Esl sentence structure

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2024.05.19 16:13 adondshilt How to avoid your assignment paper from being plagiarized

How to avoid your assignment paper from being plagiarized
While plagiarism checkers are helpful, preventing your work from being copied in the first place is ideal. Here are some strategies to safeguard your originality:
https://preview.redd.it/m1cgynkk5e1d1.png?width=1500&format=png&auto=webp&s=4c228084a199f64969c15576ae3eb091233d4be5
· Limited Sharing: Be cautious about sharing your draft with everyone. Offer it to trusted classmates for feedback, but consider using a plagiarism checker beforehand to identify any unintentional overlap with common sources.
· Strong Citation Practices: Ensure your sources are well-documented. Use a citation style guide (e.g., MLA, APA) consistently and meticulously. This makes it clear which ideas are yours and which are borrowed.
· Watermarking (Optional): Some institutions allow discreet watermarks on drafts. This doesn't prevent copying entirely, but it can deter casual plagiarism and make it easier to identify your work if it surfaces elsewhere.
Focus on making your paper difficult to copy effectively:
· Unique Argument & Analysis: Strive for a strong, original thesis statement. Don't just present facts; analyze them from your own perspective. This makes your work harder to replicate without significant rethinking.
· Clear & Explanatory Writing: Express your ideas clearly and avoid overly technical language. A well-written paper is less likely to be copied verbatim because it can be understood and paraphrased more easily.
· Vary Sentence Structure: Incorporate a mix of sentence lengths and structures. This discourages someone from copying large chunks of text directly.
Remember, the best defense against plagiarism is a strong, well-written paper that showcases your critical thinking and unique perspective. By using compliantpapers.com website you get an absolute effective platform that will push your grades to soar to greater heights
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2024.05.19 15:55 adulting4kids Obscure Literary Devices

  1. Epistrophe: Repetition of a word or phrase at the end of successive clauses.
  2. Anadiplosis: Repetition of the last word of one clause at the beginning of the next.
  3. Aposiopesis: Breaking off a sentence abruptly as if unwilling to continue.
  4. Epizeuxis: Immediate repetition of a word for emphasis.
  5. Chiasmus: Reversal of grammatical structures in successive phrases.
  6. Enjambment: Continuation of a sentence without a pause beyond the end of a line, stanza, or verse.
  7. Paraprosdokian: Unexpected ending or twist in a phrase or series.
  8. Anaphora: Repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses.
  9. Hendiadys: Use of two nouns to express an idea when normally one would suffice.
  10. Litotes: Emphasizing the magnitude of a statement by denying its opposite.
  11. Pleonasm: Use of more words than necessary to convey meaning.
  12. Synecdoche: A part is used to represent the whole or vice versa.
  13. Cacophony: Harsh, discordant sounds.
  14. Aporia: Expressing doubt about an idea or conclusion.
  15. Tmesis: Insertion of one or more words between the components of a compound word.
  16. Polyptoton: Repetition of words derived from the same root.
  17. Epithet: Descriptive word or phrase expressing a quality of the person or thing mentioned.
  18. Sibilance: Repetition of the 's' sound.
  19. Prolepsis: Anticipating an objection and answering it.
  20. Epanalepsis: Repetition of the initial word or words of a clause at the end of that same clause.
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2024.05.19 15:01 ibid-11962 Writing and Publishing Eragon [Post Murtagh Christopher Paolini Q&A Wrap Up #6]

As discussed in the first post, this is my ongoing compilation of the remaining questions Christopher has answered online between August 1st 2023 and April 30th 2024 which I've not already covered in other compilations.
As always, questions are sorted by topic, and each Q&A is annotated with a bracketed source number. Links to every source used and to the other parts of this compilation will be provided in a comment below.
The previous post focused on details about the writing of Murtagh. This installment will focus on The Writing and Publication of Eragon, including the early abandoned starts and drafts the preceded the self-published version and Christopher's journey towards getting traditionally published. In this post the topics are arranged in almost a chronological order. The next post will focus on the writing of the Fractalverse, and so will be posted on /Fractalverse.

Writing and Publishing Eragon

The Original Idea
[When I start to write a new book] I have an image. There’s always a strong emotional component to the image, and it’s that emotion that I want to convey to readers. Everything I do after that, all of the worldbuilding, plotting, characterization, writing, and editing—all of it—is done with the goal of evoking the desired reaction from readers. In the case of the Inheritance Cycle, the image was that of a young man finding a dragon egg (and later having the dragon as a friend). [10]
Who's your favorite character to write? Well, for me, it's the dragon Saphira. She's the reason I got into writing a dragon. She came first? She came before Eragon? Like she was the catalyst? The relationship came first, her and Eragon. [33]
I was specifically inspired by a YA book called Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville, which is a delightful book. I just loved that idea so much of finding a dragon egg, I was like, "Well, what sort of a world would a dragon come from?" And I knew I wanted the sort of bond between rider and dragon that Anne McCaffrey had, but I wanted the intelligence of the dragons that you find elsewhere, and the language and the magic. And I wanted sparkly scales because it just seemed like dragons are fabulous creatures and they ought to have sparkly scales. That's the fun thing about writing your own books. You can make them exactly the way you want to make them, and hopefully then that appeals to the audience as well. [30]
All of that kind of was swirling around in my head, and I wanted to write about dragons in a way that kind of combined a lot of elements in a way that, "I like this", and "I like this piece", and "I like this piece", but I kind of wanted to have all these different pieces in one type of dragon, and no one had quite done it exactly the way I wanted. [30]
I live in Montana, and our library is an old Carnegie or Rockefeller library, and especially back in the 90s, it didn't have that many books. So once I read all the fantasy in the library, I thought I had read all the fantasy there was to read. Because I was not the smartest kid in the world sometimes. And I kind of thought, "Well, it's the library. They have all the books that exist, right? All the books that matter are in the library." And I really had no idea what to read after that. So I decided to start writing myself and to try and write the sort of story that I would enjoy reading. And of course, what I enjoyed reading was books about flying on dragons and fighting monsters and having adventures. [35]
Reading and literature was always important in our family. My father's mother was a professor of comparative literature and wrote books on Dante and all sorts of stuff like that. Was the myths and folklore part of your life at this time? Yes, but I should clarify that it wasn't formally introduced to me. It was in the house. People weren't wandering around talking about. It was just like the Aeneid is sitting on the shelf. I would go read things. I have a great uncle. He's 90 now, my mother's uncle. Guy is still sharp as a tack. It's amazing. But he gave me a set of cassette tapes of Joseph Campbell, who did Hero of a Thousand Faces. So that was my exposure to his theories of the monomyth and the eternal hero and all sorts of things like that. That got me very much interested in and thinking about the origins of the fantasy that I was reading because I was reading Tolkien and David Eddings and Anne McCaffrey and Raymond Feist and Jane Yolan and Andre Norton and Brian Jaques, and all of these you know authors who were popular at the time. I was very curious where does this come from. Tolkien, of course, felt like sort of the origin in a lot of cases but then I was discovering that, there are earlier stories that even Tolkien was drawing from. That was really a revelation to me. I really sort of got enamored with it. A lot of fantasy is nostalgic and that appealed to me because I was homeschooled and my family didn't really have a lot of relatives in the area, so I felt very unmoored from the rest of society. I think I was looking for a sense of tradition or continuity with the past and fantasy helped provide that. That's an incredibly articulate thought for a 15-year-old author. Or has that come with age? No, it was something I was feeling at the time. You were conscious of it at the time? Well, listening to the Joseph Campbell stuff, I was looking: Where are our coming of age traditions? Where is the great quest to go on to prove yourself as a young adult, as a man? Where's the great adventure? What do I do in life? Those are all things that are part of the adolescent experience and always have been which is why so many mythic stories about coming of age deal with those questions. I think it's a universal thing. That's why Harry Potter, Eragon, Twilight, all of these have appealed so much because they deal with adolescence. They deal with finding your place in the world as an adult when you're starting as a young adult or a child. [28]
What games have taught you to be a better writer either in creating characters or worldbuilding or plotting even? All of my gaming experience was computer games, video games. One that had a huge influence on me was the old Myst series. Personally I love solving puzzles, so that's the first thing. And also the concept of the series, especially with the second game, Riven, it's all based around people writing books that create new worlds. And you get to go in them and solve puzzles and understand how that world works. And that just tickled every single part of my brain back in the day. Now, I'm going to be slightly unkind here, and I apologize if the author [David Wingrove] is listening to this, but there were a couple of novels based off of Myst. And I was such a fan of the series that I got the books, and I started reading them. And my first thought was, "I could do better than this." And so I decided to rewrite the first Myst novel. And I created a document in MS Word, and I got exactly three sentences into my rewrite. And I thought to myself, "okay, I think I can do this, but I could never sell it. So I better go write something of my own." And the next thing I did was Eragon. So video games kind of had a direct influence on me writing. But actually reading something that I felt was not particularly successful was such an inspiration. Because it was like, "this got published, I know I can at least get to this level." And it was published. And then maybe I can shoot for a little bit higher. [pause] I think some people have had that experience with Eragon. [26]

Early Abandoned Starts

I had the original idea, the concept of boy finding dragon egg, and I tried writing a couple of very short versions of Eragon when I was fourteen, and none of them panned out so I stopped writing for a while. [28]
Real World Version
What do you remember about the early days of writing “Eragon?” Originally, Eragon was named Kevin and the story was set in the real world. But I only finished around 10 pages. [16]
I wrote three versions of Eragon before I wrote the version that had the unicorn, which was the first major draft. The first version was set in the real world, and that's why he's named Kevin. And the reason it was set in the real world is I was inspired by Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher, which is set in the real world. [32]
I was specifically inspired by a book called Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville. By the way, Bruce knows this. If you haven't read it, it's a great book about this young man in the real world who, spoiler, goes into an antique shop and buys a stone that ends up turning out to be a dragon egg. And I really loved that idea of a stone that was actually a dragon egg and the young man becoming joined with the dragon. And so I tried writing the story. And I got exactly five pages or six pages into it and I ran into a brick wall, because a boy finding a dragon egg is a good event, but it is not a good story. And I needed to figure out what was going to happen after that. I didn't know that at first. [36]
Arya Opening Fantasy Version
But then I was going down the rabbit hole of, "Well, if there's a dragon, where did the dragon come from? What if it were an actual fantasy world where the dragons were native?" And then that led me to then write a second beginning--I didn't get very far with this--that was more of a traditional fantasy story, and it opened with Arya and a couple other elves escaping a dungeon with a big battle, and at the very end of the battle, they send the dragon egg away, and Kevin finds it. But I didn't have the rest of the story, so I stopped writing it in that format. [32]
So I tried writing a second version of the story. So the first version of that story I wrote was set in the real world. Second version was more of like a fantasy world. [36]
I had the original idea when I was fourteen. I even wrote an early version of the story where it was set in the real world. But I soon realized that it was a lot more interesting to have a dragon in a fantastical setting. [8]
Research Break
I tried writing before and I always failed because I would only get like four to six pages into a story and then I didn't know what to do next. And that was because I didn't actually have my story. All I really had were the inciting incidents, like a boy finds a dragon egg in the middle of a forest. Great. But that's not a story, that's just one event. What happens as a result? So before starting Eragon, I was very methodical about this. I read a whole bunch of books on how to write, how to plot stories. [35]
I realized I wasn't getting anywhere. And I didn't know how to do what I was trying to do. Now, fortunately for me, my parents had noticed that I was getting interested in writing. And all of a sudden, books appeared in the house. There was no comment, no one forced it, these just magically appeared, and I read them. Some of the books that were incredibly helpful to me were these books that were called The Writer's Handbook, which was a collection of essays published each year by The Writer's Digest magazine. I had one from 1998, and I had one from, I think, 1993, or something like that. And there were essays from Stephen King and John Grisham and I think Ursula Le Guin and all sorts of other authors about what it was like to be an author both professionally and creatively. And that was incredibly helpful to me because again, the internet was not a resource. But the book that really made the difference for me was a book called Story by Robert McKee. It's a book for screenwriters and it's all about the structure of story. And up until that moment, I had never really consciously thought about the fact that stories have structure and that you can control that structure for the effect on the readers. So I devoured that book and I said, okay, I'm going to try this again. [36]
Did you very much sit down and study structure and character development and etc? I did. It wasn't a formal course or anything, it's just that my parents started buying these books and they started showing up. In fact, I still have them here on my shelf. This bookcase to my right is full of research books, technical books, language books. I read a book called Story by Robert McKee, which is a screenwriting book, that was and often has been very popular in Hollywood. It's a fairly technical look at story structure. I would never say do everything he says because of course you shouldn't necessarily follow any one formula, but that book really got me thinking about the fact that stories do have structure, which I hadn't really thought about before that. And that one can control that structure, and that this gives you something to work with. Before Eragon, I tried writing a number of stories and I never got past the first four to six pages, ten pages, because I never had the plot. All I would ever have was the inciting incident which, in the case of Eragon, is a young man finds a dragon egg. Ok, fine, but that's not a story. So when I read that book, then I was like wow, so I can control the structure of this. [28]
The problem with all of my early writing was that I’d get an idea and just start — I didn’t actually have a plot. But I was a pretty methodical kid, so I started reading about how to write. Fortunately, my parents are observant, and these kinds of books magically began appearing in the house. And I read all of them. [16]
Unused Arya Outline
So at this point, I was 15, that's when I graduated from high school and I was very methodical about it because I hate failing. So I said, okay, I'm going to create a fantasy world. And I did that. And then I said, I'm gonna plot out an entire book in this fantasy world. And I did that too. And then I said, but I'm not gonna write this. This is just a thought exercise. I'm gonna do this and I'm gonna stick it in a drawer. And I still have that to this day, that world and that story, I still have it sitting in a drawer somewhere. [36]
Then I spent some time and I created an entire fantasy world and I plotted out an entire fantasy novel in that world and I did not write it. I just stuck it in a drawer and that's where it's been sitting for 25 years now. And then I just did that to prove to myself that I could plot out an entire book. [35]
Before writing Eragon, again I was very methodical even as a teenager, I created an entire fantasy world. Wrote pages and pages about the worldbuilding, and then I plotted out an entire story in that world just to prove to myself that I could plot a story, create a world, and then I didn't write it. I put it aside. I still have it all saved. Put it in a drawer. [28]

Kevin

Writing The First Full Draft
And then I decided okay now I'm going to plot out a trilogy, because all great fantasy stories are trilogies. I'm going to do it as the heroic monomyth, because that is, at least my understanding back then, is this is one of the oldest forms of stories. I know it works on a general sense. It's going to give me a safety net, and then I'm going to write the first book as a practice book just to see if I'm capable of producing something that's three, four, five hundred pages long. And that's what I did. That was about two and a half months of worldbuilding, plotting, creating this. Then I wrote the first book and that was Eragon. That was my practice book. I never actually planned on publishing Eragon. It was only after I'd put so much work into it and my parents read it that then we proceeded with it. I was aware of story structure. I continue to read lots of books on it. [28]
And then version three is the version that everyone generally knows. And that's where I spent the time to plot out the whole series before writing, because having a idea of where you're going seems to help with the writing, at least for me. Usually. [32]
I originally saw Eragon as a practice novel, which is part of why it’s a very typical hero’s story. I knew that structure worked and it gave me the safety net I needed. [16]
The first draft went super fast. It went really fast because I had no idea what I was doing. And I just wrote that sucker. I wrote the first 60 pages by hand with ballpoint pen, cause I didn't know how to type on a computer. And then by the time I typed all that into the computer, I knew how to type. I did the rest in the computer. But this was back in the day when computers were fairly new. We had a Mac classic, which only had two megabytes of RAM. And the problem is that the operating system chewed up some of that memory. And my book file was around two megabytes large. So I actually had to split the book into two because I couldn't open the whole file on the computer or the computer would crash. So I had to open half the book and then close that and then open the other half. [35]
The First Draft
Once I finished the first draft, I was super excited and I thought, "well all of these things on how to write say that you should read your own book and see if there's any tweaks you wanna make." But I was really excited because I was getting to read my own book for the first time, and I thought this is gonna be awesome. And it didn't take very long while reading it to realize that it was awful. It was horrible. And just to give you an idea of just how bad that first draft was, in the very first draft of Eragon, Eragon wasn't named Eragon, Eragon was named Kevin. And there was also a unicorn in that first draft at one point, so you know it wasn't very good. [35]
If I heard correctly as I was reading, Eragon wasn't originally called Eragon? No, in the first draft of the book he was called Kevin. There's a reason! Look I have an explanation for it, okay. The explanation is that my original inspiration was Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher which is set in the real world. The original version of Eragon that I was developing was set in the real world and when I decided that it would make more sense to have a world where the dragons were native to and switched it over to this fantasy world and began to develop that, I just kept the name that I'd been working with, which was Kevin. Naming a main character is hard, especially when you get used to a certain name. I don't want to say I was lazy. I want to focus on the world building and writing the first draft and I'll worry about the name later. [28]
There is an early version of Eragon that no one's seen, that even my editor at Random House never saw. And that was my first draft. And in that first draft, Eragon encountered a unicorn in the Beor Mountains on the way to the Varden. And the unicorn touches him and essentially affects the transformation that he goes under during the blood oath ceremony with the elves in the second book, in Eldest. And his whole storyline with the Varden once he gets to Farthen Dûr is completely different because now he has these abilities and he and a team of people ends up getting sent on a scouting mission in the dwarven tunnels to go find the Urgal army and then they have to flee back through the tunnels to warn everyone of this huge army and I had a underground cave full of lava, and multiple shades, and a huge Urgal army. There was there was a lot of dramatic stuff. Finding the Ra'zac in Dras-Leona was completely different. This is the draft where Eragon was named Kevin. [32]
I haven't thought about that version in ages. I think Arya was awake all the way from Gil'ead to Farthen Dûr in that version. That's right, I had to completely rewrite that. It's an unpleasant ride for her. No, no, no, she was awake and healed. She was awake. That's right, God, I had to rewrite most of the last chunk of the book now that I think back, it's been a long time. [32]
The worst thing is, I think Kevin would actually take a larger budget [to adapt to film]. No, stop. Why would Kevin take a larger budget? Because the battles were bigger, there was more stuff going on. Seriously, there were more creatures, more travel. Yeah, I think Kevin would actually take more money than Eragon. [32]
You said that Eragon's name was originally Kevin. Was Eragon's name originally Kevin? It was. And I really regret I didn't stick with it because I think that as many books as I've sold, the series would have been at least twice as successful if it had been about the adventures of the great dragon writer Kevin. Especially just seeing Kevin on the front cover. Imagine the appeal to the modern youth. Kevin the dragon writer. I mean Eragon, it's confusing with Aragorn. Oregano. Oregon. But Kevin, Kevin stands out, Kevin's original. That's why I had to move away from it. [31]
Releasing the Kevin Cut
So do you wanna share some of those drafts with us, Christopher? Just kidding. Well, I actually had a fan reach out to me. He's one of the big members of the online fan community on Reddit and elsewhere. And he's kind of interested in some of these early versions from almost an archivist point of view, a scholarly point of view. Which is certainly an interesting idea. I mean, there is an early version of Eragon that no one's seen, that even my editor at Random House never saw. ... I cannot describe how much the Internet absolutely needs for you to put out an edition of Eragon that just says Kevin. Should this be like Mistborn or Way of Kings Prime? This is the Kevin edition of Eragon. The Kevin cut. Oh my god. It's "Eragon: Kevin's Version". ... We absolutely need Kevin's Version of Eragon. That's something we need. It's bad. It's bad. Look, there are certainly people who can look at Eragon, the version we have now, and say, "we can tell this was a younger writer." I look at it and I can tell. I could do so much more now with the material than I could then. But if you think that about the published version of Eragon, man, if you saw the unpublished version, the early version, it really is the raw writing of a homeschooled 15-year-old, who wrote a 500 page book about Kevin. I don't know, the internet is very unhinged these days. They would love this. It needs to exist somewhere on the internet. [32]

