#Interpretation Booth

[globibo-group]

Master the Korean Language with Globibo’s Expert Instructors

Korean language learning is acquiring proficiency in speaking, reading, writing, and understanding Korean. It involves mastering Hangul (Korean script), grammar, pronunciation, and cultural nuances to communicate effectively in professional and social settings.

Benefits of Korean Language Learning

Career Opportunities – Expands job prospects in South Korea and global markets.

Business Growth – Strengthens partnerships with Korean companies.

Cultural Appreciation – Enhances understanding of K-pop, K-dramas, and Korean traditions.

Cognitive Development – Boosts memory, problem-solving, and multitasking skills.

Travel Convenience – Makes exploring South Korea more enjoyable and immersive.

Why Learn Korean with Globibo?

Globibo’s Korean language courses offer structured, interactive learning guided by expert instructors. Our courses focus on real-world communication, combining engaging lessons, customized materials, and AI-driven tools. Whether for business, travel, or personal interest, Globibo ensures practical application and cultural immersion. Learners gain confidence and fluency efficiently with flexible schedules, small class sizes, and innovative teaching methods.

For more info: https://globibo.com/ct/language-course-korean/

Learn Korean today: https://www.link.studio/#/Course/6/Korean-A1-Language-Course

Read more: https://globibo.com/ct/beginner-friendly-korean-language-course/

[many-gay-magpies]

I just finished watching The Old Guard (banger movie by the way, absolutely recommend if anyone’s been debating it), so naturally my brain went the route of Old Guard DBDA au. I don’t know any details; all I can think of so far is that Charles and Edwin are a pair of immortals that have been at it for a while together, and the timeline of the story starts with the appearance of a new immortal: Crystal. As for what’s beyond that, idk—are there other people on Charles’s and Edwin’s immortal team? Or are they just a duo? Idk if the immortality loss thing happens to either of them, I’m leaning towards no if it’s just the two of them… but like. It would fit SO well.

I’m already kind of envisioning that it’s just been Edwin and Charles, doing good and helping people from the shadows for decades (or maybe even centuries if we stretch out the timeline a bit); not a direct role-for-role cast replacement of the Old Guard, but more of an insertion into the story structure/world. Like, Edwin as the older of the two, having become immortal a while before Charles and almost immediately getting trapped and spending a canon-adjacent length of time being tortured for his abilities—then escaping a short while before Charles appears and he starts having dreams about him. Their deaths could even be similar to canon: Edwin gets sacrificed (literal sacrifice rather than a prank this time) or maybe even put to death for suspected homosexuality and comes back; Charles dies of hypothermia and internal bleeding after his “friends” turn on him, but he doesn’t STAY dead. Edwin has dreams of cold, and pain—utter impenetrable cold—and of an attic, and a lake, and he sees Charles’s face—he decides he has to find him.

Then Crystal comes around, and maybe she has a similar background to canon—maybe even with the memory loss? Like, her toxic ex-boyfriend kills her and she comes back without a bunch of her memories—some kind of complication with the process—and she gets them back gradually over the course of the story (probably as multiple deaths clear things up/shift things back to normal). When Charles and Edwin find her, there’s a lot of complicated emotions, stemming from—well, both of them wondering why NOW, why another one after probable centuries of it just being them, but where Edwin is resistant and standoffish (he doesnt trust new people this close, why did it have to change, their life was FINE as it was), Charles is excited to have a new person around!! Someone they won’t lose!! Someone like them!! And meanwhile Crystal is just,, fucking REELING from this and also maybe being stalked by her crazy power-hungry toxic ex-boyfriend who was maaaaybe in the government the whole time and dating her because her parents had whopping political status. It’s a lot.

Shit, maybe Esther could even be another immortal—one Edwin and Charles don’t know about; one that’s removed from the dream-connection somehow, or one that they haven’t been able to pin down/get clear enough memories from to realize it’s a whole other person and not just, like, them having weird dreams and shit. And maybe Esther LOSING her immortality correlates with Crystal gaining hers, and Esther tries to figure out a way to steal the boys’ immortality somehow to get hers back… or maybe she’s NOT an immortal, but more of a Merrick-type character that finds out about the immortals and wants to take their power for herself? Idk.

Last thing I’ve been thinking about is, I want Niko to be an immortal too… but is she an immortal from the start? Probably not. Maybe she’s a normal mortal girl they meet while dealing with Esther and all get really attached to, who then breaks everyone’s hearts by dying when she tries to help Crystal get the boys back from Esther, providing Crystal’s first big lesson about the futility of relationships with normal human beings (while still being worth the pain for the value of the love while its there)… UNTIL she comes to in her grave in Japan weeks or months later, and the inside of a coffin shows up in all of their dreams. Or something.

I am hereby inviting anyone who wishes to participate in this idea with me to do so, in any way you please

[cephydeluxe]

i fuckin love durgetash like a bitch loves coke but i swear to the good almighty lord above, if we get gortash sex BEFORE wyll and karlach get their act 3 cut content back im gonna puke

[ratcandy]

did the rite of wrath ritual right after I brought heket to my cult and of course she immediately beat the shit out of one of my followers . Thank you queen

[helianskies]

feeling a bit miffed and frustrated.. just had a simultaneous spanish interpreting class and we had to go into the booths and just. sim interpret from spanish to english. but i have not used the booths before, nor have i done any kind of simultaneous practice. i feel like my classmates have all done like english speech shadowing in lesson to practice. but i haven't done that. my sim lessons have been sight translation and memory exercises. so of course i fucked most of it up where others didn't. and i just kind of feel like an idiot who is onthe wrong fucking course. basically.

