, and the fact that many rapists commit multiple rapes, one can start to make sense of the extraordinarily high number of women who have been raped. This reinforces that our starting point should be to believe (not dismiss) survivors, and investigate rapes properly.
Take action
submitted by ILikeNeurons to stoprape [link] [comments]
That comes out to somewhere between 1 in 17 and 1 in 7 unincarcerated men in America being rapists, with a cluster of studies showing about 1 in 8.
The numbers can't really be explained away by small sizes, as sample sizes can be quite large, and statistical tests of proportionality show even the best case scenario, looking at the study that the authors acknowledge is an underestimate, the 99% confidence interval shows it's at least as bad as 1 in 20, which is nowhere near where most people think it is. People will go through all kinds of mental gymnastics to convince themselves it's not that bad, or it's not that bad anymore (in fact, it's arguably getting worse). But the reality is, most of us know a rapist, we just don't always know who they are (and sometimes, they don't even know, because they're experts at rationalizing their own behavior).
Knowing those numbers, and the fact that many rapists commit multiple rapes, one can start to make sense of the extraordinarily high number of women who have been raped. This reinforces that our starting point should be to believe (not dismiss) survivors, and investigate rapes properly.
Take action
2024.05.18 14:17 tomesandtea [Discussion] Leviathan Wakes by James S. A. Corey Chapters 34-40 (The Expanse Book #1)
Welcome to our fifth discussion of Leviathan Wakes. Hold onto your cool detective hats or your environment suits, because we finally get some answers to our mystery! This week, we will discuss Chapters 34-40. The Marginalia post is here. You can find the Schedule here.
The discussion questions are below. One note - this is a very popular book series and TV show, but please keep in mind that not everyone has read or watched already, so be mindful not to include anything that could be a hint or a spoiler! Please mark spoilers not related to this section of the book using the format > ! Spoiler text here !< (without any spaces between the characters themselves or between the characters and the first and last words).
Now brace yourselves: here comes the juice!
Chapter Summaries:
Chapter 34 - Miller: Detective Miller and the crew of the Roci board the hidden ship (the one that captured the crew of the Scopuli before destroying it), wearing environment suits because the ship has no atmosphere - someone left the doors open. They stick together at first as they move through the ship, discovering signs of a struggle, zombie vomit, and twelve torpedo tubes big enough to destroy capital ships like the Donnager or the Canterbury. Miller uses his detective skills to determine that everyone but Julie retreated to engineering. Once there, they discover a truly grisly sight: layers of human flesh and bones are sort of fused around the reactor, which has been shut down. Naomi and Holden gasp in shock and disgust, Miller turns on his cop brain to suppress emotion and view it as a crime scene, and Amos seems… calm and able to ignore the gore. The team splits up to look for more clues.
Amos stays in engineering to start up the computers and get the reactor back online. Naomi works on the ops deck to run diagnostics. Miller and Holden head to the bridge, which wasn’t affected by the fighting onboard. Miller reviews the internal feeds and finds footage showing the captured Scopuli crew being led onto the ship, stripped, and put in restraints. Julie fights back viciously but is knocked unconscious and stuffed in a locker with a jumpsuit (which is where we met her in the prologue). The crew is left in the galley for 132 hours before they decide to make a stand, but it is quickly suppressed. One of the crew is thrown out an airlock and the others are heavily restrained as they scream and cry. Just as Miller gets to the first appearance of a vomit zombie (at hour 160 of footage), Amos yells that he’s been exposed to some radiation because the human flesh blob had damaged the reactor shielding. He decides to keep working while Alex monitors his health status from the Roci.
Then Holden calls Miller over to view one of the last feeds Julie accessed. It’s a corporate presentation video created for a man named Dresden and the board of Protogen. It features a man Miller dubs “the sociopath” because of his cold, practiced smile…and because of the content. The sociopath tells the board (and us) the history of scientific discovery on Phoebe, which was thought to just be a moon and a source of water, but became a research station when a survey found complex silicon structures in the ice. Protogen was tasked with investigating and discovered that Phoebe is not a moon but evidence of a galactic biosphere: it is an alien weapon sent towards Earth 2 ⅓ billion years ago, which never made it because of orbital mechanics. Protogen has discovered that this weapon is not alive per se; rather, it is something they’ve termed the “protomolecule” which has the ability to maintain structure while replicating other systems and manipulating them at scalable rates. Of course, they alerted the proper authorities and made sure… just kidding, they’ve secretly been doing tests. The sociopath believes that whoever controls the protomolecule will gain control of all political and economic power going forward. Chillingly, the sociopath urges them to pursue large-scale testing to understand the protomolecule and its human applications. That large-scale testing is Eros.
TL;DR - Julie found evidence that Protogen has discovered an alien weapon, branded it the “protomolecule”, and secretly tested it on the people of Eros (and probably other smaller tests). The entire war has just been a distraction.
Chapter 35 - Holden: Naomi explains that most of the messages on the comm logs have been coded, but the last one is in plain text: the captain informed Thoth Station that the ship was contaminated, everyone was about to die, and the “materials” had been secured. He also planned to send vector data so they could find the ship. The Roci crew put two and alien-symbol-for-two together: they figure out that the captain has locked protomolecule samples in his safe. They also decide that the tightbeam messages were being sent to a secret research station Protogen was using to monitor the Eros experiment. Even though the fact “Naomi is the best” is a proven concept on par with “space is cold”, she is NOT able to open the captain’s safe, so they decide to cut it out of the wall and bring it with them on the Roci. They also scuttle the ship so no one can a) recover the stealth technology and alien weapons, or b) get exposed to the protomolecule-human soup inside. (Amos would have preferred to hack the frozen dead body goo off the reactor with a chainsaw and salvage such an impressive and expensive ship, which is… another way to go.)
It’s clear that someone else with stealth tech is searching actively for this ship, but the Roci won’t see them coming so they decide to get the hell out of Dodge. Naomi jokes that their options include turning the safe over to the OPA (they’d be heroes), selling out to Mars (they’d be rich), or starting their own biotech firm (just kidding, that’s evil). When Miller checks in with Holden about a decision on where to go next, he drops a figurative bomb on him regarding actual bombs in the news. Since Holden did his best Edward Snowden impersonation and leaked the data that the mystery ships are from Earth, Mars asked a few too many questions and in response, Earth has blown up a whole bunch of Martian ships and destroyed the Deimos deep radar station. Miller ruefully gives Holden credit for sticking to his guns about his belief in “free information”. He also points out that Holden’s principles make him responsible for all those deaths and the destruction of the Earth-Mars Coalition… and possibly the universe as they know it.
Chapter 36 - Miller: The war between Mars and the Belt seems like no big deal now that Earth and Mars are fighting. Miller watches the news feeds as the conflict turns into a blockade, and he realizes he is steeling himself for an announcement of a planetary attack on Earth or Mars, but it never comes. He and Amos deal with the stress by having beer for breakfast.
Miller meets up with Holden in the med bay for their routine blood flushes and cancer treatments, and they reopen their debate about what to do with the data files and who is to blame for the war(s).
Chapter 37 - Holden: The crew of the Roci is taking a break from doom scrolling to cook fake space lasagna for dinner and bond over the food and conversation. As Holden watches the crew laugh at Amos’s belches and Miller’s wild story about cheese smuggling, he reflects that they represent all three prongs of the conflict: Naomi and Miller are Belters, Amos and he are from Earth, and Alex is from Mars. Yet they’re friends, and Holden knows this is what they have to fight for. The cheese smuggling makes no sense to Amos (why cheese and not drugs?), and Naomi points out that this illustrates how little people from the inner planets understand Belters. Earthers have free air and easy access to resources, while Belters know everything that sustains life is rare and their access to it is fragile. And this is why Protogen didn’t blink an eye before killing 1.5 million Belters on Eros: they’re “other”. Then Alex points out that this doesn’t make sense; it's a risky and unnecessarily complicated way to kill people just to satisfy prejudices. It becomes clear that Eros isn’t a hate crime, it’s a vacuum-sealed test tube to let the protomolecule learn how to do its job better by giving it access to a huge amount of biomass. The early transformations looked incomplete, as if it didn’t know how to work with human flesh yet, so Protogen was giving it a chance to train. Holden wants to know where they would even find enough people who would support an evil operation like this, and Miller promises to ask Dresden (the Protogen board member mentioned in the video) when they meet him. Something tells me that conversation won’t go well.
As the Roci approaches Tycho station, Holden and Miller take in the view of the Nauvoo, the partially constructed Mormon generation ship. When Miller says the Mormans may be in for a long and lonely death if they don’t find a habitable planet, Holden notes that this is the good kind of galactic exploration humans can accomplish (the protomolecule being the bad kind). Miller then asks Holden why he trusts Fred, and Holden explains that in addition to being the only person who hasn’t tried to jail them or blow them up since all this began, Fred is “real OPA”: he’s a politician and not part of the war-mongering factions who think they can survive indefinitely without the inner planets. When Miller points out that there isn’t a political solution to Protogen, Holden insists Fred has other skills, too. Later, Fred reads through all the information on the protomolecule and is incredulous that anyone could think to do this. Miller assures him that genocide is an old-school crime and it’s important that they stop it. Holden offers up the location of the observation station in exchange for enough OPA fighters to take down Protogen, and the right to retain custody of the safe and its contents. Fred agrees only after Holden points out that no one else can be trusted to do the right thing with a secret this big. Plus, he says Fred already knows what Holden will do with it.
Chapter 38 - Miller: It feels strange to Miller to explore the wide open spaces of Tycho Station, the fanciest place he has ever set foot on. He notices Naomi working on her hand terminal and letting her food get cold; she is too preoccupied with trying to figure out the location of the station to enjoy the amenities. As they talk, Miller is reminded of Havelock’s advice to just let go when he got pulled off a case, which jogs his memory that Havelock actually works for Protogen! (I’m surprised he didn’t get there faster; maybe everyone had a point that he was sort of a washed up detective.) He rushes off to make contact with his old buddy - probably his last real partner ever - in an encrypted drop site of a Ganymede server cluster. As he waits for a response, Miller is amused to realize he has started thinking like Holden: he feels like someone should warn the Mormans that they could potentially run into the alien creators of the protomolecule who may want to kill them. Havelock comes through, passing along the coordinates to a “very scary deep research and development lab” and asking Miller tobe discreet never contact him again so he doesn’t get killed for betraying his employer. Miller sends him an encrypted warning to quit his job ASAP and not take postings at any black ops sites, before saying goodbye for the last time to the only person that still respected him as a cop. (I may or may not be sniffling a bit at this.)
Miller rounds up Naomi and Holden so they can bring Fred the coordinates. In Fred’s office, Miller starts lecturing him about the serious nature of the mission and the need to have a solid plan with adequate firepower, not the usual OPA shenanigans. Everyone’s a little confused until they realize that Miller doesn’t know that Fred is “the butcher of Anderson Station” and a former Colonel in the Earth Navy. Fred assures Miller he’s no amateur and will plan ahead. Miller then insists that he get to come along for the assault on Thoth Station. Eight days later, the plan is set in motion and Miller begins packing his meager belongings into a very small bag, figuring he’ll never see the Roci again. Even if he makes it off Thoth alive, he’ll have to figure out a way to make money and improvise a life plan of some sort. He tries to thank Holden and say goodbye, but the Roci’s captain interrupts Miller to ask where they’ll all meet up after the mission is complete. Miller is confused at first, then overcome with emotion when he realizes Holden considers Miller part of the crew! I’m not crying, you’re crying. Actually, it’s Miller who is weeping. But he pulls himself together so he can head to the assault ship.
Chapter 39 - Holden: The Rocinante needs to sneak up on Thoth Station, so they are pretending to be a loose cargo container that broke off the Guy Molinari (the Belter ship carrying the assault team, which is pretending to be a cargo ship). They fly with everything shut down so that it’s more convincing, hoping they can get close enough to the station to do some damage before Thoth starts firing back. As they approach and are able to reboot everything needed for battle, a stealth ship is spied hanging out near Thoth Station. Then, suddenly it becomes clear that there are two small stealth ships, which will be much harder to fight off. Everyone does their jobs efficiently on the Roci, but in the ensuing battle with the stealth ships, they start to take some damage. First, the Roci is hit by a gauss cannon that goes straight through the machine shop and galley. Holden mourns his coffee maker. Amos notices a leak in the maneuvering thrusters and heads to fix it between the inner and outer hulls, which isn’t an ideal place to be floating around during a battle. This stresses Naomi out, but Holden orders everyone to stay focused. They are able to take out one of the stealth ships, but the other gets close enough to do some impressive damage to the Roci. There is major hull damage as well as loss of four maneuvering thrusters, a PDC, their O2 storage, and the crew airlock. Alex is about to destroy the second stealth ship when the Roci’s point defense cannons (PDCs) detonate an enemy warhead up close. It knocks everyone out, punches holes throughout the Roci (narrowly missing Naomi), dislodges equipment, and fills the ship with debris. Holden marvels that they are alive at all, and Alex points out that is only because the ship’s anti-spalling webbing eliminates shrapnel. They make contact with Fred, who says he’ll find them a place to land, and the Guy Molinari prepares for the assault on Thoth Station. It’s Miller’s turn to shine!
Chapter 40 - Miller: On the Guy Molinari, Miller is talking to a Belter kid named Diogo as they wait for the assault to start. Miller realizes that while he has fancy Martian armor from the Roci and experience with gunfights in station corridors, he is surrounded by inexperienced young Belters with borrowed gear, and he will likely have to watch dozens of them die during the battle. But Diogo isn’t worried; he is confident and eager to get started. Fred announces that they are ready to start boarding since the Roci gave them the “all clear”, and Miller is happy to hear his friends have survived. The assault on the station starts off rough, with Protogen soldiers fighting them in the corridors and automatic defense lasers taking out some of the Belters in the first wave. But Fred knows how to command his OPA “troops” and keep them in line, and things start to go more smoothly as they slow down and maneuver carefully. Miller and Diogo are part of a group taking shelter at Fred’s direction and fending off Protogen counterattacks, and they start to talk during a lull. When two Protogen soldiers sneak up on them from behind, Diogo is hit and Miller chastises himself for chatting during a battle and not staying alert. He thinks Diogo is dead, but he pops up laughing and streaked with white goo from crowd suppression rounds, which Miller finds an odd choice of weapon. It’s the first sign that Thoth Station may not totally understand what’s happening. The OPA soldiers cut their way through the blast doors to get to the operations center, where they find Dresden (the dude mentioned in the sociopath’s Protogen video). Fred arrives to take command of the station, and Dresden offers to negotiate, clearly misunderstanding the reason for the assault. He offers to give the OPA whatever resources they need to go back to fighting their war (money, medical supplies, weapons, ordnance) if they’ll just leave and let the station get back to their very important work. Fred points out that they know about Eros, but Dresden insists no one knows what they did there, and there won’t be a better bargaining position for Fred when Earth sends its battleships. Fred basically calls Dresden Satan, but Dresden doesn’t understand the reference.
submitted by tomesandtea to bookclub [link] [comments]
The discussion questions are below. One note - this is a very popular book series and TV show, but please keep in mind that not everyone has read or watched already, so be mindful not to include anything that could be a hint or a spoiler! Please mark spoilers not related to this section of the book using the format > ! Spoiler text here !< (without any spaces between the characters themselves or between the characters and the first and last words).
Now brace yourselves: here comes the juice!
Chapter Summaries:
Chapter 34 - Miller: Detective Miller and the crew of the Roci board the hidden ship (the one that captured the crew of the Scopuli before destroying it), wearing environment suits because the ship has no atmosphere - someone left the doors open. They stick together at first as they move through the ship, discovering signs of a struggle, zombie vomit, and twelve torpedo tubes big enough to destroy capital ships like the Donnager or the Canterbury. Miller uses his detective skills to determine that everyone but Julie retreated to engineering. Once there, they discover a truly grisly sight: layers of human flesh and bones are sort of fused around the reactor, which has been shut down. Naomi and Holden gasp in shock and disgust, Miller turns on his cop brain to suppress emotion and view it as a crime scene, and Amos seems… calm and able to ignore the gore. The team splits up to look for more clues.
Amos stays in engineering to start up the computers and get the reactor back online. Naomi works on the ops deck to run diagnostics. Miller and Holden head to the bridge, which wasn’t affected by the fighting onboard. Miller reviews the internal feeds and finds footage showing the captured Scopuli crew being led onto the ship, stripped, and put in restraints. Julie fights back viciously but is knocked unconscious and stuffed in a locker with a jumpsuit (which is where we met her in the prologue). The crew is left in the galley for 132 hours before they decide to make a stand, but it is quickly suppressed. One of the crew is thrown out an airlock and the others are heavily restrained as they scream and cry. Just as Miller gets to the first appearance of a vomit zombie (at hour 160 of footage), Amos yells that he’s been exposed to some radiation because the human flesh blob had damaged the reactor shielding. He decides to keep working while Alex monitors his health status from the Roci.
Then Holden calls Miller over to view one of the last feeds Julie accessed. It’s a corporate presentation video created for a man named Dresden and the board of Protogen. It features a man Miller dubs “the sociopath” because of his cold, practiced smile…and because of the content. The sociopath tells the board (and us) the history of scientific discovery on Phoebe, which was thought to just be a moon and a source of water, but became a research station when a survey found complex silicon structures in the ice. Protogen was tasked with investigating and discovered that Phoebe is not a moon but evidence of a galactic biosphere: it is an alien weapon sent towards Earth 2 ⅓ billion years ago, which never made it because of orbital mechanics. Protogen has discovered that this weapon is not alive per se; rather, it is something they’ve termed the “protomolecule” which has the ability to maintain structure while replicating other systems and manipulating them at scalable rates. Of course, they alerted the proper authorities and made sure… just kidding, they’ve secretly been doing tests. The sociopath believes that whoever controls the protomolecule will gain control of all political and economic power going forward. Chillingly, the sociopath urges them to pursue large-scale testing to understand the protomolecule and its human applications. That large-scale testing is Eros.
TL;DR - Julie found evidence that Protogen has discovered an alien weapon, branded it the “protomolecule”, and secretly tested it on the people of Eros (and probably other smaller tests). The entire war has just been a distraction.
Chapter 35 - Holden: Naomi explains that most of the messages on the comm logs have been coded, but the last one is in plain text: the captain informed Thoth Station that the ship was contaminated, everyone was about to die, and the “materials” had been secured. He also planned to send vector data so they could find the ship. The Roci crew put two and alien-symbol-for-two together: they figure out that the captain has locked protomolecule samples in his safe. They also decide that the tightbeam messages were being sent to a secret research station Protogen was using to monitor the Eros experiment. Even though the fact “Naomi is the best” is a proven concept on par with “space is cold”, she is NOT able to open the captain’s safe, so they decide to cut it out of the wall and bring it with them on the Roci. They also scuttle the ship so no one can a) recover the stealth technology and alien weapons, or b) get exposed to the protomolecule-human soup inside. (Amos would have preferred to hack the frozen dead body goo off the reactor with a chainsaw and salvage such an impressive and expensive ship, which is… another way to go.)
It’s clear that someone else with stealth tech is searching actively for this ship, but the Roci won’t see them coming so they decide to get the hell out of Dodge. Naomi jokes that their options include turning the safe over to the OPA (they’d be heroes), selling out to Mars (they’d be rich), or starting their own biotech firm (just kidding, that’s evil). When Miller checks in with Holden about a decision on where to go next, he drops a figurative bomb on him regarding actual bombs in the news. Since Holden did his best Edward Snowden impersonation and leaked the data that the mystery ships are from Earth, Mars asked a few too many questions and in response, Earth has blown up a whole bunch of Martian ships and destroyed the Deimos deep radar station. Miller ruefully gives Holden credit for sticking to his guns about his belief in “free information”. He also points out that Holden’s principles make him responsible for all those deaths and the destruction of the Earth-Mars Coalition… and possibly the universe as they know it.
Chapter 36 - Miller: The war between Mars and the Belt seems like no big deal now that Earth and Mars are fighting. Miller watches the news feeds as the conflict turns into a blockade, and he realizes he is steeling himself for an announcement of a planetary attack on Earth or Mars, but it never comes. He and Amos deal with the stress by having beer for breakfast.
Miller meets up with Holden in the med bay for their routine blood flushes and cancer treatments, and they reopen their debate about what to do with the data files and who is to blame for the war(s).
- Holden’s position: Broadcast everything to everyone! (I know, I know, so out of character, right?) People will understand that they’ve been set up and will turn their wrath on Protogen instead of each other. Also, these are ancient conflicts. The Belt has always hated Mars and the inner planets in general. Mars and Earth have always had animosities secretly brewing and they do military training for the inevitable showdown. Or as Miller puts it, “Not my powder keg; I just brought the match.”
- Miller’s position: Stop and consider what people will do if they hear an Earth company did this. Every other data leak has been used as an excuse to shoot at someone the other side doesn’t like. Also, people suck. They aren’t going to hold hands and sing Kumbaya just because Protogen is the bad guy. They’ll move on to shooting each other so they can be the ones to control the protomolecule. Or as Holden puts it, “Maybe Protogen is a little right. People are too dumb to be trusted with big information so we should keep hard, scary stuff a big secret. That’ll totally work out.”