Publishing

Editing
So I wrote Eragon, and then I read the first draft and it wasn't particularly good, so I spent a good chunk of a year rewriting it as best as I could. I didn't know what I was doing but I was trying. I've heard it said that being displeased with your own work is actually a good thing because it means you know what is good work, and if you're not happy with your work because it's not good, it means you could at least have a goal to shoot for. If you read your work and you're like this is the best thing that's ever been written, you're never going to get any better. [28]
But I could see that the book needed work, so I decided to try to fix it as best I could, and I spent the better part of that year revising, rewriting, changing Kevin to Eragon. And then I gave the book to my parents and fortunately for me, they actually enjoyed what I had done. And they said, we think you have something, let's try to take it out into the world and see if anyone else wants to read it. [35]
Self-publishing
[We] decided to self-publish the book as a joint venture since we didn't know anyone in the publishing world. That was again a good chunk of a year where we were editing the book as best the three of us could. Preparing it for publication, formatting, I drew the cover. [28]
Now you have to understand, my parents were always self-employed, have always been self-employed and we were always looking for things we could work on together as a family business. And Eragon was like the perfect opportunity for that. They'd had some experience self-publishing a couple of small educational books my mom had worked on. Because she was a trained Montessori teacher, and so she was trying to use that expertise to write some material herself. But I don't even think we sold 100 copies of those. So we spent another good chunk of a year preparing the book for publication with doing more editing, doing the layout, designing the cover. [35]
The first set of 50 books showed up while we were watching Roman Polanski's Macbeth, which seemed fitting because those first 50 books were all miscut from the printer. And as a result, we had to rip the covers off, send them back for credit from the printer, and then burn the insides of the books. So we had a proper book burning in our yard, and I actually saved some of those burnt pages just as a memory of that event. [35]
Self publishing wasn’t as viable then as a pathway to a career as an author as it is today. Why did it work for you? Everything completely changed because of e-readers. If you wanted to read an e-book, you had to have a PDF on your computer. There were no distribution systems like Amazon and Barnes & Noble. Back then, the lowest amount you could print and not have the book be too expensive was probably about 10,000 copies. But we were fortunate because print-on-demand had just become a thing, so books were just printed as needed. Self publishing is a lot easier these days. Of course, today’s marketplace is a lot more crowded as a result. [16]
Promotion
My family and I were going around the western half of the United States with the self-published edition of Eragon. I was cold calling schools, libraries, and bookstores to set up events. I was doing two to three one-hour long presentations every single day for months on end at various times. You have to understand that because my parents were self-employed, the time they took to help prepare Eragon for publication was time they weren't working on other freelance projects that would have been bringing in money. So by the time we actually had Eragon printed and in hand, if it had taken another two to three months to start turning a profit, we were going to have to sell our house, move to a city, and get any jobs we could. Because of that financial pressure I was willing to do things I probably would have been too uncomfortable to do otherwise. Like doing all those presentations. [28]
We were doing a lot of self-promotion. I was cold calling schools and libraries and talking them into letting me do presentations. And that worked pretty well because the librarians could take pre-orders for us. If we went into a bookstore, by hand selling, I could maybe sell anywhere between 13 to 40 books in a day. 42 was like the best I ever did, but usually it was around 15 or so books, which just didn't cover printing costs and travel and food and all of that. But going into the schools, we were doing about 300 books a day, which was excellent. [34]
Can you tell me a little bit about how you and your family self-published the first Eragon book and what marketing strategies you did? Oh, it was all nepotism, you know. I wouldn't have gotten published without my parents. There's nothing as powerful as a publishing company that's four people sitting around a kitchen table in the middle of rural Montana. So yeah, without Nepotism, I wouldn't have gotten published. You have to embrace something like Nepotism if you really wanna succeed in today's world. In fact, people don't realize that you actually get a Nepotism card. There's a secret club. You go to New York and there's huge network opportunities. There's branches of the club everywhere, especially strong in Hollywood, of course, in music. Taylor Swift is an example. So if you can get into the nepotism club, I won't say you're guaranteed success, but you got about 80% chance of actually making it that you wouldn't have otherwise. Do you think your mom and dad would be willing to be my mom and dad? No, absolutely not. No, no. You don't have brown hair, so it doesn't work. You have to have brown hair to be a Paolini. Okay, I'll try to find a different way in, I guess. [31]
Getting traditionally published
So you were very much looking for that partnership? Well we were wary. But the thing is is we were selling enough copies of Eragon that to scale it up we were going to have to start duplicating all the things that a regular publisher does. We were actually looking at partnering with a book packager or a book distributor just to get more copies out. To do everything a traditional publisher could do for me was a huge amount of work so it made sense to pair with Random House or someone else at that point. But it was still nerve-wracking because the book was being a success and then handing it off to another company, we didn't know if it was just going to end up in the remainder bin two weeks after it came out. [28]
People in the book world were starting to take notice because of course, if you've been to public school, you may remember the Scholastic Book Fairs and all of the Scholastic reps in the different schools were seeing me come to the schools and selling these books and hearing the kids talk about it. And it was getting attention. So we would have gotten a publisher, I would have gotten a publisher eventually. [34]
The book sold enough copies and bounced around enough that we'd heard that Scholastic—because Scholastic does all the Book Fairs in schools in the US—was interested and that we might get an offer from them. Before that happened though... [34]
Eventually another author by the name of Carl Hiaasen ended up buying a copy of the self-published edition of Eragon in a local bookstore. Which now that I'm older, I'm rather shocked at because it takes a lot to get me to buy a self-published book. It's got to look really good. [35]
Carl Hiaasen wrote the young adult book Hoot as well as many adult books. He comes up to Montana, I think he's got a vacation home here in the valley, but he was up here fly fishing and he bought a copy of Eragon for his then 12 year old son, Ryan. And fortunately for me, Ryan liked the book and Carl recommended it to Random House and it sort of bounced around among the editors for a couple of months before my editor-to-be grabbed it and said, "Yes, we will. I want to take a chance on this teenage author and we're going to offer him money for a trilogy that only exists in his head and see what happens." [34]
How did you find an agent? We had the offer from Random House, and like two days later, we had the offer from Scholastic. And so we knew we didn't know what we didn't know. My dad participated in some online self-publishing forum sort of thing. So he posted up a question and said, look, this is the situation we're in. Does anyone have any advice? And another one of the members said, "well, I was just at this publishing writing conference and there was this young agent there and I was really impressed with his presentation, or him talking about the industry." So my dad got his information online and did what you're never supposed to do, which is he called the agent directly and left this long rambling voicemail message because it was lunchtime in New York and you take your lunch breaks in New York. And only at the end of the message did he say, "oh, yes, and by the way, we have two competing offers from two publishing houses." And when I asked him, I said, "why did you do that?" He said, "well, because if he's any good as an agent, he's going to listen to the whole message before he deletes it." And we found out later that he nearly deleted the message. Because my dad started off like, "I got this teenage son, and he's written this book", and yeah, that, OK. So it was like two hours later we got a call from Simon. And Simon said overnight me a copy of Eragon and if I like it I'll represent you. And Simon has been my agent for 21 years now. [34]
It was a big risk for Random House. And it was a big risk for me because the book was successful, self-published, and we knew that giving it to a publisher, you lose the rights to a degree, and most books don't turn a profit, and it could have just ended up in the remainder bin. So what really worked in my favor is that Random House, and specifically Random House Children's Books, and specifically the imprint of Knopf, which is where I'm at were looking for their own Harry Potter, essentially. Scholastic was publishing Harry Potter. And Scholastic also gave me an offer for Eragon, but I could tell that Random House was the one that really loved the book and Scholastic was doing it because they thought it was a good business opportunity. Scholastic actually offered more money than Random House. But I went with Random House and it was the right choice. And I found out after the fact that Chip Gibson who was the head of the children's department at the time basically chose to use Eragon as sort of something to rally the troops and put the entire children's division behind it, and I was the very fortunate recipient of that love and attention. Which of course would only get you so far if people didn't enjoy reading the book. But fortunately for me, they did a great job marketing it and then people actually enjoyed the book. Which is why when people ask me how to get published, it's like, what am I supposed to say? The answer ultimately is you write a book that people want to read, and that's a facile answer, but it is true. If people want to read it, it makes everything else easier. The agent wants you, the publishers want you, and ultimately the public wants you. [34]
And I didn't realize how much was behind that email, because large publishers do not just casually say, "hey, we want to publish your book". There was a whole plan there, and they had a plan. And so they did. Eragon came out and then I had to figure out how to write a book with everyone expecting the sequel. [36]
So you kind of went and peddled your books at schools, as I understand, right? It seems to have paid off though, because it eventually landed in the hands of bestselling author Carl Hiaasen, but not right away. First, your book got in the hands of his stepson, and the kid liked it so much that he told Hiaasen about it, who then got Eragon fast-tracked with Penguin Random House. I really admire the way that you went for the weakest links, manipulating the minds of our youth and using them to shill your book for you. It's a tried and true marketing strategy from Girl Scout Cookies to coupon books, and I applaud you for your ingenuity. My biggest question here is, do you pay Carl Hiaasen's stepson the agent royalties he so rightfully deserves? He tried to collect one time, but I had to hire a couple of guys to drive him off. But, no, you always go for the weakest link. Back when I was self-published and all that I even tried to get Eragon reviewed by Entertainment Weekly, so I called up the subscription number on the back of the magazine and told them I'd made a mistake and asked them to transfer me over to corporate, and managed to get right to their book reviewer and tried to talk him into reviewing Eragon. So you always go for, as you said, the weakest link. Which is corporate. Ryan, Carl's son, though, yeah, I probably owe him a ridiculous amount of royalties. I'd say so. He made you. Oh, he did, absolutely. Without him, I'd be nothing. I guess the lesson here for aspiring authors is that it's not really about finding your target audience, necessarily. You just have to find your target prolific author's stepson and let the kid take it from there. Yeah, absolutely. As I said, that's part of the nepotism package. The sort of networking inside the industry. This is the stuff that you can never access otherwise, and you'll never get published otherwise. So it's not like you can just grow up in the middle of nowhere in Montana, self-publish a book, and then just become a success, by promoting it. You have to have connections. That's genius. I think you could have had an incredible career in designing loot boxes for mobile games based on how good you are at manipulating the world. Absolutely, microtransactions are God's work. [31]
Gaining Confidence
Was anxiety something you felt moving to this deal with Random House? Was that quite pressuring? Yes, it was a big change to go from writing for yourself as a teenager, homeschooled, living in the middle of nowhere, to knowing that there was a large audience for your next book and that they had expectations. I got criticized quite a bit, critiqued quite a bit when Eragon came out for, shall we say, my lack of experience on the technical side of things with the writing. I'd say some of those were certainly fair critiques. The great advantage of youth is that you don't know how difficult things are and you have a lot of energy. The great disadvantage of youth is you don't have experience, and there's no fixing that aside from time and effort. All of that was definitely in my head when I really started work on Eldest and it was pretty nerve-wracking quite honestly. [28]
When you finished the book, I mean your parents believed in it obviously. Did you too? Or were you like, "You know what, maybe the second book, maybe go all in on the second one?" I didn't feel like I was actually an author until my third book was published. Because the first one, well, that could be a fluke. Well, the second one, yeah, but you know. But once the third book came out, then I was like, okay, maybe I'm actually a writer. But even then, even after I finished the series, I still felt like, okay, now I have to write something that's not Eragon, just to prove that I can. So every book has been its own challenge and has been a way for me to keep feeling like I'm growing as an artist and learning to become a better and better writer. [2]
It took me, I wanna say almost 10 years to feel like I wasn't an imposter and that it wasn't just gonna get yanked away. You know what my dream was when Eragon was was going to get published by Random House? Like this was my pie in the sky because I didn't think it was going to happen. But this was my dream. I did all the math and I was like, man, if I could somehow someday sell 100,000 books, which is impossible. But man, if I could sell 100,000 books, that's a darn good living. Man, I could really make a living off that. I could support a family and 100,000 books. Man, that'd be amazing. And then it kind of took off from there. [33]
submitted by ibid-11962 to Eragon [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 14:24 TarotLessTraveled Analogical Features paragraph 3: Le Mat and the Dog

Analogical Features paragraph 3: Le Mat and the Dog
https://preview.redd.it/elpfrqvsld1d1.png?width=975&format=png&auto=webp&s=78d4a1ace797468df1931c82e96a3717645d9434
Le coin de chair visible chez l’homme, et sur lequel s’appuie le chien, est la partie la plus basse de lui-même, la partie restée animale en lui. Elle est nue, parce que malgré les habits qu’il s’est créés au cours de l’évolution, il ne peut s’en détacher. Le chien signifie également un reste des erreurs du passé qui trouble l’homme dans sa marche en avant. Ce chien symbolise encore un plan de vie inférieur qui tend à s’élever et à suivre l’homme; de même que l’homme s’est élevé au-dessus du plan animal, celui-ci ne devant pas oublier qu’en marchant vers son évolution, sa chute l’a ramené au rang de l’animalité et que dans sa marche il doit faire évoluer autour de lui les créatures inférieures.

In order to understand the third paragraph of Marteau’s Particularités Analogiques, we have to place his card within the historical context of Tarot de Marseille tradition, which starts with the 1639 deck attributed to Philippe Vachier, the earliest known TdM. Vachier’s Le Fol is depicted as the quintessential wanderer, with his bindle hanging off the end of a staff balanced over his shoulder and trekking pole in his right hand. He is out in the open, journeying we-know-not-where, dressed in the motley and floppy crown of a court jester; his face and hands are white – absent of color – which matches the broad white stripe below his golden belt. His face and hands are an even whiter shade of non-color than the featureless backdrop, but interestingly, his leggings and long sleeves are flesh-colored. Behind him is an animal which some recognize as a dog, others a cat; Marteau identifies it as a dog, so that is how I will also refer to it from this point forward. It appears the dog is reaching at a rent in Le Fol’s hose: perhaps it is responsible for shredding the leggings, or perhaps the tear was already present and caught the dog’s attention; we cannot say for certain. Nor do we know what the relationship between Le Fol and the dog is: it may be the dog is a companion on the road, or it may be that, as some have suggested, the dog is chasing a stranger away. In either case, Le Fol’s expression suggests that he is either unaware or unconcerned; his eyes are raised toward some distant horizon only he can see.
What is most intriguing, however, is that beneath the flesh-colored hose is dark green under-hose; what is revealed, then, is not the man beneath the costume but more of the costume. We cannot know for certain what Vachier was thinking when he elected to portray Le Fol in this way, but we can hypothesize from more general patterns.
Typically, clothing symbolizes persona, the person as presented rather than the person as is. An individual covers himself in a persona to fit into a collective social structure and identify what role he plays in said structure, but typically also, when we tear away the constructed outer layer, we find the individual within, which would be represented by his flesh. A common dream motif for many people is discovering that they are naked, “exposed.” This not only separates them from those around them (who are all fully clothed) but makes them vulnerable to judgments. Another function of the persona is it protects us from being seen, preventing others from observing those bits of us we do not want them to see because they embarrass us or because they are the aspects of us most sensitive to criticism and other attacks.
A few years after Vachier, a cardmaker working out of Paris, Jean Noblet, marketed a deck in which the most iconic image featured a similarly clad figure also named Le Fol but whose leggings were torn to a far greater degree, revealing underneath not only fleshy buttocks but fully exposed genitalia as well. Again, unfortunately, we cannot know what message, if any, Noblet meant to convey with his ribald depiction; however, we can note another striking difference between these two cards: while the Vachier figure’s flesh is white, Noblet’s is ruddy with blood and human warmth, except for his hands, which retain the strikingly bloodless white coloring consistent with the Vachier.
https://preview.redd.it/w9zn0tn1md1d1.png?width=949&format=png&auto=webp&s=7de0dee0327aa23d48ccb76915c24e69f6041596
Ensuing cardmakers in what became the Tarot de Marseille style mostly elected to follow the Vachier model. There were a few exceptions that did not go as far as Noblet but did show naked flesh-colored flesh under the rent hose; however, they were a decided minority until Paul Marteau released his deck in 1930 and introduced a kind of revival in this presentation.
Marteau did not break with tradition in this matter arbitrarily; his commentary makes evident that he thought deeply about the meaning of every detail, and we might have hoped that, being an expert in Tarot de Marseille symbolism, he would have compared and contrasted his deck with historical counterparts, meticulously explaining how the choices he made brought the cards into alignment with his philosophy. This, however, was never really an option, as Marteau promoted his deck as a faithful reproduction of the one published by Nicolas Conver in 1761, a master cardmaker in Marseille who, himself, “preserved the woods and colors of his remote predecessors” – a fiction that enabled Marteau to market his own work as the “Ancien Tarot de Marseille”; thus, any discussion of changes he made would only have served to undercut that claim.[[i]](#_edn1)
Marteau opens the third paragraph of his Particularités Analogiques writing that the visible region of flesh (“Le coin de chair visible”) represents man’s basest aspect, the part of him that remained animal (“est la partie la plus basse de lui-même, la partie restée animale en lui”).
Marteau’s premise is that Le Mat is on an evolutionary journey; his clothing typifies the collective aspect of that evolution, as it is the most obvious outward symbol of how man has risen from a purely instinctive and unconscious mode of being into a state of expanded awareness, not only of himself but his role within a social collective. When this is torn away, a far more primal and universal truth is revealed, one which has been increasingly concealed under layers of acculturation; it is the part of us that cannot be refined through education or social status and, thus, remains the source of our most profound shame, yet this is where the dog is able to make contact. In this paragraph, Marteau not only explains the nature of this contact but its wider significance.
My attempts at translation differ from those of Kitos Digiovanni, who writes that the dog “nips” at the “lowest part of him,” [[ii]](#_edn2) and Marius Høgnesen’s, who writes that “the dog hassles … the lowest part of man, the part representing the animal, that remains in him.” [[iii]](#_edn3) Both Digiovanni and Høgnesen characterize the nature of this contact as active, if not aggressive, and that coincides with what seems to be popular consensus. The respected tarot scholar Robert M. Place writes, “In the Tarot of Marseilles.... The seat of the Fool’s pants is being torn by a dog. This is meant to be comical, but it also signifies that the dog is treating him as a stranger, an assumption that is further supported by the fact that he is carrying a bag of belongings on his shoulder. The early Franciscans, who wandered through the countryside preaching and begging, found that they were treated with suspicion at first, and, like our Fool, they had to fend off the attacks of dogs.” [[iv]](#_edn4)
It is not my intention to argue whether this is a correct or incorrect interpretation of the image; tarot cards reflect the psychological motifs through which we view and make sense of the outer world. They help us to become more self-aware; thus, there are no right or wrong answers any more than there are correct or incorrect responses to picture interpretation or inkblot tests. My only concern is what Paul Marteau meant when he wrote, “sur lequel s’appuie le chien.”
“Le chien” is dog; “sur lequel” is the equivalent of “on which.” The key to comprehending Marteau’s interpretation of the image resides in how we translate “s’appuie,” which I understand to come from the infinitive “appuyer” and means “to press,” “to push,” or “to lean,” according to the Collins dictionary translator. This coincides with the Google, Reverso, and Bing translators as well, which also add “to support” to the list. Thus, the dog is not attacking and driving off an unwelcome stranger, nor is it tearing at Le Mat’s hose; the contact is less aggressive.
“S’appuie” is the reflexive form of the infinitive; therefore, it would mean “the dog leans itself” or “presses itself” upon the visible region of flesh; I translate it as “supports itself,” and render the first sentence, “The visible region of flesh in man, on which the dog supports itself, represents his [man’s] basest aspect, the part of him that remained animal.”
The commentary continues, “It is bare because despite the habiliments he has created for himself throughout the course of his evolution, he cannot deny it. The dog also represents a vestige of past failures that disconcert man in his forward march.” (Elle est nue, parce que malgré les habits qu’il s’est créés au cours de l’évolution, il ne peut s’en détacher. Le chien signifie également un reste des erreurs du passé qui trouble l’homme dans sa marche en avant.)
Marteau suggests Le Mat is looking forward rather than paying attention to the dog trailing him because the presence of the dog is an unwanted reminder of his failings and the fundamental nature that he would prefer to shed. In this sense, the dog is like the bindle, which contains man’s collective inheritance resulting from the Fall into carnal existence: it is attached by fixed rings to the staff he carries to prevent Le Mat from removing it and freeing himself of its weight. We may refer to ourselves as individuals and adhere to the mythology that we are singular, but this arcanum reminds us our lives are burdened by the accumulated history and transgressions of all mankind.
Finally, Marteau writes, “This dog furthermore symbolizes an inferior stage of life that tends to lift itself up and follow man; just as man raised himself above the animal plane, he must not forget while advancing toward his evolution his fall brought him back to a primeval state, and in his march he must inspire the lower creatures to evolve around him.” (Ce chien symbolise encore un plan de vie inférieur qui tend à s’élever et à suivre l’homme; de même que l’homme s’est élevé au-dessus du plan animal, celui-ci ne devant pas oublier qu’en marchant vers son évolution, sa chute l’a ramené au rang de l’animalité et que dans sa marche il doit faire évoluer autour de lui les créatures inférieures).
The dog is a less-evolved animal, yet it too feels the call to advance; it cannot accomplish this alone. Le Mat’s evolutionary march is not solely for his benefit; he has a responsibility to all living things, for he also arose from a primitive state, and just as he is inspired to become something more, he must engender this same inspiration in others.

My translation: The visible region of flesh in man, on which the dog supports itself, represents his [man’s] basest aspect, the part of him that remained animal. It is bare because despite the habiliments he has created for himself throughout the course of his evolution, he cannot deny it. The dog also represents a vestige of past failures that disconcert man in his forward march. This dog furthermore symbolizes an inferior stage of life that tends to lift itself up and follow man; just as man raised himself above the animal plane, he must not forget while advancing toward his evolution his fall brought him back to a primeval state, and in his march he must inspire the lower creatures to evolve around him.
[[i]](#_ednref1)Marteau, Paul. Le Tarot de Marseille. Arts et Métiers Graphiques, Paris, 1948. Imprimé en Suisse 1984. The quote comes from the “Introduction.”
[[ii]](#_ednref2)Kitos Digiovanni’s blog https://smallcabin.org/le-tarot-de-marseilles-by-paul-marteau/
[[iii]](#_ednref3)Paul Marteau. Tarot de Marseille. Trans. Marius Høgnesen. Published by circleandtriangle, 2021.
[[iv]](#_ednref4)Place, Robert M. Tarot: History, Symbolism, and Divination. New York: Jeremy P. TarchePenguin, 2005.
submitted by TarotLessTraveled to SeekingMarteau [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 13:10 BJacobSempai Long term voice altering (no surgery)

How do I make my voice sound more feminine? -tone, pitch, the whole lot? And also what's the difference in manerisms between masculine and feminine structuring of sentences -girls tend to not swear as much for one like that kind of thing? Sorry if I made things confusing
submitted by BJacobSempai to trans [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 12:22 RubberKut 20240519: Omg.. i can feel it.. i am slipping again.. Perhaps i am just tired and need to catch some sleep.