[hopeless-eccentric]

so funny to have edwin booth come up in my shakespeare textbook without any mention of his brother. glad one booth is still known for the theater stuff, at least

[chiarrara]

can people get radicalized into electoralism? bc I'm starting to feel how centrists claim to feel like "I'm sitting over here with a rational balanced take and people are screaming at me to stop thinking and do what they say based on surface level mantras and logical fallacies" but I'm farther left than the ppl screaming at me.

like when i was growing up the most important lesson i learned about electoral politics was that no one could tell you how to vote, it was your choice and yours alone. but i guess that tenet of democracy doesn't apply anymore.

[tonyinterpreter]

The Quality of the Event’s Interpretation. A Tale of Two Clients: Only one of them cares.

Dear Colleagues, The story I am about to share is similar to many assignments you have gone through, especially if you do consulting work. This was an event for around 750 participants from many countries that required several booths. Without going into details, for obvious reasons, this conference had to do with financing and international markets. I was approached and retained by a new…

[globibo-group]

Unlock Global Opportunities with Globibo’s Chinese Language Training

A Chinese language course is a structured program designed to help learners develop proficiency in Mandarin or Cantonese. It covers essential skills such as speaking, listening, reading, and writing, along with cultural insights to enhance communication in professional and social settings.

Benefits of Chinese Language Learning

Career Advancement – Opens doors to global job opportunities.

Business Growth – Facilitates trade and partnerships with Chinese markets.

Cultural Appreciation – Deepens understanding of Chinese traditions and values.

Cognitive Benefits – Improves memory, multitasking, and problem-solving skills.

Travel Convenience – Enhances experiences in China and Chinese-speaking regions.

Why Learn Chinese with Globibo?

Globibo’s Chinese language courses provide a structured and engaging learning experience led by expert instructors. Using interactive methods, customized materials, and AI-driven language tools, our courses cater to beginners and advanced learners alike. Whether for business, travel, or personal growth, Globibo ensures practical, real-world application. With flexible learning options, small class sizes, and immersive cultural elements, Globibo helps learners master Chinese efficiently and confidently.

For more info: https://globibo.com/language-course-chinese/

Learn Chinese today: https://www.link.studio/#/Course/7/Mandarin-A1-Language-Course

Read more: https://globibo.blog/corporate-training/chinese-language-course/

[salvadorbonaparte]

Jumping on a bandwagon for fun

[translationind]

Most Trusted simultaneous interpretation booth

When international events happen like G20 where people from different countries sit together. In this situation understanding other people's language can be a daunting task. That's where the most trusted simultaneous interpretation booth comes in. It's like a special room that helps people talk to each other in real time, no matter what language they speak.

This booth is super smart and uses the latest technology. It also has skilled interpreters who are good at translating. So, when people are having conversations, giving presentations, or debating, they don't have to worry about language barriers. They can just focus on what they want to say, knowing that their words are being translated accurately into many languages.

For more info visit: https://translationindia.com/interpretation-booths or mail us at ram@translationindia.comram@translationindia.com

[translation1234]

Simultaneous Interpretation System

Simultaneous interpretation (SI) is a type of interpreting in which the interpreter interprets speech from the source language into the target language in real time, as the speaker is speaking. SI is often used in international conferences, business meetings, and court proceedings, where it allows people from different language backgrounds to participate in the same event Simultaneous interpretation is a complex and demanding task, requiring interpreters to have a high level of fluency in both the source and target languages, as well as the ability to think quickly and adapt to changes in the speaker's tone and style of delivery. SI interpreters must also be able to maintain their concentration for long periods of time, as they often work in shifts of several hours Simultaneous interpretation systems offer a number of advantages over other types of interpreting, such as consecutive interpretation. One key advantage is that SI allows the speaker to flow naturally, without having to stop for the interpreter to interprets. This helps to maintain the pace and momentum of the event, and can also make the experience more engaging for the audience.

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

���Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[translationindia1111]

The Technical Specification of Soundproof Interpretation Booths 

https://translationindia.com/interpretation-booths

Soundproof interpretation booths are crucial for ensuring clear and accurate communication at multilingual events. They provide interpreters with a quiet and comfortable workspace, allowing them to focus on their work and deliver high-quality interpretations. These booths are typically made from lightweight but durable materials like ABS plastic or aluminium, with panels fitted together tightly to create an airtight enclosure. The interior is lined with sound-absorbing materials like fibreglass or foam to further reduce noise levels.

The booth should have at least one window that allows the interpreter to see the speaker and audience, and a door for easy entry and exit. It should also be well-ventilated to prevent condensation buildup. ISO standards cover various factors for soundproof interpretation booths, including sound insulation (STC) of at least 35, dimensions, ventilation, and lighting.

When choosing a booth, consider factors such as portability, accessories, and price. The booth should be easy to assemble and disassemble, lightweight enough to be transported easily, and come with necessary accessories like tables, chairs, and lighting fixtures. Additionally, the booth should be priced within a budget range of a few thousand dollars to several thousand dollars.

In conclusion, soundproof interpretation booths are essential for ensuring clear and accurate communication at multilingual events, and selecting the right booth requires careful consideration of technical specifications, portability, accessories, and price.

[rental12345]

Silent Equipment Rental In bengaluru

Bengaluru is often referred to as the “Silicon Valley of India” due to its prominence as a major technology hub. The city is home to numerous IT companies, tech startups, research centers, and innovation hubs, making it an ideal location to host conferences focused on technology, software development, and emerging trends in the tech industry.It is a diverse and cosmopolitan city with a mix of cultures, languages, and communities. This diversity attracts conferences that focus on cultural exchange, arts, literature, and social topics. Silent Equipment Rental services in Bengaluru are readily available, ensuring that participants can seamlessly engage with the content and discussions, even in multi-track events.