Chapter 37 - Holden: The crew of the Roci is taking a break from doom scrolling to cook fake space lasagna for dinner and bond over the food and conversation. As Holden watches the crew laugh at Amos’s belches and Miller’s wild story about cheese smuggling, he reflects that they represent all three prongs of the conflict: Naomi and Miller are Belters, Amos and he are from Earth, and Alex is from Mars. Yet they’re friends, and Holden knows this is what they have to fight for. The cheese smuggling makes no sense to Amos (why cheese and not drugs?), and Naomi points out that this illustrates how little people from the inner planets understand Belters. Earthers have free air and easy access to resources, while Belters know everything that sustains life is rare and their access to it is fragile. And this is why Protogen didn’t blink an eye before killing 1.5 million Belters on Eros: they’re “other”. Then Alex points out that this doesn’t make sense; it's a risky and unnecessarily complicated way to kill people just to satisfy prejudices. It becomes clear that Eros isn’t a hate crime, it’s a vacuum-sealed test tube to let the protomolecule learn how to do its job better by giving it access to a huge amount of biomass. The early transformations looked incomplete, as if it didn’t know how to work with human flesh yet, so Protogen was giving it a chance to train. Holden wants to know where they would even find enough people who would support an evil operation like this, and Miller promises to ask Dresden (the Protogen board member mentioned in the video) when they meet him. Something tells me that conversation won’t go well.
As the Roci approaches Tycho station, Holden and Miller take in the view of the Nauvoo, the partially constructed Mormon generation ship. When Miller says the Mormans may be in for a long and lonely death if they don’t find a habitable planet, Holden notes that this is the good kind of galactic exploration humans can accomplish (the protomolecule being the bad kind). Miller then asks Holden why he trusts Fred, and Holden explains that in addition to being the only person who hasn’t tried to jail them or blow them up since all this began, Fred is “real OPA”: he’s a politician and not part of the war-mongering factions who think they can survive indefinitely without the inner planets. When Miller points out that there isn’t a political solution to Protogen, Holden insists Fred has other skills, too. Later, Fred reads through all the information on the protomolecule and is incredulous that anyone could think to do this. Miller assures him that genocide is an old-school crime and it’s important that they stop it. Holden offers up the location of the observation station in exchange for enough OPA fighters to take down Protogen, and the right to retain custody of the safe and its contents. Fred agrees only after Holden points out that no one else can be trusted to do the right thing with a secret this big. Plus, he says Fred already knows what Holden will do with it.
Chapter 38 - Miller: It feels strange to Miller to explore the wide open spaces of Tycho Station, the fanciest place he has ever set foot on. He notices Naomi working on her hand terminal and letting her food get cold; she is too preoccupied with trying to figure out the location of the station to enjoy the amenities. As they talk, Miller is reminded of Havelock’s advice to just let go when he got pulled off a case, which jogs his memory that Havelock actually works for Protogen! (I’m surprised he didn’t get there faster; maybe everyone had a point that he was sort of a washed up detective.) He rushes off to make contact with his old buddy - probably his last real partner ever - in an encrypted drop site of a Ganymede server cluster. As he waits for a response, Miller is amused to realize he has started thinking like Holden: he feels like someone should warn the Mormans that they could potentially run into the alien creators of the protomolecule who may want to kill them. Havelock comes through, passing along the coordinates to a “very scary deep research and development lab” and asking Miller to
Miller rounds up Naomi and Holden so they can bring Fred the coordinates. In Fred’s office, Miller starts lecturing him about the serious nature of the mission and the need to have a solid plan with adequate firepower, not the usual OPA shenanigans. Everyone’s a little confused until they realize that Miller doesn’t know that Fred is “the butcher of Anderson Station” and a former Colonel in the Earth Navy. Fred assures Miller he’s no amateur and will plan ahead. Miller then insists that he get to come along for the assault on Thoth Station. Eight days later, the plan is set in motion and Miller begins packing his meager belongings into a very small bag, figuring he’ll never see the Roci again. Even if he makes it off Thoth alive, he’ll have to figure out a way to make money and improvise a life plan of some sort. He tries to thank Holden and say goodbye, but the Roci’s captain interrupts Miller to ask where they’ll all meet up after the mission is complete. Miller is confused at first, then overcome with emotion when he realizes Holden considers Miller part of the crew! I’m not crying, you’re crying. Actually, it’s Miller who is weeping. But he pulls himself together so he can head to the assault ship.
Chapter 39 - Holden: The Rocinante needs to sneak up on Thoth Station, so they are pretending to be a loose cargo container that broke off the Guy Molinari (the Belter ship carrying the assault team, which is pretending to be a cargo ship). They fly with everything shut down so that it’s more convincing, hoping they can get close enough to the station to do some damage before Thoth starts firing back. As they approach and are able to reboot everything needed for battle, a stealth ship is spied hanging out near Thoth Station. Then, suddenly it becomes clear that there are two small stealth ships, which will be much harder to fight off. Everyone does their jobs efficiently on the Roci, but in the ensuing battle with the stealth ships, they start to take some damage. First, the Roci is hit by a gauss cannon that goes straight through the machine shop and galley. Holden mourns his coffee maker. Amos notices a leak in the maneuvering thrusters and heads to fix it between the inner and outer hulls, which isn’t an ideal place to be floating around during a battle. This stresses Naomi out, but Holden orders everyone to stay focused. They are able to take out one of the stealth ships, but the other gets close enough to do some impressive damage to the Roci. There is major hull damage as well as loss of four maneuvering thrusters, a PDC, their O2 storage, and the crew airlock. Alex is about to destroy the second stealth ship when the Roci’s point defense cannons (PDCs) detonate an enemy warhead up close. It knocks everyone out, punches holes throughout the Roci (narrowly missing Naomi), dislodges equipment, and fills the ship with debris. Holden marvels that they are alive at all, and Alex points out that is only because the ship’s anti-spalling webbing eliminates shrapnel. They make contact with Fred, who says he’ll find them a place to land, and the Guy Molinari prepares for the assault on Thoth Station. It’s Miller’s turn to shine!
Chapter 40 - Miller: On the Guy Molinari, Miller is talking to a Belter kid named Diogo as they wait for the assault to start. Miller realizes that while he has fancy Martian armor from the Roci and experience with gunfights in station corridors, he is surrounded by inexperienced young Belters with borrowed gear, and he will likely have to watch dozens of them die during the battle. But Diogo isn’t worried; he is confident and eager to get started. Fred announces that they are ready to start boarding since the Roci gave them the “all clear”, and Miller is happy to hear his friends have survived. The assault on the station starts off rough, with Protogen soldiers fighting them in the corridors and automatic defense lasers taking out some of the Belters in the first wave. But Fred knows how to command his OPA “troops” and keep them in line, and things start to go more smoothly as they slow down and maneuver carefully. Miller and Diogo are part of a group taking shelter at Fred’s direction and fending off Protogen counterattacks, and they start to talk during a lull. When two Protogen soldiers sneak up on them from behind, Diogo is hit and Miller chastises himself for chatting during a battle and not staying alert. He thinks Diogo is dead, but he pops up laughing and streaked with white goo from crowd suppression rounds, which Miller finds an odd choice of weapon. It’s the first sign that Thoth Station may not totally understand what’s happening. The OPA soldiers cut their way through the blast doors to get to the operations center, where they find Dresden (the dude mentioned in the sociopath’s Protogen video). Fred arrives to take command of the station, and Dresden offers to negotiate, clearly misunderstanding the reason for the assault. He offers to give the OPA whatever resources they need to go back to fighting their war (money, medical supplies, weapons, ordnance) if they’ll just leave and let the station get back to their very important work. Fred points out that they know about Eros, but Dresden insists no one knows what they did there, and there won’t be a better bargaining position for Fred when Earth sends its battleships. Fred basically calls Dresden Satan, but Dresden doesn’t understand the reference.
2024.05.18 13:26 ExtentOne8172 Lingostar
I worked for these guys for months. The company is run by a merciless chatbot. You work for an automated system basically. Hardly any people at LS speak or even read English so forget getting adequate teacher support. If you have any problems with the server (it miscalculated so much of my on going pay) or you’re fined unfairly (and they love to fine you at Lingostar) then you can forget solving that problem because no one human responds. The chatbot is always right and sometimes it’s not.
With regards payment base pay was 7 but only if you got an existing student at LS. Trial classes are 6.5. And a new start has tons of them. Then you go to 7.5 - but only if the trial client books with you or the subscription client stays on. If you’re with a student for more than eight lessons you’re supposed to get 8 but it’s not automatic. I was stuck at a level 1 payment structure the whole time I worked there. I had tons of regular students - tons- but when I pressed it (they eventually) responded saying each student had to have more than eight classes with me before a pay increase. When I told them my students had been with me for 8 lessons they said they’d look into and no one ever got back to me. I chased it but still nothing. It’s crazy making.
You can’t get sick. You can’t have any kind of emergency without losing a days money. You can appeal but if your appeal is in English and the person receiving it doesn’t speak English or they have poor English then your appeal fails. I had screenshot evidence and they just discounted it because they can’t read the content. Some admin speak English to be clear but most don’t. I’m talking about the kind of English speakers who think they speak English but they have zero comprehension skills. Most workers rely on chatbot translator and this just adds to the frustration. But none of this matter to LS. It’s mostly a chatbot machine and it deliberately herds teachers towards the AI machine which means accepting the limitation of the machine.
Lingostar pays better than a lot of ESL companies but there was an issue with being paid in April 2024 and that was the last straw for me. We got paid in the end but trying to get Lingostar to respond or tell us what was happening took days. I don’t think it bodes well when a company with thousands of clients misses payroll and so I bowed out.
There are Facebook pages for this company. I located the Philippine teacher website. Some excellent English speakers on there and getting even less money than native speakers which is just criminal. When we didn’t get paid in April LS said it was an issue with their bank and then they blamed PayPal. I got in touch with PayPal and they confirmed no payment had been sent.
You work so hard in this job and the rewards are plenty if you love to teach but we also do it to make money. Lingostar take a huge slice of our pie but they don’t bake it. The other issue? From February I suddenly had all these IT issues. My computer (a Mac) and my WiFi (fibre optic) was too slow but I passed every device test. Then they wouldn’t book classes for me until I tested my device. I even had my internet company test my line. I passed the test but next day same problem. The lady who manages the fibre optic WiFi in my house was so lovely to me. She calmly and with great pity in her voice said “The problem isn’t you” It’s like being in a relationship with a bad boyfriend. It’s all your fault but Lingostar callously deflect it back to the teachers and when I say deflect I mean “gaslight.” If you’re working at LS facing similar frustrations and stress regards your equipment please know it’s really not you.
It was a really upsetting experience because the issue of course is their server and probably the Chinese firewall. The issue is also the clients WiFi but the teacher is always held responsible and loses pay while Lingostar stays in pocket.
And to get 20 dollars an hour at Lingostar you’d have to work for a hundred years. It was a very stressful job. I was glad to leave but I felt very sorry for my students. I also feel bad for the administrators and IT dudes who are probably on even less pay. It seems everyone is so stressed at this company which is not Chinese btw. This company may be based in Singapore but it’s owned by some white European IT nerd exploiting all of us. The future of Lingostar is AI. There won’t be any teachers working on that platform in the future. That’s what you’re really investing in at Lingostar. The creation of a bouncing cyber head with magic ears who doesn’t get paid at all.
You heard it here first.
submitted by ExtentOne8172 to OnlineESLTeaching [link] [comments]
With regards payment base pay was 7 but only if you got an existing student at LS. Trial classes are 6.5. And a new start has tons of them. Then you go to 7.5 - but only if the trial client books with you or the subscription client stays on. If you’re with a student for more than eight lessons you’re supposed to get 8 but it’s not automatic. I was stuck at a level 1 payment structure the whole time I worked there. I had tons of regular students - tons- but when I pressed it (they eventually) responded saying each student had to have more than eight classes with me before a pay increase. When I told them my students had been with me for 8 lessons they said they’d look into and no one ever got back to me. I chased it but still nothing. It’s crazy making.
You can’t get sick. You can’t have any kind of emergency without losing a days money. You can appeal but if your appeal is in English and the person receiving it doesn’t speak English or they have poor English then your appeal fails. I had screenshot evidence and they just discounted it because they can’t read the content. Some admin speak English to be clear but most don’t. I’m talking about the kind of English speakers who think they speak English but they have zero comprehension skills. Most workers rely on chatbot translator and this just adds to the frustration. But none of this matter to LS. It’s mostly a chatbot machine and it deliberately herds teachers towards the AI machine which means accepting the limitation of the machine.
Lingostar pays better than a lot of ESL companies but there was an issue with being paid in April 2024 and that was the last straw for me. We got paid in the end but trying to get Lingostar to respond or tell us what was happening took days. I don’t think it bodes well when a company with thousands of clients misses payroll and so I bowed out.
There are Facebook pages for this company. I located the Philippine teacher website. Some excellent English speakers on there and getting even less money than native speakers which is just criminal. When we didn’t get paid in April LS said it was an issue with their bank and then they blamed PayPal. I got in touch with PayPal and they confirmed no payment had been sent.
You work so hard in this job and the rewards are plenty if you love to teach but we also do it to make money. Lingostar take a huge slice of our pie but they don’t bake it. The other issue? From February I suddenly had all these IT issues. My computer (a Mac) and my WiFi (fibre optic) was too slow but I passed every device test. Then they wouldn’t book classes for me until I tested my device. I even had my internet company test my line. I passed the test but next day same problem. The lady who manages the fibre optic WiFi in my house was so lovely to me. She calmly and with great pity in her voice said “The problem isn’t you” It’s like being in a relationship with a bad boyfriend. It’s all your fault but Lingostar callously deflect it back to the teachers and when I say deflect I mean “gaslight.” If you’re working at LS facing similar frustrations and stress regards your equipment please know it’s really not you.
It was a really upsetting experience because the issue of course is their server and probably the Chinese firewall. The issue is also the clients WiFi but the teacher is always held responsible and loses pay while Lingostar stays in pocket.
And to get 20 dollars an hour at Lingostar you’d have to work for a hundred years. It was a very stressful job. I was glad to leave but I felt very sorry for my students. I also feel bad for the administrators and IT dudes who are probably on even less pay. It seems everyone is so stressed at this company which is not Chinese btw. This company may be based in Singapore but it’s owned by some white European IT nerd exploiting all of us. The future of Lingostar is AI. There won’t be any teachers working on that platform in the future. That’s what you’re really investing in at Lingostar. The creation of a bouncing cyber head with magic ears who doesn’t get paid at all.
You heard it here first.
2024.05.18 10:51 Old-Lavishness-3555 Flight of Angels
Kastiel sat in the passanger compartment of the Corvus Blackstar, the craft at the lead of a formation of six assault transports. They shot through the atmosphere towards Camberg, fourty two black armoured astartes in all.
By his side were Lexum, Leontus and Caraxes. The company champion was staring at the back of the assault ramp, his jump pack's thrusters already glowing softly. The librarian was whispering a low chant whilst the crystal embedded in the crossguard of his force sword thrummed with power. The blackshield mearly stood there, his hood concealing his bored face.
Across from them were Kill Team Occinus. It had occured to Kastiel during today's confrontation that this team was the only one he had not deployed personally with. Perhaps a battle together would help ease the tention and allow them, more specifically Skaran, to intergrate better into the company.
The techmarine pilot spoke over the team's vox as another sonic boom rocked the craft, the pilot pushing the airframe to it's already incredibly high limits.
"Thirty seconds, captain."
As one, the astartes turned to face the two ramps in two rows. Fifteen seconds after the announcement, the dull roar of the craft's weapons systems could be heard, as bolts, shells, rockets and lascannon bolts rained down upon the landing zone as the squadron committed to a strafing run of the site.
Fifteen seconds after the bombardment begun, the craft lurched and each marine felt several G's of force as the VTOL engine turned.
The red light turned green, and each ramp flew open, the ship hovering ten meters above the ground. A wall of noise hit the astartes, screaming and gunfire saturating the air. The marines flung themselves into the air, Lexum being first out as his jump pack fired, his eviscerator growling hungrily and the marine himself roaring a curse at the top of his three lungs.
They hit the ground with a thunderous crash, bolters already firing as workers and soldiers alike were gunned down without hesitation or mercy. The primary control tower was ahead, and Kastiel intended to leave none within alive.
A small platoon of auxilliaries rounded the corner, trying to pin down the astartes as they moved. The effect was negligable, and one of the bolts from their plasma defenders grazed the shoulder pad of the Flesh Tearer, the marine's head snapping towards them as he spun and once more fired his jump pack, landing amongst them.
What followed were around eight seconds of terrified screaming, sporadic gunfire and the roar of the chainblade rending armour, flesh and bone, and the platoon of two score men and women were no more, their sacrifice having achieved nothing.
Across the grounds, similar scenes played out as six teams of space marines stormed buildings, butchering the occupants before they had a chance to mount any kind of meaningful defence. That would not last, and soon enough the T'au would organise a proper response. Everyone here would be dead before their reinforcements arrived regardless.
Kastiel led from the front, the team not breaking their sprint as he shoulder-checked his way through a door, spinning and bisecting two fire warriors with his power sword, allowing the momentum to carry him forwards as he lifted his foot, caving in the chest of a third xenos before coming to a stop, bringing his boot down on the dying creature's skull.
He fired his plasma pistol down the corridor as the rest of the marines of his squad and Kill Team Occinus filed in, the fusilade of fire butchering the defenders of a checkpoint that led to the command room.
The building shook as one of the AA batteries on the roof detonated as one of the Blackstar's missiles cooked off it's power cell, and panels fell from the ceiling, revealing wiring and supports.
The marines strode forwards, encountering token resistance as the veteran astartes sythed through the fire warriors. Already, Kastiel's vox was alive with reports of success from more than one of the other teams.
They came to a reinforced door, and Kastiel stepped aside as Caraxes strode forwards, thumbing the activation switch on his heavy thunder hammer, the gargantuan weapon sparking with energy. He swung, and the door exploded inwards.
submitted by Old-Lavishness-3555 to war_for_Gryllus [link] [comments]
By his side were Lexum, Leontus and Caraxes. The company champion was staring at the back of the assault ramp, his jump pack's thrusters already glowing softly. The librarian was whispering a low chant whilst the crystal embedded in the crossguard of his force sword thrummed with power. The blackshield mearly stood there, his hood concealing his bored face.
Across from them were Kill Team Occinus. It had occured to Kastiel during today's confrontation that this team was the only one he had not deployed personally with. Perhaps a battle together would help ease the tention and allow them, more specifically Skaran, to intergrate better into the company.
The techmarine pilot spoke over the team's vox as another sonic boom rocked the craft, the pilot pushing the airframe to it's already incredibly high limits.
"Thirty seconds, captain."
As one, the astartes turned to face the two ramps in two rows. Fifteen seconds after the announcement, the dull roar of the craft's weapons systems could be heard, as bolts, shells, rockets and lascannon bolts rained down upon the landing zone as the squadron committed to a strafing run of the site.
Fifteen seconds after the bombardment begun, the craft lurched and each marine felt several G's of force as the VTOL engine turned.
The red light turned green, and each ramp flew open, the ship hovering ten meters above the ground. A wall of noise hit the astartes, screaming and gunfire saturating the air. The marines flung themselves into the air, Lexum being first out as his jump pack fired, his eviscerator growling hungrily and the marine himself roaring a curse at the top of his three lungs.
They hit the ground with a thunderous crash, bolters already firing as workers and soldiers alike were gunned down without hesitation or mercy. The primary control tower was ahead, and Kastiel intended to leave none within alive.
A small platoon of auxilliaries rounded the corner, trying to pin down the astartes as they moved. The effect was negligable, and one of the bolts from their plasma defenders grazed the shoulder pad of the Flesh Tearer, the marine's head snapping towards them as he spun and once more fired his jump pack, landing amongst them.
What followed were around eight seconds of terrified screaming, sporadic gunfire and the roar of the chainblade rending armour, flesh and bone, and the platoon of two score men and women were no more, their sacrifice having achieved nothing.
Across the grounds, similar scenes played out as six teams of space marines stormed buildings, butchering the occupants before they had a chance to mount any kind of meaningful defence. That would not last, and soon enough the T'au would organise a proper response. Everyone here would be dead before their reinforcements arrived regardless.
Kastiel led from the front, the team not breaking their sprint as he shoulder-checked his way through a door, spinning and bisecting two fire warriors with his power sword, allowing the momentum to carry him forwards as he lifted his foot, caving in the chest of a third xenos before coming to a stop, bringing his boot down on the dying creature's skull.
He fired his plasma pistol down the corridor as the rest of the marines of his squad and Kill Team Occinus filed in, the fusilade of fire butchering the defenders of a checkpoint that led to the command room.
The building shook as one of the AA batteries on the roof detonated as one of the Blackstar's missiles cooked off it's power cell, and panels fell from the ceiling, revealing wiring and supports.
The marines strode forwards, encountering token resistance as the veteran astartes sythed through the fire warriors. Already, Kastiel's vox was alive with reports of success from more than one of the other teams.
They came to a reinforced door, and Kastiel stepped aside as Caraxes strode forwards, thumbing the activation switch on his heavy thunder hammer, the gargantuan weapon sparking with energy. He swung, and the door exploded inwards.
2024.05.18 10:26 ExtentOne8172 Lingostar
I worked for these guys for months. The company is run by a merciless chatbot. You work for an automated system basically. Hardly any people at LS speak or even read English so forget getting adequate teacher support. If you have any problems with the server (it miscalculated so much of my on going pay) or you’re fined unfairly (and they love to fine you at Lingostar) then you can forget solving that problem because no one human responds. The chatbot is always right and sometimes it’s not.
With regards payment base pay was 7 but only if you got an existing student at LS. Trial classes are 6.5. And a new start has tons of them. Then you go to 7.5 - but only if the trial client books with you or the subscription client stays on. If you’re with a student for more than eight lessons you’re supposed to get 8 but it’s not automatic. I was stuck at a level 1 payment structure the whole time I worked there. I had tons of regular students - tons- but when I pressed it (they eventually) responded saying each student had to have more than eight classes with me before a pay increase. When I told them my students had been with me for 8 lessons they said they’d look into and no one ever got back to me. I chased it but still nothing. It’s crazy making.