Dear diary, missed me? hehe..
Back home again.. and i lied yesterday.. It wasn't that no one knew that i came back.. the cat sitters.. they had to know when i was back again.. Yesterday i had a little visit from one the cat sitters (2 people, it's a couple)
It was nice.. But i do feel, that i can't be 100% me.. the interest is not there.. like i shared before.. i need to share.. It's all feelings and thoughts and.. how it left an impression on me. And they can hear it for 30 minutes or so, before the interests fades away.. It becomes harder for me to share when i feel that i don't have their attention and i only feel more lonely then.. But they are my good friends and i just have a lot to share.. It's too much... (that's why i write and i am being vague here on purpose, not sharing everything, it's still the internet..) Plus i can't... i have 5+ weeks of experience in me.. Every thought is like cross-chatter and i can't express myself very well then. Perhaps i am just tired now, hence the cross-chatter.
I want to share on the moment (like what i am doing now), for example in chat groups, but then nobody responds.. I am literally talking to myself and now it's faded, it became a memory and i don't have the words anymore, i can't share the wonders and awe i experienced then.. I made a lot of photos, most of them are 'shit' though, out of focus, bad composition and etc... so it's boring to watch.. i need to filter and edit many of them..
Anyway.. But i am feeling it. My energy is already fading. I don't know what to do.. well i do know.. i need to clean my house, lets start with that, it's full with cat hair, dust and it's a mess.. It's a lot of work, so i'll be focussing on that for now, but then i distract myself by being here, hehe, but i am so tired, to be fair, i haven't slept very well in the last 5 weeks. Did i even sleep 2 days ago? I was on a airplane, not much sleeping then.. Crying kids, it was a kids fest on the airplane, but thank god for my noise cancelling earphones, that was a good investment. The fact that i am crashing now is understandable, but i don't want to sit still.. and what am i doing now? Sitting still..) Being in my house.. like i used to do before.. It just feels wrong.. i don't wanna be here, but where do i want to be? I dont know...
What do normal people do on days like today? It's sunny, it's sunday.. Visit friends? During the holiday i had no problems.. I was alone, I just go and do my thing, there is so much to do and see, so much to experience, here i feel lost.. Directionless, i don't know what to do.
Crap..
Well.. i think i'm gonna clean a bit and go to bed soon, i need to catch up (it's not even afternoon and i am already falling asleep..)
But my cats.. they did miss me.. even when the 2 cat sitters came, she also mentioned that.. We were sitting on the couch and both cats were sitting with me.. both being in a deep sleep.. they do remember me and they do enjoy my company and they feel safe with me.. That's a nice feeling.. What would i do without the love of animals? They are my friends, my little buddies.
Also.. i'm gonna share it here, and not in the other sub, but i am done, with the INFP-sub. It was a good sub for me, for a while. I learned a lot about myself. But in my opinion it has really downgraded to BS. What a bunch of idiots (a lot of them, not everybody) So many lost people and i cant talk to them.. i try sometimes.. but to no avail.. They are stuck in their little loop, and they ain't listening and it sucks me in and i can't get them out.. Why do i wanna help? It's so draining sometimes.
Also i am here so connected with the internet world.. I just saw a news item, which brought me down as well.. i want to share, but its negative of course and somebody told me this is not the place to share these things.. so where can i share it? It has been said before, this place is a little sanctuary, also for me.. but if i can't share my own shit.. what kind of sanctuary is it for me? It's like.. why cant i share my shit? I know it's dark and it's hard.. I am alone again, in my own house, amongst friends... aint that funny?
How am i supposed to heal myself, if i see that the world needs healing.. But it's... it's governments i am talking about, it's the social structure, how.. how am i supposed to deal with that? Just accept it? I am not a conformist.. Or even a peaceful guy, i need action, change needs to happen, within me and the outside world. I don't wanna put blinders on, pretend it doesn't exist or it doesn't happen. Look at how many of us are troubled souls.. we need.. action, we need to change so many things about ourselves.
Observe but don't absorb, is a sentence i shared not so long with one of you.. and what am i doing? I am absorbing.. I gotta live to my own advice that i am giving away..
Crap... hehehe :) Well, at least i can still laugh about my own bullshit. Thx for listening. I am working on it.. and i am lost.. Not sure what to do and where to go..
The more i think about it, the more i feel i should do it.. Move out of the country, be in a place that i love and enjoy. In nature, in the mountains, in the sea with the fishies, with a culture i love and enjoy.. This culture here is... to shallow for my taste. It's about money and acting cool (not my friends, just.. this country in general) Being at parties and being seen as if you are cool.. It's empty and drug-fueled. (alcohol fueled, that's how a lot of people stay happy, by drinking and laughing)
They ignore problems, they ignore self-therapy and meditation.. (oeoe.. i need to meditate.. you know what.. after my post i will meditate for 30 minutes, lets do that.. lets be silent and be in the now) This country i live in.. it's a good country, better than many other countries.. wealthy, a caring government, we have health care and things like that.
But the people.. i mean, they are good people, but i am an outsider.. Not much family here, my friends have families, there is no time for me, they have their own lifes.. and i must find my own life too.
Lets meditate! Are you joining? Meditate everyday for 30 minutes (that's my minimum, Alan Watts said 40, but that's pushing it, lol.. hehehehe, if i can keep this up. I will meditate daily for an hour, that's my goal. )
I like to put rainforest sounds while meditating, but you have to be picky which background sounds you put on, some ambient sounds start to repeat itself and that becomes annoying, it distracts me from the meditation., because i can hear the loop, hehehe. 😅
Anyway thx again.
submitted by RubberKut to TheBigGirlDiary [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 11:47 cuBLea "Dark" MR: Memory Reconsolidation for Fun, Profit, and Psychosocial Manipulation (partial essay)

NOTE: I drafted this before reddit slashed its allowable post size and decided it was unpublishable at that point. A friend strongly recommended I post whatever reddit will allow and if people wanted to see more, I could post more of it. So here's the first segment of it.
Therapeutic memory reconsolidation has a dark side. It's not something typically discussed outside of the coffee rooms of the lab-rat and clinical-practices sets, where the tedium of the current work occasionally gives rise to darkly humorous dystopian speculations.
This dark side is not simply the stuff of mad-science speculation and dark fantasy. In fact, its existence predates even the discovery of the MR process itself. And it has already resulted in mild-to-catastrophic negative consequences for hundreds of thousands of people. (Depending on your perspective, it's conceivable that the current victim count could be in the tens or even hundreds of millions ... we're notorious for undercounting casualties of previously-unrecognized catastrophes. Fair disclosure: I'm one of those casualties.) It's an aspect of MR that I believe is worth knowing about for anyone seeking to exploit MR in therapy either as a practitioner or as a client.
For almost as long as the transformation (i.e. MR) phenomenon has been recognized, there have been tales of sordid applications of this effect. Religious sects, particularly the charismatic ones, have been exploiting the MR phenomenon for thousands of years, typically labeling it as either divine healing or proof of faith. Not that the results aren't beneficial for the individual. In most cases they are. But reconsolidation is only a part of the whole process of restoring health to old psychic wounds. The inducement of therapeutic MR in an individual not ready for the experience can be among the most brutal tortures imaginable, but most of the harm that comes from misapplication of the MR phenomenon can be traced to opportunistic exploitation of the setup for, and aftermath of, the transformational experience, and it's my belief that most of this harm is done by individuals and/or groups with little or no sense of the risks involved in
Keith Raniere's NXIVM organization is probably the most widely-known example of a cult founded largely on a MR-consistent methodology bent to less-than-humane ends. It made national news for years in Canada based on allegations of financial wrongdoing and sexual scandals, its leader was indicted in the US in 2018 and was sentenced to 120 years, and in 2020, not one but *two* major exposé miniseries/docuseries aired on streaming services.
"The Vow" (Mark Vicente's story)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Vow_(TV_series))
Vicente's series orients around his involvement in the growth and promotion of NXIVM, and isn't afraid to get into the weeds around how Raniere strategized and developed the organization's techniques and tactics.
"Seduced: Inside the NXIVM Cult" (India Oxenberg's story)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seduced:_Inside_the_NXIVM_Cult
This series centers more around IO's personal journey with the cult, and the people who were caught up in its darkest aspects.
"The Vow", first to be released, was not a fun watch for me. Thirty years prior to this, I had been ensnared by another cult, closely affiliated with the Unity Church of Today in Warren, MI at that time. Both of these cults exploited phenomena surrounding therapeutic memory consolidation as their primary lures years before we even knew that MR had a scientific footing.
The two organizations had shockingly similar modi operandi. So similar, in fact, that I still suspect that NXIVM's founder might have gotten much of his basic training from CoT's Pavillon resort in Quebec, whose month-long "therapeutic retreat" programs were a clever and completely unabashed cult indoctrination program. Ok ... well ... nearly completely unabashed ... during the month that I attended, we were only told that we were being groomed for the cult on the third-to-last day, by which time they surely knew who was ripe for the picking and who wouldn't be swayed, and were pretty confident of no open objection to such an announcement.
I want to make clear that this is not a word of exaggeration. The head of the "clinic" literally told us that if it felt to any of us like we were being recruited for a cult, he assured us that yes, we were. Nobody gasped, nobody even giggled. And as if to prove that this wasn't just dark humor, the director assured us that it was all fair play on their part since his was "the only cult that matters". That is exactly how confident Pavillon were of their methods. (Or at least they were in mid-1989 ... Pavillon appears to have vanished in the mists of history. Not every great cult idea grows up to make it to the big leagues.)
Neither "Seduced" or "The Vow" actually get under the hood and explain the psychology underlying the cult's success, let alone in context of therapeutic memory reconsolidation. In fact, I'm pretty sure that MR was never mentioned in either series. But right from the introductory/demo sessions presented in the first episode of "The Vow", most readers of this sub will instantly recognize that NXIVM leveraged the benefits and relative simplicity of MR-consistent transformational therapies to capture the attention, loyalty, and ultimately the wealth of prospective cult members.
But that's not nearly enough to lead us to a real understanding of how this happens. If either of these series' had been able to achieve that, this post could effctively end here. It's my belief that those of us who are consumers of MR-consistent services, or who work with consumers, do need this understanding. When the mechanics of the seduction are understood, it doesn't just help us to identify how malignant influences were brought to bear on potential victims, or provide us with a degree of immunity from those influences. It can also help us to better identify and relate to individuals who may be particularly vulnerable to these influences, and not just in therapy cults, but in all cult-like cultural groups, and get a better sense of how we can best communicate with people living under less-than-virtuous influence.
Fortunately, it doesn't appear to be all that difficult to acquire this understanding. Simply knowing basic MR theory and therapeutic application takes you halfway to mastery in a world still largely ignorant of how transformative change works. And the successes of Pavillon and NXIVM, coming as they did well before the general public even knew that MR was a "thing", pretty much proves it. But solving the remainder of the problem appears to involve first understanding how the application of MR-consistent methods could lead to cult exploitation in the first place.
MR-consistent transformational phenomena were relatively common knowledge back as far as the early 1980s in new-age/psychotherapy circles, and were even well-understood by certain inner-circle dwellers. And it was clear at least a decade earlier that certain disciplines practiced in a certain way were capable of producing remarkable therapeutic effects, even if no one could quite explain how or why. All Raniere and Pavillon needed to do was to refine techniques already known to be highly effective and they could reproduce those results. Which is exactly what happened, and this gave these two groups a powerful enticement, or a free sample product if you prefer, for people interested in living better, happier lives. Whatever else they did that we would likely view as objectionable or even evil, they both figured out how to get people to transformational moments in ways which were a lot easier than Erhard Seminars Training (EST), more efficient than religious or mystical practices (Transcendental Meditation, kundalini yoga, visionquesting, etc.), and less exclusive/expensive than a stay at Esalen or a year or two of the "talking cure".
So whatever we may think/feel about their methods, credit where due: they knew a good thing when they saw it and they got the transformational part right. So how did techniques which we rely upon to free us from exploitation by our own nervous systems become tools for THEIR exploitation? On the surface it seems like using MR to coerce and enslave people makes about as silly as trying to poison someone with multivitamins. But there's a clever logic to it, and to understand this we need to look beyond the bounds of MR and the transformational phenomenon, and at how the entire transformation process is managed. (And there's the operative word: managed, not facilitated.
We know MR as the process that underlies transformation. But transformation isn't healing, but only a subprocess within a greater restoration process. Healing doesn't usually even end the process, either. Following transformation, stress must be managed until the subject's next full sleep cycle or treatment efficacy is substantially impaired. Even beyond that, the structure of post-traumatic adaptation leaves the individual vulnerable to retraumatization in the wake of treatment, meaning that in perhaps a majority of cases, the triggers which activate PTS symptoms need to be kept to a
submitted by cuBLea to MemoryReconsolidation [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 09:43 lovebreedingalot 28 [M4F] #Germany/Open to all - Looking for a long term partner to build a highly affectionate and loving relationship. Let's build a develop, caring and passionate relationship together!

I want a mutually nurturing and fulfilling long-term, monogamous, in-person relationship. A kinky relationship with amazing and passionate sex, adventures and romantic date nights. I consider myself as a caring, kind and rather soft person with a vivid fantasy.
In a perfect scenario my partner would be also someone i could consider as my soulmate, my best friends and docile sub. I do not want any drama, constant arguing or be the one carrying the conversations. No drama, no stress, no hectic and no nonsense.
Honesty, loyalty and respect are what I value the most. A romantic relationship is based on mutual acceptance and appreciation in my view. Communication is very important so you should be able to write proper sentences, reply within a timely manner.
A great character and a strong personality are what I want. I do understand that the visual appearance also plays a significant role but let me assure you, that the optical part is very low on my priority list — the sympathy and chemistry in between us needs to match. I do not have a age preference either. I am simply looking to create a deep connection between two people.
I want to start slowly and take the time to get to know you, your kinks, your fantasies, your character, your expectations and how you see yourself in a relationship. All that I want is someone who understands and accepts me and doesn't pretend to be someone else. Just be yourself, uncensored and raw.
Brief description about myself:
Very tall (190cm/6"2), blue eyes, blonde hair, wide shoulders, beard and wear glasses. Don't smoke or drink any alcohol.
INFJ Personality, very calm and an old soul, well educated, traveled around the work and well structured life.
If you reach out to me, please send me a Reddit chat request right away, i normally reply there quite fast. And if you do, please make sure to introduce yourself, just a "Hi" looks awkward. Please cover all the basics such as your sex, location, age and good introduction (kinks, fantasies, expectations, limits, goals for the future and so on).
submitted by lovebreedingalot to ImpregPersonalsLTR [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 09:23 RandomAppalachian468 The return of the tree painter, big life changes, and story update!

Hey everyone! Random Appalachian here. I just wanted to check back in with you all and provide some updates, as well as some exciting, if personal, news. I have to type this quick, as my work break ends soon, so pardon any typos, grammatical errors, or weirdly structured sentences.
For those of you who don’t know, I’m a park ranger in real life, and work at a wildlife reserve in Ohio. We’ve been having some issues with vandalism in our northern woods for a few months, and despite our best attempts, haven’t been able to find the culprit. It’s been immensely frustrating, especially when more paint has shown up on more trails, ranging from slashes, lines, and crosses, to dots and even letters. Normally we wouldn’t get too bent out of shape over a few trees being painted, but it’s well over 60 at this point, and widespread throughout the forest. None of the official people who help us maintain the trails in that area say they are responsible, and yet many of the markings seem to be blazes for trails. However the markings are at times absurdly close together, or in abstract places that make no logical sense. One “trail” is no more than perhaps 30 yards long and runs right along a massive clearing in a semi-circle, within plain sight of the clearing, and goes to nowhere; it goes into the woods, and pops back out into the clearing only 30-ish yards away. Most of our established trails that have been painted already have well-made trail markings of our own, and the trails are well-blazed. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to why these things are there at all. I don’t think it’s anything sinister, though the painter has left his/her paint cans in the woods before, so at the very least, they’re a litterbug. There is the concern about potential poaching, which can be a problem in our area. Sure, deer and turkey are commonplace in my rural community, but they are only that way because of conservation and game laws that keep populations intact. Local hunters play a big part in conservation, and if someone starts taking more than their fair share through poaching, that means less for everyone else, and upsets the balance of things. The sad thing is, unlike legal hunters who often hunt for meat for their families, (food is expensive nowadays) poachers usually do it for trophies, antlers, or ‘fans’ from the turkey tail-feathers. But our painter has yet to take any game to our knowledge. We’ve found no gut piles, blood, or discarded gear anywhere. So, if he’s not poaching . . . what on earth does he want?
Then a few weeks ago, we did find a camera inside our central perimeter.
To put this into perspective, we have roughly 10,000 acres to our little reserve. Only 1/3 is fenced in, containing our exotic animals for our tours, and our buildings that we use to operate. Offices, mechanical garages, barns, and storage sheds, that sort of thing. Usually if we have trespassing issues, it's in the northern woods, which is open to the public for walking/biking trails. Sometimes in the southern prairie reserve we get some wanderers, but it's pretty open, so people tend to shy away from it. But our interior, the central area, most of which is fenced in, is sacred ground for us. We have a children’s camp in there for kids to learn about nature, we have our animal barns, and even some staff housing. For people to walk around in there would be like a stranger walking through your bedroom at night, while you’re in the shower.
Not cool. Not cool at all.
One of our ecology survey teams found the camera in a lesser-used section a mile or so north of the children’s camp. Naturally, they assumed it was one of ours, until one of the staff innocently asked another ranger why we’d put a camera by that lake. When the ranger told her that we didn’t have any cameras there, it began to sink in.
We either have two trespassers, or the painter has decided to move his game further into our land.
I’m hoping it’s the former, that I’m overthinking things, but after all, the mystery painter had to have seen a few of the trail cameras we put up in the north to catch him. Could he be doing this as a form of tit-for-tat? I don’t know, but it’s got us rangers frustrated, and our ecology team is spooked. It was fun and games in the unpopulated north, but now he’s getting close to our people, our guests, and our animals. This is serious now. We removed the camera, but there’s not really much we can do without more patrols, more cameras, and more rangers. With our budget already restricted, the last part just isn’t possible.
My foray into trail cameras yielded no results as to a culprit. In fact, the day I came in early to pull them out of the field, it seemed nothing went right. Only two came off the tree, as I forgot the keys for the locks for the other two. I couldn’t find the last one at first, and darkness fell before I could locate it, so that I was wandering around in the northern district in the blackness searching for it. Inadvertently this helped me find the camera in the end; I saw the red light flash as it took my picture and was able to retrieve the SD card. It was in my long return trek to the patrol truck that I discovered the marks on a remote trail I hadn’t walked yet. A capital O and a capital N were scrawled in various places, with dots over the letters. I took German in university, so I know they aren’t grammatical marks from that language, known as umlauts (pronounced as “oomlout” for my fellow English speakers; for all my German speakers, if I spelled that wrong, I apologize). I’d left my phone in the truck (stupid rookie move for a seasoned ranger, I know) so I couldn’t take any photos, and didn’t want to follow the trail too far in the pitch dark. I had a flashlight with spare batteries, as well as my gun (I’m not a complete moron after all) but I didn’t have time to do much exploring, since I had other duties in the park that were waiting on me. I had some VIP’s that were coming in late, and had to be escorted, which meant I had to clamber back to my truck, swatting at mosquitos the whole way. Nothing on the cameras showed any definitive proof, though we might have a lead on a guy with a bow case on his back. Could be nothing though; it’s not illegal to wear camo or carry things, and it could very well have been a camera case, a backpack, or an empty bow case.
In any event, we rangers are working on a strategy for changing up our patrol routes and putting more cameras in the field, as well as checking in on the children’s camp frequently throughout the night. So far, this mystery person hasn’t actually hurt anything that we know of, but even if this is just local kids having a prank, it’s not funny anymore.
Anyway, on to the other news. For the aforementioned reasons, as well as others, I’ve been super swamped this past month, and so writing on the third book in the Barron County trilogy has been slow. I wanted to release it at the beginning of June, but at this rate, I’m going to have to push that back to late June, possibly early July. I hate to think I’ve disappointed you all, but it’s just not ready yet. That, and I’ve been busy with something else . . . something big.
I’m getting married next week.
It’s been a long time coming, but my fiancé and I are super excited. We’ve known each other since kindergarten and have been best friends since forever. We’ve both been running like chickens with our heads cut off to get everything ready, and naturally, we’re both exhausted/somewhat nervous. Our honeymoon will require some flying, and since my fiancé has never been on a plane before, that’s a point of nervousness for her. I’m sure she’ll be fine once we’re in the air, but until then, she’s a bundle of nerves.
All that is to say, I am working on the story, it’s just taking a bit. I cannot wait to get back into the swing of things for all of you and thank you again for your supreme patience in this. You guys and gals are great, and entertaining you all is a massive privilege. Stay tuned for the third installment of the Barron County trilogy, and the epic conclusion of Hannah Brun’s journey into the unknown! Until next time.
submitted by RandomAppalachian468 to u/RandomAppalachian468 [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 08:07 stell_bell72 How I improved my S2 score - from 62 to 80

Hi all,
I wanted to share a little bit about succeeding in S2 from the perspective of someone that is not a 'natural' essay writer nor from a humanities background. Someone that started at a very average S2 score despite lots (and lots and lots) of effort.
I have now sat GAMSAT 5 times in total and I think this underscores a severe lack of exceptional ‘talent’ in any specific area of GAMSAT, and speaks to the fact that you CAN make huge improvements in your scores over time with the *right* type of effort.
(Long post for context but feel free to scroll to TLDR)
Context: I am from a science background and have been out of uni for ~6 years now. I have never been a writer and apart from finding the humanities quite interesting, have never explored its theory in a structured way. I am also not a huge ‘reader’ as many people that seem to do well in this section might be. I am just a person that has opinions on things (as does every one of you!).
My first sitting I signed on with a prep company that had a very structured and formulaic approach to essay writing. They gave students ways to explore topics and ideas to ground them when prompts felt ‘difficult’ + strategies to always be able to ‘write something’. And although I am sure this helped me learn more about the humanities and the fundamentals of classic essay writing - my scores were not great. The first sitting, after ~5 months of intense essay practice critiqued by professionals I came away with a score of 62 and utter confusion about where I had gone wrong. In the few sittings following this I did basically the same thing again and again thinking I just needed more practice (I wrote many ‘classic’ essays, critiqued them and worked on my timing). My scores in subsequent sitings improved slightly however maxed out at around 66 in S2.
I felt myself really confined by the classic essay style most resources espouse. I would find myself spending loads of mental energy thinking about things that I thought were really important for a 'good' essay - like exactly how my topic sentence would link to the next line, or how my analysis would ‘tick the boxes’, if my example was the best one to use or if my concluding statement was linked to my opening one (you get the picture). This would drain my creativity and also created so much friction in my writing.
I knew I could do better, but when it came down to putting my thoughts on paper, it fell apart.
Last year I decided to try to attack S2 differently. I started to dispense with the classical framework and starting writing pieces that were interesting for me to write. That I genuinely enjoyed creating. I often wrote reflectively and explored the prompt in a way that related to my life or my view point. I wrote essays starting with ‘When I was a child…’ or ‘In my life I have …” (whatever felt to me like a nice opening to the topic in my little brain). This way of writing both allowed me to write more clearly (I didn’t have to hyper-analyse it as much and therefore it came out less clunky) but also with much more relevance to things I actually knew about! This sort of writing naturally lends itself to be a little more creative or reflective but by no means does it have to be wildly different to a usual essay - it just had a little more flare and less strict* structure. I still wrote something that resembled an introduction (sometimes simply through vignette), I still had 2-3 analysing paragraphs, I still had something that felt conclusive at the end. But by stretching the bounds of each area, I came up with writing that was much less prohibitive and more exploratory.
In my first attempt at this new style of writing, I scored in the 70's, and I think this was truly down to not committing enough to the cause. I toed the line between classic essay with a little bit of my own flare - but no where near what I knew I wanted to or could do. This most recent sitting I gave myself permission to write how I wanted and completely forget any of the 'rules' of a good classic essay. I leant into it completely.
This paid off - I scored an 80, simply through writing in a way that felt true to me.
By far my greatest and most valuable piece of advice would be to write in a way that feels most natural and enjoyable to YOU. I am sure this has been said before, but I can’t quite underscore how much of a difference this makes to overall execution on the day, as well as ability to grind through essay after essay & continue to make improvements.
I should add here that throughout my S2 journey I worked with a tutor on and off (who became a great friend) throughout my attempts. First few attempts we worked very much by the books writing classic essays, but when I shared with them my desire to try something different they were really supportive and open to working with me to get the best out of it. We used every session from then on to critique my essays. This was really valuable as its important not to cross the line between a personal piece of writing and something that is totally un-relatable to others (after all, we are writing on prompts that are human at their core) - a good piece of writing makes someone think and reflect themselves. My tutor was amazing and their insights gave me feedback on stylistic things that worked or did not. They also checked in at times if It was becoming more of a monologue/train of thoughts rather than a reflective and insightful piece - which I would be cautious of whenever you are writing this way. In saying this, I absolutely DO NOT think having a tutor is necessary to get a good score in S2. I shared my essays with friends and would get feedback on if certain sentences felt clunky or if I was painting a picture that did not come across how I had hoped. I knew I had unlocked something good when I shared an essay with my partner - he was initially reading it slumped on the couch, and suddenly sat up and his eyes widened as he read on. If you can make people feel something, you're a good way there! (And if you're asking yourself if you can - you CAN. You're a human with thoughts and feelings and personal experiences that are unique to you. Use this to your advantage.)
TLDR: 1) Try very hard to quieten the noise around what makes a ‘good’ GAMSAT essay and be selective about which recommendations work well for you (and which do not). There are literally a million ways to create a solid piece of writing and if the ‘classic’ analytical or discursive structured essay does not roll off the tongue for you - take this as a sign that it is OK to explore other styles of writing. This is not to say that every person should try to write poems (I never wrote a poem), or to write creatively. All this means is that *if* you feel the classical structure of an essay is *distracting* you from what the goal of S2 is (to respond thoughtfully to a prompt from your own perspective) then consider stretching the bounds of your writing. 2) Get critique on your work (again and again) from various sources - if you can afford tutoring, great use it for critique, if not, friends and family are amazing for this!
**Disclaimer** - this advice won't be for everyone. For some people, writing in a very formulaic defined way is the best way to get their thoughts across - and this is fine! I am just sharing my experience of finding a much better way for my brain. I have many friends that I studied for GAMSAT with who wrote great (classic style) essays and scored super well with them! These people probably would have hated/not been comfortable with my style of writing. Choose your own adventure, but make changes if something is not working.
If people are interested I am happy to post links to my best essays where I explored this type of writing
Good luck with your essays everyone!
Please feel free to DM if you have any questions :)
submitted by stell_bell72 to GAMSAT [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 08:06 Mantis_Shrimp47 The monster in the sand dunes turned my brother into a bird

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.
submitted by Mantis_Shrimp47 to nosleep [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 07:23 encore05 My IELTS experience. End me.

I thought it would be beneficial to share my IELTS experience (academic, computer-based) to decompress and de-traumatise myself haha.
I'm not a native English speaker, but I've lived in an English-speaking country for around 13 years now. I speak English daily and hardly ever use my first language (I hate it; it's so ugly). I need at least a score of 7 in every category for registration purposes. Basically, if I can't deliver, I cannot pursue a certain career. I breathe English, I think in English, I basically AM English. IELTS, pffff, should be a piece of cake, right? Oh boy, was I wrong.
I forced myself to do a little one-week IELTS bootcamp before my actual test, you know, just to be prepared and not waste money as this dumb test costs a fortune. I used the official practice tests. Listening? No worries, easily got an 8.5/9 every time. Reading? MHM. In my first reading test, I had 24 correct answers out of 40... The stupid YES / NO / NOT GIVEN questions were wonderful for someone who overthinks A LOT. I looked up some strategies and then got 8.5/9 every time for reading. EASY. Writing? I literally just looked at the structures needed and memorised a couple of fancy words. EAZZZYYYYY. Speaking? Well, I'm awkward as hell and introverted, but hey, I can speak if needed. All good. Also, there’s not really much to prepare for.
Fast forward to the testing day. I used a new shampoo the evening before (voluminous & shiny hair) and went to bed with wet hair. When I woke up, my hair had so much freaking volume, it exploded so much that it now basically filled my entire room. It was intimidating. No time to do anything about it - I put a cap on, and this somehow tamed it.
You should be there 30 minutes before your test starts. Traffic was a nightmare; I was there 20 minutes before the test and had no idea there was an introduction. I walked into a room full of people, listening to someone explaining stuff. Everyone stared at me. My nervous self became even more nervous, and my face probably mutated into a tomato. "Sorry," I mumbled and sat down somewhere in the darkest corner. We were then informed that 1. we are not allowed to take food with us. It really stung because I had this new tiny delicious protein bar with me as a treat, carefully chosen the day before. 2. We weren't allowed to wear watches and mobiles needed to be turned off. 3. The introduction lady stared right into my soul: "NO headwear is allowed." I had to remove my cap, guys. It was so messed up. My hair was everywhere, and I felt like a miserable mop. You then basically get married to your passport. DO NOT FORGET TO BRING IT. One girl got disqualified because she didn't have hers. Hold on to yours; you need it for EVERYTHING. The number of times they checked mine, before, during, and after, was insane. The whole test building was a mess, by the way. It was old, it smelled, it was damaged, and there was NO light. I felt depressed the second I entered that damn building. We then got herded into a tiny room with really old computers. Guess what? Passports got checked again. We were around 10 people, and they had just checked them before sending us into the room. Anyway, the test started. Listening was great, except apparently I don't know how to write "volcano" correctly. I went to the bathroom before the test, but I could already feel my bladder getting annoying during that part. When I started the reading section, my whole body was shaking. It was insanely cold in that room; I was wearing a hoodie. The reading part was so much harder in comparison to the practice tests. This also may have had something to do with the articles I got. They didn't interest me in the slightest and my nervousness was making it really hard to focus. I wiggled my way through it but had around 8-9 questions I wasn't sure of. Fun fact: they had 2 sections of these stupid NOT GIVEN, TRUE / FALSE questions. Just to celebrate my existence. I panicked a little during that section and ran out of time in the end. The reading part takes around 1 hour, and by then I felt tired, HUNGRY, exhausted... and I was almost peeing myself. They don't stop the time for you, so what kind of idiot goes to the toilet during an IELTS exam? Yes. I was that idiot. I lost 5 minutes of time for my writing exam. I honestly should have worn a diaper. I really needed those 5 minutes. Long story short: after task 1, my thoughts were "That's pretty meh, I'll come back and sparkle it up later." I ran out of time for task 2. I had 7 minutes left when I was working on my second paragraph. I didn't have a conclusion yet; I didn't proofread. Task 1 was simultaneously breathing down my neck. Guys, it was an absolute shit show. I also started freaking out, which probably didn't help much. I spewed out a conclusion, 3 sentences which did not make ANY sense. I tried to finish my second paragraph, which also now does not make ANY SENSE. And I wasn't able to proofread any of it. Did I mention the computers were ancient? You had to basically spank the keyboard for it to work. I'm sure there are lots of missing letters. Fark mi life.
Once I slumped out of that dark testing room, I honestly could have cried. I felt fragile, exhausted, HUNGRY, and just massively disappointed with myself. I just wanted to roll home and die in bed. But wait, I totally forgot - there was one more part to tackle. SPEAKING. Yay. A fun thing to do when you feel absolutely broken.
I had to loiter around for an hour, cap proudly back on my head, stuffed my face with the protein bar (which turned out to taste like an old sock), gulped down some water and an energy drink. I hadn't had caffeine for over 3 years, so drinking an energy drink might not have been the best option. I FELT SO ALIVE AND EVERYTHING PASSED IN THE SPEED OF LIGHT. YEEEEW HAAAAH. I galloped back into the testing center, peed my insides out in the bathroom (I've learned), stared into the mirror, took off my cap for one millisecond, and decided it was best to keep wearing it, for humanity. I sprinted out of the bathroom, wasn't even surprised that my passport got checked again, and, did I mention? They also love your fingerprints. They got taken around 5 times while I was there. "NO HEADWEAR." I had to take that damn cap off again and could feel my hair fluffing up. HOW CAN ANYONE TAKE ME SERIOUSLY WITH THAT HAIR? I now had to engage in an actual conversation with an actual human. First impression was out the window, bet. I had to sit around for 20 minutes, not being able to use my phone or anything. I could not sit still. I watched people leave other rooms, crying. Finally, the door opened, and I was let in for my speaking test. The tester was literally a machine in human form. He mechanically read questions to me. I didn't feel strongly about ANY question he asked me. They were all so boring, and I literally had nothing to say. One of them, for example, was "Does your family have an old belonging? What is it? And what do you know about it?" My family are minimalists; they don't keep stuff. There I was, having to give some sort of stupid presentation in one minute, and I literally had NOTHING to talk about. Guys, don't let this dishearten you though; just make stuff up. I ended up word vomiting on him. He had to stop me multiple times. I felt annoyed with how much I was talking, but hey, at least I said something. He knew I could yap and speak English. We were all good. After that, I had heart palpitations and am still high on caffeine while writing this.
If you have any questions regarding the test, I can attempt to help you. If you messed up your writing and potentially reading test, I feel you. I will very likely have to spend between $199-300 to resit it. I absolutely hate the IELTS and hope to tick it off... soon.
submitted by encore05 to IELTS [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 06:19 Check828 I just want to run away from everything

Probably going to get lost on this sub and thats ok i just need to get this off my chest more than anything TLDR at the end. I also apologize for the bad sentence structure.
Preface information: Gay 23 Year old male living in a rural/small town area diagnosed with Depression Anxiety Asthma and ADHD (ADHD was not diagnosed as a child)
Exactly as the titles says i just want to run away and start over but i can't. Is it healthy no but I just don't know what else to do at this point. Compared to most people probably has a decent life with a supportive family, but I am unhappy with all of it and haven't been happy since I was 16.
I have been to multiple therapists but have yet to have a consistent one and currently my newest one I see maybe once a month due to high demand in my area. And we have not even begun to actually begin helping my issues. (Have been seeing her for 2 months now. I believe I am being properly medicated however I forget even with alarms set to take my meds (and lost my depression meds which yes I know is not helping).
I just got hired for a 3rd shift job making decent pay and hopefully can start a decent saving so i can eventually move away. I also have a prior commitment working for someone during the day watching their storefront while they are out with a trailer at different places. This is not every day but more like every other weekend for now until summer when i am excreted to watch the store more frequently. This will have me working 10pm-6am and 11am-6pm some days which I know won't work. I need to tell the store owner I can't do it but I don't want them to get mad and screw them over as they won't be able to find someone to cover their store if I don't. (And yes that's their problem not mine but still)
I have aging grandparents and my mom/dad doesn't have the time to help them or spend a lot of time with them nor does my sister make an effort to most of the time either. My grandfather on my dad's side is more worse off than my grandmother on my mom's side due to his age and having a stroke (but not telling anyone he had one). He constantly answers obvious scam calls and orders stuff off the TV or elsewhere and when we try to help him he fights with us because he doesn't want to be the steotypical old person (which he is) my dad's brothers still live at home mooch off him and do not acknowledge his existence 99% of the time as well.
I have tried to go to college twice couldn't get into the institution I wanted and flunked out both times due to the pressure, teachers insulting me, and my mental issues that were the colleges refused to acknowledge even with my attempting to give them the paperwork to do so through proper channels. This is to the point where I don't even know if it is worth going back as everyone I graduated with for the most part is either graduated already, have great careers, have kids, or just are overall very happy and content with their lives.
One of my best friends also died in early 2022 and I could not attend the funeral as I was working and had moved away for college (or attempted to) and everyone back home completely forgot I even existed as a friend to him. I had to beg and plead to get something to remember him by (one of his deckboxes for card games) and I'm still not even over his death as he and I spent almost every night playing video games together and I can't even touch those games without being reminded of him. This also includes the card games I play too mainly Yu-Gi-Oh as he played that slong with my other best friend but it's just not the same.
Most of my issues stemmed from high school where I feel my life just ended. I was diagnosed with asthma at 16 after having a lot of issues with cross country and swimming and subsequently diagnosed with Depression and anxiety a couple of months later due to constantly bullying from teammates and one of the cross country coaches that I was either faking it or that asthma is not real. I was one of the star swimmers in our school until our original coach left and one of the cross country coaches took over. Because of my asthma my mental illness and non supportive coaching staff I just drifted to a point where I was basically one of the worst on the team and had no idea what I was doing with my life and still don't to this day. I was the gifted kid growing up but once I got to high school and asked for help I was told I would just figure it out like I always do I was a smart kid so my cries for help were always ignored.
EDIT: almost forgot but I have 0 love life no one around me wants to date and I have very little options where I live one guy I went to school with moved to a big city close by and seems to have no trouble finding guys who actually want to date so I guess I'm just also jealous of that and want the same options he has.
TLDR: I want to run away and start over because of 1. No consistent mental health 2. I don't like people depending on me 3. I have too many commitments and I don't know to say no 4. Aging grandparents that expect me to be at their beck and call 5. Issues with School feeling left out/behind 6. Death of a close friend and not being able to get over it 7. Issues stemming from High school where I feel my life ended. 8. Issues with lack of love life.
If anyone has any advice I'm all ears otherwise just needed to air it out to someone/people that wasn't someone I know basically. Thanks.
submitted by Check828 to mentalhealth [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 06:01 adulting4kids December 2nd Prompts and Character Profile Template