You can’t get sick. You can’t have any kind of emergency without losing a days money. You can appeal but if your appeal is in English and the person receiving it doesn’t speak English or they have poor English then your appeal fails. I had screenshot evidence and they just discounted it because they can’t read the content. Some admin speak English to be clear but most don’t. I’m talking about the kind of English speakers who think they speak English but they have zero comprehension skills. Most workers rely on chatbot translator and this just adds to the frustration. But none of this matter to LS. It’s mostly a chatbot machine and it deliberately herds teachers towards the AI machine which means accepting the limitation of the machine.
Lingostar pays better than a lot of ESL companies but there was an issue with being paid in April 2024 and that was the last straw for me. We got paid in the end but trying to get Lingostar to respond or tell us what was happening took days. I don’t think it bodes well when a company with thousands of clients misses payroll and so I bowed out.
There are Facebook pages for this company. I located the Philippine teacher website. Some excellent English speakers on there and getting even less money than native speakers which is just criminal. When we didn’t get paid in April LS said it was an issue with their bank and then they blamed PayPal. I got in touch with PayPal and they confirmed no payment had been sent.
You work so hard in this job and the rewards are plenty if you love to teach but we also do it to make money. Lingostar take a huge slice of our pie but they don’t bake it. The other issue? From February I suddenly had all these IT issues. My computer (a Mac) and my WiFi (fibre optic) was too slow but I passed every device test. Then they wouldn’t book classes for me until I tested my device. I even had my internet company test my line. I passed the test but next day same problem. The lady who manages the fibre optic WiFi in my house was so lovely to me. She calmly and with great pity in her voice said “The problem isn’t you” It’s like being in a relationship with a bad boyfriend. It’s all your fault but Lingostar callously deflect it back to the teachers and when I say deflect I mean “gaslight.” If you’re working at LS facing similar frustrations and stress regards your equipment please know it’s really not you.
It was a really upsetting experience because the issue of course is their server and probably the Chinese firewall. The issue is also the clients WiFi but the teacher is always held responsible and loses pay while Lingostar stays in pocket.
And to get 20 dollars an hour at Lingostar you’d have to work for a hundred years. It was a very stressful job. I was glad to leave but I felt very sorry for my students. I also feel bad for the administrators and IT dudes who are probably on even less pay. It seems everyone is so stressed at this company which is not Chinese btw. This company may be based in Singapore but it’s owned by some white European IT nerd exploiting all of us. The future of Lingostar is AI. There won’t be any teachers working on that platform in the future. That’s what you’re really investing in at Lingostar. The creation of a bouncing cyber head with magic ears who doesn’t get paid at all.
You heard it here first.
submitted by ExtentOne8172 to ESL_Teachers [link] [comments]
With regards payment base pay was 7 but only if you got an existing student at LS. Trial classes are 6.5. And a new start has tons of them. Then you go to 7.5 - but only if the trial client books with you or the subscription client stays on. If you’re with a student for more than eight lessons you’re supposed to get 8 but it’s not automatic. I was stuck at a level 1 payment structure the whole time I worked there. I had tons of regular students - tons- but when I pressed it (they eventually) responded saying each student had to have more than eight classes with me before a pay increase. When I told them my students had been with me for 8 lessons they said they’d look into and no one ever got back to me. I chased it but still nothing. It’s crazy making.
You can’t get sick. You can’t have any kind of emergency without losing a days money. You can appeal but if your appeal is in English and the person receiving it doesn’t speak English or they have poor English then your appeal fails. I had screenshot evidence and they just discounted it because they can’t read the content. Some admin speak English to be clear but most don’t. I’m talking about the kind of English speakers who think they speak English but they have zero comprehension skills. Most workers rely on chatbot translator and this just adds to the frustration. But none of this matter to LS. It’s mostly a chatbot machine and it deliberately herds teachers towards the AI machine which means accepting the limitation of the machine.
Lingostar pays better than a lot of ESL companies but there was an issue with being paid in April 2024 and that was the last straw for me. We got paid in the end but trying to get Lingostar to respond or tell us what was happening took days. I don’t think it bodes well when a company with thousands of clients misses payroll and so I bowed out.
There are Facebook pages for this company. I located the Philippine teacher website. Some excellent English speakers on there and getting even less money than native speakers which is just criminal. When we didn’t get paid in April LS said it was an issue with their bank and then they blamed PayPal. I got in touch with PayPal and they confirmed no payment had been sent.
You work so hard in this job and the rewards are plenty if you love to teach but we also do it to make money. Lingostar take a huge slice of our pie but they don’t bake it. The other issue? From February I suddenly had all these IT issues. My computer (a Mac) and my WiFi (fibre optic) was too slow but I passed every device test. Then they wouldn’t book classes for me until I tested my device. I even had my internet company test my line. I passed the test but next day same problem. The lady who manages the fibre optic WiFi in my house was so lovely to me. She calmly and with great pity in her voice said “The problem isn’t you” It’s like being in a relationship with a bad boyfriend. It’s all your fault but Lingostar callously deflect it back to the teachers and when I say deflect I mean “gaslight.” If you’re working at LS facing similar frustrations and stress regards your equipment please know it’s really not you.
It was a really upsetting experience because the issue of course is their server and probably the Chinese firewall. The issue is also the clients WiFi but the teacher is always held responsible and loses pay while Lingostar stays in pocket.
And to get 20 dollars an hour at Lingostar you’d have to work for a hundred years. It was a very stressful job. I was glad to leave but I felt very sorry for my students. I also feel bad for the administrators and IT dudes who are probably on even less pay. It seems everyone is so stressed at this company which is not Chinese btw. This company may be based in Singapore but it’s owned by some white European IT nerd exploiting all of us. The future of Lingostar is AI. There won’t be any teachers working on that platform in the future. That’s what you’re really investing in at Lingostar. The creation of a bouncing cyber head with magic ears who doesn’t get paid at all.
You heard it here first.
2024.05.18 10:12 Professional_Prune11 Escape From Heavalun Section One: Devil With Metal Skin
He hoi me noi my buds. It is your baker man Pirate here. With Human Trauma book two coming to a close in the next week, I wanted to shre with you all the next planned novel I am working on. This time around we will have a stuborn human mercanary, a lizard princess, and one goal---escape Heavalun Mass city. all thats in thier way is corrupt cops, gangsters, the general populace and thier willingness to tolarate one another.
Lets get this Bread.
Shooting up from the blankets, Conor grabbed hold of the neck of whoever was jostling him awake, his cybernetic arm whirring while activating. Suddenly touching someone asleep was a stupid idea to do to anyone from Heavalun. Any sentient from this city was on edge most of the time and was usually particularly ornery when waking up.
He was especially prickly after years of contract killing and near-nonstop battles. While most people from Heavalun Mass City were used to fighting or having to keep an eye over their shoulder, watching for gangers, junkies, pickpockets, or the local police, his experience working and living here made him like a rubber band, ready to snap. Be that a neck, arm, leg, or whatever the poor sod he was fighting had.
“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Conor snarled, his natural and cybernetic eye narrowing and focusing in the wan light of his drab bedroom.
In an action built into him like an instinct, he willed his cybernetic eye to switch to see in infrared thermal sight, letting him get a good look at whoever this was while his natural eye adjusted to the lighting.
In bright orange, reds, and whites, Jurilra's face came into focus. She was a Jurintik, a werewolf like species; while he was human through and through. She had dull brown fur, long, dirty blonde hair, and a gaunt face and frame. The Jurintik was an alien species widespread throughout the galaxy, be it in the GU(galactic Union), Freespace, or here deep in the COS (concord of systems); you can’t swing a pipe without hitting at least two of them.
“Conor—let—-go,” Julitra gagged, clutching at Conor’s cybernetic forearm, her claws scratching roughly at the overlapping metal plates. “It’s me.”
Realizing who it was, Conor let her neck go, and she fell to the ground. He had only lifted her several centimeters off the floor, but doing that when half your torso, including your shoulders, one arm, and most of your organs were non-organic, or at least cybernetically enhanced, was a simple task, and he had done so out of sheer reflex.
“What were you thinking waking me up like that? You’re lucky I didn’t just dust you with my hand cannon,” Conor said, gesturing to the massive handgun sitting on the bedside table. “What in the stars are you doing here anyway?”
Taking a moment to rub at her neck and gag for a moment, Conor pieced together what likely happened. Considering that Julitra was naked, save for a thong, he must have hired her last night to blow off some steam—it wouldn’t be the first time he had done that when drunk.
“You didn’t pay me for last night,” Julitra said, standing up and nervously scratching her furry forearms and looking deeper into the shithole of an apartment toward the room where Conor stored all his weapons, money, and other precious items for barter or fencing purposes.
Conor sighed and scratched behind his still intact ear, the other having been halfway taken off by a frag grenade a few local years ago. After taking a moment to swing his legs out of bed, flexing his sore muscles, and rubbing his palms on his thighs, he looked up at her, having deactivated the thermal vision in his eye. “Fine; in the room top drawer on the right, you will find some bags of Murt and Syntrit. Take one of each.”
“Alright,” Julitra said, turning around and sashaying in that direction, clearly doing her best to move suavely and gracefully.
But Conor knew that was a load of Kret shit; She was little more than a strung-out junkie who just managed to keep herself on another fix fast enough by either guy like himself paying her for a quick lay or by managing not to get taken advantage of by one of the dealers on a street corner.
At least if she was selling herself for the night, she wasn’t going to end up in some slave market in the lower sections of the city or crammed into a skiff bound for a star on the far side of the galaxy. Julitra did have some kids to take care of, after all.
Not that it mattered to Conor if she went missing; there would be another skag he could bring in here. He just preferred her because she never tried to steal from him nor kill him in his sleep—finding another girl that he could trust would not be easy, especially in this shithole of a mass city. That well over a billion sentients were nestled in it did not matter; finding another piece of ass would be a pain.
“And only take one. I know how much product I have,” Conor grumbled, standing and heading toward the kitchenette. The dirty, blood-stained carpet was uncomfortable under bare feet.
God he hated going around with bare feet. It paid to have good boots to keep your feet safe from glass, nails, and other debris. That was especially important when operating in urban areas.
When he was out in the countryside or the house, he would forgo wearing them, and switch to sneekers, but being bare foot still sucked.
“I know,” Julitra replied from the room, “can I use your shower?”
“Whatever,” Conor replied flippantly, pulling down dried stulk leaves and tossing a pot of water on the stove.
So long as she didn't cause any issues with him getting started for the day, he honestly could not care less. All he needed to start the day was a pipping hot cup of stulk, and his stims. On that subject, the datapad built into his artificial arm chimed and reminded him of just that.
He frowned while retrieving the volatile cocktail of stimulants from the cupboard. He was almost out and only had enough for three days. Inside were six small autoinjectors about 20 centimeters long, marked with several warnings indicating that they should only be used in dire combat situations. But he was a particularly unique case and needed them just to survive.
After having a solid forty percent of his body replaced with cybernetics, from a metallic jaw, fake eye, a few replaced organs, torso, numerous enhanced joints, and even a few bits of wire running through his brain, the stims kept him working.
Without his friend Stich’s unique stimulant blend twice a day, Conor would start to fall apart. First would come the tremors, then body lockup, followed by seizures and eventually death. He had never made it that far in relapse; it was just easier to keep his organic parts cranked up to keep pace with his enhanced parts, and the video Stich showed him of sentients who relapsed was a good dissuasion.
Those poor sods were mangled wrecks, limbs at unnatural angles, blood, hydraulic fluid, and bone everywhere. And they were at most twenty percent wired up—what he could end up like was something he would rather not learn.
Dutifully and like clockwork, Conor ripped the cap off an auto-injector and shoved it into his thigh; a dull hiss sounded out as the brackish fluid flowed into his muscles. Just as he tossed the now empty injector into the trashcan, the sounds of Julitra starting the shower and humming flowed into the joint living and bedroom.
While Julitra was showering, Conor's friend and coworker Brakul sent him a message.
Brakul: Hey, conor, what are you doing tonight? I think I might have a contract for us to pick up.
Conor: No plans at this point. I just gotta get Julitra out of my safe house.
Brakul: Are you still fucking that scag? You know that won’t end well.
Conor: Yeah, gotta get my dick wet somehow. Besides, aren’t you still plowing that Kurilta we worked with a few months back—the one with the red hair?
Brakul: Yeah, I am. I like the crazy little woman. Plus, she is only a meter tall and makes me feel massive. But are you in or not?
Conor: Yeah, I'm in. When, where, and who is the client?
Brakul: Perfect, meet me at Zyntle’s around 2100. If all goes well, we got a contract for some new upstart to the north out of town. He is looking to hire some muscle for a few months. Don't worry about the contract's legitimacy; Norla sent this man my way to arrange half a dozen bodies. I just want you there in case something goes down.
Conor: So, bring a few extra solutions?
Brakul: if you would, and keep ‘em quiet, no shotguns. We will be in Zynie's place and need to keep things civil.
Conor: Afirm, see you then.
After switching off the arm-mounted datapad, Julitra stepped back into the room, redressed in her clothes from the previous night. They weren't anything fancy by any stretch of the imagination. Just a simple lowcut dress, showing off a shallow valley of furry cleavage, and cut to give ample view up her thighs and see the thong barely covering her womanhood.
For a hooker, it was good enough.
“Want to have some stulk?” Conor questioned, pouring himself a glass.
“Sure,” Julitra replied, going and lounging at the dingy table in the corner of the room.
They were quiet while eating their meager breakfast; neither had much in common or to talk about as is. The only things Julitra knew about Conor were: he killed people for money, sold stolen goods, and could give her a mean dick down. Whereas Conor knew damn near everything about her, acquired through basic profiling of her actions, attire, and mannerisms or from some of the intelligence brokers he dealt with regularly.
Some friends called him paranoid for keeping such tight tabs on anyone he dealt with; at least Brakul and Stich did. But Conor knew that knowledge was power and was needed if you wanted to always end up with your opponent dusted and not you. Conor knew better than anyone that you don’t survive like he has without a bit of paranoia. Hell, he was more persistent than a Hureclian beetle seeking water.
Once they had finished scarfing down crackers, canned meat, and the bitter, brackish brew, Julitra quickly took her leave, with Conor locking the door behind her. First, the deadbolts, then the chain, followed by a biometric scanner, and lastly, he kicked a metal wedge underneath the door—it would take a whole breaching team from the local government a solid hour to breach that reinforced metal monstrosity, and that was just how Conor liked it.
Unless you were invited into his home, it would behoove you to stay out and not try to get in.
Now that he was alone again, Conor trundled into the room Julitra had gotten her payment from and opened up one of the massive ceiling-high safes lining the walls. Inside was some of his equipment. This specific one contained most of his low-visibility equipment: body armor, weapons, knives, toolkits, and anything else he might need for more subtle operations.
In the other safes were other tools he might want, but those kits were built for more specific jobs: sniping, heavy assaults, aerial and maritime operations, along with anything else he could use in a warzone, but most of that was overkill for tonight.
So Conor pulled out a few items he thought could be useful and started his preparations in such meticulous detail that it would take him the rest of the day.
—-
The area outside of Zyntle’s nightclub was insanely crowded, even for Heavalun standards. Up and down the street, as far as the eye could see, were nightclubs, bars, and restaurants, catering to whatever vice once could possibly want.
Unlike some of the out portions of the city, areas in the inner and lower regions like here, you could not see the sky. Instead, if one looked up, they would be met with obnoxious neon signs and more buildings arching overhead, choking out any star or sunlight that might be visible.
Aiding in the choking and oppressive atmosphere, Aliens of all shapes and sizes bumped into one another with little grace, care, or concern. Most were decked out head to toe in bright neon colors that melded together in a caleidoscope of shifting brilliance.
At least that gave the usual drab greys, rust reds, and browns of the cityscape some color, even if Conor usually found it more annoying than not. Thankfully, neither Conor, Brakul, nor their strange contact could not hear the crowd outside from the second-floor window. Instead, they were being bombarded by something as if not more grating.
The happy tones and idle conversations of the crowd on the dancefloor below them, along with repetitive keyboards, synthetic snapping basslines, and ethereal vocals, filled the air to a near-deafening level. If not for the three of them having wired up to a local chatterbox that Conor brought along, they would not be able to hear one another.
The chatterbox was not fancy; it was just a tiny device Conor had whipped up. That lets them speak normally into microphones on their collars and be heard in earpieces. He had devised the idea for it after a few skiff airborne operations, where unless you were jacked into the aircraft comms, you could not talk without screaming.
Now, the chatterbox just doubled as the perfect tool for having conversations you would rather not have others around listen into. Hell, unless you were inches from them, you would not be able to hear them at all.
Brakul and whomever this Farun’se was, a two-meter tall feline-like alien, had been going over the finer details of the contract for the last half hour. Conor had been listening just enough to keep in the loop, but his focus was elsewhere. Namely in the crowds around them, watching for anything he did not want to see: other contractors, a gang war about to erupt, or anything else that caught his eye. People-watching was one of the things Conor enjoyed about setting up jobs; it gave him plenty of time to keep tabs on the ever-shifting city.
He had not spotted anything yet, in regular vision, Thermal, or through tracking, but something was off—he could feel it in his hackles. As such, One of Conor's hands was in his somewhat oversized brown leather jacket, wrapped tightly around the grip of his suppressed handgun. Neither Brakul nor the Client commented on him keeping watch; they both knew he was just filling the role of an enforcer and was backup for them.
“So, what do you think about the contract?” The Farun’se man questioned before taking a sip from his drink.
Whatever that glowing drink was, it was not ethanol-based; the smell was far too sweet. Conor could tell that much even through the skull-like mask covering his face. Not that the flat black ballistic bask he wore to cover his metallic jaw and mangled face covered scents much. It was built much like the other equipment he wore to enhance his senses, not diminish them.
“I think it is perfectly acceptable. But are you certain you only want a ten-man team to provide escort and transport for your client while within the city?” Brakul asked, flipping a palm up. “I am certain I can get more, considering your daily generous payment offer.”
Generous was one way to put it. The politician the Farun’se represented offered a whopping 15 thousand crit a day for well-experienced mercs. It was enough to get Conor's tail wagging; Most jobs barely pay that out, and this contract was supposed to be ten days long. You could almost buy a house outside the city for that kind of crit. If they were actually paid it out and not betrayed by their employer, at the end of the day, Conor likely would do just that; then, he would have a place to live without the threat of death around every corner.
Each of his jobs over the last few years was a means to that end—escaping this shithole. But getting out of the city was difficult, even for guys like him with opportunities to leave and a reasonably regular income.
“Well, we can work that out via messaging, but for now, I am just offering what I am allowed to,” The client said. “Anything more than that, and I won't be able to pay you half upfront.”
At least they are offering half the credits upfront. Conor must have missed that part during their long-winded discussion about what type of experience each mercenary needed, what weapons they would be allowed, and the specifics of the contract.
All they would have to do was finalize details of the team when Brakul had assembled another eight bodies, but they could do that in a few weeks.
“If that’s the case, then I think we should be good for now,” Brakul said, standing and extending a hand for the client.
“Perfect, expect to hear from me in a few days. Please have your team prepared by the end of the week,” The client replied, shaking Brakul’s hand.
After removing his earpiece and microphone, the client nodded to Conor and disappeared into the crowd looming around the stairs leading to the ground floor.
“So you like the sounds of that?” Brakul asked, sitting back down and sipping at his drink.
Keeping his sight on the crowd below, Conor tracked the client as he struggled to weave through the jostling dancers. The Feline was clearly out of his element in the crowds of the mass city. Based on how quickly he was recoiling from each touch by the intoxicated patrons, he was uncomfortable with all the physical contact forced onto him.
The sight was almost comedic, but Conor was used to dealing with people like the client's representative. If you had enough crit to hire ten mercs, you came from one of two walks of life: you were an influential underground leader who could afford the extra muscle, or you were a sheltered individual with no real business in Heavalun Mass City but decided you wanted to make some friends in low places and needed locals who would be loyal to the almighty crit.
But all of that was neither here nor there for the time being; Brakul would handle any issues with the contract. He was far better at being a politician than Conor was.
“So, any issues with what he wants?” Brakul smirked, knowing that it had been several months since Conor's last contract and that he needed the money.
Conor passively waved at his friend; he did not need to comment. Conor would take any contract that came his way so long as the pay was solid enough. In the past, he had taken contracts Brakul refused for moral reasons.
This contract of defending some high-born trader was in no way out of the ordinary and was relatively tame by Conor’s standards. His last contract was far more low-brow enough that he had almost said no. But for the low, low cost of 100 thousand crits and the fancy nanotech armor he was wearing under his tank top, he was more than willing to blow up the wing of a hospital with a firebomb—insurance paid to fix the building and burry anyone caught up when he killed a lowborn noble or some distant planet.
“I’m more interested in what's going on down below,” Conor said, pointing to a group gathering near the club's back entrance.
Below, barely visible through the flashing strobe lights and low haze of fog machines, seven Kyrail lingered at the back doors. One of the amphibian-like bipeds was giving instructions to the others. It was a shame the music was so loud; if not, Conor and Brakul could easily hear them, but even without sound, it was easy to see what they were doing. They were scouting a mark.
“What do you think, Voodals gang?” Conor posed, scanning the crowd for whomever the lead croaker was trying to target.
Voodal is a leader of one of the area's crime families and merc groups. They had been competitors of Conor and Brakul and their usual hiring groups for a long time. While Brakul and Conor did not have beef with them, one of their usual employers, the Farklut clan, had generations of bad blood.
That rivalry was nasty, to the point anyone who was a direct member of either family would dust the other on sight. Both had been caught up in that rivalry several times and had a negative opinion of the Voodal family and any of their ilk.
“Likely. This is part of a contested city, after all,” Brakul replied, sipping his drink.
“I wonder what they are doing here?” Conor said, still not having located whatever it was they were doing, but he had seen them pull out a particularly nasty drug, giving him an idea of precisely what they planned on doing—abduction.
The gaggle’s leader had passed out plastic bags with what looked like Visage clinging to the bags. That drug might as well be chloroform on the strongest combat stim out there. It would put you in a trance and make you forget the next several days until the effects wore off. The perfect drug for slave traffickers and abductors.