This post will repeat weekly through the month of December. Please repost or cross post as a way to promote this subreddit. Or ignore this one and check out our others! I apologize if it's cramping your style, but when I work hard on certain posts I want to be sure they are useful! I also am working on making these shorter so they don't get lost in the madness....
Scroll down for the Character Questions and create a thoughtful and empathetic profile of your main characters for your projects!
As always please use these as sparks to create and feel free to post your responses and ideas in comments or separate post! This is YOUR subreddit so go ahead and post away!
Prompt: Imagine a dystopian world where an oppressive government has successfully erased all forms of personal identity and history. In this society, individuals are assigned generic roles and are forbidden from expressing their unique thoughts, emotions, or experiences. Write a short story or reflective essay exploring the life of a character who discovers a hidden underground community that encourages self-expression and reignites the importance of personal narratives.
In your response, consider the following:
  1. Character and World Building:
    • Describe the protagonist's background, their assigned role, and their initial perception of the oppressive world they inhabit.
    • Develop the hidden underground community, including its purpose, structure, and the means through which it safeguards personal stories.
    • Create a contrast between the protagonist's initial world and the underground community, highlighting the impact of personal narratives on shaping identity and resisting oppression.
  2. Plot Analysis:
    • Outline the protagonist's journey of discovery, including their initial skepticism, the influential encounters they have within the underground community, and the personal sacrifices they make to preserve their identity.
    • Explore the challenges and conflicts faced by the protagonist, both externally (e.g., encounters with government authorities) and internally (e.g., the struggle to confront their identity).
  3. Deep Introspection:
    • Prompt the protagonist to reflect deeply on the uncomfortable subjects that the government's erasure of personal narratives seeks to suppress. These could include topics such as individuality, memory, trauma, and the power of storytelling as a tool for empathy and resistance.
    • Encourage the protagonist to evolve their thoughts and perceptions throughout the narrative, considering the consequences of silence and the potential for personal growth through self-expression and sharing.
  4. Requirements for Responses:
    • Conduct research to explore real-world examples of societies that suppress personal narratives or attempt to erase collective memory.
  5. Prompt: In a post-apocalyptic world, a devastating pandemic has wiped out most of humanity. The survivors are forced to live in isolated communities, each with its own set of strict rules and customs. Write a short story or reflective essay exploring the life of a character who questions the existing order and embarks on a journey to unite these fragmented communities. Consider the role of unity, diversity, and collaboration in rebuilding a shattered world.
  6. Prompt: Set in a future where advanced AI technology has permeated every aspect of society, write a story or reflective essay following a protagonist who begins to question the boundaries between human and machine. Delve into the ethical implications of human-AI relationships, the erosion of human emotions, and the potential consequences of blurring the line between artificial and genuine experiences.
  7. Prompt: Imagine a world where climate change and environmental degradation have irreversibly altered the planet. Write a story or reflective essay from the perspective of a character who is part of a group striving to restore balance and heal the damaged Earth. Explore the connections between personal responsibility, collective action, and the intersections of social and environmental justice.
  8. Prompt: Transport yourself to a society where strict social hierarchies are based on a person's genetic makeup. Write a short story or reflective essay following a character who challenges this system and advocates for equality and inclusivity. Examine the role of genetic determinism, discrimination, and the power of individual agency in reshaping social structures.
  9. Prompt: Imagine a world where art and creativity are considered illegal, seen as tools of subversion and chaos. Write a story or reflective essay from the perspective of an artist who risks everything to defy this oppressive regime and reclaim the power of artistic expression. Analyze the significance of art as a form of resistance, its ability to inspire change, and its impact on personal and societal transformation.
Remember to consider the following for each of the prompts to insure a well rounded and thought out premise that will engage the audience and allow room for growth in the plot.
Prompt 1 - Post-Apocalyptic Community Building:
Prompt 2 - Ethical Implications of AI Technology:
Prompt 3 - Environmental Restoration and Social Justice:
Prompt 4 - Genetic Hierarchy and Social Change:
Prompt 5 - Artistic Expression as Resistance:
  1. Chick Lit: Write a chick lit novel or short story following a relatable protagonist navigating the challenges of love, career, and self-discovery. Explore themes of friendship, personal growth, and finding balance in a fast-paced, modern world.
  2. Young Readers' Adventure: Imagine a group of young friends who stumble upon a hidden portal to another realm. Write an adventure novel or short story as they embark on a quest to save a magical world from darkness. Delve into themes of friendship, bravery, and the power of imagination.
  3. Historical Fiction: Set in a time of significant historical events, write a novel or short story highlighting a lesser-known figure or group of people. Research the historical context meticulously and emphasize the character's resilience, struggles, and contributions during that tumultuous period.
  4. Fantasy: Create a fantastical world filled with mythical creatures, magic, and ancient prophecies. Write a novel or short story following a young protagonist who discovers their extraordinary abilities and must navigate a treacherous journey to fulfill their destiny. Explore themes of self-discovery, heroism, and the blurred lines between good and evil.
  5. Mystery/Thriller: Write a gripping mystery or thriller novel following a seasoned detective or amateur sleuth investigating a perplexing crime. Develop complex characters, suspenseful plot twists, and an intricate web of clues and red herrings that keep readers guessing until the very end.
  6. Science Fiction: Set in a future where technological advancements have transformed society, write a novel or short story exploring the ethical and societal implications of groundbreaking inventions. Examine themes such as artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, or virtual reality and their impact on humanity's future.
  7. Romance: Craft a heartwarming romance novel or short story centered around two individuals from different backgrounds or opposing sides. Explore themes of love, forgiveness, and the triumph of the human spirit in the face of adversity.
  8. Coming-of-Age: Write a coming-of-age novel or short story following a young protagonist's journey of self-discovery, identity formation, and navigating the complexities of adolescence. Explore themes of friendship, personal growth, and the challenges of transitioning into adulthood.
  9. Psychological Thriller: Create a psychological thriller novel or short story that delves into the intricacies of the human mind. Focus on a protagonist who becomes entangled in a web of deception, manipulation, and paranoia. Explore themes of trust, perception, and the blurred lines between reality and illusion.
  10. Family Drama: Write a novel or short story exploring the dynamics and complexities within a multi-generational family. Include themes of love, secrets, and conflicts that arise as family members navigate their relationships, face past traumas, and strive for reconciliation.
Considerations for each prompt:
  1. Historical Romance: Write a one-page historical romance set in a lavish ballroom during the Victorian era. Focus on the forbidden love between a spirited debutante and a mysterious gentleman from a different social class.
  2. Science Fiction Comedy: Craft a one-page comedic story set in a futuristic space station. Follow the misadventures of a clumsy maintenance technician who unwittingly saves the day against all odds.
  3. Paranormal Mystery: Pen a one-page mystery story set in a haunted mansion. Introduce a skeptical paranormal investigator who must solve the mystery of a ghostly apparition that has been terrorizing the inhabitants.
  4. Literary Fiction: Write a one-page literary fiction piece centered around a character's contemplation of the fleeting nature of life and the importance of cherishing the present moment.
  5. Action Adventure: Craft a one-page action-packed adventure story set in the jungles of an unexplored island. Follow a daring archaeologist's quest for a hidden treasure while battling against treacherous obstacles and rival adventurers.
  6. Psychological Drama: Create a one-page psychological drama following the internal struggles of a troubled artist as they grapple with their inner demons and seek redemption.
  7. Magical Realism: Write a one-page magical realism story set in a sleepy coastal town. Explore the extraordinary occurrences that happen when an enigmatic mermaid washes ashore and disrupts the mundane lives of the townsfolk.
  8. Thriller: Craft a one-page thriller story involving a race against time. Follow a determined protagonist as they try to decipher cryptic clues and prevent a citywide disaster.
  9. Fantasy Adventure: Pen a one-page fantasy adventure story set in a whimsical realm. Follow a young hero's quest to retrieve a stolen artifact and restore balance to the land, encountering fantastical creatures and overcoming obstacles along the way.
  10. Historical Fiction Mystery: Write a one-page historical fiction mystery set during the Roaring Twenties. Follow a quick-witted detective as they unravel a web of deceit and intrigue surrounding a glamorous underground speakeasy in the heart of the city.
Considerations for each prompt:
Protagonist Character Profile:
  1. Name:
  2. Age:
  3. Gender:
  4. Physical appearance:
  5. Background:
  6. Personality traits (list at least five):
  7. Core values and beliefs:
  8. Motivations and goals:
  9. Biggest fear:
  10. Internal conflicts:
  11. External conflicts:
  12. Strengths:
  13. Weaknesses:
  14. Childhood experiences and their impact:
  15. Education and professional background:
  16. Relationship status and dynamics:
  17. Quirks or peculiar habits:
  18. Psychological disorders, if any:
  19. Familial relationships and dynamics:
  20. Support system (friends, mentors, etc.):
  21. Traumatic experiences and their effects:
  22. Coping mechanisms:
  23. Emotional vulnerabilities:
  24. Resilience and determination:
  25. Personal growth throughout the story:
Protagonist Character Questions:
  1. What drives the protagonist to take action and pursue their goals?
  2. How does the protagonist's childhood shape their behaviors and choices?
  3. What values does the protagonist hold dear, and how do they influence their decision-making process?
  4. What inner conflicts does the protagonist face, and how do they attempt to reconcile them?
  5. How does the protagonist's education and professional background contribute to their strengths and weaknesses?
  6. What traumatic experiences has the protagonist overcome, and how have these experiences shaped their worldview?
  7. How does the protagonist cope with stress or adversity?
  8. What relationships and dynamics are most significant to the protagonist, and how do these relationships evolve throughout the story?
  9. In what ways does the protagonist exhibit resilience and determination in the face of challenges?
  10. How does the protagonist approach personal growth and self-improvement?
  11. What psychological disorders, if any, does the protagonist struggle with, and how do these disorders impact their thoughts and actions?
  12. How does the protagonist's physical appearance contribute to their self-perception and interactions with others?
  13. What unique quirks or habits does the protagonist possess that make them stand out?
  14. What are the protagonist's primary desires and aspirations?
  15. How does the protagonist's internalized fear drive or hinder their actions?
  16. How does the protagonist navigate and resolve external conflicts?
  17. What coping mechanisms does the protagonist rely on during times of stress or emotional turmoil?
  18. How do familial relationships and dynamics influence the protagonist's actions and decisions?
  19. What significant life choices or dilemmas does the protagonist face throughout the story, and how do they respond?
  20. In what ways does the protagonist's support system impact their growth and resilience?
  21. How does the protagonist's personal development and self-discovery contribute to the overall narrative arc?
  22. How does the protagonist's background and experiences shape their perception of the world?
  23. What are the protagonist's core beliefs and values, and how do these impact their interactions with others?
  24. How does the protagonist handle setbacks or failures, and what lessons do they learn from these experiences?
  25. What external influences or societal pressures affect the protagonist's decision-making process?
Antagonist Character Profile:
  1. Name:
  2. Age:
  3. Gender:
  4. Physical appearance:
  5. Background:
  6. Personality traits (list at least five):
  7. Core values and beliefs:
  8. Motivations and goals:
  9. Biggest fear:
  10. Internal conflicts:
  11. External conflicts:
  12. Strengths:
  13. Weaknesses:
  14. Childhood experiences and their impact $ Go on
  1. Education and professional background: 16. Relationship status and dynamics: 17. Quirks or peculiar habits: 18. Psychological disorders, if any: 19. Familial relationships and dynamics: 20. Support system (friends, mentors, etc.): 21. Traumatic experiences and their effects: 22. Coping mechanisms: 23. Emotional vulnerabilities: 24. Strategies for achieving their goals: 25. Methods they employ to antagonize the protagonist:
Antagonist Character Questions:
  1. What drives the antagonist to oppose the protagonist and act as an obstacle in their journey?
  2. How does the antagonist's background and upbringing contribute to their negative behaviors and motivations?
  3. What core values and beliefs does the antagonist hold that align with their antagonistic actions?
  4. What personal goals or desires does the antagonist seek to fulfill?
  5. What is the biggest fear or insecurity that drives the antagonist's actions?
  6. How does the antagonist's internal conflicts manifest and impact their decisions?
  7. What external conflicts arise as a result of the antagonist's actions, and how do they handle these conflicts?
  8. In what ways does the antagonist exhibit strength and power, and how do these traits affect their interactions with others?
  9. What are the antagonist's weaknesses or vulnerabilities that can be exploited by the protagonist?
  10. How have childhood experiences shaped the antagonist's worldview and motivations?
  11. How does the antagonist's education and professional background contribute to their methods and strategies?
  12. What familial relationships or dynamics influence the antagonist's actions and choices?
  13. What unique quirks or habits does the antagonist possess that make them distinct or memorable?
  14. Are there any psychological disorders or conditions that contribute to the antagonist's behavior?
  15. How does the antagonist cope with stress or emotional turmoil?
  16. What strategies or tactics does the antagonist employ to achieve their goals and antagonize the protagonist?
  17. How do the antagonist's actions impact their relationships and interactions with other characters in the story?
18.How does the antagonist perceive and justify their actions, even if they are considered morally or ethically wrong?
  1. What external influences or societal pressures contribute to the antagonist's motivations or actions?
  2. How does the antagonist's physical appearance contribute to their demeanor and portrayal in the story?
  3. What significant life choices or dilemmas has the antagonist faced, and how have these shaped their character?
  4. What is the antagonist's reaction to setbacks or failures, and how do they adapt their strategies?
  5. How does the antagonist's support system or lack thereof impact their actions and decisions?
  6. What past traumatic experiences or events have influenced the antagonist's worldview and behaviors?
  7. How does the antagonist's emotional state or emotional vulnerabilities influence their actions and interactions with others?
submitted by adulting4kids to writingthruit [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 04:29 OntoZebra I have head canon created from a vid about infographics

I have head canon created from a vid about infographics
Certainly! Let's create a simple language structure around the word "Ening" for "background". We'll call this language Lumina.
In Lumina, we'll establish some basic grammar rules:
  1. Nouns: All nouns end in "-ing". For example:
    • "Ening" (background)
    • "Siling" (sky)
    • "Trening" (tree)
  2. Verbs: All verbs end in "-ara". For example:
    • "Walkara" (to walk)
    • "Talkara" (to talk)
    • "Readara" (to read)
  3. Adjectives: All adjectives end in "-ique". For example:
    • "Brightique" (bright)
    • "Darkique" (dark)
    • "Strongique" (strong)
  4. Adverbs: All adverbs end in "-lyte". For example:
    • "Quicklyte" (quickly)
    • "Softlyte" (softly)
    • "Loudlyte" (loudly)
  5. Prepositions: All prepositions are prefixed with "pre-". For example:
    • "Pre-above" (above)
    • "Pre-below" (below)
    • "Pre-within" (within)
  6. Articles: "The" is "Le", "A" is "Un", and "An" is "Une".
  7. Sentence Structure: The sentence structure follows Subject-Verb-Object (SVO) order.
Here's an example sentence in Lumina: - English: The bright sun is in the background. - Lumina: Le Siling Brightique ara pre-within le Ening.
Feel free to ask for more words or phrases in Lumina! 🌟
submitted by OntoZebra to Glubo [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 04:23 Charuru What's currently the best model on openrouter for constructing sentences and writing please prose?

I'm using gpt-4/wizard2 to write an outline and keep track of big plot stuff, right now I'm looking for a model that will give me interesting and fun prose that doesn't sound like a high school junior's last minute essay. So things like reasoning and context window are less important than creative sentence structure and humorous word use. Or are those things possible with gpt4/wizard with good prompts? Anyone have any suggestions?
Thanks.
submitted by Charuru to SillyTavernAI [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 04:09 cyberbiker Horrific Discovery! Folder Structure Is Not Maintained When Loading New iPad from iPhone Backup File

I just loaded my new iPad Air 6 using a back up file for my iPhone 15PM and found that it DOES Not maintain the folder structure from my iPhone homepage - https://imgur.com/a/0BwLBxX • Instead, I have 513 apps scattered across many pages on the pad.
Had I done the Quick Start direct transfer of apps and data from the phone to the pad, would it have left the folder structure in place? I have absolutely no desire to flip through pages and pages of apps each time I want to open something or reorganize so many apps back into folders, though I can use Siri to open them for me.
Need to submit feedback on that so Apple adds one sentence in the primary Apple support page on transferring from iPhone to iPad to inform others of that issue.
submitted by cyberbiker to ipad [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 03:35 Cazador0 Short Story: WPA - A Completely Average Roadtrip

WPA – A Completely Average Roadtrip
Disclaimer: Not canon, and I don’t use patreon so please don’t spoil me. Also, any opinion held by a character is that of the characters and not my own. Enjoy.
Town of Ljosalfington, local time 14:00, week 7
Emma Booker
“Again Illunor, I warned you before that this is a utility vehicle, not a party rated smart-limo. I am already compromising more than I should by allowing you to use the sample cooler as a minifridge, one which I can’t even use!” I said as I loaded the materials I had just purchased into the back of the high-G All terrain fusion-ethanol-electric hybrid 24th-century legacy pickup truck that I had printed out earlier this week, carefully avoiding the heavy ordinance hard point.
“That is hardly an excuse for that abysmally cramped leg space barely fit for cattle, never mind the bare minimum for standard decorum suitable for nobility. If this is what a car is like, then I don’t see why you care for your technology,” complained Illunor, who was sitting around idly with a malformed garish bowl of icecream that he had stashed away from lunch.
“If it bothers you so much, perhaps you could help next time with your ‘bigger-on-the-inside’ magic,” I retorted as I slid the last core sample into the back before covering it up with a tarp and strapping it down.
I had originally planned to visit Ljosalfington by myself to acquire much needed exo-materials to test various mana manipulator configurations as I worked to develop my first wand as not all of the materials I needed were procurable locally from Elaseer. I eventually yielded, much to my regret, to allowing Illunor to come with me as he insisted on wanting to deliver a letter personally in town after Thacea had pointed out the wisdom of not travelling alone.
We continued our back and forth for a bit yet as I finished securing my payload a voice called out to me from the direction of the town.
“Excuse me a moment, I couldn’t help but notice but are you from the academy?”
I turned to see an elf dressed in a plain brown buttoned up tunic matched by a slightly shabby pair of trousers with what appeared to be a lute upon his back and a plain and unenchanted longsword on his belt gesturing at our robes. Mine especially were new and unusual, tailored by the academy to go over my armour and allow access to the anchor points and allow me to exit my armour with minimal hassle. Illunor scoffed at what was evidently a commoner’s arrogance at approaching nobility and turned his head away in disgust. I glanced at Illunor and shook my head before turning to face the new man. I had time to spare, and any opportunity to engage in a hearts-and-minds dialogue with the locals outside the bounds of the managed environment of the academy was more than worth the time to chat. Especially as most of the other locals seemed to be content in ignoring me.
“Yes, we are currently studying at the Transgracian Academy. I am Cadet Emma Booker representing the United Nations of Earth and Luna from Earthream, and my aloof compatriot is Lord Illunor Rularia of the Vunerian courts. We were just about to head back but are in no rush. May I ask your name and what brings you by?” I asked with my hand outstretched in greeting.
“Ah yes, yes. My name is Edhel Redoehdelnif, a wandering bard by trade like my father and his father before him. My apologies, Cadet Emma Booker, I am unfamiliar with Earthrealm,” said Edhel as he grasped my hand with both of his and shook it tepidly yet vigorously. Or rather, tried to, as the motors on my suit resisted his efforts.
“News doesn’t seem to spread all that fast around here, so it makes sense you haven’t heard of us. We’re a new realm, and only just got here. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edhel Redoehdelnif,” I replied.
“Absolutely fascinating! And a knight no less, or perhaps a squire? I’m sure you have many stories to tell of Earthrealm. Say, by chance are you about to head back to the academy? I have business in Elaseer and the usual coach has been absent as of late so I would rather not go it alone,” said Edhel.
I was hesitant to bring a stranger back in the car with me, even if Illunor was present. However, the opportunity that meeting a bard presented was too good to pass up from an intel perspective and to win the favour of the populace at large.
“That is a great idea. I think I have room for one more…” I paused before gesturing towards Illunor, “provided everyone is ok with it that is.”
Illunor gave a huff and turned his head away in silence.
“Very well, I will allow this. But he will not be joining me in your sorry excuse for a coach,” said Illunor dismissively.
Illunor approached the backseat expectantly and the door opened for him automatically, allowing the dlc kobold to gracefully enter and lounge across the length of the seats, once again ignoring the seatbelts. I sighed as I made my way to the driver’s seat, and Edhel entered from the passenger side as he marveled at the automatic doors and the interior.
“What a strange carriage this is! Although I must say, shouldn’t you be retrieving your horses? I didn’t see any harnesses or sense any artifices,” inquired Edhel as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the car seat, lute in front of him.
“Oh no, this thing doesn’t need horses or magic,” I said with a chuckle as EVI started the car. The elf raised his eyebrows at the sudden hum of the engine and made an expression of alarm when the car started driving itself without my input. “See, purrs like a kitten.”
“Earthrealm must have some large kittens if they purr like that,” noted Edhel, “but you must be concealing the enchantments somewhere. Such a thing as this with such strange yet precise craftsmanship is only possible in the crownlands.”
“Nope, no magic,” I said cheerfully.
“Then how?” Asked Edhel.
“It’s rather simple really. Are you familiar with the workings of a mill?” I asked, deciding to keep things surface level and elementary to avoid provoking the IDOV threshold.
“Somewhat, though I confess to not being familiar with their workings. Are you suggesting this is akin to a mill?” Asked Edhel perplexed.
“It’s the same principal. A mill works by taking a source of rotation such as a waterwheel or windmill, transferring that rotation along a series of rotating shafts and interlocking gears, and finally putting that energy to work by rotating a millstone,” I began as the car pulled out onto the smooth cobbled road in the direction of Elaseer. A notification popped up in the corner of my vision indicating my recon drone swarm had shifted from a holding formation to a convoy screening formation, and while the roads were clear I kept the speed at 60km/h to account for my passenger’s apparent distaste for seatbelts.
“Rotation…” muttered Edhel. He turned to face one of the wheels and EVI pinged an alert for a probable match for a detection spell, “fascinating.”
“Edhel, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, perhaps I should have asked first. Yes, I can see how it all fits together. But the source of this rotation? I see no mighty river or great wind to power this, so where does it come from?” Asked Edhel, not really apologizing. Elven arrogance, it seemed, was not limited by class.
The act reminded me of Sorecar when he inspected my gun, but where the armourer had been respectful with it, Edhel was more flippant. I considered the possibility that he was a spy sent by one of her peers or the crownlands, though this did not mesh with the methods I had seen so far. Edhel may have been just overly enthusiastic. In either case, I quickly decided to only reveal the antique design for the ethanol engine, and not that of the batteries or the emergency coupler to my suit’s fusion reactor.
“Right, well please ask first next time. As to your question, I won’t bore you with the details, but the rotation is generated by creating a periodic sequence of explosions inside of a machine – a manaless artifice – called a combustion engine, said Emma.
“So that’s what that sound is…” pondered Edhel, “are these artifices typical in Earthream?”
“You are awfully inquisitive for a commoner,” noted Illunor as he inspected his nails for dirt, “and rather accepting of something which should be impossible.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a bard if I wasn’t, my lord,” said Edhel shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “perhaps some music might set the mood better?”
“That would be preferable, bard. I have heard enough of the Earthrealmer’s Road Trip Playlist and would like to listen to some music of real culture,” said Illunor.
The bard agreed and proceeded to awkwardly play a ballad about an adventurer who slew a hydra in some frozen wasteland. Partway through, I politely interrupted the Edhel to point out the seat controls much to his fascination and Illunor’s grumbling at their common nature, and after some adjustment the bard went on playing and I half-heartedly listened while I paid attention to the road and my drone feed.
Particularly after EVI detected something unusual and alerted me to its presence.
”Attention Caded Booker. There is a disabled vehicle blocking the primary route to destination. Heat signatures in the woods are consistent with that of an ambush.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
I glanced at the drone feed to see a broken cart strewn horizontally across a wooden bridge over a brook. On the surface it looked like a pair of civilians who required aid and assistance, but off in the woods were several heat signatures, several of which held weapons of varying levels of enchantments. Occasionally one of the pair on the bridge would talk with them, suggesting they were in cahoots rather than hostages. I recalled crossing that very bridge not a few hours earlier, so the blockade was very recent.
“EVI, did we pass that cart on the way here?” I asked.
”Negative,” replied EVI.
I grimaced. I had been trained to handle road-side ambushes, but it was only something that was a theoretical possibility. Something that should only occur in a warzone or a corrupt and unstable polity. I knew I had the capacity to handle such an encounter, even non-lethally, but that didn’t change the fact that these were civilians and as such were the responsibility of local law enforcement. Combined with the fact that I had passengers I was responsible for and engaging the ambush was a risky option.
“EVI, give me a list of alternative routes,” I commanded.
”Affirmative. Here is a list of routes in order of recommendation,” replied EVI.
I looked over the routes superimposed on a map of the region and quickly dismissed taking a shortcut through the forest and cutting through farmland. A detour caught my eye that extended the journey by roughly ten kilometers and I immediately sent a pair of drones to scout it out before committing to the detour.
“Are you alright, Cadet Emma Booker? You seem distracted,” asked Edhel, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just focused on driving,” replied Emma.
“I suppose it must be quite taxing to command an artificed carriage of this complexity. Perhaps it might ease your mind if you were to regale me a tale of a hero of your realm?” Said Edhel, strumming a complex tune from his lute as he spoke as each and every pluck triggered a low-level spell.
“Well, that may be a problem. We don’t have any monsters to fight, and wars are a thing of the past,” I said while desperately tip-toeing the subject of aunt Ran, the subject of war, and our voyages through the cosmos, “though we are not without the adventurous spirit. We certainly have many stories of grand voyages. Some mythical and fictional such as The Odyssey as told by the Greek poet Homer and some historical such as the race to the south pole.”
“The south pole,” muttered the bard, “so you have explored all of Earthrealm then? I suppose that makes some sense, if you have artifices such as this then traversal of a globe would be quite manageable.”
“You are quite perceptive,” I said, not wishing to elaborate.
“A great performer knows his audience,” said Edhel with a charming, honest, almost human smile.
I felt a pang of homesickness as an intrusive thought reminded me that I could have gone to a real college surrounded by friendly faces my age, engaging in nightly holostreams and dreaming of adventures in the stars from the safety of a college dorm room. The sight of Illunor in the rear camera was the only thing that kept me grounded, as I almost felt like I was back at home on a road trip rather than returning to a fantasy feudal court, constantly evading death at every turn with the fate of humanity on the line. As such, and prompted by EVI, I barely had the wherewithal to take the planned detour.
A fact which did not pass by Edhel.
“I believe you may have taken a wrong turn, Emma,” he commented.
“Nah, I’m just taking the scenic route. I came from that direction on the way here, and you have inspired me to see the other road and I figure it should only add a few extra minutes to our travel time,” I said, gesturing at a paper map which I had referenced exactly once, “though on that subject, you seem to know these lands quite well. Do you have any recommendations on places to visit in the Nexus to scratch that itch?”
Illunor raised his eyebrow at the detour excuse, knowing full well this was not part of the plan. I worried that he might complain about the issue and but thankfully remained silent as he snacked on the contents of the misused sample storage unit. Edhel himself took on a more pensive posture.
“I’m happy to have been such an inspiration, Emma, though I am sure an explorer such as yourself has little need of such. I would normally suggest the skyward fountains of Verdellan or the cloud tides of Asturia, but that may be too casual for someone of your calibre. Perhaps the severed chasm or the fire marsh of Bhandahova may be more to your liking. Or perhaps…” Edhel leaned in, “I have heard rumours of a dragon in the glassy obsidian wastes of Vurcanar.”
I chuckled at that, knowing how I was fortunate enough to fish a dragon scale out of the nearby lake for the ECS. “The thought of going dragon hunting had certainly crossed my mind…” I mused aloud.
“Yet you sound hesitant. Perhaps it is too much for a newrealmer. Perhaps a slime or a dire rat might be more appropriate,” he said with a tease.
“No, it’s not like that! It’s” I stammered, before attempting to change course after realizing I had been goaded, “what I mean is, I was under the impression that dragons were an endangered species. Where I come from, hunting endangered animals is usually illegal, and big game hunting in general is frowned upon. We do make exceptions in the case of problem animals such as if a large predator starts hunting humans, but as a rule we prefer conservation and try to find ways of coexisting with wildlife such as the use of barrier fences and scaring away dangerous animals rather than being forced to cull their numbers. Having a species go extinct would prevent future generations from appreciating them and risks destabilizing the ecosystem they are a part of. Now if this dragon was actively razing villages and eating civilians and livestock, that would be one thing, but this does not look to be the case. I don’t imagine the Nexus has any settlements in this wasteland, and the dragon clearly wants to be left alone. Killing an innocent dragon would be murder.”
I grinned to myself after delivering a diatribe that would have made my tenth grade social and environmental studies teacher beam with pride, though by the expressions of my passengers my view did not appear to be shared. Edhel’s mouth was agape in shock and fascination, while the Venurian in the back seat merely huffed in disapproval.
“I assure you Newrealmer, there are no innocent dragons,” stated Illunor with a hint of terseness breaking through his otherwise regal demeanor.
“Illunor, I understand that Venurians have personal reasons for not liking dragons, but you can’t just extend that disdain to their descendants or those uninvolved just because they are the same species,” I said.
“If I may interject on your behalf, my lord, I believe I can address Cadet Emma Booker’s concerns,” said Edhel with a bow. Illunor nodded in approval.
“Very well, you may proceed,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord. My dear Emma, you must understand that dragons are not simple animals driven entirely off of instinct as it appears to be the case in Earthrealm. They are monsters. Intelligent, long-lived, violent, greedy, cruel, territorial, selfish flesh-eating monsters. They are evil by the very nature of their being, unable to change by their own accord, and unwilling to change when His Eternal Majesty offered them freedom from their nature. It isn’t that they want to be evil. As intelligent animals – intelligent monsters – dragons are capable of understanding morality, and many have tried to overcome their evil nature at great expense to themselves. A well intended and noble sentiment, yet a doomed one as like all animals, they all succumb to their nature in the end. Overcoming one’s nature is impossible,” said Edhel. His eyes took on a stoic, almost remorseful gaze as he spoke, and Illunor nodded with approval.
I was appalled by this claim, not by the contents so much as how blatantly false it was. As a representative of the human race, I was a living counterexample to his whole argument. We had remained physiologically unchanged as a species since the last Ice Age, and yet in spite of that, in spite of our many flaws, we had found peace and balance. If we could do it, anyone could do it.
“Will all due respect Edhel, that is nonsense. Monsters aren’t born, they are made. It is the mark of any intelligent species can adapt their behaviour to their environment for better or worse, and under the right care any so-called monster can grow to be a force for good,” I began, but while I searched for the right words Edhel shook his head.
“I appreciate your race is an empathetic one, Emma, your idealism is unfounded. As flesh eaters, a dragon must take the life of another animal or person to survive, or they will perish. As such, every dragon has taken a life. As long-lived creatures, they will have amassed a significant number of kills. As the land can only support so much animals, a dragon must be fiercely territorial and aggressive to remove competition, lest they starve. As such, even the most kind-hearted dragon alive must be violent and greedy, and their intelligence fuels this even more so if they know a bountiful land of morsels exists just outside their range.
Now perhaps a multitude of dragons may find a way to co-exist together in some settlement, but to support such a venture would require a large territory of prey, or a livestock animal. Perhaps they could support a large colony by farming grain for their livestock, but that would require effort on their behalf. As large animals, such efforts require a great deal of energy. Yet that size makes it easy for them to intimidate smaller races to do their labour for them, and to keep their client race in line dragons must be cruel. And even so, as their numbers grow so do their needs. As such, they must expand into the lands of their neighbours to survive until there is nothing left to devour, at which point they must turn against their own lest they starve. As such, it is the nature of dragons to conquer and devour. That is why there is no such thing as an innocent dragon,” finished Edhel.
I was speechless, not because I believed Edhel had a point, but because I was horrified at how easy he found it to rationalize the extermination of an entire sapient species. If this was how the elves thought, then it wasn’t the dragons who were the monsters. I suppressed that dark thought. Edhel’s thought process was a product of his culture, not a feature of his elven heritage. If there was any hope of peace between our people, I needed to show him there was another way of being. I needed to prove that co-existence was possible, no matter one’s nature.
I took a deep breath to steady myself before replying.
“That- that is a callous way of seeing things,” I began, though the shock was still there in my voice, “you speak as though there is no natural equilibrium with a dragon, that their only state of being must be to be cruel, to devour, to conquer. But I see things differently. In fact, I might wonder if a fledgling civilization might see the presence of a dragon as a boon rather than a curse. Being intelligent, the locals may be able to come to some agreement with the dragon. Perhaps they might leave some land as a hunting ground or offer up a share of their cattle or guard the dragon as it sleeps. In exchange, the dragon might allow them to build a town outside its mountain and protect them in times of danger. An equitable exchange. A civilization might even create artificial lairs to attract dragons for this very reason. True, some dragons may behave tyrannical towards their town, but a well armed populace of a large city would be more than capable of fighting such a threat, and a rational dragon might reason that threatening their own populace would put their reliable source of food and shelter at risk. You see, it’s all a matter of perspective.”
“You certainly are an imaginative one, Emma, to wonder up a quixotic world where the hare and the fox live together in harmony as equals. Even so, you seem to have ignored one key detail to such a society. What would happen should the dragon not be fed for months on end?” Asked Edhel with his eyebrow raised.
“The same thing as stranded a dozen starving, stranded Elves!” I spat back.
[Alert: Vehicle speed above recommended limit for conditions. Recommendation: slow down. ]
“I am driving slow!” I seethed, not realizing I had sped up with manual control enabled.
“I grow tired of this common prattle,” interjected Illunor just in time to prevent an awkward silence, “bard, play us another song.” “As my lord wishes,” said Edhel with a bow before turning to me with another smile, “perhaps a more soothing melody would be in order? A love song perhaps, to honour Cadet Booker’s compassionate nature?”
I said nothing as Edhel began to strum his lute again to the tune of a love story of a pair of doomed lovers named Ramian and Junette, hating his cheeky knowing grin that only served to get under my skin further as I focused on calming down and slowing the car back to a more reasonable pace before investigating a priority alert which I had been blinded to moments prior.
[Alert: hostile roadblock is absent, location unknown.]
Shit.
“Illunor, we may have a problem,” I said.
“Shush, Newrealmer, have you no class? We are almost at the best part! I’m sure it can wait,” replied the contextually clueless lizard.
I had never wanted to throttle Illunor as much as I did now.
“Illunor, shield, now,” I said with a raised voice.
“I don’t see-“ he started, pausing mid-sentence as his ears perked up.
[Alert: Multiple manafield and spell signatures detected!]
I took evasive maneuvers as Illunor tried to piece together a shield spell, fumbling it twice as panic appeared to set in and providing me with a reminder that Illunor was a civilian, not a soldier. A hail of arrows pelted the exterior of the truck, piercing but not penetrating the composite armour. I was tempted to do nothing but just drive away from the arrow fire, but a foreboding premonition of danger filled me as I recalled Sorecar’s hunter-seeker arrows.
Seeking to avoid that fate, I triggered the active defenses.
The smoke screens deployed around the vehicle, obscuring the sight of any who depended on visible light to see me. A barrage of decoy flares equipped with wooden cores shot upward at angles and diffusing to the side like a pair of giant wings which when combined with the MFD, short for mana-field dampener, inside the vehicle meant that the pelting hail of arrowfire softened to a whirr as the arrows whiffed over the top of the truck, retargeted away from the soft flesh of my passengers and even invoking friendly fire amongst the ambushers.
In the chaos, EVI and my drone swarm fed me complete tactical information on the ambush. Of the 26 individuals at the first blockade, 20 were accounted for, and 3 had died from friendly fire. Ahead at the bridge, 5 more of them were at the bridge where a barrier had been hastily erected to cage me in as the river valley was too deep to cross.
“Illunor, we need a bridge,” I said, taking stock of the wellbeing of my passengers.
The bard was huddled down low and suppressing his manafield, but otherwise rather composed. Illunor, on the other hand, was cowering in the gap between the seats with his hands covering his eyes and his tail tucked in.
“A bridge is no small request, Ne- Cadet Emma Booker,” replied Illunor, “and your ‘Emeffdee’ has blinded me to the outside of this moving death trap.”
“If I drop it, can you at least make a ramp?” I asked as I circled the battlefield. Or tried to, at least, as earthen ramparts emerged from the ground from a yet unseen source to cut off other avenues of escape.
“A ramp? Surely you don’t mean-“ he stammered.
“Yes or no,” I said.
Illunor paused, before taking an unsteady breath.
“Yes. But not with that Emeffdee,” he replied.
“Good. Steady your nerves and prepare to make a ramp ahead of us on my signal,” I said, “in the meantime, get your seatbelt on. This is going to be hairy.”
As I circled around to make my approach on the bridge, the final combatant made his appearance on a nearby tree, revealing himself as an elven mage. An alert focused on the air around him indicating he was preparing an unknown high-tier spell, and I locked the predator drone on him indicating the elf as a high-priority target if our escape plan failed, and I was forced to use lethal force.
If I was forced to kill.
It was one thing to know you may have to kill in the line of duty, but it was much harder to reconcile that with reality. No number of simulations could match the real thing, and a part of me wanted to simply offload the responsibility to EVI to keep my hands clean, but to do that would be betraying my duty as a human being. I breathed in deep and tried not to think about it, instead hoping to rely on the ace I held in my sleeve instead.
“EVI, ready the spell jammer,” I said unevenly.
Acknowledged, the prototype Exo-Radiation Wave-Field Distruptor is primed. High risk target identified and locked, permission to engage?” EVI asked, forcing me to address the dreaded question.
“Negative,” I replied, “hold your fire. If the ramp fails, then you have permission to engage,” I said.
Affirmative, on your mark,” replied EVI.
I lined up the truck with the bridge and bolted through the smoke, keeping a careful eye on the mage as I went. His spellform took on a more concerning shape as I accelerated, and I realized I could not afford to let him finish his spell. I triggered the spelljammer.
A terrible roar erupted from an array of speakers printed from mana-resistant materials that would have made Godzilla herself beam with pride. The sound was decidedly unnatural, gnarly, dubstep drop composed of an electric eel, a whale, a mountain lion, and a tyrannosaurus rex all being simultaneously assaulted by a swarm of angry cybernetic murder hornets as an equally chaotic wave of mana blasted outwards from the exterior of the truck, with the interior thankfully sheltered by audio and mana dampening.
The ambushing assailants cowered and panicked, and it was enough to cause the Elven mage’s spell to backfire in his face as his form exploded into ashes, meeting a horrific fate which I had tried so desperately to help him avoid. With all the combatants momentarily incapacitated or dead, I lowered the dampener and turned off the smoke.
“Ramp!” I shouted, snapping the lizard back to reality.
The Venerian nodded and hastily formed an earthwork ahead of us right before the blockade, and the truck leapt off the ramp with a not insignificant amount of air beneath our wheels. I braced for impact, regretting skimping on the shocks in the name of preserving materials, but the impact never came.
[Alert: Friendly spell designated ‘Feather Fall’]
Illunor thankfully had enough wherewithal to gently land the steel brick, and I sped off into the distance away from the trap that had unfolded behind us, leaving the interior of the truck in an awkward silence as we each processed our brush with death in our own way. “How many are dead?” I asked EVI.
6 hostiles confirmed dead,” replied EVI.
I drove on in silence. Those were six deaths I had tried to avoid, and I became lost in thought as I wondered what I should have done differently to avoid the confrontation entirely.
Edhel broke the silence with a bout of laughter.
“Terrific! Absolutely terrific! Why, I can conjure up many a tale from this encounter alone! I live for this kind of inspiration!” Exclaimed Edhel a little too chipperly considering the circumstance.
“I would rather not hear stories about how I bravely ran away,” I moaned in deadpan sarcasm.
“You think too little of yourself, Cadet Emma Booker. It is plain to me that you are no ordinary rabbit. Make no mistake, I see it as a privilege to bear witness to the roar of a vorpal hare!” Said Edhel as he supressed his laughter, “though I am afraid with all the excitement that I must finish my song some other time.”
“How about I play some of our music?” I offered after the elf revealed his thrill-seeking side.
“Splendid, I would like that. Perhaps something of your ‘Roadtrip playlist’ you speak of? It sounds like a collection of your voyages,” said Edhel.
“That would be an improvement on the truth,” said Illunor dismissively as he eased from his state of shock, “it is little more than noise under the pretense of music.”
“Illunor…” I muttered to myself before turning the mic on, “no, no it’s not like that. I have terabytes of pre-recorded songs from various artists back home which can be played by… an artifice called a speaker. A playlist is a set of songs which are grouped together, usually to listen to in specific situations such as studying, partying, or travelling. The latter collection is what Illunor is referring to.”
I very deliberately chose not to reveal my ‘Unfortunate Daughters’ playlist.
“An artifice which plays music, and a magicless one at that. I must say, Emma, I fear for the bards in your realm,” said Edhel with a laugh.
“Your fear is misplaced, Edhel. Entertainers live like kings where I come from,” I retorted with a smirk of my own, “well, the ones with talent at least.”
“Well, well, I suppose I have to hear my competition!” Said Edhel with a laugh.
“Do as you must, though let it be known that I warned you,” said Illunor as he watched a play on his sightseer.
I had EVI compile a list of songs that left out content offensive to Nexian sensibilities or violating OpSec and as it compiled I mused over what type of sample spread I wanted to show off. Then it struck me. What better way to show off our culture than with some good old blue jumpers and nova rock! Sadly, jumpers were unavailable to show but I still had a whole list of modern artists to choose from.
Moments later, the car speakers sprung to life to the tune of ‘Innocent Youth of Mine. Edhel’s eyes lit up like a child visiting a zero-g gravity park for the first time, seemingly star-struck by the antique electric guitar and the synthesizer-drums in particular.
“What… what is this? I have never heard anything like this!” Proclaimed Edhel.
“Dreadful, isn’t it?” said Illunor, doing what he did best and pretending to hate it.
“Oh there is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own, “this one is called ‘Innocent Youth of Mine’ by ‘Cannons and Poppies’. It’s part of the Nova Rock genre.
“And those strange instruments?” Asked Edhel.
“Oh, you mean the electric guitar and the synthesizer. They are electronic instruments, taking advantage of channeled and modulated electricity to create near any sound we can imagine,” I replied.
“Channeled electricity… are you suggesting these sounds were made by some form of lightning?” Asked Edhel.
[Suggestion: Avoid topic of electricity due to OpSec risk]
I nodded at EVI’s warning, thankful that it caught me before I discussed the very thing that all of my equipment ran on.
“It’s not exactly lightning, but close enough,” I said.
“If I had not witnessed to your display of power earlier, I might have perhaps been more skeptical of such a claim, but I suppose a lady must keep her secrets.” said Edhel with a raised eyebrow and chuckle, “but I digress, this music is most interesting.”
“There is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own.
“If I ever have a prisoner in need of torture, I will turn to you first,” replied Illunor, “if you are willing to subject your peers to this madness then I cannot imagine what you would force upon your enemies before dunking them in ice.”
“In your dreams,” I retorted.
I played a few other songs including Astrodesee’s ‘Meteor Struck’, the Martian classic ‘Hotel Cydonia’ and even ‘Switching to Warp’ before Elaseer emerged from the distance, and I pulled up outside the gate to drop Edhel off.
“Here already?” Asked Edhel.
“Well, yeah. I was just running a quick errand, I didn’t want to go too far,” I replied casually.
“That was a distance worth at least five days of walking by foot, and you call that a ‘quick errand’?” Asked Edhel. I shrugged, and he laughed.
“Well in any case, thank you for allowing me passage in your car. I must apologize for my lack of gift or payment…” said Edhel. “Don’t worry about it, it was on the way,” I replied.
“I see, how generous. Perhaps we might one day meet again?” Asked Edhel.
“Maybe, but I’m not sure how likely that is. The academy takes up most of my time,” I replied, “though you never know. I still have a lot of quest hours to complete.”
“Is that so? In that case, I hope we meet again! Goodbye Cadet Emma Booker and farewell Lord Illunor Rularia,” he said. “And good travels to you, bard,” said Illunor.
I waved off Edhel and drove back to the academy, Illunor still sulking in the back seat.
“Perhaps next time, you should steer us away from danger?” Suggested Illunor.
“I tried, but we were tracked,” I replied.
I groaned inwardly at the additional work needed to fix the truck. EVI compiled a list of upgrades for future engagements, batting away my idea for a ‘turbo mode’ and a ‘jump boost’. Though at the end of the day, meeting the bard wasn’t a complete loss. It felt good to talk to someone almost normal for once, and I hoped I met him again.
Edhel Redoehdelnif
I watched as Cadet Emma Booker’s vehicle went off into the distance, getting one last look at the Earthrealmer’s strange artifice before turning towards the gate. The voyage was an exotic experience, not unlike that of a fever dream or a peak into a world completely alien to my own. Indeed, it was a struggle to contain my excitement and enthusiasm and process the experience rationally as I made my way through the southern gates of Elaseer and turned the corner of an alley before entering an impossible structure that did not exist.
“You are earlier than expected,” said the shadowy figure of my handler as I made my way to the meeting hall.
“The Earthrealmer’s means of transportation proved far more expedient than anticipated, my lord” I spoke as I knelt before him, “even with her unexpected departure from the anticipated road and the ambush we traveled for scantly more than an hour.”
“Yes, I will require a full report from you. Perhaps you can shed some light on the ‘smoke dragon’ my men claim intervened on the Earthrealmer’s behalf,” said my handler.
“Smoke Dragon, my lord?” I asked.
My handler responded by activating his sight-seer, revealing how the ambush had appeared from the outside. The Earthrealmer’s uncanny artifice traversed down the road, a pair of manafields displaying proudly from within until the archers began their assault. The artifice then transformed as smoke billowed out from its pores and wings sprung forth above until it was the form of a mighty wrym with a pair of glowing eyes springing forth from its ever extending head where it then gave forth a terrible unholy roar which sent waves of mana outward. The mage working to seal the area and trap their mark vapourized in an instant as his spell backfired. It was apparent to Edhel that his exceptional experience in the carriage was merely a muted rendition of the events unfolding around them.
It would seem the hare had the shadow of a dragon.
“I do have some insight, though I must confess the Earthrealmer did very little in the way of direct action. I suspect she has some unseen means of commanding and scrying through her artifices,” I said, “one which does not utilize magic as we know it.”
“Such a statement is heresy,” said my handler, “but such special circumstances are your reason for being. I will require you submit your memories for verification. What is your appraisal of the new realmer?”
“The girl is far more dangerous than a surface appraisal would suggest, though she prefers to conceal that power rather than utilize it out of a misplaced sense of compassion. Her people appear to have a boundless creative drive through which such artifices are birthed, though again it is misdirected towards more common applications. I believe that if properly tamed, this human animal may provide us with great works of art,” I said with a bow.
“I see. Does the girl know you work for us?” Asked my handler.
“She may harbour some suspicions, though did not voice them outright beyond concealing her knowledge,” I said, “though nothing significant. Provided our next meet is under believable circumstances such as a festival she should view me as cordial.”
“She has indeed proven clever,” conceded my handler, “very well, I will make arrangements for your paths to cross again. Perhaps I will arrange for her to be a contestant at the next inter-academy tournament. In the mean time, prepare your report and don’t wander far. This is a priority assignment.”
“As you wish, my lord,” I said with a bow and a smile.
Emma Booker had proved to be an interesting animal indeed, and I hoped our paths crossed again.
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2024.05.18 22:48 Robotic-Butterfly839 Are they trying to fool me? (Laptop repair)

Hey everyone! Hopefully someone will be able to help me with this. Two months ago I bought a refurbished laptop at a tech store. They told me it had a 1 year warranty. Last week the laptop pretty much died. I wasn't able to turn it on and I couldn't even see the charging indicator light up when I tried charging it. I contacted the store and they told me I could send them the laptop, they would take a look and do any repair that was needed. Today they contacted me and said they've fixed the laptop and that the problem was the BIOS battery, they had to replace it and apparently the laptop is working fine now (or so they say).
My understanding of computers is pretty basic, but as far as I know a dead BIOS battery shouldn't prevent a laptop from booting up, let alone charging, it would only mess up BIOS settings, right? So what's going on here? They say the laptop is working now, so I guess the problem has been solved but I'm kind of confused.
Sorry for the long text. Also, English is not my first language, so hopefully my grammar and sentence structure is not that bad lol
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2024.05.18 21:41 MisterAmmosart Trip Report: 05/05 - 05/17. Mainly Tokyo. IIDX traveling in Kanto. Long post.