The only reason Conor could tell was that he had used the tactic several times to capture targets alive. It was great; you could fish information from them freely, and they wouldn't remember anything beyond where they had been picked up and whenever the drug wore off.
“I see their target,” Brakul muttered, “switch to IR. I will laze her for yah.”
As his friend and partner told him, Conor switched his false eye to IR and watched, and Brakul’s pistols laser pierced the crowd and danced on the back of a red scalled Kurlatra, dancing happily with some other repltilians of her species. All were woefully ignorant of the Kyrail weaving through the crowd toward them, hands tucked into jackets, likely clutching knives, pistols, and bags of drugs.
“Hmmm, odd, not a lot of Kurlatra on this side of the GU borders,” Conor commented.
“For sure,” Brakul agreed.
Kurlatra were a noble-esc species in the GU and tended to stay in the GU, as opposed ot the COS; most here only cared about their nobility for the sake of making money on ransom after all.
The GU was safe but was overbearing compared to the COS. It had far more laws, restrictions, and limitations on carving out a living. Conor’s chosen profession of being a Mercenary was outlawed in the GU unless you were on the Union congress's payroll, But he was not on that list, despite trying a few times.
“Wanna toss a wrench in their plans?” Brakul questioned.
“How so?” Conor replied, keeping a keen eye on the crimson scalled in the center.
Compared to those around her, she was different. Unlike the others who wore simple clothes, she wore a very revealing yellow dress that was low cut in the back and front, showing offer cleavage, but that's not what made her so different. It was all the glistening jewelry that made her smell of crit.
All those stones and precious metals were likely worth a few hundred thousand crits on their own. That was before you sold her pert ass to some slaver.
“We can go down, nab her after the entourage is dealt with, and be big damn heroes. Then we get an award from that payday of a ruby. If she is not feeling up to it, we could ransom her off to the Voodal; they want her for some reason,” Brakul explained, using his keen eye for diplomacy and deals to guide Conor’s mind to the potential payout.
Conor took a moment to take stock of the situation; he had enough ammo to carve through the Voodal family present and could carry such a Kurlatra if needed. Should this shit go sideways and end up in a firefight, they could just use the crowd and vanish.
“What about the contract we just took,” Conor posed
“We haven't taken one yet,” Brakul reminded, “that rep needs to get back to us with upfront payment. Until then, we are freelance.”
Conor could not deny he was right; no crit had changed hands yet, they were still unemployed, and this bitch might be worth some cash. Before Conor had a chance even to comment one way or the other, Brakul pressed on a nerve he knew would get Conor to act.
“Come on. I got fifty crit that says you can't extract that Kurlatra before the Voodal drug her,” the fellow Jurintik mocked.
The bastard knew how to get to Conor for sure. He was competitive and hated to have his abilities brought into question. Just out of professional pride, Conor could not let that lay.
“Two hundred,” Conor countered.
“One hundred,” Brakul retorted, “oh, look, they already nabbed one of the entourage.”
He was right. One of the Kurlatra heading toward the bathrooms near the back entrance just had a bag of Visage slammed into their mouth and had already gone glassy-eyed. Now, there were only five Kurlatra left, including the clear HVT(High-Value Target)
“One fifty,” Conor snapped, eager to have his friend stop messing with him.
“Deal, I will cover and feed you intel from her. Open channel one,” Brakul sneered.
Without missing a beat, Conor shot up from the table and descended the stairs into the crowd, drawing his suppressed pistol and activating his target tracker to keep sight of the HVT.
Conor did not know it yet, but that little bet, one that was not even worth as much ammo as he was about to expend, would send his life on a journey that would change him forever.
So what did you all think? was it a good time? a fun start at bare min? next chapter we will have connor dealing with the voodal, follwed by us meeting the little princess. It should be fun.
Please dont forget to updoot and comment. I will see you all in the comments.
Your Humble baker
-Pirate
Next
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submitted by Professional_Prune11 to humansarespaceorcs [link] [comments]
Lets get this Bread.
He was especially prickly after years of contract killing and near-nonstop battles. While most people from Heavalun Mass City were used to fighting or having to keep an eye over their shoulder, watching for gangers, junkies, pickpockets, or the local police, his experience working and living here made him like a rubber band, ready to snap. Be that a neck, arm, leg, or whatever the poor sod he was fighting had.
“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Conor snarled, his natural and cybernetic eye narrowing and focusing in the wan light of his drab bedroom.
In an action built into him like an instinct, he willed his cybernetic eye to switch to see in infrared thermal sight, letting him get a good look at whoever this was while his natural eye adjusted to the lighting.
In bright orange, reds, and whites, Jurilra's face came into focus. She was a Jurintik, a werewolf like species; while he was human through and through. She had dull brown fur, long, dirty blonde hair, and a gaunt face and frame. The Jurintik was an alien species widespread throughout the galaxy, be it in the GU(galactic Union), Freespace, or here deep in the COS (concord of systems); you can’t swing a pipe without hitting at least two of them.
“Conor—let—-go,” Julitra gagged, clutching at Conor’s cybernetic forearm, her claws scratching roughly at the overlapping metal plates. “It’s me.”
Realizing who it was, Conor let her neck go, and she fell to the ground. He had only lifted her several centimeters off the floor, but doing that when half your torso, including your shoulders, one arm, and most of your organs were non-organic, or at least cybernetically enhanced, was a simple task, and he had done so out of sheer reflex.
“What were you thinking waking me up like that? You’re lucky I didn’t just dust you with my hand cannon,” Conor said, gesturing to the massive handgun sitting on the bedside table. “What in the stars are you doing here anyway?”
Taking a moment to rub at her neck and gag for a moment, Conor pieced together what likely happened. Considering that Julitra was naked, save for a thong, he must have hired her last night to blow off some steam—it wouldn’t be the first time he had done that when drunk.
“You didn’t pay me for last night,” Julitra said, standing up and nervously scratching her furry forearms and looking deeper into the shithole of an apartment toward the room where Conor stored all his weapons, money, and other precious items for barter or fencing purposes.
Conor sighed and scratched behind his still intact ear, the other having been halfway taken off by a frag grenade a few local years ago. After taking a moment to swing his legs out of bed, flexing his sore muscles, and rubbing his palms on his thighs, he looked up at her, having deactivated the thermal vision in his eye. “Fine; in the room top drawer on the right, you will find some bags of Murt and Syntrit. Take one of each.”
“Alright,” Julitra said, turning around and sashaying in that direction, clearly doing her best to move suavely and gracefully.
But Conor knew that was a load of Kret shit; She was little more than a strung-out junkie who just managed to keep herself on another fix fast enough by either guy like himself paying her for a quick lay or by managing not to get taken advantage of by one of the dealers on a street corner.
At least if she was selling herself for the night, she wasn’t going to end up in some slave market in the lower sections of the city or crammed into a skiff bound for a star on the far side of the galaxy. Julitra did have some kids to take care of, after all.
Not that it mattered to Conor if she went missing; there would be another skag he could bring in here. He just preferred her because she never tried to steal from him nor kill him in his sleep—finding another girl that he could trust would not be easy, especially in this shithole of a mass city. That well over a billion sentients were nestled in it did not matter; finding another piece of ass would be a pain.
“And only take one. I know how much product I have,” Conor grumbled, standing and heading toward the kitchenette. The dirty, blood-stained carpet was uncomfortable under bare feet.
God he hated going around with bare feet. It paid to have good boots to keep your feet safe from glass, nails, and other debris. That was especially important when operating in urban areas.
When he was out in the countryside or the house, he would forgo wearing them, and switch to sneekers, but being bare foot still sucked.
“I know,” Julitra replied from the room, “can I use your shower?”
“Whatever,” Conor replied flippantly, pulling down dried stulk leaves and tossing a pot of water on the stove.
So long as she didn't cause any issues with him getting started for the day, he honestly could not care less. All he needed to start the day was a pipping hot cup of stulk, and his stims. On that subject, the datapad built into his artificial arm chimed and reminded him of just that.
He frowned while retrieving the volatile cocktail of stimulants from the cupboard. He was almost out and only had enough for three days. Inside were six small autoinjectors about 20 centimeters long, marked with several warnings indicating that they should only be used in dire combat situations. But he was a particularly unique case and needed them just to survive.
After having a solid forty percent of his body replaced with cybernetics, from a metallic jaw, fake eye, a few replaced organs, torso, numerous enhanced joints, and even a few bits of wire running through his brain, the stims kept him working.
Without his friend Stich’s unique stimulant blend twice a day, Conor would start to fall apart. First would come the tremors, then body lockup, followed by seizures and eventually death. He had never made it that far in relapse; it was just easier to keep his organic parts cranked up to keep pace with his enhanced parts, and the video Stich showed him of sentients who relapsed was a good dissuasion.
Those poor sods were mangled wrecks, limbs at unnatural angles, blood, hydraulic fluid, and bone everywhere. And they were at most twenty percent wired up—what he could end up like was something he would rather not learn.
Dutifully and like clockwork, Conor ripped the cap off an auto-injector and shoved it into his thigh; a dull hiss sounded out as the brackish fluid flowed into his muscles. Just as he tossed the now empty injector into the trashcan, the sounds of Julitra starting the shower and humming flowed into the joint living and bedroom.
While Julitra was showering, Conor's friend and coworker Brakul sent him a message.
Brakul: Hey, conor, what are you doing tonight? I think I might have a contract for us to pick up.
Conor: No plans at this point. I just gotta get Julitra out of my safe house.
Brakul: Are you still fucking that scag? You know that won’t end well.
Conor: Yeah, gotta get my dick wet somehow. Besides, aren’t you still plowing that Kurilta we worked with a few months back—the one with the red hair?
Brakul: Yeah, I am. I like the crazy little woman. Plus, she is only a meter tall and makes me feel massive. But are you in or not?
Conor: Yeah, I'm in. When, where, and who is the client?
Brakul: Perfect, meet me at Zyntle’s around 2100. If all goes well, we got a contract for some new upstart to the north out of town. He is looking to hire some muscle for a few months. Don't worry about the contract's legitimacy; Norla sent this man my way to arrange half a dozen bodies. I just want you there in case something goes down.
Conor: So, bring a few extra solutions?
Brakul: if you would, and keep ‘em quiet, no shotguns. We will be in Zynie's place and need to keep things civil.
Conor: Afirm, see you then.
After switching off the arm-mounted datapad, Julitra stepped back into the room, redressed in her clothes from the previous night. They weren't anything fancy by any stretch of the imagination. Just a simple lowcut dress, showing off a shallow valley of furry cleavage, and cut to give ample view up her thighs and see the thong barely covering her womanhood.
For a hooker, it was good enough.
“Want to have some stulk?” Conor questioned, pouring himself a glass.
“Sure,” Julitra replied, going and lounging at the dingy table in the corner of the room.
They were quiet while eating their meager breakfast; neither had much in common or to talk about as is. The only things Julitra knew about Conor were: he killed people for money, sold stolen goods, and could give her a mean dick down. Whereas Conor knew damn near everything about her, acquired through basic profiling of her actions, attire, and mannerisms or from some of the intelligence brokers he dealt with regularly.
Some friends called him paranoid for keeping such tight tabs on anyone he dealt with; at least Brakul and Stich did. But Conor knew that knowledge was power and was needed if you wanted to always end up with your opponent dusted and not you. Conor knew better than anyone that you don’t survive like he has without a bit of paranoia. Hell, he was more persistent than a Hureclian beetle seeking water.
Once they had finished scarfing down crackers, canned meat, and the bitter, brackish brew, Julitra quickly took her leave, with Conor locking the door behind her. First, the deadbolts, then the chain, followed by a biometric scanner, and lastly, he kicked a metal wedge underneath the door—it would take a whole breaching team from the local government a solid hour to breach that reinforced metal monstrosity, and that was just how Conor liked it.
Unless you were invited into his home, it would behoove you to stay out and not try to get in.
Now that he was alone again, Conor trundled into the room Julitra had gotten her payment from and opened up one of the massive ceiling-high safes lining the walls. Inside was some of his equipment. This specific one contained most of his low-visibility equipment: body armor, weapons, knives, toolkits, and anything else he might need for more subtle operations.
In the other safes were other tools he might want, but those kits were built for more specific jobs: sniping, heavy assaults, aerial and maritime operations, along with anything else he could use in a warzone, but most of that was overkill for tonight.
So Conor pulled out a few items he thought could be useful and started his preparations in such meticulous detail that it would take him the rest of the day.
—-
The area outside of Zyntle’s nightclub was insanely crowded, even for Heavalun standards. Up and down the street, as far as the eye could see, were nightclubs, bars, and restaurants, catering to whatever vice once could possibly want.
Unlike some of the out portions of the city, areas in the inner and lower regions like here, you could not see the sky. Instead, if one looked up, they would be met with obnoxious neon signs and more buildings arching overhead, choking out any star or sunlight that might be visible.
Aiding in the choking and oppressive atmosphere, Aliens of all shapes and sizes bumped into one another with little grace, care, or concern. Most were decked out head to toe in bright neon colors that melded together in a caleidoscope of shifting brilliance.
At least that gave the usual drab greys, rust reds, and browns of the cityscape some color, even if Conor usually found it more annoying than not. Thankfully, neither Conor, Brakul, nor their strange contact could not hear the crowd outside from the second-floor window. Instead, they were being bombarded by something as if not more grating.
The happy tones and idle conversations of the crowd on the dancefloor below them, along with repetitive keyboards, synthetic snapping basslines, and ethereal vocals, filled the air to a near-deafening level. If not for the three of them having wired up to a local chatterbox that Conor brought along, they would not be able to hear one another.
The chatterbox was not fancy; it was just a tiny device Conor had whipped up. That lets them speak normally into microphones on their collars and be heard in earpieces. He had devised the idea for it after a few skiff airborne operations, where unless you were jacked into the aircraft comms, you could not talk without screaming.
Now, the chatterbox just doubled as the perfect tool for having conversations you would rather not have others around listen into. Hell, unless you were inches from them, you would not be able to hear them at all.
Brakul and whomever this Farun’se was, a two-meter tall feline-like alien, had been going over the finer details of the contract for the last half hour. Conor had been listening just enough to keep in the loop, but his focus was elsewhere. Namely in the crowds around them, watching for anything he did not want to see: other contractors, a gang war about to erupt, or anything else that caught his eye. People-watching was one of the things Conor enjoyed about setting up jobs; it gave him plenty of time to keep tabs on the ever-shifting city.
He had not spotted anything yet, in regular vision, Thermal, or through tracking, but something was off—he could feel it in his hackles. As such, One of Conor's hands was in his somewhat oversized brown leather jacket, wrapped tightly around the grip of his suppressed handgun. Neither Brakul nor the Client commented on him keeping watch; they both knew he was just filling the role of an enforcer and was backup for them.
“So, what do you think about the contract?” The Farun’se man questioned before taking a sip from his drink.
Whatever that glowing drink was, it was not ethanol-based; the smell was far too sweet. Conor could tell that much even through the skull-like mask covering his face. Not that the flat black ballistic bask he wore to cover his metallic jaw and mangled face covered scents much. It was built much like the other equipment he wore to enhance his senses, not diminish them.
“I think it is perfectly acceptable. But are you certain you only want a ten-man team to provide escort and transport for your client while within the city?” Brakul asked, flipping a palm up. “I am certain I can get more, considering your daily generous payment offer.”
Generous was one way to put it. The politician the Farun’se represented offered a whopping 15 thousand crit a day for well-experienced mercs. It was enough to get Conor's tail wagging; Most jobs barely pay that out, and this contract was supposed to be ten days long. You could almost buy a house outside the city for that kind of crit. If they were actually paid it out and not betrayed by their employer, at the end of the day, Conor likely would do just that; then, he would have a place to live without the threat of death around every corner.
Each of his jobs over the last few years was a means to that end—escaping this shithole. But getting out of the city was difficult, even for guys like him with opportunities to leave and a reasonably regular income.
“Well, we can work that out via messaging, but for now, I am just offering what I am allowed to,” The client said. “Anything more than that, and I won't be able to pay you half upfront.”
At least they are offering half the credits upfront. Conor must have missed that part during their long-winded discussion about what type of experience each mercenary needed, what weapons they would be allowed, and the specifics of the contract.
All they would have to do was finalize details of the team when Brakul had assembled another eight bodies, but they could do that in a few weeks.
“If that’s the case, then I think we should be good for now,” Brakul said, standing and extending a hand for the client.
“Perfect, expect to hear from me in a few days. Please have your team prepared by the end of the week,” The client replied, shaking Brakul’s hand.
After removing his earpiece and microphone, the client nodded to Conor and disappeared into the crowd looming around the stairs leading to the ground floor.
“So you like the sounds of that?” Brakul asked, sitting back down and sipping at his drink.
Keeping his sight on the crowd below, Conor tracked the client as he struggled to weave through the jostling dancers. The Feline was clearly out of his element in the crowds of the mass city. Based on how quickly he was recoiling from each touch by the intoxicated patrons, he was uncomfortable with all the physical contact forced onto him.
The sight was almost comedic, but Conor was used to dealing with people like the client's representative. If you had enough crit to hire ten mercs, you came from one of two walks of life: you were an influential underground leader who could afford the extra muscle, or you were a sheltered individual with no real business in Heavalun Mass City but decided you wanted to make some friends in low places and needed locals who would be loyal to the almighty crit.
But all of that was neither here nor there for the time being; Brakul would handle any issues with the contract. He was far better at being a politician than Conor was.
“So, any issues with what he wants?” Brakul smirked, knowing that it had been several months since Conor's last contract and that he needed the money.
Conor passively waved at his friend; he did not need to comment. Conor would take any contract that came his way so long as the pay was solid enough. In the past, he had taken contracts Brakul refused for moral reasons.
This contract of defending some high-born trader was in no way out of the ordinary and was relatively tame by Conor’s standards. His last contract was far more low-brow enough that he had almost said no. But for the low, low cost of 100 thousand crits and the fancy nanotech armor he was wearing under his tank top, he was more than willing to blow up the wing of a hospital with a firebomb—insurance paid to fix the building and burry anyone caught up when he killed a lowborn noble or some distant planet.
“I’m more interested in what's going on down below,” Conor said, pointing to a group gathering near the club's back entrance.
Below, barely visible through the flashing strobe lights and low haze of fog machines, seven Kyrail lingered at the back doors. One of the amphibian-like bipeds was giving instructions to the others. It was a shame the music was so loud; if not, Conor and Brakul could easily hear them, but even without sound, it was easy to see what they were doing. They were scouting a mark.
“What do you think, Voodals gang?” Conor posed, scanning the crowd for whomever the lead croaker was trying to target.
Voodal is a leader of one of the area's crime families and merc groups. They had been competitors of Conor and Brakul and their usual hiring groups for a long time. While Brakul and Conor did not have beef with them, one of their usual employers, the Farklut clan, had generations of bad blood.
That rivalry was nasty, to the point anyone who was a direct member of either family would dust the other on sight. Both had been caught up in that rivalry several times and had a negative opinion of the Voodal family and any of their ilk.
“Likely. This is part of a contested city, after all,” Brakul replied, sipping his drink.
“I wonder what they are doing here?” Conor said, still not having located whatever it was they were doing, but he had seen them pull out a particularly nasty drug, giving him an idea of precisely what they planned on doing—abduction.
The gaggle’s leader had passed out plastic bags with what looked like Visage clinging to the bags. That drug might as well be chloroform on the strongest combat stim out there. It would put you in a trance and make you forget the next several days until the effects wore off. The perfect drug for slave traffickers and abductors.
The only reason Conor could tell was that he had used the tactic several times to capture targets alive. It was great; you could fish information from them freely, and they wouldn't remember anything beyond where they had been picked up and whenever the drug wore off.
“I see their target,” Brakul muttered, “switch to IR. I will laze her for yah.”
As his friend and partner told him, Conor switched his false eye to IR and watched, and Brakul’s pistols laser pierced the crowd and danced on the back of a red scalled Kurlatra, dancing happily with some other repltilians of her species. All were woefully ignorant of the Kyrail weaving through the crowd toward them, hands tucked into jackets, likely clutching knives, pistols, and bags of drugs.
“Hmmm, odd, not a lot of Kurlatra on this side of the GU borders,” Conor commented.
“For sure,” Brakul agreed.
Kurlatra were a noble-esc species in the GU and tended to stay in the GU, as opposed ot the COS; most here only cared about their nobility for the sake of making money on ransom after all.
The GU was safe but was overbearing compared to the COS. It had far more laws, restrictions, and limitations on carving out a living. Conor’s chosen profession of being a Mercenary was outlawed in the GU unless you were on the Union congress's payroll, But he was not on that list, despite trying a few times.
“Wanna toss a wrench in their plans?” Brakul questioned.
“How so?” Conor replied, keeping a keen eye on the crimson scalled in the center.
Compared to those around her, she was different. Unlike the others who wore simple clothes, she wore a very revealing yellow dress that was low cut in the back and front, showing offer cleavage, but that's not what made her so different. It was all the glistening jewelry that made her smell of crit.
All those stones and precious metals were likely worth a few hundred thousand crits on their own. That was before you sold her pert ass to some slaver.
“We can go down, nab her after the entourage is dealt with, and be big damn heroes. Then we get an award from that payday of a ruby. If she is not feeling up to it, we could ransom her off to the Voodal; they want her for some reason,” Brakul explained, using his keen eye for diplomacy and deals to guide Conor’s mind to the potential payout.
Conor took a moment to take stock of the situation; he had enough ammo to carve through the Voodal family present and could carry such a Kurlatra if needed. Should this shit go sideways and end up in a firefight, they could just use the crowd and vanish.
“What about the contract we just took,” Conor posed
“We haven't taken one yet,” Brakul reminded, “that rep needs to get back to us with upfront payment. Until then, we are freelance.”