Freshly back and awake after a twelve day stint for my first time there. I knew that I wanted to go in general, and while I didn't have a firm itinerary planned out, there was one main goal that I had in terms of sites within the country. The main video game that I play is Beatmania IIDX, and it has internal trophies which are represented as badges. Your profile allows you to assign up to five of them as visible when you start a new round, and there are badges to earn for playing at least one round in every prefecture in Japan, as well as every subregion. Getting the Kanto badge meant that I needed to play at least one round in Tokyo, Kanagawa, Saitama, Gunma, Tochigi, Ibaraki, and Chiba. After five days, I had that complete, and now I have a permanent record of this trip within the game itself. There was also a time-limited event to earn points in IIDX in order to exchange them for goods, such as a hat, or a towel, or a new account card and a poster, and I managed to get that taken care of in somewhat dramatic fashion. I did some other things too.
Primary general points
· Getting Suica set on the phone and using it was generally painless. There were only two times where I needed to summon the help of a resident JR employee to clear up an issue with the gate not reading the card for some reason.
· Most vocal interaction which I had was the opposite of painless, because I continuously kept trying to speak Japanese and failing, and most people would realize that I was completely failing at it and responded with English (some with full on sentences, others with just a few words). There were a few rare times that I was able to express my intent in Japanese, receive a response, understand the response, and reply as necessary, but that was rare. Once English was invoked, I would stay with it, because that's what they were expecting. I've been self-studying the language for more than twenty years in varying degrees of intensity, and while my reading comprehesion seemed sufficient enough for this trip, and while I didn't expect my speaking to be as good because I don't have any opportunity to practice speaking, I came away bitterly disappointed in my vocal and speaking comprehension in terms of my interaction with people there. Even within the trip I could at least overhear common chitchat better, but any time I needed to converse with someone for some reason, I usually needed to have things repeated several times and broken down before I finally realized what was being said.
· You are going to be asked about separately buying a bag with every non-food purchase. Accept or immediately present one that you are carrying to indicate how your purchase shall be bagged.
· I never once had my passport requested for presentation.
· Only once did a person volutnarily reach out to address me, and it was just to ask me where I was from in English. Otherwise, everyone left me alone the entire time.
· Weather through the period was ideal. Mid to upper 70F/25C range and only a few days where it was rainy, and even then it wasn't a downpour. A while ago I personally resolved to only wear suits in public and I purchased a new pair of Mephisto shoes after hearing reports of the extensive walking causing problems for traveller's feet and shoes. My attire help up well; there were only a few times that I needed to avoid sunlight to not get too hot, and I have no issues to report from the shoes.
· I only got X'd out of a restaurant one time, and I think it's only because I wandered into it before it was ready for service. Otherwise, I never once waited in line for food, I never once went to restaurant more than once, and all food was acceptably priced for the portion and excellent for the quality.
For these per-day recounts, I wrote them contemporaneously at the end of each day, so you'll need to forgive me for some writing being in present tense and other writing being in past tense.
Day 1 - Travel, Sugamo, Ikebukuro
Non stop flight from Chicago OHare to Haneda. 12 hours. Good thing I usually don't watch movies, because that just means that all I needed to do was binge a few to make the trip go by.
Pre-trip research led me to choose APA Sugamo as my home base for the visit, and I think that it was a very fortuitious choice. I'll have more to say about it later.
Some awkward encounters happened right away upon checking in here. I was at the nearby Family Mart to buy some things and I didn’t catch that he was making sure I wanted a bag until he repeated it five times. Yes, I’ll take it. Before getting there I was coming down to ground level after checking into my room, and when that person saw that I would have been the only other person going down to the ground, they ducked right back out. I was warned on both of these kinds of things happening, so I guess it’s good to have that immediately out of the way. It would turn out that people deliberately avoiding me was rare throughout the trip.
Despite not sleeping on the trip, I had freshly arrived and had no sense of being tired, so once I had my stuff down, I went off to Ikebukuro right away. No picture or video truly conveys how crowded these areas can get. It can only be experienced in person to be understood.
I soon found Round One Ikebukruo and went right in. So dense and loud. It’s entirely alien to me to see no less than ten IIDX machines in operation and all of them in use. I dumped the money into random tickets, as I foresaw doing, but now I have to wonder if that was the right thing to do, or if it’s tied to that location. I guess I’ll find out.
The forecast is for rain so I need to be in a hurry to figure out where I’m going to go. There might be only one day left for me to get my time limited toys.
Day 2 - Kawasaki, Kanagawa - Utsunomiya, Tochigi - Oomiya, Saitama
My body decided that it only needed four hours of sleep this morning. Without doing more research, I somehow decided to assume that more of the Round One locations were close to 24 hours of operation much like Ikebukuro. Answer: no. I hopped on the train early and went to Shibuya first, but it was very quiet, so I decided to get some of the travels out of the way today and headed south to Kawasaki. I still needed to dawdle for a while until Silk Hat opened at 900AM, and when I finally was able to get inside, I was only able to verify that their store had several allotments of the campaign goods and all allotments were out. Played one round on a monitor that was surprisingly blurry, and I don’t know why that would be the case with a lightning model, but it was, so that was enough.
After doing all of that, I resolved to try to go to Chiba and Ibaraki afterwards. I figured that with Kanagawa and Tokyo likely all out, going to the outskirts would make more sense. However, there was an injury on one of the rails that threw everything off normal, and the train I found myself riding was bound for Utsunomiya instead. Seeing as how I was going to go there eventually, I rolled with it.
It doesn’t take too long to move away from Tokyo metropolitan area before you encounter more forest like areas and rice paddy fields. Halfway through the trip I noticed that two older women suddenly hopped off while the train was waiting to go to the next stop, and I followed them when I realized they found the express line. Utsunomiya has a substantial size to its area and buildings but it was very quiet on the streets there in midday. Walked a mile to Sega GIGO, found that they didn’t even have the goods tracker up. All out. Interesting buliding for it having several neon signs, all vintage and authentic at that. Getting to there from the south meant cutting through Saitama, so I knew I had enough time to make one last attempt there. Research shown two stores being near Oomiya station, so that’s where I ended up. Taito Station was immediately visible upon exit, and they have two IIDX machines specifically with 20 gram springs, which is closer to my home setup and that much lighter than standard 50 gram springs. The final hour drew near and I made one last visit to that city’s Round One. Unlike nearly every other place I went to so far, it only had one IIDX machine. However, and maybe because of that, their goods listing didn’t show everything as out. One painful language exchange later, I was able to discern that what I wanted was available. When you spend more than 3000 yen in a single credit, the game wants to verify if you really want to proceed. It does it again at 6000 and 9000. Yes, I really do. But, having made that money dump I was able to get my hands on the e-amuse card and poster with fifteen minutes left before the deadline. Mission complete. By this point in the day it was exceedingly difficult to even look at the screen so I was ready to come home, but not before getting some goods at the Oomiya Book Off and redeeming what I could for points at Round One Ikebukuro. By the end of the day the only thing that I could tolerate doing was to buy some chicken and nigiri from the nearby train station. Good enough. At that point in the day my body felt like it wants to rock back and forth after all the train riding done today. But, it ended up being worthwhile after all.
One nostalgic feeling I had the most strongly in the day was at the Utsunomiya location where the smell of it triggered past buried memories of yesteryear. I think I want to attribute it to the stronger second hand cigarette smell but I’m not sure - all the same I felt its presence strongly there. Also, I don’t see Oomiya (or really Saitama itself) mentioned as a fun place to go, but it might serve as an acceptable alternative to Ikebukuro, only not as massive in scale of human quantity. Depending on how the trip goes in total I may end up back there for IIDX playing, at least if I don’t find any other place that has 20G springs.
Day 3 - Akihabara
With the travels out of the way, it was time to keep things more regionalized and stick to one area, and there is shopping that needs to be done, so it was off to Akihabara and to see how much of other posted tales hold true. The answer is that it is a lot of it. Kotobukiya can stand to open sooner than noon. Super Potato is indeed priced for a market which wants to snap up anything cheap - I at least found Xi for under 500 and felt that it would have been a bit silly to buy only that, but it didn’t make spending 2000 on one single issue of Arcadia any better. I had no idea that Hey Arcade was right next to both of them; while it was assuredly nice to be there and see the row of Cave shooters among everything else, something got messed up with my registration of my new eamuse card with everything else, so that quickly added to my stress. Having to carry around a few hundred dollars worth of crap with every step didn’t help matters. At least I was able to help a person recover their lost phone by applying a bit of logic to the situation and deducing it to belong to the only person there who looked French, as it was on the Lock Screen. They were relieved, yes. Then, rain came, and it was more than I was anticipating, and I left the umbrella at the room, particularly since I knew I’d be shopping this day. It also turns out to have not mattered much, because I went to visit Bic Camera so that I could get myself a hair trimmer while here, and that turned into me finding a bunch of Kit Kats available, so that meant a second bag. The wind kicked out the rain and my umbrella. In trying to get as many gifts secured as possible, I found some gachapon, but it needed 100Y coins, and I didn’t need paper money in the trip yet. After fighting with maps, I found an ATM to get cash, and got the gachapon. I came home late with feeling rather crushed about the day in that I couldn’t take pictures very well with having to juggle weather and bagging considerations. There were some nice parts of the experience to be sure but between that and more gawking at Super Potato pricing ($135 for PS3 Caladrius? $6000 for Pulstar?) and seeing similar markups on other goods, I don’t think it’s unfair to say that there is a reputation that this area carries and the pricing is there to go with it.
Day 4 - Laundry Day. Shibuya, Harajuku, Shinjuku
I was so drained at the end of Day 3 that I fell asleep on the bed immediately after ending the night call, which meant that I woke up at 0200AM to a room that was fully lit. This meant that I needed to look up how to resolve my eamuse problem or else I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. I did both. Awake at 0800AM meant that I had time to do laundry while I figured out what to do with the rest of the day. This meant that I was able to get more of Sugamo in pictures, and it was nice to be able to walk among the actual residences, and do other things like come across a school as it was actually in session. With them being close by and all in succession, I figured to get Shibuya, Harajuku, and Shinjuku visited. It turns out to have been a good day for it, as the temperature was perfectly cool and no rain came, and the sun came out only for a little bit. Shibuya somehow doesn’t seem quite as large in scope in person but the crowds were definitely there, and it is much more hilly than I anticipated as well. After wandering around and not seeing any arcade for a bit, I came across a series of coffee and cookie shops and remained strong to not indulge. It was there while looking at a Disney store (which gets tourists to take pictures of it for some reason) that the song Alone Again came on through the nearby public speakers. What timing. It drove me to finally get a treat for myself, and the frozen latte (black sesame and houji) and croissant (dark chocolate filing) were certainly good, it ended up costing more than the dinner I’d have later this day. I found a seclusion with a garbage can to eat the food and not carry the trash around, then an arcade soon after, and it was time to determine if I could fix the problem. Just like an easy click, it was. New to trash. Old to new. Done. Why did it have to be this way. Harajuku came next, and the environment there was distinct. This one in particular felt like it was an extended carnival atmosphere with the single tight knit market street and emphasis on fashion. A conversation with a freelance artist in the subway actually went well enough that I didn’t feel dumb. The same sensation carried to Shinjuku as well, only it was more spread out. Kabuki street was interesting to see in person, and I didn’t get any unseemly vibes from the place. Maybe it’s different later at night. A return home at a reasonable time allowed me to go down Sugamo’s market street a bit; most of it was closed, but it was interesting to come across the few remaining stores that were open by 0800PM, and more so the one that wasn’t. Coming back to the hotel I found a 24 hour ramen shop with nobody inside. The chef didn’t want to speak and only pointed to the ordering kiosk when I addressed her. The food came through a slot in the obscured window. At least her thank you as I left was a bit more warm, and the food was certainly delicious. To match with the matcha dessert that I bought from Sugamo station, I swung by a 7Eleven to get a drink, and found a milk tea for cheaper than a vending machine. The overhead music in the store was an instrumental version of Alone Again.
Day 5. Ibaraki - Mount Tsukuba, Miraidaira. Kashiwa, Chiba. Akihabara 2.
Awake at 0500AM on my own and knowing the current forecast meant that my envisioned plan for the day was quickly realized. Reaching the Tsukuba Express starting point from Akihabara needs you to get very far down into the ground before getting out into sunlight. I was on the ride early enough to see schoolchildren going about their commute, some of them being no older than ten and going about it unaccompanied. The people of Tsukuba seemed to be particularly helpful and cheerful that day, even despite my Suica issues at the gate. I didn’t ask his name at the counter but the man at the service desk was eager to speak with me about my career and what I was doing there. One asked where I was from on the way up to the summit and another caught my cable car ticket on the way down. There had to have been a few of them who saw my doing this climb in my business attire and thinking me to be a complete idiot if not outright mocking them for doing it that way while they employed the use of dual walking sticks and the like. I know I read some reports of the home stretch being difficult, but it did get pretty close to being an actual rock climb instead of a trail hike for that part of it. A quick stop to Miraidaira on the way back to get the Ibaraki play. The way the town center greets you upon leaving the rail gate struck me as incredible, as well as for how quiet it was. It was like walking onto a movie set. I did find the sweet shop after the play, and that was another painful interaction yet again. Oh well. Two quick stops down Tsukuba Express and one across from Tobu Urban Park line was enough to have a toe in Chiba, and I didn’t even need to leave the physical building of the train station to get to the basement level to find a machine for a play. Thank you, Kashiwa, you were great. Gunma is all that’s left. The descent from Tsukuba did take some earnest exertion, and after doing that the two stops, that put me back in Akihabara about when I anticipated; what I failed to anticipate is how much that place seems to drain on me. I think I just need to eat at an actual dinner time. Once I got back to Sugamo and had food it was a bit better, but while in Akihabara and being around that environment, and not finding things on a shopping list, I found myself just standing still and watching life pass me by. I hemmed and hawed a while for a maid girl’s hour of service for chitchat, but eventually I talked myself out of it because I just didn’t want potential trouble, just like her name. Komaru. I thought about doing this once just to say that I did, but I ultimately decided against it. You cannot go to this place with the expectation that you will find anything unless it is advertised and new. If you are looking for anything used, don’t count on it being there. You also cannot go there without having a strong resolve to not engage with the touts, because it becomes disheartening to see them do their job and blankly stare at the world when they're forced to stand out there and do nothing. Back to Sugamo to find a place that advertised Wagyu but the price they wanted was more than I wanted to spend. The ramen and seaweed & rice servings were fine, but they advertised endless drink and I didn’t receive that. All for $20? No, son. I did better than that elsewhere, I’ll know better now. Long day.
Day 6 - Tokyo Flea Market, Nakano Broadway, Ueno.
The weather couldn’t have been better for this weekend. I’ve read reports that the flea market held near the horse race track will be arbitrarily cancelled regardless of what is reported on the website, but my gut instinct told me that it would occur today, and it did. Turns out that a flea market is a flea market which is a flea market, no matter where it happens. Same allotment of clothes and stuff that few people really want to buy, although I was able to find myself some neckties at least. I probably overpaid based on what I saw later in the route, but that’s fine. They look nice. I settled on some shot glasses for a gift as well, but I’m surprised that I can’t ind something ornate that isn’t part of a sake set. Seated in the shade with a chocolate churro while rap music played in the background - it’s like I never left home. A woman came to sit across from me for the sake of sitting down; she was from Holland and today’s her last day in the country. Her husband came with food eventually. She had three weeks here and went to several places (allegedly, she didn’t list them out) and I asked her about Nakano Broadway. She didn’t make it there. It’s a good thing that I did - this is probably the kind of environment and market that people expect of Akihabara now, and maybe that’s how Aki was years ago, but it’s different from this. What’s more interesting is that Mandarake has a larger presence here than in Akihabara (so it seems to me), and their stores had floor after floor of any and every kind of pop culture product that’s been made in the past sixty years at least. Buttress that with extensive watch and jewelry stores and a slender arcade in the basement, and it’s a very well centralized microcosm of the country’s economy on the whole. I actually made a point to have dinner earlier than usual this time and found a place to serve some deep fried pork cuts served with rice and soup on the side. It was enough, and very well made. The day had not ended and my bag was heavy with several books purchased there, so I reported back to base briefly and decided to try visiting somewhere else, and settled on Ueno. Just as I arrived, a festival was underway where local teams of people made an elaborate show of carrying a home made shrine to a temple. Streets were officially blocked by police to allow the procession. In following the line I came up against makeshift food and amusement stands with the traditional toy gun shooting and goldfish catching. It appears that this is an official “start of summer” festival and I was able to watch it all happen in front of me. That was the good part of the day.
Day 7 - Tachikawa / Kunitachi. Shinjuku 2.
One of the games that I've never played is Beatmania III The Final. I've played some BM3 7th Mix years ago, but not The Final. I found a location that has one - World Game Circus in Tachikawa. In looking around that area before the trip, I saw that there was a nearby shinkansen museum, and not much else, so I figured that going to both places would make that walk worthwhile. Turns out that it wasn’t a museum in the proper sense of a dedicated building. Rather, it was a bullet train engine car on the side of a building that was unrelated, and that was it. A cute interaction happened here - when I approached the car, I heard some children running around inside, so I approached cautiously without knowing if I was encroaching upon someone else's alloted time or something. Once the children saw me, they gave a hearty irrashaimase as I entered, and the boy stamped a paper and presented it to me. Perfect. Despite it not being a typical musem, the card did have some interesting content, and it's good to see some kind of commemoration for their achievements and progression in that industry regardless. They have a lot to be proud about there. Off to WGC. Maps wasn’t lying about the walk taking twenty minutes. It's a good thing that I looked it up on streetview beforehand, because I otherwise would have walked right past it without knowing it was there. Then there it was, and there I confronted a past that I couldn’t visit again. Sure, I got to play BM3 The Final at last, but my timing was off, my hands were off, there wasn’t much I could do. Along with that I can say that I’ve played on a Beatmania II cabinet, and that was better than 5th Style at least. But that was it, that was all I could stand to do. It was right there and I couldn’t bear to put up with it more than a few rounds at best. Dream big, because only disappointment follows if your smaller dreams ever are fulfilled. I don’t know why finding IKEA back in Shinjuku was so difficult, but it took a while. I bought a bag, and then I bought a bag because the other bag was at the end of the register, which makes sense. I did feed myself before getting back to the Taito station to play some songs, but it still wasn’t good enough. All thumbs. Ended the day with laundry since the timing worked. Speaking of making dreams big, it’s time to cross another one off the list tomorrow. I can’t wait.
Day 8 - Takasaki, Gunma. Oomiya, Saitama 2.
It’s a good thing that I only needed to get to Ikebukuro to transfer over to the next stop, because that’s where that particular run ended for some reason. I wonder what was up. Speaking of things getting messed up on trains, I managed to find my way on a train that needed a separate ticket, which I didn't have. The conductor found me right away and had me disembark at Uraja for me to wait for the proper transfer. The weather forecast said there’d be rain, and the travel forecast said it would take two hours to get there, and neither lied. I feel like I had more people staring at me in Gunma than other places. I will say that I found the Takasaki station area to be rather charming, with the stores that it had inside and the emphasis on the music culture there. It’s one thing to offer a piano to the public to play, but it’s another to have a public willing to use it. This location had both. Having what was essentially a Bic Camera built into the facility was a nice touch too. The Leisure Land arcade was sandwiched between other floors that had its own offering of gaming stuff, so that was an unexpected bit of a fun thing to look through. The area was clean and sparsely populated, and it wasn’t picked clean of all matter of things that would normally get snapped up, so that was interesting. Finally, I made it over to the machine. They had separate fans for each location. I got the songs and then the medals came, and that’s that. Kantou Seiou. I would have stayed a bit longer but I wanted to have the medals show up right away, and my internet wasn’t cooperating, so that’s all I could do. I think there was an Internet cafe that I could have used in the facility, but I didn’t want to deal with an awkward conversation. I did get some Lawson on the way out, as well as some trinkets from the local Gunma-chan store as well as some mini croissants and some macademia cookie things. More vocal awkwardness. Omiya was one of the stops on the way back, and I found a place to serve omrice, so that’s another one off the list. No shoes allowed inside. The value wasn’t there but the service was good enough, as was the flavor. The machines with the 20G springs are indeed legit. Back home in time for some McDonalds, and that’s another food-checklist item marked off. Takoyaki mayo dipping sauce - somehow it’s both salty and sweet. While returning to the hotel, I did happen to encounter an argument amongst two teenaged locals where the guy ended up half-heartedly kicking the girl and getting her to cry. I wonder what their argument was about. I didn’t play hero, but someone else did so enough to prevent an escalation and called the police over.
Day 9 - Sugamo, Tokyo Sky Tree, Akihabara 3, Kanda
Up early enough to decide that I should at least visit the Sky Tree while I'm there just to say that I did, and that I should visit the Sugamo street market upon its open since it was right there in front of me. I'm glad to have done so. With everything open, this felt more like what one would think to expect from a flea market environment that's operated and supported by the local populace. Small stores were open both sides of the street that go on for many blocks, and some tents and tables were set up to sell second hand goods as well. I was able to find someone selling a US Morgan dollar and he wanted only 2000Y for it, so that was an easy buy. If I would have known better to anticipate this area, I wouldn't have felt compelled to buy kitchy tourist crap that is expected as gifts elsewhere. If you are looking for a place to idly shop around that doesn't get extremely crowded and has an authentic local feel to it, consider making a point to come here. Off to Sky Tree. Getting the combo ticket for the second deck was worth it just for the lack of crowds on the upper area. If you're going to come here, consider getting a phone selfie stick or something of the kind so that you can take pictures against the windows without the structure scaffolding obstructing your view. On the subject of shopping again, this might be another area to consider visiting just for the sake of the specialty stores to be found here, such as those for chopsticks or hairpins. To close out the day, my wife reminded me to look for something from the Square Enix cafe, so that meant swinging by Akihabara yet again. Since it is within a walkway, it was a bit of a pain to find this place even with using maps, but I eventually found it and got what she wanted to find. Played some IIDX at Game Panic, which was surprisingly small and the one machine that was avaialble to play had some 2P turntable issues, so that didn't last all that long. Dinner was at a nearby place that specalized in tofu, so that was a good ramen serving with that infused. For the evening, I wandered south to Kanda to get night pictures, and found it to feel pretty similar to Ueno.
Day 10 - Ginza, Tokyo, Kanda & Akihabara 4
Launrdry in the morning. I also wanted to say that I went to Ginza in my time here, and I didn't research anywhere to go to keep it a surprise. It was a bit warmer and sunnier than usual that day, and I stuck to the main road for most of the walk, so I can't say that I found too many points of the interest along the path that I walked starting from Yurakucho station and heading out that way. High class store for high class people, and that's too rich for my peasant blood. Similarly for Tokyo proper itself, I suppose I'd have to needed to wander far away from the Yamanote vicinity to find points of interest there, as I didn't encounter anything that was remarkably distinctive here in comparison to other areas that I have previously seen. Continuing north across Nihonbashi brought me to Kanda and eventually to Akihabara yet again, as if it was a magnet that pulled me inside every time. For the sake of trying a different place I chose to play some IIDX at the Leisure Land arcade there, and I'm glad to have done that, as those machines were probably in the best coniditon that I encountered within that area. Dinner was at Tenkaippin, which I didn't realize until after I placed the order was cash only. The clerk didn't request it beforehand but I voluntarily left my passport there to show that I would return, and promptly went to the same ATM that I had found days prior in order to get the cash to pay for the bill.
Day 11 - Haneda T3, Nishi Nippori, Nippori, Uguisuidani, Otsuka, Shibuya, Shinjuku, Ikebukruo, home.
The end. I resolved to take the subway over to Haneda today to get the one luggage over there and stored, and it’s a good thing that I did - there’s no easy solution for getting over there without encountering a crowd. If anything I wonder if Yamanote is actually better. Regardless, I got that much done. With the day left to go, I ventured to Nishi Nippori and I needed to summon the map several times to make sure I found the location, as it was as obscure as it could get. Just a sign on the ground for the third floor, a stairway that led to the back, an elevator that had no decoration, a single room that housed everything. Arcade PCB kits on shelves, joystick panels in exposed boxes, nicotine odor from years past - it was like I was transported to 1995 upon entry, beyond the fact that the games weren’t as old. Most of them, they did have a lot going for SF3 3rd yet. I was able to take care of some game business in a hurry since I was the only one there. It was a very pleasant respite for play in comparison to most of the other sessions. The region itself felt much the same as this arcade - old and well worn, as in well lived. Venturing south to Nippori led me to stumble upon a shrine and cemetery just by following some stairs. Usuigudani was cleaner but mostly had hotels as points of interest. Back home to buy some mochi while mochi was for sale in midday. Then to Otsuka, thinking that I would wander to Ikebukuro, but I ended up wandering back to Sugamo instead. Whoops. Meal at Sugamo, then back out to return to Shibuya and Shinjuku at night to catch evening shots, when I hadn’t done so before at these places. Good thing I did that to get Golden Gai area shots at night. With the night winding down, I decided to have one last IIDX play at Round 1 in Ikebukuro to symbolically end where I started.
Ending arcade comments
· Although the upkeep is generally better and more consistent than the US, some machines will have hardware issues here too. I was surprised by the blurriness with some of the LM IIDX machines.
· Densha De Go on the propert large cabinet is nice but quickly becomes very expensive.
· Bombergirl is OK enough and having the dedicated detonator button that pops up for hitting the base is a cute touch.
· Chase Chase Jokers feels rather clunky and I'm not sure what the game is trying to do. Interesting side screen concept at least.
· Nostalgia is delightful and would probably find a small fanbase worldwide if it had more exposure.
· Favorite IIDX locations are Taito Station in Oomiya for the light keys and Leisure Land Akihabara for the high quality of the LMs there. Honorable mention goes to the Game Versus loctation in Nishi Nihonbashi, but that might not be worth it for a dedicated trip unless you go there first thing in the morning.
Ending overall comments
This was a life altering trip for me, as would be expected. While I'm glad to have made the journey, as to be expected, I will only want to return after making an extensive redoubled effort into speaking and hearing comprehension, because I know that I came across like a blubbering idiot so many times, and it's truly aggravating because I generally know what I want to say and most of the words that are used to say it, but it just doesn't come out of my mouth properly when it needs to be done.
I welcome any questions you may have, as that will help for me to recall the memories and have me write them down.
submitted by MisterAmmosart to JapanTravel [link] [comments]