Conor could not deny he was right; no crit had changed hands yet, they were still unemployed, and this bitch might be worth some cash. Before Conor had a chance even to comment one way or the other, Brakul pressed on a nerve he knew would get Conor to act.
“Come on. I got fifty crit that says you can't extract that Kurlatra before the Voodal drug her,” the fellow Jurintik mocked.
The bastard knew how to get to Conor for sure. He was competitive and hated to have his abilities brought into question. Just out of professional pride, Conor could not let that lay.
“Two hundred,” Conor countered.
“One hundred,” Brakul retorted, “oh, look, they already nabbed one of the entourage.”
He was right. One of the Kurlatra heading toward the bathrooms near the back entrance just had a bag of Visage slammed into their mouth and had already gone glassy-eyed. Now, there were only five Kurlatra left, including the clear HVT(High-Value Target)
“One fifty,” Conor snapped, eager to have his friend stop messing with him.
“Deal, I will cover and feed you intel from her. Open channel one,” Brakul sneered.
Without missing a beat, Conor shot up from the table and descended the stairs into the crowd, drawing his suppressed pistol and activating his target tracker to keep sight of the HVT.
Conor did not know it yet, but that little bet, one that was not even worth as much ammo as he was about to expend, would send his life on a journey that would change him forever.
Please dont forget to updoot and comment. I will see you all in the comments.
Your Humble baker
-Pirate
Buy my novels
2024.05.18 09:21 Powermetalbunny A Gift From The Void
The new gift-specific dialogue from the 1.6 update has me absolutely tickled pink! This one especially… I also haven’t practiced my creative writing in a while, and I decided it needed to happen sooner rather than later, so here, have a short story! Sorry if it's boring… I’m a little rusty!
“A Gift From The Void”
It was only yesterday… No one was quite sure where it had come from. There had been a sinister cackling noise ringing through the night air and Abigail had mentioned seeing an unidentifiable shape soaring through the sky during her walk home from the cemetery. The townsfolk gossiped and speculated about what it could have been that evening, but by the next morning they still hadn’t come to any reasonable explanation. It was only yesterday, and yet the entire village seemed to have already put it out of their minds and moved on. The scandal and chatter following the “Anchovy Soup Incident” at the Summer Luau several years back had lasted far longer than this… Even now Sam was still getting sideways glances whenever he got within a 20 foot radius of the soup cauldron, but this just blows over in less than a day? The priorities of small town people were strange.
Things had gone back to that same semblance of backwater, middle-of-nowhere kind of normal, and now the night had become just the same as any other Friday evening. Sebastian was playing a round of billiards with Sam, and while Sam was preoccupied with lining up the cue with his intended target ball, the farmer strolled into the saloon and up to the bar. Heads turned and raised to the newcomer for a moment before returning to whatever it was that had been previously holding their attention. Sebastian caught the sudden flourish of movement out of his periphery, but didn’t pay it much mind. The farmer ordered a coffee and a plate of the night’s special, and struck up a conversation with Gus about a peculiar egg that had materialized in their coop seemingly out of nowhere the night before. Apparently they’d decided to tuck it away into the incubator and wait to see what… if anything hatched from it.
Sebastian had never really been one to eavesdrop, but the wait for Sam to make his move was becoming boring, and sometimes the stories that passed around the saloon on Friday evenings got interesting depending on who all was involved. The story didn’t really go too far into detail. The farmer poked at their food until it had cooled enough to not scald the inside of their mouth, then they took a few bites before bringing up the events of the previous evening. What first started off as a funny story seemed to turn into some deep discussion with Gus about the mysteries of life. Eventually, Willy and Elliott were caught up in the mirth and it turned into a medley of strange tales from faraway lands and once-upon-a-times. Obviously exaggerated sightings of fearsome creatures on a midnight stormy sea, legends of colossal white whales, references to works written by masters of the mystery genre, as well as some from a trashy neo-noir novel or two that had probably been picked up from a bookstore clearance shelf.
Willy stroked his beard and mused about some daring battle between himself and a fish of questionable proportions that seemed to grow larger each time he told the story. Sebastian had heard this one before. The fight over the line had gone on for over an hour before the shadow of the fish rose near to the surface, and just before Willy could land the monster of a catch, it dove below again, taking the whole fishing rod overboard and nearly Willy himself with it.
Elliott gulped down the last few swigs of ale in his tankard, slapped the farmer firmly on the back, snorted and chuckled in an ungraceful yet jolly display that only ever crept out of him when he’d had a bit too much to drink.
“That fish becomes more miraculous each time he talks about it!” Elliott shook his head and smiled as he leaned almost a little too far forward. There was a slight sway to his posture and he tried to straighten his body back in line with the barstool. “To life, and her many little silly tricks of fate, my friends!” he declared. He raised the empty mug, and with his free hand, delicately tucked a few strands of stray hair behind his ear with the tips of his fingers. He rested his elbow back on the bar before he could lose his balance and sighed contently. Elliott’s cheeks were practically glowing red at this point and it was a wonder that he wasn’t slurring his words yet.
“Aye, you’ve all heard my fish story haven’t ye?” Willy chuckled. “How ‘bout the one about the Baba Yaga?” the farmer’s head tilted and they gazed curiously at the fisherman. Willy rested his foot on the crossbar of the barstool, lifted the rim of his hat out of his line of sight, and leaned into the counter. “Some know ‘er as the cannibal witch… others say she’s just a misunderstood haggard ol’ woman who lives alone out in woods or marshes. It’s said she lives a rickety old house that stands on chicken feet, and she likes to lure weary travelers into ‘er home, only to gobble ‘em up once they let their guard down. Apparently she’s especially fond of the taste of children…” He laughed in a hoarse tone and made strange spider-like gestures with his calloused hands as if he were telling campfire stories to a group of kids. The farmer’s nose wrinkled at the outlandish notion of some feral old woman devouring toddlers, and Willy laughed heartily at their reaction. “I think that last part the parents like to add into the story to frighten the little ones. It keeps ‘em from wondering into the forests and swamps alone at night.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and glanced back to the pool table. He watched the cue ball clack into the twelve before the twelve bounced off the barriers in the corner of the table and rolled slowly to a stop on the felt surface without pocketing. Sam huffed and stood back upright.
“You really aren’t very good at this, are you?” Seb chimed as he returned his full attention to the game at hand. Sam grinned and laughed.
“Nope!”
“Watch and learn….” Sebastian took aim at the cue ball, and after a single firm strike, drove it into the tiny gap between the two and seven. The cue stopped hard, but the two and seven sped to the opposite corners of the foot of the table, each dropping into one of the corner pockets simultaneously. Sam scoffed and paced about the pool room, but looked back over his shoulder just in time to catch Sebastian with a triumphantly cheeky grin on his face. Sam clicked his tongue and lightly thumped the base of his cue stick into the floorboards.
“Show-off…” he mumbled.
Elliott lifted the rim of the empty vessel to his lips, then chuckled again as he noticed the absence of ale and gestured it in Gus’ direction.
“Good sir, my glass is empty and…. I’m a writer!”
“Maybe you should stop for tonight…” the farmer interjected. “You won’t be sober enough to start your next chapter in the morning!” Elliott rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar counter. He tried to give one of his best theatrically exasperated sighs, but when the exhale turned into a case of the hiccups, they knew he was down for the count. He smiled defiantly and tried his best to look dignified through the sudden spasms in his diaphragm and soused thousand yard stare.
“I-am fiiine… ne’re betta’…”
“…..Aaaand, there he goes…” Leah giggled from the end of the bar counter. “It’s like dropping a ton of bricks on a peach.”
“I oughtta’ help the ol’ scallywag home, I s’pose!” Willy groaned as he stood from the bar stool. He smiled as he hoisted one of Elliott’s arms over his shoulders and stood him up from the bar stool. “C’mon you menace… Let’s get ya home before you make a fool of yourself in front of all the lassies!” he chuckled. Sam took a moment to appreciate the situation at the bar counter. He shook his head and laughed, then took another shot at the 12 and missed horribly yet again.
“Easy does it there!” Emily cooed as she cleared away the empty tankard. “Try not to drop him too hard!” Elliott wobbled towards the door as Willy struggled to keep him upright, and just before they stepped out into the lukewarm summer evening, the farmer waved one last farewell and called out to the well marinated dandy-man as he staggered away.
“Nighty-night! Sleep tight, Rapunzel!” they chirped. Elliot responded to the joke by blowing an overly exaggerated kiss over his shoulder and daintily waiving his fingertips at the company in the saloon, then he nearly tripped over himself as he turned back to the path home. A couple of snorts, giggles and guffaws rose up over the music and chatter in the saloon and quickly melted back into the white noise once the moment passed.
Seb looked Sam in the eyes with a determined glare and smirked.
“Eight in the corner pocket….” Seb didn’t have a clear shot, but leaned over the table, reared back the stick and spiked it into the cue ball. It ricocheted from the bumper, side-swiped the eight, and put just enough force into the edge to cause it to spin sideways into the pocket he’d called. Sam laughed and scratched at the back of his head.
“Awwww, man…” he groaned. “You got me again!” Sam leaned against his cue stick and looked over the table before his eyes lit up in anticipation. “How about a best three out of five?” Abigail giggled at Sam’s request as she stretched and leaned back into the sofa.
“Give it up, blondie! He cooks your goose at this game EVERY single time…. You’re doomed.” She teased. “It’s getting late anyways…”
…
It had been almost a month since the odd shape had been spotted flying over town at this point. Seb and Abby had talked in depth about it, and though most of the other townsfolk had come to the conclusion that it had merely been some sort of exotic bird flying out toward the fern islands, Abby was positive she hadn’t been mistaken. In fact she was adamant that the form looked human. She hadn’t seen or heard any wings flapping and the “squawking” sounded more so like the laugh of an old woman than the cries of a bird. The figure seemed to levitate or hover effortlessly and without the use of any physical or mechanical assistance. It was slumped over as if it was curled up or sitting and just…. Floated away.
The long night spent coding and researching the relevant programing issues at the computer, had caused Sebastian to rise late. He was groggy, didn’t have much motivation to bother rolling out of bed, and it was almost noon at this point. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof of the house and the rumble of distant thunder. As lazy as he felt, a smoke sounded pretty good about now. The sound and sight of the ocean on rainy days also had a way of clearing his head and a little stroll would probably do him some good.
He didn’t pass anyone on the way out of the house. Robin was likely at her aerobics club, Maru, at work in the clinic, and who knew where Demetrius was… Out shoving dirt samples into test tubes, or measuring the volume and PH of the current rainfall? As long as he wasn’t dissecting frogs. Out of all of Sebastian’s childhood memories, that was the one that stuck in his head and haunted him. Back then, Maru had only just been born, and while Robin was busy keeping her entertained, fixing her bottle or changing diapers, Seb was wandering the house trying to find something to occupy his time. He’d wandered into his step-father’s study and there on the examination tray was a deceased frog pinned on it’s back, limbs splayed like Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” with it’s belly sliced open. Sebastian had cried and pouted over that for several days and had given Demetrius the silent treatment for even days longer intermixed with spells of arm crossing, head turning and the occasional stuck out tongue and blown raspberry. He cringed at the thought even now.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the front door open and paused. The summer was starting to give way to autumn and the parched ground soaked up the rain and turned loose the pungent, almost overpowering scent of petrichor.
Sebastian flipped the hood of his pull-over around his head and tightened up the drawstrings. He took a moment to smell the aroma of wet grass and earth that drifted through the air and held the fragrance in his lungs as he closed the door behind him.
He began his slow, steady march toward the beach and lost count of his steps after he’d passed the old Community Center. He’d barely noticed the changing of terrain under his feet as he moved almost subconsciously toward the ocean. The raw, muddy dirt paths of the mountain, the crunch of rough stones and shuffle of old, dead pine needles that carpeted the ground… They’d transitioned into the grass and cobblestone of the town plaza at some point, but they all seemed to blend together into “just steps” after a while. His inner thoughts distracted him to the point where he barely paid attention to his surroundings until he felt his footfalls sinking and shifting underneath him, and he knew he’d hit sand. He heaved a deep sigh of the salt air and looked over the horizon as he paced toward the docks.
When the sky was this gray and muted, the color of the sea seemed to take on it’s own jewel-like quality and without the blue sky to draw attention away from it, the eyes of each breaking wave became a splendor to watch. They erupted into columns of aquamarine, sapphire and sodalite laced with the bright, almost pearlescent white of the sea foam before curling over, crashing into the tides and giving way to the next one.
Sebastian came to a stop at the furthest reaching section of the wood panels and straightened up his posture as he groped into his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. He selected one from the box, tucked it between his teeth and plunged his fingers back into the pocket for his lighter. He curled his left hand in front of his face, to protect the fire from the wind, flicked open the lid and thumbed the igniter. The flint sparked into a flame as it spun and lit up the end of the cigarette to a smoldering red glow. He pulled in a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out and watching the smoke dance away in the wind. It still wasn’t quite as satisfying as that first breath of rain when he’d stepped out of the house. Another sigh escaped Seb’s lips as he stared back at the oncoming crests of seawater and his mind started to drift again.
He imagined the city lights blazing somewhere across the ocean like stars, and thought about starting over somewhere far away. Disappearing, and reappearing somewhere else like a shadow moving through fragments of darkness and light, somewhere where no one knew him. Just vanishing and leaving everything behind. His parents, his sister, his friends… the thought excited him for a moment, before giving way to an intense feeling of regret and sadness. Maybe even a little shame. Having everyone was frustrating, but would having none of them be better or worse? He’d never known anything else. The same friends he’d grown up with, the same smell of the changing seasons in the mountain air, the same four walls of his bedroom, the sound of his sister’s laugh, or the taste of his mother’s cooking… even the way his stepfather overreacted to the littlest things was something he'd grown used to. He took another long breath.
The waves lapped and pounded at the underside of the dock so loudly he couldn’t hear the patter of oncoming footfalls against the wood and he was caught unaware when a sudden presence made itself known.
“Hey.” The start was enough to make him tense up, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Seb whirled around and when he found himself face to face with the farmer, he relaxed again.
“You scared the absolute crap out of me…..” He said as he rolled his eyes. He flicked his thumb against the filter of the cigarette to knock away the ashes and looked over the docks. They were alone.
“Sorry….” There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them before Sebastian tried to force conversation.
“What are you up to out here?” He asked. He wasn’t really interested in the answer, but felt obligated to return the acknowledgement of his presence. The farmer held up the rod that was firmly clasped in their right hand and gestured to the ocean.
“Fishing!” Seb raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the response.
“In the rain?” he asked. His tone was almost dismissive. The farmer nodded.
“Willy said that there’s a number of fish that only come out when it’s raining, so I wanted to see what bites.” They began. “Some fish just like it better this way I guess.” There was another long pause. “…and you?”
“Hanging out…” Seb shrugged and adjusted the collar of his hoodie.
“In the rain?” The irony of the retort wasn’t lost on either of them though only the farmer seemed to find it amusing.
“Some people just like it better this way too…” Seb declared as he shifted his posture and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like to come out here where it’s quiet and have some alone time with my own thoughts.” There was a brief moment of guilt when Sebastian realized that he hadn’t actually ever bothered to ask the farmer’s name, but his introverted nature snubbed it out pretty quickly.
“Well, if you’re out here for some alone time, I won’t keep bothering you. I’ll go find a spot to fish and leave you to it.” At least they could take a hint. The farmer turned to leave and Sebastian suddenly regretted the entire conversation. Maybe he came off as cold and bristly? Either way, they hadn’t meant any harm. Just engaging in basic pleasantries. He found himself compelled to say something else just so the conversation wouldn’t end on such a sour note, then the thought of the flying figure and the appearance of the strange egg in the farmer’s coop a while back suddenly popped into his head.
“Wait….” Sebastian flicked away the spent cigarette and stamped it out with the toe of his shoe before he continued. The farmer turned back in his direction. “I was just curious… do you remember what happened a couple of weeks ago? The night that… thing… flew over Pelican Town?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed and they nodded slowly. “That was the night that strange egg just showed up in your chicken coop, right?” The farmer looked bewildered. Seb chuckled soundlessly when he realized that, for at least a moment, he was acting like the epitome of some small town country boy who was nosing into someone else’s business. The farmer was likely confused because they hadn’t spoken to Sebastian about it directly. How could he know about that? They didn’t have to ask before he preemptively put the question to rest. “I was in the saloon playing pool with Sam the night after it happened. I overheard you talking about it with Gus, Willy and uh- …Rapunzel.” He explained. A tiny snort escaped the farmer’s nose as they stifled a laugh and they nodded again.
“Right… I still don’t know where it came from.” They rested the handle of the fishing pole on the dock like a staff or walking stick and looked up at the sky as if they were contemplating something. “I don’t know if the egg had anything to do with the flying figure, or if it was just a coincidence… they did both appear on the same night.”
“Everyone in town says that the flying thing was probably just some weird bird heading toward the islands…” Seb droned. He shoved his hands into his pockets to sooth the chill in his fingers. “If that IS where the egg came from, then maybe it was just a bird…” The farmer briskly shook their head before they answered.
“No, I don’t think so.” They rested a hand on their hip, fidgeted with the line strung through the fishing rod and seemed to gaze off into the distance towards the island in question. “That wouldn’t make sense considering what hatched.” Sebastian’s head snapped upright to meet their gaze. Now this was getting interesting.
“It actually hatched?!” He piped as his eyes widened inquisitively. “What was it?”
“A chicken…. And those can’t fly long distances.” The farmer chortled as they watched Sebastian’s face droop back to some semblance of apathy. He looked mildly disappointed.
“Aww…. Well that’s kind of anticlimactic.” He groaned.
“Yeah, sorry it’s not more exciting than that…” There was a sudden gust of wind and both of them had to brace against the pelting of raindrops that came with it. “It is a pretty peculiar looking chicken, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Really?... How so?” He gazed back at them expectantly and waited for them to go into detail.
“The feathers are jet black and the comb and wattles have a bit of an odd shape to them. The eyes are also bright red, like an animal with albinism and they’re almost reflective in the dark too… like a cat’s eyes.” They paused and rested their hand over the lower half of their face as if they were taking a moment to recall more of the specifics to memory. “And there’s just something about the way it clucks.” They added. “It doesn’t really cluck like a normal hen, but it sounds more like… an echo of a cluck, I suppose.”
“What?....” Sebastian laughed as his expression shifted again. The description of the noise sounded completely ridiculous. Not a cluck, but an echo of a cluck? They may as well have likened it to a phantom voice or the cry of a specter. Something that eluded the range of sounds that most humans would ever have the chance or perception to experience. The farmer lifted their eyes back to Sebastian’s as if they’d suddenly remembered something else.
“She started laying eggs a couple of days ago. They look just like the one that appeared in the coop that night…” They let the fishing pole drop from their hand to the wood planking of the dock and slipped their arm out of the left strap of their backpack. “I actually have one with me if you want to see it….” They slid the other strap off of their shoulder and swung the bag around their right side, letting it come to a rest in front of them as they knelt down. Seb took a few steps closer and stooped to get a better look as they dug through the contents.
They gingerly grasped what looked like a tiny bundle wrapped in a kerchief and began to slowly peel away the corners of the fabric, exposing what was probably the most bizarre looking egg he’d ever seen in his life. It was black and somewhat glossy, unlike the calcified matte shells of most chicken eggs, and the surface seemed to be covered in tiny indents or fissures that exposed flecks of a bright, almost luminescent red underneath. The farmer held the egg out to Sebastian as they stood up straight and nodded, silently offering to let him hold it for a closer look. He gently cupped the egg in his hands, tucked his arms in close to his body and cradled it in his palms like a cautious child trying to hold a hamster. It was heavier than he’d expected it to be, and surprisingly warm.
The color reminded him of magma or hot coals. Something like the intense heat glowing through crackling obsidian after a volcanic eruption or a dying fire. He leaned his head even closer to the egg as he examined the texture of the shell, and his nose wrinkled a bit when he caught the scent. It was sulphurous, and almost earthy smelling, but not overpoweringly so.
“It’s not rotten, is it?” he asked as he gently turned the egg over in his hands.
“See, that’s the strange thing about it. It can’t be…. That egg was just laid this morning.” They explained. “All of the eggs that hen lays have that… little whiff of something burning to them.” The rain was starting to slow up a bit. The farmer thought for a moment and giggled at the notion of what they said next. “I’m not inclined to say that they’re edible either… at least, not to people, and I wouldn’t be keen on being the first one to test that.” Sebastian winced at the thought…and smell, and stifled a laugh.
“Me neither…” He smiled softly when the red speckled pattern caught his attention again. “It does look really cool though!”
He really did have a nice smile. It was kind of a shame that he didn’t let people see it more often. His eyes brightened, and his face looked softer and more approachable, yet also, inquisitive and curious. It was a look of fascination and wonder. Like a kid who’d just discovered dinosaurs and outer space for the first time, or someone who’d just felt their first taste of freedom and didn’t quite know what to do with it. An imaginative or inspired sort of expression.
“Since you like it so much, why don’t you hang onto it?” the farmer beamed.
“Can I?” Sebastian’s eyes lit up again and he gazed back at the farmer with a delighted look on his face.
“Sure! Hens lay eggs every day or so. There’ll be more before long!” they chimed. Sebastian chuckled as he curled his fingers about the egg and sheltered it from the rain.
“Thank you!” He gazed at it for a few moments more as the farmer hefted the rucksack back onto their shoulders and pulled the fishing rod from it’s resting place on the dock. “Hey, this might sound kind of stupid….” He began as he gazed back and forth between the farmer and his new prize… “But, do you think it’ll hatch if I put it under my pillow?” he laughed awkwardly at his own question when he realized how foolish it must have sounded, but was pleasantly surprised when the farmer’s response was more optimistic than he had expected.
“Umm, I don’t know… Maybe! It’s worth a try anyway, and stranger things have happened.”
“Only one way to find out I guess!” Sebastian said smiling in anticipation.
“Good luck! You’ll have to let me know what happens!” They scanned out over the tides as if looking for something before turning back to Sebastian. “I should hurry and find a spot to fish before the rain stops again, but it was really nice talking to you!”
“Yeah, you too!” Seb agreed. “I’ll see you later!” He distracted himself for a moment, making sure the egg was tucked away safe and warm in his hoodie pocket, when he suddenly realized something. “Hey, wait!...” he quickly turned back to where the farmer had been standing just a minute before, but by the time he’d remembered what he’d needed to ask, they’d already trotted too far out of earshot to be able to hear him. “Aw, man… I forgot to catch their name again.” He lamented. “I’ll have to remember to ask them next time… Next time for sure.”
submitted by Powermetalbunny to StardewValley [link] [comments]
“A Gift From The Void”
It was only yesterday… No one was quite sure where it had come from. There had been a sinister cackling noise ringing through the night air and Abigail had mentioned seeing an unidentifiable shape soaring through the sky during her walk home from the cemetery. The townsfolk gossiped and speculated about what it could have been that evening, but by the next morning they still hadn’t come to any reasonable explanation. It was only yesterday, and yet the entire village seemed to have already put it out of their minds and moved on. The scandal and chatter following the “Anchovy Soup Incident” at the Summer Luau several years back had lasted far longer than this… Even now Sam was still getting sideways glances whenever he got within a 20 foot radius of the soup cauldron, but this just blows over in less than a day? The priorities of small town people were strange.
Things had gone back to that same semblance of backwater, middle-of-nowhere kind of normal, and now the night had become just the same as any other Friday evening. Sebastian was playing a round of billiards with Sam, and while Sam was preoccupied with lining up the cue with his intended target ball, the farmer strolled into the saloon and up to the bar. Heads turned and raised to the newcomer for a moment before returning to whatever it was that had been previously holding their attention. Sebastian caught the sudden flourish of movement out of his periphery, but didn’t pay it much mind. The farmer ordered a coffee and a plate of the night’s special, and struck up a conversation with Gus about a peculiar egg that had materialized in their coop seemingly out of nowhere the night before. Apparently they’d decided to tuck it away into the incubator and wait to see what… if anything hatched from it.
Sebastian had never really been one to eavesdrop, but the wait for Sam to make his move was becoming boring, and sometimes the stories that passed around the saloon on Friday evenings got interesting depending on who all was involved. The story didn’t really go too far into detail. The farmer poked at their food until it had cooled enough to not scald the inside of their mouth, then they took a few bites before bringing up the events of the previous evening. What first started off as a funny story seemed to turn into some deep discussion with Gus about the mysteries of life. Eventually, Willy and Elliott were caught up in the mirth and it turned into a medley of strange tales from faraway lands and once-upon-a-times. Obviously exaggerated sightings of fearsome creatures on a midnight stormy sea, legends of colossal white whales, references to works written by masters of the mystery genre, as well as some from a trashy neo-noir novel or two that had probably been picked up from a bookstore clearance shelf.
Willy stroked his beard and mused about some daring battle between himself and a fish of questionable proportions that seemed to grow larger each time he told the story. Sebastian had heard this one before. The fight over the line had gone on for over an hour before the shadow of the fish rose near to the surface, and just before Willy could land the monster of a catch, it dove below again, taking the whole fishing rod overboard and nearly Willy himself with it.
Elliott gulped down the last few swigs of ale in his tankard, slapped the farmer firmly on the back, snorted and chuckled in an ungraceful yet jolly display that only ever crept out of him when he’d had a bit too much to drink.
“That fish becomes more miraculous each time he talks about it!” Elliott shook his head and smiled as he leaned almost a little too far forward. There was a slight sway to his posture and he tried to straighten his body back in line with the barstool. “To life, and her many little silly tricks of fate, my friends!” he declared. He raised the empty mug, and with his free hand, delicately tucked a few strands of stray hair behind his ear with the tips of his fingers. He rested his elbow back on the bar before he could lose his balance and sighed contently. Elliott’s cheeks were practically glowing red at this point and it was a wonder that he wasn’t slurring his words yet.
“Aye, you’ve all heard my fish story haven’t ye?” Willy chuckled. “How ‘bout the one about the Baba Yaga?” the farmer’s head tilted and they gazed curiously at the fisherman. Willy rested his foot on the crossbar of the barstool, lifted the rim of his hat out of his line of sight, and leaned into the counter. “Some know ‘er as the cannibal witch… others say she’s just a misunderstood haggard ol’ woman who lives alone out in woods or marshes. It’s said she lives a rickety old house that stands on chicken feet, and she likes to lure weary travelers into ‘er home, only to gobble ‘em up once they let their guard down. Apparently she’s especially fond of the taste of children…” He laughed in a hoarse tone and made strange spider-like gestures with his calloused hands as if he were telling campfire stories to a group of kids. The farmer’s nose wrinkled at the outlandish notion of some feral old woman devouring toddlers, and Willy laughed heartily at their reaction. “I think that last part the parents like to add into the story to frighten the little ones. It keeps ‘em from wondering into the forests and swamps alone at night.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and glanced back to the pool table. He watched the cue ball clack into the twelve before the twelve bounced off the barriers in the corner of the table and rolled slowly to a stop on the felt surface without pocketing. Sam huffed and stood back upright.
“You really aren’t very good at this, are you?” Seb chimed as he returned his full attention to the game at hand. Sam grinned and laughed.
“Nope!”
“Watch and learn….” Sebastian took aim at the cue ball, and after a single firm strike, drove it into the tiny gap between the two and seven. The cue stopped hard, but the two and seven sped to the opposite corners of the foot of the table, each dropping into one of the corner pockets simultaneously. Sam scoffed and paced about the pool room, but looked back over his shoulder just in time to catch Sebastian with a triumphantly cheeky grin on his face. Sam clicked his tongue and lightly thumped the base of his cue stick into the floorboards.
“Show-off…” he mumbled.
Elliott lifted the rim of the empty vessel to his lips, then chuckled again as he noticed the absence of ale and gestured it in Gus’ direction.
“Good sir, my glass is empty and…. I’m a writer!”
“Maybe you should stop for tonight…” the farmer interjected. “You won’t be sober enough to start your next chapter in the morning!” Elliott rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar counter. He tried to give one of his best theatrically exasperated sighs, but when the exhale turned into a case of the hiccups, they knew he was down for the count. He smiled defiantly and tried his best to look dignified through the sudden spasms in his diaphragm and soused thousand yard stare.
“I-am fiiine… ne’re betta’…”
“…..Aaaand, there he goes…” Leah giggled from the end of the bar counter. “It’s like dropping a ton of bricks on a peach.”
“I oughtta’ help the ol’ scallywag home, I s’pose!” Willy groaned as he stood from the bar stool. He smiled as he hoisted one of Elliott’s arms over his shoulders and stood him up from the bar stool. “C’mon you menace… Let’s get ya home before you make a fool of yourself in front of all the lassies!” he chuckled. Sam took a moment to appreciate the situation at the bar counter. He shook his head and laughed, then took another shot at the 12 and missed horribly yet again.
“Easy does it there!” Emily cooed as she cleared away the empty tankard. “Try not to drop him too hard!” Elliott wobbled towards the door as Willy struggled to keep him upright, and just before they stepped out into the lukewarm summer evening, the farmer waved one last farewell and called out to the well marinated dandy-man as he staggered away.
“Nighty-night! Sleep tight, Rapunzel!” they chirped. Elliot responded to the joke by blowing an overly exaggerated kiss over his shoulder and daintily waiving his fingertips at the company in the saloon, then he nearly tripped over himself as he turned back to the path home. A couple of snorts, giggles and guffaws rose up over the music and chatter in the saloon and quickly melted back into the white noise once the moment passed.
Seb looked Sam in the eyes with a determined glare and smirked.
“Eight in the corner pocket….” Seb didn’t have a clear shot, but leaned over the table, reared back the stick and spiked it into the cue ball. It ricocheted from the bumper, side-swiped the eight, and put just enough force into the edge to cause it to spin sideways into the pocket he’d called. Sam laughed and scratched at the back of his head.
“Awwww, man…” he groaned. “You got me again!” Sam leaned against his cue stick and looked over the table before his eyes lit up in anticipation. “How about a best three out of five?” Abigail giggled at Sam’s request as she stretched and leaned back into the sofa.
“Give it up, blondie! He cooks your goose at this game EVERY single time…. You’re doomed.” She teased. “It’s getting late anyways…”
…
It had been almost a month since the odd shape had been spotted flying over town at this point. Seb and Abby had talked in depth about it, and though most of the other townsfolk had come to the conclusion that it had merely been some sort of exotic bird flying out toward the fern islands, Abby was positive she hadn’t been mistaken. In fact she was adamant that the form looked human. She hadn’t seen or heard any wings flapping and the “squawking” sounded more so like the laugh of an old woman than the cries of a bird. The figure seemed to levitate or hover effortlessly and without the use of any physical or mechanical assistance. It was slumped over as if it was curled up or sitting and just…. Floated away.
The long night spent coding and researching the relevant programing issues at the computer, had caused Sebastian to rise late. He was groggy, didn’t have much motivation to bother rolling out of bed, and it was almost noon at this point. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof of the house and the rumble of distant thunder. As lazy as he felt, a smoke sounded pretty good about now. The sound and sight of the ocean on rainy days also had a way of clearing his head and a little stroll would probably do him some good.
He didn’t pass anyone on the way out of the house. Robin was likely at her aerobics club, Maru, at work in the clinic, and who knew where Demetrius was… Out shoving dirt samples into test tubes, or measuring the volume and PH of the current rainfall? As long as he wasn’t dissecting frogs. Out of all of Sebastian’s childhood memories, that was the one that stuck in his head and haunted him. Back then, Maru had only just been born, and while Robin was busy keeping her entertained, fixing her bottle or changing diapers, Seb was wandering the house trying to find something to occupy his time. He’d wandered into his step-father’s study and there on the examination tray was a deceased frog pinned on it’s back, limbs splayed like Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” with it’s belly sliced open. Sebastian had cried and pouted over that for several days and had given Demetrius the silent treatment for even days longer intermixed with spells of arm crossing, head turning and the occasional stuck out tongue and blown raspberry. He cringed at the thought even now.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the front door open and paused. The summer was starting to give way to autumn and the parched ground soaked up the rain and turned loose the pungent, almost overpowering scent of petrichor.
Sebastian flipped the hood of his pull-over around his head and tightened up the drawstrings. He took a moment to smell the aroma of wet grass and earth that drifted through the air and held the fragrance in his lungs as he closed the door behind him.
He began his slow, steady march toward the beach and lost count of his steps after he’d passed the old Community Center. He’d barely noticed the changing of terrain under his feet as he moved almost subconsciously toward the ocean. The raw, muddy dirt paths of the mountain, the crunch of rough stones and shuffle of old, dead pine needles that carpeted the ground… They’d transitioned into the grass and cobblestone of the town plaza at some point, but they all seemed to blend together into “just steps” after a while. His inner thoughts distracted him to the point where he barely paid attention to his surroundings until he felt his footfalls sinking and shifting underneath him, and he knew he’d hit sand. He heaved a deep sigh of the salt air and looked over the horizon as he paced toward the docks.
When the sky was this gray and muted, the color of the sea seemed to take on it’s own jewel-like quality and without the blue sky to draw attention away from it, the eyes of each breaking wave became a splendor to watch. They erupted into columns of aquamarine, sapphire and sodalite laced with the bright, almost pearlescent white of the sea foam before curling over, crashing into the tides and giving way to the next one.
Sebastian came to a stop at the furthest reaching section of the wood panels and straightened up his posture as he groped into his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. He selected one from the box, tucked it between his teeth and plunged his fingers back into the pocket for his lighter. He curled his left hand in front of his face, to protect the fire from the wind, flicked open the lid and thumbed the igniter. The flint sparked into a flame as it spun and lit up the end of the cigarette to a smoldering red glow. He pulled in a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out and watching the smoke dance away in the wind. It still wasn’t quite as satisfying as that first breath of rain when he’d stepped out of the house. Another sigh escaped Seb’s lips as he stared back at the oncoming crests of seawater and his mind started to drift again.
He imagined the city lights blazing somewhere across the ocean like stars, and thought about starting over somewhere far away. Disappearing, and reappearing somewhere else like a shadow moving through fragments of darkness and light, somewhere where no one knew him. Just vanishing and leaving everything behind. His parents, his sister, his friends… the thought excited him for a moment, before giving way to an intense feeling of regret and sadness. Maybe even a little shame. Having everyone was frustrating, but would having none of them be better or worse? He’d never known anything else. The same friends he’d grown up with, the same smell of the changing seasons in the mountain air, the same four walls of his bedroom, the sound of his sister’s laugh, or the taste of his mother’s cooking… even the way his stepfather overreacted to the littlest things was something he'd grown used to. He took another long breath.
The waves lapped and pounded at the underside of the dock so loudly he couldn’t hear the patter of oncoming footfalls against the wood and he was caught unaware when a sudden presence made itself known.
“Hey.” The start was enough to make him tense up, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Seb whirled around and when he found himself face to face with the farmer, he relaxed again.
“You scared the absolute crap out of me…..” He said as he rolled his eyes. He flicked his thumb against the filter of the cigarette to knock away the ashes and looked over the docks. They were alone.
“Sorry….” There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them before Sebastian tried to force conversation.
“What are you up to out here?” He asked. He wasn’t really interested in the answer, but felt obligated to return the acknowledgement of his presence. The farmer held up the rod that was firmly clasped in their right hand and gestured to the ocean.
“Fishing!” Seb raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the response.
“In the rain?” he asked. His tone was almost dismissive. The farmer nodded.
“Willy said that there’s a number of fish that only come out when it’s raining, so I wanted to see what bites.” They began. “Some fish just like it better this way I guess.” There was another long pause. “…and you?”
“Hanging out…” Seb shrugged and adjusted the collar of his hoodie.
“In the rain?” The irony of the retort wasn’t lost on either of them though only the farmer seemed to find it amusing.
“Some people just like it better this way too…” Seb declared as he shifted his posture and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like to come out here where it’s quiet and have some alone time with my own thoughts.” There was a brief moment of guilt when Sebastian realized that he hadn’t actually ever bothered to ask the farmer’s name, but his introverted nature snubbed it out pretty quickly.
“Well, if you’re out here for some alone time, I won’t keep bothering you. I’ll go find a spot to fish and leave you to it.” At least they could take a hint. The farmer turned to leave and Sebastian suddenly regretted the entire conversation. Maybe he came off as cold and bristly? Either way, they hadn’t meant any harm. Just engaging in basic pleasantries. He found himself compelled to say something else just so the conversation wouldn’t end on such a sour note, then the thought of the flying figure and the appearance of the strange egg in the farmer’s coop a while back suddenly popped into his head.
“Wait….” Sebastian flicked away the spent cigarette and stamped it out with the toe of his shoe before he continued. The farmer turned back in his direction. “I was just curious… do you remember what happened a couple of weeks ago? The night that… thing… flew over Pelican Town?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed and they nodded slowly. “That was the night that strange egg just showed up in your chicken coop, right?” The farmer looked bewildered. Seb chuckled soundlessly when he realized that, for at least a moment, he was acting like the epitome of some small town country boy who was nosing into someone else’s business. The farmer was likely confused because they hadn’t spoken to Sebastian about it directly. How could he know about that? They didn’t have to ask before he preemptively put the question to rest. “I was in the saloon playing pool with Sam the night after it happened. I overheard you talking about it with Gus, Willy and uh- …Rapunzel.” He explained. A tiny snort escaped the farmer’s nose as they stifled a laugh and they nodded again.
“Right… I still don’t know where it came from.” They rested the handle of the fishing pole on the dock like a staff or walking stick and looked up at the sky as if they were contemplating something. “I don’t know if the egg had anything to do with the flying figure, or if it was just a coincidence… they did both appear on the same night.”
“Everyone in town says that the flying thing was probably just some weird bird heading toward the islands…” Seb droned. He shoved his hands into his pockets to sooth the chill in his fingers. “If that IS where the egg came from, then maybe it was just a bird…” The farmer briskly shook their head before they answered.
“No, I don’t think so.” They rested a hand on their hip, fidgeted with the line strung through the fishing rod and seemed to gaze off into the distance towards the island in question. “That wouldn’t make sense considering what hatched.” Sebastian’s head snapped upright to meet their gaze. Now this was getting interesting.
“It actually hatched?!” He piped as his eyes widened inquisitively. “What was it?”
“A chicken…. And those can’t fly long distances.” The farmer chortled as they watched Sebastian’s face droop back to some semblance of apathy. He looked mildly disappointed.
“Aww…. Well that’s kind of anticlimactic.” He groaned.
“Yeah, sorry it’s not more exciting than that…” There was a sudden gust of wind and both of them had to brace against the pelting of raindrops that came with it. “It is a pretty peculiar looking chicken, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Really?... How so?” He gazed back at them expectantly and waited for them to go into detail.
“The feathers are jet black and the comb and wattles have a bit of an odd shape to them. The eyes are also bright red, like an animal with albinism and they’re almost reflective in the dark too… like a cat’s eyes.” They paused and rested their hand over the lower half of their face as if they were taking a moment to recall more of the specifics to memory. “And there’s just something about the way it clucks.” They added. “It doesn’t really cluck like a normal hen, but it sounds more like… an echo of a cluck, I suppose.”
“What?....” Sebastian laughed as his expression shifted again. The description of the noise sounded completely ridiculous. Not a cluck, but an echo of a cluck? They may as well have likened it to a phantom voice or the cry of a specter. Something that eluded the range of sounds that most humans would ever have the chance or perception to experience. The farmer lifted their eyes back to Sebastian’s as if they’d suddenly remembered something else.
“She started laying eggs a couple of days ago. They look just like the one that appeared in the coop that night…” They let the fishing pole drop from their hand to the wood planking of the dock and slipped their arm out of the left strap of their backpack. “I actually have one with me if you want to see it….” They slid the other strap off of their shoulder and swung the bag around their right side, letting it come to a rest in front of them as they knelt down. Seb took a few steps closer and stooped to get a better look as they dug through the contents.
They gingerly grasped what looked like a tiny bundle wrapped in a kerchief and began to slowly peel away the corners of the fabric, exposing what was probably the most bizarre looking egg he’d ever seen in his life. It was black and somewhat glossy, unlike the calcified matte shells of most chicken eggs, and the surface seemed to be covered in tiny indents or fissures that exposed flecks of a bright, almost luminescent red underneath. The farmer held the egg out to Sebastian as they stood up straight and nodded, silently offering to let him hold it for a closer look. He gently cupped the egg in his hands, tucked his arms in close to his body and cradled it in his palms like a cautious child trying to hold a hamster. It was heavier than he’d expected it to be, and surprisingly warm.
The color reminded him of magma or hot coals. Something like the intense heat glowing through crackling obsidian after a volcanic eruption or a dying fire. He leaned his head even closer to the egg as he examined the texture of the shell, and his nose wrinkled a bit when he caught the scent. It was sulphurous, and almost earthy smelling, but not overpoweringly so.
“It’s not rotten, is it?” he asked as he gently turned the egg over in his hands.
“See, that’s the strange thing about it. It can’t be…. That egg was just laid this morning.” They explained. “All of the eggs that hen lays have that… little whiff of something burning to them.” The rain was starting to slow up a bit. The farmer thought for a moment and giggled at the notion of what they said next. “I’m not inclined to say that they’re edible either… at least, not to people, and I wouldn’t be keen on being the first one to test that.” Sebastian winced at the thought…and smell, and stifled a laugh.
“Me neither…” He smiled softly when the red speckled pattern caught his attention again. “It does look really cool though!”
He really did have a nice smile. It was kind of a shame that he didn’t let people see it more often. His eyes brightened, and his face looked softer and more approachable, yet also, inquisitive and curious. It was a look of fascination and wonder. Like a kid who’d just discovered dinosaurs and outer space for the first time, or someone who’d just felt their first taste of freedom and didn’t quite know what to do with it. An imaginative or inspired sort of expression.
“Since you like it so much, why don’t you hang onto it?” the farmer beamed.
“Can I?” Sebastian’s eyes lit up again and he gazed back at the farmer with a delighted look on his face.
“Sure! Hens lay eggs every day or so. There’ll be more before long!” they chimed. Sebastian chuckled as he curled his fingers about the egg and sheltered it from the rain.
“Thank you!” He gazed at it for a few moments more as the farmer hefted the rucksack back onto their shoulders and pulled the fishing rod from it’s resting place on the dock. “Hey, this might sound kind of stupid….” He began as he gazed back and forth between the farmer and his new prize… “But, do you think it’ll hatch if I put it under my pillow?” he laughed awkwardly at his own question when he realized how foolish it must have sounded, but was pleasantly surprised when the farmer’s response was more optimistic than he had expected.
“Umm, I don’t know… Maybe! It’s worth a try anyway, and stranger things have happened.”
“Only one way to find out I guess!” Sebastian said smiling in anticipation.
“Good luck! You’ll have to let me know what happens!” They scanned out over the tides as if looking for something before turning back to Sebastian. “I should hurry and find a spot to fish before the rain stops again, but it was really nice talking to you!”
“Yeah, you too!” Seb agreed. “I’ll see you later!” He distracted himself for a moment, making sure the egg was tucked away safe and warm in his hoodie pocket, when he suddenly realized something. “Hey, wait!...” he quickly turned back to where the farmer had been standing just a minute before, but by the time he’d remembered what he’d needed to ask, they’d already trotted too far out of earshot to be able to hear him. “Aw, man… I forgot to catch their name again.” He lamented. “I’ll have to remember to ask them next time… Next time for sure.”