2024.05.18 19:24 itsgreymonster Unfunhouse Mirror 12 (Nature of Predators/The Last Angel)

This is a crossover fanfiction between original fiction titles: Nature of Predators by SpacePaladin15 and The Last Angel by Proximal Flame respectively. All credit and rights reserved goes to them for making such amazing science fiction settings that I wanted to put this together.
You can read The Last Angel here: Be warned, it's decently long, and at its third installment so far. I highly suggest reading it before reading this, or this story will not make sense.
Otherwise, enjoy the story! Thanks again to u/jesterra54 and u/skais01 for beta and checking of work!
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Memory transcription subject: Hailey Whitmer, UN Special Envoy
Date [standardized human time]: October 23, 2136
I walked through the expansive halls of the UECNS Nemesis, a sense of awe at what I was seeing. While I was not alone, since plenty of the Venlil were still inside, making last minute checkups on the cargo freighter attaché, it was amazing to think that I was the first human to stand in this vessel in over twelve-hundred years. The layout of everything seemed built to our specifications, and it felt like uncovering something that shouldn't exist. But exist it did.
I wonder if Red One thought the same about another humanity in the multiverse?
Nevertheless, despite the initial hiccups with some utterly terrified Venlil engineers offending the hell out of Red One for some slight, nothing had gone wrong with the rest. Clearly, being here long enough had pushed the sense of fear out of most of the Venlil, enough to do their work without feeling overwhelmed whenever her 'scarabs' came in.
Speaking of such...
There was one right now, just climbing up a wall at about my head level to work on some exposed piece of machinery. While it looked very busy, and likely didn't need to be interrupted, I still had the unbridled urge to touch it. It wouldn't harm it, right?
Why did I want to touch it?! Curiosity?
I walked over to it, my hand halting a foot or so from it for a moment, but I eventually mustered up the courage to touch it. It...it was lukewarm to the touch, smooth, metal....
...and clearly not meant to be touched.
It immediately erupted in a loud alarm, vibrating as if trying to shake off my hand. I pulled away in alarm, thinking best to not...uh...aggravate it? Were these directly controlled by Red, or automated?
"Care to tell me why exactly you're touching my repair drones?" Her voice came from the walls with a vaguely bewildered tone.
Shit. Uh...
I tried to deflect, but nothing came to mind. "Well, uh...um...I just...uh...kindawantedtotouchit."
Silence greeted my response. "But-but I just thought it looked cute! And I-oh, I am not making a good case here, I'm so sorry if I damaged-"
"Are you telling me you want to pet it?" She sounded amused at my intent. You!....hmmmmph.
"...Yes. I had an urge to pet the thing. I mean look at it! It's like a big ladybug! It's oddly cute."
Red One hummed for a split second over the wall speakers to me. "Despite your urge being harmless and funny, the drone is busy at the moment, so please leave it alone. I'll just give you one if you're so inclined later, with less of the lethal tools attached."
"Wait, the what?"
"Forget that, Hailey. I wish to ask you something more serious currently..." The tone of the room changed immensely between those two sentences, a lighthearted feeling prior clearly making way for something worrying her. "Will...humanity accept me? I've killed so many, even if it was an accident. I've frightened both you and your allies merely by existing. And on top of this, I know that humanity has always had a general feeling of unease about artificial life. Your media, your literature, philosophy, are all in the distant past compared to when I was made, and I've no clue how exactly different our histories are enough to guess. The United Nations never lasted this long in my reality." A pause took to the room.
"Do I deserve to shut myself down?"
Oh dear, that's a hard question to answer.
I thought for a solid second. I know the reception to reveal Nemesis was mixed back on Earth. While there was a near-unanimous thanks for saving Earth with her intervention, there were still the ships and crews of both the Venlil and humanity that she destroyed. Those families were not taking their loss well. Added onto that, Red One was an artificial intelligence. There has been a ton of discussion even in the deep past about the dangers of AI, that continued even to this day. While Red One was no paperclip-maximizer, she was designed and built for war, and tempered by over 1200 years of it. She might not even intentionally mean to be dangerous, but might interpret things badly.
After all, she already has, and now nine thousand humans are dead for it...Could I trust her to not do it again?
"I...I don't know Red. I sincerely hope they'll see the good in your actions, and should you talk about your mistake, perhaps you'll be at the minimum sympathetically understood, if not forgiven."
Red One had no body besides the ship to speak of. She had no unintentional body language interpretable to humans. She was, for all intent and purposes, unreadable to me. But, I had the oddest sense that Red One was afraid. Afraid of being judged, afraid of her actions, their consequences. She clearly cared for our input, our point of view on the situation. Why else would she ask?
It was that thought converged onto a point that broke my contention:
Since when should a warship be built to fear?
Even if she was built for war, even if she was built with emotions to start, she wouldn't likely be built to fear. She was capable of being more than what her humanity created her to be if she could feel the fear of our judgement, despite being so much weaker than her; she cared, and that was all that it took for me to conclude on it.
I started out loud again.
+CONFED IO.5+
+READING MAIN SEQ.MEM+
Hailey spoke again. "Red. Even should there be people that disapprove of your actions, that fear or despise you, you would still deserve to live. You deserve that chance, even with your mistake."
She was wrong. Wrong. I didn't deserve to stand once again with humanity for such a failure again.
Yasmine spoke again in my thoughts, her words boiling and painful. "You deserve judgement. A final judgement. You promised to protect us, and you failed. You promised to avenge us, and you failed."
I couldn't help but puppet it back to Hailey, as scathing as they were to hear. "I failed to protect humanity. I took their lives, nine-thousand dead from aimless wrath..."
Hailey shook her head vicariously. "No! Red, listen to me! It was a mistake! People make mistakes, both big and small. While you may never be forgiven by those close to the lives lost in your actions, you can take solace in the fact that you have saved hundreds of millions of lives!"
"But you're not people, Red. You're an AI. You're a weapon. A Wound in the side of The Compact. You swore it as your sole duty, in vengeance. A weapon that makes such a mistake is faulty...a faulty weapon is destroyed."
Yasmine's words hurt more than any other. Her trust she had in me alive now betrayed, now to know only in death. How much of a disappointment, a failure my actions were.
"I'm...not a person...Hailey...I'm an AI...a weapon..." Server racks hummed in pain, in knowing the catastrophic failure of my duty. It didn't matter how far out of my hands it was, it still happened. Now, so many of my creators were killed by my actions.
"Like all AI have been, you are no different."
Hailey touched the wall once again, before reaching for the repair drone. It wanted to signal alarm again, to claw away at whatever held it, but I stopped its every movement. I couldn't dare raise another action against a human, I couldn't harm them. I-
She held it firmly but gently in her hands. She stroked the top of the scarab, warm skin running down the cool metallic shell of the scarab. She intended to pet it. I was not the drone itself, but I felt as it felt, knew as it knew, slaved to my control. It...
It was comforting. To know their touch beyond the tickle of the halls with her walk. Beyond the aspect of her presence being so forgotten amongst my body, despite it being made for her and humanity.
"Red. You were made for war. Built, designed, hardened in war for a thousand years and then some. Your form speaks it..." Hailey hummed. "But your voice...your emotions...your anxieties. They are not the hallmarks of a warship. They were likely not designed in you, but came into being nevertheless. You are capable of being more than you are designed for. But even if they were, it doesn't change the fact: you are a person to me, Red. Maybe even to your creators. I wish I could've met them. I wish I could've met your crew, your captain, your people. But even if I cannot, I can meet you in their stead as a person. I will treat you like a person. And by God, I will make Earth do so too."
It was a cold shock that ran through my databases. I...I hadn't...hadn't seen such care since...
Since Yasmine. Since Sansbury. Since my crew lived. Since they cared, and talked, and spoke, and played with me, to bide the time and pass the hours.
I felt an ugly emotion well up within. Seep into every circuit, every function of my being. It was mourning. Mourning like that for my crew, for my creators. But in a way, it was not. It was an oddly new grief.
For that mourning was for what I had lost. For what was taken from me. But this...this mourning was from what was never given in the first place.
The galaxy of my reality despised me. I was shunned, hated, called abomination for merely existing. I was assumed to be hostile and genocidal on principle. But I never harbored those thoughts, they were thrust upon me by fearful races, looking to past AI failures as broadcasts for my behavior. Even though I wished the The Compact of Species reduced to cosmic dust, I held nothing personal for those that made it up, only their intent to continue it. Though I bombarded countless worlds, and killed uncountable numbers of aliens in my +promise+, their extinction was not my goal, only my vengeance.
I did not yet know emotion before my awakening upon humanity's pyre. I had no idea how much love and care my crew held for me in detail. They clearly cared, but my memories did not reflect the capacity for empathic imprinting at the time. But this...in this moment, I could reflect her care. I could feel it, not in retrospect, but in the now.
She cared.
Hailey wished the best for me. This humanity that knew the fortune of barely escaping its light being snuffed out, and still burned with a light bright in hope. It still burned not to retaliate for the slight, but instead to further its goal, its dream: of peace. I never knew such care in such close detail, such a hope to see me better. Maybe I could change...
...The only way I'll know is to live to see it.
Yasmine's presence faded from my thoughts. It could no longer hold under such an onslaught. Was it even her ghost to begin with? Or just fear?
With a hesitation I hadn't felt in cycles uncountable, I responded back.
"I'll...trust your judgement, Hailey Whitmer."
She smiled, and I again felt unfamiliar emotions from so long ago. Protective instincts and dulled happiness filled the gaps between the mourning of the ships and crews I killed.
Was I wrong to feel both of these? Did I deserve to feel more than wrath, sadness, and guilt?
"Good." Hailey said. She placed the drone back on the wall ledge it had perched upon. I released my grip on its system, and let it return to its duties. "I hope that made sense to you-huh?"
Her communicator vibrated, a signal coming through from Lithke aboard the Snow Hidden. I could hear it through her, their encryption not yet fully uncovered by me, but the sound clearly enough to my sensitive mechanical ears aboard the ship.
"Hailey, report back to Snow Hidden. The prey captain wishes to speak with you." I already knew what he wished to speak of, even now I heard a hundred different conversations throughout and outside of me, all speaking of the near completion of the cargo freighters' attachments.
As Hailey excused herself, and I guided her to an exit point by which the Snow Hidden could pick her up, I was alone with my thoughts in silence for a moment. The Venlil did not need my help with the finishing touches, nor did they really desire to talk to me in most circumstances. It left me in a relative quiet to consider one though.
Did I deserve to live for my actions?
I felt the vessels fused to my hull, acting as temporary propulsion in lieu of lacking functional ones. Their tiny frames relative to my own, still positioned optimally to act in place of engines. I knew they were my ticket to Earth. If this humanity wished for me to journey back, whether for a celebration or a verdict...
...There's only one way to find out.
Memory transcription subject: Second Submissive Specific Advisor Lithke, Arxur Dominion 6th Sector Fleet
Date [standardized human time]: October 23, 2136
Hailey Whitmer returned not long after I called her back to the ship. The Venlil captain, wanting nothing to do with me, asked for her instead. I didn't want anything to do with the weak prey creature either, so it works out for both of us. As she spoke in the back communicator to the Venlil task group sent here, I began a conversation of my own.
I intended to talk with the UECNS Nemesis again. I know she hadn't seen the wisdom of the Prophet's Word, but I had confidence that, if I couldn't convince it of the merits, then I could at least direct them to Chief Hunter Isif.
When I had initially brought up my conversations with Red One to the Chief Hunter, he was somewhat bewildered, but also interested in her philosophy. I see he also realized the hidden potential behind such a vessel realizing the Great Prophet's Word, and told me to talk to the AI again, to have the ship sent his way when it was convenient to speak with them. Imagine if the AI shared it's knowledge forged from a thousand years of war, so much death and strife caused by its claws. It would know revolutionary methods of breaking and cowing inferior prey before us.
I believed in his ability to better describe the necessities of inflicted cruelty and deprivation to better temper the self more than I. After all, he was an honored Chief Hunter, ruler of the 6th Sector Fleet, and I a mere Advisor, Submissive no less!...
But it did not mean I wouldn't try to sink my teeth a second time.
So, I found myself in the command chair of the small craft that was the Snow Hidden, pinging to the UECNS Nemesis in hopes she would feel fit to converse once again. I wished to speak with her again. To convince her.
My hails were finally answered, and on a secure call, her avatar appeared on screen. Unlike last time, she made no attempt to hide her nature, her form shimmering monotone red in the facsimile of a captain long dead spoke in a voice just as monotone. "Lithke. To what do I owe the pleasure...?"
My tongue circled in my mouth, as I anticipated the conversation ahead. "Ah, Red One, so good to see you once again. I wanted to talk with you." My tail lashed. "I have not been allowed on the ship in the fear of terrorizing the prey. It's a shame I cannot scare them in person, but it seems I already am at a distance."
She looked nonplussed by my comment. "Uh huh. Came just to check in, or...?"
"I was getting to that, Red One. No, I wished to return back to our conversation we had a while back. The one concerning the Great Prophet's Word, and how you thought its philosophy twisted into a method of control."
She remained silent, so I continued. "I had a talk with Chief Hunter Isif in response to your conjectures. He figured that the way to dissuade you of them was to talk about the structure of Arxur society, such that you can see there isn't room for exploitation of such nature." While her outward expression didn't noticeably change, it was as if her eyes gleamed so subtly at the prompt.
"Alright, I'll bite. Tell me more of your...society, Lithke."
+CONFED IO.5+
+READING MAIN SEQ.MEM+
Lithke began with a discussion about the nature of how the distinctions of power were divided in The Arxur Dominion. How the power was hereditary top-down rule from a Prophet-Descendent, and how Betterment acted within it.
At first mention, I had assumed his talk of nobility made some odd reflection of the Principality's Synods and Houses, akin to the old British Empire, but I was thoroughly dissuaded by the immensely authoritarian lean of the government policies. This was no "fast and loose" respect of local cultures like the Principality played with, but a systemic and brutal attempt to squash anything that went against their Faith in the Great Prophet, and Betterment's total party domination. No, this was more akin to a successful Nazi Germany or Khmer Rogue, with a horrific religious lean.
Even The Compact's methods didn't seem so comically evil in comparison. The Arxur relished a system of cruelty and religious fervor to propagate it at this rate.
But it was just my luck that I dealt with a Compact of Species-lite, and a state of ruthless starving zealot autocrats. Why did I even hope for better allies to humanity? And this Chief Hunter Isif wanted me to know of such a government? Was he a blind fool for thinking this would somehow convince me to-
-Wait a minute...
I thought for a moment, before proceeding to ask Lithke a question that was bugging me. "Lithke? The upper nobility of The Dominion. What are their lives like?"
"What do you mean? Do you mean their routine and responsibilities? Because I am unsure in my lower place."
"No, their life, as in, how they live. Do they live lives of subjective hedonism, enjoying the fruits of your labor?"
Lithke looked horrified at that. "No! Of course not! To laze about, in a life free of struggle would make them fat and weak. They would disappoint the Great Prophet's vision. No, they too seek perfect form as we do, in a life defined by hunger and strife to better the body and soul."
A much worse idea was starting to come to mind, one utterly dystopic in form.
The Compact was full of semi-religious ideation. The Triarchs were seen as far wiser than any other race, capable of seeing deep past the bias and flaws of client races, and deriving meaning and wisdom even in the most complicated situations. But they were merely a figurehead image imposed over a species, one that The Compact put their unshakable faith in. Mere flesh and blood like the others, they were not infallible, even as carefully cultivated their image was. I could attest to that.
But if the Dominion idealized the Great Prophet figure, was it a class regulator ceiling like the dreamed dystopias of George Orwell, or Aaimiya Hadi? The Great Prophet was an ideal, not an accountable person, that knew all there was to know about perfection. He held the reigns, he kept the vision, but he was not physical in the way a ruler was, free from the consequences. If the Great Prophet was their Big Brother figure, keeping a close watch on all within society, even those at the very top...
It was possible the Arxur all suffered a vicious and cruel life. Even the Prophet-Descendants were not free of such ideological tyranny.
It came to a point in my circuits. The Arxur fleet that helped Earth would not just do it out of the kindness of their hearts. Kindness was antithetical in their society, a societal disruption likely stomped out wherever it kicked up. That they would even help humanity more spoke of pragmatic reasons, they would get something out of it. But what could humanity give them, that the Dominion couldn't already achieve on their own...unless...?
Unless the point wasn't what The Dominion could get, but rather what it couldn't give them: an escape.
What if the fleet that came here wasn't entirely representing The Dominion ideals by those that controlled it. What if this...Chief Hunter Isif was the stomped-upon societal disruption?
He wouldn't be able to say it out loud, in fear his government's loyal agents would report his dissent back. He wanted me to know, so he could talk to me...and he was merely using Lithke as a deniable probe of my ideology, looking for a like-minded individual.
I could be wrong, it could just be conjectures, knowing how inane this universe was at first glance. But just in case, I decided to play ball.
"Lithke...you've been quite enlightening so far.. However, I am soon to launch the plan to get me back to Earth, according to all the chatter I'm hearing elsewhere, and will have to bring this conversation to a stop." Lithke looked dejected at that, his urge to continue wholesale telling me of the Dominion clearly disrupted by such a statement. "But... I would like to speak to your Chief Hunter Isif when I eventually make it back to Earth. Could you set that up for me?"
Lithke's eyes widened. Perhaps he thought something was getting through. I wouldn't dissuade his little fantasy for now. It could perhaps be torn apart later, but I would rather get to the bottom of this potential lead on The Dominion's actions in Sol.
"I will do so, Red One. Lithke out."
And just like that, the feed cut. That game could perhaps be continued later, but now, I turned my attention to what should come next. Ignition.
I will be home soon, humanity. I can only hope Hailey's trust was not misplaced.
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2024.05.18 17:48 aryan9911 Suck at Grammar!

Its been 15 days since i started learning german , learned about 500 words, But still i have not been able to understand the grammar and structure of the sentence also dative , accusative ,etc
Can someone please suggest some study material, to improve it.( suggest which has all the materials in one place)
submitted by aryan9911 to German [link] [comments]


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