2024.05.18 09:15 epiphanyshearld Metamorphoses by Ovid: Reading Begins and Context Post
Today (May 18) marks the beginning of our reading of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. We will be reading it over the course of the next eight weeks and will be reading two “books” aka chapters per week until the final week, where we will be reading the final book. Below is our reading and discussion schedule:
To see our full schedule for 2024, click here.
It is important to note, that many of the stories within the Metamorphoses are extremely violent and, depending on your translation, graphic in nature. There are many instances of on-page sexual violence and rape, so please be aware of this before reading. Unfortunately, I haven’t read this text before, so I can’t provide you guys with a more detailed list of warnings or of when said things happen within the text. I wish I could. If anyone has read this text before and would like to help me with adding content warnings, please leave a comment below or DM me.
Aside from this, the Metamorphoses is seen as accessible for modern readers. I have a translation guide available here, which provides some info on which translations are more graphic than others. Please note that every translation will contain some references to the violence in the original text. This is a good thing, in terms of preserving history but may not be comfortable for some readers, which is understandable.
Ovid:
Publius Ovidius Naso aka Ovid was born in 43 BCE and lived until 17CE. This means that he was born during the final years of the Roman Republic and lived most of his life during the early years of the Roman Empire. He was born to an old and wealthy family. He began writing quite young and was a celebrated poet for most of his adult life. He started out writing romantic poetry and then moved into more ambitious (and subversive) styles. He was famous during his lifetime, which was kind of his downfall – the Emperor, Augustus, exiled him in 8CE. We don’t know what he did to anger Augustus specifically, but it was enough to get Ovid exiled to a place called Tomis for the rest of his life. There are some theories that Ovid was associated with someone who helped Augustus’ granddaughter in her adultery, but we will never know for sure. It appears that Ovid spent his last few years writing in Tomis, with some hope that the publication of more of his work could lead to Augustus forgiving him. That didn’t happen, but Ovid did complete the entire Metamorphoses, which has gone on to be a major source of what we know about the Greco/Roman mythos for generations. It also appears that, unlike with Virgil's Aeneid, Augustus had little to no chance at interfering with the work (as it was complete upon Ovid's death). Which is a major plus, in terms of us getting to read what the author intended us to read.
The Metamorphoses:
The Metamorphoses is a long narrative poem that is split over fifteen books. The poem is extremely ambitious in its scope: from the creation of the world to Ovid’s lifetime. The main thing that links all the stories together is the theme (and title) of the text: transformation (Metamorphoses). As mentioned in the last section, Ovid was an acclaimed poet and a master in his craft. In the Metamorphoses, Ovid plays around and even deconstructs the myths and the poetic styles that have come before. So, even though the overall text is very pro-Rome, I think it is fair to say that, from a technical and story standpoint, the overall work is subversive. It has had a huge influence on other writers and artists since the time it was published.
A lot of myths are included within these books so it would be hard for me to list them all here. However, some of the best-known versions of the myths come from the Metamorphoses such as the tragic story of Medusa, the birth and early life of the god Bacchus (aka Dionysus) and tales like the story of Atalanta. The poem also covers some myths we are familiar with here on the sub, such as the story of Jason and the Argonauts and the Trojan War. It will be interesting to read Ovid’s more Roman-centric perspective of this older myths.
Due to this text being written by a Roman poet, the names of the gods and many of the heroes are different here than in the other (Greek era) texts we have read. Here’s a link to a breakdown of the major name changes.
After we finish the Metamorphoses, we will be reading Natalie Haynes book Pandora's Jar, which is a modern collection of essays that focus on the portrayal of women within the Greek mythos.
submitted by epiphanyshearld to AYearOfMythology [link] [comments]
- Start Date: 18/05/24
- Week 1 - Books 1 & 2 - 25/05/24
- Week 2 - Books 3 & 4 - 01/06/24
- Week 3 - Books 5 & 6 - 08/06/24
- Week 4 - Books 7 & 8 - 15/06/24
- Week 5 - Books 9 & 10 - 22/06/24
- Week 6 - Books 11 & 12 - 29/06/24
- Week 7 - Books 13 & 14 - 06/07/24
- Week 8 - Book 15 - 13/07/24
To see our full schedule for 2024, click here.
It is important to note, that many of the stories within the Metamorphoses are extremely violent and, depending on your translation, graphic in nature. There are many instances of on-page sexual violence and rape, so please be aware of this before reading. Unfortunately, I haven’t read this text before, so I can’t provide you guys with a more detailed list of warnings or of when said things happen within the text. I wish I could. If anyone has read this text before and would like to help me with adding content warnings, please leave a comment below or DM me.
Aside from this, the Metamorphoses is seen as accessible for modern readers. I have a translation guide available here, which provides some info on which translations are more graphic than others. Please note that every translation will contain some references to the violence in the original text. This is a good thing, in terms of preserving history but may not be comfortable for some readers, which is understandable.
Ovid:
Publius Ovidius Naso aka Ovid was born in 43 BCE and lived until 17CE. This means that he was born during the final years of the Roman Republic and lived most of his life during the early years of the Roman Empire. He was born to an old and wealthy family. He began writing quite young and was a celebrated poet for most of his adult life. He started out writing romantic poetry and then moved into more ambitious (and subversive) styles. He was famous during his lifetime, which was kind of his downfall – the Emperor, Augustus, exiled him in 8CE. We don’t know what he did to anger Augustus specifically, but it was enough to get Ovid exiled to a place called Tomis for the rest of his life. There are some theories that Ovid was associated with someone who helped Augustus’ granddaughter in her adultery, but we will never know for sure. It appears that Ovid spent his last few years writing in Tomis, with some hope that the publication of more of his work could lead to Augustus forgiving him. That didn’t happen, but Ovid did complete the entire Metamorphoses, which has gone on to be a major source of what we know about the Greco/Roman mythos for generations. It also appears that, unlike with Virgil's Aeneid, Augustus had little to no chance at interfering with the work (as it was complete upon Ovid's death). Which is a major plus, in terms of us getting to read what the author intended us to read.
The Metamorphoses:
The Metamorphoses is a long narrative poem that is split over fifteen books. The poem is extremely ambitious in its scope: from the creation of the world to Ovid’s lifetime. The main thing that links all the stories together is the theme (and title) of the text: transformation (Metamorphoses). As mentioned in the last section, Ovid was an acclaimed poet and a master in his craft. In the Metamorphoses, Ovid plays around and even deconstructs the myths and the poetic styles that have come before. So, even though the overall text is very pro-Rome, I think it is fair to say that, from a technical and story standpoint, the overall work is subversive. It has had a huge influence on other writers and artists since the time it was published.
A lot of myths are included within these books so it would be hard for me to list them all here. However, some of the best-known versions of the myths come from the Metamorphoses such as the tragic story of Medusa, the birth and early life of the god Bacchus (aka Dionysus) and tales like the story of Atalanta. The poem also covers some myths we are familiar with here on the sub, such as the story of Jason and the Argonauts and the Trojan War. It will be interesting to read Ovid’s more Roman-centric perspective of this older myths.
Due to this text being written by a Roman poet, the names of the gods and many of the heroes are different here than in the other (Greek era) texts we have read. Here’s a link to a breakdown of the major name changes.
After we finish the Metamorphoses, we will be reading Natalie Haynes book Pandora's Jar, which is a modern collection of essays that focus on the portrayal of women within the Greek mythos.
2024.05.18 08:06 No-Goal7580 I think I figured out RDR2 weight system. (Not 100% sure)
So I have been experimenting and I have brought it down to this conclusion. It isn’t random, and eating food doesn’t directly lead to weight gain.
When you eat food, you don’t just start gaining weight. Instead you are moving a hidden meter in the positive direction which slows the rate at which you lose weight and increases the speed at which you gain weight. Eating more or less food, changes the speed at which this hidden meter changes. The idea is you want to eat enough food so that this meter can move out of the negative, and into the positive(to gain weight). I think the little symbol that shows up over your Health core icon(the weight symbol) that tells you that you have crossed center and are now starting to either gain weight or lose weight.(it doesn’t mean the game wants you to start eating, or cut back. It’s not saying you are over or under weight. It’s not saying your rate is too high in either direction. It’s just saying you are now either gaining or losing eight)
If you notice that the symbol is popping up a lot, it actually means you are closer to maintaining the weight you are at. If you haven’t seen it pop up in a while, then it means you are either gaining or losing a lot of weight.
So to put this into play. What you want to do is if you know you are underweight. You want to eat food then sleep. If you see the downward weight icon it means you are probably around half, but are still losing weight and haven’t eaten enough. If you see the icon point upwards then you know you are starting to gain weight and should still eat more “checking your weight over time, to see how fast you are gaining”. Once you hit your desired weight stop eating until you see the weight symbol pointing down, then check your weight. If you like what you see you don’t have to eat right away, as you only just started to lose weight, so your loss rate is only like -0.1. If you don’t like what you see, then do this process again but maybe in smaller increments depending on how far from your target weight you are.
You don’t have to eat like 40 chocolate bars as this isn’t how weight works. Just eat like 4 peices and wait until you see the weight say it’s increasing, then eat a little more so you can keep a steady increase of weight gain.
It’s a blind meter system, where you kind of have to guess how far away from maintaining you current weight you are, and in what direction. Eating better foods (high core quality, like golds to Gold 4’s or how high those can go). Increases your change amount, so you can eat fewer of those to start gaining a lot more weight.
submitted by No-Goal7580 to RDR2 [link] [comments]
When you eat food, you don’t just start gaining weight. Instead you are moving a hidden meter in the positive direction which slows the rate at which you lose weight and increases the speed at which you gain weight. Eating more or less food, changes the speed at which this hidden meter changes. The idea is you want to eat enough food so that this meter can move out of the negative, and into the positive(to gain weight). I think the little symbol that shows up over your Health core icon(the weight symbol) that tells you that you have crossed center and are now starting to either gain weight or lose weight.(it doesn’t mean the game wants you to start eating, or cut back. It’s not saying you are over or under weight. It’s not saying your rate is too high in either direction. It’s just saying you are now either gaining or losing eight)
If you notice that the symbol is popping up a lot, it actually means you are closer to maintaining the weight you are at. If you haven’t seen it pop up in a while, then it means you are either gaining or losing a lot of weight.
So to put this into play. What you want to do is if you know you are underweight. You want to eat food then sleep. If you see the downward weight icon it means you are probably around half, but are still losing weight and haven’t eaten enough. If you see the icon point upwards then you know you are starting to gain weight and should still eat more “checking your weight over time, to see how fast you are gaining”. Once you hit your desired weight stop eating until you see the weight symbol pointing down, then check your weight. If you like what you see you don’t have to eat right away, as you only just started to lose weight, so your loss rate is only like -0.1. If you don’t like what you see, then do this process again but maybe in smaller increments depending on how far from your target weight you are.
You don’t have to eat like 40 chocolate bars as this isn’t how weight works. Just eat like 4 peices and wait until you see the weight say it’s increasing, then eat a little more so you can keep a steady increase of weight gain.
It’s a blind meter system, where you kind of have to guess how far away from maintaining you current weight you are, and in what direction. Eating better foods (high core quality, like golds to Gold 4’s or how high those can go). Increases your change amount, so you can eat fewer of those to start gaining a lot more weight.
2024.05.18 08:01 SharkEva I (50 M) just learned my spouse (47 F) was unfaithful years ago in marriage. She came clean from guilt. Where do I go from here?
I am not the OOP. The OOP is u/SRBias posting in relationship_advice
Ongoing as per OOP
1 update - Long
Original - 10th May 2024
Update - 13th May 2024
I (50 M) just learned my spouse (47 F) was unfaithful years ago in marriage. She came clean from guilt. Where do I go from here?
This will be quite a lengthy read because I'm laying out everything to get honest opinions with all the context. There's a TLDR at the end for those who'd rather skip the backstory. I know that most people go incognito with a throwaway account for this kind of post. But I wanted this to be authentic, using my real account. I didn't want anyone to think this was disingenuous. If we know each other in real life or you find me on my other socials, let's keep our chats here or in PMs. I don't want anyone harassing anybody, and I have a sixteen-year-old daughter who has been spared this drama so far.
I tied the knot shortly after high school, and let's just say, if my marriage were a collegiate course, it would be "F*** Up - 101." It was a masterclass in what not to do, featuring every red flag in the book. I was fresh-faced and barely off on my life journey, thinking I'd hit the jackpot. I'd assumed I'd accomplished what my parents did, that being the poster couple for marital bliss. I was so naive, always giving the benefit of the doubt. Meanwhile, my then-wife, fresh from escaping her parental fortress of solitude, went bat s*** crazy, deciding that 'living life to the fullest' didn't include me in the picture.
Before I knew it, I was Mr. Mom with our toddler while she was trapped underneath a few individuals, making up for lost time. After finally catching her in the act, I filed for a divorce and braced for the impact. Divorcing in '97 in the heart of the bible belt was not favorable towards the husband back then. What followed was straight out of a horror movie. I paid my attorney five thousand dollars to watch her take everything from my guitars and video games. She even claimed keepsakes from a departed relative, and the judge seemed happy to grant her every wish. Not only did I bid farewell to everything I owned, but my time with my son got slashed to a mere Wednesday afternoon and alternating weekends.
My faith in women was broken. I went on a few dates here and there but mostly kept it to casual encounters and dinners. I never let anyone get too close. But, in early 1999, at a friend's birthday party, I met a woman whose marriage had crashed harder than mine. She'd had a stillbirth six months into her pregnancy, and her husband dared to bring his girlfriend to the funeral. She was heartbroken, to say the least, to learn about her husband's affair and the end of her marriage on the day they laid her daughter to rest. We sat on a couch that night, swapping tales of romantic ruin. She was clever, and to me, that is an instant connection. It's rare for me to find someone who makes me laugh instead of vice versa. As I headed home, I couldn't shake her from my thoughts, kicking myself for not asking for her number.
The next, my phone rang, and it was her! She'd gotten my phone number from someone we both knew and asked: "Would you like to get food sometime?" I said, "Now sounds great!" So, I drove to her grandmother's house, and off we went on what turned out to be what I still consider the perfect date. Now, I get it; we were both lonely and had our hearts broken, but trust me, this was no spark; it was an inferno. And believe it or not, we've been inseparable since that day. We have not spent a night apart. That was twenty-five years ago, with us marrying a year after our meeting. Go ahead and facepalm, I know how it sounds, but it's hard to put the connection between us into words. Even I'm still shaking my head in disbelief.
Our families adored the two of us together. I was certain I had found my soulmate, if you believe in that, and I was certain she felt the same. We enjoyed each other's company, and our lives meshed perfectly. As with life, however, it finds those moments of bliss to take a giant s*** on you. In 2006, I began feeling ill; eating resulted in violent illness, which I initially thought was a virus. But after a week with no improvement, it was clear this was something else. I was admitted to the local hospital and underwent numerous tests. When I was first admitted, I weighed 222 pounds at a height of 6'2". Within a year, I had dropped to 146 pounds, and my condition dumbfounded the doctors. My health was deteriorating rapidly. Throughout the ordeal, she never left my side, her hand in mine, begging me not to leave her.
In late 2007, a last-ditch effort sent me to the Cleveland Clinic, where a young doctor rushed me into surgery. When I awoke three hours later, she was there, hand in mine, with a smile. It was a success; I was cured. While I'll spare you the details, it involved my colon. Finally, I could eat and move without agony. My life resumed, and we were happy again. The following year, she received a lucrative job offer in her field, earning more than I did. That didn't bother me at all; she worked hard, and she'd earned it.
After her miscarriage, my wife was unable to conceive. We had been trying since 2000 and eventually came to terms with the fact that it might not happen. In 2010, we got a call from the state of Minnesota about a two-year-old girl who had been taken from her mother due to drug-related charges. They asked if we would consider adopting her because the mother had requested she be placed with family members before her parental rights were terminated. My wife and I drove for 30 hours to meet her, and after a few months, we adopted her and welcomed her into our home.
Our daughter faced social challenges and had endured abuse, leading the two of us to decide one of us needed to be at home with her. As mentioned, my wife earned significantly more, so it made sense for me to be the one to step into the role. I dedicated each day to supporting our daughter's mental health. While I played a part, I can't claim all the credit for this; her preschool, kindergarten, and therapist were instrumental in her learning to socialize and trust again. Eventually, I took up freelance journalism, so I was home when our little one finished her school day.
Our evenings were family time, and we took small trips on weekends. It was in 2017 that my wife returned from work one evening, deeply shaken by what she told me was a workplace argument. Despite my attempts to console her, she remained incorrigible. She was declaring her intent to find a new job. She'd never had any issues before, so I was stunned. For days, she was a mess and withdrawn. When I pressed for details, she'd say, "It would only upset you. Let me deal with it."
True to her word, she left for a new company within a week, accepting a 15 percent reduction in pay. I should have questioned it then, but she never gave me cause for concern. Once she began her new role, life returned to normal, and our family happily moved forward. In 2022, I published my first novel with an independent publisher, fulfilling a lifelong dream. I could sense the pride emanating from both my wife and daughter. I had achieved this milestone before my fiftieth birthday, and I couldn't wait to start on my second one.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, this is where my world breaks. In 2023, as I was finishing up my new novel, my twenty-seven-year-old son from my first marriage died suddenly of a heart attack. He had an underlying condition that none of us knew about. I want everyone to understand that when you say, "I couldn't imagine my child dying," you truly can't. There is no pain quite like it. My wife and daughter, who also felt his loss deeply, did their best to support me. But there is no way to deal with such a tragedy. In the months following his death, I immersed myself in my work, striving to complete my second book for him.
On the day I finished it in January, my father passed away after a long battle. Dad had been ill for a long time. You think you can prepare yourself for that, but that's a lie you tell yourself. The loss was hard, and my daughter was instrumental in getting me back on my feet. My second book was released in February, and I tried to smile as I had my release party. At the beginning of April, I started feeling better, writing outlines for my third novel and doing the same things I'd always done with my wife and daughter.
My wife and I have a Wednesday tradition where she picks a random recipe she finds online, and we cook it together. On April 3rd, while making crockpot chicken tacos, I thanked her for everything. She asked why, and I thanked her for everything she'd done to get me through the tough times. I shared a lot of pent-up emotions, telling her I couldn't have managed without her. She started crying, then weeping, and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. I tried to comfort her with a hug, but she pushed me away. I apologized, not realizing my words would stir such a reaction.
Suddenly, she confesses her infidelity. I laughed, mistaking it for a joke. She grabs my shoulders and then details how, back in 2017, a 28-year-old at her former job started flirting with her, and she reciprocated. She believed it was innocent, yet it persisted. My wife has always feared growing old. Her birthdays were days she dreaded every year. She admitted that the attention from a younger man was exhilarating. She told me that turning 40 had sent her into a tailspin and that she couldn't talk to me about it because I would have just shrugged it off.
He invited her to leave work early and come to his place one day. She couldn't understand why she chose to; maybe it was the thrill. She said she didn't know, but she went and ended up sleeping with him. Afterward, she felt terrible, glaring at her keychain in his driveway because it had a photo of me holding our daughter. She drove home, and that's when she lied about having a workplace argument. She never wanted to return there. It's why she suddenly went somewhere else. She then told me she wanted to tell me but didn't have the fortitude to do it.
I remained silent, just wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She apologized, saying she couldn't live with it any longer. I just shook my head, unable to speak a single word. She offered to leave if that's what I wanted, to attend counseling, or even to beg for my forgiveness. Instead, I picked up my AirPods and phone and walked out. I wandered from six in the evening until almost eleven that night. When I returned, she was on the loveseat, asking if I was ready to talk. I shook my head again, went to my office, where I had a couch, and slept there.
The next day, after our daughter left for school, she asked if I had anything to say. I said yes. I questioned why she brought this up after the worst year of my life. Why couldn't she have kept it to herself until I could somewhat deal with something of this magnitude? She just looked away. I scoffed and told her to go to work and to try not to f*** anyone during her lunch break. That would have been April 4th; those were the last words I said to her until last night.
She had attempted to talk to me several times, but I would just walk past her into my office, trying to focus on my upcoming science fiction comedy book. Writing something funny is challenging when the thought of your spouse rolling around with another man stuck in her consumes your thoughts. A week ago, my daughter asked in the car if everything was okay, and I lied to her, which made me feel sick. Then, last night, my wife came to the office door and asked, "Are we getting a divorce?" I looked at her and replied, "Looks like it." She started crying and closed the door.
I haven't consulted an attorney, and the thought of divorce hadn't crossed my mind until she mentioned it. That's why I wrote this essay. Where do I go from here? How do I start to untangle this mess? I have no desire for therapy. I don't even want to step outside. I'm broken at this moment. The burden of everything has been overwhelming. There's been so much to bear this past year. What do you say to someone who has been by your side through it all, only to tear your heart apart?
Thank you for reading to the end. And for those who are part of the TLDR crowd, my wife decided to go home with a younger man, felt guilty about it, and quit her job. She waited eight years to tell me about it.
Comments
Foreign_Flight4566
Jesus, man. I’m sorry for your loss(es). Timing of your wife’s confession is mind-boggling. Realistically, this is above Reddit’s pay grade. I’ll recommend therapy, but probably above a therapist’s pay grade too. I know you also state you don’t want therapy, but that sounds like the exact time you need it. They can offer grief support, which is what you’ll need as you tease out emotions from losing loved ones and a very nasty betrayal. I hope you find happiness in whatever you decide.
cakivalue
Not couples counseling but individual therapy for you. You need the support right now after all you've been through and an unbiased third party to support you through the pain and demise of your marriage, next steps and co-parenting.
My unprofessional angle here is that this is most likely over. Had she come clean in 2017 you would have been able to make a choice regarding forgiveness, couples therapy etc. she held on to this secret for seven years and then dumped it on you at the worst time in order to ease her own guilty feelings. Especially knowing that you had both been hurt in this exact way in the past is especially jaw dropping that she did all of this.
Magnum_tv
Fuck man! This is...just fuck...
Firstly, I'm so sorry for your losses. I extend my sincere condolences.
You need grief counseling. This would help you put things in perspective. At least you'll be able to eventually make decisions based on logic than just pure emotion.
Secondly, your spouse. She not only betrayed you, she lied to you for eight years. EIGHT YEARS! That's fucking scary, because now you're gonna be wondering what else she can be hiding.
Now I'm an asshole, I'd be out of that marriage tomorrow. You however, have truly built a life with her. If, and I mean a big fucking IF, she's regretful, you should divorce, it would be less stress in your life having to be her warden. Because the trust is gone.
If, she's remorseful, you could try to work it out. But she needs to put in the work. Not you, HER. Because she's the one who fucked up.
Remember, regret and remorse are two completely different things.
I'd recommend you still talk to a lawyer before making a final decision. The more informed you are, the better choice you'll be able to make.
I'm truly sorry you're dealing with this, best of luck brother.
Update - 3 days later
UPDATE - After spending Saturday morning formulating and reading the staggering number of comments, I've made my decision. Some said my issue was far beyond the Reddit pay grade – they were mistaken. I deliberately avoided turning to family and friends, seeking a view from an outside perspective, and I think it worked. My gratitude goes out to all who sent private messages and responded; your thoughts on the matter helped me come to my conclusion.
On Saturday evening, I approached my wife to apologize for the silent treatment, I told her I wasn't attempting to punish her and acknowledged that it was childish. I told her if I would have opened my mouth, I would have been overly harsh and ruined any opportunity of a civil conversation. I promised we'd discuss it the next day.
On Sunday evening, I let it all out; I didn't cry, or raise my voice. I asked the man's name, which she provided. I asked her if the man was married when she betrayed us, and she confirmed he was. That hit me hard, because she knew he was also with someone. I asked if he was still married. She told me she had no clue, she hadn't seen him since the day she left for her new job. I told her I hoped they were, because I was going to make sure she knew. If my life had to be ripped apart, so would his. I thought that would get a rise out of her, it didn't. She just nodded.
I expressed my doubts about the affair being an isolated event, echoing the comments of several others. She maintained it was a one-off and was the sole reason she left her job. I explained that after eight years of this lie, it's natural for me to question anything she said. I then made it clear that if there's more to the story than what she's admitted, now is the time to be as open and honest as possible.
Any further revelations would be a deal-breaker for me, and there would be no excuse that could rectify it. She pleaded it was a singular occurrence and that she's been wanting to confess since it happened. I asked if he had reached out after her departure, she denied any contact. I responded that it didn't surprise me, assuming he got what he wanted and moved on to another person at work. It was the only cheap shot I threw.
I requested that she leave the house for a few weeks, I wasn't telling her it was over, but I wanted to be away from her. I suggested she could stay with her sister, her mother, or even rent a place—anywhere but here. I also informed her of my intention to discuss the situation with our daughter, who is 16 by the way, some people have commented believing her to be quite younger. To my surprise, my wife revealed she had already told her about a week ago, which I was completely unaware of. She inquired about the tone of the house, and my anger, and my wife confessed to her. Before my daughter went to bed, I asked her, and indeed, my wife had admitted that she had been unfaithful. I wanted to know why she hadn't come to me about it, and she told me she didn't want to make me feel worse.
I've decided to keep her home from school tomorrow to have a heart-to-heart about everything. It's important for me to understand her feelings and to emphasize that harboring hatred towards her mother isn't the goal. Her mother has always been loving and supportive. It's natural for her to feel angry, and that's okay, but picking sides isn't beneficial – nobody wins in this situation. It's a tough reality I'm coming to terms with, everyone loses. Tomorrow, I plan to contact three local therapists and reach out to the grief counselor I met after my son's death. I'm not interested in couple's therapy; I believe individual therapy is what I need, and since it's highly recommended, I'm going to pursue it.
My daughter's school year is ending soon, and I'm looking forward to spending quality time with her. I prefer to keep our plans private from family and friends; it's our personal matter. Someone advised me about controlling the narrative, but the only thing that matters now is that my daughter knows the truth. I need some time to come to terms if this relationship is salvageable. I need this time for self-reflection and to assess the situation. When she asked if we were going the route of legal separation, I clarified that it wasn't the case. I told her that when I look at her it brings up feelings of anger, which isn't healthy.
To my astonishment, she consented to everything. She doesn't want our relationship to end, and I reminded her that her actions with him forfeited that choice to me. She mentioned my wedding ring as a sign that she still matters to me, and I assured her that she does. I proposed we conclude things there. As I walked by, I touched her shoulder; she nodded in agreement. Later, she phoned her sister and made plans to stay with her the following evening after work.
TLDR. I want to express my gratitude to everyone for their support and guidance, except to the asshole that just wanted to pick a fight. I apologize for the length of my initial post; I believed the full context was necessary to help you understand why I'm so conflicted. To those who reached out privately and know my identity, your discretion is deeply appreciated. I'm looking forward to spending the next month with my daughter and starting therapy. Your messages are welcome, and I'll do my best to respond to each one. I'll provide another update in the future when I've made a decision about our next steps or if it's time to move on. I am not rushing into this decision lightly.
Comments
Bolt_McHardsteel
Clearly you have given this a lot of thought, and come up with a way forward that is best for you. Good luck in therapy, get yourself mentally right, there is no rush to make a final decision on your marriage. Take good care of your daughter! She seems like an amazing kid. Hang in there.
I am not the OOP. Please do not harass the OOP.
Please remember the No Brigading Rule and to be civil in the comments
submitted by SharkEva to BORUpdates [link] [comments]
Ongoing as per OOP
1 update - Long
Original - 10th May 2024
Update - 13th May 2024
I (50 M) just learned my spouse (47 F) was unfaithful years ago in marriage. She came clean from guilt. Where do I go from here?
This will be quite a lengthy read because I'm laying out everything to get honest opinions with all the context. There's a TLDR at the end for those who'd rather skip the backstory. I know that most people go incognito with a throwaway account for this kind of post. But I wanted this to be authentic, using my real account. I didn't want anyone to think this was disingenuous. If we know each other in real life or you find me on my other socials, let's keep our chats here or in PMs. I don't want anyone harassing anybody, and I have a sixteen-year-old daughter who has been spared this drama so far.
I tied the knot shortly after high school, and let's just say, if my marriage were a collegiate course, it would be "F*** Up - 101." It was a masterclass in what not to do, featuring every red flag in the book. I was fresh-faced and barely off on my life journey, thinking I'd hit the jackpot. I'd assumed I'd accomplished what my parents did, that being the poster couple for marital bliss. I was so naive, always giving the benefit of the doubt. Meanwhile, my then-wife, fresh from escaping her parental fortress of solitude, went bat s*** crazy, deciding that 'living life to the fullest' didn't include me in the picture.
Before I knew it, I was Mr. Mom with our toddler while she was trapped underneath a few individuals, making up for lost time. After finally catching her in the act, I filed for a divorce and braced for the impact. Divorcing in '97 in the heart of the bible belt was not favorable towards the husband back then. What followed was straight out of a horror movie. I paid my attorney five thousand dollars to watch her take everything from my guitars and video games. She even claimed keepsakes from a departed relative, and the judge seemed happy to grant her every wish. Not only did I bid farewell to everything I owned, but my time with my son got slashed to a mere Wednesday afternoon and alternating weekends.
My faith in women was broken. I went on a few dates here and there but mostly kept it to casual encounters and dinners. I never let anyone get too close. But, in early 1999, at a friend's birthday party, I met a woman whose marriage had crashed harder than mine. She'd had a stillbirth six months into her pregnancy, and her husband dared to bring his girlfriend to the funeral. She was heartbroken, to say the least, to learn about her husband's affair and the end of her marriage on the day they laid her daughter to rest. We sat on a couch that night, swapping tales of romantic ruin. She was clever, and to me, that is an instant connection. It's rare for me to find someone who makes me laugh instead of vice versa. As I headed home, I couldn't shake her from my thoughts, kicking myself for not asking for her number.
The next, my phone rang, and it was her! She'd gotten my phone number from someone we both knew and asked: "Would you like to get food sometime?" I said, "Now sounds great!" So, I drove to her grandmother's house, and off we went on what turned out to be what I still consider the perfect date. Now, I get it; we were both lonely and had our hearts broken, but trust me, this was no spark; it was an inferno. And believe it or not, we've been inseparable since that day. We have not spent a night apart. That was twenty-five years ago, with us marrying a year after our meeting. Go ahead and facepalm, I know how it sounds, but it's hard to put the connection between us into words. Even I'm still shaking my head in disbelief.
Our families adored the two of us together. I was certain I had found my soulmate, if you believe in that, and I was certain she felt the same. We enjoyed each other's company, and our lives meshed perfectly. As with life, however, it finds those moments of bliss to take a giant s*** on you. In 2006, I began feeling ill; eating resulted in violent illness, which I initially thought was a virus. But after a week with no improvement, it was clear this was something else. I was admitted to the local hospital and underwent numerous tests. When I was first admitted, I weighed 222 pounds at a height of 6'2". Within a year, I had dropped to 146 pounds, and my condition dumbfounded the doctors. My health was deteriorating rapidly. Throughout the ordeal, she never left my side, her hand in mine, begging me not to leave her.
In late 2007, a last-ditch effort sent me to the Cleveland Clinic, where a young doctor rushed me into surgery. When I awoke three hours later, she was there, hand in mine, with a smile. It was a success; I was cured. While I'll spare you the details, it involved my colon. Finally, I could eat and move without agony. My life resumed, and we were happy again. The following year, she received a lucrative job offer in her field, earning more than I did. That didn't bother me at all; she worked hard, and she'd earned it.
After her miscarriage, my wife was unable to conceive. We had been trying since 2000 and eventually came to terms with the fact that it might not happen. In 2010, we got a call from the state of Minnesota about a two-year-old girl who had been taken from her mother due to drug-related charges. They asked if we would consider adopting her because the mother had requested she be placed with family members before her parental rights were terminated. My wife and I drove for 30 hours to meet her, and after a few months, we adopted her and welcomed her into our home.
Our daughter faced social challenges and had endured abuse, leading the two of us to decide one of us needed to be at home with her. As mentioned, my wife earned significantly more, so it made sense for me to be the one to step into the role. I dedicated each day to supporting our daughter's mental health. While I played a part, I can't claim all the credit for this; her preschool, kindergarten, and therapist were instrumental in her learning to socialize and trust again. Eventually, I took up freelance journalism, so I was home when our little one finished her school day.
Our evenings were family time, and we took small trips on weekends. It was in 2017 that my wife returned from work one evening, deeply shaken by what she told me was a workplace argument. Despite my attempts to console her, she remained incorrigible. She was declaring her intent to find a new job. She'd never had any issues before, so I was stunned. For days, she was a mess and withdrawn. When I pressed for details, she'd say, "It would only upset you. Let me deal with it."
True to her word, she left for a new company within a week, accepting a 15 percent reduction in pay. I should have questioned it then, but she never gave me cause for concern. Once she began her new role, life returned to normal, and our family happily moved forward. In 2022, I published my first novel with an independent publisher, fulfilling a lifelong dream. I could sense the pride emanating from both my wife and daughter. I had achieved this milestone before my fiftieth birthday, and I couldn't wait to start on my second one.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, this is where my world breaks. In 2023, as I was finishing up my new novel, my twenty-seven-year-old son from my first marriage died suddenly of a heart attack. He had an underlying condition that none of us knew about. I want everyone to understand that when you say, "I couldn't imagine my child dying," you truly can't. There is no pain quite like it. My wife and daughter, who also felt his loss deeply, did their best to support me. But there is no way to deal with such a tragedy. In the months following his death, I immersed myself in my work, striving to complete my second book for him.
On the day I finished it in January, my father passed away after a long battle. Dad had been ill for a long time. You think you can prepare yourself for that, but that's a lie you tell yourself. The loss was hard, and my daughter was instrumental in getting me back on my feet. My second book was released in February, and I tried to smile as I had my release party. At the beginning of April, I started feeling better, writing outlines for my third novel and doing the same things I'd always done with my wife and daughter.
My wife and I have a Wednesday tradition where she picks a random recipe she finds online, and we cook it together. On April 3rd, while making crockpot chicken tacos, I thanked her for everything. She asked why, and I thanked her for everything she'd done to get me through the tough times. I shared a lot of pent-up emotions, telling her I couldn't have managed without her. She started crying, then weeping, and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably. I tried to comfort her with a hug, but she pushed me away. I apologized, not realizing my words would stir such a reaction.
Suddenly, she confesses her infidelity. I laughed, mistaking it for a joke. She grabs my shoulders and then details how, back in 2017, a 28-year-old at her former job started flirting with her, and she reciprocated. She believed it was innocent, yet it persisted. My wife has always feared growing old. Her birthdays were days she dreaded every year. She admitted that the attention from a younger man was exhilarating. She told me that turning 40 had sent her into a tailspin and that she couldn't talk to me about it because I would have just shrugged it off.
He invited her to leave work early and come to his place one day. She couldn't understand why she chose to; maybe it was the thrill. She said she didn't know, but she went and ended up sleeping with him. Afterward, she felt terrible, glaring at her keychain in his driveway because it had a photo of me holding our daughter. She drove home, and that's when she lied about having a workplace argument. She never wanted to return there. It's why she suddenly went somewhere else. She then told me she wanted to tell me but didn't have the fortitude to do it.
I remained silent, just wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She apologized, saying she couldn't live with it any longer. I just shook my head, unable to speak a single word. She offered to leave if that's what I wanted, to attend counseling, or even to beg for my forgiveness. Instead, I picked up my AirPods and phone and walked out. I wandered from six in the evening until almost eleven that night. When I returned, she was on the loveseat, asking if I was ready to talk. I shook my head again, went to my office, where I had a couch, and slept there.
The next day, after our daughter left for school, she asked if I had anything to say. I said yes. I questioned why she brought this up after the worst year of my life. Why couldn't she have kept it to herself until I could somewhat deal with something of this magnitude? She just looked away. I scoffed and told her to go to work and to try not to f*** anyone during her lunch break. That would have been April 4th; those were the last words I said to her until last night.
She had attempted to talk to me several times, but I would just walk past her into my office, trying to focus on my upcoming science fiction comedy book. Writing something funny is challenging when the thought of your spouse rolling around with another man stuck in her consumes your thoughts. A week ago, my daughter asked in the car if everything was okay, and I lied to her, which made me feel sick. Then, last night, my wife came to the office door and asked, "Are we getting a divorce?" I looked at her and replied, "Looks like it." She started crying and closed the door.
I haven't consulted an attorney, and the thought of divorce hadn't crossed my mind until she mentioned it. That's why I wrote this essay. Where do I go from here? How do I start to untangle this mess? I have no desire for therapy. I don't even want to step outside. I'm broken at this moment. The burden of everything has been overwhelming. There's been so much to bear this past year. What do you say to someone who has been by your side through it all, only to tear your heart apart?
Thank you for reading to the end. And for those who are part of the TLDR crowd, my wife decided to go home with a younger man, felt guilty about it, and quit her job. She waited eight years to tell me about it.
Comments
Foreign_Flight4566
Jesus, man. I’m sorry for your loss(es). Timing of your wife’s confession is mind-boggling. Realistically, this is above Reddit’s pay grade. I’ll recommend therapy, but probably above a therapist’s pay grade too. I know you also state you don’t want therapy, but that sounds like the exact time you need it. They can offer grief support, which is what you’ll need as you tease out emotions from losing loved ones and a very nasty betrayal. I hope you find happiness in whatever you decide.
OOP: I contemplated several different subs and I have no idea why I chose this one. I should have clarified above that after my son died, local hospice house around here has grief counseling, which I used extensively. I don't want to do couple's counseling is what I should have said. My apologies. I posted this to try and get outside perspectives from people, and maybe give me a different angle to look at this.
cakivalue
Not couples counseling but individual therapy for you. You need the support right now after all you've been through and an unbiased third party to support you through the pain and demise of your marriage, next steps and co-parenting.
My unprofessional angle here is that this is most likely over. Had she come clean in 2017 you would have been able to make a choice regarding forgiveness, couples therapy etc. she held on to this secret for seven years and then dumped it on you at the worst time in order to ease her own guilty feelings. Especially knowing that you had both been hurt in this exact way in the past is especially jaw dropping that she did all of this.
Magnum_tv
Fuck man! This is...just fuck...
Firstly, I'm so sorry for your losses. I extend my sincere condolences.
You need grief counseling. This would help you put things in perspective. At least you'll be able to eventually make decisions based on logic than just pure emotion.
Secondly, your spouse. She not only betrayed you, she lied to you for eight years. EIGHT YEARS! That's fucking scary, because now you're gonna be wondering what else she can be hiding.
Now I'm an asshole, I'd be out of that marriage tomorrow. You however, have truly built a life with her. If, and I mean a big fucking IF, she's regretful, you should divorce, it would be less stress in your life having to be her warden. Because the trust is gone.
If, she's remorseful, you could try to work it out. But she needs to put in the work. Not you, HER. Because she's the one who fucked up.
Remember, regret and remorse are two completely different things.
I'd recommend you still talk to a lawyer before making a final decision. The more informed you are, the better choice you'll be able to make.
I'm truly sorry you're dealing with this, best of luck brother.
OOP: Thank you so much. This is another thing in the back of my mind what else has she been dishonest about?
Update - 3 days later
UPDATE - After spending Saturday morning formulating and reading the staggering number of comments, I've made my decision. Some said my issue was far beyond the Reddit pay grade – they were mistaken. I deliberately avoided turning to family and friends, seeking a view from an outside perspective, and I think it worked. My gratitude goes out to all who sent private messages and responded; your thoughts on the matter helped me come to my conclusion.
On Saturday evening, I approached my wife to apologize for the silent treatment, I told her I wasn't attempting to punish her and acknowledged that it was childish. I told her if I would have opened my mouth, I would have been overly harsh and ruined any opportunity of a civil conversation. I promised we'd discuss it the next day.
On Sunday evening, I let it all out; I didn't cry, or raise my voice. I asked the man's name, which she provided. I asked her if the man was married when she betrayed us, and she confirmed he was. That hit me hard, because she knew he was also with someone. I asked if he was still married. She told me she had no clue, she hadn't seen him since the day she left for her new job. I told her I hoped they were, because I was going to make sure she knew. If my life had to be ripped apart, so would his. I thought that would get a rise out of her, it didn't. She just nodded.
I expressed my doubts about the affair being an isolated event, echoing the comments of several others. She maintained it was a one-off and was the sole reason she left her job. I explained that after eight years of this lie, it's natural for me to question anything she said. I then made it clear that if there's more to the story than what she's admitted, now is the time to be as open and honest as possible.
Any further revelations would be a deal-breaker for me, and there would be no excuse that could rectify it. She pleaded it was a singular occurrence and that she's been wanting to confess since it happened. I asked if he had reached out after her departure, she denied any contact. I responded that it didn't surprise me, assuming he got what he wanted and moved on to another person at work. It was the only cheap shot I threw.
I requested that she leave the house for a few weeks, I wasn't telling her it was over, but I wanted to be away from her. I suggested she could stay with her sister, her mother, or even rent a place—anywhere but here. I also informed her of my intention to discuss the situation with our daughter, who is 16 by the way, some people have commented believing her to be quite younger. To my surprise, my wife revealed she had already told her about a week ago, which I was completely unaware of. She inquired about the tone of the house, and my anger, and my wife confessed to her. Before my daughter went to bed, I asked her, and indeed, my wife had admitted that she had been unfaithful. I wanted to know why she hadn't come to me about it, and she told me she didn't want to make me feel worse.
I've decided to keep her home from school tomorrow to have a heart-to-heart about everything. It's important for me to understand her feelings and to emphasize that harboring hatred towards her mother isn't the goal. Her mother has always been loving and supportive. It's natural for her to feel angry, and that's okay, but picking sides isn't beneficial – nobody wins in this situation. It's a tough reality I'm coming to terms with, everyone loses. Tomorrow, I plan to contact three local therapists and reach out to the grief counselor I met after my son's death. I'm not interested in couple's therapy; I believe individual therapy is what I need, and since it's highly recommended, I'm going to pursue it.
My daughter's school year is ending soon, and I'm looking forward to spending quality time with her. I prefer to keep our plans private from family and friends; it's our personal matter. Someone advised me about controlling the narrative, but the only thing that matters now is that my daughter knows the truth. I need some time to come to terms if this relationship is salvageable. I need this time for self-reflection and to assess the situation. When she asked if we were going the route of legal separation, I clarified that it wasn't the case. I told her that when I look at her it brings up feelings of anger, which isn't healthy.
To my astonishment, she consented to everything. She doesn't want our relationship to end, and I reminded her that her actions with him forfeited that choice to me. She mentioned my wedding ring as a sign that she still matters to me, and I assured her that she does. I proposed we conclude things there. As I walked by, I touched her shoulder; she nodded in agreement. Later, she phoned her sister and made plans to stay with her the following evening after work.
TLDR. I want to express my gratitude to everyone for their support and guidance, except to the asshole that just wanted to pick a fight. I apologize for the length of my initial post; I believed the full context was necessary to help you understand why I'm so conflicted. To those who reached out privately and know my identity, your discretion is deeply appreciated. I'm looking forward to spending the next month with my daughter and starting therapy. Your messages are welcome, and I'll do my best to respond to each one. I'll provide another update in the future when I've made a decision about our next steps or if it's time to move on. I am not rushing into this decision lightly.
Comments
Bolt_McHardsteel
Clearly you have given this a lot of thought, and come up with a way forward that is best for you. Good luck in therapy, get yourself mentally right, there is no rush to make a final decision on your marriage. Take good care of your daughter! She seems like an amazing kid. Hang in there.
I am not the OOP. Please do not harass the OOP.
Please remember the No Brigading Rule and to be civil in the comments